#you are so right he would sit on their desk

[stxrslutrestored]

BE STILL

pairing; rafe cameron x sweetie!reader

summary; rafe works a lot, and you need a lot, that means sometimes you have to come to a compromise 

content; ddlg dynamics, subspace, slight dry humping, cockwarming, female masturbation

authors note; lowkey I rushed the ending but I wanted to have at least one new full blurb out on each of my blogs

rafe is working in his office, doing some pointless admin work on his laptop that he claims is crucial, you know it’s not.

all day you’ve been huffing and puffing. hot and bothered, unable to calm yourself down. you need to be taken care of. you’d told rafe as much but all he’d done is promised you that he would later. you don’t want it to be later. 

it’s about midday when you decide enough is enough and go to see rafe. your mind is already starting to go fuzzy and you fear you won’t be able to stay stable by yourself. you pad down the hallway in your bare feet towards his home office. 

he doesnt turn back when you walk through the door, approaching from behind. you go up to him and he swivels his chair round momentarily, letting you climb into his lap and straddle him. you immediately cuddle up as he turns back to face the desk. 

you sit in silence for a moment before he speaks “what’chu doin’ up here huh?” he murmurs, still working around you, fingers tapping away at his keyboard. 

you bury your face in his chest “need you rafe.” you tell him, “need to stop thinkin’ please.” you say. 

rafe nods, rubbing your back with a free hand for a moment, “thought I told you to wait for that baby? don’t remember that?” he asks, still not looking. 

you whine, “can’t wait daddy.” you tell him, “just can’t wait. tried so hard but… but need you daddy.” you look up with your best wide eyes, needing him to take care of you right now. you notice that you’re absentmindedly starting to grind forward, your crotch starting to rub up just a bit against his. 

he sighs, “you really can’t wait huh?” you shake your head, affirming his question. he sighs again and then nods, “I’ll take care of you baby.” he tells you, “but gotta let me finish my work. gonna sit n’ be nice an’ quiet for me okay?” 

“okay,” you nod, feeling immense relief as you finally let your thoughts begin to melt away. you’re grinding on him now, weakly, but surely you are. his hand comes to your back to support you for a couple of seconds. 

“wanna kiss. c’mere real quick, yeah?” you immediately comply, starting to suck on his bottom lip with great vigor. he kisses back for a little bit before slipping his thumb into your mouth and pulling you away. “gonna sit on dad’s cock now. yeah? but gotta be real still.” 

barely registering his words you move back, ketting him undo his fly and then pull your panties down from under your short skirt. he takes you by the hips and brings you forward, gently lowering you onto his cock. 

you whimper at the stretch, it stings just a little but you quickly get settled. the first few seconds are okay, because you normally don’t move to start with anyway. but after those seconds pass it starts to feel weird. you have the urge to squirm around and stimulate yourself but the moment you even make a hint of a movement he stops you and murmurs “be still.” 

you whine, “dad,” you fall into his chest, propping your head up on hsi shoulder, “lemme cum first please.” you ask him, “gonna be still after that daddy. promise.” 

rafe shakes his head, “why don’t you rub that little clit of yours, then. can make yourself feel good on daddy’s cock by yourself, but I aint doing any work until later.” you huff at that response, but mind ever so cloudy, you decide to do it anyway. 

your hand snakes down to where your pussy is wrapped around rafe’s cock, you start to rub little circles. while it’s exhausting and irritating at first, it eventually feels good, and you allow yourself to get lost in the feeling. 

rafe may be a busy guy, and sure he doesn’t take care fo you in the most conventional way. but really, you wouldn’t wish to be doing anything else right now. 

[cryinthevortex]

Sure, for a few ticks, it felt like a bad idea to have a manager who got possessed by a demon, but the benefits became quickly apparent.

He is no longer a strict manager and has now close to universal support among the staff for his approach. Before he was all for a regimental discipline and would always come and count your pens at the end of each day to ascertain none were stolen, now he leaves home with the whole stationary locker in his pocket. 

Employee satisfaction is now thoroughly important to him. He is a Swiss Army knife of support—he props each employee with a personalized approach.

Our newly diabolically enhanced manager encourages self-flagellating employees to work harder, sleep less, and feel less free. He can direct the high performers into suicide-by-thirties-level efficiency. Similarly, he supports even the laziest employees on our floors with words of wisdom. He encourages them to avoid too much work so that their self-sabotage has a better opportunity to take hold within them.

He has been very capable of reorganizing daily chores into something more pleasant. He removed the worst job from the company: he took down customer support. It has been something that the company has gotten by great without. It has also provided some additional entertainment because he loves listening to people’s reactions when the support phone line gives customers a standard reply that support opens in an hour- every hour of the day, seven days a week. He eavesdrops on the line and plays us the best reactions. 

We find it highly entertaining, and the devil has claimed many of our customers when they use naughty words and curse fellow humans. Some resorted to sending our company glitter bombs. Everyone knows the hell has a special place for that kind of customer. It’s that same place where customer service employees who ask, “Have you turned the machine on?” go. Our new manager was delighted by the increase in profitability and to us it pays dividends in job satisfaction.

One of the reasons for his popularity is, that he never makes us do overtime. This has been one of our collectively most favored changes.

He now pays us without extra work because it increases the bosses’ collection of vices. They now sit in the boardroom for longer wondering where the money invested each month goes. Their golf memberships have been canceled, leading them to have less healthy outdoors, filling their minds with more stress- just what the devil doctor ordered. It is all thanks to our newly improved manager.

The breakroom has never been such a happy place for us: he never lets the coffee go cold in the pot because when the guy fills his cup, the pot heats up with hellfire efficiency. 

Unlike before, when he was of the little less infernal constitution– he now never saves in coffee fund expenses because he knows we pay the price in girth of our waistlines and over-indulgence is a sin. 

Our manager's new countenance is a hit with the company accountants- they are his biggest fans because he is the only one who treats them right. 

He is always incredibly polite to those guys because everyone knows, accountants are doomed to live in the darkest room, with the messiest desk, and have the longest to-do list and they slaver away when everyone else has holidays.

The poor sods of that department are working overtime sorting out numbers that are perpetually not adding up. On top of it all they drown in piles and piles of receipts and a few are always missing when you need them. 

A good old trick to lead them closer to their damnation is to claim a cup of coffee back from the company when they are at their busiest- and our demon manager doesn’t have to do a thing- all employees and bosses drive them down that path without any help. Those guys are already in hell and they don’t even realize it. 

Overall it's been over a month since our manager was possessed by a demon. Yet, instead of fetching the nearest priest or throwing a bucket of holy water at them, myself and my coworkers have just rolled with it, as the demon is WAY more bearable to work under.”

It's been over a month since your manager was possessed by a demon. Yet, instead of fetching the nearest priest or throwing a bucket of holy water at them, you and your coworkers have just rolled with it, as the demon is WAY more bearable to work under.

[krosiefics]

never sleeps • bang chan

MDNI 18+

Synopsis: Chan stays late at the studio so you decide to attempt to drag him back home. Little did you know that you would end up sleeping at the studio after a little fun time.

WC: 1k

Tags: smut, mdni, piv, pretty girl, idolbf!bangchan, afab!reader, softdom-ish!chan, unprotected sex (just don’t), pwp, praise kink, aftercare, pretty vanilla compared to what I’ve done before, inspired by railway ofc, bigdick!chan, chan is a workaholic fr, this is also an apology for being absent during this school semester

a/n: im not ok after the railway mv…i died. Also…IM BACK BITCHESSSSS, uni’s done for the semester, i will unfortunately be out from mid jan- may…but then im back for the summer 😌

“Babe?” You call out as you walk into your boyfriend’s studio. He had sent you a message a bit ago saying that he would be home later, but it’s already two in the morning. So you decided to drag yourself out of bed so that you can drag him back home so he can go to bed.

The lights are all off except a small desk lamp that sits nexts to the desktop. Chan sits in front of the desktop, headphones over ears, as he stares tiredly at the screen. You stride up to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Chan slightly jumps at the sudden contract. “Hey, what’re you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing? C’mon babe, let’s go home.” You tug at the collar of his blazer. Chan had mentioned to you in the morning that he had an important meeting today with the company, so he had to dress up nicely. So instead of his usual black hoodie, he wore a black blazer with matching slacks. Chan chuckles, tilting his head to your hand that rests on his shoulder. “In a bit. Just gotta finish this little bit of the track.” You sigh, plopping yourself down on the sofa by the wall.

You try to keep yourself awake, but given that it’s so late, your eyes betray you as they flutter shut within minutes. By three in the morning Chan finally takes off his headset. He turns around in his chair to be met with your sleeping figure. He smiles to himself, rolling towards you and leaving a kiss on your forehead.

You whine, your nose scrunching up as you stir awake. “Channie, can we go home now?” Your eyes plead. Chan’s eyes watch the way you peer up at him, “You’re so pretty- oh.” He starts before noticing what you’re wearing, it’s his hoodie. His fingers twirl around the drawstring before trailing up and cupping your cheek in his warm hand. “Why’re you wearing this love?”

“Smells like you.”

Chan smiles fondly down at you, leaning in and placing a kiss on your lips. Your arms wrap around his neck. Your hands tugging at the curls at the nape of his neck. You pull him down onto you and he quickly obliges, caging you under his firm body. You stare up at him with eager eyes. He is quick to recognize your desire. “Baby, you sure you didn’t come here for something else.” Your face flushes.

“Like what?” You tease, a smile pressed against his lips. Chan chuckles against your mouth as his hands roam your sides. You arch into his body as his hands trail lower and lower. “You’re a tease, you know that.” Chan smirks, attaching his lips to your neck, suckling and nibbling at your skin.

“Ah, Channie.” You grunt, the grip on his hair tightening. He hums against your neck in a questioning manner, as if he didn’t know what he was currently. Before you knew it, the two of you were grinding against each other at three in the morning. Your exhaust going right out the window as you feel your throbbing cunt clench around nothing. “More…please.” You whine, your hands frantically trying to unbutton his slacks.

Chan watches in amusement as you manage to free him of his slacks, pulling out his pulsing cock from his boxers. “Is my pretty girl needy?” You groan at the pet name, but you could care less about making a snarky remark, you just need him in you. Now. So you simply nod, whimpering when his hands slip down the front of your pajama shorts. His fingers teasing at your clit.

His fingers work their way in and out of you, smearing your wetness along your folds. “Chan,” You moan quietly. “There’s no one here love,” he leans down and pecks your cheek, “you can be as loud as you want.” You impatiently pump his cock, guiding him towards your entrance. “I swear to God if you don’t fuck me right now.” You huff out. Chan shakes his head at you with an amused smile before ramming his cock inside of you.

The moan you let out is so erotic you couldn’t even believe that you could make that sound. Chan obviously liked it cause you could feel him twitch inside you. “Shit baby, you’re squeezing me so well.” Chan bites his lower lips as his eyes fixate where you two are connected. Your legs hook around his waist as he drills into you. Your hands go to his blazer and you start unbuttoning it, revealing his tones and underneath. ‘Why the fuck isn’t he wearing a shirt?’ You thought to yourself, but they’re erased as Chan hits your g-spot dead on.

Chan rids himself of the article, his pace never faltering. “Hold onto me baby, it’s okay.” He grunts lowly, burying his face into your neck. Your hands fly to grab into his back as the feeling of his cock pounding into you over and over drove you over the edge. His groans began pitching as his hips faltered. “Fuck I’m close baby.” His lips leave love marks along your neck and as far down as your his hoodie would allow him to go.

As Chan spills over the edge, his teeth dig in slightly causing you to finally tip over. Your legs shake around him as he eases himself out of you slowly. He leaves you to rest on the sofa as he cleans up himself and your body. Finally, he gently nudges you over, making room for him to sit down on the sofa with you. Chan places your head in his lap, leaving a small kiss on your forehead. “Thanks for visiting me.” He smirks, you roll your eyes playfully at him. “Sure, you never sleep so I just tried something new.” He nods in approval, “Well you should try your ‘new’ method more often.” He yawns before cuddling you to sleep once more.

@katsukis1wife @pixie0627

[0omillo0]

Felix angst/comfort (you can use this for the clingy series) where Felix feels the constant need to spend time with Y/N ( also rip this hits home for me) and Y/N is, for the first time in their life, not clingy. Like Felix perceives their actions as clingy but in their mind they feels free and as least clingy as they’ve ever been. And then Felix does the whole calls them clingy. And they have to take a moment because they, for once, felt so confident in themselves that they weren’t being clingy, and now they are second guessing themselves. (This is weirdly personal, I’ve been here before, please give mega angst but even more comfort)

Calling you clingy

Felix x Reader ; angst -> comfort

a/n: I hope this is what you wanted! merry christmas loves

Felix had always been a gentle, steady presence in your life—a warmth you could lean into when the world felt cold. His kindness had a way of pulling you out of your head, grounding you when your insecurities threatened to take over. You loved him for it.

But lately, his warmth felt different. He’d been clinging to you in ways you didn’t recognize, filling the spaces between your conversations with a soft desperation. He was more insistent on spending time together—seeking you out even when you felt perfectly fine sitting in your solitude.

At first, it was easy to brush off. Felix was affectionate by nature, and you’d always loved that about him. But when his gentle invitations turned into subtle comments—“Oh, you’re busy again?”—and his eyes lingered on you just a beat too long, you felt a weight you couldn’t explain.

It hurt, because for the first time in your life, you weren’t chasing validation. You weren’t battling the constant fear of being too much. Instead, you’d been reclaiming a sense of independence—spending time with yourself and learning to love the quiet.

You had felt proud. Free. For once, you didn’t feel the urge to text Felix every hour or overthink every interaction. And it had been working. The days felt lighter, and you believed you were finding a balance between nurturing your relationship with him and nurturing yourself.

And yet, tonight unraveled everything.

“Hey,” Felix called softly, pulling your attention away from the pile of papers on your desk.

The sound of his voice was cautious, hesitant, and you immediately turned to face him. “Yeah?” you asked, a small smile on your face. “What’s up?”

Felix shifted in place, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as he searched for the right words. He looked like a boy on the verge of confessing something he thought would ruin everything. “Can I… ask you something?”

“Of course.” You set down your pen, turning your full attention to him.

His gaze dropped, and you noticed the way his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Do you think… maybe you’ve been a little clingy lately?”

For a second, the words didn’t register.

Clingy?

Your heart sank, the air leaving your lungs in an instant. The weight of his question crashed into you, heavy and suffocating, as if the room had suddenly shrunk around you. “Clingy?” you echoed, your voice small and disbelieving.

He nodded, wincing slightly as if bracing for backlash. “I mean… you’re always around. You always want to hang out, and I love being with you—I do. But sometimes I feel like…” He trailed off, clearly unsure how to soften the blow.

“Like I’m suffocating you,” you finished for him, bitterness creeping into your tone.

“No!” Felix said quickly, his eyes wide and panicked. “No, it’s not that. I just… I need a little space sometimes. And I don’t want you to take that the wrong way.”

But how else could you take it? You stared at him, your stomach twisting violently. His words felt like a knife turning in an old wound you’d spent years trying to heal.

Clingy.

That label had haunted you for as long as you could remember. It was the word that stuck to you like a shadow, the fear that kept you second-guessing every relationship, every friendship. But you had worked so hard to overcome it. You’d been careful—so careful—to give Felix the space he deserved while finally giving yourself the freedom to breathe.

And now, the one person who made you feel safe had torn that progress apart.

“Felix…” you started, your voice trembling. You swallowed hard, willing yourself not to cry. “I’ve been trying so hard not to be clingy. Like… so hard.”

His brow furrowed, confusion flickering in his eyes. “What?”

“I’ve been holding back,” you said, the words tumbling out in a bitter rush. “I’ve been giving you space. I haven’t been texting you constantly, or asking to hang out every second, or freaking out if I don’t hear from you for a while. I thought I was finally getting it right.” Your voice cracked, and you looked away, trying to rein in the tears that threatened to spill.

Felix’s expression shifted, the weight of your words hitting him like a freight train. “Y/N…”

“But I guess even when I think I’m doing better, it’s still not enough,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” Felix said, stepping forward. His face crumpled with regret as he reached for you. “No, that’s not true. I didn’t mean it like that. I swear—”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted, stepping back out of his reach. Your hands clenched at your sides as you tried to steady your breath. “I get it. You need space. I’ll give you your space.”

“No, Y/N, don’t do that,” Felix said, his voice breaking. “Please, don’t—”

“I just need a minute, okay?” you said quickly, the words coming out sharper than you intended.

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving Felix standing there with his heart in his throat.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the silence of your room felt deafening. You sank onto your bed, your mind spiraling with questions you couldn’t answer.

Had you been too much? Had you failed to notice something you should have?

You replayed every interaction in your head, dissecting your choices and second-guessing the progress you’d been so proud of.

Meanwhile, Felix sat outside your door, his knees pulled to his chest. His head was heavy in his hands, guilt eating away at him with every passing second. He didn’t know what had possessed him to say those words—words that clearly cut you so deeply.

Finally, he knocked softly, his voice trembling. “Y/N?”

There was no response.

“Please,” he tried again, his throat tight. “I didn’t mean what I said. I wasn’t thinking. Please, let me in.”

After a long moment, the door opened, revealing your tear-streaked face. Felix’s heart broke all over again. Without a second thought, he pulled you into his arms, holding you as tightly as he could.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t realize how hard you’d been trying… and I just—” He exhaled shakily. “I was scared.”

You stiffened slightly in his arms. “Scared?”

He nodded, pulling back to meet your eyes. “I thought maybe you didn’t need me as much anymore. And I know that’s selfish, but it made me panic. I thought maybe you were pulling away because you didn’t want to be around me.”

His words sank in slowly, and your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. “Felix… I wasn’t pulling away. I was trying to find a balance. For me. For us.”

“I know,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “And I ruined it. I’m so sorry, Y/N. You’re not clingy. You’re amazing, and I’m so, so lucky to have you.”

His sincerity broke through your walls, and you leaned into his embrace, letting his warmth comfort you. “I just don’t want to lose you,” you murmured.

“You won’t,” Felix promised, holding you tighter. “I’ll do better. I’ll listen better. And I’ll never call you clingy again. I swear.”

You stayed in his arms for what felt like forever, the steady beat of his heart grounding you as the ache in your chest slowly began to ease. Felix didn’t let go, his arms wrapped around you with a desperation that spoke louder than any words he could say.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered again, his breath warm against your hair. “I didn’t mean any of it. I just… I messed up. I didn’t realize how much you’d been trying, and instead of supporting you, I let my own fears get in the way.”

You swallowed hard, the knot in your throat loosening with every word. “You really thought I didn’t need you anymore?”

He nodded, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze was filled with regret, but there was something else there too—a tenderness that made your chest tighten. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but I got scared. You seemed so confident, so… happy on your own. And I thought maybe I was the only one who still needed us as much as I do.”

You shook your head, a soft, disbelieving laugh escaping your lips. “Felix, I need us. I always have. I just…” You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I needed to know I could stand on my own too. Not because I don’t love you, but because I wanted to be better for you. For both of us.”

His expression softened, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. “You are better, Y/N. You’re amazing. And I should have told you that instead of making you feel like… like this.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Felix was quick to catch it, his touch impossibly gentle. “I don’t think you realize how much I look up to you,” he said quietly. “You’ve been so strong, and I’m… I’m so proud of you. I hate that I made you second-guess yourself.”

His words cracked something open inside you, and you leaned into his hand, letting yourself feel the warmth and sincerity in his touch. “You mean that?” you asked softly.

“Every word,” he said, his voice firm but tender. “You’ve been so brave, Y/N. I see it. And I’ll spend every day reminding you how incredible you are if that’s what it takes to make up for tonight.”

For the first time that night, you felt the heaviness in your chest begin to lift. The sting of his earlier words lingered, but his apology—his love—was genuine.

You gave him a small, tentative smile. “You don’t have to make up for anything, Felix. Just… promise me we’ll talk next time, okay? No more letting things fester.”

He nodded quickly, his lips twitching into a faint, relieved smile. “I promise. I’ll do better. No more keeping things to myself. And no more calling you clingy. Ever.”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound breaking the tension in the room. “Good. Because that word is banned forever.”

“Forever,” Felix agreed, a playful light returning to his eyes. He shifted, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched. “You’re not clingy, Y/N. You’re perfect. Just the way you are.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart swell, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the moment. For the first time in hours, you felt truly at ease.

Later that night, you found yourselves curled up on the couch, the tension of the evening a distant memory. Felix’s arms were wrapped around you, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your arm as the quiet hum of a movie played in the background.

“Y/N?” he murmured after a while, his voice soft and contemplative.

“Yeah?” you replied, tilting your head to look at him.

“I’m really lucky to have you,” he said, his cheeks turning pink as the words left his mouth.

You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. “You’re not so bad yourself, Felix.”

He laughed softly, his lips brushing against your temple. “I mean it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to,” you said gently, resting your hand over his. “We’ll figure it all out. Together.”

Felix’s arms tightened around you, his lips curving into a soft smile against your skin. “Together,” he echoed, and in that moment, you knew he meant it with every fiber of his being.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t questioning yourself. You weren’t doubting your place in his life or worrying about being too much. Felix’s love wrapped around you like a promise—a reassurance that you didn’t have to change to be enough.

@intartaruginha @hannamoon143 @inlovewithstraykids @whoa-jo @madirye062 @vixensss @sseawavee @emilyywhyy @halfwinterhalfuniverse @velvetmoonlght @flourishmoon

[the-odd-shu]

Fluffy scenarios for clear skin

Another Lab Illustrator Reader installation!

Masterlist

Previous:

Characters: Jayce, Viktor, Gender Neutral Reader (Reader uses they/them pronouns)

Established: Jayce/Viktor/Reader (POLYCULLLEEE)

Reader to Jayce: Do you ever look at Viktor when he's thinking and want to kiss every inch of his face?

Jayce taking a slow sip from his hot drink: No. I think he would bite me if I tried.

Reader: Maybe. But whenever he pouts, his eyes go all thoughtful and distant, and I can hardly control myself.

Jayce: Please continue to control yourself. I don't want to have to write an accident report because you lost a nose.

Reader sighs again: Would you bite my nose off if I kissed every inch of your face instead?

Jayce no-rizz Talis then proceeds to choke and nearly perish on his drink.

In summary, Reader's partners sometimes give them cuteness aggression.

Just the image of Viktor doing that adorable pouting face, and Reader calmly setting down their pen, getting up, crossing over to Jayce's desk to get rid of their cuteness aggression via kisses on poor Jayce instead.

I kind of like the idea of them doing this instead of crowding Viktor when he's clearly trying to think. Whereas Jayce is just constantly on the look out for touch and validation, so it works out great for him. He melts under the attention, more than happy to put his notes aside for a moment in favour of a rather lovely excuse for a break.

They're quiet about it, but sometimes the movement will pull Viktor out of his musings regardless, and he'll just frown at the pair of them acting like idiots.

And if he insinuates he's feeling a little left out, you bet Reader is going to calmly drag him close and touch temples with him - a deeply personal Zaunite display of affection - which would have a whole new adorable expression appearing on Viktor's face and would send Reader IMMEDIATELY into going back to attack Jayce instead of smothering to poor, overwhelmed man.

In a similar vein of thinking, it would definitely be manadatory for Reader to give into it, just once.

Maybe Jayce is conveniently out of the room, and maybe Viktor is just RIGHT THERE, PLAINLY in sight. And maybe, just this once they SIMPLY CANNOT contain themselves. Viktor is right there and they're not getting any work done because they can't tear their eyes off him.

So they give in, and pepper Viktor's adorable pout with kisses. And the man is just BAFFLED! It takes him a moment to understand what is happening, and then he's letting out flustered strings of words in both his mother's tongue and Piltovern Common, and he's shoving them away by their cheeks.

Reader of course isn't deterred, and just ends up grabbing the hand to kiss his knuckles. Viktor glares down at them with a look of resignation and burning red ears.

Jayce comes in like: what did I miss.

Reader: Turns out he doesn't bite.

Viktor: Not yet. Don't tempt me.

Jayce is rewarded with a forehead touch for simply existing that time round - the significance is not lost on him and he feels touched.

Viktor's that choatic boyfriend that hears you complaining about a colleague one too many times, and then proceeds to inconvenience them in the most subtle and irritating way known to man, all whilst giving you a shit-eating little smirk as he sits back and watches the world burn.

"That fucker giving you trouble Darling? No worries, I stole all of his left socks and buried them in the staff room plant pot after hours."

"They said what about Jayce?" A beat of silence.

"Viktor?! Where are you going with that washing up liquid."

"Nowhere." Very obviously makes his way to the kitchen.

Said co-worker that was talking shit then begins complaining that every cup of coffee they make tastes like soap!

Someone talks shit about their partners:

Jayce 'can we talk about this' Talis: "here is a thirty page essay as to why you're wrong, and I have a PowerPoint slide prepared with additional evidence if you will please take a seat and allow me to reeducate you."

Viktor who will resort to psychological warfare to get his point across correcting them, whilst also blatantly gaslighting them into believing that Jayce and Reader can do no wrong, and they were in fact crazy for insinuating such cruel things about either of them to begin with.

Reader who stabs first with their artist-grade scalpel, and asks questions when they're incapacitated and bleeding out on their floor: "Say that again, to my face this time. Go on, I dare you."

(There is a reason why Jayce and Viktor ((the pacifists)) do not teach Reader how to use any of the hextech devices. They will commit murder and refuse to regret it whilst Jayce sweats bullets and Viktor stares on, mouth aghast by the sheer brutality of said murder).

"He deserved it," Reader will explain simply.

And Viktor will go, "perhaps, BUT YOU COULD HAVE LEFT HIS HEAD ATTACHED!"

Jayce who's trauma raises its head when his partners are cold. Blankets. Warm drinks. Heating on full blast. That snow storm did a number on him and he HATES the winter because of it.

Are you shivering? Is Viktor? No stress, he shall simply have to BECOME the blanket to keep you both alive and well. It is as sweet as it is heartbreaking.

Viktor who's upbringing in Zaun sometimes makes him precious with food. Not because he was starving, but because sometimes he couldn't have as much food as he wanted, simply because money was tight growing up.

Maybe he has a sweet treat, and ends up breaking it into threes to share with you and Jayce.

Maybe there's only one tea bag left, so he settles for water, despite having REALLY wanted that cup of warm tea.

Maybe he's waiting for seconds for dinner, but there's only enough left for two more portions, so he says he's not hungry anymore.

Viktor who will sometimes feel the gnaw of hunger but make a hot drink to soothe his stomach instead of actually eating something, because its only so far into the day, and if he doesn't eat now, then he won't be as hungry later-

Safe to say, his partners notice. And Jayce keeps the kitchenette well stocked with drinks and snacks alike, whilst Reader will stop by a bakery or cafe in the morning to bring him a proper breakfast, as well as breakfast for themselves and Jayce so he doesn't feel like he HAS to share.

[cowboybeepboop]

Release

"Don't worry...I'll give you what you need baby.."

Pairing: Clark Kent x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut

Word count: 3.3k

Summary: Your friendly coworker Clark takes care of your needs. 

a/n: As always I hope you enjoy and send any requests you might have my way!

Clark is your annoyingly perfect coworker, you know the type: always on time, always right, never makes a single mistake, and never has a hair out of place, let alone a stained shirt.

Your irritation grows as you rub the coffee stain from your white button-down, thoughts filled with the idea that you’ll find him at his desk, right next to yours looking as *perfect* as ever. 

It's been one thing after the next, first, you saw your long-time boyfriend cheating on you in YOUR apartment with your best friend, then some dumbass hit your car completely totaling it which leaves you taking the subway every morning attempting to be on time yet you always seem to arrive just five minutes late, and now your stupid shirt. Your favorite shirt. 

It’s silly to think you’re fighting back tears over a $15 button-down when you didn’t even react to seeing the two most important people in your life raw dogging it on your sheets. Taking deep breaths you adjust your hair, flattening it down, and blinking away the tears that threaten to spill. At least you’re slightly on time, even if it meant leaving home 30 minutes before you'd usually even wake up.

Finally, you give up on the stain coming to terms with the fact that a slight brown tinge is better than being late *again*. You slip into your chair with a quiet huff, pinching the bridge of your nose as you gaze at the clock on the wall. Glancing to your side you see Clark, he's 15 minutes early, smelling like heaven, he looks sleek as always, without a single hair out of place. 

Clark catches you looking at him as you huff and puff next to him, he tries not to chuckle at the frown on your face before he turns to you, friendly and unassuming as usual, completely oblivious to any issues you may have. He smiles his signature warm and charming smile.

"Good morning, you're here on time today, finally," he teases, his tone light and innocent, not realizing his words sound like a veiled jab when they fall from his lips.

You turn to him, eyes narrowed in an intense glare. "Mind your own business, Kent." You grumble, your usual (fake) friendliness gone like your ex-boyfriend. Focusing on the computer in front of you, you log on, scrolling through the endless emails.

Clark blinks awkwardly at your response, surprised by the harshness in your voice. He’s not quite used to you snapping at him, sure you have your moments but you’re rarely outright hostile.

He sits back, running a hand through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck, slightly perplexed about how to respond.

Clark hesitates for a moment, debating whether to address your change in tone. Clearing his throat, he tries to keep his tone lighthearted. "Um…is everything okay? You seem a bit, uh…”

He trails off, realizing that nothing he says will help his case and that you may actually bite his head off if he continues. So he shifts slightly in his chair instead, averting his eyes from yours as he pretends to focus on something on his computer.

"Look, Clark." You sigh, turning to him once again, tone much softer this time, "I don't need your pity, there's no need to pretend like you care." you slip out of your chair, heading to the break room to grab another coffee. 

Clark raises an eyebrow at your words, his lips curving into a slight frown as he watches you go. He waits a few moments before silently following you, his steps almost soundless as he approaches you at the coffee machine.

He stands behind you, his presence quiet and calm, as he studies your expression before speaking.

"Who said anything about pretending?" He asks, his voice low and earnest.

You're standing on your tippy toes, attempting to reach the coffee on the top shelf of the cabinet. "Why would you care about me and my problems? We're *just* coworkers." 

Clark swallows, feeling a pang of disappointment in his chest at your dismissive words. He leans against the counter beside you, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he contemplates how to respond.

"Just coworkers..." he mutters softly before sighing quietly, "Right."

He watches you struggle to reach the coffee for a moment, his hands twitching in his pockets as he resists the urge to reach out and grab it for you.

Clark can't tear his eyes away from the way your body stretches and extends with every effort to reach the coffee, the muscles in your thighs and backside taut and prominent as you stand on your tippy toes. It's an unconscious and innocent action, but it's affecting him more than he'd like to admit...

He clears his throat again, shifting his weight and trying to control the thoughts that begin to flood his mind. But as he watches you struggle once more, his restraint is slowly but surely beginning to fray.

"I'm sorry," you sigh, finally managing to grasp the coffee grounds. "I didn't mean it like that Clark." once back on flat feet, you look at him with a gentle expression. 

The tension drains from Clark's shoulders as he hears your apology, his gaze softening as he looks down at you. He manages a small smile, the corners of his lips tugging upwards slightly. 

"It's okay," he replies quietly. "I understand. You've clearly got a lot on your plate."

He can't help the way his eyes wander over your figure again, lingering on the way your body moves and molds with each movement. The words "I care" hang on his tongue, but he swallows them back down.

Once the machine starts brewing you lean against the counter, crossing your arms under your breasts as you let out a small strangled sigh. "I didn't mean to snap at you either. I've just got a lot going on.." 

Clark's eyes track your movement, watching as you rest against the counter. His eyes seem to linger on the way your arms press against your chest before he manages to force his gaze back up to your face, his cheeks flushing from the heat that spreads through him.

"It's okay," he says again, offering a reassuring smile. "You don't have to explain yourself. I..I get it."

He hesitates for a moment, mulling over his next question before finally swallowing and asking, "Anything I can help with?"

"Not unless you're willing to beat up my ex-boyfriend for me," you chuckle dryly, eyes focused on the empty office. Being the two newest employees you're stuck with the early early morning shift. 

Clark lets out a small, surprised laugh, the sound rich and warm. He leans back against the counter, mirroring your position as he grins at you. 

"Tempting," he admits, his voice tinged with a hint of mischief. "But I think I'd rather help in more...legal ways."

You smile, finding his presence comforting and relaxing, finally putting your restless mind at ease. Your bare thigh brushes over his as you turn to grab a mug, the fabric of your skirt lifting up ever so slightly. "Well, I'll let you know if I can think of anything you can help me with." 

The contact sends a jolt of electricity through Clark's veins, his breath catching in his throat as he feels your skin brush against his. He attempts to keep his reaction discreet, but the way his eyes widen slightly betrays his composure.

He swallows, his mind racing as his gaze drifts down to the exposed flesh of your thigh, the smooth skin on display making his thoughts whirl and pulse. 

"Yes... Please, let me know," he manages to mutter, his voice thick with an undertone he hadn't intended.

"Want some?" you hold out the mug to him, noticing the way his gaze is trained on your legs, a slight flush creeping up your neck. 

Clark is snapped out of his reverie as you hold the mug out to him, his eyes flicking up to yours for a moment before darting down to the mug in your hand again.

He clears his throat and reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours as he takes the mug. The contact sends another spark of electricity through his body, his cheeks flushing slightly as he quickly averts his eyes.

"Uh...yes, thank you," he stutters, trying to disguise the nerves in his voice.

You notice his strange demeanor, eyebrows furrowing as you fill your cup. "Now it's my turn to ask if everything is alright," keeping your tone playful, you gaze up at him softly. 

Clark swallows again, his heart thudding against his chest. He shifts awkwardly on his feet as you question him, his mind racing to find a believable excuse, but failing miserably.

The way you look up at him with such soft, concerned eyes is making it even harder to maintain his composure.

"Uh...yeah, I'm fine," he stammers, forcing a smile. "Just...uh...just a bit tired, that's all."

"And here I thought you were always on the top of your game." you tease softly, reaching to put the coffee back up, sneakily adjusting your skirt so it reveals more of your body. 

Clark watches you strain to reach the high shelf, a wave of guilt washing over him as he realizes he should have helped you get it down in the first place. He steps closer, his body now mere inches away from yours, his chest almost touching your back.

He reaches up and grabs the coffee, his arm brushing against yours in the process. The proximity is enough to send another shiver down his spine. He places the coffee back on the shelf before turning to you, his voice softer this time. "Next time, just ask for my help."

"Clark.." you breathe out his name, shocked by the electricity his touch fills you with. "I, uh, could've put it back myself you know."

Clark freezes, his heart skipping a beat at the sound of his name slipping from your lips. He could swear he was imagining the way you breathed his name, the way it sounded almost like...like a gasp.

He lets out a small huff, his lips curving into a half-smile. "I know," he says quietly, his eyes fixed on yours. "But I wanted to help."

"Mhm..." you murmur, gaze trained on his muscular body as heat rises in your cheeks. Your heart pounds in your chest, something about the way he touched you makes you heated. 

Clark's chest tightens as he registers the way your eyes rake over his frame, his skin burning in the wake of your gaze as you take him in. He swallows, the sound seeming louder than normal to his heightened senses.

The subtle shift in your breathing, the hint of flustered color adorning your cheeks, the heat radiating from your body... all of it feeds into the growing tension between you two.

"Clark," you step closer to him, gathering all the confidence you can. "There is *something* you could do to help me..." 

Clark's heart thuds harder, the closeness of your body almost intoxicating as he feels heat begin to pool in his gut. He inhales sharply, the scent of you clouding his senses as he struggles to focus on your words.

His voice is low and gruff when he responds, barely a whisper, "Anything."

"I want.." you take a steadying breath, "I want you." you press your fingers into his side, pulling his body closer to yours.

Clark's breath hitches as he feels your fingers press into his side, a shudder coursing through him as you pull his body against yours. He lets out a soft, involuntary moan as he feels the heat of your body against his, every nerve in his body on fire with need.

He looks down at you, his eyes wide and dilated, the last few remnants of restraint finally giving in. "Christ..." he mutters under his breath.

"There’s no one here right now," You bite on your bottom lip, knee sliding between his legs as you press against his groin. 

Clark lets out a hiss, his breath hitching once more as he feels the heat and friction of your body press against his. The unexpected sensation of your knee between his legs sends a jolt of pleasure through him, his hips involuntarily bucking against you as he fights to keep control. 

His voice is a low, ragged growl as he responds, "You're not playing fair.."

"I'm not.." you murmur, fingers moving to unbutton his slacks, "I never play fair," 

Clark's eyes widen in surprise as he feels your fingers on his slacks, his body frozen as he watches you undo them, freeing his erection from the confines of his clothes. The feel of your touch, the implication behind your actions, is driving him crazy. 

He lets out a strangled moan, his breath ragged and irregular. "This...this isn't...we shouldn't be doing this here," he stammers, his voice lacking conviction as his eyes remain fixed on your hands.

"Exactly... That's what makes it so," you press a kiss to his jaw, "exhilarating" 

The feeling of your lips against his jaw is enough to send Clark over the edge, any shred of restraint he had left evaporating into thin air. 

He lets out a breathless growl, the sound thick and heavy with desire, as his hands reach out to grip your hips. His grasp is firm, the strength in his hands evident as he pulls you even closer to him, his body flush against yours. 

"You...you're killing me.." he groans, the heat pooling in his stomach almost unbearable.

Clark's mind is reeling, the sensation of your smooth skin under his touch driving him crazy as he lifts you onto the counter, his movements surprisingly precise and controlled despite the whirlwind of desire coursing through him. 

As he pushes your skirt up, revealing your bare thighs, he lets out a low, guttural sound, his eyes fixed on the sight of your body in front of him. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this..." he murmurs huskily, his voice strained with desperate need.

“Clark, please… I need you,” you whine, body aching with months of unfulfilled desire. Your ex never quite knew how to use those 4 inches. 

Clark's breath hitches, his heart thudding in his chest as he hears the pleading tone in your voice, the sound nearly breaking him in an instant. It's doing something to him, to his ego and his emotions.

He leans in, his lips against your ear as he whispers, "Don't worry...I'll give you what you need baby.." he spreads your legs, pulling you to the edge of the counter, pressing his tip against your aching cunt. 

Your face contorts in pleasure, the gentleness of his touch, the desire behind his eyes, and the idea of being caught, all of it is working to make you ache even more.

He slowly slides into you, moaning as your pussy stretches around his thickness. Clark keeps his thrusts slow, gently working his way deeper inside you, and your nails immediately dig into his shoulders. 

“Fuck, fuck,” you’re intoxicated by his touch, “mm so big.” you moan needily, hole clenching around him. He groans, large hands moving across your frame as he finally bottoms out, his tip hitting the pleasure point in you. 

“Is this okay?” He cups your face, pressing soft kisses to your lips as he gives you time to adjust. 

Clark’s question hangs in the air as you both pant and tremble from the intensity of the moment. You nod fervently, your eyes never leaving him, the silent communication speaking volumes of your need. He takes that as his cue, his gentle touch turning to one of urgency as he begins to move within you. 

His strokes are deep and deliberate, each one hitting that spot that has you clinging to him tighter, your moans growing louder with every passing second. The office around you fades away as you become lost in the sensation, your mind racing with the illicit thrill of doing something so taboo with your coworker. 

His kisses become more passionate, his tongue claiming your mouth as he picks up the pace, the sound of your skin slapping against his echoing in the quiet space. The tension between you two has been building for months, a dance of wills and glances, and now it’s all culminating in this desperate, passionate embrace. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, your heels digging into his firm ass, urging him deeper with every thrust. The break room becomes a cocoon of passion, the only sounds are your muffled cries of pleasure and his grunts of effort. 

The friction between you builds a delicious pressure that demands release. You can feel him swell within you, his need matching yours. Your breaths become gasps, and your eyes widen as the first waves of orgasm crash through your body, tightening around him. "Clark...I'm gonna..." you manage to breathe, your voice shaking.

Clark's eyes darken with desire as he feels your orgasm approaching, his own need reaching its peak. He increases his rhythm, driving into you with a passion that surprises even him. "Cum for me," he whispers, his voice thick with need. 

The sound of your impending climax is his undoing, and he lets out a guttural groan as he joins you, his hips bucking against yours as he fills you with his release. 

The aftermath is a haze of heavy breathing and racing hearts, the realization of what you've just done slowly sinking in. You cling to him, your bodies still connected as the tremors of pleasure subside. 

Clark's heart is still racing, his body shaking from the intensity of the moment, as he gazes at you, his fingers tracing gently across your face. He's silent, his breath ragged and labored, as he absorbs the enormity of what just happened. 

The silence between you is thick and heavy, filled with the weight of what you both just did. Clark's eyes flicker between yours, a mixture of concern and wonder in his expression. Finally, he speaks, his voice rough and low. "Are you..are you okay?"

"More than okay," you murmur, dazed and utterly satisfied. "You're so good, Clark." you slide off the counter, standing on shakey legs.

Clark helps you steady yourself, his strong arms wrapped around your waist to support you as you make your way to the bathroom. He can't help but chuckle softly at your unsteady legs, a mixture of pride and amusement filling him. 

Once you're both freshened up and presentable, he walks you back to your desks, his hand resting gently on the small of your back the entire way. 

"Are you feeling better now?" he asks, his voice now smug, his eyes searching your face.

"Much, much better." you grin satisfied by his disheveled appearance. The perfect Clark Kent is barely able to concentrate on his work, his hair is slightly frizzy and out of place, and his shirt is wrinkled, all of it makes your stomach pool with warmth once more.

Clark can't help but chuckle at your satisfied grin, his cheeks flaring with a hint of blush as he realizes the state he's in. He reaches up to straighten his hair, only making it more tousled in the process. 

He catches sight of his wrinkled shirt and wrinkled and he lets out a low sigh, shaking his head with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. "I look like a complete mess, don't I?" he says, a sheepish grin on his lips.

"A perfect mess," your tone is light, eyes full of admiration.

[whump-imagines]

Just a Sprain

Tim x reader

WC: 1200 ish

For @whumpcember walking on injuries

--

You’d been sitting on the couch for two hours when you heard the front door unlock.

“Hey, babe,” you greet. “How do you feel about delivery for dinner? I'm thinking maybe pizza.”

“I thought you wanted to try that new recipe you–” he stopped as he rounded the couch and took you in. “What happened?”

You leaned forward and pulled the ice pack and towel off your very swollen ankle. “Ugh, I tripped off a curb like a total klutz and then I walked on it for four blocks.”

He sat, carefully avoiding your foot, then gently rubbed his hand up and down your calf. “Why didn't you call me? I would have come to get you.”

“Well it was after lunch with Sam when we were walking to the bar and I might have already been tipsy. So it didn't really hurt at the time,” you explained.

Tim chuckled. “Of course. Does it hurt now?”

You shook your head. “No. I took some ibuprofen when I got home and I've been icing it, too.”

He took the mostly melted ice pack and stood. “ER tonight or urgent care tomorrow?”

You looked up at him, confused. “For what? I'm sure it's a sprain.”

He pulls out his phone and starts typing before he explains. “That's a lot of swelling for a sprain. You're getting x-rays to make sure it's not broken.” His phone dings and he checks the screen. “Grace says you should get in pretty quick. We can grab fast food on the way.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Can we get Jack in the Box?”

“Whatever you want.” He stands from the couch and turns to lift you.

You swat at his hands. “I can walk. Or hobble slowly, anyway.”

He easily lifts you into his arms. “I think you walked on it too much already.”

“I bet you it's just a sprain.”

He smiles at you. “What do I get when you're wrong?”

“Um, a foot rub?” you suggested.

He set you in the passenger seat of his truck and started to pull out the seatbelt. “And what do you get?”

You took the buckle for him and latched it. “I got it, my arms still work. I get a dressed up dinner date.”

He chuckled and closed your door. He rounded the front and hopped into the drivers seat. “Dress shirt?”

You shook your head. “Three piece suit.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, deal.”

Ten minutes later, he was pulling into the drive-thru and ordering your dinner.

As soon as he pulled back into traffic, you pulled out sandwiches and fries. Arranging them carefully on the center armrest, you stuffed a few fries in your mouth. “This was a better idea than cooking.”

“Of course it was. You can't stand on that ankle.”

“Well, yeah. But that’s not what I meant. I wasn't really sold on that new recipe.”

While you sat in traffic on the way to the hospital, you both finished your food. Soon after, he pulled up to the emergency room entrance. He got out and rounded the truck, lifting you again and carrying you into the waiting room.

He walked up to the desk to check you in and returned a moment later with a clipboard. “You fill this out and I'm going to go park. I'll be right back.”

Shortly after he returned, you finished all the paperwork and he returned it to the check in desk. When he sat, you leaned your head on his shoulder. He kissed the crown of your head before resting his cheek against your head. Both of you pulled out your phones to pass the time.

As Grace had promised, you didn't have to wait long. It had only been about half an hour a nurse was calling you back.

“Can we grab a wheelchair?” Tim requested.

“Oh, of course. I'll be right back.” She disappeared around the corner and then pushed the chair over to you.

Tim helped you stand on your good leg and rotate to the wheelchair.

The nurse took you back to a room and Tim helped again with getting you situated on the bed. She quickly collected a set of vitals and left with a promise that a doctor would be in soon.

Grace came into the room a couple minutes later. “Hey, guys. How are you?”

“I'm fine,” you started. “I tripped over a curb earlier and Tim thinks it's broken. I think he's paranoid.”

“Alright, well let's take a look.” She looked at your foot and carefully examined it. Once she'd checked everything over she asked, “So you said you tripped on a curb? Going up or down?”

“Down,” you explained. “I wasn't paying attention and I was closer to it than I thought and I guess, technically, kind of rolled my ankle on the top and then my foot slid and I fell. But it really didn't hurt that much. Not even after I walked four more blocks to the bar.”

She hummed. “Well let's get an x-ray and see what we've got, okay?”

“Okay.”

“They'll come get you shortly and take you down to radiology.”

“Thanks, Grace,” Tim said. “Could we get an ice pack to put on it while we wait?”

“Already on it. The nurse will bring that in–” She was interrupted by the door swinging open to reveal the same nurse that'd brought you back. “Right now.” Grace laughed. “I'll be back as soon as I get those x-rays. Just call a nurse or text me if you need anything.”

A few minutes later, a guy came in pushing a wheelchair. “Evening, I'm Matt. I'll be your ride to x-ray.”

He and Tim helped you maneuver into the wheelchair. “I should have just stayed in the one I was in a minute ago.”

“You can wait here,” Matt told Tim. “You can't go into radiology. We'll be back in a few minutes.”

Soon you were back in the same room in the ER waiting for Grace to come tell you the results of the x-ray.

“Okay, so you do have a small hairline fracture,” Grace announced as she entered. She took the x-ray and slid it onto the light board. She traced a small dark line across the bone. “I'm pretty sure it is a stress fracture from walking on the sprain.”

“Ugh. So cast?” You ask.

“No. You'll get a boot for a few weeks and then a brace after that,” she explains. “Once the fracture heals, you'll likely need some physical therapy.”

She quickly got you set up with the boot and a referral to PT. Then she got you discharged and Tim walked you back to the truck.

Once he buckled his seat belt, he looked over at you. “So, I think you owe me a foot rub.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You win.”

“I'll hold off on cashing in until you're healed, deal?” He offers.

“Okay,” you agree.

He takes your hand in his. “How about some ice cream on the way home?”

“Yes, please!”

[prettypinkpuddles]

Silent but so fucking deadly….

i just thought of and i’m going to get started. it’s just dirty sex. have fun with that.

includes: Al Haitham/Cyno/Neuvillette/Albedo (characters who are usually reserved and quiet, very demure ✨ )

Al Haitham wasn’t one of many words, not unless they were worth it. and you were definitely worth it with the way you were slobbering over his cock.

“fuck, keep doing that,” he huffed as his hand smoothed over his forehead, this glazed over look in his eyes. suddenly his head fell back and he let out this guttural sigh that seemed to ripple into a growl, “yes, oh fuck yes, baby.”

he gripped your head and stilled you; you bubbled out a choke and breathed out shortly through your nose before feeling his tip glide over your tongue rapidly. you squealed and gagged, but that only seemed to encourage him to fuck your head harder. Al Haitham groaned and let out an airy chuckle as he pushed himself into you slowly this time.

“could do this behind my damn desk, or when i wake up, when i need to relax…” he marveled and pulled you all the way to the tip, losing at you with lidded eyes and a sneaking grin. “just use this fucking throat until it’s raw.”

Cyno nearly trained himself to not speak, it was part of why he was so good at his job. the second he got home and saw you trying on a new set of blue lingerie from Fontaine. the color was perfect for your skin, the bra beautiful complimented your breasts, even as they’d fallen against your chest to the sides, your panties looked gorgeous, even when they were at your ankle and behind his head.

he buried his tongue into you, morning out deliciously for your pussy to absorb. you bit your lip and closed your eyes, pushing your head into the pillow as he flattened his tongue against your folds, lapping up your juices and slurping your clit with a singing hum.

“fuck, fuck, Cyno..” you whispered. “please keep going.” you whined. he chuckled deeply and slurped again loudly and you squealed, pushing him into you with your feet.

he pulled away just a bit to speak, “i’m sure you were just waiting for me to come home and see you like that.”

you didn’t bother to respond, he was just talking to himself, and your pussy but mostly himself. of how he thought you were playing this game, of waiting for him, how he wanted to rip your lingerie and just ruin you, turn you into a crying whore that only thought of him. how he wanted to plow his angry tip into your cunt and roll his hips through a gruelingly slow pace that left you on the edge.

your legs twitched and he pulled you close to him, plunged his fingers into you and curled them just right and you popped. his lower face was slicked with your essence and his hair was completely disheveled from your pulling. he wiped his chin and smothered a kiss just above your clit, then over your stomach, up to your chest and to your lips. the ones on your head. he grinned, “i hope you’re ready for all of that.”

you loved teasing Neuvilette. not because he would react in an embarrassed fashion, but because he’d just… tilt his head and try to explain it in a complex manner. it was a sweetest thing to you, how difficult he was with the simplest things you’d do; touching his cock with the tip of your heel, sitting under his desk to invite him to use your mouth, kissing his face as you sat on his lap, he’d just stay focused on his work until the day ended.

but this time, maybe he had enough or something, he stood up, locked the doors of his office and sat on one of the couches.

“come here,” he commanded gently and you did, walked to him and let him guide you to his lap. and he rolled himself over your thighs.

you gasped and put your hands on his chest as the thrust became more aggressive, his hands pulled you close to him and he grabbed your face, whispering lowly in your ear, “did you think that teasing was going to get you anywhere today?”

you shuddered as how deep he was, then squealed into his should at the feeling of his hand rolling over your pebbled clit, “Neuvillette,” you whispered but he tutted at you.

“Monsieur Neuvillette.” he corrected.

“Mon-monsieur…” you swallowed as he pushed you on your back, “please, we’ll be heard.”

he chuckled darkly as his eyes nearly made you freeze, “you may care, but you soon won’t, as i don’t.”

archons, did Albedo feel good. when he’d push his perfectly sculpted cock into you, when his lips would kiss your collarbone gently, but his teeth would bruise the skin of your neck.

his teal eyes came to look at you as he wrote down a few things, then he pushed his fingers knuckle-deep, causing you to yelp in surprise. a shaky plea erupted from you, his fingers swinging over your spongy inside in just the right way.

“tell me how it feels, Y/N.” he instructed as he pulled his fingers away from one another in a scissor form, “what does the elixir do to your body?” he had given you a liquid he had procured from doing something or other to a green plant he discovered, and you stupidly decided to test it on yourself after no result occurred from stagnant test subjects. it was really affecting your ability to think, talk, and you were unbelievably thirsty, but that didn’t matter with the way Albedo was fucking your cunt.

you could nearly formulate moans let alone words. how your thighs quaked, your neck ached from holding your head up, how everything was amplified and dulled at the same time, his fingers felt so… foreign, even though you’ve felt them everywhere. you opened your mouth and attempted to speak, only letting out a quivering breath. your mouth was impossibly dry, no spit was there, just dry lust.

“do your thighs feel heavy?” he described as he leered at you from his desk. his eyes flickered to your swollen, soaked pussy hole, “does the way that i twist my fingers make you see stars?”

you don’t know if you were starting to hallucinate or going crazy but you actually saw stars at that. “y-yes…. yes, Al… oh Daddy, please.” you tried your best to swallow, feeling this bubbled lump in your throat. his fingers began to move impossibly fast, pushing out your liquids all over the desk. you choked snd arched your back, nearly falling back against the desk but Albedo felt your thighs still. your head touched something hard and cold, maybe ice, it didn’t matter, what mattered was your gushing orgasm that was pouring over the desk.

“fuck… fuck fuckkkkkk.” you moaned and looked up, “fuck me. and record my reaction, please.”

(absolutely based this on the times i was high. will be going into further detail about this in another drabble…)

here’s some more of my content if you’re interested!

[hunieday]

Yuki - 16PRODUCERS Rabbit Chat

Please note that I am not a professional translator and I'm only doing this to share the side materials to those who cannot access them, if you notice any mistakes please let me know nicely. Enjoy!

Momo: (Good morning... Momo from Re:vale here...)

Momo: (Today I’m at Yuki’s place early in the morning…. To have a very exceptional conversation... Okarin, can you hear me…)

Okazaki Rinto: Thank you for your hard work, Momo-kun! But what’s with the odd energy, it’s as if you’re playing a wake-up prank?

Momo: (I’m keeping the energy low since Yuki’s still stuck drifting in dreamland…)

Yuki: I’m sleepy

Momo: Kyaa! Yuki’s here in person!! Even sleepy Yuki is super handsome 😍✨

Momo: Yuki just got up from the sofa! 🥺🌟 Okariiiin! How are things going in the studio?

Okazaki Rinto: Yuki-kun, thanks for your hard work as well. So I’m supposed to be stationed in the studio?

Okazaki Rinto: The president walked out to attend a meeting just now, so it’s really quiet here. I just made some coffee!

Momo: You’re all set for the discussion!! And guess what, Yuki’s brewing some tea for us too! 😭 Such a gentleman...! 😭✨

Momo: Camera crew, zoom in closer‼️

Okazaki Rinto: There’s a camera crew?

Momo: I’m the camera crew!

Yuki: Momo brought two phones today for some reason.

Momo: Well yeah, since we’re gonna talk via rabbichat today I wouldn’t be able to capture your beautiful face otherwise!!! So I brought my spare phone to record you 😎😎

Yuki: How dedicated

Okazaki Rinto: How very dedicated.

Momo: Hey wait a sec, I just noticed while I was snapping pics but is your neck hurting, Yuki!?!?!?!?!?

Yuki: You caught me. I probably slept wrong.

Yuki: I fell asleep at the desk while I was composing and now I can’t turn my head to the right

Momo: Huhhhh!!!! Then I’ll sit on your right side to protect your neck!!

Yuki: Absolutely not. I won’t be able to see your face

Momo: Wait a sec,,,,,,

Momo: Yuki, aren’t you pulling the Super Darling gun a bit too early in the morning….being this beautiful should be illegal!?!?!? 😭😭

Yuki: Only for you, Momo.

Yuki: But what exactly are you protecting my neck from?

Momo: Oh you know, a stray baseball flying in from the right, or someone bumping into you and making you stumble!!

Yuki: That’s straight out of a manga.

Yuki: So what would you do if a water bucket came flying in from the left?

Momo: I’ll dash to block it and say something like “close call…”!!! lolololol

Momo: Wait, Yuki, why’s your manga knowledge so extensive!?!?

Yuki: Ruri-san made me read some when I visited your house.

Momo: What the hell is nee-san plotting lololololol

Yuki: It was pretty interesting.

Okazaki Rinto: I’m glad you seem to be enjoying yourselves over there! Now then, shall we get started?

Momo: Sorry Okarin lolololol we’re sitting across from each other and ready to start 🤩 

Okazaki Rinto: Good! They requested a laid-back, relaxed conversation for this, that’s why we’re doing it through rabbichat.

Okazaki Rinto: Let’s start with Yuki-kun, how did you feel when you heard that Momo-kun was going to produce your song?

Yuki: I was really happy of course. Momo always gives me energy with his warm words, so I was curious about what kind of melody he would give me through this production.

Yuki: Momo’s very good at conveying his feelings, so I always felt like he’d have a knack for creating music that resonates with people, something that lingers in their minds and stays in their hearts, warm and comforting.

Okazaki Rinto: I see…! That’s a perspective only someone who regularly composes music would have.

Momo: Oh you... You always make me happy with your words, Yuki 🥲

Momo: But to be honest, it was suuuuper stressful….

Yuki: Really? Even though “Can’t Stop Emotion” turned out amazing.

Momo: Yuki,,,,

Yuki: It’s tough, but also a lot of fun, right? Making music I mean.

Momo: Yeah. It was a lot of fun.

Momo: I didn’t fully compose the song myself since it was a team effort, so I didn’t fully understand everything you do but

Momo: Having to convey my feelings through something other than words and gestures was super difficult, but I was so happy. How do I explain it… I treasure that feeling!

Yuki: I can relate

Yuki: Whenever I’m working on a new song, I start cursing everything around me. I contemplate never working on anything like that ever again, quitting songwriting altogether. But when I’m finished and I hear Momo’s voice on the song, I realize that “ah, there’s no other job that could make me happier than this.”

Momo: Yuki,,,Can I sit next to you,,,,?

Yuki: This position is very comfortable.

Momo: Awwww ‼️ I got rejected 😭‼️

Okazaki Rinto: So Momo-kun, how did you decide on what direction to take amidst all your hard work?

Momo: First and foremost, I thought about what kind of Yuki I wanted to portray! Like the Yuki who’s not a morning person, the Yuki who’s super proactive when it counts, the Yuki who’s sensitive and overflowing with emotion, the Yuki who’s amazing at cooking, super into cleaning, who’s just a kind, dashing gentleman with a beautiful voice…

Momo: But at the end of the day, I wanted to shine the spotlight on Yuki’s passion for music. A quiet, calm, yet fiercely unwavering flame. I wanted to express that dignified strength and the freedom in his boundless music.

Momo: And that’s the reason why the intro is quiet and minimalistic, but as the chorus hits, the music bursts forth like it’s flying, flapping its wings, dancing, being set free, going on a journey! Those are the feelings that resonate within me when I listen to the music Yuki makes for me!

Yuki: You really put a lot of thought into this

Yuki: You have real talent, Momo

Momo: Huhhh???!!! you don’t have to flatter meee 😆 even though that makes me happy 😆✨

Yuki: I’m serious.

Momo: Y-You really made your point come across...

Okazaki Rinto: What on earth just happened over there?

Momo: Yuki sat down next to me 🥹🥹

Yuki: I made sure to face him from the side that doesn’t hurt.

Yuki: It’s just as you described, Momo. When I got the demo, I was moved by how the song felt like it was taking me on an ever-changing journey.

Yuki: I felt the same way I did the day you brought me out of that dark place, showing me so many new and different sides of this world.

Yuki: Maybe that’s why the song felt familiar to me.

Momo: You’re the one who changed my world, Yuki!

Momo: Back when I thought there was only one path for me, when I felt trapped and depressed, I came across the music you wrote.

Momo: It warmed my frozen body, frigid to the tips of my fingers, brought color back to my world, and filled me with the urge to move ahead, to be passionate about something.

Momo: I poured all those feelings from back then, how I feel now, as well as my desire for us to always stay at the top into the lyrics!

Yuki: I wouldn’t have been able to move forward if not for your words.

Yuki: I felt like giving up on everything at some point, I could’ve thrown it all away. But you’ve always been there to save me. That’s why it’s all for y-

Yuki: No

Yuki: Nevermind, I don’t think I can say that right now, but I will tell you this

Yuki: "Can’t Stop Emotion" will be my treasure, always and forever.

Yuki: Stay by my side and keep singing with me, Momo. You’re the absolute king, unparalleled by anyone.

Momo: Okay,,,

Momo: A long, heartfelt message from Yuki,,,I’m eating so well,,,

Okazaki Rinto: What a wonderful day for you two to be honest with each other. I’ll keep supporting Re:vale forever and beyond!

Okazaki Rinto: Alright, can you please tell us more about the costume?

Momo: Sure!!! First of all, Yuki’s like a snow fairy who descended upon us during winter, so I pictured the stars shining brightly in the clear winter night sky 🪄🧚‍♂️☃️

Yuki: A fairy, huh?

Momo: You’re such a beautiful fairy that your face stands out amidst the clashing patterns! I wanted to show off your gorgeous sex appeal, that’s why I decided to express that with a variety of intricate patterns💫

Momo: And then I added chiffon material to the jacket to evoke the image of the starry sky, with scattered, shiny silver details all over, paired it with slim-fit pants to accentuate Yuki’s figure and balance the outfit for a sharp, smart look!! 💫

Yuki: Your fingers move so fast when you’re talking about me that it’s impressive

Momo: Well I am talking about Yuki after all 👍👍

Okazaki Rinto: Thank you for the passionate explanation! What about the details in the photoshoot itself?

Momo: Didn’t it look like a snow fairy had descended!? 🪄🧚‍♂️☃️ I really wanted to make it snow for real, but I didn’t want Yuki to feel cold, I was thinking about what to do and then it hit me…

Momo: Why not use light to represent that snow!? And that’s how we got Yuki, sparking gorgeously like the handsome man he is 🌟

Yuki: Everything was dazzling for real 

Momo: That’s how much Yuki shines in my eyes! From the first time we met until now! Forever and always!!

Yuki: Really? You’re always shining bright, Momo.

Momo: For real!? 🥹 Then we can always enjoy that light together 🎄

Yuki: That’s true ^^

Okazaki Rinto: It’s Christmas, so that works perfectly!

Momo: I love how you’re always watching from a distance without interrupting when we’re like this, Okarin 🥹

Okazaki Rinto: I’m flattered! As much as I’d love to see more of your shenanigans, it’s time for you to say a few words to your fans…!

Momo: "Can’t Stop Emotion" is like a selfish wish of mine. It doesn’t portray the gentle, idol-like Yuki. Instead fully expressing my admiration, my love for him, my passion and my promise to keep going as the kings.

Momo: So, I hope our fans listen to this song and continue supporting us, forever and ever. We’ll fly towards the miracle waiting for us tomorrow!

Yuki: Momo called it “a selfish song”, so I want everyone to know how elated I am and how tremendously important it is to me that Momo’s being this selfish.

Yuki: And I feel so much more determined now that this song has been gifted to me. I’ll continue to be the absolute champion, together with Momo. And I hope all of you will follow us.

Yuki: Thanks to Momo, I’ve rediscovered the joy of creating music. I know what it’s like to push through everything to go on, to aim higher and higher. That’s why Re:vale is invincible.

Yuki: There’s no one greater than us, is there? Let’s move towards the future we want to see with you, with everyone.

Momo: Yuukiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

Yuki: Momo’s crying now.

Okazaki Rinto: Maybe he’s still hung up on the fact that you couldn’t wipe his tears last time!? (1)

Yuki: Today’s a Re:valeful day, so come over when you’re done, Okarin.

Okazaki Rinto: What do you have in mind?

Momo: Oh yeah, we’re gonna rewatch all our past live performances! We’re gonna reminisce over drinks! (๑>؂•̀๑)👍

Yuki: It felt like the right time to reflect on everything we’ve done so far, especially fresh off producing songs for each other.

Okazaki Rinto: Is it really okay for me to intrude on such a special day...?

Momo: Of course! Re:vale’s journey would be incomplete with you, Okarin!

Yuki: Re:vale’s what it is because you’re here with us.

Okazaki Rinto: Thank you so much! I’ll bring something tasty with me!!

Momo: Hell yeah! Then, let’s chat until morning!! 🥳

(1)This is a reference to Momo’s 16PRODUCERS Rabbit chat.

[anonomano]

Connection ~ Carlos Sainz

Prolouge

Mafia!Carlos Sainz x Fem,Arranged!Reader

Part one part two

synopsis: Carlos is forced into a marriage that he doesn’t want. But he isn’t the only unhappy one…

warnings: smut 18+ eventually, violence, bad writing this is my first time, lack of knowledge about the mafia

Carlos Sainz Sr. had just died. A heart attack. He was a well respected, and feared, man; the leader of the Sainz crime family. He left in his wake the opening of that position.

The man who would take that role is his son, Carlos Jr.

No one has seen Carlos in years, the story is that he fought with his father and left to travel the world. Sleeping his way through each hemisphere. The only one he kept in touch with was his youngest sister, they were inseparable as children and that closeness never really changed. But, after hearing the news of his fathers death, Carlos came home to fill the power vacuum and protect his family.

You were close with your family; your father was Sainz Sr.’s right hand man, and your brothers have worked closely with him for years. But your mother wanted to keep you out of the family business so you really knew nothing about it. You were innocent, so innocent that you were still a virgin, you wanted to wait till marriage. Your mother told you that one day you could find your prince charming, marry him, and spend your lives together.

When Carlos came back he was told that he needed to settle down, get married and have kids. He needed to carry on the family legacy and provide an heir in case anything happens to him. He was very unhappy about this.

“Why?! It doesn’t matter what I’m doing in my own life!” he shouted pacing aroud his fathers, his office. His mother was sitting on the desk watching him. She was still mourning, dressed in black with a veil covering her face, she wore the family pearls that his father gave her when they got married, her makeup and hair done perfectly as it always was.

“Carlos, sweetheart, it matters” she stated “it is no longer just your life, its the family’s” she stood walking over to him and placing her hands on his shoulders “you need a wife, someone who can take care of you, and a mother for your children” she took off the pearl necklace she was wearing, placing them on the desk “when your father and I got married we were in the same position, but it was the best thing we could have done… we got you” she cradles his face in her hands “and your sisters. We didn’t know each other before we got married but we grew to care about each other”

“Fine” Carlos resigned “Will you give me some time,? I need to go through some things… and think.”

He watches his mother leave the room perfectly put together. He never knew their marriage was arranged; he was always under the impression that they fell in love and got married. Did they even love each other? Was his mother forced into this life? He holds the pearls in his hand, perfectly polished, and rarely worn by his mother.

——————————————————————————

You were doing your hair in the mirror; tying a baby pink bow in. The pink perfectly matches the flowers on your dress. Your make up was done lightly, your mother didn’t like it when you wore too much. Some simple mascara and some pink lipgloss was almost too much for her.

A knock at your door startles you. “Darling?” it was your father “Can I come in?”

“Of course daddy!” you open the door, a smile on your face. “What do you need?” you question, cocking your head to the side like an innocent dog.

“Darling, we need to talk” he sits on your bed patting the place beside him “You know how Mr. Sainz just died?” you nod “Well his son, Carlos, is taking over the family buisness. And he needs someone to…share that responsibility with. We think… that person, should be you. Do you understand?”

“But, I don’t know anything about the family business.” You shake your head “you made sure of that. How could I help?” Your father stands, sighs and glaces around searching for the words.

“Darling…he needs a wife. I would like for you to marry him” you stare at him in shock “now I know your mother has always told you that you would fall in love and get married and maybe you will fall in love but this is about business and I need you to do this for me—“

“okay”

“—I have always provided for you and…okay? okay…okay… great I will tell your mother and send her up here to talk to you about…things” He kisses your forehead “Thank you, Darling, truly” he swiftly leaves the room closing the door behind him leaving you behind dreaming about a kindhearted man.

You knew nothing about Carlos Jr.; you barely knew of his existence. But, if he was anything like his father, who had treated you kindly, you would be happy.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

How would the LADS men react to their MC being really sweet and soft spoken but become toxic during video games (screaming, cursing out players, laughing when they lose)

Crash Out

You were so composed and well spoken in public. Little did your man know what he was in for when it came to you and video games. A/N: I watch a whole lot of CoryxKenshin, Berleezy, Joeiaco, PeegTV, and Britani so I kinda (hella) be screaming and crashing out everytime I play video games CW: Strong language

Zayne

Zayne is the type thats worried about your cortisol levels as he’s watching you yell at the tv. He would definitely brings you cold water and some fruit while trying to gently coax you off the game for a while, but would only end up doing as you say which is to leave you the hell alone.

You currently have a death grip on your controller and trying very hard not to yell into the mic on your headset. You failed.

MC: You fuck ass camping bitch what kind of bullshit is this?!

Zayne: Uh honey?

MC: Yes baby?

You leave the match — slamming your headset to the ground — and focus on Zayne giving him with the most innocent look

Zayne: Are you alright?

MC: Im good why?

Zayne: You sound like you’ve forgotten yourself

MC: Oh because this musty PT Cruiser built bitch was camping the third floor during the entire match pissin’ me the fuck off

Zayne: …

MC: …

Zayne: Why don’t you take a break?

MC: I will

You give him the sweetest smile before grabbing your headset and slipping it back on your head

MC: Right after I blast this little bitch to hell and laugh in their face

Zayne: ……….ok

Rafayel

Rafayel is the type to just check in sparingly to avoid being the one in the line of fire. He was not trying to catch a stray when you were raging, but he also just wanted his girlfriend back, but instead he had hot headed Hades on his hands. Rafayel comes in to find you at your PC set up he can tell something is wrong even with your back to him

Rafayel: You seem angry

MC: I CAN’T BEAT THIS STUPID FUCKING GAME

Rafayel: WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME?!

MC: I’M NOT YELLING AT YOU

Rafayel: YES YOU ARE

MC: *Heavy sigh* I’m playing this game Scrutinized and I'm supposed to file all these reports while also making rounds around the house because there's two killers trying to kidnap me and I don’t fucking understand how this lucky charms bitch keeps getting in the house

Rafayel: Have you tried taking a break?

MC: I DON’T NEED A FUCKING BREAK I NEED TO BEAT THIS MANS ASS WITH A SKILLET AND HOT GRITS

Rafayel: ……..I miss my sweet girlfriend where did she go?

MC: Im sorry Raf

You pull him how down by his collar and give him a quick kiss

MC: Check back in an hour I should be done with night 1 by then

Rafayel nods and leaves you to scream at your computer. He silently leaves littles treats on the desk for you. He’s scared he might be the one to receive your wrath if he bugs you too much.

Rafayel: Done yet?

MC: BITCH GET UP OH MY GOSH

Rafayel: nervermind ._.

Xavier

The type that tries to help, but only ends up pissing you off unintentionally. He just wants to help, but you don’t want his help because you know the second he gets his hands on the game he’ll not only beat it, but would beat it in record time.

MC: I’m about to rage I'm about to rage I’m about to rage

Xavier brings you a glass of water and sits it on your desk

Xavier: What's wrong baby?

MC: I have yet to beat this fucking game this damn Nun from hell keeps spawning everywhere

Xavier: What game is it?

MC: Nun Massacre

Xavier: You don’t seem like yourself want me to try?

MC: Xavier I love you however if I let you try this game and you beat it in one go Im not eating with you for a week.

Xavier: I just don’t like seeing you stressed

MC: and I don’t like seeing this refrigerator built bitch get the best of me

Xavier: and you don’t want my help?

MC: No

Xavier: Are you sure

MC: Yes

Xavier: ……you’re sure?

MC: Ask me one more time and see what happens

Sylus

Sylus is so amused seeing you get so mad over a game. He’ll be egging you on for sure he’s not even trying to make it better. He wants to see your anger practically radiating off of you. You’re on the brink of raging? He’s chuckling in the background. You’re about to slam your hands on your keyboard or throw your controller? Go ahead he’ll buy you a new one.

MC: *yelling into the headset* FUCK YOU BITCH …. YOU SOUND LIKE YOU’RE EASY TO DRAW SHUT THE FUCK UP TALKING TO ME TURN YO MIC DOWN

Sylus: *Chuckling* like they’re easy to draw?

MC: YES! That bitch was just mad because I found her camping spot and sniped her ass

Sylus: You should do it again just to make her mad

MC: Oh trust me I'm on her ass now her play style is corny I'm not letting her team win this match

Sylus: Would you like me to bring you anything while you show her who’s boss?

MC: Water and some cherries please

Sylus: I’ll be back in a minute

Sylus walks out and can still hear you yelling all the way in the kitchen

MC: GET FUCKED BITCH SUCK MY DICK

Sylus brings backs what you asked for and kisses your cheek before making himself comfortable to watch you cuss people out over a game.

Sylus: A dragon growing her horns

[lemonlimestar]

timmed konne 18?

ignoring the date on this ask for my own sanity. merry crimah rimi���

18 | “Can I join you?”

Tim adjusts the bow on his tiny package for the umpteenth time, trying to think up an excuse to linger outside of the door longer. ‘He’ll either like it or he won’t,’ he tells himself, ‘Get over yourself, Drake.’

Tentatively, he raises two fingers to rap at the door. “Come in!” Kon’s voice rings out before his hand even makes contact. Of course he would know Tim was standing out here all this time. Accepting his fate, he shuffles inside.

Kon is sitting at his makeshift vanity (a funky-looking mirror propped up on his desk) surrounded by various makeup products Cissie “let him borrow” and earrings that have no matches. They’re only going to a small holiday get-together with their friends in a few hours, and Kon has been making a desperate attempt at seeming nonchalant about the whole deal; Tim knew as soon as he slipped off to change his outfit that something was up.

“Hey.” Tim greets.

Kon finishes smoothing out the color painted on his lips with a ‘pop’ sound. He frowns at his reflection. “Sup.”

Tim knows his kneejerk response of ‘what’s wrong?’ will only be deflected. So instead, “Can I join you?”

Kon meets his eyes in the mirror. “Go ahead.”

A beanbag chair pulls itself over from the corner of the room for Tim to sit in. He sinks into it with a sigh, making sure his package isn’t jostled. He taps Kon’s foot with his own. “You look nice.”

Turning around in his chair, Kon squints at him. “Don’t lie.”

“Why would I?” Tim asks, smug as he deliberately trails his eyes down Kon’s outfit—a bulky sweater that cuts off to reveal the bottom half of the dress that hugs his hips in a way that forced Tim to rely on discrete breathing exercises when he first saw it. He makes a face in response that tells Tim that his ogling worked.

“Well,” he clears his throat, “Thank you. I just—I can’t get the makeup right. I can’t tell if it’s too neat or whatever.” He pauses, taps his fingers against the desk. “Yeah, I’ll blend more.”

Tim rises out of the beanbag to scoot in closer, sets his chin beside Kon’s arm. “More glitter usually makes you feel better.” He reminds him. The box—still in hand—almost begs to be gifted, but he can wait a little longer; he needs the perfect moment.

“It’s not about me feeling better, it’s about me looking better.” Kon mumbles. He faces Tim again. “So, how do I look now?”

Peering down at him, haloed by over-bright lamp light, eyes adorned with faded, pale blues, Kon’s even more of a sight than usual. Tim’s never been a flowery language guy, so he goes for blunt. “You’re gorgeous, you know that.”

Kon sputters, stutters, and presses his lips shut. If Tim touched a hand to his face, he’s sure he’d be burning up. “Oh. That’s… nice.” He eventually gets out, rather than a typical “Aw, Robbie, you gotta crush on me?” That’s how Tim really knows he got him.

Tim sets his free hand on Kon’s thigh, massaging the tension there. “Uh-huh.”

“Good. Great. Awesome.” Kon sets his hand atop Tim’s, squeezes. Then, his tone sheepish as he questions, “You’re not just saying that, are you?”

Tim scoffs. “When have I ever ‘just said’ something?” He reaches up to cup Kon’s cheek, smiling when Kon melts into the touch.

He really does look stunning, his curls—venturing toward chin length—framing his face, his broad shoulders still defined through the heavy material of his sweater. Kon seemed uncharacteristically anxious as he explained that he wanted to try something new earlier today; Carefully, cautiously, he’d placed his heart in Tim’s hands in an entirely new way, and Tim intends to put his all into taking care of it.

“Although… I will say, the look is missing something.” Before Kon’s expression can fully shift, Tim drops the box in his lap.

At a snail’s pace, Kon undoes the ribbon. The top is gently set onto the desk, then Kon pulls out the pair of dangly, dropped-shaped, turquoise earrings. He rotates them back and forth, completely silent. Kon is almost never silent. Shit.

“One is a clip-on,” Tim starts up,” If you ever wanted to wear both. Or, you can wear neither. Uh. It was just something I randomly thought of. And I know how you feel about your earring, so if you don’t want it—“

“Tim.”

“—I totally get it! It’s not a huge deal. You’ve just, y’know, been trying new stuff and I wanted to be supportive—“

“Tim.”

“—I should’ve asked first. Final. I shouldn’t have sprang this on you; I knew I should’ve just kept it at that deluxe Wendy boxset—“

“Tim.” Kon grabs him by the shoulders, now level to him on the floor. He has the earrings on, Tim notices. “Stop talking.” Then he kisses him.

It’s more passionate than expected, but he’s not complaining. One of Kon’s hands tangles in his hair as their heads tilt to better slot their mouths together, and Tim wraps his arms around his waist. After a few seconds or several, the hand buried in Tim’s hair pulls him back to break the kiss. Tim almost complains until he sees the look on Kon’s face.

“You’re the best, Rob. I love them.” He traces Tim’s bottom lip with his thumb, kisses him again for a moment.

“I’m,” he takes a deep inhale, “I’m glad to hear that. I was hoping you would.”

“Are you kidding? These are sick! I’ll never take ‘em off.” Kon decides, nodding. Tim raises an eyebrow at him. “…Okay, that’s probably unrealistic. I’ll add one to my uniform.”

Tim mentally fist pumps. Knocked it out of the ballpark with this one. “Sounds great.” Tim leans back in, eager to test the longevity of that lipstick.

So what they end up being half an hour late to the party, and Tim gets heckled for the lipstick stain he couldn’t get out of his shirt, all that matters to him is the smile stuck to Kon’s face.

[marauder-misprint]

Permission

Series Masterlist

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!reader

1.5k words

cw: fluff, swearing

Sirius makes it his mission to find Regulus before dinner. He doesn’t have any idea how he would convince Regulus, but he figures he’d start with asking him. Worst Regulus could say would be ‘no,’ right? And then Sirius could work on wearing his brother down until he said ‘yes.’ You may be a dear friend of Regulus, but Sirius was confident he could sway him.

Sirius makes his way to the library. He is almost certain Regulus would be there. He had seen you walk down toward the Slytherin Common Room so all he can do is hope Regulus is in the library and not awaiting you in the dungeons. He feels uneasy as he opens the library door. He doesn’t visit the library often so the thick scent of old parchment and ink takes over his senses. Madam Pince gives him a cautious look from her desk. 

As Sirius walks in, he scans each table for his brother. He passes shelf after shelf, looking down each one. Each table is filled with students but none of the Slytherins are Regulus, and none are ones he could ask for his location. However, he’s on a mission. He has to find Regulus. Sirius looks throughout the entire library and stops right before the last shelf. He takes a deep breath. If Regulus isn’t at the table at the end of this aisle, he’ll have to search all of the castle. He takes a step forward and turns his head. 

There he is, sitting at the table which is covered in stacks of books. Sirius can’t help the massive grin that spreads across his face as he casually strolls down the aisle. The younger boy doesn’t notice him until he’s practically leaning over his shoulder.

“I remember Flitwick assigning that essay,” Sirius says lazily. 

Regulus stops moving for a moment. Then, slowly and mechanically, he turns his head to look at Sirius and sits up straighter.

“Sirius.”

His blank stare quickly turns unnerved as he sees Sirius’ smile. Whenever Sirius hunted him down, it was to give a message to their parents and therefore, he usually had a grim or annoyed look on his face. This unbridled joy is a new look. 

“I need to ask you something,” Sirius says.

“Then ask it, brother.”

“I need your… permission.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “For what?”

“To take your friend on a date.”

He blinks at Sirius. 

“My friend?”

“You know which one.”

“Yeah… The dog person.”

“So, can I take her out?”

“I don’t know why you’re asking me. She’s her own person.”

Sirius pulls out a chair and sits down. 

“She said you have to think it’s a good idea. Otherwise she won’t go with me.”

Regulus hums and looks back down at his essay. “That’s interesting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“After she came back smelling of you twice, she said she’d tell me if you made a move,” he laughs. “Didn’t know she was going to make you tell me yourself.”

“She isn’t making me do anything,” Sirius says, crossing his arms and leaning back into his chair.

“She’s making you get permission, isn’t she?”

“Yes…” Sirius pauses. “So can I take her out on a date?”

Regulus sighs as he takes a long look at Sirius. Sirius sits there silently, trying to get a read on his expression. He couldn’t quite tell which way this conversation was going.

“What do I get out of it?”

“Anything.” 

That was a dead giveaway for Regulus. If Sirius was willing to owe him anything, he really wanted to take you out on a date. It was also a game changer for him. Regulus had been planning on saying no the entire conversation; if you sent Sirius his way for permission, you figured out that Sirius wasn’t taking no for answer from you and needed someone he might actually listen to. 

“She thinks you’re pretty, by the way,” Regulus finally says. “But if you hurt her in any way, I will personally make your death look like an accident. Or they’ll never find your body. I’ll decide on that later.”

Sirius gapes at him. 

“She thinks I’m pretty? Did she say this to you?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, you said if I hurt her. So you think me going on a date with her is a good idea?”

Regulus snorts a laugh. “Well, no. But we’re going to say I do. I think it’d be good for her. And you.”

“Huh,” Sirius says, not completely sure what his brother meant by that but he wasn’t going to ask.

“Huh?” Regulus echoes.

“Yeah. … What else did she say about me?”

Regulus rolls his eyes before actually returning to his essay. “Fuck off. Be glad I think it’d be funny to hear about a date with you from her perspective. Go.”

Sirius claps a hand on Regulus’ shoulder before he leaves the library with a new spring in his step. Was he technically in Regulus’ debt? Yes. But Sirius is certain it will be worth it, and there’s always the chance that he will never redeem this favor. 

He’s surprised when he doesn’t see Regulus at dinner. Dorcas and Pandora sit on either side of you. Sirius spends far too much time watching you with a permanent smile on his face during the meal.

“Did… something happen?” Remus asks cautiously.

“Mhmm.”

“Okay so what happened?” Peter follows up.

“She’s going on a date with me.” Sirius’ voice is giddy.

James nearly chokes on his juice. “She agreed to a date with you?”

Sirius shoots him a look before saying, “All I had to do was get Reg on board. Surprisingly easy.”

“I don’t believe that,” Peter says through a mouthful of food. He swallows. “Why would your brother need to be ‘on board’?” 

“They’re friends, remember?” Remus answers. 

“Probably thought he’d say no or something,” Peter says. 

“But he didn’t. And now we’re going to Hogsmeade this weekend.”

Sirius continues to watch you for the rest of the meal. You don’t look his way once. You think there is no way that he’s already talked to Regulus and managed to get him to say it’s a good idea. You don’t even bother to tell your friends about it. You’re certain it’s not happening. That’s why you sent Sirius to Regulus; the brothers never agreed on anything. They never talked. 

After dinner, you’re leaving the Great Hall with your friends when you hear Sirius calling your name. You turn and cross your arms. Dorcas pulls Pandora away with her, somehow understanding that Sirius would want to talk to you alone again. 

“We’re on for this weekend,” he says confidently with the same giddy grin that was on his face all meal.

You choke on air. “Excuse me?”

“Regulus gave me permission. Said it was a good idea. Whatever you want to call it. I have his blessing.”

“No. No. No.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes, my darling,” Sirius replies, his eyes lighting up. “We are having a Hogsmeade date and you can’t get out of it.”

“No. No. No. No. No,” you keep repeating.

“Come on, love. It won’t be as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

“I’m not getting my hopes up,” you say before running a hand through your hair with a groan. “I’m not believing you until I hear it myself from Reg.”

“That’s fine. But I talked to him in the library before dinner. We’re in the clear.”

You turn away from Sirius and walk away. Your mind is spinning from the idea of actually going on a real date with Sirius Black. There is no way Regulus actually said it was a good idea. He wouldn’t betray you like that. You’re suddenly at the common room entrance. Your body had gone into autopilot while your thoughts and worries about the possibility of this weekend swirled in your mind. However, worry quickly melts into anger as you descend into the common room and see Regulus lounging on one of the couches. 

“Black!” you yell from where you stand at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m going to murder you!”

He glances over at you. Even from a distance, you can see the slight glimmer of fear in his eyes. You approach the couch with purpose in your steps. You grab his shirt collar and pull his face close to yours.

“What the fuck did you say to your brother?” you hiss. 

“You kept saying no to me. Thought you might like to go on a date with a different pretty bloke. At least he’s occasionally funny,” he teases, although there is a slight tremble in his voice.

You furrow your brows as you drop his collar. 

“You were supposed to say no!” you groan, moving around the couch so you can fall down next to him. “You were the one accusing me of dating him!”

“I’m giving you the chance to find out if you actually like him. See if it does go anywhere beyond him being pretty like me.”

“Regulus. I might actually kill you.”

“Why?”

“Because of you, I’m spending my Saturday in Hogsmeade with your goddamn brother!”

“Yeah and thanks to you, Sirius is now in my debt.”

“No,” you gasp. 

Regulus’ lips twitch upwards. 

“He said he’d do anything.” 

“I hate you.”

He shakes his head. “If it’s really so bad, you can decide what Sirius owes me.”

“I think I should get to decide that anyways.”

tags: @2dloveshp, @yearninglustfully, @made-for-oliverwood, @ilovejamespottersomuch, @hisparentsgallerryy, @itsseaberri, @corawithfanfiction, @devilslittlehelper, @jllyunn, @barnes70stark,

tags: @crowleythesexydemon, @flow33didontsmoke, @navs-bhat, @louweenier, @l0g0phobe,

@ellouisa17, @theendofthematerialgworl, @marina468, @bmyva1entine

[okasuka]

The sketches between us - Damian wayne x reader.

Part 1: The Classroom Encounter

The classroom buzzed with quiet energy as students worked on their art projects. The assignment was simple: depict your relationship with Gotham. Most kids were drawing familiar landmarks or simple cityscapes, but Damian Wayne was lost in his own world, completely immersed in his sketch.

You sat a few desks away, idly blending charcoal on your paper, when you noticed Damian’s intensity. Unlike the other students, who traded jokes and compared sketches, he worked silently, his pencil moving with laser focus. It wasn’t the first time you’d noticed Damian’s talent, but something about his quiet dedication today drew you in.

Curiosity got the better of you. Setting your project aside, you slid into the empty seat next to him. “Mind if I see what you’re working on?” you asked, your voice soft enough not to startle him.

Damian stiffened, his hand pausing mid-stroke. He turned his head slightly, his sharp green eyes narrowing. “I do mind,” he replied curtly.

You grinned, unfazed by his bluntness. “Too bad,” you said, leaning over just enough to catch a glimpse of his sketch. “Wow. That’s incredible.”

He sighed, clearly annoyed but too prideful to stop you from looking. “If you’re going to hover, at least don’t smudge anything,” he muttered, pulling the sketchpad closer to himself.

You ignored his irritation, your gaze fixed on the drawing. It was Gotham—but not the Gotham you were used to seeing. Damian had captured the city’s skyline in intricate detail, but there was an unexpected warmth to it. Light spilled through windows, and the streets seemed alive, almost hopeful.

“It’s not what I expected,” you said after a moment.

Damian frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean it’s… different. Gotham always feels so harsh, but this feels—” you paused, searching for the right word, “—gentler. Like you’re showing the city how you see it, not how it actually is.”

He stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, he said, “That’s the point. Gotham is more than what people assume.”

“Fair enough,” you said, sitting back a little but not moving away. “You’re really good, you know.”

“Obviously,” Damian replied, though the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Part 2: Small Talk and Sketches

For the next few minutes, you watched in silence as Damian continued to draw. His pencil strokes were precise, deliberate, as if every line held meaning. The classroom noise faded into the background, replaced by the soft scratch of graphite on paper.

“You always draw this kind of stuff?” you asked eventually.

“Not always,” he replied without looking up. “Sometimes I draw people.”

“Like portraits?”

“Sometimes.” He hesitated before adding, “Animals, too.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess—Titus?”

He glanced at you, clearly surprised. “How do you know about Titus?”

“Everyone knows about Titus,” you said with a shrug. “You bring him to school sometimes, don’t you?”

“Rarely,” Damian admitted, turning back to his sketch. “But he’s better company than most people.”

“Can’t argue with that,” you said with a grin. “So, do you ever draw classmates? Teachers? Random strangers on the street?”

Damian snorted. “Why would I waste my time on people like that?”

“Not even Bruce?” you teased.

His hand faltered slightly, and he shot you a sharp look. “Father has better things to do than pose for portraits.”

“Fair enough,” you said, though you couldn’t resist adding, “I think he’d like it, though. You’re good at capturing the parts of people most people miss.”

Damian didn’t reply, but you noticed the faintest flush of color on his cheeks.

Part 3: Bruce Notices

Unbeknownst to either of you, Bruce Wayne stood at the back of the classroom, arms crossed as he observed the scene. He had volunteered to assist with the art class as part of his ongoing efforts to support Damian’s school, though he had mostly stayed in the background. Seeing Damian interact with someone—genuinely, without his usual wall of sarcasm or indifference—was a rare sight.

Bruce approached slowly, making just enough noise to avoid startling either of you. “That’s an impressive sketch,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the quiet.

You both turned to look at him. Damian scowled immediately. “Father, don’t you have something else to do?”

Bruce ignored the question and nodded toward the sketchpad. “I didn’t know you were working on Gotham.”

“It’s for the assignment,” Damian said tersely.

“And you’ve clearly exceeded expectations,” Bruce said, his tone almost proud. Then he looked at you. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Bruce Wayne.”

“Y/N,” you said, standing to shake his hand. “I’m in Damian’s class. It’s nice to meet you.”

Bruce smiled faintly, his handshake firm but polite. “Likewise. I can see you and Damian have been working well together.”

Damian huffed. “We’re not working together. Y/N is just nosy.”

You grinned at that. “Guilty as charged.”

Bruce’s gaze lingered on the two of you for a moment before he said, “You should join us for dinner tonight, Y/N.”

Damian’s eyes widened slightly. “What? Why?”

“Because I’d like to get to know your friend,” Bruce said simply. “And it’s not every day you let someone sit this close to you while you’re drawing.”

You looked at Damian, whose expression was a mix of irritation and embarrassment, and then back at Bruce. “I’d love to.”

Part 4: Conversations on the Ride Home

The school day ended not long after the art class, and Damian found himself walking alongside you as Bruce led the way to his sleek black car parked out front. The moment felt strange to him. Normally, he preferred his solitude, but something about your energy made the silence less stifling.

You matched his pace easily, your bag slung casually over your shoulder. “So, does your dad always just invite random classmates over for dinner, or am I special?” you teased.

Damian shot you a sidelong glance. “You’re not special,” he said, but there was no venom in his tone. “He’s always trying to… ‘socialize’ me.” He rolled his eyes at the word.

You grinned. “Well, you could use the practice.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need practice. I know how to talk to people. I just choose not to.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” you said, your grin widening. “So, do you have anything else you’re good at besides being mysteriously antisocial and really good at art?”

Damian bristled slightly at the comment, but your tone wasn’t mocking. If anything, you sounded genuinely curious. “I’m skilled at… a lot of things,” he said vaguely.

“Cryptic,” you replied. “Let me guess—archery? Chess? Fencing?”

His expression remained neutral. “Something like that.”

You smirked. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop prying. I’ll tell you something about me instead.”

Damian didn’t respond, but his curious glance was enough encouragement for you to continue. “I box,” you said, almost casually. “And I play football—soccer, if you prefer. What about you? Any sports?”

Damian’s brow furrowed. “You box?” he asked, his tone laced with skepticism.

“Yeah,” you said, raising your chin slightly. “What, I don’t look like I can throw a punch?”

“It’s not that,” Damian said quickly, though his expression remained critical. “It’s just… most people your age don’t.”

“Maybe not,” you said with a shrug. “But I like it. It’s good for focus and discipline, and it helps me stay in shape for football.”

Damian’s interest piqued despite himself. “And football? What position do you play?”

“Midfielder,” you said, your voice tinged with pride. “I like being in the center of the action. What about you? Do you play anything?”

Damian hesitated. It wasn’t as though he could tell you about the hours he spent sparring in the Batcave or his experience in martial arts tournaments across the globe. “I don’t play team sports,” he said finally. “But I do train.”

“Train for what?” you asked, intrigued.

“Self-defense,” he replied, keeping his answer deliberately vague.

“Ah,” you said, nodding. “That makes sense. You strike me as someone who likes to be prepared.”

Damian glanced at you again, surprised by your observation. “And you strike me as someone who asks a lot of questions.”

“I ask because I’m curious,” you said with a shrug. “But I’ll stop if I’m annoying you.”

“You’re not,” Damian admitted, almost grudgingly.

Part 5: Arrival at the Manor

The car ride to Wayne Manor was surprisingly comfortable. You and Damian continued to talk, the conversation flowing easily despite his usual reluctance to engage. By the time the car pulled up to the grand gates of the Wayne estate, you found yourself marveling at how much you’d learned about him—and how much you’d enjoyed his company.

Bruce glanced at the two of you through the rearview mirror, a small smile tugging at his lips as he noted the unusual ease in Damian’s demeanor. “Welcome to Wayne Manor,” he said as the gates opened and the car rolled up the long driveway.

Your eyes widened as the sprawling estate came into view. “Wow,” you said softly. “This is… insane.”

Damian smirked, crossing his arms. “It’s just a house.”

You shot him a look. “Just a house? Are you kidding? It’s practically a castle!”

Bruce chuckled as he parked the car. “It’s been in the family for generations,” he said. “But I admit, it can be a bit overwhelming at first.”

The three of you stepped out of the car, and Alfred appeared at the front door to greet you. “Master Bruce, Master Damian,” he said with his usual impeccable poise before turning to you. “And you must be Miss Y/N. Welcome.”

“Thank you,” you said, still taking in your surroundings.

As you walked inside, Damian gestured toward the staircase. “The dining room is this way. Try not to get lost.”

You laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

Damian glanced at you again, his expression softer than usual. He wouldn’t admit it—not yet, anyway—but he found himself genuinely enjoying your company. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t mind someone being in his space.

Part 6: Quiet Moments in Damian’s Room

Damian’s room was as meticulously organized as you would have expected. Everything had its place—shelves lined with books, a desk free of clutter except for a stack of sketchpads, and a neatly made bed. The only thing that seemed slightly out of place was Titus, his giant black Great Dane, who lay sprawled comfortably on the floor near Damian’s desk.

You sat cross-legged on the floor beside Damian’s chair, leaning slightly forward to peer over his shoulder as he sketched. Once again, Gotham’s skyline took shape under his steady hand, but this time there was a new element—tiny figures in the foreground, a vague suggestion of life amid the towering buildings.

“You’re adding people this time,” you observed.

Damian didn’t pause. “Gotham isn’t just buildings. It’s the people who live there, too.”

You smiled at his response. “True. But I didn’t think you’d care enough to include them.”

He shot you a sidelong glance, his lips twitching upward ever so slightly. “Don’t overanalyze it. It’s just a drawing.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, grinning. “Sure it is.”

Before Damian could retort, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway outside his room. A moment later, the door swung open, and Dick Grayson’s head poked inside.

“Hey, little D,” Dick began, his cheerful tone carrying into the room. “Bruce sent me up to—oh.” He froze mid-sentence, his gaze shifting to you and then to Damian. A slow, mischievous smile spread across his face. “What’s this?”

Damian groaned audibly, his pencil freezing on the page. “What do you want, Grayson?”

Dick ignored the question and stepped fully into the room, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “Am I interrupting something? You’ve got company, and she’s… what? Watching you draw? That’s new.”

You smirked, sitting back slightly but not moving from your spot. “Hi, you must be Dick. I’m Y/N.”

Dick’s grin widened. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’ve gotta say, this is the first time I’ve seen Damian let someone into his sacred art space.”

“She invited herself,” Damian muttered, resuming his sketch with an exaggerated sigh.

“And you didn’t kick her out?” Dick teased, feigning shock. “Wow. You must really like her.”

Damian’s pencil stilled again, and he glared at his brother. “I don’t have time for your nonsense.”

“Sure you don’t,” Dick said, winking at you. “Anyway, I came up here to tell you dinner’s ready. Bruce is waiting, and you know how he gets if people are late.”

“Fine,” Damian said tersely, closing his sketchpad with deliberate care. “We’re coming.”

Dick stepped aside, gesturing grandly for the two of you to follow him. “After you, lovebirds.”

Damian shot him another glare as he got up, but you couldn’t help laughing. “I like him,” you said to Damian as you walked past Dick. “He’s fun.”

“You won’t think that for long,” Damian muttered darkly, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

Part 7: Dinner with the Waynes

The dining room at Wayne Manor was as grand as everything else in the house, with a long table stretching nearly the length of the room. Bruce sat at the head, Alfred hovering nearby to serve, and a plate was already set for you beside Damian’s usual seat.

As you all settled in, the conversation was lively, thanks to Dick’s relentless teasing and the occasional sharp remark from Damian. Tim Drake had joined as well, making the room feel even more animated. You couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed, but Damian’s presence beside you was oddly grounding.

“So, Y/N,” Dick said halfway through the meal, “how did you end up spending the afternoon with Damian? Did he actually invite you, or did you have to bribe him?”

“I didn’t have to do anything,” you said with a laugh. “I just sat next to him in art class and wouldn’t go away.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at that. “And he let you?”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing at Damian. “I think he secretly enjoys the company.”

Damian’s fork clattered against his plate. “I do not.”

Dick snorted. “Sure you don’t, little bro.”

“Leave him alone, Dick,” Tim chimed in with a smirk. “He’s probably just glad someone’s finally willing to put up with him.”

Damian shot Tim a glare but didn’t rise to the bait, instead turning to you. “Do you always talk this much?”

“Only when I’m having fun,” you said brightly.

For a moment, Damian looked as though he wasn’t sure how to respond. But then, to your surprise, he smirked faintly and said, “That’s a first.”

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of banter and laughter, and by the time it was over, you felt surprisingly at ease. It was clear that Damian’s family cared deeply for him, even if they showed it in unconventional ways.

Part 8: Dinner and Teasing

Dinner at Wayne Manor was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. The food was incredible, Alfred’s presence was impeccably calm, and the dining room itself felt like something out of a movie. But it wasn’t the grandeur of the setting that stood out the most—it was the energy at the table.

Dick couldn’t seem to stop teasing Damian, much to your amusement.

“So, Y/N,” Dick said with a sly grin as he twirled his fork, “what exactly is it that you find so interesting about my little brother? His sparkling personality? His incredible sense of humor?”

Damian stiffened in his seat, his knife scraping a little too hard against his plate. “Grayson,” he growled, “if you keep this up, I’ll make sure Titus chews on your boots again.”

“You already tried that,” Dick shot back, unfazed. “You forget I’m faster than Titus.”

You chuckled, but before you could respond, Dick leaned in conspiratorially. “Seriously though, you’ve got to tell me—what’s the appeal? I mean, I know he’s secretly a softie, but it must take some serious effort to get past that shell of his.”

Damian’s ears turned a faint shade of red, and he glared at Dick. “Stop talking.”

“See?” Dick said with exaggerated enthusiasm. “So charming.”

“I’m just persistent,” you said with a grin. “And honestly, I think he secretly likes having someone around who doesn’t take him too seriously.”

Damian’s glare shifted to you, but his expression softened ever so slightly. “You’re both insufferable.”

“Aw, he thinks we’re alike,” Dick said, nudging you playfully. “That’s high praise coming from him.”

The teasing continued throughout the meal, with Tim occasionally chiming in, much to Damian’s annoyance. But despite his grumbles and glares, you could tell he wasn’t truly upset. If anything, he seemed almost—dare you think it—comfortable.

When the plates were cleared, Bruce stood, thanking Alfred for the meal. “Damian, Y/N, feel free to use the library if you’d like,” he said before heading toward his study.

“You mean my library,” Damian corrected under his breath, rising from his seat. “Come on,” he said to you, his tone slightly begrudging but not unfriendly.

Part 9: The Wayne Library

The Wayne Manor library was massive, with towering shelves filled with books of every kind. The warm lighting and the faint smell of aged paper gave it a cozy, almost magical atmosphere.

“Wow,” you said, spinning slowly as you took it all in. “This is… incredible.”

“It’s just a library,” Damian said, echoing his earlier dismissal of the manor itself. But there was a faint note of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, but it’s your library,” you said, grinning as you wandered over to one of the shelves. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Damian sat down on one of the plush armchairs by the fireplace, pulling a book from the nearby table. “That depends on what you’re interested in.”

You scanned the shelves for a moment before picking out a random book and flopping into the chair across from him. “I think I’ll just see where this takes me.”

For a while, the two of you read in companionable silence. The crackling of the fireplace and the sheer comfort of the room made the moment feel peaceful, almost intimate.

After a while, you looked up from your book, breaking the quiet. “Hey, Damian,” you said, trying to keep a straight face, “what do you call a book club full of superheroes?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “What?”

“A Justice Reads League.”

The silence that followed was deafening. For a moment, Damian just stared at you, his face blank. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a short laugh—sharp and quick, but genuine.

“That was terrible,” he said, shaking his head, but there was a small smile on his lips.

“I know,” you said, laughing as well. “That’s what makes it great.”

The laughter lingered between the two of you, a warm, light feeling that seemed to fill the space. Damian closed his book, leaning back in his chair as he looked at you.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said, but his tone lacked its usual bite.

“And yet, here we are,” you replied, grinning.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The warmth of the room and the shared laughter seemed to settle into something deeper, something unspoken. You didn’t have to say it aloud to know that, somehow, this quiet evening in the library had brought you closer.

Part 10: Shared Moments in the Library

As the evening stretched on, the two of you remained in the library, the warmth of the fireplace making the vast room feel cozy and intimate. Damian had closed his book entirely by now, his attention subtly shifting toward you. There was something different about the way he looked at you—not with his usual guarded expression, but with a quiet curiosity.

“You spend a lot of time laughing,” Damian said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Is that a bad thing?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him.

“No,” he said after a pause. “I just don’t get it. How can you find so much… joy in things?”

His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of vulnerability that caught you off guard.

You leaned back in your chair, considering your answer. “I guess… I just think life’s better when you don’t take it too seriously. There’s so much we can’t control, but if you can find little things to enjoy, it makes the hard stuff easier to handle.”

Damian frowned slightly, as though turning your words over in his mind. “That’s… naive,” he said, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness.

“Maybe,” you replied with a shrug. “But I’d rather be naive and happy than miserable all the time.”

He didn’t respond, but the faintest hint of a smile flickered across his lips.

Before either of you could say more, Bruce appeared in the doorway. “It’s getting late,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Y/N, I called your parents. They’re fine with you staying the night since it’s so late.”

“Oh,” you said, sitting up straight. “Thanks, Mr. Wayne. That’s really nice of you.”

Bruce gave a small nod. “Unfortunately, most of the guest rooms are under repair, so you’ll have to share Damian’s room tonight.”

Damian stiffened, his eyes widening slightly. “What?”

“Just for tonight,” Bruce said calmly, ignoring Damian’s reaction. “There’s plenty of space in your room. Make sure Y/N has everything she needs.”

Before Damian could argue, Bruce turned and left, leaving the two of you in stunned silence.

Part 11: Sharing a Space

Damian led you back to his room, his jaw tight as though he were holding back a thousand protests. You followed, unsure whether to feel amused or awkward.

When you stepped into his room again, the familiar tidy space felt different somehow. The knowledge that you’d be spending the night there made the air feel heavier.

“You can take the bed,” Damian said stiffly, gesturing toward it.

“And where are you going to sleep?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll take the floor,” he said firmly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said, crossing your arms. “We can both fit on the bed. It’s huge.”

Damian hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. He looked like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find a logical reason to. “Fine,” he muttered.

“Great,” you said with a smile, trying to ease the tension.

As you set your bag down, you realized something. “Uh… I don’t have anything to sleep in.”

Damian blinked, then turned to his dresser. Without a word, he pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a plain black T-shirt, handing them to you. “These should work,” he said, his voice clipped.

“Thanks,” you said, taking the clothes.

You quickly changed in the adjoining bathroom, the oversized shirt and sweatpants feeling surprisingly comfortable. When you stepped back into the room, Damian was already on the bed, sitting stiffly against the headboard and looking anywhere but at you.

Part 12: Awkward Proximity

You climbed onto the bed and settled on the other side, making sure to leave a respectful amount of space between you. Damian turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness, save for the faint glow of moonlight streaming through the curtains.

For a while, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching out like a fragile thread.

“Do you do this a lot?” Damian asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

“Do what?” you whispered back.

“Stay up late talking to people,” he said.

You smiled faintly. “Not really. Most people aren’t that interesting.”

“Interesting,” he repeated, the word laced with a hint of skepticism. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.”

“Well, you are,” you said honestly. “You just don’t let people see it.”

Damian didn’t respond, but the soft sound of his breath told you he was still awake. Slowly, the silence returned, and as the minutes passed, you both drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Part 13: Tangled in the Morning

When you woke the next morning, it took you a moment to realize where you were. The sunlight streaming through the windows painted the room in soft gold, and the faint sound of birds chirping outside added to the surreal feeling.

It wasn’t until you tried to move that you realized something was different.

Damian’s arm was draped across your waist, his face resting just inches from yours. Your legs were tangled together, and his warm breath brushed against your skin with every exhale.

Your heart skipped a beat, your body frozen in place. For all his sharp edges and stubborn pride, Damian looked impossibly peaceful in his sleep.

As if sensing your movement, his eyes fluttered open. He blinked once, then twice, before realizing the situation.

His face turned crimson, and he scrambled back, nearly falling off the bed. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, sitting up and smoothing your hair. “It was just… I guess we moved around in our sleep.”

Damian avoided your gaze, his usual composure shattered. “It won’t happen again,” he said stiffly.

You couldn’t help but smile at his awkwardness. “Relax, Damian. It’s not a big deal.”

He glanced at you then, his expression softening just a fraction. “You’re… weirdly calm about this.”

“That’s because I don’t take things too seriously, remember?” you said, echoing your words from the night before.

A small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips. For a moment, the awkwardness melted away, leaving only the quiet understanding that something between the two of you had shifted.

And neither of you could deny that it felt… right.

Part 14: The Morning After

The silence in the room stretched on as Damian sat stiffly at the edge of the bed, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. You stayed where you were, unsure whether to laugh at his obvious discomfort or try to make things less awkward.

Titus, who had been curled up by the door all night, took the opportunity to lumber over and rest his giant head on the bed, wagging his tail. You reached out to scratch behind his ears, grateful for the distraction.

“So,” you said lightly, “do mornings here usually start with awkward near-panic, or is this a special occasion?”

Damian turned his head sharply to glare at you, but there was no real heat in his expression. “You think this is funny?”

“A little,” you admitted with a grin. “I mean, it’s not like anything happened. You don’t have to act like I’m going to tell the whole school or something.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Damian muttered, though the way he averted his gaze suggested otherwise.

“Good,” you said, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “Because honestly, it’s kind of nice to see you not be perfect for once. Makes you a little more relatable.”

“Relatable,” Damian repeated flatly. “Because that’s what I strive for.”

You laughed, and for a moment, his lips quirked upward in a reluctant smile.

Before the moment could stretch too far, there was a knock at the door, and Dick’s voice called out from the hallway.

“Good morning, lovebirds! Breakfast is ready, if you’re done with your… slumber party.”

Damian groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m going to kill him,” he muttered.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter this time, and you got up to head for the bathroom. “I’ll give you a head start. I just need to fix my hair first.”

Part 15: Breakfast Banter

When you and Damian finally made it downstairs, the rest of the Wayne family was already gathered around the breakfast table. Dick was, unsurprisingly, the first to notice your arrival.

“Well, if it isn’t Gotham’s newest dynamic duo,” he said with a grin, gesturing to the empty seats.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Bruce said, giving you a polite nod as he sipped his coffee.

“Morning, Mr. Wayne,” you replied, feeling a little self-conscious under his calm gaze.

Tim raised an eyebrow as you sat down beside Damian. “So, how was sharing a room with the Demon Spawn?”

“Tim,” Bruce said sharply, though there was no real bite to his tone.

“It was fine,” you said, smiling innocently. “Though I don’t think Damian’s used to sharing his personal space.”

“I’m not,” Damian said curtly, grabbing a plate and loading it with food.

Dick smirked. “Aw, come on, little D. I bet you were a perfect gentleman.”

Damian shot him a glare. “Grayson, don’t you have anything better to do than stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

“Nope,” Dick said cheerfully.

You couldn’t help but laugh at their banter, feeling surprisingly at ease despite the teasing. It was clear that, for all their quirks, the Waynes were a family in their own chaotic way.

Part 16: A Quiet Goodbye

After breakfast, Bruce offered to have Alfred drive you home, and while you agreed, a part of you felt reluctant to leave.

Damian walked you to the car, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. Neither of you said much at first, the silence stretching between you like it had the night before—only this time, it wasn’t awkward. It was… comfortable.

“Thanks for letting me stay over,” you said as you reached the car.

Damian shrugged. “It wasn’t my idea.”

“Still,” you said, leaning against the car door, “it was nice.”

He looked at you then, his green eyes unreadable. “You’re not… terrible company.”

“Wow,” you said, grinning. “High praise coming from you.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

As Alfred opened the car door, you hesitated for a moment, then leaned closer to Damian. “I meant what I said last night, you know. You’re more interesting than you give yourself credit for.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his expression carefully neutral. But as you climbed into the car and the door closed behind you, you caught a glimpse of something softer in his eyes—a quiet acknowledgment that your words had meant something to him.

Part 17: Tangled Thoughts

As Alfred drove you home, you replayed the events of the night in your mind. The teasing at dinner, the quiet moments in the library, waking up tangled together in his bed—it all felt strangely significant, like the beginning of something you couldn’t quite define.

And as you glanced back at Wayne Manor disappearing in the distance, you couldn’t help but wonder if Damian was thinking the same thing.

Part 18: Cornered After Class

The next day at school had been uneventful—for the most part. Classes had gone by in the usual blur, but you couldn’t help but notice that Damian seemed quieter than usual. Sure, he was never the most talkative, but today, he seemed… distracted.

As the final bell rang and you packed up your things, you decided to head toward the school courtyard to meet Damian. You didn’t have to go far, though, because as you turned the corner, you saw him near the lockers.

And he wasn’t alone.

A group of older students had cornered him, their mocking laughter echoing through the hallway.

“Hey, Wayne,” one of them sneered, shoving Damian’s shoulder. “What’s it like being a rich kid who thinks he’s better than everyone else?”

Damian didn’t flinch or react. He just stood there, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed somewhere over the bully’s shoulder. His composure was absolute, but you could tell he was annoyed.

“What? Too good to talk to us?” another guy jeered, stepping closer.

“Maybe he’s just scared,” one of the others said, laughing.

You felt your blood boil. Damian wasn’t scared—he was deliberately ignoring them, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. But you weren’t about to let this slide.

Without thinking, you stormed forward, your voice cutting through the laughter.

“Hey! Leave him alone.”

The group turned to look at you, sizing you up with matching sneers.

“Oh, look, the little guy’s got backup,” one of them said mockingly. “What are you gonna do, princess?”

“I’m gonna give you a reason to leave,” you snapped, stepping closer.

“Y/N, don’t—” Damian started, his voice calm but warning.

But it was too late.

Part 19: A Lesson in Pain

The first punch landed square on the biggest guy’s jaw, the crack echoing in the hallway. He staggered back, clutching his face, while the others stared at you in shock.

“You just made a big mistake,” another one growled, lunging toward you.

But you were ready. You ducked his swing and delivered a sharp uppercut to his stomach, making him double over. Your foot shot out next, sweeping his legs out from under him.

“Y/N, stop,” Damian said again, stepping toward you, but his voice was still measured.

One of the other bullies tried to grab your arm, but you twisted free and delivered a hard elbow to his face. Blood spattered as he stumbled back, swearing under his breath.

“Enough!” one of them shouted, backing away. “You’re crazy!”

“You’re lucky I’m stopping now,” you snapped, glaring at them. “If I ever see you messing with Damian again, you’ll get worse. Got it?”

The group exchanged panicked glances before turning and running, their shouts of anger fading as they disappeared down the hallway.

Part 20: Aftermath

You turned to Damian, breathing hard, your knuckles aching from the impact. He stood there, his expression unreadable, but there was a strange glint in his eyes.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said finally, his tone calm.

“Yeah, well, someone had to,” you shot back, flexing your sore fingers. “They were jerks, Damian. You shouldn’t just let them treat you like that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I had it under control.”

“By standing there and doing nothing?” you asked incredulously.

“I was assessing the situation,” he replied, his voice as level as ever. “Reacting emotionally isn’t always the best approach.”

“Well, maybe not, but it worked, didn’t it?” you countered. “They’re gone, and they’re not coming back anytime soon.”

Damian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t have to get involved.”

“Of course I did,” you said firmly. “That’s what friends do.”

At the word “friends,” Damian hesitated. His gaze softened slightly, and for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words.

Finally, he said, “You’re… different.”

“Thanks?” you said, unsure whether that was a compliment.

“I mean it,” he continued. “Most people either avoid me or try too hard to impress me. You just… do what you want.”

“Well, someone has to keep you on your toes,” you said with a small smile.

Damian allowed a faint smirk to tug at the corner of his mouth. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re welcome,” you said, bumping his shoulder lightly as you started walking toward the exit.

Part 21: A Quiet Moment

The two of you walked in silence for a while, the tension from the fight slowly ebbing away. As you reached the gates of the school, Damian finally spoke again.

“You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “not many people would have done what you did.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, shrugging, “you’re not exactly like most people, either.”

He looked at you, his green eyes searching yours for something you couldn’t quite name. Then, after a moment, he said, “Thank you.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. “Anytime,” you said, smiling. “But next time, maybe don’t let them corner you in the first place.”

“I didn’t let them,” he said defensively. “I was waiting for the right moment to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” you interrupted, laughing. “Sure you were.”

Damian rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. As the two of you walked side by side, the unspoken bond between you felt stronger than ever.

Part 22: The Question

Later that evening, after the chaos of the day had settled, you were sprawled across your bed, scrolling through your phone. You had half a mind to text Damian, maybe tease him about his stoic response to the fight earlier. But before you could decide, your phone buzzed with a message.

Damian: Why do you try so hard with me?

You blinked at the screen, momentarily stunned by the sudden bluntness of the question. Leave it to Damian to dive straight into the deep end without so much as a warning.

For a moment, you considered giving a serious, heartfelt response. But then you thought better of it. That wasn’t how you and Damian worked—not entirely, anyway.

You: Wow, straight to the point, huh? What happened to small talk?

His reply came almost instantly.

Damian: I don’t believe in wasting time. Answer the question.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. Typical Damian. You hesitated, then typed out your response.

You: Because someone has to. You’ve got this whole broody, loner thing going on, and it’s exhausting just watching you.

You didn’t expect him to reply right away, but your phone buzzed almost immediately.

Damian: So I’m a project to you.

You: No, you’re not a project. You’re just… you. And you’re interesting, even if you don’t want to admit it.

This time, there was a longer pause before his next message.

Damian: Most people would’ve given up by now.

You: Good thing I’m not most people. ;)

You could almost imagine him rolling his eyes at the text, and the thought made you smile.

Part 23: The Night Unfolds

From there, the conversation shifted. You sent him a meme you thought he’d hate, and to your surprise, he responded with a scathing critique that was almost as funny as the meme itself.

Damian: This is the lowest form of humor. You should be ashamed of yourself.

You: Admit it, you laughed.

Damian: I did not.

You: Liar.

Despite his protests, he started sending you memes of his own—ones that were somehow simultaneously overly intellectual and completely ridiculous. You found yourself laughing so hard that your sides hurt.

As the night stretched on, the two of you traded jokes, shared random observations about life, and even debated the merits of pineapple on pizza (he was vehemently against it; you were firmly in favor).

You: You’re wrong. Pineapple on pizza is amazing.

Damian: It’s an abomination.

You: You’re an abomination.

Damian: Creative. Truly cutting-edge wit.

You: Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all night.

Part 24: Something More

At some point, the tone of the conversation shifted.

Damian: Why do you laugh so much?

The question caught you off guard, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected. Damian always had a way of cutting through the surface and going straight to the heart of things.

You: Because life’s too short not to.

Damian: Even when it’s hard?

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You: Especially when it’s hard. Laughing doesn’t mean ignoring the bad stuff. It just means not letting it win.

There was a long pause before his next message.

Damian: I think I understand that.

You: Good. Because you could stand to laugh more. It’s good for you.

Damian: I laugh.

You: Sure, in a brooding, vaguely menacing way.

Damian: Is there any other way?

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

Part 25: The Unspoken Connection

By the time the clock struck midnight, the two of you were still texting. The topics ranged from your favorite movies to Damian’s hilariously specific pet peeves, like people who misuse commas.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so at ease with someone, and judging by the fact that Damian hadn’t abruptly ended the conversation, you guessed he felt the same.

As your eyes grew heavy, you sent him one last message.

You: Goodnight, Damian. Thanks for making me laugh tonight.

His reply came almost instantly.

Damian: Goodnight, Y/N. Thanks for… everything.

You smiled at the screen, your chest feeling inexplicably warm. For someone who claimed to be so closed off, Damian had a way of making you feel like you mattered.

And as you drifted off to sleep, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you’d found something rare in him. Something worth holding onto.

Part 26: The Argument

It had started out as a normal afternoon. You and Damian were hanging out in your usual spot after school, exchanging dry remarks and teasing each other like always. But somewhere along the line, the conversation took a turn.

“I don’t get why you’re always so reckless,” Damian said, arms crossed as he leaned against a wall. “You don’t think things through. Like with those guys yesterday. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

You rolled your eyes. “I wasn’t about to let them treat you like that, Damian. What was I supposed to do? Just stand there and watch?”

“Yes,” he said, his tone sharp. “I didn’t need your help. I had it under control.”

“Right, because standing there like a statue was totally working,” you shot back. “Face it, Damian, you can’t handle the idea of someone else helping you. It’s like your ego can’t take it.”

Damian’s expression darkened, his green eyes flashing. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You think you’re helping, but all you’re doing is making things worse.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, but you didn’t back down. “I was trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need your protection,” he snapped. “You’re not some hero, Y/N. You’re just a kid who doesn’t know when to stay out of things.”

The words hit you like a slap. For a moment, you just stared at him, your hands clenching into fists at your sides.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, your voice trembling with anger. “I didn’t realize I was such a burden. Guess I’ll just stop caring, then.”

Before he could respond, you swung your fist, hitting him square in the chest. He barely flinched, but the impact was enough to make you step back, breathing hard.

Damian didn’t move. He just stood there, his jaw tight, his hands at his sides. “If that makes you feel better, fine,” he said quietly.

It didn’t. Not really. But you didn’t say that. Instead, you turned on your heel and walked away, ignoring the way your heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.

Part 27: The Apology

That night, your phone buzzed with a message. You ignored it at first, still too upset to deal with whatever Damian had to say. But when it buzzed again, curiosity got the better of you.

Damian: I’m sorry.

You stared at the screen, your anger flickering like a dying flame.

Damian: I shouldn’t have said that. You’re not a burden. You’re the opposite of that.

Another message followed a moment later.

Damian: I’ll make it up to you. Anywhere you want to go, I’ll take you. My treat.

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Finally, you typed out a response.

You: Anywhere?

Damian: Anywhere.

Part 28: The Comic Shop

The next day, Damian was waiting outside your house, dressed in his usual dark hoodie and jeans.

“A comic book shop?” he asked skeptically as you led the way down the street.

“You said anywhere,” you replied with a grin. “And this is where I want to go.”

The moment you stepped inside, the familiar smell of old paper and ink washed over you. Rows of colorful covers lined the walls, and you couldn’t help the excitement that bubbled up inside you.

“Oh my gosh, they have the new issue of Nightwing: Legends!” you said, practically bouncing on your toes.

Damian raised an eyebrow. “You’re seriously geeking out over this?”

“Yes,” you said, grabbing the comic and hugging it to your chest. “Don’t judge me.”

He smirked. “Too late.”

You wandered through the aisles, pointing out your favorite series and rattling off obscure trivia about the characters. Damian trailed behind you, his usual stoicism replaced by a faint look of amusement.

Part 29: The Confession

As you reached the checkout counter, you glanced at Damian, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Sorry if I was being weird back there,” you said, setting your stack of comics on the counter.

“You weren’t being weird,” he said, tilting his head.

You sighed. “Yes, I was. It’s just… this stuff makes me happy, you know? And I guess I wanted to share that with you.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he asked, “Why?”

You hesitated, your cheeks warming. “Because I like you, okay? And not just as a friend. I like you in the… more-than-friends way.”

Damian’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t look away. “You like me?”

“Yes, Damian,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I like you. Even when you’re being a jerk. Especially when you’re being a jerk, apparently.”

To your surprise, a small smile tugged at his lips. “You have terrible taste.”

You laughed, relief flooding through you. “Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me now.”

“Good,” he said softly.

And as the two of you left the shop, your bag full of comics and your heart lighter than it had been in days, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something amazing.

Part 30: Damian’s Birthday Party

The weekend had finally arrived, and for the first time in a long while, Damian actually seemed excited about something—his birthday. It wasn’t exactly a birthday party in the traditional sense. Damian didn’t want a huge spectacle, but when Bruce insisted that the entire family celebrate, Damian reluctantly agreed.

It was a massive event at the Wayne Manor, with people from all walks of life—family friends, business associates, a few close classmates, and some of Damian’s more eccentric acquaintances. The grand hall was decorated with dark tones, but you could tell Bruce had made an effort to add a bit of brightness. There were trays of food and drink set up along the walls, and a live band played soft jazz in the background, trying to keep things casual.

Damian stood near the edge of the room, his usual stony demeanor intact, but you could see the small smile tugging at his lips every time someone wished him a happy birthday. You’d never seen him like this before—unusually relaxed and almost… happy.

You had already given him his gift—something you thought he’d appreciate: a rare comic book from his favorite series—and the look of genuine surprise on his face made you grin.

It wasn’t long before you noticed someone from Damian’s school walk in—one of the guys who always hung around with the “popular” crowd. You’d seen him around before, but he wasn’t someone you cared for. His name was Marcus, and he had this smug, cocky attitude that rubbed you the wrong way.

You didn’t pay much attention to him at first, but then, as you were talking with some of the other guests, you saw him approach.

“Hey, Y/N,” Marcus greeted you, his tone overly friendly. “You look amazing tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow, already feeling a hint of discomfort. “Uh, thanks, Marcus,” you said, trying to keep your voice polite.

“You know, you’re a lot more interesting than I thought,” he continued, his smile bordering on flirtatious. “I mean, I thought you were just some… quiet girl, but you’re not so bad.”

You exchanged a glance with Damian, who was standing just across the room, talking to Tim. The moment his eyes met yours, you saw his expression shift—his eyes darkening, his jaw tightening.

“Thanks,” you said, giving a tight smile and trying to step back. “I’m not really looking to talk right now.”

Marcus, however, seemed undeterred. He stepped closer, clearly not picking up on your discomfort. “C’mon, don’t be like that. I know you’ve got better taste than the people you hang out with.”

At that, you felt a flash of irritation. “Excuse me?”

Before Marcus could say anything else, you noticed Damian walking toward you. He didn’t even acknowledge Marcus at first, his eyes locked on you, but his posture was stiff, tense. There was an almost palpable sense of possessiveness radiating from him as he approached.

“Is everything alright?” Damian asked, his voice colder than usual.

Marcus blinked, clearly taken aback. “I was just talking to Y/N,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “No harm done, right?”

But Damian didn’t look like he was in the mood for games. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion, Marcus,” he said, his voice low and controlled, but there was a sharp edge to it.

Marcus shrugged and gave a half-laugh. “Whatever, dude. I was just trying to be friendly.”

“Then keep your distance,” Damian replied, his eyes narrowing as he gave Marcus one last hard look before turning back to you.

You were too shocked by the interaction to speak for a moment. Damian had never acted like this before, especially not over someone like Marcus.

Part 31: The Jealousy

As the evening went on, you couldn’t help but notice how Damian’s mood shifted. He was still polite with the guests, but there was an undeniable tension in his movements, a guardedness you hadn’t seen before. Every time you were talking to someone else, his gaze would flick to you, and if anyone got too close, you could see him visibly stiffen.

At one point, you found yourself talking to Tim, and as you laughed at one of his jokes, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned, and there stood Damian, his expression unreadable.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he asked, his tone quieter now.

“Sure,” you said, feeling a bit confused, but following him to a quieter part of the room.

Once you were away from the crowd, he crossed his arms, his eyes flashing in a way you hadn’t seen in a while. “You shouldn’t let people like Marcus get so close.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t trust him.” His voice was tight, as though he was holding something back.

“You don’t trust him?” you repeated, surprised by the intensity in his words. “Damian, he’s just being—”

“No,” he interrupted, stepping closer, his gaze now intense. “He was flirting with you. I don’t want him near you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you couldn’t help but stare at him, speechless for a moment. “Damian, I can handle myself. I didn’t need you to step in—”

“I don’t care.” His voice was sharper now, his jaw clenched. “I don’t want anyone else getting any ideas.”

You took a step back, feeling an unexpected rush of heat on your face. There was no denying it now—Damian was jealous.

“Damian, I didn’t—”

He stepped forward, his eyes meeting yours. “You don’t get it, do you?” he asked, voice low. “I don’t like seeing you with anyone else. Not when they don’t treat you like you deserve.”

You blinked, the sudden rush of emotions leaving you stunned. “What are you saying?”

Damian hesitated, his gaze softening slightly. “I’m saying… I care about you, Y/N. I care about you more than I thought I did.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, everything felt suspended. His usual guarded nature seemed to crack open, just enough for you to glimpse something raw and real beneath it all.

Part 32: The Moment of Truth

Before you could respond, the sound of the party rumbled back in, and you felt a strange tension still simmering between you and Damian. He shifted, not quite meeting your gaze now.

“You… don’t have to feel the same way,” Damian said quietly, though you could hear the vulnerability beneath the sharp edge of his voice.

You smiled softly, feeling a flutter in your chest. “Damian, I think you’re the one who doesn’t get it.”

His head snapped up, his eyes locking with yours, and you could see the flicker of uncertainty there.

“I like you, too,” you confessed, your voice steady now. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Damian’s expression softened, the tension in his body slowly releasing. For a moment, he just stood there, looking at you as if trying to process your words. Finally, he nodded, a small, genuine smile forming at the corners of his lips.

“Good,” he said quietly. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

And with that, the two of you stood there, in the quiet of the mansion, feeling the weight of everything unsaid finally beginning to shift.

Part 33: A New Beginning

The night stretched on as the party continued. But for you and Damian, time seemed to slow. After that conversation, things felt different—better, somehow. The awkward tension that had loomed over the two of you for so long had finally broken, and in its place was a sense of comfort.

You found yourself standing at the edge of the room with Damian by your side, the two of you watching the festivities from a distance. He had loosened up, no longer the guarded, distant person he used to be. Now, there was an unspoken understanding between you, something that felt natural, like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place.

“I didn’t think I’d actually enjoy this kind of party,” Damian muttered, his eyes scanning the room. “It’s all a bit… loud.”

You chuckled softly. “Yeah, I get that. It’s not exactly your vibe.”

He glanced at you, his lips curving into a small, amused smile. “You don’t mind though, do you?”

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m with you, so it’s fine.”

Damian raised an eyebrow at that, as if measuring the sincerity of your words. “Good,” he replied, his tone softening slightly.

Just then, Bruce walked by, flashing a quick, knowing smile at the two of you. “Enjoying yourselves?” he asked, his voice light and friendly.

Damian’s eyes flicked toward him, a faint scowl on his face. “I’m fine,” he replied, his tone a little sharper than usual. Bruce just chuckled, clearly amused.

“We’re all proud of you, Damian,” Bruce said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve grown a lot. You deserve this.”

Damian didn’t respond immediately, but there was a small shift in his posture, almost as if he appreciated the sentiment. Bruce gave both of you a final glance before walking off to mingle with the guests.

You and Damian stood in silence for a moment, but it was a comfortable silence, the kind that felt easy rather than awkward.

“Thanks for being here,” Damian said after a while, his voice unusually soft.

You turned to look at him, surprised. “Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded, looking down at the floor for a moment before his gaze met yours again, this time with more intensity. “Good,” he repeated, his voice low.

Part 34: Getting Closer

As the night wore on, more and more guests started leaving, the sounds of chatter and laughter dying down. The grand hall had become quieter, more intimate. You and Damian found yourselves lingering by the doors, both of you reluctant to let the night end.

“You don’t mind staying a little longer, do you?” he asked, his voice almost hesitant now, as though he was worried you might want to leave.

You shook your head, smiling softly. “Not at all. I’m in no rush.”

The two of you made your way to the balcony, where the cool night air wrapped around you, offering a welcome break from the warmth of the party. The view from the balcony overlooked the sprawling grounds of Wayne Manor, the lights from the distant city twinkling in the background.

“Thanks for making tonight… different,” you said, leaning against the stone railing. “It was nice, being here with you.”

Damian stood next to you, his arms crossed as he gazed out into the distance. “I didn’t think I’d want to do this,” he admitted, his voice surprisingly vulnerable. “But… I guess it wasn’t so bad after all.”

You chuckled. “You just needed the right company.”

He turned to face you then, his gaze intense. “I’m glad it’s you,” he said quietly, a softness in his tone that you hadn’t heard before.

You met his gaze, your heart racing in your chest. The connection between you had deepened so much in such a short time, and in that moment, it felt like everything was falling into place.

Damian leaned in slightly, as though he was about to say something more, but just then, Tim appeared behind you, his voice loud and cheerful.

“Hey, you two! Bruce is about to cut the cake. You better get in there before Alfred scolds us all for being late.”

Damian sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I’m not sure I want to deal with Alfred’s nagging right now.”

You laughed, nudging him gently. “You know you’ll go anyway. You wouldn’t miss cake for the world.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s true.”

With a final glance at you, he started heading back inside, and you followed, the warmth of the party welcoming you again.

Part 35: The Tension Builds

As the night came to a close, you found yourself standing near the grand staircase, saying your goodbyes to the last of the guests. Damian was standing next to you, his posture relaxed but still carrying an air of quiet intensity.

“Are you planning to stick around tomorrow?” you asked, glancing at him.

“I don’t have much going on,” he said, a small smirk forming on his lips. “Why? You need a guide for whatever adventure you’re planning next?”

You laughed. “Maybe.”

There was something different about the way he looked at you now, an unspoken understanding between the two of you that hadn’t been there before.

“Good,” he said softly, his eyes holding yours for a long moment. “Because I’ll be there.”

Part 36: The Kiss

It wasn’t until the party was winding down that you and Damian finally had a chance to breathe. The room had grown empty, save for a few lingering guests and the staff cleaning up. You stood off to the side, chatting quietly, when Damian took a small step toward you, his expression unreadable.

You raised an eyebrow, wondering what he was about to say.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice almost hesitant. “I meant what I said earlier.”

You blinked, confused for a moment, then realized what he was referring to. “You… you like me?”

He nodded slowly, his usual confidence warring with something else. “Yeah. I’ve never said it before, but it’s the truth.”

You didn’t know what to say at first, your heart pounding in your chest. But then, before you could speak, he took another step closer, his hand lightly brushing against yours.

And then it happened—Damian, the boy who’d always kept everyone at arm’s length, leaned forward and kissed you, softly at first, but with an undeniable intensity that made your heart race.

For a moment, everything else fell away—the party, the guests, even the noise of the mansion itself. It was just the two of you, in that moment, finally realizing how much you meant to each other.

When he pulled back, his eyes were searching yours, as if asking for confirmation.

“I meant it,” he repeated, his voice low but steady. “You’re everything to me, Y/N.”

And you smiled, feeling the warmth of his words in your chest.

“I feel the same, Damian,” you whispered, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face. “I think I always have.”

[grimm909]

Red Phone - Part 2

I ended up forgetting to include a very important fact here the first time I posted RP! It turns out that the story, in part, is inspired by a South Korean film called "The Call." I highly recommend watching it if you like horror and drama. It's even in the Netflix catalogue! I will also include this information in the first part and then in the third part.

I don't want to take too long here, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the comments you made! This always encourages me and makes me happy ☺️💖

Also thank you generously for your support @ryebread0605 😘

As always, english is not my native language. So I apologize if there are any errors.

Happy reading!

WARNINGS: age difference, non-con, kidnapping, horror, mental breakdown, murder, forced pregnancy

The red phone rings at four o'clock in the afternoon.

Sitting at your desk doing your college homework, you put your notebook aside and answer the phone that was on the table.

“Hello, Floyd!” You greet him happily after answering the call.

“Hey, you seem excited.” He notes your good cheer, while he himself continues to use a more relaxed and meek tone. “Did anything good happen?”

“Almost that, yes.” You momentarily remember the night you spent with Ace, but as quickly as that thought came, you immediately pushed it aside. “But also because I’m glad you called me.”

“Hey, I told you, didn't I? Would call to find out more about the future.”

“Of course, I remember.” You respond complacently and with your other free hand pull the notebook back in front of your face. “What do you want to know?”

“Hmmm…” The boy seems thoughtful on the other end of the line, faced with the infinite possibilities. “Who is the most famous player in the NBA today?”

“Do you like basketball?” You ask, pressing the keys.

“Yeep~” Floyd states in a more humorous tone, indicating that you had hit the right spot. “I also play. It’s one of my favorite hobbies.”

“Do you think about playing professionally?”

“I've already thought about that, as I've thought about many other things. But I know it’s a matter of time before it gets boring.”

“Ah, I understand what this is. I consider myself someone who is adept at several things, but can easily get bored of them and move on to something else.” You say, remembering the various things you liked to watch or play, before simply putting them aside after they became repetitive, boring or after finding something much more interesting.

“Eehh~ you read my mind.” He agrees excitedly.

“Another coincidence, then.” You play around and then go on to read information about some of today's most famous players, listening to Floyd humming happily on the other end of the line. “What else do you want to know?”

“About Jade.” He responds immediately. “What else did you find out about him?”

“In addition to what I said about him being a partner in that restaurant, there were many photos of natural landscapes. However, more specifically…”

“Mushrooms.” Floyd finishes his reasoning before you can finish it yourself. His annoyance on the other end of the line was noticeable in the tone of his voice full of disgust, as if each syllable of the word 'mushrooms' was already cursed in itself. “I thought this was just temporary"

“Let’s change the subject then.” You quickly think of an alternative, not wanting to ruin his good mood. “What kind of music do you like?”

“I like different styles, but lately I've been listening to some rock bands.”

“Cool, I like it too.” You say, and then a brilliant idea springs from your mind. “Tell me a band you like and I’ll show you a new song from them!”

"Serious? Hehehe!” Floyd seems ecstatic at the idea, laughing happily on the other end of the line. “It looks like we’re going to get along really well~”

[…]

You stayed talking to Floyd for over two hours, only hanging up when you told him you needed to study. He didn't seem happy about it, insisting that you continue talking about future events. However, you were firm in your decision and reassured him by saying that he could always call you the next day. Despite himself, the boy agreed because he couldn't force you to do anything. Floyd was just a voice from the past, after all.

The study, however, was a blatant lie. You had received a message from Ace on your digital cell phone, in which he asked you to go to a specific address to be together again. And now, with your mind a little more balanced without your hormones getting in the way of your reasoning, you weren't sure if you should do this.

A part of you felt quite dirty and a little guilty about having sex with a married man. To make matters worse, in the bed he shared with his wife for years. However, another part of you, that selfish and perverse part that existed in the darkest corner of your mind, felt terribly excited at the idea of ​​meeting Ace in secret and spending quality time with him again.

It was so wrong and exactly for this why it was so good.

Ace had given you his word of a future divorce and you clung to that as a safe haven, to try and convince yourself that this wasn't as bad as it seemed.

You still pondered for a few minutes, before responding to him with an “ok” and stating that you would meet him in an hour.

Without wasting any more time, you took a shower, put on one of your best clothes and put on makeup in a simple way with just a reddish lipstick on your lips and dark shading. Not wanting to pamper yourself too much, you knew that later your makeup would be completely smudged for not very holy reasons.

When you went downstairs, your parents obviously asked where you were going all dressed up and your answer was to say that you would meet some friends, without an exact time to arrive. Your father was even kind enough to offer you a ride, but you immediately declined the offer, saying the meeting place was nearby.

It was a lie.

After walking a few meters to trick your parents, you had to call an Uber to take you to the address. It wasn't a surprise when you realized the meeting place was at a motel.

You got out of the car and immediately saw Ace in front of the establishment, waving at him.

“Wow, you look beautiful.” He is surprised to see you, taking a long and blatant look from top to bottom, for a moment focusing on the neckline that left part of your breasts exposed, before looking back at your face.

"Thanks." You respond shyly and feel your cheeks heat up, clearly having a weakness for sincere compliments. “Can we go in soon? I don’t want someone I know to see me.” You look around worriedly, immediately wrapping your hands around Ace's arm to pull him towards the motel's glass door.

“Wow, someone is really in a hurry.” Ace mocks with a mischievous smile, still standing in the same place like a statue. He just moves to wrap arms around your body and pull her against his chest. You shiver when you feel the redhead warm breath against the sensitive skin of your ear. “Was our fuck the other day that good?” Ace whispers mischievously, his husky voice giving you awkward sensations.

However, the trigger for your face to explode red is when you feel a suggestive pinch on your ass. “Stop playing with me!” You scream, even though you weren't really angry, but rather embarrassed.

You move away from him and stamp your foot on the ground, upset by Ace's cluelessness. He was the one who should be most worried about being discovered or recognized by someone. Instead, here was Trappola, mocking your caution and messing with you to boot.

“Hahaha. Okay, okay.” He raises his hands up in surrender, but still laughing at your energetic reaction. “I promise I’ll behave.”

It was an obvious lie, but you still believe him.

Without further ado from Ace, he affectionately wraps a hand around your waist and walks with you into the establishment. The receptionist who was inside, behind a marble counter, takes a long and not at all discreet look at the two of you, visibly judging the obvious age difference. It didn't help that you looked more like a sixteen-year-old teenager than a twenty-year-old adult.

“Did you see the way that woman looked at us?” Ace asks in the middle of the room corridors after making payment and receiving the key.

“She was probably thinking about whether or not she should call the police.” You joked, giving a lighthearted laugh.

Ace snorted in annoyance at the joke, but he soon followed up his morally dubious humor with a chuckle as he looked at you.

“It’s here.” He says as he observes that the label glued to the key had the same number as the door, unlocking it and gesturing for you to do the honors of entering. “Ladies first.” Ace winks in amusement and you innocently fall for his joke, before walking through the door and feeling a second pinch on your ass.

“Ahh!” You let out a scream of surprise, but quickly composed yourself as you made an annoyed expression and turned to face Ace, who was laughing behind you like a stupid teenager. “You said you would behave.”

“Of course, but that’s outside.” He enters the room and locks the door behind him. “There’s no one else here for you to be scared of, right?” He asks in a whisper full of cynicism, as he slowly approaches you.

“Don't make fun of my face!" You scream, pretending to be angry to try and hide the embarrassment that spread across your face.

Ace was a damn smartass who wouldn't keep quiet until someone shut him up. And, apparently, you had no choice but to be that “someone.”

Going on the attack, you grab his shirt and pull him towards you, silencing him with a sudden kiss before another provocation leaves your lips. Ace seems surprised at first, but kisses back by opening his mouth and allowing both tongues to meet.

The warm kiss only lasts a few seconds before you pull away from Trappola and ask him to sit on the bed, who promptly does so with a palpable expectation of what you would do next.

Although you were shy at first, you need to swallow this feeling reluctantly to get closer to him and bend your body until you were close to the redhead's ear: “Take off your belt."

As expected, Ace did so quickly and let him fall to the ground, opening his legs in anticipation of what would happen in a few seconds. He stares at you with obvious longing, biting his lower lip as he waits patiently for you to make your next move.

Without wasting time, you kneel in front of Trappola and take your inexperienced hands to the fly of his pants. When you open it, Ace slightly lifts his hips so you can pull down his pants along with his white underwear with a heart print.

A giggle escapes your lips and you decide that you couldn't let this opportunity pass you by. “Little hearts? How cute." You scoff, feeling refreshed when you notice the blush that immediately appears on Ace's cheeks.

Revenge has never been so sweet.

You bring your mouth closer to his already half-hard cock and give Ace's glans a short lick. This one, who couldn't help but notice her pink lips as they approached the tip of his cock, the small and simple touch was able to make him let out a small sigh. He imagines beforehand, how your little mouth wrapped around his dick, would be so perfect to relieve him.

You slowly start to shelter Trappola's penis and taste it more intensely, realizing that the taste wasn't as bad as you thought it would be. A little more relaxed in light of this fact, you close your eyes and begin to make initially slow movements back and forth, only sucking half of his length. Of course you had never done that in your entire life, but at least you were aware that you shouldn't use your teeth under any circumstances. That had to be worth something.

Ace closes his eyes and subtly throws his head up when he feels that half of his member has been sheltered. And it got even better with those back and forth movements you started to make. Although slow, they were like a massage on his penis.

You looked up and enjoyed seeing him being so resigned, completely at the mercy of your whims. You also loved hearing him moan, and as much as Ace's beautiful sighs were similar to a beautiful symphony to your ears, you longed to hear more.

With that thought in mind, you used your tongue to focus on the most sensitive point, licking the glans greedily and from this action feeling a salty liquid in your mouth, which you identified as pre-cum. Your back and forth movements also became a little faster than normal, which made you get what you wanted as soon as the redhead's moans intensified.

You were doing your best not to interrupt the blowjob, but you weren't yet experienced enough to be able to breathe through your nose and suck Ace so eagerly. Inevitably, after a few seconds, you had to separate your lips from the redhead's cock to take a few sips of air.

“Don’t stop.” Ace dictates with the heavy breathing.

You quickly understand that it wasn't a request, but rather an order when he abruptly grabs your hair to bring you back towards his cock, forcing the entire length down your throat in a single thrust inside.

Poor, foolish thing you were, who mistakenly thought were in control of the situation.

You patted Ace's knee to make him let go of his head, but he wasn't paying attention, or was simply categorically ignoring you. Definitely the latter, as he starts to force his dick down your throat several times.

As you choked on his penis, Ace let moans and sighs louder than the previous ones escape your mouth, revealing the pleasure he felt in an explicit and exclusive way for you. And realizing that there was no way to get his dick out of your mouth without making him cum first, you have no choice but to try to relax your own throat so you can take him in.

Lost amidst thoughts of lust, possession and desire, Ace had nothing to complain about. The speed was incredibly perfect, frantic, and his tongue made the right movements to make him intoxicated to the point of disconnecting from the world and just moaning more and more, muffled but still loud. The redhead could feel that he was getting closer and closer to the peak, all through that inexperienced and delicious little mouth of you.

Holding his bottom lip with his teeth, Ace allows himself to melt into the mouth that he has come to love even more. Such pleasure is felt by the redhead, that he feels his vision become slightly blurred and dark, letting those fantastic spasms grace every cell of his body.

You swallow every drop of his semen, completely unwillingly. It wasn't horrible, but it was far from good. And after using your throat as a cum dump, Ace lets go of your hair and you finally free yourself from his cock, moving away from it and breathing heavily, tired after all that exercise you had done with your mouth.

“Ace, you’re an asshole.” You cursed him after normalizing your breathing, visibly upset. “Did you want to choke me with your dick?”

“Hey, I will reward you.” Ace smiles suspiciously gently, before grabbing your shoulders and pulling you into a kiss, not seeming to care about the taste of himself present in your mouth.

You feel like biting him as a form of revenge, but end up giving up because you do not want to break a contact as intimate and pleasant as that.

“Now it’s my turn.” Ace says seductively after breaking the kiss, licking his lower lip in clear provocation.

Oh, heavens, you were going to hell because of this man.

[...]

Floyd called you at two o'clock the next day, with just one more day to go until his probable death.

“Have you fixed the bike yet?” It was the first thing you said after answering the call.

“Yep~”

“You’re not going out with her tomorrow, are you?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay at home all day.” He soothes. “The only way I could end up dying in my own house is if a meteor hit it.”

“Be careful, okay?” You ask, afraid that something else might happen. “I really don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You’re so cute, worrying about someone you barely know.”

"Really? I don’t think that, I consider you a friend.” You admit it honestly.

“Eeehh, so you called yourself my friend without my consent?” The boy lets out a chuckle on the other end of the line. “Bad girl.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You speak awkwardly, the regret of your own words knocking on the door. Maybe it was too early to put a title on the relationship you had with the voice on the other end.

“Hehe, you took my joke too seriously.” Floyd comments relaxedly after noticing how worried you seemed. “I’m just kidding, kidding.”

“Phew.” A sigh of relief leaves your lips.

“Nee, nee~ what do you think will happen when the future changes?” Floyd asks, excited about the possibilities. “Do you think you’ll still be living on here?”

“Hard to say. But if your parents only moved because of the tragedy, then they will probably still be here.” You comment, not thinking much about it at first. “And me, well, in my old house or somewhere else. That's what I think at the moment, changes in the past can cause infinite possibilities in the future or even a time lapse, who knows…

“Boring~” Floyd grumbles. “You’re a nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd.” You defend yourself, outraged by the boy's derogatory comment. “I just love time travel movies. You never watched-…”

Your words die in your throat, a sudden, silent astonishment that makes you pale from one second to the next.

You finally realize that realizing an alternate future would mean never meeting Ace. Even the memories of the two of you together could be erased from his mind, as if they had never occurred. And in fact, they wouldn't happen.

From the beginning you knew that things could change and you hadn't cared so much about it, but now it was different. Maybe you didn't love he yet, but you definitely felt something for him that went beyond physical attraction, even before you had sex with Ace.

“Hey, you okay? You were suddenly quiet.” Floyd asks, his tone showing genuine concern.

“I need to hang up, sorry.”

You don't give Floyd enough time to ask why, before quickly hanging up the phone on him. You would apologize later, especially now that the boy would have all the time in the world to live a happy and comfortable life, at the expense of his memories with Ace.

Wait, were you really starting to regret possibly saving a life, just because of a passion that would predictably, one time or another, go wrong?

When you realize this, you feel even worse. It wasn't right to choose between the two, but here you were, which in the most disgusting part of your core you were rooting for, practically praying, that the next day nothing would change, even if it meant never getting any calls from your friend Floyd again.

You shake your head in denial, hating your own thoughts. It was still better to let go of his unspecified relationship with the redhead than to let someone die out of pure selfishness.

You weren't like that, you didn't want to be like that.

You drop the red phone on your desk and decide to leave the house to get some fresh air, convinced that this could clear your mind.

[...]

You were sleeping when the red phone rang at midnight.

Groggy with sleep, you struggle to get up from your warm and cozy bed, walking towards the desk where your phone rested.

you catch him, but don't answer. Possessing the knowledge that it must be that strange voice, it is your preference to not want to talk to him anymore after the incident with the doll.

“If you keep going, he’ll come get you.”

You remember the warning she gave and an unpleasant sensation rises throughout your bone marrow. You immediately decline the call and place the phone on the table again, returning to bed.

The moment your head hits the pillow, that's when that damn device resonates again. Annoyed, but also afraid, you get up again and this time open the back of the phone to remove the battery from inside, aware that this way no one else could disturb your rest or test your sanity.

You rest both objects on the surface of the desk and turn your back to go back to sleep, thus having a wonderful night's sleep without any further interruptions.

Or…

That would be the case, if the ringing of that cursed telephone hadn't resounded through the room again.

Your breath comes out ragged in sudden astonishment and your eyes widen in clear terror, remaining stagnant in place with nothing but the most genuine feeling of fear, almost as if that old device would swallow you whole if you dared to face it again.

But you have no choice.

Fearfully, you turn around, finding nothing more than the red phone itself continually beeping. Next to it, the battery that was supposed to stop it working when removed, but apparently not serving its purpose.

There were no monsters on here, but your terror doesn't calm down when you notice your bedroom window is open. And you don't remember leaving her like that.

You swallow hard and approach the window, looking through it to see if someone was snooping around your house. Luckily, finding nothing more than just the emptiness of the night.

You quickly walk away and close the window. In addition to locking it, cover the windows with the blind.

Turning your attention to the phone that continues to ring incessantly, from inside your wardrobe you take out a sweatshirt and use it to wrap the object, then storing it inside one of the desk drawers.

You go back to bed and try to ignore the muffled ringing, which persists for the rest of the night.

[...]

Floyd would die today.

Although you searched the internet for more information about his death, the time of the accident had not been specified, only the date and how it occurred. You could just wait for the boy's phone call or simply for an alternative time, in which you would end up waking up in your old house and perhaps with no memories of any of it.

Honestly, a phone call was much more desirable, despite the scare you experienced the night before because of it.

However, it is better to forget about past events and start checking your window every night before going to sleep, or you would become paranoid. In the end, a phone working even without a battery wasn't even as bizarre as the idea of ​​talking to someone from the past.

Your digital cell phone rings with a message notification and you realize it's from Ace, who once again asked you to meet him, this time at his house. You are quick to respond.

2: 14 PM And your wife?

2:14 PM Ace: She's at her parents' house with Alice. We can spend some time alone, what do you think?

14h14 PM Shouldn't you be working?

2:15 PM Ace: Day off, baby

14h15 PM It's okay then. I'll be there in thirty minutes

2:16 PM But be quick to open the door when I ring the doorbell! My parents can't see me coming into your house >.<

14h16 PM Ace: Ok

A huge smile adorns your lips and you let out small laughs of happiness, ecstatic at the idea of ​​being able to see him one last time before the weather probably changes.

But maybe you would still receive some calls from Floyd, so it would be appropriate to take the red phone with you to Ace's house. So, you do it, placing it inside a small black bag next to your digital cell phone.

You dress up in an average way so as not to arouse suspicion and then go downstairs, telling your mother that you were going to the library to study a little. Believing your lie, she just tells you to take care of yourself and releases you without any questions.

You walk through the front door, before checking to make sure your mother isn't close behind and running to the other side of the street. You ring the bell at the redhead's house, and it doesn't take him more than five seconds to open the door for you.

“I feel like I’m committing a crime.” You say in an amused tone, quickly stepping inside his house and feeling less alert the moment you hear him close the door.

“I missed you.” Ace states as he places both hands on your waist, inducing you to turn around and face him.

“It hasn’t even been that long since we were last together.” You refer to the day at the motel, involving your arms circling around Ace's neck. He leans in to press his lips to yours and you close your eyes in anticipation, receiving a gentle, loving peck. It takes a lot of your self-control not to give in when the redhead brushes his tongue against your lower lip, because you knew that he clearly already had ulterior motives in wanting to spice up that kiss. You would end up in his bed again, if you weren't more cunning than that naught guy. And although it was a really tempting idea, you didn't want all your romantic moments with him to be summed up just in sex, especially this moment, which could be your last. Therefore, you push him away by, gently pushing his chest and taking distance from his lips, looking him directly in the eyes. “Can we just watch a movie or something?”

Ace looks surprised at first, almost disappointed. But he's quick to cover it up, by softening his expression and giving you a smile so you wouldn't notice, even though it was a little late.

“Okay, fine.” Ace removes his hands from your waist, but he doesn't move away. Quite the contrary, the older man wraps an arm around your shoulders, guiding your to the sofa. “It’s not like I’m just with you for the sex.”

Although in a joking tone, the comment opens a hole in your head, making you wonder if that was precisely why he was with you.

A young, childless and disciplined girl.

In the middle of a scorching desert, you were like an oasis for Ace.

No, it wasn't the time to think that. You should enjoy the time you had left with him, poking this hornet's nest inside your mind was by far a stupid idea.

You sit on the couch, snuggled up against each other. Ace reaches for the controller on the coffee table and chooses a movie that he finds interesting enough that neither of you end up falling asleep.

Little by little, as the minutes of the film go on, you come to appreciate the moment of intimacy and your worries are quickly put aside. Every now and then Ace takes a strand of your hair to curl between his fingers, and if not that, he's stroking the top of your head in a gentle, affectionate stroke.

Although the content of the film is interesting, you can't fight the sleep that creeps into your mind. The previous night's poor sleep is one of the main reasons for this, but it doesn't help being so comfortably close to Ace, with your head resting on his shoulder.

In the end, both reasons are the right recipe for you to fall asleep.

[...]

You wake up by yourself after a few hours, for a moment disoriented about where you were and whether the time had already changed, until you realize that the ceiling you were looking at was Ace house and not your old house.

You notice that you are lying on the couch, without the redhead by your side.

“Ace?” You get up from the upholstery and raise your voice to call his name. Upon his call, it doesn't take more than a few seconds for him to appear at the kitchen door. "What time is it?" You ask worried, both because you know you can't get home too late, and because the redhead's wife could arrive at any moment.

“Five-fifteen.”

“Damn, I slept for almost three hours!?” You ask in a daze and quickly pull your digital cell phone out of your bag, seeing that there were some messages from your mother and three missed calls.

“You looked pretty tired.” The redhead says as he approaches you “Studying late?”

“More or less that.” You omit the truth. He would never believe that ridiculous story about talking to someone from the past. “I’m sorry, Ace.” You say, feeling guilty for not spending enough time with him. “I would like to stay with you, but now I need to go back or my mother will kill me.”

“Okay, we can be together next time.”

I don't know if we'll have one next time.

You think, still afraid of the possibility of forgetting him.

But Ace, oblivious to your problems, removes those thoughts from your mind — albeit temporarily — by getting close enough so he can press his lips to yours. Unlike the first time, you accept him willingly when he tries to intensify the kiss.

The contact of both tongues intertwining in an intimate union is quite fervent and passionate, but it also contains a small trace of desperation on your part, aware that perhaps this would be your last kiss with him.

You pull away after a while, both because you need to breathe and because you need to leave. Ace smiles at you and gently tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, before walking away to go towards the window, checking if there was anyone on the street who might catch you leaving his house.

“All clear.” Ace warns.

At the green light, you immediately go to the door and open it, saying goodbye to Ace with a sharp pain in your chest.

You wished this wasn’t the last time.

Crossing the street and opening the door of her house, her mother and father were already waiting for her on the sofa in the living room.

It went without saying how much your mother started arguing the moment she saw you stepping foot in the house, asking why you had a cell phone when you didn't even answer a damn message. Your father also sided with her, but in a milder way, just advising you to pay more attention and not spend so much time on the street.

After listening to all the complaints that your mother had to say to you, you went up to your room and took the red phone out of your bag after locking the door, checking if there was a missed call on it too. Nothing.

You placed it on the desk and sat in the chair, deciding to wait for a call from Floyd while killing time by scrolling through your laptop.

[...]

The red phone rings at midnight.

You don't answer, knowing it's that strange male voice, rather than your friend Floyd — who hadn't yet shown any sign of life.

Maybe it was already too late to wait for a call from him. Who knows, perhaps his death was accomplished, even after all the warnings and advice given.

This makes you feel really bad, feeling not only bitter and sad about the possibility that he really died, but also guilty for having for a moment wished for that to actually happen.

The feeling of remorse covers him like a heavy blanket. Sudden tears escape your eyes and you wonder how you could have done more to help him.

Even in mourning, the stranger on the other end of the line doesn't stop, much less respect your pain.

As the seconds pass, the tinkling becomes more and more unbearable, like a macabre orchestra playing the march of the gates of hell as they open.

You grab that cursed device and answer the call.

“What the fuck do you want?” There is no trace of fear in you, other than the purest and most genuine anger. When there is no response other than a panting breath on the other end of the line, you ask in a more shouty manner. “WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT!?”

When there is still no response, you lose patience and hang up the phone. To prevent the tinkling from bothering you, you do the same process as yesterday: wrapping it in a sweatshirt and throwing it in the desk drawer.

You lay down to sleep and the tears return.

[...]

The next day, you feel as exhausted as before, as if your body hadn't gotten enough rest. However, you were fully aware that all this fatigue was not from your body, but from your own mind, shaken by Floyd's death.

You had simply convinced yourself that he would never call again, especially after waking up and realizing that you were still in the house you bought a few months ago, without any sign of change in the present.

You try to let it go, try to convince yourself that you did what you could and that Floyd probably didn't listen to you enough, leaving on his motorcycle even after all the warnings.

Apparently, blaming the victim of the tragedy herself was the only way to feel better, to not feel as helpless and guilty as she was now.

You try your best to put on a neutral expression on your face, pretending everything was fine and heading downstairs to have breakfast, even though your stomach was upset and your throat was completely blocked. You needed to pretend or your family would ask what the problem was, not wanting to be pressured with questions.

Your eyes hover over your mother and father, who were sitting near the kitchen counter. You wish them good morning and sit next to your father, half filling the glass that rested on the table with orange juice, then taking a slice of toasted bread and bringing it to your mouth, biting a piece. It's the best you could eat, without probably ending up vomiting.

You can't taste anything after the stress of these last two days, which finally came to a head last night after all that shedding of tears. You try your best to focus on the taste, but you don't taste anything other than the sweetness of the bread and the sourness of the juice. Each swallow is forced, your throat vehemently refuses each bite and it hurts.

You look at every corner of the kitchen, trying to distract yourself — from the pain and the sudden urge to cry — with anything that is remotely interesting, so that your active brain can have some daydreaming.

Don't think about Floyd. Don't think about him.

You think about him, while you argue with your own mind not to do this, so that it gets distracted by something.

Get distracted by something. Something. Think of something. Start a conversation.

His eyes continue to move, like prey looking for a way to escape its hunter. However, you were not prey, as you were just trying to escape your own tears and bitter emotions.

The guilt continued to haunt you, already rooted in you like a dark stain embedded in soul, just like that strange stain above the ceiling.

Stain… dark?

“Mom, has the ceiling always been like this?” You ask, aware that you had never noticed that before.

“That question again?” You don't understand what she means by that, as far as you knew, you had never even noticed that stain. “Yes, it has always been like this. But I keep telling your father to fix this.” She expresses obvious annoyance, staring directly at her husband. This one, who just pretends not to hear it.

“And what happened to him?” You look more closely, the stain snaked its way across the ceiling to the kitchen door as if a very large and disgusting snake had passed through there and left a trail of soot.

“I already told you that too.” She looks at you like you're an idiot asking the same thing twice in a row. And, apparently that was it, although you weren't aware that you'd ever asked those questions. “Don’t you remember that the house was falling apart when we first came to visit?” No, the house wasn't falling apart as far as you remembered. It just looked abandoned, nothing more. “The purchase was cheap because of the state, but the renovation ended up costing a lot, anyway.”

As if your body is being controlled by invisible wires, you rise from your seat and are driven purely by morbid curiosity. Your feet walk on the ground while your eyes wander through the air, following that soot snake that goes far beyond the kitchen, realizing that it also spreads to the ceiling of the living room, climbing the walls of the stairs to the bedroom hallway. It's horrible.

Regardless of how inattentive you were sometimes, your house had never been like that.

It was as if it had simply changed overnight.

Thank you for reading this far! Constructive criticism is always welcome!

I will only be back in January or February.

Bye~💖

[kohvan]

Selfpleasuring Seeds: three sketches

Tags/TW: smut, detailed.

"Yes… yes…" John's breath came out from his lips mixed with short moans. The hardness between his legs, peeking from under his lowered pants and boxers, ached and throbbed as he caressed it. He hissed, a thumb pressing against the tip of his shaft, giving out a painfully good sensation. He felt almost drunk or high, his fingers getting lower to the base of his cock, wrapping around it and giving it a nice, punishing squeeze. "Fucking sinner…" he exhaled, looking down at his swollen shaft standing hard and rubbing against his shirt ever so slightly. He closed his eyes, his tongue darting out to lick dry lips. He was so fucking close… A burning embarrassment mixed with arousal made him dizzy. He could almost hear in his ears judging voices of his parents and Joseph… Look at you. Doing such a dirty thing… Sinning before God's eyes… Disgusting, dirty sinner… "Yes…" he whined, his fingers stroking the whole length of his cock from its base to head only to smear a drop of pre-cum that gathered on it. "F-fuck…" Boys are not allowed to touch themselves like this, John. They get punished for that. You don't want us to punish you, do you? "Mh… please…" His hand movements sped up, matching his quickening breath. You're a sinner, John. From inside out. A damned one, indeed. "Yes… Oh God… I am… I am a sinner…" he whimpered, feeling his balls tightening as he reached his climax. We are so disappointed, John. Is it what we taught you to be? We wanted you to be cleansed. We wanted you to be pure. Don't you want to be pure? "No… yes…" his hand slid down and back up a few more times, his voice reminding a whine now. "Please… I want… I want…" Finally, he shuttered into a cllimax. He emptied himself erratically in his fist, gasping with each pulsation of his balls.

Jacob couldn't remember being that hard in years, that's for sure. His cock ached, pressing against his jeans, demanding attention. "Fuck…" if he could just not think about that pretty hands of hers… "Fuck," he repeated, palming himself through his clothes. He shoved aside a pen he held, and it fell on his working desk with a clink. Dammit, can't it wait until he comes back into his quarters? He can't do it right here, while sitting in his fucking office chair, working, and… But oh, if it was her fingers, not his… Her small and yet somehow long fingers with those pink tips and little scratchy nails, so beautiful despite all of the hard work… He closed his eyes and dropped his head on the back of the chair, caressing himself. His hand worked automatically, finding the zipper and pulling it down, slipping under his boxers… "F-f…" he hissed, barely able to curse, as he grabbed his shaft. Her hand would be too short for him, not even wrapped around him fully, wouldn't it? And her touch would be so soft and oh, so inexperienced at first… Yes, just like that… up and down… barely touching… and then giving it a tentative squeeze… and then… He exhaled sharply, biting down the moan that threatened to escape his throat. It felt too good. Too fucking good to be true. So he sped up a little, the caress turning into more of a scratch as he tried to push that vivid image of her out of his mind. He just needed to cum… to drop off that pent up stress… And then back to work… back to… "Jacob? Can I come in?" her voice came from behind the door, followed by a knock. He let out a short gasp, immediately reaching his peak. A handful of sperm spilled out on his palm and fingers, as if he was a damn teenager not able to hold back.

A myriad of voices followed him, calling for him again and again. Father, father, father… Too many lost souls, too many hurt children aching for his love. He breathed heavily, his brow pressed against the bathroom mirror. He needed to get it together. He couldn't afford this stress, not now, not when there is so much yet to be done… Joseph closed his eyes, his chest raising heavily with each deep breath he took. Yes, just like that. Just need to calm down. Just… He gasped softly, feeling a weird, unusual pain in his lower abdomen. His palm sneaked down from his bare chest to the waistband of his pants, caressing his stomach, trying to coax the pain away. But it kept building, a natural response to all of the stress he felt. A natural… and yet so forbidden. "No," he said to himself, full of confidence. "It's against your views, Joseph," his eyes snapped open, a judging stare facing him in the mirror. And yet, his hand seemed to move on its own accord. Committing a sin of flesh. He exhaled slowly, feeling the sensation of this feather-light touch of his hand against his hardening member. It was wrong. He had to fight it. But he was so tired of fighting. He… he couldn't afford this… the sin, it wasn't like him… "But aren't you just a human?" The voice came off his own lips, sounding both foreign and familiar. "God always forgive those who seek atonement…" His breath against the mirror created a foggy spot, blurring his face into someone else's. That voice urged him into giving in. And as much as he fought it, he wanted to give in. His hand grasped his groin, coaxing it into a full hardness. He swallowed, his mouth dry, the fingers, his, or not his any longer, teasing him through the denim of his pants. "N-no…" his own voice finally came out, a small whimper. "It's wrong…" He closed his eyes again, biting his lip painfully. He can't… he shouldn't… he… His breath hitched, a small sound escaping his mouth as he felt himself falling over the edge of this sinful act. Joseph opened his eyes again, his palm pressed hard against his groin. A wet spot slowly growing under his fingers.