#I love ice cream and cookies too much to give them up

[music-for-them-asses]

Honestly, I haven't lost any weight since starting this person trainer program--but I can see the results when I'm working out! Certain exercises are getting easier. Yoga is a little less challenging every time. I should probably eat a little healthier, but there's already a difference between me now and me three months ago. And that's something to be proud of!!

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 6 - Round Two. Fight!

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

Damn. Your indulgent TV stalking of the Wayne’s really doesn’t hit the same once you technically knew them. And you were hiding inside one of their bedrooms, inside one of their clothes, using their TV subscription. It just didn’t feel right. Morally, of course, but that wasn’t what you were talking about. No, you were just pissy your favourite pastime was basically ruined. You shovel another spoonful of cookie dough ice cream into your mouth, glaring through tired eyes at the screen.

There’s an up-close shot of Dick Grayson’s abs. The presenter ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ over his physical form, and you have to agree. You wish you had abs like that. Unfortunately, you did respond to most unwanted experiences with stress eating. As always with these celebrity figures, you can’t really tell if you want to be Dick or be with Dick. Your butt is nowhere near the level his is at.

While you hadn’t really set out today looking for shirtless pictures of the Waynes, it wasn’t like you were going to say no to them. So, when the gossip channel had switched from the reactions of the Waynes to last night’s fiasco to… this… you’d just kept watching.

You wonder if you should stop doing this. It’s definitely kind of creepy, and now you’d technically once been his… step-sister. What a mind fuck. You’ve been crushing on these dudes for a while, and now they were your ex-step siblings. This was like the start of a bad porno, but you knew you were not that lucky. And it wasn’t like you were going to start thinking of him as a brother any time soon. You hadn’t even met the guy. No, he was still firmly in the ‘celebrity crush’ section of your mind. Pretty and untouchable. The way things are supposed to be.

Which was also bad because you would probably have to meet and interact with him at some point. Probably in the near future. God knows you’d absolutely humiliated yourself in front of the fucking Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne,. Twice, in fact. You didn’t even want to think about the display you’d shown for Bruce Wayne or Damian Wayne.

You didn’t really know what to do with your slightly obsessive crushes. And you could see it definitely being a problem in the near future.

…You decide that what you do in your private time is absolutely nobody but your business, and keep watching. It’s a mix of bitter spite and genuine mental breakdown levels of desperation that leads you to that decision. You feel like you’re a child with their toy being taken away, and it’s making you mad. And sad too. Even if you shouldn’t do this anymore, you still want to keep the habit. You’d mentioned before your creature comforts were one of the few things that kept you going. And while you were mostly very good at not being the jealous, heinous creature you really are, you knew you wouldn’t be giving this up.

They’d have to tear your gossip channels from your cold dead palms. You weren’t giving them up, not without a fight at least. Unfortunately for you, the universe seemed determined to wrestle away literally everything you loved.

Guilt’s for tomorrow. Today is for ice cream and purposefully ignoring everything. Speaking of which, you can not remember the last time you had a good Ben & Jerry’s. They were so expensive these days, as all groceries were. You simply couldn’t afford it. The Waynes, of course, had multiple tubs in multiple different options. Alfred had seemed delighted that you’d taken the ice cream, for which reasons you could not perceive.

Oh, yeah! His name was Alfred. Very butler-y. You’d remember it this time, he was a very nice man. And he called you ‘young miss’ which earned him points. He also didn’t seem to hate you on sight or treat you like a two-headed freak, like some of the other people in this household. Not naming names. Yeah, fuck that noise, Damian Wayne obviously has issues and it’s much less attractive in real life.

The woman drones on, and your eyes flick to your phone. Yup, she’s still yapping. It’s not like you don’t appreciate Dick’s abs or anything, it’s just that you think she might’ve been talking about this one specific photo for over half an hour now. Lady should get a hobby. Wait, wait, this is her job. Maybe you should start a podcast where you rant about the Wayne’s exercise regimes. It seems to be quite a lucrative field.

You shriek when the door slams open, nearly tumbling backwards off the bed. Hands manage to grip the bedcovers before you tip over, not making a complete fool of yourself. As it goes, you lose your spoon to the carpet. Bits of cookie dough spread over the floor in a divine sacrifice. And you lose your sanity to the man standing in the doorway. To be fair, he looks just as confused as you feel.

You blink at the physically perfect form of Dick Grayson and then turn your head to the TV to look at the other physically perfect form of Dick Grayson.

…You really wish you had a good explanation for this.

He mutters out your name, lips parted. Dick Grayson seems absolutely shocked to find you here. His eyes flick around the room and eventually land on the TV. Said baby blues widen to the size of saucers when the reporter makes a really, really unnecessary comment.

“And in news that broke the hearts of both ladies and gentlemen everywhere in Bludhaven, Dick Grayson has announced he will be returning to Gotham to assist his family in this difficult time. My cousin in the Blud is probably crying right now. There’s no ass out there quite like his, and there’s no replacement for Bludhaven’s favourite young rich bachelor,” she winks at the camera, and then the shot of his toned stomach phases forward to take up the entire screen.

Well, there’s a lot to say about that. First of all, fuck. Second of all, shit. Third of all, she really couldn’t have said that part about Dick coming back to Gotham sooner? Perchance, before you’d found yourself in this situation?

You said you weren’t that lucky, you meant it.

“But still, ain’t that lucky for us Gothamites? I myself have spent a lot of time on Dick’s Tiktok and Instagram, and his acrobatic videos have been used in a lot of my personal-”

You snatch the remote from the sheets and pause it right there. The silence is tense. You wait for him to say something, but he just stares at you. Completely stunned, mouth-catching flies. You want to pull the covers up and hide under them, but you don’t think that’d make him leave.

“I couldn’t find my room,” you finally manage to say. It’s the worst excuse you’ve ever heard, sounds like a complete lie. And yet, unfortunately, it is the truth.

Dick’s eyes drift to the TV, which you still haven’t unpaused. You can’t tell if it would be worth it, just to get rid of his golden brown abs staring at you judgementally, even if you’d have to deal with the extra embarrassment of the dialogue over them. Maybe if you muted the TV? It wouldn’t make up for the insult of his paparazzi photos on a widescreen.

It takes you even longer to come up with an excuse for… that.

“I was checking the news about last night,” you continue, the panic in you rising like a tea kettle left on the stove for too long. You might start shrieking like one too.

You don’t think he believes you. He looks down at the Beatles shirt you’re wearing. You know what he’s going to say before he does, but you still dread it.

“You’re wearing my clothes,” he mutters, his voice awed.

You want to say, ‘Nooo! No, no, no! Don’t do this to me, damn it! Not anymore! No more, please! It’s enough, enough suffering! This is genuinely ridiculous, damn you!’ but instead you reply with a shaky, “…Didn’t have any of mine.”

Also, you’ve been huffing Eau de Dick Grayson? That’s definitely in character for you. You want to beat your own head in with a stick.

“And I couldn’t find my room, and uh, thought this one wasn’t being used,” you continue, daring a glance back at him. He still looks completely stumped.

“It wasn’t,” he answers, but it sounds like he’s a thousand miles away.

You know, Dick Grayson was supposed to be a lot more charming than this. You’re almost proud you managed to stun the man into near speechlessness. Almost, almost. Almost not going to kill yourself once he leaves.

If he leaves. He doesn’t look like he’s getting up. You eye the gap between you and the door. Your animal brain is telling you to just run for it. But Dick has Olympic level athletics, and you don’t doubt he could catch you if you ran. Would he try though? That’s the deciding factor here.

He doesn’t seem like he’s actually going to fucking do anything though. He just keeps staring, like if he looks for long enough, it’ll all start to make sense. Which, you wish.

“Do you know where my room is? I couldn’t… remember…”

He nods, instead staring at his own abs on the TV.

“Can you take me to my room?”

He nods again. Still doesn’t look back at you.

“…Mr. Grayson?” you say, and almost immediately regret it. ‘You’ wouldn’t have used his last name, even though you might’ve. ‘You’ had been a casual person, as far as you could tell. That was the kindest way you could say it, at least.

His head snaps to you. He somehow looks more confused. You wonder if you should pinch him or something, god knows you’ve done your fair share of pinching yourself recently.

“Yes, right, sorry. Let’s… go,” he gives you a cheery smile, shaking his head, but it seems quite strained. You’re probably matching. This is the most humiliating moment of your life, and of course, it’s with the most beautiful man on earth right beside you.

A break. You want a break.

The two of you quietly shuffle out of the room, and when he guides you forward, you follow him obediently. Your head naturally bows, shame making it hard to look at him. You stare at the wooden floors as you walk. Watching it shine in the morning light that filters through the windows.

Eventually, he comes to a stop in front of a door that has obviously been avoided. Though it’s as clean as every other inch of this house, there are no marks in the rug from the door opening and closing. And even then, it seems… well, it sounds silly, but the door seems sad to you. Too many things seem sad to you these days.

Your thoughts must show on your face because Dick clears his throat and gives you a worried look. Is it rude to say you’re sick of those sorts of looks? That they just make you feel sick and burdened these days? It’s not like you could bring your family back from the dead, or convince your cheating boyfriend to not be a piece of shit. It was out of your hands.

“…Are you alright?” he asks you, blue eyes sincere. You tilt your head to the side.

“No?” you say, but it sounds more like a question. No, you are not alright. Yes, you will be okay. It’s the only option. It’s one of your rules. You have to be okay. You just have to.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You almost laugh.

“No,” this time your voice is firm, confident. Dick seems like he’s going to push it, but something in your eyes makes him stop. You give him a forced smile and say goodbye, closing the door gently in his face. Once you do, you crouch down and once again, press your face to your knees. Then you press your hands to your mouth and let out a scream that had been bubbling up for a while. After that, you feel you can live with the humiliation that is your existence without jumping out the three-story-height window.

You stand up, turning to the room. The first thing you notice about it is that there’s dust in here. Same as Dick’s old room. Now that you think about it, Alfred doesn’t seem the type who’d randomly leave certain rooms uncleaned, so it must be something he does out of respect for the tenants of Wayne Manor. Or maybe the old you requested it? God knows.

Sitting down on the old bed, your eyes rove around the room. It’s well decorated, as the rest of the manor is, but you can’t see anything that would make it your room. There’s none of the novels you’d collected from the used books store, no dorky little items you impulse bought, no pictures of your family. The apartment hadn’t had those either.

‘You’- she- seemed like a ghost to you. While you’d often felt like you’d barely been alive, simply going through the motions, this girl seemed like she hadn’t even been conscious half the time she was doing it. It made your stomach swim, your face pulls taught.

While you’d had few things holding you afloat, it’d been enough to keep you alive. Molly, your co-workers, the need to work so as to not starve to death. She hadn’t had anything like that. No liferaft. You’d been sputtering and gasping your way through life, and she’d been drowning. Maybe already dead, at the bottom of the sea, hair tangling with the seaweed.

This room feels like a coffin, and this manor like a cemetery. It makes you physically sick.

Showing off your fickle-mindedness, you realise that despite this being the Wayne manor filled with all your idols, you actually don’t want to fucking be here. You need space to clear your head, and the creaking floorboards that echo down the creepy hallways just don’t offer that. The atmosphere at your too-modern, too-minimalist apartment is leagues better than the atmosphere at this gorgeous old house which you’d usually love spending hours getting lost in.

Usually. Unfortunately, this place was more suffocating than the workplace when you knew you were about to get fired again. And you weren’t getting paid to stay here, so why the fuck would you?

Once you realise you’ve decided to run, you’re quick to pack up your shit. There’s not much in the room you need. A pair of sneakers, because you would rather die than put those heels on again. And you’ll grab some shirts because they’re comfy and remind you of home. Hopefully, it’ll make everything… grate… a little less. All of this is thrown in an old ratty backpack, which is then tossed over your shoulder. Shoes slipped on, and tapped against the floor so they’re on comfortably. And then you’re ready. Ready as you’ll ever be. With one hand on your phone, you take a peek outside the door. Coast is clear.

You press call for ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’. Jeanine picks up on the third ring.

“Hello, Jeanine Ryans here,” she says, her voice all business.

“Jeanine, I need an evac, stat,” you whisper to her, creeping down the hallway of the manor. The floor is unbelievably creeky, so it’s pretty fucking difficult to be stealthy about it.

“…What?”

“Get me out of this fucking manor, please,” you beg, now going down the stairs. Almost out, almost out.

“Right, on it. I’ll have a car outside in ten minutes if that’s alright?” Jeanine replies, immediately on the case. It almost makes you cry. You know she’s being paid for this, and very desperate for the job for some reason, but it’s still a hail mary that you are so grateful for.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” you say, turning a corner and-

Oh, fuck. Damian Wayne glares down at you, green eyes cataloguing every single guilty piece of you in existence. He sees your hand tighten around your backpack, hears Jeanine telling you not to worry through your phone, and probably notices the way your eyes desperately flicker behind him to the door. To your goal, to the exit to this labyrinth.

You can practically hear the wind blowing, see the tumbleweed drift by.

And then, he moves past you, twisting his body so no part of it touches you. There’s a moment where your brain freezes, something spicy smelling (cinnamon, maybe?) flowing past you, and by the time you turn around, he’s gone. Your deer-in-headlights tensed-shoulders look falls, leaving you confused in the foyer. He didn’t even say a word to you. You felt like you just got passed over by a boss from a Dark Souls game.

…Well, you’ll take the wins where you can find them! Quickly, you hurry out the front door, skittering down the steps like some sort of rat. It’s a long walk to the gates, and you don’t really know how to open them to let the car in, so you decide to take your time and enjoy the walk. The early morning dew apon the clean-cut blades of grass glint and sparkle, the gravel on the road crunches under your technically-not-stolen sneakers, and even if it’s a miserable life, it’s a pretty day. From the hill the manor lives upon, you can see Gotham’s tall skyline, cloaked in its characteristic fog.

Eventually, you find yourself in front of the gate, where you can see Jeanine waiting with a black car on the otherside. There’s a big green button next to the side gate, which you press, and it clicks open. There’s a moment where your neck tingles, and you glance up at the camera pointed down at you. The red flickering light beside it holds your attention. You can see your bedraggled reflection in its lense.

Shaking your head, you move on, greeting Jeanine. She gives you a quick bow of the head and opens the door for you. You hike the bag over your shoulder, give the Wayne manor one final, lingering look and then you step into the car. Jeanine starts speaking to you about some future appointments you have, and you’re too tired to understand a word of what she says. She realises you’re not processing anything she says, and hands you a pair of headphones with a wire adapter.

You could kiss her right then and there. You don’t because that’d be weird, but you definitely think about it. Headphones on, you watch the rolling hills and luxurious manors turn into highways and honking traffic, to finally the upside part of town which was now apparently where you lived.

Eventually you find yourself being delivered in front of your swanky new apartment. With a passing goodbye, Jeanine tells you that she’ll be busy for the rest fo the day so if you need anything to call the number on the card she hands you. You tuck it in your pocket, certain you’ll lose it like every other business card you’ve ever been handed.

The elevator ride up to your room is contemplative. The music is boring, your reflection is bedraggled and tired, and the gentle feeling of gravity under your feet tugs at you. You rock slightly when you finally reach your floor. The doors open, but you don’t make any move to leave. They shut again, and you’re left staring daggers at your mirrored self.

You’d woken up, still here. It wasn’t a dream. It was reality. And more than that, it seemed more and more like you’d be staying in this reality. You didn’t think you could go home. Sure you were rich but… but your home. Your few things you’d managed to save. Your meagre group of friends and your hard-sought job. It made you nauseous. Where had you lost it all? Why were you here now? Why did you keep having to lose everything?

You manage to snap yourself out of it before someone else calls the elevator. Striding out of the space, you look to the right where you remember your apartment coming from. It’s not hard to find the unit, as there are only three on the entire floor. Rich people.

The door closes with a satisfying thud behind you, and you nearly melt with exhaustion.

This apartment is the ninth circle of hell for you. Scrambling around on your knees, you’re desperate to find the damn phone that won’t stop ringing. You can’t understand where the sound is coming from.

Under your bed? You shine your other’s phone’s light under it. Nope. Behind the dresser? Nada. You search inside the drawers and then peek inside the fancy lamp. Absolutely nothing. You’re ready to tear your hair out when you spot something… odd.

There’s… You think there’s something stuck in your floorboards. You dig at the space with your fingernails and the piece of wood pops open. Inside is… a cardboard box. An awfully familiar cardboard box, actually. The sight of your Mum’s old keepsake box makes you cry out with joy, lifting it from its little enclave. You’d lost a lot in the past few days but at least the old you knew how to keep your family’s stuff safe.

This apartment looks brand new. And apparently the past you dug into it to hide her stuff. You can’t really judge, you have a hidey-hole back at your apartment. It was a brick that had already been loose in the wall, so it didn’t feel quite as criminal as this.

The ringing is coming from inside the box. When you pull the lid up, you find a keepsake box a little different from yours. While yours only ever had your family’s old passports and photo albums, this one had a sleek phone sitting on top of all the mementos. It’s an exact copy of the phone on your bed- or well, it would be, if you hadn’t dropped it.

Two phones? This bitch was greedy. And so are you, eagerly sweeping the expensive item into your gremlin hands. Your thieving high is instantly quashed when you see who’s calling.

Of all fucking… George.

You roll your eyes before hanging up, tossing the phone to the side as you start rifling through the old keepsake box. You flip through family photo albums and lovingly cradle old stuffies. The phone buzzes. You ignore it. You find one of your mother’s old necklaces, and because you’re desperate for anything that can ground you, slip it over your head. The cool heart locket rests just under your collarbone, and you clutch it with one hand as you keep exploring. The phone keeps buzzing. It’s only almost half an hour later when you realise something about this is strange.

Why is George… not blocked? You glance down at the vibrating object like it’s radioactive, a despairing frown pulling at your face. Cautiously, you pick it up, making sure not to open the notifications lest it tell George you read any of his messages.

He’s… apologising for not being there for your birthday. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. And it’s not even a proper apology, it’s one of those ‘I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings’ bullcrap. He keeps spamming you, and eventually, you realise that he’s not going to just stop.

You decide to nip this in the bud quickly because even remembering his cheating face makes you feel like throwing up.

‘You’: Why are you contacting me?

‘George <3’: Seriously? Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t there yesterday. I was busy, you know that.

Stupidly, you reply:

‘You’: ‘No, seriously, why are you contacting me? I’m done with you.’

You wonder how you ever loved this jackass. Even if he was obviously more of a jackass here, than where you’d come from. He was just better at pretending there. You keep scrolling, ignoring the new texts that pop up. Your stomach sours at the number of texts he himself had ignored, of the amount of ‘sorry baby, can’t come tonight’, the begging, the pleading.

No, he wasn’t worse at pretending. He just didn’t care.

You wonder if this could have been you, further along down the line. Abuse happens slowly, right? Like a frog in a pot. You’d have forgiven and forgotten, written away his worse behaviours till you couldn’t anymore. Till you couldn’t leave, till you were trapped.

You think George Lancaster would’ve tried to. He would’ve isolated you from everyone you had left if he hadn’t screwed up and got caught.

You realise now there were a lot of red flags in your relationship with George. Molly always hated him and he hated her. He’d constantly complain about how much time you spent with her, spamming you with texts when you went out.

You were only… only two days since you’d actually broken up with him. Which was sort of crazy to think about. You feel like you’ve lived eons since then. Like that one traumatic incident aged you thirty years. Anyway, you still hadn’t processed the whole George thing. You’d been sort of busy fighting for your life.

‘George’: I’m here, can you at least open the door so we can talk face to face?

Freeze. A knock sounds, and your head snaps up to the front door. You don’t move. You just wish it away. The knocking only gets louder and louder.

You feel like a dumb girl in a horror movie as you walk towards the door, unlocking it and creaking the knob open. George Lancaster stands on the other side, and before you can slam it in his face, he grabs you by the arm and yanks you out of the door. And then he’s pulling you to the elevator, even as you try and get your bearings, get yourself away from him.

“You can’t just ignore me like this,” George says, pissed off to high hell, “We’re going to miss the reservation I booked specifically for you. I told you it was happening today and-”

There’s white noise between your ears, you can’t hear what he’s saying. Told you? It wasn’t in any of the texts. He’s still talking even as the elevator dings, even as he shoves you in a white sports car that’s half parked on the curb. Even as he drives his way through Gotham’s streets, he won’t fucking shut up.

Why are you letting this happen to you? Why aren't you fighting back, wrenching yourself from his grasp? He takes you into a restaurant, one so upscale that normally you wouldn’t be able to get in for months, and your head snaps from staring socialites to watching politicians to gawking celebrities. You have the eyes of the world on you right now, and they’re all watching George yell at you.

And you can’t find your voice.

It's like a scab you can't stop picking at. Like you think this is what you deserve or something. And it's not. You know it's not. And yet you follow obediently, chastised and embarrassed, as he pulls you through the restaurant. When he picks a table in the centre of the room, you don’t protest. When he chooses your meal for you, even though it’s not to your taste, you don’t protest.

Looking at George, scrolling lazily on his phone, your hands clench against the table. They’re sweating, shaking, nails digging into your palms.

You… you didn’t have to break up with him again, did you? You realised it earlier, but you didn’t- it didn’t really sink in. Your first breakup with George Lancaster was a miserable traumatic experience, and it had been in the solitary streets of Gotham’s Narrows. This one, this one would be seen by literally everyone.

Nauseous. You feel so damn nauseous, your mouth dry as you swallow down bile. This was ridiculous. You couldn’t stand seeing his face. Was he texting her right now? God, did she even know? You’d just stormed out that night, running from what you’d seen.

George had chased after you. Had he left her there? Your stomach churned at the idea. You had to hate her on principle but, well, you also had to sympathise with her. Contradictions, that was the average you. You didn’t want to help this random girl. Didn’t want to have to ever think of her again.

…Staring at George, a definitively awful person, you can’t do it. Can’t just leave her to it.

“I’m breaking up with you,” you say.

“What?” George replies, not even looking up from his phone.

“I’m breaking up with you!” you shout. It’s not even intentional, just a result of being pushed too far, of breaking too easily.

The restaurant goes quiet. Guess you’re up for another scandal then. Whatever, it wasn’t like you would’ve lasted much longer anyway. This was all too complicated for your recently traumatised mind to handle. And it was just too damn stupid to bother with anyway. All of this was fucking stupid.

You included.

Just pull the bandaid off, right? You could already see how this version of you had so many scandals to her name. You probably should start giving a shit. Or at least trying to. You don’t think you want to, though.

George puts his phone down face down on the tablecloth, giving you a calm look. That slightly pitying stare activates something in your brain you didn’t really know was there. It’s a type of rage you haven’t known since you were a kindergartner and one of the other girls said you couldn’t play princesses. Since your first service job where your manager felt you up. Just pure, petty, anger. The type of anger ready to burn the world down as long as it burns whoever pissed you off as well. He opens his mouth, probably to say something condescending, and your hand whips out and snatches his phone.

“Hey!” George says instead, his eyes widening.

You turn the phone back on. Hm, passcode. You flip it around and use facial recognition to open it. Despite the fact that George wears the most comically shocked expression, with saucer-wide eyes and a mouth open to catch flies, it unlocks. Nice.

“Hey! What are you doing?” George demands, reaching over the table for his phone.

You twist away from his reach. Password. You flip the phone, and despite George’s comically shocked expression, it still unlocks. He shouts again when it does, probably realising that you might be taking this seriously. That he might actually be in trouble. That his sugar mummy might not take too kindly to the numerous texts to other women on his phone.

…You really can’t believe you’re a sugar mummy. And for George of all people. What a horrendous waste of money, it’s fucking tragic.

He’s got the texts with someone known as ‘Pizza Hut’ pulled up, with some very flirtatious messages. You scroll up furiously, ducking under George as he gets up from the table and tries to get the phone. Still, backing up, the sight of a very poorly shot dick pic of George’s has you grimacing. Your focus on the picture, trying to decide whether his penis looked so unappealing before you’d learnt of his betrayal, has you distracted when one of the servers come around.

And, well, shirt, meet soup. Very, very hot soup. Everyone? Meet a screeching, klutzy moron.

George takes the chance to advance on you, snatching his phone from you. He doesn’t even seem to care you’re currently getting third-degree burns. The sting scorches through the thin fabric of your dress shirt, burning your skin. George grabs you again, his grip harsh enough this time you know it will bruise, and you can’t really say why you do what you do at that moment.

Your aunt used to have a chihuahua. It was an ugly, grumpy thing. She’d rescued it late into its life, and it had been treated poorly beforehand. It didn’t like to be touched at all and used to run from anyone who tried. And if you tried to touch it? Cornered it?

Well, of course, it started biting.

George’s howl is the most satisfying thing you’ve ever heard. His squeal of “bitch!” might be even more so. He slaps you away from him, and the sound echoes in the restaurant. Your face stings. When you land ass first in the puddle of still-too-hot soup, you wonder if you might try and bite him again. You don’t think you even broke the skin, considering you can’t taste blood. The other patrons stare on in genuine horror, like they’ve never seen a messy breakup before. One woman raises a hand to her mouth, and gasps-

You find yourself staring up at a furious George, one with a menace in his eyes you’ve never seen before. You wonder, idly, if he’s ever hit you before. Well, not you, but ‘you’. You realise now that he has the capacity for it, that he probably always did.

“What the fuck!?” he hisses, angry eyes darting from side to side, “Biting me?! In fucking public?! Have you lost it, you crazy bitch?! And you got my phone fucking soaked in soup!”

“Did you buy it?” you ask, wiping your mouth with your sleeve to get George’s dirty taste out of your mouth.

He blinks, confused, thrown off by your question, “Huh?”

“Did you buy that phone?” you repeat, your staring starting to turn into a furious glare.

You don’t think he did. Your George had never been able to afford those sorts of things, he’d been as broke as you were. Of course, you’d seen him lust over those items, but you’d always managed to convince him not to go into debt over silly things like sports cars and fancy phones. And even then, you’d been the one to buy him a PS5.

He looks down at the phone and back at you, and you can see his jaw tick.

“I bought it. That’s mine.”

“It was a gift. You’re going to be such a bitter bitch to take back everything you gave me? Gonna leave me out on the fucking street?” he says, spittle flying with angry words.

This was escalating fast. Maybe before you’d have been cowed by his words, but you were genuinely off your rocker by now and were very much willing to tango with this bastard. Like yes, he did terrify you, but so did everything else. You could handle this much at least. You weren’t ready to back down.

“And if I did? What then George? What could you even fucking do?” you throw back, voice rising to match his.

“It’s not your money either, it’s theirs, you little leech!” says the pot.

“Does it matter?” replies the kettle.

Pushing to your feet, you find George without another answer. He stands between you and the exit. With the plain murderous rage on his face, you think he’ll try to grab you again if you run past. He wouldn’t bite you back, but he might slap you or something. So instead, like any good coward does, you run straight to the girl’s bathroom. It hasn’t failed you yet, and you doubt it will today.

You shove into the bathroom, past a woman doing her makeup. Her head bobs up and down as she takes in your seemingly infamous face, and your stained shirt. You stride as far away from her as possible, darting into the last bathroom stall and sitting on the closed toilet lid. You pull your knees to your chest and hiss out a sound of frustration when that presses the sticky liquid against your chest and pants. Not your brightest idea, but you were sort of running on fumes right now.

The bathroom stall is extremely clean. One thing you were quickly realising about rich people is they didn’t have to suffer shitty public bathrooms. You didn’t think they deserved it. Like customer service jobs, and traffic, they built character.

What were you doing? Right, trying not to cry. You’re doing much better than yesterday. Still, sitting on top of the toilet’s closed lid, your phone pressed to your face, you wouldn’t say you’re doing ‘good’.

But because you knew George was too much of a pussy to ever enter the woman’s bathrooms, you refuse to move a single inch. You don’t want to go out there. At all. At all, at all. You’d tried to call Jeanine, but she hadn’t answered. Some P.A. she was. You still weren’t going to fire her. Then you remember that she told you she was going out later, and that she’d left a card with you. Digging through your pocket, you decide it’s finally time to die when you realise you lost the card somewhere along the line.

So, she wasn’t going to come save you as your knight in shining armour.

You can’t remember Molly’s number. Who did these days? That was your phone’s job. So you were left with… this. You were left with this. Four blocked numbers and a third had sent an automatic reply because he was driving. Alfred was probably busy. Weren’t butlers always very busy?

…Rich people weren’t often very busy. They had butlers and assistants to do all their chores. You unblock all four of the Waynes that you have on your phone.

The first thing you notice is the amount of texts between ‘you’ and Dick. Scrolling and scrolling, you find most of them are him checking up on you and one-word replies from the old you. He’s friendly and accepting, even when you respond in cruel and aggressive tones. The further back you scroll, the kinder your replies are. At one point it seems like the two of you had a good relationship.

You check the other chats. Tim’s message log is filled with coffee requests sent back and forth between you, Damian’s is completely empty, and Bruce’s has had no response from your phone in years. But eventually, you scroll back far enough that you find an actual conversation instead of just ‘Call Alfred’ repeated every few days.

‘You’: I miss them.

‘Bruce Wayne’: I know. I miss them too.

You press the back button, sighing. That felt like you’d seen something you shouldn’t have, like you’d peeked into someone’s diary. Which was unbelievably stupid. All of this is unbelievably stupid. You should just leave, you should just be brave. Two days ago you faced off against one of your worst fears, but today you couldn’t even handle George Lancaster.

You want someone to rescue you. You know no one will unless you ask. It makes you choke on your own self-disgust. This is the second time in one day. God, maybe you should just do it yourself. It’s not like you couldn’t pay for your own Uber.

And still, you find yourself clicking on a name and begging. Skin crawling, you type and retype the text probably a hundred times. You go from long apologies to begging to rants you never intended to send in the first place. Tap, tap, tap, and then you delete, delete, delete.

What you settle on is simple.

‘You’: hey. can you come pick me up? thx

Maybe a bit too simple. You cross your arms and tuck yourself in the good ol’ fetal position. You feel like you’ve spent half your time holding yourself like this the past three days.

‘Dick Grayson’: I’ll be there in five.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[sticky-cravings]

I want a stoner enby to keep as my well-fed house pet.

Of course it wouldn't start that way; after numerous dates and them quitting their dead-end job it just kind of happened. But they don't need a job anymore. I provide for all their needs and desires, no matter how hedonistic they get. I'll enable them as they slowly lose their healthy routine. Slept in instead of going on their morning run? That's okay, I made them breakfast in bed. Got too high and couldn't go to the gym? It's no big deal. Relax on the couch, put on a movie, and I'll make them a snack.

They start waking up later, spend the day constantly high off their ass being a couch potato, staying up late taking bong rips and snacking while I sleep. Passing out on our bed with cookie crumbs and chocolate all over their hands and face. I wake up before them to find wrappers and empty plates on their nightstand.

They get lazier, asking me to put in a mini fridge by the TV in our bedroom so they don't have to go to the kitchen. They ask me to cancel their gym membership. They go from wearing cute coordinated loungewear to old tank tops and stained sweatpants. They let their hair get greasy. They smoke, toke, and eat as much as they can every day. Every evening I'll come home to a hotboxed house and them glued to the couch in a haze. Their eyes are glazed over and half-lidded. A blanket poorly disguises the hand that's playing with themself. Their other hand is preoccupied with a jelly donut.

On the weekends I feed them edibles and dab rips until they're so stoned they can't move and can barely speak. I keep feeding them edibles on an hourly basis to maintain their insane high for 48 hours. Of course I take care of them when they're baked out of their mind. I feed them their favorite munchies and make them plenty of hydrating drinks. They stay in bed all weekend, letting me feed and smoke them up.

It's been a few months since they moved in. My pothead is growing a little potbelly. Between increasing their capacity and being baked 24/7, their gut started to work with a mind of its own. They start to shuffle around in the middle of the night, making themselves a big meal when they should be sleeping. They order meals delivered during the day that could serve eight people as a meal for themselves. They said they needed to drink three pints of melted ben and jerry's ice cream to satisfy their cravings.

Their belly grows bigger, forming a blubbery ring of love handles above their soft rear. Since giving up physical activity altogether their body has become softer and weaker. Not to mention their intelligence slipping away from constant weed consumption and trashy tv and video games. They stop shaving their hair and opt to shower and change their outfit once every few days. I would often come home to the living room being a mess of food and drink containers. I come home and give them everything they desire from me. They're the perfect stoned potbellied pet.

[motomamita]

singledad!eddie × pregnant!female!reader

warnings: smut, +18, mentions of breast milk, breeding kink, no condom, pregnant sex!

Part. 1

Upon hearing the news of your positive test, Eddie was eager and happy to be able to share this new stage with you. However, his happiness faded when you met him at your trailer one afternoon to talk.

Distraught and with Lily playing at your feet, you told him that while you were delighted to take care of Lily, you still didn't feel ready to raise a child of your own. You were too young and Lily already required too much time and energy that you didn't know if you would be able to give to another baby. Eddie lowered his head, watching as Lily played with the laces of your sneakers as she babbled 'mom' at you. Sad but accepting your decision, he lifted his daughter in his arms and began to talk to her, explaining the situation.

"Don't be sad, my little flower. Your little brother or sister won't be able to come this time, but I assure you that soon you will have one to play with..." Eddie spoke sweetly to Lily and, as if she understood his words, pouted and sob.

Obviously that broke your heart. So much so that in the end you surrendered to him and decided to continue with your pregnancy.

You moved into Eddie's trailer, so you could take care of Lily more comfortably and little by little you would accommodate the space to receive the new baby. Gradually you began to adapt to life there, and to be with both of them almost 24/7. Eddie left for work in the morning and returned a little before dinner. Some days he would pick you up and would go to the mall to buy things necessary for your pregnancy.

Eddie was delighted and even seemed to enjoy the purchases more than you. He loved choosing your maternity dresses, your braziers and even the most comfortable underwear for you. While you were inside the dressing room, he stayed with Lily outside the room while he softly sang her a lullaby. Every time you came out to show off how your clothes fit, he would whistle at you flirtatiously and Lily would applaud awkwardly.

Inevitably you managed to fall in love with him. He was too attentive, loving and understanding with you and Lily. He enjoyed accompanying you to the doctor, listening carefully to every word he said and asking a lot of questions about how to cope better with the pregnancy. Sometimes after work he brought with him magazines with advice for the first pregnancy and several classical music albums, because according to him: 'scientists say that the baby can be smarter if he listens to Beethoven or Mozart!'. True or not, the reality is that he did everything possible to keep his family happy.

As the months passed, your belly increased in size and you experienced several signs and symptoms. Your feet began to hurt and so did the desire for strange food combinations. Eddie knew it and for that same reason on the weekends he took full care of Lily so you could rest. He would place your feet in warm water and massage them while he told you the list of names he had been making. He also made sure to leave the cupboard and refrigerator full of candy and other possible foods that you might want such as ice cream, cookies, chips, gummies and even pickles.

As for sex, it had never really stopped. What's more, his desire for you seemed to have increased as the weeks passed, taking advantage of every opportunity he had to make you his. Despite having a little girl in home, Eddie was quite creative when it came to getting between your legs. You could wake up in the middle of the night with his cock inside your pussy, his hands on your sensitive nipples and hot breath in your ear. Or during a quick shower, he would sneak between the curtains, helping you soap your back and taking the opportunity to kiss every sensitive part of your skin. Otherwise, far from the gaze of Lily who was playing in the living room, he would put his face under your dress to taste the juices of your pussy.

That Friday everything was as usual. Lily, who had barely begun to walk, played with holding on to the couch while moving her body from one side to the other to the rhythm of Beethoven. You gave the final details to the table and looked from time to time at the lasagna that was cooking in the oven. The sound of Eddie's truck's engine alerted you both that he was already there. Lily gave a little scream, anticipating her father's arrival.

"Daddy's home!" Eddie announced himself, informing the house. You received it with a small smile, letting Lily be the first to receive it. Seeing him, she began to walk clumsily into the arms of her father, who hugged her tightly. "Good job, Lily!" He smiled, picking her up in his arms and approaching you. "How did my girls behave?" He asked, giving you a sweet kiss on the lips and touching your belly tenderly. "And this little one? Can't wait to get out? Mm?"

"The food is ready." you announced, wiping your hands on your apron.

Eddie took Lily to the bathroom to wash her hands, telling the little girl about his day at work as if she understood something. Once at the table, you began to eat while the music played. You and Eddie helped the little girl eat her food, wiping her mouth every time she spit out a bit of it.

When he finished, Eddie took care of cleaning her and taking her to her crib to sleep. For your part, you picked up the dishes and were about to wash up when you felt Eddie's hands on your belly.

"Leave it, I'll wash them later. The food was delicious, so you deserve to rest, mommy." He speak and then kiss your cheek. You didn't object and left things to go sit with him on the couch. "How do you feel?" He asked, caressing your thighs and letting his rings make your skin crawl.

"Okay, a little tired. As Lily starts walking alone I should have been more careful that she doesn't set the house on fire." you joked, remembering the childrens prank she was slowly starting to get up to. "I missed you." You murmured, somewhat embarrassed by how much you needed him.

"Yeah? How much?" Eddie asked with a mischievous smile on his face, squeezing your thighs slightly.

"So, so much.." Eddie growled, knowing the tone of voice you used when you needed more than a kiss or hug.

Eddie approached and joined his lips with yours in a loud, wet kiss. He brought one of his hands to the back of your neck, grabbing some of your hair while his other hand moved up your thigh to your center.

"Poor mommy, spending so many hours here with my baby..." he murmured, separating himself a little. "Alone and without anyone who can satisfy and fill that sweet, tight pussy.." he massage your pussy over your underwear.

"You're bad, very bad for always leaving me wanting more..." you complain and then moans when he found your clit lightly pinched by him.

"I know, my queen, I know... but now I'm here..." Eddie pulled her hair a little, making you moan. "I'm all yours, use me however you want."

It was a matter of minutes before you found yourself on top of Eddie, naked, riding his big cock. Your swollen breasts bounced with each sit on his hard cock, leaving such an exciting sight for Eddie who watched you with his hands behind his head.

"Come on, mommy. Milk this cock." His words did nothing but encourage you to move your hips faster and making the clash of skin echo through the room. "Fuuck, that's right.. Use me, use me.." Eddie closed his eyes, moaning at the way your pussy rode his cock with ease.

You placed your hands on his chest, digging your nails and trying to stabilize yourself, making his cock go even deeper in you in that new position.

"God.. Look at your tits, they are so big.. And heavy.." Eddie brought his hands to her breasts, making circles on her erect nipples and pressing them lightly in the hope that milk would come out of them. "I promise you that as soon as your sweet milk starts coming out of here, I will be the first to taste it.." you moaned when you heard it. "Uh? You like that? Would you like to breastfeed me?" You bit your lower lip, nodding madly and still moving.

Just thinking about it made Eddie even more horny. He brought his hands to your waist, carefully pulling you towards him to begin penetrating you hard. His hips rose and fell quickly, hitting his pubis against your clit and rubbing your tits against his beefy chest.

"I'm going to fill you with my cum again and again..." he moaned as his balls slapped against part of your ass. "Tell me...Who did this to you? Uh? Who put a baby inside you?" He asked, looking lustfully into your eyes while one of his hands caressed your belly.

"You- It was you.." you managed to say with a broken voice, completely overstimulated. Eddie smiled proudly at your words, changing his thrusts for slower but deeper ones.

"That's right, mommy.. You're so good that your fertile womb took my semen the first time.. Good girl." You moaned at his compliments, feeling your orgasm approaching. "Are you going to cum? Mmh?" He asked sweetly, caressing your face as you nodded your head. "Come on, cum for me..." those words were enough for seconds later his cock was wet with your sweet nectar.

Eddie took care of cleaning you, covering you with a blanket and placing you on his chest. Your head was spinning, dazed and in some sort of subspace. He noticed it, caressed your hair and let him slowly put you back together while you listened to his heartbeat.

"Hey, I have to show you something." He spoke to you after a few minutes. You raised your head to look at him, Eddie reached into one of the pockets of his jacket and pulled out a small box. "Remember what I told you the first time..." he stretched out his words, referring to the time he fucked you on that same couch. "What did I tell you?"

You thought for a few seconds before answering. "That you would make me a baby." You responded confidently and Eddie laughed when he heard you. "And that you would make me your wife" You added, remembering the situation even more.

"Very good.." he smiled at you and brought the small box to your hands. "Well, I think it's time to make it official..." you slowly opened the box and found a beautiful ring inside. "Will you marry me?"

[iwritebigbellies-blog]

The party was great. You were in your element, gregarious and happy, drinking like a fish, laughing with all our friends, helping to bbq and serve. We got there early and left late, and in between you ate so much that you were practically a sphere, belly so full it had lift, and your shirt couldn't cover it.

Not that you noticed. You were so drunk and happy that nothing crossed your mind but your most basic desires: more laughter, more beer, more food, more.

"Come on," I laughed, trying to wrangle you to the door. You got distracted by the host's cat, finally making an appearance. "You've turned into a pumpkin, Cinderella."

"Just let me finish my beer," you said, looking around for it. It was long gone, but I rolled my eyes and found you another. "Chips?" you ask, sitting on the stairs, patting the cat, giving me your best puppy-dog eyes.

"Absolutely not," I said incredulously. "Look at you, babe. You are going to literally explode if you eat one more bite." I bent over to poke you in the belly, which had no give at all. You looked at yourself like you just noticed, and gave it a pat.

"Maybe I overdid it a little," you muttered. "But I--" Then you were interrupted by an enormous belch and I couldn't help laugh again as you flushed red and blew out a slow breath. "I just really like chips."

"Come on, tubby," I said, reaching out with both hands. You took them and struggled to a stand, and it was a serious struggle. You outweigh me by almost three times, these days. Tonight, it was even more. You finally stumbled forward, laughing, and bumped into me, taking me in both arms for support.

"Sorry," you murmured into my ear. "I've had--" You hiccuped again. "--a lot."

Your huge, tight gut pressed heavy into me, leaving nothing to the imagination. I cupped the exposed bottom of your belly and almost buckled at the knees. You were so big, fatter and tighter than ever, weaving unsteadily on your feet, breathing heavy. I wanted to pull you closer, back to the wall, and ram my tongue down your throat. But this was not the place.

"Understatement of the year," I muttered back, trying to make light. "You've eaten yourself into the next size category. Where would you even put chips if I found you some?"

You responded by relaxing. Leaning into me, your belly expanded, hanging ponderously into my hands. "Here," you said.

I was going to lose my mind. When I stood straight, you did too, leaning back with a moan. You put your hands on the small of your back, arched, then placed them on the sides of your belly again when your shirt didn't come down to cover it.

"Let's go," I said gently, taking a belt loop and tugging you towards the door.

"Home?" you said, a little disappointed. I led you out to the street first, ordering a cab.

"Absolutely not," I replied, meeting your eyes. "We're going out for dessert." Your eyes widened, and you rubbed the sides of your belly absently, pressing and testing. "Wouldn't you prefer some ice cream?"

"Yes," you said instantly, without thinking. It had been a while, since you'd been thinking. Even as your eyes lit up at the prospect of that sundae, scoops of ice cream on brownies and fudge, whipped cream and crumbled cookies and a milkshake on the side; you were short of breath, widening your stance to accomodate how bloated you'd gotten over the evening. You didn't notice, but I did.

Later, when you were slouched in your seat, moaning in happiness, or pain, or happiness, your belly bare and bumping the table, your pants unbuttoned and tugged open as wide as they would go, you finally caught up.

"I..I think I'm done," you said, panting, understatement of the year. "Can I just sleep here? I don't think I am going to walk ever again. Oh my god. I am so full, baby. Look at me. I'm so full. I'm so--urp--oh my god. I'm not going to fit out the door."

I walked behind your chair and hugged you, reaching my hands over your shoulders to gingerly rub a stomach that was so distended, it shone. "Take it slow, my love. We'll get you there."

We levered you out of the seat and started the long, slow waddle to the door, you moaning and carrying on about how much you'd overdone it, still too drunk for any dignity. As we passed the front cash, I paused.

"Two more milkshakes, to go." It wasn't clear who was more stunned, the waiter or you. "And have you got chips? A bag." He filled the order, and you whimpered.

I handed them to you after we climbed for the next cab. You tore them open mechanically, and closed your eyes in bliss when the first hit your tongue. "Thank you," you said.

I snuggled close and started rubbing your huge belly, sliding my hands under your shirt. You closed your eyes and leaned into it, moaning again. "Anything your heart desires," I said. "Just keep eating."

[lilioopdf]

always enough time (cardigan)

pairing: reader x (childhood best friend! + college!) pepe marti

notes: fluff, a little angst, then fluff again! 3.2k words (oops 😓😓 i should've probably split this up)

warnings: mentions of alcohol

a/n: dedicating this to my lovely mutuals who have been here from the very beginning and even before i started writing 💗💗 idk if this is too sappy but i genuinely love you guys for interacting with my writing posts and my non-racing posts because it really does mean so so much to me and i didn’t know any better way to say thank you

and if you’re reading this, have a lovely lovely day/ahead ahead 💞💞 may people always shower you in love and warm hugs

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the first time his eyes meets yours, you’re 4, clinging onto your father’s trousers as he speaks to another man about work related things. it is a business event, after all. he waves at you, a complete stranger then, and he watches as your head tilts a little, eyebrows raising slightly in surprise, before you hide your face behind your father.

he’s six, and yet he still feels his face burn in embarrassment, all because the prettiest girl at the party didn't say hi back.

he sees you again the next day, when you're both having dinner with your fathers at a hidden little restaurant near the beach. your fathers recognise each other almost instantly, and you suddenly find yourself sat next to him as the adults talk about complicated grown up topics over some drinks.

after dinner, he offers you half his cookie under the table, and you give him half of your ice cream in return.

he's too shy to say anything this time, but he lets you play with his toy car the very moment he notices you looking at it curiously.

it's a strange start to your friendship, but it's a sweet one nonetheless.

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you grow up together, but at a distance, only seeing each other during summers when you would follow your fathers to overseas work conferences.

he looks out for you for years.

when you're 8, he teaches you how to ride a bike. how to tie your shoelaces so you don't have to stick to velcro shoes forever. how to run faster, how to run without tripping over your own feet. he's gentle with you, and doesn't ever seem to mind your clumsiness.

you're only ever the same height as him once, and that is when you're 11. that year, his hair is almost always a little too overgrown, but he smiles more, and he has more stories to tell. he's at a new school now, one where they can bring their own phones with them. he tells you about the new subjects he's learning; physics, chemistry, english lit, and history. he has more friends now, and he shows you pictures of them alongside their text messages about online games you don't quite get.

when you're 13, he seems so different from the boy you knew last year. he's significantly taller than you now, and his voice cracks a less frequently than it used to, but he still blushes lightly whenever it happens. you don't mind though. if anything, it makes him even more endearing. pepe tells you about how he joined his school's soccer team this year, but you're sure you would've known even if he didn't tell you. he's so much happier these days, but he seems so grown up too. so much more ahead of you in life, at least.

the year you turn 15, things start to feel a little funny. 2 years feels like too big of a difference between the two of you now, and he just feels like too much of a boy. he towers over you now, and his voice has changed so much that you couldn't recognise it when he called out your name at the airport. you notice how the girls around you seem to look at him a little longer, letting their gaze linger on him for a little too long before they notice you at the side, standing awkwardly and feeling just a little too out of place.

you don't know how to feel about the fact that he's almost always looking at you instead.

now, he's quicker at picking up on your body language. he puts an arm around you and holds you when he can tell that your cramps are too bad, he's quick to offer you his jacket when the wind is just a little too chilly, and he's always carrying around your things for you. "just looking out for you," he says. "don't want you feeling alone when i'm right here."

and then you're 16, and lines start to grow a little blurry. it's a year full of insecurities and unfufilled longing, and most of the summer is spent in your head. it's weird to hang around him like that now. you start to distance yourself from him, but you're pretty sure he doesn't notice anyway. he still brings you around for dinner with him and to hang out, and you accept, but you don't ask him to follow you to places you'd like to visit anymore.

you run into a school friend of his one day, and you're suddenly made aware of just how differently he acts around you. his friend's nice to look at, you think. pepe tells you that's he's a soccer teammate from school. he calls you pretty and asks for your instagram, but pepe says something you don't understand in spanish and his friend just nods, apologises, and leaves, leaving you feeling just a little wounded and put off. you wonder if you did something wrong, but you're too scared to even ask your school friends for advice. they've all passed this silly stage anyway— you're the only one who's never even had a crush, let alone be asked out.

pepe gets his first girlfriend by the end of the year, and you're almost happy for him, except you can't help but feel a little jealous. it's silly though, you think. you're just a lovesick teenage girl pining over an older boy. she's cool and loud and she's always able to visit the same places and parties as him. a perfect match. he sees her more often than he sees you anyway.

your friendship ends on a rocky note the year you turn 17. neither of you follow your fathers the next year. neither of you can. it's pepe's last year with you before going off to university.

that summer, you're on your phone almost the whole time, texting a guy from school who's just asked you out. a hockey player of some sort. he parties and drinks a lot, but he's nice to you, and somewhat interested, you suppose.

when pepe finds out, he lets out a huff of laughter. "you're not seriously considering dating him though, are you? this is just for fun, right?"

you feel yourself still at his words. "what do you mean?"

"he won't be good for you. you're just... not like that. that lifestyle wouldn't suit you," he replies nonchalantly.

your blood burns just underneath the surface of your skin in anger and annoyance.

"who are you to say what lifestyle suits me? maybe this is what i want. i've grown up, you know."

you're more hurt than angry, although you're not quite sure why. your tone is indignant and fierce, and you watch as his expression turns neutral and unreadable and his eyes flicker from you, to your phone, and back at you again.

when he realises that you're being serious, his face contorts into an ugly expression, one of anger and almost a little bit of hurt.

"fine, suit yourself then."

then he walks out the room, and hot tears start running down your face.

and that is that. he still says goodbye to you at the airport, but the both of you don't hug this time.

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you try not to think about him for the next two years.

you drown yourself in your schoolwork, tackling assignment after assignment, exam after exam, anything to prevent yourself from indulging in any thoughts of him.

when a childhood friend brings him up one day, asking why you don't meet him during summer anymore, you pretend that he was just a phase. just a blip in your life; minor and insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

time goes by, and you continue to study hard, because you want to study humanities and the arts in university but still have the grades to prove that you could've done stem if you wanted to (like pepe, although you'd never admit to thinking that).

and then in a blink of an eye, you've graduated, and your months long break comes around as you wait for uni results to come back out.

its been a full two years now, but you'd be lying if you said you'd forgotten about him completely.

how could you?

you thought about him during mugging season in school, and during university applications, and sometimes (maybe especially so) during interschool games for soccer, imagining what it would be like if he was here, playing for your school team. (you also wonder what it'd be like to wear his jersey and cheer him on loudly and proudly in front of the whole schoot, but that's not something you're ever going to admit.)

you spend your summer soothing yourself to sleep by reminding yourself that pepe's been gone for two years now, and you're still doing fine. that you have done fine without him, and that you can and will continue to do so.

‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊

imagine your horror when you realise you've been posted the same university as pepe. same campus too.

your father is ecstatic. he immediately wants to call up pepe's dad and tell him the news but you beg him not to, tears in your eyes. you can't risk looking like a hopeless and dependent little puppy even before the school term has started.

before the first day of uni, you've already studied the campus map well enough to plan routes that avoid going near the school of engineering, just so you can avoid pepe. you're almost 100% confident that you'll be able to hide from him for his remaining two years in uni. plus, you definitely look different from the way you did two years ago, so you technically have an extra layer of protection.

except you have an orientation camp the very first week of uni, and you're just that lucky enough to have a familiar face as one of your orientation group leaders.

he recognises you instantly. how could he not?

you half expect him to ignore you, or at least, pretend not to know you. but to your surprise, he smiles. in fact, he beams at you, and he waves before jogging over to sit next to you. your mouth is slightly agape, and you can't tell if this is some kind of cruel joke that he's playing on you right now.

"how have you been? you're lucky to be here today. the weather isn't usually this nice, and i know you get chilly easily." he's still smiling while speaking to you, and he's just acting so... normal, but you?

you feel like smacking him. you left each other on a sour note two years ago, after being friends for more than a decade, and he chooses to talk about the weather, of all things.

but you just put on a smile and act the same.

arguing with a best friend is one thing, having to make small talk about mundane, boring, topics with a friend you've known for years and then forgotten is another. you can't figure out if talking to him is helping heal your heart or slowly shattering it into more tiny little pieces.

‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊

the first few weeks of uni fly by, and you don't end up using any of your pre-planned routes.

in fact, you end up meeting pepe almost every day before you your lessons. for breakfast, or brunch, or lunch... and maybe even dinner, once both your classes are done.

you can’t read him that well, and you wonder if this is only weird for you. but you’re not one to complain. you’re not one to take this for granted either.

you’ve spent years of your life missing summer and pepe, and then you spent two more years missing him without even speaking to him at all. no, you’re definitely not taking this for granted.

you learn that he's playing soccer for a kids charity event that happens yearly, that he's studying mechanical engineering (which doesn't surprise you at all, not really), and that he's broken up with his girlfriend, because of different goals in life or something. you stop yourself from thinking too hard about whether or not the both of you have compatible life goals upon hearing the last part.

he’s still sweet to you.

maybe even more so now that he can actually look out for you. he always gives you his jacket when you’re cold, offers to help you run your errands on busy days, and he even helps you get special oppourtunities thanks to his friends and connections. and when you’re sick, he gives you updates for classwork even though he’s not in the same classes as you, bringing you heat packs and checking up on you daily with warm teas and essential balms.

it's all so lovely that you could almost cry.

except he’s always just a little too stiff around you. too hesitant to touch, too close for distance.

he'll bring you heat packs on your period, and allow you to lean on his stronger frame when the cramps get too bad, but he never gets close enough to cuddle. and when either of you stay over for too long while studying together, he always offers to sleep on the floor or on the couch, but he never allows himself to lie in the same bed as you.

it's all so polite but so frustrating, and you're even more upset because you have absolutely no right to feel that way. he's your best friend, and he has been for years. he's not someone you could ever have the priviledge of dating, and he deserves a friend he can count on, not someone who's helplessly unable to stop their one-sided longing for him.

and so you let another six months slip away as you spend more time with pepe in your head than physically, while he continues keeping a distance from you, leaving you wondering why.

‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊

suddenly it's feburary, and pepe's been so busy with schoolwork and training for the upcoming charity match that you just don't see him that much anymore. you're pulled back into that aching feeling of loneliness, and busying yourself with your own schoolwork and friends doesn't seem to help.

i can't risk doing badly this semester, he says. this is the one that counts. i’ll have to find myself a good internship for portfolio— maybe with formula one, he says. you nod. you’d be proud of him regardless of what he did anyway.

you end up following him to the gym in the early hours of the morning just to hang out with him, even if hanging out now means you just watch him get through his workout routine while you sit next to him and sort out your schedule.

his friends refer to you as pepe's girlfriend now, and you stopped correcting them when you realised that pepe didn't seem to care. you can't blame them anyway, you're together almost all the time. you're always waiting for him at his apartment after classes, usually in an oversized t-shirt or hoodie of his, and he even wakes up early just to bring you breakfast before class.

the domesticity of it all makes you ache, but you can't even bring yourself to imagine what if would be like if your relationship was actually as desired.

‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊

pepe visits you the night before the charity match.

he brings you a jersey. his jersey, and he shyly asks if you'd be interested in showing up to watch him the next day. you almost scream with joy, but you control yourself, accepting it gracefully and holding the jersey gently and close to your chest.

you whisper a string of thank yous, careful not to wake your roommate up, and all pepe does is pull you in for a hug. he buries his face into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders and all you can do is press yourself closer to him, taking in the scent of clean laundry and his cologne.

before he leaves, he flashes you a teasing smile, a somewhat knowing look on his face as he asks, "am i going to have to say it, or will you?"

you're caught off guard by his comment, and you just tilt your head in confusion, unsure what he's talking about. but he doesn't explain further. he just chuckles, gently shakes your shoulder, and leaves.

‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊‧ ₊

you show up to pepe's match half an hour before it starts, just so you can get a good view of the match. the venue is already half full, and you're just grateful to have gotten front row seats.

you act as casual as you can, pretending that your heart isn't racing while you're wearing his soft jersey, with the number 23 boldly printed onto the back. when your friend teases you about the way your cheeks seem to be permenantly pink, you gently slap her arm and tell her to be quiet in a weak attempt to save your face, which only results in a laughing fit from her.

the match is mostly a blur, but both teams are very evenly matched, and there's suddenly only 4 minutes left to the end of the game and both teams are stuck in a tie.

you're not sure when your focus zoned in on pepe. it could've been since the very start of the match, but you somehow catch that split second when the ball is passed over to him, and his expression changes from one of neutrality to determination. you watch as he expertly drabbles the ball between player to player, rushing to get close enough to the goalpost to shoot before the end of the match.

you're sure that everyone in the venue held their breath at the exact same moment you did, and that time must've stilled when pepe slid and kicked the ball into the goal, just 30s before the end of the match.

the whole venue erupts into cheers. it's defeaning, but all you can think of is how proud you are of him in this moment.

you don't take your eyes off him for even a second, and when the referee finally signals the end of the match, he looks at you too.

he’s all sweaty, hair plastered to his forehead, face flushed.

he's sipping from his bottle, standing directly in front of you, having run straight to you after the match.

your boy.

there's a wicked grin on his face, and you can feel the heat rise up to your face as you take in all of him in awe.

everyone’s staring, you think, but you know he doesn’t care, so why should you?

you barely allow yourself time to hesitate, but he's quicker.

he kisses you.

his mouth is warm and soft, and yet there's a certain pressure and intensity with which he kisses you that makes you think that he probably wanted this as much as you did, maybe more.

and when you both finally break apart for air, you realise that all the cheering is now directed at the both of you, and you can't help but start laughing shyly. he smiles at that, and presses a quick kiss to your temple before rushing off for a debrief, with promises to talk later.

you don't even care that your time together has been cut short, because all you can think about now is how grateful you are that you won't have to return him this jersey.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚ ✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊

© lilioopdf 2024 – please do not plagarise, repost, or translate any of my work on this or other platforms

thank you for reading this far!! stay hydrated and safe always!! 💗💗

taglist: @oscnorris/@httpiastri (the one and only person on my taglist 💕💕 also i realised i forgot to ask you which account you wanted me to tag so i’m just doing 2/3 :p)

[newtkive]

sweet tooth | luca drabble

just thinking about luca w a partner who has a crazy sweet tooth (like i do) and you never asking for a sweet treat but mentioning it nonchalantly but still not expecting luca to make you something.

first of all, your nickname would probably be sweet tooth or smth similar, let’s be so real. it would start by luca calling you that affectionately, but then it catches on w friends and family and you’re just dubbed sweet tooth.

in general, if you saw some type of dessert on a commercial or a tiktok that had you going ‘oohhh’ luca would scrunch his brows and almost seem jealous. “they used meringue, they should’ve used icing sugar.” he’d scoff judgingly and just see it as a challenge. after he would deem it doable, he’d store the information in his brain and literally make it better at work the next day.

just say the word and he will make it. telling your friends on the phone that macaroons sound good? cool, he wants to practice his piping technique with the biscuits anyways.

a japanese fruit sando? awesome he can make the sweet bread so fast, and the cream is no big deal. in fact he can just whip it up for lunch.

want a hersheys bar? first, that chocolate is trash don’t ever mention it to a european, especially your european chef boyfriend. second, he’ll make you the best stack of milk chocolate, dark chocolate, white chocolate, and cookies n’ cream bar you’ve ever had (the cookies n cream one is so good, and you’d always say that and it would piss him off). anything to get hershey’s out of your brain.

you see those viral crunchy chocolate and pistachio filled croissants in new york on your phone and groan abt them? he can research the recipe and workshop it for a day or two in the restaurant kitchen, find a cute take out box to present it to you with to give you that full experience you’d get from the real bakery—you just gotta wait. even if it’s a couple days later, it’ll be waiting for you on the table, or pulled out from behind luca’s back as he walks through the door.

to be more specific, maybe at midnight when he doesn’t have work the next day, you guys are up watching a movie or just having pillow talk. saying smth nonchalant abt your cravings like “cookies sound so good right now luca.. don’t they?” your cheek is smushed against his bicep (which you’d much rather eat) so your voice is all cute and mumbled making his heart race.

“mhm.” he’d say. he’s got a lazy smile n a deep chuckle, voice laden w sleep since you’re the night owl and he’s just staying up to spend time with you. “you wan’ me to make some right now? that what you’re saying?” he’s clearly amused, knowing that you don’t expect him to but teasing you nonetheless.

“nono, it’s too late. you’re not allowed to leave anyways.” you would mumble again, arms tightening around his own in a hug. humming happily, a kiss from the chef would land on your head and you kinda forget about the dessert you want but luca doesn’t because he’s a chef and his literal profession is making desserts so why wouldn’t he?? when you want something he can easily make?? like his love language is giving, especially if it’s baking something for someone he loves.

the next day you’d still be asleep and wake up to the smell of cookies. savory was your forte in the morning most times but who could say no to starting their day with a yummy sweet when it’s presented to them, right?

it would take you a second to realize that 1. luca wasn’t wrapped around you like usual, etching a frown into your face, and 2. luca had to be the one making cookies. and he made the best cookies. you’d waste no time in grinning and hopping up to drag yourself to the kitchen. even more of the smell would welcome you, transporting you into some kind of dreamland—and if you really were dreaming you’d be so pissed bc the cookies being pulled out of the oven by your blond messy haired boyfriend look so fucking good right now (aside from the aforementioned boyfriend who is just as, if not more scrumptious than the cookies with only his flannel pants on).

arms would wrap around his waist from behind and luca would laugh muttering “hot pan” but you don’t give a fuck because you want him and those cookies now. if anything your arms tighten and you rub at his stomach sweetly from behind, a sign of affection.

“you made me cookies!” the grin would be so evident in your voice and so infectious that luca beams as he transfers the said cookies onto a pretty dish.

“and who said they were for you?” the tease is obvious and earns an eye roll. you don’t fall for it and he doesn’t expect you to, but you gently nip at his shoulder nonetheless. a dramatic ‘ow!’ comes from the tall man, laced with laughter. you snicker evilly, standing on tip toes to rest your chin on the same shoulder (no matter your height you still gotta do tiptoes bc that man is tall).

soon enough he’d plate the perfect chocolate chip cookies with a dash of sea salt that you spotted, and turn around. it would be your turn to be wrapped in a hug by strong arms, even lifted up a little just to hear your laugh. luca also likes to hear how surprised you get that he can lift you, even though to him you’re weightless.

it wouldn’t be long until you’re begging for a cookie even if he sets you on the counter, stern look as he assures you they’re still cooling off. like hellooo?? who cares?? but he distracts you with soft kisses on your cheeks, leading down to your lips until he pulls away and leaves you wanting more. the mumble from him that, “the cookies are probably cool enough now” has you forgetting your desire for him and replacing it with the golden saucers just waiting for you to demolish them.

hands on his shoulder, you’d firmly push him to the side and hop off the counter. the roll of luca’s eyes would be affectionate and endeared, since you were this excited for his cooking. you were his best customer after all.

your feet would have a mind of their own, floating towards the cookies like a cartoon man levitating towards a pie, lured by the aroma. you start ravaging like a hungry creature. one turns into three as you face your boyfriend, moaning with closed eyes at almost every bite inbetween telling him about what you two did in your dream (he baked you brownies laced with a golden syrup in your dream so you accredit your subconscious to manifesting this).

he would just stand there with a grin, hands on the edge of the sink behind him while leaning on it. usually dreams would be so boring to talk about, but luca swore he could stand there for an eternity just watching you eat his creations and talk about any dream you wanted to share with him.

of course, those cookies would be gone in two days. and in place would be brownies drizzled in a golden syrup that luca took home from work. the surprise would earn him a watery eyed smile, and he’d just shrug and say he had extra time to kill on the evening shift.

[lit3rallyll0yd]

Kai dating hdcs??????

dating the ninja: series (headcanons) | kai smith gn!reader!! ☆♡☆

warnings: some suggustive mentioned, no smut

finally some new writing <3

a/n: chat im obsessed with him ☹️

☆ feel like he will be the type of boyfriend to be so chill with you, be will start to be so sarcastic with you.

☆ "did you seriously eat all the cookies?" "no, it was a ghost." "bitch."

☆ he pulls you in for kisses whenever he can. literally does nor care who sees.

☆ in the earlier seasons, where the serpents were still ninjago's main villains; when lloyd was still a child before the spell. you n kai were non-stop kissing lol.

☆ lloyd and kissing was a huge ick for him at the time, so he would always stare at you two with a "brotha'ewwh" face

☆ teases you to the point you'll become redder then his gi. and he 100% uses it to his advantage!

☆ yall fight like an old married couple, i just feel like he will start stupid little arguments because he can.

☆ "I HATE YOUUUUU" "OH YEAH, WELL NEXT TIME DONT STEAL MY MONOPLY!!" "y/n... give kai the money- please-you landed on his property-" "NO! THEY'RE IN JAIL IM NOT GIVING MONEY TO A CRIMINAL!" "that's not how you...PLAYYYY!!"

☆ yes i did it lol

☆ his actually a good comforter, he grew up taking care of nya; so he has the big brother comfort DOWN!!

☆ "hey, you did amazing in training today!" "what are you upset about, cheer up babe, let's go get some ice cream!" "baby...baby...i see your upset, you can't keep frowning forever, you know?"

☆ "do you want cuddles?" he would already be holding you asking this question, his forehead touching yours.

☆ his favorite places to kiss you are the lips. was this not obvious in the beginning. his hands are on your hips, or around your shoulders...usually would also hump you up against his waistforcing your legs to wrap around his hips.

☆ when you two make out YOU TWO MAKE OUT!! dude is not playing when it comes to you and your body

☆ compliments the fuck outta you when making out. he loves your body, of course that is not the reason he is dating you, he may love your body but there were many other things he fell for when meeting you.

☆ loves to have sleepovers with you. LOVES COMING OVER TO YOUR PLACE!!

☆ when you offer sleepovers he begs to have them at your place. one, your bed is comfortable as fuck and two, you have so many snacks it makes him crazy.

☆ another reason being he loves sleeping with you. he hugs you in his sleep and wraps his legs around your own...you are basically his teddy bear.

☆ you do get too hot, which ends with you moving more around in your bed. once you woke up with your foot on his face and your head near his foot and yall were so confused.

(guys i love him so much, i'll add more tmrw<3)

[stevesjockstrap]

@stcreators event 01: favorite

Ahoy Captain

“Jesus H. Christ.” Eddie stopped walking so sharply that Gareth ran into his back. He did a double take and his jaw was on the floor.

“What the fu-“ But Gareth followed his gaze and his jaw also dropped. “Is that?”

Jeff came to stand next to them, eyebrows raised. “…Steve Harrington in a sailor outfit?”

“That’s the Steve Harrington you won’t shut up about?” Drew said, especially loud in the crowded mall.

“Shut up!” He turned to hiss at him before rounding back to stare across the hall. “Did I die and go to heaven? Pinch me.” He pulled the sleeve of his leather jacket up and offered his arm to Gareth. He pinched his forearm roughly, without looking down. All of their eyes were locked on the figure in the brightly colored ice cream shop, now coming around the counter to crouch down to hand a cone to a small child. Doing so making the tiny shorts ride up his thighs, but Eddie’s eyes were suddenly drawn to where his v-neck hung open, getting a glimpse of chest hair.

“Buh,” he turned to Gareth to announce.

“Yo, we have to go in there. This is like once in a lifetime shit.”

Eddie adamantly shook his head and started backing away but Gareth and the guys shared a look before suddenly grabbing him under the arms to escort him awkwardly through the mall thoroughfare.

“Oh no. Oh no.” He chanted under his breath.

Back behind the counter now, Steve greeted them as they bodily pushed him into the store. “Welcome, fellas! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain!”

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathed. It’s so much worse, being this close. Steve’s eyes shine under the terrible fluorescent lighting and he can see the muscles in his arms flex as he leans onto the counter.

“If you need any help let me know. The flavor of the week is triple decker extravaganza!”

Eddie’s brain had stopped working. His arms were dropped as his friends went further up to the counter to look at the ice cream options. He continued staring stupidly at Steve as he leaned a hip against the back counter.

“You guys check out the new record store yet?” Steve Harrington was actually making decent conversation with them. What universe did he teleport to this morning?

“No, not yet,” Gareth answered. “That’s where we were heading actually, when uh-“ he awkwardly turned around to make eye contact with Eddie, still a few feet behind them and drawing Steve’s attention over to him.

“You don’t want anything?” Steve asked him. Oh he wanted something. Wanted to drop to his knees in front of him. Or the other way around. He wouldn’t mind either way. He would’ve done anything to have Steve’s undivided attention on him and now that he had it he was blanking on English. He opened and closed his mouth a few times. He finally forced his body forward, tearing his eyes away from Steve to send a panicked look at Gareth. He just smirked, the absolute asshole.

Steve frowned at him and he wanted to melt into the floor. “If you’re not a fan of ice cream we have cookies, too.”

Steve being so sweet to him finally rattled some brain cells loose. “Oh, um, no, that’s-“

Jeff chuckled from the other side of Gareth. “Eddie here loves ice cream. That’s why we had to stop in. Isn’t that right, guys?” The rest of his band laughed obnoxiously and nodded. Steve looked at all of them confused, but still with an easy smile when he turned back to Eddie.

“What’s your favorite?”

“Um, huh?” Eddie blinked at him. He watched as Steve pulled his bottom lip in to bite it, probably trying to figure out what was happening with him and the guys. Eddie’s gut clenched. He hoped he didn’t think he was doing anything wrong or they were making fun of him.

“Your favorite ice cream? We can talk about any of your other favorites after we get that out of the way,” he grinned at him and Eddie had to grab the counter in front of him when his knees threatened to give out.

“Rocky road?”

“Perfect. Coming right up! Cup or cone? Or waffle bowl? It’s like a big cone in a cup?”

“Cone please?”

Once he wasn’t under the heavy gaze of gorgeous brown eyes, he turned to his friends for help. But Drew just snickered at him and Jeff sent him a thumbs up. Dicks.

Steve handed him his cone and their fingers brushed. He dumped all the change he had into the tip jar and Steve fucking winked at him. The guys ordered their ice creams suspiciously easily, but Steve kept coming back to Eddie’s side of the counter. He tried hard not to hold eye contact with him as he licked across his ice cream.

“So was it worth it?”

“Wh-what?” He stammered.

“Coming in, for the ice cream?”

“Definitely. The ice cream is… great.” He looked around and realized his friends had gone to sit in the furthest booth by the door. Steve had only been sweet and amazing to him and he couldn’t leave without at least having a somewhat competent conversation. “But I- I really came in to see you.”

“Me?” Steve leaned further across the counter towards him. He turned those big brown eyes up at him and Eddie wasn’t sure if he could get any other words out.

“Couldn’t walk away from you in this getup.” His hand moved on his own accord to reach out and tug on the red tie in the middle of his chest.

“Oh,” he huffed. “Yeah. I wish I would’ve known before I agreed to work here. Not that I had any better offers.”

Eddie’s fingers itched to run along the blush that appeared across his cheeks.

“No, no, it’s- I mean, I like it.” He winced as it came out, but his eyes shot open when Steve chuckled. “Really. I really like it.” He cleared his throat because that couldn’t have been his voice. It was deep and gravely and sounded way too fucking hot to have come out of his mouth.

Steve’s wide eyes tracked his tongue as it came out to wet his lips. Fuck.

“Oh.”

Eddie leaned a bit closer, drawing on this unknown confidence that came from Steve Harrington hanging on his every word. “So what time do you get off, Captain?”

xx

This was a benedryl-fueled thought but Scoops!uniform Steve was the only thing my brain wanted to give me for “favorite.”

@lighthousebeams

[forbebeandjam]

helllo! can I pls request smutty, angsty, fluffy college au of jealous bada x reader where bada is older than reader and reader has been chasing her for a long time but bada rejected her confession cos(of a silly reason)reader is younger than her so reader just starts hanging out w someone which makes bada jealous and finally confesses her feelings to reader. many thanks to you in advance!!

Sweet & Bitter | Bada Lee x Reader | fluff, smut, angst part 1

Summary: Bada is in love with you but hides it because of your age.

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: It’s my birthday so I’ll celebrate it by giving you guys this birthday special fic 🥳🫶 love you all

Young love...

Bada always saw this as a beautiful thing but she felt like she never experienced it. She had remained single for a long time. She was what you would call a bookworm. 

Always achieved her academic goals and reached for the stars. You admired her from afar all of your high school years and saw how bright she was shining. 

You were always head over heels for her and you always imagined being with her since you were younger. The way she treated you was so sweet and soft, you couldn't help it. You fell for her when you were fifteen and stuck with her.

Your parents were long-time friends as well so you and Bada would oftentimes be together for gatherings, parties, and much more. She also helped you study for a few months during your senior year. 

There was only one thing stopping you from being with her and it was your age. She wouldn't date you because you were too young. Bada made it clear to you when she caught you staring at her during a study session. 

"It's not like we are ten years apart. Bada, I am eighteen. You are twenty-two. Please..." but the answer was always no. Eventually, you stopped insisting and just kept her as a friend.  

Over the years, she began to study to become a lawyer and you were going to the same college as her to become a photographer and editor. With your work already going viral, you managed to get into the same school which made you even more jolly. 

Bada seemed to be happy at the idea as well. You would always bring lunch to her and eat in her small office. She would go to your dorm and you two would simply study and talk.

On the weekends, she would go to your studio and bring your favorite dessert. She would pick you up from your classes and take you for ice cream. Random gifts would appear at your doorstep and... well... you fell harder. 

You rejected countless people and dates. You would exclusively hang out with Bada and everything felt like you two were in a relationship. You were over the moon.

This continued for a year until...

Bada began to be a bit distant. When you brought lunch to her she would take a few bites only to push the food away and hop on a phone call. She stopped showing up to your dorm, studio, and classes. She wouldn't take your phone calls. She would never leave her office and you...

You fell into depression thinking you did something to upset her. Your grades started dropping. You wouldn't leave your dorm room. You spend your weekend crying in your room eating ice cream and calling her number. 

No response. Texts? She would read them and answer with 'I'm busy'

You were slipping slowly into darkness. So you decided to get up one day. Try to cheer yourself up and go get your only love, who you had disguised as your best friend, back. 

You fixed your hair and applied makeup. You picked out your best outfit with the intention of inviting her to dinner. You made a quick stop at a coffee shop and bought her daily iced americano and a heart-shaped sugar cookie. Her favorite combination.

Sweet and bitter. 

You made your way into the building and up the elevator to Bada's floor. The elevator opened and you walked down the hall. You spotted a red-haired girl looking at you with a small smirk. 

"That's a nice outfit, pretty lady. Is that coffee for me?" Aiki said, looking at you up and down. 

"Seriously, Aiki. Stop being a perv. I brought Bada her coffee. Is she in her office?" You asked.

"Ugh... Bada. Always Bada. When will you go out with me?" she said pulling on the hem of your skirt. 

"Do you want to go out with me or get me in your sheets?" You said popping your hip to the side. She stood up and stepped closer to you. 

"Why don't you find out? You might like it," She said making you roll your eyes. 

"Whatever. I'm going," you said but she pulled your arm. 

"My intentions with you are serious, Y/N. Please..." she said with a small pout. 

"I don't know... I'm sorry," you said and started to walk again. 

"Wait... don't go in there. Just one date," she said still holding onto your arms. 

"Okay. One date, but can you let me go?" you asked with a chuckle. 

"Don't go in there, please," she said with pleading eyes. 

"Aiki, you're starting to make me worry," she didn't say anything but shake her head. You pulled away and walked rapidly to Bada's office. You didn't knock and opened the door. Bada's assistant, Redlic, was sitting on her desk with Bada's lips on hers.

The coffee in your hand fell making a loud noise. Bada stopped her actions and turned to you. You already had teary eyes. She wiped her lips and Redlic looked at you with a wry smile. 

You threw the cookie at her chest and sucked up your tears. You walked back to Aiki and she stood up when she saw your teary eyes. 

"I'm sorry," she said. You hugged her tightly and she hugged you back softly patting your head. You began crying in her embrace. Bada looked at you from the door of her office and felt... jealous. 

Not a new feeling for her. She would always get jealous when your friends would go over your house or when someone would ask for your number but you never gave into any of it. So why did you run into Aiki's arms so quickly? 

Then, she realized how badly she had hurt you. The sweet dessert in her hands was now split in half and that's how your heart looked. Just like the cookie in her hands, your heart had always been in her hands and she managed to break it in half. 

She also realized how much she loved you as much as she tried to deny it. As much as she tried to push you away. 

"Y/N!" she said. Aiki glared at her and pulled you out of the room into the elevators. 

"Where are you going?" Redlic said pulling Bada. 

"Why the fuck would you pull me into a kiss like that?" Bada asked. 

"You said you wanted a reason to let her go. For her to get over you. Plus, she is not a woman. She's a little girl, Bada," Redilc replied. 

"This was a mistake. Shit" Bada said walking out of the room. 

⊹˙⋆ PART 2. ⋆˙⊹

[yup-thats-me]

My heart goes out to all the (anime) fathers!

Men who will one day come to you while you’re chopping up some vegetables for the meal, men with the guts to stare at you straight in the eyes and say, “Y/n…let’s get a divorce. I found someone much better than you.”

He asks for a divorce. You have a knife in your hand.

Without thinking, you rush after him. “Who’s the other woman, goddamn it! I swear to god I’ll kill you then I’d kill myself!” what else was your husband expecting after you spent eight years of your life together, not to mention you even have a five-year-old daughter for heaven’s sake!

“Mama, stop!” your daughter called out, her little eyes filled with tears. “You cannot kill my husband!”

Did she say “My husband’’?

Oh so that’s what made your husband say that. Looking back at the man, you almost killed him off with that stare. He had no choice but to shrug, gesturing to your daughter.

“Baby, can I ask why Daddy is now called ‘my husband’?” The little girl stayed silent, looking at her ‘husband’ who was instantly by her side and picked her up.

“Woman, I cannot have you make my lovely bride-to-be cry!” He would say while smirking.

Sighing, you soothe your daughter. “Baby, see this ring? Daddy has one on his finger too,” The girl’s eyes almost popped out at the revelation.

“That means Mama and Daddy are married. You cannot marry Daddy, baby.”

Loud wails filled the house. It took an ice-cream and a cookie to make her stop. When she did, the terrifying news was brought up again.

“That’s why, Daddy can’t marry you.”

“…then will I get my own ring too?”

Her question made one of you giggle while it made the other’s vein pop on his forehead. “Of course! My little princess will find a lover who will get on one knee and give the ring to her.” The little girl was relieved.

“NO! I won’t let it happen!” Your husband cried, making the girl cry again. He received a smack on the head and the laundry for a week.

tr: mikey, shinichiro, baji, chifuyu, kokonoi; kny: sanemi, zenitsu, tengen; jjk: gojo, yuji, inumaki, sukuna; bsd: ranpo, dazai, nikolai; windbreaker (aged up, ofc): umemiya, kiryu, sakura + your favs!

Men who wakes you up with coffee on bed. It’s no special day today but it was decided that the family of three would go out for a picnic, and the weather could not have been any better.

Men who would not even bother to ask you to make preparation of food and other requirements for the picnic. They would get up at dawn when it is still dark outside and silently begin the preparations for the day.

They would make countless dishes, each one better than the next, and pack them up so beautifully. When done with cooking, they would pack the blankets, wine, and juice for the kid(s), and get your favorite book packed and of course, he cannot miss out on his camera! He has to take many pictures of his family on their day out.

Men who would choose a quiet flower field away from the bustling city; perfect for a quite yet enjoyable trip. They would even lay out the food and help feed them to you.

They would lay in your lap while you read your book and your son close by, doing something with flowers. Your son would run up to the two of you, a flower crown in his hand and ask for your husband to sit up.

The little boy placed the crown on his father’s head, giggling all the while. “Daddy looks so pretty!’’

“Yeah, doesn’t he?” you agree with the boy. “But what about mommy?”

“I’ll make mommy a flower bouquet! Wait your turn!” The boy ran away again, skipping in his track.

Your husband’s lips found yours; soft and sweet. “I love you,” they would say softly. “And our soon,” with a chuckle.

“And I love you two, too.”

tr: draken, mitsuya, inupi, kazutora; kny: tanjiro, rengoku, muzan; jjk: NANAMI, geto, yuta; bsd: chuuya, akutagawa, fukuzawa, poe, atsushi, sigma, fyodor, kunikida; windbreaker: hayato, togame, hiragi + your favs!

do not copy, steal, or translate my work on any other sites. all belong to yup-thats-me on tumblr

[earl-grey-teacake]

i am so in love with the baby AU like omg you are THE BEST❤️❤️ Can you explain how the babies are reacting to the other drivers? (like how would oscar react if max pick him up etc.) i’m going to support this fic and your upcoming works too!! sending you much hugs🫶🩷

Thank you so much!!! I’m so happy you enjoy it!!!❤️❤️❤️ I can absolutely explain!

I gave brief overviews, I can absolutely go in-depth if you want me to. Just shoot me an ask! 😊

Max Verstappen

Logan and Oscar is very chill around Max. Max gives fun uncle vibes and honestly, he’s ecstatic about being an uncle. It’s like being a parent without all the responsibility and obligations of being a parent. He’s the kind of uncle that takes them on hot laps and throws them in the air much to the chagrin of their parents.

When they both start karting, he is the most competitive guest they ever invited. Like sure the parents are competitive, but Max is there for support and pulling Logan aside to tell him it's okay to send the kid that tried hit him in practice into the barrier to "teach them a lesson".

Checo Perez

They both like him. He doesn’t interact with them a lot but if they were in need of a babysitter, Checo is on the list. He’s responsible, listens to them babble on and on because that’s what he does with Max, and remember to feed them healthy food.

Charles Leclerc

Charles is great with kid. He loves kids.

Logan likes Charles a lot. He finds Charles really funny and in turn, Charles bribes Logan with vanilla ice cream and lets him play with Leo. He also dresses Logan up in either Ferrari merch or his own stuff to take photos and mess with the others. He also bought a Ferrari stroller to take Logan and Oscar around Monaco in. He is committed to turning them into Ferrari fans because everybody is a Ferrari fan.

Oscar is a little bit difficult to get into Ferrari merch. He is devoted to papaya and will squirm as they try to put a red t-shirt on him. Charles will sometimes pick him up from Lando's and Carlos's place in Monaco just to hand out with him. He can be seen walking Leo and pushing a Ferrari stroller on his way to lunch.

Fernando Alonso

Alonso is great with kids. He has a lot of energy which freaked Logan out at first but he quickly became a favorite. Fernando will put Logan up to things to scare his parents, mainly George. He’s convinced Logan to tell his parents and their team that Aston Martin is his favorite team and went as far as to train Logan to cheer when the Aston Martin appear on screen.

Oscar finds him annoying but Alonso finds Oscar hilarious. He's onboard for the Alpine hate. He finds Oscar silence funny and likes to mess with him to get a response. Oscar's response is a frustrated yell and bats his arms at Alonso.

Lewis Hamilton

Both children are in awe and a little bit of fear. Lewis has a vibe around him that seems otherworldly and the kids recognize it. He’s very fun to be around and he gets them a lot of snacks so they are always on their best behavior around him. Logan is constantly being held by him and Lewis holds full on conversations as Logan babbles and points. Oscar is silent the entire time he is held by Lewis, thought whether it is because of anxiety or because he's naturally silent, one cannot tell.

Lance Stroll

In one word, STRESSED. This man is stressed out at the idea of taking care of children and the children are both stressed out by him and for him. If one of them cries all three of them are crying. However, when they aren’t stressed out, Lance is the one who gives the most treats. Candy, cookies, expensive fruit, whatever they want. They are most peaceful when they are sat in a circle together sharing a box of cookies.

Yuki Tsunoda

Weirded out by babies. The can't walk on their own, have to be held, eat only pureed food- Yuki is not a fan. Is one of those people who just cannot hold babies. He sort of dangles them as they wiggle around. An unpleasant situation for both of them. The children, when they were younger were not a fan of being held by him.

He does however, enjoy their company when they are older and can eat solid food. He is committed to having them try a lot of different foods and they love the fact they get different foods all the time. It's really hard to live on a diet of only British food.

Daniel Ricciardo

This man is a child at heart. The kids find him hilarious and Daniel finds them incredibly amusing. He loves messing with Oscar by showing him clips of Alpine. He drives them around in his sports cars, takes them to petting zoos, overall fun uncle vibes.

Logan loves being around him. At first, he was really shy and Daniel's outgoing-ness only seemed to spook him but he warmed up after that. Oscar also finds him very funny but is very reactive to the Alpine clips.

Valtteri Bottas

Valtteri is great with the kid. They find Valterri incredibly amusing and funny. He's also the kind of person who would throw the kids in the air and catch them.

He is closer to Logan simply because of his proximity to Mercedes and Lewis. Logan sees him as one of the fun uncles in comparison to Lewis, who is more calm and reserved.

Zhou Guanyu

Oscar and Zhou get along very well. Both are very quiet and are content just being there. When spending time with him, Oscar is silently doing his thing while Zhou does his own stuff. It's a very compatible relationship.

Logan on the other hand, requires a bit more stimuli. He's easily entertained by videos of Zhou's cat, Sweetcorn. Logan loves animals put he can't have his own pet with al the traveling and they don't visit the UK a lot so Logan is very excited to see Zhou's cat, who is absolutely adorable.

***I am grouping them together since the response is very similar. I also find them to be much mellower people (with the exception of Alpine).

Nico Hulkenberg and Kevin Magnussen

Both of the kids interact very little with the Haas drivers. Both the drivers are also responsible parents so they interaction that they have had are always positive.

Logan has been mistaken to be their kid before. He's a blonde and green-eyed, he looks more like one of the Haas kids then Alex and George's.

Esteban Ocon and Pierre Gasly

Oscar is not a fan of both of them due to them being Alpine drivers. If they come to Oscar in non-Alpine clothes Oscar is fairly chill but since they are usually wearing their team kit, Oscar goes into a full-blown meltdown. We're talking screaming, crying, hiding behind Andrea and Zak as if the Alpine is going to come alive and eat him.

Logan doesn't interact with the drivers outside races and a majority of the time, his interactions are heavily influenced by Oscar's freak out. Oscar, in all his protectiveness, will not let Logan be near them lest his best friend be harmed.

Logan's one interaction outside of the paddock and without Logan was when Alex was invited to a Redbull event with the current and former drivers. George had refused to go on principle seeing as he called them out for their treatment of Alex and the fact he raced for one of their rivals. Logan was sat next to Pierre at the dinner where he was fed different types of cheeses the whole time because they wanted to his reactions. He also found out he is not a big fan of chevre cheese.

Thank you so much for the ask! I hope you like it.❤️

Sending hugs🥰 Please feel free to send more asks❤️

[rotten7rat]

Batfamily + Cooking

Alfred:

He's the main cook, and has been since taking the job as the Wayne's butler. Classically trained in the culinary arts, and thankfully stillvery much enjoys it, though not as much as he used to. He likes baking more than cooking, and has gotten more of a sweet tooth as he's gotten older. Leans more on your classic British dishes, but is always happy to try a requested recipe. Prefers to cook either alone or with competent help.

Bruce:

No. Cannot even be trusted to make a grilled cheese, he always burns them.

Barbara:

Pretty good. Very much a 'throw something together at 7:30, eat at 8' kind of person, but everyone is always happy to have what she cooks. If it takes hours to make then its not worth it. A teacher suggested once that being raised by a single father, she must do most of the cooking and cleaning, and after that she refused to learn how to cook out of sheer stubbornness.

Dick:

An excellent cook. I think it comes naturally to him, he didn't spend much time cooking growing up but once he taught himself the basics he can pretty much throw anything together. Its by no means a passion of his, but he does enjoy it. However, he doesn't cook often due to being too busy and/or tired, so he gets a lot of takeout or just has something quick or microwavable very often. But if he's cooking you best be there. Anything can be a social occasion and he happily accepts help in the kitchen. Not great at baking though, he always manages to over-cook or over-mix.

Cassandra:

I'm sorry but she will throw rice, water, and and an unseasoned chicken breast in the rice cooker and call it a night. Either that or she'll have a protein shake and seven eggs.

Jason:

Quite good. Unlike Dick, it doesn't come naturally to him, but he is a fast learner and picked it up mostly from Catherine, Alfred, and YouTube. That being said, would he prefer tortellini en brodo or four boxes of Kraft mac and cheese? Tamales or something quick and greasy from Bat Burger? Its always the second option. I think he often cooks as a distraction or just something to do, and just gives it to the single mother across the hall or throws it in the freezer to eat a week later.

Stephanie:

Decent. She'll see a recipe on TikTok and will try it instantly, and she's always excited to try something new. Works best with a recipe but decides just to wing it mostly. Cooking with her mother has become somewhat of a bonding activity. Really good at baking, especially things like brownies and cookies. However, she will also throw pickles, peanut butter and ice cream in a blender and swear it tastes fantastic. Is learning to cook more because everytime she sees Cass eating a boiled chicken breast she takes psychic damage. Trying to sneak meat alternatives into Cass without her noticing. It worked once.

Tim:

Not great. Will follow the recipe to the letter and will somehow still fuck it up. He mostly sticks to simple recipes that are hard to mess up, and also just doesn't have the desire to spend heaps of time in the kitchen. He does make a mean sandwich though, every time someone tries to replicate one its just never as good.

Duke:

Doesn't particularly enjoy cooking but he's fine at it. Not as bad as Cassandra, he will season his food, but prefers it to be quick and not complicated. Loves heavier foods like pastas and other carbs but doesn't have the patience or desire to make them from scratch so he uses jar sauces, frozen potatoes etc. Will put taco seasoning on everything.

Damian:

Good eventually. Doesn't cook a lot now, but when he was younger he had a kind of 'well obviously its not difficult, its just cooking' mindset. He was humbled. By Dick. I think when he's older he is much better. Will still follow a recipe so it is perfect every time. It isn't a hobby, just a task that must be completed, but he'll be damned if he's eating bland food, he will spend an hour preparing vegetable tagine. Nobody can help of even be in the kitchen with him while he is cooking, because they are breathing all the kitchen air and taking up all the room. Get out.

[harrywavycurly]

I love the banter with Niall and reader! Could we see how they talk on the phone or something? 😇

Hiii babes!! So happy you like their banter 😂 I will happily give you some random phone/facetime convos between the two of them! I hope you enjoy 💖

-find all things boyfriend Niall Horan here✨

“Why do you even read that trash?” “It’s not trash Niall it’s how I keep up to date on my celebrity gossip…oh god…why do they always use the most unflattering photos of me in these things?” “No such thing as an unflattering photo of you babe…definition of beauty you are…broke the mold they did when they made you…no one even comes-” “that’s enough thank you…oh guess what I just found out.” “Uh Harry has six nipples and an eleventh toe?” “No…but apparently we’ve been secretly married for two years.” “Huh and here I was thinking that I’d always remember my wedding day…” “oh and you’ll love this…I haven’t been seen drinking in a few weeks so that means I’m pregnant.” “Come again?” “I’m pregnant.” “You’re what?” “Oh god no…no like I’m just reading you what they are saying in the teen magazines Niall I’m not-” “you’re fucking pregnant and you’re telling me on FaceTime? What the-” “breathe Niall! In and out…deep breaths okay? I’m not pregnant…I’m just telling you that the world thinks I am because I haven’t been drinking-” “I can’t feel my legs…I’m gonna pass out.” “Jesus you’re so dramatic…” “I’m dramatic? You’re the one who cried and stomped your feet in the middle of a pub because they didn’t have anymore fucking chips.” “I was drunk and upset okay?” “Yeah well my secret wife just told me she was secretly pregnant so I’m also upset okay?” “That brings me to the question apparently everyone wants to know the answer to…why do you hide me so much Niall? Are you embarrassed of me?” “Oh right I hide you so much that I bring you everywhere with me and even talk about you in interviews and post you on my instagram…but yeah you’re my little secret…” “I love you…wanna hear about Brad Pitt’s newest love interest?” “I love you too…still not over him and Angelina splitting…that shit was messy.”

“These are your options lover and if you don’t see one you like too fucking bad I’m not going to another shop.” “You talk so sweet to be Niall…oh is that a magnum bar?” “Uh…yes…yes it is…that the winner?” “Yes that’s the winner…oh is that cookies and cream?” “Nope…your eyes are messing with you babe.” “Did you just lie to me Niall James Horan?” “No….yes?…but only because I know you’re gonna make me pick one for you and I’m gonna end up picking the wrong one and you’re gonna be annoyed and…I just say go with the first one you saw and…and you know what? fuck it I’ll get both…I’m good for it.” “Yeah…you’re good for it.” “I’ve got a few spare dollars for the love of my life’s ice cream addiction…”

“Oh hello there my darling girl…I just got your little to do list thingy and I have questions.” “Okay lover of mine…what questions do you have?” “Number one…why the bloody fuck is this list called my lover’s list of things to try when all it has on it are errands you need me to run and like…chores and shit? That title would make one think this list is full of…other…things like…for the bedroom.” “Because you haven’t ever done anything on that list so therefore you’re going to be trying it…hence the name my lover’s list of things to try.” “I beg your fucking pardon? I have mowed the bloody lawn before thank you very much.” “Oh have you?…really? Wanna tell me when?” “Uh..when…I lived in that house in uhm L.A by myself…” “You’re so full of shit…you got half way down one side of your lawn and gave up because you didn’t have the blade dropped properly.” “Oh I love it when you talk lawn care to me baby…it’s so sexy.” “Did you see what was last on the list my little handy man?” “Uh no let me take a gander….Jesus fuck you can’t go writing things like that on a list I’m meant to take out in public.” “Sorry next time I’ll send it to you via email then is that better?” “You really want me to try that on you….again? It didn’t go very well last time…” “that’s because you have no patience and tried to rush it.” “Okay that’s….yeah I did do that but you can’t fucking blame me I was just excited.” “Do you have any other questions Niall or can I get back to work?” “Yeah uh…is this list in any sort of order or can I do them as I want?” “Do them in the order they are written please…and thank you.” “At this rate I’m not gonna get to the last one till bloody Christmas.” “It’s six things Niall…don’t be such a ninny.” “God I love it when you’re mean to me…just does something to me.” “You’re so annoying…I have to go now okay? I love you and I’ll see you when I get home.” “I love you too…have a good rest of your day my little pet.”

“Hello? Baby? Are you okay?” “Uh yeah I’m fine why?” “Uhm well I’m on hole six and you normally don’t call me while I’m golfing unless you’ve run out of snacks or you’re hor-” “as if I’m the one who calls you when I’m in the mood you’re the one who calls me Mr. Small Talk…” “Baby…please don’t be offended but…do you need something?” “Oh shit I’m sorry no…I was just on my way home from target and you know how I like to talk on the phone while I drive.” “Target huh? How much did you blow on pointless shit?” “That’s none of your business….but sorry I’ll let you get back to your little uh…game?…round?…session?…thing…” “it’s amazing how little you know about a sport I’m so involved in…” “awe you think I’m amazing? You’re so sweet Niall.” “How far from the house are you?” “Why?” “I can spare a few minutes to keep you company till you get home.” “I am pulling into our neighborhood…who’s winning?” “Why do you ask such rude questions like that?” “Ah…it’s Harry isn’t it?” “No…not by much anyway…I still have time to come back and kick his lanky ass.” “That’s my man! Kick that Styles ass.” “If I win what do I get?” “Uh you get to rub it in his face and add a tally to your side of the scoreboard in the game room?” “How about if I win I get a proper blo-” “oh look at that I just got home…have a good rest of your game…love you! Bye!”

[prncessjaeger]

last christmas ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

ღ trin speaks!: i couldn't choose between mikasa or ellie so take your pick 😵‍💫 (​i also had smut written but ehh i’ll save it for another day!)

soft christmas music played on queue as you finished rubbing the face mask on your girlfriend’s face with your matching roller, “oh my god you look soooo adorable baby!”

“i look like you,”

“exactly, now let’s push your hair back cause you don’t want the face mask cream all in your hair, and then we can make cookies!” she felt the cool comb run through her hair, slicking it back into a low bun matching your braided bun, adding the matching fluffy headband knowing it’d annoy her more, but she just sat there, letting you do whatever because she loves you just that much. 

you got up fixing up your christmas onesie, matching with your girlfriend and walked to the kitchen, turning the volume up once mariah carey’s ‘all i want for christmas’ played next, “you are not mariah,"

“shut up. now come help me please?” she sighed and got up, seeing you set your phone up against the couter, pressing record. “we’re just making sugar cookies?” “mhm, then we gon decorate them, have a little competition or something?” she began mixing the dough with her hands, shaking her head hearing you singing the chorus terribly. when she finished, you brought out the cookie cutters with all different shapes and sizes, and even got one with your and her names customized as well, “which one?”

“you pick.” humming, you grabbed the snowman for her and a christmas tree for you and began sorting them out, adding them to the baking sheet and setting the timer, “icing time! we’re making our own cause i absolutely hate store bought icing,” you began mixing in the wet and dry ingredients together and your girlfriend watched you in awe, suddenly coming behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist and lay her chin in the crevice of your neck and shoulder, kissing you tenderly, “you’re so…”

“so what?” “i don’t know but i’m just in awe with you, like everything about you just leaves me in awe…” she backed up and turned you around, seeing your grin beam into your full smile she adores, “you are the sweetest person i know, and i love you oh so much.” “i love you too baby…now can we take these facemasks off? i don’t like it anymore.” rolling your eyes playfully, you nodded and wrapped the top of the bowl filled with icing with plastic wrap, walking to the bathroom and successfully removed the facemask, rinsing the rest of the cream off and decided to keep the headbands on, posing for flics and videos to post later.

the bell from the cookies went off, rushing to the kitchen to take the cookies out and letting them cool, “imma add food dye in the icing, then fill the bags and we can start then.” you set the timer having everything set, pressing record once again and turned to your girlfriend, “you ready?” “yeah, what’s the deal?”

“loser gives head?” you both shook on it and began decorating your cookies, your girlfriend was quieter than you, which was unusual for her, but you brushed it off as her being focused. When the timer went off, you both backed away and giggled, glancing at each other's cookie. You looked at her cookie then her, rolling your eyes hard when you saw her trying (and failing) to hold her laugh in. “bro you cheated!” “how i cheated?!” “you made the cookie ugly on purposeeee, and that’s not fair!” she giggled, annoying you even further when she replied with, “i’m taking every chance i can when it comes to eating your pussy, you knew that!” 🎀

[dayasusays]

“paper roses” partly 18+

jason todd x fem!reader

words : 803

tw / cw : partly sexual content (the beginning is fluff :3), fluff, college memories and stuff, public sex (well the empty road?) on the bike

for better experience :

kissing at sunset and putting you on his bike, wasn't exactly what jason had expected from tonight's date.

but it's not a bad thing, of course; it's the most romantic thing he's ever done, and most importantly, it was with you. his only one he kisses and burrows his nose into your neck, reminding you of the ice cream that's almost melted. and you just wave it off, because kissing todd was so much more exciting and delicious.

he grins against your neck and leaves a light kiss there, lifting your head and pulling you into another kiss.

jason doesn't know when it started at all; one moment you were friends in college, the next he's standing on your doorstep three years later holding a bouquet. a homemade origami bouquet.

jason looks at himself and thinks he looks stupid. with that homemade bouquet of paper roses and a box of homemade crooked cookies.

sure, he could have bought you a huge real bouquet. sure, he could have bought you the most delicious chocolate like he's supposed to, but todd was sure as hell that every guy could get you that and he wanted to distinguish himself, to be remembered. so he made the same sloppy paper roses he used to give you when you were seventeen.

before, when you were friends, he couldn't give you a single flower; now he could buy you a whole bunch, but he thought paper roses were symbolic.

and jason wasn't wrong, gosh, the way your eyes glistened with such attention to your shared history.

one moment you're sharing a single pizza bought with your last money, the next he's making out with you, the girl of his dreams, who's sitting on his damn bike and laughing stupidly at his teasing.

"i love you," you whisper against his lips and he's so happy that you can't feel the strong goosebumps on his back under his leather jacket.

"me too," todd leans over and leaves a light kiss on your lips, "next time i'll buy you a huge bouquet of real flowers. will a hundred roses be enough? or do you need a thousand?"

"come on," you playfully push him away, "one is enough. just another paper one."

jason just laughs back, resting his forehead on your shoulder and smiling.

"i'm just a couple short of a hundred," you smile proudly as he lifts his head from your shoulder and looks genuinely surprised, "yes, jay, i kept them. i have a whole collection..."

"i'm more surprised that you've been counting them, gorgeous," todd says sarcastically as you roll your eyes, "don’t tell me you keep them under glass in your bedroom..."

you sigh and pull him in for a kiss to shut him up.

the begging of nsfw content !!

jason answers the kiss and rests his palms on your thighs, trying to be even closer; you place your hands on his shoulders and moan softly into the man's lips as his cold palms get under your shirt.

you pull away as he strokes your waist and smiles against your lips, trying to kiss you again.

"nope," you parry, pulling away, "we won't."

"it's almost four in the morning," todd nuzzles your neck and kisses it, "do you see anyone on the road? i don't see anyone either."

"still dangerous."

"do you trust me? after four years of friendship and six months of our relationship?"

"jay," you want to sound stern, but you moan right into his lips when his fingers have already slipped into your underwear, circling your clit with his forefinger.

"you're wet, princess," todd grins, "someone's a bad liar."

you don't even answer, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer; jason smiles as you snuggle into his shoulder, whimpering quietly over the stimulation. you swear that jason todd will be the death of you, and he swears that you just can't look any better than you do right now.

his forefinger and middle finger clamping down on your clit, making you shiver, and jason smiling proudly. he's flattered by the way you respond to his touch, incredibly flattered by the way you press your breasts against his chest, biting your lip and trying not to moan too loudly.

you don't even remember the moment you cum, your head a jumble of his dirty praise, compliments and kisses, and the next moment you're cradled in his arms, smiling and shivering with orgasm.

"i'll take you home, princess," jason left a kiss on the top of your head and pulled you gently against him, "that was a good date."

"are you staying the night?"

"yeah, and in the morning i'll make you that miserable paper rose."

it's at this moment that jason realizes he's just head over heels in love with you and your reverent love for his paper roses.

ty for reading !! let me know if you liked it 🤍