#OOC this one has been in my drafts for a long time...

[lunarlighxt]

— reprieve | bruce wayne (☾)

wc: 3,047

draft from early last year — written as part of lunar lore (oc) but can be read as ‘x reader’

initially written in lowercase bc i mostly write on my phone so if i missed anything lmk pls

warnings: fluff !! super wordy/descriptive, potentially ooc!bruce, younger!bruce wayne (as in like the second year of being batman—he's in his early-mid twenties), third-person pov (mc is referred to w she/her pronouns), no use of ‘y/n’ or names, mc has hair long enough to be tied into a clip (one or two mentions of ‘curls’), established situationship (they're not dating actually BAHA), mc has abilities (super strength, healing factor, n cybernetic eye implants mentions—lmk if u want a more detailed explanation!!), domesticity, flirty!bruce, mc implied to hv a rough past and high pain tolerance, clingy!bruce, chores, mc is smaller/shorter than bruce, documents, thomas n martha wayne mentions, mc mentioned to be physically toned, alfred is on (a well-deserved) vacation in the maldives, bruce has a bad headache (bane mentioned!!), lots of touching, celcius use (jumpscare), sleep coercion (/pos), gaslighting (/joke) — lmk if i missed anything !!

Reading is a friend.

When he was younger and his parents were still six feet above, the library had been, au fond, Bruce's bedroom. Restless nights tossing and turning became nights by the warmth of the fireplace, moonlight managing to spill over the carpets through the gaps of the preposterously too-tall curtained windows that had always towered over the young wayne back then—the same windows where he now reached half its height, a bittersweet revelation to live. All the while Alfred would find him fast asleep in the loveseat in the morning, an opened copy of something Caesarean during his odd Roman Empire phase as a child opened and tucked against his chest, eyes shut and breathing slow, drowning deep in a dreamscape. But reading wasn't his only love in that aspect.

His mother read to him often. It was how he learned that he adored literature. He slept better with the sentiment of a bedtime story, whether it be tall or grounded, read from or simply spoken. His father tended to be guilty of the latter half, spouting theatrical tales that had his arms waving about and his expressions warping and morphing into exaggerated faces that young Bruce would sleepily giggle into his blankets from. His heart would sometimes swell and yet, ache in the recollection, bittersweet on his tongue. He supposed the whole family were readers, in their own way. Storytellers and story-lovers, one and the same. Though, in his life now, a free hour was tough enough to wring out of his day, let alone enough time to sit back and properly enjoy a book like he used to.

It didn't help that now, one of the only few things he actually had to sit down and read were documents. A good amount of which, for his company.

Such as right then, where he hunched over his home-office desk, head in his hands as his overworked brain tried to swallow the bits of information spread out on crisp sheets between his elbows.

Fucking hell.

Groaning, his head sank further into his palms, fingers weaving through the loose, messy strands over the front of his hairline.

He just dealt with Bane last night—reading was very much a foe right now.

The home-office was nostalgic in the shades of Victorian browns and the arched tips of the intricately framed (and once again) too-tall windows, floors drenched in the liquid gold of the sinking sun through the glass. Carpets blanketed mahogany planks as shelves lined up against the walls, neighboring pictures and awards and titles scattered over the century-old paint, where his parents would watch over him in the various stages of their lives, smiling forever. It could be considered old-fashioned, but it was comfortable. Before him, it was his father's and the father before him and so on. A Wayne's dwelling, through and through. Anecdotal in each crevice and dent and scratch and marks he'd discovered all throughout his life and will continue to, what with the too-long history of his bloodline—if the very lived-in state of the place hadn't made it so, anyway.

Bruce, however, felt far from comfortable—even if he was in the best pajama set he owned that he got a few months back. He thought it'd be a normal-ish day (normal-ish only because of the lack of Alfred, who was probably sipping cocktails as he tanned by the shore somewhere in the Maldives); wake up, morning routine, get to work, try not to sleep through meetings, scatter some food intake throughout the day and sunscreen reapplications, clock out, prep for his night job, do said night job, night routine, go the fuck to sleep. But no.

No, his company had to have some dispute with a Hong Kong branch because of a corruption case (that Batman had exposed) that had occurred and blew up several weeks before. And now, as a majority shareholder, he was one of the several board members that had to figure out what to do with the aftermath. And it's not like he didn't have a plan—of course he did, he's Batman—he had one, he knew exactly how to clean up messes. He was good at it, he knew what to do. But even then, he was still a man. And sometimes, men have headaches in the face of legal documents after a night of getting tossed back and forth in a Gotham bank.

Eyes squeezing shut, his shoulders sunk in quiet defeat as he sighed, eyelids unveiling a steel blue glare into the petty fibers of inked paper. Some part of him felt that it was stupid how he couldn't just take in some words, but hell, exhaustion was a bitch.

His ears perked up at the faint, but relief-inducing sound of steps echoing through the hallways past the home-office walls, shifting to lean back in his seat as the thumps thudded louder to the door. She had light feet. In a different situation, he'd barely be able to hear her steps at all. But she was at home, she was comfortable. So she was louder than she needed to be for no reason, and it was fine.

Seconds later, the door cracked open (she never bothered to announce her presence, not when she knew he could always sense her), and doe eyes stared at him through little loose wisps of curls that framed her face, untucked from the clip the rest of her hair was in, a blank expression (not bored or anything, just a default face) written into her skin.

“I just finished the laundry—can you take out the trash later? I've done everything else.”

The request was strange in hindsight, considering his status. You'd think the first son of gotham would never have to lift a finger. but with Alfred on vacation, the simpler chores were split between them. And well, she did most of it—considering the fact that she knew how, having tailed and assisted the Wayne butler on a day-to-day basis—but on some instances, she proved, admittedly, a tad lazy or she simplydidn'twantto. Which was where he came in, something he definitely didn't object to. It was fair, and it's not like he couldn't throw out trash or clean the bathrooms himself. He'd been in the darkest trenches of the earth back in the days of learning his practice, rotten food and mold scared him as much as finding her fluffy bunny slippers under the bed did.

Sighing—not out of exasperation, to be clear—calloused fingers ran through dark curls in blatant exhaustion that twitched a shift in her expression, he nodded softly.

“I will. But just—” his tongue kissed teeth as a plea formed in the back of his throat, the bridge of his nose massaged through his pause. His free hand waved her over, “could you come here for a second?”

Brows furrowing in visible concern, she pushed the gap of the door wider to let herself in, revealing the familiar silk set of a camisole and pajama shorts that hung over her hips, and the basket of folded laundry comfortably tucked between her hand and her waist that she carried with ease. Immediately, she scanned him and his surroundings for any cause of his discomfort as the basket of clothes was set down by the door that she nudged shut.

“What's wrong?” She asked, walking over to where he sunk in his seat, palms reaching out to grasp his forehead for a temperature change as her eyes blinked white. 36° celsius, her findings read. He was fine, his vitals were largely stable. Mostly unmarred save for the leftover bruises and minor cuts from the night before, and the slight concussion from the headslam into a fucking wall. Soft fingertips scratched over his scalp as she weaved through his hair in soothing motions, willing the comforted flutter of his eyelids as his head fell back with yet another sigh—that had, fortunately, sounded a little more relieved this time.

“You're stable.” She concluded, eyes narrowed at him. “Is it the concussion?”

It was definitely the likely culprit. His skull was pounding into his skin, throbbing with an ache that set fire to his senses. But even if said concussion had fallen rather mild, most of the pain stemmed from the bruising more than anything. Being slammed head-first into a sturdy bank wall wasn't quite as painless as she'd have made it seem. But even with the protection his cowl offered, it couldn't exactly cancel all the brute force from the impact. No matter, that wasn't his main concern at the moment. (but it definitely was the concussion.)

Before he could say more, a searing pain shot through his head at the slightest scrape of a fingernail against the bump over his cranium (again, Bane), triggering a sharp hiss of air through gritted teeth. Immediately then, her hands slipped away to hover hesitantly by her chest, wincing apologetically.

“..Sorry.”

“Hn.”

Eyes squeezed shut, his chest heaved with deep breaths as he pulled himself together, straining to push down the pain blooming over his scalp. How inconvenient.

“I can't read.” He rasped a confession, weakly knocking his knuckles to the edge of his desk to introduce the documents to her line of sight, the white lenses faintly glowing in a quiet examination.

Oh. Okay, she understood.

But with a snort, she opted to tease. “Didn't know Bane made you illiterate.”

Groaning, his grasp found her forearm just to pull her into his lap, arms circling her waist to push her closer, head lolling into the soft skin of her toned back as she settled over his thighs in the blink of an eye. Maybe she should be surprised, but proximity was far from a stranger at this point in their timeline. And she wasn't one to ever deny him, regardless of the desires his hands would speak for him.

“Read it to me.” He beckoned, muffled against her shoulder blade, inadvertently bubbling a giggle up her throat from the ticklish way his lips mumbled into her skin. “Please.”

Moving the rolling chair closer to the desk, she leaned over to skim through the papers, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she pinched the papers between her fingertips. Her head tilted as the information summed itself up in the built-in display beyond the white lenses she looked through, “this is clean-up?”

He nodded once, “for the corruption case, yes.”

She nodded too, flipping through the pages in her quiet, reading through the paragraphs with the ease his exhaustion had antagonized.

“I don't think you want me to read you all this word for word.” she quipped with yet another snort, words laced in an audible smile that lulled his worn-out brain. “If you couldn't read it, I don't think you'd digest it better hearing it.”

A single grunt was the only response he could muster to her teasing, strong arms squeezing her by the waist as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck, breathing her in. If he wanted to say how her voice might bewitch his brain just enough to finally understand it, he didn't. Because this was nice. She was warm. Softer in comparison to his hardened, calloused self, scarred in places he'd rather the world never see. She wasn't like that. All her scars were inside, in the skeleton of her soul and in the heart of her mind. They both shared that quality, certain enough. It made them closer, he considered. He never felt so close to another living being that he could unsheathe his armor, the facades and the lies and the aloof stoicism and unveil his everything, to feel safe enough to sleep nights by her side. The thought that she was his anchor was overwhelming, but bears a comfort in the truth. He'd rather no one else to sit on his lap and yet mock him in a moment of weakness.

“Mm..” Humming thoughtfully, she finally reached the end of the papers as his inner monologue wrapped up. “I could annotate this for you.”

Pushing the chair back, she leaned down to reach the desk drawers—with that of a mild struggle considering the way he clung to her—in a search. “Where'd you put the sticky notes and pens i got you?”

“Ask Alfred.” Was his immediate reply—one that he could definitely feel her deadpan to—expression shifting in slight discomfort with how she was leaning over a little too far for him to snuggle into. he squeezed her tighter, frowning into her skin. “Stop moving.”

“No,” she lightly chided, making her way through the drawers that lined the large foot of the desk from top to bottom. “I'm looking for the sticky notes.”

Another grunt. “Just summarize it for me.”

“You won't remember it.”

“I will.”

Clicking her tongue, her eyes rolled. “As if.”

“I will.”

With his insistence, she was suddenly pulled back up against him, resulting in a position where he was basically sandwiched between her and the back of his chair, biting back a pained sound from the slight sting of his head pressed against the leather cushion. “Just stay still.”

Of course, she ignored that and continued to lean over to look for the sticky notes, much to his chagrin.

Huffing, he stubbornly clung to her as she searched. and in just a few handfuls worth of seconds, she finally found them—much thanks to him, of course.

Quietly, she set the pens and notes over the desk, clicking the tip of the pen open to start the annotations. It's not like she had to or anything—definitely not. But she liked the feeling of doing it, the feeling of helping him in any sort of way. She indulged the extra mile for anything he needed, but if he rather she didn't, she could do that too. She'd give her soul for him if asked, even offhandedly.

“In summary,” she began, softened hums harmonizing with the scribbles of pen and paper. “Contract terminations, relocations, reviews, resourcing, retrieving research, rehiring—bla, bla.” Trailing on, she wrote down the necessary jist of it into the colorful notes and stuck them by the relevant paragraphs, scribbling quick summaries to keep his attention. “And then you get to the lawsuits part and who you're suing and for how much, as suggested by your legal department.” She said, “how fun.”

He scoffed, “how not.” His cheek was squished up against her shoulder, “there's another meeting for it tomorrow.”

“Aw.” she mock-cooed, “poor rich boy with his meetings.”

“Shut up.”

“Uh-huh.” An amused grin formed at her lips, the bottom half bitten between her teeth as she wrote down all the necessary things in the little notes.

Silence stretched on in the quaint, half-modern half-victorian home-office, the light steps of a dancing pen over paper being the only sound that cut through the otherwise nothingness looming in the air. She could feel him against her, breathing starting to slow and his hold starting to slack, his neck curling in in a position that'd probably leave him sore if her were to just fall asleep just like this. So, despite how little her want to wake him was, she lifted a hand to lightly tap at his cheek, rousing him just enough.

“You should go on ahead,” she urged, following the sleepy hum he let out. ”Nap.”

He grunted, snuggling deeper into her, a chosen response in the stead of vocal words.

Looking up in a mix of a deadpan and something fond, she sighed. “Bruce, come on. You'll be sore when you wake.”

“Are you done?” He mumbled an ask, just for her to lightly shake her head as she rubbed his cheek gently.

“No,” she told him, “I'll be done in maybe ten or twenty minutes, though. And then I have to start on your dinner before patrol—”

“Later.” He nuzzled into her once more, ”you're tired.”

Her brows shot up with amusement, “..Okay, I'm not.”

“You are.” He gave her yet another squeeze, “you're very tired, and you want to nap.”

She threw her head back with a laugh, a hint of disbelief whisked in the hymn of her giggles as her hands moved to rest over his where they hugged her by the waist. Jesus, he was (poorly) gaslighting her. “Oh, you're serious.”

“So serious." He added, “you're so tired, and you want to nap.”

Her head shook with the humor of the situation, a grin stretched across her face as the white of her lenses was blinked away. “You're unbelievable.” He'd rather that she was the tired one and he was, what? An unwilling victim to her desires? Unbelievable.

“You're so sleepy.” he repeated, like somehow his sleepy chants would coerce her into feeling it. maybe he was just that tired, and she was just that comfortable and he was too used to it. but he couldn't just go to bed without her now, not when it was better by her side. “So sleepy.”

Eyes rolling, she sighed defeat into the air, shoulders sinking in a quiet relent. If this was how he was going to be convinced to nap, then so be it.

“Fine,” she slumped, “I'm so sleepy.” To exaggerate, she feigned a yawn. “So tired. I want to nap.”

Chuckling, his arms pulled her into yet another squeeze. “I told you so.”

She lightly shook her head, “you're unbelievable.”

Without another word, he'd gotten up the chair with her in his arms, wringing a yelp out of her as she was now held up in the air by the waist, knees tucked in like she was still seated as her feet hovered while his took steps over the mahogany floors, somehow managing to make his way to the door successfully in his sleepy state without resulting into her crashing into anything. When they met the door, she opened it for him to pass them through and shut it closed just as well, leaving the papers and the laundry idle in the home-office as he led them through the halls of his childhood, eager to sleep off the ache in his skull.

Thankfully, she remembered to set up a few alarms to wake them up before patrol, much to his grumbling.

And if she ever brought it up again, he'll only grunt about it.

©lunarlighxt on tumblr

ask me stuff pls — tell me what u think !! <33

[motor-precision]

Instead of getting a pack of identical pens, you could get a couple of different ones and use the compatible parts to assemble a monster-pen. Better idea: gather all the pens scattered around your flat as well and make a Super-pen. A *Mega-pen*.

The colorful mug on your bedroom's windowsill still holds that broken insurance advertisement one you didn't want to throw away. Remember? It has a rubber grip with thickness just right for your big hands. This time you could put it on a pen with a spring mechanism instead of a cap—it would click!

It would be useful for to have a barrel with a plastic clip so you can secure it to your ledger to not lose it. I'm sure we could scavenge one somewhere with the clip still attached.

Oh? Tucked away in the debris built up on your desk is a spring from a ballpoint pen. You pluck it from its hiding place and roll it between your fingers.

They know what it will do best: as you squeeze, the wire compresses into a cylinder of tightly-wound coils. *Yes.* That's what springs are for. Just be careful to-

The spring escapes your grip and ricochets off the far wall. Oops.

[elliscousland]

twirling my hair thinking abt the threads tht i have in my drafts tht have taken months to get to

[dilf-docs]

I Recall Late November, Holdin' My Breath

husband!pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

summary: becoming an actress has always been your dream, and this job you've taken to be elvira lind's assistant is a step closer to doors of an industry so far has only given you meaningless extra roles, but you get more than you bargained for.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, dry humping, fingering, humilliation kink (ooc but a girl can dream for a man to be mean on bed and cute outside of it), mutual pinning, hurt/comfort, holy trio of angst + jealousy + possessiveness, ptwt cameos went on vacation for this chapter, lots of pov change, why is this so long and tortuous omg my bad if it's shitty but my current delusion/pain is pouring into my works.. if y'all don't comment ill unalive myself didn't pull an all nighter with my statistics hw and this for nothing

word count: 12,515 words

side note: inspired by a comment left in the og call it what you want and this req. finally, this became a series! y'all love this couple too much and so do i! for the record, this has been imprisoned in my drafts since jan 20; i have no shame. i reallyyyyy tried to let it out of draft asylum for his bday―THAT BEING SAID HAPPY (four days late) BIRTHDAY TO MY 50 YEAR OLD BABYGIRL―but it got too long and i'm too tired with uni and midterms coming up. my procrastinating inconsistent slow updater ass is to blame as well, my bad ++ i made an edit because i love p a normal amount

part: prev | masterlist | next

You hated parties.

Scratch that. You hated parties where you didn't know anybody.

It isn't like you were anxious or an extreme introvert, and though you valued a lot the time you spent alone, it's more in the sense you can't help but overthink in this type of events, especially given the industry you're in. And so far, that industry had only given you meaningless roles. But it was better than nothing, of course, and you were glad to at least be in Netflix's call sheet for extra roles.

Your dream, however, was very much still alive. Hence, this job you've taken: working as Elvira Lind's PA, wife of famous actor Oscar Isaac. Did that guarantee you something? No, but it was closer than you were months ago. It is also the same reason why you're stuck in this party: Oscar Isaac's birthday, which you planned. You were forced to stay, both insisting it was unfair you did all that effort and didn't get to enjoy it. You didn't mind it, really: you loved planning parties. Thought, you felt in no position to deny the couple of anything, so you agreed.

Which brings you back to now, where you lay against one of the walls of the garden, sipping your drink: away from the music, chatter and people.

Today, the last thing you need is this.

You stare at your nails, bitten to the very finger in an anxious self-hating manner. It's a cruel reminder of today's failure: the audition, rejection burning in your back like a second skin.

You're growing tired of it: the closed doors in your face, the look of pity to let you finish even if you won't get the role, the condescending tone of I'm sorry, you're not what we're looking for.

You glance back at the party, your boss obviously having a good time with her husband. Well, at least she did. Sighing and trying to stay far away to be a Debbie Downer by yourself and not ruin the mood, you empty the glass in your hand in one gulp. Hey, maybe the alcohol will make the rest of the night more tolerable. Your aunt said you were a fun drunk once; you haven't seen her since you move to LA.

Isn't all this too depressing for a birthday party?

"Fuck" you exhale out loud, closing your eyes and letting your head rest against the wall.

"Rough night?"

You pay no mind to the new voice, deciding to sulk in private. So you keep your eyes close, humming as to answer: not out of wanting to engage on conversations or politeness, but because you hate silence.

"Looks like it"

More silence settles in. You refuse to open your eyes, hoping they're gone.

Despite it all, you find yourself replying. "You have no idea"

"At least there's a free bar" their voice is laced with mischief. "Very mindful of the person who organized this. And I know it wasn't Oscar, maldito tacaño" (fucking cheapskate)

Maybe it's because you shouldn't laugh, since it's your boss' husband. Or it's the way they haven't been deterred by your dry demeanor, or the fact that the voice sounds... familiar, for a reason you can't quite place.

"I did"

You open your eyes, turning to the person who decided the lonely sad looking woman on the pathetic silent corner of the garden was more interesting than the party going on behind.

"Ay, carajo!" you jump, soul practically leaving your body. You swear, after such shitty day, your head is playing games with you, and for some reason has decided to imagine your favorite actor as a coping mechanism. "Pedro Pascal?" (oh, damn)

He laughs, "Unless there's another way of calling me I'm not familiar with"

Of course he would be here. You organized the whole thing: went through the food and drinks as much as you went over the list of guests. But Elvira said that he probably wouldn't be able to make it, so of course, there was no reason to expect him nor try to put an extra effort in your look and plaster a fake smile.

Yet now he stands before you, and it's like your brain has crashed.

"Uh- You okay?"

"Definitely no" you're quick to answer, your voice sounding distant. "Now less"

"Oh!" he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, as his face flushes a pretty pink. "Is it my fault?"

He looks genuinely sorry about it, making you borderline distressed.

"Yes" Pedro raises his eyebrows, "but not how you're thinking. Yes, in the sense you're right here, right now, when you weren't supposed to. Ms. Elvira said you wouldn't make it but oh- Don't feel bad. This is my fault, for acting weird" you start rambling. "It's just, you're my favorite actor, and I we met while I'm wearing the worst dress in my closet on my worst day ever"

Pedro gives you a shy smile. "I would've never guessed"

You quirk an eyebrow, heart slamming against your chest, agitated.

"Guess what?"

He shrugs, as to mantain the mystery. "It's up to you to decide"

You look down, to your dress. You play with a loose thread as you speak.

"It's definitely not about the dress"

He laughs, but the sound is small, as if it was for you only. Like he wanted you to be the only one to hear it, like a secret of yours to keep.

"Can I tell you something?" he leans in, and the smell of clean and his cologne get in your nostrils. "I think you're the prettiest sight I've seen in a while"

The air is knocked out of your lungs at his breathless confession. The party goes quiet, and for a second, the cold of the condensation that spills from the drink and mingles with that of the night's wind is gone. All you know is there's a warmth you've never felt before, one that is settling in your chest like it's making itself a home, like he is entering your life for it to be felt now ever since.

Everything has changed.

"Please, stop talking" he looks shocked at your harsh words for a moment, but then your face turns redder by the second. "I think I'm going to throw up and I haven't even had a full drink yet" your glass sweating as much as you now a testament to this.

"Oh-" he sheepishly looks down. "I'm sorry"

It's been a long week. You still can't believe this is happening. How could anyone in their right minds believe so?

"I don't know you"

He offers you a small smile.

"I thought you said you were a fan"

You can't choose what burns more: your face, lungs or chest. It's like he's breaking you, little by little. You're folding. And it's the unknown that terrifies you: you're not exactly a control freak, nor a cold person, but this is all too new and too soon. All he had to do was look at you, make you feel seen, and you don't know if it's years of fighting to be noticed or the way you easily believe in every word he says. He might as well just caught you the moment he first spoke, world stopping to hear his every breath and your shaky heart.

You look at him, sternly, trying from a different angle.

"You can't just say things like that"

"Why not?" he tilts his head, "last time I checked, lying isn't bad"

You gulp, hardly.

"You don't mean it" you insist.

"Why not?" he repeats. "Is it that hard for yourself to believe you're pretty?"

"It's rather hard to believe Pedro Pascal of all people rather spend his time complimenting me in a room full of pretty and famous guests"

"I suppose I like telling things the way they are. And how I see it, no matter how much you try to downplay yourself, you're still the most interesting person in this room"

Your stomach can't decide if to tie in a knot or let the butterflies fly.

"You're trying to tell me I'm pretty?"

"It's even better when you say it" he purses his lips together, satisfied. "Don't you think?"

He leans against the wall, next to your small wallflower spot.

"Pretty" he whispers into the air, his exhale condescending into the night.

"I still can't believe you'd choose to be here" he looks at you, eyebrow raised. "I mean, how interesting can your friend's wife's PA be?"

He laughs, loudly. You don't think what you just said is that funny.

"What?"

"They did said you had a bit of a character"

You scoff, pouting lightly. Pedro sees your posture relax a bit, shoulders less tense, and smiles.

"My boss talks behind my back?"

He shots you a look. "Don't you do the same?"

You place a hand on your chest. "I'm actually a honest person. If I don't like you, I'll say it to your face. Same if I do"

"And how are you liking me so far?" he asks, smirking.

Pedro knows he's playing with dangerous waters, seeing the conflict in your eyes torn between letting go or holding back, but he can't help it. Ever since the moment he went through the door and caught your lonely figure in the back, away from the noise and the livelihood of the party, he was drawn to you, intrigued by your guarded posture. Like you were bracing yourself.

"Who's that?" Pedro asked Oscar.

"Elvira's new personal assistant" he answers. "I told you about her"

"You did?"

He's surprised about that. He thinks he'd remember.

"Yeah, y/n. Rings a bell?"

Oh, that y/n. "The one who got you the costumes for your kids last Halloween?"

He thinks of the picture Oscar sent him, the words accompanying the photo carrying love and pride for his children, all dressed up. The costumes were nice, detailed, like the person behind them just knew what they were doing.

"Yeah, she did them herself. Pretty smart and useful girl; been working with us for a while. Seems part of the family by now"

He nods, distracted. Oscar gives him a knowing stare accompanied by a smirk.

"Hey, why don't you go talk to her? Está toda solita, ¿no ves?" Oscar nudges him. "Use that nice smile of yours. She's had a pretty rough day" (she's all by herself, don't you see?)

Despite his interest in you, complimenting you (more like flirting) hadn't been exactly his plan, yet as soon as he went by your side, your perfume clouded his judgment and the sight of the silhouette of your curves under your flimsy dress made him dizzy. All common sense went out the window, and by Oscar's earlier reaction, something tells him his friend expected this to happen.

"So, the rumors are true" your voice breaks his train of thoughts, "you're a heartthrob"

The tip of his ears go red. God, he loves the way your eyes lit up with fierce passion, as if accepting some kind of game he isn't aware of. That fiery crack, spark of yours was all too consuming. Pedro finds himself drawn to the fire of your spirit, not minding the burn.

He can handle the heat, anyway.

"Look how the tables have turned" you say, smirking. "Am I making you nervous?"

Maybe not that much.

But your smile, victorious grin on display, carrying the same illusion of a child on a Christmas morning, brings him down to his knees. He finds himself wanting more of it, being the one to provoke it.

"Very" he decides to reply. "But it's a good thing"

"We're good then"

"Pedro Pascal" he offers his hand. "But you know that"

"Y/n" grabbing his hand makes something settle deep in your bones. "But judging by how Elvira and Oscar look at us, I think you do too"

"Jesus" Pedro murmurs, "what are they up to?"

"Nothing good, I suppose" you look in their direction, and they both play clueless, looking away. "Don't worry, they'll pay for that"

"Oh, look at you" he teasingly touches your shoulder. Even if for brief seconds, your skin feels on fire. "Little evil thing, who would've thought?"

You barely contain a smile. "There's a lot to me you don't know"

He leans in closer to you. The lingering smell of alcohol on his breath gets under your skin. Talking about it, you need another drink, fast.

"Well, I'm interested in learning"

"Are you?" you taunt.

"Trust me. You aren't getting rid of me"

Pedro was many things: funny, charming, loyal, educated and hot. Like, offensively handsome. But he was also honest and a man of his word.

Just as told, he kept his promise to stay, committed to the whole knowing me, knowing you bit.

Months had passed and he had stayed.

You went from talking about coffee orders with way too many shots and the weather to political stances and failed auditions. Dreams and secrets. Things you'd probably never say outloud to anyone else. It had begun with loud laughs and conversations turned to hushed whispers under the palm leaves of his house. He invited you to his home: gave you a chance to enter the most kept part of his life, away from the noise and cameras, and let you settle inside, like you always belonged. Let you carve a space on his heart and mind, where you where for most of the time if you weren't sitting on his couch, two big for one person but that now felt complete, dipping under the new weight of someone else. Someone to keep.

(He told you about missing Chile and his family. You told him you had always wanted to be a mother. Spoke in Spanish sometimes like the language belonged only to your world. He shared his brief swimming career. You told him about your first kiss; bad. Said your fears, like heartbreak and the sharp solitude of being forgotten. Fame. Failure. Pedro told you to be patient, no one better to tell you so, but allowed you to break down in tears as you mumbled a What if it never happens? as he whispered back a It will, sounding so sure, your heart quieted and you allowed yourself to believe him. You always would, ever since his first promise: You aren't getting rid of me)

Oscar and Elvira, of course, had noticed. How could they not? Their most trusted and professional employee and one of their closests friends had fallen together in the slow delicious burn of the amber flame of love.

It was obvious to everyone but you. Or maybe you knew, teetering around the edges of a delicate friendship that pressed with a hurting softness on your ribs, trying to remind you it shouldn't be like this if it only meant that. Perhaps you were scared of the sharp corners that threatened your frail dancing around the real, big question:

What are we?

Maybe summer was the answer: with it's sun, salt air and sweat on shirts of flimsy material. He had already your spring and your winter. New Year's was at his house. Happy New Year, he had whispered, so close to your lips, it felt like a kiss. A silent I want you here, for all year promise behind his hushed tone, just for you to hear, no matter the fireworks and the glittery noise of music and mellow conversations of excited purposes with new chapters to be written. It was just you and him, as when you sat on the Santa Mónica Hills, white Hollywood sign below your feet, or when the poppies on that park he took you to brushed your feet with the sweet blossom of spring.

He'd taken all your cold and daises with him. The leaves growing and falling. Growing again. The smell of grass that reminded you of when you were young, running around with your brother without a care in the world. Safe. You weren't religious, but believed in a God out there who heard your prayers for Pedro to be by your side all the time.

You'd give him all your seasons. All your life.

"Nice view, isn't it?" Pedro asks, leaning to your side.

His smell, one you wore as your own, the hugs (wasn't he touchy as hell?) and fleeting lasting touches to blame, fills your nostrils. Your body stiffens at the closeness, never allowing yourself to relax at how close you were: to hearing his breath, to mapping all his face... But he always managed to amuse you, like today: his moustache was a tad bit unkempt, new greys here and there. So was his hair, yet managed to look breathtaking as the scenery below you.

"Listen, if you were going to peak this much all the trip, you could've taken the window seat" you chastise with no malice behind your soft voice. "I offered you so"

"I wanted you to have it"

There it goes. The reason you had thought about him all the flight. But again, when weren't you?

"There's no winning with you, huh?"

"Oh, please" he makes a funny face, lips in a pout. "You love to be close to me"

"As if, old man" you joke. "Whatever suits your delusional ass"

This banter makes Oscar and Elvira, sitting in the row next to you, roll their eyes.

"If we knew you'd be this annoying, we wouldn't brought you along"

Life had been crazy right now. Lots of roles and filming, especifically Pedro finishing to film The Mandalorian, a series soon to hit Disney's streaming service and one that could make him a household name. You just knew it, despite how many times he looked insecure about it. Still, he was excited, probably more than he was with the Wonder Woman sequel. Yeah, the role Oscar convinced him to take was what got him excited for the rest of the year to come.

So, before Pedro went to film a Netflix movie he didn't want to tell you about (you wondered why he seemed embarrassed to talk about it, despite committing to the role, as always) and Oscar went to fully inmerse in Dune (God, you were excited for that one), Elvira had suggested to take a break, and as a Thank you for the almost three years working for her, they took you with them. Now, Pedro was a last minute addition, him being surprised about being invited at all, but judging by the continuous stares from the couple, you think this was their plan all along.

"We're about to descend, isn't it great?" Oscar shares, holding his wife's hand. "I needed this"

"We all do" she agrees, leaning on his shoulders. He hums happily, closing his eyes as the pilot's voice announces for seatbelts to be worn.

"Should we do that too?" you whisper to Pedro, wiggling your brows.

"Oh, we should" he agrees in an exaggerated sweet tone, grabbing your hand. You're used to it, but today, more than ever, your heart beats fast. You lean to him, closing your eyes to avoid his brown eyes that seemed harder not to fall into each passing day, so inviting.

"You're not funny" you hear Oscar's voice say. "What a weird sense of humor you have, my sweet girlfriend"

Pedro clicks his tongue. "You guys are gross"

"Right, you won't be saying that when you fall in love" Elvira adds.

"You'll have to die waiting" he says, still holding your hand. "You know I don't do that"

You tense, and he must've felt so.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I just hate the landing"

But your heart sinks like the plane over the tracks, crestfallen.

Despite the initial sadness, the blue of the sea took away the one in your heart.

Water had never seemed this alluring, so transparent you could see your feet pruning and the sand below your toes. You laughed under the sun, skin sprinkled with the salt of the sea and sweat.

"I wished the sea would swallow me away"

Outloud. Voice distant. The water isn't even at your waist, but Pedro looks at you. The couple are behind, sunbathing in their towels while music plays from their speaker.

"I would never allow that" sounding so serious. "I can't let you leave me"

You're taken back to your first night. You can't just say things like that.

"Right" you continue, "I'd do you a favor"

"The favor would be to stay. But I'd rather have it be a promise"

Promises. Funny. Why did Pedro say this things so freely, as true as a breath, when then he'd go and voice his fear for commitment and refusal for love in the next beat? Of course, you can't force nothing, nor have the right to change him. But it stings, that you no longer know what his initial promise meant. Friends. Yeah, could be that, but boy, didn't it hurt?

It isn't enough.

Your heart doesn't get the memo though, fluttering with his words.

"The promise to bother you forever?" you try to keep your tone steady.

"I can live with that if it means to keep you"

You suck in a breath.

"Look"

You kneel down, trying to avoid his face. Pedro should notice, he always does, but he's too busy staring somewhere else. Someone else. By God, this bikini you're wearing... It's making him insane. And hard. Under his swimtrucks, but you can't find out. He already feels like a creep, staring at your ass while you bend, giving him your back. Obscene images fill his mind, brain racing with filthy ideas of the position, reimagined.

He's a fucking joke.

"What?" he asks, mind elsewhere, somewhere between the tanning marks that have started to appear in your skin.

"A seashell" you hold your discovery to his face, giggling like a high schooler.

"It's cute" he murmurs, big fingers brushing past yours. He sees you gulp. "Like you"

You gulp again, this time with difficulty.

"Stop it, bobo" (dummy)

"You make it hard"

No, he made it hard by saying this things without a care in your poor heart.

You splash some water onto him, making Pedro laugh. Feisty girl, his deep voice rasps, making your cheeks flare up as your bottoms start to feel wet, and not by the shallow water. You remember then your menstrual cycle app. Fertile week, the notification said.

"If you ever say something like that again, I'll drown you"

"The compliment or the berating?" Pedro's quick to reply.

Jesus Christ.

"I'll tell Oscar and Elvira to send you home. Now"

"You wouldn't" he responds, laughing.

Your own laughter quiets down.

"That's right" with a soft, quiet acceptance. His laughter dies too at your tone, looking so deeply into your eyes, you feel dizzy. There's something you can't quite place in them. "I wouldn't"

A wind breezes by. The air has shifted. And the worst part is you both feel it.

Later that night, you joined the couple for dinner. Pedro was already there, changing his red swimming trunks for a Cuvabera shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and showed a weak peak of his soft silhoutte.

"Good you joined us"

"I wouldn't miss it" you reply to Elvira's sincere words, taking a seat next to Pedro.

What he wouldn't miss, is you. Holy fuck. Had you done this on purpose for him being a teasing ass to you earlier? No, how could you? You didn't know the effect you had on him.

The same effect that's making it so hard to ignore how your breasts are pushed up, and how it graciously adapts to your figure. He feels blood rush to his face and cock, and by Oscar's teasing snicker, he knows he's been obvious with the staring.

Nevertheless, conversation flows easily as the drinks and food. After rounds of wine and pasta from the hotel's restaurant, you feel a bit drunk. Nothing too alarming, just enough to do something stupid.

Like saying I love you.

"Are you okay?"

Despite being his usual loud self, Pedro's been spacing out here and there, and it always seems to happen when you talk.

"Yeah. 'M fine" you try reaching for him, but he stands up, abruptly so. "I just need some fresh air"

"I can come-"

"No!" his voice cracks. Fuck. Did he just yell at you? Judging by Elvira's glance, he did. God, and to your sweet offering and smile? He's going to hell. "Sorry, just better off by myself"

You flinch. Something like hurt makes its way to your face. He's hating himself more by the minute.

"Okay. Have fun"

But it's emotionless. You let him walk away, and it doesn't even take a minute of Pedro's back leaving the restaurant for the couple to gossip.

"Must be work stress"

"Sure it is, babe"

You don't like their tone, as if they knew an inside joke you aren't part of. Like you're the joke.

"I'll go after him"

You don't know what bothers you more: their silent stare or how they didn't stop you.

You find Pedro on an alleyway, propped against the wall. His features are lit by a dim glow.

"I thought you quit"

He blows some smoke. "And I thought I told you not to follow me"

You sigh, standing next to him.

"You smoke when you're nervous"

He doesn't look at you when he replies. "I don't"

You click your tongue. A beat.

"You do"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Expert On Me" he mocks, taking a drag.

"Fuck you" you retort, tired of his off-putting behavior during dinner and now. He gives you a bewildered look, making you angrier. "And don't give me that face, you're the one who's been acting weird all night. I'm just trying to be a good friend"

"If you were a good friend" he delivers the words in a way it feels like a slap to your face, "you would've leave me alone"

Pedro hardly lost his temper, yet now, his eyes burn with a barely contained rage.

"P..." you try one last time, never one to beg but finding yourself doing the impossible for him. Using that silly nickname as your last weapon.

"Go" is his last plead.

"Not until you tell me what is going on"

He loves how stubborn you can be.

He hates it.

"Go" he insists.

"No. You can't just- act like this! Shutting me out and..." you feel frustrating bubbling up your chest. "I don't know what's happening, just talk to me. Help me understand. Pedro, you can't treat me like I'm a nuissance when you have flirted with me hours-"

The words spill out before you can contain them. He lets out a cold laugh that chills your bones.

"Flirted with you?" Pedro takes another drag. "Jesus, y/n"

It's the way he said it that makes you want to vomit. Like the sole idea of it is offensive.

"Why do you say it like that?" you shove him.

His jaw tightens. Eyes red from the wine and anger. Cigarrette dangling from his lips.

"Like what?"

"Like the thought of it makes you sick, pendejo!" (Bastard)

"Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone!" he finally snaps, shouting. You stumble back slightly, almost falling due to your drunken senses. "See? This is why I told you to go. I say things I don't-"

"Don't you fucking dare blame this on me" you seethe. "It was your choice. To hurt me"

He hates how your voice cracks. Guilt creeps in.

"I don't want to" he runs a hand through his already messy curls. "I'm sorry"

"But you did. Why?"

Why do you hurt me when all I do is love you?

"Because I'm stupid" he leans against the wall, his regrets falling like the ash losing among the patters of the sand.

"You are" you stiffle a laugh. Without asking permission, you steal the half burnt cigarrette from his hands.

He let's you, without a word. He always has given you everything.

"We need to stop dragging this" you let out, flat. Decisive, as you stomp the cigarrette in the ground.

His heart beats so loud, it's the only sound on his ears.

"What's this?" voice barely above a whisper.

This means all those times he'd lean in too close, suffocating, because he'd always knock the air out of your lungs. When he'd hold your hand for too long, mind wandering to places it shouldn't. How your toothbrush stayed at his place, and he didn't tell you to take it back. How you changed the way the pillows on his bed where lined up, because it was comfier, and he never changed it to the way it was. You had changed his life in so many little and meaningful ways. He just couldn't imagine a life before you.

Without you.

"You know what this is" your voice is calm, accepting. "But you can call it what you want"

The moon shines above. The water crashes softly on the shore. The air feels humid and hot, but not smothering. Not anymore.

"I'm scared" is all he says. "Ever since one morning, I woke up feeling different. I just... I wanted you to be there. That your face was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes"

You always know what to say. Words seem to bloom out of you. Now they're stuck in your throat, choking you up like thorns.

"I think I've known for a long time, but you know... It's hard to accept something familiar yet foreign. Old but new"

You gulp. Your heart races.

"Pedro" your own voice feels foreign to you. "You don't have to-"

This was an apology. A search for answers. This is it. It's too much to take. You'd never guess you'd hear him utter any words that spoke about the nature of your relationship, made it clear, gave it a name, less to be under the pale moonlight.

"I'm not ready, but I want to. For you. Us"

His lips aren't as close as they have been other times, yet now, it feels it can end with a kiss.

"I can wait" you reply softly, cupping his face. Your fingers grace his two day stubble, focused on the small heart resembling patch where no hair grows. "For you, anything"

You'll kiss. Finally.

But then―

A ping. Small sound. You recognize it as the one you've designated for emails.

"What's that?"

You take out your phone, seeing the mail app icon badge on your notifications. With shaky fingers you unlock it, heart trembling. Pedro places his hand on your shoulder, as to ground you. Doesn't he know you well?

It's from your agent, the one Elvira had recommended you.

You suck in a breath. Casting call, reads the subject line.

"Oh. My. God" you cover your mouth with your hand. "P-Pedro! Fuck, look!"

He has always loved your victory face. It's the best view, even with the sea in front of him.

"I got the role" you whisper. Some tears of happiness show in your eyes.

"I knew you would"

"I-I got it" you jump in excitement, a scream lost in the night. "I got it, I got it, I got it!"

This time louder. Happier. More excited. He just watches mesmerized every little jump you do and how joy seems to ooze out of your body, the energy contagious. He finds himself smiling at you, something warm as pride settling on his chest.

"I would've personally hunt them if you got rejected"

You stop your celebration, looking at him between playful and breathless.

"Good thing they didn't"

You get close again. He doesn't know when, just that now he can see the acne scars on your face.

"Because they know what's good" he replies, tucking a loose strand behind your ear with a gentleness never known before.

You can't help but smile, your nose brushing with his.

"Don't we all?"

There's a kiss. Strong. Full of yearn, like the one on movies. On songs. This is what they want to write and sing about; try to put the feeling into words. He bits your lower lip and your tongue slides into his mouth, eager. His hands find their way to your hips, tight as a promise, pulling you even closer.

"God. You taste so good. So sweet" Pedro mumbles. Drunk. Wine or you, he doesn't care. It all makes him feel warm and fuzzy. "Need more"

With a sudden burst of movement, Pedro spins you around, pushing you up against the wall, pinning your wrists above your head with one large hand. His eyes are dark and breathing ragged, as if he's lost control.

Your heart jumps in your throat.

"W-what are you doing?"

His other hand slides down the curve of your side, over the flare of your hip, to grip your ass, pulling your hips flush against his own as he grounds the thick ridge of his erection against your core.

His voice drops.

"Don't be surprised, baby. As if you haven't thought about it"

He was right but also wrong. When you came looking for him, this was the last outcome in your mind.

Other nights, alone in your bedroom, however...

Your voice comes out in a breathless whisper. Pleading. "You know they could come looking for us any minute by now"

"Let them" he whispers, heavy breaths out of his mouth, mingling with your own. "Don't you want to properly celebrate, baby? Don't act like you don't want it. What if they walked in right now and saw their assistant grinding on their friend? Dripping all over my pants like the dirty slut you are?"

He whines as you grind your hips down on him.

"Then we better put on a show, don't you think?"

The khaki does a very poor job of hiding the wet patch already forming in the fabric over his tip, and if you had more time, you'd probably ask to suck him off; that's how equally horny and grateful you are now.

"Dirty girl"

So damn hot, your arousal pools into your now wet and sticky panties. Shout out to the dress: you don't think you could've handled the pulse of your aching cunt inside jeans.

"M'sorry for not being able to, you know-" he wiggles his eyebrows, smile soon strained by gritted teeth. "Wish I could just fuck you, here and now"

"Well, you can always come to my room tonight" and pull out the spare keycard the hotel gave you, taunting him with it like a hungry dog with a bone.

He gives you a hopeful look.

"You bet I'll be there" and bites it away from your grasp.

It's so sexy, but he's soon dropping it somewhere, falling with a soft click to the sand, because he's kissing you again, whole mouth devouring yours. Pedro makes little noises, all too strained and eager, groaning as his head falls back, your damp panties pressed intimately against the cloth of his shorts.

Pedro is fucking flying. Borderline ascending. All he knows is his cock throbbs hard as your clothed pussy grinds down on his lap while you rock your hips against his.

"Fuck-" he curses, "shouldn't wore such a small little frail dress while parading around me, baby. Es una puta tortura" (it's a fucking torture)

He grips your hips tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fights the urge to grind up against you. His large hands slid up your sides, skimming over the side of your ribs, the swell of your breasts. Pedro hums in satisfaction. Along blooms something akin to pride in your chest.

"You like it?"

"More than I should" he admits, cheeks flaring up.

"So that's why you were distracted" you laugh at him, playfully swatting his chest. "Couldn't handle the y/n charm?"

"Shut up" he mumbles, embarrased.

"Make me"

He rests his head down in your collarbones, stubble making light tickles as it grazes against your flushed skin, down in the crook of your neck, hiding his face there. Pedro breathes you in, musk mixed with sweat and the fading notes of your floral perfume, then growls.

"I don't know how I'll stop myself from not having you, baby. You've fucked me up, I swear" you moan at the intensity of each word that spills from his mouth, "might not care if Oscar and Elvira walk in now-"

"Pedro!" you yelp as his hips rolling to meet yours. A pink embarrassement washes over your face, not only at the thought but also at how you're not entirely displeased. "D-don't say that"

"Oh, please. Will you tell me you don't like the idea? Should've thought about it first, then, naughty girl" he rasps, voice a low, desperate rumble. "Don't you feel what you do to me? How hard I am for you?"

With each word, a new thrust of his hips, khaki shorts against your panties rubbing deliciously. He could feel all of your heat even through the layers separating you.

Pedro groans softly, hips rolling urgently against yours as he pinned you harder to the wall with his body, his soft planes molding with your own.

What a vacation.

(Dry humping with Pedro Pascal on a hotel room during a getaway with your boss, who happened to be Elvira Lind, wife of Oscar Isaac? After being handed a role you fought hard for? Never ever even dreamed of it)

"You want to come on my cock like this?" Pedro purrs in your ear. "Want me to dry hump this little cunt until you're coming?"

The thick bulge of his erection rubs right over your clothed slit. He feels your body tensing, breath coming in short gasps. One of those dies in your throat as you feel his fingers dipping underneath to touch your slick folds.

"Jesus, baby. You're soaked" he speaks as his fingers part your lips, delving deeper to stroke over your swollen clit. "Is this all for me, sweetheart?"

He circles your clit with the rough pad of his finger, feeling your hips buck and writhe against his touch. He can feel your walls starting to flutter, your body tensing as your climax approaches.

"Let me reward you, then, for bein' such a good girl" voice a low rasp in your ear. "My future movie star"

Pedro rubs your clit harder, fingers pumping in and out as he ground his cock against you, chasing his own desperate pleasure. He too was so close, balls tight, cock throbbing and leak on his pants.

"Fuck, Y/n... come on, baby. Come for me"

He feels your body stiffen and then fall against him as your orgasm crashes over you. He groans long and low as he feels your slick walls pulsing and fluttering around his rough digits.

It's not long before he comes, hard, his cock jerking and pulsing as he spills himself in his pants, seeping through the cotton and staining the fabric.

Now it's his turn to slump against you, pinning you to the wall with his larger frame as he struggles to catch his breath. His fingers still their movements, pulling them out of your soaked heat as he tries to even his breathing.

He nuzzles into your hair, wearing a lazy smile you can't see.

"That's my good girl. Came so pretty, all for me" Pedro praises. "Made a complete mess of yourself, didn't you? Even when you knew they could come looking for us, but that didn't stop you at all, dirty baby"

You chuckle, readjusting yourself.

"Time to head back, dirty boy"

"Boo, you're boring" he jokes. "But whatever my girl wants"

Pedro leans to kiss your hand, softly. You giggle.

"I like my men obedient"

"And I'm into submission" he winks, "so we're even"

Oscar and Elvira don't ask about your thirty minute absence, yet by their unspoken married couple secret language, it's like they know or at least guess what happened. And your shared glances and smiles give it away, anyway.

"I'm heading to my room" you announce after dessert, brushing your fingers with Pedro's. A small reminder.

"It's barely ten" Oscar replies with a strange tone.

"Tonight was fun but I'm tired" you offer a rather lazy excuse. "Goodnight"

The copy of your key burns in his pocket. He abruptly stands up, not even five minutes after. He is as obvious as impatient.

"Wow, slow down buddy" Oscar grabs his arm, forcing him to sit down again. His cock twitches, as pissed as he is. "Easy. There's no rush, is it? Or do you have somewhere else to be?"

He gulps down.

"Oh, look at them. Didn't I tell you so?" Elvira laughs.

"I thought so too!" Oscar argues.

The woman just gives him a glare. "Yet who came up with it first?"

"Fine, wife wins this round" he slumps on his chair. Then looks at Pedro, pointing her. "You can't win with this one"

She ignores him, leaning forward, elbows propped in the table.

"So, did you two-"

Pedro's cheeks burn. "I'm not gonna share that-"

"-Talk" she finishes, "but now I'm curious to know what you aren't meant to share"

"Secundo eso" Oscar chimes in. (I second that)

"I need to go, really" he insists, thinking of you. On your bathroom, propping yourself in the mirror, starring and smiling too much at your reflection.

"I get it, time's precious" his friend coincides. "You aren't getting any younger dude"

This is his banter with Oscar, all playful no damage meant. But his stomach sinks.

In a way, he's right, and some of the doubts that held him back come crawling and settling on his head. They whisper until their words cut deep and find home in the darkest corners of his mind, feeding from the shadows.

A young couple passes by him. He hadn't even registered he'd stood up until the perfume of the woman, fruity, wafts into his circle. Until the man's voice and laughter is clear, full of life and less burden of the years passed by. They look so good together, and then she leans in to whisper to him, looking at Pedro. The man turns around, smiling but then looking at her, lastly at the exit doors. And they're gone. Maybe they recognized him, but right now, it feels like the universe has sent him a message.

A cruel unwarranted blow of reality.

(Aching joints meeting your brand new. The coloring of his hair that hadn't started in yours. The rough of his skin against the soft of your own. The wrinkles you had of laughter and expression opposed to those he simply had because of time. His soft planes compared to your rigid body. The size difference. The age gap. That was his reality and it fucking sucked)

His phone chimes in on cue.

Thank you for tonight. That was amazing

Pedro smiles, sadly so, as he types an answer.

It was

In past. Fitting for an ending. A goodbye.

The key burns still. But he doesn't take it out, not even when the shorts drop somewhere on the pile of clothes on his room's couch. He just falls in bed, burying his face into the pillow until the pushing force of guilt and feelings lull him to sleep.

On the other side of the hotel, moon shines it's light into an empty room, waiting bed cold with deception, many questions asked to the silence, not sure if you want the answers.

You should always trust your intuition.

It didn't fail you when you decided to leave your country behind, despite the failure, homesickness and loneliness gnawing at your heartstrings season to season.

Now? You were about to star in one of Netflix's original romcoms, and while to others it may seem small, to you, this leap in your career from background roles to lead meant everything.

It also didn't fail you when it came to Pedro. Whom you caught his first stare across the room, holding it dearly to your heart like the night you met. The age gap, different stages in life, work... all of it blurred to the sound of his low laugh and voice.

I think you're the prettiest sight I've seen in a while.

You loved being right. You hated not being proved wrong now.

For the rest of the vacation, is like Pedro did a whole switch: he made it his mission to act like nothing happened, like you hadn't happened.

Maybe, the thrill or vacation release was what he wanted, and the hoping was only on your side. The deep connection you'd nurtured for months was gone in seconds, taken away from you before you even learned what loving was.

He was commited, you have to give him that. Even on the plane, in such reduced space, he managed to remain quiet, not even batting an eye at Oscar and Elvira's questioning stares. They were probably as confused as you.

It all stayed back in the island: the sound of waves, sand in your feet and the hot sun of stolen stares and whispers lost in the humid night. The hard of the wall pressed against your back. The moonlight over the sea as he said Us. And how he tasted, like the wine and cheese he glazed his pasta with. In every cup and serving, he will be now, not like you wanted but like a ghost. Haunting.

It was over.

So were your days working for Elvira, who had become sort of a mother figure to you, especially after being away from yours. In this new stage of life, being an assistant just didn't fit into your schedule anymore, and as grateful as you were to have met them―what the family did for you―, it was time to go.

This meant you'd still keep in touch, though. Still, the chances of seeing Pedro again were low, and you have yet to decide if that was good or bad, because what made you feel giddy had turned to dread.

Despite it all, you forced yourself to remain positive. Shooting for your role was about to begin and you weren't going to let a man ruin it. You hadn't let this things hurt before, why should they now?

Pedro was different.

If for fleeting time had your paths converged, you're aware you'll remember those weeks for the rest of your life. You know it by the way your digits twitch with need, his number ingrained into your mind due to the hours spent thinking about it. You called your parents all the time, as usual yet felt guilty because now, Pedro was the first person on your mind.

He was the one you wanted to speak. Talk about your day on set. For him to go through your lines with you, like he had done before your audition. Take this, and he gave you one of his hoodies that day, the Carrie one. I'll be there, Pedro said. Now you won't feel alone. You wish you kept it, just to remember his smell, gone weeks ago of your house, last reminder he once lived in here like it was his real home.

You hated driving across his house, not daring to step a foot inside. How leaves turned from green to yellow, the orange spicy cinnamon air of November's autumn welcoming your still broken heart. How the premiere for his series was around the corner, days away, and you kept staring at the phone for too long. To congratulate him. Ask how he's been. If he's nervous. If you'll watch the first episode together.

"Hey, y/n" you raise your head from your phone, fingers hovering over his contact, yet again. You turn it off, embarrased. "Got any plans for later?"

It's your co-star, Jordan Fisher. You both share a passion for dancing, something you do a lot in this movie, Work It. It had been fun so far, and you've met the two leads, him and Sabrina Carpenter, spending much more time with the latter as you play her bestfriend. While not being the main role, you would treasure this experience forever.

"Um, I don't think so" you answer, smiling. "Why?"

"I was going to grab some drinks in this café nearby. Want to come?"

You look at your phone, then at him. You tell yourself this is okay, even if a part of you is screaming in betrayal.

No, you deserve to be happy. To go out and not think about Pedro at all. Enough moping around when no one is looking. Enough of forbidding yourself from moving on, holding onto heartache like it's a crown or a badge to wear with honor.

"Sure" you stand up, throwing your phone inside your bag. For the first time, you truly smile and don't think about Pedro and the summer sorrow. "A coffee right now sounds perfect"

Pedro has been miserable.

Ever since you came back from your trip, the distance got even bigger. Not louder, quieter: long gone the loud laughter and endless conversations. You didn't question him, just gave him those eyes full of grief, pain and confusion he hated. He avoided your stare, knowing he would cave in the moment he gazed back. So you respected his silence and distance, helped the breach grow bigger. Pedro doesn't know what hurts the most: that you stopped trying because you respected his boundaries that much, without a question, or that you had given up on him that easily.

He's currently sat on his living room, some movie playing in the background as he scrolls through his phone. He never thought he'd be one of those people, but once the bad habit started, he couldn't quit it. You'd chastise him: Look at you, trying to fit in with the youngsters and our bad etiquette. Your voice was light, teasing, but now he's reimagining it with a cruel light to it, laced with mockery. Not joking with him. At him.

His phone chimes in. It's a text from Oscar.

Pedro. Have you seen this?

Three dots. Erased. Then again. Finally, he gives up and just sends a link.

Jordan Fisher And his Co-Star, Y/n L/n, More Than Friends?

He turns off the phone, unable to see more. His breathing turns frantic, lungs burning with each breath he takes.

Pedro turns it on again, like he wants to punish himself in a way. His fingers presses over the blue text, the article showing up in no time on his screen. If the title hurt him enough, the picture below kills him.

That smile he misses, again seen through a screen, as the one's he's captured and keeps on his phone, seeing them when it's late at night and the pain of your absence becomes unbearable. But he's not the reason why you smile. It's him: young and handsome, coffee in hand with the same logo as yours.

Did he know you preferred brown sugar just because you liked the color? It's my favorite color, while looking at his eyes. Does Jordan know you always buy extra whipped cream when you order it cold? How does he know what to say to make you laugh the way only he knew: eyes crinkled, corners wrinkled and that loud sound that lit up a room? It was his, in a way, a trophy as important as any award the industry could give him. But now he's staring at it through an article, a young man by your side.

You look good. Beautiful. A dark part of him wishes you weren't doing well, that it's just a facade, like him. That deep down, you can't sleep at night thinking of him, and when you close your eyes, he's the last thing you think of and the one you dream of.

He wants you to mourn this fight that went down with cold acceptance. For you to feel the same tug at your heartstrings when you look around you, because for him, you're everywhere: in every corner of his house and life, haunted by the brushstrokes your colors painted on his life. But now the paint has dried, cracked, and he's selfishly wishing you haven't moved on. That you think of him as much as he thinks of the sand, your moans and your sweet taste. Of being so close to paradise and letting you go.

That you're hurting just means it mattered to you, yet now, with the smile mocking him on his face, he thinks you never cared.

Worst part is he deserves it. He was the one who pushed you away.

His fingers hover over his phone. No, it's not the right time. It never feels like it is, regret washing away with cowardice his chances. He's dialing other number. It takes a while for the line to pick up.

"I was waiting for your call"

Pedro rolls his eyes. "Very funny"

Oscar scoffs. "I wasn't trying to be"

"Why'd send me that?" he's asking, knot on his stomach.

"Why do you think?" voice stern, acompanied by a matter-of-fact tone. "Usa la cabeza" (use your head)

"To torture me?"

He only laughs. "So you can do something about it"

And the only thing he did was grab the closest bottle and drink until the tears of his amber eyes melted within the mirroring liquid, world reduced to a quiet blur of ringing ears and broken heart on his lonely bed, missing your smell and how it dipped under your shared weight.

Grief turned to anger fast. A fury that went in burning circles of regret and helplessness.

How could you?

Why hadn't you fight more for...

How could he even call you both?

(Call it what you want, you said)

No. He had no right being mad.

But, was he that easy to forget?

Anger makes his face hot with embarrassement and rage. His fists turn white, curling and uncurling. His hair is a mess and he knows every breath he takes now reeks of whiskey. What he doesn't know is how he ends up in front of your house after months of not being able to even call you on the phone, same white knucles now relaxed into a bright pink that matches with the drunken blush of his face, falling into the peaceful familiarity of coming home, all pain gone for a fleeting moment as soon as he senses the faint smell of your plants in the porch. Daises are my favorite, the entrance to your house filled with them. He gave you one for your birthday last year.

"Pedro?"

Had he already knocked your door? He stares at his trecherous hand. Pedro doesn't even know what to say, his name called by you sinking into his chest.

Despite his slurred senses, he can see you: your soft hair, still damp from the shower. The roses and milk aroma on your skin he so dearly missed. The way the loose t-shirt hangs from your body, paired with your Cherry Blossom socks with Van Gogh's painting on their pattern. Your bare legs make him dizzy, as if the alcohol had not done enough damage to his balance already.

"Pedro" you repeat, "what are you doing here?"

Good question. He doesn't even know the answer.

(Or maybe he does, but damn, isn't he a fucking coward?)

"Are you with him?"

"What?"

"That guy" he tries explaining, his own voice sounding distant to himself. "Are you dating?"

You laugh, coldly. He takes a step back, like you've landed a blow across his face.

"What makes you think you have the right to show up at my door after months of ignoring me to ask that?" you lean on the doorframe, dismissive, but he feels you're blocking the entrance. Blocking him out of your life. "It's none of your bussiness"

"Y-you can't be with him"

Weak. Like a fucking beggar.

"I beg your pardon? Jesus, the nerve that you have-" you throw your hands in the air, a thing you do when you lose your temper, which is frequent to happen. As calculating and driven you were, you weren't a patient woman. "Did you think it was a good idea to come by and tell me what to do? On top of all that, drunk? Fuck, you're a mess"

His shoulders slump down with the weight of shame, running a hand through his messy hair, distressed. He looks up again and examines your features.

They're the same, and he doesn't know why he's relieved, as if you were to change in months. But to be loved is to be changed, and God knows he was scared of finding another version of you behind the door, one without free hair and floral scent: one that didn't belong to him anymore.

"You didn't even call for my birthday" he looks up to you, but you look at the floor, voice breaking. "I knew that's when it was over. For real"

"Y/n-"

God, you missed the way his voice would call you. But the hurt is too much to bear, months of piled up sadness forming a storm: the one you've always been, never a calm sea like the one in front of you when you kissed, but always roaring, each word aiming to hit like thunder.

You had spent so many hours, shrinking in fear under the force of pain, body trying to cry―to release, anything―and live through just another empty night.

He, the reason of your ache, now standing before you, looking as miserable as you feel.

"You need to go"

Final. No room for more to be said. He just hates how determined you are sometimes.

You're closing your door. Shutting him out. He can see the pain on your face, let's himself believe there's a chance as he tries to erase feeling so dumb for succumbing to harmless teasing words of his friend―mixing with previous fears, and the image of you, holding hands with another. Kissing another who gets to taste the flavor of those strawberries you ate so frequently and that of your gloss. To be whole with someone who isn't him.

But it's his fault.

His, his, only his.

He doesn't want to lose you. He can't. Even if love isn't natural for the likes of you and him, he knows it's yours and his.

It can't be over. Can't. He doesn't know nanything like you. Has got nowhere else to go.

"I love you" he tries, desperate.

Your eyes go wide, with surprise, then sadness and finally rage, one that's quiet, simmering and scratching the surface to let wrath go loose.

"You can't love me"

He might as well have already lost you.

"What you did to me" The silence. The betrayal. Closing off. Throwing away in the blink of an eye. Asking why's to a rusted dead line. "Not even a friend would do" your hand grabs the doorknob with ending resolution, but it shakes. With vitriol, tears or uncertainity, he doesn't know. "So don't talk about love like you mean it. You can't just say things like that"

The soft waft of alcohol in your breath. Petricor mixing with the smell of freshly cut grass. Your shy smile and light blush despite the flame of ambition in your eyes. Your words take him back. To the night you met. He would go back and tell himself not to be stupid, not to fuck the best thing on his life.

"Please" like it pains you to say it, "stand up. Don't make this harder"

He's on his knees, begging. For what? It's over. He not even prayed but is willing to sacrilege vows he hadn't taken to keep your love.

"I'm sorry" he buries his face in your thighs. Feels the humid of his tears running and the warmth of your skin combing through his hair. "I'm an idiot"

You chuckle weakly. "I know"

"One" Pedro holds tighter, wretched. "Just one chance"

"P..."

You feel his grip loosen.

"Don't" choked up, "don't say it like a goodbye"

You kneel down to his level, tilting his head with gentle fingers by his chin as he refuses to meet you in the eye.

"At least now you know how it feels" and brush a stray tear away.

"I love you" he repeats. "I'm sorry I didn't know how to deal with it"

You let him continue, hand still on his face, stubble rough, prickling your skin.

"When I found out... This is gonna sound very corny, but that one phrase about not knowing what you've got until you lose it? It's fucking real, baby" he laughs, humorlessly. "The moment I saw those images, all I could think about was our kiss and how I'd never get to kiss you again. How you were there for me, had me like no one before. How we talked for hours, and you listened, bringing things we said sometimes, like trinkets on a box or charms of a necklace. Tiny things and moments that belonged to us. And to think you'd share that connection, that- silence, that only comes when two people understand eachother... It fucking ruined me. I forgot about my fears, our age gap-" he cuts himself off, self-conscious. "All I could think about was saying those three words I've felt since we first spoke on Oscar's garden, but was to afraid to say. Even know. You have no idea how crazy my heart is beating right now" he breaths in, deeply. "I'm sorry for loving you and having no idea how to properly do so"

It takes a while for you to realize he's now cleaning your tears. That you've stayed silent for too long.

"Why?"

"Because you deserve someone better. Someone who isn't too old. One you waste your youth with. Like him" he can't even bring himself to say his name. "You looked so good together. Fitting. No one would say anything, no one would disgrace your name. But I'm selfish, I know. Didn't wanna see you with him. At all. Almost broke my phone screen"

Each word punctuated with a green colored hurt. And that, even in all this blues, makes you feel flustered.

"Pedro" you softly call him. "Look at me"

"I can't-" he whispers, browns elusive. "I'll never forgive myself for hurting you. I wanted you to be as miserable as me, but now that I see it to be true, I hate myself"

"Were you jealous?"

He can't deny it. "Fucking seething"

You laugh. God, he longed for it. Prays for it all to be back to how it used to.

"Happy birthday"

You laugh. "What?"

"Did he tell you that?"

"Jordan?" Pedro nods. "We just met. Shooting isn't over yet"

"Well, happy birthday"

"It was two months ago" you counter.

"Only I get to wish you so" face closer to yours now, whispered words ghosting over your nose.

"Silly" you smile, sheepishly. "Are you the birthday police? You can't decide who gets to congratulate someone on their special day, you little jealous freak"

"But I get to decide this"

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, pouring every ounce of his passion and desperation into it. The unsaid yearning and ache on his tongue. It delves deep, claiming your mouth as it tangles with yours in a dance of hunger and need.

Like a couple of young highschoolers on their mother's porch, breeze flowing by their little town. It smells as home. It's simple. It's real. It's extraordinary. It's just what you wanted.

Love.

"I missed you"

You feel a surge of love and lust at his breathless confession.

"I missed you too"

With rushed steps he takes you to your bed. Your room is still the same. Your picture stands on your nighstand.

"I'm surprised you didn't tear it"

His hands slide down to grip your thighs, pushing them apart.

"I'm surprised you think I would"

Clothes go off with the desperation of two people who have circled around eachother for too long. Your bed feels full, unlike the one of the hotel, where you waited until your tears dried in the pillow.

"Well, you're full of surprises" he adds, voice strained.

Pedro settles himself between your thight, the hard, thick length of him nestling against your slick, heated flesh, groaning into your lips at the feel of you. Warm, soft... Ready for him.

His lips mark a trail down your throat, teeth grazing your collarbone. He licks and nips his way down to your breasts, taking one rosy peak into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the hardened bud.

"Pero sí fui un pendejo" growled against the skin in the middle of your breasts. "Forbid myself of tasting you when you taste so fucking good. Could devour you for hours, baby, and never get enough" (i was such an asshole)

"Please, P. Just quit the fucking talking and make me yours"

A surge of emotion and desire wash over him. He holds your stare, seeing the longing and desperation on your face. This unbridled want, he felt it too.

"Shit, baby" he breathes, voice rough and thick with emotion. "You have no idea how badly I've wanted to do this. To feel you with me, next to me and under me"

You allow yourself to believe in him. In his words and touches, cracking a fire in their wake.

"Then do"

To show just how much he means it, he forces your mouths into a fierce kiss. Pedro pours every ounce of his love, his need, his desperation into it. His tongue delves deep, claiming you. Consuming you. Making you his.

All you've wanted.

"For the record, Jordan and I are just friends"

He reaches down to grip himself, lining the thick, hard length of his cock up with your entrance.

Pedro grunts, feeling the promise of warm tight walls taking his dick.

"I don't care"

He rubs the swollen head through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.

"You're not even looking at me" you tease. "He's getting married next year, by the way"

He groans into your mouth at the feel of you, so hot and ready for him.

"I don't care" he repeats.

"Said I could come to the wedding if I wanted to"

Right after the last word you speak, with one powerful thrust of his hips, he buries himself inside you. A broken cry comes out of your mouth, desire coursing through your veins like the most powerful and addictive drug there is ever to exist, only rivaled by him: he, who after years of being his fan, months of friendship, a summer of love and some other months of radio silence filled with unspoken terrifying truths, is finally yours.

"With how much you bring it up, I'd think you're in love with him"

"And by how much you refuse to listen to my words, even as you're buried inside me, I'd think you're jealous"

He hilted himself fully, cock throbbing as it stretches to fill you completely.

"Quit sayin' that, when you know it's the other way around" a broken wail leaves your lips at his girth inside of you, your folds trying to adjust to his size. "Got all giddy with him, at his dumb stories and jokes. But does he know how you like you coffee? No, but I bet you fluttered your eyelashes and laughed like a fucking attention starved brat when he handed you your order. Bet he's a whole gentleman who payed for your order. Probably offered you a ride home, but can't play any of your favorite songs. The ones I know" he throws his head back, a guttural moan tearing from his throat at the exquisite feel of your tight, wet heat enveloping him. "Yet the funniest part is he doesn't know you did all of this for me"

"P-Pedro" you plead, reduced to a moaning mess.

"Tell me you didn't, but we both know how the answer goes" he grabs you by your chin. "Tell me that you were desperate to get a reaction out of me. That you wanted all of my attention. That it's me who you really wanted and not that fucker. Say you did all that little flirty whoring show to make me angry, because guess what? It worked, you desperate slut"

You should be humiliated, but instead, your treacherous brain makes your mouth whine.

"Dirty baby" he whistles, amused. "You're into that? Like me to call out your bullshit, huh? You're a real bad girl"

"I'd call myself resourceful" your voice is strained, "a girl can only do so much for to get her supposed bestfriend who dry humped her last summer to talk to her again"

He laughs, a sound that makes you nostalgic.

"And I take full responsability for that"

"Why don't you fix it the best way you know?"

"Can I get a clue?"

"Shut your mouth and start moving"

He's so compliant is hard to watch and not moan just by his sheer obedience. Surrendering himself to you and your alluring voice clouded with lust. Pedro starts to move, his hips rolling and rocking against yours in a slow, sensual rhythm. He takes his time, savoring every inch of your silky walls as he slid in and out of your depths.

"Fuck, y/n" he pants, voice ragged. "You feel so fucking good, baby. So perfect, so right. Like you were made just for me"

He leans down to nuzzle into your neck, his lips brushing against your ear.

"I love you, y/n" he murmurs the three words again, tone low and intimate.

You tangle your fingers on his hair, pulling him closer for a kiss.

"I love you"

Feels good to put it out there, but maybe he's more excited than you are, given by the goofy grin that takes over his features, eyes shining like the stars on the starry night outside.

His heart soars at your words, and Pedro can't help but kiss you with all the passion and commitment burning inside him, pouring every ounce of his devotion into the press of his lips against yours.

"Three words and you've made me the happiest man on earth, baby"

He thrusts into you harder, driven by the overwhelming feelings on his chest. He wants to mark you, claim you.

"That's it, you naughty little girl. Getting yourself all worked up after your little devilish plan" he grunts. "Gonna make you mine now and fuck you until you can't walk. Until you become a mess. So dumb you can't speak anything but my name"

His hips snap against yours with each powerful surge of his cock, the wet, obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the bedroom.

"Mierda, you'd should be so fucking embarrassed, shouldn't you? Ashamed of opening your legs for a man who could be your father"

He can feel his release building, the hot, tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in his stomach. You pull him closer, arms around his neck, pulling him off his thoughts.

"I'm not ashamed" you purr in his ear. "In fact, I think it's fucking hot"

"Oh, yeah? Dirty girl likes old men?" he grits his teeth, fighting it off, determined to hold back until you cum first. "Loves to be stuffed up nicely by men old enough to be your daddy? Quit that moaning or I might just give you what you ask"

You whine, receptive to his words.

"That's it, baby. Cum for me. Cum all over my fingers like a dirty little girl. I want to see your pretty face and hear your pretty noises. Need to prove if they're better than I imagine as you clench yourself on my cock"

Pedro lets out a roar of triumph as he feels your pussy spasm around his cock, your scream of ecstasy pushing him over the edge. With a final thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside your warm cunt, cock pulsing and throbbing as he erupted.

"Take it, baby. Take every last drop of my cum like the hungry whore you are. Let me fill this hungry little pussy like you deserve"

He grunts and shudders as spurt after spurt of his hot, thick seed paint your walls.

"Now I get to show him and any other fucker who you really belong to"

He collapses against you after emptying himself, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he continues to twitch and pulse inside you. Pedro peppers your face with kisses, restless hands roaming over your curves, touching and caressing every inch of you with desire.

"Baby, listen"

His voice is soft with scary twinges laced within as he rolls to the side, pulling you with him so that you were draped across his chest. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, the silent vow to never letting you go on his strong grip.

"I know I keep making the same mistakes every time" he sighs, his hand stroking your hair. "Yet, it's worth it. The fame, my name, the press... It all reduces to nothing. Because when I look at you, I know at least I did one thing right"

He tilts your chin up, his eyes burning into yours with fierce intensity.

"Then run away with me" you say softly. "Where no one knows who we are"

"We can't" he laughs. "But I'd love to. For you to be mine, forever and always"

"To be with you, I would do anything" you lay on his chest, humming with approval. "I mean it"

"Well" he grabs your hand, "we can't exactly run away, but I have a close idea to it"

"I'm all ears"

He looks deep into your eyes, afraid of his own words.

"We can talk about it more later on but, how about keeping this matter... private?" your body gets goosebumps. "Just you and me. Some friends and our family. Teams too. But it'll be our little secret"

It's the start of something. That something that started on Oscar's birthday when he first called out your name. It was all about falling since then, never quite landing, not knowing what to say. Hiding behind silence the loud thoughts you wanted to shout, words you both couldn't get out, ones to be proud of.

Maybe one day you'd get to do so.

"Something to keep" you add as your way to agree. A promise, to follow him everywhere. To bring him home when he needed. To build something out of what you both feared: with late dinners, kitchen dancing, shared clothes, line reading, fleeting touches, long showers and deep kisses.

You lay again your head on his chest, content and at ease, feeling it go up and down, his heartbeat tranquil and your body soft against his rising and falling tummy. It feels right, like where you should be. Forever and always.

"Like you"

"No, Pedro" you whisper, lazily kissing him as sleep starts to lull you in to the best night you've had in months. "Like us"

It's only getting started.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @trashcora

[rinskazuu]

→ half asleep, wishing i still had you ⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

synopsis. ꨄ︎ weeks had passed since your breakup with the bllk men. it seems they can no longer handle your absence and decide to drink away their sorrow. it turns out that liquor is capable of bringing out the emotions they've carefully concealed, so with the liquid courage they've gathered, they decide to break their silence.

featuring. ꨄ︎ fem!reader x sae, kaiser, otoya, karasu (separate)

includes. ꨄ︎ post relationship, angst, happy ending, alcohol consumption, pining, yearning, begging, aged up!characters to legal drinking age (kaiser is already of drinking age in germany), characters might be a teensy bit ooc (not sorry), not fully proofread

notes. ꨄ︎ i was going to add yukimiya, aiku, and ness but this has been sitting in my drafts for weeks and i really didn't have it in me to do any more.

♪ track. ꨄ︎ your shirt by chelsea cutler

ITOSHI SAE ⋆｡°✩

sae isn’t the type of man to drink casually. sure, a celebratory drink here and there wouldn’t hurt, but even then, he would never leave himself in a vulnerable position.

sae is a precise and meticulous man, measuring his every sip, cautious not to go over his limit. yet, him gulping more than his usual was a direct result of his current state. i mean, sure, he knew the breakup would sting, but not this much. not to the point where he felt his entire being would shatter if he breathed wrong.

and that’s how life currently felt for him. like every single breath was solely to counter his existence—like his very presence was to appease you. and sae was not the type of man to put somebody else first.

the breakup was primarily sae’s fault, and he knew it. he didn’t have to see the disappointment on your face or the frustration in your teary eyes to know it. despite dating someone famous, you absolutely despised the publicity surrounding you; the attention, the lights, the rumors. so when he brushed off your concerns, feeling angry was more than an understatement. aside from the paparazzi, sae was cold. it wasn't to the extent of how he treated everybody else, but it shouldn't have been how he acted toward you. he was cold to where you would be excited and he would still have that look of indifference and boredom etched all over his face—as if he was saying, “this isn’t worth my time.” while it’s true sae was a loving and attentive boyfriend, those traits had its limits, and you were simply over it.

sae called when he knew you would be relaxing after a long, hard day worth of work, usually indulging in a book or playing a game. you were suspicious but picked up anyway. if anybody asked, you were not picking up because you missed him. surely not.

“come home,” he croaks immediately after you pick up. you were taken aback to say the least. he didn’t even bother to greet you, let alone attempt to make small talk, like asking you how your job was or how your parents were doing. but then again, itoshi sae had no space for unnecessary words or actions.

“i’m sorry?” was all you managed to utter out, shock still lingering in your system. a sigh was let out on the other end of the line. as you were shuffling and ordering your emotions, sae was picking at his supposed “genius” brain to see how exactly he was supposed to win you back. it was a miracle he won you over in the first place, considering his knowledge outside of football—or more accurately, the lack of.

he had missed your presence; seeing your face in the crowd, coming home to your sweet fragrance, holding your hand during even the most mundane everyday tasks, having you in his arms as he drifted to sleep, and everything. what was he supposed to say to convince you that he loves you?

itoshi sae is not the type of man for big gestures or fancy words. he won’t be the one to serenade you or put thought into a romantic poem, and you were more than okay with it, but you refused to lay down and take his disregard for your concerns like a good dog.

after a long stretch of silence, sae finally gathers his thoughts. “i want you to come home,” he repeats, a slight slur evident in his voice. “i want you to understand how apologetic i am. i should’ve listened to your concerns, and i should’ve protected your feelings better.”

“i appreciate your apologies, itoshi, but i think it’s best to stay on different paths.”

sae winces at the usage of his last name. to the world, he is itoshi. he is the prodigious elder brother of the itoshi family; he’s the calculating, genius soccer player, but to you he was just sae. he didn’t have to control his every move as if one wrong step would result in all his hard work falling apart. to you, he could fall apart in your arms and you would still love him.

“sae,” he corrects. “i’m not itoshi to you. regardless of what you might think, i’ll always be sae to you.”

his gaze directs up to the roof of his car, his seat cranked all the way back as his free hand grabbed the canned beer; an accurate representation of exactly what he was feeling—disappointed and bitter. it’s as if sae was purposely torturing himself for letting you go.

“i don’t know what to say,” you reply honestly, twiddling your fingers as you stare at the cover of your book, the words blurring as you zone out.

“i love you, cariño.” your heart stops for a moment. the way his lips utter the pet name so softly—like you would fade away from his life if he said it any differently—causes a hitch in your heart. “from this day forward, i will listen to you more honestly. not because i have to, but because i want to.”

your lips part, partly at his heartfelt confession—where his voice wasn’t devoid of emotion for once—and the other part because you were surprised. sae is opening up to you, even with the idea of rejection lingering in his mind, unlike the itoshi sae you knew who doesn’t toy with intentions that aren’t going to guarantee him success.

“i’m sorry i let you down. i’m sorry i allowed you to feel like i didn’t care. i’m most sorry that you didn’t feel the love that i felt for you. please, amor. i feel like my heart is going to jump out of my chest and throw itself into a fire.”

at last, you found your voice and answered him honestly. “i miss you, sae. i love you. i want you to treat me the way i want, but i can't just take your words at face value.” sae understands fully. you made it clear that actions were louder than words, and he is going to fulfill that.

“i know, amor. i just need you to understand that it’s you or nobody. you’re going to be the woman i marry,” he states. it wasn’t a halfhearted swear; he pledged it. “now, please. let me in at least. let me see you again.”

you open the door to a sluggish sae, reeking of beer. despite your dislike for it, you pulled him in for a long awaited hug on both ends. of course, the two of you were a long way from how you were again, but for now, this is perfect. for now, you’re okay with just holding him until the two of you fell asleep.

KAISER MICHAEL ⋆｡°✩

kaiser loathed alcohol. it reminded him of the helplessness and weakness he felt whenever he came home to his drunk father, fists curled up into balls, and angry about whatever it was that upset him that day. and yet, here he was, downing the whiskey like he was held at gunpoint.

here he was, turning out to be the man he detested. never having laid hands on you, kaiser still managed to hurt you, and in turn fucked up the only relationship he ever cared for. you never saw him as dollar signs, only as the broken shell of a man that he wanted to be. you had the patience to love, help, and improve him for his sake, and somehow, he broke you instead.

kaiser knew better than anyone how hurtful words could be, but when push came to shove, he chose to close himself off in fear of what you might think of him. contrary to his image, he was embarrassed to show you just how shameful he is. he could never understand how you were capable of loving him—loving the little boy who never got over his mother leaving him alone with the father who beat him senseless. he never understood how it was possible to still love someone who was never loved.

at first, kaiser was angry. you leaving him? how dare you?! how dare you fall into the same crowd of everybody else in his life; promising him a happy ending and then leaving when it got too hard? but then he came to the realization that you left because he couldn’t step up to be the man he swore to be.

kaiser didn’t bother to call or even text. his entire body was on fire, and he was determined to see you in person rather than speaking to you through a phone. so as you were preparing to snuggle into your bed—and totally not with the unicorn plushie he bought you—you’re suddenly startled by the sound of frantic knocks.

your immediate reaction was to stay in your room—a straight response to those horror movies you forced yourself to watch with kaiser. but the knocks never stopped. they grew more erratic and panicked.

the moment you open the door, you’re greeted with a visibly exhausted kaiser; blond hair a tousled mess, lips swollen from biting, and blue eyes dull—which was massively different from your kaiser.

you stand frozen in front of him, unable to react or even speak, so he takes the initiative. “i’m sorry,” is the first thing kaiser mutters, quiet but loud enough for it to send a shock wave down your spine. kaiser, the emperor, is apologizing.

“what?” his eyes turn down, a clear sign that he was embarrassed. nonetheless, kaiser couldn’t care less right now. all he wanted in that moment was to cease his hopelessness and earn your love back.

“the man i am—was—isn’t somebody i’m proud of. that man hurt you; me, i hurt you,” he pauses, taking a deep breath to collect his thoughts, because frankly, he didn’t expect you to actually open the door (despite his relentless efforts). “i-i’m not good at this. forgive me, mein liebling.”

on the other hand, you’re still motionless; hand gripping the door, heart pounding, and dozens of different emotions invading your mind. “kaiser, i don’t think we should do this,” you finally whisk up the courage to say. despite still loving him with your entire being, you made it impossibly clear that you were no longer going to love him at the expense of yourself.

“wait. just hear me out, okay?” he whispers, his hand finding its way to your door, not pushing but hoping to be heard. “i didn’t know that loving something—someone—could feel so rewarding. all i know how to do is take and break, and in spite of all your attempts to see me, i pushed you away. for that, i don’t think i could ever forgive myself. you make me feel human, mein liebling, and i despise that, because i have built this monster out of malice towards the man i resent. but i also know that if i let you go here and not shove my past away for you, i wouldn’t know how to live with just myself.”

you’re stunned because despite kaiser admitting that he didn’t know how to get his feelings through to you, he was very much capable of doing just that. his message tugs at your heartstrings; after so long of rotting as you waited for him to open up, you finally get to hear the words that stemmed from his heart.

“i’m not asking you to forgive me right away, sweetheart. you know i’m a man of patience, and even though it’s killing me to wait, i’ll bide my time for as long as you want me to, because i love you. i love you so much i’d defy every rule that defines me just to have you again.” discounting the fact that this was a very big and vulnerable moment for him, the shine in kaiser’s warm blue eyes return.

you heave out a sigh. knowing that this may very well end poorly, you still wanted to give it a try. you understand kaiser’s feelings are rooted in his troublesome childhood and you want to help him, because you love him just as much as he does you. “come in, mikka,” you reply in a whisper, tugging lightly at his sleeves.

the sound of his nickname rolling off your tongue warms kaiser’s heart. he’s aware now that you don’t hate him like the little voice at the back of his head keeps telling him. you still care for him; you still love him.

kaiser huffs out a long awaited breath of relief, his heart rapidly beating against his chest. you wrap your arms around him, inhaling his intoxicating scent along with the whiskey, which is evenly stimulating. he plants a kiss atop your head, silently promising that he would do better.

OTOYA EITA ⋆｡°✩

otoya is inherently a free spirit who does anything and everything based on his own whims. that goes for everything in his life, including the amount of alcohol he was consuming.

otoya, opposite of what the media claims, is immensely loyal to you, which came to a shock to even himself. as much as he disrelished being tied down, he couldn’t even bear the thought of another woman, let alone acting on any impulses to leave. regardless of his problematic past, he willingly devoted himself to you wholeheartedly, but it still doesn't erase the very fact of what he had done; what he was capable of.

he understood the limitations of your understanding and patience when it came to his past. in fact, he was grateful you stayed as long as you did. just the thought of you brought him a sense of humility that he surprisingly liked. needless to say, otoya was still devastated when you expressed your desire to leave. he didn’t stop you—as selfish as he is, he couldn’t. not when he knew that it would permanently destroy your relationship if he pushed you any further. then life changed for the worst—just like that. he saw it coming but he didn’t expect it to be as anguishing as it was. unfortunately, it didn’t seem like otoya cared much for your discomfort any time somebody would bring up another girl he messed with; whether it be a reporter, his friends, or his teammates. regardless of your longstanding tolerance, you just couldn’t endure the thought of coming home one day to find him in bed with another woman. so you broke things off.

it felt like otoya was constantly drowning, as if the thought of you—or lack thereof—was physically pushing on his heart. every breath was a reminder that this was his karma. this was the so called 'consequences,' that everybody spoke of. everything in his apartment reminded him of you—of what he had, what he couldn’t be strong enough to handle.

otoya contemplated going to your home, but the better part of him knew you were just going to slam the door in his face—as he rightfully deserves. then he thought of calling. he desperately wanted to call, to hear your voice, but in the end he was too ashamed to do it. his finger hovered over the call button for many long, stretched out minutes before deciding against it.

so he opted to text you. it was safe, even if it went against his usual do-what-you-please attitude. you were staggered to find a text from your ex boyfriend looming on your phone after your shift. even more confusing, it was a jumbled mess full of typos and nonsense. you kept asking him what he meant and in the end, just made the choice to call him.

when otoya sees your name flashing on his screen, he pauses. with an uncharacteristically anxiousness building up in his body, he hesitates to answer. but he can’t withstand another day without hearing the soft and gentle tone of your voice.

the two of you exchange greetings before you ask, “what did you mean in your text? i’m not understanding any of it.”

his voice hitches before responding, “i miss you. i hate that i ruined this. even though i’ve ruined relationships many times, you weren’t meant to be one of them.” he’s straightforward, not giving you a chance to even process the first part before continuing. “i know my actions—or actually, the absence of it—warranted this, but i refuse to spend another day without you.”

to say you are baffled is an understatement. you knew about otoya’s playboy personality, and you knew it was unlikely for him to settle down, so hearing this not only affirmed your feelings, but also emphasized his love for you. there was no point in your relationship that he had given you a reason to doubt his loyalty, besides not respecting your boundaries about his past, and you were suddenly getting a sense of clarity out of it.

“you’re not the type of person to settle down, otoya,” you reply accompanied by a sigh. even so, you still weren’t completely sure if you should trust his words.

“i know. and i’m sorry. i should’ve started with i’m sorry. listen, i’m not used to having someone to put before myself. as much as it goes against who i am as a person, i don’t hate it because you’re part of who i am now. you’re what i look forward to during every part of my day, and if it means i get to see you and spend every day with you, then yeah, i would gladly tie myself down. i love you and that’s never going to change.” otoya, who had downed just about enough to pass him out, is suddenly sobered. this was the first time he’d ever said i love you, and it felt amazing.

hearing his confession sent your heart beating so fast you were nearly convinced you were going into cardiac arrest. his voice ringing out of your device snaps you back into reality. “i. love. you. i love you and nobody else. i can’t love anybody else. you’ve officially ruined women for me. if it’s not you, nobody else is going to ever make me feel this way again. it’s just not possible.”

“otoya…” you start, unable to find the right words to reciprocate.

you hear the strong inhale of breath he takes on the other end. “eita,” he corrects. “your eita, remember?”

you let out a breath, a chuckle following after. “yes. you’re right. but this doesn’t mean we’re okay again.”

otoya’s heart pounds against his chest. he knows. “i’m aware. i know we’ve got a long way ahead, and i’m going to prove to you that i’m the right choice.” a smile graces your lips at this until you realize the slur in his voice.

“have you been drinking?” you ask cautiously, much familiar with his habits of doing things based on the context of his surroundings.

he admits sheepishly, “yes. it doesn’t help, but it gave me the courage to text you at the very least.” you roll your eyes at his statement, simply amused.

“you texted me a string of random letters. how am i supposed to decipher that?” you question.

given his disheveled state, otoya was pretty satisfied with the outcome of this. he makes a silent promise that he wouldn’t drink again unless given permission as to appease you. but still, he doesn’t regret it. currently, he’s content. everything in the world feels just about right.

“i’m going to bed if you care to join me,” you say, piquing his undivided attention. does he? of course he does!

otoya’s green eyes light up. “are you kidding? i’d be crazy if i said no.”

“okay. we’ve got things to work on and talk through, but for now, i think we did an okay job,” you say in response, laughing at his. “and eita.”

“yes, pretty?”

“i love you.”

KARASU TABITO ⋆｡°✩

karasu is very particular and self-disciplined, rarely consuming any alcohol as it leaves him in an unguarded position, which is a massive disdain. when he does allow himself to drink, he's cautious with the amount he's ingesting; still wary of his surroundings.

as opposed to karasu's attitude toward particular individuals, he was incredibly inferior toward you, always nitpicking his own actions, and holding you on a high pedestal. while he praised and cherished even the ground you walked on, it didn't take long for you to grow exhausted of his constant criticism against others he deemed lower than him. he generally focused too much on other people's ethics.

each insult went hand in hand with the very real belief that he was clearly better. karasu didn't need to see the dismay in your usually sparkly eyes to know he was losing you. and yet, when it mattered the most, he couldn't better himself for you.

life was unbearable and nothing could take him out of this state. karasu—as he does with everything—overanalyzes every detail of your relationship, examining your exact words methodically over and over until he swore his body would simply explode without your existence in his life. a small fire lit inside of him; an ugly, burning rage that was tearing him inside out. a blazing rage that he built against himself. he was hyperaware of his bad habit of scrutinizing others, and he's trying to work it out, now more than ever.

as you exited your work place, you could spot karasu's figure in the distance. perhaps it was your exhaustion after a long day, or the hazy november air clouding your view, but you couldn't help but submit to the pull of curiousity. cautious, you took a step. and another. and then another until you could see his face excruciatingly clear.

eyebags decorated his face, his pursed lips were tucked beneath the warmth of his scarf, and his physique was slumped. you stand halted just a couple feet away, his deep blue eyes boring into yours. karasu leans off his car and takes slow and steady steps in your direction.

you clear your throat seeing him stride your way. "what brings you here, karasu?" his eyes widen just the smallest amount, his step faltering the slightest at the mention of his family name. it's not very noticeable to the public's eye, but to you—who knows him like the back of your hand—it was clear. it was a sign of karasu's image falling apart at your feet.

"i came to see ya," he says casually. except none of this is casual. him showing up at your work place the exact minute he knew you were leaving wasn't casual. him appearing to pick you up like it was routine was not casual.

you blink at him, confusion written all over your face. "why?" slips past your trembling lips.

"because i miss you. i miss ya in my bed, snugglin' in my arms, in my life. i miss everything about life when i had ya." karasu is straightforward, enunciating every word with a breath of confidence. his eyes hold a cool fire that feels like it'll burn you if you kept staring.

you bite in your lip in contemplation. "i'm not so sure about us anymore," you admit in a mutter. "i don't know if it's possible for an us." his face twists in agony.

hearing this shatters karasu's heart and the confidence he had going into this. for a moment, he considers leaving; he knows more than anyone that he wasn't even close to your league, so why should he keep pestering you? but then he's reminded of his brightening love for you—the flame that can't be doused no matter the amount of water.

"i admit that the insults i hurl at people are nothing more than a cover. i know better than anyone that i'm nothing but just a man. i'm nothin' special, but you make me feel like i am. you remind me that i have the potential to be the man i claim to be. i want to turn that into a reality, darlin'. i can promise ya i'll work harder than anyone to become a version of me that you can be proud of."

karasu can only hope that you felt the plea and begs within his message. the plea to end his torment; to take him back. he'd willingly give up football if it meant he could spend every moment—waking and unconscious—with you.

"i'm an insecure, flawed man, and you... yer everything. i'm sorry you had to witness the things i said, the things i made others feel. i'm incredibly sorry for planting doubt in yer mind; that i would ever treat you the same. because i wouldn't—i couldn't."

you peer up at karasu through your lashes, your breaths quiet, and your heart heavy. your heart longs for him, but your brain is uncertain.

at your deafening silence, karasu adds, "there's nothin' i can do right at this moment to prove what i'm sayin', but i want—need you to believe the very fact that i'm so far gone fer ya. i'm so damn in love with you, you can ask me to jump and i'll ask how high. nothin' in this world can rip me apart from ya, sweetheart."

the heat in his eyes burn brighter, and with that last statement, it burns down your walls. "okay. i'm willing to try again, but if you go back on your word, it's over for good."

"i know, darlin'. i'm grateful yer even considering this." karasu sighs a breath of relief, wasting no time nor movement to close the space between the two of you. his arms wrap around you so tight, one would think you'd disappear if he'd let go.

"i'm driving though," you declare, your voice muffled through his sweater.

"why's that, darlin'?"

"you reek of alcohol, tabito." he huffs a chuckle, handing you the keys after parting.

end notes. ꨄ︎ i'm happy with the way this fic ended, but i'm also so relieved it's finished. dare i say good riddance. if u breathe hard enough, u might catch some dust particles flying off from how long this has been rotting in my drafts

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♡♡♡ Project Bunny ♡♡♡

Chapter I: Live - PixelBunny.exe

“Y-you all are so mean… I’m shy, y’know. I’m not just here to be your toy…” You purred, same curated high-pitched tone matched with a sickly sweet giggle. “But thank you, Daddies.”

♡■♡■♡ Pairing: LADS MLIs x afab camgirl!reader

♡■♡■♡ Plot Summary:

By day, you're just a broke barista with a caffeine addiction, with a useless degree and a student loan nightmare, and a customer service smile stitched over your burnout. By night, you're Pixel Bunny—a bratty, cosplay-clad camgirl with a shy voice, a pastel aesthetic, and a growing fanbase that keeps your lights on and your legs open.

Except… your five most generous patrons are a little too devoted. Each a stranger with a username and a hard-on for control, slowly bleeding into your real life.

♡■♡■♡ Tags: 18+, multichapters, second pov, eventual poly, eventual orgy, dark romance, reverse harem, shameless smut, porn with plot, explicit, gradual shift into darker themes, voyeurism, praise kink, porn, ooc, canon divergence au, sex toys, clothing fetish, cosplay, breeding kink, ddlg (daddy dom/little girl), pet names, live masturbation, power play, strip tease, sex work, camgirl au, streaming culture, orgasm denial, parasocial relationship, obsessive parasocial behavior, dirty talk, stalking tendencies, reader is not mc, reader has a day job, reader is addressed as "Bunny" or "PixelBunny" on stream, masked identities

♡■♡■♡ Word Count: 7.2K

A/N: Finally dug up an old idea and use it for another LADS fanfic. I was debating whether I use an oc or just follow my usual "x reader", guess what I did? Please take this "you" persona impersonally.

A/N2: holy shit, I thought I saved it up as a draft 😂 I wasn't done editing it lmfao

MASTERLIST | AO3 | FOR TAG LIST, INTERACT HERE. | NAVIGATION

Your screen flickered to life with the soft, ambient glow of neon pinks and cool lilacs. Lo-fi beats hummed low through your headset, a curated loop of calming bass and synthetic purrs you’ve fine-tuned to make every viewer feel like they were lounging right in bed with you.

The room behind you was an aesthetic fever dream: plushies, pastel LEDs, posters of vintage anime girls with glassy eyes and lollipops too large for their mouths.

You're perched on the center of your bed, legs curled just right, clad in a baby-pink cropped cardigan that technically covers your nipples—but just barely, plaid skirt strategically rumpled that showed off your panties you’d pretend were modest if they weren’t riding a dangerous line between “cute” and “cam site terms of service violation.”

The bunny-eared headset—your signature look—bobbed slightly as you adjusted, lips glossed to a cherry sheen and parted with practiced nervousness.

A delectable morsel wrapped in pastel and lust. That’s you, PixelBunny. A camgirl rising on the other side of the internet.

Just shy. Just bratty enough.

Innocent. Dumb. Deceiving.

Click. You're live.

The chat was already rioting. A thousand hearts bloomed in the corner of your screen. Familiar names lit up the chat like a twisted bouquet of usernames you knew better than your actual friends.

Syl.Draconia 💎 has joined the stream 🐇

R.tist!c tipped 1000 credits: angel, that lipstick shade is killing me

X-Devoted upgraded to SUGAR DADDY - ULTRA VIP 💎

Mr. WhiteCoat tipped 500 credits: Don’t overwork yourself.

C.Pilot: you're late. I've been waiting Bunny. ;)

3009 more viewers have joined 🐇

You smiled sweetly. Blushed. Looked away. A beat too long, just to make them ache for it. And then, your voice—high, breathy, a porcelain teacup too full of heat—spilled into the mic.

“H-hi, everyone. Welcome back to my... super cozy Friday stream. I—I missed you all so much... I was sooo lonely today…”

A flurry of small donations exploded with the flood of emotes. Bunnies. Eggplants. Hearts. Claws. One name after another. Each one hit your account like a loaded promise. A private ping dinged—five times, exactly. Direct messages, encrypted, VIP access only.

You ignored them. For now.

The camera zoomed slightly—auto-focus tracing your thighs as they shifted. Your skin was glossed, powdered, glowing under artificial moonlight. You stretched your arms overhead, the croptop sliding just enough to show the soft curve of underboobs, a calculated ‘oopsie’ perfected by months of practice.

C.Pilot: you know you missed yesterday right?

X-Devoted: Uve been a veeery naughty bunny…

Mr. WhiteCoat: I’m monitoring your dopamine spikes in real time. They’re inconsistent.

R.tist!c: is that the cardigan i sent you? unbutton it slowly

Syl.Draconia: Shes hiding something tonight. Increased blink rate. Deviated gaze.

“Y-you all are so mean… I’m shy, y’know. I’m not just here to be your toy…” You purred, same curated high-pitched tone matched with a sickly sweet giggle. “But thank you, Daddies.”

You giggled, again, hiding your face in your hands. A perfect little bunny. Tempting fate like it was a game. Innocence so carefully curated it could only be filthy. Just a girl in your safe little pastel den, alone in your apartment, with predatory men watching you burn.

You shifted, thighs parting slightly, your voice rising just a note.

“I m-might’ve been a little mean… I didn’t respond to some DMs. I went live without private previews tonight... I guess I was just feeling bold.”

X-Devoted: U will learn sweetheart

Syl.Draconia: Already running your own script. Dangerous.

Mr. WhiteCoat: This requires corrective conditioning.

C.Pilot: youre gonna make me break my keyboard Bun.

R.tist!c: keep talking, your shame is muse enough

The camera light pulsed. You leaned forward, intentionally framing your cleavage with your forearms as you pouted at the lens.

“You’re all so strict with me lately,” you murmured, voice full of mock-pout and something that wasn’t so mock. “But I know how much you missed me…”

You reached for a small heart-shaped plastic on the nightstand.

“A-and I think I’m ready to be your good bunny again.”

Then—click.

You pressed the first tip-button. The sex toy that was already inserted before the stream purred to life inside you, humming quiet and wicked.

“A-ah—mm! T-that’s... oopsie.” Well, at least the moan that slipped from your glossy lips was real.

X-Devoted: Dont play shy. U wore that choker for me.

Syl.Draconia: Zoom. 140%. Enhance the thighs.

R.tist!c: such soft curves, let me paint you like this

Mr. WhiteCoat: Keep still. I’m running diagnostics.

C.Pilot : bet she soaked the sheets already.

mr.unknown: oh yes, moan for us more 😩

zeronut: show pussy plz… 💦

"Oh... Oh Daddy..." You murmured into the mic, your eyes glazed over as the vibrations from the toy X-Devoted had chosen for you resonated through your body. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, a blush that surely painted your face in a way that made the camera love you more. The chat was a whirlwind of lewd comments and generous tips. Each one of your patrons had a piece of you, and you knew it. You reveled in it.

You leaned back into the plush pillows, your hands sneaked under the cardigan, fingers dancing over your chest, tracing the edges of the pasties you knew R.tist!c had picked out from the last set of gifts he'd sent. His taste was always so... exquisite. You could feel your heart racing, the decorative adhesive tickling against your skin with each breath.

"Thank you for the tips, Daddy..." You breathed into the mic, a soft smile playing on your lips as you scanned the chat for X-Devoted's name. His tip had triggered the toy, and the pleasure was already pooling in your stomach, threatening to spill over. "You're all so generous tonight."

The screen was a blur of usernames and donation amounts. You bit your bottom lip, letting the anticipation build as you slowly unbuttoned the cardigan. The cool air hit your bare skin, and you shivered dramatically for the camera, knowing it would drive them wild. The room was a symphony of virtual praise, each note hitting a different chord of your arousal.

X-Devoted: Good girl. Thats what I like to see

C.Pilot: let’s see how much you’ve been taking care of yourself Bunny.

R.tist!c: more little bun, show us everything

With a devilish smirk, you leaned forward, giving them the show they were dying to see. The cardigan fell away, revealing the purple, starfish-shaped pasties that covered your areola—nipples already peaked out and were begging for attention beneath the adhesive silicone.

The cold lens of the camera was the only thing touching them as you whispered, "Look at what you do to me, Daddy." You gave your torso a gentle shake, watching your breasts jiggle before the eyes of your devoted audience.

The chat exploded with emojis and messages. The numbers on the side of your screen spun upwards like a slot machine hitting a jackpot. You felt a thrill of power, a heady rush of adrenaline, knowing that these men were all watching you, all wanting you, all willing to give you anything to satisfy their desires. You were the puppeteer, and they were your marionettes, dancing to the tune of your siren's song.

"Would you like to taste my tits, Daddy?" You whispered into the void, watching the screen as your words sent a shockwave through the chat. The vibrator in your panties buzzed in time with your racing heart every time someone tipped, a symphony of need and greed. You cupped your breasts, your thumbs flicking over the covered areola, teasing the silicone away from your sensitive skin.

X-Devoted: Yes baby. Take off the starfish. Let us all admire ur pretty nipples

Mr.WhiteCoat: Use the adhesive fabric next time if the silicone irritates your nipples.

R.tist!c: i wish those pasties were my mouth

R.tist!c: soon you will be mine

C.Pilot: make it quick, I can feel my cock pulsing already.

Syl.Draconia: Watch yourself Bunny. Watch how beautiful you are.

You bit back a giggle, feeling a thrill of excitement at their commands. You knew they were all watching, all waiting with bated breath for the moment you'd give in. Your fingers danced along the edge of the silicone, the tension building as you paused, just for a second, to let them beg for more.

Syl.Draconia tipped 1000 credits: Take it off let the breeze kiss those pretty nipples of yours.

Your heart skipped a beat as you read the message from Syl.Draconia. His requests always sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and excitement. But you had a show to run. You had to keep them all on the edge of their seats. So, with a flick of your wrist, the pasties came off, revealing your bare breasts to the camera. The coolness of the room kissed your skin, making your nipples peak even further. You leaned closer to the camera, letting them get a good look at the prize.

But amidst the flurry of tips and messages, one stood out. C.Pilot’s text was simple, but the implication was clear. "you know I wanna fuck those tits Bunny." The chat went wild, a mix of excitement and anticipation. This wasn't the first time he'd made such a bold statement.

You looked into the camera, eyes wide with feigned shock, "Oh my... Daddy's being extra naughty tonight." You giggled, playing coy. But inside, you felt a thrill of danger. It was all part of the game, but you knew it was one you couldn't ignore for much longer.

The tips continued to flood in as you played with the strings of your skirt, tugging it down just enough to reveal the sheer lace of your panties. The camera zoomed in, capturing the wetness that had already begun to soak through. You could feel the fabric sticking to your skin as you teased them, the anticipation building. Each user's kink reflected in their words, a silent bidding war for your attention.

X-Devoted: Spread ur legs for us baby. Show us ur sweet little cunt

Mr.WhiteCoat: I can see your heart rate increasing. Keep going.

R.tist!c: imagine its my tongue licking you clean

C.Pilot: you know I’d shower those tits with my cum.

Syl.Draconia: Take off the skirt. Give us a show.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their eyes—or rather, the screens—on you. It was all a game, a dance of power and desire played out in pixels. But you were good at this dance, weren't you? You'd been doing it for some months. You leaned back, letting your legs fall open just enough to hint at the lacy treasure beneath. The toy in your panties buzzed louder, the intensity of the vibrations making you gasp.

"M-maybe later, Daddy. I-I’m getting shy now…" you whispered, batting your eyelashes at the camera in practiced timidity. The chat erupted again, the sound of keys smacking screens echoing in your mind. The thrill of control was intoxicating. You were the queen of this digital realm, and they were all just pawns in your game.

The vibrations grew more intense, and you couldn’t help but squirm. You reached down and slipped your hand into your skirt, your fingers sliding over the drenched fabric of your panties. The toy buzzed against your clit, and you let out a soft moan, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment. The room grew hot, the air thick with lust.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your pulse is racing faster now. Tell us how it feels.

X-Devoted: Ure mine tonight bunny

R.tist!c: i can almost taste you through the screen

C.Pilot: give us a better look.

Syl.Draconia: Yes show us how much you want it.

Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, and your breathing grew heavier as you read the messages, feeling their eyes on you—or rather, the screens that served as their windows into your private world. The vibrations grew stronger, and you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge. But you weren’t ready to give in just yet. You had to keep them wanting more.

"But not yet, Daddy," you murmured into the microphone, your voice a sultry whisper. "I want to save the best for later." You pulled your hand away from your panties, leaving them wet and exposed. The camera zoomed in, and you watched the chat light up with excitement. You had them hooked, and you were the master angler reeling them in, inch by inch.

With a practiced brattiness, you stood from the bed.

"Oh... so cold!~" You gasp, hugging yourself in a manner dramatic enough to tease your audience.

You turned to face the camera fully, your eyes scanning the chat for any signs of the five high-rollers you knew were out there. You strutted over to the clothing rack, the soft thud of your feet echoing through the quiet room. The outfit was a surprise, something you'd picked out just for them. A devilish smirk played on your lips as you pulled out the hanger, the fabric gliding over your fingertips like silk.

"Alright, everyone," you announced, the sound of you unraveling the garment garnering a slew of eager messages. "It's time for the main event!" The anticipation in your voice was palpable as you held the outfit against your body, obscuring your nakedness with the screen of fabric. "Tonight, I've got something extra special for you. Who's ready for a surprise?"

The chat exploded with excitement, a barrage of suggestive emojis and filthy messages.

C.Pilot: can't wait Bunny.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your secrets are the best part of the show.

R.tist!c: show us little muse

You took a deep breath, the anticipation building in your chest as you held up the lingerie set. "I've got something that's gonna knock your socks off, Daddies!" You giggled, feeling the excitement of your digital audience pulse through the air. The pastel colors shimmered under the soft light, a perfect blend of innocence and desire.

You turned around, giving them a glimpse of your bare back, the tension building as you slowly untied the strings of your skirt. The skirt softly rustled as it slid down your thighs like silk, leaving only your sheer panties that barely covered your dripping cunt and the vibrator thrumming inside you.

"Oopsie daisy!" You exclaimed, feigning clumsiness, making sure the camera captured every inch of your exposed skin. "Looks like I need to get changed!"

The chatter in the chat grew louder as you began to peel off your panties, the fabric sticking to your wetness before finally sliding away. The toy remained in place, a silent sentinel of your pleasure.

You stepped into the new set, a pair of lace g-strings that barely covered your curves, and a matching sheer bralette that left nothing to the imagination. Each movement sent waves of pleasure through your body, the vibrations syncing with your heartbeat.

"How does this look?" You asked, spinning around for them, giving a full view of the new ensemble. The chat went wild, a cacophony of lewd comments and tips. You could feel the power surging through you, a heady rush that only grew as you watched the numbers climb.

X-Devoted: Perfect. Just like I knew it would be

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your obedience is... commendable, PixelBunny.

R.tist!c: a masterpiece worthy of my canvas

C.Pilot: fuck baby. you're driving me wild.

You leaned closer to the camera, your breath hot against the lens. "Does Daddy like it?" You whispered, your eyes sparkling with mischief. The chat was a blur of eager responses, each one more eager than the last.

Syl.Draconia: Youre a vision, my sweet bunny. I could rip that in one flick of my fingers.

You winked at the camera, the toy inside you buzzing in response to the thrill of their words. "Good, because I got something extra special for you all." Your breasts bounced slightly as you turned, giving them the show they craved. "Who wants to see what I've got planned?"

The tips—smaller amounts this time—poured in faster than you could read, the screen lighting up like a Christmas tree. Your heart raced as you felt the eyes of your devoted fans, the vibrations inside you reaching a crescendo. "Alright, Daddies. Let's get this party started!"

You slid the toy out of you with a wet pop, ensuring the camera caught everything, the chat exploding in a symphony of virtual pleasure. The toy was replaced with something new, something they hadn't seen before. It was a custom-made dildo, the girthy shaft covered in bumpy, tiny lights that matched the color scheme of your room.

"This little guy is gonna light up the night," you said with a wink, turning it on. The lights flickered in time with your racing pulse, a silent promise of what was to come.

Strutting closer to your desktop, you straddled the fuschia pink-white gaming chair, posing your back against the lens. You took a moment to appreciate the view on the screen—the way the lights played off your curves, highlighting the view of your asscheeks in the air, your drenched cunt peeking through the scant g-string. Turning you into a living work of art.

Then, with a sultry smile, you placed the tip of the dildo against your entrance, the coolness sending a shiver down your spine.

"Ready for the main event, Daddies?" You teased, tapping the toy playfully against your asscheeks. The chat was a sea of anticipation, a mix of eagerness and greed. You spread your legs wider, giving them a perfect view of your glistening pussy, the fabric of your g-string the only barrier between you and their hungry eyes.

You leaned further into the chair, the cold leather against your skin a stark contrast to the heat building within you. The lights from the dildo reflected off the chrome of your gaming chair, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the room. The plastic frames bit into your knees as you settled into the position, a slight discomfort that only served to heighten the thrill of the moment.

The chat was a blur of excitement, a cacophony of usernames and tips flying by as they watched you, rapt and eager for your next move.

X-Devoted: Slowly baby. Make it last

Mr.WhiteCoat: I’m taking notes of how many pumps you’re going to do tonight.

R.tist!c: oh i wanna sketch this

C.Pilot: fuck bunny. you're so wet, I could almost feel it.

Syl.Draconia: Use the lube I sent.

With a seductive smile, you took the lube, never breaking eye contact with the camera’s lens as you lathered it around the girthy artificial phallus. The squelching echoed to the mic as your hands pumped in a tantalizing rhythm, giving your audience the fantasy of you touching their cocks instead.

You began to rub the tip against your swollen clit, the lights flickering in time with your movements. The sensation was electric, sending a jolt through your body that made your eyes roll back in your head.

"Mm, Daddy likes it slow?" You murmured, your voice a breathless purr. "Alright, let's see if I can be a good girl." You slid the toy down, teasing the folds of your pussy. The chat was a flurry of commands and compliments, each one feeding the fire of your desire.

With a deliberate slowness that was as much for show as it was for their benefit, you brushed the string of your panties aside and pushed the dildo inside your cunt. The lights flickered in time with the strokes, creating a mesmerizing pattern across your skin. You moaned, the sound carrying through the quiet apartment, a symphony of pleasure that seemed to echo back at you from the screens of your devoted fans.

"Oh, yes... just like that," you whispered into the microphone, the vibrations from the dildo making your voice shake slightly. "Daddy's got me feeling so good."

Your eyes remained locked on the camera, watching as the tips continued to roll in. Each one a little victory, each one a validation of your power. You began to move the toy in and out, the lights casting a rainbow of shadows across your vaginal walls. "Tell me, Daddies," you gasped, "How does it look when I'm being such a good girl for you?"

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your pussy looks so tight around that new toy, PixelBunny. You’re taking it well.

C.Pilot: oh fuck. that's so hot. like you're begging for the real thing.

R.tist!c: like a painting baby, a masterpiece

Syl.Draconia: Tell me you wish it was my cock Bunny.

X-Devoted: Ure mine Bunny. Remember that

Their reactions varied, a symphony of desire played out in digital text. Some praised your obedience, others painted vivid pictures of what they’d do to you, while another whispered dark promises of possession. Yet, none of them knew the truth behind your shy demeanor, the cynical smirk that tugged at your lips as you read their words.

With each stroke, the lights of the dildo grew more intense, painting your face with a rainbow of pleasure. Your body began to respond, your hips moving in a gentle rhythm that grew more urgent with each passing moment. You knew the act well, the dance of a siren luring sailors to their doom. You were their obsession, their escape from the mundane.

The sound of your wetness filled the room, mingling with your soft moans. It was a symphony of lust, each note a declaration of your power. You watched the chat, eyes flickering from one message to the next. Their words were a drug, a sweet poison that made you feel alive.

You began to rock your hips, the toy sliding in and out with increasing speed. "Is Daddy proud of me?" You whimpered, your voice a siren's call. The chat exploded, each tip a declaration of their adoration. You felt their desire, a palpable force that seemed to tighten around you, squeezing out every last drop of your inhibition.

"Oh, Daddy," you moaned, the pleasure building, the lights from the dildo casting a glow across your face. "You make me feel so... dirty." The words were like honey, sweet and thick with meaning. You watched the chat, the screen a blur of tips and messages, each one more desperate than the last.

The toy slammed into you now, the plastic thud echoing through the room. Your hands were a blur, moving in a rhythm that was almost violent. The sensation was overwhelming, the lights pulsing with your heartbeat. You could feel yourself getting closer, the orgasm a tidal wave just beyond the horizon.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Yes, PixelBunny, take it another inch deeper.

C.Pilot: so good baby. take it all for me.

R.tist!c: like youre riding my cock baby

Syl.Draconia: Mines bigger than that silly toy Bunny.

X-Devoted: Make sure u wont hurt urself

Their commands fueled you, pushing you closer to the edge. You took the toy out and licked it clean, the taste of yourself making your eyes roll back.

"Daddy, I need more," you whimpered, dropping the dildo to the floor. Slowly, you turned around to face the camera and present yourself on the chair. Your hand snaked into your g-string, your fingers finding your clit. "Is Daddy going to make me cum?"

Mr.WhiteCoat: Play with yourself more, BunnyPixel. Show us how much you want it.

C.Pilot: spread those legs wider, let me see everything.

R.tist!c: i want to see that pretty pussy swollen with desire for me

Syl.Draconia: You know you want it bunny. Take it all.

X-Devoted: Ure so greedy, arent you, Bunny? But Daddy loves that about you

Their words were a siren's song that you couldn't ignore. You spread your legs wider, the fabric of your g-string stretching tightly over your swollen clit. You watched the chat as your fingers began to dance across your folds, the wetness of your pussy glistening in the soft glow of the lights.

"Look at how wet I am for you, Daddies," you breathed into the microphone, the sound of your voice sending a shiver through your body. Your thumb circled your clit, the sensation making your toes curl. "Do you like watching me play?"

The chat erupted in a symphony of affirmations, their digital applause filling your ears. You felt a strange sense of belonging, a thrill that came from being the object of their desire. It was a power trip, one that you were all too eager to indulge in.

With a wicked grin, you picked up the dildo again, the lights pulsing to the beat of the music that played in the background. "Alright, Daddies," you said, your voice a mix of sweetness and seductive challenge. "Who wants to see how fast I can make this little toy disappear?"

The chat went wild as you positioned the dildo at your entrance, the coldness a stark contrast to the heat that had built up within you. You pushed it in, the lights dancing on your skin as you took it all in one go, the tip brushing against your cervix. You gasped, the sensation intense and overwhelming. The chat exploded in a flurry of tips and messages, each one more eager than the last to claim a piece of you.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Bravo, PixelBunny. You’re so good at taking what you’re given.

C.Pilot: fuck yes. just like that. you're mine baby.

R.tist!c: a true masterpiece in motion

Syl.Draconia tipped 1000 credits: If its my cock filling you up, youd scream louder than that.

X-Devoted: So obedient. So perfect

You watched the tips climb, feeling a thrill at their desperation. "Is Daddy proud?" You asked, your voice a needy whine as you began to pump the dildo in and out of yourself. The lights reflected off the sweat that had begun to form on your skin, casting a glow around your body.

The chat was a blur of usernames and dollar signs, a testament to your power over these men. You felt a twinge of guilt, a tiny voice that whispered they didn't know the real you, that you were playing a role. But the rush of power was too great, the thrill of their desire too potent to resist.

You began to moan, the sound echoing through your headphones. The camera captured every inch of you, every bead of sweat, every gasp of pleasure. It was a dance of seduction, a performance honed over countless nights in front of the lens.

The chat was a furor of commands, each one more demanding than the last. But you were in control. You knew just how to play them, how to keep them on the edge of their seats. With each stroke, you felt their eyes on you, their thoughts wrapped around your body like a second skin.

"Oh, Daddy," you whimpered, the dildo moving faster now, the lights blurring together into a rainbow of ecstasy. "I'm so close." The chat exploded in a frenzy of tips once more, each one a declaration of war for your pleasure.

You felt yourself getting closer, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Your hand moved faster, the dildo a blur as it plunged into your pussy. Your other hand gripped the arm of the chair, knuckles white with the effort of holding back. Its creak was a silent protest against the relentless pace of the dildo, creating a lewd harmony along with the squelching of your pussy around the glowing, bumpy, glass phallus.

"I'm... I'm gonna cum," you whispered, your voice shaking with need. The chat was a sea of fire emojis, a digital inferno of desire. You could almost feel their eyes on you, their hands moving in time with yours, imagining it was their cocks that filled you so completely.

The lights grew brighter, pulsing in time with your heartbeat. It was as if the room was alive, a living entity that feasted on your pleasure. Your walls tightened around the dildo, a silent plea for more, for harder, for deeper. The glass felt like fire in your hand, a tool of your own making that you wielded with expert precision.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Yes, baby, keep going. You’re on the 496th pump and counting.

C.Pilot: that’s it slut. give it to me.

R.tist!c tipped 1500 credits: youd be more beautiful painted with my cum

Syl.Draconia tipped 300 credits: Youre so pretty when youre full of me.

X-Devoted tipped 500 credits: Ure perfect… my little whore

You threw your head back, your mouth open in a silent scream. The chat was a blur of lewd comments and demands, a symphony of desire that seemed to crescendo with every stroke. You felt their eyes on you, their hunger a palpable force that pushed you closer to the edge. The room was spinning, the lights a kaleidoscope of pleasure that painted the walls of your reality.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, crashing over you with the force of a thousand suns. You screamed into the microphone, the sound echoing through the room. The camera captured every twitch of your body, every spasm of pleasure that racked your frame. The chat exploded in a cacophony of tips and messages, each one a declaration of victory.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Beautiful, PixelBunny. Drink water to hydrate.

C.Pilot: I’d breed that little cunt like the bunny you are.

R.tist!c: fuck youre an artwork

Syl.Draconia: Good girl.

X-Devoted tipped 750 credits: Look how swollen your clit is

As the wave of pleasure receded, you slumped in the chair, panting heavily. Your body was a wreck, a plaything used and discarded. But there was no regret, only satisfaction. You had done your job, played your role to perfection. The tips kept rolling in, a testament to your power, to your ability to manipulate and control.

Mr.WhiteCoat: That was exquisite, PixelBunny. You pumped twenty-three times more tonight than the last stream.

C.Pilot tipped 2000 credits: you're so fucking perfect, you’re gonna make me cum on my keyboard.

R.tist!c: i want to capture that moment forever

Syl.Draconia: You never disappoint pet.

X-Devoted: Such a good little bunny letting us watch

You took a moment to catch your breath, the sweat cooling on your skin as you surveyed the chat. The room was bathed in the glow of the pastel lights, a soft symphony of colors that seemed to pulse with the aftermath of your climax. The usernames swirled like a kaleidoscope, each one a reminder of the men who had claimed a piece of you.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Take off the g-string. Let us see you completely bare.

C.Pilot: you’re so responsive baby. I bet you’d scream if I was the one fucking you.

R.tist!c: i wish i could paint the way you look right now because your pussy is an art form

Syl.Draconia: Youre so open, so inviting. It makes me want to take you right here, right now.

X-Devoted: Good girl. Show me whats mine

With trembling hands, you slowly pulled the g-string to the side, fingers gliding to spread your swollen labia—exposing your clit to the cool air. The chat erupted in a symphony of desire, a crescendo of tips that sang your praises. You felt a thrill, a dark pleasure in knowing you had them all at your mercy.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Perfect. Just like that.

C.Pilot: so wet, so needy. who’s going to fill you up next?

R.tist!c: thats the look of a well-fucked muse

Syl.Draconia: Your pussy is begging for it.

X-Devoted: Remember, ure mine

You began to toy with yourself again, the dildo forgotten on the floor. Your hand moved with a newfound confidence, a silent challenge to the men watching you. You knew they were all thinking of themselves, of how they'd make you scream if they had the chance. But you were the one in control here, the one pulling the strings of their desires.

Mr.WhiteCoat: I want to see those breasts bounce, PixelBunny.

C.Pilot: play with those perfect tits.

R.tist!c: the way your titties jiggle is like watching a masterpiece come to life

Syl.Draconia: Show us your tits slut.

X-Devoted: Only for me my greedy little bunny

You leaned forward, your tits spilling out of the lingerie. Your nipples were hard peaks, begging for attention. You pinched them lightly, watching the chat for their reactions. The messages grew more frantic, a silent battle for your focus.

Mr.WhiteCoat tipped 300 credits: You’re shaking, PixelBunny. Just relax.

C.Pilot: pinch them harder, make them beg for mercy.

R.tist!c: oh baby thats the picture id sell for a fortune

Syl.Draconia: I want to feel those nipples between my teeth.

X-Devoted: Ure such a good slut for me

The room was a whirlwind of lewdness, a tornado of desire that you were at the center of. You felt a strange mix of fear and excitement, knowing that any of these men could be watching you from the shadows of your real life, and could be closer than you ever imagined.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Make yourself come again, PixelBunny. Show us how many times you can come tonight.

C.Pilot: I want to see you squirt for me baby.

R.tist!c: youre like a living, breathing fantasy

Syl.Draconia: Imagine its my tongue on you licking you clean while you squirt.

X-Devoted: Ure going to come for me arent you?

With a shiver, you focused on the task at hand. You began to rub your clit in slow circles, the sensation sending shockwaves through your overstimulated body. Your nipples tightened further as you pinched and twisted them, the pain adding a delicious edge to the pleasure.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Faster, Bunny. Make it count.

C.Pilot: so pretty when you're desperate.

R.tist!c: i want your juices mixed with paint

Syl.Draconia: So close bunny. Give us what we want.

X-Devoted: Be careful not to fall on the floor

The second orgasm built slowly, a crescendo of pleasure that you couldn't ignore. Each touch of your fingers was a declaration of war, a battle for dominance that you were determined to win. The chat was a blur of praises and commands, but you were in control. This was your show, your performance, your moment of power.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Yes, baby. Just like that.

C.Pilot: I can almost taste you Bunny.

R.tist!c: your body is a masterpiece

Syl.Draconia: Soon youll be screaming for me.

X-Devoted: Ure mine to use little slut

With a final, desperate push, you came, your body arching off the chair as your juices arced in the air—subsequently soiling your chair and the floor. The camera captured every twitch, every shiver of pleasure. The chat exploded in a flurry of tips, each one a declaration of victory. You panted, your chest heaving as you watched the numbers climb, the power of your own sexuality laid bare before you.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Beautiful, baby. Simply breathtaking.

C.Pilot: that was so fucking hot. you're incredible

R.tist!c: the way you come is like watching the universe unfold

Syl.Draconia tipped 1500 credits: Thats my slut. Ill give you a taste of my cock soon.

X-Devoted: Good girl

As the waves of pleasure receded, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. These men didn't just want to watch you; they wanted to own you. The thought sent a thrill down your spine, a mix of fear and excitement that you couldn't quite place.

You knew you had to keep them at bay, keep your real life separate from this digital playground. But as the tips continued to flow and the chat demanded more, you couldn't help but wonder if the line had already been crossed.

If they had already claimed a part of you that you couldn't take back.

— ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ —

You overslept.

The kind of oversleep that left mascara smudged in the corner of your eyes and thigh-high sock marks ghosting along your skin. Your alarm had gone off four times—each one silenced by a sleepy, swollen hand that still smells faintly of coconut oil and shame.

You’re not sore exactly. You're ruined.

Tender. Overfilled. Buzzing like your favorite toy never turned off. Your vibrator still under the pillow—taunting you like the whore you were last night. Your apartment smelled like artificial strawberries, lube, and desperation.

And your phone? Oh, bunny.

47 unread messages.

Syl.Draconia: Your audio peaked at 2:14:37. I liked that sound.

Mr. WhiteCoat: You should ice your thighs today. Hydration report pending.

X-Devoted: Still think about how u moaned my name last. Be good today

C.Pilot: saved the vod. watching it again before my morning meeting.

R.tist!c: i want to paint you mid-climax ill need the raw footage

You deleted none of them.

Your thighs stuck together as you rolled onto your side, squinting at the soft morning light bleeding through cheap blinds.

7:48 AM. Your café shift started at 7:00.

You groaned, dragging yourself out of bed. Your bunny headset laid discarded on the floor like a casualty, tangled with the cord of the bullet toy that made you scream so loud you had to bite the pillow. The heart-shaped toy from last night was still blinking faintly on the nightstand—taunting you. Judging you.

You’re still wearing the cropped cardigan. Nothing underneath. Just a smear of dried gloss on the collar and a suspicious hickey where your neck met the webcam’s frame.

— ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ —

You yanked on your barista apron with the grace of a drunken octopus, hair still smelling like body spray and cum-adjacent perfume, cheeks flushed with residual shame. The “CUP O' SUNSHINE!” logo stared at you like a passive-aggressive middle finger. A wrinkled pair of jeans hugged your thighs fine—inside out. No time to fix it. No bra.

Your thighs sticked slightly as you walked, the aftermath of being toyed open for hours, edged to oblivion and backed by faceless men who knew the sound of your moans better than your coworkers knew your name.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket with unread messages. The same five names.

X-Devoted: Did u eat yet baby?

Mr. WhiteCoat: You should’ve hydrated more. You lost a lot of fluids.

C.Pilot: when’s your break? I’ll call you.

R.tist!c: sketching the way your thighs shook

Syl.Draconia: You looked perfect on your knees.

You groaned and shoved it in your boring, beige, canvas tote bag.

Outside, the bus screeched past your stop without a single care for your state of existential hangover. You missed it by six goddamn seconds.

"Fuck you, rush hour,” you panted, trying to speed-walk without waddling. Your thighs screamed. Your lower back protested. You're ninety percent sure there was still some faux hickey ink blooming under your collarbone in the shape of a painted thumbprint.

Then the subway ride was hell. You shifted on the plastic seat with a soft hiss, cursing your post-stream sensitivity. The train lurched and your sore cunt clenched involuntarily. You could only bite your lip and pray no one noticed your discomfort.

When you clocked in, the coffee shop was already packed. You're over an hour late and reeking of vanilla lotion and unsanctioned orgasms.

Your workplace was aggressively normal. Neutral-toned hell. A cozy café chain squashed between a vape shop and a dentist’s office. The fluorescent lights buzzed like judging aunts. The espresso machine wheezed like a dying horse.

“Nice of you to join us,” your manager—Lysander—muttered, tossing you a stained dish towel and a name tag that read PIXEL. You didn’t bother to correct him. You were too busy hiding the fact that you forgot underwear.

You forced a smile. The same one you used on camera. “Sorry! Long night.”

As you staggered toward the counter, last night kept crashing back in wet waves.

After the ‘normal stream’—you on all fours, bouncing on a glass dildo while holding a printed-out chatlog to your chest like a script from hell.

“I-I’m gonna come again if you keep saying that, please—please don’t make me—!”

And them—ULTRA VIP chat exploding, all five usernames watching you fall apart like a perfectly wound toy snapping loose.

Syl.Draconia: Youre not allowed to finish until I say so.

X-Devoted: Slower. Hold eye contact. Now beg

Mr. WhiteCoat: Apply pressure to your clit. Precisely three fingers. That’s right.

C.Pilot: fuck, you’re gonna make me blow in my headset.

R.tist!c: cry for me, let me paint it from memory

You had collapsed into a moaning mess while the private chat was filled with tips, voice notes and possessive claims. You came so hard you nearly dislocated your mic stand.

And now here you were—Pixel Bunny’s shadow, stripped of pastel lights, lace, and fake moans. Fresh graduate, still buried in student debts, living alone, half-fucked out, and working the register for caffeine-deprived Karens and stoners.

Taking someone’s half-skim oat milk latte with a fake smile and shaky hands, your body still twitching with phantom overstimulation, your panties still sitting in a tipped-over laundry basket, and your cunt still slick from ghosts of last night’s sins.

You slapped a paper cup onto the counter like a half-dead soldier. Your bones ached. Your legs felt like overcooked noodles. You were seconds away from collapsing into the espresso grounds when you heard it:

“Medium latte. One pump vanilla.”

You didn’t look up at first. You were too busy auto-piloting through your camgirl trauma, but something about the voice made you pause.

It’s… calm and smooth. Measured.

You glanced up and your breath caught mid-exhale.

He was tall. Easily six feet. Fair-skinned and silver-haired, the kind of anime-protagonist-just-transferred-to-your-school handsome that would normally make you roll your eyes. His white sweater looked soft, expensive, the kind of thing someone would wear just to make you think about how good it would feel brushing against your thighs. His pants were dark, tailored. Hands tucked casually into the pockets.

And his eyes. Blue. Not icy—glacial.

Like he sees straight through you, and hasn’t decided if you’re prey… or his.

You swallowed. “N-name for the order?”

His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a second, gaze lingering for a beat on the upside-down nametag stuck above your chest.

“…Xavier.”

Your hand trembled around the Sharpie. You barely managed to scrawl the name on the cup, your brain already conjuring the worst possibilities.

X-Devoted. No. No. It’s just a common name. It’s fine. You’re fine, you’re just sleep-deprived and overstimulated.

You slid the cup toward the espresso machine and forced your voice steady. “It’ll be right up. Um. X-Xavier.”

His lips twitched. Not a smile. Just a flicker—barely there.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly.

Xavier turned to wait at the other end of the counter, hands still in his pockets. Posture straight. Like he was listening.

You sneaked one more glance as you started the order. He was staring at the pastries now. Or the board. Or maybe the reflection in the glass. You couldn’t tell.

But the prickle on the back of your neck said: be careful.

[m0reighn4]

His voice

Sypnosis: Sae realises that his voice affects you. But he wants to test just how much...

Warnings: Smut under the cut; a little out of character (ooc); a tad rushed; Google translated Spanish (your girl just don't know the language ✌🏽😔)

Sae's voice is hot. That much is a given. If he spoke English, it was heavenly. When he spoke his native language, Japanese? Argh! That right there is the ticket straight to heaven!

Now, this had been something you'd gotten used to until one day, when travelling with him in Madrid, Sae is speaking to someone in Spanish. This makes you pause. Similarly to when he speaks English, you can still hear the Japanese accent in his voice. The syllables roll off his tongue so naturally.

Your surprised reaction doesn't go unnoticed by the soccer genius, who subtly slips his arm around your waist. Though it doesn't show, a subtle smirk forms on his face as he continues his discussion.

But when it really comes through is when Sae has got you— pressed into his pristine sheets, back arched into the soft mattress, moaning and whimpering his name just the way he likes.

With the way he skillfully works your body, he draws the best reactions from you. But tonight, it isn't enough. Tonight, he wants even more from you.

Sae leans down, draping your back in his heat as his face comes close to your ear. This is action is all too common for him. Expecting the usual groaning or panting of his, you immediately offer your attention to him. And that's when you hear it— soft and hot against the shell of your ear.

"Allí vamos mi amor, [There we go, my love],"he pants.

And that when he feels it, just the mere sound of his voice being used like this driving you wild. You can't help but shudder, bring the man above his much desired satisfaction.

The both of you groan in unison, his much softer than yours. A soft head of auburn hair drops to your shoulder. His lips tugs into a small, subtle smirk. Oh, he's got you.

Feathery kisses are pressed to the plane of your shoulder, up the column of your neck, right to your ear once more. And you can almost hear his smug smirk in his voice as his thrusts turn the slightest bit sharper.

"Mmh, entonces te gusta mi voz[Mmh, so you do like my voice]?"

His smirk widens when a whine is ripped right from your throat. Sae leaves a sweet kiss right under your ear. And that just leaves you even hotter.

All that runs through your mind is Sae, Sae, Sae! It's driving you nuts in the best way possible. As you ride further up on cloud nine, his voice pulls you right back down to earth once again.

"Te vas a correr para mí, ¿no?[You're gonna cum for me, aren't you?]" And it doesn't take a genius to know how right he is. With your eyes rolled back and your jaw going slack, he whispers in your ear one more time, "Anda, cúmpleme[Go on, cum for me.]"

And that's all you need. With a gasp of his name, white, hot pleasure bursts through your body as you shiver against him. Sae holds you close, reaching his hand over to tilt your jaw to his face. It doesn't take too long before he falls right over the edge with you, smashing his lips to yours to forcing you to swallow the soft sigh of relief he releases.

Aight, so a lot went down with this one. First off, it took me a month to complete (most of that time, it was just sitting in my drafts, collecting dust). Then, came the inevitable issue, me not knowing any Spanish other than the microscopic amounts I learnt from Dora when I was like 4 😭🤷🏽‍♀️. So feel free to correct any mistakes I made in between. And then, my worst one, posting this WAY earlier than I was supposed to. It was so bad that it wasn't even DONE! So I actually had to rush it a little towards the end 😭

So on that note, thanks to everyone who liked and reblogged my incomplete work. And I hope you enjoy the finished work even more now! Thank you all for reading! 🤍🤍💙💙

(Also, thanks to @reigensuperstar for the help with the Spanish bits. Your advice helped a ton 🙏🏽😔)

[peachii-nitenite]

Don’t Look at Me Like That (Viktor x Reader) sfw- suggestive

Summary: Viktor is scolding you for doing something reckless. Unfortunately for him he feels awful doing it. Fortunately for you, you think it’s a little hot.

Sidenote: extremely self indulgent. Slightly selfship coded. Might be slightly ooc. this has been sitting in my drafts since January and I'm sick of looking at it lol.

Content: pining, protective Viktor, mutual pining, fluff , suggestive thoughts, friends to lovers, technically dom!Viktor even though there’s no smut (yet)

Ao3 link

He had always known he should be stricter with you. He had a habit of indulging your whims too often, letting risky behaviors slide. But now he actually had to to it.

And he was failing miserably

He wanted to be upset. He was attempting to be upset. But now, as he glared down at you, he found he could not truly muster any sort of harsh feeling toward you. Not when you were looking up at him like that with wide, glittering eyes.

“…are you mad at me?”

“……”

It wasn’t fair. Not at all.

He was trying to be stern, to reprimand you for your reckless actions. You had tried to surprise him and Jayce by acquiring some rare metals to see how compatible they were with the new gemstones.

This lead you to the undercity, poking around where you likely shouldn’t have been. In your defense, you were also a Zaunite; but you hadn’t been back frequently for a long stretch of time, and it was evident in the way you carried yourself. All alone, too much of a bounce to your step, and no sharp edge to your voice.

A prime target

So when he came across you while out on his own errand, at a shady stall run by a large man with a crooked, rotten smile, he was startled.

He felt like a hypocrite for worrying, but he couldn’t help it. He makes trips to the undercity for supplies as well, but when it came to you it was…different. He almost felt childish for being too protective when it came to you.

His stomach lurched when he saw the way the shopkeeper leered at you while you were busy inspecting the metal for flaws. He was never one to judge based on appearances, however, he was nearly certain that you were dealing with a simple, honest merchant. He also did not like the way he began to notice bulky figures in the shadows, beginning to hover and slowly get closer and watch you innocently haggle.

A lamb in a lions den

How could you be so reckless, so carefree?

In that moment he was livid.

But that was short lived, and quickly replaced with a sense of urgency. He took the initiative to interrupt your dealings, coming up beside you to pluck the metal from your hands. There was a moment of shock and annoyance, as you prepared to argue with whoever would be so rude. But your expression immediately softened and warmed when she realized it was him.

“Oh! Viktor! Didn't expect to see you!”

The way you looked up at him, your smile surprised but no less warm than any other time that you looked at him. It was tender, like you were always pleased to see him. It was going to be the death of him, he swore it.

Oh, that face. The one that made him so incredibly weak. And those eyes. At times he felt like you could see him down to his core, through every wall he had put up.

It made something inside of him ache.

He had to quickly reign in the skipping of his heart, to complete his intervention and successfully get both of you back home. He said your name with a forced, stern edge as you locked eyes. He gave you a look of “you have some explaining to do later” and had to fight the urge to wince at the way you deflated, shrinking into yourself.

“A good coincidence. Come, we are going home, I need your assistance with something.” He kept his words short, to reduce the sting of saying it too harshly. He handed the metal back to the merchant, who cursed under his breath and grumbled as he put it away. His free hand found the small of your back, leading you away from the stall as quickly as his cane would allow.

The eyes peering from alleyways began to back off, but only shortly after he moved his hand from your back to your waist. He did not miss the quiet gasp you let out as he did, and he mumbled a low “sorry”.

Normally, he would had taken you by the arm, or by the hand, but in this instance he felt the need to assert himself; to say to everyone who could see: she isnt alone, she is taken-

That she was his.

His grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly.

He had to swallow down such possessive thoughts. Lock them away, never to be indulged or acknowledged. It was such an ugly, poisonous feeling to him- one that never failed to fill him with shame. He took a heavy sigh as the both of you walked in silence. He mentally recited again and again:

This isn’t about you, this is about her

You are doing this to keep her out of harm's way

He could feel your eyes wandering back up to look at him, no doubt with furrowed brows and concern painting your face. He couldn’t bear to look at you yet, not when you weakened his resolve the way you did.

So the walk and trolley ride back to the lab remained silent. He noticed you open your mouth a few times to attempt to say something, but each time the words died in your throat. It was only on the trolley that he let go of you, immediately missing the feeling of your warmth under his palm.

And now, presently in the process of attempting to scold you, he wanted nothing more than to chase that warmth once more. But he could not get distracted, not when it’s already so difficult.

“What were you thinking, going to a place like that alone? At best you would have been scammed, at worst-“

“But I-“ you weakly interjected

“Do not interrupt me.” He quickly cut you off, causing you to close your mouth into a pout. “It was reckless, no matter how much you think you had the situation under control”

It was easy to be cold and hard with everyone else, but with you? It was asking the impossible.

Seeing the way you bit your lips and avoided his gaze made him feel wretched.

“I thought my lead was solid! I’m sorry, okay?” You pleaded gently, reaching for his free hand to hold it soothingly. “I didn’t mean to worry you, I just wanted to help you…”

You did not play fair. You may not have realized it, but you absolutely were not playing fair in Viktor’s mind. And once again, you were gazing up at him with those big, beautiful eyes. He had to huff and close his eyes to maintain his quickly crumbling mask of anger.

Your hands were so much softer than his, so much warmer. His resolve was crumbling. When he pulled his hand away, you reached out for him again as if by instinct. The pleading look on your face was too much for him.

Before either of you knew it, he had seized your wrist, backing you up against his work table. A few pens clattered to the floor as the backs of your legs hit the table, your free hand quickly finding a place on the cluttered surface to stabilize yourself. His face was so close to yours that it nearly made his head spin, seeing the way your eyes widened with shock and how your breath quickened as he cornered you.

Many of his more sordid daydreams had begun like this; with you pressed against his desk and with him pressed against you. It was only the tangible feeling of your hand in his that cemented that he was not, in fact, dreaming. The line between friendly concern and his true feelings was getting blurrier by the second, as something stirred within him once more seeing you like this. How far could he go before you pushed him away?

“I will not be so lenient with you after this. What you did was reckless and foolish-

He had to ignore how your breath hitched as he brought his face closer

“-Not to mention the fact that you should have cleared this idea with me or Jayce before you decided to-

He had to ignore how your lips were slightly parted and your cheeks were starting to flush

“-And on TOP of that, you-

And your eyes. Heavily lidded, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight, glittering like jewels. As the sun painted you golden beneath him, he began to falter. He was lost in your eyes, no less adoring than they had previously been, but now clear and intense in the light. Your pupils were wide; much wider than usual.

“I…uh, that is to say….” He trailed quietly

An indication of affection.

Or arousal.

“W-well, uh…” he cursed his tongue for failing him.

He felt his face light aflame, pink spreading across his face to the very tips of his ears at the thought-or rather, the very real possibility that you saw him in that light.

He could not ignore it

Not when you were looking at him like that.

He pulled himself away before anything could escalate further, clearing his throat as he put a respectable distance between you.

“W-well you get it. No need to..eh, repeat myself…” he turned away.

What was he about to do? Was he truly so depraved? He mentally kicked himself for letting himself spiral. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were uncomfortable, and the mere thought of no longer bringing a smile to your face nearly broke his heart.

“I… I am sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted so severely…” he hung his head as he went to sit in his chair near the desk, still cautiously maintaining the distance.

“N-no it’s alright! Really! I uh…I needed it I think…” you timidly reassured him.

He could not help but observe the way you kept pressing your thighs together.

“…oh?”

“Y-yeah… you were right… I should be more mindful…and sometimes you should probably…uh…”

“I should probably what?”

You flushed, shyly looking over at him.

“You should be more stern with me…sometimes…” your voice trailed off as you bit your lip once more.

There was an expression he hadn’t seen before on that sweet face.

Longing. Yearning.

And your eyes? Desire.

….

Oh.

Oh…you sweet thing.

Viktor was not the kind of man to jump to conclusions merely when the outcome seemed desirable to him. But he was a man who could see and comprehend what was right in front of him.

You are not mad at him. Not at all.

You liked how he got authoritative with you.

He was reeling with this new information. The very task that tormented him was something that you were into.

Very into, from what he could deduce.

He could take a calculated risk. He could ask you directly, or…

He could get you to say it yourself.

He allowed himself to smile, finally, as he beckoned you forward. You came over immediately. Cute.

You shuffled over, standing before him with your hands clasped behind your back, awaiting his next request. He mustered up his stern voice once more, noting the way that it made you squirm.

“Elaborate. Now.”

You blinked slowly, carefully choosing your next words

“Well…you’re always so patient and kind to me, and I appreciate it a lot… but…”

“But?”

“But sometimes I feel like you’re holding back… so just then- when you got more assertive with me….i didn’t mind it.”

He simply allowed you to continue spilling your truth to him, noting your fidgeting. He didn’t want to scare you off with too many questions after all, not when he was so close to hearing what he wanted.

“It’s… a new side of you I haven’t seen before. It’s so…intense.” He could tell by the way you said it that you had a different word in mind, but deliberately chose a more benign one to spare further embarrassment.

He would be lying if he said it didn’t stroke his ego a bit.

“So…um…yeah I…would like it if you showed that side a bit more often…” you awkwardly concluded, hands still clasped tightly behind your back

You would like it.

You liked it.

The prospect rattled Viktor’s skull.

With that, he decided to take the risk.

“Tell me something.”

“Yeah?”

“If it were anyone else, would you still like it? The scolding.”

The silence that followed was deafening, as he watched you attempt to say something.

Until finally….

“No…no, I’m not sure if I would” you quietly admitted.

“Not even Jayce?” He was just teasing now, but his tone was as serious as a heart attack.

“No…only you”

Only you

Only you

Only you

Your voice echoed inside of him as his heart leapt.

He wasn’t the only one with these feelings; and that realization gave him a relief previously unknown to him.

He leaned forward and held his hand out for you to take, letting his stern mask fall a bit when he saw how you hesitated. You really were too cute.

“Come here” he murmured gently, beckoning you forward. You let your hand rest in his palm, and let him gently tug you forward until you were nearly straddling him. A shadow of a smirk graced his lips when he felt your pulse, your rapidly beating heart betraying you.

He slowly lifted the back of your hand to his face, planting a soft kiss and holding it there for a moment. When he looked up at you, what he saw was nothing short of perfection.

Your lips slightly parted as a sweet gasp left you, the eyes he was so weak to glued to his mouth against your skin;

It was too cute.

“I am not mad at you, despite how much I want to be.” He murmured against your hand before pulling away.

“Is it strange? I find I cannot remain upset with you for longer than a few minutes at a time.” he frowned, sighing and shaking his head “And now… you tell me you like it. How cruel.” 

“I..” you weren't given a chance to speak before a high pitched whine escaped you as his lips brushed your hand once more. You could've sworn you saw him smirking.

“I was worried about you-” a feather light kiss on your knuckles “because I cherish you-” Another on your wrist “And the idea of anything happening to you frightens me-” another just below the cuff of your sleeve. “- so no. I am not mad at you.” 

You sighed in relief, and felt ever so warm under his touch. His eyes darkened as he pulled away slightly, the serious edge returning to his voice.

“But you did scare me half to death. Never do something like this again without telling one of us, understood?”

You nodded, dazed and flushed; and satisfied with this response, he guided you to sit in his lap with a firm hand. The most miniscule of reactions were clear as day to him now, and he smirked as he noted the way you shivered in anticipation.

“Now, would you like to see how intense I can truly be?”

[hivemuthur]

Can I request Viktor accidentally or unintentionally making reader cry and immediately going to comfort them (whether it be crys of sadness or overwhelming happiness, it’s up to you!)

Hi Anon! Here's your fic:

Tearjerker

viktorxgn!reader general, fluff and very light angst, Reader just had a bad day (don't we all sometimes)

word count: 1K

author's note: I know it's kind of OOC for Viktor to use baby as a term of endearment, but it's one of my favourite ones, so I drop it here and there :')

And! This is the last of my drafts from previous requests round, so I'm gonna fuck off for a couple of days and chill my ass. D&M will be updated ofc, but otherwise, I'm cooking some new things that need some time, ciao!

artist on X!

—

You’re quiet on the way home, and Viktor notices immediately. You don’t reach for his hand like you usually do. You don’t lean into him when the wind picks up, don’t murmur idle thoughts the way you always do when the walk feels long. Instead, you’re stiff, tense. Your eyes stay locked ahead, shoulders drawn up tight, and when Viktor offers a small remark about the night—about Jayce being in particularly loud spirits—you only hum.

It’s not like you.

And he has to admit, it’s unsettling. But he doesn’t press—not yet. He simply walks beside you, eyes flickering toward you every few moments, waiting for you to give him something.

Which you don’t, because crying on the street is the last thing you want right now.

Jayce’s loud spirits had found a victim in you tonight. Being the butt of his jokes was bearable—until it wasn’t. At first, it was just annoying. Then it became outright hurtful, especially when Viktor had joined in. You and Mel had only exchanged apologetic glances across the table. Boys.

As soon as the door closes behind you, you move toward the kitchen without a word. Viktor watches you disappear around the corner, rubbing the back of his neck before following. You’re pulling a glass from the cupboard when he leans against the counter, cane hooked over his wrist.

"You have been quiet," he says. "Since we left."

"I’m tired," you lie, and it’s not convincing in the slightest.

He tilts his head. "Something is wrong."

"No." A sigh.

Viktor exhales through his nose, then steps closer. "You forget, I know you too well to believe that."

You stiffen, and the words slip out before you can swallow them back—before you can stop the wave of hot tears tightening your throat. "How come you do not know when to stop talking, then?"

His brows draw together. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Did you have fun tonight?" you snap, turning to face him, lips already forming a pout, eyes unmistakably wet. "At my expense?"

And Viktor—oh. You almost feel sorry for him when you see the horror on his face, but you’re too busy feeling sorry for yourself. Any other day, you might have let it pass, but today had been a disaster—a morning gone wrong, a workday you barely got through, and a double date you’d forced yourself to attend, only to regret every second of it.

"Darling, we were jesting," he says carefully. "Jayce did not mean any harm, and neither did I."

He steps toward you, hands already reaching to cradle you, but the way you flinch away makes his arms drop to his sides in idle defeat.

"Oh, I know," you say, voice trembling, tears spilling despite yourself. "But if you know me so well, then you should have noticed when I was getting uncomfortable."

Viktor goes very still.

In his head, he relives the evening in a series of scenes, and since none of them seem so utterly harmful, he makes a terrible mistake. "Baby, don’t you think you’re overreacting?"

He knows it the moment it’s too late.

The look you give him—oh. Excruciating. Tears swell, and you say nothing, but disappointment oozes from you, sharp enough to make a point.

His expression shifts—caution dissolving, something horrible settling in its place. His throat works, guilt creeping into the lines of his face.

"Beloved," he starts softly.

"Don’t." You shake your head, stepping back until your spine meets the wall. You try to sniff your tears up—to no avail.

And for the first time in a long time, Viktor doesn’t know what to say.

So instead, he closes the space between you, hands hesitating before settling at your waist. You tense, but when he squeezes—gently, firmly—you don’t push him away.

"I did not realise," he murmurs. "I should have."

You swallow hard, looking anywhere but at him. Viktor exhales, lowering his forehead to yours—leaving you no space to run. "I am so sorry," he says quietly, earnest and raw. "I was foolish. I did not see the cut I was adding to."

A breath shudders out of you, and he hates that he caused it.

His arms tighten, pulling you flush against him, his lips brushing your temple. "It will not happen again," he promises, voice thick. "I can’t stand that I made you cry, miláčku."

A kiss—long and firm—pressed into your hair. Another, when his lips ghost over your cheek, and he drags his mouth across the salty trail.

"Forgive me, please," he whispers, showering you with slow, lingering pecks.

You say nothing, but you let him cradle your face, let him nuzzle into you. Then his hands fall to yours, and he picks them up, pressing his lips to your knuckles. "I will keep my mouth shut. Or better, I will swat Jayce across the back of his head next time."

You chuckle—weakly, but it’s a chuckle. Your eyes roll, and Viktor’s chest loosens as he reaches up to wipe away your tears. "My darling," he says, out of ideas for how else to atone.

You take a long breath—then finally hug him back. Your arms wrap around his neck, and he exhales in relief, his breath warm against your skin. The weight of it has your mouth quirking into a smile. "Fine," you say quietly.

"Am I forgiven?" he asks, nose buried in your shoulder as he rocks you gently.

“Yes, but only because I enjoyed the dramatics of it,” you hum, your fingers tangling into his hair. “Such a tearjerker.”

“Oh baby, I can atone further, you have seen nothing yet.”

[hamsternella]

maybe headcanons of Bill Cipher being obsessed with us for being Ford's wife, but at first he feels jealous and gradually that changes as he finds we have equal things (e.g. we are blind, and that makes Bill start to want to get more intimate with us as he has with Ford because he finds that we have also been despised/put aside because of that difference), and maybe he wants to make a deal with us but we refuse out of loyalty to Ford and that makes Bill jealous- but now of Ford, not of us lmao sorry if that is confusing or too specific.

Are you going to write any Gravity Falls fanfic on the side? I've seen your poll and I'm very excited

HELLO, and no problem. Here it is, I hope you like it.

As for the fanfic, I do plan to write one. Actually, it's in drafts; I just need to correct what I have written. I don't know if I should make it long or cut it and put it in chapters.

PART TWO

Bill Cipher being obsessed with you [headcanon]

cw: fem!reader, non-con touching, possessed body, jealousy, maybe a bit of ooc(?

The reason Bill begins to feel his plan is threatened is because of you. As much as Ford has him on a pedestal, you are still the main reason for his early accomplishments. The special person who has been with him since his college discovery years.

You're not like McGucket; your judgment carries paramount weight in Ford's most decisive decisions. You're not a mentally dazzling woman, not like him, but your claws keep you firmly entrenched behind Sixer's back. Bill repudiates that—it makes no sense at all!

As if that weren't enough, the affair culminates with you being blind. Can there be anything much more repugnant than a romance fueled by misfortune? Ford is drawn to your sincere heart, and you support him unconditionally because beyond your husband's obsession, your love for him seems to break down the most terrifying walls. And how can you be afraid of something you can no longer see?

Bill feels he has the enemy breathing behind his back. For the first time he thinks he can't solve everything with a kick to the rock in the middle of the road.

The closest thing to a tantrum you get from him —unknowingly— are regular nightmares, a weak body and constant paranoia about unfamiliar sounds and sensations. Your home is suddenly a new world; frightening and strange. Because of this you become clumsy and unpredictable, and even your husband doesn't understand what it is that has you so off track.

Bill can't use his influence on your reality at all, but through Ford and other extensions, as well as fine print manipulations, he manages to reach you without arousing suspicion.

''I've told you many times, Bill,'' sighed Ford with his back turned, both hands placed on his journal. ''I don't think I can go through with this completely until I manage to find a way to help my wife.''

''Isn't this a sign that it's time to get her out of your way?''

"Excuse me?’’ The man turned his attention to the demon; his eyes laden with bitterness and desolation. ''What do you mean by that? I can't abandon my wife, Cipher—she would never do something like that to me.''

''Well,'' Bill chuckled, ''it's not like she's really done anything for you all this time. This project is our thing, Fordsy, and it shouldn't be interrupted by a little stumble that doesn't even belong to us. Or are you going to give up everything you've sacrificed for this?''

''You have understood me like no other, Bill; I admit that there is no person or creature existing on this planet who can do all that you have done for me,'' admitted Ford solemnly. ''But she's my wife—she's been around even before you, when I was nobody. When I had nothing. And even when I came to Gravity Falls and left everything behind she was always there. Bill, I... I can't, I'm sorry.''

Bill held back another complaint, beginning to notice that things were not working out the way he had wanted. Your clumsiness didn't kill Ford's patience or control, but what little sanity —if any— there was in him. It was humiliating; Bill Cipher losing to a human being, a random woman—blind, to make it worse.

The demon was beginning to withdraw in on himself, frustration rising to anger, when Ford's voice from the entrance to the room drew his gaze back. There was a different gleam in his companion's, and Cipher understood with annoyance where the conversation would end up now.

Your husband introduces you to the possible solution to all your problems: Mr. Cipher, a doctor and close friend of Stanford. A mysterious man with a booming voice that makes your hair stand on end, but at the end of the day a man of studies and degrees. Of course you were going to trust your husband's recommendation.

''What a coincidence that you happened to be passing by, sir! Thank you for offering to help me. That's very kind of you.''

Bill starts pretending to be your personal doctor in search of a miracle solution to your problems. It's not hard to avoid contact with you to hide the truth; Ford tries hard to keep the situation straight.

If the demon hated you before, now you better start praying.

Cipher understands that he needs to play along with Ford if he wants the project to stay on track, even if that means starting to help you heal while containing his desire to get rid of you.

Maybe if he possessed Stanford and took advantage of you during your naps.

Maybe.

But he knows better than that—Ford isn't stupid. Not stupid enough, at least.

It was humiliating to have to take care of what he himself had caused, but it's not as if Bill could afford any other way to get back on the project. Ford was all he had. Where was he going to get someone else capable enough? This had been fate; interrupted at the last minute by the appearance of a bad third. This was all your fault. Blind little rat—woman busybody with a sweet smile and giggly voice. Cipher understood why Sixer was where he was with you, on the one hand. On the other it was all the same: a whim that cost dearly. Who needed someone like you? What was the benefit? Sex, maybe? But Bill Cipher was a thousand times better than something so banal! Please…

Bill rolled his eye, snapping his fingers to undo the nightmare you were in. As soon as your dream was undone you let out an exclamation of surprise, jumping on the bed. You brought a hand to your face, feeling the sweat, and almost immediately moved your body to where he lay. Cipher held back surprise, finding himself genuinely intrigued.

''Doctor,'' you whispered hoarsely, ''good afternoon. I... Forgive me, I think I fell asleep—it was sudden, I don't know what came over me...''

''Did you know it was me here with you?''

The smile you gave him threw him off. A ''Well, yes, isn't it very obvious?'' kind of grimace.

''Does your husband know that you have these nightmares during our therapies?''

'Therapies' sounded fancy, but it was shorthand for the tortures Bill forced you to go through; a theater of supposed recovery to cover up his need to hurt you.

“He doesn't know, doctor. I haven't told him, if I'm honest,'' you replied. ''Please don't tell him anything.''

''It would be unethical!''

‘’Pretending to be a doctor is also unethical, sir,’’ you laughed. ''I am blind, not stupid.’’

Killing you was going to be the only solution to all of this—although from that day on nothing else ever happened.

Bill has to accept that you have a lot of tricks up your sleeve. You're not just any woman anymore; being Ford's wife had to have been warning enough for him.

You continue to not remind him of his charade and allow him to continue 'treating' you, while your husband resumes the plans for the portal.

Surprisingly, Bill seems to have found interest in something much more striking.

You.

The nightmares subside, your mood and judgment improve, and Cipher finds a strange pleasure in this new side of you: much more alert, more talkative and wittier. You have your charm.

But it's your husband who pulls the reins. Bill gets it right away.

Evenings with you aren't exactly revelatory like they are with Ford, who always has enough data and information to surprise everyone with. With you it's different; it's something much more intimate and almost forgotten by Bill. He knows so much that it would be impossible to be taken by surprise—but you manage to do it.

He is overcome with a nostalgic and unpleasant feeling, but which ironically keeps him alive as he decides to lie to Ford.

Bill doesn't want to let you go. It's strange. Maybe he got used to another glaring presence besides Sixer? Torturing you a little more in silence to keep you under his care should not be a stupid thing to do at all.

Cipher encounters another particular feeling: curiosity. He needs to know why you know what you know; and what it is, above all else, that keeps you here.

What keeps you with so much power over him, Bill Cipher.

''Are you saying that I have tricks up my sleeve? I don't get it, doctor...''

''Oh! Oh, please,'' Bill interrupted, thunderous laughter bouncing across the room. ''You know I'm no doctor; the title is ridiculous.''

''Should I call you 'Mr. Cipher' instead?''

Bill held back a sigh, rubbing his eye for a moment before orbiting around you. If you had noticed, you didn't say or do anything. Your eyes, white as opaque pearls, remained fixed on a corner of the room.

''Since when did you know I wasn't a doctor? No, better yet, since when did you know I wasn't human?''

''Well, it's not quite like that either,'' you replied under a soft laugh. ''You just revealed to me that you are not human. As for the doctor thing... Well, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think that dream therapies and transverse snoring with citrus scent induction while dipping my feet in spoiled milk is something a professional would recommend.''

Bill pretended not to be offended.

''Besides that,'' you continued, ''I know my husband very well. I know that he hides dangerous things down there, where I cannot reach by myself, just as I know everything that has been happening is not the product of chance.''

''Did you know all this time that your nightmares and fears have been my doing?''

‘’No, not really. You just confessed it to me.''

‘’Oh, come on!’’ Bill shook his fists in the air, abruptly remembering that you couldn't see him. It was strange, you seemed to know the world you inhabited even though your eyes wouldn't let you. The thought made the demon orbit around you again, returning in front of you. Opaque pearls; gaze lost in the open. "I've had a majestic revelation at this very moment! Do you want to hear it, or will your big, bold woman brain let you know in advance what I have to say?”

"I have a slight feeling you don't like me.”

“Yes or no!”

“Of course, tell me.”

"I have to assume you weren't born blind; this must be the product of an accident," Cipher began to say. "That would explain why the hell you do everything you do, and why the fuck you know where I am.”

"That's right, Mr. Cipher," you nodded. "I've had an accident, though I suppose you know that because you've infiltrated me. Either that, or my husband told you.”

"So you did know that I'm a demon?”

“You just—”

“Oh, shut up! Don't fucking say it again.”

Your coexistence with Bill becomes pleasant, despite the early revelation of his nature and his having been the cause of your misfortunes.

Cipher comes to believe that he may have been wrong; maybe you were stupid after all.

But that would be crazy! Unlike with Ford, with you the feelings are extremely nostalgic and warm. There is no trace of some kind of farce or genuine morbid interest behind your words. You believe everything you say.

Bill, who despite not sleeping or dreaming, being haunted by the memory of screams and an old distorted and flat reality, finds in your company a comfort zone that makes him delirious.

Sadly, your heart and your judgment is still tied to Sixer—as if that brainiac cared at all!

Bill begins to drive Ford crazy; he feeds him extensive knowledge, possesses him more often to enjoy the benefits, and then alters his memories, making it difficult for him to know what is truth and what is a lie.

Where he can no longer meet your needs, Bill is always there to dazzle you.

You jumped in your seat, feeling your husband's warm hands wrap around your neck. Fingers, rough from machines and dust, caressed your skin awkwardly, drawing a chuckle from you. His breath came to you from above, as if he had just sighed in delight at your reaction. When you felt him rest his hands on your shoulders, you slowly brought one of yours to caress the back of his. You felt him tremble.

''I thought you were sleeping?'' you asked with genuine interest. ''Is everything all right? All these days you've been doing the same thing.''

''Do you mind, beautiful?''

You stifled a laugh.

''No, Ford, your company would never be a bother to me... Are you smelling my hair?''

‘’I just can’t get enough of you.’’

You felt him circle your body, delineating one of the chairs near you so he could relax his body in it. You didn't last long without his hands—as soon as he resumed his seat, you felt his fingers intertwining with yours. This time it was more consistent and comfortable; not like all those days where it seemed like your husband had forgotten how to use his own body.

''Oh, dear! Seeing you with these two orbs of nerves and membrane is amazing! You look even more dazzling.''

Although the comments without any context or sense were still there.

''I'm not that great,'' you said with a small laugh. A little shy. Ford didn't used to give you so many compliments. “How's your project going?’’

‘’That thing? Good, very good. Excellent, my dear! Maybe you could see for yourself—oh, well, you can't,'' he guffawed. ''Right. Whatever! Hey, uh, can I ask you a question?''

‘’Y-Yeah, sure, honey.’’ You cleared your throat. ‘’What’s the matter?’’

''Hypothetical scenario. You're married, but you're not quite fulfilled. Suppose someone comes along who is much better than your husband,'' he explained. ''He's smart, funny, multifunctional, powerful, extra-dimensional, or very soon will be, and also very stylish!'' Silence. Moments later an exclamation. ''Do you have a favorite color? His favorite color is yellow!''

‘’I… I mean, sorry, but I actually don’t understand at all where’s the question.’’

‘’Don’t be silly! Would you leave your husband for this entity—excuse me, for this person?''

‘’What?’’

‘’The heck.’’

Another booming laugh, and though you tried to accompany it with your own, the sound that came from you was choppy and awkward. This exchange was strange.

''I can't find a reason to leave my husband for this so-called mystery person,'' you replied. ''I am supposed to have married him for a reason which should be more than enough. Ford,'' you rushed on, ''is this regarding Mr. Cipher?''

''Why?'' he asked at once. ''Why do you think of him all of a sudden? Do you feel something forbidden about him in this marriage?''

''But of course not!''

''What do you mean ‘no’?!’’

His hands let go of yours. The chair in front of you seemed to be dragged, the wood against the floor squeaking with the sudden friction. The movement had taken you by surprise.

‘’Ford?’’

''Why are you so happy? Why, huh?'' he sighed, frustrated. ''Haven't I abandoned you every night in a freezing bed, while I prefer the company of machines? Cipher has been very kind to you and kept you company!''

''Ford, what are you—wait. Wait a moment... Bill, is this you?'' You covered your mouth, terrified at the discovery. Your companion didn't respond and you simply let out a shaky breath. ''Are you possessing my husband?’’

‘’Damn, that was fast.’’

‘’That’s awful!’’

"There was full consent!" added Bill with a chuckle. "This is a man-to-man thing, my pretty little fleshbag. Something between colleagues, plain and simple. You needn't fear—Bill Cipher is taking care of everything.”

"But it's horrendous anyway!" you exclaimed with your voice splitting. "It all makes sense now... The words, the touches, the way you acted—it was all a sham! You were using my husband!”

"Oh, please, little one. Wasn't it you who dreamed of being able to touch me?”

"You, not a substitute class using Stanford's body! Have you two been doing these kinds of exchanges all along?”

"It's just that there was a change of plans!”

“A change? What—”

“I mean, I tried to kill you; but it's not that easy now,” he laughed.

You tried to calm your breathing. Your heart was beating painfully against your chest, and your whole body was trembling. This wasn't right, obviously. It was like a vivid nightmare.

“Not that I want to do it, of course.”

“Why?” you asked after a long silence.

You felt the presence of your husband's body very close to you. A pair of hands rested on your cheeks, caressing them with his fingers very softly; the touches getting lost under the trembling of your figure when you heard again a sigh of delight. Something was up.

“You know,” he whispered, “I think we could make a deal. A little, pretty one, and just for you.”

“A deal? A deal with a demon, you mean. No, thank you.”

“Oh, come on! It will be fun!”

“And it makes no sense.”

Bill turned away from you, returning to his chair to take a seat across from your body.

"What exactly is it that Ford gives you that I can't manage to satisfy? Because very soon the little project will be complete, and I will have full disposal of many wonderful tricks to take care of you, my dear," he continued. "An eternity together! We'll be able to create and tell thousands of new stories; to travel across the world and let you experience hundreds of new sensations. We'll be unstoppable! Incomparable!”

"That's not the way things work, Bill…”

"Things work because of the strongest. I will soon be the only one with that title.”

"What will happen to Ford?" you asked haltingly. "What will you do to my husband?”

"He's my co-worker, dear.”

"You're hiding something from me.”

"So what if it is? He doesn't matter here! It's our time... You're mine.”

The way your husband's voice was beginning to distort sent a shiver through your body. You loved Ford—you missed him. The idea that you had been kissing the lips of a man possessed a couple of days ago was turning your stomach. Your silence seemed to feed something inside the demon; his voice thundered, totally changed, across the room.

"A few weeks ago you said you missed the stars," added Bill. "The last time you saw them was when you were a teenager. I miss the stars too—the ones I saw with a different eye. It's not the same anymore. Nothing is, since..." Silence. You didn't dare interrupt the creature who seemed to be drowning in bitter memory. It took him a while to pull himself together; a split laugh piercing your ears like an arrow. "Oh, the misery! I thought it repulsive the way you two looked so united over something so pathetic. Anyway, what does the past matter now, what does misery matter! There's no such thing being with Bill Cipher. You'll want for nothing.”

"I refuse, Bill.”

"And I refuse too," he laughed. "See? We can play the same game, silly. I don't recommend testing my patience, though.”

The touch of palms against the warm skin of your neck took you by surprise. The roughness of those fingers you loved so much were now forbidding you to breathe; the softness of moist lips pressing against yours, taking advantage of the way you parted yours to find a sliver of air. You soon struggled against your husband's body, desperate to deny the foreign tongue that flicked unseemly and inexperienced inside you. Bill was drowning in an unfamiliar feeling that felt too good. You were soft, fragile. Your flesh was tender and warm, quivering like an animal about to die—he was going to devour it to the bone. Was this what Ford had been doing with you? You liked it?

He could kill you. He could end your life when the portal was complete; he could take advantage of Ford, as he had been doing all this time, and keep the prize all to himself. Why was it so hard? What was it you had done to him? Was Ford a victim too? The thought burned like a fierce fury at the back of his mind—jealousy once again. The need to own even the crumbs. Ford wouldn't have the right to be your victim anymore. This feeling was too good for that brainiac to understand, surely he never did.

But Bill understood everything. He was incomparable. He could dominate your life and hold the reins as well as Ford had been doing. No. Cipher was going to do better! Did you miss your husband's domination? Bill would be your ruler; he would destroy obstacles and build better ones to keep you in check. Maybe a little training and you'd become a beautiful little bag of flesh and muscle—tight, warm and obedient. And who knows if you'd end up exceeding his expectations! Who knows if a little gift occupying your orbs would give you the chance to enjoy the same star-studded sky together.

"Don't think too much," whispered Bill pantingly. "There's plenty of other things to do than something as dull as that. Don't worry your pretty little head.”

You shook your head, surrendered to crying. Your husband's hands had left your neck, but now they wrapped around your wet cheeks, offering shy caresses.

"From now on you're going to use it when I say so. Everything will be that way, and you know why?”

A crooked laugh vibrated against his chest, reaching you through his hands.

"Because now you will be my new pet. A special one! The best of them all… You could say ‘muse’, even. Isn't that beautiful, dear?”

A cold kiss. The last one.

“Aren't you, above all, beautiful too?”

[toruskiii]

BEEP BEEP! YOUR RIDE IS HERE!

"𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳."

Sypnosis: You ordered an Uber to get home— but something about your driver is… off. Not in a dangerous way, just weird. Genre: Fluff/Crack Characters: Blade, Boothill, Aventurine x gn!reader Warnings: NEVER let Boothill drive you around. Lots of reckless driving (keep your eyes on the road and follow traffic laws guys), Aventurine gambling addiction core, reader just gives up on Blade's part LMAO, a lot of cussing, this is pretty ooc😭 A/N: Heh...how long has it been since I last posted?! This has been rotting in my drafts for quite a while so take this as an apology [masterlist] [about me]

BOOTHILL

It’s well-known that Boothill has a reputation for stealing vehicles and disregarding traffic laws while he was in Penacony, so it’s safe to say he’s probably not the best Uber driver around.

But you were exhausted. Your feet were aching from walking around the city, and you were way too far from the train station. Besides, it was late, and at this point, calling an Uber seemed like your only option. You scroll through the app, frustration building as you realize there’s no one available to pick you up at this hour— except for one driver.

Boothill.

The name itself was odd, but you figured, why not give it a try?

That is, until you started reading the ratings and reviews. Now you’re regretting your decision and seriously considering texting your friends and family the car details, just in case.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 3 out of 5 stars. “A very odd fellow, and he almost got us both into a car crash!” ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 2 out of 5 stars. “I was a drunk passenger, but honestly, I can’t tell if I was the one who was drunk or if it was him.” ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 0 out of 5 stars. “Does this guy even have a license? He’s seriously reckless! But I’ll admit, he managed to speed across the streets and get me to my destination on time, even though I was running late.” >Cyborg69 replied: "Oi, don't cha think I should get at least 3 stars for that?"

You barely have time to read another review when a sharp honk pulls you out of your thoughts.

Beep!

"Hey, you the one who ordered an Uber?" A rough, almost drawling voice calls out, and you look up to see a man with black-tipped bangs leaning out of his car window. In all honesty, he looks pretty decent— well, as decent as someone can look when you realize they’re not exactly human. Penacony really does attract the strangest people.

His fingers tap against the car door, a playful grin spreading across his face as he gestures toward the vehicle. "Hop in! Front or back, your choice." he says with a casual shrug. You pick the back seat, deciding it’s the safest bet.

As you settle into the car, you’re immediately hit by the sharp, almost overpowering scent of gasoline. It catches you off guard, and you can’t help but wince. He notices your expression in the rearview mirror and lets out a low chuckle, rolling down all the windows with a flick of his hand. "Heh, sorry ‘bout the smell. Kinda rushed to... ya know, grab some fuel."

If his ratings didn’t already make you second-guess this ride, the way he spoke just sealed the deal.

“Oh! Uh, that’s fine.” You force a smile, nervously buckling your seatbelt as he starts driving. At first, everything seems normal. You keep glancing at him through the rearview mirror, your eyes meeting his for a few seconds before he quickly looks away, whistling casually.

"Don’t hafta keep lookin' at me, sweetheart. I ain’t no danger." He flashes a smile, but it doesn’t do much to ease your nerves. "So, headin’ home?" he asks, and you nod slowly, giving him an address near your place for him to drop you off.

As the drive continues, your gaze shifts to the interior of the car, and you can’t help but feel a little weirded out by some of the decor. A heart-shaped pillow? Really? That didn’t exactly match the vibe you’d expect. And a bottle of perfume— one that definitely looked like it belonged to a woman. Maybe he just liked the scent, but still, it felt… odd. After all, men’s perfumes could be strange sometimes. Who wants to smell like wolf shit and pig ass anyway?

Then again, he did kind of fit that description.

Maybe he liked the scent of blood— because suddenly, he floors the accelerator, speeding down the highway, earning a chorus of honks from terrified drivers.

“woAH!” you shriek, the force slamming you back into your seat. Your hands instinctively grab the handle above the door, knuckles white as the car swerves dangerously.

“Oops, sorry.” His voice comes out nonchalantly, but there’s no trace of remorse on his face— just that stupid grin. “Hold on tight! These folks on the road are way too slow.” With a wild yell, he floors the gas again, pushing the car even faster.

At this point, you’re just praying that if the car flips, you’ll go down with it. You didn’t want to survive whatever mess would follow if he really did manage to send the car tumbling. Your heart’s pounding in your chest, and you scream again in pure horror, watching him laugh as he skillfully dodges every car in his path.

“What the actual FUCK are you doing?!” you scream, feeling your life flash before your eyes.

“I’m driving! What else am I doing? Taking a dookie?” he retorts with a scoff, eyes flicking briefly to the rearview mirror. You glance back, and your stomach drops: blue and red lights. Are there cops behind you?

“Uh, ignore the cops, darlin’.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Pretend this is just some free clubbing lights for ya.”

You panic, a fresh wave of terror rushing over you. "I don't want to fucking club!"

"Woah there, panic at the disco, heheh."

You don’t find his joke funny at all when he suddenly misses the turn to your house, and for a brief moment, you actually consider choking him out from the backseat just to make him stop. But then, something heavy falling in the car catches your eye.

Wait. Was that a gun? Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

He must’ve noticed your body stiffen in horror, because his free hand quickly rummages through his pockets. With a groan, he mutters, “Oh my Aeons— sorry, that’s my gun.” He clears his throat, and you can only deadpan at him, your mind racing. The reviews on his profile had to be way too generous. He didn’t deserve 0 stars. Hell, he should be banned, his license revoked, and his profile deleted.

But of course, he tries to reassure you. “Don’t worry, that’s, uh… a toy gun. For unruly passengers, ya know? Get it?” His sharp teeth flash in a grin, and you swear, for a split second, you see a glint of something dangerous. Then he curses some censored version of a swear word under his breath. “Ah, crap…I missed your turn.”

Yeah, you’re never booking an Uber again.

The car screeches as he whips it into a sharp U-turn, sending a cloud of smoke from the tires. You glance over to the police officer in the next lane— his bright blue eyes reflecting dim streetlights, a black-haired guy with an unreadable expression. But it’s the person sitting in the backseat that catches your attention. Two glowing golden eyes peer out from the window, face pressed against the glass.

“What the heck do they want from you?!” you scream, your body drenched in sweat as you grip the seat, heart racing.

Boothill shrugs nonchalantly. “Ehh... I dunno.”

Oh, he definitely knows.

He suddenly slams the brakes, and you slam forward, your face colliding with the back of his seat. Before you even have a chance to recover, you scramble out of the car, your breath ragged. But something catches your eye— there’s a pair of black heels in the backseat.

Wait. What?

“Think of this ride as, uh— on the house, ‘kay?” Boothill calls out from the window, giving you a thumbs-up with his metal fingers. You can barely catch your breath as you clutch your chest, your heart still racing.

“I’m kinda in a sticky situation— er…” His voice trails off as the sirens grow louder. He grunts, pulling the handbrake, but not before shouting at you as he slams the gas and speeds off.

“Remember to give me 5 stars on the Uber app!”

You stand frozen, staring in disbelief as his car disappears into the distance. Your mind is still reeling, trying to process what just happened, when the police car whips past you in a blur of lights and sirens. And then, you hear it— a panicked scream.

“HE’S DRIVING AWAY WITH HIMEKO’S CAR—"

AVENTURINE

After a long night of clubbing, you called an Uber, eager to escape the blinding lights and noise and head home. But what you didn’t expect was stepping into what felt more like another club than a car ride.

This didn’t feel like an Uber at all. The backseat was spacious, plush even, with a basket full of snacks— gum, chips, candy, just about anything you could imagine.

“Feel free to take whatever you want, yeah? It’s an accommodation,” a smooth voice drawls, and damn, you did not expect your Uber driver to be someone so... dazzling. A pretty blonde guy with striking purple and blue eyes, his gaze cool and calm. His cologne was strong but intoxicating, a heady mix of something sweet yet fresh.

"Are you sure I can take the snacks? No extra charge?" You raise an eyebrow, hesitating as you reach for a packet of chips.

"No extra charge," he repeats with a smirk, his hands casually gripping the wheel. He taps his fingers on the leather-covered steering wheel as he waits patiently for the car in front of him to move.

You mumble a quiet thanks before grabbing a few packets of chips and stuffing them into your bag, quickly buckling up your seatbelt. As you settle in, you start taking in your surroundings. One look at this guy, and it’s pretty obvious he’s loaded. The seats are unbelievably comfortable, and the extra touches in the snack basket are a little surprising. Alongside the chips, there are bottles of mineral water and other beverages, perfect if you’re parched. And judging by the brand of the snacks and drinks, it’s clear— this is first-class treatment. Something you’d expect to find on a luxury flight.

Suddenly, a tiny dice clatters against your leg. You freeze, slowly picking it up, unsure of what to make of it. He doesn’t seem to notice your hesitation, his grin widening as he speaks.

“Roll the dice,” he says, his tone playful. “The number you land on will decide where you’re going.”

You blink, completely caught off guard. “I’m sorry— what?” you stare at him in disbelief. “I just wanna go home, dude.” You hand the dice back to him awkwardly, hoping he’ll drop it.

He tuts, the sound almost childlike. “Ah, no, no, no. I offered you some wonderful snack choices, the least you could do is play along with my game.” He whines, like a petulant child, and you’re starting to feel uneasy. But there’s something about him that doesn’t scream dangerous— just weird. Definitely weird, like the one Uber driver you met last month.

“…And what is this about?” You furrow your brow, a little frustrated. “You’re an Uber driver, shouldn’t you listen to your customer on where they want to go?” You toss the dice back toward him.

“Please,” he suddenly pleads, slumping in his seat dramatically. “I have a gambling addiction.”

You raise an eyebrow, eyeing him cautiously. “What does that have to do with me?” You glance down at the dice now sitting in your palms.

He lets out a dramatic sigh, his eyes glazed over with a mix of frustration and longing. “My job banned me from going to casinos for a week,” he mutters. “So, I took this Uber job to kill time. The only way to salvage my boredom is to have my customers gamble for me.”

This Uber driver is definitely fucking weird.

“And what is your job, besides being an Uber driver...?” you ask, gulping slightly as you glance around his car, trying to pick up on any clues. His outfit, the decor, anything that might give you an idea of what’s going on.

“Well… I work for the IPC—”

“Okay, I get it now,” you quickly cut him off, your face twisting into an expression of judgment and unease. Those three letters were all you needed to hear. Of course, he worked for the IPC. All the people you've met affiliated with the IPC were just off. Like that strange Uber driver from last month? He was a huge IPC hater— and, oh yeah, he robbed a car. Then there was that girl you ran into last week, the one who casually introduced herself as an IPC worker. And trailing behind her? This bizarre creature that looked like an anteater... or a dolphin— you’re not even sure. You overheard it was her pet, but you’ve never seen anything like that in your life.

"Hey," he sighs, sitting up straighter in the seat. You’re desperately hoping he’ll drop the dice nonsense and just start driving already, but he stays put, even though the car in front of you has been long gone.

"I know the IPC has a bad reputation," he says, "but I promise you I’m not that bad."

"Yeah... not that bad for a guy who has a price on the IPC’s head," you mutter under your breath, and you catch the flash of recognition in his eyes.

“Oh! Boothill?”

You instantly regret even saying anything.

“I bumped into that guy last week— well, more like he crashed into my car,” he continues, seemingly unphased by your discomfort. “At first, he apologized. Then, out of nowhere, he pulled a gun on me and—”

Without thinking, you hurl the dice somewhere in the car, scramble to get out, and bolt for the door, heart racing.

"No tip???"

BLADE

It hadn’t even been five minutes in the car, and your driver was already chastising you.

"You're breathing too loudly in my car."

You freeze, immediately holding your breath, your hands clutched tightly in your lap. "I apologize—"

"Don’t talk."

You bite your lip, feeling your patience slip. Let me just fucking die then, I guess, you think, staring blankly out the window.

You glance over at the drawer in the car and notice a piece of paper peeking out. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you tug it out, only to find the words written in... lipstick?

“𝒲𝒽𝑜𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒹𝒾𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝒾𝒸𝓴𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓅, 𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓃𝒸𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝓀𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝓇𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝒾𝑒. 𝒟𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎, 𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝒹𝓇𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝒾𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓈𝑒!~"

What the hell? Why are all the drivers like this? You can't even begin to describe it anymore.

"If you're feeling afraid right now, I suggest you get off," his deep voice cuts through the silence, and without missing a beat, you nod— pushing open the door while he’s still driving and rolling out onto the pavement.

reader rn:

[blahblahwritings]

Collateral Souls - 1

Hello! Guess who is jumping on the Thunderbolts bandwagon? It's me. I hate how few longer fics there are out there of our boy Bob so I cracked my knuckles and got to it.

I'm planning on this being about 20ish chapters long? I drafted out a plan but it could be longer or shorter depending on the storybeats and how things go. And knowing me I might randomly stop posting because of work.

Reader has shadow abilities kind of like ACOTAR if you've read those.

This chapter is just a lot of set up really. I've already written chapter two so I will post that tomorrow.

Slow burn. Eventual smut probably. Reader described as female. Sorry if they seem a bit OOC.

I haven't written in literal years. Be gentle.

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

Word Count: 3205

Chapter One - New Foundations

Four months post-incident. 

Each month brought a wave of new issues. Press, missions, refurbishments, moving in. Valentina had been ruthless, scheduling interviews and conferences and missions and on and on and on. If anything, moving some boxes into the newly decorated Avengers tower was the most relaxing thing that the team had been told to do. Not that there were many boxes. Most of the team had very few possessions, given their line of work. 

The team walked on to the main residential level of the tower. It was one of the only four fully furnished floors of the tower. The air was cool, almost overly so—Val’s idea of comfort, Bob guessed. On the right, a large modern kitchen fitted with state of the art appliances. The only thing Bucky cared about was if it had a coffee machine. It did. In front of the elevators was a living space. A spacious couch covered in cushions and throws curled around the area with a coffee table in the center and a generously sized TV in the open section. The walls still gleamed with sterile, untouched gloss, like a showroom that no one wanted to live in. Some boxes with their names on them stood stacked in an open space by the elevator. Alexei chuckled, the sound reverberating off the walls as it came from deep in his chest. He threw his arms out as he walked forwards.

“Home sweet home, eh? The TikTok will love this.” He said in his thick accent, a hand fisting his phone out of his pocket. The rest of the team groaned as he fumbled to open the app, his large thumbs struggling to hit the right buttons.

”Alexei please, enough with the TikTok stuff.” Bucky moaned as his head tilted back, looking to the ceiling as if looking for some higher power to step in, Yelena seconding his words. Ava immediately moved to the doors on the left to claim a bedroom for herself. The rest of the team eventually followed. 

“New base, new me, huh?” John smiled, nudging Yelena with his elbow but no one laughed. Or even reacted.

They each looked at the almost identical spaces on the floor before bickering over who wanted which room. John and Alexei argued for fifteen minutes over who got the slightly bigger room at the end of the corridor. Yelena and Ava simply looked at each other and nodded, too tired to even care which bedroom they passed out in. Bucky took the bigger room whilst Alexei and John were too busy trying to justify which one of them was more deserving of it. By the time they had settled on an answer, Bucky had already moved his boxes into the space and started hanging up his clothes in the closet and drawers. Bob watched as the remaining super soldiers begrudgingly claimed one of the other rooms each, then silently settled into his own room next to Yelena’s.

Bob didn’t have much of anything. A few sets of comfortable clothes consisting of oversized jumpers and baggy pants, the serum in his veins making him resent the feeling of anything too scratchy or tight against his skin most days. He hung them in the closet against the same wall as the door. Some books, self-help and fantasy titles were now stacked on his bedside table. A journal, which he was told to keep by his therapist, was locked away in the desk that stood perpendicular to the large floor to ceiling window overlooking New York. He looked around, shifting in place. It had been a long while since he had somewhere to call his own, and as he took in the grey walls and floors, he realised his existence had been reduced to so few possessions he felt like he barely existed at all. 

Bucky unpacked his possessions quickly and efficiently, giving everything a neat and tidy place. His favourite copy of The Hobbit sat on a shelf above the bed right next to a framed picture of himself and Sam and a signed baseball from one of his favourite players. He carefully shelved his vinyls and set up his record player on the desk. He found that having music kept him calm when he was alone, stopping him from thinking too much and often helped him drift off to sleep when he was struggling. He stood, eyes giving the room a once over, then stashed his guns around the room in case of emergency.

Yelena shoved her boxes in a corner, closed the door to her room, locked it, and fell into her bed half asleep already. She had been on a mission the day before and her body ached immensely. She didn’t even have the energy to undress. Unpacking could wait. 

Ava stood quietly in her room, a box in her hands. She felt a little lost. Unsure. Why bother unpacking if she would likely have to move again soon anyway? She didn’t trust that she would be here long. Something would happen. She grabbed her essentials bag from the box and placed it by the bed, ready in case something happened and she had to run.

John unpacked slowly. Framed pictures of his wife and child, him and Lamar, himself receiving a medal of honour, all lining the shelves in his room. A few pieces of memorabilia from his days in the military were dotted around the room. He placed his shield by the door, standing and looking around with a nod.

Alexei had boxes upon boxes of stuff. Every piece of Thunderbolts memorabilia or advertising scattered on the desk in the corner. There were even some poorly made prototypes he had made for pitches to Valentina. Pictures of him, Yelena and Natasha, the thunderbolts football team and more sat on his now cluttered bedside table. His clothes half hung in the closet, half still in a box.

-

Shortly after they had finished settling into the new space, they were called to the briefing room, the next floor above. It was filled with tall, fancy looking glass offices and one big meeting room at the center. A few people in shirts and ties wandered around, seemingly organising files and still setting a few things up. They slowly stepped into the meeting space, each of them looking around, taking in their surroundings. Mel stood at the head of the table, papers in hand. A call comes through on the screen above her and Valentina’s name appears in cold white text. The atmosphere tenses in an instant as her voice pitches through the speakers.

“Good afternoon team..” She starts overly chipper, as if she hadn’t rangled all of them into this involuntarily. “I hope you’re settling into your new space well. But first, I wanted to make it abundantly clear how all of this will work. This is a new chapter — no handlers — just you and second chances.” She went on to explain. The team looked between each other with hardened gazes. Bob shifted nervously, his hands lost in the sleeves of his sweater as he fidgeted with the cuffs. His pulse roared louder than the speakers, a drumbeat behind his ribs. Ava stood, arms crossed, scowling at the screen. Bucky had his hands on his hips, jaw set as he looked at Mel who had the decency to look apologetic. John and Alexei stood, listening to Valentina as she continued.

“You have all been government-approved as a ‘Rapid Crisis Response Team’ with full autonomy. But, with that being said, I will be reviewing the cases before passing them on to you all. You will help people. You will be trusted.”

Ava and John both scoff at the last word, visibly tense and not believing it. After everything they had done individually, how could they be trusted? The public would undoubtedly be split and unsympathetic to the idea of a bunch of murderers being given praise and status and autonomy.

“Barnes, you will be acting field leader-” Bucky cuts in to protest, visibly uncomfortable with the idea. He was used to taking orders and making decisions when it was only himself to work with, not leading. She talked loudly over him and he took a deep breath, eyes closing, jaw clenching as she continued. “You are the most experienced person on the team with over 70 years in the field. You are the only correct choice and I trust that you will make the right decisions going forwards.” John didn’t look too pleased with the idea but being the good soldier he was, stood quietly, eyes locked on the screen still. Mel walked over to the group who were still standing by the door, handing them each a booklet of papers each and looking sheepish about the whole situation.

“Mel has some papers for you to read through. Terms and conditions, that sort of thing. You need to sign them before any operations can go forward. You have until tomorrow evening.” Valentina finished. Everyone opened their mouths to argue but the call cut before they could get a word in. Bob took his papers, offering a small smile to Mel and a ‘thanks’ as he started to flick through the handout. Bucky and John were reading through, shaking their heads and laughing but there was no humour in it. 

“A new chapter. Government approved but autonomous but also Valentina gets to decide what missions come through. Sounds about right.” Yelena complained. The team shared the same sentiment. Alexei was already looking for a place to sign.

“Well, we have some reading to do. Best get to it.” Bucky said with resignation. 

-

The residential level was silent. Each member of the team shut themselves in their respective rooms as they read over the documentation after the meeting. The space felt too big. Too empty. A subtle sense of isolation in the air. Bucky stood alone on the balcony, papers in hand. His eyes scan each page carefully for any risky clauses, anything that could get them stuck. Given everything, it was actually a pretty fair agreement. Funding from the government in return for service. He couldn’t help but remain suspicious. Working for corporations and institutions like this always came at a price.

He brought the glass of whiskey to his lips, sipping it and feeling the burn as it trickled down his throat. With a swallow, he looked out at the New York skyline. If anyone knew what to do here it would’ve been Steve. He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he gets to Sam’s name. His thumb hovers over the call button, hesitating. He locks the phone and pockets it again, turning on his heel and heading back inside and to his own room. Footsteps echoed too sharply in the open space, like the building hadn't yet learned how to muffle secrets. He picks up a pen, then signs the last page, throwing the documents onto the desk before flopping into his bed. New team. New chapter. New government contract.

-

Time passed in rhythms. Read, sleep, train, wait. And then, the next call came.

Four weeks had passed since they had submitted the paperwork. They started to settle into their own routines of training, missions and preferred activities. Bob was often left to his own devices in the tower, alone whilst the others were on missions. Although he was practically indestructible, they couldn’t risk him losing control out in the field as Sentry or Void. So he settled into a routine of going to therapy, writing in his journal and keeping things mostly tidy around the residential level when he had the energy and motivation. He read and listened to music in his downtime, finding it helped keep him focussed on something other than his racing thoughts. And he was always there when the team returned. 

Today was no different. Bob’s cup smelled sharper than it tasted, more caffeine than flavor. Therapy, coffee, writing, coffee, dishes, tea, read. The elevator dinged twice, signalling someone had arrived. He peeked out from over the back of the chair he had claimed, overlooking the city as he read. Bucky and John were arguing about whether they should keep her. Bob frowned, hands trembling. The raised voices jarred him—but curiosity crept in Bob cupped the warm mug in his hands like it might steady him. Who was her. His eyes followed the men, still in their suits as they went to the kitchen, continuing to bicker as they grabbed a bottle of something hydrating. 

 “We should not keep her here, we have no idea what she is capable of.” John protested. Bucky had his eyes set on the other super soldier. “It stinks to high heaven, Bucky. We get sent to a HYDRA facility, told that there's a package we have to extract and we come home with her in stasis. Her file is encrypted. Valentina won’t give us answers-” John continues, rattling off the reasons he didn’t trust the whole situation. Bucky cut him off sharply.

“I knew her.” He replies. Voice cold, brittle. John pauses, stepping back slightly. Bob watches the whole thing, eyes wide, questions swimming through his skull. “I was tasked with taking her from her family when she was a kid and protecting her from facility to facility as the Winter Soldier while they did something to her. I was never told the details and I was moved somewhere else pretty quickly.” He admitted quietly. 

Bob could just overhear as he stood, silently shifting across the floor until he stood at the entrance to the kitchen. The elevator dings again, Yelena, Ava and Alexei stumbling out of the metal box. Yelena had a cut across her eyebrow and a bruise forming on her jaw. It was then that Bob noticed everyone looked worse for wear. More so than usual after a mission.

“What the hell happened out there?” Bob questioned, looking at them all. Alexei brushed past him to the kitchen. 

“We find new team member perhaps. Valentina seems interested in her, no?” The russian said as if it was the most casual thing on the planet as he grabs a pop tart from the cabinet by Bucky’s head, tearing open the pack and biting greedily into the sweet treat. “Mystery lady. Very pretty. Scary though.” He says the last part holding up a finger. The kitchen lights flicker. Alexei frowns and mumbles something about the continuous renovations.

“Who is she?” Bob asked, turning to Yelena and Ava who stood by him. He shifted, book still in hand, fingers keeping his page. He saw the look they all gave Bucky as he shrugged. 

“Valentina hasn’t given us further information. We have people looking into decrypting her file. We don’t know how long it will take. All I know is she was being used by HYDRA for some kind of testing.” He says, drinking from a bottle.

“She is surrounded by shadows in her little box.” Alexei chimes in, mouth half full. “Black as night, shimmering.” He describes, almost in awe. “They curl around her like protective shield.” Pieces of pop tart scatter from his mouth as he speaks. Yelena grimaces but says nothing.

“Maybe she’s like us. A pawn. We all know how it feels.” The blonde explains, shrugging and wincing as her shoulder moves slightly the wrong way. 

“Whatever she is, until we know more about her she's a danger. We should move her somewhere more secure, the detention level isn’t even fully operational yet.” John says, clearly trying to make everyone see sense in his riled state. Bucky sighs. “Like where, John? We don’t have anywhere to move her to. Valentina said to bring her here, that's what we did-” Bucky says, gesturing with his hands as another ding sounds from the elevator. “Speak of the devil and she may appear.” Bucky mutters under his breath. He stepped aside as the elevator doors opened. Valentina steps out into the space and approaches with a grin, Mel on her heels.

“Great job everybody. I hear it all went well?” She says a rhetorical question. Ava goes to speak.

“We had our arses handed to us before we could finally subdue the ‘package’.” She chastises, the last word punctuated by mimicking quotation marks with her fingers. “A little more clarification next time would be nice.” She spat. Valentina’s smile faltered for barely a second before she returned to normal.

“You did it. She’s here. And alive. That’s all that matters—for now.” The venom mixing with her sweet tone was not lost on the team. They all nodded. “Good. Her file should be decrypted shortly. How exciting.” She turns to walk back to the elevator but they all move to follow her, John grabbing her upper arm tight enough to stop her but not to hurt her.

“Hold on a second, we deserve some answers. Who is she? What is she? We-” She cuts him off. “As far as I know she has certain abilities that could be useful to us.” She snaps, sharp. “That is all you need to know.” She looks up at John with a sweet smile, her voice now sweet. John clenches his jaw, reigning in his attitude and letting go of her arm with a curt nod and they all follow her down to the detention level. 

It's half lit, most systems not fully in place yet. The shadows didn’t fall naturally—they pooled, like ink dropped on tile. The lights buzzed overhead, flickering in places like they were deciding whether to fail. Most of the power on the level was going directly to a small reinforced glass chamber. In it, lay a stasis pod with a small window. There were flickers of shadow beyond it, occasionally shifting to reveal her face, peaceful, asleep. A camera was locked onto the chamber, onto the pod. Monitors were set up, showing her vitals.

Bob took in the surroundings, having never been on this level. It was devoid of natural light, all the windows shuttered down. Half-built with construction materials all over the place, plastic hanging from light fixtures above and incomplete walls and floors. Wires of all colours curled like snakes across the floor to the desks with makeshift set ups surrounding the chamber, some of them connecting to the pod within. 

Scientists and doctors fluttered around the space chattering about her status, her vitals showing anomalies. She didn’t have any kind of super serum, but her DNA was surrounded by something dark, some kind of matter. They were scrambling to figure it all out. The word enhanced travelled like a whisper through the people working. Her vitals started to spike, as if she was starting to wake. 

He cautiously approached the monitor showing the camera focussed on the window of the pod, her face flashing intermittently between smoky shadows. For a moment he could have sworn they weren’t in the monitor at all, curling towards him from the LED screen. He blinked, then stared, curious, but on edge. The lights flashed, monitors flickering for a moment. Black. Then back on. A prickle ran up his spine as he met her eyes, the sensation of being watched by something not quite human. 

“She’s awake.”

[allthingsimagines]

State of Grace

“This is a state of grace. This is the worthwhile fight. Love is a ruthless game, unless you play it good and right” - State Of Grace by Taylor Swift

Rick Grimes x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: The group is wary of Aaron, until he reveals information that shocks the group to their core.

Takes place in season five at the start of the Alexandria arc!

Word Count: 5k+

Warnings: Swearing, childbirth, fluff, and ooc Rick

a/n: This has been sitting in my drafts for literal years. It’s not great, but I don’t care!! I hope you enjoy! Also, sorry for the formatting I’m on my phone!

—————————————————————————

The group all stood on high alert as they stared Aaron down as he sat tied to the pole. He was an outsider and knew far too much about them for any of them to be comfortable.

Rick was at the edge. He would either fall off and lose himself or pull himself back. The group was doing their best to keep him stable, but after Terminus, the death of Beth, and his own wife being lost after the Prison he was close to being too far gone. The only reason he hadn’t yet was for Carl and Judith. If he hadn’t had them he would’ve been long gone by now.

Aaron was another threat to the group’s safety.

Rick stalked around him as the group watched on. He seemed like a predator about to go in for the kill. Rick had always been an intimidating guy, but after the loss of his wife and the months on the road he wasn’t sure he’d ever fully return to who he had been when she was alive.

When the Prison fell everyone got scattered. Rick had been in the yard, Carl with Daryl, Judith with the kids, and Y/N had been in the sick wing helping Maggie evacuate people. When everyone got separated she’d just disappeared. No one had seen her since that day and there was no indication she was alive. Rick had lost hope a long time ago. She was tough, but it was difficult enough for them to survive as a big group. There was no way she would have made it months on her own.

Aaron gulped as the group discussed what to do, “My job is to convince you to follow me back home.”

Everyone looked around skeptically at his words. Aaron sighed, he knew it would take a lot of convincing, “I know, if I were you, I wouldn’t go either until I knew exactly what I was getting into.”

Aaron looked around at the big group and took a breath to steady himself. He’d been following them for two weeks and still didn’t know half as much as he would’ve liked to about them. He knew Rick was the leader and had two kids. He knew a few others like Maggie, Sasha, and Glenn, but the rest of them were strangers for now. Yet, he knew they’d keep them alive.

Alexandria needed people who knew how to survive and navigate the world they lived in now. The only people in the community who knew how to was himself, Eric, Deanna, Enid, and Y/N. She was the perfect person to teach them, but she wasn’t much help outside the walls since she was pregnant.

“Sasha, can you hand Rick my pack? Front pocket, there's an envelope,” Aaron asked and Sasha complied as she brought it to him.

“There's no way I could convince you to come with me just by talking about our community. That's why I brought those. I apologize in advance for the picture quality,” Aaron said as Rick pulled them out and looked through them.

“No one gives a shit,” Daryl grumbled out and Aaron nodded quickly.

A few others crowded around Rick to look at the pictures when the baby began crying. The teenager tried his best to calm her, but she just wailed. Rick pinched his brow and sighed, “Carl, will you get Judith the binky in my pack.”

The boy quickly complied as he tried to soothe his sister. Aaron’s eyes widened and he felt his heart jump at his words. He quickly leaned forward, pulling against his binds, “Your son is Carl and your daughter is Judith?”

The group all shared confused looks as Aaron looked like he’d had a world ending revelation. Rick passed the pictures to Glenn as he moved closer to Aaron, “What’s it matter to you?”

He kneeled down in front of Aaron and glared down at him, “Why do you need to know?”

Aaron swallowed, trying to compose himself, before looking up at Rick, “Did you have a wife named Y/N?”

Rick physically recoiled at the question and everyone tensed. How would he know her? Carl stepped closer to them, Judith held firmly at his hip as she was quiet now, “How do you know my mom?”

Aaron looked sympathetically at Carl and Judith before looking back to Rick. He looked as if Aaron had flipped his whole world, “How do you know that name?”

“She’s alive. She’s been living in our community with my husband and I for the past few months. She’s talked about your family endlessly- I just didn’t put it together,” Aaron breathed out and he saw the whole group react to his words.

Rick stumbled back and stood deathly still as he paled. Carl moved forward, his eyes full of hope, “How can we trust you? Where’s my mom!”

Aaron nodded towards his bag, “There’s a picture of her in the inside zipper of my bag.”

Glenn quickly unzipped the pocket before pulling out the picture and passing it to Rick. Rick couldn’t believe his eyes as he stared at it. It was her. She was leaning her head on a man’s shoulder, who he assumed was Aaron’s husband, with a bright smile on her face.

She was alive and happy.

Rick let out a choked sob as Carl tore the picture from his hands and broke down as well as he clutched his sister to him. The whole group was visibly affected by his words as they all had bright looks on their faces. Rick pulled Carl into his side and pressed a kiss to his head, “She’s alive. We’re gonna have your mom back.”

Glenn cut Aaron free and he stood up and rubbed his wrists. Rick released Carl, but when he turned to Aaron to say something he noticed the odd look on his face. Rick moved closer to Aaron and felt his stomach drop, “What’s wrong?”

Aaron looked up at Rick and scratched his neck, “I don’t know how to say it.”

Rick pushed down his fear as he stepped closer to him, “Aaron what’s wrong with my wife?”

Aaron met Rick’s piercing eyes and breathed out, “She’s pregnant.”

Rick swore he’d died. There was no way that she’d lived, but now she was pregnant? She couldn’t be.

Rick grabbed Aaron’s shoulder as leverage as he almost fell over, “What?”

Aaron grabbed Rick’s arm, “My husband and I picked her up on the road five months ago and brought her back. We’ve been taking care of her. The baby is doing great and so is she. She helps our leader, Deanna, out as her advisor so she doesn’t have to leave the walls.”

Rick tried to take in deep breaths, but he could hardly comprehend that his wife was alive and now she was pregnant? Rick grabbed onto Aaron as he fell to his knees. He tried to breathe as everything became too much for him.

His wife was pregnant and she’d been alive this whole time. They were going to have another kid.

Aaron squeezed Rick’s arm and sighed, “Rick, she’s full term now and when I left she was having consistent Braxton Hicks.”

Rick almost fell over from how quickly he shot to his feet. Lori had those during both pregnancies and she’d given birth soon after. He needed to be there for her. Especially considering what had happened to Lori.

“What’s that mean?” Carl asked, quickly wiping any remnants of tears from his face.

“They’re false contractions, but they’re meant to prep your body for labor,” Maggie answered, coming up behind Carl and squeezing his shoulders supportively.

“Take me to her. Please,” Rick pleaded with Aaron and he was quick to nod.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll radio my husband to come get us in our RV. We can all fit, but it’ll be tight,” Aaron said, looking around for approval.

Everyone quickly moved to ready their gear and Aaron took that as his sign to radio Eric. He quickly moved towards his radio that had been tossed out of his bag and picked it up, “Eric, we need you to get us at the barn we scouted. They know Y/N. Her husband and kids are with them.”

“Oh my god. Okay, I’ll be there soon. Be safe,” Eric quickly responded.

Rick held Judith tightly to him as he moved over to Aaron and clapped his hand on his shoulder. Aaron quickly turned to him only to find his demeanor much more relaxed, more like the man Y/N had described. Rick let out a shaky breath and nodded, “Thank you.”

Aaron nodded and sighed, “She’s family to me too now. I’d do anything for her.”

Rick nodded as his nerves began to eat at him. The group packed up quickly and they all anxiously waited in the barn to leave. Twenty minutes passed before Eric pulled up and they all quickly filed in. He seemed stunned by the road hardened people that passed by him to get into the RV. The RV was big, but they had a large group now and they were all crammed in.

They all sat packed into the RV, each having their own quiet conversations for a while until Aaron’s radio went off. The whole group turned to look at him as he quickly fished it out.

“Hey, Aaron, you there?” A female voice said.

“Hey, Denise. What’s up?” Aaron responded.

“Just wanted to check in and give you an update. When are you heading back?” She asked.

Aaron looked around at the group and scratched the back of his neck, “Uh, actually now. I’m bringing back that group I scouted for Deanna. Tell her that we’ll be back in less than an hour and they’ll need to get check ups asap just in case.”

“I’ll let her know, but the doctors office is kinda busy today,” Denise said sounding hesitant.

“What? Did something happen?” Aaron quickly asked, sharing a nervous look with Eric.

“No! No, nothing bad, but we’re about to have a new baby around here soon. She wanted me to let you guys know,” Denise said, with a cheery tone to her voice.

The whole group froze as Aaron looked at Rick in slight horror. Rick kissed Judith’s head and squeezed Carl’s shoulder as he tried to be strong for them. The last time, Carl had to kill Lori after she needed a C-Section. Rick knew Carl wouldn’t survive losing his other mom the same way.

Aaron’s eyes softened as he noticed their family dynamic. He remembered what Y/N had told him about Carl’s mom and he could tell it was causing trauma to resurface for them.

“How is she? Everything going okay?” Aaron asked, nervous himself for his friend.

The radio was silent for a few moments until it crackled again and a new voice came over the radio, “She can speak for herself. I’m in active labor, not dead.”

The whole group shared a look of shock. It was her. Rick quickly moved to the front of the RV to stand next to Aaron, his blue eyes wide and unsure of what to do.

“And yes, I’m fine. I’m almost fully dilated, so not much to do but have terrible contractions till they come. Baby Grimes would like to make an appearance soon, so I’d appreciate if you hurried back. It’d be nice to have someone who I actually care about to hold my hand. You too Eric. How’d scouting that group go? They convinced yet?” She asked breathlessly as Rick and Aaron shared a look.

Baby Grimes. She hadn’t let go either. Rick had a child and wife waiting for him.

Aaron held the radio out to Rick and he looked at it nervously. What was he even supposed to say? Rick turned as Carl came up behind him and took Judith from his arms so he could hold her. Carl’s eyes were filled with a hope Rick hadn’t seen in years. Rick swallowed his fears and took the radio from Aaron’s hand.

“Darlin?” Rick said, his voice wobbling as he choked out the words.

The radio was silent for a moment before her shaky voice said, “Rick? Is that you?”

Rick fell to his knees at the sound of her voice. It was his wife. She was alive.

“Yeah, baby, it’s me. We’re okay. We’re all on our way,” He breathed out as a hand squeezed his shoulder and he looked behind him to see Daryl behind him.

A loud cry came over the radio and the whole group from the prison visibly reacted with relief of their own as they finally had a family member back.

“Oh my god, I swore I’d never hear your voice again. Is everyone there? Carl? Judith? Please, please, tell me they’re okay,” She sputtered out through sobs.

Carl snatched the radio from his dad’s hands and shakily said, “Mom, mom, it’s me. We’re okay. Judith and I are okay. We miss you.”

“Carl, baby, I-I-,” She started but broke down into tears and the radio went silent for a second.

The whole group went dead silent as the radio cut out, but quickly reacted as she cried out over the radio. Rick rushed to Carl’s side as he stared at the radio in horror.

The radio cut back in and Y/N’s groans could be heard in the background, “She’s okay! Just bad contractions. She’s gonna need to push soon, so hurry if you guys can. I’m sorry I’ve got to go to make sure everything goes okay, but Aaron knows where the delivery room is. Deanna knows and she’ll have Spencer open the gates as soon as you get there and let them through.”

The radio then shut off and Rick looked up at Aaron in abject horror. What if he missed his child’s birth? What if something happened to her? Aaron squeezed his shoulder and shook him a bit to bring him back, “We’ll be back soon. She’s gonna be okay. We have good doctors and medical supplies to make sure of it.”

Rick nodded, seeming like he was off in a different place. Aaron moved back to Eric’s side and helped direct him the quickest way to Alexandria. Rick sat against the door of the RV, his mind running over every worse case scenario.

Nothing ever went right for him.

Right now he could have his wife and a new son or daughter when he arrived to Alexandria. Or he could lose them both, and he was sure that he would never survive that loss again of someone he loved so desperately.

Eric pushed the RV as hard as he possibly could without blowing anything mechanical. A half hour passed before Aaron finally announced that they were there. They all rushed to their feet and looked out the window to find a fenced in town with guard towers at the gates.

The group had been in one place with high fences before, but this place looked untouched from the apocalypse. Aaron turned to the group as Eric slowed as they got closer, “When we get in the gates, you will all have to turn over your weapons. We don’t allow people to have them, unless they’re on patrol or cleared by our leader Deanna or Y/N. You will all be interviewed by Deanna and then get a check up by one of our Doctors.

Rick and Carl, you’ll come with me. The rest of you will wait until I come and get you or you’re showed to a house. This community is pretty sheltered, so please take it easy around them for now. Understood?”

They all shared nervous looks before nodding in agreement. The RV came to a stop and Aaron and Rick shared a look.

They needed to go.

Carl passed Judith off to Carol as Eric quickly turned the car off and opened the doors and Aaron, Rick, and Carl quickly moved out.

The group rushed towards the gate as it slid open for them. Rick and Carl hardly had time to admire the community before Aaron waved his hand at them, “Come on. Medical center is over here.”

They hurriedly followed after Aaron and Eric as they ran towards one of the closest buildings and people stared as they sprinted past. Rick couldn’t have given less of a shit as he just ran after them.

Aaron barreled towards a house and quickly threw the door open. Rick’s eyes widened at the sound of his wife crying out. Rick shoved past Aaron and rushed toward the room. The continuing cries became louder from the door at the end of the hallway.

Rick quickly grabbed the handle and threw the door open and there she was. His wife was laying up against a mountain of pillows with her legs propped up.

Dear god.

Her eyes pooled with tears at the sight of her husband alive and in front of her. She released the sheets from her clutched hands and reached out for Rick, “Rick- oh my god.”

Rick went to rush to her when a woman quickly moved in front of him, “Woah! Okay, I know you want to see her, but you’re gonna put her and the baby at risk if you don’t wash everything off of you.”

Rick hadn’t really considered that it’d been months since he’d showered properly. He looked at his hands and found they were covered with blood and walker remains. He hadn’t even thought about it.

“Denise he can- he can stand up by my head and he won’t touch the baby until he’s clean. Right Rick? I can’t do this without him,” She said squeezing her eyes shut and crying out in pain.

Rick nodded frantically, desperate to touch his wife himself after months apart.

Denise looked hesitant, but let out a frustrated sigh, “At least scrub your arms and hands with soap quickly and put on that surgical gown just in case.”

Rick didn’t say another word as he quickly rushed toward the other room where the woman pointed. He moved to the sink and scrubbed at his hands so hard they felt raw. The sink turned red as his hands were washed clean of all the remnants of the outside world. Carl quickly sprinted in, turned on the sink next to him, and did the same.

Once Rick felt like his hands and forearms were clean of blood and filth, he put the surgical gown on and rushed back into the room.

“You have to push! Come on deep breath and bear down,” Denise said as she stood between her legs.

She breathed heavily as she pushed for ten seconds, before she laid back and let out a groan of pain. Rick moved to her side and quickly took one of her hands in his own and pressed it to his lips. Rick tried to force back his tears and the emotions threatening to overcome him as he finally had his wife right in front of him.

She tiredly smiled up at him, her eyes shiny with unshed tears, “Hey Sheriff.”

Rick chuckled before he quickly captured her lips, “Hey darlin.”

Her smile was interrupted as she squeezed her eyes in pain and clutched onto his hand tightly.

“How’s she doin Doc?” Rick asked worriedly, Lori’s death at the front of his mind.

Denise tried to smile comfortingly and said, “She’s doing great, but you’ve got to keep pushing. Baby’s almost here.”

Rick looked down at his wife and squeezed her hand, “You can do it. I’m right here.”

“Me too,” Carl said as he rushed to her other side.

Her eyes brightened at the sight of her son at her side. She took Carl’s hand and nodded as she sat up, “Yeah, I’ve got you two now. I can do this.”

“Fuck yeah you can mom,” Carl said beaming at her.

Rick laughed at his words and she shook her head with a loving smile directed at him, “I missed you, but watch your language baby.”

Carl smirked and he and his dad shared a look as she got ready. Denise smiled at the family before clearing her throat, “Okay, after this next contraction you need to push again. Make it count you’re almost there.”

She nodded and shared a nervous look with Rick. Rick squeezed her hand and quickly kissed her forehead, “You can do this baby. We’re right here.”

She nodded before letting out a shaky breath and squeezing her eyes shut as Denise indicated for her to push. After the seconds of silence she cried out and fell back, but Rick quickly slid his arm around her waist to catch her, “You’re doing great darlin.”

She nodded against his shoulder as she mentally prepared herself to push again.

“I can see the head. One more good push and it’ll be done,” Denise said.

She nodded and she took another deep breath, “That better be a goddamn promise Denise.”

Denise smiled and shook her head, “If it’s not, I’ll give you my bottle of bourbon.”

She let out a shaky laugh and smiled at her, “You’ve got a deal.”

She looked at both of her boys and felt determination swell in her chest. She felt the contraction come on and she pushed with everything she had.

Rick brushed the hair out of her face as she cried out again. Then the room was filled with a sharp cry.

Rick felt his whole body tense as Denise beamed at them as she lifted the baby up, “It’s a girl. She’s beautiful.”

She immediately began to cry as Denise nodded at Rick, “Wanna cut the umbilical cord dad?”

Rick nodded and shared a look with Carl. Carl nodded and quickly moved his arm around his mom to support her sitting up as tears of joy streaked down his face. Rick took the scissors and cut the umbilical cord where she directed as she quickly cleaned his daughter.

Carl helped his mom get more comfortable on the pillows as they waited for Denise. Carl pressed a kiss to her cheek, “I love you mom.”

She smiled up at her oldest boy, “I love you too baby. I’m so glad you’re here. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Rick’s eyes were full of tears as he carefully looked over Denise’s shoulder as she checked over his daughter. He hadn’t really felt this way since Carl was born. He felt like he was teetering on an edge as he waited to see his youngest daughter.

Denise turned around and Rick moved to her side. Denise smiled softly as she carefully passed the small bundle to her outstretched arms, “She’s healthy and looks perfect. You did great Y/N.”

She let out a choked sob as she took her daughter into her arms, “Hey sweetheart.”

Rick finally let his tears fall as he looked down at his beautiful daughter. She leaned into Rick’s embrace and gently stroked her baby’s cheek, “You’re so so loved already.”

Carl sniffled as he leaned closer to his mom to get a better look at his youngest sister. She looked up at him and smiled brightly, “This is your big brother, Carl. He’s gonna be the best big brother ever and he’s always gonna be there for you .”

Carl nodded as she lifted her up closer to him so he could see her for a moment. Then she turned and her eyes met Rick’s that were filled with emotion. She moved her daughter now to Rick’s side so he could see his little girl.

“This is your daddy. He looks mean and grumpy, but he’s a softie I promise. He’ll always keep you safe,” She said with a gentle smile as he got to look at his daughter.

Rick brushed his finger over her small cheeks and choked out sob. He pressed a kiss to his wife’s head, “I love you more than anything. Thank you.”

She pulled away from him before she leaned up and kissed him. She pulled away breathlessly and smiled before moving her gaze to her daughter, “You can thank Hope for getting us here. I would have died a long time ago if I hadn’t been fighting for her.”

Rick raised an eyebrow and smiled, “Hope? That’s her name?”

She nodded resolutely and beamed, “Been calling her Hope since I found out I was pregnant. Hope Willow Grimes.”

Rick nodded and smiled down at his daughter, “Hope’s a great name for her.”

She nodded before turning to give her boys a tired look, “As much as I love you both, you reek of blood and sweat. Aaron can take you to one of the empty houses to get cleaned up. Then you can come back and hold her. Okay?”

Rick felt his whole being begging him to stay, but she was right. He pressed a kiss to her head and looked down at his daughter before stepping away, “Kay, but you send someone for us if you need anything.”

She nodded as Rick and Carl moved towards the door, “Got it Sheriff. Will you bring back Judith and the others?”

Rick nodded and smiled, “Promise. Trust me they’ll be begging to come see you as soon as we get there.”

“Well, tell ‘em I’ll give ‘em a pass for not getting a baby gift in time,” She joked as she rocked their daughter gently.

A knock came from the door and they all turned to find Aaron and Eric standing there. They both stepped into the room and Aaron smiled sheepishly, “Sorry, we didn’t wanna intrude, but I overheard you. I’ll take them to the house Deanna is setting them up in. She’s gonna set your group up in three houses. Some of the residents are moving your stuff into a separate house so you guys will be together.”

Y/N smiled and waved them into the room, “You’d never intrude. Come see her.”

Eric moved to her side and smiled down at the baby. Aaron held out his hand for Rick to shake, “Congratulations.”

Rick paused for a moment before pulling Aaron in for a tight hug. Aaron tensed for a moment before clapping Rick on the back. They pulled apart and Rick nodded in thanks, “This is all cause of you. Thank you.”

Aaron smiled at the sight of his husband and friend cooing over the baby, “Come on. I’ll take you guys to get cleaned up.”

The boys hesitantly followed after him and to the house. An hour passed and Y/N fed her daughter as she talked to Eric.

“When you mentioned your husband he wasn’t quite what I pictured,” Eric said as he rocked back in his chair.

She raised an eyebrow at him, “What’s so different?”

Eric rolled his eyes, “Y’know for being in an apocalypse where you don’t have many options you bagged one of the finest men I have ever seen.”

She burst out laughing as she grinned at him, “Oh, I know. Trust me I was fighting off women left and right when we lived at the prison. You better believe if I see Jessie anywhere near him or my kids I’ll throw her out like a farm cat.”

Eric snorted and beamed, “I believe it. I’d love to see you take her down. She’s had it coming for years.”

A soft knock came from the door and Y/N sat up and adjusted her little girl in her arms, “Come in.”

The door slowly opened and her husband came into view and her eyes lit up. Rick came in and walked over to her. Eric smiled at the pair and stood up, “I’m gonna go make sure you guys have everything set up.”

She smiled softly at him as he moved to the doorway, “Thank you.”

Eric nodded and shut the door behind him. Rick had changed into new clothes and cleaned up his beard now. He came and sat at her side on the bed, “You feelin okay darlin?”

She nodded and leaned against his shoulder, “About as good as you can be after pushing a baby out of you.”

Rick chuckled in response and she met his eyes. Rick cupped her face as her eyes lit up teasingly, “Lookin good Sherriff.”

Rick pulled her in and pressed a firm kiss against her lips. After a moment passed they pulled apart and she muttered, “I love you.”

Rick kissed her quickly again and moved back, “I love you too.”

“Wanna hold her?” She asked gently holding her out to Rick.

Rick swallowed nervously and held out his arms and she passed Hope into his arms. Rick let out a shaky laugh as he finally got to hold her. He shared a look of awe with Y/N as he gently rocked her.

She pressed a kiss to Rick’s jaw with a smile, “You’re a natural.”

Rick smiled, his eyes staying on his youngest, “Comes with practice.”

The pair were silent for awhile as they watched their daughter. Y/N let out a shaky breath and leaned her head on Rick’s shoulder, “Who isn’t here?”

The silence was palpable between them as she pressed a kiss to Rick’s shoulder, “I- I just need to know, please.”

Rick nodded, keeping his eyes on their youngest, “Beth. She escaped with Daryl, but she got kidnapped by a group in Atlanta. We almost got her back, but she got killed before we could leave.”

Y/N swallowed back her tears and pressed her head into his shoulder and squeezed his arm, “Y’know no one would ever blame you for that, right? You tried your best and that’s all you can do sometimes.”

Rick nodded silently before pressing a kiss to her head. Y/N reached out to brush her finger over Hope’s soft cheek. Rick leaned back and wrapped an arm around Y/N’s shoulders and held his daughter with the other, “Anything we need to know about here?”

Y/N sighed heavily, “They’re weak. These people never learned how to survive outside the walls, because they never had to. Deanna understands what the world is and usually lets me call the shots when it comes to anything outside the walls.”

“Any pushback?” Rick said as he gently rocked Hope.

Y/N scoffed at his words, “Yeah, just a bit.”

“Anyone I need to kill?” Rick joked dryly, his arm tightening around her.

“Not yet. Deanna’s son, Spencer, is a liability. He doesn’t appreciate that I completely changed their tactics for runs, even if it was getting people killed. Spencer and his friend Nicholas are pretty much all talk, but they’re not shy about opposing anything I say. Oh, and watch out for Jessie,” She said leaning further into Rick’s chest, annoyance filling her while thinking about the town home wrecker.

Rick narrowed his eyes at her change in demeanor. He gently lifted her chin so she would meet his gaze. Despite having just given birth to their child, she still felt a pang of insecurity claw at her heart. Rick held her chin gently in his hand as his intense blue eyes met hers, “I have killed people to protect you. I would kill anyone to keep this family safe. You are the only woman I will ever want. Tell me you know that.”

Y/N smiled somewhat bashfully at his words. Those words would have terrified her in the world before it fell, but now it was a declaration of the highest love. She nodded and pressed her lips to his. It was almost as if no time had ever passed as they fell back into a routine with one another.

She pulled away breathlessly and met Rick’s expectant gaze. She let out a breath, “I know.”

Rick nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Hope cooed and stretched her arms out with a yawn. A knock sounded out and Rick moved the the door, his youngest cradled securely in his arms. He opened the door and then Carl stepped in with Judith on his hip. Y/N burst into tears at the sight of her daughter. Judith reached out her arms as she saw her, “Momma.”

Carl came over and sat next to his mom and Y/N was quick to take her into her arms. She pressed a kiss to Judith’s head, “Oh, babygirl I missed you so much.”

Judith clutched onto her shirt and snuggled into her mom. Y/N rubbed Judith’s back with one hand and reached over and pulled Carl into a tight hug. Carl sighed and leaned into his mom’s embrace. She pressed a kiss to the side of Carl’s head, “Thank you for keeping him alive.”

She and Carl shared a look of understanding as they pulled away. Rick came over, looking like a true dad with Hope in one arm and his other hand tucked in his jean pocket. Y/N wiped her tears and sat Judith on her lap as Rick came and sat next to her. She looked around at her family and smiled, “I don’t believe in god, but thank whoever the hell is in charge up there that brought y’all back to me.”

Rick smiled and kissed the side of her head, “Damn right.”

Then a knock came from the door and Maggie popped her head in. Maggie rushed over to Y/N as the rest of the group followed in. Y/N swore she’d cried all of her tears, but each hug she gave to the members of the group brought on a new onslaught.

After each member of the group had been properly introduced to their daughter Rick stood off in the corner. He looked around the room, Hope settled safely in the crook of his arm. This was the happiest he’d seen the group in years.

Carl had yet to move from Y/N’ side, as Judith happily sat on his lap playing with her mom’s hand. Rick was certain he had never seen Y/N look so beautiful. She was beaming as she talked to Glenn and Maggie, despite the fact that she’d given birth hours earlier.

“She’s just like Lil Ass Kicker.”

Rick chuckled as Daryl came to his side. He looked down at his daughter lovingly and sighed, “This is what we fight for. Everythin we do is for everyone in this room.”

Daryl made a noise in agreement, “We keep going for shit like this.”

Rick met his wife’s eyes and she was quick to shoot him a wink, before she turned and pulled Carl closer to her into a hug. He sighed, his heart feeling full for the first time in months. Herschel had told him years ago that every day was a choice.

He would choose to keep his family in the room safe everyday for the rest of his life. No matter what it cost.

[shun-ie]

₍⁠₍⁠ ⁠◝ the past, the present, and the future (rhys larsen)

content : longest fanfic yet, rhys larsen, differentpath!au, amab!reader, slowburn, sexual awakening?, strangers to acquaintances to friends to lovers, mentions of trauma/ptsd, healing the inner child, ooc-ish rhys, unprotected sex, slight mention of fingering, bttm!malereader, ceo!reader, mentions of kinks, lmk if i missed anything :))

shun-note : rhys larsen is not my oc. he belongs to ana huang, the author of twisted games. i also noticed that there weren't a lot of twisted series fics (or there's none at all), so i made one. missing some details, but i wanted to post this already so it doesn't rot in my drafts lol

[not proofread]

m.list !

cold hearted. that's what rhys larsen first thought of y/n l/n, the ceo of l/n conglomerate. after being the bodyguard for bridget von ascheberg, the crown princess of eldorra, he took up another commission to drown away the ache that was left when he parted from the woman he spent his two years protecting.

y/n l/n was vastly different from any of those rhys had guarded in the past.

y/n put his work first. sleep? he'd sign and read through papers until he collapsed and died. eat? he'd starve just to entertain the board of his company. he did however, keep a strict hygiene and exercise routine. in those two months with y/n, he never once saw the frown leave his lips. it was like it was permanently scarred on his face. the total opposite of bridget.

rhys was offered the job just after he freshly resigned from his post. he was reluctant to accept the commission, but accepted once he found out it was a man he would be guarding this time. he did all the background checks, read y/n's information, did security protocols, just like any other clients he had previously.

and as he trailed behind the ceo, who parted the crowd of paparazzi and 'fans' like the red sea, he was brought back to the moment when he first met the indifferent man in front of him.

"this is sir y/n l/n. lately, he's being harassed by paparazzi. he has been followed home seven times in the past month . . . ambush interviews . . . and he can't eat in restaurants anymore," the secretary listed as she spoke to rhys via request of y/n's father who took care of affairs in china. "he normally does things alone without bodyguards, but this time people have gone too far," she further explains, pushing an open folder with photos taken by the paparazzi.

they consisted of y/n sitting in a booth at a restaurant, entering sister company buildings, walking through the park, and even leaving his car as he approached his house. it was never this bad with bridget.

as he examined the photos, alongside the blueprints of y/n's house and the company headquarters he requested beforehand, the secretary says something that catches his attention.

"sir l/n doesn't talk much. so don't feel hurt if he gives you the cold shoulder when you guys meet," hurt? hilarious. i don't even know him well enough to be hurt. "-he most likely will ignore you." arrogant? stuck up?

it was then when he met y/n l/n that there was something else. from the way the ceo's eyebrows furrowed, stress shadowing his tense but elegant form, as he scanned the papers in his hand, a cup of something in his other.

"miss clarke, i have another meeting with missus barett on wednesday at seven pm. add that to my schedule. and move my call with mister harris around nine pm after the meeting." he then stopped in his tracks, taking notice of the other presence in the room. he blinks, eyeing the large man sitting in front of his secretary. long hair, broad muscular frame, gunmetal eyes, and a scar slashing through his left eyebrow. he wore all black. "you must be the bodyguard my father hired. rhys larsen, correct me if i am wrong."

y/n's voice was full on business, leaving no trace of any other emotions other than serious and commanding. words rolled out of his mouth like smooth silk and his earlier strides could rival fairies that pranced around gracefully as they took flight.

"yes and if i may, i'll be looking around the building for any security measures," rhys got straight to the point. there was no point dancing around the issue. no point in introductions, they knew each other well enough. it was obvious. his indifference masked the slight curiosity that sparked as he watched y/n disappear into his office, where he caught a glimpse of neatly stacked paperwork and the large window that overlooked the city from above.

even as he drove away from the airport, he knew nothing about the man he's protecting. unlike bridget who he had arguments and decent conversations with, y/n only gave him one or two word responses before silence loomed over them like a cloud everyday for the two months they were together. the basic information about the ceo was nothing compared to the behavior, habits, likes, and dislikes of the crown princess.

he took casual glances from his rear view mirror, observing as y/n scrolled through his hundreds of emails, noting down important information on his pocket journal.

rhys has never seen y/n stop working.

"you're ruining yourself." it was just a thought, he never intended for it to slip. he curses in his mind.

y/n hums, never looking up from what he was doing. "why is that?" he knew exactly why, but he chose to ignore it. he wore himself down most of the time, all the time. he never intended to stop, but the words rang clearly in his mind. you're ruining yourself.

"it just looks like you're burning both ends of a candle, trying to manage yourself and work," rhys focused on the road, "but you can't."

y/n has never disobeyed his instructions which he was thankful for as it made everything easier. he never really did go out as much as bridget did. even then, scheduled events and meetings were always smooth as rhys had planned it to be.

y/n wasn't as hard headed, outgoing, and filled with fire. not like bridget. rhys didn't even know why he was comparing two polar opposites. but being with him, he thought of the crown princess in eldorra who offered him extension of his contract, which he refused. and now he's here.

"i work . . . because it distracts me from my reality."

y/n has never talked about why he does what he does. it felt right in the moment. rhys has never pried answers out of him, partially because he didn't converse with him, however his eyes told him so. those stormy grey eyes that showed nothing but genuine curiosity even though he tried to hide it.

rhys didn't know what to think as they reached the end of the highway. two months and y/n finally spoke a full sentence. rapport was a card he had set to the side because of their circumstances, now he might as well consider putting it back on the table. he saw y/n put his work down, temporarily ceasing his work which were probably with a month or two deadline, and relax against the seat.

"i hate thinking of other things, other people," y/n lets out an empty chuckle, finding rhys' eyes through the rear view mirror, "isn't that why you took the commission to bodyguard me? to forget about the previous client you protected? we're a bit alike, you and i. we do things that would take our minds off things."

it felt like a bucket of ice cold water washed over rhys as he heard those words. we do things that would take our minds off things. his grip tightened on the steering wheel, gazing away from those sad e/c eyes that ingrained themselves in his memory. he never thought his longest interaction with his client would be so depressing, yet eye opening. he knew of three things.

one. he is trying to take his mind off of someone.

two. y/n works to take his mind off of something or someone.

and three. y/n wasn't cold hearted. only seemed like it.

rhys stood at the sidelines, alert and ready. his eyes wandered around the event, as if looking for any threats that would suddenly appear out of nowhere. he then dragged his gaze towards his client, who was in the middle of a group of other businessmen and women. he shared a tight and practiced smile, trying to act polite and respectful as the night dragged on.

y/n wore a tailored suit, it was simple yet elegant. his hair was slicked back, lips full and glossy from constantly licking it as he swirled the wine in his glass. he was total perfection. a face that would leave anyone in ruins. but rhys caught the slight tremble of his hand and his eyes flashing to different places, as he squeezed out of the group that huddled around him. it looked as if he was panicking, though he regained himself when he knocked back the wine. rhys almost left his spot if it weren't for the pointed and reassuring look y/n shot his direction.

it was four months after that conversation. their relationship was less tense and less quiet. y/n now regularly held conversation with rhys, getting his opinions on philosophical and theoretical things. sometimes they spoke about the geographical locations where the company could build a new branch of resort. it never trespassed the gates of personal life.

when rhys asked about something he did for himself, y/n blanked him and changed the topic.

"since you're working because of something or someone, what do you do for yourself?" it was a question that he came up with as they got deeper into the conversation about places that could potentially become a tourist spot. rhys didn't always like talking because it included emotions, but with y/n it felt natural. it was during these one on ones that he caught glimpses and pieces of the person behind the cold ceo exterior.

y/n blinked, turning away and opening another topic about attractions. "what about a butterfly house . . ." rhys sighed through his nose quietly. during the first day he said that he doesn't become included in his clients' lives and that he wasn't there to be a friend, confidant, or anything else. but looking at how y/n tensed when he even hears the words family and yourself . . .

rhys knew y/n at least needed a someone. we're a bit alike, you and i.

it didn't take long for him to notice the signs of ptsd. the way y/n only spoke about his father, excluding his mother in conversations. avoiding places that had closets that contained cleaning supplies or were used for storage of documents. there were also times rhys heard shuffling in the kitchen way past midnight even when they got home around ten or eleven in the evening.

as much as rhys tried to ignore the sense of care, not wanting things to repeat, he couldn't help but feel a bit of fear that y/n wouldn't come out of hi bedroom. would he fail to protect him because of how he lived outside and inside work? terror flashed through him as he thought about it. he's working too much, he'll kill himself before he could even reach forty.

and as of that moment, his heart thrummed against his rib cage. he screamed profanities in his mind as he lost sight of the client he was supposed to protect. he bulldozed through the people, ignoring their glares and mumbles as his eyes darted around for y/n.

there was another thing he feared. repetition of the past.

being with bridget for over two years changed a lot of things for him. never has he breached the contract rules until her. he's hasn't felt anything like it until her. he prayed to the gods that she would be the last. hopefully.

as he rounded a corner, he caught sight of a silhouette through a slightly ajar door. he pushed it open and found y/n sitting on the middle of the floor of the empty ballroom. intricate designs decorated the walls and ceiling, pieces of furniture finishing off the classic look.

"i know that you think of your previous client when you guard me."

it made rhys tense at the door. in all the years of his life, he was the one to read the other, not the other way around. something about y/n challenged him. they were simply a mystery to each other. unlike bridget who knew about his past and him knowing hers, y/n and him knew nothing about each other aside from the basics.

"when i look at you . . . it looks like it pains you to be guarding me. you think you're good at hiding it, but you're really not," y/n droned out, looking at the night sky through the windows. "during the first two weeks, i noticed some habits you retained from your commission before this one. it seems to me there was more to this certain client, that's why you took on the job of protecting me. something must have happened."

rhys stiffened ever so slightly, feeling a spike of both irritation and astonishment. he didn't like this. but at the same time, he also felt a bit of relief that someone knew. he couldn't lie about anything. something did happen with bridget, but he had hardened his heart, ignoring the twisting ache when he left. he left her when he was claiming her in his mind.

"you should think of resigning as my bodyguard," y/n gets up from the floor, patting down his suit and fixing his collar and cuffs, "i think you should go back to your previous client. i can find another bodyguard."

rhys immediately closed their distance in five strides. he's six inches taller and towers over y/n easily with his broad and muscular figure. his eyes doesn't shy away from the heated connection of misunderstandings and mystery that brewed between them in a steady pace for the past six months and threatened to explode like a nuke. "i wanted to be your bodyguard. a client from before doesn't change anything. it shouldn't. protecting you is number one priority." his words were like knives slicing into the tense atmosphere. he didn't want his client doubting him.

silence hung heavy over them, both of them not once backing away from the fiery eye contact. rhys was right, despite his relationship with bridget, that doesn't deter him from doing his job. his job is solely focused on his current client. to protect y/n l/n.

"mister rhys, you truly do surprise me." y/n turns away from his bodyguard and brushes past him, feeling a tug at his heart. he places a hand on his chest, he clenches it and lets it drop back to his side. "i'm exhausted. let me just bid my farewells, then we can leave this godforsaken event."

rhys stared at the back of y/n as they headed back to the garden. the faux personality that he reserved for the attendees returned, treating the man he just spoke to in the ballroom as nothing but another him. no, he didn't have a personality disorder, that's for sure. he just likes hiding behind masks. he definitely fits the role of a ceo.

a year passed. rhys continued his job as the ceo's bodyguard. he really fit the role. during the first week, he memorized y/n's schedule, plans, and the blueprints of the headquarters and estate. the following months, less paparazzi flocked y/n and there were occasional attempted assaults (which was new). he was completely amazing.

y/n watched the man he had been with for one year and a half. since that night during the garden event, a lot of things have shifted. their once debatable and business talks transformed a bit more personal varying from favorites and elaborated opinions on preferences. there were times they strayed away from one topic to another as he signed papers and went over some of them. it took away the ache of loneliness he felt over the years he took his place as ceo.

where his company would be the words he read and the calls he took and the coffee curbed his exhaustion he can never get rid off, he felt lighter than he did before rhys became his bodyguard.

rhys sat on the couch flushed against the trimmed walls of the office, furnished with bookshelves, a glass coffee table, and small trinkets here and there. he could feel y/n's eye drilling holes into the side of his head. he gave him a glance only to see the man turn to his papers, pretending to digest the words printed on them.

y/n had him sit on the couch, getting a slight headache from seeing and hearing him standing at the door and occasionally walking around. rhys found it amusing how the cold hearted ceo felt emotions such as frustration and glints of sadness when the world saw him as someone who used people for his gain and didn't feel a drop of guilt.

throughout the year, he got to know a lot of things about y/n. he loved reading, not his paperwork but novels. he spotted some books laying around but didn't question them and instead, skimmed through the pages. he specifically liked crime and fantasy. he also liked jazz. there was a shelf of cassettes and vinyl records near the fireplace.

"what happened between you and your previous client?" the question brought rhys' attention to y/n again. this one was very personal. were they close enough to even talk about it? he did say that what happened in costa rica stayed in costa rica.

rhys sat back, pondering before concluding. "if i were to answer that, you have to give me something of equal value," the idea of exchanged caught y/n by surprise. interest flickers through his eyes as amusement showed on his face.

"are you bargaining?"

rhys laughs lightly, the sound squeezing at the ceo's heart. "it's business."

y/n reached for his chest as he gulped. he brushed the feeling off and nods, "i like that. let's talk business then." a devilish and heart stopping smirk lifted the corners of rhys' mouth.

"i noticed on the blueprints that you don't have any room that's as small as a pantry. even your walk in closet is as big as your bedroom. why is that?" rhys had an inkling, an assumption, but he wanted it to come out of y/n's lips. he saw his client huff a breath, a thought crossing his mind, before slumping, regal self gone.

"i have ptsd. it was from my mother. when i was younger, she had this twisted sense of duty. she packed my schedule with a lot of lessons. mostly languages and subjects related to business. if i have a low score, she'd lock me in my room for a few hours. if i failed, she'd lock me in a closet. to distract myself, i indulged in hobbies and other things. she found out and locked me in for i don't know long. all i know is i was hungry and thirsty. it didn't take long for my father to find me, he had just come home from a business trip. the house was a mess after that," his voice wavered slightly, but regained its steadiness as he thought about his father. no amount of therapy sessions cured his fear of enclosed spaces.

when he tried to overcome it once, his lungs constricted, he felt nausea and sweaty, he couldn't think at all. he felt so helpless.

y/n was silent for a while before shaking his head, trying to rid of himself of the resurfaced memories. one he tried to forget but couldn't. not when they lingered in the back of his mind. if he couldn't get over his fears, then he couldn't get over his past. so he'd ignore it as long as possible.

"we're alike, you and i." rhys reused the words y/n had told him a year ago, this time removing the words a bit. and true to the bargain, he told him all about bridget von ascheberg. as soon as he mentioned her name, recognition flooded through y/n's eyes. he listened attentively, nodding and humming here and there. (read twisted games for better understanding) understanding settled in the air. comfortable silence followed soon after, both returning to what they were doing before their heart to heart.

rhys gazed at the man sitting at the desk. in a timespan shorter than his time with bridget, he and y/n knew each other in a deeper level. maybe it's because they were both men? or was it because the silence and waiting for the starting few months pushed everything into place? maybe it's because y/n took his time being comfortable first before conversing? he didn't know, there were a lot of possibilities.

he was certain of one thing. there was more to y/n's story.

three months passed. aside from the company parties, meetings, and alumni event, everything was smooth sailing for y/n. he did receive death threats once or twice, but it was all sorted out by rhys who stuck to him like glue. he either trailed behind him like a scary dog or stood beside him when having idle chats with other people.

they started eating at the table together, as y/n's father demanded one day during one of his visits and berated his son for not asking rhys any sooner. the latter has become less alert when they were in a room alone together, not like before where he would pace at times. now he sat reading or sketching, occasionally focusing as if listening or looking for something.

it was the first time rhys saw y/n in casual wear. jeans, shirt, and a jacket. his father had told him to go have fun for one day, then he could go back to working until the day he dies. so there they were, at an amusement park.

a sparkle of childish curiosity passed through y/n's mind as his eyes went from one ride to another. its been a decade since the last time he had fun. the thought twisted at his heart. where everyone enjoyed normality, he couldn't. fun time was a luxury for him when he was around ten to fifteen. he had to work hard for it, but it was only brief. how he wished to experience it all.

"is it your first time in an amusement park?" rhys stood beside him, still in all black, though his outfit was a bit more laidback. he stood tall, oozing with a sense of responsibility. he received a mute nod.

the longer y/n looked around, the more he felt overwhelmed. his lips quivered as he swallowed hard. sadness embraced him. the heaviness of the situation weighed on him. all those stolen childhood days could've been spent being reckless and facing the consequences later, having fun, making friends, and exploring life. "i never thought i'd see a rollercoaster in real life."

rhys followed y/n around. those books that laid around the house held utmost significance. they were worlds that he could imagine himself in, leaving the reality that was set in stone by his mother. universes where he could be the main character of the story, even if it's just for a little while. he felt the sliver of happiness his mother depraved him of.

they walked around the park buying souvenirs and trying out food. they went on the dropper and dropper. y/n looked at the cars of the ferris wheel and refused to get on even when rhys mentioned that the view was nice at the very top. for their last stop, they decided on the haunted mansion. it was the main attraction.

as they entered the mansion, they were covered in darkness. there were dim lights that led the way. there were many twists and at one of the turns, rhys and y/n got separated. the latter looked around in wonder, a burst of excitement guiding him through the maze of halls. the cold hearted man was hidden away in the suit of the ceo, in casual clothes he was just y/n.

just as he was about to run off somewhere, he was shoved against the wall and locked in someplace dark. he furrowed his eyebrows and took a step only to realize there was limited space. his eyes widened as he tried to move, feeling around only to find to familiar structure of two closet doors trapping him.

"hello!?" he tried to open the door only to find out it's been wedged closed by an overturned chair. he slams his palms against the wood, sweat rolling down his forehead, suddenly feeling hot. "let me out!"

his hands slid against the frame, pressing himself against the wall of the closet as if trying to make more space. he hears his pulse in his ears, eyes darting around frantically trying to find some sort of light in the blinding darkness. he feels oxygen leave his lips in pants, he's light headed. "please . . ."

he slides down the wall as the tears of the past come rushing to the present. tears slide down his cheeks as he becomes the helpless child he once was. "please . . . i'm sorry" he wheezes out, his mind flashing back to the old closet in their old estate.

cool air brushed against his sweaty forehead and he's pulled out of the closet and into a set of arms. "l/n? l/n, stay with me." rhys pats y/n's cheek, trying to wake him up from his episode. tears kept pouring as he muttered nonsense. his heart was racing too fast. "why the fuck did you lock him in a closet!?" he barked at the actors, who flinched back from the scalding tone.

"it's part of the experience. it was supposed to be for two minutes," the manager calmly de-escalated the situation.

rhys scowled, supporting y/n who was out of it. "take it out of the fucking experience." he hears the disoriented man mumble something before taking him someplace else where they could have a bit of privacy.

"thank you . . ." y/n stared blankly at the people walking by. he was sitting on a bench. he didn't know what to say. the last time he had an episode was when he tried to overcome his ptsd six years back. it didn't work, instead he had a similar experience but a tad worse.

rhys stood before him, blocking him from the nosy people who tried to peer. his arms were crossed, flexing as the irritation from earlier slowly faded. they were separated by two actors. he was forced into a pit of fake bones and when he was out he was faced with a serious situation. y/n's ptsd episode.

"it's my job."

y/n sighed, shoulders slumping. even on the one day where everything should be normal, it still turned out to be another traumatic day. the child that hid in the mansion of his mind always found his way out, replacing his current with the past. he hated how he couldn't even overcome being in a closet for five fucking minutes.

"no it's not. your job is to protect me from physical harm. but as of this moment, you eased my emotional harm. for that, i thank you," he raised his head and gave him a small smile. it felt foreign, but it felt right in the moment.

rhys' breath hitched. that damned smile that y/n gave. it was unexpected from someone who was frowning everyday. he felt that familiar tug on his heart. one he didn't want to feel, but couldn't kill. y/n looked gorgeous being showered in the golden sunset.

that smile . . . it looked good on him.

another year had gone by. a lot had changed since that day at the amusement park. almost three years, a lot of things changed.

y/n was a bit more expressive with emotions, only with rhys and his father however. he slowly started easing off his work and had rest days. despite having said days, he still could only get in, two at maximum, hours of sleep. he was eating more. rhys was there through everything. another constant in his life.

"i was thinking of a beach resort in areas where resorts aren't that popular," the chief marketing officer proposed, standing confidently in front of the board officers. y/n sat at the head of the long table reading through the hard copy of the presentation. rhys stood to his side like a hawk. since that day in the amusement park, he didn't want another shove incident, even though there weren't any closets nearby.

y/n flipped through the papers once again and sighed, "our company shouldn't only be resorts. i need a proposition that steers away from the word resort. we can't market that forever." he moved his head from side to side and sighed as he felt that satisfying pop. he's been sitting listening to propositions for an hour and a half. his ass felt numb. "everyone, let's take ten."

as people filed out the room, y/n flipped through the rest of the propositions with a groan. it was so deep and stressed, it was attractive. rhys felt his cock stir with interest as he eyed the serious ceo.

he's been having urges. that tousled hair of y/n, he just wants to run his fingers through them and tug them back. those tense shoulders, he could fuck the stress out of him by bending him over the table.

rhys shook his head and cleared his mind. during the past year, he has been curious about sexuality. normally he didn't care, however now that he's feeling something for the same sex, he's been doing some research. it started off small, from bits of information and opinions of other people in the community until he got too deep and even discovered pornographic videos.

it would be a lie if he denied watching some videos, but it was for research purposes. all his life, he had always been interested in women, but since he met y/n, he has been questioning a lot of things in life. he wants it to stop. he had to remind himself that things from the past should never repeat.

as rhys had an inner conflict, y/n had his own as well. he tried to distract himself from the masculine presence behind him, acting as if he was going through the papers. it was half true, he was trying to ignore the glimpses of moments that flashed through his mind of these past two months where he relieved himself at the thought of his own bodyguard. he felt a bit shameful, but it felt so wrong and right at the same time. rhys had been uncovering a past he tried to keep buried. however, it resurfaced every time he saw him.

"you know . . . the reason my . . . mother locked me in the closet . . ." it was a random blurt out, but it was on his mind. rhys showed a sign he was listening. "i danced as a hobby. she didn't like it. she claims its girly. i'm also . . ." y/n trailed off with a thoughtful hum. "i've never really said this to anyone but my mother. i'm also into men." no matter how long its been.

rhys felt his stomach flip. he stared ahead of him, feeling a bit of relief. "good to know."

those three words made y/n's heart flutter. he hid the heat appearing on his cheeks, thankful that his back is turned to the bodyguard that tested and pushed him. but he had to ask, even though deep down he knew the answer, "what does that mean?"

"you have work to do."

three months passed, which makes three years. in those months, y/n came out to his father, who responded with an i suspected that. being the ceo, he was expected to negotiate. he did, though during those meetings, he couldn't avoid proposals like arranged marriage or marriage to merge companies. before he could answer, rhys was already there making his presence known, a frown on his face, scaring away other ceos. it got to the point where y/n only made phone calls for such meet-ups.

to rhys, its been hectic. to resist y/n's bold advances such as sliding a hand against his bicep, sometimes his chest. looking up at him through those lashes with big innocent eyes, even though they're far from it. that cute smile from the amusement park that seemed to be only reserved for him alone. and those sounds he lets out when he's stressed or working.

y/n was driving him insane. forget the contract, they can make a new one where he'd fuck the ceo into submission anytime and anywhere he wanted as long as he stayed his.

rhys knew y/n wanted him. he could tell from his actions and his words with underlying meanings. it was killing him to keep his hands to himself. if he could only reach out, wrap a hand around y/n's neck and kiss him like there's no tomorrow . . .

it was one in the morning, they had just gotten home. in the car, y/n proposed to play a game. two truths and one dare, in which they took turns. as they stepped into the warmth of the mansion, y/n came up with a question for rhys' chosen truth. in all honestly, he just wanted to entertain his client (hopefully to tire him out) so he could turn in for the night before he took him right there on the front door.

"what are your kinks?"

as the game progressed in the car, the questions got more inappropriate, definitely borderline breaching their contract.

"hair pulling . . . bondage you could say . . ." he listed off other kinks, fixing his shoes beside y/n's before entering after him. he could feel himself harden the more the other spoke to him about something sexual, as if interviewing him before having him fuck him senseless.

until that question made his heart stop. "would you kiss me?"

rhys slowly turns to y/n, who was looking at him with mild interest with a mix of arousal. he could feel it from the three feet distance between them. the way y/n's eyes traced his lips, dipping below his chin, and stopping at the bulge straining against the black pants.

y/n was sporting the same in his pants. after he admitted to liking men, it was never the same since then. it would never be the same. not when his heart tugs and flutters because of the man standing in front of him. not when his heart fell hard when he found him in the closet in that haunted house. not when they'd had all these one on one talks. through all he stayed.

"yes. would you like me to kiss you?" rhys returned the question as they neared each other, one foot apart. maybe his feelings started growing the moment the silence turned into small and slow conversations. or that time y/n acknowledged what he truly felt when he left bridget. maybe because they shared some similarities. or is it because y/n relied on him to take away the pain of loneliness of only thinking of the future, not allowing himself to heal from the past and appreciate the present.

"yes."

(⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧ rhys' pov

with that, i dove down and molded my lips against his. i guided his head, tilting my heard, pushing against him. his pants echoed in my ears, trapping him against the nearest wall, taking his breath away. when he tried to pull away, i chased his lips, claiming them once more.

when i pulled away, he looked awestruck. i kiss him hard. i press our clothes cocks together and i feel him hump against me, my hands caress down his body and kneads on his cheeks. grunts pour into my mouth as our tongues fight for dominance.

his legs hook around my hips and i carry him upstairs into the bedroom i claimed. i drop him onto the bed. "clothes off." i turn to grab lube and condoms in the drawers. when i turn around, my breath is almost caught in my throat.

the curves and groves of his body, the fullness of his skin, and the way it's begging for attention, makes me want to drop everything and just fuck him raw. i am well aware this is my second breach of contract. i had no reason to do this. this would be another hook-up and-

"breach of contract or not. resigning or not. once you fuck me and i like you, i'm yours and you're mine. i swear to fucking god, we're not arguing about it. we'll fuck it out too."

that was enough for me to push him against the mattress. i'm not asking him how he knew what i was thinking because most of the time it's like he could read my mind. but he did say, i wear my thoughts on my face. maybe it was something only he could do.

my thoughts never once wavered even as i scissored my fingers into y/n's hold, my eyes watching every contort of his face, every redness of his skin. the noise that fell like waterfalls from his swollen lips as i pressed against the bundle of nerves while he desperately pushes against my hand. i groan under my breath. it took a lot of self control to not just fuck him stupid and take away his walking ability.

everything in my mind felt silent as i admired the man under me, taking me inch by inch after throwing the condom on the other side of the room claiming to want to feel me fully and be filled with cum. that almost made me lose grip.

as i bottomed out, i almost immediately rutted my hips. it was so hot and i'm being squeezed tight but just right. i almost exploded right then and there. i felt him tighten his legs around my hips, uttering for me to go.

slowly i pulled out and pushed back in with a low groan. it felt good. so good. i started to pick up pace, slamming balls deep eliciting beautiful moans and whimpers that tickled my ears like a melody.

my hand found its place around his neck, pushing him back into the soft cushions. i apply light pressure and he cries out in pleasure.

"you're ge- hah~ getting b-bigger~ hng!~"

i felt his hands rub up and down against the scars on my back before they wounded around my neck, pulling me close. my nose traced his carotid as i planted kisses and nipped at his skin, my thrusts growing harsher and erratic.

i bit hard on his shoulder with a grunt as i felt him clamp around me, making me cum, shooting thick ropes of cum inside him. i felt spurts of warmth between us as y/n flinches and convulses from his high. he breathes heavily, a dopey smile on his face. i press a brief kiss on his lips and pull out. he groans and drapes an arm over his eyes.

"i mean what i said, whether you're my bodyguard or not. i like you and you're mine and i'm yours."

hearing that made my heart feel good. if there was a god out there, thank you lord for giving me a second chance. i laid beside him on my back. we both stare at the ceiling. under all that cold hard shell, he was very different. he warm warm and mellow. i was cold and barren. yet he thawed all that.

"can you i be your boyfriend?" y/n asked, interlacing our fingers together. it's been a long while since i've last been in a relationship. people say it's too late to try at my age. but it doesn't hurt to want and need. i crack a rare smile.

"whatever you want buttercup."

[pedriache]

Merry Christmas, I miss you 𖦹 Quinn Hughes !

summary. quinn was back home for christmas and all he could think about was you. his highschool sweetheart. one he hadn’t seen in a very long time. but now, with the holiday bringing you both home… whats a better time to rekindle what once was?

wc. 1.39k+

disclaimers. ex’s that left off on good terms, fluff, reader being slightly awkward & this may be a little ooc but IDC IDC.. also reader went to college for something unspecified.

notes. i had two drafts for this idea but i liked this one better lolsss.. also i fucking decided i hated this but i also am just like whatever i need it out of the drafts!

Quinn’s fingers hovered over the green button. He had been sitting on the living room couch, chewing on his lip for about thirty minutes now. His mom had informed him that you were back in town for the Holiday’s. Your mother had stopped her at the grocery store to chat, and you’d rounded the corner. Ellen practically raced home to inform her son.

Jack and Luke sat on chairs not far from their older brother, both sharing equally as annoyed looks.

“Man, just press the button.” Jack grumbled, sinking into the chair, his foot tapping the ground impatiently.

Quinn’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing on his brother before they flickered back to his phone. “It’s not that easy. What if she has a boyfriend now and I—“

Before he could finish his sentence, Luke shot up from the couch, passing the distance in a few long strides. The youngest Hughe’s brother wrenched the phone from his brother’s tight grasp, not giving Quinn a second to retaliate, he presses the button.

Ring.. Ring..

“Hello?”

Quinn glared heatedly up at Luke as the curly haired boy grinned, handing the phone back to his brother. Jack stood from the chair, nodding his head toward the door for Luke to follow and give Quinn space.

Clearing his throat, Quinn’s mouth parted. Shit, shit, shit. What did he get himself into? What did Luke get him into?

“Uhm.. Quinn?” God, your voice was still as sweet and melodic as the last time he’d heard from you. The small hint of a smile in your voice was the thing had gave Quinn the strength to reply.

And, you still had his number saved.

“Hey, yeah, sorry. Hi!” He sunk into the couch, free hand rubbing his thigh in a comforting motion. “Heard you were back in town?”

Shuffling was heard on the other end before a soft sight left your lips. “Yep! Are you here too?” There was something in your voice, something hesitant that raised a hint of concern in Quinn.

Did you have a boyfriend? If so, that would explain it. Not wanting to hear from your ex.. what was he doing!?

“Yeah, yeah. Just for a few days. How’ve you been?” He really should just get the question that’s been nagging at his mind for hours now.

On the other end, your heart was slamming into your chest. You’d always been shy, even in high school. The only reason you had a friend group was because of Quinn. He’d helped you come out of your shell.

But now? Now he was your ex, a famous hockey player, and incredibly good looking. Why wouldn’t you be a little shy?

“Good. Been good! College is tiring, but worth it..” A pause, “How are you?”

Quinn felt a smile pushing at his lips despite himself. “I’ve been alright! Listen, I really gotta ask..” Now or never, Hughes. Now or— “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Choking. That’s all Quinn heard, even when you so clearly moved the phone away from your face. “I—Uh, I, well— no. No, no, I don’t. Sorry! That caught me a but off guard!”

A laugh slipped out of the brunettes lips, his head dipping with a low shake. “No, it’s my bad. I should’ve eased that question in. Just.. didn’t want to overstep.”

Once you’f collected yourself, did you allow a small chuckle to escape your lips. Red blossomed on your cheeks and you’d never been so grateful for it being over the phone.

If this had happened face to face? Well, you might be in the hospital for passing out from sheer humiliation.

“You aren’t overstepping anything, Quinn. I promise.” You stood from your seat, walking toward the kitchen to get yourself some water.

Quinn waited a second to speak, not wanting to seem too eager—he couldn’t scare you off just yet. “Good. We should catch up, soon. The cafe on main street is still open, you liked their espresso’s if I remember correctly.”

He did remember correctly. As if Quinn could forget anything pertaining to you. You liked it with an extra shot, claiming it was necessary or your whole day would be off. Not that you needed more energy, you’d always seemed to have an endless supply of that.

The Hughe’s man supposed that’s what he’d loved the most about you. Your energetic side that made it easy for him to sit back and relax while you took over the conversations.

“You remember very correctly.” You laugh lightly, “and, I’d love that. When are you free?”

Quinn sat up straight, smiling. Then, he turned his head, noticing his brother’s peeking over the corner. Their eyes widened and their heads disappeared.

He had to hold back the groan as he turned his attention back to the woman he was on the phone with. “Right now, if you are.”

“Oh! Oh, give me thirty minutes to get ready. I can drive—“

“I’ll pick you up. My brothers are here and they are being.. well, them.”

You nod in understanding, forgetting he couldn’t see you. A grin tugs at your lips as you imagine the younger Hughe’s boys being oh-so-nosey.

“Alright. I’m staying at my parents. Come whenever, I’m sure they’d love to see you.” And with that, you both said your goodbye’s and you sprinted to your room.

When Quinn did arrive at your house, nerves wracked his body. His stomach churned at the realization he was about to see you after so many years. Sure, he still followed you on Instagram.. but you didn’t exactly have a big social media presence.

The click of the door opening had the mans back straightening, pulse quickening in his throat like he was a high schooler all over again.

And when he saw you, his breath hitched in his throat. You looked so much more mature, somehow even more beautiful than the last time he’d seen you.

Yes, four years had passed since he’d seen you in person. But this was.. well, he forgot how to speak. The flowers in his hand long since forgotten.

“Grip those any tighter and you might snap the stems.” You spoke quietly, teasingly. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you watched him blink, his throat bobbing. Was that a stupid joke?

Then, he laughed. And you saw that he was the same Quinn you’d loved all those years ago. His cheeks puffing and his head shaking.

His grip loosened on the flowers, his arm sticking out to give them to you. You took them gratefully, cheeks flushed as you murmured a thank you.

Quinn shifted on his feet as you brought the flowers up to smell them. “You look beautiful.”

Your eyes paused on the flowers before slowly lifting to meet his. You didn’t think it was possible for your face to get any warmer, but here it was. Ablaze.

“Thank you! So do—well, I meant—“ Your mouth clamps shut. “You look handsome.” It came out gritted which caused Quinn’s lips to twitch.

Setting the flowers on a table beside the door, you grab your purse and step outside. The cold air cooling you down and stifling your humiliation. The walk to Quinn’s car was brief, thankfully.

Inside, you settled into the seat. You really needed to control yourself, this awkward vibe seeping off of you was only making you more embarrassed.

As if nothing had changed, Quinn disconnected from bluetooth and turned to you with a loose grin. And just like that, you were back in high school again, refusing to go anywhere until you gained control over the music.

Your mouth quirked as you pulled out your phone. “Always a gentleman, Hughes.” You tease lightly, which was met with a short chuckle. That simple sound shot something so familiar through your chest.

Your fingers hovered over the song you were about to play, when your eyes flitted back to Quinn. He was looking at you still, his lips pulled into a small smile. And you knew that what you were feeling wasn’t just a one way street.

“I missed you.” He spoke quietly. His eyes softened as they moved around your face like he was trying to memorize every new detail to store beside the old ones.

Tearing your eyes from him, you press play. “I missed you too.”

likes, comments, & reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in any or all of my posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @lechrts @spidybaby @joaoflms @sakashq @be11ingham @piastri-fvx

[elletheactualmenace]

Showers and Soft Touches

Pairing: Bruce Wayne(battinson) x fem!reader

Summary: Someone joins you in the shower, and just some cute Bruce moments.

Warnings: Non-sexual nudity, suggestive, slightly ooc Bruce, shower sharing,

Word Count: 1.2k

a/n: This has been sitting in my drafts for forever so here I am finally posting it. I based some of the hair part on my own hair, so I’m so so sorry if it’s not the same as your routine!! Hope you enjoy this cute domestic fanfic.

You turn the faucet almost as far to the left as possible. The shower head sprouts out a patch of cold water before the temperature evens out and the water begins to heat. As steam begins to fill your master bathroom you reach out your hand to inspect the water. It's perfect. Just how you like it.

You step into the shower slowly making sure not to slip, before running your body under the water. Immediately your body loses its tension, and your muscles practically moan under the pressure of the hot water.

You reach for your shampoo slowly, wanting the relaxation to last as long as possible. You pour the liquid onto your hand and watch it slowly seep back into the bottle when you pull your hand up ever so slightly. You click the lid closed and place it back in its home. You begin to lather your hair, taking care to scrub until there is an abundance of suds coated through your hair.

Before you can wash out your now clean hair you feel a pair of arms wrap under your uplifted arms and around your torso. You jump at the sudden cold temperature of the hands against your warm skin. A head finds a resting spot on your shoulder, and you turn to see Bruce. His eyes closed and a content sound came from his throat.

You lower your arms so you can hug him back, or your version, rest your arms along his. Bruce doesn’t seem to mind your soapy hands. He just opens his eyes to meet yours. You lean in and kiss his cheek. The coldness of his skin is a stark contrast to yours. Your lips tingle at the feeling, and they linger longer than they should. 

Bruce takes a step back letting the water hit his back. He seems to instantly relax, but to a stranger it would have gone unnoticed. 

“Here, let me.” Bruce hums out softly, his low gravelly voice reverberating into your back. He unwraps his arms form around you and takes your hair in his hands. He gently leans your head back to rinse out the suds of soap from your hair. He’s careful to make sure he shields your eyes from the soap.

When the shampoo is all out Bruce takes hold of your bottle of conditioner, the expensive one he got for you. He lathers his hands with the creamy substance and gently runs his fingers through the knots in your hair. You breathe a sigh of content at his soft ministrations. And he smiles softly.

“Feel good?” He asks slowly, the corner of his lips lifted in a smirk.

“Yeah, especially when I’m not doing it.” You breathe out smiling. And he leans in kissing your cheek before continuing.

After your hair is lathered with conditioner, you reach to take hold of the bar of soap resting near Bruce’s and your razors. Out of the corner of your eye you see Bruce pouring shampoo on his hair before scrubbing it into his scalp.

You wash your body thoroughly, taking time to make sure you leave no skin untouched by the soap. Bruce rinses out his hair before quickly finishing up his routine. You follow suit, washing out your hair, then continuing with your hair routine.

By the time you wrap a towel around your body Bruce is already standing by the mirror and sink, ruffling out the water from his hair with a smaller towel. His towel hangs low on his hips, showing off his prominent v line. Your eyes slowly travel up his toned torso, to his pecks, his shoulder, and finally to his eyes, which are embarrassingly already on you.

Your face heats up as you look down, you adjust your towel awkwardly. Bruce just smiles gently walking over to you. You look up as he approaches you, his eyes catching yours.

“Sorry.” You whisper uncomfortably.

“Its okay,” he says with a tender look in his eyes. You turn your attention towards the floor embarrassment seeping from you. When he doesn’t move after a minute, still holding his gaze on you and your face you look up into his eyes again.

“What?” You asked with a small smile, eyebrows scrunching. “Do I still have soap on me?” You ask, inspecting your shoulders and bare legs. Bruce hesitantly places his hand on your cheek making you look up at him again.

“Just think…you're adorable.” He whispers lovingly but shyly to you. You push him away playfully, trying to hide the fact that his words sent butterflies to your stomach and a giddy feeling to your heart.

You walk towards the door motioning for him to follow, and he does.

As you step out of the large doors to your bathroom you are greeted with fresh clothes on your king size bed. You hear Bruce’s feet pad over to the corner of the room closest to the large windows. There is shuffling before the crackling of a needle tip hitting a vinyl is heard throughout the room. La vie en rose performed by Édith Piaf fills your ears. 

You turn to see Bruce starting your vinyl player, he looks at you with soft eyes. He leans against the wall near the window and you turn again to the bed. You let your towel fall to the floor as you reach for your underwear.

You can hear Bruce's quiet footsteps once again, walking towards you as your underwear just about reaches your thighs. You feel his large warm hands touch yours from behind you. Both of your hands are now situated on your underwear. He pulls them the rest of the way up for you. His hands then move up to caress the curve of your waist with a soft feathery touch.

You turn, bare chest meeting bare chest. You look up into his deep steel blue eyes finding nothing but warmth hidden under the surface. He wraps his arms around your middle pulling you closer to his broad chest. Following suit you reach up on your toes to wrap your arms around his bare neck. His damp hair prickles your wrists, hair slightly dripping down. But it doesn’t bother you.

You rest your cheek on his collarbone, letting his breathing and beating heart lull your eyes shut. As he shifts you in his arms your nipples perk at the moment. He hums softly into your hair and it vibrates through both of you. 

“Could stay like this forever,” you softly say into his skin. His grip on you tightens as your soft lips meet his scared chest. You still keep your body close to him as you leave a soft trail of kisses up his neck and finally to his pink lips.

He holds you there, his lips tenderly moving with yours. The tingle of his lips on yours sends whimpers up your throat. You part your lips to let his warm mouth explore yours. Your fingertips brush through his hair tugging slightly when you feel his tongue brush along yours. Bruce’s lips are so warm you never want to pull away. His arms caress your sides and back gently moving along your drying skin with love.

When you too finally do part your hands travel down to his chest so you can get a good look at his face.

“I love you darling.” You say quietly, and he sighs with a smile.

”Love you too.” He whispers softly, letting his body sway with yours to the music radiating from the corner.

This. This is what you loved most in the world.