#the One day it decides to be COLD IN HERE!!

[yeyinde]

18+ | noncon. implied kidnapping.

In retrospect, camping all by yourself in a national park teaming with bears was probably high on the list of "dumbest things you've ever done in your life." But in your (shaky) defence—it really wasn't the wildlife you had to worry about anyway, but rather man.

In particular, a man.

That surly, gruff park ranger who happened to look just like a grizzly at first glance. The same one who found you all alone in your pitiful little tent, flashlight clutched in your trembling hands as you stared at him through the crack in the opening, visibly relieved that the thing you heard stomping around outside wasn't a bear, and quickly decided that pampered city princesses ought to be taught a lesson on what survival out here really means.

But he's merciful, he claims, and gives you a headstart to try and escape him (and the thick, unmistakable bulge in his pants, the dangerous look in his eye; naked hunger—that same, dead-eyed thing you'd seen in a big grizzly as he charged an elk earlier in the day) before he takes his prize.

And so, you run.

Except making good decisions doesn't really seem to be your strongest point.

In an instant, something is slamming against your back before you even make it halfway up the hill, pushing you to the ground on your belly. A warm, thick body following down after you. Crushing you into the soil.

You're too dazed by the impact to struggle when your hips are lifted. Pants, panties shoved down. Warm, rough hands cupping between your thighs, groaning at what he finds (all wet for me, mm, sweetheart?), and when you do, finally, begin to struggle you're met with an immovable wall. The strength of a man with more power in the single hand he keeps anchored against the back of your neck than you seem to have in your whole body—

"Don't know a thing, do you, sweetheart?" He growls, pushing your cheek deeper into the softened soil. "Not supposed to run from a bear, love."

Oh. Right.

Before you can squeak out an okay or sorry or please let me go, your knees are shoved wider apart by his thick, hairy thighs as he slots himself between your legs. Mounting his spoiled little prize on the cold, damp ground like a beast.

"Dangerous animals out here," is all he rasps before he's shoving inside of you, groaning about finally claiming the sweet little prey he's been diligently stalking through the park since he first laid eyes on you in the visitors centre. "You don't have a lick of sense in you, do you, sweetheart? No. Didn't even notice me followin' you. You need somethin'—someone—to protect you from dangerous predators, mm. And a firm hand to teach you a lesson."

He pries you open on his fat cock before you can spit out the dirt in your mouth to refute that claim, rutting into you like an animal on the cold ground in the middle of a national park as he makes good on his promise to show you what happens when you try and run from predators. A lesson that tastes like geosmin. Peat. And salty, tobacco-stained fingers. And aches like a broken bone after he set a maddening pace behind you, jerking your body against the upturned soil. Small rocks, and twigs digging into your skin.

When he's finally done, pulling out of you with a bullish grunt and landing a heavy, satisfied slap against the stinging cheek of your ass, he gathers your limp, sore body up into his arms, and brings you back to the lookout tower he calls home (temporarily).

A stop along the way, he assures you before setting out to teach his spoiled city princess more "survival skills"—like how to swallow his cock the way he likes, and how to take him as deeply, and as often, as he wants to give it to you.

(and often really is the foregone conclusion; it's mating season, after all.)

And as he pulls you down to lay against his furry, damp chest, cock softening inside of you (a thing you'll just have to get used to, sweetheart because he has no intentions of pulling out until he's ready to), and starts purring about mates and cubs and how lucky you were that he found you first before anything else had a chance to sniff you out, you think maybe you should have just gone to New York instead.

[pomegranatelifethis]

Porcelain Doll

**English is not my native language**

WARNING: THERE IS RAPE, I MARKED THAT, YOU CAN GO WITHOUT READING. DISTURBING ELEMENTS

(A Neglected!Reader x Batfam Story)

In the beginning, Wayne Manor echoed with her laughter. He was someone who filled every room he entered with his light. He made little jokes, tried to make everyone laugh with his cheerful laughter, and said good morning to everyone one by one every morning.

He enjoyed sneaking sugar into Tim's coffee and watching the surprised expression on his face. He would applaud Dick's cool moves while training, and try to provoke Jason by arguing about the books he was reading. Despite Damian's harsh demeanor, she would try to break through the wall between them and talk about things that would interest him—Titus or cats, for example.

As for Bruce... He would always look for an opportunity to call him "Dad", but every time the words got stuck in his throat. Instead, he would sit quietly next to her, sometimes bringing her coffee with a small smile.

But nothing found a response.

At first he tried not to notice. "Maybe they're too busy," he thought. After all, they were all heroes. They lived in a city like Gotham and had responsibilities. So he decided to show himself more and make more effort.

But over time, everything became more and more obvious.

Every "I'm busy now" turned into an endless silence over time.

Every "we'll talk later" became promises that never happened again.

At one point, Dick stopped hearing his voice. Jason stopped laughing at his jokes. Even though Tim was exhausted before his eyes, he didn't even ask him once, "Are you okay?" he didn't ask. Damian didn't even seem to tolerate his presence.

But what hurt the most was Bruce.

When he tried to hug her, Bruce would just shake his head slightly and walk past her. Even when there was a problem, he always consulted others instead of listening to her thoughts. At some point, he just started to feel like a part of the wall—a shadow that existed but went unnoticed.

No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he laughed, no matter how much he talked... When he realized that it didn't make a difference to them, the light inside him began to fade.

And then, tragedy struck.

No one knew exactly what happened that night. Maybe he had an argument with someone, maybe he was in the middle of a fight. Maybe they didn't even realize someone had hurt him.

But as he left the house that night, the last spark of hope that still burned within him flickered and went out like a candle flame.

When he came back in the morning, he was still the same person—but also completely different.

After that moment, their conversations decreased. Their smiles disappeared.

When Tim looked at him for hours, he no longer made the same fun comments. When Jason made a joke, he didn't even react. No matter how hard Dick tried, he couldn't make him laugh. Even when Damian got angry, he didn't look up.

And Bruce… Even when he realized something was wrong, it was too late.

His eyes were empty, his soul seemed to be lost in a void. It was as if there were no emotions left inside him.

She was just a porcelain doll now. Cold, silent and numb.

And you know what was the worst?

No one remembered when it broke

Porcelain Doll

November 11 – The Day It Broke

Everything started out ordinary that day.

He woke up early in the morning and helped Alfred, who was preparing breakfast in the kitchen. At that moment, he heard Damian and Tim arguing in the living room and noticed Jason tinkering with his motorcycle in the garage. Bruce was in his study, studying the reports, his eyes narrowed with fatigue.

He tried to approach everyone, as always, preserving the endless energy and joy within him.

He interrupted Damian and Tim's argument, maybe if he made a joke the atmosphere would soften. But Damian glared at him.

“There is no place for unnecessary people here.”

These words hit him like a sharp knife, and for a moment he felt like he couldn't breathe. The smile that fell on his face faded, but he tried to recover. He had hoped Tim would at least defend him, but Tim just sighed and continued talking.

He didn't say anything. He felt like there was something extra there, but he still remained silent.

When he met Dick in the kitchen, he put a big smile on his face.

“Dick! Shall we do something today?”

But Dick's answer was just a smile. “Then, okay?”

When?

Later. Always later.

Everyone had a job. Everyone had a priority.

And he was never among those priorities.

But what hurt him the most was Bruce.

When evening came, he went to her study. Maybe he could at least talk to her for a few minutes. When he knocked on the door, Bruce's voice was heard from inside.

“I'm busy.”

He swallowed. But he didn't give up.

“Dad… Can we just talk for a minute? It won't take long, I promise.”

Silence.

Then he heard his chair creak slightly. Bruce's cold voice echoed again:

“I'm really busy right now. Please come back later.”

Later.

Again?

He walked away, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

That night, no one at the mansion noticed him leaving quietly.

No one knew he was walking alone through the dark streets of Gotham.

No one knew that he felt that it made no difference whether he existed or not in this world that no longer meant anything to him.

And no one found out what happened to him. But you will learn, let's find out what happened

That night, when he left the mansion, no one noticed anything. He silently closed the door and lost his steps in the dark streets. When Gotham's night darkness combined with the feeling of loneliness, everything became even deeper. The weather was cold and the wind was harsh, but the emptiness inside was colder.

A void inside him felt like nothing made any sense anymore. No one looked at him, no one understood what he felt. In this darkness, he didn't have to prove anything to anyone.

The streets embraced him like the dark corners of Gotham. He walked slowly, his steps so light that he could not even hear himself. But then, that darkness came closer to him, deepening the emptiness within him.

Suddenly, there was something he noticed with his eyes—figures blending into the shadows. They moved so fast that he couldn't quite understand what was happening. He didn't want to face them even for a moment with his eyes. But it was too late.

Suddenly, he felt a cold touch on his back. He tried to turn back, but someone grabbed his arms hard. It was done so suddenly and harshly that he was thrown off before he even had a chance to do anything. His face hit the ground and his arms and legs curled up. Everything was blurred, he felt a cold, but painful warmth enveloping his body.

For a few minutes he tried to understand what was happening. The fear inside him only prevented him from hearing the voices. Hands continued to wrap around his body. Everything became blurry for a moment.

When the voices stopped, his joy, which once shone like the light within him, was replaced by deep silence. There was nothing left in his mind. The darkness that night was a breaking point.

He stepped aside, emotionally frozen, despite not being aware of his own body and his hands shaking. That night, he broke in a way that no one else saw anymore. And it would never be the same again.

Telling what happened that night would make every word knot in his mouth. It was a reflection of the break, the pain, the lost joy. But there was something, no longer felt—losing oneself, not belonging to anyone or anything. It all ended with the person he once knew.

And that night, among the cold walls on the west side, no one ever understood what happened to him.

Flashback – The Night It Broke

The streets were dark.

Gotham was always dangerous, but he didn't care at the moment. There was such a big void inside him… He couldn't even feel what was dangerous anymore. His feet dragged him unconsciously from one street to another.

He was cold. But this coldness had penetrated not only his body but also his soul.

At one point, he realized someone was calling out to him. At first he didn't care. But then the steps became heavier. His eyes blurred.

When someone grabbed his arm, he instinctively pulled back. But the streets were silent, there was no escape.

When the touches became harder, he realized that moment.

Something inside him was screaming. He was thinking about the voice that echoed in the Batcave a few hours ago. That short answer Bruce gave him, Damian's disdainful look...

They didn't even know he was here.

And they wouldn't know.

He resisted. But he was tired, very tired.

He felt the hardness of the cold wall on his back. His breathing became irregular. Words didn't come out of his mouth. A pair of hands, then another...

**Those who are uncomfortable with the detailed scene should not read it, maybe I will remove it from the scene**

Without wasting any time, he slid your panties down your legs and forced his big dick into your dry, unprepared hole. it hurt. . It hurt so bad. You screamed and beat him, you raised your hands and tried to beat him with pathetic tears in your eyes, but it didn't work. nothing happened. He was so strong, so big, so muscular, and so desperate that he couldn't give up his relentless and unstrategic attacks. When your screams dried up, big tears flowed from your face. When you gave up and surrendered to the intruder, snot was running down your face. and god listened. He made a few more rough, sloppy thrusts, pushing the tip of his leaking dick towards your cervix, and the man was whining on top of you - filling your pussy with an overwhelming amount of sticky cum.

**Scene ended**

At that moment, his mind fell silent.

Everything fell silent.

The Next Morning – Return Home

When he returned, the moonlight illuminated the garden of the mansion.

He was disheveled, but no one noticed. His hair was disheveled, but no one looked. His face was expressionless, but no one questioned it.

Nobody asked anything.

And he didn't say anything either.

He just went into the bathroom. The water should have been hot, but his skin was numb. It was dirty. He was in a mess. No matter how much he rubbed it, no matter how long he stayed under water, it wouldn't go away.

He knew.

But he still didn't come out of the bathroom for hours.

That day, the last remaining humanity within him broke.

And it didn't belong to anyone anymore. Not to the Batfamily, not to Bruce, not to himself.

[stardustrebels]

A Heart Like That- A Joel Miller x f!reader one shot

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: E/ 18+ MDNI WC: 2.7k

Summary: I really wanted to write a Joel Miller Valentine’s Day story, but couldn’t decide between naughty or nice so I wrote both.

Tags: No Outbreak!AU, established relationship, Joel Miller x f!reader, unprotected PIV, oral sex (f receiving) pet names (darlin’, sugar, baby) soft!Joel for days, fluff & gentle sex. A little bit of worship, a whole lot of care. Minimal descriptions of reader, no use of y/n. 

A/N: A little Valentine’s story with a very tired, very soft and very domesticated Joel Miller. PWP but make it sweet. If love isn’t like this, I don’t want it, tbh. 2/2 of my Joel Miller Valentine’s day naughty & nice one shots. Enjoy! 

You could say that you had gotten used to it- the way Joel Miller loved you- but that would be a lie. 

He was a man of few words, but you didn’t need to hear many. His care for you shone through in his actions; in little gestures that you were sure would have fallen by the wayside the longer you dated him, but after nearly a year together they hadn’t. 

He would leave your clothes on the heater for you on cold mornings and set up the coffee machine so that all you had to do was turn it on when you woke up. He kept a mental list of things that you liked, or mentioned in passing; your favourite seasonal flowers, what type of snacks you preferred, books you wanted to read, places you wanted to go. He would surprise you with little trinkets he’d found in your favourite colour, or candles for his place in scents that you loved to make you feel more at home there. He always rested a steadying hand on the small of your back when you walked together and hold you close when you climbed in to bed with him after a long day, lulling you to sleep with kind words whispered in to your hair. He would sometimes wake you in the fresh hours of dawn before he left for work, murmuring those same things into the soft skin of your thigh as he pleasured you with a devotion that you had previously never known.

“I gotta treat my girl right” was all he would say with a shrug and a coy smile whenever you brought it up.

You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, of course. You both knew that. You had for years before you’d welcomed him in to your life. It was one of the first things that made him fall for you, your independence, but Joel revelled in making life just a little bit easier for you, even when it made things more difficult for himself. 

So today, you decided that you wanted to make things easy for him. You weren’t the overly domestic type, but he’d had a long week and you wanted to do something nice. You left work early and stopped by the grocery store on your way to his place to pick up a cute Valentine’s day card and the ingredients to make dinner for him.

You started on dinner as soon as you made it to Joel’s and changed in to some comfy clothes as soon as it was in the oven. The sight of your clothes nestled in against his in the dresser made your heart swoop. You tidied round a little, set the table and set one of Joel’s prized vintage records on the turntable as you waited for him to get home. 

You called a hello over the music when you heard the front door close, and he appeared in the threshold of the kitchen with a bouquet of pink roses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. His face broke in to a wide smile when he saw you, but it wasn’t quite enough to cover the weariness that sat heavy on his features. 

“Hey, baby,” he said, leaning in to kiss you when you padded over to him. “Didn’t think you’d beat me here. Wanted to surprise you with these.” 

“Left work early,” you said, accepting the flowers with a smile as he set the wine on the counter. “These are so gorgeous, Joel. Thank you.” 

“Gorgeous flowers for my gorgeous lady,” he murmured, winking at you. You beamed up at him before moving to put the flowers in some water.

“Smells good in here,” Joel said, shrugging off his jacket.

“Made us dinner,” you explained, reaching up to the cupboard for some wine glasses. “It’s pretty much ready, I think.”

“You didn’t have to do that, sweetheart, we coulda just ordered takeout or somethin’,” Joel said, watching you fondly. 

You shrugged and gestured for him to sit, before turning your attention to the dish in the oven. 

“I wanted to do something nice- you do nice things for me all the time.” 

Joel shifted awkwardly where he stood and flexed his hands against the back of the chair, but kept his eyes fixed on you. You missed the expression that crossed his face. “That’s different,” 

You turned to him with a hand on your hip. “It’s really not. Would you just sit down, Miller? Let me take care of you.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, shooting you a lopsided grin before he did as he was told. 

Dinner was nice, and you were overjoyed to spend some time with Joel like this. He looked relaxed. Happy. The music from the record player floated through from the other room as a sweet soundtrack to your meal. Joel was as tactile as he always was, his knee bumping against yours affectionately under the table as he complimented your cooking. You both sat and talked for a long while after the food was finished, and only moved when Joel yawned so widely his hand didn’t even cover it. 

You cleaned up together, despite your assurances that he could get in to bed and leave you to sort out the mess. Joel had refused and started washing up before you could stop him. 

As you dried the last dish, Joel moved to stand behind you, arms caging you in as he peppered kisses to the side of your neck. 

“I really love comin’ home to you, y’know.” He said between kisses. 

“Oh yeah?” You said, leaning in to his chest. 

“Yeah.” He breathed against your ear. 

Your stomach flipped as you turned and leaned back against the counter to get a good look at him. His eyes didn’t meet yours- he looked at the floor and took a steadying breath before he spoke again. 

“I wondered if… if you’d maybe wanna move in here with me?” He murmured, throwing you an awkward, lopsided smile. “Or find someplace new together? I wanna come home to you every night, darlin’.” 

You stared at him, lips parted in surprise. Not because you hadn’t thought about it before. You had. A lot. But you’d never voiced your desires to him, you weren’t sure if he’d felt the same way, and you hadn’t wanted to fuck anything up by asking him. 

Hearing Joel say it, seeing how tense he was, bracing himself for your response, made something bloom deep within your chest. Your silence must have stretched on a little too long- Joel exhaled sharply, and his arms dropped to his side giving you a chance to move away if you wanted to. 

“Look, I don’t wanna rush anythin’,” he said, the words scraping their way out of his throat, rough under the effort of hiding his disappointment. “Just thought since we’ve been doin’ this a while, and I think you like it here. I figured-”

You cupped his face in your hands, gently tracing your thumbs over the scruff on his jaw, and lifted his head to make him look at you. “Joel.”

The look on his face when his eyes finally met yours made it feel like something was squeezing your heart.  

“I’d love to,” you said, smiling up at him so that there was no room for any doubt. 

His breath hitched, a sweet little sound you’d only ever heard him make when you were in bed together. “You would?”

You nodded, your smile widening. “Yeah.”

Relief washed over his face, and before you could say anything else, he was kissing you. His hands splayed over your hips, pulling you even closer. Your fingers slid in to the short curls at the nape of his neck, and as you deepened the kiss you felt his shoulders drop as the last of his tension melted away.

The realisation filled you with a sudden yearning. You wanted him to feel it, to understand just how much you wanted this- wanted him. 

You tightened your fingers in his hair and he let out a low moan, his fingers sliding down to squeeze the backs of your thighs. You pulled back just enough to catch your breath and rested your forehead against his. He looked so beautiful; dark eyes blown with desire and his lips swollen from your kisses. 

“Let’s go to bed, handsome,” you said, taking his hand.   

As soon as you’d closed the bedroom door, Joel was on you. He tugged at your clothes, pulling them off with a fervour that suggested he’d suddenly forgotten how tired he was. 

When he’d stripped of everything except your underwear, he sat you down on the edge of the bed and stayed close, kneeling between your parted knees and sliding his hands up your thighs, thumbs pressing gentle circles in to your soft skin. He looked up at you from his spot on the floor with an expression so full of adoration it made your head spin. 

“You gonna let me take care of you now, sugar?” The want in his voice caused it to crack, and you heard the plea laced through the words.

You nodded, unable to find your own voice as your fingers threaded through his hair again, guiding him down to where he longed to be. He trailed soft open-mouthed kisses up your thigh, pulling a contented sigh from you. 

Joel took his time, as he always did when he had you like this. The soft scratch of his beard left a tingling warmth on your skin, and his hands pressed firmly against your legs, holding you open as he nosed against the damp fabric between them, breathing you in like he was savouring something precious. 

“You’re so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured, pressing a kiss over the damp patch before hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and dragging them down your legs.

You barely had time to let out a whimper before he was settling between your thighs pressing his tongue against your aching heat. He groaned at the first taste of you, and it vibrated against your clit so deliciously that you had no choice but to fall back on to the bed, your fingers leaving his hair to clutch at the comforter. 

You gasped his name, thighs beginning to tremble in anticipation of his licks. He dragged his tongue over every sensitive spot he knew by heart, fingers digging in to your skin when your hips raised toward his face in a silent request for more. 

It was almost unbearable- when he took you apart like this- when he made you feel like nothing else in the world existed except you and him and the pleasure that shot through you, building with every moment. 

You bucked your hips again and he groaned against you, pressing his face closer to nudge his nose against your clit as he eased two fingers inside you, curling them just right. 

“Fuck- Joel,” you gasped, chest heaving, 

“I got you, darlin’. It’s alright, I got you.” He murmured before moving his tongue to flick right over your clit. 

He knew exactly how to take you apart. At this point, you’d call him an expert at it with no hint of irony, and as always, it wasn’t long before you were clenching down on his fingers, moaning loudly to the heavens as you came. He hummed against you, a sweet satisfied sound, as he coaxed you through the aftershocks. 

“Joel,” you whined, breath catching. 

His movements stilled slowly and then he was moving, pressing one last lingering kiss against your thigh before shifting to stand, pulling off his clothes before sliding up your body. His hands bracketed your face as he hovered above you. His eyes were dark and hazy with want, his lips glistening, his breathing uneven.

“Yeah?” He murmured, head tilted in appreciation as he looked down at you . “Need me, sweetheart?”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling at him until your lips brushed against his, tasting yourself on him. “Always,” you whispered. 

A groan rumbled from his chest and he pressed his body flush against yours. You could feel his length hot and heavy, pressing in to your hip as you arched up in to him, desperate for him to be inside you. He pulled back just enough to met your gaze, thumb stroking along your cheek. 

And then he was guiding himself to your entrance, sinking in to you with a slow, deliberate thrust, filling you completely. 

“Jesus,” he rasped, voice tight as if he was holding on to his control by a thread. “You feel so good, darlin’.”

You let out a low, breathy moan against his jaw, wrapping your legs around his waist to keep him as close as possible. He was so deep, so warm and solid above you, surrounding you, overwhelming every one of your senses. His hand moved to cup the back of your head, tucking it against his shoulder gently as he thrust in to you. He was all around you, all that you could feel and see- overwhelming in the most intoxicating way. 

He started to move, rocking his hips slowly, dragging his cock against the spot inside you that made you weak, that left you unable to do anything except press crescent shapes in to his back with your fingernails. He kept his pace unhurried, murmuring words of praise that you could hardly hear over your building moans of pleasure. When you came again it was blinding; the pleasure wracked through you like a wild thing, twitching and clenching at your insides before it subsided in to a rolling wave of fuzziness, rippling through to your toes like TV static. Joel let out a string of curses at how hard you clenched around him, and only increased the speed of his movements when you let out a couple of whimpers as the residual spasms of your orgasm rolled through you. 

Joel’s breathing grew heavier, his rhythm faltering somewhat as he chased his own release. He let go of the back of your head to press a rough kiss to your temple as his body started to tremble above you. The way you clenched around him, still pulsing with aftershocks, made his jaw go slack, a deep, broken moan spilling from his lips. 

He buried himself deep with a rough, shuddering exhale, body tensing as he came. His face pressed against your neck, breath hot against your skin as he let himself fall apart in you. You could feel the way he softened, how his hold on you turned from something desperate to something grounding, like he needed you there with him more than anything. 

Joel shifted just enough to press a soft kiss to your shoulder, his hands smoothing over your body, slow and careful. He never pulled away too fast, never left you feeling empty. Instead, he cupped your cheek, guiding your mouth in to a kiss that was soft and lingering as he pulled out of you. 

“You okay, baby?” He murmured, lips brushing against yours as he spoke. 

You hummed, nodding sleepily, and he smiled, tracing his thumb along your cheekbone. 

“You’re so perfect,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to the side of your face before shifting to pull you against his chest. 

You nestled in as he pulled blankets around you both. He always did that, always made sure that you were warm, safe, cared for. 

His fingers traced slow, absentminded patterns along your back, his breath deep and steady against the top of your head. The quiet stretched between you, comfortable and warm in your post-orgasm bliss. 

“Love you,” you muttered, pressing a soft kiss against his chest.  Joel’s arms tightened around you, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. “Love you too, sweetheart.”  His hand found yours beneath the blanket, fingers slotting together with yours in a practised, effortless way. As sleep began to pull you under, you felt it- how deeply he meant it, the depth of your own love for him, and how you didn’t want to spend another day where you didn’t sleep and wake beside him. He was home, and so were you. 

[bybobbysbeard]

Arrivals

Day 8 for @bucktommyfluffebruary: surprise read on ao3 read other days here

Buck smells like an airport. He couldn’t accurately describe what that smell entails, but he knows he stinks of it. He’s exhausted, his feet hurt, and his bad leg is swollen from the pressure changes. He wants to take his sneakers off, drink a massive glass of icy-cold water, and fall into bed; in that order. 

But no matter how crappy he feels, he won’t let a single word of complaint pass his lips. Any discomfort he’s experiencing has to be dwarfed by what Maddie’s going through. She just did the same amount of traveling as him, and she's six months pregnant. Thank God they were only in Pennsylvania for the weekend. His Mom’s retirement party went well, Buck didn’t make a fool of himself, and Maddie was glowing. But being with his parents was as exhausting as ever. 

And that’s not including the fact that they still have no idea how to deal with Buck dating a man. 

They have never cared about anyone he’s dated before, as long as he wasn’t embarrassing them or getting a girl pregnant. And then they saw him with Tommy at Maddie’s wedding. They didn’t say anything, but Buck could feel his Mom’s eyes on him the whole time. Even as he escorted a half-asleep Tommy to his Jeep, they only waved half-heartedly. He assumed they had decided it was a phase, and didn’t need to introduce themselves. 

When he told them on Friday that Tommy was on special deployment, or he would have brought him along, his mom stuttered over three different sentence starts. She finally ended up with, “I didn’t realize you were still with him.”

Before Buck could think better of it, he said, “Technically, I’m with him again.” That had kicked off a barebones explanation of their break-up and reconciliation, which his parents had not reacted well to. 

The rest of the weekend continued in the same tone.  

The pointed, leading questions, which he pretended to misunderstand. The insinuations that he didn’t know his own mind, which he ignored. The blatant aspersions against Tommy, blaming him for confusing Evan and leading him on. Those he addressed immediately, and at one point, it would have devolved into a shouting match, if not for Maddie. 

Suffice to say, he’s happy to be back in Los Angeles, even if he still has an hour long Uber ride ahead of him. Normally, he knows his family would be tripping over themselves to pick them up from the airport, but Chimney is home with a still-sick-but-recovering Jee, and the rest of the 118 is on shift. Most disappointingly, Tommy’s still fighting the wildfires up north, piloting water bombers for another week and a half.

Buck will be going home to an empty loft. 

The baggage carousel comes into view, so Buck parks Maddie by a nearby column and goes to wait for their bags. She’s digging her cell out as he turns away. He checks his own phone, finds ‘welcome home’ messages from the group chat, but nothing from Tommy. He’s probably in the air. Or sleeping. Eventually, a familiar navy bag and maroon suitcase come into view. His duffle gets slung over a shoulder and he leads Maddie’s wheeling suitcase over. They head towards Arrivals without any words exchanged. Maddie’s walking slowly, obviously tired, breath puffing out of her mouth as she rests one hand low on her belly. Buck wraps an arm around her shoulders and she leans into him. 

“I wish Chimney and Jee could have come with us. He’s so good with Mom and Dad, and Jee is so distracting.” She sighs. “I’m sorry again. About what they were saying. I wish they would just be happy for you.”

“It’s alright Mads, I wasn’t about to let you fly to Hershey all alone. I can deal with them for a weekend.”

She lapses into silence again. They turn another corner and step onto an escalator, finally descending to ground level. The Arrivals area is a wider section of the terminal, an open space, right by the main exit. Floor to ceiling windows let in the setting sun. There’s people all around, reunions between travelers and their families happening in a hundred different languages, a hundred different cultures. Buck steers them through the crowd, hearing the laughter and tears in the voices surrounding them. There’s a line of people by the doors, holding signs. Sunbeams edge everyone in gold.

One of the signs says “Buckley.”

Wait, what? His eyes jerk from the sign to the man holding it. 

Holy shit. It’s Tommy. How?!

Buck stops dead. Their eyes meet. He knows his mouth is hanging open. Tommy’s smiling widely, almost laughing at the dumbfounded expression that Buck knows he’s sporting. His face crinkles adorably with the force of his joy. His eyes are sparkling. 

The arm Buck has around Maddie’s shoulder jerks her to a stop too. People continue to stream around them. She darts a look at his face, bursting into laughter and following his gaze to Tommy. She waves, still giggling. Tommy’s already striding over, eating up the distance between them until he's close enough to touch.

Two big hands settle on his cheeks, pinkies applying the smallest pressure to his jaw. His teeth clack together when he finally remembers to shut his mouth. A chaste, gentle kiss is pressed to his lips.

“Hi baby. Welcome home.”

Stupidly, all Buck can think to say is, “you’re supposed to be in Oregon.”

Tommy chuckles. “I was, but the Canadians showed up early, so they sent us home.” His hands drop down to wrap around Buck’s. Their fingers intertwine without Buck’s input. “Surprised?”

Buck nods. He recognizes he’s staring, like Tommy is a hallucination that might disappear at any second, but it's been nearly three weeks since he’s seen his boyfriend. He’s just had a shitty weekend in his hometown, playing the part of a dutiful son to strangers, while worrying about his sister and his unborn nibling, and dealing with the casual disregard he’s come to expect from his parents. Only this time, there was a nice heaping tablespoon of biphobia sprinkled on top. He needs a minute.

Maddie lays a hand on both of their elbows. “Good timing Tommy, I was worried we were going to beat you to the exit.”

Buck whips his head around to stare at her. “You knew!”

She giggles again. He spins back to Tommy. He’s flushed from laughter, radiant in the early evening light. Buck’s gaze darts over his face. His blue eyes, his crow’s feet, his perfect teeth. The cleft. He’s beautiful, and he’s here for Buck. 

It feels like his brain finally comes back online. Tommy’s here. For Buck.

Buck lunges forward, driving a little oomph out of Tommy and wrapping his arms around him tightly. He squeezes and lifts, hoisting Tommy a few inches into the air, making him flail and squeak out an undignified noise. Maddie snorts, bending at the waist, helpless with mirth. Tommy’s hands land on his shoulders, fingertips digging into the muscle, little spots of warm pressure. 

“Evan! Put me down, oh my God. I missed you too!”

[kkoga]

DO IT. DO THE HURT NO COMFORT. PLPSLSPLSPSLSPLS I LOVE ANGST!!!

-🎧

A/N : your wish is my command....

RAINY NIGHTS, sophia laforteza x fem!reader

Warning ! Hurt no comfort, toxic relationship, mentions of sensitive topics, not proofread

Disclaimer ! Everything written here is pure fiction. Every person is not a real portrayal of themselves.

Now playing ! Cologne by beabadobee

WC — I dont knkw bruh i wrote this and its 3 fucking am im not mentally sane lawl phones also 7 percent.

Synopsis ! After Sophia Laforteza fucks up multiple times, Y/n decides she's had enough. Time and time the girl had waited, but much to her dismay, all Sophia had done, was disappoint her.

Y/n shamefully exits the restaurant, feeling dozens of eyes on her. The girl had been waiting for her girlfriend, Sophia Laforteza, to show up to a date they've been planning for weeks now.

The first hour wasn't so bad. Maybe she had gotten stuck in traffic, or maybe she would be just a little late. The second hour was worse. At that point, waiters and waitresses had started asking her where her partner was. And what Y/n hated the most, was the fact that she had no answer to their questions.

Now here she was, after the fourth hour of waiting. It was currently 12 am, and much to the girl's luck, it had just started raining.

The girl could only sigh.

"What a great marvellous day! Not only does Sophia leave me waiting for our date, it starts raining right after I get kicked out! Absolutely hilarious!" Y/n mumbes to herself, tears beginning to well up.

"Maybe she just forgot. I mean, she's busy afterall..." The girl tried her best to convince herself that this was going to be a one time thing.

She was wrong.

Y/n bites her inner lip. It has been 2 hours since their designated sleepover. It's been weeks since Sophia had gone over to her house. So they'd been planning for a movie night. And tonight was that night. So why exactly has Sophia been ignoring her calls?

Y/n presses the call button once more, but to no avail, she was met with Sophia's voice mail for the nth time.

The popcorn was starting to get cold, and the ice cream was starting to melt. Y/n sighs. It's been two hours. Maybe she got caught up in an emergency schedule?

"Couldn't she just have told me...?" Y/n shakenly whispers to herself. This was the fourth time Sophia had stood her up this month alone.

Y/n begrudgingly placed the ice cream back in the fridge and seals the popcorn in a random container. The sound of rain keeping her grounded.

"It's okay. This will be the last time this happens."

Finally. Sophia had finally shown up to a hang out. Y/n had been waiting for the past month. The girl had greatly missed her girlfriend, and she hoped Sophia felt the same.

"Sophie! Hi!" Y/n ran up to Sophia, and hugged her as tight as she could. Afraid to let go, scared she might lose the one person able to cheer her up with a simple smile.

"Y/n! Baby! Hi, i missed you so much." Sophia hugged the girl back, and for a moment, Y/n thought,

"Finally. We're back to normal. Oh god, how I've missed my girl."

Y/n couldn't help the small but sweet smile that had formed.

It had been an hour since their hang out started, and apparently, Sophia had to go. Y/n felt sad, but knew it was her job, her dream. And Y/n would never get in the way of that.

As Sophia entered her car, Y/n bid goodbye to her girlfriend.

"Bye Sophie, miss you, and i love you." Y/n leans down for a cheek kiss, almost missing the unreadable expression Sophia had on her face.

"Yeah, bye." And with that, Sophia drives off to god knows where.

"No i love you too...? No... maybe she just forgot. It's fine." And suddenly, rain had started pouring. Y/n quickly ran for cover, but couldn't avoid looking like a somewhat wet puppy.

It was infact, not fine. It had been three months since that little mini date, and Sophia hadn't said the words "I love you". Atleast not without Y/n basically telling her to.

What went wrong? What did Y/n ever do? Did she offend Sophia? Did she do anything to form this... this gap between them?

Y/n felt so lost. So... confused. She was so sure she hadn't done anything. At least not anything she could remember. Well, she was going to find out tonight.

The door opens widely, in a swift manner. And in comes Sophia, sick and worried.

"Y/N, BABY, ARE YOU OKAY?? I came as soon as i got the text, I—" The panicked Sophia came in, expecting to see an injured or sick Y/n. But all she had found was Y/n sitting on the chair of one of her counters, with a stoic look on her face.

Sophia's breathe was heavy, like she had ran to get to Y/n's apartment.

"Why are you completely fine? You texted me it was an emergency Y/n, I was busy—!"

"Well, you always are, aren't you?" Y/n looks up to Sophia's eyes, and frustration begins to fill the Filipina.

"Excuse me? You know I'm constantly busy. For fucks sake, I'm an idol! You can't—"

"I know. I know what I signed up for, Laforteza. I know I'd never get in the way of your dreams. You would never even let me." Y/n gets off the stool, and faces her girlfriend.

"So what's your point! What, you call me here because you missed me? I was in a fucking meeting Y/n. With one of HYBE's officials!! Do you know how fucking important that is?" Sophia scratches her head in disbelief, her anger bubbling up faster than it ever has. Y/n sighs defeatedly.

"More important than me?"

Silence filled the apartment. What felt like hours were only a few measly seconds.

"The silence was more than enough, Laforteza. I'm tired. I am so fucking tired of you leaving me hanging. At first, it was a date here, a date there, but nowadays, it's like everything we plan just ends up with me waiting."

"But I'm trying Y/n! I'm trying my best for you, for my members, for my fucking dream. Why can't you just understand that?"

"Then answer this, Laforteza. When was the last time you had told me the words "I love you"? When was the last time you had willingly told me those three words."

Sophia tried to recollect, the Filipina had really tried her best. But the realization had hit her hard.

"Fucking THINK Laforteza. Give me a goddamned answer. When was the last time you had given me a sincere, loving, "I love you"?... ANSWER ME!"

"I... I can't remember...." Sophia had started tearing up. Why couldn't she fucking remember the last time she had said I love you to her own fucking girlfriend?

Y/n let out a laugh. But it wasn't the usual light and hearty laugh Sophia had always heard. This laugh sounded painful. It was like all of Y/n's vocal chords had suddenly forgotten what a laugh had sounded like.

After a few seconds, Y/n's laughing had turned into sobs.

"Do you know how many times I've had to shamefully walk out of a restaurant, or get kicked out? Sophia, everyone looked at me. Their eyes were so full of pity. The waiters and waitresses constantly checked up on me like I was some poor child, left behind by her mother. Countless times, Sophia. I endured it all, thinking it would be the last time."

Y/n's voice had started cracking, and the girl had made a face Sophia had never seen before. One filled with so much sadness, so much sorrow.

"But time and time again, you proved me wrong. Every date you stood up, every "I love you" left unanswered, destroyed me, Sophia."

"Baby... baby I'm so sorry, please—" Sophia tries to move closer to Y/n, but the girl pulls away.

"Don't. Don't ever call me baby ever again. You don't get the fucking right, Sophia."

"I'm so disappointed in you Sophia. I never thought you'd ever treat me this way. Your career may have excused a missing date or two. But seven in a row? Sophia, we've gone on three total dates for the past four month's. And we had planned seventeen. Seven fucking teen Sophia. You stood me up fourteen times, and that's only for the past four months."

"I.. please I'm so—"

"So let's end this."

"...what?"

This felt so surreal. Y/n had just asked her if they could end it. Sophia had felt her whole world crumble. She caused this? Has she really broken down the one person who had supported her through everything?

"No.. no, no we aren't. Please, just give me a chance to—"

"No, Laforteza. Get out. We're over."

Sophia laughs, hoping this was some sort of wicked sick dream.

"We aren't over Y/n. Please, I just—"

"We've been over for the past seven months, Laforteza. What we've had for those last few months was just me trying to keep us both on the same page. But a relationship requires two people. We can't keep going if your heart isn't in it, Laforteza."

Sophia couldn't help it. Her tears had burst out like there was no tomorrow. The girl hadn't cried like this for a long, long time.

"But.. but I need you Y/n, please..." At this point, the Filipina had gotten on her knees.

"No, you don't. Hell, you don't even want me. You just think you do. So please, get up and leave, before I say things I don't think I can take back."

"I can't just leave!"

"Yes you can. Leave. For the both of us, Sophie." The mention of her nickname was driving Sophia crazy.

"But I fucking love you Y/n!" .

Y/n looks at Sophia with a tired face.

"Do you really?"

Sophia looks at Y/n. A look of desperation displayed on her pretty face. Y/n hates how she's never going to see that face ever again. Hates how she's never going to kiss that pretty face to sleep ever again. Hates how those soft and comforting arms will never comfort her ever again. Hates how she will never wake up next to the love of her life ever again. Hates how Sophia will never be hers ever again. But she was okay with that. She knew it had to end one way or another. It was better this way.

And so, after more back and forth conversations, Sophia reluctantly leaves. Sophia closes the door, and Y/n locks it right after.

Y/n will never open up her heart for Sophia ever again. And the latter knows that. They were over. They were really over. Neither could believe it. The two fall to their knees, on opposite sides of the door. The sound of heavy rain masking the others cries.

Guess rainy nights were never their thing.

[sakur4ii]

Code Name: Rabbit Chapter 1: Happy Birthday

English is not my first language! ←prologue next chapter →

Warning: explicit death, mentions of suicide, description of corpse.

January 18, 4:27 AM

"Lean On" resonates on the first floor. You feel the song thumping in your chest as unfamiliar people crowd around you, dancing and laughing, the strong scent of alcohol thick in the air. The lights change color constantly, making it hard to see, but you know this place well enough not to have trouble finding your way to the stairs. The floor is warm under your bare feet. You feel tugs on your dark coat, but no one manages to pull it off. It takes you a solid five minutes to reach the stairs, where a man in a suit and sunglasses greets you with a smile. In response, you give him a light tap on the shoulder.

Suddenly, the warmth beneath your feet turns to cold as you step onto the stairs. With each step up, the music fades, and the scents of expensive perfumes fill your nostrils. Though you hate the second floor, you push aside the red velvet curtain and step into The Forbidden Garden, a place where only those with enough money can enter.

Instead of the electronic music from below, you are welcomed by bossa nova melodies, controlled laughter, and murmured conversations—mostly from men. The scent of whiskey and tobacco is strong. The lights are dim, easy on the eyes, focusing on the dancers. Your dancers wear plastic masks similar to yours, though you're the only one with a rabbit mask. They are dressed in lace outfits or lingerie, keeping their distance from the men for the most part. You scan the room but don’t see your bubblegum-pink-haired girl anywhere.

Your presence is noticeable even if no light reaches the entrance. You can sense the poorly hidden tension. No longer stepping on hard floors, your feet sink into a silk wine-colored carpet, a welcomed relief. Your gaze shifts to the runway, where one of your dancers discreetly gestures toward the backstage area. You nod in silent thanks.

You swiftly move through the lounge, ignoring the men seated on the expensive furniture they themselves have funded. Reaching a door marked Only Staff, you open and close it quickly, drowning out the music behind you.

Silence. It’s not strange. In an hour, people will start leaving, so most of the dancers have probably already gone home or moved upstairs. Even so, you walk deeper into the dressing rooms, mirrors lining the walls, makeup scattered across vanities, lingerie and revealing dresses hanging on racks. The air is thick with feminine perfume, and you immediately recognize Lyara’s soft humming up ahead.

—What does the love of my life need?— She jokes, glancing at you through the mirror as she removes her makeup.

—Still no news about Bea?— You cut straight to the point, your tone serious.

Lyara’s playful smile fades. She presses her lips together, and concern flickers in her eyes—concern she had been trying to hide. You take a seat at the vanity to her right.

—It’s been two days since I last saw her. I asked the girls… she hasn’t even been home...

You watch as Lyara wipes away her eyeshadow, her voice becoming background noise as your mind races. The girls who decide to leave this job always give notice. But for Bea to not even set foot in her own home… that’s alarming. You’ve had a bad feeling lately, a sense that something terrible is coming. And you don’t like it at all. But you haven’t voiced your concerns, even if, in the past, your intuition has always been right.

—Hey! Earth to [Name]— Lyara snaps her fingers in front of your mask, pulling you from your thoughts. —I know I’m way too gorgeous, but we’re talking about something serious here.— You roll your eyes at her antics. —I was saying that there have been reports of many missing women in Gotham and Blüdhaven lately… Do you think… do you think Bea’s disappearance is connected?

You don’t answer right away. You have considered the possibility—that Bea is just another victim in a string of unfortunate abductions. But there’s something in your chest, whether it’s intuition or paranoia, telling you that this situation is worse than that.

—I don’t know… After closing, I’ll keep investigating. By the way, you have a spider on your neck.— You say as you stand, ready to leave the dressing room.

Behind you, Lyara lets out a panicked scream. You can’t help but laugh as you walk out the door. The prank never fails.

January 18, 6:30 AM

Two hours have passed. You’re helping clean the first-floor kitchen. The two cooks were sent home long ago, and, as always, the barista insisted on helping you and Lyara with basic cleanup to ease the workload for the cleaning crew.

—I’m taking out the trash.— Omar announces. You nod, wiping the counter, cleaning up remnants of sauce as you hear him pull the bag from the bin.

—You better get some rest because I’m taking you out for lunch.— Lyara makes her presence known, winking at you as she carries more dishes from the second floor.

—That’s going to be hard. I thought I told you I was locking myself in my office.— You set the rag aside and stretch your tired limbs.

—I know, but it’s your special day, and you deserve it. Besides, you need rest. I’ll keep investigating for you.— She offers you a genuine smile as she loads the dishes into the dishwasher.

For a moment, you wish you could take off your mask so she could see the gratitude in your eyes. But it’s unnecessary. She already knows.

A piercing scream from outside makes you both freeze. Lyara looks at you, wide-eyed, and you’re sure your expression mirrors hers beneath your mask. Neither of you wastes time reacting. You both run, pushing open the back door leading to the dumpsters.

There, Omar sits on the ground, trying to distance himself from whatever is to your left.

You rush to him, worry creeping in as the man trembles, pointing at something behind you. But it’s Lyara’s scream that finally makes you turn around.

Your chest tightens at the sight. Your throat burns, tears sting your eyes, and you can’t believe what you’re seeing.

Drip. Drip. That’s the only sound your ears register. The message—Happy Birthday—written in blood makes your stomach churn. But the mutilated, mangled corpse of Bea is the worst part of all.

Whoever did this is going to pay.

---

Five Years Ago

The sound of ambulance sirens was distant, blending with police car sirens. The wind hit your skin, sending chills down your spine.

Your favorite place to watch Gotham at night was this rooftop, atop a tall building in the middle of the city. The city lights, the melody of a homeless man’s guitar two alleys away, and the wind brushing against your face—it was the perfect combination to sit and think.

That night, you were sad. Your face was hidden under a dark cap and mask. Your wound hadn’t healed yet, and the attack was still fresh in your mind. That day, you planned to end it all.

Jason’s death, your family’s negligence, the lack of love, the lack of friends, and the attack that shattered your self-esteem (and gave you an immense fear of axes)—it all weighed on your shoulders.

Then, you heard footsteps behind you.

—Am I interrupting something?— A man’s voice asked. You can’t recall if it was teasing or relaxed—you forgot over time.

But you remember that you didn’t turn around. You didn’t move. And the man took that as an invitation to sit beside you.

That’s when you finally looked at him.

He sat there, feet dangling off the edge, resting his weight on his hands. He wore a black suit—no, a bodysuit. You weren’t sure. But the blue emblem on his chest stood out.

You were nervous. You didn’t think he’d recognized you.

—It’s too late to be sitting on a rooftop in this part of the city.— His voice was playful.

You remained silent.

—Shouldn’t you be in Blüdhaven?— Your voice came out hoarse, after days of not speaking.

Hearing you surprised Nightwing. He thought you’d keep pretending he wasn’t there.

You saw a small, amused smile on his masked face.

A memory your younger self treasures. The only real conversation you ever had with your older brother.

And he never even knew who you were.

---

January 18, 12:15 PM

The murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses, the hum of the coffee machine, and the soft chime of the bell each time someone enters the café are strangely comforting. Your eyes are heavy, and you suppress every yawn that threatens to escape. You’re sitting in a corner by the window; the midday sun filters in, but it doesn’t bother you thanks to the cap you’ve gotten used to wearing. Your seat allows you to see who enters and leaves, while Lyara, on the other hand, has her back to the door.

Lyara insisted on stopping by a café after spending hours dealing with the police. They questioned her, Omar, and the few dancers who had stayed overnight. At the pink-haired girl’s request, you disappeared. Since one of the cameras confirmed that the murder didn’t happen near The Burrow, the police didn’t consider it necessary to investigate inside the building, nor did they shut it down.

You spent hours reviewing the footage, narrowing down the list of suspects in your mind, but there were still too many.

Lyara looks just as exhausted as you do, her hair pulled into a high ponytail, dark circles under her striking blue eyes. She didn’t even bother with makeup before leaving.

You weren’t particularly close to Bea, but Lyara spent a lot of time with her, and you know how much this is affecting her emotionally—especially knowing that whoever did this is after you.

You take a sip of your coffee.

“How many people did you tell about my birthday?” you ask, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. You need to know if you’ve overlooked any suspects.

“I don’t know…” she sighs. “I know I told the girls, Omar, and… what was the name of the stairway guard?”

“Dan.” A tired but amused smile appears on your face, still partially hidden under your cap.

“Yeah, him. Maybe someone let it slip.” She runs a hand down her face. “I’ll ask them.” She rests her head on her palm. “That way, you won’t have to socialize.” It’s a weak attempt at a joke, but it makes you smile behind your cup as you take another sip.

The doorbell chimes, catching your attention. You lift your head, trying to see better under your cap, just as you take another sip of coffee. Grave mistake. You nearly choke when you see who just walked in. Lyara looks at you, confused, about to turn around, but you grab her chin, forcing her to look at you instead.

“What’s wrong?” she whispers, starting to worry. The blush on her cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed, and you quickly pull your hand away.

You don’t even need to say a word. The person sits two tables behind you, directly in Lyara’s line of sight. You just hope he isn’t looking at your table, because the expression on Lyara’s face is priceless—her mouth gapes like a fish, eyes wide as if they might pop out of her head while she stares at the man.

You snap your fingers in front of her face, and she finally looks at you.

“Dick fucking Grayson!?” she mouths dramatically, whispering, and you don’t know whether to laugh or run.

It’s been almost four years since you last saw any member of your family, and on the worst birthday of your life, you suddenly find yourself face-to-face with your only older brother, who doesn’t seem to have aged a single day.

There’s no need for words between you and Lyara. You both finish your drinks quickly, and at her insistence, she goes to the counter to pay while you wait by the door.

You can’t help it. You can’t stop yourself from looking to your right, where your brother is sitting. He’s on his phone, scrolling—probably checking social media. He seems to be waiting for someone. It can’t be Barbara; at this time, she usually has lunch with her father—or at least, that’s what she used to tell you years ago as an excuse not to spend time with you.

You linger too long, and Dick notices. He lifts his head, locking eyes with you. Your breath catches, and you quickly look away, your cap shielding your face from his view.

You miss the expression he makes when he realizes he recognizes you from somewhere.

As soon as Lyara finishes paying, she rushes over and loops her arm through yours, pulling you down the street. As you walk, your shoulders relax—you hadn’t even noticed how tense you were. The people hurrying home for lunch, the cars on the road, the roar of motorcycles, and the soft, warm touch of Lyara’s hand stroking your arm in comfort slowly regulate your breathing. You both return to your shared apartment in comfortable silence.

---

“Alright, stay here and rest. I’ll text you the information,” Lyara says before heading out the door. You only make a small sound to acknowledge her.

You’re lying on the couch, the TV on just for company. You’re exhausted, so you decide to take a nap, but before closing your eyes, you glance at the framed photo on the table—your 16th birthday. It was the last birthday you celebrated with Jason and Alfred, and it was the best day of your life.

Jason had taken you to an amusement park after school. You had so much fun… You still have photos and videos stored in an old camera you left at the mansion. When you got home, Alfred was waiting with a homemade cake, and as he did every year, he took a picture.

In the photo, you’re in the middle, Jason is to your right, and Alfred is to your left. In front of you is the cake with the candles forming the number “16.”

When you moved out, it was the only photo you kept—the only memory that didn’t turn bitter.

How ironic. Six years later, you’re having the worst birthday of your life. A tear rolls down your cheek, and you close your eyes. You miss your brother.

Unfortunately, the sound of the TV in the background doesn’t distract you from the image in your mind—Bea, nailed to The Burrow’s wall with spikes, her body mutilated, entrails spilling out, some on the floor. The sound of blood dripping onto the ground makes your stomach churn. Her face was left intact—just so you could recognize her.

You bolt to the bathroom, about to vomit.

---

January 18, ??:?? PM

Alfred takes the cake out of the fridge while Jason unwraps the candles. The butler places the cake on the table, next to a framed photo of you at 14. Alfred smiles nostalgically at your youthful grin.

Jason steps closer, placing the candles forming “21” on the cake. He pulls a lighter from his pocket and lights them.

Both men stare at the cake in sorrow. They don’t dare sing. They don’t dare blow out the candles. They just watch as the flames slowly burn down.

Alfred lost all contact with you when you chose to live on your own. He regrets not insisting more. He just hopes you’re safe and having a good birthday.

Jason didn’t look for you when he came back. He told himself it was better if you weren’t around while he carried out his revenge. But now that he’s made peace with Bruce, he still can’t bring himself to find you. He’s afraid that if he does, you’ll hate him for what he’s become.

“Happy birthday,” they both whisper as the candles burn out.

---

Hours have passed. Lyara isn’t answering your messages, and when you call, it goes straight to voicemail. You’re getting impatient.

You get up from the couch and grab your laptop, sitting back down as you enter your password and go straight to The Burrow’s security cameras.

Everything outside is empty—not surprising since the police were there this morning. You check the inside cameras. The first floor is empty. The second floor, too. On the third floor, all the dancers and Omar are chatting, but there’s no sign of Lyara.

You check the recordings from a few hours ago. It doesn’t take long to find the only footage of Lyara. You immediately relax, seeing her calmly walking to the back entrance, searching for her keys in her bag.

Then, someone dressed in black appears behind her, sneaking up quietly.

Your heart pounds.

You replay the footage over and over, your chest tightening, your throat closing up as you bite the skin around your nails.

The man in black presses a cloth over Lyara’s mouth. She struggles, fights back, but he pulls out a gun. The moment she raises her hands in surrender, he knocks her unconscious.

They’ve taken her.

Tag list!:

@crystal-freak24 @serlazvi @jscrawls @cxcilla @heartjwonie @pix-stuff @anamiranda7383 @regloml

[writingforstraykids]

Step by Step

Pairing: Minho x 9th member gn!Reader

Word Count: 2181

Summary: Minho's whole purpose is based on his dancing ability. When an injury slows him down he draws back from everyone until Chan sends you his way to get him back.

Warnings/Tags: 9th member fic, angst, fluff, self doubt

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Minho was born to dance.

From the moment he first stepped into a studio, it became his second home, the rhythm of music entwined with the rhythm of his heartbeat. Every movement was precise, every routine a masterpiece, crafted with the kind of dedication that only came from true love for the art. And for as long as you had known him, that fire had burned unshakable.

Until the accident.

It happened in an instant, a moment so brief yet devastatingly permanent. One mistimed landing, one sharp cry of pain, and suddenly, the invincible Lee Minho was reduced to someone broken. The doctors assured him he would recover, but the damage had already been done-not just to his body, but to something far more fragile: his confidence.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and though his body healed, his soul remained fractured. He refused to return to the studio, refused to do so much as talk about dancing, leaving Hyunjin and Felix to figure out your newest moves by themselves. He stayed away from the studio, not really seeing the use in recording new songs when he wouldn't be able to perform them on stage - which drove first Changbin and then Jisung crazy, whilst Chan worried too much for his own good. And what was even worse - he pushed everyone away. Even you. You, his fellow dancer who had always admired him the most.

But you weren’t about to let him go so easily. Not when your maknae had asked you to check on Min, not when Chan had told you, you were their last hope.

-

Knocking on Minho’s door has become part of your routine. Every day you found yourself in front of that wooden door, knocking firmly against it.

It always ended the same way. A muffled "go away," sometimes accompanied by the sound of his cats padding across the room, as if they alone were allowed to witness his pain. But today, you didn’t walk away. You could tell the others were beyond worried and you've had enough.

“I know you’re in there,” you said, arms crossed as you leaned against the frame. “You can’t ignore me forever, you know.”

Silence.

You exhaled sharply. "Lee Minho, I swear—"

The door finally cracked open. Just a sliver, enough for his sharp brown eyes to glare at you. His hair was a little messy, and there was an exhaustion about him that had nothing to do with sleep.“What do you want?” he muttered.

You ignored the irritation in his voice. “To see you. To talk to you.”

His grip on the door tightened. “There’s nothing to talk about. You've seen me now.”

“Minho, you—”

“I said there’s nothing to talk about.” His voice was hard now, like stone, cold and unyielding. “Just leave me alone.”

He started closing the door, but you pushed against it before he could. “No.”

That made him pause. “No?”

“No,” you repeated stubbornly. “I’m not going to leave you alone just because you decided to shut yourself off from the world.”

His jaw clenched. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Your voice softened, the anger ebbing away into something closer to sadness. “Minho, I know you. You’re not okay. And pretending you don’t care doesn’t make it any less true.”

His gaze flickered. For the briefest moment, something in his expression cracked - but just as quickly, he rebuilt his walls. “I don’t need your pity,” he muttered.

“I’m not here because I pity you,” you shot back. “I’m here because I care.” The words hung in the air between you, heavy and unspoken for far too long.

Minho looked away first. “I don’t need anyone.”

You sighed. “You can keep saying that, but it won’t make it true.”

Silence stretched again. He was staring at the floor now, his fingers curling into fists. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “I can’t dance anymore.”

Your heart clenched at the defeat in his voice and you shook your head. “Yes, you can.”

“No,” he said, sharper this time. “I can’t. I’ve tried, and it’s not the same. My body - it doesn’t move the way it used to. I’m slower, weaker. I mess up things that were second nature before. It’s gone.”

Your chest tightened. You had seen him try - alone in the practice room when he thought no one was watching. The frustration, the way he’d stumble and curse under his breath, the way he’d leave without looking back. You took a step closer. “Minho-”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He turned away, gripping the door as if he wanted to slam it shut again.

But you weren’t done. “Minho.” Something in your voice must have made him pause. “You don’t have to be perfect right now,” you said softly. “You just have to try.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, with a sigh, he muttered, “You’re exhausting.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, knowing you won. “I know.” And this time, when he closed the door, it wasn’t all the way.

-

The next day, you found Minho sitting in the practice room. Not dancing. Just sitting - back against the mirrors, legs stretched out, watching his reflection like he didn’t recognize the person staring back.

You sat down next to him without a word. For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, just heavy. Finally, you broke it.

“You know,” you said, hugging your knees, “when I first joined the group, I thought you hated me.”

Minho blinked, caught off guard. “…What?”

You smiled faintly. “You were so intimidating. Always so serious, so good at everything. I was scared to mess up in front of you.”

Minho scoffed. “You? Scared? Yeah, right.”

“I mean it,” you admitted. “But then I realized something - you weren’t actually scary. You were just focused. Because you cared that much.”

He exhaled, looking away. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Yes, it does.” You turned to him fully. “Minho, dancing is you. It’s in your blood, in your bones. An injury doesn’t change that.”

His jaw clenched and he shook his head firmly. “You don’t get it.”

“Then make me get it,” you pleaded with him. “Make me understand what's keeping you from your passion.”

His hands curled into fists. “What if I’m never as good as before?” The raw honesty in his voice nearly broke you.

“What if you’re better?” you countered and Minho froze. You reached out, your fingers brushing his lightly. “You’re not starting over, Minho. You’re growing. And yeah, it’s going to be hard, and it’s going to hurt. But you’re still you.”

For a long moment, he just looked at you. And then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. It wasn’t a promise but it was a start.

-

The next time you found Minho in the studio, he was standing. Not dancing. Not stretching. Just standing like a soldier preparing for battle, shoulders stiff, fists clenched.

You watched from the doorway, waiting. If you pushed too hard, he’d shut down again.

Slowly, he raised a foot, testing his balance. Then he tried a step - hesitant, uncertain. Another. And another. But the moment he attempted a turn, his body faltered. He caught himself before he could fall, but you saw it. The frustration. The fear.

Before he could storm out, you stepped forward. “It’s okay.”

Minho flinched, shoulders tensing. “Go away.”

“No, Min,” you told him firmly and gently cupped his face.

Minho's eyes grew wide as he swallowed softly, the warmth of your hands oddly calming. He exhaled sharply. “Why do you keep-”

“Because you’re worth it,” you said firmly, thumbs drawing a small pattern against his skin. “Because I know you. And because I refuse to watch you give up on yourself.”

He stared at you, something in his gaze unreadable. Then, finally - finally- he lowered his gaze to the floor and whispered, “I don’t know how to do this.”

Your chest tightened. “You don’t have to do it alone, Min. We can work on this together.”

For a moment, he hesitated. And then, without another word, he let you wrap him into a firm hug, enjoying your soothing presence for a moment.

-

The days passed in a rhythm of their own. Some were good. On those days, Minho moved with a shadow of his old self, the precision of his steps slowly returning. You saw glimpses of the dancer he had once been - the fire, the grace, the intensity.

But some days were bad.

On those days, he couldn’t even make it through a routine without stopping, his frustration boiling over. He lashed out - not at you, but at himself. And then one day, everything snapped.

It was late, the studio dimly lit. You had been practicing together for hours, working through a routine, when Minho’s footwork slipped on a turn. It wasn’t a bad fall, but it was enough. Enough for his patience to shatter.

“Damn it!” The sound of his voice - raw, broken - echoed through the room. Before you could react, he slammed his fist against the mirror. Not hard enough to break it, but enough to send a painful thud through the air. “I can’t do this,” he growled out, voice shaking. “It’s not working. I’m-” His breath hitched. “I’m not me anymore, I'm fucking broken.”

Your heart clenched as you hesitantly took a step forward. “Minho-”

But he wasn’t listening. He pressed a hand to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving with the weight of something far deeper than just dance. And then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear - “I don’t deserve this.”

Your breath caught. “Deserve what?” you whispered.

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Anything. The group. The stage. You. I was already expendable before,” he said, voice hollow. “Now? I don’t even belong here.”

Something in you snapped, eyes burning fiercely. “Don’t you dare say that.” Minho looked up, startled. “You think you don’t belong?” you demanded. “You think we wouldn’t be less without you? Minho, you’re the main dancer of this team. You always have been. You're our friend..And nothing can change that.” His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak. You swallowed hard. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be you. And that’s enough.”

Minho exhaled, something crumbling in his expression. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he admitted, so quiet it was almost a plea.

You reached for his hand. “Then let me believe for you until you can.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. But then - slowly - his fingers curled around yours. And for the first time, he truly didn’t push you away.

-

Things changed after that night. Minho still struggled, but he let you see it now. He let himself lean on you, even if only a little. And somewhere along the way, between long hours in the studio and late-night conversations, you realized.

The pain he carried wasn’t just from the injury. It was older. Deeper.

One evening, as you sat side by side in the practice room, Minho finally spoke the words you never expected. “I was ten the first time someone told me I wasn’t good enough.” You turned to him, heart pounding. “My teacher,” he continued, voice eerily calm. “She said I had talent but not drive. That I’d never make it unless I proved I deserve it.” He let out a breath. “She wasn’t wrong.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Minho, you can't be serious.”

“I’ve spent my whole life proving I belong here,” he murmured. “And now? Now, I don’t even know who I am without dance.”

Your chest ached. “You’re our Minnie,” you whispered. “That’s enough.”

He looked at you then - really looked at you. And for the first time, you saw something fragile beneath the confidence he always wore like armor. Something scared. Something hopeful. And that was when you knew he was healing. Maybe not all at once. Maybe not even soon.

But he would.

-

The day of the showcase arrived faster than either of you expected. Minho hadn’t performed in months. This wasn’t an official stage - just a small even for fans. But it was the first step. And he was terrified.

You found him backstage, pacing. “You okay?” you asked gently.

He exhaled sharply, his hands trembling slightly as he looked at you. “No.”

You smiled fondly and nodded gently. “Good. That means it matters.”

He scoffed. “You and your stupid optimism.”

You took his hands, feeling the soft tremor in them and squeezed them. “Minho, you can do this.” He hesitated. “You don’t have to be perfect,” you reminded him. “Just dance. I'll be right there with you.”

Minho swallowed harshly. Then, slowly, he nodded. When you two stepped onto the stage, the music began.

And when he moved - hesitant at first, then stronger - something changed. The fire returned. Not the same as before, but something new.

And as you caught the beaming faces of the others at the side of your stage, you realized that Minho was back on track.

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[hard-core-super-star]

OWN MY MIND [wandanat]

pairing: top!wanda maximoff x bottom!natasha romanoff

summary: wanda's crush on natasha has grown to nearly unbearable levels. instead of pining after her, she decides to do something about it during a party.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! -> porn with plot; wanda has a crush and she's about to make it EVERYONE'S problem; semi-public sex; slightly obsessive wanda go brr; so much teasing; the clothes stay on because i say so; thigh-grinding; fingering [nat receiving]; neck kisses; i got hooked on the idea so there's a lot of expostion; shitty dirty talk; so much bickering

wordcount: 3.8k

a/n: I'M ALIVE! i did not mean to disappear again but life had other plans 😅that being said, I'M OKAY! i survived a very stressful january and my writer's block seems to be easing somewhat. every year i say i'll be more active on here and it doesn't always work very well BUT i'm trying! anyway, i hope you guys are doing well, my askbox is always open for you all. that being said, i hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

There wasn't much Wanda was sure of anymore.

At some point, she'd been sure her and her family were going to be safe. She'd been proven wrong the day a Stark Industries missile crashed into her living room, sending all her childish hopes of safety with it.

After that, she'd been sure she'd never leave her brother's side, even agreeing to become an experiment for HYDRA to guarantee their safety. Their powers had helped and even when Ultron appeared, she was sure they'd figure things out together.

That dream had instantly been shot down, along with Pietro and the remnants of her home, after Ultron's attack.

She hated thinking about it. About everything she lost. About the dreams she'd held onto for most of her life that were meaningless now. That didn't serve any purpose other than reminding her she was alone.

Sure, she had the Avengers now but...they didn't understand her. Not the way her brother had.

Clint tried his hardest to be there for her before he left to be with his family, do doubt feeling guilty over something that wasn't his fault. He wasn't to blame for Pietro's sacrifice and they both knew blaming him wouldn't bring the speedster back anyway.

In a weird way, though, the archer was the only one who truly understood her grief so when he left...Wanda did what she had always done. She retreated into herself, ignoring the looks of the rest of the team and Vision's borderline annoying insistence that she talk to someone.

She didn't need to talk about anything. There was nothing to talk about. Nothing that could change the pain she carried every day.

Nothing...except Natasha Romanoff.

Their friendship hadn't come out of nowhere despite how hard the older woman liked to act otherwise. Even without her powers, she knew Clint had been the one to push Natasha in her direction. It was also obvious that the Widow had no idea what to do.

It was weirdly charming.

Despite how hard she tried to act like she cold and heartless, Natasha cared. She cared a lot more than she wanted to. Especially about Wanda.

So, when the older woman started appearing outside her door at ungodly hours of the night, seemingly unaware of the tear that stained the witch's cheeks, and inviting her to train with her...Wanda decided trusting her wouldn't do any harm.

That much was true. No real harm came from getting close to Natasha. If anything, she helped more than anyone at the Tower had even tried. She didn't care that Wanda didn't want to talk about what happened in Sokovia, that her inner demons showed their face every night and left her with nightmares too intense to ignore, that her powers grew stronger every day.

The Widow didn't seem to care about the details. She simply cared enough to be there. Sometimes she showed up earlier, before any nightmares could haunt her dreams, other times she showed up later and with a tea in hand that she quickly offered to her. There were no words exchanged but she knew.

And that meant more to Wanda than she could even put into words.

Those feelings, though, quickly grew out of her control. It happened almost on accident, practically without thinking. All she knew is that one day she felt...drawn to Natasha in a way she hadn't noticed before.

To the curve of her neck, the flex of her biceps, the tension in her jaw when she throws a punch. All the little details came together and left her feeling far too confused for her liking.

Confused and yet far too in control.

And to say Wanda was slowly becoming obsessed with control would be an understatement.

This flurry of thoughts is what leads her to do something too far out of her comfort zone. It's a shitty idea, she knows that, but when Vision off-handedly tells her of the party Tony will be throwing later that day, a plan slowly starts forming in her head.

A plan that involves a certain redhead and the confusing feelings that settle low in her stomach when they're alone together. Of course, she's not a stranger to desire, she knows what her feelings really are, but that doesn't mean she's exactly okay with them. With the suddenness and the intensity of her thoughts. Of the fantasies she longs to make a reality.

She's just as patient as she is stubborn, though, so she waits. Waits until the party is in full swing, until she's all dolled up in her favorite dress, paired with the leather jacket she never gave back to redhead, and then she strikes.

It must look weird. It certainly feels weird, stepping out into the crowd instead of avoiding everyone in her room. She has to step out of her comfort zone if she wants to go after what she wants, though, and she's determined to sink her teeth into Natasha before the end of the night.

Thankfully, she doesn't have to wait long for her opportunity.

As soon as she makes her way into the bustle of the party, she scans the room for the Widow. She finds her by the bar, chatting with Tony and Rhodey with a drink in hand.

Even though she wants to waste no time, she decides to linger. To let the anticipation build and see how long it'll take Natasha to bite. It's both torturous and enticing. A borderline perverted mix of longing that makes her heart threaten to burst out of her chest.

When Natasha's eyes finally meet her gaze, she sends a soft smile her way before pretending to be incredibly interested in her drink. It's a cheap strategy, she knows that, and yet it's one that works in her favor.

She only has to wait a few more minutes before the Widow untangles herself from Tony's drawn-out (although probably annoyingly entertaining) story and makes her way over to her.

"I didn't take you for a beer girl," she says, raising a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at her.

"There is a lot you don't know about me," Wanda replies, her accent coming out strong. It's half on purpose and half on accident. It tends to slip out easier when she's around people she's genuinely comfortable with.

And Natasha is right at the top of that list. Even if she doesn't fully know it.

The Widow lets out a soft huffing sound in response. It's not quite a laugh, but there's an edge of fondness to it that neither of them can fully ignore. It's not every day she allows herself to be so unguarded.

"You're pretty and witchy, what else is there to know?"

The teasing remark only makes the younger woman's smile grow wider. "Does that mean you think I'm pretty?"

Wanda accompanies her question with an alluring tilt of her head, watching in amusement as Natasha takes a long sip of her drink to avoid answering. Even if she doesn't say the words, she's been caught red-handed and the witch couldn't be happier about it. Maybe her sudden desire for the woman isn't as one-sided as she'd allowed herself to believe.

"What are you even doing here?" Natasha asks, her tone far too casual for the intensity in her gaze. "You hate Tony and you hate parties."

The witch in question simply shrugs. "I was tired of sitting on my ass."

This time, the Widow actually laughs. "Clint should have never taught you that phrase."

"I don't know, I think it's quite fitting." She pauses for a moment, letting the air between crackle with a hard to define energy. One just as powerful and unpredictable as her own powers. "You seem to like looking at my ass."

The older woman's eyes widen before quickly darting around them. Sure, they're leaning up against the ridiculously placed bar but no one around them is paying attention. Tony and Rhodey left to find someone else to bore with their competitive stories and everyone else is scattered around the room, too engrossed in their conversations or their drinks to pay them any mind.

Not to mention, Wanda would never allow them to notice them. It's not mind control, not really, which means she feels no guilt at manipulating reality for a few moments.

"Since when are you so bold, Maximoff?"

"Since I decided to start going after what I want." 

This time, she pairs her words with a subtle step forward. It's not enough for their bodies to press together, but the intention is more than clear. It's a hint and a warning all wrapped up in one. One the Widow could easily ignore if she wanted to.

Wanda almost expects her to, considering how shifty her eyes are. How her attention seems to bounce around the room more and more. She's sure she's never seen the older woman so nervous before. It's as cute as it is enticing.

Finally, Natasha relents. She lets out a long sigh, her gaze shifting back to Wanda's. "You couldn't find a more appropriate time for that?"

The younger woman's smile turns into a smirk. Her free hand reaches out, manicured fingers running down the length of the redhead's arm. "We could always...sneak away, just the two of us..."

Natasha lets out a soft chuckle at that, her resistance clearly wavering, even as she tries to hold strong. "I don't think that's a smart idea, princess."

Wanda's pout is almost enough to make her melt. Almost.

"Why not? Aren't we on the same page about this?"

"It's not that simple."

The witch knows she should at least ask why. That she should pretend to care about the hesitations she knows are swimming around in Natasha's head. She doesn't need to read her mind to know what they are, why they matter. But it's hard to think straight when her advances aren't being rejected. When she's so close to getting what she wants.

So, instead of doing any of the rational things the Widow seems to be struggling with, she wordlessly grabs her hand and leads her away from prying eyes. They're a few ways away but still near the hustle and bustle of the party. Far away to fully hear each other but close enough to be caught if someone decided to wander around.

She's not fully thinking about that possibilty, though. All her focus is on Natasha and getting her to admit how much she wants her. How much she needs this too.

Without thinking about the consequences, she pushes the older woman up against the wall, their eyes meeting once more. The bright green flecks of Natasha's eyes seem to sparkle almost dangerously. Unfortunately, Wanda is too far gone to heed the warnings.

"Wanda, we can't." There's no real discomfort in the Widow's voice. No real attempt at getting the younger woman to stop.

So, she doesn't.

Wanda merely lets out a soft hum but makes no attempt to step away or fully listen to the older woman's complaints. Instead, she leans in more insistently, her lips trailing up Natasha's neck and leaving heated kisses on her skin.

The redhead wants to pull away. To tell Wanda to stop and let her walk away before they do something they'll regret. It's impossible to fight against her, though. Especially when her hands join the slow exploration.

"Why can't we?" The witch asks, her hands settling on Natasha's hips. "Why do you want to pretend like you don't want me?"

The sound the redhead makes is somewhere between a huff and a groan. "That's not what I'm doing. I'm just trying to be smart about this." 

"There's nothing smart about this," she replies. "But I want you and you want me. What more do we need?"

Natasha opens her mouth to answer but Wanda doesn't give her a chance. In one swift move, she hooks the redhead's leg around her waist before pressing herself against her, drawing a soft gasp from her parted lips.

"You were saying?"

"You're so annoying, little witch."

The teasing nickname makes Wanda huff. Sure, it also makes her heart skip a beat but mostly, it annoys her. "Then tell me to stop, 'Tasha."

"Just shut up and kiss me already."

There it is. The permission she'd been waiting for. The clear admittance that their feelings were the same. That the sparks of desire she'd been feeling during training weren't one-sided delusions.

The witch wastes no time in connecting their lips once the realization hits her. Despite the intensity of their desires, the kiss is surprisingly soft. 

It's still more than a little desperate and yet there's an edge of affection that makes them melt. That leaves them craving more.

Thankfully, they both have more than enough ideas on how to fix that craving. The youngest of the two takes the leap first, though, not one bit embarrased of showing how desperate she is for more.

 Wanda grinds her hips up against Natasha's, slowly hiking her dress up to reveal the smooth skin underneath the fabric. There's something about both the setting and their outfits that drives them both mad. Something about being so exposed and yet so composed at the same time. Something about the matching black fabric of their dresses that turns them on more.

Her lips leave the Widow's just to trail down her jaw, her hands moving down her body with purpose. She grips her hips hard enough to move the older woman against her as she easily slots one of her thighs between her legs, giving her the perfect surface to grind against.

"You're so quiet, 'Tasha," the witch teases, unable to stop her flourishing dominant side for rearing its head.

Natasha knows she's allowing herself to slip. That she shouldn't be letting her guard down like this. Shouldn't be giving Wanda this much control over her.

It's not like she can help it, though. There's an intensity behind the younger woman's movements that she doesn't want to fight against. She wants to let it consume her until there's nothing left. No trace of her fears or hesitations.

She's not about to admit that any time soon, though. Even as her bucking hips give her away.

"That's because we're in public," she replies, keeping her voice as even as she can. "I can actually control myself unlike some people."

Wanda chuckles, keeping up her slow movements. "That's not what your hips are telling me."

"You're the one moving them," she shoots back.

The witch leans back slightly, a smirk forming on her face and pairing beautifully with her dialated pupils. "Is that so? If I move my hands away, you'll stop trying to hump my leg?"

Without waiting for an answer, she moves her hands away from the redhead's hips, allowing her fingers to trail up her torso toward her chest. She keeps her touch light and teasing, using it to further draw out the other woman's desires.

"That's not fair," Natasha huffs, her cheeks flushing a light shade of pink as the attention piles on. "You're the one that started this, you have to finish it."

"But we haven't even started yet, have we? You still have too many clothes on."

Wanda's fingers linger on the strap of Natasha's dress, sliding it down just enough to allow her lips to connect to the exposed skin. She focuses her attention on that spot just enough to make the older woman's hips buck against her.

"Fuck," she groans. "This is so unfair."

"I think it's more than fair. I can feel how much you want me. You're soaked, aren't you?"

Her question is met with another groan, this one in a sightly higher, more desperate, pitch. The witch is right, of course. She's already drenched and all she's done is lazily grind against her thigh.

It's practically impossible to stop her body from responding to her, though. Even without reading her mind, she knows her cues all too well after spending so much sparring with her.

Then again, she's pretty sure she wouldn't mind allowing her to invade her thoughts. Something about the lack of control makes her gush.

The low chuckle Natasha's thought is met with makes her eyes widen in response, her hands coming up to grip the younger woman’s shoulders. “Are you seriously reading my mind right now?”

Wanda knows the redhead is trying to sound intimidating but she’s far too breathless, far too wet against her thigh, for her to feel anything but satisfaction. “I couldn’t help it, your thoughts are so loud.”

The response is exactly what she had been expecting and all she can do is huff. “Don’t make it a habit.”

Her words only make Wanda bolder. With her words, her touch, her unbearable need to make the other woman fall apart just for her. “I thought you wanted me in your mind, ‘Tasha?”

The Widow knows she's been caught. That even if the witch didn't spend much time in her head, she knows how much she loves this. How much she wants this. This back and forth dance that will no doubt end with her on her knees.

And still, she's far too stubborn to admit it.

"Shut up." It's a weak remark but it's the only one she has. The only two words she can coherently form as her hips roll against the hard muscle pressing so insistently against her heat. "If you wanted to talk so much, you should have taken me on a date."

"If you don't like me talking so much, why are you so wet?"

It's infuriating. For every snarky response she can form, Wanda has two more waiting for her. It's like she knows exactly how to work her up, exactly how to meet her where she's at instead of trying to change her. It's more than infuriating, it's...it's sweet. In its own complicated, slightly fucked up way, the witch is being sweet.

Maybe it's that realization that makes her melt. Or maybe she's just too pent up to care anymore. She knows what the answer is, but she ignores it in favor of gripping Wanda's wrist and guiding it between her legs.

"I'd prefer it if you stopped talking and started doing, princess."

The witch's body tenses for a second, almost like her brain is struggling to catch up to reality, but then her fingers are working their way into Natasha's underwear and they both let out twin moans at the feeling.

Instead of taking a moment to tease her, Wanda dives right in, her patience fading with every buck of the older woman's hips. She sinks two fingers into Natasha's aching cunt, barely reminding herself to take it easy. To draw her pleasure out until she's writhing and groaning.

"Is this better for you, 'Tasha?" She asks, her lips making their way to Natasha's neck once more. She knows better than to leave too many marks behind, but she can't help her urges and she sinks her teeth into the side of the older woman's neck.

Natasha's walls clench around her fingers, nails digging into the witch's jacket as sparks of pleasure shoot up her spine. She arches her back into her touch, her hips bucking a little too wildly for her taste. It's not like she can help her movements. Not when it feels so good.

"Wanda," she moans, her cheeks heating up as she realizes how desperate she sounds. "Fuck, don't stop."

If Wanda was slightly more sadistic she would push her to beg. As enticing as that sounds, she'd much prefer to show her how good she can make her feel instead.

"I won't," she says as her thumb finds its way onto Natasha's swollen clit. "Not until you fall apart for me. Until you admit how good I make you feel."

Her pride seems like a small price to pay for the pleasure that's turning her brain to mush. She opens her mouth to stroke Wanda's ego some more when the younger woman speeds up her movements, her fingers curling just enough to leave her gasping.

She pushes her hips into her fingers with every thrust, looking far more needy than she ever allows herself to be. "Right there, fuck, feels so good."

Natasha's never really been one for talking during sex, far too accustomed to selfish lovers who don't need her approval to feel like they're doing things right. It's different this time, though. Not just because she genuinly feels good, but because it's so clear that Wanda feels good. That this is what she wants. Touching her, pleasing her, driving her to the brink of madness. The witch has never looked more comfortable, more in her element, than she does right now.

"You gonna cum for me already?" The witch teases, pretending she's not doing everything in her power to make the older woman fall apart. "Here? Where anyone could see you? See how desperate you are for my fingers?"

The slight degradation shouldn't turn her on more, but it does. It makes her head fall back as an incoherent string of curses leave her lips. She knows she should at least feel a little emberrased but she can't. Can't think about anything except Wanda's fingers pistoning in and out of her wet pussy.

"Yes," she replies breathlessly. "I need- need to cum."

Wanda doubles her efforts as soon as she hears Natasha admit how close she is. Her thumb presses down on her twitching clit, rubbing fast circles against it until the Widow's walls are spasming around her fingers. 

"That's it, let go for me, 'Tasha. Make a mess on my fingers."

She doesn't have to be told twice.

The coil in Natasha's stomach snaps almost instantly, leaving her clinging to the witch as the pleasure crashes into her all at once.

Wanda watches her with wide eyes, greedily drinking in every twitch of her face, every desperate sound she can't hold back. She's sure she's never seen anything so breathtaking in her life.

All it does, though, is make her realize how much more she wants. How badly she needs Natasha. How her mind has filled up with fantasies she's not sure she can live without.

After losing everything she's ever had, she has to have the older woman.

That will come later, though, right now, she has more important things to focus on. Like making sure Natasha can walk long enough for them to retire to her room for the night.

* * * * * * *

taglist: @boredandneedfanfics

[lilysworldofjoy]

I just saw those Tisha hcs and.. omg I can't stop thinking of scenarios where Vee just wrecks Tisha. Could you write a fanfic off of Ler Vee and Lee Tisha? Kind of like a payback fic? Your honor I love them

"How you like that, huh?" (Dandy's World tickle fic)

A/N: Yes.

Plot: Vee and Tisha are made to go on a run together due to a random arrangement. That's where Vee discovers that Tisha is ticklish. Cue the shenanigans.

~🧼📺~

Another day, another run. And of all toons to be paired with, it's that green television.

Astro would've been nice. Sprout would've been...eh. Bobette would be a solid pick, and so would Pebble. And she would've loved to go with Shelly, but change is nice every once in a while.

...Or that she thinks.

Tisha just got off from cleaning, and went off to do the run of the day. And she had to go with a main character, so why not. It was chosen randomly and yup, that's how they got here.

She stepped inside, looked at the toon inside, and acknowledged her situation.

Not a word was exchanged between the tissue box and Vee as the elevator went down to the first floor.

"So."

Tisha looked at Vee, who just said that. "Yes?"

"Let's just get this over with."

"...Agreed."

Once that elevator opened, each toon got off to do their task: do machines and escape from Twisteds. Vee did a mic check to observe the Twisteds in the area.

No Twisteds in sight. Huh, weird. A sigh came out from Tisha, as they both left the elevator.

Then Vee's microphone accidentally scraped against Tisha's side, causing a flinch and a giggle.

Vee, of course, noticed this movement. Her antennae perked up and she looked at Tisha.

"Don't you DARE." The tissue box said.

The green TV didn't think much at first, but when she finally noticed her reaction, a smirk came to her face. Oho, she was going to have fun with this.

Without an ounce of hesitation, she pounced, aiming directly for her sides. Vee landed right on top of Tisha, her hands moving at her sides. And it seems that the tissue box is holding it in—or at least trying to.

"What's wrong, Tish? Ticklish?~"

Upon those words, Tisha pounded her fist on Vee's chest in protest, as in a way to say 'No! Of course not', but we all know the truth anyways. She attempted to kick Vee away, but to no avail.

"Oh no no no, you're not getting out of this one, darling~"

She started kicking even more, but Vee was stronger, strengthening her grip and managing to weaken Tisha's protests by a bit. And that's when Vee dropped one bomb of a tease.

"Awwe, you're soo much fun to tickle! That's adorable~ You're sooooooo adorable~"

This kept on until it broke the tissue box.

"PFFF—NOOOOHOHOHOHOHO!"

Tisha went into instant hysterics, endlessly kicking and squirming before Vee. And Vee? She was having a field day. "Ha. How you like that, huh?~"

"SHUHUT UHUHUP!"

Figures. She makes people crack FAST.

With a devious glint in her eye, Vee decided to up the ante and go to her stomach, slithering her fingers between it and her sides and causing a shriek from the tissue box. She used one of her hands to restrain Tisha's arms, making sure she doesn't move.

"Now you're less squirmy. Which means I can do this~" Vee goes on to bury her fingers on Tisha with slow deliberate strokes, causing Tisha to squirm due to the cold temperature of her fingers.

And to worsen things, she wrapped her mic around her stomach, wiggling it with deadly precision and a smirk. Because of this, the tissue box only kicked harder.

"AAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! OKAY OKAHAY! STAHAAP!"

Vee didn't let up and only tickled harder, but it wasn't until a bit later (which felt like hours for Tisha) that she finally relented, letting the tissue box go at last.

After they both rose from the ground and Tisha regained her composure, the last words she received from the tissue box were: "Never do that again."

Tisha would go on to leave and find a machine as Vee smirked. She rolled an eye, albeit playfully unlike the other times.

Vee would 100% do that again.

~🧼📺~

[vortexbloom]

need a yandere phainon so much

Of course !

I already made some Yandere Headcanons for him, so I decided to write a OneShot :3

Unbound Obsession (OneShot)

Pairing: Yandere Phainon x Reader

Fandom: HSR (Honkai Star Rail)

Warnings: Yandere themes, Obsessiveness, Stalking

☆ ────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆── ☆ ────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆── ☆

Masterlist - Honkai Star Rail

Masterlist - Genshin Impact

Moodboards - Genshin Impact

Masterlist - Marvel

Boycott List

☆ ────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆── ☆ ────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆── ☆

English isn’t my first/native language, so there might be misspellings etc.

I do NOT own any Characters !

Have fun reading this :D

Art by: @illix233 on X (Twitter)

Phainon had always admired you from afar, your beauty, your kindness, your very essence drawing him in like a moth to a flame. But admiration soon turned into something darker, something obsessive.

It all started on one fateful day when your eyes met across the room. It was innocent at first—a passing glance, a momentary connection—but to Phainon, it was a spark. It ignited a fire in his chest, a fire that could never be extinguished. He began to watch you more closely, studying your every movement, your every word. He knew where you would be, what you would do, who you would speak to.

At first, he tried to be subtle. He would show up at places you frequented, pretending it was mere coincidence. A smile here, a soft greeting there. But as time passed, his actions became more bold, more possessive. He was always there, lurking in the shadows, just a step behind you, waiting for the perfect moment to claim you as his own.

He started sending gifts—flowers, trinkets, tokens of his affection—but none of them were ever enough. You never seemed to notice, never seemed to appreciate the lengths he would go to. That only fueled his obsession. He began to track your every move, learning your routines, discovering your likes and dislikes. Each new piece of information brought him closer to the conclusion that you two were meant to be together—forever.

And then came the day when he finally confessed.

It was a quiet evening, the world outside shrouded in darkness, the air thick with tension. He had orchestrated the perfect moment, knowing they would be alone. The room was dimly lit, the only sound the soft rhythm of your breathing as Phainon stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with a strange intensity.

"I’ve been watching you," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. "I’ve been waiting for you to realize that we belong together. No one else matters. Just you and me."

Your heart raced, a chill creeping up you spine as you took a step back. But Phainon was quick, grabbing your wrist, his grip tight, unyielding.

"You don’t have to be afraid," he murmured, his lips curling into a smile that sent shivers down your spine. "I’ll make sure no one can take you from me. You’ll never leave my side."

His words were both a promise and a threat, a chilling combination that sent a cold sweat down your neck. But Phainon didn’t care. In his mind, this was fate. This was the way things were meant to be. And nothing—nothing—would stand in his way.

From that day forward, you would never be free again. Phainon’s obsession consumed him entirely. His love was suffocating, possessive, and there was no escaping it. He was always watching, always waiting, and no matter how much you tried to run, Phainon would always find a way to bring you back into his twisted, unrelenting embrace.

Because, to him, there was no other choice. You were his. Forever

Have a good day/night/evening/morning/afternoon ☼꥟☽

[paranoiddreams]

👉👈 Just wanted to say I love your writing especially the mahito stuff and I hope u have a great day

tw. implied kidnapping!!!, manipulation, Stockholm syndrome

You’re such a little cutie patootie I decided to cook smth new up just for you☺️. Kinda new bc I’ve had this in the drafts for a while, but I decided to tweak some things and bam here it is. I hope you enjoy kinda nervous to post it lol!! 🩵

The sound of Mahito’s soft breathing is all you can hear in the dark, decrepit, room you’re in. It’s an anomaly, really, the rhythm of his breathing, the way his soft pink lips part to exhale. You know that he’s not human, he’s far from it, but still, somehow, he is sleeping like an angel. You wonder if you put your ear against his chest if you’ll hear a beating heart; you doubt it.

The cold chains around your ankle keeping you contained in this room with him is enough to tell you that you won’t. A sick monster capable of this couldn’t have a beating heart—no.

But then again, there was something so…alive about his beauty. You could feel it rushing through you every time his skin touched yours, which you initially blamed on some sick supernatural power he has over you; but now as you watch him sleep, you’re beginning to this that this fondness is one of your own.

A seed planted by him, yes, but only thrives the more you stay up at night like this, watching him sleep. The pale blue of his skin, the darker shade of his hair, and the heterochromia of his eyes, they’re all engraved in your mind.

So much so that you see him in your dreams. You feel his soft skin and hear his even softer voice. You hate it, waking up flushed and warm thinking of this monster; so you stay up all night.

But that only continues the cycle of watching him sleep peacefully, then contemplating whether he is a blessing or a curse.

[mrsnishimuraaa]

jealousy

slytherin riki x griffindor reader!

note: this was req! i begcut me slack i have never watched hp movie in my life and this is a tinsy bit rushed but besides that i hope you enjoy though this is not the best of works i apologise 😭😭

m.list

things could get hectic sometimes around the school, but there’s always a way around it so here you find yourself sitting next to one of the new students deciding to make him feel a little more welcome to the sometimes not so welcoming environment, but your sweet and caring nature is something that he took in well, he noticed the way that your smile flashed when you were talking to him, helping him with his work, finding his way around hogwarts and making potions here and there. but the one student that had always sat at the back of the classroom was riki. though everyone takes him for the kind of mean and come off cold kind of person but you always believe that deep down everybody has some sort of soft spot.

but the parts that you didn’t take in was how he would look at you helping other male students around with their work, inching just a little bit too close to them, the way your skirt would ride up your thighs. although you weren’t his nor has he really ever spoken to you, he wants to find a way to make you his and he’ll make sure that it will happen . and by that he means he will go to any extent to have you under by his charms or underneath him.

The classes where you would be helping other male students riki would always be eyeing holes through them from the back of the room, the way that your hands would accidentally touch when passing things to eachother , the way that they lean in when you’re speaking to them because they couldn’t hear you well enough, the jealousy that boiled inside him grew day by day until he finally decided that he had enough, starting to try and grow closer to you. occasionally bumping into you in the hallways, exchanging notes or sometimes small greetings with each other.

But the day that he saw you talking to that one guy that you always are with, having you pressed up against your locker was the day that he just couldn’t take it any more. He trailed towards the two of you slowly but he walked as if he was on a mission, really trying to see how it would play out. you catch a glimpse of him marching towards the two of you from the corner of your eye thinking that maybe he’s just coming up to you for a few answers, but oh your so wrong

“what the fuck do you think your doing?” riki’s voice echos through the hallway. the boy steps away from you “i-it’s not what it looks like” his hands raise slightly in defence. but he is almost thrown out of the way as riki shoves his shoulder. “don’t ever speak to her again” his voice thick with intention. “what are you doing?” even through this eventful situation your voice remains calm and sweet, looking at the significantly taller boy with almost loving eyes.

“playing innocent hm? like he wasn’t about to take you right then and there huh doll? fuck do you know what you do to me?” his voice barley above a whisper as his eyes briefly scan the hall “what?” the tone of his words being an affect on you “come with me” he grabs your wrist, you hesitate for a moment, you can’t just run off to your rivals dormitory, but you follow his lead anyway.

“what is this all about? what’s your problem” you search for answers as you follow him through what seems like a maze, “you drive me crazy Y/N, always so close to all those other boys” he turns to look down at you briefly “so your jealous” you scoff slightly. “ don’t fucking test me” he opens the door to his dorm, ushering you inside before slamming it shut, and slamming his lips straight into yours. your taken back slightly but soon give into the warm feeling of his mouth.

he slowly guides the two of you backward, lips never leaving yours as you crash down onto his couch. breaking the kiss as he kisses slowly down your body , sucking on your neck as his hands rub your waist. “you drive me mad” he mumbles against your skin, sliding to his knees infront of the couch, leaving him looking straight up your skirt, shyness of course takes over you and he pickes it up. “don’t play innocent with me baby” his thumb runs over your clothed pussy as you whimper slightly. “take em off” he raises his eyebrows at you, watching as you shyly yet willingly drop your panties to your ankles.

“good girl, so wet f’me already hm, wanna see what you do to me?” the tease in his tone drove you mad, nodding as he pulls his pants and boxers down, his dick springs free and your mouth falls agape slightly. “ like what you see huh? “ his large hands find your thighs, spreading them apart as he rubs the tip of his dick against your folds. “please” the word left your lips almost silently, but your breath is brutally taken from your lungs as he slams his length in all at once. a sharp gasp is torn from you “ shit- i bet he would never fuck you like this” he grunts out, leaving you no time to adjust as his pace already grows ruthless. moans and whines leaving your mouth as he plows into your pussy.

“fuck, this is what you wanted isn’t it? hm? someone to fuck you so good” god he’s so cocky, but you can’t act like it isn’t turning you on. “always being so provocative, with your tiny fucking skirts” his hand snakes to your neck, applying a small amount of pressure. “fuck please please please!” you whine out as you throw your head back, immense pleasure taking over you as he absolutely destroys your insides. “yeah you wanna cum?” he taunts you as you nod quickly. “be a good girl and cum for me, bet he could never make you cum like this huh” his thrusts deepen even more, feeling like there’s a meaning to each thrust.

and before you know it your walls are pulsating around him as you squirt, liquid covering his pelvis and the top of your skirt “ah! shit”he slams himself even deeper this time with a grunt, emptying his balls almost straight into your womb. “never speak to that fucking guy again, got it?” his eyebrow raises , you nod hesitantly at his almost harsh words. “

good girl, maybe come sit with me in the back of class, find out how good you are at staying quiet hm?”



[syndrossi]

howdy.

currently sad. possibly depressed. i think i get Rhaegar a little better now.

i think he’d pity me for that.

anyway,

i may or may not have gotten into trouble at work for missing two days because i was sick— yes, how dare my body betray me and force me to stay back to take of myself. yes, they’re mad at me for that. so i was wondering, following the ficlet of Daemon being sick (or was it a headache?) anyway, the idea is he misses 2-3 days of meetings perhaps and idk? his twins defend him for taking days off? maybe he goes off on whoever decided to try him that day? is it Viserys? Otto? gasp! Laenor?

it’d be hella funny if the twins explained to some council members the obvious reason of their father taking a couple days off meant that he could function better and not spread the cold around the castle, duh Lord Rayne, idiot.

That is some kind of fuckery to hold a teacher accountable for the crime of... *checks notes* getting sick and having to take a sick day???

Technically there are two separate "Daemon not feeling well" ficlets! One where he has a headache, and another where he's the last one to catch the illness the twins have in Sick Days.

Here, have two little ficlets of the twins getting increasingly annoyed/protective on behalf of Daemon after he's getting over the lingering remnants of his illness...

x~x~x

"If the matter of this stonemason squabble were truly urgent, I am sure that Prince Daemon would deign to attend," Hightower said.

Jon knew that cupbearers were not meant to weigh in on small council discussion, let alone interrupt, but Hightower's digs at Daemon's absence throughout the meeting had stretched his patience to the limit.

"He is ill," Jon said flatly. "Should you like to know his recommendation, he delivered it in writing."

Technically Rhaegar had delivered it in writing--and technically it was Rhaegar's writing, but no one needed to know that.

The king smiled at him, waving aside whatever Hightower had planned to say in protest. "It is good of you to look after your father."

But the topic was dismissed, and Hightower continued to take jabs that their uncle either tolerated or agreed with, given that he made no move to defend Daemon.

The next day, Jon lugged the pail of sick Daemon had produced that night to the council meeting and set it on Hightower's chair before he arrived.

Jon treasured each council member's disgusted reaction as they entered the room, all of them giving wide berth to Hightower's chair. When Hightower himself arrived, he immediately fixed Jon with a frown.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Jon glared back. "You did not seem to believe that my father was truly ill. I have other samples that might interest you."

The pail was removed, and more than a few of the council members urged the king to dismiss him for his pertinence, but Jon did his best impression of Rhaegar's plaintive eyes, and Viserys folded.

x~x~x

"I would never have imagined that a simple fever would be what brought your father low."

Laenor's voice was light-hearted, the words teasing, but both of them were on edge after the past few days of enduring their father's misery.

Rhaegar's eyes did not narrow, but their purple seemed almost black as he stared death at their cousin. "Do you suppose he will ever be low enough to truly see you?"

Laenor choked on his wine, but judging by Rhaegar's expression, he had not yet struck the death blow. Jon hurriedly grabbed him by the arm and made a quick excuse to leave. There were far worthier targets for his brother's venom than poor Laenor.

[sickfictropes]

i just got a commercial for doordash or some shit that was about delivering flu medicine to the house in less than an hour. but the way they sold it was the husband came into the room and said "i have a fever" and the wife said "yeah I don't feel so good either"

okay imagine your blorbo and here's mine (changing it to platonic lady whump, what do you want from me)

A and B are roommates. A walks into the living room after waking up from a nap (she never naps). she announces that she's got a fever, then takes in the fact that B is wearing three blankets and her face is flushed.

"i don't feel so good either," B says. They decide to take care of one another, but A is running a much higher fever than B. However, A is so protective of B that she's willing to push through and pretend she's barely sick at all so B lets her be the one to get up and make soup, to go to the store for medicine, to fetch water and blankets and anything else B needs.

A just keeps pushing herself even though she's feeling worse and worse as the day goes on. when she walks into the living room, her head is spinning and she can barely see through the blackness that's encroaching her vision. she plops down on the couch and A asks if she's okay, but she doesn't have the energy to lie.

"i think i overdid it a little," she admits. her head is bobbing up and down like she's about to either fall asleep mid-conversation or faint. A scoots off the couch and helps B lie flat on her back before reaching for the thermometer. when it finally beeps, A is clinging to consciousness for just long enough to see that B is shocked by how hot she's running, then the darkness drags her under.

she wakes up just a few minutes later to B running a cold cloth over her face and neck, her eyes panicked. when A opens her eyes, B immediately shoves a glass of gatorade into her hands and tells her to drink. A does, and B says something like "I'm sorry for pushing you so hard. i didn't know you were this sick, or I wouldn't have asked for anything. you need to be resting, so you're not moving from this couch unless it's straight to bed."

"you're sick too," A insists.

"I'll live. I'm feeling much better. please, just take it easy for a while, okay?"

though A is hesitant, rest does sound nice. she's so, so tired.

"okay," she says, letting sleep carry her away.

[phoenixblaze1412]

Helloo :) could i request a yan! reader x dottore?

The dimly lit laboratory echoed with the low hum of machines and the scratch of a quill against parchment. Dottore, the infamous Harbinger known for his brilliance and indifference to societal norms, was hunched over a workbench. His crimson eyes glowed faintly under the harsh lighting as he scrawled complex equations on worn parchment.

"Perfection is within reach," he murmured to himself, fingers tapping impatiently against the table.

Unbeknownst to him, a pair of watchful eyes lingered at the threshold of the lab. You stood there, a soft smile tugging at your lips, heart thrumming in your chest just at the sight of him.

The air was thick with the scent of chemicals, but all you could breathe was him.

Your love for Dottore wasn’t ordinary. No, it was an all-consuming inferno that burned rationality to ash. His sharp wit, calculating demeanor, and disregard for morality only fueled your obsession. You lived for his praise, hungered for his attention, and would do anything to keep him safe from anyone who dared to disrupt his work or stand in the way of your devotion.

Anything.

"You've been here for hours," you said softly, stepping into the room with a tray of neatly arranged flasks. "I thought you might need this."

Dottore barely glanced up, but the faint twitch of his lips was enough for you to bask in the glow of his approval.

"Efficient," he remarked, taking one of the flasks without breaking his focus.

Your heart soared. Praise from him, no matter how curt, was worth more than gold.

"I noticed someone lurking near your lab earlier," you added casually, eyes flickering with something dark beneath your sweet demeanor.

"They seemed... curious about your work." Dottore finally looked up, brow arching.

"Curiosity often precedes foolishness," he said dismissively.

You tilted your head, a serene smile on your face. "I took care of it."

His eyes narrowed. "Took care of it?"

"They won’t be a problem anymore," you assured, voice syrupy sweet.

There was a beat of silence. Then, a smirk tugged at his lips. "How efficient indeed."

Days turned into weeks, and your obsession only grew. You were his shadow, always anticipating his needs before he voiced them. You memorized every habit, every preference, every quirk.

But it wasn’t enough.

You needed more.

When another researcher was assigned to assist Dottore, your blood ran cold. The mere thought of someone else being close to him, sharing his space, hearing his rare musings — it was unbearable.

"They're inadequate," you said one evening, voice trembling with poorly concealed fury. "They'll only slow you down."

Dottore shrugged indifferently. "Their presence is inconsequential."

But to you, it wasn’t.

That night, the researcher abruptly resigned, citing "personal reasons." You hummed a cheerful tune as you wiped your hands clean, satisfied that Dottore's space was once again undisturbed.

Dottore was many things — genius, manipulator, visionary — but he was not naive. He had noticed the way your eyes gleamed with something beyond admiration. He had seen the faint stains of blood on your gloves, the knowing smile when problems conveniently disappeared.

"You’ve been... busy," he remarked one evening, his tone laced with amusement.

You tilted your head innocently. "I only want what's best for you."

"And who decides what's best for me?"

Your smile widened, unblinking. "I do."

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken tension.

Dottore's smirk returned, sharp and dangerous.

"You're quite the fascinating specimen."

Your chest swelled with pride. "Only for you."

One night, as you stood by his side watching him work, you finally spoke the words that had been clawing at your throat for weeks.

"I love you."

Dottore's hand stilled, the pen hovering above the parchment. His gaze flicked to you, unreadable.

"Love," he repeated, as if tasting the word. "Such an irrational concept."

"Maybe," you admitted, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. "But it doesn't matter. You belong to me."

His lips quirked into a sardonic smile. "Is that so?"

"I'd do anything for you," you whispered, voice trembling with fervor. "Anything to keep you safe, to make sure no one ever hurts you or distracts you from your work."

Dottore studied you for a long moment before leaning in, his voice low and mocking. "Be careful, little one. Obsession is a dangerous thing."

You smiled, unafraid. "Only if it's not reciprocated."

Despite his warnings, Dottore found himself drawn to you in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Your devotion, though unsettling, was intoxicating. He was a man who thrived on control, yet here you were — wild, unpredictable, and utterly devoted to him.

And perhaps, in his twisted mind, he liked it.

One evening, as the lab bathed in the soft glow of flickering lights, Dottore stood behind you, his breath warm against your ear as he looked over the corpse of his deceased receptionist swimming in her own pool of blood just because she tried to flirt with him on the first day of her job.

She would have been perfect enough to be his test subject if only you didn't chopped her head off her shoulders.

"You’ve caused quite the mess," he murmured, his voice dark but teasing.

You shivered and giggled, heart racing as you felt him closely behind you. "I only did it for you."

His gloved hand cupped your chin, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. "Such loyalty," he mused, eyes gleaming. "It would be foolish not to reward it."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, lips brushing against yours in a fleeting, teasing touch.

"Consider this... acknowledgment," he whispered against your lips.

Your world spun, heart pounding as he finally closed the distance, claiming your lips in a kiss that was both possessive and consuming.

And in that moment, you knew — no matter how twisted or unconventional, your devotion had been worth it.

For you belonged to Dottore, and now, he belonged to you too.

[miniwheat77]

Stuck. (Gym Teacher!Soap x Reader.)

!NSFW, Smut, READER IS 18, NO MINORS, proceed with caution, age gap, unprotected p in v sex, soap and reader almost get caught, teacher x student relationship!

not edited.

You stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom. Frustrated.

You hated school, absolutely despised it.

You’d just gotten to school and already one of the girls who was mean to you slammed into you, her coffee ruining your shirt.

It was a light colored shirt and now it was ruined. You tried your best to wash it and decided to just suffer until Gym. You’d just change into your Gym clothes when you got there. Maybe you could talk to your Gym teacher, Mr. MacTavish about sitting this one out today. He would understand.

You got along with him really well. He understands better than most anyways.

You covered your shirt up the best you could until you made your way to the Gym, just before Lunch is when your gym class was.

You were able to sit out for the day, thankfully since you'd have to wear your gym shirt and didn't want to be all sweaty for the rest of the day. After your class was over, you hurried into the girls locker room, usually there were no gym classes taught after lunch anyways. You tugged your shirt off and slipped your pants down your legs. Opening up your locker. Your face contorts into confusion.

Your clothes are gone.

“Looking for these?” You spin around, seeing the three girls that had made your life a living hell since you started at this dreadful school. You sigh. “Please give them back.” You sigh. “Hmm.. how about you come get them?” She smirks. You clench your eyes shut. Reopening them after a second. Reaching for your coffee stained shirt you had just taken off. Another girl snatches it away from you. Just as you’re about to step forward, she shoves you back. “No! No wait!” You cry out.

She forces you back, slamming the locker door shut. You push on it but it’s latched. You can hear them laughing. “Let me out!” You cry. “Leave her there, come on.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. It’s cold.

You bang on the locker for a while, but nobody hears you.

You don’t know how long you’re going to be stuck inside.

—

It’s hours later, you’re freezing and shivering but you’re trying to relax.

You finally hear the door open, Mr. MacTavish happens to be coming inside to clean everything up for the day. There’s supposed to be no girls inside.

You can hear him whistling as he walks inside. Dread sets into your gut. You didn’t want it to be him that found you but you had no choice. You bang on the locker, startling him as he nears. “Please let me out! Please help!” You cry out. “Y/N?” He hears your voice right away. “What the hell?” He makes his way to your locker, lifting the tab and opening it up. You cover yourself up. He turns his head, seeing you’re almost nude. “What the hell is going on?”

“They locked me in here just after Gym.” You cover yourself up. He turns back to you. “Christ, the same three?” He asks. You nod your head. He shakes his head. This isn’t the first time this has happened. You’d actually spent a lot of time in Mr. MacTavish’s office because of injuries inflicted from the three. “Just.. stay here. I’ll find you something.”

Just as he turns to walk away. He can hear footsteps coming his way. “Shit. This is about to look really bad.” He hesitates, hoping they’ll pass. When the footsteps get closer, he panics.

He grasps your arm, moving you to the other side and unintentionally slamming you up against lockers, clamping a hand over your mouth before you can yelp out. “Stay quiet.” He breathes. He sees your wide eyes staring back at him.

“You’re half nude and I’m in here alone with you.” He mumbles. You nod your head, eyes still wide. How close he is to you is intimidating.

“Mr. MacTavish? Are you in here?” You can hear that it’s another teacher. “Yeah- I’m just cleaning up the locker room!” He calls. “Oh okay. I just had a real quick question.” He looks to you again, raising his finger up to his lips to hush you. Slowly releasing his hand from your mouth. Your lips part in surprise.

Mr. MacTavish steps out from behind the locker. Placing his hand on the lockers to make it seem like there’s nothing out of the ordinary. “What was your question.”

“Did Y/N show up to your Gym class? I was talking to another couple teachers and they said she was here for a few classes and gone for the rest and nobody knows where she went.”

“Ah, it was probably those girls who pick on her. They probably did something to make her go home.”

You clench your eyes shut. You didn’t want him telling anyone about them. “What?” He says confused. Mr. MacTavish gives him their names and tells him about a few things they had done to you in the past.

After a few minutes, he finally leaves.

“Oh thank god.” He mumbles. He quickly locks the door. You stay where you are, back pressed against the cold row of lockers behind you. You stay quiet, hearing his footsteps coming your way. “Here.” He holds out a baggy t-shirt. It’s the only thing he’s got. “Thanks.” You mumble. You slide it over your head. It goes down passed your hips thankfully.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. He’s noticing your change in demeanor. “Why did you tell him all of that? I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Y/N, they left you in a locker for hours. You’re lucky I came in here because it’s Friday. If you had got locked in there over the weekend, you could’ve died.”

“I don’t care. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

He sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Y/N. Why do you let them pick on you? I’ve seen you participating in some of the activities I have in my class. I know you hold back.”

“Jesus Christ Mr. MacTavish.” You groan. “The Principal is related to Taylor!”

“So what?” He crosses his arms. “So they’re not going to take my side. They’re going to side with her.”

He shakes his head. “Not while I’m around. Not after locking you in here. Jesus Christ.” He mumbles. He stands in front of you, moving closer. “Y/N. You have to stand up for yourself or nothing is ever going to change.” He breathes. His close proximity is starting to overwhelm you. “I-“

He can see you getting overwhelmed, he can tell you feel cornered. He backs off. “Come on, follow me.” He shakes his head. You skeptically look at him, following after him. Tugging the shirt down as you walk behind him. Once he’s got you into his office, he digs through an old bin of gym shorts he had and passes a pair to you. You quickly slide them on. “Now come on. We’re going to the office.” He mumbles. “For what?”

“Just come on.” He mumbles.

You sigh. Following after him.

Those bitches even took your shoes.

You want to curl up and die.

When he opens up the office door for you, you walk in first and immediately see Taylor waiting for the principal who is her father to take her home for the day. She has a smirk on her face when she sees you. “Mr. MacTavish, everything okay?” The receptionist smiles. “No.” He mumbles, he asks her to get a hold of the principal.

He eventually emerges out of his office. “John, something going on?”

“Yeah, Taylor and a couple of her friends locked Y/N in one of the gym lockers for about…” he looks down at his watch. “4 hours. Took her clothes as well.”

He turns to look at Taylor. “Is this true?”

“What? No. He’s lying.”

“Y/N, is that what happened?”

You nod your head. “Why do you think she doesn’t have any shoes on? Her attendance is suffering from Taylor’s bullying. That’s almost half a day missed because of this, and only god knows what could’ve happened to Y/N if I hadn’t heard her calling for help.”

He turns to look at her, and she starts in with the crocodile tears.

“Well. I’m sure this was just a misunderstanding. We’ll get it taken care of.”

—

Mr. MacTavish doesn’t understand why you’re gone for another week, until he finds out you were placed on suspension.

You were right, there’s nothing you can do.

When you come back, they’ve ramped up the harassment.

You’ve had enough, and Mr. MacTavish was right. You do hold back.

You’re sitting on the bench, they never did give you your gym clothes back. You have to wait for new ones, so you’re sitting out of the activities until further notice. Mr. MacTavish notices the three girls are talking to you, probably being rude.

He sighs, trying to finish up his grading when he hears a “oh shit!” From one of his students. Turning to see that you’re no longer on the bench, and instead, straddling Taylor. You’ve got a hand wrapped in her hair as you wail on her. The other two try to intervene but you’re not budging. “Steamin’ Jesus.” He groans, jogging over to the two of you. He tries to pull you off of her but even he struggles.

When he’s finally got you off of her, you’re seething. Breathing heavily and saying nothing. “My office! Go!” He pushes you. You glare at him, turning your back and walking toward his office, shaking the pain off of your hand. He helps Taylor up, she’s holding her bleeding nose.

He knows it’s bad but he wants to laugh, this is exactly what she deserves. “Go to the nurse, the three of you.” He shakes his head.

He gives every one else instructions to go back to the basketball game they were playing. Making his way to his office.

You’re sitting in the chair in front of his desk and he laughs the moment the door is closed. “What happened?”

“She was taunting me.” You shrug. He shakes his head. “I’m afraid you’re really in for it now, kid.” He laughs.

After a few more minutes, the principal barges in. “This behavior is unacceptable.” He seethes.

“Y/N, go wait outside on the bench for a minute.” He ushers you out, closing the door behind you.

“She’s on immediate suspension- this is ridiculous.”

“No.” He mumbles.

“What?”

Mr. MacTavish crosses his arms.

“The janitor found Y/N’s clothes in the trash can behind the school a few days ago. He thought it was odd so he brought them to me. Can only assume you placed them in there, right?” He mumbles. “Or maybe this will tell us?” He holds up the flash drive from the janitor, the footage of him throwing them in there to cover up for Taylor.

“If you don’t tell Taylor and her little friends to leave Y/N alone, I’m going to go to the board about this. And you’ll lose your job, and Taylor will get expelled. You wouldn’t want that right?”

He shuts up really fast. “If Y/N starts in on one of the three again, I won’t pull her off next time. Raise your kids to be better, not assholes.” He wants to come out of his chair and put hands on him. “Fine. Alright. Whatever you want.”

“I mean it, not one more time. And I want you to pay the fees it’s going to take to replace Y/N’s shoes and gym clothes.” He’s got his arms crossed. “Alright. Fine. She still has to be held accountable for violence.”

“We’ll talk with her.” He shakes his head. “Y/N. Come back in.” He waves you inside.

You sit down and they’re both standing as they look at you. “Violence is unacceptable Y/N.” Mr. MacTavish looks at him as he says it. You bring your eyes up from the floor, looking at him. “Yes sir.” You mumble. Johnny can see that you want to roll your eyes. You’re feigning regret. “Detention. For the rest of the week.” He sighs. “Yes sir.” You repeat it, Johnny wants to roll his eyes. “Is that all?”

“Yes.” He sighs. He walks out and you huff, sitting down.

“Want some ice?” He asks, seeing your knuckles that are split and swollen. “No. The sting reminds me of what it felt like to hit her in her stupid face.” You sigh. He can’t help but laugh. “You can hang out in here but I’ve got to get back to my class.” You nod.

He goes out to make sure everyone is doing what they’re supposed to. By the time he comes back, you’re gone. At some point, the Principal had placed enough money on his desk for new Gym clothes for you. Johnny can’t believe the lengths he’d go, to protect his daughter, especially when she’s the one in the wrong.

For the remainder of the week, he spots you in passing. Seeing you resting your head on your hand in Detention. Sending you smiles in the hallway. If Johnny had to pick a favorite student, it’d probably be you. Just because you dealt with so much bullshit and hardly showed it.

The bullying seemed to die down. They weren’t constantly harassing you and you weren’t in his office bugging him when they did like you usually did. It was a good thing of course, but he couldn’t deny that he missed having you around. You participated as normal in his gym class and your attendance had really picked up since they quit bugging you. It was odd for a change.

It made you realize how much you liked being around your gym teacher.

Not being around him as much made you want to be around. It made you think about all the time you had spent around him and than you started dreaming.

More specifically about when he’d found you in that locker in the locker room, and pinned you to them. Holding his hand over your mouth. The dreams you’d had about him when you weren’t around him as much were straight up dirty. You don’t know why these were coming out of the left field like this, you hadn’t ever felt this way about him before. You’re not sure what had changed anyways.

You kept your cool around him even when you didn’t want to. You had no choice. He was a teacher and you were a student. You knew he would never want anything like that with you. That didn't stop your mind from wandering.

It was your last day of detention, you were bored. Resting your head on your hand and staring at the clock as the seconds ticked by agonizingly slow.

You don't turn your head when the door opens, it usually wasn't anything too important.

"Hi. Can I borrow Y/N for a minute?" He asks. His voice is what makes you perk up. "I have a couple of questions for her and she doesn't look too busy."

The other teacher nods her head and you gather your things, following him out of the room. Once the door is closed and you're walking alongside him to the gym, you speak up. "Something wrong?" You ask. "No just wanted to save you from that hell." He laughs. You smile. "Thanks. Looks that bad huh?" You laugh. "Well your grades have been good since those girls have left you alone so I imagine you have nothing to work on. Just staring at that damn clock," He smiles. "Yeah. It's like the damn thing moves in slow motion."

He laughs.

When you get to the gym, you follow him into his office.

"I was meaning to ask. What do you plan on doing after you graduate?" He asks. "I'm not sure. Figured I'd just go take some basic classes at the community college until I figured it out." You shrug. "You don't have any dreams at all? Nothing?"

You shake your head. "To be honest? People don't take well to me. I'm not sure why." You laugh.

"It's cause you're quiet. Not assertive."

You nod your head. "When are you supposed to graduate?" He asks. "Next couple of months? Why?" You ask. "Just wondering. I couldn't remember what grade you were. So that means you're Eighteen?" He asks. "Yep. Turned eighteen a few weeks ago." He nods his head.

He doesn't say anything for a minute which you find odd.

"You mind helping me clean up the girls locker room? I still have to do the boys."

"Sure."

You had done it a time or two anyways, there wasn't much to it. Changing out the trash liners, sweeping the floor. Picking up trash.

You finish sweeping when you hear the door.

You spin around but don't see anyone. Odd.

You start to worry. Hoping it's not Taylor finally seeking out her revenge.

You move back into the showers, checking to see if there were anything in there. Sometimes people left their trash inside. You turn back around but someone pushes you back into the tile wall. A gasp barely slides past your lips when he clamps a hand over your mouth. "Shhh. It's alright."

Your eyes are wide as you look at him.

"Can you stay quiet?" You nod your head slightly, looking down at his hand.

"W-what are you doing?"

He swallows hard. Looking down at you. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide as he looks down at you. "You can stop me."

He tilts his head just slightly. Leaning into you ever so slowly. He wanted to make sure that you actually want this.

When his lips brush over yours, you realize exactly what this is.

When he presses his lips to yours, you're surprised.

You almost forget to kiss back.

Your heart races in your chest as he pushes his hand along your side, onto your hip and into the curve of your back to pull you into him. Your brain is fuzzy, not processing what the hell is actually happening.

When he pulls away, he can see it in your eyes. You want this just as bad as he does. "What if someone comes in?" You swallow hard.

He thinks for a second. You're right. He can't do this here.

"You're right. Your parents come home before or after you do?" He asks. "After, they work until six and after." He nods his head. "Head home, I'll finish up here and I'll be by to get you. If you want."

Your lips part in surprise. You nod your head. "Yeah- yeah of course. Um.." You pause, giving him your address.

He saves it into his phone, just as he steps away from you, the detention bell rings.

You do as he says, leaving and going home for the day.

You're in a daze as you walk. Unsure of how the hell someone like him could want to be with someone like you. He'd actually tricked you into the locker room so that he could kiss you.

He even made sure you were eighteen first!

You step inside and rush to be better prepared. Hopping into the shower really quick, changing into better clothes.

You're waiting when you finally see him pull into your driveway. You're nervous. You've had a crush on him sure, but hadn't put too much thought into this if it had actually happened. Could you really go through with this?

You send your mom a text and let her know that you'd be staying with a friend. Unsure if it would be overnight or not. You make sure to lock the door behind you, making your way to his truck. You open the passenger side and climb in. "Hey." He smiles.

You're so doing this.

"Hi."

Your nerves are shot as he drives to his house.

In just a couple of hours you'd gone from just a normal gym student to him bringing you home.

When he pulls into his driveway, the sun is starting to set.

You follow him up to his front door, following him inside. You look around.

"You alright?" He asks.

"Yeah, I was just wondering. You bring all of your female students home with you?" You smile. He rolls his eyes. "Why, jealous?"

You smile.

"No, no I don't. I don't want to risk my entire career for just anyone, you know."

"Yeah well, you bailed me out of detention and let me blow off a bunch of classes by letting me sit and do fuck all in your office so.. I can keep a secret. Since you've kept mine."

He laughs. He closes the distance between the two of you, kissing you again. You let him kiss you. Kissing him back. "Have you had sex before?" He asks. You nod your head.

"Good. I don't have to go slow." He laughs. Lifting you up off the ground. Your wrap your legs around him and let him carry you to his bedroom. Something you didn't think happened outside of movies. Same with having sex with your teacher.

He lays you down on his bed, climbing over the top of you. He unbuttons his jeans, tugging them down his legs.

"You can stop me. If you feel uncomfortable at any moment." He reassures you. "I know. I'm okay." You nod. He helps you get your pants down your legs, completely off. Your shirt following. He's starting to act different. His usual easy-going attitude is gone. Replaced completely by lust. He makes sure you're wet enough first, not wanting to hurt you.

He lines himself up with you and sinks into you, hearing you gasp.

Your eyes widen slightly.

You were really doing this. You were really having sex with him.

He draws back and thrusts in to the hilt, hearing you gasp out again. "Oh god-"

"Just call me John, sweetheart." He chuckles. You clutch at his sheets. Rolling your eyes at him.

He rests a hand beside your head, holding himself up. The muscles in his arm flex. He was fit, even for a gym teacher.

You screw your eyes shut, moaning out his name.

He didn't think that he'd really be able to get himself here. He figured he'd fail and lose his job trying to get you into bed with him

"You're so tight." He whines, a noise you didn't think he could make. He presses his thumb into your clit, lips parting slightly as he touches it. "Shit... your clit is so swollen baby." He licks his lips. You flinch away from his touch. "Sensitive too." He laughs. He rests his thumb on it just barely. rubbing gentle circles over it. He feels your thighs tightening up, starting to shiver slightly from his touch.

"You're doing so good for me. So fuckin' good lass."

You smile, and he tilts his head. "What?"

"I like that." You pant.

"What, when I call you lass?" He asks. You nod your head, hearing him chuckle. You smile, cheeks reddening. He smiles. He thinks despite the situation you're in, you're really cute.

"You're so cute with my cock inside you." He taunts. Hearing you gasp when he thrusts in harder than before.

He was getting close, he needed to get you there. He applies more pressure to your clit than he had before, rubbing eights into it and watching you visibly lose it underneath him. You're getting louder, breaths even more unsteady than the last. He watches you jerk slightly with every hard thrust he takes into you. You've got your lip pulled between your teeth, hands clutching at his cheeks. Your eyes are screwed shut. You're a sight for sore eyes.

His stomach tightens up. He's dangerously close. He wants to cum inside you sure, but he can't get a student pregnant.

"John.. I- I'm really close." You whine. He grits his teeth hard, nearly cumming right then and there at the sound of your voice. "It's alright doll. You can cum for me." He breathes, lowering his head to kiss you. He keeps his lips locked to yours until you're moaning into his lips, legs shaking as you reach your orgasm around him. His eyes roll back, you're tightening on him and it takes everything not to finish inside of you.

When he's given you time to ride out your high out, he draws his hips back, pulling away from the kiss. Stroking his cock and covering your stomach in his cum. He hisses, teeth gritted. Seeing him like that makes you realize the gravity of the situation you're in. How if someone found out about it you'd be in a lot of trouble, him in even more.

Good thing you were good at keeping secrets.