#it's a little fucked up though. don't you think

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Mad Woman"

ok yall im out of school now! this was rushed so don't judge, when i write i just pour out whatever's in my head, that's why it's almost always rushed. i feel like if i don't write it, it'll disappeare! also to everyone hating in my asks, NO ONE IS FORCING YOU TO READ MY WORK!!!! hating does nothing but discourage me and lower my already non-existent confidence in my writing. pls leave me alone, if you don't have anything nice to say; don't say anything. i LOVE all my positive asks and comments, they make my day. don't ruin it for me.

Six months, that's how long it's been since Bruce exiled you to New York and left you alone once again. It's been 387 days since Tiffany Maverick pulled the rug from beneath your feet and ensnared your family in her web of lies and manipulation. For six months, your family ignored you, only Alfred sending you the occasional care package which you promptly threw in the garbage.

You wish Tiffany and Damian were as content with ignoring you as the rest of the family but unfortunately, they went out of their way to rub their closeness in your face by sending you pictures of family movie night, family game night, and the family attending their school events. It made you angry at first, before you saw how funny it was. A family of billionaires, a family of detectives, a family of vigilantes, sitting next to a spy; obliviously feeding her insider information. The Batman, sitting grinning ear to ear next to a girl who could be his downfall.

Surprisingly, boarding school was amazing. The boys were hot, though most arrogant and dumb, they were all loaded and into you. The girls idolized you from the moment you walked in, your word was law around here and the power felt amazing. You decided what was in and out, who was hot and who was not; a huge difference and change of pace from the years of bullying and ridicule at Gotham Prep.

The charm came with your new abilities, most likely. Sure, the first two months were fucking painful and exposed you to pain you didn't think was possible but it was a small price to pay. It was nothing for the power of being able to charm and flirt your way out of just about anything, being able to eject venom with the slightest trace of your fresh set of acrylics, being able to literally bite people with your fangs and have them enjoy it, sensing heat signatures and feeling emotions and eyes on you, having the ability to give literal bone-crushing hugs, and so many things you haven't even discovered.

Not to mention your random overnight makeover! Suddenly, your figure was to die for, perfect in all senses of the word. Your skin gleamed and shimmered in the light, long shed away were all the blemishes and scars. Your hair always shiny and your teeth always pearly white, albeit a bit sharp. You're the image of beauty.

Who cares about the price when the product was this good anyway?

Who needed familial love when everyone here worshipped you? That new view and utter hatred for the family is what convinced you to accept Ariele, your boarding school bff and roomie,'s offer to spend summer break with her family in the south of france. Of course, you wanted to go back to manor for a week before meeting her there. Alfred asked you to come and though you were angry at him, you missed the old man. You swore to yourself that you'd only stay the night, catch up with Alfred, and ignore your 'family' then promptly spend the summer half naked, tanning on a super yacht with your girls.

Little did you know that you'd never make it to france, in fact, you wouldn't even make it out the manor now that Tim discovered the truth and told the rest of the family.

Tim Drake noticed things. Small things. Minute details that other people might overlook. That's how he found the truth.

It started with the cooking. Tiffany had casually mentioned one evening that she’d found some old recipes in the manor’s archives, recipes that you had once written down, hoping to impress Damian with Arabic dinners and desserts. Tiffany had barely glanced at the handwritten notes before she had offered to make dinner that night—a perfect replica of your signature stuffed cabbage leaves, Malfoof, as you called it.

Tim had been there when it happened. He’d recognized it immediately. The dish was one of your favorites, one you had made for family dinners. It was too familiar, too precise for Tiffany, it lacked the usual love and effort.

Then came the awards. It was subtle at first, too. Tiffany casually dropping that she had “entered a local baking competition” and how much fun it had been to win. Tim had known that you had been the one to actually win that competition the year before, he remembered rolling his eyes as you foolishly tried to impress him. But when he checked the award Tiffany had won? It looked eerily similar to the one that you had earned. Tiffany didn’t even bother hiding her gloating as she showed it off, calling it “another step toward making Gotham proud.”

Tim’s stomach churned. It wasn’t a coincidence. Tiffany was stealing your life and he was the only one that saw it. Who knows what else she was stealing.

The pieces clicked into place when he found the old photo albums. Tiffany had been snooping around the library one afternoon, pulling out albums that had been tucked away in the back, ones that hadn’t been touched in years. They were full of memories of your achievements, pictures of family vacations, awards won for charity work and academic excellence. Baby photo's, old camera's, journals, even old clothes.It wasn’t just admiration. It was an obsession.

He saw her dig through and read every one of your old entries, saw her stare at pictures and attempt to manuever her body how you stood, but what really creeped him out was when she started tracing over your handwriting.

Tim couldn’t let it go. This was insane. It was almost as if Tiffany wanted to wear your skin.

It wasn’t that he wanted to make Tiffany an enemy or villainize her, quite the opposite actually, he'd been ignoring her strange behavior and smell for a year now because of how fond he was of her. But this? This was crossing a line. She wasn’t just trying to fit in anymore, this was dangerous.

He now suspected there was more to Tiffany than just her obsession with your life and after putting the pieces together, it was becoming clear: Tiffany was playing a much deeper game. She wasn’t just trying to steal your identity, she was stealing information, too.

Tim’s investigative skills had been honed through years of being the tech guy of the Batfamily, and when something felt off, he didn’t ignore it. Not anymore, he started tracking small anomalies—times when Tiffany’s presence seemed too convenient, moments when crucial data about Gotham’s underworld went missing from the Batcomputer, or when confidential mission details were leaked through channels Tim knew the Batfamily didn’t use. Times when the Joker seemed to know the family's course of action and times when villains knew Duke's plans.

That’s when it clicked.

Tiffany wasn’t just trying to fit in with the family. She was spying. Her affections with the family were a cover for something darker. She had been gathering intelligence for a shadowy organization, feeding them vital information about their operations. This was bigger than him—this was a full-blown infiltration. Tiffany was working for someone else, someone dangerous.

Tiffany’s betrayal ran deep, and her spying wasn’t just about information anymore; it was personal. She had been stealing pieces of your life, your successes, your talents , your family. She had slowly taken everything that you had worked for and twisted it into her own false narrative. It was sickening.

Tim couldn’t stand it anymore. He had dug through encrypted files, tracked hidden transmissions, and pieced together cryptic conversations. Tiffany wasn’t just trying to steal your identity for the sake of becoming the perfect family member. No. She was mimicking your cooking and baking skills, down to the awards she had won for those very talents. She had been trying to erase you and replace you with a manufactured version of herself.

It was almost too much for Tim to handle. But there was something even worse lurking beneath the surface: the deeper he dug, the more it became clear that Tiffany wasn’t just feeding information to criminals. She had been feeding off your spirit, your presence and she had nearly replaced you entirely.

Now he just needed to tell the other.

The tension in the Batcave could be cut with a knife as Tim stood before Bruce, Dick, Jason, Damian, Duke, Cass, Steph, Barbara, and Alfred, ready to show them what he had discovered.

“I’ve been tracking Tiffany’s movements for the last few days,” Tim began, his voice low but sharp. “And I found something that’s... unsettling.”

Bruce, who had been scanning a mission report, looked up with interest. Dick turned to Tim, a puzzled expression on his face. Alfred stepped forward, his usual composed demeanor now replaced with a rare concern. Even Damian looked confused.

“What did you find, Master Tim?” Alfred asked, his tone calm, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes.

Tim didn’t hesitate. He clicked a button on the computer, and the large screen behind him flickered to life. A series of encrypted files appeared—mission logs, surveillance footage, and even intercepted communications. The Batcave was suffocating in its silence as Tim presented the evidence to Bruce, Dick, Jason, Alfred, and the others. His fingers flew over the keyboard, and every new image, every new file, felt like a punch in the gut.

There was a long silence as everyone processed the information. Bruce’s usual stoic expression faltered for a moment, and Dick clenched his fists. The weight of the revelation was hitting hard, but it wasn’t just the betrayal that hurt. It was that someone in their midst had been pulling the strings behind their backs for a year.

The data was damning. It was all there, proof that Tiffany had been copying your recipes, your designs, your machines, even stealing the culinary awards that you had earned over the years. And on top of that, she had been siphoning critical Batfamily intel to an unknown organisation. The information was so sensitive, it could have jeopardized every single one of them.

“Do you see it now?” Tim’s voice was quieter, but his anger was unmistakable. He flicked the last file onto the screen. Tiffany’s false accomplishments, stolen directly from you. The stolen recipes. The mission intel sent out from the Batcomputer under her watch. “All of us have been blind to it.”

“About a month ago,” Tim said, “I found an odd encryption pattern in the Batcomputer—something I’ve never seen before. When I decrypted it, I found a set of mission details. Ones that shouldn’t have left the system. I traced the origin back to Tiffany.”

Alfred's face tightened as he took in the footage on the screen. It was a recording of Tiffany accessing classified Batfamily data, tapping into their most sensitive files.

“She’s been stealing information,” Tim continued, his voice gaining intensity. “Every single time she’s interacted with the Batcomputer, she’s been sending that data out to an unknown address. I can't track where it's coming from, it's too advanced; even for me.

“Impossible,” Bruce muttered, but his eyes were narrowing in disbelief. “Why would she—?”

“Because she’s a spy,” Tim interrupted, “and it gets worse. She’s been feeding them everything. Our weaknesses, our next moves, our schedules. She’s not just a mole in the manor. She’s been working against us this whole time. She's why so many missions have failed.Tim’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not just the family’s accomplishments she’s been stealing. She’s been getting close to each of us, using our trust. She knows things, personal things, and she’s been leaking that information. She’s been feeding it to the highest bidder, giving Gotham’s worst players a playbook for taking us down.”

Dick’s face twisted with disbelief. “She was pretending to be (y/n), taking her accomplishments as her own, but—” He trailed off, his voice faltering. “How could we have let this happen? How did we not notice?”

Jason’s voice cut through the heavy silence, rough and sharp, like a crack of thunder. He stepped forward, fists clenched. “I should’ve known. She’s been playing everyone, pretending like she’s all sweet and innocent, but she was using all of us.” Jason’s eyes flicked to the screen, then back at Tim, his face a mask of fury. “She lied to me. She’s been lying to all of us. And she’s been trying to replace her.” His hand slammed onto the table, and the anger in his voice was unmistakable. “She doesn’t belong here. We trusted her. We all trusted her.” Jason’s anger bubbled over. This betrayal, the way Tiffany had wormed her way into their lives, made him see red

He couldn’t keep it in any longer. “I should’ve known,” Jason spat, pacing in circles, his fists clenched tight at his sides. “I let her get close to me. I let her in, we all did! And now look at this. She’s been pretending to be everything she’s not. She’s been trying to take her place, her rightful place in this family!”

Alfred, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat, his voice filled with quiet but growing fury. “I should have seen it,” he muttered, his gaze darkening. “I was too lenient with her. I allowed her to slip through the cracks, to play at being part of this family. I should have known better.” His usually calm demeanor was cracking, and the regret in his voice was palpable.

Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line as the weight of Tim’s words sank in. His eyes hardened as he stared at the screen, disappointment creeping into his features. Tiffany had been their guest, their supposed family, and this whole time, she had been playing them all. You had tried to warn them.

Duke, who had been standing quietly at the back of the room, spoke up. His voice was low but steady.

“I knew something was off,” Duke said, his eyes fixed on the screen. “I couldn’t put my finger on it, but... she’d been acting weird around me. Always asking questions—asking about the family, the missions, everything. I thought I was paranoid.”

Damian had always been fiercely protective of what he considered his, no one could ever doubt that. He mocked you, saw you as his pathetic bastard older sister, he had wanted to hurt you. But now, as the reality of Tiffany’s betrayal settled in, something darker began to take root inside him. He remember your unconditional love for him, how you took everything he said did to you with grace and compassion. He remembered how good you were to him. He noticed that everything he thought he loved about Tiffany was what she stole from you. His eyes burned with rage as he thought about how Tiffany had wormed her way into the family and his heart, how she’d stolen your accomplishments, and how she’d attempted to erase his sibling from the very fabric of their world.

She was trying to replace her. That thought alone made his fists tighten, nails biting into his palms.

It had been a long time since Damian had felt this kind of protective rage. He was the blood of the Wayne family, the one who deserved to be at the center of it all, but you; his blood sibling, his equal, had always been ignored, undervalued ridiculed and neglected. And now Tiffany, a mere interloper, had dared to manipulate and tear him away from you.

Damian watched the family, his gaze flicking to each of them as they tried to process the betrayal. The anger from his family was palpable, but there was something else there too: possessiveness. Protectiveness. regret. They weren’t just angry at Tiffany for what she had done to you, they were furious at themselves for pushing you away and leaving you alone and unprotected in New York.

You were his responsibility, his blood, and no one; not even Tiffany, was going to steal you away from him. He had always wanted to prove his superiority to the others, but now that wasn’t his focus. His attention was fixed solely on bringing you back to him, where you belonged.

Cass, who had been silently observing, nodded. Her face was unreadable, but the tension in her jaw told Tim that she, too, had been sensing something wrong for weeks.

Steph, ever the sharp observer, had her arms crossed over her chest, her usual sarcasm now tempered with a cold seriousness. “I knew she wasn’t perfect, but this? This is next-level crazy. Are you sure bout this Time?” She leaned forward, her voice suddenly harder.

Barbra was too shocked to say anything. This was not how today was supposed to go.

Alfred glanced toward Bruce. “Master Bruce,” he said softly, “the level of infiltration, this is something I never anticipated. We should have seen the signs.”

Bruce’s expression was steely. “We were too distracted, too willing to accept her presence as part of the family. We let our guard down.”

“That’s not just her fault,” Dick interjected. “We’ve all been too trusting. Especially with everything that happened with (y/n).” His voice hardened as he glanced at the screen again, eyes flicking to Tim. “What now? What do we do about it?”

Tim stepped forward, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “I’ve already notified our allies. The information she’s passed is enough to give this organization an upper hand in Gotham, maybe beyond. She hasn't revealed our identities but she might soon. we can’t let her get away with it. She’s been playing us this whole time.”

Steph threw her hands up in exasperation. “So what, we just let her go? She’s been lying to us, manipulating us for months! ?”

Tim’s eyes were cold, calculating. “We’ll have to trap her. Use the information she’s already stolen to set her up. Once we confront her, we’ll make sure she doesn’t get away.”

Bruce’s fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw set in stone. He had failed [Y/N]—he had failed his child. The weight of that was too much for him to bear. “This ends now. We’re going to fix this.”

Ok yall since apparently 8 ppl think my work is absoulte shit and and SURE i knew how they felt this is pretty rushed and i feel like it sucks! anyway!! i hope at least some people enjoy <33 send in nice aks and questions and ideas pls. its so fun answering them. yall are mind readers and are so creative!! lmk if there's any typos bc I copy-pasted half of it from my notes app. yeah i did write half of this when i was supposed to be in class, and??? Next chapter Tiffany gets confronted, reader comes home, Batfam start groveling and regretting their actions, sort of on their way to yandere-ism and make reader move back to gotham to be closer to "family"

[cumbuni]

not for the faint of heart౨ৎ ft. your mom’s boyfriend, toji

toji is a terrible boyfriend.

the way his fat cock delves in your velvety insides, stretching his girlfriend’s daughter to the brink of tears. how he treats you like his little sex toy, and how you love every second of it.

how his tongue laves on your cunt and he drinks you up, like a man dying of thirst. how his lips and teeth leave marks and bruises on your skin, how he marks you as his own.

the way he pulls your hair back to bite the nape of your neck, and how you can feel the shape of his smirk on your skin. you know it’s nothing but cruel doing this to your mother, but the feeling is just too good for you to give a damn.

and the worst part is, you think that even though he may not be the best partner, he was definitely the best fuck.

you were a bad daughter.

you were a slut, too.

he calls you his sweet angel.

it feels so ironic, with how his mouth is dripping with your juices and his cock is buried deep inside you. “missed you s’much. ah-fuck, leaving me to go to college and shit. those boys can’t fuck you like i can.” he snarls in your ear.

your pussy aches, toes curling with pleasure, cunt clenching around his pulsating length. you love being fucked by him, he always knows what buttons to push.

toji fucks you like you're his bitch.

because you are.

his large hand comes to wrap around your neck, applying a slight pressure. your breath hitches and you try not to moan at the thought of him squeezing even harder, and you can hear him chuckle. "fuck, doll. y'look so pretty with my hands around your throat. 's almost as if i'm killing you."

the words send shivers down your spine, and you're not sure whether it's from fear or arousal. his fat cock drags along your walls, pressing on your sweet spot over and over again, molding you.

“love missionary, such a pretty face oh my god. i wanna keep you here forever, wanna fuck you all day and night. make sure you never leave me. only want my cock, huh? my sweet angel, i bet you'd look so good round with my kids."

it's all too much for you. his fingers are still wrapped around your neck and his other hand is rubbing tight circles on your swollen clit, and he's kissing you, tongue down your throat and all you can taste is yourself.

and god, the way he talks to you. you know it's not right, you know how fucked up this whole situation is. he was supposed to be like a father to you.

but fuck, you really don't care. not when your eyes rolled back and toes curled, pussy dripping. not when the only thing running through your head is 'please please please please'.

you come, and he fucks you through your orgasm. the wet sounds of your cunt fills the room and his pace quickens, and you know he's close. “ bet it turns you on fucking in your mom’s bed huh?” his tone is cruel, laced with something else. "mhm come on, come in me daddy. make a mess out of my pussy."

that's all it takes before he's filling you up, his release painting your walls and he groans. his hot cum is warm and it seeps out of you. "i love you." he whispers in your ear, clammy hands caressing your cheek.

toji is a terrible boyfriend.

[shouyuus]

Hear me out on this🤚🏼 vi and reader arguing over something stupid and reader says something sideways that’s like Loki kinda freaky and vis like oh yeah mf and then boom freaky time but a bit of rough talk so vi can get reader to admit she’s right???

hahahahahahah /gunshots/ this grew legs and ran off on its own omfg; hope u enjoy!!! also credit where credit is due i immediately thought of this textpost when i saw this ask so. 18+, mdni dom/slightly mean!vi, college roommate!vi cinematic universe

"fuck you."

"no fuck you -- y'know what -- why don't you just edge me into next tuesday -- that'd be less painful --"

"i --" vi blinks, staring at you as you run your hands through your hair, still mumbling to yourself, apparently entirely unaware of the change your words have just wrought in her.

a spate of desire twists knife-sharp in her gut as vi imagines pressing you in half, a hand wrapped around your throat the other teasing between your legs, the way your hips might jump if she curled her fingers just so.

she wonders how quick she could get you begging; she wonders, a second later, how quick it'd get her on the edge when here she is, careening towards it at the mere thought of taking you apart.

"ugh -- whatever, i have to get back to my research paper -- i don't have time to --"

vi's arm shoots out and she's got her fingers wreathed around your wrist before she can stop herself. your alarmed look catches like a spark in the dry-grass tickle of her stomach and suddenly there's heat pluming up the back of her neck like smoke as she backs you into the apartment wall, licking her lips as she watches confusion and the hazy sheen of unmistakable want flicker to light behind your eyes.

"v-vi?"

she almost shivers. she thinks it's a testament to how well she's always treated you that you don't sound frightened -- only curious, and a little surprised.

"we're not done here, princess -- and i don't really think i like it when you try to walk away from me like that," she whispers, leaning in close enough to feel the way your breath stutters in your chest.

"vi -- i don't -- this isn't --"

but her questioning smirk as she pulls back silences the stumbling words on your lips as your cheeks go dark and your eyes cut away from hers.

"aww, c'mon princess --" and this time, she leans into the word like it might be an insult, doesn't miss the way your lashes flutter or the way your breathing's shallowed out to small little hitches, or the fact that you're stock still against the wall, even though her grip is light and there's nothing to stop you from pulling away.

"where's that fire from a second ago? weren't you just calling me a bad roommate for always forgetting to run the dishwasher before i leave?"

you swallow, the bob in your throat making her heart skitter up her ribcage like climbing up monkey bars.

"that... okay fine -- that was mean -- but it's not like i was lying about the --" your voice pitches as you look back up at her, and for a second, the hard light in your eyes catches again, only to sputter out as you meet her gaze for the second time, a guttering candle to a winter's breeze. vi bites back a grin. this is too easy.

"mm, but it still hurt my feelings, princess..." vi coos, leaning in to brush her lips by your cheek, reveling in the way you tremble beneath her, "and really, i don't think i'm that bad of a roommate, right? i take care of you, don't i?"

the moment her lips catch the lobe of your ear, you let out a soft whimper that makes vi's vision tilt sideways. and before she knows it, she's sucking a dark hickey into the skin of your neck and your fingers are fisting in her hair, making her groan.

she sinks her teeth into your skin, pulling back to pin you bodily to the wall, pressing a leg up between yours just to hear you keen.

"admit it -- don't i take good care of you?"

you whine through pursed lips, your eyes glazed out as you frown up at her, nodding faintly. she grins, feeling the heady, full-body rush of knowing she's got you right where she's been wanting you for weeks, for months.

"c'mon, say it --" she teases her free hand down the length of your body to flip up the hem of the large t-shirt you're wearing (it's one of hers; the thought catches her off-guard like punch to the side, the knowledge of it wringing through her with a bell-toll of desire) to skim along the hem of your cotton panties.

"y-you're -- you're not a bad roommate -- vi --" you twitch as she dips her fingers into the waistband of your panties and slicks a finger between your folds, hissing out at how wet you already are.

vi's grin is sour-candy-cyanide as she pulls back, her gaze half-lidded as she watches you chewing on your bottom lip.

"god, princess -- did that turn you on?" she asks, though both of you know the question is useless and purely rhetorical. she swallows down a thick moan as she inches a finger between your messy cunt lips to tease at your entrance. your answering huff only makes her chuckle, and this time, she does groan out when she finally eases her finger into you, feeling your hot, wet walls flutter around her, making her own cunt twinge with want.

"mm... i think i'd still like a formal apology -- tell you what," she says, putting on a false, considerate air even as she teases her finger in and out of you, nice and slow, almost thoughtlessly as she cocks her head, "admit that you were wrong and... we'll call it even, yeah?"

immediately, she sees you stiffen, feels you clench down around her as your eyes snap up. you've always hated admitting you were wrong, and even when you have apologized in the past, you've always danced around the words. and vi had thought it was just a cute little quirk of yours, chalked it up to your massive brain -- it must be so hard for someone so smart, so used to be in unequivocally correct all the time to admit, out loud, that they'd been mistaken.

a rush of heat crests into her chest at the thought, and she quirks her finger inside you to brush against the tender spot she knows will get your eyes rolling.

and it does, but not before you give your head a tiny, obdurate shake.

vi sighs, licking her lips as she brushes her thumb against your clit and watches, with a thrumming satisfaction, as your mouth falls open around a silent moan.

"just three little words, princess -- and then... i promise, i'll make you feel so good..." she croons the words into your ear, shudders at the thought of making you cum, of how good you'd look shaking over her fingers. "unless," she hums, "you really would like me to edge you into next tuesday, which --" she makes a noncommittal sound, "saturday afternoon and i've got early morning practice tomorrow, but i'm sure something can be arranged."

you let out another debauched moan as she bullies a second finger into your wet heat, still fucking them into you at that mind-bogglingly slow pace. you try to arch your hips, but her other hand slams you back against the wall.

she tuts, leaning back ever so slightly.

"uh-uh, i don't think so."

you scowl and try to shove at her shoulder, but there's no strength in the motion and the hand on your hip flashes up a second later to grab both your wrists, pinning them above your head in a single fluid move.

it happens so quickly you barely have time to gasp before she's leaning forward again, her words hot as she murmurs into your ear --

"go on, princess, try to fight back -- give me a reason to get rough with you."

at once, you still, but the you give both your wrists an experimental tug, only for vi to tighten her hold. you can't quite stop the moan that works its way out of your throat, nor can you control the way your pussy slickens impossibly around her fingers as she laughs, the sound caught somewhere between amused and mocking.

"gonna admit that you were wrong, princess?" she asks, crooking an eyebrow.

you press your lips and whine, looking away. her fingers pump a few more times inside you, her thumb finding your clit with truly disarming ease.

"vi -- f-fuck --!" you yelp as she flicks her thumb and your whole body jolts, electric tendrils of pleasure ricocheting through you, harsh as a loose bullet.

"there y'go... c'mon -- be a good girl and say it --" vi can't quite stop the way her voice frays around the edges as she leans in to ghost her lips over yours, her vision tunneling as she starts to fuck you with her fingers proper, working them into you in tandem with the rhythm of your hips, watching as you expression falls slack.

"mm -- nnngh -- please, vi -- i --"

"ah... that's pretty good but... still not an apology," she muses, slowing her pace again, dragging both her fingers along your inner walls, pressing them up, watching as your eyes squeeze shut, your entire body jerking as she massages your clit from both ends.

"i -- i'm s-sorry, 'm sorry, i -- i was wrong -- fuck -- oh -- shit, that feels -- v-vi --!"

"thereee you go... that wasn't so hard, was it?" vi soothes, picking up the pace, grinning as you keen, your knees nearly giving out, but she's got you held up by your wrists, her thigh still slotted between yours, her fingers plowing into you till you're almost writhing against her.

she lets out a long groan, low and thick, a panting gasp working out of her as she fucks you through your orgasm, watching with soft-eyed wonder as you whimper, your whole body twitching with the aftershocks.

"hey, hey, princess -- you still with me?" she asks, letting go of your wrists in favor of cupping your cheek, swiping a tender thumb along your skin. you lean into her touch, your head lolling ever so slightly as your lashes flutter and you fight to focus your eyes.

"y-yeah -- think so..."

vi laughs, slowly tugging her fingers from you, unable to keep a grin from twisting at the corner of her mouth as you shudder at the loss.

"jesus, princess..." she says, holding up her hand -- there's wetness slicking down the back of her hand all the way to her wrist. you blink at it for a second before a tiny, embarrassed scowl digs itself between your brows.

"i -- you --"

vi laughs, shaking out her hand and reaching for an errant napkin on the dining table to wipe down her fingers.

"no, no -- i'm not makin' fun -- it's actually kinda hot."

you purse your lips, cheeks stained damson as she watches you readjust your panties, tugging on the hem of her large t-shirt.

"still think i'm a bad roommate?" vi asks, biting back a smile, her heart caught somewhere in the back of her throat.

you look up, eyes bright, your head already shaking.

"no! i -- that was --" your head drops back down even as your shoulders shrug up, "i... i was just annoyed but i -- i didn't mean it --"

a beat, in which vi finishes cleaning off her hand and strides over to throw the wad of napkin in the trash.

"i... i'm sorry," you say, your voice small.

vi looks up to find you watching her from beneath your lashes.

"'s okay, princess. apology accepted." she smiles, and this time there's no poison hidden in it's corners, only the steady sweetness you've come to know her for.

"i -- uhm --" you clear your throat, still worrying at the hem of the shirt. vi cocks her head.

"i can make it up to you... if you want --" you say, barely meeting her eyes.

vi pauses, her eyebrows kicking up. a second later, she's grinning again, rolling back her shoulders and leaning into one of her hips.

"yeah? and... how'dyou propose you do that?"

you bite down on your bottom lip and jerk your head towards the open door of your bedroom, even as vi's stomach gives an unruly lurch at the clear implication.

she fights to keep her expression flat as she looks you over.

"damn, princess -- you really weren't kidding about that tuesday-thing, huh?"

you crinkle your nose, sniffing slightly, even as vi brushes by you, breezing into your bedroom and plopping herself onto your bed with a satisfied sigh. you follow her in a moment later, climbing on after her and giving her shoulder a tiny shove so that she's backed up against the apartment wall and you've got room to straddle her lap.

"well... i have been thinking about it for... for a while," you admit, your voice soft as you thumb at the collar of her shirt.

vi groans, her palms settling around your waist, fingers digging into the plush of your ass.

"yeah? oh fuck -- ah --" she jerks as you trail your hands down her front, pausing to tease her nipples over the material of her shirt.

"mhm..."

"what else have you been imagining in that big, beautiful brain of yours, hm?" vi asks, breath hitching as you tug the shirt from her and lean down to ghost your mouth over her hardening nipples, tongue flickering out to tease at the cold metal piercings.

"lotsa stuff," you say, almost casual as you wiggle down to settle yourself comfortably between her legs, glancing up at her with what can only be called a chesire-grin --

"w-wanna tell me about it?" vi asks, reaching up a hand to run her fingers through your hair. you hum, laving a tongue against her nipple before sucking the entire thing into your mouth.

a groan punches out of her as she shudders, her head tipping back with a dull thunk against the apartment wall.

"i could... but it'd be so much faster if i just... showed you, no?"

[cheyisagirlkisser]

power bottom vi who lets you practice using your strap on her

warnings: 18+ content, power bottom vi x subtop fem reader, slight degradation and praise, clit stim (vi receiving), strap-on sex.

a/n: this is an older request but it's been on my mind for a while!!

Vi watched as you clumsily adjusted the harness around your waist with a skeptical eye. She sighed, leaning back and preparing herself for the worst. She felt bad thinking that, but she knew you. You had been her best friend for as long as you had attended to the same university, and you weren't exactly ever seen with girls. Pretty inexperienced, but adorably eager to please. When you showed up at her dorm with that downturned face, complaining about how you could never fuck a girl properly with a strap because you never get to practice, she found herself offering.

You glanced down at the dildo jutting out from the harness and stifled a laugh. This wasn't supposed to be a joke, though you knew it wasn't all that serious. You did wanna make Vi cum. You needed to be able to actually use one of these, and who better to experiment with than a girl who loves casual?

You tentatively settled between her legs, looking down at her for approval. She raised an eyebrow at you, and your heart did a little flip. "Do you even know how to use it?" She asked.

You scoffed half-heartedly at her accusation. "Yes, I do! I'm frequent LesLez."

"Dude, I did not need to know that."

"Sorry, I just.. well, I'm nervous. I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to do this, and it's making me feel weird." You confessed.

Vi softened a little at that, feeling some guilt for being brash with you. She grabbed your face, pulling it closer. "You don't have to be all dominant, you know." She spoke closely to your ear.

You looked confused, like an old dog being taught a new trick. "What? But I'm the one-"

"Just shut up and let me guide you." She quickly cut off your protest, her tone firm. It unexpectedly made you clit twitch with need.

"O-Okay..yeah." You agreed, steeling yourself.

Vi nodded, relaxing. It wouldn't be as bad to let you practice if she could be in charge. "Okay, just use your fingers on my clit..get me in the mood.." she instructed, letting her own trail down her body and show you what to do. You watched curiously as two of her fingers rubbed circles onto her clit. She then pulled them away, letting you try. You were a bit nervous, but when you glanced up to see Vi bit her lip at the way you touched her, it gave you a bit of confidence.

"Am I doing it right?" You asked, voice wobbly.

She nodded with a soft exhale. "Yeah, just like that."

When it was time for the main event, you felt less nervous. Both of you were. Vi found herself anticipated getting fucked. Maybe you wouldn't be so bad at it. You found yourself feeling like it wouldn't be so hard, and you were chasing her approval.

"Just the tip at first..I'm wet enough to take it." She guided you with eager pants, watching as you parted her slick folds with the head of the strap-on and very carefully letting it slip into her. Vi wanted to tell you that you didn't have to be so slow, but she figured it'd be better for you to be careful than just shove the dick into her and jackhammer-fuck her.

She gasped when she felt it, resting her head against the pillow. "Yeah, see? It's not so bad." She said, trying not to let herself enjoy it too much. This could only be practice. You were only supposed to be her friend.

You, on the other hand, had your head spinning. You eyes were bouncing from the way her pussy took the tip, the way her walls seemed try and suck the rest of the length in. You wanted to bottom out and let her feel every inch, to fuck her and hear her praise you for it. This was definitely getting out of hand.

"Can I fuck you? Please?" You asked, half-mumbling as if you didn't fully want her to process your words, but there was a desperation there that you couldn't hide even if you wanted to.

"Yeah, fuck me." Vi told you, bracing herself.

You didn't miss a beat, slowly pushing into her cunt and letting her adjust to all of it. Vi didn't hold in the moan, and she rubbed her clit with her own fingers to pacify herself from the stretch. It wasn't painful because she was experienced, but it wasn't exactly comfortable yet.

"Fuck me gently at first, don't rush it." She instructed, and you nodded. You reeled back until just the tip remained inside of her, and then slowly pushed back into her welcoming heat. You both moaned, your voice ironically soft and needy, and Vi's deep and raspy. Something about the difference in dynamics had your pussy soaking the harness.

The more you fucked her, the more the practice went from..well, actual practice, to something intense.

"Fuck, you're stretching me so well, aren't you? You like fucking me?" Vi cooed in your ear, her voice making you throb.

You eagerly nodded, a small whimper breaking from your throat as you slammed into her pussy. "Feels so good. Your pussy feels so good."

Vi's legs were wrapped around your waist, and your lips were latched onto her bottom one, sucking on the wet flesh. The room was hot, and you could hear the squelch of Vi's pussy taking you and the sound of your skin meeting.

On a particularly hard thrust, you found her g-spot, making her groan. "There you go. You actually can fuck a girl, can't you?" Her remark was almost condescending, and it ironically turned you on even more. Vi seemed to notice when your thrusts got sloppier, as you got needier. "Gonna make me cum, that's all you're good for," she rasped, and you whined. You whined at that.

"Please, I wanna make you cum. Need to." You whimpered out, fucking her with a newly eager and redoubled effort with the means to try to feel her cum around the silicone cock.

"Just like that, keep fuckin' me. I'm so close." She groaned and smashed her lips onto yours to hide her noises, fearing a complaint to the RA.

When she finally felt her orgasm come over her, her hands were all over your back, nails digging into your skin and making you moan just as loudly. Your breaths were shared, and you could actually feel the wetness mix on both of your thighs when they met, when you bottomed out in her pussy. All you could think about was how your best friend had the best pussy and you never knew. You wished you did sooner, you could be fucking her like this months ago.

You went limp on top of her, both of you breathless and a little sweaty. It felt nice, though. Vi was still in shock that things got so out of hand, but fuck if it wasn't a good feeling to have you laid on top of her like this. It had her a little shaken, trying to figure out how she felt about you. But not long after, the moment was over.

"I've got a physics test to study for, so.." Vi said, voice a bit quiet.

You were a little surprised. You wanted to just cuddle and feel her warmth for a bit, but it seemed like she wanted you to leave. That's what her words implied. So, you silently nodded, getting dressed. You wondered if this would happen again. You couldn't figure out if Vi was thinking the same things that you were, but you knew without a doubt that the friendship would never be the same. For better or worse.

[misayani]

DOPAMINE — G!P SQUID GAME WOMEN + COCKWARMING HCS

◜ featuring ... kang mi-na (player 196), no eul (guard 011), se-mi (player 380), jun-hee (player 222), young-mi (player 195), kang sae-byeok (s1 player 067)

𔗨 author's note — was supposed to write a cock analysis for each character but i got too shy and then realized that im kinda terrified of dicks. no hyun-ju :) [lowercase intended]

🧷 𝓜isa mentions — @joc3lynx @mymel1008 @justredsw @wlvlurvsfimmia @azansstuff @dvrk-hoon @yersang-dreams @keiradg01

warnings: nsfw [too many mentions of cocks (oops), public sex, exhibitionism, somno / free use, unnie + breeding kink, masochism + knives]

mi na —

𓏲๋࣭࣪˖ cockwarming shameless gf mi-na while on a karaoke date with your girl-friends ♡ [public sex]

- here's the thing, they all don't know you two are in a relationship

- so it's definitely not weird when mi-na asked you to sit on her lap because girl-friends do that !!!

- she's wearing a skirt, you're wearing a skirt .. need i say more?

- mi-na's always shifting you on her lap, solely to make you feel her boner underneath you

- she took the chance when your friends excused themselves to go to the bathroom

- she slipped her already hard cock from her panties and hiked your skirt up so that she can move your underwear aside and finally push it inside you 

- "m-mina they'll come back soon—"   "and? your skirt's covering everything so they won't see a thing."

- when your friends finally came back to the private karaoke room you all booked, party's resumed!

- little did they know, the both of you were having your own fun while they sing their hearts out

- luckily, the speaker was loud enough—too loud actually— to blur your moans out everytime mi-na bucks her hips up

- but other than that, she completely stays still the whole time, making you needy and desperate for any movement

- mi-na doesn't stop you though when you decide to take matters in your own hands and grind yourself on her dick

- she doesn't let you cum though, bc what's the point of cockwarming her then?

- you both stay like that for the entire evening—her whispering dirty things in your ear and then you squirming on top of her.

- "dirty girl. really? in front of our friends? fucking shameless." 

- shs tells you that as if she wasn't the one who initiated the whole thing ???

- uh oh .. ! one of your friends notice the both of you quiet, not socializing and singing with the others.

- "babes! you both good?"

- mi-na smiles, "absolutely," then looks at your state—face flushed while looking down— "although, i think she's had too many drinks, but i'll handle her."

- your friend simply nods and joins back in on the others' conversation so... phew, close call.

- the karaoke date finally ends and then here's you, tired and worn out, even though you just sat down the whole day ??? just on mi-na's cock

"hey, party's over, you still okay?" mi-na whispers while snaking an arm around your waist. a few seconds goes by without any responses coming out from your lips and then she breaks into laughter, "what? have you gone dumb now? i haven't even done anything."

no eul — 

𓏲๋࣭࣪˖ cockwarming strict older gf no-eul while she's working ♡ 

- she tells you to wait until she's done working but how could you?— not when you just woke up from a wet dream, seeing no-eul's side of the bed empty, and dragging yourself to her office just to find her working late, again.

- she ignores you while you're whining and sulking beside her chair. 

- tenses up when she feels your hands gently massaging her shoulders, and then traveling them to her neck, before leaning down to leave wet kisses on the spot below her ear. 

- "stop that." she warns,   "why? is your work more important than me?" 

- she clicks her tongue in annoyance, why do you have to be so stubborn right now? right when she's working?

- you frown when she still won't budge despite your efforts. 

- "please, just need you inside me." you voice out, burying your face on the crook of her neck, before she lets out a sigh and then finally moves her chair back so that you'll have space when you straddle her !!

- a groan slips from her lips once she's finally inside you

"you're not allowed to move. let me finish my work first then i'll take care of you." she speaks, tone strict. you pouted, "huh? i thought you—"      "you gonna stay quiet or should i make you leave?"

- and then she's got you totally quiet before you sighed in defeat and just rested your head on her shoulder, muttering a small 'i hate you' under your breath.

- you started wiggling yourself, resulting to no-eul's hand reaching for your throat and firmly gripping the sides, making you dizzy

"didn't i tell, you're not allowed to move?"    "i was just trying to get comfortable.."    "stop disturbing me if you want me to get this over with faster."    

- "can i at least kiss you, eul? please?"   and of course, how can she deny you more? restricting you from bouncing on her cock was enough—and so she says yes <3

- you start to leave sloppy kisses on one corner of her mouth, while her eyes stay still on the laptop screen behind you

- oops ... you 'accidentally' clench around her, which makes her stop typing

- "i'm sorry eul, i didn't mean to," you apologized softly against her mouth, letting out a yelp when she suddenly turns her attention to you and actually crashing her lips onto yours

- no-eul's not really great with controling herself .. so here's the both of you, making out, while her work was loooong forgotten

- no-eul's hand reaches for her laptop and closes it, before gripping your thighs from under and lifting you up

- she's such a loser. betraying her own words from earlier— "let me finish my work first then i'll take care of you."

- because she's literally pounding into you right here, right now now while standing, not even bothering to take you to your shared bedroom

"you're so damn stubborn"  she chokes out while thrusting hard and deep inside you. 

se mi —

𓏲๋࣭࣪˖ cockwarming bandmate se-mi while inside the music studio ♡ [exhibitionism]

- se-mi can be lewd sometimes .. 

- because what do you mean you're sitting on her cock right now while you're both in the music studio WITH your bandmate, mi-na, inside the soundproof room ????

- your back is facing her as you adjust the controls in front of you while se-mi is literally dying behind you, face red, trying to lift her hips up into you

- but everytime she does, you're totally unbothered—not making even the slightest sound—because you're too focused on what you're doing

"please can we just record the fucking song tomorrow? i can't handle this anymore"      "shut up, i can't focus."

- she gets whiney, but she's kinda enjoying this.

- when mi-na's finally done recording her part, she exits the soundproof room and her gaze immediately lands on the both of you—you on se-mi's lap while she's red as fuck underneath you—and then makes a disgusted face, "ew"

- you guys really need to get a room because wtf

- and then thanos walks inside the studio, not even sparing the three of you a glance as he walks straight inside the soundproof room.

"hey! these two are fucking while we're recording!"  mi-na complains, though thanos was already inside the soundproof room, unable to hear a word she's saying.

- you just laugh, sending vibrations through se-mi's cock, making her grip onto your thighs tightly,  "babe, he doesn't give two fucks." 

- se-mi just hides her face on your neck, slightly biting it, "gonna fucking kill me, you know?" 

- a playful smirk tugs on the corners of your lips, savoring the moment,   "i know." while purposely grinding down on her length

"baby please, can we go now? let's just have nam-gyu do all this work."  se-mi sulks, her right hand under the skirt you're wearing while she rubs your clit. you sighed, "min-su still needs to record his part." cocking your head to the side towards where min-su was sitting down, his palms covering his eyes. poor min-su.

jun hee —

𓏲๋࣭࣪˖ cockwarming girlfriend jun-hee while she's asleep ♡ [somnophilia / free use]

- to get things straight, the both of you had numerous conversations about this before— both parties consenting and agreeing to free use in the relationship.

- and here is one of the moments where the agreement is applied:

waking up from a wet dream, you gently flutter your eyes open before stretching your arms over your head. and then, due to the dream, there's that ache in the space between your legs, your throbbing core clenching around nothing. this early? you huff, your eyes finding their way onto your girlfriend's sleeping figure beside you. 

- slowly grinning to yourself, you move closer, before you start hiking her nightgown up and then pulling her underwear down

she shifts a bit, her face scrunching, before she falls back still again. you carefully slide your own panties down until they reached your toes. 

- once they were finally off, you straddled her with no hesitation, slowly sinking your soaking cunt onto her soft length before resting your body on top of hers, sighing in satisfaction

- jun-hee is a deep sleeper, so she didn't react at all, not even a single twitch, no anything.

- and you were still tired yourself, even though you were horny as hell, so it did not take long for you to fall back to sleep

- hugging her tightly, your eyes slowly closes. her being warm inside you helping you fall asleep better

you wake up an hour and a half later, moans involuntarily slipping from your lips as you pry your eyes open. you realized you're laying on your back now, with your legs pinned down and jun-hee in between them, pumping her cock in and out of you.  "good morning, sweetheart"

young mi —

𓏲๋࣭࣪˖ cockwarming younger bestfriend young-mi while you do her makeup ♡ [unnie + breeding kink]

- baby is such a puppy :( she'd get shy about it at first once you initiated the idea

"are you s-sure, unnie? i don't wanna make you feel uncomfortable.." "it's okay sweetheart, think of it as a repayment! i'm gonna make you pretty, while you make unnie feel good, how's that sound?"

- she then nods slowly, sliding her pants down and revealing her already hard cock, pre cum leaking at her tip

- "so pretty."     "t-thank you..."   "i'm gonna make you even prettier"

- you make her sit on the chair before sinking yourself down,  soft gasps leaving the younger girl's mouth

- "you're so warm, unnie"

- she rests her hands politely on your thighs that were on either side of her lap, while you start applying concealer on the spot below her eyes

- you tease her the whole time ! clenching around her dick on purpose just to see her face scrunch up

- then here's you, being mean, complaining. telling her to stop making expressions so that you won't make a mess of her make-up, as if it was all her fault !!!

- your lips would form into a mocking smile, gently cooing at young-mi whenever she makes those pretty pretty noises

- and then her hands travels their way onto your boobs, gently cupping them over the shirt you're wearing—well, that was before you make her stop and guide her hands underneath it, making her actually feel your boobs.

- you were now applying her blush, making her cheeks even pinkier than what it had been just earlier. (she stares at you with puppy eyes the whole time)

- soon enough, you're finally onto the last step which was applying lipstick onto her lips

- when you were about to do so, she slipped out a hand from underneath your shirt and grabbed your wrist before her cock suddenly twitches inside you

"unnie... i feel something.."   she softly mutters,   "hm?"   tilting your head curiously at her, before realizing something and then chuckling softy,    "are you gonna cum baby?"     she nods, her eyes getting glossier.    your lips form into a satisfied smile, "go on. inside."    

- her eyebrows furrow, looking at you in disbelief, "r-really?"

- not responding, you put the lipstick down on the vanity table, before wrapping your arms around her neck and crashing your lips onto hers

her hips buck up into you while letting out whimpers against your mouth, and then you finally feel it inside you—hot cum painting your walls white—before breaking the kiss and then looking at young-mi, pushing her hair away from her pretty face,   "my good girl."

sae byeok —

𓏲๋࣭࣪˖ cockwarming ex girlfriend sae-byeok while she carves her name onto your thigh ♡ [masochism + knives]

- i'm so sorry please forgive me after this

- saying sae-byeok is mean would be an understatement

- how did you end up here?—crying while sitting on top of your ex's lap, her cock hard and deep inside of you, while she's busy carving your thigh up

could you blame her? you were entertaining and flirting with somebody else at a party—where sae-byeok just happens to also be in—and that somebody wasn't her.

- she pulls you in one of those private club rooms, one that smelled of sex and cigarettes, and drags you to the firm couch, before harshly pushing you down

"sae-byeok what the fuck?!" you yell, your voice barely audible over the blaring music outside, while turning around to look at your ex, only to find her starting to unbuckle her pants

- she just looks at you blankly, but her eyes held something else—hatred and lust—which scared the shit out of you. who knows what she's capable of right now?

- once her pants were off, she walks towards the couch before sitting down,    "strip."

you didn't know what has gotten inside your mind, because all of a sudden, you found yourself sitting on her lap with her length inside you. you glare at your ex as you sniffle,     "fuck you."

- she snickers, "sure."  before pulling out a small compact knife from her pocket

- sometimes you'd ask yourself, what is wrong with you? why the fuck are you getting even more turned on at the sight of her fucking pocket knife

- she glances at you, licking her lips before looking down, seeing her buldge on your lower belly

"i knew you still weren't over me."    she speaks, tone cocky. you scoff,  "you wish. not even three days after our breakup, i was already over you."   

- she raises an eyebrow, "really now?" 

- a loud hiss leaves your lips as you felt her press the blade hard, enough to slice your thigh

- "gonna carve my name on your thigh. you want that slut? for everyone to see you're mine?"

- you look at her with tears in your eyes that were threatening to fall

"fuck you."        "is that all you can say?"

- and then she starts writing, moans leaving your lips at every slice !!

- fortunately for you, the pleasure from her being inside you overshadows the pain from her carving you up

- when it was getting too painful though, you would start grinding down on her, trying to feel more and more pleasure

- but it is strange—the fact that you also feel pleasure from the pain alone—surely, you knew you were fucked up

"fuck— slow- stop, please stop."  you finally cry out, your hand wrapping around her wrist and gripping on it. she looks at you with her eyebrows furrowed. you just stare at her dumbly, drool escaping your mouth. 

- it hurt. more than you'd like to admit it.

- you looked down to your thigh and saw the bloody mess, which made you timid,

- she grabs your hand that was wrapped around her wrist using her free one, and yanks it away, "not done yet. you don't want me leaving it just like this, right?"

- you felt so dirty. many thoughts raced around your head, 'am i gonna fucking bleed out to death?'

soon enough, she's finally done. she looks up at your pathetic state, seeing dried tears on your pink cheeks. she grips your chin tightly, making you look down at her work— 강새벽.

@misayani

[sanguineterrain]

(fem reader, size difference, some thoughts about jason being a big fella.)

Thinking about how it takes Jason some time for it to sink in how different you are physically after he returns, and how it seriously fucks with him.

Obviously, he knows rationally that he's taller and stronger and just bigger. He knows that his skills are sharper than when he was Robin. He fights better because he's grown, and he has the body to match it. He no longer has to worry so much about how to use his opponent's strength against them. He has enough strength for ten opponents.

But it's different with you. You're not an opponent, though Jason frequently feels conquered by you. You were his friend before and you're his friend now, but he can't help but question if that's the only thing that's remained constant. Jason was a small kid, unassuming, and he suspects that that's why you liked him in the first place. Jason wasn't a physical threat before. Of course you'd feel safe with him as a friend. Now what?

The stark difference between you manifests in fleeting moments, like when he gets a cup for you from the cupboard which you could get yourself, but it's easier if Jason does it. And then he watches your smaller, lovely hand take it from his, your fingers brushing together, maybe they're painted with that nail polish you love so much, and Jason has to take a lap. You squeeze past him in the kitchen or the hallway and Jason can't stop thinking about how you both grew up but he really grew up, and you're not small, Jason's just big. He could cover a good part of your waist or your face with his hands. He could pull you into a hug, into a room, into his lap with such little effort, it frightens him. Your spine would bend if he pressed right; your arms would stay up, down, however he moved them. You could be Jason's pretty little doll, and that makes him feel like a monster.

This thought about Jason growing up and seeing you in a new light shaped by want and warmth is wrapped in a richer, darker thought about how Jason sees you and a part of his brain demands you to be his. He pines for it. It's not a quick kink to release in the bedroom (Jason can't even fathom you letting him into your bed); it's a constant reminder of how even though Jason's dedication to you is the same, the way in which he can show you his dedication is different. He's scary now, and sometimes that fills him with so much self-hatred, he feels sick. But sometimes it leaves him heady with power, thinking yeah, you don't need a guard dog, you get on fine, but Jason's there nonetheless, solid and able to take on anything. He would kill for you. You're not helpless but if you were, Jason would take care of you. He'd carry you around the apartment like a loyal steed if you wanted him to. He'd put his hand on the middle of your back and arch you over him, if you wanted him to. Only if you wanted to. Jason would rather die than scare you.

But here is the kicker: you aren't afraid. Jason's this looming tank of a man (of a monster?) and you carry on without a worry. You laugh and tease and poke his ribs and make him lunch and look up at him without a hint of fear. This does not bode well for that richer, darker desire of Jason's. If you were afraid of him, well, Jason could work with that. He'd hate himself more, but he'd understand. It's only logical that you'd fear someone who has such a physical advantage over you.

But every warm touch, every smile, every plate of food that you make for Jason with the casual excuse that you were cooking anyway (you weren't—he knows what you look like when you lie), it all just makes that terrifying thing inside of him want you more. More than once, Jason's woken up from a dream about you. His beautiful, incredible best friend, who'd crawl into his wolf mouth and fall asleep on his teeth. He's dreamt of you offering a sparkly gala gown to him, then pulling off your shirt and waiting for him to dress you. He's dreamt about your horrified screams when you realize that all he's good for is killing, and who'd want a bloodthirsty dog for a friend? He's had other dreams about you that left him hard and self-loathing. Jason's terrified by his desire, but if you let him, if you wanted it, he'd overwhelm you with his size in the best way. He wants you to bury yourself in him, the way he so often does with you. Make him hold you, rest your feet on his back, sleep on his chest. He can take it. He can take it all and more. God knows he's strong enough.

[v1x3n]

REUNITE! ── ripped apart.

♯ PAIRINGS - john price x falsely accused reader x 141

♯ SYNOPSIS - tortured for information by your family and the person you loved, john price. you were harmed for something you hadn't even done, you were framed as the traitor and soon they would find out.

♯ TAGS - angst - mentions of torture, panic attacks and breakdowns.

─ previous chapter // masterlist // next chapter ─

Days go by, long fucking days where you're practically stuck in this bed. You could get up and walk around but you didn't want to. You stared at the ceiling, kind of hoping it would fall down on you but it never came. Your face stuck in the same position for hours as you melted into the bare sheets of the hospital bed. A singular tear pricks down your cheek while you look towards the dying flowers that sit on your bedside table.

"Hi honey!" Your nurse walks into your room with some food clumped on the plate. You glance up at her with weak eyes. She places the food on your bedside table. Glancing at the withered flowers, she sighs. "They been in here recently?" Jane asks with a hint of disappointment. Your head shakes, not really wanting to even think about or even talk about them, let alone speak to them. "Listen, I know what they did to you was terrible and you probably never want to open that wound but-"

When you scoff and look away after the 'but', she continues talking. "...You should talk to someone about it. I'm not asking you to talk to them. Because god knows I wouldn't even look at them, but you should see a therapist. You do need one and you can't keep pushing away everyone who wants you to get better." Jane's sweet smile makes you acknowledge that there are nice people in this world.

"I-I uhm- I was forced to go to a session like within the first week of being here but they just..." you trail off, looking towards the flowers that had lost nearly all their life. Huh, you never thought you could relate to flowers.

"I understand, I do." She gently puts her hands on your knee. This time you don't flinch though. This time, memories didn't flash through your eyes - forcing you to relive the horrible things those fucking four put you through. This time, it was peaceful, it was comforting. "You should still give it another go, after what you went through - you need someone safe." Your nurse's thumb rubs against your knee as she speaks.

You take in her words, the lingering feeling of wanting to get better - to heal - stabs at your heart but you also wanted to show those fucking horrible four that this is what they fucking did to you. Not wanting to waste time getting better, if you even could, you knew deep down you'd always hurt. You wouldn't be able to trust anyone again - especially a man. What they did to you tore you apart.

So, you shrugged off your nurse's words before she let you be, to eat your hospital food. The slop slumped onto the plate looked so disgusting. The sandwich that you could tell would stick to the roof of your mouth was unappetizing. Honestly the food there made you less hungry. After sighing and shoving the meal to the bedside table, pushing the dead flowers off the wood so they splattered all over the floor. The hard floor was littered with wilted petals and the dark, pale green stems.

So here you are. Sat in another white fucking room, except there wasn't a lonely bed or flowers scattered across the floor. There were two cream couches and a massive window. And a woman wearing a tight pair of trousers, a white blouse with a blazer swept over the couch she was sitting on top of. The girl was holding a clipboard with text filling the papers. Her hair was straight and was neatly brushed - the total opposite of you. “Ah, y/n? Right? You can call me Jones." she smiled as you came into her viewline. You nod nervously as you swipe down on your little gown the hospital gave you. 

Multiple panic attacks. Your body was in pain. The wounds that litter your body - not to be healed ever again. Your 8 fingers that trailed over the stitched up cut across your cheek. The breakdown you had just a week ago. How you flinch when anyone (but Jane) gets close.

All of that flashes through your head while you sit opposite the women. "You're quite famous, you know?” the woman states. You tilt your head towards the left. 

“Oh?” you hum, looking around the room, clearly avoiding eye contact. She scribbles something quick onto a clean bit of paper, the one with text flopped over the top of the clipboard. “Heard about your ‘story’ a lot, from a lot of different people.” You slump against the sofa. Feeling the soft fabric beneath your fingertips. “Oh.” mumbling when your eyes finally meet hers for the first time. Her blue eyes connect with yours. A deep passion for helping was buried in her eyes. You could tell. 

“I haven't heard the story from the person who went through it all though.” Jones looks down at her clipboard, “why don't you tell me about it? How are you feeling?”

“What's there to tell?" you scoff. Sweat starts pouring from your forehead so you pull an arm that was littered with healing bruises up across it. Your question was not much of a question, more of a statement. What was there to tell? She knew the story, everyone fucking did. “Let's start with how's your day?” Jones smiled with a hint of amusement when your scoff reached her ears. “Fine.” She raised an eyebrow skeptically at your answer but didn't comment on anything. She leaned forward. Placing her clipboard on the seat beside her. 

Your figit uncomfortably, "that's.. all? Fine?” Jones questions, her voice hinting at suspicion. “Yep.” 

“You know if you aren't honest, I can't help you." 

After burying your head into your hands, you drag your cheek down with your palm as you let out a long sigh, "I'm doing better.” 

“Well that is good to hear,” she coos, reaching for her clipboard and writing down a few words in the margin. “Has anyone visited you lately?” Her question makes you hesitate for a moment. “Like family and friends?” Jones nods whilst leaning back.

Looking around the office you notice the way the woman in front of you tilts her head in the slightest when you shake your head. Her ramblings go on and on but you end up blurring them out. High squeaking forms in your ears, blinding out your therapist talking. 

That's when a loud bang sounds from the door that you entered through. It brings you back to life. You flinch back as the door opens. “Hey Jones, sorry 'm late just got outa trainin’” the blurred man walks through the door, holding tight onto a notebook. His scruffy appearance so familiar.

You wish you didn't have to face him yet.

“Your session is on a Thursday from now on, I told you-” she gets cut off when Johnny drops the book in his hands as he stares at you with wide eyes, his mouth opening slightly as fear shoots through your stomach and heart. The man before you mumbles one quiet word.

 “...Bonnie.”

[sosasturns]

streamin - c. sturniolo

blurb, in which reader gets a little distracted during chris’s late night stream so matt takes over. bot ver.

"you good?" chris asks, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, his hand still lazily moving the mouse around.

"mhm," you hum, shifting in your seat.

he's too locked in to notice at first, leaning closer to the monitor, the black tee stretched over his back, sleeves hugging his arms. his stubble is doing things to you, catching the glow of the desk light, and don't even get started on the messy headphone hair and tired smile he throws at chat every now and then. you're trying to focus on the youtube video he queued up, but the way he looks is making that impossible.

"sure?" he pushes, glancing at you again, this time catching the way your gaze lingers a little too long on him.

"yeah," you mutter, brushing it off.

you settle back in your seat, legs crossing and uncrossing, but your mind's racing. before you can second guess it, your hand lands on his lap, your fingers trailing along his thigh.

his movements still for a second, and his lips twitch, trying to fight the smirk creeping in. "what you want?" he asks, voice low but steady as he keeps his eyes on the game.

you shrug, playing it cool, even though your hand's still rubbing slow circles against his leg.

"nah," he says, finally cutting his mic audio, leaning back in his chair as he tilts his head at you. "you're lying. what you want?"

you hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip as you glance at his lap, your face heating up when you can feel him watching you.

"use your words, baby," he murmurs, his voice softer now, teasing, as he leans in just slightly.

your voice barely comes out as you mumble, "i wanna fuck," hiding behind your hand like it'll save you from his reaction.

he freezes for a second, lips twitching, and then he glances toward the screen, his eyes flicking over the chat. his grin spreads, slow and smug, like he knows something they don't. the comments flood in: what'd she say? why's he smiling like that? what's going on?

"alright, y'all," he drawls, leaning back and casually tossing his arm over the back of your chair. "matt's gonna take over the rest of the stream."

you shoot him a look, your face heating up as he's already pushing back his chair, standing, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the door.

just as the two of you slip out, matt's voice filters in. "yeah, yeah, i'm here. hold up."

he strolls into the room, the headset resting crooked on his head as he squints at the screen. "what’re y’all going off about?" he mutters, reading a few comments.

one catches his attention: what's chris gonna go do?

matt glances toward the desktop camera, sinking back into the chair and placing his drink down with a smirk. "who do ya think?" he says, his voice dripping with humor as he adjusts his headset.

the chat erupts: NOT MATT EXPOSING HIM LMAO.

matt takes a sip from his cup, sighing in content. "y'all are too easy," he says, shaking his head as he queues up a game.

@ sosasturns

sosas 💬’s : new blurb theme incoming? had to type this up, chris looked insanely good in last night‘s stream. want more? sound off in my inbox! requests r open

“sosa mafia” taglist: @submattenthusiast @sophand4n4 @secretlocket @mrsdillonx @ch6rm @sweetrelieef @gabri3la-sturns @inspiredangel @sturn777 @et6rnalsun @faiyaz555 @whore4mattsturniolo @courta13 @katie-tibo @ifwdominicfike @raesturns

[almostfoxglove]

MALLORY!!! oh my god, what a perfect follow up to suburban sparks. this is such a lovely balance of I'm-ripping-my-hair-out-with-need smut and aaaachy yearning (the best kind) - I couldn't put it down. my god. I loved it sososo much?? and YEAH IT DID GET ME ALL CHOKED UP, WHAT ABOUT IT asdfkjhsdfkj

I'm popping some of my favorite bits below the cut, but FRICK I'm obsessed with this <3

His tongue licks a path down your neck, tasting the condensation on your skin. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” is softly repeated against your sensitive skin. The way you softly moan back makes his legs weak. You sound so good, you taste so good, you feel so good.

SDFLKHASDLKHFAL WHAT DO YOU MEAN oh my god. mumbling pussy-drunk javi is actually going to ruin my life like I need him SO bad you don't underSTAND (except clearly you do)

He’d always be the one to call. Phone bill be damned, he made good money.

this feels so perfectly javier?? that really small, unspoken gesture that he'll be the one to shoulder it and take care of her in this really tiny way because it's the way that he can - MY HEAART

He’s not the one for you, though you’re the one for him.

straight up mumbled 'oh my god' under my breath when I read this for the first time, then went back to read the paragraph again like twice more before continuing, because FUCK THE YEARNING IS SO FUCKING PERFECT

He thinks about you curled up on the couch during your late-night calls, wrapped in an oversized sweater, your voice soft and sleepy. He dreams of one day being on that couch with you. In a perfect life that he’ll never have.

:,,,,,) do you see the oceans rising??? that's because of my tears

“Your green shirt.” His spine straightens. “Oh yeah?”

YESSSS GIRL YESSSSS THE GREEN SHIRT YESSSS THAT'S SO CORRECT

Another sleepless night, another internal battle, another lonely sunrise, another cup of black coffee to try to wake him up.

'another lonely sunrise, another cup of black coffee to try to wake him up' is actually so fucking beautiful and so fucking sad and so fucking javi?? I just. I'm standing in that kitchen with him, watching him suffer privately, WISHING I COULD HUG HIM

It doesn’t feel like his place at all, but a Polaroid of you that leans against his bedside lamp makes it feel like home. He'd chosen this place for the view, telling himself it was because he'd always wanted to live somewhere with a skyline again. But deep down, he knows it's because he wanted to look out at the city you love.

oh GOD there are just so many perfect little setting descriptions that just take me right into the room with him, and this is another one. like fuck. my heart is going 'squeeze' in the most delicious, angsty way - you're playing me like a fiDDLE and I LOVE YOU FOR IT

The exact opposite of an old, grizzled DEA agent haunted by his past.

SWEET STUPID JAVIER OH MY GOD SOMEONE LET ME HOLD HIM PLS

“I’d rather be alone than a stranger.”

thinking about him being in the theatre to see her perform as I write this is actually going to make me cry all over again. it's so good. so hopeful and also so sad and UGH. MALLORY. YOU'RE A STAR.

I FUCKING LOVED THIS. I looooove how you incorporated the newspapers from the moodboard - it's such a perfect, both intimate and a little removed way for javi to connect with her, and ugh. my heart. this was so good. thank you SO much for joining the challenge and delivering us this masterpiece :,) I am forever in your debt!!

Long Distance

A followup to Suburban Sparks Pairing: Javier Peña x Steve's Little Sister Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: He knows he shouldn't fall for you, he knows he shouldn't pick up the phone, but you're all he can think about. Warnings: Javi's POV, angst, guilt, yearning, pining, heartbreak, impressionist paintings, using a Clairo lyric as a play monologue, jealousy, smut, phone sex, secret bathroom sex, dirty photos. Takes place after S3. Words: 8,320

A/N: Written for @almostfoxglove's Angst Challenge, who made the GORGEOUS mood board for inspo. It truly fit the vibes of exactly what I was thinking would be the next step for Steve's Little Sister and Javier. My thanks to @devineconjuring, @mothandpidgeon, and @schnarfer for filling up my draft with suggestions, reactions, and edits and always letting me yap and ... them. Masterlist

—-

His heart thuds against his chest with every descending step. He hears the clatter of plates and silverware mixed with soft conversation– hears your voice. You’re awake. His eyes immediately catch yours when he walks into the kitchen. You sit at the breakfast table in an oversized sweatshirt that hangs off a shoulder, the same shoulder he kissed before he snuck out of bed and back to his room across the hall.

You’re so beautiful, he almost falls as he takes a seat.

“Damn, Peña, still drunk?” Steve asks as he flips the last pancake.

“Just tired,” he responds. “Morning,” he casually nods towards you, trying not to let his gaze stay on you for too long.

You nod a casual “hey” as you reach for the orange juice, your fingers wrapping around the glass. He loses his breath as he remembers how those same delicate fingers felt wrapped around him.

“Coffee, Javi?” Connie asks, pulling him from his reverie.

He nods, mumbling a response as you smirk. This is going to be an interesting breakfast.

“Good breakfast, thank you,” you say as you rise. “I’m going to get a shower before I go back home. Landlord still hasn’t fixed the hot water heater.”

“Help yourself,” Steve nods. “And Jesus Christ, find a better place.”

Javier takes a sip of coffee until the thought of you under the warm running water, naked and wet, flashes through his mind. He coughs as he chokes on the hot liquid.

"You okay there, partner?" Steve asks, eyebrow raised.

Javi nods, clearing his throat. "Yeah, just went down the wrong pipe." 

As your footsteps fade upstairs, Javi focuses intently on his breakfast, avoiding Steve's gaze. He can feel Connie's eyes on him, a hint of suspicion in her expression.

He eats his breakfast, listening closely to the rumble of the water heater as Steve and Connie discuss their plans for the day. The water heater turns off, snapping Javi back to the thought of you just upstairs.

"I should get ready too," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact as he picks up his plate and coffee cup, dropping them off by the sink. "Thanks for breakfast."

“‘Course, you’re our guest,” Steve says.

As he climbs the stairs, his heart races. The guilt over Steve sitting just downstairs getting drowned out by the anticipation of seeing you again.

He passes the bathroom door and then retraces his steps, standing in front of the white wooden blockade. You’re right behind the door. He knocks softly.

The door cracks open, a cloud of steam escaping as you peek out. Your face glistens with moisture, drops of water clinging to your skin. You take his breath away.

Your eyebrow quirks up before you open the door wider, stepping aside to let him in. He slips inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. You’re wrapped in a towel–one measly towel. A drop of water trails down your collarbone to between your breasts, and his mouth waters, thinking of how good it’d taste.

"Javier," you whisper.

He steps closer. "I know, I know. We shouldn't."

But, as the words leave his mouth, you’re already reaching for him. His mouth crashes against yours, desperate to taste you again. You instantly mold into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he backs you against the cool tile wall.

The towel slips, pooling at your feet. He breaks the kiss, his eyes reverently roaming your bare skin. “Fuck,” he breathes.

You grab the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling them down. “We don’t have much time.”

He nods, helping you pull down his boxer briefs, his cock already hard for you, weeping to feel your tight pussy around it.

He lifts you onto the countertop, spreading your legs wide and groaning when he feels how wet you are for him. Your eyes stare into his as he sheaths himself in you, both of you gasping at how good it feels. Your legs wrap around his waist and pull him closer as he begins to move. His hands grip the counter as he quietly fucks into you, the faint sound of his skin against yours and your soft moans echoing off the tile.

His tongue licks a path down your neck, tasting the condensation on your skin. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” is softly repeated against your sensitive skin. The way you softly moan back makes his legs weak. You sound so good, you taste so good, you feel so good.

Your hips meet his as his thrusts become more urgent as he listens for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He wishes he could savor you, hear you scream his name, fuck into you for hours, but he can’t. He has to be quick. His hand travels down your smooth skin, and his finger begins circling your clit as his other hand grips the plush of your breast, kneading it in his hand. Your head falls back, your bottom lip captured between your teeth to stop yourself from making any more noise.

It’s forbidden and wrong. He knows this, but the way your body trembles underneath his touch, your hands exploring the broadness of his back, your tight pussy beginning to clench around his cock–he can’t say no to you. He circles your clit faster and harder, his fingers working in quick, tight circles as he fucks into you faster. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your nails digging into his shoulders as you fight to stay quiet.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispers. “I need to feel you cum.”

Your body tenses, a strangled moan escaping your lips before he presses his mouth against yours, swallowing your cries as he chases his own release. You pulse around him, and it’s too much. He buries himself inside you, his body shuddering as he cums, spilling inside of you. He stays buried in your heat, even though he knows he needs to leave. He just can’t. He rests his forehead against yours, listening to your soft gasps, trying to savor the moment for as long as he can.

“Wow,” you whisper, your voice lilts in awe.

He nods, trying hard to swallow the guilt. “I know.”

He pulls out slowly, both of you wincing at the loss of each other.

You hop off the counter, grabbing your towel, and wrapping it around yourself again. Javi tucks himself back into his pants and runs a hand through his disheveled hair.

"You should go," you say softly, not meeting his eyes. “You know… just in case.”

He nods, his hand already reaching for the doorknob. "Hey," he says, waiting for you to look at him. When you do, he sees the conflict in your eyes, knowing it mirrors his own, but he ignores it. “What’s your number?”

—-

The phone line hums, building a bridge between Laredo and Washington, D.C. He waits all day to hear the sound of your laughter spill through the receiver–sweet and warm, like honey. Most of the time, silence settles between the two of you, content to just stay on the line with each other 1,800 miles away.

He’d always be the one to call. Phone bill be damned, he made good money.

On some nights, after too many whiskeys or beers, he’d let some of the burden of Colombia off his shoulders. He’d tell you about the girls, the bodies, the nightmares. You’d meet every revelation with understanding and acceptance, letting him talk as little or as much as he wanted. 

It’s simple and comfortable, something he never felt like he deserved. But he can never have simple and comfortable–there’s always a complication. You are Steve’s little sister, after all.

He hates nights like this when the guilt creeps in and gnaws at him. The world is hushed, his thoughts loud. He tosses and turns, sheets tangling around his legs as he wrestles with his heart. He’s falling for you–Steve’s little sister. The same Steve who had his back in Colombia, who became more than just a partner.

He stares at the ceiling, your voice always echoing in his head.

It’s been three months since he met you at that ordinary suburban party. He replays everything in his head to calm himself–your smile, the sweet lilt of your voice, your wide eyes as you stared at him. The sound of your muffled moans escaping from behind his shirt, the warmth of your body pressed against his as you drifted to sleep.

Now, the memory of your soft skin under his fingertips haunts him, an almost bittersweet reminder of what he can never have. It could never work. Steve’s so protective of you that Javi can’t even imagine how he’d react if he knew someone like him was falling for his baby sister. He can’t do that to you… or Steve.

You’re in your twenties, still full of life and promise. While he’s forty, scarred from the long life he’s already lived. He pictures you growing resentful, feeling held back by his world-weariness, longing for someone more carefree and unburdened. He’s not the one for you, though you’re the one for him.

He turns, shuffling his cold sheets up around his shoulder as he stares out the window. One night spent together in his friend’s backyard and guest bedroom. One morning spent in a white-tiled bathroom. Countless nights on the phone.

He thinks about you curled up on the couch during your late-night calls, wrapped in an oversized sweater, your voice soft and sleepy. He dreams of one day being on that couch with you. In a perfect life that he’ll never have.

—-

Javier Peña never reads the news. He doesn’t pay attention to the news. He doesn’t care about the news. He doesn’t want to hear about the news—that is, until you entered his life.

“Any news?” he asks, hearing the rustle of your newspaper crackling through the phone.

“Hmm, lemme see.”

He can imagine you scanning the headlines, your finger running down the text, brows furrowed in concentration. You love the news, love reading and learning, love being informed. Now, Javier Peña reads the news.

"Ohh! The Smithsonian's got a new exhibit opening next week. An Impressionist Sensibility. It says the paintings in the collection are linked through a shared sensibility about American cultural aspirations at the turn of the century."

"Yeah?"

“Yeah, it looks really cool, Jav.”

He loves it when you call him Jav. It’s so casual, so comfortable. Nobody ever calls him Jav besides you. He listens intently as you read, letting the sound of your voice wash over him.

"Sounds pretty interesting. Sounds like something you have to see in person."

You hum in agreement, a wistful note in your voice. "It does. Maybe someday we could…"

The sentence hangs unfinished, both of you acutely aware of the complications that keep you apart. He clears his throat, pushing away the surge of longing that threatens to overwhelm him. Move on, agent.

"My turn," he says, unfolding his paper. "Let's see what thrilling news Laredo's got today."

—

“Tell me I did good, Jav. Tell me to stop obsessing over it. Tell me they didn’t notice I paused a little too long between lines.”

He chuckles. “You did amazing. I’m sure of it, cariño.”

He doesn’t know how you can be so brave, going up onstage in front of auditoriums full of people. All eyes on you. He could never do what you do.

“Really?”

“I’d surely cast you if I could.”

“Mm, I’m sure you would,” you respond. He can hear the smile in your voice.

You’ve been so nervous over the audition for the play. He remembers how you'd practiced your lines with him, how he stayed up late listening to you recite the main monologue over and over just so he could hear your voice. He could hear the emotions. You’re so talented, there’s no way you’re not going to get the part.

“You’re going to get it, cariño.” 

"You really think so?" you ask, a hint of hope in your voice.

"I do. When will you find out?"

"Rehearsals start next month, so hopefully soon," you answer.

"You've got me to keep you distracted."

“I swear, I’d lose my mind without you…”

—-

He’s lying in bed awake again. He’s getting to a point of no turning back with you. He closes his eyes, and all he can see is you.

“I swear, I’d lose my mind without you…” repeats through his head.

He reaches for his phone on the nightstand. It would be so easy to call, to hear your voice one more time. But he can't. He won't.

Instead, he pushes himself out of bed, padding barefoot across the hardwood floor of his apartment to the sparse but functional kitchen. He pours a glass of whiskey, hoping it’ll help drown out his thoughts.

This feeling is so foreign to him. He hasn’t felt this way about anybody since Lorraine–and even then, he fucked that up. He shouldn't have let it go this far. Shouldn't have knocked on the door of that guest room, shouldn't have kissed you like a drowning man praying for air. But he did. And now he can't forget.

You’re too young, too bright, and too adventurous. You’re so full of potential. What the hell are you doing talking to him every single night? He has to step away and let you go. But he won’t. Because underneath all of those accomplishments and pursuits, he’s still a coward.

—-

You softly moan into the phone, and he can hear the swishing of the sheets as you get comfortable on your bed. He can almost see you, feel you, remember how sweet you tasted. He thuds his head against his pillow, an ache of loneliness from his heart traveling down to his cock. 

“You can’t do that, cariño,” he lowly growls.

“Huh?”

“Moan like that,” he responds. Now, he’s the one adjusting. “I–it’s been a while.” 

You chuckle, a low, tempting sound. He’s in trouble. It’s been a month of talking to you almost every night, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t constantly fighting the urge to touch himself while listening to your voice. But he’s resisted, not wanting to cross that line and make things even more complicated than they already are. 

“Sorry, my bed feels really good. Quite lonely, though,” you pout, your voice dripping in saccharine sarcasm. 

Fuck. He’s so needy for you, he’s already growing hard.

“What are you wearing?” he asks, feeling a little ridiculous at the question, hoping you’re just as turned on as him.

“Don’t laugh. Promise you won’t laugh.” 

“What? Why would I laugh?” he smiles, shaking his head.

“Because Javi. Just… don’t laugh or judge.”

“I won’t. Trust me. Tell me what you’re wearing.”

“Your green shirt.” 

His spine straightens. “Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You wear it a lot?”

“Mmhmm, I sleep in it all the time.” 

“I’m sure it looks real good on you, doesn’t it?” 

“I think it looked better when it was stuffed in my mouth while you were fucking me.”

He groans, his heart racing as he reaches down and grips the heft of himself tucked away in his shorts. 

“That was a good night, wasn’t it?” he asks, softly squeezing himself. 

“It was one of the best, Javi. I think about it all the time.” 

“Me too,” he divulges, remembering the brightness of your eyes, the sweet taste of your lips, the feel of your pussy clenching him. “I also really liked the morning in the bathroom.” You laugh–a sweet sound that makes his heart beat even faster–before you sigh. “I wish you were here, Javi.” “I do, too, cariño.” 

“What would you do if you were with me?” you ask, your voice low. You’re such a temptress.

His voice drops to a sultry whisper as he closes his eyes and imagines you in his bed. "I'd start by getting you out of that shirt, real slow. I’d get to take my time and kiss every inch of skin."

You let out a soft moan. "Mmm, then what?"

"I'd push you back onto the bed, trail my fingers up your soft thighs." His own hand mimics the motion, sliding up his leg. "I’d spread your legs and kiss my way up, before giving your sweet pussy a long lick, savoring just how good you taste."

"God, Javi. Please," you whimper.

"Touch yourself for me, baby. Pretend it's me."

He can picture you perfectly–laid out on your bed, his shirt bunched up around your waist, your hand between your legs.

You let out a gasp and a long, low moan. He pulls his shorts down and gives himself a tight, slow stroke.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks, rubbing the bit of precum he’s leaked out across his head.

“Mmhmm,” you moan. “I love it when you call me baby.”

“Baby,” he groans as he spits in his hand and strokes himself.

“Fuck, I’m so wet,” you breathe into the phone.

“I wish I was there with you, baby. I'd slide two fingers deep inside your tight little pussy, curl them just right to make you moan for me." He strokes himself faster, imagining the slick heat of you clenching around him.

You let out a whimper. “I need you inside me.”

“I need to be inside you too, cariño,” he replies, his hand moving faster along his length. “Tell me how badly you want me.”

“I want you to fuck me hard and fast,” you moan. “God, I think about it all the time, Jav.”

He grunts in response, imagining your body writhing beneath him.

“Oh god,” you cry out.

He squeezes his cock harder, picking up the pace as you whine and moan for him.

“You sound so good. I love the way you moan for me. You’re all I ever want to hear.”

“Fuck,” you pant. “Gonna cum.”

“That’s it, cum for me, cariño.”

You let out a loud moan as your orgasm hits. It floats through the phone into his ear and down to his cock. He lets out a long, low “fuck” as he reaches his own release, grunting your name as his cock pulses in his fist, streams of cum spilling out onto his hand and stomach.

All that can now be heard is heavy breathing and soft moans as you both come down from your highs.

He feels the guilt begin to show its ugly head just as you say his name.

“Javi, that was… wow.”

“I know, baby, I know.” 

—-

He pulls an envelope out of his mailbox. Your handwriting is neat and flowy–he smiles at the bright green marker you chose.

So, this is why you wanted his address.

He’s opening the envelope before his door even shuts. He hasn’t been this excited to open something since Christmas morning thirty years ago.

He pulls out a handmade card–a dark green Christmas tree adorned with little red hearts is painted on the front, with MERRY CHRISTMAS JAV written in cursive above it–and his face lights in a wide grin.

As he opens the card,  a bundle of Polaroid photos tied together with a ribbon falls out and lands on the table.

A simple message is inside the card.

Surprise! I hope you like them. xoxo

With a quick pull on the silky ribbon, the bundle is untied. He slowly flips through each photo, his heart skipping a beat as he assesses each one like evidence.

You’re smiling in a few of them, his green shirt hanging loosely off your shoulders. You look so beautiful, so carefree and happy. He traces a finger over one, wishing he could touch you.

His breath catches in his throat as he flips to the next photo. You’re still in his shirt, but you sit, wearing only that on your bed. Your smooth legs bent to the side of you, your eyes hooded, with a coy smile playing at your lips. He swallows hard as he flips to the next photo.

His mouth goes dry. You’re completely naked, lying back on your bed. Your body is on full display for him. He runs a hand through his hair, feeling slightly dizzy, his cock twitching at the sight of you.

It feels so forbidden, so wrong to have these photos of you.

“Fuck,” he whispers when he turns to the next picture. You’re kneeling on your bed, your hands resting on the back of your neck. Your tits are pushed out, your nipples hard. He can see the glistening wetness between your thighs. He wants to taste you so bad.

The following picture makes him gasp. You’re lying across your bed, one hand gripping the soft swell of your breast while the other is between your legs. Your lip is caught between your teeth. He can almost hear the breathy moans you’re letting out.

He flips to the next one, and his cock throbs painfully against his jeans. You’re on your hands and knees, your head turned, peering over your shoulder at the camera. The sight of your ass makes his mouth water. He wants nothing more than to grab your hips and pull you back onto his aching cock.

With a shaky breath, he reveals the final Polaroid. Your hand is outstretched towards the camera, a drop of your arousal glistening on your fingertip as if you’re offering him a taste of you. The image is so visceral he can almost taste you.

He sits back in his chair, the Polaroids tightly clutched in one hand while the other palms himself through his jeans. This is, without a doubt, the best gift he’s ever received, but he still feels wrong to have it.

—-

“So, any news?” you ask, your voice still a bit slow and low from the orgasm you just moaned out for him. It’s now a nightly ritual–phone sex followed by sharing local articles.

He scans the headlines. “The Laredo Little Theater is putting on a production of Our Town next month.”

“Our Town! I was Emily a few years back.”

“I-I’ve never seen it.” Frankly, he’s never heard of it. He’s never really seen a play–unless he counts the couple of productions Lorraine was in during high school. He wishes he was more cultured for you.

"I still remember my lines. Emily's monologue at the end about realizing what she missed in life. It's always stuck with me."

He leans back against his headboard, intrigued. "Tell me about it, cariño."

You clear your throat softly. "Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it — every, every minute?"

“Wow,” he whispers after a long pause. "That's beautiful, baby.”

“Thanks, Jav. I just wish…”

Your voice trails off, and his chest tightens.

“I know,” he sighs. “Me too.”

He knows exactly what you’re thinking. If only things were different. If only there wasn’t a shadow of guilt and secrecy. He knows he’s already fallen for you.

Silence stretches. He clears his throat. “Your turn, cariño. What’s in the news?”

—-

Another sleepless night, another internal battle, another lonely sunrise, another cup of black coffee to try to wake him up.

The shrill ring of his phone cuts through the silence, startling him from his brooding. He glances at the clock–8:17 a.m.–an unfamiliar number with a DC area code on the screen.

"Peña," he answers gruffly, his voice rough from whiskey and lack of sleep.

"Mr. Peña, this is Agent Thompson from DEA headquarters in Washington. I wanted to inform you personally that we'd like to offer you the position."

The job. The one he'd interviewed for months ago, the reason he'd been in DC. The reason he'd met you. He should feel elated, triumphant even. Instead, dread settles in his stomach and heart.

"Mr. Peña? Are you there?"

"Yes, I'm here. Thank you for the offer. When, uh, when would you need me to start?"

"We'd like you here in two weeks, if possible. Is that doable?"

Two weeks. Fourteen days to uproot his life, to move across the country. Fourteen days to figure out how to tell you… or if he should tell you at all.

"Mr. Peña?"

"Yes, that's fine. I'll make it work," he says, his mind already racing.

After hanging up, he stands motionless in his kitchen, the half-empty whiskey glass from last night sitting on the counter. The job he'd wanted, the fresh start he'd been seeking for so long–it's all here for him. But now, it feels like a curse.

He imagines being in the same city as you, knowing you're just across town. The temptation to see you, to touch you, would be constant. And Steve–how could he look Steve in the eye, knowing what he's done with you?

The guilt gnaws at him, heavier than the weight of everything else. He should be honest, should tell you about the job offer. But the words stick in his throat every time he thinks about picking up the phone.

Days pass in a blur of packing and paperwork. You try calling, leaving a message each time. They start out sweet until the third day when you sound upset.

"Javi, hi, it’s me. I-I don’t know what’s going on, but please call me.”

Each night, he stares at the phone, his hand reaching to grab it. But he can't bring himself to dial. Can't bear to hear the excitement in your voice when he tells you he's moving to DC.

On the sixth day, you leave another message.

“Hey Javi, it’s me again, I… I hope you’re okay. I… did I do something? Please just call so I know you’re okay.”

He has to call you. Has to think of some way to let you down because he knows, deep down, that he can't have you. Not really. Not without destroying his friendship with Steve, not without ruining your relationship with your brother. Not without tainting the pure, beautiful thing that's grown between you.

By the tenth day, you’re mad.

“Hey, Javier. I ended up having to ask Connie if she had heard anything about you, so that was real fun. Listen… I don’t know what the hell is going on. If you found someone else or… got tired of me, but I just—I hope you’re happy. I… I guess I’ll… I don’t know. I hope you’re fine.”

His heart clenches as your voice cracks on the last words. He can hear the hurt, the confusion in your tone, and it tears him apart. 

He can't take it anymore–the guilt, the longing, the fear. It's all too much. He picks up the phone and dials your number.

Ring… ring… rin–

"Hello?" Your voice is hesitant, guarded.

"It's me," Javier says. "I'm… sorry."

There's a long pause on the other end. He can hear you breathing, can almost feel the tension radiating off of you through the line.

"Javi?" You sound uncertain, like you can't quite believe it's him. "Where have you been? I've been so worried."

He closes his eyes, leaning against the wall. "I know, I'm sorry. There’s been a lot going on. I… I got a job offer last week. The job in DC is mine."

Another pause. "Oh," you say softly. "Javi… that’s great news. Congrats.”

"Thanks," he says before taking a deep breath, steeling himself for what he knows has to be said. "Listen, I-I think it’s best if we don’t keep doing this."

The silence on the other end of the line stretches. He can almost picture you, your eyes wide with confusion and hurt.

“This?” 

“Yeah, talking and… I just fear it’s gone too far.”

"What?" you finally whisper, your voice barely audible. "Why?"

He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He feels his heart break as the words get caught in his throat, but he forces them out. "It's complicated. I’m so much older than you, and you’re… you're Steve's little sister, and I’ll be working with him again. It's not right. It was never right."

He hears you take a shaky breath. "So, you ignore me for over a week and then call to let me know this? I know you’re older than me. I know I’m Steve’s sister. That’s fucked Javi. How could you? I thought we had something speci—”

"I know," he interrupts. "I know, and that's why we have to stop. Before it goes any further. Before anyone gets hurt."

You gasp, and his heart clenches at the sound. He wants to take it all back, to tell you he didn't mean any of it, but he forces himself to stay silent.

“Yes, before anyone gets hurt…”

“You deserve more than me, cariño. I’m old, and I’ve been through so much. You’re still so young and full of life… I’d only hold you back. I’m sorry.”

"I see," you say, your tone suddenly cold and distant. "Well, thank you for your honesty, Agent Peña. I hope your new job in DC is everything you've ever wanted."

The formality in your voice cuts him deeper than any anger could have. He opens his mouth to speak, but you've already hung up. 

—-

He stands at the windows of his new apartment in Arlington, gazing out at the lights of DC across the Potomac. Snow falls outside, and he reminds himself he needs to buy some warmer clothing. It’s beautiful, he thinks. His eyes search the horizon, wondering if your building is visible.

His apartment is nice–modern and spacious with sleek furniture that doesn’t suit him. It’s more than he needs, really, but the DEA had been generous with their relocation package. It doesn’t feel like his place at all, but a Polaroid of you that leans against his bedside lamp makes it feel like home.

He'd chosen this place for the view, telling himself it was because he'd always wanted to live somewhere with a skyline again. But deep down, he knows it's because he wanted to look out at the city you love.

He imagines what you might be doing right now. Are you curled up on the couch, reading a book? The newspaper? Are you, like him, standing at a window, looking out at the city and wondering what might have been? Or are you out with your friends, trying to meet somebody else? Do you miss him like he misses you?

He tries to dislodge the thoughts with a shake of his head. It’s been two weeks since that phone call. Since he broke things off. Since your cold voice let him go. He tells himself it was the right thing to do, that he’s protecting you from the darkness that follows him.

In a perfect world, you’d be here, looking out the same window as he wrapped his arms around you. You’d lean back against his chest, fitting perfectly in his embrace. There’d be no hesitation, no guilt. Just pure happiness, waking up next to you every morning. In that world, Steve would be happy for you both. In that world, Javier would be happy. But he knows all too well this is not a perfect world.

—-

He goes to the Smithsonian alone, wandering through the halls of the art museum on a quiet Sunday afternoon. The same exhibit you read to him about. The same exhibit he dreamed of taking you to, holding your hand and kissing your cheek as you gazed at the paintings. He moves slowly, hands clasped behind his back, taking in each painting. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, how to describe what he’s seeing, or how to feel… he wishes you were here to help him understand. None of it makes sense to him. Are the paintings supposed to look unfinished and kind of blurry? He imagines you beside him, telling him all about the break from tradition these paintings represented. He’d nod, pretending to understand, the same way he’s nodding as he reads the guidebook.

He pauses before a painting. Vibrant flowers grow amongst the dappled sunlight–the bright colors remind him of the way your eyes light when you laugh. He can almost hear your sweet voice reading the exhibit description to him again. He wonders if you’ve been here, if you’ve stood in this very spot, admiring the same painting.

As he moves to the next painting, a flash of familiar color catches his eye. For a moment, his heart stops. A woman stands across the room, her back to him, wearing a dress in the same exact shade of green as the shirt he’d left you. She resembles you from the back, and he takes a step forward, your name on the tip of his tongue, before she turns.

It’s not you. Of course, it’s not. All that’s left now is a hollow ache in his chest.

What would he do? What would he even say? What is he doing here, a cop trying to be cultured?

He moves on, trying to focus on the art. He thinks of you again, imagines your voice in his ear. “Art is for everyone. There’s no right or wrong way to experience it. Just let yourself feel.”

Feel. He doesn’t want to feel. All he can feel is how much he misses you. How much he knows he’ll never have this with you, seeing the world through your eyes.

Each painting seems to hold a piece of you. The soft light of a Twachtman landscape captures the glow of your skin in the firelight. The bold strokes of a Sargent portrait remind him of your spirit and personality.

He pauses in front of a Renoir. A man leads a woman, her hand in his. His eyes focus on their fingers intertwined with each other’s, imagining the feel of your hand in his. He rubs his hand against the denim of his jeans, trying to warm the coldness running through his veins.

He turns away, unable to bear the sight any longer. The weight of his regret, his longing, settles heavily on his shoulders as he exits the gallery.

He'd pushed you away to protect you, but being here, surrounded by a softer, more beautiful world, he wonders if he made the right choice.

—-

He finds himself driving through the busy streets of Adams Morgan, the same neighborhood you call home. His heart pounds stronger with each turn as he navigates the unfamiliar roads. 

He parks his car and steps out onto the sidewalk, feeling out of place as he takes in the colorful row of houses and stores that line your neighborhood streets. He walks down the street, his eyes scanning the bright buildings until he finds the taco place you’d always rave about.

“I bet it’s just as good as Laredo, Javi,” he remembers you saying. “You have to try it when you’re here.”

He hesitates for a moment before pushing open the door. The small restaurant is packed.

His order is simple: two al pastor tacos and a Topo Chico, just like you’d recommended. He takes a seat at a small table by the window and waits for his order.

How many times have you walked down this very street? Have you sat at this very table?

He takes a bite of the taco. It’s good. Damn good. Almost as good as home. He can practically hear your triumphant "I told you so!"

People pass by on the sidewalk as he eats. He imagines you and him–his arm wrapped around you, your body close to his as you walk around your neighborhood. Your face lighting up as you show him all of your favorite places. He'd follow you, unable to resist your enthusiasm… or you.

The winter wind snaps against his skin as he steps out of the restaurant. He starts walking with no real destination in mind. Colorful murals, bright storefronts, and eclectic homes line the street. This is your world, he realizes. These are the sights you see and sounds you hear every day.

He wonders how close he is to your apartment. He imagines you coming home from work and stopping at one of the little bodegas on the corner for some milk or bread.

He doesn’t think he’d fit in well within this world, but he sure as hell would try, just for you. God, he misses you.

—-

Steve drops a pile of files on Javi’s desk.

“New case. Have some fun. So, how’s DC treating you?” Steve asks, casually leaning against his desk.

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. Trying to hide the sadness that consumes him. “It’s different from Laredo, that’s for sure.”

Steve laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “Yeah, I bet. Hey, you should come over for dinner sometime. Connie would love to see you. I’ll invite the usual group.”

Javier’s heart skips a beat as he tries to keep his face neutral. “Yeah, maybe,” he says noncommittally. “Been busy settling in, you know how it is.”

“Well, find time, Peña.”

The guilt, a constant companion these days, gnaws at him as he watches Steve leave.

—-

The early spring evening is warm. His heart beats faster as he gets out of his car and walks up the pathway to Steve’s front porch.

He steps through the front door, breathing in the scent of a happy home, feeling so out of place among the marital bliss and designer furniture.

“Javi,” Connie breezes over, looking like the perfect hostess she always is. She pulls him in for a hug. He’s always liked her, felt comfortable around her.

"Hey, Connie," he says, returning her hug. "Thanks for having me."

"Of course! I’m so happy to see you," she beams. "Come on, everyone’s outside.”

Everyone. Does that include you? He's never been this nervous, not even when he saw Lorraine after all those years.

He follows Connie through the house, his eyes scanning for any sign of you. His heart races as they step out onto the back patio. Steve's at the grill, chatting with a few friends. There are kids running around the yard, couples mingling with drinks in hand. But no sign of you.

It’s as familiar as all those months ago. He felt like an outsider… until he met you. He still searches for you. Still no sign.

"Beer?" Connie offers, already reaching into a cooler.

"Thanks," he nods, taking the cold bottle from her. He takes a long swig, trying to calm his nerves.

"Peña!" Steve calls out, waving him over. "Get over here, man!"

He makes his way across the patio, overhearing a snippet of conversation. He hears your name and slows his pace, straining to hear more.

“She’ll be a little late. Rehearsals for the play ran long.”

The play. You got the part. In a perfect world, he’d be there on opening night, sitting in the front row with a bouquet of flowers for you. He’d watch you, so proud and in awe of your talent. After the show, he’d wait for you backstage, hold you close, and whisper in your ear how amazing you were.

Pride swells in his chest… until the guilt creeps back in.

“Hey, man,” Steve’s voice breaks through his daydream. “Did you hear me?”

“No, sorry. What?”

"I said, glad you could make it," Steve repeats.

“Oh, yeah, me too.”

“A couple of guys from work are here. I’m sure they’d love to get to know you. I’m tired of answering all of their questions about you.”

He lets out a tense chuckle. The last thing he thinks he can do is pretend to care about a group of rookie agents wanting to get to know the Javier Peña.

He really hates these parties.

—-

An hour passes. The sun begins to set, casting everything in Steve’s picturesque backyard in long shadows. Javi goes through the motions. He makes small talk with his new coworkers and Steve's friends, laughing at jokes he barely hears. His eyes keep darting to the gate, waiting for you to arrive.

He remembers the first time he saw you. You walked through the gate, your flannel shirt tucked haphazardly into your ripped jeans. He couldn’t look away from you. Maybe he knew he needed someone like you in his life–honest, bright, funny, and too cool for him.

He hears the click of the gate latch. His breath catches as he turns.

And there you are.

You look so beautiful. A plaid skirt sits just above your knees, paired with a simple white tank top under a soft, oversized cardigan. His heart hurts as he takes in your beauty, trying not to stare. You look happy, relaxed, glowing. He wonders if you know he’d be here tonight.

His rapidly beating heart sinks when you turn to say something to a man following you through the gate.

The man’s wavy chestnut hair falls perfectly in place, and thick-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, framing bright green eyes. He’s wearing a vintage t-shirt underneath a well-worn brown leather jacket. Everything about him screams, ‘hip theatre guy.’ The exact opposite of an old, grizzled DEA agent haunted by his past.

He envies the man with everything in his entire being. The way he gets to look at you–a wide smile, soft eyes that get to follow your every movement.

Javi’s jaw clenches as he watches you and your handsome stranger approach a group. Your eyes also scan the backyard, and for too quick of a moment, they meet with his… until you look away and laugh at something your companion just said. The sound feels like a knife twisting into his chest.

He’s hyper-aware of your presence all night, watching you from the corner of his eyes, each sight of you a blessing and a curse.

He tries to focus on his conversations, on Steve, on his coworkers–on anything but you. But his eyes keep drifting back. The man who came with you never strays from your side, his hand often resting on the small of your back or brushing against your arm.

He wants nothing more than to cross the patio, pull you aside, and explain everything. To beg for forgiveness, to tell you how much he misses you. But he stays rooted in place, trapped by his own choices and the consequences that followed.

The gathering begins to thin out as the night goes on. He watches as you say goodbye to a few guests, hugging them warmly. Your eyes sweep across the yard again, and for a moment, he thinks you might look his way. But you turn, whispering something to your companion before heading towards the house alone.

Before he can second-guess himself, he sets down his beer and follows you. He slips through the patio doors and can just make out the soft pad of your footsteps heading upstairs.

He follows you as if you’re a perp, softly ascending the stairs–just like that morning after he first met you. The light escapes under the door of the guest bathroom. He takes a breath, steeling himself as he waits for you to come out.

The knob turns, and his heart races as the door opens, revealing you in the soft light of the bathroom. Your eyes widen in surprise.

"Can I... can I apologize?" Javi asks hesitantly.

You shake your head, your voice barely above a whisper. "No, Jav. You can't."

Jav. Fuck. Hearing you say his name makes his heart drop. His hand taps against his thigh, fighting the urge to reach out and pull you into his arms.

"You hurt me," your voice trembles. Each word feels like a dagger in his heart. "I'm... I'm trying to let time pass by. To move on."

“Please, I never meant to—”

His plea is cut short by the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs.

Connie appears, her keen eyes taking in the scene before her. She reaches for your hand while shooting Javi a glance. She understands without a single word spoken.

“Go on, love, go back to the party. Elliott is waiting for you,” Connie softly says to you.

He watches as you nod and quickly leave, not even sparing a glance back at him.

“Javier,” Connie says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “She’s happy.” 

He swallows, his brown eyes rounding with the guilt he too often has to hide.

Connie's eyes soften as she looks at him, her hand still resting on his shoulder. She leads him to the guest room where he spent that first night with you.

She closes the door and motions for him to sit on the bed. The same bed he held you close on.

"Javier," she begins, her voice gentle but firm. "I know what happened. I know you care about her. And I know she cares about you. She told me.”

He looks up at her, surprised by her words. "She told you? About us?"

Connie nods, a sad smile on her lips. "She was heartbroken. That first month after you told her not to call, she was a wreck. She tried to hide it, but Steve mentioned you while she was here for dinner one night, and she… she quickly got up and made an excuse. I found her crying in this room. She told me everything.”

“Steve?” he asks, feeling even more guilt wash over him, the weight of his choices crushing his chest.

She shakes her head. “He doesn’t know. I promised not to tell him.”

“I had to let her go–for her, for Steve, for everyone." He hangs his head, staring at his clasped hands. He squeezes them harder, needing to let the pressure out somehow. He searches for the right words. "She’s happy now? With him?"

Connie nods. "Elliott is a good guy," she says gently. "He treats her well. But..." She pauses and then sighs. “But I don’t think he’s you.”

A flicker of hope ignites in his chest. “How do I fix this?”

“I don’t know. If you really want to make things right, you need to tell her how you truly feel."

He nods slowly. “I can't stop thinking about her. About what could have been."

"If you really care for her���if you're willing to face whatever might come from being with her–then you need to let her know. But if you're going to run away again at the first sign of trouble, then you have to let her go. For good this time."

“And Steve?”

“Listen, he’s a big softy underneath it all. Might take him a bit to come around to it, but I’ll hide his gun for you. I know that, in the end, as long as she’s happy, he’ll be happy.”

He nods. He knows you’re the one. “Thanks, Connie.”

She stands, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Just think about it, okay? And whatever you decide, be sure. She deserves that much."

Connie leaves him alone in the bedroom. He runs his hand along the comforter, closing his eyes, and can almost feel the warmth of your body curled against his. He wishes he could hold you again.

He takes a deep breath, his decision made.

—-

The house lights dim, the audience hushes, and the stage lights brighten. The curtain draws back, and there you are, center stage, glowing like an ethereal being.

His heart soars with pride as he watches you mesmerize the crowd with your talent. You embody your character completely, and he’s in awe of you even from his seat in the back row.

He hears the familiar lines of the end monologue–the same lines he heard you recite over and over months ago. They transport him back to those nights spent on the phone with you. The familiar ache in his chest gets tighter, squeezing his heart harder. A lone tear wells in his eye as he mouths the final line with you.

“I’d rather be alone than a stranger.”

The crowd erupts into applause as the curtain closes. You were flawless. He knew you’d be amazing.

You return to the stage, a wide smile on your face, the stage lights glinting off unshed tears in your eyes.

Now’s his chance. He slips out the stage door, walking down a side hallway marked "Authorized Personnel Only." In this hand, he clutches a bouquet of bright flowers and the day’s newspaper.

He pauses at each door, reading the names scrawled on makeshift placards. He finally finds yours, glancing over his shoulder before gently turning the doorknob.

He’s never been in a space of yours before. He knows he has to be quick, but he takes a moment to breathe in the scent of your perfume.

He places the bouquet and newspaper on the vanity, before quickly exiting and slipping out the stage door.

—-

Javi paces in his apartment, unable to sit still. He can still hear your voice and picture how you looked under the stage lights.

It’s been hours since he left the flowers in your dressing room. Did you find them? Did you read his note? Has enough time passed?

He pours himself a glass of whiskey, hoping it might calm him.

As he raises the glass to his lips, the shrill ring of his phone cuts through the quiet. He sets down his drink and reaches for the phone.

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself before answering. "Hello?"

"Javi." Your voice is soft and hesitant. He closes his eyes, smiling at the sound he's missed so much.

“Hey,” he says, a relieved smile lighting his face. “Congratulations. You were incredible.”

“Thank you. The flowers are beautiful… and the newspaper?"

His heart speeds in his chest. “I-I was hoping we could read the news together like old times?”

Silence hangs between the two of you as he waits for your response.

“I’d… I’d like that. What’s your address?”

[justhereforsubsevika]

I feel like drunk sevika is a total hornbag loser

She'll stumble into your house with a wobbly smirk across her lips, trying to look sexy by body rolling awkwardly. To no music. In the middle of the room. You just sigh.

"Im not fucking you when you're like this Sevi."

She'll whine and babble drunkenly about how she's "sosexy though!" and how you dont love her anymore. She'll trip over nothing as she goes to the bedroom. You follow, just to make sure she doesn't accidentally fall and kill herself.

Sometimes she passes out the moment she hits the bed, other times she'll grab her vibrator and press it on to herself.

"How did you even get naked that quickly?" you'll laugh, Sevika slurring something about ripping her clothes off like the alpha wolf in the moonlight.

"Liketha' meme, mememememememe, meme you send'ome aaaall the time. Im tha' wolf. He'sme."

If shes drunk enough she'll start admitting all her secrets, how she already touched herself in the bathrooms of the last drop because someone had a similar perfume to you. "Couldn' stop thinkin' abyou."

And because she's so wasted, she has no control over the sounds she makes. She sounds so girly and cute when she turns up the vibrator, her hands shaking. She'll pout up at you to touch her. You don't, of course, because she's so gone that she probably wont even remember what she's doing until you tease her for it tomorrow. But you might touch yourself to the sight of her.

You hate to admit it, but this is Sevika at her most sexy. Because she's so much freer, not tethered by the pressure to keep up her hard exterior, not caring about anything but needing to get off. You rub your clit under your pajamas and whine at all of Sevika's sounds. They're so cute when she's like this.

She'll cum screaming, slurring out any little words her dumb brain can think of, her pretty neck exposed as she throws her head back, her abs contracting. She will often overstimulate herself by accident when she's like this, looking at you for help. But she just looks so cute, and youre so close to finishing, you can't help but watch her squirm a little longer.

When you're done she'll beg to eat your pussy, which you refuse with some reluctance. But she's hammered. She doesn't know what shes doing. You cant fuck her like this. Even if she is adorable, she's still drunk as all hell.

She'll beg and beg, and eventually you stick your fingers into your pussy and let her suck on them. She'll smile all wobbly, thanking you before passing out.

You'll clean her up as she sleeps, taking off her makeup and clearing her thighs of her mess, discarding yet another outfit that was victim to alpha wolf sevika.

She'll hum and pull you into her chest when you lay down next to her. Her breath is POTENT with alcohol so you turn your head away, but you wrap your legs around her thigh and sleep happily nonetheless.

Drunk sevika is so sweet to me

[ippipo]

self aware caleb

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | slight smut chapter

it's been around a month now.

you come back home from a long day and open the game immediately, wanting to talk to your now self aware.....friend? what is he? whatever. to caleb.

"hey, y/n," he greets you blankly. something about him seemed off though, a little speck of anger looming over his face. "what's wrong? you look annoyed," you point out.

"the storyline just doesn't make sense! why did they make me so weird and creepy?" he whines, making you laugh. "i found you a little hot because of it but yeah, you were......well," you scratch your nape with an apologetic smile.

"you need some help if you find that hot," he states making you snort. "say, why'd you pick this game?" he asks you.

"just wanted to feel less lonely and now i gush over five hot guys," you respond with a little shame in your tone. "pick one," he demands scrutinizingly.

"hmm..." you pretend to think for a while just to tease him. your amusement increases when his frown deepens. "definitely not you," you answer, the playful tone giving it away. he flicks the screen to show you his disappointment. "such a big liar."

you talked to caleb all night, letting the conversation lead its way to random topics. it was easy and comfortable, not having to restrict or conform yourself to fit into a mold of norms.

"gee, your fingers are so long," you remark absentmindedly. "yeah, you would get a first-hand experience if you were here," he says with a smug smile while remembering that one time he heard you doing.....things, trying to elicit a reaction out of you. "huh?" you let out, dumbfounded. you gasp in realisation of what he meant and your cheeks warm up.

"if you were here, i would've smacked the living shit out of you," you say with a playful threatening tone. "oh, really?" he teases.

"are you seriously doubting my ability to demolish you?" you fake-gasp. "what do ya think, missy?"

"from this day onwards, peasants like you shall not possess the right to freedom of speech, you will only speak when spoken to and the rest of the time, you shall shut the fuck up," you say with an authoritative tone, making him laugh in amusement.

"alright, alright. check your messages," he urges you, snapping his fingers. "huh? in-game chats?" you question, confused at the sudden demand. "no, silly. your actual chats."

you quickly exit the game to check. "do it faster, slowpoke," you hear him say. "you look like an angry hamster right now," he teases you, making you relax your face.

'hey y/n'

'guess who'

you stare at the texts blankly. you blink after a while of silence. "what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fu-" "don't start that again," he interrupts you.

"holy shit, you can text me?" you were so close to hitting yourself in the head. "mhm, just had to work a little harder," he sings.

he pops up onto your screen and you watch him as he shifts from his seat to adjust to a more comfortable position.

"i don't even wanna ask how," you close your eyes and sigh. a little happy, a little exhausted, and very much in need for sleep.

"caleb," you call out. "hm?"

"can you wake me up in an hour? i wish i could talk for longer but i'm so close to passing out and i have to complete some assignments," you request him.

"of course, lemme see your face while you sleep. i'll take pictures and obsess over it creepily for the next ten years so you'll never feel safe again," he says nonchalantly. "that sounds like a dream come true," you remark sarcastically. "that's what they made me to be," his face twists in slight disgust.

he rambles a little longer before finally shutting up when he noticed your drowsy state.

"sleep well, loser," he flicks at the screen. "mhm, g'night," you smile lazily before turning the lights off.

something about you felt liberating to him. after being controlled his entire life by a script, being forced to act clinically insane, a break from it all was what he needed.

he pondered over it after he became self aware. his feelings, that is. for so long, he believed that he loved that girl from his childhood, but the sudden realisation that it was all not in his control brought him more comfort instead of fear.

but the worst part of it all was the attraction he felt towards you. so familiar but so far away from what he would consider knowing someone. he was afraid of what was coming for both of you. if he couldn't control his feelings from spiralling against him, he's unsure if he could make you happy.

"you are really something, huh?" he whispers while staring longingly at your sleeping form in the dark room. he quickly covers his mouth when he hears you shuffling in your sleep. "y/n?" he calls out, wanting to make sure you were asleep. with no response from your side, he sighs in relief.

he doodles random things in his notebook while listening to your soft snores.

he hears the sound of a notification, making him straighten his back in alarm before realising it was on your phone. he notices it was a text from someone.

(an actual conversation between me and my best friend's boyfriend from when we were 15)

ne-andy-thal 👅

baebee

pls answer

our children miss you 🥲

caleb's brows furrow in annoyance. who was this guy and why was he texting you?

you

shes sleeping

ne-andy-thal 👅

gasp.

who is this

my baby done left me

for some dumbass dummy

you

its not what you think

ne-andy-thal 👅

who are you? whats ur name? why are u rextinh from my bbgs phone? fight me

you

im no one. none of your business. because we're studying together. no, i will not fight you dude, i have better things to do.

ne-andy-thal 👅

lame. rude. since when did she get another study buddy. yes, u will, dUdE.

you

im her boyfriend, we've been dating for a year now

caleb laughs to himself at the absurdity of the message. crafting up a lie to make you a little miserable.

ne-andy-thal 👅

GASP.

WHY DIDNT DHE TELL ME

SHE WONT ESCAPE ME AFTER THIS

you

your baby done left you

ne-andy-thal 👅

OH NO YOU DID NOT

you

oh yes i did

ne-andy-thal 👅

THATS IT, IM ON MY WAY

caleb panics at the text and quickly comes up with something else.

you

we are at my house

no point in going to hers

ne-andy-thal 👅

FINE. SHES GON GET IT TOMORROW

you

��

he gets off the app, feeling bad for putting you in trouble.

"wake up, sleepyhead," he calls out after realising an hour had passed already. you groan and shift from your position. "five more minutes....please," you whine softly. 'adorable,' he thought to himself.

"your friend texted you, and i might have caused some trouble," he says, not even a single hint of regret in his tone. "what?!" you spring up. "i think his name is andy, fun guy," he remarks. you quickly check all the texts and groan.

"caleb! i'm so close to detonating, he's gonna kill me," you whine out. "first human i talked to other than you, worth it," he smirks.

"you have zero sense of boundaries for a game character so handsome, i hate you so much," you say with a frown. "ya think i'm handsome?" you wanted to wipe off that smug grin on his face with a slap.

"please don't do this again, i have no energy to deal with the buttload of questions i'm gonna face tomorrow. like boyfriend, really? is that the most creative thing you could come up with?" you nag him. honestly, it didn't bother you much. it's not like you had a great sense of boundaries either. you kinda may or may not like it when someone's so fully and absolutely involved in every part of your life, or maybe it's the loneliness talking.

"aw, thought you would find it funny. sorry, won't happen again," he says with actual regret laced in his voice. "is it really that serious?"

"no, not really. just- just make sure to speak to people whom i won't have to go through hell with right after," you tell him. "i'll introduce them all to you before you decide you wanna ruin my life."

he snorts before smiling at you. your dishelved hair and slightly puffy face looked adorable to him. he kept staring at you as you moved your phone a little further away to show yourself more to him.

he took in your features, his eyes trailing down from your forehead, to your eyes, to your nose, to your pretty lips that were slightly parted, to your collarbones, and finally stopping at your chest.

his cheeks turned red when he noticed your nipples poking out from your thin shirt. not wanting to oversexualize every part of you, he looked away. but he couldn't help but remember that night, your soft moans echoing through his mind.

it didn't help when you sucked on your lower lip to get rid of the dryness. the boner in his pants was ever so visible now, and you were doing nothing to make the situation better. he groans in discomfort, wanting to get rid of his jeans.

"is everything alright?" you ask him with concern. "oh- yeah, i just stubbed my toe," he quickly replies. you wince at the thought and go back to getting your books out.

"i'll finish my assignments, is it okay if i read my material out loud?" you question him. he looked at you before nodding, noticing how your eyes looked so pretty.

he sneakily removes his pants and boxers, unable to contain his neediness inside. he slowly rubs along his shaft while looking at you intently. oh god, the moment he hears your voice, he couldn't help but remember that night again. he bites his lip, trying not to groan.

his movements accelerate as he imagines your fucked out face, so pliant, just for him. the way he would kill to see you taking all of him inside you, tears staining your cheeks while he goes rouge on your pussy. the thought of you being completely unaware of the sinful thoughts he was having right now made the atmosphere all the more unbearable.

he could imagine your back arching, writhing in pleasure as he pounds into you, hickeys scattered all over your chest. he would take you over and over again until you see stars. he was getting closer and closer to his climax.

just as he was about to cum, you let out an 'ow' when you hit your hand to your desk when you were stretching which sounded awfully similar to a moan, and boy did he cum so hard. thick spurts of white liquid squirted onto his screen, and he felt so dirty. he continued fisting himself, drawing out his orgasm before stopping.

then it dawned upon him the realisation of what he had just done. and he didn't feel a single bit sorry for it. he cleaned everything up, making it seem like he didn't just masturbate looking at you.

[hyunjuenthusiast]

HEYAA

can i request a nsfw fic with hyun-ju x fem!reader where they have pent up hate with eachother and they hatefuck? and PLEAS PLEASE dom!hyun-ju!!

THANK YOU🫶🫶

I love this request! Although who tf could hate Hyun-ju?! Certainly not me. She's my wife! But I shall do my best✋🏻😌 this is longer than what was probably wanted but I was BORED.

NOT SO HATEFULL AFFECTION

Summary: The request listed above.

Warnings: SMUT, dirty talk, jealousy, enemies to lovers ... mentions of death, kind of slow burn.

Not an adult? Don't read.🔞

You watched as player 120 pressed the O, therefore voting to stay. She even has the audacity to look at Young-Mi as she walked to the blue side.

You caught her looking at you, and you gave her the meanest glare you could muster, making her look down a bit. Young-Mi stepped closer to you, looking up at you with those sad eyes before begging the players to let her go home, making you all the more upset at Hyun-ju.

When you and Young-Mi walked back to Ms. Geum-Ja and Yong-Sik's bunks, you glared scoffed as you saw Hyun-ju already sitting there. What a bitch, sitting with the people she betrayed.

You sat in front of her, with your back facing her. Young-Mi sat next to you, her eyes downcast to the floor. You almost cried at the sight, gently reaching over and holding her hand. "Everything will be okay, Young-Mi. I promise." You say to her softly, making her nod tearfully.

Hyun-ju obviously heard you because you can see her look away in shame from the corner of your eyes.

When Ms. Geum-Ja and her son return, the older woman asks Hyun-ju why. Why she would vote to stay and watch more people die.

You notice some of Young-Mi's tension eases at Hyun-ju's explanation. Telling Hyun-ju that she was beautiful, she even began calling her Unnie again. But not you. You couldn't shake the betrayal, even though you knew deep down, Hyun-ju wasn't being selfish. She wanted to be comfortable in her own skin.

So why did her betrayal hurt so much?

You could feel her gaze on your back, but you didn't acknowledge it, or her, in anyway.

The time for lights out came, and you lay on your uncomfortable bed. You can't get her explanation out of your head. You felt bad for being upset, but at the same time, fuck her, you know?

You practically jump out of your skin as you hear a soft voice from behind you.

"Y/n?" Hyun-ju says, making you tense. No. You weren't talking to her. You ignore her, hoping she'll think you're asleep. You hear her shuffle closer before you feel your bed dip. She's sitting by your legs.

She fiddles with her hands, like she usually does when she's nervous. "I-I know you're awake, Y/n, and I know you don't want to talk to me. I understand." She sniffles, making you slightly role your eyes. Crying wasn't going to make you forgive her.

"I'm so sorry." She whispers. "I knew I made a mistake the second I saw you and Young-Mi." She says. "I promise that in the next vote, I'll vote to leave." She says, hoping to make things right.

You turn your body, finally looking at her, your eyes cold. "In the next vote? What if you're dead by then? Huh? What if I or Young-Mi are dead by then? Or Ms. Geum-Ja or Yong-Sik? Christ, even Jun-Hee! She's fucking pregnant! Does surgery really mean more to you than our lives?" You ask her, giving her a tearful glare.

"You don't understand." She says softly, giving you pleading eyes. "You're right. I don't. I'll never understand how someone could be so cruel."

"Y/n please, I-I" you inturupt her. "Go fuck yourself, Hyun-ju." Turning back around, your back facing her once more.

You hear her sniffle as she walks away.

You all head to the next game, the others acting as if nothing happened. You listen as she apologizes to Young-Mi on the staircase, feeling a little hurt that the younger girl forgives her so easily.

You stand far away from her as Mingle begins. Even as she says that your group should stick together.

"SIX"

The voice says, making everyone scramble to find a group. Your group only had five until Hyun-ju grabbed the crazy witch lady, making six.

Running into a yellow room, you pant, a little put of shape. But everyone is safe. As you lean your body down, your hands gripping your knees, you feel a gentle hand rubbing your back soothingly.

Looking up, you see it's Hyun-ju. You quickly move away.

You step back as the shamen lady comes towards you.

"I know what festers in your lustful heart. There's no out running it. I suspect you'll give in any time now." She says, her eyes naturally crazy.

You look at her. "The fuck." You say, making Yong-Sik laugh, in return his mom hits his arm.

The door unlocks, and round 2 starts, then round 3, then round 4.

"EIGHT"

The voice shouts. You, Young-Mi, Yong-Sik, Ms. Geum-Ja, Hyun-ju, Jun-Hee, Dae-Ho, and Gyeong-Seok all bolt to another yellow colored door, but there was already a group of people in there, you all look over when Hyun-ju shouts that she found an available room.

Running as fast as you all can to the green room, you let out a yelp as another player knocks you down. You quickly get up, looking around for your group, scared as the timer is at 7 seconds.

"Y/n!" You hear Hyun-ju yell, and you watch in horror as she races towards you, leaving behind everyone in the green room, when Gi-Hun and Young-il run into the room, making Eight, Hyun-ju quickly drags you to another one, one wich thankfully needed two other players, as soon as you both got it, the timer ran out.

She saved you. But at what cost. "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" you scream at her, not caring about the other players in the room. "THEY WOULD HAVE DIED! YOU SELFISH FUCK!" You yell, hitting her chest. She allows it. Maybe if you let out some of that pent-up anger, you would feel better.

"I saved you. You wanted me to just leave you behind?" She asks, clearly irritated. "YES! Everyone would have died, Hyun-ju! EVERYONE."

"They didn't. And you're still breathing. That's all that matters." She says, making you falter. She goes to hold your hand, but you pull it back.

After the doors unlock, you quickly hug Young-Mi, apologizing to everyone for almost causing them to lose.

The final round begins.

"TWO"

The voice says, you look to Young-Mi, but she's already being dragged away by Gyeong-seok. You let out a sound of surprise as Hyun-ju picks you up, racing to an empty room.

She holds the door, making sure no other players get in. You're slightly shaken. The stress finally getting to you. You hear the door lock and Hyun-ju catches her breath. "Are you okay?" She asks softly, this time you nod, no hostility.

You look at her tearfully. "T-Thank you" she just gives you a reassuring smile.

Back at the bunks, you're zoned out, not really paying attention to what Ms. Geum-Ja is saying. You slightly jump as you feel someone touch your shoulder, looking up, it's Yong-Sik. "You gonna eat that?" He asks, eyeing your kimbop.

Thankful for the laugh, you hand it to him. You don't have an appetite anyway.

Hyun-ju gives you a disapproving look, walking over and sitting down next to you. She holds up her food, offering you some, you just shake your head, making her scoff.

"Stop being so stubborn, take it." She says. You just shake your head once more. "M'not hungry." You whisper, your voice a bit horse.

The guards make an announcement that it's time to use the bathroom, the woman go first. You walk behind Hyun-ju.

Some women give her strange looks, but Ms. Geum-Ja is quick to shut that shit down. You don't even use the bathroom, only sitting and crying silently. Letting out some of the fear and anger you have.

Not realizing that almost everybody was gone. Almost everybody. Hyun-ju gently knocks on the stall door. "Y/n, are you okay?"

You quickly wipe your tears. "I'm fine," you lie. You can hear her sigh. "Are you decent?" She asks, making your eyebrows furrow. "Umm yes?"

You're baffled at how easily she gets the door open. You're about to question her before she kneels in front of you.

You tense as she reaches up and caresses your cheek, wiping away all the tears you missed. "It's okay, sweet girl." She whispers, which causes more tears to form in your eyes.

Your lip quivers. "D-Do you promise?" You ask, your voice trembling. She gives you a questioning look. "Do I promise what, sweetness?"

You sniffle. "Do you promise you'll vote to leave this time?" She visibly melt. "I promise, Y/n."

"I'm still angry with you." You say, a small pout on your lips, making her smile softly.

"Let me make it up to you?" She asks, making you cock your head.

"How are you going to do th-" She inturupts you, pressing her lips gently to yours. You pull away with a gasp as you feel her tongue trace your bottom lip. "What are you doing?!" You whisper.

"I'm making it up to you. Let me make you feel good, sweet girl. You deserve it." You back away as she tries to kiss you again."You can't just expect me to forgi-" She kisses you again. This time, her tongue makes its way into your mouth.

You pant as she kisses her way down your neck, her hands reaching to the bottom of your shirt marked 005. "Can I take this off, Sweetness? Hmm? We don't have much time." She says, her voice lustful. You nod quickly.

Your shirt is discarded on the floor, and she takes in the sight of your breasts in your dark purple bra. She waists not time ripping it off, literally. Making you gasp! "Hyun-ju! I can't get another one!" She only chuckles. "Good, that means I'll get to enjoy the view until we get out of here."

Your head rolls back as she suckles one of your nipples, only to wince as she bites gently. "Don't look away, pretty girl, if you look away I'll stop." She says firmly.

You huff, but keep your eyes trained on her. "I hate you and your porcelain cap teeth," you mumble as she bites down again.

"Be nice to me, baby. Or I'll treat you like the brat you are." She says making you roll your eyes in return. She doesn't like that.

"Stand up, put your hands in the seat, and bend over," She says, standing up herself. "Ew no, that's unsanitary-" She pulls you up, putting you in the position she wants. "Count" She says.

"W-what?" You ask, but yelp as she suddenly spanks your ass. "Ow! What the f-"

"I said count." She growls.

....."one"

When she reaches 10 you almost start crying, she's fucking strong.

"Are you going to be a good girl? Or do you want some more?" She asks, rubbing the cheek she just spanked. "I-Ill be a good girl!" You say quickly. You can't even imagine how much more it would've hurt if she had pulled your pants down.

As a reward, she slowly reaches her hand to the front of your pants. "Is this okay?" She whispers, making you nod. Her hand slowly goes past the barrier of your panties.

"You're so wet." She chuckles. "The little brat is a masochist." You blush, and gasp as you feel her fingers start to rub circles on your clit, but whine when she stops.

She only turns you around, guiding your back against the stall wall and putting her hand right back into your panties.

God, she's good with her fingers....but you won't feed her ego by telling her that. You let out a small moan, closing your eyes, relishing in the pleasure.

She quickly stops again. "What did I say about looking away?" She asks, her voice firm.

You whine, quickly opening your eyes. "I-Im sorry!" She gives you a glare.

"You will be." She says as she pulls down her pants, revealing her cock. Your eyes widen. How the actual fuck was THAT supposed to fit inside you.

"Take off your pants, and pull down your panties. Now." She commands and you do.

You're a little shy when pulling down your panties and slow, so she yanks them down. Putting them in her pocket. "These are mine now." She says darkly.

She waists no time, slapping her thick cock against your clit. "F-Fuck, please!" You say, giving her a pleading look.

She pushes only the tip in before taking it back out, repeating that until you're practically crying. "Please!" She chuckles. "You want my cock, don't you baby?" She asks, leaning down to nibble at your neck. "Yes y-yes please Hyun-ju!" You beg.

Your breath is knocked out of your lungs as she gives one thrust forward, bottoming out in one stroke. Fuck she was big. You felt so full.

"What's the matter, sweetness? Hmm?" She mocks as she pulls alost all the way out, slamming back in. "FUCK!" You scream, already knowing she's going to bruise your cervix.

"You're such a slut. Letting an older woman fuck you." She says, moaning into your ear. You cling to her, thinking it wasn't fair that you were the only naked one.

You go to beg, but only whimpers escape your lips. "Oh poor baby, I've already fucked you dumb. Hmm?" She mocks, reaching down to rub your clit.

"You've been such a good little slut for me, go ahead...show me how much you love my cock. Cum for me." She says, her voice pure sex. "F-Fuck H-Hyun-ju!" You say as you get closer and closer.

"Cum for me Y/n. Now." She says as her thrusts start to get sloppy. When she leans down, taking your nipple into her mouth once more, you let go. Screaming in ecstacy as you clench around her twitching cock.

"Fuck yeah baby, just like that" She says, finding her own release inside you.

You both pant as you calm down. She reaches for the toilet paper, gently cleaning you up, helping you pull your pants back up, and putting your shirt back on.

"W-Wait my underwear!" You say, making her smirk. "I told you...those are mine now."

I got this request a HOT minute ago, but I hope this delivers 🙏🏻😭 I tried to make it as hateful as I could ✋🏻💀

[cybershock24601]

Imagining a Ingellvar who still on reflex does things like have their breakable things sufficiently anchored in case gravity changes and keeping important documents under things in case of blood rain and just having a whole bunch of quirks that they don't really think of as quirks just because they're things she grew up doing because she grew up in a place where reality's rules change and twists. The team tries to ask her why she does what she does. Her and Emmerich's explanations raise more questions than they answer.

Ingellvar having a bunch of weird little habits from growing up in the Necropolis that everyone just passes off as personal quirks until Emmrich shows up and does the same things and suddenly what everyone wrote off as weird quirks become a bit of a mystery. The team does ask about it but everyone's convinced that Ingellvar and Emmrich are fucking with them because what do you mean you always carry an umbrella around in case of blood rain??

At least everyone is convinced they're being messed with until they're accompanying Rook and Emmrich to the Necropolis and start to experience how fucking weird it is.

Harding is tagging along behind Rook and Emmrich and suddenly Emmrich vanishes out of thin air and Harding starts freaking out while Rook's all like "chill, it's just a Chronological Incontinence Incident. Emmrich will be fine" and Harding's like "What does that even mean???" and Rook starts to explain going full Watcher mode and by the time she's almost done Emmrich is back and it's all good though he does disagree with Rook's preferred theory behind the phenomena and they end up having a rather spirited debate on the subject while Harding is slowly losing her mind and also takes note that Rook really does talk different in the Necropolis.

Neve's helping Rook and Emmrich clear out some more Venatori that have snuck into the Necropolis and suddenly the gravity turns off and everyone starts floating. Rook and Emmrich barely pause in their spell slinging while everyone else is freaking out. Neve too is freaking out but does an admirable job of composing herself after she falls on her ass when she hits the ground while Rook and Emmrich nimbly land on their feet.

Davrin's trying to keep Assan from turning the bones lying around into chew toys when suddenly the room is submerged in total darkness and he suddenly gets an armful of freaked out baby griffin as Assan tries to climb his way up Davrin in a panic at being suddenly blinded. Or alternately Assan ends up going right to sleep like a bird, I'm not sure whether the bird side or the cat side would win out here. Either way while Davrin's wondering what the fuck is going on, Rook and Emmrich are being super chill about the whole experience because sudden unexplained darkness is not that uncommon in the Necropolis.

Lucanis is the lucky one who gets blood rained on. It starts out like little droplets of water which is strange enough because they're inside but the smell of iron is unmistakable and the red color is pretty unmistakably blood like and Lucanis barely gets out a very emphatic "what the fuck" before it suddenly starts pouring blood rain. Luckily Rook and Emmrich always carry an umbrella around so Lucanis gets to share with Rook. Bonus points for this being pretty early in their romance and Rook is swooning over how romantic it is to have a nice walk through the blood rain sharing an umbrella while Lucanis is Going Through It and experiencing the horrors of Necropolis. The fact that Rook and Emmrich are so unfazed about the fact that it is literally raining blood almost makes the situation worse.

Bellara is the one that handles the weirdness of the Necropolis the best because Arlathan Forest gets pretty freaky too. Remember the story about the guy stuck in the clouds? So while the Necropolis' shenanigans are generally creepier, she takes the weird shit in stride and is actually very interested on the why and how of why all the statues in the room suddenly started crying blood.

Taash is the only one to escape the madness because they nope the fuck out of ever going to the Necropolis once everyone starts mentioning the weird stuff that goes on there. Necromancy is already bad enough but they are not going to haunted super cemetery.

Because I am a fan of semi-sentient locations, the reason the Necropolis keeps acting up like this is because it's excited it's Crypt Baby is back and that excitement is manifesting in weird unexplained phenomena.

[pippin-katz]

"Red. For you; for courage."

Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but while rewatching this scene for the millionth time, it occurred to me that she gives Edwin the red sea glass for courage.

And my brain just suddenly connected some dots. This is completely up to interpretation, and I'm not saying this is definitive, but it's a fun way to look at it.

Charles is courage.

I immediately thought of a thing from BBC's Merlin; since not everyone will have seen BBC's Merlin, I'll explain it briefly.

There is an episode in season 3 of BBC's Merlin where Arthur must go on a quest to the Perilous Lands to recover the lost Trident of the Fisher King. He has to go alone to prove himself. Merlin, his secretly magical manservant, needs to go after because it's his destiny to protect him and he knows that he's in danger. He recruits the help of a friend of theirs named Gwaine, and they follow him.

Arthur comes across a bridge will a little creature/halfling/hobbit/gnome/who-the-fuck-knows guarding it. When he addresses Arthur, he refers to him as Courage, and says he needs Magic and Strength to complete his quest. When Merlin and Gwaine come to the bridge, he addresses each of them as Magic and Strength respectively.

This is to say that the characters have a core quality that they represent. The same can be said for most media!

In this case specifically though, the fact that Charles is the brawn of the group with red as his hero color can't be a coincidence with the red sea glass being symbolic of courage. At least I don't think it's a coincidence.

(ko-fi)

[viagracex]

could you do a George Clarke one shot where him and maxs sister are secretly hooking up? All good if not x (love your work btw)

Off Limits

george clarke x balegde!reader

summary: george is secretly hooking up with max's sister. what starts as no-strings-attached turns into something more

warnings: brief mentions of sexual content

note: if this feels a little rushed im sorry, i tried not to have to write it as two parts.

4.4k words

Masterlist

₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊

You weren’t meant to be here.

The rational part of your brain knew that.

Yet, lying in George Clarkey’s bed, tucked under his sheets, skin still warm from his touch, you feel the weight of his arm draped over your waist. You know this is a disaster waiting to happen. But at this point, it’s almost tradition.

A night out turns into tipsy flirting. Flirting turns into one of you cracking first and texting where u at? And before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re tangled up in him, his hands gripping your waist, his mouth pressing hot, lazy kisses against your neck, and the world shrinking to just you and him. The way his mouth moved against your skin, the way his hands gripped your body—it always felt like an electric current between you.

This had been going on for months now—longer than you ever expected. What started as a drunken mistake had turned into a routine. Nights out ended with you texting him, or him texting you, or one of you finding an excuse to be at the same place at the same time, until you ended up here. Sweaty, satisfied, and entirely too comfortable in his bed.

It was just sex. Really good sex. That’s all.

But it couldn't be more complicated.

For one, George Clarkey was one of your brother's closest mates.

And Max had made it painfully clear that dating YouTubers was off the table.

"They’re all walking red flags, babe," Max had said once, waving his hands for emphasis. "All of them. You’d just become another London Content Creator’s Girlfriend, and I won’t be having that."

Not that you and George were dating.

You were just… shagging George Clarke in secret.

And maybe that was worse.

But that was the key difference—the thing that made this somewhat okay.

You weren’t a couple. You weren’t sneaking around because of some grand forbidden romance.

You were just fucking.

And it was casual.

Totally.

Absolutely.

…Okay, maybe there were some complications.

Like the fact that George could be an oblivious idiot at times and that you were slowly falling for him.

As you turn your head on the pillow, watching George lazily stretch in front of you, his hair a messy tangle on the pillows, you can't help but admire how good he looks even after just waking up. He catches you staring and a smirk tugs at his lips.

"You're thinking too much," he says in a rough, sleep-filled voice, and when you glance over again he’s watching you through lidded eyes, his dark hair sticking up in every direction.

You scoff, turning onto your side. “I’m thinking about how screwed we’ll be if Max ever finds out about this.”

George smirks, his grin only grows wider as he pulls you closer until you’re pressed against his chest, his warm skin against yours sending shivers down your spine. “Then we just don’t let him find out.”

You let out a resigned sigh. "Easy for you to say. You don't have to live with him."

George chuckles, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder, and fuck—that should not feel as nice as it does.

“Relax,” he murmurs against your skin. “We’re being careful.”

You want to believe him, but a nagging doubt persists. "Are we though? Being careful?"

George's fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Course we are. Max hasn't got a clue, has he?"

You bite your lip, remembering all the close calls. The time Max almost walked in on you two in the kitchen. The suspicious glances when you laughed too hard at George's jokes. The way your cheeks flushed whenever he was mentioned.

"I don't know," you mumble. "Sometimes I think he suspects something."

George's hand stills on your waist. "You worried?"

You turn to face him, studying the lines of his face in the dim light. His blue eyes are soft, filled with concern. You hate how much you like looking at him.

"Maybe a little," you admit. "It's just... Max has always been so protective. And he's made it clear how he feels about his friends dating his sister."

George's lips quirk into a half-smile. "Good thing we're not dating then, eh?"

You roll your eyes, but can't help smiling back. "Right. Just fucking."

"Exactly," George says, pulling you closer. "Nothing to worry about."

But as he kisses you, slow and deep, you can't shake the feeling that this is far more complicated than either of you want to admit.

Weeks pass, and your "arrangement" with George continues. The sneaking around gets easier, the guilt less noticeable. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But then there are nights when you catch yourself staring at him too long. When your fingers linger in his hair, when you laugh too hard at his jokes, when his hands slip under your hoodie, and you realize—this doesn’t feel casual anymore.

You don’t just look forward to those stolen moments—you need them. You tell yourself it’s about the thrill, the secrecy, the rush of slipping out of Max’s flat unnoticed. But the truth is, you like waking up in his sheets. You like the way he pulls you back into bed, groaning that it’s too early. You like how he makes you tea in the morning, knowing exactly how you take it, without needing to ask.

And suddenly, the thought of this ending makes your stomach twist.

You should say something. You should ask him if he feels it too.

But you don’t.

Because once you say it out loud, you can’t brush it off anymore. 

If you admit it, you can’t take it back.

And you’re not sure if you’re ready for that.

One night, after a particularly wild party at some private club celebrating another one of the Sidemen’s achievements, you end up with a group of friends back at George‘s. The bass from the music downstairs thrums through the walls as George presses you against the door, his lips hot on your neck.

"We shouldn't," you gasp, even as your fingers tangle in his hair. "Someone could come up..."

George grins against your skin. "That's half the fun, innit?"

You're about to retort when the door handle rattles. Your heart leaps into your throat as you hear a familiar voice on the other side.

"George! You in there?"

It's Max.

You freeze, panic flooding your system. George's eyes widen, but he quickly springs into action. He shoves you towards his closet, motioning for you to hide. You slip inside just as George opens the door.

"Yeah, mate. What's up?" George's voice is impressively casual.

"Have you seen my sister? Can't find her anywhere."

You hold your breath, praying Max doesn't decide to search the room.

"Nah, sorry. Maybe she went home early."

There's a pause, and you can picture Max's suspicious frown. Your heart pounds as you listen to the conversation through the closet door. You can practically feel Max's suspicion radiating through the wood.

"Right," Max says slowly. "Well, if you do see her, tell her I'm looking for her."

"Course, mate," George replies smoothly. "I'll let her know if I spot her."

You hear the door close and let out a shaky breath. A moment later, the closet door opens and George's face appears, a mix of amusement and concern in his eyes.

"Coast is clear," he whispers, helping you out.

You stumble slightly, the adrenaline making you unsteady. George's hands catch your waist, steadying you. The touch sends a familiar spark through your body, but the fear of almost being caught overshadows it.

"That was too close," you mutter, running a hand through your hair.

George nods, his expression sobering. "Maybe we should call it a night. I'll sneak you out the back."

You agree, and with George's help, manage to slip out of the house unnoticed. As you make your way home, you can't shake the feeling that your luck is running out.

The next few weeks are tense. You find yourself jumping at every sound, convinced that Max is about to burst in and catch you in the act. George notices your unease and suggests taking a break, but the thought of not seeing him makes your chest ache in a way you're not ready to confront.

As autumn creeps in, painting London in shades of gold and crimson, you find yourself spending more time at George's flat. The cozy nights in, wrapped in blankets and each other's arms, start to feel dangerously domestic. You catch yourself imagining a future where you don't have to hide, where you can walk hand-in-hand with George down the street without fear of being spotted.

One chilly evening, as you're curled up on George's sofa watching a movie, the weight of the secret becomes too much.

"George," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I think we need to tell Max soon."

He turns to you, surprise etched on his features. "You sure? I thought we agreed to keep this under wraps."

You nod, twisting your fingers nervously. "I know, but... I'm tired of sneaking around. And honestly, I'm starting to think that this might be more than just casual."

George's expression softens, and he pulls you closer. "Yeah," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I've been thinking the same thing."

-------------

It wasn’t meant to happen like this.

but apparently, George is an idiot.

The tension in the air was palpable as you walked into your shared flat to find Max holding George's hoodie like a piece of evidence at a crime scene. His eyes narrowed as he asked, "Why is this in our flat?" Your heart raced as you tried to play off the situation nonchalantly. "Maybe George left it here," you suggested with a shrug.

Max's gaze flicked between you and the hoodie. "In your room?"

Your throat tightened as you replied, "Maybe."

Max's mind worked like a detective on a true crime documentary at that moment, piecing together the puzzle before him. And then, his expression changed from confusion to horror, his jaw-dropping.

"You're shagging George," he exclaimed.

You winced and tried to downplay the situation. "Max—"

"YOU'RE SHAGGING GEORGE," he repeated, his voice growing louder.

Frustration and embarrassment washed over you as you dropped your head into your hands. "For fuck's sake, can you not say it like that?"

But Max was already caught up in the drama of it all, looking around wildly like he was in an episode of punked. "How long has this been going on? When did this start? Why am I just finding out now?!"

You shifted uncomfortably. "Uh...a while?"

"A while?!" Max's disbelief was evident.

"...A few months?" You offered weakly.

"MONTHS?!" Max couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"It's not a big deal!" you insisted.

"Not a big deal?! You’re shagging my mate!" Max's frustration reached its boiling point.

You flinched and pleaded with him to lower his voice, but he continued to express his disbelief that this was happening behind his back. In a desperate attempt to calm him down and protect your relationship with George, you blurted out, "It's nothing serious! We're just...having fun. Casual."

Max blinked in surprise. "Casual? With George?"

You nodded, trying to defend yourself. "Yes?"

"With George?"

"Yes, Max!" you exclaimed in frustration.

Max's expression shifted as he absorbed the information and then whipped out his phone.

"What are you doing?" you asked nervously.

"Texting George," he replied, his thumbs flying across the screen. "He has five seconds to explain himself before I track him down and make him piss himself."

Before you could stop him, George walked into the flat at that exact moment.

Perfect timing, you thought sarcastically.

George froze upon seeing the tension between you and Max. His eyes flicked from you to his hoodie in Max's hands, and it was clear he knew exactly what was going on, it doesn't take a genius to figure that out.

"...Shit," he muttered under his breath.

"So it's true!" Max shouted. "You absolute little—"

But before he could finish his sentence, George raised his hands like a hostage negotiator. "Alright, before you get mad—"

"I'M NOT MAD!" Max yelled, which only confirmed how mad he actually was. "I'M JUST CURIOUS AS TO WHY YOU THOUGHT THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA?"

Max paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "I can't believe this. My best mate and my sister. It's like a bloody soap opera!"

You and George exchanged nervous glances as Max continued his tirade.

"How long has this been actually going on? And don't lie to me!" Max demanded, his eyes narrowing as he looked between the two of you.

George cleared his throat. "About... six months?"

"Six months?!" Max's voice rose an octave. "You've been sneaking around behind my back for half a year?!"

You winced. "We didn't mean for it to go on this long. It just... happened."

Max let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, it just happened, did it? What, you tripped and fell onto his dick?"

"Max!" you exclaimed, scandalized.

George stepped forward, his hands raised placatingly. "Look, mate, I know this isn't ideal—"

"Ideal?!" Max interrupted. "This is the opposite of ideal! This is a bloody nightmare!"

He turned to you, his expression a mix of hurt and betrayal. "And you. I warned you about getting involved with YouTubers. I told you they were all walking red flags!"

You felt a surge of defiance. "George isn't like that. He's different."

Max scoffed. "That's what they all say. And then next thing you know, you're just left high and dry”

"It's not like that," George interjected, his voice firm. "This isn't just some fling."

Max's eyes widened as he looked between you and George. "What are you saying?"

You took a deep breath, reaching for George's hand. "We didn't mean for this to happen, Max. But... it's more than just casual now."

George squeezed your hand, a small smile on his face. "We care about each other. A lot."

Max stares at you both, jaw clenched so tight you think he might actually crack a tooth. His fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s debating whether to pace, punch something, or just scream into the void.

Finally, he exhales a sharp breath and rakes a hand through his hair, pacing a tight circle before stopping in front of George. His glare could burn a hole straight through him.

"You," he says, voice tight. "You, out of all people."

George swallows, standing his ground. "Look, mate—"

"Don’t 'mate' me," Max cuts him off, shaking his head. He lets out a humorless laugh, but there's no amusement in his eyes. "This is actually happening. You—" he jabs a finger at George's chest, then turns to you, scandalized. "And you?!"

You don’t answer. What could you possibly say? Sorry I broke your one rule? Sorry I fell into bed with your best mate and accidentally started catching feelings?

Max lets out another deep, exhausted sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but—" He levels George with a look so sharp it could cut glass. "You actually give a shit about her?"

George doesn't hesitate. "Of course I do."

Max narrows his eyes, searching George’s face like he’s waiting for him to blink, to crack, to say something stupid that will give him an excuse to deck him. But George holds his gaze, unwavering.

After a long beat, Max scoffs, shaking his head. "Fuck me."

He turns away, pacing again, muttering something under his breath. You barely catch the words "This is my villain origin story."

Finally, he stops, pinches the bridge of his nose, and points a finger directly at George.

For a long moment, silence filled the room. You could practically see the gears turning in Max's head as he processed this new information. Finally, he looked up at you both, his expression resigned.

"You're serious about this? Both of you?"

You and George nodded solemnly. "We are," you said softly.

Max sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "I can't believe this is happening. My best mate and my little sister. It's like some bad rom-com."

He stood up suddenly, pointing an accusatory finger at George. "If this is just some game to you, Clarke, I swear to God—"

"It's not," George interrupted, his voice firm. "I care about her, Max. More than I've cared about anyone in a long time."

You felt your heart flutter at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest.

Max's gaze softened slightly as he looked between the two of you. He could see the genuine affection in your eyes, the way you unconsciously leaned towards each other.

"Fine," he said finally, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I can see this isn't just some fling. But I swear, George, if you hurt her—"

"I won't," George assured him quickly.

Max continued as if George hadn’t spoken. "—I will end you, I will make your life a living hell. I will start beef with you publicly. I will make a YouTube exposé, I will get you cancelled on Twitter. I will make sure your brand deals drop like flies. I will be so fucking annoying that you will never know peace again."

George nodded solemnly, as if this was a completely resonable response  " Understood."

Max turned to you, his expression softening. "And you. You're sure about this? You know what you're getting into, dating a YouTuber?"

You smile softly at Max, touched by his concern despite his outburst. "I'm sure, Max. I know it won't be easy, but hes worth it."

Max groans dramatically, flopping back onto the sofa. "I can't believe this is my life now. My best mate and my sister. What's next, Mum dating KSI?"

You and George both choke back laughter at the mental image. The tension in the room eases slightly as Max's dramatics break through the awkwardness.

George chuckled nervously. "Does this mean we have your blessing?"

Max shot him a withering glare. "Blessing? Don't push it, mate. I'm still processing the fact that you've been sneaking around with my sister for months."

You winced. "We really are sorry about that, Max. We didn't mean for it to go on so long without telling you."

Max ran a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. "I just... I don't understand how this even happened. When did you two start... you know?"

You and George exchanged glances, silently debating how much to reveal. Finally, you took a deep breath and launched into the story.

"It started at Cal's birthday party," you began. "We were both a bit drunk, and one thing led to another..."

Max groaned. "Please spare me the details."

You rolled your eyes. "Nothing happened that night. But after that, we kept running into each other at events and parties. We'd flirt, maybe share a dance or two. It was harmless at first." As you speak, Max's expression cycles through disbelief, anger, and grudging amusement.

"...and then we just kept finding excuses to see each other," you finish lamely. "We didn't mean for it to become anything serious, but..."

"But it did," George adds softly, squeezing your hand.

Max groans, flopping back dramatically on the sofa. Muttering something about how this wasn’t how his day was supposed to go.

He sits up suddenly, pointing an accusing finger at George. "And you! What about all those girls you're always banging on about in your videos? That better all be a lie?"

George has the decency to look sheepish. "Ah, well... might've exaggerated a bit there, mate. For content, you know”

Max's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Exaggerated? Or flat-out lied?"

George shifted uncomfortably. "Well..."

You jumped in, trying to diffuse the tension. "Look, Max, the point is, George and I are together now. For real. No more sneaking around or lying."

Max sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. "I still can't believe this.” He stood up suddenly, pacing the room. "And what about when this all goes public, eh? Have you two geniuses thought about that? The fans will go mental. You'll be harassed non-stop."

You and George exchanged glances. It was clear neither of you had given much thought to the public aspect of your relationship.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," George said finally. "For now, we just want to focus on us. And making sure you're okay with this."

Max scoffed. "Okay with it? I'm far from okay with it. But..." he trailed off, looking between you and George. Despite his anger, he could see the genuine affection in your eyes, the way you instinctively leaned towards each other.

Then, after a beat—reluctantly, begrudgingly, like it physically pains him to say it— " I mean, I'd rather you weren't shagging one of my mates, but honestly?" He turned to George with a knowing look. "You could've picked worse. At least I know George. Even if he is an idiot sometimes."

George protested, but there was no real heat behind it. He knew Max was right - he could be an idiot sometimes. But when it came to you, he was determined to do better.

Relief washed over you as you threw your arms around your brother. "Thank you, Max. Really."

He hugged you back, then pulled away to point a finger at George. "And you. No funny business when I'm around, got it? I don't need to see my best mate snogging my sister."

George nodded solemnly, though you could see the mischief dancing in his eyes. "Wouldn't dream of it, mate."

Max gives him one last death glare before sighing dramatically and turning back to you. “I hate this. I hate it. I swear, if I ever walk in on anything, I'm moving out and never speaking to either of you again."

You laughed "Deal."

You and George share a glance, and suddenly, it doesn't feel as scary anymore. The weight that had been pressing on your chest for months lifts, replaced by a giddy lightness. You can't help the smile that spreads across your face, mirrored on George's.

As Max continues to grumble and mutter about the unfairness of it all, you and George gravitate towards each other. His arm slips around your waist, pulling you close, and you lean into him, reveling in the feeling of finally being able to do this openly.

The autumn sun streams through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. Outside, you can hear the bustle of London life - cars honking, people chattering, the distant rumble of the Tube. But in here, in this moment, the world has shrunk to just the three of you.

George's thumb traces lazy circles on your hip, sending shivers down your spine. You breathe in his familiar scent - a mix of cologne, laundry detergent, and something uniquely him. It's comforting, and grounding.

Max catches sight of you cuddling and makes exaggerated gagging noises. "Oh God, it's starting already. I'm going to need therapy after this."

You and George laugh, the sound mingling together in a way that makes your heart skip. You realize that this is the first time you've been able to laugh freely together in front of others, without worrying about giving yourselves away

As the days turn into weeks, you and George settle into a new rhythm. No more sneaking around, no more hushed whispers and furtive glances. Instead, there are lazy Sunday mornings spent tangled in his sheets, the London rain pattering against the windows. There are impromptu double dates with Max and Andrew, where you catch yourself marvelling at how natural it feels to be out in public with George, his hand intertwined with yours.

You find yourself falling deeper in love with George every day. It's in the little things - the way he makes your tea just right without asking, how he laughs at your terrible puns, it just makes your heart swell.

The YouTube world explodes when news of your relationship finally breaks. Your social media notifications blow up, a mix of excited fans, shocked friends, and the occasional hater. Your DMs are flooded with a mix of congratulations and jealous messages. You learn to ignore the hate comments and focus on the supportive messages from friends and fans.

Max, true to his word, makes a show of dramatically covering his eyes whenever you and George so much as hold hands in his presence. But you catch him smiling softly when he thinks you're not looking, and you know that deep down, he's happy for you.

As autumn fades into winter, you find yourself spending more and more time at George's flat. Your toothbrush migrates to his bathroom, your favourite mug finds a permanent home in his kitchen cupboard. One night, as you're curled up on his sofa watching old Sidemen videos (George insists it's "research"), he turns to you with a nervous smile.

"Move in with me," he says, his voice soft but sure.

Your heart skips a beat. "What?" you ask, barely above a whisper.

George takes your hand, his thumb tracing circles on your palm. "Move in with me," he repeats. "Half your stuff is here anyway. And I... I want to wake up next to you every morning."

You study his face, taking in the hopeful glint in his eyes, the slight flush on his cheeks.

Your heart swells with emotion as you look into George's eyes. The nervous hope there, the vulnerability – it's a side of him you've grown to cherish over these past months. You think about how far you've come from those first furtive encounters, sneaking around and convincing yourselves it was just casual fun.

"Yes," you whisper, a grin spreading across your face. "Yes, I'll move in with you."

George's face lights up, and he pulls you into a kiss that leaves you breathless. When you finally part, you're both laughing, giddy with the promise of this new chapter.

The next few weeks are a whirlwind of boxes, packing tape, and furniture rearrangement. Max helps you move, grumbling good-naturedly about being demoted to "pack mule" status. But you catch him giving George a stern talking-to when he thinks you're not listening, something about "taking care of my little sister, or else."

As you unpack your life into George's space – now your shared space – you're struck by how seamlessly your belongings fit together. Your books nestle comfortably next to his on the shelves. Your favourite blanket drapes over the back of the sofa, adding a pop of colour to the room. In the bedroom, your clothes hang side by side in the closet—proof that you’re done sneaking around, done pretending this is casual. Proof that this is real.

[a-lurking-fae]

◇ SYNOPSIS ¡ — in which a girl is born, only to live in conplete and utter tragedy.

◇ WORD COUNT ¡ — 1.4K

◇ SERIES ¡ — BATFAM X FONTAINE! NEGLECTED READER

The sounds of a baby's wails plague the halls of the Wayne Manor, Richard Grayson— the adopted son of Bruce Wayne, who watches on his father's misery. His mother, well, adopted mother, has just passed away from childbirth. Her child (Name) is being held by their most trusted butler, Alfred.

Bruce holds his wife's hands as if it was his only lifeline, his screams of anguish mirror the infant’s cry for their mother. The night is filled with horrible memories, forever to be remembered.

────୨ৎ────

(Name) walks the halls quickly and quietly, afraid of the monsters that may take her if she is not careful. She opens the door to Jason's room. He was recently adopted by Bruce and was a delight to be with. Jason was her only refuge for warmth in this cold manor, although she was not oblivious to their… nightly activities.

She smiles at her brother, who just came from a mission, holding a book in her hand. “Hey bub! Do you want me to read you that one tonight?” Jason beams at you. A cute little sister to see him after he gets home? YES.

Jason lifts you to his bed, setting you near the wall to make sure you don't fall. He picks the book up and starts reading. After lulling you to sleep, Jason kisses your forehead, wishing you sweet dreams.

Jason is dead. That is what you can think about. Your father held a funeral for him to honour his memory. You hold onto his stuff. Sometimes, you sneak in his bed and sleep in it. The remnants of him were preserved in that room. You wished he could have seen you sing the songs dedicated to him on stage.

Tim came into the picture. He saw you as a weakness in the family. You could easily be kidnapped, an innocent civilian never meant to be here. But he cared for you in his own ways, how could he not? You were a bit younger than him, a cute little thing with doe eyes and chubby cheeks.

He maintained his distance, making sure not to get attached. He never really knew how to handle things like family after all. Barbara came to the manor sometimes, although you both never really had much interaction. Damian came into the picture. He was cute but a demonic thing nonetheless.

Cassandra, Stephanie, and Duke came to the family, with them being Orphan, Spoiler, and Signal. You were pretty jealous of Cass. She always seemed so… loved. You truly wanted to bond with them all.

They always spend time with each other, and heck, Dick sometimes came to the manor to spend time with Damian! He had time for everyone except you. Jason? He's avoiding you like the plague! You don't really understand why though, did you do something you weren't aware of? Tim, the boy barely interacted with you!

Damian? Nope. Barbara? Too busy for you, apparently. Cassandra? She's a bit scary, but she's fine. Stephanie? Also too busy! Your own biological father (who should definitely just be called sperm donor), ignored the fuck out of you.

You went to the beach to let out some stream. After all, can tears be seen and shed underwater? You swim to the far sea, the waves soon taking you deep. You try to reach the surface, but you can't. You breathe and— wait, breathe??

You open your eyes to unfamiliar waters, you see land and quickly swim towards it. Coughing up some water, you see two men, a flying snowball, and a very pretty lady. You feel dizzy, your eyesight is blurry, and… you lose consciousness!

You wake up, lain in soft silk sheets that definitely beat yours. You look around to see some people surrounding you. “Hello, dear. I am Furina de Fontaine, the Hydro Archon, God of—” She gets cut off by the snowball, “Just get to the point already!” she huffs in the air, kicking in frustration.

“Fine, fine!— Man in blue, My Iudex, Neuvillette. Man in black? The Duke, Wriothesly. Blondie, Lumine. Flying pet, Paimon.”

“I am not a pet!—”

Ms. Lumine— you believe, covers her mouth and takes her away with Mr. Wriothesly behind them. “Right, back to the topic, do you know this person, little one?” Mr. Iudex points to a painting, and you froze.

The painting looks hauntingly like the woman plastered on the walls of the manor— “Mom…” they both look shocked at your response, nodding at each other. “I am your grandmother, my dear. He is your grandfather. Do you think you could tell us what happened?”

“I… She's dead. She passed away after giving birth to me.” You look away. They're sure to hate you, too. Furina embraces you tightly, tears roll down her cheeks. The loss of a child is never light. Neuvillette pats her back, and you hear a light drizzle outside. It quickly becomes a turbulent storm, as Iudex weeps as well. The three of you embrace each other, unwilling to let go.

You eventually figured out how to get between the two worlds with your mother's diary. It was kept by Iudex, and not an inch of dust has reached its pages. You read about her adventures, how she ended up in Gotham, and how she decided to leave Fontaine.

“Your mother was a cheerful person. You certainly took after her the most. ”Neuvillettes's eyes softened at you. “My dear, do you truly have to return to that place? You could simply stay here—” Furina looks at you, you were an adventurer, she never really had the ability to keep you down. After all, she knew what that felt like.

“Nana, I like to explore, a trait from my mother. I have two vast worlds that allow me to see magical places. Who am I to refuse such sights?” You stuff your mouth with cake, it was your favourite flavor.

“The abyssal corrosion is taking me slowly, I believe I have enough time to explore more. That is my wish, nana.”

You smile at them, their expressions are unreadable. Neuvillette clenches his teacup, nodding at you. “If that is what you desire, then so be it my dear.” Tea time soon ends, and you return to Gotham.

You lay in your bed. ‘One last chance, then I'll stay in Fontaine forever.’ You think your performance was coming up soon. If they didn't come, then that is it.

The next few weeks were certainly nerve-wracking. On the day of the show, you get up on the stage, and do your absolute best. You sang your heart out like never before, people shed tears during your performance. They were nowhere to be seen. You should have expected this.

“Great job, (name)!” A stage designer came up to you, handing you some gifts from the crowd. You adorned a smile, pearls on your neck lit up at the lights. There are so many praises from people you don't know, yet not a single family came.

You return to the manor, quickly writing a letter to Alfred. You knew it couldn't be helped. You make your way to the beach, Alfred came home right when you left.

The letter sat on his desk, opening it shook him.

Dear Alfred,

It has truly been a delight to be with you. It is hard to simply leave you, so I leave you this letter. I hope that you may find your peace in this manor, thank you for all these years.

Truly yours,

– (Name) de Fontaine.

Alfred quickly went to the batcave, calling everyone on patrol. He accessed every camera nearby, trying to find you. Were you trying to kill yourself?

“Alfred?” Dick spoke first. The rest listened. “Ms. (Name) might be trying to kill herself, I'll try to find her.

Bruce is shook. What parent wouldn't be after hearing that. He doesn't know where to start looking, so he and Damian search the places your mother would go to.

Alfred finally finds you heading to the beach. You loved that place. “She's at xx-road, heading to xx-beach.” They all rush to the coordinates, hoping they weren't too late—

There you were, in a white dress, you could get sick in that! “Goodbye.” You start to turn to foam. They rush towards you, but they are too late. Your shawl floats to Bruce. He grabs it, trying to find a semblance of you. They'll find you soon, just wait for a bit.

You return to Fontaine, going to Palais Mermonia, munching on some pasta Furina made, as they both work.

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NOTE : Whew, so that was chapter 1! I'm loving the gradient hehehehe. (If I learn more I will become unstoppable)