#can we all just be alive together is it enough. Say it is enough

[prlssprfctn]

AU, where Bruce accidentally gets de-aged (physically and mentally), and the first person he bumps in is... Red Hood.

To Jason's defence, he didn't connect the dots at first. He was just patrolling around his usual turf, thinking of nothing in particular, when he saw a small child in a ridiculously serious suit, sulking around Crime Alley. He looks distraught, and considering that he looks rich, it is no surprise - that is not a place for him. So, he is either lost or something happened, right?

He takes the helmet off, as he usually does when he is dealing with kids (they got scared easily) and carefully approaches a brooding baby.

'Hey, shrimp. Where are your parents at?'

That said shrimp turns around, his big blue eyes looking confused and lost, and Jason thinks he looks awfully familiar.

'I am not shrimp,' he protests instantly, pouting at him. 'And they are somewhere... here. We just left the movie theatre together!'

Jason glances at the abandoned movie theatre, back at the little rich boy with a familiar frown, and it clicks. This is his fucking dad. Suddenly, a kid - but it is fucking Bruce Wayne, for sure.

'Was watching Zorro by any chance?' Jason still asks, just to be sure that he is not going insane.

Bruce - and it must be him - beams at him.

'Yes! This is a great movie, by the way.'

Oh, hell. At least, he didn't witness his parents' death just yet. Jason wasn't sure he would be able to deal with his father being so small, and mourning his mom and dad. He would probably cry himself at some point.

'Hey,' Jason calls out for him slowly, squatting down; God, who would've thought that this little shrimp would become so tall and big in the future. 'Aren't you... You must be Thomas's kid, right?'

Okay, yeah, Jason is going to lie to this kid. Because there is no way he manages just to steal Bruce as a stranger to bring him back home; it is still a kid, even if it is his father. Right?

'You know my dad?' Bruce tilts his head, little fingers tugging on the hem of his jacket; suspicious.

'You could say that,' Jason nods. 'Alfie... I mean, Alfred called me. Asked me to pick up a kid, since Thomas and Martha got an urgent call.'

Fuck his life and stupid life choices. What the hell he was even doing? He looked like a mugger; or like a psycho. But Alfred was his best bet - he could call him, after all; ask, well, support his idiotic made-up story.

'No one calls Alfred Alfie but my dad,' Bruce pouts in a very, very spoiled manner.

'Well... I do. We served together in the army,' he blurts out.

His armour, apparently, is enough a proof for the kid to nod slowly.

'Okay. But you gotta take off your strange mask first,' Bruce folds arms on his chest.

...???

Did this kid just agree for an unknown man to take him home? Like this? Who could've thought that this pouty child would become the most paranoid man alive in the future?

'Uh, why?'

'So I can remember your face and do an identikit, if you turn out to be a bad guy,' Bruce smirks stupidly. 'Duh.'

Jason is going to cry. This kid is so cute.

'Yeah, duh,' Jason huffs, but despite his better judgment takes the domino mask off as well. 'Go on, take your time. My identikit should be the prettiest, shrimp.'

Bruce... gawks at him. His eyes are comically wide now, mouth open, and then, he jumps a little closer to him - oh, God, he is jumping when excited? - putting his hellishly cold hands on Jason's cheeks.

'Woah. You look like dad.'

'Uh,' Jason nods awkwardly, and because he is an idiot, adds a joke: 'We are brothers, actually. Just don't talk much.'

...Apparently, little Bruce can't take jokes. Because he lets out an adorable gasp, and throws himself on Jason as if they knew each other for ages now.

'Uncle? That's so cool. You look like Zorro!'

Damn this little kid, and this stupid family. Damn Joe Chill and the night he killed this kid's parents. Damn it all. Bruce might be an asshole sometimes, but he was so... cute and innocent.

'Thanks, shrimp,' Jason slides a domino mask back on, picks up little Bruce with one arm, and grips a helmet with another. 'Come on, let's go home. Alfred will make your favourite tiramisu.'

'You know my favourites?!'

Jason sniffles.

'Yeah. Yeah, I do, kid.'

If he gets so emotional over this kid, he has no idea how worse Dick is going to be once he finds out.

Oh, this is going to be one hell of a night.

[joojeans]

˚◞♡ ⃗ Unfinished Business

♡ Sort-of-kind-of-Boyfriend!K x Afab!Reader x Former Flame!Fuma

♡ Summary: K is the perfect... what would you call him? Boyfriend? FWB? Neither feel quite right. But he's perfect. You just didn't know how perfect he was until he gave you a once in a lifetime opportunity with a former flame that you never quite got out of your head... that also happens to be one of his friends.

♡ WC: 7.6k

♡ Content: threesome but no mxm contact, variations of the word 'fuck' used literally 42 times, pet names, a singular 'good girl' mention (it's fuma leave me alone), oral (m. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), unprotected sex (be smart), creampie x2, lil bit of dumbification, dirty talk, fuma and k talking about reader as if she isn't there (objectifying her but she loves it), clit play, breast play, maybeee a bit of humiliation if you're easily embarrassed, reader is wearing a skirt, reader has at least shoulder length hair, fuma can lift reader (fuma can lift anything lbr), only half proofread but tbh i never proofread anything

One of your favorite things about dating K is that he’s always down. Any time, anywhere, any thing. 

You’ve been seeing each other for a few months now–it’s not exactly a romance, but it’s not exactly friends with benefits either. You go on dates, have fun together, have sleepovers, have sex. You guess it’s called ‘casual dating.’ You’re not trying to be the love of each others’ lives, but from what you’ve gathered, neither of you is seeing anyone else either. It’s nice. There’s no pressure, no competition for each other’s time or attention. Just a lot of good time spent together smiling and laughing and fucking.

You weren’t planning on seeing each other tonight. K had plans to hang out with one of his friends and you were probably going to stay at home, taking a long, steamy bath while you wished you were in K’s bed instead.

That is until you overheard a coworker talking about a new romance movie showing at the cinema.

To anyone else, texting your sort-of kind-of boyfriend to see a romance movie with you in the middle of the work day would sound like a sweet date. 

You and K aren’t anyone else.

Since you’ve been dating, you’ve made a hobby out of watching cheesy romance movies to laugh and recreate the scenes in an obscenely over-the-top manner that the movies definitely don’t deserve. They’re really very nice, most of the time. But it’s much more fun to pick them apart and over exaggerate their often unrealistic plot lines. You’ve found yourselves laughing on your apartment floor more than a couple times doing just that.

You really didn’t expect K to agree to go. You only texted him about it today (read: last minute) and he already told you earlier in the week that he had plans tonight. Fortunately, you’re dating an impressive man that has all the energy needed to make time for everything when necessary. He agreed to go as long as you were okay with knowing that you would be going home separately this time. Neither of you were particularly thrilled about this “going home separately” business, but sometimes concessions must be made. 

You stumble out of the cinema with K’s hand in yours, both of you giggling like you share a secret. You got a lot of new material from this movie, all while being fed popcorn by the one person that seems to make you excited to be alive. He looks gorgeous when he’s joyous like this–eyes glittering as he looks at you, almost watering from laughing so hard. He stands in front of you, holding both hands now, and leans down to give you a kiss. It’s a i-wish-we-could-spend-more-time-together-tonight kiss. Your lips agree.

He pulls back to pull his phone out of his pocket just enough to check the time. He almost scowls at it. It feels good knowing that he doesn’t want to leave you either.

“You shouldn’t have made me come out with you tonight. Now I don’t want to go.” He finally says the words out loud as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

You turn your head and gently bite the flesh of his palm, making him smirk. “So don’t.”

K is quiet for a few moments, trailing his fingers over your jaw and up the underside of your chin. He’s thinking about it. 

He eventually sighs with a playful smile, pulling you closer to him by your chin as he leans in to kiss you again. “Always so tempting.”

He releases you and looks down at his phone again. You presume someone texted him because he looks around and waves at a car parked somewhere behind you. Damn. Not tempting enough.

“Walk me to the car.” He’s grinning as he says this, eating up the opportunity to have you be chivalrous. Without giving you a choice in the matter, he takes your hand and pulls you with him, walking backwards as he makes cute faces at you. Buttering you up for when he eventually leaves. Of course, it’s working.

As the two of you close in on the car parked by the sidewalk, you see the driver’s side door open and close. You’re paying too much attention to K to take proper notice of who’s walking towards K, only vaguely registering that it’s a man with sandy colored hair.

K sees him before you do somehow–despite literally facing the opposite direction. You guess it’s because K was mindful of his presence already and you, frankly, couldn’t care less about anyone’s presence but K’s right now. K spins around as he and the man meet near the passenger side door of the car, tugging you along with him. “Y/n, this is–”

Fuma.

You didn’t hear K say his name. You didn’t need to. Your ears started ringing the second you registered the man’s face. Fuma.

Fuma seems to have had a similar response because he doesn’t move to shake your hand or say anything. He’s just looking at you, leaning against the side of the car with his arms crossed. I’ll let you take this one, he seems to be saying. Are you going to pretend to be strangers or are you going to tell K the truth?

The truth is that about seven months ago, Fuma was your man of choice. You weren’t in a relationship, but god did you want to be. You both did, you’re pretty sure.

You went on about four dates with him. You didn’t do much talking between dates–just a few texts here and there during the day–but those dates… They were all-consuming.

Being out with Fuma felt like being in a trance. That’s the only way you can think of to describe it. The way he looked at you so intently–with purpose. The way he so gingerly helped you out of the car or lifted you into his arms when your heel broke outside the nice restaurant you were leaving. The way he didn’t need to fill the silence when he was with you because you could communicate perfectly just with your eyes. The way you desperately wanted him to spin you around and fuck you on the hood of his car instead of letting you go back into your apartment alone. Again.

You never did have sex with Fuma and that was not by choice. God, you don’t think you’ve ever wanted anyone to fuck you as bad as you wanted Fuma to fuck you. Just being in his presence was enough to have your panties sticking to you. Just the possibility that he could choose to sleep with you was so exciting that you almost didn’t care that he never did. Well, okay, that’s not entirely true. You really wanted to sleep with him. But the “will they, won’t they” was a good high too.

You wish you two stopped seeing each other for some reason that would make you less attracted to him at this moment, but regrettably, that’s not the case. The only reason you stopped seeing each other is because he got really busy with some work stuff you don’t exactly know the details about and the texts slowed and slowed until they stopped altogether.

If you’d had it your way, you never would’ve stopped seeing him.

Now? You still feel similarly, but you wouldn’t trade what you have with K for anything. You wish you would’ve had a bit more time with Fuma before meeting K and you wish you didn’t still feel your pussy throb at the sight of him, but K is, without a doubt, your priority now. You intend to make that crystal clear to your traitorous body.

You smile politely at Fuma who is clearly fighting off a smirk in return. His gaze drops down your body before meeting your eyes again. It’s quick enough that K doesn’t notice it. In fairness, K has no reason to be looking for it. Not yet. 

But the worst part is the way Fuma is looking at you now.

You swallow thickly, the fire behind his eyes so hot that you can feel yourself getting third degree burns even from a few feet away. You can’t remember him ever looking at you like this. Sure, there were times where he looked at you like he wanted to kiss you more or maybe even see what you had going on beneath your clothes, but it was never like this. He looks like he wants to eat you alive, enjoying his feast the whole way through.

Fuck.

“Hi,” you manage to get out. You need to say something before K realizes that you and Fuma are playing a little game he’s not privy to. It’s also vague… it doesn’t imply that you know each other nor does it imply that you’re strangers. It’s just… hi.

“Hello,” Fuma says, his voice low. That mother fucker. The only other time you’ve heard him use that voice was after your last date. You’d called him not long after he dropped you off at home to tell him you had a good time and to drop hints that you wanted him to take you home with him next time. Being the smart man that he is, Fuma didn’t need any help picking up those hints. You knew he understood your coy attempts by the way he’d said you’re going to look so pretty when you sleep here as he got into his own bed. In that stupid fucking voice that’s making your knees quake even now.

“Dude?” You turn at the sound of K’s voice to find his head cocked as he looks curiously at Fuma, then at you, then at Fuma. He’s smiling like he’s not in on the joke–amused but so very confused. 

“What?” Fuma asks, brows raised in what you’d call challenge.

K hesitates for a moment. Maybe he can sense the vibe between you two too. “Am… Am I missing something here? I’ve never heard your voice like that, dude.”

Fuma glances towards you, giving you the chance to sort out what’s quickly becoming something of a mess. K’s eyes follow his gaze. His brows raise as he stares at the side of your face.

“Okay, what’s going on? This is so weird.”

Your throat feels tight. It really shouldn’t be a big deal that you and Fuma used to see each other before you met K. You were single and it’s not like you knew K was friends with Fuma when you started seeing him. You and K are… well, you’re not sure what you are. But you’re not exactly in a committed relationship. At least, you don’t think so. So why is it so hard for you to just tell him the truth?

Because you still want Fuma to fuck you as badly as you did then, your brain bluntly spells out for you.

Obviously, you can’t say that.

You clear your throat, a sheepish smile curling on your lips as you look at K. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that… we know each other.”

K’s head cocks again, more curious.

“We dated,” Fuma clarifies.

K’s looking at Fuma again now. He looks like he’s waiting for Fuma to tell him it’s all a joke, but he never does.

To your surprise, K just starts laughing.

“Oh, thank god. You guys were being so weird I thought something was really wrong.” His arm slinks around your shoulder.

Okay…

Not wanting to ruin your apparent get out jail free card, you laugh too. Fuma throws in a chuckle as well. All of you seem to be relieved.

Why does this feel weird?

K is looking down at you adoringly, dropping his head to kiss your forehead before turning back to Fuma.

“So, what? Was it just like one date or… Oh my god, did you guys sleep together?” He’s laughing as he asks. He really doesn’t care.

Unless this is him being hysterical before he snaps.

But you don’t think so.

Your cheeks feel warm at this question. The answer is obviously no, but if he would’ve asked if you wanted to sleep together, well…

“No,” Fuma answers. You’re grateful that he seems to be taking the lead here. You’re feeling a combination of arousal and nerves that’s making it hard to think straight.

“I was being a gentleman. She only just escaped me.”

Your mouth goes dry at those words. What the fuck does that mean?

Did he want you just as badly? Was he restraining himself for your benefit? Why is that so hot? Why is that so fucking frustrating? ‘Escaped?’ What was he going to do to you on your next date? Is the offer still on the table? 

Shut up, y/n. It doesn’t matter.

K sputters out yet another laugh, this one born of disbelief.

“Maybe that’s where you went wrong, dude. I didn’t do that and here we are.”

Your jaw literally drops and K sees it in his peripheral vision.

“Fuck, y/n. I didn’t mean anything by that. You know that, right? I was just messing around.”

Really, you’re not mad. He’s right. Back then, you were desperate for Fuma to stop being such a gentleman. If only he was as good at reading you as K seems to be.

“I know, I know. Don’t worry. I’m not upset.” You smile at him, your fingers playing with his as they drape over your shoulder.

“Is he right?”

Your eyes widen. You look at Fuma. He doesn’t seem to be joking.

“What?” 

“Is he right?” Fuma repeats. “Should I have been less of a gentleman?”

What do you even say right now? Answering that would feel like disrespecting K in front of his face. You look at him for guidance, your eyes screaming help. Tell your friend to chill out. Tell him it’s none of his business. Tell him it doesn’t matter now.

K gestures towards Fuma with his free hand, giving you a single nod as if to say go ahead, answer him.

“Uh, I–” You’re struggling to put together a response that’s somehow honest but respectful but clear at the same time.

“Yeah. Kinda. I guess.”

God, you sound like such a dumbass, don’t you? You were going for nonchalant, noncommittal. Instead, you sound like a blubbering idiot.

They both laugh. You don’t know what reaction you were expecting, but you weren’t expecting them to laugh.

“Dude, she was waiting for you to make a move. You’re such an idiot!” 

“Excuse me for trying to be respectful.”

“Respectful? Respect her wishes!”

“Okay, okay. Yeah. I dropped the ball.”

“BIG time.”

You’re listening to them go back and forth, feeling like you’re in the twilight zone. This is all so bizarre.

“Fuck, dude. You really missed out.”

You bite into your bottom lip at K’s words. Other women in your shoes might feel offended by the two of them talking like this, but you’re not those women.

You feel fucking powerful. 

Two of the hottest, most interesting men in the world talking about how much they want you? How good it is to have you like that?

Fucking yum.

K is gazing at you, his eyes showing you that he’s replaying every time you’ve slept together in his head. He takes your jaw lightly in his hand, brushing his thumb over it as he gives you a sneak peek at the inner desires of his mind, his eyes holding yours hostage. “She’s fucking incredible.”

You shift on your feet, feeling that familiar stick between your thighs. 

Fuma hums. “I bet she is.”

A grin forms on K’s face–proud, cocky.

He lifts your gaze further, his hand tilting your jaw up–more of a show that you’ll let him handle you than anything else. “Tell me, y/n. Do you wish you would’ve slept together?”

“K–”

“Just tell me the truth, pretty. I won’t be mad.”

A moment of silence. 

Then two. 

Then three.

“I–yeah.”

God, you feel like you could fall off the face of the earth right now.

K hums this time, a small smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. You’re not sure if he’s pleased by your honesty or pleased by the answer itself. You don’t dare look at Fuma. 

“Good, baby. I appreciate your honesty.” He leans down to press a chaste kiss to your lips, his hand never releasing its hold on your jaw.

He gives a sidelong glance to Fuma and looks back at you.

“Would you want to… now? If I brought him back to my place with us?”

Fucking what?!

Sensing your confusion in the slackening of your jaw and the way your eyes round, K chuckles softly and elaborates. “I’m not trying to trick you.” His hand moves from your jaw to card through your hair, surely trying to relax you. “It seems like you two have… unfinished business.” A playful smile. “I don’t mind letting him see what he’s been missing–what I get to have.”

You must be dreaming. No, you’re just full-on hallucinating at this point.

“That is, if you want to. And if he wants to… but I know the fucker. He wants to.”

K glances towards Fuma and raises his brow, proving how well he knows him when Fuma rolls his eyes but nods his head.

This is what wet dreams are made of.

You exhale a shaky breath, not realizing you were holding one. “K, I don’t think–”

“Don’t think. Don’t use your head, baby. Do you want it?” K’s fingers glide over your scalp and down the back of your neck, your head instinctively tilting up to him, baring yourself to him. “Yes or no? Quick.”

“Yes.”

“There we are.”

K’s lips find yours again, this time kissing you properly. You sigh into his mouth as he tilts his head, feeling like you’re so deeply embedded in a fantasy world you never want to return from. You risk opening your eyes to peek at Fuma who is not-so-secretly using this moment to ogle your body. Fuck, you love how it feels when he looks at you like that. You lock eyes for a moment and he winks at you.

How does he still look so casual? Does nothing get under his skin?

K gently tugs on your bottom lip as he breaks the kiss, giving you one last reassuring peck before standing up straight again. 

“Alright, well, that settles it.”

You and Fuma are both just standing there, letting K dictate every move. You get the feeling that Fuma isn’t usually one to let anyone else run the show, but he’s smart enough to play his cards right when presented with an opportunity this good.

“Fuma, keys.” K holds up his hand, waiting for Fuma to toss them. Fuma doesn’t toss them right away, needing an explanation. With a lighthearted scoff, K grins. “You’re going to sit in the back with y/n. It’s probably best for you two to… warm up… to each other, don’t you think?”

Your heart is in your ass. You really need someone to pinch you.

Without a word, Fuma tosses K his keys.

K’s hand slides down your forearm, lacing his fingers through yours. “Let me know if you get uncomfortable at any point, okay?” He murmurs, giving your hand a squeeze. When you nod, he opens the back door of Fuma’s car, helping you in, making sure you sit in the middle seat. He kisses your forehead again and gives your thigh a squeeze just below your skirt before retreating to the sidewalk.

You hear K talking to Fuma, but you can’t quite make out what they’re saying–partially because you can’t hear with all the noise outside and partially because your heart is racing in your ears. None of this feels real. You’re in an unfamiliar car–the car that belongs to a man you used to date–and you’re about to be on your way to your current boyfriend(?)’s apartment so you can presumably fuck them both. Reality could never be this good.

You have to glance at yourself in the rearview mirror to assure yourself this is real, but you don’t believe yourself.

The light in the car shifts, alerting you to Fuma sliding into the backseat next to you. He’s already focused on you when K shuts the door behind him, his eyes on yours. You stare at each other, seemingly accepting this reality at the same time, only breaking eye contact when the driver’s door closes in front of you.

You both look up, meeting K’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He’s smiling in a cheeky way that makes you want to both smack and kiss him.

“Pretend I’m not here,” he says, waving his hand. “Well… don’t. But do. You know what I mean.”

K’s easygoing attitude is really helping to loosen some of the knots in your belly, though they’re only replaced with more knots–anticipatory knots. You’ll take those, though. 

You welcome those.

Fuma takes the request at face value, moving closer to you in small scoots until his thick thigh is pressed against the outer side of yours. Your stomach does a little flip that you hope Fuma doesn’t pick up on.

“Is this okay?” He asks, moving your hair behind your shoulder closest to him with a sweep of his finger.

You nod, you smile. Fuma smiles.

“That’s good,” he rumbles, dipping his head down to press a soft kiss to your jaw just in front of your ear. “You look gorgeous tonight, y/n.”

“T-thank you,” you stutter out, goosebumps spreading over your body at his nearness.

“Mm,” he hums in response. “Can you look at me?”

You turn your head slowly, thrilled but nervous. Fuma’s gaze settles on your lips, tracing them. He lifts his gaze back to yours and leans in, slotting his lips with yours as his hand finds its way to your waist.

Okay, so we’re not wasting any time with pleasantries. That’s fine. The two of you wasted more than enough time those months ago.

You melt into Fuma’s kiss, your hand catching the front of his shirt at his chest. He kisses you slow for minutes, you’re sure, never once using his tongue. His hand kneads down your waist to your hip, gripping. Your mouth parts in a silent gasp, effectively breaking the kiss.

Fuma chuckles, giving your hip a squeeze. “It’s that easy, huh?”

You should be fucking mortified but instead you’re wet. Soaking wet.

Fuma’s eyes drag down your body, removing his hand from you so there’s no buffer for his line of sight. Once he reaches your feet, they make their way back up, his hand sliding onto the top of your thigh. He rubs your knee for a fleeting moment before wrapping his hand over you, his fingertips resting on the inside of your lower thigh. He catches your gaze with his own, seeking out your reaction.

He only finds a spark of anticipation in your eyes, much to his delight.

Fuma leans in towards you again, this time hovering his lips near your ear. “You like that, right?” He’s asking but he already knows the answer. The way your skin jumps under his palm would give you away even if you tried to lie. He slides his hand up a smidge, continuing to speak directly into your ear. “You wanted me to touch you like this all those times, didn’t you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your face feels like it’s on fire at the question. You didn’t expect him to put you on the spot. 

“I just– I–”

“You just what, baby?” He’s both tender and provocative. His hand slides up further, dragging the hem of your skirt along with it.

“I guess I… I wanted you to want me so badly that you couldn’t help yourself.” Your eyes widen as the words come out of your mouth. You can’t believe you were so honest. You hadn’t intended to be.

True to character, Fuma doesn’t flinch at the blurted confession. He chuckles, his hand stopping its movement up your thigh to grip it, gently pulling it away from the other. Spreading you.

“If only you knew, y/n.”

You’re about to pass out. Your heart is beating out of your chest and you feel so drunk-dizzy and you haven’t gotten close to having everything you want tonight.

Luckily, K comes to your rescue. The sound of his voice is almost sobering but not quite. You had forgotten he was even there. It kinda makes you feel like shit but you kinda don’t care too much about being a decent person right now.

“What color panties is she wearing for us today?” is what K says.

You glare at K through the rearview mirror as if he didn’t just make your pussy flutter with excitement. He’s smug.

“Let’s see.” Fuma is speaking loud enough for K to hear now.

Fuma’s hand slides the rest of the way up your thigh, pooling your skirt at your waist. Your fingers curl into the backseat as you experience embarrassment laced with an addictive sensation you can’t quite put your finger on. Your spread thighs do nothing to hide your panties from either man.

“Looks like blue,” Fuma states much too matter-of-factly. His voice drops when he adds, “See through little things. You should see the wet spot on her.” He brushes said spot with the back of his knuckles, barely grazing.

You’re horrified when a needy moan immediately slips out of your mouth like it was just waiting to be released.

K tsks but he’s licking his lips in the rearview mirror. Fuma is smirking, spreading your thighs wider. 

“You really can’t wait, can you?” He teases, pulling your closest leg over his own. He rests his palm on your inner thigh, rubbing it up and down, getting within millimeters of your dampened panties but never touching that little spot again. You exhale a frustrated breath, your back arching slightly as you fight the urge to lift your hips and press against his hand yourself.

“Fuck, I love when she gets like that,” K rasps from up front.

“It’s cute,” Fuma agrees.

You take a deep breath, leaning your head back against the seat as you close your eyes. It’s too soon to be acting like a cat in heat. Even if that’s what you feel like right now.

Taking pity on you, Fuma gives you a little something to get you by. You feel him take your hand and place it over the crotch of his pants. You can tell that’s where you are by the cold metal of his zipper. Your fingers instinctively curl, a small hiss of delight leaving you when you feel that he’s hard beneath the fabric. He guides your hand, encouraging you to rub him, to feel what will soon be yours.

“Soon, pretty,” with a nip at your earlobe.

“Sooner than you think,” K adds.

You open your eyes to investigate K’s words, relieved when you see K pulling into the parking garage of his apartment complex. You laugh breathlessly, the delicious absurdity of the situation making you feel weightless.

K parks the car and gets out to open the back door for you. Fuma fixes your skirt and K offers you his hand, pulling you to meet him for a brief kiss before closing the door. He looks at you for a second, checking to make sure you’re still okay, and nods, placing your hand in Fuma’s when he makes his way around. K falls back, letting Fuma lead you ahead of him, watching.

Like everything else, it feels bizarre to have K just watch you be with another man, but like everything else, you like it. A lot.

K only moves ahead of you to unlock the door to his place.

K steps aside to let you inside first, Fuma leading you directly to K’s sectional. You can tell by the way he moves that he’s been here many times before and that makes your stomach twist excitedly. You never knew all the times you spent the night and the morning with K that the hypnotic man that escaped you had been here too. You’re surprised you couldn’t smell him–that’s how much you wanted him. How much you still want him.

Fuma doesn’t let go of your hand until he reaches the couch, turning to face you. Your heart freezes in your chest. He gives you a small smile and holds eye contact with you as he takes a seat in the middle of the couch. His hands find the backs of your thighs and gently pull forward until you’re straddling him, your hands on his shoulders with a soft oof. 

Fuma’s hands slide up the back of your thighs beneath your skirt, fingers playing with the hem of your panties. “Did you wear pretty panties like this for me?” He whispers the question against your lips but never kisses them.

You nod. You feel the couch sink next to you and glance over to see K watching you two. He’s enjoying this–flaunting you to Fuma.

Fuma’s hands work themselves underneath your panties, taking each cheek in a sandy palm. “Such a pretty fucking thing,” he mumbles against your ear as your gaze is still locked on K. Your pussy clenches around nothing and you’d swear K can tell by the way he smirks at you.

Surely he just knows what gets to you.

You reach for K’s crotch, index finger and thumb pulling at his zipper. You’re so fucking grateful for him right now. You can’t make him feel left out.

K lifts a brow and grins, taking it upon himself to finish opening up his pants.

“This what you want, baby?” He asks, fishing his cock out of boxers, stroking it as he watches your pupils dilate.

Yes. No. I want it inside of me. But yes. Fuck, yes.

You’re nodding but before you can answer him properly, Fuma is turning your cheek with his hand, devouring your lips the moment they reach his. You moan into his mouth, your hips involuntarily rocking against his lap, seeking something, anything to relieve your aching need. Fuma echoes your moan with a groan of his own, his hands settling on your hips to guide you–back and forth in his lap, back and forth against the throbbing erection in his pants.

“Lay over my lap, gorgeous.” A simple order from Fuma as his lips break from yours.

You do as you’re told, sliding off of Fuma’s lap onto the couch beside him. You get on your knees first and stretch yourself out, draping your body across his thighs, your cheek resting on K’s knee.

“Listening so well tonight, aren’t you, baby?” K praises, petting your hair affectionately.

“Yeah,” you say. “You’re so good to me,” you say.

K’s eyes sparkle at you in a similar way as when you exited the cinema earlier, but the mood feels much heavier with his hand stroking his cock in your face.

The good kind of heavy, of course.

Intense is probably the right word.

Fuma’s hands are readily exploring your lower body–wandering over the backs of your legs, pushing your skirt up to your waist, dipping between your soft thighs to rub the wet spot on your panties.

“A–aah,” you gasp.

Both men are chuckling, sharing a look with each other before training their attention back on you.

“So cute when you’re all sensitive,” K coos.

“So. Fucking. Tempting.” Fuma echoes, fingers prying your panties aside. His fingers make direct contact with your slippery core, hissing when his fingertip prods at your entrance only to find out that he could easily slip it inside you right now without any resistance. “Y/n, fuck. If you want something, you better tell me. You remember what happens when you keep it to yourself.”

Not. Fucking. Ever. Again.

You take a deep breath as you look at Fuma, finding it hard to regulate such a natural bodily function when your body only seems to care about being filled. Your hand reaches back, circling Fuma’s wrist as his pads continue to skate through your glossy folds. “I want your fingers in me,” you tell him with heated cheeks. “Wanna finally know what it feels like.”

“That’s a good girl,” Fuma rumbles, instantly rewarding your obedience with his middle finger, your walls gripping the single digit.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out, your eyelids fluttering. You don’t know if it’s the physical sensation or the idea of Fuma’s fingers being inside of you that you like more.

“She loves being fingered. Gets my wrist fucking soaked,” K volunteers. 

Your pussy clenches again and Fuma clicks his tongue.

“Seems she also loves it when you talk about her like that.” Fuma inserts a second finger easily, his free hand moving under the front of your body and pushing up until you arch yourself for him. His fingers are pumping rhythmically inside you, occasionally but irregularly curling inside you so you’re never prepared for the extra bit of ecstasy. “You like having two men throbbing over you, don’t you?”

You nod eagerly, your mouth hanging open as you push back against Fuma’s fingers, fucking yourself on them as much as he’s fucking you with them.

K takes notice of your open mouth and takes hold of your face, tracing your lips with his thumb. He dips it inside, watching as you immediately close your lips around it, suckling. Just like he thought.

“I’ve got a good use for that open mouth, pretty.”

K’s hand pulls you forward, eyes silently telling you exactly what he wants, not that you had any questions. His hand is brushing your hair out of your face as you lower your head and snake your tongue out to taste the head of his cock. His hips buck at first contact and you moan, salivating over how sensitive he seems to be over all of this too.

You take K’s cock in your mouth, determined to make him feel better than ever for letting you have this night. This experience. You fight like hell to keep your focus on tonguing and sucking and swallowing his cock despite the way you’re trembling in Fuma’s lap, the wet sounds of his fingers plunging into you filling the small space the three of you share. 

It’s impossible, but fuck if you’re not trying.

You watch through watery, dreamy eyes as K’s head falls back against the couch, lids low as he watches you in awe. You’re trying so hard to not be overwhelmed by your own pleasure that you don’t even notice when Fuma starts moving–not really. You knew your body was being moved but you didn’t really know what was happening.

You feel Fuma’s hand travel up your spine, palming the back of your neck. “You feel that, y/n?” He asks, rubbing what you can only imagine is the head of his cock against the soaked through fabric of your panties. You moan around K’s cock, nails curling into the top of K’s thigh. Fuma laughs and your panties are rolling down your legs. 

“Tell me you want me to fuck you, y/n,” Fuma says, the head of his cock pushing against your entrance without ever breaching it. “If you tell me, you can have it. I know how much you want it.”

You whine around K’s cock, feeling impatient and a little frustrated that Fuma isn’t already inside you. You pull off of K, panting and licking your lips to compose yourself just enough to speak.

“Fuma, please don’t tease me,” you whine, purposefully poutier than you’d usually be. One thing you know from dating Fuma is that he can’t find it in himself to deny you anything. Your hand is pumping K, never allowing him to be forgotten. He thrusts up into your palm, his quiet grunting background noise to the back and forth between you and Fuma. “Please fuck me. Please. I want it. Want you inside me.”

“How could I ever say no when you sound so sweet begging me for it?” Fuma teases and praises, dragging his cockhead up and down your slit a few more times. “I’d give you anything your little heart desires.” Fuma pushes himself inside you, slowly inching himself inside to allow you to accommodate him, though it’s not difficult when you’re already dripping buckets onto the couch. He’s groaning the whole way through, his hands digging into your hips harshly for restraint.

“Fuck, she feels so good. You lucky son of a bitch.”

K laughs, tightening your hand around his cock as he fucks into it more aggressively at Fuma’s words. “Yeah, you’re a real fucking idiot for fumbling her.” 

Fuma starts with slow thrusts, testing your limits surely, wanting to get a feel for what you’re willing to take. K’s hand guides your drooping head up to look at him, thumb brushing your cheek soothingly. “Can I have that pretty mouth back, baby?”

Of course. Anything for you. Are you kidding?

Instead of answering in a slur like you know would happen, you lean forward again, taking K’s cock back into your mouth. You suckle on the tip, drag your tongue along the sides, push him further down your throat than you can stand. His hands comb through your hair, massage your jaw, wipe at the saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth. He’s cursing and moaning and telling you how you couldn’t be more fucking perfect for him.

All while another man is fucking you.

His friend, to be clear.

Fuma’s thrusts are calculated and deep, finding that spot inside you as if he’s visited it a million times before. He’s rough but in a way that says I know you can handle this. He’s fast now. He’s driving himself into you with such ferocity that you’ve barely recovered from the last thrust before he’s overwhelming you with the next.

He’s reducing you to a moaning, shaking mess, that’s what he is. He’s about to make you come, that’s what he is.

K notices you struggling to blow him, noting the all too familiar signs of your approaching orgasm. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t worry about me. I’ll have my turn.” He pulls your face up and leans down to meet it, silencing a strangled moan with a kiss. He falls back against the couch again, taking over the job of tending to his cock–stroking it as he watches the sight unfolding before him.

Fuma leans over your back, his hand wrapping around your throat. He holds you up against his chest, sharp thrusts punctuating his words spoken low against your ear. “You take it so well, y/n. I can feel the way you’re squeezing me. You want to come for me, don’t you? In front of your boyfriend, right? That gets you off, right?”

You’re glitching at this point, your mind breaking euphorically. You’re nodding as much as you can with Fuma having you in his hold so securely, moaning and panting and whimpering. The three of you are all watching each other, though you are clearly the star of the show. “S-so good,” you stutter. “Feels s’good.”

Fuma hums his approval in your ear, his thrusts reaching a point of punishing. “You feel so good around me, baby,” he says, his breath heavy. You can tell he’s close too by the way his thrusts lose some of their control, getting sloppier as he chases that feeling of release. “Gonna come inside your pretty pussy, baby,” he says.

And to be honest, that’s all it takes.

You’ve been dreaming about the day Fuma does exactly like that. So who could blame you when the words alone send you over the edge–send you reaching for K’s hand for stability as you come on Fuma’s cock?

Your orgasm blacks out your vision and you squeeze K’s hand for grounding. He squeezes back and you can hear Fuma losing control behind you, managing a handful more thrusts before his own body stutters, his own orgasm coloring your insides.

He keeps thrusting as you both try to clear your hazy heads, slowing his hips and focusing on decorating your neck with kisses much softer than the way he fucked you.

“That’s my pretty girl,” K muses, lovingly tracing your cheek with his fingers. His other hand is still stroking his cock but slower now, despite its pulsing need. You nuzzle against his hand and he coos, his eyes softening despite their hunger.

“Fuma?” K calls.

“Mm?” Fuma answers.

“Sit her on my cock.”

Now when they talk about you like you’re not here, it feels like they’re doing it because they know you can’t speak for yourself. Not at the moment. Not when they’ve gotten you this cockdrunk.

You let Fuma gather your body in his strong arms, getting only a little bashful because you can feel the mess between your thighs all too clearly when you’re not plugged up by his cock. He kisses the side of your head  as he lifts you, passing you off into K’s waiting, outstretched arms.

K settles you on his lap, whispering words of encouragement and praise into your ear as he plugs the hole Fuma occupied only moments ago. So good for us. So fucking pretty like this. Feels good not having a single thought in your pretty head, mm? My pretty girl deserves another orgasm, doesn’t she?

You feel like jelly in K’s lap, trusting the two beautiful men surrounding you to take care of your and your body. Everything feels so good right now. Everything feels like too much right now. You never want it to end. 

You whimper as you lean your head back against K’s chest, grinding your hips in a desperate effort to take his cock properly. He tsks, one hand holding your hip in place. “No, baby. Let me. Just sit there and feel good for me, okay?” 

K motions for Fuma to kneel on the ground in front of you with a wave of his hand and you might be surprised when Fuma follows his lead if you were capable of using your brain at the minute.

He really wants to take care of me, you’d think. My pleasure is important to him, you’d be delighted to know.

As Fuma makes himself comfortable on the ground between your spread thighs, K is pumping himself up into you. “Did you miss my cock, baby?” He’s asking, not expecting an answer. Already knowing the answer. His hands are pushing your top up above your breasts, groping them and tweaking your nipples between his fingers. 

“Look at her. She’s fantastic,” K tells Fuma. “Cant believe you fucked her before you even got to see these.” 

K must mouth something to Fuma because he goes from looking over your shoulder to rubbing your clit, watching as K’s cock enters you over and over.

You’re so sensitive right now and every single thing they say and do is making it worse. You’re whining but you’re not sure for what anymore. You don’t want it to stop. You want more. It’s already overstimulating. You don’t want it to stop. “K, please,” you manage.

“Please what, baby?” He asks, nuzzling his nose against your jaw. His thrusts pick up in speed and intensity–he knows exactly what. “You want to come again, baby? Is that it?”

Fuma starts to wiggle his thumb on your clit in tighter, quicker circles at the mere mention of you wanting an orgasm and you squirm on K’s lap, moans pitching up to pathetic levels.

“It’s okay, baby. You can come for me.” K soothes, one hand still fondling your breast as the other holds your hip for leverage, pounding into you from beneath. His own breathing is ragged and you know he’s close too.

Frankly, he’s been dying to come inside you since he was in your mouth.

“K-K–” You whisper, eyebrows knit in the middle. It’s a feeble attempt at expressing just how good you feel right now. How he’s everything you could have ever wanted and he feels perfect inside you and you’re going to come.

And you do.

Fuma doesn’t stop rubbing your clit as you come, pressing down firmly when he sees it happening, jumping at the chance to add to your pleasure. He’s watching you like you’re a once in a lifetime experience, making soft sounds of wonder as you writhe in K’s lap, body spasming from all the stimulation. If you were seeing black earlier, you’re seeing white now.

“S-shit,” K stutters, taking both hips in his hands as he holds you down on him, not letting you escape as he deposits white ropes inside you.

This time, everyone stops. Catching their breath. Processing what has happened. Replaying it over in their minds already.

Then, everyone starts laughing.

It’s just half hearted chuckles, the ones that happen when reality is stronger than lust.

It’s nice.

You’re limp on K’s lap, his chest to your back. Fuma is sitting on the floor between your thighs, his hands lightly holding your calves as a way to keep some sort of contact without you reading it as sexual in nature. Everyone is sweaty. Everyone is smiling. Everyone got to come.

Some of you got to come twice.

“Was that… was that crazy?” You finally break the silence. You feel responsible for what happened here even though it wasn’t your idea. It wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you.

“Yeah, probably,” Fuma says.

“No, definitely,” K says, still laughing.

K wraps his arms around your middle and rests his head on your shoulder. “But it was fun, wasn’t it?”

Fuma nods.

“Yeah,” you say. “Fun and fucking insane.”

[thekhloediary]

If You Were Here

Nicholas Chavez x Reader

When he’s away, that doesn’t mean you can’t still play

Happy Saturday! More Nic smut because can we ever really get enough lol I appreciate all your comments, likes, and reblogs. Enjoy! -Khloe 💋

I was wearing his t-shirt. My favorite one of my boyfriend’s that always made me feel closer to him when he wasn't here. Nicholas was away filming a movie, and I was missing him like crazy. The soft fabric of the shirt against my skin was a familiar comfort. It had been a month since I last saw him. Well, in person, that is. FaceTime had been our way of seeing each other and staying close, even though we were miles apart. It didn’t compare to having him here with me, but it was the next best thing. It was the closest we could get to each other without being in the same space.

I sat in front of my MacBook, awaiting his voice and handsome face to fill my screen. Lip gloss and his shirt, that’s all I was wearing. Keeping things fun and interesting kept the spark alive—that never ending feeling of excitement, attraction, and connection. Luckily, for Nicholas and I, our spark hadn’t faded. Sure, it got hard missing each other, but FaceTime made the distance easier.

I missed him so much, and there was nothing more I wanted than to feel him on me and in me, but since I couldn’t have him physically, I had to make do with our calls and my thoughts. I let my hand drift down my body, imagining it was his.

“Already started without me?” I heard Nicholas say as we connected to FaceTime.

“Hey, baby, I missed you.”

“Me too. What are you up to?” he asked with a knowing smirk.

“Oh, nothing,” I teased. “Just thinking about how fucking hot my boyfriend is.”

“Oh, yea?”

“Yea, he’s so fucking hot.”

He smiled. “You’re fucking hot, babe. Look at you. I like your shirt.”

“This?” I asked playfully as I ran my hand over the fabric of his t-shirt and gave him a teasing smile. “How about what’s under?” I crossed my arms, grabbing the bottom of the shirt at each side, and slowly pulled it up over my head.

“Fuck, yea,”

I moved closer to the screen to give him a better view. My hand drifted down and over my breasts, making my nipples tighten. I bit my lip as I rubbed and gently pinched them.

“I miss you so bad.” he told me, making my heart warm and my pussy ache.

“You have no idea.”

“Tell me how much. Tell me what I would be doing if I was there right now.”

“If you were here…” I started in a low, breathy voice, keeping eye contact. “You would grab my tits like this,” I gave them a gentle squeeze. “And then your tongue would taste my nipple before you took it into your mouth. You would suck it gently just the way I like it, and your tongue would feel amazing.”

“I bet you’re so wet right now.”

“I’m always so wet for you,” Just then, an idea crossed my mind. “Hold on, baby. I have something fun for you.” I reached over to my nightstand drawer, and when I was back on the screen, I held a vibrator in my hand. My pretty in pink, tried and true, thrusting rabbit. We’d had a lot of fun together, whenever Nicholas was away.

Now, he was invited to the party.

Nicholas grinned at me. He knew the night was about to get even better from here. With our eyes locked, I spread my legs and placed the tip of the vibrator against my clit.

“Look at my pretty pussy. Fuck. I miss her.” he groaned audibly at the sight. I was already so wet. Just like I had told him. Just like he knew.

But I wanted him to see.

“Let me tell you what you would do to her,” I turned on the vibrator, the sensation hitting me instantly like a bolt of electricity. “You would put your thumb on my clit and you would rub it. Around and around. Slowly at first. Then you would pick up the pace. You would put a finger inside me. Then two. Mmm. I’m dripping all over your fingers.” I moaned and closed my eyes as the toy went to work.

Nicholas watched as I pleasured myself, his body quickly reacting in response. He had watched me touch myself before, but never with a toy, and as he looked, he thought it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. From the way the vibrator was pressed against me to the way my hips bucked at the pleasurable sensations, he was turned on and getting harder by the second. He reached down and wrapped his hand around his dick, his eyes locked on the screen and ears perked as moan after moan escaped me.

With each rise and fall of his hand as he started long, slow strokes, my excitement grew more. I could feel the heat coming through the screen as we made eye contact and watched each other please ourselves.

“Mmm. That’s so hot, baby,” I moaned. “You’re so hard. I wish I could feel it.”

I moved the vibrator down to my wet hole. “If you were here…you would slide it in until I felt all of you. Then you would slide it out and ease it back in slowly. It would feel so good. Then you would fuck me. Long, deep strokes just how I like it.” I gasped as I pushed the toy inside me.

I moved the vibrator in and out, imagining it was him. One press of a button, and the setting changed, the toy now thrusting inside me. “Oh my god, fuck…”

As Nicholas watched me almost come undone, his dick was even harder now. Throbbing. Begging for the release his hand was working towards. “If you were here…” His hand moving faster. “I would fuck you so hard and you would take it like the good little girl you are. You’re a good girl, right?”

“Mm hmm,” I was breathing harder now.

“Tell me how good you are,”

“So good, baby. I would tell you to make me cum.”

“I would, but only if you asked nicely.” His grip tightened as he felt the pressure building.

“Can you make me cum, Nic?”

“Good girls say please,”

“Please, make me cum,”

He was stroking at full speed now. I felt my muscles begin to contract around the vibrator and my breath hitched as the sensation became overwhelming. I let out a string of breathy moans.

I was close.

He was too.

In and out went my vibrator.

Up and down went his hand.

Faster.

Harder.

Almost there.

Don’t stop.

“Oh my god, baby,” I whimpered. The vibrator was thrusting relentlessly inside me, pushing me fast towards the edge. My breathing became irregular and my mind went blank as I fucked myself senselessly.

I was at the peak.

Then, I looked at my screen and locked eyes again with Nicholas, who I wished was this pink rabbit inside me, and he gave me a look that said only one thing—cum for him.

And so I did. Right in time with him as he let out a long, aggressive groan and his dick spilled. I watched as spurt after spurt of his milky, white release shot from the tip like a volcanic eruption. It was fucking hot and just about sent me over the edge again.

“Fuck,” Nicholas breathed a sigh of contentment. He looked up at the screen to find me watching him with a satisfied smile.

“That was hot, baby.” I said, still a bit breathless.

“Damn…I really needed that. Thanks, babe.” he returned my smile.

“Anytime,”

“Tomorrow?”

I laughed. “Okay. I’m gonna go take a shower now and think of you while I’m in there.”

“Wish I could join you,” he made a puppy face.

“Me too. Soon enough,” I blew him a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, baby,”

As our call ended, I smiled to myself. We were miles apart, yet closer than ever.

[wickershells]

If i have to see one more “this is so ethel cain core” comment i am gouging out my eyes And offering them to the heavens as penitence for the horrors of the human race. We have failed o lord

[tenwhiteandalusians]

pertaining to the idea of tenax’s band of strays i do think it’s touching that the kids are the ones who saved him and waited outside the door to make sure he’s okay. for all tenax claims to be harsh and cruel it’s a fine indicator of his character that the kids won’t rest without him and are there every time he’s in danger.

[gothsuguru]

5 chapters left hmm…

[secondpersonpoetry]

hi! heard the released “Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call” (which i’ve seen you’ve heard live, if i’m not mistaken!!) this morning and i don’t know if there’s really a particular vibe/dynamic/ship hrpf-wise (personally haven’t yet been able to put my finger on it) that quite relates but the lyrics have been rotating in my head all day and i was wondering if you had any thoughts? hope you have a good one! <3

OH ANON HAVE I EVER SEEN IT LIVE!!! and the second that song came out i zoomed it straight into my fic playlist and unfortunately there are so many guys this could be. right now the one that's resonating is, of course, the golden boy and his haunted ghost themselves: mcstrome.

i am thinking about connor, specifically, after the stanley cup final. that game seven. how angry he was, how loud the silence when they told him he won the conn smythe. how close he's come before and again and again lost. there's nobody else to blame but himself. he's in the empty room and he knows why (1)

at!! your best!!! you were magic!!! oh, golden boy. connor the anointed, of course. at the very beginning of his career we always knew he was something special and who wouldn't have fallen in love with him? weren't all of us a little bit dylan strome in awe of the generational talent? we were all bathed in radiant light just by being in the vicinity (2)

don't even tell 'em that you know me breaks my heart (3). in terms of building a narrative i think i've said before there is a universe where connor/dylan were together before the draft and to protect both of them, dylan breaks up with him. connor says i love you and dylan says i don't. because he doesn't, you know? he loved connor. he loved davo. he can't be in love with connor mcdavid, first overall pick of the edmonton oilers. i'd rather be hurt forever than have to watch us try to make this work and destroy us.

and after connor mcdavid left the otters, dylan strome captained them to a memorial cup win. what a haunted home, eh? to be captain of the team you and your best friend were on, only now he's left you? don't call me to tell me about your rookie season with the oilers--we both know about your broken collarbone. don't call me to tell about becoming the youngest captain in franchise history when i stepped into the shoes of your captaincy here. don't call me. (4)

narratively: dylan's the one who broke connor's heart and his own but by god it wasn't easy. we both know what happened, you went first overall. please don't make this harder on me. please don't call.

this verse can be about the weight of dylan having to live up to connor's standards and always being measured by him. i would just like to bring up the connor stepping stone chart for absolutely no reason as well (5)

we are, at long last, at the potential future of now: dylan strome, happy, smiling, thriving on the washington capitals. connor, on the oilers. i'm not yours, dylan can say. haven't been for a long time. it took some time but i made this. please don't call and ruin this for me, stay out of my life. i don't want you or need you (6)

[p.s. this took a while because when i received this ask i was a) immediately possessed to write this verse by verse breakdown i had never thought of before and then b) immediately plagued by the idea of making you a little graphic (above the read more) and finally got to do it after banging out all the actual lyric thoughts two (?) weeks ago. emerging two and a half hours later from the fugue state of GIMP with 37 layers in this bad boy hope you enjoy!!!]

[synonymroll648]

IF LORE UPDATES APPLIED TO PEOPLE I WOULDVE JUST GOTTEN ONE OF MY HAPPIEST LORE UPDATES TODAY

[gor3sigil]

Before starting T, when I socially transitionned, I was surrounded by radical feminists who saw masculinity as gross and inherently evil, something to avoid, something to make fun of, something to destroy. The other transmascs in my friend group, sometimes, told me that they didn’t knew if they really were non-binary or if they just were scared shitless of saying “I am a man”. Because they saw this as a betrayal to their younger self who had been SAd and abused.

I saw many of my masc friends and trans men around me hate themselves, not outing themselves as men because it would imply so so much, it was like opening the Pandora Box. Even when we were just together, talking about our masculinity was always coated with bits like “I know we’re the privileged ones but…”, “I don’t want to sound like I have it bad but…”, “Women obviously have it worse, but last time…” and we were talking about terrible traumas we experienced while taking all the precautions in the world in the case the walls were a crowd of people in disguise waiting to get us if we didn’t downplay the violence we faced, or like crying and being upset and being traumatized and afraid and scared and to say it out loud would make us throw up the needles we were forced to swallow every second of every day living in our skin.

Most of us weren’t on T yet, some of us were catcalled every day and harassed in the streets or in abusive relationships nobody seemed to care to help them get out of because they were “strong enough” to do it by themselves.

I was using the gender swap face app and cried for ours when I saw my father looking back at me through the screen. The idea of transforming, of shedding into a body that would deprive me of love, tenderness, and safety, was absolutely terrifying. I knew I couldn’t stay in this body any longer because it wasn’t mine, but I also knew that if I was going to look like my dad, my brother, my abusers, it would be so much worse.

5 years later and I’m almost 2 years on T, and almost 2 months post top surgery.

I ditched my previous group of friends. I was bullied out of my local trans community. But let me tell you how free I am.

I was scared that T would break my singing voice: it made it sound more alive than ever.

I was scared that T would make me less attractive: it made me find myself hot for the first time in my life.

I was scared that T would make me gain weight: it did. But the weight I put on is not the weight I used to put on by binging and eating my body until I forgot that it even existed. It’s the weight of my body belonging to me, little by little. The wolf hunger for life.

I won’t tell you the same story I see everywhere, the one that goes “I started going to the gym 8 times a week, I put on some muscles, I started a diet and now I look like an action film actor”, in fact if you took pictures of me from 5 years ago vs now I’d just have more acne, I’d have longer hair and still look like I don’t know what to do with myself when I take selfies.

But the sparkle in my eyes, my smile, tell the whole story way better than this long ass stream of words could ever.

I want to say some things that I wish someone told me before starting medically transitionning.

It’s okay to take your time. It’s your body, it’s your journey, if you don’t feel comfortable taking full doses and want to go slow, the only voice you need to listen to is your own. Do what feels right.

If you feel overwhelmed, it’s okay to take a break, it’s okay to ask for support.

Trans people are holy. Everyone is. You didn’t lose your angel wings when you came out because you want to be masculine. You are not excluded from the joy of existence, from being proud of yourself, from being sad, from being scared, from being angry. The emotions and feelings you allowed yourself to feel while processing what you experienced when you grew up as a girl and was seen as a woman are still as valid as before. Nobody can take that from you. If someone tries to, don’t let them.

It’s perfectly normal to grieve some things you were and had before you started to transition, like your high soprano voice or even your chest. Hatching is painful. You can find comfort in things that don’t feel right, so making the decision to change can be incredibly scary and weird and you deserve to be heard and supported through this. Wanting top surgery doesn’t make the surgery less intense, less terrifying, less painful to recover from. When it becomes too much you have the right to take a break and take some deep breaths before going on.

You don’t have to have a radical, 180° change for your transition to be acceptable or valid or worthy of praise. Look at how far you’ve come already. It doesn’t have to show, you’re not made to be a spectacle, you’re human and it is your journey.

Oh, and last thing, you know when some people say “Oh this trans person has to grow out of the cringy phase where you think that you can write essays about being trans or transitionning or just their experience because it’s weird” ? If you ever hear this or see this online, remember all the people whose writing you read and, even if they were not professional writers, helped you more than any theorists did ? If you want to write, do it. It won’t be a waste. It can help people. Or it won’t, and even then, if it helped you, that’s enough.

Love every of my trans siblings, take care of yourselves. You deserve the world.

[soft-sunbird]

A post for Hilda

When I was a kid, I had lots of room to run around outside. It was a beautiful place to live. Running from one side of the property to the other would take you probably about a minute. There was plenty of grass, plenty of trees, plenty of wildlife. I couldn't ask for better.

Hilda, pregnant with her firstborn child, has been lying awake all night; fretting over the slow trickle of the donations that just barely keep her alive. Knowing that the water is contaminated and the little food she is lucky enough to eat is insufficient nutrition for the life kindling inside her, no doubt the little one feels her stress already.

When I was a kid, we had a few plastic barrels lying around, and we had enormous fun kicking them down the slope to watch them roll away. We'd chase them all the way down to the bottom of the hill, and then push them back up again. Push, push, push. And then we could do it all over again.

It's a great and daunting thing to ask for help. Yet Hilda has braved this uncomfortable, exhausting charade for days upon days upon months upon months, and is still struggling. She needs to eat! She needs to be warm and healthy and safe! She needs to know that there are good, kind people in the world who care what happens to her. She needs our support. Today, tomorrow, and the day after that. Every day until she can say, "Thank you. I am okay now."

Hilda, sister I didn't know I had, I hope you can rest a little easier soon. I hope these words stir the hearts of our community and they push the barrel with me. Every pair of hands that pushes this barrel moves it a little further up the hill to where it needs to go, and I promise, when we're done, we can admire the view together.

Follow @hildanasr1 and maybe frigidwife and veryveryvomit too (they care about her just as much as I do) Vets: gaza-evacuation-funds #6 | bilal-salah0 | khanger | ana-bananya | a-shade-of-blue | dlxxv-vetted-donations

[suiana]

cw: matriarchy, yandere! househusband, fem reader, this is a work of fiction, please don't read further if you're uncomfortable, thanks!

it's the 1950s. men have become the caretakers of the house while women have been tasked with being the breadwinner. the age of revolution, they say! a time period where societal norms have completely flipped. a society where it's a woman's world.

as a woman, you're expected to marry a respectable man. one who knows how to care for the household and love you like a loving man.

thankfully, you've found one. your highschool sweetheart that is just the sweetest thing ever. handsome, tall, and knows his way with tending to homely duties. he even loves you like it's his last day alive!

he's basically society's ideal man. and he's your husband.

but you don't know how to tell him that you want to get a divorce. that you can't keep up with his... oddly obsessive behavior that's suffocating you. how you seem to dread going home, expecting a warm welcome only to get hit by a barrage of accusatory questions of whether you're cheating on him or not.

you love him, you do. but your husband has changed for the worse ever since you two got married a few months ago. perhaps a few weeks after your honeymoon. you know how people are, questioning why there's still no child even after a few months of marriage.

and it's not that you two are infertile. you're just not ready for one yet. you've explained it to him, you want to focus in your career first. your husband should understand that, shouldn't he? he's a man after all.

yet it seems that he thinks otherwise. constantly doing it, asking whether you're seeing others, whether you really love him or not...

it's annoying. and frankly, you've had enough.

you know, you know. men are emotional creatures. they get anxious and angry easily. they just can't help it! it's in their nature after all. but still... if he could just be a little more understanding... a little less... paranoid...

"a d-divorce?"

he gasps, taking a wary step back as he drops the stack of papers to the floor. his eyes are wide, body frozen to the ground. horrified, you could see it in his eyes.

"but honey... we're so happy, aren't we? you love me, don't you?"

you let out a sigh, pinching your nose bridge at his words. yes... yes you do love him. and you still do, you think. but how can you stand a single more day of him acting like you're going out cheating when really, you're working your back off so you can spoil your darling husband?

"I'm just not satisfied with how you're behaving."

you suppose that will work. how will he ever resist a woman's word? not in this era, clearly.

you watch as your husband stares at you, face pale as he brings his hands to his face, murmuring words of despair while he shakes his head.

no, no, no.

this couldn't be happening.

he thought you two were perfect together! what changed?! you love him, don't you? you still come home to him everyday, give him a peck as you walk through those doors! everything was fine! everything is fine!

no, you must've been brainwashed by someone else.

by some... some other manwhore. a good for nothing man who didn't get a proper education, surely!

that's the only other explanation. you must've been seduced! after all, you're a good woman. you could never do any wrong. not in the eyes of the law, not by society, and definitely not in his eyes.

because you're his wife. his beloved wife. you're a good breadwinner, you work hard, you bring him out on dates, you don't abuse him like other wives do...

and in return, he's the perfect husband! he cooks the best food, doesn't he?! all hot and delicious! you said so yourself! he dresses how you like, works out, keeps the house neat and tidy for you, does groceries and makes sure that everything is perfect!

sure, he's a little bit on the protective and anxious side... but can you blame him? you're gorgeous! he's worried you'll be stolen from him while you work! by- by those good for nothing guys that think they should be independent. who do they think they are, working in public when they should be someone's husband? spewing those gender equality crap that you have been talking about too? you've been poisoned. surely.

and the fact that he's not able to provide a child yet? of course he's going to be anxious and overthink! can you blame him? he's just a man!

"please... please don't leave. I'll do anything. anything! you can't leave me! I'll die without you!"

he feels his heart race, sweat lining the skin of his forehead. he's hyperventilating now. can't take the fact that you actually want to leave him.

it's not real.

It's not real.

It's not real.

and yet, the way that you're looking at him is proving him otherwise.

"but you can't leave me! we've been together since high school!"

he tries to plead with you. but you're stone-faced and look like you're not looking to negotiate. his palms grow clammy as he desperately racks his brain for words.

"I'll change! I'll stop... stop asking whether you're cheating on me- you're not, right? you wouldn't cheat on me! i know you wouldn't! you're just misguided!"

then you let out a soft sigh and he feels the last of his restraint snap.

"no! you can't leave me!"

in a second, he's on you, pinning you to the ground. all rationality has left his body but can you blame him? he's just a man. men get emotional easily. that's why it's better for them to stay at home, away from politics where they could easily cause millions of death over a small dispute. at home, where they belong.

"I'm yours! forever and now! you can't just... just throw me away! we took vows! you can't break them!"

fat tears roll down his cheeks, his hands pinning your wrists to the ground. despite the fact that they're more emotional, men have always been stronger. isn't that why they had to go school to be taught how to control their violence? to not raise a hand at anyone no matter how emotional they get?

"I'm your husband! i would never leave you! you can't just leave me too!"

then something in the air shifts and he sniffles softly, gripping your wrists tightly. for the first time in your life, you feel fear. fear for your own life. fear that your darling husband inflicted on you.

"you're not leaving me."

...

"hey have you heard? apparently y/n hasn't been coming into the office lately... I'm worried for her."

"yeah... and i heard that her husband is visiting some rural area for a short getaway. my husband told me."

"i hope she's alright... she should go find him soon. how will her husband ever survive on his own? what if he gets ill?"

and accompany him you will.

for now, no one will ever bother you two ever again. man or woman, society and law alike. just two sould, far from everyone else. as it should be.

as it will always be.

[yameoto]

SUPERNOVA CAITLYN KIRAMMAN

kpop idol caitlyn X her insatiably horny junior

"Noona is so cool!"  You mimic, voice pitching either higher or lower, depending on which of the plethora of comments you pick, at your leisure. "Caitlyn’s a CF goddess. Her talents are seriously wasted. Wah, her visuals are really otherworldly. Unnie looks so good I’m creaming my pants—" Caitlyn fixes you with a flat, unimpressed look, at that last one. “It doesn't say that.” You grin, like the effervescent angel you are. “Yeah. That was just me.”

tw; dom/sub!caitlyn, brat!reader, idolverse, girlcock, semi-public sex, sex in dance practice rooms, mirror sex, handjobs, handjobs during vlives, voyeurism, mild age-gap, age hierarchy dynamics, use of korean honorifics. idol!caitlyn x idol!reader wc; 5.1k. ao3

notes: set in modern day runeterra. ionia encompasses the entire region of asia in league which i personally find stupid but i dont make the rules. fluff/smut/humour. derivative of korean culture (kpop idol au) + pokes a lil fun at stan culture. no prior kpop knowledge is needed (though it would likely help) the sex is filthy regardless. wrote this after finding caitlyn is only a 1/4 white like hallelujah jesus

CAITLYN looks stupidly good. Like stupid, stupidly good. Her grey sweatpants are slung low on her hips, waistband of her briefs peeking out. Sweat-slickened abs glare back at you, from the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The outline of her bulge is visible. These are all observations that you latch into like an IV-drip hooked-up to your wrist, in order to stay alive—lest you die from the fatigue. And boredom.

“Please,” You grumble, head slumped on your knee as your arm drops to the floor, phone abandoned Candy Crush side, up. “Please, please, please, can we go home?” 

“No,” Caitlyn huffs, hands on her hips, looking entirely too good as she takes a momentary (and you mean, momentary) break to swig a sip of water, before she hurls herself right back into it, sweaty and stunning.

The two of you have been trapped in the practice rooms for what feels like eternity. Or, more accurately, Caitlyn has trapped you in the practice rooms for what feels like eternity. You would rather be snuggled up and content in the comfort of your dorms; rather than slogging away in the basement, like you’re still trainees clawing your way up the company ladder inch by inch—rather than the four-time daesang winners, face of Ionia’s girl-groups’, and other innumerable accolades under your belts that seemingly mean nothing to your fearless group leader. At least, at the moment.

You’ve long slunk to the floor, sleepy eyes tracing the way sweat rolls down Caitlyn’s nape as she re-runs the movements for about the zillionth time. Her shoulder-blades flex through the thin fabric of her shirt, sweat dampening into a darkened pool in a way that should be gross, but on her, it just looks sexy. The ache in your muscles has simmered to a low burn, by now. Jeez, your eyelids are slipping. Thank God you have your sweet leader to ogle. The sight of Caitlyn’s bulge peeking through those sweatpants is practically your sole motivator in keeping your eyes open.

“You know,” After what feels like a decade, you pipe up again, because time has begun to melds together. “You’ve got it. Seriously.” The swig of water that sluices down your throat is lukewarm and unsatisfactory. Fuck, you’re thirsty. “The stage is a week away. You’ll be fine.”

Caitlyn’s eyes narrow at you through the mirror, incredulous.

“When in the world has fine ever been good enough?” 

Okay, sure. Caitlyn’s right. But she’s more than fine. Almost-perfect, actually—and come seven days—her dance moves will indubitably be heaven-sent and her ending fairy will probably trend #1 on three different social media platforms, and you will most definitely tug her ear endlessly about it, like the benevolent, supportive junior you are.

Seven days prior, however—and all you are is tired, grouchy, and maybe just a little bit horny. 

“I crave the sanctity of my blankets.” You lament, hand falling over your forehead as you languish on the floor, because the sun has probably set by now and you are seriously contemplating the possibility of dying of old age in this godforsaken practice room. (Not that that would be so bad, if Caitlyn were with you).

“You can go home, you know,” Caitlyn sighs, twisting around to face you, sneakers squeaking on the glossy wooden floors. 

“How am I supposed to sleep without my favourite member as a bolster?”  You pout, snatching on the chance to act a brat, immediately. Caitlyn just rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch upwards, so negligible that if you weren't so tuned in to all-things-Caitlyn, you might’ve missed it.

“Clingy.” She mutters, like she doesn't love it. Loves being your favourite. Not that it matters, because the glimmer of hope that flickers in your chest when Caitlyn crouches down in the direction of her bag—is immediately quashed when she only taps her screen, and the speaker rewinds all the way to the start. 

You’re really starting to hate this song.

“Are you serious? That’s not enough to rouse your cold, dead, heart?” You whine, because usually Caitlyn would've caved to your grabby-hands and doe-eyes by now (especially with the way you look; lips parted and shining with spit, water trickling down your chin down the column of your throat, from the leftover rivulets of your water-bottle.) Not that Caitlyn doesn't notice. She’s just really, really determined to get this right.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“You work yourself too hard.”

You stretch to a stand, elongated and cat-like before you slink over and sling yourself dramatically along Caitlyn’s back. Her expression contorts into exasperation. She attempts to turn her head, to face you—to no avail. Not when you’re pushing her up against the mirror and the pinning her down against glass with the power of aggressive spooning on your side. Her hand shoots out to brace against the mirror, as your fingers hook the hem of her sweats, and Caitlyn stiffens under your thumb, lips falling open against her will.

“Darling,” She inhales, in that addictive, throaty accent of hers. Caitlyn sounds almost pained, as she catches your wrists—though she neither takes them in or wrests them away. The both of you have full view of the rising tent in her groin.

“What?” You smirk, teeth grazing the shell of her ear, like the sneaky little bastard you are. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to practice with a boner, unnie. That must hurt.”

Caitlyn’s breath hitches, and her knees almost buckle, if it weren’t for the way your arms tighten around your waist and squeeze the growing problem at her crotch. Your fingers twine with the string of her trackpants, loosening them under slim, deft fingers.

“Honorifics? Really?” Her voice is tight. She’s screwed. You only ever whip those out when you want something, seeing as how you've been speaking informally to your technical senior  since your very first meeting, in trainee days, (an accident she so loves to recount on variety shows. “It’s not my fault you just looked so young and pretty, unnie.” You’d fumble in defense, eyes wide and doling out the extra sparkle for the cameras as they zoomed-in on your frantic apologies, laugh track sure to be edited in. “What was I supposed to think?”

“You’re lucky I was too kind to scold you,” Caitlyn sighs, and—in a dramatic show of theatricality—flips the inky-blue curtains of her hair behind her shoulder, much to the hosts delight. “I can be really mean, baby.” 

That had been a hit. Probably because of the way her drawl had lilted playfully and she’d cupped your jaw in the most egregious display of fan service you’d ever seen. Caitlyn’s always known how to wrap the media around her pretty fingers; and your stammer and ensuing blush had mercilessly crowded your feed for at least two weeks, afterwards.)

That’s in public, though. In private? 

Caitlyn is a puddle to the graze of your fingers along her hipbone, and the glide of your breath up her neck. Dark eyes meet hers, hooded and intent, reflected in the pane of metal in front of you. It’s certainly a sight to behold. The two of you are both dripping in sweat, Caitlyn’s cheeks flushed, bare-faced and glowing—hair tangled up in that loose ponytail that you've always found so much hotter on her, than any amount of hours in the styling chair could ever produce.

“I really need to..” Caitlyn’s protests sound weak even to her own ears. Especially when heat pools in hot, throbbing waves that rush straight to her dick, and she's cut off by her own gasp when you nuzzle in the nook between her shoulder-blades and your hands—beautiful, cunning hands—ghost over her crotch and squeeze. Her entire world lurches into a haze, body spasming upwards.

“Unnie,” You breathe, sweet and soft, like the devil in her ear, “please fuck me.”

Just like that, Caitlyn can’t take it any longer. A low, strangled noise rips from her throat, eyes fogging over and black eclipsing blue. Lithe hands coil around your wrists, and flips your positions entirely—thrusting you right up against the glass.

Her muscles are throbbing, hours of dance practice flaming up her bones; but she pins you down with the strength of a woman possessed, all the same. As far as Caitlyn’s concerned, she’s like a sleeper agent to your bedroom voice, and the fact could never shine with more clarity, than now (other than the time you’d done a Lola Shark impression in an interview and she’d gotten, to her horror, embarrassingly hard underneath the blanket thrown over her lap. She’d had to call in a bathroom break, to take care of it—much to your smug, haunting amusement).

In the mirror, you watch as Caitlyn’s breathing shallows into pants, tongue licking hot up the stretch of your neck to under your jaw. Neither of you miss the brief, smugly satisfied spark to your eyes and glowing hot between your thighs, even as both squeeze shut when you arch up against Caitlyn’s bulge. She grinds down against your ass, and you moan, so brazen she almost can’t believe it.

“Shit. You're so shameless,” Caitlyn mutters, breaths rushing harsh against your shoulder as she fumbles with the knot at your sweats, rutting hopelessly into the coil of your figure. The moment thread slips free, pants pooling to your ankles as you bend over, head thrown back—Caitlyn’s brand-name briefs soak with a splurge of pre so intense she almost thinks she’s come early.

“You want my fingers?” Caitlyn asks, just to be a bitch. Your eyes squint open to glare at her through blurry vision and through an even blurrier visage.

“Don’t joke,” You spit, voice hoarse with want. It's meant to sound demanding, but all it comes out is whiney, and Caitlyn’s laugh sends shivers down your nape.

There’s a millisecond in which your mind empties completely, and it's almost cruel how you can only see the reflection of Caitlyn’s cock curving upwards from her underwear rather than the real deal. 

Caitlyn’s grasp is like steel around your neck. She thrusts you forwards, your flushed cheeks smushing against the cool surface of the mirror as your stuttered breaths puff in grey clouds of condensation. A groan wrangles itself out of your throat from being manhandled like that, knees wobbling the moment you feel something hot, thick and so, so wet press insistently against the backs of your thighs. Arousal has already begun to drip down your legs, running down in rivulets and moistening the floor under your feet. Yours or Caitlyn’s—you don’t have the eyes to know.

“Unnie,” You breathe, shakily, voice raw. Your fingers are slippery against glass, and you whimper when the familiar stretch of two fingers sinks into your cunt. You slide open, just like that, and Caitlyn temporarily wrenches you back so that you can see your fogged-up reflection in all its full, filthy glory. 

“S’not enough,” You pant, back arching and ramming urgently against her digits she’s spreading you wide, with—so eye-wateringly slow. Maybe it’s the fact that you've been working yourself up, blatantly eyeing her down, for hours since your head checked out of training and your brain devolved into its most primitive urges in coping with your mind-numbing boredom. 

“Not enough?” She grins, sharp-toothed and devastating, adoring the upper-hand. “What? You need a third finger, baby?” The noise that tears out of you is almost like a wounded animal, and you'd be embarrassed if you weren't so overcome with need and prolonging this teasing sounds like torture.

So, you answer with the obvious, “Your cock.” You hiss through gritted teeth, because Caitlyn loves it when you beg for her dick and you’re too hare-brained and empty to do anything more than push back, impossibly deeper into her fingers. They sink to her knuckles of entirely your own volition, without her having to do so much as twitch. 

Caitlyn’s laugh is practically a goad in itself. The lush curtain of her lashes are lowered, irises swallowed up by the deep dilation of her pupils. Still, though, she takes her time in playing with you, just a little longer. Revels in the way you thrash around her fingers, fucking yourself back, desperate.

Herself is one thing. Her dick can only take so much, however. The ache becomes too much, too soon, and the second she runs her glossy head against the drenched, hot pulse of your hole—she can’t not shudder, knot in her throat, before her fingers slip out of your pussy and your consequent whimper is interrupted by the plunge of her cock.

“Hah, baby..” Caitlyn whimpers, eyes fluttering back as she fucks you against the mirror, nails dragging up your hips and digging into supple flesh. Never has Caitlyn felt so at home, submerged in the deep, velvet ocean of your cunt.

“Unnie—” You gasp. It’s the one word, echoing over and over, like an all-consuming siren song throughout your head—with each gasp that comes with every thrust of Caitlyn’s hips, motions growing sloppier as the exhaustion of hours of tireless exertion catches up to the both of you. She nips at your ear, then down the curve of your nape, to the unblemished skin of your upper back. Teeth grazing, pads of her fingers leaving scorching trails as she gropes up your body—your mind a jumbled, fuzzy mess. Her cock plunges in and out, still guided, though she never slips out more than mid-way; bodies sticking together like gum. Like she can’t bear to be apart from you for even a moment—even if it is to pummel your cunt until you can hardly take it anymore.

It’s only when the pumps and rolls begin to slow into simple, gentle rocks, to absolutely nothing but a twitch—that your mind clumsily clasps onto a semblance of clarity, hasty and brief, like you know it’ll slip away and out of reach, soon. “Wha..?” You rasp, half-slurred, even if what you really want to whinge is; What’s goin’ on? Why’d you stop? And, please, please, please. Don’t stop. Keep goin’. Fill me up. Please, don’t ever stop— and other half-baked nonsense that you’ll be glad your tongue was too thick and heavy in your mouth to spill.

“I can’t mark you,” Caitlyn grunts, and your eyes sharpen, just a little. Her tongue peeks out from her lips as her expression looks disproportionately distraught, like it’ll be the end of the world if she doesn’t stake some sort of physical claim on you, eyes darting downwards to your unblemished shoulders with a low growl of frustration.

Distantly, that part of you is still clinging onto reality, knows she’s right. That your comeback is in a week’s time and risking a hickey or a bite-mark or worse (because Caitlyn is stronger and sharper and rougher than her delicate figure should ever have been allowed to be), is a bad, bad idea.

But the larger part of you—the part of you that is currently being railed by her unnie’s cock and trying desperately not to squirt cum all over the practice room mirror—rasps out a reckless, ragged, “Who cares?”, and that’s all the permission Caitlyn needs.

Caitlyn pulls out, and slams herself in again, grip on your waist, bruising. Your hands go sliding, uselessly against the steamy surface of the mirror, long fogged-up under the slick tangle of your bodies. She’s mouthing slurred nonsense into your ear, the music speaker knocked over by one of your ankles and emitting distant sounds from where it's rolled, to the other side of the room. Neither of you could give a single fuck. 

Not the least, when Caitlyn’s hand is sliding up your throat and thumbing over your gaping lips. It feels as if a pink-hued fuzziness has descended the room and become a thick veil over everything, and when her fingers slip into the hot, wet gasp of your mouth—it's only right for you to take the digits in your tongue and suck. 

“Ahnngh—Cait—”  

“When did I say you could speak informally to me?” Caitlyn husks, fingers pressing deeper into the roof of your mouth. In your reflection, you can see the razor angle of Caitlyn’s jaw as she nuzzles into your ear. The obscene glisten of your spit, coating her fingers and coasting down your chin as her digits languish between your parted lips. You look every bit like her precious fuckdoll, right now.

“Unnie—”

“Ah-ah.”

“Sunbae.” 

“Mm. That’s better.”

Her free hand skims up your shirt, slipping up the taut lines of your body and flicking idly at one nipple. You whine, garbled around the gag of her hand, and Caitlyn lets out a moan of content when your pussy tightens around her shaft.

“Fuck,” She pants, teeth sinking down into your shoulder and you buck, even though the pain barely registers with how Caitlyn barrels her cock in you, deeper, and your eyes roll back into your skull. Your thighs are shaking. “M’gonna—hfgh—” 

Her hips draw upwards, and Caitlyn cums like a faucet. All of it, inside you. Outside of you. Dripping from your still-leaking cunt and droplets getting fucked out with each, desperate thrust as she moans, guttural. “Take it—fuck—” Caitlyn groans, harsh and insistent as she pounds, your pussy squelching—so wonderfully wet—as your fingers scramble against the glass, her fingers cramming deep inside your mouth.

“Ah-ah—fuck!”

The two of you go crashing down, sliding down against the mirror and onto the floor with a twinning, indecipherable slew of obscenities, a boneless, panting heap, still moving in tandem. 

You both slump, slippery and sticky. The song on the speakers re-starts, yet again, from the other side of the room, though it's the first time it's even pierced your ears in the past forty minutes. Caitlyn groans, pushing her nose into the crook of your neck, arms tightening around your waist. The mirror is splattered in both your cum.

“We’re gonna have to clean this up, aren’t we?”

“..Probably.” You sigh, still leaking around her cock as you angle your head, the two of you slotting together like missing puzzle pieces.

Twenty-four hours and countless Kleenex wipes later (and really, cleaning your own cum from floor-to-ceiling mirrors—with two half-guilty reflections staring right back at you—is an uniquely humbling experience); it was totally worth it to see Caitlyn appropriately red, after the crash of post-nut clarity.

It’s your one, blissfully empty day before comeback promotions launch you all into full-throttle. You intend to enjoy it while it lasts. 

“Your latest Lotte CF went viral,” You pop behind her, totally innocously if weren’t for that familiar, impish glint in your eyes. Caitlyn sighs, not even glancing up from the stove, completely nonplussed. Probably because Caitlyn could record herself taking a piss and it would chart #1 on Melon.

“The seonjiguk is simmering.” She ignores you. You ignore her right back.

“Look at those dimples,” You beam like a little shit as you wave the video in her face. “Maybe you should go into acting. The GP would go crazy.”

“No thanks,” Caitlyn snorts, hand lifting upwards to stifle a brief yawn, sleeves coming up all the way to her knuckles. “been there, done that.” 

“Oh, right. All your Piltovian film connections.” You hum, idly tracing the underneath of Caitlyn’s elbow as you lean over her shoulder to watch her cook. She’s markably improved from her humble beginnings of blackened, bubbling slag (what was once instant Buldak), or the scotchmarks that still hail the kitchen tiles, to this day.

“Mhm. I was almost poached. My mother wanted me to—what was that? Follow in her footsteps.”

“Well, I’m grateful that you didn't,” You hum, into her shoulder. You poke her side, grinning. “Then you wouldn't have met me, and wouldn't that be tragic?”

Caitlyn scoffs, but you feel her sink a little deeper into your embrace, eyes flitting to settle onto the top of your head, as you nudge into her. You both, really are grateful.

You’re pretty sure Ionia is grateful, too. 

Whatever the day, it always feels like Caitlyn’s name has taken up a permanent residence in the nation’s newsites. ICE PRINCESS. AI VISUALS. ATTITUDE PROBLEM. Her quarter Piltovian and subsequent accent injects an ‘attractive exoticism’ (or whatever management had stapled to your files, at the dawn of debut), that had made Caitlyn internationally explosive, too. 

The Kiramman surname certainly helped. Caitlyn’s debut was like, the biggest plot-twist in nepotism, ever. It was like if Nicole Kidman’s kid suddenly became Hatsune Miku. Not to mention the fact the Kirammans are the largest benefactor of Hextech, whose global rollout of leading-edge tech has gone unmatched. Of all careers for the Kiramman’s mysterious, devastatingly attractive daughter to take—this is the one that took the entire globe off-guard. Including the great and glamorous, Cassandra Kiramman.

Of course, the initial shock long lapsed underwater, with the constant roil of the media waves. Caitlyn’s fame, however, has not.

“Noona is so cool!”  You mimic, voice pitching either higher or lower, depending on which of the plethora of comments you pick, at your leisure. “Caitlyn’s a CF goddess. Ah, her talents are seriously wasted. Is she an angel? Her visuals are really otherworldly—”

“Get that away from me.” Caitlyn swats your phone away with a scowl, pretty pink flush glowing on her features.

“Don’t act all coy,” You prod her so-highly-lauded cheekbones as Caitlyn huffs in annoyance, though begrudgingly leans against the touch anyways. You squish. “We all know you’re preening inside.”

“I am not!”

“Ooh, sexy. I love it when your accent comes out like that.”

Caitlyn groans, because you’re impossible, and just twists so that she’s facing you, back against the kitchen counter. You reach behind her to switch off the stove.

She hooks her fingers into the hem of your pyjama shorts, thumbing over familiar cotton. She sighs outwardly, propping her head up on your shoulder and slumping forwards to rest the cold press of her nose into the crook of your shoulder. Her fingers skim up your shirt, absently rubbing circles into the plane of your stomach.

“You know I hate it when you read those.”

“About how you look like an eepy bunny when you’re sleepy? Or that you have moles in the shape of a giraffe on your nape.” You arch a brow, looking past her as you flick through the blurs of text in various degrees of capitalisation, on your phone. A subtle smirk lifts your lips. “Hey. Is that true? Let me check.”

She scowls, and then almost looks offended that you don’t know that already (You do. Caitlyn also has a darkened, heart-shaped birthmark indented in the crook of her inner thigh—but that’s just for you to know, thank you very much).

Your voice raises a pitch. “Unnie looks so good I’m creaming my pants!”

Caitlyn fixes you with a flat, unimpressed look. “It doesn't say that.”

You grin, like the effervescent angel you are. “Yeah. That was just me.”

Oh, now Caitlyn’s cheeks go red. You push valiantly past the triumphant flutter in your heart, in favour of continuing your teasing. Hey—there’s no schedule today, the dorms are all to yourselves—and you’re on a roll. 

“Look. They wanna steal your eyes and put them in a boba drink.”

Thoroughly fed-up with your antics, Caitlyn snatches the phone out of your hand, and you immediately squirm, to lunging for it. Caitlyn’s ridiculous height advantage has the one-up on you, though, and you puff out an aggrieved yelp of protest when she dangles it above your head, like a dickhead.

“Hey, what the fuck?” You complain, like your comeuppance wasn't exactly what you were hoping for. Except you were more aiming for a pin-you-against-the-fridge, fuck-the-insides-out-of-you type of comeuppance. Not a sordid reminder that you need a stool to reach the top of Caitlyn’s head. “Don’t lord your freakish Frankenstein genetics over me!”

Caitlyn laughs, eyes flickering down. “Are you on your tip-toes right now?” 

Your eyes narrow, because you do not appreciate having the tables turned on you. Your hand shoots up to cup her jaw, tilting it upwards. Caitlyn softens, putty in your hands, adorable furrow in her brow melting away along with her pride as she sinks into your palm with a soft sigh, arm falling to her side.

There we go.

“It’s not my fault you avoid socials like the plague. I’m just doing my duty to take care of my leader’s PR. Your fans are starving.”

Caitlyn grumbles, “Well, let them starve.” though it comes out pinched between smushed lips, cheeks squishing like a dumpling. So heartless, like she’s not the industry’s princess and probably makes up a total of 50% of the company’s annual income. You know exactly why, as you cradle her face in her palms and watch as she leans upwards because no matter how disgruntled Caitlyn acts, or how shockingly humble she is under that front of aloof, arrogance–she definitely preens under attention.

Just. Only yours. 

“Hey, you know what? We should go live right now.”

“What—?” Caitlyn stammers, flabbergasted by the sudden change in direction, “Don’t—“

Too late. Within seconds, you’ve swiped your phone back from her limp hands and flipped the vlive on. Recording. Like, now. Damn, you're speedy. 

“Ah..” Caitlyn’s expression smooths over to that charming, impeccably gorgeous grin of hers that shows off the sharp curves of her cheekbones and has won her the hearts of a nation. 

You pull her to the couch, and under the scrutiny of the camera—Caitlyn acquises with little more than a subtle elbow to your ribs, when the both of you go thudding into the cushions with a low oomph.

Then, you flop against her chest, and the stream of hearts that ensue are absolutely incredible, comments rolling in faster than you can read them. There’s a reason why the two of you are the most popular pairing in the group.

“Hm. Is it on?” You muse, faux confusion tugging on your pretty features. Knitted brows and a plush little pout always do the job, especially when you add a sneak of tongue. No doubt to be screenshotted and re-uploaded countless times, within the next hour. “Hello? Can you guys hear us?”

Which is, you know, the perfect time to grab Caitlyn’s dick through her pants.

A choked noise resounds beside you, and you don’t glance over, for you’re too busy fiddling with the phone and the settings and all other kinds of bullshit that is really just an excuse for you to focus your attention on snaking a hand down Caitlyn’s waistband, just out of view of the camera. “Oh! It’s working. Did you miss us?” You beam, as Caitlyn struggles not to either sock you in the stomach or throw her head back and moan.

If anybody notices Caitlyn’s pupils are suspiciously blown, it doesn’t come up. What does come up, is her ever traitorous cock that lilts immediately into your touch. Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

“Aw, little Caity’s missed me, too,” You croon, as your sneaky fucking fingers stroke idly along her girth, underneath the veil of her sweatpants and just over the thin fabric of her underwear. Caitlyn visibly bristles, because, 1. You’re jacking her off. 2. She hates that your coo instigates a flood of love-bombing so intense, that the hearts on the screen almost completely obscure the both of you. 3, and the most important one; you just gave her dick a nickname! 

“Cait.” You tease out, eyes glittering, not even bothering to conceal your amusement as Caitlyn’s hips buck upwards, her fingers pinching against your sides, lips completely shut mum, for fear she’ll let slip a moan on camera. “C’mon. Say something. You missed them too, right?”

Gods. Caitlyn hates you. She really, really hates you. Just—not enough to not shove your hand away when it starts to peel away the waistband of her underwear. If only because the feeling of precum soaking its seat, sticking to her skin, and not because she’s itching for the sweet relief of your hand around her cock.

“..Hi,” Caitlyn forces her winning, boxy grin, and the years of practice make it an admirably unstrained effort. Maybe she really should go into acting. “Mm. Long time no see, hm?” 

“Unnie’s being awkward, today.” You snark, all sly, and Caitlyn shoots you a glare. She’s rewarded by the sudden, fervent warmth of your hand wrapping around her dick, and then the harsh tug of your fist that has her knees jerking upwards and her dastard slit spurting out a shiny, hot glob of precum. She swallows back a low, strangled whine, like a dry pill. Oh, Gods. She’s supposed to say something.

“Ah, just..—we’ve—ah—”

In a rare show of mercy (because apparently, you’re not out to throw both your careers to the dogs), you swipe the phone back with the most cherubic, triumphant grin to adorn your face, literally ever. Catilyn lets slip a barely-audible hiss as your fingers coil, just a little tighter, stroking up and down—thumb running back over the swollen, gloatingly shiny cockhead.

“We just had a long time in the practice rooms for our comeback, yeah? So we’re pretty tired. Right, unnie?” 

Oh, you're really pushing it, now. 

“Mm. We’ve been—working. Really hard.” She has to lean out of the screen to release a silent, desperate gasp, nails digging into the back of the couch as she tries to rut up into your hand in a way that doesn't obviously send the sofa, trembling. You idly thumb over her slit, smearing the thick, embarrassingly copious amounts of pre down her length. It twitches in your palm, as you ramble on about schedules and the comeback and spoilers and other things that have long become white noise in Caitlyn’s ears. Her hips chase your touch, brazenly, now. She barely even realises when you’re calling it quits; early, too. Because obviously, this was all just to fuck with her.

“Caitlyn,” You sing-song—smirking (supremely unsubtly), at the camera. “Say bye-bye.”

She only just registers the comment. Barely. “Bye.” Caitlyn’s voice is a low croak, hips arching upwards off the couch just as you end the live. Just in time, too, because—

“Oh, fuck.” Caitlyn releases the longest moan of her life, cum spilling over your fist, and she collapses back into the couch. Your phone falls from your hand, and you’re practically shaking with laughter. 

(“Little Caitey,” Caitlyn grumbles, after the fact, with your head nestled between her thighs in apology, “That’s preposterous. What’s so little about her?” Nothing. But there’s no fun in that, is there? At the slow, sly smile spreading on your face, Caitlyn groans. “What?”

“You referred to her in third-person.”

“..Please just suck me off already.”)

[rin-may-1103]

The Eyes of Death.

This story is mostly inspired by Jaybirbie's prompt | Master post | Next?

"Hey, sweetheart?" Danny called, quickly jotting down the last sentence for his paper. He'd have to remember to go back and reread it and make sure he didn't trail off into another tangent. He swears he wasn't this bad at managing his ADHD back in Amity...

"Yes, Danny?" Damian asked, turning back from the door to face him as he scrolled further down the story he was reading. The familiar font of Gotham City's gazette blurred as a picture of Mr. Freeze and Penguin finally loaded. So that's what was going on. Danny should have known; the bats already dealt with the other usual rouges, and these two were next on the list.

"Can you walk with me? I just know Nancy and her boyfriend are out there, waiting. I really don't want to deal with them again... We could spend more time at my place? Tucker sent me another movie, and I'm unsure if I should watch it alone after last time." Danny pleaded, quickly shoving all of his papers into his bag. He'd deal with straightening them out later, it wasn't like his professors weren't used to his wrinkled essays at this point.

However, he should probably redo the blueprints for Workshop. Mr. Anthlow was a hardass, but nothing could compare to his anger when a student handed in wrinkled blueprints; he claimed he wasn't going to have another 'Tanner' incident on his watch, whatever the heck that meant.

He was not looking forward to whatever Nancy wanted to talk to him about, she looked excited. Which could only mean bad things for him; considering the last time she was excited, he ended up spending time with Bane of all people. And there was no way her boyfriend was just going to let Danny get away again.

Damian grimaces, finally looking up and away from his phone. "I'm sorry beloved..." he held up the device just in time to show an incoming text from his Father, "I promised Father I'd be home a while ago. And with what's happening down on-"

"It's ok, I'll just head out the back door," Danny cut in, seeing the start of guilt on his boyfriend's face. He knew how much Danny hated having to deal with those two, and the fact Damian hasn't been able to even introduce himself to them hasn't helped. With a smile, Danny scooped up his textbooks and made his way to stand in front of Damian, "They can't bother me if they don't see me!"

Unsurprisingly, Danny could feel the guilt grow and start to float around Damian as the boy glanced at his phone, the message tone sounding out again in warning.

Danny only met Damian's father once; it was just a simple shake of hands and sharing names before the man ran off, but it did leave an impression. The man felt tired and paranoid; like, to the point Danny kind of wanted to drag Jazz over and lock the two of them in a room, paranoid. (Danny wants to say he's never seen someone that paranoid, but he'd be lying. He looks in the mirror after all.)

The point is; Danny's only met the man once, but that was enough for him to know that the man would tear down the world if he thought for even a second that one of his kids was in danger. This meant, that if Damian didn't go and reassure his father that he was alive and safe within the next sixty or so seconds, then there was a possibility that there wouldn't be another date for at least another week.

And considering this "study date" was supposed to make up for the last one Damian had missed because of his Father? Yeah, Danny wasn't going to be happy if Damian got grounded or dragged into another 'surprise' family road trip because his father was convinced his children would be dead before the 'yearly' planned get-together in November.

They had a trip to the zoo planned for tomorrow, and Delilah was supposed to be allowed out with her kids. This would be Delilah's first public outing since her kids' birth. There's no way Danny was going to allow Damian to miss that. (he swears to the ancients, if there was a rouge attack he was going to kill someone, Dark Dan's future be damned.)

Lifting his heels off the ground so he could stand on his tiptoes, Danny snagged Damian's arm and pulled him down so he could kiss his cheek. "I'll get home safe, just focus on keeping your dad from going insane. We've got a date at the zoo tomorrow and we're not missing it even if your father becomes the next city rogue."

Damian wrapped his arms around Danny, trapping him in a hug as he sighed in fond frustration. "I promise I won't miss it, ok? I'll be there."

Danny rolled his eyes and pushed Damian back, dropping back to stand on the ground, "You better, 'cause hell hath no fury like a gorilla denied the chance to meet her human best friend's boyfriend."

Damian snorted, before looking away and pretending to cough. Danny moved his textbooks to rest more securely in one of his arms, so he could point at his boyfriend. "I'm not kidding, if I show up tomorrow and tell her all about my life and you're not there, she will break out and track you down. I won't stop her either, you'd deserve whatever she does to you."

"Alright, alright. I get it, and I already promised I'd be there didn't I?" Damian chuckled, raising his hands up in surrender. Which would have been cute if it wasn't for the fact that his phone went off again, this time in an insistent buzzing. His eldest brother's ringtone; which meant Damian was going to be busy for a while.

Cursing, Damian turned and answered, "I'm in the middle of something, this better be important Grayson," glancing back at Danny, he mouthed for him to wait a moment as his brother started talking.

Smiling, Danny shook his head, snatched Damian's jacket, and started making his way out the door. There was no way Damian would finish this phone call any time soon. Danny's learned not to wait after the last four times this happened. Damian turned back with betrayed eyes, but the urgent voice of his brother buzzing even louder held him back. Waving goodbye with a smile, Danny shut the door and started making his way down the hall.

He'd have to ask Damian what happened tomorrow, Grayson didn't usually call him, especially when he knew Damian was spending time with Danny. He said it had something to do with how it was sacrilege to interrupt time spent with a significant other. Danny had wanted to ask him more about it but hadn't gotten the chance when The Riddler crashed their spontaneous meeting.

Speaking of The Riddler, Danny's social science paper wasn't looking too hot right now. He'd have to block out a time for him to work on that at some point this week. He wasn't doing anything on Friday, well, besides his early morning classes. That should work...

"Hey, Danny!" someone called, pulling him out of his musing. Glancing up, Danny internally groaned when he noticed Nancy waving at him in sheer delight. Giving her a half-hearted wave, Danny sped up and continued making his way to the back of the library. If he was quick enough maybe he could-

To his dismay, Nancy's boyfriend stepped out from behind one of the shelves and latched onto his arm. Tightly.

Just great, this is exactly what he wanted to avoid. Curse his inability to pay attention when he got lost in thought. Damn ADHD. Blasted non-existent spatial awareness. This was what he got for relying on his ghost sense, he just knows it.

"She said hi, kind of rude of you to just keep walking, Kid." Wyatt huffed, roughly dragging Danny back and towards his girlfriend. Nancy smiled brightly as Wyatt let him go, allowing Nancy to weave her arm with Danny's and practically drag him toward the front of the building.

"There's this big party going on tonight, some Jr invited us. He said it was going to be a night to remember! You should totally come with us, Danny! My friend Shela said she was bringing her nerdy freshmen too! I just know you'd fit right in with them!" Nancy squealed excitedly, shaking Danny as they finally made it to the front doors.

One of the desk attendants rolled their eyes at them as Danny glanced over, hoping that Barbara might intervene. No such luck, she was nowhere in sight, probably off somewhere shelving books. So much for that plan.

"uh, thanks, but I already-" Danny tried, stopping when Nancy scoffed and yanked him out the door and into the frosty night. "Damn, it's cold!" Wyatt cursed, taking his jacket off and quickly handing it over to Nancy. She let go of Danny and pulled it on, then stared at Danny for a moment, "Put your coat on Danny, no way in hell am I letting my kid catch a cold!"

Rolling his eyes, Danny wrapped Damian's coat over his shoulders. He was too lazy to actually put it on, not when that meant handing his textbooks over. The last time he did that, Nancy got bored and started doodling all over them. (how she had managed to do that in the little time it took to put a hoodie on, Danny wasn't sure.)

"I just want to go home, Nancy. I'm not really a party person." Danny sighed, allowing Nancy to drag him down the dark streets. His apartment was in this general direction anyway. Nancy turned to her boyfriend with a huff, "Wyatt! make him come with us!"

"Let the nerd do what he wants, it's not like it affects us if he kicks the bucket all alone," Wyatt grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Ouch, but true. Please listen to your grumpy boyfriend, please listen to your grumpy boyfriend, please listen-

"But Shela said she was bringing Carly!" Nancy turned back to Danny, a pout clear on her face, "You two would be so cute together! she's nerdy just like you! And she's totally into all those murder mystery shows you watch!"

Damn it. Not this crap again.

"That's nice, Nancy, but I'm not interested. I already told you guys, I have a boyfriend," Danny sighed, trying to gently extract his arm from hers; for a human, Nancy sure had one heck of a grip.

"Yeah, right," Wyatt snorted, patting Danny's back, completely ignoring the fact that Danny was literally wearing someone else's jacket. "We'll believe you when you introduce us, until then. You're a virgin loser."

And there we go, people; the reason Danny wanted to crawl into the sewer and die whenever he saw these two. They were nice, don't get him wrong, but they were also stubborn idiots.

"Being a virgin has nothing to do with my relationship status, Wyatt. I'm ace. you've known this since the first time we talked." Danny grumbled, allowing Nancy to drag him down another street. He wasn't sure exactly where they were going now, but he was too tired to care at this point.

If these self-claimed 'Parents' of his wanted to drag him to this stupid party, then fine. Whatever. It's not like Danny had any other plans tonight anyway.

"Asexuality isn't a thing man," Wyatt huffed, speeding up so he could guide them in the right direction now that they were heading into a rougher patch of buildings. Danny could see the man was shivering, though trying to act tough in front of Nancy. Smirking, Danny sent a cold breeze his way. The man scowled up at the sky, cursing quietly.

"Yeah!" Nancy agreed, smiling brightly down at Danny without a care in the world. Like they didn't have this conversation every other week. "You just haven't met the right person yet, Danny! And I know how awkward it is to admit that you're staying celibate until marriage, but you don't have to hide it behind being ace."

Taking a deep breath, Danny closed his eyes and focused on not shouting out of frustration. The celibate comment was new, the acephobia, not so much. "Ok, first of all; Asexuality is a thing, which many people ARE. Literally, 1% of the world is ace. That's over 70 million people. Second of all, I'm not celibate, and I'm not sure if you even know what that means, considering you know I was raised Atheist."

"What does being an Atheist have to do with celibacy?" Nancy asked, tilting her head to look at him. Danny groaned, smacking his forehead against his textbooks. He was NOT going to explain this to them tonight.

"You know what, Nancy? It doesn't matter." Danny huffed, trying again to gently pry her hands off. He wanted to go home. He wanted to cuddle with his boyfriend. He wanted to go back to Amity. Maybe go to the realms and play with Cujo. He did NOT want to deal with these idiots.

Wyatt stopped walking and turned to face them, rolling his eyes as Nancy pouted at Danny. "Come on babe, let the loser go. He obviously doesn't appreciate your efforts."

"but who else is going to convince him to live a little? He's just going to go back to his apartment and sulk by himself!" Nancy cried, tightening her grip again.

"Who cares what the kid does, Nancy? let the dude die a virgin loser. Now let's go, we're already late as is."

"But I really want him to-," Nancy tried, cutting herself off, as both she and Danny spotted a cloaked person appear out of the shadows behind Wyatt.

Wyatt lifted his brow before slowly turning to see what the two of them were staring at. The cloaked figure suddenly whacked him over the head with a metal pole before he could fully turn around. Wyatt's body dropped to the ground with a heavy thump, making Nancy scream, "Wyatt!"

Shit, Danny stepped back, trying to pull Nancy with him as the cloak dude tossed the metal pole to the side with a loud clank. Which was confusing, why would he through away his weapon?

"Shut her up!" the cloak dude cried, bending down to grab Wyatt's arms. He better not be telling Danny to do that, because that would just be stupid and- Suddenly, a dozen more cloaked people flooded out of the darkness and surrounded them. That answered Danny's questions at least.

Danny tensed up as a couple of the people tried to grab onto him. Quickly pulling Nancy back, successfully this time, Danny glanced around to try and find an exit. He couldn't do anything crazy right now, not unless he wanted to give away his secret, but some self-defense should be fine.

Nancy suddenly let go of his arm and smacked one of the cloaked people in the face, "Don't you fucking dare touch me! Wyatt! Kid, get out of here!"

Danny turned to her in alarm, eyes wide in horror as she quickly disappeared into the cloaked crowd. Another cloaked person managed to latch onto Danny's shoulder, reminding him to focus on his situation. Quickly stepping back, he slammed into the man grabbing him, knocking his grip loose. Ducking under another attempt, Danny swung out his leg and tripped the dude into two others.

Twisting to try and make his way over to where he figured Nancy was, Danny dropped his textbooks and punched someone in the face. Damian's jacket was yanked off his shoulders, making him turn with a growl. Punching another person in the face, Danny lunged at the group.

"Hurry! before the bats find us!" the supposed leader cried, making even more cloaked people surround Danny. There was no way a normal civilian would be able to fight their way out of this, so Danny would have to allow himself to be caught soon. Only after biting and scratching the fuck out of them though. Just because he had to let them catch him, doesn't mean he has to make it easy.

~30 min later

Danny stared at the leader as the man droned on and on about needing the right sacrifice for the ritual to work. Nancy and Wyatt grumbled behind him, agreements from the other kidnapped victims filling Danny's ears like bees.

"The sacrifice shall be the one who treads the veil between life and death, the one who's beloved by the spirits as their own! He shall be pale as a corpse, his body kissed by death many times throughout his life. His hair as black as the sky on a moonless night, cradled by the moon since birth." Mr. totally-read-one-fake-ritual-book-when-he-was-a-teen-and-now-has-to-make-it-everyone's-problem droned on dramatically, reverently dragging his finger down the old dusty tome's page,

"so Mr. Wayne?" Nancy huffed, pressing her back into Danny's side. Wyatt chuckled, shoving his foot into Danny's knee, "No, it's totally Mr. Drake he's talking about. Have you seen that dude's eyebags? they make him look like a ghost."

One of the strangers leaned over, rolling their eyes, "No, it's got to be Mr. Dent. The dude's literally half living half not."

"No, Two-Face is half insane, half burnt chicken. Ain't nothing about him going to please ghosts. He was a fucking lawyer, for Christ shake." another guy added.

"the dude said 'he' which crossed out half of y'all," Danny added, glancing at the group around him. The women blinked and then rolled their eyes; only in Gotham would they get kidnapped and not actually be needed.

"Assholes," Nancy huffed, she glanced over her shoulder and down at him, her face set into a frown, "You good, kid? you're like freezing cold."

"I'm fine," Danny huffed, focusing back on the leader. He could just feel the old magic rolling off the book; this was something dangerous, especially in this dipshit's hands. Ancients, he was going to have to do everything he could to keep the man from actually doing the ritual or mess it up if the bats didn't get here in time.

One of the cloaked people suddenly dragged a camera out from a side room, grumbling about networks and livestreams being shit. Huh, well that would definitely help provide their location to the bats. They must be really inexperienced cultists then...

"The sacrifice shall fall into our hands by fate's design. The sacrifice is here and waiting for what his whole life was meant for. Now-"

"Elder!" one of the other cloaked figures cried, waving their phone in the air in excitement. Dread quickly filled Danny's stomach.

"All the bats and birds are busy dealing with those scoundrels they call rouges! If we hurry, we can complete the ritual before they can interfere!"

"Perfect!" Mr. 'Elder', cheered, slamming the tome closed and handing it off to one of the others. "So?" Mr. Elder started, turning to face them with a sharp grin, "Who's it going to be?"

Danny glanced at the group behind him, all of them having gone silent as the cloaked group started pulling out their ritual things, one of which was a very blood-stained knife.

Mr. Elder started circling them, humming and hawing as he studied each one of them. He stopped next to Wyatt, studying him intently.

Quickly weighing his options, Danny straightened up and glared at the man, "I'll be your sacrifice."

Immediately Nancy leaned away from him with a gasp, Wyatt's foot dropping to the floor with a thud. "Danny, no!" Nancy hissed, turning her body so she could face him. Danny didn't glance at her, just continued glaring at the cultist. The cult leader laughed, "Well then. So it shall be! You heard the sacrifice, tie him to the chair!"

With everyone watching, all Danny could do was tense as four of the followers walked over and pulled him up. "No!" Nancy shouted, leaning over and grabbing onto him. Wyatt reached out to Nancy, wanting to pull her back. The men tensed up, ready to interfere. Quickly pulling back, Danny frowned at Nancy and Wyatt, "I'll be ok, just don't do anything stupid!"

They harshly pulled him up and away again, before Nancy could reply. And because he was already pissed off, he made it as difficult for them as possible as they dragged him to the wooden chair. The camera person focused the lens on them, recording it as they shoved him down to sit and wrapped a bloody rope around his limbs.

So much for thinking they were inexperienced... They've done this before, he knows now. How many times? He wasn't sure, but if he had any say in it after tonight, they'd never do it again.

Once he was securely tied to the chair and gagged, because Danny couldn't help himself but insult them, the cultist started preparing the ritual. Why they hadn't done so beforehand, Danny wasn't sure; that is until one of them sliced a deep gash into his right arm and collected his blood into a bowl.

With a grimace, Danny watched as they mixed his blood with black paint and started drawing a circle around him. The camera dude stepped closer and practically shoved the camera into his face. leaning back, Danny glanced between the camera and the people drawing with his blood.

Suddenly, his arm tingled with ectoplasm, making him panic for a second. he can't heal the wound! not with all the people around him and being recorded! Shit, what had Vlad done last time?? Uh, right! core smothering. He could just smother his core to stop his body from healing. Man, acting like a civilian was a pain in the ass.

Glaring up at the camera now that he wasn't as panicked, Danny watched as the dude stepped back, pulled out a paper, and started reading out loud. "GOTHAM! tonight you shall join us as we summon the most powerful being in the world!"

Did he seriously need the paper just to remember that?

The leader stepped forward when the circle was complete, "Now!" His voice echoed around the silent warehouse, startling the other kidnapped victims. The cameraman turned and focused on him, stepping out of the circle altogether. Danny watched the kidnapped people out of the corner of his eye, wanting to make sure they weren't hurt during this whole fiasco.

"Let us begin!" the leader cheered, suddenly gripping Danny's shoulders tightly. "Join me as we summon our lord and savior! The great tyrant of the dead! The embodiment of war and bloodshed! The one named PARIAH DARK! THE HORRIFIC GHOST KING!!!!"

Immediately, Danny was both completely terrified and amused. He had been worried that they were going to try and summon some great evil demon, not the fucking old tyrant. He could fight Pariah any day of the week.

No, what terrified him was the fact that because Danny won the right to the crown by defeating Pariah the first time, he had no idea what this summoning was going to do. Was it going to work like they wanted and summon Pariah? cool, great even. He can deal with that, might have to reveal his ghost powers if the fight got dirty, but nothing too bad.

or was it going to summon him because he was the king, and if so? how? Would that even work considering he's the sacrifice? would he just disappear and reappear? This could lead to a lot of questions Danny was NOT ready to answer. Gaslighting everyone here into believing he could fight Pariah as a 'meta' human would be easy, convincing everyone that he's not the ghost king or a ghost AFTER getting summoned; not so easy.

The leader released Danny from his grip as he walked over and snatched the tome from one of his followers. Snapping the book open, the man started chanting without warning, pointing at random people to notify them when it was their turn to start.

It was like watching a school play; all the student's doing as they were taught as their teacher directed from the side. Cultist A slammed the bowl of leftover blood on the ground, splattering the black remnants all over Danny and the circle. Which was gross, Danny was going to have to burn this shirt, because there was no way he was going to get this stain out. Cultist B tossed salt at Danny a few minutes later, smacking him in the face with the small white crystals. Shaking his head, Danny glared at him. Cultist B threw the salt again.

The leader's smile grew as he continued chanting.

Seven other cultists joined in the chanting, waving their hands up and down as their voices echoed around them. Danny glanced nervously around the warehouse, hoping he'd spot one of the bats. This was being broadcast, they should be on their way at the very least.

After another minute of looking, Danny glanced back at the other kidnapped victims. Nancy was balling her eyes out, burying herself into her boyfriend's chest. Wyatt was staring at him with wide eyes, clearly unsure about what to do. Probably feeling guilty because they both knew the leader was going to choose him. A few others were looking away, clearly fearing for his life. The rest watched on, trying to show him through their actions that they were there with him till the end. (whether he 'died' or not)

It was weird, but Danny had to give it to them; Gothmites were badass. He doubted anyone in Amity besides his friends would have been brave enough to watch what was happening. Even if they didn't know if he would live or not.

His core crackled, making him choke a little as he finally felt the pull of the summoning. Well, that's just great. Shaking his head, Danny tried to clear his throat. The summoning was making him feel weird and he did not appreciate it.

The chanting got louder as one of the people walked up to him, holding the knife in a white-knuckled grasp. Danny eyed it wearily, glancing between it and the rafters above. Where the hell were the bats when he needed them???

The cultist kneeled before him and raised the blade, slamming it down into his chest right as the leader stopped chanting; Danny gasped, more out of surprise than pain as he stared at the knife. The dude gave him no warning that he was going to stab him. Usually, cultists slit people's throats, right? What the fuck was up with stabbing him???

His blood slowly bubbled up and around the knife, slowly staining his shirt red. Yeah, there was no way in the realms he was going to be able to save this shirt now. Man, he had liked this one too.

He could hear Nancy's sobs turn to wails as the cultist yanked out the knife and handed it to the leader, who Danny just now noticed had joined them in the circle. His blood started gushing down his chest with every beat of his heart, again he held back his core. (what does he do now??? faint? scream? how do normal people react to getting stabbed?????)

"Take this lowly sacrifice as a sign of our eternal loyalty, and grace us with your presence! Your humble servants plead that your godly ears hear our prayers! Join us in this mortal realm and bequeath us your power and name to rectify the sins of our brethren!"

Ok, first of all Danny was no where near lowly you piece of fuck-

Danny's core pulsed, sending out nauseating pain up and down his spine. Gasping, Danny leaned as far forward as he could, trying in vain to grasp at his chest without using his powers. His core crackled, striking a blinding flash through his brain. The echoes of his death crawled up his left arm, waking the old dead nerves into firing signals at his brain.

Danny couldn't help himself, he screamed as the pain grew worse and worse. His thoughts turned hazy, his body cold as his core pulsed again. His heart stuttered and then froze, his core flooding his body with freezing ecto not a moment later. Absently, he could feel the wash of ectoplasm crawl over his body, changing his body minutely. He didn't transform, but he definitely looked more ghostly than human.

All the pain disappeared a moment later, allowing Danny to slump forward, his head hanging low and blocking his face from view. His chest did not rise in ragged breaths, nor did his fingers twitch with life. His mind was still sluggish and clouded with something, making it nearly impossible to think. Squeezing his eyes shut, Danny tried to focus.

"Your Highness?" someone asked, their voice too loud as it rang in Danny's ears. His core pulsed, another flood of ectoplasm flooding his body. His eyes slid open again, allowing him to see the green glow lighting up his chest and lap as he stared down at them.

Slowly, Danny lifted his head, his bright green gaze locking with the man in front of him.

Next

[creamecafe]

hii could u write something for Dae-ho set in the mingle game and its basically just him protecting reader and always keeping them at his side. 🫶🫶🫶

"As long as I'm here, no one can hurt you"

Summary: What the request says

Pairing: Dae-Ho x GN!Reader (No pronouns used)

Warnings: fluff, comfort, pining

Word Count:

Author's Note: Thank you so much for requesting. I hope you enjoy!

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my latest post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

It's a miracle that you have made it to the third game. You were sure you were going to die in the second game, but thanks to the team you had, you were more than determined to still stay alive

Out of all them, there was one that you kept looking at. Dae-Ho. You couldn't help but find him cute. This certainly wasn't the place to have feelings as you could die before telling him.

It was the same for Dae-Ho, trying to make sure everyone is ok and that the team survives. But it was something with you.

He felt safe with you, and wanted to protect you. Even if it meant giving his life for you.

The announcement for the third game came, you were worried, but wanted it to be over it. Dae-Ho noticed you being anxious and asked if you okay

"Are you okay?"

You stopped zoning out and looked at him with your heart pounding.

"What? Y-yes I'm ok thank you." Nodding trying to reassure yourself.

"I think this might be the last game I play in." You chuckled knowing deep inside you dreaded the idea

"Hey look at me."

You did as he said. "Don't say that, you have us."

He held out your hand to hold it. You looked at it and hesitated putting your hand out but you held it. A tight squeeze was given but not too rough. It was a sign of reassuring.

He gives you a smile and you did too not of full happiness but someone is here to care about you.

All of you guys were called for the game. You got up and stayed close to Dae-Ho. He looked back at you and nodded. You did the same.

It was the same, climbing up those colorful but dreading stairs to the next game. Every minute or two, Dae-Ho made sure you were right behind him.

You finally reached the game and saw a carousel in the middle with horses and so many doors of different bright colors for a Pre-K setting.

"Welcome to your third game." The woman's voice from the previous games you heard came on the speakers.

"The game you will be playing is Mingle. Let me repeat. The game you will be playing is Mingle."

Turning your head to look at Dae-Ho, he's already looking at you.

You quickly look away not to make the situation worse. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable as well.

"All players, please step onto the center platform. When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds."

"Oh this game? We used to play something similar on school trips. We formed groups by hugging." Jung-bae exclaimed.

"Yeah. Instead of hugging, we go into those rooms" Dae-Ho mentioned.

"If the number is bigger than six, we'll get the additional people we need." Gi-Hun

And if it's less than that? You thought in your mind

"But what if it's smaller than five? Like three or four

You turned your head to Dae-Ho. It's like he read your mind exactly.

"No matter what happens, don't panic. Let's stay calm," Young-il nods. "We'll make it out together. Here."

Those words echoing in your mind, there wasn't enough time to doubt if your group would stick with you.

You've seen how quickly people are to turn against each other especially in the Red Light, Green Light.

But you're more than determined to stay alive, just to see Dae-Ho's face every chance you get.

Young-il puts the back side of hand out to form a truce. One by one, everyone is putting their hands on top of each other. You were the last one.

"Y/N. Are you in?" Gi-Hun asks.

Dae-Ho looks at you with worry in his eyes. You had no choice and no knowledge of trusting others in this game, so you put your hand out on top.

Dae-Ho becomes relieved at this.

"One, two, three. Victory at all costs."

Sighing at this with relief, you guys begin to spread out. The carousel is starting to spin

People scream out in fear. Lights go out and the light in the middle where horses out lights ups and music plays.

Children are singing about holding hands and ringing around.

Dae-Ho holds your hand lightly. He grazes your hand with his thumb. You don't look at him, as you fear you'll die doing so.

It suddenly stops. The number is 9. People are running out frantically pairing in groups of 9. Dae-Ho doesn't let go of your hand.

"We need 3 more." You said. Your group ran looking for 3 more.

A old lady, her son and another woman goes up to you guys.

"Are you guys 3?" Young-il asks

"Yes we're." The old lady nods frantically.

"Quickly we got to get into a room" Gi Hun exclaims

Your feet were starting to move, but the grip of Dae-Ho holding your hand made you move even faster.

All of you guys rushed into a room and closed the door. The room was filled with heavy breaths. There was a click on the lock meaning that the room was closed and nobody can get in or out.

Right now, you have never been more grateful to be alive in playing a game

It wasn't long before you heard gunshots, and it was safe to assume it was those who didn't pair up or get into rooms in time.

Now that you're safe, you look at Dae-Ho and he does too.

"Is everyone ok?" Dae-Ho asks

There was a lot of yes. That answer might change throughout the game seeing how long each of us might last.

The door lock clicked and you guys were allowed to come out. There were bodies on the floors and blood splattered. "Take off your mind off those bodies or you'll be one of them" Your mind was telling yourself.

"We got this" Dae-Ho talks to you

"We do" You smiled. Don't know how many smiles it will take to keep going, but you're ready to prove his point.

The game started again and the carousel spins. You hold out to Dae-Ho's hand.

Now the number was 4. Young-il grabs Jung-Bae and goes to find two more people. That's left Gi-Hun, Jun-Hee, Dae-Ho and you left.

There was no time to waste. All four you ran to a room and locked yourself in. Gi-Hun was looking around for Young-il. You pulled him back in.

The gunshots came again. The lesser the number, the more likely people will betray each other.

How long this game will last, you don't know. All you know is that you have people here to help you. Even if it's just one person, it makes all the difference.

The doors clicked and it was time for another round. The panic and adrenaline of it all keeps coming back. But Dae-Ho is making sure you're by his side, even if he may die in the game as well.

Six the group was. Dae-Ho said you and him were going to go and find another group. Luckily you did and you managed to still be alive locked in a room.

Now it all came down to the very last game. There were less people than the game started. You wanted to finish this for once and for all. While the carousel was spinning and music playing, you place yourself in movement ready to run and holding Dae-Ho's hand.

"2" The voice said.

It felt like time was going slow once it announced the number. Everybody is rushing to get into a room. Time's running out.

You felt a hand pull you back and you fell to the ground. Dae-Ho heard your scream and saw someone trying to stop you from going into a room. Someone else was already in the room that you guys were planning to go into.

Dae-Ho could go into the room and that would already make it two. But he's made it too far to leave you.

He ran and punched the guy that pushed you. He put you back on your feet and dragged the other guy out. He slammed the door shut and the timer just came to zero. The guy on the other side begs and bangs on the door.

A pink guard shoots him and the noises stop.

"Are you ok?" Dae-Ho rushes to you.

Still shaken at what happened, at the fact you almost died if it wasn't for him to save you, you nodded.

"Yes I am. Thank you."

There was a moment of silence between you too as you were catching your breaths.

The door clicked and you both came out.

"Y/N! Dae-Ho!" Both of your names were being called

Gi-Hun, Young-il, Jung-Bae and Jun-Hee run up to you guys and you all hug each other.

"I'm so glad you guys are ok." Jun-Hee smiles

You're also relieved that everyone else is fine and made it out alive. You could return back to the dorms.

Walking down back the stairs and into the dorms, everyone was mostly silent but some talked.

You ran up and tapped Dae-Ho on the shoulder.

"Hey Dae-Ho?"

"Yes Y/N?"

"You could have gone into the room where the other guy before you dragged him out, why didn't you?"

Dae-Ho took a pause before responding.

"I have lost many people when I was a marine, seen people get killed in front of me. I can't let it happen to you."

He starts to become close to you but not too close.

"As long as I'm still alive, I'll make sure you're fine. That's a promise I tend to keep Y/N."

Those words stuck with you. You could die in the next game, but right here at this moment is a reason to keep going.

Taglist:

@hobinistaworld

Navigation | Main Masterlist | Squid Game Masterlist | Kang Dae-Ho Masterlist | Join my taglist!

[supaara]

finishing a series just to look through the tag and find out that a weird ass age gap ship is extremely popular ohnoohnooooooooooo

[nightingale-prompts]

How to Raise Your BatBoy

First | Previous | Next

Dick sighed into his cup of coffee. This is not what he wanted to see when he woke up in the morning. That and the giant bat wing covering his face this morning.

Danny was getting bigger. Not physically but his bat features are changing. The teen was getting better at changing shape. His ears are sharper ending in slight points, his fingers are more clawlike, and he has grown a thick ringed collar of white fur around his neck. Thankfully that's as far as his transformation can go right now. Danny has learned to pick and choose what traits he wants.

Danny has claimed Dick's gymnastic equipment as his. The aerial equipment is now used as roosts for Danny to hang off of and nap. But that hasn't stopped him from sleeping on top of Dick like an overgrown cat.

Bat wings expel a lot of heat as blood circulates through the thin skin which cools the blood in hot environments that they are native to. So to regulate their temperature they rest together to conserve heat. That's probably why Danny decided to grow the fur collar and sleep on top of Dick.

And why is Dick so frustrated? Because he's fighting for his goddamn life in this house. His cute aggression is barely contained. He wants to squish the kid's cheeks and ruffle his hair all the time.

Dick would be going over case files while Danny watches tv on the floor and Dick will feel the insatiable NEED to go bother him.

That damn fuzzy neck fur calls to him like a cat picking up a kitten.

Danny chirps! He fucking chirps! Like a baby bird!

Dick is trying so hard to be normal but if you had an adorable and clingy batboy you'd do the same.

Dick wants to tell the world about his batboy.

And he does. When he's Nightwing he will not shut up about how much he adores his sidekick. God forbid Robin is visiting, Dick will cry while taking hundreds of pictures of them together.

Damian doesn't like Batboy at all. At least that's what he says. He's just jealous that Batboy has bat wings. Damian warms up to him after they go out gliding together and get to study his wings.

It however goes downhill when they go on a misadventure and Batboy took a bite out of Scarecrow. Batboy had an immunity to fear toxins, instead, it overstimulated him. He ended up lounging at Scarecrow when he taunted Damian as the boy was paralyzed by the gas. When Damian was able to get back on his feet he found Batboy sobbing with his mouth covered in blood.

"Im sorry. I didn't. I didn't mean to-" His wings shielded him from sight.

Scarecrow was alive but the two sets of puncture wounds on his neck and the claw marks were not doing him any favors. The bite seemed to render him immobile at least for now. A symptom of a bat bite was paralysis.

Damian notified the others. Bruce and Dick got there first. Both adults were thankful they were okay but there was a disagreement.

"Nightwing you don't even know what the boy is. He could have killed Scarecrow. We don't know what he's capable of yet. He lost control." Batman stated firmly looking at the blood-stained teen that clung to Nightwing.

"He was protecting Damian. He didn't want to do that." Nightwing pulled Batboy behind him.

"It doesn't matter what he wanted to do. What will you do if he loses control and actually kills someone next time?" Bruce crossed his arms.

"All of us are capable of losing control and killing. I did it and you never came down on me like this. You are a hypocrite. You think he's a monster because he's not human." Nightwing was not going to let Batman point a finger at his son like this. He killed Joker once and he had don it out of rage and hate, not even to protect someone else.

"What I'm saying is that he isnt human. We don't don't know how he can be affected. We don't know his weaknesses. What if someone else figures out what fear toxin does to him and turns him into a weapon? Will his guilt be enough to stop him or will it destroy him? Do you want him to become like Man-Bat? Do you want to put your son in danger?" Batman didn't give in to Nightwing's taunt and stated his view firmly.

"We're leaving." Nightwing picked up the shrinking Batboy and made his escape but not before hugging Robin goodbye.

Nightwing had to move quickly. He could feel Danny getting smaller with every step.

This happened sometimes. Danny would sometimes retreat inwards when he was stressed. He changed to become as vulnerable as he felt.

When they got home Danny looked to be just 3 years old.

"Its okay baby bat. Not one is going to hurt you. I promised remember?" Dick held the chind aginst his chest.

"I'm so sorry. It's all my fault." Danny said between gasping breaths trying not to cry. His small wings wrapped around Dick's shoulders

"No, its not. You did the right thing no matter what Batman says. I'm proud of you."Dick said stroking Danny's black-streaked white locks.

(*Does a silly jig*)