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pseudowho · 1 year ago

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(MASTERLIST DISCONTINUED- PLEASE SEE PINNED POST ON MY BLOG FOR NEW RESTRUCTURED MASTERLIST!)

Pseudowho's Original JJK Masterlist

Scroll through to see...

Nanami Kento

Higuruma Hiromi

Suguru Geto

Choso Kamo

Aoi Todo

JJK multi-character fics

Nanami Kento Masterlist

Updated: 28th March 2024

REQUESTS CLOSED

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🔥 Smut 💔 Angst 💕 Romance

☕ Comfort/Fluff 🤡 Clowning

🐙 Monsterfucking. 📚 Education (*dirty laugh*)

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1st of December 🔥☕💕 -- No-Nut November is over-- but Nanami Kento won't let you get away with it that easily.

7:3 🤡 -- Nanami Kento never thought about his 7:3 pattern...a fourth wall breaking moment.

"Dad Reflexes" Ask and Drabble 🤡💕☕-- Nanami Kento can catch anything.

Daylight Robbery 💕☕🔥-- when Gojo asks Nanami to cuckold him and his fiancée, things don't go the way Gojo planned...

Debellatio 🔥💕-- a Nanami x Reader x Higuruma sex-pollen threesome.

Ditch the Party 🔥💕-- Nanami Kento hates parties. But the drinks? The drinks make him bold.

Domain Expansion theory-- Pseudowho's vision of Nanami Kento's domain expansion.

Edging Nanami Kento 🔥💕-- The reader drives Nanami Kento to the edge and back again.

Fire and Iron 💕☕🔥-- AU!Nanami Kento is the town blacksmith, and the reader is forced to stay the night after tending to his wounds.

Full 🔥☕💕-- Nanami Kento treats his pregnant wife like the goddess she is.

Glory Glory 🔥☕💕-- "Help, I'm stuck!" on a mission with Kento, and he takes full advantage of the compromising position.

Good Boy 🔥💕-- after a bad day, you know exactly what Kento needs to help him relax...

Good Girl 💕🤡 -- a drabble

Grandpapamin ☕💕-- Nanami Kento as a grandfather, Headcanons.

Grey 🔥💔💕-- The reader lives a vigilante life; so does Nanami Kento, a changed man after the events of Shibuya. When she is sent to hunt him down, Nanami Kento has a proposition for her.

Grey! Nanami Headcanons Part One ☕💕💔-- post-Shibuya Nanami Kento x Reader headcanons.

Grey! Nanami Headcanons Part Two ☕💕💔-- post-Shibuya Nanami Kento x Reader headcanons.

Grey! Nanami Christmas ⛄🎄 Headcanons ☕💕💔-- post-Shibuya Nanami Kento x Reader Headcanons.

Hanahaki 💕☕💔-- being in love with you is killing Nanami Kento.

Hide and Seek 🔥-- Game night gets spicy.

"How well can you drive?" 🔥 -- the reader takes matters into her own mouth so Kento can prove his driving skills.

Infiltration (MULTI-CHAPTER) 🔥☕💔💕

(COMPLETE!) --the reader and Nanami Kento must pretend to be married, infiltrating a Curse-user cult to take it down from the inside.

Chapter One: Introduction

Chapter Two: Pillow Talk

Chapter Three: Deadly Games

Chapter Four: The Rumbling Shrine

Chapter Five: Breaking Point

Chapter Six: Exposed

Chapter Seven: The Captive Goddess

Chapter Eight: Unchained

In From the Cold ☕🔥💕-- The reader wanders in the snow, lost and injured after a mission gone wrong; will Nanami Kento save her?

Kento Comes Home Drunk 🔥💕-- and the reader handles his advances like a total champ.

And, its sequel... Reader Comes Home Drunk 🔥 💕-- where Kento manages the reader's advances like an absolute champ.

Knismolagnia 🔥💕-- Kento has a somewhat...erotic response to being tickled.

Last Moments 💔☕-- Nanami Kento remembers a childhood holiday.

Nanami Kento, and the Curses of an Unusual Nature (MULTI-CHAPTER) -- Nanami Kento is deemed the only Sorcerer sensible enough to handle some frankly weird Curses

- Chapter 1: Gone Shopping 🤡 -- locals are going missing at a large shopping centre; Nanami Kento is sent to investigate.

Nanami Kento's Massive Squeezable Man Tiddies 🔥☕-- the reader being casually obsessed with Kento's chest...repost link HERE!

Operation Babymaker (a new series!) 💕💔🔥☕ -- Nanami Kento takes trying for a baby very seriously indeed.

A Trip to the Tailors-- the reader reveals she's been off the pill for months, and Kento cannot contain himself.

Benchpress-- the reader interrupts Kento's workout, and is manhandled into submission.

Ditch the Party...again-- tipsy Kento is back, and deadlier than ever.

Wet Dreams-- Kento gives the reader a free-pass for when he's asleep...and he returns the favour

Raising You ☕💔💕-- When the reader is de-aged by a Curse, Nanami is forced to raise her like a daughter.

Red 🔥💔-- Nanami Kento, the infamous Curse-user, has been on the run for years...what will you do when he catches up to you?

Resolute ☕💔💕-- The reader helps Nanami to accept that he has a drinking problem.

Seasons of Grief 🔥💔💕☕ -- The reader supports Nanami Kento through the anniversary of Yuu Haibara's death, and afterwards, when Kento nearly loses the reader

Shirtsleeves 🔥 -- The reader steals Kento's last shirt, and receives her comeuppance.

Still Got It ☕💕-- The Nanami kids' parents are boring...right?

Stoic 💕🔥-- Kento is furious when Gojo assumes that his lack of PDA towards the reader shows a lack of desire.

The Accumulation of Little Despairs ☕💔💕 -- The reader struggles with low-mood; Nanami Kento comes to the rescue

The Chase 🔥💕-- The reader has insisted on No-Nut November; Nanami Kento gets his revenge by hunting her down and taking his reward.

Why I love Nanami Kento

Yet Another Sex Pollen Fic, PART ONE 🔥💕

And...PART TWO 🔥💕 -- the reader has a problem... and only Nanami Kento can help her scratch the itch.

Higuruma Hiromi Masterlist

Updated: 6th March 2024

REQUESTS CLOSED

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Calamus et Gladius (the pen and the sword) 🔥💕💔☕-- slow-burn, enemies to lovers Culling Game smut with Higuruma and a foreign reader

Daddy 🔥☕💕-- dating apps are a hazard for men like Higuruma Hiromi...

Debellatio 🔥💕-- a Higuruma x Reader x Nanami sex-pollen threesome

Fellatio 🔥-- the bathtub lawyer receives head in his office.

Fumus et Ignis 🔥💕-- sometimes, Hiromi smokes and ties you up while he makes you ride him.

Glory Glory 🔥☕-- 'Help, I'm Stuck!' with Hiromi, two bottles of wine and a compromising position with his gavel.

Hiromi and Nemo ☕-- tales of Higuruma Hiromi, and his little black cat.

Hiromi Higuruma Relationship Headcanons ☕🔥💕

In Flagrante Delicto 💔☕🔥💕-- Higuruma struggles to adapt to life as a sorcerer, refusing all of your offers to help...until he needs you.

"I've Committed a Crime" Ask and Drabble 🤡💕-- Higuruma is a ruthless tease

Jus in Bello: A Judicious Domain 💔🔥💕-- The reader throws Higuruma out of their home after they struggle to adapt to his new Cursed power...and the reader must then hunt him down in the Culling Game, to bring him home.

Men with Big Noses 🔥💕-- you reveal a kink for Higuruma's nose, and he shows you exactly what he can do with that.

Milk and Honey 💕🔥-- Hiromi is obsessed with your milk, and loves you while you sleep.

Office Besties ☕💕-- Hiromi and you are just friends...right?

Sanguis et Vinum 🔥💕-- period sex with Higuruma

Shower drabble ☕💕-- Higuruma comforts you after a bad day.

The Stairwell 🔥💕-- You've been teasing Higuruma all day at the office; he catches up to you, eventually.

Vinum Rubrum 🔥💕-- wine is better when you share a glass...and your mouths.

The Widow's Keeper ☕💔💕-- The reader and Higuruma traverse the complexities of love and grief, after the death of Nanami Kento, her first husband.

"Your Honour" Ask and Drabble 💕🤡🔥-- Hiromi forgets your name as he cums.

Suguru Geto Masterlist

Updated: 23rd February 2024

REQUESTS OPEN!

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Deadly Nightshade 🐙🔥💕-- a Suguru Geto "sex pollen" fic.

Kamo Choso Masterlist

Updated: 28th December 2023

REQUESTS OPEN!

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Glory Glory 🔥☕-- 'Help, I'm stuck!' on a mission together, and virgin Choso is offered the opportunity of a lifetime.

Snowhere to Go ☕💕-- When your date plans are foiled by the snow, you and Choso make your own fun with a stack of old board games.

Aoi Todo Masterlist

Updated: 27th January 2024

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Act of the Soul 🔥-- Aoi Todo uses his Boogie Boogie on the reader during sex.

JJK's Multi-Character Masterlist

Updated: 31st March 2024

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Being gross in long-term comfortable relationships ☕💕-- with Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Yuuta, Maki, Megumi, Nobara, Yuuji and Ino

"Cumfaces" Ask and Drabble 🤡

Defending Your Honour ☕💕-- the JJK boys are sick of the creeps and perverts who harass our dear reader.

Nanami, Todo and Geto

Higuruma, Ino and Yuuji

Gojo, Megumi and Nobara, Inumaki and Toji

Firemen 💔☕💕-- the JJK Crew rescue the Reader, and fall in love at the same time.

Nanami and Higuruma Aesthetics: ☕ 'Besto Friendos' dichotomies

Neat Suit/Messy Suit

Cold Anger/Hot Anger

"Stay down!" Fighter/"Get Up!" Fighter

City-Skyline Penthouse/Converted-Factory Penthouse aesthetics

IKEA Flat-pack Aesthetics

How They Ejaculate 🔥📚-- a physiological ejaculation study of Gojo, Nanami, Geto, Choso, Toji, Higuruma and TrueForm!Sukuna

Penis Synonym Smutfics 🤡🔥 -- with Nanami Kento, Hiromi Higuruma, Takuma Ino, Gojo Satoru and Inumaki Toge

Penpals (a Panda fic) 🐼☕-- he didn't mean to Catfish you. Honestly.

Shower Mat 🔥💕-- the reader buys an 'old lady shower mat'...that makes shower shenanigans suddenly possible.

Takuma Ino as a Young Dad ☕💕-- when Takuma unexpectedly becomes a father...

The Rebounds 🔥💕-- Yuuta and Maki show you the date of your life, after you're dumped

They Find You Wearing This...Unsexy Monstrosity 🤡 -- with Itadori Yuuji, Satoru Gojo, Higuruma, Sukuna, Toji, Nanami and Suguru

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clarenecessities · 1 year ago

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He-man.org will close in 5 days.

He-man.org has been a staple of the Masters of the Universe community since the early days, originating as an email list that worked to document episodes before anything (not footage, not lists, nothing) was available online. It grew into a sprawling, multi-faceted beast of a thing, including an encyclopedia (an in-house wiki), merch lists, a marketplace, forums, anything you could think of.

Several years ago now, the main site went down for updates/maintenance. For a few weeks, we were told, maybe months. The forums remained open for fans to communicate, and barring a period of downtime earlier this year things were going smoothly.

Yesterday, the owner of the site, Val Staples, announced the site would be closed on November 14th, 2023. Six days later. We are currently attempting to contact him, to see if he’s interested in selling, and if he means closed as in “no new posts” or closed as in deleted entirely. Regardless of its eventual fate, the archiving of these forums is essential to preserving the history of the franchise, the fandom, and the brand.

TO SHE-RA (and MotU) FANS SPECIFICALLY: I have personally used these forums to answer questions that could be answered nowhere else. Had I not had access to them, I would never have been able to prove that Purrsia was fake, or found so much unpublished concept art, or discovered that Scott “Toyguru” Neitlich personally wrote Catra’s MOTUC bio (even if he’s put off answering my questions about it for over a year now). Forum members have conducted interviews with the likes of Jon Seisa, Cathy Larson, Janice Varney-Hamlin—essential figures in the very foundations of POP, and those interviews revealed and recorded priceless information for future generations (me! you! us!) to find. Did you know Cathy Larson named Adora? That she originally pushed for “Dorian”, after her own daughter? We cannot let this treasure trove disappear into the ether(ia).

TO THE UNAFFILIATED: Please help. Pretty please. If you’ve ever liked my art or my writing or my haphazard blogging, ever, at all, consider archiving just one board. Just one page. Literally anything helps. I am spiraling into madness & this is my library of Alexandria. The mythical one that was totally unique and persevered nowhere else and was destroyed in a single cataclysmic event. Pretty pretty please help.

HOW TO HELP:

Archive.org has several ways to upload shit but most of them are longer term than “a few days” so we’re focusing on two (which can be run simultaneously): Save Page Now, and browser extensions. From their help page:

1. Save Page Now

Put a URL into the form, press the button, and we save the page. You will instantly have a permanent URL for your page. Please note, this method only saves a single page, not the whole site.

We want to keep outlinks and screenshots wherever possible. The Archive does not keep your IP address, so your submission is anonymous.

2. Browser extensions and add-ons

Install the Wayback Machine Chrome extension in your browser. Go to a page you want to archive, click the icon in your toolbar, and select Save Page Now. We will save the page and give you a permanent URL.

One plus to installing the extension is that as you surf around, when you run into a missing page they will alert you if we have a saved copy.

More extensions, apps, and add-ons:

Firefox add-on

Safari Extension

iOS app

Android app

I strongly encourage you to use these tools even if you aren’t helping with this project/after it ends. Documenting and preserving information is essential in this day and age & The Internet Archive is at the heart of it. Please support them however you can.

I’m serious about paying you, though I may need more communication with folks I don’t know so we can coordinate/verify shit gets done. I think this is a worthwhile pursuit in itself but I recognize your time is valuable & like, people gotta eat. DM me if you’re interested and we’ll talk. I may need to adjust pay depending how many people bite but I’ll do what I can

#motu #he man #she ra #spop #pop #sorry for tag spam but this is important and relevant to you #catradora #it counts!#sorry also if the formatting on this is a disaster #i’m on my phone and haven’t updated my tumblr app in… a couple years #archives #archive #archive.org #wayback machine #help #org forums #neotag #brothers. this has nothing to do with you but don’t you wanna help a bitch out? do it for illusen #please signal boost if you can

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jewishvitya · 6 months ago

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Haaretz did this:

The full thing is under the cut, in case this link is paywalled for other people. The actual text has blocked out portions as well, to highlight what it's like to report on cases of administrative detention.

Highlights:

Like all administrative detention hearings, it was held in-camera, to obscure the fact that detainees' lawyers do their job without access to the facts of the case. Even the few details that are not secret are prohibited for publication. The administrative detention order was approved in full for a period of six months

And

In the past, it was considered, at least officially, a measure reserved for the most extreme of cases. This hypocritical position has always been false, but now there is no longer any need to save face. According to the Israeli army's own data, almost 5,000 arrests were made in the West Bank in the past eight months. These are very conservative numbers, as they don't include the many thousands arrested and released without being indicted.

The data shows that administrative detention, this so-called extreme of extremes, is now the norm. According to Israeli Prison Service numbers, Israel now holds 7016 people who have not yet been convicted in its jails – either awaiting trial or under administrative detention. Of these, 4,299 – more than 60%! – are held without charge or trial. And all that is without saying a single word about the torture, hunger and humiliation to which all Palestinian prisoners held by Israel are subjected these days.

Administrative detention is based on secret suspicions, secret evidence and no charges being brought. To conceal its inherent absurdity, hearings are held in-camera and away from the public eye. As such, even the little that is revealed to the defense remains prohibited for publication.

On the morning of October 29, after a short farewell to his wife Nariman and their kids, Bassem Tamimi left his home in the West Bank village of Nabi Saleh, north of Ramallah, and started heading east toward the Allenby Bridge. He was on his way to visit relatives in Jordan he had not seen in a long time. A little after 11 A.M., Nariman received a message saying, "The secret police asked for me. I'll write when it's over." And then, shortly after 3 P.M., a call: "I am being arrested. They're coming to take the phone. Have to go. Bye."

This, unfortunately, was not Bassem's first encounter with Israeli law. His village, Nabi Saleh, has waged a multi-year campaign of civil resistance against land grabs and settlement expansion. As a prominent activist, he was incarcerated repeatedly for his role as a protest leader, part of Israel's attempt to quell dissent.

In the evening, the phone rang again. The woman on the line introduced herself, saying she lived in Silwan and was currently at the Hadassa hospital in Jerusalem. She then went on to say that Bassem was there, surrounded by soldiers. He was taken there after his blood pressure soared dangerously. Nariman could faintly hear Bassem's voice over the line saying, "I'm fine, don't worry, everything's good." After a few more hours, at night, that same woman sent a picture of Bassem in the ER, undergoing a checkup; his hand bound with ziptie cuffs. That was the last time Nariman heard from him. Save for a single short lawyer visit before Eid al-Fitr in April, no one has been in contact with him since.

Four days after his arrest, police ████, ████ ████: "███████ ███ ████ █████ ███ ████████, ██████, █████? "███████ ███ ██████: "████ ███ ██████." And that was that. Eight days later – the maximum time afforded to the authorities by article 33 of Israel's military law in the West Bank before a detainee must be presented before a judge (who also is a soldier in uniform) – a six-month administrative detention order was issued, which did not suggest any specific allegations, but rather only a very general statement regarding ███████ ██ █ ███████ .

Eleven more days later, the Kafkaesque proceedings of judicial review over the order took place. Some of it was held ex-parte between the soldier-judge and the Shin Bet. Like all administrative detention hearings, it was held in-camera, to obscure the fact that detainees' lawyers do their job without access to the facts of the case. Even the few details that are not secret are prohibited for publication. The administrative detention order was approved in full for a period of six months, until April 28.

Administrative detention, however, is not really bound by the limits of time, and can be extended indefinitely. And indeed, as the six months passed, a new six-month order was signed, citing the same meaningless cause of ██████ ████ █ ██████ ██ █. This time however, and unlike the state of affairs in almost any other administrative detention case, the defense had a pretty good insight into the details of the case. Administrative detention is such a mundane phenomenon in Israeli military courts, that , , , .

A few hours prior to Bassem's arrest, Israeli forces arrested █████ █ ████ █ ██████ ███ █████ █ ████████ ███ ███, Bassem's friend from their days together in Israeli jail at the beginning of the millennium. Then too, under administrative detention. ██████ ███ █��███ █ ███ ████ ███ ███ ██████ █ ██ █████ █ ███ █████ ███ ███ █ ███ ███ ████, █ ████ ███ ███ ████ ███ ████ █ █ ███ █████ ██ ██ ██ ██ ███ ████ █ ███ █████ ███ ███ █████ ███ ████ █ ███. █████ ███ ███ █████ ███ █████ █ ███, █████ ███ ███ ███ ███ ███ █████ █ ████ ███ ███ ████ ███ █████? █ █████ ██ ███ ███. ██ ███ ██ ███ █ ██ █████ ███ ███ ██████ ███ █████ █ █████ ███ ███ ██████ ███ █████.

█ ████ ███ ███ ███ █████ ███ █████ █ ████ ████ ███ ███ ████ ███ █████ █ ████ ██ ███, ██████ ███ █████ █ ███ ████ ███ ███ ████ ███ █████ █ ██ ███ ███ ███ ███ ██ ███ ███ █ "██████ ███ ███ ████ ███ ████ █ ██████ ███ ███? █████ ███ █████ █ ████ ███ ███ █████ ███ ████ █ ███████ ███." ███ ██████ ███ ████ █ ███ ███ ███ ██ ███ █████ █ ██████ ███ ███ 25 ███ ██ █████ █ ███████ ████, long after the administrative detention order against Bassem was reviewed and approved by the court, ██████ was unconditionally released.

On his release, ██████ contacted Nariman and told her what had happened, thinking that his release must also mean Bassem should soon follow. This is how the defense learned the details it knows, and not through discovery by the prosecution. Even though there is no gag order on ██████ ██████'s case, discussing its details in conjunction with Bassem's administrative detention is prohibited for publication. Despite everything that was revealed – and that is the nature of administrative detention: there can always be more hidden evidence, secret, almost mystical – Bassem is still being held under administrative detention even now. Almost two weeks after the hearing, ███ █ ██ ██████ ██████ ████████ █████ █ █████ █ █████, the judge partially confirmed the second administrative detention order against Bassem in violation of military law provisions, ████████ ████ █ ███ █ ███████ ███ █ ████████.

Like Bassem, thousands more are held captive by Israel under administrative detention. In the past, it was considered, at least officially, a measure reserved for the most extreme of cases. This hypocritical position has always been false, but now there is no longer any need to save face. According to the Israeli army's own data, almost 5,000 arrests were made in the West Bank in the past eight months. These are very conservative numbers, as they don't include the many thousands arrested and released without being indicted.

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forsakenmb · 2 months ago

Text

The beds we make

Pairings - Tobias E. Rogers x Reader

Word Count - 5.2K

Warnings - stalker! Toby, non-con/dub-con, murder, mentions of death, violence, choking, implied-somnophilia, knife play, humiliation, bondage(?).

Darkness enshrouded every corner of your mind, like an endless void sucking you into its depths: as it did every night for the last six months. A constant and overwhelming sense that someone is watching your every move at all time, the itch in the back of your mind consuming you in your most vulnerable state.

Suddenly, a loud pounding rapped on the wood of your bedroom door, waking you from your restless sleep. Your heart stopped in your chest for a moment, another wave of anxiety rushing through your body, goosebumps rising on your skin.

Then, a familiar voice called out to you from the other side of it. “Are you still sleeping?” Tara said, knocking on the door again.

“I'm awake” you responded, your voice scratchy and uneven as you slowly disentangled yourself out of the blankets. Begrudgingly, you trudged to the door, unlocked, and flung it open to reveal Tara Allen, your roommate and close friend since your freshman year in college.

Tara is undeniably beautiful, her long dark hair and dark eyes matching the tan complexion of her skin perfectly. She's always been quite taller than you, her slender figure standing at the door looking at you as if you were from another dimension.

“You look like shit,” she laughs, examining the dark circles under your eyes, the restless look on your face.

“Haha” you laugh sarcastically, walking to your bed and plowing down onto the sheets, “Very funny” you said, shoving your face into the plush comforter that rested on top.

“We have to get going,” Tara said, tugging on your oversized sleep shirt. “Traffic is gonna be awful,” she groaned.

Looking up through your heavy eyes, you saw that the sun was just barely peeking over the eastern horizon, darkness still settled over the skies. “It's like 5:00 am,” you said.

“Exactly. It's like 13 hours away” She said, almost enamored. turning around and leaving the room.

Tara's parents had given her the keys to a small getaway cabin they owned so you two could have a ‘girls trip’ after midterms. With school and the constant feeling of being watched, getting away was what you needed. The cabin was located in the densely wooded mountains far from the city and covered in a thick layer of snow.

Flipping onto your back, you stared up at the ceiling, the room still covered in a sheen of blackness. Your anxiety was beginning to spike up again, washing over you like ice water. You sat up, looking out your window at the streets below, ‘No one can see you’ the words rang through your head like a church bell, the small peace rushing the ever-growing anxiety out of your mind for now. A groan left your lips when you stood up and made your way over to your dresser.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

“Wake up,” Tara said, one hand still on the steering wheel, the other reaching over and nudging your shoulder. “We're here”

A long yawn slipped from your lips, your brain slowly coming to consciousness. Looking out of the window, you noticed that the car had come to a complete stop in a parking lot.

The area surrounding it was densely forested. Pines, spruces, and hemlock trees covered the landscape, making it seem like you were hundreds of miles away from another living person. The different kinds arose above the ground, standing tall in thick columns.

A blanket of fluffy snow covered the ground and trees alike, more flurrying down from the clouds in a silent rain.

A little off to the side, you could see a pathway ascending through the trees and up the mountain, one that people used to hunt and trail along. The compact dirty frozen under the thick layer of frosty powder.

“It's a short hike from here” Tara said, slipping the key from the ignition and shoving it into the pocket of her coat.

Nodding in response, you zipped up your heavy jacket and tightened the laces on your shoes. The air was cold and frigid, like thousands of tiny needles puncturing your lungs as you stepped out of the vehicle.

“We're gonna have to drive to the nearest town for supplies” Tara explained, opening the backdoor and sliding her backpack out and onto her shoulders. “But we should be okay for tonight”

The weight of your bag was settled on one shoulder, the other hand carrying a small ice chest. The only sounds through the trek to the cabin was the ‘crunch, crunch, crunch’ of the snow beneath your feet, the rustling of branches in the harsh winds, along with the chatter of wildlife a whisper through the dense bushels of evergreen shrubs, winterberry, and hostas that littered the path, the gnarled underbrush covered in a pristine layer of sparkling white crystals snagging against the fabric of your sweatpants.

“Just up over this bend” she said, treading carefully over a patch of ice. The trail was becoming narrow, harder to see the longer you walked on. Approaching the bend, you saw a rustic cabin sitting on top of the hill, a small rickety porch sitting in the front, a large bay window next to the door. Dying vines had begun to reclaim parts of the exterior, crawling up the bricks of the fireplace only to die.

Snow began falling harder, blizzarding around you in millions of little clusters. The cold started nipping at your fingertips, turning them a bright red. “Let's get inside” you said, a shiver running down your spine.

The house looked uninhabited, an untouched layer of snow covering the porch. The screen screen door looked worn down, the mesh fabric peeling away from it and withering up. The wooden front door opened with a loud squeak of the hinges.

Inside of the cabin was almost completely barren, next to the door was a small dust ridden table. Walking down a short corridor to the living room, the only light coming from the windows lining the walls. At the end of the hall was a pair of double doors, leading out onto the snow doused back deck and into the yard, a winter wonderland.

The interior of the room only held a love-seat with a white sheet draped over the top of it and another end-table. Feeling along the wall for the lightswitch, nothing happened when you flicked it on.

Setting the ice chest down, you called out, “Powers out,” while walking further into the room.

“I probably have to reset the box,” Tara said, now walking into the living room. She walked to the fireplace next to which a silver box that hung on the wall, opening the box, she began flipping the circuit breakers. After a couple of silent moments, a low humming coursed through the small space as the light flickered on.

“The heat should kick in soon,” she explained, walking to a connected doorway. “Kitchen is in here” flicking on another light, revealing a small room. An electric countertop stove and a small mini fridge that sat underneath the counter on the wall opposite the threshold to the left was a countertop and a sink to the right, a small dining table.

“There's only one bed, but we can share it,” she said, walking back out into the hallway and to a closed room. Pushing the door open showed it was a bedroom.

A full-bed sat against the back wall, another white cloth decorated the mattress, a nightstand on each side, along with two massive windows and a dresser against the same wall. Two doors sat on the opposite sides of the room. “Closet and bathroom” was all she muttered before ripping the sheet off of the bed, throwing her bag down along with herself onto the mattress. The bed was adorned with pillows and a thick comforter.

Setting your bag down on the floor, you strolled back out of the room and to the backdoor. Stepping outside into the winter-woodlands, the sun was beginning to set, casting an orange and pink glow over the snow.

The wind was picking up, trees being jostled by the strong gusts hitting them. The chatter of animals was now gone, replaced by an eerie silence. Then, somewhere off in the distance, you heard the unmistakable ‘CRACK’ of a branch breaking underneath the weight of something, someone.

Your heart stopped, dropping somewhere in your stomach. ‘There's no one around for at least two miles’ the voice in your head refuted. Then, somewhere out of the corner of your eye, you saw a reflective orange glint, like eyes staring at you. Your body caught up with your mind, and you sprinted back into the house, slamming the door shut behind you.

Tara walked out of the bedroom, and a wary look covered her face. “What's wrong?” she questioned, walking closer to you.

“E-Eyes,” you panted, your breathing erratic and your heart beating violently in your chest. Taking a deep breath, you looked at Tara and said, “I saw a pair of eyes.” Tears began to bubble at your lash-line.

“It's probably an animal. We are in the middle of the forest” she said in a passive-aggressive tone, her eyes involuntarily rolling.

‘She's right’ the rational part of your brain thought. Taking long, deep breaths in and out, you could only nod and walk back into the bedroom, sitting down on the plush mattress.

A strong current of warm air began flowing through the rooms, heating up the chilly cabin. “Heats finally on,” Tara said, the edge in her tone letting on to her frustration.

Again, you could only nod, anxiety flowing through your veins, increasing your heart rate further. You know what you saw, but again the forest is full of different kinds of wildlife. “We should unpack” you stuttered out.

This time, Tara nodded and walked out into the hall. You stood up, picking your bag up from the ground and setting it on the bed.

The majority of the bag was just clothes and other miscellaneous items like an MP3 player and earbuds, a thermostat bottle, and a zip knife. The handle is a polished wood with gold colored stainless-steel trimming, the end of the knife curved upwards and into a hook. The sharp blade sheath in a washcloth, sealed with a rubber band. You bought it when eyes began watching your every movement.

You slipped the knife into the hoodie you sported and began putting away your belongings. Looking up, you saw the sun had receded; another bout of darkness consuming the world around you, threatening to eat you whole as well. The snow was falling harder than before, your visibility almost completely impaired. Looking out into the abis, your heart picked up, your pulse starting to quicken as your eyes adjusted to the dark, and what looked like the silhouette of a person became clearer and clearer. Coming closer and closer.

A gasp wretched itself from your throat, your feet scrambling to get away but tripping over each other instead causing you to crash to the floor.

Hastily getting up, you dash out of the room and across the hall to the living space, a hot inferno blazing in the fireplace, Tara cooking something in the kitchen, blissfully ignorant.

Turning around when you clamored into the room, she saw you hunched over, hands steadying themselves on your knees.

“Tara, there is someone out there!” You cried, tears running down your face.

Again, irritation was present on her features. A look of annoyance. “No one is out there” she blew off, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I'm telling you, there is” you stammered, “I-I saw it” More tears bled down your face, your entire body trembling.

“There isn't! I have put up with this for six months” she said, her voice rising alongside her anger, “I'm asking you for a weekend of peace” an ugly sneer spread across her face.

Stomping out of the kitchen and passing by you to the bedroom, Tara shoved her shoes on. “Since you insist” she started walking down the hall, “I'll show you”

Following closely behind her, you hadn't realized how angry she'd been with you. Rounding the corner, she threw open the door and trudged out into the snow and halfway down the slope of the trail, the snow falling heavier. Then, at the top of her lungs, Tara bellowed, “There is no one out here!” anger bleeding through her shriek.

You only went out as far as the last step of the porch, your shoes still on from your last excursions outside. “Tara, come back in!” You called back, voice trembling in uneasiness.

You couldn't see her, the snow falling too heavily from above, the wind hollering through the night, branched clashing together in a ferocious battle, and again she yelled out, “ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NO-” the sentence being cut off with a sickening ‘thud’, slicing through the air like a freshly sharpened knife. Nothing but the sound but rushing wind and a distinct ‘POP’ could be heard.

Your heart skipped a beat, catching somewhere in your throat. “Tara?” You croaked out, your tongue like a cement brick in your mouth. Stepping slowly off of the porch, you moved towards the apex of the hill to get a better view.

The thick clouds parted enough for a sliver of moonlight to peek through and let you take in the scene before you: Tara's unconscious- no, lifeless body laid face down on the frigid ground, the blade of an axe protruding out of her skull, her beautiful brown hair now black at the roots with blood as it seeped out around the weapon, her perfect tawny beige skin stained with red, painting the snow beneath her with blood. A person stood above her, a man.

Most of his face was hidden beneath a hood, but his lanky build was visible; the grayish-brown hoodie he wore was stained with blood, his jeans as well.

He stepped on her body, his boot-clad foot pushing it further in the snow then gripping the handle of the axe and ripping it from her head; the snow now staining crimson, the crevasse oozing more blood. The man's head slowly rose and through the light peering down from above, you saw a familiar reflective orange glint, and you knew he was staring directly into your fear-stricken face.

Tears crowded in your eyes, your breathing becoming heavy and erratic as you locked into a silent staring contest with the man who just murdered your best friend. The hand holding his weapon jolted in a fast motion, but did not come flying towards you like you had anticipated: still that knocked you out of your initial shock and you began barreling towards the treeline and into the snow-covered woodlands.

The forest was dark, a dense canopy of trees preventing any light from shining down, the thick underbrush cut at your ankles, low-hanging branches catching on your hoodie as you careened through the thickets of trees. Then you heard the thundering sound of heavy footsteps in pursuit, and you forced your legs to go faster to take you further away from this madman.

Struggling to breathe properly, you still kept running since you knew the moment you slowed down, he would be on you like a wolf and its prey. Suddenly the sound of whirling air flying by your head was audible before an axe was embedded in the trunk of a tree, pieces of bark and wood spraying out around it.

‘Faster! Faster’ your mind argued with exhaustion, as your legs struggled to flee. You'd never had to run for your life, not until now. A heavy cloud of fog began to roll in as you ran deeper into the woods, your vision even more impaired than before.

Zig-zagging through trees you soon realized you no longer heard his heavy footsteps behind you, but still you kept going further. The fog was getting too thick to see though turning everything around you into a misty haze, then the exposed roots of a tree caught your foot causing you to collide with the snowy forest floor and before you could think your body began rolling down a steep embankment you hadn't known was there.

Clawing at the solid earth to stop your fall was futile as the semi-frozen snow made getting an anchor difficult. Tumbling down the hill your speed only kept increasing, the steady decline seemingly going on to no end until suddenly your body stuck the trunk of a tree, cracking the side of your head against it; consciousness began to flee from you, the world around you being reduced to darkness but not before you felt the leering presence of someone standing over you.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The cold winds nip against your skin, a chill runs down your spine while you're rocked further into oblivion, cuddling into the warmth of the person carrying you.

‘Wait-’ you thought, eyes shooting open, and shoving at the chest of the man holding you before impinging with the snowy ground.

Scrambling to find your footing, a hand reached out and entangling itself in your hair while yanking back. A sob escaped your mouth, a wordless plea to let you go. Gripping at his wrists, you attempted to pull his hands away from you, but that only proved to anger him more: his digits curled further into your hair, pulling your head back as far as it would go.

“Y-You done?” His voice cut through the air like an axe, the sound sending shivers up your spine and more tears to your eyes.

Looking up at him, you saw an upside-down version of the man behind you; his hood was up still, messy chestnut hair spilled out from the top, his orange-yellowish goggles now hung around his neck, and dark soulless eyes stared back at you, a mouthguard hung from ear to ear, concealing the lower half of his face.

Reaching into the pocket of your hoodie, your fingers went and grabbed for the knife only to find it missing.

“Looking for this?” he jeered, pulling out your weapon, the cool metal of the blade shining in the moonlight.

“Let me go! ” You cried out, your fear now turning to rage at his words. ‘You done?’ as if he hadn't chased you through the woods, as if he isn't trying to kill you. “You're fucking pathetic” you sneered, more tears welling up in your eyes.

“I-I'm p-p-pathetic?” he chuckled, his voice dropping an octave, the grip he had on your hair tightened. “Says t-the o-one on her knees” then he laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

“You're disgusting” you grimaced, trying to pull away once again only to receive an emphatic tug, dragging you backwards onto the ground forcing another cry from you.

His hand left your hair, footsteps circling until he stood in front of you; crouching down so you were eye-to-eye, he reached out and gripped your chin and tilted it farther back. “You th-think I'm disgusting? That ‘fr-friend’ of yours is the the reason you're in t-this.” he growled, “But, I'll f-fucking show you dis-disgusting” he jeered, a deranged look in his eyes.

Uneasiness swirled in the pit of your stomach at the news, the surprise shown on your face.

His hand renewed its grip in your hair, aggressively pulling you up from the forest floor. “How about a game, hm” he said, a giddiness in his voice. “You tr-try and get ba-back to the cabin, if I don't c-catch you, I'll leave.”

“And if you do?” you questioned, your fear bleeding through into your voice.

“Well, I gu-guess you'll just ha-have to find out,” he said, the giddiness in his tone now replaced with something much darker, something much more sinister.

Your heart was thundering in your chest, your breathing heavy and erratic. You didn't need to find out, you already knew what he'd do: he'd kill you.

“I don't wanna play your fucked up game” you cried, knees threatening to give out underneath you. “You're gonna kill me anyways” now you were sobbing, tears streaming down your face, the cold winds chilling you further.

“Hey..” he cooed, his voice softening as if to comfort you. “I'm not go-gonna kill you” he said, his grip on your hair loosening “Not yet at l-least” then another sick bout of deep laughter filled your ears.

This time you couldn't stop yourself from collapsing to the ground, and sobbing into your hands. “I'm not playing this game, you fucking psycho!” you screamed, your rage and fear mixing together into a cesspool of emotions.

A sigh left him, almost as if he was disappointed. “F-Fine” he said, before the end of a blunt object struck you in the head and a familiar void spread around you.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Cold calloused hands ran up your thighs, giving them a rough squeeze, then to your hips and doing the same. Your mind began waking up, eyes slowly drifting open only to see him in between your now bare legs, hands traveling farther up to the waistband of your panties before receding and repeating the action.

His mouthguard was now gone, his eyes staring into yours. That's when you saw his full face; his skin a pale gray, snake bites adorning his bottom lip, and on the side of his face a large gash, one so deep you could see his porcelain white teeth from where you laid.

Your hands shot out, only to be stopped by a thick rope binding them to a headboard. “Y-You're finally aw-awake,” His grip on your thighs tightened, “Thought I'd have to fuck your unconscious body” he chortled, a wide grin spreading across his face.

Chills ran up your spine leaving goosebumps in its wake, another bout of sickness swirling in your stomach. Your legs moved of their own accord, kicking and thrashing about, hitting him on several occurrences until his hands gripped the back of your knees and pushed your thighs up to your chest, and held them there.

“What are you doing!” panic was laced in your tone, legs trying helplessly to get free.

“C’mon, I t-thought you were sm-smarter than that,” he sneered, settling one of his forearms across the backs of your knees, his now free hand sliding down the back of your thigh before traveling to your ass, giving it a harsh squeeze through the fabric of your panties.

Your leg shot out, connecting with his stomach causing him to fall back: in return a sharp slap was delivered to your face, a fiery inferno spreading across your cheek. Then he gripped your hips, his blunt fingers digging into the soft skin and flipped you onto your stomach, the rope cutting into your wrists and the headboard creaking lazily from the force.

His breath fanned against the shell of your ear, hips digging into your behind, pressing the bulge forming in his jeans into you. “I'm go-gonna fuck you s-so good, maybe you'll forget th-that your friend is the one w-who sold you like some wh-whore” he said through gritted teeth.

Tugging on your restraints to get free was proving unsuccessful, his hand slid down to your front, fingertips gliding up your abdomen and to the hem of your bra, playfully snapping the band. Your heart sped up, and you tried crawling farther up the bed only to be pulled back down by your hips.

“W-Wait” you gasped, squirming in his hold. “I-I don't know your name” it came out as a whisper, barely audible. Truly you knew it was a dumb question, but you just need him to slow down so you could think of a way out of this situation, to no avail.

A sudden burst of laughter filled the empty space around you, his manic cackles filling your ears. His breath fanned across your neck, “Toby” he said, his fingers back at your bra: they grabbed at the waistband and pulled roughly, breaking the clasp that held it together, the coolness of something sharp started tracing over your bare back.

‘A knife’ you thought. ‘My knife’ Now you were a crying, blubbering mess; weeps and wails escaping you as the weapon dragged across your back, to the strap of your bra and slicing through it, then repeating the action to the other strap. Your bra fell onto the bed beneath you, freeing your breasts.

The hand holding the knife discarded it, slithering its way across your stomach and up to your chest, grabbing and groping at the fat of your breast, pinching and twisting your nipple. A groan slipped from him, his hips rocking into your rear at an erratic pace.

His hand moved away from your chest, as did the hand on your hip. “S-So pretty, almost a sh-shame I'm gonna have to kill y-you” his words came out like venom, caused more tears to bubble up, and stream down your face.

“Please- I” was all you could manage, cries and wails racking through your body, you shook with fear, heart stammering against your ribcage.

“Please what, hm?” Toby purred, hands now dancing across the band of your underwear, fingertips just barely slipping in before retreating.

“I don't wanna die” you sobbed, head hanging low between your shoulders. You couldn't control your emotions any longer, your head was spinning and you thought you might pass out.

He cooed at you, a hand coming up and stroking your hair. “It's okay,” he whispered, “If you do good, we'll see what we can do” he began kissing and nipping at your jaw before murmuring, “How's that sound?”

As much as you hated him, your will to live took over and you weakly nodded. He continued kissing and sucking on your shoulder, his other hand slipping under the elastic band of your panties. He slid a finger through your folds, another deep groan was heard behind you. “Fuck, you're wet” he whispered against your throat.

His digits circled around your clit, rolling the bundle of nerves underneath the pads of his fingers, then sliding his lanky fingers through your wet heat and before long sinking into your slick cunt. Whimpers and uncomfortable whines left you as his cold fingers curled inside of you, before slowly pulling out and sliding back in, the palm of his hand teasing at your clit.

More tears crowded your vision as he drove his fingers in and out of you, “W-wait” you cried, pulling at the rope binding your wrists. The disgust in your stomach worsened as your walls squeezed around his fingers, the unwanted pleasure lighting your nerves on fire.

His hands retreated, the sound of rustling clothes filled the room. “You're doing so good, almost good enough to live” he said coolly, almost as if he wasn't threatening your life.

His weight settled back behind you, his fingers gripping the elastic band of your underwear, yanking them down to where your knees were planted against the bed. One of his hands gripped your hips, the other pumping his thick , veiny cock, then lining it up with your entrance. Pressing into you, the head of his cock slipped in your cunt, a dull-throbbing spread through your low body.

“Stop!” you sobbed, tugging at your wrists even as the rope began cutting into your flesh. You squirmed in his grasp, your hips trying desperately to pull away from him.

His hips slammed forward, pushing his cock further into you. “No” he said through gritted teeth, forcing himself the last couple of inches into you. “Y-You made your b-bed, now l-lay in it .”

Toby pulled out of you until just his tip remained inside, before ramming back into you. “Fuck, you're tight” he groaned.

It was like you were being split open, his cock sinking further into you with every thrust. Pain shot through your legs and up your spine, and sob tore from your sore throat. “Stop!-” you yelled, thighs shaking from his harsh abuse.

His hands disappeared from you, hips stilling as he grabbed at your hair and yanked back. “W-What the fuck d-did I just say” he snarled, his other hand coming up to your neck, the knife in it once again. “Now shut up, or I'll slit your fucking throat”

The hand knotted in your hair left, again gripping your hip and slamming back into you harder than before, the sharp blade still pressing harshly against your throat.

The pain began dwindling, pleasure blooming in its wake and twisting in the deep empty pit of your stomach attempting to consume you whole. A pathetic whimper escaped your throat, leaking into the air along with the lewd sounds of skin against skin.

The blade was withdrawn from the column of your neck, while he slowly pulled out of you, the hand brandishing the knife now clutched your hip along with the other and flipping you onto your back. “If-f I didn't know a-any better, I'd say y-you're enjoying t-this” he jeered, his lips curling upwards into a malicious grin while sliding your underwear the rest of the way off your body.

More tears slid down your flushed face, “No!,” you sobbed: shaking your head and tugging at your restraints with more fury than before, your hysteria creeping back in.

One of the hands on your hips snaked down to your cunt, rubbing lazy patterns on your clit. Electricity shot through your core and limbs, euphoria spreading throughout your body like a numbing static.

Then his cock tapped against your entrance, the head slipped back inside of you: a moan slipping free from your lips. His hips drove forwards, his cock stretching you out all over again before he pulled back and brutally slammed back in. More whimpers and moans spilled from your mouth like a degrading symphony.

He used your body like a toy, pulling you onto his length, then sliding you off until your legs were shaking and you were sobbing for him to stop.

A cold hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off your airways. “S-Shut up, and take it” he groaned, hammering himself harder into you. Your walls squeezed around his heavy cock, the head hitting against your spongy g-spot with every thrust.

Your stomach twisted with guilt and pleasure, guilty for feeling pleasure from this psycho, and for letting Tara die.

A knot in your stomach tightened every time Toby thrusted inside of you, incoherent whimpered and pleas spewed from your mouth as your orgasm raked through your body, eyes screwed shut and legs trembling around his waist. Toby's cock throbbed in your abused overstimulated pussy, hips driving himself into you roughly, then a warm sensation flooded through your walls along with the sounds of groans from the man above you.

His vicious thrusts slowed to lazily grinding into you, his heavy panting mixing with yours was the only thing heard in the small room, while his length stayed snug inside of you.

“I think” his voice was low as he spoke, his tone dark and malevolent. “I'm gonna have to keep you” and a low cackle was the last thing you hear before the end of something struck you in the head, and the world around you faded.

#smut #creepypasta #ticci toby #creepypasta smut #ticci toby x reader #dark fic #tw noncon

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absurdthirst · 1 month ago

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Kinktober 2024: October 23rd

Day 23: Licking // Degradation // Breeding

Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, mention of toxic family, breeding, cum play, breast play, lingerie

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Jesus, sweetheart.” That smile, sweet and earnest, has an edge of sexy and dark as he stares at you. “I’m going to put a baby in you tonight.” He groans, taking in the sight of your lingerie wrapped body.

“That’s the idea.” You smirk at your husband of six months. Shifting to your knees and sliding a hand across your stomach where you hope to carry his baby soon. “I’m ovulating.”

Once the two of you had married, and Javi had really put in the work of therapy to work through the familial issues he had been saddled with, he had discovered how badly he wanted to be a father.

Of course, you want to give him babies, you want nothing more. Knowing that the sweet and wonderful man will make an ideal father. Eager to see him holding a sleeping baby to his chest. You want it now.

“You are?” He licks his lips, eyes following your hands and he is already reaching for the buttons on his shirt. Ready to strip down and start trying.

“First day.” You nod, keeping a very close eye on your cycle calendar. You had even set an alarm for it, wanting to get started as soon as possible.

“Fuck.” Javi hisses, making the word sound so dirty from his mouth as he reveals his smooth chest. “So you are really craving to be filled up, amor?” He coos, shrugging out of the shirt and throwing it on the floor to reach for his pants.

“I’m wearing crotchless panties.” You tease, spreading your legs so he can see that there is nothing between him and your pussy, his eyes rolling in pleasure and he makes another sexy sound of need.

“You are perfect,” He praises breathlessly, pushing down his pants as fast as he can. All that is left is those little Speedos that he wears. He had developed a habit of wearing swimming trunks under his pants instead of underwear since they wrangled his cock better than traditional underwear. You don’t mind, you find it sexy every time he strips off.

“You want to fill me up?” You have both delighted in the discovery of a whole new world of dirty talk. “Watch me drip your cum and then push it back inside me while we wait for your breeding of me to be successful?”

Javi visibly shudders from the word, his cock twitching beneath the Speedos. It’s hard to tell, but your eyes are fixed on the large - and growing - bulge that will soon impregnate you. Flicking back up to his face to see him proudly preen, his chest puffing up as if he has already done it. “Fuck yes.” He agrees, hooking his fingers into the tight waist band and peeling them down to let his cock spring free from its prison and bob heavily.

It’s your turn to curse, shifting onto your back and reaching up to cup your lace cover tits, you squeeze them. “Come fuck me full, Javi.” You beg. “I want to have you fill me up so much that I have to put on other panties to keep you from leaking out.”

“I should plug you up.” Javi grunts, making you whimper in delight at the idea. He can be marvelously dirty, feeling better about revealing that side to his sweet personality now that he knows that there is nothing that you will judge him for.

“Yesssssss.” Your eyes close as you pinch your nipples and roll them between your fingers until the ache makes you hisses. “Do it. I want to be pregnant so bad. Filled with your baby. Bred by you. Stomach round, tits sore.” You moan, opening your eyes and looking at him again. His hand is wrapped around his cock, squeezing the thick girth of the shaft as he watches you. “Don’t you want that?”

“Sore back, weird cravings.” He nods, shuffling towards the bed. “Moody, even.” That says a lot about his desire to be a father. How deep this breeding kink of his is now rooted. Javi doesn’t like anyone to be moody, especially towards him. “I want it all, baby. I want to see you swell up, get those little marks in your skin.” He smiles, squeezing himself again. “Tiger stripes?” He had heard the phrase that some women use to describe their stretch marks and instantly decided that it was the cutest thing in the world. “I’ll rub lotion into your skin for you, but I want to see them.”

Sweet and filthy. You love how invested he is in this. Making plans for how he will take care of you. “You have to breed me first.” Reminding him playfully while you spread your legs wider, tilting your hips up. “Get that wedge and you can just keep me like this as you fuck me full.”

That sex wedge is instantly pushed under your hips, keeping them tilted up. You know it’s an old wive’s tale, but it is something that both of you love. He kneels between your thighs, stroking your knee as he looks down at you.

“We should film it.” His eyes widen at the thought and he glances towards the dresser where your phone is, knowing that the cameras in the house are off in the bedroom you are in. You had insisted on it. Even if he no longer has a huge mansion where a security team is watching monitors in a room, you didn’t like the idea of the camera always being on while you are in here.

“Do it baby.” You moan, loving the idea of having proof of the time that you had conceived your first child.

“Yeah?” He bites his lip, looking a little unsure of it as he reaches for the device.

“We should have a video of the first time you bred me.” You agree, making him hiss and quickly rush through turning on the camera through the app. “Fuck.” He tosses the phone away and shuffles closer, moaning again when he finds you already slick and ready for him. “You have been wanting this, haven’t you?” He coos, sliding his cock through your folds and pressing against your entrance with the tip.

“Yes.” You admit that easily and shamelessly. “Breed me, Javi.” You beg. “Fill me up with your baby. I need to have you inside me, stuffing me full.”

He had become the luckiest man in the world when you came into his life. Indulging him, loving him, helping him through some of the worst realizations of his life. Now you were going to let him breed you. Javi can’t believe how lucky he is. It’s almost like it’s a movie.

#pedro pascal #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #absurdthirst kinktober #javi gutierrez #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez x you #javi gutierrez x f!reader #javi gutierrez smut #javi gutierrez imagine #javi gutierrez fanfiction

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iiseult · 5 months ago

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𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝐹𝑜𝓊𝓇: 𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝐿𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒲𝒾𝒻𝑒

CWs → BALDWIN OILS HIMSELF UP, angst, love letters, themes of war and death, historical inaccuracies, slow burn, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, eventual smut (once reader and baldwin are both over 18), leprosy, time-period accurate sexism

Wordcount: 3.3k

Note: This might be my favorite chapter. Please let me know your thoughts, and pay special attention to the cross necklace. You'll see what I mean. <3

It was not so dramatic, the way his illness progressed, but progress it did. The Holy Disease was inevitable, and he’d always known that. Six months and he was losing sight in his left eye, his peripheral vision effectively ceasing to exist. Twelve months and the eye was becoming clouded and sapped of its color, like something bleached by the sun, only a baby blue now when it used to be so much deeper. Eighteen months and everything through the eye was covered in an indispersable layer of silver mist. And then there was his little finger, the poor little finger on his left hand which he could no longer feel, and when he commanded it to move, it was as if a phantom were possessing it. If it weren’t for the fact that he could see it moving, wiggling back and forth, he likely wouldn’t have any idea whether or not it was really happening. Often he frowned at it in concentration, exercising his will over it and forcing it to move, desperately trying to feel something. Every time he was forced to give up, frustrated. However, the majority of his skin and all of his features were still perfectly intact, and for that he was grateful.

That September he fell ill with fever. Forty-two days and nights he laid in bed, watching drowsily as the sun made its daily voyage across the heavens, warming his too-warm skin and blinding his aching eyes. In periods of occasional lucidity his thoughts lingered only on you. He would see a flash; then the fullness of your lips, the sweet curve of your neck, the shape of your back, and were you wearing your sapphire today? He could picture it clearly, lying against the firm softness of your full bosom, gleaming like a winking eye. Ah, sick mind. Shameful thoughts. He redirected them. What of the kingdom, his kingdom? What of his sister Sybilla, and her son, his baby nephew Baldwin V? They did not come to visit because Sybilla claimed she couldn’t bear the sight of her beloved brother in so much pain. And then his mother was dead, a few months buried. Nobody left to come visit.

He continued to read during this time. He was brought books on war and strategy, classic and ancient tales of love and romance, history, and Greek literature, of which he had always been very fond. Perhaps it was these such books that gave him his next brilliant idea.

He sent for ink and parchment, lots of parchment, and when he felt well enough he sat up in bed and took up his supplies and got to work. Pages upon pages he produced, many times rambling and repetitive in nature because of his fever-addled mind, but always strikingly sincere. From his very heart he wrote, hours each day, and he didn’t share his work with anyone. When Raymond visited he would conceal everything under the covers, or else slide them under the bed.

It was a woman, always the same woman, that he wrote about or wrote to or described in as much detail as he could. Each time he painted a picture of her with his words, a new facet of her beauty was revealed, a new angle, a new reason to love her. And he knew that he did love her. Completely enchanted. Utterly enraptured. Such tender feelings, such longing! He found himself writing cliches while trying to adequately express the extent of his feelings. And each one of these pieces of writing was addressed to you.

“By chance, I met you in the library. I was playing chess. Raymond likes to cheat when I look away from the chessboard because he says the battlefield is just like a game of chess, and in a real battle you must never look away because your opponent does not always play fair. But I would forfeit all my knights and rooks for you, so I looked away from him and towards you instead.

“And when you looked at me, my heart leapt in my chest and a feeling like warm water cascading down my shoulders overtook me and I could not speak. I held my hand out to you and did your bidding, and then I could stand it no longer so I went away. The warmth was becoming unbearable. I was overcome. As if I were a cauldron of boiling water, I burned and then softened and turned pink as something bubbled up inside me. I know all this happened for you. And when ever I thought of you and your exquisite beauty for the rest of the day the same feeling came, tingling in all my nerves. I thought then that it was not unlike having a fever.

“But now I know better, and now that I know with refreshed memory what fever is like, I can say that it’s nothing like you. This fever is harsh and unrelenting. This fever is painful, not pleasurable. There is a heat threatening to overtake me so that I never cool down. But what is this feeling that comes when ever I see you? Dearest Lady, I suspect that this must be love.”

But those were the good days. Those days he could think clearly and articulate properly. So many more of his days were spent too sick to stay awake, drifting in and out of this mortal plane, tangled up in a haze of confusion and stale bedsheets, having long since sweated through them.

His birthday passed. Sixteen, finally, but he didn’t know it until days later, when came his next period of lucidity. His sister sent a gift– fresh, new robes made of silk to soothe his raw skin, embroidered in rich, gold thread. Raymond brought him a quill made from a peacock feather, blue and green and shimmering. It made him laugh when he saw it. Raymond was referencing a joke between the two of them, where the peacocks in the garden often interrupted their conversations with their awful, hideous squawking (for such magnificent looking creatures, their calls were surprisingly grating). And from you, lying on the bedside table, was a parcel of brown parchment tied with a thick white ribbon. He knew that ribbon, for he had seen you wear it in your hair once.

He pulled it loose and placed it aside, intending on keeping it on his person at all times so he might always carry a piece of you wherever may go. He peeled back the paper, sliding it off to reveal a mahogany box. It was unremarkable, but his heart was beating wildly in his throat as he flipped up the delixate metal latch and opened the sleek lid. Resting against the silk-lined interior were two things; a large glass jar full of an amber-colored liquid, sealed with a cork; and a delicate chain with a plain gold cross hanging from it. And then, under the jar, he saw something else– the corner of a folded piece of parchment. A note! He snatched it up and unfolded it hungrily. It was written in your pretty feminine hand, which sent a fiery gust of heat blasting through his veins.

“Your Majesty, happy sixteenth birthday. I know this is but a meager gift for a king, but I fear I cannot match your wealth or creativity. The necklace is one of the only things I brought from home. I wore it round my own neck every day then, and I do believe it has served me quite well, given my current position as queen. I am giving it to you in hopes that, God willing, your condition might improve. The oil is what I use after my baths to soothe dry skin, especially in these coming winter months. Perhaps it will help you in a more practical sense. Many birthday wishes, and prayers for a speedy recovery. Sincerely, your wife, Y/N.”

He pressed the letter to his chest, almost as if he were trying to become one with it. Then he took the delicate gold chain between his fingers and unclasped it, draping it across his neck and securing it again. It fell against his collarbones and glistened handsomely, feeling very cold against his feverish skin, and yet his heart warmed when he thought of you wearing this very chain, day in and day out. What had touched your skin was now touching his. The very notion was enough to make him shiver.

He did not take the necklace off again, not even for his bath that evening, or after it when he retired to his chambers for the remainder of the night.

Baldwin shrugged off his bathrobe and layed, completely nude, on his silk sheets, where the jar of oil from you was waiting. He savored the feeling of its cool glass against his hands, still rife with fever, and then pressed his cheek to its surface, deeply inhaling the rich scent of the night air which drifted through the open window. To know that your hands had touched that very jar made him pulse with excitement. That you had thought of him with some amount of tenderness, that you had thought of him at all, touched him.

Carefully he pulled the cork from the mouth of the jar with a gentle “pop,” and set it aside. He brought the jar up to his nose. It smelled sweet and flowery, very fresh. Clean. Comforting. Smelled like you. He sucked in another deep breath through his nose, letting the gentle fragrance wash over him and sink into his pores. Then he dipped two fingers into the jar and spread the thick liquid along his forearm, coating the skin there thoroughly. It was silky and cool and left a gloss in its wake. His dry, parched skin drank it up greedily, plumping up almost immediately. It was delicious.

He poured a dollop of the stuff into his hands and rubbed them together, relishing the feeling of his slick palms sliding against each other. Languidly he massaged it into his chest, his arms, and his robust shoulders. He threw back his head and slowly worked the pads of his fingers into his delicate neck, feeling the tendons there roll beneach his touch. A small sound escaped his throat. Then he moved his hands lower, not neglecting a single inch of flesh. He splayed his fingers out over the white planes of his thighs, well-toned as they were, and then slid lower, past his knees and to his ankles. It was pure bliss.

Once he was satisfied, he popped the cork back in the jar and leaned over, placing it on the side table, then blew out the candle, laying down finally with a sigh. His body sunk into the cloud of his mattress, his aching limbs met with instant relief. Beneath his pillow was your letter and ribbon. He slid his hand under it to feel for them, just to make sure they were still there, and once he was convinced, he slipped right under into a dreamless sleep.

The very next morning, he woke to find that his fever had miraculously relented, leaving his forehead cool and dry. Amelia immediately informed you of his recovery, and though you were relieved, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from your shoulders, you couldn’t help but wonder how he had recovered literally overnight. It seemed nobody knew the answer, not even the physicians that came to examine him throughout the rest of the day. But perhaps it was better not to question it.

Baldwin had but a few days to enjoy his renewed health before he thrust himself urgently back into work. During his prolonged illness, the ever-fickle political state of Jerusalem had become alarmingly unstable. The Saracens were threatening to wage war, led by the wise and formidable Saladin and his army, rumored to be made up of some 20,000 men. So Baldwin was faced with a harrowing decision, with thousands of lives hanging in the balance. Should he send his men to battle despite their meager numbers, where they would inevitably be met with death and destruction? Most of his knights had already been laid to waste, leaving behind largely unskilled fighters, and only 4,000 of them at that. And could he fulfill his kingly duty to fight alongside them, or would his frail body betray him? Such questions made him wonder if he was even worthy of his title.

Self-loathing ate at him over the coming week until finally, he was forced to take action. Reynald de Châtillon had been pressuring him incessantly to fight, no matter the risk, arguing that it is God’s will and therefore Jerusalem could never fall. Baldwin wasn’t so sure. But deep in his heart, he knew he had no more time left to waste.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The morning was fair and the early sunlight mild, falling through the trees in pale yellow streaks. The trees had been turning all shades of red and orange for the past month, and now they were withering brown, falling, falling. The smell of smoke and chill was perpetual, and very pleasant. The month of November. Autumn in its prime. You woke up that morning not to the melodic calling of birds, which you had become accustomed to, nor the gentle rustling of leaves stirred by the wind, but the muffled cries of Amelia as she came to rouse you from your slumber. Though she had stuffed a handkerchief against her mouth to dampen the sounds, it was no use, and she could not stop it. You had woken up before she even made it to your bedside.

“Oh Amelia, whatever is the matter?” you asked, sitting up in bed with alarm and looking at her, concern heavy in your gaze. You’d seen her upset before, and it wasn’t an uncommon thing to see, but never had she been so outwardly aggrieved in your presence. The poor girl’s shoulders shook with every breath she took. As gently as you could, you got out of bed and guided her to sit on the edge of your mattress, where she promptly collapsed.

“Oh, Your Majesty,” she wailed, looking up at you through tear-filled eyes, “the most awful, terrible thing has happened!”

Her bottom lip trembled, and her cheeks seemed to be flushing darker by the second. In fact, she seemed on the verge of hyperventilating, sensitive soul that she was.

“What? What’s happened, dear girl?” you urged, wiping a runaway tear from her chin. An anticipatory panic had begun to build up inside you. All you could think was that somebody must be dead. Suddenly you were very worried for Matilda, whose frail, brittle bones would likely not survive an accident, which was a very real possibility. In her line of work, what with all the manual labor, you often feared for her health, though she always insisted on being fine. But those thoughts were soon completely dashed from your mind.

“The Saracens…they’ve come! They’re here to take Jerusalem!”

You were stunned into speechlessness. You did not quite know the full gravity of such a thing, of how dire this could be for your whole way of life, and that of your mother before you and of her mother before her. How much would change, were the crusaders to fall! But Amelia’s next words gave you a relative idea.

“They say they’ve brought 20,000 men to Montisgard, to match our army of 4,000. Oh, Your Majesty, we are lost, lost!” she wailed, burying her tear-stained face in your shoulder. For a moment after that she continued talking, uttering those same words over and over again, “lost, lost,” as if trying to understand the meaning of them. But to you the message had been clear enough, and your heart dropped all the way down to your bowels and all you could think was; Baldwin.

Baldwin, the sweet fair-haired boy who’d kissed your hand like it was a holy relic on your wedding day; the one who’d known you well enough from a scant few glimpses here and there to know which gifts to buy for your birthday– and, for the record, they had been the most thoughtful gifts you’d ever received; the one who, unbeknownst to you, prayed for you every night and every morning; the one who had loved you since the beginning. That one, going to fight in a war he was doomed to lose.

And then you were crying too. Great, fat, burning tears glided down your cheeks and into your mouth and onto yours and Amelia’s dresses as you clutched her to you. Your breath could come only in heaving gasps, ripping through your chest painfully. So great was your pain! You could not see that boy die. Then came an image of his broken body lying alone on the muddy battlefield, indistinguishable from all the others in death. Snot dripped down your nose. You cared not.

Matilda opened the door and came in quietly. Your eyes pleaded with her not to deliver to you any more bad news. Her face, drawn into a solid, impassible mask, revealed nothing, except that it looked wan and much older. In her hands was a towering stack of parchment, so tall that it obscured her entire chest from your view.

“Your Majesty,” she called demurely, much softer than usual, “before his departure this morning the King instructed me to bring these for you.”

Rather violently, you wiped the tears from your eyes and wordlessly took the stack into your own hands, taking great care not to drop any. Everything was blurry but you flipped through the pages nonetheless, sinking further and further into a state of hysteria as you did so, realizing with a pang of horror that each and every sheet was a letter from Baldwin, addressed to you. There must have been a thousand of them, enough for one every day since your marriage.

Three years worth of love letters.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, trying in vain to abate the new volley of tears welling up inside you. Never had you known such love and devotion from another human being, and you couldn’t even say thank you.

Or goodbye.

As you flipped through the pages, you became grave and still.

“My Dear Little Wife, you were beautiful today. I could smell your rose-scented oil from down the corridor. How I love that good smell…”

“My Dear Little Wife, would that I could take you out to the city on my horse, that your beloved arms could wrap tightly around me as we gallop across the orange earth…”

“My Dear Little Wife, as the imminence of war falls upon me, I know that my time may soon come to an end. If I could wish for one thing in all the world, it would not be to cure myself of this accursed affliction, but to have more days to spend living in bliss under the same roof as you. To know you is to love you, my dear. I am sorry if we lose this battle and you are stripped of your queenly title. I am sorry for all that might happen then. Understand that I fight for you, ma cherie. With all the love and tenderness one man can hold in his heart, I bid you goodnight, as your faithful husband, Baldwin IV.”

Yes, that was it, the last letter in the stack, dated only yesterday, and presumably at night. You promised to yourself, and whatever else was listening, that in the event that he did not return, you would read and cherish each and every letter. But you could not dwell on that thought. He would come back. He must. Because you needed him.

“Heavenly father, if you would bring him back to me, I swear I will spend every last day by his darling side.”

//taglist: @lzsia @eatmeandbirthmeagain @likeanecho344 @lunargraveyard @yoursoulisinyourkeepingalone @stickparrot

if anyone else would like to be added, please comment to let me know!

#baldwin iv #kingdom of heaven #king baldwin iv #baldwin iv x reader #king baldwin iv x reader #baldwin iv one shot #baldwin of jerusalem #baldwin iv fic #kingdom of heaven fandom #kingdom of heaven fluff #iiseult #koh

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badasbebi · 10 months ago

Text

the cupid project ➛ 1/2

part two

✦ pairing: bada lee x fem!reader

✦ summary: you and your long-term work crush devise a plan to win a company contest. in the end, you wind up going to extreme lengths to commit to the bit

✦ genre/au: fluff, fake dating, videographer reader, bada's extra sweet here, slight friends to lovers

✦ word count: 7k

✦ warnings: isn't proofread. another unrealistic meet cute that doesn't really make sense. smut in part 2

✦ a/n: another two-parter simply bc my fics are too long. 2nd part is finished and will, again, be posted soon (literally tomorrow). didnt put as much thought into this one as I have with my other stories, which will probably be a pattern from now. still think its fun. enjoy!

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

"It's been three minutes. Why are we still waiting on people?" Youngj fusses, running his fingers through his hair, tousling it

"Relax, Jae. You called us here last-minute. People are busy," Minho says from where he is sitting, scrolling through his phone.

Youngj's eyes snap to him. "Too busy for an emergency meeting with their boss?" He retorts, raising an eyebrow.

Minho looks at him, then shrugs. "Well, that's what happens when you hire a bunch of ultra-talented, sought-after dancers. We don't need you," He finishes, swiftly turning back around, sunglasses concealing his eyes.

Youngj gapes for a second, then seemingly surrenders, slouching back in his chair with a scowl.

Meanwhile, you're balancing a camera lens in your hand on the sofa across from them, twisting and turning the machinery in your hand as you stifle your laughter. Still being somewhat new to the team, you weren't sure if you necessarily had the right to take part in Minho's teasing. You became an employee at JustJerk Dance Academy only six months ago, after JustJerk announced that they were looking for new hires. However, you weren't a part of their star-studded lineup of top choreographers and instructors. Instead, you were hired to be a videographer and photographer, working behind the scenes to ensure that every breathtaking move, every impassioned sequence, and every dancer was captured flawlessly.

Which, it was not like it was very hard. The people here were phenomenal enough as it was, making your time spent at work nothing less than a blessing for someone who's long watched dancers from the sidelines. Even better, the members of JustJerk Dance Academy aren't just a group of talented dancers, but also a lovely group of people. They're kind and caring, often inviting you out to eat after a long day of filming or helping you with the things you struggled with. Sometimes, you still got awestruck around them because it was such a far cry from what you were used to. But, it was beginning to feel like home. And, as the days went by, everyone started to feel more and more like family.

Well, almost everyone.

Suddenly, you hear the doors swing open and glance up to see who's arrived.

"Sorry I'm late," A voice rings throughout the room, revealing none other than the legend herself, Bada Lee.

Even after having passed by her a million times, the woman never failed to take your breath away. She was gorgeous and had an allure unlike anyone else, with a presence that seemed to shift the energy in every room she entered. In other words, she was also intimidatingly cool, which led to you frequently avoiding her because you were, simply, terrified. Though she's always been nothing but sweet and brilliant during your brief interactions, this kindness almost made things worse. It'd be much easier to disregard her if she was an asshole. Unluckily for you, she was one of the most charming people you've encountered in your life, making it nearly impossible to ignore the magnetic pull that's been causing an increasing amount of debauched thoughts and dreams.

Bada walks toward the rest of the group with an apologetic smile on her face. Her long, black and blonde hair was tied back in a bun, and her baggy clothes were noticeably wrinkled, suggesting that she came straight from practice. Despite her slightly disheveled appearance, she looked as enticing as ever.

You avert your gaze and continue playing with the camera equipment in your hands, attempting to appear nonchalant.

"What happened? You're never late," Youngj asks, sitting upright.

"I was helping one of my students out with a routine and got a little distracted. Sorry," Bada explains with a pout, sitting down on a separate couch next to yours. You keep your eyes on the camera in your hands.

"Don't worry about it, I just need everyone's attention for a few moments," Youngj says, scanning the room. "Is this everyone?"

"No, Redllic should be coming in soon. She was right behind me," Bada says, looking over at the door.

Your eyebrow inadvertently quirks up at the sound of Redllic's name escaping her lips.

"Good enough, then. Let's get started," Youngj leans forward in his seat, clapping his hands together. "I want to first apologize to all of you for calling you here so abruptly. Unfortunately, this was the only time I had to get you all here together.”

Everyone eagerly waits for him to speak, the air thick with curiosity as Youngj takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting from one person to another.

"So, to clarify, I didn't call you guys here for anything particularly important."

Minho laughs bitterly. "I fucking knew it."

Youngj gives him a pointed look before continuing. "There's a special event that the company is holding and I wanted to inform all of you about it in-person, because even though it isn’t anything to worry about, it is admittedly a bit...unusual for us."

"What is it?" Redllic asks, appearing out of thin air. Everyone, except for Bada, jumps slightly, surprised by her sudden arrival.

"Redllic!" Youngj says, placing a hand on his heart. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Oh, sorry," Redllic shrugs, plopping down next to Bada, throwing her feet onto the coffee table. "What's going on?"

"Right, um," Youngj clears his throat. "As I was saying, there's an event that we're hosting for Valentine's Day. We're calling it the 'Cupid Project.' Basically, you're all going to get into pairs, and you'll be doing a variety of activities together," Youngj explains, his eyes scanning the group, watching the reactions on everyone's faces.

Ew, is the immediate word that pops into your head. This reminded you of the group projects your teachers forced you to do in school. You can already see how this project will play out, and it's probably not going to be pretty. Based on the skeptical expressions you can make out, you are at least relieved to see that you aren't the only one feeling hesitant.

"What kind of activities?" Bada asks softly, tilting her head.

"Just activities to get to know each other. Doing things you wouldn't normally do," Youngj replies, shrugging his shoulders. "Jho and I have some planned activities, but the point is for you and your partner to find things to do voluntarily. If we plan everything out for you guys, then it'll be completely forced."

"Wait, wait, wait," Minho interjects, pushing his sunglasses onto the top of his head. "So, you're telling me I have to go on a date with someone here?"

"No," Youngj shakes his head. "We're not forcing you to fall in love or anything. This is purely platonic, just a fun way to bond with each other. And there'll be a prize," Youngj says, wagging his finger.

"A prize?" Minho echos, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. You and your partner will compete against the others and the pair who does the most activities and seems to have actually become good friends with each other will win a reward."

"How are you measuring that?" Hoyeon, another videographer, asks.

"We'll conduct anonymous votes and collect them at the Valentine's Day party we're hosting," Youngj explains. "But, it's not supposed to be all that serious, everyone. We're just trying to do something fun and, you know, team-build since we've gotten a lot of new hires recently. And, we'll get a good video out of it. We're planning on making a highlight reel of the Cupid Project for our Youtube Channel, which will be nice promotional material, too."

So that's what this was really about: content. Truthfully, you wouldn't have an issue with this if it were not very likely that you'd be the one filming or editing this highlight reel. You internally groan, realizing you'll have to deal with an increased workload because of this clusterfuck.

"I think it's a great idea," Redllic says, a mischievous smirk on her face. You watch her glance at Bada, who is staring at nothing with an unreadable look in her eyes.

"Well, what's the prize?" Minho asks.

"600,000 KRW"

Others around the room whisper in excitement. You almost drop your camera. Out of shock, yes, but also because that was exactly the amount of money you needed to buy a brand new camera that you've been eyeing for ages. You've been wanting to record more complex videos, wanting to work on actual music video sets, but your current setup is limiting you. If you were able to get your hands on that camera now, you'd be about a year or two ahead of the original timeline you had in mind. You bite the inside of your lip, hoping Youngj doesn't see the desperation in your eyes.

"Holy shit," Hoyeon mutters.

The two of you make eye contact, and you already know that the two of you are working together. You were close, having joined the company at the same time and being around the same age. This would be an easy win.

"Alright, so it's settled, then," Youngj says, a confident grin forming on his face.

"Are we choosing our own partners?" Redllic asks, moving a blonde strand of hair away from her face.

"No. That would lead to a bunch of people asking to be paired with people they're already friends with, which would make the whole thing pointless. We're drawing names out of a hat," Youngj says, gesturing towards the baseball cap resting on the coffee table.

Everyone collectively groans. You try not to cry.

"Stop, come on, don't make this difficult," Youngj frowns. "The sooner you choose, the more time you have to prepare. Now, who wants to go first? I already have your names written,"

"Wait, let me go first," Hoyeon volunteers, jumping up and grabbing the hat. She reaches her hand inside and picks a small slip of paper out, then reads it aloud. You bite your lip, praying.

"Howl," Hoyeon declares, holding the piece of paper out for everyone to see.

Your name is not Howl, but you nearly howl right then and there. Realistically, the probability that you would get who you wanted was unlikely considering the number of people in the room. Nonetheless, it hurt.

The man with the wolf-centric name quietly stands and moves away from the corner he was situated in. He had been quiet the entire meeting, and most did not really notice he was there until Hoyeon mentioned his name.

"Guess it's you and me," Hoyeon laughs, smiling at the tall figure beside her.

Howl gives her a slight smile, shakes her hand, and they sit back down.

"Alright, Bada. Why don't you come over here?" Youngj says, gesturing to the coffee table.

"The one that everyone wants, I'm sure," Redllic comments with a bemused smirk, causing a clamor of chuckles.

Bada scoffs, and heads over to the table. She reaches into the hat, rustling through the papers. You hold your breath, reminding yourself of the unlikelihood that you'd be the name she pulled. However, as the woman's fingers curl around a single sheet of paper, your heart skips a beat. You feel as if you were the one reaching into the hat.

Bada pulls the paper out and unfolds it, her eyes scanning the sheet. Then, her eyes lock with yours, and your heart leaps.

"Y/N," Bada calls out, holding the paper up.

You freeze, the room spinning around you. There's no way.

Bada cocks her head to the side. "It's you, right?"

"Oh! Um, yeah," You sputter, quickly gathering the camera equipment around you.

You hear whispers and feel a hundred pairs of eyes on you as you walk over to the girl. You ignore the feeling of your skin burning.

"Hey, Y/N. It's nice to officially meet you. I've seen you around a lot," Bada says, eyes warm.

"Yeah, nice to officially meet you, too," You say, extending your hand.

Her hand is warm and soft, enveloping yours like a blanket. Your hand feels cold and sweaty.

"Interesting," Redllic quips, eyes darting between you two, a glint in her gaze. Bada tears her eyes away from you, giving the blonde woman a questioning look as she retracts her hand.

You take the opportunity to step away, returning to your seat and letting the other dancers pull names. The rest of the pairings are revealed without much commotion, except for Minho's, who loudly complains when he has to partner up with Jaeyong, a good choreographer, but awkward man.

After all the names are drawn, everyone is dismissed. You're quick to leave the room, eager to return to the comfort of your familiar space behind the camera.

"Y/n! Slow down! We need to talk!" Hoyeon calls, catching up to you.

You turn around, side-stepping out of the way of people walking past you in the hallway. You wait for her to stop in front of you before you speak."With all due respect, I don't really want to talk right now. I just want to record. Then go home, and eat some ramen."

"With Bada?" Hoyeon sings, a cheeky grin forming on her face.

"Shut up," You mumble, rolling your eyes and continuing down the hall.

"Wait, why are you so bummed?" Hoyeon starts, following behind you, "Bada's cool?"

You sigh. "Exactly. She's cool. I'm...not."

"What? Yes, you are. Why would you think otherwise?" Hoyeon scoffs, her eyes narrowed.

"I just," You pause in the hallway again, trying to formulate the words. "I'm a little scared of her, is all."

"Scared?" Hoyeon questions, her forehead wrinkling. "She's nice though. You don't have anything to worry about."

"Yeah, but she's so pretty, and talented, and again, I'm not. Not in the way extraordinary way that she is, I mean.” You explain, shoulders slumping.

A look of realization dawns upon Hoyeon's face, and she laughs menacingly. "Oh, I see what this is. You think she's hot, and you're a scaredy cat who's afraid of rejection. Case closed. I understand."

"That's not how I would phrase things but, essentially, yes," You concede, turning the corner.

"You're being silly. She's not a god. She's literally just a human being...a very sexy human being but a human being nonetheless. Just talk to her like one," Hoyeon suggests, shrugging her shoulders. "I mean, are you not going to try to get that money? I know you want it. I saw that crazed look in your eye once Youngj made it to that fifth zero."

You laugh, "I mean, yes, I really want that money. I don't know if it's possible though. Even if I wanted to reach out to her, she’s so busy I doubt she's planning on actually committing to this. Especially because she's already loaded."

"You don't know until you try you wimp," Hoyeon says, nudging you in the arm.

"Ow," You groan, rubbing the spot in a manner that probably proves her point. "Aren't you going to try for the money too? Where's Howl, huh?"

"We're friends already, it'll be chill. I don't know if we'll necessarily win the money, but, like, we'll have a good time," Hoyeon states, grinning.

"Ugh, gross," You say, sticking out your tongue.

She ignores your immaturity. "What do you wanna do with the money anyway?" Hoyeon asks, leaning against the wall next to an entrance to one of the dance studios.

"Remember that equipment I told you about? So I can start working on sets?"

"Oh, right," Hoyeon says, crossing her arms. "You said that you've been wanting to do that for a while, y/n. Are you really not going to talk to Bada? I’ve recorded with her a few times now and I mean it when I say that she's nice as hell. I feel like she'd probably be down, or, at the very least, will understand if you explain things to her. "

"I'll try. Maybe. At some point. It's not going to be today, though," you mutter, reaching for the studio door before you are stopped by Hoyeon jabbing her french-tipped fingernail into your chest.

"You better. Or else," Hoyeon threatens, a dark expression coming over her.

"Move your finger, please," You say, swatting her hand away.

Hoyeon rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Good luck filming. I'm gonna go find Howl. Love ya,"

"Yeah, yeah. Have fun," You wave goodbye to her as she walks down the hall, pulling out her phone.

Once she's out of sight, you release a deep sigh and push open the door, only to be met with the sight of a familiar face.

"Oh," You breathe.

Bada turns, a surprised expression on her face. "Y/n, hi. Were you coming in?"

"Um, yeah," You reply, slowly entering the room and closing the door behind you. "Are you rehearsing something?"

"Yeah," Bada answers, glancing at the mirror.

"Sorry. I can go-"

"No, no, don't worry about it. If you need to film in here, that's fine. I'll just go next door," Bada says, waving her hand.

You pause, taking a breath. Now’s your chance. "Actually, forget the recording, could I talk to you real quick? About the...cupid thing?"

"Yeah, of course. I was actually hoping we'd get a chance to talk," Bada grins, sitting down on the floor and patting the spot beside her.

You hesitantly walk over and sit down next to her. You take a moment to compose yourself, running your fingers along the smooth fabric of your pants.

"So," Bada prompts.

"Uh," You stammer, wracking your brain for what you were supposed to say. "Um, well, I just wanted to say that, uh, you are really, um, talented. And-oh, this sounds really weird." You finish, running a palm down your face in embarrassment.

"No, no, it's not," Bada chuckles, a gentle smile on her face. "Thank you, though. But, um, that's not what you wanted to say, right?"

"Right. Sorry," You apologize, a rush of blood filling your cheeks.

"Don't worry. Take your time. We have a lot of it," Bada reminds you, studying the expression on your face. Her voice and words are calming, but her staring is freaking freaking you out further.

You take another deep breath, hoping to quell your nerves. "Okay. I'm sorry. Uh, I'll try again. What I really wanted to say is, I know that it’s a stupid contest, and that you probably don't care about winning, but I actually really want to participate in that project and win that prize money. And, I was hoping you'd, maybe, help me win?" Before she can respond, you launch into another tangent. "I'm sorry, you're probably busy, which is okay, but I just want to upgrade my equipment so I can get more opportunities outside of-"

"Hey," Bada says, gently laying her hand on top of yours. "Of course I'll help you. You don't have to apologize. I think it'll be fun."

You nearly spiral, but Bada's touch is surprisingly soothing, and you calm down despite your anxiety.

"Oh, wow. Thank you, so much," You breathe.

"It's not a big deal, seriously. I'm looking forward to it," Bada insists, squeezing your hand.

You stare at her, and her kind, sparkling eyes. What have you gotten yourself into?

You both sit there for a second, a pregnant pause in the air, before you quickly pull your hand away, remembering how sweaty they were.

Bada smiles, unphased. Then, she begins tapping her fingers rhythmically against the ground, a contemplative look on her face as she stares at the space where your hands were previously intertwined.

"So," Bada suddenly looks up. "If you're just in it to win it, and you really want a fair shot, I think we need to do something a little extreme."

You blink, scared. "What do you mean…extreme?"

She bites her lip and you have to resist the urge to stare. "Youngj said this was supposed to be platonic, so that's how most people are going to approach it. How do we seem better or stronger than other platonic relationships? What’s more intense than that?"

You must be misunderstanding where she's going with this. "Um, a romantic one?" You say, furrowing your eyebrows.

To your shock, she nods. "Exactly. Y/n, I'm saying that we should make our Cupid partnership a romantic one," Bada states, her expression serious.

Your head is spinning. She is taking this much more seriously than you were anticipating. You were expecting to just go out for coffee a few times, and maybe post a picture of your twinning lattes on instagram to sell your friendship. You have no idea how to process this more intense proposition.

"Are you suggesting that we pretend to date each other?" You confirm.

A beat of silence. She leans back slightly, her eyes flickering. "I mean, yeah. Sure," She pauses. "Unless you're not comfortable with that."

"I am," You respond, the lie escaping your mouth with ease.

Bada's eyes widen and she sits up, a smile growing on her face. "You're sure? If you're not cool with that, we don't have to. I know the idea is a little bit out there. I just, uh, want to help," She babbles, her fingers tapping against the floor again.

You laugh. Was Bada Lee nervous? "I'm not uncomfortable with it. I trust you. As long as it helps us win,"

"It will, I promise. I'll make it worth your while," Bada vows, her expression determined.

"I can't wait," You laugh again, feeling the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

"Cool," She breathes, her body relaxing. "Well, I should go. I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

You grin, nodding. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Awesome," She smiles, standing up. She reaches her down and grabs your hand, pulling you up. "I'm not gonna be able to actually meet-up with you tomorrow because I have something scheduled, but I already have your phone number. I'll text you."

You nod, distracted and unable to speak as her soft fingers brush against your palm.

"Bye-bye," She waves cutely, her long legs swiftly carrying her across the room. You wave back, her departing smile etched into your brain as you watch the door click shut behind her. Then, you're alone.

You stare at the floor, processing the interaction. You had just agreed to pretend to date one of the hottest and most intimidating women you had ever met. You had no clue why you did it. Maybe the promise of money and fulfilled dreams had blinded you. Still, the whole thing seemed a little too ridiculous. Too dangerous.

But there was no backing out now. You already went through the trouble of telling Bada about your desperation, and you told her that you trusted her. You'd have to commit.

"Well," you whisper, hugging yourself in a soothing motion. "Here goes nothing."

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You fidget within the plush confines of your seat, hesitantly glancing around your dimly lit surroundings as you twist a gleaming piece of silverware between your fingers. Your other hand remains in your lap, afraid to touch the red linen covering your table. Your gaze settles on a couple a few tables away from you, clinking their wine glasses together with pompous grins. It crosses your mind that the wine they're drinking is probably worth more than the money you're doing all of this for, and you make the executive decision to reach for the bottle of wine the woman sitting across from you generously bought.

When you drop your fork to outstretch your hand toward the bottle, the woman in question seems to notice, hurriedly grabbing ahold of it before you can reach it, and pours the liquid into your glass, herself.

"Thank you," you murmur, retracting your hand and finally allowing it to fall on the table.

"No problem," Bada replies, her voice warm and velvety, like the wine. She pushes your drink toward you, and you hurriedly snatch it up to take a large gulp, allowing it to trickle down your throat. The heat of the alcohol soothes your anxiety, and you exhale deeply.

Your relief lasts for approximately one millisecond. Because, in the next, you're putting your drink down and are being reminded of the predicament you've gotten yourself into. Bada's preoccupation with her menu gives you the chance to observe the way the soft glow emanating from a nearby lamp illuminates her features. The light traces the curves of her face, accentuating every perfect line. Her eyebrows furrow in concentration, compelling you to consider reaching over the table to smooth the lines over with your thumb. When you try to look away, your gaze locks on the pouting of her lips as she focuses on whatever she's reading.

"I'm thinking of getting the Frutti Di Mare," she voices, snapping you out of your trance. She sets the menu down and looks up, a gentle smile on her face.

"I don't know what that is," you respond dumbly.

She laughs, the sound light and airy, causing the skin near her eyes to wrinkle adorably. "I thought Italian was your favorite?"

"It is," you confirm, feeling flustered. "I just-the Italian places I go to are super watered down. The fanciest thing you'll see there is fettuccini alfredo,"

"That makes sense," Bada nods, her smile turning playful. "Then, I'll let you know what it is. It's basically seafood. I think it's usually served with pasta."

"Ah," you reply, nodding slowly. "Tasty."

Bada laughs again, and you feel like a scratched CD—unable to get any words out, twitching in place, devilish sounds threatening to enemate from you at any moment. "I'll make sure to order an extra portion for you to try. Unless, of course, you don't want me to."

"No, that works. I'm fine with that," you respond, quickly.

"I figured." Bada smiles knowingly.

Your hand clutches your chest. "Hey, is that a little shade? Did I miss it? Please, elaborate," you joke, leaning forward.

Bada giggles. "Maybe. You've been drinking a lot of that wine. And I think you ate most of the breadsticks."

You glance at your breadcrumb filled plate, then at the half-empty basket of breadsticks. "Oh. Wow. I did."

"You did," Bada affirms, her expression amused. She scoots her chair closer and takes a sip of her own drink, her tongue darting out to lick her lips once she's done. You have the overwhelming urge to mimic the motion, but resist, choosing to instead stuff another breadstick in your mouth.

You swallow the last bits of the breadstick, wiping the crumbs off of your mouth, only for a new, smaller, crumb to appear. Bada notices, and when she raises her arm, your breath hitches. You feel her soft hand graze the side of your face, the pad of her thumb rubbing the crumb off your lip.

"There we go," Bada smiles, satisfied. You can't help but lean into her touch, the warmth of her skin a pleasant contrast against the cold room.

You're startled out of the moment when the waiter appears, setting a basket of warm bread down. You jump, moving away from Bada.

"Have we decided what we'd like to eat?" he asks, his accent thick.

Bada nods, seemingly unaffected by the exchange. "Yes, we're ready. I'll have the Frutti di Mare."

"Great choice," the waiter says. "And, for you, miss?"

"Um, Spaghetti," you answer, your voice strained.

The waiter scribbles down the order. "Anything else to drink?"

"I’m good, thank you," Bada answers, her tone sweet, smiling gratefully at the man.

"I'll be right back with your food," the waiter bows his head, his ponytail bouncing, and swiftly leaves the table, leaving the two of you alone.

Avoiding eye contact with Bada, you grab ahold of your glass and drink. The air crackles with something subtle, and you find yourself stealing glances at Bada’s pretty face in between sips, your cheeks warming.

But you needed to get down to business. It’s already been two days since you discussed fake-dating, and this is the first time you’ve done anything together. The clock was ticking.

You placed your drink down on the table and swallowed loudly, causing Bada to stop fiddling with the napkin in front of her in favor of looking at you.

"So," you start.

"So," she copies.

"What's the plan?" you ask, drumming your fingers against the table.

Bada's eyebrows furrow again. "The plan?"

"For the whole Cupid thing," you clarify.

"Oh," she says, blinking. "Right. Well, I was thinking, that this was sort of the plan."

"This being..."

"Dinner. At a fancy restaurant," she responds, gesturing to her surroundings. "People will see us hanging out together here, and it'll get the rumor mill running. I wouldn't be surprised if the media picked it up, honestly. I think it's a pretty solid first step. We're just planting the seeds,"

You nod. "Yeah, okay. That makes sense. How do we get from here to actually dating?"

She leans back in her chair, pondering the question. "Hm. I don't know. An Instagram post, maybe? A soft launch?"

You consider this. "Okay, sure. But, what would the picture be of? This is all so, vague."

Bada shrugs, nonchalant. "We'll figure it out as we go. We're gonna be spending a lot of time together for the next few days so there'll be plenty of opportunities for pictures. For now, I think we should just enjoy dinner. We're supposed to look like a couple in love right now and I don't know if trying to scientifically plan a soft launch is really giving romance."

"Right," you sigh. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Bada says, reaching across the table to give your hand a quick squeeze.

You're interrupted by the waiter returning, bringing the food. He carefully sets the dishes down, and a delectable smell fills the air.

"Bon appetit," the waiter bows his head and disappears again.

"Thanks," you call after him, taking a moment to observe the meal.

"It looks great," Bada comments, reaching for her fork.

"It does," you agree, grabbing your own utensils. You take a tentative bite, moaning loudly as the flavors immediately explode in your mouth. "Holy fuck."

Bada stares at you, wide-eyed and frozen, a piece of pasta still stuck on her fork.

You blush, covering your mouth. "Oh my gosh, sorry."

She gulps, snapping out of her stupor. "No, no, it's fine. That was just, a, uh. It seems like you really like it!"

"It's really good," you confirm, your words muffled by the food.

"I can tell," Bada chuckles, her voice low and her eyes twinkling.

"Sorry. I'm gonna try not to embarrass myself any more," you say, chewing more delicately.

She laughs softly. "There's no need to apologize. You're funny, y/n," Bada says, the sincerity of her words and the fondness in her tone making heat rise to your cheeks.

You eat the rest of your food quietly, listening to the bustling noise around you, the sound of Bada's utensils clinking against her plate unusually relaxing.

As you're finishing your last bits of pasta, a group of loud voices and giggles pass by your table. One of the girls, a brunette, notices the two of you and stops.

"Oh, my god," you hear the girl not-so-discreetly whisper, clutching her friends' arms. "Is that who I think it is?"

You glance at Bada, and she's looking at you. You raise an eyebrow.

"Bada Lee and...I don't know who that is? Who is that?" The brunette's friend replies.

You look down, pretending not to hear the conversation.

"I don't know either. You think that's her girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend?! No way. They're probably just hanging out or something."

At this, Bada drops her fork and reaches across the table for your hand, grabbing it gently.

"You okay, baby?" Bada asks, her tone sugary sweet.

You're taken aback by the pet name. But, you decide to play along. You smile at her, placing your other hand over hers. "I'm fine, sweetie. Just a little tired."

"Do you wanna leave, honey?"

"I think I'll be fine," you grin.

"If you're sure," Bada smiles, stroking the back of your hand with her thumb.

"I'm positive, honey bunch," you affirm, biting onto your bottom lip to contain your laughter.

"Aw, they're cute!" the brunette sighs. "I've gotta tell Sooyoung about this."

"Yeah, we should leave them alone, though. Let's go."

You and Bada watch the pair walk away. As soon as the women are out of sight, the two of you burst into laughter, dropping the facade.

"Did you see their faces?" Bada giggles.

"'Who is that?'" you imitate, your voice high pitched and nasal.

"Baby," Bada says, smirking.

You laugh, but the endearment sends butterflies to your stomach. "Sweetie."

"Honey bunch," Bada grins.

"Honey bunny," you fire back.

"My love," she replies, tilting her head with a smirk, her voice playful.

"Lovebug," you answer, raising an eyebrow.

"Is this foreplay?" she jokes, laughing.

"I mean, if you want it to be, I'm not stopping you," you say, the words slipping out before you can stop yourself. Bada's eyes shoot up, and you feel slightly mortified and shocked by your own brazenness.

"Do you mean that?" Bada asks, her voice dropping down an octave.

You open your mouth, then shut it. This is odd. You were regretting your lack of filter at first, but Bada seemed a bit too intrigued by the idea of consensual foreplay with you. She could just be joking, or really committing to the fake-dating bit. The look in her eyes was telling you otherwise, though.

However, you're cut off by the waiter reappearing. "May I interest you in dessert, or shall I bring the check?" he asks.

"Just the check, please," she says, not breaking eye contact with you.

The waiter bows, leaving the table once more.

You opt to stare down at the table. "I'll pay half," you offer, avoiding her earlier question.

"It's on me," Bada says. "I brought you here."

"Thank you."

"It's no problem," she says, a small smile on her lips.

Once the waiter comes back, Bada gives him her card. When he returns to your table with the receipt, Bada locks eyes with you, your heart thumping loudly.

"Let's get out of here," Bada says, and you nod.

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You stand at the entrance of the restaurant, a gentle breeze caressing your face. Your hands are stuffed in the pockets of your coat, and the chilly air nips at the tip of your nose.

"Are you ready?" Bada asks from behind you. You turn around to look at her, and the way her eyes reflect the light of the streetlamps above you causes your chest to tighten.

"Ready," you confirm, a hint of a smile on your face.

"Alright," Bada says, shoving her phone, which you don't remember seeing her pull out, into her coat pocket. She leads you to her car, opening the passenger seat door for you.

"Thanks," you smile, and she responds with a nod.

After the door is closed, she goes around to the driver's seat, starting the engine and driving out of the parking lot. You're both silent as she navigates through the streets. You peer out the window, watching the city lights flicker and blur as you replay tonight's events, attempting to ignore the now obvious tension.

"So," Bada breaks the silence, causing you to whip your head toward her. "You still haven't fully explained to me what plans you have in mind for that camera you're wanting so badly."

"Well," you begin, relieved that she took the conversation in this direction. "I love what I do at JustJerk. Seriously, watching you guys dance is amazing, and the people are the best. But, I don't want my career to end there. I want to do more on top of that, diversify my portfolio and all. What I really want to do is get onto a music video set. Maybe start directing, too. One day."

Bada hums and smiles. "That's amazing."

"Thanks," you grin, scratching the back of your neck.

"With all due respect, though, do you really need the new equipment for that? You do such a good job with our choreography videos. I don't know anything about videography, but I'd be surprised if that alone couldn't get your foot in the door."

"Well," you draw out, considering your words. "That's probably true. But, I don't think I'm that lucky. The equipment will help, the camera will be useful...the lenses will be nice to have…”

Bada frowns. "Have you given it a shot yet, though? As much as I'm going to try my hardest to help you win this money, realistically, there's a good chance that we still won't win. I'd hate to see you postpone your dreams just because of this camera, or because of this project."

You pause, staring at the car's interior, listening to the sound of the engine running, lost in thought. You weren't sure if it was because you admired Bada so much, or if it was something about her tone, but you were actually starting to rethink things. Perhaps you were holding yourself back a bit.

"Maybe," you simply respond, unable to say much else.

"I mean, the equipment will probably help," Bada concedes. "But, not having it won't stop you, I'm sure. Our videographers really don't get enough credit. But, you're all great and you're especially amazing at what you do, y/n. The only reason why I haven't gotten around to working with you is because the other dancers keep getting to you first," she admits, bitterly.

"Wow," you breathe. "Thank you."

"Of course. You're awesome," she says, the confidence in her words filling your heart.

"So are you," you say, turning away from her, trying not to blush.

"I know. You’ve said it already," Bada smirks, and you simply roll your eyes.

A more comfortable silence envelops the two of you, and the tension from before dissipates. You lean back in the passenger seat, a smile on your face, feeling content.

Soon, Bada pulls up outside of your apartment, and you're disappointed.

"This is you," Bada announces.

"Yep," you nod.

"I had a lot of fun tonight," she says, smiling.

"Me too," you reply with a matching smile. "Thank you for dinner."

"It was no problem," she states, waving her hand.

You step outside, but, before closing the car door, you hesitate. "Um," you say, unsure.

"What is it?" Bada asks, a hint of worry in her tone.

"Can I give you a hug?" you blurt out.

Bada looks startled, but her expression softens. "Sure," she nods, turning the engine off and stepping outside.

You meet her on the sidewalk, and pull her into a hug, wrapping your arms around her torso and pressing your cheek against her chest. She hugs back, and you swear that you can hear her heartbeat.

"Goodnight," Bada whispers into your hair.

"Goodnight," you echo, pulling away, already missing her warmth.

She opens the car door again, ducking inside. "Text me when you get upstairs," she instructs.

"I will," you promise.

"Great. Goodnight, y/n," she smiles.

"Goodnight, Bada," you reply, watching her drive away. Once her car disappears, you sigh.

As you trudge up the stairs to your apartment, a single question repeats in your mind: What the fuck am I doing?

You finish cleaning up and getting ready for bed approximately two hours later. As you lay in bed, scrolling through social media, a post from a JustJerk fanpage catches your eye. It's a picture of Bada and you together at dinner, with the caption, "Caught on a date?!"

You laugh at the predictability of the situation, and just as you're about to turn off your phone, you think to check Bada's Instagram, curious. She posted a new story.

You tap it, and it's a picture of you, taken from behind, standing outside the restaurant. There are no words attached to the picture. Just one, pink heart.

You smile, saving the picture, and fall asleep with the image burned into your mind.

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Three days later, you are stationed near your camera, watching Bada teach. The day after your fake dinner date, she sent you a text describing the next stage of the plan, which was attending each other's events and collaborating in public whenever it seemed right. This initially felt like an excellent idea. You'd been dying to watch and record one of Bada's classes since you started working at JustJerk, and it brought you guys one step closer to convincing everyone you were seriously dating. What could go wrong?

The actual execution of this idea turned out to be much more distressing than you previously imagined. It started this morning when you were filming Minho's class. You kneeled in the front of the room, prepping your camera as Minho made rounds around the studio to talk to his students individually. Engrossed with your equipment, you didn't hear the sounds of the door opening and closing, or the following eruption of loud murmuring. It was not until you saw a pair of sneakers stop in front of you and caught a whiff of a now-familiar sweet aroma, that you bothered to glance up. When you did, you found yourself making eye contact with Bada, holding a bouquet.

"These are for you," Bada said, a proud smile on her face.

Your jaw dropped and you scrambled to get up, almost knocking the camera over. They were roses, vibrant and beautiful against the dull gray of the dance studio. No one had done this for you before.

"They're gorgeous," you whispered, accepting the flowers.

"I'm glad you think so," she replied, her smile deepening as she observed your reaction. You cradled the bouquet in your hands, inhaling the smell of the roses with a pleased hum and missing the endeared expression on Bada's face. You certainly didn’t see the way she started to lean forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Shocked, you loosened your grip on the bouquet, feeling nothing but the rush of warmth spread through every inch of you as a result of her tiny peck.

She shifted back, as relaxed as ever. "I gotta go, but I'll see you later?"

"Definitely," you nod, clutching the bouquet once again, head spinning.

"Great." She nodded, then made her way out of the studio.

After she left, you turned to face the room, only to be met with everyone’s staring. Right. That is what this is about. Getting attention. Nothing else.

You glanced at Minho, who had a teasing smirk on his face.

"What?" you asked him, scowling.

"Nothing," he laughed, then restarted his class.

Now you are recording Bada's class. Or at least, that’s what you’re supposed to be doing. But, having to observe her so confidently lead her students through a routine, hearing her call out corrections with a simultaneously gentle yet demanding tone, noticing how hard her abs are when she lifts her shirt to wipe the sweat from her brow for the last hour? It's been painful. You're so busy trying not to swoon you've nearly forgotten to press record a couple of times.

She suddenly looks at you, flashing a small smile at you accompanied by crinkling eyes. You give her a thumbs-up and quickly shift your gaze toward the camera as if you were busy setting the frame, even though the shot is already perfect.

Bada returns her focus to the class, and the lesson continues. Every once in a while, Bada walks over to you, checking in and asking how everything is going. Each time, she offers a smile, a wink, or some form of encouragement, and every time, it takes everything in your power not to blush. She's clearly playing it up for the audience, but the effect she has on you is no act.

Her students are buying it, though. The moment she gets near you, the girls (and a few guys) start whispering amongst themselves. It's working.

"Alright," Bada claps, signaling the end of the session. "That's it for today. Good job, everybody."

"Thank you, teacher!" they all exclaim, bowing and gathering their things.

You're packing up your camera when you feel a pair of hands grasp your waist. Startled, you drop your tripod.

"Gotcha," Bada giggles.

"Shit, that scared me," you say, placing a hand on your heart.

"Sorry, sorry," she laughs. "How'd the recording go?"

"Pretty good," you say, bending down to pick up the tripod. Bada immediately crouches, beating you to it. "Thank you."

"No problem" she says, straightening up, extending the tripod towards you.

"Thanks," you say again, taking the device from her. "Anyway, you did good. It's not going to need much editing."

"Really?" Bada smiles. "Thank you. That means a lot, actually."

"It’s no problem," you grin, suppressing the fluttering in your stomach. "And, uh, thanks again for the flowers, by the way. They were beautiful."

“You are very welcome. Just fulfilling my fake-girlfriend duties," Bada beams, and you have to look away.

"Well, anyway, I should probably head home," you say, avoiding eye contact. "Gotta get started on the footage."

She tilts her head. "Uh, I don’t think so. That’s gonna have to wait for tomorrow,”

"Huh? Why?" you ask, confused.

"Because, y/n, we're going bowling with Youngj and them? Don't tell me you forgot," she chides, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh," you say, remembering. "I thought that was supposed to be later."

"It's 7:30," she says, a slight frown on her face.

"Fuck," you curse, running a hand through your hair. "Sorry, I'll get out of here."

"We have to go there together," Bada reminds you.

"Shit. Okay, yeah, let's go," you sigh.

"Are you okay?" she asks, concern etched onto her features.

"Yes. No. Ugh. Sorry, I just had a lot on my mind today. Didn't get much sleep," you say, rubbing your eyes. It wasn’t a complete lie. Ever since your date at the restaurant, you’ve been getting bombarded with messages from friends asking about the two of you, giving you little time to rest alongside your work for Justjerk. There was more going on today, though.

"That sucks," Bada sympathizes. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," you answer, bluntly.

"Okay," she says, softly. "But, if and when you do, I’m all ears."

"Thanks, Bada. I appreciate it," you reply, and a part of you is telling yourself not to get attached. But the bigger part of you, the part that wants nothing more than to fall into her arms, tells that smaller part to fuck off.

"Of course. Anyway, we should really get going," she says, and you follow her out the door, leaving your thoughts and feelings behind.

read part two

#bada lee #bada lee fanfic #bada lee fluff #bada lee x reader #bada lee x y/n #lee bada #street woman fighter 2 #swf2 #bada lee imagine

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scuderiamv · 8 months ago

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Truly, Madly, Deeply ★ MV1

pairing: max verstappen x oc!fem

summary: “when you know she is the one, nothing else matters”

warnings: nothing, just pure fluff

requests are open | masterlist

Max watched her as she slept, her peaceful expression casting a serene glow in the dimly lit room. It was the sixth night she had spent in his bed, though he had long lost track of the count. Each night with her felt like a gift, a precious moment he never wanted to end.

Their paths had crossed six months ago during the winter break, a chance encounter at the train station. He had been captivated by her from the moment he laid eyes on her, her presence drawing him in like a magnet. And as he discovered her routine of visiting her grandparents in Monaco, he found himself falling deeper into fascination with her.

It took him a week to gather the courage to approach her, but when he did, it was as if the universe had aligned their paths perfectly. Every moment spent together was a breath of fresh air in his otherwise hectic life, filling him with a sense of pure bliss and happiness he hadn't known before.

As the season picked up its pace, Max couldn't help but worry about the possibility of losing her amidst the chaos. What if the pressure became too much for her? What if she decided to walk away?

But she stayed.

Through the highs and lows of his life, she remained by his side, a steady presence amidst the whirlwind of his career. She was there when he faced criticism, there when he achieved milestones, there when he needed someone to simply be there for him.

She never left.

And to Max, that meant everything.

“Schat?” Max called softly, his voice breaking the stillness of the room. He watched as she stirred from her slumber, her eyelashes fluttering open to reveal eyes filled with sleep and warmth. A soft smile graced her lips as she greeted him.

"Hey," she murmured, her voice a melodic whisper.

"Hey," Max replied, his heart swelling with love at the sight of her. He reached out to gently brush a strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering against her skin. "Did I wake you?" he asked, concern lacing his words.

She shook her head, her fingers intertwining with his. "No, I was just drifting. What's on your mind?"

Max hesitated, his thoughts swirling in his mind like a whirlpool of emotions. "I was just thinking about us," he confessed, his voice soft yet earnest. "About how we met, and how much you mean to me."

A flicker of uncertainty danced in her eyes, but she remained attentive, waiting for him to continue.

"It's just... I can't shake this feeling that I'm falling for you, deeper than I ever thought possible," he admitted, his gaze locked with hers.

Her expression softened, a gentle smile playing on her lips. "I feel the same way," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "I didn't expect to find this kind of connection with you, but I'm grateful for every moment we've shared."

Max felt a rush of warmth wash over him at her words, his heart overflowing with love for her. Leaning closer, he pressed his forehead against hers, savoring the closeness between them.

"I love you," he breathed, the words a promise etched into the very depths of his soul.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and she leaned in to meet his lips with hers, a tender kiss sealing their love. "I love you too, Max. Truly, madly, deeply."

At that moment, surrounded by her love, Max knew that he had found something truly special. And as they held each other close, he couldn't help but feel grateful for the serendipitous twist of fate that had brought them together.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen smau #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen #max verstappen fluff #formula one #scuderiamv #formula one imagine #Spotify

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contemplatingoutlander · 1 year ago

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This is an excellent article by astrophysicist Dr. Adam Frank and theoretical physicist Dr. Marcelo Gleiser about how information from the James Webb Space Telescope is changing physicists' perceptions about the standard model of cosmology. 😱

Since how we understand the universe seems rather important, the link above is a gift🎁link to the article, so that even if you do not subscribe to The New York Times, you can read the entire article. Below are a few excerpts:

Not long after the James Webb Space Telescope began beaming back from outer space its stunning images of planets and nebulae last year, astronomers, though dazzled, had to admit that something was amiss. Eight months later, based in part on what the telescope has revealed, it’s beginning to look as if we may need to rethink key features of the origin and development of the universe. [...] But one of the Webb’s first major findings was exciting in an uncomfortable sense: It discovered the existence of fully formed galaxies far earlier than should have been possible according to the so-called standard model of cosmology. According to the standard model, which is the basis for essentially all research in the field, there is a fixed and precise sequence of events that followed the Big Bang: First, the force of gravity pulled together denser regions in the cooling cosmic gas, which grew to become stars and black holes; then, the force of gravity pulled together the stars into galaxies. The Webb data, though, revealed that some very large galaxies formed really fast, in too short a time, at least according to the standard model. This was no minor discrepancy. The finding is akin to parents and their children appearing in a story when the grandparents are still children themselves. [...] Working so close to the boundary between science and philosophy, cosmologists are continually haunted by the ghosts of basic assumptions hiding unseen in the tools we use — such as the assumption that scientific laws don’t change over time. But that’s precisely the sort of assumption we might have to start questioning in order to figure out what’s wrong with the standard model. One possibility, raised by the physicist Lee Smolin and the philosopher Roberto Mangabeira Unger, is that the laws of physics can evolve and change over time. Different laws might even compete for effectiveness. An even more radical possibility, discussed by the physicist John Wheeler, is that every act of observation influences the future and even the past history of the universe. (Dr. Wheeler, working to understand the paradoxes of quantum mechanics, conceived of a “participatory universe” in which every act of observation was in some sense a new act of creation.) [...] The philosopher Robert Crease has written that philosophy is what’s required when doing more science may not answer a scientific question. It’s not clear yet if that’s what’s needed to overcome the crisis in cosmology. But if more tweaks and adjustments don’t do the trick, we may need not just a new story of the universe but also a new way to tell stories about it. [color emphasis added]

Image caption: "These six galaxies may force astronomers to rewrite cosmology books. (Image credit: NASA, ESA, CSA, I. LABBE)"

___________ Gif source (before minor edits)

#understanding of the universe is changing #standard model of cosmology #james webb space telescope #birth of the universe #adam frank #marcelo gleiser #the new york times #gift link #my edited gifs

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atinycafe · 1 year ago

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I NEED HONGJOONG AND A READER WHO'S IN SUBPSACE FOR THE FIRST TIME, HOW WOULD THE AFTERCARE GO (its okay if u dont write for that, you can just ignore my request <3)

warnings: nsfw under the cut, dom!hongjoong, slight dumbification, sub space, use of pet names (pretty, baby, babydoll, sweet girl), protected sex (yay!!!), soft sex, doggy style, 0.9k wrds author's notes: im not uncomfy but im just not very into it so i have no idea if what i wrote acc is enjoyable to people j,ndfcgvh, and also the fact that idk anything about the kink, so this whole thing might be wayyy off topic masterlist

the sea sparkles brightly as the waves sway in a mesmerizing dance. you can hear the gentle sounds of the sea ebbing and flowing against the sandy shore. soft light spills into your summer house, illuminating it, while the balcony is open, allowing the ethereal white curtains to sway in the breeze.

you would coo at the little crabs if you could, as they reveal themselves on the shore. however, the insistent pounding noise behind you forces you to roll your eyes, blurring your vision. cries escape your lips as his hands settle on the small of your back, causing you to arch involuntarily. pressed onto the bed, your hands stretch out in front of you, grasping at nothing, your forearms hovering out of the mattress.

hongjoong's thighs slap against yours, propelling you forward with each motion. he's intense, his painted fingertips exerting firm pressure on your skin, leaving marks behind.

"my pretty baby," he sighs, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face. his gaze remains fixated on the way your ass moves on his. biting his bottom lip, he suppresses his moans, not wanting to drown out your sweet whimpers. those whimpers, so delightful, drive him to thrust harder, fueled by pure desire. "you're so good for me, so adorable. i love you so, so much. do you love me, babydoll?"

it takes a moment for the question to register as you melt under his touch, but you manage to slurr out a response, "love you too," causing him to moan aloud. he smiles, enchanted by the slow pitch of your voice, finding you utterly endearing.

"good girl, always listening to me, takin' me so well, so good," he mumbles, feeling his climax building. he senses yours approaching too, as you tremble and writhe, succumbing to a mere state of wet neediness beneath him. "are you close, pretty? i can feel your pussy suckin' me in. such a greedy girl."

simultaneously, you both reach the peak of pleasure, your bodies giving in to exhaustion. you would slump onto the bed, were it not for hongjoong's strong hold on your waist. he withdraws, quickly discarding the condom, tying it off and tossing it aside. he turns you around, carefully examining your face with tender concern shining in his eyes.

immediately, he notices the dazed look in your eyes, your pupils fully dilated, and the post-orgasmic haze reminds him of his past experiences with ex-partners and their subdrop. he never expected it from you. your relationship has been going well for the past six months, the sex relatively vanilla, but hongjoong doesn't mind. not when you look so irresistibly cute beneath him. your inexperience led him to tread lightly with his more dominant side, but it came naturally to him, and unconsciously, you submit to him during intimacy. so, when he sees that familiar unfocused gaze, his body instinctively reacts.

"baby, look at me," he leans in, positioning his face right in front of yours. you offer him a lazy smile, playfully scrunching your nose, and he reciprocates with a gentle smile. "how do you feel, babydoll?"

you mumble something inaudible, attempting to provide an answer. anything will do when your tongue feels too heavy, too clumsy, too uncoordinated in your mouth. you blink slowly, the contact of his hand against your forehead creating a warm, fuzzy sensation in your brain. it blurs the periphery of your vision, allowing you to focus solely on his pretty face.

he's smiling, his teeth gleaming brightly. they seem sharp in the golden light. you feel like you're floating, detached from your own body, much like when the alcohol becomes too much. in both scenarios, hongjoong is always there to ground you.

"can't use your voice right now mmh pretty, tongue feels heavy huh," he remarks knowingly, and your eyes gradually widen as the information seeps into your brain, wondering how he knows. he smiles at your expression and murmurs a soft "cute."

"baby i need to clean you up, can i go get the towels," he asks, adjusting the pace of his words, ensuring they align with your clouded mind's comprehension. you take your time to process, your thoughts still hazy and elusive. but when you realize that his suggestion involves him leaving you alone, even for a minute, a visible sadness etches itself onto your face. you manage to release a small whimper before he soothes you with a hushing sound.

his voice lowers, deep and resonant, as he whispers promises of not leaving you alone. he settles down beside you, his arm forming a comfortable support under his head, and draws you into his embrace for cuddling. he guides your head to rest on his bare chest, the stickiness of your sweaty skin unimportant to either of you. you begin to feel drowsy, but you still crave his attention. so, you maneuver your head to get a glimpse of his face, only to find his chin in your view.

sensing your gaze on him, he tilts his head down until your droopy eyes meet his, shimmering with light. a smile forms on his lips as he raises his eyebrows, questioning you wordlessly. he runs his free hand through your hair, gently massaging your scalp, as if coaxing your brain back into action.

you open your mouth, but no words emerge, and hongjoong can't help but coo at your slightly frustrated expression. he leans closer, his lips descending upon yours, delivering a tender kiss, while softly suckling your bottom lip.

"my sweet girl, fucked you so hard you forgot how to speak."

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aventurineswife · 28 days ago

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College AU

Reader, Kaveh and Alhaitham are roommates in the same apartment and reader sometimes has the moment where they just sit/stand across the room from Kaveh while he is busy with something and yknow stare at him with that lovestruck look cuz they pining hard on that beautiful, amazing, gorgeous bbg.

And Alhaitham had caught on the fact that reader had been crushing on Kaveh for months (a very massive crush) and he just bluntly tells them one day to just say it. And reader freaks out a bit like "Whaaa? Pffft noooo, I dont...dont see him like that, ahahahaha, pls dont spill the beans...."

The rest is up to you 🤭

“If Only You Knew” | Part 1

Summary: You share an apartment with Kaveh, the charming and passionate architect, and Alhaitham, his blunt and logical friend. You've developed a massive crush on Kaveh, and sometimes, you just can’t help but stare at him with lovestruck admiration. Alhaitham, having caught onto your feelings, encourages you to confess, but you brush it off, panicking at the thought of Kaveh finding out. Though you remain the quiet admirer for now, Alhaitham’s words linger, and maybe someday, you’ll gather the courage to reveal the truth.

Tags: College AU, Modern AU, Fluff, Unrequited (but Mutual) Pining, Roommates, Love Confessions (eventual), Slow Burn, Alhaitham Being Observant, Kaveh x Reader, Humor, Light Angst, Crushes

Warnings: Mild language, secondhand embarrassment, unrequited pining (for now), Alhaitham’s blunt honesty

A/N: OMG ITS MY BEAUTIFUL ARCHITECT WIFE KAVEHHH 😍🤭💖 and his roomate... 😐

Part 2

You sat on the edge of the couch, textbook open on your lap, but your attention was decidedly not on the words. Instead, your gaze was fixed on Kaveh, who was sitting at the dining table, his messy sketchbooks and architectural plans spread out around him like the aftermath of a storm. He was fully engrossed, his blond hair falling into his eyes as he leaned over a drawing with that intense, focused look you’d come to adore.

For a moment, you just watched him. His hand moved in practiced strokes, a small smile appearing every so often, as if he was admiring his own work. You didn’t blame him; everything he created was beautiful, a reflection of the way he saw the world. You loved watching his passion, how he became so absorbed in it. Maybe one day, you'd tell him how he looked like an artwork himself, surrounded by ideas that only he could bring to life. For now, though, you’d just stare across the room, hoping he wouldn’t notice the soft, lovesick expression you probably wore.

Unfortunately, someone did notice.

"You're staring again," came a low, matter-of-fact voice from beside you.

You jumped, realizing that Alhaitham had somehow materialized in the living room without you noticing. His usual unreadable expression was tinged with a faint smirk, like he was privy to some secret.

"I—uh—what?" you stammered, trying to act casual as you quickly turned back to your textbook. "I was just...thinking. About, uh, architecture! Yeah. Architecture is...fascinating."

Alhaitham didn’t look convinced. He simply raised an eyebrow, glanced over at Kaveh, who was still oblivious, and then back at you. "You know, you could just tell him," he said bluntly. "Your crush on him isn’t exactly subtle."

Heat flooded your face. "Whaaa? Pffft, nooo, I don’t...I don’t see him like that," you protested, sounding embarrassingly unconvincing even to yourself. "I just...he’s an inspiring person. A friend (okay Adrien-). I admire his...dedication and stuff."

Alhaitham stared at you, unimpressed. "I see," he replied, deadpan. "Admiration. Is that why you’ve been looking at him like he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen for the past six months?"

You buried your face in your hands. "Alhaitham, please, don’t spill the beans..." you whispered, mortified. If Kaveh found out...you didn’t even want to think about it. You were sure he’d laugh it off or worse, get awkward about it. The thought alone was enough to make you want to disappear.

Alhaitham sighed, sitting down next to you. "You know, you might be surprised. Kaveh isn’t as dense as you think," he said, voice softening just a little. "You’re giving him too little credit. Besides, the worst he’ll do is make an emotional speech about unrequited love and how tragic it is."

You could almost imagine it. Kaveh, in all his dramatic glory, would probably get poetic about it, turn it into some grand tale of forbidden romance. You chuckled, even as the nerves twisted your stomach.

But then Kaveh’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Hey, what’s so funny?”

You looked up, startled to see him looking at you, curiosity lighting up his bright red eyes. The blush that had only barely started to fade returned with a vengeance. "Oh! Uh...just something silly." you mumbled, trying desperately to avoid Alhaitham’s knowing gaze.

Kaveh chuckled, his attention back on his sketches. “Well, I’m glad I’m not the only one around here with a sense of humor. Alhaitham is no fun.”

“Thank you.” Alhaitham said dryly, glancing at you with a small smile.

You spent the rest of the evening nervously trying to play it cool, but every so often, Alhaitham’s words would echo in your mind, making your heart beat just a little faster. Maybe one day, you’d find the courage to tell Kaveh how you really felt. For now, though, you were content to stay right here, as his silent, hopeless admirer.

Honestly this just reminded me of MLB 💀

I should really go study for my exams and finish my homeworks...😔😔

And now I want to write something suggestive but idk what 😪👁️👁️so send in your requests with what and who you want to do your fantasy with

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mpreg-is-always-possible · 3 months ago

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Better

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x gn!reader

Tags: Angst, divorce, losing a child, graveyard, reference to child neglect, reference to canon typical violence, grief

Notes: so I’m very new to this fandom and haven’t actually read the comics yet but I’ve been reading a lot of fanfics and couldn’t get this out of my head. Also I tried to keep reader gender neutral but I did write and edit this in the middle of the night on my phone so please let me know if a rouge pronoun that isn’t ’you’ made its way in. Thanks for reading and please enjoy!

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: Falling in love with Bruce had been foolish. Marrying him was an act of down right insanity. You knew it would end one way or another but you had deluded yourself into believing your husband’s crusade couldn’t come at the expense of Jason’s life. Gotham needs Batman and Batman needs Robin. But why did Robin need to be the boys you had come to see as sons?

Or a one shot of the events leading up to your and Bruce’s divorce after Jason Todd’s death

Officially, you and Bruce had divorced only six months ago. Truly though, your relationship had ended nearly three years ago when Bruce came home without Jason. His Robin went off to do the one thing Batman wouldn’t, and the next thing you know your son is in the ground.

The grief was all consuming. You fell to your knees when Bruce told you. Alfred said the scream you let out would haunt him for the rest of his life but the memory of it was lost to you. Those early days after Jason’s death are blurry still. The only tangible feeling being the heavy hole Jason left behind in your chest.

You’re not sure where Bruce went after that. He grew so distant the only time you saw him was to discuss funeral arrangements. After the funeral you don’t really see your husband for the next month. When asked, Alfred informed you Bruce was staying in the cave believing you needed space. Alfred had clearly disapproved of that but Bruce was right. She did need space from him, from Batman.

It’s not a point of pride that you grew to hate him in the early months after. Thoughts of revealing his extra curricular activity plagued you. As much as Gotham needs Batman, Bruce needs Batman too. He needs to protect his city and build towards a future where his parents' deaths wouldn’t ever be repeated. But how could that future exist when Batman won’t even kill Joker? How could it exist without Jason?

The idea is tempting but you never act on it. Revealing Batman’s identity wouldn’t only endanger you but Alfred and Dick as well. You couldn’t stand losing them too. Dick decided to come back to Gotham for a while after the funeral, just to be there for you and Bruce. Bruce tried to send him back to Bludhaven but you had put your foot down. “We just buried one son and now you want to push another way,” you had yelled at him, his face as stony as ever. He acquiesced.

Dick and Alfred tried to get the two of you to talk to each other. Dick would often try to essentially parent trap you and Bruce in various rooms around the manor, inviting both to watch a movie or asking for help with something but not tell you that he’d asked you both. By the second week Alfred refused to bring Bruce’s food down to the cave, forcing him to eat with you. By the end of the month the two just threw out the cot in the cave and Bruce took a bed in a guest room. Their efforts made it seem like Bruce was imposing his absence on you, and maybe he was but there was no comfort to be found in his company, not anymore.

Their antics went on for another month after that until you sat them down and told them to stop. They had for a few days. When Alfred “mistakenly” served Bruce’s food upstairs one night, you cornered him afterwards to tell him you were considering leaving Bruce. “I cannot fault you but he’s the closest I have to a son and I’m afraid another upset would cause him to spiral more. It’s too much to ask but can you please stay until the grief isn’t so raw.”

That’s when you noticed Bruce had bruises and cuts in places he was normally careful to keep clear of thug’s fists and knives. Dick told you he was fighting so much harder; The criminals had started to whisper fears of the bat starting to kill soon. You didn’t think he would go that far, and Dick agreed but he could tell his father wasn’t far off.

So your marriage continued. You woke up alone, went about your day, had dinner with Bruce before he left for patrol, then went to bed. Galas and various other functions for Wayne Enterprises or Bruce's charity events were the only time you two truly acted like there wasn’t this vast distance between you. Most of the time it made your skin crawl to act like things were fine, but occasionally you could pretend - Jason wasn’t dead, he was just trying to find where the servers smoked to join them. Then someone would offer condolences and the facade would break.

It was around this time when you began to visit Jason’s grave. It had been too painful to see it before. The words ‘Jason Todd: Beloved son and brother’ etched in stone had followed you into nightmares for months. But you needed to get out of the house and Jason had spent too long without a visit from you. At first, they were short somewhat sporadic outings - tiptoeing in about once every other week to leave flowers, often leaving them next to a bouquet or two some else had already gifted. After a while, you warmed up to a quick hello and some highlights from the week before, then had graduated to speaking at the tombstone for hours about life after him every week. It was cathartic and maybe a little sad but those one sided conversations became the one place you could talk about the complexity of your family’s situation without having to sugar coat it or be reminded of how staying was helpful to Batman.

For two years this went on and Batman’s anger didn’t cool. Bruce still came home with black eyes, bleeding knuckles, and the occasional gunshot. The hate in your belly for him had dulled considerably to the point where you had begun to patch his wounds up again out of respect for the love you once had. You might be angry with him but you didn’t want him to get himself killed.

When the neighbor boy, Tim Drake, had knocked on your door, you couldn’t have guessed that he came to express his worry for Batman, for Bruce. You and Alfred listened as he waxed poetic about how Gotham needs Batman but Batman needs Robin. The hole in your chest that had since grown less noticeable ached because he was right and it made you want to spit. As Alfred excused himself to get the Robin uniform for the boy, you grasped his thin shoulders and looked into his face, colored in righteous determination.

“The last Robin was murdered, Tim.”

“I know Jason died, but -“

“Bruce will try to push you away. Don’t let him.”

Watching Tim run out the door in the red and green suit made your stomach turn. It wasn’t what you wanted but you had never had a say in that side of your husband's life. The two of you thought more with your heart than with your head when you decided to get married, but you weren’t so love drunk to think that the marriage wasn’t nearly guaranteed to fail. You even expected it to end because of his crusade. You just wished it didn’t come at the expense of your son.

It was foolish to think this new Robin wouldn't worm his way into your heart just as the two before did and maybe it was selfish but you couldn’t do it again. There was no way Bruce could just stop, but you didn’t need to stand by his side while he did it. It was a miracle that only Jason had died.

Despite your efforts to keep Tim at arms length, he was a sweet kid and it was impossible to ignore him. Plus you knew his parents weren’t paying nearly enough attention to him so he needed someone looking out for Tim and not just Robin.

Bruce had been better at keeping the boy out. He let Dick do most of Tim’s training and really only spoke to him about vigilante things. But the armor slowly but surely cracked. It didn’t escape you or Alfred when Bruce began to request foods that you knew Tim liked or when he had Alfred set up a guest room that was meant for Tim to use when needed. A year in and Bruce had long stopped coming home from patrol with careless injuries.

You knew it was coming. You anticipated everyday that Bruce would come home from patrol and tell you Tim had accepted the mantle. When it actually happened though, it still sent ice through your veins.

“Tim’s passed every test Dick and I have given him. I offered him Robin and he said yes.”

“I knew he would.”

“I don’t want him to be.”

“I know.” A moment passed and then you said “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“I know.”

The divorce was quick. Neither of you wanted anything from the other. Bruce offered alimony but you refused. You kept your job after getting married but you never touched your salary, leaving you with a nice nest egg to start your new life with. Alfred and Dick were sad but they understood. They knew you sacrificed a lot to stay with Bruce even before Jason died, but after you gave more than you had.

Tim didn't really know what your marriage looked like before but he took on its demise all the same. Your heart broke when Bruce told you Tim had tried to give Robin back in an attempt to make Bruce reconcile with you.

“Tim, if I had it my way none of you would be going out every night fighting thugs and criminal masterminds but you were right; Gotham needs Batman and Batman needs Robin. Unfortunately, it’s become too much for me but Bruce won’t stop. He can’t but he needs someone like you there to make him remember himself.”

Tim just nodded his head and went back to the manor.

Dick and Tim visited you at your small apartment in Gotham as often as they could. Though between Dicks commute from Bludhaven, Tim still being in school, and both of their budding vigilante careers, they didn’t have much time to visit. Occasionally, they’d stop by during patrol for a rest or some first aid. Mainly you kept in touch with phone calls and texts.

You never really saw Alfred anymore, unless it was when he opened the door for Tim after dropping him off at him from school or some outing. He does call occasionally, just to say hi and chat. It’s nice, not feeling completely cut off from your old life.

It was surprising how unchanged your relationship with Bruce was after you left. It probably shouldn’t have been - your marriage was one in name alone and had been for awhile. Still, realizing your conversations only revolved around if Dick or Tim needed anything made it clear just how true it was that divorced life with him wasn’t far off from your married one. He never did make an effort to really speak with you after things went to hell but then again neither did you.

When you finally signed the divorce papers, it felt like you could breathe for the first time in years. No more sticking around because you were afraid leaving would push him over the edge. But the hole in your chest still plagued you, and it most certainly would forever. The divorce wasn’t what was best. What would have been best would be Jason being alive and Batman not needing to put your kids in danger constantly. But Jason was and Batman did. So the divorce is better.

#angst #oneshot #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #no y/n #batfam #batfamily #batfamily dynamics #gn!reader #divorced!bruce Wayne x reader #dc comics #dc fanfic #dc x reader #batfam x reader #batfam x you #reader adopted Bruce’s children

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