#for a while. he hates when others move him without permission.)

[hearts4hughes]

❦⋆ bridgerton au ~ a lady does not kneel

note: incase you didn’t know, “a rake is a man, typically well-to-do and charming, who is known for his promiscuous and libertine lifestyle”.

you are not supposed to be sitting on the ground. your mother has said this countless times—a lady does not kneel unless in prayer, and never on grass unless she intends to be buried in it—but you are not thinking about rules this afternoon. you’re thinking about shadow and shape and how the light catches in the leaves of the crooked tree near the rose bed.

your skirts are hitched to your knees. your bodice is creased from leaning. your drawing hand is smudged with charcoal, and you are only half aware of the streak across your cheek. but the tree is coming to life under your pencil. you’re close. you’re inside the lines. you’re—

“y/n.” your mother’s voice arrives before she does. it’s clipped, rehearsed, and laced with polite dismay as always. you hum in acknowledgment but don’t lift your head. “your new muslin gown,” she says. “it’s sitting in the dirt.”

you blink once. “it is.”

“why?”

“because i’m wearing it.”

she sighs the way mothers do when they’re not sure if they want to lecture or laugh. you hear her cross the garden path, the neat click of heels against stone. she doesn’t kneel beside you—god forbid—but she does glance down at your page. “what are you sketching now?”

“the tree.”

her tone curls. “that one?”

“yes.”

“it’s terribly unbalanced.”

“i like it.”

she falls quiet for a beat. then, her mouth is moving again. “you know, dear, there are other pursuits.”

you pause mid-stroke. finally, you look away from your page and crane your neck to look at her. “such as?” you raise a brow, already mustering up a sarcastic reply.

“music, conversation, charm, walking upright.” she puts a finger on her chin as she lists the endless possibilities.

you crease your brows. “you think i’m uncharming?”

“i think,” she says carefully, “you are very bright.” no compliment ever comes without an afterthought. “and brightness, if not directed properly, can become…overwhelming.”

you look back at the tree. “i’ll try to shine downward, then.”

she gives your shoulder the gentlest squeeze. it’s all affection and no permission. “dinner at seven o’clock. clean hands. clean hem.” you don’t answer. she doesn’t wait. she vanishes the way she always does—smiling with her mouth, never with her eyes.

before you can relax your shoulders, someone else speaks. “how noble of you,” comes a voice, dry as the summer air, “to rescue that poor tree’s dignity by immortalizing it in your book.”

you close your eyes. no. no. not him. not now. “cameron,” you mutter.

“y/l/n.” he says your name like it’s an inconvenience. “how humble of you to sit in your own yard like a scullery maid.” you turn your head, finally, and find him leaning lazily against the garden gate. his jacket is tailored, his collar unbuttoned just enough to be inappropriate, and his smirk is already halfway to smug.

you blink at him. “shouldn’t you be harassing someone with looser morals?”

“shouldn’t you be pretending to enjoy embroidery?”

“i do enjoy embroidery.”

“of course,” he says with a scoff. he always thought you were too perfect to be true. the way you walked around with your head high, not even sparing a glance towards him. while other girls drop to their knees before him just to get his attention. “you enjoy everything you’re supposed to.”

you huff, shutting your sketchbook with a snap. “why are you even here?”

“i’m on a stroll.”

“you hate walking.” you mutter through gritted teeth. you can’t have anything for yourself these days. everything is interrupted by your mother’s manners and rake cameron’s ignorance.

he shrugs. “i was invited.”

“by whom?”

he hesitates, just long enough to betray the lie. “your brother.”

“well, he’s not here right now.”

“then i suppose you’re stuck with me.” you stand slowly, brushing off your skirts, glaring when he eyes the dirt on the fabric like it offends him personally. he watches you close the latch on your sketchbook. “let me guess,” he says. “you’ll hide that before dinner.”

“why?” your fingers grip the fabric of the dress so hard you swear it may rip.

“can’t ruin the illusion.” he gestures at you, top to toe. “the perfect miss y/n y/l/n. spine of steel. expression like ice.”

you tilt your head. “that’s rich, coming from a man who spends most of his time half-drunk and wholly useless.”

he grins. “yet you keep talking to me.”

“only when you force it.”

“only when i catch you with your guard down.”

you narrow your eyes. “this isn’t a guard. it’s a standard. one you’ve never reached.”

he laughs. the sound is real, sharp. “of course. because you’re above it all.”

“no,” you say coolly with a tight-lipped smile. “just above you.” his smile fades. not fully, but the corners dip, just a touch. you take a step back. “i have nothing to say to you.”

“and yet,” he murmurs, “i’m still here.”

you hate how still he is. how smug. how his eyes flicker to your hand where charcoal lingers beneath your nails, and how he says nothing about it. you hate that he doesn’t smile this time. doesn’t tease. just stands there, watching like he wants to say something else—something worse—but bites it back.

“dinner’s at seven,” you say stiffly.

“lucky me.” he rolls his eyes just enough to make that vein in your forehead pop. with one finally glare, you stomp away. the stone clacks with the weight of your feet. who does he think he is? his family is nothing compared to yours. you could ruin him in a heartbeat and you’d enjoy it.

he turns his head and watches you trudge away with a smirk. always have to walk away first, huh? because that’s what you do. you walk away before he can get the last word. before you hear it. before it can slip beneath your skin like a splinter you’ll spend all night picking at.

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[folliesofmiceandmen]

a kiss has never felt this good.

of course, donny's experience in the department is extremely limited, his late wife and he had kissed, of course, but mostly it was in public, a spectacle, something to show off for cameras and crowds. the picture of a perfect marriage that had been so cold and distant that even the kisses had felt like ice. one or two of them had been passionate, but fueled far more by hate than by any kind of love, the kind of burning anger that had to get out somehow, and that had been, after all, how they'd ended up with three children.

his only other experience lay in secret backroom meetings, when loneliness drove him to seek out people for quick and messy. it was all gnashing teeth and ripping clothes and nothing close to passion with purpose. he's never felt this good kissing someone before, without any expectation that anything more might happen. as felix shifts, he moves to accommodate him into his space, to allow him the room to move while keeping hands on both his face and his waist to steady the man in case he loses balance. fingers dig gently into the doctor's hip, a clingy, possessive sort of gesture that feels all at once amazing and gives him pause to question if it's too much or too far.

thoughts have all but flown out the window as he feels a thrill shoot up his spine, felix's tongue teasing the inside of his mouth enough to let the lowest whimper escape him without his express permission as his own battles it for the chance to slide past and explore the other man's mouth with the thoroughness that the doctor seems intent on offering him.

the chuckle that slips free from him as he pulls back just enough to breathe without breaking the kiss is involuntary, but warm and light and full of a kind of raw joy that the moment has washed over him, and he only decides to break the kiss when his lust addled mind decides it needs to explore, first pressing against the corner of felix's lips with a nip of teeth that is gentle and claiming, before dancing away from his mouth entirely to trail a line down his jaw, that same sharp jaw he's found himself daydreaming about a million times before, and then to his ear to gently tug at the lobe with his teeth before he's back again, leaving absolutely no moment for words before he's diving back in to kiss felix again. again. like he's fallen into one of his own dreams and has no desire to wake from it.

❛ it's both. ❜

if felix has any inclination to think that is precisely the answer he'd been hoping for, any opportunity to do so is swiftly snatched away from him in the form of a hand sliding down the side of his face, the brief and breathtaking freeze of time as donny moves closer, closer ― and then there are lips on his. it's cautious and careful and gentle, everything felix is unused to. and yet, he finds himself drawn to it, to his heat ― drawn to him ― like a moth to a flame.

the doctor is not sure he's ever been kissed like this before. the way holds him, the way he touches him, felix almost dares to think it's as if he were something precious. as if he were, somehow, something to behold in the same way as the man who holds him. if there were anyone who could make him believe it―

his mouth does not part from donovan's as he shifts on the couch to better face him, an attempt to make up for time he now realizes he's lost. it's as if donovan has struck a match and lit something aflame within the doctor. cold steel and even colder blood, it's dizzying the way they seem to blaze from such a simple touch. a simple kiss.

and then lips are parting against his and felix shifts again, moves impossibly closer until his knee is pressing into the same thigh that his hand still rests firmly against ; his other hand slides up donovan's chest slowly, rumpling pristine fabric until it comes to rest against the slope where his neck meets his shoulder, fingers curling into the collar.

his own mouth parts open at the wordless invitation ― because there's no taking any of this back now and christ, he doesn't want to ― and he takes advantage of the better angle as his tongue slips out to trace the gentle curve of donny's lips before disappearing between them. a man of science at heart, felix is innately fond of discovery. it is with this curious enthusiasm that he explores every inch of the other man's mouth the moment he's been given the opportunity.

he doesn't know whether it's the liquor or the dizzying lust that makes every fiber of him suddenly feel alight, but for the first time since they've appeared, the bruises on his throat ( and the man that put them there ) are far from his mind.

[whoswitchybabyanyway]

say it again

pairing: aaron hotchner x gn!reader

word count: 1.7k

summary: drunk texting your new(ish) boyfriend while out with friends :)

includes: no use of y/n, no gender specific description of reader, reader is drunk/mentions of alcohol and drinking, fluff. just cute wholesome fluff

It was supposed to be a casual Friday–a few drinks with friends, stories swapped over bar food and music too loud to really talk through. But you hadn’t realized how tired you were. How little you’d eaten today. Or how fast whiskey sours hit when you aren’t paying attention.

You don’t mean to get that drunk.

You had meant to just check in. To send a cute text to your boyfriend of a few months–the man you’d worked with for years, who had somehow gone from boss to friend to something infinitely more terrifying: someone you could see yourself falling for.

Your messages start out… maybe a little embarrassing, but at least coherent..

“miss u. u would hate this place lol so loud”

“why do guys named brad always yell”

“ur tie looked good today. tell it i said hi”

And then someone had ordered a round of shots. And then another. And suddenly, your thumbs stopped obeying your brain–which, to be fair, wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders either.

“emergency: i need cheese fries n maybe a hug. or both at once”

“hotsh hotc hotdch ur eyes are SO BROWN”

“ty for ur face and ur arms n ur … exist???”

You’ll be mortified by all of it tomorrow morning, but currently, you can’t find yourself caring about much, other than the fact he hasn’t answered.

You frown down at your screen, chin tucked into your hand, your other arm lazily draped around a half-finished drink in a sweating glass.

“What’s wrong with your face?” your friend asks, half-laughing at the childish pout on your lips.

“He left me on read,” you mumble, wiggling the phone at her as though it’s Exhibit A. “Aaron. He read it. Didn’t respond. He read it.”

She squints at your screen, then snorts. “How is he supposed to reply to ‘you’re the best jawline in the whole FBI’?”

You pout harder. “I dunno. Say thanks?”

Your friend just laughs at you, shaking her head. But you don’t think it’s funny.

Because even though you know you’re being ridiculous, even though the room is warm and the night is young, your chest hurts a little. Just a pinch. A flicker of doubt where certainty usually lives. 

You haven’t been together long–just a few months–and it’s all new, still fragile. You’re not used to this part yet. The missing him in public. Needing him without permission. The strange, quiet way his absence can leave you feeling a little off-kilter.

You stare at your phone.

“Fine,” you whisper. “Leave me on read. Rude.”

You sigh and drop your head onto the table, face smooshed against your arm. “I’m going to die here. I’m going to become a ghost in this Chili’s-adjacent bar and haunt the bathroom.”

Your friend pats your head. “You’ll be a beautiful ghost.”

You groan.

And then–

He’s just there.

You blink, lifting your head too fast–definitely too fast, based on the way the room tilts. But it doesn’t matter, because your heart is already thudding, even before your brain catches up with your eyes.

Aaron stands by the door, scanning the room, his tie slightly undone, his expression unreadable in the dim bar light. His eyes find yours, and his whole posture shifts–like something softens behind his stern exterior. Relief, maybe. Familiarity. 

Your mouth drops open. “Hotch?”

He’s already moving toward you, steady and sure.

“You stopped making sense,” he says calmly as he reaches you, slipping a hand under your elbow to help you out of the booth. “Figured I’d come get you after the third text you shortened ‘your’ to ‘ur’.”

“You read my texts,” you accuse softly, tilting your head back to look at him.

“I did,” he says as though it’s obvious, guiding you through the crowd like he’s done it a hundred times. 

“You didn’t answer.”

“I figured showing up would say more.”

You blink.

Oh.

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or just him, but your chest folds in on itself. You let him guide you out into the night, warm and solid at your side, and suddenly the rest of the world feels quieter.

A little less lonely.

The car smells like him. Clean, calm, a little like cologne and a lot like comfort. You curl into the passenger seat, his jacket draped over your legs, your shoes on the floor, bare feet propped on the dash despite his protests.

The window is cracked. The scent of pine and rain float in on the wind. The road curves gently away from the city, trees rising up like shadows on either side.

“I wasn’t that drunk,” you mumble.

Aaron hums. “You sent me a voice memo where you just repeated the word ‘eyebrows’ for thirty seconds.”

You groan, covering your face. “That’s not a crime.”

“I didn’t say it was. But it was… concerning.”

You peek at him—his profile bathed in the dim light of the dashboard, jawline sharp, mouth soft. That little tug of a smile plays at the corner, the one that always makes your heart do strange things.

You’ve known him for years. Shared cases. Late nights. Quiet grief. It took months to earn that smile, and when you finally did, you made it a mission to chase it every chance you got. And then—somewhere between burnt coffee and unexpected laughter—everything changed.

A kiss, in the kitchen after an especially tough case. A breathless “what are we doing?” followed by that smile and the softest, realest “I don’t know. But I want to keep doing it.”

It’s still new. Still precious.

But you can’t deny it already feels like home. 

Outside, stars scatter across the sky. You tilt your head, watching them. A few drift–too slow to be shooting stars, too steady to be anything magical. Satellites, maybe. You squint, tipsy and thoughtful.

“Do they ever crash?” you ask, voice quiet. “The stars and satellites. Do they ever just–” you mimic an explosion with your fingers. “Boom?”

Aaron glances at you, like he’s deciding whether you’re serious. Eventually, he says, “No. They keep their distance.”

“That’s kind of lonely,” you say. “All that space between things. Nothing touching.”

He’s quiet again for a second, eyes back on the road. Then: “Or maybe it’s safe.”

You let that settle. Then smile, a little sad. “I think it’s sad.”

He glances over at you again. “You think everything is sad when you’re drunk.”

You pout. “Not true.”

He reaches over, hand brushing yours where it rests on your knee. “Alright. What’s not sad?”

You turn your head, taking him in. The clean line of his jaw, the focus in his eyes even as he drives, the quiet steadiness of his presence. Your heart softens, like it always does with him. 

“You,” you say, a little too easily. “You’re the opposite of sad.”

He doesn’t respond right away—just gives your hand a quiet squeeze.

“When you’re like this,” he murmurs, “you forget to hold back.”

You smile, sleepy and honest. “I know. But you love me.”

A beat.

“I do.”

You blink.

The words hang in the air like mist, weightless and heavy at the same time. The quiet hum of the tires on asphalt, the wind brushing through the cracked window, the rustle of leaves as the road curves–all of it fades beneath two words spoken so simply that they almost don’t register. 

You sit with it for a second. Like you’re not sure you even heard him right. 

Almost.

But then they do.

“...You do?”

Your voice is barely a whisper, a fragile thing in the dark of the car. You’re staring at him now–more sober in this moment than you’ve been all night. Not just because the alcohol is wearing off, but because nothing snaps you into clarity like him.

Aaron’s hand is still on yours, thumb moving once, slow across your skin.

He doesn’t look over at first. Just exhales, the smallest lift of his brow, like he’s thinking back through the last thirty seconds and only now realizing what slipped out.

He gives a quiet, dry sort of laugh. “Suppose that’s not how I meant to say it.”

You just stare at him. “So… you did say it?”

His mouth twists–not regretful, just wry. That little pinch between his brows appears, the one you’ve come to learn means he’s sifting through something careful and important. “I did. Wasn’t planning to. Not like this. Not while driving you home after you sent me a bunch of texts about how brown my eyes are.”

You let out a tiny wheeze. “They’re very brown. Deeply brown.”

He huffs a laugh, but it’s quiet. Focused elsewhere.

“I mean it, though.”

You don’t breath.

He clears his throat, almost awkward. “I do love you. I was going to say it eventually. Preferably when you were sober. Maybe cook something. Say it over dinner. Something better than… a carfessional.”

You gasp. “Oh my god.”

“Don’t say it again.”

“A carfessional.” You bite your lip, barely holding in your smile. 

He groans, but you can see it—his smile, finally unguarded. Like he’s letting himself have this.

And something about that makes your eyes sting. It's a shaky little moment, full of that strange, sacred feeling that only comes around a few times in life.

You turn back toward the window, toward the trees passing by like silhouettes, the stars still scattered like someone spilled silver across the sky. You’re quiet for a while. Letting your heart settle. Letting the words breathe.

Then, softly: “I love you too.”

Aaron doesn’t flinch but you see it–the way his hand pauses slightly against yours. The way his shoulders shift, like something’s unfulring inside him. He doesnt say anything, but you don’t need him too.

He brings your hand to his lips, presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

You smile down at your lap, at the warmth tucked beneath his jacket, at the world outside that suddenly feels a little softer. 

After a few moments, you sigh.

“... Still want cheese fries, though.”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

“I’ll find you some,” he says. “But only because I love you.”

Your smile curls wide. Warm. Dizzy with the weight of it.

“Gross,” you whisper. “Say it again.”

He glances over, flashes another smile back at you.

“I love you,” he says again, like it’s easy now.

Like it was always meant to be.

divider by strangergraphics

[date-everything-has-taken-over]

Headcanons pls for Celia,Dorian,Eddie and Volt,Koa dealing with Homeowner relatives who came to visit and are nosey kind who moves,fix or touch stuff around the house without permission

Ooooo I love it (Fukin HATE it when people do that btw)

Celia(can't find a good emoji for her😭)

●She’s hella annoyed

●Not only is your family disrupting the flow of the house, but they're causing extra stress for you

●She becomes pretty busy with the influx of complaints from other members of the house

●Not to mention the panic that occurred when your mom tried throwing away your "broken" record player (everyone in the dining room becomes extremely vigilant and keeps an eye on Rainey after that)

● Despite her new hectic schedule, she makes sure to set aside time for you

●Her office is open if you need a quiet place to escape your family

●You can rest your head on her desk as she does her work, occasionally placing a comforting hand on your head

●Unfortunately you can't stay long otherwise your family will come looking for you

●Since you (the only human) have your hands full with your family (specifically keeping your little cousins and their crayons away from Wallace) , she decided to handle the dateables

●After your family leaves, everyone breathes a sigh of relief and begins to put everything back the way it was (there was a serch for Mateo who had been "put away" by your aunt when you wernt looking)

●You, Celia, and Florence go room by room to undo all the rearranging your family had done

●Once everything is settled, Florence makes tea, and you all get the chance to finally rest

●I feel like after your family visits, she makes a plan for if they come back so they're more prepared

Dorian🚪

● Much like Celia, he's also pretty annoyed, but he's also disappointed in himself

●His job is to provide security and make sure there's no shenanigans going on, and as far as he's concerned, he's failing

●Your family is going around the house, snooping in places they shouldn't, moving objects around, and he can't do anything about it

●He makes a mental note of everything that got moved so he can help put everyone back once your family leaves

●Fully glaring at your cousin who snooped around your room (she left after feeling like someone was watching her)

● He watches as you try (and fail) to wrangle your family and the stress it's causes you

● Sinces, he's in every room he works with Celia, giving her the list of every chance that was made to a room

●He breathes a sigh of relief when your family leaves.

●As you close Front Dorian, you look noticbly drained as you lean against him

●He wraps his arms around you and lets you stay there as long as you need

Eddie & Volt⚡️

●The Breaker Box was actually closed while your family visited since they were using so much of the power

●They are both throughly unamused

●One of your uncles NEVER turns off lights after leaving the room. Then there's your cousin who has a bunch of things plugged in at once. Another family member had Hector on overtime blasting the ac

●They don't have much time to keep track of others as they're extremely busy bringing power to the house

●That doesn't stop them from seeing you, though

●At the end of the day(most likely after everyone is asleep), you head over to check on them(and to make sure Eddie's workaholic ass isn't pushing himself too hard)

●Eddie makes you a drink, and Volt sits next to you, draping an arm around you

●They listen as you rant about your family. How they invited themselves over and shoved themselves into your business

●"Well, live wire, you've certainly been busy today, and you are certainly ready to rest here as long as you need"

●Much like everyone, they are relieved when your family leaves (You and Volt have to force Eddie to take a break after all that)

Koa🛋 (Stright up couldn't find a picture of his love banner)

●My guy is STRESSED

●Your aunt got really into funchway and decided to move the furniture in the living room around when you weren't looking

●From the moment your family walked through Dorian. It's non-stop talking and arguments (mostly arguing)

●Your cousin uses his cushions and some blankets to make a pillow fort. He doesn't mind that, actually

●His main problem is your family's constant arguing. He sees how much stress you're under and feels awful

●When you take a brief nap on the couch, he tires making himself as comfy as possible

●You don't get the opportunity to talk much since the living room is out in the open(and talking to your couch would make you look crazy)

●But you're still able to enjoy a little but of quiet time together

●When your family leaves, he breathes a sigh of relief, enjoying the silence

●You take a well needed nap on the couch, and you enjoy much need quiet time together

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fanfic Idea: Tax Brackets

Samantha Manson didn't have the best relationship with her parents. Not that she hated them or that they mistreated her, but they were constantly butting heads. They had an idea of what they wanted their daughter to be like, and Sam always fell short.

She won't surrender who she was just to make them happy, but sometimes, when she watched the way Danny's parents supported him, or when Tucker's mother gave her son complete attention when he spoke of his interest, she was tempted.

How would it feel to have her parents be proud of her? To smile when she showed off an outfit or listen to her passions? How could Danny and Tucker not see how lucky they were?

Sam loved her parents, but she also hated being around them. It was hard to put into words- the way she would die for them and avoid them at all costs. The air was always thick with tension around them, as they watched her every word, just so they could get through one conversation without someone snapping, and yet still they found some way to "fix" her.

Her room was her only safe space in the whole house. It was the one place her parents didn't bother to touch or change, even if they went into it to try to convince her to change her ways. Her mother made a habit of waking her with a dress that she had seen one of her friend's daughters wear, and thought This one will be the one to show Sammy-kins the light or some other nonsense.

Sam always made adjustments to the dresses, painting them black, cutting off the frills, and sometimes just accessorizing correctly, but she never threw them out. Perhaps it was sentimental of her; maybe she wanted to keep the gifts her mother had given her, or maybe she just liked watching her mother's face when she "fixed" the dress in the same way the older woman had wanted to fix her.

It was hard to say.

Even harder to defend when Danny and Tucker were at her house, looking through her closet, and finding all the dresses. Her friends started to spend more time at her place whenever she knew her parents wouldn't be home.

Of course, she asked for permission, but she made sure to time it with events they couldn't afford to miss. Her family was wealthy, but they were very much new money, and they needed connections, although establishing them with the other rich families was challenging, given their generations of experience managing their funds. Despite being comfortable in life due to her grandfather's invention, it was apparent that the family's wealth wouldn't last long.

Sam's parents depended on their rental properties. Neither bothered to work a nine-to-five job; instead, they merely bought houses and storefronts throughout Amity Park and rented them out to their new neighbors.

There was a reason Sam was able to hide her wealth.

When her parents moved to Amity Park, it was because they wanted to find a place that was affordable enough to buy multiple properties, yet still populated enough that it wouldn't be difficult to find renters. The family still received royalties from the deli toothpick cellophane-twirling device, but that would one day become obsolete, especially with the rapid advancements in technology.

It was their financial advisors who saw the end of their wealth in the future if they didn't act fast.

Her parents settled with a fixed budget, moving to Amity Park and ensuring the family's wealth grew if they lived as upper-middle-class, compared to the way they were both brought up, i.e., the ultra-rich.

Sam was only in the second grade, so she didn't really feel the shift from the two classes, but her parents certainly did. They couldn't do too much to the outside of their home, but they made up for it by making the inside so lavish. While inside the Manson home, they could pretend they were spending millions and millions as they once had, instead of staring worryingly at the number in their bank account.

Personally, Sam thought they were fine. It's not like they were anywhere near in danger of being homeless or even stressed about money, but her parents didn't see it that way. Sam and Grandma Ida weren't raised like them, where they had enough to be comfortable, not worry about being poor, but never at the bottom of the ultra-rich barrel.

Her mother and father had fallen from that tax bracket, and it killed them inside. The rentals in Amity Park would save them, that's what her father claimed; Sam only had to endure a few years of this lifestyle before they could reestablish a healthy cash flow and return to the ultra-rich.

Sam always rolled her eyes, thinking it was all too dramatic. Her life wasn't hard. In fact, it was one of the best in the entire zip code. She never had to worry about bills like Danny, never had to count coins for things like Tucker, never had to watch everything fall apart like Valerie, and she certainly never had to work a day in her life.

Then, the summer right before senior year arrived, and her parents burst into her room, carrying a new outfit they wanted her to wear. This time, she couldn't make adjustments. The reason?

It was a school uniform.

Sam's parents had finally saved enough money to escape Amity Park, the middle of nowhere. They had secured an investment with a few minor companies that were generating much-needed cash, and they had expanded their rental properties to three other states.

They were finally in the upper tax bracket that they had both been in during their childhood.

Jeremy's eyes were sparkling as he watched Sam pinch the cloth between her fingers as if it were something foul. "I was able to get you into Gotham Academy for your senior year. Only the wealthiest of children attend there. It's a dream come true!"

"Your dream," Sam hissed, throwing the uniform onto her bed. "I don't want some stupid snobby rich kid school. All my friends attend Casper High, and it's my senior year! This is when high school actually gets fun."

"Sammy-kins, Casper High was only meant to be temporary. You will be going to Gotham Academy, or you can forget your trust fund," her mother warned in that same no-nonsense tone of hers. It was the one Sam heard whenever she got a cold, and her mother panicked, hiring an entire medical staff team.

Sam doesn't think she will be able to outstubborn the woman on this.

"Oh come on, Mom, don't be so dramatic-" Sam starts only to have her mother cut her off with a hiss from behind her teeth. Jeremy wisely stepped away from his wife and daughter, giving them some space but not leaving the room.

"Do you know what I wouldn't have given to be allowed an education of this level? At an institution like this?" Pamela's eyes watered slightly with bitter tears. Sam froze at the sight of them. "My Father didn't believe women had a right to study, Samantha. It was literally tied into my trust fund that if I chose any higher education, I would be out on the streets. I didn't have the chance. You have this chance."

Pamela picks up the uniform, holding it out to Sam, one feminist to another, painted in different shades but sisters in arms all the same. "You're going to Gotham Academy."

Sam swallowed, taking the uniform with a shaking hand. "Okay, Mom. For you."

She rages, and sobs, and crashes when they leave her room. So many emotions swirling around her mind, but she was unable to let them out. After a while, she can't take it and rushes out of the house, riding her motorbike to Danny's place.

She texted her best friends to ask for emotional support outside her house, and within ten minutes, both agreed to meet. She doesn't pay mind to the movers - apparently, her parents weren't going to give her a warning that they were leaving Amitly Park that very week - but she does have to stop every little bit to wipe her eyes.

When she gets close enough to Fenton Works, she stops a bit to let the neon sign glow on her for a few seconds, realizing she won't see it for a very long time. Not if her parents have any say.

They had always wanted to forget they had to resort to this little town, but to Sam, this was her home, her upbringing. Her two best friends in the whole world were here. All her trials and triumphs, all her petty rivalries and endless memories.

All of it was right here in this small city.

She would be gone by Saturday if her father were to be believed. She only had three days left.

She knocked on the Fenton front door with tears slipping down her face. Jazz, who was visiting from college, opened it with a smile, but the second she registered Sam's devastation, the older woman dragged her into a hug without comment.

Two summers ago, when Danny and she broke up, Jazz had done the same thing. She might have been Danny's sister, but she was also Sam's friend, and despite the two being avoiding each other after a nasty breakup, Sam had missed her best friend like a lost limb.

Jazz had been the one to take her to get ice cream, the one who chatted softly about people just not working out romantically, and Jazz had been the one to help Sam mend the bridge between her and Danny.

Now it was Jazz that held her and promised to make her senior year great, even if Jazz was at Gotham U instead of Gotham Academy.

"On the plus side," Jazz joked after brushing Sam's hair out of her eyes, cuddling up together on the couch. Danny and Tucker had been attracted by the noise, both now sitting on the floor near Sam's feet. "You'll likely have a Wayne in your year. Free eye candy."

"Yeah, Tim Drake-Wayne, that boy could hit it," Danny jokes, patting Sam's feet. His eyes are red from his own tears, but his smile is still the same boyish, shy grin that attracted her attention all those years ago. "Maybe you can turn him Goth?"

"If you do, you've got to send me pictures," Tucker adds, placing his head on the couch cushion. "I bet it would be hilarious. In fact, I'll see that in person. How far is Gotham anyway? We could do some road trips whenever we get a chance."

"Great idea, Tuck!" Danny beams, turning to his sister, "Can we crash at your place when we get up there?"

"Of course. Just as long as you're okay sleeping on an air mattress in my one-room apartment."

Sam's world was falling apart, but at least she had her friends as a safety net; no matter what tax bracket she was in, they would always treat her as Sam and nothing else.

[anglbunny]

SHE'S COLDER

���. sae itoshi x snow leopard!reader, smut mdni, established relationship (kinda? not rlly?), based on this req

Men are annoying. But Sae Itoshi might be the exception… if he stops acting like one.

You’re spread out on the couch in his hotel suite, one leg dangling off the edge, scrolling your phone while dressed in the tiniest pair of shorts and one of his shirts — not because you like him, but because it smells good and your own laundry was annoying you.

Sae’s watching you from across the room, shirt unbuttoned, expression unreadable.

“You’re here,” he says dryly, “so you clearly want something.”

You don’t even glance up. “Mm. Air conditioning. Yours works.. mine wasn't.”

He scoffs. “So that’s it? You show up, take over my couch, and ignore me?”

You tilt your head lazily, finally sparing him a glance. “You’re a man. You should be used to being ignored.”

His jaw tightens. He’s quiet for a beat too long, eyes narrowing just enough to make you smirk. You like poking at him. He always acts like he doesn’t care. But you know better.

You go back to your phone.

That’s when it happens.

Your phone’s snatched from your hand, flung somewhere behind him. His hands are already on you — one gripping your chin, the other sliding under your thighs as he pulls you to the edge of the couch.

“You really think I won’t fuck that attitude right out of you?” he says, low and threatening.

You smile. “you couldn't fuck an orgasm out of me even if you tried.”

He curses under his breath. His mouth crashes into yours, all teeth and frustration. You kiss him back only to bite his lip — not hard enough to hurt, just enough to provoke.

“Fucking brat,” he growls.

You gasp when he lifts you suddenly, dragging you into his lap on the bed. His hands are on your ass, grinding you against the bulge in his sweatpants, and your resolve starts to crack just a little.

Just a little.

His fingers push beneath your waistband and slide into your panties like he’s done it a hundred times. They slip between your folds, finding you already wet, and he laughs under his breath.

“So much for bored,” he says, voice laced with triumph.

“Body’s just reacting,” you whisper. “Doesn’t mean you’re good at anything.”

That’s it.

He shoves your shorts and panties down your thighs, fingers curling inside you while his thumb rubs sharp circles on your clit. You jerk, breath catching. He’s fucking ruthless with it — two... three fingers, deep and unforgiving, the heel of his palm pressing against you as his pace quickens.

“You still bored, sweetheart?” he hisses into your ear.

You try to answer. Try to bite back something smart. But your head tilts back when he crooks his fingers just right, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision spark.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, licking the shell of your ear. “Thought you hated me?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders.

He knows he’s winning. You’re leaking onto his hand, riding his fingers like you forgot who was supposed to be in control. Your breath is shaky now, moans spilling out in gasps, your hips moving without permission.

“You talk like you’re better than every guy who wants you,” Sae speaks low, dragging his mouth down your throat. “But you're grinding on my hand like a fucking slut.”

You moan at the filth. You hate that it turns you on. That he turns you on.

“Say it,” he orders. “Say I’m not like them.”

You pant against his shoulder, desperate, dizzy. “Y-You’re still a man.”

He pulls his fingers out and slaps your pussy, sharp and wet. You yelp.

Then he’s pushing you onto your back, dragging your legs apart. He pulls his sweats down, cock flushed and hard, tip already leaking.

“You wanna play that game?” he whispers darkly. “Fine.”

He pushes in without warning.

Your eyes roll back.

He’s thick, deeper than you expected, and the stretch makes you cry out — but you don’t stop him. You wrap your legs around his waist, nails clawing his back as he drives into you harder.

“Still annoying?” he pants.

“Yes! ahh- fuck, sae!” you gasp, “—but at least you’re finally doing something useful!”

His hand wraps around your throat, not tight, just enough to pin you there as he fucks you into the mattress.

“You’ll be begging by the time I’m done.”

And honestly?

You might.

TL: @samm1e13 @demiitria @syleepy @chaoslibra @bontenxo @pinkymangacaps @riinniies @samthesimp1 @sapphireluv @s4turnx1 @nevvynev @cookiesandcreammy @rinniebinniebay @ravenbc @kamelika @luvsymai @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @silverwings920 @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @yanderebluelockfan @valexqpt @bigclownshoes @rinniewinnie787 @satorella @mitsurisupporter @meikstv @mihyas-dieehefrau @ravenbc @greekyoghurtwithberries

A/n: haven't written for my bae, snow leopard, so i had to write sum for her

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[Masterlist]

[soo0hee]

Attention PLS!

Pairing — Yoon Jeonghan x Reader

Summary — Yes Jeonghan had something else in mind when he came over but now he was stuck without what he really wanted... your attention

Genre — fluff, established relationship, idol!au

Warnings — none

Word Count — 0.6k

Rating — sfw

Disclaimer: this fic is written and copyrighted by ©soo0hee on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other plattforms without my permission.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED!

„Jagiyaaa, just put that book down already…“ Jeonghan whined loudly from where he was drapped over your couch. To say he was bored while you were busy with the textbook you needed for your next lecture was an understatement.

He’d like to think he was a fairly patient man, however when he had come over, he definitly has had other plans then watch you worry over a text you by now knew without reading the words written down on the pages.

Yes, he was bored. Yes, he wanted attention and yes, he would burn that stupid textbook if he didn’t get it soon.

“Just 20 minutes and I’ll be done.” You argued without looking up.

Jeonghan groaned and let his head tip back in frustration.

Seriously how hard could it be to have his darling to himself for a bit? Between promotions and exams there wasn’t much time you and him actually could spend together and for once he had been able to make enough room to stay over without having to leave at an ungodly hour in the morning. All that was between him and actually having you in his arms instead of sitting on a bar stool the kitchen was that damn book!

“I’ll start a timer.” He huffed.

“Sure Hannie.”

He huffed again and actually started the timer. You just wait.

Never in his life had he thought that 20 minutes could feel this long. Was this how carats felt while waiting for their shows to start? If so, he really felt for them. It was a nightmare.

Quickly he shot a message to Seungcheol to keep his mind busy.

I hate books. Send 8:23 pm

???? Received 8:24 pm

Y/n has to study. Send 8:26 pm

😂 Received 8:26 pm

“Jagiii pleaseee!!”

“17 minutes left.”

Dear god!

Could this get any worse for him?

The rumbling of his stomach answered that question for him; calling out to the take out he had brought and was still sitting on the counter. Probably cold by now.

Neglected, hungry and bored. Someone really seemed to hate him today.

Heaving his tired bones of the couch and into the open kitchen Jeonghan grabbed two bowls from the cupboard, the wine bottle he had gotten along some snacks also waiting on the counter for later and 2 glasses. At least he could make sure you were fed when you were done studying.

The food turned in the microwave; the beep when it was done causing you to scrunch up your face as it broke your concentration before he took it out and put it in the bowls.

A glance to timer displayed on his phone beside him showed the 8 turning into a 7 as it counted down the seconds.

You were very aware that your boyfriend was standing on the other side of the bar in front of you while staring you down as if it would make time fly by faster.

It was as endearing as it was making you nervous to feel his big brown eyes tracking every move you made as you highlighted passages of your text you found important.

And when the timer was finally down to zero, you didn’t even have enough time to close the book before you felt Jeonghans pointer finger on your chin, thumb caressing over your lips and his unfairly beautiful face only inches away from your own.

“Attention. Now.”

[toast-on-dandelioms]

🕷️Just Another Neglected Story🕷️

[previous] - Part 4.1 - [next]

Any names that you find familiar, in this part, were taken (with permission) from the fanart made by @the-broken-truth, while some changes like description of what's happening were made by me then modified by my beta reader, my bbg, Jamie.

tw: Joker, angst/no comfort, small description of injuries, small description/mention of a panic attack (I am unsure if it was that, please tell me if I am wrong).

Weeks passed with you still being Spider and a 'normal' teenager at the same time. But some changes and new things happened in these weeks.

You got visited by Superman almost daily, or nightly since he always visited when you were patrolling at night. You never questioned how he knew where to find you, you didn't want to think about it and just let him follow you during your nightly patrols.

He also helped you train while using all of your strength because you usually held back in fear of hurting people, so his tips helped a lot  considering that he also had the same problem before.

Furthermore, now that you started to help with small problems around Gotham, like small thefts and gang problems, those problems started to slowly stop, giving you more time to train with Superman and help around the community.

You still didn't join the Bats or even the Justice League whenever Superman tried to propose it, you just didn't want to fight big shots like Joker or other super villains.

You liked doing small things and loved seeing the change it brought from you helping.

Just defeating super villains won't reward you with a pie from the nice old lady after helping her move her things in the apartment and give her groceries if she can't go to the supermarket, or getting drawings of little kids after you help them go home safely.

You also scored candies whenever the moms had them, which made you incredibly happy because they always had the candies you loved. 

So you were happy, especially since Alfred never mentioned your breakdown after that night and kept on the usual routine of leaving your food on the desk in your room so you wouldn't have to come down to the kitchen.

You did notice him acting a bit weird but you pushed those thoughts aside since you didn't really notice anything weird happening around the Manor so you thought he was just nervous for something Bruce did.

You gave him too much trust and sooner than later you will regret doing that.

But something did change around the Manor, you just didn't notice because you started to walk on the ceiling, without shoes or Alfred would kill you, to avoid annoying encounters with anyone in the house, even if listening to music while on the ceiling was a bit difficult but you’re managing.

Well, Alfred knew that if he walked to Bruce and told him about you and what you felt he would've been ignored, especially since Bruce barely remembers that you even exist in the Manor and that you're a member of the family.

And even if Bruce did remember that you exist he would be annoyed, especially since he clearly hated your mother and was only paying the child support because he had to, especially since your mother threatened to take him to court if he wouldn't pay when he first got the news.

Talking to any of the batkids would've also been useless, because he also knew that no one in the Manor remembers you, especially now that you could walk on walls no one could even see you.

He couldn't count how many times he almost got a heart attack whenever he could see you on the ceiling, just hanging out or doing your homework, even though he still didn't understand how you could work without gravity making everything fall.

So he decided to do it in small steps, starting with leaving photos of you around the house in places where everyone sees them.

He put almost every picture that he owns of you, like you at a dance recital as the lead dancer or you at a science fair to which you won first place with an invention of yours.

One thing Alfred knew by putting your photos was that every person would notice how in all your photos you were alone and how your face never showed any emotion.

He knew it was small but he couldn't wait anymore, he needed to take action now or before you decided to leave for the Kent family, he couldn't let you go after he heard you talk about Clark and Conner while he made food in the kitchen.

He just hoped it wasn't too late for you, especially with your break down. He hoped you could still let someone in after all these years of being alone.

He did try his best but he was only a butler and he couldn't change someone's view of another person if that view was filled with hatred.

And you never noticed thanks to your walking on the ceiling or walls, moreover, you couldn't care less if they actually noticed you now. You were finally moving on and having a new start thanks to Spider.

But now it's not the time to think of Alfred's attempt of getting you acknowledged by the family, you were getting busier thanks to all the work as Spider, school and also dance classes.

You also kept on using yourself as a test subject, just to check the process of the spider DNA that's now in your DNA and seeing if anything changed or you had some mysterious new powers, taking videos to record the process of your evolution with the now Spider DNA in your body.

One thing you acquired after a while was invisibility, or camouflage as you called it since invisibility sounded magical and you didn't want it to sound like you were a kid.

How you found out you could use it was not a good experience.

You were in the kitchen with Alfred, just hanging out with him while he cooked when Damian suddenly entered the room to ask Alfred for some food for a new pet that he adopted.

In your panic at the sheer thought of Damian seeing you and hurting you like he did in the past made you freeze up, squeezing your eyes shut in hopes that he would just disappear from existence. Praying to every god you could recall that Damian wouldn't find you, you tried to not breathe too loudly so he wouldn’t hear you.

After a few minutes of paranoia passed and you didn't hear anything around you, you slowly opened your eyes and saw Damian still waiting for Alfred to give him the food for a cat he adopted and completely ignoring you.

You were still scared he would see you so you stayed silent and waited patiently, albeit apprehensively, for him to go away before actually making a sound, which was a loud sigh of restrained relief as air poured back into your lungs. Somehow you hadn't noticed that you'd been holding your breath the whole time. Strange.

You slowly got down from the counter you were sitting on and walked up to Alfred, confused as to why the old man wasn't looking at you and instead was looking at the ceiling before softly calling out his name.

You got even more confused and slightly worried when he got scared since you were standing right in front of him but he, for some reason, couldn't see you.

After a bit of Alfred trying to explain that he couldn't actually see you and you not understanding why, you finally managed to make yourself visible.

You quickly went to work at the corporation to take a few tests to see what happened and didn't see anything with those tests but after a few days of trying to understand what happened and how you could make it happen again, you managed to go invisible on command.

It took a bit but you managed to do it, which got extremely useful to sneak into the kitchen when you need to get some snacks in the middle of the night so that Alfred doesn't catch you on the wall eating chips at 3 am.

Plus thanks to that time you found out that your eyes glow in the dark, which was a bit weird since the spider that bit you wasn't a bioluminescent one but you figured it was your own DNA that changed some things.

In the time following that discovery and training with Clark, you slowly started to join him in solo missions for the Justice League, but made sure to tell him that you didn't want to partner up with another person except him.

And you made sure that he knew you weren't an official member of the Justice League or of the Young Justice League, you just joined him so you wouldn't get rusty since Gotham is still filled with crime but fighting with teens or men who just swing a crowbar or knife is not really challenging.

You didn't want anyone except Clark to join those solo missions, not because you were scared of hurting another person since you learned to control your strength thanks to him and got pretty good with your spider senses.

You just hated being around people you didn't know or trust, especially if they were a member of the Wayne family, you absolutely detested them.

You refused to look at them and especially talk to them even though you had the voice modulator.

One of the many reasons you used the voice modulator was to not get recognised but also because you hated your own voice and the voice modulator helped when talking to lost kids or just kids in general.

You never told anyone why you hate your voice, you just refused to talk one day and learned asl to communicate with people and also used notes if people didn't know asl.

The mask was like a hearing aid, it changed your voice and helped you use it more so you could talk sometimes.

As time passed, the birdies (basically all of Bruce's kids, you just called them all bird to show how much you didn't care about them) kept on trying to talk to you and showing up where you were when you were patrolling.

You had a list of most annoying to less annoying since you couldn't really do much about them, especially since Clark forbade you to throw another one of them off a roof if they got too close to your liking or just breathed wrong.

They never sustained grave injuries since you always threw them to another building or a dumpster, or to Superman if he was around.

Most of the time in a dumpster to make yourself smile since you would take a photo then swing away before they could do anything, but they started to pose whenever you would take a photo, making you annoyed and ruining your fun.

The most annoying was Dick, with how persistent he was even if he was stuck on a wall thanks to your webs when he got too close or made you uncomfortable by continuing to call you nicknames that he would use with Damian and Tim.

You hated how he would just laugh and call you his little sibling, especially since he would never call you that if you didn't have a mask on and you felt that it was unfair that he suddenly cared about you just because of the mask.

It made you feel like you were getting ignored and forgotten once again but this time to a version of you that he likes while the one behind the mask is always getting ignored.

Just like at the Manor, the real you will never be appreciated and accepted with love.

The second most annoying in the list is Tim, it was gonna be Damian but Tim took second place with how creepy he is around you and how he knows too much of what you do.

Like, you knew he's the one who knows everything about every hero and villain since you saw him work on the bat-computer while you were stealing a few grappling hooks for your web shooters since they broke. (You were invisible and you got lucky that Cassandra wasn't there or she would've found you immediately.)

But seeing him open a folder and watching how many videos and photos he has of you in the bat-computer, like when you were fighting some gang members or when you were helping some nice old lady crossing the street.

If anyone else showed you their collection of you doing badass or just normal stuff while you were a vigilante then you would've felt impressed and very honored because you never thought someone would actually go out their way to be a fan of you.

But seeing Tim, someone you still had some respect for, having so many files, especially from when you first started and hit so many walls while swinging around made you weirded out and somehow violated, especially with how concentrated he was while staring at the videos.

Seeing that folder and all the information he had on you made you lose all the respect you still had for the boy.

Another thing he did was that, whenever you met him while patrolling or eating a few hot dogs with your favorite guy, he would always talk of things you did like he was there and creeped you out so much that you had to restrain yourself from throwing him off a roof or wherever you two were.

Most of the time you just tased him and went your way, paying the hotdog guy a little extra so he wouldn't stop selling you hot dogs.

You're also starting to think that hot dog guy is using you for the tips since you always tip him 50$ or more to stay silent and let you grab more hot dogs from him.

Third annoying but still so annoying that you want to punch his face is Damian. Mostly because he treats you like you're his older sibling.

Like he respects you and looks up to you. But you knew it was because of the mask since you also knew that if you ever took off the mask in front of him he would try to kill you.

You have to be supervised by Clark and even Jon since your only solution to get rid of Damian when he’s around you is throwing him off a roof without worrying about not using your super strength.

You hated the kid and didn't really hide it but he never said anything about it since he thought you two were bonding and you acting like you hate him is normal.

You wanted to tase him when he dared to call you his older sibling in Arabic, hating the look on his face that had so much adoration and admiration for you since it actually made him look like a normal teen.

(You learned some Arabic to get close to Damian when you found out where he was from when you were young)

Like he didn't create so many scars on your arms and legs with his sword and those batarangs. Like he didn’t make you so afraid of the Manor that Alfred had to assure you that he wouldn’t hurt you or you would get a panic attack by getting near the Manor.

Least annoying but still annoying is Jason Todd. You hate that mask he wears because you can't see his face and know what he’s really thinking about, and especially how he acts like you two are two old friends who meet up everyday.

You hate how he pats you on the head when you're distracted, since the spider sense doesn't really deem him a threat for you, and manages to evade your attempts to kick him away or throw him off a roof, laughing whenever you try to do so.

Like you two were just playing and you weren't angry at him and wanting to throw something at him but couldn't.

So your one solution was ignoring him and walking to the side of the building so he wouldn't reach you since he couldn't walk on walls like you.

Which did make you smug whenever he complained about it on the roof of the same building, finding it funny when he acted all offended when he understood you were smug by how you were acting even if your mask didn’t show your face.

Yea you and Jason did get along sometimes, most of the time if you were having a nice day and if he was the first one you would meet of the birds.

You had a decent relationship with Jason, yes you did have fun sometimes but you wouldn't call him a friend or even your brother.

Plus you never forgot about the years he would ignore you and especially when he punched you in the eye and didn't even apologize decently.

Or how he would complain about how terrible of a father Bruce is, or how annoying Dick is to anyone else while you would just stand there, completely ignored since he was probably talking to someone else or to himself.

And acted like he was the only one who's life was 'ruined' when Bruce got in his life when he's still loved even after everything he's done.

Even though he's still remembered every Christmas and given big gifts that means that the person who bought them thought of him, and birthday while no one even remembered you had a birthday and you always celebrated it with a cupcake or some friends.

So you preferred to ignore him or you would punch his skull if he tried to complain one more time about Batman and his death.

Not like Cassandra, Duke and Stephanie were any better.

Cassandra was annoying because of how silent she was. You always managed to see her but you knew she wanted you to see her.

Plus, 'hanging out' with her was just you doing your usual stuff while she followed since you couldn't push her away like the others.

And fighting wasn't in the option since she could kick your ass with just a hand and without moving, so you just ignored her, even though your spider sense was always going crazy when she was around since she was a walking threat.

Even five minutes with her would give you the worst headaches that you had to ask her to stand very far or you wouldn't be able to even walk around without wanting to puke.

You hated her because she was taken in by Bruce like you but instead of being hated because of her upbringing, she got accepted with open arms and he always loved her.

What did she have that you didn't?! Why does she get all the attention and love you always wished for while you're getting forgotten and hated?!

You saw her getting accepted, getting all the love you always wished for, seeing your father going to her dance recitals while he didn't even bother to even acknowledge that you do the same sport as her but in a different and smaller dance studio since you couldn't afford to go to the one Cassandra goes because of how expensive even one lesson was.

Stephanie was another person you hated. You knew of her past, you used the bat-computer whenever no one was in the batcave when you managed to control the invisibility.

You knew about what her dad did. You understood her reasoning to become a vigilante. You didn't hate her for her past, god you didn't even care who her father was.

You just hated her because of how loved she was by everyone. She was like Cassandra but once again, all the love was going towards the two and it never even touched you.

You did try to bond with her when you arrived at the Manor but she did look like she wanted to be everywhere but not with you.

Even when you only talked about things you knew she loved, it still wasn't enough for her. She still avoided you and preferred to spend time with either Barbara, Dick or Tim.

And after a bit you gave up and let her live her life without you in her way since she clearly didn't care about you.

The worst part was that everyone prefers Spider than you, since she also keeps trying to hang out with you when you're patrolling or spending time with kids and teens.

Or getting beat during a game of basketball since you sucked at that game and the teens you played with would tease you which made you laugh since you liked spending time with people the same age as you.

But it would be ruined when she would show up, wanting to play too even though she would just play with you and make it obvious she wanted to make you win.

Which ruined the game entirely for you and always made you leave after a bit with the excuse of being busy as a vigilante, which made the teens and also Stephanie confused.

Duke was the only one of them that you knew tried to hang out with you when you weren't Spider. That's why he was one of the ones you hang out with most if he came to see you while you were patrolling.

He came when you were almost 15, you didn't remember how old you were but you knew he was one of the ones who actually paid attention to you.

But after a while, all his duties as Signal, as a high schooler and as one of Bruce's kids made him too busy for him to spend time with you, to which he explained whenever he was late for something you two planned to do.

And you understood, you cheered for him from the back and always smiled at him whenever he was with you as Signal, even if he couldn't see it. And he did tell you the best places to get food during patrols so you liked him for that, but you remained loyal to the hot dog guy.

But then there was Bruce, acting like he was the savior from his kids that kept annoying you even though he wasn't any better than any of his kids, he was one of the worst in terms of how annoying he was.

He was starting to compete with Dick for the first spot on your list, which you didn't like since you just wanted to be alone, or with Duke and Jason.

Like he would keep on calling you kid and other nicknames you heard him give to his sons over the years, which made you sick because it reminded you of when you were little and that your biggest wish was to also get a nickname like your brothers and sisters and spend time with him as your father even if he never paid any actual attention to you.

But what you hated most was how he always smiled softly at you, even when you tried to kick him away and he would just grab your ankle like it was nothing, like you were his favorite child. Like he didn't tell you that he would never be a father to you when you gave him a father's day card when you were 12 and trying to bond with him.

Looking at you with so much love and adoration, making you disgusted since he was the same man who once looked at you with disgust and hatred just for entering his office because you needed his signature for something.

The same man who clearly told you to not expect him to treat you like his child since you weren't. You were just an annoying kid who had to come to his house since no one else wanted to take you in.

You wanted to puke whenever he looked with love, refusing to forget about everything he did just because you were a child of someone he hated.

You understood why Bruce hated your mother, you couldn't force everyone to like what you like, but you still didn't understand why he had to ruin your life by keeping you with him.

He could have sent you to a foster home, he could have sent you to boarding school all your life so he could never see the face of the one he hates. But he didn't.

No, he decided to accept you in his home and ruined your life, making you miserable by keeping you there and then basically neglecting you and forgetting you even exist.

You wanted to puke whenever he looked at you with love when you were Spider, you had to take so many showers and had to scrub your skin so hard it turned red by how hard you tried to wash away his touch whenever he managed to actually touch you on either the shoulders or head.

You found comfort in Clark since he never forced you to interact with the Robins and Batman and understood why you hated them since you explained to him who you were but didn't tell him everything.

He did annoy you whenever he tried to suggest you to come with him to Metropolis even after you explained that you couldn't just move to another city right in the middle of the school year.

Moreover you were still a minor and you would need Bruce's consent, which you refused to ask since you refused to acknowledge that he was supposed to be your legal guardian.

Plus you always had fun with his kids when they were around since they would throw you in the air and catch you, making you laugh like crazy since their throw was like making you fly for like 2 minutes before catching you.

Conner was more fun to be around because he understood what you were going through since he also had problems with Superman when the kryptonian refused to accept the clone as his son.

Plus he always made the best jokes and made you laugh whenever you would have a bad day after seeing your legal guardian and his kids having a fun outing together while you were at the Manor since they didn't even remember you existed.

Or when you had a bad dance practice and almost destroyed your pointe shoes with your strength because you thought you weren't good enough to be a ballet dancer which spiraled to thinking that because of you not being good at dancing then you weren't good enough to be recognised by your legal guardian and his family.

He was more like an older brother than Dick, Jason and Tim ever were for you. And you didn't even care, you loved him as a brother and loved hanging out with him.

Jon was nice but he was also friends with Damian and you didn't really spend that much time with him because of that. You were scared Damian would be with him and you didn't want to see the evil spawn.

But the times you did hang out with him were nice, he always brought cake that his grandparents made and shared it with you while you listened to him talk about whatever he wanted.

He was fun and very nice but you weren't used to hanging around a small teen who actually wanted to be with you and actively seeked you out for your attention.

You were more used to a small teen who would glare at you and attack you if you dared do anything, even just breathing in his direction, the scars on your arms and back proved that.

But you never said anything to Jon about what his best friend did to you, you didn't want Jon to feel like he had to choose between two sides.

And you knew he would choose Damian's side, no one ever chose your side. You knew no one would even dare to be by your side.

Well after a while of going to missions with Clark and him letting you do most of the work as training with his close by to make sure you wouldn't get hurt, you were finally going on a relatively simple mission with Conner and unfortunately with Jason.

You knew Conner didn't want him there but he probably got Batman to convince Clark and him, so you didn't say anything to him about Jason being there and just stayed by his side while you were in the small ship.

The whole ride was spent in silence, only stopped whenever Conner would check the coordinates or by the sound of you fixing the web shooters to make sure they wouldn't go haywire when you were fighting.

You finally landed in the spot where you were supposed to start your mission, near the villain's lair, if you could call it that since it was an unused bunker a group of cultists found and are now living there, which made you get down eagerly since you wanted to finally do a mission without Clark's supervision.

But your excitement immediately died when you saw Stephanie waiting for you there, making you let out a loud string of curses.

And yes, you did ignore the message on your phone from Clark that said 'language' and just walked past Stephanie and Jason, just wanting to get the mission done and go home with Conner.

Plus he did promise you his grandmother's best pie if you finished the mission and you could not pass up the opportunity of getting another slice of that delicious pie.

As you walked up to the lair with Conner, you patted him on the back before standing in front of the door as Stephanie tried to open it by picking the lock. You waited exactly 10 seconds for Stephanie to unlock the door before pushing her away, kicking the door down with your strength since she was taking too long for your liking.

You didn't even care if they were watching, you just glared at them all in silence for a few seconds before they were able to hear you say.

"Stay here and you two don't follow me, Conner don't try anything or I will tell Clark"

Then, right in front of them you became invisible before walking off, the only sound they could hear were of your sneakers walking down the metallic stairs.

(Switch Pov to Stephanie)

Stephanie knew she wasn't the best person. She knew of her father's evil doings and she knew she wasn't the best Robin or the best vigilante.

But when she saw Spider, she thought that they were perfect. They were always helping people and never too busy for everyone.

She, at first, didn't even know who Spider is because of how busy she was with her life and her vigilante job. But when she saw Tim researching them, she was amazed.

She knew there were other vigilantes in the city, it was a big city but she didn't know about a vigilante who didn't fight big villains like the others.

She saw Spider helping old ladies, stopping small gangs from forming by helping the teens and just being an image for the people to rely on.

She knew Bruce stopped high grade villains like Joker or others but Spider, Spider was different.

They didn't fight Joker, no they just fought the criminals who would bother people that couldn't do anything to stop them.

She admired the vigilante and wanted to be friends with them, maybe one day she could convince them to join her and her family at the Manor.

But what she didn't understand even though she craved to know was why they hated her. Why they hated her and the rest of her family.

She tried so much, she craved their validation so much that she trained so hard and tried so many times to interact with them.

But she would keep on getting ignored or she wouldn't be able to follow them by the speed of them swinging or when they walk on walls to avoid her.

She cried so many nights at the thought of her idol, the one person she wanted, no craved validation would hate her so much when she can't even remember or know why they hate her so much.

But when she heard of Jason joining Spider for their first mission, she was so jealous that she used the bat-computer to check where Spider's mission was supposed to be and followed them in another ship.

She wanted to show to her idol how brave she was, so maybe they will praise her and laugh like when they're with Conner, Clark and Jon.

Plus she wanted to wipe Jason's smirk off his face since he kept on bragging about going to a mission with Spider for days and how he was the favorite since compared to the rest of them, he was the one who Spider stayed the longest before leaving or throwing him off the roof.

But all her excitement and hope died the minute she heard Spider curse when they saw her, her head slowly lowering as she tried not to cry.

And when Spider told them to stay there, god she wanted to protest but strangely Jason held her back and just told her to hack in the security system to watch Spider with the cameras.

She didn't understand why she couldn't follow Spider to help them but did as Jason told her to, watching all the cameras with him and seeing henchmen getting knocked out or tased by Spider even though they weren't visible.

Plus she found it hilarious when a goon got knocked out by a flying metal tray and the others just stood there confused before also getting knocked out by a taser or a punch then getting tied up on a wall or floor.

As she watched the security feed, she noticed that Spider entered the boss's sanctuary, filled with small and useless artifacts that the Justice League used to trace the villain so they could capture him and stop him before he tried to grow his cult or summon some demon.

She kept watching and trying to find a camera inside the sanctuary, starting to get annoyed and also panicking a little because if she couldn't see anything in the sanctuary then she couldn't call for backup if something went wrong, especially by how far Spider was, and even if they were going to help them, it would take too long.

She kept on switching cameras and trying to hack into anything that was electronic, getting more frustrated as time passed since she could see the villain approaching the sanctuary with someone next to him, making her confused since he wasn't supposed to have partners that helped him.

She managed to switch a camera in time to see Joker next to the villain, the blood in her face draining as she stared at the clown on her screen in silence, her eyes wide like bugs and no sound could be heard from all three of the teens.

She went back to where Spider was and noticed a camera was on, to which Stephanie immediately tried to warn them by moving the camera a bit but it was too late and both villains entered the sanctuary and closed the door so Spider wouldn't be able to leave without getting noticed by the cultist and the clown.

She watched the feed without moving any part of her body in terror that if she even moved then the two villains would notice Spider and do something horrible to them.

She gasped when she saw Joker suddenly pulling out a gun and pointing it at where Spider was supposed to be, not managing to hear what he was saying since the cameras were old and didn't register any sounds, plus his psycho-smile made it difficult for her to read his lips so she couldn't even use that to her advantage.

As Stephanie kept watching, not noticing that she was holding her breath by how focused she was on Joker then cursed loudly when she saw the screen turn black, throwing the tablet in anger as she got up, making signs for Jason and Conner to follow as she ran into the lair.

She quickly jumped over any henchmen on the ground, needing to get to Spider immediately and save them.

She had to help. She had to stop that psychopath from hurting them. She needed to protect them.

As she ran, her vision was starting to get blurry by the tears threatening to fall as she ran. As she ran, she suddenly got blocked by the metal door that was blocking her from saving Spider.

She immediately called Conner, wanting to use his strength to open the door but unfortunately he couldn't even throw a decent punch that could leave a dent on it.

Even after a few tries Conner didn't do anything so she started to try to open it by using the panel next to the door, her frustration already growing by how useless he was.

So Stephanie sent Conner outside to call Superman and Batman while she and Jason tried to open the door as they waited for the two heroes to arrive.

As the three of them waited for Batman and Superman to come, Jason and Stephanie saw something coming out the door that made their blood cold.

Some form of gas kept on coming out the door and the only thing they were able to hear were some noises of something or someone getting hit and coughing.

Stephanie did smell the gas, trying to pinpoint what the gas was but she couldn't recognise it since the only thing she could detect was that it had a sweet smell, which was nothing like all the gasses she ever smelled before.

The only thing she knew is that the gas wasn't the usual gas Joker uses on his victims since she wasn't laughing or having a maniacal smile but she still couldn't pinpoint what the gas was.

Stephanie stayed silent, trying not to show how terrified she was while Jason was trying to kick down the door while yelling curses directed at Joker.

Conner was outside the lair to use the ship and communicate with Batman and Superman, knowing they were both on different missions and he couldn't fly to both of them to ask for help, especially since he found out that he couldn't even fly, making him even more desperate for them to come.

As they waited Stephanie tried to make Jason stop punching the door when she saw his knuckles bleed, not wanting another one of her siblings get hurt because of her incompetence before looking at the door.

The blood drained from her face, her knees giving up on her and making her fall to the ground as she heard a scream, the cold metal floor the only thing she could feel at the moment.

She knew the scream couldn't be of Joker. He heard him yell before and this scream wasn't his. She hoped for every god as she tried to hack the panel of the door, even though she already tried before, with a bit of difficulty, her vision starting to blur as tears started to fall and her hands trembling as she was trying to ignore the multiple screams she kept hearing.

She couldn't let Spider get hurt, she should've been there to help them. They didn't deserve the pain and hurt she and almost all of the Robins went through because of Joker.

She stopped when she felt a familiar hand on her shoulder, the realization that she was just messing up the wires and making it even more difficult for the door to be opened when she looked at her hands tangled in between the wires.

She looked up at the man and visibly relaxed, completely giving out on the floor as Jason helped her by cutting the wires tangled in her hands while Batman examined what was happening as Conner explained what he knew, Superman next to him and waiting for Batman to give orders since he knew that if he acted irrationally then Spider would be in danger.

(Switch to Bruce's POV)

Bruce knew he wasn't a good person and a hero like Clark and Diana, that's why he called himself a vigilante since heroes save people and stop criminals but he couldn't save everyone.

Sometimes he was too late and he couldn't save someone innocent that unfortunately crossed ways with a villain or a gang.

Another thing Bruce knew was that he wasn't the best father because he let his kids get hurt by going on patrols with him as a vigilante, not thinking about what could happen to them if they fought someone too strong or if he suddenly decided to make them stop being a vigilante by saying that it was to protect them, which made everyone sneak out to be a vigilante.

He had to bury his children too early because of vigilantism and couldn't help his son when he was being trained by the League of Assassins.

But when he saw Spider for the first time, seeing a child that looked no older than 14, maybe 15, made him think that maybe, maybe he could help this one become the best version of themselves.

And if he was good enough, he could be a father again and get another child saved from the darkness and evil that surrounds Gotham.

Even if the only evil Spider saw was him and his family.

One thing he hated was that he couldn't understand why Spider absolutely loathed him and everyone of the vigilantes who live or have lived under his roof.

He couldn't understand why and even after checking every mission he ever did that included helping kids/teens in Gotham, nothing gave him a lead as to why Spider hated him.

And the worst thing was that Spider decided, out of all the heroes and vigilantes in the world, and especially in the Justice League, to trust and get close to Clark.

To Clark! His enemy! He was supposed to be the one teaching Spider to control their strength! He was supposed to be the one laughing with them while eating hot dogs and sharing funny stories of stupid people they say during patrol.

(He knows about it thanks to a small camera he put on Clark’s costume after he found out that he and Spider got close)

He didn't trust letting them go on a mission even if Clark told him that they could and that they were ready.

He thought it was too early and that they weren't trained to fight villains like he and the others fight everyday, especially with Conner since he wasn't perfectly trained so he managed to convince Clark, with much manipulation and guilt tripping, to let Jason come with them if there was trouble.

He didn't know Stephanie would also be there, especially since he didn't talk about it in the batcave about the mission but he already guessed that Jason bragged about going so she also went to also see her idol, knowing about her obsession with Spider to which he didn't say anything but encourage it with his own obsession towards the arachnid vigilante.

Not that he minded, two of his kids were better than none and Spider needed all the protection necessary even if the mission was one of the easiest possible. Especially since he chose it as a way to make sure Spider wouldn't be in actual danger.

But the moment he got a message from Conner explaining that Spider was in danger because of Joker, someone who wasn't supposed to be there in the first place, made his world crumble as he ran to where his jet was, needing to get there as soon as possible.

He couldn't let another person, no he couldn't let Spider get hurt or worse, killed, by the clown bastard.

He needed to save them, he needed to stop that fucking clown and he couldn't let Clark beat him to it. He knew that if he was the first one to save them, to help them then they would trust him more.

He couldn't lose that huge advantage to Clark or it would be impossible to even be able to get Spider to trust him or any of his kids. Which was already difficult but he saw them being more comfortable with Duke and Jason.

He arrived almost 3 seconds before Clark did, even though the kryptonian made his presence known since he made a crater at his landing and looked extremely infuriated as he walked towards Conner.

Bruce was already next to the boy and listening to his explanation on what happened, his usual frown that always made him seem annoyed with everything since he didn't want to show that he was scared.

He listened to superboy as he explained what happened in detail as they walked in the lair, a small smile appearing on his face whenever he saw henchmen and cultists knocked out and all tied up in Spider's web.

As they walked he noticed Conner and Clark weren't flying even if the space was big enough for them to even float, so he approached the boy, knowing it couldn't be Clark since the kryptonian was flying just two seconds ago, to see if he had anything on him and saw a familiar glowing green stuck to the boy's shirt.

He quickly grabbed it and put it in a container to block its effect since he knew it was kryptonite, the result showing on both kryptonians because they now could fly again.

He showed the container containing the kryptonite when both Supers looked at him "it was on Superboy's shirt, not sure who put it on him" he explained, now confused but especially enraged to who dared to interfere with the mission and put Spider in danger.

When they arrived at the door he saw something that made him frown more but also worried. He saw Stephanie continuing to tangle her hands in the wires of the panel next to the door, probably trying to open it but he saw her shaking and sobbing, making him understand that the girl was too focused on trying to save the vigilante inside the room that she couldn't focus on the task she was doing.

He then turned to Jason and saw him kicking the door and punching it, small dents on it to show how much strength he was putting in it and his bloody knuckles showing for how long he was doing that.

Bruce quickly checked on Stephanie and Jason before telling Superman to get rid of the door, the silence around them being too suspicious and dangerous since almost 2 minutes before they arrived both Stephanie, Conner and Jason could hear screaming from inside the room.

Dividers were made by @cafekitsune so please check them out because they do amazing stuff.

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[sonieeslov]

Mask party

summary: The party isn’t a celebration anymore, it’s a whole performance. A parade of masks, power games, and cruelty dressed up in elegance. Every gesture has a price, and Han Su gang who’s always been the one pulling the strings, notices the second you dare to step out of the role he gave you.

pairing: Han Su gang x fem!reader.

genre: established relationship / manipulation / fear / angst / psychological.

tw: nsfw, sexual intimidation, bipolarity, psychological violence, explicit language, bullying.

The house is stupidly huge, the kind that wasn’t built to live in but to built to impress.The air smells like a mix of overpriced perfume, imported alcohol, and inflated egos.

It’s Hyungwoo’s birthday party. One of Su gang’s closest friends. Just another rich kid with more money than empathy and more sports cars than principles. He smells like brand new leather, black cards, and that kind of privilege that comes inherited.

The music is loud enough to drown out your thoughts, but not so loud that people can’t whisper poison into each other’s ears. There are U-shaped white couches buried under designer coats that look like they’ve never seen actual cold, and tables lined with bottles that probably cost more than a teacher makes in two months.

It all reeks of vodka, arrogance, limitless nights, and rotting youth.

You never liked them, not a single one. Hyungwoo, Haeun, Minseok all cut from the same golden, filthy mold polished on the outside rotten underneath.

But there’s one who turns your stomach more than the rest.

Han Su gang.

You’re bad at pretending. The disgust shows in every move you make. And pretending… that’s what pisses Su gang off the most.

Especially when you don’t bother pretending for him.

He is lounging right next to you. Leather jacket slipping off his shoulders, glass half full, lips curled into that usual smirk, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. He moves like the world owes him space. Like even the air has to ask permission to exist around him.

Everyone else is too busy laughing at Youngsoo.

The new kid.

The scholarship kid.

The “social project” Hyungwoo brought along like some twisted charity case turned public spectacle. One of those situations where everyone is laughing except the victim.

Su gang is laughing too. Of course he is.

You catch it out of the corner of your eye, him kicked back with that same damn glass in his hand, grinning while Youngsoo walks around nervously carrying drinks on a makeshift tray like he’s just another server. They toss him trays, call him over like he’s staff, ask for drinks with mocking little smiles.

—Scholar~ssi boy!! scholar~ssi boy!!—one of them shouts— Tsk… I don’t even remember your stupid name.

—Whatever. If you don’t do your job right we’ll take that scholarship away with a snap.

—Are you stupid or something? I asked for a gin and tonic, what the hell is this? —adds Su gang, raising his glass— This is ice water, bring me another and with less ice, you useless piece of shit.

The laughter explodes around him like firecrackers bursting in your chest.

YoungSoo just tries to endure it. He keeps his head down, mutters a “yes” and moves fast. But every so often, his eyes look for yours. As if you were the only kind face in the middle of this circus.

You hate this whole dynamic. That need to humiliate the weakest one, as if that somehow validates the rest.

—Do you want me to bring you something? —he asks, voice trembling, the tray shaking in his hands.

—No —you reply, voice firm— Thank you YoungSoo, you don’t have to do this.

He looks at you with eyes that shouldn’t carry that much sadness at his age.

But someone else notices too.

Su gang.

He sees it.

He sees you.

────

Twelve minutes.

That’s how long you last before giving in.

You get up to go to the bathroom, not because you need to, not out of urgency. But because if you hear one more laugh at YoungSoo’s expense, you’re going to lose the composure you’ve fought so hard to keep tonight.

You stand without looking at anyone.

Walking past them feels like crossing a thick fog cigarette smoke, hollow laughter stabbing at you like pins. Every step echoes in your chest. Every glance weighs on you. But there’s one in particular that burns more than the rest.

His.

You know he is watching you.

You feel his stare on the back of your neck, like a chain tightening. He doesn’t have to tell you he doesn’t like it when you move without his permission.

You know it.

You’ve lived it.

You reach the bathroom and try to close the door. Or at least, you try.

Because the moment your fingers graze the lock, he barges in after you. Not violently but with that dry, cutting decisiveness that steals the air from your lungs.

He pushes you inside.

His fingers find your waist in a flash.

The door slams shut behind you with a brutal thud. The lock clicks by reflex, trapping you both in that suffocating room.

There’s steam on the mirror, as if someone or something was here just before.

—What are you doing?—you ask, voice barely a whisper, still finding your balance.

He doesn’t answer. He just looks at you. From your eyes to your ankles.

Like he’s stripping you without touching you.

Like he’s studying a stain he can’t scrub out.

—Do you think I’m stupid? —he says at last, voice low, dangerous.

—I don’t understand why…

Su gang raises a hand. He grabs your face just tight enough to hurt. His fingers press into your jaw, digging into your skin.

—Shut the fuck up. I’m sick of you —he hisses between clenched teeth, with a calmness that hurts more than anger— Always with your cheap ass morals.

His body cages you against the sink. You feel the cold marble on your back, the heat of his breath on your face. His gaze drops shamelessly scanning your chest. His hand grabs the fabric, crumpling it with restrained rage.

—Look at you…—he spits— You think you are better than everyone. You talk like you are different… and I still don’t get how you do that when you look like a slut in that dress.

He says it with no rage.

No judgment.

Just the cold certainty of someone who thinks he has the right to define you.

It hits like a bullet. You cross your arms, as if you could shield yourself from what’s already struck.

You shrink.

—I don’t get why the hell you defend him so much. What? You like that fucking scholarship boy?

His eyes lower.

They roam over your torso.

—I’m not like you—you say, voice trembling.

He lets out a low laugh.

Empty.

Cruel.

—No… You’re worse. Because you fake it. Because you stay right here next to me. Looking all pretty for me. Swallowing all the shit you claim to hate… and doing it all for me.

His fingers crawl up your cheek.

No tenderness. Just pressure. Control. A twisted game. Su gang smells like tobacco and alcohol.

His voice turns into a blade.

—You know why you’re still here? Because you’re just like me, just as rotten. The only difference is you are a fucking coward. You’d rather watch and keep that pretty mouth shut.

You don't answer. Because you can't.

Because the answer doesn't fit in your mouth without overflowing.

And then, he kisses you.

As one who punishes, not as one who loves.

His tongue penetrates you violently. His teeth scrape. He pushes you against the sink. The marble digs into your back as if he wants to leave physical scars to match the other ones.

His knee makes its way between your legs.

His hands go down to your waist. He squeezes you hard, as if you are something he wants to break and keep the pieces.

Your trembling hands don't know what to do.

Hold on to you.

Push it away.

Or just give up.

Your body is trapped between his and the cold ceramic. The kiss lasts too long. Just long enough to break you. You taste saliva mixed with blood on your lower lip.

When he pulls away, he’s breathless.

Not from desire.

From control.

He looks at you.

There’s no guilt in his eyes.

Then he touches your face.

As if he weren’t the same one who just hit you with words.

Just for a second. To look at you. To hold your face in both hands possession disguised as tenderness.

—Don’t challenge me again —he says, that voice low, deliberate, almost gentle, like he’s explaining table manners— Don’t embarrass me. Got it?

The warning doesn’t need to be loud.

It cuts sharp without raising its tone.

You barely nod, but your eyes betray you.

You tremble under him.

The tears are right there, at the edge.

And he sees it.

He leans in, with that tilted smirk, almost amused.

Cruelty always suits him.

—Ahh… don’t tell me—he whispers, feigning surprise— Did I make you cry, sweetheart? Did I scare you again?

He strokes your cheeks with both hands, a tenderness that feels like punishment.

—Aw, honey… don’t cry, okay? —he says like he’s about to embrace you— You’re making me look like a bad guy and you know I hate that.

—All you have to do, —he adds, pressing his forehead against yours like lovers do— is sit that pretty ass right next to me and smile. Sound fair?

You just lower your gaze. You wipe your face with your fingers without looking at him.

—I didn’t mean to embarrass you —you whisper.

And he laughs like he didn’t actually find anything funny.

—No, of course not —He pauses— I know you, I know exactly what you are.

He helps you down from the sink with a fake gentleness that barely masks the pressure in his fingers.

He places you right in front of the mirror, like he wants you to finally see yourself clearly.

But not you.

You, through him.

Your reflection, under that warm, decaying light, doesn’t look like you.

It looks like a distorted version.

He stays behind for a moment, watching you through the mirror. That half smile that never quite reaches his eyes.

And then, with dangerous slowness, he slides his fingers along your side until they wrap around the curve of your waist.

He turns you slightly. Just enough to get a better view of you in the reflection.

—Look at you —he says, voice low, barely a whisper— Do you understand why I have to be this way with you?

His eyes drop unapologetically to the small of your back.

To your dress.

To what’s underneath.

His body is completely pressed against yours. His hard bulge pressing against your ass.

You feel his breath on the back of your neck.

—By the way… —he whispers in your ear, like he’s sharing a dirty, intimate secret with you, not a threat wrapped in desire— this dress is driving me crazy.

He pauses.

His mouth brushes your skin as he speaks.

—I don’t know if I can wait until we get home to take it off.

His fingers trail down to the hem of your dress. He doesn’t lift it, he just adjusts it. Smooths it out like someone carefully setting the table for tonight’s meal.

He leaves a kiss on your neck.

Right where it burns.

An invisible burn the kind that lingers long after it’s gone.

And just before walking out, he drops the final comment with a softness that stings more than a slap.

—Fix your face, honey. Don’t take too long.

The door stays half open.

The hallway air creeps in like the world itself wants a glimpse of you broken.

You’re alone for a moment.

You press your palms against the sink.

You look at yourself in the mirror.

Split lip.

Smudged mascara.

A version of yourself you don’t recognize but pretend to control.

You adjust your dress.

That black dress that now feels smaller. Cheaper.

Like it shrank under the weight of shame.

You smooth your hair.

And you smile.

Because if you don’t, they’ll notice.

Because that's what you do in this world.

You go on.

You pretend.

You take a deep breath.

You step out of the bathroom.

The house is louder now, more alive than before. YoungSoo walks by with another tray, he sees you. Says nothing. Just looks away.

And there he is.

Su gang sitting on the same couch, one leg crossed, glass in hand, like nothing ever happened, like five minutes ago he didn’t rip your soul out of your chest.

He looks up.

He watches you.

And in that gaze is everything left unspoken: the threat, the possession, the command.

Look pretty, look mine.

You walk toward him.

He opens one arm with that ease that looks like affection but isn’t.

You sit beside him.

Your body returns to the place it’s occupied for months.

—You took your time —he says softly. His voice is sweet for those listening but to you it’s something else entirely.

—Sorry honey, there was a line —you reply, looking at no one. Just him only for him.

—Mmm… I love it when you lie. When you do that for me, —he murmurs near your ear—. You’re getting so good at it. It suits you so well it makes me love you more.

His arm wraps around you.

Too tightly.

As if you were something someone else might try to touch.

And on your thigh right where it hurts, he starts tracing circles with his fingers.

His hand moves as if to soothe you.

As if to protect you.

As if he didn’t know exactly what he did.

And you, just keep your mouth shut.

Just like he told you to.

Lee Seo shows up with another fresh bottle of tequila, wearing that irritating plastic smile.

—Oh my god, you two are perfect! Seriously! I want what you guys have —she says, like she doesn’t know. Or worse, like she does and she enjoys it.

And you smile.

Because that’s how the game is played.

Here, everything is performance.

You take his hand.

You caress it.

And then he, with a voice barely above a whisper, leans in and murmurs into your ear.

—See? That wasn’t so hard. Good girl.

You nod.

And you smile.

And it’s clear.

Because from the outside… you look perfect.

Because in this world of rotten parties and fake smiles, appearances will always matter more than the truth.

Inside, you’re falling apart.

Slowly.

Silently.

Like everything that breaks without making a sound.

And still, even with a thousand reasons to leave him, even though you should’ve walked away long ago.

You keep choosing him.

Author’s note

guys first of all tysm for the love on my last post like, I seriously didn’t expect that I appreciate the spam and reposts so much. 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

this one shot was originally written like this, then I tried to tweak it for Seongje but let’s be real all the vibes scream Han Su gang. Bro has me on my knees and NO ONE is talking about himmm

sooo I’ve seen y’all’s requests and I am working on them I swear. It’s just I’ve got like a million drafts I’m juggling rn but that doesn’t mean I’m ignoring your stuff!! I just wanna make sure everything turns out good and actually worth reading.

So yeah, feel free to keep sending your requests 📮🫰🏻

[namjooningera]

I'm unsure if your Request are open, deeply apologizing if I disturbed you.

: Need more yandere captivated stuff, like them constantly clinging to their sweet love, locking the bedroom door at night and only giving their captivated lover permission to leave the room only if they're awake. ♡

mwa, absolutely love your writing.

Their rules - Yandere JJK

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji

AN: the boys’ rules for you, plus them being clingy. A bit of the past and background before they kidnapped u ;3

TW: starving, slight Stockholm syndrome, manipulative

Ahhhh yess requests are open thanks for asking!! (≧∇≦)b

Gojo-

Hes unbearable. His rules are short and simple, but the man himself is insufferable.

He clings onto you, legs around your thighs, head on your chest, while you lay in bed. You try to push him off, but the man is so much bigger than you. He doesn’t move an inch, it was like trying to move a brick wall.

You remember the first time he giddily told you the rules.

“Ok ok listen-“ he said in the middle of giggles, then straightened up his back to look serious but it was obvious he was still giddy.

“Hum.. No touching the stove when I’m around, No watching tv, that’s a reward not a privilege, you can earn watching it. No ignoring me, no sleeping without giving me a kiss or cuddles.”

He hums. “there isn’t much sweet thing…I just want you to be happy.” But his smile is sickly and you know there’s more to what he’s saying.

You know there’s unspoken rules he doesn’t say, like how you need to constantly keep him in a good mood.

When you were first taken by him, you rejected his every advance. Every time he wanted kisses or cuddles or even something simple, like for you to look at him. You said no, turned away, and slumped in bed.

At first he let it go. He was patient. He was just happy that you were there. That you couldn’t talk to others, look at others, and your attention would all be to him in no time.

But you refused this little charade, and you could see him slowly start to become more agitated. It’s when he stopped coming home to make you dinner (the dinner you barely ever touched anyway), and the way you felt like he was forgetting about you.

He’d always refill the things you ran out of. The bottle of water on your-his nightstand. The sanitary items and hygiene products you use. He’d always refill the pantry with all your favorite snacks and sweets.

But he stopped. And that got scary. Your mind was already in shambles, now you were thinking, what if he’s going to leave you for dead? Stop refilling, stop visiting, until you pass away in this locked hell.

Finally, he came home tonight. Around midnight. He never came that late before- it was always around 8 pm or 9 when he was really late, he always made sure to come home early enough to make you dinner.

You were starving, and you peeked from the hallway to see him stumble in, then throw himself on the sofa and then the tv on.

You weren’t really allowed to watch tv. You wonder if you could earn it. You watched him slump over, eyes heavy with a glare. He never really looked like this, honestly he always looked giddy and happy. Happy to come home to you. But now he just looked angry, upset, pissed. But it never seemed like it was to you.

He never showed you he hates you, he just stopped trying- stopped talking to you.

But why did that seem scarier than just straight up punishing you?

You slowly took a few steps out of your peeking spot, to be in his eyesight. Normally he’d be delighted, thinking you came to ask him for something or you wanted to talk, anything really. But this time he didn’t even look up from the tv. As if you weren’t there, as if he didn’t notice you.

That just added to your nervousness.

So you decided to do something incredibly stupid.

You hated his giddy happy side, but for some reason, you missed it know. At least before, the aura of the home stayed light and happy. Even if you weren’t happy. But now, the tension is fucking palpable. It’s heavy, and disgusting. You feel scared to even walk a few steps that’s how heavy the air feels right now.

Slowly you walk over to him. He doesn’t budge. His arms are spread at the top of the sofa as his body slumps back onto the sofa. His legs are up on the coffee table, eyes directed solely to the tv.

You sit next to him carefully. Slowly, you start to scoot over to him, slowly. So that his arm over the sofa would carefully be put over you.

Finally you scooted close enough that your thighs touched, and that your head slightly leaned onto his shoulder.

You were scared he’d hit you, scream at you, hurt you. He’d never done that before but what was stopping him from doing it now? Yes he was gonna hurt you for being stubborn for ignoring him, he’s gonna-

“I missed you.” He said with a sigh, eyes tired that bore into you, his voice was almost shaky, it was obvious he wasn’t feeling well. The arm laying on the top of the couch fell onto your shoulders, pulling you in. Cradling your body.

“You hungry?”

Yes, fuck yes. You’ve barely eaten in the last few days, solely relying on your pantry of snacks and sweets alone to quench your hungry, since he stopped making meals for you.

You nodded quickly and he smiled softly and ruffled your hair.

“Alright- too tired to cook. Let’s just order in ok?”

You nod immediately, digging yourself in more into his body. He smiles at this. You know you shouldn’t be touching him, listening to his dumb rules and letting him control you like this.

But you couldn’t help it. Things were just so much easier when he was happy. You got to eat, watch tv, and sure, you hated touching him, but he was just so warm.

That’s why, fast forward to now, you let him cling onto you in bed. Whining bout his day and how he doesn’t have enough time with you. How if he could just open your rib cage and snuggle inside, stay warm and with you forever he would. You think he’s crazy, weird, gross, but you don’t comment on it. You let him think your okay with all this, you let him nibble on your collarbone and let him whisper how he’s never gonna let you go, how your his for life and how he loves you like none before.

He’s warm. You notice. You notice his heartbeat, his breath on your collarbone, his eyes full of hearts and swelling with love. The way he huffs every time you slightly move away.

“H-hey umm I need to use the toilet can you move-“

“Can I come?”

Oh god.

Geto-

His rules were unknown honestly. He didn’t outright say any, he wanted you to think you had freedom. Like you weren’t being held hostage in his home. As if you were just his lover living with him. Like you had free rein.

As if he didn’t lock the bedroom door every night, thinking you were fast asleep. Like he didn’t keep track of every time you used the restroom, the shower, did your skincare and ate. As if he didn’t have those times and dates and stamps of every time you did so, so he could keep track of every little thing you did.

He wanted you to be happy and free in your home, he called it. After it all, he built it on all your necessities, all the things you use and like, so it is your home. It was made for you.

But there are the unspoken rules.

He hates when you get up from bed in the night, to go use the restroom. He wakes up in a jump, eyes wide and exploring the room, his hands roughly shoving the blankets off the bed to see your not there.

He panics. And he knows he shouldn’t. There are alarms everywhere, he has a tracker on you, he knows when you leave and when you stay and where you are at all times. He gets up quickly however, feet scampering to the bathroom door where he knocks on it slightly, asking you to come out.

He’s always been an okay-amount of clingy. But he panics a lot. He doesn’t show it- but he does. He thinks you’ll leave, you’ll die- or something. Maybe someone else will snatch you- a “monkey” or some curse. He’s seen the real world he knows how dangerous the average person can be so could you imagine blood thirsty curses? Ready to swipe your small body at any second and have you for a second dinner?

He’d never let that happen.

And he wants you to reassure him. He won’t ask for it but he needs it. Desperately. Tell him you won’t leave, you won’t die, that your safe- that he’s safe. That you’ll be together forever.

But you don’t. Because you hate him.

You use to, when you two were actually friends- no, best friends. You’d tell him all the time that he was safe with you, that your his best friend and you’d make sure that the both of you live a long and healthy life- together.

And that’s what stayed in his mind. Why’d you break your promise? Why’d you have to stop telling him these sweet things? Is it not true anymore? Are we not safe? Are you gonna leave- be taken away? Don’t leave.

He wakes from a bitter nightmare that same night. A treacherous feeling crawling his spine, panic in his eyes and his body thrashing. He looks at you. His sweet Angel. You could never do him wrong. But he needs your comfort, your reassurance.

“Angel? Angel wake up, please.”

You refused to, ignoring his please. The truth is, his panicking in his sleep woke you long ago, but you didn’t want to wake him up from his little nightmare. You perhaps wanted him to suffer just a little longer.

“Angel? P-please just..”

You rolled your eyes, body facing away from him on your side, still faking your sleep. He could deal with this on his own. You know one of his huge rules was to comfort him and nurse him like you used to- one of his unspoken rules. You know this because just a day after he kidnapped you, he came home with what he called “monkey blood” all over him.

He wanted you to clean him. Tell him to stop calling humans monkeys. He wanted you to bring him back, to keep him from the evil that plastered his mind. Because you were the only one who kept him a clear head, that kept him sane and on earth. Otherwise, who knows what he’d be now?

That day, when you didn’t comfort him, the day after he kidnapped you, he became desperate. Begging you almost, but then he stopped. Like a cloud of indifference and anger covered his eyes and he grabbed you by the arm, pulling you into a closet and locking you in.

You screamed, yelled, begged him to let you out. You went through all stages of grief basically, angrily screaming, then begging, tearing up, then calming down and crawling into a little ball in the corner of the closet. It was dark, cold, miserable. Dust got in your hair and eyes, you tried to dust it away with your hands but you felt so dirty. You just hoped he’d let you out soon.

He only left you for an hour or two- you don’t really remember. He didn’t wanna be too harsh on your first punishment. He still loved you after all, you were just being a brat. But then he dragged you out and sat you down at the dinner table. He acted like nothing was wrong, smiling at you and picking up a spoon of the food he made. He put it to your mouth, trying to feed you. You shook and trembled. You knew you couldn’t say no, or who knows how long he’d keep you in that damn closet? At least you’re free now right? You ate the food off his spoon, and let him feed you for the rest of dinner.

He was so incredibly happy that you were obeying him so early in the “relationship”, that he didn’t put you back into the closet, but instead let you watch tv. Of course, not without him sitting under the couch, while you sat on the sofa with your legs dangling on his shoulders, brushing his hair and braiding it like you did when you two were best friends. Before things changed.

“Angel please, I need you.” He almost whimpered.

You sighed, and got up, turning your body to him. “What was the dream bout this time?”

He’s always had nightmares, about different things. When you were best friends, he refrained from telling you them. Just wanted you to tell him it was okay, he just wanted to hear your voice and be lulled back to sleep.

Now he won’t shut up about them. Shameless, you think.

“Oh Angel.” He pulls you into his chest, a very much unwanted hug, one hand on your head and the other wrapped around your waist, he pulls the covers back on top of the both of you.

“It was terrible. You were hurt, my dear. Don’t you see why I have to keep you? You hurt- that would destroy me, my love.”

His words disgust you, but what really disgusts you is the way you know he isn’t lying. You can hear the genuine concern in his voice, that he genuinely thinks this is helping you, not just for his own selfish desire.

“Oh Angel, if you left- I wouldn’t know what to do.”

And that scares you. That scares you because he knows damn well you can’t leave. The cameras, the security, the alarms and the tracker. The way he tightly holds you as if your going to disappear into thin air. The way your almost out of oxygen with the tight hold, your chest and ribs being smushed against his. You could feel his heart beat, you could feel it trying to pounce out his rib cage.

“I won’t leave.”

What you meant to say is that you can’t leave, there’s no way for you to anyway, but you glance up at him and see that what you said was the right thing to say, a smile adoring his lips as he kissed your head softly.

“My sweet Angel. You always know what to say.”

Or you just know what he wants to hear.

Nanami-

Nanami had so many rules, regulations, all these things you had to remember.

“You need to ask me permission for certain things. Entertainment is a privilege you’ll be rewarded with. I have books and art supplies you’ll be using before screen time. Healthy snacks only- with the exception of dessert after dinner. You don’t get dessert if you’re being bad.”

He sits on the coffee table in front of you, wearing his work clothes, a nice suit and some goggles in his hands. You sit on the sofa in front of him, arms crossed in your chest out of anger but you listen anyway.

“The better you are the more freedom you have, my dear. I’d never want to take away the things that make you happy, but I can’t stop myself if your being bad. I want you in bed by midnight, or you sleep when I do. If I’m late from work and can’t make dinner I’ll send some- you’re not allowed in the kitchen until you get the privilege of it. You have a pantry full of snacks and healthy foods, and a water dispenser until I can come home and make dinner. I will make breakfast every morning.”

His damn rules and regulations go on forever, but at least you know what will make him upset and what won’t.

“Once you can prove your a good girl/boy, I’ll provide you with more electronics for your own entertainment, but screen time will be limited. I expect you to keep up with your hygiene and get enough sleep, eat well and continue your hobbies. I’d like you to greet me in the morning before I leave and at night when I come home- obviously this rule varies on the circumstances of the day.”

You sigh, further sinking into the sofa as he talks you down further.

“In the future, I expect goodbye kisses and greetings. If you ever need anything you just need to ask me. If you’re thinking on picking up a new hobby, you want new clothes, different snacks- I expect you to tell me. And lastly, you are never allowed to go to sleep angry. I know this situation isn’t ideal, but I never want to argue before bed, and sleep angry with each other. We need to hash things out everytime, I don’t think it’s fair to each other, otherwise.”

You just nod, half the things going over your head but you know you should agree.

“Alright I’ll be home early today, okay? Goodbye my dear.” He gets up and stands near the door, waiting.

You look up at him from the sofa, then realize what he’s waiting for.

“Just leave.” You say upset, curling up into the sofa. He frowns, but leaves anyway, waving goodbye.

He had just kidnapped you. What was it the second day? He abducted you last night. Let you in on all the fun rules today.

Great.

Honestly, you’re still freaking out in your head a bit about all this. At first you thought it was some curse disguised as him, but you could sense his cursed energy was all him. No trickery, no fakes, it was him. He fought so hard but you were no match for him.

You definitely could have been, and that makes you laugh. You really could have. But he’s been watching you since high school. Watching your techniques, your moves, the way your body sways in fight and the way you dodge. The way you attack, everything. You’ve fought him plenty of times to train and for fun. You never thought- you never once thought he’d use it against you.

That he memorized your every move, adapted, the way he knew exactly what way you’d fight back, what way you’d dodge what way you’d try and escape.

How could he?

You were so upset, so betrayed. It hurt so much. You curled into yourself, upset, thinking bout the way he basically took advantage of you as friends. You thought you were fighting beside him, were you really just fighting him all along?

That day he came home, and saw you laid out on the couch, dried tears on your cute pink cheeks, your body curled to protect yourself, fast asleep.

He smiles at you, but it’s a soft sentimental one, one that has a hint of sadness.

He didn’t want to hurt you. Genuinely. But he couldn’t help it. Every year, being thrown into a friendzone, every year his obsession for you grew, he wanted you as his wife not best friend, every year he saw himself grow older- and was scared. What if he grew too old to get married? To have a family? Each year you showed the same care you should your friends, nothing grew into sweet love for him, and that scared him. In high school, he waited. Hoping that you’d mature and grow to love him. He stayed by your side hoping he wouldn’t have to do anything drastic.

But the time passes anyway.

And you didn’t seem to change.

And he carries you to your bed, their bed. The bed you share. When he places you down he caresses your head and hair, you kick him away in your sleep and that hurts him so deeply. He locks the door, sits on your bed and watches you. He had to do this. Don’t you see?

The way you would smile at him, laugh with him, love his seriousness and fight beside him. He loved that all about you. You two were meant for more then a measly friendship right?

He pulls you to him in your sleep, cuddling your unconscious body, snuggling his face into your nape and softly pecking your collarbone. He smiles at the way you whine in your sleep, trying to push him away and stop being smothered.

But he loves to smother you- he won’t stop. He lays almost on top of you, head in your nape, as he softly caressed your waist and hips, pecking your collarbone, smiling dazedly, almost drunk, off the cute sleeping sounds that leave your mouth, the breaths that leave your nose, the soft heaving of your chest.

He loves how domestic this is. His wife/hubby, his adorable lover and partner. His equal and forever. He believes that you two have always been together, that you’ve always cared for him as much as he cared for you- you just don’t realize it.

He eyes become heavy. Being in your arms (not that you were trying to keep him there), reminds him how relaxed he feels in them, that they make him drowsy and almost high off the feeling. His body almost slumps over, un-tensing. He had a long day of work. It was nice to come home to his loved one, to be in your arms, to be held and to hold.

If he could stay like this forever, the time not continuing, just you and him in a warp of space where time doesn’t exist, where you could be one. Where he could cherish you and spoil you forever and ever- reliving the lovely memories from when you were young.

A smile softly sets on his face as he falls asleep snuggled to you, he thinks, that he doesn’t need to live in the past. You two can make new memories, better ones. Memories, where you actually love him, not just as a friend, but as a lover.

His lover.

Toji-

He didn’t really have rules for you. He didn’t care too much about physical affection, sure he liked the average kiss on the cheek before he left to assassin some idiot. He wanted your attention obviously, but he didn’t mind you being a brat and never giving it to him.

“Alright I’m going to work.” He’s waiting for you. He’s waiting for you to run up to him and kiss his cheeks, tell him you love him, at least wish him goodbye. He felt desperate. Sad. He wanted you to just- why are you being so bratty?

“I’m going to work.”

He’s at the door, hand on the handle. You’re sitting on the couch. He lets you watch tv, sometimes he’s happy when you accidentally come across the news channel and see all the disgusting shit on the news, all those disgusting heinous crimes. Maybe someday you’ll see those and understand. Know that he did this all for you, it’s all for your own good. As cliche as that sounds.

“Im going-“ “Ok I get it!” You basically yelled.

He seemed startled. That’s when he starts to wonder if he was giving you too much freedom. You yelled at him. How could you? You want him gone, you want him to leave.

Alright he’ll give you what you want.

That day he came home, and cleared out the pantries and locked up the fridge. He left the next morning, telling you he had some mission that’ll last a few days. You just shrugged at him like normal, pretty happy you’d get a break from him.

But you didn’t realize his plan. His stupid crazy fucking smart plan. You opened the pantry. Nothing, just a few things you can’t really eat. Like a half full jar of peanut butter, uncooked pasta, some can of tuna. You opened the other drawers and cabinets. Condiments only basically. Salts and spices. But where was the food? Ok, it’s fine. You’ll cook something, grab some things in the fridge- wait what? Why was there.. a lock? Why’s it locked? It was never locked- oh. He did this. This is your punishment.

No, you’ll take it. If he wants to be an ass- you’ll just be even pettier and go with it. Then he’ll know not to test you right? He’ll essentially get worried that your not eating, then go buy more food and unlock the fridge.

Boom. Great plan right? Wrong.

Your stomach growled. It was what, the third day in to not eating? You thought you had more resistance then that- that you could hold back for longer. But no, your stomach was in pain and you felt yourself growing weaker.

You felt yourself getting desperate.

You decided to emergency call Toji. He had one attached to the security, where you could only call him, if ever an emergency while he wasn’t home.

You went up to the little screen on the wall next to the door, an iPad connected to all the security, well only he could access that part. What you could access, is the emergency call. But before you pressed the button to call you stopped yourself. Fuck you were hungry, but you couldn’t give in. Plus you knew he was angry. He wouldn’t just give in.

You needed to sweeten him up. You knew that he won’t just give in if you ask for food.

You slightly press the button, hearing it ring for a second before he picked ul and answered.

“What?”

Normally, he’d be asking if your okay, if you needed him, what’s the emergency. You know, all that. When he was actually worried. You gulped.

“O-oh! Yeah I called because I umm.. I miss you?” Yeah, not so convincing.

“Yeah, doll?”

“..yeah. When you coming home?”

“I don’t know.”

… He’d never answer like that before. He was being so dry? What was his plan? But then, the hunger, the dizziness, the weakness in your bones- you started to overthink. You started to think that perhaps he wasn’t coming home. He was going to leave you forever in this locked cage, alone, to die. And then you thought, what if his mission is going bad? And that’s why he isn’t being clear? What if he really doesn’t know when he’s coming home because where he is, is so dangerous he isn’t sure if he even will come home?

But if he dies, you die. If he dies, you die. If he dies you die if he dies you-

“TOJI please! Please please come home I can’t- I can’t be here alone anymore- I need you. Please Toji don’t die-“

“Die? Doll? What’s wrong?”

You start to sniffle, thinking about your own death. Thinking about different ways you’d die out, and all leads to one- alone. You didn’t wanna starve to death alone. You couldn’t.

“P-please? Come home? Miss you..” the genuine upsetness in your voice seriously surprised him.

“Ok doll. I think I can get home by tonight ok?”

“Toji?” You ask softly, sniffling.

“Yeah doll?”

“I feel so sick.” You whine, clearing your throat.

It’s like you could feel him smile from the other end. “Alright doll, don’t worry, m’ coming home soon. I’ll bring you some things on my way back. Kay?”

You nod, even though you know he can’t see you nod, he chuckled over the line as if he did.

This time, when he comes home, grocery bags in hand, you run up to him to greet him. Never like you used to.

It’s funny, you almost jumped on the man, you almost hugged him, you stopped yourself before you could, your mind reminding you that he’s your captor. That you hate him, that he tricked you and he’s evil and- oh but he’s so warm. You haven’t felt physical affection for so long. And he’s just so big like a cuddly bear. And you just- you can’t have him leave again okay? This isn’t fault. You’re not about to hug him because you want to, okay? It’s just.. you don’t want him to starve you again ok? Really it’s not because you.. you think he’s so cuddly. You think he’s so warm and inviting. And you could smell the food wafting from the bags he held- did he buy takeout? Oh my god- and from your favorite fucking place-

You softly put your hands around his waist, head on his chest, just holding him gently, scared that perhaps that wasn’t him but some figment of your imagination.

“Oh sweeeheart, you missed me that much, hm?”

You just nod, feeling disgusted but oh so satisfied. You don’t wanna look at him, you know you’ll be met with some smug smirk, that smirk showing that he knows he won, that now, you won’t exactly take him for granted.

“I brought take out cmon.”

Tehe I’d let them take me 😋 anyway, thank you sm for the ask! Requests are open yall! Also feel free to give me commentary! I don’t rlly write so 😭

[fancyfeathers]

The Fruits

Yandere!Villain/League of Assassins Damian Al Ghul x Robin!Darling

Yandere!Batboys as Villains with Robin!Darlings AU Masterlist

T//W- drugging/poisoning, forced feeding, paralyzation, nonsexual & nonconsensual food play, nonsexual & nonconsensual knife play, nonsexual & nonconsensual blood play, slight/implied cannibalism (but not really), Damian is early twenties in this and Robin!Darling is implied to be in her late teens

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who has never met his father, instead being fully raised by his mother and grandfather and being named the heir of the Demon’s Head. He is practically a Prince in the League of Assassins.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who hears about the little sidekick his father from his grandfather, the little bird had thrown a knife through Ra’s Al Ghul’s hand to protect the Batman. He is angry, no one should do such a thing without consequences for their actions.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who goes to Gotham to find the so called Robin who did such a thing and finds a young lady who is nothing like he imagined. He wants to hate her, but no matter how hard he tries he cannot seem to such a thing, let alone put an end to her miserable life. He wants to kiss her and make her bleed at the same time.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who gets a rush of euphoria hearing her scream when he finally pins her down on a rooftop one night on her patrol, her screams and cries ringing in his ears as she begs for mercy as he carves into the delicate skin in her back in a language that is old and she’ll never be able to understand it, it roughly translates to ‘Bird With Clipped Wings/Helpless Little Bird’

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who lets her live and get away with the carving on her back, after all his plans of killing her have suddenly changed and he needs to receive permission from his mother and grandfather for what he wishes to do.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who after a number of months of planning and preparation has his little bird kidnapped by assassins he trained personally for this specific job, assassins told to use a particular poison to knock her out that will temporarily paralyze her for however long Damian wishes for her to be immobile, assassins he has no problem killing after the job is done because he felt sick to his stomach with the knowledge that they were the ones hurting her.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who lays his darling’s head on his lap and lays her body on a stone bench in a courtyard garden in a hidden League of Assassins base. It is far away from Gotham, after all Gotham had no weather that one would only find in the desert.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who holds his darling’s head up when she begins to wake up, lost of her body completely numb, who can only blink and move her jaw, not even talk or move her head up and down.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who feels a jolt of excitement when he sees the fear in his darling’s eyes when he takes out the same knife he used to carve into her flesh, only for him to reach where she can’t see and grab a piece of fruit, an apple, and cuts into it. Carving it up into small bites he can easily slip into his darling’s mouth, prying open her jaw and pressing the piece of fruit and his fingers against her tongue, nearly making her gag around his fingers…

“Oh you are doing so well, my beloved…”

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who, despite all his cruelties towards his little Robin, is being surprisingly gentle with his darling, one hand feeding her, the other hand is running his fingers through her hair while he whispers soft praise to her.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who cannot believe that the same girl who is practically lapping at his fingers, albeit against her will, is the same girl who his father, who has never known that Damian is his son, has chosen to be his partner, his sidekick…

“You are such a pathetic little thing, are you not?”

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who’s cruelty returns in the blink of an eye, reaching for another pieces of fruit, or rather a handful of twelve pomegranate seeds, and pushes them to her tongue, but even when she swallows he doesn’t move his fingers from her tongue, instead they come around to pinch it and pull it past her lips…

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who hold his knife to her tongue, the blade threading to cut through as it leaves a soft red line in its wake…

“Let me make this clear my love, try anything, anything at all, test my patience or put a foot out of line then you will never speak or taste again, do I make myself clear?”

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who knows she cannot respond but the look of pure fear in her eyes is enough of an answer so he pulls back the blade which has collected the smallest bit of her blood.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who brings the blade up to his own lips and makes his darling watch as he lick of her blood from the blade, cutting his own tongue slightly in the process which he collect with his finger, getting a taste of the juice from the pomegranate he forced on her tongue.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who forces his darling to swallow his own blood, because what is more romantic than having a piece of the one you love most inside of you?

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who will absolutely cut off his darling’s tongue if she does not behave herself and swallow it whole like the fruits he feeds her.

[scarletwinterxx]

pull up - hong joshua imagine

i had soooo much fun writing this🥺 like it's sooo joshua coded i hope you get what I mean when you read it, also it's been a while since i wrote a joshua fic. lowkey gatekeeping the fluff bcs he's my bias but also i want everyone to feel what i feel while i was writing this so hope you enjoy🤍

ALSOOOOO while writing this, i had two songs i felt was perfect for this. Kinda helped me with the vision. It's I Really Like You bu Carly Rae Jepsen and goodnight n go by Ariana Grande.

you can follow me on x i usually rant there, niniramyeonie 😊🌻

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You notice him on a Tuesday.

Which is strange, because Tuesdays are usually your most half-hearted gym days. Mondays are for fake enthusiasm. Wednesdays are for convincing yourself you're halfway through the week and therefore invincible. But Tuesdays? Tuesdays are for regretting all your life choices while trudging on a treadmill and pretending not to hate everyone around you.

But then he appears.

Tall. Built like someone who owns multiple foam rollers and actually uses them. His hair is tousled in that “I totally woke up like this but in an expensive shampoo commercial way,” and his eyes—oh God, his eyes—are these wide, soft things, like they were stolen from a Disney deer. If Bambi decided to bulk up and develop a jawline.

You try not to stare. You fail.

He doesn’t look like a brooding gym type. No aggressive grunting. No primal chest thumps. No mirror selfies. Instead, he quietly sets up at the far corner near the free weights, earbuds in, hoodie on despite the heat. Private, maybe. Or shy. Or both.

You spend longer than you'd like to admit trying to figure out if he's intimidating or just doesn’t like people.

There's a difference, you think. Intimidating guys usually flex unnecessarily and wink at you when you’re just trying to do lunges without dying. This guy? He barely makes eye contact with anyone. When someone walks too close to his bench, he politely scoots over without making a fuss.

It's almost disappointing.

Because if he was a jerk, you could just write him off and move on with your life.

But no. Instead, he has the audacity to stretch quietly in the corner with perfect posture and soft eyelashes and forearms that look carved out of daydreams. Who even looks like that at your local gym? This isn’t Hollywood.

And you, meanwhile, are pretending to know how to deadlift properly while sneaking glances like you're trying to memorize the periodic table. You are not slick.

At one point, he catches you mid-glance, and for a brief, painful second, you both hold eye contact.

Your brain short-circuits.

You do the only logical thing and immediately look away like you've just remembered an urgent errand in the opposite direction. Possibly in another country.

You spend the rest of your workout way too aware of his presence. Like he’s gravity and your body is betraying you by orbiting around him.

You leave the gym sweaty, confused, and very annoyed with yourself. You don’t even know his name.

But you’re definitely going to find out.

=

A few days later and you’re at the gym again..

You're not proud of it, but you're here standing in front of a very complicated-looking machine that has too many pulleys and not enough labels. You've never used it before. You don’t even know its name. 

Chest press? Lat pulldown? Mid-life crisis simulator?

Honestly, you just got bored of the StairMaster. Your usual routine suddenly felt repetitive… or maybe it just felt less interesting now that he’s become part of your peripheral gym experience.

And hey, maybe it’s time to switch it up. Be spontaneous. Try new things. Be mysterious and well-rounded.

You immediately regret it.

Because you’ve been standing here for a full minute pretending to “study the mechanics” of this cursed contraption, while mostly just staring at the diagram like it’s written in ancient Sumerian. There are straps. Levers. Pins. Maybe even a hidden booby trap?

You tug at one handle, and it clonks loudly against the frame, echoing across the gym like the sound of your pride imploding.

And then—

“You, uh… planning to fight it or use it?”

The voice is soft, warm—teasing without being mean. Like maple syrup with a smirk.

You freeze. Your brain goes completely silent.

Because it’s him.

And God, he’s even better up close. There’s this effortless softness to him, like he’s not trying to be charming but it just… leaks out of him naturally. Like an accidental flirt. A boy-band heartthrob doing errands.

You laugh, but it comes out weird and high-pitched, like you’ve swallowed helium and regret all your life choices.

“I’m, uh. Studying it. For science.”

He grins, bright and immediate, like you’ve said the most charming thing ever. “Well, if you figure out how to make it time travel, let me know. I think it's supposed to be a row machine. Or a medieval torture device. Could go either way.”

“So,” he continues, still smiling, “want a hand? Or do you prefer to risk dislocating something for the thrill of it?”

You blink. “I mean… I do like to live dangerously.”

He chuckles, then steps closer. “Dangerous is not knowing which pin to pull and just yanking stuff randomly. Let me show you.”

You do your best to stay calm while he casually leans over, adjusting the weights, pulling one of the pins like it’s nothing. His arm brushes yours and it’s electric. Not in a dramatic, soul-bonding way—just enough to make you forget your own name for a second.

“There,” he says. “Now you just sit here, pull this toward your chest. Keep your back straight, don’t yank.”

You nod, fully intending to listen.

You will absolutely not remember a single word of that.

He steps back, giving you space, but that soft smile lingers like a secret between you. “You got this. I’m Joshua, by the way”

You quickly mumble your name back, then look at the equipment again

“Damn,” you say. “Guess I’ll have to actually work out now.”

He starts to walk away, then glances over his shoulder. “If you survive this thing, I’ll be impressed.”

You don’t say anything back. Mostly because your brain still hasn’t rebooted.

But your heart is definitely doing wind sprints.

After the brutal set you tried to finish, you grab your water bottle, stealing one last glance his way. He’s still watching.

You take a long sip of water, trying to ignore the way your pulse is very much not calming down. It’s not the workout. It’s not the row machine. It’s definitely not the totally casual conversation with the gym’s most charming human.

You glance back at him, and that teasing glint is still there, like he’s waiting for a comeback.

So you give him one.

“I’m gonna get you back,” you say, capping your bottle. “Just you wait until you try the StairMaster.”

He snorts. “Is that a threat?”

“Oh, absolutely. That thing humbles even the cockiest of men.”

He groans dramatically, head dropping back against the bench. “Ugh. Not the StairMaster. That thing is evil in mechanical form.”

You gasp, mock offended. “You take that back.”

“I won’t. It’s unnatural. No human should ever climb stairs endlessly to nowhere. It's a trap.”

You grin, arms crossed. “Spoken like someone who’s never reached the top.”

He squints at you suspiciously. “There’s no top. That’s the whole scam. It just keeps going until your legs give out and your soul leaves your body.”

“That’s where the character-building happens.”

“That’s where the near-death experience happens.”

You walk past him toward the water fountain, tossing a smirk over your shoulder. “Someday, Joshua. I’m gonna catch you on it. And when I do, I’ll be right there. Watching.”

He laughs, low and warm. “If that day comes, I expect emotional support. And probably an ambulance.”

“Nope,” you call back. “Only judgment.”

“Brutal.”

You glance at him again as you turn the corner. He’s still looking, shaking his head, that smile spreading slow like he’s already thinking about what he’s going to say next time.

And you? You’re definitely planning what machine to “accidentally” use wrong next.

=

A few days later, you’re back.

Same gym. Same playlist. Same questionable protein shake sloshing around in your stomach.

You’ve already stretched, done your usual warm-up, and for some reason—maybe it’s the memory of a certain pair of bambi-eyes watching you flirt with death on the row machine—you find yourself standing in front of the pull-up bar.

Just staring.

It stares back. Cold. Unforgiving. Judgy.

You’ve never really attempted it. You know you have the upper body strength of a sleepy cat. The last time you even tried, you managed one and a half reps and pulled a muscle in your neck that made it look like you were perpetually trying to dodge an awkward hug.

But today… today you’re thinking about it.

And thinking about it is basically halfway to doing it, right?

You clap your hands like you’re about to do something epic. Then you hop up, grab the handles, and immediately regret all your choices.

You get one. One clean pull-up, arms shaking, face doing things that definitely aren’t attractive.

The second one? You try. God, you try.

Halfway up, your arms begin to betray you. Your legs flail in a pathetic attempt to help. Your body says “absolutely not” and your pride goes down with you. You hang there, a weird little noodle of a human, wondering if there’s a graceful way to descend without collapsing completely.

“Alright,” a voice says behind you, amused. “Now that’s bravery.”

You don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

“Don’t,” you groan. “Don’t you dare say anything.”

Joshua’s laugh is warm and merciless. “I wasn’t gonna say anything! Just… observing. You know. For science.”

You drop down from the bar and turn to face him, breathless, cheeks burning, arms already sore.

“You’re stalking me,” you accuse, pointing a finger at him.

He raises both hands in mock surrender. “Hey. You were the one declaring StairMaster vengeance. I came to see if you were plotting.”

“Plotting,” you huff. “Right. Clearly I’m too busy being an upper-body icon.”

“Iconic,” he nods solemnly. “In the way baby goats are iconic for trying to jump and immediately falling over.”

You glare, but it’s only half-hearted. “Wow. First, sarcasm coach. Now personal trainer and comedian.”

“I contain multitudes,” he says, then glances up at the bar. “You almost had that second one though.”

You raise a brow. “You’re lying to make me feel better.”

“I’m lying to make me feel better,” he grins. “Because if you get better at this stuff, you’re gonna be way too powerful.”

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “Well, if I mysteriously vanish, check under the StairMaster. That’s where I hide all my victims.”

Joshua tilts his head, considering. “Dark. Unexpected. I like it.”

You’re just about to make some kind of witty escape when Joshua says it.

“Come on,” he nods toward the pull-up bar. “I’ll spot you.”

You blink. “You’ll what now?”

He’s already walking over, casual like it’s no big deal, like this isn’t a defining moment in your emotional history.

“Spot you,” he says again, glancing back at you with that stupidly gentle smile. “So you don’t fall to your dramatic death after one and a half pull-ups.”

You try to laugh. It comes out as more of a nervous wheeze.

“Very heroic of you,” you manage, eyeing the bar like it personally wronged you.

He shrugs, standing just under it now, hands flexing like he’s warming them up. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive.”

You stare at him. At the way his shirt clings to his shoulders. At the veins in his arms. At the way he’s looking at you like this is casual. Normal.

It is not normal. You try to be cool. You try to be composed. But your body? Your body has completely abandoned the plan.

Because now you’re walking toward him. Slowly. Automatically. Like some magnetic force is pulling you in.

You step under the bar. He’s standing right behind you now, close but not too close. His hands lift, hovering for a second like he’s giving you a chance to back out.

You don’t.

And then—

His hands land gently on your waist.

It’s a soft, grounding touch, not too firm, but very present. Your breath catches.

This is fine, you tell yourself.

This is so not fine. Your brain screams.

“You good?” he asks, voice quiet now. There’s something softer in his tone, like he knows exactly what he's doing to your internal system and is pretending he doesn’t.

You nod, eyes fixed on the bar above. “Yep. Good. Great.”

“You're gonna pull up, and I’ll just support your hips a little. Let you push through it without dropping.”

You manage a strangled “cool” and grab the handles, arms already shaking from the sheer adrenaline surging through you.

You pull.

It’s not perfect. Not clean. Your arms scream and your legs do a weird little kick at the end. But you make it. Higher than before. Controlled.

His hands steady you the whole way up—and then guide you gently back down.

“See?” he murmurs near your ear. “Told you. You got this.”

You’re pretty sure your heart is doing backflips. Loud, panicked backflips. You let go of the bar, drop to the floor, and immediately step away like physical distance might help your brain reset.

Spoiler: it does not.

Joshua’s grinning again, hands back at his sides, like he didn’t just ruin your ability to form coherent thought.

“Thanks,” you say, trying to sound chill and not like you’re about to collapse into a puddle.

“Anytime,” he says easily. “You let me know when it’s StairMaster Day. I’ll be there.”

You almost say something flirty. You almost say you already are.

But instead, you toss him a half-smile and mumble, “Better start working on your cardio.”

And then you walk away. Quickly. Before you combust right there in front of the pull-up bar.

The second your front door closes behind you, you're already pulling your phone out of your bag with shaking hands. You don’t even kick off your shoes. There are more important matters at hand.

Like the fact that Joshua Hong just touched your waist and told you you got this in a voice that should be illegal in public gyms.

You hit Nayeon’s contact. She picks up before the second ring.

“What.”

You skip hello entirely.

“GUESS WHAT.”

A beat of silence.

Then: “Oh my god. Did you finally throw a dumbbell at that guy who grunts like a mating walrus?”

“What? No—focus. I—Joshua. Joshua was at the gym.”

A dramatic gasp. “Bambi guy?!”

“Yes. And he spotted me. Like, hands-on-me, spotted me.”

“You’re lying.”

“I wish I was lying. He offered, I blacked out emotionally, and then I walked toward him like some possessed gym siren. And then—wait for it—his hands were on my waist.”

Nayeon lets out a long, satisfied scream that you have to pull your phone away from your ear for.

“I’m sorry,” she says breathlessly. “You touched souls and you’re casually calling me like it’s a weather update?! How was it?! What did it feel like?! Did your body leave your spirit plane?!”

You collapse onto your couch, still not fully recovered. “It felt like… like my brain stopped working but in a good way? Like the kind of malfunction where you’re aware something deeply unprofessional is happening to your heart rate?”

“I’m so proud of you. You’ve officially entered RomCom Phase Two: The Accidental Intimate Contact.”

You groan. “It wasn’t even that intimate! It was… I don’t know. Friendly. Gym-friendly.”

“Did he look you in the eyes like he knew you were about to internally combust?”

A pause. “Yes.”

“Did he say something in a voice that made you question your ability to speak?”

“...Yes.”

“Then congratulations,” Nayeon says smugly. “That boy is flirting. Lightly. Respectfully. But definitely.”

You flop backward, one hand over your eyes. “I said you better start working on your cardio and then walked away like I didn’t want to collapse in a corner and scream into my towel.”

Nayeon howls. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m putting it in my will.”

You’re quiet for a second, smiling up at your ceiling like it just told you a secret.

“He really is nice,” you murmur.

“I bet he is,” Nayeon says. “But let me know when he touches your waist again. I’ll bring confetti.”

=

You’re half-awake, phone in one hand, tote bag slipping off your shoulder, and every ounce of your remaining energy focused on surviving the Monday morning café line. The air smells like roasted beans and too much cologne, and you’re two seconds from ordering the largest iced americano known to man.

The barista gives you the tiniest smile and asks, “What would you like?”

“Iced americano, please,” you say in a daze, already pulling out your card, head down, ready to tap and shuffle off like every other caffeine-dependent adult.

But then—

A hand slides in next to yours. Card first.

And a voice, soft but teasing: “I got it.”

You freeze. Look up.

Joshua.

In a hoodie and cap pulled low, like he’s trying not to be recognized—but there’s no mistaking him. Not when he’s standing right there, grinning like this is normal. Like this is not the second time he’s absolutely obliterated your nervous system in public.

Your brain short-circuits.

“Wait—what—are you—what are you doing here?”

He tilts his head. “Getting coffee. What are you doing here? Practicing your dramatic gasp?”

You blink. “How did you even—?”

“I saw you through the window,” he says, gesturing casually over his shoulder. “Recognized the tragic posture.Thought, hey, she probably needs caffeine and emotional support.”

“You didn’t have to pay for me.”

Joshua shrugs, already sliding his card back into his wallet. “Consider it a reward. For surviving the pull-up bar. And for not actually passing out while I spotted you.”

You squint at him. “So this is payback.”

“Exactly,” he says, eyes crinkling. “Also, I owed you for the StairMaster threats. This is safer.”

You step aside so the next customer can order, taking your receipt with numb fingers. “You are dangerously charming, you know that?”

“I’ve heard rumors,” he says, walking with you to the pickup counter.

You eye him sideways. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Not really,” he says, then glances at you. “Maybe I will now.”

And just like that—there it is again. That look.

The light, flirty, annoyingly smooth look that says he’s enjoying this way too much. That he’s already planning his next move.

You press your lips together to keep from smiling like an idiot. Your name gets called. You grab your drink. He grabs his.

And then he leans in just a little, low enough that you can feel the warmth of his voice when he says, “You still owe me one StairMaster session, by the way.”

You take a long sip of your coffee just to avoid answering.

But the blush creeping up your neck?

Yeah, he definitely sees it.

You both step out of the café, the door swinging shut behind you with a soft ding. The morning air’s brisk but not cold, sunlight just beginning to slip between buildings, painting the street in soft gold.

Joshua falls into step beside you, sipping his coffee like this is some everyday thing. Like the two of you didn’t just share a casual rom-com scene inside a café.

He glances at you. “Heading to work?”

You nod, clutching your cup a little tighter. “Yep. You?”

“Yeah,” he says, then gestures down the opposite sidewalk. “That way.”

You look in the direction he points. Opposite of yours.

Of course.

You both pause on the corner. People stream around you—students in uniforms, office workers, ahjummas with shopping bags—but there’s a strange little pocket of quiet that hovers around you two.

You shift your weight. “So… different directions.”

Joshua nods, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Tragic.”

You laugh lightly. “Life’s tough.”

“For now,” he says, watching you over the rim of his cup. “But hey, I still owe you cardio humiliation. I’ll find you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You sure you’re ready for that?”

“Emotionally? No. Physically? Also no. But for you?” He leans in just slightly, eyes sparkling. “I’ll suffer.”

You snort, trying not to let your entire face betray you. “What a romantic.”

He grins. “It’s in my nature.”

The crosswalk signal chirps. You both glance at it, then back at each other.

You step backward slowly, toward your side of the street. “Okay, go be mysterious and productive or whatever it is you do.”

“And you,” he says, pointing with his cup, “go be chaotic and competitive. Just… don’t fall off anything.”

You flash him a final grin, walking backward a few more steps. “No promises.”

=

It’s been a week. Seven full days. Four gym sessions. Not that he’s counting. (He is absolutely counting.)

Joshua had figured maybe you were switching up your schedule. Or taking a break. Or plotting your next slow-burn attack on his cardiovascular endurance. But by day five, when you still hadn’t walked through the gym doors in your usual comfy hoodie and defiant energy, he started to feel… something.

Nothing dramatic. Just… He kind of missed seeing you.

Not in a we should talk about our feelings kind of way. More like a where did the chaos go? way. The gym felt weirdly quiet without your teasing, your grumbling, your almost-impossible pull-ups.

So when he drags himself to the café after his morning run the following week, hoodie damp with sweat and music still playing in one earbud, he’s not expecting much more than caffeine and maybe a bagel if the world is kind.

What he doesn’t expect is to hear the bell chime behind him and your voice.

“Ugh, finally. I swear this place is the only thing getting me out of bed lately.”

He turns before he can even stop himself. There you are—messy bun, oversized sweater, tired eyes, and all. You don’t see him at first, too busy mumbling something to yourself about how oat milk better not be sold out again.

He smiles. And waits.

Then you glance up, catch him standing near the pickup counter, and blink like your brain needs a second to register.

“Oh—hey!”

Joshua raises an eyebrow. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the girl who ghosted the gym.”

You smirk, stepping into line. “Excuse me. I did not ghost. I was temporarily out of commission.”

He leans an elbow on the counter, coffee in hand, grinning. “So mysterious.”

You sigh dramatically. “Cramps were killing me. Girl things. War zone. You wouldn’t survive.”

Joshua chokes a little on his sip.

You laugh at his expression. “What? You asked.”

“I didn’t ask for that mental image,” he says, shaking his head, amused.

“I gave it anyway,” you say brightly, stepping up to order. “That’s what I do. I give.”

He watches you place your order, then swipes his card before you can reach for your own.

“Again?” you protest.

“Call it a welcome back gift.”

You squint at him. “You’re trying to train me like a puppy. Every time I show up, you give me treats.”

“Is it working?”

You pause. Then grin. “Maybe.”

You both wait for your drinks at the end of the counter, shoulders brushing just slightly in the morning rush.

He tilts his head toward you. “You coming back to the gym this week?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Tomorrow, probably. I’ve got rage to burn and stairs to climb.”

His smile widens. “Music to my ears.”

You nudge him with your elbow. “Missed me, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Just looks at you over his coffee lid.

“Wouldn’t survive a war zone,” he says. “But yeah. I kinda did.”

You swear you played it cool.

You smiled. You sassed. You walked out of that café with your dignity intact and your coffee in hand like someone who has not been emotionally steamrolled by a boy in a hoodie.

But the second you slid into the booth across from Nayeon at lunch, all bets were off.

You didn’t even wait for her to finish her first bite.

“I’m losing it,” you whisper-shriek, leaning across the table like you’re confessing a federal crime.

Nayeon blinks. “Hi? Good to see you too?”

“No, listen. He was at the café again. Joshua. After his run. Sweaty. Hoodie. Smiling. Paid for my coffee again.”

She gasps, already putting down her chopsticks. “Did he say something flirty?”

You nod, wide-eyed. “He said he missed me.”

Dead silence. Then Nayeon slaps the table so hard the metal chopsticks clatter. “YOU’RE DATING.”

“We are not dating,” you hiss, glancing around to make sure no one’s listening. “We’re flirting. Lightly. Slowly. Like… like an air fryer setting.”

“Okay, so when’s the wedding?”

You groan, sliding down in your seat. “I panicked. I made a girl-things joke and then elbowed him. Elbowed. Him.”

“I mean, that is your version of affection.”

You cover your face with your hands. “And now? Now I have to go back to the gym. Where I used to look like a sleep-deprived raccoon. And now I have to… I don’t know, try.”

Nayeon grins like the devil. “Oh? Someone’s thinking about their gym fit now?”

You peek through your fingers. “I literally bought new leggings this morning. I googled cute-but-functional ponytail styles.”

She clutches her heart. “You’re in deep.”

You nod solemnly. “Drowning.”

“You know what this means, right?” she says, sipping her soda. “You’re officially entering RomCom Phase Three.”

You raise a brow. “Which is?”

She smirks. “The ‘oh no, I actually care how I look around him’ phase. It's fatal.”

You sigh dramatically and stab a piece of kimchi. “Send flowers to the old me. She didn’t contour for cardio.”

Nayeon lifts her glass in salute. “To gym crushes and unexpected motivation.”

You clink her glass with yours, already plotting tomorrow’s playlist and wondering if there’s a subtle way to make “accidentally” run into Joshua without… you know… trying.

=

You walk into the gym like it’s just another day. Just another normal, totally-not-overthought, not-at-all-strategically-timed workout.

You’ve got your hair up in a ponytail that took two tries, a matching set you absolutely didn’t panic-buy during a midnight scroll, and your face set in what you hope is a calm, effortless expression.

Internally? Screaming.

You head over to the mats to warm up, muttering to yourself like you always do. It’s kind of your thing. Mostly because talking through your workouts distracts you from the sheer indignity of physical effort.

"Okay. Back. Finally. Time to prove I can still do a crunch without crying. Just twenty reps. Or ten. Or like... four. Let’s not be ambitious."

You drop into a stretch, huffing as your hamstrings scream at you.

"See, this is what happens when you let your uterus bench you for a week—your body turns into string cheese."

Then a voice behind you, smooth and slightly smug. 

“String cheese, huh? That’s a new one.”

Your soul leaves your body. You whip around, nearly falling sideways out of your stretch.

Joshua is there. Hoodie slung over his shoulder. Hair a little damp. Sweaty in the way that looks criminally good on him. And smiling, like he’s been standing there for longer than you’d like to think about.

You blink at him. “How long have you been there.”

“Long enough to hear your motivational speech,” he says, stepping onto the mat next to you.

You groan, covering your face with your towel. “God. I was doing bits. I was mid-rant. You can’t sneak up on a person during that.”

He chuckles, sitting down to stretch beside you like this is routine. “You talk to yourself a lot when you work out?”

“Only when I’m trying not to die.”

“Well,” he says, reaching forward with ease that makes you regret your whole existence, “it’s entertaining. I’ve missed the commentary.”

You peek at him through your fingers. “Don’t make me regret coming back.”

“You regret it already,” he says, nudging you gently with his knee. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

You try to scoff, but it comes out as a smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“Tell that to your string cheese arms.”

Then Joshua stretches, stands up, and says it so casually you almost miss it.

“Come on. I’ll spot you.”

Just like that. Like he didn’t just turn your heart into a meteorite. Like it’s normal to say things like that with his hair all messy and his shirt clinging to his back like a sin.

You pause, blinking up at him from your sad little mat. “Spot me where?”

He nods his head toward the weights section. “Pull-ups.”

You immediately shake your head. “Nooooi. No, no, no. We’re not doing that. My arms are still in recovery. Mentally.”

He grins, totally unfazed. “One rep. I’ll help.”

“You say that like I won’t dramatically collapse and cause a gym-wide scene.”

“I say that,” he replies, holding a hand out to you, “because I want to see if string cheese can fight gravity.”

You squint at him. “You really like testing your luck, huh?”

He just wiggles his fingers. Still waiting. You groan, roll your eyes, and slap your hand into his like you’ve just signed a very bad contract with a very cute devil.

“Fine. But when I fall, I’m haunting you.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

He leads the way, and you follow grumbling the whole time, of course. Loud enough that a few people glance over, but you’re too focused on not combusting to care.

And when you reach the bar, he steps behind you, hands automatically ready at your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You hesitate. Just one second. Long enough to register how close he is. How warm his hands are. How your brain is already trying to malfunction.

Then you huff, grab the bar, and mutter, “This is bullying disguised as fitness.”

And he, as expected, laughs. “Welcome back.”

You take a breath.

Hands on the bar. Shoulders tense. Joshua standing behind you, hands already hovering at your waist, warm and steady and—God. Focus.

“You ready?” he asks, voice low near your ear.

“No,” you answer flatly.

“Perfect. That’s the spirit.”

You suppress a groan and pull. Immediately, your arms are like, absolutely not, but then his hands are there—gently guiding, lifting just enough for you to move, your body rising in a way that’s technically assisted but still feels monumental.

Halfway up, your brain forgets how to form thoughts. Mostly because his hands are still on your waist and you are 98% sure he’s smiling. You can't see it, but you can feel it. That smug little smirk of his radiating off his face like heat.

You grunt. “I hate this. I hate you. I hate physics.”

Joshua chuckles. “You’re doing great.”

You manage a shaky pull, then drop with a dramatic gasp, limbs jelly.

He steadies you as you land, laughing. “That was almost one and a half.”

“I demand a trophy. And an ice pack. And maybe a wheelchair.”

“I’ll start a GoFundMe.”

You turn to him, still breathless, hair sticking to your forehead, and jab a finger at his chest. “You’re having way too much fun with this.”

“I really am,” he admits without shame.

You both stand there for a second, grinning like idiots, way too close for two people pretending this is just a casual gym friendship.

Then he adds, softer this time, “I meant it though. You did good.”

You glance up at him. He’s not teasing now. Not entirely. Just watching you with those warm eyes, a little out of breath himself.

And okay. Fine. You definitely need to leave before your knees give out for reasons unrelated to exercise.

“I’m going to the treadmill,” you say, turning abruptly.

Joshua calls after you. “What happened to hating cardio?”

“I hate being perceived more!”

You climb onto the treadmill with the grace of someone who just survived emotional warfare. You press a few random buttons, pretending to focus, when really you’re just trying to calm your entire nervous system.

And of course. Of course he follows you.

You glance to your side, and there he is, casually stepping onto the treadmill next to yours like he’s not the reason your soul left your body fifteen minutes ago.

“Please. Let me breathe.”

“I would, but I’m trying to flirt with you.”

Your feet nearly miss the belt.

You turn slowly, narrowing your eyes. “Trying?”

He shrugs, smirking. “Well, not very hard. You’re kinda doing all the work just existing.”

You make a noise—half choke, half laugh—as your brain trips over itself.

“That’s the line you’re going with?” you say, mock-scandalized.

“I didn’t plan it,” he says, grinning. “But I stand by it.”

You shake your head, biting your lip, heart pounding in your ears more than your feet on the treadmill.

“You know you’re not supposed to flirt while I’m exercising. I’m vulnerable. My dignity’s compromised.”

Joshua taps the speed up on your treadmill by 0.2 just to be annoying. “Dangerous territory. Anything could happen.”

You gasp. “Are you trying to get me to trip?”

“Trying to impress you with my multitasking.”

“Impress me by not getting kicked out for harassment.”

He raises a brow. “So flirting with you is harassment now?”

You glance at him, cheeks flushed, heartbeat wild, but your mouth still knows exactly what to say.

“Only because it’s working.”

He stares at you for a second. A beat. Then he grins wider, a tiny laugh slipping out as he looks back at the front of his treadmill.

And that silence between you? Buzzing. Effortless. Dangerous.

A few minutes pass. You’re both running now, side by side, music low, heart rates up, bodies warming into that steady, breathy rhythm. Joshua’s quiet for a while, eyes forward, jaw sharp in profile, the kind of focused that should not look as attractive as it does.

And then—casually, almost like he’s commenting on the weather—he says, 

“So… no boyfriend, or…?”

You glance at him, startled but amused, nearly tripping over your own feet again. The treadmill beeps angrily as you stabilize.

You huff out a laugh. “Wow. Smooth.”

“I thought so,” he says, lips twitching.

You shake your head. “Nope. No boyfriend.”

He raises a brow, like he’s waiting for the follow-up.

“I think my very tragic, very bold attempts at flirting should be proof enough that I’ve been single for a while.”

Joshua laughs, genuinely, the sound slipping out between breaths. “That bad, huh?”

“I elbowed you, Hong. That was one of my first moves.”

“Hey, I kind of liked that. Very… assertive.”

You snort. “If elbowing is the bar, your standards worry me.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, tapping up his speed just slightly. “I’m not looking for a black belt. Just someone who talks to herself and calls her arms string cheese.”

You let out a loud, delighted laugh, nearly doubling over on the belt before catching yourself.

“God, you're lucky I’m too out of breath to roast you right now.”

He glances at you, smiling. “I’ll take what I can get.”

You slow your treadmill just a little, You glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

“You’re dangerous,” you say, almost offhand, but not really.

Joshua arches a brow. “Yeah?”

You nod, swallowing back a grin. “You make me laugh.”

He turns fully toward you now, still jogging, like he doesn’t even feel the effort. “And?”

“And then my mind goes completely blank the next second,” you admit, mock dramatic. “It's inconvenient. Hazardous, even.”

He chuckles, tilting his head. “So I’m a health risk now?”

“Absolutely. Emotional distraction. Should come with a warning label.”

“Funny. You’re the one running next to me looking like an ad for gym crushes.”

You nearly stumble again. “Okay, sir—”

“I’m just saying,” he continues, all smug and unbothered, “if anyone’s dangerous here, it’s you. With your string cheese arms and motivational mumbling.”

“Oh my God,” you groan, dragging a hand down your face, but you’re smiling too hard to commit to the bit.

He leans slightly closer, not enough to break form, just enough for you to feel the heat off his skin. “Blank mind, huh?”

You blink up at him.

“Right now?” he adds, voice a little lower, just teasing enough.

Your brain promptly does exactly what he said: goes blank. You open your mouth. Nothing.

He grins. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He grins, then slows down too, finally stepping off and grabbing his water bottle. For a second, it’s just the low hum of the gym around you, the distant clank of weights, your own heartbeat in your ears.

You swipe your phone from the cubby, pretending not to glance his way. Pretending like your entire body isn’t aware of his body standing just a little too close beside you.

He clears his throat. You look up.

He’s watching you, towel around his neck, a tiny flicker of nervousness in his eyes. It’s subtle, but it’s there—just enough to make your breath catch.

“So,” he starts, “are you doing anything Saturday?”

You blink.

He rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish but still somehow maddeningly composed. “I figured since we’ve got this... ongoing string cheese banter thing, maybe we upgrade to real food. No treadmills. No pull-ups. Just—you know. A proper hangout.”

You stare at him.

Then blink again.

“Wait, are you asking me out?”

He smiles, boyish and warm. “Trying to.”

You feel your face flush. Completely. No saving it now.

“Okay, wow. Um. Yeah. Yes. I mean, if you're willing to risk spending time with me outside of a fluorescent-lit torture room.”

Joshua’s eyes crinkle. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Cool,” you say, suddenly hyper-aware of how sweaty and ridiculous you look. “So. Saturday.”

“Saturday,” he echoes.

You start walking toward the locker rooms, heart in your throat, smile you can’t hide, and just as you’re about to turn the corner, he calls out—

“Oh, and hey?”

You glance back.

He’s leaning against the wall now, casually, towel slung over his shoulder, smirking like he already knows what he’s done to you tonight.

“I like the ponytail.”

You're pretty sure you black out for a second.

And yeah, you definitely almost walk into a water fountain.

=

Saturday evening.

You’ve changed outfits no less than eight times. Jeans? Too casual. Skirt? Too short. White top? Too risky. That one jumpsuit you swore made you look expensive? Suddenly feels like a Halloween costume.

Nayeon is lying belly-down on your bed, scrolling through her phone with the kind of serenity only someone not going on a date can possess.

“You’ve tried on enough outfits to walk a runway twice,” she says, not even looking up. “Just wear the pink one. The flowy dress. You looked cute.”

You groan from the floor. “I don’t want to look cute. I want to look like… I don’t know. Dateable. Like, someone who won’t say ‘string cheese’ in conversation.”

“Too late for that,” she mutters.

You glare. “Traitor.”

But fifteen minutes and a mini breakdown later, you're standing in front of the mirror in that exact pink summer dress, hair soft and just messy enough to look effortless, cheeks lightly flushed from the nerves. You turn to Nayeon.

“Be honest. Do I look like I’m trying too hard?”

“You look like someone’s about to fall in love with you.”

Your face scrunches. “Ew.”

She just grins. “Text me when you’re home or I’m calling the cops.”

Your phone buzzes.

Joshua: I’m downstairs :)

Cue heart skipping a beat. You grab your purse, whisper-scream into it for good measure, then fly down the stairs like your life depends on it.

The front door opens to a soft summer breeze. And Joshua—standing there by a black car, in a white linen shirt and jeans that somehow make your brain short-circuit—holding a small bouquet of pink tulips.

You freeze.

He blinks, eyes raking over you once, slowly. Then a smile spreads across his face, that gentle kind that feels like it’s meant just for you.

“These…” He holds out the bouquet. “These match your dress. I swear it wasn’t planned. I didn’t even know what you were wearing. But—” He tilts his head. “I’m not mad about it.”

You reach for the flowers, trying to play it cool even as your fingers brush his. “Wow. So now you’re dangerous and lucky.”

Joshua laughs. “Let’s call it fate. Shall we?”

And with that, he opens the car door for you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like this is just the beginning.

You slide into the passenger seat, bouquet clutched in your hands, cheeks already burning. 

Breathe, you tell yourself. Be normal. Be chill. Be a functioning adult woman who is not immediately reduced to mush by a man in linen and a watch.

Joshua climbs in, starts the car with one smooth twist of his wrist, and you catch a glimpse of the watch on his arm—sleek, minimal, silver. The kind of thing that shouldn't be so attractive but somehow is. It hugs his wrist perfectly, gleaming in the evening light, making his whole presence feel like a very curated attack on your willpower.

“You look really pretty,” he says, glancing over at you.

You smile, teeth and all, like an idiot. “Thank you. You, uh…” You gesture vaguely at him. “You’re doing a lot. With your existence.”

He grins. “That’s the plan.”

You roll your eyes, but the heat in your face says otherwise. He shifts into reverse, turning in his seat—and that’s when it happens.

That move.

Hand casually reaching behind your seat for support as he backs out of the spot, arm stretched out behind you, the other on the wheel, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. And you—sitting there—trying not to make a sound because wow.

Your brain short circuits. Every rom-com you’ve ever watched flashes before your eyes. You hate how effective it is. You hate that you notice. You really hate that the veins in his forearm are doing some kind of ancient magic on your heart.

“You okay?” he asks, glancing at you with a knowing smile.

You clear your throat, gaze locked out the window. “Yeah. Just, uh. You know. Processing.”

“Processing?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Me backing out of a parking spot?”

“Yep. Very intense. Emotionally charged moment for me.”

He laughs, head tilting toward you. “You’re not very good at pretending you’re unimpressed.”

“And you’re not very good at pretending you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

He raises a brow. “Touché.”

You’re still trying to recover from the parking maneuver thing when Joshua pulls onto the main road, one hand casually on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift like he's not out here causing emotional chaos.

You steal a glance at him, then look away just as quickly. Your cheeks are still flaming. Your pulse? Racing. Your entire internal system? Malfunctioning.

“You sure you’ll survive tonight?”

You scoff, crossing your arms with the tulips still in hand. “Wow. Cocky and observant.”

He chuckles. “It’s a genuine question. I’ve seen, like, six flustered expressions in the past ten minutes. That’s a record.”

“I’m just—” You gesture vaguely at the air between you. “Adjusting. You’re very… composed for a man who brought flowers and wore a thirst trap on his wrist.”

Joshua raises an eyebrow. “Thirst trap?”

You point at his watch. “That.”

He glances down, then smirks. “So that’s what’s doing it?”

You narrow your eyes. “That and the parking move. Don’t play dumb.”

He laughs, actually laughs, and it’s that soft, warm sound again—like he can’t help it, like it’s just you who gets this version of him.

“You’re fun,” he says simply.

“That’s it? No sarcasm? No comeback?”

“Nope.” He glances over at you, smile still playing at his lips. “Just letting you have the moment.”

You make a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a dying noise. “Okay, you need to stop with the sincerity. My brain is short-circuiting.”

Joshua glances over, takes his time, then says in a tone so casual it might as well be criminal,

“You really do look beautiful tonight.”

He tilts his head, that gentle smile still playing at the corner of his mouth. “Why? Can’t handle a compliment?”

“No, I can, just—” You gesture vaguely. “Not when you say it like that. With your whole… face.”

“You mean, my face that you were just staring at for two straight minutes?”

Your jaw drops. “I was not—”

“You were. I timed it.”

“I was—strategizing.”

“Oh? About what?”

“About how not to combust before we even get to dinner.”

He hums, turning the wheel with one hand as he takes the next turn. “I like that you spiral. It’s cute.”

You glare at the dashboard. “Okay, wow. New level unlocked: professional menace.”

“You’re going to be a mess by dessert, aren’t you?”

Your mouth drops open again, and he laughs, that warm, smug, boyish laugh like he already knows he’s won.

You whip your head toward him. “Are you trying to kill me?”

He shrugs, far too pleased with himself. “Just saying. If you’re already like this now…” He glances at you, slow and deliberate. “I should warn you—I get worse.”

Your lungs fail. Your brain turns to soup. You want to fling yourself out the window in the most ladylike way possible.

You step out of the car and immediately stop in your tracks.

You were expecting a restaurant—like, a normal place with chairs and walls and menus laminated within an inch of their lives.

What you’re not expecting is this.

String lights drape like golden vines overhead, hanging between soft, leafy canopies and curved archways made of blooming roses and ivy. Candle-lit tables are scattered like little secrets across a stone path, with delicate place settings and linen napkins that scream “yes, this fork has three siblings and a trust fund.”

The view? A clear shot of the river, glistening under the dying blush of sunset.

You blink. “Is this… real?”

Joshua rounds the car, comes to stand beside you, hands casually in his pockets like he hasn’t just walked you into a scene from a K-drama finale.

“You like it?” he asks, with a glint in his eye he knows will wreck you.

You glance at him, wide-eyed. “I thought we were doing food. Not walking into a proposal.”

He just smirks, leading you towards the entrance. The host greets him by name.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re being suspiciously smooth tonight.”

He pulls out your chair. “I’m always smooth.”

You sit down slowly, tilting your head at him. “You wore the watch and chose a place with fairy lights. Who told you my entire aesthetic?”

“I pay attention.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that tonight.”

“I stand by it.”

The server comes by, and Joshua lets you order first, doesn’t even look at the menu, just says, “I’ll have whatever she’s having,” with a flash of a grin.

You eye him. “Careful, I panic-order.”

He smirks. “Exactly. It’s more fun that way.”

When the server leaves, you rest your chin on your hand. “So. This is your idea of a casual first date?”

Joshua shrugs, eyes dancing. “I told you. I get worse.”

You raise a brow. “You’re lucky I find that incredibly hot.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “You think I wore the watch for me?”

You choke on your laugh, nearly knocking over your water. He just grins again, leaning back with that maddening ease, the lights catching in his hair like he’s made to be part of this setting. 

And for a second, the world around you blurs. Just you, him, and the slow burn of something very, very real.

The night drips by like honey.

Joshua’s leaned back in his chair now, elbow resting against the armrest, fingers lazily twirling his wine glass. He says something—dry, sarcastic, just a bit ridiculous—and you burst out laughing.

“Okay, wait,” you say, breathless, wiping at your eyes. “That’s not even a real story. You’re making that up.”

He grins like it’s a secret between you two. “Maybe. But you laughed. That’s a win.”

“Barely!” you say, even though you're still giggling.

He watches you, and it’s not in a way that makes you feel self-conscious—it’s the opposite. It’s warm. Attentive. Like you’re the only thing in the room worth looking at. And that’s what really does it.

You sip your wine to distract yourself. “Do you practice your charm? Like, in the mirror? Or were you just born annoying and heart-melting?”

Joshua tilts his head. “A little of both. But I do study.”

“Oh yeah?”

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table now, voice dipping just enough to make you sit straighter.

“Like… I noticed you blush when I compliment you. But only if it’s quiet. Just between us.”

Your lips part slightly. “I—No, I don’t.”

“Sure.” He smiles like he’s absolutely sure. “And you smile bigger when you’re trying not to. Like right now.”

You press your lips together, willing yourself not to grin.

“And,” he continues, “you’re trying really hard to look unimpressed, but I caught you staring at me while I was talking about that ridiculous high school band story. Twice.”

You drop your head onto the table with a groan. “You’re unbearable.”

He laughs, soft and low. “But you like me anyway.”

You peek up at him, cheeks warm, heartbeat wrecked. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He tilts his head. “Let me walk you out later and I just might.”

You know you should say something smart, witty—anything—but you’re gone. Gone in the way that makes your chest ache with excitement and dread, both.

Because you know this kind of thing doesn’t come around often. Not the fancy lights, not the food, not even the compliments. But the way he looks at you. The way he listens. The way he talks to you like he’s always known how to.

You’d kick yourself if you let this go.

So, you sit up straighter, meet his gaze across the candlelight, and smile—soft and certain.

“Okay,” you say, lifting your glass. “Let’s see how charming you really are.”

After that night—the fairy lights, the river view, that maddening smirk—you knew you were done for.

But what you didn’t know was that Joshua Hong would treat this whole thing like a personal mission.

Not to impress you. No. To ruin you. Softly. Deliberately. One blush, one laugh, one lingering glance at a time.

The first date? A glowing success.

The second? A late-night bookshop crawl followed by hotteok from a street cart, where he brushed a crumb off your cheek and you nearly forgot how to speak.

The third? Rainy-day coffees and pressed knees in a tiny corner booth, and the way he said your name when you laughed—like it meant something.

Fourth? He taught you how to play pool. You lost. On purpose. (Okay, not really. But the way he leaned over to show you how to hold the cue stick? Yeah. You didn’t mind losing.)

By the time your fifth official date rolls around—some rooftop dinner he somehow made feel private and cozy in the middle of Seoul—you’re barely holding it together. The city lights glitter below. The food is untouched. Your wine’s going warm.

You’re talking about something—you don’t even remember what—when he tilts his head and says it:

“You’re driving me a little crazy, you know that?”

You stop breathing for a beat too long “I am?”

“Mm-hmm. And I’m being very patient.”

Your fingers tighten around your glass. “Are you saying I’m testing your willpower, Hong?”

He grins, slow and devastating. “I’m saying, if this keeps up, I might kiss you before dessert.”

The air shifts. You’re aware of everything—the hum of the rooftop heater, the buzz of the city below, the way your pulse is loud enough to hear in your ears.

You set your glass down. Very carefully. “Would that be a problem?”

He leans in slightly, elbows on the table. “For who?”

You lick your lips, heartbeat now fully sprinting. “For the cheesecake you ordered.”

Joshua laughs, but there’s tension under it. Electricity.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmurs again.

You smile, sweet and shaken. “Takes one to know one.”

After dinner, neither of you said anything about leaving. You just stood up, your hands brushed, and somehow—without planning, without speaking—they laced together like they'd been doing it forever.

No one commented. No one let go.

Now you’re walking through the quiet streets of the city, the kind that still shimmer with soft light, where the buildings are lower, the night quieter. A gentle breeze wraps around your bare arms, and his thumb brushes along your knuckles every few steps.

He swings your hands a little, like he’s not aware of the fact that every single nerve in your body is alert and buzzing. “So,” he says casually, “fifth date.”

You side-eye him, smiling. “Who's counting?”

He smirks. “I am. I keep a very detailed record. For science.”

You roll your eyes. “Let me guess—charts, graphs, infographics?”

He nods. “There's even a bar graph for the amount of times I’ve caught you staring at me.”

Your jaw drops in offense. “I do not—”

Joshua stops walking. You almost take another step before you notice, but he holds your hand just tight enough that you pause too, blinking up at him.

He’s looking at you. But not in the teasing, boyish way you’re used to. It’s softer now. Serious.

“You do,” he says gently. “But it’s okay. I stare too.”

You can’t find your voice for a second. It’s stuck somewhere behind your ribs.

The breeze moves your hair. He tucks a strand behind your ear like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I was gonna wait. Be smooth. You know, the gentleman thing.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you’re afraid it might echo in the stillness.

“But you look at me like that,” he murmurs, “and I kind of forget how to pretend.”

You open your mouth—but nothing comes out.

He steps closer. Just enough that you feel the warmth of him, smell the faint trace of his cologne and something clean and crisp like fresh laundry and summer air. He’s still holding your hand.

He tilts his head, slow, careful. “Can I?”

And you whisper—because it’s all you can manage—“Please.”

The kiss is soft. Barely there at first. His hand cups your cheek like he’s afraid you might vanish, and you lean in like you’ve been waiting for this exact moment since the beginning of time.

It’s gentle. Tender. But it’s not hesitant.

Because when his other hand settles on your waist, when he deepens the kiss just slightly, when you move closer without even thinking—it’s clear that every step, every look, every smile, led here.

And when you pull apart, just an inch, still close enough to breathe each other in, he doesn’t say anything right away.

He just rests his forehead against yours and whispers, “Yep. Definitely a sixth date.”

You laugh, quiet and breathless, standing on your tiptoes so your noses are still brushing, your hands curling lightly into the front of his shirt without even thinking.

His eyes crinkle as he watches you, his forehead still pressed gently to yours. You’re so close you can see the curl of his lashes, the shine in his pupils that makes your stomach flip like it’s never known peace.

Then he murmurs, voice low and teasing, “What’s the look for, pretty girl?”

Your smile wobbles just a little because he says it like he means it. Like you’re not just pretty, you’re his pretty girl. And you don’t even think he realizes how much that nickname already has you unraveling.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “You’re just…”

You trail off, shaking your head a little, and he pulls back just enough to look at you fully, still smiling, still curious. 

“Just what?”

You lift your brows like really? “You kissed me under fairy lights, brought me flowers, opened my car door, made me laugh so hard I choked on water, and looked at me like I hung the stars—and now you’re asking what the look is for?”

Joshua grins, the kind that starts at his lips but ends in his eyes—so warm, so soft it’s almost unbearable. “So I’m doing okay, then?”

“You’re so lucky you’re cute.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“Mm,” you hum, pretending to think, still pressed close to him. “You also smell nice.”

He laughs, tilting his head back just a little, and it vibrates through his chest where your hands still rest.

He brings one hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear again and lets his fingers linger just behind your jaw. “You’re making it really hard not to kiss you again.”

You shrug, leaning in even closer. “Who said you had to stop?”

And you kiss him this time. His hands find your waist again, his thumbs brushing the fabric of your dress as he kisses you like he has nowhere else to be, like the city around you doesn’t exist, like this sidewalk is the only place in the world.

When you finally pull away—barely—you’re both smiling. Staring. A little stunned, maybe.

“I can’t believe this is real,” you say, laughing into his chest.

He wraps his arms around you then, pulling you in, your feet slightly off the ground for just a second as he murmurs into your hair, “It’s real. All of it. You. Me.”

You nestle closer, your smile pressed to his shoulder. “You’re the best kind of trouble, Hong.”

He chuckles. “You’ve got no idea.”

=

Another day, another gym session, and naturally—you’re swearing under your breath at the cable machine like it personally insulted your ancestors.

“Why,” you mutter, wrestling with the pin, “do you exist—”

“You okay there?” a voice cuts in.

You look up, blinking.

He’s tall. Friendly smile. The kind of guy who probably means well but is leaning just a little too close to be casual.

You smile politely. “Oh, yeah. Just… negotiating with this death trap.”

He chuckles, clearly taking it as an invitation. “First time trying that machine?”

You nod, tugging your towel over your shoulder. “Yeah. I usually avoid anything that might require actual upper body strength.”

He laughs again, inching closer. “Well, I could show you how to—”

“I have a boyfriend,” you blurt out.

He freezes.

So do you.

You don’t know why you said it. It just… slipped out. Pure panic. Your fight-or-flight response has a third setting now: fake boyfriend defense.

The guy straightens, brows raised slightly. “Oh. Cool, cool. Just being friendly.”

Before you can awkwardly backtrack, you hear him.

“Everything good here?”

Joshua. He appears behind you like magic, towel slung over one shoulder, hair damp and sticking adorably to his forehead, shirt clinging in all the distracting places.

You glance at him like please go with it, and he slides in next to you, one hand gently resting at the small of your back. You lean into him without hesitation.

The guy eyes Joshua, clocking the very real heat in the space between you two, and holds his hands up in surrender. “Got it. My bad. See you around.”

Once he’s gone, Joshua doesn’t say anything at first. Just lifts a brow and leans in, murmuring near your ear, “Boyfriend, huh?”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “I panicked.”

Joshua smirks, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Didn’t seem like panic. Seemed… natural.”

You scoff. “What are you, pleased about it?”

He shrugs. “A little flattered, not gonna lie.”

“You’re impossible.”

He grins. “And yet… you called me your boyfriend.”

You jab him lightly in the ribs with your elbow. “Shut up.”

He doesn't even give you a second to recover.

Just flashes that maddeningly smug grin, rests a hand on your back like it's the most natural thing in the world, and says, “Okay, let’s go, girlfriend. Time to do pull-ups.”

You blink.

“You—what—excuse me?”

Joshua shrugs like it’s nothing. “You said it, not me. I'm just respecting the title.”

Your mouth opens, then closes. “That’s… not how this works.”

“Oh no?” He glances over his shoulder, leading you toward the pull-up bar. “So I don’t get boyfriend privileges now?”

You gape. “What privileges?”

“Well for starters, teasing rights. Unlimited. Spotting privileges—obviously. And I think there’s something in the fine print about post-gym smoothies. My treat, of course.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are warm, your heart racing like he just kissed you again.

He stops in front of the pull-up bar and turns to face you, offering his hands to help you up like he’s done this a hundred times. “Come on, girlfriend. You’ve got this.”

You squint at him. “You’re gonna milk this forever, aren’t you?”

He tilts his head, smile boyish, eyes soft. “Only if you let me.”

You stare at him a beat longer. Then sigh dramatically as you step forward, placing your hands on the bar. “Fine. But if I fall on my face, I’m blaming my fake boyfriend.”

Joshua’s hands find your waist—confident, gentle. “Correction. You said I am your boyfriend. I’m just honoring your truth.”

You groan. “I’m never living this down.”

“Not a chance,” he says, grinning. “But don’t worry, girlfriend. I’ve got you.”

Later you two are in his car, in the parking lot of the smoothie place that has now become part of the routine. You’re curled up in the passenger seat, legs tucked under you, sipping your mango smoothie through a bright yellow straw. 

Joshua’s smoothie is already half gone, sitting in his cup holder while he taps the steering wheel lightly with his fingers.

You’re both quiet. Not in a weird way. Just that post-gym, smoothie-in-hand, everything-is-good kind of quiet.

Until he breaks it.

“So…” he says, glancing over at you with that unmistakable spark in his eyes, “how long have we been dating?”

You nearly choke on your drink.

You turn to him, eyes wide. “What?”

Joshua shrugs like he’s asking about the weather. “I just think it’s important to know. Like… are we new-new? Or established couple? Do I get to call you babe yet? Do we have matching outfits in our future? Are we meeting the parents? You know, just the basics.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He leans his head against the headrest, grinning over at you. “I’m ridiculous? You’re the one out here declaring relationships under pressure.”

“It was a reflex!”

“So was kissing you under fairy lights,” he counters smoothly. “But I don’t regret it.”

Your cheeks burn immediately. “That was different.”

“Was it?” he teases, voice soft now. “Felt pretty real to me.”

You try to focus on your smoothie again, the straw suddenly too interesting. But then his hand reaches over, fingers curling around your wrist gently, guiding the cup away.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and your eyes lift to meet his.

It’s not as teasing now. Still warm. Still boyish. But there’s something else behind it, too. Something softer.

“I’m not making fun of you, you know,” he says. “You could’ve said anything back there. But you said boyfriend. And… I liked it.”

Your breath catches. He watches your face carefully, fingers still brushing lightly against your wrist.

You swallow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A small pause. “And if it ever stops being a reflex and starts being real—I'd be really, really okay with that.”

Your heart is thudding so hard you’re surprised the smoothie cup doesn’t crack in your hand.

So you do the only thing that makes sense. You lean over the console, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder, and kiss him.

No hesitation this time. No fairy lights or shy glances. Just you and him and the quiet of his car and the electricity that seems to spark to life the second your lips meet.

He kisses you back immediately—like he’s been waiting, like he’s memorized the rhythm of your laugh just to get here. His hand slides into your hair, other one anchoring at your waist as you shift slightly, leaning into him more. The center console is a pain, but neither of you seem to care.

It’s soft, at first. And then it’s not.

There’s something heady about it like all the teasing and tension and almost-kisses are finally catching up to you in a rush of heat and breath and fingertips that linger just a second longer than they should.

When you finally pull away, your noses still brushing, both of you a little dazed, he grins.

“Okay,” he breathes, “so I’m definitely calling you babe now.”

You laugh, dropping your forehead to his shoulder. “I knew you were going to say that.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, lips warm and slow. “Get used to it, girlfriend.”

=

It’s been a couple of months now.

You’re officially, undeniably, Joshua Hong’s girlfriend—which still feels slightly unreal whenever he smiles at you across a gym mirror like you hung the stars yourself.

Today, he’s in full personal trainer mode Which should be illegal, honestly.

The sleeveless shirt. The backwards cap. The little encouraging claps. The smirk he tries to hide when you’re clearly avoiding the workout he set up for you.

You eye the bench like it just threatened your family.

“Okay,” he says brightly, standing next to it, arms crossed and grinning, “three sets of twelve. You’ve got this.”

You hold your water bottle like a shield. “Can’t we just… not?”

“Baby.”

You pout instantly. “Josh.”

He walks over, lowers his voice into that dangerous territory of sweet and smug. “You said you wanted to work on your arms.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean today.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You say that every time.”

You take a dramatic step back. “Because every time you try to kill me.”

“It’s literally three sets.”

“Three sets too many!”

“Come on,” he coaxes, reaching for your hand. “I’ll do them with you.”

“You’ll make it look effortless.”

“I’ll pretend to struggle.”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s worse.”

He chuckles, catching you by the waist and pulling you toward him. “Baby, please,” he murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle your cheek, voice low and sinful. “You’ll look so good doing them.”

You groan, weak to the way he says it. “You’re evil.”

“And you’re stalling.” He grins, presses a kiss to your temple. “Let’s go. I’ll spot you. We’ll flirt between sets. It’ll be romantic.”

You look up at him, trying to stay strong, but the boyish grin, the arms, the literal audacity of him being this supportive and attractive—it’s too much.

You sigh in surrender. “Fine. But if I start crying, I want bubble tea after.”

He winks. “Deal. But only if you flex for me when we’re done.”

“Joshua!”

“Babe.”

You grab the dumbbells, grumbling under your breath. He’s already standing behind the bench like your biggest fan, hyping you up with a proud grin.

And honestly? He makes it hard to say no.

He’s driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on your thigh like it belongs there which, apparently, it does now. The windows are cracked just enough to let in the late evening breeze, your gym bag tucked in the backseat along with your pride.

You're slouched dramatically in the passenger seat, arms crossed, head turned toward the window. “I’m never going to the gym with you again.”

Joshua chuckles under his breath, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You say that every time.”

You whip your head toward him, scandalized. “Because every time you make me do something that feels like some part of my body will fall off afterwards”

He just grins, full of sunshine and mischief. “And yet, you keep showing up. Interesting.”

“I was sore for three days last week. Three. I couldn’t even reach for my lip balm without my arm threatening to fall off.”

Joshua laughs outright this time, his thumb rubbing lazy circles against your thigh. “You’re being so dramatic.”

“I’m being realistic. I almost saw my ancestors mid shoulder press.”

He’s still laughing when he pulls up to a red light, finally turning to face you fully, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Darling,” he says, voice low and teasing, “you flirted with me at the gym the moment we met.”

You gape at him. “I did not.”

He raises a brow. “You called me ‘Bambi eyes’ to your bestfriend”

Your jaw drops. “That doesn’t count!”

“Oh, it counts.”

“You were wearing that stupid tight shirt!”

He smirks, turning back to the road as the light goes green. “So you were looking.”

You slap his arm lightly. “You’re impossible.”

He chuckles again, sliding his hand back up to lace your fingers with his. “And yet, here you are. In my car. Post-workout. Holding my hand.”

He squeezes your hand, voice softer now. “And you love it.”

You sigh, leaning your head back with a little grin. “Ugh. Unfortunately.”

He glances over at you, and even with just streetlight shadows flickering through the windshield, his smile is pure trouble. “Good. Because I love you right back, sore arms and all.”

=

It’s way too early for anything.

The sun isn’t even fully up, just a soft hint of light peeking through the curtains. The room is still cloaked in that hazy warmth of sleep, all tangled sheets and the familiar scent of him lingering in the air. You’re curled deep into the blanket, refusing to move.

Joshua, however, is shirtless and awake—stretching by the window like it’s normal to be up at this ungodly hour. His sweatpants hang low on his hips, hair a fluffy, sleep-tousled mess, and he’s doing this thing where he rolls his shoulders like he doesn’t know what it does to you.

Menace.

Absolute menace.

You squint at him from your cozy cocoon. “If this is your way of seducing me into jogging, I’m still not going.”

He grins, walking over to your side of the bed with slow, obnoxiously confident steps. “It’s not seduction, babe. It’s encouragement.”

“Encouragement should not involve looking like that while I’m still horizontal and emotionally vulnerable.”

He leans down, brushing his nose against your cheek. “Come run with me. Just fifteen minutes.”

You groan, clutching the blanket tighter. “If my legs weren’t sore from yesterday, I’d consider it.”

Joshua chuckles, voice deep and warm against your skin. “Whose fault is that?”

Your eyes snap open. “Yours. You and your ‘just one more set, babe, you got this’ nonsense. I did not have that.”

“Pretty sure you liked it.”

“Pretty sure you’re single if you don’t let me sleep.”

He laughs again, reaching for your blanket—but you swat his hand away with a sleepy glare. “Don’t you dare.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. I’ll go suffer by myself. All alone. With no company. No moral support. No—”

“I’ll give you a back massage when you get home,” you mumble, cutting him off.

Silence. You peek one eye open to find him blinking down at you, stunned.

“Full massage,” you add. “Oil and everything. No complaints.”

Joshua narrows his eyes. “You’re bribing me.”

You smile sweetly. “I’m winning.”

He sighs again, much more theatrically this time, and drops back into bed beside you. “Fine. Morning run postponed. I expect thirty minutes, minimum.”

You grin, rolling over to bury your face in his neck. “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Hong.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, voice low and satisfied. “I’m still getting that massage though.”

You hum sleepily. “Mmhm. Only if you promise to stop being hot before 7 a.m.”

Joshua laughs quietly, wrapping his arms around you like he has nowhere else to be. “No promises.”

And just like that, the room slips back into that quiet stillness, you tucked safely against his chest, both of you tangled in each other and the kind of love that makes even the early mornings feel like magic.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader on her period

Summary: Feyd doesn’t like anyone keeping him from his wife’s side, especially when she’s in pain. 

*Based on an anon ask. Whoever that was, I hope this makes it to you :)*

Notes/Warnings: the subject is reader’s period; period pain; naive Feyd; threatening and aggressive Feyd; soft Feyd; Feyd hates everyone but his wife; allusion to period sex but no actual smut, mention of pregnancy. 

Words: 1150

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

“Get out of my way!” he snaps from the other side of the bedroom door, and you swell with guilt as you imagine your handmaid shivering like an unprotected baby critter. Which, in Giedi Prime, is exactly what she is. 

She’s your critter that, at your request three weeks ago, Feyd agreed to have accompany you from your home planet following the wedding. You wanted something familiar and comfortable within reach and told him her presence would support you in adapting to your new life as his wife.

At the time, you took his compliance as a promising sign. He didn’t particularly care for the people of Caladan, but he cared for you enough to set aside his distaste for an additional outsider in his palace. But that distaste never fails to return tenfold whenever the Caladanian traditions and practices that your handmaid refuses to let go of get in Feyd’s way. 

“Move!” you hear in that menacing tone. 

You want to rush to her defense before things get out of hand, but you can’t so much as shift on the bed without your body aching. 

“M-My Lord,” Nadya stutters. “It’s not proper to see my Lady in her condition.”

A groan rips from your throat from more than just the pain in your abdomen. You’ve tried to explain to her that the Harkonnens do not abide by the same parameters of modesty that your people do, but she’s not nearly as open-minded when it comes to accepting a different lifestyle. However, she needs to shut her mouth and let him pass. There are much worse things than your husband witnessing you in the throes of monthly bleeding. 

Feyd practically growls, and then you hear the scrape of a metal knife unsheathing and a light feminine gasp. 

“I have not killed you solely because she requested it of me,” he says. “But if you refuse to let me see my wife, then I have no reason to continue my generosity and you will be offered to my harpies for their nighttime meal.”

Fuck. You know he’ll do it. Your husband is an ‘ask for forgiveness, not permission’ kind of man, and the fact that his harpies have been eyeing your handmaid for a while only encourages his mind’s reasoning. 

Reaching toward your nightstand, your fingers wrap around the handle of the little service bell you were given and give it a shake. A moment later, the door opens a crack. 

“My Lady,” your handmaid says in response to your call. She attempts to slip her body through a narrow opening between the door and its frame to prevent your husband’s entry, but Feyd shoves her aside at the first opportunity and rushes inside the room. 

His brow furrows at the sight of your body curled into a ball. “My love…” he mutters, racing to your side and kneeling by the bed. He takes your hand and weaves your fingers together, his worried gaze raking over your form. “What happened? What is this?”

“My Lady, I tried to stop–”

“Quiet!” Feyd snaps, shooting your handmaid a glare. “I’ll still gut you!”

Your fingers squeeze his to draw his attention back to you. “Go, Nadya. It’s ok,” you tell her. “My husband can take care of me.”

Feyd lips curl upward slightly, but his anxiety over your current state blocks a full-fledged smile from forming. His other hand raises to cup your cheek and you hum under his soft touch. 

In the corner of your eye, you can see Nadya hesitate. The frown on her face is prominent enough to be detected without your gaze directly upon her. But her agitation must cease. She has to learn and conform if she values her life. There is only so much you can do to protect her, and if Feyd reaches the breaking point of his willingness to allow opposition within his own marriage—especially due to someone who is neither you nor him—it’s unlikely you’ll be able to sneak her onto a ship and transport her back to Caladan before she is executed. 

You’ll have another discussion with her—the fourth, you think—once your body decides to end its self-punishment; assuming she survives that long. For the moment, at least, she has accepted your instruction and left you alone with your husband. 

“You’re hurting,” Feyd says once Nadya is gone. “How do I stop it?”

“It’ll stop in a couple of days.”

“Days?” he echoes, offended at the information. “I want it to stop now!” 

You sigh, placing your hand atop the one holding your cheek. “That would be nice, but that's not how it works,” you tell him. A pang of pain stabs your stomach and you moan.  

“How what works?” he rushes out.

“My monthly–” 

You pause at the curious expression on his face, and you realize he has no idea what you're talking about. You thought it was obvious what was wrong with you. You thought he understood. But then you remember he has lived a life with no mother, no sisters, no female relatives. There was no one to explain to him the unfair complexities of being a woman. And the Baron certainly wouldn’t have bothered. The way that man-beast mentally operates teaches that women are good for producing heirs, and in that respect, all Feyd would have needed to learn is how to stick his hard cock between a woman’s legs. To your appreciation, he does that quite well, but still, it’s surprising as much as unsurprising that your husband is so naive. 

Before you can expand your answer, Feyd says, “I’m not letting this happen ever again.”

You chuckle. “It’s monthly, my love, and I’m afraid it only doesn’t happen if I’m pregnant.” 

“Then I’ll make you pregnant,” he responds with an air of great determination. “And I’ll keep you that way.”

You’re instantly obsessed with the thought; perhaps too much considering you’ve known the man for two months and have been married to him for significantly less, but you do love him. And being filled with his baby creates an image that swirls a fire in your belly to combat some of the deep ache. 

You grin but it lasts only a second before your teeth are forced to clench, eyelids pinching shut at another wave of agony.

“I hate this,” Feyd says, brushing your hair back from your face.

Once you ride out the wave, your eyes open to meet his. “You know,” you start, your breath heavy. “I’ve heard rumors from other women back home about something that helps with the pain.” Feyd’s features eagerly come to life. “It’s a bit messy, though.”

“Whatever it is, my love, I’ll do it.”

“Ok,” you say, a lazy smile curving your lips. “Take off your clothes.”

Feyd’s eyes widen at the request. And then he smirks.

[itoshiierae]

helloooo!!! i would like to request for quaterback!oliver aiku & nerd!reader doing it in the locker room 5 mins before his practice 🥵🥵😭

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

ᡣ𐭩 ft: quarterback!oliver aiku x nerd!reader

ᡣ𐭩 notes: i mean realistically, 5 mins before practice there should be teammates around… but smut logic > realistic sports schedules after all right???? 🤭

ᡣ𐭩 cw: minors dni, semi-public sex (locker room setting, risk of being caught), f!reader, unprotected sex, cursing, cheating (reader is technically the other woman), possessive dirty talk, rough handling, toxic dynamic, light degradation

you told yourself you wouldn’t answer again. but then his name flashes across your screen, and suddenly your resolve feels thinner than your excuses. somehow, he always knows how to pull you back in.

aiku: locker room. 4:55. don’t be late.

as usual, straight to the point. no “hi” or “how’ve you been.” just oliver aiku with that same cocky confidence, expecting you to show up and you hate how you always do.

──★

you sneak in through the back route the one behind the old gym storage, where the sensor lights don’t work and the door never fully locks. he’s the one who showed you the way. told you no one would notice if you timed it right.

your fingers brush against the edge of the locker room door.

and when you finally push it open, he’s already there leaning against one of the lockers like he owns the place. towel slung low on his hips, pads discarded lazily to the side, hair damp from the pre-practice rinse he took just to cool off.

he doesn’t even flinch when you arrive — just tilts his head, with that same infuriating smirk and lidded gaze.

“knew you’d come,” he chuckles, eyes dragging over you slowly.

“you always do when i call, huh??”

you roll your eyes, feigning indifference. but it’s a weak attempt and he knows it. your body moves before your brain catches up. you walk towards him hesitant, but unable to stop yourself. then in two strides, he’s already in front of you and your back immediately hits the locker with a muted thud. now suddenly, pretending like you don’t want him doesn’t feel so easy anymore.

and before you know it, his mouth crashes into yours like he’s been holding back all day. you gasp into his mouth, already off-balance from how rough he’s kissing you. and then his hand finds its way under your skirt, “five minutes,” he murmurs, fingers curling around your panties. “i’ll make it count.”

your panties barely hit the floor before he’s already lining himself up; no hesitation or trace of gentleness in the way his body moves. he immediately drives into you without warning, one hand steadying your hips, the other muffling your cry before it even forms.

your eyes go wide, jaw slack, as he buries himself in one clean motion. your body jerks, hips tilting — and his respond just as fast, snapping forward with practiced force.

“quiet,” he whispers, lips brushing against your ear.

“can’t let them hear how good i fuck my favorite little nerd dumb, huh???”

“y-you’re too rough— i can’t— it’s too much—”, your words blur into moans, barely intelligible as his grip tightens.

your knees falter beneath you, spine arching as your mind empties. not a single thought remains, only the way he’s hitting all the right spots and the obscene rhythm that leaves your body clinging to his.

“damn…” he mutters, almost to himself. “you’re doing so fucking good for me, you know that??”

his pace doesn’t slow. if anything, it gets rougher— like your whimper was permission. he grips your hips tighter, his pace turning desperate as if he’s trying to bury everything he’s not ready to say inside you.

“fuck—this how you act when you miss me, huh?” he laughs breathlessly, teeth grazing your neck.

“being so good… so goddamn good i might actually lose my mind…”

you gasp. your body’s trembling now. but he’s not done. he grips your face and makes you look at him.

“don’t look away,” he growls, hips still snapping forward.

“wanna see that pretty face while you fall apart on my cock.”

right when your body begins to unravel, your grip tightening around his back like you’re holding on for dear life — a sharp whistle cuts through the air from the field outside, dragging you back to reality like a slap to the face. he doesn’t pull out right away. just leans down instead, mouth brushing your skin like it’s a habit.

“time’s up, sweetheart,” he says, breath warm on your shoulder. “the team’s waiting… and so’s my girl.”

you blink at him, stunned. “…you said she wasn’t serious.”

“she isn’t,” he says without missing a beat. then he leans in — gaze steady until he’s close enough for you to feel the weight of it.

“but i think about you before every touchdown…. every damn time.”

a soft whimper slips past your lips before you can stop it. embarrassment prickles under your skin, but beneath it… there’s that ache again. the one you never know how to silence. he cups your jaw, thumb tracing the edge of it before tilting your head up as his gaze locked onto yours like he’s daring you to deny him.

“you’ll stay quiet, yeah?” he whispers. and then he finishes inside you, a final thrust stealing the breath from your lungs and what little sense you had left.

his eyes drop for a second to the mess between your thighs and the smirk that curls on his lips is nothing short of wicked. then, he quickly slips on his practice gear from the nearby bench like he didn’t just ruin you in five reckless minutes.

“next week, same time,” he grins. “and leave a little mess behind, yeah?? i like when the boys ask why my gloves smell like heaven.”

you hear it the second the door clicks shut behind him — whistles blowing, teammates shouting, the field coming alive. his world resumes like nothing happened. and you’re still tucked away in the corner of the locker room, throbbing between your legs, breath caught somewhere in your throat. but the worst part? your body’s still begging for him and deep down, you know you’d let him ruin you all over again.

© itoshiierae 2025 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ please do not modify or repost my content onto any other platforms.

[makeyuomine]

“tell me you hate me”

Summary: You introduced Harry to your parents, but things haven’t been going well. When you go to check on him and apologize, it turns out you're the one who needs a moment to unwind.

Type: Blurb

Author's Note: This is very loosely based on a deleted scene from the movie, The Notebook. Enjoy!

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

I knocked on the bathroom door.

“Someone’s in here!” Harry called out.

I opened the door anyway, relieved to find it unlocked. Slipping inside, I quickly shut it behind me before anyone could notice.

Harry’s drying his hands when his eyes meet mine. I lock the door behind me and start toward him. He leans back against the nearest wall as I begin to ramble.

“Tell me you hate me. I’m so sorry about my parents. They can be very difficult. I think they think I’m going through some kind of phase, which is insulting because I’m twenty-seven. Oh god, and my mother. I’m so sorry—”

He cups my jaw with quiet control, and I go still, the urge to speak slipping away.

His eyes linger on my mouth before meeting mine again. He exhales, steady and calm. “Stop worrying,” he says, voice low but certain.

“I’m happy to be here. I just care that you’re not stressing yourself out over it. Okay?” he asserts his voice so I know he means it.

The simple act makes my pulse quicken. His eyes keep flicking to my mouth.

“Okay,” I manage to whisper.

A few seconds pass before I speak up again, “And then my dad asked if you were into crypto, which I know he thinks is some sort of personality test, and my mom just kept staring at your tattoos, and I’m just—ugh—I should’ve prepped them better or maybe not said anything about how we met, not that there's anything wrong with it, I just—God, they’re so judgy and—”

A slow exhale leaves Harry as he leans in, his forehead coming to rest against mine.

He let out a quiet laugh. “What am I going to do with you, huh?” His hands explored slowly—one gripping my hip, the other brushing up to cradle my neck.

“What matters most to me is how you feel,” I said gently. “I just don’t want them to make you rethink being with me.”

Harry’s eyes widened, a flicker of both shock and concern passing through them. It was clear he hadn’t expected that to be weighing on me. He moved closer to me without hesitation, ready to comfort me.

“What? Baby, that’ll never happen.”

His hands cup my face.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “I love you,” then he closed the space between us with a kiss.

Almost immediately, our kiss grew stronger, and we had to pause to catch our breath. He leaned me back against the sink while my hands softly moved across his back and threaded through his hair.

He lifts me so I’m perched on the sink. His kisses wander from my neck down to my collarbone, then back up to meet my lips. I melted into him instinctively, fingers clutching at the front of his shirt. The kiss only deepened, messy and impatient. My body arched into his like I suddenly needed him closer—now.

My fingers slid down to the hem of his shirt, brushing against the skin just beneath. He doesn’t need me to spell it out—he knows exactly what I’m hinting at.

“We don’t have long,” he murmured, stepping between my legs.

“I know,” I whispered, breath catching as he leaned in to kiss me, slow and deep, one hand cupping my face while the other slid down my waist.

The faucet dripped faintly behind us, the only sound in the room besides our breathing. His fingers grazed the hem of my dress, hiking it up slowly, testing how far he could take it. I let out the faintest gasp as his hand slipped beneath the fabric, cool fingers tracing the edge of my panties.

His fingers teased the elastic of my panties, tugging gently. His eyes locked with mine, silently asking for permission. I felt my pupils dilate, mesmerized by the man before me.

I nod with almost too much enthusiasm.

He kisses me again before quickly pulling off my panties and slipping them into his back pocket.

“Gotta be quiet for me, yeah?” he said, lips brushing against my jaw. “Don’t wanna give your mum another reason to dislike me.”

I nodded quickly, teeth sinking into my bottom lip to hold back the sound threatening to escape when two fingers slid into me with practiced ease. I gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white, hips rolling forward on instinct.

He curled his fingers just right, slow and steady, his thumb brushing over my clit in tight, deliberate circles. I bit down harder, fighting the tremble in my thighs, trying not to whimper.

“Look at you,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to mine, “Taking it so well. So fuckin’ good for me, even here.”

My breath hitched as the heat coiled tighter in my stomach. I couldn’t even answer him, not without making a sound. My eyes fluttered shut, head falling back slightly as he picked up the pace, fingers plunging deeper, thumb circling faster.

The mirror was fogged slightly from the heat between us, even though the room was still and cool.

I’d barely caught my breath when I heard Harry let out a low, frustrated moan—raw and strained, like he was holding back too much for too long.

A beat later, he dropped to his knees in front of me, hands firm on my thighs as he pushed them apart, desire darkening his eyes.

“Harry,” I whispered, eyes wide, breath shallow. “We really—someone could—”

“I know,” he said, eyes locked on mine, voice low and calm. “That’s why you’re gonna keep quiet, yeah?”

Before I could answer, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh, just above the sensitive skin where his fingers had been moments before. My fingers tangled in his hair, already bracing myself for what I knew was coming.

He dragged his mouth higher, tongue tracing over me, slow and teasing. I bit my lip hard, stifling the moan building in my chest.

His tongue dove in, warm and wet and steady, flicking over my clit with just enough pressure to make my hips jerk. His hands slid under my thighs, anchoring me to the counter as he worked me open with his mouth.

I looked down at him through half-lidded eyes…his lashes long, his jaw flexing with every movement, eyes fluttering shut in focus. Like he was starving for it. Like this was all he wanted.

“God, Harry,” I whispered, barely audible.

His only reply was a groan against me, deep and low, sending vibrations through my core that made me nearly cry out. My hands tightened in his curls, and I had to slap one over my mouth, terrified someone outside might hear.

He sucked gently, then flicked his tongue in circles, fast and perfect, and I could feel myself falling apart.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured against me, the vibration almost too much. “Give it to me. Just like that.”

He inserted his fingers again, the amount of pleasure tripling in an instant. The overhaul of bliss was almost too much to handle. I wanted to scream so badly.

All while his tongue circled my clit, wet and deliberate. I gasped, the sound muffled by the back of my hand as I bit down to stay silent. His fingers were slow at first, curling up and stroking along that aching spot deep inside, while his mouth moved in tight, teasing circles that made my stomach tighten.

It didn’t take long. Between the thrill, the risk, and the way he knew my body, I was teetering on the edge in seconds.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, barely audible. “Come for me. Quietly now.”

I clenched around his fingers as the orgasm tore through me, sharp and unstoppable, like a wave breaking too fast to brace for. My legs trembled, barely holding me upright, and the only thing keeping me from crying out was the pressure of my teeth biting down on my lower lip.

My hands stayed glued to the sink, fingers gripping the porcelain so tightly they ached. Every nerve in my body felt like it had been lit from within—my skin buzzing, my breath catching, my chest rising in frantic, shallow bursts.

Somewhere below me, I heard Harry groan—low, guttural, rough with restraint. The sound of it made everything more intense. Like he was unraveling right along with me, undone by the way I came against his hand. He didn’t stop, didn’t ease up, just watched me ride it out with a dark hunger in his eyes and that moan still echoing at the back of his throat, like it physically pained him not to take more.

My legs were still trembling when his mouth finally lifted from me, lips slick and parted as he looked up, eyes dark and dazed like he’d just tasted something he wasn’t ready to give up.

But it was the slow pull of his fingers that did me in all over again.

He eased them out of me carefully, fingers soaked, glistening with a mixture of me and him and everything that just happened between us. I shivered at the sudden emptiness, but his gaze never left mine, not for a second.

He held them up slightly, watching the way my wetness clung to his skin in the dim bathroom light, then turned his wrist and slowly brought them to his mouth.

My breath hitched.

He parted his lips and slipped both fingers inside, sucking them in deep, tongue swirling around them as if he were still tasting me. His eyes fluttered shut briefly, savoring it, every trace of me, like I was his favorite thing in the world.

When he finally let them slide out of his mouth with a quiet pop, he licked the remaining shine off his knuckles, slow and deliberate. His voice was low, ragged.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he murmured, thumb dragging across his lower lip like he couldn’t believe it either.

I just stared, lips parted, chest still rising and falling unevenly as he stood between my knees, a soft smirk tugging at his mouth now.

I could feel my cheeks flush, still trying to steady my breath, but all I could do was reach for him—still buzzing from the way he’d unraveled me, like he’d enjoyed every second of it just as much as I had.

Harry reached for me at the same time. His hands were still warm from where they’d been on me, his mouth crashing into mine before either of us could say a word.

The kiss was messy. Hot. Desperate.

He tasted like sin and satisfaction, and when his tongue slid against mine, it felt like a match striking—igniting something all over again. His hands gripped my waist like he wasn’t done, like if we had even a few more minutes, he’d drag me back down with him and finish what his mouth had started.

But eventually, we both slowed—our breathing uneven, lips swollen, foreheads pressed together.

A few beats passed before Harry let out a breathy laugh, his thumb brushing lightly across my hip.

"You look flustered, baby," he teased, his voice low and smug. I swatted at his chest with a laugh, already well aware of what I must look like.

He smirked and helped me tidy up—straightening my clothes, smoothing down my hair, stealing a few soft kisses in between, each one gentler than the last. His hand brushed mine as we made our way to the door, the tension finally giving way to something lighter.

"Let's go have some fun."

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Thanks for reading!

[upsidedownmvnson]

you can take it | eddie munson smut

summary: eddie gets jealous at a gig and reminds you exactly who you belong with :)

warnings: dacryphilia, just pure filth, rough sex, daddy kink, name calling in bed, jealous boyfriend, shy!reader, voyuerism

You really were innocent in the whole situation.

You were at The Hideout, watching your boyfriend Eddie perform. You sat alone at the bar, sipping on something sweet and fizzy the bartender made you, on the house.

Someone approached you, introducing himself as Eric. He didn't leave when you mentioned you had a boyfriend, but he didn't make any moves on you either, he was just speaking to you, so you didn't feel concerned about it.

The only rule you and Eddie had about hanging out with other people is as long as they're not into you, it's totally fine. Because usually, Eddie is a pretty level headed guy, especially when it comes to you. He loves you, and trusts that you love him, and only him.

However, there are a few people that push Eddie's buttons just by existing. You knew about Jason Carver, but who you didn't know about was Eric Heely, lead singer of Hotels of Fire, another band that frequents gigs at The Hideout. And an industrial pain in Eddie's ass.

And now, he was leaning against the bar talking to you while Eddie played the rest of his show.

And Eddie was getting pissed off.

He didn't like the idea of this guy talking to you, but what he really hated was that this guy was using you to get a rise out of him, and worse yet, it was fucking working. Eddie's neck was getting hot, and he'd long lost his usual grin. Instead, it was replaced with a tight scowl, a really annoyed grimace that probably would've signalled something was wrong if you would just look at Eddie.

But no, you were talking with Eric, sipping on your drink. He could tell from there that you weren't doing anything wrong at all. You saw the best in people, and if you had said you weren't interested, you would trust the other person to take that as an answer. But Eddie knew better. Eddie knew that Eric wasn't just trying to make a new friend, he was trying to ruin Eddie's night.

By the time you realized you were in trouble, it was far too late. Eddie had already decided that you needed to be taught a lesson.

And once you're in hell, only the devil can get you out.

You noticed Eddie's grimace, and put two and two together when you saw your new friend waving at Eddie, smug smile on his face.

"Do you know Eddie?" you asked, growing suspicious.

"Oh yeah," he said, making sure Eddie was looking at him before tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "We go way back."

You reacted quickly, getting out of your chair and smacking that guys hand away from you. You were clearly telling him off, but Eddie just wished you would get away from that guy.

Eddie, still not angry with you, was fuming. Eric had touched you. He touched you without your permission, and you felt uncomfortable, Eddie could see that. The music turned aggressive, and his bandmates could see the scene unfolding in front of them, and they didn't know what was going to happen.

After cutting the song short, Eddie announced their set was over.

His friends looked at each other questioningly, as there was still supposed to be another few songs, but they wrapped up anyway, unplugging their instruments and beginning to disassemble. Eddie threw the van keys to Gareth, and didn't say a word as he rushed over to 'save' you.

You met Eddie halfway, trying to assure him that you didn't do anything. Eric was behind you smirking at the damage he'd done to Eddie's mood.

"Baby," he cooed, rubbing your arms. "I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at him." Eddie nodded over to Eric, and followed up by flipping him off. "Go over with Gareth, okay? I wouldn't trust this guy near your drink." Eddie plucked the beverage out of your hands, and while he doubted that Eric did anything to it, he just wasn't willing to risk it.

Eddie stormed over to Eric, and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

"If you ever lay your hands on her again, I will kill you. Do you understand that? I will kill you."

"Death threats? Eddie, don't you think you're being a little dramatic? She was totally into it."

"If you interpret recoiling as into it, you're a predator." Eddie had to get out of here before he did something he would regret. Before he got the band barred from the only place they could find to play. "Stay away from us."

"Whatever, freak."

Eddie let go of Eric's shirt, turning on his heel and focusing on just getting back to you and calming down. Was he mad? Jealous? Pissed off? Yes, yes, and yes.

"Eddie?" you asked, as he approached you, but he didn't answer, just grabbed your hand and pulled you close, closing the gap between you and laying a big, fat kiss on you in front of everyone. You melted into him, not really caring who saw. Eddie loved pda, always had, loved showing everyone that you were his, and he was yours.

Hid hands wrapped around your waist, holding you as he leaned into you, bending your back and forcing your chest into his. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, taking in the intoxicating smell of him. Eddie, sweat covered and sexy.

"Eddie," you mumbled against his mouth, "let's pack up and just get out of here," you said, pulling away from him finally.

"Yeah," he agreed, "good idea."

And you could see the fire in his eyes. You could feel the way he tried to push into you. You were in trouble, but you weren't scared, you were excited.

"Are you ready to help us pack up?" Jeff asked, "or would you just like us to watch you make out some more."

"No one was forcing you to watch," Eddie said, his tone level and casual. None of his usual joking manner. "I'll bring the van around."

Eddie pulled you behind him. He wouldn't be letting you alone with that guy fucking lurking around. You were guided out the back door, and through the dark parking lot behind the bar. Eddie always parked in the same corner, far enough away from the door where he could secure a quick deal or two during his shows.

Even through the rage, you thought he was being a perfect gentleman by opening the passenger side door for you, but you should've known better. In this mood, you should've expected him to be dirty, dirty, dirty...

When you moved to get in, he pushed you down, bending you over the seat. With your ass in the air, he lifted your skirt and pulled your panties down to your knees, immediately smacking your ass three fast times. It stung, the sudden intrusion of pain was a delightful surprise. He groped your ass for a second, mumbling something about it being his.

"I fucking love this ass," he muttered, sliding his fingers down through your already soaking wet folds. "And this pussy."

Two rough fingers found your clit, rubbing small, quick circles around the little bud.

"I need to get you home," he said, plunging those fingers inside you. "Like, right now."

"We should h-help pack up," you said, only to be met with another smack on your ass from his free hand. He wasn't holding you down, you could've easily asked him to stop and he would've. But you didn't want to. And he knew that.

"Just need a minute," he said, falling to his knees. The concret scraped his knees, but he didn't care. He needed this to calm down. Then he could go pack up and get you home and deal with the rest of his frustrations. "Jus' a little taste," he whispered, leaning forward and diving into your pussy like it was the cure to all his problems. Which it kind of was, honestly.

One hand was gripping your thigh, right where it met your ass, holding it open so he could lick, and suck and just taste you. The other hand, slid around you to rub slow circles on your clit again, but not enough to get you off. He didn't want to overwhelm you already, and he definitely didn't want you to cum yet.

"Eddie," you moaned, biting your hand to keep quiet. "They're waiting for us."

"Don't care," he mumbled, continuing to eat you out, right there in the parking lot. It wouldn't be the first time you'd done something here in the parking lot, but it was the first time where you weren't hidden inside the van.

"Eddie," you moaned, as he licked up your slit and dipped into your tight little hole with his tongue, before pulling away entirely, letting the cool breeze blow across your wet centre, and you whined, wishing he would continue. He laughed, leaving your clit behind to grip both your ass cheeks in his calloused hands, the rough fingers felt amazing against your soft skin. He bit one of your ass cheeks, and kissed the other. And then slapped both at the same time.

And you got ready for him to fuck you. But instead he tucked his erection into the band of his jeans, and pulled your panties back up. He fixed your skirt, and then guided you to sit in the van.

"You're so good," he mused, his bad mood already lessening. "So beautiful."

You blushed, suddenly bashful about what he'd done.

"Now let's get the fuck out of here," he said, closing the passenger door and rushing around to the front. He drove to the otherside of the lot, completely unfazed by his voyeuristic tendencies.

The guys were already moving stuff outside, and leaving it by the backdoor.

"We were afraid to come over there," Gareth joked, loading stuff into the back. He found it even funnier when he caught the blush creeping over your neck and cheeks. He didn't say anything else about it. But he knew that there was some truth to it all.

"Just hurry up," Eddie said, impatience catching up with him. "I'm in a bad mood, I just fucking hate that guy."

"Yeah, that guy is a dick." Gareth shook his head. "But it's not like she would've let him do anything."

"Obviously," he muttered, and closed the back of the door. "It pisses me off that he would even try to use her like that though, like she's less of a person. It's just, it's gross."

"It is gross," he agreed. "Well, we're out of here. I think I'll catch a ride with Jeff. You seem, uh... busy."

"I think that's for the best."

The drive home was silent, except for the radio playing quietly between you. Eddie's hand gripped your thigh, tightly, possessively. He was thinking of all the ways he was going to fuck you. All the ways he was going to make you cum. All over his face, his cock, his fingers. He couldn't think about anything else. He loathed the idea that Eric probably thought he could get with you. It made it him fucking furious. The more he stewed about it, the more angry he got.

It was time to remind you that there was no one on Earth that could fuck you like he can.

He trusted you fully, but he was going to remind you anyway.

"Eddie?" you asked, "Are you sure you're not mad at me?"

"I'm sure, my love." He traded his grip on your thigh for your hand, which he brought to his lips to place several chaste kisses to your knuckles. It was sweet how much you cared about his feelings, and boundaries. "I just need to make sure you're properly fucked. I've been fucking you softly lately, and I love that," he smiled, and you were blushing, the topic of conversation making you bashful, "but it's time for Daddy to really fuck your brains out."

"Eddie!"

"Time to make my little mouse cum again and again," he continued, "until you're screaming and begging me to stop." He continued to kiss your hand as he spoke, "but you won't want me to stop, not really."

"Don't be dirty," you whispered, shy about the way he was speaking to you. But you loved it. You were soaking wet, clenching your thighs together, thinking about all the ways Eddie would have you. All the ways you would totally and fully give yourself to him.

"Oh baby," he cooed, "tonight we will be filthy, and I think," he let go of your hand, "I'll start now."

And with that he slipped his hand between your thighs, pushing them open. He wasted no time in grabbing your panties, yanking them over to the side and slipping his fingers between your folds.

"So fucking wet," he moaned, slipping a finger inside you, "and so fucking tight." He groaned, taking the finger out and popping it into his mouth. "And sweet."

You were breathing heavily, so turned on by how Eddie was acting. He'd dominated you before, but this was different. Like he was trying to prove something. He was trying to prove to himself that he was the right one for you, that he was the one you wanted and needed.

"I want you to be good for me tonight," he said, moving back between your legs and fingering you again. This time with two thick fingers, and his thumb on your clit. He knew everything by feel, his eyes never left the road. He knew where to touch, and what to do to please you. "Just do what I say and you'll be rewarded."

"Okay," you whispered, speechless at what was going on. You pulled your knee up onto the passenger side door to give him more access to you. To let him in deeper.

"Good girl," he cooed, "off to a good start."

He removed his hand again, and you whined at the loss of contact, but he shut you up by sticking his fingers into your mouth. "Taste that, honey? It's my favourite thing in the world." He kept his fingers in your mouth for a moment, until he felt your tongue swirl around the digits. "You're gunna suck my cock as soon as we get inside your house, and you're not gunna stop until I tell you to stop."

You nodded, and he pulled his fingers out, returning to gripping your thigh like at the start. You were throbbing, thinking 'please touch me again,' over and over and over in your head until you were sure he knew what you were thinking, because his smug smirk returned.

"Look at you, fucking begging for it, looking at me like that isn't gunna be enough, doll. You're not calling the shots tonight."

"Can I suck your cock now?" you asked, and he smiled.

"No," he said. "Keep your hands to yourself."

And suddenly your hands were magnets, and he was what they were attracted to. You wanted to touch him, to play with his hair, or his jacket. Touch his thighs, or any piece of exposed skin you could find. You needed him. You wanted him to be inside you, anyway possible. The lay restlessly on your lap, just keening to touch him.

You clenched your thighs together again, and Eddie tutted at you. "Don't do that, your pleasure is all for me tonight."

"Eddie..." you whined, hiking your leg up higher, trying to entice him to return to his work between your legs. But he didn't budge, just smirked as you whined and writhed in his passenger seat. He loved it like this, he liked how fucking feral you got for him.

And he especially loved how smug it made him when one of the guys sat in that seat, knowing all the dirty things he'd done to you in this van.

He killed the engine, parking crooked in your driveway. No one was home, it was a recipe for a perfect night.

"Don't even have to be quiet," he mused, "you're really in for it, little mouse."

And you were quick to exit the van, and excitedly head into the house. You were only a few steps in, leaning on the wall and trying to kick your shoes off when Eddie slammed the front door, grabbing your hand and turning you back around to him.

"I said 'as soon as we get inside'," and he pulled you down until you feel on your knees. "I didn't say take anything off."

He pushed your face into his bulge, the jean rubbing against your cheek, and the zipper cold on your nose.

You undid his belt above you, fumbling because you couldn't really see it. You pulled it through the loops, and he grabbed it from you before you could discard it.

"Take my pants off," he muttered, letting go of your hair. And you obeyed, tongue tied and soaking wet. Throbbing in your panties. Eddie had never been like this. And you wanted more. You wanted more than you knew.

While you worked on his jeans, he wrapped the belt around your neck. Not to choke you, but to hold it there, as if it was a promise. A promise to keep you in line. You sucked your lip into your mouth, salivating at the sight of his dick springing to life, free from the confines of his ripped jeans. His sexy, sexy ripped jeans.

You started teasingly, licking the underside of his dick slowly, but he yanked the belt, causing it to tighten ever so slightly. "I said, suck my dick!" he raised his voice, annoyed that he had to repeat himself a third time.

You whimpered, putting the tip in your mouth, and he thrusted into your mouth, forcing himself into your throat as you choked and gagged.

"If you want to stop at any point just tap twice or say Atari," he said, a softer tone taking over for a moment, he pulled back a bit, making you look up at him, "tap twice now if you understand."

You tapped his leg twice, and then you gagged on his dick as he thrusted it down your throat again. "Good girl," he muttered, dick twitching at the view he had. Belt wrapped around your throat like a leash, tears filling your eyes and his dick hit the back of your throat. You didn't even have to move, because Eddie couldn't control himself from grabbing your hair, and guiding you to suck his dick exactly how he wanted it.

Eddie was fucking your face, a foot from the front door. If anyone came onto the porch they'd hear the wet squelching of Eddie thrusting into your mouth, or the coughing caused by the intrusion.

"That's fucking unreal, little mouse," he muttered, throwing his head back and his continued gripping your hair by the roots, moving your head up and down on his thick cock. "You take daddy so well."

Your hands gripped his thighs, trying to ignore the painful throbbing of your ignored pussy, while Eddie takes his pleasure. "You look so pretty like this," he said, returning his attention to you. Tears made their escape down your cheeks, dragging your mascara with them.

He gave the belt some slack, and you backed off of him, sucking in a few big gulps of air.

"I didn't know you could take it so good, baby," he cooed, "Daddy's good little slut."

You nodded eagerly, not sure if you were allowed to talk or not. You leaned forward to take him back in your mouth, doing everything you had been before, but without Eddie's guiding hand, you did it yourself, shoving his cock to the back of your throat where you coughed and gagged around him.

His groans were delightful. Eddie moans were music, filling you you with pride and desire. You pulled away again for some more air, and he looked at you with a devilish smirk.

"Come up here," he said, yanking on the belt, forcing you back to your feet.

The belt dangled when he let it go, and he just looked at you for a second. Your hair was messy, cheeks covered in wet makeup, puffy lips, belt hanging loosely around your neck, and glossy eyes that made Eddie swoon, for just a moment. And then he smirked, rubbing his thumbs across your cheek, trying to remove some of the mascara, but he just smudged it more. He smiled.

"Did you like that?" he asked, wanting to make sure you were liking this otherside of him. You nodded. "Why don't you bend of that couch over there? Hmm? Show daddy that ass he loves so much."

You did as he asked, bending yourself over the armrest of the couch. Irritated by all the clothes still on, but Eddie said not to take anything off, and you wanted to be his good girl. Even your sneakers were still on.

You looked behind at him, and he had taken all his clothes off, and was roughly palming his cock in his hand. One finger looped around your panties, yanking them down your legs and off, landing somewhere on the floor. He winked at you, making you blush. He gripped your ass tightly, his thumb linger dangerously close to your asshole.

He spread you open, slapping his cock against your asshole a couple times, mumbling, "I'll have to give this tight little hole a try sometime..." but he slid down to the wet, sopping hole of your pussy, testing the readiness of it by slipping the tip in. Your pussy basically sucked him in, begging him to give it to you. "So fucking wet and ready baby, so fucking good for me."

Instead of fucking you like you desperately needed, he just popped the tip in and out a couple times, spreading your wetness down to your clit and up to your ass.

And then he was lined up to your pussy again, holding himself at your hole, and you whimpered, looking over your shoulder at him, glossy eyes begging for him.

"Why so quiet, little mouse? I want to hear you," he said, moving his cock down to your clit again, and then right back up to your centre.

"Please," you begged, voice breaking with anticipation.

"Please what?"

"Please... please fuck me Daddy," you begged, "please fuck me, I've been so good, I want it. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!" you begged.

And in one swift movement he grabbed the belt again, yanking it tight, constricting your throat just enough for you to feel the threat of choking, and also thrusting himself fully inside you. You screamed at the sudden invasion, but it felt so fucking good. The belt slightly constricting you, forcing your head back, and Eddie suddenly balls deep inside you made you scream you loved it so much. His other hand gripped your ass, the skirt bunching up in his palm.

Like how he treated your face, he was roughly fucking into you, each pump going all the way out before slamming back in. Each move was calculated, your head being forced back felt... so fucking good. He slapped your ass, flipping your skirt up.

You muttered unintelligible syllables, just grunts and moans as he took all of you.

You were taking him so well, your pussy was gripping him so tightly. Fuck, Eddie couldn't take it, but he didn't want to cum yet. Didn't want it to end.

You were breathing heavy, getting close to finishing, and Eddie could feel it. He knew the signs of your orgasm, and right when you were about to fall off that edge, he stopped entirely, pulling out and letting your orgasm shatter to pieces, not giving you any sense of relief. Instead, you were left with a painful thump in your clit.

Eddie touched it slowly and softly, giving nowhere near enough to coax you back to your orgasm, but enough to soothe the throbbing of neglect your poor pussy felt.

You whined, trying to push yourself back on him, and it made him chuckle. You looked so desperate for him. You wanted him. And Eddie finally got back his confidence that he was the only one for you. A fact you'd never doubted.

He loosened the belt, taking it off completely, and flipped you over, so you were standing again, leaning back against the couch. He moved your hair out of the way to make sure he didn't do any damage, and he didn't. It was just a little red, with a few small marks where the edges had rubbed into you. But he'd never pulled it tight enough to hurt you.

And then his movements were caring, just for a moment, just enough time to slide off your skirt, and then your shirt and bra. He slowly undressed you, stroking his cock slowly. He worshipped your body, hands dragging slowly across all newly exposed skin.

"So fucking pretty, baby," he said, "and you take it so well, who knew you had this kind of ... perseverance?"

"I want to cum," you pouted, "and I want you to fuck me full."

Eddie's eyes widened at your words, and his usual cheeky grin returned. "Oh, baby, you don't even know what you're asking for," he groaned, biting his bottom look as he took in your disheveled appearance.

"Yes, I do," you challenged, "please?"

And he pushed you back, letting you fall onto the couch cushions. And you crawled backwards as he climbed over the couch, stalking up your body like you were his prey.

He wedged himself in between your thighs, lining him up with your pussy and shoving it back in, hitting every part of you. He stayed still inside you, every inch of him covered with you. And he kissed you. He kissed you with his tongue, teeth, with his hands. He was all over you, covering every sense and taking the attention of all your thoughts.

"I love you," he muttered, "I love you so much."

"I love you too," you whispered.

"Good," he smirked, "now take it."

And he was thrusting into you like he didn't love you at all. Hitting every part of you that was only for him to hit. Each slap of his hips hitting into your thighs hurt, but only in the most pleasurable way. You moaned, wrapping your legs around him, trying to somehow bring him in harder, deeper.

One hand by your head, holding him up, the other latching around your throat as he kissed you, all tongues and sloppy. the only sounds being the squelching of your painfully wet pussy and your tiny whimpers, being lost in his mouth.

"I want you to cum," he said, pulling himself away from your mouth, keeping his eyes locked onto your as you moaned under him, breathless and sweaty. "Now, I want you to cum now," he said, angling himself differently, and thrusting harder, hitting you in a spot that made you feel like you were gunna explode.

You were going to explode, especially when he ordered, "touch yourself, make yourself cum."

Like a good girl, you rubbed small circles over your clit, helping him bring yourself back to that ledge you so desperately wanted to jump off.

Your walls tightened around him, and it was different. It was different than every other time. You were chanting his name, moaning "Eddie," over and over until you came, screaming his name and feeling elecricity down to your toes. Every part of you was on fire, and your muscles tightened, pulling him in closer while you squirted, for the very first time, soaking Eddie and the couch, pushing him out of your pussy.

He moved quickly, putting two fingers roughly inside you and moving them with ferocity as he coaxed you through the biggest orgasm you'd ever had. You screamed, loudly, honestly worrying Eddie that the neighbours would hear, so he clamped another hand over your mouth, keeping the noise contained. Your muffled screams just coaxed him to an orgasm on their own, he was sure of it.

He had been close to his climax, but this new change of events was okay with him. He could've cum just from knowing how well he satisfied you.

Your heavy breathing continued for a minute, and in a cock drunk state you looked at him, smiling stupidly while he just watched you, still softly fingering you, keeping his eyes locked on yours.

"I made you squirt," he said, stupid, goofy grin all over his face. He continued stroking his fingers in you.

"You didn't cum," you pouted, looking at his still rock hard cock.

"Guess we'll have to just start all over again, pretty petal, but why don't we get you some water first."

And before you understood what was happening, two were standing in the kitchen, Eddie bending you over the counter and slipping his cock back inside you, wrapping his arms around you to hold you close, and to get his fingers back on you clit. Your back pressed into his chest, and he pumped into you slowly.

"More," you muttered, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts.

"Hmm," he mused, grinning down at the sight of your ass slapping against his abdomen. "I don't know if you can take it..."

"I can," you whined, trying to fuck yourself harder on his cock, but his arms restricted you, not letting you take what you wanted.

"Tell me you can take it," he said, "convince me that you can take it."

And you wriggled free of his grip, climbing onto the counter and laying on your back. Eddie watched with a grin on his face, as you spread your legs wide for him, angling yourself at the perfect height for him to ravage you again. He took his place between your thighs, and rubbed himself up and down on your pussy.

"I can take it," you promised, "I want you to fuck me like you hate me, daddy."

"Is that what you want?" he asked, continuing to slide his tip through your juices, leaving a trail down to your asshole. He popped the tip into your pussy, pulling it out almost immediately.

"Please," you whined, "please fuck me, I can take it. I love it, I want you to hurt me. I want you to fuck me until you fuck me full of your cum. I want you to take it all out on me," you begged, staring straight into his eyes.

"Dirty little mouse," he said. He loved when you broke out of your shell. When you could talk about all your dirty desires with him. "Let's go to bed," he said, wicked smile ever present. "I want to ruin you on those cute pink sheets of yours."

He took your hand, helping you off the counter, like a gentlemen, and then followed you to your room.

"On your knees on the bed," he said as soon as you got in the room. You you crawled on, ass in the air over the edge of the bed, shaking your ass the perfect spot for him to come take you, he did just that, walking up behind you and thrusting two of his fingers into your hole. You moaned, and he moved them aggressively, hitting that delicious spot roughly over and over, and over.

"I'm gunna fuck you full, alright." He was mumbling behind you, working his fingers quickly, hitting your g-spot like he own it and twirling circles around your clit. "Just gotta make you cum again real quick, and then I'm gunna fuck you totally full of my babies." He grinned, turned on by the imagery of you, all round and pregnant with his baby. Maybe one day...

You were getting close again, your arms buckled and you fell onto your chest, your cheek squishing into the soft duvet Eddie loved so much.

It was too much, he knew you too well. You couldn't resist if you wanted to. You moaned knowing he was right, he was going to make you cum again, quickly and with ease. His tongue poked out in complete concentration, followed by a smile as he felt you tighten up. Standing up, he kept the circles on your clit going, but quickly switched out his fingers for his cock, angling himself until he felt your g-spot again.

You screamed again, muffling yourself in the blankets. And the feeling of his big dick penetrating you when you were that close, made you come undone again, you came around his cock, clenching him so tightly he threw his head back in pleasure.

He moved away from your clit, letting his dick be your only guide through another orgasm, and he was back to gripping your ass. He fucking loved that ass. He spanked it, gripped it, held it open, and then out of nowhere he leaned forward to grab a fistful of your hair, pulling you back up, and holding it taut so you were forced to stay on your hands. You moaned, the pain was just another sensation of pleasure.

"You stay like that baby, looks so fucking good." He groaned, his dick twitching inside you, he was close. He wanted to cum so fucking bad, he needed the relief.

Tears rolled down your cheeks, the pleasure so great that you couldn't contain it. Couldn't even speak. Eddie fucked you stupid, and you didn't want him to stop. You wanted to be ruined by him. You wanted him to take total claim of you, marking you as his for the rest of forever.

"So fucking good -" he grunted, thrusting harder into you, hitting the back wall with every thrust, making sure to hit you with his full length everytime. "So fuck tight baby, you're so fucking tight. That's all for me, yeah? Just for me," he mumbled, thumb poking into your asshole, and you moaned.

"For you," you muttered weakly, pathetically. You could barely get the words out, the new sensation of his fingers proding a new hole made your pussy tighten again.

"I think I can get you there one more time, huh? What do you say, puppet? Cum for daddy one more time?"

You nodded, feeling like you were close already. He let go of your hair and you leaned forward, arching your back as much as possible to give him even more access to you. He spread your ass open so he could see it all. Watch as he pummeled your little pussy.

"Gunna c.." you moaned, "gunna please."

"What's that? I don't know what you're saying down there baby."

"I'm g-gunna fuck," you whined, "it's- again."

"What're you? Stupid? Use your words, baby, tell me," he cooed, egging you on when he knew damn well what you were saying, and your walls became impossibly tight around him.

"I'm gunna cum," you whined, finding your voice finally, and you continued to raise it as you said, "please, daddy. Please, I'm gunna fucking cum, you fuck me so good."

"Was that so hard?" he asked, finding your clit with a wet thumb and rubbing circles on it until he felt you come undone again, biting the duvet to keep from wailing and alerting the whole fucking town to what Eddie doing.

He couldn't hold back anymore, and he followed through on his promises, continuing to fuck you as he came ribbons into your cunt, the liquids pooling up and dripping out around his cock. He watched with stars in his eyes at the sight of your pretty pussy taking all his juices.

He slowed down, his dick still inside you but softer. He cooed at you, praising you for being so good.

"Baby, that was... wow," he said, pulling out of you. He ran a comforting hand down your back, gripping your ass gently one more time. "I love you, I love you so much."

Eddie ran a finger over your pussy, to your clit, making your whole body jerk when he touched it. Your cum and his mashed together, an indistinguishable mess between your legs. You didn't move, just stayed face down ass up while Eddie worshipped up, touching you softly all over the place.

"My love," he said, taking your hand softly, returning to his nurturing boyfriend stat like he hadn't just treated you like a whore. His whore... "C'mon sweet girl, let's go get some water and a shower."