#i can't decide if i love or hate the story so far...

[almostwisegalaxy]

Hey, hope you're having a wonderful day.

Could you maybe write a few fics for Geum Seong-Je from Weak Hero Class 2? Fluff and *soft only for her* trope.

Thank you so much and its okay if you don't wanna.

I totally get it, I'm a writer too.

Love,

Anon

You can't fix me

Geum Seong-je x fem!reader

Cause... I love villains without a sob story, just psycho

..................................................................................

The first day Y/N saw him, he was bleeding from the corner of his lip and sneering like a rabid dog.

Ganghak High School was far from a stable place, but this boy… this Geum Seong-je, he reeked of instability from miles away. Chaos lived within him. He was the type to destroy a room because someone had sneezed too loudly. Y/N was supposed to watch him.

It was one fight too many.

The hallways trembled, the windows exploded. He had his fist in the mouth of another kid already on the ground and he kept going, methodical, his eyebrows furrowed as if hitting helped him breathe. Three supervisors hadn't been able to do anything. So she had entered. Silent at first.

Then:

"Are you done with your circus act, or do I need to train you like a mutt?"

He hadn't even looked at her. Just a hoarse breath, another blow. She had approached. A hand on his shoulder. He had growled. She had reacted: a knee strike, then two. He had thrown a chair. She had teased him.

He had collapsed, his muscles contracted in a brutal spasm.

When he woke up in the principal's office, still groggy, she was waiting for him. Arms crossed, back straight.

"What are you, some genetic waste?"

She had looked at him with an almost chilling calm.

"Did you think you were a hero today? Do you believe that hitting harder erases your shitty life?"

Pause. A silence.

"You're pathetic. Even dogs know when to stop."

He had wanted to smile. But there was this crack in his chest, this short breath he couldn't expel. She wasn't yelling. She was cutting. And it was worse.

She had hit him again, another time, another week. Because he had strangled a student against the lockers. Because he had smashed a cell phone against a wall. Because he had looked at her, her, with that look full of defiance, filth, and darkness.

And yet.

He always came back to her. Sat on the bench near the supervisors' room, his back torn by blows, a poorly stuck bandage, his eyes fixed on her with a morbid intensity. He followed her in the hallways, provoked her in class, insulted her sometimes, coldly, softly, almost tenderly.

"Ms. Y/N."

He murmured her name like a reproach. Like a burn.

"Are you stalking me, or is it the other way around?"

She never answered. She took notes, wrote words in her notebook, read his old files. And sometimes… sometimes, when his back was turned, she looked at his scars. The angle of his jaw, clenched. The tremors in his fingers. The way he would break when he no longer knew how to breathe.

He wasn't crazy. Just fractured. And in his cracks, he had lodged her, her. He stared at her like a mystery he had to dissect, like a living enigma he hated not being able to silence.

He said nothing, but in his eyes, it was obvious:

Y/N lived in his head.

And he had decided that as long as she was there, he wouldn't let anyone else breathe.

---

He always came back.

Sometimes at dawn, eyes red-rimmed, a piece of chewing gum stuck under his tongue, fists bandaged. Other times at the last hour, dragging his feet, but his gaze sharp. He didn't miss any of her rounds. He waited for the click of her heels in the deserted hallways, the rustle of her files against her hip, that clinical way she had of ignoring him.

And it drove him crazy.

"Sleeping in your office now, ma'am?" He had sat on the table, head tilted.

"Don't you have a life? Or are you waiting for me to give you one?"

She hadn't looked up.

"Do you want me to take away your right to speak, or do you want your jaw to last until tomorrow?"

He had laughed. A real laugh, hoarse, short. No provocation, just… a release. As if, with her, the mask fell without him realizing it.

But he hated her for it. For that way of seeing through him. Of walking through his shattered pieces without ever getting cut.

So, he tested her.

He wrote stupid things on the walls: "Madam is a cold witch. She punishes without heart."

He sat in her chair when she wasn't there. Rummaged through her papers. Watched her from afar.

And when she entered a room, he spoke loudly, always too loudly, so she would hear his name amidst the laughter.

But never, never did he touch her.

There was a line. He didn't know why. Maybe because she had already put him on the ground. Maybe because she was the only one who had never backed down from him. No fear, no false respect. Just… contempt. Pure and precise.

And that obsessed him.

He had started dreaming about her. Not in a gentle way, no. Suffocating, sweaty dreams, where she held him down with her foot, where she slapped him silently while he laughed. He would wake up, heart pounding, unable to understand if he loved her, hated her, or both.

He bought drinks that he left on her desk without a word. She threw them away. He started again. Out of habit. Out of defiance. Out of need.

One day, she had called him into her office. He sat down, provocative.

"Another punishment, ma'am?"

"Do you think I enjoy seeing you all the time?"

She had stepped forward, thrown a file onto his lap. His file.

"Do you think I haven't read it? You're pathetic, Geum Seong-je. You cling to violence like a kid to his teddy bear. It's your only way to exist. But you don't impress me. You just waste my time."

She had said that without raising her voice. He had smiled. Slowly.

"It's crazy how much you like to talk about me. Haven't you noticed? It's always me in your mouth."

She had almost slapped him. But she hadn't. And he had known: that, that was the real trap.

That day, he had gone home. He hadn't slept. He had punched the walls. He had clenched his teeth until they bled. And he had sworn, not out loud, just to himself:

Y/N would look at him. Even if it meant burning everything he touched.

---

It was hot that day. A sticky, stifling heat that the school walls couldn't contain. The air reeked of teenage sweat, cheap deodorants, and something electric—a premonition, perhaps. As if something was about to break.

Geum Seong-je, however, seemed unusually calm. Too calm.

He loitered in the courtyard, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a half-empty water bottle. He had the kind of look that you couldn't hold: empty but sharp, like a polished abyss. That day, no one dared approach him. Even his own guys kept their distance. He had beaten up a kid that morning for asking him for a cigarette. Just that. One sentence too many, and he had seen red.

But when he saw Y/N, her straight back, her determined walk, the way she seemed to cut through the air around her, he straightened up. Something within him readjusted, like a broken compass suddenly finding north again.

She was coming out of a meeting with a student. She looked tired. No makeup. A few strands of hair stuck to her forehead. And above all, she seemed elsewhere.

He followed her, silently.

When she entered her office, she felt it. A sensation at the nape of her neck, almost animalistic. She turned around.

He was there. Leaning against the doorframe, his gaze fixed on her, not mocking for once. Almost… attentive.

"You look dead."

He moved closer. Slowly.

"Didn't you sleep?"

She groaned, irritated, and threw her file onto the desk.

"What's it to you?"

He smiled. Not his usual smile. Not the one that preceded blows. Another one, rarer. Soft. And dangerous.

"I'm meddling in what belongs to me."

She raised her head, eyes dark, ready to strike him. But he was already there, very close, hands in his pockets, his chest almost touching hers. And he wasn't looking at her in defiance. He was looking at her as if he were listening. As if he could hear her heart beating.

"Step back."

"No."

A silence. Too long. Too charged. The slightest movement would have shattered everything.

Then she made the mistake. A human error, certainly. Fatigue. Loneliness. A slight crack in the mask.

She didn't hit him.

She didn't run away.

She sighed. Just that. A sigh. A release.

And he saw the flaw.

He sensed the weakness, the whisper of a possible attachment.

And it was worse than pity. Worse than hate.

He raised his hand. Slowly. Gently. And his fingers brushed her cheek. Not roughly. With an awkward, almost sacred tenderness.

"You should sleep, ma'am."

She let him. Just a few seconds. She could have broken his wrist. She didn't.

And that's when he knew. That she was no longer invulnerable. That she had opened, even just a centimeter, the door. And in that gap, he rushed in.

**

Since that day, everything changed.

He no longer just followed her. He waited for her. At the metro exit, sometimes. In front of the teachers' lounge. He left things on her desk: a lighter, an annotated book he had stolen from the library, a peach-flavored chewing gum she liked. He didn't always speak. But he watched. For a long time. Obsessively.

And she… she said nothing.

She should have. She knew it. Every step towards him chipped away at her a little more. She saw his gaze change—more fixed, more serious. He no longer called her just "ma'am." Sometimes, it was Y/N. Pronounced slowly. As if he were chewing each letter. As if it were an incantation.

She should have set boundaries. She should have re-established the distance. But she had found herself waiting for his gaze. Watching for his silhouette. And feeling something bitter when he wasn't there.

One day, she had hurt her hand—a stupid cut with a piece of cardboard. She hadn't noticed him watching her from afar. That evening, he had entered her office without knocking, a first-aid kit in his hand.

"You're incapable of taking care of yourself, huh."

He had taken her hand without waiting. She could have slapped him. She should have. But he was already gently cleaning the wound. Without brutality. His fingers were warm, calloused, but precise.

She said nothing. He wrapped the gauze around her palm. Then, he kept her hand in his for a few seconds too long.

"I can't get you out of my head."

She wanted to answer. He interrupted her.

"I don't want you to be like the others. You're not. And I'm not stupid, Y/N. You think I'm just a wild animal, but I see what you're trying to hide. You furrow your brow when you're worried. You're afraid of getting attached, and you always look at me like I'm a time bomb. Maybe I am one, yeah. But you activated me. And now, it's too late."

She stepped back, finally. But gently. He didn't try to hold her.

She closed her eyes. For a second. Just one. And he saw her breathe faster. He saw that what she was holding back wasn't anger. It was something else. Something more painful.

"You'd better leave."

"Not until you understand what you've unleashed."

He left the room. Slowly. He didn't need to kiss her. Not yet. Not right away. He had seen what he wanted to see: the mistake.

She had looked at him differently. She had trembled, even slightly.

And that crack, he would never let it close again.

---

The rain had fallen all night. It hammered against the windows of Y/N's car, punctuating the tension that tightened her throat. She hadn't stopped staring at the police station door, her eyes fixed in a blur, her jaw clenched. She knew these kinds of calls. Too well. Violent kids, repeat offenders, desperate cases left to drift in a soulless system. But tonight, it wasn't a "case," it wasn't a student.

It was him.

Geum Seong-je.

When she had walked through the doors, the smell of disinfectant mixed with stale coffee and dampness had hit her. A familiar smell. Too familiar. And the police officers had greeted her with a vague air, as if it were just another detail in their night.

"He can leave," one of them said.

"What do you mean?" she asked, frowning.

"Orders from above."

"Meaning?"

He shrugged, offering no further explanation.

"Release him to the supervisor. That's what we were told."

Y/N felt her temples throb. She wasn't stupid. "Orders from above" didn't exist without a reason. Even less so when it involved a teenager implicated in a violent fight with another school. There had been serious injuries. One of the boys had a fractured jaw. And Seong-je? He was going to walk out, as if nothing had happened.

It smelled like bullshit. Real bullshit.

And not a single answer. Nothing.

When she entered the small back room, she saw him. Sitting on a metal chair, slumped against the wall, legs spread apart, face turned to the floor. He looked… drained. Arms crossed over his chest, forehead pressed against the wall. Disarmed.

A dirty bandage covered his right foot, which he held half-raised, without even paying attention to it. Dried blood stained his temple. His knuckles were split open, scraped down to the bone.

But it wasn't the sight of his injuries that struck her. It was the absence of fire in his eyes. The absence of that fierce rage he wore like a second skin.

"Seong-je?"

He slowly raised his head. He blinked. Then a small, painful grimace stretched across his split lips.

"Ma'am..."

His voice was hoarse. Slowly, he straightened up, swayed, but remained standing.

But this time, there was nothing provocative about that "ma'am."

There was no more irony. No more game.

He had said it like an oath. Like a sacred whisper.

"Let's go home." She took his arm. He didn't protest. But she felt his whole body stiffen when she put an arm around his waist to help him walk.

**

She settled him in her home. Not out of weakness. Not out of pity. But because she knew. Instinctively.

He didn't want to go back. He had no one.

He hadn't said it. He hadn't even tried to make excuses. He had just let himself be guided, silent.

In her small living room, she sat him down on the sofa. She got what she needed: first-aid kit, compresses, hydrogen peroxide. He watched her, his dark gaze fixed on her every move as if he never wanted to lose sight of her again.

And when she laid her hands on him…

When she gently cleaned the blood from his temple, when she brushed her fingertips over his swollen cheek, when she bandaged his ribs without even raising her voice…

He broke.

Not in sobs. Not in screams. Inwardly. Silently. Devastated.

Because no one had ever touched him like that.

No one had ever cared for him without making him feel like a beast, a problem, a mistake. She, she placed her hands with an almost… frightening delicacy. As if he had value. As if he were fragile.

And the more she touched him, the more something inside him melted.

The more his obsession with her became visceral, devouring, uncontrollable.

He looked at her like one looks at a vision. Like a miracle in a world of filth.

Y/N, for her part, focused on her actions. But she felt it. She felt his eyes following her, scrutinizing her. As if he wanted to engrave her into his flesh.

She tried to remain upright. Hard. But it was too late.

In a corner of her mind, she admitted it: she hurt for him.

And she hated that crack within herself.

"You're going to have to stay off that foot for a few days. It's pierced."

"They stomped on me with a metal bar," he replied without emotion.

She froze. He said it as if he were talking about the rain. As if it were normal.

And this time, she couldn't help but look up at him. He was staring at her. Intense. Obsessed.

"Why are you like this with me?" he murmured.

She hesitated. Her hands trembled almost imperceptibly.

"Because you're still standing despite everything."

"You still think I'm just a kid, huh."

She didn't answer. He licked his lips, painfully. Then, he leaned in slightly. He was still sitting, she kneeling in front of him. And slowly, he placed his hand on her cheek.

"Y/N..."

She felt her throat tighten.

He wasn't trying to provoke her. Or seduce her. Not really.

He was just trying to maintain that contact. That link. That small, invisible thread that now connected them.

And in an almost unreal moment, she closed her eyes.

Just for a moment.

She felt his warm palm against her skin. Understood. Accepted.

But as she was about to straighten up, he spoke. His voice was deeper. Slower. Trembling.

"Even if you were to love me one day… you'd refuse. Because I'm still a minor. Because you have too many principles. Because you're strong. And me… I'm everything you've learned to run from."

She opened her eyes. Their gazes met.

Brutally.

And she understood. That this boy, this damn broken, unstable, twisted boy… had just realized that he was falling.

That he was falling for her.

And she… she wasn't sure she wanted to stop him anymore.

She placed her hand on his. Withdrew it almost immediately.

But it was too late.

He had felt it.

And in his eyes, in that uncontrollable flame, she read the promise of an obsession with no way out.

"I'm going to disappear for a while," he finally said.

She raised her head.

"Where?"

"You don't want to know."

She wanted to protest. He shook his head.

"Not now. But I'll be back."

He stood up with difficulty. She helped him. He rested his forehead against hers. Just for a second.

"You see… you left a crack, ma'am. And me? I'm going to make it open until you belong to me."

**

And she let him go.

Not because she wanted to.

But because she knew that when he returned, nothing would ever be the same.

---

I’ve kept a low profile.

No more fighting. No more staring. Nothing. Like a ghost in these damn hallways. Not because I’ve changed. No. I’m the same. I just understood. Baek Jin, that dog, that parasite… he used me. I was a tool. A pit bull he’d unleash when he needed to. Nothing else.

So I backed off. I waited. I watched.

And during that time, I thought about her.

Ms. Y/N.

Fucking hell. Just her name in my head and my nerves ignite.

I remember her fingers on my face that night. It was nothing. An almost professional gesture. Cold. Calculated. But damn it… I got hard as a rock that night. I clenched the sheets between my teeth. I touched myself like a dog in heat. And it was her. It’s always her. It’s always her hand I imagine between my legs.

I’m sick.

I know it. I don’t care.

I want her to touch me again. Not just my face. No. I want her hand everywhere. I want her mouth on my skin. Her nails in my back. Her breath in my ear. Her saliva. Her fucking scent—that mix between clean and fire. Between discipline and hell.

I want to see her crumble. See her lose that mask.

I want to be the one who makes her tremble. Not from fear. From need.

I want her to tell me I’m hers. Even if it’s not true. Even if she’s lying. Even if she hates me.

Because me… I love her.

Not that bullshit love they sing about in dramas.

Me, I love her to the bone.

I love her like you burn.

I dream of her. And in my dreams, she doesn’t scream. She moans.

She tells me no, at first. Always. Because it’s her. Because she’s proud. Fucking upright. But I see her body betray her words. I see her thighs part, slowly. I see her mouth slightly open. I see her breathing quicken.

And I grab her by the nape of the neck. I look at her. I say nothing. And she understands.

And I take her.

I devour her.

I want her to feel that I’m there. Inside her. Everywhere. That even after, when she washes herself, when she tries to forget, I’ll still be there. Under her fingernails. In her nightmares. In her scent.

I’m obsessed.

I could spend hours staring at her without speaking. Just watching her walk. Her swaying hips. Her dark gaze. That contempt she wears like perfume.

Even when she insulted me, I got hard.

Even when she threw me to the ground, tased me like a dog, I would have thanked her.

It was her.

She calmed me down. She hurt me. She looked at me like I was a monster. And damn it… I want her to continue.

I want her to tell me I’m fucked up. That I’m a lost cause.

But I want her to tell me that while moaning. Between two sighs.

I want her to scratch me. Make me bleed. Reject me while I take her. I want her hate, her fear, her confusion. I want her damn mind.

I want to crush her beneath me and whisper in her ear:

“You’re mine now, ma’am.”

And she won’t say anything. Because she’ll know it’s true.

Even if she denies it. Even if she runs.

I’ll always find her.

Because I’m not in love like other people.

I’m not a nice guy. I’m not made for happiness.

I’m made to destroy her softly.

To show her that she never really controlled her heart.

I stole it, little by little.

And one day, she’ll see it.

One day, she’ll feel that she can no longer breathe without thinking of me.

That day… I’ll be there. With my hands around her hips.

With my mouth against her throat.

And she won’t say anything.

Because it will be too late.

---

She’d been warned he was back, in a fearful whisper from a student with a tongue that wagged too freely.

He hadn’t returned to school. Of course not. Too obvious. Too risky. He was hanging around the construction site of the old shopping center, the one no one watched. Walls covered in graffiti, windows blown out, rats making their kingdom out of the debris.

That’s where she found him.

He hadn’t hidden. He was sitting on the cracked steps, one arm bloody beneath his torn sleeve. His eyes were vacant. An expression she’d never seen on him before.

And it drove her mad.

Mad with rage. With pain. With not knowing. With not understanding. With having believed him to be different, perhaps. A dangerous, unstable guy, but not this. Not a fucking rapist.

She approached. The sound of her footsteps echoed on the concrete.

He looked up, slowly.

And without warning, the first slap landed.

A sharp crack in the cold air. Seong-je’s head snapped violently to the side. He didn’t react. He blinked. That was all.

“Tell me it’s not true,” Y/N breathed. Her voice was low. Strangled.

Not a scream. A warning.

He looked at her, silent.

She slapped him a second time, harder, backhanded this time. He swayed slightly but remained seated. Still without a word.

“Tell me it’s not true, damn it!”

He inhaled. Closed his eyes.

“It’s not true,” he said.

But it was too late.

The third slap was brutal. Stinging. He placed a hand on his cheek this time. Not to protect himself. Just… to feel.

As if the pain was the only proof he was still there.

Y/N was trembling. Her whole body. Not with fear. With rage. She grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up brutally.

“Then why did you hide?! Huh?! Why did you disappear?! What did you think?! That by leaving me in the dark, I’d… forget?! Defend you without knowing?!”

He kept his eyes locked on hers.

“Because I knew you’d do exactly that. Hit me. Judge me. Look at me like them.”

She gritted her teeth. And then, without thinking, the fourth slap came. And this time, she screamed.

“I protected you! I covered for you for months! And you leave me with a fucking accusation like that?! What do you want?! For me to abandon you?!”

He flinched.

He hadn’t said anything.

But his eyes had clouded over. A shadow had passed.

“I didn’t want you to see that. Me, like that.”

She shoved him violently; he fell back onto the steps, his hands scraped by the concrete.

He didn’t get up.

She remained standing, panting. Broken.

“They have photos, Seong-je. Blurry, yes, but usable. Your black hoodie. Your profile. Your scar on your temple.”

He murmured:

“I wasn’t there. I was somewhere else. I was…”

He hesitated.

“I was hiding out at an old acquaintance’s place. I didn’t call you. I… I was scared.”

“Scared of what?! Of me?!”

He finally looked up at her, and this time, she saw it.

She saw the distress. The real kind.

“Scared that you wouldn’t believe me. That you’d look at the evidence and hesitate. That you’d doubt. Even for a second.”

She didn’t answer. She approached slowly. Squatted down in front of him.

And she hit him one last time, not a slap this time, a punch to the chest, with a closed fist.

“Bastard,” she breathed.

But he looked at her as if she were the last beautiful thing he had left.

And maybe she was.

He coughed, a trace of blood on his lips.

“I’m not a good guy, ma’am. But I never touched that girl. I never wanted that. And I never wanted you to see me like this. Weak. Accused. Falsely accused.”

She closed her eyes. For a long time. Then, gently, she placed a hand on his shoulder. He shivered under her touch.

“Who?”

“Nabaek-jin. Or the guys behind him. They want to take me down. Shut me up. Make me disappear. And there’s no better way than this kind of accusation.”

She nodded.

And for a long moment, they said nothing.

His lips were split. His gaze was lost. He looked worn out. Damaged. Younger than ever. Just a kid. A kid who had been hit too much, dirtied too much.

She stood up.

“You’re coming with me. We’re going to prove you weren’t there that night. We’re going to flip the script. And if you’re lying…”

He nodded.

“I’m not lying.”

She didn’t answer him. She didn’t touch him again.

But as she left, she murmured:

“Don’t run from me again. Because if you do… I’ll hunt you down myself.”

He offered a broken smile.

And in his head, a single thought returned, insistent:

She’s still here. Even after all that. She’s here. She touches him. She hits him. She yells at him. But she’s here.

And that presence was worth all the pain.

Even the pain she inflicted.

---

He was there, leaning against the damp wall of the fire escape behind the school, his gaze fixed on the empty alleyway. He knew she was close. He could feel it. He didn’t need to see her to anticipate her steps – that cold, steady, almost military rhythm. Y/N never did anything halfway.

And she arrived, straight as a knife, her fists clenched in the pockets of her too-thin coat.

She shot him a dark look. He didn’t flinch.

“You have bruises.”

He smiled. An empty smile.

“I don’t fight, Ma’am. I fall.”

She hated that smile. Because it made her want to believe him. And she refused.

“Why do you insist on doing this alone?”

He looked at her for a long time. Too long. And in his eyes, there was that fever she dreaded. That uncontrollable thing, that unhealthy fire that simmered beneath his skin.

“Because it’s my mess. Not yours.”

“And if you get killed? If you fall?”

He approached. Slowly. One step after another. Until he was close enough to feel her breath on his face.

“Then I fall alone. But I refuse to let you dirty your hands for this. I refuse to let them see you, associate you with me, touch you from afar or up close.”

She raised her voice.

“You think I’m some fucking porcelain doll?! You think I—"

He cut her off sharply.

“Let me be a man for once, Y/N.”

She stopped.

He continued, lower. His voice hoarse. And full of that muffled crack he only showed her.

“You want to do everything, carry everything. You’re used to people relying on you. Me, I want… I want to be the one who isn’t saved. I want that at least once in my life, I can say: ‘I handled it. Me.’

He looked up at her. He was burning. Literally.

“You brought me to my knees with your gaze, Y/N. And I don’t want the rats in this city to know you exist. You’re mine. And I’m your dirt to hide.”

She tried to answer. But the words didn’t come. Not right away.

So he left. And this time, she didn’t stop him.

**

Three hours later, in a deserted bowling alley with a broken neon sign, Geum Seong-je retrieved what he had carefully hidden.

An old sports bag, stashed under a false ceiling in the utility room. Inside, papers, hard drives, photos. He had kept it all, just in case. Not because he was careful. Because deep down, he knew that one day, he would have to betray.

He wasn’t afraid of Na Baek-jin.

Not like before.

What he feared was no longer being worthy of Y/N’s gaze. She had slapped him as if she wanted him to become real again. And she had succeeded.

So that night, he walked to the hill where Yeon Si-eun and his two war dogs, baku, gotak and jun-tae. sometimes hung out.

They were there.

He handed the bag to Si-eun, without speaking.

Yeon Si-eun didn’t ask questions. He opened it. Scanned it. Understood. And looked up.

“Why?”

Seong-je ran a hand through his hair, his gaze elsewhere.

“You want to demolish their fucking syndicate? Here’s your bomb. Me, I have something else to protect.”

Si-eun nodded. He didn’t add anything. No need.

**

The next day, Seong-je returned to his hole. He didn’t plan on being a hero. He let others destroy. He just wanted to survive.

But in his head, Y/N.

Always Y/N.

Her voice, her slaps, her silences, her scent.

He thought of her as he went to bed. As he breathed. As he walked. As he washed his hands like a maniac so as not to contaminate what he might one day offer her.

He wanted her. Physically. Yes.

But it wasn’t just that.

He wanted her to see him and think: he’s changed.

He wanted her to offer him a hand one day. Not to save him. Just to touch him.

And every step he took in this fucking rotten world, he took for her.

Not for love. Not for forgiveness.

For the possibility.

The tiny, painful, terribly uncertain possibility… that one day, she would look at him without rage.

Without fear.

Just… with something a little soft.

And for that, he was ready to betray everything he had been.

Even himself.

---

CHAPTER 10 – STORIES ARE WRITTEN TOGETHER

Two months. That’s all it had taken for the dust to settle over the city. Two months of voluntary isolation. Of self-imposed exile.

Geum Seongje hadn’t returned right away. No. He had been a shadow, a figure hidden in the underbelly, where people like him hid, where wounds half-healed, and where time seemed to have forgotten to pass.

The war was over, but he still bore its scars. His name was no longer whispered in the dark alleys with disgust or fear. The syndicate had fallen. The accusations against him had crumbled with the collapse of that underworld. He was cleared, or almost.

But not yet rehabilitated. Not yet returned to who he had been.

The two months had passed. And here he stood before the school, in the middle of the school holidays, in the shade of a tree. He had grown, changed. He was now a man. Of age. And, more importantly, he was there for her.

A cold gaze settled on the entrance of the building. It wasn’t the first time he had returned here. But this time, he had a reason beyond mere rage to reappear in the life of the one who had marked him with fire.

Y/N.

She was there. In the shadow of the gate, talking to a group of students, like a guardian figure. When she turned her head, her eyes met his. A shiver pierced the warm summer air. She recognized him immediately, even after those two months.

She hadn’t changed. But he… He was something else entirely. Harder, more mature, more enigmatic. Far from the teenager she had had to watch, control, sometimes insult. He was no longer the one she had slapped. He was no longer the one she had tried to help, with her icy and closed heart. No, he was a man. A man she knew by heart… and who, yet, was no longer the same at all.

Seongje approached her, his gaze scrutinizing every movement. It wasn't just the desire to possess her. It was deeper. It was a visceral need. A need to connect, to give meaning back to his existence. An obsession, of course, but tinged with that nuance he had never thought possible.

“You know, I can’t call you ‘ma’am’ anymore. I’m no longer under your supervision,” he said with a wry smile, a smile that was both teasing and unhealthy. But his voice was softer, more confident. It was more than a provocation. It was… almost an attempt to get closer.

She stared at him. She was no longer as implacable, but her expression remained distant.

“You’ve changed,” she finally said. Not a question, just a statement.

He didn’t answer immediately, preferring to look her in the eyes. And in that gaze, she could almost feel what he was feeling. The buried pain, the shame, the rage, but also an insatiable need to be seen. To be accepted. To be chosen.

“I’m an adult now, aren’t I?” His voice was tinged with that childish arrogance he had always had, but this time, it wasn’t empty. There was something more in the way he addressed her. A plea for recognition.

She didn’t answer right away, her gaze lost in a mixture of confusion and curiosity. The situation was too unclear for her to embrace with a simple look.

He moved closer slowly, each step heavy with unspoken meanings. Everything he had lived through, everything he had endured… He had gone through it all to be there, in front of her. He was ready for anything. Even that dull ache that resonated in his gut with every movement he made.

“If I follow you… it’s not for school, you know.”

His words were simple, but they struck her heart like a hammer blow.

“You want to follow me away from all this?” she asked, surprised, but also slightly amused. She had remained calm, but he could feel the tension in her gestures.

“Maybe,” he said, a mischievous smile in his eyes. Then he added, lower, almost to himself, “I’ve always had this kind of connection with you. I want more than silences. More than furtive glances.”

She looked at him then, and for the first time in a long time, her gaze softened. Perhaps because she understood now. Perhaps because she knew.

“I’m going to another school… I’m getting transferred,” she murmured. “You know, the distance…”

He leaned a little closer to her, and this time, it wasn’t an enraged look, or the look of a badly behaved child. No, it was a conscious look, the look of someone who knew what he wanted.

“Then I’ll call you ‘noona’ now,” he said in a warm, sensual breath. The word slipped from his lips, and he pronounced it in an almost intimate way, a way that made all the difference. Because he had never pronounced that word that way before, not to her, not ever.

She froze for a moment before relaxing slightly. An almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. But he could see it. She saw it too, that small crack in the wall she had built around herself. She felt an electric tension, a dull pulse, as palpable as the air between them.

Their gazes locked.

It wasn’t a kiss yet, no. But there was something even stronger. It was a silent promise, a profound change. He, the child who had tormented her, now ready to be the one who would follow her. She, the woman ready to accept him, but not without her own fears.

Seongje’s fingers slid onto Y/N’s skin, brushing her wrist. The touch was soft, almost fragile, as if he were afraid of breaking what had just been created. And Y/N, this time, didn’t pull away. On the contrary, she leaned in slightly, like an invitation.

“Noona…” he repeated, in a heavier tone, almost a whisper. And this time, it was the beginning of something real, something vulnerable. It was no longer an obsession.

It was hope.

And then, he did it. He crossed that boundary that, until then, had seemed like an insurmountable chasm. He kissed her. Not brutally, not violently. But gently, gently, as if each movement was a revelation, as if he were discovering himself through her. He had no expectations. Just this desire to feel her close, even closer, more real than ever.

She recoiled slightly, her eyes wide open, shocked by the gesture, but he didn’t move away. Not this time. He waited for a reaction. He didn’t want her words. He just wanted… her to see him. To really see him.

And for the first time since he had met her, Seongje felt at peace. Not because the battle was over, not because he had won anything. But because this time, he had taken his future into his own hands. And that future, he wanted to share with her. No matter how twisted, difficult, or uncertain it might be.

She placed her hand on his cheek, caressing it gently. He had never thought that simple gesture could have such an impact. That tenderness… he received it like a precious, fragile gift. And perhaps, deep down, he was beginning to believe that he could build something real with her. Perhaps, finally, he could exist beyond his mistakes.

She leaned slightly towards him.

“Seongje…”

She said nothing more. Words were unnecessary. But in her eyes, there was what he had always sought: a promise. A promise he had waited for. That he would now build with her.

He smiled, without a word.

Things weren’t perfect. They never would be.

But for the first time, there was an “us.” And that was all he had ever wanted.

Their hands trembled. The air between them was saturated with desire and tension, but also with that fragility that now bound them. No further words were needed. No grander gestures. They understood each other. And for the first time, Seongje felt that he wasn’t alone in being obsessed with the other.

Y/N was there, ready to accept who he had become. But the question remained: would they be able to repair what had been broken before? Or would it all consume them even more?

..................................................................................

New Geum Seongje fanfictions

[nofilterwaterfilter]

also on the voice thing, we all know kris is one of the most autism coded characters to ever exist, but i really do love everything that both routes of chapter four when taken in conjunction told us about kris, being nonverbal, and how that's not painted as a bad thing?

it's pretty common i've seen for silent protagonists to be headcanoned as nonverbal autistic, but i think this is the first time i've seen it be explicitly canon, and also have it be pretty intrinsic to the narrative?

and like no, kris isn't entirely nonverbal, they do speak occasionally. but deltarune in general, and particularly ch4, paints a very strong picture of someone who (at least when they have control over their own voice) does not use words as their primary method of communication

like you can start with quiet people piss me off, or the fact that music is such an important avenue of self expression for them (made all the worse when they're not in control). noelle in ch1 asks if kris is okay when the player asks her the same background/lore questions we can ask everyone, because kris talking this much pings immediately as wrong to her. then there's everything we know about kris as a kid, and how yeah they had a bit of a mean sense of humor, but also pranks and fucking with people was a very good way for them to get attention without having to talk at all

noelle's story of the ferris wheel if you listen to all her and susie's dialogue in dess' room sticks out to me for this, and i really do love that anecdote. noelle mentions she and kris were pushed into riding the ferris wheel together as kids, she didn't really want to be there. and kris didn't say anything the whole time, for the first half they were just looking out the window. but then they decided to jump up and down and shake the entire capsule, and that's when they turned to noelle and smiled. susie goes "is that good or bad?" in response to that story and noelle says she doesn't know, but it's one of the things that gets kris' attention! and whether you believe that they were doing it to freak noelle out or because they also thought this was dumb and wanted to make it more fun for both of them (noelle isn't sure which it was either), that is how they communicate!

and when they do use words. this is the bit that makes me most emotional - noelle in weird route describes kris' voice as deadpan and mumbly. they don't like being loud, they don't talk very often, and they really struggle with inflection. all things that are normally criticisms when directed at autistic people, they're stuff autism moms use to justify their "i know my real child is in there somewhere" bullshit. but when noelle hears it again from soulless kris for the first time since the soul stuff started, she starts crying over how much she's missed hearing them talk. the soul (as we know from a variety of susie and noelle conversations) is louder, more charismatic, more confident and articulate, and it's not kris. so all those traits that are normally things autistic people get told to be more, are explicitly condemned by the narrative

and that's what makes kris being largely nonverbal such an excellent additional dimension to their story. because everything the soul does, at least in the normal routes, pretty much aligns with how people are expected to behave? kris under our control has a great social life, has friends, is likeable, isn't weird and hard to understand. and a crueler person, the kind autistic people have to deal with far too often, would say "well it's good we gave them a voice, they're not using theirs anyway"

but that's what makes it evil! it doesn't matter if kris is the kind of autistic that everyone hates, if there are things about them that don't fit in with society but that they either can't or don't want to change. their life and their voice, as infrequently heard as it is, is still theirs. and they deserve the freedom to use it however they want to

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 18

˗ˏˋ on your kneesˎˊ˗

"He didn't picture himself ever begging for pussy... but alas, here he is."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8,7k

content: wet sloppy kissing, jungkook being too horny for his own good, vibrator usage, masturbation (f), jerking off while eating kitty (idk what possessed me but i had to), vanilla kink (are we surprised), begging, slight praise kink, comfort, endearing moments, these two being stupid as always, post-orgasm sharing bed (yeah sleeping together), thinking about maybes.

✧ author's note ✧

LISTEN. You’re so lucky I have multiple FMU chapters backlogged right now, because if I didn’t? I would have thrown an actual tantrum, declared a two-week hermit arc, and told you all to fuck off while I moved to the mountains. BUT. Thankfully, I’ve written up to around Chapter 23-ish and just need to edit, so you can all calm the hell down.

First of all, no—I still haven’t updated the update post, because I’ve been too busy prepping this chapter for release. I’ve had zero time to sit and ponder. That said, the only valid suggestion I’ve gotten so far is to keep the Tumblr note goal but ALSO require the Wattpad goal to be hit—so that’s what we’re trying this time around.

Also—BIG ANNOUNCEMENT—we now have an official Kiki Nation Community on Tumblr (yay!). That’s where you little gremlins can finally scream together in one place, throw theories at each other, and insult Jungkook and Nix in a safe, protected space. (Mainly Jungkook. Because he’s a man. And this is a matriarchy. HUSH.)

So please check it out! Join, comment under the official Chapter 18 discussion post, and if you feel inspired to make a meme or TikTok or post your spiral—DO IT. If it makes me laugh, I will absolutely reblog it.

NOW. About this chapter.

BAHAHA. Okay. First of all—I am so proud of the kiss. I wanted it to be sloppy and wet and messy and borderline excessive, and I think I delivered. It’s so long. I really put my whole kikussy into it.

And of course… it was time. The vibrator had to make its appearance. It’s literally law. I don’t make the rules (but I do).

Also: Rogue begging. crawling. STILETTOS. Why did I like this chapter so much. It was delicious. I love sexually down bad men. Wait until he’s romantically down bad. It’s going to be so satisfying. Trust me.

And the ending?? Made me soft. Actual progress?? Kind of??? They’re still filthy, but they’re also edging toward something stupidly endearing and I hate how much I love that. The way this story is progressing is so slow-burn it makes my bones hurt, but I’m obsessed with it. We are maybe… possibly… inching toward friendship territory. MAYBE.

I’m really looking forward to the next chapters—soon, we’ll meet a new LI on Jungkook’s side (YES!). Things are gonna get messy (eventually). Reminder: they have zero romantic feelings right now. ZERO. What you’re seeing is just… subconscious tension, subtle shifts. We’re nowhere near falling.

So please. I beg you. If I start getting asks about them being in love, I will throw my laptop out the window and revoke my dictatorship. Don’t test me.

Enjoy the chaos. Let me know how hard you spiraled. Love you forever.

OH. I said it before but I will say it again. This chapter is entirely based on the song "get on your knees" by Ariana Grande and Nicki Minaj so. Do with that what you will. Listen to it. Enjoy.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

His kiss tastes like four days of wanting.

Your back hits the wall as his mouth crashes into yours—not gentle, not careful, just hungry. Like he's been starving for the taste of you since Tuesday. 

His tongue traces the seam of your lips, a question that isn't really a question at all, because you both know how this ends. You part your lips anyway, granting him access because denying him feels like denying yourself.

His hand comes to rest on your neck, thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point. It's a strange, suspended gesture—like he can't decide whether to pull you closer or hold you exactly where you are. The indecision is so unlike him that it makes your stomach flip.

Then his tongue flattens against yours, and any thoughts of indecision evaporate. He's not kissing you so much as he's tasting you, licking your flavor directly from the source. The sensation is filthy and intimate as his other hand comes to your cheek, fingers splaying across your skin, holding you in place for his exploration.

"Fuck," he breathes against your mouth, the word more vibration than sound. "Missed this."

Not you. This. 

The distinction matters, even as his tongue circles yours in a slow, deliberate drag that makes your knees weak. He's coating himself with your saliva, savoring you like you're some expensive whiskey he's been saving for a special occasion.

You should probably be grossed out by how wet this kiss is, by how thoroughly he's claiming your mouth.

Instead, you find yourself pressing closer, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Because this is what you've been missing too—not him, not really, but this. The way he makes your body respond without even trying. The way he kisses like he's trying to memorize the taste of you.

And then his lips close over yours—soft but firm—like finishing the kiss just to start it all over again. Chained kisses. One bleeding into the next, seamless and endless.

You follow him because how could you not? The way he kisses—it’s not just skill; it’s instinct. Like he knows exactly what to do to keep you hooked, alternating between tongue and lips so perfectly that you never get tired of either. 

Not that you could ever tire of him. 

You’re pretty sure you could never erase the way he kisses—or fucks—from your mind even if you wanted to.

Maybe it’s him knowing what he’s doing. Or maybe it’s just the two of you—two mismatched pieces of completely different puzzles that somehow fit together anyway. 

Just like your mouths do now.

Just like when your tongue darts out to lick at his lower lip in a kitten lick that has him hitching against you, a small, desperate sound escaping his throat. His hips stutter against yours like his body is telling you to stop messing around and get your tongue back inside his mouth where it belongs.

So you do.

You push forward, tongue meeting his again in a slick slide that has him groaning into your mouth. Then you close your lips to transition into another kiss and he follows, tongues forgotten for three, four open-mouthed kisses before he’s lost patience.

He moves his tongue against yours, seeking more, always more. Because when it comes to you, Jungkook is just this eager.

But this time you catch it. Suck it into your mouth in a soft suction that makes him freeze for half a second before his hand tightens on your neck. 

And the sound he makes?

Undiluted filth.

It spurs you on.

You suck harder, dragging your lips down his tongue before releasing him with a soft pop that leaves both of you panting against each other’s mouths. He doesn’t let the pause last long—doesn’t let you last long—and dives back in with a hunger that feels less like kissing and more like consuming.

Tongues forgotten for other five or six kisses as his lips move against yours with bruising intensity—open-mouthed and messy—but he easily grows impatient and his tongue is soon back, sliding against yours like he wants it there.

You catch it once more—suck it again—and the way his hips jerk against yours tells you everything you need to know about how much he likes it.

Filthy sounds fill the space between you: wet kisses, soft moans, the occasional hitch in his breath when you do something particularly good with your tongue.

And when his teeth graze your lower lip before pulling back just enough to look at you?

You realize there’s no winning here—not for either of you—because this isn’t about who takes control or who gives in first.

It’s about this. About mouths fitting together perfectly even though nothing else about this situation should make sense. About tongues sliding together and lips bruising from too much pressure but neither of you caring because fuck—it feels good.

It feels better than good.

It feels addictive.

Your back hits the table near the entryway, and honestly? You never thought a piece of furniture could be an accomplice in your bad decisions, but here you are. Pressed against the entryway table. The one that holds your keys, Yoongi's forgotten mail, and now, apparently, your dignity.

Jungkook hasn't stopped kissing you—not for air, not for sanity, not for anything resembling common sense. It's like he's on a mission to consume you entirely, starting with your mouth and working his way through the rest of you.

These are not the kisses you exchange with people you tolerate. These are not even the kisses you exchange with people you like. These are the kisses of people who might actually hate each other but have found a much more interesting way to express it.

Your lower back presses against the edge. Hard wood digs into soft flesh, and you're about to complain when—

Fuck.

He lifts you. One hand. One fucking hand curves under your ass and hoists you onto the table like you weigh nothing, while his other plants itself firmly on the wood beside your hip. The display of casual strength makes something molten pool in your stomach.

Unfair. Completely unfair how stupidly hot he makes stupid things look. Lifting you shouldn't be attractive. It's basic physics, not foreplay. But your brain has apparently liquefied, pouring out your ears while he steals the oxygen straight from your lungs.

"Fuck, Nix," he mutters against your mouth, the words more vibration than sound. "Been thinking about this for days."

His mouth is relentless—wet, demanding, precise in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. He sucks your lower lip between his teeth and—god—applies just enough pressure to sting, like he's trying to extract something essential from you. Like he needs to squeeze you dry, drain you of whatever it is that keeps him coming back.

Didn't even know your bottom lip was an erogenous zone until Jungkook decided it was.

It's too much. The heat, the closeness, the way he seems to have forgotten where you are, who you are.

You push against his chest—not hard, just enough to create a sliver of space between your bodies.

"Jesus Christ," you gasp, chest heaving. "Let me breathe, you animal."

He grins at that—a scorching, self-satisfied smile that makes you want to either slap him or pull him back in.

Maybe both.

He bites his lower lip, swollen from your kisses, and immediately leans back in like your need for oxygen is a minor inconvenience to his plans.

Your palm against his chest stops him, firm this time.

"Wait," you say, voice rough.

Not because you want to stop—god no—but because your brain is finally catching up to your body. And there's something you want. Something specific.

His eyes find yours, dark and questioning. Patient, despite the hunger radiating off him in waves. He's holding himself back, you realize. Letting you dictate what happens next.

Your eyes drop, hair falling across your face as you gather your thoughts, your courage. When you look back up at him through your lashes, his breath catches audibly.

"Bring me the vibrator you chose for me."

His reaction? Pretty funny. Like watching a computer crash and reboot. His entire body goes still���processing, processing—then his eyes widen a fraction. He blinks once, twice, tension visible in the way his jaw ticks.

"What?" he asks, voice cracking slightly.

Something about his reaction makes hot satisfaction curl through you. You like throwing him off balance. Like matching his chaos with your own.

"The vibrator," you repeat, slower this time, savoring each syllable. "The one you picked out. Go get it."

His eyes dart toward your bedroom door, then back to your face. For a moment, you think he might refuse. Might challenge you. But then:

"Yeah," he nods jerkily, already stepping back. "Yeah, I will."

"Will you?" you press, because you can't help it. Because you like the way his pupils dilate when you push.

"Fuck yeah," he breathes, already moving toward your bedroom with a kind of urgent, stumbling grace that would be comical if it weren't so hot.

You watch him go, breathing still uneven, lips still tingling. 

And you think—not for the first time—that there's something dangerously addictive about the way Jungkook responds to you. The way he matches your energy, then amplifies it, reflecting it back at you until you're both caught in some kind of feedback loop of bad ideas and worse self-control.

Roommates with benefits, you remind yourself. That's all this is.

But as you hear him rummaging through your things, drawers opening and closing with increasing urgency, you can't help but wonder if "benefits" is too mild a word for whatever the fuck is happening between you two.

He sprints.

Jungkook doesn't walk to your room—he fucking jogs, like the vibrator might disappear if he doesn't get there fast enough.

Like this moment has an expiration date he can't afford to miss.

No shame. Not a single ounce of it as he bursts through your door, scanning the bedroom impatiently. The same room he's been in a couple of times, but never with this specific mission, never with this frantic energy coursing through his veins.

Where the fuck would a girl keep her vibrator?

No. Not a girl. You. Where would you hide it?

Under the pillow?

He lifts the edge of your pillowcase, peeks beneath it. Nothing. Definitely not there—you like sleeping too much, and having a hard plastic toy jabbing into your cheek all night would be uncomfortable as hell. You're smarter than that.

The wardrobe?

He eyes the wooden doors across the room, considering.

No way. Too far from the bed. You're too practical for that kind of inconvenience. If you wanted to get off, you wouldn't want to climb out of bed and trek across the room.

His eyes land on the nightstand. Bingo.

The drawer slides open with a soft sound. First thing he sees: a messy stack of panties, some lacy, some cotton, all of them instantly triggering mental images he doesn't have time for right now.

He fights—really fights—against the urge to pick one up. To feel the fabric between his fingers, to imagine it hugging the curves he's already memorized with his hands, his mouth. Maybe even bring one to his nose...

Focus, dickhead.

Pushing the underwear aside (what? sue him for wanting to fuel his imagination), his fingers brush against something solid. Hard plastic. Smooth curves.

There it is.

He pulls it out, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he examines his find. It's exactly as he remembers from the store—sleek, purple, designed for both internal and external stimulation.

Still in its original packaging, which means you haven't used it yet.

Something jittery and hot coils in his stomach at the thought of being the first to see you use it.

He grips it tighter, already imagining what it'll look like pressed against you, already wondering if you'll let him control it or if you'll insist on doing it yourself.

Either way, he's about to witness something fucking spectacular, and his body knows it. His cock strains painfully against his jeans as he heads back to you.

He takes a deep breath before rounding the corner from the hallway.

Tries to center himself, to cool down just a little.

To not look as desperate as he feels.

But then—

Fuck.

The vibrator nearly slips from his suddenly sweaty palm.

You're naked on the table. Completely, gloriously naked except for those high heels that make your legs look like they go on for fucking miles. The dress is gone—discarded somewhere on the floor—and your panties dangle precariously from one ankle like an afterthought.

One leg bent at the knee, heel resting lazily on the wooden surface. The other straight up, creating a perfect right angle that showcases everything he's been craving since the moment he walked through the front door.

And your hand—Christ—your hand is between your thighs, fingers drawing lazy circles over your clit.

His eyes stutter back to one thing though.

The heels.

What is it about the fucking heels?

He's never particularly cared about shoes before, but something about the way they elongate your legs, the way they make your calves flex, the dangerous point of those stilettos against the wooden table-it's doing something to him. Something unexpected and intense.

He nearly stumbles. Actually has to catch himself on the wall because his knees go weak at the sight of you touching yourself, waiting for him, spread open on the goddamn entryway table like the world's most perfect welcome home gift.

His grip on the vibrator tightens until his knuckles go white. He forces his face into something resembling control—a smirk, he hopes, though it feels more like a grimace of restraint.

"Needed it that badly?" he manages, trying to sound casual and cool, though he guesses he fails spectacularly at that.

Your eyes meet his, challenging. "Didn't you?"

The question catches him off guard, but he doesn't falter. Not much, anyway. Just a slight hitch in his breathing that he hopes you didn't notice.

"Yeah," he admits, the word barely audible. Then, louder: "Yeah, I did."

He starts walking toward you, vibrator clutched in his hand, but you stop him with a single raised palm. The universal sign for wait.

"Crawl to me."

His feet halt. He opens his mouth. Closes it.

What?

"What?" he asks, not sure he heard correctly.

"You heard me." Your fingers never stop their gentle circles. "Crawl."

He doesn't know why he does it. Doesn't pause to analyze why the command sends a jolt of electricity straight to his cock.

He just... does it.

Drops to his knees, then to all fours, the vibrator still clutched in one hand.

Maybe it's the novelty—you taking control like this when usually he's the one calling the shots.

Maybe it's the way your eyes darken as you watch him approach, like seeing him on his knees for you is doing something for you too.

Or maybe—most likely—it's just the promise of getting his head between those fucking glorious thighs again.

Whatever the reason, he crawls to you across the hardwood floor, too turned on to care about how it looks, too desperate to worry about his dignity. All he can think about is how wet you'll be, how good you'll taste, how he wants to make you come on his tongue before introducing the vibrator.

He's almost there—close enough to smell you, close enough that if he stretched forward just a bit, he could press his mouth to your inner thigh—when the sharp heel of your stiletto plants firmly against his forehead.

The pressure isn't hard enough to hurt, just enough to stop his forward momentum. To keep him back.

He looks up at you, disbelief warring with arousal.

Surely you're joking?

There's no way you're genuinely stopping him when he's this close, when you're this wet, when everything about this moment has been building toward his mouth on you.

Right?

"The vibrator," you say, extending your hand, heel still pressed lightly to his skin. "Give it to me."

His throat works as he swallows, suddenly parched. "Don't you want me to—"

"The vibrator, Ro."

The nickname, combined with the firm tone, makes his cock make a mating dance against the zipper of his jeans. He places the toy in your outstretched hand, watches as you examine it with curious eyes.

You turn it over in your palm, studying it like it's a puzzle to solve. Your brow furrows slightly as you locate the power button, press it experimentally, and soon enough its low hum fills the space as the toy comes to life, vibrating gently in your hand.

"I've never used one before," you admit, and he already knew.

You told him that much before buying it.

Nonetheless, the idea that he gets to witness this first for you—it does something to him.

Makes him feel special in a way he has no right to feel.

"Let me help," he offers, voice strained. "I can show you how—"

"I think I can figure it out," you interrupt, but there's uncertainty in your eyes as you look at the different buttons, the various settings.

Fuck, you're adorable. Even spread-eagle on a table with a vibrator in your hand, there's something so endearing about your determination to figure this out on your own.

He watches, mesmerized, as you press another button. The vibration intensifies, making you jump slightly at the change. Your finger slips, pressing yet another button, and suddenly the toy is pulsing in a rhythm that has him imagining it pressed against you, imagining your reaction to that particular pattern.

He can't take it.

"Here," he says, reaching up, a bit desperate, a tad impatient. "May I?"

After a moment's hesitation, you nod, removing your heel from his forehead and allowing him to rise up on his knees. He takes the vibrator from you, quickly familiarizing himself with the controls.

"This button cycles through the patterns," he explains, demonstrating as the toy shifts from steady vibration to pulsing to waves. "And this one controls the intensity."

He presses it, the vibration becoming stronger under his thumb.

"Start low and work your way up."

He hands it back to you, then you glare at him and okay, he immediately settles back on his heels, waiting. Watching. Fucking aching to see what you do next.

You take the toy, reset it to the lowest steady vibration, and then—God help him—you bring it to your breast first. Circle your nipple with it, eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

"Fuck," he breathes, the word barely audible over the hum of the vibrator. 

He shifts on his knees, trying to adjust himself without being too obvious about it. His jeans have become a torture device, constricting him painfully as he watches you explore.

The vibrator trails down your stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He can see them form on your skin, can see the way your muscles tense in anticipation as the toy moves lower, lower—

And then it's there, pressed against your clit, and the sound you make—a soft, surprised gasp followed by a deeper moan—nearly ends him.

"Good?" he asks, voice wrecked.

You nod, eyes still closed, hips already starting to move against the vibration. "Good. Really good."

He leans forward instinctively, mouth watering at the sight of you pleasuring yourself. He wants to taste you, wants to feel the vibrations against his tongue as he licks around the toy.

Wants to be part of this moment in a way that's more than just watching.

But as he moves closer, your eyes snap open, fixing him with a look that stops him cold.

You extend your leg, the one that was dangling off the table, pressing the point of your stiletto against his chest this time.

"Just watch," you command, voice breathy but firm.

He blinks, sure he's misheard. "What?"

"I said watch." You adjust the vibrator slightly, finding a better angle that makes your breath hitch, toe of your shoe pressing more firmly against his sternum. "Don't touch. Just... watch me."

Is he dreaming? Having some kind of bizarre hallucination? There's no way you're asking him to just sit here while you get yourself off right in front of him.

No fucking way.

"You're joking," he says, but the steady look in your eyes tells him you're not. "Nix, come on. You can't expect me to—"

"I can," you interrupt, increasing the vibration intensity with a press of your thumb. The change makes you gasp, hips lifting slightly off the table. "And I do."

He blinks, eyebrows tugging upwards in a cross motion. "Do you want me to bust untouched? Is that it? Because that's cruel, even for you."

A smile curves your lips, mischievous and knowing. "Maybe I just want to see if you can behave for once."

"I behave," he protests, even as his eyes remain fixed on the vibrator, on the way it glides through your wetness, on how your thighs have started to tremble already.

On those fucking shoes that, for some inexplicable reason, are making this whole situation at least ten times hotter.

"Prove it," you challenge, and fuck—he's never been able to resist a challenge from you.

Never really been able to back down when you push him like this.

So he stays where he is, on his knees, hands fisted at his sides, watching as you explore the toy, as you find what feels good, as you experiment with different patterns and pressures. Your foot still rests against his chest, not pushing him away now, just... there.

A point of contact that feels both like ambrosia and agony.

It's torture. Beautiful, exquisite torture to be this close and not touch you. To smell your arousal and not taste it. To hear your moans growing louder and know he's not the direct cause.

But it's also—strangely, unexpectedly—one of the hottest things he's ever witnessed.

Because you're not performing for him. You're genuinely discovering what you like, what makes you feel good. And there's something incredibly intimate about being allowed to witness that, about being trusted enough to see you this vulnerable, this real.

"That's it," he encourages as your movements become more focused, as you settle into a rhythm with the vibrator that has your breathing turning shallow. "Just like that. You look so fucking good, Nix."

Your eyes meet his, heavy-lidded but alert, and for a moment, he can’t help but stare back.

Then you close your eyes again, lost in the sensation as the vibrator buzzes steadily against your clit. Your free hand comes up to your breast, pinching your nipple in time with the pulsations of the toy, and he groans at the sight. 

Your foot presses harder against his chest, whether intentionally or as an unconscious reaction to your growing pleasure, he doesn't know.

Doesn't care.

"Cruel," he mutters, because he needs to at least let you know. “You're fucking cruel, you know that?"

His eyes are fixed on your pussy like it's the only thing in the universe worth looking at. Maybe it is. The way you're working that vibrator against yourself, the little circular motions, the way your hips lift occasionally when you hit just the right spot—it's driving him fucking insane.

His dick is so hard it hurts at this point, and he thinks it's going to start a mutiny. He shifts his weight, trying to get some relief, but it only makes things worse. His forehead thumps against the corner of the table in frustrated surrender.

"God fucking hell," he groans, the wood cool against his skin. "Nix, I need to lick you. Please. Just—let me taste you."

You look down at him, eyes heavy-lidded but gleaming with amusement. Your stiletto traces a path down his chest, and when it reaches his stomach, you press slightly, the point digging into the muscle there. 

A warning. 

A tease. 

He's not sure which, but it makes his cock throb painfully either way.

"What was that?" you ask, lifting the vibrator just enough that he can see how wet you are, how your pussy glistens in the low light. "I didn't quite hear you."

Fucking tease. Fucking gorgeous, evil tease.

"I said I need to lick you," he repeats, louder this time, pride completely abandoned. "Let me put my mouth on you. Let me make you feel good."

You pretend to consider it, tilting your head like you're weighing your options. Meanwhile, he's about to combust from the inside out.

"I don't know," you muse, trailing the vibrator up to circle around your clit, making yourself gasp. "I'm doing pretty well on my own, don't you think?"

Your stiletto moves again, tracing along the inside of his thigh. He tenses, breath catching as it moves higher, closer to the straining bulge in his jeans.

“Phee,” he bites back a groan. "You're doing amazing. Fucking incredible. But I can make it better. You know I can."

"Hmm." You press the vibrator directly against your clit again, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before fixing back on him. "Maybe if you ask nicely."

Is this really happening? Are you really making him beg? His cock twitches at the thought, answering that question with an emphatic yes.

He swallows, throat dry.

"Please," he says, voice rough. "Please let me help."

The word lies suspended between you. 

Please. Such a simple word, but one he doesn't use often—not like this, not with this much raw need behind it.

Your eyes widen slightly, like you weren't expecting him to actually do it. To actually beg. But then a slow smile spreads across your face, and you nod.

"Since you asked so nicely," you say. "Go ahead."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He surges forward, hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider as he buries his face against you.

The first swipe of his tongue makes you both moan—you from the sensation, him from finally, finally getting to taste you.

You taste amazing.

Like always.

Like something he could get addicted to if he's not careful.

"Fuck," he groans against you, the word vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "So fucking good."

He could honestly cum like this. Right now. Just from the taste of you on his tongue, from the way your thighs tense around his head, from the little gasps you make. 

He knows he's got blue balls at this point. Knows his cock is probably leaking precum into his boxers, making a mess he'll have to deal with later. But he doesn't really care.

Until you kind of make him care.

"Jerk off."

He freezes, tongue mid-lick.

Did he hear that right?

Looking up at you, genuinely confused, he asks, "What?"

Your answer is a knowing smile and a slight increase in pressure as the heel traces the outline of his cock through the denim. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make him incredibly aware of how hard he is.

"I want you to get yourself off while you eat me out, Ro."

Jesus Christ.

When did you get so fucking bossy? And why is it turning him on so much?

"Yeah," he says, almost to himself, fumbling with his zipper. "Yeah, okay, absolutely I can do that."

His hands shake slightly as he undoes his jeans, shoving them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock. It springs up against his stomach, hard and flushed and so sensitive that even the brush of air against it makes him hiss.

"Shit," he warns, wrapping a hand around himself, already knowing this isn't going to last long. "Just a heads up, but this might be embarrassingly short."

You laugh, the sound turning into a gasp as he dives back in. Your leg dangles over his shoulder now, heel pressing slightly against his back.

"That's okay," you manage to say between breaths. "I'm pretty close too."

Thank fuck for that. Because the moment his hand starts moving on his cock, he knows he's on borrowed time.

The vibrator hasn't stopped. That's the thing that's driving him absolutely fucking insane. You've got it pressed right against your clit, humming on its lowest setting while he licks at your lips, tasting every inch of you except the one spot you're keeping for yourself.

It's maddening.

It's genius.

It's the hottest thing he's ever experienced.

His tongue traces your entrance, dipping just slightly inside before retreating to lick broad strokes along your folds. He's taking his time despite his own desperation, despite the way his hand is working his cock at a steady, measured pace.

Because he wants this to last, wants to savor the privilege of having his face between your thighs while you take your pleasure so confidently.

"More," you breathe above him, and he's not sure if you're talking to him or yourself.

But then your fingers move, pressing a button on the vibrator, and the hum intensifies. The sound changes pitch, grows deeper, more insistent. Your hips jerk in response, a gasp falling from your lips that sends blood rushing to his already throbbing cock.

His fist tightens instinctively, pace quickening to match the vibrator's new rhythm. It's like his body is syncing with the toy, with your pleasure, his own arousal tied directly to yours.

"Fuck, Nix," he groans against you, the words muffled but still audible. "You're so fucking wet. So fuckin’ good, I swear—I swear I could do this for hours.”

“But you won’t last hours,” you tease, rolling your hips against his face. “Will you?”

He shakes his head, not even bothering to deny it. Not when his balls are already drawing up tight, not when each stroke of his hand brings him closer to the edge.

“Nngh—no,” he admits, the word punctuated by a particularly firm stroke that has his hips bucking into his fist. “Not gonna—ah—not gonna last long at all.”

Because the truth is, he’s dizzy with it—your taste, your scent, the sounds you're making above him. It's overwhelming in the best possible way, a sensory overload that makes his cock pulse in his grip, precome slicking the way as his fist moves faster, more urgently.

You shift the vibrator slightly, angling it for better contact, and your free hand finds his hair. Fingers tangle in the strands, not quite pulling but definitely directing, holding him exactly where you want him.

"Inside," you command, voice breathless but clear. "I want your tongue inside me."

He doesn't hesitate. Doesn't even think. Just obeys, tongue pushing past your entrance, delving into the wet heat of you while the vibrator continues its relentless assault on your clit.

The angle is awkward, his neck craned to accommodate both the toy and his mouth, but he doesn't care.

Can't care about anything beyond the way you clench around his tongue, the way your thighs tremble against his cheeks, the way your grip tightens in his hair.

His cock throbs in his hand, so sensitive now that each stroke sends sparks shooting up his spine, and fuck he's close—so fucking close—but he's determined to make you come first. Wants to feel you pulsing around his tongue, wants to experience every tremor of your orgasm firsthand.

Above him, your breathing has grown ragged; little gasps and moans that tell him you're getting close too.

"Don't stop," you gasp, basically riding his face at this point. "God, don't stop."

As if he would.

As if he could tear himself away from this even if the building were on fire.

Your thighs start to shake in earnest now, little tremors that grow stronger by the second. The hand in his hair clenches, your stiletto digs into his back, the pressure increasing as your body tenses, and now he just knows; knows how close you are to the edge.

It makes his strokes faster, more desperate.

“Shit,” he gasps, pulling back for air. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Don’t stop,” you command, lost in a whine. “Don’t you dare stop.”

And he feels it the moment you start to come—the way your inner walls flutter around his tongue, the sudden flood of wetness, the sharp cry that tears from your throat. His name, maybe. Or just a sound of pure pleasure. He's too far gone to tell the difference.

But it doesn't matter. What matters is that you're coming on his tongue, coming while he tastes you, while the vibrator buzzes against your clit, while his cock throbs in his hand, so close to his own release that he can feel it building at the base of his spine.

He pushes his tongue deeper, wanting to feel every pulse, every contraction of your orgasm. The vibrator keeps buzzing, prolonging the sensation, pushing you higher and higher until your hand finally yanks at his hair, pulling him back when it becomes too much.

"Fuck," you gasp, voice wrecked, vibrator still humming in your grip though you've pulled it away from your oversensitive clit. "Fuck, Ro."

The sound of his nickname—that stupid nickname you’ve given him—paired with the sight of you flushed and trembling from an orgasm he helped create, is what does it. What finally pushes him over the edge.

His release hits him then, stealing his breath as his cock pulses in his hand, spilling onto the hardwood floor in hot spurts that seem to go on forever.

He groans against your thigh, face pressed into the soft skin there as his hips jerk, chasing the last waves of pleasure.

“Ffff—shit,” he slurs as he strokes himself through the aftershocks. “Holy sssh—oh—fuck… Ahhh.”

For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of breathing, harsh and uneven. The vibrator still hums softly, forgotten in your hand until you fumble for the off button, plunging them into sudden silence.

Jungkook rests his forehead against your thigh, trying to catch his breath, trying to remember how to form coherent thoughts.

His hand is sticky, his knees ache from the hardwood floor, his back tingles from the trail your heel left across it, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never be able to look at the entryway table the same way again.

But fuck if it wasn't worth it.

He pulls back, gasping for breath, his hand still loosely gripping his spent cock. He probably looks a mess—hair wild from your hands, face shiny with your wetness, expression dazed and satisfied.

"Christ," he breathes, looking up at you with something close to awe.

"Yeah," you agree, equally breathless.

A moment passes where you just look at each other, both trying to process what just happened. Then, because he's Jungkook and he can't help himself, he grins.

"So," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his clean hand. "I guess you like the vibrator I picked, huh?"

You roll your eyes, but there's no real annoyance there. Just a kind of fond exasperation that makes his chest feel weird and tight.

"It's alright," you say, casual as anything, like you weren't just having what looked like the most intense orgasm of your life. "Could've been better."

He laughs, full and genuine. "Liar."

Your lips twitch, fighting a smile. "Maybe."

He sits back on his heels, suddenly aware of the mess he's made on the floor. "We should, uh, probably clean up before Yoongi gets home."

You nod, both legs dangling off the table. “Wouldn’t want to scandalize him.”

"He's seen worse," Jungkook says without thinking, then flinches. "I mean—not with me. Just, you know, in general. Living with roommates and all."

You give him a look that's equal parts amusement and skepticism. "Right."

Awkward silence falls as the reality of what just happened settles in, because this? Yeah, it was sex. But this time you took control, you made him beg, you saw him at his most desperate and needy.

And he... liked it. More than he probably should have.

"So," he says, tucking himself back into his jeans with as much dignity as possible. "That was fun."

You snort. "Such a way with words, Ro."

"What can I say? I'm a poet."

He gathers the dress from the floor and gives it to you. You throw the dress at his head, but you're laughing, and he thinks—not for the first time—that he likes that sound. Likes being the cause of it.

He doesn’t analyze it further than needs to be.

He catches the dress, handing it back to you with exaggerated chivalry. "Your garment, m'lady."

"You're an idiot," you say, but there's no bite to it. Just that weird, fond tone that makes his stomach do strange things.

Fully on both legs now, he places both his arms between your spread thighs, his face hovering close to yours, tilting to the side.

"Yeah," he agrees, because sometimes the simplest truth is the easiest to admit. "But I'm an idiot who makes you cum really fucking hard, so..."

And there it is—that flash in your eyes, that hint of heat that never seems to fully dissipate between you two. 

"Don't get cocky," you warn.

Too late, he thinks. Way too late for that.

He stands there with the taste of you still on his lips and he can't help but feel satisfied.

Good.

“Does this mean we’re not fighting anymore?”

You laugh, the sound bright and genuine in the quiet room. “I guess not.”

“Good. Because that was a fucking stupid fight anyway.”

“It was,” you agree. “But the makeup sex was worth it.”

“Always is with us.”

And that’s the truth of it, isn’t it? No matter how much you argue, no matter how much you drive each other crazy, this thing between you—this chemistry, this connection—always brings you back together. 

No strings attached, just pure, perfect understanding of what the other needs.

It’s not love. It’s not even like, most days. But it’s something. 

Something that works for both of you.

And then, Jungkook feels your forehead press against his shoulder, which catches him off guard. Not because it’s heavy or anything—it’s not—but because it’s you.

You, who usually keeps your distance unless you're actively trying to rile him up. You, who just made him beg on his knees like some desperate idiot a few minutes ago.

And now you’re here, leaning into him like this is normal. Like this is fine.

It’s... nice. He hates that it’s nice.

His lips twitch upward despite himself, a soft smile breaking through the lingering haze of post-orgasmic bliss. His hand moves before he can think better of it, sliding up your back in a slow, deliberate stroke. His palm presses lightly between your shoulder blades, fingers splaying out as he rubs soothing circles into your skin.

Your back is warm under his touch—soft in places, firm in others—and he thinks about how strange it is that he knows what you feel like now. Not just your skin but the way you move under his hands, the way your muscles tense and relax depending on what he’s doing to you. 

It’s intimate in a way that makes something uncomfortable stir in his chest if he lingers on it too long.

So he doesn’t linger.

“Cleanup?” he asks, voice low and rough from everything that just happened.

You grunt. Not a word, not even a real sound—just a grunt. Like the idea of moving is physically painful to you right now.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through both of you. 

“Alright,” he says, hand still on your back as if that’s going to keep you from sliding off the table and face-planting onto the floor. “Let me get some wipes.”

Another grunt. This one sounds more annoyed than tired, but he can’t tell for sure because your face is still buried against his shoulder.

“Don’t tell me…” He pauses for dramatic effect because he knows how much you hate when he does that. “You’re a cuddlebug?”

That gets a reaction. Your head snaps up so fast he almost flinches, and then you’re shoving at his chest with both hands like you’re trying to push him off the planet.

“Fuck you,” you mutter, but there’s no real heat behind it. Your hands stay on his chest for a second longer than necessary before falling back to your sides.

He snorts, stepping back and giving you space because even though he likes teasing you (maybe too much), he knows when to quit.

Most of the time, anyway.

“Stay there,” he says over his shoulder as he heads toward his room. “Don’t move.”

You don’t respond this time—not even a grunt—but when he glances back, you’re still perched on the edge of the table looking thoroughly unimpressed with life.

Very you, indeed.

Then he's stepping into his bedroom, and of course, it is dark when he steps inside, the only light coming from the hallway spilling in behind him.

He grabs the container of wet wipes from his nightstand (don’t ask why they’re there; that’s none of anyone’s business) and heads back out before his brain can start overthinking anything.

When he returns to the entryway, you haven’t moved an inch. You’re still sitting there with both legs dangling off the table.

And for a moment, he can’t help but think the sight is oddly cute.

“Alright,” he says again as if this is some kind of official business meeting instead of… whatever this is. “Let’s get this over with.”

He crouches down first, wiping at the floor where his cum has left an embarrassing mess that Yoongi would absolutely kill him for if he saw it later. The hardwood glistens faintly under the light as he scrubs at it with more force than necessary—partly because it needs to be cleaned properly and partly because maybe if he focuses hard enough on this task, he won’t think about how close your legs are or how good you smelled earlier or how fucking soft your skin felt under his hands.

When he's done with that part (and only when he's sure it's spotless), he straightens up and turns toward you.

Your eyes are on him—soft but unreadable—and it makes something twist in his stomach that has nothing to do with hunger or exhaustion or anything else logical.

“What?” he asks because apparently silence makes him nervous now.

You shake your head slightly, lips curving into something that might be a smile if it weren’t so small and fleeting.

 “Nothing.”

He doesn’t believe you—not for a second—but decides not to push it because pushing things with you in this state never ends well for him.

Instead, he steps closer until he's standing between your legs again and tilts his head toward yours like he's trying to figure out what you're thinking without actually asking outright.

"Hold still," he murmurs after a beat of hesitation that's barely noticeable but feels significant anyway.

The wipe is cool against your skin as he starts cleaning you up—gentle but thorough in a way that surprises even himself. Your eyes stay on him the whole time—watchful but not wary—and it makes him feel weirdly self-conscious even though there’s no reason for it.

When he's finished (and only when he's sure you're clean), he tosses the used wipe into the trash can by the door without looking away from you entirely.

"Sleep?" he asks after another moment of silence stretches between you like an elastic band ready to snap at any second now if someone doesn’t say something soon enough.

“Yeah.” You murmur. “Your bed.”

Jungkook blinks at you like he’s not sure he heard right. 

Not because it’s weird—okay, maybe it’s a little weird—but because you said it so casually. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world to ask to sleep in his bed after everything that just happened.  

He doesn’t know what to say at first. He’s not used to this part—the after part. Usually, there isn’t an after part. It’s just sex, then goodbye, then see you whenever.

But this? This feels different in a way he can’t quite put his finger on, and it makes his brain stutter for a second before he finally manages to respond.  

“Uh… yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sure.”  

You don’t say anything else, just lift your arms slightly like you’re expecting him to do something.

He stares at you for a moment, confused, until it clicks.  

“Oh, come on,” he mutters, rolling his eyes but already stepping closer. “You’re not serious.”  

You just raise an eyebrow at him, and yep—you’re serious.  

“Lazy ass,” he grumbles under his breath as he bends down to scoop you up.  

Your arms loop around his neck automatically, and your legs wrap around his waist like this is something you do all the time instead of… well, never. He tries not to think about how natural it feels or how warm you are against him or how your breath brushes against his collarbone when you settle into his hold.  

It’s fine. Totally fine. This is just… practical. 

Yeah. 

Practical.  

He carries you with ease because let’s be real—he could probably bench press you if he wanted to—and nudges his bedroom door open with his foot. 

“Alright,” he says as he approaches the bed and leans forward slightly to deposit you onto the mattress. “Here we go.”  

But instead of letting go like a normal person, you cling tighter for half a second before finally releasing him with a grunt that sounds suspiciously like reluctance. He doesn’t comment on it because honestly? He doesn’t trust himself not to make it weird if he does.  

You flop onto your back with all the grace of a drunk cat and immediately start wiggling around like you’re trying to make yourself comfortable in record time. Jungkook just stands there for a moment, watching you with an expression he doesn't even know how to describe.

“You good?” he asks once you’ve finally stopped moving and are lying still with your eyes closed like this is your bed and not his.

“Mmhm,” you hum without opening your eyes.

He shakes his head but doesn’t bother arguing because what’s the point? 

Then he’s going to lay down too, but you sprawl onto his bed like you’re claiming it for yourself, arms and legs stretched out in every direction like some kind of human starfish. 

Jungkook snorts, standing at the side of the bed with his hands on his hips like a disappointed parent. 

“Move,” he says, nudging at your foot with his knee. “I want to sleep too.”  

You crack one eye open, squinting at him.

“Then sleep,” you mumble, voice muffled by the pillow your face is half-buried in.  

“I can’t sleep,” he says, gesturing dramatically at your starfish pose. “Not unless you move your limbs out of my personal space.”  

You grunt something unintelligible but make no effort to move.  

He sighs—long and exaggerated—before climbing onto the bed anyway, shoving at your leg until you reluctantly curl up enough to give him room.

He flops down beside you with all the grace of someone who’s been awake for far too long and immediately starts adjusting himself into what he considers optimal sleeping position.  

Except there’s one problem: his arm.  

It’s stuck under him, bent awkwardly against his side instead of stretched out under the pillow where it belongs. He tries shifting around to fix it but quickly realizes there’s no way to do that without encroaching on your territory.  

“Hey,” he says, nudging at your side with his foot now.  

“What?” you snap, voice sharp despite how tired you sound.  

“Let me extend my arm under the pillow.”  

“No.”  

“What do you mean no?”  

“I mean no,” you repeat stubbornly, turning your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. “Figure it out without bothering me.”  

He stares at you for a second like he can’t believe what he’s hearing before deciding that negotiation is clearly not going to work here. 

So instead, he does what any reasonable person would do in this situation: he forcefully shoves his arm under your neck like it belongs there.

You jerk upright immediately, twisting around to face him with wide eyes and an expression that screams 'what the actual fuck'.  

“Bro,” you say, voice incredulous as you try—and fail—to push his arm away. “Get off me.”  

“Bro,” he says simply, already settling back down like this is perfectly normal behavior between roommates who occasionally hook up but definitely aren’t friends yet (or whatever this is). “You’re in my bed. Shut up and act like a plushie or something.”  

“A plushie?” You sound so offended that he almost laughs but manages to hold it back because laughing right now would probably get him kicked out of his own bed.  

“Yes,” he says firmly, pulling the blanket over both of you with one hand while keeping his other arm firmly in place under your neck. “A plushie.”  

You open your mouth to argue—because of course you do—but he shuts it down with a loud, drawn-out “SSSSHHHHH” that’s so over-the-top, so him, it stops you cold.

“Sleep,” he adds a second later, voice low, eyes already shut like the matter’s settled and he’s the authority on bedtime now.

The room stills. One of those dumb, drawn-out silences where neither of you wants to move first. Like shifting even an inch might make it real. Might make it weird.

But then you sigh. Loud. Dramatic. Flopping back down beside him like you’ve just made the ultimate sacrifice.

“Fine,” you mutter, sharp as ever, head hitting the pillow with a thud. “But if I wake up with a crick in my neck because of this stupid arm thing—”

“You won’t,” he says, already drifting, smug and certain and way too casual for someone who just turned a routine argument into a full-body tangle.

You mumble something under your breath—probably rude, definitely deserved—and go quiet.

And for a second, he just lies there. Listening to your breathing even out. Feeling the slight pull of your body next to his.

The ridiculousness of the situation should hit harder than it does.

But it doesn’t. 

It actually feels…weirdly good.

Not in the usual way. Not in the easiest way.

Just—solid. Like he hasn’t fucked it up yet.

Which is a surprise, considering he really thought he had. 

After Tuesday. 

After the whole Jason thing—the fight that was never really about Jason. The way the guy had looked like every goddamn red flag Jungkook had ever ignored. Too neat, too careful, too condescending behind a smile that felt fake even from a hallway away.

He’d projected. Hard. Got scared on your behalf. Angry in that twitchy, irrational way he hates. Like he couldn’t stand the thought of you falling into something he knew could break you. 

But that wasn’t fair. Wasn’t his choice. You’re not fragile. You’re you. You can make your own calls without his fears bleeding into them.

And he should know better by now. Should’ve remembered that you’ve survived things he doesn’t even ask about.

Instead, he snapped. Like he always does when things get too close. Like he’s got some built-in timer that detonates as soon as someone sees more than they’re supposed to.

So yeah. He’d assumed it was done. That he’d pushed too hard, too fast—again.

That whatever fragile thing had been building between you would crack right down the middle, just like every other almost-connection he’s tried to hold onto.

But then… you’d talked. Actually talked. 

And—somehow—you’d listened.

Not just tolerated him. Heard him. 

And tonight, he thinks—for the first time in a long, long time—he feels…comfortable. With a woman. With you.

And yeah, okay—he kind of likes that.

It’s not some life-changing moment. Not some movie scene epiphany.

Just this quiet flicker of maybe. Of could be.

Maybe he can have this. A woman beside him. No pressure. No angle. No romantic feelings. No attachments, no entanglements. Not drama, not hurt.

Just a dumb, chaotic almost-friendship built on late-night arguments and questionable sleep arrangements.

And fuck—he’s kind of proud of that.

So he lets his eyes fall shut. Lets the warmth settle. Lets the thought linger.

Not friendship. Not yet.

But maybe.

goal: 500 notes, but the wattpad goal has to be reached too

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[twistedreads]

Long way home— Nick Leister

summary- You and Nick are long distance and you decide to surprise him, now he can't seem to keep his hands to himself

warnings- smut, oral sex, P in V (😭) dirty talk, angst, funny, cute

a/n— I don't know why I haven't seen stories about Nick from my fault London, he's literally so fine.

Masterlist. part 2

The moment your plane touched down, your heart raced.

It had been months since you last saw Nick in person. Long-distance had been harder than either of you expected—late-night calls, time zones making everything more complicated, missing each other in ways that words could never quite capture. And now, finally, you were here.

Nick had been going through a lot lately. You could hear it in his voice, even when he tried to pretend everything was fine. You hated being so far away when he needed you most, and that was why you were here now—to surprise him.

His dad, William, had been in on it from the start. The moment you told him your plan, he had been more than happy to help.

“He won’t stop talking about how much he misses you,” William had told you over the phone. “Trust me, this is gonna be the best surprise of his life.”

Now, as you stood at the arrivals gate, your suitcase in hand, you spotted William almost immediately. He was standing near the railing, dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans.

“There she is,” he greeted, pulling you into a hug. “Long flight?”

“Long enough,” you chuckled, pulling back.

“Well, let’s get you to the house before Nick starts suspecting anything.”

When you arrived at Nick’s house, William let you in and told you to make yourself comfortable.

“Nick’s out for a bit,” he said, grabbing his keys. “I have to run an errand, so just hang tight. Shouldn’t be long.”

You nodded, setting your bag down, already picturing Nick’s reaction when he saw you. But before you could get too deep in thought, a voice called from upstairs.

“Mom, did you steal my charger again? I swear to—”

A girl appeared at the top of the staircase, stopping mid-sentence when she saw you.

She had long, dark curly hair, an oversized hoodie that looked three sizes too big, and an expression that went from confused to amused in about three seconds flat.

“Well, unless Nick’s Dad had a secret love child in Spain, I’m guessing you’re Nick’s girl.”

You blinked before laughing, immediately liking her. “Yeah. That would be me.”

She leaned against the railing, eyeing you with a smirk. “Huh. Thought you were a catfish.”

You gasped, mock-offended. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, come on. Nick landing a girl like you? Suspicious.”

That made you laugh harder, and suddenly, you knew—you and Noah were going to get along just fine.

She came down the stairs, plopping onto the couch across from you. “So, what’s the plan? You surprising him?”

“Yeah, his dad’s helping me set it up.”

“Oh, he’s gonna lose his mind,” she mused, shaking her head. “I swear, he mopes around this house like a sad Victorian widow when he talks about missing you.”

You snorted. “That bad?”

“Worse,” she said. “I was starting to think I’d have to print a picture of you and tape it to his pillow just to stop the sighing.”

You were wheezing at this point.

Then, out of nowhere, she sighed dramatically, leaning back. “Anyway, what about you? Spain treating you well, or did some asshole break your heart?”

“No heartbreak for me,” you replied. “What about you?”

Noah let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, you mean did my boyfriend of three years cheat on me with my best friend after I moved here?”

Your mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding.”

“Oh, I wish,” she said, shaking her head. “I was over here unpacking boxes, and meanwhile, he was back home unpacking my best friend’s pants.”

You gasped, your jaw practically on the floor. “That fucking asshole.”

Noah grinned, pointing at you. “See? I like you.”

A little while later, Nick finally got home.

William played his part perfectly, calling him downstairs under the excuse of You’ve got a package.

Nick, completely unbothered, walked into the living room, rubbing his neck. “What kind of package?”

That was your cue.

You stepped out from the kitchen, your heart pounding.

“Me.”

Nick froze.

For a solid three seconds, he didn’t move—just stared at you, his brown eyes wide like he was afraid you might disappear if he blinked.

Then, before you could even breathe, he crossed the room in seconds, his arms wrapping tight around you, lifting you slightly off the ground.

“No fucking way,” he muttered into your hair, his voice shaky, disbelieving, as he held onto you like his life depended on it. “You’re really here?”

“I’m really here,” you whispered back.

Nick pulled back slightly, his hands cradling your face, his eyes scanning every inch of you, like he needed to memorize you all over again. Then, without hesitation, he kissed you.

It was soft at first, like he was still in shock, but then it deepened, his arms tightening around you like he was afraid you’d vanish.

Noah, from the couch, made a dramatic gagging sound.

“God, you two are disgusting.”

Nick, without looking away from you, smirked. “Jealous?”

“Not even remotely,” she deadpanned, shaking her head. “I’m happy for you, but if I hear any gross couple shit in the next hour, I’m moving out.”

Nick chuckled before kissing you again, softer this time.

“I can’t believe you did this,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“I missed you,” you admitted, your fingers tangling in his hoodie.

“Missed you doesn’t even cover it,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours.

You smiled, and he smiled back.

Yeah, this was home.

Nick had never smiled this much in his life.

From the moment he saw you standing in his house, everything inside him felt lighter, like he could finally breathe again. You were here, and that was all that mattered.

And now, he wasn’t letting you go.

After a slow morning filled with teasing from Noah and warm smiles from William, you finally got to meet Ella.

You hadn’t expected it—you thought she was at work, but she had come home early, only to find you sitting in the kitchen with Noah, laughing over some ridiculous story about Nick from when he was younger.

“Oh,” she said, stopping in the doorway. “You must be her.”

Nick, who had just walked in to grab a drink, groaned. “Not you too, Ella.”

Ella smiled, stepping forward to shake your hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said warmly, before side-eyeing Nick. “Mostly from this one.”

You grinned, shooting Nick a look. “Is that so?”

Nick rubbed his neck, avoiding your gaze. “Dunno what you lot are talking about.”

Ella chuckled, patting his cheek. “Sweetheart, you can’t go from moping around the house like a lovesick fool to grinning like an idiot the second she walks through the door and expect us not to notice.”

Nick groaned, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the door. “Alright, we’re leaving now—bye, everyone.”

Noah cackled behind you.

“Where are we going?” you asked as Nick led you outside, his fingers still wrapped around yours.

“Taking you out.”

You stopped when you saw which car he was leading you to.

A sleek black racing car sat in the driveway, looking like something straight out of an action movie.

“You’re letting me in one of these?” you asked, eyes widening.

Nick smirked, opening the passenger door for you. “Love, I don’t just let anyone in my cars.”

You rolled your eyes but climbed in, your pulse spiking when he got in beside you, his hands moving effortlessly over the controls.

The moment he pulled onto the road, the engine purred, the world around you turning into a blur as he sped through the streets.

“Nick—!” you gasped, gripping the seat, but the laughter bubbling in your chest betrayed you.

Nick glanced at you, his grin wild, free. “You scared?”

“No—just mentally preparing for death.”

He chuckled, his fingers briefly reaching over to squeeze your thigh. “I got you, love.”

And the thing was—you believed him.

Nick drove like he did everything else—reckless, passionate, and completely in control. The wind whipped through your hair as he shifted gears, the car hugging every turn like it was an extension of him.

It was thrilling.

It was him.

And when he finally slowed down, pulling up to a scenic overlook, you were breathless.

“That,” you exhaled, “was actually kind of amazing.”

Nick smirked. “Told you.”

He turned off the engine but didn’t move, just watching you. The city stretched out beneath you both, but all you could feel was the heat of his gaze.

“You look good in my car,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly.

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach fluttered. “You look good everywhere.”

Nick chuckled, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered.

You smiled, leaning into his touch. “Me neither.”

And then he kissed you—soft, slow, like he wanted to make up for every second you had been apart.

The two of you spent hours out together—grabbing food, catching up on everything you had missed.

Eventually, the conversation turned to Noah.

“So, how are you feeling about the whole step-sibling thing?” you asked as you twirled your straw in your drink.

Nick shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not bad, actually. She’s kind of cool. Annoying, but cool.”

“She said the same thing about you.”

Nick snorted. “Figures.”

You traced over his wrist, where you knew his rope knot tattoo was.

“Still wild that you and Noah have the same tattoo.”

“Right? I thought she was messing with me at first,” Nick said, rubbing the ink absentmindedly. “But nah, we both got it for different reasons. It’s kinda weirdly fitting, though. Feels like she was always meant to be around.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “I’m glad you have her.”

Nick tilted his head, studying you.

“You’re my person,” he murmured. “But yeah… she’s kinda like the sister I never had.”

..

By the time you got back to Nick’s house, it was late. Noah was in her room, and William and Ella had already gone to bed, leaving just you and Nick as he led you upstairs to his room.

The moment the door shut, Nick was on you. His hands roamed your body, fingers tracing the curves of your waist, the swell of your hips. A shiver ran down your spine as his lips pressed against your neck, sending sparks of electricity through your veins.

“Nick—” you started, but he hummed against your skin, not having it.

“Mm?”

“I need to shower.”

He grinned, his hands slipping lower. “You smell fine to me.”

“Nick—” you giggled, pushing at his chest, but he was stubborn.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to have you here?” he murmured, his lips now brushing against your cheek.

Your breath hitched.

“I’m savoring it.”

You swallowed hard, a flush rising to your cheeks as his words sent a thrill through you. You’d missed him—missed the way he made you feel—and now that you were finally together again, you couldn’t deny the hunger that had been building inside you.

“You’re needy.”

Nick smirked, tilting your chin up so you had to look at him. “You love it.”

You let out a laugh, fingers threading through his curls as you looked at him, taking in every detail—the warmth in his brown eyes, the slight flush on his skin, the way he was completely and utterly yours.

“I do love it,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

Nick’s smirk faded, replaced by something deeper, something softer as his eyes searched yours.

And then, as if the words alone had unraveled something inside him, you saw the shift—the way his entire expression melted, the way his hands tightened around your waist like he needed to memorize the feel of you.

“I love you so much,” you whispered, fingers trailing gently along his jaw.

Nick let out a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling heavier as his eyes flickered over every inch of your face. Then, without hesitation, he crashed his lips against yours.

This time, there was no teasing, no playful smirk—just pure, unfiltered emotion. The kiss was deep, slow, desperate, like he was pouring every unspoken word into it, like he needed you closer, needed you more than air itself.

His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer, and you let him, sinking into him, knowing that this—this—was exactly where you belonged.

Nick’s hands slipped under your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your breasts, and you felt your nipples harden in response. He groaned, his lips trailing down your skin, and you swore your knees nearly buckled beneath you.

He pushed you back onto the bed, his body covering yours as he kissed you—deep, hard. You felt his cock press against your thigh, knowing he was just as turned on as you were.

As he broke away, gasping for air, his eyes locked onto yours. “I want to taste you,” he whispered, his voice low and husky.

Your heart raced as you nodded, anticipation thrumming through you. Nick’s hands moved to undress you, slowly peeling away each layer. When the last of your clothing fell away, his gaze roamed over your body, drinking in the sight of you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice laced with awe. The soft glow of the night’s light cascaded over your bare skin, highlighting every curve and detail as he looked at you, completely captivated.

His fingers traced your body, sending shivers down your spine before he pressed another soft kiss to your lips. Then his mouth wandered lower, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. His hands explored you, deliberate and slow, as if committing every inch of you to memory.

A soft breath escaped you as your back arched slightly off the bed, drawn into the heat of his touch.

Nick’s face dipped between your legs, his tongue tracing over your pussy, and a moan built in your throat.

“Hello, beautiful,” he breathed against your core once he got a full view of it. “Long time no see.”

You let out a soft laugh, rolling your eyes—until his tongue pressed against your folds, and laughter was quickly replaced by a sharp, pleasure-filled gasp.

Nick pulled away slightly, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. A slow smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head, watching you with a knowing expression.

“You have to be quiet, love,” he murmured, his voice a low whisper. “Wouldn’t want to wake my parents or Noah, now would we?”

His hands glided over your inner thighs, his touch teasing, deliberate.

A shudder ran through you as he continued, the intensity building until you instinctively bit down on your fist to stifle the moans threatening to escape.

Nick chuckled at the sight, his grip tightening slightly. “That’s better,” he mused before returning to his slow, unrelenting pace.

He licked you, his tongue stroking your clit, and you let out a sigh of pleasure.

“Oh, Nick, that feels so good,” you whispered, your hands tangling in his hair.

His voice was a low rumble. “You taste amazing, baby. I’ve missed this so much.”

His tongue delved deeper, making your body tremble.

Your back arched, hips lifting off the bed, but his hands grasped your hips, holding you in place.

“More, Nick, please,” you begged, your voice breathless.

His tongue was relentless, his strokes precise, and you felt yourself building toward a climax.

“You’re so close, baby, I can feel it,” he murmured against your skin.

You bit your lip hard, his words a steady stream of encouragement.

“Come on, baby, let go. I’ve got you.”

The pleasure built, and you felt yourself unraveling. Your body shook as your orgasm crashed over you, your hips moving against his mouth as he helped you ride out the pleasure.

When sensitivity took over, you pushed his head away.

Nick lifted himself up, hovering over you, amusement flickering in his gaze.

“You still with me?” he teased, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

You blinked open your eyes, a dazed smile tugging at your lips as you slowly nodded, satisfaction evident in the way your body melted beneath him.

But before he could say anything, you pressed your hands to his shoulders, pushing him back.

Nick let out a surprised chuckle, his smirk returning as you climbed over him, straddling his hips with newfound confidence.

“Oh, taking charge now, are we?” he mused, hands finding your waist.

You tugged at his shirt. “You’re overdressed,” you murmured.

Nick’s smirk widened.

“Let’s change that, shall we?”

Without hesitation, he pulled his shirt over his head in one swift motion, revealing the lean, toned definition of his body.

Your gaze raked over him, drinking in every detail.

“God, you’re so sexy,” you murmured, tracing your fingers over the firm planes of his chest.

Nick hummed in pleasure. “Say it again.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his ear.

“You’re so sexy,” you whispered, your voice softer this time, laced with something deeper than just attraction.

Nick exhaled slowly, like the words physically affected him.

“You have no idea what that does to me,” he murmured.

His fingers tightened on your waist.

“I love it when you look at me like that,” he whispered.

Your breath caught.

“Then don’t look away.”

Nick smirked.

“Oh, trust me, love—I wouldn’t dare.”

Then he kissed you, and everything else faded away.

Nick’s lips crashed against yours in a kiss that was raw, urgent, and completely unrestrained. His hands roamed your body with a desperation that sent shivers down your spine, fingers digging into your hips as if grounding himself in the reality of having you here.

Your hands moved instinctively, sliding down his chest, feeling the defined ridges of his muscles beneath your fingertips. When you reached the waistband of his pants, you didn’t hesitate, fingers working to undo his belt.

Nick let out a low, satisfied hum against your lips, his smirk returning.

“Impatient, are we?” he teased, voice thick with amusement.

You pulled back just slightly, lips still brushing against his, your fingers continuing their slow work.

“Just helping you out,” you murmured playfully. Then, with a smirk of your own, you whispered, “Can I put you in my mouth?”

The moment those words left your lips, you felt his cock twitch beneath you.

“Fuck yes, please,” he groaned, voice strained with need.

You giggled as he quickly helped you remove his pants and boxers, leaving you both bare. Your eyes trailed down his body, drinking him in—the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch, the way his cock stood thick and hard, precum glistening at the tip.

You licked your lips before leaning down, your hand wrapping around his length.

Nick’s head fell back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut as you began to stroke him, slow and deliberate. His breath hitched when you finally pressed your lips against the tip, teasing him with soft kisses before taking him into your mouth.

His hands immediately tangled in your hair, his grip tightening as he let out a deep, guttural moan.

“Oh, baby… that feels so fucking good,” he groaned, voice husky with pleasure.

You hummed around him, the vibration making his hips jerk slightly. Encouraged by his reaction, you took him deeper, your tongue swirling around his shaft as you worked him with your lips and hands.

Nick’s breathing grew heavier, his grip on your hair tightening as he watched you. His eyes were dark, full of lust and admiration as he whispered, “You look so pretty sucking me off.”

That praise alone sent heat pooling between your legs. Your clit throbbed with need, but right now, your focus was on him. You wanted to watch him unravel beneath you, wanted to make him fall apart.

As you continued to take him deeper, his breathing turned ragged. His fingers flexed in your hair, his hips twitching beneath you.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come,” he warned, voice strained.

You didn’t stop. Instead, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder, determined to take every drop of him.

With a sharp moan, his body tensed, and you felt him pulse against your tongue. A moment later, he came with a groan, spilling into your mouth. You swallowed every drop, your tongue teasing him one last time before pulling away.

Nick’s chest rose and fell heavily as he came down from his high. When he finally opened his eyes, they were filled with something deep, something beyond lust.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, reaching up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

You grinned, playfully straddling his thighs. “I know.”

Nick let out a breathless laugh, his hands instinctively settling on your waist. But before he could say anything else, he reached toward the nightstand, fingers fumbling for the drawer.

Your hand gently wrapped around his wrist, stopping him.

He looked at you, brows furrowed in question.

“You don’t have to,” you murmured, voice soft but certain. “I’m on the pill.”

For a moment, Nick just stared at you, lips parting slightly. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, something deeply satisfied flashing across his face.

“Is that so?” he murmured, his voice lower now, thick with something that made your stomach tighten.

You hummed in confirmation, reaching down to wrap your hand around his cock again, stroking him back to full hardness.

“God, you’re killing me here, babe,” he groaned, his grip on your waist tightening.

Smiling, you lifted yourself up and lined him up with your entrance. His eyes locked onto yours, the heat in them undeniable. Then, slowly, you sank down onto him, gasping at the fullness.

Nick’s fingers dug into your waist, his breath hitching as he felt you completely wrapped around him.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice raw.

Once you were fully seated on him, he gave you a moment to adjust, his hands caressing your hips, grounding you. A few seconds passed before you started to move, rolling your hips in a slow, steady rhythm.

Nick’s hands roamed up your torso, reaching your breasts. His fingers played with your nipples, tweaking and pinching them just enough to make you whimper.

“You have the most beautiful tits,” he groaned, voice husky. “I love the way they bounce when you ride me.”

You clenched around him at his words, a moan slipping past your lips.

Leaning forward, your breasts brushed against his chest as you picked up the pace, chasing the pleasure pooling in your stomach.

Nick’s hands slid down to your ass, gripping it tightly before delivering a sharp slap that made you gasp. A smirk tugged at his lips.

“You like that?” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement.

“Yes,” you admitted breathlessly, moving faster now, grinding your hips against his. Every time you moved, your clit brushed against him, sending pleasure coursing through you.

Nick’s words became filthier, his whispers hot against your ear. “You’re so wet, baby. I can feel your juices dripping down my cock.”

“Nick,” you moaned, nails digging into his shoulders. “You’re so fucking big.”

After a while, your movements slowed, your legs burning with exhaustion.

Nick noticed immediately, his grip on your waist tightening. Without a word, he flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath him.

“My turn,” he murmured, his smirk wicked as he thrust into you.

You let out a sharp cry, wrapping your legs around his waist as he started to fuck you in deep, hard strokes.

His fingers found your clit, rubbing and pinching, sending you hurtling toward your climax.

“You’re so close, baby,” he groaned. “I can feel you tightening around me.”

You nodded frantically, pleasure consuming every part of you.

Nick’s thrusts grew faster, more desperate.

“Shit, I’m coming,” he cursed, his voice strained.

The moment you felt him pulse inside you, your own orgasm tore through you, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Your body shook as you moaned his name, nails raking down his back as he held you close.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your bodies tangled together, chests rising and falling in sync.

Nick pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice full of emotion.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Love you more.”

Nick let out a soft chuckle, his arms tightening around you.

“Not possible.”

[hearts4mica]

I can’t fix you

Yandere Batfam! x Neglected Reader

Masterlist

_________________________________________________

“How can a person lose their self control?”

_________________________________________________

Request!: Hello friend! May I request neglected reader x batman except they break and become the next Joker?

Let's say that Jason killed the original, but given the neglect and outright hatred put onto reader (you can expand on this however you wish!), they run away from the manor without anyone noticing it.

They stumble upon an old warehouse where he stored the Joker toxin, except this version of it was meant to be used on Halloween (as another statement from Joker) and was so incredibly strong that, combined with all of that anger and grief in their heart, reader goes insane and begins to laugh... a lot. Since it was still a very bad hazard to leave out, Batman tasks Nightwing (and a reluctant Hood) to enter the warehouse a few days later, only to find that there are signs that point to Joker being back and having collected a lot of henchmen and a lot of toxin, planning something. So when these two go to confront who they think is Joker, they see reader instead, with the same bloody, scarred smile and hollow eyes.Queue a battle (that reader narrowly loses, taunting both of them with hurtful words that they can't even retort to), and now batfam is trying their hardest to bring the old reader back, except they don't even know what they were like, truly. The only one that did was Alfred, but not enough to know if their rehabilitation is working.

Meanwhile, Batman interrogates reader and the conversation heads south where they go "You never thought of me, Bat. I was invisible, hated and never once given an ounce of attention. I never knew if you loved me. You loved your villains far more... so will you, now? Now that I am like him? Am I finally worthy of your attention?" they laugh, even harder at the horror in his eyes, the grief in his voice while he denies it, and all that the Asylum can hear are spine-chilling giggles and the words of a broken man who's too late to save his one and only normal kid.

Also can I be called 🍌 anon? :D

(Hello Anon! I have no idea why it wouldn’t let me answer your request so i just copied and pasted it here! Here’s your story!)

———————————————————————————

Ever since you said no the chance if becoming a hero like them you felt ignored? Like they were disappointed in you.

You were just normal in their eyes. Your family didn’t care about you.. they never did so as soon as you turned 18 you ran away and no one noticed. You’re sure they didn’t even remember or cared about your existence.

You stole some money from Bruce to rent yourself a department in a not so bad place in Gotham but ended up getting scammed so all your money went to waste and now you were homeless.

While laying down on a bench you debated about going back to the Wayne Manor and live a sad life there again but you couldn’t! Your ego wouldn’t let you.

So without any hope left you got up and started walking to an abandoned warehouse. Maybe there’s stuff you can take from there and sell? It’s not stealing if it’s abandoned. So you decided to go in.

While exploring the place you found a so called “Joker Toxin” it was probably a fake one but his fans would pay anything for this. You grabbed the small glass but it was slippery because it was stored in a freezer and it feel to the floor breaking the glass and the liquid fell to the floor.

“Aw shit.” Well it was fake after all so you didn’t need to worry right?-

The moment you inhaled that toxin you started grinning your eyes widened open and your eyes they became red as if you were intoxicated. You feel onto the floor in pain it hurts so bad but you can’t help but- feel happy?

Ha, ha ha HA HA HA HAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHA!!!

You can’t stop no matter how much you cover your mouth trying to quiet down not wanting to attract unwanted attention it seems impossible to you. It feels like someone’s tickling you. You can’t stop.

You pass out a few hours later from exhaustion

When you wake up it feels like something has changed with you. You want revenge you need it.

Now you had to set a trap to kill two birds with a stone.

Comissioner Gordon had notified Batfam about some weird noises coming from an abandoned warehouse that citizens had told him about so he sent Nightwing and Red hood.

He told them to be careful since the Joker might be back because of some signs and to notify him immediately if it was the case.

He knew Dick and Jason weren’t children anymore but be still couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong and it felt wrong to send his children to investigate this. He was trying to become a better fatjer for all his children afterall.

Now Nightwing and Redhood were outside the warehouse. You we’re watching them through a small window getting ready for your grand entrance.

The went in and everything seemed fine. Until you appeared instead of the Joker.

“Hello there!” You say as you step out from the shadows.

They both freeze for a second.

“What? The bat ate your tongue?!”

“Name?-“ Dick says surprised that his- sibling? Was here. Weren’t you 8 years old? You were when he- last saw you?…

“Well yeah but no! I’m now the Joker! I’m his greatest succesor!” Your smile was creepy. It went from ear to ear and it was painted with red lipstick. You had dyed your hair green (and failed awkwardly-) so now it was just black and looked green fungy.

“What the heck is wrong with you?! You know how much harm you’ve been causing? Are you stupid?!” Red hood says.

“Let’s both calm dowwn! [name] come back home! We miss you-“

“Oh stop being a fucking hypocrite Dick! No one even noticed i was gone until now! No way in heck i’m going back to that place!” You hold up a gun.

“Oh so that’s how we’re playing?” Redhood takes out his gun.

“Let’s dance.” You smirk as you shoot your gun towards them.

You end up loosing and they drag you back to the manor. You insulted them in every language you knew.

Now back in the manor you got tied up and Batman was infront of you.

“What a nice family reunion isn’t that right Bats?” You tell him taunting him.

“[name] don’t call me that. I’m you father-“

“HAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA since when Batsy?! When did you ever parent me? When was the last time we had a real conversation?! And don’t call me [name]! I’m the joker now!”

“I-“ for the first time to you Bruce Wayne your ‘father’ had looked at you. Stared at you regretfully.

“When was the last time you thought of me? Was i not worthy of your attention like them?! Is it because i didn’t want to become a hero like you? Are you jeaulous cause i picked a normal life?!”

“I was just busy [name]” his face was full of regret. But it was too late.

“But you were never busy for your villians right?! Now that i became a villian it’s the first time in years that you’ve payed attention to me!” Your smile started fading you’ve couldn’t look weak infront of him! Never again.

“We can change that! How about you quit this nonsense you’ve got going on? We can start this over again.” His child. You were his child. He lost you once. He’ll make up for this wether you want to or not.

Damian watching in the background “This psycho needs therapy.” He mutters to himself and leaves the Batcave.

Now you were forever trapped in this place. Your family was not stopping until you became what you once were.

Honestly they didn’t even know you. They just molded you into what they ideally thought you were.

Your makeup was wiped off. Your clothes changed. Your hair well they tried to save it but since the dye ruined it it had been chopped off horribly.

Daily your ‘doctor’ (Alfred) prescribed you sedatives to keep you in line. If you misbehaved you got a dosis. In the morning a dosis, at night another one.

They told you it was for your own good. They were helping you. You couldn’t harm yourself anymore!

Now everyday felt like on autopilot. You were a zombie in your own body. Your mind was foggy.

And they’ll keep doing this until you become the perfect Wayne they imagined you once were.

“Ha! Joker? What a stupid idea [name]! You never became the Joker! Pftt! Babybird we would never neglect you! You were always a part of us!”

Those small lies. Daily. While being weak. You started believing them.

_________________________________________________

Thanks for reading!

My masterlist!

Requests are open!

_________________________________________________

[youreverydayfangirl]

so highschool

pairing: charles leclerc x australian! reader

summary: y/n yln is in love, or in which the famous singer decides to hard launch a relationship

warning: age gap relationship, hate

a/n: i aged up charles so its not pedophelia guyssss (8 years gap)

pt 2 is here!!! pt 3 is here!!!

f1 masterlist

main masterilst

yourusename has posted

liked by charles leclerc, francisca.cgomes and 7, 437, 982 others

yourusername life recently ft kika and gomez

tagged: francisca.cgomes, gomezzzlife

francisca.cgomes no because i missed you so much

→ yourusername just ditch pierre and come stay with me two problems solved

→ pierregasly yourusername uncalled for

→ yourusername pierregasly you exist so is it really uncalled for

→ user1😭

sabrinacarpenter ur so perf omg

liked by creator

→ oliviarodrigo no fr fr

user2 y/n really just woke up and chose violence today

→ yourusername if pierres involved always

user3 shes so fine tbh

user4 why is she hanging out with kika

→ user5 they've been friends for ages babes

user6 so no ones gonna talk about charles camping out in the likes

yourusername has posted

liked by charles leclerc, francisca.cgomes and 6, 569, 932 others

yourusername: insert dry ass caption here

tagged: francisca.cgomes

francisca.cgomes marry me 💍

→ yourusername bet

pierregasly the girl on the fifth slide 😍

→ yourusername back off shes my wife 🤺

→ pierregasly shes literally my girlfriend

→ yourusername and?

→ francisca.cgomes and?

→ pierregasly i give up

→ user1 LOL

user2 pierre be fighting for his life in y/ns comments

liked by creator

→ yourusername as he should tbh

user2 charles camping out in the likes AGAIN i see👀

yourusername has posted two stories

caption1: where am i off to???

caption2: Monza <3

liked by charlesleclerc, francisca.cgomes and 248, 732 others

charlesleclerc how far away are you?

charlesleclerc i miss you

yourusername not that far my love

yourusername i'll see you soon

yourusername love you

charlesleclerc i love you more

francisca.cgomes YAYYY

francisca.cgomes I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU

yourusername ME TOOO

user1 where are you off too 👀

user2 literally back the fuck off babes

yourusername has posted

liked by charles leclerc, francisca.cgomes and 10, 987, 993 others

yourusername monza gp ps not the way i wanted to hard launch but very proud of my baby

tagged: francisca.cgomes, charlesleclerc

francisca.cgomes cant believe i have to share now

→ yourusername lets just runaway together

→ francisca.cgomes yourusername packing my things as we speak

→ charlesleclerc yourusername excuse me???

→ yourusername charlesleclerc hehe sorry??

→ pierregasly you get used to it after a while

→ user1 this dynamic>>

user2 hard launch of the CENTURY

user3 I KNEW IT OMG

user4 "not the way i wanted to hard launch" can she just be grateful omfg

user5 goldigger

user6 shes way to young for him

yourusername has posted

liked by charles leclerc, francisca.cgomes and 7, 437, 982 others

yourusername two new singles "so highschool" and "so american" out now guysss

charlesleclerc I HEARD THESE FIRST GUYS

liked by creator

francisca.cgomes streaming nonstop

liked by creator

pierregasly even i'm admitting their good

liked by creator

landonorris charlesleclerc never playing gta with you again

→ charlesleclerc have you seen my gf mate

sabrinacarpenter MY TALENTED BESTIE

liked by creator

oliviarodrigo MARRY ME

liked by creator

user1 he says i'm pretty wearing his clothes

user2 still don't like her

→ user3 then why are you stalking

→ user4 user3 no fr

→ user3 gtfo then

yourusername has posted two stories

charlesleclerc has posted one story

caption 1: mr so highschool and so australian ❤️

caption 2: back in monaco for a while

caption 3: the best view

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris and 248, 732 others

charlesleclerc ❤️❤️

yourusername 😙💋

landonorris maybe he might shut up about you now

yourusername it can't be bad

landonorris sure...

user1 wonder whos money that was

user2 eww

yourusername has posted

liked by charles leclerc, francisca.cgomes and 9, 684, 320 others

yourusername well deserved time off

tagged: charlesleclerc

charlesleclerc still can't believe your mine ❤️

→ yourusername i could say the same mon amor

→ user1 🤺🤺

francisca.cgomes shes everything hes there

→ charlesleclerc hey!!

→ yourusername sorry baby

→ charlesleclerc yourusername its alright my love

user2 what well deserved time off you haven't done anything

→ user3 go touch grass shes obviously talking about her boyfriend

user4 y/n and her atm

user4 really does like older men huh

yourusername has posted

liked by charles leclerc, francisca.cgomes and 14, 970, 996 others

yourusername he was so nervous

tagged: charlesleclerc

charlesleclerc i need you more than the moon needs the sun

→ yourusername 😭😭

charlesleclerc shocked that you said yes

→ pierregasly same tbh

→ yourusername francisca.cgomes come get your man

→ francisca.cgomes yourusername yes maam 🫡

francisca.cgomes I HELPED PICK THAT RING OUT

liked by creator

francisca.cgomes IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU OMG

→ yourusername your the sweetest omg

pierregasly yeah congrats i guess

→ francisca.cgomes pierregasly be so real you sobbed like a baby

COMMENTS ON THIS POST HAVE BEEN LIMITED

charlesleclerc has posted

liked by yourusername, pierregasly and 11, 865, 543 others

charlesleclerc she said yes

tagged: yourusername

yourusername mon amor

yourusername how did i get so lucky

→ charlesleclerc im the lucky one

francisca.cgomes creds for helping with the ring

francisca.cgomes AND THE PHOTOS

→ charlesleclerc right yes credit to you

→ pierregasly charlesleclerc "right yes credit to you" npc frfr

→ francisca.cgomes pierregasly leave him alone he just got engaged

landonorris congrats 🍾

liked by creator

carlossainz55 congrats charlesleclerc yourusername

liked by creator

maxverstapen1 happy engagement!!!

liked by creator

lewishamilton congradulations

liked by creator

alexalbon yay!!!!

liked by creator

georgerussell so happy for you guys 🍾

liked by creator

oscarpiastri happy for you mate

liked by creator

oliverbearman so does that mean i have a mother now

→ charlesleclerc yes son

______________________________

a/n: so thats part one and my first ever post guys!!!! i do have a pt2 and maybe pt3 planned so just lmk if you want them

[changetyre]

Thank you for all of the stories recently! Can you do one where Lando gets tired of you calling him “Little Lando Norris” and decides to show you how big he really is?

L.L.N II Lando Norris ⒽⓌ

SUMMARY: Lando doesn't mind you making fun and playing games just as long as you're aware of the truth...and he'll be more than happy to remind you.

WARNINGS: **18+**

A/N: Got some good news so felt inspired to write again ;) Sorry for the delay.

"Aww poor little Lando." You jokingly patted him on the back. "Better luck next time buddy." you laughed as you walked away leaving him fuming.

Once again you'd beat Lando for 3rd place by merely a few seconds, an ongoing rivalry between you both that had everyone at the edge of their seats.

Ever since karting you and Lando had this heated rivalry, always making the other's life impossible and being each other's biggest competition so it was no surprise when it continued onto Formula 1.

To the outside world, it was incredibly entertaining for everyone to see the rivalry between the two of you. The rude remarks and snarky comments you threw at each other during interviews, the hate between you two only brewing stronger with each race.

But little did people know the way you were able to keep the hate at bay and keep yourselves in check. It had all started as a stupid drunk mistake when you found yourselves fucking in a club bathroom. The memory was hazy but you both remembered enough to know that deep down you liked it.

The next time it was a simple rash decision, you didn't think about it when you found yourself waking up in Lando Norris's room naked his arm across your waist, quickly throwing it off before running back to your room.

It was good. The sex was good, and that was the only reason you kept coming back. That's what you both told each other.

But it had become a frequent occurrence now, almost 5 months of quick and meaningless fucks where you could let out the pent-up tension and anger you had for each other.

But this still didn't take away from the fact that you still loved to piss each other off on track. Secretly you'd grown to love doing it more because you felt the direct consequence of it later.

"Lando, how do you feel about yet another close battle today with your biggest rival on track?" The interviewer asked him.

"Yeah, she just got lucky getting the better line around the next corners, but she knows I'm not one to back down, she knows what's coming for her," Lando smirked loving the double meaning behind his words.

He could see you a few feet from him giving your own interview. He just about heard you when once again you'd referred to him as Little Lando Norris, something you'd taken to recently which just irked him a little more than usual.

He watched you carefully, keeping his eyes on you like a hawke which to everyone else looked like pure hatred but truly it was simply because Lando could see the way Pierre got a little too friendly with you for his liking.

Lando would never admit it to you but he truly couldn't control the jealousy that erupted in his stomach whenever he saw you get too friendly with anyone. Whatever you had might have been meaningless but as far as he was concerned you were still his for now.

"Alright thanks, Lando enjoy your break." Lawrence finalized the interview with Lando outside the McLaren hospitality just as he could see you walking out of the press conference room with Pierre quickly by your side.

He didn't hesitate as he stood up with a quick step towards you. His blood boiling when he heard you laugh at something Pierre said.

"I need to talk to you." Lando stood in front of you making you stop abruptly and bump into his chest.

"Oh look hey speaking of the devil." You smirked.

"Little Lando Norris." Pierre joked but for some reason, Lando didn't find it the least bit amusing coming from him.

"Okay well can't talk now so bye." You were about to move past him but Lando grabbed your arm.

"Wasn't asking." Lando was ready to pull you away with him but was stopped by Pierre who grabbed your other hand.

"I actually just asked her for a drink so-" Pierre was quick to tell Lando.

"So she can't right now." Lando didn't let him finish or you protest before whisking you away.

You were completely taken aback as Lando shamelessly dragged you away from Pierre not caring the way there were several eyes on you as he took you towards the McLaren building.

Your heart pounded in your chest rendering you speechless as he walked you all the way into the building past several staff members before reaching his room where he was quick to shut you both inside.

"Lando what the-" you finally regained your voice as the door closed behind you.

"Shut up." Lando pressed his lip to yours as he pressed you to the wall. You had to push through the rush that invaded your body trying not to give in so easily.

"Lando, what has gotten into you?" You asked breathlessly as Lando began kissing down your neck unbuttoning your jeans and dragging them down

"So it's just Lando now?" was all he said.

"What are you- ah fuck." before you could reply again you cut yourself off when Lando began ruthlessly attacking your clit.

Lando basked in the pleasure he could produce on you loving the way you became putty in his hands behind closed doors despite the way you loved to tease him and take control outside.

Lando's pants suddenly felt painfully tight as he continued his attack on you taking the liberty he unbuckled his pants all while still tasting you before pulling his dick out into his hands to give it a few pumps.

Lando didn't stop, not until you had your first orgasm before finally getting up. "Why don't you return the favor baby?" Lando asked despite knowing he didn't have to since you were on your knees before he could even finish asking.

You prepared yourself knowing the ache you would feel from sucking him off having to open wide to take him into your mouth. Lando's eyes showed the smugness in them at watching the way you always struggled initially to take him never able to take him all down until you'd sucked him off for a while.

Lando groaned as you began moving your head up and down, your hands taking care of what you couldn't fit in your mouth for now.

"Nothing so little about that is there?" Lando asked the pride clear in his voice.

Only now did you understand what this was all about but you didn't care to complain since he'd gotten you all worked up.

"Why don't you make it extremely clear for me." You decided to try to have your own way.

"Gadly baby." Lando pulled you up before picking you up and using the wall to support you in his arms before using one of his hands to line himself up against your whole.

"Please-" You pleaded, Lando loved the way you begged every time he got near you like these.

"you ready?" he asked despite feeling your wetness already drip onto him.

"Yes, please fuck me." You sighed as you grabbed Lando's face to kiss him.

Lando used this distraction to push himself all the way inside you swallowing your yelp. "Shit baby you're so wet," Lando whispered knowing he had to keep semi-quiet because of the remaining staff in the building right now. Although half of him hoped everyone could hear what you were doing and the way he was making you feel right now...make it crystal clear to everyone.

"Ah, fuck Lando go faster." You begged him as Lando pushed in and out of you fully and completely at a brutally slow pace.

"Who's making you feel like this baby?" Lando asked not answering to your pleas just yet.

"You Lan...You are." You could almost cry at the torturous pace he'd set.

"not even fucking Pierre can make you feel like this can he?" His words were laced with disgust and anger which made your stomach flutter.

"No...no just you." You replied kissing Lando once again.

This was enough for Lando as he picked up his pace feeling the way you clenched around him and the way you struggled to keep quiet.

"Fu...so good...shit" You moaned in a whisper as Lando kept thrusting faster and faster into you against the wall.

Lando could cum at the sight of you, watching the way your tits would bounce with each thrust, the way your eyes rolled back, and hearing your uneven breaths as you tried to keep quiet while your orgasm quickly approached, feeling the way you held onto him as if your own skin was begging for more. This was it. This was glory to Lando.

[shelbgrey]

hi!! could u do mark sloan smut? like drunken sex after a long day at the hospital? thank u !

So, we meet again(Mark Sloan)

Paring: Mark Sloan x ex-wife!reader, cheater!Preston Burke x reader.

Summary: The story of two people that always seemed to find their way back to each other. Mark and y/n devorced after he cheated on her with Addison. Y/n moved to Seattle with Derek to start a new life. She starts dating Preston Burke. When Mark comes back, him and his ex-wife don't go down the same road Derek and Addison did, but instead decide to be petty and attack each other in the most childish ways. Mark still loves her though and knows she can do better than someone like Burke and would do anything to get her back. But what happens when she gets cheated on again and a bottle of grown up juice leads her back to the arms of her ex-husband.

Warrings: SMUT, alcohol, enemies back to lovers, unprotected sex, drunk sex, ex husband and wife, Burke cheating, riding.

MasterList ML2

“And bein' apart ain't easy on this love affair

Two strangers learn to fall in love again

I get the joy of rediscovering you”

She hated how everything reminded her of him, even though she was far away from New York and her name was no longer Sloan, There were still small and big triggers that made his face pop in her mind. Y/n and Derek had this case. A 15 year old named Jake Burton, he had advanced craniodiaphyseal dysplasia. Now, naturally y/n was on this case because she specialized in pediatric surgery, but a case like this you'd need a plastic surgeon as well. 

The hospital didn't have a plastic surgeon who took advanced cases like this, so naturally Webber called Mark. Weber had a thing about bringing ex wives and husbands to Seattle lately. 

“Invasive non-cell. With a history of COPD” Mark said, reading over my shoulder. “That guy's pretty much a goner, huh?”

Y/n sighed, she hated having him here. What she hated most of all was how her heart rate picked up just because of how close he was to her. It was so sickeningly nostalgic, his body being only a hair away from hers and his breath on her neck. She ignored it, she had too. She wasn't gonna fall for it again. 

“nice to see you still haven't lost your sensitivity” y/n said sarcastically, not looking up from the computer. 

“hard to be sensitive, all this rain gets a guy down” 

“Well too bad you won't be here long enough to get used to it” she said, grabbing the chart and walking away. 

Mark followed after y/n as she walked down the hall. He knew he shouldn’t be following her, hell she probably didn’t even want him talking to her but he couldn’t help himself. Y/n looked so good, even though she was still pissed at him. The way her hips swayed while she walked, her hair in a tight bun, he always preferred her with her hair down. “I think I could get used to the rain before getting used to your name not being Sloan. I actually asked for y/n Sloan”

“You knew I changed my name after the divorce”

Mark watched as she walked, his eyes traveling up and down her body. He always thought she was beautiful, her curves, her eyes, those soft lips…he had to force his mind to stop going there, especially after all that he put her through. “You look good” 

“Can't help yourself, can you?” she rolled her eyes.

Mark smirked as she spoke, his eyes drifting down her body again before he finally looked away. “Old habits die hard”

“Too bad it's your worst ones”

Mark chuckled again, that little smile still on his lips. “Don’t you remember the good habits?”

Y/n did, of course she remembered his good habits. The way he never failed to make her laugh, the way he'd hold her if she was scared or hurting. Y/n remembered he'd cook an amazing meal if she was sad or not feeling up to cooking. In the years they were together he would put her before him, at least that's what it felt like. 

She still felt betrayed and all the good memories didn't seem so good now, because now she knew what was happening in between all those good moments. “What good habits?” she finally said. 

Mark looked down at the ground for a moment, his mind also wondering to the good parts of their past. He smiled as he remembered when they first started dating. The dates, the way everything seemed so perfect…the way she laughed at his terrible jokes, how she'd fall asleep tucked under his arm in bed, how soft she always felt against him. 

After a beat of silence, y/n sighed. “Let's just get this case done”

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

The day was dragging on, we had just convened Jake Burton's parents to let us do the surgery. Mark and Derek were going at it in Webber's office about it for ten minutes. Y/n just wanted to be done for the day, but she still had the rest of the day and Jake's surgery. While Mark was getting a consult, y/n went to take her break in a on-call room. She had half a mind to maybe find her boyfriend if he wasn't busy. Y/n made it an on-call room and she stopped in her tracks. all she saw was her new boyfriend making out with Christina yang.

She stood there shocked and found herself feeling more frustrated than heart broken. Y/n's been through this before, but it wasn't like a painful act of Déjà vu. Seeing him pinning a bitch like Christina yang to the wall made her blood boil, why did it have to be her? Why did she have to be with him shirtless, sticking her tongue down his throat? 

Preston saw you. He quickly pushed Christina off of him and approached her. “I can explain-”

“Really?!” y/n said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. She slammed the on-call room closed, loud enough to make Christina jump and a couple of nurses to look up from the nurses station. The door slammed shut with Preston and Christina still in the room and y/n walked away. 

“God dammit” Preston pushed Christina to the side and ran after y/n. After the scene she caused, the last thing he wanted was her making a spectacle of herself. He caught up to her in the hall.“y/n, don't walk away, let me explain!”

Y/n immediately stopped in her tracks and turned to him. “alright, genius,” she snapped. “Let's hear it, let's hear the explanation”

He let out a sigh before speaking, his voice quiet. “I...I care for you. I truly do. I can't deny that, but” He looked away for a moment, seemingly trying to find the right thing to say. “I've been seeing her on the side.  For a little while now”

“Yeah, no shit!” y/n snapped. She recognized the sighs, this wasn't her first rodeo. She suspected something, but didn't want to believe it. She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt and not let her insecurities and paranoia get in the way of her being happy. Today only confirmed her suspension. She was hurt, but she found herself not feeling as hurt as she was when Mark cheated. She blamed herself this time, she knew she couldn't trust him. 

Preston sighed again, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the wall. He wasn't ready to lose her, not like this. He hated the fact that he was cheating, he promised her he wouldn't. But he could explain why he did what he did. “Can we talk about this somewhere else? Please. I don't want the whole damn hospital to hear us”

“Why bother, they all find out anyway” y/n held her arms out sarcastically, looking around the hospital. 

Preston took her hand and pulled her into an empty room, away from the prying eyes of the others.  He was desperate to explain. “Because you are everything I need. Smart. Confident. Talented. Beautiful,” He caressed her cheek gently, trying to soothe her. “But, she's fun. She's like me. We understand each other”

Y/n pushed his hand away from her cheek. “good. You can have her” she snapped. 

His eyes widened at her response. “No, I don't want her. I want you. Christ, I don't know why I keep going to her. She understands me in ways you don't” He let out a frustrated sigh, the realization of how horrible this must feel to her fully setting in now.

“I'm sure she does” y/n rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

Christina doesn't understand him, the only thing they have income is their ego and they both think they are God's gifts to medicine. Not to mention he wanted a family and kids, Christian yang was disgusted by all of that. She sighed, running her fingers through her hair in frustration. 

Preston could see the hurt in her eyes and it made him feel like crap. He just had to come clean about why he continued seeing Christina. He looked at her with a saddened expression as he exhaled through his nose. “She's...more like me. Her and I can talk about surgery all night and never get bored.  She gets it. She's intense”

“I think our relationship just ended,” y/n said softly. 

Hearing those words made his heart sink. His head fell forward in defeat, not wanting to accept the truth behind what she said. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remain calm and collected. It's not like he didn't deserve this; he cheated on her, after all. After a few seconds, he looked up at her. “You're...breaking up with me?”

“I am” she mumbled. 

Preston nodded slowly, taking in what she said. He understood why she was breaking up with him; it was warranted. It didn't make the hurt he was feeling any better though. “I...I understand,” he reached for her hand again, gently holding it. “I'll always care for you, you know that, right?”

“Y-yeah” 

Y/n let go of his hand and walked away, she didn't know rather to laugh or cry. She also didn't know why it… she wasn't hurting? Walking in on Mark and Addison having sex hurt way worse than this. Y/n was more shocked I supposed, Preston seemed to be the last person that would cheat. He was level head, and romantic, way too mature. Cheating didn't seem to be his style. 

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

Today just sucked. Jake Burton was a sweet kid and just wanted to look normal, y/n knew Derek and Mark did everything they could, but it still hurt to see the kid go. After her shift ended she got ready to go home, it was the first time in months she was walking alone. Y/n would usually stay at Preston's place or he'd stay at hers. Thank God they haven't moved in together yet. 

The elevator that went down to the front entrance opened. Y/n looked up and saw both Mark and Preston in the elevator. She rolled her eyes, too tired for this shit. “I'll take the stairs” she mumbled and turned the opposite direction before either one of them could stop her. 

Instead of home, y/n found herself across the street in Joe's bar. She had been there before with her friends but never brought herself to drink. It just wasn't her style, but tonight all she wanted was a strong drink. 

“How many of those have you had?” Mark said, coming up to her an hour later. 

Y/n turned to him, she was tipsy, but not drunk yet. She pointed at him. “Shut it. You have no room to judge” 

Mark's lips curled into a smirk. “Maybe, but I have room to drink with you” he sat down next to her and brought the glass she had to his lips and sipped her drink. It was scotch, it was the only thing she probably knew to order since that was the only thing Mark drank around her. 

“Be my guest” she rolled her eyes. “don't get a say in anything around here anyway”

“Scotch, please and another for her too” Mark nodded to Joe. Joe brought two glasses and y/n took a drink immediately. “I drove you to drink, Jesus Christ” 

Y/n tilted her head back and downed the alcohol. She slammed the glass down, The alcohol making her head spin. “Hey, don't take full credit… That fucking heart surgeon helped” 

“Yeah, I heard. I'm sorry” Mark said genuinely, downing the rest of his scotch too. Mark hated she heart was broken. He wanted to kill Preston Burke, he didn't deserve her. 

“I don't care. That cunt Christina yang can have him. He had stick up his ass anyway” y/n rolled her eyes. She turned to Joe. “Joe, can we have shots please!” 

“So you're a no filter drunk” Mark chuckled, he had always seen y/n as strong. But seeing her tipsy and almost drunk was new territory. It was a little amusing. He sipped his drink and chuckled. And she was still so damn beautiful to him. “never saw the day we'd be drinking together”

“Don't get used to it,” she threw back the shot and started coughing. “That's so nasty” she cringed. 

Mark sat his glass down and chuckled again. He loved seeing that cute crinkled nose whenever she drank. “you have no idea how hilarious it is for me to see you drink”

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up” she mumbled, taking his glass of scotch and finished it for him. “fuckin' man whore” She mumbled into the glass. 

That was a new one for Mark. Sure, he got that insult a lot but never from y/n, even after the divorce. He smirked, taking his glass away from her. “What was that?”

Y/n looked over at him, you could tell she was drunk just by looking at her eyes. “Man. whore” she repeated. 

Mark raised an eyebrow at her. There was definitely a hint of anger in her eyes. He liked it much more than he thought he would. He put his glass down, pushing his chair closer so that his knee was in between hers. “You really have a way with words tonight” he teased. 

“Just shut up and drink with me,” She mumbled. “before I punch you in your pretty face” she trailed off. 

Mark chuckled again. “Did you just call me pretty?” He teased taking the drink from her and setting it down. He took her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look up at him. 

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Don't let it go to your head” 

Mark smirked, his thumb tracing her parted lips. His body was so close she could feel the tension. Mark's cologne filling her nose. “you want me to stop?” 

Her heart skipped a beat. God, she didn't realize how much she missed the smell of that cologne, missed the feel of him this close. She shook her hand no. 

Mark smiled even wider. That little nod sent a bolt of electricity through his body. He knew she still wanted him. He was so close already, one more nudge and he could finally taste her again. his hand slid up her jaw to her cheek. His thumb brushed over her cheek bone. 

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Are you gonna kiss me or not?”

Mark laughed lightly before closing the distance between them. She felt warm and familiar. Mark's lips met hers and his body melted into hers. After all these months he finally had it. A small moan escaped his lips. He hadn't realized how much he actually missed it. Her lips moved against his, her breath hitched as she carded her fingers through his hair, kissing him roughly. Mark let his tongue part her lips more. Taking full control over the kiss. He pressed his entire body against hers, trying to get as close as he could. His hands found her hips and pulled her body so she was practically in his lap. The smell of her hair filled his nose.

Y/n pulled away abruptly. “Take me home with you”

Mark looked into her eyes. They were dilated and filled with lust. He hadn’t seen those eyes in so long. It made him want her even more. Mark nodded as he reached for his wallet pulling out the money to pay the bill. He stood up, holding his hand out for her. “Come on” He murmured, grabbing her hand and almost dragging her out of the bar. 

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

As soon as they got to Mark's apartment, her lips were back on his, the kiss was messy and rushed. Y/n quickly pushed his leather jacket off his shoulders as he pushed her backwards towards the kitchen counter. she moaned against his lips, running her fingers through his hair. Getting them lost in his soft hair. 

He chuckled, his hand leaving his jacket to grab her hair, tugging gently as he pulls back from the kiss. “Fuck, I love when you do that” He leans in again, kissing her roughly as he walks her backwards until her back hits the counter.

Y/n moaned, pulling away from the kiss and left messy kisses and love bites down his neck. He groans in pleasure as he feels her teeth marks on his neck. He sets her down on the counter, stepping between her legs as he leans in to kiss her again, his hands gripping her face. “You're gonna leave marks all over me, aren't you?” He murmurs against her lips.

“maybe”

He grins, his eyes darkening with desire as he reaches up to grab the back of her head, holding her in place as he kisses her again, his tongue pushing past her lips. she moaned against his lips, their tongues tangling together roughly as her hands traveled to the buttons of his shirt and tugged them open. He breaks the kiss only long enough to pull his shirt over his head, revealing his toned chest. He goes back to kissing her, his hands roaming down her sides. “You're overdressed”

Y/n’s eyes traveled down his toned chest. She'll never get tired of staring at him, he was perfect in every way. Her fingers trailed down his chest, tracing every muscle. “do something about it”

His breath hitches at her touch, and he quickly moves his hands to the hem of her dress, slowly sliding it up her thighs. “I thought you'd never ask,” He kisses her neck, carefully pulling the dress higher as he moves his lips lower. “Missed this” 

“M-me too” she said softly, tugging at his hair he inhales deeply as he buries his face between her breasts, his hands squeezing her thighs possessively. He slowly drags his fingers up her thighs, hooking them around his arms as he tries to pull her legs around his waist. “Damn it”

“I forgot how good you feel” y/n moaned softly at the feeling of his facial hair brushing over the skin on her breasts. She wrapped her legs around his waist and gripped the muscles on his biceps. 

His eyes darken with lust as he grabs her waist, one hand trailing up her back to tangle in her hair. He kisses her roughly, biting her bottom lip before pulling back slightly to look at her. “Better than good, baby” He starts to carry her towards the bedroom. 

He kicks the door to his bedroom open, stumbling inside with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. He falls backwards onto the bed, pulling her on top of him as he starts to unhook her dress. “Fuck this dress is cute” 

He quickly removes her dress, tossing it aside as he takes in her appearance. He groans appreciatively, running his hands up her sides and over her ribcage possessively. “Damn” He murmurs, his eyes roaming over her. 

she reaches for his belt, quickly unbuckling it and tugging it out of the loops of his pants. His abs tense under her touch as she unbuckles his belt, his hands going to her waist to help pull her closer as he lifts his hips to help her remove his pants. He's only wearing a pair of black boxers now, his toned stomach on full display. 

her breath hitched as she took him in again for the first time in a long time. She sat in his lap, nothing covering her but her bra and painties as her fingers brushed over his hot skin. 

He lets out a low growl, his hands going to her hips as he pulls her closer, his boxers the only thing separating them. He leans in to kiss her, his lips hard against hers as he grinds his hips up against hers. “Fuck, I missed this” 

she moaned against his lips as his hardened cock pressed against her clothed core. “M-me too” 

His hands go to her back, unhooking her bra with expert precision. He breaks the kiss to look at her, his eyes darkening with lust as he takes in her nearly nude form. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of her panties. He slowly drags them down her legs, tossing them aside as he spreads her thighs to rest over his. He runs his hands up her thighs possessively as he looks her over, his boxers the only thing left between them. 

“Please” she moaned softly.

He smiles, his eyes gleaming with lust as he reaches between them to rub his boxers-clad erection against her clothed core. “Please what, baby? You gonna ask me to fuck you? Because if you are, the answer is hell fucking yes”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “please fuck me” 

With one quick motion, he slides his boxers off and positions himself at her entrance. “You sure about that baby? No turning back once I start,” He teases her, pressing against her but not quite entering. “Last chance” His voice is husky and deep from desire. 

“Don't stop! Fuck me!” 

With a final growl, he thrusts into her slowly but firmly, filling her completely. One hand grabs her hip while the other moves to cup the back of her neck, pulling her face to his for a passionate kiss. “Missed this.so fucking much”

“Mark!” she cried out as she dug her nails into his shoulders as he thrusted up inside her. 

He quickly lifts her up and pushes her into the mattress. He pounds into her hard and fast, not holding back as he wraps his arms around her, pulling her legs over his shoulders to get even deeper. He grins mischievously, his voice low and dominant. “Shut up and hold on, baby” 

she shuddered, wrapping her legs around his waist and gripped his biceps tighter. He continues to thrust into her aggressively, his body glistening with sweat as he uses his powerful arms to keep her in place. He nuzzles his face between her breasts, inhaling her scent deeply. “Damn it, you always make me lose control”

“Mark!” 

His pace quickens, hitting that spot deep inside her just right. One hand slips between them to apply pressure to her clit, knowing exactly how she likes it. “Cum for me, baby, show me how much you missed me” 

the knot in her stomach snapped, making her head fall back in pleasure. She cried out his name as her orgasm washed over her. She squeezed his biceps, desperately trying to ground herself. It felt so good, so intense, sex hadn't felt this good in a long time. Seeing stars behind his eyes from how hard he's squeezing her legs, he continues to thrust into her through her entire release. He's not done yet, not by a long shot. He wraps his arms around her waist and flips them over, so she's on top.

she wobbled a bit at the sudden change of position. She was out of breath and her mind was still fuzzy. She gripped his chest, trying to stay up right. “Look at me” He demands, his hands tightening on her hips. He wants to see her face as he brings her back down to earth, shaking and overwhelmed. He continues to guide her up and down his length, his legs hooking hers to keep her upright.

she moaned and gasped, looking into his eyes. His jaw clenches as he watches her above him, their bodies creating perfect friction. He reaches up to pull her down for a rough kiss, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts. “Fuck, I'm not going to last” His movements become more erratic, showing he's losing control.

“I need to cum again!” 

At her words, he flips them back over, slamming into her harder than before. He leans down to bite and suck at her neck, marking her. “Cum with me, baby. Right fucking now!” 

With a fierce growl, he thrusts into her one last time, burying himself deep as they both reach their climax together. He collapses slightly onto her chest, keeping most of his weight off despite their sweat-slicked bodies. “Holy shit, missed you so fucking much”

“Missed you too” she said softly and breathlessly. 

He nuzzles his face between her breasts, inhaling her scent deeply. He can feel his heart racing, trying to catch his breath. He wraps his arms around her waist possessively, not wanting to move or break the moment. “Stay, please” he murmurs, his voice muffled.

“I'll stay” she said softly, hoping it wouldn't be a bad idea. 

[lndsismaeverything]

Lnds being a girl dad

Decided to write it down because I'm bored 🥱 here is my list of ideas that can use but just tag me on it so I can also enjoy the story

Xavier :

Calls your daughter lil princess

Has his hair color and your eyes. Inherited his cute lil pout

Xavier would totally get everything his lil princess wants. Want that new toy? Or how about the new plushie at the arcade machine? Sure, he'll get it right away

Xavier would love to read bed time stories to his daughter every night. Turning off the light while turning on the fairy lights acting as twinkling like stars in the night sky in your daughter room.

He definitely built a fort for her

Has two pets rabbits named Mr.Bunbun and Mrs.Bunbun ( they are married in your daughter mind )and one goldfish named Goldie had Goldie replace every month bec it keeps dying because of your clueless daughter that keep killing the fish

"Daddy why is Goldie floating? " your daughter said curiously " it's because he's taking his afternoon naps , and time for yours too " Xavier lifted his lil princess, carrying her too her room. After she's asleep Xavier calls you " we need another goldfish" he scratches his head " what is it this time?" You asked on there other line " she put a heater in the thank to keep him warm "you sigh, a hand on your hip as you told him frustrated " I told you not to give her a goldfish, poor fish "

He could tell his daughter the truth but couldn't stand to break her lil heart. And it isn't that he didn't keep an eye on her while she played with the fish it's just he took a 5 minutes nap , it wouldn't hurt right? Well that proofed him wrong...

Would like to bake cookies with her ( with you watching them of course )

Would miss his lil princess and you too during every mission . He can't wait to go home to his loving family

If you both are given a mission and both of u can't look after your daughter, she gladly stay with uncle Jeremiah. During the stay with her uncle she learns some gardening skills and is pretty good at taking care of plants

Xavier is of course jealous of Jeremiah, seeing his daughter talking about how the few days has been with her favorite uncle

" princess who do u like more your dad or your stupid uncle Jeremiah? " he said serious

" daddy don't say that about uncle Jeremiah! " good thing she has your personality always ready to defend the person she care and love. But Xavier couldn't help feel his heart ache but also feel proud, his lil princess stood up for his uncle but going against her dad

" uncle Jeremiah is a great uncle and smart tooo ! He's not stupid " she said to her dad " uncle Jeremiah is my favorite uncle! But you are my dad and the best daddy I could ask for "

You ended up ending the recording to Jeremiah to let him witness this scene too

Zayne

His office would be also his daughter office. After school your daughter would walk to Akso hospital since the kindergarten isn't far from the hospital just a 5min walk. But sometimes zayne would be free , so he would pick up his daughter if he didn't had a appointment at that time.

also would occasionally ( almost everytime he pick up his daughter ) bring your daughter to the bakery next a few buildings from the kindergarten .

Inherited his father's sweet tooth

Also hates the dentist

He will watch his daughter sit in his office doing her homework in her lil desk next to him. Also has a picture frame of the family photo that you didn't take a few days ago

The reason why zayne daughter would be at his work is because sometimes you can't pick up your daughter during the day is because your busy with mission and work.

After work you pick up your daughter at your husband work " bye daddy see you soon " she waved and your husband nodded " see you at home "

But sometimes zayne would come home late at night and your daughter would already be asleep by then. Also the reason why she likes going to her dad work place, is to spend time with him when at night she bearly see him or spend time with

When zayne would have a surgery your daughter would patiently do her homework ,if she's done she would go around the hospital lobby and talk to the nurses and doctors

The nurses and doctors love your cute lil daughter

" oh how she looks like Dr. Zayne so much "

" she also has Dr. Zayne calm expression "

Your daughter would have a personal ID badge hanging around her neck that you help her make . Just letting the other nurses and doctors know that she Dr.zayne daughter and not a lost kid

Zayne would double check himself if he has any blood on himself or the smell of blood on him before going to see his daughter after the surgery

Zayne can't help it if his daughter ask for another piece of his macarons " ok, you can have another one but just dont tell your mom. You can it have a maximum of 3 per day and you already have 5 "

"but daddy the same goes for you too and your already have 6 !" Your husband chuckled "alright this will be our lil secret"

" what little secrets ?" You lean against the doorframe , folding your arms as you watch both of them eating, almost finishing dozen macarons

Girl dad zayne would deny that he always saying yes to his daughter " oh really? What about last week Saturday? U said no more sugar but you bought her a snow cone" you tease your husband

" daddy can I have that snow cone? It's a double scoop and it looks like a snowman ! And best of all I can share with you ! "

" at least she has a good reason " your husband replied pushing his glasses to the brim of is node" oh just admit it Dr.zayne ~ "he smile and looked at your sleeping daughter on his office couch

Rafayell

Would spoil his lil sea guppy rotten

" daddy can I have a pony? " already bought one a few seconds ago when he say her drawing a pony. Bought a pony the same as the drawing

Want some plushies? No worries he called Thomas to get her the most cutest plushy and limited to edition

But your daughter love the plushies her had won for her at the arcade especially the pufferfish and the birb

Would teach your daughter about lemurians language. Also tell her stories about the lemurians

" daddy do you think I can turn my legs into a lemurian fish tailtoo? " her eyes sparked looking at her dad

" of course you can. You are half lemurian and human after all " rafayell ruffled her hair

The day she transformed into a lamurian in the bathtub is the day rafayell cheered for her because he didn't know if she could actually turn her legs into a fish tail

Would take her to the beach so she can swim in the ocean and get used to the salty waters . But also for some family fun time

You joined them watching how rafayell teach your daughter to swim in her new found form. You don't have a fish tail but you can still breath under water because of the sea god. It was fun watching your daughter struggle a bit

" hold my hand it be easier for your to balance yourself " your husband hold your daughter hand preventting from her turning upside down

" ugh, daddy this is worst then learning how to ride a bike! " your daughter wine, you couldn't help but laugh at them

Rafayell would bring your daughter to the art exhibit .

Also have a painting named after her and inspired by her . But that isn't for sale that's for the living room at home

Your daughter has a lot of dresses like a lot and same for shoes and jewelry. Rafayell like to dress his daughter up

First class trips with her daddy

Rafayell would definitely ride his sports car to pick her up at kindergarten.

" now wheres my little guppy? " he said standing at the door from the class she's in " daddy ! "

Sylus

Would let your daughter go on busssnins meeting with him because she asked him. At first he said no because it's a dangerous mission . But your daughter is cunning which she got from you of course " but I have daddy to protect me there, he's the strongest and he's the best so nothing will happen to me " that boosted his ego

You where furious when you found out that your husband took your daughter to a dangerous meeting that ended blowing up the whole building " but sweetie, it's nothing I can't handle, she save and onharmed "

" you let her hold a gun."

" that's because she hated the merchant " sylus said confidently

Looks like onychinus had a new leader soon after her dad step down

Would let her dress Mephisto up

Sylus would teach your daughter some boxing moves

Would try to fit all of you guys in his motorcycle , your daughter in front , placing her hand on the handle while your husband hand on top of hers and you always being sylus backpack

Would have customized helmets with your names on it

Sylus would let her daughter play with his hair and stick some stickers on him and if he feels generous ( which he is toward you and your daughter ) he'll even let your daughter put make up on him

Luke and Kieran would be the best uncles . Would like to join her uncles with pranks

Love doing karaoke with her dad .both can't sing well and are death ears

Sylus would buy the whole arcade just for her daughter

Plays kitty cards with your daughter and always lose on purpose

Sylus is definitely the type to give anything her daughter fancies. She looked firearm for 5 second? Is already here with her name on it of course with no bullets . Or else he wouldn't have hear the end of it from you

Would definitely sign a no boyfriend till your married

Like and karien are your daughter personal bodyguards

Would prepare a fancy ball for her birthday

Would play the piano for her also teaching her some keys

End up hitting the post button while middle way writing 😅sorry for grammar mistakes and words.

[transboyswitchytales]

🥛Milk Block & Cut Strawberries 🍓

Request 🦊 : 1. reader/us refuses to nurse, and agatha gets a little irritated, but she lets it go for now. (i even made a few dialouge) "sweetheart, it's time for your milk" - ags - "but mommy i don't want to" - reader and rio is just watching this happening. i was thinking that reader/us is a little shit sometimes and because we doesn't want to nurse, agatha's mood switches and she basically snaps at everyone. let's say that we haven't nursed in like two to three days, and finally we just give in. hehe i will send in more requests, and ughhh i think you just gave me a nursing kink 💔💔 but i love you anyway. 🦊

WARNING : Nursing / Breastfeeding Kink / Mommy Kink / Daddy Kink / Daddy Rio / Mommy Aggie / BDSM 24/7 / Found Family / Coven Loves R / LGBT and Pride Talk / Jen insert in queer history / Queer Coven of Witches / Cordelia/Misty Mentioned / BDSM Contracts / Reader is a Sag/ Reader is afraid / Anxiety meds and fear of letting people in / Witch Holiday is an actual Holiday/ Upset R and Aggie / Happy Pride Month Ya'll🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

I don't know why I can't make a story one shot right now. Everything is a fucking series and I need to be locked up.

🦊 I hope you don’t hate me. I finally finished your list my friend. I hope you forgive me for taking forever. I love you, and your kinky brain. This fucking took me an eternity to think of how I wanted to do it. But I hope you like part 1.🦊 kink is safe with me friend.

You're deliberately kind

You make efforts to share your time

You're not afraid of your feelings

And you're not afraid of mine

I never knew love could be soft

I never knew love could be light

You had so much on your plate for the past three days. You were getting the last of it done, and you were convinced Agatha was about to kill Rio because of you.

You were in charge of the coven to get June 11: Full Strawberry Moon celebration ready. It meant Sagittarius, your sign, and focus on ambition, discipline, and achieving long-term goals. This was really important to you, you are a Sagittarius. Therefore it was your job. And Agatha was losing her mind. 

Let’s take it back three days before. 

Monday:

Lilia poured you tea and you bounced back and forth on your feet. Rio was reading ‘The Amityville Horror.’ She’d decided to read all of your favorite books this year, and so far she’d ready twenty six off of your list. And something about it was insanely intimate. 

Agatha was sitting in Rio’s lap half listening, but not really. She was reading over Rio’s shoulder, she’d secretly been stealing from your book stack. Though she didn’t want to admit to Rio’s good idea yet. 

Turns out dating a witch and Death was truly the most any partner had ever tried to woo you. They were both extremely dedicated in different ways to romancing you. They actually put in effort, learning you, and figuring out what brand of love worked for you. How you liked to be touched, how you like your eggs in the morning, and what things to never say in an argument. 

Rio and Agatha had been together for centuries, so when they asked you on a date you were confused. You’d been polyamorous before, as you’d shared with them, but you didn’t think they had been. 

Turns out, they hadn’t ever before you. Which was also mind-altering information. 

You were a baby witch, technically in the coven. 

You were in your late twenties, out of college, and had accidentally moved to this shitty town after the hex. You were older than Billy, you’d turned into a big sister to him in fact. But you were nowhere near as old as Agatha and you never got a straight answer on how old Rio was. 

So it had been a shock.

Their mutual attraction to you.  

You’d met the coven after their stint on The Road. You’d been recruited by Alice in a bookstore actually. You’d come for the magic, not the friendship, not the found family. None of that was something you thought possible. 

Falling in love with Agatha and Rio was not on your radar. And when they asked you out, you were sure you were being punked. 

But here you are, two years into dating them, and about two years and four months into the coven. And Jen and Lilia had decided you’d be the one to get all of the Strawberry Moon prep. 

When Lilia poured your tea and Jen told you you were practically giddy. 

“Oh maiden’s tit, please don’t jump for joy,” Jen said but she was smiling at you. 

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?” You shouted, and Lilia put one hand over her bad ear, the one next to said vampire bite. 

Billy wrapped his arms around you! And you both jumped up and down, much to the coven's delight. Lilia always said having youthful witches around made the craft all the better. Seeing it through your eyes for the first time made her feel like a girl again. 

You all were in Lilia’s tiny apartment, which she was moving out of next month, thank fuck. But you agreed to meet here the last time, before you all moved her shit for her into a new place. Jen and Lilia with standing in the kitchen with you as Alice made another dinner. 

Agatha and Rio were on the uncomfortable armchair, Agatha’s legs fell over the side as she sat in Death’s lap like a cat taking an afternoon nap. 

“Wait what day is it?” Billy asked, suddenly upset. 

“June eleventh.” Alice said, and she reached into Lilia’s tiny oven and pulled out dinner she’d made.

“NO!” You and Billy both shouted, and Jen and Lilia flinched at the volume again .

“Hey! Can we use our inside voices, little witches?” Alice says in her ex cop voice and you and Billy both look sorry. 

“What do you two have going on, that none of us are doing?” Jennifer asked and you heard the jealousy in her tone. 

“Pride is the twelfth! We were going to go for two days!” Billy shouted again and Alice arched an auntie eyebrow and he shushed himself by covering his mouth. 

“What is pride?” Lilia asks turning to Jen and Alice for help but they both open their mouth and Billy responds. 

“It’s not here in town. We were going to drive to the city and get fucked up-”

Rio dropped her book against her chest but Agatha was already getting up to come talk now, suddenly very interested in the conversation. 

You hadn’t told either of your girlfriends what you were going to do yet. 

“Billy, what part of I need to talk to my girlfriends first before you bring it up at coven tonight did you not get from my text?” You state the text verbatim and glare at the young gay boy. 

“Probably the part where I open my mouth and out us, sorry.” Billy makes his signature oops face and you sigh and feel Agatha’s hand on your lower back and you turn. 

“Hi.” You whisper, and she arches an eyebrow like ‘you can do better than that, talk fast.’

“Can someone tell me what is a Pride?” Lilia tried again and Jen looked to Alice for permission to explain, but Billy once again spoke. 

“It’s a celebration of queer people, it’s a whole month thing but..like there’s parades across the world. It’s to celebrate everyone, but there’s like a huge party. There’s gonna be drag queens performing, tons of gay men dancing, lesbians probably wearin leather and strap ons on floats! Planned Parenthood will have a booth for sure! The transgender floats are always so cool. I asked Eddie, but he can’t go this year, he’s got family stuff.”

“We have a pride in New Jersey?” Alice asked now squinting at you, as if it was your job to tell her and you failed. 

 “I suppose humanity is learning some form of kindness then.” Lilia muses but sips her tea, she has the knowledge that queer people have always been, and always will be. Where Billy is just experiencing this for the first time. 

“Kinda fucked though, right?” Jen says, and you feel Agatha pulling the back of  your leather belt, ready to talk privately. 

“Aren’t you bisexual?” Billy says he doesn't get her point, and Jen looks offended at him. 

“I’m not saying that there shouldn’t be a pride teen. I’m saying that celebrating queer history is good and all, but if you have watched the news lately, we still have a fucking long way to go. And I don’t know if a bunch of floats is really appropriate. You are a teenager, you weren’t even alive for the 80’s, I was there. I went to the protests, I lost my friends.” Jen says, and she’s got a look in her eyes now, one you know well. Alice takes the oven mitt off to rub the back of Jennifer's arm and it seems to help her a little. 

“That’s why it’s so important to gather, important for Billy to experience, right?” Alice tilts her head to look at Jen now. “To celebrate who he is, you fought and paved the way, so they could be safe and celebrate together. That is a pretty good reason to have a party, yeah?”

“Jen…Do you maybe wanna go?” Billy asks and you hold your breath and Jen pretends to play coy, looking to the side. 

“We should all go.” Alice states and Lilia looks excited at the idea of half dressed people on floats. 

“A word.” Agatha says, but you don’t break away right away to her and Rio, who’s tapping her foot on the floor like an angry Dad. 

“I was at Stonewall, you know,” Jen says, and Billy’s eyes grow ten sizes. 

“NO WAY!”

“I was living in New York at the time, I had friends…we didn’t know it was going to be a riot.” Jen shrugs like she isn’t a part of history. Billy throws his arms around her, and she doesn’t hug back immediately. 

“Thanks.” Billy whispers and you swear you see Jen shed a tear but she wraps her arms around the queer teenager. 

“Of course.” She responds, and you feel Agatha tug you harder, and you are quickly swept out the door by Rio and Aggie. 

“Damn ow! What?” You say and Agatha is glaring at your tone and you bite your lip now. 

You three had engaged pretty quickly into a kink BDSM dynamic. 

And what had been a small secret quickly became your 24/7 life, and it was insanely intimate and sexy. All of it you’d talked about in length, and a contract sat at your three’s home, Rio took a knife and stabbed it into your bedroom wall. Which was insanely hot, and Agatha couldn’t even find it in her to complain about it. 

More on that later. 

“Sorry for my tone Mommy.” You whisper, and Agatha softens only an inch, but you and Rio both know it’s a huge amount.

Cars pass outside of Lilia’s store front/apartment. 

“When were you going to bring this up?” Agatha asks, and Rio folds her arms over her chest. They are a perfect picture of upset Domme’s telling their submissive ‘no.’

You try not to smile or focus on how their disciplinary stance makes you aroused.  

“Um, I needed to see if I could even take off work.”

This was another point of tension; you worked at a book store two towns over. This really upset Agatha. Who tried to tell you that you needed to quit. At first she’d told you that she and Rio had access to a huge amount of funds. You never asked how or why they did, but you knew it was true.

You’d pushed them off about this, after a month of dating you noticed Agatha’s car in your work parking lot. Then you noticed Rio sitting on a bench the next day. 

Then they started to come into the large book store. You rolled your eyes when your coworker and friend told you; ‘Those two MILFS must think that you are cute, because they won’t stop staring at you.’ 

Your co-workers quickly learned that they were your girlfriends and you’d just used the excuse of ‘they’re overly protective.’ 

You had to fence a lot of questions for their stalking attitude. But in truth, you realized Agatha and Rio didn’t like you unprotected two towns over. 

But you continued to go to work, and they continued to follow you. Eventually, you just asked if they wanted to use the same car, ya know, carpool to work. 

Eventually, Rio got bored and started to read. You’d told her she picked up a bad book, hence the book recommendations. Agatha started bringing your favorite coworker coffee when she brought you your afternoon cup. 

The owners even started to like them there. People didn’t steal as much with Rio’s angry glances. 

But Agatha never settled on you working and Rio’s eyes would lift off the book to stare at the emergency exits. You knew they were waiting for trouble. 

“You didn’t think to talk to us?” Rio says, and it sounds more hurt than you were expecting. 

“We’ve never really, I mean..Since we started dating, I haven’t really spent a lot of time away…and I thought I should bring it up only if I could even get the time off.” You shrug, and both of them look upset. 

“Leather and Strap On’s,” Agatha repeated the key terms she took away from Billy’s excitement of Pride. You threw your hands up, ok yeah. But that wasn’t really Pride. He was a teenager so that was what he saw. 

“So yes, there are those things, but that’s not all it is.”

“Getting fucked up.” Rio repeated the part that upset her too. 

“Have either of you ever been?” You tried not, and Agatha ground her jaw and Rio nodded. 

“Yeah, I’m old baby. I’ve been, I’ve been to a lot of parties. And I know this is important. But I also don’t like the idea of you getting fucked up hours away from us. It’s not the Pride part that I’m worried about.” Rio says, and Agatha turns to glare at her partner. And you haven’t seen this a lot before. Rio and Agatha banter and bicker, but when it came to rules for you, they were usually pretty similar. 

“You're not?” Agatha seethes. 

“No, I’m worried about what happens at parties. I’ll go with you, Aggie you can stay if you want.” Rio steps in relationship shit in that moment. 

“Hell no, what makes you think I’ll stay while you two go?” Agatha grinds out in irritation and Rio’s eyebrows go so far up her forehead she knows she’s fucked up now. 

“Can we do this at home, after the coven meeting, please?” You ask, and they both look at you like they want to disagree, but Agatha opens the door for you and you walk back inside. 

Jen is on Lilia’s old ass ipad ordering an outfit for pride and Lilia and Billy are talking about queer history. Alice looks happy you’ve re-joined the group. 

“Dinner is getting cold, Strawberry girl!” Alice nicknames you, and you are not happy to say that the name sticks for the next two centuries after today. 

When you get home, Rio unlocks the door, Agatha kicks off her boots and you start up the stairs to the bedroom. 

It takes about twenty-five minutes of you all going about your nightly routine for Rio to break the silence. 

You take off your jeans in the bathroom, and Rio’s got a mouth full of toothpaste she makes from herbs. Somehow she stays minty for so fucking long, so you started to steal her toothpaste, Death pretends not to notice. 

She points her toothbrush at you now after she spits into the sink. 

“You don’t keep stuff from us. That’s why Aggie and I are most upset. It’s another thing you do, that pushing us away thing.” Rio said and she goes to brush the back of her teeth.

You are taking out your earrings, which were Agatha’s earrings, and you were putting them back into her jewlery box. 

“It wasn’t malicious.” You state, and Rio shakes her head. 

“Doesn’t matter, we don’t do that.” Rio reminds you of one of the rules and you know it well. 

Agatha walks into the bathroom with her hair up on her head to wash her face. She’s already in her floral robe, as she sleeps naked, and you love this fact. Agatha demanded that when you moved in for you to sleep naked next to her, and it turned out Rio and Agatha liked access to you all the time. 

“You didn’t tell the truth.” Agatha picks up the conversation, and you know she’s got crazy good hearing. You know, because Rio had gotten you in trouble two months into your kink relationship. You’d been sitting watching the animated Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse. And Rio had asked you if you found Doc Ock sexy. You didn’t know Rio had been setting you up for a punishment. So you smiled and said she was super sexy, her voice did things to your pussy. 

Agatha’s super sonic hearing meant she heard you, and Aggie was a very jealous dom. So she spent the next four hours making you plead, beg, and whimper sorry to her. As she repeated back ‘Does your animated girlfriend do this to your pussy?’ While she fucked you with abandon, and Rio smirked and watched. 

Agatha knew when you were sad because she could hear the lyrics in your AirPods. 

So, yeah, Agatha could hear everything, this didn’t freak you out anymore. 

“I didn’t not tell the truth!” You tried as Agatha bent over and splashed water on her face. Rio just wiped the toothpaste off her bottom lip with a washcloth and scoffed. You heard how petulant it sounded now. “I was going to tell you.”

“Close only counts in hand grenades and horseshoes baby girl.” Rio tells you and walks out naked and you stare at her ass as it sways away from you. 

“God that is such a fucking Dad thing to say.” You mumble and walk to your sink. Yes magic was wonderful, you had three sinks. Taking out your night time anti anxiety meds. Agatha always looked a little nervous when you took them but she wasn’t watching you as she scrubbed her face now. 

“It’s Daddy to you!” Rio corrected. 

Fuck the two of them heard everything. 

When you three were done you crawled into bed as Agatha lifted the blanket for you to take your spot in the middle of the bed. You tried to ignore your need to be a brat. 

When Agatha laid down and opened her arms for you to come over and nurse. You hesitated and she looked ready to say something. 

Backstory was important for this.

See this; was something you two had stumbled on. 

You’d made the first move, two weeks into date nights. You asked when Agatha and Rio wanted to fuck. Rio choked on her dinner, and Agatha’s face seemed to need a minute to catch up, like a loading screen. 

Rio was the first to move, she put her hand up for the waiter and she mouthed ‘check?’ You three got home at lightning speed and fucked for about two hours, two hours of incredible orgasms, when the words slipped out. 

“Fuck me Mommy.” You whimpered just as Agatha thrust her magic strap on inside you, and she stopped. You bit your lip, and Rio stopped biting your chest and raised her face to see you. 

Everything stopped.

You panicked. 

“I mean..I’m sorry! I’m so so sorry! I ruined it.” You said and you scrambled off the bed. Their minds short-circuited a second time. 

But your panic didn’t do the same, you grabbed your clothes and fucking RAN out of their house. 

You didn’t go home though; you went to Alice’s. 

You pounded on her apartment door and you must have looked like a mess because when she opened the door, you were sobbing and your dress wasn’t even all the way zipped. 

“Oh honey!” Alice exclaimed, and she grabbed you by the shoulders as you cried and fell onto her bed. Alice made you hot cocoa, and you both sat cross-legged on her bed. 

“You know, you can tell me anything right?” 

“Not this.” You mumbled and blew on the mug. Alice had offered you clothes and a hug, but you told her nothing could touch you right now. You were humiliated and overstimulated. So she didn’t touch, she just wanted you to talk. 

“Did Agatha and Rio do this? Did they hurt you, because I swear on the divine mother if they-” Alice went into protective sister action so fast, and you loved her for it. But you shook your head and cried. 

“No, they…they didn’t do anything wrong.” You say dejectedly. 

“You know, I can’t be a good protection witch, if you don’t let me protect.” Alice teased hoping you’d open up. 

“You can’t protect me from myself.” You say offhandedly. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you obviously don’t understand what a protection witch is.” She smiles and your heart melts and she reaches over to the bedside table to hand you a box of tissues and you take it. 

“We were…having sex…” You said not looking at Alice. 

“I’m not a prude, and your stories at coven meetings and our lunch dates tell me you aren’t either. So come on, don’t be shy.” Alice nudges your knee and you put your cocoa down onto her side table. 

“I called Agatha something dirty. And it’s a nickname I don’t..I didn’t mean to call her. And it was our first time having sex..and I didn’t ask…and…I don’t want her to think I’m gross for thinking it and saying it. And I’m sure the name might have some trauma for her…..” You trail off, and Alice doesn’t need you to say it, she gets it now. 

“There’s nothing wrong with consenting adults doing and saying things, you know?” Alice tries to detangle your shame. 

“I didn’t want them to know.” You look to her quilt like it has answers. 

“Right, but you like them and they fucking love you already. So what if it isn’t wrong or bad? What did they say?” 

Your fingers are wet with clammy sweat. 

“Nothing.”

“Babe, please tell me you didn’t duck tail and fucking run out of their house.”

You cringe and Alice looks genuinely worried now. 

“I couldn’t listen to them reject me!”

“Oh you are such a Sagittarius, always running, always ugh! Okay listen to me, if this was a fucking mortal sexy kink scene. And a mortal friend told you that they ran out in the middle of sex, without talking to their sex partners, the fucking… I’m guessing.. first time they had sex together? What would you say?”

Your face turned colors and Alice nodded seeing your brain click. 

“Oh shit.” You gulp. 

“Now, if all of that isn't enough. It wasn’t mortals. You ran away from Agatha Harkness and Death herself. And neither of them have been fucking open with anyone in I don’t know how many centuries. And they opened up to you, and were fucking asking Jennifer what kind of flowers you liked for dates…..And you ran tonight, as soon as the clothes came off. You didn’t even let them tell you if they liked the name or not!” Alice exclaims and you are standing up and looking around for your keys. 

“Oh yeah, and also they’re murderous and unhinged cosmic beings who are probably setting fire to a town right now. I should check the news actually. There may not be a town!” Alice turns to find her phone but you are already opening the door to Jen in her pajamas. 

“FOUND HER!” Jen yells and Rio’s big bicker boots make pounding noises as she takes the stairs three at a time to find you. 

She doesn’t wait, doesn’t ask questions she just throws her arms around you. Like she was terrified you weren’t ok. 

“Hi.” You whisper into her neck and she squeezes you tight. 

You blink and you are portaled by Death back to the bedroom. Agatha is in her signature floral robe and she’s pacing. 

When Rio let’s go of you you feel super dizzy. She catches you around the hips. 

“Easy little witch, first time portal is always a little much. Stare at the lamp.” Rio pulls your hair back and you try not to throw up. 

“You just left! You didn’t even, you didn’t even give us a chance! You just left!” Agatha shouts and you wince. 

“My love, let’s give her a minute.” Rio says seeing you turn her signature color of green. 

“You can’t just run like that! I mean, you didn’t even give me a minute! What if you had gotten hurt? We didn’t even know where you went! You just ran!”

“Aggie, sweetheart I’m going to move her to the bathroom. I think she’s gonna throw up.” Rio lifts you quickly and brings you to the bathroom and holds your hair back as you throw up. “Fuck, my littlesunflower, I’m sorry. I should have made Jen drive us back. Aggie was ready to kill the whole neighborhood. I just figured the faster I got you home the better.” Rio tells you as she rubs your back and you loose the expensive dinner they’d bought you earlier this evening. 

“Baby, breathe through your nose,” Agatha says snapping out of her upset as soon as she saw you in distress over the toilet bowl. She sat to your left on the floor, and Rio had you in her lap. The two held your hair and rubbed your back. 

Later, they made you tea and force fed you saltines as you wouldn’t look either of them in the eye. 

“I think I should go.” You whisper, realizing Alice might be right, you have a tendency to run. 

“No.” Both Rio and Agatha say at the same time. 

Rio looks at Aggie and then runs down the stairs, coming back with a paper and pen. 

“You’ve done this before?” You asked looking at the paper, knowing she wants a contract. 

“No, Agatha and I have never...we’ve never done this with anyone,” Rio says and Agatha looks down at the paper like it’s a dragon but she takes it and the pen Rio has tucked in clenched fist. 

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea then?” You tell them, and Agatha’s face turns to disbelief. 

“How could you say that?” 

“You two have worked for a long time, why me? I’m nobody.” You say and set the tea cup down and Rio and Agatha stared at you like you had three heads now. The paper had nothing on you. 

“You are so wrong, how terrible that you actually believe that,” Rio says first, and Agatha opens and closes her mouth before choosing her words. 

“You are everything.” 

You blink up at her, confused, no one had ever said those words to you. And your not sure what to do about it. 

You three made the contract that night, and Rio kissed you both and then stabbed the paper into the wall. 

And a few days later you were having an intimate, sleepy moment with Agatha after morning sex. She noticed how you loved to suck on her nipples, half asleep, half awake. It felt intensely intimate, so she tried a little magic. 

And you yelped when you tasted her milk the first time. 

“Oh my fuck! What did I do!” You tried to leap off of Agatha, but she grabbed you around the shoulders. 

“Easy! Damn you hop off me faster than Senior Scratchy, we should call you Bunny. Relax, baby, I was just curious if you would like it.” Agatha said, though her voice waivered, and you realized….Agatha was nervous. 

“You…you did it for me?” You tried but Agatha grabbed both of your hands and pulled you back to lay naked against her chest. 

“Let’s just try it, ok?” Agatha said, and you were suspicious to say the least, but you moved your mouth to her nipple slowly, waiting for Agatha to yell and push you away. Tell you you were disgusting and this was wrong. 

But Agatha sighed at the contact, and you saw her relax more than you’d ever seen before into the mattress. Her fingers played with your hair and she watched you with a dreamy look. 

It became a staple in your house. 

Rio fucking loved it. 

You ached for it. 

And Agatha couldn’t get enough. 

She was constantly taking you into private spaces to have you nurse just for twenty minutes. It didn’t matter if you were at Alice’s, a coven meeting, at work, or watching a movie. Agatha found it therapeutic, and she told you why eventually.

“I can do it for you, it relaxes me, it relaxes you. You….you need me in that moment.” Agatha didn’t meet your eyes, but you kissed her hard to tell her you did. 

You felt more connected than ever before. Rio whispered to Agatha one night as you nursed, and Death held your naked body from behind. 

“It’s like we were always missing her, this piece….it’s like she brings light and peace….and…I can’t let her go Aggie.” Rio admitted, and your eyes were closed and you were just about to drift off. 

“We won’t, not ever,” Agatha promised. 

So here we were, on Monday. 

Agatha opened her arms to you and you scrunched your nose. Which took her for a spin. 

“Not tonight, I’m sleepy.” Now that was a lie, and both Rio and Agatha’s ears pricked up at that. But you rolled onto your tummy and hid in the pillow. 

Agatha didn’t move for two whole minutes. And you felt horrible. 

But Rio pushed your body into Agatha’s. Rio didn’t like this one bit, she knew you were being a brat. But she also knew this was your and Aggie’s thing. 

So as you fell against Agatha’s naked body, you felt the two of them curl around you, and you knew they were communicating with their minds. But you just tried to sleep. 

Tuesday:

You snuck out of the house; you didn’t need to work until 2pm. So you left a note for Agatha, and grabbed your keys walking out. 

Rio was in the front yard planting something new and you reached out and grabbed her ass and she turned, never one to be snuck up on. Taking out one of her airpods, the ones she stole from you. 

“What are you listening to?”

“Death Metal.” She fibbed and you glared at her, you learned from Agatha what it looked like when Death lied. It was an endlessly interesting thing to notice. Rio didn’t lie big; she liked to lie to you to see if you could catch it. But she always fessed up. Like a long game of Poker your lady. 

“NPR?” you guessed, and Rio’s mouth twitched in entertainment. You reached into her butt pocked for your old ipod to see what she was listening to. 

“Holy shit! Lady Death! Are you listening to Disco? ABBA!” You laugh and Rio grabs your ipod back and puts it in her back pocket. 

“You keep Daddy’s secret or I’ll spank you raw.”

“Ha! Who am I gonna tell Aggie? She already knows your secrets.” You say, and Rio looks towards the house and then at you, and you think she’s about to drop some deep thing, as she tends to do. 

“You done being a brat?” She says, instead and you reach in your pocket for your keys. 

“I gotta go! I’ll pick up burritos if I get back in time!” You start walking backwards towards your car and Rio’s face morphs into a million things. 

“You don’t have to work until later, where are you going?” Rio looks like she’s ready to drop her stuff to come with you. 

“I’m going to Lilia’s to start planning the coven meeting.”

“Strawberry girl, you know you can’t hide forever!” Rio shouts, and you run back to her and she looks less anxious. You lean up to kiss her on her gorgeous lips and she hums into the kiss, liking where this is going. Her dirty hands grab your ass to pull you closer but you break the kiss and run. 

“BYE!”

“HEY! DADDY’S NOT LIKING THIS BEHAVIOR! Wh- and she’s gone.” Rio says, just as you shut your car door and blast your phone Bluetooth to the speakers. You turn the music up obnoxiously loud as she rounds the car to watch you pull out. 

You waive, and she does the sam,e though the look on her face isn’t pleased. 

You leave to go to Lilias. 

The two of you get a lot of the stuff planned, and Lilia is happy to help you. She even has lemon cake ready for you and you munch on it as she shuffles the Tarot deck. 

You’d been there for an hour, and you two had meal planned, and circle planned and now she was ready for you to ask. 

“I don’t have a question.”

“Don’t lie to Mama Calderu now, Strawberry girl.”

“Why is everyone calling me that now?” You say annoyed. 

“Because, you are a Sagittarius and the moon is a Strawberry Moon. Besides, you are so sweet it fits. You fell in love with the deity that makes things grow. You are juicy, you laugh loudly, and are always barefoot and running through the grass. You are the embodiment of joy.” Lilia beams at you, and you feel like an impostor. Like she see’s something in you, a lie. 

“I’m not that.” You say pushing the lemon cake away now. 

Lilia reaches across the table and grabs your hand in hers. 

“You are that and so much more.”

“I’m….broken.” You say, and she gives you a reassuring but sad smile. 

“No, but your way of thinking about yourself is. If you let those two love you… the way they want to. If you let this coven in, and you stop running from us. You’d find a whole new sense of belonging, kiddo.”

She tells you, and you don’t mean to cry.

“Old habits.” You try as an apology.

“We all know, but you are the future of this coven. You already saved Agatha Harkness.”

You shake your head ‘no’ but Lilia nods her head and her curls bounce with her head. 

“You are going to argue with the divination witch about the future? That’s rich, you been hanging out with Agatha too much!” She cackles, and you laugh too. Knowing Lilia adores Agatha now, and that they even enjoy each others company. 

“I don’t know if..I don’t know how to let them in.” You admit, and Lilia tilts her head towards the cards.

“You got Death and Agatha Harkness to bend to your every whim. They love you more than anything. If you can do that, you can do anything. Now, are you ready to ask?”

You nod and Lilia releases your hands and picks up the deck.

You leave and go to the nearest metaphysical shop. 

You scratch the back of your neck as you stare at the candle section. 

An older witch walks over to you, you read her quickly and know she’s a tough witch. Her blonde hair and meek stance means jack-shit. 

“Can I help you find something?”

“Um…” you say a little skittish and you look over your shoulder.

“Relax, I know who you belong to.” The blonde smiles and you wonder if she means coven or….girlfriends? 

“Oh?” Now you wonder if you are in grave danger.

“My wife and I mean you no harm. You are welcome here anytime. The witch community is talking a lot about you.”

“I think you have me confused.” You put back a candle and the witch doesn’t stop you but she doesn’t drop it either.

“I don’t, you are Harkness’s Strawberry.” She smiles affectionately and you pale.

“Is that what I am?” You feel the need to run. 

“Are you getting ready for the full moon? Alice called me and let me know you’d be coming by.” 

Your shoulders relax when she says Alice and she smiles more now at your obvious ease.

“You scared me.” You grab your stomach and look around to see if anyone else saw you.

“I’m sorry Strawberry girl. I didn’t mean to. I’m Cordelia, my wife Misty over there is dying to meet you.” Cordelia points to the corner where a woman who looks like Stevie Nicks is staring at you and almost vibrating with excitement. 

“Me?”

“You are something of a legend now.”

“Really? What do they say?”

“Mostly that you are Harkness's Wife. But also that you are the bringer of sunshine. I guess you have a sort of warmth an aura that makes witches happy. I see it now.” Cordelia shrugs like it’s not a big deal.

“Sorry can you back up, did you say wife?”

“Some who know of her, say you tame and stop Death herself. That you have her eating out of the palm of your hand.” Cordelia leans forward, and you lean back in horror. 

“Don’t worry! You are safe here, no judgment at all. Alice was right, you are a skiddish thing. I have your order in the back. But Misty can help if you are looking for something else. Let me go grab it, don’t run, ok?” Cordelia says and you are in shock.

You’d later tell Alice she was an asshole for waiting to introduce you to Misty and Cordelia. You’d later ask them to be there at your wedding, but not today. Today Misty’s energy and Cordelia’s knowing looks freaked you out.

After the longest five hour shift you’d ever had your boss looked glad that you were going home. You usually brought an ease to the book store, but today you were anxious and snapping at others. 

So when you clocked out you didn’t linger and bring home a new novel. You got the fuck out of there. 

You got home and slammed the car door. You used your key to get in, and as you walked in, you were greeted by Agatha shouting at Jen and Billy.

Jen was standing in front of the teenager who was looking embarrassed; you didn’t need to ask to figure it out. 

“THAT IS NOT RIGHT!” Agatha pointed to a frog on your coffee table and Jen had her hands out. Ready to defend the poor teenager.  

But they stopped to look at you.

“Tell your girlfriend she owes me big time!” You yell at Jen, and her mouth drops.

“You have a girlfriend?” Billy’s attention span is that of a small rodent, and he forgets Agatha yelling at him.

“Why are you yelling at me now? Your fucking wife is yelling at me and now you!” Jen snaps back louder than before. 

“Why is everyone saying that!” You yell at Jen and don’t look at Agatha’s face. But you throw Billy the keys to your car. “Shit is in the trunk!” You stomp up the steps.

But Jen calls out to you.

“WE ARENT EVEN DATING! Whatever-One Harkness screaming is enough!” 

But you slam the bedroom door and go into the bathroom to shower. You crank the radio up super loud and try to calm down. 

When you dress and emerge back downstairs, Alice has come and she’s setting up the backyard.

“Do we need to talk?” Alice asks, and you are fuming.

“No, go talk to your shop friends about my stupid strawberry girl rumors. Leave me alone.” You seethe and Alice has never experienced you mad at her before. And she’s not sure what to do.

Rio walks in with a popsicle.

“Give her a minute.” She instructs, and Alice walks away with her head hung low.

“You two are really on a roll.” Rio muses and you open the fridge and start pulling out ingredients for prepping tomorrows meals.

“I don’t want to talk.”

“I’m not that easy to get rid of.” Rio challenges and you slam the fridge door and start to cook.

Rio sits on the far edge of the kitchen counter, she’s out of your way, but she’s near.

As people walk into the house to talk to you, she tells them you are busy. And you try to be calm, but you are losing it.

It sounds like Agatha is as well, as she and Jen continue to snap. Agatha has a very short fuse, and she’s not listening to anyone.

“Full moon agitation?” Jen whispers in question to Lilia who doesn’t help, but plays dumb. 

You make all the yeast dough, prepping it for tomorrow. You create the citrus sweet tea, you bake the cute muffins, and then you get to tonight’s dinner. 

You haven’t spoken in three hours.

Rio eventually hops of the kitchen counter and she helps you make the big dinner, knowing you won’t attack her now. 

You two cook in silence, and when you finish, you go outside to the coven who has started the fire pit.

Agatha is not here. 

Alice walks to you first with a bottle of tequila in hand.

“I come in peace, I bring booze. I love you more than words, please don’t shut me out. Don’t run from me. I swear the whole state knows about you, I don’t spill your secrets. Don’t be mad?” She begs, and you eye her and take the bottle and chug and Jen and Lilia clap in happiness. 

You smile mournfully at Alice and she doesn’t need more form you. She takes the jug back and you sit next to Billy in the grass by the fire.

Dinner is a tense affair though.

Agatha is fuming and not speaking. She’s not drinking, she’s not really eating or speaking, she’s just angry. Rio looks between you two like she’s unsure of how to handle this. 

You finish dinner and the talk of a movie rings out.

“No.” Agatha says and it cuts the chatter.

“My love?” Rio asks, though something is clear she knows this won’t go well.

“You don’t wanna watch a queer movie or that movie?” Alice corrected as they walk into the living room to sit.

“No, tomorrow is circle. Tonight, get out.” Agatha says and you can’t believe she said that. But you also really can?

“What?” Jennifer is confused but Lilia grabs her keys.

“Let’s go! Come on a good night sleep will help us all for the parties tomorrow!” Lilia pushes the coven out the door and nods to Rio in condolences. 

Agatha is staring at you like she’s about to take a bite out of her strawberry girl.

🍓

But I know that it's worth it because

When I tasted strawberry Mentos, I knew you were the one

I knew you were the one

Poor Rio...She too must wait for part 2.....

Happy 🍓Strawberry Moon 🌕 , Everyone!

AO3

MasterList

[tux1i]

Caprice

[Scroll down for two art by me lol]

• Sorta the opposite of Shadow Milk Cookie, but some bits of Caprice's personality are still the same as Shadow Milk Cookie's

• Inch taller then Shadow Milk Cookie.

Although Shadow Milk Cookie (in my headcanon) has the ability to change size, there's one animation intro where he became huge with Pure Vanilla in the nub of Shadow Milk Cookie's hand

------

For Caprice he does not change size, just still inch taller then Shadow Milk Cookie. He can stretch to be tall but there will be limits he can't stretch that far. (His that edible dough cookie, not the hard crispy texture cookie type)

● From the other post I mention that the younger sibling of the Witch likes Shadow milk Cookie's design and overall, So the younger sibling of the witch has decided to make her own cookie, inspired by Shadow Milk Cookie. So Caprice Cocoa Charm Cookie was created. While the process of making Caprice, there are a few mistakes she pour into the ingredients. 1. Did not measure correctly of the cookie dough. (Miscalculated and that's why his inch taller) 2. Drop an icing letter into the process. (Which why there's an icing love letter in his right eye. Permanently, Scrap idea there is another reason why he lost his right eye.)

♡ His main purpose is you. Caprice has a specific and caring purpose within this AU. He's not just an abstract representation of love, but an active force for healing and reassurance, particularly for those who have become disillusioned or hurt.

Knowing this, his interactions and motivations become even clearer. His strong stance against superficial or negative portrayals of love stems from a desire to protect the very thing he embodies and to guide others towards healthier perspectives.

It's like specifically to connect with and care for the reader/viewer (Y/N You). That adds a layer of warmth and intentionality to his character. He's not just about the ideal of love, but about actively nurturing and fostering it in individual hearts. This makes his potential interactions and stories within the AU even more compelling. He's a healer of the heart, in a way.

_________________

I'm not sure how to explain it well, but his cookie symbolize a generation of love? Of this generation be how he views love or something like this, either good or bad. Also, the main purpose is to heal those individuals who are losing hope of love, giving reassurance that love still exists.

Caprice's Weapon

• His hammer was inspired by Amy Rose the hedgehog, Very heavy so I don't think any strong cookies can weld it even if they try.

• Can also turn back into a regular staff.

○ His talking to Shadow Milk Cookie BTW. He really doesn't like Shadow Milk Cookie.

Caprice's Canon

• True Believer in Love - He really believes in lasting love and hates when people are negative about it.

• Expressive with Love - His colorful style and actions are how he shows the joy he thinks love should be.

• Relationship Watcher - He learns about love by watching how other cookies connect (or don't).

• Secretly Sensitive - He might seem confident, but he has a soft side and might have been hurt before.

• Honest About Love - He'll speak up if he thinks a relationship is fake, trying to help. (His sorta like a fortune teller to cookies who asked him for help or insights)

• Loves Love Stories - He secretly collects things that represent the kind of love he admires.

• Passion Can Be Misleading - Sometimes, his strong views on love make him seem old-fashioned or judgmental.

• Appreciates Real Love - Despite his critiques, he's really touched by genuine, heartfelt connections.

[astrids-blog333]

A Ruin of His Making

Emperor!Lucius Verus Aurelius x Reader

Fandom: Gladiator II

Summary: You’re engaged to an emperor you hate. One night, in the palace halls, hatred turns to something much louder, and far more public.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, enemies to lovers, hate sex vibes, power imbalance, semi-public, possessiveness, manhandling, dirty talk, ref to past trauma.

A/N: Set post Gladiator II, deviates from the original plot (help sorry I can't resist). All physical interactions are consensual within the story's context, despite emotional intensity and imbalance. The reader is not weak or passive; she is angry and complicated and chooses to stay. That being said, if you are triggered by cnc situations, maybe skip this one <3

MASTERLIST - REQUESTS (OPEN)

WC: 5.6k

The city smells of sweat and heat and gold-painted victory. You stand at the far end of the atrium, among garlands and silks, your fellow nobles and senators are fawning and chattering like carrion birds circling a lion.

They say Lucius Verus has returned from war.

They say he’s changed, but you never knew him well enough to tell the difference anyway.

The guards enter first, tight-faced and too tense for a triumphal return. Then comes the man himself. He's taller than you remember, broader, somehow. His cloak hangs from one shoulder, dirt-streaked and travel-worn, and there’s blood at the corner of his cuff that no one dares mention.

He does not smile. He does not bow. He does not stop. The crowd parts for him like wheat under a scythe. His eyes scan the room once and find you.

You don’t move. You don’t flinch.

Not even when he walks directly toward you, ignoring the extended hands, the simpering greetings, the half-kneeling senators who hold out rings for him to kiss.

You stand with your back straight, chin lifted. You are not some doe-eyed virgin waiting to be gifted into this marriage like a prize pig. You were someone’s wife once. And though that man is rotting beneath the stones of a family crypt, he left you with a name. And scars.

Lucius stops a foot too close.

You feel the heat rolling off him, the stench of sweat and leather and rage barely held at bay. His jaw is dark with stubble, his mouth a tight line, unsmiling.

"You didn’t bow," he says, voice rough with the weight of months spent shouting over battlefields.

You arch an eyebrow. "I am not yet your wife."

He smiles at that. Crooked. Wolfish. “Not yet. But soon.”

You hate the way his voice drags over those words, like he’s already tasted them and has decided to spit them back out.

"Did the Senate send for you?" you ask. "Or did you run back early for your wedding night?"

Laughter dances in the crowd, polite and forced. But Lucius doesn’t join in. "I came because Rome grows soft in my absence," he replies. "And because I don’t trust them to protect what’s mine."

The air between you pulls taut.

"Is that what I am?" you ask, voice flat. "A possession?"

He leans forward. Close enough that you can see the smudge of dried blood at the collar of his tunic. You don’t know if it’s his.

"No," he murmurs. "You’re a puzzle. A provocation. And they promised you to me without ever asking whether I could stomach the taste of something so bitter."

Something ugly curls in your chest, a kind of fury that never burned out properly.

"And I suppose you think I’ll be grateful to be claimed by a monster?"

Lucius tilts his head, studying you. "Gratitude isn’t required. But you will belong to me."

He says it so plainly, so calmly, as though the matter were already settled in blood and ink. Perhaps it is. You never had much say in it to begin with.

"You don’t know me," you snap.

"I know enough."

A beat. The space between you closes, breath to breath. His voice drops lower. "I know you didn’t cry at your husband’s funeral. I know he hit you. I know you learned to lie still and quiet and pretend that was love. I know that scares you more than I do."

It hits you like a thrown gauntlet, because it’s true. There is no pity in his words. No sympathy. Just knowing. You hate that he’s read your history like some battlefield report. That he’s looked at your wounds and seen something useful.

"Then you’re a fool," you whisper, throat tight. "Because I’d sooner die than lie beneath another man who thinks he owns me."

Lucius doesn’t flinch, instead, he steps closer. A breath between you. You don’t step back. Not even when his voice curls behind your ear like smoke.

"What a shame, I happen to need you alive."

You slap him.

The sound cracks across the chamber like lightning. Every eye turns. Every whisper hushes.

His head turns with the blow, but he doesn’t strike back. Doesn’t even lift a hand.

He turns back slowly, a smile blooming like blood across his face.

There’s something almost unholy in his expression, a delight and fury which you cannot decipher for the life of you.

"Careful," he says softly. "You’re starting to excite me."

You stare at him, chest rising, blood roaring in your ears. You don't know if you want to scream, cry or push him away. Instead, you step back. Only one step.

Enough to remind yourself that you still can.

The feast had barely begun to die down, but already, the guests have begun to trickle out. The heavy scent of wine lingers in the air, mixing with the distant traces of roasting meats and sweet spices. You’ve stepped away from it all, retreating into the quiet of the balcony that overlooks the garden.

Lucius had left the feast earlier, his back straight, face unreadable, no parting words to anyone but the occasional curt nod. You watched him go, and for a moment, something like relief flickered within you.

But you hadn’t expected him to come find you.

The silence on the balcony is deafening as the shadows stretch across the marble. The cool air bites at your skin, tension now gathering between you and the man who’s just stepped into the frame of the door behind you. Lucius.

You don’t turn. The weight of his presence alone makes you stiffen, your back rigid. You can feel his eyes on you, watching, waiting.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low, a whisper that still manages to echo in the stillness of the night. “Enjoying the peace?”

“I thought you’d be too busy being the hero to notice,” you say, a sharpness to your words, though you refuse to turn to face him.

“You think so little of me?” he asks, the amusement in his voice somehow making it even more infuriating. He’s close now, so close that you feel the heat of him behind you. Every inch of space seems too small for the way his presence presses against you.

“I think you’re entitled,” you mutter, fingers tightening against the stone railing in front of you. “And I think you act like you're entitled. To everything. To the power. The land. The people. And whatever part of me you can claim.”

He steps closer, his boots soft against the marble as his hand rests on the stone next to yours. His voice drops lower. “You think you’re the only one who’s been forced into this?”

You scoff, unable to hold back a short, mocking laugh. “Please. You live for this. For control. For dominance.”

His face is inches from yours now. You don’t flinch when he leans in, his breath a whisper against your ear. His voice low and venomous. “You think I enjoy this, do you? Do you really believe I enjoy being forced into a marriage I don’t want? To a woman who can’t even look me in the eye without thinking herself superior?”

The words sting, but you don’t show it. Instead, you match his venom with your own.

“If you’re so miserable, why don’t you find a way out?” The challenge is clear in your tone, daring him to try, to do anything that might make him leave you be. “But you won’t, will you?”

Lucius steps in even closer, so close now that his chest nearly brushes against your back. You can feel the heat of him, the power he exudes, and yet you still refuse to give him the satisfaction of turning to face him.

His fingers trail dangerously close to your neck, and you can’t help but shiver at his touch. “You want to make me angry, don’t you?” he says, his voice thick with something darker. “You want me to lose control.”

Then, with a suddenness that has you gasping for breath, his hand shifts, gripping your chin and tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze. The coldness in his eyes sends a chill down your spine, but there’s also something dangerous flickering there, a hunger.

For a moment, the world is silent. He holds you in place, staring at you. You barely breathe. You can feel the weight of his stare, the storm building in his chest.

“You have a sharp tongue,” Lucius murmurs, his grip tightening around your chin, his thumb brushing lightly over your lips. “But I’m starting to wonder if you really want to use it.”

You feel his thumb trace the shape of your mouth.

Without thinking, you jerk away, snapping, “I don’t want this.”

Lucius steps back, giving you space, but you can feel the tension in his movements, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. The air is thick between you and Lucius, and the moment feels like a ticking time bomb.

The silence stretches, suffocating, but somehow neither of you seems willing to let it end. The distance between you feels impossibly small, yet you can’t quite bring yourself to move.

He looks at you like a predator eyeing its prey, and you feel it in the pit of your stomach, an unsettling pull.

“Like I said, you want to make me lose my temper, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice dark, but laced with a wicked, almost amused edge.

You want to hate him, to despise every part of this situation. But it’s getting harder to ignore the way his eyes burn through you, the way he looks at you as though you’re the only thing in the room worth noticing.

“You think you can scare me?” You bite back, stepping forward, though the words come out sharper than you intended. Lucius watches you carefully, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“No,” he says, voice dropping lower, just enough for you to catch every word. “I don’t want to scare you, but I know I could.”

You’re both too proud to back down. You hate him. He doesn’t like you, either. But there’s something else there, something neither of you can ignore.

Lucius takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving yours, and in a single movement, his hand reaches for your arm, pulling you toward him. The movement is swift, like a coiled spring finally snapping, and before you can react, you’re pressed against the cold railing of the balcony, his body a solid wall in front of you.

Your breath catches, not from fear, but from the intensity, the rawness of it. You’re angry, so fucking angry, but that anger isn’t enough to push him away.

You manage to fight through the fog of emotion, trying to spit out something sharp, something to cut him down to size. But the words die in your throat when he presses his thumb to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his.

“I thought you were supposed to be strong,” he murmurs, the challenge in his eyes matching the taunting tone of his voice. “Or is that just a front?”

The words cut into you like shards of glass. You try to turn your face away, but he doesn’t let you. Instead, his fingers tighten on your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“You want me to hurt you, don’t you?” he asks, his voice low, almost too soft for the sharpness of the question. “I can see it in your eyes. You want me to make you feel something, anything. Don’t lie.”

You want to scream, want to tell him to go to hell. But something in you won’t let it. You hate him for it. You hate the fact that you don’t want to pull away, don’t want to run.

You press your lips together, jaw tight with defiance, and finally you speak. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Lucius chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “No,” he says, his voice a mockery of sympathy, “you’re not. But that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Before you can respond, before you can even think of another insult to throw his way, Lucius closes the distance between you. His lips crash against yours in a searing kiss, ruthless, punishing. It’s not gentle, not at all.

It’s a kiss that takes, that demands.

You can’t help but gasp, the shock of it flooding through you. You don’t want to respond. You don’t want to let him win. But as his hands move to your hips, gripping you tighter, pulling you closer, something inside you unravels.

The kiss deepens, and you’re lost in it, overwhelmed by the heat of his body pressing against yours, the way his tongue demands entrance, the way he doesn’t give you the space to breathe.

“You’re a fool,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and dark, laced with satisfaction. “You think you can control this. But you can’t.”

You're drowning in him, and you despise that your body is reacting to him before your mind can stop it.

You push against him, trying to break free. But he only pulls you tighter, his hands sliding down your back, pressing you harder against him.

For a moment, you forget where you are. Forget that you’re supposed to be angry. Forget that this is supposed to be a confrontation.

You barely register the first sound of tearing fabric.

Your back is pressed to the balustrade, the cold stone biting through the thin silk of your gown, but Lucius doesn’t give you the chance to think. His hands are already on the fastenings at your waist, tugging hard enough to make the seams strain.

You gasp, a noise laced with fury and arousal, and push at his chest. “Is this how Roman emperors take what isn’t theirs? In gardens, like dogs?”

Lucius breaks the kiss to laugh, a laugh so low, rough, and amused in the most infuriating way. “If I were a dog, darling, I’d have taken you by now. But I’m patient. And you’re very, very close to begging.”

Your palm cracks across his cheek before you even realise what you’re doing. The sound is obscene in the quiet night, but it only seems to deepen that look in his eyes, hunger laced with something wild.

He catches your wrist before you can drop it, pinning it to the stone behind you, and leans in close enough that you feel the scrape of his breath against your jaw.

“That's the second time you've slapped me, do it again,” he growls, eyes blazing. “I dare you.”

“You’re disgusting,” you breathe, trying to twist free. “I’d rather sleep with a beast.”

His mouth finds your throat. Biting. Sucking. “Liar,” he mutters. “You’d rather sleep with this beast.”

And then his other hand rips through the neckline of your dress, fabric tearing, your breath hitching, and suddenly you’re half-bared to the open air, marble halls echoing behind you, columns offering far too little cover.

You try to cover yourself with your free hand, but he shoves it aside easily. “Oh no, don’t be modest now,” he says, voice syrup-thick with mockery. “Not when you’re standing there like a goddess meant to be ruined.”

“You arrogant bastard-”

“You like this,” he cuts in, tone taunting. “You like being manhandled. You like me doing it.”

You want to shout. Want to slap him again. Want to deny everything.

But the heat between your legs betrays you. The way your hips press forward into him, your legs shifting restlessly, you can feel how wet you already are, and you hate it.

“I hate you,” you hiss, even as he hooks a finger under the torn edge of your bodice and yanks again, exposing you further.

“I know, you keep saying that,” he breathes. “You hate me, and yet here you are, letting me touch you like this. Moaning into my mouth. Parting your legs. Do you know how sweet you sound when you're angry?”

He kisses you again, more teeth than tongue, and your wrists are pinned again before you can react, your body arched and open to him, your gown falling in tatters around your ankles.

“I should scream,” you pant when he moves to your jaw, biting there too, as though claiming.

“Do it. Let them hear. Let them see.” His voice is low, wicked. “Let the whole palace know that you're mine.”

You hate how that word coils low in your belly, how it makes something flutter in your chest.

With one arm, he lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you gasp as your back slams into the stone column behind you, your feet no longer anchoring you down. You can feel him hard against you, thick and hot even through his tunic. He grinds into you, just once, and it forces a sound out of you that doesn’t sound like hate at all.

His mouth brushes your ear. “There’s the real you,” he whispers. “You’re dripping. I could take you right here. Against the stone. Would you stop me?”

You should. You don’t.

“Coward,” you hiss, trying to reclaim the moment. “You think I’m impressed? You’re nothing but-”

He lets go of you so suddenly you stumble, but only for a moment. He catches you again, strong arms around your waist, and then he’s carrying you, half-naked, down the colonnade.

You wriggle against him, fists pounding his chest. “Put me down-”

“I will,” he snaps. “When we reach my bed. And not a moment before.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, but all he does is laugh, cruel and triumphant.

The doors of his chamber slam open under the force of his boot. He doesn’t even pause; he strides through the room and drops you onto his bed like a prize. Like a victory.

You scramble back, shaking, hair wild, lips swollen.

He unfastens his belt, watching you all the while with that same awful, smug amusement. “Still planning to insult me, or are you going to lie back and spread those pretty legs for me?”

You launch a pillow at him. “You’re the most arrogant bastard I’ve ever met!”

“And you’re the loudest little whore in Rome.”

You gasp, half outrage, half heat, and he’s on you again before you can draw breath. He's laughing low in his throat as you claw at his tunic.

“You’re still fighting me,” he says, dragging your ruined gown off the rest of the way, “but you’re wetter than any Roman virgin. Were you always this easy to break?”

“You haven’t broken me-”

“Haven’t I?”

He’s between your legs now, and the teasing stops being verbal. His fingers slide through your slick folds, slow and deliberate, and you whine when he draws one circle around your clit, just enough to make you twitch.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “You hate me so much you can’t stop shaking.”

You try to push him again, but this time he catches your hand, kisses the palm, and presses it against his chest.

“Go on. Keep hating me.” His eyes gleam. “But don’t you dare stop moaning.”

You don’t. You can’t.

Because his fingers are slipping lower, slow, deliberate, two of them curling inside you, and the sound you make is more like a sob than a gasp. You want to turn your face away, but he’s already watching too closely, already smirking like he knows.

“You feel that?” he says low, pushing deeper, twisting his wrist. “How wet you are? It’s obscene.”

“Stop-” you manage, but it’s pathetic. Your thighs are shaking.

“No,” he breathes. “You don’t want me to stop. Say it. Say you want it.”

You grit your teeth. “I want you to choke on your own ego.” He laughs again, lips brushing yours, still fucking you slow with his fingers. “Admit it, little bride. You’d rather choke on me.”

“Fuck. You.”

His grin widens. “Believe it or not, love, but that's the idea.”

Then he slams into you with his fingers, harder now, and you arch off the bed with a strangled sound. Your nails dig into his shoulders, seeking something to hold onto that isn’t your dignity.

“You’re soaked,” he mutters. “You’d let me take you anywhere, wouldn’t you? Against the column, the floor, right in front of the Senate. You like being ruined.”

“You’re disgusting,” you pant.

“And yet you’re dripping for me.”

Every roll of his fingers is pushing you closer, making it harder to breathe, to speak, to hate. You try to close your legs, to regain even the smallest control.

“Don’t,” he snaps, pushing your thighs apart. “Don’t you dare hide from me.”

“I’m not-”

“You are.” His voice dips. “But I want to see the moment you break. I want to feel it.”

You growl, but your hips are still grinding down against his hand. You’re trying to win a war on a battlefield he’s already set aflame.

Then he pulls his fingers free, wet and glistening, and holds them up between you.

“Look at that,” he says darkly. “And still pretending you don’t want me.”

You slap them away.

He grabs your wrists again, pins them above your head, and grinds his cock against you through the thin barrier of his clothes. You moan despite yourself.

“Say it,” he breathes, teeth gritted now. “Say you want me.”

“I don’t-”

He lets go. Just long enough to shove his tunic over his head, exposing the scarred stretch of his chest, the line of muscle down his stomach. You don’t mean to stare, but you do.

“Oh,” he purrs. “You’re staring. That’s new.”

You lunge up to push him, but he grabs your thigh and flips you onto your stomach like a rag doll. You yelp, trying to twist back.

He presses your chest to the bed with one hand, pulls your hips up with the other, and drags the head of his cock through your folds.

You go still.

The moment stretches.

“Ready to beg now?” he asks, tone silken.

“I will bite your fucking throat out.”

“Then I’ll fuck you while you try.”

And with no more warning, he drives into you.

You scream. Not in pain, not entirely. The stretch is sharp, unforgiving, but it’s the invasion that overwhelms you. He doesn't ease in, doesn’t wait. He sinks all the way to the hilt in one brutal thrust and stays there, one hand locked on your hip, the other on the back of your neck.

“You feel that?” he growls. “That’s mine. All of it. All of you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you hiss, voice trembling.

But you clench around him.

He groans, deep and unrestrained, and begins to thrust. Rough, relentless. The bed slams into the wall, your moans torn from you against your will.

“You sound like a whore,” he mutters, reaching forward to grab your throat, pulling you up against his chest.

You gasp, back arching, hair falling in wild tangles as he fucks into you from behind. Your legs tremble.

“Say it,” he growls again. “Say you want me.”

“No.”

He slides one hand between your thighs again, fingers rubbing your clit in tight, relentless circles.

You break.

Your body clamps down on him so violently that it makes him stutter. He thrusts through it, snarling, riding it out as you tremble and shake, breathless and wrung out.

“Liar,” he hisses in your ear. “You wanted this. You needed this.”

You’re still spasming around him when he flips you onto your back, fast and rough, before he plunges in again. This time you cry out with every movement, overstimulated and gasping.

“You should see yourself,” he pants, rutting into you. “Hair a mess, mouth open, legs shaking. Ruined.”

“Fuck… fuck you-”

“I am.”

He leans down, bites your lower lip, and slams into you harder. You moan into his mouth.

“You’re done pretending,” he whispers. “You can’t lie anymore.”

You claw at his shoulders. “You’re a monster.”

“Then why do you keep pulling me closer?”

You hate how right he is. Hate how good he feels. Hate the second orgasm building already, tighter, fiercer.

“You’re going to come again, aren’t you?” he says, tone mocking. “My poor little bride, soaking and speechless.”

He slams into you again. Your mouth drops open, but no sound comes out.

“Thought so.”

Your eyes roll back.

He fucks you like he’s trying to prove something, not just that he owns your body, but your pride, your defiance, every last bit of control.

When the second climax hits, you cry out so loudly he has to smother your mouth with his palm.

“Too loud,” he growls. “Don’t want the whole palace hearing how well I fuck my bride-”

But he doesn’t really care. You can see it in his eyes. He wants them to know.

You collapse beneath him, breathless, soaked, undone.

He comes not long after, hips snapping, voice raw as he spills inside you with a shudder and a growl of your name.

Silence, for a breath.

Then he shifts and leans over you, bracing himself on shaking arms.

Lucius moves slowly. And when he withdraws, you feel the thick, wet ache of it. You shift, a low hiss escaping your throat.

“Too much for you?” he drawls, brushing your hair from your cheek. “Pity. You took it well enough while I was ruining you.”

You manage a scowl, though your body’s trembling with aftershocks. “I should kill you.”

“You’d miss me.” He grins. “So would your cunt.”

He rises from the bed in a single motion, his body shadowed by the low lanterns, and you don’t expect it when he leans down, hooking his arm beneath your knees and lifting you from the sheets.

“Put me-”

“No.”

Your fists beat weakly at his chest, but you’re too sore to mean it. His seed still slicks your thighs. You’re marked, ruined, utterly dishevelled. And now you’re being paraded.

He strides from the bedchamber and out into the marble corridor of his private suite, bare, flushed, and grinning like a wolf. His bathchamber lies across the hall.

The door is open.

So is your mouth when a figure, a servant, pale and wide-eyed, turns at the end of the corridor. Sees everything.

Lucius does not flinch.

In fact, he smirks.

“Get out,” he says, not even glancing their way. The command is casual, but lethal.

They flee.

You burn.

“Scandalous bastard,” you hiss.

“Shall I drop you in the corridor then?” he offers, eyes glinting.

You don’t answer.

Steam curls from the bronze basin sunk into the floor, warm and waiting. The scent of oils hangs thick in the air, clinging to your skin even before it’s wet.

Lucius doesn’t stop. Doesn’t ask. He steps straight into the bath, water clinging to the muscle beneath as he lowers himself, and you, into the heat.

You hiss when it touches the rawest places. Bruises. Scrapes. You still feel where he stretched you.

His hold on you tightens, not to restrain, but to shield.

“I was going to warn you,” he murmurs near your temple, voice silked with cruel satisfaction. “But you just had to be difficult.”

You half turn in his arms, scowling, exhausted. “You enjoyed it.”

His teeth flash. “Of course I did.”

He reaches for a cloth, dips it into the steaming water, and wrings it out with a lazy flick of his wrist. The motion is slow, like the way a man sharpens a blade, not because he needs to, but because he enjoys the ritual of it.

Then he touches you.

The cloth slides up your thigh. Gentle. Unreasonably gentle.

You flinch. He feels it.

“I’m not him,” he says, low and close behind your ear.

The cloth moves higher, over the place where his fingers left bruises. It’s tender, the touch. Not apologetic, but… reverent.

You close your eyes. “I know.”

He doesn’t reply.

Just continues, slow, precise. Cleaning you as though you belong to him and no one else may touch. The cloth traces your waist, your belly, your breasts. Over the angry red marks blooming on your throat.

“Filthy little thing,” he says, almost absently, as if it’s a compliment. “Look what I’ve done to you.”

You shift against him, half-hearted. “Is this what passes for aftercare in the palace?”

“I could leave you filthy, if you prefer,” he offers, mock-casual, dragging the cloth up between your legs now with unbearable slowness.

Your breath catches.

He smirks against your neck. “Didn’t think so.”

His free hand is splayed across your stomach, keeping you against his chest. You’re in his lap, flushed and quiet.

When he finishes, he doesn’t speak. Just leans forward, pushing your wet hair aside to press his mouth once to your shoulder, unhurried, like claiming land he already owns.

Then he reaches for a towel, presses it into your hands.

“You can walk,” he says. “Or I can carry you back.”

“I can walk,” you mutter again, clutching the towel.

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re bleeding a little.”

You pause. Then glare.

“From me,” he adds, calm as marble. “You’ll forgive my pride.”

You turn away before he can see your face twist with fury, and shame, and something deeper, quieter, that gnaws at your ribs.

But you only make it a step before he steps into your space and lifts you again, without asking, without effort, arms locked tight beneath your knees and back. The towel shifts, slipping down one shoulder.

“Lucius-”

“I’ll carry what’s mine.”

You tense, heart pounding, as he strides from the bathchamber bare-chested and unbothered, with you cradled like a spoil of war.

And then, the worst.

Not a servant.

A senator.

A senior one, older, important. His brows lift, his jaw tightens, and for a long moment he simply stares.

You freeze in Lucius’ arms.

Mortified.

Bare legs, damp collarbone, bitten lips.

You try to twist, to cover your face in his chest, but the towel shifts again, and Lucius doesn’t even slow his pace.

“Domitius,” he says, cool and smooth as ever.

“Emperor,” the man replies after a beat, eyes still sharp with thinly veiled judgement.

Lucius only smiles.

Then shifts his grip around you, just enough to make it clear you’re not just some fleeting mistress. No, he’s holding you like a bride.

“You’re not dismissing him?” you whisper furiously as they pass.

“Why would I?” he murmurs. “Let him tell the court how you looked when I was carrying you home.”

He chuckles low in his throat. “Shall I walk slower?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re trembling. Again.”

He carries you back into his bedchamber like nothing happened.

Deposits you on the rumpled sheets with the same hands that had bruised your thighs and cupped your face like glass.

Lucius lies beside you. He doesn’t reach for you. Just watches.

The fire’s down to embers now, and for a moment, it’s quiet.

“You’ll hate me again tomorrow,” he murmurs, eyes on the ceiling.

You turn your head toward him. His hair’s a mess. A dark curl falls over his forehead. He doesn’t brush it away.

“I already do.”

There’s no heat in the words anymore. Just a strange, exhausted ache. Like you’ve both burned through something and don’t know what’s left.

You lie in silence.

Until, after a long while, you feel his arm shift and settle across your waist. Not tight. Not demanding.

Just there.

You don’t move.

He breathes, slow and steady, and just before you drift, you feel him press his forehead into your shoulder.

Almost like he’s praying.

You wake to sunlight cutting sharp across the marble floor.

The bed is warm. Too warm. Your legs are tangled in silken sheets, and your mouth tastes of salt and heat and something darker still. You shift and wince.

Everything aches.

Your thighs. Your hips. Your throat.

You drag the cover up as you sit, slowly, wincing again when the bruises sing beneath your skin. There are fresh marks on your wrists. On your collarbone. Teeth, fingers, his name written across your body in touches no one will dare speak of aloud, but everyone will know.

The door creaks.

Lucius enters fully clothed.

Hair swept back. Tunic dark and rich, imperial red. There’s a goblet in his hand and a parchment tucked under one arm.

He looks at you like a man admiring the aftermath of war.

“Sleep well, betrothed?”

You glare. “Barely.”

A slow smirk.

He steps forward, sets the goblet down beside the bed and takes the seat across from you like you’re in court again.

“I expect the palace has already heard.”

“I expect the city has.”

He tilts his head. “Let them. What can they do?”

You stare at him, this man who had torn you open with teeth and hands and never once begged forgiveness. He’s not softened in daylight.

You pull the covers tighter.

He watches.

“Say it,” you snap, before you can stop yourself.

“Say what?”

Whatever insult he’s been sitting on. Whatever cruel line he’s crafted for the moment he saw you like this, rumpled, silent, aching from him.

Instead, he leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees.

“I like you better ruined.”

Your breath catches.

And he smiles, slow and hungry, like he already knows that when he touches you again, you won’t fight quite as hard.

I'm so tempted to write a part two to this, but I have another Lucius fic idea I want to write first. If anyone would be interested in a part two to this, lemme know and I can bump it up in my priorities 🤗

[nartblartmallcop]

human swap AUs

some more pics and also ideas for each scenario under the cut

human Mud AU

Mud has spent the past 50 years of his life lying, cheating and weasling his way through a world that would instantly kill him if it found out who he truly was

this includes painting any visible skin, hiding injuries as soon as they appear, slinking through crowds as unnoticably as possible and, yes, disposing of rotlings who find out his secret

he really wishes the prophecy could've chosen anyone but him. he'd love to relax for once and just be. maybe even for eternity. not worrying about death sounds like such fun

he hasn't even had any visions of the end times or guidance from the angels like he always imagined he'd get when he was younger

enter Ken, a Rotling who sees Mud bleeding from a wound and quickly reveals himself to be embarassingly hard to dump in the ocean

and despite his expecations, Ken makes him an offer: to come work at his butcher shop. they could use a clever guy like him as an accountant

this is deeply baffling, but as Ken explains, he gets a free employee and Mud gets a safe space and an easier way to get rid of any witnesses

what Ken is mostly thinking is that if he tries to kill Mud now it could very well cause a chain reaction awakening whatever forces of fate lay dormant around him. going 50 years without setting it off is too good a record to waste on a creature that'll only live for like 30 more

so Mud eventually agrees, coming to live and work at the whale belly butcher shop (no crime association in this universe) and having a single person to confide in. they'll develop a brotherly bond eventually

the whole plot becomes a story about trying not to set off the prophecy. will it work? probably not lmao

ken is playing the long game in killing Mud sooner by offering him cigarettes at any given opportunity. Mud doesn't even mind, but by the time he'll die of lung cancer Ken will be so attached that he'd be sobbing about it. ironic <3

human Ken AU

Ken has never been one for hiding. or even particularly good at it, so most of his 40 years of life have been spent out in the open and fighting to survive

somewhere along the way he accidentally created a yeast golem, but really, this became his greatest gift

ken had been achingly lonely before breadhead' creation, so finally having somebody to confide in and to trust pretty much saved him from going completely insane

and breadhead also has a deep affection for Ken, mostly expressed in his readiness to crush anyone and everyone who dares to threaten the duo, and in the enthusiastic way he offered himself up as Ken's mobile knife holder

i dont have as many ideas for this AU tbh, it would largely just be an action fest. loads of fighting because Ken just can't hide who he is (shrek 2 reference)

human Breadhead AU

i like just calling him Bready in this AU :]

Bready is around 30 and has been doing relatively okay on his own, but that hardly mattered to Melancholy, the spoiled rotten Mafia Princess of the Smiling Dead (who are far more powerful and influential in this AU)

she found the human from the prophecy all on her own and she wants to be right there with him when he brings in the end times, however he plans on doing that

so she decides to keep him, almost in the way that one would keep a stray cat

but of course, nobody else can know about that. it's their little secret. So she fashions him a disguise in the form of a massive Bread Head. he's totally tall and strong enough to just look like an "underbaked" one

and while Mel does regularly give him delicious food and a soft bed, Bready hates it here and would love to leave. But the Smiling Dead have henchmen everywhere on the island. He couldn't go anywhere without being found out immediately. in a way it'd probably be worse than his human identity being found out

this AU would take on a more comedic tone while still keeping in mind how much Bready's autonomy is being ignored. definitely imagining him snapping in the middle of a fancy ball or smth

bonus: all four humans meeting each other

mud would be salty to hear how comparatively cushy a life mel and bready have, while ken would just get protective of everyone

[feefivefoe]

Something I think about when it comes to the batfam is what if they remember reader after a long long time? I’m talking 10+ years after leaving the family. Like what would that be like? Reader wouldn’t be a young adult but someone who’s established themselves in a career and most likely moved out of Gotham, got themselves a somewhat better apartment or maybe a small house, maybe gone through therapy and has decided that they are indifferent about the families existence, to the point that reader forgets about them sometimes. Except Jason reader would probably light a candle every birthday and holiday for him

I feel like the angst potential would be like an aged wine. Bruce Wayne forgot about his first born child their entire life, plus 10 years. Maybe the only reason they remember is a Gotham exclusive on the family, a “where are they now?” type story and half the family (Steph, Cas, Damian, Duke) discover reader existed and the other half is reminded of the forgot part of their family. Oh the angst for Jason! His favorite sibling, his friend from before his death, how could he forget them?? How could Bruce forget them??? And oh god it’s been such a long time where are they?? The story said that they couldn’t find a record in Gotham anymore, are they dead? He let them be forgotten, something he couldn’t stand happening to him, and now here he is, perpetuating it. The fight this would cause!! I feel like the fam would turn on Bruce demanding answers that he doesn’t have. Jason goes to readers room and finds nothing. Maybe reader wanted to cover their tracks? Maybe they didn’t want any trace of them in a manor that never cared for them in the first place? Who knows, all the fam knows is that this building feels so much colder now with this revelation.

Meanwhile reader is getting dinner with friends and work colleagues, having a good and fulfilling life, one outside Gotham, outside of the depressing influence of the Wayne’s, rogues, and owls of Gotham (sorry for making this so long!! Hope you’re having a great day!! Love your work!)

No bc how dare you come into my askbox and drop the most beautiful ask I've seen while I'm sick and brain fogged /affectionate

No hate to anybody else who has sent asks, ily all, but this one HIT MY BRAIN SPASMS AKDMELAK-

BECAUSE YOU'RE SO RIGHT???

The longer it goes on, the worse the inevitable realization is for EVERYONE. Including reader. Because while there's no record of them legally, that's just because they're doing too poorly to have records.

Once you leave Gotham and start settling, you have legal documentation that you just need, you know, for life. Your ssn, birth certificate, etc. Documents that Bruce thought he had somewhere, only to find out you had requested them from Alfred when you left home.

Alfred, being the enabler he is and always hoping you'd reconnect with them one day, just gave you legal copies. Or illegal copies that are good enough to pass, idk how that stuff works.

Point is, they can find you.

BUT.

That's after they get past the emotional turmoil that the discovery puts them through. Imagine if one of them is watching the special for laughs, members of the family snickering at how fake and put together they all are on camera, elbowing each other at how prim and proper some of them are.

Then, near the ending, it cuts to a city far away from theirs. Not Bludhaven, which confuses them. The rest of them stayed, at least relatively close. So where-?

"Y/N L/N, formerly known as Y/N Wayne, has not been seen in the public eye for over a decade. While our reporters were unable to make contact, some still can't help but wonder on where this mysterious member of the beloved family-"

*Snap*

That's Jason, snapping the remote in half while staring at the screen.

Where...when...?

Half of them are confused. Three of them are starting to get a dawning realization.

Jason is having probably the biggest traumatic breakdown he's had since coming to terms with his death and resurrection.

Which town was that? Was that their actual home? Is that just stock footage? Did the reporter lie, did they find you? No, they would have shown that. Fucking vultures wouldn't keep the drama to themselves if they had the chance.

Those are thoughts that don't hit until later, honestly. He's too fucking furious to think coherently for a while.

He wants to scream at Bruce, and hit him, and Dick, and Tim, and fuck it, Alfred too a little. (Unfortunately, they probably have lost Alfred by now. The man was already old.)

He wants to both trash and treasure what's left of your room, small enough to make him feel cramped. It's the size of his old apartment bedroom! Fucking moneybags couldn't give his second ever child a better room than this???

There's no diary left behind, or anything that would bring any sense of closure. Actually, the only thing of note is a scattering of ancient newspaper articles badly taped up on the wall, mostly peeling or on the floor by now.

"BATMAN BESTS POLICE ONCE MORE- RIDDLER IN CUSTODY"

"WHAT WE KNOW ABOUT THE BOY WONDER"

"NO MORE JOKES - CLOWN IN CUSTODY"

"BATMAN'S NEWEST SIDEKICK? ROBIN REPLACED!"

"A NEW HERO? NIGHTWING DEBUTS!"

Them. It's articles about all of them. Their hero exploits, at least. None of them past his...expiration date. It looks like his death is what made you stop idolizing your family so much. Honestly, the paper is old enough to make it hard to read anything but the headlines.

There are a few sticky notes amidst the papers. Clumsy, childlike handwriting.

03/16/XXXX

Richard and Mister Wayne saved people from a bank! Bad guys almost blew em up. That's why they had to miss the concert!

07/30/XXXX

Jason couldn't have dinner because the Joker broke out, and they had to stop him again. Stay in jail! My brother is hungry!!!! >:(

XX/XX/XXXX

I hoped Richard was in town because of my birthday...I guess it was superhero stuff. But Jay remembers! Next year?

XX/XX/XXXX

Not next year :( I made a cake with Alfred instead. Gave some to Jay after he patrolled. Not as good as Alfred's yet, but he still ate it!

Notes you wrote to yourself. To hang up, to show you that even if they aren't there for you, your 'family' is full of good people. That they're doing important stuff, and that's why they can't be there for you.

As a child, you hung up a wall to show yourself why you weren't important. Why you didn't matter.

And Jason breaks.

[albondiguilla007]

My favorite Hogwarts Eighth Year Drarry fics

Part ll

✨ You cannot save people, you can only love them / 51k / Upon returning for Eighth Year, there are so many strange things going on with Malfoy, Harry doesn’t know where to start. He won’t talk to Harry, but he’s talking to ghosts. He won’t apologize for his past, but the Black Family tapestry has crossed him off its tree. And the worst of it all, he still has that infuriating, snotty mouth on him that gets Harry’s dick hard as a rock drives Harry insane.

✨ In Evidence of Magical Theory / 43k / When a hex meant for Draco accidentally catches Harry as well, they're forced to learn to understand each other in ways they previously might have thought impossible.

In which Harry and Draco can't fight, so they fall in love instead.

✨ You And Me / 27k / When Harry sits down with Malfoy, he's really only looking for a reprieve from the constant stares and whispers. (Mostly.) What he gets instead are a series of strange events that lead to a friendship that is something else, questions that nobody knows how to answer, and the realisation that the person that Harry doesn't know how to hate, anymore, seems to be the person who knows exactly what he needs.

A story in which everything is complicated. And yet, somehow, none of it is.

✨ You Look the Way I feel / 108k / Draco returns for his eighth year at Hogwarts in an attempt to salvage whatever he can of his future. His plan: sit as many N.E.W.T.s as possible, distance himself from the Malfoy name, and keep out of trouble. Of course, with his father on trial and at risk of unthinkable punishment, not to mention the anxiety-fueled "episodes" that have been plaguing him since summer, the school year doesn't go so smoothly. Especially when Harry Potter keeps seeking him out.

✨ Sex and the Art of Castle Maintenance / 14k / "Come on, boys," Zabini drawled. "You’re only delaying the inevitable."

Trouble always had a way of finding Harry, and eighth year was obviously going to be no exception.

✨ Hey, Potter / 16k / Harry returns to Hogwarts for his 8th year, determined not to let Malfoy get to him. But when the snarky teasing starts up again, Harry finds that returning the jibes with compliments has a far more interesting outcome.

✨ Mental / 186k / Harry has had quite enough of sharing his mind with someone else, thankyouverymuch. A miscast Legilimecy spell says otherwise.

✨ Nyctophilia / 107k / Everyone's back for 8th year, and Harry and his friends seem determined to spend their last year in school running around at night, hyped up on coffee and alcohol and Honeydukes candy, doing all the childish things they didn't have the chance to do before. Draco watches as he's always watched: from afar, quiet and bitter and hopelessly in love. That is, until Pansy decides she's had quite enough of it.

✨ Breathe Again / 64k / "It's a tough thing to admit, if only to himself, but sometimes Harry misses the old Malfoy, the one that used to taunt him at every turn."

After the war, a very different Draco returns to Hogwarts. Harry is determined to be his friend.

✨ Oxytocin / 179k / Draco Malfoy cannot sleep. If he keeps going like this, he will go mad, or die, or both.

For some reason, though, he can sleep whenever Harry Potter is with him. And Harry Potter is nothing if not a helper to those in need.

[renthony]

My beloved husband @kryptidkhaos loves the story of Breath of the Wild, but has yet to make it very far when trying to play it himself. He's been sitting with me while I play my newest save, and I've been letting him decide what I do next.

His immediate request was that I pick all the rudest dialogue options when talking with King Rhoam, and go out of my way to harass him as much as possible. I spent several minutes whacking Rhoam with a stick while my husband kept ranting, "You're a terrible father! You let your daughter down! Everything is your fault! Rauru is a way better dad than you!"

So now I'm just imagining Link waking up with absolutely no memory of anything, except the knowledge that he hates this old man. Doesn't know who he is, doesn't know why he hates him, he just knows he can't stand the man.

And Rhoam, who has only known Link as the silent stoic, is just like, "holy shit, he was really holding back before. If I wasn't already dead, I think he might kill me."