#the words magically came to me and here we are now

[misswynters]

Getting married to ekko

short drabble

requested by anon

There was a rare kind of joy that managed to push through the usual grime and chaos. Strings of mismatched lights. Some flickering, others glowing bright, were strung across the open square near the hideout. The firelight children had scavenged scraps of cloth and patched them together to create banners, their uneven stitching adding a charm no fancy Piltie celebration could ever replicate.

In the middle of it all, you stood on a small platform that the Lost Children had hastily constructed. Your dress wasn’t traditional, it couldn’t be. It was a creation, crafted lovingly by Zaunite hands. Pieces of old fabric, some shimmering with oil stains, others dyed in vibrant hues, came together to create something uniquely yours.

Ekko stood opposite you, his usual bravado tempered by something soft and awed. He wore his best—a patched-up jacket you’d once teased him about because he refused to throw it away. But it was clean, and you knew it meant something for him to wear it today. His hair was neatly made, the streaks of white bright against the locks. He had a grin on his face that was wide, even as he tried to play it cool.

Scar, who had appointed himself officiant, stood between you two. His wiry frame looked almost regal in the dim light, though his crooked grin betrayed his usual cheekiness. “Alright, settle down!” he called out to the gathered crowd of children and a few adults who had wandered in, lured by the unusual festivity. “We’re here for somethin’ special tonight. None of your usual fightin’ or stealin’, this is about family.”

The children, sitting cross-legged around the square, erupted in cheers. You caught Ekko’s gaze, and the two of you shared a smile, the kind that spoke of shared dreams and whispered promises.

Scar cleared his throat dramatically. “Now, I ain’t exactly licensed or whatever it is those Pilties do, but who needs paperwork when you’ve got love, right?” The crowd laughed, and he winked at you. “So, let’s get to it. You two got somethin’ to say?”

Ekko took your hands, his palms calloused and warm against yours. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles as he looked at you, his voice steady but soft. “I never thought I’d get to have somethin’ like this,” he began. “Not here, You—you’ve made me believe that we can make anything, even in grimy place. You’re my balance when the world feels too heavy, my fire when it’s too cold. I promise, no matter what comes, I’ll always fight for us.”

You felt your chest tighten, your heart swelling as the words you’d wanted to say fought to escape. “Aww!,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “You’ve shown me that even in a place as broken as Zaun, there’s beauty worth fighting for. You’ve given me hope, and I want to spend every day proving to you that you were right to believe in us. I’m yours, forever.”

The children cheered again, but Scar waved them down with a grin. “Hold on, hold on! We haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.” He nodded to a group of children at the side, who scrambled to their feet. The youngest among them, a tiny girl with oversized goggles slipping down her nose, held a small wooden box. She marched forward with all the seriousness of someone tasked with an important mission. Ekko knelt to her level, his grin widening as she opened the box to reveal the ring he’d made.

It wasn’t like any ring you’d ever seen. The band was crafted from a piece of scrap metal, polished until it gleamed faintly in the light. Set into it was a shard of green crystal, likely salvaged from some forgotten Zaunite machine. But the real magic was in the delicate etchings along the band—tiny gears and vines, symbols of growth and movement intertwined. It was unmistakably Ekko’s work, a reflection of his resourcefulness and heart.

“You made this?” you whispered, your fingers brushing over the ring as he slid it onto your hand.

“Course I did,” he replied, a hint of bashfulness creeping into his voice. “Nothing else felt good enough for you.”

Scar clapped his hands together, breaking the moment with his usual exuberance. “Alright, lovebirds, that’s it! You’re officially stuck with each other.”

Laughter and applause erupted as the children threw bits of torn paper and confetti into the air, creating a chaotic, colorful storm around you. Ekko pulled you into his arms, his laughter mingling with yours as the two of you spun in the midst of it all.

The celebration that followed was as Zaunite as the ceremony itself. Someone had rigged a broken radio to play static-filled music, and the children danced wildly, their joy infectious. A few of the older kids brought out food, whatever they could scrounge together. As the mismatched feast was laid out on a long, uneven table.

Ekko never strayed far from your side, his hand lingering on your waist or your fingers brushing against his arm. At one point, he leaned close, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You know, for a thrown-together wedding in the middle of Zaun, this might be the best day of my life.”

You laughed, leaning into him. “Might be?”

“Okay, fine. Is the best day,” he admitted, his grin softening.

As the night wore on and the children began to drift off, Ekko led you to a quiet corner, away from the noise. The lights overhead flickered, casting his face in warm, uneven purple shadows. “Hey,” he said, his tone still soft. “Can’t believe we are official married now!”

You reached up, your hand cupping his cheek. “Unreal that i can officially call you my husband.”

For a moment, the chaos of Zaun fell away, and it was just the two of you. Two survivors, two dreamers, building something beautiful in the midst of ruin. And as he kissed you, the city seemed a little brighter, and the air a little lighter.

note. if there’s any mistakes let me know!

taglist. @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @annybah @niredsw @stqrlxght @kriss-w @marilovz @blkmystery @multiverse-fandoms-2001 @turquoizxe @mishellii @kor-0suu @feelya @theamazingmilli @multim00n @m00nd0v3 @sodavrr @maialublmere @radtragedyarcade @spiderhook @night-fall-moon

banner. @anitalenia

[jmkjournalblog]

Sweet thing (Part 1)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2000+

Summary:  A new mysterious girl appears in the Westview, capturing Agatha's attention.

A/n: I couldn't forget this plot that came to me after watching AAA so, here we go. Btw English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

Agatha Harkness leaned against her kitchen counter, nursing a cup of coffee as the morning sun painted the room in soft, golden hues. The house was quiet, save for the faint buzz of magic beneath her skin. It was always there now, a faint hum that had taken root since Wanda’s Hex wrapped itself around the town of Westview.

Agatha didn’t mind the quiet—she thrived in it. It gave her time to think, to observe, and, most importantly, to plan. The game Wanda was playing fascinated her, the raw chaos magic that maintained this picture-perfect suburban paradise a symphony only she seemed to hear. But Agatha wasn’t content to be a spectator.

Her musings were interrupted by a knock at the door, sharp and deliberate. Agatha frowned, setting down her mug. Few people in Westview came calling without reason. The nosy neighbors usually knocked too loudly, their voices pitched with exaggerated cheer. This knock was… tentative.

Agatha adjusted her cardigan and opened the door, her curiosity immediately piqued by the girl standing on her porch.

She was young, with an almost ethereal quality to her—a soft, doll-like beauty wrapped in a modest sundress and wide-brimmed hat. Her hands were clasped in front of her, clutching a basket of baked goods, and she looked up at Agatha with a shy, hesitant smile.

“Hi,” the girl said, her voice light and airy. “I’m Y/N. Wanda mentioned I should… introduce myself?”

Wanda. Of course.

Agatha smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, aren’t you the polite one?” she said, stepping aside to let the girl in. “Come on in, sweetie. Don’t just stand there looking like a lost kitten.”

Y/N giggled softly, the sound almost musical, and stepped inside. She looked around the living room with wide eyes, as though taking in every detail with nervous curiosity. Agatha followed her gaze, watching the way her fingers brushed the edge of a throw pillow, the faint catch in her breath as she noticed the clutter of books and trinkets on the coffee table.

“You’re new in town?” Agatha asked, her voice casual as she gestured for Y/N to sit.

Y/N perched on the edge of the couch, smoothing her dress over her knees. “Oh, yes,” she said quickly. “Very new. Wanda’s been so kind—helping me settle in, introducing me to everyone…”

Her voice trailed off, and she ducked her head, as if embarrassed by her own rambling. Agatha studied her, intrigued by the girl’s bashful demeanor. Wanda had mentioned her in passing—a "sweet little thing who could use a friend." But there was something about Y/N that didn’t quite fit the mold of Wanda’s usual creations.

“Wanda’s good at that,” Agatha said, her tone light. “She loves playing the perfect hostess. But don’t let her fool you—she’s got a bit of a wild side, that one.”

Y/N giggled again, her cheeks turning pink. “I don’t think I’ve seen that side of her yet.”

“Oh, stick around, honey. You will.”

Agatha leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other as she observed the girl with casual interest. There was something almost too perfect about Y/N—the way her smile wavered just enough to seem genuine, the slight tremor in her hands as she picked up the cup of tea Agatha had poured.

“So, what brings you to Westview?” Agatha asked, keeping her tone light.

Y/N hesitated, her gaze dropping to the cup in her hands. “I guess… I wanted a fresh start,” she said softly. “Somewhere quiet, where I could figure things out.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “And you picked Westview? Not exactly the first place people think of when they’re looking for a fresh start.”

Y/N’s lips quirked into a shy smile. “Wanda said it was… special. And it is. It feels… safe here.”

Safe. Agatha’s smirk widened, though she quickly hid it behind her cup. If only the girl knew the half of it.

“Well, you’re certainly in good hands with Wanda,” Agatha said, her voice warm and reassuring. “And the neighbors will eat you up. They love a sweet, innocent new face.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper. She glanced up, her eyes meeting Agatha’s for the briefest moment before darting away again.

The girl’s shyness was endearing, almost painfully so. But Agatha had spent centuries honing her instincts, and something about Y/N didn’t quite add up. She didn’t press, though. Not yet.

Instead, she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she gave Y/N a conspiratorial smile. “Wanda matchmaking again, huh?”

Y/N’s blush deepened, and she shook her head quickly. “Oh, no! It’s not like that. She just thought I could… learn a thing or two from you.”

Agatha chuckled, her sharp eyes gleaming with amusement. “Is that so? Well, I suppose I can be quite the teacher when I want to be.”

Y/N’s laugh was soft, nervous, and she ducked her head again, hiding her face behind the rim of her teacup. Agatha watched her for a moment longer, the faintest prickle of curiosity tugging at her thoughts.

Whatever Y/N’s story was, it wasn’t as simple as she made it seem. But Agatha could wait.

“Welcome to Westview, sweetheart,” she said finally, her tone warm but laced with subtle intent. “Something tells me you’re going to fit in just fine.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes glinting with a fleeting emotion Agatha couldn’t quite place. For now, the girl was an enigma—a puzzle wrapped in sweetness and blushes. But Agatha would figure her out.

Agatha Harkness prided herself on reading people like open books, but Y/N was proving to be an unexpectedly complex chapter. The girl had a way of weaving herself seamlessly into Wanda’s narrative, her every action a perfect blend of naivety and charm. The neighbors adored her, each interaction reinforcing her role as the sweet newcomer.

Agatha wasn’t fooled, not entirely. There was something there, lurking beneath Y/N’s soft demeanor. Something that kept her watching.

The afternoon sun bathed Wanda’s backyard in golden light as she bustled about, her hands full of gardening tools. The scent of freshly clipped grass mingled with the sweet aroma of cookies baking in the oven. Agatha leaned against the fence, watching as Y/N knelt beside Wanda, carefully arranging a row of daisies in the freshly turned soil.

"You’re a natural at this!" Wanda exclaimed, her bright smile aimed at Y/N.

Y/N laughed softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Oh, I don’t know about that," she said, her cheeks tinged with pink. "I’m just following your lead."

Agatha arched an eyebrow, sipping from the thermos of tea she’d brought over. The girl’s humility was textbook charming, her every move designed to blend in perfectly with Wanda’s carefully constructed suburban dream.

But there was more to it. Agatha could feel the faintest ripple in the Hex whenever Y/N was near. It wasn’t enough to break Wanda’s illusion, but it was there—a subtle distortion, like a melody slightly out of tune.

"Don’t sell yourself short, Y/N," Agatha called, her voice light and teasing. "You’ve got a knack for fitting right in, don’t you?"

Y/N looked up, her smile shy as she wiped her hands on her apron. "I just want to do my part," she said.

Wanda beamed at her, clearly pleased. "You’re more than doing your part," she said, placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. "You’re already a part of this little family."

Agatha’s smirk softened, though her thoughts remained sharp. Wanda’s maternal instincts were in full swing, and Y/N seemed to thrive under her attention. But was it genuine, or was the girl playing her own game?

Later that evening, Agatha found herself on her front porch, nursing a glass of wine as the stars blinked into view. The hum of the Hex was quieter here, its magic settling into a steady rhythm as the town went to sleep.

She was about to head inside when she heard the soft shuffle of footsteps. Y/N emerged from the shadows, her arms wrapped around herself as if warding off the chill.

"Agnes?" she called softly, her voice tinged with hesitation.

Agatha straightened, her brows lifting in surprise. "Y/N? What are you doing out here so late?"

Y/N hesitated at the foot of the porch steps, her green eyes wide and uncertain. "I… I didn’t want to bother Wanda," she said. "I just… I couldn’t sleep."

Agatha gestured for her to come closer, her curiosity piqued. "Well, come on up, then. No sense standing out there in the cold."

Y/N climbed the steps, her movements careful and deliberate. She perched on the edge of the porch swing, her fingers twisting in her lap.

"Trouble on your mind, sweetie?" Agatha asked, her tone casual as she leaned back in her chair.

Y/N shrugged, her gaze fixed on the ground. "I don’t know. I guess… it’s just a lot, you know? Starting over, trying to fit in…"

Her voice was soft, almost fragile, and Agatha felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite name. She studied the girl in the dim light, the faint shadows under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders.

"Fitting in isn’t all it’s cracked up to be," Agatha said finally, her voice tinged with dry humor. "Trust me, I’ve been trying for centuries."

Y/N looked up at her, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "You make it look easy."

Agatha chuckled, swirling her wine. "Oh, honey, if only you knew."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the quiet night wrapping around them like a blanket. Agatha found herself relaxing, the usual edge of her thoughts softening as she watched Y/N.

The girl was good—she had to admit that. Whatever she was hiding, she played the innocent act perfectly. But Agatha wasn’t about to let her guard down. Not yet.

"So," Agatha said, breaking the silence. "What are you really running from, Y/N?"

Y/N blinked, her expression startled. "What do you mean?"

Agatha smirked, leaning forward slightly. "Oh, come on, sweetie. Nobody ends up in a place like Westview without a reason. Fresh start, sure, but fresh starts usually mean there’s something you’re leaving behind."

Y/N hesitated, her fingers tightening in her lap. For a moment, Agatha thought she might deflect, but then the girl sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"I guess… I’ve always been looking for somewhere I belong," she said quietly. "Somewhere I can just… be."

Her voice was so earnest, so raw, that for a moment, Agatha believed her. But there was a flicker of something in Y/N’s eyes—a shadow, fleeting and elusive—that reminded Agatha to stay sharp.

"Well," Agatha said finally, her tone softening. "You’ve got a knack for making people like you. That’s half the battle right there."

Y/N smiled, the tension in her shoulders easing. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha watched her for a moment longer, her thoughts swirling. The girl was a mystery, no doubt about it. But if there was one thing Agatha loved, it was solving puzzles.

"Goodnight, Y/N," she said, standing and draining the last of her wine.

"Goodnight, Agnes," Y/N replied, her smile shy as she rose to leave.

As Agatha watched her disappear into the night, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was standing on the edge of something big. Something dangerous.

[thedaselcor]

Here's my take on this one, I did it as my Chater 13!

Thorsday, the 2nd of Maius, 524.

Arthur woke to Merlin thrashing, convulsing through some sort of night terror. He held Merlin close, and tried to keep him from injuring himself through the spasms, but he was entirely uncertain whether that was even the right thing to do.

He noticed, as the minutes went on, that Merlin had been getting increasingly warmer. With growing terror he realized that Merlin was incredibly hot, burning up as if the dreams themselves were causing some sort of incredible magical fever. Arthur couldn't remember the last time he’d felt so powerless. It was a relief then, if a surprise, when Morgana knocked on their door and entered as soon as Arthur was able to stammer some sort of assent.

Morgana walked in, with a confidence and certainty of action Arthur couldn't remember ever seeing in her before. The room seemed to drop in temperature as she crossed in, and, in moments, she brought a hand to Merlin’s chest and one to his face. Arthur could feel the cold radiating off her. Merlin’s temperature crashed drastically as he woke with a start to the cold shock that rippled through from the point of Morgana's contact, and he breathed in sharp and deep like a man just saved from drowning.

“More like the pyre…” Morgana said, responding to the thought Arthur had never voiced.

Merlin panted as he assessed the situation, assessed the room around him, came back to reality, blue eyes betraying an equal measure of absolute understanding and complete bafflement.

Arthur shifted his gaze to Morgana, searching her face for the answers he didn’t know how to ask for. “How did you know?” he managed to ask finally, though the question was woefully inadequate.

“Sometimes we can hear each other, like when I was in the library, like when you helped us with the druid boy,” Morgana answered, but it wasn’t an answer to the question Arthur had been trying to ask.

“No, I mean…” he shook his head, trying to assemble a better question. Still, he only managed, “ how did you know ?”

“Oh!” Morgana exclaimed, as if understanding the misshapen question better this time. “It’s not as complicated as it seems, it was just illusion magic, I focused on making Merlin feel cold rather than changing anything, normally it wouldn’t affect other people, but you and Merlin are… very close , magically speaking. It’s… unusual.”

“ No,” Arthur let out a long, frustrated sigh as he forced himself to reshape the question, to add words. “How did you know about the dream, about the pyre?”

Morgana let out an uncomfortable laugh, as if that question was too obvious to need an answer.

Merlin, gaining more and more of his senses by the minute, ran his fingers gently along Arthur’s arm before answering, pragmatically, “all my dreams end in the pyre, Arthur. Beheadings are reserved for strangers.”

He was too kind to say the rest. Too kind to say, explicitly, your father would punish me for loving you, and he’d make sure that I burned alive if he ever knew the most beautiful part of me , but Arthur still heard it. 

It had been easier to ignore his father’s monstrosity when it wasn’t aimed at the people he wanted most in the world to protect, when it was abstract obligation to Uther versus abstract duty to the people of Camelot. Now, when someone he loved stood in the balance between, when they faced a worse fate because he loved them--the burgeoning flame of Arthur’s hate, so small before this Beltane trip to the country, was bellowed anew by the vile truth of Uther Pendragon, and it threatened to grow and grow until it could consume the world.

Arthur said nothing. He buried his face in Merlin’s shoulder, and dangled in the silence. Arthur had often felt lost in the world or words and feelings, in the world realisations like this one always seemed to thrust him in, and he’d long since learned to be silent and seem uncaring rather than ever risk seeming incompetent--in front of his father, in front of his kingdom, in front of anyone. 

Now, when what Arthur wanted most in the world was to connect, to be soft and vulnerable and honest, to do anything other than dangle in the silence, he had no idea how to find a ledge back out of the chasm. But Merlin just kept running his fingers along Arthur’s arm, and Mrogana didn’t give him the look she often gave him when she thought he was cold or uncaring. It was like they saw him there, dangling and lost, deep beneath the mask that had always rendered him invisible before. Being seen was new, hopeful but uncomfortable. Being seen protected the spriteling flame, promised to direct it to purpose where once it would have been extinguished along with everything hopeful in Arthur’s spirit. Being seen could change everything.

merlin magic reveal fic where arthur asks “why didn’t you tell me?” and merlin says, mirthless smile and haunted eyes “all my dreams end in fire. fire and burning and dying”

[starkeysmoon]

KNOTS AND KISSES

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

summary: after a long day at hogwarts, mattheo surprises you by offering to untangle your hair, revealing a softer side you didn’t expect.

content: fluff, mutual pinning, no established relationship, suggestive language, kissing.

words: 1,853

the castle had settled into a hushed stillness, the kind that only came when most students had retreated to their dorms.

you sat on your bed, freshly showered but too tired to deal with the mess of damp, tangled hair sticking to your shoulders.

the soft glow of enchanted fairy lights shimmered across your room, casting gentle shadows on the walls.

just as exhaustion began pulling at your limbs, a soft knock broke the silence, and before you could respond, the door creaked open.

“you’re going to get hexed one day for not locking your door,” mattheo muttered as he stepped inside, his smirk already firmly in place.

his dark eyes flicked over you, taking in your pajama-clad form and the damp strands clinging to your face.

“though i suppose if i’m the one sneaking in, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

you arched a brow at him, too tired to fight the grin tugging at your lips. “is this your way of saying you missed me, riddle, or are you just bored?”

he shut the door behind him with a soft click, the smirk deepening as he crossed the room. “can’t it be both?”

you rolled your eyes as a laugh escaped from your lips, flopping back against your pillows. “what are you even doing here? do you plan to charm my hairbrush to attack me?”

he pushed off the doorframe and strolled over to you, his gaze lingering on the damp strands clinging to your face. “doesn’t look like i’d need to. your hair’s already doing half the job.”

“wow. insightful as ever, mattheo,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

he chuckled, low and warm, as he perched himself on the edge of your bed. “bad day?” he asked, his voice laced with concern, but you could already hear the teasing in it.

you turned your head toward the door, only to find him leaning against the frame, arms crossed, a grin spreading across his face.

“i’m fine,” you groaned, rubbing your eyes.

“just… too tired to deal with this,” you said, motioning vaguely at your tangled hair.

mattheo raised an eyebrow. “too tired? or too lazy?”

you gave him a playful glare. “i prefer ‘tired.’”

he walked over to the bed, his smirk still in place, but his eyes softened when they landed on you. “i think i can help with that,” he said, as if he'd already made up his mind.

“help? how?” you raised an eyebrow, suspicious of what he meant.

“well, you don’t have to untangle your hair if you’re that tired,” he said, his voice practically dripping with mischief. “i’ll do it for you.”

“you?” you blinked, unable to hide your amusement. “you’re going to untangle my hair?”

“don’t sound so surprised,” he drawled, though his smirk betrayed his amusement. “i’m full of hidden talents.”

you couldn't help but laugh at the idea.

“like what? bothering me until i lose my mind?”

“that’s one of my favorites,” he admitted, moving to sit down on the bed next to you, patting his lap, gesturing impatiently.

“now, are you going to sit down, or are we going to spend all night arguing?”

you narrowed your eyes at him, though you couldn’t stop a small smile from playing at the corner of your lips. “this better not be some trap to mess with me.”

“i’m offended,” he teased, his voice light and playful.

“just sit, and let me work my magic.” he patted his lap again, the mischievous glint in his eyes growing stronger.

sighing dramatically, you rolled your eyes, but there was no resisting him. you climbed onto his lap, positioning yourself so you were sitting comfortably with your back against his chest.

hesitating for only a moment, you shifted to sit on the bed, your back pressed against his chest as you settled into his lap. his hands immediately found your hair, the warmth of his palms startling against your cool, damp skin.

“you’ve done this before?” you asked, more out of curiosity than doubt.

“maybe,” he said, his tone deliberately cryptic as his fingers worked through the knots with surprising gentleness.

“what does maybe mean?” you pressed, craning your neck to glance at him.

“it means don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” he said, smirking down at you.

you huffed, but the way his fingers combed through your hair was oddly soothing, and you felt yourself relax against him.

“you’re quiet,” he noted after a moment, his tone light. “you’re not plotting my demise, are you?”

“not yet,” you murmured, closing your eyes. “this is suspiciously nice, though.”

he chuckled, low and warm, the vibration of it against your back sending a strange flutter through your chest. “what can i say? i’m full of surprises.”

the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, the sound of his voice mingling with the soft crackle of the candlelight as you chatted.

you teased him about his hair-braiding skills, or lack thereof, and he retaliated by pretending to tug too hard, only to gently smooth his fingers through the strands again.

at one point, he paused, his hands lingering in your hair. “you know,” he said quietly, almost hesitantly, “this isn’t so bad.”

“what isn’t?” you asked, turning your head slightly to glance at him.

“this,” he said, gesturing vaguely between you both. “not... being alone all the time.”

his admission caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. but then you reached up, your fingers brushing against his, and you smiled.

“i trust you,” you said softly, feeling the weight of his words in the space between you.

his gaze softened, his fingers pausing in your hair before he continued gently untangling it.

“you do?” his voice was low, surprised in a way that made your chest tighten.

you nodded, feeling the quiet shift between you both. “yeah. even if you are a pain in the arse sometimes.”

he snorted softly, but there was a warmth in his smile. “you know, you’re lucky you’re cute when you’re being stubborn.”

his fingers carefully tugged at a particularly tough knot, and you winced.

“sorry,” he murmured, his voice softening. “i won’t hurt you.”

you laughed. “you’re lucky i like you. otherwise, i might just hex you for putting me in this position.”

“oh, please,” he scoffed, but there was no malice in his voice.

“as if you could live without me.” he tugged on your hair again, this time with much more care.

“hmm, true,” you admitted, letting your eyes close for a moment, enjoying the warmth of his body and the soothing rhythm of his fingers. “you’re pretty hard to get rid of.”

“you’re welcome,” he said with mock humility, and you could feel the grin on his face against the back of your head. “this is just me being a good…friend.”

“good friend, huh?” you teased, your voice light and playful. “who knew you had it in you.”

“you’re the only one who gets to see this side of me, you know,” he muttered, voice surprisingly soft as he continued working through your hair, his hands gentle now. “so enjoy it while it lasts.”

you felt a warmth settle in your chest at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile, even though you tried to play it off.

“you really are soft underneath all that sarcasm,” you teased, your voice warm with affection.

“and you’re not fooling anyone with that fake tough-girl act,” he shot back with a grin, though it was obvious he was enjoying the moment just as much as you were.

his fingers worked through another knot before he reached for a strand near the back of your head, tugging it with an exaggerated grunt.

“how did this even happen? seriously, it’s like you’ve been wrestling with a hippogriff.”

“i do have a very busy life, you know,” you quipped, reaching up to lightly smack his arm. “you’re lucky i’m letting you do this. don’t mess it up.”

“mess it up?” he echoed, his voice dripping with confidence. “i told you i’m a professional.”

you snorted. “right.”

you felt his chest rumble with laughter, the sound so close to your ear that it sent a shiver down your spine.

he was so close to you, and in this simple, sweet moment, everything felt just a little bit more perfect.

“well, i think i’m done,” he said after a moment, gently setting your hair down, and you could feel the soft caress of his hands against your skin.

you turned in his lap to face him, feeling your heart race as you met his eyes.

“you actually did a good job,” you said, a teasing smile curling at the corner of your lips. “i’m impressed.”

“thank you,” he said, grinning back at you. “i told you. i’m good at everything.”

“everything, huh?” you leaned closer, your breath mixing with his as you smiled. “prove it.”

before he could respond, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a kiss that was anything but soft.

he tasted of warmth, familiarity, and affection. he didn’t pull away, his arms tightening around you in response.

and for that moment, with his fingers still tangled in your hair and his lips against yours, the world outside your little bubble of comfort didn’t matter.

it was just the two of you, tangled together in the way only you could understand.

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[finelinevogue]

, happy endings

summary - everyone sees you as this weird and crazy ravenclaw. everyone except remus and sirius.

pairing : ravenclaw!reader x wolfstar

word count: +3k

tw: angst | nearly a happy ending | mentions of fight | self deprecation | sirius being sirius | she pronouns used

[part 1] [part 2]

You walked out of Flitwick’s office with your head low.

It caused you anxiety to know anyone could watch you exit your Head of House’s office, because everyone knew the only reason you’d be in there is because you were in trouble.

You accidentally bumped into people on your way out, though, making you stop short.

“I’m so sorry.” You said.

“Y/N? Hey, it’s only us.” Sirius said and you lifted your head to catch sight of him and Sirius before you.

You became anxious over Sirius coming to find you over a moment that you’d shared with Remus in Potions earlier. You knew that it had meant nothing to Remus, even if it had meant something to you. The way Sirius had looked at you afterwards though still made you uncomfortable thinking about.

“Sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Just as Remus was about to say something, Professor Flitwick came out of his office.

“Ah. Just the two people I need to see.” Flitwick said, causing you to bolt before any other questions could get asked.

“But…” Sirius started, watching you leave without a goodbye.

“C’mon.” Remus tugged Sirius, not wanting to get into any more trouble if they somehow already were.

“If it’s any consolation, Mr Black, i’d like to talk to you both about Y/N.”

That caught Sirius’ attention and he was more engaged to enter Flitwick’s office then. Remus followed close behind.

Flitwick’s office was small but magical. Literally.

He had pieces of paper filing themselves away everywhere. There were books also putting themselves away on designated shelves.

“Take a seat boys.”

Flitwick went around the side of his desk and sat opposite where Sirius and Remus now sat.

Remus’ fingers started scratching at one another, because the anticipation of knowing what he’d done wrong and how he would be punished was too much. His only saving thoughts were that Sirius was beside him and you were the reason they were here, not him.

Sirius reached over to take Remus’ hand in his, interlocking their fingers to stop Remus from fidgeting.

“Are we in trouble, Professor?” Sirius asked, “‘Cause if we are, I can guarantee it was all me and nothing to do with Remus.”

Remus slightly smiled at how protective Sirius still was even after so long.

“I can assure you that neither one of you are in trouble. I just need to ask something of both of you.”

“Okay.” Sirius said skeptically.

“Darcy Gunther came to see me today, claiming that Y/N provoked Darcy’s cat and this explains the scratches down Miss L/N’s face. Now I have known Y/N since she started at this school and I don’t particularly think they would be so silly to do such a thing—.”

“They wouldn’t.” Sirius quickly chimed in, feeling Remus’ hand tense in Sirius’ due to the rage of hearing Darcy’s story.

“However.” Flitwick clearly didn’t enjoy being interrupted, “Miss L/N came in here and did not defend herself. I asked Y/N what was said to cause such a reaction from Darcy’s cat and all I got was a shrug in return. Miss Gunther explained that it was because Y/N was jealous that you two never give her the time of day? Again, I know Miss L/N and I don’t think this would be a concern of theirs.”

“Definitely.” Remus agreed.

“I don’t need to know what you two think about this. However, I am aware of Miss L/Ns lack of social circle and would like to ask if you two—.”

“Absolutely.”

“Yes, anything!”

Flitwick had to bite back a smile.

“— could make sure Y/N feels included.” He finished his sentence whilst the boys continued to nod. “Good.”

“So that’s it? No… getting into trouble?” Remus asked warily.

“Unless you have a direct link to what happened to Y/Ns face, Mr Lupin, you are free to go.”

“Wow. First time getting called into a teachers office and not getting told off!” Sirius laughed, as he and Remus stood to leave.

They both walked for the door, knowing they were about to burst out in conversation with each other once they’d left.

“Sirius?” Flitwick asked.

Sirius turned, whilst Remus had one hand on the door ready.

“Remember detention at Friday lunch.”

Sirius winked, “You got it.”

Remus rolled his eyes before they walked out the door.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

You were sat at your favourite spot in the library when Sirius and Remus approached you.

The book you were reading was a novel full of adventure, mystery and treasure. You loved reading. The escapism into a world entirely different to your own was second to none. It was freeing and most importantly safe.

“Hey.” Remus said as he approached you.

You were sat at a four person bench table, you in the middle of one bench and - now - Sirus and Remus clambering to sit on the opposite bench.

“Hey.” You smiled.

“What’re you reading?” Remus asked.

You showed him the title and he looked impressed.

They didn’t have any books or notes of their own, so they must’ve either come here to cause trouble or to genuinely just sit and talk with you.

Curious.

“Are you two okay?” You asked.

“Y/N, you got attacked by a cat and you’re asking whether we’re okay?” Sirius asked, staring at your wound with intent.

“Did Flitwick put you up to this? To interrogate the truth out of me?” You frowned.

You had hoped they’d come here to chat with you, but maybe they were here on business to cause trouble after all.

“No.” Remus said.

“Yes.” Sirius said.

You looked at them confused.

“What are you doing?” Sirius asked Remus, flicking his finger on his forehead.

“What are you doing? Exposing us.”

“When have I ever been good at lying, Moony?”

“Uh… That time it turned out you’d been using my toothbrush for a whole term!”

“At least I was keeping my teeth clean!”

You stared at them with utter confusion.

You didn’t know what to feel. First they are here to spy on you and the truth? Then Remus lies to you about it? And now they are bickering over oral hygiene. If you didn’t insanely like them both, a normal person would have left by now.

“This is ridiculous. We’re talking about this later.” Remus muttered, annoyed with his boyfriend.

Sirius turned to you grinning and Remus tried his best to smile.

It took you all of three seconds to start chuckling to yourself. You could feel the corners of your eyes crease and the dimple on your face pop out to say hello.

Your giggles filled the space around you and you had to out a hand over your mouth in hopes of keeping them muffled.

“Ssh!” Some senior prefect glared at you.

“Oi! Don’t tell her to shush,” Sirius barked and then quietly muttered, “Prick.”

“No it’s okay. It’s a library, I should be quiet.” You stopped laughing, but not smiling.

“Not when you’re laughing like that, you shouldn’t.” Remus said.

His comment made you blush and you had to dip your head before Sirius could see.

You were worried if Sirius caught you being affected by Remus’ kindness - again - he would probably have to confront you, and you weren’t too excited for that.

There was just something about Sirius and Remus that made your heart feel right. Like they were a reminder that even through all the tough moments, there was still sunshine in the form of them.

Remus had his level-headed, introverted-ness, about him and Sirius was all hot-headed and cool. Both of them together just made sense.

You wished you had someone that would complete you into being made sense of.

It was hard though when, well for one no one in the school ever talked to you, and the only people who do speak to you are already in an established relationship.

“Y/N, are you single?” Sirius asked, breaking the silence.

Remus’ jaw dropped and looked at Sirius like he just killed his grandma.

Why was Sirius asking whether you were single when his boyfriend was sat next to him?

“What is this?” You nervously chuckled, “An interrogation over my love life?”

“Sirius…” Remus tried to stop him before he could start, but there was just no point.

“Have you ever been in a relationship?” Sirius asked.

“No.” You said quietly, embarrassed.

“Do you ever want to be?”

“Sirius!” Remus cursed.

“I-I don’t know what game you’re playing, Sirius, but it’s not funny. I get that I’m the joke of Ravenclaw and possibly even the school, but I’m not going to sit around and have you of all people embarrass me.” You spoke firmly, gathering your book in your hand.

“What do you mean ‘of all people’?” Sirius pushed.

“Sirius stop.” Remus gripped his boyfriends arm.

“W-we shouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

“What conversation, Y/N? I’m just talking.”

“You’re being a dick.” You muttered.

“A dick?”

“Yes. You know damn well that no one in this school likes me and it’s really cruel of you to make such a big deal of it.” Your eyes started to well with water.

“Y/N… That’s not…” Sirius started.

You stood up from your chair at the bench, “Look, I know what people say about me okay? I’d just rather not hear it from you today.”

And with that you were gone.

Sirius and Remus both watched you leave in a hurry, clearly not wanting to hang around for a single second longer than needed.

Remus whacked Sirius around the head with his hand.

“Ow- What the…?” Sirius whined.

Remus just glared at him.

“I screwed up.”

“Yeah, you screwed up.” Remus nodded in agreement. “What were you even trying to attempt?”

“Ask her on a date.”

“With who?”

“Us.” Sirius looked at Remus now like he’d not been present for the past five years.

“Oh yeah, ‘cause asking a girl who has never been in a relationship before on a date with, not one but, two guys is a great starting point.” Remus sarcastically answered.

“Ah…”

“Christ alive, how did you ever win me over?” Remus mumbled as he got up from the bench.

“Heyyy…” Sirius whined. “Wait, where are you going?”

“To fix your bloody mess.”

“Shall I….?”

“You stay here.” Remus ordered, hugging Sirius from behind with his arms dangling over his shoulders.

“And do what?”

“Read a book.”

“Read? A book?” Sirius pretended to gag.

“Love you.” Remus kissed Sirius’ cheek, before reluctantly unravelling himself from him.

“I love you, but you are causing me much pain by forcing me to read.” Sirius banged his head on the table, hoping his sat force would cause Remus to change his mind.

But no.

Remus was gone and Sirius would have to go and find a book.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

You were sitting on the floor of a dark corridor by yourself.

No one ever came down here because they were too scared of the Ravenclaw ghosts - that you had befriended over the years.

You wiped your tears from your cheeks a with your sweater as you heard footsteps approaching.

It was slightly sad, no definitely sad - the lame kind - to be sitting on the floor crying over two guys that you never thought would’ve given you the time of day, but here you were.

Remus and Sirius occupied too much of your brain space.

They made you happy, even if they didn’t know it.

You imagined what it would be like being happy with them.

Then, perhaps, you imagined a little too hard because the next thing you see is Remus walking down the corridor towards you.

You briefly catch him slip a piece of parchment into his back pocket, before wiping the rest of your tears away.

“Hi.” He nervously smiled.

You curled your knees up into your chest as your back pressed against the cold stone. Your eyes slowly watched Remus walk beside you, only to slink down against the wall and sit next to you.

“I don’t want to talk.” You said quietly, even though there was no one around to hear but him.

“That’s okay. If all you want to do is sit in this hallway in silence, then I’m happy to do it with you.”

Your heart swooned over his words.

You’d never had someone so insistent on being around you. A day ago, Remus and Sirius probably had never had you on their mind and yet today you had already seen them 3 times. 4 if you included this time with Remus.

Remus kept his word and remained silent next to you, until five minutes later your thoughts were too loud to keep them in your head.

“How did you know where to find me?” You asked.

“Oh, uh, I guessed.”

“Lucky guess.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think I should apologise to Sirius?”

“What?” Remus laughed, “No absolutely not. He was being a dick and he knew it. I love him, but he has no boundaries.”

You chuckled at that, because you could only imagine.

You scooted closer to Remus, needing to feel a little extra warmth in this cold corridor. The stone floor wasn’t exactly ideal for sitting on, but it had grounded you when you felt like you were slipping away. Now that Remus was here you felt like you had another way - a better way - of grounding yourself.

Plus, for some reason, Remus was exhorting a lot of heat.

“I feel like I need to apologise to Sirius anyways.” You admitted.

“How come?” Remus didn’t make any jokes. He just gave you the space to talk.

“I… It’s.. Gosh I don’t know how to say any of this.”

You shook your head, burrowing it down to your knees as if not being able to see the world would mean you’d entirely removed yourself from the situation.

How on Earth were you supposed to explain to Remus that you needed to apologise to his boyfriend because he’s caught you ogling Remus one too many times now? How do you admit a crush like this? And then not just on one, but two people? At once?

It was insufferable being inside your head currently.

It was like a giant wave of guilt and shame constantly crashing its way down on you, weighing you down until you felt like you couldn’t breathe any more.

“I.. I think there’s something wrong with me.” You let the tears fall then, feeling safe enough next to Remus to cry.

“Y/N…”

Your head shot up from your knees, needing to get this out, “I have never been loved before, Remus. I know I’m the butt of the joke. That I’m deemed unworthy and a bit pathetic. I get it, I do. But it fucking sucks that people see me like this when I still have a heart underneath, just like anyone else. It’s full of love and joy and happiness, but sometimes I forget it’s all there because of how small people make me feel. I’ve never felt like I fit in. I don’t fit in. And I certainly wouldn’t fit into a relationship with the likes of you or Sirius. So I need to apologise to Sirius and I need to apologise to you for ever believing that I could worm myself into your relationship - like I’ve wanted to for the past sodding half my life.”

You felt out of breath as you finished speaking, letting your chest heave off the anger.

You felt lighter for letting it all out, but also terrified at the boy you adored staring blankly in front of you and what his answer would be.

The silence lasted for two seconds too long before you decided that you’ve ruined everything.

“I’m sorry Remus. God, I’m so so sorry.”

You made tracks to stand up, but Remus stood up with you just as quickly - ignoring the resulting cracks from his bones.

He made his quickly into the space between you both and cupped your cheeks carefully.

“No. No, stop that. Don’t be sorry, not for that.”

You pouted your lips and your eyes watered.

“I never meant to hurt anyone.”

“What are you talking about, sweetheart? You’ve not hurt anyone,” Remus delicately traced his finger down the cat-scratch wound on your face, “Except only yourself.”

“I-I’m so.. s-sorry.” You hiccuped, tears falling down your face. Remus raced to catch them all as if it was a game, urging them to stop falling.

“Sshh. You’re okay.”

“I’m ru-ining everything.” You tried to drop your head but Remus kept you facing him.

“Never. You’re not, I promise. You haven’t ruined anything. You’re too good to ruin anything. Too sweet.”

You started sobbing then and Remus let you drop your head against his chest. He cupped the back of your head protectively and wrapped the other around your back to keep you close to him. His body shook as yours did and he felt every bit of devastation that you did.

You hurting, hurt Remus just the same. Just as Remus knew Sirius also felt.

Sirius soon appeared down the corridor, almost running when he realised it was you that was shaking heavily in Remus’ arms.

“Moony, what happened? Who did this? I swear when I find out who—.”

“Sirius will you calm down. She’s not hurt - well, not physically.” Remus explained, trying to calm down his boyfriend whilst also consoling you.

After hearing Sirius’ voice you reluctantly pulled away from Remus’ embrace. You nervously looked over at Sirius, your eyes no doubt swollen and puffy and your hair frayed from all the nuzzling into Remus chest.

“Y/N…” Sirius said your name so softly you would have smiled had it not been for the heartbroken tone he used.

“I’m so sorry for interfering with you and your boyfriend.” You apologised to Sirius.

Your fingers started scratching at each other with nerves.

You expected Sirius to lash out and agree with you, but instead he looked devastated - not with you, but himself. There was a look of remorse and guilt on his face, one you knew all too well.

“Is that how you’ve felt? How i’ve made you feel?” He asked.

You didn’t answer because it was clear he already knew the answer and you didn’t feel cruel enough to say it out loud.

“Moony… I’m sorry. I’ve ruined everything.” Sirius started to become upset now.

It only was moments before that you’d been upset over the same thing.

“Hey, listen to me. You’ve not ruined anything. You’re as perfect as you always are. But Y/N has something to say, okay?” Remus wrapped his arm around Sirius waist and turned him to face you.

As they both looked at you with starry and tearful eyes you couldn’t help but believe that you’d caused so much unnecessary pain and hurt to the two people you’d vowed never to upset.

It was clear that there was no room for you to fit in beside them, regardless of how badly you wanted to.

That was okay. It was something that would hurt but it would be something you’d learn to grow from in time.

“Sirius…” You started, before not really knowing where to go from there. You wanted to apologise, but you didn’t know quite how.

Sirius moved away from Remus and in front of you, wiping away some loose hair from your face. He was so close to you, you almost couldn’t breathe.

“I always felt unworthy…”

“Sirius…”

“No just hear me out. I always felt unworthy, until I met Remus. He showed me that I was able to be loved and treated with kindness. Then I came to realise that I could also love and treat people with kindness, and that realisation came when I met you. In fact, it was before I met you. It was the first time I saw you standing on the Platform, waiting to leave for Hogwarts. I saw you and I instantly believed I could be capable of loving someone else. My heart let in Moony, of course it did, but it never felt quite whole. Like there was a piece of the puzzle missing.”

You quickly glanced from Sirius to Remus, to make sure this was an okay conversation to be having - despite how much you never wanted the moment to end.

Remus gave you an encouraging nod.

“I felt it too.”

“All this time we’d been reeling over what that little bit of emptiness was caused by, until we realised that it was because we were missing you.”

[satansdarlin]

Marigold margins

Chapter two

Ceo!Tim Drake x assistant fem!reader

Notes: hammered this out when I was supposed to be sleeping! Also I'm twenty now :0! Not beta read this time so excuse any grammar errors. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! Tell me what you think! I love to hear your thoughts

Warnings: talk of the loss of a parent, toxic work environments, talk about how a sugar daddy relationship can be toxic (not in this one tho!), referenced past cheating (all my homies hate Josh and Alexia), straight up attempted murder (cause that bitch knows you don't know how to swim), sickeningly sweet love confessions, Thomas being a bit of a cockblock but we love him.

Word count: 10k

Rating: T

Playlist

The restaurant was a world apart from anything you'd experienced before. Gotham's most exclusive Vietnamese restaurant wasn't just a dining establishment – it was a temple of culinary artistry. Crystal chandeliers cast soft golden light over tables draped in pristine white linens, each setting a carefully curated masterpiece of silver and crystal.

You felt like an imposter.

Your pale yellow dress – the nicest thing in your wardrobe, carefully selected after three panicked phone calls to your sister – suddenly felt woefully inadequate. The other patrons looked like they'd stepped out of a high-fashion magazine, all carefully tailored suits and designer jewelry that probably cost more than your entire year's rent.

The hostess – impossibly elegant in a tailored red silk uniform that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe – looked you up and down with a gaze that made you want to shrink into yourself.

"Name?" Her tone was crisp, professional, and utterly intimidating.

"I'm, um, here with Timothy Drake?" The words came out as a question, your confidence evaporating under her scrutiny.

Her perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. "I don't believe we have—"

"There you are." Tim's voice cut through your mounting anxiety like a warm knife through butter. He appeared beside you, immaculate in a charcoal suit that looked like it had been tailored by angels. His hand settled on the small of your back – warm, reassuring, possessive.

The hostess's demeanor changed instantly. "Mr. Drake, your table is ready. Right this way."

You found yourself guided through the restaurant, feeling like you were floating. Tim's touch was steady, grounding you even as your mind raced. The other diners seemed to part like a sea, heads turning in recognition.

"Sorry about traffic," you mumbled, fingers nervously smoothing the fabric of your dress.

Tim leaned in, his breath close to your ear. "I could have sent a car," he murmured. "One of the company's autonomous vehicles would have—"

"And that," you interrupted, finding a spark of your usual banter, "would be even more unprofessional than this, Mr. Drake."

The nickname made his eyes dance with amusement. "We're not at the office," he said, pulling out your chair with a fluid motion that spoke of years of practiced elegance. "Just Tim. Please."

As you sat, you couldn't help but marvel at the contrast between you. Tim moved through this world like he was born to it – which, technically, he was. You, on the other hand, felt like an actress who'd wandered onto the wrong set.

The menu was a work of art, more like a leather-bound book than a list of dishes. Golden-edged pages revealed delicacies you'd only read about, prices conspicuously absent – a sure sign that if you had to ask, you couldn't afford it.

"Have you ever had real Vietnamese cuisine?" Tim asked, his menu folded casually beside his plate.

You shifted uncomfortably. "Define 'real'?"

His laugh was soft, meant only for you. "Not from a food truck or a strip mall restaurant."

"Hey," you mock-protested, "those are cultural institutions!"

A waiter appeared, as if summoned by magic. Crystal water glasses were filled, a wine list presented to Tim with the reverence usually reserved for religious texts.

"The 2015 Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, sir?" the waiter suggested.

Tim's fingers brushed yours across the table. "What do you think?"

The wine probably cost more than your monthly salary. You swallowed, suddenly feeling very out of your depth.

"I'm more of a craft beer girl," you admitted.

Tim's smile was blinding. "Good. Because I am too. Though don't tell my family."

Something in that moment – his genuine smile, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room – made all the elegance around you fade into background noise.

"So," you leaned forward, "tell me something real. Something the tabloids don't know."

His eyes glinted with a promise of secrets about to be shared. Tim leaned back, a challenge dancing in his eyes. "Something real, huh? Most people think they know me – Timothy Drake, Wayne heir, tech prodigy. But nobody knows the real me."

The waiter returned, setting down an array of dishes that looked more like art installations than food. Delicate rice paper rolls, a steaming pho that sent wisps of aromatic steam into the air, garnishes so precisely placed they looked like they'd been positioned with tweezers.

"I was seven," Tim began, picking up his chopsticks with the same precision the chef had used to arrange the meal, "when I first taught myself computer programming."

You raised an eyebrow. "Most seven-year-olds are playing video games. You were writing code?"

"Not just writing," he corrected, a hint of that boyish enthusiasm breaking through his polished exterior. "I was trying to hack my parents' computer to prove I could do it."

A laugh escaped you – loud, unrestrained, completely inappropriate for the refined setting. Several nearby diners turned, but Tim's eyes never left you.

"Did you succeed?" you asked, leaning forward.

His smile was pure mischief. "Of course I did. Took me three days. My mother was both furious and secretly impressed."

You took a bite of the rice paper roll, trying to look elegant and immediately realizing how difficult that was. A drop of sauce landed on your dress.

"Shit," you muttered.

Tim slides a napkin toward you, but there's something soft in his eyes. "It's just a dress," he says simply. "Not like the world will end."

It wasn't just a napkin. It was a perfectly pressed white linen napkin that probably cost more than your dry cleaning budget for a year. You dabbed at the spot, acutely aware of how out of place you felt.

"Your turn," Tim said. "Something real about you that nobody knows."

You hesitated, twirling your chopsticks. "I... can't actually use these very well."

His laugh was unexpected. Full. Rich. The kind of laugh that made other diners turn and smile, even if they didn't know the joke.

"tell me something actually real," he prompted again, his eyes holding a mix of curiosity and challenge.

"When I was in college," you admitted quietly, a mischievous edge creeping into your voice, "I may have orchestrated the complete academic downfall of six guys from Gotham University."

Tim's laugh burst out unexpectedly, sharp and surprised. "You got them expelled?"

"They had cut up photos of my sister Indi from magazines," you exclaimed, a fierce protectiveness blazing in your eyes. "Hung them in their dorm with these... disgusting annotations. No one makes gross comments about my sister without consequences."

Your voice was matter-of-fact, but there was a steel underneath that made Tim's eyes widen. He leaned closer, fascinated.

"What did you do?" he asked, genuinely intrigued.

A small, dangerous smile played across your lips. "Let's just say their academic records became... quite complicated. Plagiarism allegations. Lost recommendation letters. Academic conduct hearings." You shrugged. "By the time I was done, they were lucky to transfer to community college."

Tim's laughter was a mix of shock and admiration. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"Wise choice," you winked.

The conversation hung between you - a delicate balance of humor and intensity. Tim's fingers traced patterns on the pristine white tablecloth, his next words carefully chosen.

"Most people think I'm just the tech genius of the Wayne family," he said softly. "But my first love was actually marine biology."

You blinked, caught off guard. "Marine biology? Really?"

"Spent an entire summer when I was fourteen volunteering at the Gotham Aquarium," he admitted, a soft vulnerability replacing his usual polished exterior. "I wanted to save every single sea creature. Drove my family absolutely mad. I still have a boat bruce bought me for it."

The waiter returned, setting down two steaming bowls of pho. The aroma was intoxicating – star anise, beef broth, fresh herbs creating a symphony of scent that made your mouth water.

"What changed?" you asked, watching Tim expertly manipulate his chopsticks. "Why didn't you become a marine biologist?"

His smile turned slightly rueful. "Reality of the Wayne legacy, I suppose. Family expectations are... complicated."

You understood that. Family expectations were a language you'd spoken fluently your entire life. The weight of unspoken rules, inherited dreams, and silent sacrifices - you knew that terrain intimately.

"My turn, huh?" You traced the rim of your water glass, your voice soft but steady. "My father died when I was fifteen. Lung cancer - a delayed consequence of a Joker gas attack years earlier. Most people don't understand how something like that lingers, how toxicity can take years to kill you."

You looked up, meeting Tim's gaze directly. No apology in your eyes, just a raw, unvarnished truth.

"He made me promise something before he died," you continued. "Not just me, but all my sisters. 'Never stop fighting for what you want most in life.' Not in a motivational poster kind of way. But like a mission. A directive."

Tim's hand moved across the table, his fingers barely touching yours. Not a gesture of pity, but of connection. Understanding.

"Some legacies are survival instructions," he said quietly. It wasn't a question. It was a statement of solidarity.

You appreciated that he didn't say "I'm sorry." Those words had lost meaning years ago.

"Want to know something else?" Tim's smile shifted - part mischief, part vulnerability. "I've been wanting to ask you out for months."

"No way," you laughed, the sound low and disbelieving. "Me? Of all people?" Your eyebrow arched, a challenge dancing in your eyes. "Absolutely not."

Tim's smile didn't falter. If anything, it deepened - a mix of amusement and something more profound. "Oh, but yes way," he countered, his fingers still intertwined with yours. "The universe works in strange ways."

You'd heard that before. Gotham was a city of strange ways, of unexpected connections.

"The truth," Tim continued, leaning closer, "is always more complicated." His voice dropped, intimate. "You're the first person who's ever looked past the surface. Who sees beyond the Drake heir, beyond the Wayne successor. Who sees just... me."

The words hung between you - vulnerable, honest, dangerous.

The food arrived like a distraction, a symphony of colors that seemed almost too artful to disturb. Delicate rice paper rolls that looked like they'd been crafted by an artist, not a chef. Steam rising from a soup that promised complexity. Crisp pancakes that looked more like small architectural models than something meant to be eaten.

"Eat," Tim encouraged, his eyes never leaving yours. "No nerves required."

Your chopsticks felt awkward, clumsy. Tim's movements, by contrast, were fluid - each motion precise, economic. A dancer's grace, a programmer's efficiency.

The first bite exploded across your tongue - layers of flavor so complex they almost seemed impossible. Nuanced. Unexpected. Nothing like any Vietnamese food you'd experienced before.

"Good?" Tim asked, and the word was loaded with something more than simple curiosity.

"Incredible," you admitted. And you weren't just talking about the food.

Outside, Gotham's night was falling. City lights began to sparkle - a million stories unfolding in the darkness. But inside this restaurant, in this moment, there was only the two of you. The elegant space. The extraordinary food. And a connection that felt like it was writing its own unexpected story.

The evening was drawing to a close, and the last thing you wanted was for it to end. The tension between you and Tim was electric - professional boundaries blurring with each passing moment. One more hour, and you'd be dangerously close to crossing lines that couldn't be uncrossed.

Gotham's night air bit through your jacket as you stepped outside, the city's chill a stark contrast to the warmth of the restaurant.

"Metropolis," you said softly, a statement and a promise. Your feet shifted, reluctant to create distance between you.

Tim's gaze was warm, understanding. But there was something else brewing beneath the surface - a careful consideration you recognized instantly.

"I spoke with Bruce," he began, each word measured. "About us. About potential... complications."

You tensed slightly. The unspoken implications hung between you - this could work, or this could spectacularly fall apart.

"A contract," Tim continued, watching your reaction carefully. "Not what you're thinking. An NDA. A way to protect both of us. Professionally and personally."

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. "A contract? Like some kind of corporate romance clause?"

Tim's laugh matched yours - nervous, excited, slightly ridiculous. "Something like that. Bruce thought it might provide a framework. Protection."

"Romantic," you deadpanned, but your eyes were sparkling.

"Bruce was never known for his romantic sensibilities," Tim shot back.

A soft silence settled between you, the city's background noise a distant hum. Tim's hands were tucked into his coat pockets, but you could see the tension in his shoulders - a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

"So," you said finally, your breath creating small clouds in the cold Gotham air, "a contract that essentially says what, exactly?"

Tim's smile was equal parts nervous and calculated. "Mutual discretion. Clear boundaries. Protections for both of us if things become... complicated." He paused. "Bruce suggested it might help us navigate the professional complexities."

You appreciated the directness. In Gotham, in your world, nothing was ever simple. Relationships were chess matches, and Tim was proposing a detailed playbook.

"And if I want to play?" The question hung between you, loaded with possibility.

"Then we play carefully," Tim responded, his voice low. "Very carefully."

The streetlights cast a golden glow, creating a bubble of intimacy in the middle of a city that never truly slept. Gotham watched, perpetually curious, perpetually waiting.

“I can do careful,” you hummed sweetly and stood on the tips of your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek making him flush red in the face. You heard a honk and looked over and saw scarlet's car. “That's my ride. See you in Metropolis, Mr. Drake”

“I'm never going to get you to just call me Tim all the time, am i?” His voice filled with mirth and teasing as he smiled at you.

“We will see, sir” you chirped, giving a mock salute before going off to your sister's car.

.

.

.

"That should be everything," Scarlet declared, setting down the final box in the spacious Metropolis penthouse. She let out a low whistle, surveying the room. "Quite the setup your boyfriend arranged."

"He's not—" You sighed, catching yourself, maybe you were, you werent sure. "Tim just needs me close for our work."

Scarlet's eyebrow arched, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Right. Just work."

You rolled your eyes, recognizing the familiar teasing. "You sound just like Indi and Dick."

Her laugh was soft, but her gaze grew serious. Stuffing her hands into her pockets, Scarlet studied you with a mixture of concern and pride. "You sure you'll be okay out here? It's a hell of a long way from Gotham."

The concern was layered—part sisterly protection, part lingering grief. You both knew how much had changed since your father's death.

"I need this," you said quietly. "A fresh start. Away from... everything."

"Away from Josh," Scarlet corrected, her tone hardening. "I still offer to break his kneecaps, by the way."

"Calm down, Vito Corleone," you chuckled.

For a moment, Scarlet looked less like the fierce small business owner and more like the sister who had helped raise you. Her fingers traced the edge of a nearby box—an old nervous habit from childhood.

"I worry," she admitted. "Ever since dad..."

You moved closer, placing a hand on her arm. "I know. But I'm not alone. I've got you. Indi. Petal. Mom. And now, this opportunity with Tim."

Moisture gathered in Scarlet's eyes. "You're going to do amazing things. I know it."

The hug was tight, filled with the familiar scents of lavender, flower shop soil, and citrus cleaning products that defined Scarlet.

"How's the shop? How's Harkin?" you asked, sensing she needed to shift focus.

Her smile transformed her entire demeanor. "Growing like a weed. He's 'helping' me arrange flowers—which means creating beautiful, chaotic messes."

"Sounds exactly like his mother," you teased.

"Careful," Scarlet mock-warned. "I have connections with every florist in Gotham. I could make your professional life very interesting."

You raised an eyebrow. "Weaponized flower arrangements?"

"Not a threat. A promise."

Laughter dissolved the remaining tension. Outside the penthouse windows, Metropolis awaited—a canvas of new possibilities.

"Call me," Scarlet insisted as she prepared to leave. "Every. Single. Day."

"Yes, mom," you retorted, the affection clear.

After she departed, you stood amid the boxes—each one a symbol of transformation, of escape, of hope.

Your phone buzzed.

From: Tim

Everything settled in?

To: Tim

Almost. My sister just threatened to weaponize flower arrangements if I don't call her daily.

From: Tim

Remind me to never get on her bad side either.

A smile played on your lips. Metropolis wasn't just a new city. It was a new beginning.

.

.

.

The weeks blurred together, each day more demanding than the last. You could feel the tension building—in your jaw, in Tim's posture, in the very air around your work.

You were on a call, your tone clipped and professional, when Tim entered the room. His face was a map of stress, fingers rubbing his temples. Their eyes met—a silent acknowledgment of the mounting pressure.

The phone call was a masterclass in professional restraint. Your voice, crisp and controlled, sliced through the potential client's growing agitation.

"Mr. Drake's schedule is completely booked," you stated, each word precisely calibrated. "We cannot accommodate additional meetings at this time."

Tim watched from the doorway, a silent observer to your professional ballet. The muffled sounds of argument filtered through the phone's speaker—frustration, desperation, the kind of negotiation that happened when someone was used to getting their way.

"I understand your concerns," you continued, a razor's edge of patience threading through your tone. "If you could provide a more comprehensive proposal, I'd be happy to review it for potential future consideration."

Another pause. Your fingers drummed a subtle rhythm against the desk—the only outward sign of your mounting irritation.

"No," you said firmly. "Mr. Drake maintains strict boundaries regarding business communications. Discretion is paramount in our work."

When you finally ended the call, the silence felt like a physical thing. You exhaled—long, controlled, a study in professional composure.

Tim's chuckle was low, tinged with exhaustion. "Problems?"

Your smile was wry, weathered. "Just another client who believes the rules don't apply to them."

The subtext was clear. The Metropolis transfer—once a promising strategic expansion—had become a crucible of unexpected challenges. New clients, competing interests, a constant barrage of professional obstacles had transformed their work into a high-wire act of precision and patience.

"I'm starting to think Samantha might have been right about the market volatility," you admitted, shuffling papers that seemed to multiply with each passing moment.

Tim's jaw tightened. The mention of Samantha was a deliberate provocation, and he knew it.

"We're not giving her the satisfaction," he responded, the words clipped.

You raised an eyebrow, a challenge masked as curiosity. "Competitive?"

"Always," he said. But beneath the professional veneer, a hint of his younger self emerged—that brilliant, driven individual who'd never backed down from a challenge.

"Coffee?"

It wasn't a question. It was survival.

The break room was a sanctuary of sorts—a small pocket of relative calm in their storm of professional intensity. The coffee machine gurgled, filling the space with a rich, bitter aroma that spoke of long nights and endless negotiations.

Tim's phone buzzed. The caller ID read "Dick"—a name that immediately sparked a warning look from Tim.

"Don't," he said, catching your inquisitive glance.

"Don't what?" Innocence personified.

"Whatever matchmaking scheme Dick and Indi are plotting." No real heat in the words. Just resignation.

Outside, Metropolis stretched beneath gray skies—a city of perpetual motion, of opportunities hidden behind concrete and glass. Much like the relationship developing between you and Tim. Professional. Intense. Something more.

"We're going to make this work," you muttered. A promise. A prayer.

Tim looked at you—truly looked. Past the stress. Beyond the tense shoulders and dark circles. He saw potential. Resilience. Something profound.

"Together," he confirmed.

The word hung in the air. Weighted. Promising.

Your phone buzzed. Scarlet, as always, a lifeline.

From: Scarlet

Coffee count? Eating actual food today?

You showed Tim the message. He laughed, a sound that broke through the professional tension.

"Indi's more responsible sibling" he observed.

"Careful," you warned. "She weaponizes flower arrangements."

As if summoned by the conversation, a delivery arrived. A small, elegant bouquet. The card read: "Survive. Thrive. Love you."

Something soft passed over Tim's expression. A vulnerability quickly masked by professional composure.

"We've got this," he said quietly.

And for the first time in weeks, you believed him.

.

.

.

The first true glimpse of Timothy Jackson Drake's anger wasn't a explosion. It was precise. Surgical. Triggered by a rumor that threatened everything you'd both been building.

A coworker's casual observation. You and Tim, lunch, appearing more familiar than strictly professional.

The storm was just beginning.

The voices filtered through Tim's office door, muffled but unmistakable.

"Mr. Drake, we aren't saying personal relationships are forbidden, but consider the optics."

You continued typing, each keystroke a measured rhythm of professional composure. But you were listening. Always listening.

The arrangement between you and Tim was a delicate architecture. Not a relationship, not exactly. Something more calculated. Less romantic, more strategic. Bruce's recommendation hung over everything—a non-disclosure agreement disguised as professional courtesy.

Tim took care of things. A Prada handbag here. Covering unexpected expenses there. You weren't naive enough to call it love. You were pragmatic enough to recognize opportunity.

Inside the office, Tim's voice rose—a razor's edge of controlled fury.

"My assistant's performance is exemplary," he stated. Not a defense. A declaration.

You knew the game. Every interaction choreographed. Lunches that could pass as strategy meetings. Texts that whispered professional necessity. Gifts positioned as performance incentives.

The door opened. Tim emerged—professional armor firmly in place, save for the microscopic tension in his jaw.

"Pull the quarterly reports," he instructed. Not a request.

You understood immediately. Performance metrics as weaponry. A clinical dismantling of any suggestion of impropriety.

Your phone buzzed. Indi's perpetual concern.

From: Indi

You're being careful?

To: Indi

Always.

Tim's fingers flew across his keyboard—composing what you knew would be a surgical email. Destroying potential narratives before they could take root.

"Coffee?" you asked.

"Already brewing," he responded, because you always were.

The first true fracture came later. Not during the meeting. After.

His office. Private territory. The walls seemed to breathe with unspoken tension.

"I've never seen you so calm," you remarked.

Tim's response was immediate. "I'm not calm."

A muscle ticked in his cheek. Fury, precisely contained. "I'm furious they would dare question your competence. Your integrity."

You stepped closer. An instinctive movement. Grounding.

"Tim—"

The space between you was charged. Not with anger. Something more complex. More dangerous.

Metropolis stretched outside—a city of ambition, of carefully constructed facades. Much like the relationship developing between you and Tim.

Professional. Intense. Undefined.

Precisely where you both wanted it.

"They don't truly see you," Tim said, his voice a low, controlled intensity that could slice through steel. "Just another face. A convenient target."

The space between you vibrated with unspoken tension. Professional. Personal. Something impossibly complex.

His hand caught your wrist—not a restraint, but a connection. Firm. Deliberate.

"I see you," he repeated. Each word a precise instrument. A vow. “Do you know what I see? What you are?”

You knew the game. The careful dance you'd choreographed. Bruce's recommendations echoing in every interaction. Boundaries drawn with surgical precision.

"I'm the one who understands the numbers," you murmured. "The one who keeps this machine running."

His grip softened. A single finger tracing the delicate skin of your inner arm—a touch that defied every professional protocol you'd both meticulously constructed.

"The one," Tim said, "who makes me want to break every rule we've set."

City lights filtered through the office windows. Metropolis—a backdrop to your carefully modulated tension.

"Tim," you warned. A plea. A boundary.

He was close. Close enough that you could feel the heat of him. The controlled fury. The restrained desire.

"Just one moment," he said. Not a question. Not quite a demand.

The line between professional and personal blurred. Dissolved.

His kiss was precise. Controlled. A claim and a surrender wrapped into one moment of absolute clarity.

When he pulled back, you were breathless. Flushed. Changed.

"Remember," Tim said, "who you are to me."

You nodded. A return to form. To function.

"Reports," he instructed.

And just like that, the moment dissolved. Professional composure restored.

.

.

.

Performance reports became your weapon. Tim's legendary meticulousness combined with your strategic brilliance—a combination more surgical than any board meeting could anticipate.

"They're searching for weakness," Tim murmured, documents spread between you like battle plans.

The office was silent. Just desk lamps. City lights. The soft rustle of paper.

"They won't find it," you responded. Your phone buzzed. Indi.

From: Indi

Message: Heard through the grapevine you're causing board drama. Need me to come weaponize some PR?

To: Indi

Message: Absolutely not.

Tim glanced over, catching your slight smile. "Your sister?"

"Offering to commit professional warfare on my behalf," you deadpanned.

He chuckled. A rare sound these days.

The Metropolis expansion was proving more challenging than anticipated. Tech companies were circling, sensing vulnerability. The board's whispers about your relationship were just one pressure point.

"We could make a statement," Tim suggested, not for the first time.

"And say what? That we're... what exactly?" You raised an eyebrow. "Professionally involved? Personally connected?"

The space between those definitions was where you lived now.

A knock interrupted. Martin Reynolds – the board member who'd been most vocal about your "inappropriate relationship" – stood in the doorway.

"Ms. (Y/L/N)," he said, deliberately not looking at Tim, "a moment?"

Tim's hand – almost imperceptibly – brushed yours under the desk. A silent warning. A promise.

The game was just beginning.

You followed Mr. Reynolds out into the hall, who glanced around for a moment, ensuring no one was within immediate earshot.

"You wished to speak to me, sir?"

"With all due respect, ma'am, I'd like to make a suggestion." His tone was clipped and lined with a superiority that made you want to claw his eyes out. "End whatever little situation you have with Mr. Drake before it ruins you."

You gaped at the audacity of this man for a moment before your eyes narrowed. "Mr. Drake and I's connection outside of work hours is not of company concern, sir."

Reynolds leaned in, his voice low and threatening. "Do you really think you're the first assistant to believe she can navigate a relationship with her boss? I've seen careers destroyed for far less."

Your spine straightened. You'd grown up with Indi as a sister and survived Scarlet's protective fury and had helped raise the youngest of your sisters into a formidable young woman. A middle-aged board member attempting to intimidate you was child's play.

"Are you suggesting, Mr. Reynolds, that my professional performance has been anything less than exceptional?" Each word was precisely placed, a verbal chess move.

He faltered slightly. The quarterly reports – the ones you and Tim had meticulously prepared – spoke for themselves. Your metrics were impeccable. The Metropolis office had seen a 17% increase in efficiency since your arrival.

"I'm suggesting," he said, recovering his bluster, "that personal entanglements compromise professional judgment."

A laugh – short, sharp – escaped you before you could stop it. "With all due respect, sir, the only compromise I see is your apparent inability to recognize talent when it's directly in front of you."

Tim's approach was subtle. You didn't hear him, but suddenly he was there, a presence just behind you. Not intervening, but clearly present.

"Is there a problem?" Tim's voice was silk over steel.

Reynolds straightened, the bravado momentarily deflating. "Mr. Drake. Just having a professional discussion with your... assistant."

"My executive assistant," Tim corrected, a razor's edge to the words. "Is there something specific you needed to discuss about our recent performance reports?"

The hall seemed to compress, tension thrumming between them. You were acutely aware of the strategic positioning – Tim slightly behind you, a silent support, letting you handle the confrontation.

Reynolds knew he was outmaneuvered. "No," he said finally. "Nothing further."

As he walked away, Tim's hand brushed yours – so briefly anyone watching would miss it. A moment of connection. Of solidarity.

"Lunch?" he asked, as if nothing had happened.

Your smile was pure defiance. "Absolutely."

The walk to the cafeteria was charged. Tim's mind raced, replaying the interaction. Reynolds' thinly veiled threats. Your sharp-edged response. The way you'd stood your ground, unflinching.

"You know," he said as you entered the elevator, "I'm starting to think you enjoy these confrontations."

Your laugh was sharp. Bitter. "Not so much enjoyment as necessitate."

The elevator doors slid shut, sealing you in a capsule of forced intimacy. Tim leaned against the wall, studying you. Really seeing you for the first time since the whole Reynolds debacle began.

"I never thanked you," he said quietly. "For handling that. With Reynolds."

You shrugged, but there was a tension in your shoulders. A tightness around your eyes that spoke of long-held frustrations.

"Don't," you said, too quickly. "Don't thank me for doing my job."

Ah. There it was. The crux of the issue.

"(Y/N)," he started, but the elevator dinged, doors sliding open to reveal the bustling cafeteria. The aroma of fresh coffee and reheated pizza wafted out, a stark contrast to the sterile hallways of Wayne Enterprises.

Tim hesitated, his hand hovering at the threshold. The urge to pull you aside, to find a quiet corner and hash this out, was strong. But the rational part of his brain knew that wasn't the answer. Not here, not now.

So he followed you into the fray, falling into step beside you as you wove through the lunchtime crowd. You moved with purpose, your posture straight and your gaze focused. No one would guess at the tension thrumming beneath your skin.

"Salad bar?" Tim asked, a peace offering. A chance to salvage some normalcy.

You nodded, a curt jerk of your head. No words, but the message was clear.

As you loaded up your tray with greens and vegetables, Tim found himself studying you. The set of your jaw, the furrow between your brows. He'd seen you angry before, but this was different. This was cold. Calculating.

"You know," he said softly, leaning in so only you could hear, "if you ever need a sparring partner, I'm your guy."

The joke fell flat. Your eyes never left the salad bar, but he could see the muscles in your back tense.

Right. Not the time for levity.

They found a table in the corner, as far from the crowds as possible. You sat across from him, arranging your food with mechanical precision.

Tim took a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly. The silence stretched between you, heavy with things unsaid.

"(Y/N)," he started, but the words tangled on his tongue. How did you even begin to address this? The double standards, the constant scrutiny, the need to be twice as good just to be seen as half as competent?

You looked up, meeting his gaze. There was a challenge there, a defiance that took his breath away.

"Don't," you said, your voice low and intense. "Don't look at me like that. Like I'm some fragile thing that needs protecting."

"I'm not," he protested, but the denial rang hollow even to his own ears.

"Yes, you are." Your knife scraped against your plate, a sharp sound in the quiet cafeteria. "You're looking at me like I'm a victim. Like I need you to fight my battles for me."

Tim's jaw clenched. He knew that look. That patronizing tilt of the head, that subtle shift in body language that said 'poor little girl, can't handle the big bad corporate world'.

It made his blood boil.

"That's not," he started, but you cut him off with a look.

"It is," you insisted, leaning forward. "It's exactly what you're thinking. You're wondering how I can handle myself, how I can stand up to men like Reynolds."

"I'm not," Tim said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were a lie. He had wondered that, in the moment. Had seen you standing tall and proud and fierce, and had felt a flicker of doubt.

"Well, stop," you said, sitting back. "Stop wondering, stop worrying, stop treating me like I'm made of glass."

Tim's hands curled into fists beneath the table. He wanted to argue, to defend himself. But the words wouldn't come.

Because you were right. He had been treating you differently, holding you to a different standard. And that was wrong.

"I apologize," he said finally, the words stiff and formal in his mouth. "I shouldn't have assumed."

You studied him for a long moment, searching his face. Then, slowly, you nodded.

"Apology accepted," you said, and just like that, the tension broke.

You went back to your salad, and Tim to his sandwich. The conversation flowed back to safer topics - work, the weather, the never-ending stream of emails.

But beneath it all, something had shifted. A new understanding, a deeper respect.

Tim Drake was many things - a vigilante, a detective, a genius. But today, he was learning to be something else. Your equal.

.

.

.

Morning sunlight filtered through your penthouse windows, illuminating an elegantly wrapped box outside your door. The tag made you sigh: 'a proper apology - T'. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, lay a dress that made your breath catch. Chamomile yellow silk, the kind of elegance that belonged at galas, not board meetings. Your laptop search for the designer nearly stopped your heart.

You hit Tim's speed dial. "Timothy Jackson Drake, did you seriously buy me a five thousand dollar dress as an apology?!"

His chuckle was warm, rich. "Guilty. But it's not just any dress. It's Valentino, that designer you mentioned loving at the charity gala last month."

Your fingers traced the impeccable stitching, betraying you even as you protested. "This is excessive."

"Says the woman who orchestrated a complete restructuring of our Asia-Pacific division in three days." The smile in his voice was audible. "But seriously, I wanted... I needed to show you that yesterday meant something. That I heard you."

You bit your lip, caught between admiration and unease. The gesture was thoughtful, intimate even - he'd remembered an offhand comment about your favorite designer. But it also highlighted the very power dynamic you'd fought against yesterday.

"Tim," you said softly, still running your fingers along the silk, "I can't accept this. It's too much."

His pause spoke volumes. When he finally responded, his voice had lost its playful edge.

"This isn't about the money, (Y/N). This is me saying I see you. As my equal. My partner. Yesterday made me realize I needed to show that, not just say it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. You closed your eyes, taking a steadying breath.

"I appreciate the sentiment," you said carefully. "But gifts like this... they create expectations. Obligations."

"I'm not trying to create obligations," Tim said, exasperation creeping into his tone. "I'm trying to show you that I value you. As a person. As my colleague. You're important to me."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died in your throat. Because maybe... maybe he was right. Maybe you were reading too much into this. Seeing shadows where there was only light.

"Keep it," Tim said, his voice gentle now. "Wear it to the gala next week. Show them all how wrong they are about you."

The gala. Of course. The annual charity event that was as much about business as it was about philanthropy. A chance to network, to make statements.

To make a point.

"Fine," you said, surprising yourself with the word. "I'll wear it. But only because it's a lovely dress."

"And because you look stunning in yellow," Tim added, his voice warm.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. "Flatterer."

"Always," he agreed, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

You hung up a moment later, still holding the dress. The silk was cool against your skin, a reminder of the promise – and the danger – that lay ahead.

The dress was beautiful. Tim's intentions were pure. But in the cutthroat world of Wayne Enterprises, even the most innocent of gestures could be twisted. Used against you.

You'd have to be careful. Cautious. But for now, in the early morning light, you allowed yourself a moment of indulgence.

Of possibility.

The next morning arrived too soon, the alarm jarring you awake with its insistent beep. You groaned, burying your face in the pillow, but the events of the day ahead refused to be ignored.

The gala. The dress. Tim.

With a sigh, you dragged yourself out of bed, stumbling to the closet where you'd hung the chamomile dress the night before. The silk shimmered in the low light, a promise of elegance amidst the chaos of your morning routine.

You showered quickly, taking extra care with your hair and makeup. Tonight was about making a statement, and you wanted to look your best.

As you slipped into the dress, you marveled at the way it hugged your curves, accentuating your assets without being overtly sexual.

You stepped back, taking in the full effect. The dress was perfect – elegant, sophisticated, but with a hint of something more. A whisper of danger beneath the surface.

Just like you.

A knock at the door startled you from your thoughts.

“Door is open, let yourself in,” you called out. The door swung open, revealing Tim in a tailored tuxedo. His blue eyes widened as he took in the sight of you, the chamomile dress clinging to your curves like a second skin.

"Wow," he breathed, stepping into the room. "You look... incredible."

You felt a flush of pleasure at the compliment, even as you tried to tamp it down. This was about making a statement, not fishing for compliments.

"Thank you," you said coolly, moving past him to grab your clutch. "I hope you don't intend to keep me waiting."

Tim chuckled, following you out into the hallway. "Wouldn't dream of it. I know better than to keep a lady waiting."

The ride to the gala was filled with small talk, the kind of inane chatter that filled the air at these sorts of events. You pointed out a few notable guests as they arrived, while Tim regaled you with stories of past galas gone wrong.

"One year," he said, his eyes twinkling in the dim light of the limo, "one year, I accidentally spilled red wine all over Bruce's date. He was furious. Threw me out of the car and made me walk home."

You couldn't help but laugh at the image, the sound escaping before you could stop it. Tim grinned, clearly pleased with the reaction.

"I've never lived it down," he confessed, shaking his head. "But hey, at least I learned to hold my drink."

The limo pulled up to the gala venue, the Starlight Ballroom, a glittering palace of glass and steel. You stepped out onto the red carpet, the flash of cameras blinding in the night.

Tim offered you his arm, ever the gentleman. You took it, ignoring the way your heart raced at the contact.

The Starlight Ballroom shimmered like a jewel box, crystal chandeliers casting prismatic light across the crowd of Metropolis elite. You smoothed down the chamomile silk of your dress - Tim's gift - and fought the urge to fidget with your clutch. The weight of eyes on you was tangible: board members, society mavens, all wondering about the nature of your relationship with Timothy Drake.

"Champagne?" Tim appeared at your elbow, two flutes balanced elegantly in his hands. In his perfectly tailored tuxedo, he looked every inch the billionaire CEO - except for the slight softness in his eyes when they met yours.

"My hero," you murmured, accepting the glass. The cool crystal anchored you, gave you something to do with your hands besides betray your nerves.

"Reynolds is watching," Tim said under his breath, his smile never wavering. "Third pillar from the left."

You didn't turn to look. You'd learned that much about these gatherings - never let them see you react. "Let him watch. We have nothing to hide."

Tim's fingers brushed yours as he took your empty glass, the touch sending electricity up your arm. "Dance with me?"

The orchestra was playing something slow and romantic - because of course it was. You let Tim lead you onto the floor, his hand settling at your waist with practiced ease. This close, you could smell his cologne, see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.

"You're thinking too loud," he murmured, guiding you through a turn.

"Someone has to," you shot back, but there was no heat in it. How could there be, when he was looking at you like that?

The music swelled, a slow, sultry beat that seemed to pulse in time with your heart. Tim pulled you close, his hand splayed across your back, drawing you flush against his body.

You moved together, your bodies finding a rhythm that was uniquely yours. The world fell away, the gala fading into the background as you lost yourself in the feel of him, the scent of his cologne, the heat of his skin.

When the song ended, you pulled back, breathless and flushed. Tim's eyes were dark, his gaze heavy with promise.

"Tim... I" your hands lingered on his shoulders and he hummed softly, gazing at you through hooded lids.

"Mmmhm?"

"I.."

"(Y/N), is that you?" A voice like honey laced with arsenic cut through the moment. You stiffened, your spine turning to ice. Slowly, you turned to face the architect of your past heartbreak. Alexia stood there, resplendent in a champagne-colored dress that probably cost more than your monthly rent, her smile sharp as a knife's edge.

"Alexia." Your voice came out steadier than you felt.

"(Y/N)!" She glided forward with practiced grace, enveloping you in a cloud of expensive perfume and false warmth. "It's been absolute ages!"

You remained rigid in her embrace, your arms hanging uselessly at your sides. The memory of finding her in your bed – in your bed with Josh – flashed unbidden through your mind.

Tim's hand found your waist, his touch grounding you. His fingers pressed ever so slightly into your skin – a silent reminder that you weren't alone.

"How... unexpected to see you here," you managed, extracting yourself from her embrace. The smile you offered felt like shattered glass on your lips.

Alexia's perfectly shaped eyebrows arched as her gaze slid to Tim, lingering just a heartbeat too long on the elegant cut of his suit. "And who might this be?"

"Tim Drake," he introduced himself with impossible smoothness, extending his hand. The way he said it – so casual yet commanding – sent a flutter through your stomach.

"Charmed," Alexia purred, her manicured fingers wrapping around his hand. She held on just long enough to make you notice, her thumb brushing his palm as she withdrew. "I don't suppose you're here alone?"

Your fingers curled into Tim's jacket before you could stop yourself. "Actually, Tim's my date."

"Is he now?" Alexia's smile didn't waver, but something flickered in her eyes – calculation, perhaps. Or hunger. "How... lovely."

She turned back to Tim, angling her body to partially exclude you from the conversation. "You must tell me how you two met. (Y/N) was always so... particular about her choices. After Josh, I mean."

The casual cruelty of the reference made your breath catch. Tim's hand tightened imperceptibly on your waist.

"Actually," he interjected smoothly, "we were just about to get some air. The terrace here is supposed to be spectacular."

"Oh, but you must save a dance for me later," Alexia called as you turned to leave, her voice carrying just enough to draw curious glances from nearby guests. "For old times' sake."

You didn't trust yourself to respond, letting Tim guide you through the crowd. But you could feel Alexia's eyes following you, calculating and cold as a snake's.

Later, when you found yourself alone by the pool, the click of heels on marble announced her arrival before her voice did.

"Quite the catch," she drawled, coming to stand beside you. "Better than Josh, I'd say. Though that's not saying much, is it?"

You turned to face her, tired of the games. "What do you want, Alexia?"

Her perfect smile faltered for just a moment. "Want? Can't I just want to reconnect with an old friend?"

"We stopped being friends the moment you chose to destroy everything I trusted you with."

"Oh please," she scoffed, mask slipping further. "You always were so dramatic. It was just sex. Besides," her lips curved into a cruel smile, "he wasn't exactly thinking about you that night."

The words hit like a physical blow, but you refused to let her see you flinch. "And that's supposed to make it better? That you both betrayed me so completely?"

"Betrayed you?" Alexia laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "Honey, you betrayed yourself. Always playing it safe, always so... proper. Josh needed more. Maybe Tim will too, eventually."

Your hands clenched at your sides, nails biting into your palms. "You don't know anything about Tim."

"Not yet," she agreed, her smile turning predatory. "But the night is young."

You stepped closer, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Stay away from him, Alexia. And stay away from me."

She merely laughed, the sound echoing across the water. "Come on, don't you wanna hear about how good I have it now?"

You paused, hand hovering over the ornate handle of the ballroom door. The rational part of your brain screamed at you to walk away, to deny her the satisfaction. But there was something magnetic about the moment – like watching a car crash in slow motion, knowing the impact was coming but unable to look away.

Pivoting slowly on your heel, you faced her with a carefully constructed mask of indifference. "Alright, Alexia. Dazzle me."

Her smile unfurled like a poisonous flower, perfectly painted lips curving with predatory satisfaction. "Oh, I think you'll find this particularly... interesting." She paused, savoring the moment like fine wine. "Wayne Enterprises just signed me as their new Director of Strategic Partnerships. I'll be working directly with Tim on all major accounts."

The words hit you like ice water in your veins. You fought to keep your expression neutral, even as your mind raced through the implications. Tim. Every day. In meetings, over coffee, late nights at the office...

"Funny," you heard yourself say, voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. "Tim hasn't mentioned anything about it."

"Hasn't he?" Alexia's eyebrow arched delicately. "Well, it's all very recent. The paperwork was just finalized today, actually. Tim and I had quite the... intimate discussion about my role." She emphasized 'intimate' just enough to make your skin crawl.

Your fingers curled into your palm, nails leaving crescent moons in their wake. The familiar whisper of inadequacy crept up your spine – the same voice that had haunted you after finding her with Josh. But something else stirred beneath the surface. Something harder, sharper.

"Although," you began, surprising yourself with the honeyed steel in your voice, "you might want to check that paperwork again. As Tim's executive assistant, I handle all his strategic partnerships." You watched the flicker of uncertainty cross her face. "And I don't recall seeing your name cross my desk."

The change in Alexia was instant – like a switch being flipped. Her perfectly composed facade cracked, revealing the raw fury beneath. Before you could react, her hands connected with your shoulders.

The world tilted.

The pool water shocked your system, stealing your breath. You flailed, your designer dress becoming a lead weight dragging you down. The underwater lights blurred into abstract shapes as panic clawed at your chest. Your lungs burned. You'd never learned to swim – a fact that had seemed inconsequential until this moment.

The water above you rippled and distorted, darkness creeping at the edges of your vision. Then – movement. Strong arms encircled your waist, pulling you up, up, up.

You broke the surface gasping, instinctively pressing your face into the crook of a familiar neck. Tim's cologne cut through the chlorine, grounding you as he lifted you from the pool.

"I've got you," he murmured against your hair, his voice rough with barely contained emotion. "You're safe. I've got you."

Water cascaded from your ruined dress as he carried you swiftly through the service entrance, away from prying eyes and whispered gossip. Your fingers clutched at his soaked shirt, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against your palm.

He shouldered open the door to a private bathroom, setting you down carefully on the closed toilet lid. "Don't move," he ordered, voice tight with concern. "I'll be right back."

You nodded numbly, watching droplets fall from your hair to the marble floor. Time seemed to stretch and compress oddly – you weren't sure if seconds or hours passed before Tim returned, arms full of pristine white towels.

He knelt before you, hands infinitely gentle as they moved to help you out of your waterlogged dress. "We need to get you warm," he murmured, but there was something else in his voice. Something dangerous. "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head, then stopped as the movement made the room spin slightly. "Tim..."

"Shh," he soothed, wrapping a towel around your shoulders. "We'll deal with her later. Right now, all that matters is you."

But even as his hands worked to warm you, you could see the cold fury building behind his eyes. Tim Drake was not a man who forgot. And Alexia had just made a very, very big mistake.

You shivered as the cool air kissed your wet skin, raising an army of goosebumps across your arms and legs. Tim's hands were steady as he wrapped a towel around your shoulders, then another at your waist, his movements precise yet tender.

"Think you can stand?" His voice was soft, brow furrowed with the kind of concern that made your chest ache.

You nodded, gripping his forearms as he helped you up. Your legs trembled beneath you like a newborn fawn's, but Tim's presence was solid, unwavering. His soaked suit clung to his frame, water still dripping from his usually perfectly styled hair, and something about seeing him so disheveled, so human, made your heart flutter traitorously in your chest.

The whispers followed you through the ballroom like persistent shadows. Did you see...? In the pool...? Drake's assistant... But they felt distant, meaningless against the steady rhythm of Tim's heartbeat where your hand pressed against his chest for balance.

He guided you to a secluded alcove, settling you onto a velvet sofa that probably cost more than your monthly salary. The fabric would be ruined by your wet clothes, but Tim didn't seem to care as he knelt before you, one hand resting carefully on your knee.

"I'm going to find you something dry to wear," he murmured, his thumb tracing an absent circle against your skin. "Then we'll get you home, okay?"

You managed a nod, sinking back into the sofa as exhaustion began to seep into your bones. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness that made your eyelids heavy.

When Tim returned, he held what looked like designer workout clothes. His touch was feather-light as he helped you change, his eyes carefully averted even though you were still in your slip. Ever the gentleman, even now.

"Better?" he asked, smoothing your damp hair back from your face with a gentleness that made your breath catch.

"Tired," you admitted, unconsciously leaning into his touch. "And mortified that half of Gotham's elite just saw me dripping all over their marble floors."

Tim's laugh was low and warm, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. "Trust me, they've seen worse at these things. Besides," his eyes softened, "I think I ruined the dramatic effect by jumping in after you in a three-piece Armani."

That startled a laugh from you, though it caught in your throat as you really looked at him – his ruined suit, his tousled hair, the way his eyes hadn't left your face since pulling you from the pool. Like you might disappear if he looked away.

"I should go," you whispered, the words feeling wrong even as you said them. "Before someone takes a photo of me in borrowed Lululemon."

Tim's hand stilled against your cheek, something flickering in his eyes before he slowly pulled away. "Let me take you home," he said, standing and offering his hand. "We should... talk. About Alexia. About everything."

The drive home was quiet, filled with the soft hum of the car's heater and the occasional brush of Tim's hand against yours as he shifted gears. When you finally reached your building, he insisted on walking you up, carrying your ruined dress in a designer shopping bag someone had procured.

The lights in your penthouse apartment flickered on, casting a warm glow over the hardwood floors. You kicked off the borrowed shoes with a sigh of relief, and then—

"Mrrrrrowww?" A long, creaky sound echoed from the kitchen, followed by the appearance of a distinguished-looking tuxedo cat. Thomas sauntered out, his black and white coat gleaming in the light, tail held high like a flag of greeting.

"Hey, old man," you cooed, bending to pet him, but he gracefully sidestepped your still-damp hand with an affronted look that only cats can truly master.

Tim's surprised laugh was warm and genuine. "You have a cat?" He watched as Thomas performed his elaborate greeting ritual, circling your legs before sitting just out of reach, green eyes studying Tim with regal assessment.

"This is Thomas," you said, fighting a smile as the cat turned his attention to Tim, whiskers twitching with interest. "He's particular about his humans. And apparently about wet hands."

Tim crouched down, extending his fingers toward Thomas. To your surprise, the cat moved forward immediately, butting his head against Tim's hand with a purr that sounded like a small motor.

"Traitor," you muttered fondly, watching as your normally aloof cat melted under Tim's attention. "He usually takes weeks to warm up to people."

Tim glanced up at you, a soft smile playing at his lips. "What can I say? I have a way with complicated personalities."

The weight of the evening suddenly pressed down on you – the party, Alexia, the pool, and now Tim kneeling on your floor, charming your cat while still wearing a soaked designer suit. It felt surreal, like a dream you might wake from at any moment.

"Tim," you started, not quite sure what you were going to say, but needing to say something.

He stood slowly, Thomas weaving between his legs. "We should talk," he said quietly, "but first, you should get warm and dry. Properly dry." His eyes were serious now, concern evident in the set of his shoulders. "Do you want me to stay?"

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with possibilities. You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly aware of how vulnerable you felt in the borrowed clothes, hair still damp and curling at the ends. The question lingered in the air, charged with unspoken meaning.

"Yes," you whispered, then cleared your throat. "Yes, I'd... like that."

Tim's expression softened. "Okay. Go change. I'll make us some tea."

"You know where everything is?" you asked, already knowing the answer. He'd been here countless times for late-night work sessions and early morning briefings, but this felt different somehow.

"Second cabinet on the left, top shelf," he replied with a small smile. "Go on. Thomas and I will handle things out here."

As if on cue, Thomas let out another creaky meow and padded after Tim toward the kitchen. You shook your head, still amazed at your cat's immediate acceptance of him.

In your bedroom, you peeled off the borrowed clothes, hanging them carefully over your shower rod. The hot water of the shower felt like heaven against your chlorine-scented skin, washing away the last physical traces of the evening. But Alexia's words still echoed in your mind, mixing with the sound of running water.

When you emerged, wrapped in your softest pajamas and warmest robe, you found Tim had made himself at home. He'd somehow procured dry clothes – you suspected he kept a change in his car for emergencies – and was sitting on your couch, two steaming mugs on the coffee table before him. Thomas was curled in his lap, purring contentedly.

"Better?" Tim asked, looking up as you approached.

"Much," you said, settling beside him on the couch and accepting the mug he offered. The familiar scent of chamomile wafted up, along with something else – honey, you realized. He remembered how you took your tea.

"So," he began carefully, his free hand still absently stroking Thomas, "want to tell me what really happened with Alexia?"

You stared into your mug, watching the steam rise in delicate spirals. "She... she said she's going to be working with you. At Wayne Enterprises."

Tim's hand stilled on Thomas's fur. "Is that what she told you?"

"She said she'd be your new Director of Strategic Partnerships." The words tasted bitter on your tongue.

To your surprise, Tim let out a short laugh. "Well, she certainly has an active imagination."

You looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"(Y/N)," he set his mug down, turning to face you fully. "Wayne Enterprises did receive her application, yes. But it was rejected two weeks ago. She didn't meet our requirements."

Relief flooded through you, followed quickly by embarrassment. "Oh."

"Besides," he continued, his voice softer now, "did you really think I'd hire someone without running it by you first? You're not just my assistant, you're..." he paused, something shifting in his expression. "You're important to me. Very important."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. "Tim..."

He reached out, gently taking your mug and setting it beside his. "When I saw her push you," his voice had dropped, taking on an edge you rarely heard, "when I saw you go under..." His hands clenched briefly before relaxing. "I've never been so scared in my life."

"You jumped in after me," you said softly. "In your Armani suit."

"I would have jumped in wearing a tuxedo made of diamonds," he replied, dead serious. "I will always jump in after you, (Y/N)."

The weight of his words settled over you like a warm blanket. Thomas chose that moment to hop down from Tim's lap, padding away with an air of feline discretion.

"Even my cat approves of you," you murmured, trying to lighten the moment even as your heart raced. "He never likes anyone."

Tim's hand found yours, his thumb tracing patterns on your palm. "Maybe he just knows what I've known for a long time."

"And what's that?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.

He leaned closer, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek. "That I'm completely, utterly in love with you."

The world seemed to stop, narrowing down to just this moment – the soft brush of his thumb against your cheekbone, the warmth of his hand in yours, the way his eyes held yours with an intensity that took your breath away.

"Tim," you breathed, "I—"

"You don't have to say anything," he interrupted gently. "I just needed you to know. After tonight, after almost losing you... I couldn't keep pretending these feelings don't exist."

You shifted closer, your free hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling his heartbeat strong and steady beneath your palm. "What if I want to say something?"

His breath caught, hope flickering across his features. "Then I'm listening.”

"If I tell you the truth," your voice barely a whisper in the dim light of your apartment, "everything changes. We can't go back."

Tim shifted closer, the leather of your couch creaking softly beneath him. His hand was still on your cheek, thumb tracing invisible patterns that sent shivers down your spine. "Maybe I don't want to go back."

"The press would have a field day," you breathed, but didn't pull away. "Vicki Vale would write headlines for weeks. 'Wayne Heir Falls for Assistant: A Modern Cinderella Story.'"

His lips curved into a half-smile, eyes dark with something that made your heart stutter. "Let them write. I'll buy every newspaper in Gotham if I have to."

"Bruce—"

"Bruce has his own complicated love life to worry about," Tim murmured, his forehead coming to rest against yours. Your noses brushed, and you could feel his breath against your lips. "Besides, he's not the one I'm in love with."

The word hung between you, heavy with promise and possibility. Your fingers curled into the soft material of his shirt, anchoring yourself to this moment, to him.

"The board would talk," you tried one last time, even as your resolve crumbled like sand. "Your reputation—"

"Listen to me," Tim's voice was low, urgent. His other hand came up to frame your face, holding you like something precious. "I would give up Wayne Enterprises tomorrow. The money, the reputation, all of it. I'd walk away from everything if it meant having this – having you – for even a moment."

Your breath caught in your throat. "You can't mean that."

"Try me." His eyes met yours, blazing with an intensity that made you tremble. "Just say the words, (Y/N). Tell me you feel it too. Tell me I'm not alone in this."

Thomas chose that moment to leap onto the back of the couch, letting out a disapproving meow at the tension in the room. You couldn't help the small laugh that escaped, even as tears pricked at your eyes.

"Even my cat is telling me to stop being stubborn," you whispered.

Tim's thumb brushed away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. "Smart cat."

You took a shaky breath, finally letting yourself say what you'd been holding back for so long. "I love you too. God help me, Tim Drake, but I'm completely in love with you."

The smile that broke across his face was like sunrise – slow, warm, and absolutely beautiful. He pulled back just enough to look at you properly, his eyes scanning your face as if memorizing every detail.

"Say it again," he breathed.

"I love you." The words came easier now, like they'd been waiting all this time to break free. "I love your brilliant mind, and your terrible coffee addiction, and the way you look at three in the morning when you're finally solving a problem that's been bothering you all day. I love—"

He kissed you.

It wasn't like the movies – there were no fireworks, no swelling orchestra. Instead, it was soft and sweet and achingly tender, like coming home after a long journey. His hands cradled your face like you were made of spun glass, even as yours fisted in his shirt to pull him closer.

When you finally broke apart, both breathless, Tim rested his forehead against yours again. "We're going to figure this out," he promised. "The press, the board, Bruce – none of it matters. We'll face it together."

"Together," you echoed, the word tasting like a promise on your lips.

From his perch on the couch, Thomas let out another creaky meow, as if sealing the deal. Tim laughed, the sound rich and warm.

"Does this mean I get joint custody of the cat?" he teased, reaching up to scratch Thomas behind the ears.

You smiled, leaning into his touch. "He already likes you better than me anyway."

"Impossible," Tim murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "But I'll settle for second place in his affections, as long as I'm first in yours."

"Always," you whispered, and knew with absolute certainty that you meant it. Whatever came next – whatever headlines Vicki Vale wrote, whatever the board whispered, whatever challenges lay ahead – you would face it together.

And somehow, that made everything else seem insignificant in comparison.

Thomas purred his approval, settling between you like he'd always belonged there. Like all of this had always been inevitable, just waiting for the right moment to fall into place.

Maybe it had been.

.

.

.

Taglist:

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[kathlare]

when the lights fade

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Fresh off her exhilarating Coachella performance, Amelie is surrounded by the support of her loved ones, basking in the glow of her achievement. However, backstage dynamics bring a mix of pride, tension, and unspoken feelings to the forefront. Amid the chaos, Amelie and Lando navigate their relationship, balancing public personas with private affection, all while confronting subtle challenges that test their bond.

Wordcount: 2.3 k

Warnings: fluff, smau

April 12th, 2024 - Palms Springs, CA

Amelie’s heart was still pounding from her performance, the echoes of the crowd's cheers still ringing in her ears. She had just finished her set at Coachella, and the buzz of adrenaline was like a drug—every part of her was alive, and yet, she couldn't stop smiling. The lights had been blinding, the music pulsing through her veins, and now, as she stood backstage, her breath coming in quick bursts, it felt like everything had fallen into place.

Her first Coachella.

The overwhelming sense of pride and happiness was almost too much to handle, but the real magic was being able to share it with those who meant the most to her. Her family was there—her mom, dad, brothers, and sisters—along with a few close friends. And, of course, there was Lando.

She spotted him across the backstage area, his unmistakable tousled hair and wide grin a beacon. He was laughing with Charles, George, and Alex, his usual easygoing self. But the moment their eyes met, that familiar connection sparked between them. He gave her a teasing smile, his eyes scanning her up and down as she walked toward him. She was still buzzing from the performance, but just the sight of him made her pulse race all over again.

Lando was already making his way toward her, weaving through the crowd. She smiled at the way he was so obviously trying not to be too obvious about checking her out. It was just them now, no need for games. He stopped just a few feet away, his eyes still glued to her.

—Damn, you were incredible,— he said, his voice filled with admiration, though his eyes were mostly scanning her figure.

—Thanks,— she said with a playful smile. —You should’ve seen the crowd, they were amazing. It’s Coachella, Lando. I can’t believe I’m here.—

He chuckled, walking closer until there was barely any space between them. He lowered his voice, his tone now soft, teasing. —No, I meant you. You were incredible.—

Amelie rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. —Stop it, Norris. You’re not the first to tell me that tonight.—

Lando’s grin widened, his fingers brushing against her arm as he looked down at her with that signature mischievous glint in his eyes. —It’s true. They’ve all been looking at you like you’re some kind of goddess.—

She raised an eyebrow. —Are you jealous?—

—Should I be?— he teased, taking a step closer.

Her lips parted as she tried to hold back the grin, but his proximity made it hard to concentrate. There was a certain spark between them—one that never really faded, no matter how much time passed or how much space they gave each other.

—Maybe,— she said with a little shrug, her lips curling up in a playful smirk.

Just then, Alex and Charles came over, interrupting their private moment, though it didn’t seem to bother Lando in the slightest. He turned toward them, though his hand stayed lightly on Amelie’s arm.

—Good set, Amelie,— Charles said with a wink.

—Yeah, you absolutely killed it out there,— Alex added, giving her a thumbs-up.

Amelie laughed, slightly embarrassed, but happy. —Thanks, guys. It’s surreal being here.—

—We can tell,— George said, grinning. —I swear, you were glowing up there.—

Lando rolled his eyes. —Alright, alright, you’ve all got your compliments in. Can I get a moment alone with my girlfriend now?—

The word slipped out so naturally that it took a second for Amelie to process. Her heart skipped a beat. Girlfriend. They had been privately dating for a few months now, since November, but hearing him say it so casually made her feel a rush of warmth and affection. She didn’t let it show, though, keeping her playful smile in place.

—Just a second, let me breathe,— she teased back, her eyes dancing with mischief. —I’ve got to let all this attention sink in.—

Lando laughed, his arm slipping around her waist as he pulled her a little closer. —Sure, darling. Enjoy it while you can.—

Amelie couldn’t stop grinning as she looked up at Lando, the adrenaline from her performance still humming in her veins. She tried to pretend she wasn’t affected by his touch—his hand on her waist, his body close to hers—but the truth was, it felt natural, comforting. Just being around him always made her feel a little lighter, a little more alive.

Lando leaned down slightly, his lips brushing the top of her head as he whispered in her ear. —You know, you're looking even better up close.— His voice was low, just for her, sending a thrill down her spine.

She rolled her eyes, but there was a definite flush to her cheeks. —You’re impossible,— she muttered, stepping away to regain some space, though she could feel his gaze following her every move.

—You like it,— he teased, his grin never fading.

Amelie couldn’t help but laugh, the sound coming easily. She wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline from her performance or the way Lando always had that effect on her, but everything felt a little brighter with him around. They were close, closer than they’d ever been before—yet no one knew. To the world, they were just good friends. But behind closed doors? Things were different.

Lando leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, still watching her with that mischievous glint in his eyes. He had that way of making her feel like the only person in the room, and it was impossible to ignore. She caught him sneaking glances at her, his eyes tracing her every movement, and it made her stomach do a flip.

—You gonna let me breathe, or are you just gonna keep staring at me all night?— she asked, trying to play it cool, but she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

He raised an eyebrow, pushing himself off the wall. —I can’t help it, you know. You look…— He paused, his eyes scanning her from head to toe again, —...absolutely stunning.—

Amelie rolled her eyes but couldn’t keep the flush off her cheeks. The way he looked at her made her feel like no one else existed. It was the same way he had looked at her when they first met, back in 2019, back when he was just another Formula 1 driver and she was still figuring out who she was in the world of acting. They had been close, but the connection they had now—now that they had circled back after everything—was something different. More real, more genuine.

Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted them.

—Amelie!— A shrill voice cut through the air, and Amelie stiffened slightly as she turned around.

Magui stood there, a fake smile plastered on her face. She had been a distant acquaintance when Amelie had traveled to Finland earlier in the year, but there was an undeniable tension between them. The rivalry was palpable, and Amelie wasn’t sure if Magui even knew that Lando and her were more than just good friends by now.

—Magui,— Amelie greeted stiffly, offering a tight smile.

Magui's eyes flicked over to Lando, giving him a flirtatious smile that Amelie could tell was meant for him, not her. She could feel a knot form in her stomach, though she refused to show it. Not in front of Lando.

—Amelie! Wow, you were incredible out there!— Magui's voice was syrupy sweet, but Amelie could tell she was still trying to get under her skin. It wasn't the first time.

—Thanks,— Amelie replied, her tone polite but cool.

Magui took a step closer, then another, until she was standing just a little too close to Lando for comfort. She placed a hand lightly on his arm, leaning into him in a way that felt like a challenge. Amelie had to force herself to keep her expression neutral.

—You know, I was just telling Lando how great you were. I mean, really, the whole thing, your energy, your performance, I'm surprised you didn't go all the way and headline the night, really.— Magui’s eyes twinkled as she looked at Lando, her smile playful but with an edge that didn’t go unnoticed by Amelie.

Lando's hand instinctively moved to Amelie’s back, pulling her a little closer as if to mark his territory. But the way he played it off, shrugging and returning Magui’s smile, made Amelie’s stomach turn.

Amelie tried to keep her cool, but the tension in the air was undeniable. She could feel Lando’s hand on her back, subtly asserting his presence, but it didn’t stop Magui from leaning in just a little closer to him. The way she fluttered her eyelashes at Lando made Amelie’s blood simmer. She knew Magui’s game—she’d seen it before, back when they met in Finland. Magui was trying to get under her skin, but this time, it wasn’t just about friendly banter. This was personal.

The moment dragged on, an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air until finally, Lando spoke up, his voice smooth but with an edge that only Amelie would recognize.

—Thanks, Magui, but I’ve already heard enough praise for Amelie tonight,— he said, his tone just the right mix of dismissive and teasing. He wasn’t letting her play her usual tricks.

Magui blinked, surprised by his quick retort, but she wasn’t one to back down easily.

—Oh, of course. I just thought you’d appreciate a little friendly compliment. Amelie’s not the only one here with talent, after all.— Her eyes flicked between them, a faint smirk tugging at her lips as if she knew exactly what she was doing. She was trying to get under Amelie’s skin, trying to make her jealous.

Amelie felt the familiar heat rise in her chest, but she held her ground. She wasn’t about to let Magui get the satisfaction of seeing her flustered.

—Sure, Magui, we all appreciate the compliments,— Amelie said, her voice dripping with polite sweetness. —But I think we’ve had enough of your little flirtation with Lando for tonight, don’t you think?—

Her words were blunt, and she felt Lando’s hand tense on her back, but he didn’t say anything, allowing her to stand her ground. She wasn’t going to let this woman mess with her head again.

Magui blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sudden shift in Amelie’s tone, but she quickly masked it with a laugh, her eyes narrowing slightly.

—Oh, don’t worry, I’m just congratulating your friend. I didn’t know you had a problem with that. Isn’t that what friends do?— she said with a laugh that was anything but genuine

Amelie’s jaw clenched.

—Friends?— she said, raising an eyebrow. —Right, just friends.—

She could feel Lando’s gaze on her, but she refused to look at him. Instead, she shifted slightly, putting space between them. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him—she did—but the way Magui was looking at him, with that smug look on her face, was getting under her skin.

Lando’s expression was unreadable, but he squeezed Amelie’s waist gently, a silent apology that she didn’t know how to accept yet.

—Alright, well, I think we’ve had enough of this conversation. Thanks for the compliments, Magui,— Lando said, his voice firm. —But I’m pretty sure Amelie’s ready to get some rest after her set.— He wasn’t rude, but the way he said it made it clear that he was done with the conversation.

Magui blinked again, taken aback by Lando’s sudden coldness, but she quickly recovered with a fake smile.

—Of course. Enjoy your night, Amelie. You deserve it,— she said, giving Lando one last lingering glance before turning to leave.

Amelie didn’t miss the way Magui looked back at Lando, her expression one of lingering interest. And as much as Amelie hated to admit it, it stung. Not because she was jealous of Magui, but because she knew how easy it was for Lando to get caught up in the attention. It wasn’t the first time a woman had thrown herself at him, and it wouldn’t be the last. But that didn’t make it any easier to stomach.

As soon as Magui was out of earshot, Amelie let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She could feel Lando’s presence next to her, but she didn’t look at him. Instead, she took a few steps away, needing space to cool down.

Lando watched her carefully, his eyes following her every move. He knew she was upset, and he hated seeing her like this. But he wasn’t about to push her.

—Amelie, come on,— he said softly, stepping closer to her. —You know I don’t care about her, right?—

She shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the hurt was there, visible in the way her body tensed.

—It’s not that, Lando,— she muttered. —It’s just… I don’t like her. I know she doesn’t like me. But I also know you’re not blind to her flirting. And I’m just tired of it.—

Lando stepped forward, his hand resting gently on her arm.

—I’m not blind to it. I’m just not interested, Amelie. You should know that by now.—

She bit her lip, trying to push down the frustration.

—I do know that, Lando. But it’s still annoying.—

He couldn’t help but laugh at her grumbling, the way she looked so adorably pissed off. It was one of the things he like about her, how she wore her emotions so openly.

—Alright, alright,— he said, trying to lighten the mood. —I’ll stop being nice to other women if it makes you feel better.—

Her eyes flicked up at him, a flash of annoyance still present, but there was something else there, too... amusement.

—You’re ridiculous.—

He grinned, leaning in slightly.

—Yeah, but you like it.—

Before she could respond, he kissed her, a soft, slow kiss that was all about reassurance. And then, as he pulled away, he kissed her neck, making her laugh despite herself.

—You’re such a dork,— she muttered, though her annoyance had melted away.

—But I’m your dork,— he said with a grin.

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at the corners of her lips was undeniable.

They stood there for a moment, the noise of the festival still echoing around them, but all Amelie could focus on was Lando. Her heart still raced, not from the performance, but from the way he made her feel. The way he always seemed to know exactly what to say to make her smile.

--------------

liked by f1lover_24, amelienation, and others

amelieupdates: After slaying the stage, Amelie was spotted vibing at Coachella with Lando Norris, Charles Leclerc, George Russell, Alex Albon, and more! ✨🎶🌟 Looks like the fun didn’t stop after the performance! 💃

View all 3,945 comments

landosbabe69: I swear if they’re not dating yet, I’ll scream. The energy is just too strong, and we’ve been rooting for them since forever! 🥺💖

→ amelieslilangel: @landosbabe69 I KNOW!! The chemistry is undeniable, and the way Lando keeps looking at her... please, it’s a matter of time!! 😭✨

itsmerachel_: The way Lando’s laughing at her jokes… Do we think he’s more than just friends now? 👀😏

f1fanatic_23: Wait… Amelie and Lando looking a lil' too cozy in that pic 👀 Anyone else see that?

f1hotgoss_: Not to be that person, but WHY is Lando always near her? 👀 → fastlanealex_: @f1fanfic_23 Because they’re besties, duh. But like... maybe more? 😏 → charleslover69_: @fastlanealex_ Nah, Charles is there too, stop reaching. → amelieandlando_: @charleslover69_ Bro, why was Lando the only one standing next to her in every pic tho? 🤨

fernando.alonsostan_: Nah, let’s focus on how Amelie killed her set. Forget the boys. She’s the moment. PERIOD. 🎤🔥

charlesfansunited: Charles looking like a lost puppy in the background of every pic. Iconic. 🤣 → paddocktea_: @charlesfansunited He’s just there for vibes and hydration. We love that for him.

amelieforever: If Amelie and Lando are actually dating, I will literally combust. 🔥 → landoluvrr_: @amelieforever Same, but they’ve denied it so many times. Guess we’re clowning again. 🤡

f1drama_: Y’all are obsessed with shipping them, like let them breathe.

lanmelforever: Not them dancing together during Amelie’s set… he knew ALL the lyrics, guys. ALL. THE. LYRICS. 🤨 → coachelladreamz: @lanmelforever Bro, that man’s been a Dayman fan since day one. If this isn’t a soft launch, idk what is.

desertvibes_: Is it just me, or does Amelie and Lando’s “friendship” feel… different? → gridgirlfan_: @desertvibes_ Babe, it’s been feeling different since 2020.

cryingoverame: “Friends” who look at each other like that? Nah. They’re not fooling anyone.

[otomiyaa]

Day 26: Thunder

Childe x Scaramouche

[Miya & Mia’s Tickletober 2023] - I had forgotten about this one!

Word Count: 1.1K

Scaramouche was angry. Of course he was angry. Aether asked to meet at the Avidya Forest to explore a newly discovered domain together. Problem one: Aether did not show up. Problem two: ...

“What are you doing here,” Scara growled angrily at the Eleventh of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. Childe.

“I was asked to join this domain adventure with the Traveler. What about you?" Childe said merrily. Scara couldn't believe Aether invited Childe without telling him. He decided to ignore Childe's question.

Also problem three:

"It's raining a lot isn't it?" Childe said. Raining? This was a huge storm. Scara and Childe were both seeking shelter in a small cave near the spot where they had been waiting a while for the Traveler, who didn't show up. 

After the storm got worse and Scara even almost lost his hat because of the wind, they moved to this cave and continued to wait for the rain to end, and also, for Aether to finally show up. It better be fast.

"...So. Hat guy," Childe said.

"Don't call me that."

"Hat guy. You've been collaborating with our dear Traveler lately? I'm impressed you were invited."

"...." Scaramouche really felt zero motivation to engage in this conversation. So he didn't. Childe continued to chat on his own. 

"He hasn't asked me lately. So when I met him the other day, I told him I don't like staying behind. I was then informed of this new domain discovery he wished to look into, and said I was free to join. Sumeru wasn't exactly on my route but still I came. And now instead of going on an adventure with Aether, I'm stuck here with you. Such an impressive turn of events. Oh. Was that lightning just now?"

Scara had been listening to Childe's babbling in annoyance and silence. But he did look up when he saw the flash too. He nodded. 

"Must be," he said, and it got confirmed by the loud sound of thunder. Scara made the mistake to twitch in surprise. Even though the lightning had already warned them, the thunder was closer than expected. Closer and louder. 

"Scared of some thunder, Wanderer?" Childe asked him. Scara continued to stare at the rain and he didn't move an inch, refusing to look at Childe or react when he stood closer to him, their shoulders almost touching.

"Whenever my younger siblings were scared of thunder, I'd cheer them up. Help them get over their fear. Let go of it. Find peace."

"...." 

Keep on ignoring Scara, you're doing great! He would almost give himself such cringe encouragement.

"It has worked every single time. Just some of my magic, and they wouldn't be scared anymore."

"...." 

"If you think of it, it's nice to know a way to reduce fear of thunder. The skies are what we can't control. So fear of it has to be taken care of with positivity.

"........"

"Want me to show you how I would do that?"

That Childe really talked too much!!!

"No need." Childe stepped closer again and now their shoulders were literally touching, so Scara sighed and wanted to move away. Only…

"Hyah!!" he yelped when too large hands grabbed his waist and squeezed. He flailed his arm in surprise, but Childe caught it and started to tickle his side with his free hand. 

"Well like this of course!" Childe sang as if Scaramouche had told him yes.

"No! Nohoho whahahat the hehehell!" Scara laughed at the sudden assault. The move surprised him, and above all, confused him.

"Whahahat ahahare you - nahhawh stahahap you lohohoser!" Scara laughed when Childe dug mercilessly into his ticklish sides.

"Just a bit of this, and fear of thunder? Gone. Isn't it incredible?" Childe said, casually following Scara down when he sank through his knees on the cold ground.

"Fuhuhhuck you ahahasshole! I'm not scahahared of t-thahaha-!" Scara wiggled and squirmed helplessly like a miserabele little worm. Childe's tickle attack came so unexpected that he couldn't have prepared himself. And now that he was already down, laughing at the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger's mercy, he couldn't find the strength for a proper counter attack. The power of Anemo wasn't really on his side, not in times of tickle-wreckings, it seemed.

"Oh, did you see that?" Childe asked. Scara didn't see anything. His eyes were squeezed shut as he fought his embarrassing reactions to the tickling. Already soon came the loud noise of the thunder again, so Childe must've been talking about another lightning flash. Not that Scara cared.

"Gehehet ohoohoff mehehe!" he barked, still enduring the pretty merciless attack of tickles. Like, Childe appeared calm and his movements weren't too firm at all. Yet he proved to possess some skill and technique even when it came to something stupid like this. Scara just couldn't move properly and could only feel those fingers creeping around his torso while his bare legs scratched against de cold stone ground as they kicked uncontrollably.

"And here too. Tummy tickles work really well on thundery nights," Childe instructed, easily flipping Scaramouche on his back so he could claw at his tummy.

"AHAHah I doohon't need your stuhuhupid - wahahah!" he roared. The storm slowly started to fade, and no more thunder was heard. So Childe also stopped tickling him. 

"Hmm. How was that?" he asked with a smirk. Scara glared at him but felt too tired to throw a fit. 

"Go to hell." He did have the energy left to say that. It earned him another quick tickle attack on his tummy though.

"STOHOHOP!" he howled dramatically, rolling over and gripping Childe's hand that attacked his stomach. Right at that moment, Aether arrived. Of course he did, great timing.

"Here you are! I was looking for you. Sorry I'm late," he said, and immediately followed up with: "Oh." 

A smirk appeared on his face. "Am I disturbing something?" he asked while Paimon let out a squeaky gasp, and she hid herself behind Aether in embarrassment. Childe calmly patted Scara's tummy and got up, clapping his hands.

"We were only waiting for the storm to finish. And I helped Hat Guy deal with his fear. Thunder can be quite scary you know."

"I wasn't scared!" Scaramouche yelled. More like squeaked. He quickly gulped and covered his mouth. All that laughter had done things to his voice. 

"Yeah yeah. So Traveler, are we ready to go?" Childe asked. Aether nodded.

"Sure. Are you ready too?" Aether asked, looking at Scara who was slowly getting back on his feet, blushing like crazy. He nodded quietly. Ah, he felt too embarrassed.

"Alright, let's go." Aether went ahead, leading the way, but Childe turned his head and glanced back at Scara. He smiled, and gave him the wink of cringe. A wink that made Scara blush furiously.

"No grudges please. I only had good intentions," Childe chirped, and he quickly went after Aether before Scara could snap at him. That... That guy! Scara stomped after them. Just you wait, Childe. He was going to get him back for this, someday, somehow. Just. You. Wait! 

[invece-sto-sdraiato]

Rant about everybody’s waiting (and some general fandom stuff) cause I finally found words to my feelings:

tw// mental health struggles, anxiety (can you notice that I’ve never done this before 🥲)

Yes, okay at first I was skeptical about the song. Reasons? I’m not entirely sure (yet) but once I heard the whole thing, I was like, “ok, not as bad as I thought, kinda my taste but will take time to grow on me…” by now I can definitely say that it’s super experimental and brave of them to do something like this, so props to that! I think the second half of the song is what really convinced me.

Lyrics-wise? As much as I understood the meaning, the importance they held for bojan, I didn’t see myself actually “getting” them, if you get what I mean. I didn’t understand what they even meant, at first. (well, I couldn’t hear some words in the song properly)

But now these-

What a wonderful life, panicking

A perfect time to get lost in deep, unoriginal line

There’s nothing left, just flight or die

Lonesome and run down

Can’t tell the sky from the ground

Turning around

Okay now… this hit me straight in the gut. (not sure if these are accurate, feel free to correct me) This… doesn’t exactly explain my feelings, but they sure do come pretty close. This made me realise certain things about my personality which I never thought about before. I was never the “take it easy” type and these words…somehow remind me to slow down sometimes… (I’m just rambling here atp)

I’ve always, ALWAYS been a nervous wreck, since maybe I was ten? And I’ve always gotten anxious about so many things (whether they’re in my control or not) for so long, that I just thought it was human nature to feel so much, and I thought everyone else was just better at handling it than me. I’ve never thought to label it or even address it, cause it was so ingrained in my unconscious, to know that it isn’t normal.

So, seeing how important it is that bojan is addressing this issue is not only a big deal for Slovenia, it is for me too. Joining this fandom, I see so many of you being so open, so vocal about things I generally would’ve never dreamed of admitting (it also does NOT help, the fact that I’m from an extremely conservative country 🥲)

The first time I ever felt accepted, or seen was here. People in my life till this point, have shared similar opinions with me, but no one actually got to know me, the real me because there was always that disconnect that somehow made me distance myself from them. Obviously this is all online and I don’t know any of you personally, but y’alls sheer honesty just makes me go waaaahhh (the only word I can think of rn)

And I think, the real therapy for me was talking to @da-proti-toku-grem and @paperphilia thank you so much for your kindness and acceptance. It means the world to me 🥹

(especially the fact that @paperphilia you asked me “are you ok?” after seeing my rant about the jance photo shoot. That is something I will not forget for a long long time.

And maca, obviously our long conversations will always have a special place in my heart (love you!)

Huh, okay this is getting too long. Anyways whomever of the baby boos reads this, just thank you so much for being there, a part of the reason why I’m happier now. This song ended up being therapeutic for me, who would’ve foreseen that lol.

[tteokdoroki]

✎ᝰ. OCT 1ST ★ BONDAGE - satoru gojo .ᐟ

[CHAPTER ONE RAPUNZEL] satoru gojo as flynn rider + bondage. once upon a time, a girl trapped in a tower with nothing but her extremely lavish, long hair as company decides…fuck it and sleeps with a handsome stranger to get what she wants ( 9.1K ).

✧ chapter contents - minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, rapunzel!au, strangers to lovers, role reversal & switching, orgasm control, sensory deprivation, edging, thigh riding, spit kink, outer-course, begging, handjobs (m!recieving), reader's hair has blonde streaks but colour remains ambigous, rapunzel + fem!reader, flynn rider!satoru gojo.

✧ fairy godmother's note - yippieee!! kickstarting spooky season with this hefty boy. we have our glorious blue eyed king welcoming you all to our fourth annual tteokdoroki kinktober - i hope you all like what's planned this year and enjoy this piece to start with !! kissies hehe <3 - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ☆

“you’re going to take me to see the floating lights. or else.” 

“or else, what, honey?” 

ever since satoru gojo climbed the wooden lattice sewn to your tower by blooming, overgrown weeds and winding vines effectively invading the safest space in the world ( according to mother ), he’s been a pain in your fucking ass. when he’d first arrived, a towering and unfamiliar figure creeping about the main floor — your heart had dropped to the base of your stomach, pulsing rapidly with fear while he scoped the scene. you’d never come across a man before, mother had made sure of that, warning you of their cruelty and ugliness both inside and out. except satoru looked nothing like the descriptions your mother had left you with, you’d say that the man was stunning. not that you had much to compare him to.

his hair was a crisp white, appearing soft to the touch much like the snowfall that came in the winter months (something about playing in it. contrastingly, his eyes were a beautiful shade of baby blue — eerily similar to that of a summer sky free of cloudiness. he was too good looking to be human, for it to be natural, almost as if satoru had strolled straight out of one of the many fairytale books mother purchased for you from the markets. although, over the years you’ve probably read each book cover to cover a million times and not one fictional prince could even match this stranger’s sheer beauty.

though for now, this handsome stranger’s looks would get him nowhere with you. strangers always came with dangers, and since all you’d known throughout your years of living were these four walls, you weren’t going to take any chances with satoru and whatever problems he’d have brought with him.  initially and out of an unfamiliar fear, you’d  taken the nearest weapon to you (a frying pan) and cracked it right over his skull — watching the hunk of a human collapse to his knees and eventually black right out. if mother were around, she would have been proud. you’d tried not to feel any guilt trying to stuff his limp, lengthy limbs in your closet or under your bed because… well, what business does this stranger have with you? what the fuck is a man doing here? how did he get here? why is he here? 

your whole life you’ve been convinced that the outside word was treacherous and that you had to stay inside, where it was safe, because people were horrible and selfish — intent on hunting you down for the powers that lay intertwined in the coils of your hair. those specific streaks that glow a valuable gold between the usual  colour of your locks whenever you sang. mother would style them the way you liked every night — so long as you sung for her. you weren’t about to let mother down, nor risk the little life you built here together.

but, as it turns out, satoru wasn’t looking for the magic sprouting from your crown and entangled in your hair. it almost seemed like he had no idea about them either. rather, the moonlit haired man was looking for a place to lay low and hide after being chased through the forest for his satchel that seemingly carries something valuable. a crown… jewels that have a weight familiar to your head and sparkle like something you’ve seen before in a distant memory. 

“come to think of it, honey, where is my satchel?” cocking his head to the side, sky blue eyes peer up at you with a charm that sends a foreign swarm of butterflies ripping through your stomach.

you frown, accusingly pointing your weapon of choice at gojo’s head and puffing out your chest to appear as intimidating as possible while giving him your name. “i’ve hidden it in a secure location—“ 

“it’s in that pot…isn’t it?” 

as best as he can in the handcuffs he can call locks of your hair, the tower’s newfound infiltrator gestures towards a colourful pot in the corner of tne room. what? all you could think of in the moment is restraining him against the chair and why waste perfectly good rope when you’ve got such length to your own hair? the pot was the closest spot too.you knock him out swiftly after his guess, not giving gojo the satisfaction of finding his precious purse.

now, with the satchel hidden once more, satoru gojo semi-concussed and conscious once again — you realise that for the first time in your life, you have some kind of leverage to bargain with. you need someone to take you to see the floating lights that illuminate the sky on your birthday, every year. satoru needs his… crown? that so obviously doesn’t belong to him. of course, he would have stolen it, mother always said men were no good and always take what isn’t theirs (oh the irony). nonetheless, it  was the perfect match of desires.

this way, you could prove to mother that you weren’t weak like she said you were. that you could cope by yourself and go explore the outside world. it wouldn’t be how it usually is with mother — where you ask for something and instantly get denied because she believes you to be too naive to function in a world outside of her. not this time. this time you have a bargaining chip. a satchel containing a valuable so rare that satoru was willing to risk his life for.

your captive wriggles against the restraints of your hair, woven around the chair like tough knots of a rope to keep him at bay. while the silver haired fox may not have canines like your mother suggested, you have no idea how powerful he could be. contrastingly, gojo finds your hair to be soft against his skin, ticklish along the veins of his arms despite how secure it has him strapped down. he’s forced to listen and to follow your every move across the floor plan, guided by the strength of your hair tugging him about.

“i have a proposition for you. come, look.” drawing back a curtain to reveal a painting from earlier — you recite your plan to your intruder. tomorrow evening, he will take you to see the floating lights … ahem…lanterns that drift across the sky on your birthday every year and then, return you safely to the tower before mother returns. it’s an easy deal.  “i won’t give your satchel back until then,” you stutter out fiercely, adjusting your height and the grip you have on the cool metal frying pan. “you won’t get it back until you’ve taken me to see the lights.” 

“oh whatever, i can just take it back, honey,” satoru goads, cockily ripping his head back in patronising laughter. even though the melodious sound makes irritation bubble hot underneath your skin, you can’t help the way your eyes are immediately drawn to the man’s Adam’s apple as it bobs delectably along with his chuckles. “as soon as i get out of this…hair? hair.” pale blue eyes flicker up to your face when gojo fixes himself in the seat he’s fixed to. they bore deeply into your soul, reading you with as much ease as you have flicking through the same three books that you own. you feel the weight of your hair shift around satoru’s shoulders as he gestures down to it nearly wrapped around his bulging forearms (not that you’d been paying attention). “this is kinda freaky, hon. don’cha think?�� a slow sexy smirk tugs at the corners of gojo’s plush, glossy lips, or rather, he smoulders attempting to woo you into giving him what he wants. “you don’t seem like the freaky type, sweetheart.”

once more, a frustrated flame flares up in the middle of your chest — you’d feel offended for sure if you know what gojo meant. “freaky?” 

“as in like… dubious?” he grins in response, running the pink tip of his tongue over his straight, perfectly white teeth. “this is basically bondage, yanno?”

you blink once. confused.

“improper?” 

nothing, not one of these synonyms or explanations from the smiling idiot makes any more sense to you — bringing you to tilt your head to the side, innocently like a puppy that makes satoru laugh once more. this time it actually does something to you. sends weird butterflies fluttering in your tummy.

with a shake of snow white locks and an inhale that sounds amused as it goes, your hostage clicks his tongue — letting those cooling blue eyes slink up and down your virtuous frame . the swell of his lower lip trapped between pretty perfect teeth. “as in sexy, sweet thing.” satoru’s sickly sweet and powdered sugar coo slips through one ear and out of the other like hot, viscous molasses, you immediately shudder — flustered down to the meat on your bones, curling in on yourself as your faux intimidation tactics melt from your body and slip between the floorboards beneath your bare feet. “gosh! you’re so innocent,” his gaze rips away from you, and you fight back an unexpected whimper, missing the intruder’s gaze on you. “guess that’s what being trapped in a place like this does to a darlin’ thing like you. you wouldn’t last a day out there.” 

he’s patronising you. speaking to you as though you’re no more than a child. however, being talked over and down on is all you’ve ever known, especially from your mother… but the way he acts reminds you of all of the advice she’s bestowed upon you over the years. mother tells you all the time, how naive and silly you are. how people will try and take advantage of your looks and your kindness. and so you decide to use your mother’s advice — if all humans, act like dogs, you’ll throw one a bone and wait for them to come back for more. 

steeling yourself, you use a loop of your hair to drag gojo’s chair toward you — positioning him like a puppet beneath your cold, hard stare. he man spreads on the chair as best as he can in his restraints, leaning back while his seat tilts backwards on a forty-five degree angle — drawing your eyes from his face to his thick thighs momentarily. “you are going to take me to see the lights. it’s a promise, not a threat,” you whisper into the air that buzzes with tension between you both, leaning down and pinning gojo in place. you’re so close, so little proximity between your faces, that you can practically feel his warm breath lingering on the damp skin of your lips. “and i promise, i’ll make this worth your while.” 

your voice lowers an octave, smooth and buttery and just right. like a snare for a wild white rabbit or bait on a hook — it peaks satoru’s interest, illicit thoughts and desires flashing behind his pupils like lightbulb ideas. “oh, honey. i can make you see stars alright,” he looks up at you then, with an expression of heat and thirst, dragging you into a pool of shining blue eyes that you barely manage to free yourself from. drowning in his attention once more. you stand over him proudly, between his legs smugly and all he wants to do is wipe the winning smile from your face and show you a real good time. 

if he could, gojo would reach up and grab at your hips possessively, if he could he’d cup your neck and let his fingers toy with your baby hairs to pull you into a sloppy kiss. he can’t help the way white hot desire spreads through his system like throwing gasoline on an open fire and pile of wood. he grins mischievously, and in response, a brand new sensation stirs within your lower tummy — blistering hot as it zips between your chest and your core.

you sense the change in the atmosphere and gojo does too. both of you dying to scratch the itch on the part of your brain that is the control centre for lust. but you remind yourself what this is truly about, tell yourself not to get lost in the haze of it all, and will yourself to throw a loop of your hair over daring blue eyes like a blindfold — acting fast to secure a seat in an unsuspecting satoru gojo’s vacant lap.

he grunts in surprise, flinches when he realises one out of five of his senses are down. “what the fuck—?” gojo spits, cocky smirk melting away. 

“shhh,” you taunt the man under your breath, leaning forward so that your voice coasts over the shell of his ear like a summery breeze. it invokes a sense of pride within your chest when your hostage tilts his head to follow your voice — his own breathing erratic and increasingly shallow with how he begins to struggle against your restraint on him. “you won’t get a chance to make me see those lights. not if i get you to see them first.” 

in truth, you've got nothing planned. you’ve never been in the same room as a man, let alone pleasure them the way that you’ve read in books you’d borrowed from your mother. 

the reality of the scene before you is daunting, giving up part of your virtue just to prove a point and get to see the floating lights like you’ve always wanted…but at the same time — it’s your one chance at freedom that’s at stake here. “you don’t sound so sure about that, sweetheart,” satoru taunts you with the peaks in his voice coltishly high. he continues to wrestle against the restraints of your hair — he’s strong and with a little more force he could escape but it’s like he senses your hesitancy. 

like he knows for certain you won’t make good on your promise. just like mother. 

that much is evident in the way his smooth, glossy lips tick upwards into an arrogant smirk. 

your determination to prove him wrong grows more and more by the second, so before you succumb to your nerves again, you let your free hand claw with way over gojo’s right shoulder — steadying him, forcing him to sit still as you make a comfortable seat out of his widespread lap. he tenses at first, unable to see you move, but his grin remains, you have no idea if it’s because he’s proud of you or doubting you — but the expression only serves to piss you off even more.

“what’s next, sweetheart?” 

a strangled growl is your only reply, the most menacing sound you can muster as you lift head upwards and his pool of loose silver-moon locks fall out of place. with a shuddering breath and a hold of gojo’s restraints, you press your lips to his in a shaky kiss — still unsure of where your lips go and what to do with your teeth and how to move your tongue. the captive beneath you knows it and takes advantage of your weakness, nipping at the swell of your lower lip gently — hardly enough to draw blood. satoru is testing you, telling you to be brave and take from him. prove to him that you’re willing to do whatever you want for him to make your silly childhood dream come true.

he allows you to fight back, despite this being your idea, lets you forcefully grab his angular jaw and capture him in a proper spit-swapping kiss. if he really wanted to, he’d find a way to escape from the tight bounds of your lengthy hair. but he doesn’t. gojo lets you swallow him down; push your tongue exploratively into his mouth and lap at his foreign flavour. he wants your tongue to take dominance from his, pink appendages sloppily rolling over one another, slipping and sliding as you take and take from satoru.

the kiss, already uncoordinated from your lack of experience, becomes hurried and hungry and wet the more you steal from satoru. you take and take and take until his glass his half full and his brain slowly becomes devoid of all logical thought. he comes the prey to your predatory mouth, missing the way your hand frees his pale cheek and fingers fluidly traverse down his broad shoulders, over his marble sculpted body to find purchase in the belt loops of his bothersome pants. now curious, you feel your way down the front of the fabric and grin into the hot and heavy kiss when satoru’s lets out a breathy, staggered moan into your open mouth. 

his swelling erection twitches in response to your inquisitive hand, slender hips involuntarily jumping upwards.

“fuuuck,” satoru chuckles airily, words featherlight as they breeze along your lips. his head keens upwards too, chasing the weight of your hot sticky tongue in his mouth — desperate to be closer, craving the feeling of your nose knocking against his and your breath on his cheek from just how pressed up against each other you are. “fuck baby that’s it. kiss me more, touch me harder…” he’s addicted before he even knows what you have to offer, what he’s getting himself into. if you could see his eyes from under his binding, you’d bare witness to pleading blue pools swirling with a painful desire as he twitches beneath you, wriggling his wrists to get free. “c’mon, touch me.” he adds between sloppy pecks.

backing your face out of satoru’s reach, you break the drooly lip lock — letting your lungs fill with oxygen it had once missed, while your heaving chest syncs up with the intruder you have strapped  to a chair. you pull away, connected to the man by not just your hair, but a string of saliva glazed across your lips — cautiously, your tongue dart out to break the the between your eager mouths, two sets of uneven panting filling the quiet air. 

the two of you remain unmoving and unwilling to back down while you catch your breath; but your hand remains in the centre of gojo’s lap — rocking it back and forth, back and forth over his growing bulge. you stare at him, observing the reactions that he tries so hard to control. little twitches to his pink swollen lips and the flare of his nostrils whenever your palm makes contact with a sensitive spot. all this waiting is agony, the white haired captive might die if he doesn’t get more from you soon. 

satoru whines impatiently as a result, knowing full well what you want and you won’t ask him again — not when you’re tauntingly squeezing his cock for a second, third, fourth, fifth time. he doesn’t fucking know — overwhelmed by waves of lust-infested blood rushes to its blistering hot tip. “fuck! okay, okay fine. i’ll take you! just—“ the chair rattles from the force of gojo’s struggle against your restraints, which hardly covers the low moan that escapes from between his plush glossy lips while his length pulses against the inside of his pants. “just fuck me. touch me. anything.”

something about his tone being all desperate and high activates a part of you that you never even knew existed. a part of you that knows what to do next… even if you haven’t acted it out, you’ve enough books to remember what the erotic ones say.

only then, after he pleads, do you use your shaky hands to tug down the garment — pulling them towards his knees as best as you can against your hair until the button pops free. the zipper follows easily and the waistband falls away from starlight skin and slender hips. everything gets hotter; any fresh air between your bodies becoming tinged with the need for sex as the scorching ghost of your fingertips leaves burn marks against satoru’s pelvis, and sends heatwaves of ardour from the base of his spine to the top of his skull.

satoru’s squirming pauses while he waits with uneven breathing for your next move — tongue pressing up against the barricade of his white teeth to prevent himself from taunting you further or perhaps to stop himself from belting out another pathetic set of whimpers. he wishes he could see you, those sweet innocent eyes looking down at him as you peel back the last layer of fabric stopping you from accessing his painfully hard erection. his underwear. 

when you gasp in shock, pride weaves itself between the bones that protect his heart and lungs like an uninvited weed, he knows that he’s decent. longer than he is thick, bright red at his mushroomed tip and leaky from just how turned on he is. there’s a trail of silver moon hair that leads you down a path from his belly button to the thickest part of his dick too. but oh, how satoru gojo wishes he could see.. the way you lick your lips as drool drowns your tongue, mouth watering at the sight of his length slapping against his clothed stomach while he manspreads for you. the way your pupils dilate, the colour in your eyes swallowed by a dark veil of carnality. 

this is a hunger you’ve never experienced before, a type of starvation that makes your hand lurch forward before your brain can control it, gripping satoru at the base of his milky, slender shaft. it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a cock; let alone held one between your tiny fingers — it’s much warmer than you anticipated, tacky to the touch from dribbles of precum running down from his untouched tip, but you like it. the weight, the wet sound it makes when you slightly flick your wrist around satoru. not to mention the stuttered groan he lets out, his head falling against the support of the chair and yanking slightly on the blindfold made of hair that covers his eyes.

if you weren’t sitting in his lap, you’d want him in your drooling mouth. you’d sink down to your knees like the girls in your naughty books and take him down your virgin throat, just so you could look up at satoru and watch the sweat bead down his jawline and run a track over his bobbing adam’s apple. but you’re not and you’ve got a point to prove, so you loop your hair around your other wrist to tighten his restraints and extend a thumb upward from his base to his seedy tip, jamming the pad of it through the slit where he pre forms in thick, creamy pearls. as white as those that come from an oyster.

“that’s it gorgeous, just like that…” satoru leers up at you huskily, voice tinged with neediness that he fails to mask. he seems to like the way you touch him and you’re sure to use a delicate hand when you smooth the supple pad of your thumb over the pad of his sensitive tip, rubbing his opaque precum into it sweetly. “touch me s’more? you can do it… i know you’re shy, can hear your breathing ‘n how heavy it is. shit, you’re new at this.” saliva slows down satoru’s salacious words as he rambles to you with swollen lips and rosy cheeks, angling his head in whatever direction your breath seems to be coming from. 

he’s in tatters, destroyed by a few simple touches with his hard on smearing white across the front of his clothes. you roll your palm over his mushroomed cockhead next to test the waters and take pleasure in admiring the way he trembles, grasping at the arms of the chair you have him strapped to in order to ground himself. it’s torture for satoru to be this patient, killing him slowly from the inside out like a virus spreading across his brain and other vital organs — but it doesn’t mean you’re in any better state. practically dripping in his lap with your panties dampening more and more every time satoru so much as whimpers. past the point of being turned on by the sight of a strong, powerful man weak and blindfolded underneath you.

satoru bucks upward at your command, sucking in a breath as his sensitive, seedy slit bumps your palm once more. “s-shit… please.”

the improper ness of the entire situation sends a zap of electricity to your swelling clit. you’ve only ever imagined being with someone like this as you have seeing the floating lights — touching yourself beneath your skirts and under your painted ceilings whenever you were brave enough. now you’re here, spread over the thick thighs of a possible thief who begs you to jerk him off. “s-shut up,” you hiss as embarrassment and  inexperience begins to shine through the deal you’ve struck with gojo, the fact that he can tell as much and still wants this has you soaked all the way through and aching for friction as well. 

you’ve never been in possession of so much power in your life. mother never let you have it. but right now, you can taste it sparking between you and gojo, smell it in the air teeming mixed with a cocktail of your arousals. in the moment you realise that the silver haired man would cling onto every one of your sugar-coated words (no matter how nervous) if it meant he got the fuck he wanted in the end. and you would get to see your lights too.

“just… tell me what to do,” you say without realising how husky your own voice has gotten. “i promised you your crown, to make you feel good if you took me to see the lights. and i never go back on a promise. s-so tell me.” talking yourself into it and building up some more confidence, you circle over satoru’s bulbous cockhead again — gaze laser focused on the burning bright red colour as it oozes. you know that he likes it and it makes his head spin so much that he starts to fight against the restraint of your hair again. “i won’t let you go, not until this is over. so tell me what i can do to make you cum.” 

despite not being able to see his entire face, gojo’s smug smile says it all — his perfect teeth cheerily on display, contrasting with the flustered pink tint to his cheeks. “cup it, make a fist around my cock so you can jerk me off’a little bit,” a haughty moan scratches at the walls of your captive’s throat when you follow his guidance and finally grip him fully, soft and supple hands easily dwarfed by the size of him. satoru’s shaft may be a little thinner, but he’s thick enough to fill your own throat and cause a stretch to your quivering hole with his balls being round, plump and full of white hot seed saved up just for you. “christ, squeeze my base a lil’ before you get movin’,” at first contact, satoru’s thighs tremble deliciously against your mound, blood rushing to your clit and through the forked veins that spiral down his length. 

your senses are overwhelmed, he smells so good — of peppermint and a musky twang of sex act like dangerous smelling salts or fumes. you could get addicted if you weren’t careful. you’re super aware of each ridge and firm vein that decorates him and as you start to palm satoru steadily, you notice just how sticky your hand is — movements guided by the wet cream of his cock. slipping and sliding as your closed fist moves up and down, up and down, occasionally squeezing the base of him just like he asked. your knuckles brushing the soft bush of pubic hair at his pelvis. you can only imagine how everything feels for him, not being able to see at all.

the thought just barely crosses your mind — too focused on speeding up your soiled hand around gojo just to hear more of his angelic gripes and groans that rise and fall from his heaving chest. how good all of this must feel for the man without being able to see. every touch must make him tick and drip and throb achingly. he must feel weak too, completely vulnerable to anything you might do to him while blindfolded and unable to touch you because of bonds formed by your hair. 

once you set a steady rhythm to your closed fist to jerk him off with, gojo takes a breather to announce his next command — head shaking side to side with moonlight locks sticking to his forehead in an attempt to alleviate the inferno of desire spreading through of his limbs. “now spit on it,” he states bluntly, an obvious dip to the octave in his voice. you can’t possibly imagine why he’d need spit; your hand is already glossed with a shiny layer of precum, tainting your knuckles from the viscosity. 

you swallow thickly, but don’t dare stop pleasuring your captive stranger. “w-what?” 

“are you kidding me just—“ leaning forward as best as he can while held back by the strong locks of your hair, like rope around his wrists. dopamine crackles over your brain like fireworks in an enclosed space at the scene that unfolds next, satoru pursing his lips to spit onto his own milky dick — letting the frothy mix from mouth join the mess that lubes the both of you up where connected. “just spit on it, honey. thought you wanted me to feel it.”  

licking your lips, you rub down satoru’s girth far enough to drag the glob of spit down to his tender weighty balls, that pulse at your gentle touch. the feeling makes satoru’s entire body jolt like an electric shock — a gargled groan clambering out from the depths of his panting chest as his jaw goes slack and mouth falls open. “please. please spit on it, honey. god please.. need you to wet my cock. i need it so bad, promise i’ll be fucking good.” blind but with his remaining senses in tact, gojo remains largely vulnerable to your touch, his entire world tilting on one axis when you grip his dick a little harder at his request. causing a ring of white to gather where the circle of your wrist envelopes him.

at his begging. which you swear makes you gush like a small, erotic stream — your juices sloshing about in the gusset of your panties while your sex goes unattended.

so you nod obediently, tilting your head forward and parting your swollen lips to let a thick, syrupy string of your own spit ooze onto his plump and sore balls, stroking him rapidly to spread it over his creamy tip as well. your spit is contrastingly cool in comparison to the natural lubricant smeared all over your captive’s palpitating dick — causing it to grow impossibly harder. it slickens up your hand, evidence of the silver haired man’s arousal seeping through the fabric of his crumpled shirt and coils of your restrictive hair. neither of you can bring yourselves to care in the moment — all you can think to do is relish in gojo’s size.

he’s so big, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t wondered how satoru fit entirely inside your tight hole, stretching you out in the new future — earning yourself a fresh wave of liquid lava hot essence to your ruined panties. you dare to dream onwards, picturing the azure eyed stranger fucking you against the walls of the tower in every way the man knew possible… you have no idea what he’s capable of when untied. but the sight of him lazily thrusting into your filthied fist like it’s instinct, following it like a moth to a candle flame, is enough dream fuel to last you a lifetime. even after the deal is complete and the lights are just a distant memory. 

eventually, you decide to pull off of satoru to give your wrist a break — walking your fingers up the broad expanse of his built chest to tweak his nipples between your tingling bodies. his entire frame is wracked with a case of shivers, mouth parting in a high-pitched, whiny whimper with strings of saliva connecting its roof to his tongue. you’re so pathetically turned on, drool pooling on your tongue like a hot flash flood. 

it’s why you tighten your grip on your hair and thus his restraints, resulting in satoru staggering forward. closer, panting like a damn dog in rut. drawing your free hand up towards your lips and away from his pecs, the proximity between you becomes so little that satoru can practically smell the musky evidence of sex that you lick from your hand. “oh… you taste so good,” you lament in a dulcet tone, failing to miss the way gojo’s dangerous azure eyes dart about beneath his makeshift blindfold, probably dying to see you get a taste of him.

“d-don’t say that, you’ll make me fuckin’ cum, honey.” he gulps, involuntarily pumping his hips into the air, chasing your hand which he needs so desperately to feel good. “please don’t stop.” while begging you — satoru is the perfect picture of a ruined man, though you’re sure he would say the same about you if you hadn’t strapped your hair over his line of vision. his milky skin glistens as though it’s the very source of light for the silvery moon — illuminated by droplets of sweat from the exertion off fucking your fist like a squelching, welcoming pussy. his cheeks glow warmly with a dusty shade of pink and there’s a red ring forming around his lips from where he’s bitten them to control his wails of ecstasy.

succumbing to the obscenity of it all,  you reach forward and lick a stripe into his hellfire hot mouth. effectively sharing the saltine flavour of gojo’s own precum with him while he languidly sucks all the tang from your pink appendage. his angel white lashes flutter shut at the heaviness of your tongue against his own. the kiss is messy and mismatched, saliva seeps from the corners of your mouth and drags a sticky train down your chin. parting briefly, you spit it into the middle of your palm — happily taking satoru’s cock back into your talented hold and providing a solace to soothe its passionate ache. 

“ngh… i can feel you. f-fuck. feel you tryin’ not to grind against me, sweetheart.” somehow, gojo finds pockets of air to taunt you in — his voice an arousing mix of a raspy whine and cocky tone. “so wet, i can smell you too. so sweet. dripping all over your panties while you jerk me off. do you need that needy pussy taken care of?”

everything he’s said is true, while the man with the sweaty silver locks fought to escape the prison of your hair — desperate to see how you pleased him, you fought the growing pit in your stomach. the urge to use satoru for release. you’d never hit your peak with another person before, only your smaller-than-his fingers whenever mother left for more than a day or two. 

you admit to nothing, continuing to stroke satoru to his own high — his panted moans accompanied by the sound of skin slapping skin from your hand fisting him to the high heavens.  “please baby, i wanna help get you off. feel that wet little cunt. let me go, i’ll be so good to you if you let me touch your sweet c—“ 

“n-no! we had a deal. my rules.” you stutter, denying yourself. denying him.

“c’mon sweetheart,” a strained and petulant whine echoes throughout the tower — satoru thrusting shallowly through your closed hand in order to match his rhythm to the flick of your wrist. “please, god, baby. if you won’t let me touch you, or at least see you, then can you put that pretty pussy on my thigh? ride it real good? wanna know how you sound when you’re being pleasured…when you give into it all. please honey, give me somethin’ to work with. anythin’…”

gojo presses, like a disciple begging their god for mercy. begging you for mercy. there’s never been this much power in your reach, the ability to control a man who could easily over power you with your sex makes your mind feel egotistically weighty. your resolve crumbles just a tad, satoru’s neediness  chipping away at its foundation until your hips instinctively position themselves perfectly over the swell of his right thigh. how bad could it be? giving him an inch when you’ve taken a mile from him. mother says you’ve never been good at lying and right now, you can no longer pretend like your hips aren’t dying to slide back and forth over your capture like a desperate whore. 

like you don’t want to use him for more than just the floating lights, but to soothe the fire lit in your lower stomach — trailblazing down to your throbbing clit.

something clicks in your mind, all of your inhibitions are dashed from the tower as you briefly release satoru’s pathetically wet cock and restraints to pull up the skirts of your silk purple dress, exposing a slither of supple fat at your thighs. hurried movements deliver the same treatment to satoru’s pants. “this… this doesn’t change anything. doesn’t mean i’m letting you go just yet. it won’t affect our deal.” you warn the intruder but all sense of venom and authority is lost, evaporating into the temperate air and ending up as a piteous, meek mewl when your exposed mound makes first contact with man’s naked thigh.

if the sound of ruffling fabric hadn’t caught your hostage’s attention; the heat of your sopping sex against his moonlit skin definitely did. “fuck…that’s it. there we go, honey. put it on me,” a tinge of amusement lays evident in his gravelly voice, sets of slender digits peeking out of their hairy restraints to map out your doughy thighs and crawl their way up to the source of your essence. “i just knew you were wet for me, can feel how turned on you are.” as best as he can, gojo shifts until his knee is able to bump your clit — cooing in satisfaction when you ooze against him in response. you almost despise the way he laughs up at you condescendingly, as if he’s the one in control irregardless or the fact that you’re on top. 

maybe it’s the dopamine rush that makes your dynamic unclear — neither of you wanting to give up or take the lead. the lust fizzing in the cracks and crevices of your brain make you cute and pliant for gojo but hair woven over his body keeps him subdued and thirsty for you. 

like a gravitational pull, you buck downwards on the silver haired stranger’s toned thigh and smear the beginnings of your arousal all over him. you’ve barely been touched, oozing in viscous waves as you lose control over your body, rutting harder and faster. “watch your mouth.” you cry out, volume barely above a whisper, bottom lip trembling because it feels so good to use someone this way. 

resuming your hold on his dripping cock again as you rock your hips — you rearrange the loop of hair keeping gojo in place, covering his eyes just as your hair begins  to glow gold in time with your symphony of moans. “right, right, sorry. this doesn’t change things,” he flexes his thigh underneath your syrupy sex, strawberry tongue slipping out to wet his lips while your words fade away into a pretty little sigh. “but you wanna smack that messy clit all over my thigh, don’cha wanna make it creamy… even messier?” satoru all but jeers, the wisps of a smirk rising on the horizon of his lips now that your hips have formed their own rhythm over his leg.

they speed up their passionate dance on him, beads of glistening essence pearling between your two fat pussy lips. the slick smack of your naked cunt against his muscular thigh caused his dick to twitch in your hand — gojo thrusting up when you thrust down. he tilts his head down, catching a whiff of your heavenly scent in the air between you both. you hate that he’s right just as much as he hates not being able to see you and touch you properly — only catching glimpses of the golden light sparkling within your hair like a halo from underneath his makeshift blindfold.

you feel like you might be going insane, trapped underneath a non existent touch. like being pulled under waves of euphoria with aching lungs that don’t get enough air. near angelic screams of delight rip through the base of your throat contrast with the way you sinfully hump satoru and jerk him off to the point of his dick forming a creaminess in your hand. he bounces his thigh faster the higher you moan, rewarding you for all the hard work you put in to make this deal worth it.

“you’re no better… you’re filthy,” 

“that’s right honey, so dirty. all cause of you. messy with you, why won’t you let me see?”  the captive rambles, torn between fighting to break out of the bondage and listening to the lewd sticky noises your mound makes when gliding smoothly over his paled skin. satoru growls at how roughly your body moves above his own, face contorting lecherously, cheeks red and lips puffy — a mess from how long he’s been holding out for you. he’s a mess. it’s true. he won’t even deny it. “now fuckin’ stroke it baby, stroke me to the rhythm of your pussy bouncing up and down for me…please…” 

simpering slightly, gojo’s fingers twitch against the arm of the chair — itching to grab at your ass and slam you down against his shaky thigh. if you palm him more, grip him tighter… he can better imagine the warmth of your cunt if he got the chance to slip inside. for now, you oblige his request, pulling tighter on the bindings of your hair while you them use as leverage — throwing yourself down on satoru as the lewd pap of your drooling pussy fills the musky tower air. “that’s it honey, up ‘n down. uppp ‘n  down. keep goin’ just like that.” 

you don’t have the energy to chide him, jostling about in satoru’s lap with wet whimpers bubbling up on the seams of your lips. pleasure begins to twist nice and tightly in your tummy, scalding you from the inside out and burning any logical thought from your brain. head beginning to roll to the side, you think about fully submitting to your capture. letting go entirely — you’d be satisfied. you’d get to cum. your deal might fall through but at least you’d get to see a different kind of light. 

easily, you could just give up. it wouldn’t be hard to, not  when gojo firmly plants his feet into the tiled floor and the power from his hips has hip rutting upwards to chase your fleshlight-like fist. a beefy cry battles its way out of his broad chest, vibrating through you as his quivering thigh juts your pretty, syrupy cunt every time you lift off of him. 

it’s the perfect cycle; the ideal push and pull. you squeal in ecstasy, the hood of your clit dragged back so that your sensitive bundle of nerves is exposed to the blistering heat of satoru’s cool toned skin — taking you closer and closer to your high. streaks of your hair glow brighter than before, more intensely the louder you moan and just like they would if you were singing to help mother or while she brushed your hair. despite the strength in the light of your hair, everything else about you weakens, your grip on your hair, the pace of your hand as you palm satoru to the high heavens. you can’t think to care about any of it when you’re this close. 

if mother could see you now, you don’t think you’d mind if she was disappointed in you. 

but then you’re ripped away from the edge of cloud nine. satoru stops just short of the dam threatening to break. his thigh completely still with your juices splattering against him once your own hips come to a hault. a petulant howl echoes through the flower, frustrated tears stinging in your waterline as you feel your orgasm slip away from you cruelly. “what the fuck satoru?” 

“sorry honey….” he laughs heartily, a slight rasp coating each syllable from each word that leaves his mouth. “don’t think i like this deal very much. just ‘cause you feel good doesn’t mean you can forget about me,” gesturing to the way you gush on and stain his thigh, the captive with the silver moon hair shrugs. “you don’t get to cum or see the lights unless i get to see you.”

gojo’s been good so far, hardly challenging you this whole time and instead, goading you into a world of pleasure you would have never experienced under mother’s watchful eye. instead, he was content to have his cock touched and his name wailed a hundred different ways — he’d shown no indication of breaking your deal aside from this. so in turn, you halfheartedly let go of the loop of hair that kept his sapphire stained eyes away from the world and held his wrists down to the arms of his chair.  the restraints loosen just enough to please him and do what he needs to do. not enough to give him complete freedom. 

“fuck the deal.” you cast it all to the side, relentlessly resuming grinding all over gojo — pushing your hips back as far as his knee to smother your swollen pleasure against it.

this time, satoru is able witness the way your bambi doe eyes roll back into your emptying skull. 

with newfound motivation, the intruder begins quickly blinking away any darkness that caused a fuzz at the edge of his vision, gojo’s gaze immediately trickles down to your clenching hole, a treasure kept safe between your nectar glossed thighs; watching you ride him. “god, if i had my hands on you i’d rub that clit until you were squirting… i bet you’d like that, if i ruined that pussy. made her mine — you'd like that.” gojo’s stare returns to your eyes, flashing you his pearly whites through a condescending smile. his rushed and rambled teasing words make your creamy cunt wetter; body betraying you to violently shake above him. 

though you find strength to keep up your end of the bargain. you’d sworn to make satoru see stars, encapsulating his rigid, sloppy dick between your nimble fingers once more. you even spit on it, earning a haughty bleat from between the man’s pretty (yet chatty) mouth. his sturdy body seizes underneath your touch as you take a firmer grip on him, palming him faster and faster — seedy, hot precum webbing over your knuckles once more. that’s when you finally get to see it. how murky and dark your captive’s vibrant eyes grow, like a pond, swimming with desire for you and only you.

the rapture that had once melted away from you like butter in a pan begins to blossom within you once again — willing you to beg for a chance at a real orgasm. “yes satoru! oh, yes please!” you squeak, short of breath and not entirely sure or what you’re even begging for. the golden light emitting from strands of your hair flare up again and your pussy throbs with an aching need to hit release. “please…”

a self congratulatory thread of cobalt lust weaves its way between the darkening midnight flecks in this eyes. “now look who’s begging,” clicking his tongue, gojo cocks his head to the side, relishing in his ability to finally look at you. drink in the way your chest bounces beneath the bodice of your lace orchid gown. it’s completely fucked, darkened by a crude mix of your arousals but it’s the most beautiful thing satoru has ever seen — only serving to rial him up even more… his own orgasm coming up over the hill. it burns at his internal organs, the lining of his stomach and the only way to alleviate this almost painful yet delectable twinge to his system is through you. “bet you’re only being nice ‘cause you’re close. well guess what? me too, be a good girl, honey, and cum for me.” he says, voice rising in both pitch and breathiness through his gritted teeth. 

he’s going to cum. 

and you’re too far gone to form a response with words just yet. you stop your own ministrations, payback for edging you earlier. his own cock dribbles pitifully as you rip his high away from him like pulling a rug from beneath his feet. gojo thrashes in his hair in response, azure eyes wild and almost wet with a sheen of tears — just as desperate to cum ad you are. “wh-what the fuck was that for?” he winges as though he’s a child on punishment, slender hips rising up to chase your soiled hand and perfect grip — shaft standing needily at attention. “honey…”

“you don’t get to cum until i get to cum. so either you work with me, satoru, or we’ll go all day.” you snap, slowly working your drenched cunt over the meat of his thigh once again, your puffy folds spread either side of it — squelching with the way you salaciously wind your hips all over him. 

satoru basks in the sight, tongue poking out tauntingly between his teeth as he decides to test the waters. “fine, but at least let me help,” he suggests, watching eagerly as you throw your head back in the purest form of pleasure and grind on him harder. it’s clear as day that you need just as much of a push to cum as he does and he plans on giving it to you in just one condition. “untie me.”

“deal.” chewing on your lower lip, you let more of your hair unwind your glowing hair from all points that keep gojo strapped to the chair. enough for more of his hands to escape. then, he’s on you within a flash, hot tongue swirling its way over your clothed bosom and biting at your peaked nipples while his hands shoot to the globes of your ass so that he can drag you in harsh circles across his lap. he’s ravenous, out of control, as if he’s been waiting for this moment the entire time. 

somewhere along the way, in one final burst of passion, your mouths find each other again — swapping streams of saliva as you lose yourselves to sex crazed minds teaming with lust hormones. with your lips smacking and bodies moving against each other in a delicious bump and grind — satoru forces a large hand between you both, fumbling against your cotton panties. the sound he lets out when he finally, finally gets his hands on your puffy clit is glutoral and animalistic, the simple touch sending a shock wave of electricity across every one of your synapses. dazing you for good. 

you bear witness to the silver haired stranger losing his mind, falling from grace like an angel with blackened wings. and for you, he does the same, commiting the sight of your glowing halo-like strands of hair to memory — the coils that shine brighter the more you sing and sin for him.

he can’t stop gabbling, gargling on the spit you pour into one another — followed by howls and screams of pleasure. “oh you like that, hm? i bet that feels so good… so sweet ‘n wet under my touch.” hot fingers belonging to satoru pick up the pace between your sticky folds, flicking your clit feverishly and writing his claim against your cunt at the same time that you jam a thumb into the tricking slit of his dirty red cockhead. the pair of you jolt in one another’s arms, taking one too many steps towards the edge of cloud nine before you’re even ready for you.  

“oh sweetheart, listen to you, sound so good. wish i could have you on my fat cock instead of my thigh. next time yeah? you’re gonna cum like this, aren’t you? gonna get my thigh nice and wet?” gojo growls, voice hoarse and layering perfectly over your whistle tone whines. his digits slow and start their greedy assault on your sex, edging you further and further as you wriggle and writhe at his words. 

the world escapes you, the knot of lust that had been warping within you finally coming undone. “gods… s-satoru! please!” you shriek as though your voice is a  gust of stormy wind — reverberating off of painted cobblestone walls. your free hand (no longer trapped by loops of your own hair) darts out to grab the intruder’s wrist, thighs locking around the hand that works you through an earth shattering high. the dam finally bursts, forcing open floodgates as your pussy releases streams of clear arousal in small spurts that soaks his entire lap and clothes.

gojo has no idea where to look, the smallest glimpse of your orgasm sending him hurtling over the edge as well — he doesn’t relent, viciously circling your precious pleasure mug and drawing out your release to match his own. his thick length spasms in your tiny hand, plump balls no longer able to contain the viscous, hot seed he has saved up all for you. just for you. he cums with a shout, abdomen contracting under your never-ending supple touch, ropes of white hot endlessly shoot from his overstimulated tip almost as though he’s a faucet that’s never been turned off.

he swears he almost blacks out, a white and sweaty mop of hair collapsing onto your shoulder as you slump in gojo’s lap — exhausted. as the air in the room cools, your hair no longer glowing and your chests syncing up to heave in an even rise and fall — you bring a lazy hand to the back of satoru’s head, toying with coils of his baby hair to help you both calm down.

a moment of quiet passes before you find the energy to whisper. “will you take me to see those floating lights now?” 

your innocent question causes satoru to snort sleepily, pressing a wet chaste kiss to your sweaty cheek as the sound breaks free from his cherry-bitten lips. “a deal’s a deal, honey. as soon as you untie me… we’ll hit the road.” 

neither of you move a muscle, however, still recovering from the sinful act you had just shared. 

you use the time to reflect, a sense of excitement dawning on you. you were going to leave the tower. you were going to see the floating lights on your birthday. and most importantly, you were directly disobeying your mother to prove your capableness. and all you had to do to get your fairytale happy ending was give a handjob to a very handsome, very willing stranger. 

the end.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[angelicsoka]

THE HAT RULE, t. owens

word count | 1.7k words

pairings | tyler owens x meteorologist!fem!reader

summary | where tyler owens decides to show the reader what the hat rule is. 

warnings | MINORS DNI!! 18+ ONLY!! HEAVY smut! reader doesn’t know the hat rule. not proofread. lowercase intended. 

a/n | first of all, sorry for disappearing, i've had NO motivation to write on here, but i saw twisters yesterday and seeing glen powell in a cowboy hat changed me as a person, and also gave me motivation to write. i’ve never written a full smut so i apologize if this sucks, i've stepped out of my comfort zone for this one.

the first time you had ever encountered a tornado was a memory you were sure to never forget. growing up in new york meant rain and snow but no tornadoes. so when traveling to nebraska on a field trip in high school, you were unprepared when the sirens sounded, sending everyone into a frenzy. you had watched as the rain pelted from the sky, a funnel forming up above. you were mesmerized as your teacher pulled you to safety, a sort of thrill tearing through  your body. from that moment on, you knew what you wanted to do. you went to college for meteorology, graduating near top of your class before going onto to work at a local news station. but it never quite settled the feeling that something was missing, until you stumbled across tyler owens’ youtube channel. 

tyler owens had become a sensation, a daredevil who did more than just chase the storms, he rode into them. and that seemed to heighten that need of a thrill. so, you hit him up and to your surprise, he replied. and what had started out as a week off of work to storm chase with the daredevil, turned to going part time at your job and joining him on the road.

that was a season ago, and now you were sat at a dingy bar, sipping a beer with tyler and the team. the man himself was sat on the stool next to you, nursing his own beer and listening to lily speak. you ignored the slight butterflies that entered your stomach as he laughed. you had learned to never mix work and love, but something about tyler had you questioning that lesson. he looked mighty fine in his blue jeans and button up, supporting a cowboy’s hat on his head. you noticed your beer was gone, standing up you turned to your crew.

“i'm gonna get another beer, can i get anyone anything?” no’s were murmured around the group except for one.

“i could use another, how ‘bout i come with ya?” you shrugged, tyler getting up to walk with you. lily let out a low whistle, stopping at your glare. 

“be my guest.” you two walked over to the bar top, signaling the busy bartender. “can we get two more, when you get a sec?” the bartender nodded, going to make a few drinks before he could grab their bottles. 

“so, miss city girl, how you likin’ riding with us? ready to go back to the big apple yet?” tyler questioned, turning to look down at you slightly. damn the height difference.

“don’t think you’re getting rid of me that quick, i have a lot more storm chasing left in me, cowboy.” you winked, tyler laughing. you debated for just a moment before reaching up and taking the cowboy hat from his head.

“the hell you think you’re doing?” tyler questioned as you placed the hat on your own head, admiring your reflection on your phone.

“you wear this hat all the damn time, i just wanted to see if there was something special about it? maybe it has some magical powers or something.” the bartender came back around, beer bottles in hand. you thanked him, handing him some cash before turning back to tyler, who had an odd look in his eye. you quickly took off the hat, worried you had pissed him. you went to hand it back to him, when tyler shook his head:

“keep it on, it suits you.” tyler picked up his beer, beginning back to the table. the comment caused a light blush to dust your cheeks. shaking your head, you hoped it didn't show too much as you followed him back. you sat in your seat, confused by the odd looks you received from the crew. nobody said anything about the hat as the night went on, but that didn’t stop the odd looks.

by last call, it was you and tyler left of the crew. thankfully the bar was across the street from the motel, tyler paying the tab much to your protest, before setting off back to the motel. you had forgotten you still wore tyler’s hat upon your head, only remembering when you went to brush your hair from your eyes, your hand bumping the rim. “hey, do you know why everyone kept giving me weird looks after i put your hat on? and why boone and dani wouldn’t stop snickering?” tyler looked over to you as you climbed the stairs of the motel.

“you don't know?” you shook your head in response, tyler holding a bewildered look. “you don't know the hat rule?”

“there’s a hat rule?” tyler stopped at his door, which neighbors your’s and lily’s. “what?”

“you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.” he deadpanned, your eyes widening and a heavy blush coating your cheeks. 

“oh my god! i promise i wasn’t trying to imply that or anything. not there’s anything wrong with you, because you’re– well you’re you, and–”  you fumbled over your words, stopping mid sentence when tyler laughed.

“hey, it's fine. if you weren’t trying to insinuate that, that’s fine. but if you were, well, now's your chance. and i’d be more than happy to show you how that rule works.” tyler walked closer, a minimal amount of space between you, just enough to allow you to choose whether you close that gap or leave. 

you stood there for a moment, stunned at his offer. and without much thought, you closed the gap, hands going to grip his face and pull him closer to you. his hands moved to your hips, fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts. the kiss was feverish, all unspoken feelings surfacing. tyler began to pull away much to your dismay, one hand leaving your hip to fish out his keys from his pocket as he moved his other arm to hold your waist. he unlocked the door with ease, pulling you inside and shutting the door before pushing you up against it, the hat falling as he did so. he went to town on your neck, enticing soft moans and whimpers from your lips. the way he sucked at your neck and how he had previously handled you had conjured up a pool of wetness in your panties. 

your arm wrapped around his neck, holding him to your throat, as your fingers tugged at his hair. he groaned against your skin, biting down ever so softly when you tugged on his hair. he gripped at your leg, pulling it up to give him better access to your cunt. he rubbed his clothed cock along you covered cunt, pleased with the moans that escaped your mouth.

“god, keep moaning like that and i might have to take you right here.” you blushed once more, pulling tyler to meet your lips once more. you pushed off the door, lips still connected to tyler’s as you blindly pushed him back to the bed. his legs hit the edge of the bed, tyler breaking the kiss as he pulled off your shirt, both of you kicking off your shoes and socks before lips were reattached once more. 

you pulled back, tyler unbutton his shirt as you began to work on his belt buckle. “woah, easy, pretty girl. you’ll get a taste, don’t worry. the night’s still young. but for now, i gotta show ya what happens when ya wear the hat.” tyler pulled off his shirt, walking to pick up the forgotten hat, placing it on your head. “this stays on.” you nodded, eyes hooded as tyler pulled your shorts and panties down. “you’re even more perfect than i had imagined.” before you could question him, tyler pulled his jeans off, his boxers next as his cock sprung up. tossing them to the side tyler pulled you onto his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed, “you sure ‘bout this? i don’t have any condoms.” tyler asked, different from how he just was. you nodded, kissing him softly.

“i’m on the pill, and i trust you.” tyler nodded, holding over his cock as he slowly guided it along your pussy. you held yourself up as tyler’s thumb rubbing your clit, enjoying your whimpers. “please, tyler.” you begged, tyler aligning his cock with your entrance before guiding you down. you hand went your hat as your head rested on tyler’s shoulder, almost pornographic moans escaping from your lips. “oh my god.” he slowly eased himself into you, whispering praises as he did so.

“god, feels like you were made for me.” your cunt hugged his cock beautifully. when his cock was fully in, he allowed you to get used to the stretch, “tell me when you're ready.” you stilled for a moment, adjusting to his size. you kissed and sucked on his neck, slowly beginning to rock your hips. “fuck, let’s get this off of ya.” tyler’s hands skillfully unclipped your bra, tossing it to the side, fingers ghosting over your perky nipples. you pulled off his shoulder, giving him better access to your tits. “you’re fuckin’ beautiful, darlin’.” tyler attached his mouth to one of your nipples, enticing a soft moan. you continued to ride him, hips moving faster as you chased your incoming orgasm. your left hand gripped tyler’s shoulder, fingernails digging into his bare skin as your right hand held onto the hat that adorned your head. 

as your orgasm inched closer and closer, your movements became more erratic, chasing your high. tyler moaned, whispering praises as your walls clenched around his cock. he knew you were close, mouth moving to your pulse point as he pounded into you, taking over. tyler clapped a hand over your mouth as your orgasm hit, muffling your screams so you didn't wake up your neighbors. his movements however did not slow as he worked you through your orgasm, chasing his own high. your legs trembled as he continued to pound into you, your second orgasm of the night approaching quickly. “fuck! fuck, ty-” you cut yourself off, body shaking as you hit your climax once more. tyler began to huff and moan, pulling you impossibly closer as he reached his own high. you blubbered, unable to form actual words as tyler’s hands roamed your body. you pulled back, kissing him roughly.

“goddamn,” he helped you off his cock, helping guide you onto the bed, “think you’ll be able to handle a round two?”

“don’t go thinking you can get rid of me that easily.” 

[gor3sigil]

I’m Trans and Insane and I’m doing fine.

[TW Psychosis, transphobia, psychophobia, medication, psych ward]

“Are you sure ?” she asked.

I remember looking back at her in disbelief, because that was certainly a question I never asked her when she came out.

“Why do you ask ?” I say.

“Dude, I’ve seen you go into depersonalization so hard you even thought you were a human soul in a robot vessel and now, you want me to trust you when you say that you, too, are trans ?”

That’s the memory that comes back to me as I fold and put in my bag my psychiatrist’s note attesting that I suffer from gender dysphoria, NOT LINKED to any psychotic symptoms. Here it goes in my folder with my prescription note, an increase - again - of my anti depressants and Xan, and my endocrinologist’s HRT prescription, increased too - finally.

I go to two separate pharmacies to pick up each prescription for two reasons:

There is only one in this godforsaken town that always had testosterone in stock.

I can’t explain to you with words the look you can get when you give back to back, to someone who, despite not being a doctor, works in healthcare, a note for trans HRT and then a note for psychiatric meds.

And I’m lucky, because I’m not taking antipsychotics anymore. Contrarily to what you could think, it doesn’t magically makes the voices and the shadowy people disappear, but it can make a mess of your head pretty bad and my doctor and I both agreed that I didn’t need more damage up here than what I already had. And no, it doesn’t make your delusions vanish magically too: in fact, I was still pretty certain that I was talking to my soul family out here in Argentine telepathically about my mission on Earth, the meds just made it more difficult to understand their voices, but the belief was still solid.

Anyways, I’m back home with the Hoy Grail I fought tooth and nails to get: a letter from the Sacred Council of Mental Sanity also known as Psychiatry that I was, indeed, a bit delulu, but also trans, and that both things didn’t play into each other. My transness wasn’t a delusion, my delusions didn’t have anything to do with being trans.

Or did it ?

Chicken or egg, you know the drill. Did I have my selves fractured before and one of the piece that shattered my brain happened to make me trans or was I just trans with a shitload of traumas in the back that made me insane ?

But don’t worry, at least, trans people when we’re together, we have each other’s back ! Right ?

“Transidentity ISN’T a mental illness !! We don’t DESERVE to be FORCIBLY LOCKED UP and MEDICATED and MADE TO CONFORM FOR OTHER’S SENSE OF SECURITY !!”

Neither do I, RIGHT ?

Oh

Or do I ?

Remember what she said, my girlfriend, right at the beginning ?

How I can’t be trusted about myself when sometimes I don’t even have a sense of self anymore or I have too much selves who fight against each other ?

And what do we say to that ?

Get treatment. Get in-patient. Take medication. And for the love of God, shut the fuck up about it, you’re giving us a bad name.

Because being trans and crazy can’t exist. It’s absurd. You have to fix one of these two things. Choose which jacket I’ll wear, and they call it a straitjacket for a reason it seems, so am I queer or am I insane ?

All I know today is there isn’t a universe in which I’m a trans without any mental illnesses, or mentally ill without being trans. And yet, I can’t tell you how many time I got asked “do you think you’d be trans if you never got through [x trauma] ?”. I. Don’t. Know. I’ll never know. And I deserve just as much agency as you get despite being mentally ill. If you don’t believe in that, don’t come yapping about “liberation for all of us”, but “if one of us is crazy they’ll all think I am too and that can’t happen”.

No LGBTQIAA+ person deserves to be told they need to be put away, to be cured, to be allowed out in the open only if they’re deemed “acceptable” by society’s standards. And no mentally ill people deserve to either.

No trans person should be going through years of counseling to have the access to HRT.

And I shouldn’t have had to threaten my own mother’s life to avoid being locked in an adult psych ward at 14.

If you ever think, for one second, that these two things have nothing to do with one another, you are far removed from history.

To hear queer people say “yeah but some mentally ill people are dangerous !” feels like you don’t even know where you come from.

And if I want to say, that me being trans is linked to me being mentally ill, or at least, that both are connected in a way, all hell breaks fucking loose.

So I’ll explain very carefully.

See, when I was young, my mind got shattered into a thousand of pieces I had to try to glue back on. All these pieces of myself broke further more down the line because I couldn’t catch a fucking break. And now, it happens that the final puzzle does not have the same face it had before. It happens that its shape changed over time, for reasons over the control of all of us who tried to build ourselves back. Now there’s a bigger picture, less pieces, a few other shadows, and me. Built from the shatters. With my own needs and afflictions.

And whoever you are, whatever your agenda might be, I will not let anyone take any agency away from me under the false pretext that I can’t know anything for myself. They say that about children, they say that about minorities, about physically disabled people, about the people they want OUT. And my trans siblings, you know that.

I came out for the first time 7 years ago, to my then girlfriend, who was the one asking the question that is the first sentence of this text. I came out a second time 3 years ago. Been on HRT, had top surgery, had psychotic breaks, got my meds changed, switch therapist.

Because I am trans and crazy. And yet, all these choices I made, I made myself. It didn’t have to be that hard to get the basic care I needed. It didn’t need to be. But it WAS. And I’m part of the lucky crowd of people who had access to out-patient treatment, who never have been locked up in ward, who managed to stay alive through meds withdrawals without medical assistance when I had no therapist.

Be very careful of when you start to put conditions on the rights you think you deserve. Be very, very careful about your definition of sanity and of how it warps the way you see people. When you start to say “I have access to that, but there’s people like X or Y who shouldn’t BECAUSE”, pause and ask yourself what led you to think this way. More often than not, you’ll find yourself playing the same mind games as the ones you swore to fight against, and when it gives them the upper hand, they won’t hesitate to come for you after that.

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐓𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞 | 𝐎𝐭𝟖 𝐀𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳 ♡

Day thirty-One - Dungeons and Dragons (Gang Bang)

【Synopsis】 : You want, needed to prove that you could achieve just as much greatness like the other guild members. So what better than a hunt that only you and your team can solve.

『Word count』 : 6.56k

-> Genre: Adventure Romance. SMUT. Sprinkle of angst.

Pairing: Ot8!Ateez x Fae!Reader

[Warnings] : Insults. Bar fighting. Mentions of Hongjoong being fwb with the reader. Pet Names. Tension!! Swearing. Getting trapped in a cave. Love confessions. Making out. Oral (multiple rec). Fingering. Breasts play and nipple play. Squirting. Cum eating? Inappropriate use of powers. Multiple orgasms. Unprotected sex. Rough sex. Manhandling. Dirty talk. Dom/sub dynamics. Marking. Biting. Blood drinking. Slight primal play. Sweet kisses. Facial. Slight size kink. Tummy bulge. Cum everywhere. Double penetration

Note: OH MY GOD HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE!! Wow. I honestly can not believe we actually got here. 34 fics done and dusted. Ahh. Thank you all for enjoying my work (Ima be more gushy when I make a post later), but!! I will add, lowkey forgot reader had wings in this fic...sooo. just uh pretend they're retractable or something cause whoops silly me was too focused on reader getting dick to worry about her wings. Sorry, ahh.

Networks: @cromernet @wonderlandnet @illusionnet @k-vanity

Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober List | Tip Jar ♡

A little Fae like you was never seen as equal to anyone when it came to the hunting games. Every time you came to local bars looking for work, most contractors would just laugh, some even mocking you, saying you were just a little frail Fae. Not cut out for the bounty-hunting life.

You beg to differ.

You have fought your fair share of Orcs, Vampires and devil spawn. You weren't afraid to get a little dirty. But yet, one drunk can take a look at you, seeing your soft sheer wings and dub you weak. You were on your way through another town after having word of an impossible hunt. One that no one has ever been able to complete or lived to tell of their failures. But you had confidence on your side, cause unlike the lonely brutes you had agility, flexibility and most importantly magic.

They went through the trails with a ‘me hit thing first talk maybe later’. You planned to show all the hunters in the community that you were worth it. That every piece of gold you earned was because you knew how to fight and hold yourself. That you were equal to them.

“No.”

“What do you mean no!?” You were fuming at this point, having travelled all this was only for the dungeon master to tell you no bluntly to your face.

“I mean no. It’s a team quest. You need a team and besides…” He looked you up and down with a perverted look, a look you were all too familiar with. “You aren't exactly, hunter material princess.”

Your eye twitched at that last remark. You’ve heard about other hunters going in alone, so why have they seemingly changed the rules? Why now, when you wanted to try the trail, you weren't qualified, yet again. Sighing in defeat, you mumbled to yourself while heading for the door. If the dungeon master was not going to gift you passage, you’d find another way. “Stupid fuck, doesn’t even know what I’m capable o—Oof…”

“Hey, watch it!” A tall orc growls in front of you, sneering a huff in your direction. You had walked right into him without even realising, too focused in your own mind to notice the idiot lug of green mass blocking the front door.

“How about you get out of the doorway.” You spat back, looking up at the hideous beast. It felt like the tavern had gone silent upon seeing a tiny fae like yourself talk with such confidence towards such a beastly creature. But the beast did not falter at your words unlike the crowd, no, it laughed instead.

“And what are you going to do, pewny little pixie.” The orc hollowed, his wrinkled belly jiggling like a bowl of old porridge. Your face turned red, while your wings flared.

“I am not a pixie, you half-sighted boar!!” The tension in the pub thickened, seeing the large orc change colour. You had successfully angered the beast. In the corner of your eye, you can see the Orc reach for his hatchets, but before he could put skin to metal a whistle echoed through the hot air, stopping everyone's movements. 

"There you are." A deep voice caught everyone's attention. It was another orc, but only he was smaller, less green. It was Jeong Yunho, or more known as Stormcaller. “I thought I lost you.”

You gulped quietly at the feeling of his arm draping over your shoulder, his musky scent invading your senses. The orc that you have just been fighting with scoffed looking at the seemingly “display of affection”. In orc morals, if an orc has a claim on someone then another orc cannot do no harm. So with a frustrated grumble, the stinky lump goes to walk away.

“Let's get outta here, hmm.” Yunho's whisper was daring and seductive, a charm he always carried when he was around You. And as he held the door open, you couldn't help but feel annoyed for not doing anything. just to show off in front of the drunken idiots… So in a split second, you turned back to the orc who—had his back turned—using your magic to lift up his hatchet and drop it on his foot making the large beast let out a guttural howl.

“Dukhal…[Bastard].” You spat before exiting the establishment, a smirk on your face as you walked with Yunho who had an equally sly smirk painting on his perfect features.

-

“Do I even ask?” Hongjoong pinched his nose as he paced in front of you and Yunho.

“To be fair it was really fucking hot.” Yunho laughed while taking a sip from his waterskin. You blushed at his sly remark but your focus was on the sorcerer in front of you. You haven't seen Hongjoong since you were in his bed at some cheap cabin house during last winter. It wasn't the first time one of you had slipped into each other's company for a night. But there was something seeing him being here now that felt different from the rest.

Last time you and him were together he confessed, his team. His friends—that you were all too aware of—had been… curious about your relationship with their captain. In other words—well Wooyoung's words—“Do any of us have a shot.” You left quickly after that, without a word. You were overwhelmed. It wasn't that you hadn't thought about sleeping or being with any of them before. But actually accepting was another thing. It wasn't common to be in love with more than two people, let alone eight. You always felt like you were broken in that aspect. That something wasn't developed right in your head. So you ran… like you always do when it came to love.

“Well, you're glad the guild didn't disqualify us for it.” Hongjoongs stern words caught you from your thoughts.

“W-why would they disqualify you? I did it. Not Yunnie..” You picked at your fingernails as you bit the inner part of your cheek. You watched Hongjoong whip out a piece of paper from his back pocket. It was a quest sheet, one a Dungeon master gives you. It was for the hunt you tried to join today but what caught your eye was all the names on the sheet. His team and…you. 

“I had a feeling when you caught wind of this quest you'd come looking for a challenge.” His smile always made your stomach do flips. “That's why Yun was looking for you.” he snapped his gaze to the orc that was leaning against a fallen tree. “I just didn't think he would let anything like this happen.”

Yunho put his hands up in defeat but it was you to speak up. “It was my fault. I got carried away.” Hongjoong looked back at you, taking a step closer until his face was almost inches from yours. 

“I don't doubt that. You have always been one to cause a scene.” Hongjoong’s voice was low, sultry. It caused Yunho to stare intensely. Your face reddened more if that was even possible, desperately wanting nothing more than to seal your lips against his. But as a cough echoed from Yunho's directions, you looked away taking in a sharp breath. “Hm…Well, l-lets get to the camp. The others will be waiting for us.”

Your nerves rattled as you walked with Yunho and Hongjoong to where the rest of the team would be finishing up with packing the campsite. Readying themselves to start the quest. Yunho had taken your backpack even though you said you could carry it on your own. But as you heard Wooyoung's piercing scream you knew this was going to be a long adventure.

You stayed close to Hongjoong as you all walked to the “spelunca cupiditatis”. A cave system that most competitors never leave. No one knows what the unknown language was or who had named the caves but most people have come to terms that the translation must be “caves of death.

”We're here.” Yeosang who was standing at the front of the team, his tail swaying as he focused on the map. Everyone stopped to gaze at the entrance. There wasn't much death vibes coming from it?

“You really want to do this…” you heard Hongjoong's voice whisper beside you. Turning You see concern on his face. All of you knew how dangerous this journey was. You all knew that you might not come out of it alive, but it was a risk you were all willing to take. 

“Yes, Joong.” You grabbed his hand instinctively, letting the wandering eyes catch the obvious display of affection. “We do this together.”

Your smile always made Hongjoong feel better. If he was having a crap day he could always think about the times he made you laugh, your bright smile easing his heart. Your eyes fell from Hongjoong's for a moment, taking notice of all the men trying to pretend they were bluntly staring a moment ago. You couldn't help but giggle slightly, feeling a sudden tug to each of them in different ways. 

The twisted vines and jagged stones bearing witness to countless tales of desperation and ambition were now going to show the story of you and the team and as you take each step forward you hoped and prayed the story was going to have a happy ending. So your heart raced, not merely from fear, but from the presence of Hongjoong standing close, his hand barely touching your own. You were glad to have his comforting presence but it also began to cause a tingle in your throat. 

"We can do this," You whispered to yourself, trying to muster the confidence that had been wavering ever since you felt the bar. The energy was palpable as the eight men shifted uneasily, exchanging nervous glances that spoke volumes of the dread they shared. The “what ifs” loomed dangerously: what if they were the next failed adventurers? What if they never returned? Your what if were seemingly growing more and more worse by the second. Afraid of all of the boys' safety. What if they died trying to protect you? Trying to play hero was something they all had in common and it terrified you. 

You couldn’t bear the idea of losing any of them. Each connection you shared with them pulsed with its own rhythm, enchanting you more deeply. Hongjoong's with his intellect that intrigued you, Jongho's with his inhuman strength and siren-like voice that was always comforting, Yunho’s warmth that was always inviting, Wooyoung’s vampiric wit that sparked excitement with every glance, Ser San's honour inspired respect something you didn’t ever think to learn before meeting him, Seonghwa's darkness that beckoned your curiosity and kept you awake most nights, Mingi's caring and gentle nature that always made your heart swoon and finally Yeosang's charm was utterly captivating leaving you breathless every time he spoke to you.

You couldn’t lose any of them. They are all so important if one of them died you would never forgive yourself━“Angel?...Are you okay? You’re squeezing my hand pretty tight.” you hadn’t realised Hongjoong had sneakily grabbed your hand nor the fact you almost stopped the blood to his poor fingers. Loosening your grip you apologised without any context leaving Hongjoong in the dark. But before he could protest a loud gasp echoed in the chamber you all found yourselves in.

As you all stepped into the large room—determined, or perhaps foolish, as the door behind them slammed shut with a resounding echo. You felt your heart drop at the sound, knowing the first trial had begun. The room was a shocking contrast to the cave’s tunnels and foreboding entrance. Lavishly decorated, it felt eerily reminiscent of a cosy home with walls adorned in colours that hinted at warmth and something domesticated. Golden tapestries draping the sides, flowering vines climbing towards the ceiling. In the centre of the room sat a peculiar floating silver bowl, it's surface glittering against the odd ambience. Curiosity piqued, as you watched the boys approach the bowl, but the locked door at the far end caught Seonghwa’s attention. It felt like a challenge—a puzzle waiting to be solved. “Let’s figure out what this is,” Seonghwa suggested cautiously, running his fingers along the door before noticing hold wear marks like the door had not been opened in centuries… comforting.

San leaned over the bowl first, squinting at the ancient script engraved at the bottom through the water. “It’s fae-ish? Uh…” Yeosang had a gaze. “That's old ancient fae…”

You pushed the men aside, trying to shake off the looming fear as you took a look at the writing. You didn't know a lot of the old tongue, but you were able to piece the sentence together just. “To open is to be opened, and to love is to be one.”

“What does that even mean?” Yunho asked, scratching his head.

“I think it means we need to express our feelings,” Hongjoong mused, his brows furrowing as he considered the possibilities. “But it’s not going to be as easy as it sounds…

“Oh wait what if it's more than that!!”” Wooyoung interjected, his tone mischievous but his eyes betraying a spark of fear. “What if we, like, confess our secrets or something? Not just feelings? Maybe that’s the key!” He laughed, but a nervous energy laced his voice. All of you chuckled half-heartedly, the prospect of revealing hidden feelings uncomfortable. Yet, the idea lingered. After a brief debate, spurred on by Wooyoung’s folly. "I'll go first!" He declared, stepping forth a little too energetically. He started listing all his loves—how he cherished their friendship, how he admired each one of them—but when he finished, the bowl remained unresponsive and the door was still sealed tight.

“Incredible. You killed the vibe, Wooyoung,” Mingi teased, rolling his eyes. All of you stood there lost, maybe all of you had to confess something? Yeosang pitched the idea and though half of you didn't wish to be as embarrassing as Wooyoung, but you all knew it had to be done. So one by one, the guys took turns professing their feelings, but the bowl stubbornly remained silent. Feeling the weight of your own unspoken emotions, your heart pounded as you noticed Hongjoong's thoughtful gaze. Somehow, those soft eyes sent a current of courage through you as you took a deep breath.

"It's my turn, I guess.." you whispered, taking Hongjoonds hand gently. You could feel the warmth of his presence envelop you, making you almost forget about the pending entrapment. "I’m so sorry for running away. I was scared. I realised... I was in love with you. And the question you ask…I didn’t want to answer it in fear of upsetting you.” Tears pricked Your eyes, and you quickly turned to the bowl, your palms sweaty. And to your lost hope the door remained locked.

“Hey…” Hongjoong grabbed your chin softly so you would look at him again. 

“It..Didn’t work.” You felt so ashamed admitting to the single thing that's been eating at you and in front of not only Hongjoong but all of his team.

“It’s okay…We’ll figure it out.” Hongjoong wanted nothing more than to kiss your tears away right now but in the same breath was worried you’d recoil if he did. You just confessed you were in love with him and that was the reason why you ran when he offered his friends to you. You respected him too much to even admit that you had a slither of desire for his friends. “Let’s take a break, Wooyoung and Yeosang can get the food ready and use one of the torches to create a fire.” 

He took notice of the small air pockets in the roof so at least they wouldn’t die from loss of oxygen. All the men started to move around like nothing happened but you couldn’t stop thinking. What else did you need to say? Was love not enough? The ancient words echoed in your mind over and over again., “to love is to be one…To love… is to be…” A gasp left your lips as you understood now: it wasn’t just about a confession. With renewed determination, you took a step back, making Hongjoongs hold of your slip. “I know what we’re missing…”

Without thought, you took a bold step, holding Hongjoong’s hands in yours as he tried to walk you to the others, his eyebrow raised as he tried to question. “What are we missing?”

“There is an ancient story in my culture about two lovers that built tunnels to hide their love…along with their treasure.” You looked at each of the men, only half of them following with what you were saying. “The story had gotten lost in translation over the years but the basis of it is that the only way to reach their treasure was to ‘become one.’” It was like all the lights went on in their heads as you said the last line given it matched the writing in the bowl.

“That still doesn’t explain what we are missing,” San interjected.

“Yes, it does…” You smile feeling proud you figured it out. “When they say become one, they mean to connect in a showcase of love…” You look back to Hongjoong. “This isn’t about telling each other how much we love one another. It’s about showing it…”

The room was deadly silent, Hongjoong and the others quickly sensing what you were meaning. The door wanted a display of affection, aka, sex. “So that means…” Wooyoung spoke up.

“We gotta fuck to open the door,” Yeosang said bluntly with arms crossed.

You suddenly felt yourself being drawn into a web of lust and anticipation. Waiting to see what anyone might add. But as you watched Hongjoong lean down towards your ear you felt your breath hitch. "Every single man here wants to taste what's between your thighs, angel. They want to feel your soft skin, hear your moans, and watch you lose control. What I told you that night was true. We all want you…for a while now.”

Your heart quickened as a wave of heat washed over you. The thought of being desired by all men at once was almost too much to bear. Maybe you weren’t as broken as you thought. "I want  it…" You whispered, your voice catching in your throat. "I love all of you..."

��That’s my girl.” You could feel Hongjoong’s sly smirk against your ear as he suddenly stood up straight, taking you by the hand and leading you to the centre of the room. The others watched with hooded eyes, their cocks already beginning to stir with excitement and anticipation.

“This is really happening?!” Wooyoung gasped but Jongho was quick to elbow him causing the poor vampire to let out a wheeze.

“Shut the fuck up.” Was all Jongho said as they all went back to focusing on their leader and you. Slowly, Hongjoong began to undress you, peeling away your clothes layer by layer. His touch was delicate as if one wrong move would cause you to break. You felt like your heart was going to burst out of your chest at the sheer thought of being bare in front of all of them. But as Hongjoong untied the string to your undercoat, it fell breathlessly off your shoulders, leaving you completely naked for all of their hot gazes to eye.

The cool night air that slipped into the cave caressed your exposed skin, leaving goosebumps and shivers down your spine. Hongjoong's fingers traced the curves of your body, his touch both gentle and possessive. Spinning you around so your back couldn’t be flush against his chest, he brought his hands up to cup your breasts, thumbing your erect nipples, while his tongue flicked out to taste the sensitive flesh of your neck. Giving all the boys a perfect display of him playing with your body. You moaned, your head falling back against his shoulder in surrender. You could feel Hongjoong's hard cock pressing against your ass, but he teasingly denied you both the pleasure of going any further.. no, not yet. He wanted to savour the moment. He needed to watch all his friends lose their composure.

So Instead, he thought of an idea, lifting you effortlessly, by using his magic to support you in the air slightly, he sank to his knees in front of you, positioning your pussy directly in front of his face. Hongjoong's tongue flicked out, licking your slit from bottom to top, causing you to cry out, your hands flying for his soft locks. He latched onto your clit, sucking and nibbling as his fingers plunged into your wet cunt quickly. Your hazy eyes stared down at him for a moment before catching the gaze of all the other men in the room. Each of them displaying their own build of need on their expressions while a few started to palm their own cocks through their pants. Your hips bucked uncontrollably as you neared your high, your juices coating Hongjoong's face, some even dripping down his chin and neck.

Out of all the boys, it was Seonghwa who couldn't contain himself any longer. Moving closer, his golden eyes piercing you while his dragon form shimmered just beneath the surface of his human appearance. He reached out, pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, rolling and tugging them gently as he leaned in to nuzzle your neck. His flaming hot breath and sharp teeth left marks on your delicate skin. As he kissed and nibbled his way up your jaw before his clawed fingers gripped your chin to look at him.

“Such a sweet little fae. A soft little rabbit.” You could hear the dragon beneath his breath, steam pooling out his nose as he huffed. Breaking one of your hands from Hongjoongs hair, you came to rest it on Seonghwa’s cheek, beckoning him to close the gap between you. “You want a kiss baby?”

His sweet almost taunting words made our cunt clench around Hongjoong’s fingers, feeling yours tread closer towards the edge. “Please, Hwa. I want you to kiss him.”

You were desperate, wanting to know how the dragon would kiss. Is he a slow and sensual lover or does he fuck with roughness and passion? “Since you asked nicely…” He rotated his fingers from your chin to squeeze your cheek together pushing your lips out. And without another thought, he sealed his slips on yours. You could almost feel the fire on his tongue as he practically shoved the large snake-like appendage down your throat.

You gagged slightly, whimpers mixing with light coughs but you ended up finding the rhythm to breathe through your nose. But what caught you off guard was suddenly feeling another body on the other side of you. You couldn’t look over to see who it was but when you heard the grunt in your ear you could take a guess. “You look so cute, doll. So tiny compared to all of us.”

It was Yunho and of course, this huge orc of a man had a thing for sizes. He was busy palming his large cock that was straining against his pants. He released his erection in the next second, stroking its impressive length as he groped one of your plump breasts, rolling your sensitive nipple between his fingers, while his long tongue licked along your neck. Your body felt like it was on fire, the pleasure building to an unbearable level. Hongjoong's skilled fingers and tongue pushed you over the edge, while Yunho and Seonghwa’s tongues and hands worked their magic. You screamed as your orgasm ripped through you, your slick squirting and drenching Hongjoong's face and chest.

Hongjoong stood, still holding you, and looked at his friends with a satisfied smile, licking his lips as he panted. "So…Whose fucking her first?" he asked, his voice laced with challenge and lust, a cheeky pip making all the boys look at one another trying to figure out how they could possibly choose. Before anyone could respond, Wooyoung took it upon himself to take you for a spin. Using his vampire speed in a blur, he snatched you from Hongjoong's and the other's arms. He positioned you over one of the old chair-like couches, your hands grasping the rough split wood as he lined up his throbbing cock with your soaked pussy. 

And with a swift thrust, he impaled you, his length disappearing inside you in one smooth motion. Your and his screams mixed as the pleasure overwhelmed both of you, your body vibrating with the force of Wooyoung's frantic drilling. He pounded into you with his jaw slack, never feeling a better feeling than this. His hips were almost a blur, his cock fucking you deeper and deeper as he swore. “Fuck, you’re pussy is so fucking tight. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Are you sure Hongjoong has ever fucked you? You feel like a fucking virgin.”

The sound of his frantic jackhammering filled the room, wet flesh slapping against even more so wet flesh, your desperate moans, and Wooyoung's grunts of pleasure. The others watched in awe and slight jealousy. None of them even got to have a say on who went first, making them feel the possessiveness brew in their guts. Wanting nothing more than to have their turns. They all had their own hands working their cocks as they witnessed the erotic display of Wooyoung pounding you while you struggled to stay upright on the rickety chair. “WOo arh! AHH Wooyoung!!!”

Wooyoung's speed increased, and you could feel his vampire lust taking over. His fangs lengthened as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "I'm going to fill that tight cunt with my cum, baby. You're going to take every last drop fucking drop while I get a taste of your sweet blood.”

“Yes! Yes! Please, b-bite me.” You have no clue where your filter went but it clearly was left outside the cave. You heard a dark chuckle from the undead man pounding you and before you could beg again you felt his sharp fangs pierce your soft skin. His grunt as he drank from you, sent your mind spiralling as you quickly fell into another orgasm, your walls clenching around Wooyoung's thick cock tightly making the vampire tip over to his own release. His growls were almost primal, feeling your pussy clench around him while he tasted your blood rushing through him. He slammed into you one last time, his cock twitching as he flooded you with his cold cum, finally unlatching his fangs from you, making sure to lick up the wound so it could heal.

You slumped forward, as Wooyoung gently lowered you completely onto the chair. He kissed your cheek before grabbing your chin so he could seal his lips against your own, his tongue exploring your mouth as he let you taste your own blood.

"Damn, that was a sight," Hongjoong said, a smile playing on his lips as he crossed his arms. "But we're not done yet, are we, Angel?" He points to the door, seeing it hasn’t moved even an inch. You, still catching your breath, looked up at the circle of lustful men surrounding you making you visibly gulp with a small smile.

Sitting up slightly to sit on your ass, while biting your lip as you spread your legs to show all Wooyoung’s cum drip out of your puffy cunt. It was like it hypnotised all of them but without as much as a peep, Mingi came stomping over, as you suddenly found yourself in his powerful grip.

He spun you around, so he could take your place on the chair as his eyes darkened with lust, lowering you onto his lap. You gasped as you felt his thick cock sink deep into your sensitive pussy without a care. And to say this man was fucking huge all over, he was fucking huge all over. Stretching you further than you thought possible, and you couldn't help but moan loudly, your screams bouncing off the walls in sheer desperation.

Mingi growled, a low deep sound that sent shivers down your spine and tingles in your tummy. He began to move, thrusting up into you with fierce, rapid snaps of his hips. Your nails dug into his chest, scratching lines into his tanned skin as he marked your hips with his strong grip. The sensation of being fucked so roughly had your head spinning and seeing stars. Your cries grew louder, your voice hoarse and filled with need. But if that wasn't enough, Yeosang joined you. He grabbed a handful of your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat. You let out a yelp at the sting while his other hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his intense almost sadistic gaze. Then, without warning, and a big sly smirk, he sunk his cock into your waiting mouth. You moaned around his length, your eyes rolling back as you tried to relax your throat to take him in whole. Yeosang began to move, fucking your face with the same precision and determination that Mingi had. Your mouth filled with the taste of him, making you crave more. “That’s it pet, your throat is so warm. Are you going to let me paint this pretty face? Hmm?”

Mingi and Yeosang moved together in a frenzied rhythm. Mingi's cock pounded into your pussy, hitting your deepest spots, while Yeosang used your mouth for his own pleasure, holding your head in a tight grip as he thrusted deep. The sting tickled down your throat and the burn was tight in your jaw but you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your body trembling with the effort of holding back your orgasm. Mingi must have sensed you were close because he reached down, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in firm circles. Your cries were muffled by Yeosang’s cock while your juices flowed as you came hard, your pussy clenching around Mingi tightly. With a loud grunt, he emptied himself into you, his hot cum mixing with Wooyoung's, filling you to the brim.

“Fuuuckk.” Mingi moaned at the same time, Yeosang pulled out of your mouth, jerking himself quickly as he shot his load all over your face and tits, marking you with his release. You panted, your body spent, but you had little time to recover as the next man stepped forward to claim you.

“My turn, honey…” Jongho, using his inhuman strength, he lifted you up easily, wrapping your legs around his waist as he held you up against the nearby wall. You smiled lazily at him as he used what seemed like to be his shirt to wipe off Yeosang’s cum from your face. He gently licked the rest of Yeo’s seed, before kissing your cheeks tenderly. “Such a pretty baby…”

His sweet murmurs made your heart skip and your tummy tingle as you giggle. He held you close, gently stroking your hair as the other hand that held your thigh squeezed gently, easing the ache in your limbs. Your arms wrap naturally around his neck, reciprocating his love but gifting him kisses in return. But as he lifted you higher slowly, you knew what you were in for. His cock was already slick with your juices as he sunk into you carefully taking his time with you. His lips captured your cries as he devoured your mouth losing himself with every inch that sinks deeper inside your ruined cunt. You tasted Yeosang on his tongue, and it only served to heighten your forever-growing arousal.

Jongho may have started off softly paced but his thrusts soon became relentless, pounding into you with his superhuman strength, his thick cock hitting your sweet spot over and over. You couldn’t help but squirm in his hold, your legs tightening around his waist as you bucked your hips out of rhythm, feeling another orgasm building, quicker than the last. And just as you were about to fall over the edge, you felt your body being taken away from the wall, as it was replaced with a warm body and another cock nudging the entrance to your pussy. San’s charming chuckle made your foggy mind spin as he whispered in your ear, "Take a deep breath, beautiful,"

And then he was pushing into you alongside Jongho. The sensation of being so full sent you into a frenzy, and you came uncontrollably as if you had lost all control over your body. Your cunt clenched around both cocks as your juices squirted out, soaking the floor below you. The display was erotic within itself, as all the men kept their stares on the fresh entertainment. Jongho couldn't hold on any longer, and with a roar, he stopped his hips with a staggering whine, filling your puffy pussy with his hot seed. San followed soon after, his cock twitching as he emptied himself into also. You felt so full with four different loads deep inside you. You could feel it slowly drip out of you as one cock pulls out of you and a new one replaces it. You felt like a used sex toy, used, abused and completely satisfied.

You slumped against Jongho, your body spasming slightly from the overstimulation but you surprisingly begged for more. Your teary eyes glanced at the door for a moment, a part of you was wishing it was opened already so you could relax. But the other part wanted it to only open after you had your fill of each man in the room. And speaking of them…There were now just two men left, and they approached you with hungry eyes. Seonghwa and Yunho, each presented a tempting offer of passion, roughness and a lingering darkness… Yunho growled, his voice deep and rumbling, "It's time for the main event, little one."

Seonghwa had laid out a sleeping bag, a devious smile on his face. Yunho, gently but firmly, grabbed your figure from the other men before laying you down, your limbs splayed as you basked in the afterglow of your previous highs while also finally getting to relax without standing or being uncomfortably in the air. Yunho positioned himself between your legs, his cock a stunning green and unnaturally large. You couldn't help but bite your lip as you anticipated him, your pussy already beginning to throb with need. “Y-your so big…”

“I get told that a lot.” Yunho’s voice was cocky, charming and deep. He knew he was good and it showed. His hands grabbed the back of your legs where your knees crease, bending you almost in half. Your pussy was wide on display at this angle but there was no time to gawk as Yunho sunk into you slowly, his cock stretching you to your limits. You were mentally glad San and Jongho had fucked you together now to help you with this sting of Yunho almost breaking you.

You couldn't help but moan nonetheless, your nails digging into the sleeping bag as you tried to adjust to his size as quickly as you could. Once he was fully bottomed out inside you, he studied your face. Watching your brows knit and bend with a painful pleasure. He began to move, his hips snapping forward with each thrust while his balls slapped against your ass loudly. If you weren't so drunk on the idea of being passed around, maybe you’d be embarrassed by the sound. But right now all you cared about was getting this large orc’s cum deep inside your cunt.

Seonghwa came to stand beside you both, and with a gentle hand, he tilted your head up, urging you to take him in your mouth. With wide eyes you did so willingly, your gaze fluttering closed in pleasure as you sucked his length. Seonghwa threaded his fingers into your hair, holding you in place as he began to fuck your face, his hips moving in tandem with Yunho's. “What do you know, you’re throat does feel good, fuck.”

“You should try this pussy.” Yunho grunted, spitting onto your clit before rubbing it harshly. “I could stay in it forever.”

You were in complete ecstasy, your body being used exactly as you had always craved. Pleasuring all your boys, gifting them what they desire while also taking your own pleasure. You couldn’t ever ask for more. You scratched your nails down Seonghwa's thighs, marking his perfect skin as you felt Yunho's cock reach places no one ever had. Your pussy was on fire in the best way, and you could feel the bulge of his cock deep in your tummy as if he could literally rearrange your guts. You knew Yunho was huge, but the sensation of being so utterly filled was indescribable.

Seonghwa moaned, his hands tightening in your hair as he grew closer to the edge, moaning your name over and over. You looked up at him, your eyes glazed with lust, and you felt a wave of confidence to suck him harder, your throat relaxing to take him in deeper. Seonghwa groaned, his cock twitching as his hips stuttered, “Fuck fuck fuck. Lord nargh…” He filled your mouth with his release, his cum coating your throat as you tried your best to swallow it all.

Yunho, too, was close, his grunts and the slapping of his hips against your ass the only sounds in the spacious cave. And with one final thrust, he buried himself as deep inside you as he could, coming with an endless amount. His cock pulsed as he shot his thick load, letting you feel him twitching and shifting inside you. His fingers did not cease as he was on a mission to make your pussy throb with satisfaction. “Come on baby, cum for me. I wanna feel you cream around my huge fucking cock.”

You screamed, Seonghwa suddenly pulling out of you while you tightened around Yunho. He felt a second load empty as you milked him dry. He quickly pulled out right after, his cock slipping from your pussy with a wet pop. Laying on the sleeping bag, your body sticky with cum and satisfied beyond measure. The eight men stood around you, their eyes hungry as they admired their handy work. It was almost as if you all forgot where you were or why you were there in the first place.

But suddenly it was like the air shifted. The door behind all of you had creaked open, light spilling into the room like a promise of hope, illuminating your path forward. You sat up slowly with the help of Seonghwa and Hongjoong, smiles painted on all your faces. Leaning against Hongjoong’s chest you took a breath before speaking with a hoarse but soft voice.

“It worked…”

[deadghosy]

Mommy long legs reader or slender man reader x Hazbin hotel 🌚🌝

AHHHH I LOVE YOU MY GHOST ANONNNN! SLENDERMAN?? YOU FINNA BRING OUT MY CREEPYPASTA PHASEE🦆✨💗‼️‼️‼️

HAZBIN HOTEL X SLENDERMAN! READER

prompt: a faceless creature of the height of 10’5 (or 7’9 idk I got two different heights from safari lol) came to hell to serve one final purpose…get a damn job.

Two words, scary tall…

So say your height was 10’5…

SHIT GON GET WICKEEDDDD!!!

Okay so I can see Charlie being scared staring at you as you just sit like a nice gentleman as your body doesn’t fit the whole seat… (y’know what, let’s go with 7’9…) you told Charlie you use to be a leader before you somehow came to this wrenched place

Charlie felt bad and gave you a job here so yon can stay. But she was confused when you said “somehow”’ as if you didn’t die as a Human…WAIT A MINUTE..DID YOU JUST TALK WITHOUT A MOU-

Lucifer looked up at you and was like….“What in the fucking nine circles…” and you two became friends because of how Lucifer put accessories on you like a Christmas tree

Y’know how people make slenderman wear reading glasses sometimes? That’s you. 😭 with your blind ass LMAOO (I also wear glasses dw…) But I can see you wear the glasses and residents be so confused because…you don’t have eyes for Christ out loud-

“Fuck you wearin' glasses for?” Husk said to you once as he caught you even reading a book…now he was more confused. “I’m reading…” “…..okay..” husk was so done with this buffoonery as you had no mouth and eyes. But yet you could still read, see, and fuckin talk? Yeah he must be drunk as hell itself…

You treat niffty just like how fanon slenderman treats Sally. That’s how I headcannon it.

I headcannon you to be the fanon version of slenderman rather the cannon version. Cause you being the fanon version is just sweet considering the chaos that can happen in the hotel and how you treat niffty.

I can see people thinking you are a new overlord as you had a stern aura around yourself as you had a proper straight walk as you held a high chin not showing any weaknesses.

“Woah….did you see that sinner get lit in flames…” “yeah I did.” It got so quiet so quick as angel gave you a confused face as you just stood there. 😭 Angel couldn’t tell if you were being fr or being a smartass

You were just sleeping on the couch, dead ass like a passed out beer dad after watching football. And fat nuggets sat in your lap sleeping. Then angel came and slept by you, then husk, then niffty, AND THEN EVERYONE JOINED 😭 big ass family cuddle💗💗🦆

You deadass could be the bodyguard of the hotel as you could escort a sinner who is trying to be an ass to the staff and you’re just like, “YEET!” And boom they are thrown away

You and Alastor definitely bond the most as you two got black tentacles. It’s just for Alastor it’s based on his powers when he uses his magic. But for you, it’s just your appearance as you use them to pierce your enemies. But mostly you use them when you are too bored to pick up objects with your hands

BIGGG headcannon that when slenderman do that static thingy, for you it clouds their vision and hearing as you make them pass out. Either to death or just to knock them out.

Lol I can imagine the whole creepypasta mansion going crazy while you drink tea like “this is fine” as you are in some other universe- 😭 crossover type shit

Like Drowned Ben is spam texting your phone like, “slender. slender. Help. Slendy. Octopus. Father. Help help.. help JeFF STABBED ME!”

And your tall ass is just sleeping as everything is going soooo peaceful in the hotel.

While we are at that, EJ definitely was using a book to try and to summon you with sally behind him hugging her teddy to see you again. Meanwhile Jeff was chasing Ben as he goes through a tv to hide from Jeff.

I imagine people in the hotel would hug you except for Alastor as he hates touch. But the people would dead ass hug you as one of your tentacles hold them.

You picked up angel, niffty , Charlie and Vaggie with your four tentacles as you read a book. It was a funny but cute sight as Charlie was like “:p” while the others had a cartoony ass expression or a blank one which is definitely Vaggie and husk

Adam and Lute definitely glanced at each other confused at what the fuck you were as you didn’t have a demonic or angelic aura. But you had some type of power in you. It was weird asf as you just stood there like “🧍🏾am I ugly?” They just kept staring at you

I can see you having the same expression as the picture above when you met pentious as you and Alastor was having tea just chilling with the hellish weather.

“Do you know that guy?” “I have no idea who that pest is my dear friend.” Alastor says with his usual smile as he hands you a cookie.

Just straight up tea times with Alastor is so peaceful as Alastor was kinda suspicious when you didn’t say anything if he ate a cannibalism meal. But I mean…slenderman! Reader is use to people being a cannibal.

The vees are definitely intrigued with who the hell you are and how powerful are you as you were the talk of pentagram city when you first came.

I headcannon a sinner tried to cut off your tentacles only to be grabbed by one of them and slammed to the ground. You just stood there and let static ring loudly in their head to the point it exploded.

[lsuyia]

❝𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑❞

A/N - ngl i literally pulled this out my ass at 11 am since i rlly needed to start posting on my tumblr more, pls request fic ideas!

relationship is established! also fem!reader

MDNI

ᡣ𐭩

satoru gojo, just seems like the the type of person to randomly be scrolling on instgram,— barely finding interesting and find a video of a baby.

The baby could be doing anything, laughing, giggling, saying its first word,—and like fucking magic will automatically text you about it, spam calling you

it all just started as one simple cute video that satoru saw, making his baby fever go through the roof.

One fucking video, was all it took.

You would get home from work, wanting to take a nap, oh but here he comes, bending you over on the kitchen table, making your legs tremble, just so he can try to get you pregnant.

“Spread wide open f’me, yeah?”

You started to wonder what was going on when one day he magically appeared when you were showering saying he wanted to shower with his beautiful girlfriend, which you knew he was lying straight through his teeth.

Few minutes later, he has you pinned against the shower wall, going at an ungodly pace bruising your cervix in the process with every thrust as he smiles seeing breathless, flustered face.— which some how always seemed to keep him hard.

“Just a little longer for daddy?”

You automatically knew when he said that something was going on, and you were going to get to the bottom of it.

For days straight, satoru would always have you bend over, legs up, on the floor,on the wall, in the bed, in the car fucking you dumb until he finally came inside you.

Everytime.

At this point you were getting concerned that you might actually get you pregnant.

So, you decided to finally open up about the whole dilemma, you couldnt keep going on like this.

“toru baby?” You called out to him after minutes thinking about if you should actually do this. “coming.” He said back as his light footsteps treaded across the living room before finally appearing in-front of you before he sat beside you. “yeah honeybun?” He softly spoke to you while his hand traveled to your thighs, squeezing at the plush.

“I wanted to talk to you about something..” You trailed off at the end, which in gojo’s eyes sounded pretty serious to him. His head immediately turned to look at you looking at you concerned. “Do you think we could like…—calm down with the sex?”

You spoke softly to him not even looking at him out of pure embarrassment of the situation. The silence was so loud after you spoke to him,— until he finally casually spoke back to you“yea baby thats fine, if you wanted to calm down you could’ve told me earlier.” He said with a shrug seeming like the situation didn’t affect him at all.

Oh but, it very much did.

In his eyes, It sounded like you didnt want to have a child with him, which drove him absolutely insane.

The constant sex ban worked for a full month until he was back at it again.

You couldn’t even take off your shoes without him touching your nipples through your clothes, just to turn you on and get you into bed with him.

One thing lead to another and you and him getting into a heated argument in your shared bedroom.

“Gojo, what is up with you? I cant even walk into the fucking house without you trying to finger me!” you exclaimed practically yelling at him. Your attitude towards him at him caught in a dumb daze. You were starting to get tired of the constant sex every day.

He was yelling back before but now he was silent as he stood in front of you not speaking, you rarely ever called him last name which let him know you were pretty serious about the whole ordeal.

He couldn’t keep his need for you under wraps for any longer.

“Honeybun, I want a baby.” He said to you, as his light blue eyes locked with yours.

You were honestly shocked at him, he wanted a baby? The only word you could even speak was

“what?”

“honeybun, I want a baby with you.” He leaned towards you cupping your face as he planted tender kisses.

“I want to see you and me mixed together, I wanna see both of us go through mother and fatherhood, I want to see all of you honeybun.” He said grabbing your hands interlocking them with his. He was really genuine and heartfelt about the whole baby fever nonsense.

You were still in slight shock, but you had a small thought about the idea of you and satoru’s kid still fresh in your mind at the moment

—

Needless to say, you finally found out why gojo was acting crazy all those months ago

You sighed watching television with your pregnant belly while gojo had his arms wrapped around you and his head lightly resting on your stomach, careful not to hurt you at any point

“Their going to be so cute.”

he hummed giving your tummy a tender kiss.

[rainyreading]

Hey! I love your Theo fics and I was wondering if I could request a Theo x Hufflepuff, granddaughter of Newt Scamander reader? I think it could be cute!

Maybe he notices her one day minding her business, and one of his friends calls her weird for the same reasons Newt was called weird in school? Whatever you like! thank you!

Weird

Theo Nott x Hufflepuff!reader

wc: 950

a/n: Sorry this took so long! Hope it’s ok.

Requests open

Theo was in the library with his friends. He wasn’t doing any work of course because he was distracted talking with his friends. They were talking about the quidditch match that took place yesterday.

Theo quickly glanced around the library and his eyes landed on you. You were sitting there reading minding your own business. Theo thought you were pretty. He admired your beauty. He thought you were so cute and loved how you weren’t bothered by others.

Draco caught sight of Theo looking at you. He decided to speak up. “You know that’s Y/L/N, she’s weird. She talks to animals and what not. I’d stay away from her if I were you,” Draco warned.

“Maybe she’s just misunderstood,” Theo reasoned.

“Nah mate i’d listen to Draco, she’s a freak,” Blaise commented.

“You guys are mean,” Theo responded.

“Trust us, we would never steer you wrong,” Draco threw an arm around Theo.

“Ok ok I get it,” Theo put a stop to their conversation.

“We are just looking out for you,” Draco explained.

“Yeah yeah i know, let’s drop it please.” Theo grumbled.

Theo and his friends continued hanging out in the library for a little while longer. Theo however was busy thinking about you. He couldn’t get you off his mind. You intrigued him.

After Theo’s friends left he decided to go up and talk to you, despite what his friends told him. You were minding your own business, reading your book.

“Mind of I sit here?” Theo asked.

“Um sure go head,” you replied. You were shy and a little nervous but he seemed nice.

“You’re really pretty you know that,” Theo charmed.

You blushed at his words. You didn’t think anyone noticed you.

“What’s your name?” you asked.

“Theo,” he said with a smile.

“I’m Y/N.” You stuck your hand out for him to shake, which he did.

“I’ve seen you around school, I’ve always wanted to say hi,” Theo began.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was always too nervous, and now I just thought hey, it’s worth a shot.”

“Well I’m glad you did,” you answered.

“Me too.”

“So what are you reading?” Theo asked.

“Oh this? I’m just reading about the care of magical creatures.”

“Interesting!”

“Really? Cause I find it fascinating.”

And maybe it was the way your eyes lit up or the smile on your face but Theo could have sworn he died and gone to heaven. You were simply stunning and so lively. He liked to look at you when there was a spark of joy in you.

“Forgive me if this is too forward, but would you like to have a picnic at the black lake with me tomorrow?” Theo requested.

“I’d love too!”

“Great!”

——————

Tomorrow came fast. Theo couldn’t wait he was so excited to see you again. He planned out the whole thing. He brought a ton of food and he even got you flowers.

When you arrived at the black lake Theo gave you the flowers.

“These are beautiful, thank you!”

The two of you sat down on the picnic blanket, and Theo started to serve the food. What Theo’s friends might think if they saw him here with you was in the back of his mind, but he tried to ignore it and enjoy this time with you.

“Anything for you.”

You smiled at him, feeling really good about going out with Theo. He seemed really nice and you were excited to get to know him.

After the both of you ate you decided to just enjoy each other’s presence and talk.

“So what do you do on days you don’t have class?” Theo asked.

“Well I like to read, sometimes I go on walks around the castle. Then there’s spending time with my cat. I also like to draw. What about you?” You answered.

“That’s interesting! I usually hang out with my friends. I’d love to see your drawings sometime!”

“Really? I’m not that good,” you shrugged.

“I bet you are,” Theo implied.

You smiled at him. “Maybe someday.”

“What do you read about?”

“Mostly animals.”

“You really like animals don’t you.”

“Well my grandfather is Newt Scamander.”

“Really? No way.” Theo was impressed.

“Yep.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“Hahaha.”

“Have you ever gone swimming in the black lake?” Theo asked.

“No I haven’t,” you replied.

“Do you want to swim with me?” Theo grinned.

“Are you crazy?!”

“Come on,” Theo said lifting his shirt over his head.

You laughed at him. You were a little shy but you quickly stripped down to your underwear, ripping it off like a bandaid.

Theo did his best to avert his eyes from your body. You were breathtaking and he just couldn’t help it.

“Last one in is a sweaty oaf.” Theo called out.

You squealed as you jumped into the lake. The water was cold and it felt refreshing. You swam over to Theo.

Theo watched as droplets of water fell from your lashes. Theo went and held your waist.

“Is this ok?” Theo asked.

You nodded.

One hand came and brushed your hair out of you face then rested on your cheek.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” You replied.

Theo placed his lips on yours in a heated kiss. His mouth explored yours. Your lips were moving in sync. When the need for air became to strong you pulled away.

“You are a really good kisser,” Theo complemented.

You giggled, “Thank you.”

Theo was quickly falling in love, and he didn’t even know it yet. The last thing on his mind was what his friends would think. He couldn’t care less about their opinion because he found someone he enjoyed spending time with.