#Liquid lies au

[neo-percs]

BEGGING:: ( day 7 )

WARNING:: enemies to lovers, rough sex, begging, friends to enemies, make up sex, arguing, misunderstanding, college au!

SUMMARY:: in which after a year of breaking off your friendship with Jaemin due to a misunderstanding you both get into a heated fight that leads into the unexpected.

WORDCOUNT:: 4.2K

A/N:: this is reposted from my old blog so if you think that this post is familiar it probably is, last time I posted this it did pretty good😭

You were so sick of the reoccurring problem that kept popping up around almost every weekend, going out to have fun with friends and then running into Jaemin only to walk away frustrated and huffing about how he got under your skin. If someone had told you a year ago that you'd end up on terms like this with Jaemin you would've told them their out of their mind.

Yet here you were in the middle of a house party some giving each other dirty looks after yet another squabble about how Jaemin had spilled his drink all over your white top. You could see your bra through it by now and you were beyond pissed. "You're getting me a new one. And by getting me a new one I mean you're buying it" you snap as you set your drink on one of the coffee tables that had scattered beer bottles and ash trays.

Scoffing at your tone Jaemin opens his mouth to speak "all of a sudden you can't ask your rich ass parents to buy you a new one? Daddy cut you off or something?" He says with full confidence and the intention to piss you off. "No, but since your so invested in my life why don't you invest in some good eye sight and find me a new shirt bastard" you snap.

Jaemin had it up to this point, your smart mouth, your attitude, and simply the way you mouth off to him in-front of everyone to embarrass him. Snatching you by your arm he tugs you through the crowd of screaming and laughing people as they dance and sing along to whatever playing. Dragging you upstairs and tugging you through the dimly lit hallways.

You felt lost, your shirt was practically sticking to your skin and most likely staining it a deep shade of red as you can feel the liquid seeping through your bra. Jaemin opening a bedroom door and pushing you through making you stumble over your shoes. Leaving the party behind without a care in the world. The loud slam of the door behind him makes you jump in shock.

Jaemin drags himself to open one of the drawers of the dressers in the bedroom. "Are you seriously gonna steal someone else's shirt to opt out off buying me a new one?" You snark. "No, this is my room, my shirt. If you want a new shirt so bad I'll buy you one" he grovels as he shovels through the folded clothes finding a random t-shirt he hadn't worn in a while and simply had forgotten about at the bottom of the pile. Tossing it without even looking at you, hitting you in the face earning a yelp from you.

Ripping the shirt out of your view and tossing it to the bed "you are so fucking intolerable I swear. It's been 2 years and you still have the nerve to act like I did something to you" your voice ripples through the room. "You did, 2 years of dirty looks and pissy comments yet you're acting like I started all of this" he was heated beyond belief at this point. "And I'm so sick of you acting like I have to kiss your ass to make your day better" he says louder than before.

"Because you did! Have you ever thought I wouldn't find out that you lied?!" You're face felt like it was on fire, standing up from the edge of his bed taking strong strides towards him "you lied to everybody that I had sex with Jeno sophomore year, which never happened. I worked on a project with him and next thing I know Jisung is telling me your going around saying I slept with Jeno" you say as you jab his finger into the middle of his chest.

Earning a laugh that bubbled within his chest "what are you talking about? I have never once told anyone that you slept with Jeno. I would've beat the shit of him if he did if anything" he glared deep into your eyes. "So who lied? Because all I know is what jisung told me" you glare right back at him. "I don't know but you never once asked me if I said it. You left me in the dark for 2 years y/n and all I wanted to know was why you hated me and all this time it was over some stupid lie I never even knew about" he said breathily his chest puffing and his face red.

"I liked you sophmore year, and if anything I would've been more hurt about the rumor than spreading it. But you've never paid attention, I've tried to get along with you really but you're so infuriating sometimes" Jaemin voices his distress as his brows pinch together in complete frustration. The both of you share a look of confusion and hurt.

"You liked me?" You whisper with wide eyes looking into his "yes, and the day you snapped at me was the day I was going to tell you and for Christ sake you just wouldn't spill what was wrong and why you were so angry with me" he says as his fist fall tightly at his sides feeling anger spread through his body. "And all of it was for nothing. 2 years down the drain for nothing" he says through his teeth.

You look down at his hands seeing how red his knuckles were becoming you reach for his hand pulling his fingers away from his palm seeing the deep red indented marks. "I'm sorry" you whisper your throat felt tight and tears were on the brink of spilling onto your warm cheeks. You were embarrassed that the both of you had to even do this in the first place. "Don't be. I don't blame you for being angry, but I'm just mad that you had even believed it was me" he sighed finally letting the words that had been building up in his mind for the past 2 years out.

Your thumbs rub against his aching palm, Jaemin pulls his hand away wrapping an arm around you and tugging you against his chest into a hug. The familiar smell of Jaemin brought you peace as you let your wild thoughts settle down, the sound of his heart beating at a slow rate had your eyes fluttering shut as you relax. Wrapping your arms around him tightly as if he'd disappear you felt his chin rest against the top of your head for a moment before feeling he pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

Pulling away your head from his chest the both of you share a longing gaze reading each others minds the tension becomes thicker in the room. Jaemin's hand finds the back of your neck pullling you into a rough kiss. And the moment your lips meet, has been a long time coming, an eruption of your lust. His lips are warm and gentle as he kisses you softly, delicately, as if he isn't sure you're real and he's still checking.

Letting a soft whimper out against his lips the feeling of his tongue licking a stripe against your bottom lip, granting him entrance you drag your tongue against his as your hands rake through dark hair tugging it making him gasp at the feeling. Roughly Jaemin guides you towards the wall beside his study desk, moaning as he manhandles you against the wall the sound of a few of his books falling off his desk onto his floor.

His hands finding the back of your thighs dragging your hips closer until they touch. Pulling away from your lips nipping at your bottom lip once before trailing kisses from your jaw to your neck sucking and leaving opened mouth kisses on your hot skin.

Moaning at the feeling you tilt your head "Jaemin" you whisper breathlessly as you give him more space. "Say it again." He moans as he placed his hand on your ass, kneading the flesh harshly. "Jaem please" you beg as you grind against him letting out small huff of moans. Jaemin let's his teeth make a small ounce of friction against your neck before pulling away his hands roughly grasp the hem of your shirt pulling it over your head dropping it onto the floor.

"So fucking beautiful" he groaned as he presses his face into your chest kissing and leaving hickeys all over you making you arch your back against the wall as your fingers tug onto his hair. Pulling the padding of your bra down not even bothering to unhook the clasp he pulls down the padding of your bra letting your breast spill out.

Though the hair was warm your nipples were pert, Jaemin didn't waste any time licking and kissing against them. Biting your bottom lip in hopes to at least hold back your moans in the slightest but ultimately failing to do so. His hands trailing your waist and finding themselves under your skirt tugging down the thin fabric of your thong watching as it falls down your ankles.

"Can I eat you out?" He whispers against your skins as his big brown eyes look up at you with an almost needy look in his gaze. "Yeah" you whisper back with a shy nod. Only pulling away and kissing down your chest to his knees he gives small kisses to your lower stomach, his chocolate eyes looking into your eyes he lifts up your loose skirt and his eyes are met with your panties that has a cute wet patch growing on it.

He smirked knowing he was the cause "you're so cute" he mumbled darkly as his hand moves. Pressing his thumb on your clothed crotch you whimper as he rubs your slit pressing down on your clit, you whimper feeling the harsh fabric make friction with your sensitive clit.

Tugging your panties down from the elastic waistband over your thighs and down your ankles he's met with the pretty sight of your pussy and thighs glistening in slick. Looking back up at you his gaze darkened as he hooked your leg over his shoulder.

You gasp as you watch his head disappear under your skirt.  The heat of his mouth nearing your pussy he licks small stripes against your clit before he sensually licked from your hole to your clit, and sucking on your clit with fervor.

You moan as your head falls back against the wall. The sounds you make are so pleasurable to his ears. He presses his nose on your clit, inhaling your scent deeply before his tongue dives inside your waiting pussy. You pull onto his hair, writhing against his face.

"Oh fuck" you manage to whimper out you tug at his hair as he groaned, your eyes shut as you "please use your fingers" you moan neediness dripping from your tone. His hand moving from your plush thigh under your skirt his thumb rubbing harsh circles on your clit  he pulled away licking your clit once more his middle and ring fingers make way to your entrance.

Pushing in slowly you groan at the penetration, easing your tight walls around his thick fingers as he pushes them deeper you feel the cool metal on his rings all the way at the knuckles of his fingers as it grounds you from the euphoric feeling.

Pulling his head from under your skirt he looks up at you with your juices on his swollen lips and on his chin his fingers begin to move opening your eyes you look down at him feeling his gaze as he watches you react gasping as the feeling you grind down against his fingers "you like that? Hm?" He says as he licks your essence off of his lips.

His hair now disheveled  as his cheeks were blooming with a soft blush, you nod eagerly "yeah? You want me to go faster for you?" He coos feeling you clench around him at the sound of his lewd words. "Speak" he demanded making you clench harder "yes, please?" you say losing your mind on his fingers as you absentmindedly grind down on his.

He hums as he lifts your skirt bunching it over your hips he watches his finger get sucked inside of you. Moaning at the sight with sparkling eyes. His fingers hitting all the right places stuffing your pussy as the sloppy sounds of his fingers pounding into you as if you were his personal fuck toy.

"So good just for me right?" He asks as his tongue finds its way back to your clit, he looks up at you choking on your moans "only you I promise jaem" you say feeling a familiar pressure build in the pit of your stomach. "I'm so close" you whimper.

sending tingles down your body before he licked big stripes of your cunt, sucking on your clit, his tongue working wonders on you. "Cum on my fingers" he says possessively.

His thumb replacing his tongue as he rubs circles on your clit your hips shake as your mind is clouded with the sudden rush of your orgasm. You let out an almost pornographic moan as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you until you ride out your high.

"Good girl" he coos as you grip his wrist as overstimulation starts to creep in. Waiting for you to come down he slowly removes his fingers as he is eager to taste you. jaemin's dripping fingers make their way up to your clit as his mouth makes its descent to your puffy lips. he pushes his heavy fingers on your clit as he adorns your lips with light pecks and kitten licks before using his free hand to pull them apart and licking your hole. his mouth sucks you hard in its endeavour to suck out whatever your pussy allows him.

Your hips buck at the feeling the sloppy sounds make your head spin. one of your hands moves to grip the hair on the back of his head and you push his face into yourself even more "oh god" you say shivering at the feeling. Pulling away his eyes look up at you while his lips attach themselves to your thigh that still sat on your shoulder, he bites and sucks the skin on your thigh in different spots leaving red and purple spots to bloom into hickeys as the hours pass.

Pulling away he lifts his fingers still covered in your cum up to his lips sucking on them becoming addicted to the way you taste. "You taste so good" he mumbled as he stood up showing the tent in pants that seemed to grow. And once your eyes meet the bulge your eyes visibly widen.

His chest presses against yours as you feel his bulge press I to your front, looking at Jaemin with round soft eyes "please fuck me" you beg and the glint in his eyes seemed to grow darker. "Beg" he spoke sharply not missing a beat. "Please, jaem I need it so bad. Please" you almost whimper as you press your forehead against his showing how truly desperate you were.

Nodding he felt content with your words, guiding your hips to grind against his before pressing chaste kisses to the side of your mouth as you whimper in sensitivity. His hair tickling your forehead and his heavy breathing clouding all your senses. Pulling away from you he walks to the edge of the bed stripping out of his clothes he looks at you with expectant eyes to follow his lead, and you did.

The both of you tangling yourselves into his warm bed sheets kissing and grinding into each other messily until Jaemin reaches over into his bed side drawer making you tug at his wrist to stop him "we don't need it" you shake your head. Jaemin can't help but let his body heat grow hotter at the thought of fucking you raw. Nodding mindlessly he wraps your legs over his thighs.

Your hand finds it way down past the ruffled sheets to his lower abdomen trailing until your hand flush against his cock, the tip of your finger rubs against the slit of his tip leaking hot precum. His hips jolt at the feeling which makes you capture his lips into a perfect kiss.

Sloppy yet passionate. Teeth clashing and tongues dancing against each other; you couldn't be happier in the moment. you wet the palm of your hands with your tongue before taking his shaft into your fist, slowly jerking and teasing the tip with your thumb earning you a moan.

Your lips against his give him a sense of euphoria that no drug could. Wrapping your legs around his waist as you pull him into your closer "handle me" you whisper, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips and rubbing his tip against your entrance makes his head spin.

Pressing his hips against yours he watches as your soaked and tight walls envelope him with a choked moan "feels so good inside you" he says as he presses forehead against yours which makes you giggle. As he pushes into you deeper and slowly you whine your legs without a second thought push his hips into you deeper earning a gasp at your own actions "fuck" you moan at the feeling.

"Such a slut, can't even wait for me to be inside you all the way huh?" He says rhetorically as he begins to thrust into your sharply, your moans are the only thing egging him on to keep going while your hands rest against his shoulders; nails begging to drag against his skin.

Your warm puffs of breath against his face has him in a trance. You smelled of cigarettes and cherries and it was so intoxicating for Jaemin who's hands greedily need your hips as he drags them against his. The sound of skin against skin in the air made Jaemin's eyes roll back. "So good" you babble as your head falls back against the pillow. Your hair was scattered against the leaning space for Jaemin to kiss and mark your neck with purple and red splotches.

"Yeah? I fuck you good right?" He says as he pulls your legs over his shoulders and hits a new spot that makes your jaw slack and mind go blank. "Tell me. Tell me how good I fuck you y/n" he demands making you moan even louder "you fuck me so good Jaemin I swear" you whine as your nails drag against his skin leaving behind red trails in their wake.

The bed thumps against the dry wall as your moans cover the sound. The sight of Jaemin over top of you with a clench jaw and your legs on his shoulders as you clench around him tighter. The sight of his hair falling over his face as sweat begins to trickle against his skin under the red and blue hues from the window.

"Fuck it’s so big" you slur seeing how good he filled you up to the brim your arms wrap around his neck your foreheads pressed together as you watch him begin to slowly move. Jaemin couldn't get enough of the sight as his cock disappeared inside your Pussy.

His cock buried deep inside you that you moan and dig crescent shaped dents into his skin. set a pace for grinding against his lap. The feeling of your velvety walls tightening around making him choke back a moan.

"Oh- god" you whisper shakily. His hands holding onto your hips guiding a pace, the sound of skin slapping with your small moans could be heard throughout the room.

You looked so good with your chest bouncing and your hair all messy. You looked good with a small sheen of sweat on your skin and your makeup smeared, he was addicted to the sight.

Stopping his hips completely and pulling out you whine at the feeling of emptiness "lay on your stomach" he says his tone low and raspy making you not miss a step as you roll over onto your stomach and propping your knees into the mattress.

Arching your back gives Jaemin the perfect sight of your ass. You could feel his palm caressing and needing your skin before giving it repeated harsh slaps that had you quivering. Nothing compared to the beautiful stinging feeling on your skin given by him.

"Want you inside me so bad" you mumbled as your fingers grip the sheets, you were so needy that you were dripping down your thighs and it didn't take much for Jaemin to run his tongue over his lips and grab onto your hips pushing his tip against you again letting him bottom out fully.

The sharp grip he had on your hips kept you grounded as he set a steady pace that had you panting and moaning. Hearing yourself made your face heat up, dropping your head into the sheets hoping to muffle the pleasure falling from your lips.

"Don't hide now" Jaemin says as his hand pulls your hair into a makeshift ponytail, pulling your head away from the sheets "I wanna hear you. Don't hide from me" he says breathily as his thrusts become more sharp and the sound of him pounding into you was hard not to hear.

"I can't help it. Fuck it’s so good" you slur your words as you begin to bounce and grind against him to meet his hips. It felt like he was in your stomach and you didn't mind at all, your hands clutching the sheets tighter as he used his other hand to wrap around your throat.

"Fuck you looks so good, you care what other people think now hm?" He asks as his grip around your throat tightens, you couldn't even gather your words as he hits a spot that has you breathing shakily and your moans are even more louder.

"You like it don’t you? Huh? Answer me." He demands as he drags his cock against that same spot again and again "yeah, it feels so fucking good Jaem" you moan as your eyes roll back. The feeling of his sweet lips on your skin as you feel like you're in heaven.

Your thighs are practically shaking at the feeling, pleasure practically taking over your body as Jaemin pounds you into his mattress without a single care in the world. Pushing your face against sheets while he becomes sloppy and rougher with every passing second you could feel the pressure in the pit of your stomach growing and waiting to be released.

"I can't" you moan as you shake your head "I'm gonna cum" you whimper as you feel warm tears slide down your cheeks. "Don’t run, you like to talk big shit but now you can’t take dick?" he teases sweetly in a faux tone. His thrusts are non stop and you can't help but let the pleasure envelope you.

"Oh fuck" you gasp as the feeling of release comes closer "cum on my cock. I know you can '' he coos at you while pulling your hips into his harder than before tipping you over the edge as your walls clench around him sporadically earning a guttural moan ripping through Jaemin's throat.

"I'm close, where do you want it?" He asks as he continues to fuck into you "inside. Please cum inside me Jaemin" you beg before you feel the pressure in your stomach let loose "I know, you’re doing so good" he praised as his fingers rubbed down your spine leaving goosebumps up and down your body.

A few more thrusts slow and deep have your toes curling and sending Jaemin into an orgasm struck daze. "Fuck you feel so good" he groans as his hands rub against the red warm skin of your ass. Leaning of you and kissing up your spine as you both bask in your pre orgasm clarity.

You both were practically glowing as Jaemin waited until he softened inside you to pull out "you did so good" he whispers sweet nothings to you as he pulls out and watches his cum drip down your inner thighs.

The both of you settle into the bedsheets the body heat coming from the both of you feels comforting, Jaemin doesn't want even the slightest bit of space between the both of you as he pulls you by your waist until your pressed flush against his chest. "Are we okay now?" He asks as he peeks over your shoulder to watch for any change in emotion or the slightest hint of regret. "We're better than before" you whispered as you turn around pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

#𖦹—( neo percs ) #nct smut #mark smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #jaemin smut #nct x reader #jaemin x reader #jaemin imagines

[moonhoures]

First Time For Everything

🕷️ kinktober — day 27: squirting 🕸️

pairing: soyeon (g-idle) + reader (afab/fem)

genre: non-idol!au, smut

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, explicit smut, wlw relationship, oral (f receiving), fingering, squirting

word count: ~890

synopsis: your gf makes you squirt for the first time 💦

posted: october 31, 2023

kinktober masterlist

“Never?”

“Never.”

“Well now I just feel like you’re challenging me.”

Your girlfriend couldn’t believe it. You had never squirted before. She was in genuine disbelief at what she was hearing. Then again, she couldn’t believe you had only been with two other people before her. Honestly, she was shocked she bagged you in the first place. To her, you were a goddess—and she made sure to treat you like one. Now that she thought about it, she wondered why you hadn’t squirted with her yet.

“I didn’t even think it was a real thing. When I looked it up online they had discourses about if squirting was an actual liquid or just like . . . pee, or something.”

Your beautiful girlfriend laughed that candy sweet laugh that made your heart flutter, “No, it’s definitely real. I’m kinda bummed I haven’t made you do it yet. I feel like my skills are being doubted.”

“Maybe my body just can’t do it?” you wondered.

“Well, we could always find out,” you looked to her with wide eyes, but she simply smirked at you before pouncing on you with those irresistible lips of hers. After a moment of kissing her, you pulled away. Her roommate had just left not too long ago, and you weren’t sure when she would be back, “Wait, we shouldn’t. Miyeon could come back any minute.”

“She has work,” Soyeon retorted, already diving in to finish the hickey she had started on the side of your neck. You closed your eyes and groaned, and you felt her wicked grin against your skin. She knew exactly what she was doing to you.

Always the ever-determined woman she is, she had managed to get you right where she wanted you. You lied down on her bed, your head resting in the plush of her pillows as she left teasing kisses between your thighs. You made it a point to stare at the ceiling because if you looked down you would see your gorgeous girlfriend staring up at you with those tantalizing eyes that made you weak in the knees. But she loved when you made eye contact with her, so she got your attention the only ways she knew how.

“Oh my God!” you gasped out loud as you felt the sudden intrusion of her tongue deep between your folds. No prep or anything. Right down to business. Soyeon was making it very clear that she had an objective, and neither of you were moving on until she completed her little mission.

Her manicured fingernails dug into your thighs as they constricted around her head. They pulled them away so that she could continue to lick you with ardor, the familiar taste of your arousal on her tongue. Her nose bumped below your clit with every movement of her head. You felt like you could cum just from that.

“Just relax,” she cooed to you before sticking two of her fingers into her mouth to get them wet, “Let go for me.”

You nodded as you melted back against her bed, your fingers clutching onto the duvet underneath you as you felt her fingers enter you. Her fingers weren’t long, but you could tell she was thrusting them as deeply as she could. Over a few minutes, her pace quickened and she focused her fingertips on the spongey texture that lied deep within your walls. You were already soaking her fingers just from how wet you were, but she was aiming for so much more. So she set her target on that one spot and kept at it, hooking her fingers and thrusting them in and out. As she felt you pulsing around her, she leaned down and sucked your clit between her lips, sucking them in just the way she knew you liked. And as if the moment couldn’t get any better, she hummed, the vibrations sending you reeling.

It felt . . . different. This wasn’t the same as when you usually came. There was a slightly different feeling, like your body had become frozen as the pleasure coursed through you. Then you felt it—the liquid flooding between your thighs. Your eyes rolled and your back arched. Your fingers went to Soyeon’s head. You held her right in that spot until it all became too much. Then, you started pushing her away.

She came up from between your legs, a prideful smile on her lips as well as the glistening of your juices on her face. She wore it like a medal, not at all in a rush to wipe it away.

“You did it,” she praised you, caressing your leg, “How did it feel?”

“Good,” you replied, chest heaving from the deep breaths you took. You lifted yourself up onto your elbows. You suddenly became hyper aware of the fact that you—and a large spot on her sheets—were drenched, “I’m sorry for making a mess.”

“Shut up,” she rolled her eyes and playfully poked your forehead with her finger, making you fall back against her pillows, “You just made my ego so big. I couldn’t care less about these sheets.”

You bashfully smiled, “Oh no, that head of yours is already too big.”

“But I’m your big head,” she reminded you, hovering over you to tenderly kiss your lips.

“You are.”

— taglist #1

@jaylaxies @xiaoting999 @kookthief @zaddywilk @wonrangwoo @ikykleeknowww @odisdad @abby-grace @jungwonloveer @celestialplatinum @pinklemonadeflav @luvkpopp @kisses4denji @jenos-eye-smiles @a-l-i-y-a @channiesprincess @bekah931215 @heerinnie @cinnikoi @unlikelysublimekryptonite @k-drizzle @neo-stay @v0relino @pedriswrld

— couldn’t tag

@multi05ho3st4n @nlklstan @fairygirl18 @thxbxx @iguanas-world @ddwaekk @love-me-a-little

#g idle smut #soyeon smut #girl group smut #[🕷️] kinktober 23 #gidle smut #jeon soyeon smut #g idle fanfic #g idle imagines #g idle scenarios #g idle x reader #soyeon fanfic #soyeon imagines #soyeon scenarios #soyeon x reader #girl group fanfic #girl group imagines #girl group scenarios

[urdepressedslut]

You're Mine, Sunshine ❝part ten❞

♡ Pairing: Grumpy!Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Someone comes knocking at your door in the morning. Bucky answers and is surprised with who he finds. Are they going to help them or hurt them?

♡ Warnings: language, heavy angst, mentions of parent death, murder, violence, mentions of stalking, death threats, fluff, sexual tension, major cliffhanger don’t hate me i love you hehe

Series Masterlist

Trope ⇢ Grumpy x Sunshine | Mob!Au Bodyguard!Au

"What are you thinking sir?" A nervous voice asked hesitantly from across the room, keeping his distance as he watched his boss pace the space.

Pierce was seething— seeing red with anger as he recalled every moment from your house. He had never held so much hatred for someone in his entire life. With impulsiveness— Pierce grabbed an expensive looking liquor bottle and threw it against he office wall. Shattering on impact as all the men jumped slightly from shock. The liquid burned down the wall, the amber leaking onto the nicely polished floor.

"I need to make a phone call." Pierce spoke lowly, his eyes glaring dagger at the man who had asked the question.

Bucky was not going to live— not after he had spoken to Pierce like that. Pierce was a man of power, respect— and Bucky had no right to speak to him— treat him as such. It was only common sense that everyone was below Pierce. Bucky had clearly misunderstood the rules. Pierce decided it was time to give the man a test, really show him who had full control.

~

Bucky had lost track of time, losing himself in the feeling of your hair in between his fingers. He had started carding his fingers in your strands to comfort you at first, but now he found himself lost in the action— the sensation soothing his own anxieties.

You had fallen asleep in his arms, and despite the voice in the back of his head to not let you get close— he hugged you tightly to his chest.

Could he really do that though? Push you away?

He had learned quickly who you really were behind the picture your Father had painted for you. What Bucky found underneath all the lies, was someone that he really liked. He liked who you were, and he wanted to learn more about you. Every tic, every quirk— he needed to know. You filled a void within him, one that he didn’t know needed to be filled. It was unexpected, he he appreciated the lightness you brought to his life. He wasn’t used to it, but he wanted to be.

The doorbell suddenly sounded and Bucky was instinctively hugging you tighter to his chest. You mumbled incoherently, but otherwise didn’t wake up. Bucky was as gentle as ever, laying you down in the couch in the library. He felt uncomfortable leaving you here, but knew he needed to see who it was.

His mind immediately went to Pierce— and Bucky discovered he had no plan. No course of action if that was the big boss at the door. The idea of trying to be civil was thrown out the window. As soon as he had laid a hand on you— Bucky was seeing red. There was no coming back from that— Bucky would rather lost his job than see you hurt.

The silhouette from the frosty glass was large, stocky— and Bucky knew it couldn’t of been Pierce. Not risking a chance, Bucky peeked out the window from the stairs. He was relived to find the driveway empty. Surely if it was Pierce, the driveway would be filled with cars.

Unlocking the door, he swung it open to reveal— Steve.

Bucky kept his face emotionless, the only thing stirring in his mind was the last conversation they had. The judgment, the venom that came from him about you. Bucky wouldn’t take that anymore, he’d shut Steve up before he even tried— no matter if they’re best buds.

“What’re you doing here?” Bucky grumbled, squinting his eyes.

Steve held his hands up in surrender, but otherwise looked very apologetic. His face was slightly pained, his body sagging differently. If Bucky weren’t too busy being angry with him— he’d be concerned.

“I know I don’t have any right to be here, not after my last visit.” He started and Bucky’s jaw clenched at the mention. “But this is important— can I come in?”

Bucky wanted to say no, but things were at an all time low right now. He didn’t know what Steve had to say, but he had a feeling it wasn’t good. He was still his best bud— despite him being a fucking idiot.

“Fine.” Bucky said finally, stepping aside to let him in.

Steve walked in quickly, having some pep to his step. As soon as he entered Bucky was closing the door, locking up the many latch’s.

Bucky followed behind Steve as he made his way to the living room, plopping down onto the same couch that the whole incident happened on. Just stepping into the room had him feeling uneasy— wishing he could turn back time, making sure that moment never happened in the first place.

Bucky sat forward, hands folded together. He sat with his back straight, his eyes still squinting. He was trying to get a read on Steve.

Meanwhile Steve could sense the uneasiness from across the way— noting the way Bucky was sitting versus his usual laid back, legs crossed— comfortable position.

“Like I said— I know things ended on a sour note—”

“You better keep your mouth shut if it’s about her. She doesn’t need your bullshit.” Bucky snapped, his metal fist whirring.

Steve nodded in fairness.

“Listen, I’m sorry for what I said about her— I was completely wrong. You were right— I don’t know a thing about her! I get that now, okay?” Steve apologized, making Bucky furrow his brows in confusion.

“That’s what you came for? To apologize?” He wondered.

“No, not exactly.” Steve breathed out, running a hand through his hair. “I came to warn you— about Pierce.”

Just the name alone was enough to send chills down his body. He had swore he wasn’t afraid of the man— but with everything that happened, he was more afraid of what was going to be done. So no— he wasn’t afraid of him— just what was coming.

“Is this a test?” Bucky scoffed, not believing that Steve would switch sides all of a sudden.

Steve shook his head frantically, his face becoming more stressed.

“Buck— you gotta listen to me man. Whatever you did, whatever happened— he did not take lightly. He’s sending a hit man after you— multiple!” Steve warned him.

Bucky stiffened in his seat, he knew Pierce was angry— but fuck. It was one thing to have a good idea about a situation, it was a whole other feeling when the idea became reality. Still, he didn’t fear for his life— only yours. He only wanted to stay alive so he could protect you, and that wasn’t just because he was your bodyguard.

“Why are you telling me this? Aren’t you his little puppy.” Bucky was still wondering why the sudden switch.

Steve tried to hide the hurt from those words, but he knew he wasn’t in the position to argue. He deserved that.

“There’s another thing I should tell you.” Steve said firstly, Bucky motioned for him to continue. “Pierce has been working with Rumlow.”

Bucky nearly had his eyes bulging from his head, his body as stiff as a board. He didn’t know whether to feel angry or disturbed. The name alone was bringing up horrid memories he fought hard to forget— but nothing was ever that easy.

“Are you fucking with me?” Bucky asked lowly.

“No— Buck this is real.” Steve confirmed. “I knew there was something off about the way things were going, with the whole stalker thing that seemed to show up out of nowhere. It just didn’t make sense— I didn’t understand… but I heard him.”

Bucky perked up at the mention of the stalker, gladly focusing on this rather than the flashbacks that were approaching.

“What do you mean? Heard what?” He pushed, and didn’t like the face Steve gave him.

“I heard Pierce talking with Rumlow one day… I shouldn’t of listened in but… It’s Rumlow— he’s the stalker.” Steve told him.

Bucky should’ve been shocked, but he knew who Rumlow was— what he was capable of. Hell— he was the reason why his family was such a sensitive topic. Just the sliver of the thought had Bucky’s chest tightening. His metal arm whirring in anger— the things he’d do to Rumlow if he ever got the chance.

Now he was after you?

It sparked a completely different fire up within him, and he could physically feel himself hot with rage. Rumlow had taken enough— he was not going to take you too.

Bucky took an extra second to let the thoughts stir, immediately he felt sick to his stomach for a whole different reason. He felt sick for you.

“Wait… did he— did he kill (Y/n)’s Mother?” Bucky asked hesitantly.

Steve dropped his head, avoiding Bucky’s eyes and didn’t say a word. But he didn’t need to— his reaction was enough to let Bucky know. She had been murdered.

“Fuck.” Bucky hissed under his breath, still trying to be careful not to wake you.

You were going to be so heartbroken. More than you already were. Bucky’s heart already hurt for you. He almost started begging to the air for someone, something to take you pain away. You didn’t deserve this life— you didn’t deserve the life you were given. You deserved something far better than this hell hole.

“Buck… Pierce knows— hell when I over heard them talking they started laughing about it. About the notes about the Mother— about it all.” Steve told him. “Pierce was laughing about tormenting his daughter— fucking laughing!”

Bucky clenched his fists so incredibly tight, he suddenly couldn’t feel his flesh hand, the blood being cut off due to his tenseness.

“Do you think Pierce hired Rumlow to kill her?” Bucky wondered out loud.

“I guarantee it. With the way Pierce has been plotting— orchestrating this whole act… he’s trying to do the same with (Y/n).” Steve answered.

The threat to your life had Bucky standing up, pushing the seat back with intensity. He couldn’t stand to hear such things, it made him want to bolt to you right now. Hug you tight and never let you see the horrors of the outside world again. Fuck— he wish he could.

“His own fucking daughter? Why?”

“I don’t know Buck, that’s all the information I have.” Steve told him shamefully.

Bucky walked over and dropped a hand on Steve’s shoulder— trying to comfort him.

“Hey— I appreciate you man. I’m still pissed you disrespected (Y/n)— but if you stop listening to Pierce’s orders… maybe I’ll forgive ya.” Bucky tried to joke, seeing how distraught Steve was.

“I’m not going back to him. After I saw him enjoying the whole stalker situation I— I just couldn’t stay.” Steve swallowed. “I can’t even imagine having a Father that wanted to kill me.”

Bucky swallowed his own fear at those words, and took a couple steps back from Steve. Needing some space to take some deep breaths.

“My Father wants to what?” You spoke up from the doorway.

Both Steve and Bucky snapped their gaze to you, your form shaking and your eyes wide— full of fear.

“Doll… how much did you hear?” Bucky asked, walking over to your quickly, stopping when he was close enough to reach his hands out and place them on your shoulders.

You stared at him, your eyes welling with tears and just slightly he could still see the sleep in your features. He felt horrible, what a horrible way to wake up. First, you had heard something you shouldn’t of heard. Two, he wasn’t there with you when you woke.

“My Father wants to… he wants to kill me?” You whispered in horror.

“No, no— (Y/n), we don’t know that for sure. There’s just a lot happening right now.” Bucky tried to calm you down, rubbing your arms comfortingly.

You still held a pained expression, but walked closer to Bucky, letting him wrap his arms around you protectively. You didn’t know what to say, or think— or do… you just needed to feel safe right now.

Steve watched from his seat, furrowing his brows at first at this soft side coming from Bucky. It was completely strange and Steve wanted to tease him about it. But the more he stared at the two, he couldn’t help but let out a small smile— the two of you looking so… perfect together. Steve was happy for him, even if he wasn’t sure what you two were. Whatever happened, he hoped his pal was happy by the end.

Bucky felt Steve staring and glanced his way. He ignored the smile Steve sported and pulled you away from him slightly to look you in the eyes.

“(Y/n), this is Steve. He’s someone who used to work for your Father.” Bucky introduced you.

You looked from Steve back to Bucky, unsure about him at first.

“Used to?” You questioned.

“He doesn’t work for him anymore, you’re safe with us.” Bucky calmed you, noticing the fear that lingered behind your eyes.

You didn’t trust anyone that worked with your Father— besides Bucky of course. You didn’t trust that some of his men would come by and steal Bucky away from you, steal you away. Especially after what you had heard, despite your doubts and the spiraling thoughts— you were afraid of your Father. You were terrified he’d hurt you again— or worse.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you (Y/n).” Steve greeted you politely, standing up from his seat.

You couldn’t help the small smile that erupted, Steve’s gentle aura making you feel comfortable. Allowing you to relax your muscles that had previously been tensed up.

“Nice to meet you Steve. Thank you for… sticking by me.” You voiced quietly.

Steve sent a nod back, as Bucky grabbed your attention— his fingers gripping your chin.

“How are you’re feeling?” He whispered, and you shrugged.

You didn’t know how to feel. You were surprisingly calm for hearing such news this morning— for everything that had happened leading up to this moment. It felt wrong to feel so relaxed. You couldn’t help it— you felt like you could relax with Bucky around. You trusted him to protect you— keep you safe. That wasn’t just because he was assigned to be your bodyguard. You just trusted him.

“I don’t know James.” You answered truthfully, you didn’t know what you felt.

He nodded in understanding, knowing what it was like not to be able to comprehend emotions. With everything you had been through, everything you had heard— he didn’t blame you for not having an answer. He expected you to disoriented, wounded from everything for awhile. That didn’t mean you were going to deal with it alone— Bucky was gonna be there for you the whole time. Every step, he’d take with you. Every low, he’d go down with you.

His walls were almost completely crumbled, you to blame for that. That wasn’t the scariest part— it was the fact he was so okay with it.

“I just want you to know that it’s okay, to not be okay. You’ve been through a lot.” He started, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, the sensation giving you goosebumps. “It’s okay to not be so strong all the time.”

Your eyes watered at his words. The validation of your feelings, your distress— every single doubt and worry had you melting for him. You had never wanted to kiss someone so badly in your life. He made you feel so special, so cared about— so important. Instead of following through with your thought, you nodded.

“I hate to break this up…” Steve interrupted awkwardly, “But I gotta meet with my men, let them know what’s going on. They’re gonna wonder where I went— I’ll need to come up with something.”

Bucky nodded in agreement but otherwise held a concerned expression.

“You gonna be alright?” He asked him.

Steve chuckled lightly, slapping a hand on Bucky’s metal shoulder.

“Don’t go soft on me now— I’ll be fine.” Steve jabbed, he couldn’t help himself. He had wanted to say something the second he saw some kind of mama bear side come out.

Bucky rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the grin that formed on his face.

Steve gave you another nod and left without another word— swiftly exiting through the front door. Leaving just you and Bucky in the house.

Bucky moved his eyes from the door to your face— taking a deep breath in at the deep look in your eyes. The same look he had seen before, the one that had him having to say something before you could come any closer.

You darted your eyes to his lips, watching his bottom one get sucked into his mouth— before you shot yours back up to his eyes.

“(Y/n)…” He warned.

You almost pouted at his warning, there he was again— stopping you before you had moved an inch. Every time he’d stop you, every doubt, every tainted thought came swirling into your mind— the ones that convinced you he didn’t feel the same way. Despite all the stolen touches, all the longing looks— your mind still shouted at you that he didn’t feel the same way.

“Why do you do that?” You whispered, your fingers playing with the material of his shirt.

“Do what?” He asked, though he knew exactly what you were referring to.

You lowered your eyes to his chest, focusing on your fingers fiddling with his shirt.

“Stop me.” You told him.

You felt him take a deep breath in, his chest rising into you. He kept watching you fidget with his shirt, keeping his eyes ready for when you lifted your face back up to his.

“Because we shouldn’t.” He spoke lowly, his voice getting gravely— the tension making his breathing pick up.

You slowly lifted your gaze back up to his, and you had to hold back the gasp at the way he was gazing down at you. It had you feeling warm, tingly with desire.

“Are you sure it’s not because you don’t want me?” You whispered out, so quiet he barely heard it. But he did.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you tighter against him and you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped you this time. You stared up at him, watching his pupils slightly dilate— his warm breath fanning down in your face.

“No… it’s not that.” He breathed out, his self control hanging on by a thread.

He so badly wanted to devour you, the mere thought of your lips had blood rushing down to his nether regions. He cursed himself internally hoping you couldn’t tell.

“You sure?” You asked him, and you praises yourself for holding back your true emotions.

Although the tension was thick, and you kept slightly edging him on— you still had doubts pounding at your skull. You just needed to know the truth, you need him to fight against all the doubts— get rid of them.

“Trust me— I want you.” He admitted finally.

Your heart sped up at the admission, and you couldn’t control the way you bit your lip— you desire causing your panties to dampen slightly. It had been so long since someone affected you like this— physically making your body crave someone so badly. You wanted him, needed him, and because you both didn’t know what was in store tomorrow, even the next couple of hours— you didn’t want to waste another second.

“Prove it.” You breathed out, and you swore you saw his eyes turn almost completely black with lust.

Before you could start to overthink, his lips were crashing against yours and you swore time had stopped.

🤍 taglist is officially closed for this series 🤍

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[haet-sal]

if you hold me without hurting me you’ll be the first who ever did//juyeon smut

tags: juyeon smut, sugar daddy/ age gap au (8 years lol!!), you’re 22, seduction, DRINKING!!, corruption kink, Juyeon asking you if it’s okay A LOT, juyeon calling you ‘innocent’, CHOKING, ROMANCE!!

You meet older rich guy Juyeon at a hotel bar, and the rest is history

“I’ve never been with a stranger.”

“How could you be okay with me doing these things? Aren’t you afraid what I’ll do to you? Do you think about my intentions at all? You’re so easy…”

“You can do anything you want,” you say. “Even ruin me.”

“... I couldn’t live with myself, Y/N, please… I… I still think you’re innocent, so I can’t give in to you. But in all honesty, I want you so bad I could just…” His hand clasped against your jaw, as if he were afraid to touch you.

You kissed him on the lips the only way you knew how to kiss a man. “Can we go? To your room?”

w.c.: 3.8k

You adjust the strap of your slip dress on your shoulders, it just kept falling off. Bereft of any foresight, or perhaps rushing, you didn’t bring any coat or jacket, leaving you with a side-boob out; at least the hotel bar was heated, although the lights were dim; like a dark, damp wolf’s lair you’d walked into.

You’re not really a bar type of person, although you guessed you could make an exception for a place as classy as this—jesus, you thought, how’d doyeon even book this hotel for her birthday party? How much must it even cost on a night?

You tell the bartender the number of your room—0602—and asks that he puts the drinks’ into the room’s tab, hoping that by tomorrow morning they won’t pore over the giant receipt and just pay upfront. You were less… affluent than your friends, to be very honest…

The bar was dark, and the lights lit up a dim green and orange around the seats. You order a fun cocktail, a sweet thing that you could drink all night without getting a buzz, and sit down.

You don’t know why you sat so close to someone, when there were empty seats all around the bar… You didn’t feel like switching now, though, what if the man took offense, that you didn’t want to sit next to him?

You started to chew on the kiwi slice the cocktail came with, and the gentleman beside you puts down the notebook he’s writing in, turning to face you, probably because it’d be rude not to greet at all.

Once he turns his face towards you, though, you get a terrible idea. Maybe the cocktail did make you a little braver, more effective than the taste of sharp stinging in your mouth… “Hello,” you whisper, not to disturb the quaint atmosphere in the bar. You had your purse with you, and you toyed with the faux leather just to fight the nervousness. You nodded at the notebook. “Business?” You had an uncle that did his accounting every night after he was done spending, maybe the guy was that kind of man.

But the man shook his head, and you see that he’s lean—when he turns his body towards you—a thin figure, and broad shoulders, and amazing, beautiful, narrow eyes, with a few crinkles around them when he smiles that you know he has to be somewhat older.

“No,” he says curtly, “no business at all.” He sips his drink, and you see that it’s hard liquor, presented in a no-nonsense, almost completely sombre dark orange shade of liquid.

“Oh.” You turn back to the bar, thinking he didn’t want to speak to you. What business did you even have talking to him—you’re literally here for a goofy party, he’s probably relaxing because he’s swamped with so much work.

But he extends a friendly gesture. “It’s my vocabulary book… I’m learning Spanish, so.”

“People do that on an app these days…”

He chuckled, and you saw that his voice was already quiet and light without even needing to whisper. “Maybe younger people, yes.”

“You can’t be that old.”

“You just look much younger than me,” he says softly.

“What are you drinking?” you ask, and he tears his eyes away from your lips just to look down the bottom of his glass.

“Bourbon.” His eyes are back on your lips again, tinted deep pink with a lip product, thinking you were going to look pretty for the boy classmates, but here you were with an older man… “I am here on business, though,” he says. “But I’m… well, even I get tired sometimes.”

You nodded.

“Can I ask if you’re even allowed to be drinking?”

You laughed, opening your purse and sliding your uni ID down the bar counter, towards his side of the wooden boundary, presenting him with un-fake-able proof.

“Ah, you’re a student… Second year?” He asks, reverting back to korean, dae-hak yi-hak-nyeon? He stared at the card for a while, slowly saying your name as if he was savoring it. “Twenty two,” he said softly, calculating your age.

“It’s a lucky number,” you put in. He’s eyeing your lips, but you’re eyeing his drink—maybe if you drank something that strong, you’d have more courage?

“I almost think I should take care of you. You look like a lost little girl.”

“Twenty-two,” you reminded him, unable to stop your face from making an adorable pout, which he reaches out and touches, as if trying to get you to smile again.

“Aren’t you too cute?” He pauses to swallow. “Like, dangerously cute? What are you doing at this hotel?”

“My friend had a birthday party, so they booked a room to party in, but… I just felt like… I don’t know… not partying? I didn’t know I’d meet someone like you, though…”

Juyeon smiles slightly. “Does the fact that you met me make you feel better about coming out here?”

You nod. “I mean, you’re older, and rich, probably my friends’ dream… they all want a sugar daddy.” Oh, fuck. “I mean! I’m not like… preying on you or anything, not taking advantage of your kindness... Like I wouldn’t… I’m… good? I’m a good girl.”

“Good girl?” He sips his bourbon until all that’s left was ice, and wordlessly flags the bartender down to give him another glass-full. “It’s funny you think I’m the one being taken advantage of. Ah… I really should control myself.”

“Control yourself from…?” You knew, of course, but you wanted to know if you were actually reading his mind correctly right now.

“First, from kissing you.”

You pulled back. “I’d taste like a cocktail…”

“If you worry about that, I wouldn’t do it.” But he still leaned in closer towards you.

You close the gap, kissing him, a hand on his jaw almost so tenderly, better than you’d ever handled one of the boys at your college. Then you giggle. “So I learned the taste of bourbon second-hand through a kiss…”

Juyeon looked almost scandalized, pulling away but just barely. “I can’t believe you did that… You weren’t supposed to kiss me, Y/N, you weren’t supposed to want me…” He grabs the base of your chair and pulls it close until your thigh was touching his, you didn’t even know these chairs at wheels…

“You didn’t like it?” you asked, absolutely concerned you might have to go back to your room with your friends and just…

“I liked it…” he looked pained. “Too much. I can’t resist the way you look at me and the thought of being with you…”

Shyly but seductively, you put a finger on your pink lips, the spot he couldn’t stop staring at. “You’re already thinking of it? Are you thinking of what I’d look like… under you?”

“Are you trying to seduce me now?” You think you feel what that book he was writing in must have felt, to be touched so tenderly and with so much care… He looked enraged, pained, everything… He looked absolutely seduced. “You think I don’t already imagine those things?”

“Bartender?” you asked, raising your hand, but he covers it from being raised.

“Are you trying to drink more?”

“I want to know what kind of buzz you have…”

“You don’t know how to drink. You’re so cute.” He pulls you closer. He’s the cleanest man you’ve ever even met or touched, he smells like expensive cologne… “I really can’t stop myself.” He touched your shoulder, gradually going up to the neck. “I might kiss you again. I don’t know what’s come over me…”

“Am I that sexy right now?” you joked, almost classlessly.

“I could just take you up to my room,” Juyeon whispers. “Would you still want to be a good girl?”

Your dress’s strap falls down the shoulder again, and you fix it, giggling. “Ah, my dress is already coming off!”

He almost growls. “Please… if I go any further with this I’m… I don’t know if this is the correct or right thing to do to you. Don’t do this. Please, you’re innocent.”

“I’m not.” You kiss his neck, even biting the skin, although he doesn’t react. “I’m here for you to devour.”

“You’re just a college girl… I’m an adult. You’re not supposed to want this, please…”

“Why do you think 22 is young?” You giggled. “I can drink, drive, buy condoms…”

“I just… don’t want to be a bad guy…” He pulls away. “We need to stop.”

“Oh…” you sighed. “Can I still go to your room for tonight? My friends are probably high, and I don’t wanna go back to my room.”

“I don’t think you understand, Y/N,” Juyeon says slowly, as if every word were a red-hot warning, “if you come to my room, I’m going to do things. You need to be prepared for this…”

You hesitated. “I’ve never been with a stranger.”

“How could you be okay with me doing these things? Aren’t you afraid what I’ll do to you? Do you think about my intentions at all? You’re so easy…”

“You can do anything you want,” you say. “Even ruin me.”

“... I couldn’t live with myself, Y/N, please… I… I still think you’re innocent, so I can’t give in to you. But in all honesty, I want you so bad I could just…” His hand clasped against your jaw, as if he were afraid to touch you.

You kissed him on the lips the only way you knew how to kiss a man. “Can we go? To your room?”

“You’re going to make me do something I shouldn’t. Do you know what the right thing is here? I… you’re killing me. I can’t stop wanting you.”

You kissed him, and swiftly pulled him down to the elevators, lips attached as you waited for the doors to open. Breathless, you glanced at the buttons… “which floor?”

“12th.” He leans in and pressed you against the wall, whispering: “you’re making me want to do something very bad, little girl.” Your lips don’t touch, you just glance at him through the small distance, teasing him. The elevator stops.

You glanced around. “Woah, wait… aren’t there the suite rooms?”

“Yeah, my room’s right beside here.” You followed him in, and slowly got shell-shocked by the sheer massiveness of the room… Juyeon is loaded. Or his company is loaded. But… oh god. “You’re… this rich…”

“Enough about my room… Look at you.” He touched your dress like he’s trying to control the impulse to rip it.

Your strap fell down your shoulder again, and you giggle. “Should I leave the rest to your imagination?”

He grips your hips, pulling the dress up slightly. “You’re such a tease… this is so wrong. You’re so young.” But he pulls the strap down until both were hanging off your shoulder. “How can this be okay?”

He’d moveed on from your lips, now your chest was his new object, looking hungrily at you. “You just… you seem so innocent…” He touched your thigh, his hand going up between the legs, but stopping before he pushes anything hot and wet. “Fuck. I can’t go through with this and still have my honor… you don’t know what you’re doing and you don’t know what will happen to you if we go any further… Do you really want to be used up for your body? I can’t go through with this…”

Seeing his reluctance, you pulled back, and grab his broad shoulders, as if controlling him, and sit him on the luxurious hotel couch. “Okay, let’s take it slow. Let’s try to take our minds off what we’re going to do…”

“Fine…” he still looked weak, as if he was fighting everything in him from ripping your clothes off. “What now?”

You straddled him now, getting on top of him “Talk to me.”

His hands gripped the sofa at both sides just so he wouldn't do something wrong with your body. “Y/n… what are you doing right now? Aren’t you afraid? You’re making me weak.”

“Just try to talk, okay?” Your fingers unbuttoned his shirt slowly, and you teased him, lingering over his collarbone and ribs. “Tell me about your work? What were you thinking when you met me? Anything…” You started to kiss his ear.

He sighs in surrender, hands groping you now. “I really can’t think straight right now… You look so soft…” He kissed your neck now, and you could feel his teeth under all that softness.

“Yeah? you can’t think? What’s on your mind?”

“Everything… everything about you,” he admitted. “This must feel wrong, right? Showing your body to a man almost a decade older?” He took off his shirt, draping it over the couch.

“Should I stay on top of you like this?” You could feel his cock hard and intruding right under your hip.

“Whatever you like… What do you want to do to me?”

“I want you to pin me down onto the bed… and…”

“What if I made it hurt?” He was carrying you back onto the bed, just to pin you down.

“Do it.”

“Really?” His voice is more breath than words.

Before you nod to affirm, his belt is off and thrown across the room, and his tight suit-pants are down, and he looks down from you, almost godlike, before attaching himself to you, ever single way: teeth in neck, tongue on skin, his hard length directed into your warmth by a stray, careful hand.

He doesn’t talk, almost like he’s basking in the shame. Just the rocking of his hips against yours. There’s panting, and even whimpering from him, like he’s pathetic and you control what he gets to receive, but it’s him that’s inside of you, desperate and leaking. “Please… ah…”

“You’re not going to have any regrets about this, alright? I promise,” he says.

“Of course not… I trust you…”

“You do?” He pants again, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he holds yours. “I’ve been having a fantasy of making a good girl like you turn into a bad girl, okay?”

“How do you do that?”

“I make her… drool. And beg. And get as thirsty as she can for my cock.”

You simply moan in answer, Juyeon hot and hard against you. How warm you were was driving him insane, made him weak in the core, but he wouldn’t say that out loud… Just through breaths and body language and clandestine cogitation.

“Poor darling,” he panted. “I can’t… I can’t be as rough as I want to, or you’ll regret this. You’ll be crying.”

When you’re both around to come, you get desperate, and the rocking isn’t doing it anymore. Juyeon is the first to get rough, slamming himself into you with a pace unmatched from him before… Suddenly, he decides he couldn’t leave his hands idle anymore, bringing them to your neck and choking you. It feels good, as you leave the rest of your strength in your legs, which wrap around his hips until you come.

You’re sniffling as you recover.

“Y/n, are you crying?” He held you quietly. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s just that it felt so, so good,” you say with a smile. “I get… I don’t know, teary, when it’s that good. You were good. You were kind.”

“Which part was I good to you…” he groaned. “I can’t believe you still want me.”

“Well…” you reached over and touched his hands, which were about three sizes bigger than yours. “Maybe you are too big for me… But you’re still a perfect fit.”

He opened his arms. “Sleep? I promise in the morning we can sort it out…”

You switched the lights off, crawling into bed. “Ah… messy…”

“‘S okay,” he hummed.

.

His cat-like eyes were watching you as you woke up, and you immediately touch him, wrapping yourself around his shoulders. “Good morning.”

“Morning… I can’t believe you’re not mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“Because…” he brushed away your hair from your neck, revealing a hand mark, red but not purplish like a bruise.You couldn’t see it, but seeing the regret in his eyes was enough. “... because of this.”

You kiss him in reply to tell him you weren’t mad, but he quickly pulls away.

“Do you work part time?”

“Yeah, but on nights.”

He chuckled. “Classic night owl… It’s Saturday, and my client wants to meet in the afternoon. I have something planned for us, if you wouldn’t object?”

You nod slowly. “... What…?”

“You’ll see.” Blithely, he covered your naked body with more blanket, and fished out a giant fluffy bathrobe from the shelves for you to wear.

You giggled. “Don’t you want to… continue, if your plans aren’t taking place any time soon?”

“Don’t. Be. Naughty.” He chided slowly as he typed away an email in his phone. “They’ll be here soon.”

“They?!” You’re lucky you dressed in time, because the door bell rang, and as Juyeon told them to come in, staff, dressed in hotel uniform-blank-and-white suits, brought in a whole rack of clothes, almost too many, jammed in a small pole on expensive ivory hangers. “Juyeon,” you murmur quietly, “what is this?”

“Shush.” With a kiss on your lips, he lifted you up to your feet. “I thought I’d buy you back what I ripped from you last night,” he says, referring to your panties… and the broken zipper of your slip dress. Which, honestly, seeing all these new dresses, was a horrible fit from you, plus the strap kept falling off, although that did help you seduce someone.

Juyeon finished his coffee sporadically glancing at you with the staff, who fitted you in for the clothes right away, everything you pointed at and wanted to try. Although everything was heavenly nice, you just picked out two outfits in the end: a dress, and a matching skirt and blouse, thanking the staff who folded it for you.

“Is that all?” Juyeon frowned. “You didn’t like the others?”

“No, I liked it! I just… it’s too much.”

“If you liked it, you can have the entire collection.”

“NO!” you gasped, too overwhelmed to even smile. “I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness, and… I have no place wearing things that expensive.”

“Of course you have a place doing that,” Juyeon chided absentmindedly. “But if these dresses weren’t to your liking, I’ll just get you more from the show.”

“... Show?” you started slowly.

“That’s what I’m here for—I have to make an appearance. For the fall/winter season…” He kissed your temple, then headed off to get dressed in his suit. “Don’t worry about it too much.”

You glanced over at the bedside table, where he had laid out two watches that he chose not to wear for the day, turning them over in your hands.

They’re expensive. Heavy. Crystal-studded.

What kind of guy did you just sleep with?

.

After excusing yourself but getting his number (to all three of his phones, even, and he told you to contact his assistant if you wanted), you headed back to the hotel room with your friends, where they were all hungover or still zonked out.

You had last night’s dress folded in a bag, and was wearing Chanel, which your friends noticed immediately, Doyeon coming over to you asking what the hell happened…

You’d never been asked ‘what happened’ without it being bad.

“I think I met a sugar daddy,” you say.

“Here?!”

“He has three Rolexes and he bought me an entire rack of clothes.”

.

You’d meant to call Juyeon after your part time shift, but after you finished, you fished around your bag for the contact numbers and emails he gave you, when you found the paper with the ink bled through from the mineral water you had that spilled, that simply couldn’t be salvaged. All that’s left was his work email, which you, assuredly, would never be able to contact without being awkward…

Imagine being his assistant, going through work emails, and seeing one with the subject ‘RE: so about that night…’ no way, she’d just delete your message.

You regretted not asking him when he was leaving the hotel, hoping he’d at least remembered your existence and left something for you to find him by…

When you went back to the hotel—and the security almost didn’t let you in, being that you had no business—his room had been cleared out and he was already on a plane. You just slowly dejectedly walked back to the lobby emptyhanded, missing the way his giant hand felt intertwined with yours.

“Did he leave any messages for me?” you asked slowly.

“Depends, what is your name?”

You gingerly slowly gave out your name, and the receptionist shook her head. You sighed. Well… it’s definitely not that kind of story, where you land a prince charming… it was just one night. You should be happy, right?

.

It’s two months after, that your friends make you contact him. They kept talking about how real sugar daddies should never be let go, when really, you didn’t care that he bought you chanel and all those other brands you couldn’t even fit in your mouth to speak… you’d have fallen for him even if he was faking the whole wealth thing…

Which he wasn’t, as you found out after googling his company and seeing the name of his assistant.

You typed in a long email explaining it to his assistant, hoping not everyone had access to this email, making it easy to find in his inbox.

Would he check it personally? You sighed.

Doyeon wouldn't stop talking about it, ever since you met Juyeon. Always "why do YOU get to meet a sugar daddy? At MY party?" Although you thought maybe your romance dreams were well and over once the contact card bled through your bag.

The truth was, you missed juyeon… a lot… endlessly, and the thought that he was just a one-time-brush-past scared you.

You fell asleep for a nap, and when you woke up, you had a new email. It was dark, and your designer clothes hung drying out after a wash. You rub your eyes and check it in a hurry—it’s 2 a.m. in korea, although who knows where he could be traveling to?

But what you found wasn’t automated, or from his assistant, and the words were his.

Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for your message?

#deoboyznet #tbz imagines #the boyz x reader #tbz scenarios #tbz x reader #tbz smut #the boyz smut #the boyz scenarios #the boyz imagines #juyeon smut #juyeon x reader #juyeon scenarios #juyeon imagines #the boyz #the boyz fic #tbz fic

[tieronecrush]

all i need to hear

frankie morales x f!reader

rating: M

word count: 5.1k

summary: part II to 102 -- frankie lies to you to get out of your weekly meetings when he needs space. when you confront him after finding out, everything comes to a head.

warnings: no use of Y/N, post-film timeline, au where frankie doesn’t have a kid, use of pet names (solecita, mi mejor, osito), use of spanish, unrequited love, self deprecation, alcohol use, triple frontier boys teasing you, lying/deception, mentions of substance abuse

a/n: thank you everyone who wanted a part 2, and thank you to the lovely @cannolighost for beta reading <3

Frankie runs his thumb and index finger through the condensation on his glass, the foamy amber liquid downed halfway despite only getting it dropped off at the table a couple of minutes ago. His leg bounces under the table, half listening to the conversation happening around him at the round booth. Pope, Will, and Benny sit around the table, all with drinks of their own and chatting about Benny’s fight last week. His leg bounces under the table, but he keeps his eyes on the area of the table to attempt to tune into his friends around him. He can’t focus on what they're saying, hearing the words and not connecting them into sentences, and his mind races as he glances at the front door of the bar & restaurant. He can swear he feels the tick of his watch against his wrist, in time with his pulse. A hand lifts his cap off his head, running his fingers through his hair from front to back three times.

The doors moving in his periphery catch his attention. He stands when he sees you, raising his arm halfway in a short wave when you look around the bar for the group.

When you notice him, that sanguine grin of yours stretches across your face and crinkles the skin next to your sparkling eyes. His palms get sweaty at the sight of you nearly gliding through the restaurant, noticing people’s stares being drawn to you. You always managed to brighten every room you occupied effortlessly; he’s watched people sink at ease around your presence, just like you do for him every time he sees you or hears your voice, or feels the warmth radiating off your body and your smile.

The complete opposite of his shy diffidence.

A positive attraction to his negative.

Like those magnets on the North Pole and the South Pole that create a magnetic field, the energy between you two is constantly charged. At least to Frankie, it was; he couldn’t pull himself too far away when you were around.

He grins back at you, one side of his mouth reaching higher as you approach the booth. Your hand reaches up to tug a loose hair behind your ear and Frankie’s fingers itch to do the same on the other side.

“Hey, Osito,” you giggle as he rolls his eyes, trying and failing to hold back a grin at the nickname you’ve dubbed him with since you were teenagers.

“Hi Solecita,” he draws you in with an arm around your shoulders, yours snaking around his waist to squeeze you against his torso before pulling away. The other guys greet you, half hugs leaning over the table and Pope giving you a kiss on the cheek like he always does. He’s teased Frankie about it before, and it used to annoy him, but now he sees it as a sign that you, his best friend from before, have been fully integrated into his found family.

Frankie gestures for you to climb into the booth first, everyone cheating around the round table to make room. It’s a bit of a tighter squeeze with five people, so when Frankie sits down, his knee rests against yours.

He relishes in the contact, resting his hand on the leg closest to you. Silent short inhales fill his lungs every time you shift slightly, the comfort between you two over the years making you completely ignore the seemingly accidental touches. They’re no accident to Frankie — his hand is glued at the spot on his thigh, the other hand around his glass squeezing it tighter with each brush of your jeans.

Conversation turns to making plans to go see some new blockbuster comedy, all of the guys agree to a showing on Monday night. Santiago extends the invitation to you, and Frankie turns his head as everyone waits for your answer.

“I actually can’t make it, I’m sorry guys. You’ll have to tell me how it is.”

“Well, Miss Popular, where are you gonna be?” Benny asks, a corner of his mouth kicked up and a wink sent your way. Frankie turns, rolling his eyes to himself as he takes a swig of his second beer.

“Um, I’ve got a date, actually,” you admit slowly, and as each word leaves your mouth, Frankie feels his body temperature increase. With his glass still as his lips, he downs the rest of his drink and gingerly sets down the empty cup. Pope eyes him with a sympathetic gaze directly across from him.

“A date? Damn, Sol, who’s the lucky guy?” Benny grins at you and Frankie tenses, shifting to sit up straighter on the leather bench. Heat burns at the nape of his neck from Benny’s casual use of the nickname he gave you years ago; it’s become your call sign for the group, but he can’t help the flickering flames of jealousy every time he hears it. They’re only brighter from the mention of your date; it’s like gasoline poured over the fire, a burst of blazing warmth rising up his throat to blister his esophagus.

“His name’s Tristan. We’ve gone on like four dates so far?” You glance around the table as silence falls over the guys. With one look Frankie can tell what they’re all thinking, an involuntary chuckle slipping from his lips and shaking his shoulders. Your head immediately turns to him, confusion clear on your face.

“What? What am I missing?” You snap back to look at each of the other men, a disbelieving laugh escaping you, trying to play into whatever the unspoken joke is.

“Tristan? That’s really his name?” Benny asks with a baffled smirk on his face, eyebrows raised. Santiago explodes in laughter, the infectious sound roping in the rest of the guys. Frankie joins in quietly, glancing over at you and biting his laughter back when he sees your adorable pouty expression.

With a huff you cross your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes. “Y’all are a bunch of dicks.”

“Oh, c’mon, Sol. You have to give us some slack, the guy’s name is Tristan. What kind of name is that? He sounds like he’s like a personal trainer that creeps on women in the gym.” Santi says through his wide smile, shaking his head.

Benny gets even more of a kick out of Pope’s joke, adding to it, “Or sounds like he should be rolling up on a skateboard and asking if you want sativa or indica.”

A guttural groan comes from you and Frankie smiles softly as you bend forward to rest your elbows on the surface and bury your head in your hands.

He’s living for the guys ragging on this dude, but a larger part of him wants to make sure you know it’s only teasing.

“Alright, alright, give it a rest, pendejos.”

He lays a hand between your shoulder blades and rubs a slow circle, giving you an empathetic, tight smile when you raise your head. Frankie’s eyes drop to where you’ve placed your hand on his knee, patting twice before laying it back in your lap. Your touch has eased the burn of jealousy in him like a cold bucket of water thrown over his head and shocking his system.

“Frankie’s right, we shouldn’t be so judgmental just from his name. Even if it’s a little ridiculous,” Pope grins and Will shakes his head, cutting him off before he can attempt to crack any more jokes.

“Just tell them to shut the fuck up whenever you want to, Sol. They’ll actually listen to you, not Fish,” he nods and grins at Frankie, turning his gaze back to you, “So what’s this Tristan like?”

It’s been a few more hours, and you have not stopped bringing up Tristan at every chance you get now that the news was broken to the guys. Little things like Santi ordering a new beer from some local place, “I just went to that brewery with Tristan”, to something that Frankie certainly didn’t need, and desperately didn’t want, to know. Benny being Benny had brought up the third date rule, citing some conversation he had with some girls who work at the gym where he asked if girls have the same thought about the third date as guys. The younger Miller had turned the question to you, asking if you’d followed the third date rule with the new dude. Immediately flustered, you scrambled and Will stepped in, smacking his brother over the head in reprimand.

“Can’t just ask someone shit like that, Benjamin. God, you’re getting more clueless the older you get, I swear.”

It’s dropped after that, but Frankie is stewing inside over the fact that you hesitated. Being friends for years, he knows you would have shut Ben down immediately if nothing happened between you and Tristan.

He checks the time on his phone, thankful for the excuse he has to get an early night. Gently hitting his fist against the table, he grabs everyone’s attention and moves to stand from the booth.

“Gonna head out, got that early morning meeting for my hearing shit tomorrow.”

“Oh, wait! Do you mind giving me a ride? Sorry, I meant to ask earlier and totally spaced,” you smile sweetly at him, the look in your eyes saying ‘I love these guys but please don’t leave me here alone with them’.

Screaming at him, the voice inside his head tells him to say no, that he will just end up feeling worse than he already does if you bring up the other guy with no one else around to listen for him, but when he looks at that face that seems to always melt his resistance, his lips stretch into the softhearted smile that he reserves for you.

“Don’t mind at all, Solecita. C’mon,” he reaches a hand out, grasping yours when you take the offering, sliding out of the booth and turning to say your goodbyes to his friends still sitting. Frankie sends them each a nod goodbye, the lazy raise of his hand in a wave. He clocks the look that Pope gives him, his eyes saying wordlessly, “Do it, cabrón.”

Frankie strides next to you, walking a step ahead to his truck. You catch up with him at the passenger door, a light laugh breathed out as you speak.

“Geez, Frankie, you’re walking like your ass is on fire.”

He mumbles an apology, opening the car door for you and helping you up with a hand. It’s quiet on the road, the low hum of the radio filling the dead space. Franke’s suddenly the poster child for proper driving, sitting up rigidly straight, both hands on the wheel at ten and two, and eyes trained at the road in front of him, only flickering to check his mirrors.

He doesn’t dare look at you when you adjust in the seat, the swoop of movement in his periphery. Never thought it would happen, but he is incredibly grateful for his interrogation training, being able to sit in droning silence without succumbing to the need to break it. You, however, don’t have the same steal as him and decide to fill the pin-drop quiet with your plans for the weekend. Including seeing Tristan.

No physical reactions give him away, but the thought he has makes his insides roll like the barrel of a wave, crashing over and dissipating nervous energy throughout the rest of his body. 

Your voice fades into the background of the buzzing in his ears as he pulls up to your house, his eyes flay from the reach of the headlights in front of the truck and he looks over at you with a rosy, cushioned smile that he wants to fall into.

“Thanks for the ride, Osito,” your hand reaches across the center console, knuckle of your index finger lightly knocking against the stubble of his chin, “See you Sunday?”

The skin there burns reddened, hidden by the darkness of the car. All his frustration, at himself, at the situation, at you (albeit, misplaced, but still there), sits in his chest, fueling his spiraling thoughts that corkscrew into one decision. The words spill from his mouth before he can fully think about them.

“I can’t make it on Sundays anymore, or at least for a while. My, um, my NA meetings that I go to, y’know the ones closest to my place that are run by my sponsor? They got moved to Sunday mornings cause some church group needs the hall on Thursday nights now.” Eyes averted from you, he only glances lightning quick to see you visibly deflate in your seat. Guilt creeps across his skin, the disappointment evident in your face but you stay silent in your feelings, never going to ask him to do anything that would possibly affect his sobriety.

“Well, maybe we can chat next week and figure out another day that could work?” Moon-eyed with a stunted, mirthless quirk of your lips.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you later this week, Solecita.”

“Alright, um, probably should head into bed. Night, Osito. Text me when you get home, yeah?”

“Will do. Night, mi mejor.”

He sends you as loose of a smile as he can muster, idling at the curb to make sure you get inside your door. The engine revs when he pulls away, letting out a large exhale that he was holding in.

Maybe with some space, he can finally move on.

TO: Frankie 🧸

Hey, any chance you have a few minutes to talk? Got a little bit of time on my lunch left.

Can’t, sorry Sol. At work, don’t have lunch for another 1.5 hrs.

No worries! Call me when you’re off?

FROM: Frankie 🧸

Sorry I missed your call

About to go into another meeting with my lawyer, talk later?

Sounds good! Call me whenever

Hey, how’d the meeting go? Have time to chat?

TO: Frankie 🧸

Sorry to bother, do you have a couple minutes to talk? Just feeling a little meh after work today

Fuck

Sorry I missed this Sol

Guys dragged me out to celebrate my hearing getting scheduled for next month

FROM: Frankie 🧸

Hey Sol

Guess what

Did something you’re gonna hate

Francisco what have you done??

Got a haircut for my hearing

I THOUGHT SOMETHING WAS ACTUALLY WRONG

God, you’re such a dork

I forgive you for cutting your hair, it’ll grow back

How’s the license stuff going by the way? Haven’t gotten to hear about it from you!

TO: Frankie ​​🧸

Ran into Ben and Will at the grocery store

They said you need some character witnesses for your hearing?

I’d do it for you Osito

TO: Frankie 🧸

Everything okay? We haven’t talked in a while

Just wanted to check in with you 🩵

I miss you

It’s been an adjustment to have Sunday mornings free.

Normally you’d sleep until the last minute before you needed to get out the door, throwing on whatever clothes are clean and cozy, stopping for coffee on your way over to the park to meet Frankie. It was always early enough that there weren’t too many people, but consistently late enough to not be caught by a creeping dawn. Some of your favorite mornings with Frankie had been the ones where both of you still met in the pouring rain, parking right next to each other and him running out of his car and quickly over to the passenger seat of yours.

These days, your Sunday mornings have been quiet. Slow. No scramble to get out of bed on time. No feeling of warmth radiating off of Frankie. No sunlight wrapping you two in its embrace. No smell of Irish Spring soap, mint toothpaste, or his cologne you’d helped him pick out before a date years ago — notes of black currant, bergamot, patchouli, and birch that waft from his sweatshirt and tickle your nose, placating any anxious thoughts with one hit.

No, Sundays now are waiting. Waiting for the morning to be over to move on from the ache in your heart. Waiting for a message or a phone call from Frankie. Waiting for the word that his NA meetings have been moved back and your sacred routine can begin again. Waiting for the day that you don’t have to miss him anymore.

This week, you decide not to wallow at home. It will be a productive morning or at least a distracting morning; there’s a bookstore on the other side of town from you, close to Frankie’s, that you have been meaning to make a return at. You thought you would do it the next time you were on your way to his house, but with the way things have been, that day is further and further away. And you only have another week left, according to your receipt.

Rubber soles of your sneakers shuffle against the pavement as you walk down the street, taking in one of your favorite areas of the city that you haven’t visited in a while. You cross your arms over your chest, pulling the flannel jacket you’re wearing tighter to you to block out a chilled autumn breeze. The sun is shining, and it hasn’t quite dropped to an uncomfortable cold, so there are still tons of people milling about along the street. The cafe next to the bookstore even has outdoor tables arranged, and as you approach, the sight at one of them stops your feet from moving and glues your eyes to the spot.

Frankie is sitting in the sunshine, coffee in front of him, and Santiago across from him. He hasn’t seen you yet, and you check the time to make sure you weren’t off in your thoughts.

Yep, definitely should be in his meeting.

God, if only the sidewalk could swallow you up, leaving you to never have to face this. Why isn’t he in his meetings? He should be showing up to everything he can to prove that he’s sober for his license hearing. He would be a fucking idiot to mess that up.

Another thought crosses your mind, bubbling in your stomach and sending bilic, steamy breath to burn your throat as your newfound rage cooks you from the inside out.

Does he even have meetings on Sundays? Was he avoiding you? Lying to you?

Frankie would never do that to you. He couldn’t. He was your best friend. Your Osito. You were in lo—

No. No spiraling. No wasting any more energy on chasing your tail about him, feeling like a lost puppy begging for attention.

Instead, your anger forces your feet forward before your brain catches up, crossing the yard-width sidewalk and standing right in view of Frankie, next to Santiago’s chair. He looks away from Pope, the grin on his face dropping as soon as his eyes register that it was you. Mouth ajar, grip on his coffee cup tighter, and eyes wide —  embarrassed and apologetic.

“Are you skipping out on meetings or did you not want to hang out with me anymore?” Your eyebrows raise, glance darting to the side to see Santi sink in his chair. Frankie blubbers his lips, living up to his call sign as he gasps for air under your blazing vexation, “Y’know what, it doesn’t even matter, cause either way I can’t believe you. I’m so pissed at you. I thought you were better than this.”

“Solecita, wait.” He stands from the table and follows you as you walk away, tears stinging your eyes. You can’t even face him anymore, the fury inside ashing as it fades into icy dejection.

“No, Frankie, I can’t talk about this right now. I really don't even want to look at you right now,” he catches his hand on your bicep, turning you to face him as you stumble. He steadies you with a hand on your waist, the apologetic look in his watery brown eyes and the smolder of his touch making you step back breathlessly.

“I’m sorry, mi mejor. I really am, it’s just— you wouldn’t understand, I’m—”

You hold a hand up to stop him, shaking your head and attempting to cover the emotion in your voice, failing miserably when you open your mouth.

“Please, Frankie, I can’t,” you lock your eyes on your sneakers, blinking back your tears, “I need to go.”

Frankie doesn’t protest again, standing frozen on the sidewalk and watching as you walk past the table. Pope’s eyes flick up from his phone that he pulled out to keep his attention away from the private conversation. When you disappear around a street corner, his limbs loosen from their marbleized rigidity, sulking over to the small bistro table and sitting down in silence.

One of his hands drags down his face, his mind is willing away the tears threatening the corners of his eyes. Santiago looks at him with a grievance, clearing his throat and speaking bluntly.

“That was fucked up lying to her about that, Fish.”

Frankie glares, rancor jagged in his voice, “Obviously I know that. But I couldn’t sit there every week and listen to her brag about this guy…I want her to be bragging about me to her other friends. It’s not fucking fair.”

“You’re the one who stopped yourself from taking the chance to tell her how you feel. And you’re still doing it.”

“She’s probably in a relationship by now, I can’t just dump all my shit on her.”

“Well, you wouldn’t know if she’s even still dating the dude 'cause you’ve been avoiding her!”

That shuts Frankie up and makes him even more annoyed — mostly because Pope is right. And he fucking hates when that happens.

He stews for a taciturn minute; thoughts hastened in plotting. He runs a palm flat against the stubble dotting his chin, working his jaw side to side.

“I’ve gotta go,” he says it as almost a question before his brain is yelling at him to move, “I gotta go find her. Do you think she’s in her car yet? Fuck, I don’t even know where that is. Should I go to her house and wait if she’s not home? Do I drive around the city to find her?”

Pope chuckles to himself, shaking his head as he stands and claps a hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“I think you know exactly where she’s gonna be.”

It’s nearly midday now, the blinding autumnal sun casting short shadows in the trees as he jogs from the parking lot along the paved trails. It’s busy — way busier than when he usually comes here on Sundays. He’s dodging strollers, slipping sideways between groups of friends and families, juking with runners in the middle of their workouts. When he almost reaches you, he nearly misses his foot getting caught in the slack of a dog lead, lifting it in a skip as he calls out an apology behind him, either to the dog or owner, he doesn’t really care who hears it.

 Darting his eyes around the field, his ears are filled with the sound of his thumping pulse, blood rushing as loud as waves. He’s standing in the middle of the path, getting dirty looks and passive-aggressive comments, but it all falls away when he sees you. Sitting on the usual rock, arms hugging your knees to your chest and head bent to rest against the joints there. Inside of his chest, his heart is squeezed to mush, seeping into the deepest ache he’s felt between his ribs and down his vertebrae.

Never, in all your years as friends, did he ever hurt you like this.

And with what he has to tell you, there’s a possibility that he’ll never be able to make it up to you. That you’ll never want to see him again.

In spite of it, his legs drag him forward, paying no mind to those around him having to stop in their tracks or swerve to avoid him. He’s chartered on a course directly to you, climbing onto the stone quietly until a scrap of his sneaker catches your attention and lifts your head to look at him.

Fuck, you were crying. All because he was a fucking stupid coward.

No sound breaks between you two as Frankie sits next to you, a foot of space separating you. He picks up a small pebble that’s broken off the larger boulder, rolling it with his fingers before tossing it into the water and watching the ripple form and dissipate. After another beat, his head turns to you, your own stuck straight ahead.

“I’m sorry, mi mejor. I am so fucking sorry that I lied to you. My meetings didn’t move. And—and I promise I’m still going on Thursday nights. Still sober. Nothing like that has changed. I wouldn’t do that to you—I wouldn’t put myself back in that place after all the help you’ve given me to get my life back…”

Your voice is thick with sadness when you respond, eyes trained ahead on the water, “So, why did you do it? Why did you lie? Why didn’t you want to see me anymore? I’ve been trying to think of something that happened, something I did. What did I do to drive you away?”

“No. Please don’t think like that. You did nothing, Solecita. Nothing. It was something I didn’t do that made me put space between us. It was a selfish thing to do, and I am so sorry that I did it.”

“What didn’t you do? I can’t think of anything I expected of you. Well, besides our Sundays and being my best friend. You’ve been doing both of those for years.”

“It wasn’t…It wasn’t anything you asked of me, Sol. It was something I’ve been needing to do for years,” he swallows hard and sits up, squinting in the sunlight reflecting off of the rippling pond.

“I understand if you need some space for real after this. Or if you’re angry, or if you wanna just get up and leave. I’ll understand.”

“Frankie, you’re kind of scaring me. Just tell me,” you rest a hand on his arm laying on his propped knee, tender eyes melting his heart, “Always here. Always, Osito.”

He takes a deep breath, nerves haywire, and shakes jolting energy throughout his body. He trains his eyes on his shoes as he begins the confession he’s held in for nearly as long as he’s known you.

“I’m…Sol—Fuck. I’m sorry. I want to tell you, I do, but the words are really not coming to me how I want them to.”

“Francisco Pedro Morales, just tell me. Whatever words are in your head are the right ones,” you lean closer to him, reaching a hand up to brush the hairs at his forehead that stick out from his cap.

His eyes close for a long minute, attempting to relax his galloping heart.

With no luck in calming down, he opens his eyes and turns his head to you, stare locking at yours as a meek voice leaves his mouth.

“I love you.”

You’re perplexed for a moment, eyebrows pinching together before a faint laugh slips out, “I love you too, Frankie. But…you’ve said that to me before. Like many times.”

“No, no I don’t mean — I’m in love with you, Solecita. I have been since…well, since about a month after I met you. You’re this—this radiant, lustrous, fucking dazzling, gentle, and gracious presence in my life that I can never stop thinking about. All I want is to see you smile, and hear your laugh…I want to make you proud of me. I would kill to protect you, even from myself, and stupid shit I do that hurts you. I want to be able to look at you when you walk into a room, and I see everyone fucking glued to you because you’re so shining and joyful and know that you’re mine. That anyone else could try, but I would know that you’re coming home with me, that you chose me. I would fucking worship the ground you walk on, cause I already do. Your word is like gospel to me. It’s like…you’re my true North in life, I just point myself toward you to be able to find my bearings and keep moving…I just, I fucking love you. Te amo infinitamente, con todo en mi. (I love you infinitely, with everything in me.)”

“And I know you’re with Tristan now, so I get it if you can’t—”

“I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“I’m not with Tristan. We broke things off weeks ago. I broke things off weeks ago — when we weren’t keeping up with each other because I realized — I realized that I didn’t want him. He was a placeholder. And he could never live up to the person whose place he was holding.”

“Who’s that?” he says defensively, a puff of air leaving his lips in frustration that there’s yet another guy he needs to compete with.

“Que tonto, Francisco. (What a fool, Francisco.)” You shake your head with a creeping grin, the corners of your mouth slowly rising as your eyes sparkle in the sunlight. His own brow furrows in confusion until it clicks a moment later. His own smile matches yours, sheepishly hanging his head before he turns back to you.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, 'Oh.'” The trill of your laughter knocks up his spine and he rolls his eyes playfully, scooting closer on the cool stone.

“So…is this other guy you’ve been waiting around for just like, wickedly handsome? Es él todo lo que soñaste? El tipo de chico con el que te gustaría montar en la puesta de sol? (Is he everything you dreamed of? The type of guy you'd want to ride into the sunset with?)” He smirks, wagging his eyebrows as his eyes flicker to your lips. His pulse races with the real possibility that he’s finally going to get to kiss you, after all of this time and after imagining it in countless daydreams.

“Can’t say I’ve thought about riding into the sunset with him…but I have thought about flying into the sunset with him. Tiene alas para llevarme (He has wings to carry me). Anywhere.”

“Anywhere for you. Te llevaría a cualquier parte, amor (I would take you anywhere, love.)”

Frankie closes the gap between you two, one of his hands reaching up and holding your cheek in his palm. His lips press delicately, featherlight to yours as if he’s scared of breaking the spell with his touch on your skin.

You, always the more assured and decided, hold onto Frankie’s wrist near your face, deepening the kiss. It knocks the air from his lungs, every ounce of his breath is given to you as his lips begin to ebb with yours, tilting your head back to slant his mouth down. You pull away first, his head chasing after you. His mouth hangs open as he looks at you with a gentle smile, eyes twinkling with the dwindling sunlight. A silent laugh is shared between the two of you, a giddy, boyish grin on his face as his heart continues to race.

It’s you who speaks first, voice no louder than a whisper, as if you couldn’t dare share this moment with anyone else around you.

“I love you, Frankie. Always.”

“Siempre, mi amor. Siempre.”

tags: @beskarandblasters @swiftispunk @joelsversion @lunapascal @addictedtotlou @deathwife @johnwatsn @pedgeitopascal @pedrospartner @atinylittlepain @soaringcloud @wannab-urs @javiscigarette @yazsos @northernwindd @pr0ximamidnight @theelishad @scrambledslut @thetriumphantpanda @dinsdjrn @midnightswithdearkatytspb @ladamedusoif @meveispunk @bitchwitch1981 @marisemonteiroo @brittmb115 @axshadows @cannolighost @titabel @the-wrong-providence @wretchedmo

#frankie #writing #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales fanfiction #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales angst

[luvistqrzzz]

THE ACCIDENTAL POLAROID- a heeseung smau

we took a polaroid

capture the look in your eyes

PAIRINGS- heeseung x f.reader (slight sunghoon x f.reader)

SUMMARY- Lee Heeseung doesn't believe in love at first sight but what happens when he accidentally clicks a polaroid of a girl at the local diner? A girl he can't seem to get out of his mind.

Will he be able to return you the polaroid or will love follow him along the way?

GENRE- smau with written parts, college!au, strangers to lovers, fluff, crack, angst (veryyy slight), slight love triangle

FEATURING- 02z + sunoo from enhypen, yunjin and chaewon from le sserafim, beomgyu and hueningkai from txt and yujin from ive

WARNINGS- profanity, more tba in the respective chapters

TAGLIST- closed - @yenqa @xuimhao @ddazed-lhs @astrae4 @ghostiiess @seungminstaehyun @haechansbbg @chaechae-23 @ak-aaa-li @whippedforbeomgyu @ahnneyong @ineedaherosavemeenow @jhopesucker @j-wyoung @tnyhees @liliansun @rikizm @jadeluvsenha

STATUS- completed

UPDATE SCHEDULE- whenever i can tbh </3

STARTED- 25/04/2023

ENDED- 08/06/2023

NOTE- this is purely a work of fiction and it in no means represents the idol irl. also the pictures of yn are for reference purpose only. I have no intention of copying anyone, i really apologize beforehand if the idea or plot coincides with some other smau.

A/N- this is inspired by Jonas Blue's song Polaroid (check it out asap its a bop!!) ik ik i have another smau to update but i posted this one on impulse lolol... hopefully will begin with it soon <3! omg its already midnight here i think i really need to sleep lmfao😭😭

MOODBOARD | PLAYLIST

PROFILES- singlez+betrayer// young dumb stupid

CHAPTERS-

001- reason for my poverty

002- and i oop- (partly written::: 0.3K)

003- yunjin got brains

004- "responsible good friend" with a plot twist

005- Mr.H

006- plan failed? 100%

007- running late is not fun (partly written::: 0.2K)

008- simpsons minus the "son"

009- de-rizz someone with 0 rizz??

010- chaewon gets a happy meal (and third wheels)

011- HALF ver. - umbrella crisis

╰┈➤FULL ver.- weird feelings (partly written::: 0.2K)

012- ✨jEaLoUsY✨

013- 1/i■€h33$€♡&¿

014- Make dem moves

015- liquid courage gone wrong (written::: 0.5K)

016- smiley faced emoji

017- on read

018- FML

019- man w a mission

020- Love, Y/N ( written::: 0.47K )

021- it's like a polaroid love- FINALE- ( written::: 0.5K )

it's only a matter of time

before it starts fadin'

Enjoyed The Accidental Polaroid? Check out another smau L♡VE THEORY set in the same universe, starring Jake ^^!!

work belongs to @/luvistqrzzz do not repost, copy or translate my work.

reblogs are appreciated

#📸accidental polaroid ! #— works ! #enhypen smau #enhypen x reader #heeseung imagines #lee heeseung x reader #enhypen fanfics #enhypen fake texts #enhypen imagines #heeseung x reader #heeseung scenarios #enhypen au #enhypen fluff #enhypen #lee heeseung #heeseung fluff #enhypen social media au

[m-ayo-o]

knight & royal

18+ Riftan Calypse is left a little worse for wear after receiving treatment from his princess wc 790 selfshiptember; 13

[au: Riftan ~ regular knight/regular as 6ft 5 perfection can get] was trying to write Megumi. this damn man just wouldn’t stay out of my head. prolly not super accurate just Riftan lovin

You realise the ‘soft spot’ you have for one of your royal knights is quickly spiralling into a full blown crush when he arrives back after a long expedition.

He’s all roughed up, and you just want to rush to his side.

You try to maintain your composure, but internally you’re screaming– one, because you’re overjoyed that he’s back within the safety of the castle walls. Two, because he looks awful, so cut up and bloody, like you’ve never seen him before.

You can’t resist the urge to seek him out, stepping into the medical unit where there are several nurses tending to the knight’s wounds.

Including his.

You’re already making a scene just in being here, but when you approach the nurse and politely ask if you can take over she’s reduced to a blubbering mess. You just quiet her down and instruct her to look after the other men.

So you continue where she left off, washing, bandaging and dressing his wounds silently, carefully, precisely.

The other knights and nurses have long gone as you finish up the last bandage.

He admires your work, exclaiming that you’ve done a much better job than the nurses usually do, commenting on your advanced healing technique you learned from the kingdom’s wizard. 

You agree that you’ll take over tending his wounds every time he returns from battle, once again expressing how glad you are that he’s back before taking your leave.

⋆⁺₊⋆

Despite all your due care and attention to his wounds, you fail to notice the state you leave your Knight in.

He all but hobbles to his barracks, stumbling into his private room like some drunken fool.

All his armour is long gone, now he’s quickly stripping away his loose, cotton attire to release his burning, hot body.

You healed him, but left him aching; in his chest, in the pit of his stomach, in his throbbing, hard cock.

He feels the all consuming desire to grab and squeeze himself till he’s cumming to the thought of you.

But he can’t.

You’re his devoted royal, his princess, the reason he fights.

And he’s your knight; loyal, dependable, honourable.

But there’s absolutely nothing honourable about what’s passing through his mind right now.

He’s finally naked, lying on his bed, feeling the ache from the base, right to the tip of his erection.

“ugh–” he brings a hand over his eyes as if he could make the images of you disappear, his chiselled, handsome face covered in such a pretty blush.

He’s so glad you can’t see him right now.

What a mess you’ve made of him.

And so he lies there. Uncomfortable. Undecided. Waiting.

He’s bathed, he’s shaved, he’s eaten, he even attempted to cut his own hair– after being away for so long these things get out of hand.

But nothing is working.

Nothing can distract him from the thought of you.

So he takes to his bed again, feeling rested and cared for in every way, save for one.

But now he’s ready for a deep slumber, his eyes drowsy, his mind fogging as sleep claims him.

Only to dream of you knocking on his door and entering his room, touching him like you were before, your beautiful hands all over his scarred, muscular figure.

His subconscious treats him well, taking those innocent images of you and making them indecent, your clothes vanishing to reveal those perky, sweet breasts he’s never seen, your lips finding his in a kiss that feels simultaneously familiar and unknown.

It’s feverish, a cruel taunt to the steely resolve of his conscious mind.

But you let him fuck you like he hopes you would; taking all of him, rough and hard.

His hands roam over your dreamy figure, squeezing and caressing where possible while he takes you.

He cums so hard it wakes him, feeling the sticky liquid over his abs and sheets.

He sighs and returns to sleep, your images leaving him till morning.

⋆⁺₊⋆

You’re still reeling from how cowardly you behaved last night, leaving his side, unable to tell him how you truly feel.

Upon returning to the comforts of your bedroom, every thought was invaded by him, your head spinning with images of his gorgeous, tanned body, his thankful smile… until you couldn’t take it, your fingers finding your soft little bud that you’ve touched too many times to the thought of him.

And you came undone with his beautiful features in your head; those narrow eyes, his jaw, that mess of raven hair.

Everything about him drove you to reach an orgasm so perfect it made you shudder and gasp his name.

How will you be able to look your sweet Knight in the eyes?

Will you ever be able to confess?

selfshiptember 13!! likes, comments + reblogs appreciated! <3

#riftan calypse #riftan #under the oak tree #uot #under the oak tree riftan #knight riftan #manhwa #uot manhwa #fanfic #smutty fanfiction #fanfiction #uot fanfic #under the oak tree fanfic #under the oak tree imagine #female reader #riftan x reader #18+ content

[ghouljams]

I’m tired and thinking of more Historal Fae au. Liebling expanding her farm further outwards to plant newer crops, holding her machete close as she clears away vines and branches, feeling the eyes of a predator on her the whole time. And Love staying up late at night, bone tired but needing to get the finishing touches done for this dye order. The money’s enough to feed her and Liebling for weeks. So strung up on it that she can’t even feel Ghost’s fingers running up and down the spine of her spine, breathing heavily in her ear like a demon.

Hmmmm, and Carpenter!Crybaby. She gets so many commissions for her beautifully crafted chairs and tables. Even nobles wish to purchase her sets. But sometimes she loses steam, tears in her eyes as she vents her sorrows to the newcomer in town. She doesn’t know why she does it. His eyes a little too sharp, his smile too wide, just watching her as she cries and giving her words of sympathy. She goes home and suddenly she’s right back to work the next day like nothing happened, just making her pretty furniture again. She thinks the newcomer ordered a set, what did he want again? She couldn’t remember…

- ☀️

OOOOH Yes babe, yes yea yes.

Love spins her yarn and checks her dye baths, measuring and re-measuring dyes. Every order has to be perfect, her work never compromised no matter how tired she is. She pulls a lump of yarn from a pot and checks the depth of color before returning it to the liquid. Her skin is warm, her mind fuzzy around the edges, phantom fingers trail over her arms and down her back. The shadows lick at her fingers when they rest against the edge of the candle's flickering glow. Ghost watches her, a specter behind her back, just at the edge of her sleepy perception. He presses his lips against her ear and she shivers, tips her head to get away from the cold, baring her neck for him. Ghost's teeth itch, his mouth waters, he's never had such a meal laid out for him, and yet something stops him from biting. Maybe it's the soft scent of herbs that clings to her skin, maybe it's the way that same skin feels under his fingers. So full of life and warmth. He wants to keep her like this as long as he can.

Liebling keeps pushing her farm further into the forest. She's never been scared of the fae folk that dwell there, besides this part of the woods is uninhabited by the fae. It's old, deserted, she assumes. Her eyes scan the trees, the dense foliage that covers the ground, if there was intelligent life she'd see it. It's the only gift she's ever been given, and one she keeps closely guarded. If the village knew she was a seer she'd be driven out of it. König watches his clever little farmer clear stone and sow her seeds from the dark crevices of the forest. He can smell the magic sewn into her blood, can feel the pressure of her gaze, she looks soft but he's heard the barbs on her tongue. Just one taste and he'd be satisfied that she was ordinary, just one quick grab of his claws and she'd be his. She holds her knife tightly, never lowers her guard. She may not see him, but she can feel him, and he's getting closer.

Crybaby finds her inspiration comes in waves, never fleeting, but a steady ebb and flow. She makes her craft, and by the time it's ready to sell she's ready for a break. She enjoys spending the coin it earns her, almost as much as she enjoys avoiding the attention she gains from her talents. It's not wise to be talented, not in fae country. She's always been a little more superstitious than most, and yet somehow that caution doesn't extend to the handsome stranger that sits down next to her at the bar. His hands are warm where they touch her, his eyes sparking like flames, he smiles with too many teeth and though that startles recognition in her mind it doesn't stick. She feels hollow after putting in so much work to make her wares, and perhaps she has too much to drink to end up crying on a stranger's shoulder. It doesn't matter when she wakes up the next day and feels like her well has been filled again. It's easy to ignore the silver that strikes across her throat, the threads that wrap like a collar around her neck, invisible expect when the water glitters just right. A patron of the arts, he'd called himself at the bar. Soap, he'd told you in hushed whispers when he'd taken you home.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #x oc #cod x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #1fae1 #ghost mw2 #☀️ anon #könig #könig x reader #König x oc #könig cod #könig mw2 #fae!König #fae!ghost #simon ghost riley x oc #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #john mactavish x oc #soap mactavish #soap x oc #soap x reader #f!reader #f!oc #oc: love #oc: liebling #oc: crybaby

[kinq-sleazee]

A Night In - Black Reader x Yuuji Itadori

TW! AU, manipulative reader, kinda toxic reader , yandere reader if you squint, yuuji wants to hang out with his friends but reader is sad ☹️, oral (m) receiving , vaginal sex

Bringing that sweet persona full force you fall to your knees between his spread legs and bite your lip. Meekly gazing up at him with doe eyes and a pout. He always looks so good from this angle—towering over you like a god. Big muscles and powerful hands that could end you in an instant but the puppy like trance that befalls him as you present lets you know that he would never.

Who really has the power here ?

His shorts lay discarded in the corner. Thick cords of muscle flex and ripple under the slow drag of your nails on his flesh. His breath hitches as you pepper sweet kisses up his toned thighs. Leisurely, you suck at the skin. Painting the canvas with darkened marks of passion. Yuuji moans lustfully, placing a hand and cupping your cheek to which you meet with a kiss on his palm. You love his hands. They’re so strong and beautiful. Those hands have helped bring peace and justice to world and normally you’d spend time servicing them deep in your throat but there’s something heavier that’ll settle against your tongue tonight. The object of your desire lies between his thighs too heavy to stand. Thick veins circle the girthy appendage with a purpling mushroom tip leaking pre. On instinct your tongue darts out and you can’t help the lascivious moan that tumbled in your chest. Yuuji’s brows furrow and his perfect lips part slightly revealing sparkling white, and deadly sharp, teeth. God he looks so beautiful—if you could stare at him all day you would but right now you have a job to do. One long strip from the base of his cock to his engorged tip has him rutting forward and whimpering your name. He hisses in pain laced pleasure when your nails break the skin of his thighs at the same time your wet cavern engulfs him.

Yuuji melts into the sofa , literal putty in your hands as you Bob your head on the top half of his member. Your tongue swirls around his dick, spelling your name as if an enchantment. A low grow bubbles from his chest and you dare a glance at his face. Stray strands have fallen in his face, stuck to the beads of sweat forming. His lip is bruised with trickles of blood spilling in the corner from how hard he’d been biting them. God—he’s captivating. Deeper. Deeper. You urge yourself. Swallowing more and more of his massive length while your fondle his balls and dare let you fingers graze past his perineum. He jolts at the feeling but that’s for another time. You suck hard. Swirling your tongue around the tip before pulling off with a pop to spit the mixture of saliva and precum before shoving the entirety of it down your throat. Saliva drips down his heavy balls and you feel them throbbing in your hand a tell tale sign that he’s close to cumming. He does his best to warn. A strained “b-baby”, and a garbled cry of your name is all he manages before spilling his seed in your mouth. Allowing him no time to recover you pull up and sink down his fat cock. The painful stretch of it bullying into your unprepped pussy almost made you scream but you wouldn’t dare spill the liquid delight resting on your tongue. Big hands grip your cheeks slamming your pelvises together. You tangle your fingers into red strands as you pull him into a cum filled kiss. He moans at the taste , swallowing his own seed like a debauched whore. You’re so close now. The delicious curve of his cock is nestled in your womb and every twitch sends shockwaves to your gspot. Yuuji is babbling affirmations of love and praise beneath you but your too far gone to hear him. Instead you focus on the feeling of his silky strands between your feelings and his dick rubbing against your velveteen walls as you cum. He joins your climax— shooting ropes of cum until you’re both left spent and panting.

Who doesn’t like a good night in ?

#itadori yuuji #yuji itadori #jjk itadori #itadori smut #itadori x black!reader #itadori x reader #jjk yuuji #yuuji x reader #yuuji x black reader #jjk smut #jjk x black reader

[lulublack90]

Prompt 17 - Hospital AU

@wolfstarmicrofic April 17, word count 995

CW- Cuts, Animal attack, Bite marks

Sirius stretched across the gurney, carefully holding his cup of coffee so he didn’t pour the scalding liquid down himself. 

“Hey, James. How long have we been on shift?” He asked his equally prostrate best friend. James groaned as he lifted his arm to check his watch. 

“8 hours.” He yawned. They were on the night shift, and the cases were either dull easy to diagnose stuff that could have waited for a GP in the morning or total calamities. 

He raised his head to take a sip of his drink when his pager went off. 

“Damn it,” He cursed as he dodged the liquid that came flying out of the cup. “That was close. I almost marred my beautiful face.” 

“Come on, urgent call to A&E,” James told him, grabbing him and jogging down the hall. 

The room was utter Bedlam. People were shouting at each other. A nurse was carrying a handful of bloody cloth to the hazardous waste bin. More nurses were fitting IVs and monitors to the patient lying still in the bed. Nurse Evans moved out of the way, and Sirius got his first glance at what they were working with. 

In the bed lay a twenty-something young man. Who could have been quite good-looking but now had long gashes across his face, one of which sliced his face in half from the corner of his eye, across his nose and finishing just above his lip. Sirius sucked in a breath as he took it in. 

“That’s not the worst of it.” Nurse Evans warned. Sirius glanced down as his eyes darted across the rest of his body. There were more slashing cuts, and the soft flesh of his waist and abdomen had huge puckered holes dotted about in stretched-out crescent arches. 

“Are those bite marks?!” James exclaimed, moving closer to the man. Nurse Evans nodded. 

“His back is all cut up, same as his front. Whatever attacked him got him good.” She sighed. “Poor man, he’s going to be in a lot of pain and shock when he wakes up.” She handed over his notes to James and busied herself cleaning the wounds. 

Sirius couldn’t take his eyes off the man.

“Do these look like dog bites?” He questioned as his fingers ghosted above the damaged skin.

“They look too big but definitely canine. Wolf, maybe?” James screwed up his face as he tried to figure it out. 

“There aren’t any wolves in Britain.” Sirius objected. “Where was he found?” 

“Er, notes say in the car park next to the—oh, for crying out loud. Next to the woodland park.” James scanned the text.

“Still no wild wolves in Britain,” Sirius muttered, only half paying attention to James. 

He grabbed some of the disinfection materials and helped Nurse Evans clean out the wounds. James began spouting off multiple tests he wanted to carry out and leaned over Sirius. Speaking quietly so only Sirius could hear him, he murmured.

“Be careful, yeah. I’ve seen that look before. Don’t get too invested.” Sirius shook his head. 

“I’m a doctor, James, I care. That’s all it is.” He lied. 

“Make sure it is,” James replied, knowing full well Sirius wasn’t telling the truth. 

Nurse Pettigrew appeared with his camera and began documenting the wounds in case it was a police matter. 

“Should I send these to a bite specialist?” He asked Sirius and James. James nodded. 

“Yes, that way, we will know what we’re dealing with. Send a couple of the slashes as well. I swear they look like claw marks.” Nurse Pettigrew disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared after taking countless photos and only disturbing the cleaning once to get shots of the man’s back. 

It took hours to get the man’s wounds cleaned and sutured. He’d had multiple scans, including a brain scan. To make sure he didn’t have a brain bleed. But he didn’t wake up. They weren’t worried yet. His body had sustained a lot of damage, and nothing in his scans showed any reason for him not to be conscious. 

Sirius’s shift had ended hours ago, but he stayed sitting at the man’s side. James had tried to convince him to leave. 

“Sirius, he’s a patient. You need to leave. Please don’t get overly attached to him. You don’t even know anything about him.”

“He’s all alone, James,” Sirius sighed. He already knew he was treading the line between a caring practitioner and becoming too personal with a patient. “No one has called looking for him. The police say no one matching his description has been reported missing. It’s been hours. How can no one be missing him?” James sighed at Sirius as he roughly ran his hand through his hair.

“I know, I know. Just be careful, Sirius.” He clapped his friend on the back and left him to it.

Sirius slept in the uncomfortable visitor’s chair. He kept waking up to check on his patient, but he was always asleep. Morning came, and one of the Nurses brought him breakfast and took the patient’s vitals. It wasn’t until the afternoon, a full 24 hours after he’d been brought in. The man’s eyelids fluttered. Sirius watched with bated breath as slowly, slowly, the man regained consciousness.

“It’s okay,” Sirius said in his most calming voice. “We think you’ve been attacked. You’ve got a lot of cuts, so I need you to keep still so you don’t rip any stitches. But you’re safe, and so far, no complications.” He realised he’d taken the man’s hand and promptly dropped it. “Sorry,” He mumbled under his breath. He watched the man wiggle his now free fingers. Sirius’s training finally kicked in. 

“I’m Doctor Black, Sirius. Do you know what your name is?” He asked as he pressed the call button. The man thought for a second. 

“Remus Lupin.” He said faintly. 

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Remus Lupin.” Sirius smiled at him as Nurse Evans wandered in.   

#wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar fic #wolfstar au #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius orion black #remus john lupin #james potter #lily evans #peter pettigrew #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #sirius and remus #remus and sirius #hurt remus #if you go down to the woods today #dr sirius #cw cuts #cw wounds #cw animal attack #cw bites #hospital au

[starlitmark]

Summary: Whatever you did to mess up the recipe really has you desperate for Kun. Pairing: Wizard!Kun x fem apprentince!reader Tropes: magic au, wizardry au Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language, magic, fictional herbs Smut Warnings: aphrodisiacs, overstimulation, fingering, oral sex (f receive), sudden female orgasm, unprotected sex, marking, crying, aftercare Word Count: 1,700 Host Tags: @sanjoongie @thelargefrye Note: thank you to @stardragongalaxy for proofreading! Before You Interact February Filth Masterlist

Listen to ♡ Same Scent by Oneus

“Watch this brew while I handle the inventory for a moment.” Kun smiles sweetly.

“Are you sure? I can do inventory. I don’t want to mess–”

Kun shakes his head, “I trust you.”

You nod and move toward the cauldron. The bubbling brew smells sweet, almost as if to draw you in more. You vaguely hear Kun talking to himself in the storage room, likely checking how many phoenix feathers you have left. You started running low, but your pet phoenix just rebirthed, and its feathers are nowhere ready to molt yet. That or maybe he’s checking the progress on the pixie dust crystalization. Either way, you swear you hear him call you. Whipping your head around, you see him still deep in the store room, not even attempting to get your attention. When you turn, though, you move the spoon and knock it into a small vile next to the cauldron. You close your eyes and slowly turn your head back to the large cast iron pot. When you open your eyes, it looks the same. It just smells the slightest bit sweeter— the vile lies on its side, with barely a drop still inside it. 

“The brew should be done! Put the fire out, okay?” 

You nod, even if he might not see it, “O-okay!”

“Also,” Kun says, walking back into the kitchen, “I want you to try a little bit of it. It’s a romantic-based potion, but just one sip won’t do anything.”

You don’t want to seem suspicious, so you nod, take a small spoon from the side table, and dip it into the metallic pink liquid. After blowing on it a few times, you place the spoon against your lips and sip it. Instantly, a rush of heat goes through your body. Everything is hypersensitive. You’re far more aware of everything around you than you’d like to be. When you look back at Kun, he can immediately tell something is off with you. You suddenly feel the need to fuck him like your life depends on it. You’ve always respected the line of Wizard and apprentice, no matter how hot he is. Now, though, all you can imagine is being absolutely railed by him to the point that you can’t form a coherent word in your mind.

“Are you okay?”

“Kun,” your voice comes out almost like a moan.

His eyes go wide as saucers. Then his eyes darted to the cauldron. He leans over and smells the sweeter scent. Before even thinking to check his surroundings, he dips his hand in, using it as a cup of sorts, and sips the liquid as well. Suddenly, in his peripheral, he notices the knocked-over vile. Amorus.

“You knocked over the Amorus.” He states with a slight groan, picking up the small glass container, “How much– fuck…” 

“I didn’t want to upset you.” You pout and step closer, “Kun, could we maybe…”

He was starting to feel the effects of the potion as well, and damn, did he need to see you fall apart for him right now. He finds himself leaning in slowly, and you are, too. There are so many lines being blurred right now, but with the effects of the botched potion, neither of you can think about anything other than fucking each other. Kun places his hand on your waist, and you feel goosebumps on your skin when his hand makes contact. Finally, his lips are on yours. It’s not a very coordinated kiss, but it’s desperate, needy, sloppy. You absolutely melt at the sensation. Kun whispers something against your lips. It’s a spell you don’t know yet. You’re so fixated on him that when you finally let your hands wander, and you don’t feel fabric, you moan against his lips.

“That’s a fun little spell I can teach you once these potions wear off.” Kun chuckles, “It’s very handy, no?”

“Kun, please?”

He wraps his arms around your waist fully and tells you to jump. You wrap your legs around his waist tightly. A whimper escapes your lips at the feeling of your clit pressed against his bare skin. His cock stands tall and is perfectly pressed against your ass. You find yourself seated on one of the worn wooden tables. It’s not the most comfortable, but it’s more than enough for Kun to lay you out and fuck you stupid.

You hear the sound of jars and dishes being pushed to the side haphazardly as Kun guides you to lay back fully on the table. His kisses finally start trailing down your throat and between the valley of your breasts. You have a constant stream of moans and profanities falling from your mouth as Kun hungrily lays wet kisses everywhere he can. When his kisses finally reach your lower belly, you can’t help but let your hips jerk. Each kiss grows just a bit closer to where you need him. 

Even though he’s just as desperate as you are, the fact that he’s putting you first has your belly swooping and flipping. He continues to place kisses against the area just above your soaked entrance. You tangle your hand in his hair, and that gives him the last bit of push to lick a wide stripe up your folds. He eats you out like a starved man. After a few licks, he sucks on your clit. Kun continues this pattern for a while. Your other hand finds a place in his hair as well, tugging at the reddish-brown strands as he makes you melt into a feral puddle. He brings a hand up to your folds while his mouth is focused on your clit. Kun presses two fingers against your cunt, barely teasing your entrance. 

“Kun,” you moan, “Please just put them in, don’t tease me!”

Kun releases your clit for a moment, chuckling through a smirk. He pushes his fingers into you. You knew you were sensitive, but you suddenly feel arousal burn through you so hot that your orgasm tumbles through you. Your thighs shake around his head, wanting desperately to close. Kun holds one of your thighs down, stopping you from fully closing them. Kun doesn’t stop; he continues to lap at your clit while pistoning his fingers into you. The overstimulation burns through you in the most pleasurable pain you’ve ever known.

“You’re still so needy.” Kun muses, pulling away from your pussy, face still covered in your arousal, “You want me to fuck you?”

Your eyes are glazed over and needy. His fingers still pushing in and out of you render your brain completely empty. Your mental space is nothing more than an aroused fog. Kun chuckles again as you nod so hard you nearly smack your head against the hardwood of the table. When he pulls his fingers out of you, you whimper at the lack of contact. A moment later, you feel him rubbing his tip through your folds, and that same painful pleasure returns as he pushes his cock against your clit.

“Ready? I’m gonna make you see god, maybe even more.” He practically growls.

“Kun, please!” You moan, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

He pushes into you and immediately pistons his hips against yours. You scream out at the feeling of the overstimulation. Kun pulls your legs up beside your chest on either side and holds them there before pressing his body against yours. The feeling of his bare skin on yours makes you have a fresh shot of arousal course through your body. 

Neither of you is going to last very long. The potion won’t allow that. You’re already well on your way to your second orgasm as it is. Kun hides his face against the junction of your neck and shoulder. He starts to bite the bare skin, leaving teeth marks and hickeys. You dig your nails into his skin, leaving small crescent moons behind. Locking your legs around his hips, you feel your second orgasm burst forth almost painfully.

“So fucking good.” He growls, “You feel so fucking good. Maybe I should stay wrapped up in this pussy all day, every day.” “Please!” You gasp, starting to come back down from your orgasm.

The overstimulation is almost too painful, but you also don’t want to stop. Kun starts to moan more often, which you assume to be an alert to his impending orgasm. You hardly come down from your second orgasm when the third forces its way through. Tears start rolling down your cheeks as the nearly painful orgasm wrecks you. As you scream and moan at the feeling, Kun’s orgasm finally hits him. He pulls out and cums across your belly. He pushes his fingers back into you and presses his thumb to your clit to help you ride out the rest of your orgasm. 

When you finally start to catch your breath, Kun has already manifested two glasses of water and wiped your belly clean. He pulls you to sit up and then onto his lap. Your body is shaky and weak from the intensity of three orgasms and crying. The wizard continually rubs your back and presses kisses to your hair.

“The potion wear off for you?” He asks quietly.

“Mmm,” is all you can muster at the moment.

“You did so good, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”

You shift in his lap, wincing slightly at your sore state.

“Was it too much?”

“I think we both needed to fuck it out.” You mumble, still very much out of it.

Kun nods and holds you a bit tighter, “If you accidentally mess up a potion again, just tell me, okay?”

“Okay,” you respond, “Kun?”

“Hmm?”

“What does this mean?”

Kun sighs in thought, “It doesn’t need to mean anything. But– you want honesty?”

“Complete.”

“I wouldn’t mind taking you out on a date or two if you let me.”

You pull your head away from his shoulder, “I’m your apprentice… is that allowed?”

He shrugs at you, “There are plenty of witches and wizards who have their partners as their apprentices.”

You smile, “I’d like that then, only if you promise we can have fun with this new brew sometimes still.”

“Deal.”

COPYRIGHT STARLITMARK 2024© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — reposting/modifying any fic or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations are not permitted. 

Networks: @cultofdionysusnet @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @bratty-tingz @yeosangiess @minjaeluver @abbietwilight @wooyoungmybelovedhusband

#kun smut #cultofdionysusnet #kwritersworldnet #kvanity #joongfryefff24 #nct fanfic #wayv fanfic #nct x reader #wayv x reader #nct smut #wayv smut #kun fanfic #kun x reader

[bucknastysbabe]

I can have an aegon ii crying and whining (love to see that man cry) because he knows you're going to break up with him....

I hope this is alright, thanks for the request. Xoxo

Rating: Mature

Tags: TW//Alcohol abuse, addiction, verbal and emotional abuse, alcoholic/addict Aegon, codependency, description of DTs, break-up, man tears, modern!au, sorry I projected my alcoholism on this, man tears whiny pathetic babykins

A/N: Sorry Anon if I took some liberties, I felt this as a good reason for him to be crybaby. Alcoholic projection gets me ass sometimes

“No-nononono!,” Aegon cried from behind you.

You poured the last of his bottle out of the sink. The fucker had hidden the booze in your boots. Your boots. After boldly claiming he was sober, clean, and going to meetings. Alas, here you were again, Aegon whining and begging once again. Cycle of insanity as that blue book he owned said. Fat tears leaked from his wide orbs, lips trembling, face blotchy and red.

“You lied to me!,” you barked.

He tugged at his hair, big violet eyes fixated on that precious liquid going down the drain. Aegon whimpered, “Stop. Stop it! I’m sorry, I- I- I won’t do it anymore! I hid it for an emergency!” He sobbed as you placed the now empty bottle onto the counter.

This was on and off for what felt like the entirety of the relationship. It was fun at first— party Prince Aegon Targaryen. You two would go all night. You began to grow tired of the non-stop celebration. He’d keep going, snorting in the bathroom, taking something to sleep, leaving to hang out with the ‘bros’. Always had a reason to have something in his system.

You didn’t know if he had ever cheated. It felt he cheated on you with the bottle— ‘his baby’ he so fondly referred to alcohol one time. He had to take an extra semester only to land on academic probation. You graduated and got a job, got a place with Aegon. Upon moving in you expressed your feelings about his habits, the blonde apologizing and swearing he’d be on the straight and narrow.

Your stupid simple heart thought he would change, the little oath he made would settle Aeg some. He did at first, snuggling down for movies, grandiose gifts, and dinner for two with one cup of wine. Looking back on Aegon’s behavior he was too settled— a little hazy, forgetful, coming in and out of the world. Checking his bedside drawer that night explained the situation. Bars upon bars of Xanax in a bag. Something to quell the annoyance of being a real boyfriend.

That was a big fight. You ‘broke up’ with him on the spot. Aegon immediately burst into sobs, crying and promising to do better. No more pills. You believed him, again, the fucker even charmed you back into bed. ‘Making love’, holding hands as he filled you up, promising and apologizing. Sorry sorry sorry.

It’s about all he could muster anymore with you. Sorry.

You swallowed a sob and warbled, “You keep saying you’re going to change Aegon! It never happens! Here were are again, finding your little lies all over the place. You need help! Sorry doesn’t change shit baby. I’m done, I’m done with this. Do you even think about my feelings?”

He whined in distress, walking over and dropping to his knees. You let your sick baby cry into your stomach, arms wrapped tight around you. Sighing heavily you pet his white hair, nose wrinkling at the booze coming off his skin, the sink, everywhere.

He looked up with reddened eyes, pretty lips trembling as he begged, “You’ve got to help me, please, I can’t stop. I don’t want to lose you. Don’t leave me alone, I-I’m scared.” Every part of your body wanted to believe him. The trust had been long shattered like the bottle he threw at the wall one time— smashing it in a drunken rage.

“Why can’t you just piss off and let me do my thing? Fucking ball and chain!”

Aegon whined your name some more, gripping harder. He whimpered, “You won’t leave me right? Right my love?” You looked away and wiped a tear. He clung harder, sobbing, “No, please love, puh-please, no.” Wrenching free from the grip you shook your head. He tried to grab again, you stepping backward with a hand up.

“No Aegon. You need to seek help. For yourself, not me. I’m done. You’ve hurt me enough,” softening your tone you added, “Baby, you’re very very sick. You’ll die. Make a choice.”

He looked disgustingly sad and pathetic on his knees, hands wrenching at whatever was available. Aegon’s brow furrowed as he hissed, “So you’re like the rest— just leaving me.” You sighed in pity, running a hand over your brow. This was getting harder by the second, the damn man wearing you down to a nub.

“No Aegon. You made them leave. Pushed all of us away on your pursuit for, for, whatever you’re seeking inside.”

He warbled, “Don’t say that.”

“Just go look in the mirror. Call your mother.”

You stepped out of the wretched apartment, Aegon’s wailing filling your ears. ‘Don’t leave me!’ You’d break down later. It felt like a gaping wound settled in your chest. You idly wondered if Aegon felt like that— needing to fill the pocket with anything that didn’t make the blonde feel like himself.

Aegon stared in the mirror, puking after a short gaze. He hated what stared back at him. Hated everything really. Now he had nothing to suck on to take the pain away. No baby to coddle him, his baby, who he used and abused like everything else. Aegon sniffled and wiped his mouth. Leaning on the wall in front of the toilet he dialed his mother's number. Straight to voicemail.

“Hey Mom. I need help. Like, put me somewhere help.”

He frowned at how worn down and whiny his voice sounded. Whatever. What did he have left anyway? A future? Maybe. He stared up at the ceiling, feeling the inevitable shakes begin. There might be a hidden spot up in the fake fireplace. The prince would get it when he’d start shaking enough to lose the ability to walk.

#hotd fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #modern!aegon targaryen #modern!au #read the tw and tags #aegon ii angst #aegon ii targaryen x reader #ask answered

[detectivemarvelingcomics]

Not Your Classic Vigilante [Ch. 15]

Alternate Dimension AU TW: Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Slight Body Horror, Gore, Graphic Depictions of Monstrous Attacks, Gun Use, Weapon Use, Some Talks About Traumatic Incidents, CW: OC Use, See the OC Guide [Here] Genre: Drama, Action, Angst, Light Comedy Pairing: Batfamily & Batsis!Reader, OC x Reader YN Pronouns: Female (She/Her) Word Count: 11.3K

(15/?) [First] | [Previous] | [Next] [DC Masterlist] | [Not Your Classic Vigilante Masterlist]

Notes: FINALLY SHE'S OUTTTTTTT i'm so sorry for the long wait, loves, I just couldn't for the life of me be satisfied with it until now

Disclaimer: This series is originally by@fandom-meanderer who is a close friend of mine, but she has since fallen out of her Tumblr days and asked me to finish a few series for her, hence why I am now in ownership of the Not Your Classic Vigilante series, I hope I can still live up to her writing as I rewrite this series! (I promise not to change too much, hehe)

2005

Your hand was gripped tightly around your mother’s finger. She was one of a few people you’d ever met growing up and, for the longest time, she was the only one you needed. With you on her right hand and with a backpack filled with your things on her left, she knocked rang the doorbell. When there was no response, she rang it again and continued to do so until it finally opened. An older man stood at the door.

“Pardon me, madam, how may I… assist you?” He hesitates slightly. Your mother moves to the side and gently pulls you toward him and there was a spark of realization on his features.

“I need to talk to Bruce Wayne,” she says. The old man looks behind her before opening the door wider.

“Master Bruce will meet you soon,” the old man says after guiding you both to the foyer. Your mother helps you onto the couch before sitting next to you.

“Mom? Where are we? You tugged at her coat and she folds her hands over her lap.

“A safe place,” she says. You looked around.

“Are we moving here?” Your mother looks away for a moment.

“Yes,” she had a tone about her voice. She was lying. One of the first things she taught you was how to tell someone was lying, she always said it was important because of where you lived, and one of the things you had since noticed is that your mother lied alot, especially recently. You’d been noticing it more often now, she’d always look away from you when she lied and that was how you knew. The both of you have been moving around a lot, staying with different people and checking into different motels, it’s been awhile since you’d stayed somewhere longer than a few days. Every time you would move, your mother would say the same thing: “The monsters found us, we have to move before they get here.” And you, afraid of the monsters, would help her pack as quickly as you could and climb into a taxi next to her. 

Your mother lied a lot. And nearly every time it was a lie, and only some times was it the truth. Even her being your mother was a lie. But she takes care of you, and if that didn’t make her your mother you didn’t know what did. You’re not supposed to know this. She only told you one night when you woke up after a nightmare and came to her. She was holding a glass filled with a deep red liquid, and she refused to look at you all night. She looked over at you, laughed, and told you that you looked just like your mother and “may she rest in peace.” You don’t think she knows she told you, so you kept quiet.

“What are our three rules, (Y/N)?” She asks. You look at your hands.

“Listen before entering, look in hiding spaces, and don’t overstay our welcome.”

“Very good.”

Before the conversation could continue, the older man returned.

“Master Bruce will see you in his study.”

“Alright, watch her, please,” Selina puts her hand on your shoulder and you hold onto her hand.

“You’re leaving me?” You looked up at her.

“I’ll be right back,” she rubs the top of your head, “where is it?”

“Up the stairs and five doors down.”

“Sure.” Your mother ascends the stairs, and you remained on the couch. The older man sits next to you.

“If I may, what’s your name?” He asks. You look at him and look away slowly.

“My mom says not to talk to strangers,” you muttered.

“A very good principle,” he says. “My name is Alfred.” You puffed your cheeks.

“(Y/N)… (Y/N) Kyle…” you answered.

“(Y/N), that’s a lovely name,” he says. He grabs a box from the table. “Do you like sweets, (Y/N)?” He opens the box and your eyes widen at the chocolates inside. You nodded your head and picked a chocolate, but you hesitated before eating it.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if my mom will be happy if I eat this, mister,” you placed the chocolate back. “She says I shouldn’t eat things from other people…”

“Another good principle,” Alfred takes a chocolate and eats it. “As safe as it is delicious,” he says. With a small smile, you grab the chocolate again and eat it, tasting the sweetness all over your mouth and savoring it as long as you could.

“(Y/N)?” Your mother’s voice drew you away from the box. She descended the stairs and, next to her, was a man with a stern expression on his face. You folded your hands on your lap and looked down. Soon, the man crouched in front of you. “Introduce yourself to her first, she knows not to talk to strangers.”

“Hello, I’m Bruce Wayne,” he says. You squeeze your hands together and your mother sits next to you.

“(Y/N), my dear, this is your father,” your mother introduces you. “You’ve been asking to meet him, remember?” You nodded your head. The man looks at your mother for a brief moment before turning back to you. “Why don’t you say hello?” She asks. You’re silent for a moment.

“Where have you been?” You asked him. The man doesn’t answer.

“He’s been very busy, he couldn’t say hello until now,” she answers for him.

“Why?” You look at your mother.

“I… I’ll tell you when you’re older,” she says. You puffed your cheeks and frowned.

“You have to be nice to him, alright? You’ll be staying here from now on.”

“Just me?”

“Just you.”

“Where will you go?” You looked around.

“Back to the apartment, for now,” she says.

“I don’t want you to leave, though,” you frowned. Your mother sighs and Bruce looks at her.

“(Y/N), do you remember when we first started moving? When the monsters came into our home and destroyed your toys?” She asks. You nodded. “Then you understand why you have to stay here,” she says. You did, kind of.

“But what will I do if there’s a stranger in our bed again?” Though you whispered, it was understood by everyone in the room. That was terrifying, seeing someone you didn’t know just waiting in a place you thought was safe. Selina only shared a quick look with Bruce. “Or… what if I get sick from eating again?” You asked her. You felt terrible that day, nonstop throwing up, nothing was kept down, and you think it was the first time you’d seen your mother cry.

“(Y/N), it’s not safe for you to be with me, but here? You will always be safe,” she says. Tears welled up in your eyes. “Your father will keep you safer than I ever could,” she says.

“But… I don’t know these people,” you said between sniffles.

“You will soon, there’s no one you can trust more than these two,” she rubs your back gently and you wrap your arms around her.

“Even you?” You asked against her coat.

“Especially me,” she responds.

“You have to come visit, okay?”

“Of course,” she holds onto you securely.

“You can stay tonight,” the man says. “It’ll be better for (Y/N), I think,” he says. You held onto your mother tighter.

“… I can’t,” she says. And you turned to her, your expression filled with despair.

“You’re leaving me?” The person you had known your whole life, who took care of you, and who raised you… was leaving you.

“Just for now, (Y/N), you have to trust me, okay?” She stands up and you stood up too, holding onto her legs tighter than you ever have. “(Y/N), let go, have I ever lied to you?” Yes, so many times.

“No,” you lied back.

“It’s only temporary, (Y/N).”

“But… Mom!” Tears streamed down your face. She couldn’t leave you. She took a deep breath. “You can’t leave! I’m so scared!” Your voice pierced the stillness of the manor, and everyone stopped. “What if… what if there’s monsters, what if they get me?!” You hid your face in her thigh. She slowly pulled away from you just enough to crouch to your level.

“They won’t, dear, not here. It’s okay to be afraid,” she coos, “but you have to remember that there are people who will protect you.”

“That’s you, right?”

“Of course,” she sighs, “me, and your dad,” she says. Your glance narrowed at her, and you leaned into her ear to whisper.

“Is he really my dad?” Your voice was so quiet that it strained. You could feel your mother tense as she turned her head to look at you. You couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“Yes, he is,” she says. “I never forget a face,” she quickly adds.

“Do you promise?”

“I swear it.” She wasn’t lying. She looks up at Bruce now. “There’s no one who will keep you safer than him,” she says while standing up. “Be good, (Y/N).” You didn’t look at her. “Take care of her, please.”

“We will see to it that young Miss Kyle is watched over,” Alfred responds. Your mother holds you to her one more time, wiping the tears from your face and pulling her scarf off, she folds it neatly and hands it to you, which you accept with shaking hands.

“We will see each other again, (Y/N),” she says. “You’re (Y/N) Wayne now,  do you understand me?” You could only nod.

“Okay,” you shut your eyes and gripped the scarf. And when you opened them again, your mother was gone, and you were standing in a large room with a bed bigger than you’d ever seen and ceilings taller than you’d known. Your father was nowhere to be seen.

“Until we prepare a better room for you, this will have to do,” Alfred says. You looked around, then you approached the closet, opening it slowly and deeming it empty. The curtains were flushed to the wall and were safe, the desk was open enough for you to know that there would be no way for it to be an effective hiding spot, and that left one more place.

But you couldn’t check there.

“Mr. Alfred?”

“Just Alfred is fine, young miss.”

“Could you check under the bed for me?” Alfred only nodded before walking over to it and lifting the comforter. His head touches the ground, seemingly scanning the underside of the bed for a few moments before standing up again.

“No monsters.”

“Promise?”

“I swear it,” he nods and walks to the door. “Just call if you need anything.”

Then he’s gone too.

It’s cold in here.

~

2022

“So, what’s the verdict, Drake?” Marion looks over the clipboard Tim was writing on.

“It’s smarter than we thought,” Tim says, “it’s displayed critical thinking, problem solving, and memorization, all the three signifiers of high intelligence,” he looks at the daemon. It’s been two weeks since he and Jason had arrived and, while the progress on finding out how to return home has been slow, it’s been moving forward at the very least. Until then, the hardest part was integrating into this new society as if they’d always been apart of it to avoid suspicion.

Tim, at the very least, had a puzzle to keep him busy.

The daemon looked at him and huffed silently.

“You’re crazy, Drake,” Inigo says, “giving the thing a bath.”

“Sure, yeah, but I still have my head on and we can’t study it with spears in its back,” he shrugs. The beast seems to keep its eye on Tim while he circled it, though it made no moves. “How’s research on the tags?”

“Drawing no significant leads,” Marion sighs. “Nico, when does the Captain return?” Inigo huffs.

“Tomorrow, apparently,” he says, “I know she’s been losing her mind in bed.”

“She has tried to escape a few times,” Tim laughs.

“You would know, huh? She do that often when you were growing up together?” Marion asks.

“Oh plenty,” Tim laughs, “and I genuinely couldn’t tell if our dad knew or not, I mean, he had to! It’s not like she was slick about it, Jason and I always caught her,” he laughs.

“You two ever do anything about it?” Inigo asks.

“Nah, just helped her out,” Tim shrugs.

“Rebel kid turned soldier is a pipeline that should be studied,” Inigo shuts the lever as soon as the daemon was back in its cage. The sound of heavy locks moving into place echoed in the chamber.

“I’m going to go check on her, pretty sure she’s already tried to leave,” Tim hangs his lab coat over a chair and raises his hand and Marion dismisses him.

“Good work today, Drake, tell the Captain we said hello- Oh! And before I forget, hand this to her too,” she says while shoving a sealed box in his hands. “It’s fragile. Be careful with it and, I’m sure you know, Captain’s eyes only.” Tim nods and enters the elevator. He looks down at the box. It was wrapped various times in twine and nailed shut with the words ‘FRAGILE’ stamped on top of it. Sure, he trusted you, there must be some ground breaking item in here that would help with the monster outbreak, but he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling at the back of his head. He turned the box slowly and looked at the label on the side.

Project βαV. Confidential. Tim’s brows furrow for a moment before taking a deep breath. He’s the one to talk, right? About secrets? He wonders what really went through your head those years ago. There were always things he just couldn’t tell you, things he’s always wanted to, but in the interest of your safety he always decided not to. Him and his siblings, they were always talking amongst themselves about things with the league or with Gotham’s underground and you were just there. If Cass wasn't there then no one would have taken the time to explain things to you.

Meanwhile, you laid in bed and stared at the clock next to you. Two weeks of bedrest, the audacity of these people. A lot can happen in two weeks and with you not active who knows what kind of emergencies have happened without you knowing. Sure, the Brigade kept you relatively up to date and you knew for a fact that Aldryn couldn’t keep a secret from you, but the anxiety that came from sitting still is one you weren’t comfortable with.

“This is so ridiculous,” you muttered.

“Almost as ridiculous as you not reattaching,” Carter laughs next to you. You looked under your hospital gown, still seeing the healing bite wound across your chest. At least it was still together, is your immediate thought. You sat up in bed and looked at the folder on the stand next to you.

“Think it’s anything I should be concerned about?” You ask while rifling through its contents. Field reports, updates on monitored areas, practical scores, all what you expected.

“Are you asking if you suddenly having a normal human body is concerning?”

“And it wasn’t before?”

“Well…” Carter shrugs. “What do you think, (Y/N)?”

“Hm,” you shake your head. “I’m just wondering why it’s failing now of all the times.”

“Think it might have something to do with Alex’s assignment?”

“Probably,” you muttered. “I never once considered distance to be a hinderance, or more accurately it’s never been an issue, but with him as acting Captain I should’ve taken it into account,” you muttered.

“And what does he have to do with your ability?” You both look up and see Damian at the doorway. You sighed.

“I had to tell you eventually,” you gestured for him to sit next to you and, once he did, you took another deep breath. “It was during a monster hunt dispatch. I had done plenty of them before, the three of us together were known as the best when it came down to it, but this one was different. It was a rank builder dispatch, if we completed the mission to its fullest extent then we’d get promoted. And everything went well until the monster we were hunting cornered us,” you started to explain.

“Real quick, everything was not well,” Carter cuts in. “I almost lost a leg.”

“This is isn’t about you,” you held a hand up, but your small smile contradicted your tone. “Either way I almost died again, but for whatever reason the royal family insisted I be kept alive. As a result of some forbidden magic, boom, reattachment with the side effect of telekinesis with one specific person,” you shrugged.

“That person being Alex, I assume,” Damian hums.

“Yeah, there’s nothing other than that, though. It’s related to some powerful magic thing that I guess Alex has been studying for some time now,” you tapped your finger against the bedding. “It’s been like this for, what, two years now?” You looked at Carter, who nodded.

“Give or take,” he shrugs.

“So that ability you told me about,” Damian starts the thought.

“Is different from my reattachment, yes,” you finished his thought, “but I don’t like using it.”

“Left her with a nasty nickname,” Carter says.

“I hate that shit, it pisses me off every time I hear it,” you rolled your eyes, and they settled on the door right as you heard a knock. “It’s open.”

“Hey, (Y/N),” Tim walks in with a paper bag in hand. “Carter, Damian,” he acknowledges the other two, “I got you lunch! To celebrate your freedom from a hospital room,” Tim hands it to you and you pulled out the burger.

“Finally, real food,” you could’ve praised Tim right then and there.

“You’re not really going to jump right back in, right?” Carter asks. “You just recovered.”

“I loathe to think about what I missed while in exile.”

“Oh, relax, you were on bedrest.”

“How’s the daemon, Tim? Any leads?” You switched the subject before you could get the migraine.

“Nothing conclusive, just theories,” Tim grabs another chair. “Marion says ‘hi’ by the way,” he says. You looked at Carter and Damian. 

“There’s our cue, come on, Damian, I’ll walk with you,” Carter nudges his head toward the door and Damian groans and looks at you.

“Just go with him, Dami.”

“I can keep secrets, you know.”

“I know,” you gestured for him to follow Carter anyway and he huffed before closing the door behind him. After a short while, Tim spoke again.

“Are you 100% sure that they used to be humans, (Y/N)?”

“Positive. One of the ones we fought even spoke, Tim,” you said.

“Okay, okay, yeah, I tried crossreferencing some fur samples with the missing person’s data base here but nothing, no registered sample matches it,” Tim shakes his head. “So… I was thinking,” he pauses.

“Maybe he’s like us?” You whispered.

“Yeah, dropped off here after some traumatic event, but someone got to him first,” Tim leans on his knees now, head propped up by the palm of his hand.

“Let’s talk about it when Alex comes back. I sent him off to do some investigating on some movements we heard in the distant areas, so he’s been monitoring their movements for two weeks now,” you pushed the sheets down and opened the closet next to you before pulling out your uniform. 

“Before I forget,” Tim hands you the box. “From Marion.” You looked at it for a moment before opening it. Inside was a smaller box, also wrapped twenty fold in twine. You said nothing while you packed it into your belt. You pulled out the small note inside of it.

You’re insane, Captain. Whatever you’re planning on using this on I hope you realize what it can do. And for god’s sake, don’t you dare use it on yourself. - Marion

You crumpled the note in your hand and tossed it in the trash.

“What is it, (Y/N)?” Tim asks.

“A last resort,” you shrugged. “I’ve been working on it for some time, I was hoping it would be a good pinch tactic if it came down to it, and with these monsters all over the place I’m starting to think it’s time I expidited its production,” you explained. “It’s nothing crazy, you don’t need to worry yourself about it.”

“If you say so, (Y/N),” Tim clears his throat. He didn’t believe you. But, then again, he wouldn’t exactly approve of what was against your hip right now anyway.

Your senior thesis project, you remembered enough of it to continue it here and perfect it, or make it as close to better as whatever crude version of it you had in Gotham. You and Marion were working on it together for almost a year now with various trials and errors, but if she’s giving you this one then this is the closest you’ll get for now.

“Let’s do some field work, Tim, grab Jason and Damian on the way. The Brigaders are spread out right now so I’m going to have to settle for the family trip.”

~

2006

“Dad?!” Your voice seemed to echo throughout the manor, bouncing on every which wall before you couldn’t hear it anymore. You’d been living at the manor for a few months now, slowly getting accustomed to the new environment while Alfred helped you anytime a camera would flash at your face. Slowly, bit by bit, you got more accustomed to the man your mother claimed was your father, you learned from him, about him, and through him. He was quiet, you noticed, didn’t smile often and didn’t tend to stick around the house for too long either. Most of your days was spent with Alfred, the butler, who often took you outside the manor and taught you a few things you’d have to know. Like the cameras. You hated those. They got in front of your face, blinded you with their lights, and deafened you with their shutters, but Alfred taught you a way to look through them. It was so simple that you were amazed when he told you.

Look straight at the person taking the picture. And suddenly the cameras weren’t scary anymore. The cameras that followed your father around, they never seemed to cease. He was so different from your mother who ducked out of sight and warned you about them, and that constant line of thoughts was always playing on repeat in your head.

You had already wandered the vast extent of it and you’d almost say that you knew it like the back of your hand, amazingly enough.

The only thing you didn’t know was where your dad went during the night, but Alfred always insisted he went to work. Life must be so hard for a CEO.

Alfred told you that you could be like that too someday, if you so wanted.

The manor was larger than you could ever dream of. Despite you having internally mapped the place, there always seemed to be something new if you had the energy to seek it out. But it seemed too big for three people, let alone you. Your echoing voice was just a reminder of the lack of… anyone, really.

Not to mention, it was always so cold. You shivered slightly, rubbing your arms up and down for warmth.

“Dad?” You called for him again and still, nothing. You wanted to ask him to turn the fire on, and you hadn’t seen Alfred all day. You peered over the railing, looking at the ground floor below. “Oh,” you spotted your scarf hanging on one of the light fixtures attached to the wall next to the railing. Perfect timing. Your mom gave it to you before she left your first night here, it was just a small thing of hers that she wanted you to keep, and you thought you’d lost it after tying it to the end of stick and playing baton with it. Looks like you just flung it over the edge at one point. You stood as close to the rail as you could, reaching your small arms through the poles to grab at the fabric, but each time you got closer to it it seemed to move further. You looked behind you, pulling the chair to the edge and climbing ontop of it. You held onto the rail with one hand and, with the other, you made a grab at the scarf, feeling it’s soft material in your hands. “Yes!” You grinned. Then you felt your hand slip down the rail. Then you were falling. Clutching onto the scarf in your hands like it would do something.

“(Y/N)!” Your dad’s voice was beneath you and in moments he caught you. “What were you doing up there?!” His voice was laced with concern. You held the scarf up and he let out a sigh of relief before shaking his head. “That was very dangerous, next time let me or Alfred know you need help,” he says, placing you down gently.

“Sorry, dad,” you looked at ground.

“It’s okay, you know now not to do that though, right?” He asks. You nodded. “Why were you doing something like that anyway?” He looks up, spotting your makeshift stool.

“I was cold,” you muttered. He sighs above you, then takes your scarf and wraps it around you, securing it well enough to stay on.

“That’s it?” You nodded. “In that case, I’ll turn the fireplace on for you,” he walks off and you followed close behind him, watching the backs of his heels to be sure you didn’t tread on them on accident, and finally you were in the office watching him throw logs into the fireplace.

You’d never seen a real one before, and the wood felt rough under your touch.

“Careful,” your father says. Your hands fly off the log and he tosses the last one in before throwing a match inside. You feel him hold your shoulder and push you behind him only slightly before you heard the crackle of fire. You watched it spark to life before engulfing the pile, and you found yourself flinching back at the suddeness of it. Then, near immediately, warmth. “Don’t stand too close to it, you might burn yourself.”

“Okay.”

“You can stay here as long as you want,” he says. You watched him walk back to his desk, his face growing stern as he read through whatever on his computer. You crossed your legs and sat on the ground, reaching toward the fire with open palms to feel it more. “Here, sit on this here, the ground’s cold. And if you need it I brought a blanket,” he left both items next to you. You didn’t even notice him leave, he didn’t make a single sound. You pulled the ottoman toward you and sat down on it instead while holding the blanket in your hands. It was soft to touch, softer than any motel bed you’d slept on, but not as soft as the scarf around you.

You didn’t want to get it dirty.

~

2022

“Captain Wayne?” Bruce’s eyebrow arched and the child nodded enthusiastically.

“Yessir! Our little village is usually one of the Brigade’s stops on their way to their campaigns. We’re lucky to even get a glimpse of the captain!” The child grins. “If you stick around long enough you’ll be able to catch a look too.” They ran off after that.

“Constantine,” Bruce called him over, but the man was too preoccupied on the phone to do say much.

“Liverpool! Where the hell are you, lad? You sent me the wrong bloody address!” He shouts. “You’ll be here? What in the blazes does that even mean? Fine, fine, I’ll hold you to it, but I don’t remember when you got so bold to make to teacher wait here.” Constantine hung up the phone and turned back around. “What?”

“What are the odds of running into different vesions of ourselves here?” Dick asks.

“Not impossible, I’ll give you that,” Constantine shrugs. “But pretty unlikely too,” he adds after. “Why?” Just then, a newspaper flies into Constantine’s face and when he peeled it off he quickly read the headline. “Oh…” he mutters and hands it over to the boys.

“In the wake of daemon attacks Captain Wayne says the Brigade has it handled during hospital stay,” Dick reads the opening sentence. “Doesn’t sound like they have it handled.”

“And that’s why I got called here, probably,” he shrugs.

“Constantine,” a new voice enters the conversation.

“Liverpool!” Constantine spreads his arms wide with an even wider grin. “Look at you, lad, Zee says hi, by the way.”

“She here?” Alex leans over to look behind him, but instead makes eye contact with Dick. “Oh no…”

“What?” Constantine looks behind him.

“Alex?!” Dick’s jaw was nearly on the floor.

“Long time no see, Mr. Wayne,” Alex greets Bruce first.

“Alexander,” Bruce clears his throat uncomfortably. Alex’s hand rests on his chest for a moment before he relaxes again.

“We have a bit of a monster problem,” Alex says quietly. “Let’s go somewhere private,” he nudges inside of one of the homes and the men follow him. “Take a seat anywhere, this is the Knighthood’s outpost,” he says.

“Little shabby,” Constantine wipes the dust off the table.

“Our treasurer got eaten by a daemon,” Alex saids chidingly. He tosses a circular device on the table and a hologram appears from it, displaying a monster they had never before seen. “This is just one variant of them, we have this one in captivity right now and it’s being studied. But it’s traits greatly differ from others we’ve encountered,” he says. 

“And how many is that?” Bruce asks.

“Enough,”Alex grimaces. “We haven’t been able to track where they come from, they’ve been found all over the continent razing villages to the ground and taking out whole squadrons. At first we were able to keep it under wraps but recently it happened too close to the capital, now the media’s all over it,” Alex shakes his head.

“Shocking you kept these nightmares out of the public eye for so long,” Constantine mumbles while he leans forward to take a closer look. “Either way these things are new to me,” he says. 

“You haven’t the slightest idea on what it is? Science is hardly working on this thing, I was so sure it was magic,” Alex continues.

“It would help me more if I saw it up close,” Constantine says.

“If my theory’s right then you will soon,” Alex says quietly. Constantine straightens. 

“What do you mean by that?” He asks gravely. Alex changes the hologram.

“If this pattern of attacks is to be followed then this is the next village they’re going to attack,” he says quietly. Dick steps up.

“What’s the plan then?”

“Wait until the captain gets here,” Alex responds, “our elite squad is spread out right now, but they’re ready to respond to an emergency. Our captain is on the way right now so we’ll discuss it once enough people are here, but I’d say we have a night to prepare. Once I get the manpower I’ll start evacuations, I’ve already sent notice of it to the headwoman so everyone should be preparing now,” Alex reports, his hand over his heart before he beats on it a few times.

“And what should we do?” Constantine asks.

“Help? Watch? Whichever comes naturally,” Alex shrugs.

“Any briefing at all? Weak points? Strengths? Things to avoid?” Dick pressures him.

“Before, yeah, but the daemons have become so specialized that our original modus operandi doesn’t work anymore. It’s like they all mutated overnight,” Alex shakes his head. “This whole monster problem has gotten out of hand, and from the pressure coming from the royal family the entire knighthood is on a tight schedule, and we’re running out of manpower fast, I don’t think we can sustain things by blind fighting anymore, but our strategies are always upended when a new daemon comes in. Just two weeks ago we had one that controlled the weather, for christ’s sake, it almost ripped the captain in half when another daemon suddenly learned empathy and saved us all,” Alex holds a hand to his head now.

“So, you’re desperate,” Constantine says.

“Extremely,” Alex shakes his head. “Onto other matters, why the entourage?”

“I figured a little extra manpower couldn’t hurt,” Constantine shrugs. “Why?”

“Well…” Alex whistles, but is cut off by the sudden roar outside.

~

2008

You are awoken suddenly by the crash of glass on your floor, and the shock of it all was enough to make you scream. You held onto your blanket, clutching it tight within your hands as you crawled toward the edge of your bed, and in an instant you gasped.

And so did Dick.

“This isn’t my room,” he says between pants. You were quick to rush out of the safety of your covers and to his side. He was covered in bruises and shallow cuts, probably more from the glass than anything else, whatever happened to him. But… you could help. Your mom used to come home with bruises too, she’s walked you through how to help her and what to use, you just wondered if there were any in the manor. Or even Alfred, you could call him for help.

“What happened to you?! Who did this?! I can help you,” you brushed the glass off of him and winced when it cut your hand only slightly.

“Whoa! Careful there, (Y/N),” he takes your hands now, observing the cut.

“What about you?” You pulled your hands out of his grasp and reached over to him, but he caught your hands again instead.

“I’m fine, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he struggles to stand up and you tried to help him, but he got up himself. You drew your hands back, clasping them in front of you instead. “I’m sorry, (Y/N),” he says. You looked at him now.

“You’re… you’re Robin?” You asked him. You looked at your walls, crude drawings of the boy wonder littered it. You idolized him, Robin, the sidekick to the dark caped crusader all the boys at school raved about, and there you were, becoming a fan of the boy who helped him.

And here Dick was, someone you considered your older brother after two years of living together, beaten up and wearing the iconic insignia.

“It’s… it’s just a costume, (Y/N),” he says. You shook your head and stood up.

“You’re going to lie to me too?” You looked away from him. Everyone lied to you. And you thought at least he wouldn’t.

“I…” he rubs his arm, wincing slightly. “(Y/N), I’m so sorry,” he says. “I was just playing around with a few friends and we got out of hand, don’t tell Bruce, please.”

“Okay,” you shook your head again, grabbing your blanket that had fallen next to the bed and climbing back on top of it. Dick wiped his face of whatever dirt got on it and looked at you. You pulled your blanket up and over your head.

“I’m sorry.” He repeats. You should’ve known. And maybe a part of you did know. When you saw the videos of Robin doing amazing acrobatic feats, the very same Dick would show you, maybe you did know. And when you would tell Dick how much you liked Robin, when you’d show him the drawings, you wondered what he was thinking.

You wondered if your dad knew.

So here you were, eating breakfast with the both of them. Dick across from you, your dad at the head of the table, and you. It had been a few days since the incident, and neither your nor Dick brought it up. Now, though, you can hear him entering his room early in the morning, his room which was right next to yours, and now you check every morning if he was in there.

“So, (Y/N), I hear you have a test today,” Bruce breaks through the silence.

“Yeah,” you nodded, playing with your eggs.

“What’s it on?”

“Spelling,” you mumbled.

“You’re good at that.”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Is there something on your mind?” He asks, his eyes sliding to you. You looked up from your eggs and glanced at Dick before looking at him.

“Nope,” you shook your head and chugged down the rest of your milk. “I have to go to the bathroom.” You placed it on the table and folded your hands on your lap.

“You haven’t finished your breakfast.”

“I’m full.”

“(Y/N).”

“And I really need to pee.”

“Okay, go ahead, you’re excused,” he says. You rushed off before you could let the cat out of the bag. You’re lying to your dad, great. Not telling is also lying, your mother always said, but it had to be a little better than just… completely lying, right? Plus, you didn’t want Dick to get in trouble, how many times has he helped you out? You could help him out, even if you were a little mad at him. You hid behind the wall, wanting to catch any conversation they have. “Dick.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s good that the two of you get along well, but I hope you know she’s still my daughter,” Bruce says.

“I know.”

“So you understand that I know you two are hiding something, right?” He says. You held your breath and peeked over the wall, his back was still turned to you. “Which is fine, I suspected you two would eventually, as long as it doesn’t hurt her or interrupt that business, it’s fine,” he says. Dick nods, catching your glance only quickly before clearing his throat. Did he know too? Your dad? That Dick was Robin?

“It’s neither of those, sir, I promise,” he looks at the clock on the wall, “and we should probably get going to school too,” he says.

“You’re right, I’ll see you both at home later,” Bruce stands up first and Dick follows. You rushed to the foyer before your dad could catch you eavesdropping and you hauled your book bag up from the floor.

“Whoa, what do you have in there?” Dick walks up behind you and opens the door for you.

“So… many… books,” you threw it into the back seat of the car.

“For school?”

“For fun,” you sighed. You pulled one out and handed it to him.

“American Girl?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Uh… sure, okay,” he shrugs. “Why don’t we keep them in here for now and you can just carry one,” he pulls the stack out of your bag except for one and you reached over and grabbed another.

“Just in case I finish that one,” you say.

“Fair enough,” he shrugs. The car slows to a start and Dick glances at the closed window that separated the two of you from the chauffer. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For?”

“For keeping my secret,” he says quietly.

“Yeah…”

“I’m sorry I lied to you, I just got scared,” he says.

“I know, I would’ve been scared too,” you nodded. You played with the handle on your bag. “But if you ever need help… just ask, okay?”

“I should be saying that to you,” he nudges your softly and you smiled.

“Just don’t get hurt too bad, okay? And… and you have to tell me the coolest stories,” your eyes shone.

“What? You still like Robin even though you know I’m him?” He scoffs.

“Are you kidding? I like him even more now!” You defended. “I always thought you were cool, but now you’re even cooler,” your voice was filled with awe.

“Yeah, yeah, you think everything I do is cool,” Dick laughs.

In the front, meanwhile, Bruce seemed to let out a sigh of relief, prompting Alfred to chuckle.

“God, I was so worried it was something worse,” he says.

“As I’ve told you before, Master Bruce, they’re as thick as thieves, those two,” Alfred says. “Although, you don’t think this will become a problem in the future?”

“What? Her knowing Dick’s Robin?”

“Precisely.”

“As long as she doesn’t get into danger,” he says, “there’s no harm from it.”

“But you worked so hard to separate her from the Batman, and here she is with a direct line to him now.”

“Dick knows what he’s doing,” Bruce sighs, “plus, maybe it’s safer for her to know.”

“And will you ever tell her?”

“Eventually, if she hasn’t figured it out already.”

“Do you think she will?”

“She’s a sharp girl. Selena raised her well.”

“I worry about what she had to go through before she came to us,” Alfred looks into the monitor near him, watching Dick tell a story with exaggerated hand movements and you being more engaged in it than he’s ever seen. “She looks happier now.”

“I hope she is,” Bruce doesn’t look up from his phone. Alfred steals a quick glance at it and spots the American Girl dolls on his screen. Alfred couldn’t stop the satisfied chuckle this time.

~

2022

“Oh we are so fucked,” Jason’s hands drop to his sides when he saw the fires.

“Shit… they’re earlier than we predicted,” you shot a quick text to the other Brigade members. “And we might have another issue on our hands too,” you watched the daemon freeze over the landscape.

“What, the mutants?” Tim shudders.

“No, them,” you nodded forward, spotting Dick electrocute a smaller daemon.

“Shit,” Damien grumbles.

“Shit,” Jason scoffs.

“What’s the plan, (Y/N)?” Tim asks.

“Uh… don’t die,” you shake your head, “and get any survivors out. I’ll rendezous with Alex first and figure out a better plan from there,” you drew your rapier and scanned the field. One, two, three… four of them.

“Captain?” Your earpiece crackled and you pressed down on it.

“Alex, give me a run down,” you watched your brothers each tackle a different daemon.

“One with ice, one normal one, two with super strength, and one with wings.”

“One with wings?” Your face contorted into one of confusion. Until something grabbed you and left you airborne.

“(Y/N)!” Jason called after you.

“Oh fuck,” you grabbed onto the daemon’s claws that dug into your shoulders. Your breathing quickened, the air growing thinner the higher up you got, and you swallowed your thoughts down and reverted to plain instinct. It roared above you and you pulled yourself up and onto its back, looping the rapier around it’s neck and locking it in place with your arm in an attempt to strangle the bird-like monster. Ignoring the stinging pain in your shoulders, the daemon flapped erratically until it took a nosedive, and you held your place as best you could with the wind blowing against you, all you could do was brace for impact. As soon as the bird hit the ground, the earth around it caved in, you felt the shock run through your bones and you felt the fragments inside of your body before they ultimately, painfully, reconnected to each other, and you stood up, dragging your rapier with you and smoothening down your hair. The bird twitched under you and you dug your sword into its heart, pulling the tag from its neck. CH-95. You staggered back, feeling the crunch in your bones and holding back the wince. You never get used to it.

“Just a second!” You held your hand out, catching your breath. This is wrong. Alex was practically right next to you, you should be reattaching with ease, but you weren’t. You were just surviving.

“(Y/N)? Jesus, fuck, holy shit,” Dick let out a string of curses while he helped you up, but he quickly slowed his movements as soon as he had felt the jelly that was your arm. “God, why the hell did Jason bring you here?” He muttered under his breath and you stopped.

“Excuse me?” You looked up at him and pulled your wrist from his grasp, standing up tall and closing your hand into a fist once it had finally finished mending together. You stretched out your fingers now, making sure the mobility was just right. “Like you know what’s going on,” you told him.

“(Y/N) you’re not trained for combat, this is dangerous, hell, one of them just grabbed you and launched you in the sky,” Dick shouts. “Get out before you get hurt,” he eyes your arm, a quick look of confusion danced over his features when he saw it balled into a fist once more.

“Did you not just see how I killed this thing?! What the hell do you think I’ve been doing for three years?! Don’t tell me you bought my bull shit story about that lab! Obviously I was making myself fucking useful!” You didn’t know why you felt the need to argue, now was not the best time to be doing this. “I should be asking you why you’re here!” Maybe it was because you felt like you had something to prove.

“I’m here to bring all of you back home!” Dick shouts. “And instead, somehow, Bruce and I get roped into this monster business and I definitely wasn’t expecting to see the four of you here,” he says. He looks over to the side, seeing Jason and Tim bring one of them down. “You especially, you’re a civilian, (Y/N), get somewhere safe,” he says. You took a deep breath. He wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know the shit you’ve been through, and you had to be fair towards him because of that. But god is he pissing you off, you didn’t even know how you tolerated this behavior before you died and you definitely don’t want to deal with his holier-than-thou-I’m-the-best-leader attitude now.

“I don’t have the time or the fucking patience to deal with you right now, Dick,” you shook your head.

“Captain!” Alex’s voice was loud and you tore your attention away from Dick who was rambling again about how you shouldn’t be here. Alex tosses you your rifle, something that probably fell from your figure when you were unceremoniously turned into an aircraft. One thing you learned quick, even before the transmigration, was how to tune out sounds you didn’t want to hear. So, just as easily as usual, you loaded the rifle and aimed it toward the daemon that Jason and Damian were struggling with and you took the shot. The bullet pierced through it’s head and the beast as stunned long enough for the two to finish it off.

“Thanks, (Y/N)!” Jason shot you a thumbs up and you rolled your eyes while slinging the rifle behind you. You turned back to Dick, no words were exchanged, but the silent conversation was enough for you to figure out what he was thinking. He was pissed. But so were you, so… where did that leave you?

“Got a plan, Lex?” You looked over to Alex.

“I’m going for the ice one, don’t think we can have the newer two on it,” Alex was already running off, joining Constantine in his struggle while Jason had pushed the remnants of a wall off of a few survivors.

“Move over!” You had turned back to Dick to settle the argument, but when you saw the daemon fast approaching you shoved him out of the way instead, and you very nearly got caught in its rampage by just a hair. You ran toward it now, you couldn’t let it run amok any longer with the possibility of heavy civilian casualties, but the stinging pain from your steps was making it hard to focus on anything other than that.

“Help!” The shrill voices of survivors always found a way to be louder than others, and you turned to them quickly, seeing the children hidden behind the broken wooden foundations. Could you even get to them on time in this state? Everyone else is too far to get to them.

And for god’s sake, don’t you dare use it on yourself. Marion’s note appeared in your head. But you’d always meant to use it on yourself, you just couldn’t find the right formula, you couldn’t nail the correct combination that wouldn’t end up with you combusting after taking it. Until now, you fed it to the test specimen and told Marion to keep a close eye on it and, after two months of controlled dosages, the specimen was still alive. But you understood why she was afraid, she was a woman of science and she knew that its boundaries shouldn’t be tested. But you’ve seen it work before, and you knew you could make it better. Hell, you have a degree in this. You have to put it to work at least once, right?

Fuck it. You ripped the package open and pulled out the green vial.

Tim, meanwhile, was the one in shock. βαV, that was the name written on that package, and seeing its effects put two and two together. Bane and Venom.

You never got over that, did you?

“(Y/N)!” He shouted out, not from the recognition, rather, the daemon that had appeared behind you. No time, you moved as far as you could from the monster as it crashed into the wall previously behind you, but it was enough for Tim to run over to you. “Is that-”

“Safe, probably,” you inverted it in your hand. “Safer if I take it than if anyone else did.

“You can’t!” Tim makes a move to take it and you unscrewed the lid, holding it close to your mouth while keeping your sights on him.

“Why not?” You eyed the monster stepping out of the broken building.

“You…” Why couldn’t you? Tim was at a loss. Everything he’s seen, everything he’s observed, pointed to you being the most reasonable choice to drink it especially in this situation. But it just didn’t sit right with him. He held you in this amazing regard, this near unattainable standard that never could’ve been realistic in any universe, one that not even you could uphold. “I never thought that you’d think like him,” Tim mutters. You didn’t answer, instead opting to drink the down quickly.

The world around you rang as you took heavy steps toward the daemon that had regained it’s footing, and as soon as it noticed you it charged with its maw near unhinged, and you caught the daemon’s open jaws between your hands, your hands that were traced with green veins that were clear even through the blur at the edges of your eyes. You took deep breaths, the world around your shifted in and out of focus as if echoing just like the sounds of the battlefield, and once your vision somewhat stabilized you pushed further and ripped the daemon’s jaw in half. You tossed it’s mandible to the side and used your foot to roll it over on its back and you pulled the tag off. DP-82. Your breaths only deepened and you felt your heart rate quicken, like your heart was going to burst out of your chest from the adrenaline. Your hands were shaking, or was that your vision shaking? You felt the venom run through your veins with a burning sensation, threatening to rip your skin open with each pump of your heart. This is insanity, you could barely form a coherent thought.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to take this so suddenly. Or at least, not all of it.

“Shit…” your teeth grinded against each other and you held your head in your hands, trying to get past the searing headache. You could feel your own searing blood run down either side of your face, and whether that was from the daemon or from yourself it was unclear. Then you felt two hands over yours pull them away from your head, and you looked up.

“(Y/N), take deep breaths,” Bruce says. One hand goes to his belt and pulls out a small vial, and he places it in your hands. “Take it.”

“Not yet,” you shake your head, would it even work? Your vision focusing on the daemon who was sprinting toward the both of you. You pushed the vial in your pocket and you pushed him aside, taking heavy steps toward the daemon before slicing your rapier once it got close enough. And the wound it left was so deep it fell back and you climbed on top of it, stabbing the beast repeatedly and even breaking the tag that was on it. In two pieces it landed on the floor with a simple DT-82 engraved on it. That’s four down. You looked around and spotted the ice daemon cornered by Alex. Readjusting your grip on your rapier with a rotate of the hilt around your palm, you charged forward and stopped only when the daemon had the thought to protect it’s frontside with a slate of ice.

Intelligence? Tim had mentioned it but you were wary to believe him considering the data came from the outlier in the basement.

Either way, this one was going to be harder to get rid of. Such was clear when you held your rapier above you to block the blow, instead feeling your boots sinking into the ground. You pushed through and powered the daemon’s fist off of the blade and you surged forward, redirecting the rapier into a crack between the ice armor the monster adorned, and just as fast you were pushed back. You wiped the fluid from your lips and took heavy breaths.

“Hey, Captain,” Constantine caught wind of the situation easily, “try using that rifle of yours against the ice plate, I have an idea,” he says. You nodded, pulling your rifle forward again and aiming it at the intended spot, but your hands wobbled slightly with the dizzying effect that was controlling you. You squinted your eyes, doing your best to make sense of the monster that was now appearing double. Then, you felt your hands stabilize, and you realized that Alex was holding the rifle steady. You aimed it as best as you could and took the shot, the bullet landing on one side of the plate, then you took more successive rounds until it was seconds away from shattering. You could just barely make out the magic circle that appeared on top of it until it pushed into the daemon and left it screaming while it ripped off its own skin. “Now’s your chance!” He shouts. You grabbed your rapier and sprinted forward, the double vision coming back together as you got closer and, with a push of your hand, the daemon’s thrashing stilled until it was no more. You pulled on the tags around it’s neck: CS-03. You pulled the second vial from your pocket, the top had broken off but there was still a sufficient amount of liquid inside of it, enough to drink anyway. And slowly you regained your senses, and slowly you became more aware of the shouts around you, but they all mixed and garbled into one incoherent noise underneath the ringing.

“Thank you, Captain Wayne!” The townspeople, whoever was left, had arrived again, all expressing their thanks in some way and, as you had found out later, due to Damien and Dick’s due diligence the number of casualties were greatly reduced compared to the previous attacks.

“Are you alright, (Y/N)?” Alex’s voice rang in your head. “It’s a mess in here.”

“It’s a mess out there. What does my mind look like?”

“Fractured.”  His voice was an echo.

“Can you fix it?”

“It’ll fix on its own. Give the antidote time to work.” You nodded your head absently while holding it with one hand. Dick was saying something to you, but you couldn’t hear him. Jason grabbed his shoulder and now it was clear they were arguing but their shouts were incoherent to you. Tim was talking to you now, waving his hands in front of you with his brows knit together while Damian was speaking to your father.

You looked at him.

Your father. Why was he here?

Surely, not for you.

He was looking at you too, walking over slowly and looking into your eyes with a discerning glance. You’d be able to read their lips if not for the blur and the shakiness. 

“Get me to Marion.”

“Certainly. Eve’s just arrived.” Speaking of, the woman ran up to you, unceremoniously  pushing the boys out of the way as her hands cupped your face and moved it around gently. He seemed to ask what had happened to you, the proximity making her voice somewhat clear. Her hand waves next to her and a portal opens up as she guides you into it and, once again, you found yourself in a hospital room.

“Now this is just bullshit.” You thought to yourself.

“How is it your thoughts are louder at a distance?” You looked down, your hand still over your heart.

“Fuck. Keep me updated on what they do.”

“Sleep well, Cap.”

“I’m killing that Doctor if he puts me on bedrest again.”

“I await the headline.”

“What were those two arguing about?” You said nothing while Eve sat you down on the bed, seemingly calling for help.

“Dick and Jason?”

“Were there others arguing?”

“Not… Necessarily. They were talking about you, of course. I don’t think Dick understands the whole situation yet, they’re explaining it to him now.”

“Great. Maybe I will sleep.”

“Can you blame him? The last you he knew was…”

“Weak?”

“Different.” You pulled your hand off of your chest just as the Doctor entered with Marion in tow. Marion hands you a vial and you drink it, ever so slowly the world quieted down and stabilized.

“How do you feel, (Y/N)?” Eve asks.

“Like I’m human again,” you shook your head.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” Marion shouts and your winced. “Did I not leave clear instructions to not use it on yourself? You’re insane, (Y/N), I don’t care if you can reattach, this is your basic biology we’re talking about now. If one calculation was off in our work you could have been like that forever, do you understand?”

“Of course, I understand, I fucking made it,” you grimaced. Marion frowns and slumps her shoulders.

“You talk to her, Dr. Bronte. She’ll listen to you,” Marion grumbles on her way out of the room.

“You know she’s just worried,” Dr. Bronte’s words were obscured by his mask.

Samuel Wyach Bronte was a strange man, brilliant, but strange. He sports a full face mask, a result of a chemical explosion that had occured years prior to your advancement into the role of Captain, leaving only the blue of his eyes clear. He was a tower of a man, standing straight with discipline and holding an air of composure around him. He had been your primary care physician since you started and will probably continue to do so as long as you continued to rip your body apart in combat. But his medical prowess is unmatched, he’s a leader in his field and has since garnered a strong legacy. There is no one more capable of treating your conditions than he is, at the very least.

“But this… this is reckless even for you,” he says, observing your arms. “You have burst blood vessels all along it,” he points at the small patches of red. “What exactly did you take?”

“It’s confidential, and a work in progress still, I wasn’t anticipating those side effects,” you looked at your blistering hands. “You’re not imprisoning me again, are you?”

“Well, that depends on your reattachment.”

“Eve, get Alex over here,” you muttered.

“Right away,” she waves her hand again and the portal opens wide, Alex looks over his shoulder.

“Oh, hello,” he says. Clearly, you just interrupted a conversation he was having with Dick and your dad. “Having trouble?” He asks. Dr. Bronte finds a way to sit up straighter upon seeing the crowd. Alex steps through the portal. “Until next time, Mr. Wayne,” Alex nods his head and Eve shuts the portal.

~

2014

When you found out that your dad was Batman, you were as over the moon as you were when you found out Dick was Robin. Your dad is a superhero, who wouldn’t be surprised at that? You had heard stories about how the caped crusader was unstoppable, how he kept Gotham safe from the night prowlers, and you were so proud of him, you were so proud to be his daughter.

But slowly you saw the toll it took on him. You saw the toll it took on you. On your brothers, on your sisters, and on this whole family. As you got older you realized the truth behind the mantle and the weight it carried.

But it was probably one event that truly spelled that out for you, the truth of what your dad did at night and its consequences. And when you came home that night, you had no idea there was someone else waiting there. Sure, there was the occasional photographer that somehow got past the front gate but, good god, never did they make it under your bed.

So when you walked into your room, ready for a night’s rest but not before sitting at the edge of your bed to type out a quick text to your then partner, you never could have expected a hand to tap at your ankle. When was the last time you were scared to look under there? Years ago. You jumped away quickly, your back pressed against the door while your shaking hands attempted to open it, and before the intruder had the chance to crawl out from under you had already begun your descent down the stairs, and then further into the cave. It was late, you knew that at least Alfred had to be down in the cave at the very least if not your dad, you never would’ve expected to see someone you’d only seen on the news.

Bane. He said nothing, you said nothing, the only difference now is that aside from your racing heart you felt your fear in your bones. He was terrifying, more so than you could’ve ever imagined even from the pictures and the case studies you had seen. The tubes filled with that dangerous green liquid drained into him quickly with every movement he made, and with every passing second it was clear to you that he was getting stronger. Then he took a step toward you, you took a step back, and this repeated until he was close enough to lunge at you. You were shaking. They were never supposed to get this close, they were never supposed to make it to the manor. This was supposed to be a safe place. What was he going to do to you? You thought back to the stranger under your bed. What would he have done to you? What was he going to do to your father now that he’s seen you? Your mind was in a frenzy and you stumbled, you fell frozen in fear, your legs that had taken you so far were rendered near useless. And this time even the batarang that flew at Bane’s head wasn’t enough to calm you.

“Go!” Your dad’s voice echoed. He was tired, you could tell. This was the first time you’d seen him in weeks after the entirety of Arkham broke out. You couldn’t move. “I said go! Call for help!” You stumbled to your feet, grabbing the comm while you ran out of the cave. Your hands were shaking, you couldn’t see clearly, but you pressed the first contact that was there.

“Bruce? What’s going on?” His voice, as always, was your beacon of hope.

“Dick!” You were out of breath, his name was the only thing that came out despite the jumble of words that plagued your mind.

“(Y/N)?” A new and more concerned tone was clear. “Why are you using the comm?”

“It’s dad, he… you need to come to the cave now!”

“I— What’s going on?”

“I… dammit,” the words weren’t forming. “Bane!” You finally shouted out. You were at the front gate of the manor now, it was as far as your mind could take you, whatever response Dick had said was unknown to you except that he hung up right after and you, still afraid, slid down the side of the column and onto the floor.

You ran. You ran. You should’ve stayed behind, you should’ve helped somehow, anyhow, you’re the daughter of the Batman, for Christ’s sake, why aren’t you doing anything other than holding your head between your hands and trying to control the fear? Would Dick even get there on time? Did your dad have everything handled?

“(Y/N)?” Tim’s voice was distant, and even though you knew he was in front of you, he seemed miles away. “Hey, come on, deep breaths, what happened?” He was trying to pull you back into reality. He grabbed onto your shoulder, squeezing it gently until you felt your breaths steady, and once you had come to your senses, Tim pushed you into the bushes, his hands over your mouth and one finger over his, then he looked over his shoulder. You stood in a tense silence, crouched behind the shrubs and unable to hear the reason why Tim had pushed you in here in the first place. Finally, he pulled you out of the hiding spot and, with no hesitation, you ran back to the cave with Tim close behind. Your mouth felt dry, the words still couldn’t come up while you stared at Dick and your dad.

You often tried not to think about how close death was to this family, very rarely did it take one of you, but never did it leave without leaving a mark.

If only you were stronger.

You thought about that for nights on end, you lost sleep over it even. Stronger, what did it mean? You weren’t an acrobat like Dick, you weren’t strong like Jason, and you weren’t smart like Tim. Everything you had ever owned was because your father had handed it to you. If only there was a snap solution to this, a quick way to become useful.

It had only crossed your mind once. Bane’s Venom, that is. Seeing it work inperson was grotesque, horrific actually.

But… maybe if you could…

You dismissed the thought.

Yet when you saw a vial of it in the cave once, many years after your father had healed and you had gotten older.

Well, how bad can it be?

You took it and took a quick look at it, just going over the basic chemistry of it all one day in your university’s lab long after hours, and it was fascinating. A drop of it had killed a mouse, yet Bane nearly overdoses on it every time he uses it and he’s fine.

If you could change it just enough to avoid the body horror, just enough to avoid the blind rage that came with it, you could very well have a type of a super soldier serum.

You could be stronger. You could help your family. You wouldn’t have to run all the time and get out of their way, you could be one of them, standing at their sides, a true member of what you have heard referred to as the Batfamily.

Then your father would have to acknowledge you.

…

Right?

Not Your Classic Vigilante: @gabytodd @peachydokii @marshmallow12435 @f0leysgurl @luminaaz @lolsnack @akuri-shinsou @pansinspace @time-shardz @lovely-maryj @urminebutidontwantyou @y3oudsc @rainnyydaysworld  @underworlder @franini @mayo-0-o @mileskisser @nightw-izhu @alishii @bluebear142077

#dc #batman #batfamily #batfam #batsis #batsis fics #batfamily x batsis!reader #batfam x reader #batfamily scenarios #batfamily x reader #batsis!reader #batfam fics #batfamily fics #batfamily x batsis #batfam x batsis!reader #batfam x batsis #my writings #nycv

[eetherealgoddess]

ꨄBonten’s Property 2ꨄ

Part One

Yandere Bonten Au

❦You pick up your boss and fellow executives from the club❦

❣︎Yall asked for it so here's a short after the storm❣︎

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Bonten’s Property 2

This can’t be.

Your body shivers as you hold your knees against your chest, eyes widened as you rock back and forth slowly. Your heart pounds as your cold body contrasts with the sweat dripping down your forehead. Your fear came true. They found you.

All the therapy in the world couldn’t shake the feeling of paranoia. No matter how many times you checked your surroundings, your friends and deceased boyfriend comforted you, deep down you knew that your fate lies with them. You thought they’d kill you. You thought that once you were found you would be tortured to death. They might as well considering they stripped your life from you. Slaughtering your boyfriend as well as forcing you to cut contact with the world and abducting you.

Your nails leave indents on your legs, your grip tightening as the shackles of the cuffs jingle, the cold metal scraping against your exposed skin. You couldn’t help the feeling of anger that merged with your despair. It wasn’t fair. How dare they take the life you created for yourself after you escaped? What gives them the right to continue taking from you?

You ignore the dried blood and stench of old flesh that meets your nostrils, bile forming in your throat as you shake your head. Your eyes are dry of anymore tears leaving the residue trail down your cheeks. You hadn’t seen them since you woke up in this room. You had no sense of time but it had to be days that you’ve been left in one of the familiar torture rooms with little food and water.

You gag when the memory of your boyfriend’s decapitated head comes into picture, Rin’s feet rolling the head side to side as he waits for your presence. As if his skull was a ball. The pain in your stomach increases as you struggle to release the liquid from your body, nothing coming up.

You keep your head down when you hear the creaking of the door opening and closing. Quiet footsteps follow as one person enters. You ignore their presence as they squat next to you, kneeling with food on a plate.

“Y/n.” You close your eyes, hoping that if you continue to ignore the person they will leave and allow you to starve to death. They sigh before two fingers are placed under your chin, forcing you to move your head though your eyes continue to stare ahead. You felt food against your lips, turning your head away.

“I’m not gonna force you to eat, but if I have to get Sanzu or Mikey in here, you’re not gonna like it.” Kazutora states with a stoic expression as he continues to hold the end of the chopsticks against your lips. You scowl.

“Go ahead. Let them kill me.” You growl. “I’d rather be in hell than here!” Your grip tightens around your legs once more. He shakes his head.

“You’re only going to make things worse for yourself if you keep acting like this.” He lowers the food to his lap.

“How else am I supposed to act?” You hissed. “Do I need to remind you what you all did to me?”

He sets the food on the ground next to you before standing from the ground. He heads to the door and turns back slightly to look at you.

“If you don’t get your act together, you’ll never leave this spot.” The door shuts behind him as the tensity in your body leaves. You allow a large breath to release as you lean your body against the wall behind you.

It didn’t take long for the door to slam open. What you didn’t expect was for the pink haired fiend to be dragging someone in by their arm before throwing them to the ground with a loud thud, Mikey following behind.

The person’s voice was muffled under the brown sack as they grunted when they attempted to reposition themselves. Sanzu forces them to sit up, facing you before he snatches the sack off. You gasp when you and your bruised up friend make eye contact.

“Y-Y/n, w-what’s going on?” They cry out.

“F/n?” You say breathlessly in disbelief. Your eyebrows furrowed as you look at Mikey. The click of the gun in Mikey’s hand echoes throughout the room. He nods his head toward Sanzu.

You gasp after he pulls his arm pack and lands a harsh punch against your friend’s face, forcing blood out of their mouth as their face is turned to the side. He grabs them by the shirt and lands another punch causing them to drop to the floor when he releases them. He yanks them up by their hair and connects his fist with their nose twice as they cry out and gurgle on their own blood, teeth damaged as they scrunch their eyes in pain.

“Stop! Please!” You were only ignored as he continued to land punch after punch before giving a final kick to their stomach as Mikey held his hand up to halt Sanzu’s attack.

“You want freedom?” Mikey questions with his dark eyes boring into you with nothingness. You nod frantically.

“Then it’s your choice.” He says before aiming the gun to your friend.

“I’ll kill them and let you go.” He then turns the barrel of the gun to you. “Or I kill you and let them go.”

You freeze as your friend releases shaky sobs at the sound of their fate. Neither option is fair for either one of you. The decision isn’t hard logically, but morally is the struggle.

“Mikey, please.” You beg, despite knowing that there’s no changing his mind.

“Y/n, please! I-I don’t want to die.” Your heart pounds faster as your breathing becomes ragged.

“I-I…”

“Don’t keep the King waiting, Y/n. Hurry up and choose.” Sanzu smirks.

You tried so hard to rid yourself of this lifestyle. To rid yourself of them. It would only be fair for you to get a second chance to rebuild once more. Then again, your friend was brought into this by being involved with you. It’s your fault that they’re in this predicament. It would only be right to take the fall as much as it sucks. You’ve already accepted that you will die by their hands at some point. At least you’d be free either way.

You lower your head. “Kill me.” You whisper, awaiting your fate. You flinch when a gunshot echoes through the room, looking up in confusion when you hadn’t been impacted. You gasp as you eye your friend struggling to breathe with blood pooling under them.

“N-no! I didn’t…!” You were cut off by another gunshot, your leg numbing before you felt an agonizing pain shoot up your thigh, body trembling as you stare wide eyed at the display.

Another shot rings out after the other as your friend’s body stills, shot by your former boss as you grunt and cry out in pain. You were so caught up by the blood staining your clothes that you didn’t hear the door open. You hadn’t even realized that anyone else was in the room until you were unshackled and lifted from the ground while breathing heavily as you tried to mask the pain.

“You reek.” Rin says as he stands beside his older brother who holds you bridal style.

“Ah Rin, don't be so mean. She still looks pretty with all this blood on her.” Ran smirks as he carries you out of the room.

“You should behave, Y/n. I wanna play with our doll again.” You’d eye them with disgust if you weren’t focused on the pain throbbing from your leg’s wound. Your vision began to blur as you entered the hallway, the black dots connecting as you’re engulfed with darkness.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere tokyo revengers #yandere x you #tokyo rev x you #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev x y/n #sano mikey manjiro #sano manjiro x reader #manjiro x you #kazutora hanemiya #kazutora x you #kazutora x reader #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu x reader #sanzu x you #ran haitani #ran x reader #ran x you #rin haitani #rin x reader #rin x you #bonten x reader #bonten #yandere bonten #bonten trio #bonten x you

[farity]

In the Red of Night

Pairing:  Modern!AU Aemond Targaryen x you

Summary:  Aemond likes coffee.  And sugar.  And other things.

Warnings:  Future smut.

He liked to think that after all this time, he was better than this.  

But as dawn began to tint the sky in purples and pinks, Aemond Targaryen looked down at his hands, stained with dried blood, and told himself the worst lies were the ones you told yourself.  

He stood, dusting off his black trousers, and headed back to his loft.  The sun had begun to peek over the taller buildings by the time he turned onto his street.  Despite myths and movies, sunlight wouldn’t burn him to ashes or make him sparkle.  It did feel a little warmer than he liked and after a few minutes, his skin would be the bright pink that a normal pale person got after a day at the beach with no sun cream or protection, but given the fact that he had pale skin, not to mention the silver white hair that made most people do double takes, it was generally understood that he preferred to be in the shade.

He nodded at the doorman, who never questioned his hours, and headed for the private elevator around the corner.  He pressed the button and the mechanism began its near silent whirr as it traveled up to the top floor.

Walking inside his front door, he began pulling off his shirt, throwing it into his bedroom hamper before he began unzipping his trousers.  His bed was neatly made, since he hadn’t slept in it the previous night, and he finished undressing before he walked into his bathroom.  

He let the cool water beat down on his head and back for a few minutes before he began scrubbing the blood off his skin.  There wasn’t a lot of it, as he had long ago learned to not make a mess when he indulged, but it reminded him that he needed to be careful.  His very appearance and physicality made him noticeable and he could not afford to stand out any more than he already did.

One of the many advantages of the modern world was the existence of coffee shops - he was addicted to the stuff.  He also didn’t want to bother making it himself, and most shops had a quiet corner or two where he could work and watch people, and he wouldn’t be bothered.  

He dressed in his usual greys and blacks, pulled a thin cashmere knit hat over his pale hair, and went downstairs.  There was a coffee shop across the street from his building, and he had been waiting for the new owner to finish the remodeling and updating, and it was, finally, open for business.  He’d waited for the initial rush to settle before he crossed the street and walked in. 

It reminded him of a favorite bar he’d frequented in Paris long ago.  The decor was timeless, with vases and objets d’art that were either priceless antiques or very good reproductions, set safely on high shelves.  There was soft music playing, not the obnoxious litany of mumbling boys that sounded like they were barely awake - the 90s had been particularly trying music-wise - but, again, he thought back to the beginning of the previous century and felt that this place would have looked right at home then.

Of course, it had the latest technology, from the cameras to the outlets to accommodate several devices at every table.  The pristine sterling steel machines kept up a steady stream of both coffee and a low hum of sound, and Aemond quickly found a corner where he could perch himself for the next couple of hours.  He set down his laptop, placed his hoodie over it, and headed over to the counter, where several people managed to dodge each other’s arms as they worked to serve their customers.  

There was a tempting array of cakes and pastries, and Aemond, who loved sugar almost as much as he loved a certain dark red liquid, immediately chose a chocolate cake with what looked like hazelnuts on top.  

“Eyeing the chocolate praline, are we?”

He looked up at the cheerful voice and his eyes landed on a pair of green eyes, crinkling at the corners, as they studied him. 

“Is it made in house?”

“Of course, that one is made by me, actually.  Chocolate hazelnut praline, it’s a popular one.  Some coffee along with your cake?”

He nodded.  “Black, whatever you think will go best with it, and seven sugars.”

Her eyes snapped up to his, “okay, then,” she smiled.  “please don’t damage the walls when you start bouncing off of them later.”

She turned to grab a plate and start brewing some coffee while he immediately began to think of all the ways he could damage the walls.  Most of them involved having her legs wrapped around him, and he blinked, pushing the thought away when she turned back to him.  

“Will there be anything else?”

“Hmm.  Not for now, I’ll be doing some work and probably get something else later.”

She nodded and rang up his purchase.  If she was impressed by the heavy, black-finish credit card he handed her, she gave no sign.  “I’ll bring it over in a minute.”  She smiled at him and turned to greet another customer.

* * * * * 

You’d seen him a couple of times before, during the last couple of weeks as you put the final touches on the coffee shop.  The hair, obviously, had caught your attention, and the fact that he was so tall.  He lived across the street and you hoped he’d become a regular, start building your little clientele, have your core group of customers as well as the more casual buyers.

He had a very, very nice ass, you thought, glancing discreetly as he walked away.  Lean and rangy, he had covered his hair today, and in his dark clothes blended in pretty well within the little corner he’d chosen.  You grabbed his coffee, a bowl with extra sugars, and his cake, and took it all over to his table.  “Here you are, let me know if you need anything else,” you smiled.  He had the most lovely shade of eyes, somewhere between dark blue and purple.

“Thank you, I will.”

You really wanted to stay and trace your fingertip over every sharp edge of that stunning face, the wide lips, the faded scar over his eye.  Instead, you turned back to your counter and your customers, and decided to later find out more about the sugar fiend who had just come in to your shop.

* * * * * 

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[fizzycherrycola]

FrUK, July 1920

A lover's quarrel at the beach, under the bright summer sun.

Warnings: Alcohol, post-WWI thoughts, and France is 100% naked

Grey Seaside

Bordeaux region, France; 14 July 1920

The soft croon of the Atlantic blankets the senses; rolling out and rolling in, the waves strum upon the beach. Seagulls cry out, breaking the ocean's harmony with their noise. England stares, unfocused, at the cross-hatching of his straw hat and the twinkles of sunlight poking through its gaps. It lies gently over his face, and he shuts his eyes, willing himself to doze off, but it’s useless. Even with a bottle of wine warming his bloodstream, the rest of the world is too distracting.   

Sand is scratching him in-between the folds of his union suit, picnic quilts are twisting beneath his back, a lumpy towel is pressing against his neck... and oh, yes. He’s baking. The hot summer sun is beating down relentlessly on his skin, roasting him alive like a Christmas goose. Every inch of his body will sting tomorrow, save for those parts hidden under his skimmer hat and undergarments. Whoever decided that sleeveless, short-leg unions were the way to go ought to be sacked.

Somewhere to his right, a glass clinks, followed by some shuffling and the quiet snap of wicker wood. France is probably going for another drink, the sot. The pop of a cork and bubble of liquid confirm England’s suspicions, and he frowns. Why did he agree to this?    

Ah, right, Bastille Day.

For a whole week, France pestered and nagged him about this little beach picnic to have as a private celebration. What resulted instead was an excursion of nothing but wine and sex. However, if the past months should offer any evidence, it was quite idiotic of England to assume otherwise.

England pokes the brim of his hat with his fingertips, lifting it to peek at his nemesis-come-lover. Lying on his belly, France is guzzling the prized alcohol. His Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow and his back arches upwards like a cat. Upon draining the cup, he gasps and leans heavily on his free hand, the languid pose emphasising the reddish-gold tan blooming across his bare shoulders and ass.   

“Put your clothes back on, at least,” England says.   

France pauses, his lazy dark lashes blinking open slowly.  

“How can you already be in such a terrible mood?” he sighs. “We are on a private beach.”   

“Only because you insisted.”   

France raises one of his perfect brows and hums. “So you say.” He brings the cup back to his lips, halts, then glares at it for being empty. He goes for another. “If you are bored, why not go swimming? The ocean is right there.”

“Not likely.”

“Have you still not learned how to swim?”  

“I know how to swim,” England lies. “...I just didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

An impish smirk splits France’s lips. “I do not see how that is a problem, when you can go in the nude.” 

England gags. “Absolutely not.”

“But you were naked just moments ago, weren’t you?”

“That's entirely different.”

“Free yourself from the chains of modesty and embrace the au naturel lifestyle.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Then, tell me. Why did you not bring your bathing suit?”  

“I didn’t pack one for a trip to Paris, funnily enough. And after we suddenly left for your estate in the countryside, I didn’t have a chance to buy one, did I? I had no idea you’d insist on visiting a beach.”

“Again, I did not insist. You came of your own accord.” 

“Bollocks.” 

France pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mon Dieu, either you can tell me what is upsetting you, or we can argue in circles for the rest of the day. What would you prefer, hmm?”   

England glares and they lock eyes with one another. His French opponent is perfectly unimpressed; deadpan on the edge of a blade. So still and sculpted that he could be mistaken for a Renaissance statue, if not for his wine-flushed cheeks and dramatic chest hair. The gaze is one that was perfected in the court of Versailles, which caused many proud courtiers to buckle and spill their deepest secrets.  

To England's credit, he is wholly capable of rebuffing that look for days (and has done so, on several past occasions). But perhaps it's the salty ocean air, the refreshing wind that has calmed to a whistling breeze, or the fruity buzz of alcohol. For whatever reason, he relents, tossing his hat away into the nearby clump of marram grass and scowling at the feathery clouds above. 

Admittedly, France did pick a nice spot: a beach that lies on the most Western part of his personal sprawling winery. With an expanse of bright sand and rustling grasses, it’s a gorgeous place to frivolously squander a few short hours, or in their case, a few perilously long months.

“You’re aware,” England states flatly, “that we’re shagging as a way of putting off issues back home.”   

The pause in the atmosphere is palpable.  

“...And?” France eventually asks.  

“And we shouldn’t still be here.”   

France laughs incredulously; a trill that rises in pitch to match the gulls around them. “Why not? Speak for yourself, Angleterre, but I believe that I deserve an extensive intermission from my government.”    

Setting his glass down, he stretches and enters England’s field of vision. Pockmarked skin spans the landscape of his body; fresh shrapnel divots and bullet craters, not yet a decade old, pepper across it. Somehow, by the grace of God, the Germans missed his precious face. “I am going to stay in this exquisite locale for as long as I wish. Then, when at last I’m satisfied, I will return to Paris, but not a moment sooner. Monsieur Deschanel can reign while I’m absent.”   

He crawls forward, his manhood dangling carelessly between his legs, and reaches for the wicker basket. After a moment of shuffling, he produces a chunk of Livarot cheese and a small paring knife. England gapes, his mouth watering almost immediately, and he pushes himself up with a start.    

“Hang on! You brought food?” he says.    

“Of course. I said this was a picnic, no?”    

“We’ve had nothing but wine all day! Why didn’t you take it out sooner? What else have you got?”   

France slices off a sliver of the creamy cheese and eats it right off the knife. “Mmm. A bit of pain de campagne and some grapes that my vintner decided are not good for making wine. They are probably too sweet.”   

“Well, pass the basket here,” England demands. 

“...Typically, everyone who attends a piquenique is required to bring at least one dish.”  

“No, it’s called a picnic, and we’re on your estate. You’re the host.”

“I think your favourite ‘Gentlemen’s Book of Etiquette and Politeness’ says otherwise. You should have brought food to share.”  

“The customs of last century no longer apply.” England juts out his open hand. “Give it here.”  

France snorts. “Ask politely and I will consider it.”    

England glowers. 

His lover plops himself cross-legged right in front of the lunch basket and slices yet another piece of cheese. And this one, France eats slowly. His lips part, revealing a glimpse of teeth and tongue that delicately pull the morsel from the silvery blade. Deep indigo eyes goad England, flickering with a fervid intensity that borders on seductive. England’s stomach rumbles and the thrum of his pulse quickens, wavering on what, exactly, he may be hungry for.   

It's the food, of course. Just the food. 

His muscles and nerves are alert. The basket is barely beyond his reach. He glances at the paring knife and hesitates. Despite his shared tumultuous history with France, his likelihood of being stabbed should be on the lower end these days, given the Entente and recent wartime cooperation. Not to mention the rekindling of a perpetually unnamed, possibly mutual, bone-deep sentimentality, as of late. 

...Should be safe enough, then.  

He darts for the basket. The knife hits the picnic quilt. A palm comes up to squash England’s nose, and an arm wraps around his torso. Drunkenly fumbling, he stretches his hand out as far as it will go. Fingertips brush the basket’s rough wicker wood. Then blunt force hits his knee, throws his balance, and France wrenches him back. Sand flies as they grapple. Elbows jab into joints and feet scramble for purchase. Until France manages to lock England in an awkward hold. 

“I think,” France grunts, “that I am still more accustomed to wine than you are.” 

The world wobbles. Tasting sweat, England grits his teeth and twists. But the move is counterproductive, and he finds his head mashed into France’s inner thigh. 

“Get off,” he groans.  

France chokes out a laugh. “Aren’t you more comfortable in this position?”  

A colourful kaleidoscope of profanities launch out of England. His cheek is flattened against France’s pliant skin and he can practically taste the olive oil from earlier; a staple lubricant that the frog always has on hand. The grassy vegetable scent fills his sinuses, swirling through his nostrils and burrowing into the back of his skull. Beneath it, lingers the salty aroma of sex, pungent and merciless as it settles low in his belly. France coos at him. “Why don’t you tell me what is wrong, hmm? If it is something physical, I can help you make it better.”   

England does not shiver. Instead, he clamps down on his treacherous libido and wriggles free with a quick twist, straining his core muscles. Away from that maddening odour, he gasps and glares. 

“Just tell me when you’re headed back.”

France blinks, raising both of his brows. “I haven’t decided.”

“You honestly have no plans for when you want to return?”   

“No, I do not. Do you wish to leave?”   

“Did I say that?”

The basket is close. England snatches a thick slice of pain-de-wotsit, shoves the fluffy bread in his mouth, then flops back onto his side of the blanket. A wisp of grey cloud blocks out the sun and England recalls all the wretched things that await him in London: from paperwork on the national debt, to rising unemployment, to an ongoing rebellion. No, he absolutely does not wish to return any time soon. Who in their right mind would?

“Is that what you were worried about?” France tuts, shaking out his wrists. “That our excursion might be ending soon?” 

“Worried?” England mutters around a mouthful of crunchy crust. “Why would I–? No. Any half-responsible nation with a taxpaying public should know what day their pornographic sabbatical ends.”

“Tu cherches la petite bête….”

“Ridiculous. Why would I be worried?”

“Then, why did you not even ask?”

“...Just leave it.”

France exhales through his nose and stands. “Very well!”

“Where are you going?”

“You have drained every last drop of my patience, so I am leaving you here to rot.” Wobbling slightly, France stretches both arms to the sky. “I am going to go swimming!” 

England sits up. “You can’t go swimming, you’re still sloshed.”

France stumbles, splaying his arms for balance. “My vacation will not be ruined by a petulant Englishman. I am going to enjoy myself and neither you nor a Cabernet Sauvignon will stop me. And keep the basket; you may have as much of my homemade bread as you wish!” He lurches away, keeping his gaze locked on his feet as though each step he takes requires deliberate concentration.

“Oi!”

“Au revoir, Angleterre! I will find a fish, or a scallop, and it will be better company than you.”

With France meandering, he begins to slowly shrink into the distance. His details fade, starting with the stray glimpses of hazel in his blonde curls, and continuing to the moles on his hip bones, the dips in his backside, and the jagged pale scars splitting his tanned skin. He wanders naked across the shimmering sands, alone, and England’s stomach twists. A mouthful of bread sits on his tongue, thick and buttery.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters. His conscience worms its way around his neck, weighing down his shoulders and chest as though they were made of wrought iron. What is he to do, though? How is he meant to act when months, not hours or days, but months are squandered in a bizarre, French caricature of Eden. And all that time has been spent… cohabiting. Cohabiting in secret, like a pair of newlyweds that elope in the scandalous climax of a Jane Austen novel.

It was that damn war — the conflict that upended everything. By the time it ended, France had become forlorn, silent, and despondent. England visited him, frequently finding excuses to travel to Paris. He would nag France about his wretched health, and then tidy up the Baroque flat, all under the pretence of: “If you look miserable in front of our peers, then it’s a hassle for me as well.” But there were no pretences when they kissed at France’s bedside and spent the rest of the afternoon under his duvet, nor when England followed him to Bordeaux. 

Even now, the surprise on France’s face at the train station is still crystal clear: his coral flushed cheeks framing wide eyes. There was a handkerchief in his hand and tears were staining his lashes; he’d been crying.

Groaning, England presses his hands to his temples. What is he doing? Why would anyone have a fit in his situation? Sipping wine, lazing on a beach, the blue midsummer sky rising over the horizon…. He must be insane. He must be a twat who cannot enjoy any good thing without a heaping dose of self-sabotage.

He swallows the bread, and forces just a smidge of his pride down with it. “Come back here!” England barks. There’s still a frown anchoring his features, but can’t seem to be rid of it. Muttering a curse under his breath, he tries again. “France!”

France is halfway to the ocean when he stops and whips around. His glare is… not deadly. Though his head is tilted low, like a wild ram before charging, and his lips are pressed wire-thin, he’s still significantly less ferocious than he was after Trafalgar. England’s mind races through twelve different options, before choosing pragmatism. “If you swim right now,” he says, “you’ll just drown. The current will pull you out and you’ll be too drunk to know which way the shore is. It’s the Atlantic, not a lake.”

“Oh, how thoughtful,” France mocks, his distant voice ringing above the ocean surf. “Is my English gentleman concerned for me?” Heat rises to England’s face, but France forges ahead before he can consider a response. “I have been drunk before! I know these waters, and unlike some,” he stabs a finger at England, “I know how to swim.”

“That– That doesn’t matter!” England retorts. “You’ll still get tossed about by the waves, and then I’ll have to find a bloody boat, and drag you back here, if you’re not dead. And if you are, you’ll wash ashore someplace a hundred miles down the coast, and frighten the living Christ out of an entire nunnery when you return to life!”

A pause, filled only by the obnoxious squawking of seagulls.

“Why a nunnery?!” France cries.

“...It was the first thing I thought of.” The warmth in England’s cheeks has spread to his ears. He averts his gaze. “Look, just get back here!”

“Non.”

“Wh–!”

“I told you that I am going to swim!”

Nose in the air, France performs an about-face and continues his graceless march towards the water.

Grumbling, England snatches his skimmer hat and staggers to his feet. “Stubborn wine bastard…. Why even bother trying to be reasonable with the French?” He takes off after his stupid companion, jogging and keeping a tight grip of the hat so it won’t blow away in the wind. His feet mash into the ruthless sand, sapping what little speed and balance his drunken limbs can manage.

France glances over his shoulder, and for a half second, they make eye contact. Then, he breaks into a clumsy sprint. England gapes. “Oh, for the love of–!”

He gives chase, his legs pumping in a disjointed rhythm and flinging sand in their wake. His body is listing this way and that. Closing in on France’s blurry form, both arms reach out. Then, he makes contact, right at the shore and his arms snap shut tightly around France’s torso.

The sound that escapes France is akin to that of a startled rooster being tossed across a circus tent by an acrobat. A flurry of French expletives follows and he kicks out his legs in a naked whirlwind. England braces his feet in the wet sand. They struggle and spin, water swirling at their ankles, dangerously teetering in every direction at once. 

An elbow smashes into England’s liver, sending a burst of pain through his side. One more strong jerk and his balance is gone. In a spiral of vertigo, the coastline topples over. 

His back hits the sea. Warm salt water floods his nostrils. Immediately, he releases his grip on the frog and pushes himself out, gagging. He is drenched. The muggy sand squishes between his toes in a lovely impression of a mediaeval latrine. Cursing, he spits the Atlantic out of his mouth and crawls backwards out of the surf.

France coughs and groans somewhere nearby. And then he’s in England’s lap, aggressively. Soaking wet and heavy, France straddles him and yanks a string of foamy seaweed from his bangs. “What are you doing, Angleterre?” 

England snorts, then chokes when the action drags more water into his lungs.

“I am preventing an international incident,” he wheezes, squinting against the salt stinging his tear ducts. “Or maybe I’m stopping you from committing self-murder by drowning, whichever you’d like.”

France gives him a look, his sapphire irises sharpening into little daggers, still capable of reading minds even behind the sluggishness of alcohol. An intrusive thought pops into England’s head: of splashing him with a wad of salty beach muck, however at this point, that action may trigger an armed conflict and they are both trying to cut back. After a moment, France clicks his tongue and seems to make a decision.

“Let me tell you a story,” he starts, shuffling his hips to sit more comfortably in England’s lap. “And then, if you are still being unreasonable, you may spend tonight in the stables. I do not care.”

“...Sorry, what?”

“Pay attention. I remember.… On my last day in Paris before I decided to come to Bordeaux, I received a letter.”

England feels a dull weight settle into every muscle of his body. “Oh, come on.”

“It was on a Sunday, I think. Or was it Monday…? No, it was Sunday. I thought it was strange, because how often does mail arrive on a Sunday?” 

“Is this another of your philosophical sermons?” 

France flicks England’s forearm. “No, now listen to me.” 

“Fine.” England crosses his arms and does his best to ignore the sogginess of his union suit.

“This envelope was pale with sharp corners, as if it was delivered by hand. Also, it was sealed with the Grand Sceau. So, tell me. Can you guess who sent it?” England knits his brows with the utmost patience. The question hangs in the air before France answers it himself. “The letter came from my president… and he was suggesting that I join the army occupying the Rhineland.” 

England blinks. “What?”

France nods. “Mmm. Well, it was not truly a suggestion; those things never are. But as soon as I read that letter, I knew I needed time away.”

“The Rhineland?”

“Oui.”

“...Was that why you wanted to leave Paris in such a hurry?”

He, too, recalls that morning, when he awoke in France's flat to the smell of smoke. Jumping out of bed, he ran downstairs only to find that there was a letter burning in the oven. And a moment later, France was pushing past him, with fury and heartbreak on his face as he tossed clothing into his trunk. It was bewildering at the time, and they’d nearly had a row over it, but now like a puzzle, it all clicks together.

“Our politicians will have us back eventually, but there is no need for us to rush. We owe them absolutely nothing.” France’s eyes are nearly vacant, as they were in 1918, when he was a husk devoid of his familiar pride and wit. “In a handful of years, we gave enough blood to turn my lovely farmland, my pastures, into swamps. So, they may wait patiently, while we enjoy life’s simple pleasures.”

England can’t help the response that flies past his lips. “Well, you’ve certainly been doing that.”

A wide smile cracks France’s frozen features and redraws warmth into his being. “Naturally. And perhaps, by the grace of a god I no longer believe in, there is a chance that I can rediscover some of the happiness I lost.”

No words come to England immediately. He turns over this shard of new information in his mind, scrutinising how it slots into the ever-changing mosaic of his companion’s soul.

France raises his arms to rest them on England’s shoulders. “There you go. That is why I am here, and why I will not be leaving anytime soon. Now, how about you, hm?” 

“What?”

“Do you have anything to say?” His dangling hands are tracing circles on England’s spine. “An explanation, or perhaps, an admission you would like to make?”

England squints. “...Nothing comes to mind.”

“Are you sure?” France prods, shifting his hips closer, leaning in, water glistening off his skin, in the curve of his smile. “Then, maybe, I will make a suggestion? Is there anything else you are here for… other than a rendezvous?”

England scoffs. Suddenly, France is much too close and his playful grin is bordering on mischievous. 

“I ought to toss you back in the ocean.”

France responds by brushing his nose along England’s cheek. “Indulge me.” 

The hairs on the back of England’s neck stand at attention. Retreating to the picnic quilts would be an uncomplicated solution, if not for the very naked man straddling his lap and nuzzling his face, his ear, his throat. So, finding his trusted skimmer hat, England lies back, and plops it over his eyes. It’s riddled with droplets of beach muck. 

“You've indulged plenty.”

“...You are not going to sleep.”

“I am.”

France lets out a quick, birdlike chirp. “In the wet sand?”

“I slept in the trenches; I can manage this easily.”

“You– You are absurd. No. You are being sincere. You– How?” France releases a series of half-sentences, like a combustion engine failing to start, before breaking down into a fit of hysteric giggles. Something hard presses into England’s chest, likely France’s forehead, and the laughter goes on for far longer than it has any right to, becoming almost melodic as it peters out. Dragging his hands across England’s front, he draws messy shapes in the cotton union suit. “The most stubborn, unfashionable fool in the world….”

“Come off it.” 

“You cannot blame me for being curious,” France sings, “Perhaps one day, you will indulge me. Don’t you think that would be nice?” He punctuates the question with his fingertips, peppering pinpricks of warmth over England’s chest.

Because responding only encourages more teasing, more laughter, and more cumbersome fondling, England bites back the urge to say ‘never’. He is rewarded when silence mercifully falls on their conversation, which is not disappointing. It is, in fact, good. He does not need France’s musical glee nor any further exposure. 

Their simple back and forth relations throughout history are sufficient, swinging with time’s pendulum and the whims of their people. After centuries of constant presence, familiarity is expected, but too much openness is risky. Pleasure and leisure can be fine, in controlled doses, and far within whatever standardised, unspoken framework they have concocted along the plunging annals of immortality. But, a line has to be drawn. As it is now, they are playing with fire, tiptoeing around the edges of a wide pit filled with something unmarked and… intimidating.

A shift, and suddenly, sunlight pierces England’s eyes. The hat is snatched away. He opens his mouth to complain, but France captures it, swallowing any protests through a pair of firm, ardent lips.

Old instinct snaps at England to catch those lips between his teeth, so he does, nipping hard enough to signal offence, while a newer instinct holds his strength in check. Damp champagne hair dances across his cheekbones, France’s beard scratches his chin; it is dizzying how quickly his focus converges on those sensations, how his breath steadies beneath them, slowly melting both objections and barricades. Already drunk, and a bottle of gin is gushing down his throat.

Slipping a clever tongue inside, France thoroughly explores England’s mouth as if it is a novel experience, as if they have not done this a hundred thousand times. The tang of red wine mingles with the savoury, earthiness of Livarot. Below all of it though, tucked away under the many aromas and elements of France’s being, lies unmistakably a floral incense – some quiet bouquet found along the river Lys.

Eyelids weakening, one of England’s arms hesitates midair, a last ditch effort made by either reasoning or dignity, before it falls between France’s shoulder blades and drags him down, crushing their chests together. The wind is sucked from England’s lungs, his union sticks to his skin and crumples, bound by their bodies.

A pair of knuckles touch his temple, then curl to thumb his jaw; so gentle, it borders on frightening. Gradually, France’s tongue slows. Unhurried and tender, taking his time, as if to extract every inch of pleasure, every grain of want.  

Warm water crashes at their feet, and the kiss finally breaks. England sucks in a gasp of air, heart thrumming behind his ribs. 

“There is some oil still left,” France murmurs.

A matchstick strikes in England’s belly. He groans, his toes curling.   

“Again?”

France’s teeth graze the shell of his ear. “You don’t want to?”

“We’re soaked to the bone.” 

“The towels are just there,” France breathes. “We can dry off.”

He pours a river of kisses along England’s skin, anything bare he can reach, and England turns to him, meeting dark, hungry eyes. They promise carnal ecstasy and pain, should things continue to his liking. Like a creature of greed, he licks a hot, wet trail along England’s clavicle and bites his jugular, pressing his tongue to England’s rising pulse. And a thrill of anticipation shoots down the curve of his spine, arching his back. 

This is where it always goes. A knot of irritation tangles itself in the back of England’s sex-drunk head at how pathetically easy this is. How his body (and heart) fucking yearns for it. Since arriving at the winery, they’ve gone at it every single day, wrenching their perverse fantasies into the light of dawn. By now, France has become a drug, in his veins more than the alcohol, or the laudanum he abuses when the shell shock tremors won’t cease. 

Those talented hands wander everywhere, leaving behind trails of fire. They run through England’s hair, across his ribs, and then those fingers slip through the first two buttons of his union and England’s self-restraint fizzles out. The world is warm and pleasant. What was it that France said earlier? That they could ‘regain some of the happiness they had lost.’

Wrapping a hand behind his lover’s neck, England pulls that sinful mouth impossibly closer. “You’re insatiable.”

He can feel France smiling on his skin, and cannot bring himself to mind at all.

  —

For some reason, the picnic quilt feels softer, like lying on a bed of clouds. 

Wind dances across the beach, rustling its tall grasses in the silence left behind by the gulls, long since vanished. England relishes the ache in his bones, deeply satiated as he drinks in the raw afterglow and the weight of France’s head on his chest. His quiet breath comes in steady puffs, tickling England’s sternum, and his body is a cool shield from the sun, still balmy as it hints orange and signals the end of the afternoon. 

This place is cathartic, and England tries to allow the seaside to permeate him, while it can. He follows the rolling waves in his ears, the salty ocean spray in his lungs. It’s a pleasant escape, maybe even a beautiful one. Such a shame that it will not last. 

As in the paraphrased scribblings of Geoffrey Chaucer, all good things must come to an end. Sun-swept beaches, lush vineyards, and France’s laughter will soon evaporate into the suffocating cough that is London’s grey smog. Normality calls, incessantly, with government paperwork and ink-stained sleeves. The only company it offers are the cold walls of Parliament and fluttering phantasms of a war past.

Before his departure, far too long ago, he left his brothers to manage things and when he returns, they will demand answers. If he’s lucky, he’ll get an earful from Scot. Some nonsense about responsibility from a brother who reaps all the benefits of an empire with less than a quarter of the work. However, if England is unlucky, Scot’s tongue-lashing will be far outmatched by the disappointment and distance in Wales’ eyes. One bitter look, and all the hurled verbal abuse becomes devastatingly correct.

An angelic sigh cuts through the fog. “I cannot rest with you like this.” France stirs, glancing up at England, causing his contemplations to crumble.

“What?”

“Your thoughts are too loud.”

England pauses. “I haven’t said anything.”

“You do not need to.” France shifts to face him. His eyes are calm.

In the space of a few heartbeats, England sighs. Words stick to his throat as he tries to say something, anything, and doesn’t. Then, working his jaw, he tries again.

“Nothing’s the matter,” he manages. “I’m simply not looking forward to the wretched tedium when I return home.” It is an understatement, helped along by the alcohol, but it’s the best he can do.

“Then, do not go there yet.” France cups England’s face in both hands. “Why think about this today? We still have time, no? Then, you should stay. Let yourself rest and be present. Not in the past or future, but here, in this moment.”

Rolling out and rolling in, the waves strum upon the beach. France’s golden hair haloes as it catches the sunlight and England, mesmerised, laces his sunburnt fingers within it. His lover’s skin is full and healthy, filling up the once prominent hollows that lingered after the war. Stray patches of stubble sprout from his cheeks; the aftermath of an uneven shave this morning. England devours the view, burning the image into his retinas before it vanishes in smoke, because no peace between them has ever lasted. What will happen when his tryst ends? Which of them will tear up the Entende first? “Stay,” France repeats, softer.

England’s throat is as dry as kindling. The familiar hands framing his face, their texture echoes a millennia of life, and his chest tightens. As if they are reaching across the Channel and back through time, diving under to grasp his soul. He can feel himself – toes scraping the edge of the pit, pebbles tumbling in – on the precipice of a thousand dangerous feelings, bubbling up from his core in a thick slurry. Too much, and he falters, fingertips trembling. Taking France’s warm palm, he presses his lips to it, and maybe the gesture will say whatever he cannot.

A thumb brushes his cheekbone.

“Stop it,” England whispers. “You’re being too bloody emotional.”

The trace of a smile appears on France’s lovely face and he draws closer, eyelids fluttering. “Oh, I am being emotional?”

England breathes his answer on France’s lips. “Yes.”

They lock together in a kiss, another one of the thousands that came before it. An ocean cascade, surging overhead, drowning him in selfish contentment and bottomless indulgence. All concerns and burdens and regrets wash away, leaving only this. Paradise. 

It’s everything he needs.

End / Fin  

~~~

Author’s Notes  

Union vests were typical undergarments popular in the 1920s. Around then, the new “sleeveless, short leg” style was made to allow men to stay cool in the summer.  

Monsieur Deschanel served briefly as the President of France from 18 February – 21 September 1920.  

There is absolutely no estate in the Bordeaux wine region that is large enough to reach the Atlantic Ocean. I made that up for the story. Please kindly overlook my poor geography.  

The etiquette guide’s full title is: ‘The Gentlemen’s Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness’. It was printed in 1860. The book is still in circulation, and you can find copies of it online.  

Pain de campagne is a type of French sourdough bread.

Trafalgar was a naval battle in the Napoleonic wars, with the British on one side, and France and Spain on the other. It was a decisive British victory, with the allies losing 22 warships and the British losing none.

The Rhineland is a loosely defined area in Western Germany which was occupied by Allied forces following WWI. The purpose of this was for security against a renewed German attack, and to serve as a guarantee for war reparations.

Laudanum was a ten percent solution of opium powder in ethanol, and was historically used to treat a variety of medical issues. Today, it is recognised as an addictive substance and is heavily regulated throughout the world.

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