#sitting in a corner and staring at the wall

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][childhood friends][semi-public][cowgirl][oral (f! receiving][female orgasm][reunited][he's got anxiety][romantic][raw][fingering][implied facial][suggested creampie, if that's even a tag]

Jason's not the type of man to get giddy.

Not by a longshot.

In fact, he's not even the type of man to look in the direction of a woman, just because he knows that he'd need to find a girl who's big backed enough to carry his emotional baggage and he's not ready to burden someone with that.

Clearing away his thoughts, Jason takes a step into the one part of Gotham he wouldn't deem as a total shitshow.

The public library.

Walls are strewn with red paper hearts on string, tablecloths are changed to heart prints and there's a gigantic, glittery Cupid cutout right above the librarian's desk. And with each breeze, it dangles and Jason can't hide the amusement in his eyes when the flying baby spins, arrow in his direction. And he scoffs under his breath.

Before moving towards the front desk and he feels the way his breath stutters in his chest at the sight of you.

"Where's Beatrice? Old, short lady, curlers, mole with the hair?" He's damn near frantic. He's not prepared for this.

Pretty hair framing your face, a bright red bow in your hair and sparkling eyes that stare up at him, and your pretty, pouty lips curl at the corners.

"Oh, she's out for a few months. She got her hip surgery, so I'm her temporary replacement." You give him the sweetest smile, staring at him from beneath long, luxurious lashes that could almost rival Bruce's and Jason swallows, nodding his head.

"I—uh— I'm...— excuse me."

Jason leaves through the same door he came in, muscular hands braced on his hips and he lets out laboured breaths. If someone were to accuse him of being a blushing mess, he wouldn't even be able to deny it, instead, only being able to empty his Glock.

Because no one accuses the Red Hood of feeling feelings.

Carding muscular fingers through his hair, Jason tries to hype himself up, trying to give a pep talk that doesn't involve internal screaming and a potential panic attack.

He doesn't understand why HIS Selina Kyle needs to be working at the library he frequents. It seems like a sick joke.

Especially because you probably don't even remember him. Because not only was he like, 10, but he was also, masked whenever you two came across each other.

Quite literally, his first everything.

First solo save.

First crush.

First Valentine.

First kiss.

First fantasy.

First boner.

Jason steps back into the library, his boots heavy on the carpeted floorboards and he steps to the front desk, his chest puffed and a purpose in his voice.

"I'm Jason." He introduces. "I read to the kids on Wednesdays and Fridays."

He watches you glance towards the clipboard in front of you, glossy lips pursed before you nod your head, giving him that exact smile that used to be painted on the forefront of his brain for majority of his adolescence.

"Yeah, Beatrice told me about you." Your head tilts, and you give him that sweet, lovely leer you've always had.

"You're 'tall fella'." And you introduce yourself, before handing him the pen to sign in. A pretty fountain pen, patterned with hearts and he signs the notepad, adding the exact time as well. 12:13pm.

Jason passes into the library, immediately met with the excited squeals of kids no higher than his hip, and he glances at the multiple tables, colourful chairs occupied by excitement incarnate.

"Okay, okay." Jason hums, before sitting on his seat. A bright red wingback, although, the back of it is covered in snowy lace, undoubtedly for the occasion and he places his hands on his knees.

"What books are on today's list?"

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋❤️་༘🎀˚˖𓍢ִ🌹˚.

Jason's halfway through his 9th 'happily ever after' before he glances towards the doorway, your form leaning against the doorframe as you listen intently. Although your attention isn't as much on him, as it is on the children scattered in front of him, wide-eyed stares as though they've never heard the fairy tales before.

The softest and most gentle smile remains planted on your lips, cheeks rosy and brows relaxed, and your arms are crossed over your chest. Before you glance towards him.

Overing him an even sweeter smile.

And Jason stumbles over his words, before his lips purse, and he feels the way his ears burn with embarassment.

"Oooooh, he's shy." A tiny voice calls out and is immediately followed by a flurry of 'ooh's.

And they're right. He is shy.

But he also cannot empty his Glock.

And Jason glances towards you, or at least attempts to, because right above your head, there's another fucking Cupid pointing an arrow at him. And his fist clenches in annoyance at the convenience of the smirking infant, ruddy cheeks and tiny wings that, speaking aerodynamically, should definitely not be able to lift that chubby body higher than a foot or two.

Jason lets out a deep, controlled breath before lowering his gaze to meet yours, pretty doe eyes stare at him with the intensity of a thousand suns and his compression shirt seems a bit too stuffy right now. But he doesn't tear his gaze away.

At least not immediately, because once your pretty lashes flutter when you blink, he looks away. To the complete opposite direction of you.

"You've been reading for a while, so I wanted to ask if you want a juice box?" You offer him sweetly and God, he feels like a pervert because he wants your juice box.

Your sweet, tantalizing and snug juice box.

"Please." He damn near breathes out the word, and you nod your head, carrying in a tray with multiple juice boxes, as well as snacks. Sliced fruit in labelled bowls, incase something isn't immediately identifiable, chips, raisins, cookies.

And Jason looks at the juice box you place in his hand.

Pineapple.

He doesn't know if he's being paranoid, but it's a bit on the nose, but he slides the straw into the hole, unable to hide the snicker that tumbles from his lips at the sight.

And you let out a snort. "Perv."

God.

You even laugh the same.

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋❤️་༘🎀˚˖𓍢ִ🌹˚.

When the library empties out, you're left all alone with Jason, golden light streams into the library, although, it's dimmed by the frosted glass windows, and Jason clears his throat.

"Shouldn't you be heading home?" He questions you softly, absentmindedly picking up books that have been scattered across the tables and he sets them back into their places on the shelves. The actions so practiced and familiar, that it leads you to believe he's reading to these kids for far longer than you originally thought.

"I still need to update the system as to which books were taken, so, that'll take a bit." You respond with a sweet hum, clearing out the bowls and empty juice boxes from the tables and wiping them down.

You're methodical.

He likes that.

You've always been methodical. When it came to putting bandaids on his scuffed and knobby knees, when it came to speedily mending his cape before Bruce could find out.

Although looking back on it, Bruce could probably tell.

The lime green thread wasn't too difficult to spot against the shade of his cape, but he just never mentioned it.

"You don't have Valentine's Day plans?" You question him this time, glancing at Jason over your shoulder as you begin to take down the bulk of the worst of the decorations. Mainly the Cupid's. And the origami flowers that dangle from the corners of the room and he shakes his head.

"Not a big fan of Valentine's Day."

"You've never had a good Valentine's Day?" You hum softly, pausing your motions to stare at Jason while he continues to reorganize the shelves, and you get the honour of watching the muscles of his back flex and move with every motion.

"I had like, one." He hums softly. "When I was younger."

"You wanna have another one?"

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋❤️་༘🎀˚˖𓍢ִ🌹˚.

There's something so stupidly romantic about the way the two of you are seated next to each other, a packet of chocolate chip cookies between and conversation flowing like water from a river.

And Jason doesn't know if it's the way the flame of the scented candle reflects in your iris, or if it's the way you thumb away the crumbs from the corner of his mouth or if it's even the way you compliment the colour of his eyes.

But he leans in, impulsive and stupid, but he leans in, his lips ghosting over yours in a sweet peck.

And you stare up at him, eyes wide and brows raised in surprise before a smile spreads across your face. Wide and dimpled, before you place a manicured hand on the side of his face, leaning in and you whisper so softly, just before your lips meet his.

"If it isn't the Boy Wonder."

Jason wastes no time in pulling you into his lap, your thighs pressed against his waist as your hands cradle his face so sweetly, thumbs brushing across his cheekbones as his hands find your waist. Warm, rough palms pressed against the skin of your waist and he pulls you closer.

He doesn't need to say he missed you. He doesn't need to say that you were the only person he wanted to see after the Lazarus pit.

Jason pulls away, pressing soft, sweet kisses along the curve of your jaw, lingering on your erratic pulse and your nails scratch at his scalp, carding through thick, wavy locks. Your head tips back, trying to give him the maximum amount of access to the sensitive flesh as your hips roll needily.

And your lips part to let out a shaky breath, lashes flutter and you whine softly, glossy lips letting out sweet moans that fill his ears, just like that sweet, lingering perfume on your skin fills his nose.

It's all too much.

Too much and not enough.

The way you grind against the bulge in his pants does nothing to sate that burning feeling in the pit of his belly, but the way your thighs press against his waist, as if you're trying to pull him closer.

That.

That does it for him.

It feels like a fucking dream when you hop up on the table, thighs parted and he watches the way your slick forces your pretty panties clinging to your cunt. Outlining the pretty folds and puffy lips, and he groans under his breath, his head moving to rest against the plush flesh of your thigh.

"You're so perfect." He breathes out. "Can I?"

Jason asks you softly, even as his fingers hook around the soaked gusset of your panties, pulling it to the side and clingy gossamers of your slick snap against his fingertips. And he whines when you lift your skirt better, thighs moving to rest on his broad shoulders and his face is nestled between your thighs.

Jason's tongue drags through your slippery folds, wet muscle gathering the stickiness of your slick before he groans at the taste, lunging the glob at the hood of your clit, before he circles the sensitive nub with mastered precision.

He feels the way your pillowy thighs press against his blazing ears, sweet sounds slipping past your lips as your nails scratch at his scalp, fingers massaging his head as your hips lift to meet the curls and flicks of his tongue.

Meaty hands paw at your thighs, and Jason pulls away occasionally, just to press sloppy, wet kisses against your skin, glancing up at you through his lashes as you push his hair out of your face. Right at that snowy tuft, and all the way to the nape of his neck, and Jason could fucking paint the inside of his pants when your nails dig into the flesh of his neck, pulling his face back to your cunt.

"You taste so fucking good..."

One of your hands support your weight on the surface of the table, your head tipped back and hickeys littered across the expanse of your neck and your eyes are half-lidded, moans falling from your lips with the kind of ease that only comes with unbridled and unfiltered lust.

But Jason knows it's not lust.

And if he didn't know it before, he definitely knows it when you pull him away from your cunt, his chin and lips glistening with slick and you lean down, pressing a sweet yet sloppy kiss against his lips.

Before you usher him back below your skirt.

And he sucks at your needy clit, feeling the way your hips buck and twitch, slick coating his lips, his tongue as well as his chin. And thick fingers dig into the fat of your thighs as he laps at whatever trickles from your sloppy hole.

And Jason brings up a hand, pushing your thigh further from his ear, before sliding two fingers into your drooling cunt, feeling the way you spasm around his digits, your belly caving inward and you whine.

"You're so tight..." Jason breathes out, tongue flicking against your overstimulated clit, just as his fingers curl against that spongy spot that makes your eyes flutter shut. "And you're so warm..."

You whine, your body breaking out in goosebumps and you can barely give a warning before you're coming on Jason's fingers, feeling the way he keeps sucking on your clit, coaxing a damn near screaming orgasm from you and your thighs wrap around his head.

And only when you let him up, does he let out panting breaths, before slumping back in his seat, carding his fingers through his hair. And he looks up to you with hazy green eyes.

And you barely wait before you're fiddling with his belt buckle, trying to unzip his charcoal coloured cargo pants, and he lets out a hoarse laugh, before helping you undo the loop and he shifts, just enough to pull his cock out.

And it's so pretty.

Long, thick, beads of precum trickling down that pretty upward curve and pooling just above his cock, flushed red tip weeping and twitching.

And you swallow.

Wrapping a hand around the base of him, and you give Jason a few slow, tentative pumps, watching the way deep breaths escape his lips.

"Ride me." Jason sighs, a soft whimper leaving him. "Please ride me."

Jason whines when your hips meet his, his cock nestled so firmly in your gooey walls, your cunt pulsing around his cock, your arms wrapping around his neck and your face tucked in the crook of his shoulder.

And his hands bracket your hips, fingers kneading the fatty globes of your ass, as his hips tilt upwards, rotund tip pressing against your cervix so sweetly. And he groans, pressing the sweetest kiss against your temple.

And he whines when your hips roll against his.

The air is thick with tension, the scent of cinnamon from that candle that's still casts a pretty gold glow and the smell of his cologne.

Earthy, smoky and so, so intoxicating that it makes your eyes roll back in your head, your nails digging into the back of his neck.

Your hips roll, the plumpness of your ass meeting his thighs in rhythmic movements and Jason's pretty sure the Lazarus pit was bullshit and he's actually dead right now.

Because you're so fucking heavenly.

The sluttiest squelchy sounds ring out from your pretty cunt, and you keep slobbering around his cock, as he bullies your insides so eagerly. Each of his hips move to meet your sloppy movements and Jason's hands massage at your hips.

He savours the way you feel in his hands.

The last time he had you on his lap was exactly 12 days before he died. You had placed the sweetest kiss on his lips, giving him the prettiest little doe eyed gaze.

And you're doing the exact same fucking thing right now.

Bleary eyes staring up at Jason, your lips parting to let out the prettiest, sluttiest little sounds while he fucks up into you. Each ridge and each vein drags against your sloppy walls, and watching the way your brows knit into the cutest little frown.

You look so pretty.

"So fucking pretty..." Jason whines, his face buried in your neck as he moves your hips, harder, faster, meaner but so, so sweetly.

"Shit, can I come inside?" He begs softly. "Please, please, please."

He begs so prettily, his blunt nails leaving indentations in the fat of your ass, his face hidden and you can only murmur a weak 'uh-huh' as you pummels into you so...

Meanly.

Hips snapping vigorously while he keeps cooing, kissing your neck and wrapping his arms around your waist so tightly, he might break one of your ribs. His muscles bulge underneath his already tight shirt, his brows bunch and his hips still.

Jason edges himself just a bit, before whispering.

"No..."

He needs to fulfill his fantasy. He owes it to himself.

"I wanna come on your face."

Taglist:

@lucky-beheaded 🌻

@jasontoddswhitestreak 🌸

@anesthesia-4rizzle 🎀

@allycat4458 🪻

@feral010 ✨

@blckbarbiedoll 🌷

@custardpuddingprincess ⭐

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch 🦄

@theamazkngskye 🍄

@titchx0 🦆

[zuzu-tries-to-write]

Title: Can’t Stand It

Summary: Bakugo keeps seeing you with Todoroki, and it pisses him off more than it should. At first, he doesn’t understand why—until he sees you two getting too close, and the jealousy finally hits him. Unable to hold back, he confronts you, and one heated moment later, he’s got you pinned against the wall, kissing you like he’s been dying to do it all along.

____________________________________________

Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t the type to dwell on things. If something pissed him off, he dealt with it—fast.

But this?

This was different.

It started small. Just a casual glance across the training grounds when he saw you standing next to Todoroki, the two of you talking between drills. Nothing serious. He wasn’t paying attention.

Until it happened again.

And again.

And again.

Every damn time he turned around, you were with that icy bastard, talking, laughing, looking way too damn comfortable. It wasn’t even like he was looking for you—his eyes just found you on their own, like his brain was wired to notice.

At first, he brushed it off. Who cared who you hung out with? It wasn’t his business.

Then he saw Todoroki hand you a bottle of water after training, and something in his chest tightened.

Then he caught you sparring together, Todoroki’s hand on your waist as he corrected your stance, and his jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

Then, worst of all, he saw you sitting next to him during lunch, leaning in close to whisper something, your shoulder pressed against his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That was it.

That was the moment everything clicked—the moment something inside him snapped.

He was jealous.

Not just annoyed, not just irritated—jealous as hell.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, and for the first time in his life, Bakugo didn’t know what to do with himself.

So he did what he always did when his emotions got too loud. He acted.

You barely had time to react before he was storming across the cafeteria, his whole body tense, his expression thunderous. He didn’t stop walking until he was right in front of you and Todoroki, casting a shadow over your little moment.

You blinked up at him, confused. “Bakugo?”

His hands curled into fists. He didn’t trust himself to speak—not yet.

Todoroki glanced at him, unfazed as usual. “Something wrong?”

Bakugo ignored him completely, his gaze locked onto you. “Come with me.”

You raised a brow. “Uh, why?”

“Because I fucking said so.”

He saw the flicker of irritation cross your face, but before you could argue, he grabbed your wrist—not rough, but firm—and pulled you to your feet.

“Bakugo, seriously, what the hell?” you protested, but he wasn’t listening.

He was already dragging you out of the cafeteria, through the empty hallway, until he found a quiet corner, away from everyone else. Only then did he finally stop, releasing your wrist and turning to face you, his expression unreadable.

You huffed, rubbing your wrist. “Okay, are you gonna explain why you just kidnapped me from my lunch, or—”

“Why the hell are you always with Todoroki?” he cut in, voice low and sharp.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

His jaw tightened. “You’re always with him. Talking to him. Laughing with him. Sitting with him.” He exhaled sharply, fists still clenched. “Why?”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “Because we’re friends? And he’s nice? What’s it to you?”

Bakugo grit his teeth. He didn’t have an answer. Or rather, he had one, but he sure as hell didn’t want to say it out loud.

But his silence must have said enough, because your expression shifted, something clicking in your eyes.

“…Wait.” You took a small step closer, your voice slower, more careful. “Are you… jealous?”

His whole body tensed.

Shit.

You stared at him, watching the way his jaw locked, his hands trembled, his entire body practically vibrating with barely restrained emotion. And suddenly, you saw it—really saw it.

The way his eyes had been following you. The way his irritation had been growing. The way he was standing so damn close right now, his breath uneven, his shoulders tense.

He was jealous.

The realization made something flutter in your chest.

A slow smile curled at your lips. “You are.”

Bakugo scowled. “Shut up.”

You stepped even closer, tilting your head up to look at him. “I didn’t know you cared so much.”

“I don’t.” It was a lie, and you both knew it.

You grinned, reaching up to tug lightly at the collar of his uniform. “Then why are you so mad?”

His breath hitched.

And then he snapped.

His hands grabbed your waist, yanking you forward, and before you could react, his lips crashed against yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was desperate, heated, filled with all the frustration and want he had been bottling up for god knows how long.

You gasped against his mouth, but he didn’t let you pull away. His grip was firm, his fingers digging into your waist as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing flush against yours.

You melted into him, your hands sliding up to fist into his shirt, pulling him closer. His lips were rough and hot against yours, moving with a fierce intensity, like he was making up for lost time.

He nipped at your bottom lip, making you let out a soft noise, and that was all it took for him to lose control. His hands slid up your back, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away, his body pressing you against the wall, completely caging you in.

It was overwhelming, intoxicating, everything you didn’t realize you had been waiting for.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath heavy, his grip still firm on your waist.

Your heart was racing, your mind spinning, but you still managed to smirk. “Well. That was unexpected.”

He let out a breathless, irritated laugh. “Shut up.”

You grinned, reaching up to brush your fingers over his jaw. “Make me.”

His eyes darkened, and before you could even blink, he was kissing you again.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Another Heartbeat

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, captivity, elements/suggestions of feederism behaviour, breeding, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You get your valentine's surprise.

Based on responses: Lap sitting, breeding, creampie, plus size reader, being carried

Characters: Steve Rogers

This is #2 of the Valentines Roulette stories

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You wince as the light aches in your eyelids. You stay hidden behind them as you raise your hand shakily. Your lashes wet with tears as you search for the strength to open them. You hunch down and slump further into the corner. 

“Sweetheart,” his deep timbre fills the cramped space. “Hey, are you awake?” 

You sense him come closer. You don’t have the voice to answer him. Are you awake? This feels like another rotten nightmare. 

“Sweetheart?” His shadow dulls the glare shining through the open door. Open... there was a time when all you did was stare through the dark and pray for those hinges to turn. “It’s a special day.” 

He touches your shoulder. You flinch. He curls his hand around your arm and slides you against the wall to sit straight. He catches your head as it bobbles on your neck. 

“You can behave, can’t you?” His thumb brushes your cheekbone and he cooes at your witless murmuring. “I know you can be good for me. You have been.” 

Your eyes are like marbles, threatening to roll back. The days, weeks, months, however long, blend together in blackness. The only light comes through when he slides back that narrow latch and pushes through the tray. A thick bitter smoothie and bland food. Nothing sugary or processed. You eat it or... 

You shudder as your teeth ache at the memory of the metal clamp pushing open against them. The strain of your esophagus and the churning of stomach acid. No, you eat on your own and it keeps him happy. Nice, even. 

“Alright, let’s get you ready, sweetheart,” he slips an arm behind you and another under your knees. He lifts you effortlessly. “Oh, sweetie,” he purrs, “you’re so...” his hand squeezes along your hip. “Soft.” 

The food comes like clockwork. You clear the tray and push it back every time. You feel it engorging you, adding to the cushion around your hips and belly. Even your chest feels bigger. 

He carries you into the light. You turn your head and hide your face against his hard chest. If you open your eyes, they’ll burn out of the sockets. It’s too bright. You cradle your face as all of your trembles. 

“I know, sweetheart, gotta build up your strength,” he coaxes. 

The motion of the world around you adds to the dizzy spin in your head. You lean into him as you feel like you might fall out of his grasp, even as he holds you snug. He finally puts you down. You fold over your lap instantly and he pushes you back up. 

“Work with me,” he pets your hair. 

You tense and quiver as you hold yourself up. You stopped standing up a while back, stopped trying to get any sort of exercise in that space. A cell. The prison he made for you. 

“Alright, we’re going to get you cleaned up.” 

His knuckles brush down your temples and cheek, then along your neck. He follows the silhouette of your body along your shoulders and arms. He gently reaches behind your neck to untie the knot behind it. He peels away the open back linen gown. 

You shiver as your head hangs like a boulder. 

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he says. 

You shudder and ball your hands. You exhale as your eyes singe with the effort. You have to obey or... 

You whimper as you pry your lids open. He cradles your chin and forces your head up. Tears roll out and flow down your face. Everything around you is harsh yet fuzzy. 

“I know, sweetie, gotta adjust,” he stands and lets you go cautiously.  

You quake as you lean back against the cold tank of the toilet. He turns and dims the lights. You let your head sink again and watch the tile. The last time you saw those dainty blue diamonds, there was water splashed all around, your body was thrashing, your voice shrill and dry. 

You jolt as you come back to the present. He lowers you into the tub as hot water laps down from the faucet. The steam rises around you in a cloud as he helps you recline against the porcelain.  

His deep voice rises from his large chest. You stare at his shirt. He sings as he washes you with a cloth, suds foaming round his thick fingers. Your eyes creep up to thick beard along his jaw. His eyes are as bright as gems as they focus on his task. Everything is bright. 

And heavy and rough. Just the cotton is enough to make your skin crawl. After so long in desolation, it’s like sandpaper. His voice is low but rattles your eardrums. The song plucks at your brain but you can’t place the memory. 

What was before? 

“Till the end of time,   Long as stars are in the blue,   long as there’s a spring,   a bird to sing,   I’ll go on loving you.” 

You close your eyes and moan. He clucks. 

“No, don’t go to sleep,” he bids. 

Your eyes snap open. He continues his work. When he’s done, he lifts you out, leaning you against him as he wraps you in a towel. There’s a warm smell wafting from your skin. 

He dries you meticulously and replaces the towel with a robe. He takes you to a new room. He sits you at a table with a framed picture of a woman above it. You blink as he moves beside the woman. It’s not a picture. It’s a mirror. 

Is that really you? 

He moves behind you and tugs at your hair. He pauses to check something as he arranges it. Some sort of instruction? Then he shifts you to face him. He uses pencils and brushes on you; tugging at your eyelids and spinning a wand against your lashes. 

He puts you to face the mirror again. You look shinier. You? That’s you? 

He dresses you in red. A plush cloud of fabric in light layers, with roses on the bodice, a short robe with puffed sleeves. He guides you before a bigger mirror. Tall. He stands behind you as he makes you look. 

“You’re gorgeous, sweetheart,” he drags his hands up and down your sides. “You ready for your surprise?” 

You mouth the words. You don’t think you can speak. He smiles and sits you on the cushioned stool again. 

“I almost forgot about me.” 

He leaves you and opens the closet. You watch his back. He’s so big. Tall, broad shoulders, thick hands. 

Your eyes list to the door. You can’t stand without him. You press your soles to the floor and your calves shake. No, you won’t get very far. 

“I can hear your excitement,” he turns with hangers hooked over a finger and taps on his chest with the other. “Sweetheart, you’re going to love it.” 

He goes behind a folding screen painted with golden feathers. You can see his head above it as he changes. He emerges, knotting a patterned silk tie over his crisp white shirt. The jacket is a pale shade of grey that somehow makes his eyes bluer. 

He nears and bends to check himself in the mirror. He combs his long hair back. His thick strands and beard don’t match the formality of his attire. 

“Come on, sweetheart.” 

He stands straight and bends his arm. You stare at it before your head clicks. He helps you stand and loops your arm through his. He walks you into the hallway. Your legs wobble dangerously. 

He stops you before a closed door. There’s a small wooden sign hung on it that shows a stork. You frown. You wonder what it means. You waver as you expect him to put you back into the dark. You step back on your heel and whimper. 

“Sweetie, you’re being good. You can stay out.” 

He turns the crystal door knob. Something about the decor feels so... out of time. He pushes the door inward and unhooks his arm from yours. He guides you by your shoulders into the room, staying behind you. 

The first thing you see are balloons. Big round balloons with pink ribbons and bows attached to them. The latex shines in shades of rose, blush, and ivory. They’re tied to the furniture that fills the room. 

The walls are painted in shades of pastel, one is a forest scene with critters and birds behind branches and stones. There’s a dresser and a table with a pad on top. A chair and a matching ottoman, a rug that looks softer than a cloud, and at the center of it all, a crib. Above hangs a mobile with stars and moon. 

“Happy Valentine's, sweetheart, you’ve been so good,” he praises as he trails his touch down your arm and takes your hand. He draws you around the room. “You like it?” 

Your stomach stirs uneasily. You nod despite the violent tide inside you. This isn’t right. What is this? 

“I knew you would. And you can help finish it. The little things. You know, I don’t have a good eye for the details,” he turns you to take it all in. The windows. There’s no sunlight coming in. Are they even real windows? They are just frames nailed to a wall. 

“Come on,” he brings you to the chair and he sits. He tugs you by the hand. You nearly collapse. “Right here.” 

He pats his thigh. You turn and he helps you sit. He pulls you against him to recline as the back lowers with his lean. He extends his legs onto the ottoman, yours with them. 

He sighs as you lay atop him. He traces the length of your arms then feels along your torso, squeezing the padding along your stomach and chest. You squirm uncomfortably. 

“You been eating good. Drinking your smoothies. Getting your vitamins,” he says. “I can see how good you’ve been.” 

His hands stop on your thighs. He rubs the fabric then slowly drags it up with his fingers, crumpling it high above your naked legs. He tickles you and you wince as he kneads you more firmly. 

His hand trails beneath the bunched skirt and he pets long your curly patch of hair. You hold your breath and tense. He pushes his fingertip between your folds and your voice trickles out in a squeak. 

He rubs you as your insides squirm. You shift and he spreads his other hand across your stomach to still you. You slicken beneath his teasing touch. Your legs fall apart as he pushes his hand further back. 

He exhales over you and drags his hand around your thigh. He slides it under you and his knuckles press into you as he plucks at his pants. He pushes his fly open as you wriggle against him. He shifts you up his body as his other hand dips down to your pelvis. 

He angles you down as he guides his tip long your cunt. You arch your back as he wet himself with your juices. He delves into you slowly and you latch onto his wrist. You convulse as he gets deeper and deeper. 

He rolls his hip, gliding out and back in. You clench around him and measure your breath around the tension in your muscles. He pushes in and you whine. He keeps a slow, even tempo as he stretches a finger down to toy with your clit. 

“I was reading a lot. They say it’s better when you cum. To make sure it takes.” 

His words confuse you. You can barely think as he makes his long thrusts. You brace the armrest as he unravels you tilt by tilt. 

He swirls his fingers as a fiery cluster blooms in your core. You push your feet down around his, digging into the cushion of the ottoman. You strain and writhe as your voice breaks through the brittleness of your throat. You twitch as the heat within unfurls into icy tendrils. 

He hums as he urges you through but doesn’t let up. He pumps into faster as his fingers keep their tempo. The layers of clothes build a fire between you, raising a sheet of sweat over your skin. He groans as he fucks you from below. 

His feet slip from the ottoman as it slides beyond his height. He plants his soles on the floor, rutting up into you as your legs splay wide. Your body bounces helplessly and you cling to the chair and moan, drowning in the shallowness of your breath. 

“I can feel how ready you are, sweetheart,” he grits through his teeth. His hand roves up to your chest and he squeezes, your nipple throbbing tenderly. “You’re going to be a good mommy.” 

You shudder and gasp, your ribs wracking in dread. He groans and fucks you harder, puffing over your hair. 

“Sweetie, are you ready? Tell me you’re ready? You gonna make me a daddy?” 

You gulp and cough, head lolling as you cling onto his arm. He hammers into you harder and harder. 

“Tell me,” he snarls. 

“Y-y-yesssss,” you rasp from your tortured through. 

He grunts and spasms, a warmth flooding inside you as his pace turns wild. You close your eyes and they sting with another swell of tears. The painted walls, the glowing the balloons, it’s all so much worse than that black cell. 

[csuzlipofa]

Secret Admirer

Daniela x Fem!reader

Synopsis: Valentine’s Day wasn’t your favorite day, but will it change when you get a note in your locker from a certain someone?

fluff, high school AU, mutual pining, friends to lovers, soft romance

Warnings: -

The hallways of your school were decorated in pink and red, heart-shaped balloons tied to lockers, and handmade Valentine’s cards pinned to bulletin boards. Students rushed past you, exchanging chocolates and gifts, giggling as they confessed to their crushes.

Valentine’s Day was always a big deal at your school. But for you? It was just another day. You weren’t expecting anything special—especially not from the one person you secretly liked: Daniela.

Daniela was effortlessly cool, with her leather jacket slung over her shoulders and that signature smirk playing on her lips. She was one of the most popular girls at school, but she never let it get to her head. Despite her sharp, confident aura, there was something about her that felt… warm. Maybe it was the way she always ruffled Yoonchae’s hair or how she teased Manon but always made sure to compliment her right after. Or maybe it was the way she smiled at you when she caught you staring a little too long in class.

You sighed, adjusting your books as you made your way to your locker. The halls were buzzing with excitement, but you ignored it. Valentine’s Day wasn’t for you—

Until you saw it.

A small, heart-shaped box of chocolates sitting inside your locker. Attached to it was a simple note:

“Meet me behind the gym after class. Don’t make me wait. –Your Secret Admirer”

Your heart skipped a beat. A secret admirer? You turned the note over, but there was nothing else. Who could have left this?

“Someone looks flustered,” a voice teased.

You spun around to see Sophia, Megan, and Manon standing nearby, smirking knowingly. Lara and Yoonchae joined them a second later, both carrying their own Valentine’s gifts.

“I—It’s nothing,” you stammered, stuffing the note into your pocket.

“Oh, come on,” Manon nudged you. “Someone clearly has a crush on you. Spill!”

Before you could protest, Lara leaned over to glance at the chocolates. “That’s a fancy brand,” she mused. “Whoever got these for you has taste.”

Yoonchae grinned. “Ooooh, maybe it’s someone we know?”

Megan crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “You should go. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Sophia smirked. “Or are you scared?”

You glared at her, then exhaled. Fine. If your friends were this curious, there was no way you were backing out.

The final bell rang, and you found yourself walking toward the gym, heart pounding. The late afternoon sun cast golden light across the empty school grounds, and as you turned the corner, you saw someone leaning against the wall, hands in their pockets.

Daniela.

Your breath caught. She looked effortlessly cool as always, but when she saw you, something in her expression softened.

“You actually came,” she said, a smirk tugging at her lips.

You blinked. “You…?”

She shrugged, stepping closer. “Yeah. Took me a while to work up the courage, but…” She pulled a single red rose from behind her back, twirling it between her fingers. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

You stared at her, heat rising to your cheeks. Daniela? Your secret admirer?

“I—why didn’t you just tell me?” you asked, taking the rose hesitantly.

She chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Because I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes.” She exhaled, finally meeting your gaze. “But I like you. A lot. And I was kinda hoping you’d like me too.”

Your heart raced. You couldn’t believe this was happening. Daniela—cool, confident Daniela—was confessing to you.

A small smile played on your lips as you held the rose close. “Well… I do.”

For the first time, Daniela looked relieved. “Good,” she said, grinning. “Because I was really hoping I wouldn’t embarrass myself.”

You laughed softly. “I think you did okay.”

She smirked. “Only okay?”

Before you could answer, you heard giggling from behind a nearby pillar.

“See? I told you it was her!” Manon whispered excitedly.

“Shhh, they’ll hear us,” Yoonchae hushed.

Daniela rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness in her expression. “You guys are the worst.”

Lara peeked out. “We just wanted to see if you’d actually do it.”

Megan gave you a thumbs-up. “Nice choice.”

Sophia simply smirked. “About time.”

You groaned, but Daniela just laughed, shaking her head. “Come on,” she said, taking your hand in hers. “Let’s get out of here before they start making bets on our first date.”

Your heart skipped a beat as your fingers intertwined with hers. Maybe Valentine’s Day wasn’t so bad after all.

[ghoularaki]

hi pixie !! could i have sukuna in the lady's room for the event? <3 thank u so very much 💐

NOW ENTERING HEART'S DESIRE MOTEL

cw: semi-public sex, fingering, bratting, biting, strength kink

You grinned to yourself as you waited in vanity part of the lady’s room. Sitting in the comfy, pink chair, you looked at the door through the mirror. Adjusting your lipstick, you didn’t even flinch when Sukuna burst into the room.

His nostrils flared seeing you sitting there with a coy simper on your rouge lips.

“You happy with yourself?” His rough voice called to you as he stomped over.

Standing over you, he clutched your neck so your head rested on his hard stomach. With his pointer finger, he tilted your gaze up to his so he loomed over you.

Despite his obvious power play, you smirk, “Quite.”

He squeezed the sides of your throat, pleasantly making your vision blur. “You’re gonna regret teasing me, brat.”

Before running of to the bathroom, you had foregone your panties in the bar. While Sukuna was distracted, you slipped said panties into his hand and run away. Starting a game of cat and mouse you both loved.

As Sukuna was about to bend you over the counter, the door started to creak open. With such ease, Sukuna lifted you up and rounded the corner away from the person joining you. Swinging the nearest stall open, he pushed you inside, him not too far behind.

Locking you two inside, he crowded you against the wall. He slapped a hand over you mouth when you were about to question what he was doing. Smirking down at you, fangs exposed, his free hand slipped under your skirt.

You bit his palm to get him to release you, but your teeth in his skin only fueled him. Kicking your feet apart, his rough fingers twiddled your clit. You clenched your eyes as he played with you.

Bowing his back, he whispered right in your ear, “Regretting it already?”

Blinking your lids open, you glared up at him, not ready to back down. Sukuna softly chuckled and slipped down to split your cunt open with his thick fingers. Knowing you can take it, he plunged three fingers in. He needed prepared enough.

Your eyes crossed as he abused the spot deep in you. Slick clicking could be heard in the stall. You only hoped the other person didn’t hear.

Sukuna shifted his hold so his thumb could press against your clit. He rubbed the bud over and over as his digits punched inside you. Biting down on the meat of his palm to stifle your noises, your legs trembled. You sagged against him, his fingers hit deeper as he used his arm to both hold you up and fuck into you. Clutching his arms, you rid out the wave as your peak almost crashed down.

You could taste it. But Sukuna being the sadist he is, he ripped his fingers from your sopping cunt. Frantic and desperate, you whined into his hand and dug your fingernails into his skin.

He nipped your shoulder like a mother cat does its misbehaving kitten, “Patience, you princess.”

The hand that was deep on you, hooked your leg in the crook of his elbow. Pulling away from your mouth, he used his hand to undo his pants. From under his black boxers, his cock sprung free. It was long and hard with its tip an angry red. Taking his weeping cock, he tapped your clit with it. You jumped and covered your own mouth. Dragging the head up and down your slit, he gathered as much slick as he could.

Staring down at you, he waited for your go ahead. When you nodded your head, he pushed his cock in. Your lids fluttered as he cock popped inside, stretching you almost too wide. Impatient, Sukuna bullied all the way in without waiting for you to adjust to his girth.

You dug your fingers deeper into your cheeks to try and snuff your moans. Going at a hard pace, Sukuna fucked into you like you were a toy. Though when your back slammed against the wall, you both stopped.

“Are you okay?” A feminine voice called.

You cursed under your breath. Slipping your hands of your face, you responded with a shaky voice, “Yeah, just hit my elbow against the wall.”

“Oh… okay,” The woman responded, suspicious.

“Hold onto me,” Sukuna whispered to you.

“Huh?”

“Just do it.”

Not questioning him, you wrapped your arms around his neck. Satisfied with your hold, his other arm grabbed your dangling leg and put it in the crook of his elbow. With ease, he lifted you completely over the ground, his cock still deep in you. At the new angle, he hit your g-spot perfectly.

Scared to let him go, you bit the fabric of his dress skirt to quiet your whines. Sukuna using his strength alone, forced you up and down on his cock. Lifting you up, he then dropped you down as he thrust upwards. He repeated this over and over.

Sukuna bounced you on his cock and the only thing you could do is hold on. You sucked on the fabric, scared of being loud. With each bounce, his happy trail rubbed against your clit. You weren’t going to last long and it seemed neither would Sukuna.

Rushing water masked the squelching coming from your stall. Sukuna’s chest heaved as he tried not to groan with you. The door then shut with a thud. Not caring if it meant the person actually left or not, Sukuna fucked your hard while grunting in your ear.

“Come for me, you can do it, my brat.”

His silken words did you in. Abandoning skirt, you bit his chest instead as you came with a drawn out moan. Sukuna followed you with a couple hard thrusts. You cried out at his hot cum filling you.

Sukuna didn’t let you down as you shivered and clutched on him. He rocked back and forth to sooth you.

“Is this what you wanted?”

Smiling into his sweaty flesh, you nodded, “And more.”

[spvcekittie]

hey i would like to make a request but i couldn't find your rules so if you don't feel comfortable with it you can ignore this.

jinx x reader where the reader is jinx's girlfriend but they are at odds and haven't spoken in a few days and the reader goes to a nightclub and dances sensually just to piss jinx off and make her jealous so she roughly fucks the reader as punishment and they end up reconciling in the end

wc. 2.9k

warnings. doomed yuri, toxic jinx, toxic relationships, honestly everyone is mean in this, implied drinking, fingering, brief mention of death, ooc (especially lux), lux is jinxs’ ex, modern au, implied cheating

( divider creds: @cafekitsune )

the morning beams through the drawn curtains, doing little to protect you from the hot rays of sun. you accept defeat after a few tosses and turns, sitting up and wiping the sleep out of your eyes. it’d been days now, days since you’d stormed out of her apartment.

her lack of communication had been the last tick in your ticking time bomb that day, and you were just about ready to explode when she’d gotten all jelly at you dancing up a storm with your friend. her slim face shivered with anger, and she seethed through clenched teeth — when you asked her what was bothering her, hand on her thigh, she’d just turned away pouting.

jinx always had trouble with being dismissive, you know this. you’ve known about her past issues with relationships (not romantic!), but that’d never warranted her treating you like this.

sometimes she even uses the excuse that it’s her first relationship, ‘i don’t know how the fuck you want me to improve when this is my first time, and you’re on my ass about being better 24/7!’ or whatever she said.

something about giving her a break, too.

so that’s what you did.

drunken curses, middle fingers and slamming doors later and you’re stumbling down the street. it was easy to find where you were going when you were so honed in on her. like a moth to a flame, you arrive at lux’s house — she says about 3-3:30 in the morning, the blank stare she gave you with the information proof enough she didn’t appreciate it in the slightest.

your best friend had opened the door, groggy from sleep with hair sticking up on one side, coated in sweat. all you can think about is the sleep she must’ve had while you were busting your ass off arguing with jinx.

you turn to face the time on the clock, and—

BANG!

“it’s 5 in the evening, you know that?” she stands by the door, hand placed on her hip like a scolding mother would to their child. she shakes her head, silky light hair slipping over her shoulders.

“yeah, yeah..” you sigh, letting yourself flop back on the bed.

“don’t yeah yeah me,” she hisses, swinging off the door frame to saunter over to the closet in the corner of the room. “we’re going out tonight. but i’m starting to reconsider if you’re going out looking like that.”

you hear the smile behind her voice, and you scoff out a laugh, rolling your eyes up to the popcorn ceiling that groans under the forces of the wind outside.

speaking of — you sit up just enough to get a good look at her, brows furrowing at her outfit of choice.

“going out where? going out in the freezing cold where it’s reaching ridiculous wind speeds?” you eye the white dress she adorns, the glitter bouncing off the furniture and reflecting tiny sparkles, like stars on the yellow walls.

she narrows her eyes at you inquisitively.

“to that one place. y’know the one downtown everyone’s buzzing about. durr.” she states it like it’s obvious what she’s talking about, crossing the room with a pep in her step.

“you act like i should know what you’re talking about.” you call out to her. your limbs ache, every inch of your body feels like you’re on fire, fingertips sizzling as you grasp the covers to pull them back.

“then get to know!” she counters, poking her head around the corner. “please get yourself ready, because i know how you are when you leave shit to the last minute.”

poking your tongue from between your lips, you gesture her away with a swat of your hand, like a lingering fly. she obliges, shutting the door behind her and you find yourself alone once again — too alone.

the silence feels deafening, and all you can think about is jinx, how she’d fill that void right up. when you reach for your phone you’re half expecting to see her notification pop up, on any account really.

but nothing.

those random pictures she sends you throughout the day? none. not even a text.

the last message sent was that night, it was you giving the final text that simply read ‘fuck you’. the two ticks beside the text tells you she read it.

a pang of embarrassment washes over you. that was corny as fuck.

you wonder what went through her head when she saw that. did it make her upset? did it make her happy? was she glad to have to not worry about you anymore?

you’ve thought about texting her, truthfully you’ve thought about it more than you probably should.

fuck, you need a night to yourself.

if a night to yourself means going out with your ex’s ex to a nightclub, you’re screwed.

which is where you find yourself now, sat at a table with a group of lux’s other friends. you don’t know these people, and you feel weird barging into their space. thankfully, they’re welcoming enough — as welcoming as shoving half empty cups in your hands can get.

with the designated job of being the bartender for the night, you don’t do much other than just sit around. you feel lifeless, like a robot programmed to respond only when spoken to — which wasn’t often as they’d typically look right through you in a conversation.

lux would give you soft glances every so often, asking if you’re okay, but you can tell she’s caught up in the rush of being with friends.

that’s okay.

this was suppose to be a night to yourself anyway, you tell yourself as you wander seamlessly over to the bar. you could indulge in a drink or two — you need it.

you were just about to order yourself a drink before lux came rushing over, hands clasping your shoulders and shaking you there. you balk, eyes wide at the sudden whiplash.

“you have no idea who i just saw!” she cries, laughing between laboured breaths. you eye her curiously.

she must be talking about an old friend from school or something, or maybe one of her old hook ups she’d forgotten the name of. typical lux.

“uhh, no, i don’t.” you cock your head before she’s reaching out to pinch your cheeks between her head, snapping your head to the right to see—

oh, fuck.

“of course she’s here.” you spit, now feeling yourself growing riled up. your fingertips buzz, and you feel all the emotions you’d felt from that argument simmer back up. you feel hot.

she looks how she usually does; hardened at the edges. her heavy boots sit idly against the table in front of her, ringed fingers curled over whatever blue concoction she’s drinking. she’s rocking her usual hard rock wardrobe, leather studded jacket slung lazily over her shoulders that rise and fall steadily as she takes in the stuffy environment.

“right?” lux whispers back, like jinx could hear her from across the busy room. “imagine she followed you, like some creepy stalker!”

she jeers, wiggling her fingers teasingly over your shoulder till you cringe away, swatting at her hand. you feel yourself shrink when jinx’s eyes pass yours. time seems to slow, and you swear you feel your heart drop into your stomach. she doesn’t seem too pleased to see you, top lip quirking up into a grimace when her blue eyes flit to lux sitting perplexed by your side.

she looks like she’d drop kick you in an instant if she reached you, and that thought alone is enough to give you an ego boost.

you bite back the smirk that threatens to part your lips, and you glance over at lux, turning between the two of you. jinx seems to have lost interest at this point, shaking her head and turning to take a sip from her miscellaneous drink.

fuck it.

“let’s dance,” you swoon, snatching lux’s hand into your own. she seems starstruck, gazing at you through a filter jinx no longer seems to view you through.

you’re typically way too nervous to be doing this, let alone dancing by yourself. you move against lux with a lack of confidence — truthfully it’s her doing all the moving; hands guiding your body against hers, sliding down to your hips when you bump closer, giggling like two schoolgirls over a collective crush.

you’re clumsy on your feet, always have been. it’s always been jinx to guide your dancing, ‘step on my feet’ she would giggle, holding your hand to her chest like something sacred.

it’s when lux presses closer, hand coming up to grasp for your jaw that you realise what you’re doing.

you near gag in her face, cringing away and shoving her with more force than you would’ve liked.

“wha—!” she gasps, arms open like you’d just offended her and the generations before her. “hey, what did i do?”

you hear her from over your shoulder as you rush out — out and more importantly away from everyone. you weave through the crowd, shoving past ignorant people when necessary and apologising when you should.

the bathrooms.

‘no one goes in there’ you tell yourself as you round the corner, nudging the door open with your shoulder. out of everywhere to be at a club, surely peoples options don’t narrow down to the bathrooms in the back, no?

you’re pretty fucking wrong. terribly wrong.

your hand flies up to your mouth instinctively at the smell radiating from the bathrooms and the sight of her, hunched over the sink. her knuckles are white with strain, pressed against the countertop where her bag sits against the wall.

she looks rough.

her eyes meet yours through the mirror, lips curling up in a half grimace — half smirk.

“i saw you.” her voice is raspy and broken, carrying the weight of all her emotions.

“i should hope so,” you shoot back, letting yourself slump against the wall, arms crossed over your chest. you feel exposed now, more than in that room full of strangers you don’t know.

yet you still feel at ease, somewhat.

jinx clicks her tongue, licking over her teeth before turning to lounge against the sink, body now turned to yours.

“you’re hard to miss dancing up her like that.” you can taste the bile that spits from her mouth with those words, and you outwardly flinch, nodding away like you understand her point.

because you do.

why were you dancing up her ex like you didn’t have a girlfriend waiting at home for you? sure, a negligent one but still a girlfriend. you’re no better than her for what you did.

you’re not sure if its the twenty odd cups of coke you had (stomach issues) or the stuffy air that seems to clog your lungs — but you feel the bile rise in your own mouth. you want to scream, you want to cry.

you want to hold her, tell her how sorry you are. you want to feel her on you, you want to hit her, scream in her face for how she’d made you felt.

“i miss you,” you tremble. your voice is small, just enough to be heard by the two of you and the two of you alone. “i really miss you.”

you don’t meet her eyes, gaze drawn to the mismatched tiling on the floor by your feet. you kick at the grime gathering there, finding particular interest in a small stone amongst the sound of her breathing and your own heartbeat in your ears. you could die right now.

“prove it.” her voice, low and raspy, cracks through the otherwise monotonous space. the air shifts, and you finally peer up behind your lashes to meet her gaze.

she’s got a sultry look about her, studs on her leather jacket glinting under the mustard yellow of the buzzing light from above. it bathes her in the ugliest colour, yet she’s still the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

you miss her.

you miss her, you tell yourself as you take a shaky step off of the wall.

you miss her, you justify as you crash into her body, arms slung around her shoulders as she smashes her lips to yours.

the slide of her hot mouth against yours is wet and sloppy, everything you’ve ever known with jinx. it feels comforting, like a bandaid soothed over a blister that’d been bugging you for days. her kisses have always been sloppy, but never like this. she seems to drown you, drown you in her love as she guides you against the sink, turning to cage you against it instead.

“i missed you,” you whisper between soft flicks of her tongue, taking it between your lips to suckle gently. she lets out a shaky sigh, slicking her bangs back with a trembling hand to reveal her sweaty forehead. she lets out a breathless snicker, brows drawing at the revelation like it’d hurt her.

her hands slide lower, lower till they find your hips, they roll forward to meet yours, rutting awkwardly, denim against your panties from where she’d hiked up your skirt.

you feel high, higher than you’d ever felt, higher than any drug could make you feel. a hand comes up to weave through your hair, the other leaving your hip to cup at the gap between the two of you. you jolt in her grasp, gasping out into her purple lips as she twists her head further into yours.

“i’ll take care of you,” she promises between sharp smacks of her lips, fingers drawing up and down your slit.

your legs tremble, ankles locking over the small of her back to bring her impossibly closer. you want to feel your nerves connect, you want to feel what she feels; know what makes her sad, happy, angry. you want to know what she enjoys and what she hates — you want to feel her on you.

“i want—“ your bottom lip wobbles, sucking in between your teeth when she teases at your entrance with a finger, now wrist deep in your underwear. “i want to feel you,”

something prods.

“you feel me yet?” she jeers with a sultry grin, watching as your eyes squeeze shut at the sudden invasion. you’re soaked enough to where it isn’t painful, but the stretch of her fingers is certainly something that always takes you by surprise.

your legs tremble at every thrust of her long fingers. they massage your walls in all the right ways, stroking down as they hit just that right spot — the one that gets you worked up and sweaty against her. your stale breaths ping pong between the two of you, and you’d find it disgusting how close you were had it been anyone else.

it will never be anyone else.

there’s only room for jinx— jinx jinx jinx jinx.

she’s all you can think of as you moan like some cheap whore, legs curling impossibly further, nudging her further and further into your space. her usually pale face is a hot pink, sweat dribbling down the side of her head in exertion. her fingers are coated in your slick, engulfed by your hot cunt that soaks up any ounce of dignity she swore she had left.

“you’re not seeing her again,” jinx grits her teeth, brows coming down over her eyes like the thought alone pushes her to the edge. “not after this.”

you nod, saying something instinctively under your breath in response to her nonsense babbling. she places a particularly harsh thrust that has your back straightening at attention, and her thumb meets your swollen clit.

“you hear me?” she pokes. “i’m all you need, you don’t need anything else. especially from some common whore like lux — what were you thinking?”

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, bringing a trembling hand up to cup her face. she meets your lips with her own with equal fervour, fingers pumping at an unstable pace. you feel that pit in your stomach coiling tighter and tighter, matching the rhythm of her thumb on your clit.

“ohhh, you’re sorry now?” she snickers, breaking from the kiss abruptly. her voice alone could get you off. “if you’re so sorry you’d come for me, wouldn’t you?”

“i want it—“ you gasp, meeting her hand with a sharp buck of your hips. you feel disgusting getting off in the club bathrooms, and it’s now that you’re on the brink of an orgasm you become hyper-aware of the space you’re in.

the blaring music thumping the walls, the dingy, musky smell coming from the bathrooms, the busted light trilling above the two of you. the indistinct chatter of other people outside.

you could get caught.

the thought does wonders, and your back arches, frame twitching further onto her fingers as you finally unravel. jinx lets out a sharp snicker, biting on her bottom lip as your nails dig into her back, cheek mushing into the leather on her shoulder. you sound like a straight up pornstar, something you should be ashamed of.

that would be if it wasn’t for her.

“i want you,” you finally conclude, legs dropping to her sides. your breath heaves, chest rising and falling at an uneven pace.

you wonder where lux is right now, if she’s looking for you — if anyone is looking for you, really. you doubt the sentiment. it doesn’t matter after all, all you need is jinx.

she withdraws her hand from your panties, fingers glistening with your slick, before she brings it to her mouth to engulf them between her lips. she closes her eyes, like blissed out on the taste before slowly withdrawing them, letting them release with a pop for emphasis.

“you’ve got me.”

A.N sorry this is bad, i’ve been pretty demotivated but i just rlly wanted to get this out. hehe doomed yuri

[st4rwritez]

Media class

Nika muhl x reader

Synopsis: when you and your girlfriend nika break up during the summer it is a sticky situation, but after what seemed like a long summer break the sophomore found a way to win you back over, even if it was not in the most happy way.

Warnings: none!! (Meybe bad spelling 🫡)

~*•. St4rwritez .•*~

2 months. 2 months on the dot since nika got up and left. The grief of it sat heavy in your chest like a lingering sickness ready to take over any minute.

2 months since you fought roughly through words, where by the end of it you had only thought the bluntness of it would last only the last bit of summer.

But here you were standing in the same room as her, breathing the same air as her, in the very class you met in at the beginning of freshman year.

A part of you believed that she just would not show up to the class but the other half fully knew that she would, so you sat there, 20 minutes before class even started and waited nervously, tapping your foot against the soft gray carpets in your media class.

You tried to lose yourself in your work like usual, but to no avail the only thought that would cross your mind was when or if nika would walk through those doors.

and before you could think of another thought she did, her hair pushed back into a tight ponytail, she was in her usual sports wear, as I'm sure she has practice right after this, and was as always, glowing.

it almost surprised you how normal she looked to you, it's like none of your fighting had ever happened. Like she was just another one of your classmates.

As you stared at her, almost forgetting about the tension and argument between the two of you she caught you staring at the monotone look on her face turning into a smirk and a slight head shake from her.

you turned your face back down to your work, your face turning a cool shade of red out of embarrassment. not giving the girl anymore attention was now your top concern.

The class was half empty, considering the class did not start for another 10 minutes, yet out of the corner of your eye, there was nika walking up the stairs, her hair swaying with her.

In those 30 seconds of her walking up those stairs you could never pray more that she would not sit next to you.

And there she sat, placing her bag down in front of her feet as she settled herself in her chair.

you set your pencil down, your jaw clenching and your teeth grinding, you sighed a sigh of anger, hoping she would get the memo.

surprise! She didn’t.

”Someone is nervous huh?” She said staring you dead in the eyes.

you hated when she did that. You felt your teeth grind more, as your professor walked in unnoticed to you. It felt like a stab to the heart talking to her. Why was she doing this?

“Nika, I'm not gonna play your games right now.” You said as you opened up your laptop.

Before you could fully open your laptop she slapped it down onto your hand causing you to stand up straight in your chair.

“What the fuck is your problem?? Seriously?” You said clenching your fists staring down at her.

This was the first time you felt bigger than her, ever. It felt good but the look on her face made that wash away quickly. Her face had a sad, surprised look that made you want to be little over her again.

your mouth stood agape as your professor yelled at you for your out loud out break.

”Y/N if you are going to act like that in my lecture you can go into the hall or leave” he said.

and with that one comment you picked up your things and darted for the hallway, Nikas sad face being what replayed in your mind as you cooled down staring at the wall in front of you.

before you could notice it, tears flooded down you face like a waterfall. You knew it was bound to happen, and yet you did not fight it. The situation you were in with her was shitty and some things should have not been said. So yes you cried, and cried, and cried the tears that you had been saving in that flooded heart of yours.

suddenly a set of arm slid around your waist from behind. It was slow, as if they were asking for permission to touch you. And you knew who it was immediately. Tho you did not fight it this time, instead you let out a soft sob before she turned you to face her.

her eyes scanned your face, guilt washing over it. You buried your face into her neck as your tears slowed, she ran her fingers through your hair delicately like she would after a long night or another pointless fight. You stayed like this for a while, comfortable.

“Im.. im sorry i wasn’t sure how to talk to you.. and i guess i tried to play it off as if nothing ever happened” she took a deep breath her hand reaching your face to wipe away your tears.

You saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. The first time you had seen any remorse over your constant fighting and nagging from her, it made you feel like she cared again, like she wanted this again.

”uhm” she cleared her throat “i guess what i'm trying to say is.. that i want us back. I want to start new, and I know it's hard because it's been so long, but I cannot do this anymore.”

you felt like time had stopped, you did not know what to say, you let another tear fall as you looked at her searching for an answer or something to say back.

“I understand if it’s too much right now” she said, her voice cracking softly as she said it.

”nika, it's been hard for me too. And if we do try this again, I wanna do it right this time. So if we could talk about it over a date and start slow a million times, yes.” You said finally.

her face lit up instantly before the innocent sophomore started her ramble “I promise you i will try so hard for this. I won’t let it go down the path it did before. Does frankies sound like a good dinner spot??”

to answer her questions you grabbed her face and placed a kiss on her lips before walking back to the classroom door.

She stood there looking back at you, her face red, and her lipgloss slightly messed up.

”it’s a yes muhl” you said winking before walking into the classroom once again.

[littlelamy]

hiii i have a reqq ^w^, can pretty please do something where reader hallucinates a bit and rafe finds them in the midst of it? like reader is full on having a conversation with the wall… it’d mean a lot since i struggle with hallucinating a bit tytyty p.s. i love your style of writing <33

lamy's note: hi angel <3 thank you for trusting me with this, i hope you like it!

there’s something about the way the air hums that makes your teeth ache. the walls shift, slow, thick like molasses, stretching and curling at the corners, whispering little secrets meant only for you. they know your name, you think. they know everything.

“i told you not to do that,” you say, lips barely moving. the wall ripples, shudders. or maybe that’s just your vision tilting, the floor tilting. your hands are on your lap, fingers twitching against the fabric of your jeans. someone’s sitting across from you, knees pulled up to their chest, but when you blink, it’s just the old dresser, its drawers slightly ajar like a mouth caught mid-sentence.

“yeah, yeah,” you murmur, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. “i get it. but you can’t just—” a breath, heavy, weighted. “you can’t just leave me here.”

there’s no answer. the walls breathe. you’re so tired. you don’t remember the last time you closed your eyes. you don’t remember the last time you slept without dreaming.

then, the floor creaks. different this time. heavier. real.

“jesus—what the fuck?” rafe’s voice, sharp at the edges. not the way it usually is when he’s pissed, no, this is different. this is something like worry, something like fear, though he’ll never admit it. he steps into the room, into your space, crouches down in front of you. “who the hell are you talking to?”

“them,” you whisper, glancing at the dresser, the walls, the space between your knees where the shadows stretch long and thin. “they were just here.”

rafe exhales, runs a hand through his hair. he looks at you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces. like maybe if he stares hard enough, he’ll figure it out. he won’t. you don’t even know what’s real half the time.

“okay,” he says finally, voice lower now, softer. “okay. just—come here, alright?” he reaches for you, hesitant, like you might disappear if he moves too fast. his fingers graze your wrist, solid and warm, an anchor against the pull of whatever’s creeping into the corners of your mind. “just look at me.”

so you do. his face is clearer than the rest of the room, steadier. the walls murmur, but he drowns them out. you let him.

“you’re alright,” he tells you, like it’s a fact. like it’s something unshakable. “i got you.”

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx @drewsephrry

[devixxish]

Synopsis: A dive into Gojo's mentality after your inevitable break up. Can be read as a follow up to this.

Word Count: 1,101

Tags: angst, emotional distress, self blame, basically he's going thru it after y'alls breakup.

A/N: while taking a break from working on main pieces, I came up with this lil sumn. Enjoy? <33

It was quiet. Way too quiet. The kind of quiet that made his own breathing sound too loud, made the walls feel like they were closing in on him. Suffocating. Yet his apartment felt too big without you in it. Too still.

He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. His fingers twitched, restless. Like they were searching, yearning for something to hold onto. But there was nothing. There hadn't been anything for a while now, and it was all his own fault.

The lamp in the corner buzzed faintly, lighting the room in a dull, yellow glow. It didn't quite reach the far corners. It barely reached the shadows creeping in from the hallway, long and unmoving. The air was cold and stale, heavy with the scent of something old, but not really. Something faint, something familiar. Your perfume still clung to the fabric of his bedsheets, to every little thing you had touched in his apartment. Too light to be real, too strong to ignore.

He should open a window. Or maybe turn the heater on. He should just do something to make the place feel less empty, less quiet, less.. Less like you. But all he did was sit there, wallowing in his own regrets.

The apartment still looked like you might walk in at any moment. His bedsheets still messy from the last time you were there; he hadn't touched them. Your hair tie on the bathroom sink. A forgotten sweater draped over the chair by the window. A book you never got to finish, spine-up on the nightstand. Little pieces of you, scattered everywhere. He told himself he should put it all away, or maybe send them over to you, save you the trouble of coming over to pick them up. But the thought of erasing you like that, of making it truly final made him sick in his stomach.

The silence was almost deafening, louder than any argument you had ever had.

It had been a few days, maybe a week since he let go. Or maybe since you let go. Since everything slipped through his fingers and he just let it happen. Not because you wanted to leave. Not because you got tired of him, or fell out of love. But because he was the one who pushed you away in the worst way possible.

He didn't mean to. God, he didn't mean to.

But how do you hold onto something real when you're still haunted by a ghost?

He thought he had time. He thought you'd always be there, waiting for him to open his eyes, to see what was right in front of him. Thought he had time to figure his shit out. He thought you understood. How selfish of him. People aren't placeholders; he figured you eventually realized that. You realized you weren't what he wanted. Not really.

And by the time he did want you - really want you - it was too late. You were already gone.

A car drove by outside. Muffled voices sounded from somewhere down the street. The neighbor's dog barked. Life kept moving on without him. No one knew he was there, sitting in his apartment that still reminded him of you, wishing he could undo the last few months of his life.

A sharp exhale left his chest, shaky, unsteady. With a shake of his head, he let out a small laugh, a bitter sound. A few years ago, he would've scoffed at the thought of himself like this- sitting alone in his freezing apartment, alone, a mess, waiting for someone to notice he was fucking miserable. He was always the one who didn't need anyone. The strongest; nothing could touch him.

But look at him now.

Drenched in sorrow, full of regrets, rethinking his every decision. Silently begging for someone to care.

And still, no one did.

He leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face, fingers pressing into his temples. His mind hazy and his body heavy, keeping him stuck on this moment, on this feeling. The memories came in flashes. The way your eyes used to light up when you smiled at him. The way you'd hold onto his hand, laughing at something stupid he said. The way you looked at him that last night; hurt, exhausted, waiting for him to say something that never came.

His eyes drifted over to the place you used to sit, curled in on yourself, or wrapped around him. The place where you talked or read, or simply existed in the unique way you did. Now, it was just messy sheets, a dent in the mattress and silence. Another ghost.

He missed you. God, he really did. Not just the version of you in his head, but you. The real you. The one who did wait for him, maybe longer than you should have. The one who tried to love him even when he couldn't love you back properly. The one he let slip away because he was too caught up in someone else who belonged in his past. Because he had been too blind, too fucking selfish to see what he had until it was already gone.

People don't just wake up and decide they'll leave. They leave when they realize they were never really chosen.

And he had let you walk away thinking you never meant anything.

He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw tight as he let out a slow exhale.

You were better now, away from him. At least, he hoped you were. You deserved that much and even more. And he- he didn't know what he deserved anymore. Maybe this was exactly what he deserved. Nights like this, stuck inside his own head, replaying every moment, every second of whatever went wrong.

How pathetic.

How fucking human.

The apartment felt smaller now. Like the walls were shrinking, ready to swallow him whole. His ribs felt like they were closing in on him, pressing against his already aching heart.

He needed to move, to do something. Maybe go to bed, or take a walk, or just do something other than sit there drowning in this feeling. His body refused to cooperate, but he finally willed himself to stand up.

Being in there, alone with his thoughts, surrounded by all the places you used to be- he couldn't stand it anymore.

So he grabbed his jacket.

He didn't know where he would go. But then again, he didn't really care.

If he was lucky, maybe the night would swallow him whole before the morning could find him.

Devixxish© All rights reserved. Do not repost, reupload or modify my work in any way.

@spaceinvadernelly as promised<3

[minniesfiles]

PEOPLE LIKE ME

Jeonghan loved you. He loved you in a way that terrified him, in a way that made him selfish and silent and a coward.

❧ PAIRING; jeonghan x reader

❧ GENRE; angst

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; strangers to lovers to strangers, heavy angst, timestamp, oneshot, emotionally unavailable jeonghan, major character death, implied depression, smoking, alcohol consumption, grumpy x sunshine with tragic ending, inspired by the song ‘Angel’ ft Jimin

❧ WORDCOUNT; 3.2k

𐚁₊⊹

▍18 OCTOBER 2021

It was autumn the first time Jeonghan saw you.

It was a late afternoon, where the sky was a faded blue, and the golden leaves settled on the ground in a final display of warmth before winter’s icy touch.

You were standing beneath a rust-coloured oak tree, watching a flock of birds taking off into the sky. And there was something about the way you watched them with your head tilted slightly and lips parted like you were whispering a wish only the wind could carry. It was like you wanted to follow them.

It was as if you had wings yourself. Something untouchable and too delicate for this world.

As another cool breeze blew, it tangled through your long, dark hair, lifting stray strands and sending them floating like silk ribbons around your face.

You had no jacket on and your oversized blue sweater had slipped off one shoulder. Jeonghan wondered why you’d wear something like that on a cold day.

He was sitting on a park bench with a cigarette dangling between his fingers, watching you the way someone watched something they know they shouldn’t want.

Then, as if you sensed him, you turned and met his gaze.

Most people looked at him and saw trouble. Some saw a lost cause.

But you? You just smiled.

It was the kind of smile that could undo a man. And maybe, just maybe, that was the moment you undid him.

And perhaps it was also the moment you started ruining him.

Jeonghan saw you as someone who belonged in the sky. Someone who wasn’t meant to stay tied down to the earth like he was.

▍8 DECEMBER 2021

He learnt your name without you even telling him. Kim Y/n.

He wasn’t supposed to, but the name-tag you dropped when you were rushing to work was what got you and him at his point.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” you asked him one day as you stirred your coffee absentmindedly.

It was his first date with you — or whatever counted as a date in his world. He took you to a dingy little café in the corner of Gangnam, which had the kind of scent that smelt like burnt espresso and nostalgia to him.

“Not much to say” he shrugged.

You smiled and rested your chin on your hand as you studied him. “I think you just don’t know what to say to me.”

That should have been Jeonghan’s first warning. You were right.

You had this way of looking at people like you could see all their secrets. Like you could unravel them without even trying.

And for some reason, Jeonghan wanted to be unraveled by you.

You were all light and warmth. Laughter that filled a room. The kind of person who danced barefoot in the rain just because it made you feel alive. You would drag him into old record stores, press play on songs you swore could change his life.

You had a way of seeing the world that made one believe in magic. You believed in love, in fate, in the kind of things he stopped believing in years ago.

Jeonghan, on the other hand, was the kind of guy people warned a girl like you about. He had a past filled with bad decisions, hands that had held too many things too tightly and ruined them in the process. He had walls so high no one ever dared to climb them.

Except for you.

You climbed them without hesitation.

─────

It was past midnight, and both of you were lying on the roof of his apartment building, staring at the stars.

“I used to think I was meant for something bigger,” you murmured. “Like I was supposed to be something more.”

“You are,” he said without thinking.

You turned to face him, the city lights reflecting in your eyes. “You don’t even know me.”

He did, though.

Jeonghan knew the way you hummed to yourself when you were lost in thoughts. The way you always smelt like lavender and old books. The way you could fill up a space just by being in it.

You were the kind of person one could not help but notice. The kind of person who made the world feel less empty.

And Jeonghan knew, deep down, that he didn’t deserve you. Because in his world, Y/n and Jeonghan weren’t supposed to happen.

But God, he wanted you anyway.

▍12 FEBRUARY 2022

One night, Jeonghan laid tangled with you in his bed while the city lights casted shadows on the ceiling. You traced lazy circles on his pale skin with your soft fingertips while humming a song under your breath.

“Tell me something real,” you whispered.

He exhaled smoke as he watched the way the glow from the bedside lamp made your eyes flicker like candlelight.

“I don’t deserve you,” he admitted.

You smiled, that soft, knowing smile of yours, and kissed him like you didn’t believe him.

Like you thought love could save him.

Jeonghan always reminded himself how he wasn’t like you. That he came from shadows, from a past filled with darkness.

But you — you weren’t afraid of the dark in him.

You leaned into it and traced your fingers over the rough edges of his life as if you could smooth them out.

▍27 MARCH 2022

Jeonghan tried to warn you.

One night, when you fell asleep beside him, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, “please angel, don’t fly so close to me” he murmured.

You didn’t hear him.

Or maybe you did, and you just ignored it.

Because you were also the kind of girl who didn’t believe in warnings.

You believed in love. And love, you thought, could fix anything.

He should have let you go sooner.

Jeonghan knew how this would end. He knew that he would only ruin you, that people like him don’t get to keep something as pure as you.

He told you again, and then again.

“Don’t fly so close to me angel” he’d mumble against your skin on a usual Saturday morning.

But you would simply laugh, tucking your head against his chest. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

You lifted yourself up on your elbows and looked at him with those wide, trusting eyes. “You don’t get to decide what I do with my wings.”

He sighed. “Y/n…”

“I love you,” you whispered.

Jeongan wanted to believe that love was enough.

But love doesn’t change what a man is.

And people like him? They break beautiful things.

▍10 JUNE 2022

It started the way all things break — slowly, and then all at once.

Jeonghan had a habit of disappearing. Not physically, but emotionally. Some nights he would pull you close, whisper things in your ear, let you think you had all of him. And then, without warning, he would shut down. He’d go out, stay late, drink too much, lose himself in the noise of the city so he didn’t have to feel the weight of what you made him want.

Because you made him want things he didn’t deserve.

And you — you deserved someone whole.

The first time you cried over him, it was because he didn’t come home. He found you sitting on the sofa with your arms wrapped around your knees.

“Where were you?” you asked with a small voice.

“Out” he simply shrugged, like it was no big deal.

“Out where?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

You shook your head while your hands trembled. “It matters to me.”

Jeonghan wanted to tell you the truth. He wanted to tell you that he was afraid, that loving you made him feel like he was standing on the edge of something too high, too terrifying.

Instead, he kissed you.

And for a while, you let that be enough.

Until it wasn’t.

It then started becoming too frequent. Small fracture, things that seem insignificant at first. Another night where he didn’t come home. A fight over nothing that turned into something. The way you would look at him sometimes, searching for something he couldn’t give you.

“You keep shutting me out,” you whispered one night, hugging your knees to your chest.

He lit a cigarette and avoided your gaze. “I never asked you to stay.”

You flinched, and he hated himself for saying it.

You should have left then. You should have ran before the darkness in him swallowed you whole.

But you stayed.

Because you always saw the good in people. Even when there was nothing left to see.

“Why do you do this?” you asked with a shaky voice as tears rolled down your cheeks, breaking the long silence.

“Do what?” he muttered, lighting another cigarette after the first one finished in a flash.

“Push me away.”

Jeonghan exhaled smoke, still avoiding your gaze. “Because one day, you’re going to leave. And I’d rather it be now than later.”

You stared at him for a long moment before whispering, “You really believe that, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer.

You sighed, standing up and walking closer to him. “I’m not leaving Jeonghan” you said as you reached for his hand. He wanted to believe you.

But people like him didn’t get to keep people like you.

▍23 JULY 2022

The night you and Jeonghan ended, it was raining.

You both stood outside his apartment, neon lights from a nearby diner reflecting in the puddles at your feet.

“Tell me the truth,” you pleaded with your trembling voice. “Do you even love me?”

Your voice broke on the last word, and something inside him cracked. Your hair was soaked, raindrops clinging to your long lashes like unshed tears.

He should have told you what you wanted to hear. Maybe it would have saved you and him. Maybe it would have saved you.

But the thing about Jeonghan was, he destroyed everything he touched.

“You don’t wanna lose those wings because of me Y/n,” he said with a hollow voice. “People like me break beautiful things like you.”

You let out a soft, broken laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t care,” you whispered. “I don’t care if you’re broken. I love you.”

His hands curled into fists. “You shouldn’t.”

He saw the way your breath hitched. “Then tell me you don’t love me. Look me in the eyes and tell me, and I’ll walk away.”

He should have told you the truth — that you were the only light in his life, that without you, he was nothing.

But if he loved you, he had to let you go. So he gave you the lie that would set you free.

“I don’t love you.”

The moment the words left his lips, he wanted to take them back. You inhaled sharply, as if he had struck you.

And then you turned, walked away without uttering a word, disappearing into the rain.

And he just let you go, no matter how much it destroyed him inside.

▍25 JULY 2023

Jeonghan received a phone call two days later from an unknown number. His heart dropped before he even answered. Like there was an unshakeable dread filling up in his chest. Something felt wrong. There was a hollow pit in his stomach he couldn’t explain.

When the shaky voice spoke, his whole world shattered.

A drunk driver. A car that never stopped. The impact was instant. No chance to say goodbye.

You were gone.

The phone in his hand slipped and fell on the floor with a thud. His knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor, numb and breathless.

His breath hitched, but no sound came out.

Memories flooded in — when he first saw you, the warmth of your hand in his, the way you chased away his darkest days with your light. He could almost hear your voice, but it slipped away like a whisper in the wind.

The sun crept through the window as the new day began, but it felt cold. How could the world continue to turn without you in it?

Just like that, the light you carried — his light — was gone, snuffed out.

▍30 JULY 2022

He went to your funeral. It was raining heavily that day.

He made sure to stand in the back where he was hidden in the shadows like he always was, drenched in the downpour.

His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. It was as if the pain would keep him grounded and keep him from shattering completely.

Jeonghan watched as your family and friends wept for you. He listened as they spoke of you — how vibrant you were, how you lit up every room you stepped into, how you had dreams bigger than life itself.

Someone whispered about how unfair it was, how someone so full of life could be taken so soon. Someone else wondered if you knew how loved you were. He swallowed hard at that because he knew the truth. You didn’t.

Because of him.

No one knew that you died thinking he didn’t love you.

No one knew about the nights you stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering why he kept his distance, why he always seemed just out of reach.

No one knew about the unanswered messages, the half-written replies he never had the courage to send. They didn’t know about the way he had watched you from afar, longing to reach out but never daring to.

And that was the worst part.

Jeonghan loved you. He loved you in a way that terrified him, in a way that made him selfish and silent and a coward. He thought there would be more time. More chances to say the things he had locked away in his chest. More moments where he could turn around and run to you instead of away.

But life had stolen those chances. Death had taken away the possibility of redemption.

And now, as he stood there, his heart breaking under the weight of words left unsaid, he realised something far worse than his own grief.

That you had left this world believing a lie.

That you had gone thinking he never cared.

And no matter how many sleepless nights Jeonghan spent whispering apologies into the dark, no matter how many times he wished he could trade places with you, the truth remained. He had lost you. And you never knew the depth of his love.

Perhaps the cruelest thing about regret is that it changed nothing.

And so, as the final words were spoken and the casket was lowered into the earth, he turned and walked away — back into the shadows.

The only place he ever truly belonged.

▍15 AUGUST 2022

Jeonghan never stopped seeing you.

It wasn’t just in his memories, though they haunted him endlessly. It wasn’t just in his dreams, where you stood just close enough to touch but always disappeared the moment he reached for you. It was in everything.

In the blinking street lights that reflected on the wet pavement, your laughter still echoing down empty streets, just like the nights you used to walk home together.

In the sound of a song playing on an old record player, static crackling between the notes that reminded him of the way you used to hum absentmindedly. How your voice blended with the world around you.

In the scent of lavender that sometimes drifted through his apartment, even though you were gone, even though he threw away the candle you left on his shelf months ago.

It was maddening.

He drank to forget. Bottle after bottle, glass after glass, burning his throat, numbing his mind. But even in the haze of intoxication, you were still there, slipping into his thoughts like you had never left.

He smoked to forget. Let the smoke fill his lungs, let the world blur around him, hoping that maybe it would drown out the echoes of your voice in his head. But it never did. The memories clung to him that made it impossible to wash away.

But nothing worked.

Because the truth was, Jeonghan had never been so afraid of loving someone before. He never let himself feel something so deeply, never allowed someone to carve their name into the walls of his heart. And yet, you did it easily, without even trying.

He was afraid of losing you. So he kept his distance, kept his heart guarded, kept his love hidden behind silence and stolen glances. He thought that if he didn’t hold on too tightly, it wouldn’t hurt as much when you were gone.

But in the end, he lost you anyway. And the pain was unbearable.

Because now, there were no more chances. No more time to fix things, to tell you the truth, to hold you just once without fear. There was only regret. Only the ghost of you, lingering in the spaces you used to fill.

And Jeonghan knew, with every aching part of him, that he would never stop seeing you. Not now. Not ever.

▍18 OCTOBER 2022

He found your journal two months later which was tucked beneath the old record player you left in his apartment.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. It was the same day he first saw you, a year ago, standing beneath a rust-coloured oak tree, looking like something out of a dream.

Jeonghan never believed in fate, but this? This felt cruel.

The pages were filled with you. Your thoughts, your feelings, the little fragments of poetry you loved so much. Lyrics scribbled in the margins, quotes that must have meant something to you, tiny doodles in between sentences. It was chaos, yet somehow, it was unmistakably you — warm, messy, alive.

But then, his fingers hesitated as he reached the final page. There, written in your delicate, familiar handwriting, was a single line.

“Even if you break me, I’d still choose you.”

His breath got caught. A sharp, unbearable ache spread through his chest which pressed against his ribs and crushed him from the inside.

His vision blurred as he read the words again and again, as if they might change if he stared long enough. As if there might be some other meaning he could twist them into, something that didn’t feel like a knife to his heart.

But the truth was undeniable.

A lump formed in his throat that was suffocating him. His hands trembled as he clutched the journal closer, as if holding it tightly enough might somehow bring you back.

And for the first time since you left, Yoon Jeonghan wept.

He cried out loud as he fell to his knees. He screamed as he held your journal to his chest, feeling himself break the last of him completely.

Because you were never afraid to love him. And he was too much of a coward to love you back.

You were always fearless. You ran headfirst into love, into life, into everything. You were meant to fly. And maybe he was the one who clipped your wings. Maybe, all along, he was the weight dragging you down, like a storm that pulled you under.

Maybe he was always meant to watch you fall.

Because the thing about people like him?

They don’t just break beautiful things.

They destroy themselves in the process.

And as he sat there, drowning in the words you left behind, Jeonghan realised that he never truly feared losing you.

He feared what it would mean to love you completely.

And now, it was too late.

[wanderingblindly]

congratulations on the milestones! incredibly well-deserved. you’re a top-tier writer & a pillar of the fandom :)

for the prompt celebration — any drivers (ideally with at least a splash of lando/oscar, if the spirit moves you), with the setting prompt “a cramped [theater] dressing room”.

a PILLAR 😭😭😭😭 what if i sobbbbb thank you so much my love!! i'm so thankful to have such wonderful people here to enjoy fandom with, i'm all emotional now waaaahhhhhhhhh I hope you enjoy the slightly-too-long drabble!! in my head they're like, small time models at an on-location gig, hence why they've been shoved in a dressing room. But you could probably imagine it for a theater production too! Celebratory prompt list here!

Stuck Together

"Can you stand up straight, I'm –"

"I need to do my hair," Lando snaps, face two inches from the mirror – tossing a quick glare over his shoulder. "Quit bumping into me."

"Well I'm trying to get into these – these fucking –" Oscar stutters, hunched over and bouncing on one foot as he nearly topples over. "The fucking leather –"

"You've gotta sit down for leather trousers, mate," Lando says, and Oscar groans.

"Yeah, lots of room to sit, thanks."

Lando starts to turn to say something back, snarky and annoying, when Oscar stumbles – falling to the side and smacking himself into the wall with a gasp. "Christ, mate, don't frickin' break something."

"Haven't got a lot of time, ok?" Oscar lets himself stay propped against the wall, struggling to work the stiff leather up his calves; his hair – yet to be touched by the stylists – flops over his eyes, his cheeks have gone pink with stress.

Maybe a bit of heat.

It's getting warm.

Lando looks away from the mirror, away from where Oscar's struggling a few inches behind him. His heart rate spiked when he saw Oscar's shoulders – bare, his shirt still hung up on the hooks along the wall – flex as he stumbled, when he noticed the dusting of freckles on his skin.

"Um," Lando says lamely, uncertain why his mouth's suddenly gone dry. "Lemme –" He brings a knee up onto the narrow vanity, wincing a little the edge digs into his skin. Pressing a hand against the mirror for balance, he gets himself entirely off the floor. "Here, sit down."

Oscar locks eyes with him through the looking glass, brow raised.

Lando's stomach flips; he can see his own face grow flushed in the brief silence.

"Not like you to be so helpful," Oscar says, hopping away from the wall to lower himself down to the floor awkwardly.

"Shut up," Lando's says even more lamely, so clearly bothered. Oscar doesn't acknowledge it if he caught on – focused on fighting the leather trousers up his thighs.

His really nice thighs.

With a huff, he brings his hips off the floor – shuffling the trousers higher, abs flexing to lift his body in a straight line, a line that Lando can't stop staring at, he's –

Oscar flashes him a look from the corner of his eyes, smiling unevenly. "Gonna say something smart?"

"No." Lando swallows. "You um. You look good."

"Helpful and nice," Oscar laughs, breathless as he finally gets the trousers up his hips and buttoned. He tries to bend a knee to stand, freezing – eyes widened in realization. "I… can't get up."

"What?"

"They're too tight, I – I can't get up, oh my god. Lando stop laughing –"

Lando's giggling uncontrollably, left kneeling on the vanity because Oscar's stuck – stuck shirtless – on the entire available floor. "What do you –"

"Stop laughing! I'm serious!"

"What do you want me to do?" Lando can't breathe, the stupidity of the entire situation crashing down on him. "I can't get off the fucking, oh my god," He gasps, trying to regain his composure. "I can't get off the table, mate, there's no –"

"If you just –" Oscar reaches to grab Lando's ankle, nudging. "Straddle my hips, like –"

"I'm not gonna straddle you –"

"Don't make this weird, mate, please."

"Oh, so you do know how to say please?" Lando yelps when Oscar actually tugs on his ankle, hard. Hard enough to half drag him off the table. "Hey!" He snaps, flailing to catch himself as the wall rushes towards his face, legs finding unsteady home on either side of Oscar's hips. "Prick."

Oscar holds out a hand. "Pull me up,"

"Pull me up, what?" Lando says, finally steady enough to look down at Oscar – who's looking up at him. Who's looking up at him with his brows drawn, pulled together like he's…

Lando doesn't think of the word 'begging'.

He grabs his hand – warm, so much smaller than his, grabbing his thumb more than anything – and tugs. It sends him careening back into the wall behind him, punching the air from his lungs as he heaves Oscar – and his stiff trousers – to his feet.

"Christ!" Lando manages to get out, panicking as he accidentally drags Oscar closer to him – accidentally stumbling forward until his free hand hits the wall next to Lando's head.

He's pinned him.

They're nearly nose to nose, eyes wide with shock. Lando can feel Oscar's slightly heavy breathing against his lips; his eyes flick down. They flick back up. Oscar's staring at him.

His heart hammers against his chest.

It's nearly dead silent.

"Um. You're welcome.." Lando mumbles, face running hot but unable to look away from Oscar's eyes – so close that he see his lashes, the rings of earthen greens and brows in his irises.

"Yeah, thanks," Oscar says, maybe tilting his head just a bit, maybe leaning into his hand – maybe bringing them even closer. "I…"

Lando mimics him, maybe tilting his head just a bit, too. Maybe craning his neck to be impossibly closer, too. Their lips nearly touch. "You?"

"Um, I –"

Lando kisses him first, every cliche happening at once – fireworks behind his eyelids, sugar on his tongue, butterflies in his stomach, Oscar's hands finding his hair and Lando's tongue sliding along his teeth and –

Someone pounds on the door.

They jump apart – as much as they can in the tiny dressing closet – and stare at each other in a panic, lips and cheeks pink.

"You leave first." Lando whispers quickly.

"They know we're in here together, mate," Oscar whispers back, wiping at his mouth. "Act normal." He reaches out, swiping his thumb against Lando's lips, too – as if that will help Lando calm down.

"Right, normal. Yeah."

[patchworkcuddlebug]

Weredoll: Alone

It all started with that toy. I know it had to.

I only touched it for a few seconds. God, I should've known. That pull, that imperceptible radiance, of course it was magic. But it just looked so... pretty. I didn't think twice, I just wanted a closer look, and I could feel the jolt through my system as soon as I curled my fingers around it. Magic.

It's the same feeling that was in the seashells that made my best friend a mermaid all those years ago, damning her to the sea. The same feeling as the fae that spirited away my mother's name.

Yes, they looked happy. But I always knew better. You can't abandon your humanity, you just... can't. You shouldn't be able to, you shouldn't want to. It's just wrong.

I spent the whole day frantic. Combing through forums and blogs, staring down at the listings for dubiously reliable books. If nothing happened in the moment, the only conclusions were a crawling slow-burn transformation that would take me piece by agonizing piece, or... something conditional.

The door to my room was locked. My bed was pushed out from the wall and put in the way of the door, just in case. Now all I can do is sit at my computer desk, eyes trapped in the corner of my laptop.

11:59. Any moment now I would find what fate I was cursed to. I'd spent long enough wracked by anxiety, the humanity in my soul clung to my body in terror. Now, there was nothing but a silent, helpless anticipation.

12:00.

I flinch as the number changes. I pat my body down, trying to find any hints to my curse. But I can't find anything. Everything as it should be. Warm to the touch, but not hot. Just enough give before skin squishes against bone.

I wanted to feel relief, but the confirmation just brought on a defeated emptiness. A sighing, accepting resignation to the alternative, or a confused...

...it's spreading. The emptiness. It isn't just emotional. There is a visceral feeling of removal slowly expanding from my body.

I tried to stand. My hand was on my stomach, like I was trying to feel the thing eating me from the inside. I feel the void overtake my gut, leaving me with a hollow and cavernous lack. There was no sense of hunger, my body failing to cry out with need as it should with an empty stomach. The feeling instead slotted into place, as if I was designed for it.

I try and walk to the mirror. Everything's off. My limbs are too heavy and my torso is too light. I lift my shirt up, and see the beginnings of a seam. There's a small indent that traces around the base of my ribs. Exactly like a ball jointed doll.

I feel sick. I feel faint. But more than anything, I feel empty.

I stumble to the bed and collapse. I can't keep myself upright, I can't muster the will. Fuck, this is really happening, isn't it? I don't care if it's just for the night. I don't want to let go, I can't. Being a person is all I've ever known. How could I not be scared?

My hands fumble along my side. I can feel myself hardening, the texture changing as I move upwards. The seam's already deepened, god knows how far, letting my rigid body—

A violent shudder overtakes me. I cough involuntarily. It's reached my heart.

I can't take my hand off it. The other desperately grabs my hair, trying to ground me, as I feel my heartbeat get weaker and weaker. I try breathing harder, invoking my anxieties, anything to speed it back up, but it's mere seconds until it shuts down completely.

It feels... uncomfortable. Just uncomfortable. All my panic is forced. A cognitive understanding that I really should be terrified, that my heart stopping is something every person needs to fear, but the emptiness swallows all that away. There's a passive, almost reassuring understanding. I'm unharmed, and it's not permanent.

This shouldn't be good. It just shouldn't, right? This isn't the absence of life, it isn't an emptiness that destroys. It's tranquility, it's cleanliness, it's alleviation. I know this is part of the curse, but I just feel so... at ease. Any negative feeling I try to summon is just swallowed by the emptiness, tidied up and put away.

Oh yes, the transformation. It seems it's spread quite far while I was distracted. Down my thighs and up to my neck. I move my hands up to my shoulders, knowing my first joints are going to grow in any minute.

No, no. I can't let it take me. I refused to be reduced to a thing to be ordered around, some heartless construct that only exists for others. There has to be something. I can make my heart beat again, I have to, or I'll die, right? I make a fist and start pounding on my chest as hard as I can... only being met with a dull, hollow thud as the plastic dents into the emptiness inside me. There's nothing in there to start anymore.

Okay. This can still be salvaged. It's just a body, and while it may change, I'm still a human inside. I won't let that be taken from me, I just need to... a suctioning feeling settles in. My skin, just at my shoulder, feels... loose. Ill-fitting.

With a single jerking motion, I reach up and grab at my shoulder, bloodlessly tearing away my skin like it's a thick and heavy tissue paper. Underneath the scraps left behind is the beginnings of a ball joint. It's much too round, the indents where the mechanics let me move just beginning to burrow. It's as if my joints are trying to pop out of their place in my sockets, held in by the firm suggestion of an artificial material. I can already feel my muscle sinew being digested.

I need to be upset, I need to. This is an existential terror in the most literal form, a destruction of all that I am. But all change is death, sacrifice. You cannot become one thing without destroying another. It's rather beautiful to bloom... no, please, no. I refuse to accept such a fate laying down, no matter how much the curse tries to ease me.

I suppose if it can swallow my gut feelings and quell the uneasiness in my heart, it won't be long until it starts to harden this one's brain, leaving it with... leaving it. It. This one.

No. Not now, not ever. If this one can't trust its feelings, and if its starting to lose its cognition, it needs to rely on its behaviour. It will remain human, in one form or another.

Dolls like to clean, to keep things orderly and convenient for others. This one just needs to rip its bed apart! It tears at the corners of its covering, tossing its pillows across the room as it tangles its sheets into a useless mess. There, a bed no doll would be proud of. It tasks a moment to bask in the joy of a completed task.

A sickening pop. It turns back to the mirror and sees its joints as they should be. Perfect round attachments, manufactured just right to allow it mobility. All that remains are its shins and its hands. It's running out of time.

This one tries to walk back to its laptop, and is immediately distracted by its walk. No longer is there the looming clumsy tumbling from its discordant changes. There's an effortless elegance, a refinement of movement and intention. It feels rather pleasing to present itself in such a formal manner. Before the transformation began, it wouldn't have considered such a thing, finding much more comfort in more casual poses and movements. It feels silly to derive such comfort from informality now. Good dolls are-

This one freezes, taken aback by its thoughts. Good dolls are polite and dignified. It's a mantra, a commandment, a colloquialism. A reflexive proverb, as if it were so baked into cultural DNA as to be self-evident. Of course that is how a good doll is to act, it would be silly to pretend otherwise. That... doesn't have to imply anything about this one, it's still a person. This one returns to its task.

12:04. It feels as if it should have been much longer. Becoming felt so fundamentally altering it's bizarre to picture it as taking only 5 minutes, even if that is what this one's research confirmed to it prior. Oh well, it can't be helped. Good dolls are punctual, after all.

There has to be something it can do, something to keep the final throes of the transformation at bay. Dolls are meant to act, and... well, that's not entirely true, is it? Dolls are also meant to be still. To be posed, a beautiful decoration, dressed in the finest outfits...

This one finds its brain... shutting off. Floating away. This is no mere emptiness; it's a trance. A blissful, wonderful stillness. No concern for thoughts, no feelings beyond a gentle calm.

As it sees the clock change, it blinks itself back to awareness. Ah, so that was stillness. This one understands why other dolls find it so enrapturing. It will gladly return to it once it has finished all it has to do.

But first, it looks down at its body. Everything is stiff and rigid, the only movement being allowed by the segments through its hardened skin. Its behaviour has been overhauled, now much more prim and proper, only breaking its posture to help its self-examination.

Of course, this one thinks like a good doll as well. It desires to serve and obey another, and in their absence, it will simply busy itself with chores, doing all it can to help like a good doll. It seems its readings were correct, and the transformation has finished.

Well, that was quite the experience. This one prepares to reflect on it... in the morning, once it's a person. In the meantime, it elegantly walks back to its bed and begins to tidy up, the much more pertinent task.

[xoxoaugust]

look both ways (when you cross my mind)

pt 2. of See You Again

in which: After meeting again, Sae can't stop thinking about you. Wondering if you look both ways when you cross his mind.

an: guys i'm giggling

wc: 1.7k

That night, Sae stayed up for a bit staring at the messages you had exchanged. He couldn't stop thinking about you. You had changed, but your essence lingered like washed out cologne. You were still kind, but guarded; still humble, but confident. You seemed happy, at peace, without him in your life. That's what he thought, but he couldn't be more wrong. Sure, you were happy and at peace, but he would never know about the late nights, wistful dreams plaguing your mind like a disease spreading throughout the corners of your brain. He'd never know the guilt you felt after scolding him so mercilessly, and you'd never know that he'd forgiven you ages ago.

You were both just fools, fools whose biggest weakness would be communication, just longing for each other endlessly.

You stared at the ceiling of your half decorated apartment. By half decorated, you meant nearly empty. Aside from the necessary furniture and appliances, you had maybe a few pictures of friends and family on your walls. You glanced at the photo of you and Rin at his high school graduation , the one Sae wasn't there for.

Part of you resented Sae, the way he treated Rin after Spain was uncalled for. But part of you could never even attempt to hate him. Maybe you resented him to protect yourself, protecting your heart from the only person you'd ever give it to. Not wanting to be left like scraps, you shut off any and all communication.

The morning after, you woke up with a throbbing headache. Thinking too hard about the last couple days. You got up and got the day started with the little cafe just down the block. You walked with your shoulder bag full of your notebooks, your laptop, your pens and pencils, and headphones nestled comfortably on your head.

Walking in, you greet the little old lady who owned the cafe, and the girl around your age who worked there. You had befriended her after finding out she went to the same university as you. Her name was Rumi, she was a kind, and pretty girl with a longing to be a fashion designer.

"[Name]! It's nice to see you again! The usual?"

You stared at the menu, before looking back at her.

"Can I have my regular matcha, but can I have a smoothie bowl instead? You can pick the flavor, I trust you". You beamed.

She rung you up and handed you the matcha before running off the make your bowl.

As you sat down at your table, you thought about Sae. Would he come to see if you were here? Or would he just not bother?

"This is about that guy, right?" Rumi smiled playfully.

You looked up at her, meeting her eyes as she sat down in front of you.

"Yeah, he's cute, I could tell he was into you. He's not my type but you and him, my god a match made in heaven." She sighed charmingly.

"I don't like him, he's just and old neighbor of mine that happened to be here, no big deal." You said trying to cover the heat crawling up to your face.

Rumi looked at you like you had grown another head.

"Are you kidding me? [Name] , that boy is so in love with you. I've seen him around so many times, he always justs gets his drink and meal then sits at the corner table for like five minutes and then leaves. He doesn't talk to anyone, and he hasn't until you showed up."

You couldn't help the childish upturn of the corners of your mouth. You had spent so much of your childhood longing for Sae to reciprocate the puppy love feelings you had, but it never happened. Now, these feelings left a sickeningly bittersweet memory to relive in your mind.

You zoned out until the bell on the door rang. The person walked into the shop quietly, it was none other than Sae Itoshi.

Rumi looked at you smugly before getting up to take his order.

He ordered his regular unsweetened matcha and a fruit bowl. He walks over to where he usually sits, internally giving himself a high five because he was counting on you being there. Instead of sitting at the table next to it, he sat down right in front of you.

You looked up, baffled. You couldn’t tell if you were excited, or appalled at his audacity. Probably both if you’re being honest.

“Hi Sae, is there something you need or…?”

He simply took a sip of his drink before meeting your gaze and replying.

“I just wanted to sit here, if it’s bothering you I can move.” Said blankly, most likely in good faith but his tone wasn’t helping.

You smiled to yourself, same old Sae.

“You can sit here, just don’t be annoying.” You said, sarcastically.

You two sat in comfortable silence for maybe half an hour, before you broke the silence.

“How have you been? Haven’t heard from you in quite some time.”

He looked up, and you couldn’t help but think about how freaking cute he still is.

“We saw each other like yesterday, I’m the same as I was I guess.”

You sigh, he’s still painfully oblivious, and socially inept.

“You know that’s not what I meant, how has Spain treated you so far? Anything I should look out for?”

You asked even though you had already been here before, you just needed conversation starters.

He paused to think. He knew that your question was most likely hand in hand by how he acted towards you and Rin when he went back to Japan for the first time.

“Not really, it’s pretty nice here. It does make you pretty homesick though.”

Well that caught your attention.

“Did you get homesick after coming here?” You asked out of genuine curiosity.

“I did, it was bad for a while. I missed you and Rin, I missed my parents. I missed the food too, eventually it stopped.”

You felt a pit in your stomach, it must’ve been so hard to be in a whole different country by yourself at the age of 13. You felt your heart soften.

“You could’ve called me y’know, Rin and I would’ve dropped everything just to talk to you more often.”

“I did call”

“Yeah maybe twice!” You laughed.

God that laugh, he could never get enough of it. He missed your smile the most, of course he missed your company, but he could stare at that smile for hours and never get tired of it.

“We should stay in touch.” You proposed, hopefully might I add.

“We have each other’s numbers right?” He said monotonously.

“I mean like hang out, like we used to.” You said softly.

“Okay, where do you want to go?”

You looked at your watch. “Right now?”

Sae looked confused.

“Yeah, I don’t have practice tonight, we can go somewhere if you’d like.”

You thought about it, it had been maybe a year and a half since you’ve been to Spain. You managed to get a scholarship, but you never told Sae about it. Maybe the place has changed a lot since you left.

“You should give a tour, like what’s new here?”

He nodded before getting up to help you pack your things. Ever so the gentleman.

You grabbed your matcha before glancing back at Rumi, who was giggling and mouthing ‘I told you so’.

As you walked around the area Sae brought you to, you could help but feel nostalgic. I mean taking away the fact that Rin wasn’t here, you felt like the young girl would walk around with Sae all the time.

He would point out his favorite places in the small shopping center. His favorite bookstore, favorite restaurants, favorite clothing stores that he would go to maybe every 6 months. You were listening, partially. You kept looking at him, probably with heart eyes.

You finally settled near the park, until, you felt a drop of water hit your arm.

It was raining, and the downpour was picking up.

Sae grabbed your arm and pulled you to the nearest shade.

“My place is around here, if you’re okay with it we can head over there and wait until the rain slows down.”

You nodded and he grabbed your hand before dashing towards the building. You felt the heat creep up to your face before the two of you slowed down to enter the lobby.

He grabbed his keycard and scanned the elevator lock, walking inside with your hand still in his. When you got situated into the elevator, you let go of his hand, trying to warm yourself up by rubbing your arms.

He glanced over at you once before removing his jacket and offering it to you by holding it out in your direction.

"Sae I appreciate it but i'm okay, you don't need to give me your jacket." You smiled, still shivering.

"I want to, we're about to get there anyways, wear it until we get there so you don't feel cold."

You hesitantly took his jacket and placed it over your shoulders.

He kept glancing over to see you wearing his jacket, god he thought you looked adorable.

The elevator dinged and you walked out of the elevator, still wearing his jacket. He guided you to the massive door and opened it with his card. You couldn't believe your eyes, his penthouse was actually huge. It was so Sae, clean and tidy, everything was in it's place, though it felt lonely, there was a warm feeling about it. You took off his jacket and placed it on the coat hanger right next to the door before exploring the main area.

"Sae you cannot be serious right now. Who needs a bar in their house? Do you even drink?"

"Not really, there's coffee machines too if you want some."

You rolled your eyes so loudly.

The main room was beautiful, clean cream colored leather couches with red and maroon decorative pillows placed neatly in each corner, glass coffee tables and a fireplace. It was the typical millionaire side residence.

"Do you want something to drink? We have two hours to kill."

Your eyes bulged out of your head. TWO HOURS?!

"Uh i'll have anything, I don't mind."

He nodded before getting to work. You couldn't lie, he looked really good right now. His athletic long sleeve shirt pushed up to his forearms and his hair slightly damp.

As good as he looked, you did not know what to do, how were you going to stay here for two whole hours? You prayed there was a merciful god to strike you down this instant.

xoxo, august

an: sorry this feels so rushed, but I want to turn this into a series. I really like the idea of each Tyler lyric being a new chapter, so stay tuned !

[onebadassunicorn]

Leather and Lace

pairing: Cassian x Reader

content warnings: gambling, drinking, misogyny

word count: 2.9K

Taglist: @tele86 @candyjaypoppins @demon-master-zero @jesskidding3 @motheroffae @thegoddessofnothingness

Image of Nesta owned by Art by Cassimira.

Image owned by Scribe.Jesinia

To see more work by this artist, join Patreon and become a member of this artist's collections!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

******

Chapter 7

The air in The Crow’s Call was thick with smoke and the stench of stale ale, the low hum of murmured conversations mixing with the clatter of dice and the occasional burst of drunken laughter.

It was a place of risk and ruin, a place where men gambled more than gold.

Lives, favors, power—all of it could be won and lost within these walls.

Nesta stalked into the tavern like a queen entering her court, her chin high, her steps slow and deliberate.

She did not glance around in nervous assessment like an outsider would.

She did not hesitate.

She made it seem as though she belonged here, as if she had walked these halls a hundred times before.

She was dressed for it—midnight leathers that clung to her every curve, her neckline cut daringly low, her golden-brown hair wild around her shoulders.

She looked like sin, like trouble, like something men would either want to conquer or kneel before.

Heads turned as she walked in.

Azriel, already seated in a shadowed corner, felt the shift in the room like a physical thing.

A subtle, collective inhale.

A sharpening of interest.

The men in Hewn City were hunters, and Nesta had just walked into their den, looking like the perfect challenge.

She ignored their stares and moved straight toward the gambling tables in the center of the tavern.

The men seated there were already deep in their cups, playing a dice game that had clearly claimed a fair number of purses that evening. Their loud jeers and taunts carried across the room, and as Nesta approached, she slid a hand along the back of an empty chair, her smirk slow and sharp.

“This game looks boring,” she mused, her voice just loud enough to be heard over the noise. She trailed a single fingertip along the wooden table, watching the men with a glimmer of amused challenge in her eyes. “Mind if I make it interesting?”

Silence.

Then, laughter.

The largest of them—a broad-shouldered male with dark hair and eyes that raked over her with open hunger—leaned back in his chair, a smirk curling his mouth. “You think you can beat us, sweetheart?”

Nesta let out a soft, breathy laugh and sat down.

“I know I can.”

The men chuckled, some of them shaking their heads, but Azriel saw the spark of interest in their expressions.

This was new.

Most women in Hewn City didn’t challenge them like this, didn’t dare.

And those who did were either fools or dangerously cunning.

Nesta placed a few gold marks on the table and leaned back in her chair, her fingers tracing the rim of her untouched drink. “Are we playing,” she purred, “or are we just going to sit here all night?”

That was all it took.

The first roll went her way.

The second was close, but she still came out on top.

By the third round, the men were no longer laughing. They were watching her.

By the fourth, they were leaning in, studying her every move.

By the fifth, the entire tavern had taken notice.

Azriel let his shadows weave through the room, slipping between the patrons, carrying whispers like a slow-spreading fire.

Word was already leaking out beyond these walls—about the new woman in town, the one who was too cocky, too sure of herself, too untouchable.

The kind of woman men in Hewn City liked to break.

Nesta played the role to perfection, winning just enough to seem like a woman who had mastered her own luck, but not enough to arouse suspicion. Azriel’s shadows helped, shifting dice rolls when needed, ensuring that the game remained in her favor without being obvious.

With each victory, the men at the table grew more competitive, their expressions sharpening into something that was both admiration and irritation.

She was too good.

She was getting away with too much.

And that was exactly what they needed.

Nesta leaned forward, her lips curving wickedly. “Tell me,”she said, running a fingertip along the rim of her glass, “is this the best Hewn City has to offer?”

A dangerous silence settled over the table.

Azriel watched as the men bristled, their pride now tangled in the game. One of them slammed down his drink, his glare hardening.

“She needs to be taught a lesson,” another muttered under his breath.

Perfect.

Azriel’s shadows whispered the words into the right ears, fanning the flames.

It wouldn’t take long now.

Word was already spreading beyond the tavern, carried on drunken lips, whispered between men who thrived on the thought of taming a woman like Nesta.

And soon—very soon—Elias would hear about her.

Elias, who was drawn to powerful women just so he could break them.

Elias, who would look at Nesta and see a prize to be won.

Exactly the way they needed him to.

*****

The Crow’s Call was busier than the night before. Word had spread - whispers slithering through the back alleys and dark corners of Hewn City about the new female gambler. The one who had walked into a den of men and humiliated them, taking their gold and their pride with nothing more than a smirk and a winning hand.

Nesta knew exactly what she was doing.

As she strolled into the tavern, she felt the weight of eyes on her—some familiar, others new. The tension in the air had changed, thickened, like a storm waiting to break. She welcomed it.

Azriel was already there, watching from the shadows, his presence a quiet but steady anchor. His spies had reported back that Elias had taken notice—and tonight, he had sent some of his men to watch her.

To test her.

Nesta approached the same gambling table as the night before, her leathers hugging her like armor, her hair wild around her shoulders. The men were already there, waiting. She recognized a few of them from the previous night—men she had already beaten, their expressions wary, guarded. But tonight, there were new faces.

Elias’s men.

They were easy to pick out. They sat just a little too still, their eyes too assessing, their mouths twisted in barely concealed arrogance. Nesta didn’t hesitate, didn’t flinch. She smirked, tilting her head as she tossed a gold mark onto the table.

“Well?” she said, raising a brow. “Are we playing, or are you all still sore from last night?”

The men bristled, their pride stoked like a fire.

One of the newcomers, a tall male with short black hair and pale, scarred hands, leaned forward, grinning. “You must be feeling awfully lucky to come back after last night, sweetheart.”

Nesta gave him a slow, lazy smile. “Luck has nothing to do with it.”

The men chuckled, but there was an edge to it now. Nesta felt it—the intent in the way they watched her, the way they measured her.

They played the first round.

Nesta won.

They played the second.

Nesta won again.

Azriel’s shadows whispered in her ears, feeding her the numbers, guiding her movements without making it obvious. She let the men almost win, let them think they had the upper hand before stealing it away at the last second.

By the third round, one of Elias’s men was scowling.

By the fourth, they were pissed.

The tall male—who she now recognized as one of Elias’s higher-ranking thugs—tossed his dice down with a snarl. “You’ve got a sharp tongue, don’t you?” His voice was low, dangerous.

Nesta leaned forward, dragging a nail across the rim of her glass. “Among other things.”

The men chuckled, but their eyes were dark.

The male beside her, a broad-shouldered brute with a broken nose, leaned in too close. “Maybe you need something to put that mouth to better use.”

Nesta didn’t blink. She turned her head just enough to meet his eyes, her expression utterly bored. “I’d rather chew off my own hand.”

The table roared with laughter, but the brute’s expression curdled. His fingers twitched, his nostrils flaring in barely concealed rage.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” he sneered. “Think you’re untouchable?”

Nesta lifted a brow, unfazed. “I know I’m untouchable.”

The laughter died.

The scarred man—the one who was clearly in charge—exhaled a long breath through his nose. He leaned back, running a finger over the gold he had lost to her. “You talk a lot of shit for someone who doesn’t know what she’s stepped into.”

Nesta smirked. “And what exactly have I stepped into?”

The scarred male’s eyes gleamed. “A place where women don’t win.”

Nesta let out a soft, taunting laugh. “And yet, here I am.” She gestured at the pile of gold in front of her. “Winning.”

The man’s jaw ticked. “You’re too cocky for your own good, you know that?”

Nesta shrugged. “Confidence makes men nervous. You should get used to it.”

The brute beside her slammed a hand on the table, making the drinks rattle. “You need to be taught a lesson.”

Nesta merely tilted her head, the picture of calm. “And who is going to teach me that lesson? You?”

The scarred male smirked, slow and predatory. “Not me.” He reached for his drink, his fingers curling around the glass. “But my boss won’t be happy when he hears his money was taken by some female with a sharp tongue and no sense of place.” His voice dropped lower, colder. “Women don’t rule Hewn City. Men do.”

Nesta leaned forward, her smirk unfaltering. “Then send your boss. I’ll be here every night, taking more men’s money as I see fit.”

A sharp silence followed her words.

The brute beside her moved without warning, his thick fingers clamping around her wrist, hard. His grip was bruising, his dark eyes murderous as he leaned down, his breath reeking of ale.

“You should be careful what you ask for.” His voice was low, a promise of violence. “You have no idea what he’s capable of.”

Nesta didn’t flinch.

Didn’t dare show weakness.

Instead, she smiled sweetly and lifted her other hand, pressing a single nail hard against the sensitive underside of his wrist.

“I never ask for anything I can’t handle,” she purred.

The brute cursed and yanked his hand back. His eyes burned with rage, but Nesta only sat back in her chair, picking up her glass like nothing had happened.

The scarred male watched her for a long moment before rising to his feet. “We’ll be seeing you soon.”

And with that, Elias’s men turned and left.

Azriel’s shadows wrapped around him, slithering out the door in pursuit, ensuring they would be followed, ensuring every whisper they carried reached Elias himself.

Nesta exhaled slowly, allowing herself only a single second to release the tension coiled tight in her muscles. Then, she took a sip of her drink, smirked at the men still at the table, and rolled the dice once more.

Let Elias come.

Let him think she was just another prize to be won.

Because the real game was just beginning.

*****

Nesta knew something was off the moment she walked into The Crow’s Call.

The air inside the tavern still buzzed with energy—men drinking, gambling, and filling the room with raucous laughter—but something was missing.

Elias’s men.

They weren’t here.

She played a few rounds anyway, keeping up the façade, her confidence unshaken.

She let the dice roll, let the gold stack in front of her, let the men around her murmur about how she was still winning, still taking what should have belonged to them.

But the whole time, her mind churned.

Had she pushed too hard?

Had she been too obvious?

Had Elias seen through her?

By the time she decided to leave, the suspicion had begun gnawing at her ribs.

Azriel had already slipped out ahead of her, his shadows coiling through the streets, watching from the darkness as she made her way through the winding alleys of Hewn City.

Nesta kept her shoulders loose, her steps unhurried, feigning nonchalance as she turned a corner into a dimly lit side street. Hewn City had its own rhythm, its own pulse—one that beat louder at night, when danger lurked behind every whispered word, every dark alley, every glance that lingered too long.

She had almost reached the exit of the alley when a strong hand wrapped around her wrist.

She barely had time to react before she was pulled against a solid body, her back slamming into the wall of muscle and heat. A warm, firm hand clamped down on her hip, keeping her there, keeping her pinned.

A slow, amused chuckle ghosted over her ear.

“Well, well,” a rich, dark voice purred. “Here I was, wondering if you were going to keep playing your little games. And yet, you’re just walking right into my hands.”

Nesta turned her head slightly, her pulse thrumming in her throat as she finally saw him.

Elias.

He was devastatingly handsome.

It struck her like a slap to the face—not just his beauty, but his presence, the way he exuded confidence and power, the way his golden eyes gleamed in the low light of the alley, sharp with hunger and intrigue.

He was dangerous in the way that made women fall before they even realized they were falling. In the way that made them want to be consumed.

And Nesta could see it now—how he had drawn you in all those years ago.

It wasn’t just his good looks. It was the way he moved, the way he knew he was desirable, the way he held himself like a god surveying his worshippers.

He was the kind of male women lost themselves to before they realized they were drowning.

The exact type of man she herself would have fallen for.

She let her lips curve into a smirk, her body relaxing against him as if she were enjoying the feeling of being trapped between his heat and the cool stone wall. “So you did get my message.”

Elias’s fingers tightened around her wrist, his grip possessive, claiming. “Oh, I got your message, sweetheart.” His gaze flickered over her face, his expression filled with a dangerous amusement. “My men told me all about the cocky little female who strolled into my city and took their money like it was hers to begin with.”

Nesta shrugged one shoulder, her smirk never fading. “Maybe it was.”

Elias chuckled, dragging his fingers up her arm, grazing them lightly over her skin. “You have fire. I like that.”

Nesta let her eyes flick over him, trailing down his chest, as if she were considering him. “And what do you like to do with fire?” she asked smoothly.

Elias smirked. “Oh, I don’t put it out.” He leaned in closer, his breath brushing over her ear. “I consume it.”

Nesta hummed, tilting her head slightly, letting the moment stretch just long enough. Then, she lifted a brow. “I assume you’re not here just to admire me. What exactly do you want, Elias?”

Elias’s fingers trailed down her hip, slow and deliberate. “I want my money back.” His voice was still velvet-smooth, but there was an edge beneath it now, a flicker of real irritation. “And I want to know who you really are.”

Nesta tilted her head, feigning curiosity. “And how exactly do you propose I return your money? Do you expect me to lose on purpose?”

Elias’s golden eyes gleamed. “Oh, I have a better idea.” He let his gaze drop lower, over her body. “We can work something out.”

Nesta played along, tilting her chin up. “And what do you think I want in return?”

Elias smirked. He leaned in, pressing himself against her, letting her feel exactly what he was offering.

His voice dropped to a low whisper. “I can smell your arousal.” His breath brushed over her lips. “I can feel how much you want me.” He smirked, slow and deliberate. “I’d fuck you like no one else ever has.”

Nesta let a slow, mocking smile spread across her lips. “And look who’s cocky now.”

Elias chuckled, his hand sliding down to her waist, gripping it like he already owned her. “You like playing games,” he mused, his voice dark and amused. “I like that. But I always win.”

Nesta met his gaze without hesitation. “We’ll see about that.”

Elias’s grin widened. “I like you.” He pressed closer, his grip firm. “Go back to the tavern tomorrow night. I’ll have my men bring you to me.”

Nesta let her smirk remain, let her fingers trail lightly over the lapel of his jacket. “Sounds intriguing.”

Elias leaned in, and before she could react, his mouth was on hers.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was claiming—all heat and dominance, as if he were already branding her, already marking her as his.

Nesta didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away.

She let him think he was in control.

Let him believe she was intrigued, tempted.

He pulled back, his golden eyes gleaming. “Tomorrow night you will be screaming my name.” He ran his thumb over her bottom lip.

Nesta lowered her mouth and pulled his thumb inside her lips sucking on it and letting it slide out of her mouth slowly. “Or you will be screaming mine.”

Elias chuckled and gave her one last, lingering look before releasing her and stepping back, before he winnowed.

Nesta exhaled slowly as he disappeared.

Azriel was there within seconds, his voice low and tense in her ear. “Are you alright?”

Nesta wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and smirked.

“He took the bait.”

[queenbrucewayne]

Happy Valentine’s?

A/n: so I’m kinda a sucker for little valentines fic, but work has been hell the past few days which is why this was late… oops Happy Valentine’s

The whole school was contagious with today. It was red and pink everywhere, cupcakes and flowers all around.

Glitter was scattered in every corner, the cookies and chocolates were passed around by every girl to every boy in the whole school. It was PDA central.

You hadn’t given the day much thought. Every year was like this, sometimes worse…

The teachers weren’t much help, they embraced the holiday, and it was all the week lead up too. Nothing could beat the celebration of love.

You were sat on top the school roof. It was one of the only places not covered in pink and hearts, and it was quiet. Most times you would come up here for lunch, especially since you made friends with one of the custodians who was nice enough to give you a spare key to get up here.

This time though you were finishing some math homework since the library was full of couples who apparently didn’t have enough shame to not throw themselves on each other.

It was peaceful…until it wasn’t.

Just when you thought you could finally have some peace to yourself, you heard the roof door swing open with a loud creak. A boy quickly came thru, looking to be a bit out of breath. He looked around a bit panicked, his eyes landing on yours. Both of you stared intently at each other, clearly not expecting the other to be there.

Just then you heard the sound of shoes clanking up the metal stairs, the boy looked panicked again.

Ah…now you understood.

“Hey.” You spoke up, “Up there.” Pointing to around the corner, he noticed a rusty looking ladder that was resting on its side. “Use that to get up to above me, they won’t notice, I promise.”

The boy hesitated for a moment, but when the sound echoed louder behind him it didn’t really give him much choice. He quickly ran by you to pick up the ladder. Resting it on the side of the wall you were leaning against, he made his way up, laying flat on his stomach and away from the edge.

You stood up and quickly set the ladder back down on its side, quickly taking position to how you were sitting before.

Just when you settled, about five girls busted out the roof top door. You pretended to keep doing your homework, ignoring the girls who were looking around confused.

“Hey! Did you see Bruce Wayne come this way?” One of the girls spoke up.

You glanced up from your book, “Who?”

As if you cursed at them they all gasped.

“Bruce Wayne! Hello?!? You can’t seriously not know who that is?” Another girl chimed in.

You did know who he was, but only by reputation. Both of you were in the same grade, and because this was a school you could only enter by scholarship or money, it was a small class. Based on these girls reaction you could only assume you had offended them by saying you didn’t know one of the biggest names to go here.

“I’m sorry, I don’t- I don’t really have time to focus on boys. Wish I could help.” Your tone was flat, just enough sass to make one of the girls roll her eyes at you.

“You’re kidding.”

You just shrugged, looking back down at your book, as if you were gonna start reading again.

One of the girls scoffed, not seeming too convinced. “Every girl knows him, billionaire hottie, a bit quiet but also so sweet. He’s a junior.”

Another girl quickly jumped in. “Don’t tell me you’re so engrossed in your studies, you seriously can’t know who the prince of Gotham is?”

You smirked, glancing back up at the group again. “Ohhh, so he’s a prince now? Wow… and yes, I study, it’s kinda what our parents pay so much money for.”

“Whatever… let’s go, we’re wasting time with her.” The first girl said, she clearly was trying to present herself as more intimidating then she actually was.

“You all have fun looking for your prince, although I doubt he’ll find it charming of a bunch of freshmen girls chasing after him like lost puppies.”

They all turned to you shocked for a moment.

“How did you know we were freshman?” One girl asked.

You rolled your eyes, looking back down to your math book again. “Your attitudes are a dead giveaway, but if you really wanna know? It’s the uniforms. No junior or senior still has freshly pressed uniforms, it kinda gets old after awhile, also-“ glancing back up again. “You’re supposed to wear the vests on friday, you’re all wearing the cardigans. That’s a common freshman mistake.” You smirked, seeing as all the girls quickly looked at one another to see you were right, nobody there was wearing the vest and now they all started to get flustered.

A couple of them scoffed and started to walk back downstairs, another girl looked embarrassed, and the last two just looked annoyed with you.

“Ugh, whatever. Like I said, you’re a waste of time.” And with that, the rest of the girls walked back downstairs to the school.

As soon as the door closed behind them, you got up to put the ladder back on its feet. The boy- Bruce, had started to climb down right away.

“Wow, I didn’t expect you to get them to leave so quick.” He praised.

You shrugged, sitting back down to your regular position. “They knew it would be a waste of time staying up here to talk to me, they would rather find you.”

He nodded in agreement, glancing down at his uniform he spoke up again. “I didn’t know about that vest rule on Fridays.”

“That’s because I made it up.” You stated.

Bruce eyes widened, “Wait…what?”

You laughed, looking up at him smug. “Yeah, there is absolutely no rule at the school that states we have to wear our vest on Fridays… I made it up to mess with them.”

Bruce face quickly turned from confused to a smile, and then he started busting out laughing. “Wow. I cant believe that! That’s great!”

Hmm he really had a contagious laugh.

“So…” you started slowly. “Prince of Gotham?” You grinned, watching as his expression now was irritated.

“Please don’t call me that.” He looked a bit pouty now.

“Your royal highness gonna get upset?”

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t come up with the name… it’s just what they call me.”

“They?” You asked.

“The school… the whole city, I don’t know. Someone posted it in the newspaper and…. It just stuck.”

“Oh. So you really didn’t try calling yourself a prince on purpose.” You questioned

“Of course not!”

“So…” you continued. “Do you always have to run away from a bunch of girls on Valentine’s Day?”

Bruce sighed in frustration, seating himself across from you crisscross. “Every year, it’s always a new group of freshman who always act crazy, trying to give me chocolates, heart shaped cards, or maybe some balloons…. It’s exhausting.”

You smiled. “Sounds like you have it rough.”

He frowned. “Are you being sarcastic again?”

“Sorry. Force of habit.”

“So… Why are you up here?” He asked.

“Homework, It’s quiet.”

“That’s it?”

You started writing down more notes. “Yep.”

“You don’t have a valentines?”

You couldn’t help but laugh out, thinking he was joking. However when you looked up his expression looked confused.

“Oh, you’re serious…”

He scoffed. “Well, yeah. Isn’t this one of the school’s favorite holiday. You don’t celebrate?”

“I don’t know… it’s just not my thing I guess. I don’t really have a valentines.” You shrugged.

Bruce thought to himself for a moment. “And… what about the ones you’ve gotten?”

“Umm.” You shifted in your spot. You knew what he was asking wasn’t meant to be mean, he was genuinely curious. You brought your math book up trying to cover a bit of you face. “I don’t get those.”

“What? Really?” He looked genuinely shocked, and you really couldn’t figure out why.

“I don’t really care, it’s not really my thing.” You couldn’t see what kind of face he was making, but you knew he was probably taking pity on you.

When he didn’t say anything back, you peaked up from your math book. He was thinking intently about something, almost like he was trying to solve a problem to a test question. Suddenly he stood back up, dusting a bit of dirt off his uniform pants.

“I’ll be right back!” He quickly said, making a dash for the door.

You didn’t even have time to stop him before the door slammed shut behind him. Not sure what to do next, you went back to taking math notes.

He did say he would be back.

It was probably about 10 minutes later when you heard the echo of shoes getting louder to the roof door. Not bothering to look up when the door opened, already guessing who it was.

“Hey.” He spoke up.

Glancing up to respond, you stopped yourself by the scene in front of you.

He had a white rose in one hand and a plastic sack in the other. Sitting back down across from you, he started to pull out all the things from the bag. Two sodas, a couple of candy bars, and two bags of chips. The last thing he pulled out was a box of band-aids that had hello kitty on them.

Taking a soda and candy bar for himself, he handed you the rest, along with the rose.

You slowly reached out and took it from him, looking at him wide eyed now. Twisting the white rose in your hand you looked back up to him.

“What’s this for?”

“Valentine’s.” He said, casually opening the can of soda and taking a swig.

“Uhh, I’m confused… you-“

“I got you a valentines, the candy and soda from the vending machines, bags of chips from the cafeteria, and the white rose is from the school garden house I snapped off.” He explained, smiling brightly like he just achieved a task.

You looked at the band-aids. “And Hello Kitty?”

“It was the only thing that had hearts on it that wasn’t a school decoration.”

Examining the items and looking up to see his proud expression, you started to smile, a genuine happy smile for the first time ever on this holiday.

Bringing the rose up to your nose you inhaled, smelling the sweet scent that came off of it. It really did bring you joy. Glancing up, you saw Bruce had been starting at you the whole time. “Thank you.”

His eyes widened, looking a bit nervous. “Uh-I” he cleared his throat. “You’re welcome.” He finally got out.

Setting the rose aside, you cracked open the soda he got you, taking a sip. “Even if it was out of pity, it was still a cute gesture.”

Not saying anything for a moment, Bruce started to rotate his soda mindlessly. “It wasn’t out of pity…” he said softly, you almost didn’t catch it.

Just that one sentence, really made you happy. You didn’t know why, but that was exactly what you wanted to hear.

The rest of the time you were up there, you both discussed all kinds of stuff, finding out Bruce had more in common with you then you originally thought. It actually felt like you knew him as a person and not by just reputation.

When the finale bell rang, you couldn’t help but be disappointed. Bruce helped you with your stuff and you both made your way down to the school.

Getting to the bottom, all the hallways were packed with students trying to leave or show off what they got from their Valentine today.

“Let’s go out this way.” You reached out to grab Bruce’s hand and tugged him behind you, sneaking pass the crowd and even avoiding the group of girls you interacted with earlier.

Coming out the side door, you managed to avoid any extra attention. Slowing down your pace, you both started to walk away from the school building and towards one of the school gates. Already seeing parents or drivers here to pick up students.

“Wow, you really know the ins and outs of this school. I didn’t even know that side door existed.” Bruce praised, walking with you side by side now.

“Yeah… I try to find a lot of different places to hide.” You weren’t sure if that was a strange thing to do, but Bruce didn’t seem to be phased. He also hadn’t said anything about you still holding his hand, at some point his grip tightened as if he was worried you would let go.

He started to walk a bit ahead of you, leading you now to the open school gate and sidewalk. When you got there, a black shiny car started to slow down and pull up beside you and Bruce. Coming to a stop, an older man in a nice suit got out of the drivers seat and walked around to the back door, opening it he waited patiently not saying anything.

“That’s my ride.” Bruce said, waving to the gentleman who smiled and waved back.

You suddenly felt disappointed. This was probably the last you would get to hang out, especially since you two sat at opposite sides of the class room. Even though you hadn’t really known anything about him previously besides a name and a face, it was clear you were on completely opposite social standings.

However, your time with him was nice, and nothing like how you expected. A lot of the kids had backgrounds of family’s who were doctors, politicians, or CEO of big businesses, so most of their attitudes were very Im better then you. There was only a few who got here on scholarship, you included. So it only made sense someone as big of a name as Bruce Wayne wouldn’t ever take notice to you.

“So, same time Monday?”

You jumped at the sudden break of silence, not realizing you were stuck in your own head.

“What?”

Bruce smiled, “Monday? Roof top again?” When you didn’t respond right away he suddenly looked nervous. “Uhh, unless you don’t want hang out, I just realized I crashed one of your hiding spots… if you don’t wanna be bothered-“

“No!” You suddenly shouted, causing him to jump a bit. “I mean..” you cleared your throat, “yes, Monday, same spot. That would be fun…”

He suddenly smiled again. “Okay!” Letting go of your hand, he rushed over to his driver. He started saying something to him you couldn’t hear, but you could only assume it was about you since the man looked back to you and smiled big again.

Putting up your hand you waved nervously to him. Seeing Bruce turn to you now and giving a wave himself. He got into the car, his driver closing the door behind him. The man walked around to the drivers side, getting in and driving away.

He wanted to hangout… again. He expected to hangout again… He had fun.

You stood there for a moment, turning around to start your walk home. A smile started to creep it’s way onto your face… this was the best Valentine’s Day ever… you couldn’t wait for Monday.

Tag: @christianbalefanatic

[teaandjumpers]

I saw your KCD gifset reposts and 👁️ out of curiosity, would you ever consider doing a Regency/Medievel Obikin AU? If so, would they both be knights, or would one be a royal and the other their knight? Thoughts in general?

I really wish you hadn't asked me that, anon!

- - - -

Obikin Medieval AU

When they had been presented to the lord, each knight kneeling before him, Anakin nervously clutched the hilt of his blade with sweaty palms. 

This was Lord Kenobi, one of the most renowned knights in the kingdom, the man he grew up hearing stories about, the man who, through many great deeds, was granted a title, a castle, and vast, farmable lands.

Anakin had watched the man upon his approach, the lord sitting on his high chair in his great hall, a warm smile on his face as he greeted Anakin and his fellow knights. 

He was every bit as handsome as the tapestries hanging in his liege lord’s halls made him out to be. Broad chested, a thick head of hair, and wide, capable hands that he drew across his mouth as he laughed easily at his companion’s words. 

To his great horror, in his blind admiration of the man from where he knelt, Anakin’s sword slipped from his hands, the metal blade clattering loudly on the stone floor and landing several feet ahead of him. 

He scrambled across the floor to grab his blade, but before he could reclaim it, a pair of legs appeared in his line of sight, and a crisp, lilting voice rang out in the hall. 

“Is this our great, fearless knight?” the voice teased.

Slowly, Anakin lifted his gaze to find his childhood idol regarding him with a small smile. Forgetting his place, forgetting everything around him, Anakin just stared up at the man dumbly. 

The lord’s smile broadened, and he knelt in front of Anakin, picking up his sword and handing it back it to the younger man. 

“Hardly looks old enough to hold a blade,” said Lord Kenobi, his voice still teasing, but only loud enough for Anakin to hear. 

During the feast, Anakin was gifted the seat of honor, sitting beside Lord Kenobi for the duration of the meal. Anakin, too nervous to share stories of his own, listened like a lovelorn pup as Lord Kenobi regaled him with his countless adventures, all of them good deeds. Anakin could picture them all with great clarity, the great knight, bathed in the sun’s glowing light, brandishing his righteous blade as he tore down the king’s many foes. 

He felt flushed all night, and Anakin was certain that his face was red, not from the warmth of the fire that crackled just behind them, but Lord Kenobi, who leaned in close each time he spoke, his sultry voice hypnotic, his breath cooling the slick of sweat coating Anakin’s neck. 

Sir Kenobi always looked larger than life in those wall-to-ceiling tapestries, and even though his height may have been exaggerated ever so slightly, he was still big. Even in his layered, fine clothes, his chest looked wide, sturdy, and on several occasions, Anakin had to wipe his mouth to make sure he wasn’t drooling.

For a moment, Anakin was grateful that Lord Kenobi was not his lord, as he was certain he would be too enamored by the man’s body, face, voice to be able to recall any notes of import during campaigns.

It was embarrassing. He was the guest of honor, and he had bumbled his way through dinner, taking a bite of bread before the lord had picked up his spoon, spilling wine down his chin, and repeatedly wiping at the sweat that kept gathering at the back of his neck. 

Later, when the drunken men had been dragged off to a corner, and the servants had cleared the long table, Anakin sought out the lord, wanting, needing to make a better impression. 

He found Lord Kenobi in a small drawing room, the man sitting on a tall chair, gazing into a robust fire. 

Anakin had tried to be quiet, wanting to watch the man in secret, but the lord, once a former knight, the most renowned in all the lands, heard his approach.

“You drag your feet, Sir Skywalker,” the man said without turning from his seat.

“Come, come,” he said, standing suddenly and offering his chair to Anakin as he grabbed a stool and perched atop it.  

Somehow, the man managed to look every bit as dignified on the plain wooden seat as he did in his regal chair. 

Anakin sat down tentatively, sitting on the edge of the chair, not entirely comfortable with their positions. This was Sir Kenobi. He should be at this man’s feet offering his fealty, his sword, and a poem if he had the talent to craft one. 

“Couldn’t sleep, young knight?” the man asked, smiling that same knowing smile from earlier.

Though he willed it not to, Anakin felt his member plumping, and he swallowed thickly before responding. “N—no, my Lord,” he stuttered. 

“Perhaps a companion would help?” offered the lord. “You seemed a little distracted during our meal, but you were not short of admirers.”

“Oh?” asked Anakin, his mind sluggish.

The lord hummed. “You had several offers in fact. Unsurprising, of course,” said the man, his eyes raking across Anakin’s frame. 

And that made something within Anakin break. He stood with enough force that his heavy seat wobbled. 

Lord Kenobi blinked at him with surprise. “Sir Skywalker, what—?”

Anakin dropped to his knees and crawled towards the other man. He kept his head bowed as he spoke, his words rushed. “I know you’re not my liege lord, but—”

And Anakin did glance up then, locking eyes with the older man before letting his gaze drift lower, settling on the wide part of the lord’s legs. “I wish to serve you. In whatever way you see fit.”