#it's that one ^^ for now until (if) I can come up with a better one bc my starter is named Elvis

[p1llkiss]

18+

"will you kill me someday?"

sukuna pauses mid stroke, considers for a split second- kisses your forehead with a mouth that shouldn’t be so gentle- and finally replies, “probably."

you laugh a small and startled sound, half swallowed by the pillow. he snorts, amused, breath hot against your temple as one hand is braced beside your head- the other digging bruises into your hip like he’s trying to mold you into something that fits him better.

“‘probably?’” you echo, voice muffled when he shifts deeper, the word stretched out into a whimper. “not even a - fuck- straight answer?”

he hums, mouth pressed to your hairline, breath hot and ticklish and disgustingly affectionate for a monster who just promised to kill you someday. his pace slowing torturously just so he can enjoy the way you writhe underneath him.

"fine. yeah i will.” he kisses your forehead again, mockingly sweet. "someday, when i'm bored of this-" he snaps his hips forward once, viciously, drawing a choked cry out of you, “-i'll carve you open and hang your insides up as decoration. happy?”

your fingers scrabble at his forearm where it cages you in. you should be afraid, should hate the way your spine arches up for him instead, offering more.

“asshole,” you gasp, trying to twist around to glare at him. he catches your chin with one clawed hand, forces your face back down into the mattress.

“ungrateful,” he murmurs, teeth grazing your ear. “you should thank me for my honesty.”

he rolls his hips again, deeply, deliberately.

“you thought you could live forever, hmm? so boring. i'm improving you. giving you something better to die for.” he laughs, low and cruel, when your thighs twitch, when you clench around him like your body’s begging even as your mind protests.

“listen to you-" he growls in your ear, hips grinding in just right so you can hear it too- the slick, messy sound of you soaking him every time he moves. “pathetic.” his chuckle is warm against your neck, mean and so unfair. “you cant even hate me right now. you'd let me gut you if i promised to kiss you after."

he says it like it’s a joke, but you feel the truth of it shiver down your back when the tongue at your shoulder drags lower, when he bites down just hard enough to make you squeal, picking up his pace again. a steady, brutal rhythm that makes you forget you were ever terrified in the first place.

“not today, though,” he pants, every thrust punching another whimper out of you. “today you just come for me. that’s all you’re good for." he says it like it's a fact.

and you nod- stupidly nod. you can't help it. when you finally finish, choking on his name, your whole body shaking, he just presses his mouth- mouths- all over you.

“look at you,” he growls, hips stuttering. “so fucking easy. maybe i'll keep you alive longer. it's funny."

as you're panting, trying to recollect yourself, he kisses your shoulder. soft, almost gentle, almost soothing. his hand rubs your side, too tender for a monster like him. he murmurs sweet nothings against your skin, mock lullaby.

for a second it fools you. stupid warmth flickering through your ribs- until his teeth sink in again, sharp enough to bruise, tearing another raw sob out of your already bruised throat.

and when the haze clears, it guts clean through you once again: sukuna can’t love you. he just likes how easy you are to break.

[girlfromflor]

johnny always thought being a VA was great because of it's anonymity.

people knew nothing about him. no real name, no age, no nothing – except the fact that he was scottish, but that's not really something he could hide.

his username "SoapTheBrawVA" was well known for his hot accent and compelling roleplays. he knew how to behave so people would like him, it all came very naturally to him. he was always so smooth and calm, kind and never smug or overly confident. he enjoyed being the aura he reached with his side work but he didn't abuse it, the confidence from the constant praises just made him want to entertain people more, it didn’t inflate his ego.

that is, until he made his very first ramblefap in which he rambled on and on about his hot roommate. he couldn’t stop talking about how unfair it was, the constant restraint he had to pull in order to not jump her bones. he jerked off till he was sobbing, edging and overstimulating to try and blow some steam off because you were making him crazy.

you. his flatmate who never even indulged in any of his jokes like he wanted you to. the one person he wanted for his life, the one person he'd do anything for.

so when you finally started dating, he had to let his listeners know. and what better way to do it than in a porn audio?

r/gonewildaudio SoapTheBrawVA [MF4A] [RambleFap] the roommate turned girlfriend [Fingering] [Lots of Dirty Talk] [Slight MDom] but mostly [MSub] [Praise] [Worshipping] [GF doesn't speak much bc she moans a lot;)] [24:07]

"wee pervs, 'ello." johnny's voice vibrates lower than usual, his tone bordering serious. "i know ye have been asking a lot 'bout my roommate, so i decided tae share: we're dating now."

he adjusts himself in his seat, already hard in his boxer shorts from talking with about what you'd do and how you'd do it. you were just with your panties and one of his shirts on – the black one you took one day and never returned. he's shirtless, his blue boxer shorts tight where it accommodates the size of him. he could feel your arousal seeping from the fabric of your underwear and wetting his thigh, making his big hand pull you in tighter in his embrace as you sit in his lap.

"we've been fer a while, aye, bonnie?" there's a small hum of agreement coming from you, the low "mhm" all you can try and say. "tsk, shy now, hen?"

"no..." you whisper, the background noises making it clear you're shifting your position and then there's a gasp coming from johnny.

"mhm, 'kay then..." johnny's hand travels to your inner thigh, hands squeezing and caressing the flesh in worship. his thumbs moves to press on your slit through your panties, laughing as he realizes the fabric it wetter than he predicted. "oh, 's tha' why yer so quiet, bon? yer so fuckin' wet– it's soaking through your wee panties..."

he moves the fabric to the side, two fingers dipping to gather some of your slick and the sound it makes is absolutely sinful. "aw, ye hear tha'? tha's how much she likes me..."

he giggles as he speaks, his eyes giving you no doubt of how much he loves you. you're not sure if he's talking about you or your cunt – neither if he's talking to you or the listeners.

"aye... let's get this party started, shall we, bonnie?"

a/n: blurb from ALL OVER ME: COLLECTION. based on this and motivated by @arabellasfvv saying she'd "eat it up" if i wrote more VA!johnny (love you arabella, mwah).

[dancingspirals]

There's also some things we do to help feel (ever so slightly) more comfortable that I don't know if it gets shared. If this is your first time dealing with heat + humidity that leads to your sweat no longer evaporating, let me tell you about swamp ass. Actually, you maybe already are experiencing this, but the name is pretty damned descriptive if you've been blessed with non-swampy nethers:

Change your underwear twice a day. This will help you feel so much less gross. Make sure it's cotton and not polyester. You need your junk to air out as much as possible. Go full heat pro and wash your junk with soap and water, then sit naked in front of the box fan until it's all as dry as you can get it before you put on your change of underwear. Do NOT wear thongs. Dear god, no. You have no idea how much ass-sweat those things are gonna soak up and you've got enough going on down there with 70%+ humidity and 95 (35C) degrees.

If it keeps you cool it ain't trashy. When home alone, we are wearing so little. So very little. Wear as much cotton and linen and breathable fabric as you can. Stay in front of the fan.

If you can afford a dehumidifier, it helps SO MUCH.

It will take forever to dry off after a shower. You just don't get dry and it turns immediately to sweat. This is where many box fans come into play. They at least move the hot air around enough to help dry yourself.

box fans box fans box fans they are cheap and they help a lot for keeping the air circulating. Even if it's just pushing around hot air, it feels better than still air.

Drink so much water. This is obvious. There's a reason why iced tea is so popular here.

If the worst happens and despite your best efforts, swamp ass has set in: Get as clean as possible, sit in front of a fan to dry it all out, then use DIAPER RASH CREAM. Treat your butt like a baby's butt and it will help. This also helps if you've gotten sweaty boob rash. If you think being a cis dude prevents sweaty boob rash, no. Anywhere your skin creases is at risk, so unless you've got a super flat chest, you too can be afflicted.

The rain will not save you. You think it'll cool things off. No. You may see rain clouds coming and think 'ah, a break from the heat!' but that is the devil talking. It cools things down just enough to throw you off when the full heat returns an hour later, now with more humidity and no wind. I am convinced the southern habit of going out on the porch to watch for tornadoes is because it is the one time we can catch a goddamned breeze for long. Also the heat makes you crazy.

Edited to add: trim your body hair. If Welcome to the Jungle plays when you drop your drawers, trim it. It will help keep you a little cooler. Trim your underarm hair. Get an undercut or thin out your hair if you've got thick hair. Keep your hair up off your neck if you can.

Hey man, ahead of this heatwave I'm gonna go ahead and rip the veil off of something for you:

The reason American Southerners have the luxury of saying that 90 ain't that bad and it's not unbearable until it's 100 is 1) prolonged exposure to high temperatures over multiple decades 2) our mindset for these living conditions.

You don't have number 1, and you can't just acquire it, so I need you to adopt number 2 immediately. How do you live like a Southerner in the heat?

Don't be a hero.

Stay inside. Buy a box fan, put it next to a bucket of ice, and wrap your arms around it like a lover. Do not leave the shade under any circumstances. If a dude makes fun of you for getting out of the sun, don't get mad, just think of a funnier insult to call him while you flip him off and go stand under a tree.

Southerners love nothing more than to exaggerate and lie to each other. Like I think we got off on the wrong foot when you walked in on us saying things like "It was only 110, I didn't even take my damn jacket off" when really, last week it was 95 at 10 PM and we were on the bed buck nekkid in front of the fan moaning incoherently and praying to die. So yeah, we can take extreme heat. We also want you to think we can take ludicrous heat. You must learn to talk shit and then be a hypocrite and a coward in your actions, because this will serve you best.

It sounds like I am joking but I cannot express to you how much I am not. Do not fuck with Mother Nature, because that bitch will kill you. Take every opportunity to lower your body temperature and drink water, because that is what all of us in hot climates are doing all the time, and that is why we are not dead, even when it seems like we should be.

(And yeah, we do go through like two and a half ugly weeks in April every year where everyone wants to absolutely just goddamn drop dead because none of us have our heat tolerance back, but we must go to work anyway, which must be a crime. And yes, when it gets below 70 we really all do short circuit and cover ourselves in seven jackets, except for Shorts Guy.)

[allsteddie]

And what about a soulmate AU where everyone sees in black and white until they finally touch their soulmate for the first time?

Steve is disappointed when nothing changes after he and Nancy start dating, and even more disappointed when Nancy and Jonathan turn out to be soulmates not long after she breaks up with Steve.

He goes in a lot of dates, with a lot of girls, makes sure to always touch them somehow to see if something happens. Still nothing.

Then one day he’s working at Scoops Ahoy when Eddie Munson walks in, a bunch of his nerdy friends tagging along. Robin is on her break, so it’s just Steve there to deal with everybody’s orders. Fifteen minutes, a lot of arguing between the nerds and four satisfied costumers later, Eddie hands Steve a couple of bills to pay for everyone’s ice cream and that is the moment Steve’s life changes.

Their fingers brush and, suddenly, his black and white world explode in color. It’s so overwhelming the money slips from his hand and Steve has to grab the counter to steady himself, the world around him seeming to spin.

“Hey, Eddie, are you okay?” one of the nerds (Gareth?) asks.

Steve blinks, still dizzy and trying to understand what the hell is going on. When he lifts his head, he sees Eddie pretty much in the same state as him, two of his friends holding him up and supporting him as the man looks dazzled, the third one holding his forgotten ice cream and looking lost and distressed.

“What the fuck did you do to him, Harrington?”

But Steve can’t bring himself to say anything, he’s too busy freaking the fuck out. Because Eddie Munson is his soulmate, apparently. Eddie fucking Munson. What kind of joke is that!?

“Get off me,” Eddie says, pushing his friends away until he’s standing by himself.

He’s still struggling, that’s quite clear, but Eddie Munson has always been stubborn and has always refused to show any kind of weakness. He’s not gonna start doing it in front of Steve of all people.

“Look, man,” Steve starts, not really knowing what to say, but needing to say something. Eddie doesn’t let him finish, though.

“No, shut up. Don’t even start,” he says, fierce. If looks could kill, Steve would be dead right now. “I don’t wanna hear anything, I refuse. Fuck this. It doesn’t change a single thing, you hear me? It changes nothing.”

“And who says I want it to change anything? You’re not exactly my dream come true, Munson.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish, Harrington.”

“What is happening here?” another one of Eddie’s friends whispers to the others, who are just as confused.

“Shut up, you too!” Eddie snaps at them. He takes a last look at Steve, then turns his back. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Steve watches as Munson marches out of the shop, his friends trailing behind him and trying to catch up with his pace, and that’s all he can do; watch. Because what else would he do? Ask Munson to wait so they can talk about the fact that they are fucking soulmates? As if. Steve would rather flush his own head in the toilet.

After that, they avoid each other like the plague. And if not knowing who his soulmate was had been bad, knowing it is not much better. Steve still can’t understand how the universe, or whatever force chooses this soulmate shit, came to the conclusion that Eddie Munson would be his perfect match. For the first time in his life, Steve wonders if these things could be wrong somehow; if maybe some soulmates were just not meant to be.

The next time Steve sees Eddie, the man is holding a broken bottle to his neck and threatening to kill him. Eddie is terrified, eyes frantic and the hand holding the bottle is trembling, and Steve is so relieved he’s okay he would probably hug him if the risk of getting stabbed wasn’t so high.

“We’re on your side,” Dustin pleads. “I swear on my mother. Right, guys?”

And there’s a change there, in Eddie’s eyes. A flicker of recognition and hope as he looks at Steve before letting him go. The others don’t notice, but Steve does. He’s hyperaware of everything Eddie does, every small movement and look. He sees the nervous fidgeting and the touch of hysteria in Eddie’s words, but also the trust the other man shows when he agrees with Dustin’s plans, and how it helps him with the anxiety. And it’s weird for Steve, being so in tune with whatever is going on in Eddie’s mind that he can actually read the guy like a book, but is also comforting somehow.

By the time Dustin finishes explaining his plan, Steve’s not so sure the universe was trying to fuck with him when it chose Eddie as his soulmate. Not anymore.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

If Your Character Doesn’t Want Anything, The Plot Can’t Start

so. here’s the thing. if your main character is just kinda floating through the story like a passive sad bean™️ with no real goal or drive, then the plot? is not plotting.

this isn’t a ✨you suck✨ thing. it’s a common first draft curse. but if you’re 30k words deep and your protagonist is still just reacting to stuff with vague concern and inner monologues about The Past™… we need to talk.

📍what even is a character “want”?

your character’s want is their external goal. the thing they’re trying to get, do, or change.

avenge someone

win a trial

run away from their cursed bloodline

steal the crown

get through one (1) normal semester without summoning a demon by accident

it’s tangible. it’s active. it’s visible. other characters should be able to argue with it, get in the way of it, or try to stop it.

💥without a want, your character is just:

wandering

reacting

monologuing about their feelings

getting dragged into scenes by external forces

waiting for the plot to happen to them

and honestly? same. but also: no.

readers need to feel like your character is making the story happen, not being passively pushed along by fate and side characters with better motivations.

⚠️ want vs need (aka: the emotional trauma part)

quick breakdown:

the want = the external goal (win the throne, survive the week, kiss the hot villain)

the need = the internal arc (heal the grief, learn to trust, accept their identity, realize kissing the hot villain is a bad idea)

your character should want something that will eventually lead them to what they need. but the want comes first. the want is the engine. the need is the crash landing.

plot starts with the want.

character arc ends with the need.

🎯 signs your character doesn’t want anything (yet):

you keep skipping scenes because “nothing is happening”

you’re relying on vibes or worldbuilding to carry the tension

side characters are doing all the heavy lifting

your protagonist spends more time reacting than deciding

your outline says “stuff happens” for 8 chapters

🛠️ how to fix it:

Make them want something that’s wrong. they don’t have to want the right thing. they just have to want something strongly. wrong goals lead to better tension. and failure. and chaos. (yay!)

Put something between them and that goal. wanting something isn’t enough. they need to pursue it, and get blocked. by enemies. allies. their own self-sabotage. this is where conflict comes from.

Tie the want to survival or obsession. if it’s not urgent, it’s background noise. raise the stakes. why now? why does this matter? why can’t they walk away?

Let them choose. at some point in Act 1, they need to make a conscious decision to pursue the goal. even if they get manipulated into it. even if it’s a bad idea. it needs to feel like a choice.

📦 examples:

✨bad✨: “she’s just trying to get by and see what happens”

✅better: “she’s trying to disappear, but someone recognizes her from the war and now she has to fake a new identity while hunting them down before they ruin her life”

see the difference? one is vibes. one is a whole plot engine.

the story doesn’t start until your character wants something badly enough to make a move, and risk breaking something.

give them a goal. a plan. a terrible idea. and then go ruin their life.

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

🕯️ download the pack & write something cursed:

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for dating Clark Kent

Clark Kent x reader

warnings: spoilers + alcohol and violence n such

a/n: 😏 im in a flow state rn

prompt: anonymous: “Hello! If I may ask, what are some hcs of Superman/clark as a bf? Much thanks!”

you met clark in college while he was studying journalism

he was always kind and gentle, some of the most attractive qualities in a man

everything about him was a green flag

“would you ever want to study with me sometime?” -clark after class

“as long as you bring the coffee” -you

“well in that case, would you write down your coffee order on here for me?” -clark, handing you a sticky note with emojis printed on them and you giggled “my ma got those for me”

you guys had frequent study dates until finals, but clark took forever to actually ask you out. literally you didn’t go on a real date until after finals that semester

after that you guys were THE couple. the sweethearts. inseparable.

clark never really showed interest in parties or drinking, he liked the simpler, quieter things

but he didn’t mind being dragged along every once in a while though

“i just dont like the taste” -clark turning down a beer bc he cant get drunk and he was bad at acting it

he was your biggest cheerleader

“you’re gonna do great, keep your head up!” -clark

“thanks clark, but it’s just picking up our takeout order?” -you

his parents adored you soooo much they were the sweetest people in the world you met them over winter break one year and they gifted you a novelty ornament with yours and clark’s names on it and made you hang it on the tree yourself as an “initiation ritual” lol

“you’re apart of the family now!” -martha coming to hug you as tight as possible

“let them breathe, martha” -john

“ma, you’re embarrassing me!” -clark

“oh, nonsense, i’m just welcomin’ my future child-in-law to the kent family. aint that right, dear?” -martha

“oh, yes, i feel very welcome, thank you” -you “now, i’d love to see some baby pictures of clark”

“have i got the book for you!” -martha

it was over winter break that you found out clark’s big secret when he used his ice breath to put out a small fire in the kitchen

“too much grease in the pan, pa!” -clark

“ah, the grease makes the bacon taste better. then you cook the eggs in the same pan, it’s fine” -john

“it’s not fine if the house burns down” -clark

*you standing in the living room in shock because he forgot you were present and used his powers without even thinking since he was home*

“what just happened?” -you

*cue horrified expression from clark*

“you’re keeping secrets from your partner, clark?” -martha

“no, ma, i was keeping the secret, there’s a difference” -clark

“well, no need for that anymore, y/n’s apart of the family” -martha

“okay, seriously, what just happened?” -you

clark finally explained what/who he was to you and apologized like a million times for not telling you sooner

and he begged you not to leave

which never crossed your mind he was just super anxious about it

you told him you understood why he’d want to keep it a secret and you weren’t mad, you wanted to know more

“well a lot of things are starting to make sense now. i was wondering how you managed to get across campus so fast when your classes were so far apart” -you

“yeah…don’t tell ma and pa about that, please” -clark

they didn’t like when he almost exposed himself as an alien. last thing they needed were the feds at their door

you and clark soon graduated and decided to conquer metropolis together

first order of business was to find a new coffee shop to frequent

“there’s one around the corner. it’s the apartment” -clark

“it doesn’t have great reviews online” -you

“o-kay, there’s another one three blocks away. a nice morning stroll?” -clark

“hmm, is it safe enough to walk in the morning?” -you

“well, i think if you’re walking with your boyfriend who has super strength and can fly you’re statistically pretty safe” -clark

“ohhh, i almost forgot” -you, kissing him on the cheek

you guys got a nice little starter apartment and decorated it…as best as you could

“no, we are not putting your mighty crabjoys poster in the living room!” -you

“what?! they’re a great band, why cant we have them in the living room? we don’t have anything else to put on the walls” -clark

“clark you cant be serious” -you

“crabjoys are going on the wall” -clark

you lost that battle. for now.

once clark started his job at the daily planet, he would come home a little stressed

took him a while to find his footing

but you did your best to cheer him

“i got your favorite movie and some popcorn!” -you

“oh, my god, i love you so much” -clark hugging you almost too tight

he loved cuddling on the couch it was such a soft intimate thing for him

he’d throw popcorn at you if you stopped paying attention to the movie

“i’ll clean it up dont worry” -clark

he loves giving kisses all over your head but he MELTS if you kiss him on the cheek or forehead hes so silly about it

breakfast for dinner woop woop

“i made breakfast for dinner!” -clark

“again?” -you

“yes but i picked up your favorite fresh fruit so you cant be mad” -clark

“i’m not mad! but we are having pizza tomorrow night” -you

“deal” -clark

he lifts all the heavy furniture while you vacuum

you visit him at the daily planet sometimes and he is always so excited when he sees you. like he hasn’t seen you in years.

“y/n!! guys look, my partner’s here!” -clark meeting you halfway through the room just to walk you back to where he was

“nice to see you, y/n. we still on for drinks friday?” -lois

“you know it!” -you

“can i come?” -jimmy

“only if you don’t flirt with y/n again” -lois

“cant help it, it just happens” -jimmy

“wait, jimmy flirts with you?” -clark

“no! no i dont!” -jimmy

“clark! what have i told you about bringing your partner to work!” -perry “good to see you, y/n”

“you too, perry” -you

“perry? he let’s you call him perry?” -jimmy

“yeah, i mean, i don’t work here?” -you

oh yeah you brought lunch you and clark went and hid in the breakroom to eat

it was his favorite chinese food dish

“you’re not getting bored, are you?” -you

“of what? of you? no! of course not, why would you ask that?” -clark

“just of life. things have been pretty quiet since we moved here” -you

“no way! we try something new every weekend! last weekend we tried that escape room, that was fun!” -clark

“yeah, except when you used your x-ray vision to speedrun it!” -you

“we made record time, our picture is on the wall in their lobby now!” -clark

yeah but you had a feeling he wanto shake things up

he walked you down to the daily planet lobby and said goodbye with a kiss and an “i love you”

and when he got home he talked about the next new thing you’d try, which was a fusion restaurant

metropolis was actually so interesting and fun compared to what you guys came from

but one day your life was turned upside down when clark revealed himself to the world as superman

you were scared and excited and freaked out all at the same time

“superman? couldn’t get anymore creative than that?” -you

“i think it’s just fine—simple and to the point” -clark

“clark, you’re wearing underwear on the outside of your suit” -you

“it is not underwear, it is a stylistic choice” -clark

“alright, well, the rest of the suit looks great” -you as clark approaches “love the little curl you got going on up here”

“thanks, i did my hair myself” -clark as you reached for his face to kiss him

“i can tell” -you

he lifted you off the ground when he levitated off the ground a little

and after that, superman was the guardian of metropolis

it was cool at first. a little scary.

but it could get lonely sometimes

especially when more and more supervillains started to reveal themselves

and clark would have to rush out to save the day

he’d always make it up to you, though

“i got your favorite pastry from that bakery you like!” -clark after defeating another enemy

“apology for leaving the restaurant last night?” -you

“yes…” -clark

“apology accepted” -you

on quieter nights when you guys actually got some sleep, clark was always the big spoon

it was a little protective, but also very comfortable

he’d play with your hair and scratch your back while you relaxed

and he’d talk about your future together and how great things were and his plans as a journalist

if you ever needed to vent about work or life he’d be there to listen

“yeah and then this absolute monster from marketing was trying to explain how my job works” -you

“what a loser!” -clark

“i have some stronger words than loser” -you

“let’s not use those words” -clark

you were taken to the fortress of solitude once. too cold

you were shown the message from his parents and the robots and all that

“clark it is freezing can we go home now?” -you

“yes of course” -clark

he made you hot cocoa

and everything was relatively fine until “the hammer of boravia” incident where clark lost his first battle

and you were watching the news in horror

“clark, you almost died!” -you

“nuh-uh. look, im fine!” -clark

“you are so not fine! what happened?!” -you

“well the guy was really strong. i got to the fortress on time, though. krypto helped!” -clark

“kara’s dog helped? the dog that never listens and destroys everything in his path?” -you

“thats the one” -clark

you’d already met the “justice gang” and upon seeing them again in metropolis when the big fire breathing lizard dinosaur monster thing attacked, kendra came to gossip with you

AFTER everyone was safe of course

“so he lost to that hammer guy?” -kendra

“i guess so, yeah. weird, right? i mean, he healed himself but that guy kind of kicked his ass” -you

“weird. and how’s he taking the loss?” -kendra

“oh he’s ‘fine’” -you with air quotes

“of course he is” -kendra, sarcastically

with the distraction of the giant evil fire lizard thing, little did you know lex luthor was at the fortress of solitude trying to find a way to stop superman once and for all

and suddenly the whole US government was gunning for him

“i have to turn myself in y/n. that way i can clear my name” -clark

“no you don’t! do not do that, that is the worst plan” -you

“it’ll be fine. i’ll just explain to them that i never saw the second part of my parents message and im not here to conquer the earth” -clark :)

“don’t like that plan, let’s go into hiding” -you

“i’ll be back before you know it, trust me” -clark

you went to lois for help

“he WHAT?!” -lois

she came to help you out with the justice gang

“guy can you just like. be helpful please. for once?” -you

“y/n, i am so helpful. im a green lantern!” -guy

“no, they’re right, you’re so not helpful” -lois

lois was becoming your ride or die fr

“guy, my boyfriend is literally being held prisoner by the government, can you get up and move?” -you

“he’s a big boy, he can handle himself. definitely doesn’t need his little partner going to save him” -guy

“man im gonna—” -you, charging

“you’re not gonna beat up a green lantern, y/n, let’s get out of here” -lois, holding you back “we’ll key his car on the way out”

mr. terrific decided to help and by that point you were soooo exhausted you were just worried you’d never see clark again

“so is clark usually like…clark at home or is he more super-y at home?” -lois

“i mean, superman and clark have almost zero differences. just the glasses really” -you

“where’d you meet?” -michael

“college” -you

“did he tell you he was an alien or did you find out on your own?” -michael

“uhh, i saw him put out a fire with his ice breath at his parents house when i was visiting for christmas, actually. why are you guys asking me questions about clark?” -you

“just curious. he’s odd” -lois

“in a good way” -michael

“so he really is just that nice?” -lois

“yeah but he’s got a little attitude too” -you

the clark gossip went on the whole trip but you made sure to add how nice and sweet and amazing he was

when you got to the military base you were shocked to see the portal he was led to

“he’s in there?! terrific, you have to get him out, who knows what’s back there!” -you

“that is the plan, y/n” -michael

when clark finally escaped he was pretty roughed up, but when he saw you he was panicked

“y/n? y/n, you shouldn’t be here, it’s not safe! luthor…he’ll kill you to get to me” -clark

“shh, everything’s fine. we’ll figure it out” -you

you gave lois directions to the kent family farm

and tended to clark in terrific’s ship

you had his head in your lap and brushe dyou hands through his hair, which always eased his troubled mind

he’d teeter in and out of consciousness and recognize you

“i love you” -clark

“i love you, too” -you

“i love youu” -clark

“yes, sweetie, i love you too” -you

“love you!” -clark

“you’re gonna make me throw up” -lois

“i’ll make dinner tonight. and i’ll probably even buy you a ring. nice one. big diamond” -clark

“okay, clark, rest your eyes” -you

“he ever talk about proposing before?” -lois, giggling

“nope. let’s pretend he didn’t” -you

“me and jimmy will make sure he does it right” -lois

“oh, great” -you

you got to the kent family farm and immediately greeted your “soon to be in-laws” and got clark settled, easing their minds and letting them know everything would be okay

and they used this rare impromptu visit to catch up with you

“y/n, dear, how are you two? is everything good in the big city? how is your new apartment? are you hungry? let me make you something to eat!” -martha

you sat by clark’s bedside all night and when he woke up he was so glad you were okay

“i’m not the one who almost died!” -you

“well, how was i supposed to know he had a guy that could make his hand into kryptonite?” -clark

“well, that’s why we don’t turn ourselves into the government and let ourselves be led into a portal to a pocket dimension where hundreds of people are being held prisoner by lex luthor!” -you

“honest mistake, could have happened to anyone” -clark

then it was the big choice between the black hole about to swallow metropolis and the war in boravia

metropolis took priority since the place was being torn apart, you and lois flew back in terrific’s ship much to clark’s dismay

“that’s our home, clark. i have to go back and help in any way i can” -you

you stuck with the daily planet crew and hopped on the “lets take down lex luthor” train

and caught a glimpse of clark flying around every few minutes

you felt queasy and not from standing in flying spaceship that lois was driving like a crazy person

“you think we’re all gonna die in this black hole?” -you

“if you keep talking like that, yeah probably” -jimmy

“superman’s gonna save the day, i know he is!” -cat

“thanks, cat. i need your optimism” -you

clark was getting his ass handed to him by “other clark”

and you were soooo having a panic attack

“i think my apartment building was just ripped in half” -you

“you can stay with me, plenty of room in casa olsen” -jimmy

“jimmy!” -lois

“what? clark can too, wherever that guy is” -jimmy

“he’s visiting his parents” -you

“bet you wish you were too, not flying around in this giant ball” -jimmy

when the dust finally settled, you were mortified by the damage in metropolis, but so glad clark was okay

“i thought you were a goner” -you

“nope, still standing. thanks to krypto here” -clark petting krypto

“good boy, krypto!” -you, petting him

he slobbered on u a little

“maybe we should take a vacation sometime soon” -clark

“don’t mess with me, clark. that’s all a want after this crazy week” -you

“then it’s done, we’ll have a nice relaxing vacation” -clark

“oh, you’re the best” -you, running into him for a hug

“i’m glad you’re okay, y/n” -clark

“glad you’re okay, too. that was terrifying” -you

“wanna get out of here?” -clark

“please” -you

Bonus:

“your cousin is home” -4

“kara!!” -you

“hey, hey! missed you bunches” -kara, stumbling into a hug

“i wish we could go get drinks together, sucks you can’t get drunk on earth” -you

“you could always come to another planet with me! the parties are sooo fun” -kara

“nope. absolutely not. nope” -clark

“oh, come on! y/n would love it out in space. wouldn’t you?” -kara

“i wouldn’t know quite yet, now would i?” -you

“see? they wouldn’t even know! totally means we should go” -kara

“worst idea ever. no offense” -clark

taglist: @summersimmerus // NEW DC TAGLIST — DC UNIVERSE REBOOTED — SEND AN ASK TO BE ADDED

[sholiofic]

(I am sorry to spam you with Murderbot prompts but) Post-finale Gurathin, burdened with all these memories of Sanctuary Moon, still doesn't like the show but now can't resist getting into nitpicky arguments about it on futuristic forums, where he and Murderbot keep crossing paths and gradually realize who they're talking to and get very fond about it without admitting to anything.

(noooo spam away, I am delighted by this!)

***

MoonMod: okay we've opened up the SanctuarySphere spoiler room again to chat about the new episode! All participants in the previous altercation have been either warned or banned. Please remember to still mark *future* spoilers and keep NSFW material to the NSFW channel.

user3276987643: thank god user3276987643: let's hope anyone actually pays attention this time

SklanchMePlease @ user3276987643: are you by any chance the same as *checks notes* user3276978642deactivated? Because if so, you know you're banned

user3276987643: no i am not user3276987643: can we get back to talking about the show

SklanchMePlease: I'm just saying your opinions and your username are suspiciously familiar

MoonMod: [mod hat] no speculating on other users' chat history, please. We ban by network address and the bans can't be circumvented, so sockpuppets are not a problem in the SanctuarySphere chat. Let's get back to episode s22e19, everybody!

tinynavbot: I can't believe I was right about the clone babies!! I hope this means they're bringing Bretney back as Navbot 666, I really miss her

user3276987643: you're right she's a lot better than navbots 22 & 969

MoonMod: [mod hat] skirting close to the original flamewar topic, everybody! Let's be careful!

SklanchMePlease: I just wish we'd get some good Hordööp-Sklanch content for once! how many episodes can one man stay in a stasis pod

user3276987643: well they can't open the pod until the sklor beast is gone

tinynavbot: why not?

user3276987643: seriously user3276987643: does no one but me pay attention to anything user3276987643: we've known since episode 1782 that sklor beasts feed on psychic vibrations, and he got the telepathy implant in the season 19 finale!! come on read the wiki at least

TrappedInSanctuaryHell: I can't believe I have opinions on this, but can't they use the ship's shield to block the psychic brain waves or whatever, I think they did that back in season something or other

user3276987643: .... user3276987643: shit you're right, that was season 8 episode 12 I think user3276987643: good catch user3276987643: no wait user3276987643: the shield was reconfigured in season 20 on the dinosaur planet, so that's probably why they haven't tried that

TrappedInSanctuaryHell: Yeah, that's definitely the reason why they haven't tried that, all right

tinynavbot @ TrappedInSanctuaryHell: didn't you say you've only seen some of the show?

TrappedInSanctuaryHell: I've seen most of it TrappedInSanctuaryHell: for certain values of seen

user3276987643: I can send it to you

TrappedInSanctuaryHell: no

>>>>

[DM initiated: user3276987643 @ TrappedInSanctuaryHell]

user3276987643: [link: SanctuarySeasons1-22.zip]

TrappedInSanctuaryHell: for fuck's sake TrappedInSanctuaryHell: I felt bad about it when you kept deleting your entire profile every time I tried to DM you, but this is infinitely worse

user3276987643: it's quality entertainment, asshole

TrappedInSanctuaryHell: I know what it is, I had 2000-something episodes in my head and I still dream about the theme song

user3276987643: 2797 episodes minus the ones you deleted

TrappedInSanctuaryHell: because it was overflowing the buffer into my actual brain.

user3276987643: an improvement I would say

TrappedInSanctuaryHell: [rude sigil]

user3276987643: very mature

TrappedInSanctuaryHell: says you and your sockpuppet army. They're going to figure out that you're circumventing their IP blocking system sooner or later, you know

user3276987643: some people have wrong opinions user3276987643: anyway if I can hack a high end security system, circumventing a stupid chat board is child's play

TrappedInSanctuaryHell: ..... you know what, I'm not going to ask. Mostly because you'd probably delete again and it took me weeks to find you the last time you did that TrappedInSanctuaryHell: granted all I have to do is hang around the big Sanctuary Moon chat boards and you're bound to show up eventually

user3276987643: [sigil sigil signifier]

TrappedInSanctuaryHell: very mature

user3276987643: that was a good catch on the shields though user3276987643: genuinely impressed your squishy human brain retained that. I mean you were wrong but still

TrappedInSanctuaryHell: thanks, I think TrappedInSanctuaryHell: You know we have regular Sanctuary Moon watch nights now, right? Everyone wants to be caught up just in case you show up again

user3276987643:  user3276987643:  user3276987643: 

[DM with user3276987643 terminated] [user3276987643: user deleted, no such user found]

TrappedInSanctuaryHell: fuck

[formulafanfics13]

Wait... How about CNC hardcore with Charles, Carlos and Oscar or I just need to sleep? pleeeeeease i can't stop thinking about itttt

okay so i've had a really good day and im happy so im giving you a request to make you happy (hopefully)🫶🏼

Every Inch - CL16, CS55 & OP81 🔥

Masterlist

summary: it starts like a dream. soft touches. gentle teasing. and then, the lights cut out. the game begins. you're blindfolded. restrained. and no longer in control. charles, carlos, and oscar take turns wrecking you, one by one, just like you begged them to. only this time, they're not stopping until they've had everything. every scream. every tear. every inch of you.

warnings: CNC (consensual non-consent), extreme degradation, group sex (m/m/f), sub!reader, dom!charles, dom!carlos, dom!oscar, blindfold, bondage (wrist ties), gag use, fear-play, rough oral (f receiving), spit-roasting, slapping (light, sexual context), free-use dynamic, multiple forced orgasms, overstimulation, humiliation kink, creampie kink, spit, hair pulling, throat fucking, name-calling (e.g. slut, whore), dirty talk, voice degradation/praise mix, no safe word mentioned, post-orgasm torture...

You're already tied up when it starts. Soft restraints, wrists above your head. Blindfold snug across your eyes. Legs spread on the hotel bed like a fucking invitation. You're naked. Bare. Dripping. Waiting.

The air is silent until it isn't. A whisper. A breath. A low chuckle from the corner of the room. You shiver.

"Still think you can handle us?" Carlos's voice. Sharp. Mocking.

You nod. But it's shaky. You're already soaked and no one's touched you yet.

The bed dips. Fingers trail over your thigh. Then teeth graze your neck. "She's shaking already," Charles murmurs. "Pathetic."

Then hands. So many fucking hands. Oscar's at your legs. Carlos is gripping your chin. Charles is in your ear, whispering filth in French while fingers slide down your stomach, between your thighs, parting your folds.

No warning. Just a vibrator. Pressed right against your clit. You jolt. Cry out.

Carlos laughs. "Already?"

"She's soaking the sheets," Oscar says, voice low. "Fucking whore."

You moan. Try to speak. A hand slaps over your mouth.

"Shut up," Charles says, almost gently. "You don't talk unless we say."

You nod. Mouth full of fingers now, Carlos pushing two in deep, making you gag.

"You're going to choke tonight, sweetheart," he growls. "Better get used to it."

First comes Oscar. Between your thighs. Licking. Sucking. Tongue buried deep as he pins your hips to the bed and eats like he's starving.

You sob around Carlos's hand. Your legs are shaking. The vibrator never leaves your clit.

"Too much," you gasp when your mouth is free.

"You'll take what we give you," Charles snaps. "You said you wanted to be used."

You nod. Desperate. Feral. Oscar doesn't stop until you cum hard enough to soak the sheets. You're crying. Legs twitching. They flip you. Stomach down.

Carlos grabs your hips. Presses his cock to your entrance and slides in with one brutal thrust. You scream. Claw at the pillows.

"Shh," Charles hisses. "You'll wake the whole floor."

Oscar's at your mouth. Cock already hard. Pushing past your lips. "You know what to do."

You take him. Spit dripping from your chin. Carlos pounding into you from behind. Oscar fucking your mouth. Charles stroking himself beside you, laughing at the mess you are.

"Two cocks at once," he says. "Told you she was built for it."

Carlos grips your hair. Yanks your head back while Oscar fucks deeper. "Gonna stuff her full," Carlos groans. "Fuck a baby into her."

You moan around Oscar's cock. Gag. Swallow. Let them ruin you.

Charles kneels at your side. Grabs your tits. Slaps one, hard. You sob. "You love this," he says. "Our little fucktoy."

Oscar cums down your throat. Doesn't pull out. Just holds your head there while you choke on it.

Carlos finishes deep inside your cunt, hips grinding, muttering Spanish filth as he empties himself into you like he owns you.

Charles? He waits. Lets the others collapse. Then pulls you up. Spits in your mouth. Then slides in slow.

But it doesn't last. He grabs your throat. Fucks into you hard. Deep. Until your whole body rocks with it. "You don't cum until I say," he growls.

You cry. Nod. Can't even beg. And when he finally lets you? It's violent. Endless. Your body breaks.

They don't stop. You lose count after the sixth orgasm. You're boneless. Covered in cum. Throat raw. Skin stinging from where they've slapped, sucked, grabbed, bitten.

And still? They're not done. Charles kisses your ear. "One more time, baby. Just one more."

Carlos is already hard again. Oscar's stroking himself. They're going to start over. You sob. Nod. You asked for this. You wanted it. And you fucking love it.

[oztri]

it’s been a rough day (i cried at work bc my mom was treating me like a failure). that being said osc putting reader into subspace and taking care of her and calling her good and assuring her she’s okay sounds lovely. obvi he fucks her silly too

oh im so sorry you had a rough day :(( i can assure that you are NOT a failure and its unfair for anyone to treat you like that. smooching u on the forehead. i hope the next few days are better for you baby 🩷

this should be gn!reader for the most part bc i think everyone should get to experience this oscar, but its mainly just oscar loving you so thoroughly, wanting to make you forget everything.

that being said, osc would absolutely do this for you if you asked. sometimes, you wouldn’t even need to ask.

oscar is so observant without you knowing about it. he sees the way you’ve gone a bit quiet, the rigid line of your back, the way your knee bounces when you’re at the table for breakfast. it’s a saturday, there’s no race this weekend, no work, nowhere to be. just you, your boy, and a warm, quiet weekend.

it starts in the morning. the sun is catching on the sheer curtain, making everything just the right side of hazy.

“hi, love,” oscar whispers, leaning over the back of the couch where you’ve sat yourself, curled up in a warm blanket. his breath is soft and warm against your ear, lips pressing delicately into your neck, the skin the below your ear. when all you offer is a hum, eyes barely registering the cartoon you’ve settled on, he frowns. “everything okay?”

you nod, because of course you do. you… you are fine, you think. for the most part, at least. you’re just tired and the week hadn’t exactly gone the way you wanted. it left you drained. “think ‘m just exhausted,” you mumble, turning your head a bit to look up at oscar. he’s looking at you with eyes so soft and gentle it makes your stomach twist. “had a shit week.”

there’s a twitch of his lips, hands coming to rub soothing at your shoulders. he massages gently, deft fingers digging into tense muscle. it has you sighing, eyes fluttering shut. oscar always rubs your back just right. never too rough, never in one spot for too long. “mm,” you hum, head rolling forward. “s’good.”

he grins, leaning forward to nuzzle his nose into the back of your head, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. “do me a favor,” he whispers, voice now dropped, rumbling. it’s a tone that offers no room for argument. “let’s go take a nice, warm shower. let me take care of you. scrub your legs, your back, your arms. should be a new body scrub in there. take our time.” he whispers, and. oh. oh, you think. you quite like the sound of that.

“c’mon, pretty baby.” and that… that has you melting.

you’re up before you register it, wanting so badly to please oscar. hear him purr words of praise into your ear while you simply just. exist.

—

oscar takes his time. he lets his hands trail over each and every part of you. callused fingers rub out the rest of the knots in your back, kneading soft skin until it’s warm with heat. until you’re warm with heat. then, he’s scrubbing every inch of you with that new body scrub. it smells clean, refreshing, and so soothing. oscar kneels in the shower, almost reverent as he swipes the sugared crystals along your skin, exfoliating until you feel rubbed raw in the best way possible.

as he rinses away the sweet smell, your head is on cloud 9, being doted on and cared for like this. oscar notices. he watches the way your eyelids droop, heavy and pupils the size of dinner plates.

“feel good, baby?” he calls up to you, still on his knees. he steadies you with a hand on your waist, thumb swiping away a water droplet that sticks to your hip.

you nod, looking down at him. oscar has always been pretty on his knees, you think to yourself. you tell him. the light blush that fills his cheeks has something burning bright in your belly. reaching, you swipe your fingers through his flop of messy hair, licking your lips.

“thank you, angel,” oscar says, voice whispered and fond. he presses a warm kiss to the inside of your thigh, making you hum. “can you spread your legs for me?”

and, of course, you do. immediately. with a gentle press to your belly, oscar has you leaning against cold tile, muttering apologies as he leans in, still knelt beneath you, and licks up the insides of your thighs. he kisses and sucks, leaving pretty, purple bruises in his wake. when he gets his mouth on you, you’re nearly doubled over, gasping as you tangle your hands in his hair. he just hums, looking up through his eyelashes. if he could grin, he would, but he’s currently preoccupied with something.

by the time you leave the bathroom, it’s on wobbly legs. oscar says you look like a baby deer. you move to glare at him, but he stops you. “i like when you’re a little helpless. just need someone to take care of you, don’t you?” the mewl that escapes you makes oscar scoop you up, carrying you the rest of the way.

—

the bedroom door kicks shut with a muffled click of the lock as oscar lays you down. the sheets are soft against your skin, exfoliated and smooth and oh, so clean. you feel brand new, if a little raw, but it makes your brain do something you can’t even comprehend. it feels like it leaks out of your ears when oscar kneels on the bed, spreading your thighs to pull you close.

“what’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks. his voice is soft. it always is, but when oscar is like this… has you like this… it makes you purr.

through a shaky breath, you spread your thighs wider, almost like you’re offering yourself up to him. it makes him grin. “please,” you gasp, keenly aware of the press of the sheets against your skin, loving the way the soft cotton rubs your legs, your back, your arms. every inch of bare skin had been scrubbed so thoroughly, it felt like oscar had scrubbed the entire week off of your body. if the body remembered, oscar was sure to make it forget.

“please, what?”

you squirm, pressing your toes against his thigh, bare and soft and strong all at once. “oscar.” it’s a whine, one that has him pinching your skin.

“ah-ah,” he scolds, hooking your thighs over his own, pulling you close so his cock presses against you. it’s thick and heavy. has been since he got his tongue on you in the shower. “tell me what you want or you don’t get it at all. that’s how this works.”

tears, big and fat and salty well up in your eyes, so thoroughly wanting but not able to articulate it. if he’d wanted you to talk, he shouldn’t have made your brain melt! oscar shushes you, softened by the tears. he leans down, kissing your cheeks gently, nosing along your hairline. “shh. no crying, my love. that’s not what we’re here for, is it?”

when you shake your head, sniffling, oscar coos. he thumbs away the tears that slip down your temples.

“no, ‘course not. what do you think i’m here to do for you, baby?” you hesitate, not sure what he might be asking for. at your pause, oscar just hums. “there’s no wrong answer. tell me what you need from me.”

“need you.”

“oh, well i know that, angel. here, let me ask it a different way.” oscar leans down after hiking your hips higher onto his. “what do you want from me?”

and, oh. oh, it… what do you want?

“want you to make me forget.”

and oscar, your oscar—sweet, gentle, a little awkward in the most endearing way, gives you exactly that.

he takes his time, pulling you apart, piece by piece. he’s got his mouth on you again, opening you up on his fingers. he’s pulls ever pretty little sound he can from you. he slides his hands up your thighs, your belly, wraps them around your ribcage. he presses in close, breathes in the smell of your body wash and the sugar scrub he’d rubbed you down with. your skin tastes sweet on his tongue, making him groan like you’re the best meal he’s had in ages. your mouth is open, panting into the air of the bedroom like your lungs are squeezed by the pleasure.

“oscar,” you moan when he has you clenching down around three of his fingers. he just looks up, eyes dark and warm, like coals on a campfire. “please.”

and that… there’s something about the way your lips wrap around the word, so desperate and so fucking sweet. sitting up, oscar grabs you by the waist. “wanna stay like this? or d’you wanna be on your hands and knees?”

“wanna stay… wanna look at you. wanna see your face, please, osc—“

“shh, shh. that’s why i asked. wanna make it good for you.” his noses presses to yours, nudging and nuzzling as he kisses you slowly, pressing you deeper into the soft plushness of your shared bed. he licks into your mouth like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you. you shiver.

oscar’s hands are warm when they wrap around your calves, tugging till your legs lock around his waist.

the first press of his cock inside you has your eyes rolling. they close, brows furrowing. he coos, thumbing out the crease before he groans. you feel full. you always do. oscar felt like he was made for you, and you for him. he settles, buried deep inside.

“fuck, baby,” he moans, elongating the swear. “fuck.”

heat licks up your spine, making you arch. above you, oscar looks like an angel. a god. something that had taken you and molded you anew. your skin thrums, nerves alight with pleasure as he pulls out only to push back in. it’s deep and purposeful, like oscar’s sole intent is to make you feel every single delicious inch of him spreading you, stretching you. he wants you to remember this.

“that’s it… fuck, that’s it. y’take it like a champ, baby,” he whines, tipping back his head as he lets out a throaty noise, strangled and broken. you keen, proud of the reactions you’re getting from oscar just from him being inside you. it’s all wet and messy, oscar’s hips butting right up against yours as he fucks you. long, slow strokes have your toes curling, brain completely scrambled as he angles just right.

“oh—mm!” you whine and oscar looks like the cat that got the cream. he does it again, tilting your hips so he can fuck into you all over again, watching your eyes roll and your lids flutter.

“there? right there, baby? you like it when it fuck you there?”

all you can do is nod, hands reaching to grip his forearms, his biceps, the strong muscle of his back. it’s all you can do to not shake apart, gasping his name as he speeds up.

you can feel it building, that warm coil starting to tighten in your belly. it’s low and looming, warmth filling you up from the inside out. “osc,” you gasp, back arching when he gets his hand between the two of you again. your toes curl, heels pressing into his back. “oscar!”

“mhm.” his face is pressed to your neck, curling you in on yourself, pressing your thighs to your chest almost. the burn has your eyes watering, but you don’t care. not when oscar seems so keen on keeping you like that. “i know. i know, baby. i fuckin’ know.”

oscar groans, low and long into your neck, teeth digging into your shoulder as he sucks love bites into your skin. “you’re mine. you’re so fuckin’ good f’me. god, you were fuckin’ made for me.”

your walls tightening around his cock have him grunting, eyes screwed shut as he speeds up. the slick clap of skin on skin has both of you panting, desperate. grabbing onto oscar’s waist while he has your knees by your ears is all you can do to keep yourself from floating away.

“c’mon, angel. c’mon, give it to me,” he gasps, hand working quickly. it has you seeing stars. “come for me, baby, please.”

the please, the way his voice cracks, the desperate look in his eye. it’s all too much.

your orgasm crashes into you, crested before you can catch it. you shake underneath him, gasping and clawing at his skin while your walls milk him, desperate to be filled. vaguely, you think you register his name leaving your lips, breathy and broken and like music to oscar’s fucking ears.

he comes inside you nearly immediately afterwards, falling down the same hole as you. his face presses to your chest, rumbling with a deep groan. his hips stutter before they bury in to the hilt, grinding in short, stuttered circles meant to draw out your own high.

eventually, it becomes too much and it has you squirming, whining through wet tears and pushing at his hips. he only giggles when he notices, pulling out so carefully.

oscar shushes you with gentle kisses and sweet murmurs of praise.

“did so good.”

“you deserve to always feel like that.”

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty when you’re like this for me.”

his index finger traces over the bridge of your nose, soothing and lulling. it makes your eyes close. “sleep, angel. i’ll clean up. you earned it.”

[pr1nceofg0tham]

what do you need from me tonight? .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪

i don’t care if you’re sick, i don’t care if you’re contagious.

𖥔 summary since befriending tim drake you have known exactly how he feels about his brothers: offlimits, forbidden, do not enter! this was never too difficult to maintain, never too hard to turn away when one smiles a little too bright, yet when sweet and sultry jason walks into the room it become harder to turn the other cheek.

𖥔 pairing jason todd x reader

𖥔 genre/tw best friends brother au!! fem!reader !! reader is tim’s bff, fluff! angst?! probably suggestive at times i can’t lie, intoxication, swearing !! jason is a softie, none of that charmer fuck boy jason here!! petnames, kissing, reader and jason are real yearners !! reader and tim are supposed to be like 21-22 which puts Jason at like 25-26 or so (in my mind) batfam mentions and cameos! we love!! librarian!jason !! historian!reader !! tim and reader are platonic soulmates <3 also tim calls reader chicken, idk why!! also thers gonna be typos and run on sentences probably (i blacked out)

𖥔 w/c 8.3k and some change

𖥔 a/n this came to me in a dream… idk i just feel like tim has such strong protective girl bestie vibes so this is what happened. i love tim and reader and reader and jason and i really hope you do too!! lemme know xoxo

masterlist | requests open!!

Since the moment you became friends with Tim Drake, you understood his brothers were completely off limits. It was apparent in how he would go out of his way to not mention them by name—only my brother this or my brothers that—it was in the look of pure disgust when someone would bring up just how hot his oldest brother was when he showed up on the news: alerting the public not to be worried about some crime in Blüdhaven. Even you, his best friend since the trauma of Philosophy 204 bonded you together, were not allowed to ask about them without a deadly glare shooting your way.

You understood, if you had a famous family full of wealthy handsome boys, you too would want to keep them aware from your friends. You shudder at the thought of some girl asking if your brother was single, thus whenever Tim gives you attitude about it, you allow yourself to laugh it off. It wasn’t until the summer between Freshman and Sophomore year that you were even allowed near Wayne Manor, and into the lives of his illustrious family. 

Now, five years into your friendship, you could say that you’ve fit yourself into Tim’s life quite nicely. Being his favorite lady, you’re often his date to galas and Sunday brunches with the wives of Wayne Enterprises, The person who comes along when Bruce says “you can bring a friend”, and most special, who he turns to when one of his brothers annoys him. Like now, 

“I just don’t know why I’m suddenly Damian’s chauffeur," Tim says, a familiar annoyance seeping from his voice. “Like, my father has billions of dollars yet I have to be the one to drive my little brother around, come on.” 

You laugh, but the easy way in which he talks about his family’s wealth brings a bad taste to your mouth… You, a girl born and raised in the lower sector of Gotham, find it quite gross how easy your friend throws his money around sometimes, which you remind him with a swat on the back of his head. “Hey! what the fuck was that for?” He exclaims with a laugh. 

“Timothy, you know better than to be all waspy when I’m around…” you sigh, “and anyway, it’s not like Damian goes anywhere but the library and the planetarium… he's just a kid.”

“A kid who threatens to poison me if I don’t buy him bug juice—which I gotta say he is getting too old for.” 

“Ahh, Timmy, are you just sad about your baby brother growing up?” You say, pouting your lips in the exact way you know annoys him. 

You’ve always thought it’s funny how annoyed Tim gets about Damian, a boy who’s only ever sweet to you—asking you about your favorite animals and telling you about the new exhibits at Gotham’s Natural History Museum. “I don’t get why it's so terrible, Dami’s just a sweetheart,”

“Ugh, maybe to you,” Tim replies, “he just thinks you’re cool cause you work at the Historical Society and you make fun of me,”

“Well, there’s a lot to make fun of.”

“Ha.Ha. Real funny guess who's uninvited to Dick’s birthday party.” With this, you pause. It’s true that most of the parties surrounding Tim’s family are unnecessarily boring and involve fitting into a tight dress and making your hair look presentable. There’s been quite a few times when you’ve wished that Tim would go with someone else and gift you the reprieve from a drawn out conversation with a doctor or a politician, (or whoever else Mr. Wayne invites to drum up philanthropy). However, you look forward to Dick’s birthday every year; a night filled with laughter and sweet drinks, getting to see Dick and his girlfriend Kory get a little too drunk and attempt to do gymnastics on the club’s dancefloor… Even better, it’s the one chance you really get to see Jason, Tim’s older and outcasted brother.. 

You remember the first time you met him, a Friday dinner you accompanied Tim to… It was the one night a week Alfred was free from dinner duty, thus the two of you had brought chinese and gelato for dessert and Damian kept pestering you about bringing him to the Zoo to see the snakes. 

You had already met everyone else, Dick with his charming smile and the spark in his eyes when he pulled your chair out (you’re sure it had more to do with annoying his brother than being a gentleman,) You’d met Duke when he followed his brother into university becoming a welcome third to your little group, and his father–Initmaditing and encompassing Bruce Wayne, but you’d never met Jason. 

You’d heard about him, heard the sighs from his father when he noticed his second son hadn’t shown up… Watched the careful way he was spoken about by his family, in past tenses and thinly veiled sadness. Tim had rarely brought him up to you, barely mentioning how there was some sort of accident, how it destroyed their father and separated Jason from himself and his family. 

You never liked seeing your best friend sad, it hurt too much to see his blue eyes gloss over, so you never brought him up, yet you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t curious. You remember seeing it on the news, the day that Jason Todd went missing… It wasn’t surprising to hear about a missing boy–living in Gotham meant a new tragedy every day–yet, you remember being shocked that something would happen to that bright young boy, grinning ear to ear in the school picture the news showed. 

You were only twelve, but you can think back and see so vividly the magic behind that smile, and how sad you were to realize that this boy, who could have very well gone to school with your sister, was gone… How sad he must be, you remember thinking, to be without his family. 

He was quite the mystery to you, more so after becoming friends with Tim, his brother who would so rarely mention him. It was when you saw him slouching at the dinner table and arguing with Dick, that your curiosity came back, you couldn’t believe it–he was so handsome, prettier than the newspaper made him look, and so tall, but you remembered Tim… Remembered how upset he got when Hannah Beauchamp asked him for his brother’s telephone number, so all you did was smile and say hello. 

After that you saw Jason more often, always quiet, always bright, but it was still glaringly rare… You never knew when he’d be there, unlike Dick who is unquestionable in his loyalty to family functions, Jason could be everywhere and nowhere all at once. Thus, the only surefire way to see him, is to go to Dick’s birthday, a gathering that Jason always appears at, showing his rare smile and a rare wish to his big brother. 

You can’t be uninvited, you really can’t be… 

“Timmy, you know I love you,” you say, giggling at the way his nose scrunches, “Please let me go with you to Dick’s party? Please please please!! I didn’t mean it, it’s so hard to make fun of you!” 

You know you’ve won when his head tilts, nose sticking straight up like an aristocrat in a children’s novel, you know you’ve won because he sighs into a sweet smile–bringing his hand up to muss your hair. 

“You know I can’t go anywhere without you, Chicken.” At his words you unceremoniously jump at him, encircling him into your grasp and squealing out ‘thank you’s.’ “But,” you groan. “You have to come with me tonight… If I have to hear Damian go on and on about Casseiopeia, you do too.” 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

The party was in full force when you arrived, music blaring, couples kissing, the whole nine; It smelled like sweat and tequila, and fancy perfume, and you wished you could feel this way more often.

Tim doesn’t like going out, doesn’t feel safe bringing you out into the Gotham nightlife–your best friend, sweet and loyal and protective, over his family, over you… You know he’s just looking out for you, but the frustrated sighs and the “that place isn’t safe for a little Chicken like you,” get exhausting. He gets frustrated when you go out by yourself, insistent that your group of girls would be much safer if you guys partied at home, yet he never seems to have a problem if his brothers are there too… more eyes on you, he says when you ask. 

Still, you wouldn’t trade him for the world–how lucky were you, that your best friend cared so much… 

He had gasped when he picked you up, a caricature of your sisters and girlfriends: he squealed and told you he loved your dress, (as if he wasn’t the one who paid for it), a routine that was familiar and warm. He’d driven you both himself, complaining about traffic and assholes who don’t use their blinker, he was telling you about his day and the “insolent” acts Damian committed at school. It was rather nice, just you and Tim listening to shitty pop-punk and laughing, a familiar scene that’s gotten rarer and rarer as his responsibilities have piled on. 

He had squeezed your hand before getting out of the car, smiling at you with earnest eyes and a mischievous grin, and told you: “If Dick’s friend Wally hits on you, tell him I still have the pictures from last summer.” 

You were a ball of nerves in the elevator, stomach dropping as it went up, up, up to the Penthouse, shying away from the stares and whispers that follow Tim around. But now, encased in house music and the saccharine smell of young lust and birthday magic, your anxiety eases and the smile you send your best friend’s way is finally sincere. 

He takes your hand to lead you through the erratic rhythm of dancing bodies, sending dirty looks to men who look at you too long, leading you through the suite like he’s Orpheus on a mission. He doesn’t turn back to smile at you until you’ve reached your destination, the large rooftop patio where the pool lives, here you find Dick–front flipping into the pool fully clothed. His form is perfect, spinning into the water with a ballerina like elegance, a visage so striking against the electronica pumping through the night. 

He comes up for air with far less grace, however, shaking his hair out like a dog and yelling at Kory to join him. When he sees his little brother, his face breaks into the most earth-shattering smile, before he breaks into senseless giggles–telling everyone, “You guys! My baby brother Timmy is here!” 

Tim, a boy who loves his brothers more than anyone except maybe you, grins at the older boy's voice–pulling you along to greet him properly. 

“Happy birthday, Dick!” You tell him, voice raising to be heard over the music and the squealing euphoria of his guests.

“Oh my! Timmy’s little Chicken is here!” Dick’s fondness for you is no surprise, as a professional older brother it is his job to love everyone his siblings love. “Jason! Look who's here!”

It's almost comical how fast you look up, how curious you are to see him, so curious you don’t hear Tim’s sigh or the way his hold on your arm tightens. Like Magic, Jason stands in front of you, leaning against a wall like a poor parody of James Dean. He looks a bit put out, a little annoyed to be interrupted in what looks like a riveting conversation with Roy Harper– a man you’ve only ever met through Tim’s phone on nights when he goes out without you. 

“Hey guys,” He says, friendly enough yet you can’t help but notice how much tenser he looks now that Tim stands before him. “Timmy, I heard you’re taking up more and more roles at Dad’s,” he sounds strained, but it’s obvious that he’s trying. 

“Yeah, our little baby brother is awesome, Bird, but let’s not forget it’s my turn to receive your  compliments.” Dick exclaims, panting a bit from treading water. 

“Yeah, yeah, Dickie, you just gotta wait for it, man.” Jason says, before turning back to Roy, you know at once that their exchange is over, you’re not sure what happened… It seems almost like Tim and Jason fought, niceties were exchanged, yes, but the look in their eyes: exhausted and awkward, says more than the short conversation they shared. 

They get like this sometimes, a phenomenon you don’t quite understand… You’ve witnessed moments where they seem like best friends, joking and joining together in teasing Damian, yet there's other times… Moments like this, when it seems like there's years of separation and frustration between them. 

You can feel Tim pulling you away, his hold on your hand a little tighter than you would like it to be… You can hear Dick yelling at him to stay, ‘the waters nice and warm,’ he yells, yet it's obvious he’s not too worried about it once Kory swims over to him. More than anything you can see Jason, nodding at you from his place against the wall–his drink tipping your way as if to say goodbye. 

You’re still a little confused when Tim drags you back into the suite to dance, finding Conner and Stephanie along the way. The four of you twirl and laugh and drink, the boys spinning you and Steph around and around–passing the two you back and forth until you're dizzy and drunk. Tim’s hands steady you, leading you in a crazy dance the two of you made up junior year, and grinning when you drunkenly tell him you love him. The night is alive, it’s burning with winter yearning and the feeling that you’d never be this young again. How you love your friends, how you wonder what's ailing them. 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

The music is thunderous, eating away at your ear drums and seeping into your bones until your body sings along. You’re not sure what time it is any more, or where Tim went… Your last memory is Conner giving you his jacket before pulling your friend away, a sight that made you giggle and roll your eyes. Steph’s seemed to disappear too, leaving you all alone on the dance floor, swaying in time with the music and whispering jokes to nobody. 

The crowd seems to have gotten bigger and the drinks stronger, a revelation that sends you in search of Tim or Dick, or someone you know. Yet, you can’t find them anywhere, off with Conner and Kory surely, abandoning you with only vodka and an empty chip bowl to keep you company. The party seems lonelier now, the music dull and throbbing in your ears, and all the dancing seems out of rhythm. It’s almost like you’ve stepped out of the faery ring, released yourself from an enchantment, and now everything that was once magic is all wrong. 

That things happening, that thing where you begin to have nostalgia for the moment you’re in, a kind of bittersweetness veiling over your eyelids as you take in the dark room. This happens sometimes, where you get a sudden case of the blues–too much adrenaline, too much happiness for one person, so it comes out as sad. It doesn’t help that you’re all alone, that Tim left you to go kiss Conner and you don’t really know anyone else, not truly–not the way you need to know them for a moment like this. 

You find yourself on the stairs, leaning against the railing as you attempt to regain your balance. The world seems to be spinning, whether it's from the alcohol or all the dancing you’re unsure of, yet the sky seems to be under your feet. You wished Tim was here… he always knew what to do, always knew how to make you laugh when you’re sad and get you home without a scratch… Stupid Conner, you think, stealing your best friend from you when you need him most… typical. 

It's minutes later that you feel someone nudging you awake, shaking you from your place on the stairs. The person's hands are rough and warm and gentle, easing you back into consciousness, accompanied by  whispers of “come on, little one.” 

You don’t feel very good, the alcohol and the sadness filling your throat with the taste of vomit, yet you find it in yourself to look up. Light invades your senses and that same blaring electronica finds a home in your ears again, a repeated refrain of call on me beating into your bones. You find the eyes of the intruder, green like summer; they’re looking down at you in concern, all squinty like a crescent moon. It's not until the song changes that you realize it’s Jason looking at you, your mystery come to find you. 

“Jason?” you ask, your voice covered in sleep and intoxication. “What are you doing here?” 

“I could ask you the same thing, Where’s Timmy?” 

“Off with Conner.” You harrumph, sneering at his name as if they aren’t two of your most treasured friends. 

“And he left you all alone?” He looks a little surprised by this, and a little upset, a combination that will surely keep you up thinking about what it means. 

“Yeah, can you believe that?! He’s a treacherous traitor who betrayed me.” 

“You know, I’m pretty sure all those things mean the same thing.” He laughs a little, and you wish you were sober just so you could really hear him, the fear you feel that you might not remember this fills you with dread. It's so rare that you get to see him, so rare that you get to talk to him without Tim around to make things different and tense… your crush on Jason is not so hidden, a truth that eats at you in moments like this. You’re sure they probably all know, can all see how flustered you get around him, but you’d never act on it–you’d never do anything to hurt Tim, (that includes kissing his brothers), thus you pretend like it doesn’t affect you as much as it does. But here now, with Jason sitting next to you on the stairs, sharing space and oxygen and more words than you’ve ever spoken to each other before, you feel it becoming harder and harder to pretend. 

“Why are you sitting with me, Jason?” You ask him.

‘What?” He replies, eyes wide in shock or maybe confusion. “You’re my little brother’s best friend and you’re asleep on the stairs, why wouldn’t I be sitting with you.” His voice is pure Gotham, it brings a smile to your lips. 

“I see, is it just because I’m Timmy’s best friend.” 

“Are you flirting with me, Casanova?” he laughs, bringing a bottle of water up to his lips. 

“Never ever, Mr. Todd, I swear it, cross my heart.” You can see how he’s smiling, goofier than you’ve ever seen it, less sculpted than the usual smirky grin he wears around his brothers. 

“You’re drunk.” He says, before handing you his bottle of water, “Drink.” He says it like a command, like something you couldn’t say no to even if you tried, so you listen, yet you can’t stop thinking about his lips around it just a few seconds before. It invades your senses– the image of his rosebud lips curling around the top like a kiss… What is a kiss if not two mouths touching? What is a kiss without a kiss? Shared saliva and phantom smiles pressing against your own? 

One of his large hands goes to the bottom of the plastic bottle–tipping it up further as if to get you to drink more, his eyes swallow you, commanding eye contact as the water tumbles down your throat. “That’s a good girl.” He tells you, voice low and pleasing. It’s only when the bottle is empty that he takes his hand away, lowering the bottle from your lips and looking back into the humid party. 

How handsome he is, you think, it’s obvious he dressed up a little more for this than when you usually see him. He’s in all black, slacks and t-shirt displaying some 90s anime, he even has jewelry on: silver rings and heavy chains around his neck… He looks ravishing, like someone should take him home before other people can perceive him. You remember that first time you saw him, that fifteen year old boy on the news who looked like Peter Pan; you remember how you felt when you read that he was missing, if only you could have told yourself you would have found him one day. 

“Jason?” You whisper, “Where did you go?” He’s surprised at the question, that much is obvious, but he doesn’t seem mad, more tired; exhausted by the memory. 

“Neverland.” He whispers back, a response that brings a smile to your lips even though it’s not an answer. 

“What was it like?” 

“Hmm,” he says, thinking about his answer. “Well, it was pretty, there were pirates and mermaids, and little fairy girls like you.” That makes you laugh, a big booming thing that escapes. 

“I’m a little fairy girl, now?” 

“Oh yeah, I saw you spinning earlier… round and round like you were trying to fly.” 

“Well, I’m all out of pixie dust.” You tell him, which brings that goofy smile back to his pretty face. 

He doesn’t say anything else, just sits quietly with you, humming songs he knows and snorting at the drunken antics of Dick’s guests. It’s nice, just sitting with him–there is no need to fill the space, just peace and quiet. Finally, when you’re feeling sober enough to be a little worried by his answer, you ask, “Why’d you leave? I mean what made you come home?” 

It takes him a moment to answer, but when he does it’s full of secrets and saved up sadness, his voice gruff with the memory of it. “I just had to grow up I guess.” 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

Days later you’re still thinking about that conversation on the stairs, how sad he looked… how vulnerable and young he appeared. When Tim finally showed himself, he was shocked to find you with his brother, thanking him over and over again for keeping you company. You remember how Jason smiled, sweet and sleepy, before he said No problem, Timmy, you just get her home safe. It’s less of a memory and more of a dream, like you went off to Neverland too. 

It was difficult to find sleep that night, too shaken and embarrassed by your own behavior… Nerves ate at your brain every time you thought about how natural it was to talk to him, nerves that only got worse when you wake up to a text from an unknown number: 

 ‘Hey, fairy girl, it’s J. just want to make sure you got back alright’ 

It filled you with heat and parasitic flutters in your belly, but you couldn’t answer… couldn’t get over the guilt you felt when imagining Tim’s reaction, no matter how innocent it all was. So you left it alone, didn’t answer him and went on with your day as normal as you could make it: lunches with Tim and group chat gossip with Duke and Stephanie, anything that could distract you from the fire blazing in your veins. 

You were still a little cross with Tim for leaving you all alone, but after making him take you out to breakfast and promise to buy you whatever you wanted for the next week, you thought you’d cut him some slack. He was acting a little weird, he kept making that face that only conjures itself when he’s trying to figure something out, and he repeatedly asked you if Jason said anything interesting to you– a question that has you shaking your head every time.

His words were just for you, you knew that more than you knew anything, so even though it was unfamiliar, you kept it from your best friend. 

It’s been a week since that fateful night, a week full of sleeplessness and butterflies when you thought about his bright eyes and warm hands. You’ve always had a bit of a crush, but now it's stifling–incinerating you with the absolute truth of it. Even here at work it suffocates you, presses down in between the dark archives of old newspapers and preserved textiles. It's just another day of paperwork and organization, studying old books on Cherry Hill in hopes to find something that could help stop the impending gentrification. 

Tim’s on his way with lunch, something Alfred cooked up to be sure, an exciting but slightly unnerving prospect. You’ve never been afraid of your best friend before, but you’ve also never kept a secret from him… you know it's not a big deal, so what if you and Jason had a sleepy drunken conversation at Dick’s birthday party? It wasn’t like you kissed! Hell, his hands barely even touched your skin except to wake you up, yet the fear of hurting Tim is so massive and encompassing you can’t help but feel like you need to hide it. 

You hear him say hello to your coworkers, hear his graceful steps down into the basement, he takes the stairs two at a time. When he finally arrives in front of you, he is jovial–smiling wider than you’ve seen in awhile. He dawdles on, handing you your lunch and telling you about how Alfred made twice the amount so all his kids could have some. It’s nice to hear him speak about his family, you relish in it… how happy he sounds when he speaks of his brothers, Alfred and Stephanie, the smile in his voice when he tells you you’re invited to another Friday Dinner. 

“Barbara and Kory are coming too, you’ll be there, yeah?” 

“Yeah, Definitely,” You tell him, but your heart isn’t in it. Tim notices it, of course he does, but he doesn’t call it out. You’ve been acting strange lately, but he trusts that you’d come to him if you really needed help. He stays until you both finish your lunch, kissing you on the head before he heads back towards the WE building; the guilt creeps back in when he leaves, roots of shaming entangling you like vipers. 

This routine follows you into the week, Tim bringing lunch and stories of Conner and Duke and the mischief they’ve gotten themselves into. Your work kept you busy, working late into the night– the book you found on the Founding of Gotham was interesting, and it was proving to be rather helpful in proving your suspicions that the original City Hall was located in the Cherry Hill suburb of Gotham City. You hoped you’d be able to find all the sources you needed, but it was becoming a bigger and bigger project than you ever realized–a project that was impeding on your life. 

It was late into the afternoon when Jason came to see you, bringing with him a smile and something hidden in his book bag. 

“Knock-knock, Little fairy, can I come in?” He asks you, halting on the last step. It's dark down here, lit only with lamps and reading lights, still he is beautiful–the white streak in his hair curling down over his eyes. He looks rather comfy, wrapped up in a sweater and a leather jacket, his book bag crossing over his chest and falling around his hip. God, he’s lovely, and he’s here… Why is he here? 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, startled by his presence and the life it brings. 

“I wanted to bring you some flowers,” He tells you, a secret smile playing on his lips. You look at his empty hands, a confused grin finding its way to your face. 

“Where are the flowers, Jason?” You laugh, although it halts when that goofy grin emerges again. Looking at you slyly he takes something out from his bag, pulling out a stack of books and handing them to you. Still confused you shuffle the pile to read each title,

 Dandelion Wine, White Oleander, The Chrysanthemums, Daisy Miller, The Secret Garden… 

Oh dear, you think, how sweet is this boy? And why? After you’d ignored his message… 

“Flowers,” he says, tilting his head towards you, that charming smile still living on his face. 

Who is this wonderful, handsome boy? When his brothers speak of him, they describe him as gruff and unlikable–mean and sulky. Yet this Jason is bright and euphoric, sweet and happy and mischievous…

He brought you flowers… flowers that you could keep on your shelf forever; stories of life and sadness and magic. 

“Oh my,” you say, “Thank you, Jason.” 

“Of course, I wanted to make sure you were okay…” He hesitates for a minute before continuing on, “Y’know, you never answered my text and I thought maybe Dickie gave me the wrong number.” 

“Oh, no it was the right number,” you sigh. “I just don’t want Tim to feel weird about the two of us becoming friends…” 

“Are we becoming friends then,” he asks you, eyes brighter than before. He looks so young like this, starry eyed and grinning like he won a blue ribbon. 

“I don’t know, Jason, are we?” 

“I’m inclined to say yes, fairy girl. I don’t steal books from the library for just anyone.” 

Shocked, you turn the books over and sure enough, the library's barcode sits against the hardcover. 

“Jason! What the hell?! You can’t just steal from the library!” You yell, yet all he does is laugh. It’s such a pretty sound, deep and melodious like a song you can’t forget the words to. You wonder how often he really laughs like this, true and belly-full, like he means it. 

“I work at the library, Sugar, don’t worry.” He rasps out, “I’m the person who has to buy the new books anyway… so don’t worry about it.” The pet name rolls off his tongue salaciously, finding its way into your tummy, filling you with warmth and a vision of him at Gotham City Public Library. You’re not sure how you never knew, how you never saw him there in your late night book runs for your work. It fills you with fondness and makes your smile somehow brighter than it already was. 

“Well, thank you anyway, J.” You tell him. “Really, no one's ever given me flowers before.” 

When his eyes meet yours the floor shakes beneath you, destabilizing you into nervous fidgeting and shy smiles. You can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe your mystery is standing in front you–vulnerable and handsome and smiling. He brought you flowers… God, what are you going to tell Tim? 

You see he’s getting ready to leave, so you ask (quicker than you thought possible,) “Do you wanna stay for a while? I’m just reading through some sources, but it might be better with company?” The smile he gives you is serendipitous, magical and dreamlike. 

He stays with you long into the night, reading all the left pages as you read the right and sharing his own suspicions. He mentions books at the library that might be useful, and tells you how cool he thinks what you’re doing is, he smiles the whole time. It's late when you finish, yawning and blinking away the strain, he looks more and more like that school picture you once fawned over– young and happy, Peter Pan. 

He insists on walking you home, leading you through the still busy Gotham Streets with a hand grazing your back and a watchful eye on the city. Every once in a while he stops to make sure you’re going the right way, and to ask if you’re still alright, a question that brings a smile to your lips and goosebumps on your skin. 

When you finally make it home, skin bitten cold and his jacket hanging off your shoulders, he smiles faintly at you, bringing his hand up to push a loose strand of hair back behind your ear. 

As he turns to leave he tells you, 

“Don’t forget to get those flowers in some water, see you Friday,” And with the way your heart stops, you know you’re doomed. 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

Tim Drake is lots of things, but a fool is not one of them. He sees how different Jason is acting during patrol: stumbling over ledges and pulling out the wrong gun. He’s been weird since Dick’s party, quicker to smile and more interested in you than ever before… he remembers seeing Jason try to covertly listen to the Comm when Dick asked Tim how you were,

 “How’s Chicken Little doing, Timmy?” 

But before he could answer, Damian swiftly responded: 

“She doesn’t like it when you guys call her that, can’t you see her nose scrunch up in disgust? Honestly you’re all a bunch of buffoons.” 

Tim, however offended he might be at Damian thinking he knows you better than him, couldn’t help but focus on Jason instead. His face might be covered by his mask, yet his body language is unmistakable–he’s more interested than he should be. 

“Might I remind all of you, she is off limits, do not disturb, dead end… I will kill you and send your entrails to Lex Luthor to make some weird clone of you if you even think about it.” This message is for all of them, but you’d have to be stupid to not realize it was really only for Jason–Dick and Kory have been basically engaged since they were 20 and Damian still drinks bug juice for God’s Sake… the only other person it could be is Duke, but if the gagging sounds he’s making over the comm mean anything, he doesn’t need to be worried. 

Nobody says anything for a second, laughter from Dick and Duke creeping in through his ear piece, yet it all stops when Jason speaks up for the first time that night. 

“You know, you really should let her make her own decisions… She’s not a little girl.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean, Hood?” Tim asks, getting actually truly angry for the first time. There’s a reason why he tried to keep you to himself in the beginning of your friendship, he knows you think it’s because he didn’t want you to date his brothers, but really he didn’t want to have to share another thing. So much of his life belongs to his family, he just wanted one thing to belong to him. 

“Don’t get angry, please, Birdie?” Jason replies, there's no heat in it, just exhaustion. 

“What. Do. You. Mean? Hood?” Tim says again, getting more and more frustrated by the minute. 

“I just mean she’s a grown up, and she should be allowed to talk to whoever she wants to, even if it weirds you out.” 

It strikes Tim as something that wouldn’t bother him if it was about anyone but you, if it was Steph or Bart or Cassie, it wouldn’t have mattered. But it is you, the first friend he’s had that's entirely his own–you’re his best friend in the entire world, the person he loves the most, and he doesn’t need anyone, especially not Jason Todd, telling him how he should act with you. 

“Keep your advice to yourself, Red Hood,” Tim barks out to his brother, yet there's a piece of him that's thinking about what he said, a voice in the back of his head that tells him maybe he should listen. 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

When Tim calls you to tell you not to come to family dinner, you can’t help but be confused and a little hurt. Sure, he said he’d just come over to yours instead, but the thought that someone was upset with you, or worse that Tim used his brilliant brain to suss out your crush before you could tell him, and now he’d never let you back around his brothers again, whittled its way into your heart and wouldn’t let go. 

You never wanted to do anything that would hurt Tim, he’s the person who you trust most in the world, the only person you could say confidently that you would kill or be killed for. You love him, infallibly and wholly, and thinking that he might be hurt by something you’ve done, even as innocent as a couple moonlit conversations with his brother, consumes you into a hellmouth of anxiety. 

He arrives at seven, the time he said he’d pick you up for family night, but instead of meeting you at your door, he barrels in. There’s a wild look in his eyes, a look you’ve only seen once– when your Philosophy 204 professor fell over and began to aspirate through a seizure–it’s painful and worried, and you wonder what's making him so upset now. However, when you ask, all he does is shake his head, almost like he’s trying to shake out the worries, pound them out like water in your ears. He looks beyond you, into your kitchen and his sighs become heavier and more sporadic, did he run here? 

“I’m trying to figure something out,” He tells you, his voice kinder than his body language made it seem like it would be, yet you’re not surprised–in the five years of being his friend, he’s never once raised his voice at you. 

“Okay, what's up?” You ask, anxious. 

“Are you and Jason in love? Are you having some sort of gross affair?” 

“What?!” You exclaim, sure you have a crush on Jason, and yes you think it would be quite easy to fall in love with him, but come on… Two conversations and childhood crush don’t suddenly turn into an affair. 

“Don’t “what” me, Chicken! I have Jason telling me to treat you like a grown up and now I walk in here and his jacket is hanging from my chair… MY CHAIR!” He says, shocking a laugh out of you, “The chair I sit in, god what has life come to?” 

“Timmy, we’re not having an affair, he just walked me home after bringing me something at work.” You approach him like a snake tamer, slow and kind in your steps–the same steps you saw the zoo keeper take the last time you and Tim brought Damian to Gotham Zoo. 

“But you like him?” He asks, suspicious and guarded. You can’t tell what’s happening in his head, can’t seem to read his mind like you usually can, so instead you let your hands fall onto his shoulders–fingers splaying out to run through the hair on his neck. 

“Yes,” You say, quiet as a mouse. “Is that okay?” 

Tim lets his head fall into your tummy, blowing out a big gasp of air into your shirt, which makes you laugh and push him away. 

“Of course it’s okay, Chicken… I just want you to be happy.” He sighs, “I just don’t really know if you will be happy with him… my brother he’s,” He hesitates, thinks about how he should say this without ruining anything, before he continues: “Jay’s complicated, what happened fucked him up… really bad. And I love you, more than him, more than anyone–you’re my girl. I don’t want you to feel trapped in a bad situation, and feel like you can’t come to me cause he’s my brother… I’ll always be on your side.” 

You smile and let out what feels like all the air in your lungs. How you love your stupid, silly, best friend, as if Jason would ever make you feel trapped and horrible when all he ever wants to do is be free? 

“You don’t have to worry about me, Timmy, I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.” The nickname makes him smile, brings him back to college when all you guys would do was watch Chicken Little and drink bottled sweet tea, when you’d call him Timmy and beg him to let you prank call his dad. Yet, the sentiment makes him sad, how are you a big girl if you’re both still just kids? He doesn’t feel that grown up yet. 

“That’s what he said you know,” He replies. “Just, why didn’t you tell me?” He’s watching you, looking at you in that way that makes you spill all your secrets, so you tell him, 

“I didn’t want to upset anyone, and I don’t know if he even likes me back, so..” 

“Are you crazy?! Of course he likes you, my brother hates literally every single person he interacts with other than Alfred, yet he’s coming to your work to surprise you? Come on.” He’s laughing though it sounds a little pained. It does little to comfort your swirling thoughts. You’re so happy Tim’s not angry, so happy that he’s not throwing you onto the curb like you expected, but he still seems so sad. 

You wish you could swaddle him up and make everything okay, promise that you’d never stop being friends, make sure he knows that you’re not going away–that all of this is a little dramatic for a little crush. 

“Are you okay, Timmy? With the chance that something might happen between me and Jason?” 

“Yeah, Chickadee, just…” he sighs, “Don’t forget what I said, okay? About him being complicated.” You nod, but before you can say anything, he speaks up again. “And, Chicken? Remember our pact about getting married for taxes… it’s you and me spending our afterlives together, not you and Jason.” 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

You wake the next morning a bundle of limbs and sleepy energy, Tim is barely conscious next to you and the apartment smells faintly of cheetos and ramen; you’d spent the night watching Avatar: The Last Airbender and reminiscing about the good old days. You told him about everything that's happened with Jason, starting from that first sight of his missing poster and ending with the bouquet of books. He was obviously a little grossed out to be talking about his brother in this way, but it felt good to see you so giggly and happy. 

He’d felt bad for making you skip out on family night, a feeling of guilt that shook in his bones as his father and eldest brother texted him about skivving out on family bonding. But, he wouldn’t go back to change it, he was so afraid he was going to lose you, that you’d get tired of him and make friends with other people, that having this night with you was well worth all the lectures he was going to have to put up with. 

He’s watching you now, anxious and blushing, and he can’t help but feel in awe of you–his pretty best friend, really crushing on someone for the first time. Some part of him is glad that person is Jason, at least then he won’t feel too bad about breaking his nose if he starts any shit with you. 

“Everythings gonna be okay,” He says, using your first name in a rare scene of seriousness. 

“Yeah, I know.” You tell him. “I just, don’t wanna ruin anything.” 

“You know, he’s working today… might wanna bring him some flowers.” 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

The library is alive, warm and inviting like a lover’s embrace. It smells like parchment and dust and clorox wipes, a combination that instantly brings you back to school–elementary crushes and schoolyard gossip. 

There’s not very many people here, too early on a school day for anyone to really be finding solace between the aisles, but you see him. Jason sits behind the front desk, wiry glasses settled on his nose and a book in his lap. He hasn’t noticed you yet, too absorbed in his work to really be paying attention. For a minute, you just stand and admire him–this mysterious creature who walked into your life and never left. All these feelings are brand new and ancient… romantic and friendly, respect and admiration. It would all be so easy, with him–to lose yourself in love and friendship–you want it so badly. 

You can see it so vividly, waking up with him and spending nights intertwined, reading together and researching maniacally. Falling for him is easy, loving him will be hard you know, but seeing him now: pretty and warm in the afternoon light makes the decision rather easy. 

“I’d like to return some books,” you say once you’ve reached him, startling him out of his reverie. 

He can’t believe it’s you, beautiful and bright–like a protagonist out of an Austen novel. He thought he’d never be allowed near you again, thought he ruined it all by bringing you up to Tim, but here you were–lovely like the morning. You’re carrying books, flowers, and your smile is starlight. 

“Well, right this way, Ma’am.” He tells you, once he finds his voice. “I didn’t realize you could replant flowers after you’ve picked them.” He’s teasing you, but really he’s not sure why you’ve brought the books back–is it a way to let him down? Or are you just returning the favor? 

He leads you into the back, unprofessional sure, but he needs to be alone with you. You’re so anxious, he can tell… he needs to be able to reach out and feel you. 

“I just felt like you deserved flowers too, Jay.” You tell him, sweet and lovely like always. 

“Hmm, well I refuse them… they’re all yours, I already replaced them.” His eyes are mischievous again, burning with joy as they stare into yours. You’re reminded of that night on the stairs, when he made you drink water and burned you alive. 

“I talked to Tim,” You tell him, watching as his smile drops. 

“Let me guess, he told you I’m bad news and doesn’t want you around me, right?” He asks, rough with the hurt of past bruises. 

“Actually, he told me you’re bad news but he’s trusting me to be able to handle it.” Jason looks surprised, his summer green eyes wide with shock. He guessed he never really thought Tim would be okay with it… 

He remembers seeing you for the first time: soft and gorgeous in the lowlight of the manor, he was sitting with Damian and remembers how the breath shot out of his lungs at the sight of you. Dami’s been teasing him about it for years now, bringing you up to piss Tim off and making plans for you to bring him to the planetarium on days when Jason said he’d pick him up–like a goddam parenttrap. He thinks back to that night on the stairs a few weeks ago, you looked so pretty spinning around with your friends, like Thumbelina. When he found you on the stairs he was panicked: worried about you and worried about Tim who never left your side, but you were still just so pretty. 

He can’t believe you here now, bringing him flowers and his brother’s approval. He’s waited for this for so long, for the okay from the one person dearest to you, the one person who could make Jason actually care about listening to him. 

“He really said that?” Jason asks you, hesitant and careful like he’s worried you’re playing a joke on him. 

“He really said that,” You reply, laughing when Jason pulls you into a hug. He holds you for a few minutes, feels the air in your lungs press into his belly as you breathe in and out, it feels so good to have you here, to know that he’s not making anything worse by wanting you. 

“So that means you’ll go out with me then, fairy girl?” he asks you, his rough fingers moving up to grasp your chin, tilting it up so you’re looking into his eyes. He waits for you to nod, then waits for the word, yes, to emerge from your pretty lips, before lowering down to kiss your forehead. He feels you sigh, feels your hands shake from their place on his arms, his kisses move down down down until they meet the corner of your lips. You're smiling slightly, like you’re having a happy dream, and when he kisses you for real that smile becomes a big grin. 

It’s all teeth and laughter and the awkwardness of a first kiss, but Jason holds you up and lets you gasp into his mouth and swallows your sighs. He licks into your mouth and clashes his teeth against yours and calls you his fairy, his magic girl come to take him back to Neverland. He holds you tighter and tighter, and feels you shake under his affection, how lovely it is, how badly he wants to make your bones rattle. 

“I’ll bring you more flowers on our date, sugar.” He tells you, kissing the underside of your jaw, before pulling away. He’s sad he has to let you go, frustrated that he has to stay at work while you get to go and hang out with Tim and Damian at the Museum all day, but the kiss you press into his hand–innocent and earnest–makes it worth it. 

He leads you out of the back room and into the well-lit main entrance, pausing only to grab his book from the front desk. “By the way, I found this while I was stacking shelves, I thought it might be useful for your project.” 

In his hands is a book titled Gotham City’s Founding Buildings, and on the cover, miraculously an illustration of Cherry Hill. 

It’s too easy to fall in love with him, you think again, smiling as you pull him into another kiss.

[sparrows4bats]

So, I love the idea that Damian tries to hide his relationship with Jon. Not for any neferarious reason, he just doesn't want his family and the overprotective loon that is Dick Grayson in his business, and Jon agrees because he is convinced Batman will make an exception to his no kill rule.

The boys decide they want to keep it private for a while so they can figure out how to be in a relationship without outside pressure and expectation.

To accomplish this, Damian tells 3 people.

The first is Alfred, obviously. The Butler knew he was in love with his best friend before he did.

The next is Cassandra because Damian knows he can not hide anything from her, and any secretive endeavour in this family will need her co-operation.

The last bat he tells is Duke because he is pretty chill and helps Damian come up with excuses and escapes to see Jon, and for some reason, no one questions him.

They have close calls such as the time Dick notices him wearing a Metropolis Jersey or that time Jon stayed over and almost got caught by Jason the next morning.

Luckily, he can fly fast enough that no one notices his missing shirt when Jon literally jumps out the window in panic.

Stephanie starts to get suspicious when Damian comes back from 'errands' giddy and smiling.

But overall, it's been peaceful, and Damian finds himself falling in love in the quiet moments he and Jon snatch together.

It's not without its issues, especially when people start trying to flirt with either of them. Jon almost loses it in the Watchtower when another hero asks Damian out right in front of him.

Jon all but drags his boyfriend to his side for the rest of the meeting.

They decide to tell their families when they move in together in a few weeks because Damian really is running out of excuses to go to Metropolis.

They have speeches prepared and dinner reservations, and Damian even hid the kryptonite.

It's a plan.

Unfortunately, they forgot to factor in Talia.

Damians mother shows up one evening and barges into the Batcave in a fury.

"Damian Thomas Al Ghul Wayne!"

Damian pales "Mama?"

Talia crosses her arms "Am I your mother? Don't you tell your mother important things Damian?"

Damian gulps. "Mama I was just-"

But Talia is having it. "You are engaged and didn't bother to introduce him to your mother!"

The rest of the bats start shouting questions at Damian as well. Dick is clutching his pearls while Stephanie is shaking in excitement over potential gossip.

Damian is gaping at his mother now. "We're not engaged!"

Talia raises a brow. "Don't lie, the Super bought a ring!"

Damian feels his brain melt out his ear while he hears Steph shout, "You're dating Jon!"

His father is scarily quiet.

All of his siblings are screaming now, save Cassandra and Duke, who are smirking.

They are interrupted by a blue blur entering the cave.

Jonathan Kent is suddenly on one knee in front of a very red Damian.

He takes a moment to glance at Talia. "Thanks for ruining the suprise."

The woman tsks remarkably similar to her son, but Jon doesn't pay her any mind all his focus on his wonderful boyfriend.

"Day, I swear I had a way better plan than this, but I love you and can't imagine a world without you at my side. Will you Marry me?"

Damian grabs him in a kiss while says yes over and over again.

And despite the suprise, the cave is silent while they take in the scene until Talia starts talking about a League combat ritual he will have to complete before the engagement is approved while Bruce listens intently beside her.

Steph starts interrogating Cass while Dick and Jason start looking for the hidden kryptonite.

Damian and Jon ignore them lost in their own little world until another blur enters the cave.

"Jonathan Samuel Kent!"

[cigsaftsx]

GUILTY CONSCIENCE

namgyu x f!reader

inspired by anonymous request!

Synopsis: You & Namgyu were together for just over a year. A rocky relationship however. His addictions being the main reasons for this - and you had reached your limit eventually. You threw his shit out of your apartment and him along with it. He would show at your door every night - begging. But after a while, he stopped. Only a few months later, you sign up for the games but you instantly regret it when you see the familiar face of your very recent ex boyfriend.

warnings: toxic behaviour, sexual tension, sexual content/ nsfw, mentions of violence, rough content - punishment, mentions of death & threats.

You didn’t believe in hell, the devil or the consequences of sin. You lived in blissful ignorance.

Though your beliefs were tested after a game of Red light Green light.

People shot dead like cattle. Without mercy or chance. It without a doubt terrified you. This was not worth the money you so desperately needed.

During that, you hadn’t noticed him. Namgyu. Your ex. It had been a few months now so it was still fresh. Only a month ago had he stopped showing up at your door in the middle of the night - pleading for you, for your forgiveness. One night he even begged you for your pussy — you remember watching him through the keyhole, how he clung to the door, muttering against it ‘fuck, i miss you - please, baby - fuck, even your pussy. that fuckin’ pussy — c’mon, open up - you know I can make it up to you.’

You knew better than to give in, although he begged so sweetly. And, oh, how you wanted to take him back - but your anger had outweighed your pity. You’d long had enough of how his loyalty lay with his addiction more than you. Acting like his carer, a babysitter - your self respect knew better than that.

Your senses had been so blinded during the first game that you hadn’t seen him - but he saw you. Shaking and crouching down behind the player in front of you as you all formed lines of protection. His gaze set on you most of the game despite his own stress. Perhaps you being there had gave him the push he needed to get through it.

As soon as you leaped across the finish line, you fell with a thud. The impact knocking a gust of wind out of you. You sat, legs bent as your hands laid palm flat on the floor - heavy pants ripping out of your chest as the after shock set in. Tears burnt the edge of your eyes - but you can’t blink, so they don’t fall. Only when the game ends do you look around at the rest of who had made it - there was still a lot of you, but there was a significant loss. Your eyes glaze through the crowd, until they land on him. He’s staring at you across the field, stood there, his expression almost blank - but a longing laid behind his eyes. A shock that you were there, and a relief that you had made it.

You both remain like that for a moment - acknowledging each other.

Till you come to your senses - remembering how it had been, and that anger slowly slips back - so you rip your eyes away, inhale a sharp breath and force yourself to stand.

You intended to stick by your word.

You and him were over. You only hoped that your current situations didn’t pull you back together.

You headed back to the main hall. It’s sickeningly quiet as everyone climbs the stairs - no doubt in fear and shock. You’d never seen someone die before - in that way, so brutally. A million questions ripping through your head as you keep your eyes pinned to the floor. Was there a way out? How many games are there? And how long would you last until your luck would run out. You could die here.

You feel a tug on your sleeve, the weight causing you to stumble down a step as you whip your head around.

Namgyu looks up at you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He says, clutching to your sweaters sleeve. You try to tug your arm away but his grip is too tight. Players start moving around you both to carry on up the stairs.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You hiss, challenging him.

He shifts his footing, swallowing a hard lump in his throat. You both knew the answers. You both needed the money. Although he hadn’t expected you to be in a place like this - playing for money. He remembers how you would scold him for gambling. Yet here you are.

His silence lets you realise that this place wasn’t actually out of character for him, so asking him now seemed a little silly. You are both aware of his greed — how he blows through his savings for a score. You exhale, yanking your arm hard enough so that your sleeve leaves his grip properly this time.

“I have bills. Outstanding ones.” You explain, turning away to continue up the stairs. He’s quick to catch up, walking at your side like a lost puppy.

“Listen — we’ve been played. These fuckers are killing people — like this is some SAW movie level shit, so we gotta stick together, yeah?” He says, eagerly, almost pleading with you as his hand comes up to grip your sweaters material. You could laugh in his face if you weren’t so sick to your stomach with what you had just witnessed. You simply shake your head, keeping your eyes ahead.

“You don’t know anyone here, right? So you’ve only got me. Let’s just —"

You cut him off before he gets the chance to continue, snapping your head to him.

“Are you fucking dumb?” You snap, glaring at him.

“We’re split, Namgyu — over. Okay? I have no intention of rekindling that, especially not here — not when my life’s at risk.” You come across mean, you can admit that. But for him to be so clingy and caring now? After everything? Yeah, it pisses you off.

He glares at you.

“So let’s just - not. Okay? Leave me the fuck alone.” You finish, staring into his eyes for a moment before turning away and heading up the stairs one by one. Your heart aches — as though seeing him now had brought all your old feelings back. You knew your feelings for him hadn’t gone, not really. But you have to stay strong - for yourself, for your own respect. You figured you had to keep a clear head to survive this and being around him wouldn’t help that.

“Fucking cunt.” He mutters, loud enough for you to hear.

You whip your head over your shoulder at him - he’s smiling. Not a nice smile, but one of those smiles he’d pull when you would once argue. A bitter smile. An evil one. You don’t even bother to reply, so you turn back and continue up. An argument deemed pointless.

When it came to voting, you felt relieved. The idea that there could be a way out was like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You only hope everyone else shares the same mindset - surely they would? But that concept left your head whirling when people voted for O. Your stomach twisting — unbearably so, an anxiety you couldn’t just ignore as the pace of your heart batters against your chest. They were taking the lead. And as Namgyu approached the podium and hit O without any hesitation? Your jaw fell slack. Though you didn’t feel so surprised. Just sick. Sick of him. Your eyes follow him as he heads over to the O side of the arena, standing next to Thanos who you were vaguely familiar with. Namgyu had spoken about him to you before - rather passionately at that - you remember telling him not to get involved. Of course, he hadn’t listened.

When your turn came, you stood there for a moment, staring down at the buttons. You really needed the money. But was it enough to risk your own life? You shudder at the intensity of the choice. You hear a little whistle from behind you so you turn and Namgyu is staring at you, smiling darkly. He makes an O shape with his hands as though to sway your choice. That was enough for you to whip around and bring your fist down onto X.

You take the badge and strap it to your chest.

You wanted out.

You don’t even spare him a glance as you head to opposite side. He watches you all the way there, jaw visibly clenching in frustration.

O still won the vote.

The hall was quiet when it came to dinner. You kept to yourself, sat on your bottom bunk as you looked down at the serving. Sweet potato and water. That was it. Despite not having the appetite, you settle on keeping your strength up. You reluctantly take the potato and sink backward till your back hits the wall of your bunk. A soft sigh escaping you as you take a bite.

Your eyes flicker over to Namgyu’s group. They’re all taking, plotting probably. But Namgyu is staring at you. He felt bad about calling you a fucking cunt — kind of. More so like he is kicking himself, knowing that wouldn’t be the way to win you over and as soon as he sees you looking, he gets up. You’re quick to avert your gaze back down to your food, burying your head. You know he’s coming over, but you pray he doesn’t. You just take another bite - your face heating up, not wanting another confrontation.

You only hear his foot falls coming closer and stopping at the edge of your bed.

You don’t look up.

He knocks on the metal frame of your bed. As though knocking on a door. You squeeze your eyes shut before looking up at him, he’s leaning his forearms on the overhead of the bunk beds frame. Food box in hand.

Your annoyed glare is enough for him to bring his hands up into a surrender pose.

“Easy, baby — I come in peace.” He mocks, the slight grin on his face making you grimace.

“Go awa—“ He sits down on your bed with an exaggerated exhale before you can tell him to leave. You huff, pulling your legs upward and away from him, eyes rolling as he gets comfy, crossing his legs boyishly.

He places down his food box between you, his potato untouched. You stare at it before your eyes flicker up to him.

He’s smiling proudly, nodding down at the food before nudging the box toward you.

“Eat.”

You frown. “I already have.”

“Then eat more. I saved mine for you.” He picks up the potato and holds it in front of your face, nodding his chin toward it as though enticing you to have a bite. Was this really his idea of apologising? Some weak attempt at winning you over? You wouldn’t fall for it. Though inside? You’d love to lean over and take a sweet bite, all the while keeping your eyes on his. To tease, but you shrug the thought away. You’re over, you remind yourself.

“What is this? A peace offering?” You mock, harshly.

Namgyu’s arm slacks slightly, his elbow coming to rest on the bed though he keeps his hand upward with the potato in his grip. Almost giving in, but he’s not so easily defeated. He likes the chase, admittedly. Though his patience isn’t his strong suit.

“Call it what you want. I’m being kind, aren’t I?” He says, his tone sort of defeated, his smile faltering ever so slightly. You don’t say anything, dumbfounded by his stupidity. His full smile comes back then, convinced that your silence means you’re coming round to him. He extends his arm fully again.

“See? Now drop the bitch act and have some. I know you want to.”

You figure you’re still hungry. But you wouldn’t give into him so easily. You swat his wrist away from your face, the potato falling from his grip and rolling away onto the floor. You both watch it go. You didn’t exactly intend to discard the food like that - to dirty it on the floor, but you figure it would help get your point across. He looks back at you, smile gone - mouth agape. You look back.

“Fuck off.” Is all you say.

You look back down and unscrew the lid of your water cockily, bringing it to your lips but it splatters over you when he smacks it out your grip - then leaning forward to twist his grip into your sweater - pulling your toward him. You grip his wrist with both hands as you come face to face with him. Alas, you knew his patience was hanging thin. You took some pleasure in that.

“What do I gotta do, hm?” He hisses out, close enough that shouting wasn’t necessary. A pleading laced his tone - almost desperate and it reminds you of he would beg outside your door of a night time.

“Tell me — What? You wanna hear me say sorry? Hm?” He tugs on your sweater a few times. You just stare at him. He had been a shitty boyfriend. An apology would be nice — but you knew that wouldn’t cut it. Not at all. You’re not frightened or intimidated in the slightest - in fact, hearing him like this washes a sense of longing over you which you wished would go away. It would be so much easier to hate him. Spit in his face and call him a loser. Curse him. Push him away. But you don’t. You just watch him, your eyes flickering into both his eyes.

He stares back, his face a frustrated scowl.

A few moments pass like that and he visibly calms down. Eyes dropping downward. He unlaces his hand from your sweater and you thinks he’s done until he places his palm firmly on the side of your neck. Fingers groping the back of your head. The placement alone felt familiar to a threat. You swallow hard. A shaky exhale leaves him, the warmth of it fanning your face from the proximity.

“Here’s what’s ‘gonna happen.” He says, nodding to himself with his eyes shut. Though he’s talking to you, it also looks like he’s talking to himself - like he’s confirming the plan in his own head.

You only glare quietly, almost a little worried for what he’s about to say.

“In the next game, whatever it is — you’re with me.” He opens his eyes. They’re dark, menacing - but keen. Almost protective and extremely demanding.

“You’re also gonna press O for me tomorrow, aren’t you? Not like you did today — pressing X like a fucking traitor.”

You go to shake your head no but he stills your head with his grip and nods yes.

“Yes. You are.” He says firmly. A sly smile creeping onto his expression. You’re too tired to argue, so you let him have this. You know inside that come tomorrow? You won’t be anywhere near him. You feel strong inside knowing that. Knowing you can take that power from him. But for now? Play the game. So you stay silent.

“I’m gonna take care of you.” He continues. He speaks so confidently and proud. As though in his head he feels like he’s wooing you. His grip on your face loosens and he pats your cheek condescendingly. Before you know it he’s swinging his legs off the side of your bed and standing up - leaning forward to rest his forehead against the frame, looking down at you.

“You know where I am if you get cold in the night.” He drawls, as he runs his eyes down your figure before they snap back to your eyes. You can’t deny the flutter in your stomach when he says that, and a soft little exhale pushes through your lips as you glare upward to him.

He smiles, and steps backward a few times — looking proud before he spins around to walk back over to his group.

Once he’s a fair distance away, you let the breath you’d held escape.

By the next day you had managed to avoid him all morning. Stayed out of sight - even switched to a bed further away from your old one so he’d be confused.

And even better, come the next game - the six legged pentathlon? You’d already wormed your way into a nice group before he could even get near you. You could hear him pleading with Thanos to keep one space available in their group while he looked for you and it didn’t take him long to find you standing with a bunch of strangers. He paces over to you, frowning.

“Been lookin’ for you all morning, let’s go.” He grabs your sweater and goes to pull you but you yank your arm back.

“I have a group.” You say sternly.

Namgyu eyes the group and scoffs a laugh. “Please. These fuckin’ losers?”

You cross your arms, clearly standing your ground. His jaw flex’s sternly, and before he goes to say anymore, Thanos calls for him.

“Nam-Su! We got a full team - move your ass!” Namgyu doesn’t look over, his sight still harshly trained down into you - viper like. You can’t help but smile at Thanos getting his name wrong.

“Go on, Nam-su.” You tease.

He grinds his teeth - annoyed that you picked up on that. It’s one of his biggest pet peeves. Instead of arguing, he steps backward and turns on his heel, heading back. Shooting you a glare over his shoulder as he does. You knew that you’d hear what he has to say later. But for now, you needed focus.

As people played in the groups, the crowds of the players slowly began to celebrate them. Shouting and encouraging them - and it felt wonderful. During this, your team had befriended another. Gi-Hun’s team. Both your teams celebrating together as the playing teams won each individual game. And it was quick how friendly you and Dae-Ho became. Clutching onto one another in rejoice when other teams actually passed the game.

Namgyu, however, seethes in rage as he watches you cling to Dae-Ho’s arm when you yell in thrill. Thanos bumps his shoulder into Namgyu’s.

“Hey — bro, isn’t that your ex señorita?” He quips, eyeing you - frantic mid high.

Namgyu doesn’t reply, glaring ahead.

“Shit, it is. Bro — that’s crazy disrespectful, bro. Shit — look at the way she’s clinging onto that guy.” Thanos continues, not helping Namgyu’s obvious frustration. In fact it only fuels him. Dangerously. This was his limit.

You watched Namgyu’s team then. Finding yourself hoping they’d pass, annoyingly. Yes. Yours and his situation was very rocky - bordering toxic. Yet deep down, your feelings still remained. Rather strongly. You pushed him away only in the hopes that it’d be easier to get over him. And obviously, the last thing you wanted was him dead.

They passed, and you breathed a sigh of relief.

Your team then passed with flying colours too. The occasional stumble but you had made it and as you head back to the hall, you can’t help but think about Namgyu. You’re just glad he’s okay, nothing more, you tell yourself. You had to keep strong against him. Against your own mind.

You gnaw at your lip though — remembering you would have to deal with him once you’re back. Your disobedience earlier would be an issue for him.

You decide to avoid him and stick with your group until the next vote rolled around.

They call your number up and make sure not to spare him a glance. You decided the cold way was the best way.

You press X.

You suspect you’d get an ear full from him eventually.

But surprisingly, he didn’t try for the rest of the evening. Maybe because you were sat with your new friends, or maybe because he’d truly given up — that your coldness toward him had shooed him away. Either way, as hard as it is, you feel a relief. That you don’t have to worry about him hanging over your shoulder any more.

So you head to bed at peace.

You wake at some point however. It’s dark — only the sound of breathing and an occasional snore was all that could be heard. Everyone sleeping. You squeeze your eyes shut and roll over. Then roll over again. Trying to get back to sleep felt impossible. You roll onto your back with a huff - staring up at the ceiling, reaching up to rub your eye when you feel the texture of long dried blood on your face still. Probably from the first game.

The thought of it still being on you makes your stomach churn so you roll out of bed and pace toward the door — knocking twice — a moment passes. A pink guard answers.

“I need the bathroom.” Is all you whisper. They grant you the access.

You hadn’t noticed Namgyu trailing not far behind.

You’re very precious about your hygiene. In here, it isn’t a concept. Not respected. So as you look into the bathroom mirror, you grimace at the sight of old blood scattered across your face. Wasting no time on running the tap and scrubbing yourself clean of it. Once you’re done, you only sigh, gripping the sinks counter as you look into the mirror.

You need to go home.

Dropping your head as a tear brims your eyes — having a moment alone meant time to think — reflecting on the actual weight of this situation. Thinking about your family — friends.

You miss them.

How you had taken them for granted so.

You sniff and dry your tears and face with your palms, combing your fingers through your hair frantically until you look reasonably put together. The last thing you wished for was to look weak.

With a heavy sigh you looked upon yourself again and nodded - trying to encourage yourself. You push your weight off the sink and head back toward the door. You open it.

And there’s Namgyu, waiting.

Looking erratic and unkept. Your mind races for a moment — quickly deciding this was a bad situation and instinctively you slam the door in his face. He’s quick to react though, pushing against it — wedging his body through the remaining gap.

He’s a lot stronger than you.

And he overpowers you with ease, slamming the door open - causing you to stumble backward into the bathroom. Your eyes blow wide — scared. He fucking followed you here in the dead of night. Had he been awake the whole time — watching you? Waiting for the perfect opportunity?

“Hey, you fuck.” He seethes, taking a few steps in before slamming the door behind him. It was the only way out and now he’s blocking it. Leaving you with no options. You continue a few more steps backward before you buck it toward a bathroom stall with the hopes of locking yourself in. But he’s too fast. It’s merely a second before you feel him twist a fist into your hair and yank you backward - falling into him. You cry out, helpless — but not quite as you seize the opportunity to bring an elbow backward and into his gut — hard.

You hear an oof noise gust out of his mouth and he releases his grip momentarily. That hurt him, you note. You turn and he’s clutching his stomach, hurdled over so you step around him fast — making it toward the door as you yank it open desperately with a cry.

His hand shoots out next to your head — palm flush against the door, slamming it shut. Caging you in.

“You fucking traitor —" He says into your ear, his tone different — more erratic and frantic, emphasising the word traitor. Sounding how he would when he’d come home late at night, high. But he couldn’t be high. Surely? Then you think about Thanos. His reputation makes you question whether he smuggled something in.

“Namgyu—“ You choke out, about to plead with him until he yanks your body around to face him — shoving your back against the door.

“Look at me when you use my fucking name.”

You look up at him, your expression showing worry — unsure of his intent. A silent plea glosses your eyes as your chest heaves heavily.

He peers down at you like a predator to prey. A line of sweat across his forehead, his hair messed and greasy — curtaining his face.

“Did you enjoy yourself today?” He asks sarcastically, a sickening grin forming on his face as he grips your jackets collar with both hands.

“Get the fuck off me.” You hiss - gripping at his wrists to give yourself some stability in his clutches. You raise your chin up at him to show whatever bravery still remained in you. He breathily laughs at that. He’s reached his limit now, remaining patience he had has finally spanned out of control - gone. He’s like an electric wire - snipped in half, whirling and sizzling.

He makes a sad awww noise lowly, as though to mock you - pouting his lips out as if to feel sorry for you. “I tried to play nice, y/n.” Namgyu whines out childishly, a hand coming around the back of your neck to hold there firmly. You try to resist his clutches but he’s too demandingly strong - his other hand coming to pet the side of your face.

“But you didn’t want to — What? Was me being sweet to you not good enough?” He continues with his tone, as though he were speaking you as if you’re lower than him — his childish and condescending tone being enough to irritate you beyond. Yet you can’t say anything, admittedly scared. Not scared of him — or maybe a little, but scared about your willpower. You’d grown less angry toward him — which only meant you were growing soft. You weren’t sure how much longer you could take before your act would crumble and you come crawling back to him.

You merely whine in his grip — he enjoys that, smiling.

“So wha’ do I gotta do to make you drop this bitch act?” He says, craning his head down to meet your eye level - brows raising.

“Do I have to fuck it out of you?”

Your eyes widen a little. Oh god. Your mind betraying you in an instant when you think back to all the times you were both up late — fucking. About how he’d sometimes take you bent over the kitchen counter, stuffing his cock in you from behind — your bodies riving together like dogs in heat. All sweat and name calling —— telling you how much he loves your sweet fucking cunt.

You instinctively press your legs together. Desperate to ignore the growing heat between them.

Of course, he notices that. His eyes flickering down briefly to your legs before snapping them back up to you. An ever so soft gasp — exaggerated, leaves his gaping mouth. You forget he knows you. Like, really knows you and not just that but your body.

He knows when you’re happy - sad, but especially knows when you’re turned on. He takes pride in that now, wearing that realising expression on his face with pride as he straightens up, mouth agape and still dragging out his degrading gasp. You can only glare - your resolve slowing pulling down that facade you’d held for so long.

He brings his lower lip into his mouth to gnaw on it, humming a uh uh - with a head shake saying ‘no.’ He jams a foot in between yours and kicks your legs apart. He knows exactly what you’re fucking feeling and he won’t let you get away with it.

“You haven’t got a door to hide behind now, have you?” He mutters, referring to the times he’d show up begging for you back - and how you’d hide behind your door to avoid him. Not this time.

He leans in close.

“I fucking see you.” He seethes, face dangerously close to yours. You can’t help the quiver of your lip and desperate plea across your face. You feel your kept responsibility fading - slowly crumbing beneath him - the ache in your pussy now turning into a throb.

You close your eyes, leaning your head back against the door - trying to muster your remaining strength to resist him.

“Yeah.” He drawls out slowly, nodding — “That’s right, you’re just a fucking tease, aren’t you?”

He’s playing his own game now. You had managed to push him over the edge, to break his patience. You’d took great pleasure in that. But now it was his turn. His turn to break you.

And you simply can’t take anymore.

“Stop this, Namgyu — please.” You whine out — breaking your silence. Your hands hesitantly come up to curl into his shirt - clutching tightly - pulling yourself forward to rest your forehead against his chest in defeat with a thump. Burying your face to hide the shame of your surrender. You just simply melt against him — finally. Inhaling softly, smelling his smell - the familiarity of it - even the warmth of his chest as it heaves against your head. You swear you hear his heart thrumming.

You don’t feel any distain toward yourself as you press against him like this. Maybe a sense of guilt — but your feelings for him come plummeting back in the second you touch him. Smell him. This is you giving in. Waving the white flag and you only hope he accepts it.

You stay like that for what feels like a lifetime. The anticipation of his next move eating you alive.

You feel his hand pet through the hair on-top your head. The corner of your lips upturn a little — relieved.

“So, who’s the cocksucker you got all cosy with today from that fuck-head group?”

You still, eyes opening with an impending sense of dread.

He isn’t done. You swallow the hard ache now forming in your throat.

“What?” You whisper, unable to let yourself look up at him - shocked that your psychical submission hadn’t worked a charm. You note how he’s still petting your hair, softly — too softly, given the context of his question.

“You heard me.” He replies — his voice eerily calm.

You already know he’s referring to Dae-Ho. But you also know that it wasn’t anything like that. You realise how hard it’s gonna be to convince him otherwise. You take a shaky breath in - mustering courage as you crane your head to look up at him slowly - still clutching to his chest as though he were keeping you afloat.

He looks down at you with a soft, expecting smile.

You can’t find your words — too worried to say the wrong thing.

He raises his brows once - nodding ever so slightly, like he’s encouraging you to reply. But there was nothing you could say that would explain the situation better than a:

“It’s nothing like that.”

Namgyu stays smiling. “Clutching and smiling with a man you’ve never met? — that’s nothing?”

You can’t move — speak. The idea of defending yourself felt suddenly useless. All you can do is nod your head - rather frantically - desperate to plead your innocence. He’s still petting his hand through your hair — and you’re starting to become overly aware that his actions, expression and tone aren’t aligning with the things he’s saying. It makes you anxious.

“You did it to fuck with me. Didn’t you?”

“ — No, Gyu.”

“Gyu? Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking idiot and get cute — it’s a little late for that.” He retorts quick, smiling fading - shutting down your attempts at calling him by the shortened version of his name that you had done when you were once together.

He looks away from you and ahead - as though in thought. You still remain holding onto him - looking upward, not liking the silence he know plays into. Suspence being your worst enemy.

“Please.” Is all you can muster - not liking the contemplation on his face.

He takes in a sharp inhale - his shoulders dropping dramatically on the exhale.

“Maybe in the next game I’ll make sure he doesn’t see it though — and his little shitfuck group.” He begins, returning his gaze downward to you.

“Just to set an example.” He finishes, bringing his head downward a little closer to you as he says that — to whisper, to twist the knife. Your blood runs cold — a shudder rippling through your body which breaks your stillness — shifting your footing. He’d kill them. He’d fucking kill them.

Just to prove a point.

“No.” You plea, moving your hands upward to clutch onto his shoulders now - desperate. You don’t want their deaths on your conscience — to be responsible for it.

Namgyu only nods sweetly, his smile vaguely returning as if to shut down your debate.

“Or maybe I’ll take you out there now — lay you down,” He pauses to clutch either sides of your face - thumbs pressing into your flushed cheeks. You whine at his grip.

“And fuck you. Nice and loud — make sure to wake ‘em up — make ‘em watch. Just so they know exactly who you belong to.”

He’s close enough to place the slightest ghost of a kiss against the corner of your mouth — barely touching — before putting his forehead against yours, eyes staring heavily into your own. He sways you softly in his hold and despite the seeming sweetness of it — you know it’s a threatening one.

“How’s that sound?” He asks.

As much as his words, shamefully, sent your head into a spin — you knew he’d actually do it. The killing or the fucking. But surely those weren’t your only options here, so you bravely decide on a third. Which means complete submission, which honestly? You didn’t now mind the idea of.

You’d lost the slither of self respect you had.

He won.

You needed him.

As shameful as it is.

Your eyes roll closed, pushing against his forehead with yours — cat like, needy. Flexing your hands on his shoulders to tighten your grip — clinging onto him, raising onto your tippy toes in order to feel closer. Though your height against his doesn’t give you much more of an advantage.

“There’s only you.” You whisper. The truth now spilling out your mouth - a confession. A sick one. Proving that he had won - and that you didn’t mind.

You hadn’t been with anyone else through the duration of your time apart. It wasn’t possible for you — even the concept of someone else’s hands on your body that weren’t his made you sick. You had been incapable of moving on — all you had left during that time was your self respect. That had been enough to close him off.

But now?

That fell apart.

You’re close enough hear his breath hitch.

“Say that again.”

You hear him say — his voice low. The sound of it enough to make your stomach twist — your pussy clench, and your head spin. You writhe in his hold sweetly - uncontrollably moving to graze your lips across his cheek, smearing.

“There was never anyone else.” You continue, your voice low and timid despite the confidence of your confession. You hear his lips puff out a breath — his jaw going slack as your continue your lips across to the other side of his face, only the slightest touch though — no kisses, just a soft graze.

You remember him enjoying that in the past.

Yet you can’t take anymore as your lips move above his — hovering there. As soon as you plant a kiss on him — you’re truly done for. You wouldn’t be able to be apart from him ever again — you wouldn’t want to be.

You softly come closer to plant the ghost of a kiss on his bottom lip - so soft he hardly feels it. You gulp hard - and as you move in to properly kiss him, he pulls his head back.

You let out a desperate gasp from the separation - eyes shooting open to look at him. His expression — blank. You can’t help the furrow knitting your brows together, confused. Desperately confused. You open your mouth to say something - but you can’t find the words.

“Say you’re sorry.” He says blankly.

You don’t say anything - your expression remaining.

“Say you’re sorry for playing the bitch — and fucking mean it.”

A little noise leaves you. Your eyes batting into his — you knew better than to think you could just get your way after that shit you pulled with him. You conclude that maybe his willpower is much stronger than yours. Proving so when after a moment or two in silence, you apologise.

“I’m sorry for playing the bitch, Namgyu.”

He doesn’t look convinced. You swallow hard.

“I acted like a bitch when you were trying to be nice. I should’ve been grateful — I’m sorry, I’m very sorry, Namgyu.”

He smiles then, almost condescendingly proud of you. He likes it when you play nice.

“Good.” He says.

“Now beg me for it.”

“Beg me for a kiss like a good girl.”

You practically shudder at that. He knows exactly what you want but he tells you exactly how you’ll get it. If it were you from yesterday, you’d give him a good slap to the face. But the mumbling mess you are now? Clinging to him? Like a desperate bitch? You don’t find much issue in it despite the shyness now parading your body.

“P-please.” You mumble out, eyes darting downward and back up to him — struggling to look him in the eyes, your new timidness achingly obvious.

“Kiss me — please, kiss me, Gyu.”

“Are you fucking stupid?” He cuts you off, almost laughing. His degrading makes you feel so fucking small beneath him — like every emotion you’re feeling is crashing down and suffocating you. You stutter to a silence when he cuts you off — unsure what you did wrong.

“That’s not how you beg.”

“Get on your fucking knees and beg me properly.” He bites, taking a step back away from you, his expression hard and demanding. Making it very obvious that he’s not fucking joking.

You could whine as he steps away from you — the lack of his warmth as the cold air of the bathroom hits your body. Standing alone like this - in such a mess - only adds to your shame.

And the shame only adds to your desperation.

You hesitate for a moment - before you slowly kneel, keeping your eyes pinned to the floor from embarrassment. Your limp trembling — so fucking upset at how easily you had lost your control. But more so upset at the realisation that you truly needed him — generally. Not just sexually.

Your palms flatten against the cold floor - sheepishly raising your eyes to look up at him.

He tightens his jaw - lips pressed into a straight thin line, just waiting.

You knew he had an insecurity issue. When you were together you could remember him rambling on about Thanos — how he tried to win him over, to get into his group. Attempts of free drinks - drugs, he’d even complain about Thanos getting his name wrong. All signs of an insecure man. You thought it was cute really - but it was obvious here that he wasn’t gonna let you get your way until he was certain in himself that you fucking meant it.

He needed to hear it from you.

To stabilise his insecurity — his jealousy.

But he also takes a great pride in seeing you this way. On your knees — below him, like a beggar to scraps. It makes him feel strong.

Your lips tremble as you struggle to find the words.

“Namgyu —” You try, already dropping your head to the floor from embarrassment and struggle. You breathe deep - bringing your head back up.

“ — I need you. Please, I — I’m sorry. I tried to stay away, I did.” You pause, your words achingly truthful and you come to clutch the ankle of his pants desperately.

You stay like that for a moment.

“I can’t help myself around you.” You confess - lips parting as you stare up at him. Yet his expression doesn’t change — he doesn’t move, nothing. Your chest burning as you try to think of something better to say — something to gage a reaction from him. You’re desperate.

“I’ll even stay away from everyone else in here — I mean it, I don’t need them — just you,” You continue to plead.

“Just you.” You finish with a genuine whisper.

But still, nothing.

And the next second, you crumble with an aching sob — not crying, just a noise of defeat as you lower your eyes away from him. You’d never felt shame so sore, eyes burning into the floor — unblinking — trembling. Feeling like the world around you is swallowing you whole.

Namgyu slowly kneels down to meet your height a moment later - your eyes shooting to him as he does.

His mouth slightly agape, almost looking fascinated by you. Almost surprised that you actually did what he asked. He settles into a squat position in front of you - his wrists on his knees as his hands dangle. You can only stare in anticipation, hoping and hoping that it was enough to let him set you free of this shame.

You both let a moment of silence pass between you.

“You’re a fucking mess.”

You stare in disbelief — his cruelness exceeding anything you’d ever witnessed from him.

He’d truly broke you down.

He stays staring at you and you see the contemplation on his face — you could only wonder what he’d have you do next. His eyes drop down, then back up.

Yet, he decides you’ve had enough. His expression softening, a hand reaching out to you.

“C’mere.” He says and you waste no time and take his hand — letting him pull you against him, your head slack on his shoulder as you move together to find a comfy position on the floor as you slot sideways into his lap - your legs slinging across his thighs.

“That’s it.” He encourages quietly, muttering against you as you melt into his arms as they wrap around you - one hand coming to guide your face to look at him.

“C’mere.” He whispers again, palming beneath your chin and planting a soft kiss on your lips, “There, all better — see?” He mummers, lips still against your mouth and you practically melt, your stomachs knot untwisting — a low whine that you held in for so long pouring out of you - nodding slowly in bliss.

He plants another one on you — less firm and more lazy, slow, like he’s also giving into it - you return it with the same amount of effort. Your lips both smearing against one another’s — slowly wetting with spit, the wet sound of that alone pools a growing wetness in between your legs.

His hand slips behind your head, fingers threading into your hair — petting, like he’s easing you down from the brink of humiliation you were in a second ago. Though his pride still remains - his ego now had been fed, a belly full.

“I knew you’d come around.” He mutters into your mouth in between kisses — like he has to carry on, to degrade despite giving in to what you want. To twist the knife — to keep you on your toes. You’re too carried away to even reply — like an addict getting their score, hungry and eager. Deprived for so long.

“Hmm?” He hums, hand slipping from your head, sloping down your neck and moving to palm one of your tits over your top with an abrupt - hard squeeze. A soft moan leaves you though it’s captured in your mouth mid kiss. You bring a hand to cover his - encouraging him to squeeze again - but he swats your hand away like a fly.

He pulls back from the kiss to look down to see better - you latch onto his neck with your mouth as he does which draws a soft hiss out of him - baring his teeth a little.

He pushes his hand under your top - soothing up your side till he pushes under your bra blindly — pinching your pebbled nipple with his index and thumb. This causing you to gasp, your body jolting in his lap.

Namgyu looks back to you, teeth still lightly bared in a gritty smile as he continues playing with your nipple below your top.

“Still like that, huh?” He hisses, swirling his index finger.

You nod, dazed, so he squeezes your nipple hard again to coax out a reply.

“Yes!” You pant out, “I like it — feels good.”

“That’s better, use your words like the little slut I know you are.”

He looks back down to your body riving and twitching in his lap - humming low in his throat as he pulls his hand out from under your top - palm flush against your skin as it travels down to your lower stomach, rubbing softly. The mere touch sending shivers through your body.

“Dunno how you resisted this like you did — I mean, shit — look at you, you’re practically shaking.”

He mocks, a single finger slipping under your waistband — stroking the skin there — toying with you.

Your hips instinctively twitch upward - unable to bare with the suspense of his lingering touch. “Namgyu.” you whine, pleading with him.

You grab his wrist, silently telling him to carry on - the feeling of your pussy wetting, going untouched - felt unbearable. Your head rests on his shoulder, your eyes peaking up at him.

“Please.”

He smiles to himself before looking at you.

There’s a pause in the air — the look on his face giving you slight concern.

“You’re gonna vote O tomorrow.”

Your mouth slightly falls open. He isn’t asking, he’s telling. But you don’t want to. You still wanted to leave — leave with him.

“I want to go home.” You whisper.

His smile stays, a low single laugh in his throat causing his shoulders to bounce in amusement - his hand now working it’s way under your waistband - all the way down to greedily palm your clothed pussy — firmly. He keeps his sights pinned on you as you gasp at the sudden connection - the firmness of his grip giving you a mix of unease and pleasure.

“Don’t be so fucking selfish.” He coos, smile dropping into a harsh expression - his face twitching meanly as he grinds down the ball of his palm firmly into your clit, still shielded by your panties - no doubt already feeling the dampness collecting there. Your breath hitches, a soft whimper slipping out.

“Please Gyu —” You groan out, tightening your grip on the wrist of his hand in your pants.

“Get your fucking hand off me.” He cuts you off - tone so harsh that you withdraw your hand instantly.

Your lip quivers - your mind unable to balance out the dread of the conversation and the pleasure whirling in your stomach.

“You could press X — we could leave together.” You mutter out between pants, foolishly really. You should’ve thought before you said that as his face stills. Within a second he’s pushing under your panties and running his fingers through your wet folds - a cracked moan ripping out of you.

“Is me playing with your pussy making you dumb?” He hisses, wasting no time in slipping his fingers down and pushing two into your tight hole with a harsh, wet plunge. The intensity of it causes your body jolt upward, a pleasured cry coming from your parted lips as you cling to him tightly to his chest - your eyes rolling closed in bliss. Your head rolls forward and down but he’s quick to grab a fistful of your hair with his free hand and yank your head back up.

“Eyes on me.” He says through gritted teeth, curling his fingers against your walls harshly — sweetly as you tremble, barely managing to keep your eyes open but you try your best as you look at him.

“What’s tomorrow’s vote?” He says, raising his brows slightly as he pulls his fingers out to only push them back in, softer this time though, the sound of your pussy squelching around his digits loud enough for you both to hear.

Your need to go home is excruciating—your need for safety and stability. Wishing for all the simple things like the sun on your skin and the comfort of your own bed. Your family. Friends. In here, you can’t handle the crushing possibility of never having see or feel those things again. Yet those needs crumble away under him. Your mind whirling out of control, unable to even comprehend the right thing to do. All you feel right now is how your tight hole clenches around his ruthless fingers as they sloppily plunge in and out of you.

You look at him through heavy lids that so desperately want to close over and enjoy. Your face showing your inner battle as it contorts - the tremble in your lip making it apparent to Namgyu that you’re about to give into his wishes.

“O.” you whisper faintly - sadly.

He presses his lips into yours — roughly.

You don’t even have a second to adjust - opening your mouth for a breath but he shoves his tongue in to swirl against yours greedily, his fist in your hair pressing your head closer - your jaw already aching from the feverish kiss. He slides his fingers back out briefly you feel before he adds a third, pushing them in slower as they struggle through the tightness of your seeping hole. You only return the kiss more aggressively then, feeling so full - so fucking full.

Your lips smear and slide wetly against his - open mouthed, breathing growing heavier as your mind plummets. You can’t get enough of it as you unleash all that pent up aggression back onto him - taking his bottom lip into your teeth as you bite — drawing a hiss from him. He places his thumb onto your clit then - grounding onto it in a circular grind and you yank your head from the kiss - throwing your head back, a loud moan leaving you.

“For someone so fucking scared, you shouldn’t be this wet.” He mutters, bringing his head near yours just to be able to see the look on your face as he fucks you with his fingers.

“I mean, listen to that.” He says, twisting his fingers in you - a loud sloshing noise apparent as you ooze around his fingers. Your breath catches when you feel your orgasm building - a ripped whine coming out of your gaping mouth. He grins small knowing you’re close.

“Yeahh, there you go.” He coos, picking up the pace of his fingers as they plunge deep against that sweet spot - lips placing a kiss on your chin. Your chest heaves suddenly, on the brink of cumming. He yanks your head back up, wanting to see your face.

It comes crashing down on you the next second - your muscles seizing and your pussy clenching around his fingers tightly, gushing onto them. You cry out a moan, burying your head into his neck as he fucks you through it - slowly slowing the pace of his fingers.

“That’s it.” He whispers, your hips rocking against his hand - any noise coming out of you being complete nonsense, all mumbles and dying moans which slowly change into gentle pants.

He pulls his fingers out of you, whispering a faint “fuck” when he sees your wetness and cum slathered all over his fingers. You open your heavy eyes - he’s already looking at you.

“Made such a mess.” He says, showing you his fingers before brining out his tongue to lap them once - tasting you. You can only whine at the sight of it and he hums softly in enjoyment.

He looks to you after a moment — noting the tired expression on your face. He simply leans to place a soft kiss on your lips, a hand holding the side of your face. You wished it could last forever. That you didn’t have to go back to face the reality again — the reality that by tomorrow you’d be dead. Or him.

So you decide to make the most of tonight.

So that night you slept in his bed.

Authors note: this took me way longer that it should’ve but i fucking loved writing this. ty for the request and hope you all enjoy. please please send more requests for fics so i can bring them to life. love you all. ❤️❤️❤️

[neptuneraj]

Could I please make a request for Daniela? where you guys a practicing choreography together and the tension in the air becomes almost suffocating between you two and you both know it so you make up an excuse to abruptly leave and head back to the shared house/apartment you’re all living in together and when she gets there after you she comes to your room to confront you about what happened back there and you end up spilling your feelings to her and she does the same …you can make it spicier from there if you want(please🙏)

omggg that was my first request!!! there you go, hope you enjoy it <3

love confessions - daniela avanzini

when you runaway at the middle of a dance practice, daniela makes her way to talk to you.

pairing: daniela avanzini x fem!reader

cw/tags: a bit angst, fluff, smut, kissing, hair pulling, dry humping

today you and the other girl’s were focused on training together the choreography of the new song. it was just to catch the steps that all of you guys have more difficulty with. you admit that some of the dance steps still felt a bit clumsy for you — that’s why daniela decided to help you out.

you tried to tell her that you didn’t need her help, that you could just ask megan to help you out, but she insisted.

the truth is you were in love with her, and didn’t want to hurt yourself even more with all those feelings.

you both couldn’t quite define the kind of relationship you had. it was something much deeper than just a friendship, but it wasn’t a romance either. every time you almost kissed, both of you would pull away and pretend nothing had happened. it kept happening — again and again. most of the times it was on her bed, when you two were lying down together.

now, she was behind you, holding your waist trying to help you with the movements of the music, and she was too closer. daniela doesn’t need to hold you like that, but she wanted to. 

on the other side of the dance room, the girls exchanged a few glances, noticing the tension between the two of you. they knew that you two liked each other in secret — it was too obvious, but they don’t talk about it.

“you need to relax, cariño.” you can feel her warm breath on your neck. “just follow the movement of my hips.”

she now pulls you closer enough to your bodies touch. her hips fit perfectly with yours, slowing the choreography so you can keep up with her. but it wasn’t working.

it was obviously a terrible idea, you couldn’t focus on anything except daniela’s touch. not only her touch, everything about her makes you unfocused.

her face. her body. her sweet words towards you. all of her.

you pull away abruptly, getting rid of her touch. “sorry, i don’t feel very well to continue practicing anymore” you give an excuse to get yourself out of the situation, and she looks at you with disappointment on her face. “do you guys mind if i go home by now?”

the girls nod and say that was fine.

they're also worried about the way you just abruptly leave the room, on your way to go home. 

it doesn’t go unnoticed by daniela.

- 

you were lying on your bed, just scrolling through your phone, trying to distract yourself from all the thoughts about daniela. you kept wondering if she felt the same way about you, if she had any idea how much just one touch from her could shake you.

suddenly, the sound of two knocks on the door pulled you out of your thoughts. the door opened, and there she was.

"can we talk?" she asks, her face carrying a worried expression.

you nod silently. 

she closes the door behind her and comes to sit at the edge of your bed, leaving just enough space for you.

"why did you leave like that?"

"it was nothing, i just needed to rest." you try to dodge the question, hoping she’d believe it and walk away.

"that’s a lie." she calls you out. she knew you better than anyone else and could tell when something was bothering you. "come on, you can talk to me. what happened?"

"i already told you, it’s nothing." another lie.

"i’m not leaving until you tell me."

you let out a tired sigh. you knew she wouldn’t give up until she got the truth out of you. just like you, she was also afraid of not being loved back — and she knew that eventually, the two of you would have to face this. 

she needs to know how you truly felt.

"why do we keep doing this, huh?" tears begin to fill your eyes. "i can’t keep being around you like this, daniela. fuck... i’m so in love with you that it hurts."

you look at her as tears roll down your cheeks.

to your surprise, she doesn’t seem the least bit offended. not even a hint of rejection in her expression.

instead, she looked relieved.

without hesitation, she moved from where she was sitting and positioned herself right in front of you. both of her hands reached for your cheeks in a gentle touch, pulling you in with urgency for a kiss that was desperate. full of passion.

you’re surprised, but you kiss her back. your heart was beating faster — a mix of happiness and confusion hits you.

she pulls away for just a moment, resting her forehead gently against yours, still holding your cheeks in her hands.

a soft smile appears on her face. "i’m in love with you too. i have been for a long time, i really like you."

“y-you love me too?”

her hands wipes away the tears in your face as she takes the moment to admire you, how you were so pretty even crying. “more than you can imagine. i want you to be mine, only mine.”

the words melt your heart.

the woman that you always wanted is in front of you, saying that is a reciprocal feeling. there was nothing else that needed to be said — the two of you simply surrendered to the moment.

you pull her for another kiss, now it became more intense. the passionate and romantic touch turns into something nasty. her tongue invades your mouth without any warning. she wants you.

she pats her lap. “come here.”

you climb on top of her, resting your hands on her shoulders.

“i want you to ride my thighs, mi amor.” her words make you feel a warmth growing up between your legs. you make a move to take off your shorts, but she holds your hands. “with your clothes on. i wanna see how much you need me.”

you obey her and start to make slow back and forth movements on top of her thigh. her hand holds your hair firmly in a way that doesn’t hurt you, as the other caresses the side of your thigh.

her look of desire at you makes you feel even more pleasure, your hips movements begin to subtly accelerate. she gives you kisses on the region of your collarbone and also the neck, you let out a moan in response — she smirks.

you could feel the wetness forming in your panty. the bed rocks, making noises with the rapid friction of your bodies together. she pulls your hair back slightly and her hand on your thigh now squeezes without any softness.

“dani…” you whimper.

“what, mi amor? do you wanna cum for me already?”

you don't have enough strength to form any more words because of the amount of pleasure that was consuming your body, so you nod desperately.

she smiles proudly at the mess she made of you. “come for me, cariño.”

you let out a moan and your legs tremble without any shame, you melt into her. now her arms were protecting you in a tight hug, while she gives kisses on the top of your head.

“i love you, dani.”

“i love you too, mi amor.”

[bitchinbarzal]

Almost Got Away — J Burrow

—

The last time you saw Joe in person, he was at 22, barefoot in a college apartment, and telling you that he loved you.

The next morning, you broke up.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t messy. You just knew you wouldn’t survive the version of life that came next: draft nights and distance and an ever-spinning world of cameras and press conferences. You wanted him to chase his dreams without holding back.

You didn’t want to be the reason he stayed safe.

So you let him go.

And now, three and a half years later, you’re standing in Paycor Stadium with your fiancé’s arm around your shoulders, trying not to look at the man in orange and black with a “9” stretched across his back.

The same man whose name used to be in your phone with three hearts and no last name.

The same man who once memorised your coffee order and your hometown and the exact kind of silence you needed when you were about to cry.

The same man you haven’t stopped dreaming about even after you said yes to someone else.

It was your fiancé’s idea to come to the game. His boss had season tickets and was out of town offered them as “best seats in the house”

He’s a casual fan, just enough to have a jersey, not enough to know the roster by heart. You told him you’d been to a few college games with your friends. You didn’t tell him those friends included Joe. You didn’t tell him those college games were where your heart got made and broken and stitched back together by the same hands now wearing black gloves and throwing spiral passes down the field like nothing ever hurt him.

You sit through the first quarter quietly. You laugh when you’re supposed to. You sip your drink. You cheer when everyone else cheers.

But every time you blink, your eyes find him.

Joe.

Hair longer now. Face a little older. Shoulders broader. You try to find the version of him you remember, the one who played Madden on mute while you studied, who whispered “stay” into your neck after long nights. But he’s not there anymore.

At least, you think he’s not.

Until the third quarter.

Until he sees you.

It’s not obvious.

You can tell the exact second it happens: he’s on the bench and his eyes scan the crowd, a routine flick, nothing new, until they land on you.

You freeze.

He doesn’t react, not really. Doesn’t flinch.

But he doesn’t look away.

Not for a long, aching moment.

After the game, your fiancé is all adrenaline. He talks about stats and key moments and how much better the view was than he expected. You nod. You hum. You smile when he pulls you close.

But you don’t speak.

Not really.

Your chest is tight. Your head full of everything unsaid. You keep picturing Joe’s face when he saw you, blank but soft, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You think of all the things you could’ve said, if there had been time.

You look good.

I kept the hoodie.

Do you still hate sushi?

Do you still hate that I let you go?

You don’t say any of them.

You don’t say anything at all.

He finds you before you leave the stadium, luckily.

You’re walking down the corridor toward the exit when you hear your name, soft but sure.

You turn, and there he is.

Joe.

Hair still damp from the postgame shower. Jacket over his jersey. A towel hanging from his neck.

You freeze.

So does your fiancé.

“Hey,” Joe says, voice low.

You take a step toward him before you can stop yourself.

Then you remember who you’re standing next to.

“Joe,” you say, and it tastes like ash and honey all at once.

His eyes flicker to the man beside you. Then back to you.

“I saw you during the game.”

You nod. “I know.”

There’s a beat. A silence so thick it could choke you.

Your fiancé offers a hand. “Hey. Good game, man.”

Joe takes it automatically, eyes never leaving yours. “Thanks.”

The small talk fades fast. You’re left in a moment too big for words.

Joe’s jaw tightens just slightly. “Didn’t know you were in town.”

You shrug. “Just visiting.”

He nods slowly. “Looks like life’s treating you well.”

“It is.”

You don’t ask him the same.

You already know. You’ve always known.

But he says it anyway.

“Not as well as it would’ve if you’d stayed.”

Your breath catches.

Your fiancé shifts beside you. “You ready to go?”

You nod, lips parted, heart about to split open.

Joe doesn’t say anything else.

Your fiancé doesn’t bring it up right away.

Back at the hotel, he’s still talking about the game. Still trying to ignore what you both know is lingering in the air.

But eventually, in the low glow of a bedside lamp, he asks “That guy. The one from the stadium. Joe. Who is he? Who is he to you?”

You freeze.

Then, quietly you whisper “Someone I used to love.”

There’s a long silence. He stares at the ceiling.

And then he asks “Do you still?”

You don’t answer.

Not out loud.

Joe ends up on Ja’Marr’s couch, staring blankly at a muted replay of the game.

“She was there,” he says, voice hoarse.

“I saw,” Ja’Marr says. “She was with someone.”

Joe doesn’t reply. Just nods once, eyes dull.

“You ever tell her why you didn’t call?”

“I told myself I was giving her space.” Joe leans forward, elbows on knees. “But really, I just didn’t want to hear her tell me she was fine without me.”

That night, your phone buzzes.

Not from Joe.

From Ja’Marr.

JC:

He’s not okay.

I don’t mean to get in the middle, but… if you’re still hurting too, maybe don’t let this go.

You stare at the screen for a long time.

Then you do something you swore you wouldn’t.

You text Joe.

Are you up?

He replies instantly.

JB:

Always. Want to talk?

You meet at a diner two blocks from the hotel. It’s nearly empty. Just you and him.

Neither of you speaks at first.

Then he says, “You didn’t have to come.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“You could’ve called.”

“You didn’t.”

He looks down at the table. “I didn’t want to hear you say you’d moved on.”

You pause. Then “I didn’t.”

Joe’s voice cracks. “Why did you leave?”

“Because I thought letting you go meant loving you well.”

A silence stretches between you.

“I thought I was protecting you,” he says. “But I was protecting myself.”

“You said life would’ve been better if I stayed.”

He looks at you like it’s still true.

“It would’ve.”

Your voice is just a breath “I’m getting married.”

He doesn’t flinch. Just asks, “Do you love him?”

You’re silent for too long.

“I want to.”

When you stand to leave, he walks you to the door.

And there, in the quiet of a diner that’s never seen anything sacred, Joe says:

“You were never the one that got away.

I was the one who let you go.”

You don’t say goodbye.

You don’t need to.

Six months later you’re back in Cincinnati.

Coffee shop. Rainy afternoon. You’re in line, scrolling your phone.

A voice behind you:

“Oat milk. One sugar.”

You turn.

Joe.

In a hoodie. No cameras. Just him and a smile that still sees you.

“I saw you were back,” he says. “Didn’t think I’d run into you like this.”

“You remembered.”

“I never forgot.”

[jeonscatalyst]

I was able to watch Jikook’s entire Live yesterday. Yes, those two kept me up late and now I look like a panda… but it’s okay, because I love them.

Let’s do a little recap of some of the things we learned from that Live:

• Jimin and Jungkook are, without a doubt, closer than ever. It’s so evident in everything… they genuinely love being around each other.

• Jungkook works out a lot… but he still ate six Krispy Kreme donuts and then had ramen right after with Jimin

•Jikook watched AYS in the military together.

• Earlier in the day, Jimin went shopping with his Yoongi and Namjoon hyungs. He was just tagging along since they were the ones who said they wanted to shop but somehow he ended up with three large bags of stuff while the others barely bought anything. Jungkook said he wants to go too.

• For some reason, Jungkook really wanted to apply lip balm on Jimin’s lips (he said they were dry) and playfully wrestled with him over it but Jimin wouldn’t let him.

• Just like in the past, we learned that Jungkook is still obsessed with going into Jimin’s bedroom. He goes in, takes tons of photos and videos of Jimin, some of which he sends to their group chat. According to Jimin, Jungkook comes in, watches him while he sleeps, takes pictures and videos, and then leaves.

• They take funny pictures of each other while sleeping and we actually got to see two of them during the Live. Doesn’t that suggest they’re around each other a lot when they sleep?

• Jungkook said he thinks Lives are better when it’s just him and Jimin.

• Jungkook desperately wants that YouTube channel. (Please!)

• He loves drawing cute, silly pictures of Jimin or with Jimin. We’ve seen some of his masterpieces before, and we got to see another one during the Live. (So cute!)

• Jungkook is tactile as hell. He’s always been touchy, but now it seems like he genuinely can’t keep his hands to himself when he’s around Jimin. And we’re not just talking about handshakes or shoulder and nape rubs… he literally wants to put his entire hands inside Jimin’s clothes because “it’s warm in there.” 😏

• Jikook still fluster the hell out of each other. Jungkook is much better at handling it now, while Jimin still can’t quite hold his own like Jungkook can.

• Their giggles? The most beautiful thing ever.

• Jungkook watched and loved K-Pop Demon Hunters. Jimin hadn’t seen it, but he had watched a few clips and knew a bit about the songs. Jungkook said he cried while watching it.

• All the other members had gone out and Jikook were the only ones at home.

• Jungkook read a comment out loud: “You guys look so good together.”

• Jungkook is still Jiminipedia. He knows his man isn’t going to sleep until he games a little. And let’s not even talk about the huge smile on his face when he said it.

• They did a pinky promise playfully and cutely … Jungkook held Jimin’s little hands and sang, “I promise, I will come to you.” (Do with that information what you will)

• Jungkook still finds Jimin incredibly cute and endearing.

• They watched some of their old performances together. Jungkook visibly cringed at his younger self.

• Jikook are back with the memes and inside jokes.

• Jimin still gives the best hugs.

JIKOOK ARE SO IN LOVE!

I might have missed some things. Will add as needed.

[formulafanfics13]

Hi, I love your writing! I'll leave you with this request. George, who wins at home and wants the reader as a trophy. The reader is his wife. Once the media obligations are over, he takes her in the driver's trailer and continues on the hotel.

Trophy Wife - GR63 🔥

Masterlist

summary: george wins at silverstone. the media get their interviews, the fans get their selfies — but you get the real victory. the second he's free from the cameras, george drags you to the driver's trailer and makes you his. hard. desperate. obsessed. because at the end of the day, you're the only prize he actually gives a fuck about.

warnings: smut, dom!george, possessiveness, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, fingering, overstimulation, filthy praise, begging, desperate energy, multiple orgasms, creampie, some light marking, semi-public vibes (driver trailer), soft aftercare, hotel sex, george being a man on the edge

He wins. Not just any race. Not just any track. Silverstone. His home race. 

It's raining champagne and camera flashes. The roar of the crowd is thunderous. His eyes are glassy behind the helmet. And when he finally spots you, tucked behind the Mercedes garage in that tiny black dress he loves, he forgets every camera, every crew member, every interviewer.

He doesn't even take off his gloves. He pulls you straight into him, suit damp, hands sliding low, voice cracked as he murmurs right into your ear, "My wife. My fucking wife. You're the only thing I want right now."

He doesn't wait for the hotel. He barely makes it to the trailer.

His hand stays low on your back the entire walk, possessive, demanding, hot. The second the door clicks shut behind you, he turns and locks it with shaking fingers.

His race suit is halfway off before you can speak.

"George-"

He kisses you.

Hard. Teeth and tongue. One hand fisting the back of your hair, the other sliding under your dress, dragging the fabric up over your hips until he finds skin.

No underwear. He groans into your mouth. "Of course you didn't wear any," he breathes. "Knew I'd win. Knew I'd need you."

You gasp as he drops to his knees. Right there on the trailer carpet. Eyes wide, sweat-slick curls sticking to his forehead, still in half his race suit as he hooks your leg over his shoulder and devours you.

Not gentle. Not slow. His tongue is hot and relentless, his grip bruising, and your moans fill the tiny space like thunder.

"George-fuck-please-"

He pulls back just long enough to murmur, "You're my trophy, baby. Let me have you." Then he goes again. Tongue circling, fingers sliding inside, pace quick and punishing and so precise. Your thighs shake. Your hands claw at his curls. You come on his tongue, back arching, voice gone.

He doesn't let up. You're still shaking when he stands. His cock already free, flushed and leaking.

"I'm not done," he says. "Not even close."

He bends you over the padded bench seat in the corner. No warning. Just one sharp thrust, and he's in, filling you so deep you see stars. You cry out, and he groans like he's never felt anything better in his life.

"You feel that?" he pants, fucking you hard. "That's mine. You're mine."

You nod, gasping. "Yours. Always."

He spanks your ass once. Then fucks you harder. Faster. You're pressed against the wall, cheek flat to the cool surface, his name falling from your lips like prayer.

And when you come again, tight and hot around him, he moans so loud you're sure someone outside hears.

But he doesn't stop. He keeps going in the hotel.

Your hair's still damp from a quick shower. Your skin still sticky from champagne. Your voice still raw.

But George? He's not done. He throws you on the bed. Spreads your legs. Eats you until you're begging. Then flips you, presses his chest to your back, and fucks you until the sheets are ruined.

He finishes deep. Stays there for a moment, chest heaving, hands shaking.

Then kisses your neck.

"Still want that trophy, Mr. Russell?" you whisper, dazed.

He laughs. "No," he says, voice low and raw. "I already have her."