#they walk after them with their heads hanging in shame

[burningembers91]

The Beginning of Something Beautiful - Hwang In-Ho x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to: The Girl Next Door Kimchi Stew

Synopsis: When Hawng In-Ho's past is revealed, he must decide whether to continue living with his demons, or run towards the light.

Warnings: mentions of deceased wife, sexual content, 18+ only!

It’ll get easier over time. That’s what Hwang In-Ho had been told countless times by friends, family and even strangers after the death of his wife. He hadn’t believed them at first, hadn’t wanted to think of a world without her. But lately, he’d started to understand what they meant. Yes, the pain was still there, and maybe it always would be, but each day he found it a little easier to get out of bed. He’d started making friends at work, had begun exercising again and taking runs through the park he’d spent so long looking at from his apartment window. He was learning to laugh more, to smile at the small things and to find beauty in the everyday. He was slowly letting himself open up to you, showing you small snippets of the man he’d once been; the man who liked to tell jokes, who loved vintage cars, and who got overly competitive when it came to board games. He still hadn’t opened up about his past, but he was showing the man he truly was, not the grumpy hermit who shut himself away from the world.

In-Ho was still an enigma, some kind of handsome riddle you hadn’t been able to solve yet. He was spending more and more time at your apartment but stopped coming over under the guise of fixing things. He started to come over just to hang out, to watch TV or to go for a walk. He’d even invited you over to his apartment. The once bare room was now full of furniture, the walls repainted and decked out with paintings and prints. He’d cooked for you, proving himself to be an excellent chef. There were so many things still unspoken between you, but you were happy.

You could still hear him crying through the thin walls though, could still hear the turmoil he faced when the lights went out. You’d sworn you’d heard him say your name at times, his strangled groans as he fought with himself between his lust for you and his undying devotion to the woman he’d married. He was finding it harder to resist you, falling into an anguished cycle of dreaming about your touch, and punishing himself for thinking about another woman. You had slotted so nicely into his new life, the woman who had brought him back from the dead. He wanted to repay you for everything you’d done for him, but how could he when you didn’t know how much you’d saved him?

He was stacking shelves at work when you arrived, basket in hand as you did your weekly shop. You both smiled when you saw each other, In-Ho offering a small wave as he added another loaf of bread to the shelf. “Poor man,” an old lady tutted next to you. “Such a shame.” “I’m sorry?” you asked, looking at the wizened figure next to you, her head shaking as she watched In-Ho. “His wife died,” she explained, “liver failure. Killed her and their baby. It almost killed him.” You stared open-mouthed as she walked off, leaving you shellshocked. If it was true, it would explain so much about the man you’d come to care for so deeply. You had to force your feet to move you around the store, filling your basket in sickening silence as your mind reeled.

You couldn’t bring yourself to ask In-Ho about it, to ask whether his family had been so cruelly taken from him. it just wasn’t something you could casually slide into a conversation. You found it hard to concentrate at your next dinner, trying and failing to feign laughter at a story you hadn’t even heard him telling. All you could you see was a man whose family had been ripped from him. You wanted to hold his hand, to tell him everything would be ok. You’d spent so long thinking about whether your relationship would become something more than a friendship, and now you understood why it hadn’t.

Hwang In-Ho sensed the change in you, saw the pity in your eyes. Someone must have told you, must have tipped you off about his broken past. He knew it was Mrs Park. That old bat had never been able to resist gossip. He didn’t want to lose you, didn't want to risk you pulling away. he knew he needed to tell you about his past, knew he needed to come clean before you heard anything else. Every day he was finding it harder to remain alone. He was beginning to see a future with you, to see something other than the crushing loneliness he had resigned himself to.

Catching you one night as you entered your apartment, he invited you over for dinner. “You know about my… my wife,” he said, and he watched your eyes plummet to the floor. “Yes, sorry,” you admitted, “it was Mrs Park. You know what she’s like. Can’t resist a bit of gossip.” “I want to explain. There are things…” he didn’t know how to finish the sentence, didn’t know how to encompass his feelings into words. “Please join me for dinner,” he whispered. He hoped the desperation in his voice hadn’t been apparent. He didn’t want you to pity him, he’d spent enough time pitying himself. “Ok,” you smiled, “I’ll see you later.”

When you arrived that evening, In-Ho could feel his hands shaking. He’d prepared a feast, his small apartment filled with the scent of cooking and pine scented candles. You were so beautiful in your burgundy dress, clutching a bottle of wine in your hand as you entered. The dynamic had changed between the two of you yet again, and he was hoping tonight he could steer it in a more positive direction. He’d spent many a sleepless night wrestling with himself. He would always love his wife, but he couldn’t deny the life he wanted with you; the life he hoped you wanted to.

You drank wine, and ate dinner, and laughed as you both relaxed. He’d filled out over the last few months, his taut muscles visible through the fabric of his shirt. His smile and his eyes were a little brighter, and you found yourself getting lost in him as he told you story after story. “I’ve been so alone for such a long time,” he confessed. “I punished myself for something that wasn’t my fault.” He looked you dead in the eyes as he spoke the next words. “I love my wife, very much.” “I know you do,” you smiled sadly. You braced yourself for what was coming next, for the heartbreaking crush of rejection. “But… these last few months, they have meant more to me than you will ever know.” He downed the last of his wine for Dutch courage before continuing. “You have brought me so much joy, you’ve given me a reason to get out of bed every day. I had to keep finding reasons to see you, I had to keep pretending things in your apartment were broken because I didn’t know how else to tell you that I liked your company.” You laughed, your eyes glistening as you watch In-Ho expose his vulnerability. “I love my wife,” he repeated, “but you, I have feelings for you. Feelings I never thought I would feel again. I don’t want to deny myself happiness anymore. My family isn’t coming back, but I would be a fool if I didn’t try and make the best of my life. I’d like to try doing that with you, if you want me.”

Taking a deep breath, you braced your hands on the table. Tears streamed down both of your faces, both of you finding the courage to take the next step. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice hoarse with tears. “Yes, I’d like that.” In-Ho laughed, a sound that came from deep within his belly. He stood, pulling you from your chair and into his chest. He smelled of fresh shampoo and cologne, his breath warm on your face as you looked into other’s eyes. Brushing your lips against his, you couldn’t deny the electricity between you. it had been bubbling for so long, from the moment you had turned up soaking wet on his doorstep. Your lips met once more, harder this time, more sure of yourselves. His hands snaked up your shoulders, his fingers coming to rest on the back your next. You tasted like Merlot and shea butter, and In-Ho couldn’t deny himself anymore.

He made love to you on his sofa, your bodies pressed together on the tiny 2-seater. Every atom of his body burned for you, your moans spurring him on as he explored you. He’d spent so many nights wondering how it would feel to be inside you, but nothing compared to the reality. You were so soft, so warm, and you fit so perfectly against him. It was like you had been made just for him. He held you as the sun came up, his fingers tracing sweet, delicate circles over your nipples. You could taste yourself on his tongue, your body still tingling from the pleasure he’d inflicted. You didn’t want to part, didn’t want to head back to the emptiness of your apartment, but you had to get to work. “When can I see you again?” He asked, pulling you in for one last kiss. “Tonight?” you smiled, brushing the tip of your nose against his as you leaned further into his arms. “I’ll be counting down the minutes,” he whispered, watching you disappear into your apartment.

For the first time in over three years, In-Ho felt weightless. He whistled as he showered, hummed to the radio as he prepared breakfast. He’d taken a huge step last night, one he never thought he’d be ready for. He heart would always hold love for his wife and child, but now it had space for you too.

[cjlouwho]

I Like the Taste of Vanilla

Start from the beginning on ao3, or read today's entry below.

Day 4: My Heart is Racing in a Weird Way

Tommy wasn't sure what was happening as Buck led him through the bar. Eyes lingered on them as they passed by each table until they reached a door that read Employees Only.

“Evan, what are we doing?” Tommy asked, scooting in closer to his boyfriend as people passed behind him.

“Hang on, you'll see.”

Buck knocked on the door and waited, glancing back at Tommy with a nervous smile.

“Did you get a job here?” Tommy asked. “Babe, are you hurting for money? I can-”

Buck pulled Tommy to his side and patted his chest. “Tommy, relax. Let's just... just wait.”

After waiting a few more seconds, the door opened just a crack. A man wearing far too much glitter, in Tommy's opinion, peered out. “Password.”

Buck grinned. “Paradise.”

The man eyed them both, then opened the door and let them inside, leading them down a hall.

“No touching unless given permission, although looking is highly recommended,” the man began to recite like he was giving a college tour, “use condoms, clean up your mess. No kink shaming. Sharing is caring.” He opened a door at the end of the hallway and moved to the side to let them through. “Have fun, newbies.”

“Ev- Evan, what are-”

“I do have a couple rules,” Buck interrupted, moving so he was directly in front of Tommy. “I really don't want anyone else touching you, and I don't want them touching me either.”

“Well, thank God for that,” Tommy mumbled, barely audible over the music and the moans. He cleared his throat, speaking a bit louder. “I don't want that either.”

Buck nodded. “Okay... Okay, good. I guess, um, we should f- find a spot then, right?”

“Um, oh, sorry,” Tommy moved as far into Buck's space as he could as a man in head to toe leather walked behind him with another man following him on a leash. “I, Evan, I don't know if there's any space here.”

“Sure there is!” Buck replied with a nervous laugh. “We don't take up that much space. Come on.”

They continued through the room, and Tommy couldn't help but feel far too overdressed in his blue jeans and black henley. He was sweaty, a bit panicky, and- “Is that... is his whole arm in there?” He froze, eyes wide at the sight of it.

Buck leaned in close to Tommy's ear. “No kink shaming,” he muttered.

“I'm not shaming, I'm impressed... and having some sympathy pains,” he added with a grimace. “Damn, he's going hard. I hope that man has good health insurance.”

Buck tugged at his arm, moving them along. “What about back here? Not too crowded. We c-”

He was cut off by the sound of a whip cracking nearby, followed by a yelp and a moan.

“Oh, Evan, my-” Tommy brought a hand up to his chest, flinching as the whip struck down again, “my heart is racing in a weird way.”

Alarmed, Buck held onto Tommy's arm, looking around until he found an exit. Making his way through the maze of bodies, Buck led them out of the building.

Tommy took the opportunity to take in a deep breath, the cool evening air hitting his face. “Sorry,” he said, leaning against the brick wall, “I know you wanted to do... whatever in there, it's just- that's not really for me.”

Buck's eyebrows furrowed. “Tommy, I don't care about any of that stuff. I thought it's what you wanted.”

“Hmm? Evan, why would I want that?”

“The movie!” Buck exclaimed, as though that explained everything.

“The movie? What movie?”

Buck groaned. “The movie we saw a couple weeks ago. They had a scene in the back of a seedy bar where all kinds of kinky shit was happening. You popped a boner in the theater!”

“That's because Cheyenne Jackson did full frontal and I'm human!”

Buck put his hands on his hips. “S- So it didn't have anything to do with the, uh, the chains or the, um, the other stuff?”

“God, no,” Tommy replied with a shake of the head. “I mean, sometimes things can be hot in theory, but it doesn't mean I wanna do it. This, however,” he said, pointing back toward the bar, “scared me more than war.”

Buck laughed, rolling his eyes. “I highly doubt that.”

Tommy held his arms open, waving Buck toward him. Without hesitation, Buck wrapped himself up in Tommy's arms. “Okay, maybe it didn't scare me more than war,” Tommy admitted, pressing a kiss to Buck's temple, “but it did leave me with some phantom pains. Did you see how hard that fist was-”

“I saw, I saw,” Buck interrupted with a shiver. “I know I always say I want to feel you the next day, but I'm not sure I'd want you rearranging my organs like that.”

Tommy laughed, tapping at Buck's side until he leaned back enough for them to look at one another. “You spent the last two weeks researching this place, didn't you?”

“It was the only one with five stars,” Buck whined. “And I wanted to go somewhere that I knew no one would just start touching you, or me.”

“I will say that, in the forty-five seconds we were in there, they were all very respectful,” Tommy admitted. “I just don't think I'm the fuck-you-in-a-room-full-of-people type. I also hated how they were all looking at you like they wanted to eat you.”

“Oh, please!” Buck huffed. “They were looking at you like that, not- not me. I was so close to jabbing some eyes out.”

“I disagree. Not about jabbing eyes, but about where the eyes were focused.”

“Agree to disagree.”

They were silent for a moment. Tommy looked off to the side, lips pursed.

“What is it?” Buck asked.

“Can we just talk about the fact that the place cannot be sanitary? I know they say to clean up after yourself, but God, Evan, there's no way-”

“I know, I know,” Buck soothed, running his hand over Tommy's chest. “I thought about that too.”

Tommy eyed Buck briefly before reaching up and cupping his face, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. “Can you do me a favor?” he asked, his thumbs stroking Buck's cheek.

“What?”

“Next time you think there's a kink I wanna try out... ask me.”

“You mean you haven't loved my surprises?” Buck joked.

“Oh, they're great,” Tommy answered sarcastically. “I am afraid the next one might actually kill me though.”

With a smile, Buck took hold of Tommy's hands and pulled him away from the wall. “Ready to go home?”

“Hell yeah. Can we get in bed and do none of the things I just witnessed in there?”

Buck cocked his head to the side. “You mean you don't wanna shove your arm so deep inside me you could pull out my heart?”

Tommy shivered. “Evan,” he whined, “I'd almost forgotten about it.”

“Honey, there are some things the mind will never forget,” Buck replied as they reached the truck. “That was absolutely one of them.”

[luxcuriousao3]

Did somebody say Ghoap angst?? No? Well here's some anyway. May or may not turn this into a longer fic, tell me your thoughts.

-

“What are we doing, Simon?”

Soap regrets the words the minute they’re out of his mouth, already guessing how Ghost will react—but he’s apparently not only a masochist in bed, so he doesn’t take them back. Ghost is quiet for a brief moment, shoulders tensing up as he stands with his back to Soap, clad in nothing but a pair of briefs, muscular form outlined by the light from his private toilet. Soap is still in Ghost’s bunk, naked as the day he was born, sweaty and covered in both his and his Lieutenant’s come. Ghost never cleans him up, just tosses him the towel after he’s done using it, before dismissing him from his room like they’d just had a briefing and not sex. Soap tries not to let that bother him. He really does. He fails, but at least he keeps it from showing. Usually.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Johnny.”

Ghost’s voice is flat when he speaks, but there’s a hint of a warning in it. He’s giving Soap a chance to walk back his words. He’s giving him an out.

Soap, as he so often does, barrels on ahead anyway.

“This. Us. What are we, to you?”

The words hang heavily in the air, and slowly, Ghost turns around to face him. His face, for once uncovered by his mask—a sight Soap only gets to see in these private moments between them, a sight he cherishes—is blank, eyes dark and cold like onyx.

“We are teammates,” Ghost replies, low and intense. “Colleagues that fuck each other to relieve stress, every once in awhile. Don’t make this into something that it’s not, MacTavish.”

Soap swallows, mouth dry, throat still sore from the beating Ghost’s cock had given it. Normally, Soap enjoys that, savoring the reminder of his time with the other man. Now, it just makes him feel hollow.

“Right then, Sir,” Soap says, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. He doesn’t bother to wait for Simon to throw him the towel clenched in his white-knuckled fist, wiping himself off on his Lieutenant’s sheets, suddenly desperate to leave. It’s petty, and the spark of irritation in Ghost’s stony eyes is satisfying. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“You need it again, and this is done, Sergeant,” Ghost warns, grabbing Soap’s clothes and tossing them at him hard, in retaliation for the sheets and just as eager for Soap to get the fuck out of his room, probably. Or maybe he just can’t stand the thought of not throwing something at Soap after fucking him. Bastard. “Understood?”

“Copy,” Soap responds as he stands up, clipped. He pulls on his jeans and t-shirt in silence, Ghost’s glare feeling like a physical thing as it burns holes into the side of his head. Soap ignores it as best he can, but his cheeks are flush with humiliation and anger simmers just beneath his skin. He knows he shouldn’t have asked. He knew what Ghost would say when he did. But Soap is a bloody fool that’s gone and fallen for the most emotionally constipated fuck in the entire SAS, and he’s never been able to leave well enough alone.

The worst part is that as hurt as Soap feels right now, as pissed off as he is at Ghost—he knows he’ll go crawling back to him. He won’t put an end to this like he should, won’t protect his stupidly fragile heart. He couldn’t if he wanted to—it already belongs to Ghost. And Soap doesn’t think he can ever get it back.

So he’ll put up with the coldness and the callousness. He’ll put up with being held at arm's length, never being allowed inside Ghost’s walls even when he’s literally inside Soap. He’ll put up with the hollowness in his chest and the curl of shame in his belly when he’s kicked out of Ghost’s bed time and time again, never allowed so much as a five minute cuddle.

It’s fucking pathetic, but Soap’ll take whatever he can get.

He’s a big boy. He can handle some hurt feelings.

At least that’s what he tells himself as he leaves Ghost’s room, the door slamming shut behind him the second he crosses the threshold.

***

Things are tense for a few days between him and Johnny.

Ghost has his guard up, walls freshly reinforced. His Sergeant had thoroughly unsettled Ghost with his questions, and for days, his skin feels like it's crawling everytime the other man is near. Ghost doesn’t let people get close, and Johnny is no exception.

Except that’s not quite true, and that’s what scares him.

Somehow, Johnny has wormed his way into Ghost’s life with that obnoxiously charming grin and his stupid fucking mohawk. He’s gotten closer to Ghost than any other living person, and instead of pushing him away, Ghost pushed him into his bloody bed instead.

He thinks about ending it, in the days following their last conversation. Seeks out Johnny once at their smoke spot to do just that—but he can’t bring himself to do it. And he knows that’s a problem, that he’s in too deep, that he needs to make a tactical retreat and regroup.

Instead, he offers Johnny a cigarette, and ignores the way his heart squeezes in his chest as he’s graced with the first smile he’s gotten in days from the other man.

Ghost should end things, he knows that. But he doesn’t.

He’s always been a selfish bastard.

[leaawrites]

No one's gonna tell her what I'm on about

Liam Gallagher x fem!reader

Summary: when Liam takes on a dare from his friends, he doesn't believe of finding himself making the biggest mistake in his life.

This part 1 of a series.

Warnings: swearing, lying, Liam being a player

Wordcount: 1.6k

Masterlist, Part 2

“I dare you to -”

It started simple - it really did. A shot here, a dare there and so on. Nothing too harmful, just little jokes on the bartender or the people around.

With the lights dimmed and the air in the pub growing thicker by the second, Liam could hardly tell apart what once was and what was happening right now. His friends’ words blurred together, creating a chain of sounds with no meaning behind them other than, ‘I dare you to’ and he’d do it. No matter what it was, he’d do it because in his eyes: What was shame if not loneliness? He’d still have the same people around after doing whatever and people might like him less but what did he care about them?

One of his friends looked around the room as he thought of a second part to his sentence, a challenge that would make him say “no” even when it seemed impossible for Liam to say that. It seemed like that word didn’t even exist in his vocabulary, like it was some foreign sentence he could only deny because he wasn’t aware of it’s significance and would rather go on with his day like normally.

“I dare you to,” he started again, his eyes lighting up with mischievous as they found it’s next prey. Bouncing his leg, Liam waited patiently for his task, cigarette burning down in between his fingers. Being the ‘cool guy’ made it easier, he had to admit, he was never lonely, there would always be someone around. “Go home with her.” His friend pointed somewhere into the crowd at a table.

Liam followed his finger, letting his gaze linger on all the people around until he finally found her. The girl he was dared to take with him tonight. Sat in a corner far away from them with her head hanging low over the pint in front of her eyes.

“Easy,” he mocked, starting to stand up and swagger over in his usual step.

Her eyes snapped up as soon as she saw the familiar body stand in front of her, elbows leaned on the table and a smug smirk on his face.

Liam Gallagher, a boy she only got to observe from afar in school or from her bedroom window, hanging with his friends behind one of their houses. There had never been more than a quick glance her way from his side, so why would he lean so close to her now?

“What do you want?” she asked, shifting the glass further away from her body.

“Nothing,” he casually answered. “What ya got there?” Taking the glass, he sniffed at it before taking a sip. "Eww, what’s that shite?”

“What do you care?” she asked annoyed, taking it back from his grip, brushing his fingers in the action.

“Just don’t want you having to taste something so awful.”

Without another word, Liam turned on his heel and walked towards the bar, holding up two fingers and saying something to the bartender before looking her way again, smirking at her and almost missing the moment two glasses were slid over the counter his way.

Returning to her side once more, he put one of the pints in front of her and taking the other one himself.

“What’s that now?” she asked, not quite trusting whatever he was having in mind.

“Guinness,” he answered, taking a sip himself. “Me favourite.”

“So it’s good?”

“Of course, love,” he answered, looking almost offended. “Everything I like is good.”

“Sure,” she muttered under her breath, still lifting the glass up to her lips and tasting the liquor held within. Twisting her face at the bitter taste on her tongue, coughing slightly as her taste buds took in the taste of the beer.

Liam let out a loud laugh as she put it down again, not just because of the uncomfortable crinkle in her eyes, but also the stain it left behind. Hiding his big smile behind his hand, he tried not letting it show.

“What? I can’t help that it tastes bad-”

Before she could finish her sentence, Liam shook his head and cut her off. “It’s not that, you just got-” Leaning across the table, he took the sleeve of his shirt between his fingers and gently removed the moustache she received from the foam.

She had always been an observer, never more than a candle in the back of a chandelier, now she stood under the light. Someone’s attention was only on her, making her insides churn and her heart pick up speed. Her heart aching as she lost his touch from her skin and he leaned back again, smirking at the crimson red colour creeping up on her face. Wide eyes staring back at him.

He had her now.

“You’re really sweet, you know that?”

Sweet? As if.

She scoffed, her insides falling from the pedestal they climbed on to put him there as she recognized the charming way of talking he used on one too many girls in front of her eyes to make it seem genuine and believable.

“Yeah, right.” Laughing right at his face and shaking her head in disbelief with another sip of the beer. It still tasted awful to her.

Silence settled over the table. Bottom lip sucked between his teeth, Liam looked around the room, back at his friends who were still gauging at him, waiting for them to walk out together. Waiting for a wink and smirk sent their way. Waiting for him arm over her shoulder.

A slap on the shoulder brought him back to where he was sat, some force shaking him out of his head.

“What’s up, Gallagher?” A guy he knew from his old maths class greeted him, saying a few words he didn’t quite understand but still nodded his head to. Exchanging a few words before he was off again.

“Isn’t that annoying?” she asked, taking another sip from her Guinness, the taste gradually normalizing itself to her taste buds. “Having all those people around you all the time?”

“How can that be fucking annoying?”

“Well, for starters, you never have space for yourself,” she started listing, making him roll his eyes at her posh accent. “People always surround you, which means they talk about you all the time.”

“I don’t care what people think about me,” he answered, leaning back. Acting nonchalant, and maybe he didn’t care, though she doubted it. He didn’t care what strangers thought, surely, he was way too confident for that. It were only those close enough to him that made his head reeling in conflict late at night, she supposed.

“Good and bad?”

“Don’t fucking care.”

“So, you never feel alone in a crowded room?”

It had been a feeling she felt most of her time when her friends weren’t around. Leaving her in a bar at a table, sat alone, while they were off with their boyfriends or some other guy they met, on nights like these.

“Why would I?”

“No reason, I just wondered.”

“Well, you can fuck yourself, as well as your wonderin',” he got more defensive the more she questioned him.

“I’m not the one who started talking to you, pretty boy. Maybe just turn around and go back to those friends of yours if you’re not interested in talking with me, eh?” She said, staring at him and making him understand that she wasn’t joking around with him anymore.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” The smirk crept back on his face, making her roll her eyes in disbelief. How could someone be so unbelievably relevant in his own head? A true joke, that he called her insufferable.

“One or two people have mentioned it before, yeah.”

He laughed quietly, nodding his head. His eyes trailing down her body, eyes peeking past the over-sized leather jacket she wore. Familiar words looking back at him.

“You like The Stone Roses?” he asked, looking back up at her eyes. Surprise lacing his voice.

“Of course, they’re class.” She said it like it was obvious, whereas half his friends found them to be pretentious and dumb.

He nodded, eyes swirling over her face, taking in the nervous look in her eyes and how he could see that she sucked in her cheek, biting on it. A nervous habit that had lead to her having to leave the classroom more than once because it started bleeding a lot.

“I heard you’re in a band?”

“Yeah, we’re mega. You should come see us this weekend.”

It was the best opportunity. He wouldn’t have to leave with her tonight, wouldn’t have to leave her behind in the morning and act like nothing had happened the next day. Inviting her to a gig and telling his mates that was his date made it easier for both of them.

He didn’t mind going home with different girls on different nights, though something about her told him that this wouldn’t just be one night and done if he started with it.

Without giving him an answer, she continued, “How did you get into music anyway. I mean, you never seemed interested in it at school.”

“Got me a hammer thrown on the head and ta-da, I’ve become a Rock star.” Pointing to the place where the scar was still visible when you look close enough.

“Those bellends truly gave you a future the day you could’ve died,” she said, remembering seeing him laying on the grass with his head bleeding. “It looked pretty scary though.”

“You stalking me or summat?”

“My bed is looking out the window, so I see almost everything happening in front of my house. You just happen to be standing there most of the time, so maybe you’re the stalker.”

“Maybe I am.”

[sashi-ya]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤAs cold as your heart ･:*:｡𓏲ּ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤDr. ishida uryu x f! reader

Chapter 3: misunderstandings. for rainbows to form, you always need the rain first.

❄ a/n: told you it was going to be fast! my, my... what is going on with this story?! why is everything getting more and more complicated?! well, for rainbows to form, you always need the rain first... right? ❄ tw: not much, VERY angsty for now. A little TOO indulgent? maybe... I always wanted reader to get involved with Ryuken, yet not in the way you might think... or yes? mh!. fainting. bloody knees. headache. ❄ headcanon alert 1➡ given the fact that we've seen Uryu fainting and running fevers many times, I headcanon him to be a guy who somatises a lot. So I think it fits since he is fighting against his own emotions during the story. ❄ headcanon alert 2 ➡ since we know Ryuken has 0 skills to communicate the love for his child, there are some little additions about him when Uryu was a kid that might melt your heart 💖 ❄ masterlist.

“Dr. Ishida, I’m sorry I don’t want to take time from you… it’s late, I – I should go back home, I can walk” you sniffle once he stops at a red light. 

Ryuken looks at you, probably confirming you are just as silly as his son. “You think I’ll leave you outside, with the snow, at night, after my son broke your heart and with your knees bleeding?” he asks, seriously, implying you aren’t allowed to decide what to do either way.

You simply nod; once in a while, you might want to let the elder take care of you. However, the fact that he isn’t driving to your home nor back to the hospital makes you wonder, exactly, what he is planning to do.

“Uh… Dr. Ishida, where are we going?” you ask, probably already knowing.

“Home” he answers back, straight to the point. 

“But – your son…” you reply, worried. Uryu just rejected you in such way, the least you would like to do is to go bother him at his own house. 

“My son? He isn’t coming back now, that’s a fact”

The Ishida house -manor- awaits with tiny little lights garnishing its windows. You remember the place to be darker and less lively, imbued in seriousness and sterile looks. Probably, Ryuken felt the need to decorate his home now that Uryu is back and that melts your heart. 

The huge fence at the front opens to let Dr. Ishida drive inside. You remain silent, the crying hasn’t stopped just yet, but you calmed yourself enough to keep your composure. 

A woman dressed in black and white opens the door, taking a swift look at your state. Probably, she wonders why you are there and why is the man of the house helping you enter. Domestic service will have a field day with every type of rumor.

Ryuken takes your already wet coat off, and commands for you to wait on a white sofa. You hesitate but sit carefully to avoid your knees even coming closer to it… you don’t want to leave blood marks on a probably very expensive settee. 

Soon, he comes back with a little box in his hands. A first aid kit to treat your wounds and a pair of gloves hanging from it. 

He has taken his coat off, and it might be the first time in all these years you see this man only wearing his shirt rolled up with no tie. 

You swallow; never once you’ve noticed how much Uryu and him look alike until now. No matter how different their hair colour can be, Ryuken has given his son delicious genes…  

“Let me see” he mutters, kneeling in front of you to inspect your bloody legs. 

You blink slowly, shaking your head side to side. How could you go from painful to indecent thoughts in a matter of seconds? 

“Mh, take your stockings off please” he orders. He couldn’t cure your knees on top of that nylon material even if he wanted to. 

You nod, standing up, full of shame. Cheeks on fire, trembling hands. He wants you to take your tights in front of him? while kneeling down? Apparently, yes. 

You try to lower them down without lifting the skirt of your uniform, though it becomes almost impossible. However, you do it quickly with his help; Ryuken pulls down your stockings exposing your right thigh a little too much…

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ“RYUKEN??!!! (NAME)????!!!” ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ“Uryu calm down… I am just cur-” 

You couldn’t believe how things were unfolding right in front of your eyes. Uryu’s orbs went from miserable to enraged. His father? You? What is happening right now?

You flop back into the couch as everything begins spinning around in circles. Your heart is about to pop from your chest, going faster with every second it passes. 

The Quincy cross around Uryu’s wrist peaks through his coat, falling down ready to become his arch. 

“Son, you are a fool” Ryuken repeats, standing up. His glasses showing the blueish shine of his only child’s weapon pointed at him. 

“A fool you say? You are, indeed, right… Ryuken! From all the women, from all the-“

You have no idea how, nor when, but you run to hug Uryu as tight as it is humanly possible. Strands of your hair get cut by the reiishi coming to his arrow, the sound of it buzzing on your eardrums. 

“How could you think of your father this way? How could you think of me this way?” you ask, crying against his neck. “How could you…”

The Quincy archer’s hands tremble, becoming weaker and weaker until his arch turns back into his cross. His breathing begins to slow down, so much until you notice he might have stopped breathing. 

His weight becomes more and more noticeable in your arms, until it’s undeniable that he can’t stand up on his own. 

“Uryu? Uryu…?!” you panic, trying to hold his body up. 

“Ah… he hasn’t changed…” Ryuken sighs, coming to your help. His son has fainted, and it isn’t new. Uryu usually does when he can’t manage certain things. 

With utmost care, his father takes him to his bed. He deposits him there, as he used to do when Uryu was a child. 

“Y’know, this little shit… when he fell asleep he thought only his mom would carry him to his bed… but it was me. Every time he fell asleep anywhere but his bed, it was me who carried him in my arms… they grow but they never change” Ryuken says, almost in pain, while standing right on the bedroom door.  “Stay for as long as you wish, I’ll tell the domestic service to prepare the guest room in case you want to rest” 

You give him a sweet smile and a nod, still a little embarrassed for what had just happened. You watch this man go, while you remain sitting on Uryu’s bed, right next to him. 

You slowly take his glasses off, in such a way not even a feather could be that delicate. And in the same way, you move his onyx hair off his face. 

Uryu’s skin feels as soft as a cloud; the tip of your finger barely touches his cheek in a loving little caress. Perhaps guilty, you let your eyes feast on his unconscious façade. Perhaps this will be the last time you do. Perhaps he will hate you tomorrow and will let you know about it. 

“Move out of the way”  his words replay one too many times on your memories; it breaks your heart; it makes your whole body hurt. You should be the one mad at him, six years have passed and not a single time he dared to talk, to look, to even explain to you.. why did you leave me? 

And, despite him leaving you, mistreating you and now even thinking of you in such a despicable way, you stay by his side. 

Slowly, minutes pass, and he still doesn’t want to wake up. You know he is fine; he is just purposely deciding not to open his eyes. He did this when he was young, he did this many, many times. 

“I miss you… I have never stopped loving you” you whisper, bending to kiss his forehead. But you stop yourself; with lips in pain screaming to touch his skin, you simply couldn’t do it. 

And so, as the night progresses, your eyes slowly close… tired, hurt, in pain… your eyes finally shut off. 

Almost like in slow motion, your body slides down until you flop on the side of his bed. 

The little shake of your weight against the mattress wakes Uryu up. Such slumber finally eases off when he sees you sleeping on his side. A mix of pain and rage travels through his veins, what he saw still makes no sense to him. 

However, his body feels sore. His soul, even more. He isn’t able to move a little further from where he is. Uryu doesn’t want to wake you up, because if he did, he must put on that same act and kick you out from his own bed… he doesn’t really want you to go; deep inside, having you by his side is all he’s been wanting to do since the day he left. 

His eyes, opened like lonely stars illuminating a dark night, try to remove themselves from your sleeping you. He fails, miserably. Your beauty, your skin, every bump on your face, the scent of your flesh. It feels warm, so warm to be close to you… 

“So, this is how it feels to sleep right by your side?” he whispers, stopping his hand from touching the concavity of your waist as you lay on your side. “I wonder how it feels to hug… to touch all your skin” he continues, this time only in mind. “I wonder how it feels…” 

He had only kissed your lips, in a chaste, innocent peck. The first and the last, a pending love he hasn’t ever forgotten about. Now, as an adult, and after trying so many times with failed relationships that couldn’t even be named as such, his skin still burns for you. Just like the first time, just like what he considers the last. 

A sting on Uryu’s temple makes his eyes shut close; a headache he rarely had, now is more and more frequent… he feels like throwing up, a little dizzy and what not. A pain on his stomach follows, sharp, almost like leaving him with no air. 

“I should sleep a little more…” 

The sun shines through winter clouds of cold; snow has pooled on the streets and slowly begins to melt. Morning arrived a little too fast for both of you, given the fact that probably none of you wanted to wake up to face reality. 

“(Name)…” a whispering voice wakes you up. 

“Hmn?” you murmur, turning around, hugging something that feels warm.

“(Name)”

You wake up suddenly, realizing Uryu’s arm lays tangled in yours. His flesh feels like burning; He still sleeps, soundly -a little snoring here and there- and an expression of something bothering him. Maybe it is just the pain of his heart… You try to slide off his side to see the owner of the voice that’s been calling you up. 

“Dr. Ishida!” you whisper, standing up, stiffening all your muscles. Your waist feels sore, sleeping in such uncomfortable position probably has to do with it. 

“I’m having breakfast and heading to the hospital, are you coming?” Uryu’s father asks, he is, after all, your boss. As his assistant nurse, you are used to working with him… yet Uryu, doesn’t know about it just yet. 

“Are you sure, Doctor? Please don’t bother I-“ embarrassed, you try to brush the mess on your hair as well as the heavily wrinkled uniform. 

“Mh, let’s go. Don’t worry about him, he is probably sleeping all day… he used to do that while he was a kid. Also, when we get to my office, let’s check those knees. You hit hard against the ground” he continues, leaving the room with you following him. 

By now Uryu has already woken up, yet, his eyes remained closed on purpose. Listening to his father talk with you about him, about his day and especially letting him know you work with him every day aggravates his headache. 

He turns around, sinking his head into the pillow that has a faint scent of your perfume. Betrayed! Why has his father never told him you worked with him? What was the point of hiding such important information from him? 

ㅤ“He is doing it again… he is hiding stuff from me, once again… are they…?”

Never once did he feel betrayed like he feels right now. So much he did, that he began thinking this must be some kind of karma for what he did back during Yhwach’s evil plan. 

Uryu fights to remain calm and mature when facing both of you having breakfast; he wants to stand up from bed but feels so dizzy he can’t lift his head up from the pillow. Soon he notices sweat covering his neck and chest, but sadness has invaded him to really give a damn about his health anyway.  

“Dr. Ishida, is Uryu going to be ok? He seemed paler than ever, and how he fainted… I know this happened many times before when he was younger but… I don’t know…” you mumble, fidgeting on Ryuuken’s car seat. You are worried but still a little hurt by his words.  

“He is going to be fine, this is just the way he deals with stress, remember my son is a doctor. If he knows something is wrong, he will for sure tell me” Ryuuken informs you. 

“So, he graduated then… I’m so proud of him, is he a surgeon like you?” you ask, genuinely smiling. 

“A pediatrician” he answers back. “And I hope to have him with us very soon” 

You bite your nails, if Uryu wants you out of his sight he is probably not working with his father for sure. You soon realize you might be interfering a little too much in between them and the last thing you wish for is to make their relationship worse. 

You remain silent after that and up until you both arrive at the hospital. Once again, the receptionist and basically half the staff whisper while you pass through corridors and halls. For the very first time, now that you don’t want Uryu to misunderstand your relationship with Ryuken, you realize what the whispers are about. 

After having your knees checked, and even if they hurt a little, both get to work almost immediately. A couple of surgeries after, the phone of Ryuken’s office rings. 

You watch the white-haired man pick up and with that, his face transforming…

“Bring my son immediately to the sixth floor!” he screams at someone through the phone. He stands up and orders you to get ready for surgery…

 ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ“(Name), get ready. OR number 2. Now!” 

[To be continued]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

[acid-ixx]

ch.1: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1

read until the end for an author's note.

if there was one thing you hated more than the crime-filled streets of gotham, it would be empty promises.

when was the last time they attended your birthday? or your school ceremonies? or any special event that meant for you to be the center of attention?

plot twist, there was no last time, or a time before that or any day that they were there for you.

not your eldest brother, dick, not your dead brother, jason, of course tim wouldn't be there for you, damian's absence is a given, not even your sisters would come, and most especially not your father, bruce wayne.

you never wrote wayne as your last name. in every test, it would always be your mother's last name. in every document that you had to fill, you would violently scratch in the name of your father, wishing it wasn't required at all so you wouldn't have to hang your head in shame everytime someone looks at you incredulously for having the bruce wayne as your father but never once appearing to be with you.

you can't recall a time you had called him your dad, or even considered him as one.

if you could count the times you have seen him in person, it wouldn't even fill ten fingers. even interviewers and paparazzi have more luck in coming across him than you would, his child.

it sucks, really, how despite having nearly sharing the same age as tim, you never once saw him outside of his room. you thought you would've been the closest to him, but the most you have seen him was when you were watching the news with the "new" robin popping up, or worse; when bruce would be seen guiding tim through the paparazzi and not you. alfred had to drag you away from the tv that day because you were already suffering through a panic attack just seeing those two act so close; ripping your hair out just from watching the news wasn't a good way to cope.

you remember being so jealous of him, of how bruce would always spend time with him and not you. it made you wonder, were you special enough? tim is so brilliant, you could admit. and you were, too, having enough comprehensibility as a child to find out they were vigilantes a year or two after living in the manor— but you weren't good enough like tim. you weren't cut out to be like a detective or a fighter.

it was no wonder why bruce chose them over you.

it came to you in the form of talking to tim that had you discovering that no one ever mentions your name inside the house, proving it to be true when tim had hesitated calling your name and even stuttered through pronouncing it. and then he left after finding you were of no use to help him. alfred had to stifle your sobbing after tim left the room, allowing you to cry on his chest whilst you sat beside him.

(name) wayne was so, so lonely.

you would've accepted their absence long ago, but you were a stupid child who needed care and reassurance because your mother left you for good at the age of five. you were too naive into thinking you would receive the same love from your family just like the other kids in elementary would. you were a child who expected too highly of your father, thinking that he would pick you up from school with that picture perfect photographed smile of his and kiss your forehead and tell you that you did a great job at school today.

it was your teachers who would be the one having to walk you up the stage whenever you achieved an award. alfred would be too busy sometimes to attend your school ceremonies because he had to assist bruce with missions. of course, you understood his priorities. after all, he tried his hardest to make you feel less lonely inside the mansion, it wasn't enough but he was there at least.

it was long ago that you stopped praying for your family to attend at least one of your birthdays.

it's ironic, really, for a child to prep and plan for their own celebration just to hope that a single member of their family to even walk by the kitchen and join them in on their already lonesome celebration.

too bad everybody only goes to the kitchen when alfred cooks for them. who would want to taste sadness in a sloppily made birthday cake, right? nobody, not even you would have the appetite to eat your cake with the knowledge that it was you who had to put all the effort to bake it because you didn't want alfred to feel obligated to. knowing nobody would celebrate birthdays with you, save for alfred, it was expected that you started to prefer cupcakes.

because then you wouldn't be scolded for making such a mess.

you never cooked family meals after the incident where nobody came and to not waste food, you had to bring in large containers to bring to school so you could celebrate your birthday there.

it was there that you find more solace in your small group of friends compared to the desolate rooms of the mansion. your family celebrates holidays together as a whole, but you never once attended after that one time where everybody had forgotten to get you a gift for christmas, save for alfred who gave you a bracelet (one that you cherished deeply). you only smiled weakly and hopelessly, sneaking into your room before the family dinner.

it was alfred again who bought you leftovers and sat on your bed for an hour to encourage you that there's still more christmas's to go.

you never believed what he said. not anymore.

there was a period of time where you hated them more than anything, blamed them for everything and became more rebellious, purposely failing tests, fighting your classmates and disrespecting teachers in hopes that for once your father would bat an eye on you. that only resulted in you being taken out of the school and being transferred into another, for a behavioral reform is what alfred stated to you when you annoyed him for answers.

damian started to bully you a bit more harder after that incident, calling you immature and childish, a weakling, an attention seeker. how someone at your age should've known better. you were convinced that he was relishing in the heartbroken glare you gave him, ignoring the way his eyes widened momentarily at your reaction before sneering and walking away.

alfred gently scolded you, but you were too choked up and instead you almost tripped running inside your bedroom, locking yourself in for what seems like hours.

you don't want to remember the immense breakdown you had that evening too, screaming on your blankets and destroying your things and hurting yourself because... because you had lost your old friends for nothing! your caring teachers, your academic progress, everything! every single thing for an ounce of attention! because he didn't have enough energy to come with you to the guidance counselor and he only had you transfer out so you wouldn't ruin the wayne's reputation!

you hate him, you hate bruce fucking wayne so much and you hate clinging onto their empty promises and sorry's to make it up for you. you hate how their promises were never even said directly to you, you hate how alfred was your only source of hope for a medium of communication.

you hate them all.

and worst of all, you hate yourself for drowning in hope. for wishing you were physically stronger so you could at least bond with them through training. for dreaming about a day where they could surprise you and told you they were just testing you and that you actually had worth inside this manor. for praying nightly that they'll smile at you like the heroes you see in tv rather than that of pity.

you wished there was a universe where gotham was safer, more protected with no criminals littering the streets. maybe then they would have more time to notice you crying every night, writing self destructive entries in your diary, sketching what would've been a happy family. they wouldn't have to wear their silly costumes to fight crime and instead would save you from your own demons.

if...

if you were brutally tortured and killed by the joker, or forced to choke on the fear toxin by the scarecrow— hell, even beaten to near death by some random goons; would they have given you a sliver of their love? would they finally look at you and save you from yourself?

because despite your resentment, you would never lie and say you didn't feel blessed that you were thrown to a family of talented individuals.

your drawings of a complete and happy family holding hands together and a diary filled with rants and fantasies of spending time with them proved just that.

you were blessed with them yet cursed at the same time to never reach the same level to be even considered part of their lives.

you were hopeless. you never amounted to anything. you were just, you.

thirteen years have passed by then, and in those years you were proud to say your development as a person, albeit slow, transformed you from a child that succumbed to neglect to an independent person who managed to maintain a comfortable circle of friends, a scholarship for a college far away from gotham, and an apartment of your own (you were a bit in debt due to having to pay for your own because no way in hell would you ask for your father for financial support).

allowance was scarce, your food supplies weren't infinite compared to back when you were living at the wayne manor, and you weren't greeted to michelin star restaurant meals cooked by alfred— but you were content, and that was enough.

though content translated to nightly breakdowns whilst finishing projects or writing essays, the point still stands! at least you had celebrated your eighteenth birthday with drunk smiles and your friends spoiling you to death when you had opened up about your first lonely years of life. everything was going well for you, truly.

you were so, so happy for the nice turn of events. and you wouldn't have made it so far if you hadn't slapped yourself out of the delusion that they actually cared for you.

look at you now! independent and with a life of your own! you'd give yourself a pat in the back.

you hadn't blocked them at all, but their contacts were empty (save for a few desperate messages that date back years ago) and you were fine with that. it's not like tim or bruce or barbara considered you important enough to be stalked. hah, as if!

alfred communicates with you time to time, reminding you to eat a complete meal rather than those one dollar priced noodles that tasted like pure salt. he told you he misses you a lot, you and your annoying, daily rants about life and school. he misses your awkward smile and when you would help him cook whenever the others aren't around. he misses it when you imitate his posh accent when you taste test his food and give commentary about it.

you miss him, too. growing up, you realized just how much effort alfred would exert just to spend a lot of his time on you.

now, he told you that you are still welcome to the manor whenever, and how he cleans your room weekly in case you'll visit him.

whenever you audio call with him, you'd tear up just a bit at the realization that alfred was more of a father figure than your own biological father. because he at least attended your graduation to make up for the other times he was unable to join you.

what's even better was that he gifted you something you had always wanted for your birthday. despite it being delivered to your door rather than him giving it to you face to face (since you had refused to give him your location and him respecting that decision at least), the heartfelt letter he left you was more than enough to let you cling onto pieces of your past. after all, it was him who greeted you by the door when you were first introduced into the family, bruce being too busy with paperwork that day when you were a measly five year old.

you had started to teasingly call him 'alfie' and a few more nickname after that, which results with a chuckle over the phone every time you had come up with a cheesy name for him whenever you get a wee bit irritated at his own way of making fun of you.

if only this was your life years ago, then maybe you wouldn't have been jealous of all your other friends and pushed them away that day, maybe you would learn that sometimes, family comes in the form of the people outside of your house rather than inside.

that reminds you, maybe you should reconnect with your old friends back in elementary and apologized for your sudden explosive behavior.

you were laying on your bed, phone in hand and opened your inst*gram app to stalk through the names you could remember. well... that was what you should've done, if not for the fact that a notification popped up the very moment you pressed on the search bar and you had accidentally opened a chat with your oldest brother, dick.

you would've ignored the desperate messages you have sent him from the past which all varied from inviting him to eat dinner with you or to at least join you to play in an arcade or anything to convince him to talk to you, all of which were unseen, if not for the fact that it was him who sent you a sudden "hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!" message, alongside a few more replies that spammed through your phone...

oh!

... that was enough to make you sit up and want to hurl.

dick grayson was a man of many talents. the mature eldest child, the ideal good leader despite his anger issues from time to time, and the same guy who set the standards high for the future robins. he is bruce's greatest achievement.

it was safe to say that if not for the support of many, then he would've suffered so many falls and would've never been strong enough to stand up despite the pain and continue his fights. nightwing was what many superheroes strive to be, an image of light in a grove of darkness such as gotham.

so why was it that he felt like he has failed so deeply right now?

inside your room, dick stands with furrowed brows. it felt too clean to look used. your furniture was polished and look untouched, the lights were too bright and the windows were bolted shut. there were no signs of life other than the notebooks and sketchbooks that were neatly tucked on the middle of the bed and the trinkets that scatter through your desk.

dick stalks through the room, careful to not make a noise as he walks over to the closet, opening it and finding nothing.

he bites his lips at the implication that this was probably the second time he visited your room and how it was also the longest time he remained here. compared to his other siblings, you were the one he noticed the least and... now he feels bad for dismissing you.

didn't he promise to take you out for dinner months ago?

damn it, he was way too focused on his mission that night and ended up ditching and forgetting you! oh god, dick facepalmed and clenched his teeth, seething in some air because no fucking way did he actually remember to feed damian's dog, titus, the same day but forgot to take you out for an important event...

it occurred to him that that was the same day you scored a perfect on "the hardest test of my life!" you had bragged to him awkwardly when he wasn't listening nor looking and you, wanting to celebrate what was a small achievement for dick, chose him to spend time with you!

dick had to carefully breath through his mouth then gulp down the shame he feels right now. he- he has no time to focus on the past but rather the present. he has to find out why the hell is your room so lifeless, yeah... then he'll make it up to you today, definitely.

huh?

is it just him, but why does the room seem so small? it looked like it was meant to be for a kid. clearly, there wasn't enough space for a growing individual like you... did bruce not provide you with a bigger bedroom? ah, dick would definitely tell bruce to relocate you to a bigger room, the current one is too small for even a dog in a manor to sleep in.

dick doesn't want to admit it at all, but... he hasn't seen you for the past few months, or not all, really. sure, he had only recently visited the manor since he's bludhaven's vigilante now, but even through his time in gotham he had never seen you other than the times you pulled his sleeves from back when you were a child.

back when you were a child.

how old are you now? you were so small back then, innocent too. he can recall your curious eyes, your chubby cheeks and the way you stutter through your words as you try to talk to him.

you were significantly younger than jason, and was adopted a week before tim was introduced to the family. he remembers you peeking through alfred's back, gleaming with curiousity and whispering to the butler if it was really the dick grayson. he smiled fondly at your dumbfounded expression, the way your mouth shaped into an "ohh," when he was the one who answered that, yes, it was him. then you whispered again if you can take have an autograph from him, to which he chuckled and told alfred that he'll help accompany you to your room.

when your five year old body tried to waddle closer to his body for an ounce of warmth when he had been guiding you up the stairs, that was also the first time he called you baby bird, with the way you coddled him so closely. his hands find itself patting your head, ruffling your hair and grinning as you both make your path through the halls.

he comes to immediately regret leaving you alone after he had introduced you to your room, remembering his duties as a vigilante than that of a brother.

but despite his early memories of you, he wants to see his baby sibling all grown up now.

had it really been years?

when was the last time you ever had a full-on conversation with him?

was there even a time that he had approached you by himself?

he had always called you baby bird after the first time you meet because of the age gap you two shared. the rare times he acknowledges you, you gave him that look filled with such adoration, like you were proud of him for being your older brother. why did he not notice you?

oh, his baby bird...

dick gulped, trying to ease his shivering by sitting on your neatly folded blankets and taking a worn diary in his hand, one at the bottom stack of books. well, if it was a personal diary then maybe you would've hidden it better, right? he figures since it was all placed on the center of the bed like a piece of treasure that... it would be alright to take just a glimpse.

to confirm if you still see him as your favorite brother.

dick's heartbeat spiked, hoping your entries would be filled with, he doesn't know, anything that didn't implicate some sort of hatred for the family, for him. hoping that despite his lack of attention towards you, that there would still be a spark of love for him. if what he thinks was actually true then... he doesn't know what to do with himself.

he flips through the first page, noting how it was bulkier than the others. the paper was filled with glittery decorations, sequence beads and cheap stickers sparkling at every angle the light hits. it was meant to be a design for the 'front cover' of the notebook, colors blended in a cacophony of rainbows and butterflies and flowers beyond the messy calligraphy that merely states "(name)'s diary!"

dick stifles a grin just from skimming through at the amount of mistakes and erasures, clearly written by the the younger version of you; naive to the world and its cruelty. he commends your creativity, his eyes softening at the few doodles that were written on the corners of the pages.

you're just too adorable for your own good, so much so that the thumping in dick's heart beats louder and louder, ears wringing uncomfortable inside your unventilated bedroom. but he just couldn't rip his eyes away from the diary, daydreaming about how proud you must've been when designing your own diary. he could picture your wide eyes, shy and harmless, and your feet kicking back and forth whilst you decorate your stuff.

everything was what he expected it to be on the first few pages of the diary. all your little rants about your daily life, your eargerness to meet your entire family from your father's side, and the hurt you experienced from your mother's sudden abandonment.

he would've skipped through another diary, one that lacked design and color, save for the name plastered on the front, if not for the grim undertones at every end of your entries despite the child-like manner it was written in.

it all started with "i wish to see my father soon and my big brother dick again!", "alfred told me my father can't come to the parent-teacher conference, he says he's in a veryyy important meeting :( but alfred would come!", "dick told me he can't help me with my science project but he promise he'll help me with something else later!" which halfway through the diary, your style fluctuates and lesser effort was exhausted on the writing.

one entry in particular, written on the last page of your diary, shattered a sliver of hope within dick, his breathing momentarily ceased from reading through your sentences; uncharacteristic of you, too mature for someone at the age of ten to write.

"XX/XX/XXXX.

dear diary, it's my tenth birthday today. i celebrated with my friends at school. they told me i always look down whenever it's my birthday. they think that bruce would throw a fancy celebration for me. i tried to hide my laughter from them. it's a really funny joke. i haven't seen him for months. i told dick that he was invited but i don't think he remembers it's my birthday today. alfred told me to come out of my room, he said he cooked my favorite dinner, that he's sorry he got my present late, but i don't want get out of my room. i heard dick is gonna watch a movie with tim later. i don't feel so good, my chest hurts, but i don't want to get out right now.

i'll eat the cupcake tomorrow."

it had been nearly two hours since dick had sat on your bed, eyes dilating whilst reading through your first diary. the cold season had already pricked his skin, but his entire body felt so unnaturally warm, a warmth that scorches him, searing deep into flesh. a lump had form in his throat, accompanying the hellish throbbing of his heart.

"fuck..." he brought his fingers to his head, carefully massaging his forehead but it relieves nothing. he wants to see you right now— he needs to talk to you. god, he has to apologize, he needs to see what you look like right now, needs to know if you're alright.

you're clearly not.

he has to oppress the urge to punch the walls, reminding himself that it's your room he's in and if he damages your already delicate property, then he's proving himself worse than he already is.

he rushes to grab another diary, the one at the top of the pile, skipping to the end of the page.

nothing. all the entries were months ago, all written in vague detail like you were starting to hide secrets. his teeth grinds against each other, frustration seeping through his veins.

he needs to— shit, he needs to find you right now. he needs to find his baby bird and make up for the all bullshit him and his family had done. if you were gone for months, even years; he doesn't even want to think about it.

but how?!

there were no signs of you. anything written your diary, your drawings, the trinkets on your bedside table— they signal no clues whatsoever, all dating back to months, even years. it's not possible at all, for nobody to notice your disappearance. dick would've noticed sooner. he should've noticed sooner. oh, he doesn't even want to think about the dangers that await you outside the mansion. with how naive you were about the outside world, you wouldn't last at all.

his baby bird wouldn't survive gotham's streets, especially not when winter was nearing.

think, grayson, think...

his phone!

he immediately reaches into his pockets to grab his phone, clammy fingers swifly encoding his password and opening his contacts.

your number was the quickest to find, it was the only one without an icon of you and an endearing nickname. he makes a mental note to change that soon and replaced your default name to your nickname.

then, without hesitation, he typed, "hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!" sending the message without rereading, foot tapping impatiently against the floor as he scrolls through all your previous messages.

messages that he should've replied to with the same level of enthusiasm as you. skimming through the past, unseen texts as your motivation began to dwindle the further he refused to reply back. he promises he'll never make you feel invisible again.

seconds feel like hours for him, as he blows raspberries to pass the time, too concentrated an ounce of a reply to even notice the entirely new presence inside the room.

it's alright to call you, yes? after all, dick just wanted to check in with his baby bird and see if you're doing swell and dandy and... safe without him...!

his thumbs pressed on the call button before he could think through his actions, his other hand runs through his hair, sweat running down his forehead as if he had ran a marathon.

he waited, and waited, and waited until the call beeped and provided its automated response. he calls you again but the line immediately cuts off, he tries to spam you with more messages but they weren't delivered.

you blocked him.

fuck, he messed up big time. he needs to get to the batcave. he needs to find your fucking location before it's too late. dick needs to see you again before he loses it.

but before he could carefully place your sketchbooks back to its rightful place, he sees a silhouette at the corner of his eyes; short figure, arms crossed, and a sneer on his eyes already tells him who it was.

damian wayne.

he forgot to train with damian today.

but it doesn't matter, damian has to see it for himself— what made dick so disheveled, so delirious. damian has to finally see just how much of a wonderful sibling you are.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: this was 4,600+ words and it drained the energy out of me. it was supposed to be posted tomorrow but i was too motivated !! i'm also quite proud of this chapter. it was a pain characterizing dick grayson and the reader. i really hope this is as good as the prequel because it's 3am right now and writing dick's part was a pain in the ass ^^' as always, please do comment or send asks if you like it for quicker updates!!!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @alishii, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @deadinside-09, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa (shoutout to her specifically because i got motivated from their comment!)

[gilverrwrites]

Meet Cutes Uglies Ft. Bruce, Dick, and Jason

GN!Reader, ≈500 words each

CWs: Mild/nonexplicit threats of violence, slut-shaming (but not really), swearing.

Bruce

The chances of bumping into a celebrity not once, twice, thrice, but four times in one day are low, but not impossible as you’re finding out.

It was kinda cool realising you’re stood behind him in line at the coffee shop, but not spectacularly cool or anything. Almost everyone you knew had a story about meeting Bruce, or another member of the Wayne family out in public so you weren’t overly excited. You just kept your head down, scrolling through your socials and wondering whether his drink was the iced cold brew, the fudge brownie hot chocolate, or the three pump vanilla no foam cappuccino. Your friend Jade was right, he is far ‘hunkier’ than the media gives him credit for, his piercing eyes really are that blue, and he smells good too, like bergamot and cedar.

It became somewhat more exciting when you'd headed to the library on your lunch break to return a book, only for him to already be there, chatting-up the librarians no less. Your friends were not going to believe this. He must sense you staring at him because he turns to look at you, when you make eye contact you smile, wondering if he might recognise you from the morning. He did not smile back.

Upon returning to work, the rest of your shift had been gruelling, job after job being piled onto your shoulders with minimal time to get them all done. You hadn’t even had the chance to tell your co-workers about your unlikely encounters with Gotham’s richest man. By the time you got off for the night, you were exhausted, the thought of having to cook dinner and wash the pots once you got home looming over you like a rain cloud until you decide to grab some take-out on your way home instead.

You’re barely out of the doors of Big Belly Burgers, a handful of fries hanging from your lips when you see him for the 3rd time. Bruce Wayne, on the sidewalk across the street, engrossed in what seemed to be a very intense telephone call. Weird.

You don’t have to wait long for the fourth encounter, it happens just a few blocks from your home. He’s much closer this time, a little too close for comfort maybe. You hadn’t seen it coming, one moment you’re rifling through your bag, looking for your keys, the next you’re suspended a few inches from the ground by a pair of strong hands fisted into the collar of your jacket. Instinctively you paw at him, one hand wrapping around his wrist, the other bunching up in the fabric of his sweater for faux support.  

You think for a moment you’re being mugged, until the familiar smell of wood and citrus hits your senses. Bruce Wayne is pressing you against the cold, damp wall of an alleyway, handsome face marred by its stern expression.

“Who are you?” He demands. “And why are you following me?”

>[Continued]<

Dick

The only thing worse than the feel of the uneven, filth-trodden pavements of Blüdhaven against your bare feet, is the thought of putting the torturous pair of dress shoes you’d worn last night back on. Perhaps you should have asked your hookup for something to wear, but that would almost certainly guarantee your having to see them again in order to return it and you’d happily walk barefoot across Tartarus before you let that happen.

Careful to avoid stepping in anything less than savoury, you keep your eyes glued to the floor, so focused on the things below you, that you don’t notice the things in front of you. The person in front of you, until you plough right into their admittedly firm chest.

The person in question reeks of stale alcohol, his shiny hair is a mess, there’s a shadow forming on his striking jawline, and the half-undone shirt he’s wearing is clearly wrinkled and stained from the night before. A fellow walk-of-shamer.

You stare at each other for a long moment before you realise you had bumped into him, therefore you should be the one to speak first.

“Oh, uh, sorry.” You murmur, voice hoarse.

“No problem.” He replied, far too chipper for his current predicament. His eyes rake up and down your body, and you might be vexed by it if you had not just been doing the same to him. “Why aren’t you wearing your shoes.”

“They hurt my feet.” You shrug, taking a cautious sidestep around him as you speak. “Just want to get home, they were slowing me down.”

That should be the end of it, but the sound of his dress boots tapping against the sidewalk follows you down the street. You can’t be certain, but you were pretty sure he’d been walking in the opposite direction prior to your collision. You cast a glance over your shoulder, and sure enough, he’s just a few steps behind you, offering you a striking smile that almost makes the grey morning feel brighter.

“Proposal?” He asks, and you stop to listen. Possibly because you’re genuinely intrigued, probably because your brain isn’t awake enough to tell your heart that you shouldn’t talk to strangers. “If I can get you home without you having to use your feet, will you go out for breakfast with me?”

“You’re really asking me out during a walk of shame?” You snicker, impressed by his audacity.

“We don’t shame in 2024, I prefer to call it a stride of pride.” He informs you, and he has a point. “Besides, might be fate that we walked into each other this fine morning, gotta give it a chance, right?”

“Right.” You agree, but your raised brow and puckered lips might suggest some scepticism. He doesn’t seem put off however, still beaming that brilliant smile at you. “And how do you plan on getting me home?”

“Easy.” He shakes his head, conveying his confidence as he beckons you closer by curling two fingers towards himself. You follow his direction and before you can comprehend what’s going on he’s crouching before you, threading his body between your legs and lifting you on his back, piggy style.

“So, where do you live?”

Jason

The coffee shop is that perfect level of busy that's not overwhelming but isn't too quiet as to be unsettling. Your drink is the ideal temperature, and the evening sun is seeping through the windows at just the right angle to warm your skin and add a golden glow to the atmosphere. By all accounts, this should be the perfect, relaxing moment, except… this book sucks.

You’d thought after years of recommendations from friends, many critically acclaimed adaptions, and its general status as a must-read classic that it was high time you picked it up, but you were about two-thirds in and thoroughly not enjoying yourself.

“Excuse me.” A low voice draws you from the pages of the book. You hadn’t noticed the 6ft+ mountain of tattooed muscle casting a shadow over your table until you looked into his eyes. Oh wow. You don’t know why he’s approached you, but whatever it is; he can have it. “Are you reading Lady Liatris?”

“I am.” You confer, lazily tilting the cover to show him, despite your reading choice already being apparent.

“Nice to meet a fellow bibliophile out in the wild. What do you think of it so far?” He smiles at you, reaching out a hand, your heart sinks as his strong fingers wrap around your own for a handshake.

“Well….” Handsome, well-read, confident enough to approach you, and you were about to blow it with your brutal honesty. “I haven’t finished it yet, so I won’t commit, but so far I am not impressed.”

“What?” He actually flinched. “No way. Where are you up to?”

“I just finished the bit where Claude professed his love for Florance at the flower show, which was the drollest thing I’ve ever read, and it went on and on for far too many pages.” It was probably impolite for you to be venting so quickly to this stranger, but you just couldn’t help it, the words just kept coming. “Not to mention its total lack of realistic feminism, you can’t just unveil your fencing champion to secretly be a woman and call it a day, every other woman in this book is either a two-dimensional gossiping villain or a two-dimensional love interest for the male side characters.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” The mystery man shakes his head at you in disbelief as he situates himself in the chair across from your own. “First of all, it was a product of its time, and is widely considered to be one of the greatest pieces of feminist literature despite its origins, secondly, did you not read any of Evie’s subplot?”

The conversation continues that way, back and forth. He emphasises his points with big sweeping, passionate movements of his arms. He nods his head and purses his lips when you make arguably good points and grits his teeth when he disagrees with you. Neither of you notice when the sun goes down, or your drinks going cold until the barista informs you both that they’ll be closing in a few minutes.

Shit. You’d been debating classic-lit with this guy for at least 2 hours, and you didn’t even know his name. The sentiment appears to be shared because he offers you a comically confused frown as he puts his jacket back on and offers you a hand standing from your seat.

You exit the café into the cool night air together. You’re not sure if you should ask his name and invite him over, or say goodbye, fortunately, he removes the need to decide by handing you a napkin with his name and number jotted onto it in black marker. Jason.

“Call me when you’ve finished the book.” He instructs, and then he gone.

[alisonwritesimagines]

Picture Perfect ~Batmom Imagine~

Summary: Damien wants to take the perfect photo for you.

Author’s Note: Posting this from my drafts because it is time for it to come out of hiding.

BatFam Masterlist

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: none, fluff

Do not repost this anywhere!

"Dick, sweetie. Please go tell Damian that he's going to be late for school. He's been upstairs for a while," you tell your oldest son as you tried to feed Martha.

"On it!"

Dick found Damian standing in front of the bathroom mirror, combing his hair to his idea of perfection.

"Damian. Mom said you're going to run late for school," Dick tells him.

“I wanna look good for picture day for Ummi,” Damien tells Dick.

“You know mom will love your pictures no matter what.”

“I know that but I want this to be extra special. After she had Martha, she’s been busy,” Damien explains.

“You know mom loves us no matter what. Sure she may be busy with Martha but that’s because Martha’s a newborn. She needs the attention at the moment. But you know mom will give you attention again soon.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Just make sure you’re in the car in ten minutes,” Dick told Damien.

“Of course.”

“You look so handsome, Damien!” You tell your son as he rushed down to the kitchen. “Cassandra, honey. Your ballet is divine but please be careful.”

“Sorry mom.”

“Have a good day at school, Damien! I look forward to seeing your pictures when we get them!” You smile sweetly at him.

“It’ll be the best you’ll have,” Damien tells you as he rushed out of the house with a bagel.

The moment Damien stepped into the school, he felt victorious. He succeeded in going into school without messing up his hair. That was until a student tripped and spilled their water bottle onto Damien.

——

His picture was anything but perfect. Damien handed you the framed photo before looking down in shame.

“Aw. I love it!” You chirped happily as you hugged Damien.

“You do?” Damien asked, looking up at you surprised.

“Trust me Damien. I have at least one awkward photo of all my children and you have added to my collection,” you say as you kissed his head.

“You really like it?” Damien asked you.

“If you want to do a redo picture, that’s fine with me. But I will be keeping this one no matter what,” you tell him.

“So when Martha has an awkward photo…”

“I’ll keep that one too. As long as I continue to have photos of my children, I’ll love them all.”

“I’ll do something even more special for you to make up for this!” Damien promised.

“And I look forward to it. But for now, let’s go ahead and hang this up,” you tell Damien as you put it with your other children’s pictures on your wall. You admired the photo before looking back at Damien.

“As long as I have pictures of you all, I don't mind how they look," you tell him.

---

“Come on. What’s taking so long?” Tim asked as he walked into Martha’s room.

“Martha doesn’t want to wear the bow!” Stephanie tells him.

“Come on Martha. Put on the pretty bow. Please,” Tim asked. Martha stared up at her older brother as she shook her head.

“What’s going on?” Damien asked as he walked into the room.

“Martha doesn’t want to put on the bow,” Tim said.

“Let me try. Come here Martha. Let’s put on the bow,” Damien said as he put the headband on his little sister. Martha smiled up at her older brother before reaching up for him to hold her.

“Why does she like you more?” Stephanie asked.

“Because I spend more time with her. Now let’s hurry. Mom and dad will be home soon and I want this photo to be perfect."

Your birthday was always celebrated lavishly. Bruce would fly in your closest family and friends for a dinner and anything else you wanted to do. So Damien thought this would be the perfect time to make up that horrible picture he took for picture day. As well for his siblings to also make up their own awkward school photos.

“Thank you Bruce for throwing me my birthday party. And thank you all for coming and celebrating with us,” you say out loud to everyone at your party.

“We would actually like to surprise our mom with a present gifted to her by her children,” Dick announced after you. You and Bruce looked at them as the kids brought in a wrapped gift.

“From us to you Ma. Happy birthday,” Jason said. You opened up the gift to see a framed photo of all the kids dressed in suits and dresses with a smile on their faces. You teared up as you stared at the photo.

“I love it!” You say.

“Now you can have all of us in one picture,” Damien said.

“I love it. Thank you sweetie,” you tell him as you kiss his head.

“We also took some individual photos to make up for our awkward school pictures,” Tim mentioned as he handed you another present.

“Thank you. I love it so much,” you say as you cried from happy tears.

Bonus:

“Come on you guys! Damien promised me we’d go to the arcade after this,” Martha said as she dragged two of her older siblings into the room.

“Sorry! Traffic was bad,” Tim said as he stood in between Jason and Damien.

“Remember how Martha didn’t want to put in her bow until Damien asked nicely?” Stephanie asked Tim.

“Those were the good ol days,” Tim sighed.

“Alrighty! Ready?” Cassandra asked.

“Perfect! Okay kids. Smile right over here,” the photographer said before taking the picture of the batkids.

It had been a tradition for the kids to take a picture all together every year for your birthday present. It was to show how each of them have grown over the years. No matter what was going on, each batkid had agreed to meet up one day a year with no excuses to take the photo for you.

"I think this is our best one yet," Damien said as he looked at the photos.

"Aright, see you all next year," Jason joked as he walked out.

"Come on! We gotta go!" Martha told Damien.

"Okay. Okay."

[coldfanbou]

Kinkcember Day 1: Maids

And so we begin this crazy month with a G!P Jihyo. Needed to say that as a warning.

Length: 2K

G!P Jihyo x Mreader

You look around your apartment and sigh. It was filled with empty boxes from packages you had long since opened and other trash. A sound at the door gets your attention, and you walk over; a flyer is at the front, slid underneath your door. “That’s the last thing I need,” you think to yourself before picking up the flyer and turning it over. “Maid Service” was written in big, bold letters across the top, and pictures of women in the stereotypical maid outfit were pictured under it. You look back at the mess in your apartment before considering calling the service. You think about how much work it would be to clean everything up and sigh before looking at the flyer again. “What’s the worst that can happen?” You say aloud before grabbing your phone and calling the number.

A woman picks up the phone on the other end, happily greeting you. “Hello, and thank you for calling Smile Maid Service. How can we help you?” 

“Uh, Hi, I’d like a maid to come over.”

“Of course, sir. Do you have anything that is particularly messy, like a kitchen or bathroom?” 

“No, nothing like that.”

“Okay, thank you, sir. Give me a moment while I get you a maid.” She tells you that you hear some typing in the background before she comes back to the line. “Okay, I just need a little more information. How long would you like to use our service?”

You glance at the mess and consider how long it might take someone to clean it up. “About three hours,” 

“Okay, and what is your address?” You give the woman your address, and after a minute of typing something, she updates you. “Alright, you’re all set. We’ll have our maid Jihyo go over; she’ll be there in thirty minutes. You will make your payment to her; she can take cash or a card. Thank you for calling Smile Maid Service. Have a wonderful day.” The woman hangs up, and you sit down in your living room. As you wait for Jihyo to arrive, you look around and feel embarrassed to have such a mess when someone is coming over. You break down the boxes, laying them on one side of the living room while you wait for Jihyo to arrive. 

There’s a knock on the door. You look at the clock; it must be Jihyo. “Smile Maid Service, Jihyo here!” You hear being shouted from the other side. You walk to the door and open it. Standing before you was a short woman dressed just like the women on the flyer. It’s frilly around the bottom and tight on the top, giving a nice shape to Jihyo’s chest. She steps inside and looks around without missing a beat. “Thank you for hiring me; I’ll get started right away.” She says with a smile. Seeing the flattened boxes on the ground, she picks them up, heaving them over her shoulder, and takes them to the trash downstairs before coming back to clean the room.

“You can rest; I’ll clean up here.” Jihyo huffs as she takes a deep breath. You sit back on the couch, watching Jihyo work diligently as she cleans your apartment. You can’t help but stare at her; Jihyo was beautiful, and the maid outfit made her look better. You were getting hard watching her work. “Hey, Jihyo.”

“Yes?” Jihyo turns around to you, flashing some money in her face. 

“Could I see you work with your tits out?” You ask bluntly. 

The sudden request takes Jihyo aback, and she takes a moment to recover. She glances at the money before shaking her head. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t—" You pull out larger bills before she can finish her sentence. 

“How about this much?” Jihyo bites her lip as she stares at the money before her. It’s no small amount. She hangs her head as she agrees, feeling shameful as she takes the money. Jihyo turns around, reaching behind her back and finding the zipper to her dress. She pulls it down slowly, her lavender bra showing as she stops just above her waist. The young woman unclasps her bra, holding the large cups against her chest before pulling them away from her body. Jihyo's chest heaves as she takes in a deep breath. 

“Happy sir?” She says with a slight smile. You nod, and Jihyo soon returns to cleaning, her tits jiggling as she moves from side to side. Jihyo begins to make a conscious effort to slow her movements in an attempt to stop her breasts from moving. 

While she’s doing that, you stare at her tits, noting her hard brown nipples. Jihyo continued to work, growing uncomfortable at the attention she was receiving. She was getting hard at the attention you were giving her, a small tent forming on the lower half of her outfit. Jihyo tries to continue working, but her dress gets in the way. You notice the small tent and bring it up. “Jihyo, it looks like your dress is getting in the way. Why don’t you take it off, too?” You tell her, flashing even more money her way.

She gives you a slight nod and places her hands on the zipper of her outfit, lowering it slightly before moving her hands around to her waist and pushing the maid outfit off her body. Jihyo's hard cock was barely restrained by her panties. As much as she felt embarrassed by the situation, Jihyo was also getting turned on. It was the first time someone had wielded their power over her like this. “You know what? Take the panties off, too. I want to see you naked.” You tell her, adding more bills to her growing pile. Jihyo doesn’t resist, bending herself over and removing her panties. She stands back up slowly and continues working around the house, naked, her cock still hard and twitching as she imagines what you’ll have her do next. 

When Jihyo leaves the living room to clean another room in the home, you take the time to strip down, and when she returns, she immediately notices. Her eyes remain glued to your cock for what seems like forever; her own cock twitches at the sight, but soon enough, she manages to pull herself away and continue her work.

You stroke your cock as you watch the young woman. Jihyo can’t help but glance at you; her body feels warmer whenever she does, and she finds herself in more revealing positions as she cleans. Jihyo would bend over when she cleaned the lower shelves over your bookcase, giving you a good view of her body, or as of now, she was squatting between your legs, cleaning the coffee table in front of you. She rose slowly, allowing you a close look at her ass. 

You struggle to resist touching her and eventually give in to your desires. You spread Jihyo’s cheeks and dive in, running your tongue around her puckered asshole. Jihyo moans instantly, her cock twitching as she’s hit with a sudden rush of pleasure. Jihyo uses the table to support herself as she fills your home with her moans. She curls her toes and reaches for her cock, stroking it slowly as she feels your tongue push into her ass. “Oh, fuck,” She groans, moving her hand faster. She didn’t care that she just met you; you’re giving her money and pleasure.

Jihyo thought about how she could get used to it. She pushed her hips back, letting you snake her tongue deeper inside of her. Jihyo began to stroke her cock quickly as she felt herself get closer to cumming. You pulled one of your hands back and slapped her ass hard, a loud crack filling the room, followed by Jihyo’s moan. She bit her lip and began whining; her cock leaked precum onto her hand as she got ever closer. “I’m cumming; oh god, I’m cumming, she moaned. Her legs became weak, and she struggled to stand. You stood up and held Jihyo’s body up; your other hand went over her,s and you began to stroke her cock quickly. Jihyo’s whines only got louder as you pushed her over the edge and made her cum. You sit back on your couch, bringing Jihyo onto your lap as you continue to stroke her cock, milking more of her cum out of her.  

Jihyo turns her head slowly, pushing her lips outward for a kiss.  You grant her one, snaking your tongue into her mouth as you move your hands to her tits and squeeze them, enjoying their softness. You break the kiss quickly and grab Jihyo’s dirtied hand, bringing it up to her lips and forcing her to taste her cum.

Jihyo’s muffled moans continue as you play with her body. “Sir, hold on.” She groans, “Sir, do you like my body that much?” When you give her nod, she continues, “I’d be happy to quit my job and be your personal maid if you keep paying me as much as you have.” You consider her offer, running your fingers over her hard nipples as you think about it. “Master, please,” she whispers, rubbing her ass against your cock. 

It’s enough to make you agree, “Alright, you have a deal. Now why don’t you put those tits to good use.”

Jihyo smirks and climbs off your lap. She kneels between your legs and cups her tits, bringing them to your cock and surrounding it. Jihyo spits on her soft mounds and begins to rub your cock, spreading her saliva around her tits and your cock. “Is this good, Master?” 

“Yeah, real good,” You groan. You shut your eyes and enjoy the feeling of her tits moving up and down your shaft. You don’t react to Jihyo wrapping her lips around the tip when it pokes through her tits; you just enjoy the experience. Jihyo pumps your cock between her tits quickly. When you open your eyes again, you see her using her nipples against the tip of your cock. “I think that’s enough, Jihyo. I want you.” Jihyo rises and offers herself to you, climbing onto the couch and bending over the armrest. 

She shakes her ass for you, “Fuck me, Master,” she says in a sweet voice. You come up behind her and press the head of your cock against her puckered asshole and begin pushing. Jihyo groans as she feels your cock start to fill her guts. Inch by inch, you move inside her, stretching her tight asshole around your cock. You play with Jihyo’s tits, enjoying the large mounds while Jihyo strokes her cock. Her moans fill the room; Jihyo’s eyes roll into the back of her head as the pleasure overcomes her. Her entire body tingles as you begin to thrust. 

Jihyo’s walls cling to your cock, squeezing you roughly. Every thrust takes a lot of energy out of you but gives you more pleasure in return. You spank Jihyo roughly, every smack turning her ass a deeper shade of red. As you make her walls slick with her saliva, your thrusts become faster, and you drive your cock deep into Jihyo’s ass, making her cry out in pleasure as her incoming climax torments her.

Precum covers Jihyo’s hand as she strokes her cock; her whines become loud as she struggles with the immense pleasure. You pull on Jihyo’s nipples, mixing in some more pain. “I’m cumming, Master!” she cries, forcing her eyes shut as she feels the tension in her body explodes. Jihyo spurts cum into her hand again as she cums. You feel her wall tighten around your cock, making you grunt as you feel your orgasm coming. 

You continue thrusting and move your hand down to Jihyo’s cock, gripping it tightly before stroking it quickly. Jihyo grimaces as you overstimulate her. Your quick strokes bring Jihyo to another climax as you slam yourself deep inside her ass and fill her with your cum. You turn Jihyo’s head and kiss her, happy that you spent the money on her. “You’re going to live here now, Jihyo; I’m going to need you at all times.”

Jihyo smiles and nods at you, “Okay, Master.”

[harmeu]

GUILT

(HSR MEN X READER) (ANGST)

(GN!READER) 

Synopsis: You and Sunday were dating but then you overhear him talking to those who work with him about how you’re just a pawn for his games.

SUNDAY:

Soft footsteps echoed as you walked through the halls of where your beloved boyfriend Sunday lived. Though a feeling of unknown dread crawled onto you as if warning you of something soon happening.

Click. Click. Click.

Your eyes lit up as you heard your boyfriend speaking to those who worked under him and you couldn't help but eavesdrop. The curiosity of how he acted when he wasn’t around you dwelling in your mind.

“It’s simple. I’m using them. They are just one step closer for me to get closer to my goals.” Sunday said with a calm smile, hands gently tracing his desk looking down at the men who were talking to him.

You were confused.

What were they talking about?

“Sir..are you sure? Aren’t they attached?”

“My so-called significant other is definitely attached. Though that benefits me. Much. More. Easier. To manipulate.”

You paled.

He was using you.

Tears bubbled up in your eyes and you held your hand to your mouth to stifle any noises of sadness that were threatening to come out.

Hitching and turning on your shoe you make a dash for it unaware that Sunday caught a glimpse through the slit of the door open with his eyes. His wings twitched in surprise and soon lowered as a disgusting feeling of shame hit him.

It was an oddity for Sunday.

“Oh dear.” He murmured out making his way out to find you.

Synopsis: Aventurine and you dated but when he bets you in a game everything goes downhill.

AVENTURINE:

You catch your boyfriend, the renowned gambler betting as usual. You told him his hobby wasn't good. But as if that would stop him. Eventually you gave up and just let him do what he wanted despite worry filling you each time he pushed a chip forward with his iconic trademark smirk. 

“Babe..” You murmur out unease written all over your face.

“Oh! Hey darling~ this man just won’t seem to give up..even after I basically drained his savings. He’s penniless and now putting bets on things he doesn't even own!” Aventurine chuckled, holding his head amused.

“Maybe you should stop? It's getting intense, no.?” You worriedly whisper out.

“Oh no no no sweetheart. Once you go in. You can’t come out.”

“Huh?” You fluster.

“In gambling! What were you thinking of?” His smirk grew and became more toothly as you spluttered but it soon died down as Aventurine noticed that the man he was gambling with was slowly earning his chips back.

“You pull up a tough fight.” Aventurine spoke and you just knew he was going to pull an impulsive move. 

“Seems my chips have vanished. What a shame. Yet I do not intend to lose. I bet..my darling sweetheart right here.” 

You flinched at his words staring at him with a ‘did you really just say that’’ look making Aventurine smack back into reality.

“Oh..doll wait I didn’t mea-”

He got cut off by you walking off.

Ping! New message!

(AVENTURINE HAS SENT $1,000,000)

Synopsis: Dating Dr. Ratio was nice. Though he puts more time with other matters, neglecting you.

DR RATIO:

You hadn’t seen your boyfriend Veritas in a while because of him either studying, working, teaching others, or doing something other than hanging out with you. You're aware of his passion to join the Genius Society but he can work on that while hanging out with you too right?

You felt left out.

So you decided to make your way to his office excited to see him but also a bit nervous due to the thought of him brushing you away to work on something else.

You knocked.

“Come in.” You hear his British pompous voice making you crack a small smile not hearing it in a while.

“Veritas..” You open the door smiling but it broke as you saw him writing down something in his notebook not bothering to spare a glance at you.

“What is it? I’m quite busy.” He whispered out, still looking engrossed in his work.

“Do..you want to hang out? It’s been a while and I’ve been worried about you overworking yourself. And I miss seeing you.” You blush at your own words staring at him.

Veritas sighed, dropping his pen and rubbing his temples.

“Dear how many times must I have to tell you that I am busy?” Annoyance is apparent in his tone making your eyes droop in defeat.

“Oh. Sorry. I just wanted to ask..since it's been such a long time.” Another sigh left Veritas as he ran a hand through his hair and finally made eye contact with you.

“I’m doing work at the moment so please leave me to it.” He picked up his pen again taking a glance at you but his eyes widened as he saw your vulnerable expression of defeat. You nodded softly and shut the door leaving.

Veritas stared at the door, his heart clenching in what he just did. Guilt poured onto it.

“My lord.” He murmured holding his now aching head.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Unhinged two

Jason Todd x Reader

MDNI

(part one)

wc: 1.2 K summary: your roommate finds your messages you send your friend about him. warnings: suggestive content, no y/n used a/n: since some of you wanted a part two of this, I gladly made one. (this came out a little rushed as well, not proofread! sorry!!) Enjoy!!

The moment he left the room, you grabbed your phone and made sure to never open that chat again. You still feel borderline embarrassed and ashamed, realising how weird it is.

Sighing out, you calm yourself down and sip on your tea, hands trembling from your racing heart. After another exhale, you start to think of what to do.

You need to apologise. That‘s the least you could do with a situation like this, after… you can‘t even think about it!

From the silence that lingers around the whole apartment, it‘s clear that Jason is probably expiriencing a mental breakdown too. Now that you think about it, you can‘t really imagine how he feels like after finding out about your dirty thoughts about him.

You don‘t even finish your tea before you sprint off the living room, throwing over your coat and storm outside to get him a proper apology.

Meanwhile, Jason is concerned. He started to look for his therapist‘s number on his phone, but hesitated actually clicking on it. What, should he say that he read through his roommate‘s messages and now wants to kill himself because of the pure filth that was written about him?

No, surely no one will believe him, or at least make fun of him if they believe him.

The safest option would be to keep it for himself, or tell Dick. Yeah, the safest option would be to keep it to himself.

Outisde of his room, he hears the front door click open again, laying his phone down as he contemplates wether to go out or not. His thoughts get interrupted once he hears soft knocks against it.

»Yeah?« Shit, he should‘ve said he is busy.

»Can I come in? I, um… I need to apologise.«

A hint of shame comes through your tone, head hanging low behind the door. There‘s clearly nothing more pathetic than this situation. The silence that follows after only makes your nerves run higher, making your shift on your feet.

»‘Kay.«

Jason is great at pretending to be non-chalant. But it‘s an answer, at least.

So you walk in. And stop in the doorframe, boquet of flowers in hand, his favourite order at the local fast food restaurant in the other. A pathetic expression on your face. He has to stop himself from reacting surprised and both pleased at the action, remembering what happened just a few moments ago.

»So… about those messages. I won‘t sugarcoat it, I did send them, there‘s no excuse I can use. But I won‘t do that again and I don‘t actually think of you in that way. I just… had to describe to my friend how you look like.«

You shrug at the end, placing the smaller paperbag onto his nightstand and hold the boquet in both of your hands for now. It‘s difficult, embarrassing and devistating, saying something in hopes that he will forgive you and let you stay in the shared apartment.

Truth be told, Jason couldn‘t feel more touched by this, trying so hard to keep his composure. He fails either way, the corners of his mouth curling up ever so faintly as he shakes his head.

»You didn‘t need to bring me flowers for that, but… thanks? And, I won‘t look into your phone again. Ever.«

That‘s a relief, handing over the boquet of flowers anyway. He takes them, finally smiling down at them. That‘s not how he expected to receive flowers, he never thought he would get them at some point in his life anyway.

»There‘s also you favourite order, I‘ll leave for now, just… uh— don‘t kick me out.«

Now he has to chuckle, putting the flowers away before he takes a look into the bag of food.

»Oh, I won‘t. It would be boring without you, no?«

He muses as he glances back up to you, an amused and teasing glint in his eye. Of course… he will never let you live that down.

From then on, every time you were slightly annoyed over something he did, Jason simply pulled out the ‚Remember how you talked about me to your friend?‘-card and instantly makes you shut up. But sometimes, you ignore that and go on about the rant you were currently holding.

»No, Jason, I don‘t care, and this happened two months ago! You should be able to clean at least the counter after cooking or baking something.«

You track back to the current argument, waving frustrated to the countertop that has traces from flour and butter.

Instead of getting hissy too, he simply tilts his head, boxing you up against said counter.

»Say again?«

You go silent, staring up at him with big, shocked eyes, standing there at a loss of words.

In short, his ego grew a lot bigger after the initial shock wore off. He started to use such tactics in harmless arguments, before he just used them randomly to tease you. And lucky for him, it worked every damn time. He is sure you already texted every single encounter like this to your dear friend – and he is dying to know if his theory is true – but he won‘t check your phone again, simply too scared at the same time.

On the other hand, you are secretly enjoying it. No, loving it. What do you mean your hot roommate flirts with you randomly for no reason? You would never trade that for anything else.

The same thing happens on a casual saturday, leaning over the kitchen counter as you scroll through some new recipes on your phone. Jason walks in through the front door, ever so silent that you don‘t notice him coming in, before you hear his soft voice mumble near your ear.

»Watcha cooking?« His hand rests on the counter by your side, dangerously close for your own comfort. But you wont back away or say anything against it, answering him back instead.

»Nothing yet. Looking through stuff.«

He hums in acknowledgement, resting his chin on your shoulder while he watches your phone too.

»Wanna cook something together, then? I brought some groceries.« His hand brushes against your side as he leans away, starting to sort through the bag and put the stuff away that he bought.

After an easy agreement, you both settle on making something simple for dinner, not wanting to waste your energy on something new.

Cooking with him would be relaxing, if his hand wouldn‘t linger around your back or waist every minute. You grew used to it after some time, but it still never fails to make you slightly distracted on your current task.

In general, you noticed that Jason became way more touchy with you after the incident, as well as teasing. You try not mentioning it and simply never talk about it in hopes this will never end, but he secretly wishes you would.

He made a single masterplan in his mind on ultimately asking you out once you start to mention his antics, but there‘s no luck so far. Okay, guilty as charged, he did talk about that with his brother Dick. He follows his advice half-heartedly, hoping for some miracle to happen at the same time until you notice his signs.

←MASTERLIST

[kaisacobra]

I Dare You - Tara Carpenter

Summary: When Amber Freeman, Tara's best friend (and secret crush) dares her to win a random person over, she thinks it's gonna be an easy task. What she wasn't expecting, however, was that y/n y/l was far more interesting than she thought.

Warnings: Painter!Fem!Reader, very small mentions of sex and alcohol, non-canon/high school!AU, angst? ish?

W.C: 6.0k

a/n: She's back! This is probably not my best one but i was desperate to write something again and end my awful writers block. Anyways, i do think this will be a small series so stay tuned for that!

Tara’s head was pounding.

The school day had barely started and she couldn't stand being there any longer. Contrary to what many might think, her discomfort didn't come from the noise of lockers banging or the loud chatter and laughter of the students in the hallways. In fact, the reason had a first and last name: Amber Freeman, her best friend and secret crush, who seemed very intent on recounting every detail of her hookup with a girl last night.

“And then she asked me to...”

“That's enough! I definitely don't need to hear about what sex position you used, or anything like that.” Tara held up one hand, grimacing in disgust as Amber laughed beside her, opening her locker without the slightest shame at what she had said.

“Come on, Tara! Don't be so grumpy.” The dark-haired girl gave her a fake pout, purposely trying to annoy her friend. “I needed that! Do you know how long it's been since I've been with anyone? Too long!” 

And not only did Tara know how long it had been since Amber had kissed anyone, she also knew exactly why it had happened. Tara had a certain advantage at school for hanging out with Amber, who carried the title of most popular and desired girl for her unattainable energy, memorable parties and, of course, singular beauty.

Hanging out with Amber and basically being her right-hand woman meant that Tara was also popular by proxy. The students knew exactly who she was and, what's more, they knew that if they messed with Tara, they would have to deal with the wrath of the implacable Amber Freeman, which came in handy when Tara needed to “gently” convince multiple people in the school that Amber would never be interested in them behind her back. 

Apparently, someone had slipped through her fingers. 

Tara didn't bother to offer an answer to her friend, just rolling her eyes and closing her locker without much strength, so as not to make her growing migraine even worse. Unfortunately, Amber had never been the kind of person to wait for an opening to speak her mind. “You know, I bet that bad mood of yours would be cured if you loosened up a little bit. When was the last time you kissed anyone?” 

“Who kissed who?” 

Tara leaned her shoulder on the locker behind her to watch the arrival of Wes, closely followed by Liv and Chad, who walked hand in hand, followed by the stares of the crowd of teenagers who either wanted to be them or wanted them to be gone. The trio, along with Tara and Amber, were considered the “popular crew” at Woodsboro High School, even though the Carpenter girl hated the term because she considered it extremely cliché and tacky.

Liv and Chad were the typical American high school couple made up of a cheerleader and a soccer player. Tara had known Chad the longest, having him as a childhood friend, and she watched first-hand as he became more and more enamored of his influence through his status as a star quarterback, especially as he gained the attention of his current girlfriend and the entire school. Liv was the typical mean girl cheerleader who was extremely empty and desperate to stay relevant in the social hierarchy. Tara didn't understand what Chad saw in her, but she put up with the girl because Amber wanted her around for some reason. 

Wes, on the other hand, was an exception. He used to be a loner until Amber took him under her wing after she discovered his status as the sheriff's son, which the girl used as a pass to get out of trouble more easily. Wes knew that his position in the group was fragile and so he constantly tried to compensate by bringing up gossip that he found out about the whole school.

He was still waiting for an answer when Amber slipped an arm around Tara's shoulders, ruffling her hair. “Tara here is in a bad mood today. I was trying to tell her that the way to solve it is with a good makeout sesh.”

You could help me with that, Tara thought, but other words came out of her mouth, “Shut up. I'm just not in the mood for anything right now, that's all.”

Tara knew that hooking up with Amber, if it ever happened, would be both her blessing and her curse. Amber was the type of girl who would rather die than get into a serious relationship and, if Tara was going to be honest, she knew the girl would be a terrible girlfriend. Too bad her little crush couldn’t think rationally.

Liv smirked in her usual evil little laugh. “Yeah. I bet you're only saying that because you've been left on the shelf.”

Amber and Wes hissed and whistled teasingly, trying to get an even bigger reaction out of Tara. Chad raised his eyebrows in shock, glancing briefly at the shorter girl before focusing down on his phone. Tara felt a wave of pride and piled up anger rise up inside her. She crossed her arms defensively, scoffing as she glared at Liv. “Oh, please. You know very well that I could get with whoever I wanted at this school.”

Okay, maybe the words were a bit exaggerated and presumptuous, but it's not like she was wrong. Popularity aside, Tara knew damn well that she was a pretty girl and she wasn't afraid or ashamed to use her charms to get what she wanted sometimes.

“Whoever you wanted, huh?” Amber smiled mischievously as she heard the phrase and the evil glint in her dark eyes, which usually appeared when she was coming up with her crazy plans, began to show. “Interesting. We should prove that somehow, Carpenter.”

“Whatever.” Tara rolled her eyes, internally wishing that the matter would be closed soon. The more Amber stared at her like that, the redder Tara’s cheeks became and that was going to be impossible to hide in a few minutes.

“Ah, ah! Don't chicken out now, Carpenter.” The raven haired girl raised her index finger, shaking it in a negative. “I've got a great idea! Why don't I just pick a random person and you have to hookup with them, hm? Come on, Tara. I dare you.”

The three other teens let out more roars of approval, patting Amber on the shoulder for her brilliant idea and trying to convince Tara to go through with the challenge, offering half encouraging words and half biased questions along with “Are you scared?” and “Can you handle it?”.

The Carpenter girl felt at a crossroads. On the one hand, she definitely didn't want to do it. Her small (and growing) crush on Amber was already too much sentimental work for her, not to mention the fact that she wasn't at all keen on the idea of kissing some random stranger, especially knowing that Amber would choose the most embarrassing option possible.

On the other hand, a part of her was always tempted to indulge Amber Freeman's desires, eagerly searching for a hint of approval or recognition in those umber eyes that usually carried nothing but sarcasm and boredom.

So Tara didn't even have to consider long before she groaned in displeasure, closing her eyes and leaning her head back until it rested on the locket’s door. “Fine, whatever. But if you pick some weirdo who eats his own snot, I swear...”

Tara's thoughts were interrupted by the loud noise of something hitting the floor, followed by some snickering and murmuring from everyone in the hallways. She lifted her head to see through the crowd, searching for the reason for the commotion while already hearing her friends laughing beside her.

When the crowd finally cleared enough for Tara to be able to see, she was faced with the scene of a girl slowly picking herself up off the ground, peeling off a canvas that still looked wet from her T-shirt, now completely stained with paint. Another football player seemed to be trying to apologize for something, to which the girl only responded with a nod of her still lowered head.

"Holy shit." Amber laughed, holding her stomach as if she were at a comedy show. "What a dumbass. Hey, isn't that one of Mindy's little friends?"

Chad looked up, looking away from his phone when he heard his twin sister's name being mentioned. He let out a sound of confusion at first, but following the gaze of the others, the boy finally nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Y/n Y/l."

Tara watches with furrowed brows as the girl walks further into the corridor, clearly unhappy with her ruined painting and clothes. When she focuses back on her friends, Amber's mischievous gaze is already on her. "I think we've met your challenge, Tara."

The shorter girl's eyes widened comically and she noticed out of the corner of her eye that Chad had a similar reaction

Mindy used to be part of the group made up of the childhood friends: Tara, Chad, Mindy and Amber, at least until the beginning of high school, when everything related to her became a forbidden topic and the group underwent a change of members. What happened was that the girl had called Amber a bitch for cheating on Mindy with her girlfriend at the time, causing a rift that was never repaired. Chad had to beg Amber not to do anything drastic against his sister, which she begrudgingly accepted, but also didn't allow any of the others to have contact with her.

"Amber, are you sure?" Tara subtly tried to change Freeman's mind, already anticipating the huge mess that could arise between the former friends. "I mean, she's Mindy's friend and she's kind of quiet. Maybe she hasn't even kissed anyone yet."

A bit harsh, but that's the impression Tara got from the little she knew about you. She had never heard you speak in any of the classes you had together, she always saw you either with Mindy's group or on your own and the most she knew was that you were good enough at painting to paint a mural behind the bleachers at the school's request.

Unfortunately, Amber couldn't care less about any of these set of reasons. In fact, they even seemed to encourage the dark-eyed girl, who just shrugged. "Even better. You'd be doing her a favor and we wouldn't be attacking Mindy directly. Sounds like a win-win to me."

Tara looked at the others, analyzing their reactions to the plan. Wes and Liv had already agreed to it a long time ago and were now trying to pressure the shorter girl into accepting. Chad met Tara's gaze and shrugged, although his wrinkled forehead gave away his distaste for the whole idea.

The Carpenter girl sighed, suddenly feeling crowded despite only having four people around her and an entire hallway available for her to run down if she wanted to.

The problem was that she didn't. Not when Amber's beautiful manic eyes were staring at her with such expectation, making Tara's stomach do somersaults. So Tara just nodded her head in a yes, receiving happy shouting and pats on the shoulder as a reward.

"Y/n Y/l is the target, then."

_

To say that your day sucked would be an understatement.

First of all, you'd spent the whole week racking your brains, trying to somehow find inspiration to do a painting for art class, but your creativity had gone out the window. The best you could do to produce your teacher's homework request: “Represent a personal happy moment”, was an adaptation of a Polaroid you had taken with your friends a few months ago.

Being a perfectionist who already thought your artwork wasn't good enough, you decided to add a few touches on it a few minutes before arriving at school, trying to convince your inner art critic that the painting wasn't so bad.

Unfortunately, the second problem came at the exact same minute you set foot in the school, or rather, the minute one of the football idiots stepped in your way, causing you to trip and fall right on top of the canvas that wasn't yet dry.

You barely heard the boy's apology, just nodding and struggling to get out of the hall as quickly as possible, wishing the ground would swallow you up soon so you couldn't hear the loud snickering of the other people in the hallways.

Luckily for you (because something in your day had to go right), you had a spare T-shirt in your locker, near the art room. It wasn't the prettiest thing in the world, having a big Jason vs Michael Myers fan art printed on it, but at least it was better than spending the rest of the day in a shirt that looked like it had been vomited on by a unicorn.

You sighed, placing the canvas, now destroyed, on one of the empty easels in the art room. The once uniform colors now blended into a mess of paint that, until earlier today, had represented your face next to those of your friends, enjoying a summer's day in Woodsboro. The green of Anika's blouse had mixed with the chocolate of Mindy's skin, the white of the sun had stained the brown of Ethan's hair and the faces of the four of you had become a single blur, exactly where you had crashed into earlier.

“I thought you didn't do abstracts.” A familiar voice echoed into the room and you turned just in time to see your favorite teacher, Ms. Crane, entering the room with her typical warm smile. As always, the art teacher was wearing a light dress and her blonde hair was perfectly tied up in a bun, which by this point was her trademark.

“I don't.” You replied simply, pointing disappointingly at the disaster on canvas you had made. “I couldn't think of anything during all week so I tried to finish it this morning, but then the paint wouldn't dry and I ended up falling on it.”

The teacher grimaced, her big blue eyes looking at you with some concern as she left her bag on her desk. “Creativity block? You've never had a problem with that before. Should I be worried that it's happened just when the theme was having a happy moment?”

You quickly nodded, trying to relieve the woman’s nerves. You weren't a sad person at all, although many people thought so because of your withdrawn behavior. You had a good life, you were a good student with a clear talent for the arts, and you had a sincere friendship in Mindy, Anika and Ethan, who had already met all the social needs you might have had.

The real issue with this project was that none of your attempts seemed right, always seeming to be missing some element or another between the memories in your brain and the movements of the brush in your hand. And yes, Ms. Crane was right about this never happening before, which was what made you the most frustrated.

The woman seemed to understand your internal dilemma and her gaze softened. “Why don't I give you another week to finish, hm? You're one of our best artists, y/n. I know you can make masterpieces when you have your head on the right place.”

And that was the reason why the woman was your favorite teacher, far beyond just being the one responsible for the art subject. Laura Crane was extremely human and compassionate towards all of her students, even those who weren't good artists or those who went to class just to admire the young teacher's beauty.

“Thank you, Ms. Crane.” You nod, feeling some of the weight on your chest being lifted. The woman waved her hand dismissively, acting as if she hadn't done anything much, even though you knew she had just done way more than any of the other old vultures who worked at the school.

You spent the rest of the day with that in your head. Your mind twisted and turned trying to find a glimmer of inspiration for your work, desperately trying to think of something that could represent your best moment of personal happiness on a 60 x 100cm canvas. The extra deadline Ms. Crane had given you made your perfectionist side feel even more intense, wanting to make a piece impressive enough to justify your lost time.

Your thoughts clouded your mind so intensely that you mechanically made your way to the history room, sitting down in your usual chair without really paying attention to your surroundings. The room, little by little, was filled up with students and, along with them, came the loud noise of chatter and chairs being dragged around. But even so, your eyes remained focused on a blank sheet of paper in front of you, while the pencil in your hand almost had to cry out for help because of the strength with which you were holding it.

You couldn’t even draw a sketch. Goddammit, what was wrong with you?!

“Can I borrow a pen?”

You snapped out of your stupor when you heard a soft voice close to your ear. Raising your head a little too quickly, you found yourself facing beautiful brown eyes and dimples on either side of a smile. Honestly, that sight scared you even more because why was Tara Carpenter, resident popular girl, talking to you at that moment?

It's not like you cared about the whole “social pyramid” and “popularity ranking” thing that mattered so much to some people at your school, but you knew that Tara and her friends didn't have the best track record with your best friend, Mindy. You didn't know the full story, but the fact that Mindy always cursed them every time the group passed by you gave you an idea that maybe they weren't such good people.

Tara noticed the confusion on your face, thinking it was due to the sudden question and not due to her presence in general, and decided to humorously complement the question. “I left all of mine at home, can you believe it?”

Not really, you were tempted to answer, but you kept your thoughts to yourself. You spent a few more seconds analyzing the girl, trying to understand why she had asked you for the pen and not the other people in the room she usually sat nearby. Tara was still patiently standing next to you, leaning slightly towards your direction, and she didn't seem to be in any rush, nor did she seem to have any bad intentions.

Overall, the only mean ones in her group of popular people were Amber and Liv, but they usually liked to be offensive directly to the faces of the students they chose as victims. The fact that Tara hung out with them was no green flag, of course, but from what little you knew of her, the girl didn't seem to be the teaser or prankster type.

With that in mind, you pulled one of the pens you used the least out of your bag and raised it towards the girl, offering it without muttering a word, wishing that the awkward (at least for you) conversation would end soon.

Unfortunately, Tara didn't seem to share the same opinion, because she pulled out the chair right next to you to sit down, dropping her black bag carelessly on the side of the table and pointing at your clothes. “Nice shirt. Team Jason or team Michael?”

The question mark in your head seemed to get even bigger with the casualness with which Tara was talking to you. You knew that the girl didn't talk to many people apart from her friends and you knew even better that they generally tried to ignore your existence along with Ethan, Anika and Mindy.

Still, horror movies were your passion and you couldn't pass up the chance to talk about one of your favorite topics with a new person.

“Well, it depends on which parameter we're using. Overall, I like the Halloween franchise better and I prefer Michael Myers’ aesthetic, but I think Jason has a better lore and he would definitely win in a fight.” You tried to keep your yapping contained, not knowing exactly how interested Tara really was in your opinion, but you were surprised to see a twinkle in the girl's eye and a mischievous smile bloom on her face.

“Michael is much faster and smarter than Jason, there's no chance of him losing in a fight.”

“Zombie Jason was literally immortal, Michael and his kitchen knife wouldn't stand a chance against him.”

The two of you continued to talk and go back and forth with each other's comments as if it was something you did every day. Being so intrigued and immersed in the topic of the conversation almost made you forget that you were talking to Tara Carpenter, with whom you had never exchanged more than three words in your life before, but both of you only stopped talking when the teacher called your attention, asking for you to be quiet so that he could start the lesson.

Tara didn't seem as shocked by the interaction as you were and, in fact, she continued to sit next to you even though her usual chair on the other side of the room was empty. She gave you a complicit wink before turning to face forward, a satisfied smile still playing on her face, as if she had been the winner from that debate.

And you? You did your best to pay attention in the rest of the class and not keep reliving the interaction in your head, trying to convince yourself that that conversation had been a glitch in the matrix and would probably never happen again, but it was hard now that you knew how nice Tara could be and after you had noticed the way her freckles seemed to dance across her face when she smiled.

_

“Earth to y/n?”

The voice of your best friend, Mindy, snapped you back to reality, making your cheeks feel warm. It was lunchtime and you, Mindy, Anika and Ethan were sitting at your usual table, which was a wooden picnic table, conveniently placed under the shade of a huge tree. A few meters away, closer to the cafeteria doors, was the circular table that was always occupied by the popular kids, surrounded by people who intruded on the group's chatter to pretend they were close to them at some level.

Usually you would never look in that direction and would instead be in a conversation with your friends about anything, but you couldn't stop thinking about the randomness of the moment you had with Tara earlier.

Your eyes turned to Mindy on the other side of the table, who frowned as she realized that you were intently watching the table of the people she hated most at school. Anika, next to her, followed your gaze and the edges of her lips fell in concern. “What? Did they do something?”

“Did they do something to you?!” Ethan asked alarmed, his body leaning towards you enough to make you uncomfortable at the invasion of your personal space. It was no secret to anyone that the boy was in love with you, especially because he had confessed it multiple times. However, no matter how many times you said you only saw him as a friend, Ethan didn't seem to move on.

“No. It's not a big deal.” You shook your head, easing your friends' concern. Still, thoughts of your conversation with Tara seemed to beg to be externalized. “Tara spoke to me in class today, out of nowhere. She saw my shirt and started asking me about which of the two was my favorite.”

“Out of the blue?” Mindy asked, still frowning, and you nodded. “Well, I know Tara has always loved horror movies. We all did.”

The meaning was left implicit, but you knew she was referring to her old group of friends before things blew up between her and Amber. Anika ran her hand over her girlfriend's arms, trying to make her feel a little better about the topic through physical contact.

The table sat quietly for a few torturous seconds until you spoke up again, breaking the silence while watching Mindy's reaction cautiously. “It was nice. I mean, she was nice to me and the conversation was interesting.”

“Careful, y/n. Talking like that, it almost sounds like someone's got a little crush.” Anika teased you, wiggling her eyebrows in a way that made you feel even more embarrassed. You looked away to the crowded table on your far right, watching the way Tara seemed to be engrossed in whatever conversation she was having.

It was confusing. You didn't think you had a crush on Tara just because you had a nice moment with her, as much as you admitted that the girl was very pretty, but it was undeniable that something about this situation had intrigued you a lot.

Next to you, Ethan scoffed aggressively, looking irritated by Anika's little joke. “Come on! Y/n would never be interested in a person like her! What does she have to offer? Stupid parties and a basic knowledge of horror movies?”

“I don't think Tara's that bad...” Anika mentioned, looking up at Mindy for some confirmation. Of all of you, Anika was the most positive and social. Sure, she didn't like Amber for obvious reasons and neither did she like Liv because “her vibes were horrible”, but she constantly tried to mediate for the twins when she visited the Meeks-Martin house and you knew she'd spoken to Tara and Wes at least once before.

Mindy, on the other hand, definitely preferred to nurture her rivalry with all of them, but she sighed, knowing that she could never be completely against her own girlfriend. “I'd rather make no comment. Just keep in mind that if Tara is Amber's right-hand woman, it's for a reason.”

As Ethan protested against the small positive words Mindy and Anika had spoken about the popular group, your attention turned back to the table, your mind still processing what had happened earlier. Had it been a one-off thing? Did Tara like the topic so much that she just had to talk to you? Would she have talked to anyone wearing the shirt or would you have been special for some reason?

Your eyes were fixed on the opposite table, but your thoughts were racing, creating a thousand and one possibilities with a creativity you wished you'd had to complete your painting. You were so lost in your own mind that you hardly noticed the rest of the world around you.

Or, at least, that was until Tara caught you staring at her.

_

“The poor girl is so into you.”

Tara looked away from you to focus on Amber, who was sitting right in front of her with her legs propped up on the table. She had her back turned to where you were at, but somehow her fox-like senses knew exactly that you were looking in that direction.

As time passed, fewer admirers surrounded the table, picking up on the implicit hint that Amber would only give them crumbs of attention for a few seconds until she started to get annoyed by the presence of the crowd of opportunistic losers. The place was now only occupied by their inner circle, but Tara still felt like there were too many people.

“I bet she almost cried when you paid attention to her.” Liv laughed evilly, sitting on Chad's lap in a position that definitely didn't look comfortable for the boy.

Tara shrugged, feeling the gaze of the whole table on her, waiting for updates on her challenge. “It was no big deal, we just talked about movies.”

The truth was that Tara had enjoyed the conversation far more than she could have anticipated. Her initial plan had been to borrow a pen and “forget” to give it back so that she would have a reason to look at your Instagram and send a message after class (which she had actually half done, as your pen was still in her bag), but your t-shirt offered an opening that fit Tara's plans like a glove.

She had missed being able to discuss horror movies outside of the internet. Amber couldn't have a full debate because her patience ran out as soon as people disagreed with her and that made her aggressive. The others in the group didn't care that much about the genre and the most Tara could talk to them about was the basics of “which of these movies is scarier.”

The last time she had actually talked about the topic in a pleasant way had been with Mindy and that had been a long time ago. Tara hadn't even realized how much she had missed it.

“Well, I don't think it'll be long before she falls for you, anyway.” Amber shrugged, looking as bored as she usually was. “Maybe I made it a little too easy for you.”

“I've asked around and I'm pretty sure that y/n has never been with anyone. That makes things more interesting, doesn't it?” Wes said, once again trying to make himself valuable to the group with his information. The platinum-haired boy looked at Amber expectantly, like a puppy eagerly waiting for a treat.

Tara couldn't help but wonder if also looked at Amber like that, even though she didn't realize it.

“Eh. It depends on how she reacts afterwards.” The dark-eyed girl threw her head back, making her chair stand on just two feet. “Can you imagine if she just chooses to ignore Tara? Bo-ring.”

The conversation kept going on that topic but Tara was suddenly distracted by the sound of her phone’s notification ring vibrating in the back pocket of her jeans. She took the device in hand, seeing on the lock screen a new message from Sam, her sister.

Sam: Hey, I'm stuck at work until later. Can’t give you a ride, sorry.

Tara huffed with annoyance, not even bothering to reply and just placing her phone back. “Amber? Can you give me a ride home after class?”

The raven-haired girl hissed and grimaced, almost managing to sound apologetic even though Tara knew she didn't actually give a damn. “Sorry, T. I'm going to buy some stuff for the party on Saturday, so I can't.”

Maybe it was for the best. Tara always felt more attracted to Amber when they drove alone in her car, either because the conversations seemed more sincere or because the Freeman girl could be extremely attractive when she drove with only one hand on the wheel. If Tara was trying to get rid of this little crush on Amber, spending hours in a car alone with her might not be the best idea.

“It’s alright. I need to walk more anyway.” Tara shrugged, pretending not to be annoyed by the situation. Taking the school bus wasn't an option, because it would take twice the time as walking, and hitching a ride with any of her other friends would be either awkward or stressful.

So, after class was over, the younger Carpenter made her way home with her bag on her back and her headphones in her ears. It had been a while since she'd had to walk home, at least since Sam had come back from rehab, but at least it gave her time to catch up on her thoughts.

It took less than 20 minutes for her to get home, throwing her bag on the sofa carelessly and turning on the TV to fill the uncomfortable silence in her house. A rerun of an SNL episode was on and Tara hoped that the sound of the audience's laughter would make her feel a little better about the shitty day she'd had.

But then again, Tara couldn't remember having a completely good day ever since Sam had come back from rehab and had forced their mother into one as well, trying to help the woman with her drinking problem.

The girl went to the kitchen and got herself a glass of water, while in the living room, the audience laughed at some of Bowen Yang's skits. She had hoped that the cold water would relieve her negative feelings but it didn't do any good, because all Tara could feel was irritation.

Yes, she was annoyed that Sam couldn't pick her up. Yes, she was angry that her life had turned upside down ever since her sister had returned. Yes, she was pissed that she wanted to vent to someone, but she knew that her best friend wouldn't give a damn about being a good listener. Yes, she was enraged about having feelings for someone she knew would only break her heart

And GOD, how angry she was with herself for going along with this idiotic plan just to get one iota of Amber's approval. Tara felt ridiculous, even more so now that she knew that you were a nice and kind person, even if you were a bit closed off.

But the girl was wracked by conflicting feelings and she just wanted them to stop. She urgently needed a distraction, be it drinks, or a movie, or...

Or Amber was right and maybe Tara really did need to have a fling with someone to relieve her tension.

She wasn't thinking straight when she reached for her phone in her back pocket again, opening it straight to the Instagram app and finding her feed full of photos of people she followed, but she didn’t waste time on them as she was a woman on a mission. Tara leaned on the kitchen worktop, both elbows propped up as she searched for your name in the search bar.

The girl huffed when she found nothing on her first search and then decided to appeal to Mindy's profile, digging through the accounts she followed to try and find any that might refer to you.

Two minutes later, Tara came across an account called “pinceaudey/n”, which had a painting portrait as the profile picture. That's got to be it, she thought, wasting no time in opening the profile which, fortunately for her, was public. More laughter was heard from the TV, but this time Tara finally felt her mood change to something more positive.

The profile didn't seem to have any photos of you, but it was full of photos of paintings and other things related to art. Tara didn't linger on any of them. The less she connected with you, the easier it would be to have a hookup and leave, which was exactly what she needed. No more complications.

Still holding her phone, Tara crossed the kitchen to walk right back to the living room, looking in her bag for the item she had “accidentally” forgotten to return. She took the opportunity to look through the curtained windows, seeing that night was beginning to fall, darkening the streets and making Tara's heart race. She hated being alone at home and hoped that Sam's shift at the antique store wouldn't take much longer.

Finally she found the pen, just as Megan Thee Stallion began her performance as the show's musical guest. Tara held the object between her fingers and took a quick photo, sending it to your DM with a text. “Hey so i accidentally stole your pen lmao.” and then, ”I promise to give it back tomorrow.”

A few seconds had passed and you still hadn't seen it. It was alright, maybe you just had some better things to do other than stare at your phone, but for some reason, Tara couldn't stop herself from biting her nails in anxiety.

Maybe it was because it was late at night and she felt lonely, or maybe it was because she was in a particularly chatty mood that day, but without a second thought, her fingers typed out another message to keep the conversation flowing.

btw who do you think would win between Freddy and Leatherface?

As she waited for a reply with a small smile on her face and music playing from her TV, Tara finally felt less alone at home.

Maybe Amber was right. Maybe she needed a distraction.

[worriedvision]

oh my godddddddddddds im backk its 🌙

maybe someting where kinich and the reader are dating and jealous of mualani for something he did to help her that he never does for reader?

Okay so in this idea I've made reader a weapons dealer (why tf can't I remember the name of the profession smh?) and Ajaw gives you some useful advice.

Part of this fic has headcanons not really linked to the character, but more to the fic idea.

--

Your boyfriend was not the best at keeping his weapon safe - that much that you landed up knowing him through his visits to your stand, asking with a hint of embarrassment added in every time he made yet another visit to your shop for another claymore. Over time, you had grown fond of him, and you asked him out.

Surprisingly, he said yes.

When you hang out, which was rare because of his line of work, you told him more about yourself than he was willing to tell you. At first you thought he was just getting more familiar with you, but after a while you get wary. You had given him a decent discount for weapons - basically free whenever he needed once since you begin dating.

But then you saw how he interacted with her. Mualani.

She effortlessly got him to talk, and you really didn't like the feeling in your chest when you saw them together, and Ajaw seemed bored whenever they were together. Ajaw would get put into time out regularly whenever he said too much, which happened whenever Kinich was being teased about how close he seemed to be to Mualani in comparison to you - his actual partner.

The last time he got put into time out, Ajaw manage dto get to you discretely. No idea how exactly, but you weren't about to ask questions.

"You're better moving on, _." Ajaw states. "You and I both know he's taking advantage of your deal."

"...My deal?" You ask, tilting your head.

You hadn't thought too hard about how often he seemed to visit your shop after you two became a couple, but it made sense how often he visited. He didn't even show shame with it after you both started dating, he seemed to think this was his side of the bargain as opposed to just being Happy about dating you.

"...Are you listening to me?" Ajaw yells, catching your attention. "It looks like you already know what I'm going to say. I'm stuck with Kinich, doesn't mean you have to be!" Ajaw cackles, sunglasses on.

"Thanks, Ajaw." You rub the back of your head awkwardly as you look over at Kinich who has now been hugged by Mualani. He never pushes her away, not did he seem uncomfortable with her hugs, which was the final nail in the coffin as he never wanted to get your affections.

Kinich walks over, pointing towards a Claymore as he asks for a price. When you give him the usual customer price, he shows confusion.

"What?" You ask innocently. "I can't keep giving you discounts when you keep losing merchandise. It costs materials, time and money to make these."

"Fair enough, sorry." Kinich smiles softly, an action you had only seen from him when he had spoken to Mualani. He places the mora on the table, you hand the weapon over, and he doesn't even wave as he leaves.

Mualani waves at you, cheery smile on her face, and you do the most pathetic wave before having to excuse yourself as you realised you fell for a guy that had only wanted you for your weapons at a cheaper price.

You realise that, in Kinich's eyes, you were nothing but a side character.

[taegimood]

— phone sex with bestfriend!taehyun ♡

pairing: kang taehyun x fem!reader rating: nsfw, mdni wc: 1.1k warnings: smut, perv!reader, dom!tyun, pet names (baby, angel, princess), brief use of daddy kink, mutual masturbation, light degradation (reader receiving)

a/n - we always talk abt perv!txt but what about perv!reader…

──────────────────────

it’s not always easy being friends with tomorrow x together. with your vastly opposite schedules, you always end up in bed already by the time your best friend taehyun calls for your daily check-ins with each other — though covertly you’re glad for the late timing, because you have a dirty little secret: it means that you get to hear his deep, sleepy, sexy voice right in your ear every night. not that you could ever tell him that.

it wasn't always this way; there was a time when taehyun didn't make your heart skip a beat and your pussy throb, when even the thought of him in such a light as this would cause your nose to wrinkle up in disgust. he's your best friend, after all. how could you ever see him as anything different?

but then his gym membership started. or maybe it was the way that he grew out his hair. or the new glasses that soobin convinced him to try wearing.. or even the sweatshirts you'd forget in his dorm that he'd always end up walking around in himself, sweatshirts that returned swimming in the scent of him each time you got them back. whatever it was, you just know that something changed in the way that you saw him. in the way that you needed him.

the thoughts you'd chase away began to turn into wet dreams — ones that you would wake up from feeling just as desperate as you were confused — and those dreams soon turned into lingering fantasies that you just couldn't shake away, no matter how shameful it felt to harbor them. and now some time later, here you are, completely wrapped around taehyun's finger without him even knowing it, willing to crumble at his feet in an instant if he asked; putty in his pretty hands with each nightly phone call that you just can never seem to get enough of.

this time you’re feeling particularly needy, however, his call coming later than usual when you just can’t stop thinking about him, about his voice; you won’t lie and say that you don’t often touch yourself while he talks to you about his day, bringing yourself to a whiny climax the minute he hangs up for the night and you’re safe to make all the noise that you want.

this time, though.. you just couldn’t wait. your shorts and panties have long since been discarded on the bed when your phone rings, and you hesitate; your mind is foggy with need, it just feels too good to stop.. you need to hear his voice so bad.. you can keep quiet, right? right?

you know that it’s wrong. you know that you shouldn’t.

but you press the green answer button with trembling fingers, biting down hard on your bottom lip to stop a moan from escaping as his low voice hums your nickname through the speaker - “hey, y/n/n. sorry i’m late.”

you take a slow breath to compose yourself before responding. “hi tyunnie. s’okay.” the conversation carries on normally at first — to him at least. you’re two fingers deep in your throbbing pussy as he’s murmuring tiredly about their latest choreography when you notice too late that taehyun has stopped speaking. you quickly curb the tiny pants that had been escaping your lips, but your fingers seem to have a mind of their own, continuing their squelching ministrations as you beg in your mind for him to continue speaking, to say something, anything.

“y/n.”

your breath hitches. your fingers pause.

something in his tone has shifted.

a few beats pass.

“are you… touching yourself?”

that does it. you can’t hold back anymore. “taehyun,” you whimper pathetically in response, head tipping back into the pillows as your eyes squeeze shut, fingers working faster as your walls squeeze around them — simultaneous with the humiliation and shame of being caught. “tyunnie, ‘m sorry, i- i just needed you so bad.. ‘m sorry-“

“where do you need me, baby?”

your brain short-circuits at the sudden switch in your best friend’s tone. at the pet name dripping from his lips. his voice is impossibly deeper and impossibly more dangerous; dangerous for your health, as you’ve never ever heard him sound so utterly sexy before. you don’t know what to say. you didn’t expect this.

“i… i..”

“use your words,” he whispers, and you can hear some shifting on his end of the line; god, you hope he’s doing what you think he’s doing.

“i.. i need you…” you swallow hard, “i need you in my… in my pussy.” your voice is small, meek, and his responsive hum sends shivers straight down to your sopping cunt.

“what’s wrong, angel? feeling shy now? when you were just in the middle of fucking yourself with those cute little fingers like a little perv as i’m over here talking about my day? tsk..” you moan, loudly, at the degradation — who knew how badly you needed him to scold you like this?

“‘m sorry.. ‘m sorry, daddy..” at this point your voice is a breathless, whiny whisper; you’re so sensitive that you’re sure the slightest breeze could blow you away right now. you don’t even realize what you said until taehyun’s deep groan cuts through the speaker.

“fuck.”

you can hear him fisting his own cock now, and you’ve never been more jealous of another person’s hand.

“keep touching yourself for me, baby. just imagine that i’m right there... bet you wish it were my fingers buried in your cunt instead, don’t you?”

“yes! ugh, yes.. please, n-need it..” your own fingers are moving impossibly faster now, the lewd wet sounds of your arousal practically pornographic, and you can tell that taehyun hears it loud and clear by the drawn-out moan that he releases from the other end.

“that’s it.. faster, baby.. got you so wet and needy, just on my voice alone, fuck.. such a little fucking pervert.. need daddy that bad? need me to fuck some sense into you?”

“uh huh!” you babble out, nodding your head fervently even though he can’t even see it, “please, please, please.. want your cock, want your fingers, want your mouth- fuck- want everything, tyunnie please, fuck, i’m-“

“cum for me, princess.”

your jaw goes slack as your orgasm wracks through you at his simple command, drool threatening to escape past your lips as you keen for him, the high-pitched, filthy moan spurred on by the sloppy sounds of his cock in his hand.

several hazy moments pass. you lay there breathless, chest heaving as you finally slide your fingers out of your soaked pussy, legs twitching residually as you stare up at your ceiling in disbelief.

no fucking way i just had phone sex with my best friend.

in your daze you don’t realize that taehyun hasn’t said anything; your brows furrow as you glance at your screen to make sure the call didn’t disconnect, but then you hear him shuffling around, the jingling sound of keys sliding off of a hook.

“taehyun..?” you question carefully. did i ruin everything? does he hate me now? does he think i’m disgusting? what if-

“don’t move. i’ll be there in 10.”

“w-what? what do you-“

“i said i’d fuck some sense into you, didn’t i? ass up, baby. i’ll see you soon.”

[manmadejoyswithinmycomprehension]

Mr. Gap x Fem. Reader (NSFW, descriptions of female genitalia; sadly idk how this dude works; also NOT PROOFREAD we die like the doll)

You had been wandering around for a while, torn between going back to where that crawling, creepy figure lurked or going forward, where the road ahead was completely new. You had only managed to learn a few (very basic) words from someone who you liked to call "Mr. Hood" in an attempt to tone down his ghostly aura. With a defeated sigh, you left his room and headed towards the unknown hallway. Curiosity overtook you as you decided to explore. To the right was a seemingly giant, dark room, its floor covered in blood. The rumbling echoing throughout it was unsettling. Maybe not. You turned back, now weighing your options. Perhaps you didn't need to unblock the path?

Yeah, no, you definitely did. You were greeted with the creepy smile of a man peeking from behind the first door to the right. The language was still foreign to you, but he seemed to want something. Without thinking twice, you slammed the door in his face, muffling a scream. You'd much rather force your tired body to move a huge chunk of metal rather than interact with any ghost or monster or whatever roamed this world.

And so began your journey. With a lot of help from Mr. Silvair and the one who spooked you out the most when you arrived, Mr. Crawling, you got the hang of the language quite fast. But as you were exploring the old, dusty hallways after being separated from your companion and almost got killed by a huge creature, you notice a pair of twinkling eyes observing you from a crack in the wall. An idea pops up into your mind, and you rush to it in hopes of getting some help.

"Mr. Gap!"

"Hello. Me want hair. Give hair?"

"Hair give, help me!"

A strong hand dragged you into the opening, allowing the void to engulf you. Trusting this thing was risky, but at least you had a chance of surviving. The entire place was pitch black, and no matter how much you squinted, nothing more would reveal itself. You felt Mr. Gap's hand brush through your hair gently, before cutting it and nicking your neck. You try to reach for him and make him apologize, but he disappears again with a giggle.

Well, he kept his word, so we should give him that, right? He pushed you out of his "home" rather quickly after that, shoving you into a new room. But just because you agreed once it doesn't mean you're friends or anything. Far from it.

"Me want your heart. Give heart?"

"Cannot!"

"Shame... Give finger?"

"Cannot!"

Over and over. What does he even need them for? Sometimes it seemed as if he picked the worst moments to torment you. After a tiring walk and almost getting killed by the Cloth Monster, just when you laid down, he appeared between the blanket and the mattress. You couldn't hold in the scream that left you, slamming down the blanket. It left you feeling a bit guilty, though, so you gently lifted it back up, allowing him to return with a scowl on his face.

"You scared? Me friendly."

Groaning, you hold the blanket up, trying to find your words.

"Not scared, surprised."

His complexion twists into an eerie grin, his hand sliding up your thigh.

"Surprised? Feel good?"

His head dips back under the blanket, very clearly getting closer to your core. You couldn't deny the frustration which had been building up ever since you arrived there. It felt oddly... nice, having someone care enough to visit you.

His cold fingers gliding against your clit snapped you back into reality, your thighs clamping around his head. Did it deter him? Obviously not. He only took it as a sign to continue, slipping a finger inside and licking a long stripe across your clit. It was weirdly gentle and loving, his fingers stretching you out and hitting your sweetest spots, his tongue teasing your clit as you got closer and closer to-

[bramblepatch]

The thing about Omelas is, you know, they really want you to think there's only one kid in a hole.

That's how it's always phrased. The Kid in the Omelas Hole. The forsaken child, if you're feeling fancy. Sometimes if they're feeling really dogmatic, they almost seem to want to tell you there's only ever been one kid, even though that's completely stupid if you think about it. Kids grow up in Omelas. Most of them grow up perfectly happy and healthy, at least until they're old enough to be told about the kid in the hole and then they grow up mostly happy and healthy with a distinct strain of repression. Thinking logically, the kid in the hole must also grow up, or perhaps they don't, but they don't in the way that so many kids in other parts of the world fail to grow up.

And once you've worked that out, once you've realized that every so often they have to find another kid and put them in the hole, well, it's easy to stop there. To feel jaded and sad and maybe angry enough to walk away.

The walking away is important, for several reasons but also this one: walking away means you don't hang around Omelas and compare notes.

Because Omelas can live with there being One Child in One Hole that suffers so that everyone else can prosper. It's a shared shame that you're not supposed to talk about. If you can't live with it, you're suppose to leave. You're not supposed to go to your friends and say, look, I went back to the warehouse in the dock district and saw the kid in the hole again and I'm really struggling with it, because then your friends might look at you like you grew a second head and say, what warehouse.

And then you might learn that they have always known that the happiness and prosperity of Omelas depends on a kid locked away under a law firm uptown. And maybe you ask a few more people and some of them know about the same kids as the ones you and your friend were confronted with, but some of them might know about other kids entirely. And then, perhaps, it starts to become clear that Omelas is built entirely on holes occupied by children and if that's the case, walking away hardly seems like proportional reaction, does it?

If there are many kids in many holes maybe the question of how a kid in a hole is supposed to ensure the prosperity of the city bears some examining. Maybe you start to wonder why you've never seen a kid who isn't prospering except for in a hole. Maybe you wonder if there's other holes and maybe you remember that other places that aren't Omelas have things like attempted prison reform and social services and other such things that you've always been told Omelas doesn't need.

Or maybe you and your friends know about the same kid in the same hole. Maybe there's only one kid in one hole, after all. Maybe it's just not something that's pleasant to talk about, so no one ever does, and there's nothing more suspicious going on than a city where people don't know how to talk about hard subjects.

But you know, maybe. It's weird that they don't want you to talk about it, is all I'm saying. It's weird.