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acid-ixx · 6 months ago

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ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1, chapter five pt 2,

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

otherwise, i can't add anymore to my taglist so taglist requests are closed!

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luvergirl-535 · 4 months ago

Note

I think you'd cook a one short one about the first time Paige saw Azzi's belly button piercing

don’t need to breathe (when you look at me)

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 5.3k

c/w - language, needles, FLUFF, smut

a/n - this is my fourth time trying to upload. lately, whenever i try to upload anything more than 100 or so words, tumblr gets slow and then crashes and i lose the whole thing!! it sucksss 😩. pls send help. anyway, hope you like!

Azzi absolutely hates needles.

It’s something she’s always known about herself—when she was getting her four-year-old vaccines, she fought the nurses holding her down and ripped the needle out of her leg while screaming like a banshee.

Safe to say, whenever she finds herself around needles, it’s usually against her will.

Which is exactly why she wasn’t brave enough to get her ears pierced until she was fifteen. It’s also exactly why, when her mother brings up a belly button piercing the summer before college, her reply is an immediate and adamant no.

“Why not?” Katie asks, as if she doesn’t know her daughter at all. “I had one when I was around your age.”

Azzi shudders at the mere thought of a piece of metal forced through the inches of skin between her navel and belly button. “No way, Mom.”

“I gotta say, I agree,” her dad pipes up, and usually Azzi doesn’t favor his opinions on these things (crop tops were a no until she was thirteen) but today, she smiles gratefully at him. “She doesn’t need nothing like that ‘till she’s older.”

“Tim,” Katie says exasperatedly, “she’s an adult.”

“Yeah, but not really,” Tim says, throwing his arm around Azzi’s shoulders. Azzi burrows into her dad’s chest in an attempt to hide from her scary mom with the scary needles.

“It was just a suggestion,” Katie sighs, reaching into the oven to pull out the pot pie. “You don’t have to if you don’t want it. They’re just cute, is all.” Placing the hot pan on the stove, Katie turns back to the two of them, smiling slyly at Azzi. “I’m sure your girlfriend would think so, too.”

Admittedly, that thought itself has the cogs in Azzi’s mind turning.

————————————

Later that same day, at around 10:00, Azzi’s phone buzzes with a text from none other than Paige Bueckers, also known as Azzi’s aforementioned girlfriend.

I miss you

The two of them had woken up on FaceTime that morning, and had been texting throughout the day, but it’s been a few hours since their last conversation so of course it’s the first thing Paige would say to her. She’s never liked conventional conversation starters, anyway.

Before Azzi can respond, three other texts come in tandem:

send me pics

WHOAAA pause, not those kinda pics. I just miss looking at u or whatever

but if you wanna send those kinda pics i wont complain 😛

Azzi rolls her eyes, albeit affectionately, at her phone screen. A pang of longing shoots through her stomach, reminding her just how much she misses her stupid, dorky girlfriend.

Typing quickly so that Paige won’t beat her to it, Azzi types: I miss you too p

And then, you’re like a teenage boy btw

The response comes fast: rudeee I just wanna see my girlfriend’s beautiful face

are you ovulating or something?

whoa howd you know

Once again, Azzi rolls her eyes. And then her thumb hovers over the camera app before she opts for Facetime instead, pressing the button and smiling when Paige answers halfway through the first ring.

“—out of my room, seriously!” Azzi catches the second half of Paige’s sentence, and immediately knows who she’s talking to—that tone is reserved for one particular little boy.

“Hi,” Azzi says, and Paige’s attention snaps down to her phone, eyes crinkling with a smile.

“Hi, baby,” she says softly, and then there’s giggling in the background and Paige looks away again. “Drew, for real, leave me alone!”

“I wanna say hi to Azzi, too,” Drew’s playful whine comes distantly over the speaker.

“Aw, let him say hi,” Azzi argues.

Paige glares down at her, but then Azzi gives her a stern look—she’s a firm believer that Paige needs to be nicer to perfect little Drew, even though she herself isn’t a saint to her own brothers by any stretch. Sighing dramatically, Paige passes the phone over to Drew, whose smiling little face appears on the screen. “Hi, Azzi!”

“Hey, Drewski,” Azzi replies, ignoring Paige’s mumbling in the background. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. Today I beat Paigey in 1v1 and then she beat me up and knocked my tooth out.”

“Drew!” in a second, the phone is ripped away from him and back to Paige, who’s looking urgently at the phone. “He’s lying, he lost that tooth naturally.” She looks up, presumably at her hysterically laughing little brother. “And you didn’t beat me, I let you win.”

“Hey! I’m gonna tell Dad you said that!”

“He can’t do anything to me, I’m an adult.”

“I’m gonna tell him you said that, too!”

“Well I’ma tell him you’re bothering me if you don’t get out my room!”

Finally, there’s the aggressive sound of the door slamming shut, and Paige smiles triumphantly down at the phone.

Azzi leans back against her pillows, shaking her head. “Fighting with him as if he isn’t seven years old.”

“Hey, I gotta do what I gotta do,” Paige replies, the background changing as she moves across her room to set the phone on her desk. “I’on like him around when we call.”

“Why not?” Azzi asks, even though she already knows the answer to that.

“‘Cus sometimes I wanna say things to you that nobody else should hear.” Paige grins devilishly, but there’s something a little heavier in her eyes, and that longing curls a little more dangerously in Azzi’s stomach now.

It’s been a long time, but they’ve yet to resort to phone sex. With Stewie curled at her feet and her brothers in the next rooms, Azzi decides she’d like to keep it that way.

“Again, teenage boy,” she teases, and it successfully changes the atmosphere.

Paige gasps and plops down in her desk chair in order to get a closer look at her. “That’s actually offensive.”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi says, watching as Paige fiddles with something on her desk before picking up her gaming headset, and her mouth drops. “You’re not about to game while we’re on call right now.”

Freezing, Paige stares at her, slowly setting the headset down, “What? No, ‘course not.”

Azzi would call Paige a teenage boy again but she thinks it might actually give her a complex, so she decides against it. “Hey,” she says, already feeling her palms get sweaty at the thought of what her mom said earlier, “what do you think about belly piercings?”

“For you or for me?”

“In general.”

Paige shrugs, leaning back in her chair. “I dunno. They’re cute. Why?”

Azzi bites her lip. “My mom thinks I should get one.”

“Yeah?” Paige wiggles her eyebrows at her. “That’d be hot.”

“You think?”

Paige nods decidedly. “Yeah, I do. But you’d never get one, right? I mean, you cried last time you had to get your blood drawn.”

Azzi waves her off. “That was a long time ago.”

“That was four months ago, baby.”

“Okay, whatever.” Azzi flushes at the memory, how she and Paige had gone together for their physicals and how Azzi had been shaking with nerves while Paige sat cool as a fucking cucumber. Paige had teased her about it when the tears started, but she still wiped them away tenderly and later, Azzi heard her asking the nurse if they really had to do the needles. “Maybe I will do it.”

Paige looks at her with this doubt in her eyes that she hates. “You will, huh?”

“Maybe,” Azzi reiterates a little nervously, because she can’t promise anything, not when it comes to a long-ass needle going through her flesh. Okay, so, maybe not.

But Paige is almost smirking now and so she says, “I’m seriously thinking about it.”

Paige nods at her, clearly bemused. “Sure, sure. You, the girl who has a scar on her thigh from ripping a needle out of it—“

“I was four!”

“Still,” Paige laughs. “No way you’re getting that piercing. Maybe stick with a lil nose stud, that’d be cute.”

Deep down, Azzi feels a certain tug of competitiveness—all too familiar when it comes to her girlfriend. And, in this case, dangerous, because when Paige challenges her to something, she refuses to lose.

But, this isn’t a challenge. This is just Paige being Paige. It’s not a challenge until someone says—

“I’ll bet you twenty bucks you get a belly piercing,” Paige jokes. And dread curls in Azzi’s abdomen. Because there it is.

Scary needles and crushing anxiety aside—suddenly, Azzi needs that twenty dollars. And she will absolutely not be losing it.

————————————

Azzi is in her room, trying and failing for the third time this week to pack for college, when her mother appears in the doorway. “Hey, Az.”

“Yeah?” Azzi asks without looking up.

“Can you come help me unload the groceries? I can’t carry them all by myself.”

“Uh,” Azzi glances at her suitcase—which needs to have her whole life packed away inside it within the week—and decides it can wait, “yeah, sure.”

She doesn’t notice the twinkle in Katie’s eye as she gets up and heads out into the hallway. As she walks down it, she registers the muttered sounds of her family and realizes she hasn’t heard the dogs in a few moments. Turning back to her mom, she says, “Where are the dogs?”

“Oh, we put ‘em in our room,” Katie says, taking Azzi by the shoulders and ushering her down the hallway.

Azzi furrows her brow. “Why?”

Katie pushes her out into the living room and the first thing she notices is her brothers and dad all gathered there, watching her with—excitement? Anticipation? And she’s about to ask why when Katie takes her by the shoulders once again and turns her so she’s facing the front door, and there’s Paige, knelt down, focused on untying her shoes.

Azzi doesn’t move, because is this real? This has gotta be an stress-induced hallucination, right?

But, no. It’s real. She knows because Paige, her perfect, oblivious girlfriend, hasn’t noticed her yet, and is chattering away like she always does: “So then I was like, yo, it’s not my fault you didn’t buy an extra seat, so like, why would I give you mine? And usually I would’ve given it up but I told her, I was like, I gotta see my girl, I can’t get off this plane. Because that’s serious to me, you know? And I…”

Paige’s rambling trails off only when she finishes taking off her shoes and finally glances up, to find Azzi standing a little awestruck a couple feet away.

“Oh,” she says, smiling almost sheepishly at her as she straightens up, “hey.”

For some reason, that’s what snaps Azzi out of her Paige-induced trance and she sort of forgets about the rest of her family watching them as she crosses the few steps it takes to launch herself into Paige’s arms, nearly sobbing with relief of a weight she didn’t know was there being lifted off her shoulders as she’s wrapped up in an all-too-familiar embrace.

“You’re here,” Azzi breathes, almost unable to believe it. “Why’re you here?”

Paige squeezes her tight, leans down to bury her face in the crook between her shoulder and neck. “Couldn’t wait any longer,” is all she says, and Azzi hasn’t ever agreed with anything more.

————————————

It’s not until later—after a celebratory lunch and family board games and then a celebratory dinner and family movie night, completed with ice cream sundaes—that they get a moment alone.

As soon as they’re stepping into Azzi’s bedroom, Paige is on her in a second, holding her tight by the waist and inhaling deeply into her hair. It’s almost instinctual the way Azzi reciprocates, her body moving on its own accord to wrap her arms around Paige’s broad shoulders and hold her close. It’s not for a few more moments that Paige says something. “Missed you so much, Az.”

“I know,” Azzi nods, pulling away just enough to get a good look at her girlfriend’s face, and though they’ve spent half the day together she still marvels at the fact that she’s looking at her without the barrier of a shitty internet connection, hearing her without the interruption of cackling speakers. “‘M happy you’re here, baby.”

“Me too,” Paige replies, leaning forward so their noses are touching. “We should never do that again, yeah?”

“What? Spend the summer apart?”

“Uh-huh,” Paige replies, her eyes drifting shut as her lips brush up against Azzi’s. “Hated every second of it.”

“Me too,” Azzi breathes, closing her eyes as well at the feeling of Paige’s breath up against her lips, her hands running slowly up and down her back before moving to her stomach, pushing against her. Azzi gasps as her back hits the bedroom door, eyes opening to study her girlfriend’s face, to find her staring back. Her pale cheeks are already a little flushed, and Azzi must be wearing a similar expression because Paige chuckles softly before leaning down and finally pressing their lips together in a soft, tender kiss. Chaste enough but nothing like the few pecks they shared today—this is intimate and weighted and altogether not meant for her family to see.

“Azzi,” Paige mumbles needily against her lips and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly she’s getting wet, just from a closed-mouth kiss and roaming hands on her stomach and an utterance of her name.

But she can’t really bring herself to be embarrassed. Because this is Paige. And it’s been so much longer than either of them can bear.

“Az,” Paige repeats, pressing soft kisses against the corner of her mouth now, “I…can we?” she pulls back and Azzi’s legs nearly give out at the hot, desperate look in Paige’s eyes. “Need you,” she insists.

Azzi glances over her shoulder, at the closed door and the hallway she knows is beyond, her family separated only by square meters and walls. It’s not an ideal situation.

But neither is holding off for another day. Even another hour might destroy her, if the damp spot growing on her panties has anything to say about it.

So, Azzi nods, untangling her arms from around Paige’s neck in order to reach back and lock the door. She can’t help but smile at the excitement in Paige’s eyes when she turns back to her, and at the same time she gives her a look that’s all warning. “We gotta be quiet, though.”

“Got it,” Paige nods, already walking them backwards toward the bed.

“And no strap,” Azzi continues, then squeals as quietly as possible when Paige pushes her down onto the bed.

Paige is back on her as soon as she’s lying down, kneeling on the bed to hover over her, and the pout on her face contrasts almost comically with the heat in her eyes. “But I brought it for us.”

Azzi isn’t all that surprised—of course Paige would bring their neglected dildo to her surprise visit at Azzi’s parent’s house. But Paige becomes sort of feral when that thing comes on and Azzi is no better, often unable to hold in the noises that rip their way out her throat while Paige pounds her.

As Azzi scoots back until her head hits the pillows, wrapping her arms around Paige’s neck so she follows, she knows tonight isn’t the night for rough and filthy. The longing in her belly is heated, sure, the arousal leaking from her downright sinful—but there’s something almost innocent in the way she needs Paige tonight. She needs her as if she’s a piece of her that’s been missing too long, and it’s only natural to come back together like this.

“Paige,” she whispers, pulling her down, “please, just—don’t need any of that. Just need you, right now.”

Something softens almost immediately in Paige’s expression at that, the arousal clouding her gaze clearing just a bit and making way for pure, unadulterated love.

“Aight, baby,” Paige mutters, kissing Azzi again, and this time Azzi opens up for her, salivating when Paige’s tongue meets hers, pushing past to enter her mouth and lick around inside like she’s looking for something. Azzi’s legs go instinctively around Paige’s waist, hands tightening around her neck, anything to bring them as close as possible.

Paige pulls back when Azzi’s breath gets shaky, string of saliva connecting their lips until Paige licks it away. “I gotchu,” she reassures, one hand finding its way from where it’s bracing her on the bed to stroke down her cheek, to her collarbone. “Just relax, baby.”

“‘S been a long time,” Azzi replies, figuring that’s the reason for the lump of anxiety in her throat, the way she’s grasping at Paige as if she’ll disappear. And, sure, it’s only been three months—what’s three months, when plenty couples go years without seeing each other?—but for Paige and Azzi, it felt like an eternity. And Azzi realizes it’s a little overwhelming coming back to something so familiar all at once.

“I know,” Paige says, leaning down to trail her lips delicately against her jawline. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi replies, a little breathily now that Paige is moving to that sweet spot on her neck. And when she gets there, she sucks, not quite hard enough to leave a bruise but hard enough for her to feel it. “Paige,” she murmurs, her own hands going to the hem of her sweater, “Wanna—take this off.”

“Okay,” Paige replies, helping Azzi sit up just enough to pull the piece of clothing off and toss it somewhere across the room. It’s dimly lit, only the moonlight and the lamp on Azzi’s bedside table to illuminate the room, but it’s plenty enough for Paige to take in Azzi’s bare torso, eyes flickering from her collarbones to her chest to her face, then back to her chest again where her gaze lingers—Azzi reminds herself to make fun of her for that later—and then, finally, Azzi watches her girlfriend’s gaze travel down the bare expanse of her stomach, to her navel, where her eyes widen and her jaw drops just slightly when she sees the new piercing sitting there.

“You…” Paige mumbles, never ripping her eyes from the piercing, and Azzi giggles. “You actually got it.”

“Had to,” Azzi says, pleased with the reaction. “You owe me twenty, by the way.”

Paige looks up at her then, and her free hand travels down Azzi’s stomach to cautiously touch the stud. “Did it hurt?”

Azzi nods. “Yeah. But it was worth it.”

Paige nods along with her. “Definitely worth it.”

Her lips reattach to her neck, but they don’t linger there, moving quickly down to the dip between her collarbones, her fingers still delicately playing with her piercing. “Got it a couple days after our FaceTime. You remember?”

Paige nips at her collarbone. “Yeah. Thought there was no way in hell you’d get it.”

“‘S why I did,” Azzi replies, tone going a little unsteady again as Paige’s lips travel lower, reminding her of the pulsing that’s beginning to ache between her legs. “Knew you’d like it.”

“I was right, though,” Paige replies, a little muffled as she kisses the pillowy flesh of Azzi’s chest, “it is hot.”

“Tha-anks,” Azzi moans out, clutching Paige’s hair as she finally attaches to a nipple. Her head falls back, relishing in the way Paige flicks her tongue, feeling so much better than Azzi’s own fingers ever could. She’s resorted many times to playing with herself while thinking of Paige, but it’s never the same. And maybe the knowledge of how good Paige is had begun slipping away from her, but it comes back now with sharp clarity as Paige suckles and then smooths down with the flat of her tongue.

Paige moves over to Azzi’s other breast, making sure to litter a few marks across her chest on the way, and she busies herself with removing Paige’s ponytail, fingers fumbling a few times around the hair tie before she gets it off. Paige chuckles against her when her hair falls loose around her shoulders, and Azzi smiles, too, watching through hooded eyes as Paige lifts her head to place a chaste kiss on her lips. “Can we take these off?” she asks, tugging at the waistband of Azzi’s sleep shorts.

Azzi nods, lifting her hips while Paige pulls them down, leaving her underwear on. It’s not exactly a cute pair—she didn’t prepare for sex when she woke up completely Paige-less this morning—but she can’t bring herself to be self-conscious about it.

“Mm,” Paige hums, dragging her lips down Azzi’s chest, to her navel, where the tip of her tongue pokes out, licking around her piercing. Turns out she likes it even more than Azzi thought she would. Azzi watches, lazily, while Paige presses open-mouthed kisses against her. She wants to urge her on but at the same time knows she needs to be patient, needs to let Paige take her time with her.

“Fuck,” Paige mumbles against her skin, then licks down to the hem of her underwear, kissing along it to nip at her hipbone. “Missed this so fucking much.”

“Baby,” Azzi breathes, watching Paige open her legs enough to settle between them, breathing hot and purposeful over Azzi’s clothed core.

“I know,” Paige mumbles, eyes locked on the wet patch on Azzi’s panties. She takes her bottom lip between her teeth as she brings a thumb to rub gently over Azzi’s clit, and it makes her hips push up for more. “I’ma eat you now, okay?” Paige says, looking up at her.

Azzi nods. “Please, P.”

Paige licks her lips, then presses them to the plush skin of her inner thigh, making quick work of pulling the panties off. As soon as she does, she spreads her open even wider, eyes hooded and mouth slightly open when she takes two fingers and spreads her folds. “Look at that,” she breathes, licking her thumb before using it to rub her clit in little circles. “She’s cryin’ for me, huh?”

“Fuck,” Azzi moans breathily when Paige nuzzles her nose up into her. Paige uses her free hand to press down on her abdomen, partly to keep her still and partly to make it feel better, and she tries to stay steady, resisting the urge to arch her hips up.

“Hold my hair, mama,” Paige says, and with shaking hands Azzi does, gathering her long hair away from her face. Glancing up at her, Paige licks a long stripe up her cunt as a reward. Azzi gasps desperately, gripping her hair a little more tightly and pulling her closer, urging her to do that thing she loves. And Paige gets it, smirking against her pussy before dipping her tongue into her hole, effectively drinking her up while her nose bumps against her clit. Head lulling back against the sheets, Azzi throws an arm over her face in a feeble attempt to keep quiet.

“Tastes so good,” Paige moans into her, mouth wide open as she sucks her folds into her mouth. “Missed this shit so bad, mama.”

“Mm-hmm,” Azzi whines, unable to respond or even really register the words with the way Paige is making such a mess of her, spit mixing with Azzi’s own juices, leaking down onto the bed.

Paige licks into her entrance again, the warm muscle exploring that spongy spot inside her and then going up to her clit and sucking it harshly into her mouth. Azzi bites down on her hand—otherwise, she’d sob.

When Paige looks up and catches her struggle, she smirks and wraps her arms around Azzi’s thighs, situating them over her shoulders and pressing a few tender kisses to Azzi’s clit. “So pretty, baby,” she mutters, and Azzi shivers when her hot breath hits her cunt. “Wanna do this forever.” She works her jaw, and Azzi barely has time to register what she’s doing before Paige spits on her, using her hand to rub it in, and then going in and licking it back up.

“P—“ Azzi chokes, scratching her nails roughly through Paige’s hair, holding her head close enough that she doesn’t move when her hips cant up. That warmth in her belly becomes tense, a familiar knot forming there, and her legs begin to shake.

“Close?” Paige asks, knowing all her tells.

Azzi nods urgently, pulling Paige’s head back down, gasping as she presses the flat of her tongue against her clit before flicking it at an impossible speed, her hips grinding up as she rides Paige’s face, head turning to the side to bury into her pillow.

“God, Paige—gonna come,” she says urgently, the feeling of Paige nodding against her only hurdling her closer, “fuck, love you so much. Love you so fucking much, gonna make me come, fu-uckkk!”

She thrashes, legs shaking impossibly hard as Paige licks her through it, her hand rubbing furiously at Azzi’s poor clit while she slurps up the arousal gushing from her, and she doesn’t stop until Azzi’s heels are kicking against her back, palm of her hand pushing at her forehead.

Even then, Paige gives her a last kiss on her clit before surging up to meet her lips, the kiss they share far too tender for what just happened.

“Missed that,” Paige whispers, smiling down at her when they separate.

“Fuck,” Azzi sighs, looking up at her girlfriend almost in disbelief. “Me, too.”

She combs her fingers gently through Paige’s hair, getting the knots, and Paige’s eyes flutter shut. Slowly, she lets her hands wander, down her shoulders, her chest, to her stomach. “Baby,” she whispers, watching Paige open her eyes slowly, “need to see you.”

Paige hesitates and for a moment Azzi thinks she might be too tired, but the next second she’s reaching behind her and pulling her t-shirt off. Azzi’s hands immediately go to those toned abs she loves so much, then up to Paige’s sports bra. “This, too.”

Obediently, Paige pulls the tight material over her head, tossing it along with the rest of their clothes. Azzi doesn’t take her time—can’t bring herself to, not now—bringing her hands up to Paige’s tits and squeezing them. Paige inches up, encouraging her, and Azzi lifts her mouth to one of her hands, separating her fingers to expose a nipple and taking it between her lips. Paige is quick to react, bracing herself on Azzi’s shoulders while she grinds down onto one of her thighs, and Azzi can feel the wetness through her sweats.

While her tongue works over the pert nipple, she lets her other hand wander back down Paige’s stomach, under her sweatpants, and when Paige grinds down encouragingly, she dips her fingers into her boxers. Using her pointer and ring fingers, she spreads her folds, then drags her middle finger up her sopping slit, groaning into her breast at the sheer amount of wetness she feels there.

“Az,” Paige breathes, bearing down on Azzi’s hand, but the angle is all wrong and she pulls of her tit with a pop.

Urging Paige off her lap, Azzi flips them over, knowing Paige would resist if she wanted to. But Paige is needy, hair a mess and lips swollen, chin still a little wet with Azzi’s arousal, baby blue’s wide as she stares reverently at her. “Lay back, baby,” she mutters, making quick work of the rest of Paige’s clothes once the girl obeys.

As soon as she’s naked, Azzi crawls over her, dipping her hand back between her legs, warm heat pooling at her fingers. “So wet, P. I make you like this?”

“Fuck, yes,” Paige replies, and it’s her turn to wrap her arms around Azzi’s shoulders, nails scratching a little when Azzi dips a finger into her hole.

“You want it?” Azzi asks, teasing, rubbing her thumb over Paige’s clit before going back down to her entrance.

“Need it,” Paige insists.

“Gonna be good for me?” Azzi murmurs, leaning down so she’s right by her ear, making Paige shiver. “Gonna be quiet, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Paige says, the submissive tone in her voice rare and so fucking sexy, “promise, baby.”

“Mm,” Azzi hums, relishing in the little noise Paige makes as she slides a finger inside her. Paige arches forward, burying her head in Azzi’s neck, and Azzi presses comforting kisses to her shoulder, shushing her gently. She pumps in and out a few times, getting her ready, before sliding another one in, and she loves the way Paige curls even further into her—not an inch of space between them. She wishes they could stay like this forever.

Starting out slow, Azzi goes in an out, spreading her fingers against the impossible tightness surrounding her fingers. She glances down between their bodies, but it’s hard to see—still, she can just make out Paige’s cunt sucking her fingers in eagerly, and she moans maybe a little too loud.

“Oh, oh,” Paige whines into her neck, clinging onto her as Azzi picks up speed, “don’t stop, so good.”

Azzi bites her lip, concentrating, and on her next thrust she hooks her fingers upward on the way out, letting them drag against that spongy spot deep inside, and Paige sobs, nodding feverishly.

Azzi pulls away, forcing Paige’s head out of her neck so they can look at each other. She uses her free hand to brush a damp strand of hair from Paige’s face. “Right there?”

“Yeah,” Paige breathes, obviously doing her best to be quiet, and Azzi thinks they’ll need to empty out the house tomorrow so they can do this again without so many restraints.

Azzi repeats the motion once, twice, and Paige’s eyes roll to the back of her head. Her thighs clench around Azzi’s hand, abs tightening—she’s getting close.

Nuzzling their noses together, Azzi brings her thumb to Paige’s clit and starts rubbing hard.

Paige cries out weakly. Azzi presses their lips together, regretfully swallowing every noise Paige makes, arm growing tired as she works her over, thrusting fast and hard now. Paige is writhing, hands keeping Azzi close as if she’s going to up and leave.

“Not going anywhere,” Azzi murmurs against her lips. “You okay?”

Paige moans. “Getting close—just…stay right here.”

“Okay, baby,” Azzi whispers. “Just relax, I got you. You’re okay.”

It works, Paige softening around the edges, jaw unclenching and legs falling open, eyes hooded and searching as they look into Azzi’s. Azzi nods at her, kissing her lips and then the tip of her nose, not once slowing the pace of her fingers. “Doing good, baby. Gonna come?”

“Yeah,” Paige breathes, nodding fervently. “So close.”

Azzi punctuates it with a particularly hard thrust, loving the way Paige whines for her. “Missed making you come,” Azzi groans, forehead dropping onto Paige’s. “Missed fucking you.”

Paige swallows thickly, supposedly swallowing down a particularly loud sound, and Azzi rubs at her clit to the point of abuse. Paige opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something but then her jaw goes slack and her eyebrows furrow and she’s coming, hard, choking on a moan, bottom lip trembling like she might cry.

Enthralled, Azzi watches, trying to commit everything to memory—the way Paige’s tits arch up, the way she throws her head back, the way she bites her swollen lips, the way tears form at the corners of her eyes but don’t fall. Azzi hadn’t realized quite how much she missed this until just now.

As Paige comes down, pushing Azzi’s wrist so she’ll pull out, Azzi settles herself gently on top of her, pressing kisses to her face and neck. Paige’s arms soothe down her back then back up, chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath.

“Good?” Azzi asks, giggling tiredly when Paige stares at her as if she hung the stars in the sky.

“Perfect,” Paige corrects, watching as Azzi lazily licks at her fingers, cleaning them off. “We can never be apart again, okay?”

“I can’t promise that.”

“I’ma—like, sneak you into my suitcase if I ever have to leave,” Paige insists, pulling Azzi down so she’s lying fully on top of her. “Gonna fuck you every day, I’on care.”

Azzi laughs, resting her cheek on Paige’s chest. “You’re an idiot.”

“Be quiet,” Paige says, pushing half-heartedly at her shoulder.

“Shit,” she says after a moment.

Azzi lifts her head to look quizzically at her. “What?”

“I really love your belly piercing.”

#pazzi #azzi fudd #pazzi fics #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #wcbb #wbb #pazzi smut #paige bueckers smut #azzi fudd smut #wlw smut #lilah’s works

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the-ancient-dragons · 10 months ago

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Welcome to my new (old) series called Overcomplicating the Pyrrhain Tribes (part 1 of 7!)

I have many more Overcomplicated designs to come (and I eventually want to move on to full bodies and action doodles!)

I started it sometime in January or Febuary, as I was applying to a digital creature program, when I was inspired to try and use real animal anatomy on the canon WoF tribes.

Do they need it? No!! Tui and Joy Ang have some of the coolest dragon designs and they don't need to be changed. I was simply inspired to practice anatomy and wanted to see what I could come up with. Plus, I've always drawn the dragons in Ang's style and wanted to see what I could come up with on my own.

Details and explanation below.

Otherwise, next Friday is the SeaWing!!! See you then!

Now, why are there two SkyWings and why do they not look the same? Because the second one, the one with the yellow horns, is actually the first one I drew. I didn't know what style I would be using and it was not well thought out. The first, the really pretty shiny one, is actually the seventh one I drew, when I had a clear idea.

This SkyWing is inspired by birds of prey (eagles specifically) found in the deadly eye and sharp beak. It isn't a real bird beak but I found that I really like the shape and style of an avian beak on reptiles, and the SkyWing had it originally. It looks better than the first version anyway. It's also got some vague monitor lizard and komodo dragon aspects in it, with the face scales (and especially around the eyes), but my favourite bit is the horns. I didn't document what species I used but I want to say it was a mountain goat (for obvious reasons). One neat feature about the horns is that each segment represents one year on top of the seven from the original horn. So seven years plus six segments means this particular SkyWing is thirteen years old. Just a silly headcanon on top of this headcanon design. Finally, the neck scales look less like fish scales and more like snake scales (using a snake for reference). I always loved those and wanted MORE of them. Plus it fits with their underbelly.

#wof #wof art #art #my art #wings of fire #digital art #skywing #wof skywing #wof fanart #Overcomplicating the WOF Tribes

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lupinqs · 3 months ago

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN ━━ Ski Trip

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 4.8K

❀ ━ warnings: i don’t think any actually

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: i lowkey hate this chapter and i feel like i didn’t make it meaningful enough but im not rewriting it so here yall go BIG STUFF COMING NEXT CHAP THO

IT’S DECEMBER 20TH, and Paige has been procrastinating on packing all day, though she’s hyper-aware of her flight to Maryland tomorrow evening after their game. The plan was simple. She’d spend Christmas with her dad and Drew like she always did when her mom’s side of the family had something else going on. This year, it was a beach trip to the Bahamas—Ryan and Lauren had begged for it after they didn’t get a summer vacation, and even though her mom had hated the idea of leaving Paige out, she’d caved.

“It’s just this one year,” her mom had told her over the phone a couple of weeks ago, sounding guilty. “Next year, we’ll all do something together, I promise.”

Paige had told her it was fine, and it had been. It wasn’t like her mom had planned it that way, and besides, Paige had been looking forward to some quality time with her dad and Drew.

But now, as she sits at the small table in her and Jo’s apartment, her phone pressed to her ear, that plan is crumbling right in front of her.

Her dad coughs—again—and Paige frowns at the sound of it. “I’m telling you, P, it’s bad,” he says, his voice raspy and hoarse. “It’s not like Drew and I have a cold, it’s bronchitis. We’re super contagious, and the last thing I want is for you to get sick, too. You’d bring it back to the team, and…” He trails off, but Paige knows exactly what he’s thinking.

If she brought bronchitis back to Storrs, it would be a disaster. Paige knows how quickly that would spread through them, because they’re always around each other. One sick player turns into three, and suddenly half the roster is on the bench. Which would be bad—because half their roster already is on the bench.

Still, it doesn’t make her feel any better. She swallows the lump forming in her throat and forces her voice to sound steady, even though the frustration is bubbling underneath. “I get it, Dad. It’s just…” She sighs, rubbing a hand across her face. “It’s Christmas. I wanted to see you guys.”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry,” her dad says, and he really does sound it. “If there was any way to make it work, I’d tell you to come, but I can’t let you risk it. You’re not just my kid—you’re, like, a national treasure. Even with a busted knee. You’ve got bigger things to worry about than hanging out with your sick old man and your germy little brother.” He tries to laugh, but it quickly turns into a coughing fit.

When it finally passes, he speaks again, softer this time. “Look, I hate this. You know I do. But maybe it’s better this way. You don’t want to get sick, and I don’t want you here with me and Drew, bored out of your mind while we sit around coughing our lungs out. You should spend Christmas somewhere fun. I’m sure at least one of the girls will still be around campus, right?”

Paige doesn’t have the heart to tell him that everyone is going home for the holidays. Azzi’s flight to Virginia is tomorrow, and Caroline’s driving back to Massachusetts the next day. Ice is already gone, Geno allowing it since she can’t even play in tomorrow’s game. And it’s not like Paige can crash at the homes of her coaches or staff, either. She’ll be here. Alone.

“Yeah, maybe,” she lies instead. “Don’t worry about me, ’kay Just take care of yourself and Drew. I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

Her dad sighs, and for a second time, the line goes quiet. “I’m sorry, P,” he says again, and there’s a tiredness in his voice that makes her feel guilty for even being upset. “We’ll FaceTime you on Christmas morning. I love you.”

“Love you too,” she mumbles. “Tell Drew I said hi. And Merry Christmas.”

“I will.”

She barely gets out a goodbye before hanging up, and the moment the call disconnects, Paige puts her head in her hands, elbows resting on the table.

It’s not like she doesn’t understand. Her dad is right—going to Maryland would be a bad idea. But knowing that doesn’t make it easier. She’s supposed to be with her family for Christmas.

But now? She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do. It’s not like she can book a flight to the Bahamas to be with her mom’s family.

So what does that leave? Staying on campus by herself? Wandering around Storrs in the freezing cold while the rest of her teammates celebrate with their families?

The thought puts a pit in her stomach, and she presses her palms harder against her face, as if that’ll somehow stop the wave of sadness crashing against her. She knows it’s not the end of the world—she’s an adult; she’ll survive—but it’s been a hard year, and she wanted to end it with her family beside her.

Suddenly, pair of warm and familiar arms drape loosely around Paige’s neck, startling her. She exhales sharply, caught off guard by the sudden closeness. She can feel Jo’s chin resting lightly on her shoulder, her breath warm against Paige’s cheek. Jo doesn’t seem to notice the way Paige tenses under her touch or how Paige’s stomach twists itself into knots.

“What’s up? Why’re you all sad?” Jo asks, her voice soft but still edged with that usual playful lilt that makes it hard to tell if she’s being entirely serious.

Paige swallows hard and keeps her gaze forward. Her fingers drum nervously against the table. “My dad and Drew are sick, so they’re not letting me come home,” she admits quietly, her voice tighter than she means for it to be. “I’mma be here all alone for Christmas.”

Jo pulls away abruptly, and Paige instantly misses the warmth of her arms. When she looks up, Jo’s eyes are searching hers, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern. “Wait, you’re not going to Maryland?” Jo asks, like she hasn’t just heard Paige say it.

Paige shakes her head, trying to keep her voice steady. “Nope,” she confirms, a little bitterly, popping the p.

Jo stares at her, unblinking, like she’s trying to solve a puzzle in her head. Then something shifts in her expression, and Paige can see it—the exact moment Jo’s brain kicks into overdrive. A slow grin spreads across Jo’s face, and her eyes brighten like she’s just come up with the best idea in the world. Paige feels herself get curios, because she knows Jo well enough to know that this particular look means she’s about to be dragged into something.

“Wait, no,” Jo says, her voice rising in excitement as she straightens up. “It’s fine. You’re not gonna be here alone.”

Paige frowns, confused. “What?”

But Jo’s practically bouncing on the balls of her feet now, her excitement infectious even though Paige has no idea what she’s getting at. “Oh my god, wait! This is perfect. Peyton’s fiancée is sick, too, so he’s not coming on our ski trip like he was supposed to. Come with my family! It’ll be fun! We can snowboard together!”

Paige blinks, her mind spinning as she tries to process what Jo just said. A ski trip? With Jo’s family? The idea sounds… nice, but also terrifying. Sure, she’s met most of Jo’s family before, but that was before she realized she was completely, helplessly in love with her. Being around them now, with Jo acting all warm and familiar, feels like it might be too much.

“Jo,” Paige says slowly, trying to let the younger girl down gently. “I can’t. I don’t wanna intrude—”

Jo cuts her off with an exaggerated deadpan look. “I love you.”

The words hit Paige like a punch to the chest. Her brain freezes for a split second, and she knows she’s staring at Jo like an idiot. Of course, Jo doesn’t mean it like that—she never does—but it doesn’t stop Paige’s heart from stuttering in her chest.

“So my family loves you, too,” Jo continues like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’ll be fun. You’re not intruding on anybody. Besides, if you wanna feel all guilty about it, then you can pay me back by driving us up there so I don’t have to.”

Paige narrows her eyes at that. “Wait. You were gonna drive up there?”

Jo shrugs casually, as if her driving isn’t an actual safety hazard. “Yeah.”

Paige groans, dragging a hand down her face. “God, now I have to go,” she mutters, half to herself. Jo tilts her head in confusion, so Paige adds, “I can’t let you drive all the way up there. You’re, like, the worst driver I’ve ever met.”

Jo gasps in mock offense, clutching her chest dramatically. “Wow. First of all, rude. Second of all, I’ve only almost killed us, like, twice.”

“Three times,” Paige corrects, unable to stop the small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Whatever,” Jo says, waving her hand dismissively. “Point is, you’re coming, and we’re gonna have the best time ever. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Paige sighs, knowing she’s already lost this battle. The truth is, the idea of spending Christmas with Jo doesn’t sound bad at all. In fact, it sounds kind of amazing, even if the thought of being around her family makes her a little nervous. “Okay,” she says reluctantly, pretending to sound annoyed even though she’s not.

Jo grins triumphantly before squealing, planting a quick, friendly kiss on Paige’s temple.

Paige tries to ignore the way her heart skyrockets at that. This ski trip might be the death of her.

JO STRETCHES her legs out as much as she can in the passenger seat, knees knocking lightly against the glove compartment. Her fingers drum idly against the screen of her phone as she scrolls through her playlists, searching. It’s the 22nd, and they’re only about a half-hour into the three-hour trip to the ski resort in New York where she’ll spend Christmas with her family—and, now, with Paige too.

Paige is driving, looking entirely too focused on the road. Jo leans over just slightly, flipping through songs before finally landing on what feels like the obvious choice: Harry Styles. The opening notes of Golden start to play through the speakers, and Jo immediately starts singing along, drumming the rhythm against her thighs.

Paige groans from the driver’s seat, her tone exasperated. “Nooooo,” she complains like a child, scrunching her face at the sound of the music.

Jo rolls her eyes and lightly swats Paige’s arm. “Don’t disrespect him!” she scolds. “That’s my man.”

Paige glances over at her with one of those fond, half-annoyed smiles Jo’s grown so used to over the years. She rolls her eyes again, but at least she doesn’t change the song. Jo smirks to herself, victorious, as she turns up the volume a little.

The snow-covered scenery passes by in a blur, the outside world feeling far away and muted. It’s just her and Paige now, and Jo finds herself relaxing more and more as the car hums along the quiet highway. Eventually, Paige seems to stop pretending she hates the music. She starts humming softly under her breath—off-key, of course, but Jo thinks it’s charming.

As the minutes tick by, the conversation between them slows, and the silence stretches. But it’s not awkward—it rarely ever is with Paige. Jo lets herself sink into it, leaning her head against the window and watching the world go by. Snow blankets the ground and clings to the branches of trees, glittering under the pale sunlight. It’s all so pretty, and Jo feels a swell of contentment in her chest.

She’s excited about this trip, and not just because she loves Christmas or snowboarding or even the cozy cabin her family rents almost every year. No, this year is different. This year, Paige is coming, and that thought alone makes her feel like a kid on Christmas morning. Jo can’t quite explain it, but something about the idea of spending the holiday with Paige—and all of her favorite people at once—fills her with an almost overwhelming kind of joy.

She loves Paige. The words flash in her head so casually that it takes her a second to realize what she’s just thought. Jo blinks, staring out at the endless stretch of snow-covered ground, and suddenly feels… weird. Not in a bad way. Just weird.

It’s not like she hasn’t thought—or said—those words before. She’s told Paige she loves her plenty of times, always with that same casual confidence that comes with a close friendship. But for some reason, the words feel different now, like they’re tugging at something deeper inside her, a part of her brain she hadn’t noticed before. She frowns slightly, her breath fogging the window as she shifts in her seat.

Curious, almost cautious, Jo glances over at Paige. Paige looks good. The thought slips into Jo’s mind unbidden. Her gaze lingers—too long, maybe—on Paige’s profile. Her slicked-back bun reveals her sharp jawline and prominent cheekbones, and her skin glows softly under the light reflecting off the snow. Her blue eyes—they look so blue right now—stay locked on the road, narrowed ever so slightly in focus. Even her hands, gripping the steering wheel with casual ease, look… nice? The rings on her fingers catch the light, glinting softly, and Jo feels her stomach do this weird, fluttery thing she can’t quite explain.

Jesus, she doesn’t know what’s wrong with her right now.

She’s staring, she knows she’s staring, but she can’t seem to stop herself. Paige shifts slightly in her seat, and Jo’s eyes dart back to the window like she’s been caught red-handed.

“Enjoying the view?” Paige’s voice cuts through Jo’s thoughts, low and teasing, and Jo jerks her head back around.

Paige is smirking at her now, one brow raised as she steals a glance her way before refocusing on the road. Jo’s face flushes, heat prickling at the back of her neck, and she scrambles for something to say.

“Shut up,” Jo mutters instead, weakly, before lightly swatting Paige’s arm again. Paige just laughs, the sound low and easy and too pretty for Jo’s liking.

Jo turns back to the window, trying to ignore the way her heart is racing in her chest. She shouldn’t feel this weird. This is Paige. She’s never felt strange like this around her before. So why is it happening now?

Her reflection stares back at her in the window, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t have an answer, but the question lingers in her mind, gnawing at her as the scenery blurs by.

THE CAR creaks to a stop, tires crunching on the gravel driveway, and Paige cuts the engine. Her hands rest on the steering wheel for a second too long as she stares at the cabin in front of them. It’s huge, with rustic wooden beams and wide windows that glint in the soft afternoon sunlight. Against the backdrop of snow-covered trees and a looming mountain, the place looks like something out of a Hallmark movie.

Not for the first time, Paige wonders just how much money Jo’s family actually has. She exhales softly, glancing over at Jo, who’s already unbuckling her seatbelt and muttering something about how cold it looks outside.

“Ready?” Jo asks, grinning as she swings the passenger door open. She doesn’t wait for Paige to answer before stepping out, boots crunching in the snow.

Paige follows, shivering as the cold air hits her. They make their way to the trunk, pulling out their luggage and the carefully wrapped presents. Paige grabs her suitcase and Jo’s backpack, while Jo hefts a duffel bag and a stack of gifts precariously balanced in her arms.

As they start up the snow-dusted path to the cabin, Paige feels a knot of nerves twist low in her stomach. She’s been around Jo’s family before—met her parents briefly, spent an afternoon with her little sister Mia—but this is different. A whole four days with them, at Christmas no less, feels more a lot closer. It makes her jittery.

The knot tightens as they get closer to the door. Paige’s boots crunch loudly in the quiet, the sound almost distracting enough to drown out her thoughts. Almost. She glances at Jo, who seems completely at ease, her face lighting up as she takes in the cabin and the familiar setting. Jo doesn’t seem nervous at all. There’s no reason for her to be, really. Paige wishes she could say the same.

Before they even reach the porch, the front door bursts open.

“Mia—” comes a faint voice from inside, but it’s already too late.

Jo’s little sister Mia comes charging out of the cabin, her boots slipping slightly on the snow but her momentum unstoppable. “You guys took so long!” she yells, her voice high and dramatic in the way Paige remembers. “We thought you got into a car accident and died!”

Jo snorts, her face splitting into a grin. “That was your theory?” she asks incredulously.

“It’s not a theory, it’s a possibility!” Mia shouts back, skidding to a stop in front of them. She looks up at Paige, her wide brown eyes sparkling with excitement. “Hi, Paige,” she says, her tone immediately softening into something warmer. “Do you remember me?”

Paige crouches slightly, balancing Jo’s backpack on her knee as she smiles at Mia. “Of course I remember you, Mimi,” she says. “How could I forget?”

Mia beams, and Paige can’t help but smile back. She liked Mia the first time she met her, and apparently the feeling was mutual, because Mia immediately latches onto her hand like they’re best friends. Jo groans beside her.

“You’re not allowed to replace me with Paige,” Jo says, her voice dry. “I’m your sister, remember?”

Mia rolls her eyes, an action so similar to Jo’s that it makes Paige laugh. Before Jo can retaliate, another voice cuts through the chilly air.

“Mia, you are such a menace,” says a woman stepping out onto the porch, pulling a jacket on. She’s tall and thin, with sleek dark hair pulled into a ponytail. Paige recognizes her immediately—Peyton, Jo’s older sister. The one who dances in New York.

Mia gives Peyton a look, saying, “No, you.”

Peyton doesn’t respond, crossing her arms and leaning casually against the porch railing. She smiles at Jo, saying, “Hey, Joey,” before her eyes land on Paige. She nods toward her, her smirk softening into something friendlier. “Hi, Paige. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Paige’s stomach flips slightly at the wording. “Nothing bad, I hope,” she says, sending Jo a look before turning back to Peyton. “Nice to meet you.”

Peyton raises an eyebrow, glancing at Jo like she’s amused by something. Jo pointedly ignores her, busying herself with readjusting the presents in her arms. Before Paige can think too much about it, Jo’s parents appear in the doorway, their voices warm and welcoming as they call out greetings.

The knot in Paige’s stomach starts to loosen as Jo’s mom pulls her into a quick, affectionate hug, and her dad shakes her hand firmly. They’re warm, easygoing, and clearly thrilled to have her here. It’s overwhelming in the best way, and by the time they’re all inside the cabin, surrounded by the crackle of a fire and the smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen, Paige feels the last of her nerves melt away.

She might have been nervous about intruding, but now, as Jo’s family laughs and chatters around her, Paige thinks this is exactly what Christmas is supposed to feel like.

IT’S LATE, and the house is quiet now. Jo likes it—the silent hum of her family settling into their rooms, the muffled crackle of the fireplace in the living room below. But mostly, she likes the way it feels to be here, with Paige.

The bathroom is small and warm, steam still lingering in the air from earlier showers. Jo leans over the counter, squeezing a dollop of black face mask onto her fingers. Paige mirrors her on the other side of the sink, her blonde hair still pulled back in its bun, loose strands framing her face. Jo’s been hyper-aware of her all day. It’s not like anything new has even happened, so she doesn’t know why things suddenly feel different. But it does. It’s like everything Paige does—the way she laughs, the way her blue eyes catch the light, the way her fingers brushed Jo’s earlier while stealing a cookie from the baking tray—feels sharper, louder, harder to ignore. Almost like a switch has been turned on in Jo’s head.

“Okay, hold still,” Jo says, stepping closer. Paige tilts her head downward slightly, her blue eyes locking on Jo’s, and Jo tries not to notice how close they are. She smears a stripe of the black mask across Paige’s cheekbone, biting back a grin when Paige wrinkles her nose.

“You’re being so aggressive about it,” Paige says, her voice teasing. She dips her fingers into her own little bowl of the mask and smears a line down Jo’s nose in retaliation.

Jo huffs, rolling her eyes even as her lips twitch into a grin. She swipes another streak across Paige’s forehead, her fingers lingering against her skin. It’s such a small, fleeting thing, but it feels like electricity sparking up Jo’s arm. She pulls her hand back quickly, hoping Paige doesn’t notice how her breath catches.

Paige’s lips quirk, but she doesn’t say anything. She just smears another bit of the mask across Jo’s jaw, her hand steady and confident like she always is. “You’re a terrible client,” Paige mutters, her voice dry but soft, her blue eyes flicking briefly to Jo’s. And Jo, again, feels that strange, sharp awareness settle over her. She doesn’t get it. This isn’t new. It’s not like she hasn’t been this close to Paige before—hell, she and Paige cuddle in the same bed nearly every night.

But today, it’s like her brain has decided that Paige is a little too much. Too pretty. Too funny. Too… Paige. Jo doesn’t know what to do with it, so she keeps quiet, keeps working on the mask, hoping the feeling will pass. It doesn’t.

She steps back slightly, assessing her work, and Paige tilts her head again, clearly trying to get a good look at herself in the mirror behind Jo. Her smile is gummy, and Jo’s chest squeezes in a way that feels alarmingly foreign. It’s fine. This is fine.

“You look kinda funny,” Paige tells her.

Jo rolls her eyes. “No, you look funny.”

“You both look funny,” a new voice says.

Jo looks toward the bathroom door and nearly groans out loud. Mia is standing there, leaning against the frame with her hands on her hips. Her hair is braided, and she’s wearing pink pajamas with unicorns on them. Jo loves her sister, but Mia has the uncanny ability to show up at the exact wrong time. Every time.

Jo watches as Paige grins at Mia, her eyes sparkling under the harsh bathroom lights. Paige’s hand reaches out, steady and sure, wrapping easily around Mia’s small wrist as she pulls her closer. “Come look funny with us,” Paige says, her voice teasing but warm, and somehow, Mia lets her. Mia—who has never warmed up to anyone outside of their family as quickly as she has with Paige—lets her.

Jo leans against the sink, arms crossed over her chest, observing the way Paige lifts Mia effortlessly onto the counter. It shouldn’t be surprising by now—Paige’s knack for fitting in, for making herself comfortable in any room, any space. But it is surprising. Jo doesn’t understand how Paige has done it, how she’s managed to turn Mia into a giggling puddle of affection when Jo can barely get her little sister to listen most days.

It shouldn’t bug her. It shouldn’t make her chest ache the way it does, seeing Paige there, standing so close to her family, fitting into the picture like she belongs in it. Like she’s been in it all along. Jo feels something twist in her stomach as Paige dips her fingers into the little bowl of face mask and dabs some of the black paste onto Mia’s nose, grinning when Mia squeals. It’s like watching someone carve their name into a tree that’s already been there for years. Permanent. Unshakable.

Jo’s heart stutters, and she doesn’t know why.

“Okay, okay, hold still,” Paige says, laughing as Mia squirms. Jo’s still leaning against the counter, arms crossed a little too tight against her chest, trying to ignore how soft Paige’s voice is, how easy she makes it look—being good with kids, being good with Mia.

Paige looks over her shoulder at Jo and grins. “You gonna stand there the whole time, or are you gonna help me?”

Jo doesn’t trust herself to say anything, not with the way her throat feels tight all of a sudden. She pushes off the counter and grabs the bowl from Paige’s hand, stepping closer. The three of them are a little crowded now, Paige and Jo standing shoulder to shoulder, Mia giggling in the middle of it all. Jo’s hyper-aware of how Paige’s arm brushes against hers every time she moves, how Paige’s perfume—subtle and familiar—lingers in the small space between them.

Jo focuses on the task, smearing the face mask carefully across Mia’s cheeks. “Stay still, Mimi,” she mutters, but her voice is softer than usual, her irritation dulled. Mia grins at her, like she knows Jo can’t ever stay mad at her for long. Paige snickers next to her, and Jo doesn’t need to look to know there’s a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Aight, done,” Paige says, stepping back slightly to admire their work. Mia beams at her reflection in the mirror, her face covered in streaky black paste. Jo sets the bowl down, already turning back to the sink, when she catches it—the look Paige and Mia share. Mischievous. Almost conspiratorial.

“Don’t,” Jo says, narrowing her eyes at them, but it’s too late. Mia’s already scooping some of the mask onto her tiny fingers, and Paige follows suit, dipping her own hand back into the bowl. Before Jo can move, they both strike.

“Guys!” Jo exclaims as they swipe the cold, sticky paste across her lips, their laughter echoing off the tiled walls. She wipes at her mouth furiously, glaring at them both. “It’s not supposed to go on the lips!”

“Sorry, Joey,” Mia giggles, and Jo groans at the sound of it. She hates when Mia calls her that, hates when most of her family does. Though, she has to admit, it is better than JoJo.

But then Paige says it. “Yeah, sorry, Joey,” Paige echoes, her tone dripping with mock sincerity, her lips curled into a grin. And it’s different. It hits Jo differently, like a warm gust of wind cutting through the chill. The way Paige says hasn’t ever made her cringe. It’s never annoyed her. Instead, it makes her heart trip over itself, stumbling into something that feels suspiciously like want.

Jo stills, her hand still pressed against her lips, her brain suddenly moving too fast and too slow at the same time. Paige’s grin softens slightly as she steps back, wiping her own fingers clean on a towel, completely oblivious to the way Jo’s entire world is starting to tilt off its axis.

Jo can’t stop the thought that rises, unbidden and unwelcome. I like the way she says my name.

And then, like a sudden slap to the face, the truth hits her. It doesn’t creep in. It doesn’t build slowly. It slams into her all at once, leaving no room for doubt or denial.

She likes Paige.

Her chest tightens, and she almost feels like she can’t breathe. Oh my God. She likes Paige. Not just as a friend. Not just as her teammate or her roommate. She likes her in a way she never, ever thought she would.

It’s the kind of realization that knocks everything out of focus, that makes her head spin. Because this isn’t just some fleeting, surface-level thing. It’s not a crush she can shrug off. It’s Paige. And it feels like the ground under her feet has cracked wide open.

It doesn’t make any sense to her. She’s always thought she’s straight. She’s never even entertained the idea of liking girls. She always had Asher, and even though they’re broken up now, that wound is still fresh.

But the realization is there, and it’s as real as anything else. She likes Paige.

Jo glances at Paige out of the corner of her eye, half hoping that maybe she’ll catch on, that she’ll notice something’s wrong and say something stupid or reassuring or Paige-like. But Paige is just there, wiping Mia’s hands with a towel, laughing softly at whatever Mia just said, completely unaware that Jo is facing one of the most startling realizations of her life.

And Jo? Jo is completely, utterly fucked.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #wcbb #wbb #uconn #paige bueckers series #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers angst #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers smut #wlw #wcbb x reader #nobody gets me

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mintyys-blog · 10 days ago

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FANTASY | kon el kent x reader x tim drake

DC COMICS MASTERLIST | PART ONE WARNINGS: smut, reluctant sex(?), sexual themes, dark themes

Kon’s jaw was tight, his fists pressed into the floor beside him as he stared ahead—tried to stare anywhere that wasn’t her. But the pressure building in his chest was relentless. The heat crawling down his spine, settling in his stomach, wouldn’t let up.

Then, for a moment, he faltered.

His eyes drifted.

It was subtle at first—just a flick of his gaze toward her when he thought no one would notice. She was quiet, curled up, hair slightly messy, lips parted in a soft, uneasy breath. The jacket had slipped just a bit again, the curve of her collarbone catching the low light.

And his eyes didn’t stop there.

They trailed down, slow—lips, throat, shoulders, down her bare thighs barely shielded by the edge of the fabric. She wasn’t trying to hide anymore. Wasn’t inviting it, either. But she didn’t shrink under the weight of his stare.

She simply was.

And that made it worse.

Kon’s breath hitched, nostrils flaring slightly. It wasn’t just the drug. He’d be lying if he said it was. She was beautiful. And real. And close. And all the things he wasn’t supposed to think right now.

“Kon.”

Tim’s voice cut sharp through the silence like a blade.

Kon’s head jerked, snapping toward him.

Tim’s jaw was clenched, his expression stormy beneath the cowl. “Stop looking.”

Kon blinked, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Don’t,” Tim snapped, not shouting, but every syllable laced with a restraint that made it ten times louder.

Y/N didn’t move, didn’t speak. She stayed quiet, gaze low. But not ashamed. Not offended.

Just… still.

The silence returned, heavier now. Kon turned away with a frustrated breath, dragging a hand down his face. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Tim said quickly. Too quickly. His fingers flexed like he wanted to punch something, or someone. Not out of jealousy—but because the situation was spiraling. He wasn’t angry at Kon. He was angry at them. The ones who’d trapped them here. Manipulated them. Twisted all of this into a cruel experiment.

And it was working. That’s what scared him most. Y/N drew her legs closer to her chest, the jacket shielding her as best it could. But she felt everything. Every shift. Every breath. Every glance.

Kon’s head lowered, teeth gritted, as he pushed himself up and staggered back. His steps were heavy, deliberate, like he didn’t trust his body to move normally. He didn’t look at her again. Couldn’t. The guilt crawling across his face said it all.

He crossed the room, sitting with his back pressed hard against the farthest wall he could find. Like he needed space to keep her safe—from him. His chest rose and fell too fast, like he’d just finished a sprint, though he hadn’t moved more than a few feet.

He clenched his hands into fists, knuckles popping from the pressure, then let go. Again. Again.

“I…” he started, voice low, angry—but not at anyone except himself. “Why the hell can’t I control myself? I’m acting like a damn thirteen-year-old just discovering what an incognito bowser is.”

Tim didn’t look at him. He sat still, hands curled at his knees, eyes on the opposite wall. “Don’t blame yourself,” he said tightly. “We’re all under the influence. Whatever this is—it’s affecting everything. Hormonal, chemical, even neurological.”

His jaw twitched, and he exhaled slowly, as if even that was effort now.

“And it’s starting to get…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Painful.”

Kon winced. “Yeah.”

The tension in the room was unbearable. Electric. Like everything was being wound tighter and tighter around them. And at the center of it sat Y/N, still curled up in the jacket. Silent. Listening. Her fingers tightened subtly at the fabric, but she made no move to speak.

The pulsing in her body hadn’t stopped either. It was there—persistent. Warm and wet between her thighs. Her nerves were alive with it, skin sensitive to every draft of air, every sound. But she wasn’t scared of them. She wasn’t even sure why.

Maybe because even in this state, even trembling under chemical desire, they were still trying. Still holding back. Still refusing to look at her the wrong way, touch her without permission.

She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes flicking toward them. Tim looked like he was trying to regulate his breathing—failing. His hands clenched rhythmically. Kon rubbed at his face again like it could cool him down.

They were unraveling. And she was too. Quietly. Helplessly. The clock was still ticking, though they had no way of knowing how much time had passed, or how much longer they’d be tested like this.

The sudden low rumble of metal grinding against metal made Y/N jolt upright. The walls—both sides—were moving.

She gasped, stumbling to her feet, only to realize the entire room was shifting inward, closing the space rapidly.

“What the hell—?” Kon shot up from his corner, wide-eyed. His first instinct was to rush to her, but his hands hovered, unsure if he should. “Is it—what? Trying to crush us now?”

Red Robin had already moved to the far side, pressing a gloved hand against the wall. “No… it’s not moving fast enough for that. It’s—” he glanced at the spacing, calculating, “it’s forcing proximity.”

The walls stopped with a sharp thunk, settling just outside the reach of a person’s outstretched arms. Not crushing, no. But intimate. Uncomfortably so. There was barely enough space for the three of them to stand without brushing shoulders.

Kon swallowed hard, visibly stiffening—not just from the heat now humming through his body. “Great. That’s just great.”

Y/N stood between them, nearly shoulder to shoulder with each man. She could feel the weight of their restraint—thick in the air like a storm about to break. Her body, still flush with unnatural heat, betrayed her further. Her pulse raced, thighs pressed together too tightly, desperate to hide just how much the aphrodisiac had affected her.

Tim took a breath through his nose and turned away slightly, keeping his distance as best he could. But it was difficult. The sweet scent of her skin, even through the jacket, the shine of sweat still clinging to her collarbone—everything was sharper, more present. The drug didn’t dull the senses. It amplified them.

Kon’s jaw was clenched, his breathing shallow as he stared at the floor, trying to think of anything other than the curve of her legs, the way her chest moved with each anxious breath.

Y/N didn’t speak. Her eyes flicked from one man to the other, feeling the burn of their tension without them even touching her. She didn’t blame them. Not for a second. She could feel it too. But they were trying. Fighting against instincts clawing to the surface. The room, now almost suffocatingly tight, offered no escape from each other. And every passing second chipped away at the line between control and need.

Tim’s fingers twitched at his sides. He wouldn’t look at her—but the proximity made even the smallest shift of her weight impossible to ignore. Her bare thigh brushed lightly against the fabric of his suit as she adjusted how she stood, and he tensed, breath catching for half a heartbeat before he exhaled slowly through his nose.

Kon wasn’t doing much better. He stood to her other side, arms crossed tightly over his chest, as though squeezing himself still would somehow suppress the way his body was reacting. His heat, unlike Tim’s controlled tension, was volatile—like a match already lit, desperately kept from flaring. Y/N stood in the middle of it. Burning.

Between the suffocating closeness, the drug in her bloodstream, and the quiet ache pulsing low in her stomach—she couldn’t remember a time she’d felt so physically aware of herself. Of them. Every breath either of them took felt like it brushed against her skin. Every subtle glance, no matter how fast, left trails of fire.

She rubbed her arms, biting the inside of her cheek, but her thighs squeezed together instinctively as a new wave of heat rolled over her. Her body wanted to lean—into Kon’s chest, into Tim’s side, into anything solid that could relieve some of this pressure. But she didn’t. Neither of them would ever take advantage of her. That much had already been made painfully clear. And yet…

Her heart pounded loud enough that she thought surely they must hear it. Her breath shuddered. She didn’t know what was worse: the fact that they were being forced together like this, or that she liked it—desperately, guiltily, needfully.

Tim turned finally, voice low, sharp with held-back frustration. “This is calculated. They want us to snap. They want one of us to break.” Kon’s voice was rough. “They want a show.”

Y/N’s voice was quieter than both. “And if we don’t give it to them…?” Neither man answered. Because they didn’t know. And silence was more honest than speculation.

Y/N’s voice barely left her lips. “What do we do? I mean… this—this feeling is getting painful, but they’re not going to let us out until we give them what they want.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and quiet. The shame was there, in her downcast eyes, in the way her hands gripped the edge of the jacket tighter around her. Not just because she felt trapped—but because part of her, deep down, wanted it. Not like this, not with the pressure or eyes watching from unseen corners. But them—Tim. Kon.

Her fantasies hadn’t been just passing thoughts. They’d been vivid. Needful.

Tim ran a hand down his face and sighed. The frustration in him was shifting—no longer just about the room or the situation, but the moral weight of it all. “You’re right…” he started, but hesitated, as if voicing the rest would somehow make the wrong choice easier to reach.

“It wouldn’t be just,” Kon said, finishing for him.

There was a beat of silence—then Kon shrugged, his tone lighter, attempting to cut the tension. “Don’t worry, Y/N. Tim and I can survive a little… blue balls.”

Y/N blinked at the bluntness, and Tim groaned, lifting a hand to slap the back of Kon’s arm. “Seriously?”

“What?” Kon smirked a little despite the tension. “You were the one sighing like we’re in a Greek tragedy.”

Tim gave him a pointed glare, but Kon’s grin faded just enough to show that he wasn’t as okay as he was pretending. The smile was a pressure valve. A joke to stop himself from losing control.

Y/N watched them in silence for a moment. Her heart was still racing, the heat hadn’t left her body, and her mind was screaming under the weight of it all. But here they were—still trying to protect her dignity. Still making her feel human.

Even as the room closed in around them. Even as desire gnawed at the edges of all their resolve.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward—it was thick. Alive with tension, with restraint, with heat that pressed against the skin and curled beneath the bones.

Y/N sat down slowly, knees drawn to her chest, keeping the jacket clutched around her even though the heat had her flushed and damp again. She couldn’t tell if the blood rushing in her ears was from the lingering effects of the drug or just the situation.

Tim leaned against the wall across from her, arms folded, jaw clenched. His eyes flicked toward Kon, who was pacing like a caged animal, trying—failing—to shake the fire in his blood.

It was Kon who broke the silence first, his voice low and strained. “I don’t know how long we can keep this up.”

Y/N glanced up, and he wasn’t looking at her. Not directly. But his meaning was clear.

Tim closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose, controlled as always, but his voice was quieter when he responded. “I know.”

There was another pause before Y/N whispered, “Do you think that’s what this is? Waiting for us to just… give in?”

Tim opened his eyes and looked at her, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s what it wants. And we’re stuck unless we do.”

Kon stopped pacing. “And it’s not just us anymore,” he said, finally meeting her gaze. “It’s you. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t agree to this.”

Y/N blinked. Her throat felt tight. “But… what if I did?” she asked quietly. “I mean… maybe not like this, not here, or like this, but—” she hugged herself tighter, cheeks flushed deeper— “I’ve thought about it. You. Both of you.”

Kon went still. Tim’s eyes widened slightly behind the mask.

“I just mean…” she took a shaky breath, “…if we’re going to talk about consent, and about what’s fair or right—I do want you both. Just not if it’s forced. Not unless you wanted it too. And not like this.”

The words felt raw coming out, but it was the truth.

Tim rubbed his thumb over his lip, processing. “If anything were to happen…” he began carefully, “we need to really think about it.”

Kon nodded, more serious now. “Right. And I—shit, I do want to.”

Y/N blinked, her breath catching.

“I’m just saying,” Kon added quickly, scratching the back of his neck, “I’ve noticed you. And yeah, I’ve had those thoughts too. Not that I ever thought I’d say that out loud with Red standing here—”

“I’ve had them too,” Tim said quietly, cutting him off.

That brought silence again. Not awkward. Not shameful.

Just the truth, laid bare.

Desire wasn’t the enemy. Violation was. And despite the drug in their system, despite the pressure, they still wanted to make sure the line was respected.

The air between them softened—less from relief and more from something heavier, something unspoken finally given room to breathe.

Y/N still sat curled up, jacket around her like a shield, but her arms had relaxed slightly. She looked up at them—not with fear or confusion, but something quieter. Trust.

Kon had stopped pacing. He stood only a few feet away now, visibly struggling, not with restraint, but with emotion. His fingers flexed at his sides, and his lips parted to say something—only to close again. He looked to Tim, like he was waiting for the okay to be vulnerable.

Tim gave a subtle nod, not needing words.

So Kon moved.

He knelt beside Y/N, slowly, carefully. His heat was tangible, his presence large, but gentle. “You’re still shaking,” he said softly, reaching toward her with hesitation. “Can I—?”

Y/N nodded before he could finish. His palm rested against her back, warm and grounding. She exhaled, leaning ever so slightly into his touch.

“I hate that it took something like this for us to admit what we feel,” she murmured.

Tim came closer too, his steps quiet. “We’ve all been dancing around it. Maybe not out loud, but…” He knelt beside her on the other side, eyes meeting hers. “I’ve thought about this too. Not like this, but… yeah.”

Kon chuckled under his breath. “Guess we’re all fools for each other.”

Y/N gave a soft laugh that cracked halfway, but the tension in her shoulders eased. Slowly, she reached for both of them—fingers brushing Tim’s wrist, then curling gently around Kon’s hand.

“Then maybe…” she whispered, voice barely audible, “…maybe just this. Right now. Not because of the room. Not because of the heat or the pressure. Just because we want to be close.”

Tim leaned his forehead to hers, soft and slow, his gloved fingers stroking along her arm. Kon shifted closer, resting his chin gently on her shoulder, and his hand covered hers where they sat interlocked.

It wasn’t desperate.

It wasn’t frantic.

It was slow. Intimate. Built on mutual choice in a situation designed to strip them of it. For now, they didn’t need more. Not when this—closeness, warmth, safety—was more honest than any fantasy.

The quiet of the room settled around them, the tension still palpable but shifting. The air was thick with the weight of everything unsaid, yet unspoken words held a different power now. Y/N, heart racing, still felt the warmth of Kon’s hand against hers, the steady presence of Tim beside her.

She closed her eyes, taking in the moment—a rare stillness in a storm of emotions.

Kon, ever the protector, held back, his eyes scanning her face with care, as though searching for any signs of doubt. “Are you sure you want this?” he asked gently, voice laced with uncertainty. His hand remained near hers, but there was a distance there, a kind of respect. He was giving her the space to choose, to decide, not out of fear, but out of a deep, unspoken understanding.

Y/N met his gaze, her cheeks warm with the blush she couldn’t hide. She had never imagined a moment like this—never thought she’d be in this situation, yet here she was, caught between two men who had, in their own ways, become pillars of support in a world that had become too chaotic to handle.

She took a steadying breath, her voice soft but certain. “More than anything,” she said, her words both a confession and a promise.

Tim, who had been quietly waiting behind her, his presence a quiet comfort, stepped closer. His fingers brushed lightly over her arm as he gently tugged the jacket off her shoulders. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned into the gesture, her breath catching slightly as the cool air met her skin.

Kon watched every movement closely, his eyes flicking between her and Tim, the atmosphere thick with the shared understanding of what they were all offering one another. Kon’s brow furrowed with concern, but there was something else in his eyes—something that told her he would never do anything to make her feel less than safe, less than in control.

Tim’s voice was low as he spoke again, his words gentle, almost as if testing the waters. “If you’re sure… this is about you too, Y/N. We’re here, but we want this because you want this. Not because of what’s been forced on us.” His gaze softened, reassuring her.

She nodded, her hands trembling slightly, but it wasn’t fear anymore. It was something else—a feeling of being seen, of being heard. In this chaotic moment, they were giving her a choice. Giving her agency.

Y/N took another deep breath, steadying herself. “I trust you both,” she said quietly. “I know you won’t let anything happen that I don’t want.”

Kon exhaled slowly, the tightness in his chest easing just a little as he looked at her with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach the usual cocky confidence. “Alright, then,” he said, the weight of the moment shifting as he reached out to gently touch her shoulder, the gesture tender, respectful.

Tim’s gaze softened, his lips curving into a faint smile as he leaned closer. “We’ll take it slow,” he promised, his voice a grounding force. “No pressure. Just… us, here together, as we want it.”

In that moment, Y/N felt the walls of the room, and the world outside, fade away. It wasn’t about the heat in the air anymore, or the tension of the situation—it was about something deeper. Something they were all choosing, step by careful step.

And as Kon and Tim closed the distance, their warmth surrounding her. They quickly removed their own super hero suits, discarding it somewhere on the ground. She kissed Tim, pulling him to her. He didn’t hesitate to return it, slipping his tongue in her mouth.

Tim froze just for a second—more in surprise than hesitation. Then his hands gently found her waist, steadying her, but this time, the moment felt far more fragile, far more personal.

Y/N’s heartbeat thundered in her chest. This wasn’t a fantasy. This wasn’t a half-sleep daydream between shifts at work. This was real—his lips were soft, uncertain at first, but growing more confident. Her fingers curled around the fabric of his suit before sliding to his shoulders, holding on as if to anchor herself.

She felt Kon behind her, his presence grounding. There was a silent agreement between them all—no rush, no pressure. Just choice.

Her thoughts spiraled for a moment. This is real. This is happening. The years of glances from afar, the quiet obsession she’d buried, hidden even from herself… All of it rushed to the surface. She had dreamed of this for so long—not just the closeness, but being wanted. Being chosen.

Tim pulled back just enough to look at her, his forehead resting against hers. “You okay?” he whispered.

She nodded, her voice barely above a breath. “Perfect.”

Kon stepped in, his touch warm on her arm, supportive. As if they were a team—not just rescuing her from danger, but rescuing her from the loneliness she’d long convinced herself she deserved.

And in the quiet space they created together, her fingers found Tim’s back, her nails dragging gently as she leaned into the moment—into them. Dreams didn’t always come true. But right now, this one was.

Her breath hitched as her fingers curled slightly tighter, nails tracing down the slope of Tim’s back. His muscles tensed beneath her touch, but he didn’t pull away—if anything, he leaned in more, his forehead still pressed to hers. There was a quiet reverence in the moment, something unspoken but shared.

Kon’s hand brushed her other arm, his fingers intertwining with hers, grounding her in this new reality. His voice was low, almost hushed, “You’re really something, Y/N.”

That made her laugh softly, barely a sound—but it was real. Not nervous or embarrassed, just… full. Full of emotion, of warmth, of that strange, heady feeling that everything she’d ever dared to imagine was finally touching the edges of her reality.

She glanced at both of them—Tim’s focused intensity, Kon’s natural warmth—and realized this wasn’t just a fever dream anymore. They were here. With her. For her.

And she didn’t feel like some helpless bystander in a fantasy anymore. She was part of it—centered in it. Wanted.

Their hands were careful, reverent, like they were touching something precious—not just skin, but her trust. Her consent. Her long-buried desires brought to the surface with warmth instead of shame.

“Can I take this off?” Kon’s voice was low, quiet against the hum of tension in the room. His fingers gently brushed the strap of her bra, not pulling—just asking. Respectful. Grounded.

Y/N swallowed hard and gave a small nod, unable to speak through the emotion knotting in her throat. Her chest rose and fell in anticipation as he moved slowly, deliberately unclasping the garment behind her. The straps slipped down her shoulders, trailing goosebumps in their wake, and the bra dropped to the floor with the softest whisper of fabric.

Kon didn’t stare, didn’t leer. His gaze was open, kind, with something almost tender simmering beneath his eyes. And when Tim stepped closer, cupping her face with both hands, she saw that same expression mirrored there—awe. Appreciation. Something far deeper than lust.

“You’re beautiful,” Tim said, the words barely more than a breath before he leaned in to kiss her again.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t wild. It was deep and soft and full of everything she’d ever wanted to feel in someone’s arms—acknowledged, chosen, safe. Her hands found his sides, fingers curling in fabric, grounding herself as her heart thudded in her chest like a steady war drum. Soon all remaining clothing slid off her body— and she felt kon kiss her neck again, and Tim picked her up by her hips, holding underneath her thighs. “You’re so wet for us,” he said, “think you can take us both at once, baby?”

She glanced back at Kon, her lips parted as if tasting the air—testing the moment for certainty, for safety. Her voice trembled ever so slightly, not from fear but anticipation. Vulnerability. Trust.

“I’ll try,” she said, breath catching in her throat. “Just… be gentle.”

Kon’s expression softened instantly. That smirk he so often wore in public—confident, untouchable—melted away, revealing something much more real beneath the surface. His hand reached up to brush a few loose strands of hair from her face before he leaned in, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to the crown of her head.

“Of course,” he murmured, his breath brushing her skin. “Just relax. We’ll handle it from here.” Those words wrapped around her like a blanket—soothing, steadying, reassuring. He wasn’t saying it to take control.

Her arms wrapped around Tim’s neck, anchoring herself to him like he was the only solid thing in a world that had gone blurry and too warm. Her forehead rested against his, breaths mingling, their hearts syncing up like they’d been waiting for this rhythm all along. She shivers as she feels both of their tips nudging againist each other— fighting their way inside.

And lower, more intimately, there was the unmistakable pressure of them pressing against each other—against her. Two pulses of heat, colliding, nudging, searching. Her body tensed at the sensation, not from discomfort but from sheer overwhelming intensity.

They both froze for a second, as if to give her a moment to process—to breathe.

A soft shiver ran through her, her lips parting, and she clung just a little tighter to Tim’s neck. “I-I can feel you…” she whispered, her voice trembling with awe more than anything else.

Kon’s voice came low, almost reverent. “We’ll go slow. We promised, remember?”

Tim nodded, his breath brushing her cheek as he cupped the back of her head. “You’re okay. We’ve got you.”

And she believed them.

Every part of her was hypersensitive—alive—and yet she didn’t feel exposed. Not really. Not with them. What she felt was seen. Touched in a way that was more than physical. She could feel them slowly inching their way inside— her walls stretching to accommodate them. She wasn’t a virgin, but taking two men at once? That was a first.

She felt like she was floating—caught between two powerful bodies that had once existed only in dreams. But this was real. Every breath, every whisper against her skin, every gentle graze of fingers and lips. It was overwhelming, but not in a bad way. It was like being submerged in heat, in want, in them.

Their movements were careful, almost reverent. Kon pressed soft kisses against her shoulder, grounding her while Tim’s fingers tangled gently in her hair, tilting her face toward him for another kiss—deeper, slower this time. Like he was trying to tell her something in silence, like he was grateful. And maybe he was.

Her skin burned where they touched her, where their warmth wrapped around her completely, like she was something treasured. Every second felt impossibly long and far too short at the same time. Their bodies were close—so close—and the tension in the air was tangible, thick, like electricity crackling beneath the surface.

She felt them—both of them—every movement deliberate, drawn out, like they were testing the limits of how much pleasure could be given and taken at once. Her back arched on instinct, a soft sound catching in her throat, her nails finding their way down Tim’s back again, leaving faint red lines in their wake.

Tim hissed softly, his grip tightening on her hips just for a moment before loosening again, still gentle, still controlled. “You okay?” he asked, voice rough.

She nodded quickly, breathless, voice soft and urgent. “Don’t stop. Please—don’t stop.”

Behind her, Kon’s hand slid up to press against her abdomen, holding her steady as he whispered, “We’re right here. You’ve got us.”

Kon threw his head back, a shuddering breath escaping him, his jaw clenched tight as he tried—tried—to stay in control. His hands gripped her waist, firm but careful, grounding himself through her. The room felt too small, too hot again, but none of it mattered. Not when she was between them like this, trusting them, giving herself over completely.

Tim’s lips were still brushing along her jaw, his breath warm, his eyes half-lidded with concentration and emotion—like he was memorizing every expression she made, every sound she gave them. He whispered her name like a secret only he and Kon were allowed to know. Something sacred.

Kon groaned softly, head tilting forward again, his breath raking down her spine. “You feel…” he started, but couldn’t finish. His throat tightened around the words, overwhelmed by the moment, the emotion of it, the heat.

She reached up, brushing her fingers along Kon’s cheek, catching his eyes. There was no teasing smile, no flirtation—just something softer, more intimate. And Kon leaned into that touch like it was the only thing tethering him.

“You don’t have to hold back,” she said, her voice a breath of permission, of want. “You feel so good, Y/N. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.” He said, thrusting deep inside to make her gasp. Her walls clenched around them both, moaning helplessly as they continued their movements. No longer holding back and just chasing that pleasure.

Kon slid his hand lower to her pelvic area, then to her clit. Rubbing in small circles. She gasped, and her legs shook. She moaned his name, and Tim took this chance to kiss her, shallowing her moans. Kons other hand he came up to grope her breast, kissing her shoulder and neck.

“its s’too much!” She gasped, “you can take it, I know you can.” Tim said, gripping her thighs hard enough to leave bruises. “I’m trying to take my time, but you’re making it impossible.” He muttered. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head as her body shook, cumming. Still, they didn’t stop nor slow down. She tried to cover her mouth, but Kon pulled her hand away. “Don’t hide from us. We want to see you fall apart.”

“Please! Oh—“ she cut herself off with a moan. Her body trembled, wrapped up between them—skin flushed, mind hazy, and heart thundering in her chest. She could feel their hands gripping her tighter, their breathing uneven, strained. She knew.

They were close.

Tim buried his face in the crook of her neck, his voice low and ragged, “Y/N… I—God…”

Kon let out a sharp breath behind her, his muscles flexing against her back, his control fraying. “Shit—Y/N, you feel too good—can’t hold on much longer.”

She whimpered softly, the sound pulling something primal from both of them. Her hands moved instinctively—one clutching at Tim’s shoulder, the other reaching back to tangle in Kon’s hair as her body arched.

Everything felt like heat and electricity, winding tighter and tighter until— They both tensed.

Kon let out a low, broken groan, his forehead resting against her spine as he shuddered. Tim’s fingers dug into her waist, his breath catching mid-exhale as he finally let go, lips brushing against her collarbone like a silent apology and worship all at once. They managed to pull put in time— spilling all over the floor.

And for a moment, all was quiet—just heartbeats syncing, warmth shared, and the lingering hum of something undeniable that had just passed between all three of them.

She sagged against Tim’s chest, still catching her breath, every inch of her body humming from the aftershocks of everything that had just happened. He held her gently, his hand brushing back damp strands of hair stuck to her face, then pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

“You did so well,” he murmured, his voice warm, reverent.

She blinked up at him, dazed and flushed. He tilted her chin, meeting her eyes. “You’re perfect… and under different circumstances—” he hesitated, then smiled, “—I wouldn’t mind doing this again.”

She gave a shy nod, her fingers tightening slightly around his arm.

But then the walls around them groaned—shifting again.

She gasped, startled, as the room began to expand, the crushing, narrow space slowly widening. Kon jumped to his feet, already tugging on his jeans, and Tim reached for the rest of his suit with practiced speed. The moment of peace had ended.

She looked down at herself—her lingerie on the floor, now stained, torn, and unwearable. Quietly, she slipped on Superboy’s jacket, the familiar scent and warmth wrapping around her like a safety net. It just barely covered her thighs, but it was enough.

She clenched it tightly around herself just as the heavy door at the far wall creaked open.

“The exit!” she gasped, her voice breaking into a hopeful smile.

Kon’s eyes flashed with protectiveness as he scanned the corridor beyond. “I still see no one,” he muttered.

Tim nodded sharply, already moving toward the shadows. “Then let’s get the hell out of here. You got her?”

Kon didn’t hesitate—he scooped her up effortlessly, his arms wrapping around her like it was second nature. “I got her,” he said with a soft smile.

And then—he took off, soaring through the corridor like a bullet of red and blue. She clung to him tightly, the wind rushing past her ears as the world outside finally came back into view. Freedom.

Below them, the facility shrank into the distance. Behind them, the nightmare faded.

And ahead… she didn’t know what waited next. But with Kon holding her close and Tim following silently in the shadows, she wasn’t afraid anymore.

The air outside was cold and fresh—so much so that Y/N gasped when it hit her lungs. After hours of recycled air, heatwaves, and drugged smoke, it felt like a gift.

Superboy landed just outside the facility’s perimeter, in the clearing where they’d first arrived. Tim was already there, emerging from the tree line, his cape swaying behind him in the breeze. They hadn’t spoken a word on the way out. Not yet. They were all still shaken, and the moment hadn’t left them.

Kon gently set her down on the grass, careful to keep her steady. She stumbled slightly, but he kept a hand on her lower back, grounding her.

“You okay?” he asked.

She looked up at him, eyes soft and tired. “Yeah. Just… overwhelmed.”

“I know.” His voice was low. “Me too.”

Tim stepped closer, surveying her from head to toe—not like before, not like that—but as someone who needed to make sure she was safe, whole, and still herself. “We’ll get you somewhere secure,” he said. “And I’ll call for extraction. The others will want answers, but—” his gaze flickered to Kon, then her, “—some things might stay between us.”

She nodded, grateful.

Still wrapped in Superboy’s jacket, she tugged it tighter around her body, her fingers curling into the fabric. “Thank you,” she said, voice thick. “For not just saving me. But for everything else too.”

Tim gave her a small smile. “We meant what we said in there. We’d never take advantage of you. You were in control.”

“You still are,” Kon added, gently brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

She smiled softly, but her brows knit. “Do you think… the League will find out?”

Tim exhaled slowly, as if considering. “Probably. But the circumstances…” he shook his head, “they’ll understand. We were compromised. Manipulated. Used. They’ll see that.”

“And if they don’t,” Kon shrugged, “then we’ll deal with it. Together.”

The word together settled in her chest like warmth spreading in winter. She never thought she’d even meet them face to face. Never thought they’d know her name. Now, they’d seen her at her most vulnerable—her most intimate—and didn’t pull away. Didn’t reject her. If anything… they had welcomed her.

Tim’s comms crackled faintly and he turned away to speak in code, updating the others. Kon stood beside her in the quiet, arms crossed, but his hand occasionally brushed hers—just to remind her he was still there.

She looked out over the trees and finally exhaled. Whatever came next, she wasn’t just some faceless civilian anymore. She was someone they chose to protect, to trust.

A WEEK LATER…

A week had passed since the harrowing events, and Y/N had finally settled back into a semblance of normality. Work was busy, as always. The grind of daily life, the mundane tasks, the small talk with coworkers—it was all a blur now, but at least it was something familiar. Her phone buzzed on her desk as she typed, a message from Tim popping up.

“Session today. Can’t wait to see you tonight.”

She smiled softly. The boys—Kon and Tim—had been so consistent, checking in, visiting whenever they could. It wasn’t just about the events of the past week anymore. They had worked through the therapy sessions together, slowly unwinding the trauma they’d all shared. Tim had insisted on the sessions, making sure they all had a chance to work through everything. He wasn’t just the strategist or the brooding detective—he was a friend, a support. A constant presence in her life.

And then there was Kon—Kon with his warmth and ease. He brought a comfort that was hard to describe. He wasn’t one for words, but when he was around, it felt like everything was okay. Even when they weren’t talking, just his presence seemed to make the world feel a little less cold.

As she took her break at work, nibbling on her sandwich, she thought about the previous night—how Kon had shown up at her door just to share a meal, how they laughed about something trivial, and how, when the time came, he had kissed her goodbye with the same intensity as always.

There was something deeply comforting in knowing they cared. That they wanted to see her. That they weren’t just heroes; they were people who made sure she wasn’t alone.

She went to the group therapy session that evening, her thoughts lingering on the boys and the small, private moments they shared. It was an odd mix of vulnerability and strength—each session allowing them all to open up in a safe space.

Tim, as always, was punctual, waiting for her at the door when she arrived. He greeted her with a soft smile and a quick kiss on the forehead, something that made her feel safe, grounded. Kon wasn’t far behind, the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her making her heart skip a beat.

After the session, the trio would often grab dinner together, their laughter echoing in the small diner as they shared their favorite dishes and traded stories. The therapy had done wonders, though the healing process was still ongoing. But now, with their bond stronger than ever, it felt like they could face anything.

As the week wore on, they continued their visits, finding solace in each other’s company. Whether it was Kon showing up for a quick kiss before heading out on a mission or Tim slipping into her apartment for late-night conversations, their presence was a reminder that no matter what happened, they had each other’s backs.

It wasn’t just about what happened in the room. It was about what happened afterward. About the care they showed, the understanding they offered, and the way they made sure she never felt like she was alone. It was more than she had ever expected from them, and more than she had ever thought she deserved.

It was the beginning of something new, something real. And she was ready for it.

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missmimii · 10 months ago

Text

Detention | M - Sturniolo

୨ৎ － 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 - In which two students find themselves landing in detention for their lack of good behaviour, they find themselves uncovering the tension and undeniable attraction of one another.

୨ৎ — 𝐂𝐖. 18+, switch!matt, fem!reader, smut, language, public(kinda?) dirty talk, pet names, fluff, (no actual intercourse)

MDNI!

୨ৎ － Wc - 8.5k

• 𝒩ℴ𝓉ℯ － finally got this shit written, woo!

The girl couldn’t help the way her eyes slowly drew themselves onto the boy who leans over his desk, pencil in hand, that occasionally makes a small tap, as he flicks the rubber end against the hard surface of the desktop. The few papers scattered across the desk occupied by the timidly quiet man, have slightly messy writing aligned across the sheets, his signature written atop.

MATT

Her lips tip up at the corners as she caught sight of the odd way he’d spelt his name, but pays no more mind than necessary, as well as averting the gaze of her eyes to the front of the practically empty room. With the boredom of sitting in silence, and nothing merely interesting to focus the girls attention on, she found herself flicking the irritant gaze of her eyes to the old clock that hung above the empty desk, along with the occasional bounce of the knee.

Why did I choose today of all days to be such a bitch? I could just leave, she pondered before clearing the foolish thought with a shake of the head.

If the girl was being blatantly honest, the only thing that had kept her in the depressive room, was the awkward boy that sat exactly four seats away.

Of course the girl would never consider herself as a nosy individual, considering it was those kinds of people who had gotten her landed in detention. Though, the curiosity she found herself feeling had her pleat-skirted bottom glued to her small plastic seat. Her mind raced with thoughts, the one in lead being, what the fuck was Matthew Sturniolo, doing in detention ?

Having gone to the same since middle school, it wasn’t a shock to be familiar or know most of the people in her grade. The girl had known the same peers for an obnoxiously, and seemingly endless amount of time, which at first, didn’t seem so bad.

When in reality, it was just a vicious cycle of a bunch of nosy teenagers, who think they know anything and everything about you.

Except for the three boys, that was.

It was a regular public school, resulting in nobody really striking as different.

Even if there was cliches and some random wanna-be gangster boys, who thought they had some higher superiority, in the end we were just all humans who were trying to get through senior year.

And even though the set of boys were the only triplets who attended the school, or twins for that matter, the bunch of boys weren’t the oddest thing that came from the pair. It was him.

Between Chris, Nick, and Matt, the middle child stuck out like a sore thumb. She’d noticed the youngest was most definitely the social butterfly of the bunch.

It didn’t take much to gather, seeing as every in any class that the girl had with the boy, he’d be leaning his head over random people’s shoulders, a toothy grin on his lips as he pathetically attempted to befriend almost everyone in his surroundings.

Two weeks prior

“Hey.”

My eyebrows knit together, head slowly raising from my textbook at the sound of a soft whisper coming from .. behind me?

I quickly glance behind me, catching sight of one of the familiar faces I’d seen almost every day since I was thirteen. “.. Hi?” The greeting comes out as more of a question, though I assume he doesn’t pay mind to it, as he immediately adds his over-enthusiastic response.

“I know you.”

I open and close my mouth, silently scrambling for a reply to the unsettling sentence. “Congratulations?” His smile dips at the corners a bit, and I hold in the urge to laugh.

The glare of the small diamonds pierced through both of the boys ears, become showcased as he turns his head, eyes warily swiping along the room. “So..” He slowly looks back my way, voice drifting off into a whisper.

“Doyouknowhowtospellthis?”

Both of my eyebrows raise. “Sorry? I literally- didn’t hear one thing you just said.” I let out a small snort at the end of my sentence, withholding the extremely strong urge to ask the triplet how he’s even real fucking person.

He breathes out a sigh while rolling his eyes. “Do you know how to spell this!” I jump and look around at his sudden outburst, seeing almost every peer around mine and the males desks, eyes on us both.

Before I could respond, I was beat to it by a boy that looked awfully familiar to the one behind me. “What the fuck Chris?!” The eldest triplet hissed, glaring down at the younger one with pink cheeks, obviously embarrassed by his brother’s lack of social skills.

Chris rolled his eyes as his triplet stood over his desk, crossing his arms like a scolded child while tipping his chin to the side with a silent scoff. “I believe your seat is nearing the front left corner of the room, Nick.” He said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Nicks eyebrows drew together as he peered down at his brother. “The front right, you dummy.” He scoffed, and I covered my mouth to hide the smile that appeared on my lips as I sighted the pink flush that tainted the younger brother’s cheeks with embarrassment. “Which you’d know, after us being in the same class since kindergarten, if you knew your fuckin’ left and rights!” Nick whisper hissed.

I watched as Chris’s face fell with anger as he went retort, with a harsh reply I’m certain, before the sound of my English teachers voice piped in. “Christopher Sturniolo.” Both boys faces paled, simultaneously turning to face the angered woman. “We’re in the middle of a grammatical spelling exam.” She deadpanned.

Chris’s shoulders fell, before his eyes slowly glided beside him to his slightly taller twin. Nick shot daggers at the boy, making him huff out a small grunt, turning his head back to Miss Callahan as he plastered a sheepish grin in his lips.

“.. If I raise my hand can he help me?”

Current day

The memories of the day could make the girl cry, laughing all over again, remembering how the staff member nodded toward the eldest triplet who sat nearing the front of the class, to go help the younger one.

“That’s not how you spell ‘Rehearsal’ you dumb fuck.”

Though she was then already acquainted with two other brothers, she still found herself drawn, or rather curious about the middle child.

Matt stuck to himself, but because he was pretty much always accompanied by the presence of the other two men, it was decently odd to see how closed off and isolated he was when by himself.

When in the halls alone, he would have headphones atop his head, or resting around his neck as he fiddled with the horse chain woven around his neck. Or in class, he’d simply silently do his work, a hand never being raised or words being spoken from his lips as the hours passed.

It was almost refreshing to see a decent mannered man, in a school filled to the brim of attitude ridden, douchebags.

The odd thing about this wasn’t how he was perceived, because if the girl was being realistic, all of the traits that were being performed by him, weren’t necessarily weird or unusual.

The only difference was the contrast between himself and his brothers. Both of the others seemingly outgoing, and extroverted, where Matt just merely wasn’t.

Leading to the ultimate question she has in these very moments.

What in gods name did quiet, innocent, Matthew Sturniolo do to end up in detention?

“Shit.”

The startled girl jumps a bit as her desk rattles, two ring clad hands flying out to steady the wobbling table. She pushes her chair out a bit, jaw slack as she blinks up at the dark haired boy who stands directly in front of her sitting frame, from the opposite end of her desk. “Fuck, I’m really sorry.” Matt chuckles nervously.

The ability for words to emit from her parted lips fades away as she peered up at him in disbelief, weirdly shocked at the sinful strings of curses that had come from his lips. “Uh- no, you’re good.” She shook her head a bit, sending him a small smile.

“Yeah?” He tilts his head while peering down at the girl, seeking her reassurance. At her nod, he softly sighs while threading a hand through the dark tendrils of hair that messily topple just below his eyebrows. “I was just-” He points his outstretched thumb toward behind him. “-going to grab a pen.” He explains.

Her lips form an ‘o’ with understanding, holding in the urge to smile at the explanation he offered, as it was utterly unnecessary. “Here,” Matt’s eyebrows draw together with confusion as he leers down at nymph, her hands shuffling through the chaotic mess of the faded pink backpack.

She made a small sound of content, tugging out an assortment of pens, pencils, and highlighters. “Take your pick.” She grinned up at him while holding out her palm.

He eyes the pile of pens for a moment, before his calculated gaze drags back to hers. “It’s fine, really. Callahan has a whole fuckin’ drawer filled- I can just steal one from her.” The girl shakes her head.

“No really- don’t bother.” A few hairs that escape her braided pigtails stick her lips as she spoke, the words getting caught in her throat as she senses his gaze flicking to them as she simply blew the strays away. “These are just a bunch that I’ve borrowed from people in my math class and never gave back. Plus it’s the least I could do after you practically trampled over my desk-” The girl rambles, before she feels her cheeks warm.

Do you ever shut up? She thought to herself.

Her attention is brought back to the boy at the sound of a chuckle, head raising. “How considerate of you.” She forces a smile to her lips, seeing the male observe the action whilst his tongue dips from between his lips and runs along his bottom lip.

Matt’s slim fingers reach out and carefully take one of the school pencils from the girls palm, the rough pad of his index fingers grazing along the lining of her palm. “Thanks, doll.” She offers a small nod, finding herself at a loss for words at her entrancement, caused by his heated stare as he flicks the pencil between his middle and index finger.

His back is to the awkward girl within seconds of the interaction, the stained white airforces stalking across the floors as he goes back toward his desk. Sucking in a breath, she looked down at her thighs, fiddling with the hem of the pleated skirt her curvier hips had adorned.

Minutes after minutes go by, though it seems like hours, her eyes every now and then drifting back to the man that holds the pen she’d lent him dragging across the page in front of him.

The girl made notice of how he’d now flipped the pencil around, and erased markings of one particular line of the page, for what seemed to be the hundredth time. “Fuck me.” Matt curses under his breath, the girls eyes widening at the sinful words words.

Should I? The girl thought to herself. He looks like he’s struggling, to say the upmost least- and if he was anything similar to his youngest brother within the skills of grammar, I’d take it as so.

No- what was I thinking? I’m sure the grown man could figure out to spell whatever the hell he was attempting at.

Her gaze flicks upwards, spotting the hand now free of a pencil, and now kneading the back of his head in frustration. The girl felt her stomach swoop with a twinge of guilt, almost feeling sorry of the triplets irritated state.

She began to think, since she’d already done something wrong to end up in detention, maybe it could be her way of .. making up for her mistakes?

She inwardly scoffs at the thoughts of stupidity. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t wanting to help the boy out of selflessness, I was practically feigning to know what he’d done to end up in this hell-hole.

Fuck it, she said to herself, slipping from her seat. The girls slightly trembling hands tug down the back of the pleated skirt that had ridden up her backside from sitting, softly walking closer to the male, until she was standing behind him, filled with hesitation.

As the girls hand reaches out to tap his shoulder, it was immediately tugged back, the nagging thoughts building in the back of her skull. What if he took offence to my offer of help? She thought to herself. “Whatever.” She breathed out in a whisper to herself, before finally building the courage to tap his broad shoulder.

Matt’s head immediately turned in the direction from where she stood, resulting her stumbling a startled step back. “Sorry!” She held her two hands up in defence, lamely. “I was just,” She waves toward the page in front of him, his face turned with a confused expression. “Do you need help with..” The girl trailed off.

The brown haired male stares a her for a solid five seconds, open and closing his mouth, before they purse. “Yeah..” he chuckles awkwardly, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. “Fuck, that’s so embarrassing.” She gently shook her head at his words.

“Not at all.” She waved her hand around. He stared down at her smaller hand as she extended it, the confusion gracing his features quickly morphing into realization as he gently plops the pencil in her open palm. “I still forget how to spell Wednesday correctly, till this day.” She huffed out. “Which is completely stupid considering English has been the only subject I’ve done halfway decent in.” At the lame rambled confession, the girl felt her hand still against the paper, whilst her eyes squeeze shut with embarrassment.

Why’d I have to say that?

The attempt at trying to help his lack of confidence regain apparently worked it seems, as he chuckles at her prior reply. Even though the boy knew he was consider odd, weird -even, he couldn’t help but find himself amused by the odd girls behaviour. “Really? That one’s easy for me. I just think wed-nes-day.” He cut the word into three sections.

She threw him a small glare. “Way’ to make a girl feel bad.” She playfully nudged his shoulder with her own, a small chuckle leaving his lips at the movement. “Uh- okay, so what were you trying to spell?” Her eyes run over the page, stopping on the blotch of faded inked writing, that had very clearly been erased and re-written more than once.

Matt’s cheeks visibly flush as he leans his body closer to hers, the small hairs on the girls arms sticking up as goosebumps began to trickle along the surface, a small grunt leaving his lips that were perked into a small frown as he looked down at his page. “Right there,” Her eyes follow his index finger as he slowly drags the pad over the area.

“I was trying- or rather failing, to spell ambidextrous.” She felt a the corners of her lips tip up, brushing the few stray hairs from my lashes to meet his eyes tilting my head a bit to lift a brow at the confession.

She repeated his words. “Ambidextrous?” At his nod she was unable to help the small laugh that left her mouth. “Sorry-” She softly shook her head, running her hand across her jaw to stop the laughter from rolling off her tongue. “isn’t that when you’re like- left handed and right handed?” Matt slowly nods, the pink tint on his cheeks deepening.

She just shook her head incredulously before bringing the tip of the pen down to the page. “It’s for science exam- it’s a long story.” He mumbles, and she sent him a quick glance, before going back to dragging the tip across the page.

Y/n hummed softly. “I have all day.” Matt watched as her hand stilled against the paper. “Well- until that clock strikes ten o’clock.” She waved toward the wall she assumed the dusty clock was on, before going back to writing down the overly complex word.

The triplet leaned back in his seat as he glanced at the wall, seeing it completely void of any decor, and shook his head with amusement.

What an odd girl.

Unbeknownst to the male, Y/n had the exact same thoughts running about in her own mind. She watched as his knee would bounce up and down in her peripheral vision, along with the occasional hand that would run across his jaw. Was I making him uncomfortable? Or did I come off as rude by asking if he needed help with something as simple as correcting a grammatical error?

The pit in her stomach made her feel a bit nauseous, though the girl decided to let it go as she cleared her throat. “So uh- what did you do to end up in here?” Her eyes quickly flicked to the male. “You don’t like- have to tell me. I’m sorry, that was so rude of me.” Damn it, Y/n.

Matt found himself in a trance almost, leering up at her with a stargazed expression as her lips moved with each word. He found the girls strange rambling amusing, not that he’d ever openly admit it. “What did you do?” The triplet drawled out teasingly, looking smug as he cocked his head in her direction.

The girl’s hand stop writing for a moment, pondering at what her response would be. “I.. may have called my English teacher a misogynistic douchebag?” Her confession came out sounding as more of a question. Matt’s head tipped back with a chuckle, not shocked by the statement, but also a little proud.

She rolled her eyes at the sound of his laugh, feeling her cheeks warm with embarrassment. “Allegedly.” She grumbled, going back to writing his cheat sheet. The girl had began to write more than just the complex word, sentence after sentence after sentence forming along the lines.

“Allegedly?” He drawled out, chest still shaking with laughter.

She finally couldn’t keep in her own laughter, a few small laughs coming from her own lips as she attempted to keep her writing beneath the lines. “Yes, allegedly.” She huffed, shaking her head. For the first time, Y/n felt genuinely free within the walls of the school. Which was saying a lot, considering how she was in detention.

Her jaw began to ache as she smiled bigger than ever, refusing to let his entertainment lapse from her ridiculous actions. Matt’s smirk remained on his lips, though he opted to run a hand across his jaw while holding in anymore laughter. “Well?” She hummed, raising a brow in his direction, making the males eyes squint with amusement. “Did he at least deserve it?”

She blew out a breath, shaking her head incredulously. “More than ever. You know the scarlet letter?” Y/n was met with silence, making her playfully roll her eyes as she turned her head toward him. “The book?” As if it was even possible, Matt’s perplexed expression had multiplied by ten.

“Demi Moore?”

His lips formed an ‘O’ in understanding, softly nodding. “She’s hot.” Her hand halted against the paper, eyes momentarily closing. Men. “Anyway,” She cut him off, from whatever disgusting rant he was about to go on. “We had to write an essay about the book- not the movie, and I made a point of writing how I thought it was complete bullshit that Roger Chillingworth, didn’t have to embroider an ‘A’ for adulterous actions, and the woman did.”

Matt watched as every word spoken by the girl, the more visibly irritated she became. “Jameson?” He lifted a brow, and at her curt nod, he scoffed. “He’s a dick. I had him in junior year, and he practically failed me because of a few typos.” He nipped at his index finger, hating the past thoughts of the terrible year.

She hummed. “Yep.” Her eyes slid to Matt for a second. “But I believe you still owe me an answer.” She cheesed, nudging his shoulder with her own softly.

Matt’s eyes drifted down to his page that now had perfect cursive writing aligned on numerous columns of the sheet, huffing out a small breath of amusement. The triplet had of course caught onto the girls motive long ago, but found himself unable to take the pen back from her, as if he needed her presence, or rather yearned for it.

Feeling her gaze on his jaw, he cleared his throat before speaking again. “Punched’ some dick who takes out his anger of being a shitty goalie on his girlfriend.” Y/n stopped writing for a moment, stealing a glance at the boy. Matthew’s lips tipped up.

“Allegedly.” He added.

Y/n couldn’t help the small chuckle that she let out, her grasp on the pencil faltering as she uses her two hands to stay upright. “Uh’ huh.” She blew out a breath, a smile still lingering on her lips as she glanced down at his worksheet.

She had practically written the remaining work, weirdly, considering she was not scientifically qualified whatsoever. She hummed and drug the smooth pad of her thumb across the smudge of ink that she’d mistakenly placed across the white page. “Well.. you’re all set.” The girl tipped her head in his direction, grinning foolishly as she looked down at the brunette boy.

Matt found himself drawn into a trance, feeling his heart pulpit repeatedly in his chest a he leered up at her with a stargazed stare. She was so beautiful. He thought to himself, the soft intimidating heat of his gaze tracing each and every freckle and beauty mark imprinted upon her cheeks and lips.

As the two both drowned in their own curiosity and abyss of thoughts, it seemed as if the silence between them was a reflection of the many words that went unspoken.

He must find me obnoxiously annoying- or stuck up.

She thinks I’m a joke, absolutely stupid. Not knowing how to spell something.

It wasn’t that the silence between the two was necessarily awkward, not at all even. It was more so ..tense. Far too tense for both parties that we’re already feeling trapped and unheard, cooped up in a humid classroom. Y/n cleared her throat, again. “I did horrible in science.” She blurted out, feeling warmth flood her cheeks immediately.

Matt’s lips tipped up as she rushed her next words out. “-barely passed actually. So honestly, I probably won’t understand, or pick up on one single thing that’ll come from your mouth about any of it.” The triplet nodded along slowly as she rambled, finding it extremely amusing, and quite frankly, adorable. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing about this exam- thingy.” The girls hands waved around, exaggerating her words.

As she noticed the suddenly outburst she had had, she felt her shoulders drop. What the actual hell, is wrong with you? “Only if you wanted too though.” Matt watched as she meekly murmured her next words, feeling his head tilt to the side as he observed her now shy body languishing.

The girl was beyond exhausted with her own lack of social skills, and with that she felt her emotions taking a toll for the worst as she began to wring with the hem of her skirt with shaky fingers. She was never the most comfortable in overly talkative situations, or rather chit-chat.

That was her absolute worst performance when it came to social interactions.

Despite this, she never thought of herself to be introverted either. She found herself enthralled and excited by speaking and meeting new people. The thing that the girl found herself drained from, was her terrible skills at being even relatively normal.

Matt, being well- himself, found himself almost immediately understanding the way she proposed and functioned. The male had saw the way Y/n carried herself the minute she stepped foot into detention, seeing as she most definitely did not act as the normal person would.

If anything, Matt found himself relating to her behaviour. Alike the two, they were both oddly similar, in different ways. And if the girl were aware of his acceptance of her unintentionally foolish personality, she wouldn’t have been nearly as embarrassed as she was in this exact moment.

But just like her, they both were too afraid to communicate the thoughts they had.

“I can explain along the way.” Y/n’s eyes widened as he broke the silence, Matt looking up at her with a heated stare that constantly flicked between her lustrous eyes, and the plumpness of her lips. But indefinitely he found his gaze become glued onto the pink-tinted skin of her flawless lips, his throat bobbing as he watched her pull her bottom lip between her perfect teeth. “Yeah?” He swallowed, forcing his now darkened stare up to her eyes.

Her lips parted at the unknown .. viciousness presented in the triplets gaze, having clearly noticed the way he’d looked at her lips. Remembering that the male did in fact ask a question, she opted for a silent nod, feeling almost unable to form a coherent response.

Y/n sucked in a breath as she attempted to regain control of her current feelings, accidentally allowing the pen to fall from her chipped pink nails, hearing it roll down the rigged surface of the desktop. “Shit.” The girl cursed to herself, reaching out to grab it.

Before she had the opportunity of grasping the darn thing, a larger, slimmer hand had already snapped out and landed atop the writing utensil. Matthew’s rings glittered from the sun that came in through the window aside his desk, gleaming with silver as he easily flicked the pencil between his index and middle finger, rolling it into his palm effortlessly.

The girl felt her stomach churn, though not in the way she would usual feel. This time it flipped, a fluttering sensation swarming her stomach as if there were millions of butterflies’ wings grazing the longing of her abdomen. “How familiar are you with the five different types of chemistry?” The usual softness of Matt’s tone was long gone, replaced with a husky octave that sounded as if he was containing the urge to speak something sinful.

“.. There’s different kinds?”

Matt found his tongue twinging the inside of his cheek at the girls soft tone, making her roll her eyes and gently push his shoulder as she caught the action. “Shut up. I told you I wasn’t science smart.” He chuckled and raised his hands in defence, the girl looking down at his desktop in embarrassment as she ran a hand down one of her messy braided pigtails.

Deciding not to tease the girl further, the triplet began to flip through the many pages piled up in front of him, before he stopped on a specific one as it was placed atop the pile. “It’s alright. You just helped me spell. The last thing you should be embarrassed about is knowing shit about science, sweetheart.” With a breathy chuckle, he ran his ring clad ring index finger under a messily written sentence of the page.

Sweetheart.

The pet name that the nervy girl would’ve never imagined lulling from his tongue, comes out sounding like a tantalizing melody, flowing from his perfect lips without a beat missed. She watched as his left hand that holds the pencil circles a few words nearing the edge of the page, with a slightly tremble. “See, here?” He underlines the words for extra measure, making her chest warm, the girl sending a quick nod.

“Good. That’s the first one. Organic chemistry.” He explains slowly, drawling out the word ‘Organic’ slower than the others. “The best way I can explain it is the study of the structure and properties, and preparation of carbon-containing compounds.” His eyes flick up to mine. “You got that?”

At his inquiry she found herself nodding, even though she really didn’t. “Mhm..” She forced a sweet smile on her pink lips. Matthew’s eyebrow lifts in suspicion, knowing that the unbeknownst mention of his explanation most definitely didn’t register with the girl, before looking back down to his page.

The inquiry had the girl nodding, feeling as if she was unable to form coherent sentence.

The girls one hand rests on the corner of his desk as she leaned over the surface, eyes dragging from the paper to his blue gaze. “Hm?” Matthew’s eyes flash with a foreign gleam as he she watched his hot stare drift between her lips and her dilated pupils, that showed the pure interest of their current lesson.

Many thoughts swarmed the girls mind, did he think I was stupid? Or that I was just not paying attention? Did he want to feel the impact of my lips against his as much I did his, or was I simply delusional?

The boy shook his head, clearing his throat while forcing his eyes back down onto the paper. “Physical chemistry is the branch of chemistry concerned with interactions and transformations of materials.” His voice came out with an underlining huskiness, the smokey octave sending chills up the girls arms. “You got that?” This time around, the girl found herself genuinely lost at the explanation, which resulted in the next encounter.

“Not exactly?” She nervously mumbled. “I’m still kinda’ confused.” The girl breathed out, hand gripping the edge of the males desk with anxiety. He must think I’m vapid.

She felt the air in her lungs being sucked out as she breathlessly gasped, Matt’s larger hand reaching out to mold atop of her smaller one. “That’s alright, yeah?” He muttered, feeling his own heart pick up in pace as he studied the anxiety ridden girl who stood aside him. “I’ll just have to do a better job explaining, hm?” She watched as he cocked his head, eyes flicking across her features as he awaited her gesture of agreement.

Instead, the girl felt herself in a lustrous state of mind, unable to stop the way her eyes trail their way to the hand that gripped her one hand. Her heart palpitated at the mere sight of the protruding veins that trailed across his large, slim hand.

The rings glittered in her eyes as the sun came through the window opposite to the two, glimmering against his perfectly fair skin.

Matt, immediately noticing the girls trance, doesn’t rush to remind her of her lack of response, instead watching silently as she used her thumb to trace one of the more prominent veins in the back of his hand. “Physical chemistry.” Matt’s lips parted as he watched the girls eyes flick from his hand to his eyes, pupils having doubled in size. “What’s the best way to explain that?” She murmured, tilting her head with a hint of innocence.

Within the girls peripheral vision she spots Matt’s opposite hand flinch from its balled place on the desk, almost as if he was stopping himself from reaching out. “I think it’d be easier if I were to just..” Both of the girls eyebrows of draw together with confusion, simultaneously being startled as Matt Sturniolo’s ring clad hand reaches out, and entraps the left side of her waist with a gentle, yet affirming grip “-show you.” He breathes out the second half of his sentence, his long fingers resting against Y/n’s back, his thumb gently pressing against her navel from the outside the blush-pink camisole.

She feels her jaw go slack while looking down at him, feeling her chest tighten with nerves as the warmth of his gaze roams along the girls facial features and expression.

Not that Matt would ever openly admit it, but he was most definitely gouging how the girl would react to the assorted touches he could offer her. “Matt..” The man feels his lips curve at the corners hearing her wary tone.

He decides to offer a gentle hum, his bottom lip feeding into his mouth with a small grunt. “What’re doing?” She whispered in that voice. The tone that had Matt going borderline crazy. Feeling Matthew’s hand mold around the dip of her waist, the girl spotted a darkness in the abyss of blue in his eyes as she emitted a small gasp.

His free hand slowly ran over his jaw, before chuckling. The girl feels her heart pick up at the husky chuckle coming from triplets mouth, her hand gripping the edge of his desk with more force. “Nothing, doll.” He mutters, whilst shaking his head dismissively.

The hand against her waist didn’t budge, as if Matt was in a trance by the sight of his hand, gripping her waist. Y/n feels her body immediately tense as his eyes lifted hers, and even if the male had caught the slight action that came from the girl, he didn’t pay mind to it. “Growing up, did teachers consider you audible learner? Or a more of a visual learner?”

As Matt’s soft voice drifted off into a undertone, the girl was abruptly startled with a loud yelp, as he waits no time for her response, instead use the hand that pressed into her side to nudge her onto the hard surface of Matt’s thigh. “Hm?” He hummed against her ear.

The feeling of his breath grazing her neck had the girls short and soft breaths, hitching in her throat. Goosebumps trickled over the flesh of her arms, the small hairs on the back of her neck flying up with anticipation. “Matt.” She whispered softly, the small whimper that came her lips gracing the boys ears, as she felt his smirk against her neck.

The bridge of his nose grazed along the span between her ear and neck, and as he came to the realization of their current condition, he feels his heart drop to his stomach. “Shit.” He whispered to himself, feeling the girl tense in his hold.

What was he doing? He thought to himself. Matt wasn’t like this- he was furthest thing from it. “I have no fuckin’ clue what’s wrong with me.” Matt quickly rushed out, and the girls back who brushes his front, feels the now pattering of his heart. “I’m really fucking sorry, Y/n.” He rambled.

Realizing the inner panic the male was currently experiencing, she felt a sense of guilt run through her blood. Did she do something wrong? Maybe I was too heavy to sit on his lap. The worrisome feeling she felt for Matt took over her mind, shifting in his lap she attempted to face him.

Matt audibly drew in a hitched breath as the girl shuffled around on his lap, his eyes dropping and seeing both of he girls perfect thighs on either side of his lap. The hem of her skirt flowed beneath his spread thighs, and just at the mere sight, he forces his eyes to the ceiling. Lord, give me the strength to not fuck this girl over my desk.

“Hey- you’re good. Honestly.” Matt shakes his head a murmuring something unknown under his breath, his heart skipping a beat as she tips his chin in my her direction. “Calm down, nothings wrong.” She assured him, nodding.

The boy mimics her movements, slowly nodding along. As the girl realizes her current stance, on top of Matthew Sturniolo’s lap, she finds herself become overtaken with embarrassment.

“I’m just gonna..” Matt trailed his words off into a whisper, before Y/n felt her wobbly frame being steadied by a large hand gently gripping her waist. Matthew feels the small flyaways of hair from her braided pigtails, that rested against her back, lightly tickle his cheeks as she looked down at him.

The twos eyes were aligned with a starstruck contact, and though they both attempted to cover their nervousness with a plain expression, they both felt the same desire for each other. The girl hears a small hiss come from the boys lips, her cheeks immediately flushing as she realizes it was because she had just barely moved from her place in his lap.

Simultaneously, she felt her self esteem plummeting as the first thought she had was that she must’ve been heavy on his lap. The mere thought had a frown upon the girls nipped at lips.

Matt, immediately noticing the upside down smile, felt his eyebrows draw together with both wary and curiousity at the sudden switch of the girls mood. “I’ll get up.” She musters weakly, desperately trying to keep her line of sight on the horse chain that was woven around his neck, simply unable to meet his blazing ones.

Seeing as Matt wanted to find out what was happening, or what had gone wrong, he opened his lips to ask the burning question, is everything fine? Is what he would’ve asked, that was until the girl decided to take then of all times, to shift her hips forward as a failed attempt to loosen herself from his grasp.

“Fuck.”

Y/n found her jaw dropping, as the obscene sound came from Matt’s lips. Did I hurt him? She wondered, heart beating painfully in her chest. The girls eyes, still, previously glossy from the prior interaction, blink down at the dark haired man’s current state. Matt’s head was now tipped back against the of his seat, chest moving up and down while is eyes fluttered shut. “Sorry- did I hurt you?” Her nose wrinkling with embarrassment.

At the sound of the nymph’s tantalizing voice, Matt’s eyes lulled open. He felt his adams apple bob at the sight of the girl straddling his lap, looking down at him with widened eyes that would’ve looked absolutely pornographic to any other man.

Though the triplet knew she was genuinely perplexed. As well as him, she couldn’t force her eyes from the boy beneath her. With every inhale he took Y/n spotted the muscles in his shoulders bulge through the black T-shirt, Ransom, embroidered onto the chest. His blue eyes had sunken down with an inner darkness, though still glancing up at her through his eyelashes.

Matt’s eyes open with a shaky breath, offering the girl a small shake of the head. “No.” Be breathes out, the muscles in his jaw tensing as he looked up at Y/n. “Just maybe- don’t do that again?” He says as more of a recommendation then a statement, voice deep in an undertone.

The girl takes beat before the realization came over her. “Oh.” She whispered, her cheeks splashing with warmth.

Matt sees this, feeling his lips curve into a smirk, whilst simultaneously using every bone in his body to ignore the girls pulsing heat resting directly on the now very obvious tent of the carpenter jeans he wore.

“Oh.” He repeated in mockery, chuckling lightly.

Even with the heatwave of tension that was currently taking over the boy, he still battled through the almost nauseating warmth coursing through his body, to observe the girl’s reactions and movements. The way her hips would shift atop the growing hardness beneath her needy, clothed cunt, or the small lewd sounds that would occasionally emit from her parted lips.

Or the way he audibly heard the girls breath hitch at his next action, Matthew’s arm swinging around the head of his hair, leaning the weight of his body onto the surface to find a comfortable position for his aching lower half. She immediately gasps, two hands flying out to grip each side of the head of the chair.

It was as if the ball of need inside her abdomen had built by ten, the fluttering sensation she felt between her legs never coming to an end as she felt her thighs attempt to clench. This, of course, failed. “You alright doll?” Matt watched the girls face morph into a pained expression at the realization that she was unable to alleviate the desperation building within her core.

Both knees sit on either side of the triplets thighs, acting as a barrier between hers, as she tightened her legs to close them together. As if she was unable to form a coherent sentence, Y/n offered a curt nod while forcing her hazy gaze anywhere but his face. “I didn’t quite catch that, speak up..” The hand on her waist was suddenly gripping my jaw and tipping my chin up. “I can’t hear you from down there.” He taunts, eyes twinkling with an unknown objective.

Y/n found her completely struck with whiplash at the sudden switch up of his body language. Once soft toned, with a timid persona that came across as shyness, now completely morphed into a dominant character.

Feeling her eyelashes feather against the no doubt, pink tinted skin of her cheeks, she blinked down at the triplet as her eyes went round. “I-I didn’t-” She whimpered and cut herself off as Matt’s eyes bored into hers with a blazing darkness beneath the soft facade.

Matt lifted his one brow, waiting for the trembling girl to go in with her sentence. As silence fills the room, Matt sighed softly. “That’s no good, huh?” He tutted in a condescending manner, head tipping to the side in a cock as he leered up at her.

As if the air in her lungs tore away from her, Y/n’s silent streak was very short lived, much to her dismay. “Fuck.” She cried, the hands that rested on the head of his chair slipping down to grip his shoulders. Matt yet again, lifted his hips against hers, though this time it made it abundantly evident that it was purposeful.

Matt felt as if his body wasn’t in his own control, the will of being able to contain the desperate urge of tainting the girls innocence, long gone. He whispered small curses and whimpers to himself as his head tipped back, his body on the closest thing to autopilot, feeling his hips roll up into the girls core.

The barrier of clothing between the two bodies did close to nothing at stopping the friction between the girls beating heat, and the triplets painfully, aching erection.“Matt,” Y/n swallowed the lump she felt in her throat, taking a momentary break to emit the small whine from the feeling of the ridge of Matt’s hard cock pushing against her clit. “-slow- slow down.” Matt feels his body begin to warm with a fuzzy sensation against his heart, as the worked up girls head fell onto his shoulder, cooing to himself softly at the sound of her soft pants.

The feeling of his stronger hand that had gripped her waist faltered away, before she felt the cold silver of his rings pressing into her cheek as he gently tipped her jaw up. “Hm? What was that?” He taunted for what seemed like the fifth time, his index and middle finger patting the girls cheek.

At that, Y/n felt herself grounding her hips onto him, making her feel like a complete and utter mess. It wasn’t necessary a slap, but she would’ve definitely considered it more than a gentle tap.

The irregular pattern of Matthew’s hips rolling into her core left her breathless, frustrated as he would abruptly slow down, leaving her desperate for more, before suddenly rutting his hard on into her needy heat. “Please.” She pleaded against his neck, the few tears of desperation finally falling.

Matt, feeling the salty wetness running down the span of his jaw and neck, felt a sense of pride. He wouldn’t consider himself a sadist, or anything along the lines of finding himself turned on by inflicting pain onto others. But there was something so profound and satisfying, seeing how the girl was falling apart to pieces, in his arms, because of him.

Feeling Y/n’s body move at a faster pace than normal as she inhaled and exhaled, Matt tipped his head down and allowed the tip of his nose to graze along the junction between her jaw and neck, leaving a soft peck against the dewy skin. “Cmon’ now.” He placed both hands on either side of her hips, effortlessly lifting her bottom half, groaning as he helped her move her hips along his cock.

This action immediately had her exhausted body, that had fell against his chest awakening like fireworks blooming across a dark sky. “Matt.” He grunted against her neck, though the recognition of hearing the girl saying the triplets name went unanswered, seeing as she just needed to know that he was there.

Cause of course he was there physically, very much so. It was more that she yearned to have him cherish the moment she fell apart in his arms.

To run his slim fingers through her now tangled hair as she bit down onto his shoulder, feeling a whole new wave of arousal come over her as she hears his whimper at the action. Y/n felt his two warm hands comfortingly squeeze the backs of her thighs, as a silent gesture that he had understood the girls feelings. “Sorry baby.” He whispered against her neck, heavily breathing as she felt his erection pulse between her legs.

She felt Matt’s right hand begin to glide up her waist, stopping anywhere and every where on the journey up to mold his grip against, reminding himself that the current event was actually happening. The hand slipped around one of her braids, two of the other fingers pressing against the back of her neck as he tugged her head up to look into his dark gaze.

“Have I been ignoring you? My greedy girl needs a little more attention, hm?” His tone was condensing and mean, making her breathe out a small moan. “Oh?” He mused, seeing the bob of her head. “That’s my fault, huh? My apologies sweetheart. It’s hard to decipher what you really want when you’re grinding on my dick, like a bitch in heat.” He murmured softly.

The contrast of his tone and words were striking. The words spoken were filthy, sounding like a sin flowing from his tongue. But the tone, the tone was soft and gentle, melodic with a gentle touch of sweet innocence lulling from his perfectly bitten at lips.

The piercing ends of the girls pink nails dug into Matthew’s shoulders, resulting a small whimper emitting from his lips, intermittently tearing down the wall of dominance he’d had up. The lack of relief she so desperately wanted, or rather now needed, wasn’t being fulfilled, making her eyes glisten with tears of frustration. Even science wasn’t this hard.

Pun intended.

Y/n let out a pathetic moan against his neck, too far into the rabbit whole of pleasure that was Matthew Sturniolo, continuing to roll her hips into his. “You.” She breathed against his neck. Matt hummed in response, squeezing her hips.

“Hm?”

Blinking away the haziness in her eyes to look up at his clearly. “I want you.” At that, Matt thrusted his hips up into her dripping core with a guttural moan.

You. Him. Matt.

She wanted him, and even though he’d already known this from the time her needy cunt had landed on his clothed dick, hearing it come from her lips, in that angelic fucking voice, had brought him closer to his release ten times faster. “I know, doll. I know.” He breathed out, Y/n watching his head as it fell back against his seat whilst his blue eyes fluttered shut.

Matt uses his one hand that rested on her backside, to gently guide her lower half forward into his painfully hard erection, emitting small whimpers while doing so. The way he felt her pulsing heat through both of their clothed bottom halves told him that she was getting closer to her relief, bringing him to his faster. “Close?” He murmured against her neck.

She could only offer a moan as a reply, shivering as his breath fluttered against her pulse as a warm breeze during dusk. Matt’s fingers toyed with the hem of her pleated skirt as she grounded down onto the prominent tent in his jeans, trying to distract himself from coming before the girl.

After all, he always was a gentleman.

“Fuck.” Y/n whispered against the shell of his ear in a small cry, and Matt felt his stomach tighten at the feeling of her thighs trembling on either side of his. As the male was partially to deep into his own pleasure, all he was able to do was run his one hand down the small of her back, as he soothed her through the overwhelming pressure of her release.

Y/n heard the small cures and whimpers that emitted from Matt’s lips, and even as the overwhelming sensation of her past release was still overcoming her body, she did her best to comfort the triplet as well as she mustered. “So good.” She murmured against the shell of his ear, panting softly. “You’re doing so good, Matt.”

Fuck, his eyes rolled back as well has the ball in his abdomen had suddenly tensed. “Shit.” He whimpered, squeezing the backs of her thighs. “Gonna’ come.” He breathed out, making Y/n hum softly against the nape of his neck.

I’m here. We’re both here. Together.

Y/n glided her nails against his scalp as he rode out the aftermath of his release, whispering sweet nothings in his ears at the feeling of his hard thighs trembling against hers. “Holy fuck.” He breathed out, tipping his head back with a soft grunt. “I’m so happy I decided to be a dick on this exact day.” Y/n’s head lifted a bit, lifting an eyebrow.

Was he serious?

The two both jumped at the sound of a blaring bell, as well as coming to reality of what they’d both just done. Their eyes tuned into each others, lips parted with shock at their own actions. Y/n cleared her throat, sitting up a bit as her cheeks flushed. “Good luck with the test.” She muttered, tilting her head.

Matt drew his lips into a line, ignoring the urge to smile at the girls words. “Best wishes with that whole- Demi Moore ordeal.” Her shoulders fell.

Men.

୨ৎ 𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓈 ~ @graysturns @imwetforyourmom

#chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #writers on tumblr #fanfic #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff #fluff #smut #idk what else to tag

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calware · 1 month ago

Note

my toxic trait is thinking fhat if eridan survived he couldve got better as he got older. like how some teens manage to escape the alt right

like ive definitely seen some horrendous thirteen year olds who become decent adults, and i think eridan couldve realised that stuff.

yes hes horrible but. the potential of him.

ik you're using toxic trait as an exaggeration but i don't see this as a negative quality. i think it's realistic to say that a person has the capacity for change and that he makes the decisions he does of his own free will, not because he's ontologically evil. and i don't say that in a "he's a good guy deep down" or in a "hussie did him dirty by killing him off" sort of way i just understand the natural instinct to question "what would this character be like if things happened differently? what is the best case scenario? what's the worst case scenario?" it helps you get a better feel for the character, i think. i mean i just drew dirk and hal hugging which is so far out there that i think it would be pretty hypocritical of me to say otherwise lol

#ask #anonymous

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peachesyeo · 9 months ago

Text

Player 1117 0003 - change of route

word count - 2k pairings - gamecharacters!ateez ot8 x fem!reader (ft. txt) genre - fantasy au, dark romance au, obsessive/yandere elements.

chapter warnings - none

author's notes: i apologize for the late update, my assignments are storming towards me like a tornado and i have to focus on that first... i need comments and ideas before i lose interest in writing this story... i'm serious. and also, blog with NO INDICATION of AGE, or ANY POSTS, NO. you will NOT be added to any of the taglist. I will NOT be repeating myself. i apologize for sounding so nasty, but i'm tired of people NOT READING THE TAGLIST RULES. thank you.

thank you @sousydive for beta reading!

back to masterlist?

The royalties of Mist were leaving.

For the entire two weeks that they have been here, you refused to talk to, or even look at Kim Hongjoong. The Prince of Mist kept to his promise and kept a distance away from you, but even though he did, you could always feel his possessive gaze on you.

“Goodbye, little Y/n.” The Queen of Mist says fondly, patting you on the head as Beomgyu, at the back, whines about not being her favourite anymore. Your parents had already bade them farewell prior to this. You said your goodbyes politely, sliding behind Yeonjun smoothly once you were done.

You could feel Hongjoong staring at you.

You look up to the carriage. Hongjoong was indeed staring at you. As your gaze met each other’s, a smug smirk tugged at the corner of Hongjoong’s lips. His lips parted and closed, words soundlessly coming out from his mouth. You glared at him from behind Yeonjun, and he smirked again, disappearing from the carriage window.

“Y/n, are you okay?” A warm hand was placed on your shoulder. Yeonjun looked at you in concern, and your anger dissipated. He must have felt the negativity radiating from you. You shook your head and gathered up a bright smile. “I'm fine, Brother.”

You're not. The Queen of Mist boarded the carriage, and you and your brothers stood at the gate, watching them leave. As the carriage disappeared into the distance, what Hongjoong said replayed in your mind.

“See you soon, my Star.”

You rushed to your room, dismissing all the maids and servants. You headed straight towards your desk, taking out a piece of parchment and a feathered quill.

See you soon? You rolled your eyes. Hongjoong’s threat reminded you of something. You quickly scribbled down the names of the important characters and events of Utopia on the parchment, forming a complicated web upon the paper.

Utopia’s story starts like this: A normal girl Lee Jiwon from a common family had transmigrated into the game after a car accident. She then became the youngest daughter of a fallen noble family in the kingdom of Mist. She then attended the power discovering ceremony when she was thirteen years old, and discovered that she has the power of light and healing - a power only the saintness have. She was then taken to the Temple, where she met Jeong Yunho for the first time. He was the first love interest that the players of Utopia came across.

You drew a line from Yunho’s name to Jiwon, and then you linked both of them to the temple. While at the temple, she also met Kang Yeosang, son of the Southern Duke of Mist. The two met each other at the temple while Jiwon was tending to an injured animal she discovered in the bushes. Yeosang then slowly fell in love with her because of how gentle and kind she was, and so did Yunho. Yunho and Yeosang will then proceed to secretly vye for Jiwon’s affection, but she would be oblivious to it.

You drew a line from Yeosang to the Temple and back to Jiwon.

After spending three years of studying in the Temple, Jiwon will enrol into the Magic Academy of Utopia, becoming a student.

The Magic Academy is a prestigious school attended by royalties and the gifted with magic from all kingdoms. It is built on neutral land, and the closer kingdoms around it are Mist, Miroh and Klaxon It is protected by a mysterious force of power.

In the Academy, Jiwon will then gain the attention of Hongjoong, the crown prince of Mist, because of her status. Hongjoong sent Seonghwa to approach the soon-to-be saintness on his behalf, and the attendant fell in love with her instead. Intrigued by this, Hongjoong decided to approach Jiwon himself.

You drew two more lines, linking Hongjoong, Seonghwa and Jiwon together. Your quill hovered above your name.

You, the villainess Y/n, enters the plot here. You were invited to an event in Mist, and was soon enrolled into the academy. Choi San, the son of the war general of Mist, was picked as your guard. Through him you met Hongjoong’s younger brother, Jung Wooyoung. Through the event, you had fallen in love with Kim Hongjoong, and was jealous of Lee Jiwon. Wooyoung was the one who encouraged you to pick on Jiwon, roping in San to assist you, only to then expose you in front of everyone, resulting in your imprisonment. .

A war between Eternity and Mist began, and you watched your family die before you, before Hongjoong took your head off himself.

You shivered, goosebumps rising across your skin as you drew lines between Wooyoung, San and yourself, before linking your brothers to San.

Although you couldn’t remember what happened next, you knew that Beomgyu was the only person left alive, and was crowned the ruler of Eternity. You stared at his name, before giving out a sigh in frustration.

Your gaze turned to the two more unlinked names: Song Mingi and Choi Jongho.

Mingi is the childhood best friend of Yunho. He had become a love interest after Y/n’s death as he had enrolled in the academy after her event. Jongho, however, was the most mysterious character.

You drew a line from Jongho’s name to another name: ‘Magic Tower’.

The Magic Tower is almost the same as the Magic Academy. However, its learning environment was more harsh and dangerous. Students of the Magic Tower are free to battle and kill each other to take places.

Beomgyu attends the Magic Tower due to his powers.

You bit your lower lip in frustration. You seemed to have found a key, but you have no idea which lock it belongs to.

Carefully, you linked Beomgyu to the Magic Tower, and then to Jongho.

Suddenly, a thought struck you. What if, instead of enrolling into the Magic Academy, you enrol into the Magic Tower?

Besides, you’ll enter the tower one year earlier than him, which means that you do not have to face him. You could just avoid him at the tower and stay with Beomgyu. Since most of the plot happens in the Magic Academy, you can avoid them by going to the Magic Tower.

Right?

Seoul Hospital.

Urgent footsteps echoed off the walls of the cold corridors of the hospital. Kang Taehyun ran as fast as his legs could carry him, apologising profusely to the people he bumped into along his way. His eyes flickered towards the signs in front of the wards, counting them.

06…07…08!

Taehyun stopped abruptly, pushing the door of the hospital ward wide open. Inside, a blonde figure stood up at the sight of him, looking relieved. “Taehyun oppa…”

“How’s Y/n?” Taehyun rushed forwards to the unmoving girl lying on the hospital bed. “What did the doctor say?”

Hiyyih shook her head. She seemed tired, her lips dry and devoid of their usual rosy colour as she sat back down. “They say that they have no idea what happened to her… She just had a shock and slipped into a coma.”

“So she’s okay?” Taehyun’s heart broke at the sight of his little sister on the hospital bed. Hiyyih didn’t answer that, but from her tired expression, Taehyun could only assume the best. “Where’s Kai?”

Hiyyih’s eyes glinted at the mention of her older brother. “He went to check with the doctor about Y/n. I’ve been taking care of her ever since I found her.”

“Thank you.” Taehyun said gratefully. Now that he’s looking directly at Hiyyih, he noticed that she looked terrible - there were bags under her eyes and her skin was paler than usual. She waved her hand, cracking a small smile. “Don’t, we have known each other for years now. Besides, Y/n’s my roommate.”

“Still, I’m glad you discovered her.” Taehyun insisted.

The door opened. Kai stepped in, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Taehyun. “You’re here!” Kai exclaimed, somewhat looking like his younger sister. There were similar bags under his eyes, and Taehyun couldn’t help but feel even more moved. “Yeah, I rushed here as soon as the plane landed.”

“Since you’re here, oppa, I’ll go and take a rest first.” Hiyyih yawned, grabbing her sweater. Kai and Taehyun nodded, as the blonde girl left the ward.

“The doctors say that Y/n’s coma was sudden with no reason.” Kai said, sitting down on the couch where his younger sister had previously rested. “There was no known cause, and Hiyyih said that Y/n doesn’t have any drinking or smoking habits. They sent her down for the CT scan and there was nothing wrong.”

“So she slipped into a coma without knowing why?” Taehyun carefully removed a strand of hair on his sister’s face. “I shouldn’t have flown to Japan…”

Kai paused. He made a face, one that he would wear when he is in a dilemma. Taehyun saw it, and he said, “Is there anything else I should know?”

Kai fiddled with his thumbs. “Well, I know it's an inappropriate time for me to say this, especially when Y/n is lying here, but the VR program for Utopia has a problem.”

Taehyun and Kai have been best friends since young, having known each other when both of them were in diapers. Two years ago, Kai had developed an otome game - a present for his younger sister Hiyyih - and it became so popular that Kai began to gain profit from it. Taehyun was his first investor and the biggest shareholder of his little gaming company, and since then they have been working together.

Recently, Kai had come up with the idea of inducing VR - Virtual Reality - to the game, where players of Utopia can have a more surreal gaming experience. Taehyun had flown to Japan to attend a techshow to know more about it, before he received the call about Y/n.

“That’s not the only problem,” Kai added carefully, watching the frown deepen on Taehyun’s face. “This might sound crazy, but yesterday, when I was trying out the VR version, there was something… weird.”

“What do you mean, ‘weird’?” Taehyun repeated. Kai breathed in deeply.

“You remember the beta version of the villainess route, the one we accidentally released but called back?”

“Yes.” Taehyun remembered, vividly. Kai was spamming his phone with texts and panicking while the rest of his employees tried their best to salvage the situation. Luckily, only one user was able to update the game fully, and they have been trying to contact that player. “It’s about Player 1117, right? Have you found them?”

“No.” Kai shook his head. “But, the thing is, while I was loading the game up to the beta version in the studio, there were some… really weird changes.”

Taehyun raised a brow. “What changes?”

“Remember Y/n, like, the villainess of the game?”

Taehyun almost laughed at that. Yes, he remembered suggesting the name to Kai because he and Y/n had a little squabble, and Taehyun was feeling petty at that time. “Yeah, what about her?”

“She was originally supposed to attend the Magic Academy, right?” Kai questioned, taking out his own phone and tapping away. He then showed the screen to Taehyun. “I was just trying to load the game back, but I just kept failing. When I was going through the cutscene of Y/n’s backstory, it said that she had a big quarrel with her brother about attending the Magic Tower instead of the Magic Academy, so she ran away and left Eternity on her own.”

“How did that happen?” Taehyun grabbed Kai’s phone. On the screen, a picture of a dark haired girl disguised as a young male teenager sitting at an inn, listening to the conversations others were having. Taehyun had not remembered any of their artists showing a storyboard like that in any of their team meetings.

“That’s not the only weird part.” Kai said, taking his phone back. “Remember the villainess was supposed to be powerless?” He paused, waiting for Taehyun to react. “Well, it is said that she developed an ability.”

“What is it?”

“She can turn into an animal at will. More precisely, she can turn into an owl.”

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#☁️by k #☁️k’s player 1117 series #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez ot8 #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #atz #txt x reader

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monsterfuckingthoughts · 10 months ago

Text

Husband Orc x Human Reader (Kilian): Sequel

This is a sequel to this fic. I love my orc oc Kilian so I though I'd expand on his and reader's family more fics to come!

Synopsis: Drak and Kilian have a talk.

Even after fifteen years of marriage you and Kilian had remained completely enamored with one another, and with that love came a deep understanding and ability to pick up on even the slightest shift in emotions.

You were upset.

Your husband watched you from his spot on the bed as you silently undressed. Usually the two of you would be immersed in conversation about the events of the day but you were uncharacteristically distant. You removed the last of your clothes and hastily retrieved your nightgown from its spot next to Kilian. As you reached out for it your husband gently took your hand, prompting you to stop.

“What troubles you my love?”

You forged a small smile and shook your head. “Nothing, I’m just tired.”

You retrieved your hand and pulled your nightgown over you.

Without another word you crawled into bed turning away from him. Kilian waited and finally you spoke, knowing your distance would only worry him.

“Does Drak seem alright to you?”

Kilian raised his brow at the mention of your oldest son, now thirteen years old. “He seems to be. Why?”

“Tonight at dinner he was quiet and when I went to wish him a good night he was rather stand offish. Almost like I had done something wrong.”

Kilian reached out and pulled you into him, wrapping you in his strong arms and rubbing his tusk against your shoulder. “He’s at that age (Name). It’s only natural that he starts to pull away from us.”

You sighed, turning over to look at your husband, a sadness in your eyes he hadn’t seen before. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me, Kilian.”

This had clearly stuck to your ribs with an indomitable force that simple words wouldn’t alleviate.

“I’ll talk to him.”

The next morning Kilian lured his son out of bed with the promise of one on one training. Drak was old enough now to begin sparing and being the chieftain’s son he had the privilege of studying under the strongest orc in the stronghold.

The two of them left before the sun had come up and made their way on foot to a nearby field that their family would often come to. Drak remained quiet as they set down their gear and retrieved their weapons. Kilian decided to wait before interrogating his son.

The two of them drew their swords and Drak charged at his father, slamming the blade against his shield. Kilian easily pushed back, taking a step forward and knocking his son off balance. He clearly looked frustrated, clenching his jaw and charging once more only to be pushed back again.

Kilian was barely trying and it enraged his son.

Drak angrily chucked his blade into the field and sprinted off.

Kilian found his son sitting against a massive oak tree with his face buried in his lap. He calmly sat next to him before speaking.

“Your mother seems to believe she’s done something to upset you.”

Drak flinched at the mention of you, knowing how protective his father was.

Instead of denying it he lifted his head in defeat.

“Father, will I ever be as strong as you?”

Kilian just blinked. “Of course. Is that what this is about?

Drak crossed his arms. “I’m the smallest boy in the stronghold for my age. And I struggle to spar even against some of the younger orcs. So how could I ever be like you?”

“If you have a human mother?” Kilian concluded.

Drak pulled his knees tighter against his chest. These feelings against you made him feel guilty. Almost like he was betraying your love.

“Look at me Drak,” his father sternly ordered.

The child did so.

“Your mother is human, but she’s also strong.”

Drak opened his mouth to argue but Kilian immediately silenced him by raising his hand.

“When your mother was pregnant with you she had to fight everyday to make it through the hardships that came with that. And when she gave birth she nearly died.”

Drak fidgeted in his spot.

He knew these things, how his mother almost died, from the whispers of others in the stronghold. How strong must she have been to live beyond what the doctors had predicted. And to have two children after that, fully knowing the risk of what might come. To willingly fight again.

Whenever he’d hear these things he’d remove himself. Thinking of a world without his mother upset him.

He could tell by the look on his father’s face that it upset him too. It was almost shocking, Kilian the mighty Orc Chieftain of the Northern stronghold, facing something that intimidated him.

“Were you scared?” Drak dared to ask.

Kilian nodded. “Of course. For months after I was terrified to leave your mother’s side. Because…I had a fear that she wouldn’t be there when I returned.”

Drak tilted his head. “I didn’t think you got scared.”

His father chuckled at this. “Everyone gets scared son.”

He faced the inquisitive child. “And a warrior's strength isn’t merely measured by physicality alone.”

He poked Drak’s chest. “It’s also what’s in here.”

He rested his large hand on his head. “And here. Your mother has more strength in her heart and mind than I could ever dream to have. And you’ve inherited those gifts as well Drak.”

He felt a swell of pride in that regard.

After the stronghold doctor had saved your life in childbirth you had been inspired to study under her and become a doctor yourself. Drak had seen you dedicate yourself to this, tending to the needs of the stronghold, and that of your own family.

Drak’s lip began to quiver. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“She knows that son. Let’s go home so you can apologize.”

Drak nodded and the two of them retreated back to the field, upon their return they found a group of familiar faces waiting for them. His younger sister Shel came racing towards them.

“Papa!” she cheered.

Her father joyfully scooped her up. “There’s my girl!”

You were standing near the discarded gear with baby Dura in your arms.

A guard remained stoically behind you.

Kilian quickly made his way over to you and embraced you. “Good morning,” you greeted, gently pecking your lips against his.

Shel voiced her disgust and attempted to push her father’s face away from her mother.

“No kissing!” she demanded.

“No kissing!” Kilian mimicked, making you laugh.

He set Shel down and took Dura from you, the small infant reaching up for her father.

“Let’s go show you sister the wildflowers Shel,” Kilian suggested.

Once the three of them had left Drak nervously made his way over to you.

The guard excused himself and joined Kilian.

Once Drak reached you you gave him a hopeful smile. “Are you feeling better this morning?”

Much to your surprise your son began to cry.

“Drak?” you asked.

He lunged out and hugged you.

You pulled your son closer and lowered the both of you to the ground.

“I love you mother,” he whimpered. “I love being your son.”

You sighed in relief and stroked his hair. “I love you son. More than you’ll ever know.”

The End.

#orc x reader #orc x human #monster lover #orc husband

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skyloftian-nutcase · 9 months ago

Note

Ok, writing request time:

Perhaps someone is captured and there’s a rescue. I love comfort with that type of angst hehe

Link had tasted blood many times.

The first time was when he’d fallen flat on his face in Zora’s Domain while chasing Bazz. He’d also lost his first tooth as a result. But he’d gotten himself hurt plenty of times since then.

It had never been like this, though. The taste stayed, stuck in his mouth because he hadn’t had any way to fix it, he hadn’t been able to drink something. His throat was drier than the sand that was stuck in it, and he coughed a little as he huddled in on himself.

He’d been training and training, yet the moment he was confronted with danger, he’d gotten himself captured. He felt absolutely disappointed in himself and angry.

Worse than anything, though, he felt scared. The thirteen-year-old hadn’t expected to be jumped by these strange men, and they’d dared to try and take the Master Sword away as well. He was so stupid, and now he had the indignity of staring at it through the bars of his cell, reminded that he’d managed to get himself into this mess.

“If he bears the sword, then he has to be the one!” one of the soldiers hissed to the other.

“He’s just a kid, there’s no way,” his companion huffed, crossing his arms.

“Then what about the sword?” The first one asked. “We got information that the sword had chosen a wielder, and this kid has it!”

Link glared at the guards, but he didn’t bother saying anything. His father usually wouldn’t when people were threatening him, after all.

His father. He hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed in him. Link was so angry at himself - he’d fought off almost all of them before two of them had hit him from behind. His head still ached horribly from it.

Stupid or not… he just wished someone would notice he was gone. He had to try to figure out how to get out of here, but he’d never been in a situation like this before.

He couldn’t let his fear stop him from escaping. There had to be a way to break out.

Link took a steadying breath, eyes observant as he ignored the conversation going on between the weird guards. They all dressed the same and hid their faces behind masks that looked like some absurd rendition of the Sheikah symbol. Maybe…

Link’s train of thought derailed as the guards turned their attention to him. He grew more alert, stiffening and straightening his back, waiting for some kind of threat. What had they just said? Were they talking to him?

Whatever they were going to do, they never had a chance. One of them yelped as something whistled through the air, a familiar sound to Link’s ears. He perked up immediately, seeing the arrow that embedded into the guard’s back as the other one drew a sickle, ready to fight. Link shot to his feet, rushing towards the felled guard and reaching as far as he could to get to his keys.

The other guard was stabbed through the chest, and Link recoiled his hand as the man nearly fell on it. When he glanced up, he felt immediate relief flood his entire body, and he almost cried at the sight of the familiar soldier.

“Papa!” He croaked, voice cracking, scrambling to the locked door to his cell.

His father stood in front of him, moving so fast Link could barely keep up, defeating every enemy that rushed into the area. Then he hastily grabbed the key from the dead guards, unlocking the cell, and Link slammed into his embrace. The hug was brief, though, far too brief, before Abel ordered him to get the Master Sword. The pair rushed ahead, and Link saw multiple Hyrulian soldiers fighting the strange men dressed in red.

It didn’t take long to find the exit to the canyon fortress, and Link was limping by the time they got to safety. He’d almost forgotten they’d hit his leg really hard, and it was starting to bother him a lot.

Once they were somewhere safe, Abel immediately dragged Link back into a hug. Link could feel his father’s heart racing against his ear, even through the chainmail, and he let himself shiver as the adrenaline wore off.

“Papa, I’m sorry,” he whimpered, hiding his face so no one else could see his tears.

“Ssh,” his father hushed him gently. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner, little knight.”

The relief he felt at those words, paired with the steady and tight embrace from safe arms, wrenched a sob out of the young soldier. His father hushed him again, even softer than before, and then gently pulled away to look him over. Link could hardly see him through the tears, but he couldn’t even express how wonderful it was to just see his father’s face.

He hated how scared he’d been. But…

Warm, calloused hands moved along his forehead, then his cheek, tracing the blood trail from his temple. He watched his father’s eyes harden a little at the sight of it before melting once they made contact with his own.

“Oh, Link,” he sighed a little, and Link let out another quiet sob.

He couldn’t keep crying like this, and he knew it. He’d never really seen his papa cry, and he knew that he was the best soldier there was. He couldn’t break down like this every time there was danger - this was part of his job as a soldier!

His father must have thought the same. He didn’t hug him again, though he wiped the tears away wordlessly, thumb caressing his cheek. Link sniffled and but his lips, trying to get the hiccups under control.

“Where are you hurting, son?” Abel asked softly.

“My head and my leg,” he answered, trying to stop his voice from wobbling. “Papa, I’m sorry.”

Abel’s brow furrowed a little, and he pulled Link to walk with him. The young knight couldn’t really tell where they were, the place was surrounded by cliff-sides and rocks, but they were moving towards an area where he could see more Hyrulian soldiers.

“Link,” his father started, and Link stiffened a little at the gravity in his tone. “I… this is my fault, not yours, so stop apologizing.”

“I got myself captured,” Link argued. And I’m crying about it like some scared little child.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone,” Abel said firmly. “This is not your fault. You fought off plenty of them before they captured you. I’m proud of you… and I’m sorry I let this happen.”

He was sorry? He had no reason to be! Link had defeated plenty grown men by this point, he’d proven he should be able to function like any other foot soldier. It made sense to leave him alone like his father had! This was Link’s fault!

Link found that he didn’t have the energy to push the matter, though. He just wanted to hug his papa again, but Abel didn’t seem in the mood, his own expression dark as he strode into the military camp.

By this point Link had managed to stop crying, and he tried not to attract attention to the tear tracks on his cheeks. Many knights glanced at him worriedly, and a few called out in greeting and relief. Link tried to smile and nod at them before he was guided into an empty tent.

Abel set to work quietly, gently pushing Link to sit on the ground and kneeling beside him. He cleaned the blood off his face, washed it gently out of his hair, and he checked his leg, wrapping it up. Only then did he pull him to his chest, and Link melted into the hold. Thankfully there were no more tears, but he never wanted his father to let go.

They stayed there in silence, with Abel slowly working his fingers through his son’s hair, until Link finally fell asleep, safe in his father’s care.

When the boy’s breathing had steadied, Abel finally let his own emotions spill out, burying his face in his child’s hair.

Goddess above. He’d almost lost him.

I’m such an idiot, he mentally berated himself. Just because the child was an adept fighter didn’t mean he should be left to his own devices.

He couldn’t leave Link alone. Not anymore. He wasn’t just a little boy going on adventures. Not with that sword on his back.

It had only been four months, but the boy was attracting attention now. And Abel was terrified.

He’d have to train Link harder. And he was not leaving his son alone again.

Abel huddled closer to his little knight, never letting go, not as the sun set, not as the crickets started to chirp, not as the world quieted around them. He never let go.

#you ask skye answers #lovely smiles #writing #abel #breath of the wild link #botw link #legend of zelda #don’t sorry Link it’s ok to be scared #Your dad was freaking terrified #They’re both stupid with emotions it’s great 👍🏻#Link has no idea what the Yiga are #Abel’s only just learning about them #I imagine they were less of a serious threat and more an occasional nuisance without a name before things started getting serious

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personal-progress-dropout · 8 months ago

Text

The Rainbow Sheep

(Yes, I know, very original and creative title, but it gets the job done. Get ready for personal stories and too many parenthesis.)

In my childhood, whenever gay people were mentioned, it was with the same tone you’d use for someone with terminal cancer. It was a tragedy. They were lost, they had distanced themselves from God, and they were grieved like the dead. Sometimes it felt like people would rather their gay brothers and sisters be dead instead of gay. Of course, we should always be kind and welcoming, love the sinner hate the sin, etc., but honestly, it felt like you could never truly be accepted if you were gay. There was a distance, and it was always the gay person's fault.

For example—on June 26, 2015, the U.S. Supreme Court legalized gay marriage in all fifty states. I was thirteen years old. That Sunday, there was a special meeting at church to discuss the new development and reinforce The Family Proclamation. I remember very little of what was said, but I remember what I felt. I remember that the atmosphere felt like the greatest of tragedies had occurred, and I remember being told that we had to defend traditional marriage. We had been given the duty of defending the Family, something that the world wanted to destroy. (I use Family with a capital F because it always seems like we’re defending an unreachable ideal instead of the messy, glorious reality.) Nobody ever used that language directly, but I certainly felt the implication, and the language they did use drew up a stark divide of ‘us vs. them.’

I wholeheartedly believed this, and I was going to do everything I could to strive towards the ideal. I was going to get married in the temple and start my own eternal family! There was just one problem with that—I didn’t see men as romantic partners. My future husband was a faceless doll set in the life I wanted to have: my vision for the future included kids, a house, pets, and a job, but I had no idea where a husband was supposed to fit in my life. The ‘crushes’ I had as a kid were a fun game of pretend because girls were supposed to crush on boys. The older I got, the more exhausting the game of make-believe became. Looking back on my high school years, I realize that I was never actually attracted to the boys I wanted to date; I simply wanted to hang out with them. If they were attracted to me, that would be nice, and it would definitely stroke my ego, but I didn’t want them. I wanted to be wanted.

I’ve always gravitated to women more than men, even as a child. It’s a running joke among queer women that when you see a beautiful girl you don’t know if you want to be her or be with her, but I’ve always been able to make the distinction. Women were easier to develop crushes on than men. I could differentiate between attraction and admiration, and after I came out it was incredibly frustrating to hear people say I was confusing the two. I was enchanted with the sway of a classmate’s hips, the bark of her laughter, the passion of her voice. If I had changed the pronoun to ‘he’, everyone would assume I was in love.

I realized I was queer when I was sixteen years old, and it was terrifying. Gay people were the ‘other’, they were either set on destroying the Family or they were expected to live out a solitary life in the hope that they would get a heterosexual happily-ever-after in the Celestial Kingdom. I didn’t want to destroy the Family! I didn’t want to die alone! There were certain men that I found handsome, so I determined that I was attracted to men (in theory) and therefore nobody needed to know. I could go through my life with nobody the wiser, and I would never have to risk the alienation that comes with coming out.

And it's a risk. Parents will tell their children that they will always love them and there’s nothing they can do to change that. This is simply not true. I grew up with these same reassurances, but I was never specifically told that I could be gay and my parents would still love me. I’m incredibly lucky. Despite the way my parents were raised to regard LGBTQ+ people (which in all honesty was pretty mild compared to some of my friends' parents), they valued the commandment to love God and their neighbors over anything else. It was still one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my life because I was walking into unknown, potentially dangerous territory. In the end, I’m so glad that I did. My parents and I understand each other better now, and I don't have to carry the weight of secret-keeping anymore.

Of course, there are still misunderstandings and miscommunication. I was frustrated because my parents didn’t want me to come out to my sisters until we were older. I felt like a dirty secret, and it felt like there was a layer of separation between me and my sisters. There are moments when I feel othered—when I know I can never come out to certain parts of my family, because they would never look at me the same way. (I might someday. Who knows.) When I see legislation that forbids talking about LGBT in schools and how gay literature is being banned from libraries, and how members of my family don't see a problem with this, because aren't they a bit young for that anyways? (I wasn't too young to be taught that I should marry a man in the temple and have children that I should raise in the faith, but that's besides the point.)

I get annoyed when I hear my orientation referred to as a ‘trial’ and something that will be made right in the afterlife. I don't consider it to be a trial--I think it's an aspect of who I am, and the trial comes from people who have a restricted view of the world.

I love my faith. I love the assurance that comes with knowing I'm a child of God, and I love how we as a church believe that we can become greater than we are through living gospel principles, but it should come as a surprise to nobody that the church is an institution made up of imperfect people. We have a long way to go, but I have hope. Look at me! I went from a deeply conservative teenager who believed that gay marriage was a sin (I'm not even sure I knew trans people existed at the time) to someone who accepts their identity as queer and tries to make the world a more accepting place. I can change, and I like to believe that the people around me can too. We can become greater than what we are today.

#tumblrstake #queerstake #long post

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borrowedtimeandspace · 2 months ago

Text

Closeted

AU: A Tale of Two Sizes; size shifter Stan Baker AU

Word Count; 1,880

Notes: had a bit of a rough patch, and needed something low stakes to get me through my writing slump. So have some rare Levi Baker time.

~~~

Once he was sure no students or teachers were looking, Levi Baker ducked into the nearest supply closet.

He wasn't usually one to sneak around and hide. Most rightly assumed he wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone be up to anything suspicious. Plenty of other boys were like that at fifteen, but Levi did pretty well at flying under the radar.

Even so, he felt his heart beating harder in his chest when he closed the door behind him. One wrong move, and he wouldn't be the only one in trouble.

“Ok, coast is clear,” he whispered as he blindly pawed around in the dark for a light. He found a string dangling in the center of the closet and gave it a gentle tug, washing the tiny space in the dim, flickering light of a dying bulb on the ceiling. Just enough to see, and that was all Levi needed.

More delicately than he'd done anything in his life, he let his hand slide into his trouser pocket. He went slow, knowing what sat at the bottom and dreading the thought of being too rough. Fingertips brushed against something that twitched, and Levi gave a wince as he scooped it into a loose fist and held it up near his eyes.

Unfurling his fingers revealed a tiny boy, wearing a school uniform identical to his.

“Stan? Y’okay?” Levi frowned in concern as he watched his now quite little brother uncurl from a ball to get his bearings.

It was still fairly new for everyone, this bizarre phenomenon of the youngest in their family shrinking without warning. One minute things could be going on as normal, and the next Stan would be three inches tall. They still hadn't found any patterns to it, nor had they worked out a way to stop it from happening. There wasn't exactly a guide book for this sort of thing, or anyone that could help with it. If they brought it up to the wrong person, Stan could end up a government experiment, never to be seen again! The last thing his brothers wanted was to put him at risk like that.

Until they could figure out a way for Stan to better control his shrinking, they thought it best that he stick with one of his brothers in public, when possible. Levi was more than happy to keep him company between classes since they attended the same school. That way if he ended up shrinking, at least he wouldn't be alone and stuck somewhere dangerous.

Today it finally happened, and Levi acted as quickly as he could to get Stan out of sight without raising suspicion.

Now that Stan was safe, it hit Levi all at once that he was holding his thirteen-year-old brother in one hand. He barely weighed anything and just looked so tiny sitting there in his palm. The barely-functional light was just enough for Levi to notice his little chest going up and down a bit too quickly, and that drew attention to the way he could faintly feel Stan trembling.

“Shit, I… Did I pick you up wrong?” Levi fussed. Every other time he'd handled Stan when he was so small (and that still wasn't often) they were at home where things were calm and safe and the kid had a choice in the matter. This wasn't like that at all.

Stan managed to shake his head and wave a hand. “I-I’m alright,” he insisted, though his voice was so quiet that Levi just barely heard him. “Just…f-fast. I can't… C-can you put me down?”

“Oh. Y-yeah, ‘course.” Cupping his free hand underneath the one holding Stan for support, Levi slowly shuffled closer to one of the supply shelves. He let his hands flatten on one shelf near chest level.

Levi tried not to take it to heart when Stan scrambled to get to solid ground and all but jumped behind a can of cleaning spray. Though having Stan out of sight sent another shock of worry through him, he couldn't bring himself to ask the poor kid to come out. It was hard to be sure of what the world looked like from such a perspective, but Levi's imagination certainly gave him a few ideas.

Normal objects that could be held in a hand would become immovable. Even a spray can dwarfed Stan, to the point that he completely vanished from Levi's view behind one. He reckoned that rooms, even the cramped broom closet, must seem impossibly cavernous. And people…they'd be loud, heavy, fast, and… Levi couldn't think of a better word than dangerous.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I'll be more careful, I promise. Didn't mean to scare ya–,”

“N-no,” Stan's little voice cut through Levi's soft whisper. He still made no move to come out of hiding, but his voice did sound a bit stronger. “It's fine, really. I just…need a minute.”

Levi let out a breath he realized he'd been holding. “Yeah. Okay. Take your time.”

Rubbing at the back of his neck, he turned to lean his back against the one bare wall of the closet. He really wasn't used to feeling like he had so much power over anyone in any given situation, and with his baby brother he couldn't help worrying even more. He could at least be reassured that he wasn't making anything actively worse, and wait this out.

He glanced at his watch for another distraction. Classes were starting soon, and in a few more minutes, they would officially be tardy.

“You don't have to stay,” Stan piped up, drawing Levi’s attention back to the shelf immediately. Even in the shadows of the dimly lit shelf, Stan's bright red hair stood out as he leaned just far enough to be seen around the can. “I dunno when I'll be back to normal, and I don't wanna make you late.”

Not wanting Stan to work himself up about it, Levi clicked his tongue and shrugged it off. “They can live without me for one class,” he said with a soft smile. He and Stan hardly had glowing marks, but their educations wouldn't be tarnished by a tardy or two. “And I'm not about to leave you all alone.”

Stan went quiet again, and Levi couldn't help leaning in the slightest bit to try and get a better look. “Anything I can do to help?”

Levi was almost certain he saw Stan's little shoulders bob up and down in a shrug. Couldn't blame him; even Stan was clueless as to how exactly it all worked.

Chewing his lip, Levi let his gaze wander as he pondered how it had been every other time they'd helped Stan grow back. He and his brothers did their best to be supportive, but figuring out anything this mysterious ability of Stan's was no easy task. Sometimes it seemed random, or based on emotion. Other times, it seemed that sheer concentration could break through and give Stan at least a little control. None of it was consistent, and it was hard to know what would work best on a given day.

His arms crossed tightly in discomfort as Levi began to wonder if he was making things worse for Stan just by being there. Maybe Stan was trying to express that when he suggested Levi go on without him. Getting to the closet was a bit of a blur in his memory, focused as he was on getting Stan to safety. What if the whole experience shook him up more than he let on, and–?

“I'm all right,” Stan's voice cut through Levi's thoughts. He sounded much closer than before, and when Levi looked back he found his teeny little brother standing about a foot away. No longer hiding behind anything, plainly in view just near the edge of the shelf. “Really.

Levi blinked, then gave a sigh that let his tense shoulders slump. “What, did you get telepathic, too?”

He could just make out a sheepish smile as Stan said, “Nah, it's just…easier to read faces when they're so big.”

That thought was a bit sobering, and Levi didn't quite know how to take it. The whole thing was just so bizarre.

“You're…really not scared of me being big?” The question slipped out before Levi could think to stop it. He'd wondered things along the same line before, but thought it would be weird to ask.

Second-youngest among five brothers was a slightly awkward place to be at times. He was a little brother to most of them, but was still a big brother to Stan. Even though it had been that way all of Stan's life, sometimes it felt like Levi was still learning how to be a big brother to him.

And now the big part was very literal in cases like this.

Rather than answer, Stan stared at Levi for a moment…and then suddenly took a running start and leapt off of the shelf with a cry of, “Think fast!”

Levi's arms instantly unfolded and shot out to catch Stan in cupped hands. The kid landed harmlessly in his grasp, giggling through the shot of adrenaline that had run through them both.

“You're a right nutter, y'know that,” Levi hissed.

“Basically, yeah,” Stan smirked as he got comfortable in the dip of Levi's palm.

Levi couldn't completely hide a grin even as he tried to scold his tiny brother, and he curled in his thumb to playfully (and very gently) nudge Stan's stomach. Just as easily as Stan could apparently read him, he knew what Stan was trying to do here. Despite the scare, Levi's posture was much looser now, and he at least had a better feeling about where he stood with his shrunken brother.

Things would be okay, and Levi could see that Stan knew that as he looked over his teeny features.

They hardly noticed Stan was growing until he was suddenly the size of Levi's hand rather than smaller than a finger. Stan gave a jolt in surprise, and Levi quickly adjusted his grip to accommodate the added height and weight.

“It's okay,” Levi whispered when he noticed Stan's growing slow down. It didn't stop completely, as Levi could still faintly feel Stan expanding in his hands. One of the few things the Bakers had observed at home was that he could really only stay one size or another, and never fully stop in the middle. Now that the process had started, they just had to let it run its course. “Here, let's getcha down.”

Smoothly as he could manage, Levi crouched down and let Stan hop off of his hands onto the floor. Then he quickly straightened and flattened himself as much as he could to the bare wall, giving Stan as much room as possible.

A minute later, Stan was back to his usual height, and the closet was now quite cramped.

By some miracle, the hall was still empty when they snuck out, and they wordlessly parted ways to hurry to their respective classes. Levi spent his class watching the clock to make sure he was ready to go check on Stan at the end of the period, and wondering how best to bring the whole thing up to the others without making them worry too much.

#g/t community #g/t writing #sfw g/t #sfw g/t writing #size shifter Stan #size shifter #size shifting #shrinking #growing #Stan Baker #Levi Baker #giant tiny #giant #tiny #giant/tiny #g/t #size difference #handheld

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kkukverse · 4 months ago

Text

his dandelion

pair: Taehyung x athlete!reader (fem.reader)

genre: high school au, childhood friends au

warnings & ratings: mentions of injuries | fluff, angst

word count: 4k

author's note: happy birthday, winter bear.

You were both thirteen when Taehyung wanted to be your friend.

He sat next to you in art class, only with his dark charcoal pencil as his utensil. He drew peculiar lines and shapes and sometimes portraits. Your teacher loves them but you cannot understand it.

Your teacher once said that he would’ve made an astounding art prodigy if his arts were to be seen by the world. She said his talent is hidden in this crappy little island. But Taehyung doesn’t really mind it, he once whispered to you, “I like it here, I don’t think my art is that big of a deal anyway. It’s not like I’m Van Gogh or something”

You laughed along because at thirteen years old, you never knew nor cared about a guy named Van Gogh. Taehyung used to tell you about that guy. Not wanting to look ignorant, you used all of your extra pocket money to get into Mr. Lee’s cyber cafe. Using the internet to find out more about the man Taehyung always talks about.

You were confused, for someone who painted in vibrant color, Van Gogh is actually a sad guy.

Unlike him. Taehyung was a vibrant kid and you noticed he only used dark colors in his paintings. You always paint everything in red and yellow. Those are your favorite, probably because of your field and track jersey. Since you keep seeing those colors, you tend to use them the most.

One day, on your practice day, Taehyung sat spreading his legs on the bench. Quite close to you but you still squint your eyes. Unsure if it’s actually him or just some other boy who wore the exact baggy beige pants that you always see on him, why is he here? Maybe he’s waiting for a friend.

You just finished a total of five set a hundred meter runs before you realized that he is actually looking at you. From almost a yard away from him, you waved your hand “Taehyung?”

“Yea,” one arm on his knee, the other one waving back at you.

“Waiting for someone?” you yelled, hoping that he can hear you.

“No one, just watching you,” Taehyung answered.

You jog closer to him, because you think you misheard that he was here watching you, not waiting for someone. Wait?

“What?” You pant while wiping sweat on your forehead.

“I said, I was watching you running,” he beamed, looking up at you. He was holding back a laugh seeing your face twitch in confusion.

“There isn’t any particular reason. I was just nearby when I saw your team having a practice.”

“And somehow you decided to stay?” You asked.

“I am curious. I really wanted to see you in the field. I saw you in your jersey all the time after our class. I never gets to see you in action, so yea, I decided to stay and watch you,”

“Well, that’s…”

“Too weird?” Taehyung scooted to provide you some space on the bench. His big hand lightly taps on the free spot, luring you to sit next to him.

“No, not really. We just don’t really talk in class and I was just..shocked?” You’re making sure there’s a gap in between your thighs and his because you’re conscious of your sweaty smelly self.

He chuckled and you stared at his boxy smiles. There it is, the infamous smile that swooned everyone in this little island.

“Silly, I thought we’re already friends? At least I considered us friends the moment you let me borrow your yellow paint.” He turns his whole upper body, fully facing you now.

The yellow paint was a cheap one. It was not even that bright. In fact, all colours in the paint set are dull and pale. It was affordable and your mom did her best to buy it. Bless her heart. Taehyung uses your yellow paint for the dandelion he drew. What you didn’t know was, he may purposely draw the dandelions so he can talk to you.

“Oh yeah.” You agreed along.

Crap. I’m so sweaty like a pig right now, you thought.

“Let’s make it more clear, can we be friends?” Taehyung smiles at you.

“Sure,” was your only answer.

Dammit you can feel the sweat running down the valley of your prepubescent beasts and you wanted this to end before Taehyung can see it through your thin jersey.

Since that day, Taehyung never missed a day of your practice. Just sitting all by himself on the bench until it’s over, and after that you walked home together.

At seventeen, he wiped the tears and kissed the pain away.

If Taehyung was told to rate three of his hardest moments in his life, number three would be sending you off on the ferry to town.

You have become a successful athlete, number one track runner in your hometown representing your school. You were always away for running events.

Once a month, you’re cruising on the ferry, off to the big city. It pains Taehyung to watch you go out of the island where he is still stuck there. But he insisted on sending you and picking you up. Because that way he can soothe his heart by sending you safely and knowing you will always come back home.

Just like any other month. Taehyung is waiting by the station on his bike. Ready to pick you up.

He is imagining your silly face with a gold medal on your neck. “Taetae I won! Again!” Like any other month. Taehyung can’t help it. He has grown to care about you a lot. He has become your number one supporter, always there at the finished line.

Taehyung knows by heart the schedule of the ferry. The ferry leaves at seven every morning and the last trip from the town is always at before five in the evening. He knows the schedule like the back of his hand. It’s a small island. Nothing really goes wrong. Except if there is a storm or if the sea is unpleasant. Which was rare.

He knows that the journey took two hours. It’s always two hours back and forth to the big city. Somehow right now his watch is pointing at seven. Later than usual. He kept himself calm by picturing you running to him.

His eyes lit up the moment he saw the ferry. He patiently waits until every single one of the passengers is out of that ferry. Just like any other month, he predicted your loud scream can be heard by now.

Except, this time it was silent.

The ferry was here but he couldn’t hear your giggles, his heart was beating fast. Something is not right.

Standing up straight, he runs to the ferry. Calling for you.

His frantic eyes caught a few people still coming out but he couldn’t find you. What happened? Times like this makes him more anxious because he couldn’t call you. At seventeen, having a phone in this little island is a luxury. Promising himself to get a phone soon with the money he collected from part time jobs.

One hand on his hip and the other is rubbing his face, he broke into a cold sweat. His mind is moving too fast with questions. Were you left behind? Did something happen to you? Are you alone?

Just before he almost turned around and grabbed his bike to look for your coach or your mom, he saw a solemn figure at the back side of the ferry.

His second hard moments in his life is watching you injured.

His heart beats like a drum when he sees you in crutches, one leg is wrapped and head down looking at the floor. He walks with a heavy heart to you, whispering your name as if calling you out loud would break your already fragile state.

“Hey, look at me,” Taehyung says softly as he holds your chin. Prompting you to look up to him. He gasped after his eyes set on your face. Your lower lip is busted and red with dried blood, your eyes are swollen, which he assumes from crying. He hates that he was right.

His greatest fear, your tears.

“Taetae,” the break in your voice is stabbing Taehyung all over the place.

“Shh, It’s okay, you’re okay.” He cupped your face with his hands. As gentle as he can. Eyes frowning seeing you in pain. Taehyung wishes there are things such as transferring pain because right now he wants to take yours.

“I lost,” you sob, letting tears and snot rolling down your face. The sting on your lip is the least pain you can feel.

“Oh dear, it’s just one lost. I’m sure you did your best.” Taehyung cooed as he wiped your tears and snot.

“No, it’s not gonna be one lost from now on. I tripped and fell so hard. It’s gonna take months to heal,” you hiccups and Taehyung swears this is the sound that breaks his heart the most and he vows to keep you away from it.

“I’m gonna miss the nationals, Tae what am I gonna do?” you wail. Breathing becomes hard. With hiccups and sobbing and a blurry view because of the tears, you’re breaking down in his arms.

“Shh shh, take a deep breath for me. Come on baby, don’t scare me. Please, please breathe.” he puts his forehead on yours. Hoping to ground you back to him. Thumbs rubbing softly on your cheeks.

The term of endearment didn’t go unnoticed by you. Baby.

“Taetae,”. You were still sobbing as you leaned on him.

Taehyung is terrified, he never saw you cry this hard. He doesn’t know how to calm you and it kills him to not be able to do anything to lessen your pain. So he kissed you, softly. On your forehead, on your cheeks, on your eyelids, on your nose.

The traces of his kisses feel like a feathery touch. And your sense is following his trails. Closing your eyes you’re no longer sobbing. Only soft whimpers fill the space.

“There we go. No more tears, baby.” Taehyung is relieved now that he can feel you breathing at a steady pace again. “Let’s go home,” he hesitated when his eyes landed on your lips. Swollen red from the biting.

You noticed the lingering stare and with a beat of the heart you crashed your lips on his. Seeking comfort and warmth, Taehyung is soaring high. The kiss was like a warm wave. Languid and soft. Taehyung is so gentle. He peppers soft kisses around your busted lips.

“Don't wanna hurt you,” he breathed. Pulling himself from the kiss, he rubs a soft circle on your cheek. “Let’s go home,” he added.

He piggybacks you home first and comes back again later to pick up his bike and your crutches. From that day onward, you both knew that you aren’t just friends anymore.

You have been itching to get your feet back on track and once the cast is off, you swear you’re gonna spend every evening running. It wasn’t ideal since the injury was bad and you were advised to stay put until it completely healed.

But you were so determined to get back on track because your only goal is getting into nationals. You have planned it out. Since you don’t perform well academically, running is your only golden ticket out of the island. You got to join the national teams. You must.

The evening after you took off your cast accompanied by Taehyung, you asked him to drop you off at the track field.

“What are we gonna do in the field? You’re not planning on running aren’t you?” Taehyung speaks with scrunched eyebrows.

“Taetae, please. I really missed the track.” You pouted and he’s a goner.

“No running!” He pointed his finger at you. You smirk before pretending to bite it.

“I’m serious. No running,” he gently flicked your forehead. “We’re just gonna take a walk, okay?” he hums, turning around to make sure you’re securely safe on the back of his bike.

“I promise.” You squeezed his waist, an answer yes I’m alright back here Taetae.

You have no idea how much you missed the track until Taehyung helped you down from the bike. The sudden gush of air fills your lungs like you’ve come up from drowning. Taehyung can sense that you’re become quite overwhelmed. His hand enveloping yours as he kissed your temple.

“Come on,” he whispered.

Rahhhh!! Rahhh!!!

The chant of the crowd broke a smile on your face. You missed it, you missed smelling the old burgundy track, feeling the burn from the sun, the sweat and the satisfying burn in your lungs when you reached the finish line.

You missed a certain someone waiting there. With his ridiculous boxy grin, and his booming cheers, muting other sounds and you can hear nothing but his voice.

It is so hard to be the one sitting in the audience instead of being on the track.

Taehyung left you for a minute to buy some lemonade and you desperately need him to ground you. Otherwise you’d be a crying mess. Yearning to be on the track but your almost healing leg is holding you back.

It is an annual event, something like sports day for the people in your island. It wasn’t even a big event, unlike the ones you used to compete in. But your heart hummed in a painful tone. You’re jealous of those who can run freely on the track you held dear to your heart.

A soft tap on your shoulder broke you from wallowing in self-pity. Taehyung sat next to you, hands holding two cups of lemonade. He knows coming here is not a good idea but you woke up so early and dressed up to be here. He doesn’t have the heart to say no.

Seeing your frowning face, Taehyung started to think maybe he should’ve said no or maybe brought you somewhere else but here.

“Hey, did I tell you that Miss Choi is helping me submit my art to the National Art School?” Taehyung winced at his futile attempt to distract you. No, Taehyung, this isn’t about you. He bit the inner cheek. Handing you a cup of lemonade before he could think of anything to turn back the time.

“No way,” you gasped. He knows you’d be excited for him. But he didn’t expect how your face would just glow in excitement like this. He was glad.

“Taetae! Why did you just tell me now? How could you!” you punched his shoulder. It doesn’t hurt a bit. Taehyung is still lost in your happy smile.

“Ah, I'm so happy. Finally, Let the city people look at your art. They're gonna praise you Taetae!” You smile adoringly and Taehyung hated that he had one thought you wouldn’t be happy for him.

“Yea, but I’m not sure yet what piece I should submit. I’m not that good and nope before you can scream at me let me finish,” he raised his finger on your lips. Just managed to stop you from gasping out loud.

What an outrageous statement! Kim Taehyung’s arts are the most magnificent arts. Though you have no clue how to appreciate art, you would break hell if people couldn’t appreciate his art.

“It’s a tough competition, even if my piece were received and reviewed, the chances of me getting in there are slim. There are so many talented artists out there, baby. Let’s not have high hopes. Not to mention I haven’t had a decent piece to submit yet.” he sighed. Shoulders slumped and he emptied the lemonade in one go.

He is nervous.

Looking at him, you squished his cheeks with your hands. “Look at me,” you demanded.

“Your art is the most breathtaking art I have ever seen, Kim Taehyung. And it’s a lot coming from me, who is practically blind when it comes to looking at paintings. I have zero knowledge about art but I know for sure, yours are gonna blow some minds. There’s people out there who studied arts, they will look at yours and be amazed by them.” You said.

“And you will always have good arts, they’re not just decent. You always said when the inspiration comes, it comes. Don’t pressure yourself,” you whispered as if it’s the only secret between you and him. And you’re selfish, not wanting to share the moment with the rest of the crowds.

Taehyung didn’t know how a heart could break until that night he received a call from your mother.

“Taehyung, she fell. Again.”

The static noise filled his ears as he ran to the jetty. It was midnight and there’s no ferry to take him to you.

Stupid, stupid girl!

He cried while banging his chest. He could’ve prevented you from going. You told him you wanted to participate in a tournament. It was not even a month after you recovered. Teahyung did think you were so stubborn to go because apparently it was for a scholarship. You were hellbent on going because you knew, the moment Taehyung got accepted to art school, you will be left alone.

You wanted to be in the city with him. You were so sure Taehyung would get accepted and the only way to be with him is to get the sports scholarship and join him in the city.

Taehyung was unsure at first. You just got better. He was scared that one slip could jeopardize your whole dream. Again, he hated that he was right.

Your mom was sobbing when she called him. “She can never run again Tae, her muscle was torn and there’s no way we can afford a surgery. She hasn’t woken up yet, she was under a high dose painkiller. I don’t know what to tell her Tae.”

Taehyung wished he could calm your mom but he couldn’t. Not when he was crying too.

You always tell him the same dream of yours. Joining the national team, go to the Olympics. Becoming the fastest runner of the country. Run until you can never feel your legs anymore. With him always telling you he’d be on the finish line. Cheering you on and on. And now the dreams will stay as dreams.

He couldn’t control his anger and thinking about your pain, he collapses on the ground. Letting the tears touch the ground. It wasn’t until he was collected enough to ride the earliest ferry to town. To come to you.

Taehyung stays by your side nights and days. Helping your mom as you don't have any male figure in your life. His parents understand it and he is thankful for that. They know how much you meant to him and they were so proud to see their son has been such a reliable shoulder especially in this trivial time for your family.

He was the one who meets up with the doctor with your mom. Discussing the recovery plan, and just being there to be your pillar. You were so quiet on the first day he arrived. The dark circles under your eyes and the hollow stare is tearing his heart apart.

Not saying much he helped feed you, and carried you to the bathroom. You were still quiet, though Taehyung tried to engage you in small talks. He makes silly jokes, the repeated jokes you always laughed at only to be received an empty response from you now.

“Tae, I wouldn’t know what to do if you weren't here. Thank you so much, son.” Your mom cries to him. Taehyung was so heartbroken to see your mom keep crying as he himself couldn’t do much to ease the pain.

“She’ll get better, she is strong.” He said. It has become a mantra every time Taehyung sat alone, thinking about you.

One day, when the doctor allowed you to go home, you reached for him. Mumbling, “Taetae, will I be okay?” your voice was strained, rough and broken. Eyes still staring into the void but your hands held onto him so tight. Like you’re so afraid if he lets go.

“Yes, you will. You’re a strong girl, you’re my strong girl,” Taehyung replied without hesitation, kissing your forehead in hopes of banishing the negative thoughts from swallowing your mind.

“But I can’t run anymore. What’s the point? I am no longer a runner.”

“Maybe there’s another opportunity for you. Maybe we can try other things, I’ll help you,”

You scoffed, he sounded silly and unrealistic. “I am nothing without running. It’s my only purpose, Kim Taehyung.”

He winced at his full name used by you. “I get it but you shouldn’t lose all hope. There are other possibilities for you out there, we just have to push harder to look for them. I believe in you.” Taehyung pleads.

“You don’t get it. All my life, one thing I am sure about is the track. I beat the time every time I’m on the track and now I am defeated with a broken leg and a stupid brain. Forget academics, you and I, we both know how terrible I am at learning. I’m not you! You’re a prodigy in everything. You have people who want to buy your art. I only have the track to stay valid so no, no one gets it. Not even you!” you were seething through your teeth.

All of the pent up anger and frustration were let out to the one person you cared about. It’s too late to regret, now that his face shows nothing but hurt.

Taehyung feels like being punched in his gut with your words. How could you, when he himself couldn’t sleep a wink from the day he heard about your injury. When worried about you every time you were at a tournament. When he can barely sit still watching you running on the track.

He couldn’t say anything after that. He knows whatever comes out from his mouth will only make it worse. You were devastated, he got to understand that. You need time and space, and you will be okay again.

Ever since you arrived home, you refused to meet anyone. Not even Taehyung. You were angry and most of all you were just sad. You wanted to be mad at something, something to blame but you couldn’t find it.

Maybe it was yourself, maybe if you weren’t so stubborn, maybe if you waited a little longer.

Taehyung did not give up. You were pushing him away and he didn’t move a flinch. He realizes he is being a pushover but you need someone. You were stubborn, through and through. You don’t have to come out of your room to talk to him nor him entering your room like he always does, but you know he’s around, he is home.

He even followed you and your mom to your routine physiotherapy. But you ignore him. A part of you feels selfish and guilty for treating him this way. Another part is, you think you’re dragging him down on this stupid island. You tried to distance yourself from him, but Taehyung didn’t care. He stays stuck next to you.

Even though you went to school all by yourself, Taehyung always follows behind you quietly. You didn’t talk to anyone and yet he still comes to your locker to help you carry your book.

You forgot about his art submission, until one day he came up to your room. Knocking softly. He didn’t speak but who else would be in your house other than your mom. You opened up to see him holding a big white canvas under his arm.

He turns it to you, showing you a painting of a girl in her yellow and red jersey. The girl is running in a field of dandelions.

“I want to submit this but I need you to see it first. You are my muse, you are my girl. It kills me to see you in this state and I want nothing but the very best of you. I used to cheer for you on the finish line but this time let me run by your side. Let me help you. If I get accepted, I will make a lot of money and I will make the best life for you, so you can stop worrying so much. We’ll learn together, just let me in.”

#taehyung fic #taehyung #bts taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts x reader #bts #kim taehyung #happy birthday

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