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mimiiiiiiiiisstuff · 20 hours ago

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Ok yall I'm back with chapter 7!! Hopefully this posts bc it wasn't working yesterday. Sorry if it's confusing, I rewrote it like 5 times! I tried not to use {y/n} but i mightve slipped up! Hope ya'll enjoy!! The plot is finally moving!! Lmk if you have any questions. Likes, reblogs, and asks motivate me! I love when yall send me your ideas and comments and asks! Wish me luck, I'm posting this and then taking my math exam! If you don't like it, don't read, stop sending mean asks and submissions!

Breakfast the next morning was horrible.

The awkward silence lingered, thick with unspoken words and eyes that felt like they were scanning every inch of you. You could feel their weight on your back, like a thousand invisible hands pushing you deeper into your seat, forcing you to stay in this uncomfortable moment.

You could already feel the heat rising in your chest, but you bit your lip, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You weren’t going to lose your cool—not yet.

Damian’s gaze was fixed on you, like he was waiting for some kind of reaction, his lips pressed into a thin line. You knew what he was expecting: compliance. Submission. He expected you to shrink back under his scrutiny. And yet, there was something oddly satisfying about not giving him that satisfaction.

Instead, you focused on the plate in front of you, stabbing your fork into the pancakes with far too much force. You were still hungry, but the food felt like cardboard in your mouth, tasteless and dry, even though Alfred’s cooking was always the best.

Bruce was still watching you, his eyes heavy with a kind of expectant patience, like he was just waiting for you to crack. You could feel the tension in the room like a ticking clock, the seconds stretching longer than you’d ever thought possible.

"Why are you all staring at me?" you finally muttered, breaking the silence, your voice low but biting. You didn't look up from your plate, but you could feel the eyes on you. They all thought they could break you. They thought you were some fragile little thing, someone they could fix with their pity and their "family time." But you weren’t. You’d stopped being that person a long time ago.

Dick was the first to speak, his voice softer than usual, like he was trying to tread lightly around you. “We’re just trying to connect, I know it’s been a long time, and things got… complicated, but we don’t want to lose you again. Not after all this time.”

His words weren’t as comforting as he probably thought they were. In fact, they made your skin crawl. He was trying to be kind, but it felt forced, like he was reading from a script. You didn’t need this. Not from him, not from any of them. You wanted them to stop pretending like they could fix everything with a few hugs, a couple of "we missed you"s.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you said quietly, your voice almost a whisper, but it carried a weight. “I didn’t ask to be here. And I didn’t ask to be part of this family anymore.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened at your words, but he didn’t say anything at first. You could feel the flicker of something in his expression—guilt, maybe. Regret. He was looking at you, like he was trying to see the person you used to be. The person you had been before everything fell apart.

You weren’t that person anymore. And he needed to understand that.

“You don’t get to decide that,” Damian suddenly said, his voice a little too sharp. “You can’t just shut us out like this. You’re still a part of this family. Whether you like it or not.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his. " I can shut you all out, I can do whatever I want” you snapped, the frustration leaking through. “You’ve done it to me for years.”

Dick’s brow furrowed, his lips pulling into a frown. For a second, he looked genuinely taken aback by your words, “You don’t understand,” he said, his tone quieter but still laced with an edge. “We didn’t abandon you. Not on purpose. You think we didn’t care? You just never seemed to need help.”

You could feel the sting of his words, but you pushed it down, locking it away. You weren’t going to break. Not for him. Not for any of them. Of course you never needed help, you were too busy trying to be perfect.

“I was just a kid,” you replied, your voice a little rawer, louder than you intended. “And I was ignored by the people who were supposed to be there for me. So fuck you and fuck your family time too.”

There was a long pause, everyone looked around in shock, not expecting you to be so combatant and then Jason finally spoke up, his tone softer than usual, less teasing. “We’re trying, okay? I'm trying. We’re not perfect, and I’m not asking you to just forget everything. But we want to try. Let us try.”

You shot him a look, your eyes narrowing. “Trying isn’t good enough,” you muttered, your voice tight. “Not when it’s years too late. I don't want scraps of love anymore, not when i've had the real deal.”

Everyone seemed to quiet at the last part of your statement, suspicious of what it meant and from who you received "love" from. What convinced you that you didn't need them anymore?

“Then what do you want?” Tim interjected, his voice suddenly sharper, more direct than before. “What do you want from us? We’re here, and we’re trying to make it right. But you’ve got to meet us halfway.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell them that nothing would ever be good enough, that the damage was already done. But you didn’t. Instead, you just stared at Tim, meeting his eyes with a challenge of your own. You didn’t owe them answers. Not anymore.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, almost defeated. “I don’t know what I want.”

It was the truth. You didn’t know what you wanted. You didn’t know if there was anything they could do to fix things. But one thing was certain: you didn’t want to stay in this mansion, suffocated by their expectations. You didn’t want to play along with their idea of a happy family.

Before anyone could respond, you stood up abruptly, pushing your chair back with a loud scrape against the floor.

“Don’t worry about me,” you said, turning on your heel. “I’ll figure it out on my own. I always have.”

You heard Duke’s soft voice in the background, calling after you, but you didn’t stop. You just walked out of the dining room, your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way toward the staircase.

As you climbed the stairs, you could feel their eyes on your back, the weight of their presence pressing down on you, but you didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care if they watched. You didn’t care if they were disappointed. You just wanted to be alone.

That day, you stayed in bed. You ignored every knock on your door, every phone call, every beg and plead to come down and eat. You just wanted to be alone.

You woke up to the quiet hum of the manor, but it was far from peaceful. The silence was suffocating, a constant reminder that there was no escaping them—not now. You tried to pretend the night before hadn’t happened, that their constant attention wasn’t as overwhelming as it was, that you were going back to New York soon. Unfortunately, fantasies don't become realities, especially when reality is chasing them down.

Every one of them was here, waiting. Watching.

Bruce stood near the staircase, his presence larger than life. His eyes lingered on you as if he expected something. You weren’t sure what. Maybe gratitude, maybe obedience. He said nothing, just watched you with that expression of silent insistence.

“Good morning,” he said in that deep, calm voice of his, but there was something off about it. There was a layer of expectation beneath his words, like he was waiting for something from you.

You ignored him, brushing past him without a second glance. You didn’t want to engage, didn’t want to pretend like everything was okay. But it didn’t matter. They were all around you now, slowly closing in.

Tim was the next to corner you. You could feel his calculating eyes on you the moment you stepped into the kitchen. He had a cup of coffee in hand, but his focus was on you. Just you.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, the question seemingly casual but the undertone too sharp, too analytical. It wasn’t just a question, it was a probe, a way for him to gauge how much control he had over you.

You rolled your eyes, reaching for the fridge to grab something that could distract you, something that could make the reality of this house feel a little less like a cage. But the moment your hand touched the door, he was there, standing far too close, watching you, almost breathing down your neck.

“You know,” Tim said, his voice low, “we can talk today. If you want. We need to keep your abilities in check, make sure you’re safe, protected. ” His tone lingered on that last word, like he was reminding you that you were under his watch now.

You hated how calmly he said it. It made your skin crawl.

Steph was next, adding onto what Tim said with her stupid signature smile, "He's right y'know. It's dangerous out there. For you especially."

You ignored them both. Payback for their years of negligence.

Tim just stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning your face. “Fine, be like that,” he muttered, before walking away, but you knew he wasn’t done. He never was.

And then there was Dick. His usual cheerful demeanor didn’t falter as he breezed into the room, but it was too cheerful, too bright. He was pushing something, forcing something, like he was trying to manufacture happiness out of thin air, trying to remind you of who you were, who you used to be.

“Hey! How about we do something today?” he said, his voice far too eager. “We could go out and grab coffee, breakfast, anything. I know you’re probably not feeling it, but you need to get out of this house for a bit.”

You wanted tear him apart for thinking you could just “forget” everything and fall back into some comfortable, happy routine. But you didn’t. Instead, you just nodded stiffly, walking past him without acknowledging his words.

“Come on,” he tried again, following you, “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Just drop it, Dick,” you said, your voice like ice. “I’m not going anywhere. Ya'll made that pretty clear.”

His face faltered for just a moment before he plastered that damn grin back on. But you saw it, the frustration and determination behind his eyes. He wasn’t going to stop. None of them were.

Jason leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a smirk you couldn’t quite decipher. “Ah, the princess finally comes out her tower,” he teased. “What? Got tired of throwing shit around in there?"

You narrowed your eyes, feeling the heat in your chest rise. Jason always had a way of pissing you off with his words, making everything seem like a joke, but you knew there was something darker underneath. He wanted to get a rise out of you, he craved it. He wanted you to go back to being his annoying little sister with anger issues.

“Shut up, Jason,” you muttered, turning away from him, not caring that you weren’t hiding your anger anymore. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today.”

Jason just laughed, but there was a hint of something softer there, something that felt almost... like concern, buried beneath the sarcasm.

“Stop,” you snapped, but before you could escape, Damian stepped in.

Damian was the most direct, the most unforgiving in his attempts to bond. He stepped into your path without hesitation, his posture rigid and eyes narrowed, as if daring you to push him away.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice low, yet intense. “You think you’re some rebellious teenager trying to escape, but you’re not. You don’t get a choice in this.” His words weren’t harsh, they were final, like he had already decided your fate. And you were staying here, whether you liked it or not.

“You’re wrong,” you spat, your voice venomous. "I don’t need you.”

Damian tilted his head slightly, an unsettling calm settling over him. “You’ll need us eventually. Whether you want to or not. And you'll be grateful we never let you go.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you didn’t let him see it. Not yet. His audacity was insane. To think that you'd be thankful for being trapped in Gotham. Never.

As you tried to walk past him, you collided with Cass, who was standing silently behind you, her eyes filled with that knowing, unspoken concern. She's so creepy. She didn’t say a word but you could feel her presence, like a weight pressing down on you.

Cass placed a hand gently on your arm, her touch barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to make you freeze.

Why are they acting like this? What changed these two weeks?

"You’re safe here," she said quietly, her words cutting through the tension in a way that made your skin crawl. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a command.

You pulled away sharply, nearly punching her, your fists clenched at your sides. “I'm not happy.” you said, more to yourself than to her.

But she didn’t respond. Of course she didn’t. Her eyes just followed you, and that was worse than any words.

Barbara was close by, but she didn’t need to be loud. She never did. She had this way of talking in soft tones that made everything sound so reasonable. So loving.

“You don’t have to keep shutting us out,” she said gently. “You can talk to us. We just want to make sure you’re okay. All of us. We care about you.”

You felt the weight of her words crash down on you, suffocating you with their sweetness, with their hidden demands. Care. It was just another word for control, for keeping you locked in their world, locked in their gaze. If they cared, they would let you be happy in New York.

“Just stop,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her. “Just... stop.”

You sat in your room for hours again, ignoring everyone.

Bruce had spent the last few days carefully watching you, keeping his distance just enough to make you think you had some semblance of freedom, but now he was ready to step in, to claim his role as your father.

He had promised himself when you left for France, he would make it right. That he would make up for everything he had missed, for every moment he had abandoned you for the greater good of Gotham. But now, as the silence stretched between you two, he was determined to close that distance.

You had just returned to your room after another breakfast you didn’t want to be part of when you heard the knock.

It was Bruce.

“You’re not busy, are you?” he asked, his voice almost too warm, too hopeful.

You shot him a glance, wondering if he truly thought this would work. After everything that had happened, after all the times he had failed you, he still thought a few “father-daughter” moments could make things better.

"I guess not," you replied flatly, stepping aside to let him in, your mind already racing with how to get through whatever this was going to be.

The moment he entered, Bruce seemed to settle, as though he had a plan in mind, one he was eager to execute.

“Good,” he said, looking around the room, his eyes scanning for something, maybe an opportunity. Then, he turned back to you, hands clasped behind his back. “I thought today, we could spend some time together. Just us. It’s been a while since we’ve done something like this, hasn’t it? School starts soon and you'll get busy, you won't have time for me anymore.”

He was trying to joke around.

School. More like prison. The more he mentioned school, the angrier you got. You'd never done something like this. He did it with all his other kids though, with Tiffany. As you thought of her, all ideas of being nice to Bruce, of trying to bond with your father, flew out the window.

The words felt like a slap, and you couldn’t keep the bite from your tone. “Is that what you think this is? Quality time? You really think we’re just gonna pick up where we left off? Think you can change the past with brunch?”

Bruce’s eyes softened for a moment, his expression cracking, but only slightly. The guilt was there, unmistakable, but it didn’t erase the unspoken expectation behind his words. His voice became more gentle, more insistent.

“I know it’s not easy,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something else—something almost pleading, though he would never admit it. “But I want to make this right. You deserve this. You deserve... me. We can go out, maybe catch a movie, grab lunch, talk, whatever you want. I just want to be with you. Like you always talked about.”

You didn’t respond immediately. For a moment, you just stood there, frozen, as the weight of his words crashed over you. It was nice watching him beg for once. You had always wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted him to be a father, to care for you like he did the others. But that was before you tasted freedom, before you tried love.

Now, the idea of spending time with him felt like a betrayal to everything you had tried to protect: your own independence, your own space, your freedom. You didn’t want to be a part of his perfect little family anymore.

“No.” you muttered, unable to stop the anger from flooding your chest. “You really think that’s going to fix things? You think I just forgot what you did? Because i'm nice sometimes?”

Bruce didn’t flinch at your words, didn’t even show any sign of anger. Instead, he just stepped closer, his presence filling up the room, looming over you like an impenetrable wall. His tone remained patient, almost too controlled, like he was walking on eggshells.

“I know I can’t undo the past,” he said quietly, a trace of regret slipping through. “But I can be here for you now. I won’t make the same mistakes. I promise.”

A cold laugh escaped your lips. “You already have.”

You could feel your pulse quicken, the anger bubbling up inside you, but you pushed it back. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

Bruce’s eyes softened even further, the guilt twisting in his expression, and for a moment, you saw something else there—desperation. As if he was begging you to let him in, to give him just one chance to prove he wasn’t the same person who had abandoned you for years.

“We could just sit and talk,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “No expectations. No agenda. Just us. I’m not trying to fix you or make everything perfect. I just want to spend time with my daughter.”

Something in you snapped at the mention of daughter. The word that had haunted you for years. The word that had felt like a lie every time he used it. You clenched your fists, struggling to keep your composure.

“No,” you said, your voice flat, cutting through the tension like a knife. “You don’t get it. I don’t want this anymore. I don't want you anymore.”

Bruce’s face faltered, just for a moment, before he recovered. But the hurt was there, tucked in the corners of his eyes. “I'm sorry. I hope you know that.”

You shook your head, not wanting to hear it anymore. The damage was done. He couldn’t erase it. No amount of “father-daughter time” was going to make you forget what it had been like when he wasn’t there for you.

“Stop,” you snapped, taking a step back. “Just stop. You don’t get to do this, Bruce. You don’t get to waltz in here and act like everything is fine. Like everything’s fixed. You’ve ruined it. All of it.”

Bruce opened his mouth, but no words came. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle to understand where it had gone wrong.

“I’m just trying to make up for it,” he said quietly, but the sound of it made your stomach churn. The way his voice cracked slightly at the end of the sentence only made it worse.

And you hated yourself for feeling even a little guilty for saying no.

But no. You wouldn’t let him do this. Not again.

“I don’t want your apologies,” you spat, your tone sharp, venomous. “And I don’t want your ‘time.’ You don’t get to play the father now.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked toward the door. You needed to escape. You needed space. You needed to breathe. You were leaving your own room to get away from him.

Bruce’s voice stopped you, and you felt the pull of his desperate plea in the back of your mind. His words clung to you, too heavy, too much. “I'll go, don't leave. This is your room. I just want you to know I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You watched your father walk away, and only after he left did you fall to your bed and cry.

The next days before school were a blur. You spent them locked in your room, alternating between crying on the phone with Ariel, avoiding the family when you went down to sneak food to your room, trying to butter up Bruce and convince him to let you go back to boarding school, and online shopping.

Yet somehow Monday morning you were up at 5:30 getting into the shower.

The thought of returning to Gotham Prep made your stomach churn. How could you go back to a place where you had no true friends? A school where you’d been bullied by half your grade. Where Tim pretended you didn’t exist, Damian and Tiffany ridiculed you in front of everyone, and Duke ignored you like you were invisible. Where you ate lunch in the bathroom, alone and cried in the janitor's closet like a loser.

But you weren't the same girl who walked through those halls last year. No, this year was going to be different. You were different.

Last night, as you scrolled through Tik Tok, a new idea formed in your mind. You’d had enough of being invisible. It was time for a change.

You had a plan.

You found the bleach blonde hair dye in your bathroom, hidden away in the back of a drawer. You didn’t need permission, and you certainly didn’t need anyone to hold your hand.

By the time the dye had set and you’d rinsed it out, you felt like a new person. It was the kind of hair that would make people stop and stare.

You woke at 5:30 and hopped in the shower, you wanted to take your time getting ready. You plugged in your pink dyson and curled your new blonde hair, it would fall into a blow out later in the day, complaining about your family to Ariel and Claire. You spent the next two hours getting ready, perfecting your makeup. You’d learned to contour, learned to do your eyeliner just right, and became a bronzer girl over the summer. You grabbed your favorite Chanel palette and messily applied dark eyeshadow in smoky charcoal, blending seamlessly into the crease of your eyes and eyeliner. You smudged on a bold dark burgundy lipshine that drew attention. You weren’t trying to be anyone but yourself, your new self.

Then came the clothes.

You'd already shortened your Gotham Prep skirt by more than a few inches. It was below your knees and now it showed off the thighs you spent all summer tanning. You wanted to make a statement, and if they didn’t like it, that was their problem. The white blouse, originally oversized, was now form-fitting, you wanted it to give that one Bella Hadid picture. You left the top buttons undone, the tie hanging loosely around your neck in a deliberate, I-don’t-care gesture. You could feel the fabric clinging to your skin, reminding you of how much control you were regaining. You looked like the kind of girls you used to call whores last year.

You looked through your drawers for your signature jewelry you collected over the summer and during school. Big gold hoops on your ears, studs in all your other ear piercings, a tiffany heart necklace that rested on your exposed collar bone, and multiple bracelets stacked on each arm, jingling as you moved.

As you stood in front of the mirror, you smiled. You looked good.

Lastly you grabbed your Isabel Marant sneakers, chic and effortless, and slipped them on. They were expensive, but it wasn’t about the price—it was about the look. The vibe. Then, more than few spritzes of perfume. Something sharp, and not too sweet. You wanted to make a lasting impression, to turn heads as you walked.

By the time you were done, you felt invincible. The girl staring back at you was someone who didn’t care what anyone thought. You weren’t going to be bullied anymore. You were going to be the one who dictated the terms.

You walked out of your room, head held high, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Downstairs, the Batfamily was gathered at the breakfast table, doing their usual routine. They all stopped talking the second they saw you.

You’d barely stepped into the room when the heavy silence fell over the table. Bruce looked up, his expression instantly darkening. His lips pressed together in a thin line, his gaze flicking over your appearance.

“Is this what you're wearing?” His voice was tight, a hint of disapproval slipping into the words.

You gave him a look that said everything. “Is something wrong? I thought it was cute.” Your tone was soft, teasing, but with a bite underneath. You weren’t asking for his permission. You were daring him to say something.

Tim, who had been looking at his phone, blinked up at you with wide eyes. He’d been so engrossed in whatever he was reading that he didn’t even seem to know how to respond. His fingers hovered over his screen, unsure whether or not to comment.

“Are you seriously going to school looking like that?” His voice was tight, an edge of surprise and confusion beneath it.

You crossed your arms, leaning back in the doorway. “What? You don’t like it? Your friends might.” You knew how to unsettle him. That much you were sure of. You wanted to push his buttons, make him paranoid.

Dick was the next to react. He put down his coffee, glancing over at Bruce before looking back at you. “I get that you’re, you know, trying something new,” he began carefully, but the unease in his voice was clear. He was trying to be supportive, trying to understand, but it didn’t take much to see how disapproving he felt. “But—”

“But what, Dick?” you interrupted with a sudden change of attitude. “You don’t like it? That’s a shame. It's so crazy I literally never asked.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out. He simply shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

Jason snorted, clearly not impressed. “You trying to turn heads or get yourself in trouble? Skirt's too short, change that shit.” His voice was low, but it had a sharpness to it now. His gaze scanned you from head to toe, his mouth curving into an almost imperceptible frown.

You weren’t fazed by his dismissive and angry attitude. If anything, it made you want to lean into it more. “I'm not changing, you want alonger skirt? You go put one on and come talk.” You shrugged nonchalantly, your tone saccharine sweet. "And I don't want trouble, but i don't mind it."

“Yeah, I can tell,” Jason drawled, eyeing the large hoops dangling from your ears. “Nice hoops. Real classy.” His lips twitched, mocking the exaggerated size of them. "I didn’t realize big was your thing now."

You smirked, reaching up to tug at one of the hoops, the gesture playful, but intending to piss him off. “Big boys like big things, Jason,” you replied smoothly, without missing a beat. “And you know what they say, the bigger the hoop, the bigger the....” You were quickly cut off before you could finish talking and ruining everyone's apittite.

Damian, ever the hater, set down his cereal with a dramatic flare, slamming it down and glared at you. “You look like you belong in a cheap nightclub, not Gotham Prep. Should we drop you off on the nearest corner?” His words were sharp, cutting—typical Damian, though you could hear the pure anger in his voice.

You chuckled softly, not phased in the slightest. You'd rather be at a cheap nightclub honestly. “I’m just bringing a little fun to Gotham, Damian. You should try it sometime, maybe then you wouldn't be so hateful all the time." Your tone was uninterested, like his insults weren't even worth your time.

Steph and Cass exchanged a look, both clearly unsure of how to react. Cass, as always, seemed more interested in watching you than engaging, while Steph’s gaze flickered between you and the rest of the family. Barbra was just staring at you in disbelief.

“Is it really that bad?” Steph finally asked, though her voice wasn’t quite as gentle as it could have been. There was a nervous edge to it. “I mean, you’re, uh, pulling it off…” She trailed off, clearly unsure how to proceed.

You ignored her, who cares what she thinks? Her and the rest of them are irrelevant. If you like it then so what. Her comment did make your lips twitch into a smile subconsciously though.

Alfred, who’d been quietly observing the exchange, cleared his throat before standing. “Miss, I must say, it’s a rather bold change. But perhaps not one that will be received well by the staff and teachers.” His words were polite, but you could hear the disapproval in the undertones.

You gave him a bright smile, not at all sorry. “I’ll take my chances, Alfred. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I've played this game before.”

Bruce, who had been seething quietly, finally stood up from the table. His usual calm demeanor was replaced with a tense frustration. “Go change. Now.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. “Make me.”

There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, then something else, something more. He clenched his fists for a moment, clearly fighting to maintain control. But you weren’t backing down. Not this time.

“I’m not going to let you walk out of here like that,” Bruce snapped.

You didn’t miss a beat. “You won't let me do anything. I go to school like this or I don't go at all. And since when do you care?” You crossed your arms and stuck your foot out, pouting like a child, staring him down waiting for him to surrender.

Bruce hesitated for a moment, his expression softening ever slightly. “Fine. But you’re pushing it. You're not going like this tomorrow.”

Bruce 0, You 1.

Jason, who had been watching the exchange with interest, chuckled. “You really know how to work him, don’t you?”

You flashed a smile at him, leaning back in your chair as you stood up and grabbed your bag, ready to leave the room. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We're already late. Jason, you driving?” Jason was the most fun, and he wasn't as nosy as Dick or Barbra.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m driving us all today. Come on, let’s go before Dad starts pulling rank.”

With a dramatic sigh, Bruce reluctantly agreed, shooting a last, disapproving look at your outfit before turning toward the door.

The engine of Jason’s car hummed steadily, but the air inside was anything but calm. You had decided to make this ride your moment. If you were uncomfy, you'd make them all feel the same. The others in the car—Damian, Tim, and Duke—were bracing themselves for your usual attitude, though this time you could tell there was a noticeable edge to the tension.

Jason, who was driving, was trying his best to keep his eyes on the road, but you knew he was glaring at you through the rearview mirror. Damian was next to you in the backseat, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, like he was ready to throw down at any second. Tim sat on the other side, buried in his homework, something to do with Gotham Prep’s ever-pressing academic requirements. Nerd.

And Duke? Duke was the least bothered, but you were sure he was mentally rolling his eyes at you the moment you stepped into the car.

You were far too busy with your phone, flipping through TikTok videos and checking your DMs, but every so often, you’d glance at the boys just to see their reactions.

“So…” You leaned forward a little, propping your elbow on the middle console. Your voice was light, casual, but you could feel the energy shift around you. You knew this would get under Jason’s skin. “You think any of the boys at Gotham Prep will notice my glow up? ”

You heard a long, heavy sigh from the driver’s seat before Jason muttered, “She's in that phase huh,"

But you weren’t listening. You were too busy smirking at Tim, who barely looked up from his book. You could feel his eyes narrow, probably out of sheer annoyance. “I mean, it’s inevitable, right?” you continued. “I'm 16 now, I'm better looking. Is there any fresh meat since I left? Anyone interesting, new friends maybe??"

Jason was silent for a moment, but you could see the grip on the steering wheel tightening in his peripheral. He wasn’t going to let you get away with this.

"Listen," Jason said, his voice calm but with that sharp edge he always used when he was trying not to lose his temper. "I don’t want to hear about boys, okay? Not today, not ever."

You blinked dramatically, as if you were the one being attacked. “Oh, come on, Jason, don’t be such a buzzkill. I’m not doing anything. I just wanna know if anyone’s looking.” You reached forward and pressed the button to connect your phone to the car’s Bluetooth, your nails clicking loudly across the screen as you searched for the perfect song to add to the atmosphere.

You knew you were getting to him. Jason was always so serious when it came to boys, always so guarded, especially when it came to you. It was fun getting under his skin. He glanced over his shoulder at you, but you were already half-distracted by your phone.

“Relax, Jase,” you shot back, ignoring his glare. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just curious. It’s just—boys.”

You needed something to stop the ache that came with your new powers.

“Don’t make me pull this car over,” Jason threatened, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror again.

You laughed softly, loving how easily you could provoke him. You leaned back in your seat, stretching out your legs, and noticed Damian watching you like he was deciding whether to strangle you with his own scarf.

“Damian, you’re so serious,” you sigh, you'd been ignoring him lately but you forgot how easy he is to provoke. “You know, you should loosen up. Boys are fun to look at, and to—” You cut yourself off before you could finish the sentence, letting the tension simmer.

Damian’s face twisted in that way he did when he was trying to pretend you didn’t bother him. “I don’t care what you do with boys,” he muttered. “But if you think I’m going to sit in this car while you talk about them like you’re some kind of—”

“Oh, no,” you interrupted with a teasing smile, “Not some kind of what? Some kind of what?” You stretched your legs a little further, drawing more attention to the hem of your skirt as you adjusted yourself in your seat. Making it even shorter now that Bruce wasn't here. You felt the eyes of your brothers boring into you, especially Jason's. “Honestly, Damian, lighten up. If you stopped being such a little grumpy loser all the time, you’d get more attention from girls. You have my looks y'know. ”

Tim, who had been pretending to focus on his homework this whole time, finally looked up from his papers with an exasperated sigh. “Can you not?” he asked, voice strained. “We’ve got school in twenty minutes. We don’t need a whole lecture about boys in the car.”

“Hey, no need to be so dramatic, Tim,” you said, turning your attention to your phone. You found your favorite song, the one that was guaranteed to annoy everyone in the car. “I’m just having fun. It’s not like I’m gonna do anything crazy. I just wanna know who’s gonna be there today."

You were making them all uncomfortable, and you loved it. You could already see Damian’s jaw tightening in the rearview mirror and Jason’s knuckles whitening around the steering wheel. Tim was staring at you like you were a whole new level of annoying. Even Duke rolled his eyes.

But that wasn’t enough. You needed them to be seething.

“I’m telling you right now,” Jason warned, his voice dead serious, “no boys today. No messing around. You’re going to class, and you’re staying focused. I'll check your phone if I have to. Got it?”

You put on your best innocent face, looking up from your phone as if you hadn’t just been causing a small riot in the car. “Okay, okay, Jason. No boys. I'm more into men anyway.”

Damian scoffed again, muttering something about how “pathetic” it was. You just grinned and rolled your eyes.

“Hey, you’re just jealous because girls don’t look at you,” you said, winking at him. “Maybe if you weren’t such a pain in the ass, you’d get noticed more.”

Duke, who had been quietly observing the entire conversation, finally spoke up from the backseat, his tone easygoing but with a hint of amusement. “You got any tips for me? Am I chopped liver”

You rolled your eyes at him, still not over his betrayal. “Glad you’re entertained, Duke. I don't think even I could help you.”

As you said that, you grabbed the aux cord and plugged it into your phone without asking.

Jason let out a sharp sigh, but you just grinned. “I’ve got it from here,” you said as you clicked on Drake’s Hotline Bling. The song blasted as you maxed out the volume. Damian looked like he was about to combust.

“You really are a pain in the ass, aren’t you?” Tim muttered under his breath, trying to focus on his schoolwork again.

You grinned. “I like to think of myself as entertaining.”

Duke nodded his head to the beat, tapping on his phone and Jason’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror, but you could see the playfulness in his face. He was trying not to smile, despite himself.

“I’m just saying, no boys today, no skipping, no trouble” Jason reiterated, trying to keep a semblance of control. “And if I hear anything about you messing around, we’re going back home, got it?”

You leaned back in your seat and stretched again. “Sure, sure, no boys. But just so you know, if i get into "trouble" it’s not my fault.”

Jason didn’t respond.

When you finally arrived at Gotham Prep you sighed, grabbed your bag, straightened out your skirt one last time, and nearly ran away from them so you didn't have to walk in with Duke, Damian, and Tim. “See you later, losers,” you said with a grin, pulling your sunglasses on as you walked away from the car.

Gotham Prep didn't know what's coming.

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#yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batman #yandere jason todd #yandere damian wayne #yandere tim drake #yandere bruce wayne #yandere x reader #yandere bruce wayne x reader #yandere dick grayson

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gf2bellamy · 2 days ago

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Hello !!

I really enjoy your writing and thought that I’d submit a request for a Spencer Reid x Reader fic :)

Essentially, Spencer and Reader just recently moved in together and are getting ready to go on a date. Reader is putting on makeup around the time Spencer finishes getting ready, and Spencer just takes a moment to admire her and says some sort of sweet comment?

(Sorry if that isn’t broad enough)

Thanks! 🫶🏻

- B

admiration — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing i think ? a/n: thank you so much for your request B !! <3333 i love it such an adorable idea ! i hope you like this

You stood in front of the bathroom mirror, rummaging through your makeup bag. Your brows furrowed in concentration as you dug past mascara tubes, eyeliner pencils, and a stray hair tie.

“Where is it?” you mumbled to yourself, frustration creeping into your voice.

Finally, your fingers brushed against the smooth tube of your favorite lip gloss. Triumphantly, you pulled it out, unscrewed the cap, and paused for just a second to look at yourself in the mirror. A small, excited smile tugged at your lips.

Tonight was another date night with Spencer—one of many you’d shared—but the excitement never faded. Even now, standing in the bathroom of your shared apartment, it still felt just as thrilling as the very first time.

Spencer always had a way of making things special, whether it was a night out at a fancy restaurant or an evening spent curled up on the couch with a stack of books and takeout.

You leaned in slightly, applying the gloss with careful precision. Just as you capped the tube, you heard Spencer’s voice outside the door.

“Hey, I’m ready,” he called, followed by a soft knock.

A small smile played on your lips as you glanced toward the door. “You can come in.”

Spencer slowly opened the door just as you finished applying your lip gloss, the soft click of the handle barely registering as you focused on your reflection. But when the silence stretched longer than expected, curiosity got the best of you.

You turned to find him standing in the doorway, staring.

His lips were slightly parted, eyes wide with something that looked a lot like awe. He wasn’t even trying to hide it—his gaze traced over you with the kind of admiration that sent warmth blooming in your chest.

You tilted your head slightly, a small, amused smile forming on your lips. “Spencer?”

Spencer blinked, seemingly snapping out of whatever daze he had fallen into. “You—uhm. Wow.” His voice wavered slightly, his brain clearly scrambling to form a coherent sentence.

You bit back a smile, amused by his flustered state. He always did this—always got a little tongue-tied when you dressed up, like he was seeing you for the first time all over again.

“Well, thank you, Dr. Reid,” you teased, stepping forward until you were close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne. Your hands moved to his tie, adjusting it with practiced ease. “And you look very handsome yourself.”

He smiled shyly at your compliment and then his voice softened. “You know…I’ve read about beauty before. Poets, philosophers, even mathematicians have tried to define it, to measure it, to explain what makes something—or someone—beautiful.”

Your hands paused on his tie as your breath caught slightly.

His gaze never wavered as he continued. “But I don’t think words could ever really capture what I feel when I look at you.”

Your heart practically stopped. The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache in the best way.

For a moment, you just stared at him, your fingers still lightly resting against his tie.

Then, a small, breathy laugh escaped you as you shook your head. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?”

Spencer smiled sheepishly. “Not always. Just when it comes to you.”

You exhaled, feeling warmth spread through your entire body.

“Well,” you murmured, smoothing your hands down the lapels of his suit, “you’re pretty impossible not to love, you know that?”

Spencer’s expression shifted—his eyes softened. But instead of responding right away, he did something else.

He leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead, lingering just long enough to make your heart swell.

“I love you too,” he whispered against your skin.

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #spencer reid #criminal minds fic

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anghimalaaynasapuso · 3 days ago

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DISCORD BOYFRIEND KÖNIG

sfw + nsfw. this is just an amalgamation of all my ideas

könig has never been one for putting his face on social media. even before the scars that pull at the skin of his cheek, reshaping his expression in ways he’s never fully grown used to, the idea of being seen, really seen, has never sat right with him. there’s a certain comfort in anonymity, in keeping the world at arm’s length. easier that way. safer.

that unease, paired with what some might consider his more nerdy interests, means he gravitates toward spaces like discord rather than the highly curated feeds of instagram or facebook. there, he doesn’t have to worry about photos or videos— just a username, and a presence in text.

his handle is simple: king 👑. a nod to the name he’s carried for so long, stripped of rank, stripped of weight.

even in the server where he’s most active, he keeps things vague, blending into discussions about games, military history, or whatever niche interest has caught his attention that week.

every now and then, he’ll let something slip— a mention of deployment, an offhand comment, disappearing for months at a time, only to return with a sudden burst of activity. some put the pieces together. most don’t. and könig prefers it that way. it’s easier to let them think he’s just another guy with spotty internet.

your first interaction is rather simple in retrospect.

he’s back after weeks of recon, shaking off the mission like dirt from his boots, easing into the familiarity of a gaming server he’s called home for years.

it’s not a small server, so new people come and go. he does his usual routine— an automated, slightly impersonal welcome but what he doesn’t expect is the sheer enthusiasm in return.

“hi!!!!”

he stares at the message for a second, counting the exclamation marks. three. four. five? a small smile tugs at his lips before he even realizes it.

it doesn’t take long before you’re at his metaphorical side, sending a friend request before the conversation even shifts from your college courses.

the older members tease him. something about his last deployment scrambling his head enough to take a newbie under his wing. he lets them talk. he doesn’t mind.

soon enough, you’re in his private messages, dramatically lamenting your latest loss in a game he’s only vaguely familiar with. könig listens— well, reads— as you rant, words spilling out at a rapid-fire pace, interspersed with keyboard smashing and increasingly incoherent frustration.

he’s not much for new releases, preferring to sink his teeth into a single game for months on end, grinding away until mastery is muscle memory. still-

one evening, without preamble, he sends you a link. his profile. in your game.

the response is immediate. ‘king!!! 🥺’ you type, followed by an onslaught of keyboard mashing that takes up half his screen.

he exhales a short laugh, shaking his head. he wonders if you know how easy it is to make him grin like an idiot.

the calls are… an unexpected development.

könig doesn’t make a habit to join server calls. ever. it’s not even about anxiety, not really, just preference. too many voices, too much noise. he never expected to be comfortable enough with anyone to want to be in a call, let alone initiate one.

but when you start gaming together, it becomes a necessity. typing mid-match isn’t exactly efficient, and you’re the first to point that out.

“okay, listen, king, i am not about to lose another ranked match just because you take five years to type ‘behind you.’” he huffs, amused, but relents.

soon enough, calls become second nature— no longer tied to gaming, no longer requiring an excuse. you always ask first, polite thing that you are, and könig always agrees. sometimes it’s an unspoken invitation, a simple “call?” sent in the quiet hours of the night. sometimes he beats you to it, pressing the button before he can think too hard about it.

one time, it’s you who calls. he answers on the first ring.

“are you- wait.” you pause, listening. there’s a distinct, rhythmic thud-thud-thud in the background. not footsteps, but something heavier, more controlled. “are you on a treadmill?”

“mm.” his voice is steady, unaffected. a quiet confirmation.

you gasp, and he can practically hear the amusement brewing in your tone. “oh my god! you actually work out? i thought you were lying.”

he snorts, breath hitching slightly as he adjusts his pace. “why would i lie about that?”

“i don’t know! you just- i mean, you sit at your desk all day, playing the same game for hours, and you’re always online at weird times-”

“you are describing yourself,” he points out.

“shut up.”

there’s a pause, and then, with the kind of mischief that only comes from knowing exactly how to push his buttons, you add, “prove it.”

he slows to a walk, swiping open his phone. a moment later, you receive a picture. him, flexing. the lighting is dim, but you can still make out the cut of his forearm, the solid shape of his bicep. just to humor you, he throws up a peace sign.

“not stolen from pinterest.”

you burst into laughter so sudden and bright that he finds himself smiling before he can stop it.

you learn what it means to miss könig pretty early on.

it happens suddenly. one day, he’s there, active as usual, sending the occasional meme, idling in voice chat even if he’s not talking. the next? radio silence. not even a ‘typing…’ indicator.

at first, you don’t think much of it. maybe he’s sleeping in. maybe he’s busy. time zones are weird. it’s fine.

but then a whole day passes. then another. you check his status— nothing. not offline, not do not disturb, just… gone.

curiosity turns into concern, and before you can think better of it, you ask in the server.

“hey, anyone heard from king?”

the response is casual. unbothered. “oh, dude’s probably deployed again.”

you blink. reread the message. “deployed?”

“yeah, king’s military.”

there’s no warning for the way that statement knocks the air from your lungs.

military? as in, real-life combat? as in, war zones and danger and actual life-or-death situations?

you stare at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure what to even say to that.

he doesn’t resurface for weeks.

you don’t realize how much you’ve come to rely on his presence until it’s gone. his absence is loud in the quiet moments of your day, in the spaces where a message from him would normally be.

you check the server out of habit, catching yourself before you can search his username. it’s stupid, you think. you barely know him. he’s just some guy from a discord server.

but the worry lingers.

and then, one day, just like that— he’s back.

his return is as unceremonious as his disappearance.

no dramatic entrance, no fanfare. just a simple “hello.”

you see it the moment he sends it. your stomach flips.

before you can stop yourself, you send a private message. “you’re alive.”

a moment passes. then— “yes.”

you frown. “you were gone for weeks.”

“i know.”

frustration bubbles up. “you could’ve said something.”

“i couldn’t.”

you hesitate, fingers tightening around your phone. you don’t know what you were expecting. an explanation? reassurance? but it’s clear you’re not getting one.

but then, a follow-up message. one that feels heavier, more careful. “i’m sorry.”

and just like that, the irritation dissolves.

it’s strange, the way things slip back into place after that.

he doesn’t talk about it, and you don’t ask. but something shifts. after that deployment, könig starts telling you when he’ll be gone. nothing in detail, really. just a simple, “i’ll be away for a bit.”

(it means everything.)

slowly, you get used to it. the rhythm of his presence and absence, the way your conversations pick up right where they left off, as if no time has passed at all.

it goes on for months. this… thing between the two of you. könig doesn’t hesitate to call it friendship, though he knows, knows, it’s something else entirely.

something with edges softer than companionship, something that lingers in the pauses between conversation, in the way you had whispered his real name under your breath when he revealed it to you.

he doesn’t rush to name it. doesn’t push. he lets it simmer until it feels inevitable.

in the end, it’s you who breaks first. technically. not that he’s keeping score. not that he would ever rub it in your face, especially when he was a mere day away from asking the very same thing.

it starts with a message. no preamble, no buildup. just a simple: hey, what are we?

könig sees it and reacts before thinking. presses the call button so fast his thumb practically smashes the screen. it rings once, twice—

“you didn’t even ask.” your voice comes through, half exasperated, half amused.

“didn’t want to give you time to unsend.” his own voice is steady, but his heart is anything but.

you huff. “bold assumption.”

“not really.”

a pause. he hears you shift, fabric rustling, the sound of you settling in. something warm and slow uncoils in his chest at the familiarity of it.

“so,” you start, hesitant. “what’s your answer?”

könig exhales, tipping his head back against his pillow. “do you want the truth?”

“obviously.”

he hums, considering. in reality, he’s known the truth for a while now. probably before you even realized it yourself.

“i like you,” he says, simple, sure. then, because he knows you, because he knows your deflections, your habit of teasing when you get nervous, he adds, “and i’m very aware you like me back.”

you sputter. “that’s a bold assumption-”

“not really,” he repeats, smug this time.

you groan, but you’re laughing, and it sends something bright flickering through him.

könig doesn’t ask for nudes. not once. he flirts, he teases, but never pushes. he knows your boundaries, respects them, never even hints at wanting more. if anything, he’s careful. too careful, sometimes. like he’s afraid of crossing a line you haven’t even drawn.

so when you finally send something, it’s your choice.

the first picture is tame. barely anything. it's a shot of your thighs, soft and warm in the low light of your room. nothing scandalous. nothing too revealing. but the second you hit send, your stomach twists with nerves.

könig sees it immediately. you watch the typing bubble appear, disappear, then appear again. and then— “fuck.”

you grin. “good?”

“you have no idea.”

it only escalates from there.

könig never requests more. but when you send it, when you want to send it, his reaction is worth it. he worships you through the screen, tells you how beautiful you are, how much he wishes he could touch you.

“pretty,” he texts once, attached to a voice message.

you press play. his breath is ragged, like he’s just run a mile. “pretty thing,” he repeats, voice tinged with something almost reverent. “you’re going to ruin me, love.”

the first time he sends you something, it takes him forever to work up to it.

you don’t ask for it. wouldn’t dream of pushing him into something he’s not comfortable with. könig isn’t shy, necessarily, but he’s private. you know that by now.

so when, out of nowhere, a picture pops up on your screen, your brain short-circuits.

it’s cropped carefully, but there’s no mistaking what you’re looking at— bare skin, broad shoulders, his stomach flexed just slightly.

“you like?” he texts after a minute.

you swallow hard. “yes.”

“good.” and then— “more?”

you bite your lip. “please.”

könig gets bolder after that.

he sends more. never too much, always teasing, always just enough to leave you wanting. sometimes it’s his hands, sometimes it’s his abs, the sharp cut of his hip bones, the waistband of his sweatpants hanging just low enough to make your mouth water.

one night, he sends a voice message instead. you press play.

at first, all you hear is his breathing. then, slowly, softly— your name, whispered through a noise that makes heat bloom low in your stomach.

“wish you were here,” he murmurs. “wish you could see what you do to me.”

the actual nudes don’t take long. not ar all. you’re both desperate. buzzing. könig’s the one who caves first.

it starts with your text. 10 p.m., the hour where inhibitions slip through grasping fingers like sand.

“wanna see your cock so bad, könig…” you murmur to your propped phone, cheek pressed to your pillow, another one stuffed against your chest like it might replace the hollow ache between your ribs. a distraction. a poor substitute.

on the other side of the screen, he exhales, dragging a hand down his face. fingers tensing, then flexing, like he needs something to hold onto. “love-” your whine cuts through before he can even think. instinctive. needy. his stomach clenches. “okay, okay. as long as you're sure.”

his heart pounds as he opens his photos. he doesn’t exactly collect dick pics, but there are a few kept locked away, private albums, a passcode he suddenly fumbles to enter.

three minutes. that’s how long it takes to choose the best one. the right angle. the right lighting. enough to make your breath hitch when you see it.

he hits send before he can overthink it, then leans back, phone balanced on his thigh, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

your phone buzzes. the photo pops up. you blink, breath hitching sharp in your throat.

“oh my god.” the words spill out of you before you can even think to stop them. “könig…” you stare at the screen, gaze locked on the thick, heavy length of him. the way it curves slightly, resting against his thigh like it’s weighed down by its own sheer mass. your breath stutters.

“you're so fucking big.” it barely registers that you've said it aloud.

“yeah? you like it?

“like it?” you shoot back. “i want it inside me.”

his breath leaves him in one harsh exhale. he shifts, hips rolling involuntarily like he can feel your words on his skin.

“can i see you too?” he sounds so polite. and then, as if that wasn’t enough to twist the knife deeper— “please?”

your stomach flips. you bite your lip, already reaching for your phone camera, the need to show him everything burning through you like wildfire.

your breath comes shallow as you slip your hand lower, phone steady in the other. the need is a pulse under your skin, throbbing, insistent. you pull the covers back just enough, the cool air prickling against the heat between your thighs.

the camera catches everything. your slightly parted thighs, your swollen clit, the wetness gushing out of your hole. it feels like baring a secret you’ve never told anyone. you hesitate for half a second, heart racing, then hit send.

the second the message disappears from your screen, it hits you— you just sent that to him.

on his end, könig freezes. the photo loads slow, torturous, and when it finally pops up, he feels his whole body tense, blood rushing south so fast it’s dizzying. “f-fuck, i need to be inside of you-”

sex with könig, if you can even call it that, at first, sneaks up on you. you never thought you’d be the kind of person who got into this. sending texts that made your face burn, leaving voice messages you could barely listen back to without cringing. but with him, it’s different. easier. less embarrassing because it’s him.

still, going from nudes to actual phone sex takes some time.

“gonna sleep,” könig texts you once, attached to a blurry photo of his bed.

“alone?” you send back, teasing.

the typing bubble appears. then disappears. then— “obviously.”

you grin at your phone, satisfied. but then— “but i could use some company.”

you stare at the message longer than you’d like to admit.

didn't tell him that you had woken up panting, arousal between your thighs, könig’s name on your lips too many times. didn't tell him that you had pressed your hand against your clit during your calls, to the sound of his voice, to his laugh, to the quiet, wrecked groans he sometimes lets out when he stretches after a workout.

in the past, you hadn't told him how many times you’d dreamt of him because you thought you'd scare him off, kept your mouth shut about the images that haunted you at night, of his hands pinning you down, his mouth at your throat.

but you wanted to.

and tonight, you would.

the conversation turns slow. lazy. heavy with something unspoken.

“you sound tired,” könig murmurs, voice warm. he’s always like this late at night. soft, unhurried, like he’s sinking into the sound of you.

you swallow hard. your skin feels too hot, too tight. “i’m not.”

a pause. then, lower— “what is it, love?”

you hesitate, pressing your lips together. it’s too much. too embarrassing. but he knows something is different.

“talk to me. tell me what you’re thinking.”

you let out a shaky breath. “i had a dream about you.”

the silence stretches.

you can hear him inhale. you bite your lip. force yourself to continue. “i think about you. when i-” you stop. you can’t say it. can’t admit it.

könig exhales through his nose, like he’s trying to steady himself. “when you what?”

your stomach is a knot of nerves. but you want this. want him. so you take a breath, close your eyes. “when i touch myself.”

his breath stutters.

“fuck.” the word is almost a groan. your pulse hammers, blood rushing through your ear as heat pools in your stomach.

“könig,” you whisper.

he exhales, whispers his next words like a beg, “say it again.”

you swallow. “i touch myself to you.”

“i do too.”

your stomach flips. “what?”

“i-” he cuts himself off with a quiet curse, like he's frustrated with himself for hesitating. “i touch myself to you too.”

your breath catches. heat blooms in your chest, spreading down your spine. “könig-”

“all the time.” his voice is lower now, raw, like he's aching with it. “when i can't sleep. when you're on call with me, laughing, teasing me. when i wake up hard in the middle of the night and can’t stop thinking about stuffing you full.”

your body is burning again, despite the aftershocks still rolling through you. you're about to choke out a reply when you hear it— the rustle of fabric, the faint creak of bedsprings, the wet slide of skin on skin.

“are you-”

a sharp inhale. “yes.”

“let me hear you,” you whisper, thinking about his pretty, pretty cock. uncut, soft skin stretched over the flushed head, the way it would slide back when he’s fully hard, revealing the deep pink of his leaking tip. the veins that wind down the length, standing out against the pale skin

there's a pause, a hitch in his breath. then, slowly— “okay.”

there's a small rustle, könig adjusting himself on the bed. the faint sound of him pumping lotion on his hand. a quiet sigh. and then, a low grunt as the warmth of his palm wraps around his cock.

könig looks down at his hand, eyes half-lidded, hips bucking up in small thrusts. he imagines your pussy instead of his fist, hot and tight and so fucking warm, fluttering around his length as he pushes in, spearing you open with a cock too big for your little cunny.

he knows you’d cry for him, little gasps and hiccupped moans, squirming beneath him as he bullies his cock deeper, past that tight ring of muscle into the slick, warm clutch of your cunt.

“a-ah- fuck, ah-”

your breath stutters at the sounds, hips grinding against your palm. “wish i could see you.”

“on cam?”

you groan, squeezing your thighs around the pillow in-between your legs, grinding your clit against the material softly. “yes, please..”

fuck, you're so polite.

#könig #könig call of duty #könig x reader #call of duty #x reader #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod x reader #cod x y/n #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig x reader #konig cod #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig x you #konig x y/n

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muletia · 3 days ago

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[tfp] obsessed!megatron x human!reader suggestive valveplug content, mdi!

based on this ask about humans producing pheromones during ovulation

cw: mentions of kidnapping (but reader is chill about it lmao), obsessive thoughts, one-sided sexual tension, slut-route reader, beginning of valveplug but it cuts off before explicit interfacing, implied subish!megatron and dom!reader

word count: 1700

Once again, you find yourself aboard the Decepticon warship. The Vehicons had taken you straight from your home, seizing the opportunity while the Autobots were too preoccupied with the battle over an energon mine to notice. They delivered you directly into Megatron’s own hands, just as they had done countless times before. But by now, the fear of being captured and spending time in Megatron’s presence has long since dulled, replaced instead by an almost saintly patience for the Lord’s whims — most of which seem to revolve around you.

You no longer feel tense around him. Not anymore. That much allows you to lower your guard, to abandon vigilance, and to lay back on his thigh with your hands behind your head and one leg dangling over the edge. Relaxed, knowing that you are in no danger, at least, ironically, not from Megatron himself. He allows you to be disrespectful if it means you stay close to him, indulges you, spoiling with privileges no Decepticon would ever dare dream of. It would be a shame not to take advantage of that and behave like a person rather than a frightened rabbit.

But you must admit, he seems different today. Even more focused on you than usual, sitting on his throne like an unmoving mountain, as though he is tense himself no matter how grotesque that sounds. Has been like this ever since you landed in his servo. But now that he has set you down freely on his thigh, he seems more mysterious, more silent. This strange shift in his demeanor stirs your human curiosity — what thoughts could possibly be circling in Megatron’s processor?

Even with your eyes closed, you feel his piercing gaze on you. It does not allow you to fully relax, to enjoy the privilege of being special, of being important. It builds pressure, and eventually, you give in, cracking one eye open.

Your suspicions prove true when you meet a pair of crimson optics locked onto you. Analyzing. Searching. Though you are not sure for what.

Unable to endure it any longer, you give in to the expectations pressing down on you.

“Is there something I can do for you, Lord Megatron?”

“Are you doing this on purpose?” he replies with a question of his own.

“I don’t understand.” You sit up. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You tempt. You provoke.” He growls. “That scent you are emitting. Stop it. Immediately.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded, completely unaware of what he means. But the furrow of his optical ridges and the slight baring of his dentas make it clear — he genuinely expects action, not contemplation.

“How exactly am I supposed to stop emitting a scent? I can’t control that.”

“Truly? Because if this is some human tactic of collaboration to ensure a quicker return home, then I regret to inform you that no force will take you from my servos. You will remain here, where you rightfully belong.”

“Why would I deliberately provoke the most powerful Decepticon to my own disadvantage?” you point out.

He shifts restlessly, then clenches his servo into a fist. You are irritating him. Whatever he is detecting in your scent must be unbearably difficult to tolerate, let alone suppress. But there is physically nothing you can do to meet the demand placed upon you.

“I lack the patience for fruitless attempts at flattery today, [Name].”

Not when his spike is pressing uncomfortably against the walls of it's cage, pleading for release, for the chance to bury itself in your sweet, human valve.

You watch him for a moment, your sharp little optics trying to decipher his processor. But he does not want you to, does not want you to realize the havoc you have unknowingly wreaked upon him, especially not the mystery of that scent. Sweet yet suffocating, it floods his processor, seeping into every crevice, infecting with desire, overwhelming with the need to breed. To claim. To take. To create an offspring. To lock you away from everyone, ensuring you depend only on him.

Would you completely despise him if he allowed himself to touch you? Would you sever the twisted bond you have woven together?

He is mad enough to take the risk. Even if the price is your hatred.

You have control over him, and the fact that you do so unknowingly only fuels the fire of his frustration.

“I expect you to take my words to your equivalent of a spark and act accordingly.” Before he completely loses himself to this cursed, infuriating spike.

Today, you are impossible to ignore. Impossible to look away from. Impossible to focus on anything other than your body sprawled so shamelessly and unapologetically across his thigh, so close to his interface panel. Tempting him. Teasing. Whether intentionally or not, it makes no difference. It is maddening, because he is incapable of purging the fantasy of tearing your clothes to shreds and claiming you with an animalistic frenzy. He no longer cares whether it happens here or in his habsuite, mind entirely consumed by the need.

“Are you saying that I… I’m releasing pheromones? And you can sense them?”

Are you playing ignorant, or are you truly that oblivious?

“Of course. And I expect you to cease it at once, while your delightful naivety still amuses me.”

Your eyes widen. Megatron raises an optical ridge.

“You were not aware?”

“No? Humans don’t have a strong enough sense of smell to—oh, shit.” You cut yourself off, glancing around the bridge.

Every mech in the room is staring at you like a starving beast. Ravenous. Desperate.

Even Soundwave has stopped working, his helm tilted in your direction.

Even proud, human-hating Starscream is watching you with his intake slightly parted, his thoughts swirling around the same relentless need.

Instinctively, you shift closer to Megatron’s abdomen, seeking protection from the hungry stares of his subordinates. That tiny movement is enough to snap the Decepticon leader out of his trance of battling his own desire. For the first time since making physical contact with you, he tears his gaze away, only to direct his fury outward.

“Did I order you to stop working?!” he thunders.

That alone is enough to send the bots scrambling back to their tasks. But it is not enough for Megatron. He has reached his limit, can no longer keep you in the presence of others. Only the last shreds of his self-control prevent him from slaughtering everyone who dared look at you.

“Enough of this,” he growls.

He offers you his servo, and you climb into it without hesitation, showing your gratitude by stroking his thumb. Even that innocent, minuscule gesture stokes the fire. Teases the need.

He pulls you close to his chassis, the motion wafting even more of that cloying scent toward him. He clenches his free servo into a fist to hold himself back; thoughts have already melted into simple, instinctive urges. Claim. Take. Drown in you. That is what he excels at. What he does best.

You must save him. Put an end to this madness of desire. Free him from the suffocating scent consuming his processor. Return him to rational thought. Sever the chain that has wound so tightly around his neck.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask, and the vibrations of your voice ripple through him, teasing his neglected spike.

“Somewhere where you will be mine alone,” he answers. One claw drags over your back with a shocking contrast of gentleness. “If this was your plan from the very beginning, then congratulations, you have driven me mad. I expect you to take responsibility for your actions.”

“Oh, so that’s the provocation you meant.”

He opens the door to his private habsuite and immediately shuts it behind him, unable to pretend any longer that mere innocent touches are able to satisfy him.

He places you on the berth, allowing himself the freedom to mass shift — still enormous, still an immovable mountain, still radiating power that presses your back into the berth, caging you in with his servos, shutting out the world.

“You have been tempting me with your scent since the moment I first detected it. Shamelessly luring me, silently begging for interfacing, and yet you have the audacity to feign innocence? Do you not feel it?” he asks, his voice low, testing your reaction. “The overpowering appetite for physicality? The need to satisfy it at any cost?”

"Of course, I feel it, I've been struggling with this for a few days, but I didn’t expect that—" Your explanation is cut off by the faint sound of an interface panel sliding open, instantly capturing your attention. You swallow hard, biting down gently on your lower lip as your focus lands on the massive, swollen spike, from whose tip droplets of pink transfluid slowly drip, right between your legs.

"Oh…"

Megatron’s servo reaches for your pants, ready to tear down the barriers keeping him from your sweet, tight valve, but you beat him to it, springing to your feet and wrapping your hand around the heated, sensitive spike. He stares at you with reproach but doesn’t have time to twist it into anger before your hand starts moving along the length of his spike, coaxing a low moan from his intake and forcing him to straighten, giving you better access to stroke up and down. He tries to be furious about the loss of control, about allowing himself even a moment of distraction but physically, he can’t move. He’s completely frozen, shackled by your incredible skill in milking his spike.

He’s been waiting for stimulation for so long — there’s no way he’s going to deny himself now, especially when it’s coming from you.

"Well then, I take full responsibility for my actions," you say nonchalantly, drawing out fury if the look on Megatron’s face is anything to go by. But you manage to stifle his anger with a tighter squeeze around the base of his spike, forcing a restrained grimace of pleasure.

Let’s see if you can last longer than Optimus, you think, feeling his rough, greedy servo pressing firmly against your chest.

#transformers x reader #megatron x reader #obsessed!megatron #valveplug

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leeeedith · 3 days ago

Text

SEVENTEEN reaction to their S/O falling asleep on them

S.Coups 🍒

Seungcheol would immediately go into protective boyfriend mode. The second he notices you dozing off against him, he'd adjust ihs positions so you're comfortable, wrapping an arm around you securely. He might chuckle softly and whisper, "Tired, baby?" before stroking your back gently. If the other members notice and tease him, he'd just shrug, "What can I do? They're adorable."

Jeonghan 😇

Jeonghan would smirk to himself, feeling victorious. He wouldn't move at all, letting you sleep peacefully, but expect him to tease you about it later. "Wow, I must be really comfortable, huh?" He might even pretend to be asleep too just to mess with you when you wake up. But deep down, he's be really soft about it, enjoying the quiet moment with you.

Joshua 🐰

Shua would smile sweetly, his heart melting at how cute you look while sleeping. He'd carefully tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and make sure you're comfortable. If he's playing guitar, he might start strumming softly, humming a lullaby just for you. "Sleep well, angel." He'd be so soft and gentle, making sure nothing disturbes you.

Jun 🐱

Jun would be super amused but also really soft about it. He'd freeze for a second, then slowly adjust his posture so you can rest better. He might take out his phone and snap a sneaky picture, smiling to himself. If you wake up and apologize, he'd just laugh, "It's okay, you looked adorable. Want to go back to sleep?"

Hoshi 🐯

Soonyoung would try so hard not to freak out from how cute it is. His hands would hover over you for a second, unsure if he should move or stay still. Eventually, he'd relax and let you sleep, but expect him to excitedly tell the members later, "They fell asleep on me! I think I'm their favorite pillow now." If you wake up, he'd pout, "Nooo, go back to sleep! I liked it."

Wonwoo 🦊

Wonwoo would pause his book or game the moment he realizes you're asleep on him. He'd glance down at you, a small, fond smile forming as he watches you breathe softly. He wouldn't move an inch, making sure you stay comfortable. If the members tease him, he'd just say, "They were tired. Let them rest." But inside? He's secretly loving it.

Woozi 🍚

Woozi would freeze up at first, not sure what to do. He'd feel his heart flutter but act completely indifferent on the outside. He might pretend it doesn't affect him, but the tiny smile on his lips would say otherwise. If you wake up and apologize, he'd just shake his head, "It's fine. You can do it anytime." If you fall asleep while he's working on music, he might even whisper, "I'll write you a lullaby next time."

DK 🍕

Dokyeom would be so flustered but so happy. He'd try to hold in his giggles, but his excitement would be obvious. He'd look down at you with the biggest smile, resisting the urge to squish your cheeks. He'd probably tell the members later, "They fell asleep on me! Does this mean I'm comforting?" If you wake up, he'd give you his brigtest grin, "You looked so peaceful! Want to nap longer?"

Mingyu 🐶

Mingyu would absolutely melt on the spot. He'd carefully adjust so you're even more confortable, probably pulling his jacket over you to keep you warm. He'd be too scared to move, worried about waking you up, so he'd just sit there and admire how cute you look. If you wake up and apologize, he'd say quickly, "No, no! Keep sleeping, I don't mind at all."

The8 🐸

Minghao would be so soft but act chill about it. He'd glance down at you and sigh lightly, adjusting his posture to make sure you're comfortable. He'd probably stroke your hair absentmindedly while continuing whatever he was doing. Later, he'd tease you, "Guess I'm your favorite pillow now." But deep down, he'd really love it.

Seungkwan 🍊

Seungkwan would be so dramatic about it. He'd gasp softly, cover his mouth, and whisper to himself, "Oh my gosh, this is the cutest thing ever." He'd be super careful not to wake you, but later on, he'd absolutely bring it up. "You fell asleep on me! Do you know how adorable that was? I almost cried." If you apologize, he'd pout, "No, do it again next time."

Vernon 🐢

Vernon would just sit there like, "...Oh." He'd be totally chill about it but secretly loving it. He might put his phone away and just sit still, enjoying the peaceful moment. If you wake up and apologize, he'd just blink at you and say, "It's cool. You can use me as a pillow whenever." Then he'd go right back to whatever he was doing, but with a small smile.

Dino 🦖

Chan would be so soft but also so shy. He'd stare at you for a moment, not sure what to do, before finally relaxing and letting you sleep. If the members see and tease him, he'd get all flustered, "Shh! Don't wake them up!" But secretly, he'd be so happy. If you wake up and apologize, he'd interrrupt you quickly, "No, no" I liked it..."

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grandline-fics · 2 days ago

Note

Law Single red rose pleaaaase!!! 💕💕

DESCRIPTION: Single Red Rose- When your date goes wrong, they come to your rescue

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Law

WORDS: 984

A/N: Part of the Valentines Day Event! There's already so many requests so thank you all so much for the positive response so far. Thank you @obsessivemuch for being the first request and I hope that this is to your liking.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI

————————

The atmosphere in the island was warm and friendly, civilians held no fear of the Heart Pirates at all. From the moment they surfaced the Polar Tang and all through the day as they gathered supplies and stretched their limbs while enjoying the fresh summer air and sun that they’d greatly missed while traveling under water. Taking advantage of the hospitality of the island and its inhabitants, with there still being so much the crew had yet to see and do, they begged Law to stay an extra couple days. Trying to remain firm, Law told them they would only stay on land for the night and in the morning everyone would be allowed the day to explore or shop, using the time as they saw fit but he wouldn’t allow any longer to distract them from their journey. With bellies filled with delicious food and now everyone enjoying drinks, Law felt himself relax in his seat just happy to sit back and talk with the others while still observing his surroundings.

As he drank slowly his eyes fell onto the table you were sat at. At first he didn’t know why a table with what was obviously a random couple having a date would capture his attention but then he realised what it was. Your body language just radiated tension. Not a shy nervousness that would show in the beginning of a relationship, or a tense anticipation that you were expecting something like a proposal. Your whole body was tense with restrained annoyance. As Law finished his drink he caught you glancing towards the clock on the wall while forcing yourself to give your date a polite nod in response to whatever it was he was saying. You were trying to gauge when you could bail on this date without seeming like the bad guy. From the way your foot idly bounced under the table when the date laughed at his own joke, it was clear you were reaching the end of your patience. Poor you, but it wasn’t his problem.

Law rose and walked to the bar to get a new drink. While he waited for it to be served he couldn't help but have his attention slowly drift back to your shipwreck of a date. From this angle he now had a clear view of your face and now he couldn’t look away, immediately drawn further into observing the interaction you were having with your date. Law watched as you opened your mouth, actually excited for the first time that he’d seen to say something in response only for your date to talk over you. Immediately your bright eyes sharpened and cooled, your jaw tightening and fingers curling into a fist against the table. Honestly, what kind of idiot had you agreed to go out with that couldn’t even pick up on your unhappiness? Were they that self-absorbed?

His own dark gold eyes watched as your date got up from the table and headed for the restroom, Law didn’t miss the disappointment in your eyes to see he wasn’t going for the exit and smirked. Grabbing his drink he approached your table and came to a stop in front of you. You blinked and for a moment thought your date had unfortunately returned faster than you’d hoped, only to blink in surprise to see who was now in front of you. You’d heard pirates had arrived and you were familiar with this man’s face after having seen it in the papers more than enough times. You wondered if he knew that the photos and posters did not do his attractiveness justice. Deciding this intrusion was a lot more exciting than the torture that was your date you smiled at Law. “Can I help you?”

“Now that’s not fair, that was going to be my line.” Law told you with a small chuckle. “If you’re being held hostage by that guy just say the word.”

“Oh I’ve been warned against this kind of thing.” You hummed playfully. “Offers of help usually come at a price.”

“Can’t I just offer to be nice?”

“Aren't you supposed to be a pirate? Does being nice go against your code?”

“So long as the Marines don’t find out my reputation is safe.” Law explained, his smirk growing as you laughed. Honestly your date fell further and further down in his regard by the second. “So? Need my help?”

“We still haven’t discussed payment.”

“Nothing much, just a walk through the city?”

“Can’t say no to a fair exchange like that. You’ve got yourself a deal.” You conceded, sitting back in your seat. This conversation was the most fun you’d had all evening and you were curious to see what Law would do. You tilted your head when Law set his drink down and took your hand, pulling you to your feet and leading you to the door. “Really? Just walking out is your big idea?”

“I’ve had your date trapped in the restrooms since he left the table. Didn't you wonder what was taking him so long?” Law explained, grinned at your shocked expression. As a precaution he’d had his room ability activated from the second he and the crew entered the bar, just in case any of them needed to make a quick escape. When your date was away he’d shifted the large boxes from the alley outside to block the restroom doors. All Law had really needed was your say-so to continue spending time with him. He dropped his gaze down when you looped your arm through his as you both walked through the busy nighttime streets. “So where to first? You’re the local here, not me.”

“Well the city’s pretty big. I can’t exactly show you everything in one night.” You explained lightly with a smile.

“Well aren’t you lucky? My crew and I won’t be leaving for a few days.”

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya , @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut , @irumawife , @laidenbreecatchall , @redwolfxx , @jevoislesbrasdemer , @schanwow

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qqueenofhades · 3 days ago

Note

Genuine question, since I'm another person your recent posts have inspired to contact government officials: why is calling the best method? Is it because constant phone traffic disrupts everything else, the idea that people people only call about things they really care about, or something else that isn't apparent to me? I'm really curious as to how this particular feature of government works.

And thank you again for maintaining hope while still spreading awareness. Kindness ripples outwards to touch many lives. Anyway, here's a picture of my service dog being real confused about what we're supposed to be looking at.

Calling is the best method because congressional staffers actively monitor the number of constituent calls that they receive on [x] issue and have to present that information to their congresscritter on a usually-weekly basis. Whereas emails can easily be responded to with a form letter/go straight to junk/dismissed as a crank/etc. However, I want to emphasize that again, any contact and any proactive action to make your concerns known to your elected officials is better than none. If you are scared to call and want to do an email first to get the hang of it: that is okay! You are still forcing SOMETHING into the system and at least making them register your email. I am not here to shame anyone for taking the steps that feel best to them at first.

Calling is also important as a blue-leaning person because red voters call/badger elected officials more often and have no shame about doing it, so this is the one time you have to channel your inner Republican and make a stink at elected officials. It does work and consistent public pressure/feedback can move important votes and actions either left or right. I do not expect everybody to spend all their time calling their elected officials about every single outrageous thing Trump/Musk/et al are doing, because otherwise you would be doing nothing but. Pick a few issues and monitor them and see what you need to do and who you need to pressure, but if you also need to take a break for your mental health, do that too. That way if there is something you really feel that you have to speak out on at once, you will be more ready to do it and more ready to engage over a longer period of time, rather than just in spasmodic rage bursts about whatever outrage of the day they've cooked up now.

(Also, what a good puppy. Not patting because they are working hard and I respect that, but yes.)

#the-kazoo-kid #ask #the national nightmare

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theantho1ogy · 2 days ago

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Priest AU #2

Ushijima x Fem!Reader

Can be read as standalone

Content: spanking, cockwarming at the end, brat taming?

You were a gift given to him by God, but you were a brat. Teasing him when he was preaching to the church, wearing such low tops that made your breasts pop out just right, and always catching him when he's suppose to be studying the scripture.

This was another test, to receive salvation Ushijima needed to make sure you knew your place. One thing he loved doing was showing his devotion and this was another gift for him, making you learn the hard way.

Priest!Ushijima was alone in his office, going over the passages he would preach to the church in an hour. Until you came strolling in, your skirt short like always and top thin enough he can make out the lace bra you had on underneath.

A temptation you would be if you weren't already his.

"What did I say about barging into my office when I'm working." Ushijima stated, paying you no mind. You strolled up to his desk leaning over his bible, giving him a full view of your cleavage.

"I just wanted to get some alone time with you before you have to talk to everyone." You huffed out, a small out on your glossy lips. "You get me after and before service, don't tell me you're being greedy now." Ushijima said, his voice sounding bored of your shenanigans.

Your attitude only got worse with his lack of response, with a sly smirk you got right in front of his face and slowly pulled down your top. "Are you sure you don't have even a minute to spare for me." You said in a seductive tone, hoping he'd give in.

Ushijima's gaze was set, taking in the view of your plump chest. His quickly slammed his bible shut, "lock the door."

You smiled, thinking you've won. Prancing over to tie the lock before making your way over to him. "What are we going to do today sir." You asked, shimming out of your panties.

Ushijima paid you no mind as he pushed his chair back slightly, making room between him and his desk. He patted his lap, not breaking eye contact with you, "lay down."

Confused, you slowly laid yourself over his lap. "Um sir? What are we doing?" The hesitance evident in your tone.

He ignored your question, silently working his hands up your thigh before flipping up your skirt. Your perky ass on full display. He slowly massaged one cheek, before slowly doing the same to the other.

"Every time my palm connects with your pretty little ass, you're going to recite a commandment. Got it."

His tone showed he wasn't joking, not like he joked normally. Fearing punishment you agreed, "yes sir."

Without warning his hand struck your ass, coming down quick. You jolted, not expecting him to go so hard. "I don't hear you speaking." Another quick smack connected.

You stuttered out whatever came out the top of your head. "Th- thou shall not covet." Ushijima rubbed your cheeks, giving you a second before striking again.

"Thou sh-shall not steal." The quick pain went away as he massaged you. Making sure you weren't hurting too bad.

Three more hits came as you squeaked out more rules. The stinging more prominent than when he first started.

You noticed Ushijima paused longer than usual, until you felt his thumb prod your lips. Letting his finger run down your slit, feeling your wetness coat him. "Are you enjoying this?" He asked, before smacking your pussy.

You moaned out in surprise, the mixture of pain and pleasure getting you more turned on. "Five more and then I'll give you a reward." Ushijima promised.

An eager nod and a wiggle of your hips had him continuing. His red hand print turning him on as he hit both of your cheeks. The sharp sting feeling so good.

You couldn't help but moan in between words, fully aroused as your slick ran down your thigh.

Finally getting the last word out, you turned towards him. Smiling up at him, waiting for your reward. Ushijima carefully brought you to your feet, making sure you could stand before unbuckling his pants.

Your mouth salivating at the thought of finally getting him inside you.

His thick cock standing so prettily, as he pulled it out of his pants. Slowly grabbing your waist as he maneuvered you to sit on top.

The stretch had you both moaning, your insides clenching around him as he filled you up. After a minute of adjusting you slowly started grinding down on him.

But he harshly smacked your pussy, abruptly stopping your movements.

"Your reward is to sit on my cock while I continue my studying before you rudely interrupted." You whined out, your lower half unconsciously squirming, begging for some type of friction.

A sharp smack came down on your front once again. "Do you understand." He glared out. "Yes sir."

Carefully adjusting his posture, he opened up his bible and continued on like nothing ever happened.

After the hour was up, and Ushijima was back in the public eye and performing for the audience. You sat in the back of the pews like every Sunday, but this time you had a small pillow underneath you.

#ushijima x female reader #ushijima x y/n #ushijima x you #ushijima smut #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x reader #haikyuu ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi #hq ushijima #haikyuu x female reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #fem!reader #x reader

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elryuse · 4 hours ago

Text

Tainted Desire

Yandere Jennie X Male Reader

Tags : Obsession, Dangerous Romance, Slight Smut, Dark, Gritty, Forbidden Romance

Words : 2,908 Words

Requested by My Mate @hijack711

You never expected your marriage to end like this.

Sitting in your dimly lit office at the university, you run a hand through your disheveled hair, staring at the half-empty bottle of whiskey on your desk. The silence of the night wraps around you, broken only by the distant hum of the city beyond the window.

Your phone buzzes—a message from your wife. Soon-to-be ex-wife.

"We need to talk about the divorce papers. Call me back."

You don’t.

Instead, your mind drifts back to a memory—a moment from years ago when your life was different. When you were just a substitute teacher, and she was just a rebellious high school girl.

Jennie Kim.

The name alone stirs something dangerous inside you.

You hadn’t seen her in years, not until recently, when fate cruelly entangled your lives again. But before she became the ruthless, calculating woman she is now—before she set her sights on you—she was just a teenage girl trying to escape the suffocating grip of her father’s ambition.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day.

The school hallways were empty, students tucked away in their classrooms as you made your way through the corridors, checking your schedule. You had been a substitute teacher for barely a month, filling in for an absent literature professor. The job was temporary, a stepping stone in your career before you moved on to greater things.

But then you smelled it—faint yet unmistakable. Cigarette smoke.

Your brows furrowed. Smoking was strictly forbidden on school grounds, and yet, someone had clearly broken the rules.

Following the scent, you turned a corner and found her.

A girl sat on the rooftop stairs, one leg bent, the other stretched out lazily. A cigarette dangled between her fingers, wisps of smoke curling into the air. Her uniform was slightly unkempt—tie loosened, skirt hiked up just enough to break the dress code. Her dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, and instead of guilt, there was only defiance.

Jennie Kim.

Even back then, there was something untamed about her.

“You know smoking is against the rules,” you said, stepping closer.

She took a slow drag, exhaling smoke before responding. “So is skipping class, but here you are.”

You sighed. “I’m the teacher. I don’t have a class right now.”

“Then you should be grateful. If I were in class, you wouldn’t have found me,” she murmured, tapping ash onto the floor. “Lucky you.”

You folded your arms, intrigued despite yourself. “Is there a reason you’re up here alone?”

For a moment, she was silent. Then, with a casual shrug, she muttered, “Needed to breathe.”

Her voice was steady, but there was something beneath it—a weight she tried to hide.

You glanced at the cigarette in her hand. “That won’t help.”

Jennie scoffed. “What would you know?”

“I know that whatever’s bothering you won’t go away just because you’re filling your lungs with smoke.”

She studied you for a long moment, then sighed and flicked the cigarette away. “My dad’s an asshole.”

You didn’t react, waiting for her to continue.

She hesitated, then muttered, “He wants me to be something I’m not. To follow his rules, live by his standards, become the perfect heir. He thinks Jane—” she spat her sister’s name like a curse “—is the good daughter, the obedient one. But me? I’m nothing but a disappointment to him.”

You leaned against the wall, watching her. “And what do you want?”

Her lips curled into a slow, almost bitter smile. “To take everything from him.”

You didn’t know it then, but that conversation would plant a seed in her mind—a thought that would grow into something far more dangerous than teenage rebellion.

And years later, when you crossed paths again, you would realize that Jennie Kim always gets what she wants.

Even if what she wants… is you.

Years later, Jennie is no longer a rebellious schoolgirl. She’s the new chairman of Odd Atelier, a powerful empire built on ambition and ruthlessness. When she sees you again, the hunger in her eyes hasn’t faded—it’s only grown stronger.

And this time, she won’t let you go.

Even if it means destroying everything in her path.

Even if it means tearing apart your already crumbling marriage.

Even if it means striking a deal with your son.

Because you belong to her.

And Jennie Kim always takes what’s hers.

You always knew that the past had a way of creeping back.

You just never expected it to return in the form of Jennie Kim—not as the rebellious high school girl who once defied her father’s control, but as the ruthless woman who had finally dethroned him.

And now, she’s standing right in front of you.

The gala is extravagant, a display of power and wealth, where the elites of the business world gather to celebrate Odd Atelier’s new chairman. It was your son who dragged you here—his university connections granting him an invitation. You weren’t supposed to stay long, just enough to make an appearance before slipping away.

But then, the moment you locked eyes with her across the ballroom, you knew escaping wouldn’t be that easy.

Jennie moves toward you with the same calculated grace you remembered. But she’s changed. No longer the rebellious teenager on a school rooftop, but a woman in full control.

Her black silk dress clings to her body in all the right places, her dark eyes sharp yet filled with something far more dangerous. Possession.

“Professor,” she purrs, her voice dripping with amusement.

Your throat tightens. “Jennie.”

A smirk tugs at her lips. “I wondered when we’d cross paths again.”

You swallow, keeping your expression neutral. “Congratulations. You finally got what you wanted.”

Her smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens. “Not yet.”

The weight of her words settles between you. She’s not talking about power.

She’s talking about you.

You try to leave the gala early, but fate is cruel.

Your son—eager to make connections—introduces you to his employer at Odd Atelier.

You freeze the moment you see her.

Jennie stands before you, her gaze dark with amusement. She looks at your son, then back at you. There’s a cruel irony in this situation.

She knows.

She knows your marriage is dying. She knows your son admires her. She knows that you’re vulnerable.

And Jennie Kim has never been one to let an opportunity slip.

“I never expected to work with your son,” she murmurs, tilting her head slightly. “But life has a funny way of bringing people back together.”

Your son is oblivious, grinning. “Jennie has been a great mentor.”

Mentor.

You clench your jaw. That’s what you once were to her.

Jennie smiles, slow and knowing. “Your father and I go way back.”

Your son frowns slightly. “Really?”

Jennie meets your gaze. “Oh, yes.” She steps closer, lowering her voice so only you can hear. “He was the first man who ever made me feel alive.”

Your pulse spikes.

She’s doing this on purpose.

Testing you.

Toying with you.

And you’re ashamed to admit that it’s working.

Her Terms, Your Weakness

Later that night, when you finally manage to slip away from the gala, she’s waiting.

The hotel bar is nearly empty, dimly lit. You don’t know why you didn’t just leave, why you let yourself be drawn to this place like a moth to a flame.

But when Jennie slides into the seat across from you, you know exactly why.

“You ran away so quickly,” she muses, swirling the dark liquor in her glass. “Did I make you nervous?”

You exhale, rubbing your temple. “What do you want, Jennie?”

She hums, tilting her head. “I could ask you the same thing.”

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

Because the truth is—despite knowing how wrong this is, how forbidden this is—there’s still something undeniable between you.

Jennie leans forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You belong to me.”

Your hands tighten into fists. “I’m married.”

She smiles. “Not for long.”

Silence.

Then, she says something that changes everything.

“I struck a deal with your son.”

Your blood runs cold.

Jennie watches your reaction carefully, savoring every second of your unease. “He wants my sister, Jane.” Her voice is soft, almost teasing. “So I gave him a chance. In return, he’ll look the other way when I take something for myself.”

Your breath hitches. “Jennie—”

She reaches out, trailing a single finger across the back of your hand. The touch burns. “You should be grateful. I could’ve had you the moment I turned eighteen. But I waited.”

Her nails lightly drag against your skin, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Now I’m done waiting.”

You pull your hand back, your chest tightening. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Jennie chuckles darkly, standing from her seat. “Oh, but I do.”

She leans in close, her lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“I always get what I want.”

And then, just like that, she’s gone.

Leaving behind the weight of her words—of her promise—settling deep into your bones.

Because you know Jennie Kim.

And when she sets her sights on something…

She never lets go.

You should’ve walked away.

You should’ve turned your back on Jennie Kim and never looked at her again.

But now, you’re trapped.

The realization settles deep in your chest the moment you step into your home—your marriage of fifteen years hanging by a thread. The air is thick with tension, your wife’s absence a reminder of everything that’s already crumbling.

You’re trying to hold on, to fix what’s left. But the truth is, your hands are already slipping.

And Jennie knows it.

She’s watching, waiting. A predator savoring the moment before she strikes.

You don’t sleep that night. You don’t think you ever will again.

The next day at the university, you try to focus. Lectures, meetings—anything to keep your mind off her.

But then, a message lights up your phone screen.

Jennie: Miss me?

You exhale sharply, ignoring it.

A second message follows.

Jennie: You’re pretending, aren’t you? Acting like you don’t think about me. Like you don’t want me.

Your grip tightens on the phone. You shouldn’t reply.

But you do.

You: Stay away from me.

It’s a weak attempt. A meaningless warning.

And she knows it.

Because Jennie doesn’t listen.

Minutes later, your office door swings open without warning.

And there she is.

Wearing a black silk blouse that clings to her body, high heels clicking against the floor as she steps inside.

You stand immediately, tension coiling in your muscles. “Jennie, you can’t just—”

She shuts the door behind her, locking it.

A smirk plays on her lips. “You told me to stay away.” She cocks her head. “So why am I here?”

Your breath is uneven. “Because you don’t understand boundaries.”

Jennie laughs softly, stepping closer. “Or maybe…” Her voice drops into something dangerously low. “You just don’t mean it.”

She moves around your desk slowly, her fingers grazing the wooden surface as she invades your space.

You take a step back. She takes another forward.

It’s a game—a dangerous one—and she’s winning.

“Jennie—”

Her fingers trail up your chest, her touch featherlight. “You don’t belong here, Y/n.”

Your jaw tightens. “This is my life.”

She leans in, her lips barely inches from yours. “No,” she whispers. “This is your prison.”

Your pulse spikes.

Jennie tilts her head, her gaze searching yours. And for a brief moment, you’re terrified—not of her, but of yourself.

Because she’s right.

Because you want her.

Because if she touches you again, you won’t stop her.

And she knows it.

Control Is an Illusion

You force yourself to turn away, to create distance.

But Jennie doesn’t let you go easily.

“You’re miserable,” she murmurs, watching you with unwavering certainty. “You’re still trying to fix something that’s already dead.”

Your hands clench into fists. “That’s none of your business.”

She smirks. “Isn’t it?”

Silence.

Then, she delivers the final blow.

“If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be here, running from me.”

You hate how well she sees through you.

How she knows you.

Jennie leans against the desk, crossing her arms. “Do you even love her anymore?”

Your stomach twists.

You don’t answer.

And that silence?

It’s all she needs.

Jennie smiles. Slow. Satisfied. Dangerous.

“You’re mine,” she whispers.

Then, just as effortlessly as she arrived—she leaves.

And you’re left standing there, heart pounding, knowing that you’ve already lost.

Because Jennie Kim isn’t going to stop.

And the worst part?

You don’t want her to.

You should’ve walked away.

But now, it’s too late.

Jennie Kim has dug her nails into your life, and no matter how much you try to resist, you’re already caught in her web.

She isn’t just dangerous.

She’s inevitable.

You come home that night, expecting the usual silence, the usual avoidance.

But your wife is waiting for you.

Seated on the couch, glass of wine in hand, she barely glances up when you step inside.

“How was work?” Her voice is hollow, indifferent.

You hesitate. “Fine.”

A bitter laugh escapes her lips. “You always say that.”

You’re exhausted. From her, from yourself—from Jennie.

“You’re late,” she continues, swirling the wine in her glass. “Again.”

Tension coils in your chest. “Meetings ran over.”

Another lie.

Your wife exhales, shaking her head. “Y/n… I don’t know how much longer we can do this.”

And there it is.

The inevitable conversation. The slow, agonizing death of your marriage laid bare between you.

You don’t respond. Because what is there to say?

Jennie was right.

This isn’t a life.

It’s a prison.

And you’re already looking for the key

The next day, you see her again.

Jennie waits for you at the entrance of the university, leaning casually against her car, wearing a silk blouse that clings to her frame and a knowing smirk on her lips.

You stop in your tracks. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs. “Thought I’d drop by. Say hello.”

You glance around, paranoia creeping in. “You can’t just—”

“Relax,” she interrupts, stepping closer. “No one’s watching.”

That’s a lie. She’s always watching.

Jennie tilts her head, studying you. “You look tired.”

You don’t respond.

She takes another step forward, her voice dipping into something soft, intimate. “What is it, Y/n?”

You inhale sharply, hating how easily she reads you.

Hating how much she’s already inside your head.

Jennie leans in, just enough for you to feel the warmth of her breath. “She’s slipping away, isn’t she?”

Your jaw tightens. “Don’t.”

Her fingers trail up your arm, slow and deliberate. “You don’t love her anymore.”

You grab her wrist, stopping her touch. “Jennie.”

She smiles, her gaze burning into yours. “Say it.”

You shake your head. “I—”

Her lips brush against your ear. “Say it, Y/n.”

You close your eyes, fighting it, fighting her.

But it’s useless.

Because the truth is already there.

Because Jennie owns you now.

And she knows it.

It starts subtly at first.

The way she replaces your thoughts, your routines.

Your phone buzzes during lectures.

Jennie: I wonder what you taste like today.

At night, she sends voice notes—soft, slow whispers that unravel you from the inside out.

"I want to break you, Y/n. I want to ruin you until there’s nothing left of you but me."

You shouldn’t listen.

But you do.

And then come the nights when you can’t stop thinking about her.

When you wake up gasping, her name tangled in your breath.

When you see her face instead of your wife’s.

Jennie is patient.

She doesn’t force.

She waits.

Because she knows you’ll come to her.

And when you finally do—when you finally break—

She’ll be waiting with open arms.

It happens on a night you’ll never forget.

You leave your home, your wife calling after you, but you don’t look back.

Your hands are shaking when you arrive at Jennie’s penthouse.

The door opens before you can knock.

And there she is.

Barefoot, wearing nothing but an oversized silk robe, looking at you like she’s been expecting you all along.

You exhale sharply. “Jennie, I—”

She steps forward, pressing a finger to your lips. “Shh.”

Then she smiles.

“Come inside, Y/n.”

And just like that—you surrender.

Because there’s no running anymore.

Because you were always meant to be hers.

And now, you are.

Tainted Desire

The door clicks shut behind you.

And just like that, you’ve crossed the line.

Jennie watches you, dark amusement flickering in her eyes as she takes slow, deliberate steps forward.

You don’t move. You don’t stop her.

Because this was inevitable.

Because you were always meant to end up in her hands.

Her fingers trace up your jaw, tilting your face toward hers. “You finally stopped running,” she whispers, satisfaction dripping from every syllable.

Your breathing is uneven. “Jennie—”

She silences you with a kiss.

Soft. Slow. Lethal.

And you fall into it. Into her.

Because she owns you now.

Her lips part against yours, her tongue sweeping into your mouth as she devours you whole.

You should feel guilt.

But all you feel is her.

Jennie pulls away, a cruel smile curving her lips as she studies her masterpiece.

You—ruined, broken, hers.

Her voice dips, sultry and commanding. “Leave them.”

Your stomach clenches. “Jennie—”

She cups your face, her nails pressing against your skin. “Leave your wife. Leave your son.”

Her thumb brushes over your lower lip. Soft. Possessive. Unyielding.

“There’s nothing left for you there.”

Your heart pounds, your mind spiraling.

But Jennie’s voice is all you hear now.

Jennie is all you know.

Her grip tightens. “Say it.”

You close your eyes, the weight of your old life crumbling around you.

Jennie leans in, whispering against your lips. “Be mine.”

And when you finally exhale—finally give in—

You whisper the words that seal your fate.

“…I’m yours.”

Jennie smirks.

Because she’s won.

Because you belong to her now.

Forever.

#kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #beautiful #update #yandere #yandere stories #blackpink #blackpink jennie #kim jennie #jennie blackpink #yandere blog #yandere girl #yande.re

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alkalineapparition · 2 days ago

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Jaws

Simon Ghost Riley x Hybrid!Reader|Full Chapter

Part 12– Basking in the solace of regret

"RIPPER, NO!"

This is the moment that will stay with Simon for the rest of his life. Someday, when he's watching his mistakes play in frantic strokes of color on the canvas of his eyelids, this is what will haunt him most.

You, for all your ferocity, gift him one last look. Soft, apologetic. No intention of heeding his command. When he reaches for the handle on the back of your vest, you slip through his fingers like water. Gone.

Just. Like. That.

You'd both been pinned for a while now. The others were farther behind, providing rear security so you could retrieve what they came for. They hadn't known, couldn't see past the smoke clouding your positions. And he hadn't had the time to tell them, between returning fire and holding position, before a close call shot his comms to shit. He hadn't had the time...

He should have made the time.

And now there would never be more time. The clock had stuck twelve, the hour glass run out of sand.

Because you had decided your life mattered less than his. Mattered less than the mission. Goddammit.

He no can no longer see you, he's lost sight and all he can think is how he'd rather become dust and smoke himself than come home without you.

Leaning back against the small outcrop of rocks you'd been taking cover behind, his eyes close. Then, he does something he hasn't done since he was a child.

He prays.

He prays to the bastard that's never bothered giving an answer before. Teeth gritting down to the nub, he wills the asshole to hear him.

Bring her back to me.

In this moment, Ghost hates himself. He's never been more useless—he can't just charge in after you, the lack of vision would make it suicide. Perhaps you'd been able to see what he couldn't. But then why did you go alone, if not to save him from whatever it is you saw? If he got up and charged after you now, would he find you grinning in triumph, or be faced with a wall of enemy soldiers riddling his body with bullets?

Some fucking leuitenant, huh?

As if he could summon you by mere thought, his mind drifts, one final goodbye.

—

You stand before him, head cocked, mouth curled in mischief. His skullplate sits on the desk after having gone missing for a few days (during which you swear you haven't seen it, of course not Lt!), now doodled with little pink ghosts. "Y' little shit." His hand snaps foward to snatch your collar, but you duck, snickering as you make for the door. [It washes off Lt! No, please! Uncle, uncle!]

—

[Ghost.]

"Hm?"

[Why do you wear the mask?]

He looks up, watching your face as you gnaw your lip. His tug up in a smirk. "To hide my face."

[Are you ugly?] The bluntness of your question almost makes him laugh. [It's alright if you are.] Sweet girl.

"Quite the opposite, love."

Something in his stomach flips at the sight of your face going red.

[Oh.]

He can't resist. "No' as pretty as yours, mind you."

You sputter as expected, and he does laugh.

[What do you look like?]

He pretends to think it over.

"Got a tattoo of the queens arse on m' left cheek," he says solemnly.

You choke, eyeing him and his inked arms speculatively before deciding he's full of shit.

He lets you believe what you will.

—

The dove-grey light of Sunday mornings filters through the blinds. Your eyes are filled with tears, body trembling with the force of your sobs. Simon wraps his arms around you, cheek pressed to your hair.

[I don't even have a name. I am nothing, it's like I don't exist.] He closes his eyes, searching for the words that will soothe this ache.

"Your name's Ripper. Ya ain't nothin', either. You're our best girl." It's the best he can do, offer placations, even if they are true. He hates that he can't do more.

[That's a not a name, Ghost, it's a callsign! I don't... I don't even know what my mother named me.] You're still for a few moments. [I... don't know if I have a mother.] Simon rattles his brain for a way to make this right, something that can be a salve to your pain.

"How about... I give ya a real name? Somethin' other than what that bloody scot came up with." He doesn't think this will be enough, it's a stupid idea–

[What... would you name me?] Your eyes are on him, curiosity shining through the tears. Seems it was enough to distract you, for now atleast.

Humming, he contemplates. "I'll find somethin' that fits. Wait for inspiration an' all that."

[How will you know it's right?]

"I'll know, Rips. Promise."

—

Simon never did pick out that name.

He wonders what they'll put on your headstone.

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lsunstreakerl · 17 hours ago

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little 800 word post-kidnapping darkbull snippet. max pov! lowkey- this is not near as bad as the rest. worst warning is probably the concerning objectification, which is a running theme anyways. I would argue it's almost sweet, if not for the way max is now just as clinically insane as the rest of them.

Max stalks upstairs, fingers curling and uncurling into his palms, nails leaving little crescent moons. Daniel and Carlos have been avoiding him.

It's only been a few days but Max can tell, and he's not interested in letting it happen any longer.

He's had the worst month of his life, been put through the psychological wringer, found out his team has been methodically drugging him for years, and also that they killed his dad.

Max wants to get fucked, get a bath, and get cuddles- in that order- and he wants it now.

He wants gold around his wrists, wants a bull laid over the ink on his ribs, wants to know anywhere he goes there are people protecting him.

There's definitely guns in Max's factory flat. He wants to know where.

He doesn't even care if Oscar is here- he'll kick him out if he needs to, doesn't trust him enough yet to let him in, not even after everything.

Besides.

This is about Max, Carlos, and Danny- it's about the way they're guilting themselves, afraid of Max's reaction now that he knows.

Max has been choking down chalky pills for weeks. If Redbull has the decency to at least make them taste good, Max will do them the favor of pretending not to notice.

His new ID beeps against the doorpad, and he swings it open. Max knows Carlos and Danny are still here, because he'd made Christian tell him, right before he said he was done with meetings for the day, and if anyone needed him they could wait until after he'd gotten laid.

No one had given any objection, so Max is coming back a few hours earlier than the team timetable had shown, which means they won't be expecting him.

Sure enough- when the door swings open both of their heads snap up from where they're at the kitchen table, ankles hooked together under the chair.

"Oh shi-"

"Max-"

Max doesn't want to hear it. He lets the door swing shut behind him, toeing off his shoes.

"Hi. I missed you both, but I am wanting to be sappy and upset about it later, instead of right now, because right now I am thinking there's too much clothes and not enough kissing- so if we could go to bed please?"

Daniel's mouth is dropped open, but it's Carlos that recovers first, standing and making his way over to Max, hands settling gentle on his waist.

Max doesn't want gentle.

"Are you sure?"

He frowns at Carlos, feels his eyebrows pushing together.

"Yes, I am sure. If you do not want to that is fine, there are plenty of other people in the factory-"

Bingo. Carlos's fingers grip into his waist, and the pinpricks of pressure are exactly what Max needed, bringing him back down to Earth.

"No. No one else- me and Daniel."

Carlos leans his head down, mouthing at Max's neck, stubble scraping against his skin. Max can feel another set of hands settle on his waist from behind him, slightly overlapping Carlos's fingers.

"You've got us, Maxy. Whatever you want."

Max leans his head back, Carlos leaving little starburst of pleasure across his neck. Daniel is a solid weight at his back.

"I want to get fucked like you have a point to prove."

Max pauses. He needs to make this clear, because he has a feeling he knows what the invisible boundary is here.

"And I told the entire meeting room that I was going to get laid when I left, so I am intending to see that through, thank you. Do not think about what the team has told you, think about what I am telling you."

Both of their hands tighten, and Max can already feel himself relaxing into it. This is what he wanted, the two of them exactly as possessive as he knows they are.

"If Oscar wants to get off he can of course watch the camera feed, but he does not get to be in here yet."

Carlos laughs softly, teeth nipping into Max's shoulder.

"Rookie."

Daniel's breath ghosts hot across the back of Max's neck.

"He took your necklace away. You sure you want us leaving marks? Carlos and I can make you a new one right here- won't let you leave the bed until you're crying for it."

Max shudders, and he can feel Carlos's lips curve into a grin against his skin.

"Who's going to say anything about it? Not the store associates- Christian has paid them all off. You can go shopping with him tomorrow, with our marks all over you- let the associate know exactly what you're there for."

Max wants.

He wants to be so publicly protected that no one questions even for a second who's responsible for him. He knows logically that he is, but- he wants the proof, irrefutable physical evidence.

The Redbull team is a collection of dangerous, powerful people. They would all bend over backwards for Max.

His team.

Max belongs to them.

#darkbull verse #ficlet #congrats we've unlocked unhinged max #good job charles (said in the well done baku voice)

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honeyjynxxed · 3 days ago

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Dead on Main Songfic WIP

Danny peaked out from the curtain to check the crowd forming in front of the stage, feeling his breath stutter at all the people milling around. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, the Iceberg Lounge was a hotspot for the rich and elite to schmooze and network with their less than savoury business partners. A Gotham Gala was for fake smiles and political masks, the Iceberg Lounge was for the real business transactions to take place.

Was it a good idea to take a job as entertainment in a place like this? Maybe; Danny was still on the fence about it but he knew that it was important for him to be here. The salary was one of the major pros of taking the job, with it he might actually be able to get a slightly nicer place that wasn’t in the heart of crime alley, but on the other hand his protective obsession was going haywire the longer he spent time around all of these criminals. If he were a normal human there was no way that he’d be able to hear their conversations on weapon smuggling, drug trafficking, artifact stealing, and more but he was enhanced in a way that not many others could claim and thus he could hear it all.

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts and Danny fought the urge to jump or yelp. Quickly he turned his head to see just who had managed to sneak up on him before letting the tension leech out of body. It was just his new boss, Jason Todd, second son of Bruce Wayne and rumored to be the secret identity of the Red Hood. Danny knew he was Red Hood though, their cores felt the same, sickly and fractured. “Pre-show jitters?” Jason asked and Danny felt his core trill at his deep, rumbly voice. “Anything I can do?”

“It's my first gig here, of course I’m nervous.” Danny had to look up at his boss, the man easily standing over six feet tall and Danny had not quite gotten as tall as his father despite all his growing, “Maybe a kiss to settle my nerves?” It was a cheeky thing to suggest and he coupled it by batting his eyelashes and sticking out his bottom lip. His act got him a pinch to his side that made him squeal and dart away from Jason. “Hey! Don’t be mean to the entertainment, I could quit ya now?” Danny stuck his hands on his hips and lifted his chin in what was supposed to be looking down on Jason but it didn’t look quite right given their height difference.

Still his core gives a delighted tremble when Jason laughs at him, “Get on stage doll, and we’ll see what you have to say about quitting after.” His boss winks at him before nodding to the still closed curtains separating them from the rest of the lounge. Danny gives him a wave before stepping through to the other side.

There are people on the other side, but not a giant crowd like he might’ve been expecting. The Iceberg Lounge was first and foremost a lounge, somewhere that rich men and women could go for a nice dinner, a smoke indoors, and to show off their latest fashion, jewelry and whatever else the rich spend their money on. Old families with old wealth, new up and comers with new drug money, and those they allowed to come with them. To his left the band begins to play and Danny jumps right into the chorus.

“Skin and bones, vulnerable

Crack my ribs and make me whole

Come and breathe the air into my lungs

I just wanna be your skeleton.”

The band picks up in energy, shifting from the slow and careful tones before into something faster. Danny keeps his almost regretful tone however, even if his pace shifts.

“A silhouette is following

Just waiting to break me down

I had it good, that’s what I get

I guess that it's my turn now.

Cut the wires, tangled, twisted

To find me again

Fracture, break me into pieces

‘Til all that I am,”

Danny can see Jason moving between the patrons of the lounge, stopping and speaking with some, pointing and directing his employees around, and yet not once do his eyes leave Danny on stage. He moves into the chorus again:

“Skin and bones, vulnerable

Crack my ribs and make me whole

Come and breathe the air into my lungs

I just wanna be your skeleton.

Fix my head, stitch my soul

Find out where it all went wrong

Come and breathe the air into my lungs

I just wanna be your skeleton,

Skeleton!”

Danny let the last note of the chorus hang as the band was allowed to let loose, just as he began to let go of his powers. Not completely, not enough to go fully ghost, but he allowed them to slip through slightly. From beneath his skin he allowed his skeleton to become visible, allowed his hair to become streaked with white, let the neon green seep into his eyes, and his body started to disobey gravity just enough for him to rise a few inches off the ground. By the time he was finished with his little display it was time to jump back into the song.

“A blinding pain behind my eyes,

Is covering up the truth.

Inside my brain’s, a parasite,

It's telling me what to do.

Feeding on my happiness like I never deserved it at all

(I never deserved it at all)

Feeling like a pessimist when I just wanna laugh through it all

(To laugh through it all)”

Jason’s eyes had widened at the sight of his powers, a flash of green to reflect his own eyes changing but Danny’s boss was nothing if not professional and kept what must’ve been a surprise from stopping him from doing his job. Ancients above he wanted to see what would make Jason lose his cool, what Danny could do to finally make him snap. He’d been trying as Phantom to rile up Red Hood into finally just grabbing him and pinning him against a wall, a rooftop, a door, really he wasn’t picky, but he hadn’t had much success yet. Perhaps going at Jason Todd instead would get him more results.

“Skin and bones, vulnerable

Crack my ribs and make me whole.

Come and breathe the air into my lungs,

I just wanna be your skeleton.

Fix my head, stitch my soul

Find out where it all went wrong.

I just wanna be your skeleton,

Skeleton!”

Danny allowed himself to rise with the music this time, bringing the microphone with him. Nearly all the patrons in the lounge, not just the ones seated at the tables in front of the stage, were openly staring now. Some with wonder, some with disgust, and others in pure awe. He felt his core rumble at the sight, knowing every person in here would remember this night for a long time. Every ghost wanted that, to be remembered, to have their name spoken aloud by the living. Danny wasn’t fully dead yet but that didn’t make him an exception to that rule.

“I project pain with the frame that I maintain

Pulling on chains, wanna break what I can’t change

All that rage put away in my ribcage

Comes out in stages, how could I stage this?

Bending over ‘til you break your back for this

Go ahead and crack my ribs, and take my oxygen

I’m damned if I do, or I don’t, I’m breaking my bones

Can’t make it alone, no!”

Danny was glad that he didn’t need to breathe as much or as often as a regular person did, knowing the quicker parts of the song would’ve been trouble for him otherwise. If this wasn’t one of his favorite songs to cover he’d probably have needed a lot more practice in order to do it justice but his abilities gave him the edge he needed.

“Making such a mess (hey), it’s getting permanently

Painted in my head (hey), and there’s no going back

So love me like I’m dead (hey) until there’s nothing left (hey)

And watch me decompose (hey), ‘til I’m-”

He began to float slowly back down to the stage as he picked up the chorus, knowing the song was winding down and he’d have to shut off his powers soon to make it all seem like special effects.

“Skin and bones, vulnerable

Crack my ribs and make me whole.

Come and breathe the air into my lungs,

I just wanna be your skeleton.

Fix my head, stitch my soul

Find out where it all went wrong.

Come and breathe the air into my lungs,

I just wanna be your skeleton,

Skeleton.”

The final lyric was sung and Danny pushed his powers out just a bit longer to plunge the stage into darkness, the only thing indicating his presence still there being the glow of his skeleton under his skin. The moment the piano played its last note, he extinguished the glow as well. An ice core he may have but all ghosts have slight abilities to mess with electronics and electrical signals, lights, cameras, and tvs being the easiest for him to manipulate. Electrical currents killed him and interacting with them too much can sap him of his strength.

The lights above the stage flickered back on just as he slipped behind the curtains again to hide backstage. He knew within moments that Jason would be storming back here to confront him but he was ready for it. Deep down Danny could admit to wanting this job for more than just the quick cash. Around Jason, around Red Hood his core sang and purred and trilled. When he was with Jason he could visibly see the tension leak from his body, could feel his core begin the process to try and mend itself. If Danny could help him with that then he wanted to, not just because he was the Ghost King and it was his duty but because he actually liked Jason and he wanted the other halfa to like him too.

“What,” Speak of the devil and shall appear, “the hell was all that Fenton?” The teasing tone from earlier was gone and Danny could see Jason’s handsome face twisted with a wide array of emotions. Anger, caution, worry, fear, and so many others played out in his eyes and were broadcasted by his still forming core. Honestly right now Danny could just coo, Jason clearly didn’t know about the emotions his core was sending out but it was still really cute to watch someone else go through the baby ghost stuff.

Instead Danny put on his best anxious, scared, please don’t out me face possible and began wringing his hands together. “I just…it's hard to suppress my powers all the time. I know Batman has that whole ‘No metas in Gotham’ rule but I thought since you were running the lounge you might be able to protect me from him.” He just barely looked up at Jason through his eyelashes, letting his lower lip tremble slightly in his act. “Are you gonna fire me? I don’t know if I can get another job…” He watched Jason stiffen, mentally fighting with himself on what he should do. Pretending his powers were meta abilities was the hook, playing on the fact that Jason had a rocky relationship with Batman was the line.

“No, I’m not going to fire you. That wouldn’t be right of me and I don’t think it's fair that Batman doesn’t want Metas in Gotham.” Calling out the protective obsession forming in Jason’s core was the sinker. The baby halfa didn’t even realize it but Danny already had him wrapped around his finger, now if only he could get him wrapped around him in a literal sense they’d be going somewhere. “I would’ve appreciated a warning though, lying to my guests about special effects isn’t a problem but I could’ve charged them more for it if I had known.”

Danny laughed, forcing it to sound a little wet as if he were on the verge of tears. “Gotta make those elites give back to the world somehow right?” He chanced looking up at Jason a little bit more now and saw the relief on his face that Danny was joking back at him. He might not realize that his core was calling out for Danny, singing in tune so to speak, but somewhere he instinctively wanted to be around him. “So that means I’m okay to keep using my powers? I wasn’t lying when I said it gets hard to suppress them and my voice tends to bring them out more.”

Jason sighed and shook his head, “Yeah you can keep using them, but try and keep them to things that can be explained yeah? Make-up, wires, that sorta stuff. Can’t have Batman smashing in here to interrogate the entertainment. It's just bad for business, doll.” And oh how Danny’s core positively purred at the nickname. Some might find it offensive but when Jason said it he all but melted.

“Keep callin’ me doll and I’ll do anything you say, boss.” Jason’s eyes darkened for just a moment and Danny suddenly had an entirely new way to get under his skin. For a moment his mind drifts to how Red Hood would react to being called boss by Phantom, or even sir. Danny didn’t want just a one night stand or a friends with benefits situation, he wanted Jason. He wanted to meet his family, help him reunite with his family, wanted to go out on dates and kiss him and hold his hand. Danny wanted the whole package deal, Red Hood Crime Lord and all. Plus, Jason’s core was so sickly, so fractured. He clearly wasn’t getting enough clean ectoplasm and either wasn’t feeding his obsession or wasn’t feeding all of his obsessions. Danny could help, Danny could make it all better. He wasn’t as knowledgeable on Ghost Medicine like Frostbite was but that didn’t mean he couldn’t help out a little. He practically exuded excess ectoplasm that Jason could naturally cycle in to help filter out whatever is making his core sick. The fracturing…that’d be fixed when Danny figured out his obsessions and ways to feed them properly. “Anything else, sir? I do have a second song to sing.”

Jason growled. Full stop, from the throat growled. Danny’s eyes lit up green at the noise, something that clearly came directly from his core. His boss at least had the humanity to look embarrassed by the noise, attempting to cover it up by coughing and clearing his throat. “Of course, please do not let me hinder your work. The crowd loves you already.” He paused, as if to say more, and Danny tilted his head, waiting. Instead, Jason shook his head, turned on his heel, and all but fled somewhere else in the lounge. Oh well, Danny would be seeing him again to get his pay and probably again even later when he went out as the Red Hood. He couldn’t wait~

#songfic #set it off #danny fenton #danny phantom #batman #red hood #jason todd #iceberg lounge #dc x dp crossover #dc universe #danny fenton x jason todd #dead on main #singer!danny fenton #jason runs the iceberg lounge

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 3 days ago

Text

@zepskies

And just like that... my obsession with Karl Urban was rekindled. 🤣

Girl, you're killing it with the LOTR fanfiction. It's so good and this one for Eomer is no exception. First of all I really like the premise of this fic, an arranged marriage that grows into love 💕 And I love that you said it started out as an OFC and you turned it into a reader insert- I know we've both talked about that before and you know how I've done the same thing for some of my fics 🥰

Flashes of memory from the night before conjured in your mind; of the surprising carefulness in his calloused hands, of hot, sweat-slick skin against yours, and the rasp of his beard as his lips and deft fingers taught you more of pleasure.

“I’ve drawn a bath for you, unless you prefer to rest longer,” he said. You blinked. “Really?” That was a kindness you did not expect. Éomer’s lips tugged upwards. He offered you his hand. Though you hesitated, you slipped your free hand into his. Instinctively you took the furs with you to cover yourself, your face warming down to your neck under the weight of his amused stare.

Oh my word, he drew her a bath- what a MAN. Also I love the added detail that she still wrapped herself in the blanket when she walked even though it's after the two of them have slept together. I think it is perfect for the arranged marriage side of the story, that she's still not quite comfortable showing all of herself yet and it was a great little detail you added.

Was that a note of disappointment in your tone, in the downturn of your face? Éomer paused, but he did as he set out to do, leaving you to your bath in peace. He went over to his side of the bed to continue dressing himself, slipping a long shirt over his head that he tucked into his breeches. Though he tried not to let them, his thoughts of you remained.

Oh my sweet goodness, the little look into his head of him thinking about his wife. For me it's giving a little bit of "he falls first" and I'm melting!

By the Valar, was there no end to how you blushed around this man? You only couldn’t tell if being kept by you was a duty he relished in.

Honey I'm going to stop you right there... YES, yes it is a duty he relishes in!

Éomer blinked in surprise. On his face it was still muted, but it was there. Your words touched him. He cleared his throat, for some reason finding his face a bit warm. In his eyes, you continued to be a wonder. He too hadn’t known what to expect from a woman of Gondor. He knew what many in your country thought of the people of Rohan—simple folk at best, and horse-wild barbarians at worst. With you, he’d mostly expected a haughty, spoiled brat. He’d never been more willing to be proven wrong. In fact, the more he learned about you, the more beautiful you became.

For the love of sweet baby corn, she's making the dangerous horse-riding sexy man who could and snap me in half (and I'd say thank you) blush! 😂

“Regardless of how we were entered into this arrangement, I stand by my vows,” he said. “I will honor and protect you, and do my utmost to make you comfortable here in my home.” You smiled. Your hand turned under his to curl your fingers around his palm. “I will also honor and protect you in whatever way I am able. And I will do my utmost for your house, for it is now mine as well,” you replied.

Soon, it wasn’t enough. He slid his arms around your waist and under your knees before he stood with you in his arms. He smiled at your squeal of surprise. It was the first real smile you’d ever seen upon his face. It delighted you to be the one who put it there.

And she made him smile 😭

Oh my word this is so good! I need 50 million more! I would love to read more of this reader and Eomer falling in love, but if not that’s also okay- because this was incredible just the way it was my wonderful friend 💚💚💚!

AS TRADITION DICTATES

Pairing: Éomer x Reader

Summary: Your marriage to the Third Marshal of the Mark has been arranged in the hopes of renewing political ties between Rohan and Gondor. The morning after the ceremony, your new husband continues to defy your expectations.

AN: I’ve been wanting to write something for Éomer for a while now, so here we go! Confession: this one-shot actually comes from an Éomer x OFC story I have fully outlined, called The Appeasement Bride. I adapted this snippet into a reader insert story.

Word Count: 1.7K

Originally posted on Patreon: 1/21/2025

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Spiciness, fluff, newlyweds trying to suss each other out lol.

You woke just after the dawn, the sun peeking over the horizon and filtering through the open window. Its light began to wash over your face and stir you from a deep, well-earned sleep.

Your hand slipped out from under your head and drifted over…and you frowned. Opening your eyes, you realized that your husband’s side of the bed was empty and cold. Already, it seemed, he didn’t care to be with you when you woke. Had you done something wrong?

A shiver ran down your spine, blooming some warmth between your legs. Surely, if you had displeased him, he would’ve told you so. Or maybe he was polite enough to withhold that from you, along with most of his other thoughts. Éomer was often so stoic, it was difficult for you to learn your husband, even before the wedding ceremony yesterday.

You had come to Rohan over a month ago, and in that time, you had been able to glean precious little about him other than the ones he seemed to value most: his sister, his cousin, his uncle, Théoden King, his country, and his horse.

Not that he told you any of these things in words. You saw it in his actions—by the way he carried himself, and the way he spoke to you and others with fairness and courtesy, not arrogance. You’d heard gossip of his infamous temper, but so far, you had not seen it.

Nor did you see him now.

Perhaps he had more pressing work to do. In these past few weeks, you saw a bit of how demanding his station could be, and you understood his duty to patrol the Riddermark as Third Marshal of these lands. However, if he could’ve just been courteous enough to wake you before he left—

The heavy door of the bed chamber opened to Éomer himself. He wore only breeches and boots, his wheat-blonde hair loose and unadorned down his back. You swallowed a surprised gasp and watched him from the bed, unconsciously bringing the fur blanket up to your shoulders.

He met you with a polite, “Good morning,” before he continued inside to stoke the fire. He held more kindling wood in his arms, and he laid it on the platform before the fireplace.

“Good morning,” you nodded, though your cheeks warmed in a blush at the sight of his bare chest (you remembered that slightly wooly patch well). The defined muscles of his shoulders and arms shifted with his movements.

You were also a little embarrassed for overthinking.

“You rose early,” you added belatedly, for lack of something better to say.

“I am accustomed to it,” he said.

He finished with the fire and stood. You couldn’t help the way he captured your gaze, his measured steps bringing him closer to the bed. You sat up to meet him, the furs draping from your body, covering only where you held the soft fabric over your breasts. His eyes were an interesting shade of green as they roamed over you.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

Somehow it was not what you were expecting, though it was perfectly agreeable. Your blush deepened.

“Very well, thank you.”

He nodded. Then, something almost hesitant passed through his gaze.

“I’ve drawn a bath for you, unless you prefer to rest longer,” he said.

You blinked. “Really?” That was a kindness you did not expect.

Éomer’s lips tugged upwards. He offered you his hand. Though you hesitated, you slipped your free hand into his. Instinctively you took the furs with you to cover yourself, your face warming down to your neck under the weight of his amused stare.

Your hair was a tangled mess along with the sheets remaining tousled on the bed, and you realized that your body was sore in places you had never felt so. He led you around a simple wooden partition to a wide bath that was built into the ground. Your eyes widened at the luxury of it.

You had noticed that Rohan largely valued comfort and efficiency over ornateness in their architecture, but it seemed they lavished some things with greater detail.

Éomer helped you step into the bath. He took the furs from you, still with that amused glint, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking note of your bare, supple form, what glimpse he was able to get before you lowered yourself into the steaming water. He had explored each and every lovely curve the night before, but you were lovelier to behold in the morning, he thought.

You looked up at him with some hesitance, but there was a question there that he thought he would like to answer.

“Have you already bathed?” you asked.

“Yes,” he nodded, “I will leave you to your leisure. Breakfast will be brought up in a little while.”

“Oh. Yes, thank you,” you said.

Was that a note of disappointment in your tone, in the downturn of your face?

Éomer paused, but he did as he set out to do, leaving you to your bath in peace. He went over to his side of the bed to continue dressing himself, slipping a long shirt over his head that he tucked into his breeches. Though he tried not to let them, his thoughts of you remained.

Meanwhile, you relished in the hot water relieving your sore muscles (and other places). You washed and hummed a little tune to yourself, forgetting that you weren’t entirely alone, despite the partition.

By the time you left the bath, dried off and dressed in a heavy robe over a thin dressing gown, your new husband was already munching on bread and fruit and other good things that were brought up from the kitchens. He welcomed you to sit with him by the fire, where two wide chairs were draped with furs to make them comfortable. You joined him, and the tray of goods rested in between your seats.

“Do you have much to do?” you asked, while buttering a slice of bread. The crust was hard and somewhat sour, but the inside was soft and delicious.

“The only business I must attend to today is to remain kept with my wife,” Éomer said. He glanced up at you, once again capturing your gaze. “As tradition dictates.”

By the Valar, was there no end to how you blushed around this man? You only couldn’t tell if being kept by you was a duty he relished in.

You almost didn’t hear him when he added, “Tomorrow we will see your family off. They ride back to Gondor.”

Belatedly, you nodded. Éomer saw the note of melancholy cross your face.

“I am sure it is…a sooner parting than you would like,” he said.

You offered him a rueful smile. “Yes, but…not as difficult a goodbye as I thought it would be.”

One of his brows rose. “Why is that?”

Drawing in a deep breath, you mustered a little courage to answer him honestly.

“I did not know what to expect when I arrived in Rohan, but its lands have beauty of its own. Its people have integrity and courage, and its noble house is noble indeed,” you said. A small, true smile brightened you when you looked at him. “It is honorable, and kind.”

He’d never been more willing to be proven wrong. In fact, the more he learned about you, the more beautiful you became.

He reached over, almost hesitant to cover your hand with his larger one. He was suddenly very conscious of his rougher palm in contrast with your soft skin.

“Regardless of how we were entered into this arrangement, I stand by my vows,” he said. “I will honor and protect you, and do my utmost to make you comfortable here in my home.”

You smiled. Your hand turned under his to curl your fingers around his palm.

“I will also honor and protect you in whatever way I am able. And I will do my utmost for your house, for it is now mine as well,” you replied.

Éomer brushed his thumb over the back of your hand. He rose out of his seat enough to lean over, and he kissed you. It was sincere, but all too brief. You leaned towards him after he broke away, left wanting more as your eyes slid open.

Recognizing that look of desire stirred his own, deep in the pit of his stomach. He tugged on your hand meaningfully and guided you out of your chair, over to him. You tentatively sat across his lap, uttering a laugh when you slid backwards and landed against his chest. Your hand flew there to steady yourself. Éomer clasped it against his heart and claimed you in a deeper, rougher kiss, one fueled by a craving he couldn’t name.

You held his bearded face and hummed sweetly into his mouth. You matched his fervor, your fingers slipping into his hair and instinctively tightening a stronghold. He groaned in response. His hands, large and strong, moved over your side and down your back, while the other squeezed the supple flesh of your hip through your thin gown.

He carried you to back his bed. Our bed.

But still, it was only a matter of lust, if twined with mutual respect and…curiosity.

You did not love him. (Yet.)

AN: Love me some blonde, medieval cowboy Karl Urban. 😘💜

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shivunin · 3 days ago

Note

For the Rook story promots, how about

8. A time Rook argued with someone they care about

18. Rook trying to impress someone.

Hope the distraction works AND that you have a lovely day ^^

Thank you!! This wound up a bit longer than I intended, but it dovetailed really well with something I'm writing about Lenore and Caterina.

Bias-Cut

(Rook Ingellvar/Lucanis Dellamorte | 2,369 Words | CW: Implied/referenced past child abuse)

In which Rook prepares to meet the former First Talon

“It’ll be fine, Rook,” Teia said from the settee, deftly spinning a dagger around her finger. “She’s tough and stubborn, but she loves her family. She’ll intimidate you a little. It’s her way. But really, after all that, it will be fine.”

Rook cast a doubtful look over her shoulder, shifting uncomfortably in her borrowed dress. Every small movement sent ripples of light over the silk, which seemed determined to cling to her skin.

“And you’re sure that this is the appropriate sort of thing to wear to an evening like this?”

Something about the gown felt wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. It wasn’t the fit; she and Teia were more or less the same size, save around the hips. The color was even one of her favorites, a deep purple that leaned more toward plum than the usual indigo the Crows seemed to prefer.

“Of course it is. I’ve done so dozens of times. You couldn’t go in what you were wearing before, Rook. Armor sends a message.”

“She won’t be angry that we’re late?”

“She’ll expect it. She is the one who left the message for Lucanis with Viago. They’ll have to resolve whatever it was before you can leave.”

Borrowed dress aside, Rook still looked like herself in the mirror. That had been important to her for reasons she couldn’t place. Even so, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn something so fine, silk slippery and drifting over her skin with every movement. It felt like…

“Antonia,” she murmured, taking half a step back from the mirror.

It was absurd. Antonia had been taller and paler and human. Lenore didn’t look a thing like Antonia had; Antonia had never been her actual mother, after all, and had only playacted at being one when it’d suited her to do so.

Still, she couldn’t help but recall being shepherded around some cocktail party with the Nevarran nobility, Antonia’s silken gown brushing against Lenore’s arms as she was ferried to and fro. She’d been the picture of politeness, the perfect child, had answered only when spoken to and commented only on matters intended for her ears. The only time she’d slipped up, that lovely, elegant hand had clamped onto her shoulder with bruising force while Antonia apologized to their host.

And when they’d gotten home…

“Rook? Did you hear me?”

“Hm? Oh—I’m sorry Teia. I was lost in thought. Can you repeat that?”

“Sure,” Teia said, standing to follow her. “I’m going to go check on the others. I thought they’d be finished by now. You’re alright on your own?”

“Yes, of course,” Lenore said. She waited there, eyes locked on herself in the mirror, until the door clicked shut behind her.

Her violin case had been left on the table by the door. Lenore crossed to it now, taking comfort in the familiar click of the clasps as they were undone.

Willful child. Defiant child. You shame me.

There was the bow, smooth and warm under her fingers, rosin already applied. There, the familiar body of the violin, varnish gleaming over woodgrain in the lamplight. The strings shone silver, each carefully tuned on the other side of the eluvian while she’d waited for the correct time to step through. Lenore touched each piece in turn now, resisting the urge to tune and rosin and check one more time. All was already prepared for use. Anything more was fussing.

If she was allowed to, she would play for Caterina. It was a silly gesture, a candle against a hurricane, but it was worth trying. The Dellamortes must love something of the arts if they had their own opera house, right? She wasn’t certain if Lucanis thought this a good idea because she still hadn’t seen him yet. Teia had swept her off to the attic of the Diamond almost as soon as she’d stepped through the eluvian and she’d been here ever since, digging through the other woman’s apparently endless wealth of clothing.

In truth, she’d brought the instrument for her own comfort. No matter what Teia said, she knew that Lucanis’s grandmother had no intention of giving Lenore her blessing. No beautifully executed sonata would sway her; nothing short of bending her knee and kissing the ring would suffice, she supposed. She knew the type very well; she’d been raised by the type.

Carefully, Lenore snapped the case closed again and rested her hand on the lid. The lamplight shone differently on the scars over the backs of her hands. They were very old now, faint enough that most never even noticed they were there. Lucanis had noticed. Lucanis had scars that matched hers. He had seen them, noted them, and never once pressed her to explain how she’d gotten them. She supposed they both knew very well.

The marks of a cane and the marks of a wand didn’t look so different from each other, after all.

“Rook?” Teia said, leaning through the doorway. Lenore turned toward her, hand still resting on the dark wood of her violin case.

“They’ll meet us at the canal. Soon,” this last said pointedly over her shoulder. “She’ll expect you to be late, but not so late she feels disregarded. Follow me.”

“Alright,” Rook said, and gathered the trailing end of the dress over her wrist so it wouldn’t catch on the wooden stairs.

“You look more relaxed,” Teia said, patting Lenore’s shoulder as they descended the stairs. “That’s good. I thought you were going to run before I got back.”

The more tightly wound Rook felt, the more relaxed her body became. This, too, was a holdover from childhood. She had, at least, exorcised the need to flatter and appease when somebody else seemed angry. Perhaps someday she would leave this vestige behind, too.

“Thought about it,” Rook lied. “But I know how much his family means to him. If this is important to him, it’s important to me. I just wish I’d been able to see him before…well.”

“It will be better this way,” Teia said, pointing at the door they needed. “I’ll arrange you for full effect—it’ll be worth it just to see his face when he sees you in this.”

Lenore allowed Teia to take her arm as they left the Diamond and stepped onto the streets of the city. In truth, she had difficulty imagining that Lucanis would think any more of her in a pretty dress than he had when she’d been coated head to toe in the blood of a god. Still, it was a pleasant enough distraction to pretend that it would matter, that there would be some pretty silver lining to this evening. The thought carried her all the way to the canal steps.

“Tsch,” Teia said to someone standing beside the dock, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She let go of Rook’s arm to plant both of hers on her hips. “You weren’t supposed to be here yet.”

“Perhaps you should move faster,” Viago said, still out of sight for Lenore.

“You think I should take her running across the rooftops like this?”

Teia stepped down and to the side, clearing the space between Rook and Lucanis. The latter stood in the gondola already, steady and balanced despite the faint rocking of the boat. Lenore looked at him, her grip loose on her violin, and he stepped from the boat to the ground. There was something soft in his face, something she’d only just begun to identify as affection for her.

“Doesn’t she look perfect?” Teia prompted.

Lenore had been left for dead in a crypt in the Necropolis before she was a week old. She had been raised by the Mourn Watch, save those four long years with Antonia. She’d never had a legacy to shoulder, a mother to mourn, a grandmother to appease. She had never had a name to live up to; Ingellvar had just been the word engraved on the crypt where they’d found her.

“Always,” Lucanis said, his voice quiet. “Rook. Thank you for coming tonight.”

She would never really understand what it meant to Lucanis to have his family, but she would do everything in her power not to drive a wedge between them. One night was a small sacrifice. This was a conclusion she’d come to last week; seeing him now only reminded her of her purpose. The dress was nothing; the dinner was nothing. The ghost of her foster mother was less than nothing. For him, she had braved far worse than any of it.

Lucanis met her at the bottom step, hand held out to help her down the last step.

“Thank you,” she said.

Generally, they avoided public displays of affection in Treviso. They’d agreed it painted an unnecessary target on her back. Accordingly, he held her hand only as long as might be considered normal, but he murmured to her as she passed.

“Did something happen?”

“No,” she told him quietly and truthfully, and raised her voice when she went on. “Teia is good company. She was kind enough to lend me this.”

“It was for my own gratification,” Teia said, wrapping an arm around Rook’s shoulder and kissing her loudly on the cheek. “Look at her. She was meant to wear this, yes? It was wasted in my closet. You should keep it, Rook; it suits you.”

Viago crossed his arms and grimaced at them, but Lucanis touched the bare patch of skin down Rook’s back.

“We’re late. We shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

“Of course. I’m ready to go,” Lenore said. Lucanis stepped down into the boat and lifted a hand for her to take. Teia stepped closer one last time and Viago followed, still glowering.

“Remember what I said and you’ll be fine,” Teia said quietly.

When Rook would have turned away and taken Lucanis’s hand, Viago stepped between them.

“Don’t listen to Teia,” Viago said, voice low enough that he might think Lucanis didn’t hear. Lenore knew better. “Not all of us have the benefit of being the favorite. Be polite, don’t make yourself a threat, and you might make it back in one piece.”

“Unusual for you to give me personal advice,” she said, voice faintly amused in a way she despised. Antonia again. She’d be hearing the damned woman all night.

“For the sake of Teia’s dress,” he said, already turning away. “She likes it too much for it to end up bloodstained.”

Lenore snorted and turned away from the two Talons, taking Lucanis’s hand at last and stepping down into the boat. It rocked faintly under her feet in a way she found unsettling. Boats were still strange to her, still a little dizzying to sit in. Drowning didn’t top her list of worst ways to die, but it came close. Accordingly, she sat on the closest bench as quickly as she could manage.

“Are you comfortable?” Lucanis asked, and waited for her agreement before pushing off from the dock. “Don’t listen to Viago. There won’t be any fighting. Caterina would never allow it.”

“Lucanis—” Lenore bit back the next words, struggled to find others to fill the space they left behind.

“Go ahead, Rook,” he said, glancing down at her before returning his attention to the canals. Looking for assassins, she supposed, as well as navigating around the other boats in the canal. “Say whatever you need to say. You know I won’t hold it against you.”

Rook took a slow breath, filtered the things she wanted to say from the things she needed to say, then went on.

“I’m not Antivan. I will never be a Crow. I don’t have a family name or anything to offer materially—no connections, no significant money or land,” she began, and hesitated. “I know this doesn’t matter to you, nor Spite, but it matters to Caterina. She doesn’t approve of me.”

“How do you know that?” he asked, and turned back to the canals long enough to steer around a gondola floating aimlessly in the center of the passage. He murmured something uncomplimentary at it and glanced back at Rook.

“Something she said the last time we spoke,” Lenore said, and watched Villa Dellamorte rise as they approached. “I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise…”

“Then don’t promise,” he said, and surprised her by sitting down across from her.

They’d moved into a relatively empty stretch of water, the sounds of the market and its shops far behind them. When he took her hand from her lap, there was nobody to see.

“There are things I need to say, too,” he said, solemn. “Whatever happens tonight, Rook, it doesn’t change anything between us. What Caterina thinks is her business. You are mine. All I want from tonight is to share the place I called home and what’s left of my family. Without having to kill our way through it this time.”

“You know it isn’t going to be that simple,” she said, wrapping her other hand around his and squeezing. “So I won’t remind you. I’ll be honored to see the place you grew up, Lucanis, however Caterina feels about it.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, quick and dear. She didn’t close her eyes when he did. She wanted to watch him, just in case…In case she needed to remember later.

“Let’s go,” she said when he drew away. “I don’t want us to be any later than we already are.”

“Alright,” he said, but paused a moment longer, still watching her expression. “If it’s ever too much—if you decide that you need to leave—”

“I’ll tell you,” she said. “I’m more worried that I’ll lose my temper. I don’t know if you noticed, but I don’t have the best track record with authority figures.”

“That you do not,” he said, and kissed her again. He was smiling while he did it, and she caught the barest sliver of his teeth with her lips. They kissed for longer than was advisable, but she drank in the contact, the reassurance. Lucanis loved her wholly. She could never question something so obviously true.

As long as she remembered that, she could handle whatever came next.

She was certain of it.

#ask response #prompt response #lenore ingellvar #rook ingellvar #lucanis dellamorte #lucanore #dav #dav spoilers #veilguard #rook x lucanis #rookanis #anyways i have a lot of thoughts about antonia tevinter nights but we don't have to get into that now #shivunin scrivening #datv spoilers #andarateia cantori

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whoredyceps · 1 day ago

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"OH LOVER BOY!" || 28 Days of Love: A Valentine's Challenge + Series

day four: a blind date

ᰔ pairing: agent whiskey x reader

ᰔ summary: your best friend told you to show up in your best dive bar attire on a friday night, only for her to bail. by luck— or something else— you find a handsome cowboy looking for some company.

ᰔ author's note: agent whiskey was my gateway into the ppcu when it came out. my first on the list of many of pedro boys. agent whiskey i know you fucked around and found out but the light is on and the door is open 🙂‍↕️

ᰔ content warning: dive bar setting. non-canon/au agent whiskey. alcohol consumption. flirting. vague suggestive ending. no description of reader/use of y/n. my hatred of the song free bird by lynyrd skynyrd.

For a dive bar, you expected shittier music. Well, maybe the music was shitty— your friends gave you enough grief when you were on the aux cord. It wasn't your fault you had a wide range in your liked songs.

As you looked around, the sound of Free Bird caught your attention. A grimace washed over your face and you weaved your way to the jukebox. It had seen better days in the last few decades, and the song selection had nothing from the last ten years. Just how you liked it, along with every other patron in the bar.

You glanced over your shoulder as you looked for your friend, only to be met with the same crowd you've been surrounded by. The only newcomer looked to be an older gentleman leaned against the bar. His broad shoulders shifted as he reached for a glass in front of him. As he glanced around, he caught your gaze. He gave a polite smile and tipped his hat before he took a long swig of his drink.

Before you moved towards the bar, you slipped a few coins in the jukebox and chose the song you had been eyeing. Once Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac began to play, you finally tore yourself away. You slipped between the man and an empty seat, arms barely brushed against one another.

"Got something against Lynyrd Skynyrd?" The man asked as he placed his glass back down on the bar. You chuckled, one elbow on the bar as you turned to face him.

"Only Free Bird. We get it, the bird's free. Been free longer than this bar's been standin'." Your cheeks flushed as he laughed. Part of you wished your friend would show up, just so she could get a look at the man.

"I suppose you've got a point," he smirked. "But it's Lynyrd Skynyrd. They're as good as it gets, darlin'." He looked you up and down without even trying to hide it.

"Look, Simple Man will always be one of my top five songs but you lose me with the bird." You ordered a Jack and Coke when the bartender passed by. As you handed her the bill, you heard the man beside you chuckle.

"Name's Jack Daniels, ma'am."

You raised an eyebrow. It was hard to discern if he was just jesting, or if that was the truth. You leaned in a bit closer, unable to deny yourself the draw he had. Even if it wasn't true, you weren't sure you cared.

"You bullshittin' me?" When he shook his head, you smiled again. You thanked the bartender for the drink and sipped on it. The drink warmed you, but it was nothing compared to whatever Jack's gaze did. Something warm settled in your chest, all the way down to the pit of your stomach.

"God's honest truth, ma'am," Jack reached for his wallet. He pulled out his license, and it confirmed that his name was, in fact, Jack Daniels. You ran a thumb over it before you handed it back to him.

"What brings you to this spot on a Friday night? All by yourself?" You felt yourself loosen up as you sipped on your drink. Partially, at least.

"Friend said he'd meet me here, but seems he's caught in traffic," Jack shrugged. He leaned on the bar, closing some of the space between the two of you. Between the music and the gaggles of loud patrons around, it made for easier conversation.

"Really? You know, I'm in the same boat. One of my girlfriends was supposed to meet me here tonight, but I haven't heard from her," you sighed. While a small part of you was disappointed, you didn't mind having your company kept by Jack. He was kind enough, and good to look at.

"Shame," Jack shook his head. "Guess we'll have to keep each other company instead." His smile felt like a blow to the chest, the air in your lungs all but disappeared. Your head felt woozy, but you couldn't blame it on the drink in your hand.

"If we must," you chuckled. "So, Jack Daniels, what's with the cowboy getup? Not that it's not doing you any favors." You pressed your arm against his as you finished off your drink. Even out of the corner of your eye, you saw the smirk on his lips.

Before Jack answered, he ordered another round for both of you. His fingers, the one near your arm, tapped against your elbow. Everything he did seemed so effortless, from the way he held himself to the way his hands moved as he spoke.

"I work at a distillery, of sorts. Got some other tricks of the trade, but that's the long and short." Jack watched your expression, watched the way your eyes followed his lips and studied his face. Not that he'd admit it out loud, but your gaze made his skin feel electric.

"A man named Jack Daniels who works at a distillery?" You smiled, your cheeks flush from both your drink and the look on his eyes.

"I'm full of surprises," Jack huffed a laugh.

"I'm starting to think you're too good to be true, Mr. Daniels." You nudged his elbow, winking at him before you took a seat in the empty bar stool. As you moved away, he followed. His arm still pressed against yours, a hand on the back of the chair as he boxed you in. Not that you minded.

"You flatter me, darlin'."

The two of you continued to fall into an easy conversation. Jack made you laugh, did anything to see that smile on yours. If his friend had been here, he was sure he would've teased him for the way he acted.

"You play darts?" You asked after you finished off your third drink. You glanced up from your glass to look at Jack. He'd taken off the hat, a few strands of his hair fell in front of his forehead. It took everything in you to not run a hand through his hair. Instead, you busied yourself with ordering another drink for yourself and Jack.

"I do. Think you got it in you to play a coupla rounds?" Jack thanked the bartender as she handed him another beer. He watched as you hopped off the chair, only to sway a bit. His hand settled on the small of your back as he guided you towards the dart board.

"I'm so good at darts," you assured him. While it was true, the drinks were starting to get to you and your vision. Still though, you were determined to impress the tall, handsome cowboy holding you.

"Wanna put your money where your mouth is?" Jack asked as the two of you stood before the board. He let go of you to grab the basket of darts, mismatched and as beat up at the jukebox. He held it to you as he let you pick your darts.

"I can think of a few things I'd put in my mouth." You winked before you finished off the last of your drink. He bit his bottom lip, looking you up and down as you turned to put the glass down.

"Twenty dollars that I'll beat you." You reached into your purse and pulled out a crisp twenty. Without a word, you reached over and placed it in the pocket of his jean jacket.

"I'll take that bet," Jack cleared his throat. As you queued up for your first toss, he felt his phone buzz. He fished it out of his pocket to read whatever the text was.

Teq: Sorry I couldn't make it. Hope you're enjoying your time at the bar ;)

Jack glanced up from his phone, the dots connected as you hit the twenty. Of course it was a setup. Tequila had been on him about entering the dating scene again— he went on and on about how 'lonely' he seemed. What would his luck be that you also got stood up by your friend on a Friday night in the same bar, around the same time?

What irked him was that he was having fun. Jack hadn't been out in months, at least for his own sake. Being out with you reminded him of something he had missed, though he wasn't sure what that was.

You cheered as you hit a bullseye. That pulled Jack back to the present, his phone shoved in his pocket and his words for Tequila saved for a different time. He'd save it for Monday. For now, he has a beauty standing right in front of him, all smiles and oblivious to the plan her friend had orchestrated.

"Well I'll be damned," Jack chuckled. He sipped on his beer and stepped towards the dart board. Low and behold, you had knocked a clean 75 off your score.

"Show me what you're workin' with. Hope you can put those hands to good use," you hummed. You shot him a wink as you stepped away from the faded piece of tape on the floor. With your arms crossed over your chest, you watched his expression shift from impressed to calculated.

Jack threw it, only for it to hit one of the numbers and clatter to the ground. He was decent at darts, but his mission to impress you was off to a rocky start. The only thing that eased his nerves was your sweet laughter, followed by you grabbing the dart for him.

"Looks like it'll be an easy twenty bucks." You handed him the dart.

An easy twenty bucks, it was. You left him in the dust and ended the game without breaking a sweat. It was all worth it to see the look on his face as you returned from the board with your darts in hand. He looked you up and down, both in awe and something simmering beneath the surface.

"I'll be damned. You a professional or somethin'?" Jack asked as he took the darts and put them in the basket. You shook your head, leaned against one of the tall tables nearby.

"One of my party tricks," you tilted your head. "Think I could make it in the big leagues?" Jack stood next to you, only a few inches separating the two of you. He smelled divine between his cologne and whatever he had used to wash up before he went out.

"If you throw like that with four drinks knocked back? Darlin', you'd be the reigning champion." Jack leaned in a bit closer, a smile on his lips. You tried to not make it obvious how handsome you found him, but when he had his undivided attention on you, it made your heart hammer in your chest. While you wanted to blame it on the alcohol, you knew well enough that even a buzz couldn't make you feel like this.

"You think?" You asked. You leaned in as well, your bodies near flush against each other. There were so many thoughts that rushed through your head, yet they all went silent as Jack's nose brushed against yours.

"I know it."

You weren't sure who made the first move, but his lips on yours made your eyes flutter closed. Everything fell to the wayside— the music, the rowdy patrons, whatever else surrounded you in the dive bar. Jack filled your senses, his presence demanded without a word exchanged. His hands settled at your sides, polite even as his fingers suck into your flesh. It elicited a soft gasp between kisses; electricity settled under your skin as a zip shot down your spine.

You pulled away, the air from your lungs all but gone as you looked at him. Jack looked you over. From what you could tell, he was just as breathless as you were. You only hoped he felt even a sliver of what you did

"I know this may be improper, but I was wondering if you had any other plans for the night." Jack hadn't taken his hands off of you as he searched your expression for an answer. He'd be an idiot to not take you home, to not kindle whatever had sparked between you.

"My only plans involve a man who's ass I can kick when it comes to darts," you teased. Jack smirked as he let a chuckle, rolling his eyes. He squeezed your side before he stood up straight. He grabbed for his hat and started to put it back on. Before he put it back on, you took it out of his hand and put it on top of your head.

"Come on, cowboy. Let's get out of here." You leaned into Jack's side as he led you out of the bar.

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels #kingsmen golden circle #pedro pascal #oh lover boy #valentine's day #gwen writes

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