#was fun picking and testing brushes...

[milkbreadtoast]

Yoohyun...🥺🔥

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Serial Killer(s)

Your mother always warned you to never give rides to strangers, but the hitchhiker you run into seems harmless. What's the worst that can happen? Tags: implied noncon

Things originally start well. You and your buddies piled into your roommate's Jeep, roof down, pop music blasting. You're the driver - always the responsible one - hair tied back and sunglasses on the edge of your nose. You're all dressed for summer. Bikini tops and board shorts, smeared with sunscreen - the picture of college fun.

It starts well and keeps going even better. You're all in high spirits. Flushed and happy and young. Picking up the hitchhiker seems like a good idea. You see that he's handsome and around your age, that he's got an easy smile and a guitar on his back. You see that and nothing else. Not the too quick eyes, not the surprisingly light backback. Nothing.

He ends up riding shotgun, talking to you about classes and shitty professors. Smiling just a little every time you shift gears and your hand brushes his thigh.

You like him. You're the only single in the car so it's natural that he spends the most time talking to you. Lord knows it's hard to keep a conversation going with a couple when they look like they'd rather be tonsil deep in each other's throats.

You like him and you get the feeling he likes you too. When you stop at a sleazy motel for the night, he invites you to eat dinner with him outside his room. All your friends are off doing what couples do best - getting cosy in the hot tub, testing the speeds on the vibrating bed, finding new and interesting ways to use the ice machine. So you're glad for the company.

Mostly.

You're almost done eating when he pops the question.

"Why don't you have a boyfriend?"

You look away from him. Take in the greasy boxes of takeout on the concrete, the neon red wash of the vacancy sign spelling across the parking lot. It's not an easy question. It brings up ugly memories.

"I used to have one. Things ended...badly. He's in Cook County Corrections now. Serving fifty to life."

He gives a low whistle.

"That bad huh? You ever go to see him?"

"No. Never."

He stretches out, folds his hands behind his head and looks up at the dull scattering of stars.

"You should. It gets lonely in there. A guy could use the pick me up, especially if the visitor is a pretty thing like you."

You shiver despite the balmy summer air.

"I'd rather not. I'll be happy to never see his face again."

Thankfully, he drops the subject. You go back to talking about awful first dates and the best dishes to order at a Chinese restaurant. He's a complete gentleman but you can't help the slight relief you feel when he stands to leave.

" 'Night gorgeous."

"Good night, stranger."

In the morning you walk out to see him reading the early paper. He crumples and tosses it before you can catch the headline.

" 'Morning. How did you sleep?"

You shrug. "Not the best. I swear these kinds of places all get their beds from the same supplier. Lumpy Mattresses Inc."

He grins. "Don't forget their trusty partner Damp and Musty Carpets LTD."

Your friends are slow to wake up and groggy when they do. Most of them nursing nasty hangovers. You and the hitchhiker have most of the morning to eat breakfast and shoot the breeze together. When it's time to leave, he takes his place in the passenger seat like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"I couldn't find any newspapers," one of your friends complains when you're back on the road.  

"I wanted to see the football results."

"Eagles beats the Rams in the final playoff," the hitchhiker says.

"Aww man. Where'd you get a paper from?"

"I must have gotten lucky. Staff is 'sposed to leave the local paper at reception. Guess they must not have the budget anymore."

You stay quiet but something doesn't feel quite right about that statement.

The day passes fast. Your playlist is a lot more mellow, on account of the many lingering headaches. Still, you think there's nothing quite as fine as the open road. It's only near evening when the trouble starts.

"Shit. I can't find our reservations."

You look at your friends in the rear view mirror. They've already pulled apart two backpacks trying to find the papers. You can't help feeling irritated. The one thing you asked them to take care of...

You pull over and search the Jeep from top to bottom. Unpack almost everything. Check and then recheck your pockets. Nothing.

"I'm really sorry y/n. On the phone they said we needed the copies to check in. Maybe we can still stop by and get it sorted with the front desk but..."

You can here the unspoken thought in their words. You're all thinking the same thing - that hotels can get so uptight when their potential guests are rowdy students with still bloodshot eyes. You worry at your nail, thinking. You paid the fees in advance so maybe if you showed them your credit card...

"My friend has a cabin not far from here," the hitchhiker says. "Pretty big place. He'd be happy to let us crash there for the night."

You bite your lip. It's a two hour drive to the hotel. And if they turn you away you'll be off the beaten path with almost no cash, on a near empty petrol tank.

"You think he'd mind letting us sleep on his couch?" you ask. "We'll be well-behaved and I can pay."

He smiles at you, totally easy going about the whole thing.

"Sure we'll just have to call ahead."

You manage to track down a payphone and you wait with the rest of your crew while he calls. You can't make out what he's saying but every once in a while his eyes drift to you. No one else. Just you.

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he was talking about you.

When he puts the receiver down, he's all smiles.

"Got it all sorted. It's out of the way though, so I reckon we grab some chow first."

Your friends are quick to agree. What self respecting kid on spring break is going to say no to fast food and cold beer? It's only you that lingers, brow furrowed. It all feels too convenient. Your reservations go missing and the stranger you picked up just happens to have a place nearby? No way. The more you think about, it the stranger it seems.

You're still lost in thought when the hitchhiker swings an arm around your shoulders and half drags you along behind your friends.

"What's you got you so worried gorgeous?"

It's hard to be suspicious of him when he smile so easy, his shaggy brown hair dancing across his forehead.

"Nothing. I just hate to intrude on your friend."

He laughs, squeezing your shoulders before letting go.

"Trust me he'll be very glad for the company. He doesn't get out much."

He pulls the diner door open for you. Your friends have already claimed a booth and a single harried waitress is struggling to jot down their long list of requests. The hitchhiker grabs your hand before you can join them.

"My friend is a great guy. I think you'll like him."

He smiles, crooked and amused, like he's laughing at a joke only he understands.

"Hell, I know for a fact that he'll like you. You're just his type."

Your smile is tight. The last guy who said you were just his type... well, you and the district attorney both know how that ended.

You take a seat and smile at the waitress. She looks beyond overwhelmed and you silently promise to tip her as well as your half drained credit card can manage.

"I'll take a steak. Rare. Bloody as you can make it," the hitchhiker says.

You raise your brows. Not exactly the typical order for an out of the way little diner. He sees your look and grins.

"Been a while without good meat. You have no idea the craving I've had this past few days."

The booth is packed tight and his thigh is flush against yours. Warm, even though his jeans.

"We all get cravings now and again. I get it."

He tilts his head at you and it must be a trick of the light, because his pupils are blown out wide. It looks like you're staring into oil. Just... emptier somehow. You wouldn't go so far as to say he feels soulless, but if it's not in the same street it sure as hell is in the same neighbourhood. Like oil, it leaves you feeling dirty in a way that doesn't easily scrub off.

"Do you?" he asks quietly.

You open your mouth to say something along the lines of I'm only human and of course I do but his eyes stop you. He isn't talking about food or meat. No. It feels like he's asking about flesh.

One of your friends cracks a joke and you turn away from him in a hurry, pretending to laugh at something you only half heard. You don't talk to him for the rest of the meal. Try to avoid looking him even. But you can't avoid the feel of his leg against yours. Warm and solid. Can't ignore the way your heart jumps when he reaches for his wallet and his fingers accidentally scrape you inner thigh.

You're the last one out of the diner. You throw away the dirty napkins and, true to your word, tip the waitress as well as you can manage. You're half afraid that he might wait for you, but when the door clicks shut behind you, you see him with the rest of your friends. Joking around with some of the boys.

The second you start towards them, his eyes fix on yours. You aren't sure how he does it - always narrowing in on you like you have your own gravitational pull. Like he's aware of your every move.

"Ready to go?"

Are you? You aren't sure. Some dull instinct is making you want to turn tail and run. You try and talk yourself out of it. What concrete evidence do you have? What has he done wrong, besides be a little intense? Folk do that all the time and it doesn't bother you. And it's not like you'll be alone. Your whole pack of friends will be right next to you.

"Yeah, let's go. Time doesn't wait for anyone."

It's a long drive. The highway splitting off into a main road and then splintering into a half-dozen country tracks. By the time you arrive, you're beyond grateful for choosing the Jeep. Heaven alone knows how much more jostling and bouncing your teeth could take.

It's a nice place. A big cabin out in a clearing, the trees thick for miles around. Much nicer than the crummy hotel you'd otherwise have to settle for. You can't even hear the traffic.

Your friends grab their bags and the hitchhiker holds the front door open as you all file in. The entryway is clean and bright, and besides the lingering tang of bleach, there's nothing to set your suspicions racing. Honestly, you feel a little silly for being so paranoid. Must be the bad memories. They make you jumpy regardless of actual circumstances.

"Where's your friend?"

You turn just in time to see the hitchhiker slipping something small and metallic into his pocket.

"Is that the key for the -"

"My friend will be here soon," he talks over you, loud enough to get everyone's attention. "I'll show you guys your rooms and once you get settled, we can grab some beers and hit the hot tub."

He brushes past you and ignores your half-hearted grab for his arm. Your friends are already pounding up the stairs, too hyped to notice your expression. He pauses on the landing and looks back at you - the only one still standing by the door. His eyes are bright and almost hard.

"You coming?"

Nothing to be scared of, right? It's a common habit to lock the front door, especially out in the woods.

"Yep. Right behind you."

But no matter what you tell yourself, your feet still drag along when you follow him deeper into the cabin. Further and further from escape.

You're the only one who gets a room of their own. Everyone else is piled two and three deep in the guest rooms, half your buddies on couches more than beds.

You're also the last to get a room, so by the time he shows you your bed, it's only you and him. You wonder if he planned it on purpose.

"Quiet out here."

He hums in agreement, standing at your window and watching the woods. He stays silent while you unpack. Whatever he's watching for takes all his attention.

It's only when you hear your friends start splashing around in the hot tub that he speaks.

"You should probably take a shower before anyone else. The water is unreliable out here."

You silently agree. It's s been a long day, and while a quick dip in the jacuzzi sounds good, a hot shower and a cool bed sound even better. He pauses at your bedroom door to say good night. You're already heading to the bathroom and you only half hear the rest of his sentence.

"Sleep tight. And don't worry too much about any noises you hear. There's mountain lions around and the sound carries funny sometimes."

He closes your door softly behind him. Your en-suite is echoey, and when you turn on the water, you don't hear the quiet click of him locking you in.

After your shower, you're totally exhausted. You don't even bother leaving your room to check on your friends. You just curl up under your borrowed duvet and drift off. When you half wake at three in the morning to the dying echo of a scream, you mutter something about mountain lions and fall right back to sleep.

You don't see it but the figure in the corner of your room smiles. Moonlight catching for a split second on the butcher's knife in his hand.

"You always were a deep sleeper, baby. Can never remember your dreams."

Morning comes fast after that. When you wake, the only evidence of your midnight visitor is a slightly misplaced pair of sneakers that you're too drowsy to notice.

Your room door opens easily and you're half way down the stairs before you even start to wonder where your friends are.

Still sleeping probably. Had a late night.

The only sign that someone else is awake is a half empty pot of coffee and a dirty mug in the sink. You don't really feel comfortable rooting around in someone else's kitchen, but the hitchhiker did say to help yourself... You end up snatching a small Greek yogurt from the fridge and taking it out to the porch.

The forest is alive with bird song, dew still melting in the grass. It's peaceful. Tranquil. For the first time, you're entirely happy that you accepted the hitchhiker's offer.

The only thing that disrupts the picture perfect scene is a single discarded sneaker, thick with mud and left right in the middle of the yard.

You sigh. Did one of your friends really lose a whole shoe and not notice? You pick it up and knock the worst of the mud off.

So much for being well-behaved. You'll have to check over the whole place before you leave, make sure they haven't somehow tanked to the property value. The edges of the laces are stained a rusty red but you chalk it up to spilled wine or something.

You drop the shoe at the door and make your way back into the kitchen. It takes some searching but you finally find the dustbin, half hidden in a cupboard. Ugh, why do rich people always have to hide the trash away in the most obscure places?

Yesterday's paper is shoved under some tea bags, the edges of the front page barely visible.

CONVICTS ESCAPE COOK COUNTY

You frown, you gut suddenly nauseous and rolling. You dig the newspaper out of the trash. Slowly. Hesitantly. Amost afraid that the reality will be twice as bad as your suspicions. There's a massive stain on the front but you can still read the print clearly.

CONVICTS ESCAPE COOK COUNTY CORRECTIONS. MANHUNT UNDERWAY.

You don't bother to read the article. The pictures alone tell you everything. You feel sick enough to faint.

You didn't think you'd ever see his face again, but here it is. Mugshot slightly blurry and the ink starting to run. Scowling at the camera like he's more pissed at being caught than anything else.

Your ex boyfriend.

You might have been fine if it was just him. Might have called the DA and the lead homicide detective, begged for witness protection. But trouble never visits without company. There's another mugshot under his, this one captioned Serial Arsonist & Convicted Killer.

The hitchhiker wasn't smiling when the cops lined him up for his red carpet shoot. His eyes are as black and empty in his mugshot as they were last night. When he looked at you and said he was craving meat. Meat.

You might have laughed if you didn't think you were about to vomit. Yeah, he was probably craving meat alright. The roasted and still screaming kind.

You drop the newspaper, hands shaking so bad you can't hold onto it even if you wanted to.

"I told him to take out the trash. But does he listen?"

You whirl around. The hitchhiker is blocking the back door and holding your friend's lost sneaker, rolling the stained laces between his fingers.

"Thanks for grabbing this, gorgeous. If we missed it, the pigs would be back on our asses in no time."

You run.

You don't bother hearing him out or rationalising. You turn away from him and bolt straight for the front door.

You almost make it.

Your fingers just brush the metal of the doorknob before someone grabs a handful of your hair and yanks you towards them, hard enough that you end up on your back. Winded. Your scalp burning.

"Gonna leave without even saying hello? C'mon baby, is that how you greet your man?"

Your boyfriend is standing above you, smirking like this is all a game. He's still in his prison jumpsuit, the sleeves knotted around his waist. He's wearing a white tank and one glance is enough to tell you that prison has been great for his gym journey. His muscles - always toned to begin with - are positively huge.

He's always been strong, but the sight of him like this has your heart racing. How much harder can he hit, with all that extra bulk to back him up?

He slams you back onto the floor when you move to get up, his boot pressing into your sternum so hard you can almost hear your bones creaking.

"Aww, don't get up baby. Let's just talk. We've got so much to catch up on."

He presses his heel into you. Hard enough that you can't breathe out it hurting.

"Where to start... Oh, I know! Have you fucked anyone else while I've been gone? Gotten yourself a new man? Who's been between your legs while I've. Been. Rotting. Away?"

He punctuates his sentence with sharp jabs of his boot.

"No one," you managed to choke out. "Didn't have anybody."

He takes his boot off your chest and you suck in a painful breath, your lungs and ribs on fire. You roll onto you hands and knees, coughing.

Shit. Fuck.

He squats down so he's level with you, voice a sickly sweet drawl.

"You promise?"

"I-" Another painful coughing fit. "I swear. No one else."

"I don't know if I can believe you, baby. You said you loved me, and then you ratted on me to the cops. Not the best record."

He grabs your hair and hauls you to your feet, totally unbothered that you still can't breathe right.

You shriek and try to pull away, only for him to wrap a hand around your throat and pin you against his chest.

He squeezes hard enough that your larynx feels like it's going to collapse.

"What do you think I should do?"

You think he's asking you, but it's the hitchhiker that answers. He's leaning against the kitchen door, arms crossed like he's watching two kittens at play rather than seeing your boyfriend almost choke the life out of you.

"I reckon we should check. Her cunt should be all tight and wet after months without cock. And if it isn't...well, there's your answer."

"You hear that baby? We're gonna make sure you've been well behaved."

We?

You start fighting all the harder. One murderer is enough. You don't want both their hands on you. You'll never be able to scrub yourself clean again.

The hitchhiker smirks and pushes himself away from the wall. His pupils are all wide again, twin blackholes hungry enough to swallow you, your friends, the whole damn world.

Adrenaline is a hell of a thing but you're up against two convicted killers who've had nothing but time to get stronger. Who've had the world's hardest lessons in cruelty.

Your boyfriend lets go of your hair and grabs one flailing wrist. He bends your arm up your back until you heads tucked under his chin and you're standing on your tiptoes to alleviate the pressure.

The hitchhiker twists one ankle behind yours so you can't kick out of him. It feels like a move cops and wardens might use. He must have had it done to him plenty, if he can so easily put you in the same position.

"I'll scream."

That makes them laugh.

"Go on then gorgeous. Scream. No one heard your friends last night. What makes you think they'll hear you?"

Your friends... You were panicking so bad you hadn't even considered them. The hitchhiker sees your eyes go wide and grins that easy, friendly grin of his. The one that made you trust him enough to give him a ride.

"Oh, we took good care of them. I'll spare you the grisly details but there's no one left out here but us."

It's too awful to consider. Too visceral. Too unreal. Your mind blocks it out and changes your whole train of thought to focus on escaping.

You focus on your boyfriend. He isn't acting like himself. The same man who put his hand on the bible and swore before the court that he killed all those people because of you - that man - was suddenly willing to share? Was inviting someone else to enjoy your body?

"You're going to let him touch me? You killed my lab partner because you said he would jerk off to pictures of me. What the hell changed?"

Your boyfriend hums.

"A whole lot. He's my cellmate."

Like that explains anything!

The hitchhiker slips his fingers under the hem of your top, nails running along your waistband.

"He wouldn't shut up about you. Had your pictures pinned up above his bed and everything. It was so fucking annoying at first. My girl this, my baby that. But after a few months..."

He pops open the button of your jeans with a flick of his thumb. You jerk away but your boyfriend twists your arm even harder and you're forced to hold still.

"After a few months, I started to understand the appeal. Could see why he was so into you. And hell, I wanted a taste myself. Wanted to see if you lived up to the hype."

Your boyfriend is smiling. You can tell from his voice.

"And is she worth all the hard work we put in?"

The hitchhiker's hands are cold. You flinch when he slips his fingers past your panties. He rubs his thumb against your slit, savouring every inch.

"For her? I'd kill twice as many as we did last night."

He sighs as he feels your slick starting to collect around his knuckles. Without warning, he slides two fingers inside you. Cold, uncomfortably cold.

He has a guitarist's hands and you can feel the callouses on his fingertips scraping against your walls. Too rough. Too much.

"Just like I thought. Tight and wet. Your girls loyal to a fault."

Your boyfriend practically purrs.

"Been so good while I was gone, baby. You deserve a reward, dontcha?"

He leans down and nips your cheek. You feel sick. His teeth so close...

"Don't worry. We'll fill you up so good that you'll never try running again."

Your spring break road trip starts well and gets better. But the end? Well, it ends with a cock down your throat in and another in your cunt. It ends with a hand around your neck and teeth marks on your thighs. It ends with a reminder to always trust your instincts and to never, ever give rides to strangers.

[mugglebornmarvelite]

BUT IMAGINE SUNSHINE DRAGGING BUCKY TO A PHOTOBOOTH AND HE PULLS HER ONTO HIS LAP ‘CAUSE HE’S TOO BIG FOR HER TO ALSO FIT IN THE SEAT

Mall Day

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: Despite his best efforts to stay unimpressed, Bucky ends up indulging in your playful antics, finding himself completely disarmed and charmed by you.

Word Count: Roughly 1.1k 

Warnings: Fluff, cheeky moments, awkwardness, sarcasm, a little romantic tension, Bucky being a soft dom (manhandling and praise), affectionate teasing

Author’s Note: Thank you for the request, babe! This was such a cute idea, I hope it was to your liking. It was originally going to be a short blurb, but I made it into a mall day! @ghostlyfleur <3

Navigation

Divider by: @strangergraphics 

It was supposed to be a peaceful day off for the Avengers. The sun was out, the mall was bustling, and for once, everyone had agreed to take a break from saving the world.

But for Bucky Barnes, the day was already feeling like a test of patience.

He wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of a crowded mall. The noise, the chaos, the shiny stores full of overpriced trinkets. It just wasn’t his scene. 

But you were you. And he would do anything for you.

And with no match against you and your little smile, you dragged him around the mall for the past hour like a hyperactive puppy.

You were practically bouncing with excitement as you skipped from one shop to the next, and Bucky, despite his grumbles and sighs, was always just a step behind you, keeping a close eye on you.

“Bucky, come on!” you said, turning back with your bright, infectious smile. “Hurry up! We’re gonna miss all the fun!”

“I’m here to make sure you don’t get yourself killed in a mall,” Bucky grumbled, his voice low but fond.

You shot him a grin. “That’s why I came with you, big guy.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, letting you pull him along.

You had this way of getting under his skin, making him smile even when he was trying to stay grumpy.

Just as you were about to break into a sprint to your favorite store, you tripped over your own feet. 

Instinctively, Bucky’s hand shot out to catch you, pulling you against his chest.

“Careful, sunshine,” he muttered, his voice unusually soft. His hand lingered at your waist for a moment longer than necessary, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your jacket. “One of these days, I’m gonna need to wrap you in bubble wrap.”

“Thanks for the rescue, grumpy bear.” You giggled and straightened up, swatting his arm lightly. “But I’m fine!”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Bucky grumbled, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone. His eyes narrowed, and he scanned the crowd around you both. He was always on high alert, always protecting you.

As if on cue, your attention shifted to something else. You spotted it: the photo booth. 

Bright lights flashing in the window, cute little props hanging around. Without even asking, you grabbed his hand.

He let out a sigh, but let you drag him across the mall.

“Really? A photo booth?” he asked, though the annoyance in his voice was half-hearted. You looked up at him, with those stupid doe eyes.

“Please, Buck, pleeeease! You owe me after almost letting me faceplant!” you grinned as you tugged him along with you.

"I didn't almost let you faceplant," he grumbled, "I saved you."

"That’s the spirit!" you beamed.

Bucky grumbled a string of curses under his breath.

“You’re going in, grumpy!” you said with a grin, “There’s no way you’re getting out of this. It’s for us.”

Bucky sighed. “I’m too big for this. You know that, right?”

“Too big for fun?” you teased. “I don’t think so!”

There was no fighting it. 

Bucky wanted to put his foot down, but with how you smiled up at him, he could never refuse you. 

He ducked into the booth, his broad shoulders hunched, trying not to take up the entire space. There was barely enough room for both of you, so Bucky did the only reasonable thing to do: he picked you up effortlessly and plopped you onto his lap.

"Bucky!"

He pulled you in tighter. "You wanted the pictures, brat. You’re stuck with me now."

“Alright, let’s take some pictures,” you said, playing around with props and making silly faces until Bucky begrudgingly joined in, his grumpiness melting as he went along with it.

Bucky reached over with one massive hand and squished your cheeks together, a smirk on his face. "Like this, sunshine?"

“Bucky! Stop it!” you giggle under his gentle touch.

He chuckled, squeezing your cheeks once more before he put on enormous, goofy glasses and scowled for the next picture.

“There, happy now?” he grumbled, his tone completely at odds with the ridiculous glasses.

“Oh, totally!” you said with a giggle. “You look adorable.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, though you could see the corners of his mouth twitching. “Don’t go telling anyone that, okay?”

“Of course not!” you assured him with a grin. “I’m not that mean.”

"And now, a kiss on the cheek," he said with an air of mock seriousness, before planting a quick kiss on your cheek.

You felt your face flush. 

"Bucky!" you said, your voice suddenly quieter, though your smile betrayed how giddy you were.

He raised an eyebrow. “What? I’m a gentleman. Sometimes.”

Your face flushed a deeper shade of red.

The booth’s final picture snapped. Bucky leaned his cheek against your head and you both smiled.

He pressed a chaste kiss against your temple before he helped you out.

When the photos were printed, you couldn’t hide your grin as you handed one set to Bucky.

“Great,” he muttered. “This is gonna haunt me for the rest of my life, isn’t it?”

You practically beamed. “Yep! And I’m showing the team.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You’re not.”

“I will!” you declared, undeterred.

Bucky tilted your chin to look at him with just the right amount of force. His thumb gently traced your skin, a subtle reminder of who was in control. “You won’t.” 

“Yes, I will,” you insisted, although your voice got softer.

“No, you won’t.” His thumb traces against your cheek, almost like he was grounding you, pulling you closer into submission. “Right, sweet girl?”

“I won’t,” You agreed and held up your pinky. “Pinky promise.”

“Good girl,” he praised, hooking his pinky around yours.

You remained quiet until a small smile creeped up on your face. “You’re totally going to keep the pictures forever and ever.”

He sighed again, looking down at you with both exasperation and fondness. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?”

“Not unless you really pout,” you teased, poking his side gently. “Which I’m kind of hoping you do.”

“Now I understand why the others like to pick on you,” Bucky muttered.

You pout playfully and he ruffles your hair gently.

You smiled, and when you turned around, you spotted the cotton candy machine. 

Without hesitation, you bolted toward it, yelling, "Cotton candy, Buck! Let’s get some!"

“I swear to God…” Bucky sighed, watching you go with a fond smile that he couldn’t hide. 

The only thing worse than being dragged to a photo booth was following you to a cotton candy machine, knowing you'd get even more hyper off the sugar.

Was he still going to buy it for you?

Yes.

Why?

Because, like always, he was helpless against his sunshine.

"Can’t take you anywhere," he grinned as he followed after you.

No matter how grumpy he tried to be, when it came to you, Bucky Barnes was completely powerless.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry @ficcharsimp @winchestert101 @thatesqcrush @bamitzzsam @grubler @peaches1958 @helen-2003 @ickearmn @Kimmie113080 @Xgbtmdmx @buckysbunnie @Shower-me-with-roses @pigeonmama @civilbucky @piinksdoll @desimarie12 @sleepysongbirdsings

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Much love x

- Maeve

[amoressb]

───── KISS ME MORE 西村 力 N. RK

ꪆৎ ⋆˚࿔ trying to finish his makeup but he just can’t stop kissing you ｡｡ idol bf!riki x makeup artist!reader. fluff & wc. 1.4k ; lots of kissing, skinship, petnames｡｡

──── ARCHiVE

the backstage dressing room of the sold out arena was alive with activity. assistants rushed in and out, carrying outfits and adjusting mics, while the members of enhypen filled into the room, their energy a mix of nerves and excitement. riki, the main dancer, was the last to enter, his stage outfit already clinging perfectly to his frame. his hair was freshly styled and his usual confident grin was firmly in place.

you stood near the vanity, arranging your makeup tools neatly. you glanced up when the door opened and your heart did it’s usual flutter when your eyes landed on riki. despite working and being together for years now, he still had that effect on you.

“hey pretty,” riki greeted, making a beeline for you as the other members settled into their chairs. without a care for the busy room, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “riki!” you exclaimed, glancing around to make sure no one had seen, your cheeks flushing pink. “we’re at work!”

“and?” he teased, his voice soft and low so only you could hear. “it’s not like they don’t already know.” you tried to keep your expression neutral, but his adoring gaze was making it impossible. he looked at you like you were the only person in the world, his dark eyes warm and full of affection.

“go sit down,” you finally said, trying to suppress a smile as you motioned to his chair. “you’ve got a show to get ready for.”

“yes ma’am,” riki said with a mock salute before plopping into his chair. the other members exchanged knowing smirks but didn’t say anything, accustomed to their maknaes antics when it came to you.

you approached him with your makeup kit, your expression shifting to one of focus. you grabbed a primer and started dabbing it onto his skin. riki leaned back obediently, watching you the entire time. his eyes followed every move you made—how you tilted your head slightly while working on his foundation, the way your lips pressed together as you concentrated.

“stop staring,” you said without looking up, your voice tinged with amusement. “i can’t help it,” riki replied, a grin tugging at his lips. “you’re too pretty when you’re in your element.”

“flattery won’t get you out of wearing eyeliner,” you quipped, picking up the next product.

he chuckled, staying quiet for a moment as you traced sharp, precise lines around his eyes. but when you leaned in to work on his lips, he couldn’t sit still anymore.

“riki, baby,” you said, holding his chin to keep him steady, “if you don’t stop moving, you’re going to look like a mess out there and i’ll let the fans blame you.”

riki grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “would it really be so bad? they might think the smudges are part of my charm.”

“charm doesn’t cover uneven eyeliner or faded lip tint,” you muttered, dipping the brush back into the product. you leaned closer, focusing on his lips. “well,” he said, voice dropping a bit deeper than before, “if it’s my lips you’re worried about, maybe you should test them.”

“riki,” you warned, but your cheeks flushed at his teasing tone. in response, he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, leaving a faint mark of coral lip tint behind. “there, a little something just for you.”

you froze, your brush midair, and fixed him with an exasperated glare. “riki! you’ve ruined it again, that’s the third time!” he laughed, utterly unrepentant. “what can i say? your face is more fun to decorate than mine.”

“you’re impossible,” you muttered, grabbing a makeup wipe to start over. “at this rate, you’re going on stage with bare lips.”

“then the fans will get the real me,” he said with a playful shrug.

“no, the fans will get a makeup artist who quits her job halfway through the tour because of you,” you shot back, though your lips twitched in amusement.

as you leaned in again, riki stared at you with unabashed affection, making no effort to hide how enamored he was. the way your brows furrowed in concentration, the way you bit your lip when you worked—it all made his heart race.

“riki, stop looking at me like that,” you murmured without glancing up.

“like what?”

“like you’re about to—”

before you could finish, he closed the distance between you two and kissed you square on the lips. it was soft but lingering, enough to make you forget for a moment that you guys were backstage, mere minutes before showtime. when he pulled back, your carefully applied lip tint was smeared, and his own lips were a mess.

“—do that,” you finished, blinking at him.

he grinned, completely unbothered. “you make it hard to resist, baby.” you sighed dramatically, though your cheeks were pink. “i give up. you’re going on stage like this.”

“no, no, no,” he said quickly, laughing. “i’ll behave this time, i swear.” you arched an eyebrow. “you said that five kisses ago.”

“this time, i mean it,” he said, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands in mock innocence. “scout’s honor.”

the other members started laughing. jake smirked at riki from his chair. “you’ve got it bad, riki.”

“jealous?” riki shot back, unbothered by the teasing.

you sighed, rolling your eyes but smiling as you reached for the lip tint again, applying it with quick, practiced strokes. riki stayed still this time, though you could feel his eyes on you the entire time. “there,” you said at last, stepping back to inspect your work. “you’re ready.”

“perfect,” he said, glancing at himself in the mirror. then he turned to you with a cheeky smile. “almost as perfect as you.”

“flattery won’t save you if you mess it up again,” you warned, though you couldn’t help but smile. a knock on the door interrupted them and the groups manager poked their head in. “you guys are on in five.”

“got it!” riki called, standing up. he looked down at you, his expression softening. “wish me luck?”

“break a leg,” you said with a small smile, your voice gentler now. “and please don’t kiss anyone on stage.” he chuckled. “you know my lips are only yours.”

with a wink, he was gone, leaving you to clean up your station. you could hear the deafening roar of the crowd as the show began and a small smile tugged at your lips. as exasperating as he could be, there was no denying how proud you were of him.

hours later, the concert was in full swing. you watched from backstage, your heart swelling with pride as riki belted out the final dance moves of their song. his moves effortless and smooth, his stage presence captivating as always. by now, he and the other members took their final bows and headed offstage.

riki burst into the dressing room, still glowing with the adrenaline of the performance. his hair was damp with sweat, his shirt clinging to him, and he looked every bit of the star he was.

“y/nnn,” he called, his voice still slightly hoarse. he scanned the room until his eyes found you and his face lit up. without hesitation, he strode over, pulling you into a tight hug.

“riki, you’re all sweaty!” you protested, laughing as you tried to push him away.

“and i missed you,” he said smiling, grabbing your chin, turning you to face him, and leaning in without hesitation to kiss you before you could respond. his lips still tinted faintly with the remnants of his stage makeup. when he pulled back, your own lips bore the faint coral hue.

“you just kissed off the last bit of your lip tint,” you said, your voice soft but teasing. “good,” riki said, his grin boyish and unrepentant. “it belongs on you anyway.”

their moment was interrupted by the other members filing into the room. jake let out a low whistle, grinning as he pointed at the couple. “you really can’t keep your lips off her, huh?”

“you’re gonna wear her out before the next show,” joked jungwon. riki rolled his eyes but kept his arm firmly around your waist. “jealousy isn’t a good look on you guys.”

“sure, sure,” jake said with a laugh. “just try not to kiss off her patience, too.” you shook your head smiling, “too late for that.”

riki leans down to kiss your lips again and looked into your eyes, ignoring the teasing entirely. “lucky for me, she loves me anyway.”

“unfortunately for me,” you muttered, though the warmth in your smile gave you away.

⋆｡°✩ @miukidoll @flufflights

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

Sweet

Sevika x Female Reader

Soft, emotional sex with Sevikidiki where you end up sobbing ‘cause she’s too sweet.

Cw: Sex: fingering, strap on, praise. Soft dom Sevika. Sub Reader.

MEN DO NOT INTERACT!!!!!!!

Proofread || Note: It was so fun writing this, I hope you enjoy :) Also, please ignore any spelling/grammar mistakes, i tried my hardest to keep them out!

Her flesh arm wrapped around your waist and you found yourself pinned against her chest. Her lips latched onto hers as she kissed you with an abundance of care and love. Never was there a moment of roughness, of the slightest bit of pain; being a grip or a pull.

Sevika’s hand slithered down to your shorts, entering from your front and pressing against your clit. She slowly moved, causing your breath to heavy and your heart to spike.

Your bedroom was prepared for a movie night, a night where you and your girlfriend could just cuddle. But, things seemed to escalate. There was a change of plans.

The warm light from your lamp illuminated the room, and your freshly lit candles now made the situation much more romantic. The room smelled heavenly, and so did Sevika’s kissing. She was gentle with how much pressure she applied, not wanting to get too intense. You didn’t mind her softness, matter of fact you actually wanted more of it. She’d taken off her prosthetic in order to cuddle with you better. In order to keep away any sharp metals from you. That was the kind of woman she was; only with you, however.

Her middle teased your entrance, finertip going in before slipping right now. She was testing the waters, seeing if you she’d need lube or not— she didn’t. Tongue slipping out of your mouth, lips unattaching, Sevika pulled back with a heavy breath, her eyes opening and she met yours.

“Can I?” Her voice quieter, slightly shaky. “Yeah, I want you to.” And with your approval, she let her finger, carefully, move in. “Y’want me to add another? You don’t have to.” Her grey eyes watching as your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. “Uh-huh, go ahead.” You, barely able to hold yourself together, nodded. A hand on her cheek with the other on the side of her neck, you hold back a whimper as she added another. It didn’t hurt, no, but it definitely took you a few seconds to get used to. Considering Sevika’s fingers were quite large. “Does it hurt? Tell me to stop if y’need me to, alright?” Her dark lips pressing a kiss on your forehead, letting you know you could say no whenever you wanted to.

She slowly picked up her pace, from slow curls to harder ones, the tips of her fingers found her target and she hit it. You clung to her as she did so, moaning into her shoulder all the while having her kiss your neck. “Is this good, baby?” Her low voice vibrating through you. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s.. good.” Awsome was what you wanted to say. It felt awsome.

Her warm breath brushed against your heated skin, causing you to feel hot. Burning hot. The fast beating of your heart and the heavy breaths you were taking only added to the fire; your body was sweating. And the thought of Seika being in you had your mind giddy, had it working extra hard to make you feel good. And you did. Even in the process of making you cum you felt a sort of high you’d only experience with your girlfriend.

“God, you’re so beautiful like this,” she’d whisper with a suck at your neck, leaving a trail of hickeys. “Don’t stop.. Sev.. that’s so.. fucking good— don’t stop, please!” You’d ramble on, jaw dropping at the familiar pooling in your core. “Y’think I would? I’m offended, love.” Her lips hidden and curled into a smile, she was proud of herself.

Your walls squished against her middle and ring, responding to the experienced curling she was doing inside of you. Your girlfriend even commented; “Feeling good? You’re all tight.” And, yes, it made your face feel hot. How could it not? Her smugness added to the sensation she was, lovingly, providing. It was the way she acknowledged how you reacted that made you whine, made you embarrassed. It even made you further more attracted to her.

“My pretty girl’s so close, I can feel it.” Smothering your neck with hickeys and kisses; only so you’d have a constant reminder of her. “Mm-hm, I am.” Your breathless words causing your woman to fasten her pace. “I can’t.. please! god it’s so good..”

Your hands clenched onto her shoulders as you, yourself, clung onto her. A cry of pleasure escaped your lips and your hips slightly shuddered against her as she helped you ride out your orgasm. Sevika even pulled back to see your face, watch as you came all over her fingers, it was a sight she never truly got used to. It was addictive being able to make her girl so happy.

“Perfect. You were perfect.” Slipping out of you and pulling you close with her wrists; her hand avoiding any contact. “How’d that feel, pretty thing?” Lips pecking yours before she gave you a chance to talk. “Like you said, it was perfect.”

A low humm of acknowledgment came from your girlfriend and she nuzzled into you, forehead resting against your shoulder. “It’s only ten. Can I get the strap?” Know this stuff knocks you out in a few.” She was reffering to the fact that she, herself, could have you asleep faster than any melatonin could. “Sure, but only one round.” You were already exhausted from a little fingering, you doubted you could get through Sevika’s pounding.

At your approval, she quickly grabbed, and slid on, the strap. Clicking the belt in place before plopping down next to you. “What position, ma’am?” Tone all teasing as she had a hand on your arm. “Mm.. I dunno? From the front? That’s the easiest?” She nodded in agreement. “You don’t mind if I have on my mech, do ya?” “Nope.”

From the front was what you got.

Ankles on her shoulders, arms overhead, and your body ready, your girlfriend pressed the tip of her strap to your entrance. Her mech and flesh holding onto your thighs as she slowly, and oh so carefully, pushed inside. Sevika’s strap was thick and long, easily larger than her two fingers— and it took you a while to get used to. “Deep breaths, babe.” Flesh hand pressing down on your lower abdomen, it was her way of making you feel more.

“Trying.” Was your breathless response, head tilted to the side to see the bulge in your skin. Sevika only smiled down at the sight, soaking in the way her strap looked with you wrapped around it. “Convinced every inch of you is beautiful.” The woman leaned forward, holding onto your ankles and slowly beginning to thrust. Your body, as usual, recoiled, and your hands clenched onto the the pillow beneath your clouded head.

Your eyes rolled back as Sevika’s hips rolled deep into you, hitting her target all the while rubbing against your tight walls. She could feel the pressure, the repeated squishing everytime she entered, even the way she had to push hard into you. You were wet, soaked, and it made the job easier. Louder, too. The quiet yet noticeable squelching noises from you filled the room, thanks to your girlfriend.

Not even a few minutes in and you were feeling your stomach pool again. The same heat that would make you feel good formed and you found yourself utterly taken away by the sensation jolting throughout your body. Every part of you enjoyed it.

“Close already?” The woman grunted, wrapping your legs around her hips and deciding to pull you against her chest. “I can’t..” you managed to say, barely able to keep yourself composed. “Sev, I.. fuck— it’s too much,” “need me to stop?” She knew you’d say no, she’d never heard the word leave your mouth. “Don’t.. please, I’m close.”

And she didn’t. Sevika never slowed her pace. Her only goal, at the moment, was to make you cum, all the while feeling loved. She showed so by peppering your forehead with kisses, intertwining her fingers with yours, holding your hands above your head, and whispering soft words in your ear. “You’re doing great, love,” she’d say as she pressed a kiss on the shell of your ear. “Gonna cum for me, hm? Go ahead, baby.” All the while pounding into you. “My girl sounds so pretty, don’t you?” As she lets you burry your face into her shoulder and whimper, moan, as much as you wanted to.

Even though your girlfriend was thrusting hard, she wasn’t being rough. She knew how you needed it, how much you could handle. She’d never push your limits, if that had even crossed her mind. “Vika,” your voice shaky as you sniffle against her skin. Her warmth mixing into yours, her grunts sending a light shiver through you, and her breath tickling your neck. “Is something wrong?” Her pace slowing as she wiped at your wet cheek. “No, don’t stop.. please.” Heart racing in your chest as you said those words. You’d repeated them a thousand times; but they really were true.

“Baby, I’m not.” Sevika, though worried, fastened her pace again and leaned on her arms to get a better look at you. Brows furrowed, eyes lidded and wet, lips parted, with your face heated. As cute as you looked, she had to ask the question. “What’s wrong?” Grey eyes staring deeply into yours. “Later.. I’ll tell.. you later.”

There was nothing wrong, just the fact that you were overwhelmed with the amount of care and love she put in every thrust, every touch. It was adorable and just so sweet that it had you sobbing.

Your orgasm was just as good as the last and, afterwards, Sevika slipped off her strap and decided to cuddle you. “Too much?” She asked, voice quiet and soft, “No, I never said that.” Your face showing your embarrassment. “Then, what? Did I hurt you?” your girlfriend had her prosthetic off again, so her flesh hand did most of the touching. “No, you’re just really nice. That’s all.”

“Nice? I’m really nice?” She repeated, “what does that mean?”

“It means I love you.”

“Oh? That’s.. new.” Her brows raised in surprise. “I love you, too. Even though you cry over stupid things.”

“Those were happy tears—“ “Yeah, alright. You had me worried about happy tears.”

[memorabxlia]

Tied Up ━ 방찬

genre: smut summary: “It’s long enough to tie you to the bed.” warnings: language, bondage, oral (fem receiving), begging, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (wrap up irl!), Chan is referenced as Chris in this, I most definitely forgot something pairing: boyfriend!bangchan x fem!reader wc: 1.2k a/n: DAY 12!!! nets: @blossomnet @k-labels @k-films

The room smells like pine and cinnamon, a lingering reminder of the Christmas morning chaos. The discarded wrapping paper is scattered across the floor, remnants of gifts exchanged with laughter and delight. You’re perched on the edge of the bed, holding a long piece of red ribbon, about to toss it into the trash when Chris stops you.

“Hey, don’t throw that away,” he says, his voice low and teasing. His eyes gleam with mischief as he plucks the ribbon from your fingers, letting it slide through his hands like silk.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “And what exactly are you planning to do with this? Tie up some more presents?”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he steps closer. His body radiates warmth, and you feel the heat of him even before he touches you. “Oh, no. This has a much better use.” He leans in, his breath brushing against your ear as he whispers, “It’s long enough to tie you to the bed.”

Your stomach flips, a mix of surprise and anticipation coiling tight inside you. “Is that so?” you murmur, your voice trembling just slightly. The idea sends a shiver down your spine, but not one of fear—no, it’s something far more electric.

Chris smirks, his hand trailing up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “You’ve been teasing me all morning,” he says, his tone playful but laced with something darker, needier. “Every time you bent over to pick up a gift, every time you leaned forward to grab a cookie… you’ve been driving me crazy. And now…” He holds up the ribbon, letting it dangle between his fingers. “Now I think it’s my turn to have a little fun.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “And what if I say no?”

His grin widens, and there’s a glint in his eye that makes your knees weak. “You won’t.”

Before you can protest, he’s gently pushing you back onto the bed, the soft comforter cushioning your fall. The ribbon slips around your wrists, cool and smooth against your skin. You gasp as he tugs lightly, testing the knot, and then secures your hands to the headboard. The sensation is strange but thrilling, the way the ribbon bites just enough to remind you that you’re at his mercy.

“Comfortable?” he asks, his voice dripping with faux concern.

You tug experimentally at the restraints, feeling the ribbon hold firm. “Not bad,” you admit, trying to sound casual despite the adrenaline coursing through you.

Chris laughs, a deep, rich sound that fills the room. “Good. Because I’m just getting started.”

He kneels between your legs, his hands resting on your thighs. His touch is warm, possessive, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as it travels over your body. Slowly, deliberately, he traces patterns on your skin, his fingertips skimming higher and higher until they brush against the fabric of your panties.

You bite your lip, arching into his touch, but he pulls back, smirking. “Not yet,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. “I want you to beg for it.”

You groan, frustration mixing with arousal. “Chris…”

“Shh,” he interrupts, pressing a finger to your lips. “Patience.”

He drags his hands back down your thighs, his touch feather-light. Then, without warning, he brings his palm down sharply against the tender flesh of your inner thigh. The sting catches you off guard, and you yelp, your hips jerking involuntarily.

“Sensitive, huh?” he teases, his voice dark with amusement. He does it again, this time on the other side, and you squirm, the sensation mingling pain with pleasure in a way that leaves you breathless.

“Chris, please,” you whimper, your voice breaking. The ribbon tightens as you pull against it, your body straining toward him.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your hipbone. “Please what?” he asks, his breath hot against your skin.

You moan, unable to form coherent words. He takes that as encouragement, his mouth moving lower, trailing kisses along the curve of your thigh. When he reaches the juncture of your legs, he pauses, his breath ghosting over your aching core.

“Tell me,” he demands, his voice a growl.

“Eat me out,” you plead, desperate for relief. “Please, Chris, please.”

He doesn’t make you wait any longer. In one swift motion, he yanks your panties aside and buries his face between your legs, his tongue delving deep into your slick folds. The sensation is overwhelming, and you cry out, your hands clenching into fists above your head.

He moans against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. His tongue flicks over your clit, fast and relentless, and you writhe beneath him, helpless under the onslaught of pleasure. Every lick, every suck, feels like it’s lighting you on fire from the inside out.

“So good,” he growls, his voice muffled against you. “You taste fucking incredible.”

His hunger is insatiable, his movements almost frenzied as he devours you like a man starved. You can feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each passing second. Your breaths come in ragged gasps, your back arching off the bed as you hurtle toward the edge.

“Chris, I’m—” you start, but the words catch in your throat as he sucks hard on your clit, tipping you over the edge. Pleasure explodes through you, white-hot and all-consuming, and you scream his name as you come undone.

He doesn’t let up, his tongue coaxing every last drop of pleasure from your trembling body. By the time he finally pulls away, you’re a wrung-out mess, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration. He climbs up your body, settling between your legs, and you can feel the hardness of him pressing against your thigh.

“Need you,” you whisper, your voice hoarse.

“You’ll get me,” he promises, his eyes dark with lust. “But first…” He grabs the end of the ribbon, slowly pulling it free from the headboard. Your arms fall limply to your sides, but before you can move them, he’s gathering your wrists together and securing them once more, this time behind your back.

“Chris,” you protest weakly, though you’re too spent to put up much of a fight.

He silences you with a kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth as he positions himself at your entrance. “Trust me,” he murmurs against your lips. “You’re going to love this.”

And then he’s inside you, filling you completely in one fierce thrust. You gasp, your nails digging into your palms as he sets a brutal pace, fucking you deep and hard. Every stroke pushes you closer to the edge again, your body already wound tight from your last orgasm.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips as he slams into you. “So tight, so perfect.”

You can’t speak, can’t think, can only feel as he drives into you with unrelenting force. The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, your combined moans echoing off the walls.

“Cum for me again,” he commands, his voice raw with need. “I want to feel you—”

The words are cut off as your body convulses around him, another wave of pleasure crashing over you. He follows close behind, his release spilling deep inside you as he collapses on top of you, his breathing ragged.

For a moment, you both lie there, tangled together in the aftermath. Then, with a wicked grin, Chris sits up, his eyes gleaming with renewed mischief. “Think we should save the rest of the ribbon for later?”

❥﹒ stray kids taglist: @minkilicious @casemoa143 @instabull @lice @amarecerasus

[yuzujjn]

` ꣑꣒‎ ONE WIN, ONE DATE : 심재윤 ─── 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗃𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍

ʬʬ. football player!jake x cheerleader!reader 𖥔 ݁ ARCHiVE 7OO wordcount fluff . . . skinship, kisses ꒰˵ˊᯅˋ˵꒱ happy bday to jakey, && for my juni bby

YOU'RE STANDING ON THE SIDELINES, pom-poms in hand, watching jake tear through the field like he owns it. he’s got this intensity in his eyes, the kind that makes your pulse pick up because you know he’s giving it his all—just to win this game. all for one reason: he bet you that if he wins, he gets to ask you out.

it’s been a fun, flirty thing between you two for weeks now, but this? this is new. he made sure the whole team knew about his little bet, which has them teasing him endlessly about finally "making a move on his dream girl." you catch a few of his teammates smirking and nudging him before the game starts, and jake just rolls his eyes with a lopsided grin, eyes glancing at you every now and then. you swear you can feel his gaze even from across the field.

the game is close, way too close for your liking. you’re on edge, practically jumping each time he gets the ball, and maybe you’re clapping a little louder than anyone else (not that you liked him, or maybe you did). in the final minutes, it’s tied, and jake’s team has the ball. you watch as he gets the ball, weaving through the opposing team with an ease.

the crowd holds its breath, and so do you.

with a swift, clean kick, jake scores, sealing the win. the stadium erupts, but jake’s eyes find you instantly, a smug, triumphant smile on his face as he’s mobbed by his teammates. when they finally let him go, he sprints over to you, his eyes lighting up with joy.

“so…” he starts, leaning over, hands on his knees, slightly out of breath but still managing to look cocky. “still gonna pretend you’re not into me?”

you roll your eyes, though your cheeks are definitely giving you away. “who said i was ever into you?”

“i could tell.” jake flashes that heart-melting smile, moving closer. you’re aware of the other cheerleaders watching, and you’re definitely aware of his hand grazing your waist, lingering just long enough to make your heart race.

“oh, yeah? you’re that confident?” you ask, trying to sound unaffected, but your voice betrays you.

“confident enough to win a game for you,” he says with a smirk. “and i did say i’d ask you out if i won.”

“so ask away, sim,” you challenge, folding your arms.

he lets out a chuckle, his fingers brushing yours as if testing the waters. “okay, let me ask properly, then.” jake clears his throat dramatically, taking your hand in his. “y/n, would you do me the honor of going out with me?”

you’re pretty sure the butterflies in your stomach are doing somersaults, but you manage to keep your cool—sort of. “hmm… maybe. depends. what kind of date are we talking about?”

jake grins, squeezing your hand gently. “whatever you want. something fun. something that’ll make you smile like that.” he nods at you, obviously noticing the way your lips are curving, despite your attempt to stay composed.

“fine,” you say, relenting with a playful eye roll. “but only because you tried so hard.”

he leans in, closer than before, his voice just above a whisper. “only the best for you.”

your heart skips, and you glance down, trying to hide the way his words affect you. but jake isn’t done; he tilts your chin up, meeting your gaze. "guess you’re stuck with me now.”

“guess so,” you whisper, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as you realize he’s not moving back. his hand is still at your waist, his thumb gently tracing circles on your hip. the stadium is still loud around you, but it feels like it’s just the two of you here, his face inches from yours.

“think i can get a ‘good game’ kiss?” he asks with a wink, his voice teasing but hopeful. you roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the way you’re smiling now.

“don’t push your luck, sim.” but before he can respond, you lean up, giving him the quickest, softest peck on the lips. it’s barely there, but it’s enough to make his eyes widen in surprise and a smile spread across his face.

“you’re making me want to win every game now,” he says, looking down at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“i guess you’ll just have to keep scoring, then,” you reply with a grin, stepping back slightly, though your hand stays in his, fingers tangled together.

“oh, trust me, y/n,” he murmurs, tightening his hold on you, “i’ll be scoring a lot.”

[wlwoceaneyes]

Reader accidentally drinks from Emily‘s coffee mug. Later Emily notices a lipstick mark on it. Her reaction makes reader blush.

Lipstick Service

pairing: emily prentiss x fem!bau!reader word count: 1065 k

The table in front of you is covered in files and photos, with an opened box of donuts and half-empty coffee mugs scattered among them. You’ve been digging through every clue for hours, but so far without success. Your team is now placing hope on the suspect’s internet activity, which has spiked noticeably in the past few days. Penelope has barricaded herself in her office for over an hour and only accepts visitors if food or drink is involved.

“Should we go through the crime scene photos again?” Luke asks, and you almost tear at your hair in frustration.

“We’ve already done that five times,” you reply resignedly and bite into your chocolate donut, some colorful sprinkles falling onto the table while you do so. You can feel your chiefs’s eyes on you, and you try not to look up, not to fall into her well-placed trap. If it happens again, she’ll see right through you and your actions. You’ve been struggling for months with your small but intense crush on Emily Prentiss. Since you joined the BAU a year ago, it’s only gotten worse each day, and even the tiniest interaction with her makes you blush in an instant. During conversations, you often lose your train of thought and can barely hold her gaze, those dark, all-consuming eyes making it hard to concentrate.

Your behavior hasn’t gone unnoticed by your colleagues, who love to tease you about it. A comment here, a jab there. But none of them would actually throw you under the bus or expose you to an awkward situation, even if they do like to test your reactions regarding Emily. They sometimes try to reassure you that Emily hasn’t noticed your crush, but deep down, you know that’s not true. She’s not Unit Chief for nothing, plus she is one of the FBI’s top profilers for a reason.

“Maybe we missed something,” Tara murmurs beside you, holding up one of the photos. “What if it’s something completely ordinary? Like that fast food wrapper in the Lloyd case in Detroit a year ago?”

You watch JJ furrow her brows, pick up another photo, hold it close to her face, and shake her head. “What exactly were you thinking of?” she asks, and Tara shrugs.

“Well, definitely not chocolate sprinkles,” she replies, giving you a pointed look as more sprinkles fall onto the table and photos when you take another bite of your donut. You hear Emily chuckle in amusement, and feel the warmth rise in your cheeks. So much for flying under the radar.

“Sorry,” you mumble, place the rest of your donut on a napkin, and brush the crumbs off the table.

Just when you think you’re out of the spotlight, JJ clears her throat and gives you a mischievous grin. “You’ve got something there,” she says, and you look up, confused.

“Huh?” is all you manage, still unsure of your voice.

“There,” she points to her chin to show you, and you quickly wipe at the spot with your hand, apparently missing it.

“You’re only making it worse,” Luke chuckles, pointing to the left corner of your mouth.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you whisper embarrassed, and catch a glimpse of Emily hiding a grin behind her glass.

In the bathroom, you glance into the mirror and realize your colleagues got you again. “Very funny,” you mutter and wash your sticky hands. You still dampen a paper towel to clean your mouth and prep for your new lipstick in the color Cassian. You hold the lipstick up to the neon light, admire its depth, and soon after, your lips are painted with it. Your eyes stand out even more now, and the shade perfectly matches the natural flush of your cheeks, a flush that tends to deepen depending on the situation. Thanks to Emily. Satisfied, you tuck the lipstick into your jacket pocket, put on a confident expression and return to your colleagues with a tight-lipped smile that makes them laugh.

“You had your fun,” you say, settling back beside Tara, who tries to hide her grin. Emily tucks her silver hair behind her ear and moistens her lips, making you hold your breath.

“Let’s get back to work,” she instructs, and you gratefully pull another file toward you, thankful for the distraction. While your colleagues groan, you throw yourself into the task, eager to show your boss how serious you are about your job. You still feel the need to prove yourself, even though you’ve become a valued part of the team and have provided key insights in many cases.

“I’ve got us some fresh coffee,” Rossi chimes in, holding up a pot as he closes the conference room door behind him.

“Finally, someone’s thinking,” Tara grumbles, raising her mug. You don’t look up, knowing Rossi always refills your mug first. You’re studying the photos from the third crime scene, reaching for your freshly poured coffee and take a sip.

You freeze. It’s black. Unsweetened.

You grimace in confusion, glance at the mug in your hand, and realize your mistake. It’s Prentiss’s mug. The big, white FBI letters stare back at you mockingly.

Embarrassed, you sneak a glance at Emily, who’s watching you intently. Her eyes sparkle with amusement, and when you slowly push the mug back to the center of the table, her gaze follows every movement. None of your colleagues notice the exchange, too absorbed in their files and now energized by the caffeine.

You press your lips together, offer your boss a sheepish smile, and reach for your own untouched coffee. As you take a sip of your sweet drink, Emily grabs hers and to your horror, you spot a huge lipstick mark on the rim. Your lipstick. The one you’d applied just minutes ago.

Your lips form a silent O. You want to stop her, offer her your mug instead, but Emily slowly turns her mug in her hands until the lipstick mark is facing her. You hold your breath as she winks at you and places her lips directly on the spot where yours had just been. Emily closes her eyes in delight after swallowing her first sip, then rubs her lips together, spreading your dark lipstick onto her own. She gives you a knowing look, before turning back to her laptop.

Your pulse quickens, maybe this isn’t just a one-sided crush after all.

Part two

[sinsxo]

losing it. —itoshi sae

cw. mdni! suggestive content, implied sexual content, teasing, boyfriend!sae x fem!reader, aged up.

based on this request.

note. HI AJSKS THANK U SM FOR THE REQUEST! this was such a fun scene to imagine, creds to you for the idea!! i didn't know to what extent to write it til (im so sorry), so i ended it right where i stopped at. i will happily write a part 2 if requested though! need that lil push ykwim? it's my first time writing something spicy so i hope you like it :(( <3

update: part 2 is out! full nsfw, mdni!

synopsis. picking the right outfit shouldn’t be this hard — especially with sae helping.

wc. 540 words, not proofread.

"how’s this one?" you asked, twirling around in front of the mirror. sae glanced up from where he was leaning on the doorframe, one arm crossed as the other scrolls idly through his phone.

he hums. “looks nice. still prefer the other one.”

of course. his expression gives away nothing, as usual.

you huffed softly and reached for the next outfit. he doesn't look away, but says nothing as you shimmy into a flowy off-white dress — pretty, romantic, definitely not the vibe for a neon-lit birthday party hosted by one of his rowdy teammates.

"what about this?" you asked, giving him a hopeful glance.

he scans your figure, eyes flicking up and down before returning to his screen. “cute, but not for tonight. should save that for one of our dates.”

you blinked. that was... almost sweet. almost. because apparently, this man was hard to impress.

still, you moved on, grabbing the last outfit and throwing a jacket over it as you turned around again. "okay, last one. be honest.”

this time, he doesn’t speak right away. his eyes trail over you slowly, lingering a little longer than before.

"it’s going to be crowded. you won’t need a jacket."

you slide it off hesitantly. “what if i get cold?”

he doesn’t miss a beat. “you can wear mine,” and again, his gaze is back to his phone screen. “tights are too fancy.”

you hesitate again, fingers at your waistband. “really?”

he nods, still scrolling — or pretending to. you slip the tights off, folding them neatly and setting them aside.

“you’re so hard to impress, and stop looking at your phone.” you muttered. “done, tights are gone. what else?" you asked, standing there in your top and skirt now.

there’s a pause.

“the skirt.”

you blinked with a confused expression displayed on your face. “the skirt?”

he still isn’t looking at you. “mhm.”

you stared at your reflection in the mirror, twisting a little to see the full fit. “if i take that off, i’ll just be in my top.”

“exactly,” he murmured, and when you glance over your shoulder, he’s not at the door anymore — he’s right behind you.

his phone is gone. so is that distant look in his eyes.

"i’m not hard to impress," he says lowly, voice brushing the back of your neck. "you just don’t know what you do to me."

his fingers ghosted over your waist, thumbs slipping under the hem of your skirt before tugging slowly.

"sae—"

he presses against you from behind, the warmth of him, the heat, unmistakable.

"i tried to stay still," he says, tone edged with restraint. "but you just keep testing me, don’t you?"

your breath hitches when you feel the growing bulge against your backside. his hands sliding over your hips, pulling your back flush against him.

"we’re gonna be late," you whisper, barely audible.

his lips brushed against your ear. "they’ll survive. it’s not our party, we’re not in the spotlight."

then his mouth trails lower — along your neck, down your shoulder — as his hands begin to explore your body, stopping at the end of your top before tugging on it.

"now be a good girl and lose the top too, hm?"

© all written works are created and owned by @sinsxo. do not plagiarise, modify, repost or translate any of my content on other platforms under any circumstances.

all images, aside from the dividers, do not belong to me. credit belongs to their original creators on pinterest & xhs.

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒷 𝓂𝑒𝓃

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You’ve decided to test the waters with the TKATB men by shamelessly shooting your shot—TikTok trend style. Whether it’s a smooth pick-up line, a sudden confession, or a ridiculous flirty challenge, their reactions range from flustered and skeptical to downright chaotic. 

Will they fall for it, brush it off, or call you out on your antics? 

One thing’s for sure—things are about to get interesting.  

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

Just vibing and writing this for fun because one-shots are way easier than full-length stories. Plus, I’m just goofy asf, and this kind of stuff cracks me up.

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

The dining hall was its usual mess—too loud, too chaotic, and packed with students caught in their own little worlds. Groups huddled together at long tables, talking over one another as laughter and half-shouted conversations filled the air.

The distant clatter of plastic plates and silverware mixed with the occasional scrape of chairs against the linoleum floor, adding to the ever-present noise.  

You sat at your usual table, idly stirring your drink with a straw as you observed the controlled chaos around you. Your table was positioned near the middle of the room—not too close to the loudest cliques, but not hidden away either. The wood was covered in old carvings, initials scratched into the surface by other college students long before you, their presence lingering in the worn-out grooves.  

Across from you, Brittany leaned in, propping her chin on her hand, her eyes gleaming with mischief. The kind of look that meant she was scheming something. The fluorescent lights overhead cast sharp reflections on the glossy surface of her phone, which she tapped against the table like a silent challenge.

Whatever was brewing in her head, you could already tell it was going to be trouble.

“Come on, you gotta do it,” she whispered, leaning in, her elbows pressing against the worn surface of the lunch table, making it creak slightly under the pressure. Her phone rested loosely between her fingers, screen dimmed but still showing the TikTok app open.

You raised a brow, unimpressed. “Why do I gotta do anything?”  

Brittany huffed, gesturing toward Crowe and Geo, who were across the dining hall because there weren’t enough seats for the whole friend group to sit together, Crowe, by contrast, sat upright, composed, one elbow propped on the surface as he halfheartedly poked at his sandwich with a plastic fork. 

Geo, by contrast at in his usual slouched posture, legs spread lazily under the table, eating with the quiet efficiency of someone who had better things to do than waste time in a crowded cafeteria. His sharp gaze flicked toward you briefly, eyes assessing before he returned to whatever Crowe was rambling about.

“Because it’s time,” Brittany insisted. “You keep saying you’re into Crowe, and now you’ve got the perfect excuse.” She wiggled her phone at you. “Just hit him with the trend. It’s foolproof. Trust.”  

You rolled your eyes. “That’s the least reassuring thing you’ve ever said.”  

But Brittany wasn’t backing down. 

She sat up straighter, nudging you like an annoying little devil on your shoulder. “They say shooters shoot, right? Go be a shooter.”  

You exhaled through your nose, mulling it over, fingers tapping lightly against the side of your drink. Honestly, why not? Worst case, Crowe would brush it off, and best case… well, you weren’t sure what the best case even was, but at least it’d be funny.  

“Fine.”  

Pushing back your chair with an easy glide, you stood, smoothing your hands over your clothes as if adjusting invisible wrinkles. With a slight roll of your shoulders, you straightened your posture, tilting your chin up just enough to exude confidence—or at least fake it well enough.  

As you took the first step forward, your pace was slow, unhurried. The rhythmic chatter of the cafeteria hummed around you, but your focus zeroed in on Crowe and Geo’s table. 

You wove through the maze of students, sidestepping a stray backpack and a reckless freshman who nearly bumped into you. The heels of your shoes clicked softly against the linoleum floor, a steady beat to your approach.  

Geo noticed you first. His sharp gaze flicked toward you, scanning your expression as he brought his drink to his lips. He didn’t say anything, but the subtle lift of his brow suggested he was already questioning your intentions.  

Crowe, on the other hand, remained blissfully unaware. His focus was locked on his tray, fingers lazily peeling apart the edges of his sandwich like he was debating whether it was worth eating. 

Then, finally, he glanced up at you. 

His brows lifted slightly, mild curiosity flickering across his face as he took you in. He didn’t speak right away, but the way his head tilted ever so slightly told you he was already intrigued.

And then you hit him with it.  

“They say shooters shoot,” you said smoothly, locking eyes with him. You tilted your head slightly, letting the words linger like a slow burn before delivering the finishing blow.  

“Jericho, wassup witchu?”  

The cafeteria noise seemed to dim for just a second. Geo, mid-sip of his drink, visibly stalled like his brain short-circuited alongside Crowe’s. Crowe, on the other hand, just stares at you, completely still, like someone had just paused him in real life.  

Then, something shifted. His brows lifted slightly, and his tongue ran over the inside of his cheek as if processing what just happened. And slowly—painfully slowly—his lips curled into a smirk, the kind that made it clear he was far too entertained by this.  

Leaning back in his seat, Crowe spread his arms out lazily over the back of his chair, tapping his fingers against the table in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Huh.” He let the sound hang in the air before tilting his head, gaze sweeping over you with something just shy of amusement. “That so?”  

Geo, still recovering from the secondhand embarrassment of witnessing whatever the hell this was, pinched the bridge of his nose. With a deep sigh, he muttered under his breath, “I hate this damn school.” Then, taking his tray, he promptly decided he wanted nothing to do with this interaction and stood up to leave.  

Crowe barely paid him any mind, his smirk never wavering. Instead, he leaned forward now, resting his elbows on the table, chin propped against his palm as he looked up at you with way too much interest.  

“So,” he mused, voice teasing, “you really just came over here to try that weak-ass pickup line on me?”  

Your lips twitched, barely holding back a grin. “Weak? Please. That was top-tier delivery.”  

Crowe chuckled, low and amused, drumming his fingers against the table. “I dunno… seems like you could’ve done better. Maybe you’re nervous?”  

You scoffed. “Oh, please—if anything, you’re nervous.”  

His smirk widened, the challenge sparking in his eyes. “Is that right?”  

“Yup.” You placed your hands on the table, leaning in just slightly, close enough to make the air between you charged with tension. “And you’re stalling ‘cause you don’t know how to handle it.”  

Crowe stood up slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. He straightened to his full height, casting a shadow over you as he leaned down just slightly, his presence commanding the air around you. The subtle shift in his posture sent a chill down your spine, but you refused to show it.

He tapped one finger against the table in a rhythmic, almost calculated motion, before letting his hand fall to his side. His eyes never wavered from yours. There was something dangerously playful in the way he observed you, like a predator sizing up its prey.

“Or maybe…” he started, his voice dropping an octave, smooth and teasing but carrying an unmistakable weight. “…I’m just enjoying watching you dig yourself into a hole you can’t climb out of.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you almost faltered. For a second, you felt the heat rise to your face, that familiar feeling of being caught in a trap you hadn’t seen coming.

…Oh.

Okay. That one almost got you. But you weren’t about to let him see that.

With a confident grin, you straightened up in your seat, throwing a dramatic shrug his way. “Guess we’ll see who breaks first, then,” you replied, your voice laced with a challenge, refusing to back down.

Crowe let out a low, almost playful chuckle, his gaze never wavering from yours. He shook his head slowly, that trademark smirk never leaving his face. There was something undeniably smug about the way he carried himself in that moment, like he was already anticipating the outcome.

"Guess we will," he murmured, his voice smooth, but there was an added edge to it now—something that hinted at the shift in the game.

He leaned in just a little closer, enough to make your heart race, the air between you thickening with tension. You could feel his breath against your skin as his lips brushed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“But don’t think you’re getting off easy,” he whispered, his voice low and dangerously calm, “This is far from over.”

You didn’t have time to respond before Crowe stood up, leaving the table with that same casual confidence. He turned his head slightly, glancing back over his shoulder with a final smirk.

“Later,” he said, the word hanging in the air like a promise—or a threat. 

You were left sitting there, your mind racing with the weight of what just happened. As you tried to regain your composure, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You fished it out, finding a text from Brittany asking how it went. You typed back a quick, vague response, still trying to sort out the whirlwind of emotions Crowe had left in his wake.

But before you could think about it too much, another notification popped up—this time from Crowe. 

Crowe: Meet me at my place tonight. I’m shooting my shot. 

Crowe: Don’t keep me waiting, love.

Your heart skipped a beat. Crowe wasn’t one to back down, and judging by that text, he was ready to take things to a whole new level. You could almost hear the challenge in his words, daring you to show up, to see how far this game would go.

You exhaled slowly, staring at the screen. 

Tonight, it seemed, was going to be interesting.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

The theater lobby had an unmistakable charm—one that was equal parts nostalgic and slightly tragic. The air was thick with the scent of overpriced buttered popcorn and artificially flavored slushies, mingling with the faint but ever-present smell of old velvet curtains and sticky floors. 

Dim, yellowish lighting cast a soft, hazy glow over the space, its reflection bouncing off the shiny tile floor and making the entire area feel like a quiet, forgotten corner of some abandoned shopping mall.

The soft murmur of distant conversations and the hum of arcade machines blended into the background, only adding to the dreamlike atmosphere. It was mid-afternoon—prime delinquent hours—and the place was practically empty, save for a few older folks shuffling around, probably just trying to kill time or nap through whatever B-grade thriller happened to be playing in the adjacent theater.  

You, Sol, and Hyugo stood in front of the snack counter, all of you successfully dodging class for the day with only one mission in mind: seeing some over-the-top, gory horror movie that Sol had been far too excited about all week. 

The film had become a topic of conversation that bordered on obsessive, and now here you were—about to dive headfirst into the kind of chaos that could only come from a big-budget splatter fest.  

“I’m telling you, this is gonna be the best horror release in years,” Sol rambled, his eyes practically glowing with excitement as he stared up at the massive menu above the counter, filled with the usual cinema offerings: popcorn, nachos, candy, and various overpriced beverages. “The practical effects? The atmosphere? The body count? Peak cinema, right here, man.”  

You crossed your arms and deadpanned. “You just want to see people get torn apart.”  

Sol turned to face you, completely unbothered. “And?”  

Hyugo snickered beside you, nudging your shoulder with an elbow. “Nah, let him cook. I haven’t seen him this hyped since they sold extra-large nachos at lunch that one time.”  

You snorted, unable to hold back your grin. Sol, however, didn’t seem to hear either of you, too absorbed in the very important task of deciding which snack was worthy of his dedication. He eyed the counter with the intensity of someone about to make a life-altering decision.  

“Large popcorn, extra butter,” he told the cashier, who looked like they’d seen this exact request about a thousand times today. “And one of those giant-ass sodas. Also—”  

The cashier sighed dramatically, clearly immune to Sol's enthusiasm. They were, after all, stuck in this job for what felt like eternity.  

Hyugo leaned toward you, his grin spreading wide, his eyes sparkling with that devilish gleam that always spelled trouble.  

“So, uh…” He tapped his fingers together, voice lowered in a conspiratorial tone. “You should totally shoot your shot at Sol while he’s busy ordering. It’ll be hilarious.”  

You gave him a side-eye. “Are you trying to get me killed?”  

He shrugged, a mischievous laugh escaping him. “Look, he’s distracted. It’s the perfect setup.”  

You stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was serious. Then, as if in slow motion, you watched Sol’s hand hover over the snack options, his eyes scanning for something with just the right amount of salt and fat.  

You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth twitching into a smirk. “You just want to see him suffer.”

Hyugo’s grin stretched wider as he dramatically placed a hand over his heart, feigning deep sincerity. “Listen, I support both of you in your personal journeys,” he said in an exaggerated, overly serious tone, “but also, I need entertainment. Big entertainment.”  

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the theatrics, but you knew there was no backing out now. Hyugo wasn’t the type to back down once he set his mind on something. And right now, his mind was laser-focused on you making a fool of yourself.  

Before you could even protest or rethink your life choices, Hyugo pulled out his phone with the grace of a seasoned pro, unlocked it, and flipped the camera to record. His eyes gleamed with mischief, clearly savoring the impending chaos. 

This was absolutely happening.  

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck in exasperation, feeling the weight of this decision begin to settle on your shoulders. “Fine,” you muttered, voice dripping with reluctant humor. “But if this goes south, I’m fighting you in the parking lot.”  

Hyugo’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, his grin practically glowing. “Deal. And I’ll be sure to get that on camera too, just for future reference.”  

You shot him a playful glare before turning your attention back to Sol, who was still completely oblivious to your scheme.  

Sol had just received his popcorn, the large bucket in his hands looking dangerously heavy for him. He squinted at the drink in his other hand, like he was trying to figure out how to balance everything without spilling it all. His expression was pure concentration, which, to be honest, made him look like a child trying to juggle for the first time.  

It was perfect timing. 

You exhaled sharply through your nose, straightening up and brushing off any last traces of hesitation. This was happening.  

With all the confidence of a seasoned pro, you casually strolled up beside him, positioning yourself just enough to make sure your entrance would have maximum impact. Sol was still busy juggling the popcorn and the drink, his focus entirely consumed by the simple task.  

And then, with the smoothness of a snake oil salesman and the charm of a movie star, you hit him with it—  

“They say shooters shoot…” you said, your voice calm, calculated, and just the right amount of playful.  

You paused for a heartbeat, letting the words hang in the air before you dropped the bomb.  

“Solivan, wassup witchu?”  

The silence that followed was deafening.

And then—

Sol’s brain visibly short-circuited. His grip on the drink faltered for a moment, fingers twitching like he was trying to figure out how to process your words. His pupils dilated like he had just been jump-scared in real life, and he blinked, wide-eyed, staring at you with a look that clearly said, What did you just say?

“Huh?” he managed, his voice higher than usual like he didn’t know if he was being pranked or genuinely confused.

As he fumbled with his snacks, trying to get a grip on the situation—quite literally—his drink tilted dangerously. You watched in slow motion as the soda teetered on the edge of disaster, but before it could spill, Hyugo swooped in like a goddamn hero.

The phone was already recording. Hyugo caught the drink, saving Sol’s popcorn from a watery demise, and let out an exaggerated gasp.

“Ohhh, that was beautiful,” Hyugo laughed, clearly living for the chaos. He aimed the phone at Sol’s stunned expression and clicked record. “10/10, excellent execution.”

Sol’s head whipped around to you, mouth opening and closing like he was trying to figure out how to recover from this.

“Did you just—what the hell was that?” he sputtered, still holding the popcorn like it might escape if he didn’t act fast.

You, being the absolute menace you are, gave a casual shrug. “Just shooting my shot.”

Sol’s face cycled through so many emotions in the span of two seconds—confusion, realization, the sharp twist of embarrassment, and maybe, just maybe, a tiny sliver of flustered annoyance before he groaned in exasperation and turned away.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, his fingers gripping the popcorn bucket a little too aggressively. “I trusted you.”

“You didn’t even see it coming,” Hyugo teased, giving him a nudge with his elbow. “How’s it feel to get blindsided?”

Sol exhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring as he glared at you with reluctant amusement. “You suck for that.”

You grinned and turned to head toward the theater doors, leaving Sol to catch up. “And yet, here you are—still following me.”

Hyugo was practically wheezing, holding his stomach as he laughed at Sol’s misery. Sol, meanwhile, scoffed, shaking his head in defeat as he grabbed his drink and popcorn, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. 

“…I hate you both.”

But the way Sol nearly tripped over his own feet trying to juggle the snacks told a very different story.

The theater was dark, the low hum of the movie's soundtrack mingling with the faint scent of popcorn. Sol, Hyugo, and you had settled into the plush seats, each of you with a bucket of snacks in hand. The movie was one of those cheesy horror flicks, the kind that was more funny than scary, but that didn't stop the occasional jumpscare from making you all laugh nervously between bites. 

Hyugo had managed to devour his snacks almost as quickly as you did, and now he was getting up to go buy more from the concession stand. As he walked off, you turned to Sol, your eyes scanning the screen as the movie played on.

“Can I have more snacks?” you asked, voice light, but a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. You were hoping he might get the hint, that you were just looking for a little excuse to keep the conversation going—or to distract from the eerie silence of the theater.

Sol, who had been lazily leaning back in his chair, eyes still trained on the screen, didn’t respond immediately. He only turned his head to glance at you, an eyebrow arched. The corners of his lips twitched like he was suppressing a grin.

“More snacks?” he repeated, almost like he was savoring the idea of you asking him for something. “You really want more, huh?”

Before you could respond, Hyugo was already on his way to the snack bar, leaving the two of you alone in the now quieter theater. The flickering images on the screen cast ghostly shadows around the room, but the mood between you and Sol shifted, like the atmosphere of the horror movie had leaked into reality.

Without warning, Sol moved. He was fast—too fast for you to protest before he dragged you into his lap, positioning you against him so smoothly it was like he had been planning it. Your eyes went wide, and you felt your heart skip a beat as your body tensed.

“Sol—what the hell?” you hissed, pushing against his chest lightly, panic flooding your veins. “We’re gonna get kicked out! The cameras—”

He chuckled darkly, his hands firm on your hips, pulling you closer with a deliberate slowness. “Cameras?” Sol repeated, his voice low and laced with amusement. “You really think those broke-ass cameras are gonna catch us?”

You froze, your breath hitching as you realized he had a point. No one was paying attention. The theater was practically empty, and the cameras... well, you were pretty sure they weren’t even working half the time. But still, the nerves kept crawling up your spine.

You shot him a look, your voice pleading now. “Please, Sol, we’ll get caught—”

He didn’t care. 

The mischievous glint in his eyes made it clear he was doing exactly what he wanted to do.

“As of now, I only have five minutes to get my lick back,” he said, a sly smirk tugging at his lips as he adjusted you in his lap. “So just sit tight.”

Before you could protest any further, his hands tightened on your hips, and the space between the two of you disappeared entirely. The horror movie continued to play in the background, but everything else seemed to blur away as Sol’s presence took over, his focus entirely on you now.

He was definitely getting his lick back.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

You were stretched out lazily on Geo's couch, feet propped up, the faint hum of the TV filling the otherwise quiet room. The show on the screen was some random cooking competition, something about baking pies or soufflés—honestly, you weren’t paying attention. 

You were just waiting for what was coming next, your mind slowly running through the inevitable mess you were about to have to clean up.

Geo, meanwhile, was somewhere deep in the other room, grunting and puffing through his workout like he was trying to bench-press the whole damn apartment. Little did he know, the storm was brewing right under his nose, completely oblivious to the chaos that was about to unfold.

Then, the phone buzzed on the coffee table in front of you. You glanced down, and for a moment, thought maybe you had imagined it. But nope, it was real. You sighed, already dreading what was coming.  

It was Crowe.

You clicked on the message, the words practically screaming at you. The chaos wrapped in his text was immediate and undeniable.

Crowe: You’ve gotta send me proof. Geo’s place, right? Get to it. ;)

You let out an exaggerated groan, sinking even deeper into the couch as you stared at the screen. You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or throw the phone across the room. The guy was a menace, but also... this was your doing. You had made a deal, and now it was time to face the music.

You quickly typed out a quick reply, hoping it would be enough to get him off your back.

You: You’re a monster, you know that?

The moment your thumb left the screen, you leaned back with a deep sigh, wishing there was an easy way out of this. But before you could even gather your thoughts, the phone buzzed again, and your stomach dropped.  

Crowe: You knew what you signed up for. Get it done, or I’m telling Geo about your whole ‘accidental’ Bosni tree pot situation.

That did it. The blood in your veins froze for a moment. The tree pot. The one you’d definitely broken during the last “harmless” visit to Geo's place when you tried to water his plants. Geo’s favorite plant pot, the one that was apparently extremely important to him. 

If Crowe really spilled the beans about that, you were done for.

You narrowed your eyes at the phone, holding back the urge to throw it across the room. Bastard.

With an exhale that felt like it came from your soul, you typed out a final message to Crowe, fully aware that you were about to go through with something you’d regret but couldn’t back out of. 

You: Fine. But you owe me one for this.

Locking the phone and tossing it beside you on the couch, you let out a sigh, feeling the weight of the situation already press on your shoulders. You were about to face the consequences of a bet that now seemed a lot less funny. 

For a brief moment, you considered just walking out and letting Crowe deal with whatever that mess would cause. But no, you'd signed up for this—and now, you were going to have to shoot your shot. 

And hope like hell that Geo didn’t decide to test out your strength next.

Your eyes flicked toward the hallway, where you could hear the muffled sound of Geo’s voice—grunting and puffing through his workout. The metallic clink of weights echoed faintly, paired with his strained breathing. 

“Shit,” You mumbled like Geo had no idea what was about to hit him.

You ran a hand through your hair, smoothing it back with exaggerated flair, trying to shake off the nerves that threatened to set in. You really didn’t want to do this. You really didn’t. But a bet was a bet, and you’d signed up for this mess willingly.

Besides, there was no way out now—not unless you wanted to face the wrath of Crowe and risk Geo finding out about the damn plant pot incident. 

You grabbed your phone again, your eyes lingering on the screen as you read Crowe’s last message once more. As tempting as it was to just text a quick follow-up to Crowe and get it over with, you knew that wouldn't be enough. If you were going to follow through on this chaotic request, it had to be in person.

Game face on.

You gripped your phone tightly in your hand, determined to make this look effortless. Rising from the couch, you tried your best to exude an air of confidence, even though your stomach was tied in knots.

With one final glance toward the hallway, you padded softly across the living room, each step more hesitant than the last. Geo was still in the other room, deep in his workout, completely unaware of the storm you were about to unleash.

You took a deep breath and lifted your phone as you walked, trying to steady your nerves.

Without wasting another moment, you hit open your facetime app. The screen switched to selfie mode, and you angled the camera so it captured your face with a perfect frame. 

With practiced ease, you threw up a peace sign, lips pursed into a playful, almost mocking smile waiting for him to answer. You had to look convincing—like you wanted to do this. It wasn’t the most ridiculous thing you’d ever been roped into. 

You held the phone up higher, positioning it before calling Crowe would see the full effect of your live performance. Then, with a quick tap, you called him. Your finger hovered over the screen for a moment, the gravity of what you were doing hitting you all at once. Before you could second-guess yourself, you hit the call button.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.

Finally, Crowe’s face appeared on the screen, looking slightly confused as he answered. “You better have a good reason for calling me right now,” he said, squinting at the screen.

You grinned, doing your best to make it look like you weren’t about to regret this. “Live proof, Crowe,” you said, holding the phone steady. "Get ready for the show."

Crowe’s expression shifted immediately, a glint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “You actually doing it. I’m impressed and scared for you, you really don’t want to tell him, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, doing your best to ignore the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “No I don’t want to tell, so I’m not backing down now."

Behind you, Geo’s grunts drifted in from the other room, sounding like he was preparing to wrap up his set. You could feel the pressure mounting. 

“Alright, Crowe,” you mumbled, setting your jaw. “You wanted proof? You’ve got it.”

The clanking of weights in the other room grew louder as Geo worked his routine, the rhythmic sound of them hitting the floor serving as a strange kind of music that was perfectly suited to the chaos you were about to unleash. The occasional grunt he let out only made it more apparent that he was totally unaware of what was happening in the next room.

You leaned against the doorframe, placed your phone in your back pocket so Crowe could hear you. You could feel your pulse quicken, but you kept your cool, mentally preparing for the moment when Geo would finally notice you.

The door creaked slightly as you slid it open, making sure it was quiet enough so you didn’t give yourself away too early. You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

This had to look effortless. 

And then—there it was.

The moment you’d been waiting for.  

Geo, mid-rep, froze as his eyes finally caught sight of you standing in the doorway. His brow furrowed slightly, and his arms paused in midair. The confused expression on his face was exactly what you wanted—he had no idea what you were about to throw at him.

He lowered the weights slowly, letting out a breath as he glanced up at you, still trying to piece together what the hell was happening.

“What’s up?” His voice was slightly strained, his curiosity evident. 

Perfect. 

You didn't even miss a second. You leaned in, a smirk tugging at your lips, and said it—smoothly, like you’d been practicing it in front of a mirror for hours.

“They say shooters shoot,” you said, your voice playful and teasing, letting the words hang in the air for just a moment. You held his gaze, your smirk growing wider with every second.

“Subaru, wassup witchu?”

For a moment, there was absolute silence. Geo blinked. His face went blank, and you could practically hear the wheels turning in his head, his brain scrambling to catch up with what had just been thrown at him. 

And then—the moment it clicked—the gears started to turn in slow motion. His expression shifted from confusion to pure amusement, then to something else entirely—was that disbelief? Annoyance?

Maybe a bit of both.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, but his lips twitched, threatening to betray him. “Really?” He let out a chuckle, shaking his head, almost like he couldn’t believe he was falling for it.

“You really hit me with that, huh?”

You only shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe, not backing down. “Yep. Gotta do it for the cause.”

Geo scoffed, shaking his head like you were the last person he’d ever expected to catch him off guard. “You’re so annoying, you know that?”

But before you could even process it, he did something completely unexpected—he dropped the dumbbells with a soft thud, his attention now entirely on you. 

His gaze turned from casual amusement to something more... intense. You watched, amused, as he took a couple of slow steps forward.

“I should’ve known you were gonna pull something like this,” Geo muttered, bumping your shoulder with just the right amount of force to get under your skin, but not too much.

“Guess I underestimated you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a little more impressed by his reaction. "I’m full of surprises," you quipped, stepping back a little as he closed the gap between you. 

Then, suddenly, his eyes flicked to something behind you—something you definitely didn’t expect. A small shift in his demeanor, his focus redirected. You felt your heart drop for a second, thinking maybe you’d gone too far. 

Before you could even process the rest of your thoughts, he moved. It was quick—way too quick.

Because—whoosh—your feet were off the ground.

Your breath caught in your throat as Geo casually tossed you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, the action smooth and effortless. 

His hand was firm but not rough, and you barely had time to adjust before the world shifted upside down, your stomach doing a flip as you were swung into position. Your face was level with his back, and all you could feel was the press of his shoulder under your ribs. He didn’t even break a sweat, the ease of it making it clear that this was nothing to him.

“What the hell? Geo—put me down!” You tried to squirm, but it was no use. The guy had you locked in with a grip that was firm enough to hold you hostage and casual enough to make it clear this wasn’t some angry move.

It was playful. It was... payback.

Geo didn’t even flinch at your protests. He just smirked to himself, his voice low and teasing. “Guess it’s time to test how good you really are at shooting your shot,” he said, his tone laced with challenge.

His words hung in the air like a dare, and you could feel the energy shift—suddenly, this wasn’t a funny little back-and-forth. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words got stuck. The whole situation was too absurd, and you couldn’t help but feel the rise of laughter in your chest. But then Geo turned his head slightly, flashing that mischievous grin of his over his shoulder—knowing full well how badly you’d walked into this trap.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you remembered exactly who was about to witness this circus.

“Geo, seriously, this isn’t funny—” you started, but before you could finish, his eyes flicked to the phone, now hanging loosely in your pocket, clearly still in the middle of a FaceTime call with Crowe. 

He narrowed his eyes then he angled your body so he could reach up and grab your phone from your pocket, pulling it out with one smooth motion. He turned the screen toward his face, his brows arching at the sight of Crowe’s shocked face on the other end of the call. 

He was also caught.

“Of course it’s you,” Geo said, his voice dripping with annoyance as he slammed the door shut behind him, effectively trapping the two of you inside. His tone had that smug, ‘I’m in control’ edge as he shot a glance at your phone, practically posing for the camera like he was on a damn runway.

Crowe didn’t even try to hide his amusement. “Oh my god, what in the hell is happening here?” he asked, practically snickering through the phone.

Geo scowled, taking a slow, deliberate step toward the door, still holding you like a human prize he’d just won in some weird game show. “What? You really thought I was gonna let them off the hook that easy?”

"Geo—hang up the phone, seriously!" you groaned, your face burning red as you realized you were still on FaceTime with Crowe, trapped in your embarrassing mess.

Geo looked at you with a irritated smirk that could only be described as dangerously entertained. He wasn’t just enjoying this moment—he was reveling in it.

“Nah, nah, Jericho’s gotta see this, right?” He shifted you in his arms, adjusting you so he could move into the perfect frame, as if this was his big moment on a reality TV show.

Your phone wobbled slightly as the camera angled to capture his face, and in that split second, it was clear: Geo knew exactly what he was doing. He looked into the camera, eyes gleaming mischievously, and you could’ve sworn he flashed the kind of grin you only see on cartoon villains. Like he was auditioning for the role.

"Next time you think you can mess with me..." Geo trailed off, his eyes flicking back to Crowe’s screen with an annoyed gleam, “Make sure you don’t leave the audience rolling.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning, your frustration mounting as the realization that this was about to be a moment for the ages hit you. "I swear you're both gonna pay for this."

Geo chuckled darkly, enjoying every second of your squirming. “Oh, you’re gonna pay, all right,” he said, his voice still heavy with challenge. His grip tightened just enough to ensure you knew he wasn’t letting this moment slip by unnoticed.

And then, with a sigh toward the phone, he slowly reached down and swiped at the screen, hanging up the FaceTime call without another word.

"After all, this for breaking my favorite bonsai tree…"

Your eyes widen upon hearing the abrupt cutoff left you staring at the now-empty screen, and all you could hear was the beat of your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

Fuck all this time he knew. He made sure of it.

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

You had to admit, Sol’s bet was… ridiculous. 

Of course, you had to take it on. The bet was made, and now you were stuck with the consequences. 

“You’re too soft,” Sol had said earlier, a smug smile on his face as he leaned back in his seat, hands folded behind his head. “There’s no way you’ll flirt with Hyugo. I bet you forty bucks you won’t even try.”

You scoffed, your pride wounded more by the insult than the bet. “I’m not soft. I just… don’t feel the need to flirt with people to get attention.”

Sol raised an eyebrow, unamused. “So you won’t do it?”

“I’ll do it,” you shot back, all defiance. “I’m not scared of flirting, I just don’t want to do it with him.”

As you strolled through the bustling downtown streets with Hyugo, the weight of your earlier words finally hit you. Skipping out on the rest of the day’s classes had seemed like a solid plan at the time—an impulsive little rebellion fueled by a shared craving for the one dessert you’d both been dying to try. 

But now? 

Now you were here, walking beside him, and realizing that maybe, just maybe, you’d underestimated how much trouble you were about to get yourself into.  

"Man, I gotta say," Hyugo sighed dramatically, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I feel like a total delinquent right now. Skipping class, sneaking off downtown… Next thing you know, we’ll be on the news. *Menace to society and their unfortunate accomplice caught devouring pastries instead of doing calculus.*"  

You snorted. "Oh, please. If anyone’s the unfortunate accomplice, it’s you. I could’ve pulled this off solo and left no trace."  

Hyugo gasped, clutching his chest like you’d personally betrayed him. "Wow. So this is how you treat your partner in crime? I thought we had something special."  

You rolled your eyes as the two of you stepped into the café, the rich scent of sugar and fresh pastries instantly making the escape from school worth it. Settling into a small booth, you both leaned over the massive dessert placed between you, exchanging glances before simultaneously reaching for a piece.  

"Okay, moment of truth," you said, taking a bite. The second the flavor hit, you groaned. "Oh yeah, this was worth it."  

Hyugo took a bite of his own, his eyes widening in pure delight. "Oh, this is dangerous. I could live off this. Forget school. Forget responsibilities. This is my new life now."  

You laughed, the sound blending seamlessly with the cozy atmosphere around you. It was *too* easy being with him—comfortable in a way that made you drop your usual guard without even realizing it.  

Hyugo tapped his fork against his plate, watching you with a teasing glint in his eye. "You keep looking at me like that," he mused, leaning in slightly, "and I’m gonna start thinking you’ve got a little crush on me."  

You nearly choked on your next bite. "Excuse me?"  

He grinned, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand. "What? I’m just saying, we ditch classes together, share a dessert, exchange some meaningful glances—"  

"Shut up," you groaned, throwing a napkin at him.  

But Hyugo caught it with ease, shaking his head as he leaned in even closer. "Nah, nah, don’t back out now," he said, voice dropping into something smoother, more playful. "I mean, if you do have something to confess, I’m all ears."  

You huffed, crossing your arms. "You’re insufferable."  

"And yet," he smirked, tapping his leg against yours under the table, "you’re still here, babe."  

Damn it.  

He had a point. And that was the real problem.

“Okay, so I have to ask,” Hyugo said between bites, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischievous twinkle. “What’s going on with you today? You’re acting all…” He trailed off, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused by your shift in demeanor.

You paused mid-bite, the rich sweetness of the dessert somehow losing its flavor as you felt Sol’s words echo in your head.

Shoot your shot.

The pressure was on now. You could feel it like a weight on your chest. The bet was made, and here you were, sitting with Hyugo—alone—and if you didn’t do something now, you’d lose the damn bet. You had to commit. No backing out. 

You set your fork down, glancing at him before taking a deep breath. Time to give it your best shot.

With a confident, almost exaggerated move, you leaned forward just a touch, your voice dropping slightly lower but holding that playful edge. “Hey,” you started, rolling the name off your tongue like it was something sweet. 

“They say shooters shoot, right?” You let the words hang between you, the tension thickening just enough that even he could sense it. 

Hyugo blinked, pausing for a moment, clearly not expecting this. The corner of his mouth twitched, fighting off a grin. “Shooter, huh?” he replied, the hint of a challenge dancing in his voice. You leaned in a little more, your eyes locking with his, and gave him that smirk that made your intentions crystal clear. 

"Hyugo, wassup witchu?" you said, your voice teasing and flirtatious, making it clear that you weren’t playing around.

For a moment, there was silence—just a beat long enough for you to wonder if you’d completely missed the mark. But then, Hyugo’s grin exploded, wide and unabashed. His eyes softened, and he leaned in closer, almost as if he was savoring the challenge you’d just thrown at him.

“Okay, okay, I see you,” he chuckled, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “But you know… shooters don’t always hit the mark.” His voice was low, almost dangerous with that playful edge that had you wondering what exactly he meant.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back a little as you couldn’t help but laugh at the way he was throwing it right back. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” you said, giving him a teasing once-over. “I think I’ve got some pretty damn good aim.”

“Is that so?” Hyugo asked, his gaze never leaving yours as he leaned back, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth now.

Hyugo’s grin widened, his eyes never leaving yours as he casually finished the last bite of the dessert. There was something about the way he did it—slow and deliberate—that made it feel like he was taking control of more than just the dessert, like he was claiming the moment.

As he leaned back, the playful glint in his eyes deepened. He was enjoying this, every second of it. The tension between you two was palpable now, thick enough that it made it harder to breathe. You could feel the temperature rise, and suddenly, the air felt heavy with anticipation.

“Well, if we’re both shooting our shots…” Hyugo trailed off, his mischievous grin now a full-blown smirk. “I guess it’s my turn, huh?” His voice was low, but the challenge in it was unmistakable. There was a promise in his tone, like he was about to pull something bold, something you couldn’t ignore.

You felt your heartbeat quicken, knowing this was about to get a whole lot more intense. Hyugo had that effect on people—he made everything feel like it was a high-stakes game, and you were the one caught in the middle of it. 

His leg brushed against yours under the table, just enough to make you pause. The casual touch sent a jolt through you, and before you could even react, he shifted closer. The playful look on his face grew more intense as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke.

“You know…” he started, his voice low and smooth, as though he was savoring every syllable. His hand slid from the edge of the table toward your side, just brushing against your arm, like it was nothing. 

“I’ve been wondering for a while now…” 

You swallowed, trying not to let the heat rise to your face, but it was hard to concentrate when his body was so close to yours. His knee was now pressed against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his skin against yours, sending a shiver down your spine.

His gaze flicked from your lips to your eyes, taking in every little shift in your expression as though he were studying you. There was something about the way he looked at you that made it clear he was thoroughly enjoying your discomfort.

Hyugo leaned in even closer, his voice lowering, his words carrying the same confident teasing as before, but now there was a touch of something else. “What would it take for someone like me…” He paused, his lips curling up in that signature smirk, the kind that told you he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“To get someone like you to stop hiding behind that tough front? To actually, you know…” He slid his leg just a little closer to yours, pushing against it in a move that was so casually intimate it took your breath away. “…Show me what you’ve got?”

The way his leg brushed against yours now wasn’t just playful; it was deliberate, like he was making a statement. His body language was bold, and the way he held your gaze made it clear he wasn’t going to back down anytime soon.

You were both in the middle of a public place, but Hyugo had a way of making everything feel like it was just the two of you. It was intoxicating, and for a moment, you almost forgot where you were. 

He was so close now, the heat from his body mixing with yours, his smile widening as he saw you flinch just slightly at the touch. It was playful, yes, but there was something else behind it—a teasing challenge, and an undeniable sense of control.

“So,” Hyugo said, his voice lighter now, but there was a definite edge to it. “What’s it gonna be? You gonna keep hiding, or are you gonna show me what you’re really made of?” 

Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you had no idea how to respond—because Hyugo wasn’t just shooting his shot. 

He was playing a game, and he was damn good at it.

Soon, Hyugo leaned back just enough to give you a once-over, his smirk stretching wider as if he had already solved the mystery you hadn’t even realized you were trying to hide. His leg pressed against yours again—this time firmer, like he was making a point.  

“Ahhh,” he drawled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I knew something was up.”  

You blinked. “What?”  

He tilted his head, watching you like you were the punchline to a joke he’d just figured out. “You don’t usually flirt this bold—nah, this has Sunny written all over it.”  

Your stomach flipped, but you played it cool, grabbing another bite of dessert as if you weren’t internally panicking. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  

Hyugo laughed, loud and full of mischief. “Yeah? So you just happened to wake up today and decide to lay it on thick? Noo, I can hear him in my head right now, betting you wouldn’t have the guts.”  

Damn it. He caught on way too fast.  

Hyugo’s grin turned downright wicked as he slid his phone out of his pocket. “Hold still, babe,” he teased, throwing an arm around your shoulders and yanking you in before you could even think about escaping.  

Click.  

You barely had time to blink before he tilted his phone toward you, displaying the damning evidence—your face, frozen in a mix of shock and mild betrayal, while he grinned like he just won a championship game.  

He burst out laughing. “Oh yeah. This is gold. I need Sol to see this.”  

Your jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”  

Hyugo arched a brow, his smirk growing even more insufferable as his thumb hovered over the send button. “Oh, I definitely would.” He paused, tapping his chin like he was deep in thought. “Actually… y’know what? I should charge you for this. Consider it a finder’s fee for exposing Sol’s shady little bet.”  

You shoved at his arm, scowling. “You’re the worst.”  

Hyugo only cackled, slipping his phone back into his pocket before catching your chin between his fingers, and tilting your face up with a teasing nudge. His voice dipped into something almost mockingly sweet. 

“Nah, I’m just invested in your financial success. Now, make sure to collect your winnings tomorrow—’cause after I’m done with you today?” He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin as his smirk turned downright smug.

“You’re gonna be too tired to think about anything else.”  

And just like that, he stole the last bite of dessert, winked, and leaned back like he had already won. 

Smug. As. Hell.

[fangirlfuel]

Against All Odds

---

You never thought you’d cross paths with a world-famous Formula 1 driver, let alone have him become a part of your little world. But life had a funny way of surprising you.

It all started on a rainy afternoon in Monaco. You had just finished grocery shopping with your three-year-old son, Luca, when the sky opened up. Balancing the bags and holding Luca’s tiny hand, you rushed under a café awning to avoid getting soaked. That’s when a voice, deep, slightly accented, spoke beside you.

“You okay?”

You turned to see Max Verstappen, hands stuffed in his Red Bull hoodie, watching you with curiosity. You knew who he was, of course. Even if you weren’t a diehard fan, his face was everywhere in Monaco.

Luca, being his usual chatty self, beat you to responding. “Mama forgot my umbrella,” he informed Max with a dramatic sigh.

Max chuckled. “That’s tough, buddy. But rain is fun, no?”

Luca grinned. “Only if there are puddles!”

Max nodded in understanding. “Puddles are cool.” Then, he glanced at you, offering a small, almost shy smile. “Need some help?”

---

What started as a simple moment under the rain became something more. Max found himself drawn to you and Luca. He started frequenting the café where you worked, always finding an excuse to chat.

At first, you were hesitant. Your life revolved around your son, and the idea of letting someone in, especially someone with Max’s fast-paced, high profile life, felt risky. But Max was persistent in the gentlest way. He didn’t rush. He didn’t push. Instead, he simply showed up.

He’d bring Luca small gifts from his travels, a toy car from Japan, a tiny Red Bull racing cap from Austria. He’d take time to play with him, letting Luca “race” his toy cars across the café tables while you worked.

And then, one evening, after walking you both home, he hesitated at your doorstep.

“I know this is a lot,” he admitted. “And I don’t want to overstep. But I–I care about both of you. A lot.”

You looked down at Luca, who was already half-asleep in your arms, his tiny fingers curled around Max’s hoodie string.

“You already feel like family,” you whispered.

Max smiled, brushing a stray raindrop from your cheek. “Then let me prove it.”

---

Max loved Luca as if he were his own. From the moment he truly became part of your lives, he embraced every bit of fatherhood that came with it.

Sunday mornings were for racing, well, toy car racing. Max and Luca would sit on the living room floor, each picking their “team” and dramatically announcing their “drivers.” (Luca always picked Red Bull, of course.)

Bedtime stories became a ritual, with Max reading animatedly about adventures, occasionally slipping in exaggerated Dutch accents to make Luca laugh.

Grocery trips turned into mini racing expeditions, with Luca sitting in the cart, pretending to steer while Max pushed it down the aisles like a pit stop crew.

And when Luca had nightmares? Max was there. Every single time. He’d scoop him up, hold him close, and whisper, “You’re safe, little man. I’ve got you.”

One evening, as you all sat curled up on the couch watching a movie, Luca suddenly turned to Max and asked, “Are you my dad now?”

Your breath caught, but Max, without hesitation, ruffled Luca’s hair and said, “If you want me to be, buddy.”

Luca grinned. “You can be my Max Dad.”

And just like that, Max’s heart was no longer just his own—it belonged to you and your little boy.

Forever.

-------------------------------------------------------

Hey everyone,

I just wanted to say how sorry I am for that terrible one shot I posted, if you can even call it that. I know it wasn’t my best, and honestly, I’ve been completely out of inspiration lately. Every time I try to write, my brain just blocks itself, and nothing good comes out.

On top of that, school is draining me. We’re so close to the end, yet our teachers keep throwing test after test and endless projects at us. It’s exhausting, and I barely have the energy to focus on writing.

I really appreciate you all sticking around and being patient with me. I promise I’ll be back with better content when I can! Thank you for understanding.

[deebris]

The Misteryous Visitor 5

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: The argument between Talia and Bruce is catastrophic from beginning to end, and while the whole truth is revealed, neither of them wants to let go of you. Strange was always a greater danger than he let on and was closer than he ever thought.

Warnings: Family discussion; meaningless kiss; aggression; blood; kidnapping; maternal possessiveness;

Word count: 4.5k

Note: Talia has a slightly different relationship with Bruce in my story compared to the canon, being more tense than the impression I got when I watched scenes between the two of them.

I forget to mention that English is not my first language, forgive me for any mistakes.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

"Is it true?" Bruce asked quickly, barely giving Talia time to dare say anything before him. The woman rolled her eyes, still with her back to him, and prepared to maintain her confident pose.

She turned to face him and took a few moments to admire the vision, blatantly diverting her eyes to his lips and seeing how the messy shirt had given him a more fierce and attractive aura. Their relationship was complicated, that's a fact, but she could never stop finding the man in front of her charmingly handsome.

"You'll need to be more specific than that," Talia's voice dripped with a sweet and wicked tone as she walked toward him. Bruce violently stood up from the chair when he saw her hand reach towards him and imposed his height over hers to intimidate.

"Don't play the cynic." There was a suppressed fury in his tone, and she was sure he was using the last bit of self-control that still possessed.

"For heaven's sake, Bruce." Talia mocked, picking up the coat she had intended to grab from the beginning from the chair, having recognized it as yours. She grimaced as felt the damp fabric and dropped it in a corner of the room on the floor. The look she was receiving could burn her skin, and when she turned her face back to his, she realized how disturbed he was. "You look horrible. Strange really got into your head, didn't he?"

Talia saw him narrow his eyes with impatient indignation as he snorted. She found seeing him like this very peculiar and thought it would be fun to try and provoke.

The woman brought her face close to his, making her warm breath touch his chin provocatively while boldly wrapping her arms around the broad neck. She tested the waters, seeing how he remained still, and brushed her red lips along his jawline, then moved up until their mouths shared the same breath.

She was going to try to persuade, convince him that he was overthinking, and smiled inwardly when she saw Bruce become disconcerted for a second, completely unresponsive when she sealed their lips together. She managed to seduce him in that second to the point where, unconsciously, he moved his tongue with hers, but tasting her saliva brought him back to rationality.

He left her in complete shock when abruptly pushed her away and grabbed her face in an aggressive manner, squeezing the cheeks and making her squirm until eyes glazed over into his. “You repulse me.” Bruce spat and was glad to see her bold expression disappear. “Tell me once: she is mine?"

Talia tried to take his hand away with hers, but he seemed implacable, and didn't even move a finger out of place. He might be stronger, but she wasn't weak, and that was what made her let out an astonished sob.

"She is my daughter?!" He shouted, shaking her, no longer able to take the lack of response.

"Yes it is true." The confession made him let go of her finally, and she almost stumbled back with how sudden it was.

She massaged her face, seeking relief, and it didn't take long for her eyebrows to furrow in shock. Bruce felt no pity or regret, she deserved much more than he would ever have the courage to do.

"How?" By the way he looked, she knew there was no more room for lies or evasion. She had never seen him like this; Bruce had always been the most balanced man she had ever known in her entire life.

"She and Damian are twins," Talia responded immediately.

"Twins?" Bruce's voice sounded incredulous. He felt that even all the time in the universe wouldn't be enough to process that. It seemed simply unreal. "Why did you hide this? Why did you tell me about Damian and not about her?"

"Because you would have taken her from me!" She shouted, running her fingers over her face to check if her makeup had smeared. "I handed Damian over to you willingly, but if you had found out about him before, you would have brought him here just the same. And with her, it would be no different. You should be grateful to have had the boy."

"How dare you say such a thing?" Bruce threw the chair to the floor in a fit of rage, making a loud noise that echoed even outside the hallway. "And 'handed Damian over willingly'? You only did that because you felt pressured after your father died." He threw it in her face and suddenly remembered something: "You made that boy lie for you." He accused her.

Talia was silent for a brief moment, but her face showed nothing but contempt. "I did, yes." She admitted.

"What's the point of that? Was it just out of whim?" Bruce seemed fragile before her for the first time in so many years. For a moment, she glimpsed an old argument, from when they were still dating and didn't hide feelings from each other as they do today. "Do you hold that much resentment? You know very well why I dismissed the League of Assassins."

"Of course, Bruce. Your morals are too valuable, aren't they?" Talia replied with her chin up, not letting him affect her. "You think you're a good guy, a pure superhero like Superman. But I know you and I know how rotten you are inside. You are not as different from us as you think." She spewed the words in his face like venom.

"You wanted her to come here, didn't you? You and he planned all this?" Comprehension seemed to have hit Bruce, but that only left the woman confused.

"If it were up to me, you would never have discovered her existence. Why would I send her here?" The confession left him silent, not because he wasn't angry anymore, but because he was tired of hearing her voice; he simply couldn't believe anything Talia said. "She is my daughter. And I don't care what you're going to do now, but don't think you're going to drag her with you like you did with all those boys.”

"You think you can offer something better? You, the same person who left her in the hands of that sicko, consider yourself a better option?" Bruce insinuated this with a firmness that made it clear he had no doubt Talia was cooperating with Strange, making her eyes turn red. She could hear many insults from him, but insinuating that she had put you at risk was something entirely different. "You can be sure you won't lay another finger on her."

She knew Bruce was serious, and that he could actually prevent any future contact betwedn you and her. She wanted to kill him right now out of sheer hatred, but she was smart and knew that acting impulsively wouldn't solve anything. So, reluctantly, she tried to change the tone of the discussion to a neutral one. There was no way she could leave without giving him explanations, and if she tried, he would stop her.

"Maybe Strange had been threatening me for some time, possibly before deciding to appear publicly again and attack you." There was a slight irony of indignation in her words. Her gaze was firm and her green eyes shining with the intensity of someone defending their own honor. "Let it be clear: I didn't help anyone; I was as much a victim of this as you were."

"Victim?" Bruce retorted with disdain.

"This threat wasn't for you, Bruce, it was for me. Today you didn't lose anything, quite the opposite." She ignored the acidic tone and continued. "Maybe this contributed to some kind of psychological game Strange is playing against you, but it must be just a bonus."

"Why is he threatening you?" The question contained no compassion or empathy, but it didn't matter to her to receive that kind of consideration from him.

"What did he do to you?" Talia ignored the question, and as a form of childish revenge, he did the same. She sighed and tried a different approach: "If you tell me, I'll tell you too." She needed to know to try to understand the depth of Strange's current intentions or at least get some clue about the plan he was plotting because although she wouldn't say it to Bruce, she was also trying to catch him.

"A photo of my parents," he confessed, trying to sound indifferent before continuing, "Photos of the boys, of Alfred..." Bruce left the sentence hanging in the air and didn't proceed. He would never say more than he deemed necessary to her.

"Damian too?" She asked, worried about her son, and saw Bruce nod affirmatively. Bruce calmly unwrinkled a card while handing it to her.

"He asked her to deliver this to me today." His tone was serious, revealing a determination to deal with the situation pragmatically and directly.

Talia repeated those printed words several times, and every hair on her body stood on end all at once. "Did she…?"

"She didn't read it." He said curtly. "But what I don't understand is how all this seems so convenient and you claim to have nothing to do with it. He had this card perfectly prepared."

"Knowing him well, he must have been waiting for an opportunity for many days, or he induced this to happen somehow." She reflected, scratching the fine texture with her nails right where the text was printed to the point of making it illegible. "The letter that Damian said she picked up took longer to arrive than the others; it must have ended up with him at some point."

"How could he be so close, and you didn't notice?" His voice became aggressive again, the same beastly rage returning.

"I did notice! I just didn't imagine Strange interested in her; I thought it was about Damian. So, I didn't worry because he wasn't with me; he was with you." She raised her voice, trying to match his volume. "Strange has been sending me coded messages. Threats that had nothing to do with my daughter. I thought he didn't know she was yours and therefore wouldn't care about her." She finished, and Bruce clenched his jaw, observing how she increasingly emphasized the expression "my daughter," excluding him.

"Threats related to Damian?" He asked. His muscles were tense and sore, but he endured the discomfort if it meant clarifying everything once and for all. "And, of course, you never considered telling me."

"This started long before I left him with you, Bruce. They were still children." Talia said, growing increasingly frustrated with the conversation.

"What could Damian have done to him as a child?"

"Damian ended up leaving Strange with one less eye. He was already pursuing him because of you, but after losing an eye, all he wanted was revenge." She walked to the bed, leaning on the arms while crossing her legs. A very characteristic gesture of her behavior, which was highlighted when she wore her extravagant dresses, but the cold pants she wore made the movements relaxed. "He was a child; he didn't do it on purpose. He was just protecting his sister."

"How could Strange have known about Damian for so long and not about her? What you're saying doesn't make any sense, Talia." Bruce was frantic, and after a brief moment of melancholy, she sighed:

"I blame my father for this." Her voice almost wavered in front of him, but being the proud person she was, she quickly composed herself.

“What did Ra’s do?” He threw the question into the air, laden with apprehension.

The room plunged into a disturbing silence. Talia remained motionless, while the sound of Bruce's heavy breathing was the only thing breaking the void in the atmosphere. For a brief moment, her eyes met his and captured the storm of emotions brewing there: betrayal, despair, expectation.

She did not fear him, but rather how he might react to this. You were there, nearby, in the hallway, and the last thing she wanted was for the primal figure Bruce was becoming to explode and expel her, taking you to him. Moreover, she needed to remind herself that she was at a disadvantage there. It wasn't just Bruce she would face if things turned worse or physical, but everyone else in the house.

“What did he do, Talia?” Bruce growled, repeating the question with intensity.

She stared at the floor, fully aware that her next words would turn against her later, but at this point, he needed to know. Strange was out there, and he was still as much of a psychopath obsessed with Batman as before, meaning he wouldn’t rest until he managed to take Bruce’s place as a vigilante. So, with a low but icy voice, she moved her mouth to tell him the truth:

“Years ago, Strange sought out the League of Assassins. That lunatic was always smart and somehow discovered the rift between you and my father.” The mention of such an old event took Bruce by surprise. He slightly recoiled and his eyebrows raised, but he restrained himself from interrupting her. “He wanted the League to help him defeat you and vice versa. My father was suspicious, but he was so resentful that he agreed. Your betrayal was still fresh to us.”

“And of course it went wrong, didn’t it?” He asked with implicit sarcasm.

“Strange was so cunning that he managed to manipulate him to his advantage. He provided us with precise and important information about you, but after a while, he wanted to advise my father on how to act. That’s when I started to hate him, realizing how he was controlling.” She shook her head in denial, recalling the memory with bitterness, and continued:

“My father trusted him so much that he allowed Strange to infiltrate us more and more, until one day, by chance, he found damian in Nanda Parbat. Strange was nosy and curious; he tried to extract the information from me, but discovered on his own that you were his father.” Talia blew a strand of hair that fell on her face and decided to add the next part with acidity: “Strange was so fascinated by this that he made an absurd request. We denied it, and then he rebelled against us. Of course, that incompetent couldn’t accomplish anything, and then disappeared, as he always does when things go wrong.”

“Ra’s and Strange working together?” Bruce asked himself. He could never have imagined that two such distinct people could have had a relationship like that in the past. “And what did he ask for?”

“He was obsessed with surpassing you, but it wasn’t just that, he wanted to be you and have everything that was yours. He asked to raise Damian as if he were his own son, can you believe it? Luckily, Y/n never set foot in Nanda Parbat, so he didn’t discover her in that time.” She paused for a moment, reliving the events. “He wanted to prove that he could raise him and make a better Robin. Strange has known your identities much longer than you think; he knew the real Robin was your adopted son.”

Bruce’s face contorted in an expression of disbelief. His eyes narrowed slightly, and his mouth opened as if about to say something, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. He blinked a few times, needing to assimilate what he had heard. “If he never saw her before, how did all this happen?”

“A few years later, when my father hadn’t been dead for long, I returned to live in Gotham City with Y/n, and Strange found out Damian was here too and broke into the apartment where we were. He intended to kidnap Damian, but he used to share a room with his sister, and by mistake, Strange went to her bed.” She spoke with a heavy voice, the last sentence sending chills down her spine, but she persisted:

“I woke up to her frightened scream and a loud noise. I ran and when I saw it was him, I had no mercy. He is intelligent, but sometimes he is blinded by his own obsession and do stupid things. He was already bleeding, with a pencil piercing one of his eyes, thanks to Damian, then fled through the living room. I didn’t initially chase after him because I wanted to make sure Damian was okay; the problem was I hadn’t realized that Y/n wasn’t in the room. Damian had distracted Strange to let his sister escape, and because of my delay, he took her.”

Talia seemed to be in a trance. Each word weighed on her chest like lead, yet she threw them out as if they were disposable. Her usually confident and determined eyes didn’t know where to look. Sitting rigidly on the bed, her imposing posture didn’t waver, as her pride didn’t allow her to show weakness.

“What did he do?” Bruce throat tightened, as if the air was rarefied, as he waited for the answer. Talia might think otherwise, but he could see through her facade. And despite it being selfish to say this, he couldn’t feel a shred of concern for her, especially when someone more important to him was now involved.

After standing for so long, Bruce sat on the bed next to her. He reflected on the sad incident, deeply disturbed. He blamed her. He blamed her for her character, for lying so much, and for hiding from him that his children were in danger. He was grateful that she had fallen silent for a few seconds, as he was mentally preparing himself for a grim scenario, one he wasn’t yet ready to face.

“What happened to her?” He asked, seeing that she wasn’t showing signs of speaking, trying to prompt her to continue.

"Strange carried her through the city, desperately fleeing from me until he ended up in an alley. He encountered a group of drunks who surrounded and wanted to rob him. He's not a good fighter, you already know that, and like a damn coward, he threw her into their midst as a distraction while he escaped again.”

“Unbelievable…” Bruce massaged his eyebrows with his eyes closed, visibly upset. He pressed his temples hard, as if trying to dispel the accumulated frustration. After a deep breath, he suddenly exploded in a shout of frustration and anger, just like at the beginning. “You should have contacted me!"

“Are you trying to blame me?!” She asked indignantly.

"She didn't seem to recognize him when she spoke to me just now. It sounded like she was talking about a random stranger." Bruce was confused.

"I don't know if she would recognize him again, she never wanted to talk to me about that day. And I never mentioned Hugo Strange either, everything she knows about him she sees on the news."

“You and your father are the worst kind of people I could have gotten involved with,” Bruce said, his voice dangerously low this time. “If it weren't for Ra's, Strange would never have gotten close to them. If it weren't for your stupid lie, nothing you just said would have happened. And I don't even want to imagine what the hell happened after that!”

"You would have made sure nothing like that happened, wouldn't you, Bruce? You talk about it with such certainty, but weren't you the one who let the Joker do something similar to that kid… Is Jason his name?" Her mention of something like that made Bruce's ears go deaf. He could clearly hear the sound of his heart beating inside his chest, until her disgusting voice sounded again: "You would have put her in the same disgrace!"

Bruce lost the control he tried so hard to maintain from the beginning. He threw the lamp next to him into the headboard on the wall. The movement was so violent that the wire connecting the object to the socket broke in a strange way and the entire glass part broke into several pieces. The noise was thunderous, and even when he stood up with a piercing look at her, Talia continued with her laughing face, enjoying watching him go crazy.

“Don't try to compare the two things. You didn’t tell me about Strange before because you were embarrassed. It's too hard for you to admit that you can fail. Besides, you always liked having someone to control, to manipulate at your pleasure. You did this to her, didn't you? And even then, you’re not satisfied. You continued to torment Damian, using him.” Bruce took a deep breath.“I thought you cared about him.”

Talia got up too and lifted her chin, her eyes shining with defiance. “You understand nothing, Bruce,” she responded with a firm and cutting voice. “Everything I did was to protect them both. I explained my reasons to you. Do you think hiding them was just my decision? My father would never have allowed it, and I won't deny that I wasn’t against him, but it didn’t depend solely on me. You, with your inflexible morality and your rules, would never understand.”

“Don’t give me that,” Bruce growled, his gaze fixed and penetrating. “You branded the girl with your initials like she was cattle. It was never about protection; it’s possessiveness.”

Like him, Talia stood up. “I may be a woman of whims, as you like to say, but I didn’t hide anything because I was embarrassed”

Talia paused, her voice softening but not positively. “And as for tormenting him… I trained him, prepared him for the cruel world we live in. Do you think you could keep him safe with your mild methods? He needs to be strong, needs to be able to survive, and in those years I taught him to protect her because no one else would. My father didn’t care about a granddaughter; he finally had the male heir he wanted. I had to meet his demands to make Damian perfect, and that allowed me the freedom to raise her away from all that. What I could do, I did. And what I wanted to do, I also did. And I’d do it all again.”

“You always think you did everything right, but everything you’ve said only proves how misguided you are. I remember I gave you a choice, Talia. I told you that you could abandon the League of Assassins and come with me. I told you that your father didn't need to control your life forever,” Bruce said, his voice laden with disdain. “You will never come near her again. You’ll have to go over my dead body first.”

Talia narrowed her eyes in contempt. “Do you really think you can stop me?” Her voice was low and controlled, but each word carried significant weight. “You always saw the world in black and white. Do you really think it was so simple to abandon my entire life and devotion for you, a mere fleeting romance? If you think it’s that easy to give up everything, I challenge you to abandon Batman right now. After all, it’s because of this secret identity of yours that all this started, isn’t it? Isn’t it as easy as that, Bruce?”

She took a step forward, facing him without wavering. “I can repeat it as many times as you want: I am a criminal, I am selfish, and whatever else you want me to say, but the only hypocrite in this room is you.” Her eyes shone with determination, while his wavered before her.

Bruce hardened his expression, sadness hitting him. He wanted to accuse her of being a low person, but deep in his conscience, he feared it was true. But he wouldn’t allow himself to be deceived; she was still the wrong one here. She was the one who completely distorted the situation, making herself the victim and trying to justify everything she did, turning him into the villain of the story.

“Talia, I never wanted you to be any of these things,” he began, his voice laden with anguish. He felt bitterness looking at her face now, as it painfully reminded him of the time when he had been deeply in love with this same woman. “I wanted to believe you could change, that you would be different from your father. But every choice you made, every lie you told… Our relationship was unsustainable, and now the only thing I feel for you is remorse.”

He closed the last distance between them, imposing himself with a somber aura. “Your actions, your alliances… they put her at risk. My duty as a father is to protect her, and I can’t ignore the danger you represent. I never wanted it to come to this, Talia. But if keeping her safe means keeping her away from you, then that’s what I’ll do.”

Talia clenched her fists, her expression hardening even more. “Do you think I didn’t want to protect her too?” Her voice became silky. There was a dark delight in how the words dragged, a subtle poison hidden in each intonation. “You talk about protecting her, but she needs more than simple physical protection. She needs a mother, someone who understands the complexity of her feelings.”

“Look at yourself for a moment, Bruce,” said Talia, her voice icy and full of disdain. “You’re losing your composure. Do you really think she’ll like finding out that her father is this weak and ridiculous man you’ve become?”

The woman took a step forward, fixing her eyes on his with a challenging gleam. “The only thing she’ll feel for you is shame.”

"Do you really think you can tell me who I've become?" He paused, swallowing hard. "I didn't want it to come to this, Talia, but if you don't leave voluntarily, I'll be forced to tell that girl everything you've done. And then we'll let her decide."

He intensified the confrontation, provoking her: "Are you sure she would still choose you after so many lies? After everything you've hidden from her?" His eyes darkened, pupils dilated by the dim light in the room. "Value the good image she still has of you."

Talia was momentarily silent, her eyes meeting Bruce's with a genuine expression of concern. She took a deep breath before speaking, her voice a bit more dangerous than before. "Would you really do that? Tell her everything?"

Bruce replied firmly, maintaining his serious gaze on hers. "It's what I must do, regardless of everything. Continuing to hide things isn't right. But if the only way for you to leave more easily is under this condition, then go now."

Talia took a few steps back, her serious expression showing shock and worry. Her thoughts repeated Bruce's ultimatum continuously, knowing you would not react well to it.

You were a smart girl, but emotionally very fragile. Your bonds of trust were limited to her and your brother, and you two had been apart for so long that having your relationship with your mother destroyed in this way would leave a huge scar on your heart. This would be the best choice, both for her and for you if Talia didn't want everything to fall apart.

She turned towards the bedroom hallway, as if seeking a moment to ponder the consequences. After a moment, she turned her gaze back to Bruce, her shoulders slightly lower. "You are not going to involve her in your vigilante life." It wasn't a request, it was a warning, and Bruce didn't contest it to avoid further conflict. Understanding that she had decided to leave was enough to reassure him.

"I didn't mean to." He walked past her, picking up your coat she had thrown on the floor earlier, checking carefully that it hadn't been damaged by the broken lampshade, and lifting the chair to let the piece dry once more.

"You know where the exit is; don't take too long." Without bothering to be polite, he quickly opened the door, leaving her standing there. He knew she would really leave after seeing how she reacted. She wouldn't risk irritating him by taking longer than necessary.

Tag list:

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[bunni-v1]

College au Ifa is the type to take you at a house party and make sure people see the hickey on ur neck in class the next day

Marking Your Territory

🍓I'm gonna kill Pinkie for this one that's all I'll say on that. I lost actual sleep writing this, and instead of napping I finished and edited it. Do not tell me I don't love you guys or Ifa because I am nothing if not dedicated to my gay little craft. Anyway, enjoy or this will be the last thing I ever post. If this flops it's on your hands that I disappear.

TW: NSFW; Drugs (mentioned); Alcohol use; slight dub-con (both are lightly buzzed); marking (lots of it); sex at a party (yippie!); grammar errors (edited but I'm one guy and this is seven thousand words)

Info: College AU; Ifa x Reader (main); Venti x Reader; Kazuha x Reader; Navia x Reader; Wriothesley x Reader; Alhaitham x Reader; Kaveh x Reader (all background ships)

Word Count: 7.6k Words

MDNI

You weren't the biggest fan of house parties, not for lack of trying. Navia had dragged you to a million places since you arrived at Sumeru Academia, always knowing 'a good place' to go to let loose. Venti too, once he finally got you out of your shell. They both insisted you were a fun drunk, the total life of the party once you let loose. Still, when you had a choice, you avoided them altogether. It was just too much. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many people. They made you feel like you were suffocating, regardless of whatever drug you were putting in your body to numb the anxiety.

You'd managed to masterfully avoid any house parties thanks to classes picking up, the perfect excuse to hide away at Puspa Cafe with your tentative boyfriend Ifa. He'd managed to convince you to go on more than a few dates with him now, and while nothing was made official, you were pretty sure he was inching in that direction. Regardless of whatever your relationship was right now, he always greeted you with the brightest smile when you walked through those cafe doors. As usual, he'd made space for you already, and your favorite cup of coffee was sitting in your spot, luring you to his side like a deadly trap.

"Evenin'," He greets with his regular low drawl, scootching his chair just a little closer to yours, enough to wrap his arm around you in a side hug.

You lean into the touch automatically, stress leaving you all at once, "Evening, Ifa. Studying working out for you today?"

He sighs, heavy and tired. He was reviewing the same thing he had been all week, and it was starting to wear on his seemingly unending patience. Instead of complaining about it, which you know he wants to do more than anything, he just kisses your temple. Pushing the book back a little as if dismissing it in favor of paying attention to you.

"Big test comin' up," he hums, "lets not talk about that, though. You busy this weekend?"

You quirk an eyebrow at him, and he smiles innocently. Weekend outings with him had become normal now, despite Navia's complaints about feeling 'abandoned' by you. You knew she wouldn't end up lonely by the time morning came, so it was easy to brush off her guilt-tripping. Besides, Ifa was always fun to be around, taking you to so many different places to do so many new things. He knew Sumeru better than you did, having been here for so long, so you always got a little giddy when he asked for your weekend plans.

You shake your head, bringing your coffee mug to your lips, "Nothing much, just gotta peer review something for Venti for that god-awful poetry class, but I can do that anytime. Why're you asking?"

"Playing dumb is cute," he snorts, ruffling your hair playfully, "I wanted to take you somewhere."

"Hmmm... alright, I guess I can spare you some of my precious free time," you reply haughtily.

An annoyed sigh with no real malice behind it, "A friend of mine is throwing a party on Saturday, and I was thinking it would be a good way to... introduce you. They've been bothering me about it since our first date, and I don't think it's fair to hold off on it any longer."

Your heart skips a beat, both at the idea of having to go to a party with a ton of strangers and at the fact that he wants you to meet his friends. On one hand, it's incredibly sweet that he not only talks about you to his friends but he's been talking about you since your first date. You're at least important enough that the people he's close to know about you enough to ask. On the other hand, if you go to a party and Navia finds out, she's gonna be undeniably pouty. Not to mention parties really weren't your thing.

Ifa seems to sense your inner conflict as soon as it pops up into your mind, a hand coming across the table to gently squeeze your own. He gives you a little reassuring smile, warm as the summer sun and gentle as a breeze. He never fails to worry about you or account for your discomfort. You know all you have to say is no, and he'll find some other way for you to meet his friends on your own terms. Yet, you can't find it in yourself to deny him when he looks at you like that. So much love and care behind his pretty teal eyes.

"Sounds like fun," You smile, squeezing his hand back, "I'll tell you now, though, I'm not the biggest fan of parties..."

He smirks, leaning his head on his hands, "Never could've guessed. You actually seem like quite the party animal."

"Oh, shut it," You scold, going for another sip of your coffee to hide the grin growing on your face.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

You turn your body from left to right in the mirror, trying to decide if the skirt you were wearing was too risky or not. It hid everything it needed to, but all it would take was a light breeze and you'd flash the whole of Sumeru with your lacy panties. Navia stands behind you proudly, despite this, completely satisfied with her work.

You couldn't keep it from her if you tried, so you folded and asked her for help. While she was huffy and pissy for the first little while, the second you asked her for advice on what to wear, she was excitedly leaping at the chance to strip you down and dress you up like a doll. Your laciest underwear, your (her) tiniest skirt, and a cute top with platforms to match. You looked hot, but... maybe it was too much? You didn't want to give Ifa's friends the wrong impression of you, or throw Ifa off too much with how different you look now.

Navia's cheeky squeeze to your butt immediately washes all your thoughts down the drain, squealing into a giggle fit. She wraps her arms around your shoulders, sliding her gaze up and down your body in the mirror. She looked positively satisfied with her work, and she did an amazing job. Despite how upset she was initially, she still came through for you where it mattered. She was still your best friend, and you wouldn't ever dream of asking for a new one.

"You look so sexy," She hums, squeezing you tightly.

You smile, "I do. Thank you, Navia. I'd be lost without you."

"I know!" She hums, "I'm still upset you won't let me go to this special 'invite-only' party, but I guess I'll have to settle for dressing you up now."

You roll your eyes, "Ifa asked me to go, not you, I don't think he'd enjoy you barging in on our date."

She scowls, biting your shoulder hard enough you have to push her away. As you do, your phone buzzes, undoubtedly a notification from him. You smile at his message, typing a quick response before tossing it back in your bag thoughtlessly. If you were gonna be out all night, you would need to use it as little as possible, so into the bag it would be forgotten until you absolutely needed it.

"He's here," You hum, and Navia only seems to sour more.

She still finds it in herself to give you a quick smack as you walk out the door, "Be safe. Use protection!"

You scoff, "Shut up! I'll text you when I'm coming back, okay?"

"IF you're coming back."

"Goodnight, Navia."

She sticks her tongue out at you as you round the corner to the stairs, carefully making your way down to the back exit of the dorm. You see Ifa through the window before he does you, a loose-fitted t-shirt, a leather jacket, and a pair of very flattering jeans. He's ditched his usual cowboy hat for wild and free hair that frames his face nicely, highlighting those sleepy eyes of his you've come to love. He's as cool as he always is, hands stuffed in his pockets as he breathes in the night air. Right up until he sees you that is.

There's a visible shift in him, straightening and eyebrows raising near his hairline. Navia did exactly what she set out to do. A lazy smirk crawls up his face, hands immediately reaching out to take your waist in his hands. They fit there perfectly, warming you in spite of the cool evening air. It's easier to kiss him on these platforms, lips sliding against yours like they were meant to be there. There's an underlying heat to the way he kisses you, but he doesn't push for any more than he's given right now.

"You look good," Is the first thing that leaves his mouth, breathless.

You fluster, "Navia helped me out."

"She did a good job," he hums, pressing another warm kiss to your cheek, then another to your jaw before he catches himself.

He pulls back, giving you another heated once-over before interlocking your fingers in tugging you along with him. The car ride to his friend's house is full of tension that neither of you wants to acknowledge just yet. But his hand rests a little too high up on your thigh as he drives, and it squeezes a little too tight at every stop light. Like he's reminding himself to behave.

It wasn't as though you hadn't already tried things with him. He was pretty straightforward about everything in the relationship, including his own needs, but he'd never let it go past heavy petting. The tension wasn't unfamiliar, but it was different. Thicker. More... unruly, somehow.

Still, he doesn't jump your bones in the car, nor does he when he finally parks down the block from the party. He's the picture-perfect gentleman as he helps you out of the car, leading you down the street with a hand on your lower back. The music from the party blares loudly down the street, thrumming in your veins already. You nearly ask to turn back there, you know he would too. You're sure he'd take any chance to be alone with you right now, but an excited voice shouts from the sidewalk in front of you, followed by rapid footsteps.

A cute girl with white hair and the brightest smile you've ever seen stops dead in her tracks in front of you. Just short of plowing both of you down as she pants to catch her breath. Given how red her cheeks are, she's already had a few, but she seems more worried about greeting the two of you than her own well-being. She takes both of your hands in hers, bouncing up and down excitedly.

"ARE YOU THE GIRL IFA'S BEEN TALKING ABOUT?" She shouts, far too loud for her proximity.

You flinch slightly, pulling back, and that gets her to back down a little. She frowns, apologetic as she backs away, still holding your hands in hers.

"Sorry, I'm just so excited to meet you! He doesn't shut up about how amazing you are-"

"Alright, Mualani, we get it," Ifa interrupts, holding you a little closer now, "cool it, yeah, bro?"

You smile warmly at her, squeezing her hands back, "It's nice to meet you, uhm, Mualani."

Another set of footsteps comes from behind the bright girl, and a man with black hair comes jogging over. He looks tired, faces expressionless as he carefully peels Mualani off you. A deep sigh tumbles past his lips, giving Ifa what could almost be considered an apologetic look, though his face doesn't shift too much. Ifa nods regardless, so you nod at him too.

"She was adamant she had to be the first person to greet you," The young man sighs again, "I'm sorry for the trouble she might've caused. It is nice to meet you, though."

You smile a little, "Nice to meet you too, um..."

"Kinich," Ifa answers for you, "let's get going to the party already, yeah? I'm gettin' cold."

Kinich nods, and the four of you make your way to the actual party. Mualani excitedly chats your ear off, pressing her shoulder into yours and swinging her arms around animatedly. She reminded you a lot of Navia, if she was a bit more carefree. She was easy to talk to and more than eager to help you get around the party - she even mentioned setting aside a room for you if you got too overwhelmed. 'Comfort comes first!' she sang out.

You nearly take her up on the offer the second you step through the door. The heat of the bodies hits you immediately after the sound does, and you can smell the weed in the air. It's intense enough to make you lightheaded, but Ifa squeezes you close to his side, and it all melts away. It's not so bad, because Ifa is right here, excusing both of you to a more secluded corner and making sure you're okay. Always worrying about you.

"You sure you wanna do this," he asks, crowding your space, "all you have to do is say the word, bro."

"I know, bro. I want to, I just need a second to adjust... and... maybe a drink." You hum.

He smirks, "A drink I can do, too. Stay there lookin' pretty, I'll be right back."

You appreciate the sight of him walking away with a contented smile. From your little hidey-hole, you can see all the people. Some of them chatted, others dancing on each other, some playing drinking games, and a few a little too close to fucking each other raw over poor Mualani's couch. It's nice to have this vantage point, it allows you to take it all in instead of getting overstimulated like when Venti or Navia push you into everything at once. A drink in a quiet corner with Ifa was all you needed to warm up a little.

You feel your nerves melting away just from standing there, knowing he would be coming back. Knowing you would have a drink to steel your nerves soon. A light sigh leaves your lips, contentment sinking into your bones. You could drink, dance, and really let loose tonight with Ifa. That's just what you plan on doing, slutty little outfit giving you more confidence than you might normally have.

A low whistle near you seems to agree, turning your head to find none other than Venti. He looks tickled by your tiny skirt if the way his eyes stick to your legs says anything. He prances up to you with his usual grace, a cheeky grin lighting up his face.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Windblume," He chirps, taking Ifa's previous spot next to you.

The closeness is something you're all to used to with Venti, so you don't bat an eye when he presses his shoulder into yours. Nor when he takes a strand of your hair to twirl it between his fingers. His flirtiness was a part of his natural charm, after all, there wasn't anything to question with him. So you smile shyly at him.

"Me either, honestly." You admit.

He hums, "Thought you were too busy to party with me."

"I am busy," you defed.

"And sober," he jabs an elbow into your side, leaning in close, "want me to get something for ya. I know a real good combination that'll have you giggling in no time."

"Already got it covered," the very dry voice of Ifa responds for you.

He slides his arm around your shoulder, effectively walling Venti away from your face. He doesn't seem to take it too hard, shrugging and dipping around to keep his eyes on you. You roll your eyes at his antics, taking the red solo cup from Ifa who affixes an unfriendly look over your head on Venti.

"Ooo, who's this? Got yourself a little boyfriend now?" Venti teases lightly.

You fluster, feeling a little humiliated by the teasing, especially in front of Ifa. It strikes you now that Ifa really hasn't seen the way you interact with anyone other than himself and Ororon - occasionally Navia when he's lucky. Venti's flirty banter could come off the wrong way, and you don't want Ifa to get the wrong idea. It doesn't seem to matter though, because he quickly responds.

"Sure does. That a problem for you, dude?" He's more dry than usual, and it's lacking in humor.

Venti takes it in stride, "No! Of course not! Weird though, she hasn't mentioned you to me before."

Ifa scoffs, pressing you closer to his side, "She only sees you what, once or twice a week right? Not much you can say in so little time to someone who doesn't shut up."

You can feel the tension between them building way too fast for you to keep up with, so you swallow down whatever fruity concoction Ifa got for you quickly. Feeling more confident with the alcohol in your veins, you pop back into their conversation somewhere about responsibility and taking things seriously.

"Hey, y'know, I went to read your poem last night and there was nothing on the document," you suddenly voice, tearing through the tension, "I think it might've been deleted."

"Are you serious?" Venti asks, suddenly a little more serious.

You nod, "Yeah. It was totally blank when I looked."

"Shit." He spits out, "I gotta go check on it... it was nice to see you. I'll talk to you later?"

You nod adamantly, "I hope nothing happened, see you later!"

He nods, waving at you as he slowly melds into the sea of people toward the front door. You feel Ifa relax as he finally walks away, tossing back the rest of his drink with a sigh. You peer up at him and find he's already smiling knowingly down at you. He caught on fast.

"Are all your friends that insufferable," He asks, humor back in his tone like it never left.

You smile, "Nope. Venti's just good at getting under your skin. He's really nice, I promise."

"Oh, he wanted to get under something, alright..." He mumbles under his breath.

You tilt your head curiously, "What was that?"

"Nothin' darlin'," he sighs, "why don't we go find something fun to do. I'm aching to let loose, dance."

You nod excitedly, the buzz from your drink giving you the confidence you need as he tugs you out of the corner and to the dance floor. It's bodies on top of bodies, brushing against each other, heat emanating from every direction. Yet, all you can focus on is Ifa as he smiles at you like you're the only thing worth looking at. His hands keep themselves at your waist, despite how they twitch to be anywhere else.

He does a good job of it too, holding you with the respect that any young man should. It doesn't last long though, not when the song shifts to a much more upbeat one. An 'ass throwing' song, as Navia likes to say, and you can't help but agree with her now. Turning around to throw it back on Ifa, laughing when you see him visibly short-circuiting over your shoulder.

You're not sure what's going through his mind in the few seconds he's stun-locked, but when he starts reciprocating, grinding back into you you can get an idea. His hands slide up your sides and over your stomach, keeping you pressed tight into him. He's rock hard against you, and you can feel how soaked your panties have gotten. The skirt leaves little untouched by him, and you can tell he wants it all to be untouched by the way his fingers dance along the bottom of it, the other hand cusping your breast.

You feel electricity pressed up against him, feeling sinfully sexy with how he's all over you. When he leaned down to press his face into your neck, you knew the two of you were done for. It was just you and Ifa right now, and you're sure if he was more than tipsy he'd probably take you on the floor with all these people watching. You don't dare admit how much that turns you on.

Instead, he whispers in your ear, "Wanna go check out that room Mualani was talkin' 'bout?"

You don't respond, just turning and pushing him. He guides you around the house like second nature, pulling you up a flight of stairs and to a quiet corner of the house no one seems to bother visiting right now. The door to the bedroom creaks open, and he takes a second to make sure it's empty, before pulling you in.

His lips are on yours again so fast you nearly stumble to the floor, but he catches you by the small of your back and leverages that to deepen the kiss. You shove at his jacket frantically, sighing as his tongue presses into your mouth. It rolls along yours, playfully coaxing you to join in, only to fight when you finally do.

He doesn't break it until he's tugging your shirt off, then his. Only for a moment before he's back on you with a fury, determined to swallow you whole it seems. Your bra follows after this, and then his belt and jeans fall with a dull thud. As soon as they do, he's hauling you up into his arms, grasping your thighs like a lifeline as he carries you to the bed. You bounce a few times when he tosses you on it, looking down at you with unrestrained excitement.

You're not any different, swallowing up the contours of his abs happily. He looked like some kind of god like this, making your head spin from more than just the buzz you had. He seems to have a moment of clarity, leaning down to press his forehead against yours.

"You wanna do this? All you gotta say is-"

"Yes. God, please, you've been eye fucking me all night and I can't stand it anymore." you groan out.

He laughs, "Guilty as charged. Can you blame me though? This little skirt doesn't leave much to the imagination."

"That's the point, yeah." You snark back, earning you a warning squeeze on your thigh.

"Don't be nasty now, bro."

"Call me bro one more time and you're not getting any ever."

He nods, "Noted. Now... let's see what's goin' on down here..."

He crawls down your body with his lips, hands spreading you out like you were a delicious buffet made just for him. He smirks at the lacy panties, and more specifically at the very obvious wet spot staining the middle of them. You realize he hasn't taken your skirt off, staring at him like this, and go to do so, but he stops you. Eyes moving up to yours like a warning.

"That stays on. Got it, sweetness?" he warns lowly, and the words rush right to your aching pussy, clenching around nothing.

You nod stupidly, and he hums satisfied. Returning to the object of his interests. He thinks about it for a moment, eyes looking to yours, and then with a smirk, he leans down and licks a long stripe up your clothed entrance. Eyes locked on yours, making sure you're watching him like he wants. It draws a long whine out of you, and his smirk widens.

He leans down, mouth clasping around you and allowing his tongue to roll over your clothed folds. It's an oddly pleasant feeling, the wet lace pressing into you, leaving an imprint of it against you. He groans at the taste of you, vibrating through you to your core. It's not enough for either of you, which is why he quickly tugs your panties down your legs and delves right in again. He immediately searches for your clit, finding it with little effort and absolutely abusing the hell out of the little nub.

It's shockwave of pleasure after shockwave of pleasure, and it's only made worse when his sneaky fingers are suddenly pressing inside. Stretching you out for the main event. He moves them at a languid pace, pumping in and out of you with ease from how damn wet you'd become. Each pump is followed by a roll of his tongue, surrounding you with nothing but him and the pleasure he gave you. You were lightheaded in minutes, ready to fall apart at just a single word.

Yet, he pulled away right before he got to the good part, leaving you breathless and worked up. You whine at him, and he grins apologetically, though he doesn't seem that way.

"Sorry darlin', I wanna feel that when I'm inside you for real. You can understand that, can't you?" He purrs, annoyingly convincing for his cause.

He moves across the room, digging in his pants for something, sighing when he finds it. The little package glints in the light, and you realize it's a condom as he settles himself between your legs with his boxers gone. Why did he bring condoms with him, unless he planned to fuck you tonight, which was honestly kind of hot.

"You just carry condoms around with you," You ask.

He chuckles, "I do, yeah. I may not need 'em... usually... but my friends are some freaks. Gotta make sure they're not havin' kids at these parties, y'know."

You smirk, "You sure you weren't just planning on sleeping with me?"

"Well..." He hums, "I won't say I wasn't hoping for it."

"Got your wish then," you answer.

He smirks, "Damn right I did. You ready?"

He leans down over you, lacing your fingers together and pressing his forehead to yours. It's incredibly sweet the way he looks at you, gentle and loving, despite the fact he was about to fuck you. You nod, reciprocating the gestures.

"Squeeze my hand three times if you need me to stop, okay pretty?" He hums, and you nod again.

His other hand comes down to help ease himself into your sopping entrance. It's a stretch even with his earlier help, but that can't be stopped you suppose. Besides, he goes so slow and gives you all the time you need to adjust, so it's not so bad. It takes a bit before he is fully sheathed inside, but once he is, it's like you're in heaven. He fills you up so good, stuffed full and ready to have your world rocked by him with the pounding of the party music behind you.

One last check, a little squeeze of your fingers, and he finally moves. Small and shallow thrusts first, testing the waters, but they make you squirm nonetheless. When he is certain you are taking him well, his movements get deeper, and more meaningful in the way he moves against you. The brush of his cock inside your walls is dizzying, dragging along them at an easy pace making your head spin.

His fingers tighten around your hand, his other hand tapping along your hip like he's trying to distract himself. His usually lidded eyes have fallen impossibly lower, each breath looking like an impossible task for him. It's got you biting your lip, fingers tightening in his grip. He glances up at you, catching your shameless staring, and gives you a breathtaking smile.

"Enjoying the view?" He pants out, still keeping that same pace.

You nod, unable to focus on one part of his face, eyes darting from one to the other, then his lips down his chest and back again. Too much brain power to focus on one part of him when all of them look so good right now. It gets him to coo at you, hand sliding up your side in a slow and easy crawl until it cradles your jaw.

"Can't even focus, am I really that good?" He asks though you're in no state to answer and he knows it.

He leans down to kiss you before you can try and mumble something half-coherent out, swallowing the sounds as they die on your tongue. It dips in and out at the same pace he does, slow and deep, reaching further and further as if trying to imprint himself inside you. His free hand slides back down your body, giving your breast a playful squeeze on its way, and slides around your thigh. With no effort on his part, he lifts it up to wrap your leg around his waist. The new angle deepened his thrusts even more, pressing up against your sensitive walls relentlessly. Steady and firm and unshaken.

You keep yourself level by following the movements of his tongue, pressing against yours, encouraging you to keep up with him. He tastes like the fruity drink from earlier, with the slightest hint of something savory underneath. The alcohol was nothing against him, practically blackout on his taste alone. You might never drink again if this was the replacement. You bring your free hand up to his hair, running your fingers through his curly locks. They curl around your fingers, sinking you into him even further, temping you to get lost in him.

Each draw of his hips sent fire through your bones and every time they collided with yours you swear lightning struck your body. The pounding music only aids in making your head fuzzy, encouraging you to be as loud as you like against his lips. You moan and sigh and whine, just like he wants you to, eating up each sound with another swipe of his tongue. You think you might suffocate against his lips, but you don't mind that at all. It would be an honor to die smothered in his devotion, so much so that you whine when he begins to trail his lips away from yours.

Open-mouthed kisses tumble down your cheek, along your jawline, and right to the side of your throat. He nips at you playfully when you clench around him, having to take a second to groan against your skin when you clench even harder at the feeling. You're not sure how many marks he leaves in the heat of the moment, but it feels as though he means to leave no room to question what exactly you'd done tonight. What he'd done. What he was going to do.

He readjusted the hand he was holding, placing it around his neck and tapping three times as a reminder. Then it falls down in between the two of you, squeezing the fat of your thigh tightly. Leveraging himself up into a sitting position with its help, tugging you flush against him as soon as he's adjusted. The room is much cooler with him off of you, your nipples pebble along with your skin. You don't think when your hands come up to play with them, pulling and tweaking the sensitive buds to warm yourself up again. The effect it has on Ifa is a different story, eyes blown wide and watching you with nothing short of hunger.

"Shit, dude- fuck. I meant- goddamn... you're gonna kill me here, darlin'," He flusters for the second time that night.

You just roll your hips in response, unable to think of any clever comeback right now. All you want is for him to fuck you, and that's what you'll get, one way or another. He reciprocates with ease, once again using your thighs as leverage to fuck himself into you. The pace he sets is much more aggressive now, urgent like he couldn't wait much longer either.

His fingers sink into the plush of your thighs like dough, molding your mind and body with his dick. The heat from earlier is back with a vengeance, running through your whole body and pouring into your core like molten lava. The heat keeps rising and rising with every thrust, and deeper and deeper you fall into madness. The only thing on your mind is him, and it tumbles out of your lips like a mantra. Like a benevolent god, he listens and keeps giving you all you pray for. Pounding deeply within your core until the heat boils over, and you sob his name as the white-hot pleasure sends you tumbling into madness.

He follows after you, bending over you to suck one last purple hickey between your neck and your jaw, and then moans your name. Low and deep, rumbling between the two of you. He comes down first, pressing soft kisses into your neck as you float from your high, lightweight as a feather. You bask in the affection he gives you, sighing into the air, still thrumming from the party below you.

"Feel good?" He asks.

You nod, "I think I needed that."

He smirks into your skin, taking a second before responding, "I think I needed it too."

It takes a few moments for either of you to get up, basking in the warm glow of after-sex. Yet, the party still roars beneath you, reminding you that you are not at home and that to relax you would have to get home. However, with Navia there, it wouldn't be very relaxing - especially after she sees what you did to her skirt.

Ifa pulls himself up first, easing you into a sitting position as sweetly as he can. Quietly he dresses himself, collects your clothes, and helps you do the same. As best as he can, that is. He takes about three seconds to look at your panties before stuffing them in the pocket of his jeans. Your bra he does manage to get on, clipping the clasp together with little struggle thanks to his steady hands. Instead of bothering with your top, he simply zips you up in his jacket and shoves the thin piece of fabric into his other pocket. It's all an incredibly endearing show, ending when he pulls you up and tugs your skirt back down over your ass. Not that it matters when his jacket is longer than it was in the first place.

He knows the way out of the house, navigating the two of you through the crowd with ease, making sure he is positioned right behind you. Just in case. Certainly not to get another feel as he pushes you through the bodies. You almost feel bad for leaving without saying goodbye or having properly met his friends, but you know you'll get another chance to do so. Hopefully in a more calming setting.

He's quiet as he leads you back to his car, eyes focused on something off in the distance that you couldn't see. The quiet night air keeps you company instead, and the cool breeze cools your still-heated skin with kindness. It's sobering, hitting you all at once with the realization you just did the most cliche college act in the book, and it was amazing. Maybe not the best idea- scratch that, it was a really good idea, but maybe Ifa didn't agree? You couldn't tell with the way he was acting.

Quietly sitting down in his car, making sure you didn't ruin his seats as he drove you home. He still kisses your forehead before he takes off like all is well, but his grip is knuckle white on the steering wheel. He swallows hard every few minutes like whatever he's thinking about is difficult for him. Did he regret sleeping with you? It didn't seem like it while it was happening, but maybe being outside sobered him up and he realized what a huge mistake he made?

You shake your head, mentally scolding yourself for wallowing in self-pity. With a warm smile, you rest your hand on his arm, startling him out of his thoughts. He blinks a few times, seemingly shaking off whatever is on his mind, and smiles at you like the luckiest man alive.

"You alright... you seem... distracted?" You ask quietly.

He takes a moment to compose himself again, fingers tapping along the steering wheel as a distraction. He's holding himself back again, an unidentifiable tension that you weren't aware of standing between you and him. A moment of internal debate, before his shoulders finally relax and his hand comes to slip into yours like it was meant to.

"I have been dreaming of having sex with you since our first kiss," he admits brazenly, glancing at you a few times to gauge your reaction.

Reasonably, you're flustered at the admission, but you can't shame him. You'd had similar feelings for a while, but admitting them out loud was harder than it seemed. You admired that he could do it so easily, though. Finding his boldness charming more than startling.

You squeeze his hand, "Well... you're not alone in that."

He snorts, "Yeah, well, now that I've gotten a taste I dunno if I can stop. You've got me addicted from one taste."

You bite your lip, emboldened by his confidence, and slide his hand up your thigh. Resting it just below where his jacket ends, message more than obvious.

"No one said you had to stop," you hum, relishing in how his hand squeezes you so tightly, "it's healthy to treat yourself sometimes. You told me that, remember."

"I did, didn't I?" He hums, fingers crawling under your skirt once more, "I hope you don't mind my indulging just a little longer?"

You send him a suspicious look, “How much longer?”

"How about until someone gives us a noise complaint, hm?" he purrs.

Your eyebrows shoot up, he wanted to keeping going in his dorm?

"What about Ororon? Won't he-"

"Visiting his granny," he dismisses, "and don't worry about Cacucu, I sent him off with Ororon this weekend. Figured I'd be busy."

You can't believe how shameless he was, but you can't find it in yourself to be anything other than happy.

"Well then, I hope your neighbors don't mind missing a few hours of sleep tonight."

He hums, fingers finally right where they need to be, "They're really understanding, so don't worry too much about them."

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

You had to go to great lengths to hide all the hickeys Ifa very intentionally left all over the most visible parts of your neck. His punishment was running to the drug store to buy you all the cheap color-correcting makeup you needed, but he didn't seem to be bothered by it. Not when he sighed so dreamily as he watched you struggle to cover up all his doing. Luckily, he got the cumstains out of Navia's skirt, so you could forgive him for that at least. You're not sure she'd even want it back anyway.

After nearly an hour of painstaking work, you've finally covered all the hickies you could see. Which was most of your neck, of course. You tie your messy hair up in a bun, not wanting to handle it any longer. He'd left you quite a mess, and you only had enough energy left to fix one of the several. Still, when he came up behind you to kiss you farewell before his 8am, you couldn't stay mad.

"You're gonna come to Puspa tonight, right? Mualani was thinking of stopping by with Kinich and some of our other friends," he asks, pressing his face against yours from behind.

You smile at him through the mirror, pressing your cheek closer to his, "Yeah, I can come. I still feel bad leaving like we did."

"Trust me, bro, they're not upset," he pulls back with that, leaning down to press one last kiss to the back of your neck, "stop by the library before lunch, too, Ororon wants to see you."

"I will," you call to him as he waltzes out the door.

From there, you go about your day as usual. Your first few classes are peaceful and quiet, with no one bothering you about anything. Monday is the only day Navia has no morning classes with you, so it's all nice and easy without her pestering for details every five minutes. It's not until you bump into Kazuha that things seem a little off. He has an uneasy smile on his face when he taps your shoulder from behind, but still wraps you in a hug like always when you do.

"Hey, it's my boyfriend!" You hum playfully.

He hums back, "I've missed you, my darling girlfriend. I heard you went to a party this weekend, did you have fun?"

There's a hidden question in his tone, and you know what it is, but you dismiss it. There's no way he of all people would know what you and Ifa did... all weekend unless Venti somehow found out, but you doubt it. He was really serious about the poem that you may or may not have lied about.

"Yeah! It was super fun, I met some cool new people and... and I really got to unwind!" You dance around the subject easily.

He doesn't push it, thank goodness, "That's great. You really push yourself too far sometimes, a good rest is what you deserve."

"Thanks, Kazuha." You're genuinely appreciative of it too. It's nice to hear him talk so positively of you, "I gotta get to my meeting with Kaveh, but take care, yeah!"

He smiles, waving you off, end with a, "Remember if you ever feel the need to unwind again, just call me next time!"

A little weird on the phrasing, especially considering what 'unwinding' meant to you, but... surely not. There's just no way! You dismiss it quickly as it comes, not wanting to relish on the thought and ruin your perfectly good day.

But then, Kaveh and Alhaitham are acting a bit... odd. You don't usually study with them, but Eula was busy this evening, and using study room five without her felt sacrilegious. So, you managed to convince Kaveh to do so during his free period, Alhaitham promising to stop by later once his class was out. Kaveh had been tense since you set your bag down, unable to really focus on his paper.

When Alhaitham comes in the behavior only gets odder, the older of the two immediately scolding him when he goes to ask you a question. They bicker back and forth about it for a moment, before Alhaitham drops it with a sigh. Weird, given how stubborn he was all the time. But he kept glancing at your neck, making you feel a little self-conscious. Had the makeup rubbed off? You told Ifa to get the good expensive stuff so it shouldn't have so easily.

You finally get your answer when Wriothesley and Navia come across you as you're heading to the library to meet with Ifa and Ororon. You hear Navia before you see her, gasping loudly like she'd seen something horribly scandalous. When you turn to them, you are surprised to find Wirothesley scowling at you. Or, more at your neck. Self consciously you place a hand at the back of your neck.

"Ohh, honey," Navia coos, rushing to your side, "why didn't you come and see me, I would've made sure you got all of them!"

Wriothesley, on the other hand, is as dry as ever, "Do I need to take care of someone for you, cause I most certainly can. Might cost you though."

"No, you don't... yet," you sigh, "is it bad."

Wriothesley nods, "Like someone tried to eat you."

"Well, at least I know why you didn't come home this weekend," Navia mumbles, "goodness, it really does look like he tried to eat you. Lemme help you cover it up."

You wave a hand at her, "No, no. I'll just hide it with my hair. Besides, I'm already late to meeting Ifa, and Childe's gonna throw a fit if I'm not at our regular table in fifteen."

She pouts as you brush past her, but doesn't push you any further. She had all night to do that anyway, so you'd get your scolding from her later.

Wriothesley sends you a smirk as you walk away, "Just say the word!"

"I'll let you know!" You call back, practically storming your way to the library.

Ifa smiles when he sees you, then frowns when he sees your hair. That bastard. You nearly rip him a new one, if not for the fact Ororon greets you before you can get to it. He is blissfully unaware of what his roommate had done on both sides of the room this weekend, and you think it's best kept that way. It does not stop you from glaring over at Ifa when Ororon isn't paying attention, though.

When he offers to walk you to the cafeteria, you take it as your opportunity to scold him like a mother would a child.

"Why didn't you tell me? I walked around like that all day. People probably think I'm a cheap whore," you whine.

He smirks, "You're a very pretty cheap whore."

"Ifa."

He holds his hands up, "I'm kidding, bro, I'm kidding. You're not a whore, you're the opposite actually."

"You're so insufferable," you roll your eyes, but you're not angry much anymore, "I don't get why you had to leave all these marks. It's like you like getting in trouble."

"Only with you," he remarks cheekily, quickly moving on to, "Besides, I gotta 'stake my claim on you' somehow."

You level a flat look on him, wholly unimpressed with his animal kingdom language, "That's the stupidest shit I've ever heard.

He smiles at you like he always does, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, "It's true though! You've always got a million eyes on you, if I don't leave my mark they'll think it's okay to take what's mine."

You raise an eyebrow, though your heart flutters in your chest, "What's yours?"

"That's what you are, right?" He leans in close, "You're mine, aren't you?"

You have to turn away to save face, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously. God he was so attractive, it wasn't fair.

"Guess I am," you answer simply.

"Good, just how I like it."

[heliosunny]

Lucky Egg Anaxa? Unless someone has already requested it

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Anaxa x Reader

The Lucky Egg Dispenser was tucked in the corner of a bustling shopping district, wedged between a neon-lit café and a magic supply store that specialized in beginner-friendly spell kits. You had walked past it dozens of times, always amused by the ridiculous concept—spend a few credits, get a mystery egg, and see what hatches. Most people treated it as a harmless novelty, something fun for kids and collectors.

But today, for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you stopped in front of it. Before you knew it, you had inserted the required amount and turned the crank.

With a soft chime, an egg rolled into the collection tray. The display screen above flickered with a message:

Congratulations! Your egg will hatch in 3 days. Take good care of it!

Three days? Most of these eggs were just decorative trinkets with tiny charms inside. This one… felt different.

Tucking the egg carefully into your bag, you exhaled.

Three days.

The egg sat on your bedside table, warm and pulsing like a second heartbeat in the quiet of your apartment. It had been two days since you got it from that stupid Lucky Egg Dispenser.

At first, you thought it was just some novelty, something that would crack open to reveal a mechanical pet or a glowing stone. But this thing… it felt alive. You caught yourself staring at it more often than you’d like to admit, your fingers hovering just above the shell, feeling the faint warmth it gave off.

What was going to hatch from this?

"Guess I'll find out tomorrow."

The next morning, something was different.

The egg had grown warmer. The glow had intensified, flickering like a candle on the verge of going out. You reached out, fingertips brushing against the shell. The moment you touched it, a sharp crack split the air.

You jerked your hand back.

Another crack. Then another. The shell was breaking apart, jagged lines spiderwebbing across its smooth surface. You barely had time to react before the egg burst open with a sudden flash of light.

And then, he was there.

Slumped on your bed, half-covered in shattered shell fragments, was— a person. Or, at least, someone who looked like a person.

His hair was damp, strands clinging to his face as he slowly pushed himself up. His single eye locked onto you, intense and piercing, while the other was covered by a dark, ornate eyepatch.

"You’re mine now."

"...What?"

"You picked my egg. You waited for me. That makes you mine. Obviously. The name is Anaxagoras by the way."

You opened your mouth to argue—but his gaze pinned you in place.

"Tch. You look surprised." His tone was blunt, unimpressed. "What, did you think you were getting a pet? Some tiny, harmless thing?"

You had no words. None at all.

"Doesn’t matter." He stretched, rolling his shoulders as if testing his own body. Then he turned to you again.

"You’ll take care of me, won’t you?"

There was no hesitation in his voice. No doubt. Just the unshakable confidence of someone who had already decided the answer.

You said nothing.

Just stood there, staring at the strange man who had just hatched from an egg on your bed like this was normal.

Nope.

Not dealing with this.

Slowly, carefully, you took a step back. He tilted his head, unimpressed.

"Running away?"

You didn’t answer. Just kept backing up until you reached the door to your room. Your fingers found the handle, twisted it, and I slipped out, shutting it behind you. The lock clicked into place.

You stood there for a second, listening.

Silence.

Maybe… maybe he’d disappear if you left him alone. Maybe this was just some weird, elaborate illusion. A trick of the mind. You’d go outside, take a walk, come back, and your bed would be empty. The egg would be gone. Everything would be normal again.

With that thought, you grabbed your coat, shoved your hands into the pockets, and left the apartment.

The city was the same as always. The hum of magic-powered trams, neon signs flickering in the afternoon haze, people moving through the streets. You walked like nothing was wrong, like today was just another normal day.

Stopped by a café. Got a drink.

Browsed a bookstore, ran your fingers along the spines of titles you weren’t planning to buy.

Took the long way home.

You didn’t check your phone. You didn’t think about the locked door. You didn’t think about the man who definitely wasn’t real still sitting in your room.

At least, you didn’t think about it until—

"Why do you look so surprised?"

There he was.

Standing right in front of you.

Same hair, same eye, same outfit he had hatched in. Like he had walked right out of your apartment and followed you the entire way.

"I’ve been following you" he said, tone completely matter-of-fact.

"Wha—"

"You didn’t notice?" He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "That’s pathetic. If you can’t even sense when you’re being followed, you’re clearly incapable of protecting yourself."

"Well?" He crossed his arms. "Aren’t you going to say anything? Or are you just going to keep pretending I don’t exist?"

Your brain was still trying to catch up.

He was real. He was standing in front of you, completely unfazed, like it was the most natural thing in the world to hatch from an egg and then casually stalk you through the city.

Before you could react, a gun materialized out of thin air, appearing in his grip. No incantations, no dramatic movements—just instant manifestation.

BANG

You flinched hard. The sharp crack of the gunshot echoed through the street, causing a few distant heads to turn. But before panic could set in, you noticed what he had aimed at.

A fly.

Or at least, what used to be a fly. Now it was nothing more than a tiny burnt mark on the pavement.

Anaxa exhaled, looking mildly annoyed as he lowered the gun. "Sorry. It was annoying."

You just stared at him.

Then at the gun in his hand.

Then back at him.

"You—" Your voice came out strangled. "You just shot a fly."

"Yeah. I did." He blinked at you, as if waiting for you to say something less obvious.

You ran a hand down your face, trying to process. "You shot a fly."

"And?" His eye flicked toward you, utterly unimpressed. "You should be thanking me. That thing was buzzing near your ear for at least five minutes. It was bothering me."

You inhaled sharply. "You shot a fly."

"You’ve said that three times now. Are you broken?" He narrowed his eye slightly, scanning you with what almost looked like genuine concern. "Did your brain short-circuit? That’s unfortunate. I just got you, and you’re already defective."

You just gaped at him.

He sighed, shifting the gun between his fingers before it disappeared—vanishing just as easily as it had appeared. "Anyway. Let’s go."

That snapped you out of it. "Go where?"

"Home." He gave you a look like you were the weird one for asking. "Obviously."

You took a step back. "I don’t even know you!"

"That’s not true. You know my name. I’m Anaxagoras. You’re mine." He tilted his head. "And you’re not very smart if you think I’m letting you wander around alone when you clearly can’t defend yourself."

You blinked rapidly. "I—"

"Case in point," he continued smoothly, as if you hadn’t even tried to argue. "You didn’t notice me following you for half the day. You flinch too easily. And you look so unguarded it’s almost laughable. What if someone else had found you before I did? You’d be dead by now."

You exhaled sharply, gripping your temples. Your brain was fried. Completely and utterly fried.

There was a man—a man who hatched from an egg—standing in front of you, casually materializing and firing a gun like it was nothing. And now he was acting like you were some helpless child who couldn’t be trusted to walk outside alone.

This was too much.

You needed a reset. Something normal. Something grounding.

Food.

Maybe if you sat down and ate something, your brain would start working properly again.

You grabbed Anaxa by the wrist before he could start walking. He tensed slightly at the contact, glancing down at your hand, then back up at you. "What?"

"We’re eating first" you said, already dragging him toward the nearest restaurant.

"Eating?" His brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t resist. "We can eat at home."

"I am not going home with you yet. We are going to sit down somewhere, I’m going to eat something warm, and you are going to—" You glanced at him, realizing you had no idea if he even needed food. "—do whatever you want, I don’t care."

Anaxa made a soft tch sound, clearly unimpressed, but let you pull him along anyway. "Fine. But if this is some attempt to delay the inevitable, it won’t work."

You ignored him, spotting a small ramen shop on the corner and steering him inside. The place was cozy, filled with the rich, savory scent of broth and fresh noodles. You picked a table and sat down, finally letting go of his wrist.

Anaxa sat across from you, looking around briefly before his eye settled back on you. "You look less stupid now."

You sighed, rubbing your face. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You were about two seconds away from mentally shutting down," he stated bluntly. "Now you look like you can at least function."

You scowled but couldn’t even argue. He wasn’t wrong.

The waiter came by, and you ordered your food. Anaxa didn’t order anything, just resting his chin on his hand as he watched you with that same unreadable expression.

You drummed your fingers on the table. "You’re really not gonna eat anything?"

"I don’t need it," he said simply. Then, after a pause, "But if you tell me to, I will."

You frowned. "That’s… weird."

"No, it’s not."

"You just said you don’t need to eat."

"I don’t." He tilted his head slightly. "But if you want me to eat, I will."

You stared at him. "That’s even weirder."

He shrugged, unimpressed.

The food arrived, and you dug in, hoping the warmth of the broth would help ground you. Anaxa, true to his word, didn’t touch anything. He just sat there, watching you, like he was analyzing every move you made.

It was unnerving.

"Can you not stare at me like that?"

"No."

"...Why?"

"Because I want to."

You groaned, shoving another bite of noodles into your mouth. This was going to be a long meal.

You sighed, slurping up the last of your noodles, and set your chopsticks down. The warmth of the broth helped, but it didn’t magically fix the fact that there was still a man who hatched from an egg sitting across from you, staring like you were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Anaxa hadn’t moved once. Hadn’t blinked much, either. He just sat there, elbow on the table, chin resting on his hand, eye locked onto you.

It was weird. Unnerving. You needed a distraction.

Dessert.

You got into another place, ordered something sweet, hoping the sugar rush would give you enough energy to deal with whatever the hell this situation was. When it arrived—warm, fluffy pastries drizzled with syrup—you picked one up and took a bite, savoring the taste.

And then you looked at Anaxa.

Still watching.

You sighed through your nose. “You’re really not gonna eat anything?”

"I told you. I don’t need it."

You narrowed your eyes, then, on impulse, grabbed a piece of pastry and held it up to his mouth. “Then just chew it. For my sake.”

He blinked, seeming vaguely surprised. “You’re feeding me now?”

“You’re the one acting like a guard dog,” you muttered. “Might as well feed you.”

For a second, you thought he was going to refuse. But then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned forward and took a bite straight from your fingers.

…That was weirdly intimate.

But before you could dwell on it, Anaxa started chewing.

And kept chewing.

His mouth was still full, but you pushed another piece at him, and he took it without hesitation. Then another. And another.

It was ridiculous.

His usually sharp, composed expression was ruined by how much food he had stuffed into his mouth. He was chewing mechanically, like he wasn’t even used to the act, but he didn’t stop you from feeding him.

By the time you were down to the last piece, his cheek was slightly puffed out from everything he had crammed in there.

You tried to hold back a snort. “You look stupid right now.”

Anaxa just gave you a blank look, still chewing.

Then he swallowed everything in one go, setting his elbows on the table. "Are you satisfied now?"

You shook your head, unable to hide the grin tugging at your lips. “That was the funniest thing I’ve seen all day.”

"I fail to see how that was funny."

“You chewed for a full minute straight.”

"And?"

You just laughed, shaking your head as you finished the last bite for yourself.

At least now he wasn’t just staring.

You leaned back in your chair, feeling a little more grounded now that you’d had a full meal. Maybe warm food did help. At least, you could think a little clearer now.

Anaxa, meanwhile, had finally stopped chewing and was watching you with that same expression.

You exhaled, finally letting reality sink in. This wasn’t a dream. He wasn’t an illusion. This wasn’t something that would disappear if you ignored it long enough.

You did hatch something from that egg.

And now he was here.

And judging by how he had been acting all day—stalking you, critiquing your survival skills, eating just because you told him to—there was something deeper at play.

“So. What are you?”

Anaxa raised a brow. “That’s a stupid question.”

“No, really. What are you? I get that you came from the egg, but what does that mean? What does that make me?”

At that, he tilted his head slightly, watching you like he was reevaluating something. Then, without a word, he lifted his hand.

A faint glow flickered between his fingers, and something materialized— A thread. No, not just a thread, something more like a bond. It shimmered in the dim lighting of the restaurant, thin but undeniably real. It stretched between his hand… and you.

“So” you muttered, “the egg really did choose me.”

"Obviously." He flicked the thread lightly, watching how it pulsed in response. "The moment you turned that crank, it was decided. You’re my master. This bond is proof of that."

“Master?”

"That’s what I said."

You stared at the glowing thread, then back at him. “So… what can you do?”

Anaxa blinked, caught off guard by how fast you got to the point. “You’re not even going to question it?”

“Would it change anything?”

He considered that for a moment. Then smirked. "No. It wouldn’t."

“Exactly.” you muttered. “So? What can you do?”

His smirk widened slightly, amused by your directness. He let the thread fade and leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table.

"Many things."

“Like?”

"Fight. Kill. Protect. Track. Destroy. I can eliminate threats before they even think of harming you. I can ensure no one so much as looks at you the wrong way. I can wipe out anything that stands in your path."

“That’s a lot of violence.”

"Is that a problem?"

"I don’t need a walking weapon."

"That’s unfortunate. Because that’s what you got."

You exhaled, looking at him for a long moment. "Alright, then. If you’re mine, then I should be able to make requests, right?"

"That depends on what you ask."

“Good,” you said, finishing the last sip of your drink. Then you locked eyes with him. “Because I think we need to set some ground rules first.”

Anaxa blinked again. Then huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh. "Fine. This should be interesting."

A few days had passed since Anaxa hatched, and while you were slowly getting used to having him around, he was still ridiculously overbearing.

You’d barely gone anywhere alone—if you so much as turned a corner without telling him, he was suddenly there, watching, waiting, making sure you weren’t about to get yourself killed. It was suffocating.

But also kind of funny.

Because for all his sharp instincts and deadpan remarks, Anaxa wasn’t exactly used to regular human behavior. And that gave you an idea.

A prank.

Something harmless. Something just to see how he’d react.

So as you walked side by side down the street, you subtly reached for the ice-cold bottle of water in your bag, already planning to flick some at him. Just a little—nothing crazy.

"Don’t think about it."

You froze.

Anaxa hadn’t even looked at you. He was still facing forward.

Your grip on the bottle tightened. “What.”

"You heard me."

You frowned. “Did you just—read my mind or something?”

Anaxa finally glanced at you, looking unimpressed. "No. I simply predicted your next move."

“…Excuse me?”

"Your expression changed three seconds ago, which means you had a new thought. Your hand moved slightly, signaling intent. And given your recent behavior, it's likely something irritating." He sighed. "I’ve already accounted for every possible action you might take in the next five minutes. Trying to surprise me is a waste of time."

You gawked at him. “That is insane.”

"No, that is intelligence." He smirked slightly, just enough to be infuriating. "You should try it sometime."

Your jaw dropped.

Oh, it’s on.

You weren’t sure how, but you were going to catch him off guard one day. Even if it took years.

You had tried. So many times.

You planned. You strategized. You executed.

And yet, every single prank attempt on Anaxa had ended in humiliating failure.

The moment you so much as thought about messing with him, he knew. It was like he had a built-in prank radar, and no amount of creativity or misdirection could fool him. He would predict everything.

You threw a pillow at him? He caught it without looking. You put salt in his tea? He smelled it instantly. You tried to trip him? You ended up tripping instead.

At this point, you had no choice but to admit defeat. For now.

So you gave up on pranking him and focused on something else: a dungeon run.

It was a routine thing. You ran dungeons occasionally to rack up points, earn some cash, and hone your skills. Anaxa had been glued to your side since hatching, but this time, you left him at home.

Not because you were scared of bringing him—he was probably the best bodyguard in existence—but because you needed to do something on your own.

You headed out with your usual party, braving the stormy weather as you entered the dungeon. It was a decent run—some challenging fights, some good loot. Nothing too crazy.

But what you didn’t account for was how long it would take.

By the time you and your party emerged, the rain had gotten worse. Heavy drops soaked through your clothes, chilling you to the bone. And, of course, you had forgotten your umbrella.

So you huddled under one of your party member’s umbrellas, standing very close to stay dry. Maybe even a little too close. You laughed at something they said, nudging them playfully, completely unaware of anything unusual—

"You're awfully comfortable with them."

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

Turning sharply, you found Anaxa standing just a few feet away, completely unfazed by the downpour. His hair was slightly damp, but his expression was the same as always.

In his hand was your umbrella.

“...Why are you here?”

"You forgot this." He held up the umbrella, his voice calm. But then his gaze flickered toward your party, who was still standing close. "And I was curious."

Your party members exchanged glances, sensing the tension in the air. One of them awkwardly cleared their throat. “Uh… is this a friend of yours?”

Anaxa didn’t answer. He just watched you, waiting.

For what, you weren’t sure. But the storm wasn’t just in the sky anymore. It was standing right in front of you.

You let out a quiet sigh, feeling the weight of Anaxa’s gaze on you even as you turned back to your party.

“Guess I’ll head home. See you guys later” you said, waving them off.

Your party exchanged looks but didn’t question it. “Yeah, see you. Don’t let your friend glare us to death on the way out.”

You shot them a dry look but didn’t bother defending Anaxa. Mostly because… yeah. He was definitely glaring.

Without another word, you took the umbrella from his hand, popped it open, and started walking. He followed silently, his footsteps perfectly in sync with yours.

The walk home was… tense.

Not that he said anything. If anything, his silence was worse. Normally, Anaxa was either making sharp remarks, throwing blunt observations at you, or predicting your next move like some smug, all-knowing entity.

But right now?

Nothing.

By the time you got home, his hair was damp, strands clinging to his face from the rain. You frowned, tossing your wet jacket aside before turning to him. “Sit.”

Anaxa raised a brow. "What."

You crossed your arms. “Your hair’s wet. I’m blow-drying it.”

He blinked once. Then, for whatever reason, exhaled through his nose like he found that amusing. But he did as you said, sitting down without complaint.

You grabbed the hairdryer, plugged it in, and stood behind him, fingers threading lightly through his hair as you began drying it.

Still, he said nothing.

You huffed, ruffling his hair as you worked. “Alright, what’s your deal?”

"What deal."

“You’ve been quiet this whole time.”

"No, I haven't."

“Yes, you have.” You fluffed his bangs to dry them faster. “You’re usually the one lecturing me about every little thing I do. But now? Silence.”

Anaxa remained still, letting you dry his hair.

You sighed. “Look, if this is about the dungeon thing, I was just doing my job. That’s all.”

"I know."

…That was it?

You frowned, turning the dryer off and running your fingers through his now-fluffy hair. He still hadn’t moved.

But something about the way he sat there—the way he let you do this without a single complaint—felt off.

Like a storm had passed, but the tension still lingered in the air.

Even after everything—the rain, the silence, the weird tension—you and Anaxa somehow ended up bickering before bed.

It started with something stupid. You didn’t even remember what exactly, but it spiraled into another one of your usual back-and-forths.

"You should be more aware of your surroundings."

“I was literally fine.”

"You were unaware of my presence."

“Because I wasn’t expecting you to stalk me in the rain like some horror movie villain.”

"A lack of expectations leads to vulnerability."

You groaned, flopping onto your bed. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Anaxa.”

His eye twitched. “Anaxagoras.”

“Anaxa.”

"Anaxagoras."

“Anaxa.”

"Anaxagoras."

“Anaxa.”

"Anaxa—"

Silence.

You blinked.

Anaxa blinked.

You stared at him. His expression remained eerily neutral, but you could see the moment he realized his mistake. His jaw tightened just slightly, and he looked like he was mentally rebooting.

Slowly, painfully, his eye closed in resignation.

“…Fine.” His voice was low, grudging. “But only you may call me that.”

You grinned in triumph, stretching out on the bed. “Good.”

He exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms as he stood near the doorway. His usual sharp gaze flickered toward you, but this time, he didn’t say anything else.

Not even when your breathing slowed.

Not even when sleep pulled you under.

You fell asleep easily, comfortably.

Anaxa, on the other hand, remained wide awake.

His eye lingered on your peaceful form, watching, thinking. Even as the room settled into silence, he made no move to rest.

Instead, he simply stood there, keeping watch—like he always would.

You woke up feeling well-rested—until you turned your head and saw the towering pile of books stacked haphazardly around your room.

What. The. Hell.

You groggily sat up, rubbing your eyes, only to see more books. They were scattered across the floor, some open, some closed, some stacked so high they threatened to topple over. The smell of ink and old paper filled the air.

And right in the middle of this chaotic mess, Anaxa sat calmly on the floor, flipping through yet another book.

You stared at him in horror. “What… is all this?”

Without looking up, he turned a page. “Books.”

You inhaled sharply. “I can see that, Anaxa.”

"Then why did you ask."

You groaned, pushing aside a book that had somehow made its way onto your bed. “Where the hell did you get all these? We don’t own this many books.”

"I retrieved them."

“…From where?”

He finally looked up, "From various sources."

That was not an answer.

Your headache worsened as you stared at the sheer number of books surrounding you. Titles about history, science, politics, philosophy, technology—some about this world, others about subjects that made your brain hurt just looking at them.

Wait.

Your stomach dropped. “Don’t tell me you—”

"I read them all."

Your jaw dropped. “In one night?”

"Yes." He closed the book he was holding and grabbed another from the pile. "Most of them were inefficiently written, but I extracted the necessary information."

You pressed your palms against your temples. “That’s not normal.”

"Neither am I."

You groaned, glancing around at the literary apocalypse that had consumed your home. “Please tell me you at least plan on returning them.”

"No."

“ANAXA—”

You inhaled deeply, staring at the absolute disaster of books flooding your home. You couldn’t live like this.

So, naturally, you went for the most drastic measure possible.

“I’ll burn them.”

Anaxa, still flipping through a book, barely spared you a glance. “No, you won’t.”

You grabbed the nearest book and held it up threateningly. “Watch me.”

That got his attention.

Before you could even think about setting it on fire, Anaxa moved.

One second, you were holding the book. The next, it was gone—snatched from your hands so fast you barely even registered it. He tossed it back onto the pile like nothing happened, his gaze sharp.

"Do not." His voice was firm, not angry, but absolute. "You lack the authority to destroy knowledge."

“I lack the patience to live in a damn library.” You glared at him. “Clean this up, or I swear—”

Knock. Knock.

Both of you froze.

The air in the room shifted instantly. The argument forgotten, tension replaced it. You exchanged a look with Anaxa. He was already on alert, his body subtly shifting into a more defensive stance.

You exhaled, stepping toward the door. “It’s probably nothing—”

"Wait."

But you had already turned the knob.

The door creaked open, revealing a figure standing just outside—a man draped in a dark cloak, his face shadowed. Something about him felt wrong.

Before you could even greet him, his hand moved.

BANG.

A gunshot rang through the air.

The man jerked back, staggering. He didn’t fall—just hissed, clutching his side before his eyes flicked toward Anaxa.

Anaxa, who had already drawn a gun, his aim perfectly steady, his expression cold.

The man clicked his tongue and, without another word, ran.

You barely processed what just happened before Anaxa stepped forward, his eye narrowing as he watched the figure disappear into the streets.

"Tch. Coward." He lowered his gun but didn’t put it away.

You swallowed hard, adrenaline still rushing through you. “…What the hell was that?”

"An attempted murder."

Your heart was still pounding, but something caught your eye—a small object glinting on the ground.

You bent down, picking it up. A badge.

The design was strange—an unfamiliar symbol etched into the metal, a twisting shape that made your head hurt if you stared at it too long.

“…Anaxa” you called, turning it in your hand.

He glanced down, eyeing the badge. Then, recognition flickered across his face.

"I’ve seen this before."

You blinked. “Where?”

"One of the books." He turned away, stepping over the scattered mess of texts he had dragged into your home. "This symbol belongs to a cult. A rather peculiar one."

A cult? That explained why that guy felt so… wrong.

You frowned. “What kind of cult?”

Anaxa picked up a book, flipping through the pages until he landed on the one he wanted. He held it up, showing you a faded illustration of the same symbol. “They believe in the revival of an ancient being. One that is expected to bring the world to a ‘new state.’”

“Define ‘new state.’”

"Destruction. Rebirth. The usual nonsense." He snapped the book shut. "They offer human sacrifices to fuel their goal. An inefficient and foolish method."

You exhaled sharply, gripping the badge. “Why would they come after me?”

“They weren’t after you.”

“…Then who?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced at the badge again, then at the scattered books around him.

"They may have sensed something about me."

That alone was unsettling. If he was their target, then what exactly did they know?

----

Tracking them down wasn’t difficult.

Anaxa was efficient. Between the books he devoured and his own unsettling ability to predict outcomes, it didn’t take long to find their gathering spot.

A massive, ancient tree stood before you, its gnarled roots twisting through the earth like veins. The air was thick here, charged with something unseen.

“This is the place” you murmured, gripping your weapon.

"Naturally." Anaxa stood beside you, his stance casual, but you knew better. He was ready.

Shadows flickered beneath the tree’s canopy. The distant sound of hushed voices reached your ears.

“So. What’s the plan?”

He smirked slightly, rolling his shoulders.

"We do what we must."

And with that, you both stepped forward, disappearing into the darkness.

Anaxa moved like a force of nature.

One moment, the cultists were gathered in their eerie chants, their cloaks blending with the shadows beneath the great tree. The next, gunfire rang out, and bodies crumpled before they even realized what hit them.

"Pathetic." Anaxa’s voice was cold as he reloaded effortlessly, stepping over a fallen figure without a second thought. "They waste their lives on delusions."

You weren’t paying much attention to his massacre—you had your own job to do.

Slipping through the chaos, you avoided direct combat, focusing instead on the scattered documents and maps tucked away in makeshift altars. The more you could find about their leader, the faster you could end this.

Because in the end, that was the goal.

Not revenge. Not heroics.

Just peace.

You weren’t interested in whatever twisted faith these people had. And neither was Anaxa. He wasn’t fighting out of righteousness or hatred—just cold efficiency. Every bullet he fired, every movement he made was meant to erase the problem.

Because problems like these?

They got in the way of your life. His life. Your shared, quiet, normal life.

You rifled through some notes, eyes scanning messy handwriting about their leader’s whereabouts. Not far. Just deeper into the forest, a hidden ruin beneath the roots of this very tree.

You turned back to Anaxa just as the last cultist standing let out a strangled gurgle, collapsing to the ground.

“Find what you needed?” he asked, as if he hadn’t just slaughtered half a cult.

You nodded, holding up the documents. “Yeah. Their leader’s underground.”

"Then let's be done with it."

The underground ruin was exactly what you expected—dark, damp, and crawling with the last remnants of this cult.

You and Anaxa moved fast, cutting through whatever was left of their resistance. It wasn’t much. The ones left behind weren’t fighters—they were zealots, clinging to their faith even as they died screaming.

Eventually, you found him. The leader.

A gaunt, hollow-eyed man draped in ornate robes, standing before an altar, his expression eerily calm despite the carnage surrounding him.

"You are too late," he murmured, his voice carrying through the chamber. "The cycle will begin anew. The great one—"

BANG.

Anaxa shot him in the leg without hesitation.

The man let out a choked scream, collapsing onto one knee. His breath turned ragged, but his eerie smile didn’t falter.

"You cannot stop what has already been set in motion," he rasped. "Sacrifices have been made. The gate—"

Anaxa was in front of him in an instant.

You barely saw him move. One moment, he was standing beside you; the next, he had grabbed the man by the front of his robes, yanking him up with ease.

“I am not interested in your nonsense” Anaxa said, voice eerily calm. "You have wasted my time"

Before the cult leader could respond, Anaxa's hand—no, his fingers—sank into the man’s chest as if the flesh and bone were nothing. A sickening crack echoed through the chamber as Anaxa pulled his arm back, widening the gap in the man’s torso as though he were tearing paper apart.

You watched as the cultist’s chest cavity split open, ribs snapping under Anaxa’s grip. A hollow, gaping wound remained where his heart should’ve been.

The man let out a wet gasp, eyes wide with shock, before his body twitched and fell slack.

Anaxa let go. The corpse hit the ground with a dull thud, utterly ruined.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders. “Well. That’s one way to do it.”

Anaxa shook the blood from his hands, not even sparing the body another glance. "I took the most efficient route."

Of course he did.

You stepped past the corpse, glancing at the ruined altar. Whatever ritual they had planned—whatever insane goal they were working toward—died with that man.

Anaxa turned to you, wiping the last of the blood from his fingers.

"Shall we go home?"

By the time you got home, exhaustion was hitting you hard.

Your legs ached, your head pounded, and all you wanted was to collapse into bed and not exist for a few hours.

But then—

You opened the door.

And there they were.

The mountains of books Anaxa had hoarded still sat in your home like a damn dragon’s treasure pile.

You stared at the disaster before you, something inside you snapping.

“Nope,” you said, voice flat. “I’m done. I’m burning them.”

"No, you’re not."

“I am.”

"You are not."

“I am, Anaxa. I swear to every god and force in this world, I am setting fire to this damn mess—”

Before you could even think about moving toward your lighter, Anaxa appeared in front of you in an instant, his hands gripping your wrists, effectively stopping you in place.

You struggled, glaring up at him. “Let me go.”

"No."

“Anaxa.”

"You lack the capability to properly organize this knowledge. It is better under my possession."

“Oh my god, I don’t want to organize it, I want it gone—”

Anaxa leaned in closer, his face inches from yours. “You are being irrational.”

Your breath hitched, and suddenly, you were very aware of how close he was.

His grip on your wrists was firm, his fingers pressing against your skin—but not painfully.

“You hoarded like, a hundred books in one night. I think that’s way more irrational than me wanting to burn them.”

"Incorrect. My actions were logical. Yours are emotional."

“Oh, shut up.”

You yanked one of your hands free and jabbed his cheek with your finger.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there. You glaring, him staring. His hand was still wrapped around your other wrist, but he wasn’t holding it too tightly anymore.

"You are amusing when you are frustrated."

You groaned, dropping your head against his shoulder in defeat. “I hate you.”

"No, you don't."

Damn it. You really didn’t.

----

After all the chaos at the dungeon, and the strange cult, you figured your friends deserved something for always having your back.

So, you decided to cook for them.

The problem? You weren’t exactly a master chef.

But thanks to someone’s obsessive hoarding, you had plenty of resources to learn from.

Anaxa had finally cleaned up the disaster he’d created—mostly because you forced him to by threatening to burn everything again. You even bought shelves so he could actually store his ridiculous book collection instead of letting it take over your floor.

And now, one of those books—a cooking guide—was in your hands.

You flipped through it, scanning the recipes. “Alright,” you muttered. “Let’s do this.”

Anaxa, lounging nearby, raised a brow. “You are attempting to expand your culinary skills?”

“I’m testing out different dishes for my friends” you said, already gathering ingredients. “Since they always help me out.”

"Logical. It is good to maintain positive social relations with allies."

You shot him a look. “You could just say it’s a nice thing to do, you know.”

He smirked but said nothing.

What started as a simple plan quickly spiraled into something bigger.

Every day, you tried a different dish, experimenting with flavors and techniques. Some turned out amazing. Others… well, let’s just say there were a few disasters along the way.

And Anaxa?

He was your official taste tester.

At first, you weren’t sure if he’d even care about food. But surprisingly, he gave some of the most detailed feedback you’d ever heard.

"Too much salt. The texture is acceptable, but the flavor balance is slightly off."

"This one is adequate. Not outstanding, but not offensive to the palate."

"Interesting. The layering of flavors in this dish is commendable. You are improving."

And sometimes—when you made something really good—

He would go completely silent after taking a bite. Then, after a long pause, he would just say, "More."

It was almost funny seeing someone as composed as him get that into food.

After a week of testing, you finally decided on the perfect dish.

A warm, comforting meal—one that was simple yet flavorful, something that would make your friends feel appreciated.

You set the final plate down in front of Anaxa, watching as he took a bite.

A pause. Then, he gave a slow nod. “This is the best one.”

You smiled. “Yeah. I think so too.”

----

Peace never lasted long in your life.

Not because you were reckless. Not because you sought out trouble.

But because trouble always found you.

And now, with Anaxa by your side, that fact had only intensified.

The cult wasn’t the last problem you faced. Far from it. Strange anomalies began surfacing—events that defied logic, creatures that shouldn’t exist, distortions in reality itself.

At first, you thought they were just isolated incidents. Freak occurrences. But after the third time you and Anaxa had to deal with something that shouldn’t be possible, you realized this wasn’t a coincidence.

Maybe that was the reason he was sent to you in the first place.

"You attract chaos" Anaxa had commented once, standing over the remains of a creature that had melted into nothingness after you defeated it.

You scoffed. “I attract chaos? What about you?”

"I am the solution to chaos."

That was debatable.

But as time passed, and the two of you continued dealing with these anomalies, you started to notice something unsettling.

If Anaxa had ended up with someone else—someone dangerous—

What would have happened?

Would he still be this person in front of you? Cold, blunt, but genuine? Or would he have been twisted into something else?

You weren’t naïve. You knew people would kill for power like his. The thought of him in the hands of someone truly evil made your stomach turn.

But he wasn’t with them. He was with you.

And despite the chaos, despite the exhaustion, despite the endless stream of bizarre encounters—

You didn’t hate this life.

You glanced at Anaxa, who was casually flipping through a book, as if the two of you hadn’t just fought some reality-warping entity an hour ago.

Yeah.

This life wasn’t so bad.

[burrowlvrr]

— NOT LONG AGO, joe burrow.

PAIRING: Joe Burrow 𝔁 Black!Wife!Reader

GENRE: Husband & Dad Joe

SUMMARY: In which — Joe and Y/N can't believe how far they've come. From taking a pregnancy test in a dorm room, to washing dishes while the babies watch a movie.

NOTE: I got a MacBook and forgot how to act, writing on this thing is so much fun Lord help me. I thought this was kinda cute, shows a lil different side of our couple but its low-key the shortest thing I've written so far, unfortunately :( but enjoy and ignore any errors! <3

UNIVERSE: Tenderhearts & Touchdowns!

The house was unusually quiet, a rare reprieve in the Burrow household. The twins, Hudson and Elijah, were snuggled up on the couch under a thick blanket, captivated by the colorful characters on the TV screen. Their little giggles and whispers occasionally broke the stillness. Outside, the cold December wind howled, but the warmth of their Cincinnati home kept the chill at bay.

Y/N stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing the last of the dinner plates. The glow from the under-cabinet lights cast a soft radiance over her face, and she hummed a tune under her breath, content in the moment.

Joe appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. His gaze lingered on her, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey,” he called softly. “Why don’t you let me handle these? Go hang out with the boys for a bit.” He nodded toward the couch where their sons were quietly enjoying the movie.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, her lips curving into a smile. “Y'know how this works, Burrow. I wash, you rinse.” She handed him a freshly cleaned plate, their fingers brushing briefly.

Joe chuckled, stepping forward to take his place beside her at the sink. “Fair enough. I just hate seein' you doing all the work when you’ve been chasing after them all day.”

“I like this part,” she replied softly, dipping her hands back into the soapy water. “It’s peaceful. Plus, we’re a team, remember?”

Their routine continued, the rhythmic sounds of dishes clinking and water running filling the air. The moment felt perfect in its simplicity.

“Remember when we found out?” Joe started, his voice carrying a note of nostalgia. Y/N looked at him briefly, shaking her head as she let out a soft giggle.

“How could I forget? You ran nearly three miles across campus to get to my dorm, Joe.” She replied, and he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly before asking, "How do you think I got the Heisman?"

★

Back in 2019, Joe and Y/N were basically still kids. Seniors in college, but still kids. Y/N had finals coming up for her Bachelor's degree, and word around campus was that Joe would be nominated for this year's Heisman. They were both rather successful in their academics and sports--but this, no level of success could prepare a college student for a positive pregnancy test.

She sat on the floor of her dorm room, her back pressed against the bed-frame, knees pulled to her chest. Her breathing was shallow and erratic, her hands trembling as she clutched her phone. The pregnancy tests were on the bathroom counter, both of them untouched—her mind racing in panic, holding her back from using the tests alone.

When Joe picked up, his voice was steady but laced with concern. “Y/N? Hey, babe. What's up?”

She tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked sob. Her breathing quickened, and she could feel her chest tightening.

“Y/N,” Joe said, his voice firmer now. “Breathe, okay? I’m coming. I’ll be there in ten.”

The line disconnected before she could respond, and she stared at the phone in her trembling hands, her tears falling freely.

Meanwhile, Joe was already running. He bolted out of the locker room, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his cleats barely tied. The cold air stung his face as he sprinted across campus from the football field to the girls’ dorms. Students turned to watch as he sped past, but he didn’t care.

By the time he reached her door, he was panting, his chest heaving from the exertion. He pushed it open without hesitation and dropped his duffel bag to the floor. The sight of Y/N, curled up and trembling, hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Y/N,” he breathed, moving toward her. She stood shakily, meeting him halfway, and threw her arms around his neck. Her sobs were muffled against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Hey, hey,” Joe murmured, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her tear-streaked face breaking his heart. "I think I—I'm pregnant." She choked out, a hand going to her mouth to try and cover the hiccups.

"I'm too scared to touch them, Joe." She sobbed, and he nodded, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "It's alright, Y/N. I'm here now."

They stood there for a moment before Joe left a kiss on her tanned forehead, brushing a stray curl away from her face and tilting her chin upward. "I'll stand right beside you. I'll even hold your hand if you want me to."

Y/N playfully rolled her eyes, "Now's not the time to be humorous, Burrow." She roughly wiped her tears away before making her way to the bathroom, turning around with a waiting expression—hoping Joe was on her heels, which he was.

She took both tests while Joe stood a few inches away, looking away out of respect but still turning around to check on her every few moments. Y/N quickly washed her hands, taking the tests and grabbing Joe's hand, leading him to her bed. They both sat on the edge, the two plastic tests lying in between them. Face down.

At least six minutes had passed now, and Joe couldn't stop his leg from bouncing. Y/N stared at them as if they might explode, her hands trembling slightly.

"You should check." Joe said, breaking the silence, his voice low and steady. Y/N whipped her head in his direction, "Me? You check it!"

Joe shook his head by then decided against arguing. He sighed, leaning over, and then hesitating for a moment. His fingers hovering over the tests, "Okay, but...don't we kinda already know?"

"Just look, Joe." She snapped, her voice higher-pitched than usual. She squeezed her eyes shut out of fear, as Joe flipped the tests over and freezes. His jaw tightened, but he doesn't speak right away.

"Joe," Y/N whispers, her heart pounding in her chest. "What does it say?"

"Positive." he says, barely above a whisper.

The words hit her like a freight train. She slumps back into the couch, her head in her hands. "Oh my God," she mutters, her voice cracking. "This can’t be happening. I can’t—"

"Y/N," Joe starts, but she cuts him off, her words tumbling out in a frantic rush.

"My mama is going to kill me," she says, sitting up straight now, her hands flying. "You don’t understand, Joe. And my daddy's always lecturing me about ‘staying focused’ and ‘not ruining my future.’ This is exactly what he meant! They’re never going to forgive me for this!"

Joe stands, walking over to her and crouching down. "Hey," he says softly, placing a hand on her knee, but she jerks away, jumping to her feet.

"And what about graduation?" she continues, pacing the room now. "Three months, Joe! We graduate in three months! Do you have any idea how much a baby costs? Diapers, formula, doctor visits… How are we supposed to afford that?"

Joe stays quiet, letting her vent. She turns to him suddenly, her eyes wide. "You don’t even have a job lined up yet! And me? I don’t know if my internship is going to turn into anything. We have nothing, Joe. Nothing!"

"Y/N," he says firmly, standing up.

She doesn’t stop. "I’m not ready for this! We’re not ready for this! I can’t—"

"Y/N!" he says louder, his voice cutting through her panic. She freezes, her chest heaving.

He takes a step closer, his voice calmer now. "Listen to me. I know this wasn’t the plan, okay? I get it. But I am going pro. You know I’ve been working toward the draft, and my agent is confident I’ll get picked. I’m gonna make it, Y/N. And when I do, we’ll be okay."

She stares at him, shaking her head. "Joe, the draft isn’t guaranteed. What if something goes wrong? What if you don’t get picked? What if—"

"I will," he interrupts, his tone steady. "I will. I’m not just doing this for me anymore—I’m doing it for you. For us. For this baby."

Her bottom lip quivers, but she doesn’t say anything. Joe steps closer, taking her hands in his. "I know you’re scared. Hell, I’m scared too. But we’ve got each other, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure you and this baby are taken care of. I promise you that."

Tears spill over her cheeks as she looks at him. "You’re so sure about everything, but I’m not. My parents are going to see this as the end of my life, Joe. The end of everything I’ve worked for."

He nods, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Then we’ll prove them wrong. We’ll show them that this isn’t the end—it’s just a new beginning. You’re still going to graduate, Y/N. You’re still going to chase your dreams. And we’ll figure the rest out together."

She exhales shakily, leaning into him as he wraps his arms around her. "I just… I don’t know how we’re going to do this."

"One step at a time," he says, his voice firm but gentle. "We’ll start by telling our parents. Together."

She pulls back, giving him a doubtful look. "That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to hear my dad’s lecture about how I’ve ‘thrown my life away.’"

Joe chuckles softly, trying to lighten the mood. "Yeah, but I’ll be right there with you. And if he tries to kill me, I’ll just tell him I’m going pro—maybe that’ll distract him."

Despite herself, Y/N laughs through her tears. "You’re ridiculous."

"Maybe," he says, grinning. "But I love you. And I love this baby, even if it’s the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me."

She looks at him, her expression softening. "I love you too."

He pulls her back into his arms, holding her tightly. For the first time all night, she lets herself believe him.

★

Back in their kitchen, the married couple laughs in unison as they recalled the dinner where they told both of their parents. "Oh my gosh! Daddy almost jumped across that table at you!"

"I was scared!" Joe laughed loudly, covering his mouth when he saw Hudson's head pop up over the top of the couch. "Your dad is very intimidating."

"Well, you survived." Y/N insisted, "And we both know I thought my life was over." Joe playfully frowned, "You were pacing so much before that dinner, babe. I thought you were gonna burn a hole in the carpet."

She flicks a bit of water at him, rolling her eyes. "Well, excuse me for being a little freaked out. It wasn’t exactly a normal Tuesday, you know? We were graduating in three months, broke as hell, and had no idea what we were doing."

Joe nods, his smile softening. "I remember how scared you were about telling your parents. But you know what I remember more?"

"What?" she asks, handing him a clean glass.

"How you still managed to push through all that fear and finish your degree on time. You didn’t let anything stop you, not even two babies kicking your ribs during finals."

Y/N shakes her head, laughing. "Don’t act like you weren’t freaking out too. You spent half the night staring at that pregnancy test like it might change if you looked hard enough."

Joe laughs, drying the glass. "Okay, fair. I was terrified. But I knew we’d figure it out. And look at us now."

Y/N glances around the kitchen, her eyes lingering on the family photos on the fridge—the twins’ school pictures, a shot of the four of them at the beach, and a drawing labeled Mama, Daddy, Hudson, and Elijah.

"Yeah," she says softly, her voice thick with emotion. "We’ve built a pretty amazing life, haven’t we?"

Joe sets the towel down and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "We have. And those two little terrors in the living room? They’re the best thing that ever happened to us."

Y/N leans into him, resting her head against his chest. "I still can’t believe we were worried about not being ready. I mean, we weren’t—but we figured it out."

Joe kisses the top of her head, his voice low and full of love. "That’s because we’re a team, Y/N. Always have been."

Before she can respond, a loud crash comes from the living room, followed by giggles and a triumphant "Wasn't me!"

Y/N groans, pulling back. "Moment's over."

Joe laughs, grabbing a dish towel. "I’ll check on the damage. You finish up here."

As he heads toward the living room, Y/N watches him go, her heart swelling with gratitude. She turns back to the sink, rinsing the last plate as the sound of Joe’s playful scolding echoes from the other room.

She smiles to herself, thinking back to that night all those years ago. It had been terrifying and uncertain, but it led to this—a life full of love, laughter, and a chaos she wouldn’t trade for the world.

[bullet-prooflove]

Slut: Frank Langdon x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @julessworldd @yousigned-upforthis @travelingmypassion @julius-ceasar

Companion piece to:

Hypocrite - Frank struggles to make amends for a past wrongs.

Crash - Almost getting you fired wasn't the lowest point of Frank's addiction.

Rock Bottom - Frank hits rock bottom when he sees the devastation his addiction's caused.

Little Black Dress - Frank starts to spiral when he realises you're dating.

Every Damn Day - A drunk text leads to a confession.

Wet Dream (NSFW) - Frank sometimes dreams about the life you had together.

War Stories - A realisation about your coping habits leads you to Frank's door.

The Three Cs - Frank and you finally discuss your issues and pave away towards the future.

The Wall - A date at the climbing wall leads to a revelation from Frank.

Commitment - You create a fun way of showing Frank your commitment to the relationship.

All In (NSFW) - You and Frank take a big step forward.

Frank is a slut for you.

He always has been.

It’s why you have him tied to the bed right now, wrists bound to the headboard with those silk straps you bought together in that sex shop on Mcknight.

“Don’t be gentle with me.” He warns you, tugging at the restraints, testing the knots. “I don’t need that tonight.”

“You are at my mercy.” You remind him, your fingers threading though his hair and yanking at the roots. He hisses through his teeth at the sensation as your nose trails along his. “And since it’s your first time in a while we’re going to take it slow.”

“Come on Ivy.” He drawls, his vibrant blue eyes meeting yours. “We both know I can take it.”

“Frank, it’s a non-negotiable.” You murmur, pulling his hair again, making his hips buck at the motion. “We both also know how you get a little masochistic streak when you lose a patient. I will give you what you want but we need to do it safely. Now are you going to shut the fuck up or do I need to gag you?”

“You want me to be quiet you’re gonna have to make me.” He says with that feral smile.

“You really are being a little brat tonight.” You tease as you reach into the bottom drawer of your nightstand and pull out the gag, the one with the silicone dick that fits perfectly between his lips. His eyes brighten with excitement and he squirms against the restraints at the prospect of having his smart mouth filled. “Oh I see, it needs to be all your holes does it?”

You trail the tip of the dildo over his lips and he tries to jerk his head away as you force the tip between them. You grasp his jaw tightly and he whines as the cock infiltrates his mouth inch by inch until its flush against his lips.

“Good?” You ask and he nods his head before you buckle the gag in place. You place a soft kiss over the leather, your thumb tracing over his cheek. “If you want me to stop, knock twice on the headboard alright?”

He nods again, watching as you pick up the expensive lube, the one that feels like silk before coating your fingers with it. His gaze strays to the strap on, laying on the bed beside you and you sigh as you settle between his thighs.

“Gotta warm you up first baby. You know that.” You chide, your lips brushing over the scar on the hollow of his knee from that cycling accident five years ago. Already his cock is leaking, dripping onto his stomach from the flushed head.

Your fingers delve between his legs, tracing over that needy little hole of his, his hips arching with each swipe, trying to grind down against them. You tut at his desperation, your palm coming to rest on the back of his thigh, pushing it towards his chest. You hear his breath catch because it opens him up, gives him less control. Your finger penetrates his ass and he moans around the cock in his mouth as you begin to pump it gently inside.

“You’re tight Frank.” You whisper, your cheek coming to rest against his knee. “So fucking tight baby, I’m gonna make you come on my fingers instead.”

He scowls at you, but then you add another finger, both of them brushing against the prostate and his eyes roll back into his head at the sudden burst of ecstasy.

“Not so cocky now are we.” You tease, guiding his knee over your shoulder as you shift positions, getting a little deeper and he moans like a whore. Your free hand wraps around his cock, thumb smearing his pre-cum over the head and down the shaft. He fucks up into your fist chasing that release and you stop, gripping the base hard as he pulses in your hand. A strangled cry leaves his throat, that pretty apricot hue blossoming up his neck.  

“This is the thing I’ve missed most about fucking you.” You tell him, your fingers stroking over his prostate. “How beautiful you look when you actually let me take care of you.”

You start to move again, jerking him off in time with the firm, steady rhythm of your fingers. His breath turns ragged, his movements less coordinated as his muscles tense and he starts to pull at his restraints. His back bows with every stroke, his head tipping back into the pillow until that blush creeps up his cheeks and his wild eyes meet yours.

It’s that intimacy that sends him over the edge, that trust that you’ve got him no matter what happens in this bed, in his life.

The rapture hits him like a force of nature, searing through his nerve endings like the climax of a storm, the heavens bursting, giving way to that sweet release. A guttural groans tears from the depths of his throat as streaks of hot, white come paint his stomach and chest.

He looks like a fucking mess in your sheets, tousled hair, flushed skin, stained in the evidence of his euphoria as he clenches around your fingers.

He grumbles when you withdraw from him, your hands smoothing along his trembling thighs. You kiss a trail up along his body, tongue lapping up a line of come before you reach up and unfasten the gag, easing the cock from between his swollen lips.

“You were right.” He whispers, his voice a rasp as you untie the silk binding his wrists to the bed. “I’m out of practice, the strapon would have been too much.”

“We’ll work our way back to it.” You promise him, using the wipes you keep handy to clear off the spent from his belly before tossing them in the general direction of the trash.

His arms wrap around you, gathering you up close, his palms roving over the curve of your back, tracing over the intricate tattoos that decorate your skin. He always needs the proximity in the aftermath, more so these days after everything he put you through.

His phone chimes and he curses, his forehead coming to rest upon yours as you look into his eyes.

“I’m supposed to go to a meeting tonight.” He murmurs into the barest space between you. “But I don’t want you to think I’m fucking and running.”

“I don’t.” You tell him, your thumb tracing over the dark stubble that’s starting to appear along his jaw. “This only works if you stay healthy and the meetings are a part of that.”

“Can I come back after?” He asks you. You reach over into your nightstand, removing the spare key you had made earlier today before pressing it into his hand.

 “I would be very upset if you didn’t.”

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