#might pass that on to...someone else instead

[miharuki]

Let me be your love

Neglected reader x bat family x "god" of love

★ Synopsis: When you stop receiving love at home, there is someone who can love you outside of it.

★ Tags: yandere, bad father,the "god" is not really someone normal, manipulation, death, lies, angst? with a happy ending (i think)

Perhaps in many tales with happy endings, it would begin with "once upon a time"—though often, that "once upon a time" could also bring something sad, unlike many stories where you'd typically be born to a loving mother who cared for you, brought you warmth and happiness before passing away, leaving you to live with your real father. Here, none of that truly happened.

For as long as you could remember, Alfred always told you about your mother. She was your father’s lover, one of the women he planned to marry—a shock in his playboy life. But before he could even slip a ring on her finger, she went into labor. You. His first biological daughter. Your mother knew the risks of the pregnancy, that you might die, but she tried anyway. And when you were born, she held you in her arms, whispered your name, and smiled, praying to any god or entity that you would live—even if it came at a cost. And that cost was her life. The doctors wanted to prioritize her, but she insisted they save you instead. And so, that night, your father, Bruce Wayne, received the news that you had been born—but in exchange, your mother had died in childbirth.

You grew up in that mansion from the moment you came home from the hospital. Your father wasn’t the best, but he tried. He watched you take your first steps, heard your first word—all while operating in the shadows as Batman. You always wore a necklace your mother had placed around your neck before she died in that white hospital bed. You never took it off, not even to bathe or sleep, and Bruce never dared to remove it from you. You ran through those halls with Bruce and Alfred chasing after you, living a safe life as Bruce’s daughter, as his little girl. You were kind, growing up with little love yet still receiving what scraps your father could give, trying to be present even as he played the Dark Knight. You were so innocent, so sweet—Bruce never dared to show you his other face, Batman. You lived unaware that your father slipped out at night to fight crime.

It was just you, your father, and Alfred. Always had been. Until he arrived.

You still remember it—descending the stairs, dressed up and ready for your usual outing with your dear father after your birthday, when he’d taken you to the circus. The day he covered your eyes and ears when it happened, lying about a monster you couldn’t see. He would never let you witness that massacre, that accident.

Holding the railing, you happily skipped down the steps—only to freeze in confusion when your father walked in with a boy beside him. A few years older, you guessed. When you approached them, bewildered, your father just ruffled your hair, saying he’d explain later—but right now, he was busy. And that precious time together slowly eroded. You still got attention, but it felt like Bruce and that boy—Richard Grayson—had grown closer. Like they shared something you didn’t. You still went out with your father, but now he tagged along. It was strange, but also nice—because now you had someone else to play with when Bruce was gone.

At first, Dick was rude, distant—but not entirely. He played with you, even if it always ended too soon because he had to leave with your father. You didn’t understand, but you were happy to have a brother, even if only for a little while.

Then you grew up. And that brother drifted away.

And another came.

Jason Peter Todd. He was better—kinder, sweeter. You read together all the time. You promised to play forever.

But then he was gone, too.

Your father claimed Jason was away for a while. You accepted it.

Now, with your oldest brother distant and your second gone, came the third: Tim Drake.

He wasn’t mean, but he wasn’t kind either. He always told you not to get in the way. You barely spent time together. And even less with your father. Since Jason left, Bruce had grown colder, and with Tim around, your outings stopped completely. Tim never had time. Neither did your father.

You were growing up, and the loneliness weighed heavier each day.

At school, you were shy. You’d hoped Tim might keep you company like Dick (reluctantly) and Jason had. But no—he was with his friends, telling you to stay away.

Time passed. More people came.

You were in high school now, a senior. Graduation was days away.

Walking alone, you spotted him—a boy with bangs, sitting by himself in the cafeteria, headphones on. Nervously, you approached, quietly introducing yourself and asking if you could sit with him. He seemed shocked, stammering as he made space.

From then on, you were friends.

At prom, you two stayed outside the crowd, talking about everything you had in common. And at graduation, when you walked across the stage, you looked out—expecting no one from your family to be there.

But you saw him, waving happily.

And for once, you felt happy.

When the ceremony ended, Alfred arrived in a rush, apologizing—he’d been helping your father, who was "too busy." You knew Alfred had responsibilities, but you were glad he came. You introduced him to your friend, and Alfred was overjoyed to see his little girl had someone.

Time passed. Summer break. College loomed next year.

Things at home were horrible.

Another arrived.

A boy who claimed to be your father’s true son.

Damian.

He was new, and at first, you tried to be kind—only for him to mock you. In his mind, he was the only blood son. You? Just some adopted charity case.

But you were Bruce’s blood. Like it or not, you were Damian’s half-sister.

You tried. But he was cruel. His words cut deep. So you kept your distance.

He didn’t want you around? Fine.

You were weak. You knew that. And Damian rubbed it in, boasting that he could kill you whenever he wanted.

You just accepted it.

He was a child.

And you? You were alone.

Alfred seemed distant now, too.

In that house, you became a ghost.

Until that day.

Damian was in your room. You pushed him out—you wanted space.

Then he ripped off your necklace.

The one thing you’d kept since birth.

You fought for it.

It turned into a brawl—Damian hurling insults until he spat the worst one:

"If it’s true your mother died giving birth to you, then you were born to be a disgrace."

You lashed out, defending her, scrambling for the necklace. You were leaving for college soon anyway.

The fight escalated—until suddenly, Damian grabbed scissors.

And stabbed you.

You froze, staring at him as the family rushed in.

Your broken necklace in your hand.

Everyone made excuses for Damian—until they saw the blood staining your shirt.

Even as you collapsed, the only one who reached for you was Alfred.

After that, you were kept in a private recovery home. Your father refused to take you to a hospital—had to protect the family image.

But one thing haunted you:

What Damian had said.

Not about you. Not about your mother.

But something he bragged about.

Because he wasn’t just Bruce’s son.

No—he was the future Batman.

The newest Robin.

The pieces clicked.

The disappearances since childhood. The revolving door of Robins. Even Jason’s death—his "disappearance."

You realized then:

You were never truly loved in that house.

From the moment you were born, Bruce only did what he did because—like it or not—you reminded him of his own childhood.

So you decided to leave.

Once you healed, you walked out—headed for college.

You’d never really prayed to any god. You had no real religion.

But in college, he appeared again.

Your friend.

Taller now, but still the same.

Popular, yet always by your side.

You never got a canary from your family—but from him, you did.

Maybe you didn’t notice his possessiveness. His obsessiveness.

But it was fine.

He knew about your family. You never lied to him.

So when he convinced you to move into the frat house—away from your family—you agreed.

You trusted him.

And… well, you’re not sure how it happened.

But he loved you.

And you loved him back.

No—you worshiped him.

Because he showed you love.

He made you see him as a god.

And you?

You were his precious little lamb.

One day, while shopping, someone called your name.

Dick.

You ignored him.

He tried to talk to you—until he saw your necklace.

Not the one from your mother.

A new one.

A symbol.

The same symbol Dick had seen when Tim showed the others the files on a rising serial killer.

Dick tried to ask about it.

You just walked away.

Your friend—no, your beloved—made you understand:

Your family didn’t deserve you.

You didn’t need them.

You only needed him.

His love.

Because just as he’s loved you since the day you met, you love him—and will love him for eternity.

That’s what he does.

That’s what he was made for.

Love.

He loves you.

And you love him.

The news of your necklace made your family suspicious. They demanded answers.

And your beloved didn’t like that.

So one night, he asked you to come with him.

He revealed himself.

And asked you to leave with him—for his home, far from your family.

Behind you, your family stood in their uniforms, watching.

Batman—no, your father—tried to speak.

But you turned away.

Taking your beloved’s hand.

As he spread his wings, wrapping them around you in an embrace before vanishing—smirking in triumph at your family.

Who finally realized:

They had just lost you.

And this time—

It was forever.

[itsclydebitches]

Gurathin's "Do you have feelings for it?" really adds another layer to his dislike of SecUnit.

Though the whole group is still grappling with whether to trust it or not, Gurathin remains the most stubbornly vocal about that distrust and on one level we already understood why. He's a former member of the Corporation Rim, someone who both grew up on the same feeds as the SecUnit engineers—'They go rogue and kill everyone all the time!'—and, as we learn this episode, has been horrendously abused by the Company itself, so why would he trust anything it gave them? One might even go so far as to say Gurathin still doesn't see SecUnit as a person, only a very dangerous piece of equipment.

Except... you don't see equipment as a romantic rival.

We know Gurathin has a rather intense crush on Mensah and who can blame him? She not only forgave him when few others would have, but she turned his whole world on its head, providing him with a new purpose and autonomy and love when he was very close to giving up. That's the level of devotion that inspires sneaking into her bedroom to smell her pillow, or staring star-struck across the dinner table, unable to think of a single critique. Gurathin loves Mensah and Mensah obviously loves him... but not in the same way.

Now toss SecUnit into the mix. Here's Company property that scares the shit out of you and as if that weren't enough, the woman you love is being so nice to it. Not just that, she's seemingly prioritizing it over you.

"It feel like it's going through something" vs. I'm going through something.

Running to talk to SecUnit vs. I was the one who was just threatened.

"I feel we can trust it" vs. I thought you trusted me?

"You need a MedBay" vs. But you won't get me to one because SecUnit advises otherwise, right? (Notably, Gurathin doesn't seem to be conscious when Mensah makes the decision to leave anyway, with or without SecUnit).

There are a lot of other moments like this and from our perspective we can see that Mensah is treating SecUnit similarly to how she no doubt treated Gurathin six years ago. The parallels between them abound, including being slaves to the Company who only start to demonstrate true autonomy after meeting Mensah. Gurathin still has a lot of healing to do, but after so many years he's in a better place than the slave that has just admitted to some level of personhood (not to mention the practical issues of them needing SecUnit to defend them), so of course Mensah is going to prioritize it to a certain extent. She's trying to help it the way she once helped Gurathin, but Gurathin is still so damaged and so JEALOUS that he can't conceptualize, "Oh. She's giving SecUnit what I was once lucky enough to receive."

He can't see that, so what comes out instead is, 'You have feelings for it don't you?' Because what other explanation does he have? If SecUnit already 'stole' her attention and her high opinion, why not her romantic love too! I don't think Gurathin would have ever asked that without the fever lowering his inhibitions, but I don't think the fever caused that worry either.

Gurathin makes me insane because I just want to scream, "SecUnit is you! It's you! It's not your rival, it's a mirror of who you were six years ago! You're not in competition with it, you're the best person to help it because you know something of what it's gone through!! You get to pass the torch, Gura, and help Mensah help someone else!!!!"

[nothoughtsjustficrecs]

Review Written for The K-Fic Collection.

This was so heartachingly beautiful that I truly do not have the words to explain the feeling in my chest right now. I admit, I was wary to read this because I don’t do great with angst and sad/open/ambiguous/anything but happy endings, but this was worth every second.

You handled every aspect of this story so well. There’s often a sort of theme amongst religious focused fics to highlight the bad in religion, which is obviously fine if that’s important to the story, but this didn’t do that. I’m not religious in any way but I’m actually really glad about how you handled Joshua’s belief in this without turning it into something negative for the sake of his feelings.

I feel like I have a lot to say about this story but there’s nothing coming out. I think it’s all just sort of strange feelings I have right now, in a good way, and I’ve always been bad at talking about those kinds of things on a personal level and explaining how I feel, so I’ll just stop here before I ramble even more.

Thank you so much for writing this genuinely beautiful masterpiece, Trixie, and sharing it with us. I think everyone should give this story a chance, I don’t think they’d regret it.

When I was reading, I decided to write down my thoughts as I go, as I knew I'd forget otherwise. Below this is literally just the thoughts I wrote down because I do not have the brain power to convert them into actual fully coherent comments [I'll put them below a read more cut for the sake of spoilers and such].

-

“ he didn’t look up at her, choosing to stare down at his hands instead while he twirled the friendship ring he shared with you around his pinkie finger. ” NO WHY DID READING THE FRIENDSHIP RING PART JUST HIT ME SO HARD THAT’S SO CUTE I WANT FRIENDSHIP RINGS

“ his mom has always been supportive of him, always allowing him the space and freedom to make his own mistakes and learn from them—or not. ” I love that 🥺 I was genuinely worried she was gonna be all strict about it

“ and he can’t do that. ” you know, my automatic reaction was “oh no” but then a second passed and I think it would be worse to change entirely who you are as a person for the sake of another. I’m not religious in anyway and question a lot of religious ideals and such, but I think that love shouldn’t change a person’s beliefs if there is no harm to them. To change something harmless for the sake of another just seems wrong. and i apologise for that little uhh whatever you wanna call my mini ramble there lol

“ he can’t lose himself to you. ” as he shouldn’t

“ joshua leaves his mother’s house knowing one thing is for sure: it’s time to let this dream of having you go. ” poor baby

“ even though he’s secretly and unfairly relieved every time you throw someone else to the curb ” made me giggle ngl

“ but then, you meet kwon soonyoung. ” SOOONYOUNNGGGG MY BABIE!

“ because either way, he knows he’ll be devoted to you until the day he dies; he might as well have had you by his side all this time. ” poor baby :((

“ “remember when you were both 14 and she learned what lent was? she tried giving up soda and ended up crying, begging me for forgiveness when she forgot and accidentally had coke with her school lunch.” ” oh, precious child

“ and you’re okay with that. you hope he is too. ” I kind of want to scream. That ending hits (I mean that in a positive way btw)

if you saw me reblog this blank and then immediately delete it, no you did not. (i did a dumb dumb and accidentally pressed reblog while i was working on adding my review 🤡)

‘til god breaks this spell

joshua's devotion to you rivals his devotion to his god.

♫ spell by niki pairing: joshua x fem!reader word count: 4.6k cw: a lot of religious reflection (catholicism) tags: childhood best friends, angst, not the happy ending you probably want sorry, the one that got away, joshua is a good catholic boy, reader is atheist a/n: the very first fic i wrote was a bts jinkook fic that was inspired by la la lost you by niki. seems fitting that i start my svt writing journey with another niki inspired song hehe. other than that, idk what compelled me to torture myself (and now you) like this. also, this was written in one, flustered go so it's barely edited oops!

“mom, what would you do if i married someone who didn’t believe in god?”

joshua’s mother immediately set her novel down, glasses slipping down her nose as she frowned at her one and only son. he didn’t look up at her, choosing to stare down at his hands instead while he twirled the friendship ring he shared with you around his pinkie finger.

“married?” she repeated. “i wasn’t even aware you had someone in your life.”

he shook his head quickly, frowning down at his open palm as he began to massage it nervously. “i don’t. i’m just… curious, i guess.”

it might be silly to be as worried about this as he is, seeing as things haven’t progressed into a relationship yet, but he’d rather figure this out now and say nothing than risk it, go all in, and then cause unnecessary pain later on.

his mother stays silent long enough that he forces himself to look at her. her eyes are no longer on him, instead seemingly zoning out on the space straight ahead. he follows her gaze and grimaces when he realizes she’s staring at the wooden carving of the last supper hung on the wall.

“i wouldn’t do anything,” she begins carefully. “you’re a grown man, after all. but i would worry that marrying a partner who didn’t believe in god—any god at all—would make you stray from your own faith.”

it’s a diplomatic answer and he expected it; his mom has always been supportive of him, always allowing him the space and freedom to make his own mistakes and learn from them—or not.

“so you’d prefer i marry catholic?”

“i mean, of course, but that’s not what i said, was it?” his mom retorts, giving him a pointed look. she knew joshua had a way of misunderstanding a lot of the things she told him. “i would prefer you marry catholic the way i would prefer you marry at all—nice to have but if you don’t, it’s not the end of the world.”

joshua nods, feeling a little bit of the tightness in his chest dissipate.

“i would just hope you think about it long and hard enough to know that you won’t compromise any of your own beliefs for someone who lives without a god,” she emphasizes.

joshua mulls that idea over. is his faith strong enough to withstand a lifelong partner who didn’t share his belief and love for god?

he wants to say yes. it’s you—of course he wants to say yes. you’ve been friends your whole lives, and he’s been in love with you for most of that time. of course he wants his answer to be: yes, my faith will survive a relationship with an atheist.

but he thinks about the conversations you’ve already had years ago, and the tightness in his chest returns tenfold.

is there anything that could happen that would make you believe in god?

probably not. it just seems too convenient that there’s someone out there in charge of everyone’s lives.

would you marry someone religious?

i don’t know. i guess it depends on the person. i don’t think i’d participate or convert or anything if i did, though.

what about kids? would you baptize them if you did marry someone religious?

dude, what’s with the interrogation? i don’t know! if it’s important to my partner, maybe? but i’d be most comfortable just letting my kids figure it out themselves. can we watch a movie now?

and each time you answered his question, instead of accepting that maybe there was a major incompatibility between the two of you, joshua would find himself thinking of the things he could compromise on.

okay, sure, he doesn’t need you to convert or participate; he’s already been going to church his entire adult life so far without anyone accompanying him. and if you didn’t want children baptized, that’s fine too! adults go through catholic confirmation later in life all the time! so what if you thought that the idea of a “big guy” controlling everyone’s lives was weird? he could just refrain from talking about that around you… or correcting your line of thinking because it’s a bit of a gross oversimplification of catholicism.

and as he sits there, his mother already back to her novel, he realizes his faith isn’t strong enough to survive you. because his love for you has become somewhat of its own religion to him, and if it came down to a question of his faith to you or his faith to god, he has to be honest with himself and admit that his mother’s fears are valid. he would put it all on the line if it meant being with you.

and he can’t do that.

he’s committed all kinds of sins by now. he’s been flexible in his beliefs—supportive and progressive in areas where other catholics have been unforgiving and in his opinion, outdated and bigoted. he’s compromised a lot at no cost to him or his god. but he can’t completely lose everything he’s known and loved for you. he can’t lose himself to you.

he can't forget that it isn't fair to you either—to have to try and appease him and his religion. he'd be doing you both a mercy, letting this spark die before it ever really takes flame.

joshua leaves his mother’s house knowing one thing is for sure: it’s time to let this dream of having you go.

the end is short and uneventful.

you two had only kissed once, and things hadn’t gone far enough for either of you to confess your feelings—whatever they were. so when joshua told you he thought it was better to stay best friends, you took it like a champ and agreed, smiling and hugging him tightly, promising him that nothing would change.

the end was short and uneventful, yet somehow the most devastating thing joshua has experienced. he had you. you were right there. he had a whole life with you in his palm, and he let it go.

he hates himself for it, but he saw it all. the moment his lips met yours, he saw hands intertwined together, late nights, car rides with his hand on your thigh, hugs from behind while he cooked for you, a suit and a white dress, a small, innocent face that looked like the both of you—your smile, his eyes.

and he feels like maybe you saw it too.

because when you both pulled away, you looked up at him like this was it—like you had just run a marathon and you had reached the finish line. like you’d grabbed his hand and crossed it with him. you smiled widely, wrapped your hand around the back of his neck, and caressed the skin there as your foreheads met. and you fell asleep wrapped up in each other like it was where you were both meant to be.

maybe you saw it too. and now he’s the reason it’ll stay a dream.

you stay true to your promise. joshua is almost saddened by how easy it seems for you to revert back to being only friends. every time he sees you, hears you, brushes up against you, he feels like his heart is cracking wide open and the world might just end at that very moment. it’s dramatic but he can’t wrap his mind around any other way to exist.

it hurts for a while, but the years pass a little easier.

he watches you date, and even though he’s secretly and unfairly relieved every time you throw someone else to the curb, he takes it well. he meets some of them and welcomes them warmly, agreeing to hang out with you and whoever you’re dating any time you ask him to. he even thinks one or two of them could give you a good life; he can live thinking of you with these ones forever. but you inevitably leave them behind and he hates that it makes him happy to watch you shake off a good guy that isn’t him.

just as he planned, joshua’s faith remains strong. he goes to church. he volunteers with his mom and her bible study friends. he sings and plays guitar on the praise and worship team from time to time. he meets a a catholic woman he thinks could be a match for him. he never asks her out. he politely declines when she musters up the courage to do it herself.

he thinks this could be fine. maybe he’ll be single forever and maybe you’ll find some average guy he can stomach, and his love for his god and for your happiness will keep him warm enough at night.

but then, you meet kwon soonyoung.

you’ve never been one to fall and tell; most of the time, joshua doesn’t know you’re dating someone until you decide it’s time to get his stamp of approval. he knows soonyoung is different from the jump.

your time starts to get tied up. it starts with only seeing him sporadically throughout the month instead of almost every day. it becomes rescheduling all your hangouts until you’re only seeing each other briefly at mutual friends’ events. it ends with missed calls and ignored texts.

he’s driving himself crazy wondering what’s going on, and when you post a photo on your story of a dinner date with a faceless man, he understands what’s happening. you’re falling in love. and he knows it because you never have—not truly—and this is what it must look like.

you don’t fall and tell, but joshua knows you too well to pretend it’s anything but this. he doesn’t try to take up any more of your time out of respect, and you don’t reach out.

you prove him right when a few months later, you bring soonyoung to a friend’s dinner party, and you introduce him as your boyfriend. it hits joshua like a truck. you’ve never introduced someone to him as a boyfriend. he’s always met the people you’ve dated before it progressed that far. he also had the privilege of meeting them privately, not with the rest of the friend group, none of who are privy to the way his heart collapses in on itself when he watches the way you lean into soonyoung all night. the way you laugh with him. the way his eyes disappear from how fondly he smiles at you. the way he seems to fit right into your life so perfectly.

you hug joshua tightly that night before leaving, and you tell him you miss him so much and you two need to catch up soon. neither of you follow up, though, and a year later, you’re engaged.

the week before joshua is due at your wedding as a guest—not your “man-of-honor” the way you’ve always planned your entire life—he gets completely shit-faced drunk.

he’s sitting on the sidewalk in front of a puddle of his own vomit when you quietly sit beside him, slipping your arm around his shoulders. he doesn’t know why you’re there. he doesn’t know if he’s hallucinating. he smiles anyway.

“hey, you.”

“hey, shua,” you whisper, smiling at him sadly. “what are you doing?”

“oh, y’know,” he shrugs, grinning at himself pathetically. “just hanging out.”

you hum, nodding.

“what are you doing here?” he asks.

you look at him with an inscrutable expression. “i just wanted to see you,” you answer. “i wanted to see my best friend.”

“am i?” he asks, looking up at the sky. the moon is covered by clouds tonight. “your best friend?”

“of course. you always will be.”

he smiles at the thought. he’s too drunk to realize there’s no possible way that’s true, not since soonyoung came into your life. he’s too drunk to remember there’s no room in your life for another man who’s just as hopelessly in love with you as your fiance is.

“say, do you believe in god yet?” he asks suddenly.

you raise an eyebrow at the suddenness of the question. “um, i haven’t thought about it lately.”

he nods. “okay.”

“joshua, what are you doing here?” you ask again. “what are you really doing here?”

he doesn’t remember what he tells you. what he does remember is waking up in the room he grew up in instead of his apartment, with his mother at the foot of his childhood bed, tears welling in her eyes.

“was it y/n?” she asks.

he frowns. “what?”

“when you asked what i would do if you married someone who didn’t believe in god all those years ago,” she explains, sniffling a little as she does. “were you talking about y/n?”

he doesn’t answer.

the events of the previous night catch up to him, and he remembers where he is—where his life is. he’s a handful of days from watching you marry someone else. he’s a handful of days from losing the one person he’s ever fallen in love with to someone else.

and all joshua has to show for it is his goddamn faith, and suddenly, for the first time since he asked his mother that question, he’s not sure it was worth it. because either way, he knows he’ll be devoted to you until the day he dies; he might as well have had you by his side all this time.

he tries to swallow the lump in his throat. when he fails, he can’t help the sobs that begin to rack his body.

he buries the heel of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars.

“she’s marrying him,” he groans through his sobs. “she’s marrying him, mom.”

“oh, joshua. i know.” he feels his mom’s hand squeeze his leg. “oh, baby, i’m so sorry.”

“i can’t do this. i can’t do it,” he wheezes, feeling like his lungs are collapsing under the weight of his ribs. “why did i do this? i can’t do this.”

she doesn’t try to convince him he can do this. she doesn’t try to argue that he didn’t do anything wrong. she doesn’t tell him to calm down. she collects him in her arms and she holds him, comforting him the way only a mother knows how to.

when he starts to calm down, she kisses the crown of his head.

“the pain you must’ve endured all this time. i’m so sorry, joshua. if i had known who you were talking about, i would’ve said something entirely different.”

he untangles himself from her embrace to look at his mother. “what do you mean?”

she wipes at her own tear-stained cheeks before cupping her son’s face. “oh, sweetheart. it’s y/n. you grew up with her. i know her like i would my own daughter.”

his mother shakes her head and joshua feels like he sees all his regret mirrored in her face. she pulls him to sit against the wall his bed is pushed up against, joining him as they both stare out the opposite window.

“there are some people who lead godly lives without even knowing it,” she informs him. “you say she doesn’t believe in god, but i don’t believe you.” his stomach lurches. “that girl has lived as godly a life as you and i have. she doesn’t need to be catholic to do that, baby. you know her. there isn’t a single universe where that girl would’ve led you away from your faith.”

joshua stammers now. “but… i…”

“all the sundays she tagged along for mass with us because she just wanted to be with her best friend when she could’ve been out on the playgrounds,” his mother begins listing. “she always respectfully bowed her head when we prayed before meals even though we both knew she wasn’t praying.”

his head is reeling now. is it possible he rewrote his own memories? could he have created his own narrative of what life with you would look like?

“remember when you were both 14 and she learned what lent was? she tried giving up soda and ended up crying, begging me for forgiveness when she forgot and accidentally had coke with her school lunch.”

his mother’s shoulders shake with nostalgic laughter.

“you would’ve thought i was god the way that girl wailed,” she reminisces. she sighs in the silence that follows. “joshua, my son. some people… they show you they love god in a way different than we do, and it’s my fault i never properly taught you that.”

he turns his head to look at her but her gaze remains trained on the window. he sees now that it’s not his regret she mirrors but her own.

“i think i was too preoccupied with ensuring i raised you to be a good, catholic man—too preoccupied with making sure you didn’t become anything like your father.”

he breathes in deeply and returns his focus to the window.

“but i should’ve made it clear. i should’ve shown you that god exists in all the little acts of love we give and receive. i should’ve shown you that organized religion isn’t the only marker of faith.” she pauses, taking a shaky breath. “maybe then you would’ve recognized y/n as a woman of god. maybe then you wouldn’t be so hurt now.”

the words are enough to make joshua even more nauseous than his hangover is already making him.

“y/n… she shows godliness in the way she respects you and your beliefs. she shows it in the way she supports and loves you through every season of your life. it’s unfair to say she isn’t good enough for you because her faith lies in a different place.”

“i never thought she wasn’t good enough for me,” he interjects quickly. his mom doesn’t argue that, simply nodding. “she’s perfect. i just… i thought we were incompatible.”

“and maybe you are,” she agrees.

she doesn’t need to say it out loud; they both know what comes next. but now you’ll never know.

“i just wanted to apologize,” his mom tells him, taking his hand in hers and squeezing. “i feel like i’ve failed you.”

“you haven’t, mom,” he says quietly. “i failed me.”

“we’ll agree to disagree,” she announces, making him smile a little. “but i’m sorry anyway. there are a lot of things i’d change now if i could.”

he feels the familiar tightness in his chest. it’s his companion at this point, the heartbreak. “me too, mom. me too.”

joshua played with your hair from where he was laying on your couch. you were sitting criss-cross in front of him on the floor, clicking through netflix and trying to find a movie you both wanted to watch.

"is there anything that could happen that would make you believe in god?" he suddenly asked you. you frowned at the abrupt question, setting the remote down on the floor.

"that's random."

"just curious," he murmured softly, like he was so relaxed he was about to fall asleep.

"hmm," you hummed in thought, resting your head back so you could stare at the ceiling. he adjusted your hair so it fell over his lap. "like what, some kind of miracle that can only be explained by god?"

he shrugged. "sure. whatever."

"probably not..." you answered with hesitation. "i can't really think of a kind of miracle that would have me questioning god, though."

"like, if someone you loved were given a terminal diagnosis—three months to live. and suddenly, their illness clears up with no explanation. even doctors are astounded. what would you think?"

you shrugged. "i would be too happy they're not dying to question how it happened." he blew out a breath of exasperation. "okay, okay," you laughed, trying to figure out a more definite answer for him. "no, i don't think there's anything that could happen. it just seems too convenient that there's someone out there in charge of everyone's lives."

he nodded along but said nothing. you fidgeted in the silence. the quiet wasn't something the two of you ever shied from; it was always comfortable with joshua. for some reason, you felt awkward. so you kept talking to fill the silence.

"i think i could be open to believing something, though," you admitted honestly. "i just don't want to get to a place where i would blame this... thing or person for the things going wrong in my life. but that's just me. i still love that people believe so strongly in it. faith is a beautiful thing."

joshua taught you that. faith withstood a lot of things, and your best friend was the prime example. nothing was quite as beautiful as his love for his religion, his god, his spirituality. even if it scared you sometimes—even if it unintentionally made you feel too small to be someone lucky enough to have joshua's heart—you knew it was still precious.

"would you marry someone religious?"

you snorted. "where are these questions coming from?"

"indulge me."

you sighed, closing your eyes and enjoying the way his fingers carded through your hair. "that's so hard to answer without knowing who it is. it depends on the person. i can't make a decision based solely on how religious they are."

"okay, i guess that's fair." he paused. "would you ever convert for someone?"

"i don't think so?" you said, hating how unsure you sounded answering all of these questions. "but who knows? i really can't say for sure without knowing who it is, shua. how about you? would you marry someone who wasn't religious?"

your heart pounded at the silence that followed.

"it depends on the person," he finally said with a playful tone.

you rolled your eyes. "exactly."

"alright, what about kids?"

"shua, why are you interrogating me right now?"

he snickered. "i'm having a conversation with my best friend. is that not allowed?"

you lifted your head and turned to glare at him, your hair slipping between his fingers. he dropped his hand now that he had nothing to play with. he raised his eyebrows at you slightly.

"of course it's allowed," you scoffed. "it's just... so out of nowhere."

"well?" he prodded, ignoring your comments.

"okay, what about kids?" you relented.

"would you baptize them if you did marry someone religious?"

you laughed. "so much religion talk tonight."

he didn't dignify that with a response.

you groaned, again having no idea. if you took all these questions and made them about joshua, they would be a million times easier to answer. but he wasn't asking about himself, he was asking about some faceless, nameless nobody, and you weren't invested enough to answer accurately.

"i don't know... if it's important to my partner, then of course i would consider it," you finally said. "but i guess i'd be most comfortable just letting my kids figure it out themselves."

"that's wise," he remarked.

"mhm, sure" you hummed. "can we watch a movie now? i'll even let you choose an anime if you stop asking questions that make me sweaty."

he smirked and nodded. "okay, come up here, though."

you joined him on the couch and you spent the rest of the night binging anime episodes. you wouldn't be able to say what you watched, though, because the entire time, your mind was stuck on what the answers would've been if they were about joshua.

the end is long and beautiful.

you marry kwon soonyoung in front of all your loved ones, and you do it knowing full well this man will give you the happiest life. you spend the night eating the food you both painstakingly chose together, dancing to songs recommended by your guests on their RSVPs, and laughing so hard, tears stream down both of your faces.

and when you sidle up to your best friend as he leans on the bar, waiting for his drink, he has the strength to look happy for you. you’re sure he isn’t. at least not quite all the way.

“i’m happy you’re happy, y/n.”

you smile. “thank you, shua.” you pause, tilting your head a little in thought. you add: “for everything.”

“what’s everything?” he asks, smiling in confusion.

“for everything... for being my best friend all this time. loving me like you did. letting me love you," you list, ignoring the way his eyes widen at you. "most of all, i guess i just want to thank you for everything you gave up so we could be here,” you finish before placing a soft kiss on his cheek. you pull away, cupping his face, and smiling. “i’ll never forget it. thank you.”

you’re swept back onto the dance floor by your bridesmaids. it was a short exchange, but you know it was enough.

you’re not dumb. you knew what joshua had to give up so you could be here, happy, in love, and with the man perfect for you.

everything. he had to give up everything. he chose his devotion to god over his devotion to you, and you never faulted him for that because you knew it was a decision that would destroy him, and maybe it did at one point, having to bury his love as deep as he did.

you didn’t believe heaven was real, and still, he chose to love you until it hurt like hell and you knew it. there might have been a younger version of you that was heartbroken he couldn’t possibly imagine a life with you where you were capable of supporting his beliefs wholeheartedly regardless of yours. because you would have. you would have done everything in your power to make him feel loved while keeping his door to his god wide open.

there might have been a younger version of you that would’ve hated him for this.

but tonight, as you slow dance with your husband, feeling the safest you’ve felt in your entire life, all you can do is thank joshua hong for all the choices he made without asking you first.

ironically, because of him, you can see god now. you can see god in the way soonyoung holds you like you’re the most precious person in his life. you can see god in his patience and care. in his kindness. in his dedication to making you smile and laugh.

you’ve never seen god in a clearer light.

you think back to your last, honest night with joshua, on that deserted street, when he drunkenly called you.

“what are you really doing here?”

“i’m mourning,” he answered. “i’m mourning the life we could’ve had.” he frowned as tears began to fall down your face. “don’t cry. i don’t want to make you sad. i’m okay, i promise. i’ll be okay. i’m just letting you go now... for real this time.” he hiccuped. "for real, for real."

“you didn’t have to, you know,” you whispered.

“i think i did.”

you got him to his mother’s home that night, not wanting him to wake up alone with the weight of his sadness. you didn’t exchange many words, but you knew she knew. she hugged you, told you she was happy for you and soonyoung, and she looked at you for several, long seconds. you felt like she could see right through you because she probably could—she always did.

“you’ll always have him.”

“and he’ll always have me.”

“i know.”

the end is long and beautiful, and it’s simultaneously the best and the most devastating night of your life.

but your lives go on, and you and joshua both find what keeps you warm at night, and you hold onto it for as long as you can.

and you’re okay with that. you hope he is too.

[neurotica-tales]

Marked by the Chief (Yandere Hiccup x Reader) (1k Likes Special 1/10)

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You were never meant to linger—just a curious traveler chasing your fascination with dragons, passing through Berk on your way to somewhere else. A week, maybe two. Just enough time to admire the wild skies, feel the wind beneath a dragon’s wings, and move on.

But then you met Toothless—wide-eyed, brilliant, and impossibly endearing. And where the dragon went, his rider followed.

Hiccup Haddock. Chief of Berk.

You didn’t plan to grow close. Didn’t expect the quiet talks in the forge, the shared laughter, the way he looked at you like you hung the stars. Somewhere between dragons and drifting snow, you found yourself tethered—to him.

What you didn’t know was that Hiccup had been tethered to you since the moment he laid eyes on you.

You saw kindness in him. He saw forever in you.

Hiccup tried to be patient. To bury the obsession clawing its way through his ribs. To hide the fire that burned hotter every time you smiled at someone else. But tonight, beneath the roar of the village bonfire and the pulse of sweet mead in your veins, something snaps.

You belong to him. And he’s done pretending you don’t.

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Content Warnings: NSFW, Explicit Sexual Content, Yandere themes Breeding, Dubious Consent, Dark Romance

This story contains explicit sexual content and is intended for mature audiences only. If you are under the age of 18, please do not continue reading. This material is not suitable for minors.

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To find the prequel of this story, click HERE.

Next: Yandere Hiccup Headcanon, Yandere Tuffnut headcanon

To find my master list, click HERE.

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The bonfire roared at the heart of the village square, its flames crackling and casting golden light across laughing faces and dancing shadows. The smell of roasted meat, sweet mead, and pine-sap-soaked timber clung to the crisp night air. It was the kind of warmth that seeped into your bones, even as the cold wind whispered from the sea beyond the cliffs.

Hiccup Haddock stood near the edge of the crowd, fingers curled tightly around a carved wooden cup, knuckles pale with tension he refused to let show. He should’ve been celebrating. Should’ve been laughing with Astrid or challenging Snotlout to another round of dragon racing boasts. But instead, he was watching you.

You sat on a log near the fire, cheeks flushed, eyes glowing in the firelight as you laughed at something Ruffnut said. The way your head tipped back when you smiled—it did something to him. Twisted his insides into something unrecognizable. Something needy. Dangerous.

He’d watched you every day since you arrived. At first from afar, then more boldly, especially after that awkward misunderstanding at the forge. It should’ve embarrassed him, thinking you’d been following him—only to find out it was Toothless who had caught your eye. But it hadn’t. Not really.

In truth, it had excited him. The idea that you might be interested, that you might have already noticed the bond between dragon and rider and been drawn in by it. That maybe—just maybe—you were beginning to see him.

And now, he couldn’t stop.

He told himself he was being careful. Measured. Subtle. That he wasn’t letting this obsession take over. But the truth was, he lived for the moments when your eyes flicked toward him in a crowd. When your voice—soft and thoughtful—curled around his name like it belonged there. When you stopped by the forge and leaned just a little too close to see his latest design.

Every interaction fed the fire he kept locked behind his ribs.

And tonight, it burned hotter than ever.

The party was in full swing. Dragons nestled around the fire’s edges, their low rumbles blending with the music. Children ran barefoot through the snow, chasing sparks from the bonfire. Mead sloshed in every cup, and Hiccup couldn’t take his eyes off you.

You were flushed from the drink. He could tell by the way your movements slowed, softened, the way you leaned into Ruffnut with laughter that sent heat rushing to his face.

He hated how vulnerable you looked—tipsy, unguarded, surrounded by people who didn’t know how delicate you really were. People who might lean too close, say something too bold, brush your arm and think it meant something. People who didn’t know how much you meant to him.

A flare of jealousy twisted in his chest when Eret handed you another drink, his fingers brushing yours. Your eyes lit up in thanks.

Hiccup’s grip on his cup tightened until the wood creaked.

He knew he was being unreasonable. You weren’t his—not really. You had every right to talk to whomever you pleased. But gods, the thought of you smiling at someone else like that—it drove him mad.

He took a long breath. Tried to calm the storm in his chest.

Then your eyes found his across the firelight.

You smiled.

A small, lazy thing. Drunk, maybe. But real.

Hiccup’s heart stuttered.

He raised his cup in silent acknowledgment, hoping the gesture masked the way his hands were shaking.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He pushed through the crowd, weaving between villagers and dragons, his movements more purposeful than they had any right to be. Every step felt like a breaking point.

He found you mid-dance, your arm looped through Ruffnut’s, laughter spilling from your lips as you stumbled through a clumsy spin.

You didn’t see him until he was right there—reaching for your elbow, steadying you as your foot slipped.

"You’re drunk," he said, more a statement than a question.

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed and a little dazed. “Maybe a little.”

He didn’t smile. He couldn’t. Not with the way his heart thundered and his thoughts spiraled.

"Come on," he said gently. "Let me walk you back."

You started to protest, but stumbled again, this time against his chest. He caught you, both hands at your waist, the contact searing.

You smelled like smoke and honeyed mead and cold air. Your breath ghosted against his collarbone.

“Okay,” you mumbled. “You win.”

He didn’t speak. Just turned with you and began to walk.

The path away from the bonfire was quiet. Dark. Only the occasional lantern lit the way. Snow crunched beneath their boots. The warmth of the party faded into distant sound. Behind them, dragons settled for the night, their massive bodies creating dark mounds along the village borders.

He should’ve said something. Anything. But the silence was easier. Safer.

Your shoulder brushed his. His hand hovered near your lower back, not quite touching, but close enough to feel your body heat.

Every step was torture.

You hummed under your breath. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to drink so much. Ruffnut kept refilling my cup.”

He swallowed. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You turned to look at him. “You sure? I’m not making you miss the fun, am I?”

“I wasn’t having fun,” he said. Too quickly.

You blinked.

“I mean—not really. Not without you.”

That hung in the air. Unspoken and heavy.

You looked away. “Eret said the patrol was easy. I guess that’s worth a celebration.”

“Eret,” he repeated flatly.

You didn’t notice the change in his tone.

“He touched your arm. Twice.”

You turned to him, half-amused, half-surprised. “Hiccup… are you jealous?”

His gaze snapped to yours.

“Should I not be?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but something in his expression froze you. Raw. Honest. Desperate.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” you whispered.

His jaw clenched. Not in anger. In restraint.

He stepped closer. Close enough to smell the mead on your breath, to see the gold flecks in your eyes. Close enough that the hunger he’d buried for weeks clawed its way to the surface.

“You drive me crazy sometimes, you know that?”

Your smile faded.

He reached for your wrist, fingers trembling. He had no idea who moved first. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was him. But suddenly—

He moved forward, and his lips crashed against yours.

His mouth was rough. His teeth clacked against yours in that first brutal moment. But then his lips softened, and he curled his tongue around yours. He felt your hands fist in his clothes, pulling him closer. Your nails raked against his chest as you arched into him. Your breath hitched, and he drank it in. Your mouth was hot and wet, and you tasted like sweet mead and berries. He couldn't get enough. He couldn't stop. He wanted to consume you, taste you, drink you in.

No longer trying to be soft or tender, he lifted you into his arms. He cradled you against his chest and carried you towards the steps of your hut. He couldn't wait. He couldn't slow down, but he just had to stumble once—one of the downsides of having a peg leg he suppose—but caught himself with a breathless laugh that died between your mouths.

No sooner had he opened the door, it slammed shut behind him, the sound of the solid wood hitting its frame echoing in the hut. The sudden quiet of the hut enveloped you both, broken only by the hitch of your breath and the ragged sound of his own. The fire had long gone out, but heat bloomed anyway—from him, from you, from the fever in his chest that had finally, finally broken free.

He pushed you gently against the wooden wall, his hands framing your face now, thumbs stroking your cheekbones as if to memorize the shape of you.

“I tried,” he whispered against your lips. “I tried to wait. To go slow.”

Your fingers cupped the back of his neck, pulling him back in.

“I didn’t want to scare you away,” he breathed. “But I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t—not tonight.”

You kissed him again, and it broke the last of his resolve.

His world had narrowed to you. The soft hitch in your breath, the weight of your body in his arms, the look in your eyes. He didn’t even think. He couldn’t. His thoughts had long since frayed under the weight of everything he’d been holding back.

You were in his arms. You’d kissed him back.

He couldn’t stop now.

He lunges forward once again, his mouth crashing into yours. It’s not gentle. It’s not soft. It’s starvation, pure and raw. His teeth clash against yours, but then his lips part, tongue sweeping in to claim yours. You moan into him, your hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer. You need more.

You need all of him.

Your bodies press together, the heat of him searing through your clothes. You can feel his cock, hard and insistent, against your stomach. You grind against him, a gasp tearing from your lips as his hands roam over your body, memorizing every curve, every line.

Clothes fell away piece by piece, careless and trembling. His fingers were clumsy, not from lack of experience, but from too much feeling. Too much need. It wasn’t about lust. Not just lust. It was desperation, devotion, weeks—months—of restrained longing finally clawing its way to the surface. He lifted you like you weighed nothing, carried you to the bedroom upstairs, his mouth never straying far from yours. He doesn’t break the kiss even as he lowers you onto the mattress, his body covering yours, his weight pinning you down.

You love it.

You love the feel of him, the taste of him, the smell of him. You love everything about him. Your hands are everywhere, pushing his clothes off, needing to feel his skin. He breaks away from your mouth, his lips trailing down your throat. He nips and licks, marking you, claiming you. You gasp, arching into him, your nails digging into his shoulders. He groans, the sound vibrating against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“Hiccup,” you whisper, his name a plea, a prayer, a promise. “Please.”

He growls, his lips moving lower, over your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts. Your nipples peak, aching for his touch. He doesn’t disappoint. He takes one into his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue licking and teasing. You cry out, your back arching, pressing more of you into his mouth. He groans, his hand cupping your other breast, thumb and forefinger rolling your nipple until you’re writhing beneath him.

He moves lower, his lips trailing over your stomach, his tongue dipping into your belly button. You shiver, your hands gripping his hair, urging him on. You can feel your arousal, slick and hot, coating your thighs. You can smell it, sweet and intoxicating, and it drives you both wild. He moves lower still, his lips brushing against the inside of your thighs. You can feel his breath, hot and ragged, against your skin. You tremble, your body aching with need.

He looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours as he leans in, his tongue sweeping out to taste you. You gasp, your eyes fluttering closed, your head falling back. He groans, the taste of you driving him mad. He licks and sucks, his tongue delving into you, tasting every inch of you.

You’re so wet, so ready, and he can’t get enough. He slips a finger inside you, then another, his tongue never stopping its relentless assault on your clit. You’re panting, your hips moving in time with his fingers, your body tightening around him.

“Hiccup, more,” you beg, your voice breathless, desperate. “Please, more.”

He grins against you, his fingers moving faster, his tongue licking harder. You cry out, your body convulsing as your orgasm hits you. He drinks it down, his tongue licking up every drop of your pleasure. He looks up at you, his chin glistening, his eyes wild. You meet his gaze—his eyes wide, unguarded and covered in lust—and in that moment, something clicks into place.

Your chest rises and falls with each breath, lips parted, skin tingling with the closeness of him. And you know. Something fundamental has shifted, fragile tension giving way to something inevitable. All those days spent circling each other, trading glances and half-measures, have led to this. There’s no going back now—not with the way he’s looking at you like you’re everything.

Hiccup crawls up your body, his lips finding yours. You can taste yourself on him, and it drives you wild. He kisses you deeply, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming you, possessing you. You moan as his hips grinding against yours, his cock hard and insistent against your thigh. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him into you. He can feel his control slip. He’s trembling, his body shaking with the effort of holding back.

“Fuck me,” you whisper, your voice soft, your eyes pleading. “Please, Hiccup. Fuck me.”

Hiccup doesn’t need to be told twice.

He shifts, his hips moving between your thighs. He can feel your heat, your wetness, and it’s torture. He needs to be inside you. He needs to feel you around him, to hear your cries, to feel your body shudder with pleasure. Without any hesitation, he thrusts forward, sliding into you inch by inch.

A sound tears from both your throats the moment he pushes into you—half-gasp, half-groan—raw and unfiltered. The stretch of him is intense, nearly too much, but it’s exactly what you craved. He fills you completely, thick and hard, fitting like he was made for this. For you. His body still trembles with restraint, his fingers digging into your hips like he needs to anchor himself or risk shattering entirely.

He pulls back, slow, torturous—and then drives back in, harder this time. The cot creaks beneath you, the force of his body slamming into yours echoing through the quiet hut. Each thrust is desperate, like he’s trying to etch himself into your very bones. You rise to meet him, instinctive, your hips tilting to take him deeper. The friction is exquisite, your bodies slick with sweat, the air thick with heat and breathless gasps.

Your fingers claw at his back, and he moans—deep, guttural—like the feeling of you under him is too much to bear. His forehead presses to yours, his breath coming in ragged pants, every exhale ghosting over your lips. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, voice cracked and reverent, like it’s a truth carved into his soul. “You’re mine.”

His pace stutters as you clench around him, and his hand slips between your bodies, desperate to pull you over the edge with him. His thumb circles, trembling, and your cry cuts through the room like lightning. His own release is barreling toward him, his rhythm faltering, hips jerking—each thrust more frantic, more erratic, until all that’s left is heat and want and the sharp, aching need to fall with you.

You’re both spiraling now, tangled together in a frenzy of motion and sound and breath. Every nerve in your body screams, tuned to him. To the way he gasps your name. To the way his hands hold you like a man clinging to the only thing keeping him alive.

And gods, you’re both so close.

He withdraws with a sharp gasp, only to grasp your waist and guide you onto your hands and knees, his touch urgent but careful—like he’s trying not to break you even as he falls apart himself. The shift in position sends a thrill through your body, anticipation coiling hot and heavy in your stomach.

Then you glance back at him—your cheek flushed, lips parted, eyes locking with his—and what you see there nearly steals the air from your lungs.

Hiccup’s gaze burns.

There’s nothing held back now. No softness. No fear. Only hunger. A raw, unrestrained need that’s been simmering beneath the surface for weeks—boiling over now with primal force. He looks at you like a man starved, like he’s waited too long to taste something he was never supposed to have.

And now that he has it, he’s never letting go.

He thrusts into you again, hard, deep, and the sound you make rips through him like a blade. His hands find your hips, fingers digging into your skin like he needs to brand you with his touch. Each snap of his hips drives him deeper, the force of it jolting through you, sending the cot creaking beneath the two of you in a relentless rhythm.

You brace yourself, crying out with every motion—every ragged stroke of his body against yours. He leans over you, one hand sliding up your spine, his chest flush to your back as his mouth finds your shoulder, your neck, your ear.

“You feel—gods—you feel so good,” he groans, voice thick and broken, like he’s unraveling. “Like you were made for me. Only me.”

His words aren’t just lust—they’re possession, devotion, obsession—all twisted into one searing breath against your skin.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes in the tiny hut, wet and rhythmic, mingling with your gasps and his groans. It’s a symphony of need and surrender, primal and carnal, but underneath it all is something terrifyingly tender. Something worshipful.

He’s not just claiming your body.

He’s claiming everything.

“Harder,” you beg, your voice breathless, desperate. “Please, harder.”

He obliges, his hips slamming into yours, his cock hitting that spot deep inside you that makes you see stars. You’re panting, your body trembling, your orgasm building, coiling tight in your belly.

“Come for me,” Hiccup growls, his voice harsh, his body shaking. “Come for me, my love.”

And you do. Your body convulses, your back arching, your head thrown back. You cry out, his name a desperate, pleading sound on your lips. And it undoes him. He thrusts once more, his body shuddering, his release tearing through him. You feel his seed flood into you as he collapses onto you, his body shaking, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

You can feel his heartbeat, his breath, his body against yours, and it’s perfect. It’s everything. He rolls to the side, pulling you with him, his arms wrapping around you. You can feel your heartbeat, your body still trembling. He presses kisses to your forehead, your temple, your cheek. He can’t stop touching you, kissing you, holding you. He never wants to let you go.

You’re his.

His precious traveller from the South.

You are his love, his everything. And Hiccup would do anything to keep you beside him.

Anything.

As his hand drifts tenderly over your stomach, possessive and reverent, a smile curls on his lips—soft, secretive, and utterly unshakable.

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Tags: @cup1der0s

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[terrimisu]

Just Bob

Prologue

Fandom: MCU | Thunderbolts (Sentry)

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader (Y/N), ensemble cast

Warnings: blood, mental health themes, soft horror, therapy avoidance, surveillance, implied addiction/relapse

Word Count: ~2.1k

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Summary:

Bob says he’s fine. The team wants to believe him. But when strange malfunctions ripple through the Tower and therapy logs show silence instead of progress, Yelena begins to worry. As doubts grow, Valentina reaches out to someone from Bob’s past—someone who might be able to reach him before it’s too late.

Note: Y/N comes in the next chapter.

⸻

Bob was folding laundry—doing the minimal domestic tasks around the tower, as he had been for the last few months.

His eyes softened as he lifted a sheet fresh from the dryer. Ivory-colored. Still warm.

He held it to his nose, catching a whiff of the lavender dryer sheets he’d tossed in on autopilot.

A faint smile pulled at his lips. Then he moved to fold it, tucking the corners under his chin.

But something caught his eye.

A drop of crimson, clear as day, bloomed after the first fold.

He rubbed it with his thumb. It smeared instead—fresh.

His chest tightened.

Not again.

He brought a hand up to his nose.

Wet.

“A-Ah, shit…” he muttered, tossing the sheet into the dirty pile and stumbling toward the elevator.

“F—fuck,” he whispered, weaving down the hallway, head tilted back. The lights above flickered as he passed. Somewhere in the tower, the lab beeping repeated in uneven pulses—like a heartbeat, off-rhythm.

“So Amsterdam was—Bob?” Yelena’s voice cut off mid-sentence as she turned in time to see him stumble past, disappearing into a bathroom.

Bob stared at himself in the mirror. Blood trailed from his nostril, slow and steady. His hands shook as he washed his face and stuffed tissue into both nostrils.

His reflection blinked back at him. Eyes glowing.

Not gold—something colder. Too bright. Too awake.

He didn’t say anything. Just pressed his palms to the sink and lowered his head.

“Bob?” Yelena’s voice came from the doorway.

He didn’t turn. Just groaned as he wiped the rest of the blood from his face.

Yelena’s brow creased.

“Your nose have a period?”

“I—I think it’s stress,” he muttered, barely audible.

She looked at him through the mirror, unmoving.

“I’m fine,” he added, voice flat.

“Promise.”

⸻

The debriefing room sat in heavy silence. Each of them watching Valentina, who stood at the center console, arms crossed, jaw set.

Ava phased through the vault door, moving to sit beside Walker. His boots were propped up on the edge, eyes flicking to the monitor.

“There was another shift last night,” Valentina said, her voice clipped. She turned to the Tower’s power and energy readouts on the screen.

“Are we talking about—” Walker started.

“Bob,” the others said at once.

Valentina sighed as the feed updated. Everything in line—except for a few flagged anomalies: energy grid failure, containment center malfunction, water levels dropping.

Ava stood.

“The energy grid has shorted before. That wing’s overdue for recalibration.”

She moved closer, hands bracing the console.

“Doesn’t mean it has to be him.”

Valentina didn’t look up.

“What else could it be?”

Bucky stepped forward, tapping the console. A camera feed loaded, filling the screen with a hallway outside Bob’s dorm. Mostly quiet. Logs stacked over months.

Then: footage from last week.

Dark shapes blurred across the screen, unrecognizable.

“Is that static?” Ava asked, narrowing her eyes.

Bucky shook his head.

“Too clear.”

The feed cut. Switched to live.

Bob’s door stayed closed. But along the edge of the frame, something slithered into view—jet black, for half a second—then gone.

Bucky rewound, slowing the frame. A dark, humanoid shape. Crawling. Then smoke.

“Great. Ghosts. Just what we needed,” Walker muttered.

Yelena snapped her gaze to him.

“That’s not funny.”

Walker raised both arms, defensive.

“Just saying—it’s tense in here.”

Ava didn’t look away from the screen.

“Whatever it is, it’s not mechanical. The systems are fine.”

Valentina straightened, hands pressing against the console.

“If Bob’s instability grows, we’re not just risking another power surge. Think about what this place holds. Think about what the Void touched last time.”

Yelena stood, shaking her head.

“It can’t be him. He’s been doing therapy. I take him every week.”

Valentina’s stare sharpened.

“And? Have you ever seen him stay?”

Yelena blinked. Slowly. Her mouth parted, but no sound came.

Silence pressed in like static. Her thoughts flickered through—like skipping scenes from an old tape.

She saw herself walking him to the elevator. That morning last week. Bob chewing the inside of his lip. Then his nails. The way the elevator hummed and neither of them said much.

“Bob?” she’d asked, her voice low.

His hands had stilled. He looked at her—startled. Like he’d just remembered where he was. His eyes were the same blue as always.

Just… foggy.

“Y-Yeah?” he’d said.

“You okay?”

Elevator dinged.

“I’m fine,” he replied, walking out. Not glancing back.

She always let him go from there. Sometimes with a coffee. Or a Frappuccino if he looked tired. Something to hold while someone poked around in his head.

But she never watched him go all the way in.

Not once.

“I…” her voice cracked slightly.

“I just walk him in.”

Her face went tight. Her eyes darted toward nothing in particular, scanning for something invisible.

“What do we do?” she asked, looking between the team.

No one answered. The hum of the tower echoed again, louder this time. The lights flickered above them, faint but sharp.

Barnes broke the silence.

“So we don’t even know if he’s seeing anyone?”

Valentina shook her head.

“He goes. That’s logged. But he’s not staying long or really talking. Not anymore.”

She pulled up a series of screens. One feed, one list.

Therapy logs. Nearly a year’s worth. Notes filed under Bob’s sessions, paired with muted security footage from the tower’s clinic.

Ava squinted.

“Isn’t that—kind of an invasion of privacy?”

“No audio,” Valentina said.

“Cameras are for the psychiatrist. Bob’s case is… complicated.”

One file caught her attention. She opened it. Minimal notes:

Session cut short. Subject nonverbal.

She scrolled. Note after note. Jargon-heavy, terse. Scribbled handwriting. You could almost feel the psychiatrist’s frustration in how jagged the pen had moved.

Then: a blank screen. The last week had no entry.

“I can talk to him,” Yelena said quickly.

Alexei spoke up.

“What about missions?”

Valentina nodded once.

“He’s right. You’re still a critical asset. But this—this is something else. This is groundwork.”

She crossed her arms.

“It won’t be easy.”

Bucky leaned forward.

“So if therapy isn’t working—what’s next?”

Valentina hesitated. Then tapped into another file.

“I dug into his rehab history. North Carolina. In and out before Malaysia. One contact stood out.”

She pulled up a card.

Y/N.

“She was in treatment with him,” Valentina said.

“There were notes. Shared housing. Intake overlap.”

Yelena stared at the name.

“There’s something he’s not telling us,” Valentina continued.

“And if he’s not even telling you—”

She looked directly at Yelena.

“Then maybe this is the next best option.”

She paused, voice lowering.

“Because if we don’t get ahead of this, and the Void returns, we’re looking at a PR nightmare. Or worse.”

The team exchanged uneasy glances. Like they all knew she was right—but didn’t like what that meant.

Yelena’s stomach turned.

“Only if it helps Bob,” she said.

⸻

[TBC – Chapter 1 coming soon]

Taglist:

@werewolfgirl1995

@naushtheaspiringauthor

@sapphirest0nes

Taglist open. DM to be added.

A/N: This is my first in-depth fan fiction in about maybe 10 years — I’ve written others but dropped them due to writers block and workload. I’m open to feedback or suggestions!

This fic is also a deep dive into who Bob could have been pre-Malaysia. Talking about his struggles and recovery is just as important as his power.

Hope you guys stick around for more!

⸻

[the-kr8tor]

Hello! So I read your requests were open and I had a really fun idea! Hobie brown x Gn reader (platonic or romantic- whatever you prefer) where reader takes hobie to a Hard Rock Cafe in her world and like she just gets excited over all the rockstar artifacts and then they end up getting one of the really big brownie sundaes and it’s just a complete fluff sesh?

btw adore your writing friend!

Thank you for requesting! I've never been to one so I tried my best with the overall vibes of the place lol I hope you like it! ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, established relationship, cw food mentions, lovestruck! Hobie, fluff!

Navigation

When you asked Hobie, a fellow spiderperson out on a date, you never thought that he'd even say yes when he only knew you through the society and the occasional missions together. Moreso when the singular coffee date after a mission turns into another and then another and then another, until you realize that the two of you have been dating for almost a couple of months now.

It's been the best couple of months for you and Hobie, all the casual lingering looks through the crowd of spiders in the society makes you think that you're in some romcom. Especially when he winks at you, or when his hand grazes your own briefly as you pass by. It's been absolute bliss, you're glad you took a leap by asking out your crush, and you're glad that he said yes. So when the gang all sat down and the topic of a certain rock slash music themed café was brought out, you saw the way Hobie's eyes sparkled with curiosity. You took the opportunity to invite him to your dimension for the first time, knowing that there's one of them in your very own city. Now that you're standing in front of the said café with the punk in tow, you're suddenly unsure as he stands there staring at the façade like someone took a bite of his breakfast burrito.

“Shit,” you mumble, wincing. “We can go somewhere else if you like?”

Hobie cranes his head to look at you, hand grasping your own and squeezing it gently. “Nah, love, you said you've never been, we can go in.”

“Yeah, but you look like you don't like it?”

He pulls you closer until you're toe to toe with him, lips curling into a smile. “It looks gaudy as shit, love, but ‘m curious ‘bout it. The food might be alright if we end up not likin’ the place.”

“You sure? Because we can go to my place instead?” His eyes light up, and you don't miss the bashful smile creeping on his face. “It doesn't have any music memorabilia but I have a bunch of moon rocks.”

Chuckling, he reaches for your cheek to press a sweet kiss upon your temple that has you almost melting right on the sidewalk together with the chewed out bubblegum.

“Maybe we can go later? You did say they have some Freddy Mercury stuff in there.” His voice is soft as he tugs you inside, the promise of later makes your heart beat louder.

“Yeah, okay, just don't expect a museum in there.”

“There’s a gigantic guitar outside that lights up, ‘m sure it's not like any regular museum.” Smiling, he opens the door for you. “Age before beauty.”

You roll your eyes with a fond smile. “I'll take that in stride this time because this might turn out to be a shitty date for you.”

His nose scrunches as he lets you through before following inside. “Nah, it's impossible to have a shitty date with you—” eyes falling around the interior, the diner-like seats that are shaped like Cadillac backseats, theatre bulbs blinking in and out, and servers that are dressed like famous artists and of course, the most sought after music memorabilia. “Shit.”

“Good shit or bad shit?” You stand on the balls of your feet, hands behind your back as you stare at the wonderment in his eyes. The place is flooded with iconic music, it gives you a sense of nostalgia even though you've never been to a place like this before.

“The verdict’s still out, love.” Hobie tugs you again, this time in front of a guitar that's encased in glass.

“Your eyes says otherwise—”

“This is the same queen guitar they played back when they were still startin’ out! It still has the original strings!” He gasps, eyes wide like he's in a candy store. You can't help but grin at his excitement while you feel it through his hand, not just his expression. “Bloody hell is that the piano?!”

Giggling, you let him drag you through the café, spouting off music history and facts with wonderment while you listen intently. Smiling through it all, you're glad that you brought your digital camera to take pictures of him with all the history surrounding the café. Hobie keeps pulling you back into the frame though, saying that he wants his lovie to be a part of the picture that he will hang up in his houseboat. With the amount of pictures the two of you have taken together, there won't be any space left on his walls.

After an hour of walking around the heavily decorated place, the two of you finally sit down to order something. You slide into the booth and he sits adjacent to you. His smile falters, and you almost panic until he scooches out of the squeaky booth and into your side. To your giddiness, he puts his arm around your shoulder, warmth ebbing out of him through your jacket.

“What?” Hobie asks as you gaze at him with a tamped down grin.

You shake your head, cheeks aflame as he casually puts his leg over the other to disguise the fact that he scooched closer to you. “Nothing, nerd.”

“Who you callin’ nerd, nerd?”

“You, nerd.” Poking his chest, he grins brightly at you.

“Is that how it is?” Gasping in feigned offense, he reaches to poke you back but the sound of someone clearing their throat stops your giggling and his roaming hands.

“May I take your order?” A waiter dressed up like he's in the band kiss, makeup and all, looks at the two of you expectantly.

“Oh, um.” You fluster, while Hobie recovers more quickly, acting nonchalant as he flips through the menu lightning quick. You can tell that he's grimacing at the prices. “I think I'll just have a brownie sundae.”

“Is that the one Gwen recommended?” Flipping through the menu, he sees the same sundae, and nods.

“Yeah, the same one they ordered when Miles took her here.”

“Right, jus' one, mate.” Hobie shuts the menu closed and kindly hands it to the waiter that nods and leaves the both of you.

“You sure? You can order something else if you want.”

“Nah, trust me, it's enough for two.”

“Now how would you know about that when you've never been?” Smiling, you return to your shenanigan as you poke him at his side. Hobie acts like he's annoyed but from how his hand is slowly reaching your side, you know he's enjoying himself.

“It's because I saw the menu, love.” Index and thumb pinching your side, you giggle whilst you try to swat his hand away. “The servin’ says ‘good for two.’”

“You know how to read?” Joking, his head tips back in laughter, boisterous enough to rise above the guitar riffs playing in the speakers.

“You cheeky little shit.” Cupping your face, you scrunch your nose as he kisses where your skin folds. His piercing brushing softly with every kiss, smiling through it all. Cheeks squished, he leans away to see the flustered look on your face. “There, I've gotten my revenge.”

“Sweet revenge.” You mumble while he still has your face in his hands.

“Sweeter than the sundae,” his hold loosens but he still cradles your face gently. Eyes flicking down to your lips, his breath gets stuck in his throat. “But you're sweeter.”

Palms upon his chest, you gaze at him through blown out eyes, irises practically shaped like hearts. “I can think of something else that's sweet.”

“Yeah?” Hobie's thumb brushes along your lips.

“Yeah—”

“Brownie sundae.”

You leap away from him, acting like you're admiring the black and white portraits on the walls. The server leaves the utensils and the ice cream, hopefully none the wiser.

“Thanks, mate.” Hobie chortles, and taps your shoulder. “Told you this serves two.”

As you turn back around, you face the largest ice cream sundae you've ever seen with what looks like a whole pan of brownie on top of the whipped cream.

You whistle lowly, and he agrees as he looks at the ice cream like it's some science experiment. “I don't think we can finish this.” Chuckling and taking a spoon, you have no idea where to even start scooping.

“D’you think they can let us take this home?” Hobie nudges you, “to your place?”

You're immediately calling for the server back with a raised hand that has Hobie laughing again.

[rylem33]

Prove It

“He’s going to propose.”

I swear my heart just about exploded. My hands flew to my mouth, and I felt my whole face light up. “Oh my god! Bri—seriously?”

She nodded, hands trembling just a little as she clutched the edge of the counter. “He told my sister. She slipped up and… he already bought the ring.”

I practically bounced in place. “Bri!” I rounded the counter and wrapped her in the biggest hug I could manage. “This is amazing. I knew he was going to ask you! I knew it!”

I felt her hesitate in my arms. She hugged me back… but weakly. Something wasn’t right.

I leaned back, holding her at arm’s length. “Wait… why aren’t you smiling right now? This is, like… everything you’ve wanted.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I just… I need to be sure.”

I blinked. “Be sure of what?”

She dropped her gaze. “That he won’t hurt me. That he’s really… faithful.”

I stared at her, my stomach dropping just a little. “Bri… come on. It’s Jason. You know he’s not like the others.”

Her voice got smaller. “I think I know. But… what if I’m wrong?”

I let out a breath, trying not to sound frustrated. “Bri, you’ve been with him for two years. He worships you. He treats you like a damn queen.”

Oh my god, Bri. Not this again…why can’t she just believe in him?

She bit her lip. “I know…I think…but I just need to prove it.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a tiny violet bottle, shoving it toward me.

“Callie gave this to me. She said it works. Makes you someone else. That’s what she told me.”

I stared at the bottle. Glittery liquid swirled inside, thick and almost glowing.

“No. No, Bri. You can’t be serious.”

“Please,” she whispered. “I need to see. I need to know. You show up looking like someone else. You can flirt with him, tempt him. He’ll never know it’s you. If he passes, I’ll never question it again.”

This is a terrible idea.  This is insane. 

I should have said no.

Instead… I nodded.

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

I sat in my car outside Jason’s gym, the bottle in my hand. My heart was pounding so hard I thought I might throw up.

Just go home. Call Bri. Tell her this is fucking stupid. She’ll listen. She has to.

I glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes until he clocked out.

I turned the bottle over in my fingers for the hundredth time. Bri hadn’t said how long it would take to work. I didn’t even know if it would work.

My thumb hovered over the cap.

One afternoon. Prove her wrong. Show her he’s loyal. Then this whole nightmare’s over.

I popped the cap before I could stop myself and tipped it back, swallowing the cool, syrupy liquid in one shot.

The taste hit first. I gagged, coughing into my elbow.

God, that was disgusting.

I tossed the empty bottle onto the passenger seat, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

What the hell did I just do? Why did I do that? I don’t even know what was in that bottle and I just drank it.  What if I just poisoned myself?

Then something hit me from within.

Oh fuck…

The heat started low, curling up my spine, pulsing in thick, rolling waves. I gasped, clutching the steering wheel as my body arched into the sensation.

Oh… oh my god…it felt really good.

My skin prickled all over, like tiny sparks racing under the surface. My back pressed into the seat as a low, needy whimper slipped past my lips.

I squirmed, shifting in place, but my thighs—fuck—they were thicker. My ass pushed wider into the seat, my hips flaring out, stretching my leggings to the limit.

My chest swelled, tight and aching, nipples straining against the cups of my bra as they expanded, round and obscene. The straps dug into my shoulders until—snap—they gave out completely. 

What the hell is happening…?

I watched in shock as my clothes literally started to change. The fabric shimmered, stretched, tightened. My hoodie shrank, sleeves pulling back, neckline dipping dangerously low. The soft cotton thinned into silky, cream-colored fabric, wrapping tight around my chest, lacing across my cleavage with delicate strings barely holding me in place.

Oh god…

The leggings peeled away, dissolving into thin air like mist, until all that remained was a tiny matching miniskirt that I definitely wasn’t wearing a second ago. It pulled across my hips, snug against skin that now looked tanned and glowing.

My sneakers shimmered, twisting into dainty white heels that lifted me up just enough to make my ass pop even more.

I swallowed, watching my reflection.

Glossy, plump lips. Dark, dramatic lashes. Eyeliner sharp enough to kill. My hair was long, sleek, and perfect. Every inch of me looked fake, plastic… like some over-the-top influencer or a pornstar mid-selfie.

I couldn’t stop staring.

I bit my lip, running my nails down my chest, tugging gently at the thin straps barely covering me. A soft, breathy moan slipped out before I could stop it.

Holy fuck…

I stuck my tongue out, watching the way my lips parted.

I looked like sin.

And somehow… I didn’t hate it.

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

God… what did I just do to myself?

I couldn’t stop looking. Couldn’t stop touching. Every curve felt so… soft. So sensitive. My skin hummed. I shifted again, biting back a shaky breath as the friction of the silky fabric dragged over my nipples. It was maddening.

I ran my hands down my waist, over my hips, my thighs… fuck. I didn’t just look like a pornstar, but I felt like one.

I glanced at the clock again, heart hammering.

Okay. Enough stalling. Just go in. Do the stupid test. Then it’s over.

I grabbed the door handle, hesitating for half a second.

I don’t even know how long this will last…

With a deep breath, I shoved the door open and stepped out.

Every step toward the building made my body sway. It was like my hips had a mind of their own. It wasn’t on purpose… but god, it looked like it was.

I tugged the little top tighter across my chest, not that it helped much. My cleavage bounced with every step, drawing more eyes towards me.

Two guys in the parking lot actually stopped walking to stare.

One of them whistled under his breath.

I felt my cheeks flush hot, but I didn’t stop. My heels clicked on the concrete, my body strutting like it had done this a thousand times before.

Jesus… this isn’t me. What the hell is wrong with me?

But another voice whispered in the back of my head, soft and sweet.

“You’re not Taylor anymore. Let them look.“

I bit my lip and pushed open the gym door.

Heads turned. Guys paused mid-rep. Even a few women gave me that tight little glare girls give when they know they’ve been outdone.

God, this is unreal…

I spotted Jason toward the back by the weight racks, towel slung over his shoulder, bending to adjust the plates on the bar.

“Look at him,” the voice purred in my head, syrupy sweet.  “He’s already hard to resist, isn’t he? Imagine how easy it’ll be to make him forget all about her.”

I swallowed hard, palms already sweaty. No. He’s going to pass. He’s going to shut me down. He’s not that guy.

“But wouldn’t it feel so good to watch him fail?”

I froze mid-step, shaking my head slightly.

No. Just… test him. That’s it.

“Test him?” The voice giggled, light and taunting. “Please. You already want him to fail. You just don’t want to admit it yet.”

I forced myself to keep walking. When I reached him, I leaned casually against the weight machine beside him, making sure my chest popped just enough. I let out a breathy little sigh, drawing his attention.

He looked up. Eyes wide for half a second before he covered it with a polite smile.

“Uh… hey there. Can I… help you?”

Fuck… he doesn’t recognize me at all.

“Of course he doesn’t,” the voice teased. “You’re not some plain little best friend anymore. You’re a fucking fantasy.”

I bit my lip, stepping closer, letting my hips roll with every step.

“I sure hope so,” I whispered.

Jason cleared his throat, visibly stiffening, trying to stand his ground. “Uh… sorry. I have a girlfriend.”

I smiled wider. “Oh? What’s her name?”

“Bri,” he answered without hesitation.

I felt my body hum with excitement.

“Say something filthy. Make him think about it.”

No… just… stick to the plan…

“Come on, baby. You’re already halfway there.”

I leaned in closer, letting my fingers trail just barely across his forearm. “She doesn’t have to know…”

Jason took a step back, but his eyes dropped right to my chest. He caught himself too late.

Shit. He looked…

“He wants you. Let him have you.”

God, my body felt alive. Every inch of me was tingling.

He’s about to stop this. He’s about to do the right thing…

“Make sure he doesn’t.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and pushed one step closer, pressing my chest against his arm.

“No one ever has to know,” I whispered again, voice dripping with something that didn’t even feel like me anymore.

Jason’s mouth opened slightly, a flicker of resistance behind his eyes. “I’d know,” he said, voice rough. “Even if no one else did… I’d have to live with it.”

I smirked.

“Damn right you would.”

“Huh?” he questioned.

I leaned in closer, my lips just shy of brushing his ear. “You’d remember every dirty thing I did to you… with you.” My fingers slid down his bicep, nails dragging lightly. “You could close your eyes next to her and replay it over and over.”

I leaned back just enough to meet his eyes again. My smile was all temptation.

“And I promise, baby… I’d make it so worth remembering.”

His silence said everything.

“Mmm… there it is,” the voice purred inside me. “He’s breaking. Just like you want him to.”

My hand drifted lower, fingertips brushing his waistband.

“Just let me play for a minute,” I teased. “After that, you’ll ache for it.”

God, what am I doing…?

“You’re giving him what he wants,” the voice cooed.  “And what you want too. So stop pretending.”

I pulled away slowly, dragging one perfectly manicured nail down the front of his shirt. Then I leaned in, lips brushing just barely against his ear.

“You’ve got five minutes,” I whispered. “Meet me outside… or you’ll never see me again.”

I didn’t wait for his answer. I turned, heels clicking across the gym floor, every step a deliberate tease. I could feel his stare on my ass, burning holes in the back of my shorts.

Please don’t come. Please stay with her. Do the right thing.

I slipped out the front door into the night, heart pounding, breath shaky. The air was cool, but my skin felt flushed.

I leaned against the side of my car, crossing one leg over the other. My top barely contained me. I didn’t fix it.

He won’t come. He wouldn’t.

“Wouldn’t he?” the voice inside me purred.

He loves Bri. He’ll remember that.

“And yet he hasn’t run the other way.”

One minute passed.

Then two.

I closed my eyes.

Let this be the end of it.

Three.

Four.

Come on, Jason… just don’t—

Then I heard the door open. I opened my eyes and saw him walking toward me. Something inside me snapped.

My thighs clenched, slick warmth pooling between them almost instantly.

Fuck.

My fingers curled against the car door. I shifted slightly, just enough for the strap of my top to slide off one shoulder.

I was already imagining him inside me.

“Good girl,” the voice whispered, breath hot in my mind.  “Bri doesn’t matter anymore. You do.”

I smiled as he got closer.

He made his choice. Now I’m going to ruin him for every girl after.

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

My skin was mine again. The curves were gone, the pout, the lashes, the voice. All of it had faded once the Elixir wore off.

But the memories… those I was able to keep.

Jason’s hands gripping my hips.  His mouth on my neck. The way he groaned my name, even if it wasn’t really mine.

I sat motionless, staring blankly across the room, legs crossed, hands folded in my lap. I could still feel the aftershocks pulsing through me like echoes. The way my body had cum for him. The way I’d begged for more.

And the worst part was I missed it.

I bit my lip, swallowing hard.

God, what did I do?

“Taylor?” Bri’s voice snapped me back.

I blinked, turning slowly. She was sitting beside me on the couch, eyes full of hope and gratitude.

“Sorry,” I said quickly. “Just… spaced out.”

She smiled, not thinking anything of it. “So? Did he pass?”

My mouth went dry. I forced a nod. 

“Yeah. He turned me down right away.”

Bri’s face lit up, pure joy blooming across her features.

“Oh thank God,” she whispered, grabbing my hands. “I knew it. I knew he was good.”

I smiled back, hollow and trembling. “Yeah. He’s… the real deal.”

She laughed, practically glowing. “I’m marrying him. I’m really marrying him.”

I nodded again, trying to ignore the ache low in my stomach. The lingering dampness between my thighs. The image of Jason’s face twisted in pleasure.

I fucked her fiance. The things we did…if she found out it would ruin everything.

And so, I lied to her…

“Hey, Bri. Do you have any more of that Elixir?”

She gave me a quizzical look.

“Why?” she asked.

“I didn’t get to enjoy myself last time, and I was hoping I’d get to have some fun. You know, let loose.”

“Oh,” she passed me a phone number. “That’s the guy Callie got it from.”

“You’re the best, Bri.”

“It’s the least I can do after what you just did for me,” Bri replied.

I pocketed the number. I was best friends with Bri. I knew her schedule inside and out. I had direct access to Jason whenever I wanted. And now I could get more Elixir.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

I was instantly addicted to it. I know that now. I’m going to fuck her fiance and once they’re married, I am going to fuck her husband.

Again and again and again.

[insociometry]

I would… like to have Feral Felix. Like the one who has realized that he has to move glacially slow to not frighten off MC. Because he is a well documented romantic.

Alternatively 👉👈

Changbin realizing MC has kept his jacket/noticing how relaxed his scent makes her?

I AM JUST SO SOFT FOR THIS FIC 😭😭😭

Changbin POV during RON chapter 25!

Tags and notes: some horny thoughts, humor, some jealousy, some insecurity, unreliable narration as always, Changbin is down bad Word count: ~1.3k

You wear his jacket over for pack game night, and Changbin feels something in his brain break. There’s an audible snap between his ears — like a string holding an anvil, like the rebound of a rubber band. Or a pop, maybe: bubblegum exploding in someone’s face. A bone knocked out of place.

Whatever it is, Changbin is stuck with it, eyes wide and head empty, whatever dumb joke he’d been about to land on Chan long-gone: you in the doorway, in an illegally short skirt and scuffed up boots and his fucking jacket—

He could grab you one-handed — swing you over his shoulder, have you out the door before anyone could process it, making up some excuse about picking up food or going for a drive. You’re the size of a bag of rice; he knows he could. And you would go for it, he thinks dizzily as he watches your eyes dart around the room, every split second an eternity — because you trust him. You might scream and laugh and smack his shoulder, but if he kidnapped you right this second, took you away from all the pack members you pay more attention to, from everyone looking at you right now that isn’t him, he thinks you would go.

Instead, he watches you do your rounds one by one, his jacket still heavy on your shoulders: big, too big, slumping inelegantly all around you. And it’s so cute; it’s so obviously not yours. Anyone who saw you on the street would assume it’s your boyfriend’s, especially with the faint alpha scent attached — and he’s dizzy just thinking about that, about someone passing you by and casually thinking, Aw, cute, a boyfriend jacket—

“My hair doesn’t take dye easily, either,” you sigh, standing between his legs and leaning into his space until you’re nearly sitting on his lap. “And it bleeds out so fast; I swear I tried everything—”

Changbin is trying very hard to listen, because he was raised right, and because even if he wasn’t, he will throw away any semblance of pride for a pretty girl standing so close he can smell her shampoo.

However, a pretty girl is standing so close he can smell her shampoo — and so his brain is out of commission. Powered off. Out of service.

When you brush your hand through his hair, long nails pushing all the way to his scalp, Changbin thinks he might be having a heart attack.

“Look, oppa,” you giggle, leaning in so close to his face he can watch the way the light hits every single one of your lashes when your eyes curve. “Don’t they look the same?”

Your strands of hair, he realizes, staring blankly at the locks held loosely in your hand; and his own hair is too short, he can’t even see from here, but—

“Yeah,” he croaks, and then, with more enthusiasm, “Woah, yeah! Are you sure you aren’t stealing yours straight off my head?”

And it’s not exactly his A-game, but you laugh like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard, lovely and fucking melodic. He would kill to hear you sing, he thinks suddenly, desperately; he wants to catch your voice and keep it in a bottle; he wants—

“You’re the one with the short hair,” you object playfully, tugging lightly when you brush your fingers through his fringe again — and Changbin almost fucking moans, what the fuck— “If anything, maybe this is all a wig, and you’re the one stealing from me.”

He must say something; he always says something. But all he knows is that he stares at you gobsmacked, and then you’ve moved on to someone else — Han, bending down with his arms held uncharacteristically polite behind his back as you pet his hair too, just the same as you had to Changbin, eyes contently closed. And all Changbin has left is Hyunjin at his side, elbowing him playfully, and the faint scent of your shampoo.

He wants to scent you. He wants to know, under all those blockers, how your pheromones would feel in his mouth. The only semblance of a sense of them he’d gotten had been that once in the restaurant, and between your pheromone suppressants and obvious distress, it wasn’t a good sense by any means: sweetness turned painfully chemical, like an artificial flavor in the worst way, sharp and thin and sickly.

But Changbin doesn’t want it to just be that. He wants to smell you happy, laughing, leaning into his space, so comfortable with him that you don’t even notice your pheromones overtaking your shampoo, so comfortable that he could drag you straight onto his lap and kiss over your scent gland.

But you just want to be friends — and that’s fine. You want to be friends who flirt and text every day and touch each other’s hair and wear each other’s jackets, even if it means any stranger on the street will think it’s your boyfriend’s. And that’s fine.

Hyunjin’s head knocks onto his shoulder, his long body draping over him like really heavy, really handsome fishing net. “Why is he holding her hand,” he complains, too low to be overheard, the edge of a whine in his voice. “Why is she holding his hand?”

The words make Changbin surface from his thoughts, having been lost long enough that you’re with Jeongin now, his head lowered inelegantly, a smug, bashful grin on his face. And sure enough, though one of your hands is playing with his freshly-darkened hair — the other is tangled with his, fingers interlocked.

You like Jeongin, Changbin thinks. You dote on him. He’s obviously sweet on you, too — and relatively forward, in a way none of the rest of them have managed to be without scaring you off. Not that Changbin has tried — but he doubts he’ll be the exception. Not if you’ve dissuaded Hyunjin and Felix so thoroughly, of all people.

The two of you look good together. Changbin rolls his shoulders, looking away before any sign of displeasure can creep into his scent.

You’d liked his scent, he thinks — though it had been a risk, pushing it in your direction that time at the restaurant, when you were already upset. Changbin isn’t the type to get caught up in instinct, but it had been pure instinct anyway: you were distressed, nervous, lost, and even though it was his first time really meeting you in person, his body had reacted before his mind, thrumming with the echo of soulmate, soulmate, soulmate. And then, before he could even start to regret it, you melted — into his scent. Into him.

But you just want to be friends — and you don’t look at Changbin the way you look at Jeongin. And that’s fine. He’s fine with that.

Felix takes your jacket — Changbin’s jacket — like the gentleman he is once you start settling into longer conversations. Changbin mourns the loss as though it isn’t left just on the other side of the room, draped over the couch.

Then Seungmin brings out the pack classic: truth-or-dare Jenga. And during round one, you pull a block that says, ‘Sit on the lap of the person to your left for three rounds.’

There are nine of you, so three rounds is an eternity. And to your direct left, Changbin stares at you like he can’t believe his luck, because he can’t.

Maybe Ayennie is right, he thinks as you perch on his thigh. I do have good fortune.

Then you shift further up his lap; instinctively, his hands go to steady you, settling tight on your hips, just under your little waist. And you don’t even object, swinging your hair over your shoulder so it smacks him across the face, bombarding him with your shampoo—

And under that, your scent: too faint to truly identify, too sweet to not make his mouth water.

Don’t get a boner, he thinks dizzily, squeezing his eyes shut, leaning back into his chair. Oh my god, don’t get a boner.

Changbin spends the next three rounds fighting for his life.

Author's notes:

I wrote this right away, felt really accomplished, and then immediately forgot to actually post it hahahaha Thanks for the ask! I got a little off-topic, but I hope you liked it 😊 And I'm saving your Lixie request for later, too 🫶

[linxnnalyn]

Yandere Mafuyu hcs pls?

Yandere! Mafuyu HCs

࣪𖤐.ᐟ note -> I NEED HER SO BADLY!

࣪𖤐.ᐟ warnings -> none.

࣪𖤐.ᐟ content includes -> fluff, manipulation, obsession, reader is her classmate, very silly.

۫ ꣑ৎ Before meeting you Mafuyu felt cold, empty and numb. She has felt this way for a long time now and thought that she would never feel warm again. But the moment she laid her eyes on you Mafuyu felt intense warmth and emotions, and she knew she wanted to keep you close no matter what.

۫ ꣑ৎ She doesn’t understand her romantic feelings for you, instead she thinks of them as familial love because that is the only type of love she knows and understands. Mafuyu treats you in a sisterly way, always looking after you and acting like a sister would. It isn’t until she is questioned by one of her group mates if she likes you that Mafuyu starts to question her feelings.

۫ ꣑ৎ Once she does realize she has romantic feelings for you? Mafuyu would try her best to make you fall in love with her, but she is contempt with having you as just a friend if it means that she has you by her side, because when she is with you she feels warm, and Mafuyu doesn’t want to let it go.

۫ ꣑ৎ She knows your schedule by heart. Mafuyu knows every little thing about you just from observation and things you say in passing. Hell she might even know you better than you know yourself. So it is very easy for her to make you like her even more because she knows what you like and what makes you happy.

۫ ꣑ৎ Mafuyu never intentionally manipulates you, but she sometimes puts poison in your ear, making sure you stay away from people she deems not good enough to be around you—which is frankly everyone. Mafuyu knows she has an issue but she doesn’t really care, she just wants to keep you to herself even if it was selfish of her.

۫ ꣑ৎ She leaves you little notes in your locker, desk, and even inside your notebooks when you’re not looking. They’re always sweet and encouraging. She takes great pride in the way your eyes light up when you find them. It’s her way of being close to you, even in moments when she can’t physically be by your side.

۫ ꣑ৎ Mafuyu becomes good at fabricating believable reasons to spend more time with you. Every excuse is carefully planned out and rehearsed in her mind, never suspicious enough to alarm you, but always effective in drawing you nearer and keeping you closer to her.

۫ ꣑ৎ She keeps a private collection of items related to you. It’s nothing extreme—just things like a doodle you threw away, a broken pencil you left behind, or a copy of a photo from a class trip. Mafuyu stores them neatly in a box under her bed, organizing them by the day she acquired them.

۫ ꣑ৎ When you’re sick, Mafuyu shows up at your door uninvited but fully prepared. She brings your favorite snacks, the right medicine, and a stack of hand-picked movies she knows you love. Even if your family tells her you need rest, Mafuyu insists on staying until you fall asleep.

۫ ꣑ৎ She has an uncanny ability to make you doubt your other relationships without ever saying a word against them. Mafuyu just tilts her head when you mention a friend’s name, or goes quiet when you talk about spending time with someone else. Her silence is loaded, making you second-guess everything. She never tells you not to see them, but somehow, you always end up choosing her instead.

[premamelody]

amity, one of the main founders of the waterfall resistance group. for some reason i keep imagining her voice to be zira from tlk2 despite not really being like her??? idk, zira it is bro. that also reminds me i kept thinking of vita's voice as, wait for it, you will not believe this, vitani. cub vitani. yeah thats where vita's name come from. i watched tlk2 one day and it gave me motivation to work on the rest of waterfall res's group so ig as thank you i made parts of them inspired by some of the characters.

a lot of her is cutthroat and brash but she means well. she's a great motivator, organizer, and a connivingly smart orchestrator. the moon theme is on purpose. a lot of her childhood was rooted in watchinig the night with her parents

idk i feel her voice would be deeper and more rashy.

edit: forgot to mention but in the earlier days she was apart of ambraline's band. now she's often busy and only comes on at big celebrations and such as a guest star. mad guitarist.

[hibernating-stag]

It's definitely more building on the events of my fic than anything that implied in canon, but I still really like the idea that Robo-Ky and Venom were living in a skeleton of an apartment while the bakery was taking off and it slowly gets filled with more furniture and personal effects as time goes on.

I think it might take a bit for it to properly sink in that the bakery someone else's home that they happen to live in. It's theirs and theirs to do what they want with it and that gets reflected in how it looks, yk (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑) ?

[holeforzenin]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ IT’S OKAY, YOU’RE GOOD.

Tw - light angst, roommate trope, reader has daddy issues and seeks comfort from toji, Age gap (20, 40), Not proofread.

I’ve always had this angsty roommate trope with Toji in the back of my head— where the reader is a college student who gets kicked out by her parents and is forced to share an apartment with someone else because you can’t afford a place on your own.

Somehow, you either got lucky or unlucky and ended up living with an older man who’s nearly as old as your own parents.

But he always minded his own business, and the two of you only exchange brief hellos and the usual polite pleasantries. You’d think living with an older man might be weird or even a little fucking creepy, but it’s clear he has no interest in you in that way.

The thing is, you have a lot of unresolved issues and wasn’t treated the best growing up, leading to a lot of personal problems and issues. As the days pass, you and Toji start talking more, gradually getting used to each other’s presence while still maintaining a respectful distance.

He didn’t seem to have a lot of hobbies— just a typical older man working the usual 5 to 5.

You had no idea what his job was, nor did you care enough to ask but he had a fond of working out— considering that most of the time when you get home from your part-time, you’d find him in the living room doing push-ups or bicep curls while half-watching some random horse racing show on tv that you’re 100% confident that no one else cared to watch.

You don’t remember when exactly the lines started to blur. When the occasional greetings turned into quiet conversations over late-night meals. When the awkward tension of cohabiting with a stranger faded into something resembling familiarity. Toji was still Toji— distant, extremely rough around the edges, and uninterested in prying into things that weren’t his business.

But maybe that’s what made it easy to be around him.

He never asked why you flinched when your phone buzzed with a call you refused to answer. He never questioned why you worked yourself to the bone at a part-time job that barely paid enough to cover rent. And he sure as hell never brought up the nights you came home with your eyes red-rimmed, shoulders tense like you were holding yourself together with sheer will, alone.

But he noticed.

Maybe that’s why, on nights like these, when the weight of it all felt unbearable— when the ghosts of your childhood clawed their way to the surface to fucking torture you, leaving you hollow and exhausted. You found yourself in the living room, drawn to the quiet presence of the only person who never asked for more than you were willing to give.

Tonight was no different.

Toji was exactly where you expected him to be, sprawled out on the couch in nothing but sweatpants, a hand lazily resting on his stomach as he watched another horse racing rerun. His other hand held a half-empty beer can, the faint smell of cheap alcohol lingering in the air.

He didn’t acknowledge you right away, but you knew he saw you.

“You look like shit". His voice was rough and tired like he’d already had a long day and didn’t have the energy for sugarcoating. But there was no malice behind it. Just an observation.

You let out a dry laugh, softly rubbing your arms as you hesitated near the edge of the couch. “Thanks toji. real comforting".

He lowly grunted in response, tilting the can to his lips before glancing at you again. “Something happened?”.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to talk about it. The words were there, lodged in your throat, tangled with years of resentment and hurt that you never got the chance to voice.

But where would you even start?

“My dad called,” you muttered instead, settling for the simplest truth.

Toji didn’t react right away. He took another sip of his drink, his gaze unreadable. But he didn’t need to say anything— you could tell he already understood.

“And?”

“And… nothing,” you whispered, dropping onto the couch beside him. “Just the usual bullshit. Asking where I am. Acting like he gives a damn after throwing me out like I was nothing”. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie, gripping it tight. “I didn’t answer”.

There was a long silence before Toji let out a slow exhale. “Hmph. Probably for the best.” You turned to look at him, searching for judgment, for some offhand remark about how “he’s still your dad” or how you should “at least hear him out”. But there was none of that.

Just quiet understanding.

Something inside you lit.

Before you could stop yourself, you shifted closer, curling your knees up against your chest as you leaned against his side. Toji tensed for a moment but didn’t pull away.

“You’re warm,” you murmured, closing your eyes.

He sighed through his nose, shifting just enough to get comfortable. His body heat seeping into your skin. “Yeah well, you’re freezing”.

A part of you expected him to brush you off, to push you away like everyone else had. But he didn’t. He just sat there solid and steady, letting you rest against him without a word.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel completely alone.

You don’t know how long you sat there, curled into his side like some pathetic thing seeking warmth and comfort. Toji doesn’t say anything, doesn’t shift to move you off. He just sits there, the low hum of the television filling the silence between you.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion or maybe it’s the fact that no one has ever let you just be without demanding something in return but you find yourself inching closer, practically climbing into his spawled lap before you can think better of it.

Toji tenses beneath you, his body going rigid as he feels your weight settling on top of him. For a second, you think he’s going to push you off, tell you to go to bed, or deal with your shit somewhere else.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he exhales through his nose, one large hand coming up to rest against your back, broad and grounding. “You really are touch-starved, huh?” he mutters, amusement barely masking something softer beneath his tone.

You don’t answer. You just press your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in— cologne, sweat, and the faintest trace of whatever cheap beer he’s been drinking. It should be embarrassing, the way you’re practically clinging to him, an older man you’ve only known for about four months but shame is a distant thing compared to the bone-deep exhaustion squeezing tightly around your ribs.

For once, Toji doesn’t make you feel stupid for it.

After a moment his hand moves, dragging up your spine in slow, deliberate strokes before slipping into your hair. The gesture is clumsy at first, like he’s not used to comforting anyone this way but his fingers are warm, threading through the strands with a gentleness that makes your throat tighten.

“Damn,” he mutters, his voice rumbling beneath your ear, “when’s the last time you brushed this?”

You huff against his skin. “Shut up”.

He chuckles, low and rough but his fingers don’t stop. If anything, he grows more methodical, smoothing out the tangles with a patience you wouldn’t have expected from someone like him. It’s oddly soothing, the way he works through each knot with careful precision, his other hand resting against the small of your back, keeping you anchored on him.

No one has ever touched you like this before—without expectation, without ulterior motives. Just quiet, wordless comfort.

Your eyes burn, and you squeeze them shut, pressing yourself closer. “You don’t have to do this,” you whisper, though you don’t pull away.

Toji sighs, his fingers still carding through your hair. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t seem like anyone else has”.

It’s a simple statement but it cracks something deep inside you.

You don’t cry. Not really. But your hands clutch at his broad shoulders and Toji doesn’t say a damn thing when your breath stutters when you shake just the slightest bit against him.

He just keeps brushing his fingers through your hair, steady and patient. Like he’s got all the time in the world.

And for tonight, at least you let yourself believe it.

You don’t know what came over you. The urge rising like a tide that you couldn’t hold back. Maybe it’s the way Toji’s fingers are moving through your hair, the warmth of his chest against yours. the steady, comforting pressure of his body under yours. Maybe it’s the vulnerability that’s been simmering in your chest, the raw need to feel something else other than burden.

Your lips hover near his throat, your breath shaky and fingers clenching on his shirt as you tilt your head. The space between you is thin and fragile. He’s close enough that you could close the distance, and you find yourself trembling, your heart pounding too loudly in your chest.

Before you can even think it through, you tilt your head up just a little more, your lips brushing against the side of his neck. It’s a light touch, barely there, but enough to send an electric shock through your body. The warmth from his skin makes you ache for more. A soft, quiet need you’ve kept buried for far too long.

But Toji’s body tenses, his hand freezing in your hair. “Hey,” he murmurs, his voice rough with a warning that makes your pulse spike in sheer anxiety. “What are you doing?”

You pull back, your heart thudding as the weight of what you’ve almost done settles in. But before you can apologize, to retreat into the usual walls you keep around yourself, his eyes are soft but firm.

“Don’t”. His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. A certain caution you hadn’t expected. The hint of strictness almost making you cry.

You open your mouth, words trapped on the tip of your tongue but nothing comes out. He doesn’t move away though. Doesn’t push you off. He just holds your gaze, his eyes dark but kind, not angry, not judgmental— just… something else?

“You’re just a kid,” Toji says. His voice was low, almost a murmur. “I don’t see you like that”.

You flinch, even though the words shouldn’t hurt, even though you knew somewhere deep down, this was where it would go. The distance was inevitable. He wasn’t like the others— he didn’t want you in that way and you weren’t ready to be wanted like that anyway. Not from someone like him.

“Sorry,” you whisper, unable to look at him. You try to pull away, to move off his lap, but his arm tightens around your waist, pulling you back in.

“Hey, none of that”. His voice softens as he steadies you. His palm strokes gently down your back, grounding you in the silence between you. “I’m not mad. But I’m not that kind of guy”.

You swallow hard, nodding slowly— trying to push back the sting that rises in your chest. The air feels colder now, the warmth of his body less comforting, like a reminder that you’re still just a kid in his eyes.

But then without warning, Toji shifts his position, pulling you closer to melt into his body, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm beneath you. His lips lazily brush the top of your head, just a light touch, like a reassurance.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, his voice thick with something you can’t place. “I’m not gonna push you away, kid. Just… just need you to know your place, alright?”.

Your breath catches in your throat as you settle back into him, the weight of your emotions flooding back in full force. It feels too much, too complicated and you don’t know what to do with all the things you’ve never said. But for now, you let yourself sink into the safety of his arms, the warmth of his embrace enough to silence the chaos in your mind.

His fingers trace gently down your spine again, a comforting gesture you can’t ignore and then his lips press a soft kiss to your forehead. It’s simple, tender— a reminder that while he might not want you in the way you want, but he’s not leaving you to fend for yourself. Not tonight.

And maybe that’s enough. For now.

[damselneedssaving]

BATBOYS BUT THEY SEE F!STREAMER!READER PLAYING SMASH OR PASS WITH THEIR HERO PERSONAS WHILE COSPLAYING AS THEM ON STREAM.

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, did someone ask for some crack?, suggestive content (it's smash or pass, people), dirty talk, surprise surprise those boys remain majorly obsessed with you, mention of the boys getting boners, yeah... this one's not for minors, duke glows when he's flustered and it's so cute

★ A/N: this one was requested! and omg, the hero that slid into my inbox sure has one hell of a creative mind. srsly, this was such a good idea, i had to add it to the main timeline 🤭 just a heads up though, because this is suggestive content, i will not be using the taglist. i don't tag for suggestive content as i have no way of checking if you are acc an appropriate age for it or not. oh and as always, you do not need to have read the other parts of this series to get this one!!

★ F!STREAMER!READER MASTERLIST ★

Jason's mouth is dry, tongue like sandpaper as he stares at the title of your stream displayed clearly on his phone: Cosplaying as Gotham's vigilantes!

It takes no less than five seconds for Tim to come stumbling into the room.

"Did you see the stream name?!"

Jason doesn't answer, doesn't think he can. He's too busy staring at his screen in bewilderment to even begin to formulate words at the moment.

But he doesn't need to honestly, something else responds to Tim instead.

A low whistle.

Dick strides into the room. "Forget the name, did you see the thumbnail?"

As though summoned by just the mention of you (or rather, the thought of someone thirsting over you) Damian pops in not a moment after, lips pulled down into a scowl.

"Use those eyes of yours to prey on her, and I will make sure you lose them."

And then, as if to put the final cherry on top of the Wayne family cake gathered in the living room, Duke enters, all but ignoring his brothers in favour of grabbing the remote and using their amazon stick to navigate the TV to Twitch, immediately clicking onto your stream.

All of their eyes dart to the screen.

"That's right, guys! You read the stream name. Your girl's gonna cosplay everyone's favourite group of Gotham vigilantes!"

There you stand, a smile on your face and your eyes crinkled at the corners, looking just as pretty as the week before, and the week before that, and the week before that—

God, you're so pretty.

"Now, you might be wondering: say [Name], how come you're suddenly cosplaying when your channel is usually about playing video games?"

You disappear off-screen, the sound of shuffling causing the boys' saliva to roll down their throat.

"Well, my friends, to put it simply—your girl is about to head to Gotham for a Meet-N-Greet, and is hoping this stream will catch the eyes of the vigilantes there so I can gift you guys with a very special collaboration stream."

The room was already silent before, but after your words, it somehow seemed to double, the boys all staring at the screen with wide, dilated eyes.

You want to catch their attention. Beautiful, perfect you wants to collab with them. Them.

"Holy shit," Tim whispers, breathless and in that familiar daze only you can put him in.

"Fuck me." Jason runs a hand through his hair.

The stream chimes with a donation.

@/therealdamianwayne donated $15,000! They would be lucky to even be in your presence, Beloved.

You giggle, the lower half of your face hiding behind your hands as you bashfully look away from the camera. "Thanks, Damian."

The demon head's lips only quirk up even further at his brother's scalding glares.

The static sound of you clearing your throat reverts their attention back to you though.

"Anyway, does anyone have a suggestion on who I should start with?"

@/dukethomas donated $1,000! what about the signal?

The bats turn to send their daggered eyes to Duke, but he doesn't even spare them a glance, his own eyes too wide with hope as he stares at the screen of the TV.

"Oh! So glad you suggested him actually—"

Woah, woah, woah, what? You're glad he suggested himself? Holy shit, Duke thinks his heart just tried to lunge out of his chest.

In fact, he's so focused on the pink feeling that just engulfed him, that he misses the rest of what you say, and in a blink, is faced with your empty room as you disappear somewhere to change into the outfit.

And when you come back on screen? All dressed up in his metal-plated armour? With his name practically written all over you?

Well... Duke doesn't think he's ever seen such a beautiful sight in his life.

"Thomas, quit blinding me."

Duke blinks, glancing around to see his brothers squinting in his direction, faces scrunched up and mouths pulled into scowls as they regard the light with disdain like the bats that they are.

"Sorry guys." He chuckles awkwardly.

But before he can dim the glow surrounding him, your voice catches his ears.

"'Smash or pass The Signal?' Oh, hard smash."

The way he brightens next is half intentional, and half not. Half intentional because he can feel the way his pants strain against his crotch. And half not because, holy fucking shit, you said you'd smash him.

Before Damian can hiss again at his light, Duke already rushes straight out of the room.

The Wayne heir's lips pull down. "Disgusting."

@/greatestdetective donated $1,000! can you do red robin next?

In an instant, the remaining brothers turn to send the resident sleep-deprived detective very pointed glares, green radiating off them in waves as he shamelessly stares at the screen with dilated pupils.

"Sure thing!"

"You are utterly perverse." Damian points at Tim, brows furrowed and tone screaming judgement.

Tim only scoffs in response. "Oh please, like you aren't waiting just as much to see if she'd smash you."

He catches a batarang right before it hits his face.

"What the fuck?!"

Damian's teeth grind over each other. "Do not accuse me of such shallow thoughts towards my beloved."

"You almost killed me, dude!"

"And I would do it again."

"So? How do I look?"

Instantly, Tim's anger flushes straight out of his system, gaze darting to the screen as he mindlessly catches yet another batarang aiming straight between his eyes.

"Oh fuck..."

You're stood there, hands resting on your hips as you adorn his suit like it belongs on you, like he belongs on you.

His fingers move before his mind can.

@/greatestdetective donated $5,000! smash or pass?

"Geez, again?" You sweatdrop, reaching your hand behind his cowl much like he does when he's nervous. You two share nervous habits, holy shit. "Y'all will think I'm a slut for this but, I don't care. Smash."

With that, you've reduced Tim to a curled up ball, blush heavy on his face, pupils dilated to the sun and back, and mouth muttering obsessively about his love for you.

"Alright, since we're doing the boys, I might as well go through all of them before getting to the girls, hm?" You smile at the camera before sending it a little wink. "Anyone else wanna suggest who I should change into next?"

@/jaybird donated $10! red hood

Dick curses, his phone just short of in his hands as he sends a glare to a very smug-looking Jason stood with his arms crossed and his gaze trained onto the TV.

"Oh? The bad boy?" You giggle from the other side of the screen, hand cupping your mouth much like it did when Damian sent in a donation earlier, that same way the boys recognise as your signature move when you're flustered. "Sure thing!"

Needless to say, the two remaining brothers that have yet to be brought up on your stream are very much boiling beneath the skin.

Something which, is only furthered by the next thing you say.

"I don't quite have his build—which, by the way, is insane. I mean, have you guys seen the muscles on that man? Hot damn. I'd love for him to throw me around."

"Beloved...?" Damian mutters, voice wavering and pupils shaking.

Dick follows after by falling to his knees all dramatic-like, and if Tim hadn't been in a trance, and Duke was in the room rather than who-knows-where to take care of that little problem of his, those two would probably also react with just as much as despair at your words.

Jason, however, lets his jaw drop so low, flies could probably enter his mouth and choke him to death—assuming he hasn't already died from your audacious words, that is.

He's seen people thirst over him online before, of course. But for that to be you? For you to find him—scar-filled, ugly-hearted him—attractive?

Someone better pinch him 'cause he must be dreaming.

"Here I come!"

You stroll in, hands in the pockets of his jacket—his jacket—and face completely out of view, completely engulfed by his mask.

Oh yeah, he's definitely dreaming.

He blinks, watching with a dry mouth as you strike a pose.

"Well? Badass, huh?"

Badass, but, missing something.

It's okay to be a little selfish and ask for more, right?

@/jaybird donated $15! you're missing the guns sweetheart

"Oh! Right you are, Jaybird." You perk up, and the tone of your voice is enough for Jason to tell you're flashing him a smile beneath his mask. "Hope I don't get banned for this."

You disappear off-screen and reappear not a moment later dual-wielding pistols. Dual-wielding. pistols.

Holy shit, that's hot.

So hot, in fact, that Jason can feel the room getting warmer, warm enough to shrink his pants actually.

...

Oh shit.

"Barbarians," Damian starts, his tone screaming all the disgust written over his face, "I live in a house surrounded by barbarians."

Jason narrows his eyes right back at the man, but his eye-contact is swiftly broken the second he hears a—"Smash,"—coming from the TV, and his pants tighten even further.

Damian scowls in disgust.

"Right. I think only Robin's left of all the boys? Not including Batman of course."

Dick's scream breaks the other two brother's out of their staring contest.

@/sweetestassingotham donated $5,000! what about nightwing babe???

You frown at the camera, Jason's helmet now off and placed to the side, tilting your head all cutely. "Isn't Nightwing a Blüdhaven vigilante?"

@/sweetestassingotham donated $5,000! hes sometimes in gotham too :((((

You place a hand beneath your chin, gaze far-off, thinking, before you lift a finger and flash the screen a smile. "Right you are! I think I have a cosplay of him lying around here somewhere? Might be a bit small though, I remember wearing it to a costume party a few years back."

And just like that, Dick's earlier scream of dismay turns into one of delight.

"I gotta say though, sweetest ass in Gotham"—you giggle off-screen—"if we're counting Nightwing as a resident of Gotham, you've got some competition. Have you seen the cake on that guy? Ugh. Another huge smash."

Dick collapses to his knees, thanking everything that he was blessed with such a sweet ass and chose to flaunt it so that you would be able to see and notice that he is very smash-able and that you should indeed, 100% hook up with him when you come to Gotham.

Jason seems to beg to differ however, lips shifting into a scowl before a bang resounds through the room, and Dick is up on his feet in an instant.

"You just shot at me!" He points straight at the younger man, who all but shrugs in response.

"No I didn't. You were just in the way of my bullet."

Dick gawks.

Your voice sounds from the screen.

"Okay, uh, it fits, but it's a little tight, so don't make fun of me, okay guys?"

Dick's, Jason's, and Damian's eyes all instantly shoot to the screen.

You enter, hands running down the skin-tight suit on your body with your lips pulled into an unsure smile.

And as if that sight wasn't enough to bless the boys, you proceed to turn around, head tilting over your shoulder as you use the lens of the camera to check yourself out in Dick's clothes.

To check your ass out in Dick's clothes.

The sound of a camera shutter echoes through the room.

Then another. And another. And another—

Both Jason and Damian turn to see Dick with his eyes trained onto you, entirely in a trance as he repeatedly presses his thumb against the screen of his phone, each time causing the device to echo the sound of a camera shutter.

It takes only a second for Damian to lunge.

"You perverted piece of—"

Dick books it straight out of the room, and Damian goes to follow, ready to use every single technique his grandfather taught him to rain hell on his father's ward for daring to look at you in such a way, when, just like how it always does with all his other brothers, the sound of your voice brings him to an abrupt halt.

"Alright, now it's just Robin left, right?"

His eyes slowly drag themselves to the screen.

"Alright, little confession time, I've always kind of imagined how romantic it would be to have Robin swing into my room just before bed to wish me a good night," you say, and in it's in a voice that's bashful, nervous, maybe even a little embarrassed.

Oh, Beloved, you have nothing to be embarrassed of.

God, if Damian only knew of this before, he would've taken the trip all the way to your city just to swing into your window and wish you good night a long time ago.

"I don't know, I guess he's just got this charm to him."

Be still, his heart.

But how could it?

"Alright, here goes nothing. Final boy vigilante of Gotham."

Damian watches, breathless, as you step into the light like a moonbeam peeking through clouds.

You stand there, hands wound around his hood as you pull it over your head, your smile as radiant as ever and his clothes fitting you so perfectly, they might as well be yours over his.

And as you send another wink at the camera with another, simple but effective—"Smash,"—Damian's brain turns to static.

You have now simply and effectively reduced all the batboys into putty with just one stream.

And you don't even know it.

COMING NEXT -> BATBOYS BUT THEY ATTEND F!STREAMER!READER'S MEET-N-GREET.

[classyrbf]

roommate!choso who constantly brings a new girl over every few weeks. He goes out with his lame friends, partying and drinking, stumbling into the apartment during the middle of the night with a random girl who he ends up fucking. It drives you absolutely nuts. No matter how many times you ask nicely for him to keep it quiet or even maybe go over to her place, he gives you the same apology and fake smile.

And tonight was one of those night. The clock at your bedside table flashes the time

1:47 am

and all you hear is the sound of choso’s bed creaking, the girl letting out the most pornographic moans. “I’m cumming!” She yells and you roll your eyes in annoyance, sitting up in your bed. If you weren’t going to sleep at all, you might as well just sit on your phone and watch YouTube to make the time pass. But even minutes later, they’re still going at it, both of them moaning and whimpering, skin on skin slapping against each other.

It was getting hard to distract yourself and even harder to ignore. You stirred in your spot, letting out a deep sigh. As much as it annoyed you, hearing them two go at like rabbits, you couldn’t help but get turned on. Your mind kept drifting to choso, his chiseled face and body, his voice and siren like eyes. It was hard not to find him attractive.

Your hands found their way into your pants, your fingers finding your clit and gently rubbing. It was so pervy of you to listen and actually get off to it, but what else were you supposed to do? You were tired of listening and complaining to him, and at times you wish it were you. With the way these girls sounded like literal porn stars, it was hard not to wonder what he’d feel like inside of you, or how pretty he looked while eating you out.

Before you know it, you were fully undressed, rocking your hips to the rhythm that choso was going, humping the corner of your pillow. Your hand reached up, groping your tits and pulling at your perky nipples, wishing so badly that it was him instead. “Mmph,” you whimper, bumping your clit against the fabric. Why did this feel so good?

Your skin burns hot, mind running wild with imagination. Oh how badly you wished this pillow could be his face, riding his tongue instead. “Oh, yes,” you shakily breathe, pleasure slowly building inside your core. With each rock of your hips, your pussy grows wetter and wetter. It’s the fact you weren’t even getting off to them, but to choso himself. The noises were drowned out by your own thoughts. “Ah! Ah!”

You bite down on your lower lip, circling your hips into your pillow to put more pressure on your clit. Your brows furrow in pleasure and you can tell youre close, that overwhelming sense of pleasure clouding your senses and making your head foggy. “Fuckk!” You moan, eyes fluttering shut, hands reaching up to tweak your nipples between your fingers. The added pleasure pushes you over the edge. “Oh my god! Nnngh!” Your hips jolt against the pillow as your orgasm overtakes you. Did you really just cum to the thought of your roommate? You couldn’t even be bothered to do deal with that right now. Eyes heavy with sleep, you fall over on your bed, still trying to catch your breath. It only took you a few minutes to fall asleep.

Choso stands there in the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee when you walk out your bedroom, rubbing your eyes and dragging your feet across the floor. “Someone slept in,” he spoke aloud, catching your attention.

“Shut up. You and whatever girl you brought back were loud last night and I couldn’t sleep!” You shove him out the way, grabbing the orange juice from the fridge.

“Yeah…you were pretty loud last night too. Guess that makes two of us,” he chuckles. With wide eyes, you swiftly turn your head towards him to see he’s already looking at you with a cocky smirk. “Heard you after the girl left. You should really take your own advice and quiet down.” He sips from his coffee.

How long were you going for? It really didn’t seem like that long at all. “Please shut up and forget you heard anything.” You slam the fridge shut, forgetting about your orange juice and walking back to your bedroom.

“If you need help next time, just let me know!” He shouts while you walk away, slamming the door on him.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

"guys I do not condone any of this in real life" "this is fiction" "consent is key. this is only fiction" "murder is bad irl" — I wish fanfic authors didn't feel like they had to clarify this in author's notes or else they might be accused of being abusers or worse (I admit that such disclaimers are also something I personally use for my own stuff because I feel like I had to make it clear). like... people used to not care if an author wrote dead dove fics because people used to understand that ao3 fics are not a reflection of someone's in real life views or morality in any way. people used to understand that fanfics mean what they mean; fan fiction. none of it is real. maybe it's purity culture that normalizes witch hunt and censorship in the past couple years, and therefore authors feel like they have to clarify that just because they write about violence or noncon stuff doesn't mean they're murderers or sex offenders in real life. and I think it sucks that these things (purity and cancel culture?) have made authors feel like they have to apologize for the art they created instead of being proud of their hard work and all the dedication they put into creating these art. artists should not have to feel like they have to apologize for creating art that isn't all rainbow and sunshine. artists should not have to be made to feel ashamed of their own art if it's not all rainbow and sunshine.

I don’t agree with the “you can write noncon and dark fics as long as you make sure your readers get the message that these things are bad” or “you can write noncon and dark fics if it’s your way of coping with your trauma” take either. because writers do not owe you anything. the message writers want to send to their readers — whatever that message may be, if there’s any message or moral of the story for readers to take from the stories at all — is none of your business. why writers write what they write is none of your business. remember “don’t like don’t read”. no one forces you to read anything you don’t like. dark and noncon fics are a form of creative writing and creative writing is a form of art. you can’t pressure artists into creating art that “fit your moral compass” nor can you apply your own moral compass to artists to determine if they can create dark art or not, if their reasoning behind creating dark art passes your moral compass. like… what artists create and why artists create are none of your business. and you don’t get to shame artists for creating art that you hate / art that disgusts you. what you can do is ignore the art because it clearly was not made for you and that’s okay. what isn’t okay is you harassing artists because you don’t like the things they created.

writers, embrace and be proud of your works. as long as all the trigger warnings are tagged properly, you have nothing to apologize for.

[271emma]

tips from someone who lost 18 lbs in 9 days

keep in mind i was and am currently at a rlly hw! so you might not be able to drop as much but you will still see results if you try out some of these tips and stay disciplined

have a fun fantasy! roleplay a little!

for example, i recently had a falling out with a friend and everytime i want to eat i imagine her watching me go into the kitchen and eat what im craving. after that i decide that i no longer want it and i go distract myself until the thought is gone.

if you have an ex you hate, just imagine him seeing you at the store after months of being super disciplined, wearing the outfit you’ve been waiting to wear, and imagine him going home and stalking your instagram and sending a pathetic little message to you! or walking up to you, whatever the case may be! it’s ur fantasy! get creative! write it down if you have to!

you’re a victoria secret model and you have literally a week to lose 3 pounds!

spend a lot of time thinking about your goals every single day, run the numbers every single day!

so on my calorie tracker app, every single day that i’m consistently counting my calories and im under my calorie goal, it pops up with a notification where it says “congrats, your projection date is xyz, and it changes by a few days every single day that im under! that little thing gives me so much motivation to keep going because originally my projection date was may of 2027 or something crazy and now it’s january 21 of 2026, and getting closer every. single. day.

I also talk about the food i eat so much! and my methods sooo much! i love sharing information to literally anyone who posts an advice thing, or anyone who messages me. i love wasting time being like “omg yeah i was totally gonna eat this but like omg just wayyy too many calories” like it’s my favorite thing in the world to do.

i also love running my numbers through weight loss calculators and i especially love running numbers i’ve already done, like losing 18 pounds in 9 days, apparently it’s impossible but i literally did that! wake up from fasting losing 2 pounds? that’s literally what someone else is doing in a WEEK! it’s amazing!

i also spend a lot of time researching keto, fasting, and transformation photos!

think about the benefits of your ed

this can literally be anything, but for me, i used to doordash food all the time to my job, and even if i didn’t do that, i was picking up fast food before i went to work which cost me so much money.

all the money i spent on food this week was $22. all i had to buy to feed me for a week was some premade chicken, 3 tomatoes, an avocado, and some gatorade zero for electrolytes between my regular water. I could literally spend $22 on one meal at mcdonald’s!

another one is me realizing that i have the drive and strength to do something even if ive failed before, maintaining control of my eating for almost 2 weeks has given me confidence in my academic abilities as well!

buy something cute that you’ll be able to fit in at your ugw

i have a size small victoria’s secret pair of shorts that are so so cute and i want to wear them so bad. when im at home and i get hungry and think about ordering a 10 piece boneless hawaiian combo from wingstop and dunking it in hella ranch and shoving 4 fries in my mouth at once, i literally will go in my room and try these size small shorts on. they won’t go past my knees. and i think about how NOT worth it those wings are. if i’m at work or away from home i just put that visual in my mind!

keep gatorade zero ON DECK!

when i literally feel like passing out, instead of just reaching for food, i reach for a gatorade zero, electrolytes, electrolytes, electrolytes ALWAYS!

it actually doesn’t have to be gatorade zero, that’s just what i prefer because i prefer regular water over flavored water, but they have packets you can buy too!

walking to get your food

if you must binge, you should NOT let yourself doordash it. if it’s really something you want, you need to walk to subway,mcdonald’s, walmart, wherever to get it!

i did this to get subway the other day!

give your food away

speaking of the subway sandwich i was just talking about, i only allowed myself to have half of it, but i knew if i just kept the sandwich laying around, there was a 50/50 chance i was gonna eat it.

(keep in mind that im kinda a picky eater and loooove plain food, so thats probably why this works out for me, so if you’re a girlie or guy who likes divisive food like black olives, or pickles, or stuff like that, consider ordering ur food more plain so its easier to give away lol)

so instead of giving myself that option i have the other half of my sandwich to my coworker! you get to look like a sweet person and you dont have the option of eating it anymore! my coworkers never have issues taking food from me so it works out really well!

feed your food to your dog (if it’s safe)/stray dogs

i eat mostly plain foods like i said, and always make sure to google it to make sure it’s safe, but if you’re worried about wasting food by throwing it away (or scared you’re gonna dig it out of the trashcan? i read about that in Jeanette mccurdys book) just give it to your dog fr.

doesn’t even have to be your dog, maybe do something sweet and find a stray dog/cat to give your food to, they need it more than you i’m sure.

take payment off of your apps

this is more so if you eat fast food a lot (which i did) but make it harder but removing your payment methods off your phone, so it’s not quick and easy!

watch nasty mukbangs

there’s this girl on tiktok who ate candied chipotle and 10 patties on a 5 guys burger. to be honest the food wasn’t that unappealing to me because i was literally starving, but the comments! read the comments mamas!

do something to your appearance that makes you feel confident!

seeing potential in yourself does wonders for your self esteem and gives you the strength to aspire to something.

some things you could do that give quick results:

~ dyeing your hair lighter for summer (or darker if you prefer, even doing highlights, or a streak!)

~ cutting your bangs (do lots of research on things that would flatter ur face and how to cut! or you could just go to a professional lol i’m just a diy-er)

~ doing your eyebrows! (if you’re not confident have someone else do it! not worth messing your eyebrows up!”

~ do lash clusters/strip lashes (again do some research on what looks good on you! i find that shorter soft/fluffy lashes are way more flattering on me than 99% of lashes available! so search things like “lash clusters for almond shaped eyes” “lash extensions for wide set eyes” etc, personalize it for you!

~ use an eyebrow razor to shave off the little peach fuzzies off ur face (makes ur skin look sm more even and clear! and makes ur skincare products work better!)

~ do your skincare routine (exfoliating always makes the biggest difference to me! and this isn’t so much about what you see in the mirror bc my skin gets really red over the smallest thing, but just about how ur skin FEELS, like you just feel so much better!)

~ waxing (always makes me feel nice and makes my skin look clearer! there’s a bit more upkeep because of the risks of ingrowns, but it’s sooo worth it! i make my own sugar wax and just use strips and it’s cheap and easy! keep in mind this might be very painful for some people! when i waxed my friends legs she tapped out after 5 minutes, so do ur arms or legs first to see where you fall before doing somewhere like your armpit or bikini.)

*if ur waxing ur bikini area by urself please just use hard wax that you can buy on amazon, it’s a nightmare for me personally trying to use sugar wax.

~ take a shower! and enjoy it! (i recently started wearing lotion and perfume after every single shower and i highly suggest it! makes u feel so beautiful!)

love all of you beautiful angels