#the first and last one make me feel things

[gay-dorito-dust]

Batfam reacting to getting called loudly by their full government name by their S/O?

I think I did this ages ago but I can’t remember shit half the time so that’s something 😂

Jason

Straightens up like a soldier immediately upon hearing your calls of ‘JASON PETER TODD!’ From your shared bedroom.

Dick and Roy -who were visiting at the time- would pat his shoulder in sympathies, telling him that they’ll dig up his grave to put him back inside after you were done with him, which earned them both a smack on the back of their heads from Jason; who was suddenly self aware of the fact that he had the habit of leaving his gun, magazines and other vigilante related things lying about in places where they most likely shouldn’t.

He’s not a mess by any means, it’s just that before you he wasn’t use to caring about where he puts his armour and weapons, but now that he has you he had become more aware of the fact that this habit was one that had been a little stubborn to die. He swears that he could shrug off bullet wounds, knife stabs, bruises, grazes, cuts and face down the worst Gotham could produce, but the second you call him by his full name: suddenly the six foot vigilante of pure muscle is now the most harmless man alive who has never seen confrontation before in his life.

Is wondering if he had forgotten an important date or anything of similar significance the second he heard you say:

'yeah sweetheart?' He calls out, semi- shitting it a little.

'Did you make me these paper roses out of old book pages?' you asked as you held out a couple of hand made paper roses that you had found at your bedside that morning clutched within your hand, a sweet smile upon your lips. Jason felt as though his soul had returned to his body as he knew your exclamation of his name wasn't out of anger, but instead surpise of his little gift that he had spent all night trying to make perfect. Some of the petals weren't perfect and a little odd but it still had the message that he wanted to convey, that he thought about you constantly and wanted to do something to show that.

'Yes i did chipmunk, do you like them?' He asks as he watched you look at them with blatant awe and love that he thought was more then they deserved, but he wasn't about to deny that you looking at his gift as though it was something special and unique, it warmed his heart. 'like them? Jay-jay i love them more then anything! I love you!' you tell him as you rushed over to smother his face in a plethora of kisses while being careful of not carelessly crushing the paper roses. Jason could only happily accept your affection as a smile climbed upon his lips at the sensation of your lips against his brow, forehead, cheeks, chin and jaw, happily in his personal heaven.

Tim

‘TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE!’

He’s looking in his calendar, nothing was noted that was of anything to do with either of you, nor was his reminders filled with anything that he could possibly be forgetting either, so needless to say that the smart Tim Drake absolutely flabbergasted for once in his life. So he’s left standing there really awkwardly, feeling like he’ll faint at any given moment from how overwhelmed he was by his own thoughts, just as you walked into the room and set your sights upon him.

‘I didn’t forget anything did I?’ He would say before he even processed it.

‘No.’ You tell him. ‘I was just seeing that you had less sleep last night than you did the night before. Were you helping Batman again?’ You asked as you crossed your arms over your shoulders as Tim let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding inside until you said that, thanking god for the first and only time for not forgetting anything.

‘Yeah.’ He replied.

‘What about oracle? Was she not available?’ You asked.

‘She was helping Steph and Cass on their mission.’

You hummed as you pointed at him. ‘This doesn’t excuse the lack of sleep, the eye bags are beginning to show again and if Batman comes asking again, I’m telling him to buy a map and use it.’ You warned before kissing him on the cheek and leaving.

Tim really did hope Batman didn’t need his help anytime soon, for his sake more so than anyone else’s, you were scary sometimes.

Dick

Is looking for Hayley in hopes that his dog would hold the power to prevent you from being mad at him.

The blue staffy only looked at him and waddled out of the room, as if able to sense when she couldn’t offer her human father any help, she had been the distraction for far too long and it was about time her human dad learned that if you were annoyed he’d have to face it head on.

‘RICHARD JOHN GRAYSON!’

‘Yes dear?’ He would respond sweetly, mentally drenched in sweat and panic as he tried to recall if he had left a shirt on the floor, or put something where he shouldn’t, left a single dish unwashed or even let Hayley sleep on your bed; even though he knows you’ve done it on multiple occasions also. So he wasn’t and shouldn’t be guilty on that charge at all, you both couldn’t say no to your little blue fur baby.

‘Did you or did you not steal my fuzzy bunny slippers? I can’t find them anywhere.’ You asked and Dick looked down at his feet, only to find that he was indeed wearing your fuzzy bunny slippers. The floor was cold and he needed something to keep his feet warm and your slippers were the closest things he could find, so he looked back up at you with a cheeky grin and said: ‘guess I’m guilty as charged officer.’

‘You’re stretching them out you criminal!’ You cried as you smacked his bicep softly before pointing at him and adding. 'you owe me new ones.'

Dick shrugs as he holds you close. 'i thought when we started this whole relationship everything you own is mine, and everything i own is yours?' He teases, kissing the tip of your nose as though being cute was going to let him off of stretching out your slippers. 'So i'm doing us a deal by sharing slippers.' he adds and you couldn't help but rest your head on his shoulder to hide your smile, you loved your Dickie bird, even if he did strech out your slippers.

Damian

The least affect by getting called his full name.

So you screaming ‘DAMIAN AL GHUL-WAYNE!’ Didn’t really make him do anything more than raise his brows.

His brothers on the other hand were either awkwardly whistling or patting Damian on the shoulder as they quickly evacuated the room the second they heard your footsteps echoing off the hallway, saying that they’ll try and say nice things at his funeral, or just straight up telling him that he was a dead man.

Damian on the other hand knew he wasn’t, but even with that level of confidence he was wondering internally if he had left Titus, Ace or Jerry the fucking Turkey wander where they shouldn’t. He’s had his name spoken by his father, by the league of assassins, but when you -his beloved partner- does it, it brings another feeling that made him suddenly want to fear your upcoming wrath and pray to god for a smidge of protection from it.

'you left your sketch pad in the garden again.' You said as you brought him the sketchpad he thought he had lost, or had been stolen, and felt a sigh leave his lips when you didn't actually have anything to be mad with him at all. He smiled as he took the sketchpad off of your hands and checked it over in case of any damange, thankfully there wasn't ans that meant that his sketch of you from a couple of days ago was competely unscathed, for that he was happy and didn't feel the need to interogate his siblings anymore.

'thank you darling.' he says softly as he squeezes your hand.

[delilahsturniolo]

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡ 21 WITH NO KIDS

⤷ in which . . . chris puts a baby in you the night before he turns 22

⤷ warnings . . . smut, breeding kink, unprotected sex, dirty talk, rough sex, use of pet names, oral, (fem!recieving) fingering, clit play, cockwarming.

⤷ written by @delilahsturniolo do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

it’s late. the city hums below the windows, quiet and low, like it knows what’s about to happen. you’re sitting on the bed in one of those stupid oversized shirts he loves on you, your legs bare, your lip caught between your teeth as you watch him move around the hotel room. his birthday’s in an hour. he’s been smirking all night like he knows something you don’t.

and maybe he does. you don’t even notice he’s stopped until his shadow falls over you. he’s standing right in front of you now, shirtless, jaw tight with the way he’s clenching it. he drags his knuckles up your thighs slowly, until your breath hitches and he hears it.

“you know what i want for my birthday, sweetheart?” his voice is gravel, lazy and low. his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt like he owns you. maybe he does. you shake your head, whisper soft, “what?” his hands trail higher, pushing the shirt up over your hips. no panties. he fucking groans. “i wanna put a baby in you.”

your eyes widen, but your thighs press together instinctively. it’s not the first time he’s said it. but tonight, there’s something heavier behind it. something more. “chris—”

“nah,” he cuts you off, shaking his head as he gets on his knees in front of you, spreading you open like it’s his fucking right. “you think i haven’t been thinking about this all week?”your breath catches as he leans in and presses a kiss to your inner thigh, right near the crease, where he knows it drives you crazy. he looks up at you through those long lashes, his mouth so close to your cunt it makes you twitch.

“gonna fill you up tonight,” he murmurs. “fuck you so deep you won’t even be able to walk tomorrow. stretch you ‘til you’re begging me to stop.” you whimper when his tongue finally flicks over your clit. slow. teasing. he licks you like he has all the time in the world, mouth wet and hot and filthy.

you fall back on your elbows, hips rolling into his face, and he chuckles against your pussy. “already so fuckin’ needy. always like this for me, huh?” you nod, panting, your hands tangling in his hair as he starts to suck, tongue flattening and pressing hard. he eats you like it’s his last meal, like you’re the only thing keeping him alive. when he slips two fingers inside you, curling just right, you cry out.

“c-chris—please—”

he pulls back suddenly, his lips wet with you, his eyes dark. “on the bed.” you scramble up from your position on the edge of the bed and fully climb on. and he’s already climbing over you, shoving the shirt over your head and tossing it somewhere behind him. he kisses you hard, tasting yourself on his tongue, his body pressing you into the mattress.

he grabs your jaw when he pulls away, making you look at him. “you want this?” his voice is rough. “you want me to fuck a baby into you tonight?” your stomach flips, arousal so deep it’s dizzying. you nod. “yes.”

“say it.”

“i want you to put a baby in me.” that’s all it takes. he groans, low and wrecked, before lining himself up and pushing in, slow but firm. you both moan, your nails raking down his back as he bottoms out, deep and heavy inside you.

he doesn’t give you time to adjust. he starts moving, hips snapping into you with purpose, like he’s fucking his need straight into your soul. “you feel that?” he grits out. “feel how deep i am? ‘cause that’s where i’m gonna finish, mkay?” you cry out, your legs wrapping around his waist as he fucks you hard, hands gripping your hips to hold you still. he leans down, lips brushing your ear. “gonna make you a mom,” he growls. “my girl. carrying my kid. gonna see that bump and know i did that to you.”

you’re babbling now, incoherent moans and gasps and please please please spilling from your mouth. he doesn’t stop. if anything, he goes harder. “you’re taking it so well, baby. so fuckin’ tight. taking my cock so well.” you’re close. he can feel it. your body starts to tremble, your breath hitching in your throat as he hits that spot over and over again. his thumb moves down to your clit, rubbing fast, tight circles.

“cum for me,” he whispers. “wanna feel you squeeze around me while i fuck a baby into you.” and you do. you break. your whole body shudders as the orgasm crashes through you, stars behind your eyes, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. he follows you seconds later, groaning as he fucks into you one last time, deep and slow, hips pressed flush against yours as he finishes.

“fuck—yes, take it—” he hisses, holding you tight while he fills you up, his cock twitching inside you. “every drop, baby. keep it in.” he stays inside for a while, panting into your neck, his hands rubbing slow circles on your hips. you’re both sweaty. wrecked. quiet.

and then he leans back to look at you, his expression soft but still a little cocky. “happy early birthday to me.” you roll your eyes, breathless. “you’re insane.” he smirks, pressing a kiss to your lips. “nah. just in love.” and maybe a little obsessed with the idea of you carrying a mini version of him

© delilahsturniolo

💌: who else cried/came

[pitlanepeach]

White Mercedes | Chapter Twenty-Four

Oscar Piastri x Anneliese Wolff (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — It was just supposed to be a game. Once a month. No names. No questions. A few hours where she could surrender fully—because everywhere else in her life, she was drowning.

But Oscar Piastri was all quiet power and brutal precision. He didn’t ask who she was, and she didn’t offer. Not her name. Not the harsh reality of her past. Definitely not the part about being Toto Wolff’s daughter.

But it’s not a game anymore. It’s a secret with teeth. And when it all comes crashing down, she doesn’t know if it’s her heart or his career that’ll break first.

Warnings — BDSM themes, realistic and flawed characters, Dom!Oscar, Sub!OFC, slow burn romance, lots of smut (obviously), strong language, drug-addiction, suicidal thoughts/ideation, past-suicide attempts, vaguely mentioned past sexual assault, themes of infertility.

Notes — It gets worse before it gets better. I'm sorry. I love you. Make sure to check the updated warnings list.

Feed the writer with your reactions/thoughts/feelings!<3

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Oscar noticed it halfway through the flight—a faint, neon-blue club stamp, half-smudged and barely visible, on the back of Max’s hand.

He raised a lazy eyebrow. “You go out last night?”

Max glanced up from his iPad, casual. “Hm? Oh. Yeah. Charles dragged me. Some rooftop bar with thirty-euro cocktails and no air conditioning.”

Oscar made a face. “So… hell.”

“Basically,” Max said, sipping water. “But the DJ was good. And the gin was nice.”

Oscar gave a lazy smirk. “You get hounded for pictures?”

“Couple times. Happens more when I’m with Charles. He draws a crowd.”

“Well,” Oscar said, “he is Monaco royalty.”

Max shrugged. “Took a photo with a chihuahua in sunglasses. Highlight of the night.”

Oscar huffed a laugh, then leaned back in his seat, eyes drifting half-lidded toward the window. The steady drone of the jet engines beneath them buzzed in his ribs—familiar, grounding. For a moment, it was quiet.

Then Max said, out of nowhere, “Padel was fun.”

Oscar blinked, surprised. “Yeah. It was.”

“The goth one. Jules. She’s… a lot.”

Oscar snorted. “That’s putting it lightly.”

Max’s lips quirked. “She hit me in the face with the ball. Multiple times.”

“On purpose,” Oscar added, grinning. “You beat her in the first round. She’s a sore loser.”

“I confronted her. She told me every bruise adds character.”

Oscar shook his head. “She’s a brat.”

A beat of silence.

Max tilted his head. “Oh?”

Oscar’s mouth opened, then hesitated. “I mean—”

“I learn more about you every day,” Max said, expression unreadable as he went back to his iPad.

Oscar shifted in his seat, cheeks hot. “It’s not like that. She’s just… Jules. You know?”

Max didn’t look up. “Brat, though. Interesting word choice.”

Oscar sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “She calls me worse.”

“I bet she does.”

Oscar turned toward the window, hiding his face against the chill of the glass. But the hum of the engine wasn’t soothing anymore. It pressed in, heavy and thick, buzzing with the weight of unspoken things. His jaw was tight. Neck damp. Embarrassment clinging like humidity.

Max, perfectly at ease, kept scrolling. Then: “So how’d you meet?”

Oscar didn’t look over. “She’s Ana’s best friend.”

“Oh,” Max said, like it suddenly all clicked. “Right. That tracks.”

Oscar cracked one eye open. “Why?”

Max finally looked up. The barest twitch of amusement played at his mouth. “You’ve got a type.”

Oscar blinked. “I—what?”

“Sweet,” Max said. “Eager. Easily directed—definitely not Jules.”

Oscar made a face. “Are you insulting me or complimenting Ana?”

“Bit of both,” Max said with a shrug. “Ana’s the soft one. Jules is her brother’s double.”

“You know Lucian?” Oscar asked, frowning slightly. There was a familiarity in Max’s voice that didn’t line up with one casual padel match.

“I’ve been to Valhalla a few times,” Max said, like he was mentioning the weather. “And you know how Lucian is—private invite lists, black-on-black dress code, high protocol, higher ego.”

Oscar stared. “You go to Valhalla?”

Max sipped his water and didn’t answer.

Oscar squinted. “Since when?”

Max smirked. “Few years.”

“You’ve only lived in Monaco for—”

“Exactly,” Max said, “It’s good. I get recognised at the door.”

Oscar stared like Max had grown an extra head. “You’re full of surprises.”

“So I’m told.”

Max went back to his screen. Oscar didn’t.

Then Max added, offhandedly, “That is where I first met Jules.”

Oscar sat upright. “What?”

“She didn’t stay for long,” Max said, waving a hand. “Stormed in, bitched Lucian out about an expense report, told the house Dom his boots looked like they were from Amazon, and left.”

Oscar blinked, horrified. “No. She didn’t.”

“She did.”

Oscar dragged a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ. That sounds exactly like her.”

“She’s a bit of a storm,” Max said. “But a fun one.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes. “You’re not interested, are you?”

Max arched a brow. “What if I was?”

Oscar stared. “I think that’s a terrible idea.”

Max looked faintly amused. “Why?”

Oscar’s voice dropped. “Lucian?”

“I know Lucian, Oscar.”

“Then you should know,” Oscar said, “if you so much as bruise her ego, he’ll peel your skin off and have it embossed into his dungeon furniture.”

Max laughed. “You think I’d make her cry?”

Oscar looked grim. “I think she might make you cry. And Lucian won’t care who started it.”

Max let that settle, then hummed thoughtfully. “You know he’s taken Ana under his wing now, too?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said. “Which is great for her. Terrifying for the rest of us.”

“You think Jules would actually let Lucian fight her battles?”

Oscar gave him a long look. “You clearly don’t know them that well. It doesn’t matter what Jules says—if Lucian is pissed, there’s no stopping him.”

Max leaned back in his seat, long fingers tapping the armrest. “Still. She’s interesting.”

“Max.”

He looked sideways. “What?”

“Just… think carefully.”

Max gave a lazy smile. “I always do.”

Oscar muttered under his breath, “That’s not reassuring.”

—

The world kept bleeding in and out.

Blinding white. Then black. Then white again. Her eyelids fluttered like moth wings, too heavy, too slow. Beeping—sharp and incessant—cut through the muffled drone of voices. The ceiling above her looked like it had been scrubbed sterile. Everything smelled like bleach; and her nose was burning.

“Anneliese.” A voice. A man’s voice. French, accented but clear. “Mademoiselle Wolff, can you hear me?”

She blinked, sluggish. Her throat burned. Her mouth was dry. Something tugged at her wrist—an IV? A blood pressure cuff? Everything itched. She hated it. Hated all of it.

She groaned. “Don’t touch me.”

“I need you to stay still, okay?” the voice said, firmer now, closer. A hand gently pressed against her shoulder.

She jerked, pain lancing through her chest. “Don’t—!”

“It’s alright,” the voice soothed. “You're in the hospital. You've been in an accident. You were brought in by ambulance. Do you remember what happened?”

Ana tried to think. Tried to reach back, past the light, the sirens, the cold. But it was a mess of images—shattered glass, screams, metal folding like paper. Her heart picked up pace.

“I need—” she croaked. “Call my brother.”

“We found your ID card in your purse. We’ve already called your listed emergency contacts,” the doctor said gently. “No one has answered yet.”

“Not them,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “Nate. Call Nate.”

The doctor hesitated. “Can you give me a last name?”

Ana blinked. “Wolff,” she rasped. “Please. Just—he lives here. Monaco. You can use my phone. It doesn’t have a password. He—He’ll answer. He will.”

“Okay. Okay—I’ll let the nurse know.”

Someone adjusted her IV. Ana flinched away.

“No—don’t—I said I don’t want anything.”

The doctor moved into her line of sight. He had kind eyes. Mid-forties. Calm. Too calm. “Miss Wolff, upon visual examination, I can already tell you that at the minimum, you’ve sustained a broken collarbone and a pelvic fracture. We need to manage your pain.”

“No drugs,” she gasped. “Please—I can’t.”

“Miss Wolff—”

“Don’t. I said don’t.” She turned her face away, teeth gritted against the pressure growing in her bones. It was searing now, blooming like fire under her skin. Her vision blurred again. “Please—I’m fine—don’t give me anything—”

“You’re not fine,” he said. “You’re in serious pain, and your body is under shock.”

“I can handle it,” she whispered.

Another nurse approached. A different voice. “She’s tachycardic. BP’s dropping.”

The doctor exhaled slowly. “Okay. You’re refusing the morphine. I understand that. But we can give you something milder—just to calm you down. Just something to help your body stabilise.”

“No,” Ana said, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. “You don’t understand—”

“We do,” the nurse said firmly. “Your injuries are significant. You won’t heal properly if your body is this tense. I don’t know what you have against pain medication—”

“I don’t care,” she choked. “Just—don’t give me anything. Please.”

The voices kept circling, gentle, coaxing—but they didn’t know. They didn’t understand the way that one tiny high could ruin everything. 

“Miss Wolff,” the doctor said again, too patient. “You need to trust us.”

She snapped.

“I’m a fucking drug addict!” Her voice cracked across the room like a whip. It echoed. Bounced off tile and glass and metal. Every syllable came jagged, ripped from her throat. “Okay?! Is that what you wanted me to say?! I’m a drug addict—I can’t take anything—don’t make me start again—”

Silence.

The nurses stopped.

The doctor’s eyes flickered with something new. He nodded once, slowly. Then leaned in. “Okay,” he said, soft as rain. “Okay. That changes things.”

Ana collapsed back into the pillow, body trembling, jaw clenched so tightly her teeth ached. Her chest heaved. The fire inside her didn’t go out—but it dimmed. Just slightly.

“Call my brother,” she whispered again, hollow and hoarse. “I—Please.”

And this time, someone nodded. This time, someone finally moved.

—

The call came in just after eleven. 

His phone lit up on the nightstand. Unknown number. Monaco country code.

He let it ring twice before snatching it up with a groan. “This better be good.”

“Is this Nathaniel Wolff?” a clipped, professional voice asked.

“Yeah,” Nate muttered, sitting upright, already on edge. “Who is this?”

“This is Hôpital Pasteur. We have your sister, Anneliese Wolff, here. She was admitted following a car accident.” 

Everything stopped.

Nate blinked once. Twice. His spine went rigid. “What?”

“She’s awake. Disoriented. In pain. Refusing all medication. She keeps asking for you.”

He was already throwing the sheets off. “I—I’m in Cap d’Ail. I can be there in twenty minutes. What’s—Is she hurt?”

“Fractured pelvis, broken collarbone, minor internal bruising. No head trauma. But she’s... distressed.”

“Yeah,” Nate muttered. Yeah. Okay.”

The voice softened. “She won’t let us administer pain management.”

Nate paused halfway through yanking on a pair of track pants. His stomach twisted.

“Right,” he said. “Listen to her. Don’t—don’t give her anything unless there’s no other option. Okay? I’m on my way.”

He hung up.

Then sat on the edge of the bed, fists clenched, elbows on his knees.

The room was silent but his head wasn’t—spinning with everything left unsaid, everything unresolved.

Anneliese. In a hospital bed. Asking for him.

The last time they’d spoken, he’d been cruel—he wasn’t an idiot. And he still believed everything that he’d said. That she was manipulative. A burden to him and everyone else in her life.

He’d said it in front of the whole family. And Lucian—Lucian fucking Vincent—had torn apart Nate’s firm the following week. Over a family dinner argument. Just like that, ten years of work evaporated.

Nate had sworn he was done, after that. Done with her spirals. Done with pretending to care just because they shared blood.

And yet—

Here he was. Shirt half on, shoes in hand, keys already in his palm.

Because at the end of the day—no matter how many rehab stints or panicked phone calls or burned bridges—she was still his little sister.

Still the kid who used to sneak into his room during thunderstorms. Still the one who’d cried when he went to university, begged him not to leave her behind.

And right now, she was alone. In pain. Begging for him.

Resentment still sat heavy in his chest. But under it, shame. And under that, something worse. 

Fear.

He left without turning the lights on. The elevator ride down felt like it took years.

He didn’t know what he’d say when he saw her.

But he knew he’d be there.

Because she’d asked for him.

And no matter how much he hated her sometimes—

She was still his sister. 

—

The doors swung open with a pneumatic hiss, and as soon as he said his sisters name, the nurse led Nate down the corridor.

His shoes squeaked over the tile floor. Every step made his throat tighter.

“She’s alert,” the nurse said in accented English. “But agitated. We managed to get her calm enough for a mild sedative after she—ah—refused pain control.”

Nate didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

His jaw was locked so tight it hurt.

Room 208. The door was cracked open.

He braced himself.

Inside, Ana lay small and pale against the bed sheets, dwarfed by wires, IV tubing, and the sharp angles of her sling and braces. Her collarbone was strapped. Her hip immobilised. Her mouth moved faintly, like she was murmuring something, maybe mid-dream. One arm was taped to a pulse monitor. Her lips were dry. Her hair stuck to her face in limp, sweat-damp strands.

Nate stood in the doorway like stone. A wall. A cliff. Something weathered by years of erosion, still somehow standing.

“Miss Wolff,” the nurse said gently. “Your brother is here.”

Ana blinked.

Slowly.

Then turned her head.

Her eyes—glassier than he’d ever seen—landed on him. “Nate?”

His chest nearly caved in.

She looked twelve years old again.

He stepped closer. Just one step. His voice was rough. “Yeah. It’s me.”

Her lips wobbled. Her hand twitched like she wanted to reach for him, but it didn’t lift.

“Thought you hated me,” she mumbled, dazed. “Thought you wouldn’t come.”

Nate flinched. He hadn’t known it would hurt to hear it out loud. “I don’t—” He exhaled, dragging a hand over his face. “I don’t hate you.”

“You’re so mad,” she whispered. “At me. All the time.”

“Yeah.” His voice cracked. “I am.”

She blinked again, slower. “I didn’t let them give me anything.”

“I know,” he said. “They told me. You did good, Ana.”

Her chin quivered.

And then she broke.

A silent sob shook her body—shallow, careful, barely there through the fog of injury and restraint. But it wrecked Nate anyway.

He crossed to the bed and sat stiffly beside her, one hand curling around the cool metal rail. For a long time, he didn’t touch her.

Didn’t know how.

Then she turned her face just slightly, brushing her cheek against his wrist. And he stilled.

Her voice was so soft he almost missed it. “Hurts.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

She breathed him in like he was oxygen.

“I’m sorry I asked them to call you,” she whispered. “I didn’t know who else.”

Nate’s throat burned. He looked away.

He had a thousand things he could say. Could shout. Could rage at her for. Could sob into her shoulder about. 

Instead, he reached up, and—awkwardly, a little halting—brushed her sweaty hair off her forehead.

“Get some rest,” he said, voice low. “They—I think they want to take you for more x-rays or—something like that. I’m not going anywhere.”

She stared at him and blinked slowly. 

And she believed him.

—

Nate’s phone sat heavy in his palm.

The screen lit up with his father’s name. He hadn’t tapped the call button yet.

He just… stared at it.

The paddock would be alive—Singapore in full swing. His father would be at hospitality, shaking hands, smiling—working. 

He sighed and rubbed the heel of his palm over his brow.

She was stable. That’s what the doctors said. She was stable. But her pelvis was fractured, her collarbone possibly broken. There was internal bruising they were still evaluating. She had screamed so violently when they tried to sedate her that they’d come close to restraining her. 

He closed his eyes.

He should tell them.

He should be the responsible one. The big brother. The adult.

But if he called now—right now—the fallout would be huge. And Ana would hate that. She’d hate that the world found out before she could even sit up in bed. Before she could say with any level of certainty that she was okay.

And maybe—maybe a small, bitter part of him wasn’t ready to give them the news. Maybe he wanted to keep it for himself for a little while londer—be able to be the sole person who was taking care of her. 

She had asked for him.

And that meant something he wasn’t ready to touch yet.

Nate exhaled, thumb hovering over the call button… then clicked the screen off.

Not yet.

He turned and looked through the small window into her room.

His coffee had gone stone cold.

He didn’t move to replace it.

—

Early morning light leaked through the glass, soft and yellow. Nate hadn’t slept. His back ached from the chair. His mouth tasted like bad coffee. His phone battery was at twenty—and he didn’t know if there were any chargers nearby. 

“Nathaniel Wolff?”

He stood like someone had pulled a string in his spine.

The doctor was young. Too young. Clean-shaven and polite. He wore pale blue scrubs and a wedding band, and Nate hated him instantly for both.

“All of the scans have come back,” the doctor began. “Your sister is stable.” 

Nate’s heart thudded at that word. Stable.

“But there are complications,” the doctor said.

Nate followed him into a room that wasn’t meant for long conversations. Just four white walls, a laminated emergency diagram, and a tissue box. 

“Anneliese sustained a complex pelvic fracture,” the doctor began, opening a folder like he was reading a grocery list. “Left side, primarily the superior and inferior pubic rami, extending into the acetabulum. The impact also caused internal contusions and bleeding in the pelvic cavity.”

Nate’s mind snagged on none of that. He blinked. “But… she’s fine. She’s—she’s talking. Sitting up.”

“She is,” the doctor said gently. “But I suspect that she’s in a lot more pain than she’s letting on—agonising, if I had to guess. There’s more.”

Of course there’s more.

“A bone fragment from the fracture lacerated the left ovary. There was considerable internal bleeding, and some necrosis of surrounding tissue. We’ve managed to stop the haemorrhage for now, but…”

The word hung like smoke.

“But,” Nate said quietly. “Say it.”

“There’s a significant chance she’ll lose full ovarian function. Possibly all of it, depending on how her body responds in the next forty-eight hours.”

Nate’s stomach turned. Cold and low and wrong. Like he’d been punched through the spine. “And if she does?”

The doctor hesitated. “She may be unable to conceive in the future.”

The silence went sharp.

“She’s twenty-two,” Nate said slowly, voice hollow. “She doesn’t even… she—I don’t know what to say.”

“I understand that this is a lot to understand,” the doctor said. “But we’re not declaring anything permanent yet. There’s inflammation. Swelling. We might need to operate.” 

Nate sat down hard in the plastic chair. His hands were cold. His knee bounced. His chest felt tight in a way he hadn’t felt since the first time she’d overdosed—when he’d found her there, on that bathroom floor, cold and still and—

“You’re telling me she might not—ever be able to—”

“We’re preparing for possibilities, Mr. Wolff. And we’ll be running tests. Fertility can sometimes be preserved or restored. There are procedures. Preservation options. Hormone support.”

Hormone support.

Preservation.

The paper the doctor handed him was trembling in his grip. Words he couldn’t focus on. Terms that meant nothing in the face of the one thing he hadn’t let himself think.

She might not ever have a baby. She might never get to decide whether or not to become a mother.

And she had no idea. 

“I—” Nate cleared his throat. It still cracked. “I should call our parents now.”

He stared down at his phone. At the blank screen. At the weight behind his eyes.

“They’re in Singapore. I don’t want to…” His voice dropped. “What if I tell them too soon? What if it’s not as bad as you think?” 

The doctor didn’t answer. Just looked at him the way people do when they’re trying not to pity you.

“She asked for me,” Nate said suddenly. The words slipped out like a confession. 

“You’re her brother,” the doctor said simply.

“You don’t know what that means,” Nate snapped. Then scrubbed his hands down his face. “You don’t know what I’ve done. What I’ve said to her.”

The doctor paused. “I recommend you call your parents, Mr Wolff.” 

Nate leaned forward, elbows on his knees, forehead in his palms. He sat like that for a long time. Silent. Breathing too shallow. The paper in his hand crinkled as he squeezed it, but he didn’t let go.

—

The ceiling looked like every ceiling she’d stared at in rehab. White. Textured. A little cracked in the corner.

She didn’t know how long she’d been awake. The pain came in tides—sharp, then dull, then sharp again, like someone was chiseling at her from the inside out. She kept her face blank. Her hands still. She blinked slowly, like she wasn’t curled around a scream.

Because if she flinched—if she showed it—they’d try to medicate her. Again.

She’d refused already. Three times. Maybe four. She couldn’t remember. She just knew she’d said no, over and over, and the nurses had looked at her like she was a problem they couldn’t chart.

She was used to that look.

Her mouth was dry. Her eyes burned. The sterile taste of the oxygen tube made her nauseous. She focused on the scratch of the bedsheets against her arm, on the thrum of the monitor. Anything but the screaming under her skin.

And then—

Footsteps.

Voices.

The door opened, and she turned her head—slow, stiff—toward it.

Nate.

And a doctor.

Her big brother looked like shit. Rumpled shirt. Hollowed eyes. Like someone had gutted him and forgot to stitch him up.

“Nate,” she croaked.

He was already at her side, grabbing a chair, not sitting, just hovering. His hand hovered too, near hers but not touching.

“I’m here,” he said, soft and cracked.

She nodded. Or tried to.

The doctor stepped forward. Ana recognised him from earlier—he was the one with the folder and the voice like a voicemail message.

“We wanted to update you now that you’re more lucid,” he said. “Are you in pain?”

“No meds,” she whispered.

The doctor paused. “Anneliese—”

“No.” Her voice came out sharper than she meant, and it cost her. Pain lanced up her side like lightning. She bit down on it hard. Breathed through her nose.

Nate’s jaw twitched.

“Alright,” the doctor said after a beat. “We’ll proceed carefully.”

He opened the chart. Started listing things. Words that blurred at the edges.

“Complex pelvic fracture. Impact to the acetabulum. Contusions to the lower abdominal cavity.”

She didn’t understand half of it, but Nate flinched like he did.

“There was internal bleeding,” the doctor continued. “And on your scans, we discovered trauma to the left ovary. A laceration. We believe that the bleeding is minimal, but…”

She heard it in his voice before he said it. The shift. The softening.

“We can’t guarantee long-term viability of the tissue.”

Her brain struggled to catch up. Viability. Of the tissue.

“I—” She blinked hard. “I don’t—”

“If the damage is permanent,” he went on, “there’s a significant chance of impaired fertility. Possibly total infertility.”

The room tilted.

“No,” Ana said.

The word came out too fast. Too certain. As if certainty would rewrite the facts.

“No,” she said again. “No, that’s not—no, that’s not happening.”

Nate was still. Frozen. His eyes on her, wide and wet.

“I’m twenty-two,” she whispered. “I haven’t even—I haven’t—”

The pain in her hip flared again, but this time it was nothing compared to the ache behind her ribs. Something sharp and splintering, like glass cracking from the inside.

She couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t even know if I want kids,” she said, the words tumbling now, scattered and wet. “But I thought—I thought maybe. Someday. With—”

With him.

With Oscar.

Tiny feet on the floor of some warm sunlit apartment. His hair, her eyes. Laughter. The kind that came from both of them at once. A life they hadn't even dared dream all the way through.

Gone.

Stolen in a split second of steel and asphalt.

Ana broke.

The sob hit her chest like a blow. She curled around it instinctively and immediately regretted it—her whole body screamed. But she couldn’t stop. The grief came sudden and massive, like a wave she hadn’t seen coming.

“I don’t even get to decide?” she cried.

Nate reached for her then. No hesitation. One hand to her back, careful, grounding. His other hand gripped hers like an anchor.

“I’m here,” he said again, hoarse now. “I’ve got you.”

She sobbed harder.

“I didn’t even—fuck, Nate—I didn’t even want them before. Not really. Not until—”

Oscar.

His voice in his kitchen. His stupid sleepy grin. 

“I can’t—I can’t tell him—”

“Okay,” Nate said. “Not now. Not until you’re ready.”

Her fingers tightened in his. A lifeline. A plea.

“I just wanted to live a normal life,” she whispered. “I got better.”

“I know,” he said.

She didn't know how long they stayed like that. Just her in tears, and Nate silent and still, the weight of too much sitting heavy between them.

—

Her body felt like broken scaffolding. Braced, splintered, half-suspended in something sterile and humming. She was tired—so tired—but her mind wouldn’t quiet.

Nate hadn’t left.

Even if he looked like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

He sat in the corner now, fingers interlaced, elbows on knees, like he could physically hold himself in place if he tried hard enough.

She turned her head slowly. Her voice cracked like brittle glass. “Nate?”

He was on his feet before she could blink. “Yeah?”

“I want Oscar.”

The words hung in the air, soft and trembling.

He froze. “Ana…”

“He’s in Singapore,” she whispered. “I know. I know that. But I still—” Her voice hitched. She swallowed hard. “I can’t keep secrets anymore,” she said. “I promised. I promised I wouldn’t keep anything from him.”

He didn’t answer. She saw the debate in his eyes. The way he tried to measure what was protective and what was cruel. But she was already too raw for shielding.

She shook her head. “Lucian and Jules are in Saint Lucia. I just—I want him. And I want—”

Her voice cracked.

“I want my papa, Nate.”

She looked at him, suddenly twelve again and scared out of her mind.

“Please.”

He didn’t move for a second. Then nodded—short, tight. Like the kind of yes you give when no other answer would survive your own heart.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll call them. I’ll call everyone.”

But before he could turn away, the door swung open again.

The doctors had arrived.

“We’re taking her to theatre,” one of them said. “There’s more we need to explore. The bleeding’s under control, but we can’t rule out further ovarian or uterine damage without going in laparoscopically.”

Ana’s stomach twisted. Cold fear surged up her spine.

She didn’t even cry this time. She just nodded. She’d already handed over her body. This was just more of the same.

Nate was by her side as they prepped her bed for transport.

“I’ll be here,” he said softly. “When you wake up.”

She caught his hand. Gripped it. Held his gaze.

“Call them,” she whispered. “Tell them.”

He squeezed her fingers. “I will.”

—

The air was thick. Nate stood outside the emergency wing, staring at his phone like it might explode.

He’d already called Lucian.

That went as expected.

“You let it go how long without calling me?” Lucian’s voice was razors wrapped in velvet. “If anything happens to her—”

“Sorry,” Nate had said, quietly, sharply. “I was a bit busy taking care of my sister.”

Then it was time for the hardest call of all.

T. Wolff – Mobile

He tapped it. Put the phone to his ear. Breathed through the ringing.

“Toto speaking.”

The voice—firm, Austrian, familiar—cut through him like a wire pulled taut.

“It’s Nate.”

Pause.

“Nathaniel?” Toto’s voice lifted slightly. “Is everything—”

“Anneliese,” he said. His throat clenched. “She was in an accident.”

Silence.

Toto’s breath hitched. Barely audible.

“She’s in the hospital in Nice,” Nate went on. “She was stable, but there are… complications. She’s in surgery now. Pelvic trauma. Internal injuries. They’re talking about, um—long term damage.”

Another silence. Longer. The kind filled with everything no one wants to imagine.

Then, “We’ll be on the next flight.”

“She asked for you,” Nate said quietly. “And Oscar. Lucian and Jules.”

“I’ll get them all to Nice,” Toto said, already moving. You could hear the rustle of papers, the urgency in motion. “Does she need anything?”

Nate exhaled slowly. “She just wants Oscar.”

“She asked for him?”

Nate nodded, even though no one could see. “No lies, she said. She promised him.”

The line went silent.

“I’ll tell him,” Toto said finally, voice low. “And I’ll—I’ll help him talk to his team. Talk to Zak. Get a reserve in his seat for the weekend—if that’s what he wants. I’ll get him there.”

“Thanks, Papa.”

Toto’s voice softened—just slightly. “I am proud of you for being there for her.”

The line clicked dead.

And Nate, who had once sworn he’d never be pulled back into the chaos that shadowed his baby sister’s name, finally let the weight of it settle in his bones.

—

Oscar was halfway through his second coffee, watching tyre data scroll across his tablet, when the door opened behind him.

He didn’t look up—thought it was Lando, or Andrea, or maybe someone from comms there to remind him about the fan Q&A.

But the voice that spoke wasn’t any of theirs.

“Oscar.”

It was low. Measured. Heavy.

He turned.

Toto Wolff stood just inside the door, dressed in all black despite the heat, eyes unreadable behind his glasses.

Oscar blinked. “Toto?”

“I need to speak with you,” he said. “Privately.”

The coffee suddenly tasted like acid in his mouth.

He stood. “Yeah. Of course.”

They ducked into a smaller meeting room, a soundproofed side pod lined with sponsor logos and still air.

Toto didn’t sit.

He looked at Oscar for a long moment, as if weighing every word before placing it on the scale.

“There has been an accident,” he said finally. “Anneliese is in the hospital.”

The world narrowed, like a lens pulling focus too fast.

Oscar’s heart dropped. “What?”

“It happened in Nice,” Toto went on, voice level. “Yesterday. She has had emergency surgery. There is internal bleeding. Pelvic trauma. She is stable now, apparently, but…” He exhaled. “It is serious.”

Oscar’s knees nearly buckled.

His hand found the back of a chair, grip going white-knuckled. “She—what kind of trauma? Is she awake?”

“She was, before the surgery,” Toto said. “She has asked for all of us.”:

Oscar’s head snapped up. He felt something rupture in his chest. He didn’t realise he was already shaking.

“We need to go,” he said hoarsely. “I need—fuck. I need to get out of here. Where’s Zak?”

Toto didn’t argue. He just followed as Oscar stormed down the corridor and straight into Zak’s temporary office.

“Pato or Mick can take my seat,” Oscar said before Zak could even speak. “For this weekend. I’m not racing.”

Zak blinked. “Oscar, hang on—what’s going on?”

“It’s—I just—,” Oscar said. “Ana is in the hospital. A car accident. It’s bad.”

Zak’s face pinched, but he didn’t immediately agree. “I get it, but we’re already down on track time, and we’ve got sponsors—”

“She could be dying,” Oscar snapped, voice cracking. “I’m not asking.”

Zak looked to Toto, brows raised. “Is this real?”

Toto nodded once. “It is real. And it is bad. Myself, Susie and Jack will be leaving in an hour.”

Something in Zak’s expression shifted—less boss, more man. He rubbed a hand down his face and nodded slowly.

“Alright. We’ll get Mick prepped. I’ll handle the press. Go, Oscar.”

—

The world came back in pieces.

Soft beeping.

Sterile air.

The distant murmur of a hallway.

The ache—not sharp, but thick, pulsing somewhere deep in her hips and curling like fog through her spine.

Ana’s eyes fluttered open, then closed again. Too bright. Too much.

The room wasn’t empty. She could feel that. Someone was breathing beside her—not hospital staff breath, not clipped or impersonal. This was softer. Slower. Ragged around the edges.

She turned her head.

The world tilted, then corrected itself.

Blurry.

A figure. Curled in a chair pulled far too close to her bed. Elbows on his knees, head bowed forward, fingers locked together like he was praying.

Her throat moved before her mind could catch up. “Oscar?”

It came out as a whisper. Barely even air. But his head snapped up like he’d been yanked by an invisible thread.

And there he was.

Too real. Too pretty. Too present.

His hair was a mess. His eyes bloodshot. Red at the rims, damp with tears he wasn’t even trying to hide.

“Oscar,” she breathed again, a sound between a sob and a sigh.

His chair scraped back just enough for him to reach her hand where it lay across the blanket. He gathered it into both of his, as gently as if she were made of spun sugar.

“Hi,” he said, voice cracking. “Hi, sweet girl.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks. She wasn’t even aware of crying. Her body just did, the way it did everything else lately—without her permission, without warning, without apology.

“I thought you were in Singapore,” she said, the syllables slurred, mouth thick with whatever sedatives still swam in her system.

“I was,” Oscar whispered. “I left.”

Her lip trembled. “But… the race—”

“I don’t care about the race.” He shook his head. “I care about you.”

That cracked something loose. A sob bubbled up and out of her before she could hold it down.

He leaned in, forehead pressing gently to the back of her hand, like he had to feel her to believe she was still there.

“You’re not supposed to cry,” Ana whispered, eyes locked on the shimmering wetness on his cheeks. “You’re the strong one.”

Oscar let out something close to a laugh—but it broke in the middle, shattered and wet. “I’m not strong without you,” he said, voice barely audible. “Don’t you get that?”

Her eyes fluttered, the pain breaking through the fog now—her pelvis, her collarbone, her whole goddamn soul—but it didn’t matter. None of it did. He was here.

“You came?” she asked, like it still didn’t make sense. Like maybe she’d dreamed him.

“I’d fly to the moon if you needed me,” he murmured. “You asked for me. Of course I came.”

Ana turned her face into the pillow, more tears soaking the cotton. “I was so scared.”

“I know,” Oscar whispered, brushing hair back from her forehead with a trembling hand. “I was, too.”

She blinked up at him through the haze, through the pain and the possibility and the heartbreak of what she’d learned, what she hadn’t even begun to process. Her hand clutched his tighter.

“I wanted to see you one more time,” she breathed, soft and broken. “Just in case.”

His face folded. His mouth twisted like it physically hurt to hear her say that.

“Don’t say that,” he rasped. “There’s going to be a thousand more times. A lifetime, Anneliese Wolff.”

Her breath hitched. “Promise?”

“I promise,” he said, voice steady now, anchored by the truth of it. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sorry about your car.” She murmured. 

He choked. “I don’t give a shit about the car, baby.” 

Ana let her eyes fall shut again.

And she finally let herself rest fully—because Oscar was holding her.

And that changed everything.

[veejiez]

LAY ALL YOUR LOVE ON ME.

𝖘𝖚𝖒.ㅤ★ Laid eyes on the bad boy of your dreams at a sleazy bar at 1 AM, 'n the sleazy bastard followed you when you ran off to the ladies' room... uh, of course you had to have him. But this isn't your first time fucking around with Mister Bad Boy Suguru Geto, is it?

𝖜𝖈ㅤ★ 3k

𝖈𝖜ㅤ★ strictly NO under 18s, smut, light angst, Suguru is a sleazy lying bastard, rough sex, semi-public, (bathroom stall), pet names (bunny, baby) & name-calling (slut), unprotected sex, creampie, big d!g Suguru, sum squirting

🍒 x 🐇 x 💗@𝖆𝖗𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖎 ㅤ𝖑𝖎𝖇𝖗𝖆𝖗𝖞

You're so fucked.

Remember that sleazy, bad boy you messed around with last October? That's right, the one who slithered into your life, ruined your innocence (as by your request), and whom you had to run away from because... well, your gut instinct told you to. You were his sweet little secret thing on the side. He was your gothrock madman sent from hell to woo you. A real pretty-faced roughboy.

Black chipped nails, black hair, black clothes — see how fucked you are? And what else? Wolfcut. Kinky bastard. Devil intent behind a sickeningly handsome face... with the smile of an angel.

He lived a city away from you, so why was he hanging around in a sleazy bar on the west side, on your turf?

You catch sight of him, immediately feeling stricken by every nasty memory of him feeling his fingers inside you and sticking his pierced tongue down your throat, and IMMEDIATELY you make haste to disappear from existence before he — oh fuck, he saw you.

Worse, he smiled instantly when he saw you. And then nobody else in the room existed to him but you.

What a sight for sore eyes, he thinks. His sweet and slutty angel reappearing in the exact place that he expected her to be on a lonely Saturday night. Hm, were you looking for someone to numb the pain of not having him in your life? N'aw, poor thing.

Suguru begins to make his way over to you at the bar, squeezing through the thick crowd of mostly drunk and obnoxious party animals.

"Uh, I'm going to the bathroom!" you tell your friend hurriedly, and without any further explanation, you leave him hanging there and dash for the bathroom.

You're sooo fucked.

You dive into the temporary refuge of the yucky bar bathroom. Neon pink light. Fake ferns hanging. Mirrors cracked. Kissy marks on one of them. Telephone number on the other.

Then the devil himself appeared at the doorframe of the ladies' bathroom. Your heart shot up into your chest.

"Bunny," Suguru's voice rung out, dangerously affectionate, "It's been so long, how've you been? Still seeing that what's-his-name?"

"Suguru." you swallowed, speaking stiffly. "Hello."

Ooooh, he loved how you looked like a deer in headlights. Like you never expected him to follow you into the bathroom and corner you like this.

Try to play it cool, girl, maybe give him a little kiss then leave him high and dry — that was the plan that was coming to your mind.

"This is the ladies' room, Suguru." you scolded.

"Aw, you're right. Would be terrible if we got caught... again."

Ah, fuck. He knew what he was doing.

Just that was enough to work your memory — it was almost dizzying feeling the rush of images in your head. Images of what? Uh, Suguru behind you, the bathroom stall door shut tight, orgasm after orgasm wrecking your body, sticky sweat dripping down your breasts and thighs, and your back in the sluttiest arch that even a pornstar would have envied.

You were already getting wet after hearing the sound of his smooth accent, and the intoxication of his cologne didn't fucking help — no, we really need to talk about this; because how could his cologne alone inspire such a carnal desire in you? It made NO sense. You were just a normal girl, very sane and functional in society, but around this man? Not even a slight resemblance to that.

Feral — a better word to describe the state he put you in.

Your effect on him? Well, he was already feral. That was his natural state of being. But fuck did he have to hold himself back from doing the obscene to you in that tiny bathroom. His hand twitched in his pocket.

Reflections trapped in the shiny black tiles of the bathroom, as if stuck in that silent moment, you and him just stared at each other with enough intensity to tear apart the heavens.

Gods cried whenever you two stood near to each other, you know? I mean, the thoughts that passed through your minds... just appalling, really. Two human beings shouldn't be that obsessed with each other. It wasn't normal how much you two wanted each other. And it was disastrous how horny just a few words and a bit of eye contact could make you. Like if he couldn't squeeze his nasty cock inside you one more time, then he'd snap and go psycho — you were even worse.

You were crazed for him in a way that was not just a threat to feminism, but to your own moral principles, too.

"Hey..." Suguru began, inching closer to you, taking a ballsy risk despite knowing that you could run away like a frightened little bunny, "Still into me? Or am I wasting my time?" he asked, smirking as if he already knew the answer... yet lingering, like he was frightened of hearing anything but a 'yes' in reply.

"Yeah, you're wasting your time... Suguru, I don't want nothin' to do with you... you're crazy."

"You say that and yet you're the one who chased me back then. Funny. I never initiated shit, remember? You wanted me so bad you pried me apart from my girlfriend, and then like a coward you ran because it started getting 'too serious'. I'm still pissed about that, ya know? I really liked you. You listened to me when I was being beaten down by her."

"And you were bullshitting the whole time!" you raised your voice, and for some reason that turned him on so bad, like, fuck, could he just makeout with your pretty little face against these cold tile walls and bite up your neck already? Strip that little dress off your slutty body and worship you from lips to neck to pussy? Like, come on, baby let the devil in.

He knew you knew that he was the biggest fucking liar ever, that he was never even in a toxic relationship, that he was the one fucking around on her with you and telling you tall tales, lying that the relationship was 'over'. Uh, yeah, right.

Your ears went hot. Felt all on edge. Anxious to run both towards him and away from him at a hundred miles per hour.

"You're the worst thing that ever happened to me, you know?!" your voice quivered with lust.

"What, 'cuz you couldn't move on from the way I kissed you? Touched you? Ruined you?"

He was coming closer and closer towards you.

Ah, god, was he sexy. And you? Well your sundress wasn't giving much hint of your body, but that turned him on even more... especially because he knew what you looked like underneath all that.

Funny how your mind conflicted with your body in that instant. Because every inch of your flesh ached for him to consume it, but your mind screamed for you to run — run and don't look back.

Oh, baby, he's no good for you.

But you want him. You want him.

Suguru's big black eyes look down at you. There's hardly a twinkle of light in them. Just raw, dirty, awful, unstoppable lust.

"If you want to, we can continue where we left off..." he murmured, cautiously closing the distance between you and him.

Every hair on the back of your neck stood up. He was trapped in the scent of your perfume, lost in your ethereal gaze. Fuck, can't he just shove you into a bathroom stall and kiss you until your lips are bruised? Have you all to himself, and please the overly possessive freak that he is?

It's hard to say no to him, as it always has been. You start breathing harder, and he sees your chest rising and falling, and all his blood rushes down and now his cock is starting to stand at attention 'cuz it knows what's coming next.

"Alright." you replied at last — honestly, giving in wayyy too easily to him — and his eyes lit up, "But don't you tell a god damn soul that we — "

Couldn't even finish your damn sentence, because Suguru crashed his hot lips down on yours with an damn near bruising force.

Your mind broke. He was all over you. Lips and hands and body — I mean, he kissed you like he hadn't kissed a woman in his entire life, shit, no, like he was gonna die if he broke apart from your lips.

Absolutely nothing could have pried his hands off your little waist, and you're sure if even god himself appeared there in that bathroom right then that you wouldn't take your hands off Suguru Fucking Geto.

He's the bad boy that you've always dreamed of, god, like nobody gets you as wet and agonizingly turned on quite like he does. Your walls were already fluttering, clit already buzzing with the grazing of your panties against it, heat rising rising rising.

Exactly as he wanted, his lips were attached to your neck and sucking feverishly at the delicate skin there. He wanted you. No, you don't understand; he wanted more of you than what was humanly possible to take of a person. Total carnage. Man-turned-wolf type shit. Wanted to bite you and sink his fangs in and leave marks that lasted for ever and ever on you. Needed to touch and grab and grope at more than what could physically fit in his big, sinning hands.

You gasp and gulp down air like you've been drowned by his kisses. And when he sucks at your neck like that? Well, sure you're in the bathroom of a greasy little dive bar, but you're grabbing and rubbing at his cock through his black skinny jeans with not an ounce of shame. Who cares if someone walks in? I know, crazy to say that, but truly neither of you could care less right now.

Everything is you. Your perfume is in his lungs and the next thing he needs is your pussy juice coating every inch of his dirty cock. It's no damn secret, jeez, it's a no-brainer; Suguru always wanted to fuck you into a stupid submissive slut, but he never got the chance.

He growls — actually growls against your neck — and it's game over from there. Nope, no escape. Not anymore. You couldn't even if you wanted to — and Suguru knew that. Though your scandalous love affair with him hadn't lasted pretty long, he'd already come to know your body like the back of his hand.

"Suguru!" you whine, look up at him with the neediest little bambi eyes, and he knows instantly what you need... but he's not gonna do it unless he hears you admit it, until he sees your defeated little face admit that you're just a...

****

"Say it, you're a little slut that can't get enough dick."

"I'm a little shlut that c-can't g-g-get enuff dick!! Nn!"

Right up into your tummy, riiight up there, that's the depth he reaches with his nasty nine inches. It's like he's playing tetris with your guts. Not a single thought is behind your eyes, there's just a blissed-out glow on your sweaty face... curtesy of the bad boy behind you.

He never gets enough of it, never gets deeper — he's plunging it inside you like it's what he was born to do god dammit, holding you like he's gonna drag you down to the underworld, like you're his Persephone and he's your Hades. An animalistic heat rippling all over his body, Suguru lets out the lowest, horniest grunts while fucking into your tinier body with everything he's got.

"More more more!" you choke out, not even able to keep your voice in. It's fine, the bar music is so loud it's almost like being at a club... totally drowning out yours and Suguru's slutty moans.

"Good fucking girl, begging for more. Love it when you're this nasty... baby, why'd you ever run away from me?"

"'Cuz... 'c-cuz you were a lying, cheating, asshole~! Mm!"

"Oh yeah?"

He grins a wolfy grin, drags out the thickest part of his cock through your tight ring of muscle, and slams it back in with one shwoop. Base to tip. Stretched and stuffed like a dolly. Fuck. That thrust really just deleted every logical thought in your head. No more questioning if this is right or wrong, nor worrying about the consequences; you needed him in you like a bitch needs water in the desert.

Suguru's needy hands snake up your waist and grope fistfuls of your tender breasts, massaging at them like he was trying to communicate that they belonged to him — possessive. You would never have guessed an Aquarian like him was as possessive as a Scorpio. Uh, maybe it's in his rising or moon that makes him act this way? Who knows.

"Rude little slut," he laughs, holding his twitching cock still inside you and pressing your pretty face up against the cool surface of the bathroom stall's door. "Lets see you walk out of here with your makeup all smudged and hair looking like you just got your brains fucked out of your head. I'm sure your little boyfriend at the bar would love to see that, wouldn't he?"

"He's not my boyfriend!" you splutter, pussy feeling absolutely choked by his cock.

"Then I'll make sure he never will be."

"Ooh, Suguruuu~!" you smile, cheek smushed against the door, feeling him withdraw and start back up his wrestling match with your guts. "Fuck me, I love you!"

His heart nearly beat right out of his chest.

"Aw, do you? Aren't you so sweet." he croons, "Gonna be nicer to me this time and let me fill you up?"

"Mhm! Yes yes yes! Do it, I wanna feel it all inside me!" you squeal, delirious from the way he was fucking you.

"Shit... your pussy is crazy. She's trying to keep me inside, look at that." He laughs, trying to sliding himself out of your tight little hole and almost failing because sheesh... she just wanted to suck him right in and up to her cervix.

Suguru fucks you like an animal, yes, but something changed after you blurted out that little 'I love you'. Sooo... now he's driving into you like he's trying to fuck a thousand more 'I love yous" out of your pretty mouth.

Grabbing your jaw, forcing you to look at him as he ruins you for every other man, Suguru grunts and groans against your skin.

"I'm so close..." his voice strains, "Take all of me, baby, take everything I'm gonna fucking give you, yeah? Milk every fucking drop out of that cock you love so much."

"Yesyesyes!! I-if you cum I'm gonna cum too, please!" you cry out, totally lost, totally seeing stars and totally — squirting?!

Oh shit, you are. Heh. Well... um... seems like it's not just you who's gonna leave the bar looking like a drenched mess. The front of Suguru's skinny jeans got literally soaked.

And you were somewhere in lalaland, feeling his cock snuggled up against your cervix and stretching out your walls which would remember the shape of this nasty boy.

Palm rubbing sloppily at your clit, inching closer and closer with Suguru towards climax, then suddenly the bomb hits and you're convulsing on his cock, hardly seeing straight and seeing flickering stars in your vision.

Shit. He might have actually fallen in love. Ah, fuck. That's not good. That's really not good.

"Babyyy... you're so messy..." he strains, voice all hoarse.

It's impossible not to cum while your pussy is strangling his cock like that. He's shooting ribbons of gooey white and also seeing white in his vision, poor boy. He's never had an orgasm wipe him out quite as much as this one — with the sweet and slutty girl of his dreams.

"Ah, fuck..."

"Ugh..."

The two of you cum down from the high, still lost in each other, sweaty and melted together.

It's a goopy mess dripping down your shuddering inner thigh after he withdraws.

He doesn't even know what to say. He's speechless. Pussy got him clueless on the English language. I mean, what was the use? You probably heard all his emotions in his voice right when he came inside you, didn't you?

Suguru gasps with you, heart beating like drums in his ribcage. His eyeliner is hanging down his eyes like a gothic shadow. Black nails chipped. Wolfcut ruined and flattened. Chain belt slid off his jeans and fell to the floor at some point but he doesn't know which.

Fuck. He's in love. Fuckfuckfuck. What to do about it? Love you? No way, not with the messy lover he can be. And anyways, you hated his guts. Right? Awful. How you hate his guts and he loves being tangled up in yours.

"Bunny,"

"Don't call me that!" you snap, still steadying your breath and finding balance on earth after that nerve-fraying orgasm.

His lips twist into a smile.

Ah, shit, she hates you so much, Suguru. Just listen to the hurt in her voice. You really shoulda treated her better back then, never lied, never snuck around, and maybe she would have even been your girlfriend by now.

The deed's done. You're scurrying to get dressed. Vacant bathroom? Uh, yeah, dummy, people heard that occupied stall from a mile away and made a full 180 to leave before even entering.

Suguru bounces out and washes up at the sink, slicking water through his slightly greasy hair, checking himself out before turning his attention back to you in that calculated manner of his.

"So, I'll text you?"

"I won't respond."

"Mm, yes you will."

"No I won't." You say firmly.

He pauses for a moment, makes a face, then comes over to you and plants a hard slap on your ass, giving a glance to your lips like they're his favorite desert.

"Now, baby, don't be like that; you know it turns me on when you play hard to get."

"Sugu..." you whine defeatedly, looking up into his big black I'm-gonna-ruin-your-life eyes.

"See you around, bunny." he cooed, quick kiss your cheek, then made a French exit.

"Sugu!! You bastard!!" you yelled after him, "You can't get everything you want, asshole!!"

He bounced out, grinning back at you — ooh, that fangy smile.

"Yes I caaan~" he sang, right before disappearing.

Scoffing with a smile, you stood there with a hardcore heartbeat just thinking about what happened.

Ugh, bad boys. They fuck 'n go like the pussy's a drive-thru, huh? Aren't they just the worst?

Um, anyways.

You unblocked him from your contacts. Again. For the fourth time.

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙ㅤ★

@candy-s72 💗 @paintedperidot 💗 @saltwaterships 💗 @edensrose 💗 @miseryyouth-99

[shiningbysapphires]

Pick a Image: What will your sex life with your future spouse look like? +18 NSFW

This is the first time I’ve tried channeling for NSFW messages, and I heavily relied on intuition and the imagery on the cards to tell me the story. I tend to veer away from traditional meanings of the card, simply because I think the imagery gives me a lot more to go off about especially in this context.

Pile 1: Page of Wands and The Sun 🦋 You guys will be veryyy adventurous in your sex life. It’s like you’re unafraid to try something new and different to see if you enjoy it all, and enjoy it you will. It feels like a very eye opening experience each time you guys have sex. And toys, you guys may like to use a lot of toys and equipment during sex. If there is anything you want to try, I’m talking kink, fetishes, anything at all, all you guys have to do is tell your spouse and they will be so READY to try it. It almost feels really eager and horny, I can’t lie. And I have to be honest with you guys, there are fucking bananas in the background of this card, like two fucking trees growing a bunch of bananas. I’m not sure what your preference in spouses may be, but if you guys are into dicks….let me tell you, it feels like this person’s dick is going to be big, and it’s going to make you feel very….pleasant to say the least. If there are people who aren’t into that, it’s just reaffirming the toys part because damn you guys are adventurous sexually and perhaps you guys may play with…certain-shaped toys, ahem ahem, dildos…. If you catch my drift. Wax play may also be something you guys like to do often. Just feels like a very fiery connection with you guys. Overall, very adventurous and willing to try all sorts of things and quite an eye opening experience indeed.

Pile 2: Five of Coins and Strength 🦋 Okkk, so for you bunch, it feels like sex is going to be very intimate, very private and very gentle as well.  I’m getting like love making behind closed doors as a phrase specifically. Aftercare can also be a huge part of your sexual experience, definitely seeing you guys both enjoying it a lot. Also seeing there may be a Dom/sub dynamic here, specifically feeling that your future spouse is the dom while you are the sub, but they may only resonate with a few of you. I’m not getting as adventurous as pile 1, instead it feels almost mellow in comparison. There almost feels like a duality in your dynamic when you have sex with them, like perhaps they want to cuff you, but also like to hold you. But no matter what they do, they appear calm and are really tender with you. If sex could be a healing experience, this is what it would feel like. Overall, just feel like a very loving nature, very tender experience. One last thing because I wanted to edit thing and proofread (so I’ve done all the piles now),  this pile didn’t feel quite as detailed as the rest, and I think that highlights the private and guarded nature of your sex life with your future spouse.

Pile 3: Six of Cups and Eight of Coins 🦋 Three words: bound, gagged, begging. Your future spouse loves how vulnerable you are during sex, they love that you can trust them with that. In truth, it may feel like they have all the power, but you guys, they’d give you anything you want if you asked hard enough. It feels like as of a result of your vulnerability they love making you orgasm. They love seeing the pleasure they give to you, and they want to feel like they are the only one’s who can make you cum that hard. Also, the mountain in the back of the six of cups is giving big dick energy, or big boobs, which ever resonates with you. They most definitely want tears falling as they make you cum the hardest you ever have before. This pile is the epitome of pain and pleasure being mixed together. But, if you ever wanted it, all you have to do is ask and they would make love with you, slow and passionate. They know that sometimes rough isn’t what you need and they are willing to accommodate to you. But at least for the majority of the time, what they want is to combine pain with pleasure and teach you how good it can be for you.

Divider made by @uzmacchiato

[danitcx]

More Human Than You Think

Clark Kent x female reader

Synopsis: She was just supposed to do the interview Clark couldn’t attend. That was all. Just questions, answers, and a photo with Superman. But something about the way he looked at her… the way he spoke about Clark… made everything shift. And maybe, without knowing it, she gave away more than she meant to.

Warnings: No explicit content. Lots of fluff, shyness, accidental confession, secret identity, romantic tension.

WC: 3,686 words

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You looked at your reflection in the elevator glass one last time before reaching the rooftop. You had chosen the most professional outfit your closet allowed: light beige dress pants, straight-cut, paired with a matching blazer and a short-sleeved white blouse with a high collar, perfectly ironed and fitted to your body without losing formality. Your heels, also beige, made barely any sound with each step. Your hair was tied in a low bun, with a few loose strands framing your face. And your handbag was elegant, small, cream-colored.

You sighed.

It was the most formal thing you had. The most professional. And even though your stomach twisted with nerves, you couldn’t wipe away that faint smile that kept appearing. You were about to interview Superman. No less than Superman. And you knew that if the interview went well, your name could end up on the front page… right where you’d seen your coworker Clark Kent’s name before.

Clark… Of course you owed this to him.

He was the one who always got direct interviews with Superman. No one knew how he did it. But this time, Perry White had requested that the Daily Planet at least be visible in the background. And Clark had managed it… until the night before, when he texted you saying he was very sick and wouldn’t be able to make it. He ended the message with a sentence that still made your heart flutter:

“I trust only you with this.”

You accepted, of course. Though your first reaction was to worry about him. More than anyone, you had watched him since you both started working there. Silently, you had fallen in love with Clark with almost absurd devotion. Lois had noticed, she even encouraged you to talk to him, but you always refused with a nervous smile. Because, come on… it was Clark. The kind guy, always smiling, bringing coffee for everyone and helping even when he didn’t have to. You were probably just confusing his kindness for something more.

So you settled for having him close. Even if it was just as a coworker.

But that night, standing in front of you, would also be Superman. And although you looked like a background fangirl at a K-pop concert, the truth was you admired him beyond the superficial. Yes, he was handsome. Impossibly handsome. But what captivated you was the other stuff: his way of saving humans and animals alike, his calmness, his humanity… More human than many humans. Though they called him a metahuman, some even considered him a threat. You didn’t.

You took a deep breath as you opened the rooftop door. Luckily, it wasn’t windy. The air was warm, steady. You closed the door gently. No one knew he would be there. That’s why, after your shift, you had snuck back to your apartment and returned just for this moment. The buildings at that hour were already empty. Just you… and him.

You checked your phone. Still no response to the message you had sent Clark during lunch: “The interview will be soon. How are you feeling? If you need anything, let me know.”

“Good evening.”

The voice behind you was soft, deep, with a warm tone you recognized instantly. You turned slowly… and there he was. Floating. Hovering effortlessly in front of you, his cape gently billowing behind him, lit by the golden lights of the city.

Superman.

“Good evening,” you managed to say with difficulty, trying to sound professional. You never imagined being so close to a man who literally defied gravity. “You must be waiting for Clark. He said that…”

“Yes,” he interrupted gently, landing, his boots touching the ground with a soft sound. “I got an email.”

“You have an email?” you asked, surprised, before you could stop yourself. He smiled, with that almost unreal warmth that made your chest tighten.

“Sorry. Please, have a seat,” you said quickly, pointing to the chairs you had set up earlier that morning. Two simple chairs, facing each other, with the golden globe of the Daily Planet in the background.

“Clark said he could trust you,” he said as he sat down. “He… really appreciates you.”

Your heart gave a little jolt.

Clark talked about you to Superman?

“Clark has always been kind to me. We're just coworkers,” you murmured, not knowing why you felt so exposed. “But I’m not here to be interviewed by you,” you added, which caused a soft, genuine laugh from him.

“You're right. Go ahead, please,” he replied.

You nodded, turned on your pocket recorder, and opened your notebook.

“Let’s begin,” you said, forcing yourself to keep a formal tone, though your fingers trembled slightly. “Thank you again for doing this,” you began. “I know you’re usually very private, so… I really appreciate it.”

“Clark insisted,” he said with a smile. “But I’m doing it because I believe in the importance of what is said… and how it’s said.”

“Then I’ll start there. How do you decide when to speak and when to stay silent in the face of international crises?”

“Every word can carry political, military, or emotional weight. Sometimes, silence is also a message. But when I speak, I try to do so with hope… not fear.”

“What has been the most difficult moment you’ve faced during a mission?” you asked.

Superman hesitated.

“Saving someone who doesn’t want to be saved,” he finally answered. “People who are so hurt by life that they believe they don’t deserve help. That… hurts more than any blow.”

You fell silent for a moment, touched by his honesty.

“How do you deal with loss? With… what you can’t save?”

The sadness that appeared in his eyes was so human that you almost forgot you were standing in front of a symbol.

“With memory. I remember their names, their faces. I pray for them. And I keep going… because stopping would mean failing them again.”

Your fingers stopped writing for a second.

“Lastly,” you said, looking up, “this is a slightly more personal question. Clark mentioned that you save lives equally, without distinctions, and that moved me. You give each life a deep value. Why do you do that?”

Superman remained silent, but not out of discomfort. It seemed he truly wanted to find the right words.

“You said it yourself. They’re lives. Each one has a universe inside, dreams, fears, laughter, people waiting for them at home. It doesn’t matter who they are or where they come from… everyone deserves to be saved. Because the simple fact of existing is reason enough.”

You put away the recorder and looked at him with a calm smile.

“And that makes you more human,” you said softly, but firmly.

The surprise on his face was clear. But also something deeper. Gratitude. As if no one had ever told him that before. As if, for a moment, you had touched something no one else could reach.

“Thank you for your time. Really. I hope I didn’t take too much of it. Maybe I’m not Clark but…”

“You did a good job.” His response was quick, and when you looked at him, he smiled at you. For a moment, the way he said it reminded you so much of Clark that you let yourself be carried away. “Clark mentioned you were a big admirer of mine,” he added, lowering his voice slightly.

“Oh, of course… but don’t think I’m going to throw myself at you right now,” you replied with an amused smile.

He let out a genuine laugh. Deep. Warm.

“Is that… what you want?” he teased, without losing that charming expression.

“No… no, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” you stammered nervously, searching your bag for your camera to distract yourself. “You’re Superman. But I… I’m in love with someone else.”

He didn’t answer. But if you had looked at him in that moment, you would’ve seen how his face changed subtly. His eyebrows lifted slightly, his lips parted. Surprised. Almost disappointed. As if he wasn’t expecting that answer.

When you finally looked up, he had already recomposed himself, as if nothing had happened. His expression was neutral again. Almost too much.

“May I?” you asked, raising the camera. “I need the Daily Planet world to be visible in the background of the photo. It’s to visually justify the interview.”

He nodded with a slight tilt of his head.

“And… that someone you’re in love with… do they work here?” he asked suddenly, taking a few steps but without taking his eyes off you.

You didn’t notice. You were focused on adjusting the lens, searching for the ideal light.

“They do,” you replied, without thinking too much. “But I can’t say who.”

“No?” he repeated, pretending to be offended. “Do you think Superman is a gossip?”

You laughed at the joke, not noticing that, even though he was still smiling, it hurt him a little more than he wanted to admit.

“Not at all,” you said playfully, still looking through the viewfinder. “There it is… give me a second.”

A few seconds passed in silence. Just the click of the settings.

And then, without thinking too much, you said:

“Just imagine if you went and told Clark that I’m in love with him…”

You took the photo.

The flash lit up his face just as his eyes opened wide. Disconcerted. Vulnerable. As if a ray of truth had been fired into his chest.

You lowered the camera and checked the image, unaware of everything.

“I need you to smile, for the photo,” you said, not noticing the storm of emotions you had just unleashed.

But you didn’t know what that phrase had caused.

Superman… no, Clark, smiled. He truly smiled. Not forced. Not out of protocol. He smiled as if his soul had lit up. As if his whole body was vibrating from within.

An absurd, warm, and sweet happiness flooded him completely. You. You were in love with him. With Clark. And you had just told him… without knowing it.

And you took four more photos of him, one after the other, not realizing you were capturing a moment he would treasure forever.

“All done,” you said when you finished, carefully lowering the camera. “Thank you very much. It was a pleasure meeting you… but I have to go.”

“Of course…” he said, taking a step back, still smiling. “It was also a pleasure meeting you… but, if you’d like… I can walk you home.”

You looked at him, surprised by the offer, but gently shook your head.

“Don’t worry. It’s still early, it hasn’t gotten dark. Besides… you have to protect the city, right?” you smiled, lowering your gaze with shyness. “And I’m not going to my apartment. I’m taking some dinner to… Clark.”

Your voice softened at the end, almost like a whisper, as if saying his name that way revealed more than you wanted to admit. Because no one —except Lois— knew you were in love with him.

“Oh…” he murmured, almost breathless. “You’re going to see him?”

You nodded, adjusting your bag.

“Well… say hi to Clark for me. I hope he gets better soon.”

“Well… send my regards to Clark. Hope he recovers soon,” he said with a voice that tried to sound casual.

You said goodbye with a smile and began to walk away. You didn’t see him stay there, motionless, watching you leave as if the world became more beautiful with every step you took.

As you walked through the city, you carefully put away your camera and the photos, making sure nothing got lost. You decided to stop by a pharmacy first: you bought cough medicine, a box of lemon tea, and a jar of honey. Then you went to a homemade food restaurant called Ma’s Kitchen, where you knew they made one of Clark’s favorite dishes: meatloaf with mashed potatoes and garlic bread. For yourself, you ordered a club sandwich you had been craving since the morning. Everything to go.

You were hungry, but the idea of not having dinner alone excited you more. It was the perfect excuse to see him. You had never been to his apartment before, but this time you couldn’t resist. You had missed him at work. You were afraid his cold might get worse. And you wanted to be close.

When you arrived, you stood in front of the door, hesitating to knock. You finally did. Once. Twice. You heard strange noises on the other side. What if he was so sick he didn’t want visitors?

And just when you were about to leave so you wouldn’t bother him, the door opened.

Clark appeared on the other side. His hair was messy, he was wearing an open robe that showed a simple white T-shirt and dark green plaid pajama pants. His glasses were slightly crooked, and a loosely wrapped scarf hung from his neck. He was smiling… but he immediately looked away, and his face fell as if he had forgotten something important.

“Hi. Cof,” he coughed strangely, very unconvincingly. You had no idea that Clark had flown at full speed to make sure he got there before you, changed clothes, and put on a sick expression… which he had clearly forgotten to rehearse.

“Hi, Clark,” you greeted with a soft smile, not noticing anything odd, just worried about him. You watched him closely, his cheeks were slightly flushed—was it from the effort? The heat? Or because of you?

“Sorry to interrupt. You must be really sick… but I brought some medicine and, well, I didn’t know if you had dinner yet. But if you’re tired, don’t worry. I can leave everything and let you rest. Maybe I should’ve warned you first…”

“No, no, come in,” he said quickly, stepping aside. “I’m feeling a bit better. Cof.”

He repeated the cough, as if he believed saying it at the end of the sentence made it more believable. You gave him a compassionate look, not questioning anything. He just watched you walk in with your bags, unable to stop smiling… because you were there. Because you hadn’t gone home. Because you had come to see him.

He let you in, pointing the way to the kitchen. The place was clean, too tidy for someone who was sick, but that didn’t surprise you. Clark had always been meticulous.

“I left everything here,” you said, placing the bags on the table. “These meds help me when I’m sick, and the ginger tea is awful, I know, but if you add honey, it’s tolerable. If you want, I can make it for you…”

Clark looked at you with a sincere smile, nodding gratefully.

“How did the Superman interview go?” he asked suddenly, with a natural tone that sounded almost rehearsed as he sat down.

“Good,” you replied while unpacking the dishes and serving the food. “He was kind. He answered everything I asked. You could tell that… it’s not just strength. He’s very human in some of his answers.”

Clark looked down, as if the compliment affected him, though a smile escaped him.

“Yeah… let’s say he likes to know things. Even if they’re not always his business.” He scratched his neck, pretending to be uncomfortable. “Did he say anything… about me?”

You simply shook your head, though your cheeks lit up. You couldn’t help but think about the moment when, in front of Superman, you confessed that you liked Clark Kent. It still embarrassed you.

“No, he didn’t say anything,” you lied quickly, looking away and pretending to check the bags. “I just talked to him… took some pictures. Nothing important.”

“Thanks for this… really.”

“Eat. It’ll make you feel better,” you said, changing the subject. “Perry said it’s okay if you don’t go in tomorrow. You should rest all weekend,” you added as you sat in front of him.

Clark silently cursed himself. That lie —being sick— now kept him away from you all Friday… and maybe the weekend. And that meant not being able to ask you out like he had been planning. But amid the guilt, a spark of happiness appeared when you looked at him, a little shy, a little hesitant.

“If you want, I can bring you dinner again tomorrow,” you said as you gathered the wrappers. “And I can tell you how my article turned out and what Perry said.”

Clark looked up immediately, with eyes so wide and bright they almost lit up.

He nodded softly. “I’d love that.”

There was a warm brief silence as you finished your meal.

“You know?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “My grandma used to swear that the best remedy for a cough was wrapping your feet in hot mustard and putting on thick socks.”

Clark looked at you, confused. “Mustard… on your feet?”

“I swear. And then she said you had to sleep with a slice of onion on your neck.” You laughed, remembering the scene.

Clark laughed too, though the image caused him a mix of horror and affection. “Please tell me you’re not bringing me onions tomorrow.”

“Jokes aside, Clark…” you murmured, lowering your voice a little. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He swallowed hard. He knew he wasn’t acting sick very well, but your sincere gaze disarmed him.

“I’m okay. Just… tired, I guess. But thank you for worrying.”

When you got up to say goodbye, you gave him a playful little punch on the shoulder. He blushed like a teenager, looking down, both delighted and nervous.

“Get some rest, okay?” you said, this time with a sweetness in your voice as if you’d cared for him your whole life. “And if you feel worse during the night, don’t hesitate to call me. Really, Clark. Anytime.”

He looked up slowly and nodded, grateful, with that tenderness in his eyes that almost made you stay a minute longer.

“See you tomorrow,” he replied.

You left the building not knowing that, from his window, Superman was still watching you. He flew at a safe distance, quietly keeping watch until he saw you enter your building. He was fascinated by how beautiful you looked in that coat.

And then he understood.

You had friend-zoned Superman. His most iconic version. Because to you, only Clark Kent existed. Only he lived in your mind. Only he was the one you liked.

The man who blushed when you smiled at him. The one who walked with you through the newsroom and offered you his coat if you felt cold. You had chosen him. His most real part. His clumsiest, most human, most vulnerable version.

Because while the whole world dreamed of flying among the clouds, you had stayed on the ground… to walk by his side.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. A thousand catastrophes could come, a thousand responsibilities, a thousand exhausting days. But if you kept looking at him the way you did today, if you kept bringing him tea and offering to have dinner together, if you kept wanting to take care of Clark Kent…

Then he was the luckiest man on the planet.

He couldn’t wait to ask you out. To tell you that he had chosen you too. Long before you even knew it.

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💌 I take requests occasionally! If you have an idea, feel free to send it my way. I’d love to bring it to life 🤍

[creatingblackcharacters]

I feel like you deserve some sort of medal or all-expenses-paid vacation trip or something for the amount of times you’ve had to answer variations of a question that always sounds like “okay yeah I’m white but can I go into Black spaces if I’m cool and I bring my special cookies? I know that the answer is usually no, but what if I’m left handed and it’s the last Tuesday in September and I’m wearing my lucky shorts and I do a special little dance first? Please advise”

It's a similar concept to how avoiding stereotypes and being antiracist isn't a checklist, fr. I think it's... Hard, for white folk especially, to conceptualize of just how ubiquitous racism is and how used to it they are, because they're not the ones under the thumb of it. So when it comes time to address it, they believe that there have to be simpler, easier solutions to what is a half-millenium old, complex, difficult problem with endless variations of occurring.

There will never be One Correct Combo that will unlock access to The Full Black Community, no One Solution that will make it where you just can No Longer Be Racist if you do This Thing. 😐 I'm just as sorry as y'all lmao trust I TOO wish it was that easy. It took 500 years to make it this bad. Why would it take one person with the sudden Proper Permutation to fix that? It will always take constant effort.

I mentioned once a couple weeks ago that if I can't get you to give up a TV show or video game with antiblackness in it, how am I supposed to get you to give up the other benefits of white supremacy? You chose an hour on TV over me, but I'm supposed to let you inside my community? 👀👀👀 Let's start with something like that, first.

[happy-mokka]

After reblogging this post in the morning, it kept nagging at me in the back of my head all day long. I wanted to rewatch "When Harry met Sally" for quite some time, and I just did. It is one of my longtime guilty pleasures and was the first rom-com I've ever watched. The world is a different one today, and a lot of things feel outdated, but all in all, it still works for me. The mother of all "friends to lovers" stories to me and the reason it was always my favorite trope.

Today, while watching it, my mind kept coming back to the post above. Ok, many of the scenes in the montage have similarities, but, tbh, most are purely optical and lack the common context.

Still, the main thread, the friends to lovers thing, they do have in common, and even the way the characters are drawn has more than just a few overlaps.

At the end, when Harry and Sally sit on the couch and think back on their common past, I thought that would be a perfect thing to have in the Good Omens finale.

Our ineffables sitting on a couch (or bench) and telling their story, each from their own perspective, throwing the cues to each other like balls and taking turns at ending their sentences...

Then slowly, just like in the original, the picture fades out...we still here their voices until they also fade slowly into Harry Connick Jr. singing his version of "It had to be you"...then the credits start rolling while the songs plays through...

*sigh*

I need this.

...or 6000 years...

The final dialog is still peak writing to me and slaps as romantic as it gets.

"I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

"You see? That is just like you, Harry. You say things like that, and you make it impossible for me to hate you. And I hate you, Harry, I really do."

[Kissing]

Something on this level from Aziraphale and Crowley and I could melt away in peace...

🫠

When Harry Met Sally (1989) dir. Rob Reiner Good Omens (2019-) dir. Douglas Mackinnon

[cherrysinner]

PAIRING: adult nerd!rafe x adult pervert!reader

SYNOPSIS: your stay at tannyhill doesn't start off well, yet somehow it ends up with you being sarah's bridesmaid.

TAGS: flashbacks. fluff. angst. rafe's pov. wc: 2.5k

SONG: favourite person - peach prc

THE ART OF REDISCOVERY

the worst thing about first loves is that you don't really realize they're just going to be your first love, and nothing more. most people think they're going to end up with their first love, whether it's their sandbox love, high school sweetheart, or even someone who never really reciprocated their feelings. but more often than not, it ends up not lasting. most of the time it isn't even because the love was no longer there. it can be that you just grew apart and feel like different people now, it can be extenuating circumstances, or it can be that you feel like you are thousands of miles apart, whether that's literally or figuratively.

as you laid in the guest bedroom of your first love's childhood home, with him only soundly sleeping a few rooms away, you could still remember how you both thought the same thing about yourselves. you'd thought you were the exception, instead of the rule.

you knew you and rafe were going to take different paths in life, but you'd hoped you'd get to walk them side by side. but life sometimes had a way of throwing curveballs at you.

rafe stared up at the same ceiling he'd spent all his teenage years staring up at, but none of his teenage thoughts had been nearly as grueling as the thoughts currently bouncing around in his mind. the last time he had been in this house was with you when you'd met his family, and now you were both back here again.

yet it was nothing like back then.

"fuck, i'm gonna miss you so bad, you have no idea." you mumbled through tears, sniffling as you hid your face in the side of rafe's neck. rafe let out a teary laugh, stroking your head as he pressed his eyes closed, "trust me, i know."

you pulled back, stroking his cheek, the boy's glasses slightly fogged up from tears. "i love you so much. promise me that we're gonna talk every day, and that if anyone tries to hit on you you're just gonna look them up and down and go 'eugh'."

"i promise." rafe said, and he meant it. he leaned down, capturing your lips with his, the grip on your waist tightening, pulling you into his chest as your lips moved together for the last time for a long time, both of you trying to convey just how much you didn't want it to be happening.

you pulled away, pressing your forehead against his, "i promise i'll love you forever." rafe whispered, and hearing those words broke your heart all over again.

"i should go." you pulled away with a sniffle, rafe reluctantly letting go with a sad nod. "call me when you get there." "as long as you'll do the same."

and when you turned and walked to your car, you couldn't bare to look back, knowing that if you did, you might not ever be able to resist turning back and running to him.

so you got into your car, and drove away. and as when rafe's figure started getting smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, you had to resist turning back and running back to him.

but you could make long distance work. if anyone could make it work, it would be you and rafe, you smiled tearily, clutching the locket around your neck with one of your hands.

you walked into the makeup trailer with cat-eye-shaped sunglasses covering your eyes, giving everyone in the trailer a wan smile as you went to your usual makeup artist, the blue-haired woman smiling brightly at you, "hey gi- oh."

the makeup artist's sentence was interrupted by you taking your sunglasses off, the woman taking a look at your red-rimmed eyes and the eyebags decorating them. "rough night, huh?"

"you could say that." you said with a humorless chuckle as you sat yourself down on the chair, "don't worry, i'll make you look like you actually got some sleep." she said as she started to gather up stuff, looking through the makeup on the desk in front of you.

"so, you wanna talk about it?" clarissa asked as she was applying undereye patches under your eyes. you pursed your lips, swallowing as if swallowing down the words you were about to say would make them not a reality. "break up."

the blue-haired woman's brows raised, "what, you mean with mr. 'we're gonna be together forever'?" "that's the one." you tutted your lips, "what happened? do i need to call up some guys?"

you let out a soft chuckle, "no, it wasn't like that... it was for both our sakes. he's busy with his studies, i'm busy shooting, then i'm gonna be busy promoting, and then shooting something else..." you sighed, "maintaining a relationship where you can't physically touch someone while doing that all just felt too much, you know?"

"i'm sorry," clarissa pursed her lips, "but some things just aren't meant to last forever. but having a relationship that was as good as yours and lasted for as long as it did is rare. and it ending doesn't mean it failed, it just... ran its course." you nodded at her words, "but, you definitely need some cheering up. i'm taking you out tonight." "clar-" "no buts." "wasn't gonna say but." you grinned, "i was gonna ask if i can bring my roommate."

when clarissa turned away, you looked at yourself in the mirror and took in a deep breath, "i'm going to be okay." you whispered to yourself, putting on a calm smile, "i'm going to be fine."

you walked into the kitchen when the sun was already up, still clad in your pajamas and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, taking advantage of finally having two weeks off from waking up at four in the morning, only to find that rafe was already fully dressed, perched up on one of the stools, reading a newspaper with an apple in his hand.

this rafe looked much different from the rafe you remembered. he had built up a bit more muscle, and unlike when he'd push his hair back with gel, he'd let it be, even having a slight stubble. he wore different spectacles, silver-rims changing to a darker color, a more mature shape. his skin—

you were startled by the sudden tsk of his lips, the man not even looking up from his newspaper at you as the words, "are you gonna get something to eat or just stare at me the entire day?" left his lips in a cold tone. you cleared your throat, avoiding looking at rafe as you felt your cheeks warm up.

"so, any exciting plans?" you asked with a cheery tone as you made your way to the coffee machine, "are you gonna see some old friends?" "stop trying to make small talk. we both know it's awkward." rafe rose from his stool, letting it scrape against the marble floor, looking at you for the first time that day, "congrats on the nomination." he said, but there was no joy in his tone of voice.

before you could respond, though, he'd let the core of the apple hit the bottom of the trash can with a metallic clang! and walked out of the kitchen. when you looked to the newspaper on the counter and saw even a sliver of your name, you scoffed, the newspaper joining the apple core in the trash can. you leaned back against the counter, bringing the cup of coffee to your lips.

this rafe didn't only look different than your rafe. this rafe acted different.

the moment you and rielle got back to your apartment from the night club, the girl was already putting music on all over again, already digging through the liquor cabinet.

"do you mind if i use your bedroom to call rafe?" you asked with a pleading grin, "go ahead. but if you two start having phone sex over there, just know that i'll be listening." "good, i'm into that." you laughed, pulling the bedroom door closed.

you plopped down onto her bed, searching for rafe's contact until you finally found it, hearing your roommate pop a bottle open in the other room. after a few rings, rafe answered with a groggy voice, "mmmhello?" he mumbled.

"guess what, guess what, guess what!" "tell me..." "i got it!!" you cheered. "got what?" you laughed at your boyfriend's sleepiness, "the part. the netflix show i've been telling you about? i got it." "mmm, that's good, baby..." "rafe, i'm gonna play the main character! on a netflix show! this is huge for me!" "'m sorry..." rafe cleared his throat, "i was up late 'n i just got to sleep. i am really happy for you, though. so proud of my girl. can't wait to watch it."

"shit, i forgot that it's almost five am there..." you groaned, "come on, celebratory shots!" echoed from the living room. you let out a sigh, "i'm sorry for waking you up." "it's okay. i always love hearing your voice." you chuckle softly, "go have fun with rielle. not too much fun though, no slumber party kissing." "we were thirteen!" you laughed softly, "i love you and i miss you." "i love you and i miss you too."

you hung up the phone and went into the living room, "you're getting your own showwww!" rielle whooped, holding up a bottle of tequila. you rushed to her, "to me getting my own show." you grinned, the two of you clinking your shot glasses together before tapping them on the table and throwing them back.

you were lounging by the pool in one of your bikinis, sunglasses covering your eyes, your speakers playing music at a low volume next to you, your mind feeling empty, your body feeling calm, for the first time in as long as you could remember.

until you heard the back door glass door slide open with a frustrated sarah rushing out, "no, jb, you don't understand! her not being able to make it ruins this whole thing!" she cried. you slid your sunglasses down your nose as you looked over to them with furrowed brows, "come on, it's just one bridesmaid! you've still got kie!" "no, but i have her dress, i have her bouquet, neither of those will be refunded, and even worse, we're gonna have to pick a whole new entrance song! the one i picked only works if my maid of honor and two bridesmaids walk before me! not just the maid of honor and one bridesmaid! it doesn't work! "

"sarah, i'm sorry, but annie couldn't really predict this." john b sighed, "we'll just find a new song, baby. i'm sorry." the man pulled his fiancée close, pressing a kiss on top of her head.

you wrapped a bathrobe around you before you got up off the sun lounger, heading towards the couple, "is... everything alright?" you asked, your brows furrowed as you looked between them. sarah sniffled, pulling slightly away from john b's grasp, sniffling, "yeah, sarah's just bummed because one of her bridesmaids called and said she couldn't make it." "and now we're gonna have to figure out a whole new entrance song, and probably use the bridesmaid's dress as kindling." sarah wiped at her eye with a sad chuckle.

you pursed your lips in thought before speaking, "i don't wanna cross any boundaries, and you can say no, but... if you need a bridesmaid, i could be one...?"

sarah's eyes seemed to brighten at your suggestion, "really? you'd do that for me?" "i mean, i've never been a bridesmaid, so i wouldn't know what to do, but if you-"

before you could finish your sentence, sarah had pulled you into a bone-crushing hug."thank you, thank you, thank you so much!" she exclaimed as she pulled away, "thank you, really. you're a lifesaver." "of course." "shit," sarah looked down at her apple watch, "you need to get to a fitting to make sure the bridesmaids dress will be ready before the wedding!"

"it's two weeks away, though." "yes, but they're gonna wanna make a bunch of alterations." sarah sighed, "if you go get changed now, i'm sure they can start off tonight." "alright." you chuckled softly, clearing your throat, "i'm gonna head inside."

when the door closed behind you, sarah turned to her fiancé, cocking her head to the side and narrowing her eyes, "you did well. i'm starting to think you're enjoying this." john b. cleared his throat, "i'm just... following your lead." "but the name we agreed on was anna. not annie."

"kook diva." john b mumbled before pulling his fiancée into a kiss.

as you rushed down the stairs, now fully dressed, you found no one around you except for rafe, "where are-" "they went wedding cake tasting." rafe cut you off, getting on his feet. "i'm your ride, unfortunately. again."

you twiddled your thumbs in your lap the entire ride to the tailor, your foot tapping at the floor of the car the entire ride, until rafe piped up, "can you stop?"

you turned to him with your eyes narrowed, tilting your head to the side. you'd had enough of his bitchy attitude.

"why? it's not your car anyway. if you're bothered by the noise then turn on the radio." you scowled, turning to look out of the window, missing the small upwards twitch of rafe's lips.

once he pulled up in front of the tailor, rafe cleared his throat, "alright, hurry up in there. i don't wanna wait in a hot car all day." you scoffed, "like i'm suffering alone." you crossed your arms in front of your chest, "you're coming in there with me, or i'm not going at all."

"are you serious?" rafe let out a sigh, only to receive a simple lift of your eyebrows in response that made your ex reluctantly leaving the car and walking into the shop with you.

rafe was sitting on a sofa outside the fitting room waiting for you, when you finally pushed the curtains aside with a wide smile, giving him a little twirl. "how do i look?"

he looked at you up and down, clearing his throat. "you look... fine."

watching you drive away from him felt like rafe was watching his entire life drive away right in front of him. so he closed his eyes, but kept waving at you, kept up the feigned smile on his lips. but every part of him regretted not coming with you.

when rafe saw you walk out of the fitting room in the pink dress, smiling widely at him in a way that made his heart pang, before spinning around, looking to you with your head tilted to the side, as if the seductive look on your face was pulling the words he wanted to say right out of his throat; gorgeous, sexy, beautiful, ethereal... only for the words he forced himself to let out to be heard, "you look... fine."

[devskindawritingblog]

Could do polytrix x fem!reader

R is at a huntrix concert with her little sibling *big age gap between them and has gaurdianship over them and basically raising them. Whatever the reason on how she got custody is up to you and as well as the gender of the little sibling. Both are big fans of huntrix*

During the concert, they get separated and luckily the girls the one who found the young sibling and help reunite them and fell for r after seeing how she was interacting with her sibling

It was so cute how they interacted with the fans during the movie especially at the at the end.

Idk why but imo and hc’s despite her tough appearances, I kind of see Mira acting like a total softie when it comes to the fans, but also the other members of huntrix, and Bobby too. There were fan hc’s when she accidently called Bobby dad

Meanwhile despite Zoey being the unhinged loveable one, I can see her being the type who squishes your cheeks at seeing smth cute thing as she loves turtles and let borrow her stuffed turtles for comfort. rumi i see as a leader that joins in their shenanigans but also someone who keeps an eye to make sure the demon don’t claim this little one as well as the other people and yk since they’re protective of their fans

Concert

Polytrix x fem reader

An: My first request yay!! I thought this was so so cute I had to do it. I decided to give the reader a little sister and I named her Maya because reddit told me it was a very like internationally friendly name. Like lots of different countries, I don’t know, I was trying to find a name that could be ambiguous as to where the person is from. Reader and Maya don’t have set ages but my idea is that reader is around like 20-24 but it really doesn’t matter and Maya is probably like 5-7 ish, again doesn't really matter. There isn't much lore but reader has sole custody of her sister and they have been living on their own for 2 years now. What happened to their parents is not mentioned so you can get creative if you want. I also didn’t mention where they live, it’s just not where huntrix lives. This is a different type of fic than I normally write. I feel it would have been better as multiple chapters but I like how i fit it all as well.

Also I’m going away for the weekend so the other request will be started when I come back 😘

Word count rounded: 2.6k

“C’mon! We gotta get a good spot!” Your sister squeals, dragging you by your hand through the crowd.

It's you and Maya's first time at a Huntrix concert. You have been saving up for months now to finally give you and her the best night ever. You wanted to pull out all the stops for her tonight. That included a stop at the merch stand, and with both of you dressed in Huntrix merch, you made your way through all the people. You finally reached a pretty good spot, close enough to the stage. Your sister tugged on your sleeve, her other hand clutching her light stick. “Can I go on your shoulders?” Maya pleads, pouting. “Fine,” you smile, kneeling down. “Come on, climb on,” you say, helping her steady herself. “Thank you!! This is so cool!!” She squeals, clutching the lightstick with both hands now, her feet swinging; clearly excited.

–

You have been the sole caretaker of your sister for a few years now. It's been hard trying to balance work and taking care of her. You both have been fans of Huntrix for years. Their music has gotten both of you through the worst days and the best. You play their music while cooking dinner and driving her to school. Maya even had a Huntrix-themed birthday party last year, which her friends loved. You really have tried your hardest to give your sister a comfortable life. When you heard that Huntrix was touring in your city, you couldn't help but start saving up money. And now the day has finally come. It was worth it just to see the ecstatic look in her eyes. That look continued when the show finally started. Maya is singing and dancing. She practically memorized them all, and being on your shoulders didn’t stop her from dancing.

Song after song the two of you sang and screamed and danced. Your feet hurt, but it was so worth it to see her smiling face. It was unlike anything you have ever experienced, and when it finally ended, your sister was somehow full of energy and exhausted at the same time. You kept her on your shoulders as you both made your way to the exit.

“That was so cool! Did you see Mira's hair? I want my hair to be pink too! And when I'm grown-up, I'm going to be a singer just like Rumi!! Can I be Zoey for Halloween? You can put my hair in the buns!” Maya gushes. “Maybe you can dye your hair when you're older; you can definitely be a singer, but if you do… I have to get VIP tickets to your concerts. You could for sure be Zoey, though. I think that's a great idea.” You smile, giving your sister a little glance as she rambles on and on.

Both of you finally made your way toward the exit, but the more time passed, the more you realized that you needed to make a stop at the bathroom. “Maya? I need to go to the bathroom. Do you need to go?” you ask, stopping near the bathroom and placing her on the ground. “Nope… I can stand outside… I’m a big girl,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head away. “Are you sure?” you sigh. “Fine. I'll be really quick. Just stand here and don’t move, okay? Then on the way home we can grab a treat.” You promise, giving Maya a pat on the head before turning and walking into the bathroom.

–

“Okay, Maya, let’s go get ice cream,” you say, turning to look at where you left your sister and are surprised to find no one. Your heart sinks a little as you pace around the venue searching. Why are concerts so crowded? She could be anywhere. What if someone took her? Your fear bubbles up as you start moving through the halls faster. “Maya!? Where are you?” You feel tears brimming up in your eyes before you hear a distant.

“Maya? That's a very pretty name.”

“Well, you could tell us what your sister looks like; we could help you find her.”

You turn the corner, and about a thousand feelings rush through your mind. You see Maya surrounded by the members of Huntrix. Mira is kneeling down beside her, holding her hand, while Zoey is sitting criss-crossed on the ground. Rumi is standing bent over a little to speak to her easier. Your sister is wiping her face as if she's been crying. That finally snaps you out of your trance, and you rush toward her, relief flooding you.

“Maya!” you yell, and all four of them turn their heads. Maya's eyes light up, and she runs right into your embrace. You bend over, pulling her into your arms as you scoop her up, holding her tight. You place her on your hip, arm wrapped protectively around her. “Maya, you scared me so much… Where did you go?” You ask, pressing a little kiss to her temple, still not letting her go.

“I'm sorry… I thought I could find my way back. I got lost, and scared. But I found Mira and Rumi and Zoey.” She smiles, her eyes still a little puffy. You turn your attention to the pop stars in front of you, almost forgetting they were standing not even five feet away. They are all standing up now, smiling fondly at the scene in front of them. You almost have a heart attack seeing them close up. “Uh—thank you! Thank you so much for… Helping my sister “It's just really big fans, and I—well, I'm so grateful.” You stumble through your thank yous, torn between fangirling and being appreciative.

“Oh, it's no problem really. We love meeting fans,” Rumi says.

“Really, your sister is very cute; after she calmed down, she told us all about her amazing big sister and how great she is,” Zoey adds.

“You said that?” You ask, turning to Maya, and she beams, hugging you around the neck. “You are awesome… This is the best night of my life,” she smiles, resting her head on your shoulder, her exhaustion catching up to her. Her eyes flutter closed as she falls asleep, going limp in your arms.

You hear a collective “Awwwww” from Huntrix as they coo. “That’s adorable,” Mira sighs. “She’s so tired; she knows all your songs, and we learned the dances. I've been saving up to see you guys with Maya. She will be talking about this for weeks now.” You say, rubbing a soothing hand down her back while she sleeps.

“It's been hard; for the last 2 years it's just been me and Maya. Your guys' music is like the one thing that always keeps us together.” You explain. “It's just you two?” Zoey asks. “Yeah, I have custody of her now… So this means a lot for us. She idolizes you guys so much.” You add.

“That’s so inspiring. She is right; you really are an amazing sister.” Rumi says, fondly. You almost have a heart attack hearing one of your favourite idols complimenting you. “Thank you… I would do anything to make her happy.” You smile, looking down at your now snoring sister.

“That's very admirable,” Mira says. “Ooh! I have an idea!” Zoey pipes up, pulling something out of her pocket. She pulls out a few photocards and a Huntrix poster. “I think you and Maya should have these… I think you two would appreciate it the most.” Zoe explains, handing them to you.

“Really? Thank you so much. She's going to love these.” You smile, tucking them in your bag. “And this is for you,” Zoey adds, extending her hand again. This time it's a sticky note with a phone number on it. You blink, a little confused. “What’s this?” You ask, turning it over in your fingers.

“My number” Zoey smiles, like it's obvious. Your jaw drops a little, and she giggles. “If you two are ever in South Korea, we should do something. Or if we have another show here. We could go out for boba or something… Whatever Maya wants.”

“I… I don't even know what to say… This isn’t normal, right?” You ask, finally picking your jaw off the floor. They all laugh, and Mira is the one to speak up. “It's not… But you’re really inspiring, and well... you’re kinda cute.”

“What Mira is trying to say is… we would love to hang out someday.” Rumi adds, And you stay silent, your brain almost unable to process such a sentence. You finally sputter out a “Yeah! I’d, I mean we would love that. This is crazy.” You say your voice is a little shaky.

“Perfect!” Zoey exclaims. “See you later then; tell Maya she would be an amazing singer,” Rumi adds, melting at the sight of her drooling on your shoulder.

-

After that night, your life changed in a way you would have never imagined. You drove home in silence, playing over the insane interaction until your brain hurt. You tucked Maya into bed, turning over the sticky note in your fingers. Before you went to sleep, you anxiously added the number into your messenger. You sent a simple message, thanking them again for the stuff.

Over the next few months you kept up communication with all three of the members. Maya has been demanding updates about your “girlfriends,” and every time you tell her they are not your girlfriends, she does not listen. Every time she has her friends over, she tries to tell them about her sister's very famous girlfriends.

July rolled around, and you woke up to a text explaining that they had a tour date in your city again. You lit up at the text, telling Maya about your upcoming boba date. Just like you, she was bouncing off the walls, excited to hang out with her idols. The boba date went as well as you could think. You met up outside the boba shop near your apartment. They offered to pay for your orders, and when you all got a delicious drink, you walked around the city, enjoying the weather.

The girls were dressed way more low-key than usual so as to not draw attention. Mira let Maya ride on her shoulders for a while. She was beaming from ear to ear as she got a personal ride around town. When she finally got off, she held hands with you and Zoey and convinced you two to swing her while you all walked. And when you made your way past a little street vendor, Rumi bought her a cute frog keychain. You walked back to your apartment, Maya asleep on you as you piggybacked her home. The four of you talked all the way back, and in a desperate attempt to keep it going, you invited them in.

You spent most of the night talking on your couch and eating snacks. You joked and laughed like you've known them for years. As midnight rolled around, the girls had a surprise that they had been waiting for a while to ask.

“So ... We know this whole thing has been new for you and us, but… Our final show of the tour is back in South Korea. And we were thinking. We would love to have you and Maya come to it. I know what you're thinking… But we will pay for your flights. You two have meant so much to us, and we have fallen for you. Maya is such a great kid, and seeing you two together is so sweet,” Rumi explains.

You can hardly contain your excitement. After those months, you have grown as close to them as you were with your sister. They were more than just idols to you. They were just Mira, Rumi, and Zoey, and you might not be able to say it out loud, but you loved them. Knowing they wanted you just as much was the final switch for you.

-

The show was as good as it could possibly be. Paying for your flights and getting you two VIP tickets and a backstage tour. Maya couldn’t be happier; it was practically a dream come true for her and you, of course. After the show, you all went back to their penthouse to hang out again. Maya showed them a dance she made, much to their excitement. After a fun-filled night, she fell asleep, head on Mira’s shoulder. The three of you cooed as your sister curled up in Mira's lap.

Mira smiles fondly. “I think I’m her favourite.” The three of you giggle. “That's a hard title… She does love all of you guys so much.” You say, your heart melting at the adorable sight. “I should take her to bed,” you say, scooping Maya out of Mira’s lap and carrying her into the spare room you both are sleeping in. When you return, the girls are all sitting on the ground, and you take your spot next to them.

“I can’t thank you guys enough for all of this. You guys have changed our lives. I really care about you three. In more than just a fan way.” You explain, fiddling with your fingers. “We understand what you mean. We feel the same about you. Maya is like our little sister. And you well… We really like you. I know it's a little crazy to think about… But we want you to be with us.” Rumi says, reaching out to take your hand. Of course you agreed, and after lots of convincing and overthinking, you and Maya moved in with them. It was something new for the both of you, but it truly changed both of your lives.

-

It's been a few months since you and Maya packed up your life and moved in with Huntrix. You couldn’t ask for better girlfriends. They took care of Mata so well and are so good with her. The girls gave you and Maya your own rooms. She was absolutely thrilled. She did end up being Zoey for Halloween, much to her excitement.

Mira came home one day with a pack of little pink hair strands so Maya could have pink hair as well.You found both of them kneeling in the living room. Maya’s hair was littered with little pink strands. “Look at my hair! Thank you!” she exclaims, giving Mira a surprisingly crushing hug for a little kid. Zoey enters the room, eyes lighting up at the sight. “Wow, Maya, look at your hair… Just like Mira’s… I can't even tell the difference.” She giggles while pulling out her phone to take a picture. Rumi is the last to enter, also laughing at the adorable sight. “Look, Rumi! I'm Mira!” Your sister exclaims, running to climb onto the couch, striking a pose. You all laugh.

Maya runs across the couch over to Rumi on the other side. And like the clumsy little kid she is, she trips, heading straight for the floor. You, Mira, and Zoey gasp, a little too far away to help her. Rumi quickly dives forward, catching Maya in her arms and landing on her back on the ground. You catch your breath, and Maya sits up in Rumi's arms, still a little in shock. “Are you good?” Rumi asks, brushing her hair out of her face. “You gotta be careful; we can’t have you getting hurt.” Rumi says, giving her a hug before Maya climbs out of her lap.

Maya rushes over to sit herself in your lap before she smiles. “Best day ever.” She giggles, hugging you one final time.

[withlovemark]

THE ORGASM DONORS: YOU HAVE BOOKED MARK LEE!

pairing: donor! mark lee x client! reader | genre: smut | words: 9k+

warnings: STRICTLY 18+

an: just 9k of pure, filthy smut…i’m never making it to the gates of heaven. this idea came to me in a dream (a horny, wet dream) all because i fell asleep to a tiktok of jaemin spinning around in his little orgasm donor hoodie. insane what the mind can do. everyone give it up for the first donor! the birthday boy! my number one boy! mark lee! and my last gift to all of you. have fun reading! — with love, c.

you never thought it would get to this point. not because you were ashamed. but there was something about your twenty something’s, this far into adulthood, and still never having an orgasm that made you feel like your body was broken in a way you couldn’t explain.

you’d done everything — read every self help blog, followed the advice on reddit threads, bought a vibrator, a dildo, the rose toy that everyone said was guaranteed to give you a mind bending orgasm, you’d whispered your needs to your previous partners, even screamed at one or two, but no one ever got it right. no one ever got you there. not even yourself.

it started to feel like a cruel joke. something other people could have, just not you. until your best friend leaned in over lunch one lazy sunday, sipping her coffee and said, “have you ever heard of the neo orgasm clinic?”

“oh god,” you laughed, “like a place that teaches you how to come?”

she grinned, “not teaches. they do it for you. and it’s guaranteed.”

you blinked, “what? so i pay for someone to have sex with me?”

“you pay someone to make you orgasm,” she shrugged like it was no big deal, “wouldn’t be the craziest thing in the world,” she says, sipping her coffee with a sly smirk.

and just like that, a seed of curiosity, or maybe desperation, rooted itself in your chest.

✚ BOOK NOW ✚

signing up was easier than expected. discreet, elegant, clinical but not cold. you filled up the introductory form — name, age, contact information, payment details, then moved onto the deeper intake.

step 1: medical verification. a form requesting a recent full panel STI test within the last month.

step 2: sexual preferences & boundaries. the screen lit up with a list and instructions

check all acts you’re open to exploring with your donor. this does not guarantee they will occur. your donor will review and operate within your boundaries at all times.

you skimmed the list, heart racing just a little and checked the following:

☑️ bondage

☑️ choking

☑️ clitoral stimulation

☑️ domination

☑️ dirty talk

☑️ edging

☑️ fingering

☑️ kissing

☑️ impact play

☑️ nipple play

☑️ oral

☑️ orgasm control

☑️ praise

☑️ rough sex

☑️ spanking

☑️ spitting

☑️ vaginal penetration

you hovered over a few others. degradation? group sex? objectification? you skipped them. not this time. you weren’t here to be humiliated — you were here to figure out why the hell your body kept locking up the second anyone touched you like they meant it.

step 3: why are you booking this appointment?

you had to type. no multiple choice. just a blank box waiting to be filled. your fingers hesitate above the keyboard. then you answered:

i’ve never had an orgasm. not from another person. not from myself. i don’t know what’s wrong with me but i’m tired of pretending. i’m tired of faking it. i want to know what it actually feels like. i want to stop being in my head. just for once. i want to let go.

you hit submit before you could overthink it.

step 4: choose your donor.

you clicked through the digital profile list, fingers hovering each name. each donor were vetted, trained, screened and certified in pleasure — not jut sex. these weren’t porn stars. these were licensed professionals. this was science, chemistry and understanding the human body and psyche. or whatever the website said to make you feel better about booking an appointment.

you hovered each name. a few looked promising. one had nice eyes. one had “mean” listed as a keyword. another had glowing reviews for how “slow and gentle” he was.

but then you saw him — mark lee. top donor. most requested. five-star average across every review. the testimonials read like something between a religious experience and the aftermath of a natural disaster.

“didn’t even know my body could do all of that, my god.”

“sweet, respectful, and somehow still completely ruined me.”

“made me orgasm like i’ve never orgasmed before”

and the most repeated one of all:

“i always book mark when he’s available, he knows exactly what to do. a guaranteed orgasm. every time.”

you didn’t even hesitate. you clicked BOOK NOW.

Neo Orgasm Clinic Consultation: CONFIRMED

Donor: Mark Lee

Date of Consultation: July 29, 2025

you stared at your bedroom ceiling in the dark, heart pounding a little too fast. you didn’t know what to expect. you didn’t know what you’d feel. but for the first time in years, you felt hope. and maybe, if the reviews weren’t exaggerating, you were finally about to find out what it meant to feel like your body belonged to you.

✚ THE CONSULTATION ✚

you almost canceled. twice. was this morally questionable? maybe. was it completely insane? absolutely.

but you still showed up. your nerves were coiled so tight they felt like they’d snap with one wrong move. you’d picked out a simple outfit, nothing too suggestive, nothing too uptight. but still, as you sat in the pristine waiting lounge of the neo orgasm clinic, ankles crossed and fingers clenched around your bag strap, you felt entirely exposed.

everything about the clinic was calm, curated. the lighting was soft and golden, the walls a warm cream, subtle scent of lavender and eucalyptus filled the space. the kind of place that looked more like a boutique spa than a place where orgasms were clinically achieved.

even the receptionist was beautiful. sharp suit, glossy hair, delicate bone structure. his name tag read taeyong. he smiled when you walked in like he already knew everything about you. probably because he did.

“first consultation?,” he asked, tilting his head with a practiced sort of empathy.

you nodded, “is it that obvious?”

he chuckled, “only a little,” he teased, “but don’t worry, everyone’s nervous at first.”

taeyong pulled up your file on his screen, “you’ll be with mark today. he’s just finishing up. shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

your heart stuttered at the sound of his name. somehow, it felt heavier now. every second you spend in this clinic feeling more real than ever. this wasn’t a fantasy. this wasn’t a dream bordering into a nightmare. this was real. you were going to meet him…anytime now.

taeyong slid a sleek tablet across the desk, “while you wait, kindly review your file, click agree if no changes need to be made. consent is required for everything.”

you nodded, accepting the tablet and settling back in your seat. you skimmed your file one last time then submitted the form. the screen thanked you and welcomed you officially to the program.

exactly five minutes later, the door on the left of the receptionist table, labeled private suites opened with a soft click. and there he was. the man in the website. the top donor. real human being — mark lee.

you blinked. it was like seeing someone you’d only ever imagined walk into reality — all soft black hair, warm eyes, and a smile that was…surprisingly shy for someone with reviews like his. he was dressed in a simple black slacks and a fitted charcoal blazer, sleeves pushed up to reveal veined forearms and a silver watch. professional, polished, but somehow still boyish. he was speaking with someone. a girl that looked around your age. who’d look like she had just had the best time of her life. then she headed to taeyong and mark turned his focus towards you.

“hey,” he said, walking towards you and offering his hand, “you must be, ms. y/n.” you nod, placing your hand in his. his grip was firm, professional, “i’m mark. come follow me,” he said, guiding you toward the doors on the other side of the receptionist table labeled, consultation rooms, “no pressure,” he adds, shooting you a smile, “just talking today.”

the room felt like a cozy therapist’s office. a plush sofa, a low coffee table, a few plants. no examination table. no cold metal instruments. just comfort. mark sat across from you, legs crossed casually, an open tablet in his lap. he offered you water, asked if you were comfortable, then smiled before getting started.

“alright, let’s talk about you,” he said, voice low and calm, “why you’re here. what you’re hoping to get out of this experience.”

you hesitated. you’re sure he already knows. already looked at your file. but still, saying it out loud felt impossible. the words were caught somewhere between your throat and your pride.

“you can open up to me,” he urges softly, patiently, calmly, “we’re both here for you.”

you nodded, finally finding your voice, “ive…never had an orgasm.” you exhaled, eyes lowering, “i’ve tried…a lot…it just….doesn’t happen.”

mark didn’t blink. didn’t smirk. didn’t do anything to make you feel small. instead, he nodded slowly, like he’d heard this before. like it was okay. like you weren’t a complete helpless case. like you weren’t broken.

“thank you for telling me that,” he said softly, “i know it’s not easy to admit out loud but i want you know something — there’s nothing wrong with you.”

you looked up at him, sighing, “feels like there is.”

“i know,” he nodded, “but trust me, there are a million reasons why achieving an orgasm can be difficult — physical, mental, emotional, trauma-related, hormonal, sometimes just bad luck with partners. but it’s not permanent. and it’s not your fault.”

that made you smile, barely, but it was there. he smiled back, warm and nonchalant, “so, you’re not broken. you’re just…unsolved. that’s where i come in.” you swallowed hard. the warmth behind this words caught you off guard.

he tapped a few notes on his tablet before setting it aside, “here’s how this works,” he said, “you set the pace. we take our time. always. you can stop me and say no anytime. nothing happens without your permission. and we don’t even have to do the session unless you’re completely ready.”

you nodded slowly, processing his words, “okay.”

mark studied you for a beat, “do you want to tell me anything else you might have forgotten on your file?”

you hesitated, thinking, “i think i just…want to stop thinking so much. i get in my head. i start worrying about how i look, how i sound, if i’m being too much or not enough. it’s hard to stay in the moment.”

he leaned back, thoughtful, “so your mind is the roadblock.” he smiled a little, “that’s more common than you think.”

“do you really have a 100% success rate?” you asked quietly.

that made him laugh – not loud, not cocky, just amused in a warm way.

“our stats don’t lie,” he smiles, “but it’s because i take my time, i listen, i pay attention,” his voice dipped, “pleasure isn’t a race to the finish line. it’s a process. one i’d be honored to help you through.”

you felt your cheeks flush. he noticed and softened his voice even more, “you don’t have to decide today but if you’re comfortable, i’d be happy to schedule your first session.”

your pulse quickened, “...yes,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, "i want to.”

his smile returned, warm and sincere, “good,” he said, tapping his screen, “i’ll have taeyong reach out to confirm your appointment date.” he stood up, offering his hand again, “thank you for choosing me.”

you took it and this time your grip was steady, “see you soon, mark.”

Neo Orgasm Clinic Appointment: CONFIRMED

Client: Y/N L/N

Donor: Mark Lee

Date of Session: August 2, 2025

✚ THE APPOINTMENT ✚

you were early. too early. you sat in the same softly lit waiting room, knees bouncing, pulse in your throat. taeyong gave you a knowing smile as he gestured you towards the private suites door and the down the hallway.

“suite 8, he’s ready for you.”

the words made something twist low in your stomach as you walked towards the room. you entered slowly — suite 8 was nothing like you imagined. it wasn't clinical or sterile. it felt more like a luxury hotel room, quiet and warm, wrapped in soft ambient lighting. a large couch sat near the window. there was a bed. there were blankets, clean white sheets and a speaker humming low instrumental music. every detail was designed to ease tension, to invite softness.

you notice him adjusting something on the bedside table, a glass of water, a box of tissues, a towel. and then — mark turned.

“hey,” he said softly, “i’ve been waiting for you.”

he was dressed in black slacks, a black tie and black long sleeve button up, with the sleeves folded up his arms. hot but casual. the entire room, his casual demeanor, made it feel like you’re not at a clinic and just booked a dick appointment like it was a bumble date.

your lips curved, nerves still tangled in your chest, “i-i’m here.”

mark chuckled, not mockingly, but with that same warm, honeyed tone you remember, “you’re cute,” he said simply, “i like that you’re not pretending to be cool.”

you exhaled slowly, “i don’t think i could even if i tried.”

he stepped closer, slow and measured, giving you space with every move, “do you remember what i said during our last meet up?” he asked.

you note how he doesn’t use the word consultation, how he’s trying to make this all seem like it’s a normal hook-up and not a service.

“y-yeah. i’m in control. i can stop you. ask questions. say no.”

“good.” he murmured, his gaze searching yours for a moment longer, “but i’m going to be honest with you.”

his hand lifted, brushing his fingers down your jaw, slow and warm, “tonight, i am going to take control. you came here because your body hasn’t been shown how it deserves to be touched. and i don’t do halfway, sweetheart.”

you swallowed hard.

“so tell me,” he said, tipping your chin up with two fingers, gaze locked on yours, “can i touch you?”

you barely breathed, “yes.”

one of his hands travelled down your arm to your lower back, leaving behind trails of goosebumps in his wake.

“can i kiss you?” he said, eyes locked on yours. your breath caught. you nod.

he didn’t hesitate. mark grabbed your jaw and kissed you — hot, full, unrelenting. he kissed like he owned your mouth. his lips slanted over yours, opening you up, coaxing you open, tongue swept in with purpose — wet, confident, greedy.

you moaned into him, the sound swallowed as his tongue tangled with yours in filthy, practiced patterns. he tilted his head, deepened the angle, sucked softly at your bottom lip only to follow it up with another tongue-heavy kiss that made your spine arch. your hands clutched at his shirt on instinct, dizzy from the pace, the heat, the want.

you feel him smirk through the kiss as he kept going. his hands began to roam, starting at your waist, dragging up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through your shirt, just enough to make you gasp, then down again, gliding over your hips before settling on cupping your ass. his hands gripping tight and hot.

you squirmed, trying to shift closer but he held you steady. dominant. measured. not rushing but not enough to give you relief either. he guided you towards the couch, lips never leaving yours.

“sit.” he ordered, voice like velvet wrapped around steel. you obeyed without thinking. he kneeled between your legs, grabbing your thighs to pull you to the edge. the kiss resumed, but filthier this time, more desperate. he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, like he wanted to fuck your mouth with his tongue until you forgot what you’re here for.

“you taste so fucking sweet,” he growled, pausing to bite your bottom lip. slowly. sensually. “bet i’ll find out you taste even sweeter somewhere else.” you gasped, trembling. his fingers were already under your shirt, dragging it up inch by inch, “arms up, baby.”

you lifted your arms, dazed, his use of pet names making it feel way more romantic than it should. he carefully peeled your shirt over your head and tossed it aside, hands immediately finding your bare skin, palms dragging up your ribs, thumbs brushing the peaks of your breasts through your bra. you leaned toward him instinctively and he chuckled.

“sensitive,” he muttered, “good. i want every part of you begging.” he kissed you again, harder this time, wet and open, lips slick with spit, you could hardly keep up. every kiss felt like it left you raw. ruined. but craving more.

his fingers toyed with the clasp of your bra, then popped it open easily. he dragged the straps down your arms, slow and teasing, “you’ve been neglected long enough, haven’t you, pretty girl?” he said against your lips.

he trailed his mouth down your neck, sucking at the pulse point until you whined, then he licked lower, over your collarbones, between your breasts, circling your nipples with maddening slowness. his hands stayed firm on your thighs, squeezing, keeping you spread and trembling.

“i want you to stop waiting for an orgasm,” he murmured as he kissed lower, lips just above your waistband, “feel everything. the pressure. the tease. the ache.”

your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, grinding his face on your nipple, “please—mark, i need—”

“i know what you need.” his voice was low, but firm. his mouth still latched one of your nipples, sucking harshly.

“you think you’re the first person to sit here and say they don’t know how to come?,” he laughed softly, switching to the other peak.

“you’re not broken, baby. you’re untouched. and i’m about to change that.”

he hooked his fingers under the waistband of your pants and underwear at once, and then he stopped, eyes locked on yours.

“you trust me to take care of you?”

“yes,” you whispered, breath hitching.

“say it louder.”

“yes—yes, i trust you.”

“good girl.”

he smirked, dragging everything down in one slow, smooth pull, baring you to the cool air. to his heated stare. his eyes darkened as he took you in, and he let out a soft groan, hand gripping your knees to push them open wider.

mark leaned back just though to take in the sight of you — completely undressed, legs parted, breath shaky, lips kiss-swollen, flushed and desperate, beneath the soft golden lighting of suite 8, vulnerable and exposed.

“fuck,” he breathed out, jaw tense, “you’re so pretty like this. spread out for me. waiting.”

you whimpered as his hands slid up your inner thighs, thumbs brushing too close to where you ached, then retreating again. and again. and again. his touch was everywhere except where you needed him most. the ache between your legs pulsed — soaked and neglected, your body betraying how ready it was.

but still, your mind wouldn’t shut up. wouldn’t let you stay there in it. what if i can’t? what if i freeze up? what if he thinks there’s something wrong with me?

and mark knew. he could see. hear it in your gasps, feel it in your tension. that’s why he smirked like that, cruel and knowing. like he was enjoying watching you unravel in slow motion, one nerve at a time.

“tell me how this feels,” he murmured, leaning forward to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbone again.

“let me hear you.”

“i—” you gasped, jerking as his teeth grazed a nipple, then soothed it with a slick, wet lick, “it’s—it’s not enough—mark, please—” he hummed against your skin, lips warm as he kissed back up to your throat.

“good. that’s exactly where i want you. i don’t want you comfortable yet. i want you needy. desperate. begging me to touch this pretty pussy.”

and you were starting to be. you could feel the slickness between your thighs, a heartbeat thrumming at your core. still, mark didn’t touch you there. his hands continued their teasing path, caressing your hips, your stomach, your thighs. never slipping between.

his tongue pushed into your mouth again, curling with yours, fucking it slow. one hand tangled in your hair to tilt your head back, deepening the kiss. his other hand slid down—finally, finally—settling just above your mound. the heel of his palm pressed just enough to tease the ache, and you whimpered, hips jerking upward like your body was pleading.

“already soaking, aren’t you?” he murmured against your lips, “and i haven’t even touched you properly.”

“please, please, i need—”

“no.” he cut in, voice sharp, dangerous. “i decide when you get that. you gave me your trust, baby. so let me show you what your body’s capable of when it’s not trying to hurry up and finish just to feel something.”

you whimpered quietly, looking at him with pleading eyes and only then did he let his fingers finally slip lower, gliding through the slick pooling between your legs. you gasped at the contact, but he didn’t go inside. just circled, rubbed, spread. over and over. maddening and slow.

“you’ve been chasing orgasms,” he muttered, placing a hot, wet kiss below your ear, “without knowing where they live.”

you moaned when he dragged his thumb over your clit, gentle at first, then firmer, enough to make you buck your hips. his mouth found yours again, kissing you harder now, every wet slide of his tongue mirrored the rhythm of his hand, slow, controlled, rubbing soft circles around your clit.

and you tried to stay in it, you really did. but before you could focus on the pleasure, your mind tensed again. breath caught. brain whirring. what if it’s not enough? what if i sound weird? what if i can’t let go?

your thighs started to close.

“no.” mark growled, his voice darker now. he shoved your legs apart again, pinning them open, “don’t hide. let me give you what you’ve never had.”

“i’m trying,” you choked, voice high and splintered, “but i-i dont know if i—what if i can’t–”

“it’s building up,” he grunted against your lips, “but you’re in your head. i can feel it”

and then, with no warning, he pushed one finger inside you. your back arched as your walls clamped around him, a quiet sigh slipping from your lips.

“fuck—so tight,” he hissed, pressing his forehead to your shoulder as he pushed deeper, curling slightly.

“you’ve been keeping this all to yourself, huh?” he pumped slow, shallow, his finger curling just enough to make your toes curl with it. then he added another. watching your face like a predator.

the moment your moan cracked through the air, high and broken, your eyes shot wide open, your hand clamping your own mouth, instinctive, terrified of the sound you made.

mark’s entire body tensed. he grabbed your wrist and yanked it down.

“don’t fucking do that.” his voice was rough. eyes wild. not with lust but with something more dangerous. hungry.

“up.” he ordered lowly, voice already thick with arousal. “on the couch. lay back.”

you blinked, dazed, “what—”

“now.”

the command in his tone made your stomach clench. you moved instinctively, letting him guide you, your bare back sticking slightly to the leather as you laid down. he helped spread your thighs wide over the edge. you were open now, fully exposed to him. he hovered above you.

then — he pulled his tie off in one swift motion. yanked it free from around his neck with a harsh flick. and before you could ask what he was doing he pinned your arms behind you and wrapped it tightly around your wrists, the silk biting softly into your skin.

he leaned over you, hot breath against your ear, “do you know what i do when pretty girls like you can’t let go?”

you shook your head, lips parted, eyes blown wide with lust.

“i don’t slow down,” he whispered, “i break them.”

then he looked down at you like a man starving. like a man about to feast.

“look at this,” he muttered, dragging two fingers through your folds again, lightly slapping your pussy, as he positioned himself between your cunt.

“so wet and ready,” he grunted against your aching core.

the first stroke of his tongue was slow. deliberate. — a warm, wet slide right up the length of your slit, ending with a soft suck to your clit that made your hips jump. you gasped, back arching.

mark groaned against you, “god, you taste unreal,” he growled, “i could stay here all night.”

and he meant it. he licked again, then again, tongue flattening against your core, teasing, tasting. his mouth was hot, his tongue devastating, alternating between slow strokes and precise flicks, sucking at your clit just enough to make your thighs tremble. his hands gripped your hips tight, holding you open as he buried his face deeper.

he was good. too good.

but still, that coil of pressure in your belly wasn’t catching. your breath hitched with every swirl of his tongue, but it didn’t crest. it didn’t tip. you kept chasing the edge but never quite reaching it. you couldn’t stop your mind from spiraling. what if this is it and i still don’t come? what if i’m the one person he gives up on? what if i disappoint him?

mark noticed it all. and he was tired of watching you get in your own way.

“i said i’d take my time with you.” he muttered, voice rough as knelt between your legs, towering over your exposed body, chest heaving slightly.

“but don’t mistake that for mercy.”

the kindness in his voice had cooled into something sharper, darker. still controlled. still careful. but this wasn’t the same soft-spoken man who asked if he could touch you. could kiss you. this was the version of him who knew exactly what you needed before you did. the one who didn’t need your trust. the one who commanded it.

you blinked up at him, dazed, lips parted as you struggled to catch your breath. mark was already working on his shirt, buttons flicked open with practiced, irritated speed. like you being like this —trembling and touched and still not broken open, had finally pushed him past whatever professional restraint he’d been clinging to.

“you want to feel something real?” he asked, low and dark as he tugged his shirt off and tossed it aside. his torso was lean, toned, strong, defined muscle under fair skin. veins prominent in his forearms, a shadow of control beneath the surface. you couldn’t stop staring, but he didn’t give you long.

“eyes on me.” he snapped. you flinched and obeyed instantly.

“good girl.” he muttered, already undoing his belt.

“you’re done overthinking tonight. you’re not here to analyze. you’re here to surrender.” he kicked his slacks off in one motion, dark briefs still clinging to his hips, already showing the outline of his cock pressing tight against the fabric. he moved between your legs again, now completely shirtless, he let you feel him. skin on skin. then, his hand came up to grip your jaw, not hard, just firm enough to make you feel it. to keep you grounded in his hold.

“i’m going to rewire that pretty little brain of yours,” he grunted, tone like velvet stretched over steel.

“because clearly, your body’s ready but your head hasn’t shut the fuck up once since you got here.”

you whimpered, nodding under his grip.

“and when you come, it’s going to be because i made it happen.” he continued, dragging the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, “you’re not going to perform. you’re not going to fake. you’re going to fucking lose it. because i’m going to take it from you.”

then he was sinking to his knees again, this time bringing your legs up to your chest, holding you open like a meal he was ready to devour. the position was cruel. your hands tied behind your back was starting to hurt. but he didn’t care.

“no more playing nice.” he muttered. “you’ve had enough of that.”

and then—he ate.

there was nothing soft about it this time. his mouth latched onto your pussy like it was the only thing that could save him. tongue flat and wide, licking deep and messy, then curling to flick at your clit with precision that made your hips jerk off the couch. you cried out but he only held you down harder.

“stay still.” he growled into your cunt, tongue never pausing, “i didn’t say you could run.”

you couldn’t push him away, the tie tight around your wrist. his grip on your thighs tightened. every stroke of his tongue was filthy, practiced, deliberate. he sucked your clit, then dragged his tongue lower, licking you open, tasting you with obscene, wet sounds that only made the pressure worse. hotter. deeper.

and still — you couldn’t let go. still, that voice in your head whispered too much. what if he’s doing all of this and i don’t come? i bet i look really weird right now. what if i’m really broken?

mark slammed his hand flat over your lower stomach, fingers splayed wide, his mouth unrelenting. and then he pulled back, just for a breath. just long enough to growl, “get out of your fucking head, baby. right now.”

his voice dropped.

“focus on what i’m doing to you.”

then he spit directly on your clit, letting it fall slowly, hot, messy, then immediately sucked you into his mouth like a punishment. it was so hot. a high pitched moan escaped your lips before you could even think about it. he hummed low like he knew it’d short-circuit your brain, the vibration sending shocks up your spine. his fingers slid back inside, fucking you now. harder, faster, rougher, thrusting with a rhythm of your unraveling.

“i don’t care how long it takes.” he snarled, breath hot against you.

“i’ll break you open and fuck the hesitation out of you.”

it was working. the fear was melting into heat. shame into friction. every thought replaced by the overwhelming sensation. you were teetering on the edge of something unfamiliar and terrifying. the pressure was unbearable, intense and unrelenting, like your body was being dragged past the edge whether it was ready or not.

mark didn’t stop. he pulled your clit between his lips again and again, flicking his tongue until you were gasping. curling his fingers over and over again.

“say it.” mark growled. “say you want to come.”

“i—fuck—i want to—mark—”

“louder.”

“i want to come! please—don’t stop—please—”

“come.” his voice demanded, vibrating against your skin. “let. me. have it.”

and then—you broke.

“oh my god—” the words tore out of you, breathless and wrecked, “f-fuck, don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

and he didn’t. your hips bucked against his mouth. the rest of the words dissolved into a sob from your throat so raw, so guttural, you hardly recognized the sound as your own. your back arched clean off the leather couch, hands gripping so tight hoping you could tether yourself to the moment as your body seized with sensation.

your orgasm didn’t rise like a tide — it detonated. it wrecked you open. no warning. just impact. a white-hot snap that split through you like a faultline finally giving way under years of pressure. it was too much. too big. too real. like something that had been lodged deep inside your chest your whole life had just ripped free — wild and screaming and glorious. years of silence and shame, of second-guessing and not-quite-getting-there, all flooding out at once.

your thighs clamped around his head, but mark didn’t flinch. he held you there, mouth relentless, fingers tight on your hip to anchor you through every tremor, every aftershock, as you writhed and whimpered and let the orgasm tear through your body. his tongue is merciless, unrelenting. mouth locked on you like he was dragging every last drop of that orgasm out of you until there was nothing left. until you were finally begging him to stop.

when he pulled back, his lips were slick. his face wrecked. his eyes triumphant.

mark licked his lips, “that,” he panted, “was one.”

you blinked at him, tears shining in your lashes, “i didn’t think i could…”

“you can,” he said firmly, brushing your hair back. “you did.”

then he untied your wrists slowly, carefully. but his voice stayed rough, “get on the bed.” he ordered.

“we’re not done.”

he gripped your thighs lifting you easily like you weighed nothing at all, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. a silent yelp slipped from your lips as he tossed you onto the bed with a bounce that knocked the breath from your lungs. the sheets were cool against your overheated skin, your body slack and spread open, chest rising and falling like you’d just survived something. or maybe like you were bracing for what was next.

mark’s lips found yours again, hot and claiming. his kiss wasn’t soft anymore — it was deep and consuming, all tongue and teeth and groaned hunger. he tasted like you. he traced a hand up your side, slow and steady, fingertips brushing every rib, every tremble. he was watching you like he didn’t want to miss a single twitch.

“you still with me?” he asked, voice rough around the edges now. lower. thicker. like he was barely holding himself back.

you nodded, dazed. “yeah. just…. holy shit.”

he smirked, “good holy shit or bad holy shit?”

you huffed a breathy laugh. “like… i didn’t even know i could come like that.”

mark’s thumb brushed the corner of your lips, dragging gently across your cheek. his eyes softened, but only for a second.

“that was just the beginning.”

then his expression darkened — not cruel, but hungry. that same deep hunger you’d caught glimpses of earlier, now unleashed. like something inside him had snapped loose the second you shattered and now he was free to do what he really wanted.

he sat back, eyes locked to yours and reached over to the nightstand. you watched as he tore open a foil packet with his teeth. condom. protection. professional. safe. but the way he rolled it on, slow, deliberate, cocky — made your mouth go dry.

your eyes dropped. you finally saw him. all of him. he was long. thick. the flushed tip already glistening with precum. your breath hitched.

“you’re still so wet,” he murmured, dragging his fingers between your folds again, making you jump, “you want more?”

your answer was instant, “yes. please.”

“you want to be fucked until you forget your own name?”

“yes, please—mark,” your hips bucked into his touch, already craving the stretch.

mark leaned down, mouth brushing your ear, his breath was hot.

“i’m going to fuck you now.”

the words made you clench. one hand guiding his cock to your entrance, the other gripped your hip with enough force to bruise.

“breathe,” he reminded, voice steady.

“and keep your legs open for me.”

you obeyed, trembling, aroused, needy. and then — he pushed in. just the tip at first. then inch by inch, he filled you. stretching you open, dragging slowly through your soaked heat, the pressure exquisite and unbearable. your eyes rolled back. your nails clawed into the sheets. when he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, you couldn’t breathe.

“fuck,” you gasped, “oh my god—mark—” your hands came up to grip his hair.

you were so full. it felt like too much. he stilled there, letting you feel it, the stretch, the weight, the sheer intimacy of being filled by him.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, jaw clenched.

“you’re gonna hold on, baby? think you’re strong enough to fight me off again?”

and then he pulled out just enough to slam back in, you cried out. back arched. stars bursting behind your eyes.

he started thrusting — deep, sharp, claiming. again. again. setting a brutal rhythm, relentless and unforgiving, pounding into you with full, punishing strokes that rocked the entire bed. his grips on your hips was bruising. his pace was perfect, desperate, controlled, yielding. your moans were raw, punched out of you with every thrust. loud. real. unrestrained.

mark never looked away. watching every twitch of your body, every tremble, every cry of his name that tore from your lips like a prayer.

“you feel that?” he rasped. “your body is already giving in.”

you could barely speak. your second orgasm was building fast, sharp and electric, clawing up your spine as he adjusted his angle just enough to hit that spot, again and again, until you were falling apart beneath him.

“mark—fuck—i’m gonna—”

“come again.” he ordered, voice dark and breathless.

“come on my cock this time. prove to me you can do it.”

your mind shut off completely. no thoughts. no fear. just him. just the way his cock dragged inside you, hitting just right. his hand moved up your body, rough and reverent until his fingers brushed over your chest, teasing. and then his thumb rolled over your nipple. palm cupping your breast, kneading.

his other hand slipped under your back, lifting and forcing you to arch into him. he sucked one nipple into his mouth with a low groan that made your walls clamp around him hard.

you screamed. it was too good. his cock, his mouth, his hands — everywhere. his tongue bit your nipple and you sobbed, overwhelmed, drenched, utterly destroyed.

“you’re doing so good, you don’t have to think. i’ll do it for you.”

he dragged his teeth across your nipple again as his hips continued slamming into you, cock swelling inside you. then he brought his thumb in between your bodies, toying with your clit, rubbing harsh circles until your body couldn’t take it.

your second orgasm ripped through you. just eruption. you clutched his shoulders, mouth open, body convulsing against him as the climax burst out of you with a scream.

“good fucking girl,” he growled, hips not slowing.

“just like that. let it all go for me.”

you did. you had to. your thighs were trembling violently. your pussy clenched so tight around him you heard a curse tear from his throat. he didn’t stop. he rode it. let you sob and shake around him, fucking you through it.

his cock was pulsing and relentless, dragging wet and hot inside you as your cunt fluttered around him, overstimulated and soaked. you were beyond thought. your mind—completely gone. your body—his to command. he held your wrists down. you were a mess of tears and cries and raw nerve endings, and you loved it. you were addicted to the high. wanting every second to last longer.

“mark—please—don’t stop—”

“i’m not” he growled. “’i’m not stopping till your body forgets how to do anything but come.”

he pulled out for a quick second. hands gripping your waist hard before he suddenly flipped you onto your stomach. before you could even blink, he was dragging you up onto your knees, forcing your ass in the air, cheek pressed to the mattress.

“face down.” he growled, voice low, breathless, “ass up.”

you obeyed instantly, mind fogged and floating, body pliant and aching. you didn’t care anymore. you weren’t you anymore. you were his. bent to his will. so cock-drunk. your mind a blank page. he was rewriting your system with every thrust, every word, every sound he dragged out of you.

he shoved your knees apart with his thighs, rough hands spreading your cheeks, and then spat down, watching it drip between your folds. his cock nudged your entrance again, already slick from how soaked you were. you whimpered when he teased the head along your slit, grinding it against your oversensitive clit just to watch you shudder.

he leaned in close, voice a hot whisper against your ear, “gonna make up for all those years no one ever made you come,” he rasped, “every single time they fumbled and failed. this pussy’s never gonna remember that.”

and then—he slammed back into you. you screamed into the sheets. the new angle had him deeper, thicker somehow, hitting that spot so brutally your entire body jolted forward.

“mark—fuck—fuck—fuck!,” you moaned, biting down on the sheets, practically drooling.

he didn’t slow. didn’t pause. just gripped your hips and fucked you, hard and fast, his pelvis slapping against your ass with every thrust. the sound of skin on skin filled the room, wet, filthy, relentless.

“listen to that,” he rasped, voice wild now. “listen to what this pussy does for me.”

you couldn’t respond. couldn’t think. could only feel. the stretch felt sharper like this, more urgent. every stroke had you gasping, choking, keening into the mattress. and then—

slap!

you cried out when his palm landed hard on your ass. not cruel, just enough to make you jolt, to send that spike of heat ricocheting up your spine and straight down again, pulsing into your core.

“yeah,” mark breathed, voice cracked open with need, “you like that?”

you nodded, incoherent words slipping from your lips.

another slap! a little harder.

you sobbed, hips bucking back against him, desperate to meet every thrust.

“that’s it,” he growled, pounding into you harder now, the bed frame rocking under the force, “take it. take everything.”

and then his hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to expose your throat, his hands wrapped around it. not tight enough to scare you. just tight enough to own you. your choked out moans filling the air. toes curling so hard you swore you’re about to get a cramp.

your third orgasm slammed into you out of nowhere. your body locked up and shattered around him, your cunt clenching so hard you saw white. he let you go as you screamed into the mattress, every nerve on fire, legs shaking violently as pleasure tore through you, raw and final and unrelenting.

— and still, he didn’t stop. mark held you steady as your body writhed, collapsing from the sheer force of your release, but he was relentless, “you don’t stop until i say you do.”

you whimpered something, his name, maybe, or just a breathless plea, but it didn’t matter. he fucked through your orgasm like a man possessed, chasing the aftershocks, turning them into something new. something sharper. overwhelming. your body trembled beneath him, hips twitching, slick dripping down your thighs, pooling on the sheets. your pussy clenched around him again and again, involuntary, helpless. every drag of his cock sent sparks skittering across your skin.

“you’re shaking.” he groaned, chest pressed to your back now, sweat-slick skin sticking to yours, “gonna make you fucking squirt, baby. i can feel it. you’re right there.”

“no—mark—too much, i can’t do that—,” you try to push him off. try to crawl away. but he was stronger. and he kept his cock pounding inside you.

“yes. you can.” his hand slid down, fingers seeking your clit, rubbing fast and brutal circles that had your legs kicking out, your voice catching in a strangled sob.

“i said face down. ass up.” he reminded you, voice dark and firm as he shoved your head back into the mattress, palm flat between your shoulder blades, keeping you there.

“be good. take it. this is what you came here for.”

the pressure was unbearable, his cock punishing inside you, fingers never letting up on your swollen clit. your mind blanked, eyes rolling back for the umpteenth time and then you reached a high you didn’t even think was humanly possible. something you only saw happen in porn.

a ragged, high-pitched cry tore out of you as your body convulsed, back arching violently before you collapsed into your fourth orgasm. the gush came, hot, wet, explosive. your cunt fluttered and sprayed around him, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as you squirted all over his cock, the sheets, the floor. you could barely process it. your brain had gone static. a glitching signal of pleasure.

“fucking amazing,” mark snarled, hips stuttering.

“that’s it. let it all go.” he pulled out just enough to watch you gush again before slamming back in. your whole body jerked like a live wire. you were sobbing now, overstimulated, wrecked, your hands had give up on clawing at the sheets for something to hold onto. there was nothing. nothing but him.

mark cursed, nearly losing his rhythm, “fucking hell—”

he didn’t stop. he kept pounding into your overstimulated cunt, watching your body convulse under him.

“gonna—fuck—i’m gonna come—” his pace stuttering for the first time, hips faltering mid-thrust. you could hear the unraveling in his breath, raw and uneven. his thrusts turned sloppy, deeper, harder. and then, with a strangled moan, he came. his hips slammed into you one last time, cock buried deep as he spilled into the condom with a guttural groan, body jerking with each pulse. he stayed there, breathing ragged, pressed tight against your back, his body shaking with the force of it.

for a long moment, the only sound in the room was the thunder of both your heartbeats. you were barely on your knees, cheek pressed to the sheets, body twitching faintly from aftershocks, cunt still fluttering around the softening length inside you.

mark let out a long breath, low, shaky. he leaned forward, his chest slick with sweat and your juices, smearing against the curve of your spine as he slowly eased down.

“you okay?” he murmured finally, voice hoarse, frayed around the edges.

you nodded, too blissed-out to form real words, “yeah. just… holy shit again.”

he chuckled weakly, wrapping his arms around your middle and gently easing you down onto the bed. his cock slipped out slowly, and you whimpered at the loss, already missing the fullness. a laugh slipped from your lips anyway, a disbelieving, breathy sound.

you couldn’t move. not in a bad way. more like your body had melted into the mattress, boneless and warm, every muscle humming with aftershocks. your mind was soft, quiet, the storm of thoughts you usually lived in was gone. for the first time in your life, there was peace, full-bodied, deep, radiating out from the very core of you. like something inside had finally clicked into place.

you’d come. you’d actually come. not faked it. not chased it just to please someone else. not brushed against it only to have it slip away. this time, it hit you full force. not once but four times.

the kind of orgasms that emptied you, pulled sobs from your throat and tears from your eyes and for once you hadn’t cared. you hadn’t flinched. you hadn’t shut down or shrunk into yourself, hadn’t tried to perform or hid or apologize. you’d felt it all.

and somewhere in the middle of all that, you’d actually squirted. your thighs had trembled, you’d felt yourself gush around him, soaking the sheets, your mind and body surrendering with no shame. no fear. no filter. you hadn’t know it could feel like that. like being cracked open and remade. like something holy. your cunt still fluttered with phantom pulses, like your body couldn’t quite believe it either. like it wasn’t ready to let go.

mark lay beside you, propped up on one elbow, his other hand already reaching for the warm towel he’d placed nearby. he flipped you over gently, his touch deliberate and slow. like he wasn’t in a rush to be anywhere but right here. he cleaned you up in silence. careful. focused. he dabbed between your legs with gentle, precise strokes, flinching every time you flinched. “sorry,” he muttered each time, almost apologetic.

“you sure you’re okay?” he asked softly.

you nodded, a small smile on your lips, “better than okay…i feel like i just got reborn.”

that earned a real laugh from him this time, “that’s a new one,” he said with a shake of his head.

you stretched, wincing slightly, sore in all the right ways. everything throbbed but in a way that made you feel alive. present. you turned your head to look at him.

“that was… insane,” you murmured, “i mean, you literally had to destroy me to get me out of my own head.”

mark smiled, brushing hair from your damp forehead, “it wasn’t destruction. it was release. you just needed to shut this little guy off ,” he says, lightly tapping your temple, “and stop being scared to let your body feel.”

your throat tightened, not from embarrassment, but from the truth of it. because that’s exactly what it was. you’d let go. fully. completely.

mark grabbed the water bottle from the nightstand, twisted the cap and held it to your lips like it was instinct. “drink. you lost a lot of liquids back there.”

you giggled, then took a few sips, letting him wipe the corners of your mouth with his thumb afterward. it should’ve been awkward. but it wasn’t. it was safe.

eventually, mark rose from the bed and helped you sit up slowly, handing you your clothes one piece at a time. you slowly got dressed. you were glowing, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes bright. alive. awake. soft.

once you were both dressed, mark walked you back to the lounge of the clinic. the lighting had brightened slightly step by step—intentional, maybe, to ease clients back into the world gently.

“thanks,” you said as you walked side by side, your voice a little hoarse, but steady, “for the... comprehensive service.”

his mouth twitched, almost a smile, “neo orgasm clinic prides itself on thorough results.”

“oh, i noticed,” you deadpanned. “i think i saw god.”

mark let out a soft laugh, “i take it your file won’t need another ‘no prior orgasm’ flag.”

you rolled your eyes. “no, i think we can check that one off. multiple times, actually. all thanks to you.”

he cocked his head, the edge of a smirk playing on his lips, “you did the work.”

you snorted, “right. i was just lying there, crying and begging while you—never mind. forget it. you know what you did.”

“professionally, of course,” he said smoothly, “all part of the protocol.”

you looked him up and down, “if that was protocol, i’d hate to see what your personal life looks like.”

his smirk sharpened, almost imperceptibly, “you wouldn’t survive it.”

you raised a brow, “is that a challenge?”

his eyes glinted, “only if you book another appointment.”

you laughed then leaned in slightly, just enough for him to hear, “but seriously, you didn’t just make me orgasm. you made me feel like…like my body finally belongs to me.”

something flickered in his expression, not warmth, not empathy. just... acknowledgment. like a box being ticked. another line in the report. mark’s gaze held yours. there was no smugness, no pride. just warmth. steadiness — a donor who’d done exactly what he promised and only what you needed.

“thank you for trusting the process,” he said simply.

then, with a crooked grin, you added, “i should probably leave a tip. or at least a five-star review.”

he raised an eyebrow in amusement, “tips aren’t required. but reviews help with the rankings.”

“oh, i’ll be specific,” you said, walking toward the door leading to the lounge, “something like: ‘ruined me in under an hour. swore i saw heaven. would recommend.’”

mark tilted his head, quietly chuckling beside you. the door opened. you stepped inside and turned back toward him. “seriously though five star session.”

he nodded once, “glad we could meet your goals.”

you smirked, “gonna be hard to top this one.”

the corner of his mouth curled, sharp and knowing.

“book me again.” he said lowly, voice like velvet, “i’ll try.”

then, offering his hand once more, firm and polite, “it was a pleasure to be your donor, ms. y/n.”

you shook it, firm, “i’ll be your client any day.”

and with one last glance, one last smile, he turned back toward the double doors. and just like that it was over.

✚ END OF SESSION ✚

the door whispered shut behind him, soft and final. you stood in the lounge for a second longer than necessary, trying to get back into reality.

you were still warm. still sore. still…not quite in the world. your legs wobbled slightly, the plush carpet beneath your feet suddenly feeling too soft. too quiet. the silence here was different. this one was polished. the kind that came with good lighting and air purifiers and an undercurrent of expensive professionalism.

you approached the front desk slowly, finding taeyong already tapping away at his tablet, his perfect posture and gel-slicked hair still completely intact, like nothing behind those doors could ruffle him. he glanced up with the kind of smile that had been trained into perfection. not fake. just smooth. comforting. scripted.

“that’ll be charged to the card on file,” he said gently, voice soft enough not to jar you.

you nodded. your voice wasn’t ready yet.

“also, this is for you.” he reached beneath the desk and pulled out a matte black paper bag with subtle silver foil lettering that gleamed when it caught the light:

thank you for trusting neo orgasm clinic with your satisfaction.

you blinked. “what’s this?”

“a small thank-you from our donors,” he said, still smiling, still unbothered — as though this entire exchange was no more intimate than a routine dentist visit. like you weren’t just being fucked to your next life behind those doors.

you took the bag with both hands, still feeling like you were floating slightly outside yourself.

“have a good rest of your evening! we hope to see you again,” taeyong smiled from behind his computer.

you gave him a tired little smile, a soft wave and murmured a polite “thanks,” and turned toward the exit.

you made your way to your car, dropped into the driver’s seat, and opened the bag, curious to see what it holds — inside was a neatly folded hoodie, ultra-soft, white, with bold letters:

ORGASM DONOR

you stared. then snorted. a full bodied laugh punched out of your chest. it was dumb. it was ridiculous. it was perfect. tucked beside it, almost like an afterthought, was a juice box. your laugh came sharper this time.

you popped the straw in, took a long sip and leaned your head back against the seat. let the juice cool your tongue. let the moment wash over you and muttered to yourself, “best. fucking. clinic.”

you pulled your phone out. opened the clinic’s feedback portal. your fingers hovered for a second. then you typed:

released me from the shackles of my mind. came four times. even squirted. lost track of the tears. saw god. 10/10. highly recommend. would let mark destroy me again. professionally, of course.

somewhere behind those pristine white doors, donor mark was already reviewing his next file. another client. another list of goals. another carefully measured beginning.

✚ APPOINTMENT STATUS: COMPLETE ✚

—

18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content

BONUS: #1. #2. #3. #4. #5.

—

an: and the first donor is done! i hope this lived up to the expectation. if you hate it please don’t tell me lmao. this whole entire concept is supposed to be silly! i hope you had fun reading it! please don’t take it too seriously :)

🩺 likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated

client tags: @alwayswonbinning @haechyuckan @neotannies @jaeminiwrld @taeeflwrr @kittydollzz @amazinggraxia @markleewatermelon @snwydoie @lvlyynim @neosteric @s4turdaydr1p @booskies @bananinhazz @hyucksaint @feet4liferss @mangoescrazy @jaejaezprincess @mokalattee @combinatoright-blog @stormy1408 @neonaby @zhangyixingxing1 @ni-ki-starnetwork @markiesfatbooty @luvjoongz @bbykaixx @lubunnii @ryuvrsie @hyuckluvr-com @37point5rated @snoopyana @britishvamps @sssaturn @serhser @flowerrpwrr @rex-ie @yutasputa69 @serpeverde005 @imsaltnt @imnotrosiee @leleszn @shiningnono @ant-onie @kakutoz @kiwichenji @ihatefrvits @haechanahceah67 @huffnpufffckk @nctdreamchaser @markiepoo4eva @neocockthotology @poutybzby @mackleroni @grimlinshere @mey-archive @su11yoon @n9vacane @hoonhyeonhae @crooked-haven @liaviva

[scarlet-streak-fanfics]

Date Everything Headcanon: A New House

Hello! Last night I was thinking about Eddie and Volt’s Realization ending and some posts about the player moving out of the house after everyone leaves and my brain spit this out. The focus is on Eddie and Volt, but I’ll have as many characters joining in as possible. For now, it’s only a set of headcanons, but if people are interested in oneshots or even a fic I’d be happy to write it! Just let me know. My ask box is open for requests!

Before you read, this will have spoilers for Realization endings and I want to tack on a content warning just in case. There will be some themes of loneliness and OCD/Hoarding, but I won’t be going too into depth. If you want a scale, it’ll be much less intense than Jerry–maybe closer to Hoove’s thing.

The Discovery

Eddie and Volt are very much caught up in their own lives and business for a while–after all, starting a Real Estate business is no easy task. You’re there to cheer them on from the sidelines, and they visit when they can. It’s just almost always meeting up at a bar or club for a quick drink, dance, or chat.

Once they settle in a bit better, however, the two start visiting you at home. Eddie’s mostly focused on making sure the electrical panel and the house’s wiring is in working order (and not going to burn the place down), so it’s Volt who spends time with you. Over the course of their visits, he notices that something seems to have changed.

It’s little things at first. You’re quieter, more subdued, and the hugs you give them before they leave feel just a little bit tighter. Then one day he comments on how the wall paper upstairs might need replacing–the corner’s been peeling for years, after all–and you immediately shut it down. When he tries to have a discussion about it, you accidentally refer to the wall as ‘him’ before shutting down completely.

That’s when Volt notices something–the house has not changed since the day the last object-turned-human left for their new lives. Koa had sent you new furniture pieces, he knows, but none can be found anywhere in the house. There’s a fine layer of dust on most surfaces, and every object he lifts leaves behind a perfect indentation to mark where it “should” be.

It takes a few more visits for the two of them to finally bring it up to you, and the reason you give them is heartbreaking: not only do you miss your friends and lovers, but a part of you is afraid they’re still somehow connected to their original objects. What if you vacuum up all the dust bunnies and something happens to Dolly? Would accidentally knocking over the ship-in-a-bottle that was once Jacques be breaking him?

Eddie and Volt’s hearts break as they realize the accidental hell you’ve trapped yourself into, and sure, maybe Eddie is supposed to be working on not carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, but they decide they can make an exception just this once for their Live Wire. They know they can’t leave you alone in this empty house terrified that any change will ruin the lives you’d worked so hard to give to the dozens of people you’d grown to love.

The Intervention

The first step is a lot of phone calls, starting with Teddy, Jerry, Chance, and Lady Memoria. Chance’s certifications in Psychology come in handy for talking you through your fears, especially with Jerry there to remind you of how you helped him. Sure, his junk wasn’t exactly alive in the same way these objects had been, but it’s nice to not feel alone. When things get to be too much, Teddy is there for a comforting hug and encouragement. That’s when their fifth guest arrives: Beau.

When they first propose the plan to you, you’re absolutely against it. However, Beau reasons, she was the embodiment of every cardboard box in the house, not just a single object. It wouldn’t kill her to lose just one. Besides, if it will help you, she’d gladly embark on such a treacherous adventure–what’s one hand or ear in the grand scheme of things? If anything, she’ll have an incredible story to tell her campers.

Once that first box is carefully cut down to a more manageable size with a box cutter and placed in the trash without any harm to Beau, that’s when you break down with relief. From that point on, it’s time for Memoria to take over–with some help, of course.

Objects are sorted into three categories: Functioning, Non-Functioning, and Fixed. One by one, the people that represent the parts of the house you absolutely can’t take with you visit to reassure you that they won’t be hurt by being left behind. By the time Jean-Loo is dragged in both to apologize for his silence and tell you that it’s alright to not take actual toilets with you, you’re feeling rather silly about the whole thing. Most of their visits are, of course, spent reminiscing and enjoying each other’s company, beginning to fill the void you didn’t even know existed.

For the non-functioning category, Hoove and Freddy actually encourage you to buy replacements for the objects they used to be. All the major appliances in the house that you could take with you are either past the end of their warranty or just about at the end, and they all agree they’d rather you have safer, better functioning ones than get caught up on sentimentality. Again, each of them gets a tight hug upon departure, leaving behind a promise to visit or at least communicate a bit more often.

Finally, the functioning category. Memoria gives you four options: keep, storage, trash, or offer it to the person themselves so they can decide. You and Lyric split your book collection, well-read copies full of sentimental value that even a first edition couldn’t replace, Diana encourages you to keep using your diary, and Barry is delighted to take you to replace your old cosmetics with new ones.

Weeks of work pass, and once it’s just you, Jerry, Teddy, Chance, and Lady Memoria left, the house is emptier, sure, but much lighter. You thank them with tearful hugs and whispers of love and support. Then, finally, you’re alone–that is, until Volt and Eddie arrive and ask you to come with them.

The Surprise

It’s a short drive to their newest property acquisition, one spent with quiet conversation about how you’re feeling. You thank them for caring enough to help pull you out of that hole you were in, and Eddie simply smiles while Volt tells you not to thank them just yet.

The house they lead you into is quite a bit bigger than your old place. Eddie talks about the work he’s put into redoing the ventilation, electrical, and plumbing while Volt paints a picture of what each room could be–a gym and an office, of course, but also plenty of guest rooms, a library, a music room, and even a game room. Finally, at the end of the tour, they make you an offer: your old house for this one. A fresh start, one where you’ll have room for the friends and lovers that you now know miss you just as much as you miss them will be able to come and visit–or even stay with you fully with their own spaces–to spend time with you and engage in the activities that you’d bonded over. 

When asked about the price difference between the two properties, they simply wave it off, telling you not to worry. The secret? Several of your more successful object-turned-human loved ones decided to chip in to cover the cost. It’s a gift made with love and care–after all, none of them want their beloved human to be alone. That house had, for many of them, been a veritable prison. They can’t stand to leave you to that same fate.

Koa was overjoyed when you finally accepted his gifts of new furniture, with each and every couch and bed that passed through your door stamped with his utmost seal of approval. Washford and Drysdale insisted upon handling the landscaping themselves, and both your front and back yards became the envy of all your new neighbors. Artt, Daisuke, and Hector took it upon themselves to ensure artworks of every kind had a place on the walls and surfaces. By the time everyone who wanted to had left some sort of personal touch on your new abode and you and those who had chosen to take up a more permanent residence had finished settling in, the place was bursting with the life and love that you hadn’t even known you’d been missing.

[notshinya]

⸝ ᛪ༙┆OVER THE EDGE ! ⎯ 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

summary: Kaiser fucks you dumb — rough, relentless, and obsessed with dragging out every last moan until you can’t think, speak, or breathe from the sheer intensity alone.

warnings: Smut, Rough sex, Overstimulation, Degrading talk, Possessive behavior, Unprotected sex, Tears, Multiple orgasms, Creampie, Fem!reader, Light dom!Kaiser, Reader crying from pleasure,

wc : 1,1k

»Ahhh—fuck! « you cry out, voice broken and raw, fingers clawing at the sheets as Kaiser slams into you from behind. Your back arches, breath catching, and his grip on your hips is bruising—possessive. He pulls you back onto him again and again, his cock sliding so deep it knocks every thought from your head.

» Kaiser « you gasp, your voice barely a whisper.

» Take it « he growls, voice low and sharp. » Be good and take every inch.«

His rhythm is relentless, steady but brutal, hips hitting yours with sharp precision. The heat builds fast—too fast. You’re already shaking, the tension in your abdomen unbearable. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s being pulled taut, breath catching on every thrust.

» Fuck—you feel so good « he mutters, his voice hoarse with lust.

You want to hold back, want to stay in control, but it’s useless. Your thighs are trembling, your body clenching around him, and within moments, the first orgasm hits—sudden and shattering. Your mouth falls open in a silent cry, your body locking up as pleasure floods every inch of you.

But Kaiser doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down.

Your hands grip the sheets tighter, chest heaving as you try to recover, but he’s still inside you, still moving with the same punishing rhythm. Your muscles twitch from aftershocks, but he keeps fucking you through it, dragging every last ripple of pleasure out of you until it becomes too much.

»Kaiser—wait—please—« you whimper, your voice barely audible over the sound of skin against skin.

He ignores your plea, one hand sliding up your back, pressing you down against the mattress. His other hand wraps around your thigh, lifting your leg slightly, giving him even deeper access.

» You’re not done « he breathes. » You can take more.«

Your breath stutters. Sweat beads at your temples, your limbs trembling as the oversensitivity sets in. Every thrust now is almost unbearable—each drag of him inside you making your legs spasm and your body twitch.

Time stretches. You lose all sense of rhythm. There’s only his body against yours, the sound of his breath, the low, filthy things he says against your skin. He leans over you now, his chest against your back, his mouth at your ear.

» You feel me everywhere, don’t you? « he murmurs, biting gently at the curve of your shoulder. » Deep in your belly… still clenching around me like you want more.«

You shake your head, breath caught in your throat. » I—I can’t—«

» Yes, you can.«

His hand slips between your thighs, fingers finding your clit with ruthless precision. He rubs small, slow circles, and your whole body jerks in response.

» Kaiser—!« you cry out, thighs trying to close, but he keeps them apart. He doesn’t stop. His cock keeps driving into you, and his fingers never falter.

The pleasure builds again—slower this time, but heavier, messier. Your body’s not ready for it, still reeling from the first one, but he pushes you over that edge again, forces it out of you with his hands, his cock, his words.

When you come again, it rips through you like a storm. Your legs shake violently, your fingers curl uselessly into the mattress, and a scream tears from your lips. It’s too much. You can’t breathe.

But Kaiser still doesn’t stop.

He pulls out only for a second—just long enough to flip you onto your back. Your body is weak, chest heaving, eyes glossy from the overstimulation. You can’t speak. Can barely move. But your legs fall open for him anyway.

His hand wraps under your knee, lifting it, as he thrusts back into you with a groan. The sensation is white-hot—overwhelming. You sob out loud, body twisting, but he holds you in place.

» You’re shaking « he murmurs, almost smug, as he watches your chest rise and fall. » Look at you. Fucked out, overstimulated—and I’m still not done.«

Tears gather in your eyes as your body trembles beneath him. » Kaiser, I—please—I can’t… it’s too much.«

» You’re mine « he growls. » And you’ll take what I give you.«

His pace grows rough again, messy now, more frantic. He’s close—you can feel it in the way his rhythm falters, in the sounds he makes, in the way his grip tightens on your thighs like he’ll never let you go.

You’re so far past your limit it’s impossible to tell where pain ends and pleasure begins. Your body convulses beneath him, barely able to handle it. Your third orgasm isn’t a climb—it crashes into you all at once, fast, brutal, raw.

You sob, legs shaking, nails clawing at his shoulders. Your body goes rigid and then collapses completely. And still he thrusts.

» Fuck—yes—just like that« he groans, voice strained, his movements losing all control.

You don’t know if you’re crying or moaning anymore. The tears spill freely now, your body spasming from sheer overstimulation, your breath broken, chest heaving.

» Kaiser—please…« you whisper, barely able to speak. But he’s gone—lost in the sensation, the pace, the heat.

And still he doesn’t stop.

» I—I can’t anymore « you gasp, voice barely holding together, as you feel Kaiser twitch deep inside you.

» Fuck « he groans, his breath catching hard in his throat.

Your whimper is soft, almost lost beneath the sharp, wet sound of skin meeting skin — hot, relentless, electric.

» Kaiser! « you cry, broken and breathless.

» Fucking—wait—« he growls, thrusts growing messy, uneven. His control slips. » Shit, Y/n…«

Another harsh breath — and then he comes, spilling into you, thick and warm, buried deep.

He collapses beside you without a word, still panting, and reaches for you instantly. Pulls you into his arms like he needs you close — presses your head to his chest, his heartbeat loud against your ear.

Your body is trembling, chest rising and falling too fast, tears still clinging to your cheeks. You can’t even lift your head.

Kaiser leans down, presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, and brushes his thumb slowly over your wet cheek.

» You were so good « he murmurs, soft and low — like you’re something precious, something he still can’t let go of.

© 2025 shinyac0re ; ━━ do not copy or translate my work !

request open! — dont be shy !

[random-meme-bot]

Yeah, telling you now, I would've been surprised if you woul've guessed these correctly, I feel like right now these make sense to me and nobody else.

Still it was fun to read your interpretations, although you are kinda right with the last one, it is a "This part of the story is over, but you need to keep going" sort of thing, but there is more to it.

For the first one, while Phoenix and Dan influence is there, it's mainly about other characters.

I'm sure we'll survive the OC explosion. We have to. For our son. For Karkito.🩶

Oc rambles free card. Talk about whatever tf you want about your little homemade blorbo

[eternallyconfuzed]

Eternity

Summary: Wanda wakes up in a strange hall filled with hundreds of souls choosing where to spend eternity. Lost and disoriented, she finds comfort when she’s reunited with Y/N, the woman she spent her whole life with. But just as things begin to make sense, a voice from her past shatters everything—Vision, her first love, is here too. Caught between the life she built and the love she lost, Wanda is faced with a choice that could define forever.

A/N: This is my first time getting back into writing in years so be kind to me. I honestly thought the votes were going to be for Reader to be the first love who died early so I had to quickly rewrite this chapter and don't really know where i'm going from here but I guess that depends on the feedback. Inspired by Lizzie’s new movie, Eternity.

Chapter One – The Junction

The first thing Wanda felt was the sound. A low murmur of voices, footsteps echoing, the faint hush of hundreds of people moving around her. When she opened her eyes, she found herself standing in the middle of an enormous room.

It stretched farther than she could see, its ceiling arched high above like the nave of a cathedral. Light poured down from nowhere and everywhere, bathing the hall in a pale glow. All around her, people drifted in every direction, some alone, some in pairs, studying doorways and archways that lined the walls.

Each doorway seemed to shimmer with something different. One glowed with the warm flicker of candlelight and the sound of laughter spilling out. Another pulsed with the scent of saltwater and the distant cry of gulls. A third flickered with images that changed every time Wanda blinked: a forest in autumn, a bustling city street, a quiet farmhouse kitchen.

It was like each door led somewhere else, somewhere personal, a place shaped by the people standing nearby. Wanda felt a tug, a strange pull toward those shimmering thresholds, but she didn’t move.

She turned slowly, trying to soak it all in, to find some clue. The crowd was large but calm, their quiet murmurs wrapping around her like a soft cloak. She caught snippets of words, “peace,” “choice,” “home”, but nothing she could hold on to.

A cool breeze brushed past, carrying a whisper that felt like a half-forgotten memory. She looked down and finally noticed what she was wearing. A simple hospital gown, light and clean, fluttering slightly as if touched by a gentle wind.

Her hand moved to her skin, and she was amazed by how smooth and soft it felt. No wrinkles. No stiffness. Her joints moved easily, without pain, something she hadn’t felt in years. Her last memory was quickly fading, like a dream dissolving the moment you wake. The faces of her kids and grandkids, the feeling of their hands in hers, the sounds of tears and quiet goodbyes.

 Now she was here, in a place that felt like peace and nothing wrapped into one.

“Wanda.”

Her name, spoken softly, cut through the noise. She froze.

When she turned, she saw you.

You stood a few feet away, your eyes wide with relief, your lips trembling in a smile that was halfway to tears. The sight of you hit her like a wave, and Wanda’s breath left her in a shudder. She had lived an entire life with you—grown old, started a family, shared memories and arguments and anniversaries. To see you now, whole and radiant again, was almost too much to bear.

She stumbled forward, almost afraid that if she moved too fast, you’d disappear. When your hands reached out and found hers, a shiver ran through her knees. “Y/N,” she whispered, voice fragile and breaking, “you’re here.”

You pulled her close, wrapping your arms around her like you were holding the whole world together. Wanda melted into the warmth of you, the smell, the feel, the undeniable familiarity that somehow made this strange place a little less frightening.

“I was so scared it would take longer,” you murmured, your voice trembling just enough to show how much you’d worried. “I didn’t know when you’d come.”

For a moment, it was just the two of you in the midst of the crowded hall, holding onto each other like the rest of the world had disappeared. Wanda breathed you in, the familiar scent that surrounded her for over 60 years felt grounding in such an unfamiliar place.

“Where are we?” Wanda asked, blinking at you as she took in your features, untouched by age. The lines that life had written on your face were gone, but your smile had always stayed the same. “The last thing I remember was being in a room with the twins…and you–” 

“I think I’ve only been here a few months,” you admitted softly, though time was hard to measure in this place. You saw the panic beginning to flicker in Wanda’s eyes, the way her breathing grew uneven, and you hurried to steady her before she could spiral the way you once had.

“We’re… dead?” she asked suddenly, the words sharp and fragile, cutting through the explanation you had been preparing.

Your lips curved into a sad smile. “You caught on faster than I did,” you murmured. “It took me days to even say the word out loud.”

Wanda’s fingers tightened against yours, her voice quieter now, almost childlike. “So what happens now?” She leaned closer, her body pressed to yours as though space itself felt dangerous.

You brushed your thumb across her hand, grounding her. “Now we choose,” you said. “They told me we have to really think about it, because wherever we go… that’s where we’ll be. Forever.”

Her eyes flicked around the vast room, wide with possibility and fear. Then she looked back at you, hope and doubt tangled in her gaze.

“We have all the time,” you added gently.

Just as you both were beginning to look around at all of the possible options, a voice from behind.

“Wanda.”

The sound of it was both familiar and foreign, a name carried on a tone Wanda hadn’t heard in decades. Slowly, she turned.

He stood only a short distance away.

He looked exactly as he had the last time she’d seen him—young, vibrant, blue eyes bright with a kind of intensity that had once made her heart race. Time had not touched him here, and seeing him was like falling backward into another life.

“Vision,” Wanda breathed. The name left her lips like a prayer and a curse all at once.

Her breath caught in her throat. Vision had been her first love, the boy who had made her believe in forever before forever was taken from them. She had carried him with her for years, tucked into the quiet places of her heart, even as life had gone on.

A slow, aching smile touched his face. “It’s really you,” he whispered, stepping closer, though he stopped just shy of reaching for her. His eyes flickered to your hand clasped tightly in hers, and a shadow passed through them before he forced the smile back into place.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. His voice was quiet, but the weight of decades pressed against every syllable.

Wanda’s fingers tightened reflexively around your hand.  She didn’t let go, but guilt burned hot in her chest all the same.

For a moment, she was twenty again. She was standing under a rain‑slick streetlight, laughing breathlessly as he kissed her for the first time. She was sneaking out of her parents’ house to meet him at the edge of town. She was holding his hand and dreaming of a future that never came.

Confusion swirled in her chest. The vast room, the endless doorways, the hundreds of people moving calmly from one section to another—it all felt too big, too strange to make sense of.

Your hand squeezed hers, grounding her as it always had.

The words seemed to echo in the vaulted hall, louder than the murmur of the crowd. Wanda’s heart stuttered, caught between the two pairs of eyes watching her—the woman she had built her life with, and the first love who had waited decades for her return.

And in that moment, she realized the cruelest truth: eternity was long, but not long enough to love them both.

[batsandbirdbrains]

ok but let’s say in the whole “slade makes everyone think dick is dead” AU, shortly after taking in jason, bruce also finds out about damian and takes him away from talia and the LoA. so when dick manages to escape and go back he feels double betrayed and stays with slade. but then talia is mad asf cuz bruce stole her kid, only for her to find out slade stole bruce’s kid first and that’s what started this whole thing. she can’t just let that slide so she does the funniest thing possible and steals one of slade’s children. now slade is furious about this, and thinks that it’s bruce that stole one of his kids. so maybe he confronts batman/the justice league and it gets revealed that dick is alive. they take dick back and he stays with the titans/clark for a long time before he’s able to trust bruce and go back to him. but then jason dies, and bruce is starting to neglect damian who’s still a little kid. dick has been surrounded by horrible, no good, child-stealing adults for the last few years, so really you can’t fault him for his decision. it’s just so easy to pluck up damian, pack his things, and take him on a trip for a bit until bruce gets his shit together again. meanwhile, bruce is still grieving but he’s starting to miss his babies, so he can’t be faulted either for his next moves. really, it’s not fault, the neighbor boy had practically offered himself up on a platter, so it’s not really kidnapping anyways. talia, on the other hand, is somewhat happy, she’s managed to steal jason, another one of bruce’s kids, and she steal has whichever one of deathstroke’s spawn she stole. clearly, she’s the one winning the battle. she’s sure she can manage to get damian back as well, but that would mean she has to win over dick, which would take longer than she has the patience for, so she leaves them be for now. maybe she can get jason and other kid to kidnap them. anyways it somehow gets out that talia has taken both jason and slade’s kid and has had them for a while. neither slade nor bruce have the power to go up against the entire LoA, so they focus on trying to coax their respective children back to them. it doesn’t work, but bruce somehow manages to get david cain and lady shiva’s daughter out of the whole ordeal. slade is furious, mostly because he’s running out of children somehow. joey had joined the titans, and now dick is trying to steal his daughter as well??? slade honestly wants to shoot somebody, but he can’t because he knows he’s the one who started this whole mess. they’re all stuck in a cycle of stealing each other’s kids, and it seems like it just won’t end. bruce “dies” for a bit and somehow tim ends up with ra’s??? god help them all the day dick has his firstborn.

The idea of them all just stealing each others kids and the kids eventually getting so fed up and exhausted that they kidnap each other to get away from the adults is cracking me up.

I’m picturing them all moving around a map and it’s just the Benny Hill music playing as they all move back and forth