#the author always craves chaos as you know

[kisskissbanggang]

Jumpspace Renegade - ep. 17 ✨🚀

[5.4k words, 20min. read - Stray Kids Multi Fic, Scifi!au, Choose Your Own Adventure - Jisung x Fem. Reader - NSFW/Smut - Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Hooking Up, Navigating Feelings, Platonic(?) Intimacy, Ominous Plot Hints, Reader has a Another Terrible Idea, We Have to Figure Out What to Do on Sentury Station, Dressing Up, Crumbs of Backstory, Who the Hell Knows What Minho is Thinking, Chan is Not Completely a Dick?, Always Check the Tags]

[Author's Note: This is the end of season 2! Stay tuned for polls and updates about the series. Thanks as always for coming along for the ride! 💕]

[Author's Note #2: This episode is late! Voting closes on Saturday, 10 pm PST]

[Episodes on Fridays 7pm pst, Polling closes Saturdays 7pm pst]

[Series Masterlist | Come Say Hi!]

You were frustrated, hungry, and disappointed.

And confused.

Because the disappointment didn’t feel just like disappointment. Maybe you felt a little heartbroken, finding out that you were likely never going to see Seungmin again after his negotiations at Sentury.

But for now, you were hungry.

You surveyed the kitchen, hoping to see if Jeongin had left a plate out for you. Finding none, you checked the warmer. There was a plate inside, but it’d been picked clean, leaving a sad corpse of dinnerware covered in crumbs. Dejected, you grabbed an energy bar and nibbled on it while you walked back to your cabin.

In the cool air of the workshop, Felix was reclined in the hammock set up by the workbench, hanging all the way down from the catwalk. Changbin was preoccupied tuning up the four-wheeler. Someone, at some point, had written “PLACE FELIX HERE” in the middle of a circle on the cargo basket, the permanent marker ink shiny in the overhead lamps.

Just when you thought you’d slink by, letting the duo go about their business in peace, Felix’s smooth voice made you pause.

“You excited to go to the Station?”

When you turned back around, Changbin was chuckling and shaking his head. “You know it’s only folks who’ve never been that are excited to go,” he teased Felix.

The ranger’s giggle was deep, comforting despite being foreboding. He lazily kicked his feet where they hung over the side of the hammock. “Doesn’t mean she can’t be excited to dock tonight. She’s never been, after all.”

You hopped up to sit on the workbench. From here, you could see Felix looked a little bashful, maybe surprised that he and Changbin were back to bantering. But your confusion multiplied.

“Wait,” you shook your head, “tonight? I thought we were docking tomorrow!”

Felix and Changbin looked at each other, and then at you. The blonde pointed to another digital screen, like the one in the galley, this one on the wall by the door back out to the common area. Sure enough, the time and date had changed to Galactic Standard. The ship must’ve passed a Federation satellite at some point. 

You were internally screaming, but you tried to remain calm on the outside. “Well,” you heavily sighed. “I’m not even sure what to expect at Sentury. All I know is the Station is huge and there’s some casinos.”

“Some casinos?!” Changbin roared out a laugh, popping his head out from where it was focused on the four-wheeler’s engine. “There’s dozens of casinos at Sentury, maybe even a hundred. You’ll find some of the best gambling of your life there.”

“It was our home base for a few months,” Felix clarified. “Some great nightlife there, if you’re into that. They don’t even follow a day-night cycle, so you’ll run into folks out having a good time or the worst night of their life at all hours.”

You somewhat recalled this, that Felix and Changbin were a team before joining Chan. Something about Changbin rigging slot machines and Felix shaking down tourists and high rollers.

“Well I’m excited to go,” Changbin snickered to himself. “Always something going on. We just have to finish prepping first.”

The urge to share everything that had gone down was nagging at you. Felix and Changbin were clearly experts on Sentury, but you were more than a little wary of how eager Changbin was to cause some ruckus, apparently. 

“Do you need any help?” you cautiously asked. “Preparing, that is.”

A soft sigh could be heard from the hammock. “I still have to do inventory and secure the lockers,” Felix explained. “Anything bigger than a blaster needs to be deactivated or emptied before we disembark. I don’t think we need any help–”

“Or,” Changbin stiffly cut in, “maybe you could ask Nova to do the thing.”

“The thing?” you repeated.

Felix’s blonde head peeked out from the hammock. “Chan just asked if I could grab a trunk we nabbed from Floree Outpost out of the cargo hold. You don’t want to–”

“Sure!” you instantly nodded before you hopped off the workbench. “It’s no problem at all.” You could sense Changbin’s concern over Felix, and what could it hurt? There wasn’t anything to do before docking tonight.

You strode over to the mini-lift down to the cargo hold in the workshop, hearing your racing heart booming in your chest while you descended.

Tonight.

All this groundwork you wanted to do had to be done as soon as possible.

You punched the button for the lights when the lift hit the ground. The cargo hold was still an indecipherable mess in your eyes. If there was any method to the madness, you’d yet to find it. You entered the winding labyrinth of crates and boxes, trying to figure out what the hell you were looking for when you came across your old boots.

They smelled like your old apartment, something you never even considered to have a smell before.

What had it been, a week? A very long, exciting, terrifying week?

It felt like you’d been away from T’kaarm for decades.

“Looking for something?” came a voice, making you look up from the maze of cargo.

Hyunjin was leaning out of his cabin from under the stairs. You waved in greeting although you weren’t quite sure why, but Hyunjin waved back.

“A trunk? Apparently?” you asked. “From Floree Outpost?”

The appraiser nodded dutifully and made a bee-line down a path of crates. You could somewhat see him moving things out of the way, shuffling items around before he came up with a giant foot locker. The thing was gaudy, shiny magenta with gold curlicues decorating it and brass hardware. A large combo lock was on the side handle.

“Exciting,” Hyunjin laughed. “If Chan wants this, something interesting must be going on. Been hearing funny stuff about Sentury lately.”

There was that nagging feeling again, but just like with Changbin, Hyunjin came with his own risks. The appraiser was way too gossipy for your preference to ask for his help, even if he knew just about everything.

“You excited to go for the first time?” Hyunjin asked, leaning on a pile of crates.

“Er, I think so,” you waffled. “I hear there’s great night life.”

Hyunjin let out a guffaw, his laugh bright and airy. “Who told you that? Felix?”

You sheepishly nodded before Hyunjin walked back in the direction of his cabin, waving you over after him. “I love those two, him and Changbin.” Hyunjin picked up his tablet and typed something in before presenting it to you. On the screen were two mugshots: Felix, having the time of his life with a big grin on his face, and Changbin, quietly proud and giving a dazzling smolder for the camera. 

Some time had clearly passed since then. Felix’s hair was a daring shade of blue, while Changbin’s was a cute chestnut brown. Felix even had some cute extra piercings and a large love bite on his throat, while Changbin was apparently hiding all sorts of tattoos under his long-sleeve shirts if the mugshot was anything to go by.

“Look at ‘em,” Hyunjin cooed. “Felix is blacklisted from practically half the clubs and bars in Sentury, and Changbin’s not even allowed on a casino floor. Any of them.”

“Shouldn’t they have made bank then?” you wondered out loud.

Hyunjin shook his head. “They didn’t hit all these establishments, mind you, they just created enough of a reputation to become a preemptive issue. Keep a close eye on them when we disembark, and if anyone asks where they are–”

“I don’t know anything,” you innocently raised your hands. 

“Exactly,” praised Hyunjin while he looked at his wristwatch. “Now come on; it’s almost time for dinner.”

You spied the time he was looking at. “Dinner?! It was just breakfast!”

“A good crewmate is hungry when the clock says to be,” Hyunjin chided. “Much to learn, rookie.”

You sighed and returned to the trunk to haul it upstairs, fully prepared to drag it over to the lift before you realized that it was actually surprisingly light. It was difficult to figure out what was inside the foot locker; nothing was rattling inside. The most awkward part of getting it up to the common area was simply the size of the thing, trying to maneuver it up the tight staircase. You had to admit, you were still hungry.

Something smelled amazing when you got up to the galley, and you dropped the trunk by the booth before heading into the kitchen. It appeared that Jeongin was finishing getting everything set.

“Looks good, chef,” you complimented, peeking over his shoulder to the stew he had going on the stove.

“Thanks,” he humbly replied. “I’m getting more comfortable not having Felix right here to help me.”

You raised a curious eyebrow. “Didn’t do much cooking before this?”

Jeongin shook his head. “Never got a chance to learn, so Felix has been teaching me.”

“You’re doing great,” you reassured him.

“Excited to go to Sentury?” the cabin boy asked. “I’m a little nervous, honestly.”

“What?” you involuntarily laughed. “You’ve never been?!”

“No!” Jeongin laughed back, his eyes turning up into charming crescents. “Last time we passed through, Chan refused to let me go, ‘for my own good,’ he said.”

Internally, and although you’d never admit it, you commended the captain a little bit for that one.

“It’s funny,” Jeongin continued, “Lee told me something similar recently, like, when he was still in the brig. He said I should be getting off the ship and exploring as much as possible, also ‘for my own good’.”

“Is that what made you look for Jisung back on Phaborus?” you smirked. He simply nodded in return. “And were you nervous?”

“A little,” he admitted. “I know it makes me sound like a pussy, but just a little.”

“Nonsense,” you shook your head resolutely. “Doing shit when you’re nervous helps you to not be nervous the next time.”

The cabin boy smiled again, softening his sharp features, but the mention of Minho turned the wheels in your head. It felt a little selfish, but it was worth trying when you had a chance.

“Want help? I can take Minho’s food to him.”

“Sure!” Jeongin brightly agreed. “Gives me a chance to eat. Do you remember the combo?”

He asked as if you ever knew. When you shook your head, he dug in his pocket and fished out a keycard, just like the one Chan had given you. You tried not to squeal in excitement when you quickly fixed a bowl for Minho and rushed off.

Thoughts were racing through your head before you stumbled into the workshop, apparently interrupting something when you heard Felix curse from the loft. He and Changbin ducked down behind the couch, and you surreptitiously ran into the alcove between your and Minho’s cabins. You took a moment, though, pausing to make sure you had a game plan, a stance you were actually holding.

It sucked to think that Minho set you up.

Largely, you admitted to yourself, because the idea was ridiculous. In order for that to happen, Minho had to have made sure the ring not only made it to you in the first place, but that you would make it onto the ship. Yes, it was convenient that the crew got the lead, picked up Minho, and then picked you up, and you had it – but it was only that. Convenient. And conveniences did happen, you reminded yourself. 

You beeped open Minho’s door to find him examining his stubble in the mirror again, but not the one on his closet door. He was sat on the windowsill. Someone, at some point, had not only brought Minho a change of clothes, but a hand mirror and a razor. He looked comfy and refreshed in some cargo pants and a hoodie.

“Remind me what you said about facial hair the other day?” you nonchalantly asked. You helped yourself to a bite of food from his bowl, marveling for a second that Jeongin did do a good job.

“Dunno,” Minho shrugged, “but I miss growing it. When was the last time that you saw a Marine with a beard?”

You shrugged back. Actually, you don’t think you’d ever seen a member of the Federation military with facial hair. Minho cleaned off his razor in a cup of water at his side. 

“That’s because,” he continued, pulling the skin on his chin taut, “they neutralize the follicles on your face in orientation. Hurts like a motherfucker, but it’s supposed to enforce dress code. Takes some folks years to grow it reliably again. I’m still patchy as hell.”

You watched Minho shave for a little bit, lamenting that it maybe was somewhat attractive.

But you wanted to calm that relentless thought in your mind.

“Hey,” you bluntly changed the subject, “my Clessorian ring. Did you know about it before I came aboard? Like, did you know it was on T’kaarm?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Minho staunchly answered.

“Was it ever in your possession?”

Minho rinsed his razor in the water cup beside him and patted his chin dry with his hoodie. “Sure was,” he nodded. “You done eating my food?”

You swallowed your spoonful of stew before handing the bowl to him. “And what did you do with the ring?”

The bounty met your gaze but it was hard to read. “I got rid of it. Too much trouble. You excited to go to the Station?”

This was a satisfying enough answer for you. You walked back to the door. “Not really,” you shrugged. 

“Smart girl,” he praised. “I knew I liked you.”

Minho was giving you an odd look. You pointed at the bowl in his hands. “Your food’s getting cold,” you told him, before you promptly left.

The loft was empty, the workshop was empty, and the galley was empty when you entered it. You scarfed down a quick bite to eat before you crept upstairs. The boys were all assembled in the back of the bridge, with the trunk from Floree Outpost at the center. Hyunjin, Changbin, and Felix were all squished together on the couch. Chan sat at his console. You could hear faint music from the nav office, implying Seungmin was busily at work inside. Mysteriously, Jeongin and Jisung were nowhere to be seen.

Beyond the front window, a gargantuan, revolving, metal mass of a space station could be seen in the distance. This had to be Sentury.

“Enough bullshit,” Changbin ribbed. “We finally get to see what’s in this thing?” The mechanic pointed at the trunk.

Meanwhile, Chan pointed at you.

“It’s for Nova,” he cryptically explained. He tried the combo once before he broke the cheap lock with his bionic hand. Inside the tacky trunk was a tangle of fabric, all shiny and satiny textiles. The captain pulled out a couple items, revealing them to be showy dresses, the kind you’d wear to nightclubs.

Well, not you, but the kind that you could wear. 

Chan plonked the dresses into your hands. You scanned the room, confused, and caught Seungmin peeking from the nav office.

The crew were tittering and giggling. “So,” Hyunjin grinned, “it’s true about Sentury, then?”

“Is what true?!” you demanded.

The captain waved a dismissive hand at you, and then at the peanut gallery. “So we grabbed this trunk off a couple resort hostesses back on Floree Outpost,” he flippantly explained. “Pick one or two outfits you like, just to last you until you find something at the Station. And you’ll need to name an escort from the crew.”

“Excuse me?” you gawked, your arms limp in front of you.

“That’s new,” grumbled Changbin. He dug in his pocket, counted a couple credits, and placed them in Hyunjin’s waiting hand, having apparently lost some wager.

You spiked the dresses at Chan’s face. “Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on? What’s with the dresses? Why do I need an escort?!”

“It’s fine, babe,” Felix soothed you. You and Chan both turned to face him. “This happens sometimes with regime changes. Whoever runs the Entertainment Bureau gets to make the rules. One time, the Director was super into bikes so everyone was big on street racing for a bit, you know?”

“Okay, sure,” you huffed. “But what changed for there to be assigned escorts now?”

Chan mumbled something and you whipped around to look at him again. He met your eye and reluctantly began explaining. “From what I gather, the Director must have one hell of a crew of dancers or hostesses or something because ladies have preference on the Station. Their own security checkpoints, their own transports, their own reserved sections in bars, clubs, even casinos–”

“And still no decent shopping, I bet,” Felix complained. Changbin and Hyunjin nodded in agreement. 

The captain shot the three a look, gaining their silence before continuing. “The escorts have been used before, when valuable cargo was moving through Sentury. It’s basically naming your one trusted contact. If you have this escort around, they’re permitted with you, no questions asked. If someone’s with you who isn’t your escort, they can be separated from you at any time.”

“And what if I don’t name one?” you asked.

“Apparently,” he began, “one will be assigned to you. From our crew or from the Station, I don’t know which. On the flip, I’ve actually heard of cases where an escort isn’t even named, but instead a crew member is indicted. Can you fucking imagine? Even a whole crew one time, holy shit.’

“Maybe they deserved it,” Felix shrugged.

The captain and the ranger began bickering while you regarded the dresses in the trunk. Not to be that person, but you never really had the occasion to dress up back home. You sneakily pawed through the trunk while the boys were busy arguing, sort of indulging and taking a look. One little number did catch your eye, a slinky, shimmery, champagne-hued dress. 

“Is that the one?” Chan asked, almost warmly, but catching you off-guard nonetheless. “Try it on!”

“Now?” you whined. 

“He has a point, love,” Changbin admitted. “Don’t want you looking frumpy when we disembark. We can make adjustments but we can’t do magic.”

“Fine,” you huffed, ready to turn heel down the stairs. 

“Oh my god,” the captain grumbled, “just try it on here, you prude. None of us are looking, no one is gonna care.”

You were this close to tearing Chan a new asshole, breaking his knees based on principle alone… but he sort of had a point. He’d said you were part of the crew. The crew all lived in these tight quarters, seeing each other in various states of undress on regular occasions – why shouldn’t you act like part of the crew?

“Whatever,” you relented. “But if I hear one catcall, it’s gonna be a bloodbath.”

“Such big talk coming from you,” Hyunjin giggled, sliding off the couch and looking through the trunk himself. Changbin and Felix were reading something on the appraiser’s tablet. Chan even had his hands over his eyes, rich coming from the one man present who’d seen you naked.

Regardless, you were modest about it. You turned around, swiftly slipping off your shirt and pulling on the dress, finding just enough stretch in the fabric to fit around your shoulders and hug you around your waist. Then you tugged off your bottoms, yanking them over your sneakers. You turned back around, admitting to yourself that you felt really good in the garment – when you noticed Seungmin staring. His cheeks rouged immediately, his face going pink when he tried to look busy and not like he was just watching you change.

The boys all turned their attention to you when they no longer heard your clothes shuffling. Chan looked you up and down but didn’t say a word, while Felix and Changbin nodded their approval. Hyunjin, meanwhile, nudged your hip with a pair of high heels from where he was digging in the trunk. Once again, they were in your size despite never confirming it for him. 

“Oh, no,” you refused, “I’m not ready for that.”

“Then practice, you maniac,” Chan complained, taking the heels from Hyunjin and pressing them into your hands. You scooped up your clothes from the floor. “Go practice, make sure you’re presentable, and pick an escort,” the captain directed.

You sighed hot into your chest as you defeatedly nodded, turning so you could head down the stairs. 

This was a lot to take in all at once. 

Just like you’d considered who to conspire on Jisung’s lead with, now you were wondering who to name as your escort. They’d have unquestioned permission to accompany you. 

Did that mean you could force someone to help you?

Like… if you named Seungmin?

Or you could even indict someone, apparently.

Could you even… name Minho as your escort? 

That’d probably make Chan snap. Hilarious.

A rush of footsteps in the stairwell startled you, and you turned to see Hyunjin jogging down to the galley. He held out an equally gaudy train case he must’ve found in the trunk.

“Chan, that idiot,” Hyunjin smirked, “he didn’t think to give you these.” He opened the case, revealing a mess of costume jewelry, hair clips, and makeup. He then produced a small clutch purse from under his arm and held it out in his other hand. “You’re going to look amazing. Don’t overthink it.”

The appraiser pushed the case into the growing pile in your hands before heading back down the stairs to his room in the cargo hold. You were left alone with a lot to figure out. Dazed, you walked back to your cabin, lost in thought – when you ran face first into Jisung, leaving his room. He looked particularly cozy today, with a tank top and some shorts, with a backwards baseball cap holding his fringe back. It was still taking some adjusting to see him without the eyepatch. 

The pilot looked thoroughly caught, his eyes wide and his face paling, which interested you until his eyes shifted down from yours, down your collarbones and onto the dress.

“I, uhm,” you struggled to explain, “I have to name an escort.”

Jisung’s eyes lit up and he pumped his fist a little. “Fuck yes,” he cursed in celebration. “I fucking told Changbin. But… are you going to disembark? Like that?”

The look you gave must’ve been brutal with how Jisung clammed up. It didn’t help that, following your criteria, you were still pissed at him. “Er, I mean,” he babbled, reaching forward and brushing a tendril of your hair out of your face. “I just think you can do something nice, really look the part, you know?”

You continued to stare, confused. Jisung sighed helplessly and grabbed your elbow, herding you into his cabin and closing the door. He sat you down at his desk, where he had a small standing mirror that you could see yourself in. The pilot brushed his fingers through your hair, a bizarrely soothing sensation, and began parting it and sweeping your hair in different directions. When you were about to ask him what the hell he was up to, he pointed at the train case.

“What’s in there?”

Instead of answering, you simply clicked open the case and gestured for him to take a look. Jisung peered inside, stroking his chin, and then picked out a couple pins before grabbing a hairbrush. Now you could no longer hold back the question you were dying to ask.

“Jisung,” you pestered, reaching back and grabbing his hand, “what the fuck are you doing?”

“I dated a couple dancers before,” he shrugged. “You pick up a thing or two. And you deserve to look nice, don’t you think?”

Stunned wasn’t exactly the right word here, but it’s what came to mind. Jisung whipped your hair up into a casual updo with some loose tendrils framing your face, and then dug into the train case. He held up a few options before holding up two sets of simple earrings for you. When you picked the modest golden hoops, he grabbed a matching bracelet and slipped it on your wrist. You sat still when he applied some light makeup, adding just a little drama to your eyes and a hint of shimmering highlight. 

It was ridiculous, how your heart skipped a beat when you looked in the mirror. 

You reminded yourself to stay pissed at Jisung.

“Alright,” he nodded approvingly. “Now the heels.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” you stubbornly shook your head. “I haven’t worn heels in years–”

“It’s like riding a bike!” Jisung refuted. “Besides, look at these. Wide platform, ankle strap, chunky heel – you’re going to be perfectly fine. May I?”

You swallowed hard when Jisung knelt down and spun you in his desk chair so you were facing him. He pulled off your ratty sneakers and delicately slipped your right foot into the shoe before buckling the ankle strap, and then repeated the process with the left. Jisung’s gaze felt piercing when he looked up at you, and you caught yourself feeling all vulnerable again. He got up to his feet and stepped back.

“Well?” he asked. “Is it true? You can’t walk in heels?”

A small sigh escaped your lips before you got up.

You took a confident step forward–

But you over thought it. Your weight shifted weirdly, sending you stumbling over your own feet and into Jisung’s quick arms, where he awkwardly caught you but shifted you over so it looked more like he was dipping you during a waltz.

You blinked at him, haloed by the lamp in his room. “It’s too bad I’m still mad at you,” you joked halfheartedly, “because that was pretty smooth.”

“Yeah,” Jisung nodded, a little dazed. “It’s a good thing you’re still mad at me, because you look amazing.”

“Thanks,” you replied, trying to crack a lighthearted smile, “I just got my hair done.”

In a moment of terror, you realized that Jisung was leaning in towards you, and you pushed a hand into his face, smushing him back and off of you until you were properly standing up on your feet again.

You were both a little out of breath. “You, er,” you fumbled, “you didn’t formally pitch a plan to me yet, remember?”

“You’re right,” Jisung agreed, nodding and taking your hand in his. The tension was ballooning in your chest. “Can I talk to you?”

Your chin dipped in a weak nod while you leaned back to sit against Jisung’s desk, but he followed you, stepping between your knees. The following minutes were dead silent. Jisung tentatively kissed your cheek, which you permitted. He then brazenly slid his arms around your waist, and you gasped when he kissed your neck.

“I wanted to see if you’re interested in a plan of mine,” Jisung explained into your skin, his voice breathy and needy. 

“Yeah?” you replied, way too into this already. Your breath hitched when his teeth grazed your pulse.

“I know a guy, at the place I mentioned, Sunrise Casino–”

“How many guys do you know?” you teased. Jisung’s fingertips pressed tough into your waist, despite his muffled chuckle.

“I know a guy, okay?” he repeated. “He just works a door, but he’s a guy. And I haven’t heard from him in weeks–”

Jisung exclaimed as you grabbed onto his tank top, reeling him in and kissing him properly. He melted into you then, spreading your knees so he could slide between them. His fingertips found their way down below your waist, and you hissed out a curse when you felt him tease his touch inside of you. 

“Okay,” you breathlessly nodded while you pushed his shorts down under his erection, “so you haven’t heard from your guy. What then?”

You gasped into Jisung’s mouth when he kissed you again, his tongue hotly writhing against yours while he pulled his fingers out to massage the tip of his hard length against your entrance.

“What then, Jisung?” you repeated, teasing him to keep up with your little game. He sank into you then, pulling a full-bodied moan out of both of you.

“Then,” he groaned, “that means I have to rely on the one other guy I have at the moment, a jewelry dealer. He should have some direction for us to go and try to find the safety deposit box while we try to build some contacts on the inside, grease some palms and gather some intel– oh fuck–”

Jisung shuddered, getting a little distracted fucking you in earnest on his desk. He thrust into you hard, almost grinding his hips into you so he could really rub into your sweet spot. You kissed down his neck, sucking a little love bite into his collarbones. His eyes were squeezed shut, savoring the sensation of your walls enveloping his cock, and you reached up, cupping his face and encouraging him to watch you.

“Come on, tell me the rest,” you urged.

“Then, once we get a solid lead on the whereabouts of the payload,” Jisung panted, “we’ll have to decide if it’s smarter to go after it ourselves or try to make a deal–”

“That is the simplest, most run-of-the-mill plan I’ve ever heard,” you giggled, but cried out when Jisung kissed you hard again.

“It’s harder when I don’t have a guy, okay?” whined Jisung. “I gotta start all over again, do some groundwork–”

“Then I can help you,” you offered, whimpering when Jisung started pounding into you at just the right angle.

“Then I did it?” he asked eagerly. “You’re not pissed at me anymore?”

“No,” you shook your head, “I’m not pissed at you anymore, just make me cum, holy shit–”

Jisung nodded obediently, desperately grasping onto your hips and consistently thrusting into you at a steady enough rhythm. Almost risking ruining it, he sucked a thumb into his mouth before leaning you back and caressing your clit. You tensed then, grabbing onto his arm and crying out when you hit your climax. You were seeing spots, you finished so hard. Jisung came a moment afterwards, pulsing inside of you and practically collapsing, limp, on top of you where you were uncomfortably half-reclined on his desk.

The two of you took a minute to catch your breath, with Jisung’s lips buried in your neck and tickling you when he breathed. At some point, his ball cap fell off, and your hands ran through his hair and massaged the back of his neck.

“I guess that just means you need to name an escort then,” he mumbled against your skin. 

Even though you were dazed, you still tried to consider this.

But you were still seeing spots.

Well, no you weren’t. 

You saw a spot.

A light. On Jisung’s talk box by the door. 

Someone was listening to you.

Your eyes widened in horror at this realization, but you kept this to yourself. 

You were landing soon, and you needed to name an escort.

And some asshole was spying on your conversation.

You considered your options again. Jisung was an obvious choice, but it made sense to widen your resource pool. There was Seungmin, obviously. Even though he had business on the Station, maybe he’d actually help you if you named him. There was also Hyunjin, who was a clear wealth of knowledge despite being a gossip. You even humored the idea of naming Jeongin, who was green enough that you knew he’d help you with little to no arguing. Chan was an option as well, you supposed. He had skills and experience, and maybe naming him would help you keep a close eye on him. And there was Minho, obviously, a delightfully funny idea that’d stun you if it actually worked. Getting Minho’s help and getting him out of his cabin? Who knew what that would get you. And, of course, that left Felix and Changbin. A duo that already had a valuable reputation on Sentury, and knew the ins and outs better than the whole crew, most likely. Even though they’d hardly be able to accompany you anywhere, you considered that you could accompany them wherever you wanted. You wondered, for a brief moment, if you could name two escorts.

Sentury Station wasn’t too far off by now. All that you had left to do was choose who to name.

[pedgito]

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐔𝐒 | General Acacius x reader x Emperor Geta

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summary | living under emperor geta's rule was never supposed to be easy, but he aims to make it nearly impossible, even if he has become fond of you.

author's note | i never really intended for this to get another part, but since seeing the movie and wanting to expand on these characters and possibly writing for geta on his own, i thought i would turn this into a little passion project. i know there's a niche group of you that have asked for a second part to this, and as much as i crave chaos, i hope you enjoy where i took this and know that i am all for the crazed man that is emperor geta. (can be read as a standalone, but the first part can be read here)

content warning | 18+ mdni, DDDNE - heavy dubcon (due to sex work, ect), heavy themes of abuse under the rule of a vile emperor (mention of injury, slapping, ect), normalized degredation, exhibitionism and exchange of bodily fluids, smut galore (oral, unprotected piv, ect), choking tw, death tw, use of opium poppy, drugging tw (not against reader), named side character, marcus acacius being the real knight in shining armor. this is unbeta'd so i apologize for any spelling mishaps.

word count — 8k

You live within him, it feels. 

Geta never let you stray farther than a touch, within arms distance. 

You were no longer yourself, rather an extension of him.

He prefers you naked. But, he often dresses you up in gowns; modest sometimes, occasionally leaning toward more revealing fabric—sheer lace, high slits, deep-cut necklines that accentuate your breasts and hips, the soft but tight curve of your ass. Sometimes you wondered if he liked the clothes more accessible to his wandering hands, his fingers fluttering under your gown during public meetings, even.

The men never said a word, they wouldn���t dare.

If you were given the opportunity to be away from him, it was always under the watchful gaze of his guards, and only to complete tasks he has ordered to you—fetching food when he was too lazy to leave his bed and when you were feigning the grimace in your face, itching to wander.

Your relationship is complicated in the beginning but easier to manage as you become accustomed to his personality and outbursts, learning what makes him tick. He’s easier to manipulate with sex, something you have no issue taking full advantage of.

And he fancies an audience, usually. Other servants, less privileged women that trembled in his presence, fearful that his next move would be their last, somehow comforted by your confident and guiding touch. It made no sense to not enjoy what you could while you were imprisoned here, even if Geta and his brother did nothing to soothe the discomfort they left in their wake, making your skin crawl as his fingers drifted along your skin.

Caracalla could not touch either, his brother forbade it. An eager boy, riddled with a brain-eating sickness, he was dutiful to his brother but harmful in his own ways, fickle with thoughtful choices and often making important decisions on impulse. 

They were destroying Rome, that much you knew to be true.

-

Geta’s hand guided up your stomach, his palm curling around your breasts as he squeezed, your own hand flat against his chest as you rode him with fervor in the early morning hours, dawn peeking over the warm, lilac sky. 

In this light, he seemed almost normal. Eyes drifting shut in the silence of his quarters, just you—just him, he often made the mistake of weakening his defenses like this. He growled, low and quiet as his hands traded your breasts for your hips, spinning you in an instant and pinning you beneath him, soon his hand like a vice grip on your neck as he thrusts into you with little care or regard, a string of spit connecting his parted lips as he laughed, an eerie cackle as he came inside of you, admiring the tremble in your lip as he released his grip on your throat, subtly intaking the breath you had been deprived of as he pulls away from you, falling against the mattress and pulling the silk bed sheet over himself.

You move to do the same, but he grips the sheet.

“Make yourself come,” He demands, a sneer across his face as he yanks the sheet away completely. 

It was routine, now. You part your thighs without hesitation, leaning back on your elbow to allow him an unobstructed view, a tired but amused expression on his face as you play with your clit, fingers sliding through your folds, eyes drifting shut as they often did. 

It was easier to picture him this way, brown curls buried between your thighs and the tanned-skin of his backside as he stretched out below you, rutting his cock into the sheets as he ate you like his final meal, eyes like warm honey as they peered up at you.

Acacius, sweet Acacius. 

You were thankful you could remember his face, a memory you would pray to the gods to stick with you forever, a blissful crest of pleasure as your middle finger circles over your clit in a hurried manner, heels digging into the sheets as you feel it—fuck, it’s there, right there—

“Look at me,” He leers, his hand twisting into your hair at the crown of your head, a searing pain that makes you gasp, but your eyes fly open, mouth parted in a mix of pain and pleasure, “tell me how generous of an emperor I am to be so kind to a little whore like you.”

You nod shakily, swallowing as your mouth dries, “You have given me everything, your highness. Everything. I may never be able to repay you such a debt,” It was a script, one you’ve memorized and dare not forget, “May I—” You’ve learned to ramp up the dramatics when he’s lips part in anticipation, fingers itching as his thigh as they curled, his dick twitching beneath the fabric, “may I come?”

So fucking full of himself.

Whether you did or not didn’t matter anymore, but he allowed it. Insists. Your eyes never leave him.

–

Even as you dress, again, he hovers. 

You’ve learned the proper customs and rules, always making sure you look perfect. Pristine. Scrubbing your body down so harsh and deep that it makes your skin feel raw, because if Geta noticed anything—anything at all, it would mean punishment. 

He liked lashings, but that was too exertive for him.

His handmaidens aided the swelling and cuts as well as they could, ice and creams, clever ways to cover the wounds to your face. You were starting to feel a numbness when the anger would rise and explode, only praying that he would remove his rings before doing so.

“He’s visiting,” Geta speaks as though it was a secret, squeezing your chin between his fingers before they predictably fall to your neck, squeezing in the perfect spot to make you feel light, airy, and not in a good way, “I best not get a whiff of contempt, understood?”

“I am yours, Geta,” You knew he liked the more relaxed approach, his grip easing up, “he is nothing, nothing compares to you.”

His nostrils flare, a half-hearted smirk crossing his face as he shrugs.

“I have a task for you,” Geta teases, before his finger trails toward your nose, thumb rubbing against the soft, bulbous curve and down your lips, pushing his fingertip inside, prying your lips apart, thumb tucking against the inside of your cheek as you mouth falls open, “but, not in this moment. The timing must be…perfect.”

Your eyes squint slightly—he was up to no good, that much you could decipher. 

–

He gave the other servants a look, shooing them away as you stayed on his heels, your dress flowing at your ankles, feet bare against the marble floor. He pulled faintly at your wrist as he took a seat, maneuvering you into his lap, his own legs outstretched, fingers traveling up the center of your chest before his hands curving around the back of your head, his thumb rubbing at your jawline.

“Try anything, I will kill him first. Then you.”

You smile, syrupy sweet, playing with a thin strand of his fiery locks underneath the lip of his crown.

“You worry so much, Emperor,” Your own hand covers his, a bold touch as you stare him down, “It does not suit you.”

He’s emotionless for a moment too long, fearing you may have finally overstepped, before he breaks out into a laugh, one final squeeze before he relinquishes his hold.

The General and his entourage arrive soon after your conversation, Caracalla having joined shortly before the approach of many guests—most thanking their Emperors for no apparent reason other than because they enjoyed watching people kneel before them, confessing their undying loyalty.

It was pathetic, but what you were doing—forced or not, was no better. It was much like being stripped bare, the way the others' eyes prowled, watchful of Geta’s wandering touch.

“Quite the whore you’ve acquired,” One embolden man comments, his slimy smirk coming moments later, before calling over his shoulder, “General Acacius, you must tell me where you acquire such…toys. Such a generous gift you gave.”

You smiled with faked confidence, sat in his lap, one leg draped over his own, the other dragging along the floor where it rested through his split thighs, a kneading hand dragging along your inner thigh. Your fingers drag along his own, his tongue shoving into his bottom lip and over his teeth, a tick you’ve learned meant no good, his eyes turning quickly to rage.

You could hear the deep timber of the general over your shoulder as he is called forward, your eyes never leaving Geta, even as he straightens in his throne, his palm flattening against the arm of the chair digging into your back. You slide a hand inside his robe, fingertips dragging along his collarbone, “He knows I am yours now, Geta.”

“General Acacius,” Geta greets with a poorly faked kindness, one that Acacius returns with a curt nod and the usual bow that one of higher ranking would offer, the traditions were different for townspeople, but it was still ridiculous in any manner, “I take you have good news to share.”

Otherwise, he would not be here.

“Austria will be conquered within the next fortnight, Emperor Geta,” He explains with a rigidness that oozed discomfort, ignoring the smarmy look of another nearby general, one of much lower important, but nonetheless—

“Ah, it must feel strange,” The man suddenly interjects, a finger circling the steel goblet in his hand, filled to the brim with wine, “trading whores, doing business—rather messy…”

Geta’s jaw tenses, his anger suddenly directed elsewhere.

But, as usual, Acacius knows how to defuse a tense situation.

“She was a gift to the Emperor,” The general clarifies, “for what he does with her is none of my business, I only knew her as a loyal servant,” not a whore, never had those words left his mouth.

Geta’s chest rumbles softly, his hand squeezing painfully tight at your thigh.

Your teeth clench to silence the pain, dreading his next words as they leave his mouth.

“Call her what she is, Acacius,” He goaded, “a whore—and she excels.” 

His other hand slides through the open back of your dress, slipping one fold of fabric down your shoulder as he grins, all of the lower society bystanders having filtered out of the palace by now, leaving a large group of generals waiting for Geta's official dismissal.

“Give them a show,” He boasts, shoving you off of him rather abruptly, but you quickly plant your bare feet into the flooring, steadying yourself as you kneel before the Emperor, spreading out the spare fabric of your dress to act as a temporary comfort to your knees as you work at Geta’s robe, hesitant as you peer up at him briefly, he nods slightly, but taunting, “go on.”

It wasn’t the first time you’ve performed for an audience, feeling eerily normal now—but in a room full of generals? Acacius? You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, deafening everything else around you as you split his robe apart and dragged your fingers up the inside of his thigh, his tongue peeling slightly through his lips as you wrapped your delicate fingers around his cock, watching as he hardened under your skilled touch, despite how incredibly awkward the air felt, some of the men murmuring around you quietly.

His fingers dig into your hair at the start of your scalp, unhappy with your pace as he grips, pulling you forward until you get the idea, your tongue licking slowly along the head of his cock, the reddened tip glistening with a small drop of precome. You circle around it, slow and tantalizing before you run down the length of his shaft, having memorized every ridge and vein by this point that it has become second nature to instinctively know what pulls him toward the edge faster, easier. But, he wasn’t even looking at you. He was staring through you, behind you.

He was staring Acacius down, guiding you down his cock without much relief as your eyes flutter shut when his cock head nears the back of your throat, using practiced breathing as you focus. He didn’t like it when you gagged, eventually allowing you up for air as you claw gently at his thigh, but the process is repeated over and over again until you’re tearing up, drool collecting down your neck and chest, hand still secured tightly at the root of your hair as he pulls you off suddenly, demanding a tense, “Open, tongue out,” as he comes in short, but forceful spurts against your tongue, swallowing the heady taste of him without another thought. 

He pats at your cheek lightly when you open your mouth, showing it empty.

“Stand,” He ordered, adjusting your dress back up slightly to cover your breast, chuckling underneath his breath at how disheveled you looked otherwise, hair an absolute mess and your chest slick with spit, “oh—why don’t you give him a kiss? As a thank you for his generosity.”

Geta covers himself lazily, uncaring as if a dozen or so men hadn’t just watched him come down your throat. You turn on your heels, approaching Acacius who was simmering with rage, it was subtle, but you could sense it as you came closer.

You smile softly, a silent apology as you touch him first, fingers curling around the side of his neck as you press your lips against his in a chaste kiss, knowing Geta would allow nothing more. And it doesn’t surprise you how easy it feels to fall back into his touch, the polite press of Acacius hand at your hip catching you by surprise, feeling the faint adjustment of fabric, invisible to the naked eye, but you feel it.

Geta doesn’t appreciate Acacius reciprocity, cutting the moment short.

But, Geta is more relaxed that night after Acacius departure than he’s ever been.

He’d won. 

At least, he thought so.

–

“An entire limb seems harsh,” Geta thinks, twisting the rings on his finger as you dry from the bath he had ordered you take before lying in bed with him, always wanting you perfect and clean, “maybe a few fingers would suffice as punishment.”

You keep your silence, letting him think aloud as you squeezed the water from your hair with the cloth, but eventually Geta’s hand wanders, pulling at the cloth covering your body, forcing it to drop to the ground, “What do you think?”

Your eyebrows raise in faint shock, that he was legitimately addressing you about a concern, a choice he would happily make himself—so, why? Why was he asking?

Whatever, you’ll bite.

“What did they do?”

“The general—from the other day, who had such choice words for your dear Acacius—”

“Geta, I have told you—”

“Do not interrupt me,” He seethes, pulling at your wrist, forcing you to be done with your hair and climb over him in bed, “He assaulted a maid of ours—or Caracalla’s specifically, we had caught him up in his room, trespassing, touching things that did not belong to him—”

People, he means. But, he would never be so generous.

“And, you think a few fingers? An arm? That taking away a limb would keep him from doing it again?” You clarify, rolling to your stomach as you crawl toward him, your face level with his own as you rest your head into your open palm.

“Unless, say, you suggest something different.”

“Kill him,” You offer lightly, “If you think one less appendage would teach him a lesson, your highness, I hate to speak out of term, but—”

Geta considers the thought, head tilting to the side before he slowly opens his mouth to speak, “No…I do understand. But, he is a general. It would be something to discuss with a council.”

Your fingers slide across his chest, fingertips rubbing against the small patch of auburn hair at the center of his sternum, slowly crawling up his neck, idle movement that you didn’t think about at all anymore.

“You are an emperor. The people of Rome listen to you,” He and his brother were burning it to the ground, but that wasn’t something you could stop alone, “you are powerful—and, forgive me, but watching you command a room,” It amazes you sometimes how easily it was to play into his weaknesses, a smile spreading across his face as you boosted his ego, “—it does things to a woman.”

His hand, like a magnet, attaches to your thigh to spread you out on top of him, straddling his groin, your bare pussy pressed tight against the cloth of his robe, your hands pressing into his naked chest.

“You are smart,” Geta notices, “educated—a keen eye unlike I have seen on someone of your social status, I do not know much about you.”

“You have never asked,” You reply honestly, “though, it does not matter. I am here for one reason, to serve you.” His grip shifts your waist slightly, aiding the slow, but gentle rock of your hips against his hardening cock and if you closed your eyes long enough, you could enjoy it.

“Yet, you may be of more use to me than I suspected,” Geta teases, his hands rising to massage at your breasts, casually nodding to the maid who had peeked her head inside after a quiet knock, nodding as he answered, “—yes, bring them in.”

A line of varying women filter into the room with somber faces.

And just like that, the moment was lost.

–

Geta was such a heavy sleeper, fortunately. Gently prying yourself away as he rolls onto his side, mumbling something unintelligible in his sleep as you quietly step toward the the attached room where you bathed, pulling at a loose tile in the floor where you had stowed away what Acacius had slipped into the fold of your dress, withholding for the right moment to peek.

It was a tiny scroll, rolled up with a thin string and no bigger than your thumb, your nails pulling at the slab until it pops free, quietly unfurling the curled up paper as you read what was carved onto the thin paper, an overuse of ink smudged in spots.

It listed a place, a monument he knew you’d remember and a promise that he would visit every night after the sun set for a small window in time, hoping to catch you. 

He was still trying to reach you, to provide himself as a comfort in such a time.

You had to plan accordingly, find someone you trusted enough, and convince Geta of your undying loyalty—though, it seemed that you were breaking him down. 

And luckily, you did have a maid you trusted, to a degree—a young woman of similar age, meek but unsuspecting, she often sensed your displeasement and unease, didn’t fit in like the rest of the women that bowed so loyal to the emperors. But, she was a gossip, a troublemaker like Caracalla who she served loyally. She tended to him more regularly, often dealing with his breakdowns and tantrums caused by Geta or, lately, anything. There was never a way to know when he would blow a fuse and cause more bloodshed, he was unruly. 

There was only one hour of the day when you see her—morning proceedings, food served to their royal highness, the two brothers chatting amongst themselves as everyone moved fluidly around them. Caracalla had requested fresh squeezed juice, a rather tedious task, but you sneak away with her as the opportunity arose, digging through the oranges without prying eyes.

“I must ask you a favor,” You begin in a hushed tone, rubbing your thumb over the skin of the orange, “and I will owe you immensely.”

She looks at you curious, but expectant.

“The stuff…that helps Caracalla sleep,” You hint at out of habit, paranoia getting the best of you, “I would…I require it, for Geta. He sleeps heavily, but I need…to be sure.”

“He is insatiable as of late, that act in front of the generals—”

“Irene, I am at my end, please—do you have any remaining?”

It was opium poppy, it had many forms but the one you knew most of was powder. Easy to slip into a drink, often undetectable. It was worth a shot, even if it meant your life.

“At dusk, by dinner. Is that enough time?” She answers easily, a sigh of relief breathing past your lips as you nod, cradling a few oranges in the crook of your elbow.

You had only prayed Acacius hadn’t given up hope, that he might still be lingering in the shadows in wait, hoping for a glimpse of you again.

-

As promised Irene delivers, dousing both of the boys inconspicuously as you kept watch, tainting their wine with the sleeping drug, watch as his eyes began to tire before you as you slipped a grape between his teeth, a sated and happy smile on his face. 

You hate it, but he almost looks normal. Like he wasn’t slaughtering people for entertainment and ruling like a madman—he was still young, just beyond his teenage years and into adulthood, like yourself. You wonder where things went wrong and why, that someone could be filled with such unrestrained rage and hate.

Caracalla beckons for Irene eventually, Dundus hopping from her shoulder to his as she trails alongside him to his quarters, suddenly feeling the nudging of a sharp nose into your neck, a faint sniff and a hum as Geta appreciates the flowery smell, a faint lavender on your skin.

“I need you,” He speaks against your skin, nearly sliding your dress down then, your hands grabbing at him quickly and his reaction is delayed, almost confused, “did you not hear me?”

“Let us retire to your bed,” You suggest, dragging your thumb along his bottom lip, watching as his wine-stained tongue licks at the digit, “and you will have all night to ravish me as you please.”

Thankfully, it doesn’t take much convincing. Though, he’s less coordinated than you’re anticipating, draping himself over you lazily as he kneads at your breasts, cupping your cunt over the fabric of your dress, the silk halfway down your body as you step beyond the threshold and Geta is on you without a moment to breath, peeling his clothes of layer by layer before he’s bare before you, a surprising gentleness to his movements.

He takes a seat on the side of his bed, at the edge as he pulls you into his lap, hands spread out against your spine, fingers digging into the skin and begging to make it ache, hurt, but he doesn’t have the strength, his kisses become increasingly more lazy as the opium takes hold.

Eventually, his eyes flutter as you pull back, your lips barely brushing against his as he fights the exhaustion, but eventually succumbs, falling slack on the bed as you climb off of him, leaving him sprawled out in his bare state to your valiant amusement, given the amount of times he’s taken to shame you rather than show sympathy, it seemed fair.

Sneaking out of the palace is easier than you expect, having spent endless weeks being mindful, watchful of even the smallest of things. Paths, open windows, learning the schedules of staff and guards, it was almost too easy as your feet fell against the broken pavement, the quiet footfalls following in your quick departure, praying to whatever deity above that General Acacius believed in you enough that you would fight to see him.

–

When you show, it is quiet. Dark, not a soul in sight, tugging the cloak hastily over your shoulders, sending a chill up your spine against the bare skin underneath, a small inkling of doubt seeping into your thoughts as you stare around aimlessly, wondering if you were too late.

Your frame slumps against a nearby pillar, secluded in the shadows, the cold night biting at your feet, the faint sound of hooves off in the distance, realizing just how noisy the streets could be outside of the palace—it was comforting, in a way.

“You came,” The words come from your left, behind you as your head whips over your shoulder and he’s touching you before you have time to take him in, a gentle but firm press against your clothed arms, holding you still, “you are here, dove.”

It was a tone of disbelief, like he had lost hope.

He wouldn’t tell you that he almost didn’t come tonight. It didn’t matter, because you were here.

The visceral reaction you have at his endearing name for you is like a vice grip on your heart, mouth opening to speak but words falling short.

Eventually, the tears fell.

“I am sorry, General,” You speak with a shaky timber, “I am—that act, his performance the other day—“

The general soothes your worry, dragging his thumb along your cheekbone to catch a stray tear, “That has no meaning to me, if anything, it was his mistake for allowing us so close. Otherwise, you would not be here with me now.”

You peer at him through tear-soaked lashes, feeling as if you would be snatched away at any moment, your fingers curling into his similar clothing, a cloak covering what you could assume to be a more relaxed attire, a toga that he would often where around his home, strolling barefoot through his atrium. 

“Why am I here, Acacius?”

“You must trust me,” He urges, “that when the time is right, I will come for you.”

“We could go now,” You plead, “he would never know, he does not care enough to go after me, I swear—“

“Little dove, he cares for you much more than you know,” The general counters, “you are valuable to him.”

“He asked something of me the other night,” You speak absently, rubbing a fingertip along the frayed thread of his cloak at your eye line, “what a fitting punishment I thought would be of a man who assaulted a servant—I believe he was testing me.”

Acacius furrows his brow, “You loyalty, it seems. You are getting under his skin, I see it. He knows of your value to me and that as much as he tries, you will not be tamed. But, he is trying.”

You chew at your bottom lip quietly, a nervous tick that Acacius picked up on long ago, both of his thumbs pulling your lip away from further mutilation.

“Little one, what is on your mind?”

“I have to go back soon,” You say with an obvious bitterness to your tone, “though, I do not wish to.”

His large hand curls around the side of your face, cradling your head as you lean into the touch, warmth spreading like fire over your skin, “You will be with me again.”

He barely registers as your lips touch his, a blink and you were there, lips pressed so tightly against his own that they might bruise, leaning into him like he was the only thing keeping you upright, pulling at the fabric of his toga as his hand wanders beyond your cloak, in search of a touch.

“Dove,” He breathes at the realization of skin, “you are bare, your clothes—“ 

“I rushed,” You stare at him impishly, “I did not think, I know, but,” the general smiles, cheeks dimpling with the show of emotion as he shakes his head.

“You have me wanting what I cannot have,” He sounds somber, his hand still lingering against your hip, “I know he does not cherish you the way he should.”

You laugh softly, your stomach fluttering at his wandering hand, drifting along your public bone before the full expanse of his hand was cupping your cunt, welcomed by warmth and the sticky wet sensation of arousal that he’s been longing for, like an addict.

“General, would you like to know something?”

“What is it?” He inquires to your obvious amusement, his and cradling your head back, neck exposed slightly, thankful that the streets around you were empty.

“He likes to watch me pleasure myself,” You admit, “mostly because he cannot achieve the feat himself, but as I close my eyes I picture those mornings when you snuck under the sheets and spread my legs open,” Acacius leans forward greedily, hot breath fanning over your face as he yearns for another kiss, moving away from him tauntingly as you finish your speech, “that sweet look on your face as you taste me, thankful that you expertise was not contained to only battle—“

“Careful,” He warns, “I am not against a reminder if you continue.”

You peer over the broken set of stairs behind him, attached to an abandoned structure, eyebrows raising expectantly, “A parting gift, General?”

—

The discomfort was nothing compared to a general kneeling into the dirt and stone without a hesitation to please you, a whore, a servant—your title no longer mattered, having carried so many. 

He’s still hooded, your legs hanging over his shoulders as he kneeled against the steps, forcing you down flat against the concrete as he licked a slow line through the seam of your cunt, again, again. A teasing trace over your clit as he pressed two thick fingers inside of you, lapping at you loudly.

“Did he bed you tonight?” Acacius inquires curiously.

“Nearly,” You sigh, a high-pitched breathy noise as his pace quickens, knowing that you both were on a time limit, “he—huh—was far too tuckered to be fulfilled.”

His brows raise subtly at your choice of words.

“I drugged him,” You admit, an unexpected moan ripping from your throat as his tongue flicks over you sensitive clit, fingers digging into his cloak-covered shoulder, “seems the Emperor is not as untouchable as he thinks, and tricked by a whore—he would have a fit.��

His fingers dip into your thighs as you squeeze them together around his head, his tongue working quickly over your clit until you’re breathless and whining, feeling the rushing wave of your climax as it crashes into you, Acacius licking up the mess like a starved man.

It takes you a few moments to come back to earth, feeling a gentle tug at your hand as Acacius helps you up, readjusting your cloak over your naked body without much of a word, knowing your time with him was up.

“Wait for the bells,” He tells you, “light, delicate—look for me, I will be near.” 

You begin to speak, but are silenced with a kiss. 

A final goodbye. 

“Remember what I told you?”

Live.

You nod.

“At whatever cost, little dove.”

—

You go to great lengths to make it back to the palace before dawn, hiding behind every pillar, sneaking around corners, somehow managing to slip back into Geta’s bed without so much as a sound, his body still mostly laid out as you had left him, aside from a little rousing around.

When morning breaks, Geta wakes with an obvious grogginess to his tone, forcing his eyes to stay open.

“You stuffed me full of wine,” Geta jokes, “I cannot remember anything from our night prior.”

You’d tried to look particularly exhausted, hair slightly disheveled and the satin bed sheet askew, “It was quite a night, your highness. Such a shame,” You reply mockingly, though there’s a sweetness to your tone, almost teasing.

And if Geta suspects anything, he doesn’t say it.

It takes a day, two, silently mulling over the events.

He wasn’t a half-wit like his brother, his brain like mush beyond repair, useless by result of the infection in his loins. He was helpless, spiraling deeper into madness.

Geta had his wits about him—his eyes drag along your body, the deep swooping fabric showing off your exposed back, the soft skin and gentle slope of your spine, a look shared between you and Caracalla’s most trusted maiden.

Along with the lightness in your tone, a revered outlook, a bounce in your step that most people wouldn’t catch, but Geta—he’s just as much an observer as yourself.

He suspects, no—senses, feels, the deceit in your challenging gazes, the additional touches with an air of confidence, too cocky for someone who has been nothing more than a whore and housemaiden.

He’d always known you were particularly special; smart by means of General Acacius, knowing how to read and write and many other things that others of your station did not have the luxury to learn. And you were hard to break, though Geta had worked at it for weeks, he’d gotten you there.

Obedient, compliant, merciful. 

At least, he’d thought so.

He knows he won’t get a word out of you.

So, he goes for Irene.

-

The guards corral you at dinner, sitting silently with Caracalla as Dundus perched on his shoulder, eating quietly. They aren’t kind either, grabbing hard at your bicep as they drag you from your spot on the floor, Geta’s throne eerily empty.

Your stomach turns at the slow realization as you’re dragged down the hall, tossed beyond the threshold of Geta’s room as you stumble to the floor, groaning at the impact, head hitting the ground first as you roll over in pain, opening your eyes to an even more horrific sight.

Geta, hovered over Irene, lifeless eyes staring back as he dropped the thick cord from his hands, something he must have ripped from the curtain as one drooped down from its normal placeholder. 

There was no blood, no mess, but the light in her eyes was gone, and Geta stumbled over, crawling—hunching down to intersect your bleary eyesight as you slowly came to the realization of what was happening.

“You have betrayed me,” He announces calmly, despite the eyes of a crazed man staring straight through you, face void of any emotion, “after all I have given you.”

“Geta—“ You plead, pushing up on your palms to sit up, his foot coming in contact with your shoulder as you roll into your back forcefully.

“I AM YOUR EMPEROR,” He seethes, spitting as the words left his mouth, “YOU—BETRAYED—ME!”

And left a mess in the process, unfortunately.

“If you would…let me explain,” He stalks closer, watching as you rise slowly before his hand is striking across your face, the sting almost immediate, “I—think…that you—“

“You do not think,” He spats through clenched teeth, shaking with rage as he kneels to your level again, like a rabid dog, “whores do not think, they are fucked until there’s nothing left and then they are tossed out. Like trash.”

In desperation, the words slip out.

“I love you,” You say softly—it was a careful bundle of words that you’ve never spoken before, not even to General Acacius, “whatever she has told you, it is lies.”

His silence isn’t an answer, but you took the opportunity, unsure if he was stunned or gearing to explode.

Convince him, at whatever cost.

“She knows—of my past with the general. She was jealous of me, you. She drugs your brother, you must know. And she tried it with you too, it is why I did not leave your side, why I insisted we come back to your room.”

“But, you knew—“

You reach for him, a hand circling his wrist.

“No, no,” You speak softly, “It was small things. Your speech, it was slurring. You were drifting away, almost as if you were floating. I could see it. I have seen it before, with your brother. The nights when he is unruly, she…calms him.”

“Her story is entirely different,” He challenges, “you see my issue, yes?”

“Geta,” You challenge him, reaching forward to cradle his face, surprised by his willingness to allow it, watching you carefully, “I am loyal to you—no one else. I do not know another way to show you, but I will. I will, you must—“

“Strip,” He orders, “—on the bed,”

It makes your stomach twist, but you follow his orders.

His demeanor is unreadable as he watches, mirroring your movements before he’s climbing over you in bed.

He settles on his calves between your open legs, a blanket of silence falling over as he reaches for your hand, a surprisingly gentle touch as he brings your fingertips to his cock, slowly hardening at the sight of you.

Your fingers circle his shaft as you lean up on your elbows, ignoring his intense eye contact as you drag your palm along the velvety soft skin, feeling him grow to a stiff hardness within a few minutes—it should disgust you.

It does, to a degree. It wasn’t that Geta was unattractive in a physical sense, but the mental picture was hard for you to overlook. But, for the moment, you could pretend like he wasn’t the worst human being to walk the earth.

His fingertips brush against your cunt slightly, fortunately your body has adjusted to the pleasure of such a complicated predicament. You’re sure if you tried hard enough, you could truly enjoy it. But, you’re thankful that your body connects with the severity of the situation, quivering slightly at his touch, mouth opening in a small gasp.

“Are you nervous?” Geta inquires.

You shake your head, “No—it is only, we have never…”

“Let us try something new, hm?” He offers with a grin and you nod instinctively, feeling two thick digits dip inside of you with no warning, not so much grace as Acacius would have, but it isn’t uncomfortable.

It seems Geta has his wits about him, fortunately, diminishing you to nothing but a whimpering mess after a while, some of it a little bolstered for his benefit, but the pleasure was real. 

And god, did you crave that release.

Soon, his hand is gripping his shaft, sliding between the folds of your pussy as he coats himself, mouth twitching at the sight as he speaks, “I want you to watch.”

And you do, his cock pressing into you slowly, “It is such a generous act, you see, feeding you my cock like this,” another slow push, “you should feel special, little dove.”

The words are jarring, but you try not to react. 

“It is not everyday you are fucked by an emperor,” The dichotomy to his words almost makes you chuckle, as if he wasn’t fucking you every day, sometimes even two or three times, “you should be thankful.”

“I am.” You quickly appease.

“Then thank me,” His voice was tense again, his neck flexing with the tightness to his words.

“T—thank you, Emperor Geta.”

“For?”

One last forceful push and he’s seated fully inside of you, your brow pulling together at the pressure, lips parting open, “For your cock, for making me feel so—oh,” His thrusts are careful, calculated, your head falling back at the divine angle he’s found, “for—oh, gods—so good.”

You fist the sheets in desperation, back arching up slightly, watching his jaw tense at the way your breasts bounce, his eyes darkening over time, only a shell of himself as he thrusts into you, two firms hands on your hips slowly making their way upwards, wondering if he was following the path toward your breasts before they are bypassing and going straight for your neck, his hands encircling your throat.

It is merely a second too late before your brain catches up, too overloaded by pleasure that you don’t see the definite switch, quickly going from gentle pressure to the type of force that makes your vision white out.

You choke, gasping for air as you try to speak his name, plead, anything—his eyes are locked on your face, a sick determination as your stronger, forceful blows to his chest quick become weaker, weaker, feeling yourself teetering on that edge before he’s releasing his hold, forcing you to gasp for air.

“Do you still love me?” Geta asks.

And despite yourself, you lie.

“Yes, I love you, Geta.”

He was a sad boy, you’ve come to realize, wanting love but also craving unyielding power. He did not want equals, he wanted subordinates, fans, people that would sacrifice everything in his name. But, underneath it all, Geta was just as broken as you suspected.

—

A parade of the gladiators wasn’t a normal occasion, but it was quite the event—a way of wealthy men showing off their new toys, dangerous murderous machines out for blood.

It was the entertainment before the big show, sitting in the expansive throne room underneath the colosseum as the rich drowned in wine and food, you and several other servants surrounding the two brothers, eagerly awaiting your next order.

At least, for you, it was being obedient.

It felt like a collar around your neck, his fingers tracing along the back of your spine and up, fingertips resting against your shoulder, his thumb rubbing against the column of your throat.

Geta spots him from a mile away, that trademark white against gold, gaudy armor fit so perfectly for a man like Acacius, you bow your head at Geta’s push, the footsteps approaching steadily.

Your throat ached still, eyes slightly bloodshot. He hid your face, the evidence, speaking to the line of approaching generals as they greeted the two men with high regard.

“I commend you, your highness,” A general speaks, faceless but you sneer at his tone, fists balling into the fabric of your dress, “she is so well behaved, you must teach me your tricks.”

You bite down at the inside of your lip as Geta pets your head, tilting your head to the side slightly as you close your eyes, his thumb pressing against your cheekbone.

“There is no trick,” He retorts, “my little dove is loyal, a hard thing to find in a world full of deceit.”

It was laughable, coming from the emperor. 

The moniker is an even lower blow, knowing that General Acacius was a few feet away, the white fabric of his traditional armor dragging along the ground.

“Ah, Acacius,” Geta boasts, “I hope you have come to bring me good news.”

It best only be good news.

As he approaches, Geta’s grip tightens, curling around the side of your neck as a show of dominance as his finger digs into your skin, daring you to defy him. 

The soreness is pertinent, causing you to grimace in pain at his actions, something that Acacius spots but does not acknowledge.

“Yes, our army is nearly ready, Emperor Geta,” He nods before acknowledging his brother, “Emperor Caracalla,” but Geta is not amiss to the way his eyes drag toward you for a brief moment.

“Careful,” He warns, “doves are…so sacred, yes?”

Your sideways gaze peeks through as his eyes bore into Acacius, the subtle glimpse of broken capillaries and a plea for help as you lock eyes with Acacius is all he needs.

It would be tonight—it had to be tonight.

—

He’s a horrid mess, drunk off his ass as he drags you back toward the room. His brother and he were always more rowdy after gladiator games, riding the high of an entertaining act of violence, slaughter for mere amusement. Geta nearly topples over you as he opens the door, pointing hastily toward the bed with a slurred speech, “Naked, on the bed.”

He’s heading for more alcohol, a table tucked away in the corner of the room with a plethora of choices, pouring lazily as he stumbles, the utensils from an earlier meal falling to the floor as he bumps into it, looking displeased at your state of dress. He grimaces, nose scrunching as he reaches for the knife that had clattered to the floor, twisting it in his hand to point it at you.

“You dare—you dare to defy me?” 

Your eyes squint, narrow as he jabs at you sloppily, dodging the action with ease.

“You cannot even see straight, your grace,” You jeer, watching as he gulped down the crimson liquid, remnants trailing down the side of his mouth as he threw the glass away carelessly, the glass shattering against the floor as he charged at you, pressing the tip of the knife under your chin as he backed you into the wall, his eyes capturing the similar essence of rage when you knew there was no saving him, determined to cause bloodshed no matter the consequence.

You can hear the soft lilt of bells in the distance, the sky as black as the darkened state of Geta’s eyes—if he had any humanity in him, it was gone.

“You are…broken,” You speak to him, accepting the consequence, even if Acacius failed to save you, “A poor, poor boy with no one to love him—your confidence, it will be your demise.”

The knife knicks your skin, a subtle sting.

“Are you unaware of Caracalla’s plans?” You inquire, privy to Caracalla’s incoherent babbling, often feeling like Geta’s scapegoat, the constant source of blame. It was true, Geta had never accepted responsibility for anything in his life, “You should be careful, Geta. He has a slippery hand and a temper. If given the opportunity, I am sure he would do away with you. I cannot say I blame him—you are a disgrace of an emperor, ruling Rome like it is a playground—”

His eye twitches, the slight hesitation. It gives you enough time to react, twisting his arm away from your neck and on himself, “Unfortunate that you cannot do that as a dead man,” You bite, pushing against the force of the knife, knowing that Geta had no instinct of survival, a feeble man raised in a glass house for the entirety of his life.

The blood quickly pooled in his mouth, pouring out as his body slumped. 

You had prayed it would be slow and painful, that the misery would last.

The rustling near the window pulls your attention, the city quiet and unsuspecting of the violence having just taken place, Acacius' frame obscuring the view of the stars as he climbs through the window.

“Oh, dove,” Acacius sighs, taking in the sight of the slowly dying emperor, his fingers weakly grabbing for you as he choked on his own blood, “you have made a mess.”

“I could not survive him any longer,” You admit, feeling his arm encircling your waist as he tugged you away, “—what—what is to happen now?”

“It is a fate he would have met eventually, if not at the end of my own blade,” Acacius admits, “–—come, we must go. We only have a few moments, my lady.”

Your breath catches at the words, nodding in agreement as you allow him to tug you along, met with a few men on the other side of the wall, catching you as you dropped, draping you in a thick cloak.

“General,” You breathe, sensing his overpowering frame behind you as he grabs the reins of the horse in front of you, assisting you in climbing on the creature, “where are we going?”

“Away,” He promises, “somewhere we can both be free.”

“But, your status—does it mean nothing?”

It never did, not since the minute Geta had stolen you away.

You peer over your shoulder, his eyes soft.

“I love you,” He utters, answering your question without direct confirmation.

And for the first time, you say it as you mean it, feeling the tug at your heart, “I love you, too.”

[maximoffsgirl]

Peace in Chaos

summary: You can’t say no to the twins; Wanda, can’t say no to you. It’s a dynamic that often works in their favor—especially when they desperately want something. The twins know that, if all else fails, they can rely on you to soften Wanda’s resolve, even if they trick you along the way.

warnings: Established relationship, Wanda and Reader are married. Domestic Life. The twins are close to 7/8 years old. Wanda is referred as mama/mom, Y/N is referred as mommy. Otherwise, I think there's none, this is pure fluff

author's note: English isn't my first language :) and to the anon who requested this, I hope this is what you were thinking about❤️

word count: 3.311

not proofread!

When Wanda first joined the Avengers, she spent much of her time locked away inside the room they designated as hers, finding solace in the company of old books she had never had the chance to read before. Among those books, she stumbled upon a collection of poetry and came across a single phrase, quoted by Emily Dickinson; a phrase which was still written at the beginning of the diary Clint had gifted her for Christmas when the Avengers Tower became her home: "The heart wants what it wants, or else it does not care."

At first, Wanda found the phrase peculiar. How could her heart, which had never known a single day of peace, possibly want anything? Yet, as time passed, she began to understand. It was precisely because her heart had endured so much chaos that it longed for something different.

Stability was a foreign concept to Wanda. Her life had always been beyond her control, and when her powers came into the picture, they only added to the turmoil. But the constant inconsistency made Wanda’s heart want one thing more than anything in the whole world. A family.

She yearned for a family like the one she once had. A family she could come home to at the end of the day, where she could sink into the couch with the weight of the week pressing down on her shoulders - an uncomfortable ache, yet in a place where she felt comfortable. An environment where a television program no one was really watching played softly in the background while someone shared the details of their day. Wanda’s heart craved for care and tenderness, something solid yet gentle—a sanctuary that felt soft, safe, and unshakably real.

After the life she had lived—always running, fighting, and losing—it felt almost unbelievable that Wanda now had everything she had ever wanted cradled in her arms. Hard to believe, I know. But with your head resting against her chest, your body nestled between her legs as you scrolled through your phone, Wanda was certain that she needed nothing more. She closed her eyes  briefly, letting herself savor the peace, the warmth, and the steady rhythm of your breathing.

The sounds from your phone mingled with the lively chatter drifting down from upstairs, where the twins were deeply immersed in a passionate debate about something. It was chaos. But it was her chaos. A chaos that she chose and was looking forward to every single day live in. 

“Hm? What are you doing?” Wanda asked, her arms tightening around you as you started to move. Her voice was soft but carried a hint of reluctance. She tilted her head a little to the side, wanting to know what you were planning. 

You turned to face her, a small smile on your lips. “We forgot to put the plates in the dishwasher,” you replied casually, as if that alone was enough reason to leave Wanda's embrace. To your wife, it definitely wasn't.

Wanda let out a low, drawn-out groan, clearly unenthusiastic about you leaving the comfort of her body pressed against yours. She held you a little tighter, silently protesting your attempt to get up.

“Don’t you need to finish your mission report?” you teased gently, raising an eyebrow at her reaction. Your words made her sigh in mild defeat. She had mentioned earlier that she needed to wrap up her mission report after dinner. It wasn’t a task she enjoyed—especially when it meant sacrificing time with you—but it was something she couldn’t ignore, no matter how much she hated it.

“I do,” she complained, her tone carrying a mix of annoyance and reluctance. Her thumb gently brushed against your cheek. It was obvious she didn’t want to move, but the mission report wasn’t going to complete itself.

Before either of you could say more, a sudden, loud noise from upstairs interrupted the moment. Both your heads turned toward the ceiling in unison. Wanda frowned, her brows knitting together as she stared at the source of the commotion.

“What are they doing up there?” she muttered, her voice tinged with both curiosity and a hint of irritation.

“Probably destroying your things,” you joke, smirking at her. Wanda didn’t share your amusement; instead, she shot you a stern look, her concern evident. That only made you chuckle softly.

“Relax, baby” you murmured, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips, your way of soothing her. With a lazy stretch, you slipped out of her warm embrace, earning a soft groan of protest as you stood. “I’ll get the dishes,” you said with a playful shrug, heading toward the kitchen while Wanda remained on the couch. 

She reached out for you, calling your name with a playful pout on her lips, as if trying to coax you back into her arms. But all she got in response was a teasing kiss blown in the air, followed by a few more chuckles from you. "You're impossible," Wanda muttered, though the corners of her mouth twitched, hinting at a smile she couldn’t quite suppress

A few minutes later, Wanda mirrored your actions with a resigned sigh. With a stretch and a yawn, she slowly pushed herself off the couch, kissing your shoulder once she moved past the kitchen to her home office. She opened the door with another huff, the thought of that mission report weighed heavily on her, already draining her energy before she even began.

As peaceful as the silence was, it didn’t last longer than fifteen minutes—a brief reprieve, but in a house with twins, it felt like a blessing. The twins knew better than to disturb Wanda when her office door was closed, understanding the importance of letting her work in peace. However, today was different. They had something important to ask her, and they were certain that mama wouldn’t mind being interrupted if it was truly important.

Wanda, ever attuned to the sounds around her, heard the soft footsteps and hushed whispers before the three gentle knocks echoed on her office door. She glanced down at the mission report in front of her, then dropped her pen onto the pile of papers near the notebook, her attention fully shifting to the interruption. 

“Yes?” she called out, her voice loud enough to reach her sons, signaling they had permission to enter.

The door creaked open slightly, and two sets of curious eyes peeked through the gap. First, Tommy, with his usual impatience, then Billy, who always seemed a bit more cautious. Their wide eyes and raised eyebrows said it all—they had something to ask. Wanda couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them, her stern demeanor softening instantly. She gestured for them to come in, her smile softening as she watched them shuffle inside, their little hands fidgeting with each other in anticipation.

“Is everything alright?” Wanda asked, her voice filled with the kind of tenderness that only a mother could provide.

The twins, true to their age, began poking and nudging each other, whispering in hushed tones while they stood in front of their mother - who was looking at them with amusement as they continued to argue who would be the one to initiate the conversation. 

“Mom, we have something super important to ask. But… promise you’re going to listen first” Billy tried to negotiate, his little feet shuffled nervously as he spoke. Tommy, by his side, nodded his head in support, his wide-eyed expression practically daring Wanda to disagree.

Wanda arched an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she watched her boys’ antics. Leaning back in her chair, she murmured a soft, “Okay…” her tone amused yet curious, ready to hear what the twins were planning. 

“So.. we saw something on the internet..”

That wasn’t entirely true. Long before the twins were even born, you and Wanda had agreed, in a heartful parenting talk, that unrestricted internet access wouldn’t be part of your children’s childhood. That being established, the closest the twins got to the “internet” was their tablets - with a few games they begged to have since all their friends were active on and the little maximoffs were being left out- streaming shows, and, on some occasions like weekends, YouTube videos.

Still, Wanda stayed quiet, her expression neutral as she listened to Tommy’s words. Even if he couldn’t possibly get whatever their idea was from the ‘internet; more likely, he was just saying it as an excuse to shift the responsibility off himself and his brother. 

“And we wanted to try.. We wanted to have a night pool party”

Wanda arched an eyebrow, glancing between her sons with growing curiosity. She had a sneaking suspicion about where this was headed but decided to feign ignorance, opting to play along.

"A night pool party..." Wanda repeated slowly, dragging out the words with a hint of amusement as she looked at her sons. Her lips twitched with a barely suppressed smile. "And where would this happen, exactly?"

"Here! Tonight! We've already planned everything," Tommy blurted out, his words tumbling over each other in his excitement.

Billy immediately hissed at his brother, shooting him a sharp glare. That definitely wasn’t part of the carefully rehearsed convincing speech they had agreed on beforehand. 

Wanda frowned, her amusement fading. If it were any other season, the idea might not have bothered her as much. But her sons wanting to swim in the freezing water of the pool outside? That was a firm no. The idea would only serve so they’d catch a cold and be miserable for the rest of the week. Besides, late hours weren’t meant for pool parties—especially not in this weather and not with the age they had. 

There they stood in front of her: matching cozy pajamas, hair lazily brushed back, and fresh-faced from their recent bath. They looked absolutely adorable, and Wanda couldn’t bear the thought of letting their idea ruin that. Spring was just around the corner, and while her children were undeniably the cutest in the world, she had no interest in dealing with two sick little ones—especially when even the smallest sneeze turned them into impossibly needy bundles of chaos.

“No. It's not even hot.” she simply replied, looking back to the now black screen of her notebook. 

“But mom,” the twins protested in unison, their voices carrying the familiar tone of pleading.

Wanda, however, was unmoved. Her decision was final, and she wasn’t about to budge. Crossing her arms, she gave them a firm but gentle look that clearly said, not happening.

“No is no, boys. I’m not going to repeat myself. When it's hotter we can think about it”

The twins left her office with matching little huffs, their quiet complaints trailing behind them. They knew better than to argue further or try to reason with their mother—her decision was final, as always.

But the twins, as stubborn as any Maximoff to ever walk the Earth, weren’t ready to give up just yet. Instead, they exchanged a look, a silent agreement passing between them. They’d just have to come up with another strategy.

It was no secret that, between you and Wanda, you were the parent more likely to entertain the wild ideas your sons came up with. Camping in the backyard? Of course. Nearly a liter of milkshake, even if it was freezing outside? Without a doubt. If it sounded fun, you were usually on board.

You didn’t blame Wanda for seeing things differently. After everything she had endured in her life, control and structure brought her a sense of peace she had rarely known before. Ensuring that the household stayed balanced and comfortable wasn’t just her way of parenting—it was her way of feeling secure.

But that didn’t make her the “boring parent.” If you asked the twins, they’d insist that mama was just as fun as mommy. Sure, she was a little scarier when she got angry, but that only made her the perfect balance to your more carefree approach.

Although they knew better than anyone how to take advantage of your different personalities.

At times like this, when Billy and Tommy had their hearts set on something, they knew they could always count on you to try convincing Wanda to let them have their way.

Sometimes it didn’t work—after all, undermining Wanda’s authority wasn’t part of your parenting playbook, nor was it in hers. But there were moments when a little push for compromise didn’t hurt, especially for something harmless enough to reconsider.

That’s why you felt two little fingers poking each of your shoulders while you scrolled through your phone on the couch. Turning around, you were met with the two most adorable faces you’d ever seen.

“Hi, boys. Already tired of breaking the house upstairs?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

They responded with cheeky smiles, and without a word, Billy climbed up to sit beside you on the couch, Tommy quickly settling in next to his brother. Their mischievous grins told you they had something up their sleeves.

“Mommy…” Billy trailed off, his voice sweet and direct. “Can we have a swim party tonight?”

His question was much more straightforward than Tommy’s had been when they’d asked Wanda.

You frowned slightly at the idea. The weather wasn’t exactly cold, but it certainly wasn’t warm enough to make a pool party seem like the best choice. You thought about it for a moment. The pool was clean, they’d have fun, and it might tire them out enough for an easy bedtime.

“Hm. Why not?” you said with a shrug, giving in to their request. The twins smiled, happy to finally receive a ‘yes’ to their idea. 

“Can you convince mama then?” Tommy asked eagerly, his excitement practically radiating off him. Billy let out another huff, clearly annoyed by his brother's impatience.

You turned your body to face them, a sigh escaping your lips as you realized you'd fallen for one of their tricks, again

“Don’t turn this on me, boys,” you said, shaking your head. But when they hit you with those puppy-dog eyes, you knew you were in trouble. You sighed again, giving in.

“Okay, I guess I could try to convince her... but if she doesn’t budge, I won’t try again, alright?”

The twins nodded eagerly, their smiles growing wider once they got you to agree with their idea. You ruffled both of their messy hairs playfully before standing up, a smile tugging at your lips as you made your way toward Wanda’s office. The twins’ giggles echoed behind you, but you knew you had your work cut out for you if you were going to convince Wanda.

Just like your sons, you approached Wanda’s office quietly, giving a few light knocks before stepping inside. Wanda, who was about halfway through her report, looked up and smiled at the sight of you. Grateful for the excuse to take a break, she rolled her chair back slightly and patted her lap, inviting you to sit.

You settled sideways on her lap, and Wanda wasted no time wrapping one arm around your waist, pulling you close, sighing with the familiar weight of your body upon hers

“How’s it going?” you asked, your fingers working gently at the tense muscles in her neck. Wanda let out a soft sigh, her smile a blend of contentment and fatigue.

“Annoying, as always,” she replied, her voice laced with a hint of frustration. Her hand drifted to your thigh, her fingers lightly running over the fabric in soothing motions as she added with a small smile, “But I’m halfway through it”.

“You know... the twins mentioned something about a night swim tonight,” you said casually, your tone light but deliberate. “And, apparently, I’ve been tasked with convincing you,” you added playfully, though there was a touch of seriousness behind your words.

“Have you now?” Wanda replied, her voice mirroring your playful tone but laced with even more amusement. She arched an eyebrow knowingly, already piecing together where this conversation was heading.

“I know you already said no, but they’re so excited about it, Wands,” you said, trying to play the kids’ happiness card against her. Wanda rolled her eyes, a small smirk tugging at her lips. She saw right through your game but decided to let you play it anyway.

“And just think about it,” you continued, your hands gently moving along her neck, down to her shoulders, and back up again in soothing motions. “We can turn on the pool LEDs, make it fun. They’ll tire themselves out, and bedtime will be so much easier.”

You laid out the positives, your tone soft but persuasive, waiting patiently for her response.

“Love.. I know. But it’s late and It’s not even hot” She tried to resonate with you, sighing with each argument, knowing she has already lost. 

“They’ll be alright, babe. Let them have this,” you said with a convincing smile.”

Wanda let out a heavy sigh, her expression unamused as she looked at you. “If they catch a cold, you will be the one taking care of them,” she said firmly, pointing a finger at you for emphasis.

But despite her words, you both knew the truth. If that scenario played out, Wanda would be right there, rolling her eyes but still doting on the sick twins, as she always did.

You stayed wrapped in her embrace for a while, both of you savoring the quiet presence of each other. Wanda adjusted you on her lap, shifting just enough to free both hands so she could continue working on her report. You rested your head against her shoulder, your warm breath brushing against her neck, which made her smile softly despite her focus on the task.

The content of the report didn’t matter to you now—you’d already heard all about the mission the day after she got home. So you stayed quiet, simply enjoying the comforting warmth of her body and the peaceful moment you were sharing.

After that,  you and Wanda made your way to the living room, stepping in quietly. The twins were curled up on the couch, watching something on Netflix, completely oblivious to your arrival. Wanda stepped forward, arms crossed, hands on her hips, and her head tilted in mock frustration.

“I can’t believe you both!” she exclaimed, her tone sharp and disapproving.

The twins froze, their eyes widening as they turned to face you both. Wanda’s intimidating stance and your almost-guilty expression made them shrink in their spots, unsure of what they’d done.

“What are you two doing? You should be getting ready for the swim party!” Wanda said, feigning exasperation but failing to hide the faint twitch of a smile.

The twins blinked at her, then at each other, before springing up from the couch in pure joy. “Oh my god, seriously?!” Tommy shouted.

“YESSS!” Billy cheered, both of them jumping around excitedly as they circled their mothers, their energy contagious.

Soon, the house transformed into its familiar brand of chaos. The twins, now dressed in their swimsuits, were already splashing around in the pool, the colorful glow of the LED lights—courtesy of Tony Stark—dancing across the water. Their laughter echoed through the backyard, only occasionally interrupted by shouts of, "It's so cold!" Wanda, unimpressed, responded with a dramatic eye roll, her arms folded across her chest.

Standing at the edge of the pool, Wanda kept her distance, her arms wrapped firmly around her waist as she watched the scene unfold. She made no effort to join the fun, choosing instead to watch with a raised eyebrow and an air of feigned detachment. Yet, the slight tug at the corners of her mouth betrayed her amusement.

Somehow, despite her initial objections, Wanda found a sense of peace in the chaos surrounding her. The sound of Tommy and Billy's laughter brought a soft smile to her face, and she even chuckled at your playful teasing—directed at both her and the twins.

Two days later, the inevitable happened. The twins began sneezing, and you found yourself on the receiving end of a very pointed lecture from Wanda. But, as always, her frustration melted away with a sweet kiss, leaving her shaking her head in exasperated affection.

It was a different kind of chaos—one filled with sniffles, tissues, and extra cuddles—but it was hers. Wanda’s heart had finally found something. Had finally found peace in the beautiful mess of it all.

✄╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌

thanks for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it💌

masterlist

[rue-isabelle]

My requests open.

Unbothered queen

The Monaco sun shone brilliantly over the paddock as Charles walked hand-in-hand with Yn, his girlfriend of two years. Her calm presence had transformed his life, and for the first time in years, he felt like he could breathe again. Their love was evident in every glance, every smile, and the way Yn effortlessly fit into the high-octane world of Formula 1.

The other drivers adored Yn. She was genuine, kind, and always made time for everyone despite the chaos of race weekends. To them, she was not just Charles’ girlfriend; she was family.

Max leaned casually against his Red Bull garage as the couple walked by. "Yn! Charles! Over here," he called.

Yn waved, her grin lighting up her face as they approached. “Hey, Max! How are you?”

“Better now that you’re here,” Max teased. He shot Charles a playful smirk. “She makes you look good, mate.”

Charles chuckled, wrapping an arm around Yn’s waist. “I know. I’m the luckiest guy here.”

“You’ve definitely upgraded,” Max muttered under his breath, earning a snicker from Lando, who had just joined the group.

Lando grinned. “We all agree. Yn, you’re a saint for putting up with him.”

Yn laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. He’s not too bad.”

The camaraderie was interrupted by a chillingly familiar voice. “Charles. We need to talk.”

The air seemed to shift as Alexandra Saint Mleux, Charles’ ex-girlfriend, appeared out of nowhere. Her sharp gaze flickered to Yn, then back to Charles. The drivers immediately stiffened. They remembered how toxic Alexandra had been during her time with Charles—how she craved the spotlight and treated Charles as nothing more than a stepping stone to fame.

Charles’ jaw tightened. “Alexandra, what are you doing here?”

She ignored his question, her eyes narrowing as she addressed Yn. “So, you’re the new girlfriend. Charles sure knows how to downgrade.”

Lando muttered, “Oh, this is going to be good,” stepping closer to Max, who was glaring at Alexandra.

Yn, however, didn’t even flinch. Instead, she turned her attention to Max. “Max, did you hear what time the drivers' briefing starts? I think Charles forgot.”

Max smirked, catching on quickly. “Four o’clock. Don’t worry, I’ll remind him.”

Alexandra’s nostrils flared. “I’m talking to you!”

Yn finally turned her gaze to Alexandra, her expression calm and unbothered. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you still here?”

Max and Lando exchanged amused glances, barely containing their laughter.

“You think you’re better than me?” Alexandra snapped, taking a step closer to Yn. “You’re nothing but a placeholder. He’ll get bored of you, just like he did with everyone else.”

Charles stepped forward, his voice icy. “That’s enough, Alexandra. Leave.”

But Alexandra wasn’t done. “Why don’t you tell her how you used to beg me to stay? How you couldn’t live without me?”

Yn yawned dramatically. “Is this your big moment? Because honestly, it’s pretty disappointing.”

Max burst out laughing, and Lando clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles.

Alexandra’s face turned red with rage. “You little—”

She lunged forward, her hand reaching for Yn, but before she could get anywhere near her, Charles stepped in front of Yn, his protective instincts kicking in. “Don’t even think about it.”

Behind them, security had already been alerted. Two burly guards appeared, one of them grabbing Alexandra by the arm. “Ma’am, you’re not authorized to be here. You need to leave.”

“Let go of me!” Alexandra shrieked, struggling against them. “This isn’t over!”

Yn, still calm as ever, leaned into Charles and whispered, “Is it bad that I’m kind of enjoying this?”

Charles chuckled, pulling her closer. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

As Alexandra was dragged away, screaming about injustice and revenge, the paddock erupted in relieved laughter.

Carlos appeared out of nowhere, clapping his hands. “Yn, that was a masterclass. You didn’t even blink.”

Yn smiled. “Why waste energy on someone who’s not worth it?”

Charles cupped her face, his eyes filled with admiration. “You’re amazing. I don’t know how you stayed so calm.”

“Because I have you,” she said simply. “I know who you are, Charles. She can’t change that.”

Charles kissed her then, soft and full of gratitude. The world around them melted away as the drivers cheered.

Max’s voice broke through the moment. “Alright, lovebirds, save it for after the race.”

Charles pulled away with a laugh, his forehead resting against Yn’s. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” she replied.

As the couple walked away, hand-in-hand, the drivers watched them go, all of them silently agreeing on one thing: Charles had finally found someone who truly made him happy. And none of them would let anyone ruin that.

@f1gossip posted

Liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, charlesleclerc, and 5 789 993 others

Attention! Drama at the F1 paddock! After Alexandra Saint-Mleux, ex-girlfriend from Charles Leclerc, entered the paddock without an F1 pass and starting drama with his current girlfriend (trying to attack her), YN YL, Saint-Mleux was banned from the paddock for lifetime.

Comments:

@user1: Hahaha no way did she do that

@user2: The way I gasped when I read this

@user3: OMG is poor Yn OK?😟

@user9: @user3 don't worry, she is. I was there when this happened and Yn handled this whole thing like a queen

@maxverstappen: she got what she deserved.....

@user: LMAO 🤣🤣

@user: Nah, Max didn't...

@landonorris: I couldn't have said it better

@user: what is going on?!

@user: Max and Lando being sassy together on Insta was not on my bingo-card

@charlesleclerc: behaviour like that is unacceptable, how dare she try to attack my girlfriend

@ynuser: Charles... stop getting angry. It makes me all hot and botherd

@charlesleclerc: oh? Does it now ma vie😏

@ynuser: you, me, your drivers room, 5 minutes

@charlesleclerc: your wish is my command

@oscarpiastri: what the fuck did I just read..

@user5: the bitch finally got what she deserved

@user8: Alex was the worst girlfriend on earth. #QueenYn

@user: #QueenYn 💗 is the best in the world

@user: #QueenYn 💕

@user: #QueenYn 💜, you deserve the world

@user: #QueenYn 😍 she is perfect

@user: #QueenYn 🫠🥵, I would let you step on me and still thank you

@user: #QueenYn, you are so much better then Alex🤮🤢

@user: #QueenYn ♥️ till the day I die

@user: #QueenYn ☺️

@kimiraikkonen: #QueenYn🧊😎

@user: Ariana (Kimi) what are you doing here??!!

@user: no fucking way did the kimi raikkonen just comment

@lewishamilton: something like that is just unacceptable. We shouldn't allow behaviour like that towards innocent people. Yn is a lovely human being. I haven't seen Charles smile so much as he does with her.💜

@ynuser: thank you《33

@#charlesleclerc: I appreciate that♥️

@user: not Lewis defending his future daughter-in-law

@hater: Alexandra didn't do anything wrong. Yn is the real bitch here

@user: omg, some people don't get it

@user: go back to sleep, granny

@user: Yn didn't do anything wrong. It was your precious Alex that was a hoe here

@olliebearman: get of the fake account, Alexandra

@user: OLLIE. THE MAN THAT YOU ARE👏👍👌

[misscherry-26]

I saw you were taking requests for Bellamy Blake and I haddd to send one in!! Could you please write a lil spice fic, where they’re in the woods and get in a fight or sum n he js suddenly kissss her. Thank you twin!!

Unspoken Feelings

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x Reader

Author's Note: Hi!!! Thank you so much for this!! My first request for Bellamy Blake. Oh the things I felt while working on this...👀 By the way I had to make a few changes, this is my most polished draft, haha. I'm so excited to share it, though I don't know how good I did with the spicy. I hope you like it!! Thank you for requesting. ❤️

There could be grammar mistakes, English isn't my first language.

He really thinks he’s the leader, the king of the earth. Self-centered egoist of a man. He can go fuck himself. You think as you walk through the woods in search of the plant that Clarke needs for Finn, who was attached by the grounder that kidnapped Octavia.

They managed to get him to the ship, but now he was struggling for his life. The problem was that the knife he was stabbed with was infected. Bellamy and his group got the grounder and tortured him to get information. Of course he refused to give it, that until Octavia threatened him to harm herself with the poisoned knife. Finn would live, but Clark needed more medicinal plants for him.

But of course, Bellamy Blake had to give his ultimatum that no one would leave the camp, no after realizing that you aren’t the only survivors of earth. He could care less about saving people, but you for sure didn’t. You don’t know Finn completely but, he deserves to live.

Since the ship landed on Earth, You and Bellamy have been at each other’s throat every single moment. It’s like you are locked in a never-ending battle, a constant clash of wills. Every decision he makes seems to deliberately oppose yours, every step he takes is a challenge to your very presence. He thrives in the chaos, you can see it in the way he strides trough camp, shoulders squared, head held high, daring anyone to question him. His motto—whatever the hell we want—rings in your ears like a taunt, a reckless mantra you can’t ignore. He embodies it with every decision, with every command he gives without caring for the consequences.

When he encouraged the others to rip off their bracelets, you felt the sting of frustration burning through your veins. To him it was a bold declaration of independence from the Ark, but to you, it was a hasty move to those above thinking Earth wasn’t livable.

And then, there was the Grounder. The way he’d dragged the man into camp, beaten and bloodied, as if his very existence was a crime that needed punishing. You left the room when he ordered the torture, convinced that brute force was the only answer. The look in his eyes then—cold, calculating, determined—was a look that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

He’s always there, hiding on the edges of your vision, challenging you. It’s infuriating, the way he dismisses anything resembling compromise or collaboration as weakness, how he scoffs at your attempts to hold onto something resembling order or morality.

Yet, there’s something in his attitude —something in the way he glances at you, a flicker of underdetermination, a tension that thrums between you like a wire. It’s in the way he steps closer when you argue, his body taut, like he’s gearing up for a fight he both craves and dreads. You feel it too—the tightness in your chest, the burn of frustration that’s more than just anger, something deeper, more complicated. You don’t know whether you want to scream at him or—

But no, you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he gets under your skin.

You take a look at the sky losing its light with each minute that it passes.

Taking a deep breath, you continue.

After what feels like hours of searching, you finally spot the familiar shape of the plant you’re looking for. You remember the details Clark gave you. Crouching down you carefully pull a small bag from your pocket. You work quickly, plucking the plants and stuffing them into the bag, your movements precise and purposeful.

But then—a sudden rustling, a low whisper of movement through the leaves nearby. Your heart stutters, and your breath catches in your throat.

Instinct takes over. You drop low, pressing yourself against the cold ground, hiding behind the broad leaves of the plant. Grounders, maybe.

They could be watching, waiting.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, listening for the sound of footsteps, for the snap of a twig or the rustle of leaves that would betray their presence. But instead, you hear a low chuckle—soft, mocking, and far too familiar.

Your eyes snap open, and you whip around, breath catching in your chest.

There, arms on his waist, is Bellamy. His eyes, dark and sharp, are fixed on you like a predator who has found his prey. His brows are drawn together, the muscles in his neck tense, and there's a fire in his gaze that blazes hotter than any annoyance you've seen before.

“I see you like to test my patience, Princess.” His deep voice cuts through the silence, pulling your gaze upward. He's standing right in front of you.

You get up immediately, your breathing and muscles relaxing at the notice that you are not in danger.

“What are you doing here?” You ignore his previous comment, turning around and continuing on getting more plants.

“I remember telling everyone to not leave camp, and that includes you too, you know? There’s no special treatment here.” You hear him from behind.

“I wasn’t going to sit around. Clark needs this for Finn.”

“He’s stable enough; we don’t need anyone else getting hurt over this.” Bellamy insists, his tone sharp.

You clench your teeth and turn. “Look, I couldn’t care less what you think. I don’t go by your rules.”

Bellamy scoffs and grabs your arm. You let go of his grasp as soon as he starts walking.

“Don’t touch me!”

Bellamy watches you, wondering why you are being stubborn right now. Hell, he even wonders why he came here for the first place. Was he worried about you? Why did he come here? He questions himself. Bellamy’s mind races, battling with the tangled web of his feelings. He’s been fighting to keep everyone safe, to enforce rules that seem cold but necessary, and yet, here he is, breaking his own rule because of you.

Truth is, you have been nothing but a burden to him every single day since they put a foot on earth. Your defiance, your refusal to follow orders, your reckless bravery—all of it has been a thorn in his side. Every day, you challenged his authority and decisions, and yet, despite all the friction, despite the constant arguments and the resentment, there’s something about you that pulls at him.

He can’t quite distinguish it, but it’s there—a magnetic pull that makes him question his own motives and feelings. It’s in the way you stand up for what you believe in, even when it puts you at risk. It’s in the fire and determination in your eyes, something that resonates with him on a deeper level than he’s willing to admit.

The frustration he feels is braided with an unspoken admiration, a bittering respect that complicates his emotions even further. Bellamy is torn between his duty and the sudden impulses of something else—something he can’t easily define or control. It’s a vulnerability he hasn’t allowed himself to explore, and it confuses him.

All he knows is that despite the danger and the defiance, he can’t seem to turn his back on you. His frustration is laced with a deeper, more complex emotion that makes him question why he’s so determined to keep you safe.

He thought you would be this scared of everyone and everything type of girl, but you prove him all the opposite.

“Let’s go back—”

“I won’t.” You cut him off, not giving him a chance to say anything. You turn again and continue with your job.

Of course, you hoped that he would go and leave you alone. You hoped.

Next thing you know, your feet aren’t touching the ground and you are being lifted up by him. A few leaves escape your grasp, so you make sure to close the bag.

“Let me go!” You protest.

“Stop screaming, you are putting us in danger” He doesn’t listen to your request, instead he walks back to camp.

You scoff, moving frantically. “If you cared so much about safety, you wouldn’t be carrying me off like I’m just another pack to you!”

Bellamy's jaw clenches, and he stops abruptly, eyes scanning the surrounding woods.

“You’re the one making noise,” he retorts, setting you down but not releasing his grip entirely. “Keep quiet or—”

You hear it then—a rustling of leaves, far too close, far too deliberate. Your breath catches in your throat. It’s not just the wind. Bellamy stiffens beside you, his grip on your arm tightening reflexively.

For a split second, your eyes meet, and you both know: the Grounders.

“Run,” he whispers, urgency dripping from the word.

But there’s no time to argue. You both take off, feet pounding against the damp earth, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The sounds behind you grow closer—footsteps, which makes your heart race even faster.

Up ahead, you spot a dark opening—a cave, half-hidden by foliage. You yank Bellamy toward it without thinking, and for once, he doesn’t resist. Both dive inside, pressing against the cold rock. The cave is narrow, suffocating, but it’s cover.

Outside, you hear the murmurs and footsteps of the Grounders drawing near. You hold your breath, every muscle tense. Bellamy’s hand is still around your wrist, and you can feel his pulse racing just as fast as yours.

“We’re not going anywhere until it clears. We need to stay inside.” he mutters, barely audible.

Bellamy presses a hand against the small of your back, steering you deeper into the cave, his touch firm, almost commanding. You feel the heat of his palm through your shirt, and it sends a jolt of anger through you.

“Get your hand off me.” You snap, jerking away from his touch. But the cave is too narrow, and he doesn't give you much space to maneuver.

His jaw tightens, and he steps even closer, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I’m trying to keep you from getting killed.”

You dig your heels in, resisting just to spite him. “I don’t need you to save my life, Bellamy.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it—just a sharp, bitter edge. “You think I want to be stuck here with you? Trust me, Princess, this is the last place I want to be.”

You whirl around, stepping closer, your chest brushing against his, both of you too angry to care. “Then why are you here?” you fire back, your voice louder than you intended. “Why do you always have to control everything? Who made you the boss of me?"

His hand, still on your back, clenches into a fist, pulling you closer instead of pushing you away.

“Maybe because I’m trying to keep you alive!” he spits out, his face inches from yours, his breath hot. “You are always doing this—taking risks, getting in my way. Do you have a death wish?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, anger flaring into something more intense. “No, but maybe you do,” you whisper fiercely. “Coming out here, risking your life for someone you supposedly can’t stand. What is it, Bellamy? Why do you even care?”

He grits his teeth, and you see something flicker in his eyes—a momentary crack in his armor. “I don’t!” he snaps, but his voice lacks conviction, faltering on the last word.

“Liar,” you accuse, stepping even closer, your forehead nearly touching his. “If you didn’t care, you’d have let me go. You wouldn’t have come after me, wouldn’t have—”

His grip tightens on your arm, and his other hand moves to your waist, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” His voice is low, almost a growl. “You think you’ve got me all figured out?”

You tilt your chin defiantly, eyes blazing. “Why don’t you just admit it? All this, you’re not really angry. You’re scared. Scared of what might happen if you lose control. Scared of what it means if something happens to m—"

But he doesn’t let you finish. In the blink of an eye, he’s on you, lips crashing against yours with a force that takes your breath away. The kiss is rough, almost bruising, a mixture of frustration and something deeper—something desperate. You freeze for a moment, caught off guard, before the shock melts into anger again, and you shove against his chest.

He doesn’t pull back. Instead, he presses you harder against the cold, cave wall, his body flush against yours. His hands move up, one sliding to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place while his mouth claims yours with a furious intensity, like he’s trying to silence every word, every protest.

Your heart is racing, your thoughts a tangled mess. You should push him away again, should shove him back and yell in his face, but instead, you find yourself kissing him back just as fiercely, your hands fisting in his shirt. It’s like all the anger, all the arguments have boiled over into this—this raw, heated clash of mouths and tongues.

When you finally pull apart, both of you are panting, breaths coming fast, and his forehead rests against yours, his eyes still dark with emotion.

“Why do you care?” you whisper again, but this time your voice is softer, less certain.

His thumb brushes your cheek, and his gaze is intense, almost searching. “I don’t know,” he mutters, but there’s something vulnerable in his tone, something that makes your heart ache even as your anger simmers beneath the surface.

“Maybe I’m frustrated…so damn frustrated because—” He hesitates, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “—because you’ve got a way of getting under my skin, and it’s driving me crazy. But yeah, there it is. I’m worried. Happy?”

His lips are so close you can feel his breath on your skin, and for a moment, it’s like the whole world has narrowed to just the two of you, trapped together in this cave, trapped by something you can’t name.

"Bell..." you start, but he silences you again, this time with a softer kiss, one that seems to ask for something instead of demand it.

His hands slips down to the curve of your waist pulling you even closer, and you feel a shiver run down your spine, heat pounding low in your belly.

Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers locking on his dark strands. The kids deepens, growing more urgent, desperate, as if both of you are trying to pour all this unspoken feelings into a single, shared breath.

And you know that whatever this is, you are not ready to stop it. Not yet.

[rootedinrevisions]

Attention (Kinktober 2024: Day 2)

SUMMARY: Amidst the chaos of storm fronts and unpredictable skies, your playful bratty antics spark a fiery dynamic between you and Tyler, who knows just how to tame your spirited nature. But as passion ignites and boundaries blur, a day of teasing leads to an unforgettable night at a hotel, where he reveals a different side of the southern gentleman you’ve come to adore.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was meant to be a short drabble like yesterday's Kinktober Post (my goal is for them to be at or under 1k words). But as I was writing this one it kind of just took off and I kept going and now here we are at almost 6k words! There's also just something about Tyler and the way he would smirk whenever Kate gave him any kind of sass in the movie that screamed brat tamer to me. So I hope you all enjoy this!

PROMPT: "I'm really not in the mood for you to tease me today."

KINK: Brat / Brat Tamer

WARNINGS: Teasing. 18+ SMUT. (Spanking. Unprotected Sex. P in V Sex.) Aftercare (because we love a man who takes care of his partner after.)

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

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The day had been a whirlwind, literally and figuratively. Storm after storm popped up on the radar, each one stealing Tyler’s attention. Tyler sat behind the wheel of his truck, his eyes fixed on the screen displaying swirling wind patterns and the ominous hook echo of a forming tornado. His fingers tapped against the keyboard of his laptop, occasionally flicking to the handheld radio on the dash as he communicated with the rest of the team who were following behind.

You, on the other hand, were sitting in the passenger seat of his truck, idly watching him as he clicked through the radar images.

It wasn’t unusual for him to get this absorbed in his work. In fact, it was one of the things you admired most about him—his drive, his passion for what he did. 

But today, you were feeling a little left out. Maybe it was that normally you had his attention while you were driving to a storm. Normally he’d hold your hand or have his hand on your thigh as he drove. Or maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t looked at you in over an hour, but a small part of you craved his attention.

Leaning back in your seat, you crossed your arms and let out a quiet huff, eyes narrowing as you stared at him.

Nothing. He didn’t even blink, fully engrossed in tracking the storm. You knew better than to expect him to drop everything just because you wanted some attention, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t have a little fun.

“Think we’re almost done chasing storms for the day?” you asked, knowing full well what his answer would be but fishing for a little attention nonetheless.

Tyler barely looked up from the screen. “We’ve got three more cells popping up, so it’s looking like it’s gonna be a long night,” he said, his voice steady.

You frowned, crossing your arms and huffing just loud enough for him to hear. “Bet you’d marry the tornadoes if you could.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t take his eyes off the screen.

Bingo. A reaction, even if it was small.

You smirked and leaned in a bit closer, tapping your fingers against the console between you and him. “I can see why you like them. They’re unpredictable, dramatic, always showing off when they  don’t need to...”

He didn’t respond, just turned back to the radar, a smirk still playing on his lips. The lack of attention stung a little, but mostly, it ignited the brat in you. 

Ignoring you was one of his favorite tactics when you were leaning into your brat personality, but it was your least favorite. You could feel the frustration bubbling up inside you, but it only fueled your determination to push him a little further.

“They’ve got everything you love, don’t they?” You quirked a brow, turning in your seat to face him more fully. “Reckless, impossible to control, full of attitude, and always causing trouble…”

Tyler’s lips twitched as if he was fighting off a smile, but he remained focused on the road. "You describing the tornadoes or something else?" he muttered, his tone teasing.

You shift in your seat, uncrossing and recrossing your legs with a huff, making sure he heard you. You make sure as you do this that your tight denim shorts ride up just a little bit showing more of your thighs. You then reach up and adjust the white tank top you’re wearing, adjusting your bra ever slightly to push your boobs up ever so slightly.

Tyler finally shifted his gaze from the storm to you, his eyes narrowing in that way that let you know he knew exactly what you were doing.

His voice was low, almost daring you to push further as he said. "Tornadoes are unpredictable, sure. But if you know how to handle them, if you can figure out what makes them tick...”

He let the words trail off, and you felt the tension rise again, this time not because of the storm outside. You gave him a slow smile, but your pulse quickened.

“Do you know to handle them?” You teased, though your voice wavered just enough to betray the heat simmering between you.

Tyler’s gaze locked onto yours, and the air between you shifted, heavy with unspoken understanding. “Darlin', I’m really not in the mood for you to tease me today.”

The directness of his words caught you off guard, and you blinked in surprise. His tone wasn’t harsh, but there was a weight to it that told you he wasn’t messing around. He glanced back at the radar, clearly still tense from the day’s events, and you could see the stress etched in the lines of his face.

But instead of backing down, your frustration only deepened. You leaned forward in your seat, crossing your arms tighter over your chest. “Yeah? Well, I’m really not in the mood for being ignored,” you shot back, your voice laced with that bratty edge you knew would get a reaction.

Tyler let out a slow breath, his hands pausing over the keyboard for a moment before he turned his head to look at you fully. His eyes narrowed slightly, and that stern look—the one that sent a shiver of both excitement and challenge through you—was back. “There are a lot of storms happening right now. You really wanna compete with a tornado for my attention?”

You held his gaze, unyielding. “Maybe,” you said, shrugging with feigned indifference. “I think I could give them a run for their money.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The tension hung in the air, heavy and charged like the storm outside. Tyler leaned back in his seat, his eyes never leaving yours, but he didn’t rise to your bait just yet.

Instead, he shifted his focus back to the radar, the smirk on his face barely noticeable but definitely there. He was doing it again—ignoring you on purpose. And it was driving you mad.

You let out another exaggerated sigh, leaning closer to him, but he kept his eyes between the radar screens and the roads in front of him.

“Oh, come on,” you said, your voice playful but with a hint of challenge. “What’s more important? A tornado or me?”

Tyler didn’t even flinch. “Right now? The tornado.”

That was it. That smug, calm tone of his always got under your skin in the most thrilling way. You shifted in your seat, biting your lip as you considered your next move. You could stop here, but where was the fun in that? No, you were going to push him just a little further.

You waited for your next move until the next stop where Tyler pulled off the highway and into the parking lot of a small mom and pop type gas station. The rest of the team hurried inside to use the bathroom and grab some drinks and snacks. 

Meanwhile you and Tyler lingered in the truck for a few minutes. You leaned over the center console, your voice low and teasing as you whispered, “Maybe I should just find something else to entertain myself if you’re so busy.”

Finally, Tyler turned his head to look at you, his eyes darkening with a mixture of warning and amusement. He gave you a long, steady look, the kind that always made your pulse race, before speaking in that slow, Southern drawl of his. “I’d think real carefully about that, sweetheart.”

You smirked, unfazed by his warning. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Tyler’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but the sharpness in his gaze remained. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping so low that it sent a shiver down your spine. “Because if you keep pushing, you’re not gonna like what happens next.”

You could tell by the way his eyes lingered on you that he was reaching his breaking point, and it only made you want to push further.

You straightened up, flashing him a defiant grin. “What, you think you can handle me?” The challenge was unmistakable in your voice, and you watched his reaction closely, waiting to see if you’d finally get what you wanted.

Tyler’s eyes darkened, and in one smooth, deliberate motion, he leaned in close—so close that you could feel the warmth of his body, the faint smell of his cologne mixing with the rain-soaked air. His lips barely brushed the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Darlin’, I tame tornadoes. You don’t think I can tame you?”

The way his voice rumbled against your skin sent a jolt of excitement through you, but you swallowed down the reaction, determined not to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you tilted your chin up defiantly, pretending his words hadn’t rattled you, even though you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Is that so?” you shot back, your voice breathy, daring him to make good on his promise.

Tyler pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with that same stern intensity. He didn’t speak for a moment, just let the weight of his gaze hang between you, thick with unspoken meaning. Then, in a voice that was all command, he said, “You better start acting like the good girl I know you are. Or you won’t be getting any of my attention for the rest of the night.”

His words hung in the air, and your heart skipped a beat. You knew that look. He was serious now. The playful banter had shifted into something more intense, and you could feel the shift in the air between you. It was a warning—one you knew better than to ignore.

But still, the brat in you wasn’t ready to give up just yet. “Guess we’ll see if you can keep that promise,” you quipped, your voice full of playful defiance as you met his gaze head-on.

Tyler raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Oh, you’ll see, alright,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. He gave you one last lingering look before reaching for the door handle and exiting the truck

As you watched him make his way into the gas station, looking hotter than should be legal in just a backwards baseball cap, a button down shirt, some Wrangler jeans, and a pair of cowboy boots, you knew you had crossed a line. The line. He was in full brat tamer mode now, you had his full attention now, and that meant you were in trouble.

* * * * *

The storm had finally passed, leaving behind soaked streets and the distant rumble of thunder as Tyler pulled into the motel parking lot around nine o’clock later that night. The quiet hum of the engine faded, replaced by the sound of rainwater trickling off the roof.

You glanced over at Tyler, but his face was unreadable, all traces of the playful banter from earlier wiped clean. He parked the vehicle, his jaw clenched as he cut the engine.

You were still trying to gauge his mood when Tyler opened his door and stepped out into the cool night air, rain droplets catching the faint glow of the streetlights. He didn’t say a word as he grabbed the keys and walked around the front of the truck. 

He opened your door and waited for you to get out. He reached into the backseat and grabbed both of your bags, throwing them over his shoulder. Then without saying a word he motioned for you to follow. A thrill of anticipation coursed through you.

When you reached the room, Tyler unlocked the door and pushed it open, gesturing for you to enter first. The door clicked shut behind you, and the sudden quiet of the room felt stifling. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your chest as you stood there, unsure of what was about to happen next.

Tyler took his time, tossing the keys onto the table by the door before slowly turning to face you. His expression was calm, but his eyes—those sharp, stormy eyes—told a different story. He was still every bit in control, but there was a spark of something dangerous beneath the surface. And you were the one who had lit the fuse.

“You’ve been testing me all day,” he said, his voice low, steady. He took a slow step toward you, closing the space between you in a way that made your breath catch. “And now, you’ve got all of my attention.”

You met his gaze, swallowing the nervous flutter in your stomach. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? His full, undivided attention. But standing here now, under the weight of his stare, you realized just how serious he was.

“I told you,” he continued, his voice dropping lower as he came even closer, “if you kept pushing, you weren’t gonna like the outcome.”

You smirked, still holding on to that last shred of defiance. “Maybe I’m still not convinced.”

Tyler’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips curling into a knowing smile. He was right in front of you now, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body, the scent of rain and earth still clinging to his clothes.

“Well,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine, “you’re about to be.”

Before you could respond, Tyler closed the distance, his hand sliding around the back of your neck as he pulled you in. His hand then moved to your hair where he tightened his grip and pulled your head back slightly.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. His kiss was hard, commanding, and you could feel the pent-up frustration from earlier in the way his lips moved against yours. 

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, heart racing as his fingers lingered in your hair. His gaze locked onto yours, and there was no mistaking the seriousness in his voice when he spoke next.

“You’ve got two choices now, darlin’,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “You can behave and I’ll give you the attention you’ve been beggin’ for all day, or…” His thumb brushed along your jaw, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can keep being a brat, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

A thrill shot through you at his words, the heat between you palpable as you weighed your options. But the brat in you wasn’t ready to give in so easily. You bit your lip, eyes gleaming with challenge as you tilted your head slightly, daring him.

“What if I like regretting it?” you quipped, your voice laced with that same teasing defiance that had gotten you into this situation in the first place.

Tyler’s eyes darkened, and for a brief moment, you could see the flicker of amusement there, quickly replaced by something far more dangerous. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice thick with Southern charm, “you really don’t know what you’re askin’ for, do you?”

And with that, he took a step back, his hand dropping from your neck as he moved over to the bed, sitting down at the edge. He leaned back casually, his hands resting on his thighs as he looked at you with a calm, almost predatory gaze.

“Come here,” he commanded, his voice soft but firm, leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated for a moment, that last flicker of defiance warring with the butterflies in your stomach. But you knew the game was over. Tyler had won, and now it was time to face the consequences.

Slowly, you stepped forward, your heart pounding in your chest as you approached him. When you reached the edge of the bed, Tyler reached out, grabbing your waist. His hands moved to the button of your jean shorts, popping it open before he hooked his fingers into the top of your shorts and pushed them down your legs.

He then reached for your wrist, pulling you down across his lap. His grip was firm, but there was no mistaking the tenderness beneath it.

“Now,” he murmured, “we’re gonna start with getting rid of that little attitude of yours.” His voice was low, filled with that unmistakable authority that always made your stomach flip. You felt one of his hands move to your back, holding you down against his thighs, and you knew exactly what was coming next.

"You’ve been a handful today, haven’t you?” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

“I wouldn’t have to be a handful if you’d given me a little attention today,” you shot back, though your voice was quieter now, that bravado fading.

Tyler chuckled, low and deep, the sound vibrating through you as his hand moved to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “Oh, you’ve got my attention now, darlin’,” he said softly. “So how many do you think you should get for running that pretty mouth of yours?”

“Two.”

He chuckled again. “Two? You really think two is enough for all the attitude you gave me today, baby?”

Suddenly, without warning, you feel the sharp, sudden sting of Tyler’s hand coming down on your ass. The impact sends a jolt through you, heat rushing to your skin, but before you can process the sensation, another smack follows on the other side.

After several smacks, you stopped keeping track after seven or eight, his hand lingers on your flushed skin, his fingers brushing lightly over the spots where his hand had made contact. The tenderness makes you shiver, and you let out a small whimper.

He hadn’t been rough—Tyler never was—but he made sure his point was clear. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, his firm control slowly giving way to a softer touch as he released you from his lap.

Without saying a word, he gently pulled you to straddle him, his hands guiding you to settle on his thighs. The change in position felt intimate, almost grounding, as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath you, and the weight of the moment shifted from tension to something deeper, something more comforting.

Tyler’s hands moved in soothing patterns up and down your spine, his touch slow and deliberate. His fingers grazed the small of your back, the motion calming, as if he was silently asking you if you were okay. You leaned into him, resting your forehead against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering trace of the storm outside.

“You alright, darlin’?” His voice was softer now, barely a whisper, laced with concern and affection.

You nodded, your breath still catching in your throat, but not from discomfort. It was the intensity of it all—the push and pull between you, the way he could shift from firm to gentle in an instant—that had you feeling unsteady, yet safe. Tyler had a way of doing that, of reminding you that even in your brattiest moments, you were always safe with him.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up with his fingers so your eyes met his. There was no trace of the stern look he'd given you earlier, no hint of the control he’d exerted when he made you bend to his will. Instead, his gaze was warm, full of care.

“You pushed me today,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along your jawline, “but I’m not going anywhere. I just need to make sure you’re good before we go any further.”

Your breath hitched at the sincerity in his tone. It wasn’t just a question of your physical comfort—Tyler was checking in with your heart, your mind, making sure you were completely with him in this moment. It was one of the things you loved about him most, the way he balanced his strength with such tenderness.

You offered him a small smile, your hands sliding up his chest to rest against his shoulders. “I’m good,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady.

He nodded, satisfied, his hands resting on your waist as he pulled you closer once more, his lips brushing against the side of your neck in a kiss so gentle it made your skin tingle. 

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, the words a quiet reassurance. His hands continued their slow, calming path along your back, grounding you in the safety of his embrace. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, making you feel secure.

Tyler stayed like that for a long moment, just holding you, letting the tension melt away in the quiet. His thumb traced idle circles on your lower back, a quiet reminder that no matter how far you pushed, no matter how much fire you brought, he would always be there to catch you.

It was the kind of attention you had been craving all day. Sex with Tyler was great. You loved being with him in that way. He was by far the best partner you’d ever had. But it was this kind of affection, full of love and care, that you had missed while the storms had his attention.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was a soft rumble, still laced with that familiar, protective edge. “You ready for more?” His question was a gentle nudge, letting you know that he was still in control but giving you space to choose.

You nodded again, feeling the heat rising between you once more, but this time it came with the unspoken promise of safety and care in every touch.

Tyler’s hands guided you to the bed, his grip both firm and gentle as he positioned you exactly how he wanted. The air between you felt thick with tension, charged with the anticipation of what was coming next. You could hear your own pulse in your ears as you lay on your back, Tyler standing over you with that same intense gaze that sent shivers through you.

Your heart raced as he climbed onto the bed, hovering over you with one knee pressed into the mattress and the other still on the floor, effectively trapping you beneath him. Tyler’s fingers traced along the curve of your thigh, sending electricity through your skin as he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear.

“You wanted my attention, darlin’. Now you’ve got it.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, sending a thrill down your spine as his hand slid higher, teasing the hem of your shirt.

You couldn’t resist. Despite the tension, despite the way he commanded every ounce of your focus, that last bit of brattiness bubbled up again.

“About time,” you muttered, eyes flicking up to meet his with just enough sass to provoke him further.

Tyler’s eyes darkened, his lips curling into a smirk as he pulled back, shaking his head slightly. “Still got that mouth on you, huh?”

Before you could respond, he leaned down again, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all-consuming. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. The world outside, the storms, the teasing—all of it faded as Tyler poured every bit of the attention you'd been begging for into that kiss.

When he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing was heavy, matching your own.

"You’ve been testing me all day," he whispered, his voice low and rough. "Now, sweetheart, you're gonna learn that I don’t mind giving you what you ask for—but it comes with consequences."

With that, Tyler’s hands slid up your body, his touch sending waves of heat through you. His fingers paused at the bottom of your tank top, his eyes meeting yours, waiting for the confirmation he needed.

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat. You could feel the tension mounting, your body responding to the way his hands moved with both authority and tenderness. He was right—you’d pushed him, teased him, and now you were at the mercy of the man who was more than capable of taming the most dangerous storms. Taming you, however, was something entirely different.

Tyler took his time, every touch deliberate as he undressed you, leaving no inch of your skin untouched by his hands. The slow build of anticipation was almost unbearable, and by the time his lips found yours again, you were desperate for the contact.

“You’re gonna be good for me now, aren’t you?” Tyler murmured against your lips, his hand cupping your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “No more sass, no more pushing.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as you nodded again, feeling the weight of his words sinking in. “I’ll be good,” you whispered, breathless.

Tyler’s smirk softened into something more tender, though his grip on you remained just as firm, his touch as commanding as ever. "That’s what I like to hear," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Good girls get rewarded."

Without saying a word, he stood up, his movements deliberate but unhurried, giving you time to take in the shift in the air. You followed him with your eyes, feeling your pulse quicken as he reached for the hem of his flannel shirt, fingers slipping under the fabric.

With one smooth motion, he pulled the flannel off over his head and tossed it onto a nearby chair. The muscles in his shoulders flexed as he moved, and your gaze lingered on the defined lines of his chest, the way his skin gleamed in the soft light filtering through the hotel curtains. Every inch of him seemed to radiate confidence, strength—qualities you’d been drawn to from the moment you met him.

Your mouth went dry as his hands moved to his belt, unfastening the buckle with an almost lazy precision. The soft click of metal filled the room, each sound amplifying the rising anticipation in your chest. He tugged the belt free and let it drop to the floor with a soft thud, his gaze never leaving yours, as if he was fully aware of the effect his every movement had on you.

Then came his jeans—he unbuttoned them, the zipper coming down slowly, teasingly. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, the slow reveal making your skin tingle with anticipation. Tyler’s fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans, and he slid them down his hips, letting them pool at his feet before stepping out of them.

Your heart was pounding now, each layer of clothing he removed making the room feel smaller, more charged. He stood before you in nothing but his boxer briefs, and even then, he didn’t rush. Tyler’s eyes were dark, locked on yours, and the energy between you both felt electric.

You swallowed hard as his thumbs slipped beneath the band of his underwear, slowly peeling them off. The fabric slipped down his legs, revealing the rest of him, his body sculpted and strong. Your gaze trailed over every inch of him, heat pooling low in your stomach, the tension between you like a wire pulled tight.

Tyler straightened, his eyes still fixed on yours, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze settle over you like a weight. He was giving you a moment to drink him in, to take in every part of him, just as he’d done with you before. And the way he stood there—confident, steady—made your pulse race even faster.

He took a step toward you, the air between you thick with the anticipation of what was coming next, but he didn’t rush. Tyler was never in a hurry when it came to you.

You bit your lip, trying to steady your breathing, as he made his way on to the bed again. One hand slid behind your back as he unclasped your bra. He slowly removed it from you before you felt his warm lips wrap around one of your nipples, while his calloused fingers pinched the other.

Your head fell back against the pillows, a soft moan leaving your lips. The hand that had been pinching your nipple then slid down your stomach to between your thighs. You felt him run his fingers along the lace covering your center.

You tried to roll your hips down against his fingers, desperate for more of his touch. Tyler’s lips curved into a smirk as he pulled away from a kiss to look down at you.

“Need something, baby?”

You tried to grind down against his hand again, but this time he pulled away, leaving you with nothing but the musty air of the motel.

“Tyler!” You almost whined at the loss of his touch.

“What is it baby? What do you need?”

“You!”

Tyler chuckled and leaned down, his lips moving to your neck as he started gently biting at the spot below your left ear that he knew drove you insane.

“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that.”

“Want you between my legs.”

Tyler’s lips curved into a grin as he moved his leg higher up on the bed, spreading your legs. He pressed one of his knees right up against your center, pressing the lace of your underwear that you still had on against your clit.

This wasn’t what you meant and he knew it. But you ground down against his leg a few times, trying to get some kind–any kind of friction that you could.

“Ty, please,” you breathed out when you realized it wasn’t helping. “Need you.”

“Was that so hard to say, baby?”

“Yes.”

Tyler chuckled again before he positioned himself between your thighs. He wrapped his hand around his dick pumping it a few times before he put the tip against your entrance. He slowly slid into you.

The feeling was overwhelming for a moment. This. This was what you had been waiting all day for. You lead out a loud moan as your eyes fluttered close as he slowly stretched your walls as he pushed further and further into you.

Once he was all the way in, he paused for a moment, letting you adjust to him. Then he started to move. His hips pulling out slightly before pushing back in. Your hands moved to his arms and then his back, your fingers digging into his skin.

Tyler began to pick up the pace of his thrusts, your hips started to move, meeting each of his thrusts. The musty motel room was filled with the sound of your soft moans and his deep grunts as both of you became lost in the moment. 

“Come on, baby. Let it go for me.” Tyler breathed out as he started thrusting faster and deeper into you.

You moaned his name as your back arched off of the sheets as your orgasm hit. Your walls clenched around him and you felt Tyler groan as something that sounded like a string of swear words left his mouth. He then stilled inside you a moment later as you felt him fill you with his release.

The room was enveloped in a warm silence, the air heavy with the aftermath of your passion. You lay side by side on the bed, hearts still racing as you both came down from the heights of your releases. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, intertwined and blissfully spent.

Tyler shifted slightly, a soft rustle of sheets breaking the quiet as he reached for a damp cloth. With careful, gentle hands, he began to clean you up, his touch tender and attentive. You could feel the warmth of his body beside you, a soothing presence that eased any remnants of tension. There was something profoundly intimate about the way he cared for you, each stroke of the cloth both practical and affectionate, reminding you of the connection you shared beyond just the physical.

Once satisfied, he set the cloth aside and padded quietly to the small fridge across the room, his movements fluid and relaxed. You watched him, a small smile tugging at your lips as he rummaged through its contents. He emerged moments later with a bottle of water, the coolness of it contrasting against the warmth radiating from your skin.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and comforting as he handed you the bottle. “You should stay hydrated, especially after all that.” There was a playful glint in his eyes, a mixture of mischief and affection, as he leaned back against the headboard, propping himself up on one elbow.

You took a sip, the refreshing liquid quenching your thirst, and the sight of him—bare, relaxed, and utterly himself—made your heart swell. Once you set the bottle down, Tyler slid back down the bed, shifting closer to you.

“Come here,” he murmured, opening his arms invitingly. You didn’t hesitate, rolling into him and snuggling against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in tight, as if he never wanted to let go.

The warmth of his body enveloped you, and you buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him—like fresh air and a hint of cologne, grounding and comforting all at once. Tyler’s fingers began to brush gently through your hair, the rhythm soothing as he held you close.

“Was that enough attention for you?” he asked softly, his breath warm against your forehead as he pressed a tender kiss to your temple. The teasing tone was laced with genuine affection, and you could hear the hint of a smile in his voice.

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze, your heart fluttering at the sight of him—the way his eyes sparkled with a playful challenge, but also the warmth that radiated from him. “For now,” you replied playfully, smirking slightly. “But you know I could always use more.”

Tyler chuckled, the sound rich and deep, reverberating through your shared warmth. “Well, I’ll make a note of that,” he said, his voice playful yet serious. “I’m always ready to give you the attention you need, darlin’. Just promise me you won’t be too much of a brat next time.”

You grinned, feeling the warmth of his affection envelop you, grateful for this moment of intimacy. It was in these quiet seconds, nestled against him, that you felt the strongest bond between you both—the balance of playful teasing and heartfelt connection that defined your relationship.

As you lay there together, the world outside fading into nothingness, you knew you had found your home in his arms.

[erosology]

a taste of domesticity | simon "ghost" riley

❀ cw/tw: NSFT, fem reader (afab anatomy, fem pet names), established relationship, american author trying to make an english person's dialogue sound authentic, you'll have to pry blond-haired and brown-eyed simon from my cold dead hands, tooth-rotting fluff, undertones of obsession and codependency (because duh it's me), soft dom simon, thigh riding, body worship, praise, oral (f! receiving), unprotected sex

❀ wc: 7,248

❀ a/n: i will never, ever apologize for writing simon as a lovesick slightly pathetic man

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Simon “Ghost” Riley during your time together, it’s that he takes his job very seriously. So seriously, in fact, he’s often too tired to do much other than eat the dinner you’ve prepared him, take a shower, and go straight to bed. Despite his demanding and hectic career path, you both find ways to spend time together—him allowing you to sit in his lap as he does paperwork, you sneaking into the shower as he gets ready for the night, him coming home early and helping you with dinner—all small things to piece together a picture of domesticity and love Simon has craved his entire life.

But sometimes, he thinks, things in the bedroom are a little…lacking.

He only has himself to blame, really, considering he chose a job that demands every bit of strength he has. But there are times when he’s looking at you, your body wrapped in one of his t-shirts and your hair thrown up into a messy bun as you’re curled up on the couch reading, and he wonders if being a butcher is really that bad.

It’s no matter, though, because as insane and hectic as his job might be, he knows, deep down, he wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re a breath of fresh air for the man who is constantly drowning in his desire to be useful, a lighthouse for the man who is constantly swimming in his failures, a safe place for him to strip himself of the wet clothing trying to cling on to this body (much like how his stormy thoughts try to cling on to him) and bask in your warmth. He’s enamored by your compassion, utterly and completely in love with your honesty, and bewitched by your loyalty—a soulmate for someone who has only ever known chaos.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❀ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

“We should have lemon garlic shrimp tonight,” you suggest to your partner, leaning against his office door frame in hopes maybe he’d look up.

Simon’s eyes don’t even leave his computer as he asks, “What’s the special occasion, love?”

“You’re home in time for dinner for the first time in a month.”

It’s a small stab, he knows it, but it still hurts nonetheless, and you can see him flinch at the blunt edges of your words. He fists clench and unclench, as if debating if he can physically fight off the sense of guilt wrapping around his broad shoulders, before he saves his report progress and shuts his computer down. His movements are always so methodical, measured, but there’s nothing measured about the way he nearly chokes on his own spit when his eyes land on your outfit. Dressed in nothing but one of his t-shirts, thigh high stockings, and a pair of panties, you look nothing short of absolutely divine, and Simon nearly has to check his pulse to make sure he hasn’t died and gone to heaven.

You gaze at him through your eyelashes, eyelids half-closed in lust and the smallest of smirks on your lips. “S’matter, Si? Cat got your tongue?”

It never fails to astound him how easily you rev him up, how you make him feel like some horny teenager on prom night trying to score with his date–clumsy words spilling from his mouth as he tries his hardest to find the magic words to part your legs, palms sweaty as they try to hold your hand, body vibrating with anticipation to see what your tongue tastes like. He’s so unbelievably attracted to you, it makes his head fuzzy with hormones and irrationality, even after all of this time together.

He’s careful as he walks from his desk to you, strong arms wrapping around your waist and his lips brushing your hair. “Are you my starter?” he asks and pinches your thigh for good measure.

You giggle at the rare show of unabashed flirtation from your normally stoic partner and reply coyly, “I could be your dessert if you behave.” Feeling rather bold, you pull him into the kitchen by his belt, and he has to bite his lip to keep the groan clawing at his mouth at bay. You’re too precious for something as barbaric as fevered kisses and frantic hands eager to rip your clothes off. Valuable crystals deserve only the most tender of hands, the most careful of eyes, handled with the utmost precision and patience, and he’s always considered himself a good gemologist.

“C’mere for a second, love,” he says as you turn your back to get started on dinner. Before you can fully turn towards him, he gently cups your jaw and tilts your face up towards his, lips ghosting each other before he finally slots his against yours. You can feel how eager he is, how much he’s holding himself back so as to not break you, so you wrap your arms around his neck and deepen the kiss that much more. That’s all of the motivation he needs, evidently, and he’s quick to wrap your legs around his waist and place you on top of the kitchen counter. Whatever small grip he had on self-control has snapped—a hungry beast finally let free and allowed to feast however he pleases. He wants to completely devour you and keep you safe in his chest—strong bones to keep filthy, undeserving hands from touching you. One taste of you and he’s already drunk on love and all of its promises of companionship and domesticity. 

His hands tangle themselves in your hair, fingers massaging your scalp as his tongue gently prods at your mouth. That’s when you pull away, much to your disappointment, and he groans at the lewd line of spit connecting your lips. Mind hazy with lust, he tries to tilt your face towards his again, anxious to eat until all that’s left is a pile of bones and love, but you gently stop him by pressing your fingers to his mouth.

“Was I too rough?” he asks worriedly. “We can slow down, if you want. I just…miss you, is all, and you’re right about this being the first time we’ve had some time together in God knows how long. I…I know ‘s my fault, and I want to make it up to you—if you’re alright with that.”

And he looks so sincere—dark eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort, hands resting on your thighs and not daring to move, tongue nervously darting out to lick his lips, chest rising and falling with anticipation—you nearly allow him to devour you right there on the kitchen counter. But you’re determined to have a proper dinner with the man you love more than you could ever hope to comprehend. And what’s a good dinner without a nice show?

Your hands fiddle with the collar of his shirt, teeth gnawing at the inside of your cheek in hopes it’ll calm the hunger rolling around in your stomach. “You weren’t too rough, honey, I promise.” At that, you can see relief flood his features, and you gently tug on his collar so he brings his forehead down to meet yours. The pure adoration in his eyes nearly makes you choke, and you swallow down the lump of emotion that had begun to form in your throat. Simon has always been a gentle man despite his very impassive shell, never pushing you and always ready to communicate boundaries and comfort, so to see him so unraveled after a month of missing him is bringing out a masochistic side of you you’d never knew was buried underneath all of the domesticity. Still, you want to be able to enjoy him as much as possible before the moon hangs high and exhaustion begins to settle into heavy bones.

Simon mildly pulls your hand away from nervously toying with his shirt and kisses your fingers—an action that causes you to shudder with admiration. “Did I push you too much?”

“No, sweetheart. I just really, really want to have a nice dinner with you.”

Chuckling, he kisses your temple and helps you off of the counter, his hands lingering on your hips a little longer than necessary before swatting at your bottom and allowing you to begin cooking. “Then a nice dinner together we shall have.”

It’s intoxicating how much your thighs rub together as you cook dinner, how they jiggle and ripple, and Simon isn’t sure what he’s more hungry for. Your hips sway to and fo to the music—nothing inherently sexual about the movement, but his heart speeds up nonetheless. His dark eyes drink in every inch of you like a parched man in the desert, lapping up every single drop so much, he fears his stomach may burst. But it’d be worth it. It would be absolutely worth any form of torture to be able to touch you, hold you, hear you laugh, watch your lips form the syllables of his name. His greatest high, his greatest weakness, the person he’d try to find in every life after this one, the song he hums to himself when he thinks no one is around—all wrapped up in the prettiest package he has ever had the privilege of laying his eyes on.

Simon “Ghost” Riley, special forces operator trained to deal with things most people only see portrayed in overly-budgeted action movies, is absolutely hypnotized by how absolutely gorgeous you are.

“Didn’t know I was getting dinner and a show,” he nearly purrs at you as you pour him a glass of bourbon. Kentucky, of course.

“Hmm?” You innocently cock your head. “I’m just making you dinner, silly, a very normal thing.”

“Whatever you say, love.”

Lust and hormones roll off of your body in tidal waves, nearly drowning the man under the chaotic waters, but he wouldn’t mind, not really. He could spend hours, days, weeks floating around in all of your oceans, exploring every part of you until he has a clear map ingrained in his brain. He’s in love with your heart, in lust with your body, and enamored by your mind.

A warmth only alcohol can provide spreads across his body, and Simon Riley, known by even his closest friends as stern and forthright, dares to relax in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and his eyes half-closed as they watch you sway to the music. At times like this, Simon is reminded of what it’s like to be naïve again, excited, ready to face the world and all of its possibilities. He’s content, basking in the security you provide him with and the knowledge that he has you to call home. He’s safe, and that’s something he’ll never, ever take for granted.

“You look happy,” you giggle, taking note of the pink flush to his face.

He hums, and in the blink of an eye he’s got his arms wrapped around your waist and his chin resting on your head. His lips brush against your hair, fingers fiddling with the t-shirt clinging to your body, and he swears he could stay like this forever if you allowed him to. He thinks this is what paradise must be like—his soulmate wrapped in his arms, the scent of delicious food hanging in the air, music softly playing over the sound of your giggles, his heart let free from its cage and soaring in the air.

“Must be because I am,” he utters into your hair. “I really, really am, sweetheart.”

And though he’s never been one for grandiose displays of affection, he finds himself spinning you around your shared kitchen, strong hands pressed into the small of your back and swaying your bodies to and fro, a makeshift ballroom squished in between the living room and his office.

Your hand fists his shirt, giggles bubbling out of your lips—the most beautiful sound he’ll ever hear. “Simon Riley! What has gotten into you?”

The smile he bears is a gentle one full of love and admiration, and you swear you feel your heart squeeze in your chest. “I’m very lucky to have you. In fact…” And then, his lips are ghosting over yours and his hands are clutching at your hips, desperate to feel you close but scared to admit how much he needs you. “I’d wager I’m the luckiest bastard on this shithole planet.”

“I think you’d lose,” you whisper back, a joyous light dancing in your eyes. “Because I’d wager I’m the luckiest person on this shithole planet to have you.”

He kisses you before he can stop himself, before he can second guess whether or not he’s worthy of your lips, before either of you can begin to decipher what love is and why it heals as much as it hurts. He kisses you and tries his hardest to commit dedication to memory. He kisses you and forgets what the definition of pain is and all he can feel is your fingers carding through his hair. He’s consumed by you—the smell of your shampoo stubbornly clinging to your hair, the feeling of your heart hammering against his, your eyelashes brushing against his cheek, the little squeal you let out when he picks you up, everything, everything everything. All he wants is this moment right here tattooed into his brain, burned into his eyelids so every time he closes his eyes all he can see is bliss and sunlight filtering through.

And though he’s the one with the infamous appetite, he swears he’d crack his ribcage open and allow you to feast as much as you need to. What is love if not all-consuming—cannibalistic desires flooding empty veins until the need to eat is unbearable? Hungry teeth clash against a bare tongue, and he groans loudly into your greedy mouth.

“Simon,” you gasp, “the food—”

“Can wait,” he finishes for you, and you both find yourselves stumbling into a chair. Quickly, he sits down with you on his lap, careful as to not hurt his precious meal. He can feel your cunt throb against his thigh and, god, he needs to eat, eat, eat before he goes completely mad. His thumb draws circles against the growing wet spot on your panties, a groan reverberating in his chest and deep eyes rolling to the back of his head. He sees you’re wearing the pink lacy panties with a white bow that always drive him up the walls of your shared home, and he has to fight the animalistic urge to rip them clean off of your body. No, he won’t be rough no matter how hungry he is. He’s not a beast void of all humanity. He’s simply a man with an empty stomach and the prettiest meal sitting on his lap, and his teeth miss how your skin feels pinched between them.

He easily slides your panties off, an expert in disarming prey, and brings them up to his nose, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Simon,” you moan out at the sight. “Simon, please—”

His hand strikes at your bottom before you can finish your sentence. “Ride my thigh, love.” And he pockets your panties, promising himself he’ll give them back one day.

His big, calloused hands grip your hips as you drag your pussy across his thick thigh, your juices coating his pants but he doesn’t even care. How can he when you look so precious moaning and pleading on his thigh, shaky fingers grasping at his tie to gain some sense of balance? His brown eyes gaze down at you with a predatory light, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth as your grinding becomes more and more erratic.

His voice is strained when he speaks, husky, a caged animal frustrated at not being able to roam free. “That desperate for me, hm? So impatient…” But he can’t deny the erection swelling in his boxers, nor can he deny how hypnotizing it is watching how your brow furrows in concentration with every swivel of your hips. The squelching sound of your drooling cunt is downright filthy, but it’s so intoxicating to the man who gets drunk off of your submission. Adam’s apple bobbing, he tries his hardest to swallow down all of the primal urges flooding his body, to allow you to continue chasing your high, but he can’t stop himself from planting a kiss on your exposed shoulder, nor can he stop himself from resting his forehead upon that very same shoulder. His arms wrap around your torso, bringing your body closer to his so your chests are flushed together, and he groans when he feels your leg brush against his aching cock.

“Si…,” you gasp.

“Shh, just let me do this, darling,” he whispers, his breath tickling your neck. “I want to be close to you.”

Tears poke at the corner of your eyes and your throat constricts, a small gasp leaving your lips before he kisses them gently. A vulnerable Simon is a rare one, but you’re so parched for the smallest taste of intimacy you’re nearly afraid of draining him completely. Still, you wrap your arms around his neck and quicken your pace—anything to keep him close, to keep his face buried in the crook of your neck and his hands stroking at your spine. Shaky fingers bury themselves in short blond hair, pulling at the strands and his heart strings. Trembling thighs squeeze around his own muscular one, and he feels just how hard your heart is slamming itself against your ribcage. What should’ve been an act of climacteric horniness is truly an act of desperate love, depraved intimacy that has been simmering under the surface—two people trying to find themselves buried in each other’s chests.

“Si…” His name rolls off of your tongue so easily, a sound that floods his veins with a warmth his blood couldn’t possibly supply. “Si, please!” Fingernails dig into his back, and he knows just how dire it is for you to feel all of him, but, fuck, he needs to hear you beg a bit more. He needs to be reminded that yes, he is worthy of love, and yes, even with a heart as scarred as his, he is capable of loving back. He needs his ears to be flooded with the sound of unhinged adoration and unwavering dedication. He needs to run his hands all across your skin until he’s able to commit romance to memory and he can’t bear the thought of touching anything else.

Pulling his head back, his amber eyes search your face, fingers gently tracing your bottom lip, and the sheer intensity of his expression has your movements slowing. You’re surprised to see him hesitant, unsure, because in a world of war and uncertainty, Simon Riley is a man made of osmium. He can’t afford the luxury of insecurity in a market that feeds off of humanity. But here he is, one hand keeping your hips stilled as his other one languidly traces all of the bumps and curves of your body, his brow furrowed in concentration as if afraid of breaking you with the slightest of pressure, his eyes full of worry.

“Si—”

“You know I love you, right?” he uncharacteristically cuts you off, his tone steady despite the tremble in his hand.

You answer without missing a beat. “Of course I do. I love you, too, honey.”

He nods, moreso to himself than you, and finally meets your eyes. You’re surprised to see the fire burning in them, how his soft eyes look nearly deadly as he wraps his arms around your chest and brings your body flush against his once again. “Then we’re going to do this the right way.” And before you can ask what he means by that, he lifts your body up with ease, earning a surprised squeak from you. His lips attach themselves against your shoulder, and you wrap your legs around his waist to allow him to carry you easier. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he confesses softly between kisses. “You keep me grounded, sweetheart. You keep me sane.”

Longing strangles you and you can’t help but shutter at his raw declaration of love. Simon reminding you how much you mean to him isn’t rare in the least bit–he’s rather forthcoming about his feelings after many months of you teaching him how to loosen his tongue–but to hear it said so tenderly, as if your ears are made of paper and he spits razors with every word, is something worth crying over.

And you do.

Glistening crystals poke at the corner of your eyes as he tenderly lays your body on the bed, and it’s at this moment Simon Riley thinks you’re something worth dying over. His fingers swipe at your tears, rough palm resting against your cheek, and you nuzzle your face into the callouses, a soft smile on your lips and galaxies in your eyes. He’s hopelessly, painfully, undeniably in love with you, and he absolutely hates himself for neglecting you so much.

“Sweetheart,” he begins, voice strained with love and weakness. How can he look into your eyes and apologize for being a horrible partner? You—with your patience and kindness and strength and dedication and selflessness—you deserve better, better than being left alone to wonder if he’s safe and alive. Better than brisk pecks to your forehead after a thoughtfully prepared breakfast. Better than rushed showers and swift promises of love before a day of unguaranteed nights. Better than him. Better than anything someone like him could ever hope to offer you.

And of course—because you’re you, you, you—you place a kiss on his palm. It’s an innocent enough gesture. A quick press of your lips to the palm of his hand. It’s something that he normally wouldn’t think twice about, something he would smile about and then kiss your cheek for. Definitely not something worth gasping over. Not something worth losing his breath over. Not something worth the shudder that wracks his body. Not something worth splitting his soul in two over. But, as he hovers over you, he can feel his shell crumbling away until all that’s left is the part of his heart he’s been saving for someone like you. He can’t breathe, can’t think, not when you’re kissing the same hand that has killed, that has failed, that has been scarred and covered in blood. And then you’re kissing the pulse in his wrist and then his forearm and then his bicep and before he can even warn you to save your kisses for the worthy, you’re kissing his shoulder in the same tender manner he was kissing yours moments ago.

He feels your breath dance across his neck and refuses to move until you give him permission.

“Simon,” you whisper, and his ears ring at how much affection you place in the syllables of his name. “I love you more than I could ever hope to fathom. I don’t think you realize how much you keep me sane.”

“Sweet—”

You silence him with a kiss to his neck, humming at the steady beat in his jugular. “You’re my comfort. You’re my safe space to be myself with no worries about what’s going to happen tomorrow because you’re prepared for anything. You allow me to be neurotic and moody and a ball of stress without judging me or trying to baby me. You understand that sometimes I need to be neurotic and moody and a ball of stress. You’re caring and thoughtful and straightforward and I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

You can’t be real. Even the holiest of heavens couldn’t craft something as angelic as you, and yet here you are, touching your forehead to his and filling his lungs with your stardust, divine hand caressing his cheek, sephric eyes holding so much unfiltered love he can’t stop himself from kissing you. His lips are tender at first, trying their best to memorize immortality and savoring how ethereal you taste, but when you place your hand on his neck, he feels himself giving into his mortal instincts. Using his body weight to his advantage, he lowers you back down to the mattress, never daring to break the kiss. His hands begin to tug at the shirt clinging to your torso, and you’ve never been quicker to dispose of clothes.

“So beautiful,” he mumbles against your lips, hands grazing across your thighs and squeezing them appreciatively. “You’re so beautiful, darling, do you know that?”

A sudden bashfulness warms your body, and you fight the urge to hide behind your hands. “You make me feel it,” you reply shyly and try to pull his face back down to yours, but he stops you by kissing the tips of your fingers. Pouting, you try to grab his face again, but again, he simply catches your hand and kisses your palm, his eyes resting on yours and full of unadulterated dedication. “C’mere, I wanna kiss.”

“You’ll get plenty of those, love, don’t worry.”

Forever and ever, he silently promises himself, I’m going to kiss you forever. And, keeping his promise like the dutiful man he is, he kisses his way up your arm, every touch of his lips measured and careful, until they gently brush against your cheek. You giggle at his breath tickling your neck, and he swears he feels his heart collapse in on itself like some pathetic parody of a supernova. This right here—you stripped down to your underwear and allowing him to love every inch of your supple skin, him stripped down to the bone and being forced to let go of control–is something he used to fantasize about, something he never ever thought himself worthy of, but when you look up at him with your eyes full of trust and dedication, he can’t stop himself from drinking in every second of it. His lips brush against your neck, right above the jugular so he can feel how your heart rate spikes, and then your collarbone, and then his tongue gently swipes across your nipple, earning a soft gasp from you.

“Simon,” you whine, “no teasing, please.”

His fingers brush against your cheek, lips still attached to your breast, while his other hand snakes down to your cunt. “‘m not teasing, darling, I promise. Just want to show every part of you some love.”

He’s an expert at unraveling you, at lightly grazing his fingers just above where you need him most, at dragging his tongue across your peddled nipple, at nipping and sucking at your breasts until you’re bucking against his hand. Even after all of these past weeks of quickies and fevered shower sex, Simon Riley is nothing short of a master at making you moan out his name. His penchant for precision is often deemed a tedious mindset, something to hold him back from admiring the big picture, but it’s a gift from the heavens above when it has you a writhing mess underneath him. Your juices are coating his hand and his ears are full of your vows of love and lust, but it still isn’t enough for him. He needs all of you, all of your tears, all of your gasps and whines, all of your shaking thighs wrapped around him, needs to feel skin brushing skin and the promise of loving and being loved forever.

Your shaking hands bury themselves in his hair, pulling and tugging at the strands and causing him to groan against your skin. “Simon, f-fuck, you’re so good.”

A moan stutters in his chest at the unexpected praise. He needs to feast on everything that is you until he’s full. Without so much as a warning, he kisses your forehead once more before throwing your legs over his shoulders in one swift movement. You open your mouth to protest that he deserves a little love too, but his lips are already attached to your throbbing clit and all you can do is cry out his name. You can feel another groan reverberate in his chest, his hands kneading at your plush thighs and pulling you closer, closer, closer, until his nose is buried in your pubic hair, and he looks nothing short of a man utterly in love with the person beneath him.

“Simon! Oh my fucking god, Simon!”

He slides a finger inside of your fluttering hole, and then another, curling them and scissoring just the way that has your thighs twitching around his head. Brown eyes roll to the back of his head, and he somehow manages to bury his face even further into your pussy. “Like that, baby? You like it just like that?”

“Yes, Simon, yes, please!”

“Fucking hell, darling, I could stay here forever.” Forever doesn’t seem like a long time as long as you’re by his side…

Simon isn’t sure what he’s more drunk on—the alcohol he indulged in earlier, or the juices dripping from your cunt. He’s intoxicated on submission and domination, lust and love, every saccharine memory with you in the past and every hopeful wish with you in the future, every broken piece of you and every picture he’s painted on your skin. He’s drunk on you. All of your moans and pants and pleas for more, more, more—eat until you’re full, Simon! Completely devour until all that’s left is an illustration of what love is!

He was never an indulgent man until you came into his life and discovered just how large his stomach truly is.

His tongue draws languid circles on your clit as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt, his half-lidded ambers watching the rise and fall of your chest. Once he finds a good rhythm, he brings his free hand up to pinch and roll your nipple between his nimble fingers, and you’re sure this is what heaven must feel like.

Simon Riley is almost certain you’re an angel in disguise, but you’re starting to suspect he’s a god who’s too humble to admit his omnipotence. How else would he know exactly how to curl his fingers just right to get your thighs to shake? How else would he know how much you love when he flattens his tongue and slowly drags it along your clit? How else would he know to kiss your inner thigh as he takes a minute to catch his breath and rest his jaw? He looks up at you with ambers filled to the brim with worship and adoration, but you swear you can see a flicker of greed lingering somewhere in there—obsession disguised as fascination, possession parading as love, anything to keep you by his side.

“Look at you, so wet for me,” he coos up at you, using his fingers to spread your pussy lips and admire the mess between your legs. “Do I make you feel that good, sweetheart? Can’t help but fucking drip for me, hm? So wet for me, baby, so good for me.”

“S-S-Simon!”

“Keep moaning my name, sweetheart,” he groans as he brings his mouth to your cunt again, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the tightness of his pants. “Fuck—scream it, I don’t care. Just wanna keep hearing you.”

“Simon fucking Riley, please, you feel s-so good!”

Taunt skin is pulled across knuckles as you grip the bed sheets underneath you. Eyes rolling to the back of your skull, thighs uncontrollably shaking around his head, chest heaving as if you just ran a marathon, sweat clinging to your skin, cunt throbbing rhythmically along with the pumping of your partner’s fingers, you can feel your orgasm swiftly approaching. Simon must be able to tell also, given the way his licks to your clit are becoming more and more frantic and he’s starting to goad you on.

Desperation is laced with fascination as he begs, “Go on, baby, it’s okay. Cum on my fingers. Cum for me, please, let me make you feel good. I know you can, love. Just cum for me.”

As if under his spell, you feel the control you had been trying to grip on to snap and unadulterated pleasure crash over your body, leaving you heaving and twitching underneath his touch. He easily helps you through your high, gentle as he kisses your thighs and slowly eases his fingers out of your throbbing cunt. Crystals poke at the corner of your eyes, causing them to look like stained glass on a sunny day, and Simon is sure to say his prayers as he kisses them away.

“So, so gorgeous,” he whispers between the brushes of his lips. “So pretty when you’re cumming for me. Fuck, love, you’re so beautiful.”

Relishing the praise he’s pouring on your skin, your shaking fingers begin to tug at the shirt clinging to his chest. He tries to stop your ministrations and tell you that predators typically don’t get help from their prey, but you shush him and tell him that not every prey is helpless just like not every predator is invincible. He watches your hands fumble with bemusement, and after a moment of struggling you decide to flip your bodies over so you’re now straddling him.

He’s surprised to say the least, eyes widening and body struggling to regain control, but after a kiss to his forehead and a nip at his ear, he begins to think that having control isn’t what it’s all cracked up to be. Besides, why would he deny himself the perfect view of your body—of your breasts heaving in front of him, your pulse thumping in the hollow of your throat, of your neck exposed and ready to be bitten? Why would he deny himself of the feast before him, coated in sweat and glowing with love?

“Off,” you mumble against his neck and tug at his pants. “Off, please, Simon, take them off.”

Desperation drips from every syllable that falls from your intoxicating mouth, and he’s quick to dispose of the pants that restrict him. Strong fingers cup your jaw and bring your face in front of his, hungry ambers drinking in the sight of adoration and lust. His lips slot against yours, hands grasping at your hips and dragging your cunt across his hard cock, and he swears this is the sweetest form of torture.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I want you to look at me while you put me inside of you. C’mon, baby, don’t be shy now.”

Your trembling hands find his dick, and you have to stop to admire the masterpiece laying underneath you—a pretty red head beaded with precum, a prominent vein running along the side of his shaft and wrapping until it meets with a tuft of blond pubic hair, stomach muscles contracting with every breath, pink-flushed cheeks on a stern face, a naked chest rising and falling with anticipation. He’s beautiful. He’s everything every artist has tried to capture on blank canvases and fell just short of. He’s ethereally gorgeous but also alarmingly human. He’s an angelic face with blood-stained hands. He’s Simon “Ghost” Riley, and you’ve never been more proud to be able to call him yours.

Bashful eyes meet greedy ones and you’re lowering yourself on his cock before you can begin to ask yourself who’s more vulnerable in this moment—the prey on the pedestal or the predator whose appetite can only be satiated by one person. The swollen tip of his cock rests easily inside of you, and right when you’re about to start rocking your hips, he sits up so your chests are flushed together, much like how you were in the kitchen.

His lips brush against your shoulder, and you’re reminded of how gentle he can be despite the calluses on his palms. “I want you close, baby, please. Need to feel all of you. Every inch, inside and out. Will you let me do that, sweetheart?”

A thick blanket of submission wraps itself around your shoulders, and your head is nodding before you even give it permission to. “Want all of you, Si! Need all of you! Jus’ wan’ you.”

He begins to rock his hip, bones digging into plush flesh, and swears he can see flashes of golden gates with each thrust. “That’s it, baby. Such a good girl—my good girl.”

“S-Simon!”

Watching your breasts bounce as he bucks into you is hypnotizing, and he has to dig his fingers into your thighs to keep himself from bucking into you wildly. No, he refuses to be the beast he keeps buried down. It’s taken years of self-discipline and self-discovery to keep it locked away. He can’t unleash it now during a moment of vulnerability. But there’s something so tantalizing about you, so tempting and delicious that causes his teeth to sharpen and his mouth to flood with drool…

“Roll your hips, darling,” Simon whispers into your neck. “Be my good girl and roll your hips.”

And like the obedient girl you are, you listen, clit brushing against his pelvis and sending delicious waves of pleasure over your body. He thinks he’s dragging you down to hell with him, but you’re certain this is what heaven feels like. The love of your life beneath you, a light blanket of sweat over his body, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tries not to overindulge, his heart slamming against his ribcage in a frenzied attempt to reach you, his hands touching every inch of you they can reach, his lips kissing away the tears that stream down your face… No, this is better than heaven. With his hunger and your curiosity, you’ve both managed to find a place better than the promiseland, better than anything any god or mortal could even begin to hope to comprehend, a place where he’s free to feast on you as much as he wants and you can bury yourself in his ribcage.

Strong fingers slip under your chin and force you to look in a pair of shining ambers, and you swear Simon has never looked more beautiful than in this moment. “Kiss me, sweetheart,” he pleads, his hips stuttering.

Starving lips come crashing together, and it takes every ounce of self-control to not feed until his stomach ruptures.

And the worst part of it all is he knows you would allow him to.

You would absolutely allow him to eat, eat, eat, Simon, sharpen your teeth and bite as hard as you want! You’ll never go hungry as long as you’re with me! Just eat, goddammit, eat, eat, eat! Eat all of me until we aren’t sure where you end and I begin! Eat until I’m swimming in your veins! Just fucking eat!

Simon buries his face into the crook of your neck in hopes that maybe he can get through the night without any bloodshed, struggling to keep himself under control. But you have other plans. Lacing your fingers through his blond hair, you guide his face to one of your breasts in a silent plea for him to suck on it as you ride him. He obeys, of course. How could he not when you look so delicious covered in sweat and bouncing on his cock?

With teeth as sharp as diamonds, he tugs onto your nipple, and you cry out his name until it’s all you can dare to think about. “Fuck, baby,” he swears, one of his hands massaging your other breast, “you’re so beautiful. You know that right, darling? Have I ever told you how beautiful you are as you ride me?”

Your thighs begin to shake, and it’s then you both know you’re at the brink of unadulterated pleasure. Mustering as much strength as you can, you slam your hips down on his in frantic motions, feel the head of his cock prodding at your cervix, and tears poke at the corners of your eyes in anticipation of the feast about to come.

“So close, baby,” your partner moans, “so fucking close. Just a little more, love. Can you do that for me? Can my good girl ride me just a little bit more and make us both cum?”

“Y-Yes! Anything for you, Simon! Jus’ wanna be your good girl…”

Your whines and moans become more and more warbled the closer you get to your orgasm, and Simon is drinking every ounce of your submission. Unable to maintain self-control in the face of greed, sharp teeth pinch your nipple, the swell of your breasts, your shoulder, your neck, your jaw—anywhere he can feed and hear you squeal out in delight, just so long as he eats, eats, eats. Every time enamel pinches plush flesh, he can feel a piece of you slither down his throat and land in his ever-growing stomach—somewhere you’ve learned to consider home. Whispers of praise and love dance across your skin, his hands running up and down your spine as if coaxing you to give him just a little more of yourself, just a bit more so he can sedate the beast and continue to be the practical man you know and love.

“So fucking good for me,” he moans into the crook in your sweaty neck, his cock beginning to throb with the need to release. “That’s my girl, just a little more. I’m so close, love.”

Shaky hands bury themself into thick hair, and you pull until you can hear a hiss leave his lips. “Please, Simon, cum with me, please!”

“My baby wants me to cum with her, hmm?” he teases, albeit weakly. He’s losing control, you both know it. His abs flex with strain, his brow is shining with sweat, and his lips wobble with weakness, and yet he’s fighting to have you cum first just so he can taste how sweet you are on his tongue before he’s no longer human.

“Yes, please! I’m begging you, Simon, cum with me!”

“O-O-Oh, fuck...” Though he’s never been much for blind optimism, a part of him hoped maybe he finally could have control over his desires around you. A foolish thing to think, really, when you call to the beast buried in his ribcage so easily… “I’m gonna cum, darling, cum with me!”

And you do, almost embarrassingly quick. With your arms wrapped around each other, your face buried in his chest and his buried in your hair, your hips clumsily crashing together, you both cum together loudly, lewdly, your names burned into each other’s throats and echoing off of your bedroom walls. 

“You did so well for me, baby,” he mumbles against your shoulder, his lips fumbling to kiss everywhere his teeth sunk into. “I love you so much.”

You sigh and lean into his kisses as much as you can, arms still hanging loosely around his neck and your lungs trying to pull in oxygen. “I love you too, sweetheart, so, so much.”

“C’mon, I’ll go prepare a bath for us.” Gently, he untangles your limbs and lifts you in his strong arms. With one last kiss to your forehead, he begins to make his way to the bathroom, you curled up against his chest and listening to how hard his heart is hammering.

And somewhere between the sound of running water and satisfied giggles, Simon swears he hears a growl coming from his chest—low and threatening, a warning he only has so much time before he loses control and he can no longer contain how he feels about you.

And, for the first time since he discovered that wretched beast, he thinks he might be okay with that.

[emotionaldamages]

coffee shop- lando norris

summary- lando decides to take time away from f1 talks and goes to a coffee shop where he meets someone

pairings- lando norris x nurse student!reader

authors note- not sure how to feel about this one but hopefully you enjoy

Lando Norris, had always lived life on the edge, pushing boundaries as he sped around racetracks as an F1 driver for McLaren.

Y/N, a nursing student with a heart full of compassion and eyes shining with determination, always had a knack for finding beauty in the simplest of moments.

Their paths had never crossed, until one cool, crisp autumn day, fate intervened and brought them together.

It was in the bustling city of London where their story continued. Y/N, her mind preoccupied with the pressures of exams and the weight of her dreams, sought solace in a small café tucked away on a quaint side street.

As she walked inside, the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped her senses, instantly soothing her racing thoughts. With a sigh, she found a cozy corner table, hoping the calming atmosphere would provide some respite from the chaos of her daily life.

Meanwhile, not far away, Lando had escaped the whirlwind world of racing for a few precious moments of peace. Dressed in casual attire, he craved some semblance of normalcy away from the never-ending attention that came with being a celebrated athlete.

With curiosity guiding him, Lando stumbled into the same café, his eyes scanning the room for a sign of familiarity amidst the sea of faces. And there, in the corner, his gaze locked onto Y/N, captivated by the gentle grace that radiated from her.

An inexplicable force drew them closer, as if the universe had conspired to bring them together. Lando, his heart pounding, walked over to her table, his confidence masking the nervous flutter in his chest.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice laced with a charming undertone.

Y/N, startled yet intrigued, gestured for him to take a seat. And so, as they sat across from each other, a connection sparked between them, like an invisible thread weaving its way into their souls.

Conversations flowed effortlessly, as if they had known each other for a lifetime. Lando shared stories of his adrenaline-fueled races, igniting Y/N's passion for adventure, while she painted vivid pictures of her experiences caring for others, igniting a flame of empathy within Lando's heart.

They laughed, they pondered, and they shared secret dreams that they had never dared to voice aloud before. The hours slipped away, unnoticed, as the world around them faded into the background, leaving only the enchanting dance of their words.

Little did they know, their chance encounter in that cozy café would be the beginning of a love story that would defy all expectations, transcending the boundaries of their individual worlds.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky, Lando and Y/N realized that fate had brought them together for a reason. And as they left the café, hand in hand, hope soared within their hearts, for they knew their journey had only just begun.

[stars4gojo]

Coming Home

Dad!Gojo x Fem!reader, they have girl twins and also adopted tsumiki & megumi, just pure fluff a little angst if you squint your eyes, very domestic and cute!

And I’m sorry if I’m coming home too late🤍

Gojo Satoru was put on this earth to have children and be a father. No one believed him when he said he would take in Toji Zenin’s children in high school, and no one definitely believed him when he announced that you were pregnant with his child, who actually turned out to be children - two gorgeous twin girls.

At first, Gojo didn’t really get it when he told people he had been blessed with four girls, including you and Megumi. They'd always pat him on the back and joke about how tough it must be for him and Megumi to deal with four emotional girls, even suggesting he sneak away for a break. He'd just furrow his brow, not fully grasping their point. He was content with his life as it was.

I mean, It was challenging when he'd return home from a tiring mission only to find chaos. The toddlers causing trouble, Tsumiki experimenting with makeup on Megumi's face while a Taylor Swift song blared loudly in the background that he knows you picked. And one of those days, he let his emotions get the best of him, storming into the living room to vent about the mess, the noise, and how Megumi was being treated like a personal doll.

After letting off steam, he left for a calming bath. And when he returned to the living room to apologise for his sudden outburst, he found the room to be squeaky clean, the kids already in bed and a huge card on the dining table with his face sloppily drawn on it with a note that read "Sorry Dad D:" 

His eyes welled with tears as he made his way to kiss his precious girls in apology.

Then there were the days when you and the girls all had your periods synced up, and Gojo learned to tiptoe around the house to avoid setting anyone off, which could be done just by breathing the “wrong way” according to Tsumiki. So, on those days, him and Megumi would sneak out, returning with everyone’s cravings so you could all cuddle together (much to Megumi’s dismay) for a cozy family movie night. 

And those small moments - like when you sweetly call him from the bathroom all clean and ready for the night, only to ask him to clear the hair from the drain. And as gross as the task is, the way you cling to his side afterward, giving him a refreshing kiss on the cheek and calling him your "knight in shining armor" makes it all worthwhile.

Through it all, Gojo realized that despite the ups and downs, life with his five precious girls - and his quietly adoring son was in fact a blessing. This truth hit home every time he received a picture from you during his missions, like the one he got right now,  where you’re all wearing matching pajamas and headbands, with a cheeky text that read 

“We’ve got another one for you, come home soon? :p” 

He can’t wait to exorcise this curse to wear the matching hello kitty pyjamas if it means he can be with his favourite people in the world. 

More of my work!

Authors note: finalyyyy wrote an actual good piece (I think) feedback is always appreciated and also I wanna make friends on here so comment to be mutuals! :pp

[wadewnstonwilson]

logan headcanons for when he's about to meet death || suggestion by anonymous

pairing: logan howlett (wolverine) x genderneutral!reader

author note: let me know if you guys want me to make this into an actual fic!! also would love to make more headcanons in the future featuring logan or wade so please feel free to drop me an ask!

you’re not just a figure; you’re an embodiment of death, one that logan has glimpsed far too many times. over the years, your paths have crossed during moments of violence, heartbreak, or near-death experiences. each time, logan is caught off guard by your serene demeanor, a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding you.

you never linger too long, but when you do, your conversations are strangely casual, almost comforting. logan is always curious about your presence. “you here for me?” he’d grumble, his tone gruff but his eyes searching yours. you’d only smile softly, replying, “not today, logan.” there’s a quiet understanding between you, one that grows deeper with every encounter.

logan has never feared you. if anything, he’s drawn to you. you represent peace in a way he’s never known—an end to his pain, his regrets, and his long, tumultuous life. yet , every time he sees you, there’s a pang of longing, a sense that you understand him in ways no one else could.

even when you’re not visible, logan can sense you. in his most vulnerable moments, whether in pain or exhaustion, he feels the faintest whisper of your presence. it’s not threatening—it’s reassuring, like you’re watching over him, waiting for the right time.

as logan lay dying, his breath ragged and his body broken, you appeared silently beside him. he couldn’t see you yet, but laura could feel an eerie calm settle over the space. she clung to his hand, whispering through tears, but your gaze was fixed solely on him. this was the moment you’d both been waiting for, though neither of you would have chosen it to come this way.

the moment his heart stops, logan feels a strange weight lift from him. the pain, the fatigue, the burden of his years—it all fades as he opens his eyes to find you standing there. your hand reaches out to him, a gesture both familiar and final.

logan doesn’t flinch as you grab his arm, pulling him gently to his feet. his body—once battered and bruised—now feels whole, yet he knows this isn’t life anymore. he looks down to see his lifeless form, laura sobbing beside him, and he swallows hard. “she’ll be alright,” you say softly, your voice soothing. “you did enough.”

logan turns to face you fully, and for the first time, there’s no gruffness, no walls. his expression is a mix of relief and acceptance. “guess i’m finally yours,” he mutters, his voice quieter than usual. you smile, warmth in your eyes, and reply, “you always were.”

you don’t lead him away forcefully. instead, you walk beside him, matching his pace. it’s peaceful, almost serene. logan feels an odd sense of contentment, knowing he’s finally found rest—not just in death, but in you.

from that moment on, you and logan are together. no more fleeting meetings, no more stolen glances. just the two of you, side by side, existing beyond time and space. for logan, it’s the peace he’s craved his entire life. for you, it’s the companionship you’ve always hoped for.

[brucewaynehater101]

can we have chaos gremlin Tim Drake fic recs pls? 🥺

Hullo 👋

Here's some fics where Tim is a bit unhinged. I copied and pasted the summaries the author did:

Tim’s quest to bring Bruce back from his Time-Travel-Super-Vacation goes horribly topsy-turvey when Ra's takes a more pro-active approach to keeping Tim prisoner, and he ends up in an alternate universe where he never existed, and everybody is disorientingly well-adjusted and weirdly obsessed with his “wellness”, whatever that means.

Tim is a clone, Young Justice has a new BFF, and Batman's adoption tendency has been sledgehammered with Post-Ethiopia grief, which means the JLA is now in charge of a miniature Batman despite almost none of them being parents. This can't end badly, can it?

When Tim is 11 he figures it’s not hurting anyone if he. Ya know. Takes a picture in the Batmobile. But then the power goes to his head and all of a sudden he’s hacking the Batmobile and tearing through Gotham on a rescue mission.

Tim Drake fucks around with the timestream and finds out. Now, he has to suddenly deal with a baby face, his family (and hiding from them), the loss of his precious middle child status and the burgeoning realisation that Damian is taller than him.

Beneath Gotham there is something. Anyone who spends time with their feet on the ground can tell you that much. At the surface level it's goons and scared street kids. Beneath them are the sewers, haunted by endless appetites and the scraping of hide against stone. Beneath that is glowing green, craving warmth of blood and rage, hunting for its host. And even further beneath that is something other. Above Gotham there is something. Anyone who spends time in the city can tell you that much. In the shadows of tall buildings or on outcrops of stone there was movement. Flashes of color or shadows taken form. Ever watchful eyes following the movement of the cities beating heart.

He hadn’t been prepared to take on Red Hood in Titans’ Tower. No, Tim had fought cleanly. Fair. But he wasn’t in the business of making the same mistakes twice. And the Red Hood? Well… Jason Todd should have stayed dead.

On a boring night, Tim and Steph discuss their most favorite and stupid yellow-press headlines. Years later, it gives Damian the chance to witness the true unhinged potential of one Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne

Talia doesn't tell Damian his father's name before sending him off to Gotham. This sets off a series of events that no one could have predicted. On an unrelated note, Tim has always wanted to be a big brother

The kid in civvies knocking on the door to his apartment shrieks Jason's name and launches himself at Jason, who catches him on reflex. He realizes it's the Replacement at the same time he notices the kid is so tiny he could barely pass for twelve, let alone fourteen. "Jason," his Replacement mumbles again into his chest, and Jason finally regains the presence of mind to move them backwards into the apartment. If he's murdering the kid now, better to do it with privacy.

Hal Jordan finds a tiny child in the Watchtower, and appropriately decides he should not be there. Robin has other ideas.

Last one: The series "Bird's Night Out" by Calamityjim. Basically, chaotic Robin rivalry with Red Hood

[kisskissbanggang]

Jumpspace Renegade - ep. 13 ✨🚀

[3.8k words, 15min. read - Stray Kids Multi Fic, Scifi!au, Choose Your Own Adventure - Minho x Fem. Reader, Seungmin x Fem. Reader, Chan x Fem. Reader - SFW/Smut in Other Chapters/SOME Spice - Navigating Feelings, Platonic(?) Intimacy, Surprisingly Sweet, Surprisingly Intimidating, Time to Question Some Ethics, Emotional Vulnerability is Hard, Ominous Plot Hints, Forming Alliances, Loyalty Crisis, Delicious Banter and Flirting and Tension, We Finally Left the Ocean Planet, Mentions of Drugging, Always Check the Tags]

[Episodes on Fridays 7pm pst, Polling closes Saturdays 7pm pst]

[Series Masterlist | Come Say Hi!]

The scent of seawater on your skin was bittersweet while you patted a towel over your damp clothes, still dripping in your cabin. To tell the truth, you were so mad that you were surprised you weren’t steaming. Your impromptu swim left you feeling a little filmy to the touch. So now you weren’t just considering venting all your garbage to Minho, but maybe taking a shower as well, just leave the salt air behind and move on.

But you were still really pissed. 

Much to your chagrin, Minho was right. Jisung was such a dick. But was Minho even in a place to talk? You figured he must’ve been wondering what was going on in the time it took for him to get locked in his cabin until it was almost time to launch. As far as you were concerned, asking first was simply a courtesy. You surveyed the room, remembering that Chan had dramatically sealed the hatches to Minho’s cabin. Both the access under the port and the one in the closet would be off-limits. You could just let yourself in, but that seemed intrusive. And what about the cameras? The security cameras around the ship helped you get into hot water with Chan in the first place. If you could avoid the cameras, that’d be even better.

You checked out the closet again. The hatches may be closed, you figured, but that wall inside the closet was still shared with Minho’s cabin, and may even be the closest to it, judging by how it was recessed. You changed into some dry clothes once you were no longer soaked, and then approached the closet. When you pressed your ear to the furthest back wall, there was no hint of activity, but you also weren’t sure what you were expecting. You tapped your fingernail against the brushed metal surface and waited.

Half a minute passed, and a tap responded to your own.

“Hey,” you grinned, “you got a minute? I want to try something.”

“Try something?” Minho repeated, amused. “Sure, just let me kick out all my dinner guests.” His voice was surprisingly clear through the wall, or at least clearer than you’d expected. 

You hung up your towel and remembered to put on your sneakers again, sullenly remembering that you’d be re-entering artificial gravity soon. The garage was cold and empty when you poked your head into the alcove that contained your and Minho’s cabins. Sure enough, there was the camera, out in the top corner of the workshop, furthest away from you. For a moment, you wondered how you could temporarily disable it, when the ship rumbled to life. This was a good development, you realized. Chan would be too busy monitoring the launch to be watching the cameras.

The keycard was slipping between your sweaty fingers while you tiptoed over to Minho’s door. Sure enough, it beeped open right away.

God, Chan was dumb. Of course the keys were universal.

But, you internally admitted, you did take advantage of a pretty dire situation to not so much steal the card as keep it. The key working on all the locks could very well be an open secret.

Inside the cabin, you expected Minho to be lounging on his bed, since that was what was on the other side of your wall. Instead, he was inspecting his chin in the mirror inside his closet. “I’m kind of glad I never could grow a beard like I used to before the Marines,” he nonchalantly remarked. “I haven’t been able to shave in days since I got grabbed at the spaceport–”

“Well, you were right,” you blurted heatedly. “I’m pissed at Jisung.”

Minho looked at you, his eyes lit up. “Is that what you’ve been up to?”

You were about to answer, go on a full tirade, when the ship rumbled underfoot again. According to the view outside, the ship was taxiing to the one boost lane in The Hatchery. The intercom must’ve been muted or deactivated in this cabin, because you could hear it muffled in your own room next door, beginning the countdown, but not in here. Minho sat on his bed.

“So you’re pissed at Jisung,” he echoed you. “What’re you gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully. “I don’t know what it’s going to be like at Sentury yet, or even how long we’re going to be there, so–”

You were interrupted twice. First, Minho blinked at you, clearly confused.

Then the ship launched. You didn’t quite internalize what that countdown was for, you realized. 

Minho caught you when you went flying, breaking your fall onto the bed and preventing you from slamming into the back wall. 

He was a little distracted, judging by the way he softly smiled. “You smell like the ocean. Did you have fun?” 

“I loved it,” you smirked back. 

“So, wait,” he interrupted with a shake of his head, getting you both back on topic, “I thought this was all going down at Victory Meridian.”

You watched clouds slowly turn into space outside Minho’s window. “That’s not exactly what I heard,” you clarified. “How did you get Jisung to spill anyway? All I remember is you left the port authority before us and ended up back at the ship after us.”

Minho shrugged. With how he’d caught you, he was now basically lying beside you in bed. “Jisung was being cagey so I pulled over into an alley and Hyunjin kept watch.” 

Your apparent look of horror made him pause.

“Calm down; I didn’t hurt him. I just gave him an idea of what could happen if he didn’t talk.”

“Fine,” you accepted. “So he talked.”

“Well, he clearly didn’t tell me the truth,” Minho huffed, agitated.

“I don’t think that’s the case,” you argued. “At least not entirely. Jisung told me this is going down at Sentury but the payday would be in Victory Meridian.”

Minho stroked his chin. Annoyingly, from here, he looked gorgeous in the light of the jumpspace stream. “Interesting,” he ruminated. “Anything in particular?”

You were about to answer him, tell him all about the nightclub and the safety deposit box but – at that precise moment – the door opened.

Chan stared at both of you, a tray of food from the galley in his hands. He didn’t yell, he didn’t curse; he only raised an eyebrow. The captain simply walked over to Minho’s desk, roughly set the tray down, and returned to the heavy cabin door, tongue poked into his cheek in clear frustration. He silently waited, leaning against the door with his arms folded until you warily climbed out of Minho’s bed. You were about to leave when he stopped you, expectantly waiting for you again with a hand outstretched. At this, you pulled out the keycard and spitefully dropped it into his hand.

Satisfied, he let you exit before he swung Minho’s door shut and went on his way, not even taking any time to berate you.

“Hey!” you stopped him. “Don’t you want to know what was going on?”

“No,” Chan stubbornly replied while he headed back toward the galley. “I was just wondering what you were up to since you weren’t on the bridge for launch. Sorry for interrupting.”

You almost scoffed when Chan roughly closed the workshop door behind him, and you returned to your cabin. There was a tapping sound at the back of your closet. When you approached and tapped in return, the noise stopped.

“Hey,” came Minho’s voice. “Be careful about this lead, okay? We don’t really have enough info.”

You wondered if Jisung was being careful, if that had ever been a thought in his mind when he told either of you any of this, when your stomach voiced a wretched grumble at you. Chan had been holding a tray of food, so it must be time to eat, and now your hunger caught up with you. But the thought of sharing space with either of those assholes, Chan or Jisung, was killing you. Especially Jisung. You wrinkled your nose at the conclusion that leaving to grab food would probably mean running into the pilot’s stupid face.

As if he read your mind, your intercom crackled on. “Hey,” Jisung greeted, “I know you’re pissed at me, so I just wanted to tell you I already grabbed my food.”

You felt a little ridiculous, side-eyeing the intercom as if it were Jisung himself.

“I meant it, by the way,” he added. “I bet you already talked to Minho somehow. And if you did, I’m sure you figured out I didn’t give him the whole story. I really did tell you first, just like I wanted to and just like I told you.”

There were those feelings again. You really did hate how much this complicated things.

“Hey,” came Jisung again. “You know I can activate the Talk button on your intercom, right? I better hear you leave in the next ten seconds to go get some food or I’m going to annoy the shit out of you.”

You rolled your eyes and pettily blew hard into the receiver on your intercom when you walked past it, swinging the door shut behind you for good measure to make sure you provided a good racket on Jisung’s end. Passing through the workshop, the seal of the galley door blew more chilled air at you and you were thankful you changed into some dry clothes, but now you were living with crunchy, salty hair. By now, you were bemoaning the idea of having to spend time around anyone when you’d already had such a long day. Thankfully, however, it seemed everyone felt similarly, with Hyunjin breezing out of the kitchen carrying a plate and heading right back downstairs. Jisung was upstairs, and you assumed Chan was too, and it made sense to you that Felix and Changbin were nowhere to be seen. Jeongin was busy washing dishes, assumedly having also helped take over cooking duties since Felix was indisposed, but he seemed to hear you nonetheless. He peeked over his shoulder, waving when he caught sight of you and drying his hands so he could hand you a plate he apparently had saved for you, just like Felix had begun to do. 

And despite all this, you were surprised when Seungmin emerged from the kitchen behind him, his glasses still smudged with Azure and dressed down into a sweatshirt with some joggers.

For a mortifying second, you wondered if Seungmin still liked you.

Of course he didn’t, not after Chan humiliated you at the beginning of the day, outing your escapades to everyone but especially to Seungmin, the one person who cared, apparently. 

“Hey!” the navigator acknowledged you, eyes lit up and everything. “I was just thinking about you.” 

Oh?

He sat down in the booth in the common area and waved you over. You tried to compose yourself while you sat down beside him.

“So, how was your meeting?” you tentatively asked, even though you thought you might know the answer already. Minho had mentioned something about the navigator likely dealing with some minor memory loss.

Seungmin self-consciously laughed into his coffee. “I wish I remembered it.”

“You don’t remember?” you implored. “What do you remember? From anything? From this morning?”

He held up his hand, thumb meeting his fingertips to make a “0”. “Nothing,” he chuckled. “I’m betting you already know what happened, because Chan told me when I woke up the first time, and he made sure to tell me that everyone knows. Well, I mean, everyone but me. I remember yesterday, at least. Changbin and Felix are fighting? The last thing I remember was hanging out with Jisung and Hyunjin after we landed.”

“Changbin and Felix aren’t fighting anymore…” you dazedly informed him, trailing off while you wrapped your head around this. Assumedly, from what you could tell, the last events Seungmin recalled were the two of you getting frisky on the bridge during landing and then getting ready for customs afterwards. Nothing from that morning. Nothing about Chan outing you. Seungmin didn’t know you slept with almost half the inhabitants of the ship.

If you wanted, apparently, you were in the clear. You didn’t obliterate your chances with Seungmin. 

He still liked you, and it was obvious from the way he was eager to hear more.

“What?!” he laughed. “What do you mean, they’re not fighting? This was, quite literally, the worst fight those two ever had.”

“Well,” you laughed, still trying to ground this whole revelation about Seungmin’s memory, “Felix got tagged when we were on the surface–”

“WHAT?!” Seungmin blurted again, gobsmacked.

It went back and forth like this. First, you informed Seungmin about Chan’s ridiculous punishment with the gun. You did fudge a detail or two in your retelling, mostly leaving the sordid cause of the whole debacle out of it. Instead you opted to frame it as simply Chan getting back at you for talking to Minho since you came on board.

“What a dick,” the navigator commiserated. “I don’t know what he has against you, but Chan is such a dick sometimes. It makes sense that you’d talk to Minho; he’s the first person that you met on board and you both got picked up on T’kaarm. I assume there’s some mutual interest there.”

You could think of a couple reasons Chan had it out for you. First and biggest of all was how he did not trust your interactions with Minho. That was pretty justified, but there was something about it that felt a little… personal. But that wasn’t what stood out to you most.

For some reason, it never really occurred to you that Minho hadn’t been detained long when you stumbled into the Ambler in the first place, but that instead he’d only recently been bagged. It suddenly seemed strange that you’d never run into him before then, but you pushed past this, instead regaling everything that had gone down in The Hatchery for Seungmin, from Minho saving Felix to all of you finding Jisung when you went to go spring Hyunjin out of jail. You did decide to leave out Jisung’s lead, however. Like Minho said, there still wasn’t much information surrounding it. Nevertheless, Seungmin was enraptured, following every word you said until you decided to share what Changbin and Jeongin could recall of his meeting with his clients.

Seungmin’s cheeks rouged for a minute. “I wouldn’t put it past me to mess up a drop like this,” he explained. “I’ve been a little stressed ever since I realized I needed to get those guys physical charts so I’m not surprised that I probably made it look like I was about to pull something. Can’t say I’m even mad. But Azure? I haven’t messed with that stuff since Academy and I hated it.”

“I’m glad you’re alright, though,” you worried. Feeling a little brazen, you reached for his glasses and used your shirt to wipe the remaining blue dust off the lenses. It was admittedly hilarious, feeling bashful about this when the last time you’d been close like this had been spent with you and Seungmin engaging in much more than innocent little gestures.

“I’m glad you’re alright, too,” he smiled. “Sounds like you’ve had a crazy day.” He had the kindest eyes behind those glasses. You mused for a second that this must’ve been what it was like to date normally.

In a moment that caught you viscerally off guard, Seungmin combed your hair back behind your ear with his fingers.

“You still smell like the ocean,” he sweetly observed, inadvertently echoing Minho from earlier and making your heart thump embarrassingly in your chest. “What else are you doing tonight?”

“Me?” you dumbly asked. “I was thinking a shower. Crazy day and all, like you said. And you?”

“Oh,” Seungmin shrugged flippantly. “I was thinking of turning in... Still pretty tired.”

This whole exchange felt incredibly loaded. Was Seungmin trying to see if you’d proposition him? He was expectantly lingering in the booth, his arm slung on the back of the seat where he faced you. You came to the realization that this might’ve even been an opportunity to kiss him.

But was now even the time?

You may have had a clear slate, but of the seven souls on board besides you and him, you still had the knowledge that you’d fucked three of them.

Not to mention they all knew, too.

Literally the only person who didn’t know was Seungmin.

Jisung’s remark that Seungmin was an all or nothing kind of guy was gnawing at you.

And you didn’t know how to feel about that.

Which, regrettably, meant you had to leave this be.

“I should let you get going to bed then,” you begrudgingly decided. You managed to put on a gentle smile, but that didn’t stop Seungmin from looking a little crushed.

Fine. Maybe you could cut it halfway.

You leaned forward, softly kissing his cheek. “Goodnight, Seungmin,” you smirked. You pulled back before he got any ideas. 

That same, warm smile returned. “Goodnight, Nova,” he bid you farewell, watching as you slid out of the booth and got up to your feet. 

You giddily headed back to your cabin, caught between feeling like you got away with something but also feeling the rush of having any sort of positive effect like this on a guy like Seungmin. And it wasn’t even like you were lying; you did still want to shower, the idea of some warm water really on your skin to clear your head was sounding especially refreshing after the whole day. 

The act of grabbing your toiletries was automatic, drifting through time and space and only coming back into consciousness long enough to note that Seungmin already went back upstairs by the time you retreated into the central head on board the ship. Your shower shoes did a terrible job as usual keeping you magnetized to the floor, but all that mattered was the soothing sensation of physically washing off all this action so you could recenter yourself for whatever was coming next. 

Mainly, there was the headache of this lead that Jisung had given you. Club scenes were never really your thing, but you figured they were pretty similar anywhere you went. Assumedly, if there was a hidden treasure, someone had to hate whoever was keeping it enough to spill where it was being kept and how to access it. In a club or casino setting, this was almost always some employee, but you could figure it out if this was someone in management, too, or even someone connected on the outside.

And, of course, there was the bigger headache. Did you even want to work with Jisung on this?

He stole your shit and risked losing it and went to jail for it – all for this lead.

But he also made sure to only tell you the whole truth.

Allegedly.

Following this trail of thought, something Minho had said earlier suddenly stood out to you, plain as day, lit up in neon lights:

Hyunjin was standing watch while Minho coerced Jisung into telling him the partial truth that he ended up getting. 

What exactly did that look like?

Keeping watch in an alleyway could’ve meant that Hyunjin had been meters away… or maybe right next to them.

Your mind raced when the seal of the door to the washroom hissed, making you jump.

“Hyunjin, that better not be you. I know you hate jail but if you’re wasting the filtration system again I’m gonna–”

Of course.

You and Chan stared at each other, the captain walking in on you for a second time. His eyes blew wide open upon this realization and he clapped his cybernetic hand over his eyes before he turned around. Unlike you, who preferred to walk in and out of the showers fully dressed, Chan only wore a towel secured around his hips.

“Do you want to say sorry?” you jeered. “Not very fitting behavior for a captain, walking in on a lady.” 

“Some lady,” scoffed Chan. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on between you and the bounty?” He still wasn’t looking at you from the doorway to the shower stalls.

You turned off the water, leaving the annoying hum of the vent as background noise for this confrontation. Chan’s Adam's apple visibly bobbed when you grabbed your towel near the doorway, taking your sweet time to dry off.

“You’re too paranoid, Captain,” you coolly dismissed him with a roll of your eyes. “I thought we were friends. Or at least potential friends, as you phrased it. Why are you so convinced something is going on?”

“Look,” he huffed, a hand still covering his eyes, “I need to know. Not even as a friend, not even as a potential friend, but as Captain. This guy is fucking dangerous and I need to know if anything is putting my crew or ship at risk.”

“Your ship?” you immaturely questioned.

“Jisung’s ship,” Chan grumbled. “And just because you fucked the guy doesn’t mean you know him.”

You reached for Chan’s cybernetic arm. He stubbornly closed his eyes instead, wrenching them more tightly shut when he felt you hook your used towel on his fingers. “Likewise, handsome,” you refuted. “I don’t know you because we fucked, just like you don’t know me. What’s so dangerous about him anyway?”

“You’re impossible,” the captain bit back, glaring at you until he caught sight of you still standing naked in front of him. He shut his eyes again. “I’m just asking for some fucking respect and loyalty if you’re going to be on the crew.”

“And who says you don’t have it?” you laughed, taking extra long to pull on your clean clothes. “Who says I’m not playing him?”

You finished getting dressed and teasingly pulled at Chan’s own towel. He dropped yours and immediately saved his from falling, eyes flying open in the process. There was that look again, like he could eat you alive and enjoy every minute of it. For hating being called a pirate, he pretty firmly embodied the reputation such a title would have.

But maybe the role of bounty hunter and intersystem trader carried similar connotations. Chan seemed like just as much of a scoundrel as Minho did. You respected it, at least a little.

“If that’s the case, Miss Nova,” mocked the captain, rolling his neck before he squared his shoulders across from you in the doorway, “if you are playing him, then why not make an alliance? Not to the crew or anything, just to me. Just so I know you actually have my back, no matter what you do, or who you fuck.”

Lucky for Chan, he finally cracked you. You hadn’t considered that the captain would hit you with the exact proposition Minho had, and you needed to think about this. A hint of a smirk tugged at Chan’s lips. If you took him up on this, you could approach the whole arrangement exactly like you were with Minho: say yes, and do whatever the hell you want later if it came down to it. But, obviously, there was the very real possibility that this could all blow up in your face. 

[elizaleclerc]

nobody else matters ❣️

charles leclerc x reader

summary: fem mc driver teases charles when they sneak off during media day <3 (a little 18+)

author’s note: thx for the love on my first post! feel free to message me w ideas :)

song: les by childish gambino

word count: 1.5k

The blistering sun beat down on you like a relentless hammer, its rays penetrating even the thick driver suit that clung to your body. Every step felt like walking through molten lava as you made your way through the crowd of the Miami paddock. The heat was suffocating, but you knew it would only get worse once you were inside the cockpit of your car, racing at top speeds.

Adjusting the snug neck strap of your navy blue Red Bull suit, you took a moment to fluff out your hair and reapply some makeup to combat the sweat-inducing temperatures. It was media day, and there were endless photos and interviews to be taken throughout the circuit. Red Bull's social media manager was in charge of guiding both you and Max around to various games and activities designed to showcase not just your driving skills, but also your personality off the track. From trivia challenges to racing on bouncy balls, each game added its own layer of entertainment for fans and media alike. And between all the fun, there were also professional photoshoots scattered throughout the day, capturing every angle of you and Max in your sleek suits against the vibrant backdrop of the race track.

In the high-stakes world of Formula One racing, Red Bull's main rival was none other than the prestigious Ferrari team. But for Max, it wasn't just about winning on the track - he also harbored a deep hatred for their lead driver, Charles Leclerc. Little did Max know that you, his own teammate, had been carrying on a secret romance with Charles for months now. The thrill and danger of sneaking around in the paddock, hiding your love from the prying eyes of media and fellow drivers, only added to the passion between you and Charles. He consumed your every thought, igniting a fiery desire that burned hotter than the scorching Miami sun.

Charles had a way of affecting your mood, even when he wasn't physically present. Whenever you were apart, there was a subtle shift in the air, as if a piece of you was missing. As a popular driver, Charles was no stranger to media attention, and despite your best efforts to keep your relationship under wraps, rumors still swirled about the two of you being more than just colleagues. But it was no secret how your face lit up whenever he was near, and how his own expression mirrored yours. In each other's company, it was as if the world melted away and all that mattered was the connection between you. Charles had become your everything - always checking in on you before every race and worrying over even the smallest of crashes. You were each other's constant support and strength amidst the chaos of the racing world.

Despite the exhilaration of keeping your forbidden romance with a rival driver hidden from the public eye, Charles's contract with Ferrari was set to expire at the end of this season. This presented him with the opportunity to switch teams and potentially join you at Red Bull. You had pleaded with him multiple times, urging him to take Max's place so that the two of you could finally race together. But Charles was adamant about wanting you by his side at Ferrari, making it a constant battle between your conflicting desires. This impasse seemed never ending, both of you refusing to budge from your positions, determined to make the best decision for yourselves and your racing careers.

Beads of sweat lingered on your flushed forehead as you wrapped up another exhilarating game outdoors for the media with Max. Your body was craving for a break from the scorching heat, and so you decided to make your way back to your driver room in the paddock.

You unzipped your tight driver suit, feeling instant relief as the cool air hit your damp skin. The thin white fireproof fabric clung to your body and provided some much-needed respite from the intense heat. As you opened the door to your driver room, it swung shut behind you, strong arms wrapping around your waist and soft lips pressing against yours. Charles' skin was glistening with sweat under the dim light, but the fiery passion and love between the two of you set the room ablaze.

Every time his hands touched your skin, it felt like fire spreading through your veins. His hot breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine as he whispered desperately, "God, I've missed you." You couldn't help but smile into his next kiss, knowing the effect you had on him.

"It's only been a few hours, darling" you teased, but secretly thrilled at his level of desire.

"You know I crave you all the time, mon amour," he murmured in a husky voice that made your whole body quiver with anticipation. As his hand trailed lower, you could feel yourself getting more and more aroused.

Charles noticed your heightened state and flashed a devilish grin. "How long is your break?" he asked mischievously.

You shook your head, trying to suppress a giggle. "No, we can't. Not here, are you insane?" But the thought of being caught only added to the thrill. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine giving in to such intense passion in the cramped quarters of your driver's room. And yet, the danger only fueled your desire. Outside, people were milling around the paddock, completely unaware of the fiery passion unfolding just feet away from them.

“Please, I need you,” he begged, his voice desperate and cracking. You couldn't resist the sight of him like this – tall and muscular with a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. His eyes searched yours, pleading for you to fulfill his desires.

A smirk played on your lips as you leaned in closer, your own body buzzing with anticipation. “Oh baby,” you purred, running your fingers through his dark hair. “You know I can't resist when you beg like that.” Your hands trailed down his chest, undoing his driver's suit with practiced ease.

“Let me please you,” you whispered, your voice dripping with desire. And without hesitation, Charles was putty in your hands.

You pressed against him, feeling the heat and power emanating from his body. Your lips found their way to his neck, leaving a trail of passionate kisses and gentle bites. With each one, his breath grew heavier and his grip on you tighter.

Your hand slipped under the waistband of his pants, finding him already hardened with need. He let out a low moan as your touch sent shivers down his spine. And as your fingers explored further down, he could barely contain himself – caught between wanting more and wanting to hold onto this moment forever.

You trailed your fingers along his length, eliciting a deep groan from his throat. Your lips brushed against his ear as you asked, "How does that feel, baby?" He responded with a low moan and you continued to palm him, relishing in the way he melted under your touch.

His head tilted back and you took advantage of the exposed skin on his neck, peppering it with kisses while your hand worked its magic. As his breathing became more erratic and you could tell he was close, you suddenly stopped.

"What- what are you doing?" He questioned, confusion evident in his voice.

A devilish grin spread across your face as you whispered in his ear, "Once you tell me you want to drive in navy blue, we can do things like this more often."

He pulled back, his intense gaze filled with passionate anger and desire. "Oh mon amour, we both know you look better in red," he growled lowly.

Your bodies were mere inches apart, the heat between you building into a fiery intensity. He leaned in to kiss you again, your movements seamlessly meshing together. As he pulled away, you couldn't help but notice that he was still visibly aroused in his suit.

"Sit here for a moment and compose yourself. Slip out without getting caught," you whispered teasingly, a sly smile on your lips. You quickly zipped up your own suit and left your driver's room.

Stepping back into the warm air outside, you took a deep breath and grabbed a water bottle to cool your racing heart. A sense of pride swelled within you as you walked away from Charles, leaving him hanging with unfulfilled desire.

Little did you know, as you returned to Max and Red Bull's social media manager to prepare for the upcoming photo ops, that a stray worker had captured Charles leaving your room on their phone camera...

[zapreportsblog]

Hi, so, I'd like to request a one shot with Billy and Stu x Reader who looks cute and innocent, she can even trick them into thinking she's a sweet lamb, they are kinda friends? Like, the boys like to hang around her house, since she's almost always alone, and they watch horror movies together and all, Billy being creepy as always and Stu weirdly cute. Anyways, she looks so sweet and innocent, but, in reality, she has some dark thoughts and when a guy from school treats her bad or something like that (I'm think of her bing like a hidden Pearl) she kills him, but no one knows, after that she starts to go into a killing spree and the boys get worried she'll be a victim of this new killer, until they catch her killing, being stained with blood. I'd love if you could write it, so thanks ❤️ (English is not my first language, so sorry for any grammar error)

Oh no this was perfect so even if English isn’t your first language I got what you had in mind

↳ devil in disguise ↲

✭ pairing : billy loomis x reader x stu macher

✭ fandom : scream

✭ summary : billy loomis and stu macher befriend the new girl, there something about the innocence in her that has them wanting to keep her close, but what they don’t know is that underneath all that innocence is a psycho killer watching and building up.

✭ authors note : this will be pretty fucking long let’s be honest but I hope you enjoy :)

Appearances can be deceiving, a truth that resonates throughout the intricate tapestry of human nature. In the complex dance of life, the most innocent of individuals often harbor the potential for both light and darkness, a duality that echoes the very essence of existence.

Beneath the gentle facade of a kind smile, the spark of laughter, or the softness of a touch, lies a spectrum of emotions and desires that can lead down paths both virtuous and treacherous. Each person is a canvas painted with shades of morality, their choices a brushstroke that can create beauty or chaos, depending on the journey they choose to undertake.

The predator lurking within, the shadow of primal instincts, is a reminder that human beings are products of evolution, shaped by eons of survival instincts and genetic predispositions. In the heart of every individual, there exists a part that craves power, control, or fulfillment, a yearning that can manifest as ambition, passion, or even obsession.

Yet, it is important to recognize that the coexistence of light and darkness within us is not inherently sinister. It is a reflection of the human experience, a reminder that every choice is a crossroads, offering the potential for change, growth, and transformation. The predator within can propel us forward, driving us to achieve our goals, protect our loved ones, and forge our destinies.

In a world where appearances often mask the intricacies of the human soul, it becomes crucial to acknowledge the duality that resides within each of us. By embracing both our capacity for kindness and our susceptibility to darker urges, we gain a deeper understanding of ourselves and those around us. The predator lurking within can serve as a cautionary tale, a reminder of the importance of self-awareness, empathy, and the conscious choice to channel our instincts toward the betterment of ourselves and society.

Ultimately, the dichotomy of light and darkness within us mirrors the complexity of the world we inhabit. It is a testament to the richness of the human experience, the endless potential for growth, and the ever-present opportunity to shape our narratives, whether we tread the path of the predator or harness the power of our inner light.

The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting its golden rays over the idyllic small town of Woodsboro. In the heart of the town, the high school's courtyard was a hub of activity, a place where friendships were forged and teenage dramas played out against the backdrop of lockers and laughter.

Stu Macher and Billy Loomis, the quintessential charismatic duo, leaned casually against the fountain. Their respective girlfriends, Tatum Riley and Sidney Prescott, stood nearby, laughter and conversations weaving a tapestry of youthful energy.

"Hey, ladies," Stu greeted with a grin, his bleached-blond hair catching the sunlight.

Billy's dark eyes sparkled as he echoed the sentiment, "Looking good as always."

As the quartet exchanged banter and shared glances, a figure caught their attention. Randy Meeks, known for his encyclopedic knowledge of horror movies and his perpetual enthusiasm, approached with a wide grin that stretched from ear to ear. At his side was a girl who looked almost ethereal—a new face in a town where everyone knew everyone else.

"(Y/N), meet the gang," Randy said with exuberance, presenting the girl to the group.

(Y/N) stood shyly, her presence an aura of innocence and warmth. Her eyes were like open books, wide and filled with curiosity as she took in her surroundings. A white dress, loose yet gracefully hugging her figure, accentuated her delicate beauty. The boys, Billy and Stu, exchanged glances that spoke volumes—here was someone who radiated innocence and gentleness.

"Hey, (Y/N)," Tatum greeted with a friendly smile, extending a welcoming hand.

Sidney's eyes held a soft kindness as she added, "Nice to meet you."

"(Y/N)," Stu's voice was friendly, his grin never faltering.

But it was Billy who couldn't tear his gaze away. In his eyes, (Y/N) appeared as if she could do no wrong—a portrait of purity in a world where darkness often lurked. Her eyes reminded him of Bambi's, wide and open, untouched by the harsh realities of life.

"Hi," (Y/N) responded, her voice soft and sweet, as if her words were a whisper carried by the wind.

As the introductions and pleasantries continued, a sense of intrigue filled the air. The new girl was like a breath of fresh air, and the boys found themselves captivated by her presence. Billy's heart stirred, his curiosity piqued by the enigma that was (Y/N).

As the days stretched into a week, the dynamic between Billy, Stu, and (Y/N) began to evolve. To the casual observer, it seemed like the boys were constantly bothering her, popping up unexpectedly and causing her to jump with exaggerated "scares." (Y/N)'s jumpy nature only seemed to fuel their amusement, and they reveled in the opportunity to tease her.

"(Y/N), you really need to work on your reflexes," Stu teased, a wide grin playing on his lips.

Billy joined in, smirking, "Yeah, seriously, what are you so jumpy about?"

Inside, however, their thoughts took on a darker undertone. Each little expression that flickered across (Y/N)'s face was dissected in their minds, and they toyed with the idea of involving her in their sinister games. But deep down, they couldn't shake the notion that she was different, that her innocence was genuine, and that she deserved more than the fate they had planned for their victims.

One night, as they lounged around in Stu's living room, the topic of their potential victims came up, their voices hushed as they spoke of Ghostface's next target.

"You know, man, I've been thinking," Stu mused, his tone contemplative.

Billy's eyes met Stu's, curiosity gleaming within them. "About what?"

"(Y/N)," Stu replied, his voice surprisingly serious. "I mean, yeah, we've joked about her being our next victim, but... I don't know, there's something different about her."

Billy's brows furrowed in thought, his expression mirroring Stu's. "Yeah, I've been thinking the same thing. Her innocence... it's real, isn't it? I mean, it can't be faked."

Stu nodded, a somberness settling over them. "She's the only one in this school who doesn't put on a facade. I mean, just look at her. She's not trying to impress anyone or play games. She's just... herself."

As the two friends contemplated (Y/N)'s genuine nature, a decision began to crystallize within them. The idea of involving her in their deadly plans felt wrong, as if they were tainting something pure. The darkness within them seemed to clash with the light that (Y/N) exuded.

"Maybe she's the exception," Billy mused. "Maybe she deserves something better than what we had planned."

Stu's gaze was resolute. "I agree. We can't touch her. She's... untouchable."

And so, in the midst of their twisted games and hidden motives, (Y/N) emerged as a beacon of authenticity, a figure they couldn't bring themselves to tarnish. Their dark thoughts and desires were held at bay, overruled by the recognition that some innocence was too pure to be tainted.

As the days continued to unfold, the bond between Billy, Stu, and (Y/N) deepened, shaped by unspoken understanding and the realization that appearances could indeed be deceiving. In the shadows of their minds, they grappled with their own darkness while protecting the fragile light that (Y/N) represented—an innocence they couldn't bring themselves to shatter, even in the midst of their sinister games.

The bond between Billy, Stu, and (Y/N) deepened with every passing day, an unspoken connection that drew them together. As the days grew longer, they found themselves gravitating toward her house, seeking her company whenever they could. They had adopted a role of self-proclaimed bodyguards, protecting her from a danger she didn't even know was real.

"(Y/N), you seriously need to upgrade your horror movie tolerance," Stu laughed one evening, sprawled on the couch as a horror movie played on the TV screen.

"Yeah, seriously," Billy chimed in from the armchair, his eyes fixed on (Y/N) with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

Despite her jumping at some of the movie's more intense scenes, (Y/N) laughed, trying to play it off. "Hey, don't judge me. I'm just not used to all this scary stuff."

Stu grinned, an idea forming in his mind. "You know what would be fun? A horror movie marathon. We'll toughen you up."

Billy's eyes gleamed with a sinister amusement, his gaze lingering on (Y/N) as he added, "Yeah, that's a good idea. Get you ready for the real thing."

Unbeknownst to (Y/N), their intentions were far from innocent. In their twisted minds, they envisioned her as the ultimate victim—the damsel in distress they could play out their darkest fantasies with. Billy's creepy stares and Stu's vivid imagination blended seamlessly with their supposed role as protectors.

As the marathon continued, (Y/N) did her best to keep her composure, laughing off her jumps and enjoying the company of her friends. She glanced at Billy and Stu, both absorbed in the movie, their expressions revealing something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Hey, you guys aren't actually planning to scare me for real, are you?" (Y/N) quipped, a playful glint in her eye.

Billy's lips curled into a charming smile, masking his true thoughts. "Of course not, (Y/N). We're your protectors, remember?"

Stu's grin was genuine, his gaze softening as he added, "Yeah, we're not gonna let anything happen to you."

Despite the odd tension in the room, (Y/N) felt a genuine warmth emanating from them. The camaraderie they shared was precious to her, and their presence was a comfort amidst the backdrop of uncertainty.

As the days turned into weeks, (Y/N)'s interactions with Billy and Stu continued to deepen, their friendship a blend of innocence and darkness that seemed to mirror her own conflicted thoughts. Beneath her sweet exterior, a hidden pearl of darkness lay dormant, waiting for the right catalyst to awaken it.

One day, after school, (Y/N) found herself crossing paths with a guy from school who had treated her with disdain. His words had been sharp, his actions cruel, leaving a lingering bitterness within her. As she walked away, her fists clenched and her thoughts turned dark. Anger simmered beneath her surface, and a newfound resolve began to take hold.

That night, the moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the town. (Y/N) moved with a determination that belied her innocent appearance. Her actions were swift, her thoughts cold and calculated as she carried out a plan that would forever change the course of events.

The next day, news of the guy's death spread like wildfire. Whispers of foul play and shock resonated through the school corridors. Nobody suspected the innocent new girl, the one with wide eyes and a demeanor that seemed incapable of harm.

As the days turned into weeks, the incident faded into the background, but (Y/N)'s newfound darkness lingered within her. She grappled with the conflicting emotions that surged within, a duality that remained hidden from the world.

Billy and Stu watched from the shadows, unaware of (Y/N)'s secret but sensing a shift in her. They continued their roles as her protectors, the twisted bond between them growing stronger. Little did they know, they were not the only ones harboring darkness.

The trio continued to spend time together, their connection both genuine and unsettling. (Y/N)'s thoughts were a storm of conflicting desires, her actions a reflection of the hidden Pearl within her—a darkness that had tasted blood and now hungered for more.

In a town where appearances were often deceiving, (Y/N) navigated the delicate balance between innocence and darkness. The lines between right and wrong blurred as her hidden thoughts and actions remained shrouded in secrecy, while the world continued to see only the sweet, innocent new girl who could do no harm.

As (Y/N)'s dark inclinations grew, so did the trail of bodies left in her wake. The once-hidden pearl of darkness had been fully awoken, and her actions took on a chilling rhythm. Each victim was carefully chosen, their lives extinguished with a methodical precision that sent shivers down her own spine.

Billy and Stu, the twisted duo who had unknowingly played a role in (Y/N)'s descent into darkness, began to notice the change in her demeanor. Their concern grew as they realized that the one they had deemed untouchable was now capable of unspeakable acts. The irony was not lost on them—the protectors were now the ones who feared for her safety.

"(Y/N), are you okay?" Billy's voice held a note of unease as he approached her one afternoon.

She smiled sweetly, her eyes glinting with a hidden intensity. "Of course, Billy. I'm fine."

Stu's eyes were sharp as he added, "You seem... different lately."

(Y/N)'s laughter was almost melodic, a stark contrast to the darkness that seemed to dance within her eyes. "Oh, just exploring new aspects of myself."

As the bodies continued to pile up, news of the new killer on the loose spread throughout the town. Fear and paranoia took hold, and Billy and Stu's concern for (Y/N) grew exponentially. They watched her closely, trying to discern the truth behind her smiles and the shifting shades within her gaze.

One evening, as they gathered at Stu's house, the topic of the killer came up once again. "(Y/N), have you heard about this new killer?" Stu asked, his tone casual.

She feigned innocence, her voice dripping with sweetness. "Oh, I've heard. It's terrible what's happening."

Billy's voice was strained as he pressed, "You haven't seen anything suspicious, have you?"

She met their gaze, her eyes a storm of hidden secrets. "Oh, nothing suspicious. Just a town gripped by fear."

The tension in the room was palpable, a silent recognition passing between them that (Y/N)'s dark thoughts were far more than they could have imagined. In their quest for power and control, they had inadvertently unleashed a force they couldn't fully comprehend.

As the days turned into nights, the town continued to reel from the new killer's actions. While the trail of bodies grew, (Y/N) remained a step ahead, her innocence a perfect mask for her true nature.

Billy and Stu's worry for her safety intensified, their twisted roles as protectors becoming a desperate attempt to shield her from a danger they were unaware she posed herself. In a chilling dance of fate, the lines between predator and prey blurred as (Y/N) navigated her dark path, leaving those around her to grapple with the realization that appearances could indeed be deceiving.

The tension in the air was thick as the night sky hung like a heavy curtain over the town. Billy and Stu's concern for (Y/N) had reached a fever pitch, each body that dropped heightening their anxiety. Their roles as protectors had been twisted beyond recognition, their concern evolving into a fear they dared not admit.

In the midst of their own murderous pursuits, the two boys stumbled upon a sight that shattered their perceptions. Moonlight cast an eerie glow on the scene before them—their sweet, innocent friend standing amidst the remnants of a fresh kill, her hands stained with blood.

Frozen in their tracks, Billy and Stu stared at (Y/N), their breath catching in their throats. A palpable tension hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the darkness that now bound them all together.

Stu was the first to break the silence, his voice a mixture of confusion and desperation. "What... What the hell, (Y/N)?"

(Y/N)'s gaze remained steady, her eyes holding a mix of defiance and something deeper, something that Billy and Stu struggled to grasp.

"Billy, Stu," she said softly, her voice carrying a weight that belied her innocent exterior. "I know you've been worried about me. But you don't need to be. I've always known what I am."

Billy's voice trembled as he managed to speak, but it wasn’t from fear. No, it was something else he was feeling his heart pounding in his chest. "What are you talking about, (Y/N)?"

A knowing smile tugged at the corners of (Y/N)'s lips, her eyes glinting with a chilling clarity. "Predators and prey, Billy. It's the natural order of things. Carnivores feed on herbivores. But there are also omnivores—predators that feed on both."

Stu's confusion was etched across his face as he demanded, "What does that have to do with anything?"

(Y/N)'s gaze turned piercing as she took a step forward, her presence exuding an aura of both danger and inevitability. "I'm an omnivore, Stu. A predator that feeds on everyone and everything. It's just the way I am."

The stand-off continued, a twisted tableau of secrets, revelations, and darkness. The boundaries between their roles as predators and protectors had blurred, leaving them all to confront a reality they had never anticipated.

Stu's hand trembled as he reached up and pulled off his Ghostface mask, his expression a mix of vulnerability and confusion. "Why, (Y/N)? Why are you doing this?"

(Y/N)'s smile was haunting, her words carrying the weight of centuries of history. "Because, Stu, it's survival of the fittest. The world is full of predators and prey, and I've chosen to be a predator."

Billy's fingers gently grazed (Y/N)'s cheek, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. His eyes were filled with mischief as he moved her hair to the side, tucking it behind her ear. With a smirk playing on his lips, he leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You enjoy that, don't you?" he said, his words dripping with anticipation. "The thrill of killing."

(Y/N) stared up at him, her Bambi-like eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. She nodded slowly, her heart pounding in her chest. It was a dark secret she had kept hidden from the world, a part of herself she had never fully embraced until now.

Stu, having observed the exchange, stepped forward after a moment of contemplation. He moved silently, his presence sending shivers down (Y/N)'s spine. As he stood behind her, his body pressed against hers, an unexpected warmth spread through her veins.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. The embrace was both comforting and electrifying, a mix of tenderness and danger. (Y/N) found herself leaning into him, her breath catching as she surrendered to the darkness within.

Together, the trio began to explore the depths of their twisted desires. A newfound bond formed, fueled by their shared secrets and the thrill of the unknown. They reveled in the chaos they created, leaving a trail of darkness in their wake.

As the nights grew longer and their actions more audacious, (Y/N) realized she had found her true family. In Billy and Stu, she had discovered kindred spirits who understood her in ways no one else ever could.

Their connection went beyond the realm of friendship. It was a dark and wicked love, forged in blood and mayhem. They would stand together, united in their pursuit of chaos, forever entangled in each other's embrace.

And so, (Y/N) embraced her dark side fully, relishing in the exhilaration of the hunt, and finding solace in the arms of those who shared her twisted desires.

[orshii]

Will I Ever See You Again? Chapter 5: The Love You Want

Author: orshii

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x reader

Warning: cursing, violence, blood

Word count: 5,8 k

Summary: You were left alone with your brother, Yunho, and his best friend Hongjoong, after your parents' death. Yunho had someone to grieve with, but you? You had no one as your brother and his best friend pushed you away, singing becoming your only savior. There was one rule that Yunho made inside his friend group: “Don’t touch my sister”. And for this reason, Hongjoong had always kept his distance. But one night, you find yourself in danger. And from then on, Hongjoong does not leave your side. He is suddenly overprotective of you, and your relationship shifts and becomes fraught with tension and unspoken feelings, with secrets lurking beneath the surface and a painful past haunting you. Will you find out the secrets your brother and best friend have been keeping away from you? Will you be able to finally free yourself from your cruel past?

Will you fall in love amidst the chaos around you?

A/N: Omg finally I could upload the next chapter. Sorry for not updating for so long I just had to finish my thesis, which I managed to do...finally. About the story, we are slowly reaching the end. *sobbing*. I really love this chapter, because we finally understand a lot of things here as the truth unfolds. And their connection is going to be stronger, both with Hongjoong and Yunho finally. I think there's going to be one or two more chapters left. Have fun reading it, let me know your opinion if somebody is still here! :'( (sorry if there are mistakes!)

(Series Masterlist)

Taglist: @bvidzsoo @vixensss @deltamoon666 @scarfac3 @chatsgotmytongue

@xiang-zalea @cookiesandcreammy (taglist is open <3)

I wanted to throw up, to let all of these feelings out, I felt disgusted, sick of myself. I have never been hating myself this much.

I drove to the place that always calmed me down, it gave me peace. It was a parking lot up in the mountains, and when you walked to the edge of the parking lot, you saw the ocean and the town, where most of the people were already in dreamland.

I needed to stop while driving because I felt so overwhelmed, I was afraid I might kill someone on the road.

I stepped out of my car, the air was cold, but I felt hot, my skin was burning from all the blood that was continuously pumping into my body. I wanted to rip my heart out in that moment, to throw it into the ocean next to me, because I couldn't handle this pain.

I was breathing heavily as I leaned my back against my car, slowly sliding down on the dirty ground, I lifted my knees to my chest, burying my hand into my hair, trying to rip it out, as I wasn't completely myself, I wanted to hurt myself, for all the shit I said and for the things that happened.

I couldn't cry, I felt empty, I wanted to cry, just so my tears could comfort me, but they never came, just as I was alone all my life, no one was there to comfort me. No one was there because I pushed everyone away when they tried to comfort me. I needed to laugh, at myself, at life, for tricking me my whole existence, promising me good things, whispering sweet nothingness into my ear, so I believed, good was coming my way. But those were only lies. Lies, that promised me so much, lies that made me keep going, lies that kept me alive.

But as the truth came out, what was the point anymore? What was the point of living anymore? What was the purpose of my living? Was there any purpose?

These questions rounded my head all the time. It felt like I was in the middle of a desert, feeling thirsty, I saw water in the distance, but as I tried to reach it, it felt farther and farther away. That's called a mirage, a mirage is a thing you crave, but as you try to reach it, it suddenly disappears, it tricks you, making your eyes believe what you see. This is how life feels right now, and I couldn't escape the warm desert. And I wasn't sure if I even wanted to anymore.

I looked up to the sky, as my eyes fell on the beautiful moon above me, shining at me with its full power. Can't I just be the moon right now and disappear? Can I just shine in the dark, giving some hope to the people, whom can't find their way in the dark night? Would I be able to show the way towards people's desires? Would I be able to love myself, so I could give all my love to those who deserve it? Would I be able to…love someone? Do I even deserve to be loved?

The questions never stopped, but the answers were nowhere to be seen, as one particular face popped up in my mind. A smiling face, that comforted me every time I saw it, a face that gave me nothing but safeness. His beautiful sharp brown eyes reminded me of the depth of a forest in autumn. His thin lips reminded me of how gently he kissed me like he was a pirate and I was his long-searched treasure. His voice sounded like a melody, I never wanted to forget. His black and blonde hair, highlighted his eyes, his nose, and his lips. His hair reminded me all the time of how two-sided he was. He was possessive and overprotective but at the same time, he did all of this, because he was soft and caring.

I loved both sides of him…I think…I- I love him. I don't know when and how it happened, but I think I fell for Kim Hongjoong so badly, I couldn't stand up anymore. Not without him. I needed him in my life because I am not worthy enough at all without him.

That very familiar melody started to play in my head, as it always reminded me of Hongjoong, the lyrics that my brain created randomly, were always when I was with him. The realization hit me, as my brain knew what would happen from the beginning. I would have never thought that I'm going to fall for Hongjoong, who closed me out from their life, alongside Yunho, and I hated them for it. They had their reasons, but still, it was unfair.

Just as much as the things I said to Hongjoong, I can't even imagine what he went through. His parents died almost a decade ago, and since then we have had his family, at least it was Yunho and my father, and he had to watch as my father died, in front of his eyes, how unfair was this? My heart ached, at the thought of it, and the things I said to him, made me feel like I was the most unworthy human being on earth.

Hours went by as I sat on the ground, my car being the only support in my life. I was freezing on the chilly night, that slowly passed by with the hours, the sun slowly coming up, to switch places with the moon, so it can rest a bit.

I didn't feel anything at all, those hours passed by like minutes, minutes like seconds, seconds like milliseconds. I didn't think of anything, my mind was empty, I just stared in front of me, physically being there on the dirty ground, but mentally I was in a place where I felt at peace, I felt calm, I felt like I had no feelings and with that no problems.

The sudden noise of the early morning traffic brought me back to real life, realizing what was I doing, I stood up, blinking a few times, to get back my visibility. I walked towards the edge and looked down at the ocean.

It was so beautiful, the sun was coming up, luring me to melt into it. The sun shone through the calm waves, the ocean mirroring the sight above it, copying the colors the sun's rims let out, bright orange and red colors melting into each other like lovers.

 Seeing this mesmerizing landscape, made me realize how beautiful life was, it was worth living only as just for these. To see these miracles, makes your heart feel at ease. That made you forget all your problems, to make you feel like you are worth living. My common sense crawled back to my mind when I realized I needed to apologize to Hongjoong, I said some things to him, that made no sense and I'm sure he believed them, thinking it was really his fault. I decided I needed to tell him how I felt, how he made me feel, how grateful I was, how I…loved him. Even though he may think of me as Yunho's little sister that he needs to save no matter what, I wanted him to know that I would protect him at all costs.

I quickly sat in my car, as its engine slowly lighted up. My only destination being the boxer's club, as I knew Hongjoong always started his days there, practicing to be better day by day. My eyes were wide open, my heart thumping like crazy, I wasn't sleepy at all as sudden adrenaline kept me going, even though, I hadn't been sleeping nearly twenty-four hours. But I was very prejudiced to talk to Hongjoong, and after that, I think it was time to talk properly with Yunho as well.

After an hour passed and I was determined to get there until Hongjoong was still there, I finally arrived at the boxing club. Getting some flashbacks about the day he taught me boxing all of a sudden as if he knew I would make good use of those tactics. I did, for sure. It kind of saved my life as those bastards tried to attack me.

I parked my car and turned the engine off, luckily, I had to change clothes in my car, as I always kept there some just in case. It was just black sweatpants and a black oversized hoodie, it was actually Hongjoong's, I stole it when he left it in the living room, he didn't even notice it, so I kept it to myself, it gave me comfort, that I needed on my lonely nights.

 As I stepped out from my car, closing its door, a sudden gut, a bad feeling caught me. It was strange I never felt like this, and it was probably because I had to face Hongjoong and tell him everything.

I walked towards the entrance and went in. Suddenly I froze in my steps when I heard yelling from the main room, where the box matches were held, and probably Hongjoong was practicing, right now. But it was weird, these sounds weren't the signs of practicing men. It was yelling and laughing, and sudden hitting. I clearly heard Hongjoong's voice.

"Fuck off." His voice was determined and low.

I went to the door, so I could see what was happening, but I wasn't expecting what I saw.

My heart started to race, I pressed my hands to my mouth in shock, trying to not let any sound out, so they couldn't see me. I saw four men, their backs facing me, as they were standing in front of, Hongjoong, who was facing with me, looking up at them with killing eyes, being tied to a chair, his lips and nose bleeding. He was wearing his usual practicing clothes, a black short, ending at his knees and a black tank top.

You, being tied down,

Me, wanting to burn alive who caused it

"Tell us, where the fuck he is, or I'll use other hurtful methods, so you will speak, fucker." The one with the bleeding knuckles told Hongjoong, as probably he was the one hitting him.

"Well, I assume, he is not here," Hongjoong said with a devilish smile, blood rolling down his jaw. The men, who hit him beforehand, punched him in the face again, as Hongjoong just spit blood into the floor, waiting for the next punch.

Sudden anger started to boil within me. I clenched my fists together until it left deep red crescents on my palms. They couldn't see me, I needed to think about how I could help to Hongjoong. They were probably looking for Yunho, so I couldn't just call him here, he needed to stay hidden. But whom I could call then? My phone was dead, but I knew they had a telephone hanging on the office wall. I just needed to get there, somehow. But to get to the office, I needed to get through the room they were in.

Fuck, it was the most unfortunate situation. But they weren't facing me, I only saw their backs, and that was enough, to sneak into the office. Very quietly I stepped into the room, trying to breathe slowly, not making a sound. If I get caught now, it'll be the end of us. I had to do this, for Hongjoong. When I did a few more steps, Hongjoong's eyes caught me immediately, he was the only one seeing me. I froze in my steps, and slowly reached my index finger to my mouth, signaling him to be quiet. He slowly shook his head, his eyes telling me, to stop and run as far as possible. But I did not want to. I moved again, to the door being on my right, being closer and closer. I eyed the door, for a second, averting my eyes off of them.

"What the hell?" A sudden voice made me freeze again. My heart was in my throat. I slowly turned towards them, ready to face the cruel men, but when I turned around I still saw their backs facing me, I let the air escape from the relief. Hongjoong was laughing viciously, his laugh sending chills down my spine. He did this, I guess so he could keep them busy, so they won't notice me. I stepped a few more and finally, I arrived at the office, closing it very slowly.

Okay, think, Y/N, please, think… Who I should call? Who could help us out?

I couldn't call the police, there was no point, they would arrest us as well. I started to panic when a sudden image hit my brain. It popped up like it was in front of me.

When I was at searching for some evidence in Yunho's room, I saw a note on his desk, saying: "In case of emergency" and a phone number was added next to it. Fuck, but I don't remember the numbers, fuck. We were running out of time. I needed to think quickly, as my fingers were already pushing the numbers of the telephone.

"C'mon, pick it up, pick it, please…" I bit my nails in stress.

"Hello?" A familiar voice came from the phone, giving me relief.

"Yeosang, oh my, thank God, you picked it up. Please, listen to me very carefully it's an emergency and I need your help. And please don’t ask anything, I'll tell you everything okay?" I said quickly, trying to not raise my voice.

"Fuck, Y/N, okay, how can I help you?" His voice sounded concerned.

"You need to get to my house, very quickly, please. When I tell you quickly, I say, you can't drive like a snail, you have to break the speeding limits, because it's important." I got nervous as the voices got louder. I was scared they might kill Hongjoong.

Please, keep it up Hongjoong…

"Hey, I'm not driving like a snail, I just keep the rules, bro, as you should too," Yeosang told me offended.

"Fuck, Yeosang, there's no time for this, it's fucking serious, just leave the house already. When you get into our house, you need to go to Yunho's room, hopefully, there's a phone number on his desk on a paper. You have to call it and tell that person, it's an emergency and they got Hongjoong, Yunho is nowhere to be found. And we need help in the boxing club. Please, Yeosang, I know it sounds shit, but I really need your help and to be quick." I explained this shit situation to him, hoping he won't ask questions and just do what I asked.

"Shit, Y/N, okay, I'm already on my way, I got you, please be careful!" I heard Yeosang's voice full of worry.

I heard some noise from the room, becoming closer to me. "Thank you, Yeo, I need to go, I love you." I hung it up immediately, as the door opened, revealing the man from outside, who hit Hongjoong.

"Oh, well, well, what do we get here." He looked at me like I was a snack he wanted to eat right away.

Shit, I'm doomed.

He grabbed my arm and started to pull me out of the office and into the main room. I felt a lot of predator's eyes on me, but one was full of, concern and fear that seemed like he would kill this man right there if he could, just so he could keep me safe. I never took my eyes off Hongjoong's, as the man was grabbing me harder, leaving bruises on my arms, as I tried to wiggle out from his hands.

"Look, what I found— that fucking chick, who escaped from us." His voice was full of anger, as it was hard to admit, how stupid they seemed because I'd got to escape from them.

"Let, her fucking go as long as I say it nicely." Hongjoong's voice seemed demanding, as he grinned with a death glare, his words coming out like venom.

The guy, pushed me down to the floor, smirking.

My hair fell onto my face, from the impact, I kept my arms out to keep myself up. I started to breathe quickly.

Yeosang, please, hurry.

"What? Is she your secretly kept little princess?" The man, who brought me out said, pointing at me with lifted eyebrows.

"Just keep your fucking dirty hands away from her you fucker. She has nothing to do with this." Hongjoong said, looking at the man, now in front of him, that man would be already dead if Hongjoong could murder with only his eyes.

The man leaned down to Hongjoong, being at eye-level with him. "But she has to do something with you. You care for her." He smiled confidently, and Hongjoong suddenly spat on the man's face. It was red, making the man's face bloody. I never saw Hongjoong, this mad. He was shaking in the chair, his muscles were tense, almost breaking apart the rope that tied him to the chair, the veins on his neck thick and tense from the anger.

The man closed his eyes straightened up and turned towards the rest of the guys, his face still full of spit, as he slowly wiped it into his shirt. "Gentlemen, this angel, is our gift from above." He spread his arms, imagining as if he was in a fucking show. 

I needed to keep them busy, so they won't hurt Hongjoong and give enough time for Yeosang, so they can come here, in time.

"One, against four and I still won, fuckers." I suddenly said as I felt all eyes on me.

The guy who talked all the way turned towards me. And looked at me like he was surprised that I had the guts to even say something.

"Fuck, Y/N, shut the fuck up!" Hongjoong looked at me furiously.

I didn't look towards him, I was eyeing the man who walked towards me, grabbing me by the collar and pulling me up.

"Can't you just keep your mouth shut, just as your boyfriend told you?" His face was so close to me, I felt his stinky breathing, against my face. It was disgusting. He seemed like he was in his forties. I guess he was the leader of this fucked up gang.

I guess…he was the one, who killed my father.

Anger and adrenaline went through my veins. I couldn't control myself, as I suddenly headbutted him, forcing all my power into the strike. It hurt as fuck, as I felt a bit dizzy from the big impact, everything was blurry for a moment, but it was worth it as he stumbled backward from the impact, pressing his hands to his nose, which I guess broke because I heard a cracking noise. Did I just do that? Wow.

Hongjoong looked at me surprised. "You keep surprising me, sugar." He said, looking at me with a proud smile. There was no time to smile back, as I ran next to him, trying to untie the robe, that tied him to the chair. But the men were quick and one of them immediately caught me, pushing me far away from Hongjoong, letting me go as I couldn't keep my balance and I fell into the ground, my temple hitting the corner of the ring, making it bleed and losing my visibility for a few seconds.

I was just laying on the floor, only hearing Hongjoong's voice as he shouted my name. A few blind minutes passed, and not knowing what was happening, I slowly opened my eyes, I heard movements from where Hongjoong was tied. Dim light hit my eyes, and my head was aching like hell, as I tried to sit up. I saw black figures, but they were more, they were fighting with each other. I suddenly saw a black figure running towards me.

"Hey, sugar, look at me!" I heard Hongjoong's voice wanting to obey to him, but I couldn't. He cupped my face, as I sat up.

"Look at me beautiful, please." I tried to focus on him, he was a blur for a moment, but as I watched him more, blinking a few times, my view started to get clearer, his face being so close to mine, I saw the bruises and little cuts on his face, that made me scream at the world, his eyes were full with concern, as he couldn't lose his long-searched treasure, ever.

"I'm here." I reached my hand to his hands that were on my face. I closed my eyes, as I was leaning into his touch more and more, never wanting to get away from him.

"Thank God." He slowly leaned to my temple and pecked the, now dried, bloody wound.

"Fuck, Y/N, are you okay?" I heard Yeosang's voice.

I looked up at him, and he was leaning on his knees trying to catch his breath.

I started to get emotional, I wanted to cry, as to how grateful I was to him. My eyes started to fill with tears, as I tried to stand up. Hongjoong helped me up, his hands never leaving my waist.

"Yeah, I'm okay, Yeo. Thank you so much for helping us." Tears escaped my eyes, as I hugged him.

"It's nothing, Y/N, I'm glad you are okay." I heard as his voice got weaker too.

I separated from him, looking at Hongjoong, who stepped next to me with his hands immediately on my waist.

"What happened with them?" They weren't here so I thought they were able to catch them.

"We caught one guy, but the rest escaped." Hongjoong ran his fingers through his hair, stressed.

"Fuck, where's Yunho?" I asked when I heard a familiar voice from the exit.

"What the fuck happened?" Yunho ran to us, as the room was now empty, the strange people, who helped us disappeared. Yunho saw my face and grabbed my jaw. "Fuck, why are you here? Did they hurt you?" He looked concerned, his eyes tired, seeming he hadn't been sleeping well recently.

"They attacked me, while I was practicing. Y/N got here later and called help." Hongjoong, reached his hands towards Yunho's, taking off Yunho’s hands of me.

Yunho grabbed his hair. "Fucking shit, who did you call?" He looked at me.

"The number that was on your desk. Actually, Yeosang called it, as I wasn't home. He helped us." I looked at Yeosang gratefully. He came closer to me, reaching his hand on my shoulder and squeezing it, signaling he was by my side. "Who they were?" I turned towards Yunho again.

"Good, they are some friends of Dad, they told me to call them if I get into trouble," Yunho said, sounding a bit more relieved.

"Will you tell me, what is this shit finally, Yunho?" I looked at him, feeling sick of the continuous lying.

He brushed his palms to his face. "I guess it's time. We'll come back in a few, wait for us, please." Yunho said to Hongjoong and Yeosang.

Yunho walked towards the backroom, and I followed him, looking at Hongjoong before I turned away, he nodded encouraging me that everything was going to be alright.

Yunho closed the door, behind me. His face was a little strange, as he looked around. I sat on a little bench pushed to the wall.

"Don't— Don't sit there." He said with a sudden voice. I looked at him with questioning eyes. "What the fuck?" I raised my brows at him.

"Exactly that, just sit somewhere else." He said, trying to avoid my gaze.

"Holy shit." I stood up immediately as my brain was catching on, with the little information I was given. "Oh my God, disgusting, Yunho." I looked at him gasping.

"Shut up!" He still couldn't look into my eyes; his cheeks were blushing.

"Okay, I want to know who is it." I looked at him curiously, folding my arms.

"It's uh—" He scratched his head, being nervous. "It's Mingi." He said looking at me finally.

I gasped. "Oh. My. God." I pressed my hands to my mouth, hiding my smile.

"What?" Yunho looked at me, trying to figure out what was my opinion on that.

"Finally, bro, I always saw the connection between you two, are you kidding, it was a matter of time before you two got married." I smiled at him, feeling relieved that it was Mingi, who had been his best friend for eternity, they were always inseparable and they supported each other all the time. I wasn't blind, it was obvious they were destined to each other, so I was very happy, that they could finally step that little best friend boundary over.

"Really? Was it that obvious?" He asked a smile appearing on his face, as he felt relieved.

"Kind of." I smiled at him, stepping closer to him. "I'm happy for you, Yu."

"Thank you, means a lot." He spread his arms, inviting me to a hug. I stepped closer to him, burying my head into his warm chest. It felt so good to finally hug him after a while. Recently he was so distant with me, that our connection got weaker since our father died. I felt whole again, as a puzzle got into its place again. One still missing.

"So, are you going to tell me, what's this?" I stepped out from his warm hands. 

He ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. "Yes, sit down, please. Here." He pointed at a chair. As I chuckled.

He sat in the chair opposite me. "Am, where should I start?" He started to think.

"So, you know, Dad got into a gang, not much after Mom died. He was overwhelmed, he couldn’t handle the grief, he lost his job, so he needed money. The solution was stepping into this gang, that did some illegal shit, but they made a lot of money, so I guess it was worth it. Just until Dad, got some common sense, and tried to prevent them from doing whatever they did. He stepped up against them and gathered some of his friends so they can stop those fuckers. At first, it seemed like they stopped; they were quiet for a while. And that was when they took Hongjoong and him. And you know the rest, Hongjoong told me, he already told you what happened.” He looked at me a little disappointed like he knew how much I hurt Hongjoong. “After Dad died…I was restless, I needed to find them, Hongjoong was full of rage too, so we stepped into that gang. We tried to blend in so we could bomb them from the inside, playing with their minds. But somehow, they found out who I was, maybe they overheard us, or they started to become suspicious, I don't know, but that's when they started to attack, you, Hongjoong, and…they even followed Mingi, Y/N." His voice cracked. "I was so scared, they might hurt him, still am, I don't know what would I do without him, I— I think I'd die, it hurts to think of that, I might lose him because I'm dumb and I can't fucking fight off a shit gang." He was mad at himself, for not being able to protect his loved ones.

I looked at him concerned, tears appearing in my eyes, I had never seen Yunho this vulnerable ever, it hurt, it hurt because he was like my other half, I didn't want to see him like this, ever. I stood up stepping closer to him, reaching my hands to cup his face, wiping down his tears. I would burn the whole world for him, I didn’t want to see him like this. Suddenly I understood why was he protecting me like this, like I was a bird in a cage— because…I would've done the same thing, I would've protected him at all costs.

"It's okay, he is fine, we are fine, and everything is going to be okay Yu." I tried to comfort him.

He held my hands, that cupped his face. "We need to, catch them, we need to end this once and for all." He said as he got his strength back, fire lighting up in his eyes.

"We will, those bastards need to get what they deserve," I said revenge starting to boil my blood.  

"They will, I'll make sure of that. But you need to stay here." Yunho said, ready to fight with me again.

I looked at him furiously. "You can't do this, Yunho."

"Look." He grabbed my hands and stood up. "Someone needs to be home, if they are coming again, Yeosang will be here, and Mingi as well, for a while. We don't know where they are, their base could be anywhere, we will get it out from the guy we caught. We won't let them run anymore." He explained the plan, he looked so determined, as he wouldn't rest until those bastards were out of the way.

I ran my fingers through my hair, feeling stressed. "I have a bad feeling about this, Yunho. Let's find another solution, there has to be." I looked at him concerned.

"There is no other solution, Y/N, we have to do this." He was restless. So, I had no other choice than to agree.

"Shit, okay. But please, please be careful." My voice came out weak.

"We will, I promise." He embraced me again, in his warm hands.

"Hongjoong has to go too?" I suddenly asked, my heart beating fast, suddenly on the thought.

"If he wants, I won't force him to." He looked at me, curious.

"What's between you two?" He asked frowning.

"Nothing- at least— I don't know, I haven't been able to talk to him," I said honestly, looking down at the floor, now I was the one avoiding Yunho's gaze.

"You should talk to him," Yunho said, as I quickly lifted my head. I thought he was going to be mad, hearing there's something between us.

"What? Aren't you mad?" I asked as my voice sounded surprised.

"No, of course, I am not. I'm actually glad, you got someone like Hongjoong. I saw how he looked at you like you were his everything, he was just scared to step over the boundaries because of me. I know he can be there for you and he can protect you when I'm not there. I'm sorry, that you felt you had no one in the past, I was blinded by revenge I didn't see that you were struggling as well." He admitted, his voice getting sadder.

I didn't say anything, as I was just looking down on my hands, playing with my ring.

"Go rest a bit, because I know you haven't slept in a while, then talk to him. You deserve to clear things out between the two of you." He hugged me again, strongly nearly breaking my bones.

"Okay, okay now let me go," I mumbled into his chest.

We laughed together, and finally, I felt at ease, I felt like a big rock fell off of my chest, and as we finally put the pieces together, everything was in its place, and our relationship with Yunho finally started to heal again.

We were on our way out of the club, and Hongjoong was walking next to me, as he looked at me with a thinking face.

"What?" I looked at him frowning.

"Is that my hoodie?" He asked with the sweetest smile.

"Ahm— no?" I scratched my neck, I felt nervous, little red started to appear on my cheeks.

"It is mine, I know it, I was searching for it for ages. I gave up on finding it, and you had it the whole time?" He was laughing now, he looked sincerely happy.

"Okay, okay, I stole it, but you left it on the couch and it was there for weeks. I thought you don't need it anymore." I smiled at him, I was blushing so hard, that I couldn't look into his eyes.

“You can keep it, looks good on you.” He leaned close to my ear and pecked the skin under my ear.

I chuckled as we reached my car and I turned towards him. "Meet you at home."

He looked at me so adoringly that I felt like I needed to hug him so bad. He nodded, as I opened the door to sit in. On my way home, I smiled the whole time. I couldn't wait until we could finally talk. But first I needed to sleep because I felt like I am going to collapse at any moment.

Hongjoong and Yunho were already home when I arrived there. I stepped inside and they were sitting at the kitchen counter. Yunho saw me and stood up.

"Okay, I think I'm going to check on Mingi, see you later guys." He winked at me and went upstairs.

Hongjoong looked at me, checking me out with warm eyes.

"Go sleep, sugar, it was a tough day." He said while he sipped from his coffee, not taking his eyes off of me.

"Okay." I went to the stairs but suddenly froze. I looked back at him, as he looked at me with questioning eyes. "Do you want to— sleep with me?" I asked feeling a little shy. Where was the confident me, who literally got him to kiss me?! It was just sleeping, c'mon.

He smiled at me with his teeth showing. "Do you want me to sleep with you?" He stood up and came towards me.

I nodded. He held my hand and leaned close to my face. "Okay, sugar." He gave me a warm peck on my left cheek. I felt weak in his presence, it was intimidating.

We went up to my room, still holding hands, and I finally collapsed to my bad, releasing his hands. He went to the other side of the bed, as I slipped under the warm blanket. I was laying on my left side and he was facing me on his right side as he slipped under the blanket too. I moved closer to him; he held my waist caringly pulling me closer to him. I looked at him, but my eyes couldn't focus anymore as my eyelids slowly closed.

"I'm sorry, Joong." I mumbled while I was already half asleep.

"It's okay, sugar, I’m so proud of you, you did so well today." He whispered; his voice sweet like honey. I felt his face closer to me, as he pecked my nose, then my temple, my cheek, and lastly my lips as it lured me to dreamland, I felt safe in his arms, and I never wanted to depart from him. He became my comfort zone all of a sudden.

≫Your arms hugging me around like a chain

A chain that melts into warm honey≪

-Previous Part- Next Part>

A/N: (also you can find out more about Yungi in my bestie's, @bvidzsoo, background story on AO3. I recommend it!!)

[storyscribeforthesentiment]

the detective & the dark knight | chapter 9

Summary: Detective Marie Manning, investigating a series of brutal murders in Gotham, crosses paths with the mysterious Batman. As they work together, their mutual respect turns into a deep, passionate bond. Amidst danger and corruption, their unlikely partnership evolves into a profound love, forever changing their lives in Gotham’s dark corners.

Pairing: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f!main character

Author’s note: Hi guys! I know, Marie is probably annoying some of you with how mad she is at Bruce (but like... can you really blame her?? 👀). I promise their relationship will turn around soon! But for now, let’s just let her be moody, okay? Meanwhile, Bruce is out here pining for her like it's nobody’s business.

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings/tags: mentions of gun violence, police bribes, fighting, murder

Chapter List

Marie sat hunched at her desk, the precinct buzzing around her like a hive. The voices of her colleagues drifted through the air, a low hum of chatter about arrests, leads, and the constant chaos that defined Gotham.

But she wasn’t really listening. The words were just noise. Her focus, when she could manage it, was on the case file in front of her—another one connected to Maroni’s tangled web of corruption. But it wasn’t sticking.

She was distracted, her mind continually drifting to him. Bruce. Batman.

Her hands, trembling slightly, clenched the edge of the manila folder as she tried to shove those thoughts down, forcing herself to focus on work. But it was no use. Everything reminded her of him.

Every fleeting mention of Batman on the precinct floor, every hushed conversation about his latest heroics—it all pulled her back to him. It had been a week since she last saw him, since they’d spoken, and yet, he was everywhere.

Marie gritted her teeth as she tried to keep her thoughts on the case, but it was impossible. She leaned back in her chair, exhaling a sharp breath. 

Gordon and Batman had taken over the Red Lotus case. Maroni hadn’t been seen since the incident at the docks, and no one in Gotham dared give any information away about him.

Marie took on smaller cases over the last week, like she had been doing before Gordon assigned her to the Red Lotus case. Carjackings, hit and runs - the usual in Gotham.

There was a hollow comfort in this routine, in the cases that didn’t involve Gotham’s criminal underworld pulling at her heartstrings.

She would be lying if she said she didn’t crave the feeling of getting close to solving the Red Lotus case. Chasing down leads, getting so close to bringing down Maroni.

Marie missed the adrenaline. She missed the late-night stakeouts and the thrill of getting closer to unraveling the tangled web of Gotham’s crime syndicates.

But what she missed more — and would never admit, even to herself — was the feeling of having Batman by her side, knowing she was safe with him watching her back. And there was something so comforting, knowing Bruce was waiting for her with open arms when she got off her shift, his presence a sanctuary amidst the chaos.

Not anymore.

She could still hear the muffled voices of a couple of detectives chatting near the coffee machine. She strained her ears, catching the tail end of the conversation.

“…heard Batman stopped another gang down in the Narrows last night.”

“Guy’s a damn ghost. Always one step ahead.”

“He saved a whole crew of people in the Palisades, too.”

Of course, he did.

Marie closed her eyes, squeezing them shut. She knew Batman was out there, fighting Gotham’s battles like nothing had changed. He had a way of compartmentalizing things, shutting his emotions off when the suit was on.

That was part of what made him him. But to Marie, it just added salt to the wound. It was like she didn’t exist in the part of his life that mattered. Or maybe she did, but she wasn’t sure how. Bruce had kept his identity hidden from her for so long that now everything felt like a lie.

She tossed the file aside, unable to deal with it anymore, and rose to her feet. She needed air. Space. The precinct suddenly felt stifling, as if the walls were closing in, her co-workers’ glances brushing against her like tiny knives. No one else knew what she was dealing with—what she couldn’t talk about.

She wandered to the nearest window, watching the streets below. The city was still churning, still breathing. Gotham didn’t stop for anyone, not for her, and certainly not for Bruce Wayne.

She remembered when she used to think of him as just a man—Gotham’s billionaire playboy who throws lavish charity events and galas without a second thought. Then, of course, she found out the truth. And now, knowing who he really was, it made everything so much more confusing. She didn’t know who to hate more—the man or the mask.

Leaning against the windowsill, her mind drifted back to one of the last normal moments they’d shared—when they’d shared ice cream in his kitchen. It was a rare moment where she felt completely happy, and she could feel the happiness radiating from Bruce, too. It was actual moment of peace in a life that seemed only full of shadows.

She could still see the way he looked at her, his eyes soft, affectionate—different from the cold, calculated expression he wore as Batman.

That was real, right?

Marie inhaled sharply, pushing the memory away. She had to. There was work to do.

—-------------------------------

The rooftop was slick with rain from the evening storm, the faint shimmer of streetlights glistening on the wet concrete. It was always like this in Gotham—the city almost seemed to weep in its own misery. But that was why Batman thrived here. It his city to save.

Jim Gordon stubbed out his cigarette, letting the final puff of smoke fade into the cold night air. He was standing with his back to the rooftop edge, his usual trench coat wrapped tightly around him.

Next to him, in the shadows, was the figure of Gotham’s Dark Knight—Batman. They stood in silence, only the faint dripping of rainwater breaking through the quiet.

“Another night, another criminal off the streets,” Gordon said after a moment, referring to the convicted murderer they just caught together. Just one of the many in Gotham.

“Feels like it never ends.” Gordon continued, his voice rough from years of cigarette smoke and hard nights. 

Batman was quiet, his face unreadable beneath the cowl, eyes scanning the city below.

Gordon could always tell when something was bothering him. Despite the stoic front, the silence tonight felt heavier than usual. He took a deep breath before speaking again. “I noticed you’ve been... different lately.”

Batman remained still, but Gordon could sense the subtle tension.

“I don’t know what’s going on between you and Detective Manning, but it’s clear something’s changed,” Gordon continued, his voice dropping to a quieter tone. “She’s a damn good detective. One of the best I’ve ever seen. But something’s eating at her, and I can’t help but think it’s tied to you.”

Batman finally spoke, his voice gravelly and low. “It’s complicated.”

Gordon raised an eyebrow. “Everything’s complicated in this city.”

Batman’s gaze remained on the skyline, the glow of Gotham casting long shadows across the rooftop. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.” He said in a low tone.

Gordon studied him for a moment. He’d been working with Batman for years, yet he knew almost nothing about him. Though, he had lived long enough to recognize when a man was struggling. Even if he didn’t show it on the surface, there was always something beneath—the weight of the mask, the burden of secrets.

“Look,” Gordon said after a pause, his tone softening, “I don’t need to know all the details. But if you’ve got into something with her, you better figure it out. She’s not the type to let things slide. And trust me, you don’t want to lose her.”

Batman’s jaw tightened beneath the cowl. “I know.”

After a few more minutes of silence, with only the distant hum of Gotham filling the air, Batman finally broke it, his voice low but laced with concern. “Is she okay, though?”

Gordon glanced at him, noting the rare crack in Batman's stoic demeanor. “She’s holding up.”

The rain started to fall again, a light drizzle that filled the silence between them.

Gordon took a step closer, his voice low but firm. “I’ve seen a lot of people come and go in this city. Most of them don’t make it.” He paused briefly, thinking carefully about his next words, “But Marie? She’s different. She’s not just a good detective, she’s someone you can trust.”

When Gordon was met with silence, he continued slowly, “If you let her walk away... you’ll regret it.”

Batman didn’t respond immediately. His eyes were fixed on the dark streets below, but his mind was elsewhere. On Marie. On the weight of his decisions, and the lives affected by them.

“I’ve already hurt her,” Batman said quietly, almost to himself.

Gordon shook his head. “People get hurt. But if you care about her, you make it right. You don’t just disappear into the shadows and hope it goes away.”

Batman finally turned to face Gordon, the rain now coming down harder, creating a soft rhythm on the rooftop.

“She’s... not like anyone else,” Batman admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Gordon gave a faint smile, the kind of knowing look that comes from years of experience. “Then don’t lose her. Whatever’s going on, don’t let this city take her from you too.”

They stood in silence again, the rain now falling steadily around them, washing away the grime of the city. Batman didn’t say another word, but the weight of Gordon’s advice hung in the air, sinking into him.

Without a sound, Batman stepped back, disappearing into the shadows once more.

—-------------------------------

Marie stared at her computer screen, pretending to be focused on the case files in front of her. In reality, her mind was miles away.

Across the room, Harvey Bullock slouched at his desk, a half-eaten donut in hand, eyeing her suspiciously.

“You look like hell, Manning,” Bullock muttered around a mouthful of pastry.

Marie gave him a sidelong glance, leaning back in her chair. “Thanks, Bullock. Always the gentleman.”

Bullock grinned, crumbs falling from the corner of his mouth. “Just calling it like I see it. What, Gotham’s finest can’t take a few days off without looking like she’s been hit by a bus?”

“Maybe Gotham’s finest isn’t sleeping too well lately,” Marie shot back, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. Harvey Bullock had that effect. He could irritate anyone within a ten-foot radius, but somehow, he managed to lighten the mood when things got too heavy.

Bullock leaned back, eyeing her with exaggerated concern. “Too much caffeine? Or not enough?”

Marie shook her head, chuckling despite herself. “You should be a therapist, Harvey. You’ve got all the answers.”

“Hey, don’t knock it. I’ve been told I’m a great listener.” He popped the last bit of donut into his mouth and wiped his hands on his shirt.

“Yeah, well, don’t quit your day job,” she teased, leaning forward again, though her attention was still distant.

“You sure you’re okay, though?” Bullock’s voice dropped slightly, the humor still there but laced with genuine concern, “Ya know, since the docks.”

Marie sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’m fine. Just... tired.”

Bullock grunted, not buying it, but before he could press further, the door to the office swung open, and Gordon strode in with purpose.

“Marie, a word?” Gordon’s voice was firm but not harsh, cutting through their banter. He didn’t seem interested in whatever lighthearted exchange he had walked in on.

Bullock raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. “I’ll take that as my cue to go get another donut.”

Marie offered Bullock a weak smile as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, giving her a half-salute on his way out.

Gordon waited until Bullock was out of earshot before stepping closer to her desk. His usual calm demeanor was tinged with something heavier, something more personal.

Gordon cleared his throat before speaking. “Batman asked about you.”

She stiffened, her hand dropping to her lap. “Did he?” Her voice was neutral, trying to mask the storm brewing inside her.

“He did. First he asks about you when I’m in the hospital, then again tonight…” Gordon looked at her carefully, his sharp eyes catching the subtle shifts in her expression. “Is there something going on that I should know about?”

Marie’s heart pounded, but she kept her face steady. “No, Jim. It’s... personal.”

Gordon raised an eyebrow. “Personal?”

She hesitated. Her first instinct was to shut the conversation down, to bury it deep where no one could pry. But this was Gordon, the man who had been like a mentor to her. She trusted him more than anyone in the department.

Still, how could she explain this? That the man behind the mask wasn’t just some anonymous vigilante anymore but someone she loved, someone she couldn’t bear to see?

“Look, Jim... it’s better if you don’t know,” she finally said, her voice lower now, almost pained. “Trust me. It’s just... complicated.”

Gordon studied her in silence for a moment. He didn’t push, didn’t pry, but he didn’t need to. “Marie, whatever’s going on with you and Batman... I’m not asking for details. But it’s clear to see that something’s weighing on him. And whatever it is... it’s you.”

Marie’s throat tightened. She didn’t know what to say to that. She couldn’t. So she stayed silent, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of a file on her desk.

Gordon leaned forward slightly, his tone softening. “I know this city can make us feel like we have to carry everything alone. But a man who’s willing to risk everything, even his own life, to help others…that’s a good man, Marie. And good men are hard to come by in Gotham.”

His words struck her, harder than she expected. She swallowed the lump in her throat and gave him a small nod, unable to respond with anything more. Gordon gave her one last look, the kind that said he knew she wasn’t telling him everything but trusted her judgment.

He stood up and made his way to the door. Before he left, he paused. “If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me.”

Marie watched him go, her heart still racing, his words echoing in her mind.

—-------------------------------

Later that afternoon, Marie found herself standing in an old, worn down gas station just outside of downtown Gotham. The gas station attendant had been the victim of a robbery, one of the smaller cases Marie had been assigned to recently.

She listened as the woman recounted the robbery in shaky detail, but Marie’s mind wandered.

“So then, he pointed a gun at me. It was a small gun…” She said, trembling.

The words washed over Marie as she scribbled them down in her notepad, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

Weeks ago, she had been knee-deep in the Red Lotus case, chasing down mobsters, solving murders, feeling the pulse of Gotham’s criminal underground under her fingertips. But now? This was mundane, routine.

Marie glanced down at her notebook, absently jotting notes. The pen felt heavy in her hand. It was hard to care when her mind was elsewhere, locked on cases bigger than gas station heists.

“I... I just froze, you know?” the woman said, her voice quivering. “I didn’t know what to do.”

Marie nodded, offering a half-hearted, “You did the right thing by cooperating.”

The woman kept talking, but Marie’s gaze drifted above, to Gotham’s distant skyline. On top of a nearby building, Marie saw the brief shuffle of a shadow.

No, not shadows. Movement.

Her eyes narrowed as she turned her head just enough to catch a glimpse of whatever the movement was. High above, silhouetted against the dimming Gotham sky, was a figure cloaked in black.

Batman.

He was watching her.

Marie’s breath hitched, her heart skipping a beat. She turned her attention back to the woman, trying to stay composed, but the weight of his presence bore down on her. It was as if he was always there, in the corner of her mind, lingering in the shadows, never fully gone.

She wrapped up the interview quickly, telling the victim that a patrol officer would escort her home. The moment the woman left, Marie stood and crossed her arms, peering up to the rooftops. Batman hadn’t moved, still standing like a silent sentinel, observing.

Was he there for her? Was he watching over her, or was he just waiting to see if she’d call for him again?

She couldn’t stop the bitter thought from creeping in: Was he keeping tabs on her, like he had done with so many others? Was she just another case to him, another assignment?

Marie stepped back, heading towards her car. She didn’t need him. She could handle herself.

But as she walked away, that familiar pull was still there, stronger than ever. A part of her wished he would swoop down, that they could talk, that everything could be fixed with just a few words.

Yet, she knew deep down, nothing was ever that simple in Gotham.

—-------------------------------

Marie spent the next week navigating the streets of Gotham, tracking down suspects and interviewing victims. The interviews came and went—each victim recounting their stories of theft or assault—and with each case, Marie felt more and more detached from the pulse of the city. 

The mundane details of everyday crime began to blur together, overshadowed by the thrill of what she had been working on before.

As she moved from one part of the city to another, she occasionally caught glimpses of a familiar silhouette in the shadows. Each time, her heart raced—seeing Batman watching her from a distance brought an unexpected warmth to her chest.

Yet, just as quickly as she spotted him, he would disappear, slipping away into the darkness like a whisper. It both excited and frustrated her, fueling her longing for connection even as she tried to keep her distance.

Nearing the end of her shift, she received a call about an assault in a dimly lit alley. Rushing to the scene, she felt a sense of urgency. This was the kind of case she could get lost in—a chance to bring justice to someone who needed it.

When she arrived, the scene was chaotic but contained. The victim, a young woman, sat on the ground, trembling and visibly shaken. Marie’s heart ached for her. And standing protectively beside her was none other than Batman, his presence a commanding reassurance amidst the chaos.

Batman spotted her getting out of the car, his gaze locked onto her as she approached. Bruce felt a deep ache in his chest, the urge to reach out for her overwhelming. Marie looked beautiful, her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders, illuminated by the dim streetlights.

Yet, he could tell she hadn’t been sleeping well; the shadows under her eyes hinted at the weight she carried. Having her this close again felt so right, igniting a familiar warmth in him that only she could create.

He fought against the impulse to step forward and reach for her, knowing the complexities that lay between them, but every instinct urged him to close the distance.

“Detective Manning,” he acknowledged, his voice low but firm.

“Batman,” she replied, glancing from him to the young woman, who seemed to be comforted by his presence. “What happened?”

“When I arrived, she was being assaulted,” he said, his gaze still on the woman. “I took care of her attackers. They won’t bother her again.”

The woman looked up at Batman, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Marie felt a warmth spread through her as she observed the bond forming between them. There was something profound in the way Batman’s stoic demeanor softened, just for a moment, as he acknowledged the woman’s thanks.

“You’re safe now,” he assured her, his tone surprisingly gentle. “The real help is here.” He gestured to Marie and the other patrol cops.

Marie stepped closer, kneeling beside the woman. “I’m Detective Manning. You’re going to be okay. We’ll make sure of it.”

The woman looked between them, her expression shifting from fear to relief. “I don’t know what I would have done without him,” she said, her voice stronger now. “He saved my life.”

Marie felt a pang of bittersweet emotion. It was true. Batman was a hero, and in moments like these, she understood the weight of what he did for Gotham.

Batman met her gaze, and in that instant, they shared an understanding that transcended words. The moment lingered, filled with unspoken emotions and unresolved tension.

“I need to get her to the hospital,” Marie said, breaking the silence.

“Of course,” Batman replied, stepping back, his figure melding into the shadows behind him.

As he disappeared into the night, Marie felt the familiar rush of admiration mixed with frustration. She turned back to the woman, offering her a reassuring smile. “Let’s get you the help you need.”

The woman nodded, her gratitude evident in her eyes. With Batman’s bravery as a backdrop, Marie felt a renewed sense of purpose. Even in the aftermath of heartbreak, she knew she could still make a difference.

—-------------------------------

The warm glow of the evening sun filtered through the window as Marie settled into her cozy apartment, surrounded by the familiar scents of Chinese takeout.

She plucked a fortune cookie from the bag, cracked it open, and read the message aloud, chuckling softly to herself. “You will find a new adventure soon.”

Marbles, her fluffy gray cat, meandered over, nudging her hand with his head. She laughed, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. “What do you think, Marbles? New adventure or just more cases?”

The cat purred in response, as if he understood her dilemma. She absentmindedly picked at her food, trying to quell the persistent hunger that came with her long hours at the precinct. Just as she took a bite of fried rice, her phone buzzed on the table.

“Hey, Marie,” Gordon’s voice came through the receiver, slightly breathless. “I’m sorry to bother you on your day off.”

Marie swallowed her food,. “What’s up, Commissioner? Did someone get into trouble?”

“Actually, yes, but that’s not why I’m calling. I hate to do this to you, but I have a meeting with Batman scheduled for this evening.” Great, Marie thought. 

Gordon continued, “We need to go over his recent findings on the Red Lotus case, but I’m swamped with administrative stuff. One of our officers is being charged with racketeering, and I can’t get away.” She could hear chaos in the background, meaning he was likely at the courthouse already.

Marie sighed, knowing the importance of the meeting but not feeling ready to face Batman alone, “So you want me to meet up with Batman instead?”

“Yeah.” He said, taking a moment, “Listen, I know things between you two aren’t great right now, and I’m sorry to put you in this position. But it’s crucial. He’s got a lead on Maroni’s whereabouts. If you can get Batman to share his findings with you, it might help us a lot. Stuff like this can’t wait.”

Marie felt a flicker of annoyance, still grappling with her feelings. “Sure,” she said, attempting to keep her tone light, “I can do that.”

“Listen, I trust you with him, and I know you’ll handle it. Just... be careful, okay?”

“Always,” she replied, her heart fluttering slightly at the thought of seeing him again.

After hanging up, Marie took a moment to gather her thoughts. The mix of longing and apprehension made her stomach churn, leaving her uncertain about how she would handle seeing Batman again.

She finished her takeout, set the containers aside, and gave Marbles a quick scratch behind the ears. “Looks like I’ve got some work to do,” she said, her voice playful yet tinged with anticipation.

Later that evening, the cool breeze swept across the Gotham skyline as Marie climbed the stairs up to the rooftop. The city spread out beneath her, its familiar chaos muted by the distance.

Her heart raced at the thought of seeing Batman again, the man who had both saved her and complicated her life in so many ways.

As she stepped onto the rooftop, she caught a glimpse of him leaning against the edge, his cape billowing softly in the wind

He turned at the sound of her footsteps, and for a brief moment, they simply stared at each other, the air thick with unspoken words.

“Detective,” he said, his voice deep and resonant, surprised but pleased to see her.

“Hey,” she replied, her tone lighter than she felt. “Gordon sent me. He couldn’t make it.”

He nodded, the shadows on his face concealing his thoughts but not the warmth in his gaze. “It’s good to see you.”

Unsure of how to respond, she jumped into business talk, “Gordon mentioned you have a lead on Maroni. Something about him not being back in town for a few days?”

“Yeah,” Batman confirmed, his expression serious. “I know a good location to find him, but… he’s off the grid for now. A shipment of drugs is coming in three days from now, and Maroni definitely won’t miss it.”

Marie crossed her arms, feeling the tension between them lingering in the air. “So, I guess we’re back to playing the waiting game, then.”

“Looks that way,” he replied, a hint of frustration in his tone. “I’m sorry Gordon put you in this position. I know things aren’t exactly... ideal between us.”

“That’s one way to put it,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “But it’s fine. I’ll manage.”

He took a step closer, and she could feel the intensity of his presence. “How’s your nose?”

She raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “Still too big for my face, but if you’re talking about the punch from Zucco, it’s healing just fine.”

Bruce chuckled softly.

As the weight of the situation settled around them, he regarded her intently. “How’s it been going? With the robbery and assault cases.”

She shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just part of the job. I guess someone has to keep Gotham safe, even if I’m not in a cape.”

He stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “You’re brave, Marie. More than you realize.”

She felt a warmth wash over her at his words, and for a moment, the walls she’d built began to waver. “And you’re always lurking around.” she said, a playful smirk forming. “A little stalker-ish, don’t you think?”

He allowed himself a small smile. “I told you I’d always check in on you. I wouldn’t be able to focus on my work if I didn’t know you were safe.”

Marie raised an eyebrow, the teasing tone creeping back in. “It’s a little creepy, you know.”

“More like looking out for you,” he replied, his voice steady. “I can’t help it. You mean a lot to me.”

In that moment, everything else faded away—the cases, the tensions, the pain. It was just them, standing on that rooftop, their hearts laid bare in the quiet of the night.

She held his gaze, the tension between them electric, charged with unspoken feelings.

Bruce’s expression softened slightly as he spoke, his voice low and sincere. “If I know anything about you, it must be driving you crazy working on those smaller cases. Even if you don’t want to admit it.”

Marie forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Even working smaller cases can make a difference,” she replied, trying to convince herself as much as him. “I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

“Bullshit.” His tone was sharp, cutting through her facade.

She frowned, crossing her arms defensively. “Really, I’m fine with what I’m doing.”

He turned his gaze to the sprawling streets of Gotham below, his silence more telling than any words.

The weight of the moment pressed heavily on her, and after a heartbeat of contemplation, she let out a resigned sigh. “Alright. Shit, I miss the thrill of chasing the big cases. But I’m managing. Just…trying to keep my head above water.”

Bruce nodded, relief flickering in his eyes at her honesty. “I’m always happy to get my partner back, you know.” His voice took on a teasing lilt, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “After all, Gordon doesn’t keep me on my toes like you do. And let’s be honest, he’s not nearly as nice to look at.”

Marie rolled her eyes, a laugh bubbling up. “You’re insufferable.”

“Maybe,” he replied, stepping just a little closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “But you love it.”

“Bruce,” she began, the name slipping out before she could stop herself. The moment felt charged, as if the air crackled with the weight of their shared history and unspoken feelings.

“Marie,” he replied, his voice softer now.

“I just don’t know how to navigate all of this,” she admitted, her vulnerability shining through.

“Neither do I,” he confessed, their connection lingering in the air. “But we’ll figure it out.”

As they stood there on the rooftop, the city below them alive and chaotic, Marie knew one thing for certain—this wasn’t the end. It was merely a step toward something new.

—-------------------------------

The rain drummed steadily on the rooftops of Gotham, blurring the lines between night and day. Batman stood at the edge of a crime scene, the dim glow of police lights illuminating the chaos below.

A recent robbery had turned violent, leaving the alley strewn with shattered glass and discarded evidence. He moved with purpose, his mind still tangled in thoughts of Marie.

Since their last encounter, she had occupied his thoughts incessantly. He thought about how her eyes had softened when they discussed their partnership on the rooftop, igniting a flicker of hope within him.

Perhaps there was a chance she might consider working with him again—and maybe, just maybe, there were still feelings lingering beneath the surface.

Batman arrived at the crime scene and walked up slowly, taking in the commotion of the scene.

Bullock approached, his expression annoyed as he looked Batman up and down. “Do what you need to do, just don’t mess with my crime scene,” he said, gruff. Batman nodded, barely giving Bullock a passing glance.

As he analyzed the evidence, the rain pattered softly against his cape. In the background, he could hear Bullock chatting with the new young detective, Ryan Cole. Their conversation started with the usual detective banter—sports, the best places to eat—before it shifted into something more vulgar.

“Hey, Bullock,” Cole’s voice cut through the steady rhythm of the rain. “What’s the scoop on Detective Manning? Heard she’s quite the looker.”

Bullock rolled his eyes, already anticipating where this was going. “Watch yourself, Cole. Manning’s not just eye candy. She’s actually a good detective. One of the few. She’s nice.”

“Yeah? A nice piece of ass, if you ask me.” Cole leaned in, a smirk plastered on his face. “You think she’s got a boyfriend? And if she does, do you think he’s keeping her happy?”

“Like she’d ever settle for your sorry ass.” Bullock shot back playfully, crossing his arms. “If you’re thinking about making a move, I’d advise against it. She’s involved with Wayne.”

Cole chuckled dismissively. “So she’s a money chaser. I respect it. Heaven knows we don’t make shit at this job.” He lit a cigarette, taking a long drag of it. Bullock shook his head in response, chuckling.

The casual disrespect in Cole’s tone made Batman’s fists clench. He stood there, simmering with rage at anyone who dared to talk about Marie like that. Just as he prepared to intervene, Cole edged closer to the crime scene, nearly trampling evidence.

“What’s the big deal, anyway? It’s not like she’s off-limits. Besides, I’d take my chances.”

Batman’s protective instincts surged as he saw Cole’s casual demeanor. Seizing the moment when Cole turned away, he lunged forward, pinning the detective against the alley wall with a swift motion, his hand pressing firmly against Cole’s throat.

Cole’s eyes widened with fear, gasping for breath as he instinctively clawed at Batman’s arm. Bruce quickly realized the precarious position he was in—he couldn’t outright tell Cole not to speak about Marie; that would reveal too much and invite unwanted questions.

“You’re about to compromise the crime scene by stepping on evidence,” Batman growled, his voice low and menacing.

Cole’s bravado evaporated under the weight of Batman’s grip. “Okay! Okay! I get it, man! Just—”

Bruce studied Cole, wrestling with how to proceed. Against his better judgment, he leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Keep your comments to yourself and stay away from her.” He released Cole but maintained a watchful eye, ready for any sudden movements.

Cole nodded vigorously, trying to regain his composure. “I wasn’t serious, man. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

Bullock watched the exchange with a mix of amusement and surprise. “You just got schooled by a fuckin’ Bat,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

As Batman returned his focus to the crime scene, a sense of satisfaction coursed through him. He had defended Marie, and that protective instinct ignited something deep within him—a fire he couldn’t ignore.