#hand them to me saying that they don't belong there

[bluetooththereptile]

The original

(Yandere batman x male reader)

( English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes in the following text.)

Idea from this post.

"Alfred, you never mention why the fourth bedroom is always locked" Dick commented as he helped chop vegetables, the young boy had yet to adjust to life in the large Manor and was curious about everything, the kid was too busy to notice the shoulders of the older man tensing at the mention of the locked bedroom, yet he didn't reply, maybe if he pretended to not hear what the boy had said he'd drop the question?- "I mean it's so random that a master bedroom on the second floor is locked out of nowhere" Well apparently the answer was a no.

Alfred sighed as his grip on the pan's handle tightened "You know, master Richard..." he started, his voice faltering as he looked at the sauce simmer "Sometimes we can not let go of the past" he continued, unsure how to explain this "Is it Bruce's parents bedroom?" Dick asked, now feeling rather awkward "No, it is not..." but before Dick could ask something else about the bedroom the old man quickly added "I will tell you in time"

"Thank you Alfred" You grunted softly as your trembling fingers flipped through the piles of papers before you, not turning back to see the older man put a warm cup of tea on your large desk. You sniffled, the clogged nose giving you a headache and your sore eyes throbbing as you sifted through the never-ending bank notices were no help. With a sigh you blew on your injured knuckles to soothe the ache in them, the ointment was making the wounds itch more, looking through the papers "Good lord, when will it end?" You groaned, rubbing your eyes.

"Give it some time master Y/N, you can not bear the calculations of everything when you are battling the flu right after a fight" Aflred spoke as he put his hand on your sore shoulder "Why don't you go and stay with your aunt? I'm sure master Bruce will appreciate the change of scenery, he needs it, you need it" after your parents death you two had become reclusive in your own ways, Bruce had locked himself up in his bedroom, and you had drowned yourself in work and fighting off criminals.

"I can't Alfred, not when the bank notices are pouring in, I need to save this sinking ship or we'll lose everything" Your frustration was evident as you drank the whole cup in one motion, not caring about the burn that slid down your throat "But if it helps I'll send Bruce to her, he can play with Elijah or his cousins" you waved your hand in the air, not looking back. "Master Y/N?" "Hmm?" You finally looked up to meet the butler in the eyes, taking in his worried gaze "What is it?" You asked again as you tapped your foot against the hard cold floor of the study that once belonged to your father.

"Master Bruce had the chance to ease himself by being vulnerable" the older man started "He cried and spent days in his bed holding your mother's blanket, and I can say he feels better after doing so, the initial grief has washed out of his system if only a little" "Well that is good news" your gaze went back to the papers "But what about you?" At hearing that you flinched.

"What do you mean by that?" You spoke, your hoarse sickly voice taking a sharper edge, you were more anxious these days and it didn't help that others could see your vulnerability. "You haven't been able to come to terms with your loss Master Y/N." You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose "Alfred please-" "No, listen to me for a moment Master Y/N, for the past year you haven't been able to sit down for a moment and take everything in, you only have been on the run from your own emotions-" "Alfred!" "Your parents died when you were away for college-" "I said-" "And now you come back to an empty home with a reclusive brother and a mountain of your parents' debt and their legacy barely keeping up" "You-" "You have been doing nothing but leaving late and coming back bloodied and bruised, God knows what you do at night!-" "I said stop it!-" "You are killing yourself like this!" "STOP!"

Frustrated, you stood up from your chair, the familiar sting of tears "Just let me be" Alfred sighed as he watched you storm out of the office, following the familiar route of your bedroom, slamming the door behind yourself only to slide down behind the door, looking to the corner where the bin of your bandages sat and let out a shaky sigh "What have I done to deserve this?" You mumbled to yourself, at 19, you were not even old enough to drink, and yet they had shoved the titanic legacy of the Wayne family in your arms, with the responsibility of caring for a traumatized child, with your parents being gone, it was too much, your body ached, your skull throbbed with each heartbeat, you hoped you'd die that night, or else you'd end things by the morning, "Someone help me..."

"So...Bruce had a brother?" Dick asked as he ate his food in the kitchen as Alfred skinned the apples he'd use for the night's apple pie. It was their routine when Bruce would leave for work on the weekends and with the dining room being too large for just a boy eating on his own, Dick had come to eat by the kitchen island, plus being with Alfred wasn't that bad either.

"Yes," Alfred replied with a nod as he moved the knife against the skin of the red apples in his grip "Oh so that explains the picture of the lanky tall teenager in the family photos..." Dick paused mid-chew before he asked, "What happened to him?" "We don't know" "Did he die or flee or-" "We don't know" "Oh..." Dick knew from that glare from the old man that he was treading on thin eyes. So he sipped on his orange juice to muster up more courage as he wetted his throat "Uh...how was he like?"

"He..." Alfred trailed off as he stopped using the knife, staring at the bowl of the dough, his gaze trailing to the towel on top of the resting pastry "He was an intelligent boy" "More than Bruce?" A soft sad chuckle left the butler "Bruce was more analytical than him, he...he was more of a hands-on matter person, I can say they were geniuses in their own ways, he was an aspiring engineering student, most of the structure of the cave beneath the Manor was designed by him"  "Wow" Alfred sighed as he continued "He was rather hot-headed, and sometimes needed guidance managing his emotions, but he was a very responsible person...Master Thomas was proud of having such a son..." his voice shook a little.

"Oh..." Dick looked outside the window as the birds flew by "Did Bruce love him?" "A lot, we all did" he sighed as he went back to skinning the browning apple's flesh "He was a lively boy, in fact, Master Bruce's interest in martial arts came from interacting with him for the first years of his life" the two of them fell into a charged silence, Dick wanted to ask more but he could not.

"You have changed haven't ya?" The old man smirked as he was pinned to the wall by the powerful dark hand of the dark knight himself, blood dripped from his nose as he chuckled, his gray eyes narrowing "When we first met your punches hurt more, maybe it's because of getting older or something?" Batman didn't reply as he held up the oldest thug of the group he had just tackled, usually, he would have knocked him out with a punch and retreated to shadows as the police would come to collect them but this one, this one had struck a very raw nerve that he had thought was left untouched for a long time "Eh? Maybe you changed places or something? I remember you were taller? I mean who forget the silhouette of the asshole that sent me to change 20 years ago?" He sneered before he scoffed "What you are going to do then? Lock me up for another 10 years or something?" But before he could taunt the dark knight again he was thrown onto the ground of the dark alley as Batman heard the sound of the sirens coming, meeting his fate in the hands of the police officers.

"A taller...more aggressive Batman..." Bruce mumbled to himself as he looked down the city as the never-dying stream of cars moved beneath his feet as he stood by the gargoyl of the building he was upon, his lips tight "Batman..." he repeated "Without robin" his gaze fell to his empty gloved hand, watching as the droplets of rain fell onto the material of it and slid down "Alone...", the sound of the old gramophone in his father's  study filled his ears from the depth of his memory, Chopin, it was, he could easily remember, the form of the young man humming to himself as he tapped his ruler on the desk while he looked at the details before him "Y/N..."

"Y/N-" "GET OUT!" Your pained shout startled Bruce as Alfred pushed your dislocated shoulder into place "Master Y/N, he only wants to help-" you turned to Alfred with a scowl "If he hadn't interfered none of this would have happened! I told you to stay inside the car, I told you to not come out! He could have killed you!" You slammed your fist on the table to stop yourself from yelping in pain as Alfred put the bone back into its socket, you were sure you were drawing blood from how much pressure you were applying on your lips, the coppery taste of blood was a testament to it.

"I told you to stay inside Bruce, you pleaded with me and I let you come, you were going to lock the doors from inside and stay PUT!" You hissed "Damn this bloody idea of Robin!" He turned to Alfred "You put this idea into his mind!" Your head snapped back towards the shrinking boy behind your cape on the table "I work alone, remember that Bruce, I don't need your help! The best you can do right now is study and don't cause trouble! Fuck! Why does it hurt so much?!"

You didn't know this moment was engraved inside the young Wayne's memory, the sheer helplessness, guilt, and frustration of it all, it all engraved into his mind.

"I think the scowl runs in the family" Jason teased with a chuckle before he shrugged carelessly when Damian scowled at him "Are you making fun of my uncle?" The boy crossed his arms "No, I'm making fun of you, Bruce and your uncle" Damian was about to punch Jason in the face when Tim finally looked up from his computer "Found it!" Everyone leaned in as Tim started speaking "Weirdly, I couldn't find an article on him since he was a Wayne and the media ate up anything related to families like that..." he hummed as he tapped his chin, before looking up at everyone who were curious about this revelation.

"I shouldn't have said that" Dick groaned as he paced around, already regretting the fact that he had told everyone about Bruce's older brother, which was a very sensitive topic for both Bruce and his butler, but he couldn't help himself, not when everyone was worried about Bruce being broody every year on this particular day, everyone knew when it came to the old bat's yearly anniversary of his parents' death he'd get broody and would be alone on his patrols, but it was strange for them why he'd be like this in this day as well, and Dick had opened his wide mouth and had told them about the lost Wayne and the original Batman, DAMMIT!

"So, basically we have a taller Bruce?" Stephanie shrugged as she checked out the picture in the old magazine article "No, actually, he seems different, I mean, sure the general Wayne scowl and stuff are there but..." "He seems of bad reputation" Duke continued Tim's explaining as he read the article "Unlike the image  Bruce portrays today, you know, the careless playboy, this one had a reputation for being a "snappy brat" Duke continued "I mean I'd snap at the paparazzi if I were him too" Jason shrugged "Oof there is even an account of him being charged with assault on a person when he had literally ripped the camera off of a journalist and had broken it" Duke winced "Like uncle like nephew" Jason sang which made Damian narrow his eyes. "But it seems he at least had a very good sense in buying stocks, 60 percent of the shares Wayne Corp now has had been bought by him" Tim hummed as he typed.

"But what happened to him?" Cassandra finally spoke, "No one knows, some people say he fled to an island like most bratty rich boys do that don't like to be in the eyes of the public, some say he died of overdose, and yada yada..." "That's strange...I mean, why doesn't Bruce speak about it though?" "I don't know...."

"Don't let me go!" You pleaded urgently as you tried to hold onto the hands of the young boy who had come to help you in one of your patrols, albeit let's be honest Bruce had snuck into your vehicle wearing a dark body suit, "I'm trying!" Bruce replied as he desperately held the hand of his brother, but his grip was weak compared to the powerful suctioning wind of the blue whirlpool of energy that had opened out of nowhere when a thug had thrown an ancient vase at them.

"Bruce!" You panted as you desperately tried to move to hold onto something else before suddenly a pole that had come out of its place swung in your direction with full force "Oh shit-!" You let go of Bruce's hand to save him before the pole hit you, rendering you unconscious. Bruce's scream of despair was lost through the commotion of everything happening, watching your bloodied face for the last time as your body went into the eye of the energy field before it died down. "Nooooo!" Bruce fell to his knees, without his family, in an alleyway, for the second time. 

"So you are telling me this artifact is actually an alien portal field?" Batman tapped his finger on his arm as he heard what the Martian Hunter was explaining about the remnants of the vase he had gathered decades ago. "Where did you find this Batman?" The alien asked the dark knight but received no reply as Batman contemplated something "You know how they work?" Batman asked "Well, I do not know myself, but I know someone who knows how these work, it's a very ancient method, not so many people use it"

So there was a way!

Tags:

@presleyamos @skullcrawler

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

i would love to see 1000 secrets with barty crouch or regulus 😏

combining this with another reg request!! I have one coming for Barty soon too dw 🫶

1000 secret kisses | R.B.

cw: MDNI 18+, smut mentioned, secret relationships, fwb, drinking

1000 things prompt list (closed!) | masterlist

Alright, Barty. Truth, dare, or shot,” Dorcas said, still coughing after the gulp of firewhisky she just took.

“Truth,” Barty replied.

“What's your most controversial opinion about someone in the group?” Dorcas challenged, and everyone ooooh’d.

Barty took a contemplative drag of his joint, then—“I would bet my left nut that Regulus is a virgin,” Barty said through a cloud of smoke.

“No way, look at him!” Pandora argued. “He fucks, guarantee it.”

The groups heads swiveled to Regulus, who was reclined lazily in arm chair, knees spread, a cigarette dangling from his fingertips. He looked supremely fuckable to you, like he always did.

That's why you've been secret friends with benefits for most of the school year.

You and Regulus were an unlikely pair; Reg, a certified grouch with a distaste for socializing, and you, a gifted student and natural flirt. But you found him fascinating, deeply intelligent and perceptive, with an artistic heart, even if he preferred not to show it. And he found you endearing, infectious in your enthusiasm.

You'd kissed him after a drunken night in Hogsmeade, and he'd sought you out the following day in the library. Now, you snuck away every chance you got, stealing secret moments around every corner, in every classroom, praying your friends never discovered the truth, lest you never hear the end of it.

This was just for the two of you, and you preferred it that way.

“I'm not saying he isn't sexy!” Barty argued. “I'm saying he couldn't be bothered to fuck someone, too busy reading poetry and glaring.”

“And you expect me to, what? Fuck everything with legs like you, Junior?” Regulus bit back.

“No, but like—I’ve never even seen you glance at someone,” Evan chimed in. “You've never talked about fancying someone, or gotten flustered.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.

“Nothing shakes him, and he'd never tell you half-wits if he fancied someone because you can't keep your mouths shut,” Xeno laughed.

“It's not like it's anyone's business anyways,” you added, stealing the joint from Barty and taking a puff. “It's his business who he does, or doesn't, fuck.”

“Oh, come off it. He hasn't even had a crush on you, and we've all had a crush on you,” Barty said.

You nearly choked on your hit. “You're full of shit, Junior.”

“It's true! We talked about it the other day!”

You risked a glance at Regulus while you fanned the smoke from around your face, and found him glaring down at his lap, his expression was calm, but you'd long ago learned to judge his true feelings by his pale eyes. And right now, the hostility in them could raze the castle.

That must have been the day he abruptly dragged you from your dorm and into an empty classroom. He toyed with you until you cried, begging him to get you off. And when he finally let you ride him, you weren't allowed to come until you told him exactly who you belonged to. Making you spell out his entire name, letter by letter, thrust by thrust.

Regulus Arcturus Black.

Your pussy shivered just thinking about it.

“Can we get on with the game, please?” Pandora huffed. “It's y/n’s turn.”

Barry grinned over at you, and you groaned. Why on Salazar's shitty earth did you think it was a good idea to sit next to him?

“Truth, dare, or shot, my darling?” Barty asked, his voice a seductive purr.

You really didn't want to take a shot of that lukewarm swill, and you had a hunch of what Barty's question would be: do you fancy any of us? Leaving you with one option.

“Dare.”

Barty’s eyes lit up, and he rubbed his hands together like a supervillain. “You've made a grave error, my dearest y/n.”

“Don't be an ass, Crouch. Play fair,” Regulus warned, the edge of his voice sharper than was probably necessary.

“Oh, you'll like this Reggie, don't worry.” Barty presented his palms to you, like he was offering a gift. “Treasure, I dare you to make Regulus blush.”

“That's not fair!” Pandora argued. “How is she supposed to do that?”

“By any means necessary.” Barty grinned.

You looked at Regulus, who was already looking at you. “I don't want to cross any lines—”

“And when she fails?” Regulus asked, a hint of a smirk on his pretty mouth. Baiting you.

“Then she takes two shots,” Barty wagered.

You looked back and forth between them, all eyes on you. “Deal,” you said, pushing to your feet.

Regulus' eyes widened a fraction, like he didn't expect you to actually go for it, but he vastly underestimated your pettiness. And you would love nothing more than to be the thing that made Regulus finally crack in front of his friends. A tiny consultation for months of keeping secrets.

You sashayed over to him, ignoring the whistles and shouts from your friends, focused entirely on Regulus' smug face. His eyes roamed over you, lingering at the edge of your skirt, the sway of your hips, and you caught the unmistakable sign of his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and his arrogant expression faltered.

Already, you were making him sweat.

You knew none of your regular tricks would work on him, he was impervious to flirting, but you had an ace up your sleeve.

Carefully, you perched on the arm of his chair, being mindful to not actually touch him, knowing it would bother him to have you so close without being able to touch. He shifted a little in his seat, a fraction closer to you, fingers tightening on his cigarette.

You took a pull from the joint, filling your lungs with its acrid burn. You looked at Regulus expectantly, and he smirked before tilting his head back for you. You leaned in and he parted his lips, letting you blow the smoke into his mouth.

Your friends continued to whoop and cheer, but you focused on Regulus' proximity, the hazy feeling coarsing through your blood.

Merlin, you wanted to kiss him.

Instead, when the last of the smoke left your lungs and entered his, you shifted to whisper in his ear. “Took that hit so well, sweet boy,” you purred, letting your lips brush the shell of his ear.

You felt his body hitch, wanting to cough up the smoke, but he managed to blow it out of the corner of his mouth, casting you vicious side eye. To your delight, you noticed a delicate pink stain was crawling up his neck, warming the tops of his cheekbones.

“She did it!” Evan cheered, and the rest of the group roared in approval.

“Brat,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. You knew you'd be paying for it later, but it was so worth it to know you had an affect on him no one else did.

You sauntered back over to your seat, smiling ear to ear and basking in the groups praise.

Regulus tried to play it off, but there was no going back now. And you knew he was in trouble when it was finally his turn.

“Alright, Reggie,” Pandora said. “Truth, dare, or shot.”

You already knew what he would pick: Reg hated booze, and would rather run around the common room naked than fess up to something.

“Dare,” he said, taking a bold glance at you.

Pandora caught it, of course, and a tendril of uncertainty coiled in your stomach.

“I dare you to make y/n blush back.”

Regulus huffed a low laugh. “Come on, Dora. Give me a challenge.”

You glared at him, and he winked back. Maybe it was the weed, or his competitive nature, but you'd never seen him so brazen.

Everyone ooooh’d.

“Fine, I dare you to kiss one person in the circle!”

Your heart sunk. Even if it was platonic, a stupid dare, you didn't particularly want to see Regulus kiss someone else. Your feelings for Regulus has grown over the course of the your secret relationship, and while neither of you were ready for labels, that didn't mean you wanted to share him, or vice versa if the night in the classroom was any indication.

Regulus narrowed his eyes at her. “Not everyone consents to being kissed by me.”

“I consent!” They all chorused, and you inwardly groaned.

“What? You've never fucked and you've never kissed someone?” Barty teased, ramping up the pressure.

“Fuck off, Crouch,” Regulus hissed. The game was getting to him, and your friends were feasting on his rare display of discomfort.

You'd feel bad for him if you weren't feeling so sorry for yourself. Reg would probably kiss Barty just to shut him up, and then storm off to bed. Leaving you to decipher his words and actions like every night spent without him there to prove his affection with his hands and mouth.

Shit, maybe this arrangement had gotten more out of control than you realized.

“How the fuck is Sirius such a lady-killer, and his little brother is the virgin fuckin’ Mary?” Barty was too busy laughing at his own jokes to notice Regulus get up and prowl across the circle towards him.

Barty finally noticed when Reg was almost on top of him, but at the last second, Regulus pivoted. His hand shot out to grab you by the hair, roughly tilting your head back for the bruising kiss he planted on your unsuspecting lips.

You squeaked in surprise, but quickly gave way for him, melting under his firm, insistent mouth as his tongue delved between your teeth to taste you.

As quickly as he swept in, he was gone, leaving you wide eyed and breathless as he stalked back to his seat and dropped into it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What was it you said? ‘Y/n has the most gorgeous mouth you'd ever seen’?” Regulus said, a mocking edge in his voice. “That you'd ‘give anything to taste her'?”

Barty gaped like a fish.

Regulus smirked. “I’ll have that left bollock now. And I'll take the other one if I hear my girl’s name on your mouth again, you prick.”

Everyone gasped, including you, but Regulus didn't even flinch.

“Understood?” He glared at Barty, then the others, until each one of them lowered their eyes in submission.

Regulus beckoned you forward with two fingers and you jumped up, crossing the space between you and allowing him to pull you into his lap. He threaded his fingers through your hair, pulling you in for another kiss, little more than a peck, but it still made your head spin.

“So, secrets out?” You asked, meeting his eyes.

Regulus shrugged, pecking your cheek. “It doesn't change anything,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. “I’m yours.” He kissed your nose, your temple, your lips, down your neck, until all of your friends dispersed, making disgusted noises as they fled such a public display of affection.

But you couldn't be happier, grinning like a fool as you basked in a thousand not-so-secret kisses.

[minorlyatfault]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 !

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 !

j. todd x f!reader

𝒮ynposis: jason todd is a yearner & a true lover boy. when he loves, he loves hard yet quietly. he doesn’t express his affection through grand gestures but through the little things▰remembering your favorite song lyrics, the exact shade of your favorite color, & writing love letters he’ll never send because he’s too shy.

even though he’s already in a relationship with you, he still feels the butterflies whenever you're around. during gotham’s chaotic nights, while patrolling the city, he finds himself missing your touch, longing for your presence. even in the middle of his hardest missions, his thoughts always drift back to you▰wondering what small gift he can bring home just to see you smile.

𝒲arnings : my 3 am writing, grammatical errors(?) separated povs of dear beloved jason & reader. backstory of mr. bugs bunny if u squint.

𝒩ote:

001: idea was from @/tiredtodd on tiktok!

002: I JAD TO REWRITE TGIS TWOBTIMES & TRIED SAVING IT INMY DRAFTS FOUR TIMES

003: ikindof hatetgis..

004: SAY MY MY NAME & EVERYTHING JUST STOPS.

005: thank u for 100 followers ongonfongong/srs/srs/srs/srs

gotham never sleeps.

nor does jason.

it’s been one of those nights▰the kind where criminals seem to crawl out of their skin to horrify citizens once more, where no matter how many heads he cracks, there’s always another fight waiting around the corner. his knuckles are sore beneath his gloves, guns being out of bullets, his ribs ache from a particularly nasty hit, & the sting of fresh cuts lingers across his skin.

still, none of that is what’s bothering him.

he sits on the ledge of a building, letting out a deep sigh, his view of the city blurred through smoky neon below. he should go back now, but he waits, holds his breath, looks down into the streets, limned in dim light, & stares & stares, & stares.

this weight in his chest is unfamiliar, yet so painfully recognizable.

he's always been the guy to carry his burdens alone, shouldering the consequences that comes with being red hood without complaint. but ever since you walked into his life▰sweet, soft, full of warmth in a way gotham could never be▰ things have changed.

his fingers twitch,& he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket. he doesn't have to look. he knows.

a note.

one of several, in fact.

he writes them when the nights feel like they stretch into forever & when the silence weighs too much on his chest. little notes he can never possibly say to you. this note is no different. folded neatly, shoved between the worn pages of an old book carried around in the pocket▰words he'll never give to you, yet still can't let himself get rid of.

some people would throw anything they did that are considered embarrassing, but no, not jason.

"you looked cute today. i wanted to tell you, but i figured you already knew."

"i stole your lip gloss again. smells like blueberries. reminds me of you."

it's stupid, he tells himself. you're right there in his life. he sees you every day▰watches you hum to yourself while fixing your hair(sometimes he'd help by brushing your hair using his fingers), twirling a ribbon between your fingers(he'd also participate in this activity, claiming it to be “stupid” but won't refuse, not when you seem to enjoying yourself so much), picking out outfits with that soft, thoughtful expression he's come to love(you convinced him to match sanrio pjs once, he didn't rebuff the idea). you don't belong in the shadows like he does. you're all bows & butterflies, a contrast so complete it should have driven him away.

but it didn't.

it never could.

jason breathes, smoothing his hair with a gloved hand. he should go home. he should crawl into bed, let you fuss over his injuries, pretend he doesn't love the way your hands linger just a little longer when you patch him up.

instead, he finds himself moving▰leaping across rooftops, scanning the streets for something(other than crime). he's not even sure what he's looking for, only that the ache in his chest won't settle until he finds something to bring back to you.

it's a habit he's never acknowledged out loud.

some men bring their girls flowers. others bring chocolates, jewelry, grand gestures that scream their affections for the world to see.

jason todd?

he brings gotham to you.

not in the way it brings bloodshed and violence▰no, never that. but in the little things. trinkets he finds on his patrols, things that make him think of you. a pressed flower growing between the cracks of an old building. a charm bracelet abandoned in a crime scene alleyway.

once, he even found a small, tattered bunny plushie, barely holding together. he cleaned it up, stitched it as well as he could, & just put it on your dresser and left without saying anything.

you never asked him where it came from. you only smiled, kissed his cheek, & said, "he looks well-loved."

jason had to get out of the room after that.

tonight, he sees something that lines one of the fringes of crime alley▰a small street vendor selling handmade trinkets at barely subsistence living. most people don't even give him a glance anymore, being so wrapped up in their problems that they don't care.

there's a necklace resting among the clutter, the kind of thing he can imagine you wearing▰a small pendant in the shape of a crescent moon, subtle yet elegant. he doesn't think twice before pulling out a few crumpled bills(that is probably two times higher than it's price), handing them over without a word.

the vendor barely gets a chance to thank him before he's gone.

by the time he returns to your apartment it's late▰by two in the morning, or at least in gotham; all is quieter & yet not silently so. there is no point in knocking. he slips through the window, sliding in, again, moving silent as a phantom as he reaches the apartment's floor.

a view awaits to knock the air from his breath.

you sleep on the couch, all bundled up in that soft blanket. the tv hums away on the opposite side of the room, highlights light shadows on your face. on your lap lies a book open to one side, as though you had fallen asleep waiting for him to show up.

jason swallows, a warmth moving into his chest. his stomach▰no▰his entire soul feels warm.

he's gentle as he moves, settling beside you without waking you. his fingers brush against your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. you stir slightly at the touch, murmuring his name in your sleep, & he bites back a soft curse, heart aching at how easily you trust him.

how easily you love him.

he never deserved someone like you.

yet, here you are.

by his side, as you call his name every now & then.

his eyes fall to the small bag in his hands, the necklace still inside. for a moment, he hesitates, deciding whether to give it to you now or wait until morning.

in the end, he puts it on the coffee table, placing it beside your book where you'll see it first thing when you wake up. a small note beside it, written in his messy handwriting.

"saw this & thought of you. sleep well, sweetheart."

he doesn't sign it. he doesn't need to.

you'll know.

jason settles back, his own exhaustion finally gaining the upper hand. he needs to get up, shower, take care of the bruises he's been pretending aren't an issue. but as you turn in your sleep, reaching instinctively for him, curling up closer to his side with a soft little sigh.

yeah.

he can spend a little while like this.

the clock on the wall ticks.

it's late.

too late.

you change positions on the couch, adjusting your blanket over your shoulders & looking at the clock once again. jason would have been back by now. you know not to worry. he has lived through worse nights, fought against deadly criminals, walked away from things that would kill another man. yet still, a sense of anxiety clings to you, curling inside your stomach like a knot that feels like it's squeezing your insides.

with a sigh, you again let your eyes fall back to the book in your lap, fingers tracing the worn edges of the pages. it's one of jason's, a novel he left on the shelf ages ago & never reclaimed. you aren't even really reading at this point▰just skimming, letting the words blur together while your mind focuses somewhere else.

to him.

to the little things he does that he thinks you don't notice.

like how he keeps your hair ties even though he swears he doesn't.

or how he always makes sure there's an extra blanket on your side of the bed.

or▰your favorite▰how he writes things in his books.

you found it by accident, months ago. a dog-eared page in one of his old novels, words scrawled in the margins in his distinctive, messy handwriting. you thought at first it was just notes▰random thoughts about the plot, maybe something important he wanted to remember. basically him annotating.

but then you read it.

"she was humming today, while she made tea. low, silent. i believe that was that tune she is very much so partial to, that one she uses every time she is styling her hair. she did not appear to have been aware, but i did. i always am."

you had almost dropped the book, your heart flopping in your chest.

since then, you've turned it into a silly game. you pretend you don't notice the tiny notes he scatters around, but secretly, you live for when you stumble on them.

you know there is one in this book. you haven't discovered it yet, but just the idea of it makes you giddy, titter softly & warmth rising like a volcano about to erupt.

he doesn't even realize you know.

it's so jason▰loving quietly, loving deeply, but never really saying it outright. he'll not say one word on being away for that patrol but have you notice some folded paper with the message tucked into his jacket pocket while out doing laundry. he will never tell you, outright say it to your face that you're pretty, but he would watch you style your hair with gazes soft & lingering.

what is he writing tonight?

(something romantic, obviously.)

if he's sat atop some height of gotham, breathing between fights, scribbling thoughts of you into some old notebook while the city, loud.

"i miss her."

"i wish i could bring her here once to see this view."

"do you think she'd be angry with me for taking her lip gloss again? nah. worth the risk."

you are smiling at the thought, worrying in your ribs.

he'll be home soon. he always comes home.

the television, rapid of brightness, a bright glow over the room. your eyes begin to feel more heavy, the weariness of waiting finally settling into your bones. you tell yourself you'll stay awake, just a little longer. just until you hear the familiar creak of the window, the soft thud of his boots against the floor.

you never make it that far.

sleep pulls you down, the book slipping slightly in your lap, the soft sounds of the city fading into nothing.

you don't know how long you've been out when you feel it.

a shift in the air. the presence of someone near.

it doesn't surprise you▰not in the way that it should. instead, your body relaxes instinctively, as if it knows before your mind is quite awake.

a warmth beside you. a familiar scent. leather, gunpowder, the faintest trace of something you.

you stir, barely conscious, mumbling his name before you can stop yourself.

"jay..?"

a pause. a sharp inhale. then, a hand▰warm, calloused, careful▰brushing against your cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

you sigh at the touch, sinking into it even as sleep tries to drag you back down.

there's such a long silence before he talks, his voice quieter than ever.

"yeah, sweetheart. it's me."

you want to wake up all the way now, want to sit up straight & fuss over him like you always do. ask if he's hurt; ask if he's eaten anything; ask if tonight was one of the bad ones. but this exhaustion is heavy, pulling you down like an anchor.

you are barely aware of the way he shifts beside you, settling, the weight of his presence grounding you even into sleep.

you hear nothing in the end except the soft sound of something landing on the table▰the clinking of metal and the faint scratch of paper across wood.

& jason's whisper, barely loud enough to hear.

"missed you."

the sunlight arrives▰uninvited▰through the curtains & warms your skin as you blink awake. the tv remains on, a late-night movie in reruns, hanging precariously in the corner of your head.

the book has shifted slightly, now perched on the edge of the couch.

oh, & your beloved jason is still here.

he's half-asleep beside you, one arm draped over the back of the couch, the other resting loosely against his stomach. he looks tired▰more than usual▰but there's a peace in his expression that makes your heart ache.

slowly, careful not to wake him, you stretch▰only to freeze when your eyes land on the coffee table.

a small bag. a delicate necklace, its crescent moon pendant catching the morning light.

& a note.

your breath catches as you reach for it, fingers ghosting over the familiar, messy handwriting. jason's messy handwriting.

"saw this & thought of you. sleep well, sweetheart."

a smile tugs at your lips, warmth once again spreading through your chest.

you glance at jason, still asleep, still him.

& then, giggling softly to yourself, you reach for the book in your lap, flipping through the pages.

there’s definitely another note hidden in here somewhere.

& you can’t wait to find it.

"she keeps looking at me like that. like i’m something worth holding onto."

"she touches me like i won’t shatter. like i won’t ruin everything the second she gets too close."

"i don’t know how to explain it. it’s in the way she speaks to me, the way she laughs, the way she reaches for my hand without thinking. she doesn’t hesitate. not with me. no one's ever done that before. no one except her."

"i think▰"

there’s a pause. the sentence breaks off, like he wasn’t sure he should continue. like the truth was something too heavy to write down.

& then, softer, almost like an afterthought:

"she's too good. too bright. too much like the kind of thing a man like me should never be allowed to have."

"but gods, i want to.”

if jason peter todd isn't a hopeless romantic, then what is he?

© minorlyatfault, 2025

[imedited]

Everyone in the campus knew that you two hated each other, always competing over everything, so everyone already knew very well that you two would never get along with each other, like ever, the chance of that happening is rarer than winning the lottery.

They were right about that, of course, you two did hate each other, but one thing that they don’t know is about the sinful secret that you two keep for yourselves.

In the privacy of the student council office, that only you two can freely access, a heavy atmosphere in the room seems almost suffocating. You were working on some papers when he suddenly said something. “Don’t you think that these papers that you just approved are not really up to standards?”

You shot up a glare at him, annoyed by his complaint…again, “I know what I’m doing, and the papers are good enough, considering they’re just a new organization.”

“Oh really? Because to me, it looks like you’re just going easy on them ‘cause of that one guy in that little, pesky organization.” He said, his tone playful and teasing, but there was something different about it.

You raised an eyebrow at him as you decided to rile him up a bit. “So what? Jealous?” You said as you gave him a smug grin to get more reaction out of him, “He’s an…interesting guy, and he’s really cute, so you know, maybe I’ll ask him to be my friend.”

You could see how his jaw tightened and his fists clenching as the papers that he was holding were getting crumpled a bit. You were about to say something more, just to get a bit more reaction, when he finally stood up from his chair and walked over to you, his tall frame looming over you as he held on both armrests on either of your sides, locking you in place.

“You want to say that again?” He said in a low whisper as he stared down at you intensely, one of his hand coming up to rest shamelessly on your thigh, squeezing it possessively as he smirk at you, his tone a mock hurt as he spoke, “And here I thought we have something special, we do though, don't we?”

“Perhaps, I’ve been the soft getting soft, letting you run your mouth easily and talk to other men outside of your duties when I’ve clearly made it clear that you’re mine.” he whispered as his fingers climbed up higher, his hand teasing your inner thigh as he spread them apart a bit, revealing a healed scar on her inner thigh. On her skin, his initials were carved, his smirk grew wider as he saw it clearly etched on your skin, a clear reminder of his possession over you.

“What a naughty girl you’ve become,hm? Or maybe you’re just trying to get my attention, that’s why you’ve been whoring yourself around, right? You want me to remind you again who you belong to, right?” He took a step back, unbuckling his belt while keeping his gaze on you, his eyes filled with lust and desire, holding all the dirty things that he’d do to you. He took his belt off and secured your wrists with it, tightening it around both of your wrists as he walked off to take something from his bag. And when he came back, he presented an array of sex toys on the table in front of her.

“Take your pick, sweetheart.” He said playfully with a dark smirk as he leaned in close to her ear to whisper. “Whatever you pick first though, I’m going to take my time with you, we’re going to use every single one of them, and when you’re all spent and dripping wet from your own cum, I’ll be using my cock to wake you up again, and trust me, I won’t be letting you go until I’m fully satisfied, and you know how my appetite is, especially for you.”

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: Ngl, this one sounds really cringe for me :')) but I'm pushing through, cause I'm ovulating rn and that's the best way for me to get this horny side out of me XD enjoy tho

[nightingale-prompts]

The thing in the graveyard was called "The Lover" (Harlot it too mean)

Despite what the stories say he rarely appeared. Tourists and armature ghost hunters have tried to capitalize on the popularity of the trend. A sort of fandom formed for those who guessed about the appearance and origin of the supposed ghost.

Truly to only people who saw him were lonely. The lover would appear to them as a young and beautiful young man. He didn't attack and only sometimes did he try to convince you to leave with him. Other times he'd just sit with you and listen. He'd lean on your shoulder. He'd cry for you. Anything that could ease your pain.

You couldn't film the encounters and no one could describe him in detail.

Tim wanted to investigate this. He researched every story he could find of the ghost. Some stories said he was the spirit of a man abandoned by his partner and others said he was a demon that seduces mortals to drag them to hell. Tim gathered that The Lover only comes when you are alone, arrive after midnight and come on a moonless night.

Tim chose the right date and time as he entered the iron gates.

It was a desolate walk, like walking into nowhere. Until he felt a pair of arms wrap around him. They were cool to the touch. A weight pressed against his back.

"You finally came for me." A warm voice echoed in the silence.

The sounds of wings fluttered and beat in the distance.

Tim stilled. It's him.

Tim pulled away and turned to see the fabled "Lover". And he was everything described and more. He seemed to glow in the lantern light that Tim had prepared.

"What do you mean?" Tim asked.

He steeled his nerves whatever happened next he shouldn't let the ghost use him to escape. Every time so far the victim has run away.

"You are one of her knights. You must be here to free me." He said with a soft smile as he hugged Tim tightly. "I'm so glad it over. Thank you. Thank you so much."

"I don't know what you're talking about who's knight?" Tim asked unhooking his arms and feeling how solid they were and not ghostly at all.

Tim wreaked his brain to figure out if this ghost was mixing up something from hundreds of years ago. Maybe during the rule of the queen in colonial times? No, that didn't make sense either.

"It doesn't matter. You're here now. And we can leave." His smiled only faltered for a moment but it soon returned as he excitedly grabbed Tim's hand.

"Where do you plan on going?" Tim asked trying to ignore the way the boy looked at him like he was his savior.

"Home...I want to go home." He said sadly. "I don't belong here."

"You're a ghost. Shouldn't you stay here and rest?"

"I'm not dead!" He yelled pushing close to Tim "I'm alive! I swear! Can't you feel me?! I'm real!"

Suddenly Tim felt a pain of lips on his. They were cold but...soft. I'm pushed the boy away quickly.

"Stop that! What are you doing?" Tim yelled.

The ghost boy clenched his jaw as he was shoved away. His eyes were wide as he was caught off guard.

"That...usually worked. Guys usually listen when they think they will get something out of this." His voice was cold and bitter.

"So you really think I'll let you leave if you kiss me?!" Tim said incredulously.

The ghost's expression twisted in confusion.

"I don't have anything else to give. I just...want to leave. I'll do anything. No one will listen to me." Tears filled his eyes as he spoke.

The graveyard was deathly quiet again.

"Are you going to leave me here too?" A sob broke out as he spoke. "I can't last much longer. And she let you come here. So she must have forgiven me. She'll let me go if you let me out."

Tim saw the pain in the ghost's eyes and he did something stupid. He reached out and hugged him. A real hug. The kind his emotionally constipated family rarely gave. It was probably the only affection the ghost boy was given that wasn't forced or initiated by him.

Tim was still unsure if he should go through with this. He wanted answers but now only one question was on his mind.

"What's your name?"

"Danny....my name is Danny."

Kiss of Death- DCxDP prompt

A valentine horror.

Didn't matter why you were there or why you didn't run.

There was a graveyard older than Gotham itself. The names on the grave are weathered and unreadable from hundreds of years of exposure. The only reason one should come here was if you had managed to track your heritage to this gravesight after searching museum archives for burial records since the city wouldn't keep ones so old in the government building.

Unless...

You came because of the legend.

It's a new one. So it's more of an urban legend.

The story goes that the graveyard is haunted and a that anyone who comes here late at night will die. It's a simple legend, a very cliche and uncreative one at that.

But here you are. What was your goal? Ghost hunting? Graverobbing? Or perhaps your curiosity had consumed you and you had to know.

The air was thick. Like you are slowly choking on the darkness around you. Have you ever been in a room so quiet it was deafening? Like you are sure you must have lost your hearing because not even the wind would greet your ears. It was just empty space that wordlessly told you that you are alone. But that was just a room. A room that you leave and find solace in a trip of a light switch. This however was no room. It was the wide expanse of the outside world. In a place where streetlamps were not even a flicker in the minds of the residents that rest deep below your feet.

You chose a bad time to come. Perhaps you would be spared the wondering in the dark if you had the forgiving light of the moon on you. But such things were an afterthought, wasn't it? No tonight the moon was shadowed and the light of the stars would be your only salvation...but this was still Gotham. Could their light even reach you with the distant city lights over the horizon? Could the clouds mercifully move out of the way to give you some hope that you were not abandoned?

Now you were ill-prepared but you must have had some sense to at least charge your phone before you came. It's flashlight might be enough to get you back. But you're come this far. Brave or foolish you continue forward.

Until someone approached. You couldn't see them, only hear the muted footfalls of something coming near. Your ears so starved for sensation drank it like water in a dessert.

And in the light of your torch, a face appeared. A pair of baby blue eyes simmered in the light. A relieved smile on a pair of soft pale pink lips. A young man with tousled black locks appearing holding a small arm full of lilies and tulips.

"Finally, someone else. I thought I'd be here till morning." He said in relief as he came closer.

"What are you doing here?" You ask surprised that you weren't the only person here.

"I was cleaning the graves here and I must have lost track of time. Can you lead me out of here?" He asked softly and you'd hit yourself if you said no.

He clung to your arm as you walked him down the path.

The air began to get colder.

Where there was once silence you hearabout d the sound of crows beating their wings and making their wretched calls.

He clung harder to you.

That horrible curiosity got the better of you and so you began to speak.

"Why were you out here cleaning graves anyways." You asked.

"I was...helping. I come here alot." He said simply.

Nevermind the fact he was not dressed in clothes fit for cleaning. His white button-up shirt and dress pants were not something you get dirty. In fact, he didn't have a fleck of dirt on him.

"Where are your supplies?" You ask.

"I left them behind. I'll come back for them." He said curtly.

His grip on your arm tightened and it got colder.

"Just stay close please. I don't want to lose you in this darkness." He cooed.

You begin to feel lightheaded. The cold damp air made it hard to breathe.

You hear the crows...no ravens call out again.

"Never leave!" They repeated

"Trapped!" They called.

You hear a growl come from those pink lips, only they weren't pink anymore.

You look down at your companion and see a pair of bloody lips and a smile curled into a cruel but somehow sweet smile. A pair of glowing acidic green eyes that narrowed into pinpricks like a bird locking onto its prey. His once soft ebony lock now as stark white as snow caps.

You try to pull away but their grasp crushed your arm, hands like icy claws dug in.

" Where are you going?" He asked calm his eyes baring into yours.

Suddenly he did look very scary. No, he looked...so sad...so helpless and lost. His eyes where so warm and inviting.

"Don't leave me here. Help me. I promise I'll make it worth your while." His smile was so warm and inviting.

"Leave!" The ravens screeched.

"Run!" They called.

Even the screaming of the birds where drowned out as he pressed his lips to yours. It was too late. The sickly sweet scent of death and flowers filled your senses.

Why though, was his lips so cold? Why did they fill his mouth with the coppery taste of blood? Why did you feel so empty in the space you had hoped he'd fill in your heart?

But then a sharp pain struck your head and the warm trickle of blood flowed from your wound as a bird flew over your head.

You pulled away from the cloying embraces you perked in pain. And then you saw it. His face half half-rotted and skeletal. The once handsome man was a monster.

You sprinted away from him trying to frantically call someone for help on your phone. But foolish one had you forgotten. Your phone is also your flashlight and as you tried to use it you could only run blindly in the dark hoping you were still on the path. The sound of wind slicked the air behind you as you felt his icy breath on the back of your neck. You could only guess what was behind you as you heard no footsteps behind you only the feeling of being chased.

You dared not stop not even a moment and prayed that you didn't stumble. But mercy had found you as you saw the gate come into view and the solitary streetlight just beyond the boarder.

"You said you'd get me out! You can't leave me here!" A bloodcurdling screech rang out.

But you had already won as you made it out just barely with the graze of clawed fingertips at the back of your neck.

You closed the gate behind you and as you gazed into the dark abyss beyond the metal barrier you half expected it to be there. For it to snarl at you in anger watching you leave or slamming itself at the gate. But there was nothing. Not even the wind.

[woozinhos]

Rough Sex with San from Ateez🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Notes: guys I died writing this I love it enjoy 🤭

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.

You and San were in the living room of your shared apartment, lounging on the couch after a long day. San had his arm wrapped around you, pulling you close to his side. He was feeling particularly affectionate and possessive today, and he couldn't keep his hands off you. He nuzzled your neck, placing gentle kisses along your jawline.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "I can't get enough of you." You turned your head to look at him, a sly smile on your face. "Is that so?" you teased. "You're pretty needy today, aren't you?" San chuckled and nipped at your earlobe. "Maybe I am," he said, his voice low and husky. "Maybe I just need to remind you who you belong to." He suddenly pinned you down on the couch, straddling your hips and looking down at you with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

"You're mine," he growled, his hands roaming over your body possessively. "And I'm going to make sure you never forget it." You shivered at his words, a thrill of excitement running through you. You loved it when San got like this - dominant and demanding.

"I won't forget," you whispered, arching your back to press yourself against him. "I'm all yours, San." San grinned, clearly pleased with your response. He leaned down and captured your lips in a rough, bruising kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth without warning. You moaned into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. San's hands roamed lower, grabbing your hips and grinding his growing bulge against you. He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down to your neck where he began to suck and bite at the sensitive skin.

"You're going to be sore tomorrow," he murmured against your skin, leaving a trail of hickeys in his wake. You gasped as he marked you, the sting of his teeth sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You could feel yourself getting wet, your body responding eagerly to his rough treatment. San noticed your reaction and smirked. "You like that, don't you?" he said, his voice filled with satisfaction. "You like it when I mark you as mine." He pulled back and looked at you with a mixture of lust and possessiveness in his eyes. "Say it," he commanded. "Say that you're mine."

"I'm yours," you breathed, your eyes locked onto his. "I belong to you, San. I'm your good girl." San's smirk widened at your words, and he leaned down to claim your lips in another kiss. This time, it was even rougher than before, filled with a raw need and desire. He began to undress you, tearing off your clothes with an impatient urgency. "You have no idea how long I've been wanting this," he growled, his hands roaming over your now bare skin. You lay there, completely naked and exposed to him, your heart racing in your chest. San took a moment to admire your body, his eyes raking over every inch of you.

"Beautiful," he murmured again, his fingers tracing the curves of your body. "Absolutely perfect." He leaned down and began to kiss and bite his way down your chest, leaving a trail of marks in his wake. He paid special attention to your breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking hard. You moaned loudly, arching your back into his touch. San continued to tease your nipples, alternating between sucking and pinching them until they were red and swollen.

"I could spend all day just worshiping your body," he said, his voice hoarse with desire. "But I need to be inside you. Now." You nodded eagerly, your own need growing by the second. "Please, San," you begged. "I need you. I need you to fill me up." San didn't waste any time. He positioned himself between your legs, his cock hard and throbbing against your thigh. He grabbed your hips and pulled you closer, lining himself up with your entrance.

"You're so wet for me," he groaned as he pushed inside you in one swift motion. You cried out as he filled you, your walls stretching to accommodate his size. San gave you a moment to adjust before he started to move, setting a brutal pace from the start. He gripped your hips tightly, using them as leverage to thrust into you with all his strength. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with your moans and San's grunts of pleasure.

"You're taking me so well," he praised, his eyes fixed on the place where your bodies were joined. "Such a good girl, taking my cock like this."

"Y/N... oh, Y/N," San moaned, his pace becoming even faster and harder. "You feel so good. So tight and wet for me." He leaned down and captured your lips in a messy kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth as he continued to pound into you. His grip on your hips was bruising, sure to leave marks for days to come. San wasted no time in adjusting your position, flipping you over so that you were on all fours in front of him. He grabbed your hair and pulled your head back, forcing you to arch your back and present yourself to him.

"That's it," he growled, his other hand coming down to smack your ass. "Show me how much you want it." You cried out at the sting of his hand on your ass, but you couldn't deny the way it sent a jolt of pleasure through your body. You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts with enthusiasm.

"Please, San, harder," you begged, your voice desperate. "I need more." San chuckled darkly and obliged, snapping his hips against yours with even more force. The new angle allowed him to hit your g-spot with every thrust, and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

"I can feel you getting tighter," San said, his voice strained. "You're close, aren't you? Are you going to cum for me, baby?" You could only nod, unable to form words as your orgasm built inside you. San continued to pound into you relentlessly, his grip on your hair tightening as he chased his own release.

"Cum for me, Y/N," he ordered. "Cum on my cock like a good girl." His words pushed you over the edge, and you screamed his name as you came undone beneath him. Your body shook with the force of your orgasm, your walls clenching around his cock as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. San groaned at the feeling of you cumming around him, his thrusts becoming erratic as he neared his own climax. "That's it, baby," he panted. "Such a good girl, taking my cock so well." He gave a few more hard thrusts before he finally came, spilling himself deep inside you with a guttural moan.

San's body went rigid as he came, his grip on your hair tightening to the point of pain. He kept thrusting through his orgasm, riding out the aftershocks until he was completely spent. He collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily as he tried to catch his breath. "Fuck," he muttered, nuzzling the back of your neck. "That was amazing." You were panting just as hard as he was, your body feeling limp and boneless after such an intense orgasm. San rolled off of you and pulled you into his arms, holding you close to his chest.

"You did so good," he murmured, pressing kisses to your forehead and cheeks. "You're perfect, Y/N. I love you." You snuggled into his embrace, basking in the afterglow of your shared pleasure. "I love you too, San," you whispered, nuzzling against his chest. He held you like that for a while, stroking your hair and planting gentle kisses on your skin. Eventually, he spoke again.

"I'm not done with you yet," he said, his voice taking on a low, possessive tone. "I'm going to take you again, and again, until you can't walk straight."

[saejinniestar]

A dark thought.

Daddy k!nk, fingering, breeding, subspace, puppy!reader, human! member. IT IS DARK so if you don't like that, then don't read. MDNI.

You were his puppy, his property. He signed a contract to have you. He was the nicest out of all the men who came to see you. He knew what he wanted, an untouched puppy. Luckily, you were his first pick. He read the papers, brought here during younger years, untouched, ready to be bought. He convinced his friends and family that he found someone and that he was ready for marriage. All he had to do was buy you.

It was easy really, using sweet words and kind gestures, you were already in love. You got into his car, so excited to finally be bought. When he got to his house, you jumped out and ran inside. You ran around, smelling the new smells and seeing new things. "Are you happy that daddy bought you, darling?" You ran back to him jumping into his lap, "Daddy? Your name is daddy?" He nodded. "Thank you daddy for buying me, I love you daddy!" He went close to your ear, whispering, "Daddy loves you too, daddy is always gonna love you."

He sat you down in his lap, watching all the guests enjoying themselves at your guys' wedding. You were wearing a pretty white dress but underneath you were wearing a white silk lingerie with easy access for him. He pressed kisses to your neck and traveled up to your ear. He lightly bit it and licked the shell of your ear. You whimpered and your body shook a little. He whispered sweet things in your ear, making you slowly drift away from reality into a subspace only he could enter. "Daddy's gonna make you feel so good when we get to the hotel."

He carried you all the way up to your room. He whispered in your ear about what he was gonna do to you. He talked while you listened, eyes glazed over and head without a thought. He sat you down on the bed, unzipping your dress. His hands roamed your body as he listened to your incoherent rambling as you came back down. "Mmh, d-daddy, feels so good!" He barely brushed his fingers against your panties. "You want daddy to breed you? Get your sweet cunt knocked up?" You nodded, dizzy by the feel of his fingers. "Hmm, you wouldn't even have a choice now would you? Who owns you, puppy?" You pointed to him, humping his fingers in the process. You were barely realizing that you were still humping his hand when he moved it.

"Now tell me, puppy, who does this cunt belong to?" You looked at him, "You daddy." He smirked, taking off his clothes. "And who do you belong to?" You whimpered as he kissed you. "I belong to you daddy, you bought me so you own me." He sucked your tongue, smiling. He taught you so well, teaching you what to say and what to do. Your tail was wagging rapidly behind you.

When he left to work, he knew you’d be at home waiting for him. You’d be there, pretty collar and pretty skirt, after all you needed to be wet and ready for daddy. He’d hear about how you rubbed your bare cunt on his pillow but it never worked, you needed his fingers and dick. He trained you so well, corrupted you beyond repair. He manipulated your mind, telling you things that weren’t actually true. One of them was coming inside. You knew that daddy was always supposed to come inside you, keep it inside so it could take. You weren’t supposed to sit anywhere else but on his dick, you were his pretty cockwarmer, even while you slept. Whatever he said was right, if he needed you to have your leash on, you would.

You were happy being with him, always kissing him and needing him. He kept you right by him, needy and desperate for him, cunt always wet for him. You were sitting in his lap, his tip kissing your cervix and his hands on your chest, your tongue wrapped around his, mind far away. He knew he made the right decision several years ago, you were the perfect puppy for him.

[ginnyw-potter]

Ginny Weasley should die.

Thank you for the prompt anon! 😊 I hope you like it.

Death's cup

"Ginny Weasley should die."

Harry looked up from his newspaper and thought about his wife upstairs. 50 years old. Not quite in her quidditch years anymore but not old enough to die of natural causes, or so Harry would think. He did not want to let her go.

He looked at death. He seemed familiar. "Ah. Interesting that you tell me this. I thought you wielded your scythe on your own time, sir."

He stood up from the table and Death was yet still taller than him by almost more than a head.

Death moved uneasily. His face was hardly visible under his hood. "I do, but you... are the Master of Death and I will not take your wife away unannounced."

"I don't have the Elder Wand. The Stone is lost to time. The cloak belongs to James."

Death nodded. "You do not lose the title until someone else brings the items together. James is a special one. He hides from Death just as well as his father. There were some close calls under that cloak."

Though the thought of his son dying prickled as much as thinking about Ginny dying did, he only nodded. "He has no clue what it used to be like."

"He grew up safe thanks to the efforts of the generation before him," Death said. "I need to go and start on my day. I will be back in a few moments."

And just like that, Death walked out of his back door and soared straight up into the sky.

Harry had not even moved from his spot when James appeared by the same back door and knocked before entering.

"Morning dad, here's the cloak like you asked." His son put the cloak down on the table. "Mum still asleep?"

He nodded, dumbfounded but didn't reveal that he had never asked for the cloak. "Sleeping in."

"Alright. I'll see you two for dinner, yeah?"

Harry nodded again, trying not to think of the horrible possibility of Ginny not making it to dinner. "Of course," he said around the lump in his throat.

His son walked to the door again but Harry stopped him. James turned around to look at him.

"With or without that cloak, you're not invincible. Don't forget that," Harry said.

James offered him a lop-sided smile. "Is this another lesson from you where you take the cloak away from me to prove something?"

"No. Just a reminder."

"Because I am getting married soon and then I want to give you some of those grandkid-things mum dreams about." James hugged him.

Harry hugged him back. "Don't tell her that or she'll bug you about it until you bring her one."

"Merlin," his son let out with a chuckle. "I know it. I thought Al was going to beat me to it, to be fair." James released him and stepped back.

"He might still," Harry mused out loud.

James nodded in agreement. "Alright, see you tonight, dad!"

Harry waved absent-mindedly, his fingers of his other hand already wrapping around the cloak.

As soon as James had disapparated, he walked upstairs and into the master bed room. Ginny was sleeping soundly.

He tried not to think too hard about losing her but his arms shook as he draped the cloak over her. She did not stir.

"I love you, Gin," he said just in case and then he walked back downstairs.

He had just poured himself another cup of coffee when Death descended the stairs and walked back into the kitchen.

"The oddest thing just happened," Death said with an air of innocence, holding a list. "It says Ginny Weasley, bedroom, but I could not find her."

"That is odd," he agreed, the knot around his heart loosening a little. "Coffee?"

"Oh. Yes, thank you."

Harry poured Death a cup and handed it to him.

The skeletal hand wrapped around the ear of the cup. Both of them leaned against the counter as Death took a sip. A bit of steam escaped from the ear holes in his hood as he drank.

He seemed to leisurely read the list to see what was ahead for the day.

"Sir Barkington?" Harry inquired as he couldn't help but glance at the list.

"Yes," Death said. "Elderly dog. One of my favourites. It's such a joy to see them escape their old body with their achey joints and bad eyesight and see them chase around like a young puppy once more. It gets me every time."

Harry smiled. "That does sound rather nice." He looked at the name still at the top of his list. "Isn't it rather odd that my wife should be listed as 'Ginny Weasley' when she's been a Potter for thirty years?"

The cup of coffee hesitated in front of Death's mouth as his eyes slipped down. "That is odd."

"So?" Harry asked.

Death grumbled. "I wonder if the stupid fragmented souls messed with my list. Can't move on, can't go back. Trying to defy nature and now I have to pass those sorry excuses for a soul every morning on my commute!"

Harry's eyebrows rose. "If one was previously occupying a diary, it would know my wife's name rather well."

"Ah." Death's gaze fell on the list again. "That may very well be it. I'll need to investigate." He set the cup of coffee down on the counter and a quil appeared in his hand. He crossed Ginny's name off the list. "One way or another, consider her off the hook. I'll talk to her in another century or so." He rolled up the list and tucked it in the pocket of his cloak. "I'll see you soon."

Harry swallowed.

"Just kidding!" Death said, opening the door and stepping outside. "That never gets old! But you will. Live a long life, Harry. I will meet you again when it's time." He waved and then soared off once more.

Harry walked up the door and closed it. He returned to his coffee and took another sip.

"Why was the cloak on me?" She held it in her hands. She looked so very alive with tousled long hair and her night dress wrapped around her form.

"If I told you Death was looking for you, would you believe me?"

She snorted a laugh and picked up the cup of coffee from the counter. "No." She took a sip and promptly spat it out. "That tastes like death!"

"Told you he was here," Harry mumbled under his breath. "I'll get you a new one."

She playfully pushed him out of the way with her hip. "I'll make myself one. You clearly can't be trusted around the coffee machine anymore."

He laughed and took hold of her, kissing her eagerly.

"On second thought..." she said as she slipped her hand down his back. "Why don't you come back upstairs with me..."

"The counter is right there..." Harry offered.

She laughed. "I am not twenty anymore."

"No, you're not," he said happily, his hand caressing the curve of her hip. "But you get better every year."

"My joints don't," she said against his lips.

He pulled her up against him. "Oh, alright. And I'll make you a proper cup in a bit."

She dragged him upstairs, Death's cup forgotten.

[gojossugarcandy]

You couldn't thank the heavens enough! You were always searching for mythical creatures trying to prove their existence. Everyone had always laughed at you. Saying these dreams would never come true. But the world had another plan for you.

When you had almost given up, about 6 months ago, to find a mythical creature, one appeared right in front of you.

Though, your first meeting with him was rather goofy.

You had given up trying to find mythical creatures and had went to a bar. After getting crazy drunk, you were walking home- You didn't prefer going in a taxi due to your habit of chasing anything that looked like a mythical creature.

Suddenly, a man had appeared behind you. His face was rather peculiar, with his eyes hidden under those brown(?) hair. He was wearing a weird dress, a very terrible attempt at hiding himself.

Before he could utter anything, your stomach had spoken for you, by squeezing itself so bad, and bringing out that puke.

Yep, you puked on him and then fell into slumber.

When your eyes opened, it seemed like you were in your room with an unknown man, who was changing his shirt.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH" came out of your throat before you could even register it.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH" came out of the man's throat before even he could register it.

Then you noticed, where his hair were slightly parted, one big eye was present.

Not two eyes but one big eye.

A cyclop was there with you.

.....

"Oh my god!!!!!!" You exclaimed as you jumped on him, pushing his hair away to see him better.

And that is how your relationship had started, 6 months ago.

Now, Today, was a weekend. You had asked him to go bring the grocery from the nearest store. Today, you had to spring clean the house.

For some reason Theo had always stopped you from entering his room.

So you had let your curiosity get the better of you and had started the cleaning with his room.

After entering it, you could describe it as the room of a 'hikkimori'.

Many clothes, underwears, etc. sprawned here and there.

Somewhere at the corner of the room, at the edge of his table was a clean and shiny golden box.

It seemed the only thing that was clean in this room.

You walked over to that box on his desk. It seemed to spark your interest.

As you opened the box, you saw many images, keychains you thought had gotten lost and whatnot were kept in there. There were many notes too, many had weird scribblings on them, scribblings of declaration of love. Of his love for you.

You were happy about this, you had found a secret about him. You could now tease him about this too and elicit cute reactions from him.

As you were going through the photos, the door suddenly swung open, a panicked cyclop rushing in as he took the photos from your hand, tears running down his face,

"N-no This Is Not- I'm Not- T-This Is Not What It Looks L-like-!"

Just then your laughter filled the room as you pulled him down with you.

"Who said I am angry about those, Theo?"

You said, letting your hands run through his hair, an action that calmed him down.

"While i may not have known you before my drunk puking incident, i am equally in love with you" You said, as his sobs reduced, his breathing finally calming.

"I thought you'd leave me. I had seen humans leave each other when on is too in love with the other" whimpered out your boyfriend.

"My god! Who would leave someone like you?! You are the perfect boyfriend personified!" You said, continuing "Also, I don't think my love for you is normal either" You said, your foreaheads touching.

The look on your eyes was possessive, obsessive, similar to that of Theo but more stronger, as you leaned in to place a little kiss on his nose as if to seal the deal.

Finally, Theo had found someone just as obsessive as him.

And it felt good.

______________________________________________________________

@meo-eiru(The image up there belong to her. I really admire, adore, worship, words are not enough! creators like these as they draw such good drawing with their imaginations! Like damnnnnn! and then there is me. A person who likes drawing but is a huge failure. (I swear, my human faces look like monkeys😂🤣😂🤣) Anyway, seeing the image, I had like a context for it. I don't know if this is good or not. My previous stories are trash because I, like, had no motivation to write but just wanted to. But this one fanart fired my imagination up and I just started writing.

Nah! This was my first time writing a submissive or a shy character (all the others had an angst ending). When i first wrote it, it was so bad i changed the story. I am really sorry if this story seemed weird or bad, I will try better. I have rarely seen any fanfics with a shy and submissive guy, so whatever i wrote right now is done for the first time. I felt like how Newton felt when he was discovering gravity but more on the negative side. I had my first writer's block! Please do tell me any feedbacks. The next one (Micah) is worse for me as i have no idea about the church or priests. I gotta do research and then come up with a story. Along with this, my final exams are coming up next week so another big break. (Please give me feedback, I myself know this story is very trash)

[ninikrumbs]

Somewhere in the multiverse

jjk men x fem reader.

"Need something, baby?"

The tone of his voice light and indulgent as it always was, not minding the happy distraction your presence brings.

Your head peaks from the doorway, a hesitant smile on your face as you watch you boyfriend work in his home office.

Shaking your head at his questioning haze, your cross the distance between you. He smiles fondly, realizing your intention, twisting his rolling chair a bit to the side to make space for you.

"Come here, pretty girl." He says when you draw near, pulling you down to plop down on his lap, arms immediately finding a home on your waist.

His familiar warmth and smell envelopes your senses imbuing your body with the affection and comfort you always craved from him. The contented noises you let out as you snuggle in the crook of his neck makes him chuckle in amusement, his gentle fingers tracing slow comforting circles down your back. "So my girl's just needy for me?"

You hum in response, looking absolutely cozy with your eyes closed, nose nuzzling his neck as you breath him in, hands resting on his chest.

His hands teasingly wander down your back to give your bum a light squeeze, not enough to startle you from you perfect position but enough to make you grumble, "Not that kind of needy."

With you lips right next to his neck, your breath tickles his skin. He huffs a laugh, "Oh, my bad. "

Not a hint of remorse in his voice though. His hands changes it course up to you hair, gently threading through it, making your eyes droop. You feel him press a kiss on the top of your head before resting his chin on it.

This is where you belong, you thought. At peace in his arms, away from the cruel horrors of the world even for just a moment. And you're r sure he shares you sentiment with how constantly he tries to shield you from the sometimes brutal realities he has to face.

If he could create a world where you would only know joy and happiness, he would. But Alas the monsters in this world constantly grow like weeds. The best he could do was to make sure they could never get to you. Not in this life or the next.

He hears you whisper his name and mumbling something he incoherent.

"What was that?"

"I said I feel bad for a version of me out there who doesn't have you."

He pulls away just a bit to look at your face, he wonders where you get such sudden and weird ideas yet he humors you regardless, "You don't have to worry your pretty little head about it."

"Why not?"

"Because," He raises your palm to his lips, placing a kiss filled with devotion, "I refuse to believe that there's a world where I don't have you. Any version of me won't allow it."

He says it with such conviction that it sounded like a fact, not an opinion or a thought and it makes you want to believe him.

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, you press youself flush against him once more, finding solace in his words and the beating heart underneath your hands.

"Now sleep, I'll wake you up once im done working some we can eat dinner together."

Your eyes flutter shut again and you fall asleep to the steady rhythm of his heart.

The next time you open your eyes it was to the dark cold ceiling of your bedroom. Your hands reach to the side, - searching, hoping, wishing -heart dropping as you merely felt the bitter emptiness of your comforter.

Sitting up on your bed, you look out of your window. The city lights blurred as hot tears clouded you vision. They fall rapidly down your cheeks, faster than you could wipe them away with your fists. Your throat clogging up with such gut wrenching emotion as you barely held back your sobs.

Your lips trembles, smiling bitterly, memories of another life running though the back of your head, "You're such a liar, you big dummy."

Suguru. Satoru. Kento. Hiromi.

a/n: should I make a happy part 2?

[doodle-pops]

Married Life With Feanor, Fingolfin and Finarfin Would Include…

Request: Hi, can I request some group fluffy headcanons for Feanor, Fingolfin and Finarfin with asexual!reader? Like about their domestic life. I like to imagine they would give reader some extra care and make them feel valid and loved, and when someone tries to stick their nose into their relationship, they just be like: "Yeah, me and my partner don't have bodily union, but we're bonded by stars, so get lost". Thanks in advance (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

A/N: Always a pleasure to answer your requests. Enjoy!

Synopsis: What your married life with them as an asexual person would entail.

Masterlist | Navigation

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Fëanor

➽ Fëanor, being Fëanor, does not give a damn about what others think of your relationship. In fact, he thrives on the scandal it causes amongst the more traditional elves.

➽ If anyone so much as dares to comment on the lack of physical intimacy between you two, he scoffs, waves a dismissive hand, and says something like, “What, you thought I, Curufinwë Fëanáro, needed to do what every other lovesick fool does? I am bonded beyond flesh. And if you don’t understand that, I won’t waste my breath explaining it to you.”

➽ He is extremely protective of your comfort. If someone is prying or making you feel invalid, he will eviscerate them with words alone. “Your ignorance wounds me,” he’d say in a tone so dry that it leaves the offender squirming. “And here I thought the Eldar were supposed to be enlightened.”

➽ You are the only one allowed to touch his hair without protest. The sight of you braiding it is enough to make his sons do double takes because their father, the very Fëanor, sits still and lets you work without a single complaint. If you ever want yours braided in return, he takes to the task with precision—his fingers work like a master jeweller, and he will not accept anything less than perfection.

➽ If you’re feeling insecure about your identity, he brings you into his forge and makes you something to remind you of your worth. A Silmaril of your own, set with a stone that captures the first light of Telperion and Laurelin. “No one questions the worth of the Silmarils,” he murmurs as he fastens it around your neck. “And you are far rarer, far more precious. So do not let lesser minds make you doubt.”

➽ When the two of you sit together, he always ends up with an arm slung around your shoulders or your fingers intertwined with his. It’s never possessive—just a quiet reminder that you belong to each other. He likes to rest his forehead against yours sometimes, eyes closed, breathing in your presence. “This,” he says softly, “is enough.”

➽ Maedhros and Maglor have learned not to comment on your relationship because every time they do, Fëanor launches into a dramatic speech about how the two of you share a connection beyond mere physicality, an eternal bond forged in the core of Arda itself, something that transcends mere bodily desires. Eventually, his sons stop bringing it up because he won’t shut up.

➽ If he catches anyone looking down on you for your sexuality, he leans in and murmurs in a deceptively friendly tone, “If you insult my beloved, you insult me. And you would not dare to insult me, would you?” Cue the offending party quickly finding somewhere else to be.

➽ He has a terrible habit of stealing your clothes when they’re left unattended. You’ll come into your shared space to find him wearing your outer robe like a lordly cloak, completely unbothered by the fact that it’s clearly not his. “It smells like you,” he says with a shrug. “And I happen to like that.”

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Fingolfin

➽ Unwavering in his devotion, and when he loves, he loves with his whole being. He understands you, accepts you, and never lets you feel less than cherished. Whenever someone questions your relationship, he just raises an eyebrow and says in his calm, unshakable voice, “What I have with my beloved is eternal. It does not need to be explained.”

➽ He is an incredibly attentive partner. He notices when you’re overwhelmed, when you need space, when you need reassurance. If you ever doubt your worth, he takes your hands in his and presses a lingering kiss to your knuckles. “You are enough,” he tells you. “Always.”

➽ If someone tries to insist that your love is somehow ‘incomplete’ without physical intimacy, Fingolfin gives them a look so cold that they immediately regret opening their mouth. “And who,” he asks, voice laced with steel, “gave you the authority to define love?”

➽ He enjoys quiet domestic moments. Sitting beside you as he polishes his armour, reading together beneath the trees, walking hand in hand through the city—these are the things he treasures. Sometimes, he just gazes at you with a small, private smile, as if he still cannot quite believe you chose him.

➽ His siblings have very different reactions to your relationship. Fëanor, predictably, scoffs at the idea of his half-brother finding happiness but secretly respects how fiercely Fingolfin defends your bond. Finarfin, ever the peacekeeper, is simply delighted to see you both happy. “True love is rare,” he tells you one day with a warm smile. “Never let anyone tell you it must look a certain way.”

➽ Whenever you sit in court beside him, he unconsciously seeks you out, his hand resting lightly on yours, a subtle anchor in the storm of politics. Even in the most heated debates, his touch remains grounding and comforting.

➽ When he prepares for battle, he always ensures you have something of his—perhaps a finely wrought bracelet, a token of his love. “I will return to you,” he vows, fingers brushing against yours. “And should I fall, know that I have loved you beyond all reckoning.”

➽ He is a surprisingly good cook, but only for you. If one of his soldiers asks for a meal, they get standard fare. If you ask? He’s suddenly making a feast fit for a king. “Favouritism?” he echoes, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Finarfin

➽ He is utterly devoted to making sure you always feel loved and validated. He is patient, understanding, and the first to shut down any nonsense about what a relationship should look like. “Love is not measured by the expectations of others,” he says simply. “It is measured by what we build together.”

➽ He is incredibly gentle with you. If you ever feel overwhelmed, he simply pulls you into his arms and lets you lean against him, no words needed. His presence alone is a comfort, warm and steadfast.

➽ He enjoys creating things for you—whether it’s intricate jewellery, embroidered garments, or even composing a song that captures the depths of your bond. “It is not the work of a great minstrel,” he says with a soft smile, “but it is yours, and that is enough.”

➽ Whenever someone pries into your relationship, he doesn’t get angry. He just tilts his head, gives them a polite but firm look, and says, “I fail to see how this is your concern.” Somehow, that is more effective than any argument.

➽ If you ever feel insecure about your identity, he reassures you with quiet conviction. “You are as the Valar made you,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers over your cheek. “And who am I to question their wisdom?”

➽ He enjoys domestic routines with you—sharing meals, walking through the gardens, reading together in companionable silence. These small moments mean everything to him.

➽ His children adore you. Even if they don’t always understand your perspective at first, they respect you deeply. Galadriel and Finrod in particular are protective of you, and anyone who dares to mock your relationship will find themselves on the receiving end of Galadriel’s sharp tongue.

➽ When he speaks about you, there is always warmth in his voice, a quiet reverence. “My love,” he says one evening as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “the world may not always understand us, but I need only your understanding. That is all that matters.

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[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — golden hours, golden hearts : chapter 022 !

one week passed in a blur.

by the time you got home from your latest interview, exhaustion clung to your limbs like a second skin. you barely had the energy to kick off your heels before stepping into your apartment, but the familiar scent of something warm and savory made you pause.

"you're finally home," mitsuki's voice rang from the kitchen.

you blinked, surprised. "su-?"

"don't act so shocked," she huffled, turning to face you with a wooden spoon in hand. "you barely eat properly when you're working, so i figured i'd make something before you shrivel away."

before you could respond, another voice chimed in.

"she's right, you know."

you turned toward your couch, where hyoma sat comfortably, scrolling through his phone like he belonged here.

"you too?" you sighed, setting your bag down.

hyoma smirked. "mitski dragged me here. but i won't complain if it means free food. ...and maybe gossip?"

"obviously," mitsuki said, placing a steaming bowl in front of you. "now, eat."

the three of you settled into the living room, plates balanced in your hands as you sat on the floor around the coffee table. mitsuki had made something comforting. stir-fried vegetables, crispy tofu and rice.

"you should just move in at this point," you mumbled between bites.

mitsuki grinned. "tempting. your apartment is so fancy and i'd get to eat dinner with a celebrity couple every day."

you shot her a look. "we're not-"

"yeah, yeah," she waved you off. "pr relationship, i know."

hyoma leaned back against the couch. "do you think it's working, though? the pr part, i mean."

you hesitated, setting down your chopsticks. "i mean... i guess? they still talk about the picture he posted and how it has to be me because i posted my outfit a few hours later."

mitsuki smirked, propping her chin up with her hand. "oh, they know it's you. the internet detectives are crazy. some of them even matched the museum's lighting to your story."

chigiri huffed a quiet laugh. "people are invested."

you sighed, dragging a hand down your face. "great. love that for me."

mitsuki grinned. "i mean, you did sign up for this. and let's be so for real right now, sae knew exactly what he was doing when he posted that picture."

chigiri nodded. "it was a smart move. subtle, but not too subtle. keeps the mystery going."

you rolled your eyes. "yeah, yeah. pr genius, whatever."

mitsuki tilted her head. "you sound... almost annoyed. don’t tell me you’re regretting it?"

you hesitated. were you? no. not really. it was just... complicated.

"i wouldn’t say that," you muttered. "it’s just weird, you know? everyone analyzing my every move, acting like they know we're together even though we didn't do anything yet."

mitsuki hummed, tapping her nails against her glass. "well, that’s the point, or not? keep people talking, keep the mystery alive. that’s what makes it fun."

you sighed, leaning back into the couch. "fun for them, maybe. i just have to sit there and pretend i don’t see the comments saying 'oh my god! sae's mine!' or 'back off!' like damn, you don't even have a chance, the fuck??"

"you did sign up for this," hyoma pointed out, shooting you a knowing look. "and let’s be real, it’s not like you haven’t dealt with this kind of thing before."

"yeah, but this is different," you frowned. "it’s not just me anymore. it’s him, too. and he’s not exactly making it easier."

mitsuki perked up. "oh? what’s sae doing?"

You waved a hand vaguely. "just… being flirty with me ...lowkey? he texts me almost every day and is chalant instead of nonchalant. everyone says he's a dick to everyone.and now, cryptic captions, just enough interaction to keep people guessing. and then he does stuff like take that picture of me at the museum and post it without tagging me, but making it obvious enough that everyone figured it out anyway."

"that’s called marketing, sweetheart," mitsuki teased. "besides, you don’t seem that mad about it."

you opened your mouth to argue but stopped yourself.

hyoma smirked. "see? you don’t even deny it."

"whatever," you muttered, picking up your chopsticks again. "enough about me. let’s talk about suki’s thing with michael."

mitsuki nearly choked on her drink. "I DO NOT HAVE A THING WITH MICHAEL."

hyoma grinned. "oh, please. you literally just admitted you liked kissing him."

"that is not what i said!" mitsuki protested, but her face was already turning pink.

you and hyoma exchanged looks before bursting into laughter.

—

later that night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the soft hum of the city outside barely reaching your ears. the room was dark except for the dim glow of your phone screen resting beside you, notifications lighting up every few seconds, but you ignored them.

your mind was too loud.

the wedding was in two days.

your flight to kyoto was tomorrow morning.

you had to meet his whole family.

and you had to spend an entire weekend playing the perfect girlfriend to sae itoshi.

you exhaled sharply, rolling onto your side. it wasn’t that you couldn’t do i. you had played your part well so far. the public was eating up the “relationship,” and sae… well, he was playing along just fine. but this was different. this wasn’t just posting cryptic photos. this was attending a family wedding together. his family would be there. people who actually knew him. who would be watching you both closely, scanning every detail.

would they believe it?

would he even bother keeping up the act when no cameras were around?

you pressed a hand to your forehead, willing yourself to stop overthinking. it wasn’t like you had a choice. the flight was at 7 am, and you needed to wake up in a few hours.

still, sleep didn’t come easy.

—

the next morning, you forced yourself to get up despite the lack of sleep, dragging yourself through the motions of getting ready. you did your makeup with practiced ease, throwing on something comfortable for the flight, something that still made you look put-together.

after calling a cab, you made your way to the airport. the usual rush of airport energy, people moving in every direction, announcements echoing, felt almost comforting, like a routine you could disappear into. you breezed through security, checked in, and found your gate.

you grabbed a seat and plugged your airpods in, deciding to zone out and pass the time.

the gate area slowly filled with passengers, people bustling around, the soft murmur of voices mixing with the distant call of another flight being called. you settled in, the familiar feeling of travel settling over you.

you adjusted your bag and got comfortable in your seat, scrolling through your phone to distract yourself. the thought of sae and the wedding was still there in the back of your mind, but you didn’t let it take up too much space.

until someone slid into the seat next to you.

you glanced up, slightly annoyed that they had to sit right next to you, only for your eyes to meet a familiar pair of sharp, lazy ones.

sae.

your heart skipped a beat as you stared at him in disbelief. “what are you doing here?” you asked, barely able to mask the surprise in your voice. he was supposed to be in madrid, preparing for his own flight to kyoto.

sae, as nonchalant as ever, grinned at your reaction. “can't i fly with my girlfriend?” he asked, almost as if reading your mind. “it’s not every day i get to spend a few hours in the air with my favorite model."

chapter 021 > here > chapter 023

taglist is open ! <3

back to golden hours, golden hearts

a/n: oh no forced proximity

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© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[frillydolle]

Hellooooo!!! I love ur page so much it’s so cutesy><<<

If u can and want to write hurt/comfort w Arthur Morgan plssss

Maybe they argue and he yells at her too loudly n scared her off sum, it’s all up to u💗💗

arthur morgan x farmer's daughter reader

꒰ 𝝑𓏲 ꒱ hidden relationship , angst , father is an alcoholic , mother doesn't talk to you often , argument , slight comfort at the end.

your mother and father hated outlaws, you knew that well. growing up, they made sure you knew their feelings towards them: nothing more than merciless and ruthless killers. there wasn't one moment that they didn't mutter hatred spews everytime he read their crimes from the newspapers, wanted them gone by the lawmen. you were in love with one.

for as long as you've known arthur, he was always an outlaw while you were terrified of outlaws, but there was something... different about him that drew you to him. either it was his charm or the way he'd would take your teasing words with a smirk on his face. you were enthralled with him and he with you, never met a better man than arthur morgan.

now, after getting seen with him, you've barely heard anything from arthur, just assuming he got really busy being.. you know, an outlaw and... outlaw stuff. you've written countless letters to him and nothing in return which had your worries. out of boredom mixed with melancholy, you wrote another letter to him about needing to see him again and this time, he received it.

“oh arthur, you came!” you say as you quickly make your way over him, wrapping ur arms around his neck in an embrace, and he automatically wrapped his arms around your waist. “'course i did. y'called 'nd i heard.” he replied, kissing your temple. thankfully, your parents weren't in. probably in the town of strawberry, doing whatever.

and then you finally said it. “i didn't mean for daddy to talk to you like that... 'm sorry, arthur.” your daddy... he wasn't a nice man. to him or you, liked the bottle too much. arthur hated the way he treated you and your mother, your father didn't care about no one else but himself.

“it's just— 'm sorry for last time, i was worried about you— 'nd daddy that i—” he cut you off, he never did that unless he was upset. “'m a bigger fool than i even thought.” he says as he turns to walk away from you, and yet you catch his hand, intertwining your fingers into his.

“n—no, wait, arthur! i didn't mean it like that, i just—” everything was just so difficult, and everything was just so overwhelming. you didn't want to lose your boyfriend or your father by some silly mistake of getting caught. “i know he wasn't kind to you, he shouldn't have treated you like—”

“like i ain't worth it? like i don't belong with ya 'nd yer family? is that it?” he says, tone laced with a sort of sterness as you look away, being the guilt beginning to eat at you. you knew your mother and father didn't think much of him but that didn't mean anything, you still love him after all. you didn't think a relationship would be so... overwhelming, being those annoying tears swell up in ur doll-like gaze. you backed off from arthur.

“it ain't like that! my family just want me to have a better life than—” you weren't even sure what to say, you just wanted to welcome hin back proper, like usual. “than me?” his words made you pull away slightly, feeling the tears. oh, your mind was racing, couldnt even think properly. “than choices you make, arthur! i just— they wanted better but 'm happy with you.”

don't cry. don't cry. don't cry.

“we've got different lives 'nd yours ain't right, livin' like that-” “yer life ain't any better than mine, with a drunken daddy on the farm like that. with ya comin' t'me fer someone to talk to?” he practically sneered, giving you a stern look.

god, you felt pathetic as you looked away. hiding the pretty pout and the tears that streaked down ur face, all because he intimidated you as she spilled the truth to you. your father was quite the drinker and you didn't get along with your mother well amd arthur all about that. he used it against you.

damn him and his silver tongue.

his gaze softened as your silent crying grounded him, he felt like such a god awful fool for speaking to you like that. what a idiot you are, morgan. the guilt was now eating at him as he just stood there for a few moments, watching you walk away to sit by the wooden seat, just outside your home. he felt bad, really bad but he was never good at words. well, more like he was never good at expressing his emotions. more of an action man.

he walks over to you, kneeling down infront of you. he hated himself for putting you in such a situation, ending you in such a mess. “you can be so mean, arthur...” you sniffled, looking down at him slightly as his hands reach out to hold yours. he had to admit, you are pretty when you are.

“'m sorry, darlin'.. didn't mean that, any of it. yer my sweet girl, always have been.” he says, his voice as he was gaining the attention of a wounded doe. he always treated you in such a way that often made you giggle, thinking about it every night. arthur stands up, and then he sits beside you, and before you know, he guides your head to rest on his shoulder.

“im sorry, sweetheart. i really am.”

“... i know.” arthur then wraps his shoulder around you, his thumb rubbing soothing circles.

[gladiaralla]

Dark Red☾⟡꙳⋆

Part 2 - Dark Geta x !fem reader / Dark Caracalla x oc

warnings: +18 swearing, cruelty + b!ood mentioned, NSFW (slightly),

Disclaimer: In general, I will not pay attention to historical accuracy in my stories. Besides, English is not my first language! Nevertheless, I hope you have a great reading experience. Make yourselve comfortable. 🤎 [Feedback is appreciated.] Hope y’all like it. <3

"Spilling blood? In my name?,” you said indignantly as you looked into the bath and let your maid Helena comb your hair. You slowly leaned back and looked at the mosaic-decorated wall. Helena gasped and was about to speak when you interrupted her again. "Helena, I don't need any games!,” you replied, as if she could do anything about it.

She carefully ran the comb through your hair and tilted her head. "These are the customs, traditions," she explained in a calm voice until you turned and looked at her, beads dripping down your chin. “Did you see the way he looked at me?,” you began almost indignantly, waiting for her reaction. "Emperor Geta?," she asked and you immediately continued as if you had no time to lose. "Like I'm a... a prize or one of his..concubines!”

You paused for a moment and looked at your reflection in the slightly steaming water. When you looked at yourself like that, you couldn't imagine sitting next to him in front of a crowd of Roman citizens and being his beloved, his wife or the mother of his sons.

Helena took the sponge in her hand and let it slide over your shoulders. The warm water slid down your breast. "He scares me Helena. His brother too. That laugh...did you hear his laugh?," you mumbled and took your previous place in the bath. "I heard it too. It didn't make me any less uncomfortable. But you and I will have to live with that."

The brown-haired girl behind you stopped and took the black comb in her hand again. "We can't change any of that. We are all...property of Rome now. Their property..." Helena began carefully to not frighten you. You looked at her face in the mirror on the wooden stool. She lost herself in her task and her encounters became slower. Still looking at her reflection, you grabbed her wrist and stopped her. "What...what are you trying to say?,” you asked, no less cautiously, and she slumped her shoulders, snorting briefly as she looked at the curtains that led to the terrace of your room. “Oh, it's nothing...,” she whispered, shaking her head. She didn't want you worrying about her life when you were already going through enough with your own. "No Helena. What do you want to tell me. You can speak freely, you know that," you encouraged her, but she rose from her crouch and smoothed the fabric of her dress. Her golden bangles jingled as she moved. Slowly, she sat down on the edge of the tub. "I belong to Rome now too," she repeated and you shook your head, taking her hand in yours. You knew what she was getting at now.. "You are my maid. My friend. I would never let that happen,” you replied, shaking her hand now. "What would you do?...," she mumbled and put the back of her hand over her mouth. "Helena..."

"What would you do if one of them...took me? They can do that! And there's nothing you can do about it!"

You recognized how she lost her composure. "Excuse me...," she wanted to begin, but her voice broke. You paused, not knowing what to say to reassure her when you were scared yourself.

That unpleasant feeling when you thought of his black eyes, which had been staring at you all evening, ate you up from the inside. "Don't talk about such things, please...," you begged and looked at her cautiously. She raised her hands defensively. "No. Forgive me..."

Silence fell between you and it was accompanied by this uncomfortable feeling. It was rare that there were no words between you. She knew you and you knew her.

You swallowed your words and saw the marble bust. "I wish I had the spirit of Arsames. So full of life and wisdom," Helena suddenly spoke and you couldn't take your eyes off the white eyes, but you listened to her voice. "Where is he?," you asked, "He wanted to check on me tonight. Just like he always does."

Helena looked out unsuspectingly, but then a thought occurred to her and she smiled slightly. "He's probably wandering around. Remember when he came to stay with us for the first time? He spent all night exploring the house. He was almost unstoppable," Helena floated into memory and shared the thought with you. You also had a grin on your lips now.

‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾ ⋆☾⋆ ‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾

Arsames did the same the second you spoke about him.

Slowly, still dressed in the garb of the past celebration, he trotted through the corridors of the imperial palace. He turned his head curiously, looking up at the walls and the ceiling above him.

These were the nights when he remembered his homeland. Even if it wasn't longing, he felt this deep connection with the images that plagued his mind at night. He remembered every moment of his childhood there in the alleys between the mud bricks and stone buildings or the bazaars and markets. Spices, ceramics or precious stones from India filled the stalls of the traders, who tried to get rid of their goods by shouting. He never had enough thalers to buy something.

He often lingered by the fountains and water inside the rich gardens and stole the fruits that grew there. A smile crossed his full lips and he strolled along the corridors, past the busts that eyed him skeptically. He read the engraved names of each one.

Augustus, Marcus Aurelius, Domitian, Commodus.

He stopped and looked at the emperor, who had found his death in the Colosseum - buried by the sand and dust.

Slowly he stretched out his hand and ran it over the cold and rigidly chiseled cheek. He bowed his head, scrutinizing the appearance of the once living man.

The increased giggling of young men at the end of the corridor brought him out of his thoughts and he shook his head briefly. Curious as he was, he followed the noises and walked past the torches with creeping steps. As if he was walking on fragile ice, he made his way forward until he stopped in front of the ornate door. The patterns allowed him to see through the holes.

As his eyes traveled through the room, lit by large torches and small candles, he recognized the activity in the shadows. He swallowed and a shiver ran through his body as he saw the Emperor Caracalla lying there on a bed covered with silk sheets. Beside him, those concubines who had already sat around him at the feast.

The one with the darkest hair ran his hand along his upper body, which was still covered in the robe. However, it lay loosely against his body.

Arsames’ fingers gripped the bars of the door and his pupils widened at the unfamiliar sight. He heard the red-haired emperor chuckle in that familiar shrill tone. He gently slapped his concubine's cheek before taking his chin in his hand and pulling him towards him. His lips brushed across his neck and Arsames heard the gasp it caused. The other two placed kisses on his shoulder or the parts of his torso that the robe exposed.

Arsames didn't want to stand here, but he couldn't turn away. It was as if he wanted to see what they were doing here. He wanted to take in every single word, every single touch, like the scent of incense wafting from the room. He gripped the curved metal of the door tighter to distract himself from the tingling in his stomach. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe in deeply. What was he doing here? What was wrong with him that he was stuck here, watching the emperor?

It was a silent battle against his innermost desires, it seemed.

At that moment, he opened his charcoal-framed eyes and managed to let go of the door. Caracalla's voice broke the silence and he flinched. His heart beat faster when he heard the words.

“Look. A Persian night owl!,” his voice called out and the boys next to him, who had all snuggled up to his body, fell into almost cute laughter. Arsames stood still, stiff as one of the many statues of past lords and emperors. Only his hand managed to give the door a nudge so that it opened slowly and tearfully.

Caracalla sat up slightly, facing the strange guest, as his concubines did. One of them turned onto his stomach and put his grinning head in his hands. He looked at the gleaming back as if he were lost in thought. He stretched out his arm to run his fingers over the accentuated muscles and vertebrae.

"It's late, isn't it?," Caracalla asked and prompting, he stepped closer, his hands behind his back. He looked around the room, which was fogged with scents and smoke. "It...was not my intention to snoop around, my Emperor," he explained carefully, considering his words. Caracalla chuckled briefly and pulled the curly-haired man's head towards him by his jaw, brushing his lips over his glistening cheek.

"Oh, we'll take your word for it, won't we? What do you mean, my dear?," he asked the young man with clear irony, whose face he was still holding in his hand. He gave a short gasp and ran his hand over the emperor's red hair. "Dearest...he is suspicious," he said, as if he was his fiancé. Caracalla slapped the thigh of the man laying next to him, laughing, and Arsames recognized the gilded tooth gleaming in the light of the candles. There was also the sound of rippling water in which spotted koi swam.

He tried to remain calm and not let anything show. Caracalla looked at him for a while until he cleared his throat and bit his lip. "Join us. Show us what you learned in Persia," he said, chuckling and tapping his hand on the blanket next to him. Arsame's stomach tightened with a feeling he couldn't interpret. His eyes twitched back and forth and his hands trembled behind his back. It seemed like he was feeling everything life had to offer at that moment. The surge of adrenaline made his knees weak and he looked at Caracalla with his eyes wide open. "My Emperor, It looks like I'm going to have to disappoint you because these are not the kind of games you learn there...," he began, but he only clicked his tongue. "Oh, that wasn't a request," he replied with a wry smile.

Arsames was that intelligent. He should have known that. He wasn’t in Persia anymore.

Hesitantly, he stepped closer to the bed, hardly knowing what to do next. One of the concubines must have seen it because he stood up and began to run his hand over Arsames’ body, which was still in the noble robe. Caracalla merely grinned with his thin lips abd the Persian couldn't help but let out a nervous and wheezing laugh. "Don't be afraid. You're not...," Caracalla began, stopping in the middle of his words to look at Arsames calmly under the light of the candles, "undesirable."

He swallowed hard. The concubine behind him whispered in his ear, "Have you ever satisfied an emperor?" he asked sensually, letting his lips brush against his ears. Arsames jerked and gasped. "No, I...," he began, stammering, hardly daring to look into the eyes of the red-haired man in front of him. He leaned back and watched Arsame's uncertainty in front of him. "Then let me show you..."

He took his hand and guided it over the exposed skin of his freewheeling shoulders. Caracalla looked at him, again with that absorbed look, as if considering.

“Do…you have names?,” Arsames asked suddenly and the two other concubines looked at him. The one who was still lingering behind him replied, "I am Nonus. This is Javaran and Seneca."

Seneca, who had been lying on his stomach until then, rose and sat on his knees, took Arsames' hand in his and let it slide down Caracalla's upper body under his guidance. He swallowed hard, his hand trembling. This did not go unnoticed by Seneca and he hissed calmly.

Now it was Caracalla who moved his hand to Arsames’ cheek. He let his thumb glide over the bone. "Pretty face you have...," he said, his thumb slowly running over his lower lips. "I wonder what kind of damage those lips could do," he muttered, more to himself than to him. Arsames couldn't help the twitching of the corners of his mouth.

"Don't you want to take this off?," Javaran asked, pulling at the robe. Arsames shook his head cautiously. "I prefer to keep it on...," he said honestly and while the others looked disappointed, Caracalla's eyes sparkled with a little less understanding. "A pity...," his voice rang out and his upper body straightened. Arsames swallowed the lump in his throat. Meanwhile, Javaran and Nonus cuddled up to the emperor and nibbled on his neck.

‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾ ⋆☾⋆ ‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾

During this time, you tossed and turned in your bed. It was soft and well made, but it was the thoughts that kept you awake, as they had done for weeks. You stood up and put your face in your hands. The door to the next room, where Helena had slept, was open - just as you had asked.

Slowly, your bare feet touched the floor and you walked out onto the terrace with the shawl you had pulled over your shoulders. You looked down into the garden of the palace. In other circumstances, this view would have been an enrichment that you would not have wanted to miss. A tranquil pond with water lilies reflected the blue light of the moon, while small torches shone along the walkways. Magnificent statues stood surrounded by dense greenery and flowers.

Your eyes looked up to the towering Colosseum, where the games would be inaugurated tomorrow in honor of your family's arrival and the union between you and Geta. You crossed your arms in front of your chest and looked up at the enormous building. What would it be like to sit there among the cheering crowd? You leaned your upper body over the site, drew in the night air and closed your eyes. With all these thoughts, you realized that sleeping was no longer an option.

Suddenly, under the pale glow of the moon, a single rider pushed through the gates of the garden. The gentle snorting of his horse and the soft rustling of leaves reached you on the terrace.

The guards, clad in dark armor, sat around a small fire. They murmured among themselves about days gone by and the games to come.

When they caught sight of the rider, their voices fell silent. Their gazes followed him and some of their fingers instinctively clasped the hilts of their swords.

You gripped the terrain tensely as the rider - wrapped in a dark cloak, turned to the guards. His eyes rested coldly on the soldiers, his expression impassive, as if he knew his arrival was not to be questioned. Then they recognized him in the glow of the fire. You narrowed your eyes, but barely saw his face, which still lingered under the pulled-down hood.

The wind carried the soft creak of leather as he dismounted his impatient, stamping horse. You couldn't hear what they were saying, but curious as you were, you let yourself off the grounds, closing past Helena's room. Slowly, you stepped through your door and walked down the white stairs to the hall, which was still covered in traces of the festivities.

You waited a moment until you heard quick and almost aggressive footsteps on the marbled floor. The man standing in the middle of the hall had now removed his hood from his face and under his brown cloak you recognized a long sword and ornate armor.

You flinched as you saw the figure of Geta approaching the stranger and the guards. He had only a black cloak with gold ornaments around his body. You scrutinized him and saw the exposed skin of his upper body. You knew you probably shouldn't be down here and your curiosity had gotten you into trouble many times before. Often you had heard things that were not meant for your ears.

Accompanied by Praetorians, her future husband now stood there, rubbing his eyes wearily. "“I hope, General Acacius, you have a good excuse. Emperor Geta had some other matters to attend to," declared Numerius, his father's old friend and company. He was still strolling around the court. Geta raised his hand. "I can speak for myself Numerius," he snapped annoyed and now looked with sparkling eyes at the black-haired, older general. "Where's my brother?," Geta shouted, his breaking voice making your knees go weak. "Don't just stand there. Go get him!"

Slowly you moved further behind the shadows of the towering pillar. The emperor stroked his tired eyes again and then looked at Acacius.

This man was, you had to admit, handsome. His black beard, thick and carefully trimmed, was streaked with silver strands.

Deep, dark eyes looked at the emperor.

"Forgive me, Emperor Geta. But there were riots in the streets tonight. Mass fights and deaths too. They were incited...," he explained, standing still without moving a muscle. Geta rolled his eyes and slowly his brother trotted in, also wearing a white robe around his body. He looked confused and also angry at the general. "Have you got the man responsible?," Geta asked and Acacius nodded. "My men were able to catch him and…," he tried to explain, but Caracalla interrupted him. "Bring the troublemaker into the arena! Throw him into the arena! He shall be mauled by...by tigers...no. Hyenas! I want Hyenas!," he shouted, waving his hands around angrily. He clenched them into fists. "Or bring him here! I want to slit his throat myself! That ungrateful heathen! Burn him, peel the skin off his...bones!," his voice rang out and you shook your head as the emperor lost his composure. "That's enough! Caracalla!," Geta shouted and his voice broke.

You are startled by the loud sound and take a deep breath.

"With all due respect, my emperors. Perhaps we should clarify the causes of the uprising. The people seem to be hungry. Perhaps...," Acacius began and Geta interrupted him once more. "Then give them bread. The games will follow tomorrow...," he replied dryly, pressing his lips together.

"My brother has no head for the hungry. He's engaged," Caracalla said almost proudly, sounding as if he had already forgotten his freak-out. He looked at his brother. "I don’t care about this! I was…busy," he lamented and Caracalla shared his pain. Nevertheless, he grinned when his brother said this.

"Which one is it tonight? Aelia?," his brother asked as if they were alone.

You swallowed hard. He had concubines, of course. That shouldn't have been something that unsettled you. Before and during a marriage - at least that's how your mother Briseis explained it - it was normal for an emperor to have concubines.

Still, it did something to you, even though you weren't even a little bit attached to him.

"Enough," Geta now spoke.

Acacius nodded his head in understanding. "My men will take care of this matter."

You noticed the cold air as the guards and Praetorians present now ran out of the hall, followed by the general. The brothers looked at each other until Caracalla, followed by Numerius, disappeared behind the columns.

Geta lingered there alone, panting deeply. You couldn't help but watch him, without his make-up, glamorous robes. His hair fell into his face and he pulled his robe back over his shoulder.

You knew that you were not allowed to be here. The curiosity was gone, a fleeting moment of courage that now froze like ice in your veins.

Slowly you withdrew, careful not to make a sound. But then - a soft clang that cut through the hall.

Your blood froze. The small flower vase that you had carelessly touched lay in shards on the cool stone floor. The sound reverberated.

The emperor raised his head. Only his breathing could be heard in the silence - deep, deliberate.

Slowly, he stepped closer. His fingers stroked the silken curtains that danced gently in the night breeze. His gaze searched the shadows and you pressed yourself even closer to the wall. Your heart was beating so loudly that you felt as if he could hear it.

You swallowed hard, then - with a quick, silent step - you broke free and ran back up the stairs.

Geta already pulled aside the curtain but when his gaze looked into the darkness, he found only the broken shards on the floor.

‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾ ⋆☾⋆ ‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾

tag: @quuinyoung

[deans-baby-momma]

**Summary**: When Jensen admits to going home with someone else, will his and Y/N's marriage survive?

**Warnings**: Angst, heartbreak, smut, language

Chapter 8

“What are you talking about?” Jensen cautiously asks his friend and castmate.

“This whole thing is a setup,” Misha tells the couple almost excitedly. “Athena has told everyone this fantastic story of her time with you but you see her friend is a fanfiction writer and what happened is exactly the way the friend’s story goes. Look’” he hands them the pages.

Jensen skims through the pages, handing each one to Y/N as he finishes. It appears that Misha is correct. Everything from meeting in a bar to going home with the reader and having some crazy, acrobatic sex ending in a pregnancy is in there in print. 

However, that is where the similarities end -well except for the sex- that didn't even happen. The story continues that Jensen agrees to be a father to the illegitimate child and the couple end up together. 

Jensen is seething as he finishes the last page and hands it off. He turns toward the room where the others are he has the desire to go in there and shout at Athena, her friend, and anyone else who gets in his way, he won’t but he’d like to. He is stopped by the sound of Y/N's voice as he takes a step toward the doorway.

“What are you going to do?” she asks her lip near to quivering.

“I'm asking for a recess or whatever the fuck will pause this whole shitshow!” Jensen answers with a flail of his arms. 

Jensen disappears into the room before returning a few moments later with Thomas Bell trailing behind him. He introduces the attorney to Misha and together they explain what the older man discovered. 

Y/N stood there listening while staring at the papers in her hands.When requested, she handed them to the lawyer and unconsciously held her breath while he looked them over.

“I'm going to get these copied and then present them for evidence. Mr. Collins,” he turns to Misha. “Are you willing to stick around and go on record stating how you came across this?”

“Absolutely!” Misha says with an enthusiastic nod.

As soon as the attorney walks away, Jensen and Y/N both attack Misha in hugs.

“Thank you man,” Jensen says as he pulls back. “With what Y/N just told me and your finding that, I might just get out of this.”

“Wait. What do you know?” Misha turns to her.

“A few weeks ago, I overheard this girl telling her friends about that night. But at that time, she said he bent her over the couch and fucked her hard and fast. But now she's claiming it was more intimate and in her bed, which is in the story, so….” Y/N  trails off as Mr. Bell returns to stand with the group.

“This is admissible as evidence of deception and misrepresentation so why don't we go present it to the defendant’s counsel, and see how they react?”

Inside the deposition room, Athena and her attorney are huddled together, speaking in whispers, although they are quiet Athena’s posture seems to be confident.

Jensen and Y/N take their previous seats as Misha takes one next to Y/N; Mr. Bell approaches the stenographer and announces that he has new evidence to address.

He hands one stack of papers to the lady and then heads to his seat next to Jensen. 

“It has been brought to our attention-” he announces as he hands another stack of papers to Mr. Howell. “-that Miss Haligan might be confusing fantasy with reality.”

“What is this?” Mr. Howell questions he skims through the first few pages.

“It's called fanfiction sir,” Misha pipes up. “Our fans write-”

“I know what fanfiction is, Mr. Collins!” the man sighs, “I was asking my client.”

Athena's whole demeanor changes. She slumps back in her chair and refuses to meet anyone's eye. 

“Also, the author of this particular piece goes by the Tumblr handle Deansgirl4ever-” Mr. Bell explains. “-and upon some investigation by my client's friend, this handle belongs to   Krissi Nelson.” He pulls his copy of the picture of the two friends and lays it flat on the table before looking over at Athena's friend. “Which happens to be you, correct?”

The two girls glance at each other and then Krissi nods slightly.

“You’ll need to speak up, we need verbal confirmation please, “ Jensen's attorney says.

“Yes, that's me,” Krissi answers.

“Thank you, Miss Nelson-” Mr. Bell nods at her and then turns his attention to Athena and her counsel. “Would you like to explain this?”

Athena starts crying and reaches for the kleenex box on the table. 

Y/N watches the girl's reaction and feels no pity whatsoever for her. This young girl almost broke up her marriage. 

“I-I'm sorry. I lied. Yes, I met Jensen at the bar and tricked him into coming home with me.”

“And what happened once you two arrived at your house?”

“I threw myself at him,” Athena answered truthfully.

“Why?” Mr. Bell inquires.

“Isn't it obvious?”

“We need you to verbalize your intent with Mr. Ackles,” Mr. Bell explains. “For the reporter.”

“I wanted to have sex with him so I could claim he was the father of my baby,” Athena admits.

“For the record, please confirm: are you pregnant?”

“Yea,” Athena whispers and then clears her throat. “Yes, I am 13 weeks pregnant.”

“Wait,” Jensen speaks up. “That night we met was only 7 weeks ago.”

Mr. Bell turns and looks at Jensen, silently admonishing and asking him to be quiet.

“So you were already pregnant?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“And where is the actual father?”

“I don't know. Don't know who he is,” Athena answers with a shrug of her shoulders. 

Y/N stands up quickly, knocking her chair back and to the ground and before anyone could do anything, lunges over the table and slaps the young girl.

“You fucking whore!” .

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Preview of next chapter: “God, I'm glad that's over,” Jensen sighs as he lays his head against the headrest and closes his eyes.

“Me too but I still think I could've taken her,” Y/N says, causing Jensen to open his eyes to look at his wife. There is a slight smile on her lips.

“C'mere Ronda Rousey,” he chuckles, pulling her face to his and kissing her soundly. “Gotta admit that was kinda hot!”

She smiles up at him, and then he starts the vehicle and heads home.

TAGS: @spnbaby-67 @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @larajadeschmidt13 @atc74 @vicariouslythruspn @squirrelnotsam @ironreviewangel @blacktithe7 @hoboal87 @mogaruke @supraveng @lyarr24 @kazsrm67 @chriszgirl92 @deanwithscissors @raisinggray @fanfic-n-tabulous @hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @purpleeclipseeggsland @kmc1989 @leigh70 @nancymcl @muhahaha303 @justwhisperingfantasies @jackles010378 @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deanna45 @ozwriterchick @mandee7 @spnaquakindgdom @impala67rollingthroughtown @generalmoonpolice @1313diana @roseblue373 @palerogue1 @deansimpalababy @queen-cs

[jungkoode]

OFF-LABELS | O3

→ PAIRING : Med Student!Hoseok x F!Reader (Brother’s Best Friend AU)

→ RATING: Mature, 18+, suggestive tones.

→ DATE POSTED:

→ SUMMARY: You’ve spent four years convincing yourself that your brother’s best friend is just being nice when he remembers your coffee order, quizzes you on neuroanatomy, or lets his touch linger a second too long. Because there’s no way that the golden boy of Seoul National’s medical program might actually be flirting with you. Especially when he keeps saying things that could be perfectly innocent… if only he didn’t say them in that voice.

→ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, medical school au, brother’s best friend trope, age gap (4 years), pining, touch starved, overthinking reader, confident hoseok, gentle dom hoseok, medical terminology as flirting (lmao), study sessions, domestic moments, innocent (but not really), plausible deniability king hoseok, anxiety, internal monologue, guilty crushes, subtle teasing, emotional edging, gentle manipulation, praise kink undertones, intellectual attraction, competency kink, hand fixation, voice kink, medical intern hoseok, first year med student reader, home setting, casual intimacy, unresolved sexual tension (for now), secret attraction, nervous rambling, self-doubt, intrusive thoughts, anatomy lessons with ulterior motives, competent hoseok, flustered reader, close proximity, accidental touches that aren’t accidents.

→ CONTENT in this chapter: Hoseok being a menace with medical terminology, innocent (but absolutely calculated) comments about oral muscle endurance, subtext so thick it's suffocating, plausible deniability at an elite level, flustered reader, casual intimacy that feels dangerous, and dinner table tension that might actually kill you.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 2.2k

→ MINI SERIES: NEXT | PREVIOUS

→ A/N: Listen. I don't know what is wrong with me. I sat down to write something normal, and then suddenly I was researching orofacial muscle fatigue like a lunatic. WHY is this man like this? Why does he say things so kindly while ruining your life? Why is he explaining anatomy while looking directly at you like that? Anyway. This chapter is dedicated to anyone who has ever choked on their food while someone smiled at them way too nicely.

PLAYLIST

It starts in the kitchen.

Which is unfortunate, because the kitchen is small. And there are only so many places to stand before proximity becomes a problem.

You’re hyperaware of it—the space (limited), the air (too warm), him (entirely too close). But it’s fine. You’re fine. You’re just making tea, and he’s just existing, leaning against the counter like this is his apartment instead of your brother’s. Like he belongs here. Like his presence isn’t making it impossible for you to function like a normal person.

(He’s not even doing anything. Which somehow makes it worse.)

“I didn’t know you liked green tea.” His voice is easy, just conversational. Not a trap. Probably.

You don’t look at him. Can’t. “Yeah. I mean—I do. It’s good. Antioxidants and stuff.”

Brilliant. Truly stunning commentary.

Hoseok just hums, and you hear the soft clink of his rings against his glass as he lifts it to his lips. He’s drinking water, which seems unfair. Water is neutral. Water doesn’t require decisions. Meanwhile, you’re standing here, internally debating whether you’re taking too long to steep this tea, if leaving the bag in too long will make you seem weird, if—

“Relax, Chip.”

The words are casual. Just a little offhanded throwaway of a comment. But it lands like a dropped match, tiny but catastrophic.

You blink. Slowly. “What?”

Hoseok sets his glass down with a soft thud and turns to you fully, eyebrows lifted in lazy amusement. “You’re overthinking your tea.”

He says it like it’s obvious. Like it’s a thing people do—casually observe someone else’s entire internal meltdown and name it out loud.

Which, to be fair, is exactly what he’s doing.

Your ears feel hot. “I am not.”

“You are.”

He’s enjoying this. You can tell. It’s in the corner of his mouth, the hint of a smile he’s barely holding back. Not mean—just knowing.

And then it clicks. The name.

Chip.

“Wait,” you say, narrowing your eyes. “Did you just call me—”

His grin sharpens, eyes flashing with something teasing, but infuriatingly innocent. “Yeah,” he says, like it’s no big deal. “Chip. Short for chipmunk.”

You stare at him. Your brain scrambles for a response and comes up with absolutely nothing.

He keeps going, undeterred. “You do this thing when you’re overthinking—” He gestures vaguely at your face, at you. “Your cheeks puff up. Just a little.”

Absolutely not. That does not happen.

Except—you know exactly what he’s talking about.

Which means he’s noticed.

You turn back to your tea, because looking at him feels impossible. “That’s not a real thing.”

“It is.”

“It’s not.”

“It is,” he says again, softer this time. Almost amused.

You risk a glance at him. He’s watching you, expression easy, mouth still curled slightly at the edges.

It’s not a big deal.

It’s just a nickname.

But you can feel it settling somewhere deep in your chest, warm and unwelcome, curling into the spaces he’s already managed to take up.

Chip.

You should tell him not to call you that.

You should absolutely, definitively tell him not to call you that.

But you don’t.

You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything.

That he’s just being himself—casual, playful, thoughtless in the way people like him can afford to be. That it’s just a nickname, not a calculated attack on your sanity.

And yet.

Yet.

You feel it every time he says it after that.

The first time, it’s two days later. He and your brother are in the living room, a game on in the background, when you walk by with your laptop. You aren’t even stopping—just passing through—when he glances up and says it like it’s always been your name.

“Where you off to, Chip?”

The sound of it makes you trip over your own feet. Embarrassingly. You don’t even answer, just keep walking, face burning, fully aware of the way he watches you go.

Then it happens again.

And again.

Sometimes it’s subtle, slipped in like an afterthought. “Hey, Chip, toss me that.” “You always this quiet, Chip?”

Other times it’s deliberate. Measured. Like he’s testing the weight of it, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll react.

You don’t.

You refuse.

(Which only seems to encourage him.)

And then one night, it’s just the two of you. Your brother’s in the shower, music spilling under the bathroom door, and you’re curled up on the couch, trying very hard to ignore the fact that Hoseok is sitting way too close for comfort.

His arm is slung over the back of the couch, loose and easy, and every so often, when you shift, your shoulder brushes against his.

(You should move. You should absolutely move.)

Instead, you stay where you are and pretend to be very, very interested in the show playing on the screen.

Hoseok shifts. You feel the weight of his attention before you see it.

“You don’t like it?”

You blink. “What?”

“The nickname.” His voice is low, smooth, barely above the sound of the TV. “You never say anything about it.”

You don’t know what to do with that. Don’t know what to do with him, watching you like he’s reading something written just under your skin.

“It’s fine,” you say, and it’s not convincing.

His lips twitch, but his voice stays neutral. “You sure?”

You nod, too quickly.

There’s a beat of silence. You can hear the shower running down the hall, the TV filling the air with white noise.

And then—so soft you almost don’t catch it—

“Good.”

It lingers in the space between you, something light, something easy. But you feel it settle somewhere deeper. Somewhere dangerous.

Because now, you know for certain.

He’s not going to stop.

And that’s the problem. It’s a problem. Because Hoseok is nice.

He’s just nice.

He’s warm and charming in a way that isn’t practiced—it just is. The kind of person who remembers how you take your coffee after hearing it once, who laughs with his whole chest, who makes people feel like they belong.

He’s good at things, too. Competent in that effortless way that makes it infuriatingly easy to admire him. You’ve seen him fix things around your brother’s apartment without being asked, roll up his sleeves and lean under the sink like it’s nothing, like he was built for it.

(Not that you were watching. Not that you noticed the way the muscles in his forearms shift when he grips a wrench.)

The point is—this is just how he is. With everyone.

So it’s fine.

Everything is fine.

Or at least, it would be, if he’d stop saying things.

Because then, it happens at dinner.

And the reason for Hoseok being here is simple.

He’s always here for dinner.

Not every night, but often enough that it’s routine. That your parents barely bat an eye when they see him at the table, that your mom still sets an extra plate for him when she cooks, that your dad asks about his job like he’s part of the family.

Because he might as well be.

He and Caleb have been friends since his first year of university—long enough for Hoseok to be comfortable in this house, for your parents to know his favorite foods, for you to be so used to him being around that you shouldn’t be affected by it anymore.

(And yet. And yet.)

Dinner is normal.

It’s just the five of you at the table, passing dishes around, the smell of takeout filling the air. The conversation is easy, punctuated by laughter, by the scrape of chopsticks against plastic containers.

It’s nice. It’s comfortable.

Or at least—it should be.

Except your eyes keep tracking him. They always do. The way he sits—too at ease, too familiar. The way his sleeves are pushed up just enough to be distracting. The way his fingers grip his chopsticks, loose and confident, movements fluid and practiced.

(It’s stupid. It’s stupid that you’re noticing these things.)

Your dad is asking Hoseok something about work, and you force yourself to focus, desperate to ground yourself in the conversation instead of spiraling into a pit of your own making.

“How are you managing, with the residency?”

“It’s been busy,” Hoseok says, setting his chopsticks down neatly. “But good. No complaints.”

Your mom tuts. “You work too much.”

Hoseok just smiles, warm and self-effacing. “It’s not so bad.”

Your dad nods approvingly. “That’s a good mindset. A little hard work never hurt anyone.”

“And at least someone in this house is doing it,” Caleb says, nudging you lightly under the table.

You roll your eyes. “I work plenty.”

“Studying doesn’t count,” Caleb argues, because he loves to be annoying.

“It literally does.”

Your mom sighs, long-suffering. “Can we have one meal where you two don’t bicker?”

You sit back in your chair, focusing very hard on your plate, on not looking at the person sitting just to your right. The conversation flickers and tumbles around you, but you don’t register much of it.

And then—

“You should use your mouth more, Chip.”

The table goes quiet.

Your heart stops.

Your stomach plummets.

Your entire soul leaves your body, hovering somewhere above the dinner table, watching this play out like a nightmare in slow motion.

Because—because—

He didn’t mean it like that. He can’t have meant it like that. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

Your dad is right there. Your mom is right there.

Hoseok is just sitting there, utterly relaxed, a picture of perfect innocence.

You’re the only one who reacts.

And that’s the problem.

Your brother—oblivious, as always—just scoffs. “I keep telling her that.”

The world tilts.

Your face burns.

Because Caleb just agreed. Like this is a normal conversation. Like this is fine.

And maybe it is fine.

Maybe you just missed something again—some context, some crucial piece of information that would make this make sense.

You frantically rewind the last few minutes, trying to figure out how this could possibly be about—

“She eats too fast,” Caleb continues, like he’s talking about the weather. “I’ve been saying it for years.”

Your entire body deflates.

Oh.

Oh.

It’s nothing.

It’s just about chewing. About how you’re always the first to finish your plate, about how your brother has been calling you out for it since you were kids.

You were imagining it.

Your hands are clammy. Your heartbeat is still a mess. But you take a slow breath, trying to pull yourself back together.

You force a weak, strangled sort of laugh. “Right. That.”

Hoseok hums, tilting his head slightly. “I wouldn’t say that.”

He taps his chopsticks against his lower lip, slow and thoughtful, as if genuinely weighing his next words. Then, with the kind of mild, absentminded curiosity that should not be dangerous but absolutely is, he continues—

“Oral muscles are surprisingly adaptable. With the right conditioning, they can handle prolonged exertion without fatigue.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Absolutely not.

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of everything—the weight of his voice, the way the words land, the way your lungs forget how to function. You try—desperately—to convince yourself that he means nothing by it, that this is just a fun little fact, the kind of thing anyone might say in casual conversation.

(Except no one says things like that in casual conversation.)

Your parents don’t react. Your brother doesn’t even blink. They just keep eating like this is normal, like this is fine.

You, meanwhile, are staring at your plate, trying not to choke on air.

And just as you’re about to die from sheer mortification, he adds—

“For instance, brass players develop impressive endurance. Hours of embouchure control, you know?”

Embouchure control.

You think you might be having an out-of-body experience.

Because he’s not even looking at you. He’s just sitting there—calm, innocent, like he’s just making an offhand comment about music, like he’s not actively ruining your life.

It’s fine. It’s nothing. It’s science.

(Except it’s not.)

You need to leave.

You shove your chair back, your hands shaking. “I’m—gonna grab some water.”

Hoseok watches you go. You feel it.

At the sink, you grip the counter, staring hard at the faucet as you fill your glass.

It’s fine.

It’s nothing.

You’re imagining things.

It’s Hoseok being Hoseok—friendly, completely unaware of the way his words get tangled in your head, twisted into shapes they were never meant to take.

You gulp down half the glass, hoping it might cool the heat rising under your skin.

Behind you, the conversation moves on. Your dad is talking about a trip, your mom is mentioning something about the neighbors.

Everything is fine.

But when you turn back, Hoseok is still watching you.

Not in a way anyone else would notice—not in a way your brother does, too focused on his food, or in a way your parents would think twice about—but in a way that you notice.

In a way that makes something low in your stomach twist, tight and uncertain.

And then, like he knows, like he can read the exact trajectory of your thoughts, Hoseok smiles.

Soft. Innocent.

Like he didn't do anything at all.

→ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @just-reading-dany @sanarin @billy-jeans23 @stuti2904 @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe

© 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓.

no reposts, translations, or adaptations