#Before anyone thinks I draw at the speed of light:

[danikatze]

[ID in alt text]

✨ This scene ✨

[kurooh]

★ 02. MORNING ROUTINE !

☆ after filming your first scene and talking it over with your agent, you’re off to your second . . in a maid costume!? once filming is over, you’re roped into an interesting conversation regarding a few other stars.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, everyone is over 21, oral (f receiving), cum eating, maids, awkwardness, creampie, unprotected sex. | 4.9K words

xoxo, juno. SHES BACKKKKK! comment & rb if you enjoyed! thank u to wolfy anon for proofreading ily ♡

SHOWTIME MLIST.

“hey, good morning,” shinsou rushes up to you at the doors, lightly grabbing onto your shoulder before you can walk into the studio. “how’d yesterday’s shoot go for you?”

“good morning!” you reply happily, lighting up as you turn to face your agent. “let’s get some coffee from the place across the street, and i can tell you while we walk?”

“sounds good,” he exhales, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. “it’s definitely getting colder, god. i could seriously use some coffee.”

“ah, it is. anyway, filming wasn’t too bad. i had director iida, i believe? yeah, he was pretty alright.” you and shinsou walk side by side, stopping to hit the button and waiting for the lights to change.

shinsou gives a small smile, crossing the street with you. “how’d it go with your co-star? i figured he’d be a good introduction for you.”

“shōto was nice,” you say, warmth rising to your cheeks. the memory of being pressed against him and fucking is a little blurry, but just thinking about it has your pussy clenching around nothing. the faint feeling of his touch ghosts across your skin, and you clear your throat awkwardly. “um . . i think we ended up doing well together.”

shinsou’s not surprised. after all, he pulled the strings behind the scenes to get you with him.

“that’s good! i’ve been meaning to ask you about what you’re interested to do today,” shinsou holds the door of the coffee shop open for you and follows you inside. “i’ll get you up to speed after we order, alright? and don’t worry, i’ll just cover your drink.”

“oh,” you’re in the middle of unzipping your purse, “you really don’t have to, shinsou! i’ve got it.”

“i insist, it’s my treat.” he leaves no room for you to fight him any further, and you place the order together once it’s your turn.

“what were you saying about filming today?” you draw his attention back to the aforementioned topic as you sit down at a table together to wait for your drinks.

“oh, that’s right. you’ve been booked by a lot of different people, so you’ve gotta choose who you want to film with today. personally, i think you’ve got some decent options.”

“is that so?” you exhale, wondering if anyone else could possibly top your experience with shōto. but of course, you’re employed at a pornography studio, where dreams become reality and anything is possible.

shinsou’s voice drops to a low whisper, his words meant for your ears only. “well, there’s this . . maid thing, or some kind of bdsm shoot.”

“those are not good options,” you groan, closing your eyes briefly in disgust. “who’re the people booking? anyone important?”

“obviously, the maid film is from denki kaminari. the bdsm is—”

you’ve seen denki kaminari’s videos before. he seems to be energetic and also a little pervy, but he’s good looking and you’re not in the mood to be tied up in ropes or chains.

“i’ll go with the maid film. is he offering a lot?”

“kaminari’s a bit . . eccentric,” shinsou offers, waving his hand dismissively. “he doesn’t usually book with a set amount in mind like everyone else does. he prefers to shoot the film and then pay based off of what it makes.”

so, there are a few financial risks when it comes to choosing denki kaminari, but you sigh and bite the bullet. “that’s not ideal, but i’ll take it. when’s it scheduled?”

shinsou looks over at a mounted clock behind you, “if you’re going for this, you’re supposed to be over there in an hour.”

the barista calls out shinsou’s name, and you pick up the coffees while he sends a confirmation email to kaminari’s agent.

your arrival to shinsou’s office is met with an assistant of some kind dropping off a garment bag. through the fabric, you can see big frills and bows that most definitely will be itchy when you’re going around in it.

shinsou takes the bag with a sigh, and the assistant presses a yellow sticky note to the side of it before scurrying off quickly. you pick up the yellow paper and read the messy writing scrawled onto it.

hey! please change into this before arriving to set, director’s orders. we hope the dress is comfortable, even though it doesn’t look like it.

“i assume this is from kaminari?” you say flatly, tugging the sticky note off the bag.

“of course it is,” shinsou replies, holding the door open for you, “you can change in here before you head over. by the way, you’re heading to the fourth floor and turning to the left.”

“thanks, shinsou.”

unzipping the garment bag yields a frilly black and white dress decked out with bows and all kinds of lace. tucked in neatly beside the dress is a folded set of thigh high socks and a prop duster that looks as though it’s never been used. you pull off your clothes and change into the provided ones with little excitement. at the very least, you’ll get paid well and then end up filming something better, hopefully again with shōto.

shinsou nearly drops his phone when you step out of his office in that ridiculous dress—it looks so good on you, accentuating your chest and complimenting your figure beautifully. you fiddle with the bow necktie, fingers tangling in the black fabric. his mouth goes dry when you look up at him shyly, gesturing toward the necktie as best you can.

“could you help me tie this, shinsou?”

“of course,” he nods politely, snapping out of his daze. his nimble fingers undo the knots you’ve created and he ties it easily for you, pulling it into a snug bow. “you look great, by the way.” immediately after the words leave his mouth, he regrets having added that bit, but you smile at him and give him a spin, letting your skirt fan out.

“thanks. wish me luck?”

“good luck,” shinsou laughs dryly, turning away quickly before you can notice the redness blooming on his cheeks. “remember, fourth floor and to the left. there’ll be a sign or something on the door.”

you wave, thanking him again, and you both go your separate ways. the elevator comes quickly, and you go upwards silently, until the elevator stops a floor too early.

“there’s my pretty co-star!” an energetic voice exclaims, and the owner of it steps onto the elevator, practically buzzing with excitement. “come on, we can head up together!”

you recognize him easily; denki kaminari’s signature blond hair has a streak of black through it, and he’s got a winning smile playing on his lips, showcasing his nice teeth.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you say, offering a hand in his direction. his energy isn’t off putting, just a little . . much for the first film of the day. kaminari instead wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, giving you a warm hug as though you’re a long lost friend of his.

the elevator’s chugging upwards slowly, and kaminari’s still wrapped around you. well, okay. this is slightly weird; you’re going to be all over each other in less than twenty minutes and he’s already this friendly? something about him already has you on edge, necktie suddenly feeling like a noose.

you cough, pulling away and practically skittering into the corner of the elevator. he looks at you weirdly, confusion written all over his face, but you straighten and smooth out the ruffles on your dress.

“i’m sorry, it’s—we just met,” you utter, at a loss for words. maybe this is just how he is, but now you’re starting to worry if you’ve jeopardized your dynamic on set with him.

kaminari’s features soften with embarrassment, cheeks growing pink. then he very obviously panics internally, voice frantic and high as he tries to explain himself.

“oh my god! you’re right, i’m so sorry!” he stumbles over his words, and you wonder if the elevator is stuck with how long it’s taking. “i’m sorry, i really . . i’ve wanted to meet you for the longest time, and now you must think i’m a dumbass—ah, sorry!”

at last, the elevator finally comes to a halt. its doors open and you dash out, kaminari following with his head hanging. before you can open the door, he stops you with a sigh.

“wait, i—i want to redo our first meeting.”

you turn, gracing him with your attention and patience. “and how exactly do you plan to redo it?”

“with a proper introduction and handshake. no hugs, i promise.” he seems genuine, and your shoulders start to relax. kaminari extends his hand, a truce, and envelops yours once you reach out too.

“well, you already know me. just call me denki, though, okay? no kaminari or anything.”

“understood, denki.”

the door is thrown open and director yaoyorozu pops her head out, looking left and right.

“there you two are! goodness, i was about to send out a search party.”

“it’s nice to meet you,” you say, shaking her hand and stepping inside behind her. “in the email, you didn’t have any kind of script . . is this some kind of freestyle thing?”

“i am so glad you asked,” she sighs, pulling the sharpened pencil from behind her ear. “i’ve got a simple idea to go off of, but the rest of it is up to you.”

“up to us?” denki chokes out, sounding shocked.

“um, yes?” the director sniffs, confused. “remember, you came to me with all of this.”

“director yaomomo, i thought you’d come up with a script!” he whines lamely, and she only rolls her eyes.

“kaminari, please. next time you’re booking a set, director, and supplies last minute, make sure you’ve got something for them to work with besides a generic concept.”

“director, the pancakes are finished and the set is ready.” a member of the film crew flashes her a double thumbs up and a smile.

“great, thanks so much,” yaoyorozu gushes before turning back toward you and denki. “so, the theme here is maids, of course. in this film, she’ll be waiting on you and waking you up with breakfast while you’re fake sleeping. obviously, you’re aware of what takes place next.”

“so, minimal dialogue?” you ask, folding your arms as you listen closely.

“the scene may have as much dialogue as you want it to. i’ll let you two head off and prep before we get started, okay?”

director yaoyorozu’s dark ponytail swings behind her as she saunters off toward the set to make a few more adjustments. denki waves at you, then heads off toward the changing area while you sigh.

—

“is everyone entirely ready and in position?”

a few stage crew members adjust the lighting and some microphones before giving yaoyorozu confirmation through raised thumbs. she nods toward you, just as someone places a hefty tray into your hands. the silver platter carries a plate stacked high with blueberry pancakes, drizzled in syrup, and a tall glass of orange juice beside it. matching silverware sits neatly beside the plate, atop a folded napkin.

yaoyorozu crosses her legs in her director’s chair, while you try not to shake with the heavy breakfast platter in your hands. orange juice lurches from side to side in the glass, threatening to spill over if you don’t remain steady.

“action!”

you smile when you step through the doorway, sweat beading along your forehead as you try to mask the nervousness. denki’s shirtless and on his stomach in the bed, a mess of sheets and blankets covering his lower half. trembling, you finally set the breakfast platter down on the bedside table, taking a seat on the bed.

denki’s getting hard just from feeling the shift of your weight on the mattress. the director might have to end filming early with the way his breath hitches at the touch of your palm to his back. slowly, you rub his skin in small circles, encouraging him to wake up. is it possible to be aroused from an almost entirely innocent gesture coming from someone you don’t know?

he stirs with a groan, turning over with a yawn. denki looks up at you through hooded eyes, his lower half still tangled in the bedsheets.

“good morning, sleepyhead,” you sigh, a lot less nervous now that you’re no longer holding onto that damn tray. “i made you breakfast and cleaned around the house. gently dusted your figure collection too.”

“t-thank you,” denki smiles, sitting up. “uh, what’s for breakfast?”

“blueberry pancakes and OJ,” you say automatically, cutting a piece off the sticky pastries with the fork. “i think you’ll love it.”

there’s something too intimate about the way you feed him the piece of the pancake, your eyes on his as he swallows it.

“well?” you breathe expectantly, lifting his chin and tilting it toward you when he shyly averts his eyes. the simple gesture startles him, sends his heart into quite the flurry, and denki finds himself fighting to get a grip. really, he’s never been this awkward on set in all his years as a pornstar—in fact, a film like this would be the easiest for him . . so why’s it so difficult?

a few sparks fly between you when denki grabs your chin in return, tugging you into a kiss. you gasp, startled, and he licks into your mouth, letting you taste the sweetness of the pancakes for yourself. seriously, whoever made them deserves head; they’re sweet and fruity, but maybe they just taste better on denki’s tongue.

he moans deeply against your lips, and you swallow the low sound with one of your own. beneath all the frills and lacy ruffles, sticky arousal begins to pool in your panties, soaking through the fabric far too easily. meanwhile, denki’s trepidation melts away fully; he grows more absorbed in the kiss, until he regretfully pulls away for breath.

you look at him through your lashes, nodding blissfully when he looks toward your skirt. denki slowly slips a hand beneath all the fabric and groans loudly, his fingers swiping at your damp panties before moving past the fabric to stroke your slick folds.

before you can move into another kiss, the director lets out a peeved sigh and shakes her head, “cut!”

denki pushes a finger inside of you, savoring the gasp you let out like a piece of specialty candy. “listen to yaomomo for both of us, ‘kay?”

“b-but they’re not rolling,” you protest in a whisper shout, although your hips jerk toward him when he sinks in all the way to his knuckle.

“no rules against it, baby.” the once anxious denki you met thirty minutes ago is gone, replaced with the confident pornstar you’ve come to know through years of watching UA’s videos.

yaoyorozu claps her hands together, facing you and denki but not noticing anything going on beneath the umbrella-like cover of your skirt.

“you’re both doing well so far, but when i said the amount of dialogue was up to you, i didn’t mean no talking at all.”

“do we have to reshoot what we’ve done so far?” you gasp out when denki curls his finger right against your g-spot, sending shockwaves of heat throughout your entire body.

nobody seems to notice the inflection in your voice, and the director offers a small smile.

“no, it’s alright, we’ll just edit everything together before it goes out. you’re both doing great, by the way!” her praise is reassuring, and she hops up onto her chair again, then gestures for the crew members to position the cameras.

“action.”

denki’s lips find yours in a bruising kiss, tongue swiping against your lower lip impatiently. he’s quick to pull you on top of him too, wet fingers tugging up your skirt to give the camera a full view of your soaked panties and ass.

“what about the pancakes?” you ask, remembering the director’s tip about the dialogue. if she were to call cut again, the interruption would surely drive you insane.

“what pancakes?”

“the ones i made for you,” you breathe against his lips, eyes flicking to the bedside table. “over there, with the—”

he takes your distraction as an opportunity to press his face into your neck, taking in the smell of your perfume and the softness of your skin. low and quiet, he whispers into your ear, “fuck, you’ve got no idea how long i’ve been waiting for this—for you.”

you whine as he kicks the bedsheets off his body, firmly placing you atop his hard cock. through your panties and his boxers, you can feel the ridges of his tip and the heat of his body.

“how do you want it?” denki purrs, hands settled on your hips. “from the back . . bent over?”

the options he gives you only ignite the arousal burning in your core further; you move off of him, settling on all fours. the wild look you toss him from over your shoulder makes him groan, and he yanks his underwear and pajama pants off as quickly as he can, hurling them into a corner of the set.

“fuckin’ soaked, baby,” he coos, flipping up your skirt and slipping a few fingers beneath the crotch of your panties. your cunt flutters around nothing as he pulls the underwear off, with enough force for the microphones to pick up the ripping sound that follows. “is this all for me?”

he flings the torn garment off the bed carelessly, and it silently lands somewhere on the carpet.

“o-only for you.”

denki chuckles, and guides his cock toward your entrance, but doesn’t push it in just yet. instead, he strokes the tip up and down, gathering your wetness to provide extra lubrication. the tease has your toes curling and your eyes rolling back; denki gifts your ass with a slap, letting out a low whistle.

“you’ll get what you want soon enough, baby. i just . . feel like something’s missing.”

you look over your shoulder when the bed creaks, your co star’s weight leaving the mattress. he grabs at the drawer of the bedside table, and the glass of orange juice rattles against the silver platter from the movement. even director yaoyorozu looks a little lost for words, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

the drawer slams shut and denki returns to the bed behind you in a flash, a miniature black and white vibrator between his fingers. yaoyorozu settles back into her chair with a contented expression, signaling for the cameraman to zoom in between your bodies.

the soft, rubbery head of the vibrator nudges against your clit and you gasp. denki slants his body over yours, pushing his cock inside of you shallowly.

“i—i don’t think i can t-take all of it,” you swallow nervously, inhaling sharply when he bucks his hips forward and plunges inside you, bottoming out easily.

“that’s fuckin’ nonsense,” he groans, pushing a hand through his blond hair to get it away from his eyes. then it wraps loosely around your throat before you can protest any further. “‘course my girl can take it.”

my girl?

denki startles even himself. but this is the magic of being a pornstar and filming around the clock. he’s built up a persona for himself that he always seems to slip into no matter how he’s feeling. he’s thankful for this; otherwise, he’d be a bumbling fool who’d accidentally fuck your thighs, too caught up with excitement to get it together.

his teeth sink into his lower lip hard, scraping against the skin rather roughly as the words burst from his lips uncontrollably.

“g-god, you’ve got no idea how damn long i’ve been waiting to fuck this pretty pussy,” the vibrator turns on and presses flush against your clit, already at the highest setting. “ngh, you’re so tight, baby—got me all worked up with the little maid dress, heh. you look beautiful in it, i swear.”

his babbling soon falls on deaf ears, and you unintentionally tune him out, unable to hear him clearly over your ragged moans and cries. denki’s hips set a somewhat even pace, skin smacking into skin while the vibrator seems to only get more intense.

“c’mon, babe, arch a lil more for me,” he huffs, his palm nudging against the middle of your back.

with a whine, you do as he instructs, burying your face in the sheets.

“aw, i still wanna hear you clearly.” denki clicks his tongue, his fingers leaving the sides of your throat and instead tugging on your necktie. he turns it backwards and pulls your head back so you’re not muffled any longer.

“f-fuck, you’re so deep,” you sob, his strokes growing faster and rougher. the bed creaks beneath you, shaking loudly, and despite his panting, denki’s determined to give you the best sex you’ll ever have at UA studios.

“yeah, babe? feel my cock right here in your tummy?” denki’s voice is strained, his free hand wandering to the plush skin above your pelvis. he presses down experimentally, and he swears you get tighter.

it’s only a little pressure, but it sends shockwaves of something intense throughout your body and knocks the breath from your lungs.

“ooh, you’re squeezin’ me real tight,” denki comments breathily, “i want you to cum for me, got that?”

“‘m so close,” you sob, tossing your ass back onto his cock. “wanna—wanna cum on your cock!”

this is it. this is the big moment where he makes you cum twice on camera and shows all his friends who can fuck you the best. his mouth feels dry and he’s unable to say much of anything to spur you on, talk you through it.

the noisy metal bedframe squeaks louder, the mattress sliding side to side from all the movement. denki doesn’t let up, biting down on his lip so hard he draws some blood while he fucks you through the exhaustion and pain in his sides.

at last, highly anticipated euphoria courses through your bodies at the same time, and his cock begins to twitch against your cervix. a whiny moan tears from his lips as he spills deep inside you, trembling hands grabbing at your waist for purchase. the vibrator maintains its high setting, not letting up even once—in the moment, it’s amazing to ride the waves as you cum, but as you’re coming down, you begin to shudder away from it.

“hah—ah, shit,” you cry, voice pitching. denki pulls out of you, eyes widening in delight as he looks over your sloppy cunt, drooling with a mixture of your cum and his own. glossy strings of white leak from your hole, sticking to your thighs every time you jerk away from the vibrator. “i-it’s too much.”

“oh, ‘m sorry babe,” the words roll off his tongue, each syllable oozing with faux sympathy. lucky for you, denki clicks the vibrator off and tosses it somewhere in the sheets. you don’t notice him moving to lay on his stomach, too busy trying to catch your breath. “she’s looking messy down there, hm?”

denki’s breath now fans over your wet pussy, his words low and sultry. you look over your shoulder in confusion, sweat shining on your forehead, bitten lips parting to ask a question, but he interrupts.

“i can clean her up for you.”

with that final statement, denki’s tongue presses flat against your slit and he moans, tasting the evidence of what seems to be his best porno yet. he slurps up the mess eagerly, holding you in place by your hips whenever you try to squirm away.

it’s bittersweet, slick pouring down his chin and making his skin shine while his own cum colors his lips white. you can’t do anything but whimper, looking back at him through hooded eyes that well with tears of overstimulation.

“i know, i know,” he mumbles into you when your body jolts, and you suck in a sharp breath. “i jus’ want to make sure you can’t move after this.”

a thorough pussy pounding and now this? there’s no way you’ll be able to stop shaking.

nimble fingers find your swollen clit and give it a light pinch, then gently stroke over it; he thinks the reaction it elicits from you is absolutely delicious—your expression crumbles and you rock your hips back against his face, dragging your cunt all over him.

he’s drunk on your scent and taste, taking as much of you in as he can. director yaoyorozu looks pleased as she whispers something to a member of the film crew, but you don’t even notice her through the sweltering haze of arousal. denki pushes the skirt further up your body, and the resounding sob that leaves your lips has him smiling against your cunt.

against your slit, his silky tongue paints peculiar patterns that your dizzy brain manages to register as the letters of his name. “fuck, ‘m gonna c-cum, ‘s coming—” your fingers tangle in his blonde hair, yanking him into your cunt as the high hits you, toes curling and teeth chattering together.

denki’s eyes roll back as you cum on his face, but then you’re trembling and moving away when the sensitivity finally sets in. your pussy is puffy and twitching, entirely spent for the day.

“woah,” he catches you with an arm when you drop flat on the bed, shuddering with the aftershocks of it all. “you good, baby?”

his lips press into your temple and you nod, huffing as you try to catch your breath. unconsciously, you start to cuddle into him, arms wrapping shakily around his torso.

it’s hard to remember where you are, stars swirling in your vision, but the sight of the microphone a few meters away snaps you back into professional mode. god, you haven’t been this dazed since your early days at shiketsu, where you’d been booking with some of the biggest men at the studio.

“i-i wish i didn’t have to, but,” you huff quietly, slowly raising from the bed to smooth out your dress and then look for your panties. you make a big show of bending over, giving the camera a great view of your quivering, dripping cunt. you swipe the underwear from the carpet with a relieved sigh, turning to face denki, who’s nibbling at his lower lip, already hard again. “i’m not finished cleaning the house yet. maybe i can make you some lunch later, when i’m done?”

the cheeky suggestion has an unintentional effect, denki’s cheeks darkening perfectly for the scene. he nods slowly, caught in a stupor. you blow a kiss toward him, stepping through the fake doorway and off the set.

after a beat of silence, director yaoyorozu calls for a cut. she hops off her tall chair and claps excitedly, while crew members rush to strip the bed and clean up the set. on jelly-like legs, you wobble over to her, standing beside denki with a small smile.

“excellent, the two of you,” she praises, ponytail swishing as she nods. “i’ll update both of your agents once we get this to the editors. hehe, my intuition tells me this’ll do very well.”

you thank her together, before parting your separate ways toward the dressing areas—at least you try to, but denki trails behind you quietly, cheeks still blazing pink.

“kaminari, is everything alright?” you step behind the shoji screen, the makeshift dressing room. without needing to be asked, his fingers find the zipper at your back and he loosens the maid dress for you.

“denki,” he corrects you with an embarrassed laugh, leaning his body against the shoji in an attempt to come across as relaxed. “i wanted to ask you about—”

the shoji screen topples over the moment his weight rests against it, smashing to the floor with a loud bang! you shriek, gathering the dress up around your chest as your co-star rushes to pick it up before anyone can look over. he is unsuccessful, much to your chagrin.

“oh my fucking—i’m so sorry, shit.”

“what is it you wanted to ask, denki?” you ask, embarrassed. it’s like you’re back to square one again, as if you weren’t just doing the nastiest things together less than ten minutes ago. he throws a hand behind his neck, awkwardly scratching the skin as he tries to calm his nerves.

“okay, look. me and a few friends of mine—UA stars—” he adds in that bit in case you need some extra convincing, “are hosting a little get together. i’m thinking maybe you can come and hang out for a little while? i can pick you up, if you—”

“that’s very nice of you.”

the interruption makes his heart drop straight into his ass, and he immediately looks down at his bare feet. but then you speak up, and he feels a spark of hope in his chest. after all, he did promise his friends that he’d introduce you to them.

“i live nearby, i moved apartments to be closer to the studio,” you admit, fingers loosening on the dress. “what time is it? i’d be willing to meet some other stars, get acquainted with everyone.”

denki looks at you, joy written all over his face. he flashes you a bright smile, nodding as he collects his thoughts. “everything starts at eight. i can just pick you up, ‘kay? here, i’ve gotta give you my number.”

you laugh, pushing him back. “i’ve gotta change first, the dress is really itchy. we’ll work it out when i’m done, sound good?”

he steps out from behind the shoji screen after nodding, gold eyes shining. before he can walk away toward his own makeshift dressing room, you stop him, smiling in a way that makes his heart flutter in his chest.

“hey, denki? by the way, i’m really looking forward to tonight.”

[txtistheloml]

[ repost ! ]

inexperienced!reader x softdom!soobin

warnings. implied fem!reader, kissing, dry humping, slight idea of corruption, oral (fem rec.), daddy kink, fingering, overstimulation, petnames (baby, good girl)

just thinking about you seated on soobin’s lap comfortably as you make out, soobin guiding you as he softly moves his lips against yours, starting so gently and sweetly. your hands are interlaced with his big ones, trying your best to follow his pace. he pulls away with giggles, dimples on display as he coos at you. red tints your cheeks as you mumble out soft apologies, s-sorry, am i really bad? soobin reassures you that you’re doing good with a peck on the corner of your lips, but all he can really think of is how cute you are, never even kissed anyone else other than him. he feels like a pervert, feeling so aroused at your sweet innocence, knowing he’s going to corrupt you and make you all his.

sweet makeouts turn into heated and needy kisses, with you gripping onto his shirt, shyly attempting to move your hips against his for the slightest bit of friction. soobin offers to help you, his big hands gripping onto your hips, setting the pace for you as you rock against his hard-on, sweet whimpers and moans spilling from your lips. one thing leads to another and soon enough, you have soobin laying you down on your back, stripping you of your clothes but not without compliments here and there that you’re so pretty. experimental kitten licks to your clit has you letting out soft gasps, and breathy pants of more! pleaseplease.. how could soobin have the heart to say no to you when you asked so sweetly? he gives into you, ravaging your pussy like it was his last meal on death row. the orgasm he gives you leaves you shaking and panting, but you can take more right, baby? gonna give daddy another one? i know you can, always such a good girl~

soobin easily slips a finger inside, drawing a small whimper from your lips. he pumps his finger in and out of you so slowly it pains you, and the squelching sound of your pussy so easily heard it would embarrass you if you weren’t so fucked out and eager for more. his finger gently presses against different spots inside you, and he isn’t satisfied until he presses against a spot that has you moaning out loud. his eyes practically light up as his lips curl into a smirk of satisfaction before his fingers speed up erratically, abusing your g-spot over and over again. his lips latch onto your pearl of nerves, sucking and licking alternately which has you seeing stars.

all you remember is shaking and gasping out pleas from overstimulation, and the rest of the night is a blur to your memory.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 12

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11

He’s got to be heading to the quarry, right? That’s where he goes on Wednesday’s after school to sell his stash, he’d told Steve so umpteen notes back. Steve’s poured over each one enough times to damn-near have the things memorized.

He’s in his car, speeding fast enough that if Hopper catches his ass, he’ll be hauled into a jail cell before he can even make it. Steve pushes his foot down on the pedal harder, trying to eke out any last bit of speed.

When he reaches his destination, Carver’s car is parked sideways across the dirt road that leads off to the quarry, blocking anyone else from entering. Steve slams on his breaks, kicking up dirt all around him, obscuring his view of the windshield.

He steps out into it, dust gritting up his eyes. The only way out is through, so he heads toward the sound of raised voices, stumbling over a raised root as he goes.

He can just barely make out the words now.

“—leave her alone, or you’re dead, do you hear me?” Carver’s not yelling, but when he comes into view, his eyes are hard, and he’s clutching at Eddie’s t-shirt with enough force that he’s holding his knees off the ground.

There’s blood on Eddie’s face, dripping down off it and staining the dirt beneath him.

Steve doesn’t think. “Hey!” he calls, rushing forward to insert himself between them, but before he can, Carver drops Eddie into an ungainly heap on the ground and spins around to face Steve.

Steve lets him; if his eyes are on him, then he’s not looking at Eddie.

“Harrington?” Carver asks, shoulders slumping like Steve’s a friendly, not one wrong move from popping him one in the nose. “What are you—”

“Why don’t you get the hell out of here before the cops show?” Steve asks, using his Team Captain voice.

Steve watches it land. Carver’s shoulder slump, and he looks over Steve’s shoulder at where he’d abandoned his car. But then Eddie spits a glob of blood onto the ground, and Carver’s face shores up into something vicious.

“He was going to ask your girlfriend out, I heard all about it from his little friend!” Carver spits, like the words hurt as they come out of his mouth. “You should thank me on hands and knees!”

“I bet you’d love him on his knees,” Eddie cuts in, words slurring worryingly together.

Carver turns back toward Eddie, face gone almost translucent in the light of the afternoon sun. “Why, you—“

“Shut up, man,” Steve says, finally looking away from Carver to where Eddie’s on his knees, partially obscured by Carver’s body.

Eddie looks up at Steve, defiant as he spits a glob of saliva and blood into the dirt again then wipes his mouth with a shaking hand.

Steve stares down at him, stomach twisting in on itself as Eddie’s glare only intensifies. There hadn’t been much in his eyes when he’d been looking at Carver, but when he’s looking at Steve? That’s rage, barely banked by what must be a killer concussion. Steve turns away from it, unable to bear it a moment longer.

“What’s the point of this?” Steve asks Carver, the exhaustion he’s starting to feel leaking into his voice.

“Chrissy doesn’t need—”

“Chrissy is an adult who doesn’t need either of us fighting her battles for her,” Steve cuts in. “Besides, they’re friends.”

Carver’s mouth curls in on itself. “She would never be friends with this f—”

“She’d kick your ass herself if she heard you talking about Munson like that.”

Carver turns his back on Eddie entirely, glaring at Steve like they’re in some sort of quick-draw stand-off in a stupid Western. Steve’s tired of this guy and all his hate, he’s tired of people he loves being hurt, tired of having to be Chrissy’s shield against the asshole in front of him, and Robin’s shoulder to cry on, and going home to an empty fucking house.

He’s just tired.

It’s a relief when Eddie stands on his own two feet, legs visibly shaking but holding his weight. Because nothing will ever stop Eddie from being Eddie, he claps like Steve and Jason are kindergartners and he’s their beleaguered teacher sent to corral them.

“Well, this has been fun,” Eddie says, grinning around the blood in his teeth. “But there’s only so much jock on jock violence I can take before I break out in hives. So, can I go?”

He throws a taunting thumb over his shoulder where his van’s parked closer to the cliff’s edge, turning to stumble toward it without another word. Carver and Steve both rush to stop him for opposing reasons.

“I’m not done with you,” Carver hisses.

Steve grabs his shoulder, yanking him hard enough to send him stumbling back a few steps. “Leave it, Carver, or I’ll ruin you.”

“What the hell could you even do?” Carver demands.

Steve stares him down, dead-eyed and entirely fed up. “I can tell Chrissy what you did, and she’ll lose what little respect she had for you. Then? I’ll have a meeting with Coach and get you kicked off the team. Then, who knows, maybe I’ll plant drugs in your locker, shave your head while you’re sleeping, vandalize school property in your name. Do you really want to stick around and find out what else I can think of?”

Carver holds his gaze for another, endless second before turning away and slinking back the way he came. Steve watches until Carver starts his own car, swerved recklessly close to Steve’s own parked car, and sped away.

When he turns back, Eddie’s nowhere to be seen. He slinks toward his van, unwilling to spook the guy further if he doesn’t need to.

He’s in the driver’s seat of his van, cursing as his shaking hands fumble with the keys, missing again and again as he tries to jam it into the keyhole.

“You can’t drive,” Steve says quietly.

Eddie still jumps, dropping the keys into the well beneath his feet as he snaps his head up, eyes wide and pupils eating up his face. There’s a bruise already swelling up his eyes, and blood caked beneath his nose. He looks a downright mess.

“Here to finish what your buddy started?” Eddie asks, showing off his bloody teeth again in a grin, as if Steve can’t see him shaking.

Steve shakes his head, throat clogged with too many words to name. What comes out is, “you’re not supposed to drive with a concussion.”

Eddie, tellingly, does not argue the concussion, but his bared teeth are starting to look more like a snarl as he replies, “I’m not leaving my van here.”

Steve stares at him. He’s sweating, with injury or panic, Steve’s not sure. There’s dirt in his hair, like before Steve had arrived, Jason had him on the ground, glossy curls pressed into the dirt. Steve clenches his hands into fists the more he sees. His t-shirt is black, but there’s a rip at its hem that Steve doesn’t think was there before.

He aches to reach through the open window and touch that busted face, find the split in his lip, clear the blood from beneath his nose.

Instead, he opens the driver’s side door, feeling like absolute scum as Eddie shuffles away, eyes wide as he presses himself as far away as possible as Steve climbs in.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, voice all wobbly.

Steve bends down to pick up the keys where Eddie had dropped them. He slides the key home and Eddie’s van tick tick ticks itself to life. When Eddie’s music blares, Steve reaches across to turn the dial down, ignoring Eddie’s flinch at his movement.

“Taking you home.”

Eddie’s van is bigger then he’s used to driving, the ride bumpier as he turns around and slides carefully past his own car, his keys probably still abandoned in the driver’s seat somewhere.

Hopefully it’ll still be there when he comes back for it.

*** 

“Did Chrissy put you up to this?” Eddie asks, voice small, small, small.

Harrington’s shoulders slump, clenched fingers loosening on the steering wheel. He sighs, long and loud, perfect hair rustling with the movement.

“Robin, actually,” he replies, lips tucked up into a facsimile of a smile.

Robin, Robin, Robin, does he know a Robin? His brain’s not working, too scrambled up inside. Eddie’s entire face aches as he scrunches it up in thought before cutting that shit out. No thinking for him until some of this heals. Still, he worries against the name, until, “Buckley?” comes out of his mouth.

Harrington smiles, warmer this time. “Yeah, she saw Carver following you.”

“And went to you?” Eddie asks, voice squeaking embarrassingly on the last word.

Harrington doesn’t answer, but his hands clench tight enough against the steering wheel that his knuckles turn white.

Eddie resolves himself to shutting the fuck up for the rest of the drive.

“How do you know where I live?”

“You’re…loud, dude,” Harrington says, pulling into Eddie’s empty driveway. Harrington’s right, he is loud. It still sounds like a lie. “Is your uncle home?”

Eddie squints, busted eye bursting with pain as he asks, “how do you know I live with my uncle?”

Harrington raises his eyebrow, clearly saying “you’re loud, dude,” again without even needing to open his mouth. Eddie kind of hates him for it.

“He’s on a fishing trip,” Eddie sighs.

Without another word, Harrington turns off the engine and slides out of the van, shutting the door gently behind himself. He rounds the front of the van and Eddie sits, stupefied in his seat as Harrington pulls open the passenger side door and holds his hand out like Eddie’s some swooning maiden. Feeling flustered and frustrated in turns, Eddie slaps his hand away and steps out of his van on his own two feet, slamming the door closed behind him.

Harrington doesn’t move out of the way as Eddie storms past, their shoulders banging into each other makes Eddie’s teeth rattle painfully in his bruised skull. He only remembers he doesn’t have his keys when he’s standing in front of his front door, hand empty.

He stares down at it, betrayed.

His house keys jingle in Harrington’s hand as he steps up beside him. Without even a by your leave, he inserts the key into the hole and twists, inexplicably choosing the right key on the first try. Is Steve Harrington a mind reader?

Harrington pushes the door open and holds it open for Eddie, as if it’s not his house they’re walking into.

“What the hell are you doing?” Eddie demands, standing on his own front porch like a loser as Harrington bends down and takes his sneakers off.

He lines them up neatly by the wall like he’s staying in The Ritz or something and doesn’t want to stain the dingy carpet.

“Taking my shoes off?”

“No!” Eddie wails, clutching handfuls of his hair, beyond frustration and into something that feels a lot like hysteria. “What are you doing here?”

Straightening up, Harrington stares down at Eddie where he’s still standing on his own porch. He looks incredulous, as if Eddie’s the one who’d saved him from getting killed by some jock, and Eddie’s the one who followed him home after like a lost puppy.

Like Eddie’s the one that doesn’t quite fit in the trailer park, and not Steve Harrington with his squeaky white shoes and ironed polo, and luscious hair, and skin that’s all sun-kissed even as summer’s barely a memory in a little girl’s eye.

“Your uncle’s not home.”

Eddie stares, gobsmacked. What the fuck are they putting in the water in Loch Nora, Jesus Christ! “So?!”

Harrington squints at him again, his aloof cool-guy shtick finally breaking to show the judgmental mean girl barely hidden beneath. “You’re totally concussed, dude,” Steve replies, a King handing down a decree to his loyal subjects. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t like, die.”

Eddie, never one to follow anyone’s decrees but his own, immediately starts bitching. “So, what? You’re playing home invader until someone comes to relieve you?”

He nods, smiling down at Eddie like he’s a puppy who finally learned not to piss on the carpet. Fed up with being a rung lower, Eddie takes that last step up onto the stoop and brushes past Harrington into his own goddamn house.

Harrington shuts and locks the door behind him.

Deciding that discretion is the better part of valor for the first time in his life, Eddie continues further into the trailer without turning around, not stopping until he’s got the bathroom door as a barrier between his vulnerable back and the latest interloper.

The light hurts his eyes as he flicks it on. His face hurts worse, and he can see why, now. One of his eyes is well on its way to swelling shut, a deep red bleeding into purples the farther out it goes. There’s blood beneath his nose, and it’s ballooning out making him look like some old lady’s prized pug. There’s a split going straight through his lip from Carver’s class ring.

He looks like an extra in a horror movie; the guy who’s about to make the sacrifice play because he’s not going to make it. And yeah, maybe there’s a little melodrama in the thought, but Eddie’s pretty sure he deserves it at this point.

God, what a day.

As punctuation to his own thoughts, someone knocks quietly on the door. Eddie’s ribs ache as his shoulders slump, head hanging damn-near into the dirty sink.

“Eddie?” There’s a moment of silence where Eddie’s response is supposed to be. He doesn’t heed it. “Can I come in?”

Eddie groans, loud enough that it’s gotta be audible through the tissue-paper door between them. “Why?” he says–whines pitifully, really.

“I want to check your injuries.”

Eddie, against his better judgment, cracks the door open wide enough to peer through. “What’s it to you, Dr. Harrington?” he asks, that same question wrapped up in a new package. Why are you here, why do you care, what do you want from me?

Harrington just smiles, and pushes at the door with just enough force that Eddie has no choice but to back up and let his unwanted guest in.

He takes Eddie’s face in his hands, rubbing gentle fingers against each wound, murmuring soothing placations. It works enough that Eddie stands still as Harrington sanitizes and bandages each of his wounds.

“You should ice them after this, okay?”

Eddie nods dumbly because Harrington’s moved on from painfully prodding his face to running his fingers through his hair, checking every inch of his skull for bumps and bruises.

“Does it hurt anywhere else?” he asks.

Eddie hums, relaxing against his will, body slumping into the cupboard behind him as those nimble fingers have their way with him.

“My ribs, maybe,” Eddie murmurs, eyes closing as Harrington’s fingernails scrape against his scalp before he withdraws his fingers.

His eyes snap back open a second later when those same fingers yank his shirt up without asking, warm palms chasing away the chill on his skin as they skirt over his ribcage, applying gentle pressure to whatever Harrington finds. Eddie shivers involuntarily as Harrington bends down, breath puffing against his stomach.

“Wh—what are you doing?” Eddie asks, stuttering over every other word.

He’s clenched up tight enough that his whole body aches with it—spine, jaw, wrists. But then Harrington looks up at him, usually impeccable hair softened by the day and flopping gently into his face. Eddie always assumed his eyes were brown, but they look sort of gold in the shitty fluorescent light of the bathroom.

He’s never been this close to Harrington before.

“Checking your ribs,” he replies, breath puffing against Eddie’s uncovered skin with every word. “Does that hurt?”

And then he just dismisses Eddie in favor of palpitating what must be a nasty bruise. Eddie whines, inexplicably, embarrassingly, before squeaking out a tiny, “no,” when Harrington looks back up at him with his big, worried, puppy-dog eyes.

Eddie’s own words to Carver make a reappearance, flashing red in neon lights inside his empty skull—I bet you’d love him on his knees. He’s on them now, between Eddie’s spread thighs, looking at Eddie’s body with an intensity that’s skinning him alive.

His skull’s not empty now; it’s bursting with half-formed thoughts, and panicked wheezing he hopes is just internal, and through it all, the words run rampant—on his knees, on his knees, on his knees.

Steve Harrington stands up, takes a step back, and smiles at Eddie. “I think they’re just bruised,” he says, seeming not to notice Eddie’s ragged breathing. “We should ice them, too.”

And then he just…walks out of the bathroom like Eddie’s not full to bursting with thoughts and feelings he doesn’t understand. Like it wasn’t Harrington that had dropped them at his feet—on his knees.

*** 

Steve sticks his head into Eddie’s freezer and resists the urge to scream. It’s just—Eddie had been blushing when Steve had looked up from checking his ribs for cracks. Steve’s never seen him blush before, and it’s seared into his brain (the way it’d started from his ears and meandered across his cheeks before slowly spreading its splotchy hue down his neck).

For a second, it was almost like Eddie didn’t hate him.

Steve suppresses the thought. Boys shouldn’t have crushes on straight boys who hate their guts, and letting even the tiniest flutter of hope touch his heart would be stupider still. There’s his silly little notes, and there’s his pining little glances.

He doesn’t need anything else.

“Are…you okay?” Eddie’s hesitant voice comes from behind him.

Abruptly remembering his position, Steve pulls his head out of the freezer and grabs the first bag he sees: a half-full package of frozen peas. He turns to Eddie with the best smile he can manage, holding them up as explanation for the unasked What the hell are you doing? hidden beneath the bemused smile on Eddie’s lips.

“Just finding you some ice, dude,” Steve replies breezily, walking over to drop the bag into Eddie’s hand.

“Uh, thanks?” he replies, walking past Steve to close the freezer he’d left open. Steve winces. “You can like, go now.”

It’s a demand hidden beneath a polite question. Steve’s feet start moving toward the door before he remembers the lump he’d felt on the back of Eddie’s head, and the way his eyes had gone all glassy and dazed in the bathroom as Steve had patched him up.

“Unless you want to call someone else, you’re stuck with me until your uncle gets here.” Eddie opens his mouth to protest, but Steve holds up his hands palm out, forestalling his complaints. “Possible concussion, dude.”

Eddie whines, actually stamping his foot squeakily against the linoleum of the kitchen floor. Steve smiles, helplessly endeared, and hates himself for it.

“Why is it your problem if I nod off in my sleep, you don’t even like me.”

The warm feelings flee like they’d never been there at all.

Steve turns his back on Eddie’s petulant frown and stomping feet, unwilling to look him in the eye as the emotions crash through him. Just for a second, he lets his face drop.

“I like you, just fine,” Steve replies, ignoring the little scoff from Eddie in reply.

The trailer’s small and crowded with things on damn-near every surface, but it’s cozy. Steve’s imagined this moment—getting through the Munson’s front door and finally seeing what’s inside. It’s warm, a hot cup of tea, a blanket on a cold night, somewhere to feel safe in.

All Steve feels is cold.

Instead of answering Eddie’s scoff, Steve lets his own little tantrum stomps lead him over to the ratty couch. He sinks down, crossing his legs as he leans back into the cushions, and finally, finally looks at Eddie. He’s still pouting, bottom lip having split open against the pressure of his frown. Steve raises a pointed eyebrow before turning back around to stare at the black of the TV screen.

Eddie groans again, and it takes all his willpower not to turn around, not to let his shoulders curl in as he hears footsteps coming closer. But, all Eddie does is settle onto the other side of the couch and grab the remote.

It’s going to be a long night. 

PART 13

[xgryffinwhore]

Study break

Summary: Johnny and his girlfriend take a break form studying to go out to eat, but it turns into something else.

Warnings: Smut, swearing, angst, mentions of violence

Word Count: 7.8k

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow through the windows of Johnny step dad, Sid’s house, lighting up the group scattered across the living room. Textbooks, notebooks, and snack wrappers were spread out around them as they attempted to cram for the upcoming biology exam. The focus had been strong at first, but as the minutes wore on, everyone’s attention started to wane.

Johnny Lawrence sat on the floor beside her, a biology textbook open in his lap, though he barely glanced at it. Every few moments, his gaze drifted to her, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. They had been dating for a few months now, but he still looked at her as if he couldn’t quite believe his luck.

Her friend groaned from the couch, tossing her pen aside in frustration. “Alright, seriously, does anyone understand photosynthesis?” she asked, looking around the room for help.

Johnny rolled his eyes, nudging her knee with his. “I don’t get why plants have to be so complicated,” he said with a grin, leaning closer to her as his voice softened. “You’re the smart one here—think you could explain it to me, or is my brain a lost cause?”

He slipped his hand over hers, his thumb tracing light circles against her skin. “Or,” he added in a low, conspiratorial tone, “maybe we could ditch this study session, sneak out, and grab a burger. My treat.”

He looked at her, his blue eyes full of mischief and warmth, that familiar boyish charm in his smile. It was clear that, even surrounded by friends and endless biology notes, he only had eyes for her

She blushed at his offer, it definitely wasn't rational, they're biology exam was at the end of the week. But she could hardly resist his lopsided smile, he really used his charasma to his advantage.

 "That doesn't sound terrible right now" she said quietly. 

He squeezed her hand gently, his thumb continuing to trace lazy circles on her skin as he leaned in closer, his voice a low whisper that only she could hear. “You sure?” he teased, already feeling the excitement building between them. “You *never* skip studying.”

She knows he's right, she's a little *too* academically responsible. Johnny awoke something in here that made her want to live on the edge, even if the edge was the diner. She whispered back to him, "I think I can make an exception."

“You won’t regret it,” he responded, giving her hand one last gentle squeeze before pulling back. He looked up to the group on the couch, clearing his throat loudly to draw their attention. “Hey, we’re gonna head out for a bit.”

Jimmy looked up from his notes, smirking at the couple "You sure you don't want to stick around for cell functions?" he teased. 

Johnny shot him a mocking glance, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, no thanks,” he said, making a show of closing his textbook. “If I have to hear the word *mitochondria* one more time, my brain might actually explode.”

They make their way out to Johnny's firebird, he opens the door for her as she gets in. The loud roar of his engine booming through the neighborhood. "So where are you thinking? The diner?" she asks. 

"You know me too well," he replied, jamming the keys into the ignition and revving the engine enthusiastically. "Dinner it is."

He pulled out of the driveway and into the street, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline as the car picked up speed. The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the neighborhood, but he barely noticed it—his focus was firmly on the road ahead and the girl beside him.

As they pulled up to the diner, Johnny got out and opened the door for her. He held the small of her back as they walked toward the restaurant, she lingered on his touch. They slide into the booth, the vinyl seats creaking softly beneath their weight. Johnny reached across the table and took her hand in his, a warm smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

He had been itching to get some alone time with her all day, and now that they were finally out and away from their friends, he wasn't going to waste a single moment.

"I swear," he said, his thumb tracing small circles over the back of her hand, "I was losing my mind back there. I can only study biology for so long before I feel my brain cells start dying."

She laughed at his phrase, his little dumb blonde moments rising to meet the surface. "Isn't learning like- the opposite of your brain cells dying? They make new connections when you study, you know that right?" She chuckles at him, looking over the menu.

Johnny chuckled along with her, squeezing her hand gently. "Yeah, yeah," he said with a mock eye roll. "I know, I know. Learning is good for your brain or whatever. But you gotta admit, there's a limit to how much biology a guy can take in one day."

He leaned back against the booth, a mischievous smirk on his lips. "Besides, we both know I'm much better at other things than studying."

"Johnny, shut up" She jokes, a blush spreading across her face. She sets down the menu after she's made her decision. The waiter comes over to take food orders.

Johnny chuckled again at her blush, pride swelling within him as he saw the way her cheeks tinted pink. He was the only one who could make her flustered so easily, and he loved it.

As the waiter approached and he gave his order, he made sure to keep his hand in hers, their fingers intertwined on top of the table. Once the waiter left, he leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with affection as he looked at her. "You're cute when you blush, you know that?"

She darts her tongue out at him playfully, too shy to say much else. She'd always been that way, promiscuous topics making her sheepish. She loved how different they were from each other, it made their chemistry more roused.  

He could practically see the shyness radiating off of her, and he knew exactly how to push her buttons to make her more flustered.

With a devilish sparkle in his eyes, he leaned forward even further, closing the distance between them. "You know," he said in a low, teasing tone, "there are plenty of other things I'd like to see that tongue do instead of just sticking it at me."

She gave his hand a warning squeeze, she loathed how he loved to toy with her in public. "We're in a restaurant you know, people all around us" she cautioned him. 

Johnny continued to lean closer. "So?" he teased, his voice still low and suggestive. "We're in a booth in the back—they're not paying attention to us."

His gaze flicked around the room, taking in the other diners. Sure enough, they were either absorbed in their own conversations or focused on their food. He turned his attention back to her, a cocky smirk on his lips. "Nobody's gonna care if I flirt with my girlfriend."

"You're trying to kill me" she giggles, he had always been so direct. That's another reason she loved Johnny, he was bold. 

His thumb traced over her lips, his touch light but deliberate. "You know I can't help it," he murmured, his voice still holding that edge of mischief. "You're just so damn cute when you're blushing. I gotta have my fun."

The love they shared was so pure, well for most of it, she couldn't help but give him a crooked smile back. "Anyway" She says, hoping to get the heat off of herself "We still have lots of studying to do, so we better make this quick."

Johnny gave her cheek a final, affectionate caress before reluctantly pulling his hand away, a small pout on his lips. "Alright, fine," he conceded, feigning a sigh of acceptance. "I guess I can behave myself for a while."

He leaned back in his seat, unraveling his silverware with impatience. "Let's hope the food comes quickly, though. I don’t know how much longer I can keep my hands off you."

The food comes out a few moments later, it looks utterly delicious. Something about greasy diner food always makes you want to come back for more. She takes a bite of her fries and closes her eyes entranced with the salty relief. "Thank god, i'm starving" she sighed.

He picked up his burger and took a large bite, relishing the greasy, meaty taste. "Same here," he mumbled through a mouthful of food, his words muffled. "I was starving for more than just food, but this works too."

She rolled her eyes, he never stops. 

Johnny chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief as she caught onto his double entendre. "What? I can't help it," he said, his voice laced with innocence. He took another bite of his burger, grinning. "You make me hungry, and not just for food."

Her faulter fake annoyance. They continue to eat, clearing their plates and sitting back completely full. "I'll be right back, I'm gonna use the bathroom before we leave, okay?" She stands up, walking to the restroom. 

Johnny watches as she gets up from the booth and heads towards the restroom. He nods in acknowledgment, his eyes following her path until she disappears behind the door. He stretches his arms above his head, the diner food sitting comfortably in his stomach as he waits for her to return.

As she finishes using the bathroom and comes out, the waiter stops her outside of the bathroom entrance. He looked around their age, probably went to North Valley. "So, what a guy like me gotta do to get your number?" he asks, a menacing smile forming across his lips. 

His question hit her like a ton of bricks, surprising her. Normally no one dared to approach her like this, but here he was. 

"Oh," she said, her voice soft as she paused for a moment. "I'm sorry, I’m actually see—" 

The words caught in her throat as his smile turned menacing, a shiver running down her spine.

"Already have a boyfriend," she finished weakly, her eyes darting around the diner. Johnny was still sitting in the booth, happily oblivious to the interaction by the bathroom.

He nodded, seeming unphased by that information. She went to sit back down, fumbling with her hands nervously, Johnny can't know, if he does, he'll flip. She collected herself and sat down, smiling sweetly at her boyfriend.

Johnny looked up as she slid back into the booth across from him, a small smile on his face. Her smile seemed forced, and her hands were fidgeting nervously in her lap.

His smile faded slightly, replaced with a hint of concern. "You okay?" he asked, his voice soft and laced with worry.

She wouldn't let him know, he'd probably damn near kill the guy. He had a real bad temper, the type that he took out in karate, or it got him in trouble. "Yeah baby, everything's alright" she chirped. 

A few moments later, the waiter came by with the check, and a side of a sly smile. "Here's the bill, oh and if you change your mind" he leans in a little closer to her "My numbers on the back of the receipt." He winks, walking away. Her eyes bolt to Johnnys, she's praying he doesn't snap, not here, not now.

She gulps, this can not be good. "Johnny wait, I can explain"

Johnny's eyes darkened as he scanned the back of the receipt, finding the waiter's number scribbled on there. He slammed the check down on the table with a thud, his jaw clenching.

"Explain what?" he said through gritted teeth. "Why some guy is handing you his number and winking to you?"

Johnny sat up straighter in his seat, his body tense and coiled. He knew she'd told the guy she had a boyfriend. He trusted her. But the sight of the waiter's number and that damned wink... It unleashed something primal within him. 

"I told him I have a boyfriend!" she defended. But she knows Johnny, she's seen him beat guys to a pulp for much less.

"I know you did," he said through clenched teeth. "But that didn't stop him, did it? And you didn't tell me about it either."

"It just happened, I didn't want you to be upset Johnny" she reaches over and rubs his knuckle, its white from his grip on the table. She can tell he's trying hard to hold back.

Her touch on his knuckle was soothing, but it was like trying to cool down a raging wildfire with a squirt gun. His grip on the table loosen slightly, but his anger still simmered just below the surface. 

"I'm already upset," he muttered, his voice low and tight. "But not at you." 

He looked down at the check again, that number mocking him like a taunt.

"Just please don't do anything irrational" She begged, she knew he was beyond saving but she hoped her words would somehow get through to him. 

Her pleading words fell on deaf ears, her attempt to calm him only fueling the storm within him. The fire in his eyes flared as he clenched his fists, the rage coursing through his veins. 

"Don't do anything irrational?" he repeated, his voice barely containing the dangerous edge. "That ship already sailed, doll." 

He rose from his seat abruptly, his body tense like a spring coiled tight.

"Johnny!" she pleads, people from other tables turning their heads to watch the comotion. She can't believe that this is happening again, his hot head making him do things that he couldn't take back.

He zeroed in on the waiter as he moved across the diner, his jaw clenched tight. He could see the waiter's cocky grin from here, a target for all his pent-up frustration and anger.

"Hey, punk" he spat.

The waiter looked up, startled as Johnny approached him with menacing steps. He swallowed, a flash of fear crossing his eyes. 

"Y-yeah?" he replied nervously, his bravado vanishing under Johnny's intense gaze.

"You got a lot of nerve, handin' my girl your number like that." 

Johnny's voice was cold, his eyes narrowing as he loomed over the waiter, practically daring him to speak.

The waiter seemed to shrink under Johnny's glare, all his earlier confidence gone. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. 

Johnny continued, his voice like a razor's edge. "You thought she would be interested in you, huh? Thought you had a shot?"

The waiter found his voice again, although it trembled slightly under the weight of Johnny's anger. 

"I-I didn't think—"

But Johnny cut him off with a sharp gesture. "You didn't think, period, dumbass."

The other diners in the diner grew quiet, the usually bustling atmosphere now replaced with an eerie silence as they watched the confrontation unfold. 

Johnny leaned in closer to the waiter, his tone dropping into a menacing whisper. "You ever try that again, you'll look at her again, and you'll be picking your teeth up off the floor. Got it?"

She couldn't handle watching this anymore, she prayed for the waiter's sake that he didn't talk back. She rushed outside, her heart rate picking up, hoping he was only a few steps behind her and not a few inches into this guy's face.

Johnny's gaze remained locked on the waiter for a moment longer, the threat hanging heavy in the air. It took every ounce of restraint to stop himself from acting on his anger right there. 

Finally, he turned away from the waiter, his eyes scanning the tables for her. He saw her slip outside, and he pushed through the exit after her, the door slamming shut behind him.

"Why'd you run off like that?" he demanded, his voice gruff.

"Dammit Johnny" she cursed, turning around at him with rage. "Do you always have to cause a scene like that?"

"Hey, watch the tone." 

Johnny bristled at her anger, his irritation rising in response. "That jack-ass needed to be taught a lesson. I was just making sure he wouldn’t bother you ever again."

She shakes her head with bitterness, a resentful smirk on her lips "Well it's not like we can ever go back there again, after the shit you just pulled."

He took a step closer to her, his expression dark. "What about that guy giving you his number? You weren't worried about that?"

"It's not like I was going to take it Johnny, Jesus," she huffs, storming to his car.

Johnny followed her to his car, his anger notching up a level with her tone. He stalked after her, his steps fast and purposeful. 

"I know you wouldn't take it," he said, his voice tight. "But it's the fact that he thought he had a chance that pisses me off."

She opens the passenger door, aggravated with his stubbornness. "Well we both know he didn't, and that should be all that matters" she says quietly, stepping into his car.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He knew he hadn't handled the situation the best he could, but the idea of her dealing with another guy hitting on her made his blood boil.

He got into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut. "Yeah, I know that," he muttered begrudgingly.

She crossed her arms, facing the window. She loved him, she really did, but it was so hard with him always getting into these altercations. His temper always got the better of him.

Johnny started the car, the engine roaring to life. The tension between them was palpable, a suffocating silence taking over. 

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, the veins in his arms standing out as he drove. He glances over at her, her body turned away from him, her arms crossed defensively. 

"You're pissed at me," he stated, his voice low.

Her gaze stayed out the window, she knew if she looked at him she would soften. That's how it was, he did something dumb, she looked at him for too long, and all of her defenses came crashing down. "Yeah, I am."

Johnny clenched his jaw, her words like a punch to his gut. Her unwillingness to look at him only added insult to injury.

He let out a heavy sigh, his anger mixing with guilt. "I just... I can't stand seeing other guys looking at you like that. It drives me nuts."

His words made her weak in the knees, she secretly loves it when he gets all jealous, when he wants to be the only boy in her world. She finds her voice "Lots of things to do."

His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he tried to keep his emotions in check. "Don't start," he warned, his voice a low rumble.

"*I* did not start anything Johnny" she said his name like it was a cuss. 

His jaw clenched tight, the way she said his name making him want to simultaneously strangle her and kiss her senseless. 

He kept his gaze focused on the road, the car's engine rumbling as he pressed down on the gas pedal a little harder than necessary. 

"You're pushing it, doll," he ground out, his voice tight.

A scorn breath leaves her lips, she doesn't know how she's going to go back and study when he's acting erratic like this. Like he always does.

He pulls off the road, they can't go back in this state.

"Just... can you just—" he cut himself off, swallowing his words. He took a deep breath, his jaw clenching again. "Just stop for a minute, and look at me."

She slowly turned to meet his gaze, still keeping her distance as her arms stayed glued on top of each other.

His eyes lock on hers, his chest tightening at the sight of her. Every fiber in his being is screaming to reach out and pull her closer, but her arms crossed and the look in her eyes are keeping him at bay. 

He runs a hand through his hair, his voice tight. "I just... I can't stand the thought of another guy looking at you the way I do, okay?"

"I know, Johnny" She sighs softly, the wall she built slowly falling over. Damn him for those gorgeous eyes.

She reaches out and rubs his shoulder, trying to offer some foundation for his feelings. Sure, he was a little crazy, but it all came from a good place.

He lets out a low growl, his body twitching involuntarily under her touch. "You're not helping," he mutters, his voice hoarse.

She flinches back her hand, not willing to be a victim of his crossfire "Sorry.." 

"No, you don't —" he says, cutting himself off. He takes a hand through his hair, frustration and desire warring in his chest. "No, don't apologize. Just... come here."

She unbuckles, sliding across the connected seat (the 80s, right?) to sit on his lap. She straddles either side of his legs, stroking his blonde locks to put some ease to the fire that burned within Johnny.

His breath hitches as she settles on his lap, the weight of her body on his making desire flare through him like a bolt of lightning. 

He lets out a low, approving hum when she starts to touch his hair, his tense muscles loosening almost immediately. He lets his hands come to rest on her hips, his fingers clenching against the fabric of her skirt.

As he starts to relax under her touch, she admires the way his features soften. Only then, does she really start to see the power she holds over him. He might act like he is in the driver's seat, but she knows now she's the one pressing the gas. 

She lines his features lightly with one hand, and caresses his hair with the other.

Every touch from her is like a match to his already burning desire. He lets out a soft, almost pained groan as she explores his features with her gentle hands. He feels like he’s falling apart beneath her touch in the best kind of way. 

He leans into her grasp, his eyes fluttering shut as her fingers glide through his hair. He tightens his grip on her hips, pulling her a little closer on his lap.

"Feeling a little more calm now?" she quizzes, lining his jaw with her index finger. 

He nods slightly, his body responding to her touch like it always does. He lets out a shaky breath as she continues to caress his face. 

"Yeah, doll," he mutters, his voice thick with desire. "You're pretty damn good at calming me down, I'll give you that."

She chuckles at his attitude. "Well, good" she whispers as she kisses him on the cheek.

He tilts his head to capture her mouth in a hot, desperate kiss. 

His hands slide up from her hips, up her sides and around to her back to pull her closer still, the need for her building to the point of aching.

Her hands moved to his shoulders as she deepened the kiss, a kiss they both needed after all of that. 

He groans into the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips, seeking entrance. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her tight against his chest. 

He nips at her bottom lip, his hands moving lower to grip her hips again, his fingers digging, almost possessively.

She breaks the kiss, "We have to get back to the study group" she says breathlessly, her lips plump from assault. 

"Study group can wait," he mutters. He leans down to press a kiss to the hollow of her throat, his lips and tongue working against her skin.

She gasps at the contact, his lips felt sinful going down the thin skin of her neck. It was insane how easily he made her forget about everything else with just his tongue.

His lips roam down her neck, nipping, kissing and sucking as they go, marking her flesh with his mouth. 

His hands slide up her body just enough to slide under her shirt, his fingers tracing the warm expanse of her bare skin.

A gasp escaped her lips as she felt his fingers travel, her hips rock involuntarily against him. He knew how to get her all hot and bothered, her thoughts of him and only him.

He lets out a low groan at the feeling of her hips rocking against him, the friction driving him wild. He nips at the sensitive spot under her ear, his teeth grazing against her skin. 

His hands continue to roam her body, his touch almost reverent as they caress her soft flesh. He wishes that guy from the diner were here to see this, to show him that she belonged to Johnny, and never anyone else.

She leans back, providing him with more access as her eyes screweed shut in gratification. Her skirt rides up as she presses herself against the steering wheel.

He takes full advantage of the new space, his mouth moving lower, nipping and sucking at her collarbone and the sensitive spot at her neck. His hands slide back down her body to the hem of her skirt, his fingers dipping underneath to run along the smooth skin of her thighs.

Her body quakes at his touch, her thighs begging for him, needing him. She parts her legs even further, completely driven by desire. She can't fully grasp the effect he has on her, but she knows it's more than anyone else ever could or will.

His fingers trace the edge of her panties, teasing, taunting. “Mmm, you want something, doll?” he murmurs against her skin, his voice low and dangerous.

Her head nods feverishly as she pulls her skirt up so it sits around her waist. She's desperate for some relief.

His breath hitches at the sight of her skirt around her waist, her hips rocking against him again. He swears under his breath, his own need for her building to almost painful heights. 

He moves one hand from her thigh, bringing it up to her stomach. He dips his fingers under the edge of her panties, his touch light as he teases her aching flesh. “You’re begging for it aren’t you, doll?” he purrs against her ear.

Her body trembles, he is really teasing her today, but she can't put up a fight. "Johnny please" she whimpers, desperation lacing her voice.

His chest tightens at the sound of her whimper, her begging him almost undoing him. He can’t resist her, not when she’s like this. 

He moves his fingers lower, seeking the spot he knows will make her fall apart. “You want me to make you feel good, doll?” he whispers, his breath hot against her skin.

"More than anything, Johnny" she pleads, the tension building in her increasing rapidly. 

He lets out a low growl, her pleading making something primal flare up within him. He slips his fingers further down, finding the sweet spot that he knew would drive her wild. 

His long fingers plunging in and out of her heat, his movements slow and deliberate, wanting to draw out her pleasure as long as he can. “You’re so sensitive, doll,” he murmurs in her ear.

She lets out a soft moan, it overpowers the sound of the thunderbirds engine. His words work to undo her almost as good as his fingers are.

His fingers move a little harder, a little faster. “You sound so good, doll,” he whispers, his voice low and rough. “I could listen to those little sounds you make all damn day.”

"Please dont stop.. dont stop talking" she groans, lost in her own pleasure. Normally, she would have a fit doing this on the side of the road, but with him hitting that spot right against her walls, she didn't really give a damn.

He can’t help but let out a low chuckle at her plea, the sound of her begging him music to his ears. He has her at his mercy, and we're enjoying every second of it. 

"You like my voice, doll?" Johnny murmurs against her ear, his mouth brushing her skin. "You like it when I talk to you like this?" 

His fingers maintain their pace, keeping her on the edge, his thumb adding just a hint of extra pressure.

"God yes, Johnny" she moans like a prayer. His fingers driving her to the brink, but she's aching for more of him. Every inch of him.

He slows his pace just slightly, his fingers swirling and flicking against her sensitive flesh. "You want more dolls?" Johnny murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "You want more of me?"

"Yes" she accords, her hands flying to release him from his jeans. Her  small hands unzip his pants, shaking from the pleasure only Johnny can provide.

The feeling of her small hands on him, freeing him from his jeans makes him groan low in throat. Her skin against his is like fire, his body responding to her touch with a fierce intensity. 

He moves his fingers back down, his calloused touch teasing her in slow, steady circles. He wants her, wants to be inside her, but he won't give in yet. "Is this what you want, doll?" Johnny's voice is rough and heavy. 

"Please, oh my god, please" she begs, pulling him out of his briefs. Her eyes gush as she sees how aroused he is from pleasing her. 

Seeing her gaze on him, her eyes wide and her lips parted just so, drives him wild. He's ready to throw her in the backseat and take her right there, but he holds back just long enough to take in the sight of her. 

He moans at her words, her begging almost sending him over the edge. He groans her name, his voice thick with desire. "You want me, doll," Johnny purrs. "You need me, don't you?"

She begins to stroke him, trying to halt his teasing. "I need you, now."

He groans at her hands, pleasing him, his desire overcoming his arrogance. 

Her words and her touch have the desired effect, her hands driving him wild. He can't hold back anymore, he needs her too badly. 

He lets out a low growl, his body tight with need. Johnny grabs her hips and lifts her up, moving her to a more comfortable position straddling his lap. "Tell me you're mine," he mutters, his voice hot and possessive.

She sinks down on him, taking in a harsh breath as she feels her brain go fuzzy from the pressure. "I'm yours Johnny" she gasps, taking him fully.

The feeling of her around him makes him groan, the sensation overwhelming. He grips her hips tightly, anchoring her in place as he takes a moment to regain some composure. 

He looks up at her, his eyes dark with desire. "Mine," he growls, repeating the word like a declaration. He snaps his hips into her, a scream shoots from her lips. 

The feeling of him coming and going with each bounce of her hips, she can barely take him.

Johnny can feel himself getting closer with each buck of her hips, her body like a vice around him. "You're mine," he mutters, the words rough against her skin. "You belong to me, don't you?”

"I belong to you, Johnny" she cries, her core tightening as she gets close to her demise. The feeling of him that she never gets used to, that she craves and needs, it's the same every time. Always so good.

He loves hearing her say it, the fact that she belongs to him sears through his brain like a branding iron. He takes possession of her mouth, his tongue claiming hers in a hot and desperate kiss. 

He can feel himself getting closer, his body on the edge of release. "You're so good," he growls against her mouth, his voice ragged. "So goddamn good."

She returns the kiss 10 fold, a sloppy, sexy, erotic lock of lips. She rides Johnny faster, trying to bring him to where she's about to be. "Johnny.. I'm gonna.."

He moans into the kiss, his body responding to her movements with an intensity he can hardly control. Johnny can feel his own release building, his body thrumming like a live wire. 

He nips at her bottom lip, his own breath coming in ragged gasps. "Come for me, doll," he mutters against her mouth, his thumb moving to her clit to make her combust.

She lets out a shriek, Johnny's name, and curses falling from her lips as she rides out her high, her body feels like it's on fire. The waves of ecstacy travel from her head to her toes.

Johnny's wild beneath her, the feeling of her convulsing and wrapping around him pushes him to the edge. Her body against his is like a flame, his mind a dizzy mix of pleasure and desire. Johnny grips her hips tightly, his hands almost digging into her skin as he helps guide her movements. "Doll, I can't last.." he mutters, his voice rough and uneven. 

Her breath ragged, still coming down from her high, but still riding him like there's no tomorrow. "Come Johnny, just come in me.." she whimpers.

 He's hanging on by a thread, his muscles tense and straining. "You want it, doll? You want me to fill you up?"

"Fill me up baby, fill me with your come" she begs, eager to please him just as he did her.

The sound of her begging pushes him over the edge, his brain exploding like a grenade, his body erupting with pleasure. Johnny tightens his grip on her hips as he releases thick ropes to come deep within her. He's lost in the feeling of his release, Johnny's body bucking and shuddering beneath her. He comes buried deep inside her, her name coming from his lips. "Fuck," he gasps out. 

He's breathing hard, his body spent and sated, his mind still spinning with pleasure. He holds her tightly to him, burying his face in her neck, his breath hot and rasping against her skin.

She holds Johnny close, feeling his liquid drip out of her and back onto him. She breathes deeply in bliss.

The sticky mess between them is a reminder of what they just shared. He runs his hand down her back, his touch gentle and affectionate.

"Fuck, doll.." Johnny breathes. "You're gonna kill me one day, y'know that?"

"Let's hope not" she giggles, holding his sandy hair and taking in the scent. 

"I'm a serious doll," he mutters, his voice muffled against her skin. "One of these days, you're gonna finish me off for good."

She giggles at his dramatics, another thing she loved about him. They relished in the moment for a few minutes, catching their breath. She slowly got off of him, fixing her shirt and skirt, trying to appear as if they weren't doing what they were just doing.  

He tucks himself back into his jeans, zipping them up. He leans back against the seat, Johnny's eyes roaming over her body, still taking in the sight of her.

"We should probably head back," he reasons. "They're gonna start wondering where we are."

She grimaces about having to go back and study "Yeah, we've been gone for too long.. hopefully they won't give us shit for it" she laughs, knowing fully well their friends will.

Johnny chuckles slowly, knowing full well that they're gonna get teased for being gone so long.

"I'd be surprised if they didn't give us hell for it," he mutters, a slight grin on his lips. "Especially Dutch."

Her eyes roll, knowing he is right "Well," she huffs "better face the lions sooner than later."

Johnny lets out a long sigh, his body still a little sluggish from their activities. He knows she's right, but he's in no hurry to go back to studying.

"Fine," he grumbles, his hand still on her knee. "But just so you know, I'm gonna be thinking about this all throughout the study group."

She smirks as he begins to drive off.

As he pulls back onto the road, he can't help but steal a few glances over at her. The memory of what they just did is still fresh in his mind. He can't focus on anything else, his body still humming with leftover pleasure.

They pull up back to Johnny's step fathers house, reluctantly getting out and going back inside.

Johnny leads the way inside, his hand on the small of her back. As soon as they enter, they're met with the rest of the group, all of them throwing teasing looks and quipping their way.

"Well, look who decided to join us," Dutch quips, his eyebrows raised knowingly.

"Yeah, how was your food?" Her friend questions them, fully knowing.

Johnny rolls his eyes, a slight smirk on his lips. He knows they all know what they were up to, and he doesn't really care. 

"Food was delicious," he replies, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "But we got hungry after, so we had some dessert." He lets his eyes slide over to her, a subtle reminder of what he's referring to.

Her face turned bright red, his audacity was applaudable. The whole group gives knowing giggles and glances. "Subtle Johnny, real subtle" she groans, sitting back down.

Johnny grins widely, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He knows he's being blatantly obvious, and he doesn't care. He's not ashamed of what they just did, and he definitely doesn't mind rubbing it in the rest of the group's faces.

"What can I say? I'm a subtle guy," he quips, his smirk still in place. "You know me doll."

Dutch chuckles at Johnny's attitude, shaking his head. "Yeah, as subtle as a brick to the head," he remarks. "You're lucky we didn't go over much while you two where on your *break*."

Johnny's smirk only widens at Dutch's jab. "Yeah, I'm sure we would've been heartbroken if we missed some of your valuable input, Dutch." His tone is playful, but there's an edge of snark to it.

"Hey, my input is very valuable," Dutch protests. "I'm full of wisdom."  

Johnny snorts. "Yeah, that's one word for it. 'Full of it' is more like it."

She laughs at the group's banter back in full swing, like they never left. She picks up her notebook, beginning to look over her notes again. "Okay guys, so where did you make it to?"

The rest of the group quiets down, shifting back into "study mode." They continue discussing the notes and materials, delving into the subject.

Johnny does his best to focus, but his mind has other ideas. He can't help but glance over at her, his eyes straying to her lips, remembering the way she tasted. His mind wanders, his thoughts far from academics.

She glances over at him, seeing that dark look in his eyes. "Focus Johnny, you had a break, it's time to get back to studying" she says with a mix of stern and playfulness. 

"Yeah, yeah, Doll," he grumbles, "I'm focused." But his eyes are still roaming over her, the memories from their little "break" still fresh in his mind.

She shakes her head at him, flipping to her notes on mitosis and meiosis. 

Johnny tries his best to concentrate on the notes in front of him, but his thoughts keep drifting back to her. The way she looked, the way she sounded, the way she felt. He can't help but steal glances at her, his eyes always straying to her lips, his mind wandering down dirty paths.

He shifts in his seat, trying to discreetly adjust himself in his jeans. He's only half paying attention to the material now, his focus split between studying and fantasizing about her.

"What comes first again?" she asks the group "Interphase or Prophase?" She bites the tip of her eraser. 

Jimmy answers; "Interphase. The phase where the cell grows and copies the DNA or something."

The rest of the group nods in agreement, but Johnny's too preoccupied to respond. His eyes are glued to her, watching her bite her eraser. He can't help but imagine that it's his finger instead... His mind starts to wander again, his thoughts becoming dirtier by the second.

She looks over at him, noticing his eyes on her, she quirks her brow at him. 'What?' she mouths to Johnny discreetly.

He quickly glances around at the rest of the group, making sure no one else noticed.

He gives her a little smile, his eyes still dark with lingering desire. He mouths back at her, 'You're distracting.'

'How?' she mouths again at him.

Johnny lets out a small huff of breath, his eyes raking over her. 'You know how.' he mouths back.

He shifts again in his seat, trying to subtly adjust himself in his jeans again. The sight of her is driving him crazy, and he's finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

She looks down at him fixing himself, a familiar burn comes back to haunt her.  She scans the room to make sure no one is seeing this. 'I'm not doing anything' she mouths.

Johnny watches her eyes glance at his lap, her expression shifting at the sight of him adjusting. He can see the same heat in her eyes that he feels. 

He mouths back to her, 'You're biting that damn eraser.'

His gaze is intense, full of desire and a hint of frustration. He nods to the eraser she was chewing on.

She looks down at it, 'So?' she mouths to Johnny.

He mouths back, 'It's distracting me.'

'Look away' she mouths back, sort of enjoying the secret banter.

He looks back at her, the corner of his lips rising in a sly smirk. 'I can't.' he mouths back. 

She softly bites the tip of the eraser, looking at him, pressing his buttons.

Johnny bites his lip, leaning back on the couch, his legs spreading open slightly, a subtle invitation.

'Not fair' she mouths and shakes her head.

'You started it,' he mouths, his smirk still in place.

He looks around again, but no one else seems to be paying attention. He lets his eyes linger on her for a few more moments, his gaze dark with desire. He shifts once again, the bulge in his jeans more obvious this time.

Her eyes darted down to his growing member. 'Stop. It. Now.' she mouths, her throat feeling dry.

Johnny's smirk widens, noticing the effects of his body on her. 'Why should I?' he mouths back, his eyes holding a mischievous gleam.

He lets his legs spread even further apart, his hand resting on his lap casually. He glances down at himself, and then looks back up at her, a silent challenge in his eyes.

She bites the eraser harder, trying to keep control and composure. 'Johnny. No.' she mouths.

Seeing her mouth 'no' only makes him want her more. He shifts again, the pressure in his jeans getting to be almost unbearable.

He mouths back, 'Why not?' 

He gives her a sidelong glance, a hint of defiance in his eyes.

'Study' she shoots him a warning glare, her eyes wandering to his lap once again.

He mouths back, 'Can't concentrate.'

He leans back in his seat, his legs spreading a little further apart. It's like he's daring her to look again.

She cant help but look, dammit it was right in front of her, tempting her, in front of everyone. She looked around to make sure they were still in the clear. 'Stop' she mouths, her eyes trying hard to look anywhere but his jeans.

He mouths back at her, 'Nah.'

Johnny lets his hand slide over his lap, his thumb pressing down against the hard bulge in his jeans. Just a casual move, but enough to send a message.

Two can play at this game. she leans back her notebook not so accidently, catching on her skirt as it rides up her thigh. 

Johnny's eyes immediately snap down to her skirt, the fabric riding up and exposing more of her skin. He lets out a low growl under his breath, his fingers digging into the couch.

He looks up at her, his eyes dark with lust. He mouths, 'That's cheating.'

'I'm not doing anything,' she mouths, feigning innocence as she notes to bring the notebook closer, her skirt coming with it. It's dangerously close to her upper thigh. 

Johnny's eyes are glued to her skirt, watching as it creeps higher and higher up her thigh. He clenches his jaw, his body tense with desire. 

He mouths back at her, 'Bullshit.' 

He shifts forward a little in his seat, getting a better view of her bare skin.

She decides to push him further, knowing he can't do a damn thing but watch. She brings the notebook up, her skirt revealing the lining of her white panties. 

He shakes his head, the words 'Stop it.' visible on his lips.

She looks around at all of their friends, deep in their books. 'Make me' she mouths, elongating every lip movement. 

Johnny watches her lips, the way they move as she mouths the challenge. He shakes his head again, his jaw clenching in a mixture of frustration and arousal.

But the look on her face, the challenge in her eyes, it's like fuel to the fire roaring inside him. He shifts forward a little more, his leg brushing against hers.

She moves her skirt back down standing up, it catches Johnny by surprise. "Be right back, just gonna go to the bathroom" she tells the group, they barely look up from their studies. She saunters away.

Johnny watches her strut away, his eyes glued to her legs as she walks. He lets out a frustrated huff, his body still thrumming with unfulfilled desire.

He looks around at the others, making sure they're still focused on their study material. He waits a few minutes, trying to compose himself, but the memory of her skirt hitched up and her panties in view is seared in his brain. He can't take it anymore.

Finally, he stands up, feigning a yawn. "Hey, I'm gonna go take a piss real quick," he calls out to the group, trying to act casual.

As Johnny makes his way towards the door, he looks back at their friends, making sure no one is watching. He slips out into the hallway, his heart pounding with anticipation.

He knocks on the closed door.

She opens it, her smirk widens when she sees her boyfriend. "Took you long enough," she whispered.

His eyes rake over her, taking in the sight of her standing in the doorway. His hands reach out automatically to grab her, pulling her closer.

"Shut up," he mutters, his voice low. "You're driving me crazy in there, doll."

"Well you better finish what *you* started" she dares.

He lets out a low growl, his eyes narrowing at her words. "Oh, I will," he mutters, his hands gripping her waist.

He pushes her back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind them.

[unsuredreamer]

Getaway car

Red Hearts ❤️ x fem! reader

These two pics 🙌🏻

Like yeah ma'am I'm on my knees. Respectfully

Here's a Red fic for you my lovesss

"Oh c'mon Red! Don't be staring at her with your lover eyes, go and introduce yourelf" Chloe wiggled her eyebrows knowingly at her friend, who was painfully staring holes at the back of a head of a certain someone.

"Fuck you dumb or something?! Not a chance thats happening" The red haired girl glared at the other princess, stabbing her food with her fork, eating peas was not something she particularly enjoyed. Back in Wonderland she would be having something extravagant, different, weird she would even say. But here, just peas and potatoes everyday, not that she would complain, just, she'd love to change up some flavors from time to time.

"Wellll, I'll do it then! I'm sure she's heard about you coming to Auradon. She was the one who requested for villain kids to be studying here, after all!" Before Red could complain further more, her fast friend quickly took off from their table, coming straight at yours. Her blue locks blowing from her speed, she was eager to do what the other had failed so miserably many times.

But could you blame her? She was not shy, certainly not. She did not lack of anything. Talking skills, charisma and her attitude still on board as it has been since she left her home kingdom to come and study at Auradon. But, there was something intimidating in you at the same time drawing her further in the spiraling maze of thoughts and mysteries you could be hiding from her.

She never spoke to you, obviously, you were too popular for her to even approach you, she swore she'd never get involved with people like that. Always with someone, always on the run to be somewhere, to be doing literally anything besides resting. That's also what fascinated her about you, she wanted to know what a princess like you could be doing every second of the day. Making haste to do her duties? Running off to be somewhere calm? To be finally left alone? She wanted to know your every thought and opinion.

It scared her. She had never felt that way about anyone and it was weird to discover feeling like that, although she found it rather amusing to be thinking so much of you. You were not special.

She just liked watching you play your favorite sport on your tournament's. Oh how your eyes lit up when you got a set point, running straight at your teammates cackling them on the ground. And when you took off your shirt after winning every game, yelling profanities of happiness, the way the sweat rolled down your body and how your hair curled from wetness being held in a ponytail with a singular small braid. She was in awe, although she had never let it show.

She liked to observe you when you strutted down the school halls with your best friend, your books tightly grasped in your hands, close to your chest. You were usually clothed in a light blue checkered skirt that made your ass very hard to not look at, also complimenting your big thighs, not that she would look at of course (such a bullshit, she was staring hard) a white loose button-up shirt so simply hanging off your shoulders making your collarbone pop out so finely that even the mightiest of gods would not be ashamed to check you out, and of course some gold accessories to top it all. The most prominent being your bulk gold ring and a heart necklace, gifted to you by Evie Grimhilde.

Her daydreams were cut short by her very blue friend shaking her shoulders.

"Red, are you with us? Oh great!" Chloe grinned as she got her boo to finally listen. "As I've been saying, this is Y/n!"

"Hi, I heard from Charming here that you've been staring at me quite often" You giggled, she was looking rather cute, just sittings there with her clouded stare as she hummed in agreement. Probably not realizing what she did there. "Id love to meet you actually, get to know you a bit maybe a lot. Whatever you're most comfortable with, hearts" you smiled at her as she blushed at the nickname. She liked it when you smiled, it made her smile internally too. "You up for a ride to the enchanted lake later?"

You never really put your mind to get to know her, even though you wanted to meet the new kid, you always thought she might want to acclimatize first. That doesn't necessarily mean you never looked at her, she was really hard to miss, a storm of red locks everywhere you turned. Smudging somethings in her sketchbook or spraying the walls with her black paint. You should probably be informing someone of the vandalism she has committed herself to. But she looked so happy doing so, and you were so immersed in exploring the smallest details of every single one as soon as she left, that you could not. You wanted to appreciate her art.

You wanted to appreciate her.

As you were in the middle of the staring contest with a girl you dreamt of so many times (strange dreams including someone scarily close in beauty to hers that left you amazed after every night) the son of Aurora came and slipped his arms around your waist.

"Hey baby" you kind of grimaced as he kissed you on your cheek "Are you up to a quick run later?"

"Well I kind of got some plans already Aron" you wiggled out of his grasp. "I'm meeting princess Red later" you grinned at the red haired girl

"Her? but why?" he looked at her with a bit of disgust. As we know his family haven't really got a great history with villains. "My grandma says-

"Well, I don't really care what your grammy has to say. I'd like to make a new friend and I've heard Red would like to know me too" You remarked stopping him from saying some cruel shit about Red's family, stepping away from him too.

"Ooh" Was all Red could let out of herself. Were you really with that douchebag? He was nothing like his sister who actually became really close to a certain pirate after a sad encounter. Matter of fact, he despised vk's for simply breathing the same air as him. It was weird for her that someone like you would be with someone like him.

Later in the day you fastened your pace to Red and Chloe's dorm room, you anticipated your meeting with the girl the whole day. It was dragging, especially on your 'history of magic' lessons where the princess of Wonderland, sat 3 tables away from you, looking as pretty as the garden's of babylon, like she was touched by Midas, turning gold with every second, but keeping her rose colored cheeks as tinted as always. Merely breathing as she fell sound asleep, you could not help yourself to snicker under your breath as you took a few photos of her.

You found yourself smiling at the memory, she was cute, she could deny it as much as she want but her bitch face only makes a bad first impression. If you look at her for more than half a minute you would notice how her features soften within time as she melts into her own world, gets lost in her own thoughts. The way her brows furrow when she doesn't understand something. How her once red hair slowly loose their color becoming more and more pink, so she dyes them unevenly leaving some pink strands along the way, making her look so incredibly beautiful. How her long nails tap the same rythym on the table over and over, as she scribbles sharp lines in her sketchbook. Sitting criss-cross under this big tree on the edge of the forest.

You'd love to know her from the inside, as much as you know her from the outside.

In a millisecond of your knock you already see the door opening loudly and a cheerful Chloe standing in the frame.

"Oh my you look so good, you beast!" That made you cringe a little, Chloe had a weird way of placing words together, but nonetheless you loved the little bluey charming. She was like a little sister to you, even though you were just a little bit older than her.

"Hi my lovely! Is Red ready?" Doesn't that seem a bit like you were asking if she was ready for a date? "I-I, was just checking, I came to take her out, I mean, to the lake" Oh craps, you're stuttering, is it bad? It's bad. Fuck now you're panicking, great!

"Chill Y/n, I can almost hear your thoughts" princess charming giggled as you blushed deep shade of red, Red. "She's ready" She moved closer to you putting her hand to her mouth "Been ready since 5" She laughed as the Wonderlandian appeared at the door, yanking her by her collar.

"Thank you Chloe, we're gonna go now" She shut the door at the other girls face, hearing a loud 'Have fun lovebirds!' from behind them "I'm sorry for her. She can be annoying sometimes"

"No worries Red, I know, I've been friends with her since babies" You giggled as the princesses face lit up from the embarrassment, she totally forgot she's the new one in the kingdom.

"So you have a boyfriend?"

"Wow, straight forward i see" You smiled once again as you put your helmet on, doing the exact same with the Wonderlandian. She avoided your gaze looking like a pro. "You know you can look at me, hearts" you flicked her nose and she scrunched it in annoyance.

"So you don't?" She pushed you away, you grinned as you sat on your motorcycle

"Get on princess, I'm gonna take you places you've never been before" She was stunned, frozen in place looking at your extremely hot body leaning over, waiting for her to sit behind you. The phrase coming out of your mouth not helping the growing burning hot feeling inside her. She wanted to touch you.

Wanted it so badly. Was it mad? Probably.

As she sat on the motorcycle you guided her hands to grasp your waist.

"Try not to fall off, babe" Fuck. She was done for.

On the other side, you could not help the tingling feeling her touch left on you, it made your blood boiling, and every vein in your body want to pop out. Your strong grip on the vehicle only tightened when hers tightened on you. You took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as your heart beat rapidly on your chest.

What is she doing with you? You're going mad for her.

Mad.

The ride was slightly more calm, Red explored every single detail of the forest you were so fastly going through, and your eyes remained on the road only cursing yourself as you felt her head gently laying on your back.

"So tell me more about yourself Red" You insisted, as you took a stroll through the bridge leading to the enchanted spot. She swung her hands trying to balance herself.

"Well, I'm from Wonderland, my mom is the famous Queen of hearts. Our kingdom is stric-"

"About yourself silly" You stopped her grabbing ber shoulders from behind. "I want to hear about you, Red" Her name coming out of your mouth sounded different. It was not the harsh tone her mother used to yell her name out with. But it was also not the overly sweet almost apologetic-like tone everyone around her used, when she first come from Wonderland.

It was genuine, soft, like you'd truly want to say her name till the rest of your days.

This sentence took you on a roll of quietly listening to her stories from her childhood, her favorite things, foods, hobbies, and many diffrent informations you would love to know about her. You loved when someone began rambling to you let alone when it was someone you took a particular interest in. She looked so dazzling, stuffing her mouth with ice cream and mini cakes in between telling you how the cheshire cat scared her once so bad she began crying. And he just appeared before her while she was painting roses.

"Do you want to take a swim?" You blurted out, the sun was slowly setting painting the sky the beautiful shade of orange, pink and lavender.

"I kind of don't know how to swim Y/n" she blushed looking away, like it would be the worst of crime.

"It's okay Red, I'm not pressuring you to, but I'll happily give you lessons right here right now" You stripped down to your underwear getting in the water.

Red's eyes wandered all over your body until desire took over her, she wanted you to touch her even if she had to drown for it to happen. But you wouldn't let her would you? She hoped so as she swiftly got up and stripped down her own clothes.

Your mouth agape when you gazed at her.

"Dang, you're hot" You smirked moving your hands in the water, swimming deeper in. She began to get in, but slowly backed out "It's okay love, come, I'll take your hand" you reached out for her. And she tightly grasped it but it didn't take long for her to panic when she couldn't feel the ground beneath her feet.

"No, no, no, no" You swiftly pulled her close to your body, swimming quickly somewhere less deeper then you already were.

"Red, Red. Calm down, wrap yourself around me" you whispered to her ear gently, what made her shiver even more than the water hitting her skin. She did as you requested, tangling her legs around your waist and her arms around your neck. Your warm breath fanning over her collarbone made her heart thump in her chest once again.

She couldn't help but look down in your eyes discovering that you were already looking up at her with yours. She pulled your head closer to her body leaning down. You glanced quickly at her lips not letting yourself loose the beautiful sight of her eyes.

Not stopping yourself you closed the distance between you two, letting your lips touch hers, grabbing her waist in the process, feeling her jump at your sudden bold move.

Her lips tasted like cherries but mixed with blood, you could not quite decipher how. You liked it. Liked it a lot. They were soft, and she kissed you so slowly and carefully feeling like she would scare you away if she was to move any further. Grasping your wet hair in her hands she deepened the kiss after a second. Feeling more comfortable in it now as she felt your hands roam her body.

Kissing her was like a sentence to death, there was something thrilling toit. It was not sweet, sickening and bubble gum to anyone's dismay. She kissed hard and strong, sticking her tongue in your mouth and biting your lips when she felt bold enough.

Your hands creeped down her body resting on her ass as she hummed in content, agreeing on every antic you were about to commit to.

It was exciting, and you loved that feeling.

You finally felt free with her.

Swimming, although you could drown in her.

After you pulled away, with protest. Deep heavy breathing was all that could be heard, immersed in each other's touch. Occasional splashes of water in the background.

Were you moving too fast? Was it the right thing to do? You did not care.

She tasted so good. It was so wrong, but it felt so good to have her all to yourself.

The few breaths you managed to take were cut short when she crushed your lips together once again, as if on cue, knowing exactly what you want.

You would not imagine yourself making out with the princess of Wonderland while swimming in the enchanted lake. But that's what you needed. That was what your heart begged for at the moment,

Your moment of peace.

She was your peace

It felt right. It felt as if you were bound by an invisible string. Meant to be by each other at the exact moment of your lives.

She was your escape

Your getaway car

[twstowo]

hihi, i love your work, its super cute! i would like to request if you don't mind!

could you write for ace and floyd with a reader who has a pudgy face? as in their cheeks are chubby and they kind of resemble a hamster or a cat at times lol, thank u!

♡︎Chubby Cheeks gang rise up!!

♡︎Includes: Ace and Floyd

♡︎Warning: None

⋆⋅☆Ace

First things first, HE WILL make fun of your chubby cheeks, there is no escape from his teasing. He probably calls you a chipmunk in front of everyone to embarrass you. If you tell him to stop, he will just roll his eyes at you but will actually tone it down.

He overhears Deuce calling you a hamster while you are eating and poking your cheeks, being all lovey-dovey with you, and he almost throws up at the scene. He needs to stop it before he really gets sick, not because he is jealous or anything like that!

The next time he sees you, he has this suspicious expression on his face, and you are ready to just run away from him because whatever is coming is never good with Ace. However, he just holds your face in his hands and rubs your cheeks. You can see that he is trying to be affectionate, just like Deuce, but the moment is so awkward with him just staring at you. If you laugh at his actions, he will become so embarrassed and just pull his hands away at the speed of light. He tries to come up with a smart comeback, telling you that he wasn’t trying to be nice or anything like that. Just kiss him so that he can be quiet for once.

⋆⋅☆Floyd

He will chew on your cheeks; you can't change my mind. He will be behind you, hugging you, and he just starts biting them. When he hugs you, he will rub his face on yours just to feel your chubby cheeks, and he won’t stop until he feels satisfied.

Once, he locked a guy inside a locker because he overheard him talking bad about your face. He will never tolerate anyone talking ill of you like that.

He will poke both your cheeks while you are drinking water, making you spill everything, and he finds it so funny. You look like a pufferfish to him, and that is literally your new nickname for him.

You once came across Floyd’s notebook, and it was so embarrassing when you found a page filled with drawings of pufferfish. He will look you dead in the face with his sharp smile and tell you that he was thinking about you.

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

XI. I only have eyes for you.

parts: previously plot: it's the day of the bachelor auction. who's taking bruce home? pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: 18+ toward the end (MDNI), surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, brief violence, sexual content (implied penetration, light dry humping), alcohol consumption, reader is going through it so i personally think they're allowed to be a bit messy, vicki vale slander... a little bit, gcpd slander a lot a bit. words: 8.8k. a/n: it has been a HOT minute and I totally meant to have this out in time for thanksgiving but alas. big girl has big girl responsibilities. regardless, I wanted to say thank you sm for 3k followers!!! ahhh!!! that's so many. love u all

“…Judge Mathers thankfully suffered only minor injuries, and while the culprit has yet to be apprehended, police say they’re confident the investigation will progress in the coming days. Further investigation into just how Mathers was attacked is also ongoing. In other news, Bridge Industries stock has fallen…”

The door to your office swings open, startling you, but Emily is rushing in with arms too full to notice. She shuts the door just as quickly as she’d thrown it open, and as you put the TV on mute, she begins to rattle off frantically, “Are you as excited for tonight as I am?”

If by excited, she meant “stomach turning in knots”, then she’d be right on the money. You ignore her question to point at the plastic bags draping over her arms, “What’s that?”

“With your help? My outfit for tonight.” You watch her gather them both by their hangers and unzip them, revealing two dresses in sparkly red and silky navy. The lighting in your office really fails to do them justice. “What’s Bruce’s favorite color?”

There is—unequivocally—only one answer. “Black.” Her eyelids droop at that, holding the red dress to her chest forlornly, and you rush to amend the situation. “I mean… but who really cares?”

That was not what you meant to say.

What you’d meant to say was that Bruce’s favorite color didn’t matter because Emily ought to dress for herself, and that you didn’t even have the marbles to think about any of this when the news had so thoroughly soured your mood.

Said mood was already fragile by the time you’d had your morning coffee, and in between paperwork and your own thoughts, you’d turned on WGOT for background chatter. It had been just your luck that the very first thing you’d seen was a report on the attempted murder of a local judge. As a Gotham native, these kinds of things don’t easily faze you, but the name had.

Her face had meant nothing to you when it appeared on screen, stern and clear, and her name would’ve meant just as much had you not been poring over Dimitri’s case recently. You never attended Dimitri’s trial, had heard only what Russo and co. had relayed to you, so you’d never had the chance to meet Judge Lydia Mathers or watch as she ruled on the fate of the arrested Vipers. The police weren’t saying who did it, but you knew what was left unsaid. It could be no coincidence.

What threw you for a loop was how it happened. There was no confirmation on the where, and the when being “sometime last night” didn’t narrow anything down. It was sloppy still—that much was evident, she was still alive—but it was also close. Way too close.

As far as you knew, anyone involved in your case that was still in Gotham had been informed beforehand of the threat, and she had the bodyguards to rival your own. How did someone doped up on venom get close enough to almost kill her?

You feel your desk vibrate as you receive a text, your heart speeding up, but you only get a quick glimpse before Emily draws you back in again. “I care. Look, I get that this is your life now and all of this utterly bores you, but this is fun for me. I want to enjoy this, and I want to look good doing it. Just… indulge me, okay? And don’t make fun of me for it.”

The twinge of sadness in her voice makes you wince. It wasn’t Emily’s fault you’d been having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day since the night of Bruce’s party. It also wasn’t her fault that you had yet to be honest about why you really had cops and guards on your tail now, why you couldn’t meet at yours for drinks after work, and it certainly wasn’t her fault that you’d told her the night Dimitri attacked you, you'd actually been targeted by the gang of the guy who took you hostage all those weeks ago. As far as she knew, Mr. Wayne was just taking very, very good care of you.

You’d invited her to this auction to have a fun night out, something you hadn’t had in a while, and if you had to gather some marbles to make it so, you’d do it.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Emily. That came out wrong. I just meant that it shouldn’t matter what he likes because you’re going to look amazing in anything. And if Bruce has eyes, he’ll love how you look in the red.”

She doesn’t look quite as convinced. You see her look over the dress, scrutinizing.

You circle your desk, taking the dresses from her and setting them over the back of a chair. “How about this? I take a picture of both dresses, send them to Bruce, and ask which one he likes more. Won’t even mention you.”

Her eyes widen like saucers. “No! No. Don’t. It’s fine, you’re right. I’ll wear what I want, and I’ll look great in it.” You reach up to pinch Emily’s cheek and she bats at you with a laugh, ducking away to steal her dresses back. “What are you gonna wear?”

“Probably what I wore to our New Year’s party last year.”

“Saucy. You’re picking me up at eight, right?”

“Our ride will be courtesy of Mr. Wayne.”

“Must be nice having a driver and an entourage. Bruce is awfully generous for a patient.”

You think about the paperwork you’d been slogging through before you’d turned on the news, and you don’t have the heart to tell her that by the end of today, Bruce would no longer be your patient anymore.

You wave her goodbye, and when the door shuts behind her, you snatch up your phone to read the message you’d received.

Detective Gordon Can we talk?

Your shoulders slump. You'd hoped it was Bruce. You hadn't heard from him since last night, and after the news, you'd expected... well... anything. Really.

“I saw the news,” You start before James has even breathed a greeting into the phone. “I’m just glad she survived.”

There’s a pause on the other end. It’s long enough that your blood pressure spikes in response, and you assume the worst. “I… actually didn’t call to talk about Mathers. Have you been to your apartment recently?”

“What? No. What happened?”

“There’s been a break-in.”

It’s not the senseless destruction you’d been dreading. Your apartment had looked worse back in residency during finals week. You’d expected overturned couches and pictures knocked off walls, but if it hadn’t been for your very well-documented alibi, no one would’ve guessed there’d been a break-in.

It is clear, however—from the drawers thrown open about your apartment—that someone had been looking for something.

“So, again: the noise started around eleven this morning, and Ms. Fletcher says she came up to check on you since she wasn’t expecting you back without stopping by first-“

“And I was right.” Judith affirms from beside you, clutching her purse with conviction.

The cop who’d been debriefing you narrows his eyes, but otherwise doesn’t comment on the interruption. “Right. So Ms. Fletcher came to investigate. Knocked on the door, nobody answered. She used her copy of your key to get in, looked around and noticed things didn’t look right, called your name, and then saw someone rush past her out of the apartment before she could get a good look at their face. Mr. Fitz next door says he heard someone throwing open cabinet doors just before Ms. Fletcher says she arrived.”

You gnaw the inside of your cheek, eyes flitting over the mugs you’d left drying by the sink. They’re untouched, but the dish towels in the drawer beneath them have been rifled through to hell. “Yeah, the walls are thin in the bathroom. I’m always careful about that.”

“I know Ms. Fletcher said she didn’t see ‘em take anything, but it could’ve been something small. Something they could fit in their pocket or the bag they were carrying. Jewelry, cash, sensitive documents maybe.”

Dimitri didn’t give a shit about any of that, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have left a witness alive if he could help it. If anyone could even possibly identify him, let alone a little old lady, Judith wouldn’t be standing next to you today.

But that left you with more baffling culprits to consider.

You turn to Judith, "Did they look like they were part of any gang?”

Judith shakes her head. She reaches into her purse and pulls out her memo pad, showing you her neat recollection of the intruder. She’d made a marked list: young, wearing a shoulder bag, with nothing in their hands. Short, dark hair. Skinny build. Nervous. The description didn’t exactly strike you as someone looking to hurt you.

Your ears perk up at the conversation behind you, both members of your detail chatting with each other in hushed voices. They don’t do a good job of hiding what they’re saying, and as you listen in, you hear one of them complain about this being a “waste of time”.

You bristle. You catch the cop’s eye, recognizing him as one of the cops working your detail at the hospital the other day, and he turns to survey your living room instead.

James is sidling up to you in the next second, having done his own assessment of the place before you’d arrived. “Your bookshelves got a little rearranging, but nothing destroyed. You wanna take a look?”

You follow the detective through your apartment, poking through everywhere you’d left something even vaguely important, but all the valuables you hadn’t taken to Wayne Tower seemed to be perfectly intact here. You were more miffed about your underwear being strewn about now that that was clear. When you reach your bedroom, the one place void of any cops, you grab some of them off the floor and begin to fold them back into the drawer.

“Could it have been a… I don’t know, a pervert? Could’ve been looking to steal a pair of these.”

“Perverts know where to look. They wouldn’t ransack every drawer just for a pair of underwear.” James’ brow twitches. “At least we know it's not Dimitri. He'd have come here himself. But this? Whatever our guy was looking for, they knew you wouldn’t leave it in plain sight. It’s just… sloppy.”

You scratch your head, hoping some clue would reveal itself the longer you looked. A muddy footprint, a bloody knife, a syringe. Something. It was relieving not to see the last one, at least.

You glance around your room, at the drawers thrown open. You think about the front door (locked, Judith had to use her key) and how, if you didn’t want anyone to know what you were doing, you wouldn’t force your way in. You’d be quiet, pick a lock, put everything back where you found it. But if you couldn’t find what you were looking for, you'd be desperate. You'd make mistakes.

You feel James watch you from where you’re crouched on the ground, tucking away the last of your clothes into the drawer. You notice him knocking his pen repeatedly against his kneecap. “So, Mathers.”

You glance up at James. “It was him, wasn’t it?” James nods, solemn. “Where did it even happen? There’s no way he could’ve gotten into Bristol—let alone a guarded mansion—without getting caught.”

“She wasn’t in Bristol.”

“So, what? The courthouse? Her office?” You slam your drawer shut, drawing attention from the cops outside your bedroom door.

James notices. He turns and shuts the door, sealing you off from the rest of the apartment, and comes to take a seat on the edge of your unmade bed. There’s a severity to him all of a sudden. “It happened at the Iceberg Lounge.”

You’d heard things about the Iceberg Lounge. Loud, dark, dirty. As exclusive as any other shitty nightclub in Gotham. Somewhere a guy like Dimitri could slip into easily if he wasn't mid-high. “He’s attacking in broad daylight now? Then he… he doesn’t care if he’s caught. He’s losing it. He’s-“

“It wasn’t broad daylight, either. The lounge is one thing but there’s another layer to it, a club beneath the club for people like… like Gil Colson. 44 Below. It’s high-profile, hard to get into, a safe place to do dirty business. It’s where he found Mathers.”

Your mind reels. You remembered Gil Colson. You found him quite hard to forget. “He found her there? How?”

“Impersonated a waiter, maybe. Could've known someone who could get him in. All we know is that he couldn’t have been on venom at the time. He would've been tweakin', there’s no way he could’ve gotten in without someone noticing and those exclusive type joints don't really like the look of venom. He planned this out.”

“…Why was she there?”

James glances at your closed door, as if worried someone might be pressed up against it, listening. “I can't say much yet, but if we're right, Dimitri's only one of many kids like him who've been screwed over by Mathers.”

“We, meaning…” You trail off, and James nods once. “He wasn’t- I haven’t heard from him since last night.”

“Knowing him, he's probably looking into it right now.” James rises to his feet, then holds a hand out to help you up. “Until then, don’t go anywhere alone. This is heat Dimitri wasn't prepared for, which either means he’ll hide like before or he’ll be desperate to finish the job. And please, for the love of God, don’t talk to any more press.”

Your eyes flick up to James’ as soon as “press” slips from his lips.

You shoot up from the ground, rushing back into the living room where Judith’s reprimanding the cops from earlier. The second you breeze past her, she spins, reaching for your arm. “There you are. Where’s Mr. Gordon? These young men were complaining about—”

You know what they were complaining about. You almost—almost—unleash the mounting anger inside you onto the both of them, but that would be a waste. “They can stay here for all I care. I need to go.”

Both cops look about ready to protest, but Judith beats them to it. “Go where? What if whoever did this is waiting for you? What if they try to hurt you? What if-“

“She can try. I’m sure someone will get it on camera.”

Your detail doesn’t abandon you like you hoped, but they can barely keep up as you barrel through the doors of the Gazette, nearly mowing down an intern on the way inside.

There are rows of desks on either side of the newsroom, lined up against each other with computer screens illuminating the faces of tens of reporters. You scan each row, each wired and restless face, in the hopes of catching sight of Vicki Vale.

You’re about halfway through the room when someone catches you by the arm, barring you further entry.

She’s small, but her razor-sharp stare is enough to freeze you in your tracks. For now. “Can I help you?” She asks, looking you up and down, a swirl of curiosity laced within the stiffness of her tone. Her badge hangs against her chest, and you see the word "editor" printed beneath her name. Perhaps she wanted to know what story you were about to tell.

“I’m looking for Vicki Vale.”

She isn’t dumb. The way she straightens at Vicki’s name, the disdainful way you say it, means you've told her everything she needs to know about you. You feel her grip tighten around your upper arm and you know she’s going to make this difficult. “Is she expecting you?”

“It’d be stupid of her not to.”

You don’t think she knows. Her nose crinkles at that, and when she feels you begin to resist her, she scrambles to keep you in place, “Vicki’s busy—“

You don’t need to hear the rest of what she has to say, knocking into her shoulder as you shove past her. If Vicki was busy, you’d free up her schedule.

You turn a corner and there’s a long hallway of offices on either side of you. You begin reading each door’s placard for her name, your patience thinning as the bustle of keyboard clacks and voices crescendo. You almost don’t pick up on her voice at first, a shrill and nervous thing through the crack of a door to your left. You shove it open before you give it a second thought.

And there is Vicki, a once-neat bun falling apart as she levels that same French-tipped fingernail at a stranger on the other side of her desk. They both turn to you in shock.

You don’t immediately notice it, seeing only red with Vicki, but you take in the stranger’s dark buzzed hair, slim cheeks, and… messenger bag. There’s a lanyard hanging from their neck with a smiling badge just like the one Vicki flashed you the other day. Their name is… something. You’re too furious to read it.

You beeline for Vicki’s neck.

She sputters when you take hold of the collar of her suit jacket, shoving her up against the wall where her journalism degree sways on the nail, threatening to slip and shatter against the floor. You hold her there. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Her lips part, pleas and excuses pathetically falling flat at your feet. You’ve never seen her scared, and something buried deep inside you preens for just a second. She tries to stutter something out, but it’s nothing discernible, nothing proper.

The stranger—who you’re certain now is her intern—grabs at your arm to pull you away, but you shove them off, holding Vicki steady. You hear the editor from before too, shouting something from the door to the office. You shake Vicki again, “You’ll do anything for a story, right? Including breaking into my home?”

“It’s not—” Vicki gasps, grasping at your hand. “I didn’t!”

“She didn’t, it was me! It was my idea!” The intern tugs on you again. “I swear, she… Ms. Vale told me to look into you but she never told me to go that far, it was all my idea. Please.”

Through your anger, you inspect the kid’s face and... yeah, to your utter despair, you feel certain they’re telling the truth.

They look more beaten up about it than you expected. It saps nearly all the rage right out of you, leaving you deflated but still boiling under the skin. Your hands slacken and Vicki inches off the wall a little bit, freezing when your eyes cut to her, and she holds her own hands up in surrender. “I was… I was just telling the kid off when you came in. Honest.”

After a few moments of catching your breath, you motion to the intern’s bag. “You didn’t steal anything off me, did you?”

“No,” they stutter, “no, I wasn’t… I just wanted to see if there was something… a lead to go off of. And then the old lady saw me, so I bolted.”

Vicki huffs. “I don’t know where he got the idea, but it wasn’t from me. I have more integrity than that.”

The woman at the door watches on with rage almost comparable to yours, and you wonder if Vicki is actually telling the truth or saving face. You spin to face Vicki again and she winces. “I’d think about what kind of example I'm setting if the kid thought this was even remotely okay. Don’t come near me again unless you want me to really knock some sense into you.”

You release her, and it takes a little more composure than you thought not to send her reeling into the file cabinet next to you.

One of your detail is hovering outside of her office when you come out, barely meeting your eyes as you make your way back out into the newsroom. He follows dutifully to the door, stretching to hold it open for you as you stomp out into the street.

Bruce’s guard is waiting by his car when you approach, going to open the door for you, and as you go to duck inside, the cop sidles up to you with a wobbly smile. “Didn’t know you had it in you, doc.” He jests.

You’ve got one foot in the car, one hand on the roof, and you really can’t help it when you look him in the face and spit out: “Fuck you.”

“Jesus. What is your life these days?”

The horrified look Emily gives you affirms your decision to pregame in the car, taking a swig from her flask on the way to the venue. “This isn’t even the worst thing to happen to me this week.”

It comes out before you have a chance to stop it, and the way Emily perks up makes your heart stop. After the night you were attacked by Dimitri, you had been extra careful about what you tell her. You wished you could say it wasn’t because you didn’t trust her with your past, but every time Alex’s name sat heavy on the tip of your tongue, you could not bring yourself to confess.

From the day those records had been sealed, you had done your best not to talk about it. Your past was always glazed over with vague stories of teenage-typical rebellion, Alex’s life omitted from your own as if you hadn’t seen it snuffed out right in front of you. It was easier that way, you figured. You promised you would never go back to that life, and you couldn’t if it never existed.

But like all wounds left untreated, the infection spread and spread beneath the surface until you could ignore it no longer. Until Dimitri came along to force it back open.

You hadn’t confided in anyone like you did Bruce. Bruce, who you still hadn’t heard from all day.

“Did something else happen?”

Your thumb strokes the polished steel of her flask and, after a few seconds of deliberating, you respond. “Bruce fired me today.”

Her eyes widen. “You’re shitting me. Today? When?”

You take another swig, sinking back into the leather seat. “This morning. I signed the papers first thing.”

"That's crazy. You’re an amazing doctor. And you both got along so well! Why—“ Emily frowns, cutting herself off.

“It wasn’t anything personal. After I was attacked again by that gang and Vicki found me out, we both thought he should find a more… exclusive doctor. For his own privacy and safety.” The lies come easy, and you’re drinking down the bitter feeling until the flask starts feeling light. “He’s letting me borrow his guards until they catch the guy who attacked me the other night, at least."

Emily watches you from the corner of your eye and you get the feeling she has something she wants to ask, but she settles on an impressed whistle. “Wow. He’s… really generous. How is he still single? He's gotta be a playboy, be honest.”

Should you even tell her he wouldn't be single after tonight? You remember Bruce's promise to introduce you as his date, and your stomach flips. You glance at her. “Answering that could technically be a HIPAA violation, so...”

She slaps your shoulder, but the way she tucks her face into her hair tells you everything you need to know.

Bruce is... nowhere to be seen.

You try not to make it seem like you’re looking for him, but after networking for a half-hour, your stomach turns at every black suit that squeezes by. You’d even gotten desperate enough to message the… Bat-Phone?—You hadn’t asked if that was what he wanted you to call it—but there was no response. It didn’t help that you’d spotted Vicki Vale five minutes ago, skulking through the crowd but keeping a wide berth from you. You supposed it was the singular mercy she could grant you. Her intern was, unsurprisingly, not in tow.

When you did introduce yourself, you introduced yourself as you—the general surgeon, a representative on behalf of Gotham General—and kept whatever small talk you could about Bruce to a minimum. Batman, however…

“Honest to God, I don’t know what else it’ll take. Does he need to stop a bus of orphans from driving off a bridge? All anyone has to say these days is that if he were any good, the city would be safer by now. Rome wasn't built in a day!” Your opinionated companion is the mother of one of the bachelors tonight. She’d proudly declared her son the most eligible: a 6’1 firefighter who’d worked his way out of Crown Point and had graced the GCFD’s firefighter calendar as Mr. December four years in a row. She even had pictures to show you, painstakingly scrolling through her smartphone that looked like she’d just pulled it out of the box.

She’d taken up the seat next to you after drinks were served, and had no intention of moving any time soon.

“People are fed up,” you reply, watching guests laugh and take photos with Mr. December by the open stage, “after that Riddler guy flooded the city, it was like a wake up call. People realize they have to rely on a stranger to keep them safe. Not the GCPD. Just someone who cares.”

Felicia—that was her name, and it took a great deal to remember it after she’d thrown it at you so haphazardly—rolls her eyes. “Well I, for one, am glad someone cares. If they didn't, you wouldn't be here and neither would I.” Her hand closes around yours and you feel a disgusting ache. It's the same ache you feel when Judith fusses over you: affection that was freely given.

The auction eventually starts, and while you try not to make a habit of it, you begin checking both phones under the table every so often for something. At one point, Emily accuses you of checking up on a partner she doesn't know about. That gets you to keep your hands to yourself for the first half of the night.

It's at least to your relief that Mr. December lives up to the hype.

He’s charming and cuddly, a real mama’s boy, and the bids go flying without further ado. He goes for a nice sum to a handsome man in a velvet suit, and Felicia leaves when they do.

The next few bachelors go by with varying levels of excitement, but with each bid, you feel yourself getting antsier. You sneak a peek at both phones again, but there’s still no response.

You start to expect him not to show up all, or to have called in an understudy to fill in for him while he scaled rooftops. You’d kill him if he left you hanging after all this, after he insisted you come. After he told you he’d introduce you as his real date. After he expedited that contract termination to the literal day of—

“You okay? You keep shaking your leg.”

Emily’s voice brings you back to. Your eyes had been burning holes into Dr. Dreamy in the lab coat, but you hadn’t processed anything about him in your frustration. You still your legs, trying not to flush with embarrassment, “Yeah, sorry. It’s just been a long day.”

Her brows pinch. “Is... whoever you're waiting to hear from being a problem? Do we need to head outside for a breather?”

“And miss your shot at Bruce? No way.”

The worry in her eyes doesn’t go away, but you don’t miss the little bit of relief she lets slip through.

Dr. Dreamy comes and goes, and it's getting closer to the end of the night with no sign of Bruce. The others at your table theorize they might be saving him for last. You check your phone every minute now, the incessant nagging at the back of your mind growing more prominent as the hour stretches on. You start to wonder if he's scaling those rooftops at all, or if he's bleeding out in an alleyway with no one to care. Perhaps he had been for hours, wilting away in silence, while you sat in this silly outfit at this silly auction waiting for him to show.

Minutes drag. The fifth bachelor takes the stage. Bids are placed. The fifth bachelor goes off with a pair of friends.

The auctioneer takes to the mic, and Bruce's name sets off a ringing in your ears. There's excited applause. Emily hoots and hollers. You hold your breath waiting for him to come out, to just put your nervous thoughts to rest.

You wait. And wait. And wait.

The smile on the auctioneer's face slips some. He looks off to stage left, mouthing something to someone behind the curtain. Applause turns to murmurs, and the jazz band that'd been playing low in the background picks up the volume. You look down at your phone one last time, at the messages left unanswered. The auctioneer laughs into the mic, "Sorry about that, folks. It seems our sixth bachelor is running a little late—"

You slip out of your seat, rushing down the aisle between rows of confused guests, the flip phone nearly crushed in your iron grip as you begin to dial the only number it knows.

You make it to the double doors at the back of the convention hall, both ushers on either side of the exit moving to open them for you, and as the phone begins to ring against your ear (heart thumping in tandem), that's when you hear it.

The audience is so loud that you can't hear the ringing or the thumping anymore. The auctioneer's voice just barely peaks over the raucous jazz band. You turn, one foot across the threshold, and see him center stage.

You almost want him to look pitiful. You want his hair to be drenched from the rain, suit askew, bloody knuckles and coal still clinging to his eyelashes: the very image of late and sorry and embarrassed for making you wait for him. But he's not. He's breathless, sure, but he looks less like he missed his train and more like he'd been having a few at the open bar. His suit is crisp, his hair neatly slick with one strand delicately—stylishly, infuriatingly—dipping into his eye. He smiles in apology at the crowd and his docility is not like the kind he displayed at the mayor's party, insincere as it had been.

And it overwhelms you that you feel, above the frustration… relieved.

You realize your phone is still ringing and the ushers are waiting for you to make a decision, so you end the call and head back to your seat where Emily immediately pounces on you. "Is everything okay? You almost missed him."

You tuck the flip phone away and put on a smile.

"And that, gentlepeople, is what we call being fashionably late." The auctioneer gets a round of laughter out of the crowd for that one. Even Bruce chuckles good-naturedly. "I almost had to step in for you myself, Bruce!"

"You are quite the catch." The crowd laughs harder, flattering him, already enraptured in his spell. You seek out his hands but he keeps them tucked politely behind his back.

"Oh, I disagree. No offense to our other fabulous bachelors, but I think I can confidently say you're the one we've all been waiting for. Am I right?" Emily stands in applause, whooping with her hands cupped around her lips. The edge from waiting for Bruce to show ebbs as you watch her. "Before we start the bidding, we ask all our bachelors to tell us a little bit about themselves. So, Bruce, what's the exclusive? What makes you one of Gotham's most eligible bachelors?"

Bruce looks out into the crowd, eyes sweeping over... everyone that isn't seated at your table. A grin plays at his lips, "I was told by our generous sponsor that I was alarmingly handsome, but those were his words, not mine."

"Oh, yes. Alarmingly handsome, alarmingly rich, and you even give to charity. But besides the obvious," the auctioneer leans in, brandishing a friendly smile, "What else can our bidders know? To help them make the tough decision to bid on you, of course."

"Well... I enjoy the rain and watching the sunset above the city."

"Above the city! Are we talking spontaneous helicopter rides here? Because if that isn't romantic, I don't know what is." Bruce doesn't clarify. He continues to grin, though it feels more private this time. Your finger twitches against your thigh. "What about any secret talents you can show us?"

Bruce thinks for a moment. You watch him straighten up, and without moving any closer to the auctioneer, you watch him remove one of his hands from behind his back. In it is a key ring that looks wholly unfamiliar to you. Bruce holds it up to the light, letting them plink! plink! plink! against each other as he dangles them before the auctioneer. "Do quick fingers count?" You watch the auctioneer's eyes widen, and though he laughs, it's tinged with a nervous air.

The auctioneer snatches the key ring from Bruce and stuffs it into his pocket, and the crowd is laughing so loudly that you barely hear him ask Bruce when he'd had the chance to swipe them. Bruce does not answer. That forces a shocked laugh out of you.

"Right, well, I'd be worried about you taking my car for a spin, but I'd be more impressed if you got it to start." You notice the auctioneer placing a little more distance between himself and Bruce as he continues, "One last question before we start the bidding: Bruce, what's your idea of a perfect date night?"

He really thinks about this one. You buzz, and so does Emily. You don't know why you're so interested to know. "A bit cliche, but I enjoy a quiet night in. Cooking together, listening to a record, enjoying each other's company. I've never been the fancy type. It means the most to me if it's just... us. No one else."

You sit up in your seat, and Bruce's eyes flicker near you. Past you. As if on purpose. You feel Emily rest her hand on your knee and you see her starstruck, eyes twinkling, but before you can see if Bruce is looking back, they're moving onto the next question.

You don't hear it. You see smiling mouths, the rumble of laughter on the breeze. Stage lights blink off his eyes, off his teeth as they shine at the crowd.

"A quiet night in. Cooking together..." It was cliche. Entirely unoriginal. You'd done it before, as had the majority of the dating population. It was simple, not fussy. Not special.

And yet.

It had not been long since you bumped shoulders with Bruce in his very own kitchen, cooking together, fingers colliding in the sudsy sink as you dried dishes and poured wine. The way lovers did, or the way almost lovers would.

The auctioneer quiets down the swoons that roll through the room at... whatever Bruce had said. "Alright, I think everyone's had enough of me tonight. Let's do what we came here to do, folks! We'll start the bidding at—"

Paddles soar into the air before the first number is spoken, and you're overwhelmed by the shouting overlapping as bidders fight to place highest. Emily is jumping out of her seat to be on top every time, and as the number steadily grows, your mind is still reeling.

You grip the fork on your plate, dinner having gone cold an hour and a half ago. You dig the prongs into the flesh of an uneaten brussel sprout as the bids begin to thin out, Emily rising above them all.

But you hear the last number and the sudden silence beside you. You look up to see Emily teetering, hesitant, as an elegant woman across the way stands with her paddle triumphantly in the air. The auctioneer asks for a higher bid, and your stomach twists at the quiet. Emily is not raising her hand.

"Going once..."

You turn your head to her, seeing the dejection in her eyes.

"Going twice..."

Bruce's smile is statuesque.

You grab Emily's paddle and jump to your feet, doubling the bid.

The elegant woman stutters on a retort, floored by the jump in number, and seems to weigh the cons of one-upping you. Your bid goes once, goes twice, and she settles back down into her seat.

The auctioneer whistles loud. "Sold! To the... lovely lady in red and her friend."

Bruce finally looks at you.

"So, just to confirm, you'll be the one paying the bid for number 26?"

You sign off the check with a flourish, ignoring the scary amount of zeros tacked onto it. “Yep.”

“And you understand the date is only valid for the name attached to the bid number? In this case, Emily Madison.”

“100%.”

The woman you hand the check to looks it over a few times, and you’d be offended if you hadn’t written down the absurd number yourself. Finally satisfied, she smiles at you, “Thank you. This will feed a lot of families this holiday season.”

It would, and it would make looking at your bank account later sting a little less.

You find Emily at the front of the stage, posing with Bruce for pictures, and the smile on her face warms you up enough that you almost—almost—ignore that recurring, uneasy feeling in your stomach.

As if she could sense you, Emily turns and finds you in the crowd, eagerly waving you over between photos. You think the meek hand you put up will be enough to deter her, but she continues to wave so fervently that it catches the attention of everyone else. You slip onto stage beside her just as Bruce's eyes flit over to you.

After two more pictures, Emily locks her arm against your side, "You are the best."

You glance up at Bruce to find him already staring at you, the stage lights casting a warm honey glow against the halo of his hair. It angers you how good he looks right now. If you were right and he'd just come off a Bat shift before getting here, you would actually be furious. "I'm sure Bruce would have been beside himself if you didn't win, especially after inviting you personally."

He nods, placing a hand on Emily's bare arm, and you watch her short-circuit in real time. "It's true. Although, I will say, that last bid was a shock. For a second, I thought..." Bruce trails off, cutting his eyes to you.

"I get enough of you at work." You almost say home instead. "Sir."

Emily snorts. Bruce's eyes flash, but all he does is grunt.

You watch him turn fully to Emily, "The organizers are the ones who finalize time and place, so I'll eagerly await our next meeting. It was a pleasure seeing you again, Dr. Madison." And, in a rather rakish move, goes to kiss her knuckles in a gentle bow. When his fingers curl around hers, you see the skin of his knuckles unbroken.

You can't help yourself. The second he pulls away, you snatch his hand in yours and shake it firmly, catching the both of them off guard. "Thanks for inviting us, Mr. Wayne. I can't wait to hear all about what you cook together." You press your thumb into his skin and swipe it across the back of his hand before walking away, a flustered Emily trailing after you a few paces behind.

On the way out, you rub your thumb against a dark, pressed napkin. It comes away with a cream smear.

"Is that-"

"It's me." You drop your things by the front door, shutting and locking it soon after. "No need to kick the door down."

Judith sighs through the phone. "What did Mr. Gordon say? Is it safe for you to be back?"

"The punk that broke in was some reporter's intern and he got quite the talking to, he won't be back. I'm just grabbing some stuff before I take off." You balance your phone between your shoulder on the way to the kitchen pantry. "And my detail's right outside. They'll come in if they hear anything."

"Do you want company?"

Your heart breaks a little bit. You know you ought to say yes; you hadn't had much time alone with her since you'd left, and you already felt terrible for up and leaving her by herself, but the last thing you want is to be around anyone. "No... no. I have to run soon, anyway. I don't want you to make the trip. Plus it's late."

It was late. It was nearing midnight, if your microwave could be trusted.

"That's why I offered, child."

"We can do lunch sometime instead."

You hear Judith pause on the other end, can feel her weighing the pros and cons of arguing further with you, but eventually she relents. "Alright. Be safe. Don't be stupid."

You hang up soon after, and another glance at your phone lets you know that Emily had made it home safe. You shoot off a goodnight text and set it aside, letting yourself lean into the sink-side with the full weight of the day on your shoulders.

The memory of Vicki's intern makes you wince. Vicki makes you wince. Your mind barely brushes over the topic of Dimitri and Judge Mathers before you're leaning over the sink and flipping the faucet on. You cup cold water to your lips, flushing out the wine from dinner.

Dinner, which you'd eaten only half of.

You hadn't slept in your own bed in days, and now you were loathe to. Strangers had been through here. You felt the need to scrub the hardwood until their footprints went away, to tidy until it looked like it did when your life was normal. When you didn't instinctively look to that living room window.

Bruce probably wondered where you were. Or maybe he was out again, back to saving lives, being busy. You feel a pettiness arise in you over knowing that he was out there, doing exactly as you'd expect (and even want) him to do, and yet in the short amount of time you'd gone without hearing or seeing from him, you'd experienced the full range of human emotion.

Maybe it also didn't help that Bruce had been the one to bring you into his world, and yet he'd sent his lawyer to deliver the severance agreement.

But you still live in his house. You know his secret, a secret he has told no more than one person. You sleep a few doors down from him every night. You've touched those scars on his stomach, on his back. Your hand has slipped beneath the armor where seldom anyone else has gone. What do you have to be upset about, really? What are you compensating for?

Your breath hitches. A heavy presence settles behind you, and someone shuts off the faucet.

You get lightheaded. Had the water been so loud that you hadn't heard someone enter, or your thoughts so consuming? You're still bent over, still clutching the sink, and you know that you're screwed from this angle no matter how you spin it.

A hand travels from your shoulder, fingers dangerously close to the neck, only for the hand to pull you up and turn you into their arms. It's Bruce—or Batman, rather—as he levels his severe gaze on you. You're still lightheaded, so you don't say anything.

You think he's going to say something, but all he does is let the hand on your shoulder slip away, leaving burning skin behind. Water runs from your lip down to your chin. Before you can, Bruce is slipping off his glove to wipe it away with his thumb. "Vicki didn't come anywhere near me tonight."

At the mention of her name, your hackles raise. "Her intern broke into my place. Did you know about that, too? Since you keep tabs on people like her?"

Bruce's eyes darken. You see the muscles in his jaw tighten. A few beats pass in which you stare him down, and he circles around an answer before he settles on the only one he can manage. "When?"

"This morning. Gordon came by, thought maybe it might've been Dimitri but... didn't have the right stink. So I paid her a visit." His eyes flicker around your face as you try to remain impassive. "Guess I must've scared her real bad, huh?"

You slip past him, kicking off your shoes by the door. You had a feeling this conversation would be a long one.

"I'm sorry. She's... never gone that far before."

You scoff. "Not your fault you were busy hunting the guy that wants to kill me," you say, and you mean it truthfully, but it still comes out bitter, "and it was the kid's fault, being stupid."

You feel Bruce's eyes trained on you, trying to pick you apart from behind. You feel him assessing every step you take to the living room, your eyes finding the window cracked open, letting in a chilly breeze.

"I'm sorry for being late." His apology is quieter as he makes his way into the room, keeping a sizable distance between you.

"I can't have you at my beck and call, can I?" Your question lingers in the air. You turn to look at him and see him working his jaw, thinking. "But it was... kind of embarrassing. I agonized over what I should say to Emily, if it would hurt her feelings, ruin her night even. And then you didn't show and I thought it was good, maybe for the best. But then you were late and I got... worried. Because I hadn't heard from you all day. And I had a really shit day.

"It crossed my mind that something could have happened to you, and I was seconds away from going to look for you when you suddenly appeared like nothing happened. I was relieved, it's just..." You feel that anger coming back, and however irrational, you level your gaze on Bruce's. "A quiet night in? You couldn't look at me once on that stage, but you had the gall to say—" You laugh. Bruce's head tilts just so, still watching you. "Is that what you wanted? My attention?"

In the back of your mind, you know it's unfair to do this now. For all you know, he hadn't taken a second to breathe after the news on Mathers broke. He'd done the same the night Russo was attacked. You were interrogating him like he'd thrown you to the wolves, and not like you'd just gone without him for a little longer than usual.

But you've had a shit day—really, a shit month—and there wasn't a liquor strong enough to soothe your wounds. You were prey, desperately clinging to some sense of control. Of course you were angry! "Anger" didn't feel like the right word for it, though, now that you really thought about it.

No, it was close. Eerily similar. Burning just as hot.

You stalk toward him. "Did you hope it was my number? Did you want it to be me?"

And this—you think—this enigma you've unraveled, has been at the center of everything. For better or for worse, you'd sealed your fate that night on your living room floor.

You think that if anyone were to fix this, it should be him.

Bruce is trying to figure out what to do. You can see the wheels turning. He's still, something in his eyes reaching for you. The thought of what it might be... oh. You're not angry.

You grab the back of his neck and bring his lips to yours, swallowing the tiny breath he releases into your mouth.

You feel him hesitate, but it's only for a moment. A moment long enough to make your stomach flip with budding regret—guilt at your own recklessness—but it's crushed beneath Bruce's heel when he gathers you into him by the waist, bordering on desperate for contact. The hand that had wiped the water from your chin cups your cheek now, and it's for the better because when he starts kissing back, it feels like he's trying to eat you alive.

You maneuver him away from the kitchen, following after him as you bump the wall, narrowly avoiding the heavy weight of Bruce's boots until you feel the plush of your rug beneath your feet. A thought forms in your head.

You press down on Bruce's shoulders until he gets the hint. His knees hit the floor, his lips separating from yours with a wet pop! and the ragged sound of his rough breathing. Bent at the waist, you pull back enough to see him looking up at you, hands still grasping for your hips. You don't like not being able to see all of his face right now, and so you slip your fingers underneath the neck of the cowl and tug it off, revealing his tousled hair that had looked so perfect earlier. You were the only one to see him like this. Your chest swells with pride.

You pry his hands off you and place them on his own waist instead, keeping his gaze the entire time. "Off."

Your command is but a whisper, and Bruce takes a second before he's peeling off his chest plate and utility belt and gloves, and eventually the under suit is hanging open at his hips like it had at your kitchen table not so long ago. He sits so pretty on his knees, chest flushed, waiting for you.

There are new scars on his skin. There would always be new scars. As your eyes trace each one, you almost laugh. His bullet wound stares back at you.

You shove him onto his back.

He falls to the ground with a thud and as you're straddling him, you hear a knock at the door. Bruce's hands pause in finding your hips as a voice carries through. "Hey, uh... you alright in there?"

It's the cop who couldn't be assed to look after you. "Yes." You hiss.

"You sure? Look, I know earlier—"

"Please fuck off." Bruce makes a noise from beneath you. When you look down at him, his eyes are lit up like they were at the auction. His hands finally settle on you, locking you against him, and a thrill rises within you. You wait for the silence outside to follow, and then you speak, hushed. "You never answered my question."

Bruce blinks away the haze settling over him, "What?"

"You wanted it to be me. You like when I... look at you. When I see what no one else sees. You like my attention or you wouldn't keep coming back." Your finger traces his bullet wound and you see his lips purse before any sounds could sneak past them. Your other hand travels up his chest, reaching until you can feel the edge of his stab wound.

Bruce's eyes narrow. You almost think you've struck the wrong nerve. "And you like looking at me."

You sink your weight against his lap and his eyelashes flutter.

You feel one of his hands sink into your hair when you bend to kiss the fading scars along his chest, feel his hips buck off the floor a little when your tongue presses into a purpled bruise. "We have to be quiet," you chasten, "I hear you pay your security well."

Bruce's breath warms the top of your head and he angles you away from his skin, eyes singling in on your puckered mouth. His other hand plays at your hip, fingers rubbing back and forth through the material until his fingers slip underneath and find the hem of your underwear. You shiver. His finger hooks underneath the hem and pulls teasingly, drawing a muted whimper out of you. "I'm sure you're creative enough to find a way."

Your eyes flicker to his. You rut your hips against his own for good measure, watching his jaw tick in an attempt to stay silent. "For me or for you?" Then, you begin to slip down his thighs, your kisses passing his navel and getting closer and closer to where his under suit still clings to skin. You feel something bump your chin.

The hand in your hair tightens just so. You feel lightheaded again.

You move back just as he sits up. You see the paint around the crease of his eyes beginning to run a little bit, the fingers stuck in your underwear now tugging with an urgency.

a/n: if I had a nickel for every time I wrote reader getting upset with bruce at a public function only to makeout with him when they got home i would have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it's happened twice right. anyway bruce used ur underwear as a gag happy holidays

[celaenaeiln]

Am I interested in Dick Grayson's innovativeness and how that makes him a terrifying opponent?

Nah, not really, no, it's no- EXCEPT THAT I AM!

I love your analysis and honestly, I always surf through the dick Grayson tag once a day to see if u have posted. Pls drop the innovatiness wala analysis. I would absolutely eat it up

ADSAJHFGAJLHADJLHA YOU CAN'T SEDUCE ME LIKE THAT-MY HEART CAN'T TAKE IT!

But I am here to deliver *bows*

Let's start this off with a bang

Dick is completely naked except for a towel and with one (well defined) leg he hooks the handle of the beer bucket and sends it smashing into Midnighter to stop him from using the knife on another person.

Pure. Fucking. Platinum.

That move was so delicious, there's an ease-fluidity-grace-to that split second movement. Also notice how accurate his aim is despite swinging it with the arc of his toes. The bucket slammed right into the medulla oblongata, or more specifically the pyramidal tracts which are crucial for controlling voluntary muscular movements. Nerves from the brain cross over at that area as they go down and then synapse onto other nerves that are responsible for controlling muscles when they leave the spinal cord. The precision at which he aimed the bucket is glorious. And with what? His feet.

The only reason Midnighter wasn't injured is because he is a meta which is the point. Otherwise Dick wouldn't have aimed there unless he was fighting an enemy.

Oh that brings me to my next point.

Dick has extraordinary control of his actions

He's so right though. Nightwing doesn't need to kill because fighting is too easy for him. I swear he has some kind of messed up idea (aside from his need to be absolutely good) that killing someone with a gun would take the joy out of fighting. He loves to live life on the hardest mode only.

The rapid fire throw of the gun, calculating the distance, time, velocity of return, and angle? I mean I studied physics and calculating even half of that on paper is a headache. The fact that he did it in one second? It's extraordinary. Things that are pure, dumb luck to literally everyone else is carefully calculated at a speed faster than light, making it look like luck. Damn.

Yeah.

Forget Slade. Midnighter is my new favorite nemesister.

DO YOU SEE WHAT HE FOUGHT WITH?! WHILE DEATHSTROKE AND BLACK ADAM WERE FIGHTING WITH META POWERS AND A CURSED SWORD, HE FUCKING WRAPPED CHAINS AROUND HIMSELF LIKE A BOSS AND WHIPPED THE SHIT OUT OF THAT MAN.

Please take a moment of silence to relish in this sight.

Dick's innovativeness is a formidable skill when fighting allies.

Dick and Ras are evenly matched in sword fighting.

Wait, wait. I don't need any doubts about Dick's strength in sword fighting so I'm going to include a couple panels here:

Dick fights Azrael to a standstill which is absolutely incredible because Azrael solos. He's gone through many upgrades and skills and is one of the best fighters ever. He's even defeated Bruce.

He also defeated Jason and Tim together in Batman and Robin Eternal.

This is just another point towards the fact that Dick actually won in his fight against Bruce before going into Spyral. They weren't holding back.

Oh yeah. Ra's vs Dick panel, Dick and Ra's aren't going anywhere because Dick is a swordsman equivalent to one of the best in the world. So how do you win a draw? By one upping the opponent. He swings his foot up in midair and completely defeats him. "But that isn't a defeat...Ra's just stopped fighting!" It was complete defeat because Ra's is intelligent and knows when he can't win. Also they have been fighting for a while until they reached the breaking point in the battle. This move is a show of how Dick has that just one inch more that will lead him to be a victor.

Ra's honors Dick so much he tried to give the sword he used to fight with Batman because he thinks Dick is worthy of it. Can anyone receive a higher honor than this from that man?

He'll also use the broken glass of a car window to take down his opponent. If that's not innovation, then what is?

But one last thing since a car door cannot be considered innovative these days.

sticks. He literally took two twigs off the ground to use as weapons against his highly skilled, one of the best assassins, great-grandfather who is fighting with daggers in his hands and all over his body.

But you know the best part?

He draws his opponent to a tie. A tie? Not a win? No it was win after, considering he used his relative's falling body as a launching pad in the middle of the air when they were falling off the bridge to grab onto the bridge with the help of his friend. So it was his win but it's insane how incredible Dick's skills are.

It's really innovative because who thinks of using twigs and winning? Let me also clarify another point. Dick could've used the knives he'd gotten from his talon suit and thoroughly won because when he was brain washed he almost killed Red Condor from how skilled he was but he conscientiously chose to use twigs. In a sword fight. This man.

His improvisation is an asset that many have come to know him for and classify him as dangerous because he can fight with anything, anywhere, and win.

Something I want to end with. Dick only fights people who are stronger than him. I know he's fought mob characters and stuff but his enemies? They are all metas, assassins, skilled fighters, Russian Black Ops, and more. Essentially, people who are the top of the class in their categories and him defeating them equally and fairly is the reason why he has the respect of his enemies. He's just that good.

[copperbadge]

I was making breakfast and listening to an episode of Just King Things this morning, which is a podcast I do recommend -- two very smart English teachers are reading the books of Stephen King in publication order and discussing them. This could go extremely awry except they're both highly conscious of his failings as well as his skill, so they do really well handling a lot of his less salutatory content.

They've hit the point in King's ouvre (this episode was about Hearts In Atlantis) that follows his recovery from the car accident that very nearly killed him, where he was struck by a van while out walking. One of them pointed out that it seems as though he came back from nearly dying determined to write the wildest shit imaginable and only write what he wanted, which struck a chord in me this time despite having listened to this episode before. Perhaps because I was thinking about my own writing and where it's going in the short term (there are a couple of short stories I want to do that I don't quite have a way into yet). I generally don't think about the drift of my creativity in the long term because when I do I usually draw the wrong conclusions.

I don't really classify my life, the way some people who've had high-impact injuries do, as before-TBI and after-TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury -- the fairly severe concussion I had in January of 2020). For one thing, given I had to cancel a trip to NYC because of it, it may have saved my life; I almost certainly would have caught COVID as someone with known lung issues in New York at the time. For another, the TBI was way scarier to almost everyone else; for me it was just one more dumb injury I gave myself and I didn't even remember most of it so it hardly registered. I used to open the story of it with a joke about waking up not remembering going to bed the night before, but nobody ever found it funny.

It's true that there are changes it wrought in my life, though. Even practical stuff like making sure my living space doesn't have tripping hazards and continuing to wear a fitbit even though I don't really need to (the fitbit told us, the morning after, exactly when the concussion happened, because it registered a heart-rate spike when I fell). For weeks after, I had to move slowly and put off making important decisions because I couldn't trust my physical or intellectual judgement; I didn't even jaywalk in my own neighborhood because I couldn't be sure I was judging the cars' speeds properly. For about a year after I had periodic post-concussion syndrome which basically just slammed me back into concussion space, which wasn't painful or upsetting but was definitely inconvenient.

And it's also undeniable that my writing shifted after the injury. It's not necessarily because of the injury, since my initial recovery from the TBI and the declaration of quarantine happened at roughly the same time, and anyone who tells you that a years-long global pandemic didn't impact their artistic expression is selling you a line. But the last thing I wrote before the TBI was the first draft of Six Harvests, and aside from the Six Harvests publication draft, which had fairly minimal changes, almost all that I've written has been blue-sky, light-hearted, PG-rated romance. It's been on my mind that I've been writing different subject matter from what I used to, but the timing of it didn't strike me until just recently.

I don't mind, really. I love fandom and I support fanfic in whatever expression it comes, but I'm also happy writing my own stories. While I'm aware it's been years since I've meaningfully written fanfic, it doesn't bother me per se, as long as I'm writing. It bothered me much more when I could write fanfic but not original fic, especially in those last few awful months at my last job. I'm proud of the literary and non-genre fiction I've written in the past, but it's also much more trying and frustrating to write at times, so I'm enjoying having a different sort of challenge that feels more fulfilling in the process. I'm sure at some point I'll go back to literary fiction -- there are ways in which it's hard to avoid turning the later Shivadh novels into literary fiction, being honest -- but for now I like what I'm writing, and I'm writing primarily to please myself and without regard to what's necessarily rational or linear.

Just struck me, is all, that it's by far the most noticeable major shift in my work. I do sort of wonder what will be next.

[astra-ryuusei]

"Awakening the Sleeping Giant" p2

people seemed to like the first post so have a little more :)

might put it on ao3 later or something

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

The language barrier is a problem, Ulchtar finally decides once they touch down, and his new friend seems to agree.

He’d hit a snag in trying to describe where to go when he realized the Giant had been asleep for longer than English had existed as a language. Thankfully, gestures seemed to be more-or-less universal, so he was able to get across the idea of where to go eventually. They’re currently nestled in a cave somewhere in the Scandinavian mountains. It’s a remote place, especially after the alien attacks in the area a few years back. But he knows that this isn’t a permanent solution.

They need to learn to communicate before the inability to do so gets them both killed.

Which is why they’re now taking turns scratching out a massive diagram on the cave floor with sticks…Well, a stick and a small tree. They’d been trading words back and forth for a good two hours now. As best as he could tell, the Giant’s language was actually quite simple—consisting mainly of nouns, verbs, descriptors, and modifiers to those two things. It wasn’t particularly elegant, but it was versatile enough.

They’d started with things that were easily drawn-out or mimed: things like “person,” “me,” “you.” There was sort of a pronoun system, and the Giant…seemed to be a “he,” or an equivalent. Then they’d tried to build from there—he’d figured out some of the verbs, and how to phrase things as a question, and from there the two of them had hit it off. Now he was trying to get the guy up to speed, because everything would be a whole lot easier if they knew what was going on.

“So…[me-category-] human.” He points to the crude little figure of a human he’s drawn, and the Giant nods along.

How to explain the war…? “Humans [-planet-creation-positive-] Earth.” He points to the rough map of the world they’ve drawn out, then to the Giant’s rather detailed drawing of a kaiju. “[Planet-creation-negative-] Earth.”

They lean down a little closer to the drawing. “Quintesson,” he says with what sounds like outright distaste. Ulchtar’s a little taken aback by that.

“[Question.] Quintesson [-them. Name?]”

“[Name-positive.] Quintessons [negative-negative-negative.]” They confirm. Okay, triple negatives, so this guy hated the damned things just as much as anyone else. Maybe it wasn’t just Earth under siege…?

“Quintessons [motion-inside] Earth…[creation-negative] humans.” He’s painfully aware of his limited vocabulary, hoping it’s enough to get the point across. The Giant seems to pick up on the intent, tensing up just a little.

He continues. “Humans…[Eyes-positive-you. Humans-creation-negative, desire-negative.] So... [negative-brain-do-positive-you. Creations-do-similar.]” We found you. We didn’t want to die. We studied you. Tried to make things like you.

The Giant whirls towards him at that, picking him up to hold him at eye level. The grip is just tight enough to hurt, just enough to feel like a threat. “[You…complete-negative-me?]”

Ulchtar waves his hands in front of his face frantically, mortified. Oh, he’s really fucked up this time. He didn’t realize the Giant remembered getting taken apart like that. “[M-me-do-negative! Complete-positive-repeat!]” He sputtered. I put you back together!

It wasn’t technically a lie. He hadn’t exactly done it out of the kindness of his heart, but it wasn’t a lie.

The glare softens just a bit, the grip relaxing. He's not in immediate risk of death anymore.

They keep talking for a few hours, until it gets too dark to really see what he's doing anymore.

He hmms, trying to think of the right words…

“Uh…” He points up at the sliver of sky above them. “[Sky. Light-negative. Me-vision-negative.]”

“[…Recharge-you? Eyes-positive-me.]” He was offering to keep watch while Ulchtar slept, he mentally translated.

He nodded, fumbling mentally to figure out how to respond to that. “[…Gratitude-positive.]”

Then, another thought occurred to him. “[You. Name. Question?]”

The Giant paused for a second at that, wings drooping just a little bit. “[…name-knowledge-negative. Memory-negative-negative.]”

…oh.

Ulchtar can’t help but feel a little bad for asking now. He tries to shift the topic a bit, pointing to himself. “[Me. Name.] Ulchtar.”

That gets a tilt of the head. “[You. Name. Sound-similar…Star-sound-positive-positive-pitch-positive?]” In this language, the name and the phrase do sound kind of alike, actually. He laughs at that.  

“Star…scream? [Desire-name. Name-sound-positive-positive-positive.]” He adds three positives for emphasis, because it does sound way more badass than “Ulchtar.”

The ground shakes just slightly, and he realizes the Giant is laughing.

Don't get too attached, he reminds himself. They could betray you any second. He's just as dangerous as these Quintessons if he wants to be.

“Oh, knock it off…” He curls up on a relatively comfy-looking patch of cave moss, bundling himself up in some extra clothes in lieu of anything warmer. The cave’s warmer than outside, but still a bit chilly even with the ambient heat from the Giant’s engines heating it up.

It doesn’t stop him from eventually slipping into sleep.

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

The mech with no name shifts his weight just a little, trying to get comfortable in his hiding spot among the mountains. It’s not much—just a little nook in the rocks where it’s tough to spot him—but it’s better than being out in the open, as badly as he wants to stretch out his wings and fly again.

He doesn’t want to put the human—Starscream—Ulchtar—in danger.

Ulchtar’s the only companion he has in this world right now, after all.

So he’s probably going to stick with him for a bit—in no small part because he really doesn’t know where else he’d go. Most of his memory is long since corrupted, throwing him all kinds of errors whenever he tries to think back to before.

He knows, in broad strokes, what he is. He knows he’s a mechanical lifeform. He knows he’s a shapeshifter of some sort. He knows he can fly, and is probably designed to explore space. He knows what the parts inside of him are—what a spark is and that he needs to drink energon to survive. He knows the Quintessons want him dead.

But he doesn’t know who he is. His name. Where he came from. What his own species is called…

Does he have a species?

This whole world was filled with organic life, and nothing else—it was clear that the other machines he’d seen in that laboratory weren’t alive, but rather artificial constructs. They resembled him, but only superficially. He can’t feel their sparks, let alone any sort of EM field—something even the organics of this world have, albeit very faint ones.

Which leaves him with a very frightening question.

Am I alone?

His internal clock is telling him he’s been on this planet for six million years, trapped in stasis.

Surely someone must’ve looked for him, right? One of his kind, maybe? Surely six million years would’ve been long enough for a search party to find him.

If nobody had ever come looking for him, then…then either there was nobody left to send, or he’d mattered so little that nobody had ever bothered to remember him.

He wasn’t sure which hurt more: being alone, or being nobody.

Something wet drips onto his face.

Terrible time for rain, he thinks to himself.

But when he looks up, there’s not a cloud in the sky.

How odd…

He brushes it away, trying not to think about the question hanging over his head.

The night after that is largely uneventful, up until he notices a strange blue-green light on the horizon.

He pokes his head through the entrance. Was dawn supposed to come this early? Was it usually that color?

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

When he’s exhausted, Ulchtar is a pretty heavy sleeper.

That said, the fact that the Giant doesn’t wake him up when he moves away is still damned impressive. No, he only wakes up when it starts getting cold again. Still groggy, it takes him a few seconds to realize his vanished from his spot—something that makes him snap awake instantly in a panic.

He looked up towards the surface. Had he been abandoned? Was the Giant going back to—

Oh.

He sees his companion’s winged silhouette just beyond the mouth of the cave, illuminated in blue and green and violet.

He’s staring at something.

Ulchtar creeps closer, and quickly understands why. There’s an aurora snaking across the sky in full force above the mountains, and the Giant watches in wonder.

His wings twitch when Ulchtar draws near, as if sensing him somehow. “Starscream [recharge-positive?]” He asks. It seems like the nickname is sticking.

“[Recharge-positive],” he agrees. It’s another half-truth; he was sleeping fine until he got cold.

The Giant points up at the aurora, looking very confused. “[Occurrence. Name. Question?]”

“Aurora borealis.”

“[Common-positive? Threat-positive? Question?]”

“[Common-negative. Threat-negative.]” Ulchtar assures him.

He seems to relax a bit at that. “[Eye-similar…sky-heat-positive-light-positive.]”

“Yeah, kinda…” He really does not have the vocabulary to explain how the hell an aurora works. "The sky set itself on fire" is as good an explanation as any.

They nod along. “[Vision…positive-positive-positive.]”

That’s a lot of words to say “it’s pretty,” Ulchtar thinks to himself with a little smile, but jolts when his friend’s wings suddenly flatten against his back, an expression of…something like recognition on his face.

“[Name. Me. Memory-negative-now-positive. Sky-heat-positive-light-positive!]” He puts his hands together and looks to Ulchtar almost expectantly, as if he wants him to try translating this name too.

"...Skyfire," he decides after a few seconds.

The look "Skyfire" gives him at that...He's trying his best not to get attached, to do his best impression of a chessmaster moving his pawns around, but by God, if push came to shove he would kill for that smile.

[joeyrumlow]

BUTTERFLY KISSES

Iwaizumi x Reader

Words- 1236

“Iwaizumi-san, wait!” you arrived breathless and ruffled before Iwaizumi, who had waited for you as you accosted him. He wore an amused smile on his lips and a soft look in his eyes, the latter of which you decided to ignore along with the tingling in your heart. Drawing in a couple of long breaths, you held up the notebook you had in your hands and said, “The notes that you asked for yesterday.”

Iwaizumi took it with a soft ‘thank you’, and a faint tinge of carnelian besprinkled his cheeks as your fingers touched in the act. You quickly looked away, feeling your own cheeks glow with a rising warmth.

“Uh, I’ll return this to you as soon as I’m done,” he added, awkwardly waving the notebook, and not quite meeting your eyes.

“You don’t have to worry about it,” you replied with a wave of your own, feeling quite lightheaded and also stupid for actually waving as if bidding goodbye.

“So uh, would you—” He abruptly stopped midway, apparently arrested by something very serious in you, for his face flamed scarlet while his eyes fixed themselves on your… neck? your collar?

He started as you called him and without meeting your eyes, hastily muttered an apology before hurrying away, leaving you confounded and wide eyed in the hallway.

~*~

You stood outside the volleyball gym listening to the creaking of shoes and the voices of the players inside, the playful breeze your only companion. You had been standing there for a considerable time, and anyone walking by would think that you were there to confess to Seijoh’s heartthrob, especially since you looked and felt the part perfectly. However, your anxieties were engaged elsewhere, and if it weren’t for the assignment your teacher had assigned you to deliver, you would not be here.

Since your meeting this morning, Iwaizumi had been rather skittish around you, avoiding you whenever he could, and replying in broken accents without meeting your eye when talking to you seemed unavoidable. You didn’t really know what you had done, but you were rather hurt at this strange and rude behaviour, and you decided to execute your errand with all speed without speaking a word to him.

There was a hush inside the gym by and by, and you determined that you would hand over the assignment meant for Iwaizumi to whoever came out the door and be on your way.

Just then, you heard footsteps behind you and you turned with as amiable a face as you could assume, so that you could get your request accepted. But it fell as soon as you saw the familiar set features of the volleyball vice-captain, with a towel slung around his neck and a bottle in his hand. He coloured as he saw you, and you averted your eyes before speaking, “Iwaizumi-san, I was ask—”

“Y/N-chan, what brings you here?” a cheerful voice spoke behind Iwaizumi and you didn’t have to look up to see who it was. You smiled as Oikawa came to stand beside Iwaizumi, a bottle in his hand as well. You however, failed to see the darkened brow of Iwaizumi, a pained look flashing in his eyes as he looked from the one to the other.

“Are you here to cheer me on?” Oikawa playfully asked you as you only shook your head, a small smile gracing your lips.

“Oh come on, you don’t ha—” He paused very much like how Iwaizumi had in the morning, but then he laughed awkwardly and resumed with an assumed lightness, “Why Y/N-chan, what a naughty little thing you are! Walking around with a hickey in plain sight for all to see! You’ll be setting a bad example for our kouhai!” Oikawa’s cheeks were tinted with a deep blush as he said this and he stood swaying on his heels, stealing awkward glances at you.

Your face was on fire as you vigorously repealed the charge, “Whatever in the world are you talking about?! It’s not true!”

Oikawa smiled sheepishly and pointed at his neck by way of showing where you bore the mark. Your hand flew to your neck and covered the spot that supposedly had the hickey, which action caused an involuntary gasp to escape from Iwaizumi’s lips. Oikawa had sufficiently recovered himself by now to eye the two of you knowingly and add, “Don’t tell me it was Iwa-chan who gave it you.”

He was promptly rewarded for his insolence with a sharp rap at the back of his head, and Oikawa had tears in his eyes as he weakly protested, “It was just a joke Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi was breathing heavily and his hands trembled as he willed himself with an herculean effort to preserve a semblance of nonchalance, aside from the just anger against Oikawa’s thoughtless words. But his feelings showed in his looks and gestures, and only your embarrassment prevented you from seeing how things stood with him.

“Oikawa-san, Iwaizumi-san, please stop,” you interjected quietly, your heart beating thick and your cheeks burning. “It really isn’t what you think!”

Both of them fixed their eyes on you and you gulped as you continued, “I-It’s nothing like that! I was bitten by a bug when I was studying yesterday and-and it left a mark. It really was a bug, believe me,” you looked Iwaizumi straight in the eye as you said this, a pleading conviction shining in your irises.

Iwaizumi, blushing to the roots of his hair, now stood staring at his shoes and clutching the bottle in his hand. Oikawa stared you down with an amused smile, and after letting you look on in anxious anticipation for a while, said, “You had me scared for a while there Y/N-chan! But I’m glad that mistakes have been cleared up; I mean, Iwa-chan has been playing stiff all the afternoon and now I kno—” He stopped midway as he caught Iwaizumi’s angry glare and bidding you a hasty adieu, he practically fled into the gym.

Iwaizumi breathed a sigh of relief as Oikawa left the two of you alone, but he was still embarrassed and uncertain, and he stood scratching the back of his neck with a diffident hand, unsure how to begin. But then you came forward and wordlessly handed him the assignment and made to leave. However, Iwaizumi was quick enough to retain you by catching your wrist, but when you turned your shy and surprised countenance at him, he immediately dropped your hand and stumbled in his words, “I-I’m sorry.”

You looked at him askance while he kept looking at his feet as he talked, “I’m sorry, I… I’ve been acting like a fool and I—”

He raised his eyes to your face when he heard you laugh, and a wave of happiness flecked with butterflies surged within him as you shyly beamed, “It’s okay Iwaizumi-san, I’d be concerned too if I’d thought you had something like that on you.”

Iwaizumi felt like his heart would beat out of his chest and his face combust as he heard you speak thus, but he took heart and ventured in a shy tremor, “Can I buy you ramen to make up for it?”

You only nodded, too overwhelmed to articulate a response.

Iwaizumi visibly brightened and added with a smile that threatened to grow too wide, “Th-Then I’ll come by after practise. I mean, your club will be done by then as well, right?”

“Yes, that’ll do,” you responded with a smile that you could not suppress.

“I’ll take mine with soy sauce!” “I want pork!” “Chicken and mushrooms for me!”

A chorus rang out from the gym and you could see the third years laughing at the door, Oikawa in particular trying to stifle his laughter, but failing miserably at it. Iwaizumi burst this time and he bolted after Oikawa, who took a turn about the gym shouting all the while that it was unfair of Iwa-chan to only threaten him when there were others laughing too, adding immensely to the others' mirth. You quietly slipped away and headed to your class, heart fluttering and your legs buoyant in every step.

You halted your skipping step just outside the classroom – had you killed the bug that bit you? No, of course you had thrown it out the window.

[babyisa1]

could you write a smut about bill having car s3x with the reader? (I completely understand if you’re not comfortable with the idea)

ofc! tysm for the request, sorry it took a while :) i also have a bill smut in a car setting (just includes fingering) here

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ angry car sex/ BILL

synopsis: bill has always been a protective boyfriend, so when you sneak out to go to a party without his permission, he loses it.

warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, use of the word „slut“, profanity and i think thats it

2:34am

„cmonnn just one shot y/n!“ your friend slurs, stumbling all over the place as the beat of the music vibrates off the walls of the club downtown. what you were doing was already risky, sneaking out while bill was working to party with your friends, so it was best to not go that level higher and get plastered. you had to get home somehow anyway.

„no im fine, seriously! im gonna go out for a smoke. anyone coming?“ you question, but everyone was too busy in their own world. some of your friends were eating other guys faces off, while others were downing tequila shots like they were water. you roll your eyes, quickly grabbing your jacket and purse off of the bar stool as your make your way towards the front door.

the cold night air hits you as you throw your jacket on while walking to the side of the building, before rummaging around in your purse for a cigarette. you find one, the last one in the packet, as you quickly grab your lighter and start it. you take your first draw, breathing in the smoke as it fills your lungs. you sigh out in relief, you knew it wasnt a great habit but it always made you feel better when you were a bit anxious.

suddenly the sound of tires screeching catch your attention, your eyes snap up to meet the car as you realize it sounded pretty familiar. your eyes widen at the sight of bills furious face, his car pulling up next to you as he jumps out of the car. fuck. bill was not going to let you get off easy.

„what the actual fuck do you think youre doing?“ he almost shouts, smacking your cigarette out of your fingers and putting it out with his shoe. „hey! i was smoking tha-” ”i was worried sick about you! god knows what sort of sickos lurk around here“ he breaths out, disgust filling his face as he takes a look around.

„youre always so fucking controlling! why do you think i sneaked out, i wouldnt have gotton here otherwise!“ you snapped back, pushing your hand on his chest but he doesnt move. instead, he grabs your wrist and pulls you towards the car, opening the passenger seat for you. „get in“ he mumbles under his breath as you defeatedly slouch on your seat before bill closes the door behind you.

he walks to the other side, getting into the drivers seat as he slams his door shut, making the whole car shake. he starts the car, before pulling out of the parking lot and speeding down the street.

about 5 minutes into the drive of you both purely just shouting back and forth, you raise your voice in frustration; „i never get to do a nice fucking thing! you always come a long and ruin it“ you sigh out, sending bill an annoyed look. your face drops however as bill suddenly turns the steering wheel to the left in a swift motion. „fuck!“ he shouts, pulling over to an empty spot on the side of the road. „bill? what are yo-” „backseat. now.“ bill cuts you off, turning off the motor with a sour expression on his face.

you knew you had fucked up this time, he had never been so serious. you bite you lip before hesitantly climbing out of your seat. bill slaps your ass, making you fall on the backseat causing you to yelp. the car was dark, but you caught the devilish smirk tugging on bills face as the light from streetlamp illuminated off of him. you make room for him as he climbs over the seats towards you, gripping your hips tightly and forcing you onto all fours.

„im sick of your fucking attitude“ he begins, hiking your dress up and tearing your panties off, revealing your drenched cunt. „what a fucking slut.. acting all pissed if i get controling when it just turns you on“ he scoffs, running his cold fingers in between your warm folds.

bill was right, if it wasnt for the fact that he didnt take his anger out on you sexually, you wouldnt dare to go out without his permission. something about his possessiveness and the way he would fuck you differently than usual when he was furious turned you on to the max. he was ruthless, he didnt give a shit if he overstimulated you or if you thought 8 orgasms was too much, something about taming your bratty behaviour tightened his pants like crazy. maybe it was a subconscious kink of his..

you whimper, pushing your ass back towards him for more friction. suddenly you feel a harsh stinging on your right cheek, bill had slapped you for being disobedient. „so fucking needy, behave or you’ll get nothing.“ he spat, taking his sweet time as he fondled your ass. you bit your lip in frustration, you knew you deserved it, and this was bills idea of punishment.

10 minutes had gone by of bill purely just playing with your soft behind, occasionally grinding his clothed cock on your leg which earned low groans from him. you were finally put out of your misery when he reached for his belt, pulling it out of its loops and unzipping his throusers. he pulls them down to his knees along with his boxers, not bothering to take them off completely.

you look behind you, catching his cock spring free and slightly hitting his abdomen. you gulp, realizing you had to take all of his 8 inches in one go as he would not let you have time to adjust. he pumps the base of his length a few times, gliding his tip between your warm folds and nudging your clit with it. „shitt.. gonna fuck some sense into you, hm?“ bill groans lowly, before forcefully snapping his hips forward, burrying his whole cock deep inside of you.

you let out a chocked moan, one of your hands flying to the window to brace yourself as he formed a merciless pace.

„mmmhg..haa“ you whimper, the burning pain slowly bleeding into pleasure as bill rams his cock into your cunt. you could feel everything, every pulsing vein that decorated his cock, the girth of it was unlike any youve ever seen before, let alone felt before. you felt like he was so deep that his dick could reach your throat, but bill didnt care. he continued to abuse that gummy spot inside of you, bullying it to his liking as wet slapping noises filled the whole car.

„such a slut.. -ughm- getting me riled up just so i would fuck you.. you like it this rough dont you?“ bill groans, his hand reaching for your upper back, spreading out his fingers as he pushed you into the seat. bill has always been possessive and looved seeing you this defencless. only he could see you like this. touch you like this. hear you like this. right now your face was sticking against the cold leather seat through your sweat, unable to move as bill kept you there with his hand between your shoulder blades. his other reached for your ass, spreading it apart to thrust even deeper into you, if that were even possible.

the condensation you both have created caused your hand on the window to slip, wiping a clear spot for anyone to see. but, luckily bill had tinted windows so you both had all the privacy you needed for your dirty acts. apart from the whole car probably rocking from outside, no one could tell the state bill has you in.

he notices your hand slip, quickly forming a makeshift ponytail and yanking you towards him, your back now flush against his chest. bill uses his other hand to stroke away your sweat infused hair out of your face, nipping on your earlobe before sloppily sucking on it. this elited whorish moans from you, bill knew you were extra sensitive there and loooved it when he paid attention to it. you felt your orgasm approaching by the second, your walls clenching around bills cock signalling youre about to come undone.

„uh-huh..cum all over my cock schatz“ bill pants as you felt his hot breath against your wet ear, sending goosebumps over your body. „oh god-” you cry out, biting your lip as the warm wave of your high washes over you, hitting you like a truck. your hips shudder, the pure sight of you sending bill into his as ropes of his hot cum shoot into you. „shit- oh fuck“ bill mewls, however his pace doesnt falter. you felt a hot tear escape your eye from the overstimulation, not been given any time to recover from your last orgasm.

~

bill continued to pound his cock in you, fucking about 5 or 6 of his loads deeper into your hole. your ability to form audible sentences has left you long ago, your mascara stained your cheeks following your tears from the countless orgasms that had washed over you. you seriously had no idea what number you were on, 7? maybe even 8?

bill was so drunk off of your pussy, this man couldnt get enough, literally. the both of you were covered in a thin sheen of sweat, almost slipping off of the leather seats with each harsh thrust. despite that, you could feel that bills pace was less forceful then before as his legs were close to giving out. once again, his body mustered up the energy to send one last orgasm through him as his almost swolen cock spewed its load into your now sore hole. he finally collapses on top of you, breathing heavily and muttering german curses under his breath.

the two of you lay there breathless for a few moments, before bill lifts himself back off of you. „jesus.. you okay?“ he breaths out, throwing you your dress and ripped panties while he put on his own clothes. „mhm“ you respond, but your face told him otherwise. you were exhausted and slightly overwhelmed from how far bill took it.

he notices your expression, his face softening as he pulls you into a gentle hug. „oh baby..“ he begins, planting soft kisses in your hair. „im sorry, i guess i took it a bit far.. i was just super pissed“ he explains, rubbing up and down your back in a way to comfort you. you nod in response, burrying your face in the crook of his neck.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

this is prettyyy long so i hope you guys enjoyed :)

masterlist

[s1eept0ken]

Keep Quiet ☣︎ III x Fem!Reader

warnings nsfw, public sex?, slight degrading

a/n : I think we don’t have enough iii smut out here so I am changing that ;) enjoy!

mdni!!!!

꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎

It’s such a nice day, you and the band were hanging out, having lunch and just talking about whatever! it was nice until iii started sliding his hand up your thigh, getting dangerously close to your sensitive areas…You take a deep breath in and look over at him, but he isn’t even acknowledging you. You can’t lie though, the thought of him fucking you in front of the others gets you so unbelievably horny but you would never tell him. His fingers get closer and closer, you open your thighs a little more for him to access, he chuckles at that. Two of his slender fingers go up and down slowly on your clothed slit feeling how wet you are he takes it as a sign that you’re fine with what is about to happen. He slides his fingers into your underwear and draws circles around your clit, slow but somewhat rough. One of your hands is grippig his wrist while the other rests over your mouth gently trying to contain your soft moans. Thankfully no one chose to sit next to you guys that day... II notices your strange behaviour and how you suddenly changed, I mean you were being super talkative before and now you’re dead silent! “Y/n, are you okay?” he asks and the room falls silent and all their attention shortly goes to you while iii pushes two fingers deep inside of you, you let out a slight whimper. You are quick to clear your throat and move your hand away from your face, your eyes light up and your back straightens, “I’m perfectly fine!!” you reply back while iii slides his fingers in and out of you slowly. II hums in response and thankfully everyone goes back to having a conversation with one another. You can feel your core start to tighten, your pussy clenches around his fingers but he already knows you’re close. III leans back next to you and leans down to your ear “you like being a little whore in front of my friends huh? Bet you wish you could let out your moans and let them see, I’m sure they’d love it just as much. You’re my good girl aren’t you?” He whispers into your ear, he leans away and you look up and nod with tears in your eyes overwhelmed by all the pleasure as he slides yet another third finger in. You let out a soft quiet moan, you don’t think anyone heard you but the way Vessel was watching you from the other side of the table said otherwise. III speeds his fingers up, it’s too much, you don’t know how much you can take. Just as you are about to finally release he slides his fingers out, your eyes dilated immediately and you leaned forward towards him, confused and upset. You can tell he’s got a smug smile on his face, he leans down and kisses your nose leaning in towards your ear “we can finish later baby” With that he gets up and washes his hands. As you look around, everyone seems fine, no one seemed to notice anything strange! Or so you thought so.

꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎

AAAHHH I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY READING THIS AS MUCH AS I DID WRITING IT!🖤 but lmk if you guys are down for a part two👀

[gregrulzok]

I wonder how much Izuru still shows through in Hajime. And how noticeable it is.

I've always thought of it as a kind of state-of-mind thing.

Like, most of the time, he's just Hajime. Regular, ordinary Hajime, short-tempered and sarcastic and still so caring. Still the same guy that gets wrapped up in the dumbest shenanigans because as much as he likes to quip, he doesn't like saying no to others. And he's taking care of all of them, taking care of the island trying as hard as he can to ensure everyone's recovery and health.

But there's something unsettling about it, the way he picks up new skills with such speed and grace - there's usually a bit of a learning curve on things he's never tried before, sure, and he can't quite outclass anyone in their own talent ... But still, it's a bit intimidating to know that whatever you're struggling with he could probably do blindfolded.

And it's the little things, too. He's not quite the same Hajime he was before. Before he was awkward, and kind of clumsy. Now he never stumbles. He never forgets a word, or misspells one, or mispronounces something. He never spills his drink or stubs his toe. He avoids drawing lots and playing rock paper scissors, when the others are divvying up chores with games of chance he won't participate. If offered, he'll just wave them off and say he'll take care of whatever chore it is - and he plays it off like he's just trying to be helpful, but they know why he's dodging it, they know that no one but maybe Komaeda could ever win against him.

And then, sometimes, when he's focused on a difficult task, they can see it setting in. His eyes glaze over, and his hands work unnaturally quickly, effortlessly. His expression falls, his posture stiffens, and he's lifeless, listless, mechanical. And it's creepy, it's unsettling, but they know that when he's done he'll just smile and go back to being just Hajime.

And rarely, very rarely, he's not doing a difficult task when it happens. He isn't doing anything. One of them will walk into a room looking for him, and immediately sense that something is just ... Off.

He's sitting there, still, not occupying himself with anything, staring off into the distance. Expressionless, motionless. And when they talk to him ... He responds as normal. He talks quickly and jokes and makes facial expressions as if nothings wrong - but as soon as the interaction is over he falls again, goes still, and they can tell he's just putting on an act to not make it weird for them.

And when he's left alone, he'll go about his daily tasks. He'll finish them far too quickly. He won't initiate conversation, won't join on any group activities. They know they can interact with him and he'll act normal, but even the act just feels creepy with the knowledge of what's behind it.

And it's unfair, really, to call that Izuru. Because it's still Hajime, there's no memory loss or dissociation or anything like that - it's Hajime, just the same. But it's creepy to think that the same guy that was laughing along with one of Kazuichi's stupid jokes or trying to comfort Mikan through a panic attack an hour ago is suddenly so dead in the eyes. They still call him Hajime, still treat him as normally as they can, but it's hard, mentally, not to think of it as a different person altogether.

It's temporary though. Just a mood. A state of mind he gets in and out of, rarely and for a short time. He comes back around eventually and it's visible, watching the light flow back into his eyes.

And then he's just Hajime again, regular, ordinary Hajime.

[tojiscumdumpster]

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - TOJI

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀✧ summary page

Zen’in Chiaki. Sixty-three. Location is in Okinawa, Japan… Reason for kill–tampering of legal documents within the company…

  The more I read this shit, it doesn’t make sense to me. A Zen’in being targeted for fucking with documents? I have no fear when it comes to those fuckers, but I don’t think anyone would be reckless enough to get themselves involved with that family. 

 My time there had me witnessing the most gruesome shit whenever someone tried to interfere with their affairs, so anyone without guts would even try to take them out. Now I’m reading a contract with a sixty-three-year-old woman that’s on their shitlist for tampering? 

 Something’s not adding up, especially when the woman appears to be from that family.

 Zen’in Chiaki? That name doesn’t ring a bell.  Don’t remember my old man having any aunts, and all his siblings are men. Could she be a cousin? A wife? I have no fucking clue. But I need a more detailed reason why she’s being targeted to kill because I just don’t go around sniping old ladies for the hell of it. 

  Is this why Kong was up my ass about taking this contract? Because the person is a Zen’in? Does he think I want to take revenge on those fuckers who abused me and the ones who witnessed it? Maybe if I didn’t have Megumi, I’d find pleasure in this. However, I can’t take that risk and do anything that could possibly fall back on my kid. 

 Just when I was about to close the folder and call Kong to reject this contract, something in her file grabs my attention. 

 Target had relations with several members of the Zen'in Family. 

 “What the fuck…” That’s what this is? They want to kill some broad they all slept with? So she’s definitely someone’s mistress. My guess is she’s not actually from the family and was married into, and probably slept around for money.

 Maybe now they’re not giving her what she wants, she went into tampering, they found out, and now they want to wipe her out.

 That’s the only thing that makes sense. Some shit Kong got me into, but still–why does he want me to take this?  

 Pulling out my burner phone from my locked desk draw, I speed dial Kong to get a clear answer. Because at this point, I’m tired of the vague crap.

 “Fucking pick up. I know you’re not asleep…” I mutter to myself. Most likely the fucker is up and smoking cigarettes yet the line is still ringing. “You got to me kidd–”

 “Oh, fuck yes.” Did this… motherfucker really answer the phone while he’s balls deep in some woman? “Fushiguro–calling so late. Did you miss me?”

 “You couldn’t get your dick together before answering the phone?”

 He deeply sighs followed with a chuckle. “Can’t have my lover waiting for me.”

 “Cut the crap. It’s about the file. Get the girl out the room or go somewhere private you can talk,” I say firmly. 

 “Ah, so you’ve finally read it. You’re going to take it. Yeah?” 

 “Why’d you give me this shit? Who’s Chiaki Zen’in?” 

 I hear him light a cigarette and take a puff. “That’s not my family, Fushiguro. How the hell am I supposed to know?”

 “Because you gave this to me! Now I definitely feel like you’re trying to set me up.” 

 “Fushiguro, get your fucking head out your ass and use your brain for once. What benefit do I get for setting you up?”

 I shrug. “Money.”

 “Like I don’t have plenty. It actually hurts that you don’t trust me as Megumi’s godfather.” Again with the banter because I know Kong loves messing with me. 

 “Fuck off.”

 “And plus, I value my life. You’re a crazy son of a bitch. I know my place.”

 At least he knows. 

 He continues, “Look—I think you should take the contract. It might help you get the answers you’re looking for. You don’t have to kill the lady, but maybe she knows something about what actually happened to your wife.”

 I arched my brow. “And how would she know?”  

 “That’s why you fucking ask, genius. If Naoya overheard them talk, there’s a possibility she could’ve as well,” he says. “If she was a mistress, then they might’ve talked around her without realizing she’s listening. Take the contract, go find her, and get answers.”

 Kong does have a point. 

 Since that Zen’in fuck insinuated my old man had something to do with my late wife’s death, I’ve been losing sleep to do further digging, and have Kong do the same. 

 Asking my father or uncle directly won’t do anything because I know they’ll just lie. And quite frankly, if I ever see them again, I’d probably just beat them both to a pulp. So maybe seeing who this Chiaki Zen’in woman is would help me get the answers I need.

  The convenience of this contract is that it’s due in three months—around the time I’m flying to Tokyo. What an interesting fucking trip this will be.

 “Alright. I’ll take it.”

three weeks later…

 “Y/N, where… are… we?”

  Alright—when Y/N said to take the day off because we’re going on a date, never did I expect for her to take us to a Formula One track race. Especially to a race that I thought was fucking sold out. 

 And the craziness thing is—I never mentioned wanting to go, so how did she know? 

 Is this the fluffy shit they talk about in relationships? Remembering what your partner enjoys to make them happy? Because when it comes to Y/N, I’ll do whatever just to see that pretty smile on her face. 

 Just don’t expect that to happen to me, though. Simply ‘cuz I’ve never experienced it. But since I made Y/N mine a little over a month ago, she’s gotten me used to certain shit. 

 Dates. Skin to skin contact in bed. Fucking self care routine that involves this retinol concoction I still don’t understand but visibly see the difference it does to my face. 

 And to top it off, making videos together where we dress up in coordinating outfits before we go out. All of this shit is foreign to me, yet…it feels damn good. 

 For the first time in a while, life isn’t too bad. Me and Megs are pretty decent, and now my relationship with Y/N. . . I have nothing to complain about. 

 “We’re at a Formula One—” Before she got the chance to respond, I crashed my lips against her to show my fucking appreciation. Her stiff nature shows she’s shocked at my sudden kiss, but she immediately relaxes in my embrace and the moment I grip her ass. 

 Those soft moans always taste the sweetest when we’re out in public, and Y/N must’ve forgot I have a exhibitionism kink. 

 “I know where we’re at, Y/N.” I look into her eyes, hoping my own conveys how I feel at this moment. With how she’s smiling at me, I’m sure it does. 

 She’s so fucking pretty. Don’t think I’ll ever get over that. 

 “Easy, big guy. I see the look in your eyes,” she teases. “We have the whole day together.”

 I kiss her cheek before grabbing her hand to walk toward the stadium. “You’re wearing that tiny ass skirt around me and expect me to behave?”

 “Toji—I could be wearing a cheese suit and you’d still want to fuck me.”

 I throw my head back and chuckle. “Glad you know me, sweets.” 

 She nods with a smile. “I do.”

 “How’d you get these tickets anyways? Tried to get them myself and they fucking sold out in a minute.”

 “Your girl has some connections. Meaning, I know a guy.”

 I raise a brown in concern. “Hope it’s not any exes.”

 “No, baby,” she says through a giggle. “One of my students' older brothers, who I happened to be acquainted with, gave me his tickets.”

 “Willingly?”

 “You should know how charming I could be, Mr. Fushiguro.”

 I shake my head. “Trust me. I know.”

 She wraps her arms around mine and leans against me. “I’m excited, TJ. I’ve never been to a Formula One race before.”

 “They’re pretty cool. Just here to bet some money, though.”

 “Should I be surprised?”

 “Nope,” I responded with an exaggerated pop sound. 

 “Well, I’ll just be the pretty girlfriend who asks a thousand questions.”

 Being with Y/N is starting to feel like second nature to me. Her presence is so damn addicting and I know I’ll never grow tired of it. 

 Almost like if I keep spending time with her, these memories I’ve been having lately will start making sense. The shit is weird, and I don’t believe in anything… but I do believe in Y/N. I believe she’s it for me. And say if we don’t work out. . . Well, I’ll keep trying until we do. 

  Please, don’t leave me. That voice keeps echoing in my head, and I can’t help but think it’s Y/N. 

 I won’t, I respond internally. 

 “. . . Baby, you’re okay?” A soft, concerned voice overlaps my thoughts, reminding me I’m with Y/N.

 “Y-Yeah, my bad, sweets.”

 “You’ve been doing a lot of zoning out lately,” she says, brows slightly dipping. “You sure everything’s okay?”

 “Positive,” I lied, not wanting her to worry. 

 She looks like she doesn’t believe me, but decides to drop it, which I’m grateful for. “Okay,” she replies with a soft smile. 

 Eventually we found our seats just before the race and I find myself itching to place bets with the fuckers around me. Never can pass up an opportunity to make extra cash. 

 “. . . it’s round one of the Formula One season of . . .” The commentator blares throughout the stadium with intros of each racer and all the other shit they say before the race begins. 

 Courtesy of whoever this person gave Y/N the tickets, our seats are pretty damn good. But, of course, the best view of the stadium is my girl sitting next to me. 

 The best view of the stadium is my girl sitting next to me. Wow, how fucking corny did that sound? I’ve been turning into an all time sap ever since I’ve seen Y/N for the first time. It’s not like I give a damn. 

 Told myself I want to be better for her because quite frankly, a fucker like me doesn’t deserve a girl like Y/N. And it’s not like I’m trying to convince myself of it either, but I’m known to be the Zen’in fuck up. The unlovable child. The accident. . . 

 Why don’t you understand that I love you?

 Every time I even think for a second about all the fucked up shit my old man said to me, that familiar voice pops up in my mind. 

 However, I didn’t get a chance to think about it any longer. 

 Y/N’s plush lips were on mine, rewarding me with a kiss that brought me back to reality and rushed arousal to my cock. But still…it managed to be soft…longing…reassuring. . . The kiss put words in my mouth that felt weird for me to say. 

 It’s like she knew I was thinking about some shit that had me internally spiraling, though, rather than asking, she gave me a kiss that dispel any negative thoughts lingering inside of me. 

 “Hi, big guy.” Her voice is filled with tenderness, barely above a whisper when she looks at me with those eyes that say it’s okay. 

 Something I probably need to hear. 

 “So, how much do you usually bet on these games?” she asked, changing the topic from where my mind was. 

 “Depends, but Formula One races are usually filled with rich fuckers, so I bid higher.” 

 “. . . And this is the track we’re racing on today—fifty-eight laps. Three point two-eight miles per lap. . .”

 Thirty minutes later, and the race starts. But honestly, I barely gave a damn about the race or betting since I was more invested in listening to Y/N’s commentary. 

 If it wasn’t her being concerned about the drivers crashing into the mountain of tires, it was her telling me how hot I’d look in the driver’s gear. 

 Her words. Not mine. 

 Whenever I was into the race, yelling at the track like a maniac because I eventually placed bets, she was right there with me—shouting like she placed bets. 

 Where I was serious, she took it as race shit talking. 

 Couldn’t believe this, but I was actually having… fun. 

 Fun. 

 Fuck, that’s another word that feels weird to say. 

 It’s the truth, though. And it’s all because of Y/N. 

 Kind of wish the kid was here with us, but I haven’t grown balls big enough to tell him I’m with his reading teacher. Seeing how my mood is with  her, if I had him here, too, I knew I would be the cheesiest motherfucker in the world. 

 “Toji, be honest,” she starts, dragging me from my thoughts. “Do you actually ever win your bets?”

 “Fuck no.” And something about my answer had Y/N bursting into a fit of laughter. “Damn, didn’t know me losing money was that funny to you.” I acted like I was offended, but she knows I wasn’t. 

 “Because the driver we're rooting for is losing, baby.” 

 I shrugged. “Nothing wrong with an underdog.”

 “It is when you’re not profiting off the underdog in question,” she argues.

 “Fair point.”

 She sighs before standing up. “All this yelling has me needing the restroom, and I’m hungry. I’ll be right back.” She gets up, purposely stopping to where her ass levels with my face, and I know the exact shit she’s trying to pull. 

 “Okay, Y/N,” I simply say. 

 She giggles. “You want anything, babe?”

 I shook my head, but pulled out cash to give to Y/N before slapping her ass, earning a yelp and pervert, from her while watching her walk away. 

 Definitely fucking her when we get back home. 

 This day couldn’t get any better. From the bullshit at work to this contract Kong finally got me to sign weeks ago, I didn’t realize how much I needed a day of me and Y/N. 

 Seeing how our conversations have been lately, she probably knew something was up with me, which technically, there is. 

 Just haven’t had the chance to tell her. 

 Don’t know if I will.  

 I mean, how exactly do I fucking bring up my family possibly had something to do with my wife’s death, and I’m taking a contract to find out more? Not happening. 

 Can’t have her thinking I’m full of shit and been lying to her the entire time. Can’t risk Y/N freaking out and potentially calling the cops. Can’t risk…

 Losing her. 

 It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let that happen. Yeah, I talk down on myself and say how much I don’t deserve Y/N. But I’m a selfish son of a bitch. 

 Even when I know I shouldn’t have something (or in this case, someone) I’ll take it anyway. That’s just who I am. 

 A buzzing sound in my pocket gets on my fucking nerves and several missed calls and text messages from Kong. 

 

And besides, I didn’t feel the damn vibration until now. 

“What the…”  

 Here’s here. Here’s here. 

 Here’s here. Here’s here.

 Here’s here. Here’s here.

 I waste no time speed dialing Kong and maneuvering out the crowd to somewhere I can what the fuck is he talking about. 

 “Finally—”

 “Speak,” I cut him off after he answered the phone. “Now.” 

 “I’m at the bar near the condo I’m renting and some geezer comes up to me and tells me to give you his regards,” Kong explains. “I’m wondering who the fuck is he. Then, I realized he reminds me of someone. You, Fushiguro.”

 This has to  be some kind of sick twisted joke. 

 The kind I don’t find fucking funny. 

 Twenty years. I have seen that bastard in over twenty years, and somehow he reappears in the city I came to start a new life in. Of all places. 

 The first person that comes to mind is that Zen’in brat that was adamant about having to do shit when that family, and now all of a sudden my old man is fucking here. That little shit is his eyes. I knew I couldn’t trust that motherfucker for a reason. 

 Pissed isn’t even the word to describe how I feel. I’m furious. My blood burns with rage and at this moment, if anyone even looks at me wrong, I’ll bash their face in picturing my old man. 

 You unlovable child. 

 Your mother should’ve aborted you. 

 Go in the street and die. Like I care. 

 You’re useless. You’re useless. You’re useless. You’re useless. You’re useless. You’re useless. You’re useless. You’re useless. You’re useless. You’re useless. You’re— 

 “Fushiguro!” Kong yells. “Are you fucking listening?”

 No. 

 And it’s not like I can right now. 

 “Text me what you said. I have to go.” I hang up and throw my phone back in my pocket. I need to go. Now. I need to find—

 “Y/N.” 

 Shit, my head was so far up my ass, I forgot she went to the bathroom and concession stand. 

 I peek over to find our empty seats, leaving me to believe Y/N hasn’t come back yet. So my next move was to rush near the restrooms, asking different women who’s coming out did they see a beautiful, dark skin woman with the additional description I gave them.

 Some answered no, and others were too busy ogling like I would a fuck about their attention. 

 The concession stands were next, and it’s not helping that there’s damn near hundreds of them on this floor alone. 

 I know Y/N is fine. Probably just waiting in line to buy food. It’s just… I can’t be here right now. My lungs have grown tighter and it’s been harder to breathe since Kong told me about my old man being here. 

 I’m forty-two. It’s been a little over two decades. Shouldn’t be triggered by this shit anymore. I’ve forgotten. I don’t care. But that little weak boy inside of me is dripping out and reminding me that I’m still… not okay. 

 Maybe ‘cuz I’m worried about everything going good in my life now turning to complete shit the minute a Zen’in shows up around me. Specifically those two drunk fucks—my old man and his brother. 

 Y/N, where are you? 

 I’ve passed at least six concession stands already and still haven’t found her. Dammit, she probably got lost. I know this is her first time at a Formula One race, so she—

 Don’t fuck with me. 

 Don’t fuck with me. 

 Anger blurs my vision when I look across to see Y/N and my fucking old man—talking. Talking like they’re old friends. 

 My strides are long and hard while pushing through the crowd, not caring about the glares, scoffs, or complaints from the people I’m pushing out my way. All I care about is getting to Y/N and getting her the hell away from my old man. 

 As I close in on them, I’m able to hear their conversation. 

 “Are you single by chance? I have a son that you would be fantastic with,” he says. 

 She nervously giggles, but not in the way she usually does… she’s uncomfortable. “Oh, uhm, no. I have a boyfriend—”

 “Y/N!” I shout, causing her to turn around and look at me. The moment we lock eyes, relief floods her expression, confirming my observation of her being uncomfortable. 

 “Toji—” I pull her behind me to level with my father and grab him by his suit collar.

 Of course he’s the same coward as before because the moment I snatched him up, three fuckers dressed in black ran toward us to protect him, but he held his hand up to stop them in their tracks. 

 “What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked through gritted teeth. I’m itching to kill him, and had it not been for us being in public or Y/N, no questions would’ve been asked.

 “My dear son. Is this how you greet your father after twenty years?” The mockery and condescending tone is his voice makes me want to rip out his fucking throat. “Also, I see you lack manners as usual. Did you not see me talking to this beautiful young woman?”

 “You have shit to talk about with her.”

 His brows raised in realization. “Overprotective over a woman? Is this your significant partner?”

 “Y–”

 “No,” I answered, cutting her off and instantly regretting it. I don’t need to look at Y/N to know confusion fills her face. “Answer my fucking question.”

 “Just making friendly conversation, is all. Am I not allowed to do that?”

 “I-”

 “Fushiguro,” Y/N interrupts. She catches me off guard by using my last name, but I guess it’s only fair since I denied she was my girlfriend. “Let’s go.”

 The silent plea in her eyes makes me wish I never allowed this piece shit to pull a reaction out of me. ‘Cuz by the looks of it, Y/N is scared… and it’s all because of me. 

 You’re worthless. Don’t ever come near this estate again. 

 These damn thoughts in my head will do everything in their power to skin me alive. I’ll just ignore them… like I always do. 

 Last thing I want, which she probably already does now, is to regret being mine. So I took her hand, ignored that fucker and his condescending voice, and rushed through the crowd again to get the hell out of here. 

 “Toji,” Y/N calls me, sounding worried. “Toji, wait. Was that your—”

 “Old man.” 

 My fucking old man. 

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