#I can pour a better one for my dad from a BOTTLE

[mist-the-wannabe-linguist]

"I don't drink tea"

Oh right, apologies sir, let me magic you a glass of apple juice

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 5 (Part One)

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You let Mister Miller help you out of a slump and learn you might like a little pain

WC: 8.9k

CW: Reader as some descriptors (freckles, long hair etc) so this might be more of an original character vs female reader. Dom/Sub dynamics, pet names (sweet girl, baby, baby girl etc). More CW in red below the cut but will contain spoilers.

AN: THANK YOU for being sooooo patient with me while I delayed this chapter. This is only HALF of the chapter and as soon as my lovely @lotusbxtch beta's the other half I will post it. No pressure thought, bb!! I just couldn't WAIT to share this since you've all been so wonderful and supportive. Moodboard by me, dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

CW: riding crop, oral (male and female receiving), male masturbation, female orgasms, hand cuffs, deep throating/face fucking, descriptions of self doubt and panic attacks; reader is going through it, ok? Hair pulling, Joel is a bit mean but he does it with love and care. Joel being a consent and aftercare king.

Joel

Joel sits on the Trocadéro platform of Café de l’Homme, the birds chirping and the sound of rustling papers keeping him from getting too lost in his thoughts of you. Sarah sits across from him, a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower to their left, and a buying agreement typed out in French taking up most of the table. Joel might not look like it, but he can see himself eventually living out his years in either Paris or Italy. He speaks enough French and Italian to get by, but relies on Sarah to read over the contract for her new condo. His baby girl is a doctor and now that she’s almost a year into her surgery residency, this condo is her graduation present finally coming to fruition. 

He looks down at his phone, opening the text thread he has with you. He’s been trying to give you space to study this week, telling himself each day that this isn’t what you signed up for but he can’t help himself, and when you responded with a selfie of yourself in your maid discreetly polo the other day he knew there was no way he’d be able to keep that pledge to himself anymore. Joel looks at the time, factoring in the time change, and your LSAT retake is in a few hours. His thumbs move on their own.

Good Morning. Good luck on your LSAT today.

He attaches a picture of the coffee he had that morning before hitting send. 

The waiter comes by to take their orders, Sarah’s French flowing from her lips as easily as she breathes, happily telling the waiter what both her and her dad will have. Joel mutters a ‘merci’ as the waiter nods. 

Thank you. That coffee looks a lot better than mine.

A selfie of you, all pink cheeked and smiling follows. A paper to go cup with a plastic lid in your hand beside your face. 

Were you running?

“How’s it going over there?” Joel says over his phone screen to Sarah, her focus is intent on the stack of papers in front of her. 

“Shh, I’m reading,” she says lightly as the waiter opens an expensive looking bottle of white wine and pours a little for her to try. After taking her small sip and nodding at the waiter she looks to her dad. “What? I thought we were celebrating!”

He shakes his head, laughing at his daughter as both of them look back at what they were doing.

Yes. I run most mornings. Gotta clear my head.

What’s bothering you, sweet girl?

You know, you calling me that has the same effect as me calling you Mister Miller.

Ok, we’ll just call each other by our names then.

Joel is so wrapped up in his little bubble with you that he doesn’t notice Sarah sitting back and watching him as she sips her wine.

That’s no fun, let’s come up with safe nicknames.

He feels the side of cheek tug up. She’s so fucking cute.

Alright, I’m calling you giggles

What am I, a rodeo clown?

Joel laughs silently to himself, not realizing that he’s sporting a full and cheesy ear to ear grin across his face. 

Fine - Freckles

Eww, that’s what the mean girls in high school used to call me

Well the hot, successful man who owns a sex club and supplies your orgasms finds your freckles incredibly sexy. What’s my safe nickname?

“Who are you texting?” Sarah says, her voice thick with amusement. 

Joel clicks his phone shut, laying it face down on the table. He wipes the smile off his face and looks up at Sarah like a child who just got caught stealing candy. “No one. Just work stuff.”

“Uh huh, sure dad. I know that smile. Did you meet someone?”

Joel grabs his wine, taking a larger drink then necessary. A drink of someone who’s lying. There’s no way he can tell his daughter about this. Sure, Sarah knows about the club but they never talk about what goes on there. “No! Of course not. I’m too busy for that.”

Her eyes blink to his phone as it vibrates on the table, but he keeps his attention on Sarah, his wine glass looking comically small in his large hand. “I’ll just ask uncle Tommy.”

“Funny story, he’s been removed from the family.” He deadpans.

“Tess will tell me then,” Sarah says, her and her dad both challenging each other jokingly.

“Who? Never heard of a Tess before,” Joel says, crossing his arms. 

Sarah laughs into her wine glass, “Ok dad. Look, I want you to meet someone, so don’t hold back on my account. Seriously, you’re a catch and have been alone for a long time.”

“I don’t want to talk about it with you, Sarah. Not yet at least.” His phone vibrates again and she cocks an eyebrow before going back to her papers.

Joel scoops up his phone to read your texts.

Huh, suddenly I’m over being bullied. Weird.  Oh, I have the peeerrrfect nickname for you!

Go on, Freckles…

Sweet Cheeks, cuz seriously Miller, dat ass. 

Daaaammmnn!

You’re treading on mighty thin ice, baby girl 

Joel, I have a serious question…

Go on?

Are your suit pants tailored TO your ass?!

Joel chokes on his wine, trying to stifle his laugh.

“Alright, who is she?”

“Fine. I met someone, but she’s really young, like younger than you, Sarah. And she’s leaving soon for law school so it’s just best if I don’t talk about it.”

Sarah smiles at her dad. “First of all, I don’t care if she’s younger than me, especially seeing you smile like that. Do you have any idea how many of the girls at college wanted you? You're my dad, so it’s gross to say, but you were the campus DILF.”

Joel feels himself blushing as she continues, “Second of all, you don’t have to end things just because of school. Me and Wyatt maintained our relationship while I was in New York and he was in Seattle.” As she wiggles the pear shaped diamond on her left hand the waiter brings out their food, and Joel changes the subject to the condo that he just bought for his incredible daughter. 

Our little girl did it, Tiff. Thank you for giving her to me, he thinks.

You

“That’s time, everyone,” The proctor calls from the front of the stuffy, windowless room that you and forty five other law school hopefuls have been in for just over three hours. 

You let out a slow breath, cheeks puffing and eyes fluttering closed. You didn’t finish, last time you finished, and the proctor has been eyeing you the entire time. He knows, he fucking knows you aren’t nearly as qualified or as smart as the rest of the people in this room. That line from Gilmore Girls, something about having shiny Harvard hair is all your anxiety can focus on. The people in this room have Havard hair, even the men. You don’t belong here.

You’ve never been in a lower spot and after the high of the flirty text conversation with Joel this morning you didn’t anything could get you down. In the span of just a few hours you’ve been completely torn apart, you can feel the panic attack clawing greedily at your chest. You fucking blew it, all of it. You blew your chances at law school, you blew your future as a lawyer and, in turn, your future as a judge. You’ll be cleaning houses forever, and not that there’s anything wrong with being a professional maid, but it’s not your goal.

Maybe I was fucking stupid for only having one goal. Maybe I need to do something else with my degree. Maybe my father was right, I’m nothing and I’ll always be nothing. Maybe my mother was right too, I’m the smartest girl at home but the world is going to chew me up and spit me out. It’s doing that right now, isn’t it? 

Your feet take you to the locker where your phone’s been locked up, and then out to your car. You don’t notice the warm late March air when you leave the testing building and there's a good chance that you jay walked, narrowly missing being hit by a car as you walked to the parking lot. Before turning the key in the ignition you open your phone, there’s a little red bubble on the JMK app. When you tap on it you have a new calendar section and Joel has invited you to the club tomorrow night. You stare down at it, waiting and hoping to feel something. That excited giddiness you usually feel, or the butterflies that typically erupt in your stomach, but nothing comes. You close out of the app without accepting the invite and drive home. 

A soft knock on your door pulls you from the anxiety-ridden nightmares you’ve been slipping in and out of. In the first one, you were having your degree taken away. In the second, you were sitting on the end of the bed in Joel’s private room looking out a window into the voyeur room. Joel was walking another woman around, similar to how he did with you the first time. The one that your roommate interrupted involved you being completely naked while trying to find your first class at Harvard.

“Babe?” Odette’s calm voice fills your room, “You ok?”

You tap your phone screen: 9 pm. You’ve been passed out all afternoon and evening. 

“Ya, just had a hard day.” You try to move out from the blankets, but they’re tangled around your limbs; a clear sign that you were restless in your sleep.

“Are you hungry? I ordered pizza. You have a few more college letters too, I think three were in the mailbox today.” Her voice is light and excited, as if she’s trying to pump you up. 

“Thanks, O. I’ll, umm, I’ll be out in a sec.”

The door shuts gently and the tears finally come. Five minutes, you tell yourself, before you start sobbing into your pillow to not alert Odette. After your allotted crying time is up, you open your phone. Messages from Jamie and Laren are left on read before you slide into the JMK app and accept Joel's request to meet at the club tomorrow night. You join Odette for a late dinner, but there’s no way you’re opening those letters tonight. 

Cap drops you off outside of the club the next night. This seems to be the officially unofficial routine of being Joel’s sub and you aren’t sure why. Cap confirmed last time that he didn’t do this for the other girls; you don’t deserve special treatment.

Any treatment, really, you think. Even the little box of feelings in your mind feels the same way, sulking sadly in the dark corner you banished it to. 

The black marble foyer feels cold and mocking tonight, even with the beautiful hostess smiling brightly and greeting you by name. As you turn towards the entrance to the club, a man dressed in an impeccable black suit holds his arm out for you. 

“Good evening, Miss. Joel asked me to escort you to his room tonight.”

You nod, forcing a smile and a thank you. All this black feels like he’s walking you to your own funeral. As you step into the club there are people everywhere. Couples are dancing, people are taking up the tables and the barstools. The deep bass of the music thumps through the club and the nagging pressure behind your right eye threatens to pop it right from its socket. 

The security guard holds his wrist to the pad on the door and holds it open for you.

“Thanks,” you say again through another fake smile. 

The door clicks behind you and the music dulls, the only light on this side of the door comes from the propped open door of Mister Miller’s room. You rap your knuckles lightly on the door frame and Joel steps into view. Your eyes travel from his shiny black dress shoes, up the perfectly tailored black dress pants and fitted white dress shirt. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, exposing the strong muscle lined forearms that usually drive you wild. You stand there, waiting and hoping to feel something, but just like in your car yesterday, nothing comes. Meanwhile, he’s smiling at you as if he’s just discovered the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. 

“Hi, my sweet girl,” Joel’s voice usually coats you like warm molasses, especially when he calls you his. But the rejection letters feel like they have plastered themselves onto you, seemingly creating a hard shell, keeping that miserable gray fog from escaping. 

“Hi, Mister Miller,” you say obediently, hoping he doesn’t notice anything is wrong. 

He motions for you to come inside, and pulls you into his arms as the door quietly clicks shut behind you. You wrap yours around his waist subconsciously as he presses his lips to your forehead. You’re sure the two of you have embraced like this before but right now it feels foreign. “What’s wrong?”

Fuck.

“Nothing. I’m sorry, it’s just been a long few days. I’m sorry, I can go. I don’t want to drag you down.” Your hands fist his dress shirt, a silent cry for him to not let you leave as an annoying dry lump forms in your throat. 

“Hey, no. Don’t be sorry, baby girl.” His hands run long, slow lines up and down your back as he brings his forehead to meet yours.

The pounding of the music on the other side of the club fades away completely as his eyes melt into yours. It's absurd that you missed him, isn’t it? You are his submissive, nothing else. But when he looks at you the way he is now it’s hard to remember up from down. The pressure behind your eye dissipates as one of his hands cups the nape of your neck and squeezes gently. From the outside eye, you could almost argue that he’s acting as if he missed you too.

His voice is a soft whisper as he continues, “Did you want to talk about it?”

Maybe it’s his years of experience as a dom and taking care of his subs. Or maybe this is just normal for him, but you aren’t used to someone wanting to talk about it. You’re used to a quick hug and a shitty pep talk. His hands felt heavenly on your clothed body, but as they brush against the bare skin of your neck to cup your cheeks they’re out of this world. This strong, successful, handsome man is giving you his full attention, wants to give you his full attention, and as his nose runs down yours it finally happens. 

Your body is flooded with that familiar desire. Your breathing catches as you practically moan, “No, I need you to make me forget. Help me, Mister Miller. Please?”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, exposing that dimple that makes him so damn endearing as he pulls his face back from yours. “I’m going to push you tonight, sweet girl.” He slides your faux leather jacket off, letting it hit the floor. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you say, your voice turning husky. 

His eyes dance around your features and with a single blink he switches. You don’t think you could ever describe it, but it’s like he puts on a mask. His soft brown eyes turn almost onyx, the muscles in his jaw seem flexed, but it’s his voice that really gives away when he’s transformed into his fully dominant form. Joel’s voice is deep yet has a soft aura. Mister Miller's voice on the other hand is full of gravel, and nothing is a suggestion. 

“Take off your clothes.”

Joel steps back, watching as you slip your bare feet out of your sandals. You felt underdressed tonight, but you just couldn’t convince yourself to put together an outfit. Your denim shorts and oversized black t-shirt come off easily and after stepping out of your shorts you look up at Mister Miller. His tongue runs along his bottom lip as he takes you in, eyes widening at your lack of bra and panties tonight.

“Dirty little girl.” He accentuates every word as his eyes travel a burning path up and down your exposed skin and then to the side of the room behind you. “See that pillow?”

You spin slowly, a black velvet pillow sits on the floor, handcuffs hanging above it from a chain connected to the ceiling. You look over your bare shoulder at Joel who simply juts his chin towards it in a silent command. As you walk towards the pillow, the metallic clink of his ring hitting the ceramic dish washes over you. Goosebumps spread across your skin and you feel the anxiety leaving your body. The doubt that has been screaming at you dulls to a barely-there whisper. For a second you feel weightless, floating towards the black pillow like the little styrofoam packing peanuts you used to place in rain run off as a kid.

‘No one has ever made you feel like this’. The little box of feelings says from the dark, ‘He’d take care of you, if you let him.’ You push that box deeper into the archives of your mind as you stop in front of the pillow.

Joel’s voice is deep, almost a menacing growl from behind you as he says, “Kneel.”

Your mind shuts off completely as you comply, dropping to your knees, facing the wall, and tucking your feet underneath you.

“Toes planted on the floor, sweet girl.” You adjust how you're sitting, exposing the soles of your feet to Joel as he walks towards you, his expensive dress shoes clicking slightly on the hardwood. You can feel the heat of his body as he stops just inches from your bare skin. “Good. Hands up.”

His touch is gentle as he places the cuffs around your wrists. “What’s your safeword?”

“Stegosaurus,” you say softly.

“Louder!” He barks.

You jump slightly before saying it again with confidence, “Stegosaurus.”

Joel takes a small step towards the wall and tugs the other end of the chain to pull it tighter, stretching your arms up above your head. You’re almost lifted off your knees. A small piece of leather running up and down your spine and your breathing starts to speed up. The anticipation of what’s to come almost has you bursting at the seams.

“This is a riding crop. You said you’re interested in impact play, as well as paddles, whips and crops. Is that correct?”

You nod, your throat going dry and voice cracking as you say, “Yes, Mister Miller.”

“How’d your LSAT go, baby?”

“I…I th-think I failed,” you murmur.

A sharp snapping sound fills the room, quickly followed by red hot pain on your right ass cheek; you gasp at the sensation.

The soft leather goes back to tracing your spine, slowly up and down, almost feather light and ticklish. “Again, how did your LSAT go?”

“I’m sorry, Mister Miller. But,” your try to swallow the dry lump in your throat. “I think I failed.”

As if he’s had years of sniper training, he strikes you in the exact same spot. This time your body jerks, the chains rattling above you as you cry out. However, the heat of this strike spreads right to your clit, and your cry morphs into a whine of pleasure.

“Sweet girl, do you belong to me?” He trails the leather along your hip, slowly teasing up your side.

“Y-Yes, Mister Miller.” 

“Does it look like I own things that aren’t perfect?” The soft end of the crop continues its trail, over the side of your breast and to your armpit.

“No.” You whisper. 

I can’t do this, he’s going to ask me to say I’m perfect and I can’t do it. 

“I don’t appreciate you talking bad about something I own.” A strike lands on the sole of your left foot, you hadn’t even realized the crop had moved from your arm. He taps the foot again, lighter this time but the pain from the first strike hasn’t ceased, a strangled cry passes your lips. “Especially when what you’re talking about is yourself.”

Another strike hits your right ass cheek and the red hot stings of it causes you to shoot up onto your knees. The chains above you rattle and go slack. Joel makes a noise similar to a growl behind you before two quick snaps land on the back of both of your thighs. “Kneel, sweet girl.”

You’re shocked by the moans and gasps that are filling the room, sounds that are unconsciously coming from your own mouth. Your pussy is throbbing and as you settle back onto your heels you realize how wet you are. You didn’t think you’d like this this much. 

“You need to learn how to stay still without being tied down.”

“Sorry, Mister Miller,” you whine through the panting breaths you’re taking. 

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he says, striking your left cheek and then gently rubbing along your ass. “How did your LSAT go?”

“I…It…I don’t know,” you say defeatedly.

He hits the sole of your left foot again, then your right ass cheek and this time your body acts on its own, your hips tilting to push your ass out towards Joel, a needy moan filling the room. “Come on, baby girl. Use your words.”

“It was harder then I remember,” you hum, your body practically vibrating with need. God, you can’t believe how good this feels.

The crop makes a slow line from the top of your ass, up your spine again and you tense up, sucking in a big breath. “Relax, my sweet girl. Until we talk about it, I will never strike you anywhere above the waist.”

“In fact,” he continues. “Anywhere here,” he draws a big circle along your entire lower back, “Should never, ever, be hit.”

“Ok, th-thank you.” You sink onto your heels again, your inner thighs are almost slippery with how turned on you are. 

Joel laughs lightly, “You’re welcome. So, it was harder than you remember?”

“Y-yes. I think I failed, Joel.” As soon you say it, you know you’ve fucked up. Eight quick, sharp snaps of the crop hit; two on each ass cheek and two on each foot, all at random. It’s over faster than you can apologize, and the walls of your pussy spasm with each crack of leather on skin. “Sorry, Mister Mill, hnng, M-Miller.”

Your head falls back, eyes fluttering closed as he speaks. “Again, it was harder than you remember?”

You whine before whispering, “Yes, but I tried my hardest.”

“Up,” Joel commands, pulling the chain so you’re up on your knees. “Good girl. Spread your legs.”

He bends down behind you, the heat of his broad upper body warming your back. His strong hands grip your waist to steady you as you walk your knees out. “That’s it, good job sweet girl.”

His praise shifts everything. Sure, maybe you failed, but you are stronger than a little test. You are bigger than law school. If you don’t get in, you’ll try again and you’ll keep on trying, because you can do anything. A bright light shines on the little box of feelings.

The crop lightly tapping your inner thigh brings your back to the moment. “Please, Mister Miller.”

“You don’t have to ask, sweet girl. If this is enough to make you come then let go for me.” He whispers, trailing the leather of the crop up your thigh before trailing down the other.

“I need you to touch me,” you whine, letting your head fall forward. 

“Aww, poor baby,” he mocks before bringing the little leather square between your legs and taps lightly against your swollen clit.

“Oh god, oh god, don’t stop,” you moan.

“Yea? My perfect sweet girl gonna come?”

“Yes,” you cry, head now falling back, your mouth falling open in a silent scream.

"Tell me,” he commands, stopping the tapping and just letting the soft leather rest against you, “Tell me you're perfect.”

“No, please,” you murmur.

“Tell me you’re perfect and you can come, sweet girl.” The crop is barely touching you now. 

“I’m perfect,” you whine.

He smacks your clit harder once, twice and with the third snap of the crop you fall over the edge. The chains rattle as pleasure consumes you. Your orgasm rolls through you so hard and all you can do is take it. You moan loudly and your legs start to give out beneath you, the handcuffs and chain above you the only thing holding you up.

Joel

Fuck, she looks absolutely stunning when she finally submits. My beautiful, broken girl. She’s so smart, so driven, always pushing, pushing, pushing. Always taking care of everyone else. I wish she’d just let go, let me take care of her. 

As you slump forward he drops the riding crop, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you up, as he undoes the cuffs. You go completely boneless in his arms, your back pressed to his front, his soft lips peppering kisses along the top of your glistening shoulder. “You did so well, sweetheart. God, you’re so beautiful.”

He supports your weakened body, lowering you to the floor and rolling you onto your back. He pushes the hair that’s stuck to your sweat soaked forehead back. The soft and mischievous smile across your face is exactly what he was hoping for; you’re not ready to be done yet and luckily, neither is he. 

“I’m not done with you,” he whispers, gravel in his throat, before kissing your forehead.

Joel stands and takes a few long strides across the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. He can feel your eyes glued to him as he walks away. After your joke about his pants he picked a pair that's extra snug, just for you. He’s never picked an outfit for a sub before, and this just further proves that even if he’s not ready to fully admit it to himself yet, you are so much more than just a sub. 

“Sweet girl, come here.” He pats his thigh. As you sit up he says, “No, I want you to crawl to me.”

Your eyes widen, cheeks flushing, and his heart nearly flutters right out of his fucking chest as you say, “What?”

He leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. He wants to wrap you in his arms and praise you, but you’re responding so well to him being mean and he knows you need him to keep going. “I said to fucking crawl.”

When you get on your hands and knees, his cock swells to its full potential, pushing painfully behind the zipper of his dress pants. He begins memorizing every inch of your glistening skin and the lust-filled expression on your face as you move so beautifully across the room. 

“Like this, Mister Miller?” You ask innocently, wetting your lips and effectively ruining his life at the same time. 

“Just like that, my sweet girl,” he praises, sitting back up and patting his thigh as he adds, “All the way, then rest your head right here.”

You finally reach him, settling yourself in a kneeling position again and laying your head on his lap, big eyes looking up at him sweetly. His short nails scrape along your scalp as his fingers card through your hair and butterflies fill his stomach as you melt into his touch. “You look so pretty like this. So sweet and submissive. I’m a bad man for the thoughts I have about you when you’re like this.”

You hum quietly, eyelashes hitting your cheeks as your eyes flutter closed. You’re fully at his mercy, trusting him to do what he thinks is best. It’s not a role he takes lightly, not like when he was younger. If this was fifteen years ago you still be handcuffed to that ceiling as he fucked you, but after breaking a lot of hearts he’s reformed his ways. No sex, that’s the rule, as badly as he’d love to sink into your tight, wet heat, you’re trusting him to keep you safe. 

A sense of calm and comfort washes over him as he continues to massage at your scalp, and he smiles to himself as your body gets heavier between his spread thighs. There’s lots of things he likes about you, but the thing he loves the most is how he never knows what’s going to come out of your mouth next. And you prove that when your eyes flutter open and you confidently say, “I want to suck your cock.”

“Fuck, baby. Gonna give me a heart attack sayin’ shit like that outta the blue.”

Your perfect pink lips curl up into a shy smile, his hand moving from your hair so he can brush his knuckles lightly down your cheek. “S’ that what you want? To suck on my cock?”

Your head comes off his lap as you nod up at him. “Yes, Mister Miller. Please?”

“You know that you don’t have to do that. Right? I don’t do this for orgasms, it’s about so much more than that for me.” He asks softly, knuckles trailing your jaw. 

“I know, it’s more than that for me too, but I want to.”

The two of you look at one another for a while, eyes dancing along each other's faces. His voice comes out thick and full of sand, “Take it out.” 

He sits back, resting his hands on the bed behind him as your hands go to his belt, quickly undoing the buckle and then opening his pants. His thick cock springs free as you pull down his soft black boxers, the tip already leaking a bead of milky precome. As you eagerly press the flat of your tongue to the tip, he stifles a moan and watches as your eyes widen. He knows that look, it’s the same look every other man and woman has when they see it for the first time. Joel’s never been with someone of the same sex, but on the rare times he’s shared a sub with another man they have the same expression too.

“You have a piercing,” you say, curiosity thick in your voice, eyes glued to the nickel sized silver hoop that sits at the very bottom of his pelvis, the bottom of the hoop sitting just above the base of his cock.

“Yes,” he confirms, watching the questions about the unusual placement of it run behind your inquisitive eyes. 

Your hand is wrapped around the base of his cock now, your pinky grazing the shiny metal, and his hands fist the sheets behind him to stop himself from grabbing you. “I didn’t know that was a place people pierced.”

He smirks. “Welcome to the wonderful world of kink, sweet girl.” 

He got the piercing shortly after he began his journey to become a dom. In certain positions it can be very beneficial for his partner, and even though he’s vowed over and over again to himself that he’s not going to cross that line with you, he can’t help but imagine your perfect face as you find out exactly what it can do. A little piece of metal that would stimulate your clit as he fucks you.

Your soft pink tongue wets your lips before you begin to suckle on the sensitive rosy pink tip of his cock. His lips part with a quiet sigh. The entire tip of his cock slips into your mouth and his hands clench harder at the fluffy white sheets, desperately trying to let you explore him when all he wants to do is wrap your silky hair around his hands and hear what you sound like when you gag. His efforts double as you hum and then swirl your tongue around the leaking tip, big doe eyes looking up at him. 

“Fuck, baby,” he almost whimpers. “Do that again.” You smile up at him sweetly and his heart starts to thunder behind his ribs. This isn’t a good idea. He should just focus on you, he gets off on that too, just in a much different way. 

Submissives come to him for many different reasons but he’s a dominant for one reason only. From the minute Tiffany passed, Joel has been responsible for everything. From raising Sarah, to bailing out Tommy whenever he got in trouble. Not to mention his construction job, which eventually led to being a business owner. Everyone needed everything from Joel. He had to pivot plans or multitask, nothing ever went as planned; but when he’s Mister Miller it goes exactly how he wants it to. He can say no, he can make them beg or say please, he plans what happens and it goes just how it’s supposed to. For a man who is supposed to be “the boss”, he only feels in control when he’s playing the role of dominant. 

And then came you. This beautiful little ray of light. From that first gasp and wide eyed stare in his office he had a feeling about you. And then everything that came out of your mouth took him by surprise. And right now, how good your mouth feels has him even more surprised. 

You haven’t looked away as you’ve worked more of him down your throat, your hand moves in tandem with your mouth, and your tongue flicks against the ridge along the bottom of the tip each time. 

“Feels s’good, sweet girl.” One of his hands moves on its own, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You can take more though. Come on. Be a good girl and take it all.” 

A small humming giggle vibrates along his length as you work more of him into your mouth and he can’t fight it anymore. Both his hands come to your hair, pushing it back as he wraps the soft strands around his fingers and grips tightly, guiding you down and holding you as low as he can get you before you gag. “Good fuckin’ girl. Jus’ like that.” 

You

Joel’s salty precum is like a drug. You want it. Need it. And know you’re going to crave it forever. He’s been mean tonight, something you haven’t really seen from him, but it was exactly what had to happen to get your head back on straight. You needed a harsh hand to snap you out of the dark looming cloud that’s been threatening to swallow you whole. 

You’ve probably always suffered from depression or high-functioning anxiety, not that your parents would have noticed or said anything. And even if they had, they wouldn’t have gotten their braggable daughter diagnosed. God forbid you weren’t something for them to hold over their friends’ heads.  

Joel’s hands tighten in your hair as he starts to take over. He let you taste him, let you get his cock nice and sloppy with your saliva. He looked down at you softly while you started, but now he’s back to full dominance. Full Mister Miller. 

He pushes you down onto his cock, the tip just kissing against your gag reflex. Your scalp burns under his strong fingers and you can feel yourself submitting. Everything goes quiet: your limbs feel heavy yet ready to move or adjust as he commands, the sides of your vision darken, and the only thing that matters now is him. His wishes. His desires. His commands.

He pulls you off of him, and you gasp in air, a string of your spit landing on your chin, your eyes watering. “You snap if you need me to stop, got it?”

“Yes, sir, Mister Miller,” you say hoarsely. “Fuck my mouth, please.”

“Open,” he says growls.

You do as he says, opening your mouth wide while looking into his dark obsidian eyes. You can see his cheeks and tongue working behind his closed lips before he spits into your mouth. 

“That’s my fucking girl,” he rasps and then roughly guides you back onto his cock. He doesn’t take his time or stop at that point of resistance this time. No, this time he pushes you further than you’ve ever been. The cool metal of the ring on his pelvis touches your nose. The juxtaposition of his hard cock meeting your soft mouth and his cold piercing meeting your warm face is staggering, yet comforting.  

“Breathe through your nose,” he instructs. 

You switch your focus, sucking air in through your nostrils slowly. “That’s it, sweet girl. Relax.”

You let your body sink again into his muscled lined thighs. He starts to move you up his cock. He gets about halfway before he forces you down again. You gag as he hits the back of your throat, shocking yourself when the gag ends in a moan and your pussy starts to weep for him. In fact, almost everywhere is weeping for him. Salvia drips from your lips and onto his lap, tears run down face. 

You’re a mess.

‘His mess’, says that annoying little box in the corner of your mind which now has ‘Mister Miller’ written across it in loopy cursive handwriting, the dots of the i’s little bedazzled hearts. 

Joel uses your hair to pull you up to the tip and you gasp in a few breaths before he starts moving you up and down his now obscenely wet and fully erect cock. Your jaw aches with how wide you need to open your mouth to fit him. Your fingertips just met around the tapered base earlier. You’ve never looked at man’s cock before and thought much, but Joel’s might be enough to ruin your life.  

 “Fuck, this mouth. Feels s’ fuckin’ good. Look at you, takin’ it so well. You like this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you say, although it’s muffled around his cock. He pulls you off fully, releasing his grips from your hair. You sit back on your heels, his eyes raking over your body, pausing to watch your heaving chest; a mixture of needing to catch your breath and being insanely turned on. You don’t take your eyes off his face.

“Stay.” Joel’s voice is deep enough that you feel it reverberate through you. You lick your lips, swallowing down the taste of him that you’ve become addicted to and place your hands on your lap. 

One of his hands comes up to his mouth and he spits into his own palm before bringing it down to fist his cock. Your eyes flick down to watch as he pumps himself slowly. “You have me doin’ shit that I didn’t plan, sweet girl. I give in to you, let you take the reins. But I’m in charge here.”

He pumps faster, and you fight to stay where you’re supposed to. “You need to remember that, so you don’t get to be the one to make me come today, you don’t get to feel it or taste it. No, you’re going to sit there, like a good little obedient submissive, and watch.”

You whimper, your right hand moving on its own to between your thighs. 

“I didn’t say you could touch yourself. Keep your hands on your lap.” His voice is strained as the movement of his hand becomes less fluid. His free hand comes to his balls, massaging them lightly and you try to commit the sight of him like this to memory. Tall, wide, and commanding, yet falling apart as he looks at your naked and kneeling form in front of him.

“Mister Miller?” You ask, your voice small and cracking, the back of your throat raw from the way he fucked your mouth. “I’m so wet. Please, can I just touch for a little bit?”

His mouth falls open, pleasure etched across his features, his focus never leaving you. “Show me how wet you are. Spread your legs for me.”

You raise off your heels slightly and slide your knees apart, exposing your wet and swollen cunt to him. Then you lean back, hands resting on the floor behind you, tilting your hips up so he can see all of you. 

“Good girl. So fuckin’ pretty,” he moans and then you watch as white ropes of cum spill over his hand. Your name passes his lips in a groan as he comes simply from the sight of your pussy. His hand stills and you lock eyes. You should feel shy like this, but instead you smile at him, a mischievous giggle bubbling up your chest as you bite down on your bottom lip.

His head nods towards the small dresser by the door, the one with the ceramic dish where his ring is on top. “Bring me a small towel from the top drawer and then get on the bed.” 

You saunter to the dresser, trying your hardest not to look too eager, and then back towards him with a small fluffy white hand towel. He takes it from you and cleans himself up as you lay on the bed. He stuffs his softening cock into his boxers and then removes his pants and shirt. If you thought you were turned on before, it’s nothing to how you feel now seeing him almost naked in front of you. 

That whole looking like you’re carved from stone gene is strong with the Millers, you think, watching the muscles behind his toned skin flex beneath his tanned skin as he climbs onto the bed. He grabs you by the ankle and pulls you to the end of the bed, a squeal leaving your lips. You had almost forgotten about the riding crop welts, but the friction against the sheets has them burning slightly and you wince as the heat settles. 

“I’ll fix those sore spots, but first I need to taste you. Is that ok?”

You spread your legs wide for him, “Y-Yes. I need you, Mister Miller.”

“Tell me what you need,” he hums, settling himself between your legs. 

“What you said,” shyness seems to have finally caught up to you, although you aren’t sure why.

He raises a thick dark eyebrow at you. “Ask for it, tell me how you like it.” He nods at you encouragingly as you take a few breaths. “Come on, my sweet girl. You can do it.”

My sweet girl, you melt. That fucking bedazzled box of feelings is fully in the spotlight now. He has years of experience in this role, but you can’t be imagining it. Looking at someone the way he’s looking at you now isn’t something that someone can fake. You can’t be the only one to feel whatever this invisible teether is between the two of you.

“I like fingers curled inside while the tip of your tongue flicks at my clit. I like suction too.” The pride in Joel’s face is almost overwhelming as he listens. God, he’s beautiful. 

He hums slightly, readjusting himself between your spread thighs. “My pretty girl gets what she wants,” he whispers before using the tip of his tongue to gently work at the soft folds of your cunt, working his way from your tight entrance to your clit. 

Your body jerks when he reaches your most sensitive part and you can’t stop the salacious moan that fills the room. “Oh god, Mister Miller.” 

He runs his tongue in slow, teasing circles around your clit. Not with enough pressure to actually make you orgasm, just enough to taunt you, and your entire body breaks out in goosebumps and a thin sheen of sweat at the same time. He slides his right arm under your leg, hooking his elbow under your thigh and reaches his hand up and over towards your pussy. His thick pointer finger and thumb easily slip to each side of your puffy clit. Just as you’re about to float off into another dimension he pinches hard. You scream out in a delicious mix of pain and pleasure, your back arching off the mattress. 

He holds your clit in his fingers, easing up the pinch to tease at it with his tongue again while he works the middle finger of his other hand inside of you. 

“You’re so tight,” he hums between licks. “Gotta relax for me. Let me into this tight little cunt.” 

You whimper at the push of his finger inside of you. One of his fingers is easily one and half of yours, and if he’s having a hard time getting just one of them in, you can’t imagine how it will feel to have two. 

“Eyes on me, sweet girl,” he rasps, releasing your clit from his fingers. His strong hand presses lightly on your mound. “You’re safe here, baby. Open up for me.” 

As always, you follow exactly what your dom says. Craning your neck slightly and opening your eyes to lock your gaze with his. The honey flecks in his dark brown irises warm your skin and as your body relaxes he smiles up at you. You feel Joel’s finger slide the rest of the way in with minimal resistance and it sends a wave of pleasure from your core to your toes.  

“There’s my perfect sweet girl.” He groans as you let out a euphoric whimper. And then he’s back on you. Soft lips pressing to your wet heat, the flat of his large tongue circling your clit. 

Your head falls back to the mattress, “Fuckfuckfuck. Oh god!” 

Your orgasm is embarrassingly close. Joel is hitting almost all the spots you love. No man has gotten you to the edge this quickly. Just as that tingle at the base of your spine starts to spread he curls his finger forward and sucks your clit into your mouth. 

“Mis…hnnng…fuck. I’m - I'm gonna.” You can barely think outside of the pleasure, nevermind form a sentence. 

A second finger slips inside of you, “Give it to me, sweet girl. Show me what I do to you.” 

Your orgasm hits you like an earthquake, making you shake harder than you ever have. The walls of your pussy clench hard on his strong fingers. His mouth is back on your clit, sucking it between his soft, warm lips. The lewd sounds of his sucking mix with your cries of pleasure. Joel is ruthless, never stopping as you absolutely crumble underneath his touch. Another strong wave of your orgasm rushes through you when he curls his fingers forward again, pressing right on your g-spot.

“Oh fuck, fuuuck Mister Miller.” You whine.

He slows the motion of his tongue as the convulsions of your body slow, working you through the aftershocks of your earth shattering orgasm. 

“Good girl,” he whispers before placing a light kiss to your spent clit and slowly slips his fingers out of you. As your gazes lock he licks your arousal off his fingers and then rolls you onto your stomach. You hear him suck in a breath through his teeth when he sees the aftermath of his riding crop punishment earlier. “I’m sorry, sweet girl. Just stay on your stomach for me.”

His lips press to your shoulder blade as the mattress baubles under his weight leaving the bed. You glance over at him, watching his broad, tanned back as he grabs a few items. He spins to face you, coconut oil in one hand and an orange juice and a bottle of water in the other. He places the drinks on the bedside table then scoops a bit of coconut oil onto his fingers. 

You wince as he makes contact with your right cheek, “Ouch, Mister Miller.”

“I know. This will help, and hopefully you learned your lesson about talking badly about what belongs to me.” His voice is sweet yet serious and he moves onto the other cheek, then the back of your thighs before his hand wraps around your right ankle, guiding you to bend your knee so he can look at the sole of your foot. 

He places a light kiss on the light pink spot and you giggle, “Your beard tickles.”

He laughs and does the same thing to the other foot before lining his body up with yours and pulling you in to be his little spoon. “How are you feeling, sweet girl?”

“Mmmm,” you hum, sinking back into his warmth. “Much better. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he holds you tighter, biceps flexing around your body like a ring of muscled safety. You're both quiet for a few minutes before he breaks it. “You kinda scared me tonight if I’m being honest.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, hiding your face in the arm he has under your head.

“No, don’t be. I’ve always been good at reading people, it’s probably more of a curse than a gift, but I just - I could feel that you weren’t in a good space when you got here.”

“Ya,” you agree.

“I know I can’t fix it, it’s not my place, but I hope I at least helped.”

You fixed it.

“You did help. I feel much better. Plus,” you turn to face him, both of you using one of your own arms to support your heads and your other arms wrapping around the other person. “Plus, you were right. I am smart. I can do this. I need to not be so hard on myself.”

Joel smiles sweetly, straight white teeth shining at you. 

“If I can be spanked with a riding crop while handcuffed, fuck, I can be aaaanything.”

You and Joel laugh together and it all feels so natural. Maybe too natural. There’s something comfortable and familiar about him. It might be that southern hospitality, but in all the years you’ve been in Texas you’ve never felt this content with someone else. 

“Mister Miller?” you say as the laughter subsides.

“You can call me Joel now,” his eyes widen just for a fraction of a second after it leaves his lips, almost as if he didn’t intend for it to come out before adding, “The scene is over.”

“Ah, so you’re saying this is a safe nickname zone now?” His smile makes your stomach flip.

“Careful, freckles.” He laughs, raising an eyebrow at you. 

You give him a closed lipped smile, “Hey, if you’re gonna use it then so am I, sweet cheeks. Don’t think I didn’t notice the extra tight pants tonight.”

He shrugs a strong shoulder to his ear as you continue. “So, if you don’t sleep with your subs, why the piercing?”

He takes one big breath and licks his lips before he starts, his fingertips trailing up and down your arm. “I got it a long time ago, I wasn’t always as strict with my rules. I’m not proud of it, I broke a lot of hearts when I first started this whole thing. I haven’t taken it out because…well, I don’t really know. I guess because when I do finally reach that point with a partner I want them to experience the benefits.”

Always the giver, you think. 

“Can you have a traditional partner while living this lifestyle?” You immediately begin to back track, realizing that you don’t want to seem like you’re getting attached. “Not you in particular. What you do outside of this room isn’t my business. I just mean like, are there doms that have subs that are married? Again, not you.”

He stares at you as you continue to ramble. “That whole thing came out wrong.”

“Relax, freckles, I knew what you meant. You’re kinda cute when you get all flustered and start to ramble though.”

The lid of the now pink painted box of feelings in your mind lifts a little. It seems to have gained an entire personality, and has the voice of Mrs. Potts from Beauty and The Beast as it says, ‘oh he definitely feels that tether too.’ 

“To answer your question,” his voice pulls you out of your own mind, “There are doms that do this professionally. I did have paying subs at one point myself and had a fairly serious girlfriend.”

Jealousy churns in your stomach. It’s irrational and you really hope it isn’t whoever Tess is. 

“But,” he continues, “It’s a tricky situation and involves a lot of trust and communication. Probably more than a sub-dom dynamic. But, yes, I’ve seen lots of happily married people who live and explore the kink lifestyle.”

You shiver slightly and he pulls you in closer, tucking your head into his chest, inhaling that ash, leather and natural Joel musk. His hand runs up and down your naked back, the calluses on his fingers scratching slightly. 

His body tenses, almost as if he’s nervous before he speaks. “Did you want to come to a Shibari class with me this week? We are hosting a demonstration at the club on Wednesday.”  

You glance up at him, “I’d really like that, Joel.”

He tucks your head back into his chest. His lips press to the crown of your head at the same time that yours meet the soft skin of his sternum. “It’s a date.”

Part Two

[zweiginator]

DESPERATELY NEED U TO ELBORATE ON THE PATRICK'S LITLLE SISTERS BABYSITTER OMFG

brrrrr patrick coming home from college and that's why you're home too. you just need some extra cash over break and the zweig's are so wealthy they're willing to pay you almost triple what you would usually get. so of course you'll watch their elementary-age daughter. she's sweet and easy to get along with and the zweigs give you extra money to go to movies or get takeout for dinner.

so you're sitting on the floor in the living room painting her nails when you almost have a heart attack because the door is flinging open and the zweigs aren't supposed to be back until morning.

you're ready to have her hide behind you when she starts beaming.

"patty!"

he sets his bags down and kneels down to hug her since her toes are freshly painted pink.

"who's this?" patrick smirks at you and you look up at him, still confused.

"my babysitter. mom and dad went out of town."

he reaches out to shake your hand. "hi babysitter. I'm patrick, the big brother."

and now it makes sense; you've heard the zweigs mention him every once in awhile. pictures of him when he was younger are scattered around the house but it's clear they haven't been updated in awhile because he looks different.

he's taller and more filled-out. stronger legs and arms and facial hair that peppers his jaw. in the family photos in the house he's much younger and much scrawnier with an awkward, sheepish smile.

but here, he towers above you and he's confident. he looks at you in a way his little sister wouldn't understand, but you can see his intentions clear as day.

"why are you here, patty?" his sister asks him.

he stares right at you. "just wanted to come back home for break."

"i thought you were going to visit artie at stanford?"

"nah. I'll see him soon enough."

the truth is, he shouldn't be home. he and his parents had had a falling out but he needs money and he knows they can't say no to their son's face. they're still pissed about him being caught with drugs in his college town. the charges were dropped but not without his father, a big attorney in town, talking them down. it wouldn't happen again.

and when you tuck his sister into bed, patrick is leaning against the door, watching you.

he asks if you want to hang out and being in the same house with him, you just opt to say yes.

so that's how you end up in the kitchen. you're sitting on the counter, and patrick reaches onto a top shelf to get some liquor out. his shirt rides up and you look away.

"wanna drink?" he unscrews the bottle.

"just one. i'm being paid to babysit, you know."

"as if my parents don't drink all fuckin' time. you're fine."

he pours you both a drink. makes you clink your glass with his.

the one drink turns into two and then you refuse another. patrick stops too. but the music he turned on is pretty and soft and he's just staring at you. you grip the edge of the counter hard because you're having an urge to do something bad. something you shouldn't do.

patrick steps closer, standing in between your legs. he sprawls his hand on the back of your head and you swallow, big eyes staring up at him. his thumb traces across your cheek and then presses against your bottom lip and you whimper.

and against your better judgment, you tug on the hem of his shirt. he's quick to pull it over his head.

his body is perfect and the vodka is warm in your system. it's making you sensitive to everything around you.

he pulls you into him, kissing you roughly, his hands snaking down your back to feel your ass and somehow your legs end up wrapped around him, your hand feeling his hardening cock through his jeans.

"i shouldn't do this." you unbuckle his belt.

"you shouldn't or you won't?" he hikes your dress up.

"i shouldn't."

"me neither."

he fucks you anyway.

[pedrospatch]

more hearts than mine

Frankie Morales x Female Reader

summary: Frankie promises you he’s not going anywhere.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. no physical description of reader, no mention of her age, reader has both of her parents, reader has a little sister (15 and unnamed), reader has a close relationship with her family (cannot say i am writing this from experience oop), reader is from a small, unnamed town somewhere in the midwest (state not specified), established relationship, mention of ex-boyfriend, mentions of alcohol consumption, reassurance, fluff, smutty themes towards the end but no smut.

word count: 2k

a/n: this was not planned and very spur of the moment. i think i needed a palette cleanse from writing so much joel. it’s my first time writing for frankie but i like the way it turned out. <3 i it’s 3 am, i wrote this in an hour and it is not proofread, so please excuse any errors. this is based on a song called more hearts than mine by ingrid andress.

“It’s late,” you worry. “Where could they be?”

Amused, your mother watches you anxiously pace back and forth in front of the dining room table. “My darling, can you please relax? They probably hit some traffic on their way back home from the lake. I bet you anything those two will be walking through the front door any second now,” she assures you. At that precise moment, her cell phone vibrates on the table, the loud buzzing noise garnering her attention. She picks it up and raises her eyebrows in complete surprise. “Oh. Or maybe not. Your father just texted me and said they’re stopping for a couple of drinks at the bar. He says not to wait up for them.”

Halting mid pace, you whirl around and stare at her. 

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope.” She shows you the text. “See?”

“Jesus,” you mutter. Shaking your head, you drop down into the chair across from hers.

“That’s a pretty good sign. Don’t you think so, honey?”

It is because your father taking your boyfriend out on a fishing trip and then taking him to his favorite bar for drinks afterwards means that their time alone together has gone well. But, even though your father had clearly taken a liking to him, he won’t ever show it. Sure, he’ll buy him dinner and he’ll buy him drinks, he’ll check his tires and take a look underneath the hood of his pickup truck to make sure everything looks good, but he’ll do it with a scowl on his face and a standoffish attitude.

“He hates me, baby. Your old man hates me,” Frankie declared after his first dinner with your family. You had both arrived in your hometown that same evening after a gruelling, sixteen hour drive to the midwest. Despite being exhausted from the trip, he’d put his best foot forward for them—he’d charmed your mother and your little sister, had them both wrapped around his finger by the time dessert had been served. But your father, oh he had been much harder for him to win over. “He barely said two words to me all night.”

“My dad doesn’t hate you,” you swore to him, rubbing a soft, soothing circle into his broad back. “Do you want to know how I know that?”

“How?”

“Because he poured you a drink.”

He’d snorted. “What, and that means he likes me?”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,” you joked with a giggle. “It’s still too early to tell if he likes you. But one thing is for sure, he doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t break out a bottle of whiskey for someone he hates, Frankie.”

Sighing, you lift your legs, pulling your knees up to your chest.

Poor Frankie. He’s probably spent the better part of the whole day just trying to figure him out.

“I like him,” your mother says after a minute. “I like him a lot.”

“What a coincidence,” you grin. “I like him a lot too.”

She laughs. “I’m serious! He’s incredible, darling. He is so handsome. He’s sweet. Seems like he’s got a really good head on his shoulders—”

“Are we talking about Francisco?” Your sister walks into the dining room with can of Dr. Pepper in one hand and her cell phone in the other.

“As a matter of fact, we are.” Your mother smiles. “Isn’t he great?”

“He’s kinda perfect, actually.” She takes a casual sip of her soda and raises an eyebrow at you. “I have to admit though, I’m afraid to get attached to Frankie. You know, after what happened with Jake—”

You wince at the mention of your ex-boyfriend’s name.

Your mother hisses her name, angrily.

“I’m just saying! When he broke up with you, it’s like he broke up with all of us. It sucked.” She shrugs, adding, “I mean, even dad was sad about it for months. Wasn’t he, mom?”

“Don’t you have a paper to write?” Your mother glares at her.

Your sister starts towards the staircase, but stops and glances over her shoulder. “I like Frankie,” she tells you, smiling wryly. “And I really hope he sticks around.” With that, she disappears upstairs.

Sighing heavily, your mom turns to you. “Don’t listen to her. She’s only fifteen, she doesn’t know any better. She doesn’t understand what happened—”

Pushing away from the table, you stand up. 

“I’m going to take a walk,” you murmur. “I need some fresh air.”

“Hermosa?”

You stir at the sound of Frankie’s voice.

“Baby. Hey. Wake up.”

“Mm?” you mumble sleepily. “Frankie, what are—ow!”

You groan when he switches on the lamp on the beside table. Rolling over, you bury your face into your pillow.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, chuckling softly. The twin sized mattress squeaks, dipping as he somehow squeezes himself beside you on your childhood bed. He’s staying in the guest room down the hallway—you parents, who were incredibly old school, had insisted the two of you sleep in separate bedrooms during your stay. Draping his arm around you, he leans down and nuzzles into the side of your face. Even with your nose buried in your pillow, you pick up the scent of sunscreen mingled with beer. “Just wanted to tell you I’m back home.”

Lifting your head, you blink furiously until your blurred vision stabilizes.

“What—what time is it?”

“Eleven.” Frankie’s cheeks and nose are red, sunburned from having been out on your dad’s boat all afternoon. You’re willing to bet he’d forgotten to put the sunscreen on his face. Even though you’d warned him a hundred times not to forget.

“What?” You sit up, prompting him to do the same. “It’s eleven and you only now just got back?”

“Your old man took me to Gordon’s,” Frankie explains, referring to one of the only few bars your small town had to offer. It was the place where you would meet with your old high school friends to catch up with each other whenever you were home visiting. At some point this week, you would be sitting in a booth at that old bar with them, introducing Frankie, and squirming when they began to tell him embarrassing stories of all those crazy nights from your senior year. “We went in with plans to have a couple beers before coming home, but then we ran into some of his buddies there. He introduced me, they bought us more drinks, and we played a game of pool. Your dad whooped my ass, of course.”

“How did fishing go?”

“Great. Y’know, once he stopped looking at me like he wanted to throw me overboard.”

You let out an amused huff. “He would never.”

“I don’t know. That man is pretty hard to read.” Frankie reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together. “One minute we’d be talking, shooting the shit while we waited for the fish to bite, and the next he would look at me like he was seriously thinking about pushing me off his boat and into the water.” He squeezes your hand, a deep laugh rumbling through his chest. “I spent all goddamn day with him and I still can’t tell if he likes me yet or not.”

Lifting his hand, you press a tender kiss to the back of it, a sweet token of affection.

“He likes you, Frankie,” you murmur against his skin. “I know it. My whole family likes you. Except my mom—”

He stiffens. “What?”

“She loves you.”

Frankie turns to you. Despite your smile, he can see the hint of concern in your eyes. “Baby, what’s the matter?”

You hesitate.

After what your sister had said earlier that evening, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d made a mistake and brought him home too soon. You and Frankie had been together for about six months now, and besides having a drawer of your things at his place for when you stayed overnight, you two hadn’t really sat down to talk about what the next step in your relationship would be—you and Frankie hadn’t discussed the possibility of a future together. Truth be told, you had never felt the need to question him about where this was heading. You’d been perfectly content in allowing things to unfold between you without putting any kind of pressure on yourself, or on him. At least, up until now, you had been content.

You’d been silly to think bringing Frankie home to meet your family wouldn’t be all that big of a deal, that it wouldn’t make you consider what came next. But you had forgotten how easily your mother falls in love, how quickly your little sister can form an attachment, and how your father, despite being rough around the edges, feels every heartache you go through as if it’s his own.

You think back to when your previous relationship went down in flames, you remember the helpless look on your father’s face whenever he would see you crying. “I never liked him,” he’d said, pouring himself a glass of whiskey over ice. But that had been a lie. He’d seen him as the son he never had. He lost something, too. Your whole family had to heal from that loss along with you.

Part of you is afraid that it could happen again.

“Amor?”

Frankie’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

You glance down at your hand in his. “Frankie, the last thing I want to do is scare you off,” you start to say, a nervous edge to your tone. “Or put any kind of pressure on you to give me anything more than what you have already given me. But now that you’ve met my family, I can’t help but worry a little bit.”

He frowns. “What are you worried about?”

Sighing, you confess, “My last relationship—it didn’t end very well, Frankie. My family loved him, adored him the way I can see they’re already starting to adore you. When he broke up with me, he broke more hearts than just mine.” You force yourself to look up, and meet his gaze with a wistful smile. “I guess there’s a part of me that’s scared it’ll happen again.”

Frankie’s dark brown eyes soften. “Oh baby, there’s no need to be scared. That’s never gonna happen.”

“How can you be so sure it’ll never happen?”

“Easy, because I love you. And I know you love me.” He reaches over with his free hand and he cups the side of your face, his thumb grazing over the soft skin of your cheekbone. “I’m in this for the long haul. I wouldn’t have driven sixteen hours across the country with you to come meet your family if I wasn’t. I’m serious about you—I’m serious about us, baby.”

Frankie leans in, gently pressing his mouth to yours in a chaste, but sweet kiss.

“Do you wanna know what I see when I look at you?” he mumbles against your lips.

“What do you see?”

“Mi futuro,” he tells you. “I see my future.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest. “You do?”

“I do. Believe me, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, and so is your family,” Frankie grins. “Your dad is gonna have plenty of opportunities to contemplate throwing me off his boat and into the lake.”

You giggle as he kisses you again before trailing his lips down to your neck. “Frankie,” you say his name warningly as he pushes you onto your back. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says innocently, positioning himself on top of you. He plants his hands on either side of your head and dips his head, nipping lightly at the tender flesh over your pulse point. “How thin are these walls?”

“Francisco Morales, no, you are not fucking me in my parent’s house, not in my childhood bedroom—”

His bulge brushes against your thigh and you gasp.

“Guess I’ll head back to the guest room, then,” Frankie murmurs, feathering one last kiss onto your neck.

He starts to climb off of you and your hands shoot out, curling around fistfuls of his shirt to stop him.

“I can be quiet,” you whisper, biting your bottom lip. You take one of his hands and guide it underneath the hem of the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing to the apex of your thighs. “Can you?”

“Hermosa,” Frankie groans, running a finger along the damp cotton of your panties. He slips it beneath the fabric, his blood rushing south when he meets your slick folds. “God, I fucking hope so, or else I’ll actually end up at the bottom of that fucking lake.”

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

[rowretro]

𝒟𝒶𝒹𝒹𝓎 𝐼𝓈𝓈𝓊𝑒𝓈

✧warnings: mentions of abuse, blood, daddy issues ofc but nothing sexual. Mentions of jealousy-ish

♡synopsis: Riki is your sweet boyfriend, the 2 of you have been dating for 3 years now, you've all had your days, but it seems to him you have the shittiest day everyday. Despite having moved in with him, the way you always go back to your parents home, running about doing errands for a man who always hurts you. The first man in every girl's life that should be a challenge to top off by a boyfriend or husband, was Riki's sworn enemy now.

✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧

"Sweetheart where are you off to?" Riki asked, knowing the answer full well. "I got a certificate for my final piece in art Riki... I'm just gonna show my dad-" she said with a smile as Riki sighed he hated it. How you still believe abuse is just a part of life. How you blame it all on the alcohol instead of the man himself.

All that hate doesn't just come from a bottle, he just lets out the shit he buried deep in his heart. Why won't you get that. He knew you won't listen so he just kissed your forehead "Call me if you need help ok? I'll be as lowkey as I could" Riki assured sternly as y/n nodded. She was nervous. Like a certificate is going to change anything. Art is just another useless thing about her useless existence. She wanted to go home for a different reason.

She wanted to clear out her room in that house. She wanted everything of hers to be out of that building. She wanted to be free from their grip. The abuse, the slut shaming, the hurtful words that made her cry waterfalls though she promised herself she'll never cry. Not even her mother can stand up for her, even if she wanted to.

"You think you're going to last with such a rich handsome man?!... He'll realize sooner or later, he's wasting his life on something so useless. You're a clear anomaly in our family, of course he'll leave you one day. Not even we want you... you slutty thing." Her father scoffed, as he watched her ignorantly pack her things.

"Are you even fucking listening you whore?! this is why I love you sister more." The man mumbled as you froze. SHE was the one who actually helped the family at their worst. SHE was the one who patiently put up with their crap. What did her sister do? go to a better school than you and get higher grades despite being a disrespectful spoiled rat that's what.

What's the big deal anyway? she's leaving "Fine you keep trusting that angel of yours while I go lead a successful life and get rich." she said leaving the room, the man pulling her back by her hair. Was she going to give him the reaction? no. She just silently pulled away. She looked and acted unbothered, and fuck the man was pissed off.

"you're home late- babe you ok? clearly not-" Riki helped her in, blinking as he saw a suitcase behind her "what's this about?..." he asked, feeling a little scared. was she going to leave him? "The last of my belongings... I have no reason to go ho- to my parents house." she simply said as she dragged the suitcase upstairs.

Only three weeks had passed since then, Riki wanted to believe y/n felt free and happy, but he caught her crying on multiple occasions like today. But unlike other days, where he let you get a breather, he wanted to be there for her. So he was. Her crying in his arms, wanting nothing more than him.

"So what if your daddy doesn't like you?.... You have me y/n, my love is way bigger than any man's love and you know it." He said as he kissed her forehead. It's true, all this time she's been moping over daddy hating her. When actually she has Nishimura Riki pouring his love for her unconditionally. Why waste her tears on a piece of shit when she has Riki.

✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧

This is shit bro why tf did I think I cld write fluff?....

[sweetsweetjellybean]

After the kiss you can't forget about, your past and present with Eddie collide under the glow of the city lights and the glittering stars at the City Beats launch party.

Masterlist Listen to Clumsy Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago.  Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC: 11646 beta'd by @superblysubpar

“Stop being such a baby and just let me look.”

The light in Eddie’s bathroom buzzes with a slight flicker, casting a pallid tint over the worn linoleum and water-stained sink.

“I don’t recall anyone asking for your services here, Florence Nightingale,” Eddie grumbles, perched on the edge of the vanity with a blood-soaked washcloth pressed against his forehead. The knuckles on his right hand are swollen and split, and the scrape along his jaw is already turning colors. 

You pour a little iodine on a cotton ball you grabbed from the first-aid kit— the one your dad made you keep in your car for emergencies, though this probably isn’t what he had in mind. “Who else is going to patch you up?” you question, shifting until you’re standing in the space between his spread legs.

With a sigh, he lowers the washcloth and tosses it into the sink. Blood wells up in the gash above his brow, the skin around it swollen and purple. As gently as possible, you dab around the cut with cotton.

“Oww.” He winces and leans away. “That shit stings.”

"Sorry." You push up on your tippy toes, drawing closer, one hand resting on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. The scent of his apple shampoo tickles your nose as his hand moves to your hip, anchoring you. You purse your lips and blow gently over his wound to soothe the sting. His chest expands with a sharp intake of breath.

"Better?" you whisper, a flood of butterflies taking flight within you. His fingers press tighter into your skin, your shirt inching upward, eliminating the barrier between his touch and your warmth. 

"Yeah." His throat bobs, his gaze roaming your face.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” 

His grip on you loosens as his eyes fall away.

You pick up one of the butterfly strips, pulling back the adhesive tabs. “You said you weren’t going to do anything. I asked you not to.” 

The faucet drips into the cracked tub as you press the strip into place. “It was my choice to end things, Eddie. It didn’t feel…it wasn’t going to go anywhere.”

He grabs your fingers, holding them away. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have been running around with him in the first place.”

The anger in his tone has you stepping back until you can feel the towel bar pressing into your shoulders. He stands and faces away from you, shaking his head.

“So what? I’m a slut now?” Your voice is small in the cramped space, bouncing off half-filled bottles of shampoo and shaving cream. Maybe you shouldn’t have told him about losing your virginity to Parker Hayes in the backseat of his mom’s Chevy last weekend. But that’s something you tell your best friend, right? Eddie has certainly never shied away from sharing his sexual exploits with you. Maybe, deep down, you had been hoping for some kind of reaction, but not this. 

“No.” His shoulders slump as he turns to face you, the hardness in his stance softening. “I don't think that way,” he explains, his voice growing gentler, “and I'd never think that about you. I want you to date. I want you to have everything. I just want to…” The rest of the sentence dies in his throat as a familiar shadow falls over his eyes, dimming their warmth. “I guess this is what happens when you're friends with a chick,” he chuckles.

“Might have been easier if Gareth had moved down the street instead of me.” You switch gears to match his tone, a familiar move after all this time.

“Yeah, you’re a pain in the ass,” he says, attempting a smile that doesn’t quite make it to his eyes. “Speaking of Gareth, I got a thing.” His gaze drops to his wrist, but he’s never worn a watch. “Lock up when you leave, alright?” 

You're still standing in his bathroom when the front door clicks closed. 

Your hands smooth down the skirt of your long-sleeved mini-dress. Its modest front sits elegantly at your collarbone, but the back—you twist your head to check the mirror behind you—the back dramatically plunges to just above the curve of your ass.

“Wow.” Steve stands stopped in his tracks at the entrance of your walk-in closet, his eyes drinking you in. “You look like a sunset.” He moves behind you, pressing a kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder as his hand slides over the rose gold sequins covering your dress. 

“You’re not too shabby yourself, handsome.” You turn to get the full effect of his designer camel-striped suit with a bright mustard tie. “I always like you in yellow,” you tell him, running a finger down the cool silk. 

His smile widens as he grips your hips, spinning you back towards the mirror, wrapping his arms around your middle. “We should do this more often,” he says, holding your gaze in the reflection.

“What?” you ask, crossing your arms over his. “Launch streaming radio services?”

“No, smart ass.” His lips find your temple. “Get dressed up like this and go out. With everyone coming, do you know what it reminds me of?”

“Dare I ask?” You flutter your lashes. 

His grip on you tightens in a deliberate firmness that has you tensing. He steals another kiss, pausing for a moment before saying, “Prom.”

“Uck,” you moan, stepping out of his arms and moving to the island to pick up a pair of earrings. “Your parents went to prom? How sad.”

“Come on. Not them.” He shoves his hands in his pants pockets, his gaze tracking your movements. “Everyone else, though. Didn’t you have fun at prom?”

“I don’t remember,” you shrug, attaching the diamond to your lobe.

“Of course not. How stupid of me,” his tone drips sarcasm as he shakes his head, “How could I have forgotten about your Hawkins amnesia.”

The shrill melody of his ringtone sounds from the bedroom, pulling him away before words can escalate. Lately, high school memories seem to invade every conversation, leaving a residue of guilt that clings tighter with each mention. Alone, you face the mirror, taking a steadying breath. He’s under a lot of pressure. This is his night. You plaster a smile on your face, forcing a semblance of calm. You owe him.

With a final glance, you slip on a nude pair of heels and move to the bedroom to let him know you're ready. Steve’s phone is discarded on the bed beside him, where he sits with slumped shoulders and his hands raking through the hair he had just spent time styling. 

“Baby?” You keep your voice soft as you sit down next to him, your hand moving to rub circles on his back. “What’s going on?”

He glances up, only now becoming aware of your presence. "It's my parents," he murmurs, his lashes fluttering with rapid blinks as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "They've decided not to come."

“What? But they’re at the hotel.” Your mind races over the possibilities, “Are they okay? Did something happen?”

“Yeah, my dad ran into a client. That’s what happened.” Steve's voice hardens, taking on a bitter edge as he echoes his father's words, “Business is business, Steve. You understand, don’t you, son?” 

“I’m sorry, Steve,” you say in a near whisper, covering his hand with yours.

“It’s my fault. I didn’t really want them here, you know? But when I dropped by the hotel this afternoon with the tickets, my dad actually seemed proud of me for once. Fuck. I feel so dumb for getting excited.” He pulls his hand from yours to tug at the messy strands falling over his brow before his eyes find yours again.  “Did I ever tell you about my baseball coach in middle school?”

“No,” you shake your head, shifting on the bed to move even closer beside him, offering what comfort you can.

“Coach Patterson.” His eyes fall to his lap. “He tried talking to him once when he dropped me off for a game. He told him that it would mean a lot if he’d stayed and watched me play. But Dad…” Steve's voice falters, “He just looks at me and says, ‘I've got better things to do than watch you lose.’”

“Steve-”

His eyes bore into yours, filling your chest with an ache. “The thing is, we did win, but he still never stayed.  He didn’t believe in me. I guess he still doesn’t.”

His phone screen brightens with an incoming call, and he picks it up, silencing it with a push of a button. “I've poured everything I have into this, trying to be perfect, what they—what everyone—expects me to be.” The frustration builds in his voice,“But no matter how hard I try, it'll never be enough. Not for them. And maybe... not for you either.”

You cradle his larger hand between yours, wishing he could see himself through your eyes. “You’ve always been enough.”

“I want to give you everything–”

“Steve, stop. You can’t live for other people. Pursue this because it brings you fulfillment, not for anyone else. Think about everything your dad has given your mom. Do you think it’s made them happy?”

He pulls his hand from yours, a fleeting shadow crossing his features as his gaze drifts to some distant point in the room. “I’d never treat you the way he treats her.” 

“That’s right.” Gently, you cup his face, your thumbs brushing lightly against his jaw, coaxing his gaze back to you. “You’re better than him. And if he can’t see that or celebrate your wins, that’s his shortcoming. Tonight is going to go off without a hitch, and Richard is going to thank his lucky stars for having the good sense to have assigned you City Beats.”

Leaning in, you press a soft, deliberate kiss to his lips. “You deserve your success.” His hand rises to cover yours, and your face softens into a smile. “Now, can we go? I need you to dance with me during the slow songs. I’ll even let you pretend we’re at prom.” 

The corners of his mouth rise, his chuckle warming the space between you as he leans in, your foreheads touching gently. “What would I do without you, Ace?” The words are gentle as his lips seek out yours. A car horn blares from the street below, breaking the moment. “I think our driver is getting antsy.”

“Well then, handsome,” you say, a gentle determination in your voice as you smooth out an imaginary crease on his jacket. “Let’s go to a party.” 

Dozens of spotlights pierce the night, illuminating the iconic Adler Planetarium. Limos and sleek cars roll up, dropping off the who’s who of the city—celebrities, influential politicians, and tech moguls—onto the red carpet-lined stairs. Banners emblazoned with the City Beats logo wave from the art deco building's great dome, set against the dark waters of the lake and the distant city lights. 

“Wow,” you breathe as Steve takes your hand and helps you out of the car. The magnitude of the moment takes over. Now it’s your turn to be impressed. “Baby, you did all this!” 

Steve’s signature smirk takes over his face, his cheeks tinting with a flush from your compliment. A camera flash pops in your face as you step out onto the red carpet. With a deep breath, you tighten your hold on his hand. The PR team's efforts have paid off. Photogs from all over the city and national publications line the step and repeat. The air is a blend of lake chill and expensive perfumes as you await your turn to be photographed. Steve’s reassuring hand, firm along your ribs, holds you steady as the flashes blind you. His gaze drops to yours, brimming with unmistakable pride, lending you his confidence. A quick squeeze of his hand coaxes a genuine smile as you face the cameras together.

“Not used to being on this side,” you murmur, keeping your teeth on display under the relentless flashes.

He chuckles, drawing you forward. “You're a natural,” he whispers, guiding you to the entrance with a hand at your back.

As you step into the grand foyer, your name being called pierces the hum of conversations. Rihanna waves from across the room, her manicured hand catching the light. She mouths ‘Call me’ before being swept away by her very tall date.

"Was that–" Steve asks, eyes widening. 

"I interviewed her last year," you explain, returning her smile with your own as she navigates the crowd. 

"Must have made an impression. That was the new point guard for the Chicago Bulls." His eyebrows raise as he watches them disappear into the throng of guests. Leaning in, his breath tickles your ear, “I don’t think we’re in Hawkins anymore, Dorothy.”

Light laughter bubbles from your throat. “Thanks, Toto,” you quip, threading your arm into the crook of his elbow, letting him lead you along.

Abstract designs mimicking sound waves, musical notes set into star patterns, and cosmic shapes elegantly adorn the solarium. The floor-to-ceiling windows extend the celestial theme, allowing for sweeping views of the night sky. 

“From Skyline to Bassline: This is City Beats Streaming Radio.” 

The DJ's smooth voice transitions the songs playing through the speakers as they live-stream from a platform beside a wall of digital screens alive with a social media feed and a map showing millions of listeners around the world tuning in. 

Steve lets go of your hand as he’s swarmed with department heads buzzing with reports and updates. You stand alone, crossing one hand over another as muted conversation hums under the beat of the music. The waitstaff weaves through the crowd, offering trays of fluted glasses brimming with bubbling champagne, and you gratefully accept a glass. Guests interact with kiosks exploring the different channels offered by City Beats, including specific music genres, news, and talk shows, while others move onto the themed lounges or drift out to the terrace for the small bites and views of the city.

“Harrington.” Richard's booming voice sends Steve’s staff scattering into the crowd. “Everything is looking just splendid, son.” He greets Steve with a firm handshake before his voice drops,“Now, how are those numbers?”

You look away, rolling your eyes out of view as you drain the rest of your glass. He can’t give Steve five minutes of peace. 

“According to sales, we are easily beating the first round of projections and are slated to hit our monthly target in the next hour.” Steve’s voice is filled with cool confidence, but his palm is damp when his fingers slip between yours. 

“That’s good to hear,” Richard says, the tightness in his expression easing as the redness circling his face begins to fade. He leans closer to Steve, his tone firm, “I don't think I need to remind you that Second City has a lot riding on this, which means you've got a lot riding on this.”

Steve's lips press together in a firm line as he stands a little taller and smooths a hand over his tie. Your teeth clamp down on the inside of your lip, forcing your silence. 

A waiter glides to your side, stopping to collect your empty glass. You place your flute on his tray a touch too forcefully. The clink with the other glasses is louder than intended, breaking the moment. Richard straightens, his attention drawn to you for the first time. He steps back, the wheels turning behind his eyes as he tries to place you.

His manufactured grin returns as he claps Steve on the shoulder. “Keep up the excellent work, my boy. This is impressive.” He waves a hand, gesturing around the party, “I don’t know what any of it is, but it’s impressive,” he laughs, expecting you to join him. When you only muster a weak smile, his laughter fades, replaced by a brief, awkward silence.

“I’m glad you brought the little lady with you tonight, Steve. She just gets prettier and prettier,” Richard continues, not missing a beat. “My wife’s around here somewhere, probably telling someone how to do their job,” he chuckles, then signals a waitress for more drinks. “Make sure you say hello. She loves gossiping with the other wives.” Handing you both a fresh glass, he adds, “Now, see to it our boy here doesn't work too hard, okay?” With a final pat on Steve’s shoulder and a wag of his finger in your direction, Richard moves off into the crowd.

Steve exhales quietly, the tension leaving his shoulders, as he gently squeezes your hand.

“I don’t know how you stand him,” you fume, “How many years have I worked here, and the bastard doesn't even recognize me.”

“Trust me, you’re better off not being on his radar,” Steve replies, downing his champagne in one go before passing the empty glass off to a passing waiter. “I’m sure he’s going to be on my ass when I meet with the investors.”

“But it’s such a nice ass,” you grin over the rim of your glass, letting the bubbles tickle your lips.

His eyes gleam as he leans in a little closer, but his response dissolves before it's spoken. Warmth heats the bare skin of your back as someone steps close behind you. Your stomach plummets like a rollercoaster, and goosebumps dot your arms—there's no need to look.

“Eddie,” Steve welcomes him with a handshake that shifts to an embrace. “You made it.”

Since the kiss, Eddie has honored your request, maintaining the distance you needed— a display of restraint that the high school version of him might not have managed.  But after your talk with Hopper and the shadow of the looming deadline creeping closer, it was only a matter of time before you had to face him. And the clock has just run out. 

“How could I pass this up?” Eddie’s gaze darts around the solarium before landing on you. “Doll.” He leans in, placing a light kiss on your cheek before turning back to Steve. “This is some party. Congratulations, man.” 

"Thanks for passing the word down your contact list,” Steve says, his tone sincere. “My head of PR mentioned you've made her job a hell of a lot easier." 

“Happy to help,” he shrugs, adjusting the gold cufflinks at his wrists. He’s ignored the last few buttons of his pressed black shirt and worn it open-collar, allowing a glimpse of the fine black-inked lines that grace the skin of his chest. 

“Do you own a suit that isn’t black?” You ask, eyeing the slim-fit pinstripe, that's obviously been tailored to fit him like a glove. “Or is that a rental?”

“Ace,” Steve chides.

Eddie laughs, the sound rich and easy. “Gotta match with the sweet old tats, don’t I?” The edge that once sharpened your words now fails to cut. His smile blooms into dimples, and it’s contagious. Despite the crackling of nerves and self-made promises, he disarms you. A line creases Steve’s brow as the moment hangs, and your smirk echoes Eddie’s.

A peel of laughter rises above the blend of music and conversation as the party continues. A harried junior staffer pushes through the crowd, bumping shoulders and muttering apologies as she tries to keep a stray lock of hair from escaping her updo. “Steve, I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she keeps her voice low despite her breathlessness. “Ted's already on his fifth bourbon, and he's cornered Harris Blake from Bean City Brews. He's telling that joke about the nun and the circus tent, and I think we are about to lose half of our ad revenue for this quarter."

"Shit," Steve mutters, his fingers raking through his hair. "Okay, let's deal with this." Relief washes over the staffer's face as she quickly turns, leading the way.

Steve pauses, his eyes meeting yours, an apology written on his face. "I’m-”

"It's okay. Go," you reassure with a squeeze of his bicep. His lips lift at the corners before he turns away, disappearing into the crowd as your gaze lingers after him.

The weight of Eddie’s eyes settles on you before you’ve even turned to meet them. “So, is this the part where I chase you around all night until you finally agree to talk to me?” he asks, closing the distance with a step forward.

“Actually, I thought we’d skip that part.” Your eyes dip to your shoes, avoiding his stare. “I want to apologize for what happened. I let my emotions get the better of me. It was unprofessional.” 

“Unprofessional?” Surprise lifts brows before his lips press together in a hard line. “Come with me.” His hand closes over yours, pulling you through the solarium without looking back before you can object. 

“Eddie-” you start, but he’s already ushering you into the double doors of the sky theater.

He doesn’t stop as he leads you into the darkness, the room illuminated only by the soft rows of small floor lights as the soaring domed ceiling swirls with violet and periwinkle projections of the starry sky. Ignoring the few others milling around, he tugs you into the privacy of the shadows, finally releasing your hand. In the orchid-tinged light, his stare holds a depth that's hard to look away from. “This isn’t business, doll. You mean every–” he swallows, “you’re my closest friend.”

“You don’t even know me anymore, Eddie.” Your head shakes, silently begging him to understand.

His hands move to grip your shoulders. “There are some things that time can’t change.”

“It can’t happen again,” you state in a firm voice, taking a step back and widening the gap between you. 

He shoves his hands into his pockets, waiting as a couple meanders past, pointing out Cassiopeia. “Then what do you propose?”

“I’ll finish the articles.”

“And then?”

“And then everything goes back to the way it was. I'm sure we'll cross paths from time to time.” The words emerge on a strained breath, tightness seizing your lungs. “It’s for the best.” 

“That’s not good enough,” he counters, the shake of his head cutting through the dim light. “I want you in my life.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You can.” He inches closer, blowing out a sigh. “Look, it was my fault. Be my friend. Draw that line, and we won’t cross it. I know you’re still pissed at me, but we can work through it.” His voice falters, the earlier resolve in his eyes melting into a plea. “Aren’t you tired of carrying all this around inside of you?”

His question softens the tension in your chest, suggesting a sliver of peace you hadn't known you were seeking. Maybe the scars etched on your heart for so long have also shielded it from joy. You swallow the lump in your throat, offering an almost imperceptible nod.

“Can you try for me?” he pleads. 

“I can’t make you any promises,” you nod again, more sure this time. “But I’ll try.” 

His thumb gently traces the side of your face before his arms circle you, pulling you close against him—the scent of vanilla and clove clings to his jacket. Under your cheek, the fabric is cool and smooth, tinged with a hint of tobacco, taking you someplace you thought was lost. 

“Don’t mark up my suit with that shit you wear all over your face,” he teases, his hold on you not lessening an inch. “It is a rental.”

There is a tentative hopefulness in your newly minted truce with Eddie. Almost as tangible as the pulse of the bass vibrating through the soles of your shoes. His smile, easy and unguarded, lights up his face as he guides you through the sea of finely dressed attendees with a hand resting on your lower back. Stopping to exchange hellos and handshakes with a group of industry professionals who are eager to discuss his Studio opening. He pushes the topic aside in favor of introducing you.  With an effortless charm, he leaves no room for doubt about your credentials as a journalist at Stax and suggests the value an interview with you would bring to their clients.

“What?” His eyebrows lift, amusement playing across his features as he catches the pleased look on your face as you tuck a handful of new business cards into your clutch.

“Are you auditioning to be my new publicist?” you tease, your brain already teeming with the new articles his introduction just made a possibility. 

The warmth of his laughter is becoming a welcome sound. “I’ll be anything you want, doll,” he offers, the words punctuated by a flirtatious flash of his dimples.

A snort accompanies the roll of your eyes, even as your stomach flutters. 

“I’m proud of you, you know? he adds, a soft earnestness in his tone. “I like showing you off.” The tenderness in his expression doesn't waver as he follows you through the solarium. You find your fiancée chatting with a familiar face. A welcome distraction from all things Eddie. 

“Dulcita,” Argyle wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Looking bitchin, as always. That dress is killer.”

Laughing, you nod toward his outfit, “Well, I’m just trying to keep up. You look amazing.” 

With an exaggerated flourish, he poses with his thumbs stretching the lapels of his periwinkle floral suit before turning to greet  Eddie with a handshake. 

Steve's hand finds its way to your hip, drawing you near. "I thought I’d lost you. Where'd you disappear to?"

“Just exploring a bit,” you offer, meeting his look with a smile, but his eyes shift past you toward Eddie.

A pretty blonde waitress weaves through the crowd, her tray of fresh drinks catching Eddie's attention. He flags her down with a tilt of his head and a confident wink. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, plucking a few glasses from her tray to pass around.

“This event is popping off,” Argyle chimes in, taking a glass and nodding toward Steve. “Congrats, dude. I couldn’t have planned this better myself.”

Eddie extends a glass in your direction. “Doll?” 

Steve’s shoulders tense as his stare fills the space between you and Eddie, the sides of his mouth dipping. “Have you eaten?” he asks, his hand tightening slightly on your waist.

For a heartbeat, you just look at him, letting the wave of irritation roll past. Your teeth sink into your lip as you decline Eddie’s offer with a shake of your head. 

Eddie's face tightens, a flash of restrained agitation crossing his features as he retracts the glass and dismisses the waitress with a polite nod. Argyle, shifts uncomfortably, his lips pursed into an O as his gaze skitters across the room. 

Turning fully towards Steve with a soft expression, you aim for lightness. “Argyle’s right, you know. It all looks perfect, Steve,” you say, channeling warmth into your words, “Everyone’s having a great time. All your hard work is really paying off.”

Half of his mouth lifts as his gaze wanders over the crowd. “Guess we’ll see on Monday when the final numbers come in. Richard is already pushing to take City Beats national.”

Your face falls, “But that’s...that’s a massive undertaking. You’d have to restructure everything, wouldn’t you?”

Steve nods, his expression turning heavy. “Yeah, it would mean a major overhaul, not just in marketing but across multiple departments. We'd likely need to set up satellite offices in other cities, which means a lot of travel for me. It’s ultimately up to the investors, though.”

“Not too shabby, Harrington,” Argyle says, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “You’re going to be running with the big dogs now.”

The conversation becomes muted as worry knots your stomach. Steve doesn’t seem to realize that his decisions impact more than just his own future. The coming months loom large with late nights and lost weekends. The toll won’t be just the dark circles under his hazel eyes but the shared moments slipping away like water through your fingers. His relentless drive for success and approval is edging him closer to repeating his father's mistakes—becoming distant, hollow, bitter. Pouring himself into work to the point of exhaustion, neglecting those he loves, just as he was once neglected. You can't just watch as he loses himself, not when you see the signs, feel the strain.

“Come on, Ace, smile for me. This is a good thing.” Steve says with a soft tone as his lips find your temple.

“I know that, and I’m so proud of you,” you manage, lifting your cheeks in the look of adorement he hopes to see. “You work so hard. I just worry.”

His hand shifts to cradle your jaw, tipping your chin to meet his gaze. “It will be fine, I promise. I’ll take some time before things really ramp up,” he reassures, the corners of his hopeful eyes crinkling. “Maybe for a honeymoon?”

“Sounds like someone is trying to think of excuses to get out of the actual work,” Nancy’s voice slices through the moment, her arrival almost as commanding as the deep plum of her silk dress that clings and flows in all the right places, complementing her sleek dark hair.

“A national campaign?” Jonathan steps beside Nancy, his narrow tie and vintage-cut suit making him look straight from the 1950s. “You might as well give back the ring now. Sounds like he’s already married to his work,” he leans toward you, cupping his mouth like a secret, earning him a chuckle from the rest of the group. 

Ignoring him, Steve directs his attention to Nancy with a self-assured smirk. “Thanks for showing up, Nance. Wouldn’t want you to miss the moment Second City leaves Spectrum behind for the history books."

Her eyes narrow as her arms cross over her slender body, “That’s adorable, Steve, really. But the idea that your little radio project outshines a whole TV network? Please..”

Steve lets out a snort as his hands move to his hips. “Last I checked, Spectrum's sprawling empire was one channel.” 

“We're thinking of expanding,” her voice is as smooth as silk as she examines her nails. 

“With the tech we’re developing for on-demand music, who’s going to need cable?”

“If you can manage–”

“If I may suggest putting away the rulers,” Argyle’s voice rises above their bickering, “It’s Steve’s party, and I think we’ve had enough dick measuring for the evening.”

“Fine,” Nancy agrees as she holds Steve's stare, matching his smug expression, “I’ll concede. Congratulations on your accomplishments, Steve.”

“Appreciated,” Steve says, with a tip of his chin. 

“But let's be clear,” Nancy adds, unable to help herself, “my dick is still bigger.”

Argyle groans as Jonathan's eyes roll skyward. Eddie takes a gulp of champagne, trying to stem his laughter.

“Where’s Robin?” you ask, cutting off whatever retort Steve was planning before it has a chance to leave his mouth, “Didn’t she ride with you guys?”

“She took off at the coat check with Jessie J—something about a twerking tutorial,” Jonathan explains, looking confused as he tucks his hands in his pockets. 

Nancy's laugh tinkles with mischief. “Trust me, it's a sight. Robin insists she's better.”

“Well, I’m not missing that,” Eddie says, polishing off his drink, “I’ll catch you all later.” He turns and leaves your group, placing his empty glass on a waiter's tray as he walks past. 

As he melts into the crowd, Nancy's gaze shifts to Richard making his way toward your circle. Her smile tightens ever so slightly, “Oh god. Is that Richard Kingsley?” she asks Steve. “I thought he’d have retired by now, off riding a golf cart in Florida.” 

“No such luck.” Steve mutters under his breath, “Play nice, please.”

“I’m always nice,” she whispers before she plasters on her grin, “Richard.”

Richard approaches with a practiced smile, extending his hand to Nancy. “Nancy Wheeler, Spectrum’s shining star in the digital domain, or so I’ve been told. They’ve certainly sent us their best tonight. How’s the world of content directing? ”

“Actually, Richard,”  Steve quickly corrects, his voice firm yet courteous as he positions himself alongside Nancy, “Vice President of Content Strategy. Nancy’s been leading the charge there for over a year now.” 

Richard's smile doesn't falter as he turns to Nancy. "My apologies, Nancy. I’m sure it's a well-deserved promotion.” She offers him a polite smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes as he continues, “Your insights at the conference in New York were…enlightening. It's always good to have industry leaders like yourself in attendance.”

As if on cue, a junior staff photographer weaves through the crowd. Richard snaps his finger at him, seizing the opportunity, "Let's capture this moment, shall we? A picture for the company archives.”

“Better him than me,” Jonathan mutters as the staffer directs the group a few feet away, ensuring the City Beats Logo will frame the background of the photo. Richard positions himself at the center, patting at the shine of his red face with a handkerchief before draping an arm over each of their shoulders.

“That’s depressing,” Jonathan snorts, watching the setup. “Well, I'm off to find a drink that matches my cynicism,” he adds, taking the opportunity to slip away, leaving you alone with Argyle.

“So,” The sweetness of pineapple and weed hit your nose as Argyle leans over your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear, “It looks like you and Eddie sorted out your shit, huh?”

“We’re tolerating each other,” you tell him without turning your head. 

“I don’t know, man,” he muses, his eyes narrowing, “Tolerance was not the look on your face when you walked in here with him.”

A huff escapes your throat as you whip around to face him. “I’m interviewing him, remember?” you ask, trying to keep defensiveness out of your voice. “I'm just trying to be…pleasant.” 

“You can tell yourself whatever you need to,” he adds, concern written across his face. “But from where I’m standing, you look like you’re in way over your head.”

The words die in your throat as Eddie reappears, weaving through the crowd with the grace of someone used to navigating this kind of affair. In one hand, he balances a plate arranged with an assortment of canapes and sushi, each piece a miniature work of art. His deep brown eyes keenly focused on you. “Eat something, doll,” he suggests, handing the plate over to you.

That feeling wells up in your stomach as you purse your lips, trying not to let your mouth stretch too big in front of Argyle, although he probably has picked up on the heat rising to your face. “Thanks,” you say shyly, accepting the plate. 

“I’ll snag one,” Argyle reaches toward your plate with two fingers.

 Eddie brows lower. “You can get your own, they’re not charging.”

“Sheesh, I know, dude. They're from my restaurant,” Argyle informs him.

“Then you know exactly where to get more,” Eddie counters.

“Did you find Robin?” you ask, changing the subject. “Was she twerking?”

“Yeah, I caught the tail end of it. And I’ll never unsee it,” his genuine laughter fills the space. “I think it’s burned into my retinas.”

“Mrs. Harrington," comes the voice of a junior staffer materializing beside you with such abruptness that the plate nearly slips from your grasp. "They want you in the photo now.”

“Umm, sure,” you say, glancing to where Steve is standing with Nancy, laughing at something she said. Eddie takes the plate from you, his easy smile from earlier erased by the downturn of his lips. 

Smoothing down your skirt, you follow the photographer, consciously relaxing the clench of your jaw over how you were addressed. Steve’s eyes sparkle with warmth as he makes space for you between himself and Nancy, Richard positioned at the end. The clear happiness on his face eases your irritation. His hand finds a place on your ribs, pulling you into his side before the photographer directs you where to look. 

“Very nice,” Richard comments with a nod after the flash goes off. 

“One for your company Christmas card,” Nancy quips, throwing a look in Steve's direction.

Richard, not missing a beat, turns to you both. “Yes, well, it’s always a pleasure, Ms. Wheeler. I hope you enjoy the party,” he says before shifting to Steve. “Ready to give the investors a tour, my boy? They’ve had their share of drinks. Should be just about softened up for you now.”

“I’ll be right with you, Richard.” Steve waves him off, his eyes softening as he looks down at you, “You going to be okay on your own for a while, Ace?”

“Absolutely,” you tell him, rising to your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “You’re going to kill it, handsome.” 

The side of his mouth tips up as you use your thumb to wipe away the gloss you left behind. “How did I get so lucky?” he wonders aloud, his gaze locked on yours. Leaning in, he captures your lips with his in a kiss that lingers a beat too long for a public place. 

“I'll find you later.” Regret clouds his eyes as he pulls back, slipping on the professional mask he wears far too often. He walks away with Richard in tow.

“I better go find Jonathan,” Nancy tells Argyle and Eddie as you rejoin your friends, “or he’ll end up in a corner talking politics all night, and I made him promise me that he’d dance with me for at least one song.” 

“You can sign me up for one too, Wheeler,” Eddie says, popping a piece of sushi in his mouth. “No arm twisting required.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Munson,” she promises, pointing a playful finger at him before turning to leave, her dress swirling behind her.

“You, Eddie Muson, volunteering to dance,” you tease, your expression mockingly shocked. “Now I’ve seen everything.”

“Play your cards right, doll, and I’ll show you up close and personal,” Eddie says, his eyebrows dancing as he offers you a canapé.

“That’s alright, Eddie. I’ve got my regular dance partner right here, right Argyle?” you say, looping your arm through his.

“Yeah... yup,” Argyle murmurs, his attention momentarily snagged by a tall brunette striding past. She sweeps a waterfall of silky hair over her shoulder, pretending not to notice him, but the extra sway added to her hips says otherwise. 

“Solo dame una noche con ese culo y te haré mami, querida,” Argyle calls after her, untangling himself from your arm.  

“Traitor,” you accuse, watching him go with a shake of your head as he follows after her without a backward glance.

“Ve por ella, amigo,” Eddie encourages with a booming laugh.

Turning back to you, he rocks on his heels, a smirk playing on his lips. “Looks like it’s just you and me, doll.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to look so happy about it,” you chide when his dimples make an appearance, sending the rusted chains around your heart rattling when it jumps under your ribs. Maybe Argyle wasn’t too far off the mark.

A brisk wind cuts across the dark surface of Lake Michigan. The City Beats logo burns bright in yellow neon, its light spilling over the outdoor stage and dancing across the water’s surface in a rotation of colors. Despite the press of bodies, warmth is scarce, with the night air nipping at any exposed skin. Before you can even think of shivering, Eddie drapes his suit jacket over your shoulders, the fabric holding the residual warmth of his body. He stands close beside you, seemingly unfazed by the cool temperature, as Maroon 5 concludes their set.

The crowd sways as one, heads bobbing in sync with the rhythm pulsing into the chilly evening. The spice of Eddie's cologne is a veil around you, drawing you closer into his orbit. Glancing his way, you expect his attention to be on the show, eyes tracking each note and chord. Instead, you find the intensity of his gaze fixed on you.

As the song ends with the band offering their thanks, the MC dashes on stage to announce the next performer. With a tip of his chin, Eddie motions for you to follow him. Together, you squeeze through the crowd, walking along the path at the lake's edge until the sea of people begins to thin, their noise fading into a distant murmur until it's just the two of you left, accompanied by the quiet hush of waves lapping against the bank. 

He stops, gazing out over the water, city lights dancing in his eyes. “I almost forgot how your face changes when you listen to music. It’s like the lyrics break right through, lighting you up from the inside.”

“My one true love,” you respond with a wistful sigh, giving him a shrug. 

“Oh yeah?” He turns toward you, inching a bit closer to reach into the breast pocket of the suit jacket enveloping your shoulders. He pulls out a tightly rolled joint, eyeing you with a raised brow. “What’s with all the ‘Mrs. Harrington’ business?” he asks, placing the joint between his lips and fishing a brass Zippo from his pants pocket. “Did you get married and forget to invite me?”

Your eyes flash skyward as he lights it with a practiced flick and takes a deep drag. “I don’t know...Steve encourages it. I think it’s his way of reminding me he’s waiting for me to set a date.”

He passes you the joint and blows out a lung full of white smoke that swirls into the night air.  “You have left the poor sap waiting for a while.”

“I don’t want to talk about my relationship with you, Eddie,” you say, flicking the ash off the burning paper's end before pressing it to your lips and inhaling. 

“Why not?” His gaze probes, seeking an opening, a slip, anything. “Friends talk about their relationships, don’t they?”

You can’t help but cough, the potency of the smoke catching you off guard. “You know exactly why not,” you retort, passing the joint back to him. A soft fog settles over your thoughts, smoothing out the evening’s sharpness. “And you? Volunteering to help with the guest list...” You eye him skeptically, “Trying to ease your conscience?”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes another hit, “It was only a couple of texts, doll,” he says, passing the joint back to you, his fingers brushing yours. “Trust me, I sleep just fine at night. What’s between you and me started long before Steve entered the picture.”

 "Well, he’s here now," you assert with defiance, your gaze locked with Eddie's as the joint burns down in your fingers. 

His fingers wrap around your wrist, guiding your left hand into the streetlamp's glow until the diamond on your finger flashes. "I guess he is. But doll," he steps closer, his eyes holding yours, "so am I."

“Yeah? Let’s wait and see if you stick around this time.” Your skepticism is clear as you bring the joint back to your lips, watching his face fall with your pointed words.

“So this is where the cool kids hang out,” Hopper’s gruff voice cuts into the night, anchoring you back to reality. Eddie takes a step away from you, his hands tugging on the ends of his curls. Hopper’s eyes narrow on the joint between your fingers. “Really think it’s wise to smoke grass at a work function?” 

“I promise not to operate any heavy machinery,” you respond in a dry tone, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

The older man’s eyes shoot skyward before he holds out an expectant hand, “Give it here.”  

You hand it over, and the burning paper crackles as he takes a practiced drag, “Are you going to introduce me?”

“Sorry. Yeah,” you rub your forehead, “James Hopper, this is my…um, friend, Eddie Munson.” Eddie leans forward, reaching out to shake hands as you quickly explain, “Hopper’s my editor.” The steadiness in your voice doesn’t quite bridge the awkward moment. 

Eddie’s brows raise as Hopper’s hand closes over his in a crushing grip. “Hell of a grip,” Eddie comments with a question written across his face. 

“A handshake is a good measure of man,” Hopper offers him no other explanation, handing him back the smoking joint before turning to you. “I expect a write-up of the launch on my desk by 10:30 tomorrow for the digital edition. And don’t skimp on the details about the radio service. Downtown is keen on pushing this, so I hope you paid attention.”

“No problem, Hop. I’m on it,” you assure him.

“Now, I’m going home to Joyce. If she gets a whiff of this on me, I’m sending her your way.”

“You’ll be in the clear,” you promise with a soft grin. 

Hopper's stern demeanor gives way to something gentler. “Alright,” he says with a nod, “Enjoy your evening, kid.” His eyes dart to Eddie. “But not too much.”

“Jesus, that’s your editor?” Eddie asks once Hopper is out of sight. “The guy missed his calling, he would’ve made a great cop.”

Your laughter accompanies the dismissive shake of your head. “We better go back inside.”

The walk back is steeped in quiet, the night’s emotions a heavy weight that weaves threads of weariness and a dull ache through your limbs. Eddie appears less burdened, wearing an expression of contentment, his hand slipping beneath the fabric of his jacket still resting over your shoulders. The warmth of his palm seeps into the bare skin of your back while his thumb traces soothing circles along your spine. Carried in on a breeze, the earthy spice of late-blooming asters mingle with the vibrant colors of marigolds softened under the glowing canopy of string lights.

As you near the terrace, the murmur of voices grows, and the sparse groups of people along the pathway thicken to a full gathering. The shift from the lake’s tranquility to the party's bright lights and crescendo of conversations is jarring.  The solarium overflows with party-goers, their inhibitions loosened by drinks as they flood the dance floor, the music swelling louder and more insistent than before.  Despite the sea of people, it takes only moments for Steve’s gaze to lock onto yours across the room as you reenter with Eddie by your side. 

Without hesitation, he leaves the conversation he'd been having and moves toward you. The corners of your mouth lift in a greeting that isn’t returned. His forehead creases with a question. The air seems thicker as you slide the jacket off, returning it to Eddie, the tightness in your chest reappearing. Steve's jaw clenches as he reaches you, his arm circling your waist. “I’ll take my fiance back now, Munson.”

Eddie’s smirk sharpens as he hooks his jacket over one shoulder, “Just keeping an eye on her for you, buddy. Couldn’t leave the lady alone with all these musicians wandering around.” He leans closer, his free hand circling his mouth, “They tend to  get a little handsy.”

"Thanks, pal," Steve replies, the last word stretched tight as he stands taller. “I’ll take it from here.”

Eddie’s gaze drops to his feet momentarily before his head lifts. Amusement widens his grin, reflecting a confidence that borders on smug. His feet shuffle as he adjusts his posture to match Steve’s. A twist of nerves tightens your stomach as a spark that you know all too well brightens Eddie’s eyes like an echo of the cocky teenager he once was. 

“How about that dance you promised me, handsome?” you blurt, cutting Eddie off just as his mouth opens to respond. Stepping between them, you intertwine your fingers with Steve's and tug him toward the dance floor. As if on cue, the music mellows to a slower tempo. 

Steve’s stare remains on Eddie as his arms circle your waist. “You know, it’s funny, I never realized what a dick Eddie is.” 

Your head turns to see Eddie watching you with hands shoved in his pocket. “You barely spoke to him all night. What led you to that conclusion?”

Robin bops over to meet him, her blue eyes gleaming as she tugs at his arm, trying to coax him into a dance despite his shaking head. 

“I don’t know. The guy is just rubbing me the wrong way,” Steve doesn’t hide the irritation in his voice as he turns you so you’re facing away from them. 

A burst of protectiveness that has been dormant since high school wells up like a hot spring. The words escape before your better judgment can catch them. “Really. Are you sure it’s not because he’s my friend?” 

The mossy green rings of his eyes burn into yours for only a moment before he blows out a soft breath. “Let’s not fight.” His big hand slides down to rest low on your back as he pulls you closer. “I’ve been waiting to get you alone all night,” he says into your ear before his mouth covers yours hotly, leaving you whirling with his quick change. “Where have you been all night, Ace?”

One side of his mouth lifts in a half-smile, but his confident mask slips. Behind his eyes, he’s lost—the familiarity tugs at you. Rising on your toes, you press your lips to his. “I’m right here.” 

His expression softens, radiating a comforting warmth as his lips brush your temple. The rhythm of the song wraps around you both like a truce. Burying your cheek into Steve’s shoulder, your gaze follows Eddie as he turns his back and heads for the door. 

Steve leans closer to the bathroom mirror, his fingertips shiny with the pomade he's using to piece out the strands of his chestnut hair. 

“Don’t forget your glasses,” you remind him, turning away from the open doorway and entering your bedroom.  

“Or the tickets,” you toss out, noticing the white envelope on his night table.

“What would I do without you, Ace?” His voice floats from the bathroom, light and teasing.

Settling at the end of your bed, you pick up the novel you started recently, the book's weight familiar in your lap. Seeing Steve so relaxed and happy broadens your smile. He deserves this night out to blow off a little steam. City Beats' launch exceeded every expectation. A success that's finally turned the heads of the old guard at Second City toward the efforts of their youngest executive. Of course, memories are short, and victories are fleeting.

Steve's workload hasn't lessened, and the prospect of taking the platform national is still on the horizon, but you've set aside any misgivings, at least for now. It’s been a week since you surprised him with the Bulls tickets during his birthday dinner at Maple and Ash, Steve’s favorite, surrounded by your closest friends–with one empty chair at the table when Eddie hadn’t shown. 

“Sure you don’t want to come? I still have an extra ticket,” He asks, emerging through the pocket doors separating your bedroom from the closet. Securing his Jaeger-Lecoultre watch to his wrist, the scent of Dior Homme follows him.

You glance down at your cozy leggings and cream wrap sweater. “I’ve got big plans tonight, handsome.” You hold up the book against your chest. “Didn’t anyone from your pick-up game want the ticket? Or those guys you play racquetball with?”

“I didn't get a chance to ask until the last minute,” he explains. “Robin called my office about fifty times to harass me about inviting Eddie to the game. It took me all week to get the guy on the phone, and  then he turned me down flat.” He shakes his head, walking over to his nightstand to retrieve the tickets. 

“I don't think Eddie is much of a sports guy,” you muse, glancing down at your fingers, folding and unfolding a dog-eared page. “He used to say he didn't have time for throwing balls into laundry baskets. He’d go on and on about the unfairness of high school politics.” A quiet laugh escapes your mouth along with the memory. “He could be so dramatic back then.”

When you lift your eyes, Steve's standing frozen in place, the deep line between his brows wiping away his easy demeanor. He's looking at you like he's just found an uninvited stranger in his bed. It’s just a flash before he recovers, his features returning to the affectionate expression he usually carries for you, but it was enough. The parts of yourself you keep hidden loom like an iceberg–he’s just spotted the tip. You draw your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Yeah?” He pauses, the air between you thickening as a hint of challenge colors his voice. “That’s a little weird considering he got us seats at a Lakers game last time I was in LA.”

The silence stretches just a moment longer. “Guess he’s not the same guy you knew back in Hawkins. But then again, none of us are, right?” He lets the question hover, knowing an answer isn’t coming.  “People change,” he shrugs, his gaze intense and probing. “Or maybe we just never really knew them at all.”

He steps closer and leans in, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth in a kiss that punctuates the conversation. His tone, sharp and heavy like a dull knife, cuts deep as he turns to leave. “Enjoy your book.” 

“Wait.” You slip off the bed, bridging the gap between you. Your fingers tangle in the material of his shirt, drawing him closer until your lips meet his, adding pressure until his arms circle your waist and he kisses you back. His embrace grows warmer as your tongue slides into his mouth, grazing his before pulling back, making him chase you, and he does. You break away but keep him close, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath a warm whisper as his nose runs along your cheek. “Have fun, okay?” you murmur against his lips as his hands slide up and down your back. “Knock back a few. Yell at the Ref. Get Jonathan drunk enough to annoy Nancy.” 

He chuckles, a smile lifting his cheeks. “You got it, Ace.” His eyes close as his lips find yours again. “I love you.” 

"I love you too, Steve," you whisper, your fingers uncurling from his shirt as you let him go. He takes your hand as you follow him downstairs. He opens the front door to a car waiting at the curb, the driver hoping out to open the backdoor. 

“I’ll see you in a few hours.” He smiles, picking up his keys from the small table.

The cold air rushes in from outside, and you pull your sweater tighter around your neck. Watching him step through the door, you call out, “Happy Birthday, handsome.”

As you close the door, Steve pauses on the landing with a thoughtful look crossing his face. “You know, now that I think about it, Eddie didn’t stop yapping that entire game. Maybe you’re right after all. The guy just doesn’t like sports.”

You give a noncommittal shrug, your fingers tightening around the edge of the door. "What did you talk about?"

“Can’t remember,” he shakes his head, resuming his descent down the steps. You watch for a moment longer before closing the door and latching the deadbolt.

With a sigh, you turn back to the now quiet house. The soft pad of your fluffy socks muffles your footsteps as you drift through the rooms, dimming the overhead lights to let the warmer glow of lamps bathe the space in a comforting light. You head to the kitchen, grabbing the remote from the counter. At the press of a button, the scratch of a guitar and a gravelly voice fill the silence, as comforting as an old friend.

You mouth the lyrics as you reach for a wine glass from the cupboard. With a practiced motion, you uncork a bottle of red, filling your glass halfway, only to keep going until it's right to the brim. The song shifts as you leave the kitchen, glass in hand, taking a sip, the rich flavors of dark fruit and spice mingling perfectly, soothingly. Sinking into the couch, you tip your head back against the cushion, letting the music and the stillness envelop you. Your eyes close, the lyrics weaving a soothing spell, chasing dark thoughts away. 

The peace is predictably short-lived. A buzz jolts you. The phone tucked into your leggings vibrates with an incoming call. You try to ignore it, letting it ring to voicemail, but it buzzes again—this time a text. With a resigned huff, you pull it out and unlock the screen with a click.

Missed Call – Eddie

Eddie: Your neighbors don’t complain when you play music that loud?

You blink down at the screen and then lift your gaze to the room's dark corners.

Eddie: Don’t get freaked out. Just come to the door. 

Pushing off the couch, you pad through the house to the front door and open it to the chilly November night. A brisk gust of wind blows down your street, swirling dried red and orange leaves around Eddie's black leather boots, where he stands at the base of your steps, bathed in the soft glow of the sconces flanking your door.

His hands are shoved into the pockets of dark-fitted jeans, a cozy half-zip sweater in deep charcoal hugging his broad chest. He looks up at you from under his long lashes, head slightly cocked to the side. “I tried the bell.” His head turns to the street as a passing car splashes water up from the wet pavement. “What kind of sound system is that? I thought Chris was in there with you for a second.”

Wrapping your arms around your chest, your fingers gently rub the fabric of your sweater as you ignore the surrealness of Eddie casually referring to Chris Cornell by his first name. “What are you doing here? Steve's not home.”

“I know. I thought the guy would never leave. How long does it take him to do his hair, anyway?”

“It’s not funny, Eddie. You can’t come in.” You glance down the street to see your neighbor, leash in hand, appear in the circle of light cast by the streetlamp.

“I don’t want to come in, doll. We’re going out. And we're late, so if you could light a fire under it.” Eddie’s lips press into a hard line as your neighbor passes him on the sidewalk, giving him the once-over, the poodle pausing to sniff his legs.

“Evening, Mr. Davis," you acknowledge with a wave as the man continues down the street, shaking his head. You turn back to Eddie, frustration evident in your tone. "I can't go anywhere. I'm not even dressed.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, assessing your attire. “Those look like clothes to me.” 

Your head tilts to the side, your expression unwavering. 

He glances at the sky and lets out a frustrated sigh before his gaze returns to you. “You look beautiful, doll. Now, please. Just grab your coat,” he implores, his hands pressing together in front of him. “ I promise to have you back before you turn into a pumpkin.” 

Your eyes lower to where your toes are wiggling in your socks, “Eddie, I–”

“Well, I could always just hang out here,” he muses, scratching at the scruff on his chin. “Might get awkward when the game lets out.”

“You're not serious,” you challenge, skepticism evident in your tone.

“Oh, aren't I?” he asks, cocking a brow as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Friends hang out together, don’t they?”

“Fine,” you fume. “But I better be back in plenty of time.” You catch the way his smile broadens as you turn back into the house to slip on a pair of boots and grab an old woolen peacoat off the hook by the door. Stepping out onto the stone landing of your brownstone, you hesitate, shooting him another look of apprehension before turning to lock the door.

“Christ, woman, was that so difficult?” He throws his hands in the air as he crosses the street to a shiny black Audi Q7 parked at the curb. With a wave of his hand, he opens the passenger door, beckoning you to climb inside. 

The bare branches of the trees sway with the wind, casting moving shadows against the shining asphalt painted with the last of the fallen leaves. You walk across the road to where he’s waiting and step into the SUV. You sink into the plush seat, the smell of leather, smoke, and his cologne assaulting your senses. It's the same scent that seemed to linger for days after your last visit to CursedSound, the one your guilt tried to erase.

Your hands worry themselves in your lap, twisting the diamond on your fourth finger while you wait for him to round the vehicle. The agreement about keeping the lines drawn is fresh in your mind as he climbs into the driver's seat. 

Without warning, he leans over you, the warmth of his body invading your space, the pout of his full bottom lip hovering inches from yours. The sharp intake of your breath echoes loudly in the vehicle's quiet confines.

“Seatbelt,” he reminds you, his big brown eyes dancing with amusement as he drags the strap across your shoulder and clicks it into position at your hip. 

Heat rises up your neck, burning your cheeks as he settles himself in his seat, strapping in before pressing the button that starts the ignition. 

“Shit.” His face falls as he glares at the glowing numbers on his dash.  He turns the wheel, lurching the Audi onto the roadway. Your neighborhood disappears in a blur as he turns and heads north. “And I thought LA traffic was bad,” he mutters, weaving in and out of stagnant lanes. 

The congestion loosens as he turns onto Lakeshore Drive, heading uptown. The moon hangs low, presiding over the rippling waters of Lake Michigan that stretch out into the night. A vast, dark canvas that reflects the tapestry of light from the towering buildings across the roadway rises to pierce the skyline. 

Music from Eddie’s phone plays at a low volume through the stereo. It serves to fill the quiet between you, but there’s something in the clash of the electric guitar and smooth bass that's an itch in your brain. Familiar like a half-remembered dream, but somehow still new. 

Your eyes steal glances to your left. His profile fades in and out of shadow with the passing headlights. The sharp line of his jaw tightens with a clench when he’s forced to slow his speed. The baby softness he used to carry in high school has given way to solid angles and the perpetual growth of stubble. There’s no denying it– he’s only gotten more attractive.

His head turns suddenly, catching your stare. Your throat clears as you reach for the knob, turning up the volume and letting the song replace anything about to be said. His hand moves from the gear shift to his thigh, his elegant fingers flexing against his jeans. Your eyes stay fixed on the taillights ahead as the song moves into its final refrain.

"Wait." You reach out to punch the back button,  restarting the song. "This is you."

His eyebrows lift in surprise, his mouth parting slightly. "How did you—"

"I’m right, aren’t I?" you interject, pointing at the dash, focusing on the distinct chord progression and the sound of fingers sliding over frets.

"Yeah, it's something I’ve been working on for a while,” he admits, looking at you with soft eyes. “Still trying to figure out a part that's missing." 

"I didn’t realize you still played," you comment, adjusting the volume again.

“I don’t know why you're surprised,” he says, reaching back to place his hand on your headrest as he smoothly backs the SUV into a space, turning the wheel to align with the curb. “I don't give up on the things I care about.” He shifts into park and turns off the ignition. “Come on.” His hand lands on your knee in a gentle squeeze. “We’re here.” 

Exiting the car, you step onto the empty side street. Ambient light filters down from the high windows of the brick buildings lining both sides of the street. A nondescript bus with blackened windows and a few other cars sit parked at the curb. This is exactly the kind of place you'd normally avoid after dark. Sighing, you round the car to where Eddie is waiting. His hand finds its way to the small of your back, guiding you across the street to a lone, unmarked steel door. With a closed fist, he raps out five quick knocks followed by two slower and turns to you with a grin. 

“What are we doing here?” you ask, shoving your hands into your coat pockets and looking up and down the street.

“I’m apologizing.” His words are cut off by the scraping sound of locks, followed by the door swinging open. Bright light spills out, casting a silhouette of a very large, bald man holding a clipboard, nearly obscuring the doorway.

“Can I help you?” booms the man’s voice, reverberating off the surrounding brick.

“I’m on the list,” Eddie says, undeterred.

“Name?” the doorman asks, retrieving a pen from behind his ear.

“Munson,” Eddie responds, glancing at the clipboard. “Edward and guest.”

The man sizes up Eddie with a thorough once-over, his gaze flickers towards you briefly before allowing you both to enter. 

Following Eddie, you step inside, the brightness of the overhead fluorescents bouncing off the cinder block walls, causing you to squint after the dimly lit street outside. Flight cases and amp stacks clutter the small vestibule of the venue's loading area. The muffled thrum of a bass line vibrates through the walls and high ceilings. 

“You’re cutting it close,” the man grunts, his staff shirt stamped with the Riviera Theater’s logo pulling tight across his chest as he hands Eddie two lanyards with plastic tags. 

The sweet sound of a cascade of delicate strings drifts through the air from down the hall opposite you, drawing your attention like a moth to a porch light. 

“Is that violins?” Turning toward the sound, tiny sparks ignite in your chest as Eddie slips the lanyard over your head.

“You know the way?” The doorman snaps his clipboard, ignoring your question.

“We’ll find it,” Eddie assures him, his fingers closing around your elbow as he tugs you toward the hallway.

The smile stretching your lips is automatic. Tingles of energy zip through your veins as anticipation builds, like being a kid at Christmas. As the stark fluorescents give way to dimmer bulbs, a murkier haze settles around you, mirroring the anticipation building in your chest. Their soft glow catches the shine of the dark curls resting on Eddie's collar as you trail after him down the maze of narrowing corridors.

Passing by closed doors and bulletin boards tacked with production notes and schedules, you step lightly to avoid the cords snaking across your path. The worn wooden floorboards creak with each step like they are responding to the growing clarity of the strings that now reach your ears, no longer muffled but rich and full.

The baseline of Dreams smooths into its final notes, and applause thunders from the audience. Eddie pauses, his hand resting lightly on your back, guiding you to a halt. You step between him and the canopy of curtains gathered at the stage’s edge, the sounds of the crowd's approval dissipating into the cavernous space. The polished instruments rest in the orchestra’s hands, poised for their next cue. Your hand flies to your mouth as the sight of The Cranberries at center stage fully registers. Dolores O’Riordan’s head turns, catching Eddie’s gaze. With an exasperated look, she taps the watch strapped to her wrist. He mouths a “Sorry,” his head tilting slightly towards you. At that moment, her brown eyes connect with yours. A hint of a smile graces her face before she turns back to the audience, her voice resonating in the stillness, "I was saving this one."

The first sigh of the violin expands with your breath, an arrow soaring through the air, piercing the center of your chest. A thrum of a calloused thumb brushing over the strings of an acoustic guitar accompanies the “Ahhs” of her lilting voice. The harmony is echoed by a cello, then a viola, and another violin, each repetition weaving into the next like a ripple of raindrops on calm water until it all fades into a hush, leaving your stomach swooping in its wake.

The silence shatters with the bold strum of the guitar. The air leaves your lungs in unison with the crashing bassline, the full swell of the strings washing over you like an ocean wave.

If you, if you could return

Don't let it burn

Don't let it fade

In the auditorium's darkness, the audience vanishes until only you and he exist. Eddie stands close, his warmth seeping into you as he presses into you with his shoulder. Clove and tobacco mix with the tang of iron and polished wood. The back of his hand grazes the soft skin of your own, but it’s the stage that holds your attention, pulling you in deeper. 

Is that the way we stand?

Were you lying all the time?

Was it just a game to you?

The accompanying musicians close their eyes, becoming extensions of their instruments. Dolores tilts her head, her voice clear and strong, pouring from her slight frame. The music rises through the aged floorboards, tremors of notes climbing your legs and bursting within your chest. Stirring emotions so immense it threatens to spill over as tears sting behind your eyes. 

Oh, I thought the world of you

I thought nothing could go wrong

Your head turns and you find Eddie has been watching you the entire time. His throat bobs as he swallows, the bright lights reflecting the shine in his eyes, and now it's you who can't look away. The soft expression he wears is tender and novel. The black lines that have always connected you pull taut, tugging at your heart. Lines that you thought were severed by anger and loneliness. 

But I was wrong, I was wrong

But somehow, they’ve remained. Tattered and a little frayed but enduring all the same. At his core, he is who he’s always been, and so are you.

Things wouldn't be so confused

And I wouldn't feel so used

But you always really knew

I just want to be with you

Two souls found each other in the darkness, singing the same song. He brought you here for a reason—he's telling you he's sorry without words, reaching for you through the melody in a way you can't ignore—in a way that matters.

And I'm in so deep

You know I'm such a fool for you

Everything falls away, but the music and your shared heartbeats. Memories flicker, like pages of a faded scrapbook caught in the wind—sunlit and shadowed. The heavy musk of aged velvet curtains shifts into the fresh scent of cut grass and summer nights, the cool touch of lakewater, and the honeyed warmth of sunshine lingering on his skin. Hummed lyrics, shared laughter, the comfort of being by his side. You liked the version of yourself reflected in his eyes.

Recollections you locked away come back in a deluge. Past moments, both sweet and sharp, weave together, softening the edges of old wounds. Each verse, each look from him, peels back layers of hurt you’d clung to. The bitter shell around your heart begins to crack, dislodging the shards within. Lighter now, your wounds can start to mend. The remaining scars are reminders, but a warmth begins to unfurl in their place, reluctant and bewildering. It’s not forgiveness yet, but the possibility is closer for him and for yourself.

You got me wrapped around your finger

Notes spiral upwards, threading through the shadow-laden lattice of ropes and rigging until they dissipate into the darkness above. Under the glare of the stage lights, the harmonies that once defined you rekindle, sparking to life. Your fingers find his with intention, intertwining with deliberate grace, palm to palm, sliding, locked together. Warmth spreads through the both of you. It's unexpected the way lyrics unravel you, making room for something new. Your gaze leaves his, returning to the performance, but you lean into Eddie, your head tipping to rest on his shoulder. The breath releases from his chest in a shuddering sigh.  And he feels an awful lot like home. 

Do you have to let it linger?

Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?

Listen to the acoustic version of Linger here Rest in peace, Delores. Ni bheidh a leitheid ann aris.

Big, huge, giant, hugs and sloppy wet kisses for sticking with me. I know the wait was long. Your encouragement got me through it. Especially Leighanne and Taylor who had to put up with me whining.

All your song suggestions have made this fic so fun to write. Please keep 'em coming.

We are about halfway through, kittens. It's about to get bumpy.

For updates follow @tornupdates

[sophrosynesworld]

Betrayal (Pt. 4)

Part 1:

I know I should be polite; that trait was instilled in me since birth. Unlike others, my family wasn't born rich. I didn't take etiquette classes or have a silver spoon from the beginning. My dad started with nothing worked his way up. Somehow, overnight, we went from being hungry and living in a one-bedroom apartment to luxury apartment complexes, private tutors, and an unlimited debit card. I didn’t ask questions. I should have. But sitting here, in this dining room, I just feel sick.

The chandelier overhead sparkles, a characteristic that feels almost mocking. The table set before us adorn with fine china and polished silverware, the kind that makes you feel inferior for not knowing fork types. My father, now dressed in designer clothes, chats with the Yamamotos, another prominent family. Their conversation doesn't invite me in very often, filled with arrogance and thinly veiled hatred for anyone they deem beneath them.

“Sweetheart, could you be a dear and pour Mr. Yamamoto some more wine?” my father asks, his tone carrying the weight of expectation.

I nod, forcing a smile as I take the bottle and pour the wine. Mr. Yamamoto barely acknowledges me, too engrossed in his own self-importance. They could have had a server do it, but I am a good, obedient daughter. I keep my gaze lowered, careful not to meet anyone's eyes, and focus on filling each glass just right. The chatter around the table blends into a dull hum, their laughter grating against my ears. This is my role, after all, to be seen and not heard, to be useful but invisible.

"Thank you, darling," my father says, his voice dripping with pride. I give a slight bow, retreating to my place at the table.

Mr. Yamamoto continues his monologue, and I allow my mind to drift, counting down the minutes until this dinner is over. Until I can escape the suffocating expectations and reclaim my freedom.

“And what do you think about our business proposal, dear?” Mrs. Yamamoto chimes in, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Do you think you’re up to the challenge?”

Her question drips with condescension, as if she already knows the answer she wants to hear. I can feel my father’s eyes on me.

“I believe it’s a significant opportunity for both our families,” I navigate the mind field, keeping my voice steady. “However, I think it’s important to ensure that any partnership is based on mutual respect and understanding.”

Mrs. Yamamoto’s smiles thin and cold. “Of course. Respect and understanding. Those are… lawyer qualities.”

Their son, Takashi, sits across from me, his gaze lingering on my body in a way that makes my skin crawl. He hasn’t said much, but his presence is nauseating.

“Sweetheart,” my father says, his voice gentle, “why don’t you show Takashi the garden? I’m sure he would appreciate the fresh air.”

I want to refuse, to stay within the safety of the dining room despite the tension, but I know better than to defy my father in front of our guests. “Of course,” I say, standing and gesturing for Takashi to follow me.

The garden is beautifully lit, with the soft glow of lanterns casting a cold light on the meticulously maintained flowers and shrubs. I walk ahead, trying to maintain a semblance of composure, the wind sending a chill down my spine. I miss Katsuki.

“It’s quite a lovely garden,” Takashi remarks, his voice unnervingly smooth. “You must spend a lot of time here.”

“Not as much as I’d like,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral.

He steps closer, his presence invading my space. “You know, our families coming together would be quite beneficial. Don’t you agree?”

“I suppose so,” I say, taking a step back. “But it’s important that we both have a say in our future.”

Takashi’s smile is predatory. “You’re quite the modern woman, aren’t you? Independent, strong-willed. But sometimes, it’s better to let the men handle things. Marriage should be logical, not emotional”

His words make my blood boil, but I keep my expression calm. “I believe marriage should be equal, with both sides contributing their strengths.”

Takashi chuckles, a sound that grates on my nerves. “Your only strength is carrying my children.” His right-hand wraps around my forearm, his nails sinking in hard.

I prepare to object, ready to put this punk in his place, but someone beats me to it. A hand wraps around the back of his throat, forcibly slamming him into the wall several feet away. My wide eyes meet Taro's calm ones. His other hand restrains Takashi further as he looks back at him.

"Are you hurt?" Taro barks, his voice firm and commanding.

"I'm going to kil-" Takashi shouts before being slammed into the wall again, his chest thudding on impact.

"Not you," Taro says, looking at me again, his calculating eyes scanning my body.

"I'm okay," I manage to say, my voice surprising me—soft and delicate, almost nervous.

"Did he touch you?"

"I didn't touc-" Takashi tries to defend himself, but Taro cuts him off.

"Man, you don't have permission to speak." Taro removes Takashi from the wall, throwing him to the ground. A delicate gold chain slips out of his shirt as he bends over, whispering something inaudible to me but terrifying to Takashi, who scrambles backward and away from the house. My eyes follow him as he leaves, unable to look away. I don't even notice Taro standing next to me until his hands are on my body. I try to thrash away, but his firm hands hold my midsection tightly, refusing to budge.

"It's okay, he won't hurt you," Taro reassures me.

"I could have handled that," I scold him.

"I don't doubt you, miss."

"You could lose your job. Do you know who that was?"

"It's sweet you care about that, miss, but I won't lose my job," Taro replies confidently, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. A confidence that doesn't sit well with me, I stare at him, trying to regain my composure. "Why are you so sure of that?" I ask, my voice sharper than intended.

He meets my gaze steadily. "Because your father hired me for situations just like this. Protecting you and your family is my job, no matter who I have to deal with."

I cross my arms over my chest, still feeling the sting of Takashi's nails in my skin. "My father didn't hire you to play the hero."

"Maybe not," Taro concedes raising his hands in self-surrender, "but I won't stand by while someone disrespects you."

I can't argue with that, but still. "Just… be careful. The Yamamoto's aren't good people."

Taro gives a small nod, his eyes never leaving mine. "Understood, miss. But my priority is you.”

For a moment, I feel a strange sense of safety in his presence. "Thank you, Taro," I say quietly.

He inclines his head slightly. "It's my pleasure."

The tension in the air lingers as Taro steps back, giving me space. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. "I should probably get back inside. My father will be wondering where I am."

"I'll accompany you," Taro says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

We walk back to the house in silence, my mind racing with the events of the evening. As we approach the entrance, I pause and turn to Taro. "Promise me you'll be careful... I don't like the idea of someone hurt..."

Taro's expression softens slightly. "I promise, miss. Now, let's get you inside."

The evening finally draws to a close, the Yamamotos taking their leave with promises of further discussions. I join my father’s side, maintaining the polite facade until the door closes behind them.

“You did well tonight, sweetheart,” my father says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“I hate him,” I reply, heading back into the kitchen for a bottle of wine. I uncork it and take a swig straight from the bottle, my face scowling at the taste before reading the label. “I thought wine got better with age?” I look for Taro, but he isn't in the room anymore.

My father looks at me, head slightly tilted in a mixture of amusement then sadness. “Takashi can take care of you, I'm getting older you know.”

“Seriously, why does this bottle taste like ass? A 1945 bottle should taste good.” I switch hands the bottle is in and lean against the counter, looking at my father. "I don't need someone taking care of me. I make plenty of money."

He snorts, amusement shining in his eyes. “You’re drinking a fifty-thousand-dollar bottle of wine. You should enjoy children and a family darling.”

I cough as he mentions the price, causing me to choke on it. My hand hits my chest as I try to regulate my breathing.

“You could have told me,” I manage to say between coughs.

“Would it have made a difference?” he asks, still amused.

Before I can respond, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see the name “Yuuto Kimura” flashing on the screen. I answer the call, my tone shifting to professional. “Hello?”

"It’s an emergency,” Mr. Kimura says, his voice frantic. "I need you to fix this.”

“Where are you?,” I say, grabbing my coat and heading for the door. “What are the charges?”

“They said he built a bomb,” he replies, his voice unraveling. “Oh my god.”

“I’m on my way.”

I hang up and look at my father. “I have to go. Client emergency.”

He nods, understanding in his eyes. “Be careful, sweetheart.”

I rush out the door and into my car, my mind racing with questions. Why would they think Mr. Kimura’s son was involved in terrorism? The last time I saw Kenji, he had just been accepted to medical school. He had been the perfect Japanese son for years.

As I speed through the city streets, the memories flood back—Kenji's shy smile at his acceptance party, his pride in following in his mother's footsteps. How could someone like him be mixed up in something so dark?

Arriving at the police station, I park hastily and make my way to the entrance. I scan my ID and attempt to push the bar open, but it doesn't budge. I scan it again, looking down this time, and a red border denying me entry flashes. My heart sinks. Just then, a door opens, and a detective walks out from a side doorway.

"Good evening, ma'am," he says.

I wave at him, offering a friendly smile. "Detective Ito, maybe you could help me." I meet him halfway, showing him my ID badge. "It seems like my access card isn't working."

Detective Ito frowns and looks down at the card. Walking us over, he scans the pass, only for it to show the red border again. "Hmm," he thinks for a moment, "Let's see why this isn't working." His fingers work diligently as he types into the computer, clicking through several folders before frowning.

"I apologize," he speaks up.

"For what, Detective?"

"You're currently banned from the premises."

"Excuse me?" My voice drops low, anger simmering beneath the surface. "My client is inside. You can't refuse his legal counsel."

"We're not refusing his legal counsel. Mr. Kenji Kimura is more than welcome to hire a new lawyer."

"He doesn't need a new lawyer," I grit out, clenching my teeth in anger. "Do you know the Kimura family pays a very hefty retainer for me?"

"I'm sure they do, ma—" I cut him off.

"Mr. Kimura is one of the biggest politicians in the country. Do you know how fast I will have each of you fired for a human right violation? Do you really want to play this game with me?"

Detective Ito sighs, looking conflicted. "I can't do anything else for you, ma'am."

Fuming, I turn on my heel and step back into the cool night air. Slamming my car door shut, I start the engine and drive off, frustration bubbling over. It doesn't take long to make it to Katsuki's apartment. I practically run up the steps, my heart pounding as I swing open his unlocked front door.

Kirishima is the first to see me, his eyes going wide as I seethe. The redhead attempts to talk to me, but I brush him off, ignoring him and continuing into the apartment.

Eijiro cusses under his breath as he follows. "Hey, calm down! What's going on?" he calls after me, but I’m already storming into the living room.

"Katsuki!" I shout, my voice echoing off the walls. Bakugo looks up from his spot on the couch, his eyes narrowing when he sees me.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he growls, standing up.

"You have got to be fucking with me, right? Please tell me you weren't apart of me being banned from the police station," I accuse, my hands clenched into fists.

He smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. "Maybe I was. What of it?"

I take a step closer, fury burning in my eyes. "This is low, even for you. A client needs me, and you’re playing petty games?"

"You don't help people" he snaps, his expression darkening. "You keep elitist out of jail."

"This isn't about what pays the bills!" I shout back. "This is about a man's life! You’re punishing him because you're mad at me?"

Kirishima steps between us, holding up his hands. "Whoa, whoa, let's all just take a step back here."

"Stay out of this, Eijiro," Bakugo and I say in unison, glaring at each other.

"I’m not staying out of anything," Kirishima retorts, looking between us. "Look, Katsuki, banning her from the station is extreme. You know that."

Bakugo’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t respond. I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Katsuki, please. This isn’t just about you and me. If you care about justice at all, you’ll lift that ban."

For a moment, he looks like he might argue, but then he sighs heavily. "Fine. I’ll make a call. But this doesn’t change anything."

"Thank you," I say, the anger in my voice giving way to relief. "That’s all I needed."

Kirishima breathes a sigh of relief, stepping back. "Alright, now that that's settled, how about we all cool down?"

I nod, my shoulders relaxing slightly. "I need to go. There’s a lot to do."

As I turn to leave, Bakugo’s voice stops me. “Wait.”

I look back at him, his eyes now softer, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his tough exterior. “I didn’t do it to hurt your client,” he mutters, struggling to find the right words.

His crimson eyes sweep over my outfit, clearly approving of the red dress. It's from last season, but it’s his mother’s design.

“You should make that call now,” I say, stepping away and turning toward the door, my hand landing on the platinum knob. I look back at them, my hair cascading down my back. “If you mess with my career or family again, I will come after the one thing you love most: your reputation.”

With that, I open the door and leave, never once looking back.

[ncroissant]

Hi there, love your work!

Can I ask for something with Chilchuck x reader where the reader decided to share their secret good wine stash with Chilchuck and they somehow end up sloppily making out?

chilchuck x reader

summary: sharing your favorite spot with your favorite person

wc: 872

content warning: fluff, making out drunk (consent is important!!)

author's note: hi anon, i have been meaning to get to this request for a loooong time, but my francis content blew up by then!! idk what's going on in this one, but the fluff was entirely self-indulgent omg. anyway, thank u sm for the great request, i hope you enjoy this one :) not proof read!!

"it's just through here," you whispered, squeezing chilchuck's hand lightly.

you pulled him through the narrow hallway, taking an abrupt left to reveal your hidden treasure. it was your most prized possession, hidden from the rest of the party for many years.

chilchuck's eyes widened when you had dragged him through the curtain, sliding it shut. "this is..."

"amazing?" you finished his sentence, letting go of his hand to pluck a good bottle of wine from your stash.

"how long have you had all of...this?" he trailed off, looking around in awe. the accumulation of alcohol in such a tiny space would've set the entire dungeon floor on fire.

you chuckled at the awe on his face, sauntering over to his. "you'll catch flies, chi," you tapped his jaw close, ushering over to the little chairs you had set up. "just a few years..."

"we're resting tomorrow so we can drink 'till we vomit," you slid into your chair across from him, popping the cork off the bottle. "then do it all over again!" you cheered, generously pouring into his glass.

when you slid his glass over, you poured yours the same amount, just a smidge more. "cheers," you tipped your glass, his clinking against yours.

"this is some good fucking wine," he swirled his cup after taking a swig, slouching back in his chair.

this wine had been kept here for years, aged for better taste. you had refrained from binge-drinking every bottle and let them further ferment in your hidden storage room.

"you're getting red, angel," chilchuck chuckled, inspected how droopy your eyes got, every blink getting heavier.

unfortunately for you, you were a lightweight.

"no, 'm fine, chi," you shook your head, brows furrowed and nose scrunched, unable to control the contortions of your facial features. "just a little dizzy," you sighed, taking another sip.

although he wanted to indulge you, the dad in him wouldn't allow you to take another sip. "that's enough for you," he smiled, pulling your glass closer to him.

you frowned, trying to grasp at straws. "hey! that's mine," you scoffed, throwing yourself on your own two feet, though wobbly. you threw your arms around, flailing like a fish fresh out of water.

"uh-huh..." he mindless nodded, placing your glass on a nearby end-table. you stumbled over to him, finding yourself placed between his thighs.

your arms were limp beside you, looking down at chilchuck. his hands softly held your waist, looking right back up at you.

"you're pretty," he smiled, reaching a hand up to caress your cheek.

his thumb gently brushed against your rosy cheeks, slowly guiding you down to his lips. when his lips pressed against yours, you made a little noise. he pulled away thinking he hurt you, but you just latched yourself back onto his lips, hand holding the side of his jaw.

the warmth of your body coursed through your fingertips, the heat tingling against his skin. it was entirely silent. even when you climbed onto his lap, hands grabbing his face to press his lips against yours, bodies moving against each other.

you two were so entirely smitten with each other.

and when you pulled away, he'd look at you with that look in his eyes. it was so stupid, it made you feel like a little school girl. "makin' me blush, chi," you mumbled, brushing his bangs out of his eyes.

"you were already blushing before," he smirked, pinching your cheek softly, making you wince.

you sighed, looking him more deeply in the eye. you didn't know if it was the alcohol talking, but you wanted to consume him whole if you could. kissing him for hours sounded like a good plan.

you leaned in, not close enough to kiss, but close enough. you looked down at his lips, flicking back to look up at his eyes, but ultimately sticking to admire the plushness of his lips.

"you gonna kiss me?" he whispered. you gulped, licking your suddenly dry lips.

"mhm..." you leaned in, kissing him again.

you felt yourself burning from his touch, your toes tingling, your heart beating, and your lips chasing after his every time you parted. you two kissed like two horny teens making out for the first time, rutting against each other like you weren't allowed to have sex.

neither of your hands slipped beyond your clothes, fingers just fidgeting with the fabric. "someone's needier than usual," chilchuck mumbled, fluttering his eyes open to look at what you looked like.

your lips were puffy, covered in his spit. you huffed against him, foreheads touching. "missed our alone time," you smiled, pressing a kiss against his temple.

his hand lowered to your back, supporting your tired figure. the alcohol was getting to you, sleepiness overtaking you.

"me too, angel," he agreed, throwing your face into the crook of his neck. he let you rest there, rubbing his hand on your back.

he heard your little snores, laughing under his breath. you were a quick, heavy sleeper, there was no way he would be able to wake you up once you were out.

"night, angel," he kissed the crown of your head, leaning his head against yours with a big, relieved sigh.

[outermaybanks]

just a kiss - part ii - jj x bi!reader x kie aka 3 times you were oblivious and the one time you knew exactly what you wanted - part two to this

a/n: wrote this entire thing while high, no proof reading we die like men, definitely projecting... also i know nothing abt surfing so if it sounds crazy just pretend it doesn't. there's gonna be at least one more part to this. next part

July 5th - the third time.

When you woke up, Kie’s face was nuzzled into your shoulder, and even in your dazy state, the sight made your heart race. You felt a rush of guilt come over you, so you got out of the bed quickly, running to the bathroom to brush your teeth and splash your face with water. But nothing helped, even while splashing cold water on your face, you couldn’t get the image of your kiss with Kie, or your kiss with JJ out of your mind. 

When you met JJ, when he first started working for your dad, you knew he had a girlfriend, so you didn’t let yourself feel attraction towards him. Obviously, when you got to meet Kie for yourself, you did so already knowing she was dating JJ, so again, you didn’t let yourself feel attraction towards her. Now this felt almost like a sick joke. Were they making fun of you? Were they trying to use you for a threesome?

No, you quickly decided. These were your friends. You couldn’t let your anxiety ruin this for you, and until they did something that showed they had ill intentions, you decided to take them at their word, it was just a kiss, right?

When you returned to the living room, Kie was groggily stretching, JJ still fast asleep beside her. “Mmmm good morning, y/n. How’d you sleep?” she asked softly, but her voice was gravelly from her slumber. “Pretty good considering JJ seems to be a bed hogger,” you tease, gesturing to the unconscious blonde beside her. A small giggle fell from her before she got out of the bed. “Oh yeah, big time. Beds, blankets, boy has no concept of personal space… Wanna make breakfast with me?” She offered, making eye contact with you as she walked past to go to the kitchen. You couldn’t help your eyes flickering to look at her ass as you followed behind you, but you quickly looked away.

“I’m thinking… french toast… maybe some eggs,” Kie said as ran a hand through her hair. “Wow, JJ’s a lucky guy,” you reply with a small chuckle, she smiles at you before going into the fridge and pulling out a carton of eggs. 

“Thank god John B has chickens, he always has eggs. Can you make sure there’s bread?” Kie asked, and you were quick on your feet.

“Got the bread,” you reply, bringing it over to her as she set a pan on the stove. She gave you a smile as she took it, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was being flirtatious. 

“You ever do this before?” Kie’s voice was soft, but not quiet; gentle. “You kidding me? My dad can’t cook to save his life,” you answer, your tone is light hearted, but Kie gives you a worried look. “And…. your mom?” “Out of the picture. She’s got a new family in Chicago, and I… get to have pizza 3 nights a week,” you joke, and this time Kie smiles. “Can you crack some eggs into this bowl?” Kie asked, handing you a bowl. “That I can manage.”

After you crack a couple eggs in the bowl, you watch Kie pour some milk, then some cinnamon, and lastly she reaches for a small brown bottle. “Vanilla,” Kie explains, dropping some into the bowl. Kie hands you a fork, asking you to stir it up. “Here, watch me,” Kie says as she drops some butter in the pan, moving it around. She took a piece of bread, dipped both sides into the bowl, then dropped it into the pan. “See? Not that hard. Now you’ll know how to make french toast,” her tone isn’t judgemental, she genuinely seemed to want to help you, this took you by surprise.

You don’t respond, you just watch her flip the piece of bread in the pan until it’s golden brown, then put it on a plate. “Here, you do the next one,” Kie said as she moved out of the way. You hesitantly took her spot, and mimicked her actions dipping the bread in the bowl of egg, cinnamon, milk and vanilla. “You’re gonna want to flip it so it cooks evenly,” she said softly, before her hand covered yours with the spatula, guiding you. The whole thing felt… intimate. 

With Kie’s help, you guys made almost the whole loaf of bread into french toast. “Now, what about eggs?” Kie asked. “I like ‘em scrambled.” “Perfect, that’s my specialty,” Kie joked, rinsing the bowl clean before cracking a few more eggs into it, adding milk, salt and pepper.

While you watched her cook scrambled eggs, you heard a loud groan as JJ walked into the kitchen, still shirtless; you felt your face begin to heat up. “‘Morning,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair as he walked over to Kie, placing a kiss on her cheek. “French toast?” “Mmhm, taught y/n how to make ‘em,” Kie boasted, stirring the eggs. JJ turned to look at you, a sleepy smile on his face, and you felt your heart race. What was happening to you?

“You excited to catch some waves?” JJ asked, sauntering over to you. “Oh totally, so excited to faceplant,” you answer, making JJ laugh. “Man, I still can’t believe you never learned to surf.” “But who between us can replace a clutch, Maybank?” “Ouch, straight to my heart, y/n/n,” he clutches his chest over his heart, and you let out a giggle. “What’s for breakfast?” Both you and JJ turn to see Pope walking into the kitchen, wiping his eyes.

After Sarah and John B woke up, and you all ate breakfast, you loaded into the Twinkie, Sarah sitting in the passenger seat while John B drove, the four of you sitting in the back. When you got to the beach, John B and Kie wasted no time diving straight in, meanwhile you were staring hesitantly at the water. “You ready?” You turned to see JJ walked over with his old surfboard. “Already waxed her for ya.” You smile, despite the fear of what you were about to do. “Okay, so first, I want you to practice standing up on the board in the sand.” You furrow your eyebrows, “Thought you were gonna join them and I was gonna wing it?” “What? No way, I’m not leaving you to fend for yourself, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be a pro.”

You could feel heat rising to your cheeks, and his kindness made you smile. JJ showed you how to go from laying down to standing up, and once you aced the movement, he took you out in the water a little bit. “Gravity’s a bit different, so same thing, just get used to the feeling,” JJ said from beside you. The water barely reached his chest, so if you fell off your board, at least it was shallow. You pushed yourself up like he showed you, but your arms wobbled a bit, JJ quickly steadied you. “Thanks,” you pant, out of breath from trying your hardest not to fall over. He gave you a nod and a smile, backing up a bit. You slowly shifted your weight to your feet, and put your arms up as you steadily tried to stand. Despite still being a bit wobbly, JJ clapped for you. “See? What did I tell you? Now we just gotta find some baby waves.” You got back down to lay on your board. “Wait here… seriously-” JJ said sternly before heading back towards shore to get his own board. He paddled out to get beside you, then sat up a bit, so you mimicked his actions.

“You’re doing a really good job for your first time,” JJ praised. “All thanks to you… Sorry you had to miss out on all the fun,” you said softly, looking over your shoulder just as Pope came up on a wave. 

“What are ya talkin’ about? As far as I’m concerned, they’re the ones missing out, all the fun’s happening right here,” JJ insisted, moving his hands between the two of you, making you chuckle. The smile on his face brought back the heat in your cheeks, so you did the only thing you could think of and splashed him, which resulting in you two going to full on war. 

After both you and JJ were properly soaked, and the laughter finally died down, you found yourself wanting more and more. JJ took you over to a spot where smaller waves were forming, and you practiced standing and moving with the wave, but you kept falling, crashing into the water. JJ never let you feel embarrassed, immediately praising what you had done right, and encouraging you to try again until finally, you rode the tiniest of waves, JJ acted like you won the super bowl.

“Yes! That’s what I’m talking ‘bout, baby, yeah! Woo!” JJ cheered. You got back down on your knees and paddled back over to him. “I did it! Oh my god, I can’t believe I actually did that!” “Told you! Next time we come out here, you’ll be shredding with me and Kie.”

Your smile fell as a wave of guilt washed over you. You had been having feelings for Kie’s boyfriend, and worse, you also were having feelings for JJ’s girlfriend.

“Yeah, yeah, it’ll be awesome,” you tried to save. “You were right, JJ, that actually was fun.” “You were right, too, by the way,” JJ said suddenly, making your eyebrows furrow. “Right about what, Maybank?” You asked. JJ smiled, almostly shyly, looking down at his board between his legs. “You’re a good kisser.”

July 9th - the fourth time.

You were working in your dad’s shop, JJ had called off, and you helped your dad by doing JJ’s work. “It’s just not like him…” Your dad said, checking the oil dipstick, wiping it clean with a cloth. “JJ’s never called out before.” “Which is exactly why you can't punish him. Shit happens, dad,” you defended despite knowing JJ was fine.

Your dad gave you a knowing look. “Sweetheart, I’m glad you and JJ are friends. He’s a good kid, y’know. And I appreciate you helping me all day. After this car you can head off early, I’m gonna close up early.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah, maybe you could go check on JJ.” “Daaaad,” you whined, you knew what he was hinting at. Your dad had always had a dream of you marrying a fellow car lover.

Your phone dinged from your pocket, so you quickly wiped your hands on a rag, dirty from refilling the coolant, before grabbing your phone from your pocket.

Kie ♡: miss you xx

You smile to yourself. “Oh, now what do we have here?” Your dad teased. “Stop it, it’s Kie, JJ’s girlfriend. Who I like very much for the record. As a friend,” you quickly added.

Your dad shook his head as you turned to lean against the car. You: miss u too <3

Kie texted back almost immediately. Kie ♡: when can i see you again?

You couldn’t bite back your ever growing smile, but then another ding.

Kie ♡: if i’m being honest i havent been able to stop thinking abt our kiss Kie ♡: have you?

You felt your heart race as your eyes scanned the words over and over again. You quickly glanced to your father, busy changing an air filter. That was the last thing

You: i can’t stop thinking abt that day period Kie ♡: i’m talking to jayj rn Kie ♡: we’re at the chateau Kie ♡: could you come over? Kie ♡: no pressure xx

It took you five minutes to type out your response, despite you having made your mind up the second she asked.

You: i’m omw

The walk to the chateau was a determined one. It had only been five days since you kissed both Kie and JJ, and like Kie, the memory was plaguing your mind. You got there in 10 minutes.

When you walked through the back door into the mudroom, JJ stood up from the couch where he had been seated. Kie was sitting in the armchair on the other side.

“Hey,” JJ said first. “Hi…”

JJ cleared his throat and sat back down. You suddenly felt awkward, and foolish. You had come here with no plan, no idea of what you wanted to gain from this. “Should… Should I go, or-” JJ asked. “I’ll say it…” Kie volunteered, scooting to sit on the edge of her seat. You hesitantly walked over to sit on the chair near the door, facing them.

“For a while, like before I even met you, I had been having these… feelings. Romantic urges for women. But-But I was already with JJ, so I just tried to ignore it. Then JJ met you, and we all became friends, and I thought you were… so beautiful and funny and kind. You can ask JJ, I told him like a week after we met,” Kie rambled. “It’s true,” JJ interjected, your head moving like you were watching a tennis match. “And when you told us you liked women and men… I got this…idea,” Kie continued.You quickly put the dots together and you let out a sigh of disappointment. Your worst fear was coming true.

“Seriously? You guys want me to be your unicorn?” “What? What’s a unicorn?” Kie asked. “It’s like when a straight guy and a bisexual girl are dating and have another bisexual girl around for hooking up with,” JJ explained, which honestly impressed you. “No, no, y/n, it’s not like that at all… I… I really like you. I wanted to talk about the possibility of you dating us- well- all of us, dating together,” Kie corrected, and it took you by surprise. You turned to look at JJ, but he was fidgeting with his hat, taking it off to run a hand through his hair before turning it to be backwards.

“I- I’m sorry, so just to clarify, you want me to be your guys’ what? Side piece?”  “No, I want you to be our girlfriend, mine and JJ’s, and I’d be your girlfriend and JJ would be your boyfriend.” “A throuple,” JJ spoke up, causing you to look at him again, this time he returned your gaze, wetting his bottom lip as you two held eye contact. “But-But we’d take it slow, I guess what I’m asking is if you would go on a date with us. See how it feels, and if we all like it, we keep going on dates.”

You had been approached many times by couples, mostly your friends’ boyfriends, for one night stands or casual hook ups, but never had someone suggested dating. You didn’t know what to think. A part of you felt like it was too good to be true, like you were falling into a trap that ended in you being humiliated and heartbroken, but you also felt like it was some sort of proof, proof that everything you had been feeling for both of them was not only real, it was mutual.

“You don’t have to give us an answer right now,” JJ added.

“Yeah, right, no pressure, and if you don’t want to, that’s totally cool too, we get i-” “Okay,” you interrupted her. “Let’s do it.”

Kie’s eyes widened before a smile broke out on her lips, “Really?”

Your mouth opened, but you bit your lips as you internally debated whether or not to be honest. Your eyes moved from Kie’s, wide and excited, to JJ’s, focused and hopeful. You let out a chuckle, “I felt like I was going crazy… feeling things for both of you…” you confess, running a hand through your hair. Kie looked over to JJ before getting up to kneel in front of you, putting her hand on your knee. “You’re not crazy… I thought I was going crazy when I started having these feelings, and JJ-” Kie’s head turned to look at the blonde, now standing. “I mean, he liked you first.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked from her to him, the tips of his ears turning pink as he looked away.

“So… you guys want to take me on a date?” you ask sheepishly. “How’s… tomorrow night sound?” Kie asked, a shy smile creeping onto her lips.

You looked over to JJ, he was leaning against the wall, his head down but his eyes up and on you. “Tomorrow night it is,” you answer.

©ᵒᵘᵗᵉʳᵐᵃʸᵇᵃⁿᵏˢ ²⁰²⁴

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Right After All

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~800

Warnings: none

Summary: Your twin sister throws a party and invites her hot boyfriend and his brother. You're nothing like she is, and Dean sees he might have chosen the wrong sister.

Square Filled: tattoo (2021) for @spndeanbingo​

Author’s Note: i appreciate any and all comments! <3

x

You’ve never seen your house so crowded before. Your twin sister invited everyone she knew to a housewarming party that turned from a few friends to a full-blown frat house. You’re more of an introvert while your twin is a severe extrovert. She needs to be around people to feel most comfortable while you can stay in your room all day either reading or playing video games.

It's only for one night, Y/N. Enjoy it and mingle.

The backyard is filled with people playing in the pool, smoking God only knows what, and playing on the mini basketball court your dad installed years ago. Inside the living room, people are playing ‘spin the bottle’, playing beer pong, and dancing to whatever music they put on. No one should be going upstairs, but you could have sworn you saw two people go up there in the midst of the chaos. 

The kitchen is the only place where there aren’t a lot of people because the kitchen isn’t that big anyway. There are a few getting drinks, but they quickly leave to rejoin the party.

The only people you’d love to converse with are your twin, her boyfriend, Dean, and his brother Sam. You’ve known them ever since they started dating a year ago. She doesn’t treat him like how he deserves, but you try to stay out of their relationship. She’s into partying, drinking, hooking up with Dean, and always spending whatever money he makes.

It sucks knowing he’s a good guy and seeing him get treated like trash.

You grab whatever alcohol is on the table and pour yourself a simple drink. Sam walks in with an uncomfortable smile on his face.

“You okay?” you chuckle.

“Yeah. I guess some girls don’t know the word ‘no’.”

“Yeah, they’re my sister’s friends. Sorry about that.”

“I can handle it,” he shrugs. “How’s school going?”

“One more year and I graduate! I’ve got an internship at the hospital this summer that will help me get a job there. How’s hunting going? I can’t imagine it’s ever good.”

“We’re managing. We got some hunters under our belt that are training so we don’t have to respond to every case.”

“That’s good. You know, I’d love to come over and see this Bunker of yours. I’ve only ever heard you talk about it. You’re making me think it’s a mythical place.”

“Yeah, we’d love to have you and Clarissa over some time.” Dean comes stumbling into the kitchen with a drunk grin on his face. “And I’m out.”

“Hey, Dean. You doing okay?” you ask.

“Never better, sweetheart.”

Dean walks over to you and pulls you into him. Before you have a chance to object, he plants his lips on yours. You’ve thought about this moment since you met Dean, but this isn’t right. He licks your bottom lip to get access inside your mouth, and you’d like to let him in but you don’t.

“Baby! That’s not me, dumbass!” your twin screeches from the kitchen door.

“What?” Dean asks and pulls away from you.

She rolls her eyes and grabs her boyfriend’s arm to drag him away. Dean might not remember this moment, but you will for the rest of your life. You were going to make a move, but your sister got to him before you could. You never said anything to Dean for fear that it’ll ruin their relationship to the point where you couldn’t see him anymore.

It’s better to have him around as a friend than not have him around at all.

Suddenly, this party has turned into a box with walls that keeps getting closer and closer to you. No one noticed you leaving the party until it was over. Some people crashed wherever they could sleep because they were too drunk to drive, leaving you to pick up their mess. Sam is in the backyard cleaning up what he can while you’re in the living room.

“Hey.”

You look up and see Dean by the stairs. Clarissa isn’t anywhere near him which means she’s probably passed out somewhere.

“Did you enjoy the party?” you ask and stuff red solo cups into the black trash bag.

“Yeah, I did. Your sister throws a helluva party. Let me help you.”

“I don’t---” He’s already picking up empty glass bottles and red cups. “Do you remember anything about the party?”

“You mean besides that kiss we shared?”

“Listen, no harm no foul, okay? We can just forget about it. You probably will in the morning.”

“I wasn’t drunk.”

“What?”

Dean walks over to you, backing you up into the large unlit fireplace.

“I knew what I was doing,” he whispers. “You know the difference between you and your twin? You have that pretty little tattoo right here.” Dean leans closer to your neck where you have a single rose tattoo right behind your ear. He brushes your hair away and plants a single kiss on the rose. “She doesn’t have one.”

He knew what he was doing. He kissed you on purpose knowing you were you and not your twin. What does this mean for you and him? For him and Clarissa? Dean pulls away from you and puts some distance between you and himself. Right before he leaves the room, he winks at you.

Maybe you and him are right after all.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[kidney9-9]

Father Figures - Severus Snape

Anonymous asked: I love your Snape Stepdaughter can you do one where she gets drunk at a party and they get busted by him and she throws the “your not my dad” type at him when he tries to get her to go to bed before she has a hangover tomorrow no worries if not it is fime

Hey there, thank you very much! I hope you enjoy! I had no idea what to title it haha and please read the warnings before you continue. Requests are open but I get to them very late. I'm not writing as often as I used to! Enjoy :)

Stepdad! Professor! Snape x Reader [Platonic/Angst] Warnings: Underage alcohol usage, cursing, unstable family dynamics

-

Going to the Hufflepuff party was not your original plan, but after hearing your friends got busted for doing something stupid in the library, you decided to go to the party since you had nothing else to do.

You had a few acquaintances there, and you hung around them for a few minutes at the party before getting bored and going to the drink table.

“Hah, you’re seriously going to drink? Or you’re just stopping by to get some little kid juice?” Keith, an irritating classmate of yours, interrupted you.

You looked him up and down, before making a disgusted face. He was always on your nerves, wanting to be a rival of yours, but you always did your best to ignore him. But for some reason, today, you were feeling a bit too bothered by him.

“I’m obviously here to drink some alcohol, you dimwit.” You rolled your eyes and poured yourself a drink. It was a random mix, but you knew it definitely had some hard alcohol in here. Hufflepuff parties always had the best drink mixes.

“Even with your daddy around the school?” Keith sneered, and you took a moment to close your eyes and breathe in deeply to calm yourself down because you were so close to decking him in the face.

That was one of his go to insults. Professor Snape is your stepfather, and everyone knew you hated the fact he was your teacher.

“Shut up, you shit face, like you can even handle any alcohol.” You snapped and took a few gulps from your cup.

“Oh please, I definitely can handle alcohol better than you, I can practically already hear you slurring your words.” He spat back and took an unopened bottle from the bottle. “Let’s see who can drink more, loser.” He challenged you.

You raised an eyebrow at him, “Hm, really? Can you handle it?” You couldn’t help but love the offended look on his face.

“Fucking hell, I can.” He took two cups, opened the bottle, and poured an equal amount of alcohol into the cups. He pushed one your way and stared at you as he chugged it down. Then he slammed the cup down on the table and grinned sloppily, “There. See?”

You scoffed at him, “Pour yourself another. I’m not some girl who taps out after one drink.” Once you said that, you picked up the cup and drank it all within a few seconds. At this point, a few people were starting to form around the table with you two, watching the strange competition take place.

He did as you said, chugging another drink and then so did you, trying your best to hold back the disgusted facial expression from the twang of alcohol going down your throat.

“Guh, you guys are so gross drinking that straight up. Pour some lemonade in it or something.” Devon spoke up into the conversation, pouring herself a drink from the mix.

“Nah, I’m good without it. Go ahead if you need it, little girl.” He taunted you but you ignored him and drank the next drink, counting to three drinks for both of you.

Devon shook her head, “You guys are going to feel awful in the morning. Shouldn’t you slow down at least?” She did her best to try to persuade both of you, but you were feeling a bit too arrogant to listen to her.

“I’m doing this to prove a point to this asshole. I don’t need anything added to my drink.” You answered her. She shrugged and left the table, muttering something about a potion for hangovers.

You and Keith shared a similar look of distaste for each other before drinking another cup of alcohol. This time, you started to feel it in your system. You did your best to stop yourself from stumbling in place, so you leaned up against the table, almost sitting on it.

You both continued to spew insults at each other as some people cheered you on to keep chugging, which encouraged you greatly. You couldn’t let this weird ass beat you to a game of drinking.

Keith wasn’t looking too good at this point, you both were at drink 9 and he was blinking strangely, snorting, and coughing as he spoke to a few people in the crowd.

“Yeah, like when I got on a broom the first time, I did it perfectly. Flying is so easy, I don’t,” He hiccups, “I don’t get how people have a hard time with flying with brooms.” He burped and leaned against the table, looking at a few common friends nearby.

“No way, I very distinctly remember you crying harder than a baby when you first flew.” You interrupted his story, waving your hand in the air.

A few people laughed at that, and Keith scowled, “You weren’t ever better than that, too. I remember your daddy was watching from a window, like some creepy stalker.”

You scrunched your nose up because you had no idea Snape was watching the class. You rolled your eyes at Keith though, annoyed he brought up Snape. “You really like talking about him a lot. Unfortunately, he doesn’t like snotty boys like you.” You responded.

His jaw dropped, “You’re such a bitch. I might be gay, but I’m not gay for him.”

You stay silent for a moment before you burst out laughing, “Oh fuck, I didn’t know you were gay. That’s cool for you though. Thanks for letting me know you don’t want to fuck our professor.” The people around the two of you started laughing too, and he cracked a smile as well, obviously wanting to laugh too.

“Well. Nice to know you aren’t a total prick.” He said, finishing his drink. The two of you continue insulting each other for a few minutes, drinking even more to the point you’re used to the burn of the alcohol going down your throat.

You could even feel the music beating almost in sync with your heartbeat and you wanted to go to that crowd in the middle of the room and dance with them.

Within a span of a moment, the atmosphere grew dark, and people went completely silent. You were completely confused and looked at Keith, who seemed to be about confused as you were.

“Out! Everyone out now!” A yell went through the crowd of people at the party.

You immediately stiffened as you recognized the voice. Snape, of course it was him. You closed your eyes and groaned quietly as people started to shuffle out of the room quickly.

“Oh damn, I kinda feel bad for you now.” Keith chuckled but dropped his drink and rushed off into the crowd. He wobbled a lot, and for a moment you wanted to laugh at the sight, but when you started to walk, you wobbled too, stumbling even as you tried to blink off the feeling of weightlessness.

You did your best to hide yourself, but Snape was standing at the door, yelling, and disciplining each and every student that crossed the doorway. There was no other exit. This was like one of your worst nightmares and you were so drunk, you were pretty sure that you might have been drooling as you slowly stumbled towards him.

He eyed you with something you couldn’t place at the moment, but just as you reached him, his face turned into this disgusted judgmental look that you recognized, and it was pointed directly at you. Immediately, you want to shout at him for looking at you like that. He had no right to stare at you with those mean eyes, you thought. He wasn’t your dad, fuck that.

“Stay here.” He hissed at you through his teeth, and you rolled your eyes at least twice to make sure he saw it.

“Mm, you’re not my fucking father.” You slurred under your breath, sliding your back down against the wall behind him. He didn’t hear you of course, due to the chatter from the other people at the party.

Dozens more students poured out the room, some staring at you sympathetically and others looking at you with horror, as if they could picture what was about to happen with Snape being both your professor and your stepfather.

“Professor Snape, I can assist her to her room.” One of your friends popped up. You smiled wobbly to her and waved.

“No, you insolent child, leave now before I decide to take even more points away from your house.” He snapped and your friend chirped in shock and rushed away without a single word more. You pouted at that and watched everyone else leave. Even the Hufflepuffs left without arguing – which was mostly due to the deadly glare and stance Snape had.

He had turned around and stared at you as you kept your eyes cast to the floor. “Child. Get up.” He spoke up.

He couldn’t even say your name, you thought with a scoff aloud.

“Don’t wanna.” You muttered back. You could feel him staring at you with an even worse gaze, something cold and mean it felt like. Then to your surprise, he crouched down to your level and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Get up.” He said again, voice sounding confusingly strange to you. A mixture of anger and disappointment (what’s new, you bitterly thought), but something else was in it as well, and you couldn’t point it out.

“Didn’t you hear what I told you? Just leave me here.” You spoke back to him, feeling a wave of dizziness hit you as you tried to roll away from his hand on your shoulder. You were feeling so many waves of emotions, especially negative ones.

Why did everyone associate you with this man? Why did he have to be your stepfather?

It was so painfully obvious that he didn’t care about you. Maybe the only thing he did care about was making you feel disgraceful to everyone in school and everyone at home.

You became separated from your family because of him. Your father left and his side of the family barely communicated with you anymore because of who your mother married. And your mother tried her best to include you but how could you possibly want to stand by her side when your horribly mean professor is standing with his hand wrapped around her waist?

He took everyone away from you. Now even with your friends, it was a nightmare come true. He was bringing your worst fears to life with you being forcibly separated from everyone you cared about.

“You have to get up,” He paused, watching you mutely struggle to get away from him. “I’m taking you to your room to rest.” He finished. You stared up at him abruptly.

“That’s funny. Why?” You smiled bitterly and slowly accepted his grip on your arm as you forced yourself up. You knew you couldn’t stay here, you’d have to get to your room.

“You’re drunk. You could get hurt. Must I go on?” He muttered at you as his grip on you tightened as you stumbled out the door.

“Oh yeah, go on, tell me why you hate me and how much of a stain I am on your reputation…” You chuckled darkly.

He paused in his steps, staring at you intensely.

“Do you not understand I’m taking you to your room because I care about you?” His words came out fast and you took a moment to comprehend them before you laughed loudly.

“You are not my father! You will never be my dad! What’s with you acting this way? I know it’s fake. You hate me. You made me alone. I can’t even – breathe with you everywhere. I hate you!” You screamed, throat burning as it felt like blood rushed up and started to choke you.

You ripped yourself away from him and watched as his face crumbled in a way so familiar to you – it made you want to run away when you realized this was how you looked when you would glance into the mirror at yourself whenever he was around and made you become so unlikable to everyone else.

It was despair. Pain, anger, confusion, and you could almost feel the self-loathing coming off him at that second.

“Is this how you truly see me? Of course, I’m not your father. I will never try to replace your father.” He shook his head. His eyes slowly became blank, like he was trying to dissociate from this moment in time. You couldn’t understand how he was so alike you right here and right now. Why was he looking like this?

“You made me feel scared in my own home. I don’t have a place to call home anymore now because of you.” You spat out, tears forming in your eyes.

He slowly wiped his hand down his face and sighed deeply. “Dear, I have tried to give you space. I have tried to include you. I have tried to bend to your will at every point at home. Is this what you really think?” His words had started out so quiet and then rose in volume.

“Why are you saying that stuff? It’s fake.” You tried to call out, but he shook his head at you, looking so miserable.

“You’re drunk. We will speak in the morning. I am taking you home during the break.” He stopped and seemed to have to take a few seconds to breathe and calm himself, but then he continued, “I have cared for you this entire time, but I see that you have trouble believing that. I will show you how much I care about you and this family, along with how you are doing as my student, in a way you will understand. But firstly, please hold onto me, I will take you to your room.”

When you quietly watched his face to see if you could detect any lies, he sighed and looked distressed. You took his arm in your hand and quietly moved along with him to go to your room. Thankfully the halls had cleared at this point, everyone had gone back to their rooms with a few of the other professors ordering them to.

“Careful,” He called out as you got to your room, trying to reach for your bed. You tripped slightly, only to be caught by him and he slowly sat you down on the bed and grabbed one of your blankets and wrapped it around your shoulders.

Your roommates were either pretending to be asleep or were asleep, but you couldn’t find yourself to care about that. “Did you mean it?” You murmured just as he took a step away from your bed.

“Excuse me?” He quietly answered.

“Did you really mean it? That you – you’re trying?” You couldn’t fully say it, you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him aloud if he had actually cared about you this entire time. You felt strangely sober now. That weightlessness feeling had gone and now you felt drawn to the floor, stomach dropping into a bottomless pit.

He seemed to understand your question after a moment and nodded. “I have been giving you space, trying to comprehend what you might be feeling… I was once your age too before in case you have forgotten. I hoped you would understand that I was simply giving you what I thought you wanted.”

“I didn’t.” You managed to press out, “I didn’t understand that.”

It was almost a silent apology. But you both needed to apologize to each other, it seemed like, for misinterpreting things for so long and so violently.

He blinked away an emotion you’ve never seen in him before, something like hope and understanding. He took a step back and went to grab you a cup of water, and to give you a little time. You fell back against your bed with a strangled sob wrecking through your body at last, like something lifted and things were being solved finally.

You shook with each cry, trying to silence yourself. Was this really happening? Did he actually care? Had this whole time, you’ve been isolating yourself on a huge misunderstanding?

You wanted to see your mom, talk with her to try to understand it all. You wanted your dad’s side of the family to reach out once more, just to connect with them again. You wanted your family, new and old connections.

“Dear, sit up just a bit.” Snape walked back into the room. His voice rang out very quietly, and you struggled to sit up. He held the cup against your lips as you sipped some cold water, which helped your crying slow slightly.

“Can you stay here? For a little while?” You whispered as a few more tears ran down your face. He wiped them away with a tissue he grabbed from the other room.

“Yes, till you fall asleep. Come to my office when you awaken, you’ll be excused from your classes tomorrow, for this… situation.” He worded out, and you sniffled and nodded.

You had slowly stopped crying after what felt like ages, feeling a low headache start to form. You sniffled once more, “I didn’t mean to drink that much.” You felt like you had to say before you fell asleep.

In the darkness, you could very vaguely see a quirk of his lip curl upwards, “That’s what they all say. Again, I was your age too once.”

With that, you managed to drift to sleep, feeling emotionally wrecked and almost unavailable, but you felt clearer. Much like a heaviness was lifted from your shoulders and the stress held in your chest removed like stones being cleared away. Things will get better now, in the morning. You two will figure it out and things will be better than they were.

It seemed that he was not your father, but much more like a father figure.

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

it all fell down

part two: icarus rises

ratings: M (talk of war, rebellion, death and destruction, bleeding, wounds, lots of curse words, etc etc.)

summary: after adam died in the first extermination, lute calls for more frequent exterminations, rallying heaven’s population into believing that hell is a threatening force. once she succeeds, the legion of angels can come down to hell every 6 months, the only difference, charlie and lucifer aren’t safe any more. with their backs against the wall, rebellion is the only option but what happens when heaven pulls their final ace in their sleeve?

part one

previously: i try and smile at him but he smiles back at me, so genuine as if to say don’t worry. his eyes close and charlie screams out. my head falls to his as i press a kiss to his forehead. “goodbye, my love.”

moments later we hear the pants and running of a group of people and i quickly lay lucifer down and get in front of his body and charlie, ready to protect them. when suddenly angel appears, looking at the wreckage and then his eyes widening. 

“no.” he says, as husk is just silent. cherri gasps and holds onto angel as nifty runs up to charlie, holding her arm. angel’s eyes widen as he looks at lucifer closer.

“he’s not dead! he’s still breathing!” angel exclaims, running up and looking at lucifer. i move over to his body and look at angel shaking my head. “give him this!” angel says thrusting the bottle i had given him earlier into my hand. 

“angel, he’s not…” husk starts and is promptly cut off.

“no! he is. check!” angel exclaims pointing at lucifer. i sigh and as i bend down, i’m not sure why i check. i had been so sure a few moments ago that my precious morningstar was dead, gone to the world. maybe it was hope, a fools hope that i still held onto from my time in heaven. maybe it was for charlie, who i wasn’t sure if she could go on after loosing both her parents. one of whom she technically killed. or maybe this was for me, because i didn’t know who i would be or what i would be with him gone.

i reached down and felt his wrist, my eyes widening as i felt a very faint thrumming. i moved my head to his mouth and nose, placing my ear close and i could hear breathing, so faint but there. my eyes widened as i propped him up.

“charlie, help me open his mouth, hurry.” i asked. she froze looking at me like i was deranged. husk stepped in quickly and opened his mouth, i poured the rest of the golden liquid into his mouth, threw the bottle off when the last drop went it and helped lean his head back so that he could swallow it. i watched him with baited breath looking everywhere for any sign it worked. 

it took a few moments but i first saw his cheeks have some color return to them. his pallor generally getting better and i quickly lifted up his shirt, watching the wound start to stitch itself together. i started crying again.

“thank you, angel. oh my god. it worked.” i looked at charlie. “it worked.” she looked at me, disbelief in her eyes.

“he’s going to be okay?” she asked.

“i think so. i think so, charlie.” i cried and she hugged me tight. “but we need to get out of here. do you think rosie would mind us staying in cannibal town?” i asked.

“i-i don’t think so.” she said, shaking her head and clutching vaggie.

“then let’s get over there. husk, grab alastor, he’s over there. do not let him out of the ropes either.” my tone a bit commanding as i picked up lucifer and started to make our way to cannibal town. 

____________

once there, we got lucifer set up on a bed. that was the first thing i asked as rosie took in our battered group. alastor out cold and tied up and the king of hell in my arms, was a sight on her doorstep. from there, i told them alastor needed to be set in a chair and for vaggie to watch him. not to do anything, but to watch him. she nodded as charlie sat with her dad and husk, angel, nifty and cherri went off to get new clothes for all of us. 

after setting lucifer up, and making sure charlie was okay, i walked back down stairs and saw that alastor was awake and quiet. which a part of me was grateful for. i ignored him for the time being and went over to rosie.

“i’ve never seen ‘im this quiet.” rosie quipped looking at him. she pointed to some tea on the table and i quickly drank it, suddenly more thirsty than i thought. 

“thank you for helping us.” i murmur to rosie. “im not sure what deal he had or what he did, but lilith owned his soul, with her gone, he’s in full ownership but i don’t know if that’s necessarily a good thing.” rosie nodded and looked at me as i started to open my mouth to apologize, knowing this was her friend.

“don’t you dare start apologizing. you just helped save us all. and whatever alastor did over there, he can handle himself. of course i worry about him, i care about him, but again, he can handle himself.” she said as she gave me a push over to vaggie and alastor. as i walked over both their eyes met mine. i kneeled in front of alastor, looking him in his eyes.

“will you answer my questions?” i ask and watch as he nods. 

“honestly?” i ask again.

“i can make a deal that i will if that’s what you want.” alastor speaks for the first time, his voice a little hoarse and the radio effect no where to be found. 

“okay. i set the terms though.” i say, “you tell me the full, complete truth, not withholding any information, to me and whoever can hear you in this room. in return i owe you nothing.” i say my hand held out, i look to rosie to see if she approves and she nods. he sighs and shakes my hand, green glowing around us and then fading.

“lilith owned your soul?” i ask, starting basic to ensure the deal was at play.

“yes, she owned my soul.” he responded easily.

“why did you make a deal with her?” my inquiry falls after i sit myself on the floor in front of him. 

“i wanted power. she wanted a scapegoat at the hotel.” he sneered.

“scapegoat, what do you mean?” i ask.

“she had plans to take lucifer out seven years ago. originally her plan was to take him out, become the ruler of hell, take the rest of hell out in its entirety, all so she could live her life of paradise in heaven.” vaggie gasped hearing alastor.

“she was going to kill charlie?” she asked, her face contorted in to disgust and shock. alastor didn’t answer her.

“was she going to kill charlie, alastor?” i ask him and he nods. 

“he can only answer my questions right now i think. but i’ll repeat yours.” i say looking at vaggie who nods. rosie looks more distraught than she did before. “why did you enter into this contract?”

“for power. i wanted unimaginable power. i wanted to rule hell, and then take down heaven. i thought that there might’ve been a way to twist the contract i made with her in my favor but it was sealed. the terms too absolute.” he added on, as i nodded.

“why did you come to the hotel? you also said she needed a scapegoat. why?” my head tilting to the side, trying to understand.

“she wanted me to keep an eye on charlie, know the progress of the hotel. she was livid when lucifer came out of hiding and actually started helping charlie with her cause.” he shook his head as if remembering a bad memory. “she needed a scapegoat as she was going to destroy the hotel and lucifer and charlie. she couldn’t come down to rule if all of hell knew she had killed their leaders, especially because of the sins and their relationships with lucifer. so, i was to be the scapegoat to have, supposedly, torn down the hotel, killed them both and then she would kill me.” rosie gasped as her teacup shattered hitting the ground.

“alastor… what?” she cried, her face horrified.

“which in her doing all that, then there would be extra motivation to get rid of hell because it would become ‘look what this wayward sinner did, they’re a threat to us all.’ and she’d look like the savior. but all of hell would trust her as she saved them.” i finished. “is that right?”

“you’re very smart, yes.” alastor nodded and i sighed. 

“did you want to do anything she asked of you?” i asked, trying to understand what to do with the demon in front of me. his eyes widened and he looked confused.

“what do you mean?” he shot back.

“just that, did you want to do anything she asked of you or were you forced. remember, you have to tell the truth. fully and completely.” i reminded him.

“i-“ he stopped him self, almost like he was trying to hold it in, not wanting to say the truth. “no. i didn’t. at first i did.” the man in front of me just looked tired at this point. “i wanted the power she promised, but i soon learned her actual plans and of course i didn’t want to go along with that. i don’t want to die. but then i realized that i had grown to… care for the patrons of the hotel. but there was nothing i could do, and i wasn’t able to speak about it either.” alastor looked sick at his own confession. 

“okay. okay. i won’t have you confess to any more feelings big guy.” i rolled my eyes, relaxing at his explanation. inherent evil, i wasn’t too sure how to deal with, but someone who had found the power of friendship, we could deal with that. i stood up and offered my hand to him again, he went to take it and i withdrew, stopping him. i brought my hand back out and explained.

“i’m making a deal with you. this is a deal for your soul. consider it probation. i’m not restricting your powers, but you may not act, create a deal or any other thing that would harm, hurt, cause danger or possibly kill any of the patrons of the hotel, the staff, charlie, vaggie, lucifer, myself or rosie. you need to stop with the power grabbing shit and be content with trying to be the top dog of the sinners in the pride ring okay? i can restrict, revoke or give you more power at any time i see fit. in addition, i can change the terms of this contract as i see fit at anytime, with or without your approval. you are to continue your work at the hotel, and none of your riff raff little friends like mimzy are allowed unless they are seeking redemption. do we have a deal alastor?” i reach my hand toward him. he growls.

“i’ll be on another leash?” he asks.

“for a while. be a good dog and i might let you off sometime.” i smile and he rolls his eyes, shaking my hand. “good boy.” i say, grinning at him as i wave my hand and the angelic rope falls off him. 

“now i am sure you either want food and some drink or to go to the tailor, you’re free to do as you please, but i would go give rosie a hug because she went through the five stages of grief listening to you tell all of that.” alastor turned to rosie, seeing her look absolutely livid, with tears streaming down her face.

“you’re an idiot.” she says, hitting his arm as he walks up to her.

“so i’ve been told.” he easily responds, going stiff as she hugs him. i make my way upstairs and see charlie reading to her dad as vaggie and i enter. 

“alastor’s all right. he’s taken care of. we can talk later but how about you both go get something to eat and find husk and angel. nifty and cherri are with them. i’ll stay here.” i smile as charlie gets up.

“are you sure.” she asks, looking like she wants a change of clothes, food and a good bath.

“positive. bring me back something that’s not pinky fingers” i joke with her. she smiles and starts to leave but turns back at the last minute and runs up to hug me. i hug her back as she looks at me.

“thank you. for saving us. for saving him.” she says.

“it was really angel on your dad there, but anytime love. now go. we’re fine here.” i smile as her and vaggie rush off. i collapse on the edge of the bed, grabbing lucifer’s hand as the weight of everything finally hits me. i turn my body and rest my head against his chest, feeling the hot tears in my eyes and the lump in my throat as i clutch him to me. the sobs wrecking my body as i look at him, like he was peacefully sleeping. all i could think was that i almost lost him. i almost lost him. i almost lost him. he nearly died. he died. he was gone… my mind started spiraling as the panic and emotions i had to push aside all welled up. until i felt a hand on my head. my thoughts stopped with a screeching halt. i slowly looked up and saw the black claws i knew so well, resting on the side of my face now. i followed the arm up to his face, his eyes were just barely open and he had a gentle smile on his lips. i cried looking at him, holding his hand in mine and nuzzling my face into his touch. 

“you’re awake.” i croak and he nods. his other hand pats his throat and my eyes widen as i realize he needs water. i look at the end table and see water there with a straw, i help him drink some, very slowly easing into it. “don’t gulp it, i know you want to though.” he clutched my hands as i held the cup. he finally sat back  and sighed.

“how do you feel?” i asked, my hand resting on his thigh and my other hand in his. 

“like i got impaled by my ex-wife.” he said, deadpanning looking at me. i smile and shake my head. “just tired honestly. i think my body has healed most of my injuries.” 

my head nods and as i reach up to his face, caressing his cheek and rubbing gently across his cheek bone.  he rests his head in my hand. 

“what about you? are you okay?” he asks, seeing i still had on what i wore in the battle. 

“i think i’m fine. i haven’t gotten changed or checked any injuries. had some other stuff to take care of. but there’s nothing you need to worry about. everything is all right.” i explain, knowing he was about to ask.

“where’s charlie?” he looked around the room. 

“she and vaggie met up with husk, angel, cherri and nifty. they’re finding clothes and food, since we’re in cannibal town.” he nods and looks around. 

“what about alastor?” a dark shadow crosses his face.

“he’s taken care of. he’s alive and he doesn’t want to hurt the hotel or us.” i explain not wanting to get too far into it as he just woke up.

“where’s lilith?” lucifer asks, looking at me, his eyes swimming with emotion.

“i-she’s… gone.” i try to say. 

“what does that mean?” his eyes narrowing at me.

“she’s dead, lucifer.” i tell him as his eyes widen. 

“who… did you?” he asks and i shake my head. 

“charlie…” i didn’t finish the sentence as lucifer looked at me in shock. 

“no. not charlie.” he cried, tears rolling down his face.

“i was close to you and the minute everything happened she went off in a fit of rage. she’s pretty distraught over it. thinks you’ll be upset. i told her you wouldn’t be angry at her, but i don’t think she believes me.” i explain more as lucifer cries harder. 

“i never wanted this for her. she’s-she’s my duckling. i was supposed to protect her.” he cries, his head hiding in my shoulder. 

“you did though. you fought for her and her dream. you did that.” i clutch him to me. “you’ve done well sunshine.” he cries harder hearing me call him sunshine and i just hold him.

—————————-

hours later feet bound up the stairs, the loud noises were prefaced by a gasp and the sound of glass breaking. lucifer and i, sitting next to each other on the bed, as i was reading the book that charlie was before she left, look up and see charlie in the door way. her clothes changed and hair freshly washed. tears streaming down her face as she launched her self at lucifer. 

“dad!” she cried. i slide off the bed as charlie wrapped herself around lucifer. my smile is soft. 

“oh charlie.” he cried, waterworks opening again. 

“i’m so so sorry dad. i-i-i” charlie started to hyperventilate and lucifer brushed her hair away from her face.

“you have nothing to be sorry about. nothing.” he told her fiercely. “i am so proud of you. it’s all right.” he said as she cried harder and nestled on his chest. i looked at vaggie and then at lucifer, motioning between vaggie and yourself and then to the door, communicating you both would be leaving. he nods and mouths ‘thank you’ as i nod and vaggie and i leave, shutting the door to give them privacy. we get downstairs and the rest of the crew comes up to us.

“i gotchu a change of clothes.” angel says.

“some good food.” husk adds.

“all the things you need to smell good!” nifty exclaims.

“and i was told to give this to you as you like this shit?” cherri asks, handing me some apple wine. i laugh for the first time today.

“thank you so much. all of you. the apple wine is more of a lucifer thing, so i will hide this until he’s given the all clear to drink other fluids.” they all go back to eating, vaggie joining them and actually laughing and joking along with them, in her own way. i walk over to rosie and alastor.

“i just wanted to check that you both were okay.” i say walking up to them.

“right as rain, darling!” alastor says, the radio effect back and a new suit on his frame.

“we’re fine, darling. you go wash up now.” rosie says and i nod, walking off to the bathroom and getting rid of the war torn clothes adorning my body, washing off all the grim on my body and bandaging myself up quickly before padding back out. i see charlie coming down, a smile on her face as she walks up to me and hugs me tightly.

“thank you.” she whispers.

“of course.” i reply easily.

“dad wants to see you, says you should be done washing up by now.” she laughs.

“he somehow always knows.” i shake my head. “he’s like santa clause.” i joke, charlie’s face looking confused. “we can talk about santa later. your friends want you.” i say as the whole crew is looking expectantly at charlie, not wanting to explain santa right now. she nods and dashes off to them, a smile on her face as she hugs vaggie and starts talking to them. i sigh and walk back up stairs and see lucifer waiting.

“did i keep you too long?” i ask sliding into the bed next to him.

“i’d wait an eternity for you and it still wouldn’t be too long, as long as i was promised to hold you again.” lucifer smirks, as i feel my face burn with blush. i shake my head and laugh. “you bandaged yourself up?” he asks.

“the others tended to themselves and they didn’t need another person to tend to. i’m fine.” i respond. he sighs. 

“next time, i’ll be bandaging you up. can’t have you doing that yourself.” he says, shaking his head. i laugh.

“i can’t believe we made it. we made it out the other side luce.” i say, holding his hand in mine. 

“marry me.” he says, his eyes meeting mine. my eyes widen at his request. 

“what?” i ask, my breath gone.

“marry me.” lucifer pleads, his hand coming up to caress my cheek. “almost loosing you and charlie has made me rethink a lot. i don’t want to waste anymore time. marry me, please?” he asks again.

“yes. of course i will!” i cry as i lean in to kiss him. he holds my body to him as i pull away for air.

“mrs. morningstar has a beautiful ring doesn’t it?” lucifer asks. 

“it does, but that doesn’t matter as long as i’m with you.” my head falling to his chest as he chuckled. feeling the vibrations of his laugh and the warmth of his arms, i allowed myself to finally relax. everything had turned out all right and everything would be all right. 

part one

[fatallyfalling]

Strawberry Wine ~ 𖤓

“ safe & sound “

{{ Peeta Mellark Headcanons }}

warnings: mentions of alcohol, canon Hunger Games violence/trauma, wholesome fluff, etc.

{{ word count }} 487

{{ prompt }} fluffy headcanons for our beloved bread boy !!

{{ a/n }} this is short & sweet while i test out Peeta’s character! I’m not sure what i exactly want to write with him since i’ve adored everlark for forever but for now please enjoy my silly happy thoughts! Some of these i’ve heard around the internet i think but i can’t remember where :[

Peeta Mellark, the ashy blonde from District 12 who stole the hearts of the Capital with his charms and sweet, boyish nature while also managing to tame a stubborn Mockingjay - Katniss Everdeen, and poured out his heart and soul to get back to her any way he could.

- Peeta is a morning person. He'll get up early and have breakfast ready by the time Katniss pulls out of bed (she learns to sleep in post-rebellion).

- His favorite type of bread/pastry is croissants. The tedious labor of laminating the cold butter block into the fluffy dough is cathartic in a way.

- Once, he tried to teach Katniss to paint. Once. Her attempt at trees looked more like crazy brown and green spiders but he still kissed her temple and had the painting framed, much to the girl on fire's dismay.

- Peeta doesn't like hard liquor - he never did. Effie hooks him on a strawberry wine made special in what used to be District 11, he's gifted at least one bottle every birthday or holiday.

- He's such a housewife no questions asked, hands down. Hungry? He'll cook. Thirsty? Anything you want. This man has to be physically removed from the kitchen during friendly gatherings so he can actually relax and enjoy the company.

- Also, his Dad lore is insane.

(speaking to his kids when they're older) "Oh yeah, your Mom tried to kill me once. but it's okay I made it even the next year so we're good now."

"One time I almost got eaten by a monkey in a fight to the death."

"Another time I took a spontaneous road trip, got held hostage, and then led a rebellion to victory alongside your Mom."

- Peeta teaches himself guitar so he can play along while Katniss sings. His chords are wildly out of tune at first, but he gets it eventually.

- Peeta doesn't like store-bought bread, saying his homemade loaves taste better (they do).

- He's a hugger, every hello and goodbye is met by a bear hug. His hugs are amazing as well, nice and tight but also comforting and warm.

- For a while after the war Peeta kept a journal on his nightstand to record his dreams/nightmares. Even if the text turns out to be chicken scratch in the morning Katniss still helps him decipher and work through it to solidify reality.

“What does that say ?”

“Uh… I think… no - wait, I have no idea,”

- Effie and Peeta definitely have wine nights to talk about their scary guard dog partners and how much they love them.

- Speaking of paint - it’s everywhere, all the time, mainly his hands. Oil paint is next to impossible to clean so almost all of Peeta’s shirts have some amount of color speckled on the sleeves or the thighs of his pants.

- Peeta also keeps a cookie jar of homemade cookies in the kitchen, they’re replenished every week with regular flavor swaps.

{{ tags }}

[the-offside-rule]

Jude Bellingham (Real Madrid) - An Unexpected Gift

Day 5 of Christmas

“Another glass?” Jude asked, lifting the bottle of wine. “Don’t mind if I do.” Y/n smiled, lifting her glass from the countertop. Jude poured her a generous glass and one for himself. “Now, what else have we to do?” He asked. “Well, pigs in blankets, gravy, mashed potatoes-

“Brussel sprouts.” He interrupted. “Absolutely not.” Y/n replied, not looking up from the food in front of her. “My mum loves them.” Jude said, knowing she would definitely make some for the exception of one person and one person only. “I’ll make some for Denise but that’s it.” She said. "Thank you." The pair were cooking together for their first Christmas Dinner together. The years before, they both lived eith their parents, but since Jude moved to Madrid and Y/n moved for university, this would be their first Christmas in their new house and in a new city.

"How long until you family gets here?" Y/n asked. "Not for a while." Jude replied. "I say we get started on the breakfast. They could be here any minute." Y/n said. Jude nodded. "Yeah. We can leave the dinner for an hour or so."

"No, the turkey and ham needs to go in now and then the veg and stuff go on in a few hours." Y/n said. "Wouldn't that cremate the food?" Jude joked. "You're hilarious, really." Jude wrapped his arms around the shoulders and kissed her cheek, pulling her back into his chest. "I don't know what I would do without you." He whispers. "You'd have an undercooked turkey." He chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say. Let's just get the breakfast done first."

The pair set aside the dinner and went to work at the breakfast, making....well a full English. What else could be better first thing on Christmad day? Especially for Jude's family who were fresh off a flight from England. As they were plating the food, the doorbell rang so of course, Jude went to see who it was. It didn't take long to decipher who it was as she heard the familiar voices of Jude's family from the hallway, followed by Denise walking into the kitchen with a huge smile on her face. "Y/n! How are you, my dear?" Y/n put the pan in her hand down and went to greet Denise with a hug. "Oh my goodness, it's been so long!" Y/n chuckled. "You're cooking breakfast?"

"Yes, full English." Y/n replied. "Jude, you have a good girlfriend." Denise shouted out. Jude shortly walked into the kitchen with a huge grin on his face. "I've the best girlfriend." He replied. "Have you opened your presents yet?" Denise asked. "No, I told him we should wait for you, Denise." Y/n then greeted Jobe and his dad before the family sat down and enjoyed their breakfast together. "Full English breakfasts just taste better on holiday." Mark said, finishing up his breakfast. "Or maybe it's just the person who cooked it." Y/n smiled at the compliment. "I wouldn't say that. I've had Denise's breakfasts and they are unreal."

Y/n put the dishes away in the dishwasher with the help of Jobe, and the family went to the living room to open the gifts. Denis head brought a few with her, as well as the few from duty free. Y/n sat on the sofa beside Jude opening the gifts she had received from her own family who unfortunately couldn't make it this year. Jude simply sat beside her with his arms around her, every so often pressing kisses onto her shoulder. "We should go to your family next year." Jude whispered. "Why's that?" She asked. "Well I don't have to be back to training until the 29th, do I?" Y/n held a melancholic smile. "Suppose so."

"You alright?" Jude asked. "I just miss them." She said. A few minutes later, the buzzer for the gate has buzzed. Y/n looked confused. "Who's that?" Jude shrugged his shoulders. "Probably the postman." He replied. "It's Christmas Day. Surely they don't do post on Christmas day?" Jude stood up and pressed the button for the gate to open. Shortly after, the doorbell rang. Jude promptly stood up and walked out to the hall, opening the door. Nobody heard anything from the hall, then a few moments later, they heard talking and laughing. As the footsteps towards the living room grew closer, Y/n turned her head. Jude walked through the door and then, to Y/n's surprise, her whole family.

"Mum!" Y/n ran into her mums arms, then her dad came and threw his arms around both ladies. "You planned this?" Y/n asked. "Course, I did. I didn't want our first Christmas away to only have one family." Y/n peppered Jude's face in kisses. "You didn't tell her we were coming?" Her dad asked. "No, I thought I'd leave it as a surprise." Jude smiled. "Oh, you're the sweetest." Y/n's mum said, her hand over her heart. "I love you so much." Jude kissed the top of her head. "Happy Christmas, love." He whispered, pulling her closer into his chest. "Happy Christmas."

[vintageaustin]

goodbye kiss

austin butler x reader.

summeray: the reader and austin meet again, and spend one night together

warnings: angst cussing alchol depresion pregnancy cheating mention of sex not acteul sex tho

authors note: i personally really love this and i hope you guys do as well, enjoy kids, there are so many songs combined into this song let me know if you can find them!!

Massive thanks to @austinbutlerslovers and @elvismylove04 for the help🩷

It was Friday night, and like usually, you felt alone. You didn´t mind feeling alone, but... there was something about being so lonely that you didn´t even notice you were crying till now. The road was long, sure, and you tried to have fun in the meantime.

So even though it was a whopping 57 degrees in Vegas, you decided to go out and maybe look for someone who was just as damaged as you are. You liked taking a walk on the wild side. It made you feel alive, and feeling alive was better than feeling nothing at all.

Your heart broke with every step you took. You had never really been in love, you thought as you wandered the streets of Las Vegas, except for that one boy. You were hoping that at the gates they´d tell you that he was yours. He was born in August. You just met him too soon.

As you got lost in your thoughts, you bumped into someone. I'm so sorry I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking, you said softly. The stranger chuckled, and you, on the other hand, still hadn´t looked up. "It´s okay." He laughed gently. That voice that laugh, you recognized it. 

"A-austin, you whispered as you looked up. There he was standing in front of you, but something was different; it was like the light faded from his eyes. He wasn´t doing okay, and well, neither were you."W-what are you doing here? You stuttered, and he smiled softly looking.

Down at you, ¨I was looking for you" he whispered.

You looked at him a bit, taken aback. "For me?" you asked, kind of confused. To be fair, you and Austin broke up a while ago. Though you never stopped loving one another, you never really talked again after you broke up. "You're dad, he, uh, he called me." You looked at Austin and turned around, walking away.

"You´re dad!?" The little voice in your head was screaming. You hadn´t talked to your parents in ages, and now they send your ex-boyfriend over to check up on you??. How sick is that!? Your thoughts got interrupted as Austin called you multiple times, "Angel!? Wait up, cmon, let me explain!" he said. And you shook your head. "I don't wanna hear it aus, you either don´t mention them and we have a fun night and forget about this tomorrow, or I leave," you said, kind of cold and huffed. 

Looking at those striking blue eyes, Austin chuckled and nodded. "Wanna get drunk in my hotel room then?" You smiled softly and nodded as he grabbed your hand and started running down the street to the corner store. The two of you got a cheap bottle of vodka and whiskey. Then make your way back to his hotel room.

And you couldn´t help but think maybe the two of you lived in silence for too long. You were broken, and he ran allong like he was supposed to, and maybe the days the two of you had were gone, rock and roll sent the two of you insane back then... You couldn't help but wonder if it would do that again.

You got snapped out of your thoughts as Austin spoke up. "Do you want a drink?" he asked as he took a hold of your waist gently. You nodded and smiled. I'd love to" hear you whisper as Austin leaned closer and smiled. "I got you," he chuckled, kissing your cheek. He went over to the mini bar and poured the both of you a shot. As you got half way through the first bottle,.

You and Austin were talking about your lives now and reminiscing about the good old days. Those 20 minutes felt like forever, but you learned a lot about him. You learned he had a girlfriend, yet he remembered the day he wrote "mine" on your upper thigh so well.

This night was doomed from the start; you shouldn´t be here; he was taken, and this was wrong; no words could save this; he was drunk, and you were pissed. You sighed softly and got up. You walked over to the door and leaned against it. "I should go." You said soft enough that he could tell that you were hurt. As you looked up, he was walking over to you. "Angel," he said barely in a whisper as he looked into your soul with those striking blue eyes.

He made you look up at him as he took a hold of your chin. "Don't leave," he said barely in a whisper. "I just got my angel back,” he mumbled as his eyes fell down on your lips, and he started leaning in closer and closer until you felt his soft lips on yours. The kiss was rough but sweet. Was this your goodbye kiss? You thought to yourself.

One night, after that, you go your way, and I´ll go my way, you said, and Austin nodded and picked you up. Kissing you again, he laid you down on the bed. He was so gentle with you, and the both of you were so drunk. You knew it was wrong, and so did he, but you loved him, and he loved you.

So one thing led to another, and you woke up in Austin in his arms the next morning. You looked around and sighed softly. "Shit" you muttered and looked over at Austin, who was sleeping peacefully. You got up carefully and took a quick shower before getting your clothes back on. 

You wrote him one last note before you grabbed your stuff and left his hotel. "I hope someday we´ll meet again—forever, your angel." that´s what she wrote.

He tried calling you; he tried finding your apartment, but there was no luck.

You knew one day you'd meet again because, a month after you slept together, you found out you were pregnant.

[raynetheinsane]

Batfam (and friends) as Henry Danger quotes

(Because im a nerd and love this show)

Damian: Tt, my parties arent that bad

Jon: Christmas. 3 years ago. 15 kids ended up in the hospital!

Damian: FATHER!!!

Tim: Damian! Were trying to study here *indicates to Duke and Steph, both clearly not studying*

Damian: I’m talking to my Father.

Robin!Jason: Dangit! All these jobs say i gotta have skills..

Dick: You have skills!

Jason: Name one.

Dick: You’re a great dancer!

Jason: No I’m not?

Dick: You could take lessons.

(More under the cut i just dont want this to be super duper long)

Bruce: How old are you?

Tim, trying to become robin: Im 13, I’ll be 14. On my next birthday

Dick: Ah so youre aging sequentially

Tim, extremely tired: Do you ever dream about sleeping?

Steph, extremely confused:…no??

Tim: good. If you did youd be dead.

Bruce: Lets ride.

Robin!Jason who is very new to this: Wha- Ride where?

Bruce: We’ve got people in the Jandy River that need saving.

Bruce: Come on.

Jason: You mean we’re going there? Together? Like right now?

Tim, extremely dirty and has a cut on his face walking into Drake Manor:

Jack, not paying attention: Hey Tim, did you get the job?

Tim: Yeah, just finished my first day.

Jack: So hows work?

Tim: Uh it was pretty… interesting.

Bernard: Hey, you never told us what you do at your new job

Tim: *just stares wide eyed silently*

Bruce: While we were patrolling, Poison Ivy stole packs of baby bottles, can you guess why?

Robin!Dick: Uhhh

Bruce: To flood the bottles with radioactive plant matter.

Dick: I would not have guessed that.

Jason: I see youre in your pajama pants.

Tim: Yeah its almost midnight, I was studying for this test i have tomorrow

Jason: What subject?

Tim: Puerto Rican history

Jason: Ah Puerto Rico… land of…

Tim: Puerto Ricans?

Jason: yeah..

Red Hood: Strike three.

Spoiler: That was only 2

Hood: Okay, don’t correct me in front of the criminals

Duke: Whats in the mug?

Tim, who just poured himself and entire pot of coffee despite hating it: Coffee.

Tim: To keep me alive.

Duke: no, no, no, no, you cannot drink this much coffee after work. This mug is comedically large!

Steph: I have the same dream all the time. It satrts with me getting a horse for my birthday. Then my dad shows up. Then the horse kicks my dad in the face!

Jason, helping Tim study: You want a good grade on your puerto rican math test?

Tim: history

Jason, who died before he finished highschool: Same thing

Non-Bat who needs the antidote for Joker gas or something: Will this hurt?

Black Bat: Yes, very much.

Bernard, talking about a criminal the Bats cant catch: Its not Batmans fault, he just needs a better sidekick

Tim: One more time.

Bernard, who knows: Just saying, I’d be way better at catching criminals than the current Robin

Dick: I’m gonna die..

Jason: Not in the house. If you’re gonna die, do it outside

Tim: I’m Robin.

Bernard: I know. I figured that out.

Damian: Todd, I wish to speak to you about something.

Jason: BABIES COME FROM THE BABY STORE

Oracle: Steph, come to Gotham Park right now!

Steph: noo, I’m not in the mood for trees

Oracle: did i ask you what youre in the mood for?

Vikki Vale: So, Spoiler, how did you catch Two Face?

Spoiler: I’d love to take all the credit, but it was really all thanks to my partner, Black Bat.

Vikki: Interesting. Black Bat, can you tell us more?

Black Bat: No.

It really bothers me the lack of Babs, Cass, and Duke worthy quotes there are 😔😔 also my personal favs show a lot and im sorry for that, but there will be more as i think of them, these are just eps 1-4, the rest will be posted like in a queue or something and as single quotes cus im eepy