#I need my shiny shiny highlights

[unlikelytrashcreation]

God I wanna post so many pictures but I don’t have a white jel pen or any white to speak of and I need to finish these with highlights >:/

On another note I am thinking about re-doing my Z-tech series from the beginning with smoother better righting and art etc. I’m not decided yet but I’m 80% sure that Ima do it!

I’ll keep you posted (and hopefully get a new white pen :D!)

[glitchpirate]

Color halftone my beloved.

ID in alt!

[fissions-chips]

anywayyys look at my girl. She’s coming along nicely!

[indigo6f00ff]

if you ever wonder why i only post art every 1000 aeons this is because i only really ever post my digital art, and most of the art i make is traditional (and most of it looks like that pencil sketch to the left) and i share it with close friends. i like how this one turned out tho so i'm flaunting it

[layaispunk]

a warm escape | joel miller x reader

summary: joel comforts you when you're having a hard time back home during winter break.

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: age gap (25/35), mentions of smoking, mentions of a dysfunctional family & family conflict, fluff, pet names, mentions of reader having long hair

wc: 1.2k

note: This is a personal one, and its my first time writing in first person!!!! 🫶🏼 i hope u enjoy and let me know if u want a part two

The chilly december air bit into my cheeks, my heavy breathing coming out like smoke. My nose was red and stinging, but it wasn't like I could spend another second in that house. Not with the yelling. I had to go for a walk for the sake of my mental health. I needed air, space - anything to gather my thoughts, and I was too angry to journal.

As I turned the corner, Joel Miller, my neighbor, was sitting on his porch with a cigarette glowing faintly in hand. He noticed me before I could pretend that I hadn't seen him.

"Cold out," he said, his voice a low rumble that somehow felt warm compared to the freezing air.

I nodded, pulling my coat tighter.

"You walkin' or runnin'?" he asked, tilting his head towards my childhood house.

I blinked. "Bit of both."

I wanted to go sit next to him. I didn't want to talk about what happened, but there has always been something fatherly about him, almost as if his presence would instantly make you feel better.

I hesitated for a second, the cold biting at my hands as I stuffed them into my pockets.

Then, without saying a word, I walked up to his front porch, and sat next to him. Joel glanced at me, he wasn't surprised at all. Didn't make me feel like I was bothering him, or intruding. He just held the cigarette out in my direction without a word.

I took the cigarette from his hand, the warmth of it was comforting against my numb fingers. Raising it to my lips, I took a small puff, and handed it back to him. It's been a while since I smoked last, but I needed it.

As if reading my mind, he mumbles, "You can keep it." Joel shook his head. "You doin' alright, sweetheart?" he said, his voice low and calm.

I glanced at him then, properly, really looking at him. The soft glow of the porch highlighted the crow's feet at the corner of his eyes. His hair was ruffled, dark brown and shiny, almost making me want to run my hands through it.

He didn't say anything else, just leaned back slightly, waiting for me to take the cigarette again.

Lost in thought, I wasn't sure what I was doing here, sitting on Joel's porch. Or, even better, I wasn't sure what I was doing here, visiting my family for the holidays, when I know things would never change. The same fights, the same bitter words ... It was hard to ignore the ache in my chest.

Joel must have sensed the shift in me, the way my gaze had turned distant, like I was in a place he couldn't quite reach. He didn't push it. The quiet attention he gave me was enough.

At that moment, his presence was enough. Breaking the fog of my thoughts, he placed a hand on my thigh, the weight of it grounding me, pulling me back to the present moment.

His touch was demanding, firm - but not aggressive. He was letting me know he was there.

Joel's voice cut through the air again. "You want to come inside for a cup of coffee?" he asked, his gaze steady on me. I liked the way he looked at me. Like he was seeing me. It was the first time that evening that I felt like someone was actually hearing me, like all the noise in my head faded away.

I nodded, the idea of a warm cup of coffee sounding like exactly what I needed. "That would be nice" I replied softly, my voice coming out really small.

Joel put out his cigarette on the ground, stepping on it with a quick motion before rubbing his hands together to warm them. Then, without a word, he reached for mine, his fingers warm against the cold. He pulled me inside, and as soon as the door clicked shut behind us, he wrapped his arms around me in a warm embrace.

The moment his arms enveloped me, my brain went quiet - like the world had stopped spinning for just a second. It felt safe. Secure. And for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t have to think.

He pulled away, his hands still resting on my shoulders, eyes steady. "You can stay here for as long as you’d like," his voice was soft. "You know that, right? You know Sarah wouldn’t mind. I wouldn't mind."

I smiled softly at him, and nodded. "Thank you," I whispered.

As we made our way into the living room, I found myself missing the feel of his hand around mine. It was strange, an unusual emptiness that I couldn't quite understand.

The house was quiet. Sarah was probably out with her friends. It felt strange knowing we had the house to ourselves. Most of the time, Joel and I had always hung out in group settings before, rarely meeting one-on-one like this. He had always been the protective, friendly neighbor, the kind who made sure I was alright- while keeping a respectable distance, never pushing.

When I had told everyone I was moving to London for my masters degree, Joel was the one who went out of his way to make sure I had everything I needed. He cared more than my own family had, making sure I was prepared, asking if I needed anything before I left. And even after I’d moved, he’d called me a couple of times—just to check in, to see if I needed anything from back home, or if I needed help with my apartment.

It made me feel… tingly, in a way I couldn’t explain, like someone actually cared beyond the usual pleasantries. I often wondered how he felt about me. I was young - ten years younger than him - but he never treated me like a child.

Joel made two cups of coffee, one for him, and one for me. He grabbed the mugs and started heading towards the living room. He glanced over his shoulder when he realized I hadn't moved, giving me that familiar smile. "C'mon, darlin'."

As I followed him into the room, my eyes caught sight of the guitar tucked in the corner. I wondered if he played often, or if it was just there for the rare moments when he has some time to himself. The fire crackled in the fireplace facing us, casting a warm, golden glow on the room. It was so peaceful.

Joel turned on the TV with a casual motion, then grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and draped it around me, the warmth settling over my shoulders as I sank into the comfort of his brown leather couch. It smelled like him. I wondered if he needed this company the same way I did. Knowing he was usually by himself, ever since Sarah grew up - spending more time with her friends, leaving him by himself most evenings.

I leaned against him, quietly, as we both drank our coffees. After a few minutes, I felt his fingers gently brush through my hair. At first, I didn't notice it, or maybe it just didn't register it as anything more than a casual touch. But then, it became more intentional - his fingers slowly running through the strands, almost like he was testing the waters, unsure of how I would react.

I didn't pull away. My body was trying to communicate that I didn't want him to stop. His touch was so soothing, and before long, my eyelids started to grow heavy. My eyes fluttered closed, and before I knew it, I was resting against him, my breathing slow, as I dozed off.

[bunny-jpeg]

boxers

simon 'ghost' riley

cw: smut/pwp, boxing au, boxer!simon, injury/bruises, protective!simon, size difference, unprotected sex, cowgirl position, gentle sex, simon luvs his missus,

you liked strong men. strong however was a broad definition. thought a man could be strong in a lot of ways, not just physical. strong convictions, strong emotionally, there were many examples.

but when you started seeing simon, you were enthralled by his physical strength. he wasn't some eight pack having, dehydrated mess. he was bulky, which was good for what he did.

punch the living daylights out of other boxers.

wide shoulders, a softness in his stomach, strong arms with one lined with tattoos. not to mention those thighs, he could crush a watermelon with them if you asked nicely (no, he wasn't going to crush your head). the facial scars add a scary look as did those dark eyes of his.

despite it, simon was a total sap.

at least to you, no one else. god forbid johnny or any of the others. but when it was just the two of you, he was a big puppy. you once described him as a huge german shepherd who thought he was a lap dog.

simon simply said, "just be glad i don't wanna sit on your lap, love. i'll break ya." then pulled you to him to give you a kiss on the forehead. he'd never hurt you though, he'd rather take his own life than yours.

and you loved him back, even with his loud snoring, you still adored him. you thought that he was the perfect boyfriend. which was why it hurt so much when he came home late at night with bruises on his face.

"si."

he dropped his bag and let you get in his arms. he kissed the top of your head lovingly. and welcomed your embrace. the man had enough fractures and scars. so to see another shiny bruise only left you feeling sad.

you brought him to the kitchen by his hand and sat him down at the kitchen table. he looked so large in the small space, which really highlighted your size difference.

"c'mon, pretty thing." he said as held out his arms to you.

you looked over your shoulder from the freezer, "give me a second, honey. i need to find the frozen peas."

simon groaned. he wanted to touch his woman. he cursed the universe that the frozen peas were in the back of the freezer. you managed to grab the bag before you turned to your boyfriend.

you sat in his lap and pressed the frozen vegetable to his bruised face, "poor baby." you cooed as you gave the bag to him.

he hissed a little at the feeling of it against the heat of the bruise. you rested your head on top of his and held him close to your chest

"do i need to talk to anyone?"

he chuckled, "no, love. i just need you right now. i wanna feel my woman." he nuzzled up against your chest. he even kissed the little gold chain around your neck.

eventually the peas started to melt and you put them back in the freezer. however with your back turned to your lover, you didn't notice his approach towards you.

he cornered you against the fridge with his large, scarred hands on your hips. he let out a shudder, "i need you." his voice sounded a little strained.

you swallowed as you kept your hands on the front of the fridge. you could feel his cock pressed against your ass. the rush was the fight was wearing off, but he needed another release.

"you could've just asked, riley."

he curved his back over you to lean in to kiss your neck. his hands traveled north to your breasts and groped them. the flesh filled his hands, his grip was a little rough. but, you didn't mind that.

"i know, love. but i couldn't find the words. i just needed you." his voice was like driving over gravel. it left you hot all over.

you blushed a bit at his words. you turned so you front was facing him. you took his face in your hands and brought him in to kiss his bruise. you said, "si-"

"please." he said as he curled an arm around you middle and brought you closer to him. your hands were splayed across his broad chest. he pulled you into a kiss and you had to get on your tip-toes to meet his lips.

he held you by your middle, his strong arms draped around your waist. he groaned against the kiss, "mine." his voice was as light as it could be.

you really had no choice. it was either you fucked on the bed or up against the fridge. and you knew the landlord would not want to deal with that. so you got out of your boxer boyfriend's grasp and took him by the hand. then you practically dragged him to your shared bedroom.

his eyes were on you as you walked. he felt his cock stir in his pants. you were just so good to him. you were the perfect girl for him. it made him smirk to himself even if it did hurt a little.

he watched your beautiful body on display for him as you tugged off the oversized shirt (that belonged to simon) and baggy sweatpants (that were yours, because his were two sizes too big!). he put his hands on your hips, feeling the softness under his finger tips.

he leaned in a down at you and kissed your cheek. he squeezed your hips and groaned against you, "pretty girl." you trailed your fingers through his blond hair.

your core throbbed for him, your heart leapt when he got a better grip on you and almost tossed you onto the bed. you bounced a little and laughed. "simon! no need!"

"i need ya love, you were takin' too long." he quickly got his shirt off. he hit his nose in the hustle of it all, but was too wrapped up in his deep lust for you that he didn't even wince at the pain, "c'mon, love. either you get them off, or i'm rippin' em of!"

usually he liked to slowly take off your bra and panties, but tonight was an inferno. a huge fire that burned in his core. his heart thumped as he go the buckle of his belt off and he slid the leather off from his waist. he watched you hastily get your underwear off and laid underneath him.

"i wanna see my girl on top." he said as he leaned in for a searing kiss and grabbed you to put you on top of him while he laid on the bed. you were both naked, two pieces of the same puzzle.

you moved so your pussy brushed up against him. he let out a choked groan as you didn't fully sink down him. he could feel his heart up into his throat.

it should be illegal for you to do that, and punishment for it is to get dicked down for five hours.

"like that, si?"

"if i wasn't so worry about breakin' ya, you'd already be ridin' it." he loved when you were on top. the sight of your eyes on him as you hold onto him for a leverage as you rode him.

"si." you smiled as you splayed your hands on his chest and sank down onto his cock. you could feel your heart in your throat as you sank yourself down on his impressive size. you choked out a moan and felt the pleasure pollute your head.

"that's it, baby girl." he said softly. his voice was a rumble in the back of your head like thunder. he guided your hips. he wanted to see close to his missus.

your big scary boyfriend. close to being the number one fighter in the league. the big shot. the ghost. there he laid under you, his eyes closed and his body melting into the bed. his hands your hips as he slowly guided them up and down. your cunt felt like a comfortable vice around him, he could hear the hitch in your breathing when he hit just the right spot.

what a beauty, the most loveliest woman he had ever laid his eyes on. that's why you were his woman, the only one he wanted. through hell and high water, to the moon and back. he kept his hand steady on your waist as you moved up and down on his cock.

you could hear your heart thumping in your ears from the blood rush of having sex with him. the most handsome man you ever had the privilege of loving. you held onto him for support as you raised and lowered your hips against pelvis.

you felt the curl of pleasure in your gut as his cock prodded at your most intimate parts. he felt so right. that was your man, as you leaned in and kissed him on the lips, you felt the inferno in your gut.

you felt hot and heavy all over, you felt the rush of pleasure echo through your body as you moved against him. he was your simon, the bloodied boxer, the ghost of the ring. he came home to you every night, he kissed you until you fell asleep in his arms, he brought you home flowers on tuesdays and always cooked dinner on sundays.

that was your charming bloke who punched people for a living. with his scars on his cheeks and lips, the crookedness of his nose, those piercing brown eyes and all the love he could give you. while he didn't believe it was much, it was more than you ever wanted.

"si"

"love."

you pulled him in for another hot kiss as you bounced more on his cock. the stabbing of his cock in you made you feel lightheaded, there was so much to fit in you. everything about simon felt big, from the meat on his shoulders to the width of them. his strong arms that were now wrapped around your middle, to of course his cock that was filling any gap in your pussy.

you dug your nails into his tanned skin and you let out a loud moan as simon clutched onto you and continued to push his cock up into you. it made you see stars as he moved.

"that's my woman." he huffed, "bright beauty." his voice drew as he bounced you on his cock. even if the pain in his face was still there, the sight and feeling of you around his cock managed to dull the pain. who thought pussy was a good cure for a bruise.

he pulled you closer to him, until your chest was against his. simon bent his knees and got a different angle to hit the back of your soaked cunt, "been thinkin' about my missus all evening. probably why my game got thrown off. was thinkin' about this sweet treat rather than johnny's punches." he chuckled as he managed to fuck you faster.

you whined, you didn't want to be the cause of simon getting hurt. but he quieted you down with a searing kiss. he didn't need to hear that, he wanted to hear your pussy getting fucked by him.

the angle made your head a little dizzy as you tried to keep some more of control. but it was too late, simon had already dominated your little pussy yet again. it was alright though, the feeling left shivers through your body.

he continued to make out with you, the kisses were sloppy and needy. it made your cunt ache as he rocked into you. the bed shifted under you two as you continued to make love.

simon loved you. he'd never hurt a hair on your head, even a chipped nail was a cause of concern for him. he kissed at you hot face as he felt you grow tense around him.

a few hard thrusts later and you were clamping down on him, orgasm pulled from you and you felt hot all over. the pleasure left your head swimming. you panted wildly as he continued to move against you.

he gave you filthy praise as he felt his own orgasm come over him. with a heavy thrust into you, he slammed his cock all the way into you and finished. spurts of cum hit the inside of your pussy and he left out a harsh grunt.

he dropped his arms down onto the bed and laid fully out. you clung to him and his cum clung to your pussy lips. you both laid there, basking in each other's embrace.

you leaned up and kissed him gently on his bruise, "my boxer." your fingers dragged down his chest, "you have to be careful. i hate when my man gets hurt." you kissed him on the cheek under the bruise, "i need you to come back to me in one piece."

simon's cock soon slipped out of your pussy and you softly kissed him on the lips. he said to you between kisses, "i always come home to my love. i love you so much." his words were like honey that melted to your core.

you laid in each other's hold. he had been a fighter all his life, but now he was simply yours. wrapped up in the comforts of bed, the bruises would heal but your love for him would be eternal. <3

[jilixthinker]

SKZ AS SUBS - MAKNAE LINE 🥀

as the self-proclaimed sub!skz ambassador, i felt the need to share my version to the internet just because this was boiling inside of my brain for too long, so... i am sorry ♡

content warning: sub!skz, dom!fem reader, unprotected sex, mention of subspace, dacryphilia, perv tendencies, overstimulation, light BDSM, boob sucking, mommy kink, noona kink, anal play (m receiving), cross dressing, feet play, lactation kink, food play, dumbification, pet play, choking, breeding kink, cum play, virgin, reversed corruption kink, sex toys, masturbation, oral sex (both receiving)

HYUNG LINE MAKNAE LINE

➛ Han

- whiny™️. the word whiny was created for hannie himself. he becomes a sobbing mess after just one second of you touching him, even if it's not sexual;

- dacryphilia will soon become one of your biggest kinks, even if you didn't explore it before meeting him. he cries, pants, sobs and hiccups at every slight friction and will plead to not to stop, ever;

- tears are not the only thing making your boy messy. because he also drools. a lot. he does it when he is on top of you, face hidden in the crook of your neck, and when it's you topping him, cheek pressed into the soaked pillow under his head;

- with hannie you are gonna have multiple rounds almost everytime. he doesn't last too much, poor angel, because he is always overwhelmed with how warm and tight and wet you feel and he just cannot hold himself. he recovers very fast though, and he will happily suck you into his mouth in those few minutes of waiting;

- be prepared, because he is horny 24/7, and gets pussydrunk very quickly. he is up to anything you can give him? handjob before going to work? quickie in the restroom? filthy audios to keep him satiated? he wants it all;

- he has slight perv tendencies. it's consensual of course, and you told him multiple times that you are perfectly fine with everything he does, but he likes to pretend you don't know. the rush of adrenaline he gets by stealing your panties to bring them to work and taking dirty photos of you when you are not looking makes him feel dirty, and he likes it;

- since he cums really quickly and he is very horny all the times, i can see him being into overstimulation. he will beg you to keep circling the palm of your hand on his cockhead until he almost squirms away, and then he will cum for a second time in a few seconds;

- he has a filthy mouth, and he won't shut up under any circumstance. your neighbors probably hate you;

- he likes to be as submissive and yours as possible. he loves being your little toy to play with, and he will often ask you to finger his mouth as if it was his pussy, and to tie him so he cannot move to much and be completely under your control;

- he prefers when you ride him. he loves seeing you ravishing him and milk him dry, but especially because he just can't get enough of your boobs. when you stay on top he can bury his face on them and suckle at your nipples until your chest is all covered in drool;

- kind of obvious but he has a mommy kink/noona kink, and calling you that while you are fucking him makes his brain feel floaty and fuzzed. "Please noona, oh f-fuck, please - ah nnghh - p-please mama, mommy, let me cum, mama - uhh".

- he is into anal play, but for him. hannie will ask you to finger him, fuck him with your strap, rim him and put a plug in his cute wiggly butt at least once a week. he feels like your princess like that, he cannot help it.

➛ Felix

- here we have him, angel boy lixie. the softest, the sweetest, the embodiment of love. just a look at him and you would give him the entire universe;

- just as binnie, i think that also felix would be into cross dressing. he buys all the pink lacey underwear that he can find on the internet, and he pairs them with pleated skirts and high stokings;

- he will also add a few cute ribbons on his hair, and maybe a little bit of make up too. a rosey eyeshadow, shiny highlighter and glossy lipstick, better if sticky. he will let you fuck him without taking anything off, just pull the panties apart and slide his puffy cockhead on your folds until he cums prettily all over himself;

- he loves you so much he almost worships you. whenerver he is intimate with you, you will always find him looking at you fondly, tears almost prickling his eyes. he cannot help it, he just feels so much when you are together that he cannot believe how lucky he is;

- lixie has particular kinks, but he loves every single inch of you, and he will make sure to let you know. i have the feeling he would love feet stuff a little bit more than he wants to admit. especially when you are chilling on the sofa together, and your sole presses too close to his groin. he always feels a little aroused and filthy for the fact he enjoys this kind of stimulation;

- another mommy kink enthusiast here. he loves being cuddled and pampered by you. the nickname falls naturally out of his lips whenever you give him pleasure, and he sounds so innocent while doing it that it becomes an habit also out of the bedroom;

- lixie loves your breasts. he massage them to fall asleep and he suck on them as a comfort whenever he feels a little bit overwhelmed or fuzzy into his headspace. he like to be babied like that, to be lulled in your arms while he suckles softly on your nipples with pouted lips;

- and this led to his lactation kink. he is not ashamed of asking you to pretend to brestfeed him whenever he is stressed out. "b-baby please, gimme your milk, it was an awful day, p-please";

- he will need a lot of physical touch, such as holding hands, hugging and kissing. He loves every position in which he can be as close to you as he can;

- he wants and gives baby talk all the time. every cute nickname is okay for him, but his favorite are love, angel, sweetheart and sugar;

- definively into food play. he will take every chance to play with you while cooking and baking, sweet hiccups while you twirl your tongue on the head of his honey-dripping cock and lap at his sweet balls underneath;

- talks in 3rd person while in subspace. "uh- mommy, a-angel.. lix -uggghn- l-lixie is cumming, oh god, lixie is c-cumming".

➛ Seungmin

- i am a strong believer that seungmin is the hardest sub of all the boys. whenever he is in the bedroom his personality will shift drastically until he becomes a brainless needy thing;

- minnie is always so stoic and composed in real life that he just needs to let go. sex for him is the only way he can empty his head and give you the absolute control of his body;

- that's why he immediately falls into his subspace as soon as you get intimate with each other. he cannot conceive any other way of loving you than to give you complete power over him;

- i can see him being into light humiliation and dumbification. minnie needs to be useful for you and he will do anything to fulfill your desires. he gets off on the feeling of being your toy and your sexual object, and the embarassment he feels whenever you call him your dumb thing makes his head spin;

- for this exact reason, he is into pet play as well. he loves to be reduced as a silly puppy who needs to earn his treats. whenever you make him kneel in front of you to take food directly from your hands, his cock is always red and leaky against his lap. you often let him hump your calf and stop him just before he cums just to see him crying and pleading for you;

- after a few months, he will probably ask you to explore choking on him. you establish a few rules and safe words before you try that, and the way he just mewls while you lightly restrain his breath will convince you to do it more often;

- minnie needs to be owned. he will ask you to give him a tiny collar with your name on it, and he will wear it everywhere, even at work, hidden under his clothes;

- he always follows your orders diligently, but he enjoys his punishments a little bit too much as well. he pretends not to, because he wants to be your good pup, but he cannot hide the way his wet cock almost drools with precum every time your hand slap the soft fat of his butt, or the back of his balls;

- being so utterly in love with you, he will quickly develop a breeding kink. he cannot hold himself whenever he hears your voice tempting him, and he will cum the hardest if you combine it with a little degradation. "is my little pup ready to breed? mmh... i'm not sure. dumb pup is so weak to fill me up with his cum, isn't he? but you can try, puppy, you can try stuffing me full of your babies."

- and, of course, he is the weakest for cum play. especially if you let him lap his own release out of your folds after he emptied his load inside of you;

- another non verbal baby. as soon as you start pleasuring him, he will not be able to form a single sentence anymore. just sighs, sobs, soft moans and mewls;

➛ I.N

- here we go, another sub enthusiast here!! sweet, lovely innie is so happy of being with you that just cannot wait to try everything that he can;

- i can see him being a virgin before meeting you. not because he didn't have the opportunity of experiencing sex with anyone, but because he wanted to wait for his true love and be as confortable as possible;

- that's why he quickly develops a reversed corruption kink. innie wants - no, he needs - you to ruin him for good. he wants to feel little and inexperienced under your gaze. he wants to know that you are there for him, to teach him and guide him until he knows how to pleasure and be pleasured;

- after the first stages, he becomes unsatiable. he will ask for you to fuck him multiple times a day. poor baby will make up for all the time he lost!;

- he wants to try as many sex toys as he can. he will probably buy a bunch randomly without even know how to use them, and then place them neatly on your bed while waiting for you to show him the way they work;

- he gets pussydrunk pretty fast. he loves eating you out and fingering you the most. as soon as he is confident enough, he will ask you to sit on his face and ride his tongue until you cum on him;

- the prettiest soft grunts while you ride him or you manhandle him, "uh, nnnngh, ff-fuck, ahhh, oh g-god";

- thigh guy for sure. he goes crazy every time he sees you in a short skirt or in a tight pair of jeans. he will look at your legs so much he will almost go crossed-eye and will mentally pray for you to suffocate him with them as soon as you come back home;

- he loves to watch you masturbating. he will sit obediently at the foot of your bed, enraptured by the schlick sound of your fingers pushing in and out of your wet pussy, baby boy almost salivating at the sight;

- call him a simple guy, but he cums the hardest with sloppy blowjobs. he knows he has to stay still, but he usually cannot handle it till you give him permission and will end up thrusting in your mouth just a couple of times before you smack his ass and bring him back to his place;

- another noona lover here. he just loves the feeling of your experienced hands guiding him into pure bliss and to be called your pretty little boy;

- "noona, what was that? oh-ohhh g-god that feels amazing, p-please do it again."

taglist: @jisunglyricist @hannahhhhs-things @hyuniehwa @changisworld @hyunjinhoexxx @yoobears @rockstrhanji @yongboks-stuff @taliavaleska @hw4-l1z @4-chan-inpadella @k-cock @biglipsfattits @vanillacupcakefrosting @simpity-wimpity

if you see your name in bold, it means that I couldn't tag you!

©️ jilixthinker, 2024. please do not copy, translate, or republish my works anywhere.

[cheoridoll]

confessing —

pairing: robby keene x reader

warning: nothing, just something cute.

includes: robby confessing his love.

note: thinking of releasing a robby obscenity, perhaps?

words counted: 1.200

playlist for the fic: spotify | again, excuse the bad english! english isn't my first language :)

At the back of the dojo, Robby paced restlessly, his right hand stroking his chin in a visibly failed attempt to calm his nerves.

He was still wearing a kimono, with messy hair and bandages on his eyebrows. The black highlighted his muscles, which had been worked in the fight, while the yellow of the coat of arms highlighted his hair, which was as shiny as that of a certain princess when she sang.

"Damn, damn, damn" — he repeated to himself as he walked around. Across the mat.

Sam laughed at the whole situation, finding it adorable how his friend acted under the effects of love, even though she was in the same happy situation. She was clinging to Miguel, one of his current best friends, the same one who helped Robby choose the rings he would give to the girl he was going to declare his love to at the end of the day, since Diaz, having been raised only by his mother, had a certain notion of what girls liked.

The girl took classes at night, the only time allowed by the sensei, who said that they would be simple classes, below beginner level, because according to him, "the girls didn't have any aptitude". Pathetic.

The boys never denied having a certain hatred towards Kreese's idiotic and ill-thought-out speeches, always making a point of covering their ears, humming or even running to the bathroom when the oldest began his speeches.

"Relax, you idiot!" — Diaz threw one of the foam bricks in his direction, hitting Robby's already bruised face. "She already said she loved you."

"I know, I... Ah." — he turned his body and threw himself on the floor, looking at a random stain on the ceiling of the dojo. "She said she loved me and I ran away like a coward."

"You're afraid of women." — Sam said ironically, looking at Miguel.

The blond couldn't stop laughing, escaping a little from the nervousness that was consuming him internally, leaving aside the hands that seemed to crawl like slugs.

The clock rang. It was on time. The students began to enter the dojo, while Kreese rolled his eyes in boredom and contempt, leaving the place as fast as a sprinter, making way for the night teachers, Miguel and Robby.

"Okay girls, let's warm up first, walk in circles around the dojo, then run, alternating between slow and fast." — Diaz took the lead, seeing that his friend was busy drying the newbie still confused on how to put on her belt.

Adorable.

The whole class had been hectic, as the girls had blood in their eyes, and as recent professionals, they could say that not even the most experienced boys fought dirty like the girls. In a good way, perhaps.

"Hey!" — Robby ran, almost tripping over his own feet due to fatigue. "I need to, yeah..." — He cleared his throat, looking for the words he would use, the right words so that he wouldn't come out automatically and end up saying more than he should, more or less than he feels.

"Talking to you, seriously, I need to tell you something."

She laughed. Robby's world seemed to fall apart, not in a tragic way as it seemed. She laughed tenderly, gracefully like one of the beautiful flowers in the school garden, the ones Robby steals every morning, hoping to give them to his beloved, always giving up a second before. His world fell apart, fell apart when he realized that no words would be enough to show enough.

A tightness invaded his chest, leaving him desolate for a few seconds, to the point that the girl needed to call him, say his name several times, something that gave him a certain feeling of being in heaven next to an angel, due to such a melody.

"Sweet?" — There. That speech was the one that no longer allowed Robby to hold his tongue, no longer paying attention to automatic, he just spoke and spoke, as if tomorrow no longer existed.

"I love you. And, and it hurts me every single day, the way I ran away like a coward, the regret of not having pulled you by the arms and kissed every little detail that I love so much about you, which perhaps would have been impossible, since I don't just love your exterior, but also your interior, this wonderful woman that you are, your personality, your grace and tenderness, fuck, I don't even like swear words, what did I say? But, hell, you're the woman I want to be with."

The fighter remained silent, leaving the blond distressed, breathing irregularly and sweating visibly. He was as cold as an ice cube. Daniel, who was watching through the window of the small room, could have sworn that his friend was about to faint, Johnny and he were already preparing to run in case something really happened to the boy.

"I hate you, you know?" — Finally something came out of her mouth, surprising him, not in a positive way.

"Did I do it too late? That, I mean, declare myself?"

"Yes." — He sighed, throwing his body against the other's.

Robby was confused again, what was she doing? "But I love you, I love you so much that I can't say exactly what goes on in my chest and my head, they constantly fight with me."

They both laughed, still hugging each other, enjoying the short time they had together.

"You can do what you want."

"What did I want?" — She smiled, amused by the boy's short memory, taking the lead in the action that Robby had been waiting so long to do.

The fighter put her arms around the other's neck, carefully caressing the nape of her current love's neck. The caress soon went from a simple demonstration of what was about to happen, their lips collided, the movements became loose, both guided, a beautiful fit, there were no misunderstandings, or fight for command. As I said, a fit, the perfect fit.

"I love you, Robby."

"I love you too, my princess."

I'm very happy that you enjoyed my previous fanfic! That really makes me very motivated. Oh, and I place orders! :)

[ssweeterthanfiction]

Green Eyes, Freckles, and Your Smile

finnick odair x fem apprentice stylist!reader summary: After arriving at the Capitol for the 65th Hunger Games, Finnick meets his prep team and is intrigued by a certain apprentice.

masterlist

The minute Finnick stepped into the prep room, he knew he was going to hate it. Everything in the room was so bright, so shiny, so noisy, so extra, so were the people. To him they all looked like walking blobs of paint. One had extravagant gold lashes, another had neon blue hair.

They all fluttered around him, their high-pitched, excited, sickly sweet voices overlaping as they proded and examined his every feature.

"Such potential!” “Oh, those eyes!” “We’ll have to highlight that jawline!”

He wanted to react, he wanted to swat them away, but he knew he couldn't, so he sat still. But as he did, something caught his eyes. Or rather, someone.

He saw you standing near the racks of clothing, partially hidden behind the sparkling fabrics. You didn't look like the others. Your outfit was much simpler, a white dress with flowers embroidered on it that fell just above your knee and a simple pair of shoes, nothing like the bright neons and extravagent flourishes that the other stylists had. The only thing that he noticed that was "sparkly" about you was the gold dust on your eyelids and face.

He noticed how you stayed there, observing all the moment around you. He noticed how you held your sketchbook close to your chest like a shield.

And then he finally locked eyes with you.

As he looked at you, he realized that you looked like you were close to his age. And while he looked at you, he felt something. He thought it was just the nervousness in him, but it wasn't. This feeling was something different.

His attention and everyone else's was then pulled away when the head stylist clapped her hands together.

"Alright people, lets get to work!"

The chaotic buzz of voices surged again, and the brightly dressed team closed in on him like a swarm of bees. He resisted the urge to flinch as they tugged at his hair, tilted his chin this way and that, and debated loudly over his “look.”

“Should we go for a sea-green theme? Bring out those District 4 vibes?” “Hmm, no, gold! Gold to highlight those eyes!” “Oh, but his skin! We need to make it shimmer!”

Finnick swallowed his irritation and forced himself to sit still. He didn’t have the energy to care about what they’d do to him. It wasn’t like any of this would matter once he stepped into the Arena.

But then, just as he felt himself shutting down again, he caught a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye. You’d moved closer, still clutching your sketchbook, though now it was open in your hands. You weren’t speaking, just sketching furiously, brows knitted together in concentration.

And then the head stylist’s voice broke through again.

“Finnick, darling!” she trilled, waving her hand dramatically. “Let me introduce you to my apprentice. She’ll be assisting with your look.”

He turned his focus to you and saw the faint tension in your shoulders as you looked up from your sketchpad. Despite your obvious nerves, you stepped forward, your movements careful and deliberate.

You offered him a small, polite smile. “Hi, Finnick. I’m…I’m here to help however I can.”

Your voice was quieter than he expected. Softer. It lacked the Capitol’s usual syrupy sweet, sing-song quality, he knew you were different.

Later, when the others leave to gather fabrics, Finnick finds himself alone with you. The room feels quieter now, the absence of noise amplifying the tension he’s been holding in since his arrival.

You’re seated at a table, her head bent over as you draw in your sketchpad. He hesitates, unsure why he’s drawn to you but unable to resist the pull.

“So… you’re not like the others, huh?” he says as he takes a step towards you.

You look up, startled by his sudden presence.

“What do you mean?”

He leans against the edge of the table, crossing his arms.

“You’re not loud and shiny. You don’t talk to me like I’m some… product.”

“Maybe because I don’t think you are. You’re…a person. Not an object.”

He doesn’t know how to respond, so he just nods, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile.

When everyone comes back, there's still a hint of...something in the air. But he still couldn't figure out what it was.

"Dearest, go find something so we can use to accessorize Finnick" the head stylists says to you as she takes some of Finnick's measurements.

You nod and Finnick watches as you look through a large display of extravagent jewlery.

A few minutes later, as the stylists continue arguing over colors, he watches as you approach him, holding a delicate necklace with a small ocean-blue pendant.

“This one,” you say softly, your voice barely cutting through all the chatter. You hold it up for him to see. “It suits you.”

Finnick shrugs, offering a crooked grin to mask the nervous flutter in his chest. “If you say so.”

You step a little closer, your hands steady but hesitant, "I’ll put it on for you- just, uh, tilt your head down a little?”

Finnick obliges, ducking his head slightly so you can reach. He feels you move closer, the faint scent of something floral surrounding you, soft and sweet.

As you loop the necklace around his neck, your fingers brush against the back of his skin. It’s such a light touch, almost nothing, but Finnick feels it like a jolt of static electricity. He swallows hard, trying not to react, but his cheeks warm anyway.

You can feel it too. Your hands falter for just a second as you fasten the clasp, and when your fingers accidentally linger against the nape of his neck, you pull them back quickly, cheeks blooming pink.

“Done,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Finnick straightens, letting the pendant settle against his chest. He glances down at it for a brief moment but finds his gaze drifting back to you instead. You’re still standing close, looking up at him with an expression he can’t quite place—somewhere between shy and thoughtful, with a tiny hint of pride in your work.

“Thanks,” he says, his tone coming out softer than usual.

“You’re welcome,” you reply, your smile small and almost bashful.

He watches you step back a little, clutching your sketchpad to your chest again like a safety net.

For a moment, neither of you know what to say. Finnick gazes at the faint gold shimmer on your eyelids and wonders if you’ve always looked this... nice. Meanwhile, you try not to stare at how the necklace highlights his features perfectly, the pendant’s soft blue making his green eyes look even brighter.

The silence lingers, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Instead, it feels like a spark waiting to catch.

Finally, you clear your throat, breaking the moment. “It, um, really brings out your eyes. The pendant, I mean.”

Finnick smiles, the warmth spreading to his ears. “Yeah? I guess I’ll take your word for it.”

You laugh softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and Finnick finds himself grinning too. It’s not much, just a simple moment, but it’s enough to leave them both feeling like something’s shifted—something feels like everything has changed.

He watches as you turn back to your sketches but he can’t help but steal another glance your way, wondering why out of all the shiny, noisy, extravagant things here, you’re the one that’s caught his attention.

A/N: UGHHH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH MY CUTIES☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ THEYRE SO CUTE☹️

LMK IF YOU GUYS WANT MORE OF THIS READER AND FINNICK

[janeyseymour]

Share Your Address

based on Ben Platt's "Share Your Address", and my rendition of the song is attached! Please enjoy!

Summary: Melissa is intoxicating. It might be too soon, but you want everything that has to do with her.

WC: 5k

You had never planned on meeting Melissa Schemmenti, much less falling for her. But just like that, she waltzed her way into your life just a month ago at the bar. As you’ve learned, she’s also someone who almost never lets her guard down. The same would go for you- always guarded and hesitant to let anybody into your life. It’s done you wrong before. For someone who always had your walls up around you, you fell hard for that redhead. You’re not quite sure you could pin any one thing that made you fall for her as hard as you did, and you’re only continuing to fall. There’s just something about her that’s so intoxicating. Maybe it’s her sweet and somehow simultaneously musty perfume, or the way that her shiny red hair always perfectly frames her face. It might be the way that she has that sparkling Hollywood smile without even trying, or the fact that she is quite literally everything that you’ve always dreamed of- hardheaded, not afraid to speak her mind- she’s always got that hint of sarcasm and fire to her. Or maybe it’s just that she’s Melissa, and she has an absolutely addictive personality. Whatever it is about the second grade teacher at Abbott Elementary, you can’t get her out of your head. 

Darling you might think it’s too soon, but I can’t get you out of my head now. Picturing myself in your room, and I wanna be with you ’til I’m dead now. 

It’s been a month, and in that month, you and Melissa have been practically inseparable. After work, you’re with her and cooking dinner or treating her to a nice night out on the town. You end up in her bed quite a few times. On Saturdays, the two of you will go out to the club and relieve what you truly believe might’ve been the highlight of your life- meeting her. On Sundays, you soak in the peace and quiet, taking every breath and mentally preparing yourselves for the next week.

And if you aren’t together, you’re texting. You tease Melissa about the fact that she should probably be teaching her students, but she dismisses your concern and promises you that they’re working on an independent project- they’ll get her attention if they need her.

The truth is, you just can’t get the redheaded second grade teacher out of your head- you’re falling for her, and you’re falling for her fast and hard. It might be too quick to judge, but there’s something special about her. Just like when you were younger and more naive, you picture yourself in her room. You daydream about the things you would do to her if you were with her at the moment. And when your imagination becomes a bit over the top, you have to leave your cubicle and take a few laps around the building to cool down those rather steamy thoughts you’re having. But then, of course, she texts you again- and once again, you feel like you’re on fire.

You want Melissa Schemmenti until you are no longer on this earth. If you spent your last few breathing moments with her, you’re fairly certain it would be worth it- a life well lived.

I want your friends to be my friends. I’ll make you breakfast in your bed. I want it all with you. And if I’m coming on too strong, it’s ‘cause I’ve waited far too long for someone just like you.

It’s only been a month, but here you are with Melissa, and you’re making breakfast that the two of you are planning to enjoy in bed. Now, usually she would never condone that- it took her long enough to begin eating on her plastic covered couch (and you’ve somehow managed to convince her to take it off… sex on a couch covered in plastic is not something you ever wish to experience again). But she’s willing to make an exception for you; you seem to be the exception to everything she ever thought she knew in life.

“You’re so sexy when you cook in my clothes,” Melissa wraps her arms around your waist and kisses the slope of your neck. Her right hand swiftly trails down your body to grab your ass. “God.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you chuckle quietly. “I’m sure you look way hotter in it.”

You feel her rather than hear her refute that claim as she shakes her head into your back.

The two of you settle on her bed with a wonderful spread of breakfast and coffee. Somehow, she’s managed to fix your cup of coffee to perfection. Of course she knows how you prefer your coffee- it’s one of the first things she learned about you.

It’s a warm, still somewhat sleepy haze that you’re in when her phone begins to ring. She glances at the caller ID and sighs before flipping her phone over on the nightstand. You had just so happened to catch a look at it, and you know her work wife won’t be too thrilled if she doesn’t answer.

“You can answer it,” you say through a mouthful of eggs. “It’s okay, hun.”

The redhead quirks her lips to the side but relents, although she makes it quite clear to you that she’s not appreciating the fact that your little bubble has been burst. She does pick up the phone though.

“What, Barb? It’s nine in the morning.”

“Well, good morning to you too, Melissa,” the kindergarten teacher quips. “I was just calling to see if we were still good for lunch today?”

Green eyes look over to you. You nod with a smile before mouthing, ‘Hang out with Barb. It’s okay.’

“We are,” the redhead grumbles. “Can I go back to bed now?”

“Oh, you were still asleep! I’m sorry; I just figured you would already be up,” Barbara apologizes.

“I’ll see you at noon,” the redhead next to you sighs out. “Bye.”

Melissa hangs up the phone before placing her phone back down. She turns to you. “I forgot about lunch with Barb,” she admits quietly, knowing that the two of you had made plans to walk around the city today.

“It’s fine, hun,” you promise her. “You deserve to go have fun with her. Although…” you trail off as you debate whether you want to voice your thoughts or not.

“What?”

“I would love to meet her, and the others in your group,” you tell her softly. “I- I know it’s soon, but I have a feeling this could be something, and I would love to be able to meet them.”

The redhead gives you a warm smile- not what you had expected from her. “I think that would be nice. How would you feel about joining me an’ Barb for lunch today?” 

“Really?” you ask softly. “You’re up for that? I was- I was nervous that I was coming on too strong.”

Melissa pulls you in for a soft, sweet kiss. “What you feel for me, I feel for you. An’ I don’t know why, but I’m absolutely crazy about you.”

“Good,” you sigh with relief. “I’m sorry if I come off as too strong, but I- I’ve waited far too long for someone like you to come into my life.”

“A hot mess?” the redhead teases.

You roll your eyes. “Someone who is as beautiful and as sexy as you while having a quick and brilliant mind.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You do. Breakfast is forgotten until after you shut her up.

And so you join your… well, she does introduce you to her work wife as her girlfriend- you join your girlfriend for lunch. And Barbara is nothing but elegant and kind to you, just as Melissa said she would be- she ensures that you’re always a part of the conversation while Melissa fills in the missing pieces of their stories and conversation for you. 

And come a week later, on a Friday, you’re able to leave your own place of employment an hour early to meet your girlfriend at her coworkers’ favorite bar for happy hour.

The Abbott crew welcomes you with open arms, just as Melissa had told you they would.

I want a key to your house. I wanna pick up your clothes. I wanna clean up your mess. I wanna know where you hide things, wanna be in your photos, wanna share your address. I know, I know it’s too soon, too fast, but this could last. I wanna share your address. I know, I know it- it feels like love, so let’s shack up. I wanna share your address. 

It’s been two months now that you’ve been seeing Melissa. And you can only find yourself falling for her more and more. It’s not what you had expected in the slightest when you first met her at the bar. In all honesty, you were expecting a one night stand at best, not to still be here with this beautiful woman two months later and officially dating.

You spend more time in Melissa’s house than your own apartment at this point- the redhead’s house feels more like home to you than your apartment ever has. You have a drawer reserved for you, a toothbrush for the nights that you spend with her, and you’ve made a little space for yourself on the nightstand on what you think of as your side of the bed.

The second grade teacher is out and grocery shopping by the time you wake up on this lazy Saturday. You know she’s already out, because there’s an index card propped up on her pillow that tells you exactly where she is, when she expects to be back, and it’s signed with a heart.

You’re exhausted from this week. but you know that you should probably get out of bed for the day. By the time you make your way down the steps, the aroma of the coffee that your girlfriend had made has you practically running for the pot.

Once you’ve finished your coffee, you glance around the living room, and there are various articles of both of your clothes from last night’s escapades. Your cheeks flush at the mere thought of what had taken place last night, and a dopey smile washes over your face.

With a sigh, you begin to pick up both yours and Melissa’s clothes, following the trail of pants, shirts, and undergarments back into the bedroom. You can’t help but chuckle at how desperate the two of you were after you got back from the bar. You toss them into her laundry basket and bring it down the steps with you on your hip. As you’re emptying the things into the washing machine, you see a glimmer of something hiding behind the big piece of metal. Curiosity gets the best of you, and you look. It’s a club- of course it is. Leave it to your girlfriend to think about needing a weapon if she was ever doing her laundry. You roll your eyes in good nature before depositing detergent into the machine and turning it on. 

As you make your way back up into the living room, you can’t help but notice the abundance of pictures that the redhead has in her house, all in beautiful frames. There’s something about it that makes you want to be in her photographs. You’re sure you’ll get there someday, maybe when you share an address with her.

You’ve just settled onto the couch when you hear Melissa fiddling with the front door. In an instant, you’re back on your feet and letting her in before heading out and managing to juggle the last few bags from her shopping trip.

“Thank you,” your girlfriend smiles at you when you return. She’s already unpacking the various bags when something catches your eye. It’s a picture frame that she just bought.

“That’s pretty,” you comment quietly. “Whose picture is going in there?”

Melissa smiles and then pulls out an envelope. “Ours.” 

Your heart swells in your chest. “I- I know it’s a bit soon to be saying this, and I don’t expect you to say it back, but: I love you.”

You’re immediately pulled into a warm kiss. “I love you too,” she murmurs as she rests her forehead against yours.

I just wanna stare at your face, and spend quality time with your mother. We can over drink at your favorite place, and we can waste the whole next day to recover.

You meet the Schemmenti family about six weeks into dating. And Melissa’s mother is an absolute delight. It’s clear as day who your girlfriend takes after in both looks and personality. Mathilde, but she insists you call her Tillie, is a lively woman with a bright personality and a tendency to be sarcastic and fiery. And while she has that bite to her, much like your girlfriend, she has a softer and warmer side that she shows you once she sees how in love you are with her daughter- you rarely take your eyes off of that bright and happy face now that she’s in the comfort of her mother’s home. She’s- she’ stunning; there’s no other way to put it.

Melissa is in the bathroom when Tillie finally asks you, “Why my Melly?” 

“I should’ve known you would ask that,” you chuckle as you sip your wine. “She’s home. It’s as simple as that.”

“It’s funny,” the older woman breathes out. “Melly said the same about you.”

From that day on, you and Tillie spend a lot of time together. From Sunday dinners with the Schemmenti family, to a nice lunch if you have a day off, you find that you and your girlfriend’s mother get along quite well. It doesn’t take long for her to quietly confide in you that Melissa is head over heels in love with you- something that she’s never seen before, even with her ex-husband. 

The act of over drinking at her favorite place takes often more than you’d really care to admit. But there’s one night where the two of you end up absolutely obliterated, and you truly have to take all of Saturday to recover from your wicked hangovers.

It all started when Jacob suggested that the Abbott crew go out for a happy hour on a Friday. And for some reason, Barbara agrees and convinces your girlfriend to tag along. Because the two of you were supposed to go out tonight together, she begs you to join the school crew for a few drinks.

A few drinks turns into a crazy night. It starts out tame enough, a beer or two. But then Ava shows up, claims that the place that you’re at is far too boring, and she escorts all of you to a skanky dive bar- the one that the two of you met in actually.

“This is our bar,” your girlfriend nudges you. “Who woulda thought that Ava would like a place like this.”

“The stickier the bar, the better,” the principal tells her, having heard the redhead’s comment.

You don’t even remember how you got back to Melissa’s house. The last thing you can somewhat string together is dancing with your girlfriend and giggling as Barbara brought over another round of shots for your group. That one did you in.

You wake with a groan. God, your head is pounding. And if you’re feeling this way, you don’t even want to guess how Melissa is feeling.

Your stomach turns, and you bolt for the bathroom. Before you know it, your girlfriend is right there with you, emptying the contents of her stomach into the trashcan beside you.

“Oh my god,” you groan out as you flush the toilet. 

“You’re tellin’ me,” Melissa whines as she closes up the bag and reaches for the mouthwash. “I’m never drinking again.”

“Neither am I,” you grumble as you reach for the bottle once she’s finished with it. 

With a few grunts, you manage to pick yourself up off the floor before assisting your girlfriend up too. The two of you just barely make it back to bed before your hand dives into the nightstand on your side and you pull out the Advil. You shake a few pills into your hand before offering Melissa the bottle. She follows suit, and then you’re swallowing them with the little bit of water that still remains in your water bottle.

You spend most of the day asleep, and it takes you until approximately four in the afternoon to even slightly feel like a human. Your girlfriend drags you to the couch before she sluggishly makes her way into the kitchen. She comes back with a plate full of food.

“Lis, if I eat now, I will hurl again.”

“Just eat, she grumbles as she takes a bite of a cracker. “Soak up the booze with carbs.”

“I’m never drinking again,” you grumble as you force yourself to eat a few pieces of toast.

“Neither am I,” Melissa promises herself.

Of course, the next weekend, you’re out at the bars again. 

I wanna watch you while you sleep. I know I might sound like a creep, but I can’t help myself. And it’s so easy to forget that we’ve barely even met, but I want no one else. 

It’s one of those rare days where you wake up before Melissa on a Saturday morning. Her soft snores fill the room, her hair is splayed out underneath of her, and there’s a hint of a smile dancing on her lips as she dreams. You only hope that she’s dreaming of you.

You know it might come off as a little creepy, maybe odd, but you find yourself just studying her face as you lay there with her. She’s like an angel- your redheaded, fiery, angel. Her eyes open slowly, and she blearily blinks away the sleep. Warm, green eyes find yours.

“Good morning,” you whisper as you kiss her nose.

She giggles just slightly before pulling herself closer to you. “It is a good morning when I wake up with you.”

You just continue to hold her close to you and drink in the wonderfully delicious haze of this sleepy morning.

In that moment, you realize that you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. In bed with your beautiful girlfriend- the one, you think quietly to yourself. You know that the two of you haven’t been together nearly long enough to fully know if she’s the one you want to be with for the rest of your life. They say that if a couple stays together for more than two years, they’ve hashed it all out, and that seems to be the threshold that a lot of couples seem to struggle to make it to, but there’s a gut feeling that you have about her. You have a feeling that you’ll make it to that two year mark, and then a long while after that if you’re lucky.

I want a key to your house. I wanna pick up your clothes. I wanna clean up your mess. I wanna know where you hide things, wanna be in your photos, wanna share your address. I know, I know it’s too soon, too fast, but this could last. I wanna share your address. I know, I know it- it feels like love, so let’s shack up. I wanna share your address. 

It’s a Thursday that you’re supposed to go to your girlfriend’s house for dinner when she calls you while you’re clocking out of work.

“Hey, babe,” you answer with a smile.

“Hey.” You can tell immediately that Melissa is not in a good mood. “So, I know we’re supposed to have dinner tonight at my house.”

“But?” you prompt quietly, and you can’t quite hide the sadness in your voice.

“One of my kiddos, Sharmia, her mom is gonna be late picking her up. By like… three hours- won’t get back into the city until six at the earliest, and that’s if she doesn’t hit any traffic.”

“Oh,” you sigh softly. “Hey, that’s okay. I know you want to be there for her, and she’s more important.”

“Thank you for understanding,” your girlfriend says quietly into the phone. “I knew you would.”

“Of course I do,” you tell her. “What if I stopped by the school and brought dinner for all of us? And then I can just come over with you once she’s picked up.”

“You don’t have to do that,” the redhead says, although she’s hoping you insist. Today has been rough enough as it is, and now she’s stuck in the school for longer than she’d like to be.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” you promise. “I can’t say that Wawa's will be nearly as good as what we were going to cook up tonight, but… it’s something.”

“Thank you.”

You pull up to the school just a little while later with hoagies and drinks in hand and call to let her know you’re at Abbott.

Only about thirty seconds later is your girlfriend and her student pushing open the door for you to enter.

Sharmia’s mother ends up coming to the school at 6:30, apologizing profusely for keeping the two of you at the school and waiting for so long. Melissa just waves her off, telling her she would do it if it meant Sharmia was safe.

They leave, and then you and your girlfriend are walking out of the school hand in hand. You pull up to her house in record timing.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t just let yourself in,” Melissa tells you as she unlocks the front door and pushes it open.

“Hey,” you get her attention quietly with a squeeze to her hand. “It’s no big deal. I still got to spend time with you.”

“Yeah,” Melissa sighs. “But I’m sure you would’ve rather been able to come here and relax with a glass of wine instead of sitting in Abbott with me eating Wawa.”

“You know I’m a slut for a good Wawa hoagie,” you joke. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Still,” your girlfriend sighs as she drops to the couch. She kicks off her shoes. “Jesus, I’m exhausted.”

You hum your agreement. 

It’s an early night for the two of you, in bed and asleep by nine. Her chin is tucked into the crook of your neck, your arms keeping her against you to keep warm.

And come Saturday, the two of you are doing your rounds of shopping. She stops in front of the key making machine and inserts her key.

“What are you doing?” you furrow a brow.

Melissa smiles at you. “I’m making you a key… that way if I have another late night or you need something and I’m not there, you can just let yourself in.”

Slowly, your things make their way to Melissa’s house, and it’s fair to say that you practically live with her. You do still have your apartment though, in case something goes awry between the two of you and you need a place. 

But your clothes intermingle with hers, you picking up her clothes and tossing them into the laundry with your own. 

It warms your heart to know that there isn’t much your girlfriend hides form you at this point. You know where most of her weapons scattered around the house are- you always discover them with a chuckle. 

More pictures of the two of you begin to litter the flat surfaces in the house, and you’re included in a few family photos with the entire Schemmenti clan. There’s even a picture of the Abbott clan with you in it.

The longer that you stay with Melissa, the more you become fairly certain that you truly will end up with her in your life forever, and this house will become yours too.

I wanna be your emergency contact. You can put me down ‘cause you know I know you best (I know you best). It doesn’t matter where I go without you I’ll never be home. I wanna share your address.

“Do you really have to go?” you ask your girlfriend after she tells you about the upcoming PECSA conference.

“I do,” Melissa sighs softly. “But it’s only for a weekend, and I’ll be fine. Other than that one PECSA weekend, I’ve been fine.”

“What happened at this one weekend?” you ask with an amused smirk.

The redhead’s cheeks tint pink. “I may have broken my wrist after I took a tumble.”

“Melissa!”

“It was a couple years ago, and I’m fine.”

“Mel, if something like that happens again,” you take her hand gently in yours.

“You’ll be my first call,” she promises. “Well, after Barb if she ain’t with me.”

“Okay,” you sigh. “Just please… try not to break another bone, especially if I’m not already with you.”

“Trust me,” your girlfriend rolls her eyes. “I’m really going to try to not break another bone. That shit hurt like a bitch.”

She pulls out her phone, and after a few taps, you’re listed as her emergency contact on her phone. “See? You’ll be the first person to be called if I can’t call myself.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you fold your arms with a loving smile.

Melissa shrugs. “Yeah, and you love me.”

“You’re lucky I do.”

When PECSA weekend rolls around, you hate how alone you feel. You attempt to keep yourself busy, but it’s weird not being with your girlfriend. She’s constantly texting you about all of the fun things that she’s doing though, and it makes you happy to know she’s having a good time. Even though she told you that you were more than welcome to stay at her house over the weekend, and you do, it doesn’t feel like home the way it does when she’s with you. Home isn’t her house, you realize with a soft sigh. Home is wherever she. When she doesn’t end up calling you because she broke her wrist again, you sigh a breath of relief. And as soon as she walks through that front door and pulls you into a tight hug, you feel the energy in the room shift. You’re home again. 

I wanna be your emergency contact. You can put me down ‘cause you know I know you best (I know you best). It doesn’t matter where I go without you I’ll never be home. I wanna share your address.

You’re sitting at work when you get a phone call from your girlfriend. That’s odd- she should be standing outside at recess duty, not calling you.

“Hello?” you answer, voice laced with concern.

“Hun,” Melissa’s voice sounds a bit panicked. “I- I took a fall out on the recess yard.”

“Shit, are you okay?” you ask, although it’s clear from her tone alone that she isn’t.

“N-no,” she stutters out. “Barb’s gettin’ ready to take me to the ER now, but I- I wanted to let you know.”

“Shit,” you mutter as you close your laptop and begin to gather your things. “What hospital?”

“Jefferson,” she gasps out. “I- I definitely broke my ankle, hun.”

“Okay,” you sigh into the phone. “Okay, hold tight, babe. I’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you,” she whispers out.

“I love you,” you tell her before hanging up. You march yourself down to your boss’s office and let him know you’re heading out- family emergency. He just nods, and that’s all you need to sprint out of the office and out to your car.

When you get to the hospital, Barbara heads in your direction. “She broke it. They have her pretty drugged up right now, just a warning.”

You just give her a tight lipped nod before making your way into the room they have Melissa in.

“I told ya I’d call if I ever got hurt,” the redhead smirks, although her words are quite slurred.

You roll your eyes and make your way over to her, kissing her softly. “What the hell were you doing that you broke your ankle?”

“Janine challenged me to a monkey bar race,” your girlfriend tells you. “Hey, have I ever told you how beautiful you are, mi amore?”

“Idiot,” you grumble, but there’s a smile on your face. “You can be so stupid.”

“Yeah,” Melissa grins dopily. “Stupid in love with you.”

I want a key to your house. I wanna pick up your clothes. I wanna clean up your mess. I wanna know where you hide things, wanna be in your photos, wanna share your address. I know, I know it’s too soon, too fast, but this could last. I wanna share your address. I know, I know it- it feels like love, so let’s shack up. I wanna share your address. 

It’s only a year into dating that Melissa asks you to move in with her officially.

“Really?” you ask her.

Your girlfriend gives you a look that tells you she’s being serious, and you’re ridiculous for even questioning it. “Hun, you practically live here as it is. You have a key, you’re rarely ever at your apartment anymore, all of your stuff is here. I hav nothing to hide from you, your picture is all over this house. Why don’t we just…spare you the rent and share an address?”

“You don’t think it’s too soon? Too fast?” you ask her. You know that the two of you have thrown caution to the wind throughout most of this relationship, but still- moving in together officially is a big step.

She shakes her head. “If I thought we were moving too fast, do you think I would’ve asked you to move in?”

“If you’re serious, then yes. I’d love to actually move in with you.”

“Can I ask you one more question?” your girlfriend asks.

“Shoot.”

“So if we’re sharing an address, do you want to share a last name too?” Melissa drops to her knee. 

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead

[mumblesplash]

end result of the Evil Art Style Challenge! it's the deep dark :)

i asked my followers what traits they associate with my art and then had to try drawing without any of them (readmore for list)

thin smooth lineart -> no lineart

shiny highlights -> no shiny ­:(­

3/4ths angle for faces -> straight on view

expressive eyes -> character is wearing goggles (i wasn’t really sure how to Not do this? it would be an interesting challenge to try to do this without hiding the eyes but i’d need more detail abt what ‘expressive’ means)

good hands -> only one hand is visible + it is a blob

clothing folds -> ok look i was trying not to put any folds on that cloak but looking at it now i think i did it anyway on accident. i was just trying to color it in i swear

minimalist background -> detailed background

[nastybuckybarnes]

i totally feel like mouse would bring ghost trinkets. oh here’s a shiny new coin? ghost would like this. maybe it’s something small from her past. but mostly just small, daily knick knacks, and ghost would say he wouldn’t keep them, but next thing you know his pockets are overflowing. and when soap notices…

omg yesssss shes like a lil crow

It starts off with little tiny things that you find that you think are cool, and you want to share with your Ghost.

He stares at the handful of small coins, then looks up to your face.

"I can't keep this."

Your lips turn down, shoulders slumping forward as you deflate at his rejection.

He huffs out a heavy sigh and shoves the coins into one of the pockets of his pants against his better judgment.

"Let's keep it a secret, yeah? Jus' you an' me, how's that sound?"

The smile that spreads across your face could light up the dark war-torn city you inhabit, and it certainly brightens his day.

And from that day forward, anything that sparkles, shines, or catches your eye, you feel the need to share with him.

"What's this?" He asks a few days later.

You smile proudly up at him as he inspects the watch closely.

It doesn't tell the correct time and the glass is cracked, but one glance at your beaming face and he already knows he needs to keep it until he dies.

"Gift. For Ghost."

"Mouse, this belonged to someone. You can't just take it," he protests weakly.

Your brows furrow in confusion. How could it belong to someone when they chose to leave it?

"When the people leave, they take what is important. That is why they take animals, children. If they want it, they take it. If it is important, they protect. They do not want these. I do. They are mine. And I give to my Ghost."

Your Ghost. Yours.

He feels his heart warm at your words, while you seem oblivious of their impact.

"So, if something is important, you should protect it? Keep it, take it with you when you leave?" He asks, stepping forward and towering over you. You don't cower like so many men before you have. Instead, you stand your ground and tilt your head back to nod up at him.

"If I want something, I should take it?" He asks lowly, one hand sliding around your waist to rest on your back.

You inhale sharply at the unexpected contact, eyes fluttering closed as you understand his words, then nod once more.

"What does Ghost want?" You ask quietly, opening your eyes and gazing up at him.

The weight of your gaze nearly makes his knees buckle, and he finds himself speechless for a long while.

He's so used to having power over people, making them cower, making them bend to his will. And now he feels like he's on the other side of it. And the best part is, you have no idea you're doing it.

His sweet little mouse.

His radio crackles, as it always does in the tenderest of moments between the two of you, and he sighs.

Before he can leave, you slide a hand up around his neck, urging him to lower his head.

He obeys, eyes closing when you press your forehead as close to his as you can manage with all his gear in the way.

"Bye bye," you whisper, taking a step back and disappearing into the night.

He stuffs the watch in his pocket and heeds the call of his teammates, pondering your question the entire time.

What does he want?

You. That's what.

Bringing him gifts quickly becomes the highlight of your sad grey life, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to it, too.

Seeing your eyes light up every time you open your little hands to show him what treasures you've found is more than reason enough to wake up every morning.

With each passing day, his pockets grow heavier, but it's grounding. A constant reminder that you're with him, you're around and safe and breathing.

"I have for you... something very special," you tell him one day, a big grin on your face.

"Oh yeah? And what might that be?"

You bring your hands out from behind your back and show him, and he cocks his head to the side as he tries to understand what it is.

"What is it?" He finally asks, inspecting the round object closely.

"Fruit. To eat."

He eyes you skeptically, unsure if this is some sort of trick.

Where would you get fruit in an environment like this? He's sure you've been living off of scraps and stolen rations, so how you could find fresh fruit is beyond him.

You bring it to your lips and take a bite as if to prove to him that it is, in fact, what you say it is, and he watches as some of the juice dribbles past your lips and down your chin.

His hand is moving before his mind can keep up, and he watches as he wipes the mess off of you.

You smile up at him and extend your hand, waiting for him to take it, but he shakes his head.

"That is very special. I want you to keep it, Mouse. You deserve a treat like that."

You frown and shake your head, licking your lips before speaking.

"I share with you. Please."

Hearing the word 'please' fall from your pretty lips makes him want to pull the moon out of the sky and present it to you on a silver platter.

He takes the piece of fruit from you, turning around to lift his mask and take a bite. When he turns to face you again, his mask is back in place and you can see his jaw working beneath it as he chews.

He'd be lying if he said it wasn't one of the sweetest and most delicious things he's eaten in months.

"Thank you, Mouse. It's delicious."

You grin happily and take it back from him to take another bite, humming with delight as the flavour explodes on your tongue once more.

As he watches you eat the little fruit, he wonders what you would think of the grocery stores and farmer's markets back home. The plethora of fresh fruits, exotic ones too.

You'd surely lose your mind at all the flavours, the variety.

He's pulled from his thoughts by the sound of gunfire far too close for comfort.

Your head snaps toward the sound, fruit falling from your fingers and hitting the ground with a wet 'splat'.

His guard is up in an instant, one hand pushing you behind his back while the other lifts his weapon, aiming at the source of the sound.

"Let's get you inside, little one."

The next time you give him a gift, it's done between intense rounds of heavy gunfire, the fight worsening the closer they get to the heart of the city.

Somehow, like always, he finds you close by. Too close to the fight, in his opinion.

"You are hurt?" You ask, looking at him closely when he enters the small convenience store you've chosen as your home for the day.

He shakes his head, taking a seat with you behind the counter and sighing heavily.

After how many months, the fight is starting to take a toll on him.

But here you are, reminding him of his purpose.

"Here," you whisper, holding your hand out to him.

His tired eyes follow the movement, and then he's opening his hand out to you, watching curiously as you drop a silver necklace into it.

"Where'd you get this one?" He asks, bringing it closer so he can inspect it.

It has a pretty charm at the end of it, and it's inscribed with words in a language he's not familiar with.

"My mother," you whisper, curling your knees up to your chest.

His eyes snap to you, but your eyes are focused on the necklace in his hand.

"She tell me... this will protect... wherever I go."

It's worked thus far, as far as he's concerned.

"Where is she now?"

You bring your eyes to his and give your head a sad shake.

You remember the day she was ripped from you, the day she sacrificed everything so you could be free.

"She give to me, and now I give to Ghost. Safe with you."

He knows better than to try and argue with you.

Instead, he nods, and tucks it away in a hidden inner pocket of his vest.

"I'll take good care of it. I promise."

~

"Hang on a minute," Soap murmurs one day when they're out on patrol.

Ghost obeys, freezing in his tracks as the other man tilts his head to the side, listening carefully.

"What is it, Johnny?"

Another moment goes by before the Scot shakes his head and begins walking again.

"Thought I heard somethin' s'all."

They walk in silence for a few more moments before he's stopping them again.

The sound stops again as well.

"What is it, MacTavish?"

Soap looks around slowly, carefully, inspecting every nook and cranny, every shadow and window and corner, but still there's nothing.

"Guess m'finally startin' to lose it," he mutters, shaking his head as if to shake away the sound.

The jingling follows Soap around all night while he's on patrol, like the voice of God in a poor man's ear during a time of desperation. And finally, when they get back to base, he pinpoints the source.

"Lt, are you... is that you... jingling?"

The question feels ridiculous as he asks it, but it's the only explanation for what's been happening.

Ghost's brows pull together and he glances down, taking a rather exaggerated step and glancing down at his leg when the sound rings out.

"Seems that way, yeah."

Soap stares at him, and he stares right back. As if his leg jingling like Christmas bells is something that should be expected.

"Why?" He finally asks after a few minutes.

Ghost sighs and pats his pocket, then digs his hand inside and produces only a small portion of the newest trinkets and doodads you've gifted him.

"These from yer mouse, I take it?" He asks, taking the handful and chuckling when Ghost only produces another handful from another pocket.

Eventually, he's emptied out his pockets, and Soap has called Price and Gaz over to inspect some of the things you've gifted the skull-faced soldier.

The teasing begins quickly, jests of him being spoiled rotten by a little street mouse, starting a hopeless romance with someone he can never keep, and he lets them have their fun.

There's one thing he doesn't take out, one important gift he keeps around his neck now, next to his dog tags where he knows it'll be safe.

His team doesn't question the new silver chain when they catch a glimpse of it. They know that if he wanted them to know about it, they'd know.

This one does well and truly stay between you and him. And he has no intention of changing that.

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XLIII. “a terrible thing”

parts: previous / next

plot: Bruce can’t believe the softness you pull out of him—you can’t believe how fully you trust him.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, fluff, jealousy, yearning, mention of sex, brief discussion of violence (martha wayne’s parent’s murder-suicide)

words: 8.4k

a/n: i think we’re all in need of some fluff right now, and it just so happens that we’re in the mutual pining phase with these lovebirds and that’s where the chapter took me <3 also omg I’ve felt so spoiled by all the comments and asks, thank you for continuously blessing my inbox with them!! love love 💞

The doorbell woke you right at noon. You opened the door to a cardboard drink carrier from DoorDash sat on your doormat, cradling a tan iced coffee from the cafe down the street. A typed note fell from the bottom when you lifted it onto the counter. 

for keeping you last night - B

Admittedly, he was halfway decent at apologies for someone who didn’t seem to have practice with them. Sleep had calmed your nerves a few levels, cooling your head enough to—begrudgingly—accept his apologies. The coffee chilling your hand made that grudge slip. Per usual, his eyes left nothing unanalyzed; he’d even managed to get the alternate milk right. Kinda terrifying, kinda cool?

As you sipped on the latte, you thought to how past partners had reacted after arguments. Ignored calls, passive aggressive texts, days without acknowledgment or apology. You nearly choked and died when you realized you’d lumped Bruce into the category ‘partner’, and discarded the coffee on the counter as if it had the power to remove him from your thoughts.

Somewhere down the line the edges of your arguments had softened. The fear of him had whittled away, yet his anger retained the vigor of a snappy punch. Your fingers danced along the marble countertop, its smoothness lending no distraction to your wandering mind. Arguing like a couple, with none of the benefits.

Your stare fixed absentmindedly on the sink. Forgiving him so easily felt like bending to the whims of your hormones; naivety’s tug whispered beratement for believing the first man to utter the words I’m sorry to you. Was the bar truly that low? Why did you feel so safe with someone so reactive, so violent as to spend every night chasing people to punch?

Your gaze dropped to the note. It was thoughtful. A butterfly or two danced around the room. Even though he was the last person you ever thought you’d feel anything other than loathing for, and it could never be set in motion, it was fun having a crush. How pretty was it to imagine him sipping his own latte across the kitchen? Or sweatpants hung low on his hips as he cooked you breakfast after staying overnight?

Thoughts could wander, even if reality could never align. Fantasy worlds where circumstances had been different, and the callousness of the world allowed you temporary effervescence through the eyes of a beautiful man you met in a big and terrible city. You’d unknowingly created an indivisible fork the night you chose to lie, and this was all you could ever be to him. 

The rest of your afternoon was spent hunched over a laptop typing up highlights from the two rallies. After Grange’s the following Tuesday, you could submit on Friday for publishing that weekend. You cast away all worry about it potentially being your last column ever, otherwise a single word wouldn’t have been written. 

You eyed your usual outfit at the top of your laundry hamper. A dress would mean heels, heels would mean pain… you grabbed a pair of black jeans and a vaguely musty sweater from the bottom drawer, and shook it until you beat the lingering scent of old out of it. 

You’d fastened your second earring and spritzed some perfume when you heard a knock. “It’s meee!” 

Mar spilled in holding a small rectangular box wrapped in shiny silver paper. She beat you to the punch. “I know you have your meeting right now, but I’m on the way to Gianna’s and had to stop by just in case.”

Your brow furrowed, mouth twitching into a grin as you took the box and began to unwrap it. It was feather-light. She joked about it being a housewarming gift, “only a month late, but better late than never”.

The Trojan logo blared at you. BareSkin Raw were the next words unveiled, and it was at precisely this point where you thought the universe was pranking you. But no: it was just Mar.

“Last time I was here I peeked around a little bit and couldn’t find any. The thought of babytrapping a billionaire is enticing, but—”

“We’re not together.”

“Even if you ‘aren’t together’,” she took the condoms from you and ripped open the box, tearing two off the pack. “You can still get pregnant.” She took your bag and rifled around for your wallet, tucking them into a side zipper pocket. 

“Technically that’s not safe storage.” You closed the top of the box and walked it to your bedside drawer, sliding it to the right of the diary you hadn’t used yet. Mar was gazing knowingly at you from the doorframe. 

“Safer than having nothing.”

As awkward as it was, she was trying. Even if looking out for you was centered around keeping your uterus uninhabited, it was something. You thanked her, running to the bathroom to put on the deodorant you’d almost forgotten.

“Want a ride?” Mar called from the kitchen. “I have an Uber out front, we could add a stop.”

“Sure.” You stepped to grab your bag as she plucked the note with a gasp. 

“For keeping you last night? You’re fucking joking.” She was positively beaming; you had a passing thought of crumpling it up and throwing it at Bruce’s chest, chastising him about the lack of forethought for what could happen if a wild Mar read it. “When will you want to talk about it with me? Marathoning so hard he gifts you coffee the next morning is crazy.”

You swerved the conversation to her budding relationship with Gianna for the drive to City Hall, though she kept trying to redirect it. 

“Where do you usually get dropped off?” You pointed Mar to the front loop, and she directed the driver to follow the other rideshares near the entry steps. She mumbled something about it reading like the Met Gala with the amount of paparazzi, and you grumbled something about how it was all because of Bruce.

She talked briefly about how he’d blown up the past few months and needed to cut you a check, but she interrupted herself. “Oh my god.”

Bruce had climbed out of his vintage Chevy and handed the key to the valet. Sneakers, dark gray slacks, black tee, and a matching leather jacket. Completely different from his sweaters and suits to the point of being nearly unrecognizable.

Mar all but shoved you out of the Uber, excitedly whispering about how she should’ve packed more than two for you, leaving no time to settle before ascending the steps and entering the foyer. 

Bruce was at the catering table chatting with the women waiting in line. Unusual. By the time you’d situated with the other press, the crowd of his admirers had tripled. When you’d fished out your notebook and pen, he had his arms wrapped around a few of them. He was talking, smiling and not shooting one look your way. Was he trying to make you jealous? 

Bruce counted the seconds of each inhale and exhale, anything to help him forget the eyes and ears hanging on his every word. His arm was going numb from being passed around so much. Half of these women were married, including the few skimming their hands along his chest and hips. 

“What happened, Mr. Wayne?” Someone was caressing his bruised hand.

He had about three seconds to conjure the most vague, lewd response and not crumble into the floor. “Played a little too rough.”

You watched as some of the group giggled at something he said, fluttered their lashes at his winks, and pursed their lips into a barely-contained grin when he’d lean in to whisper something. At one point you swore his lips touched a woman’s ear and you felt like you’d been shot.

If jealousy was his intention, it was unfortunately working. He looked undeniably hot, somehow managing an effortless cool. Had he been honest about his introversion? The sling of his arm around shoulders, the little glances he gave, the grins that flashed teeth when he leaned closer. Maybe he tried to play docile and shy, but Jesus… you followed the way his eyes dropped to their lips when they spoke, occasionally darting to their eyes before trailing down again. You tensed. That man knew exactly what he was doing. If that ‘already spoken for’ was true, his partner was made of steel. 

You couldn’t stop the swirl in your gut from feeling played. Did he think because he apologized and got you coffee he had you wrapped around his finger? Was this a subtle power play? It has to be. Your throat was tight, fixated on every touch and glance. Maybe he did have you in the palm of his hand. Everything he did was working.

The meeting began and Bruce was last into the room—alongside some of the men’s wives. A few introductions of nonsense characters, some reminders about the upcoming rallies and fundraisers, then budget talk. The budget was something you genuinely wanted to attend to, but it was impossible with your heart pounding in your ears deadening all sound. If he was so sorry, why had he marched in and flirted with every woman in the building? The minutes passed like hours.

Eventually Mr. Convoy called a brief intermission to collect his notes, and you stared Bruce down as he drew a deep breath before standing. He shook out his hands and moved through the doorway, tucking his left fist into his pocket as the first group approached him. Your eyes narrowed as you settled into the corner by the drinks, mulling over his evident anxiety. Yet he remained desperate enough to push through it to get under your skin. Did he have gum in his mouth? Who the hell? 

A group of suited men clustered in the foyer’s center, the tallest of them snickering at you. He’d talked to Bruce once or twice in the past month you’d been here. You remembered him due to how severely his sandy brown hair was gelled to his scalp. Your cheeks heated when he made a mocking kissy face and you realized he was harassing you for openly staring at the man of the hour. As your downcast eyes scoured the tiling, you mulled over the man’s name. Probably started with a G. The sound of Bruce’s laugh involuntarily placed your attention back on his tall, wide frame, the silver zipper of his jacket slipping through salon-manicured fingers, being fiddled with and jerked about like your heartstrings. 

A hand slipped underneath his jacket, rubbing between his shoulderblades. Someone ‘tripped’ and caught themselves against his abs, marveling at them as they steadied. It was just about impossible to keep his smile from fading to a grimace, a forced laugh playing it off. Overstimulation nipped at his frayed nerves. Too many voices asking too many questions, too far out of his element effectively seducing people in public. The exaggerated glances he gave, the haughty nonchalance, it was wearying. You’d better be enjoying this.

He knew you were by the catering, but hadn’t wanted to impose his presence after the night before. He chanced a glance and, sure enough, you were glaring at him. His heart skipped at how angry you looked. Had he misread it? Someone’s hand trailed up his chest now. “Something bothering you, Bruce?” He imagined it was you, his ears perking to the sound of his name and the circular motion of your fingers between his pecs. His hand moved to grab yours on instinct, fingers lacing for a single second before catching himself. The stranger bit her lip, re-grabbing his hand, misattributing the blush sweeping his face. “Your hands are so…”

You’d never seen that woman before, and you never wanted to see her again. You never again wanted to feel this tight, hot squishing sensation in your head and chest. Mr. Convoy called the meeting to resume and you hung back, not trusting your legs, except that Bruce did the same. After continuous hesitation the doors were set to shut, so you both started for them. He fell in line beside you. 

When he spoke your spine stiffened. “Trying the playboy thing.” 

Yeah, he sure is. 

“Thought you might find it funny. After our conversation yesterday.”

You stopped where you stood. He gave an apologetic smile before stepping through the door. Yesterday. Early in the a.m.. You spent the rest of the meeting feeling guilty and meek. It was so easy, too easy, to assume the worst of him. 

Pictures weren’t allowed in the building, so you heard a few of the journalists behind you game-plan leaving the conference room first to stake out the front steps. A minute to its end, as your peers crept toward the exit, you threw a text his way. 

Still accepting ride requests? 

He checked his phone under the table. 

Meet you around back in five.

The meeting ended, Bruce waded through his many fans, and you skirted to the back. Cool metal across your palm reminded you that it all had to end just as it began to feel routine. The chilly night air blew in your face as the heavy door clicked shut behind you. Next week’s meeting would be the last opportunity to be driven home by him; the last time home would be Gotham, and not thousands of miles’ distance. Unless he ever found himself adventuring southern Washington, you’d never see him again, either.

When he pulled up you pretended to peer in the backseat, wanting to play off your earlier frustration. An apology, coffee, and trying to entertain you in the most bland environment in existence? The lively, social man of ten minutes ago had been whittled down to something more subdued. The drain of the evening was splashed across the subtle lines in his face. 

You slipped into the heavy leather seat and gestured behind you. “Surprised it isn’t full of your admirers.” Your senses heightened knowing this was one of three last times you’d ever be in his presence. When he laughed under his breath, you felt it like a beam of light in your chest. 

“What’s my grade?” He put the car in gear and headed down the alleyway as you finished buckling. Wanting to ensure he wasn’t overstepping, he shot cautious glances your way. He hoped the car was dark enough it wouldn’t show his blush.

“Not sure I can be unbiased after you bribed me with that coffee.” 

Just hearing your voice turned him scarlet. “Tried to match the color to when we crossed paths.”

“You nailed it.”

Tires gliding over potholes and crunchy gravel patches studded the silence of the next few blocks. Bruce was doing a very diligent job of taking you straight home; sometimes he swerved down side roads but tonight he stayed a strict path. You felt the apology hanging over him. It reminded you of how Walter acted when he’d broken into some human food. Ears back, posture drawn-in and hesitant. He caught you glancing at him.

“You seemed upset.” His voice was soft. So much softer than with everyone at City Hall. 

Flashes of their hands across his chest and neck while he leaned in to make them laugh made you shift in the seat, the leather crinkling. White lies were fine, right? It seemed better than admitting debilitating jealousy. “I had a headache.” 

“Should be back soon if you need ibuprofen.” 

“Nah, it’s all good.” You waved your hand and it slapped against your thigh. 

His hands tightened around the wheel, and so did your gut. He always had something on his tongue when he did that. And now you were thinking about his mouth… 

“You’re right about the playboy angle. I think that’s the clearest direction.”

Still thinking… you swallowed. “Pretty different to how you usually act.” 

“Enduring it will be a whole other thing.” Alongside a begrudging nod, he rolled his eyes and grit his teeth. It was imperative his jaw stopped moving. As jealous as the playboy facade made you, you weren’t mad at how it made him even more visible, situated like a painting for your viewing pleasure. 

“You didn’t have any fun with it?” 

The half-second he thought it was you, maybe. The rest of the evening was a painful blur. “Not really.” 

The car tucked into the alleyway. 

“Here.”

Your foot tapped against the carpeted interior. In hindsight—once you were gridlocked to the confines of rurality—would you hate yourself for leaving right now? Probably. “You said there’s places outside of city limits to drive?” 

“You don’t want to go home?”

“I’m up for some racing.”

“Let me know when you want me to drop you off.”

The ride was quiet. Bruce, of course, knew every back road away from prying eyes, making the sirens, shouts, and car horns a distant memory. When buildings morphed to trees, your shoulders relaxed. He noticed.

“Lot of pine trees in Washington?”

“Some.” Your nose made a print against the glass, straining through the glare. “A lot of Douglas Fir. Cedar.” 

“Do you mind gravel roads?” He didn’t want to jostle you too much if not. You grinned at him and his body surged a streak of warmth.

“Prefer them.” You glanced around the interior. “Sure you want to scratch up the paint?”

You heard him smile; he laughed via a particularly jaunty exhale through his nose. “Nothing some Sharpie can’t fix.”

You looked out the passenger window so he wouldn’t see your smirk. The weirdest rich person. 

“Prefer them?” 

You couldn’t resist peeking at him, and his brow was scrunched. “Most people don’t, which means it’s likely really pretty.”

“No one wants to see something pretty.” 

You nudged him, biting your tongue. He could barely contain his relief at your apparent forgiveness. 

The trees thickened, and the road turned bumpy. You rolled down the window and leaned your head out, basking in the smell of pine needles and fresh air. 

“Careful, rock could hit you.”

You stuck your arm out, the cold breeze chilling it immediately. It’d been so long since you’d driven like this. Years, maybe. Your dad was always so busy with work, your mom so exhausted; having to scrimp and save pennies for copayments, past dues on maxed out credit cards. For the better part of the past decade, the car had been reserved for medical appointments and grocery trips exclusively. The only time you got to feel the breeze on your skin in anything reminiscent of a forest was on lone bike rides, but you were usually too sad to immerse yourself in them. 

He hung a left at the fork in the road, too late to hit the usual right while distracted by watching you. Fingers dancing in the wind, hair ruffling. He accelerated, toeing the speed limit of dense gravel. A soft yelp radiated from your side—looking like a dog with their ears flapping in the wind, you were laughing. Your face was the happiest he’d ever seen it. A light expanded in his chest. Gorgeous. 

“Shit,” the gravel turned to dirt, the wheels slipping hard into a vat of mud; in a blink you felt a wall in front of you—his outstretched arm across your chest kept you from rocketing forward. You tumbled against Bruce as he turned into the skid, the thick seatbelt keeping you from spilling sideways into his lap. Both of you sat motionless, and he pulled both hands back to the wheel. Your torso rumbled like you were laughing.

“What fancy contraption do you have to yank us out?” You pushed yourself up and ran a frigid hand over windswept hair. Probably had a button in the trunk which unfurled a hook to yank the vehicle back to safety. Maybe a mega-drone would fly over from Wayne Tower and pull the car by the roof with a magnet. 

He waited for you to face him. “I’ll get out and push.” 

“Push?!” 

His smile wrinkled his eyes as he hopped out, a sticky slop sound slapping his shoes. You thought he was so froofy. Worried about paint jobs, staining designer clothing, unable to shove a car out of a rut. He heaved his weight in a strong, deliberate push, and the car moved. Then slid back. 

“Here, I’ll get out.” You unbuckled. 

“What?” He couldn’t hear over the wind hissing through trees. 

You fell flat on your hands and knees into a foot and a half of thick mud. “Holy shit.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. This is fucking deep.” You managed to wrangle out an arm but your knees were locked in place. 

You heard the schlorp, schlorp sound of his approach. How were you supposed to get a car out of something like this? “I forgot you’re supposed to turn right back there.” He held out his hand. He fell to his knees when he underestimated how stuck you were.

You pushed up off his shoulder, the heel of your palm shoving him deeper. Your other hand tracked mud across his back, the slick of the leather making you fall forward again, slung halfway over his back. His elbow buckled as his hands dug further into the pit. You slid onto your back, your hair soaking with mud so dense you struggled to lift your head.

He managed onto his feet again, once more grabbing your hand—this time with more of an angle for leverage—and pulled. You hardly moved, trying to grip his arm for support. “You’re gonna have to take off that jacket unless you want to leave me here.”

He obliged, your eyes trailing down his muscled arms now outstretched for you to enjoy. This time was more successful, but the un-shlucking made you rocket toward him. You fell against the hood of his car, no, against him against the hood of the car. You caked the entire front of his body in mud.

“Might have to call Alfred,” you panted, grasping for the antenna to your left for balance. He locked eyes with you a moment, a beautiful, fleeting moment, before you watched them flick toward the sky. You rolled onto your back and followed his gaze. 

Stars. Not very clear, but better than the foggy clouds that hung over the city. You moved to stand before tossing another look his way. His eyes glimmered as they roamed the sky as if he’d never seen them before. You let your back fall gently against the hood, shoulder-to-shoulder. 

“Can’t see them very well in the city, huh?”

Bruce shook his head, mesmerized. A long pause, which you reveled in. He was so caught up he couldn’t see you admiring his sudden youthfulness. “Is this how bright they are in Washington?”

He had no idea how adorable that question was, and it filled your body with extraordinary warmth. He looked like a child who’d just seen the ocean for the first time, awestruck by the endless horizon. The word Washington sounded so foreign in his voice. It was like he was born to exist firmly in Gotham and nowhere beyond. Like a prison. You looked back to the sky, the edges of each star blurred and hazy. 

“Actually, like ten times brighter there.”

Bruce’s head snapped to you, brow furrowed. He looked like he’d just been insulted. “You’re joking.” 

“I think you’d pass out if you saw the sky there.” There were still so many trees, and some light pollution from downtown. What the hell would he do if you brought him to the middle of an empty, rural field on a clear night? You’d never thought it was particularly beautiful. It was just… normal. 

“Guess I take it for granted.” Your eyes followed his jaw up to his eyelashes, really seeing him. He didn’t notice, already turned back to admire the blurry stars again. You sighed. One more week. You’d been so terrified of him that first night. The second too. Now you just might start counting every second of his eye contact. 

Your nose crinkled, a tease cropping up with the memory. “You’re wrong, by the way. You do use bribes.”

That furrowed brow and those blue eyes again. If only those agains could tumble in forever. “When?”

“At the initial interview.” 

His nose scrunched, momentarily moving up to his eyes. “No way.”

“You asked what I wanted for my silence.” Your lips quirked into a grin. He was gorgeous like this; so unassuming, unintimidating. 

He rifled through the memory, and you watched the gears turn. His face set with disappointment. “Guess you’re right.”

“The only reason I stayed was to piss you off.” You laughed, his eyes never leaving you. 

“It worked.” He grinned. “Maybe if you hadn’t, the car wouldn’t be stuck.”

“Then we wouldn’t be having this riveting conversation.”

A quick, sharp laugh escaped him. His eyes flicked down, and he fiddled with muddy fingers. When they met yours again they were hesitant, but hopeful. “What you said yesterday helped. About my… brain.” He said the word carefully, still grappling with what it meant beneath the euphemism. 

“About still being you?” 

Bruce looked away, sighing through his nose as he nodded. “I’m able to patrol as usual. Maintain public responsibilities. Doesn’t seem to be life-ruining. Yet.”

You grinned, relieved to see him on a path to acceptance, relieved to see him sitting here with you at all. “I’m glad.” You paused, letting it linger. “It doesn’t erase you, or make you worse.” 

His shifting eyes landed briefly on yours before returning to the stars, the combination of the wind and endless sky making the world big enough for his confessions to get lost. “… My mom was in and out of Arkham.” His words hung between you and the blustery wind. 

“Was that hard growing up?” You figured it was, but any way you could coax an emotion out of him felt meaningful. The way he clung to your hug and kept even Alfred at arm’s length made you hypothesize that he wasn’t used to speaking it aloud. Shoving feelings deeper and deeper until the distractions caused enough dissociation to remove the sting. 

“I didn’t know about it then. Learned about it with the rest of the world.” His teeth clenched, the angled corner of his jaw flexing tightly. Vague memories of Wayne Family Secrets across your family’s television two years ago reminded you that Bruce had been caught up in the killer’s antics. 

“Around the time of the flood, right?”

He nodded again. His jaw moved as if his lips might part to speak, but he hesitated. Sensing his discomfort, you turned your attention back to the hazy stars. Wind whipped through the tops of trees, creating a faint high-pitched whistle in the silence. You spoke at the same time, cutting the other off. 

“You can talk about it if you want.”

”Her mom killed her dad.” 

You cast a sideways glance at each other and looked again to the sky. His voice dulled. “Then herself.” 

The hands clasped across your waist dug into your stomach. It wasn’t a wonder why he was so worried about his attempt. Seemed like every generation was touched by it. “I’m sorry.” 

He could tell that you meant it by how it sat in his stomach. He hated to hear those words, but not from you. For possibly the first time ever, he responded with “Thanks.” He watched a star twinkle like an ornament behind the top of a tree, still keeping his attention to his periphery. 

“Makes sense, I guess.” His lips pulled into a sardonic grin. Your attention pulled to it like a physical force, grim or not. “I am half Arkham.” 

In the meager amount of research you’d done to prepare for the actual interview you did with him, you’d discovered his mother’s ties to Arkham; Martha Arkham, the granddaughter of the asylum’s founders. One of the questions you’d nearly written down was why he didn’t do more with its fundraising; now you were grateful pen hadn’t hit paper. 

You were focused on the few clouds floating above when a gentle nudge tapped your shoulder. Your eyes met his unwavering blue. “I didn’t forget last night.” The car evaporated from under your back, suspending you in the air weightlessly. “I really didn’t mean to scare you, but I know that I did. I’m sorry.” 

He was so good at saying what you needed. How were his eyes that blue, his lashes that lush, voice so full. His apology sat with you the same way a slurpee did on arid, hundred-degree days in the valley. Ropes of sugary sweet, revitalizing in that specific, intoxicating way that kept you coming back despite the brain freeze and inevitable crash. 

You mused on whether or not he tasted like cherry cola too. 

“Just don’t trap me in your car in the middle of the night again.” 

“I know, I’m sorry. It was wrong.” You’d meant it to be a bit of a playful jab, and your eyes flashed slightly when he took it soberly. 

”Not in the suit is fine, but.” You teased him when you felt his growing earnestness, nudging him. “I’m joking.”

His expression remained unchanged, though it mellowed. “You don’t need to play it off.” 

A joke about how perceptive he was for someone who didn’t get out much stalled on the tip of your tongue. His worn features were too genuine. 

“Thank you.” You wanted to acknowledge all of the effort, that wavering pain in his eyes at sitting in this. It was easy to see how brutal it was on him, the isolation you imagined plagued his youth. How hard opening up was for him, seeming to go against his wiring like breaking one’s own bones. You longed to scoop him into your arms or lap, running soothing fingers through his hair until the pain melted out of his cells. 

When you couldn’t come up with a better word for the chasing apologies, the city hall antics, the coffee, the continuous acknowledgement, the life stories, and the I’m not used to this confessions, you settled on the simplest descriptor. “It means a lot that you’re trying.” 

His eyes lingered on yours for a second. He felt his heartbeat in the back of his throat. He wouldn’t. He swung his body up, clearing his voice on the upswing. “Let’s push.”

He schlopped his way to the front of the car, digging his heels into the mud for grip. You joined him, buzzing from stargazing, the weight of your muddy hair straining your back. You gripped the front bumper and followed his count, shoving the weight of your hips into your palms. The front wheels slipped up half a foot, then plopped back into place. 

You teased him when he paused to inspect the wheel placement. “C’mon dude, I’m pulling all the weight here.” His eyes darted to yours with a friendly sneer. On his count, you jammed all your weight into it, your feet slipping against the mud. This one was longer, and you shoved, shoved, pressed, pushed... the wheels crept back, nearly pushing out of the original divet. 

Bruce grunted to your right, and you made the mistake of seeing his clenched, focused expression. His eyes were squeezed closed, and threads of sweat glistened on his temples. Your focus slipped along with your grip, and the burden you’d lifted fell onto him. He groaned when it hit, the car losing an inch of ground, and you scrambled to regain footing with it echoing your thoughts. He was so fucking hot, jesus. 

Pressing, shoving, slamming, straining… the wheels unstuck and began to glide through shallower sludge. The ringing in your ears intensified when he shouted above the wind to let go and stood with his hands over his head, exposing the bottom half of his abs. You looked away, feeling perverted.

“Whew,” you focused on the sound of his footsteps rather than how out of breath he was. “Want to head back?”

A joke fell out of you before you realized the implications. “You’ll have to shower at mine to make it even.”

He shrugged. “If you want.”

And so you found yourself unlocking the door to your apartment ten minutes later, after he sped through side streets and took turns you were sure he wouldn’t make, making you squeal with a rush each time. When you got in the garage elevator, you mentally checked that you’d put away the condoms, that you had enough clean towels, that you weren’t out of detergent, that you had clothes he could borrow. And tried not to think about how he’d be naked in your bedroom bath.

With robotic monotony, pretending you were prepping the bathroom for a regular shower with yourself, you pulled out a towel and your baggiest hoodie and sweats, hoping it would be comfortable enough for him. You eyed your fruity body wash, curiously thinking ahead to how it might smell on him. 

Bruce asked if you needed any help from where he stood in the kitchen. When you said no, he paused, then asked if you had any pints of ice cream he could ‘borrow’. You teasingly lectured him about the meaning of the word from your hands and knees on the shower floor, pulling the odd hairs that were stuck in the drain to discard them.

He opened the freezer and noted a few pints, the most notable of them the single chocolate one: ‘Phish Food’. Marshmallow, caramel, and fudge. You hadn’t given him the OK yet, but his earlier attempt to cheer you up had been unsuccessful and he’d drenched you in mud. He opened a drawer and shut it loud enough for you to hear, grabbing the ice cream and slapping it onto the counter, untouched. “Never had this one, wow.” 

“That’s not the chocolate one, is it?”

His eyes trailed around the room to the dining area that had been reinstated. Absently, he continued to tease. “Can’t hear you.” He grinned. “But the marshmallow is really good.”

”Marshmallow?!”

He took a spoon from the door and tapped it along the rim of the cardboard as if he were scraping out the dregs. “Almost finished actually.”

You appeared in the doorway a second later looking disheveled. “Are you for—” Your eyes caught on his spoon resting on the outside of the ice cream, not even the plastic removed. “Ohh my god.” Biting your lip to reign in a smile, you swiped it off the counter and grabbed the spoon from his hand. 

“Didn’t know you were so serious about marshmallows.”

You groaned at the prank and slugged him in the arm on the way to the freezer. “You’re insufferable.” Even if he didn’t hear the lilt in your voice, from your side profile he could see the delight on your face. Good. One less moment hurting.

“Shower’s ready if you want to go first.”

Could go together. He blinked. “I’m the one who took the wrong turn, go ahead.”

“I’m the one who even wanted to go driving if we’re getting into it.” 

Bruce held out his hands in concession, walking past you to the shower. You shouted after him that you left an outfit on the counter for him, with towels in the cupboard. After a minute you heard the water turn on, and it took massive restraint not to sit on your bed and stare at the door to the bathroom. Until you remembered you could do that with your journal, pretending to do something. 

You grabbed a towel and laid it out on the mattress so you didn’t soak your bed with mud. Sat cross-legged, you pulled out the journal and a pen and suppressed a startle response when your eyes laid upon the condoms. The black ink swirled and sloped around the paper edges indiscriminately as the minutes passed. You threw some random sentences on there in case he glanced over at it when he got out, and heard the shower shut off soon after. Your face heated, and the scribbling intensified. 

Rustling of clothing, then the door opened. His eyes flashed when he saw you on the bed. His first thought was lewd, and it took two breaths to sate it. You did the same seeing his wet hair smoothed through by your hairbrush, the dew of the shower peppering his cheekbones. How in just two strides he could have you pinned to the bed. In his mind it was the other way around. 

“I like that body wash.” He’d slathered it over himself without thinking, then became extremely aware it smelled like you. He’d stood for a full minute breathing it in, pondering the ethics of buying the same one so he could always smell it. He rinsed it off when the haze began to lift and he started feeling like a fucking weirdo.

“There’s this fancy boutique called ‘Target’ that sells it if you’re ever in the area.”

He rolled his eyes and folded up his towel. “Funny.” He eyed the laundry hamper in the far corner and crossed your room to get it. The few strides where he passed your bed caught your breath in your chest. He looked back at you, smirking. His face looked cut from stone. “It’s where Alfred gets the Breyer’s.”

God how your heart pounded. Like a peripheral shadow, your mind seeing things that weren’t there. If you were any less certain of the dynamics at play, you might’ve thought he was flirting. That maybe both of you were. As it stood he walked past the bed and into the kitchen, speaking lazily. “Which ice cream can you part with?” So casual, comfortable. Like he lives here. It was fucking sexy. If only he’d christen your apartment.

His fingers tapped mindlessly on the freezer handle, turning over the jokes in his mind like a Rubik’s cube. Were they too offputting? He meant to put you at ease after being scared of him the night before, but was it overbearing? Unsettling? You waltzed into the kitchen, caked with mud, and yanked open the freezer to hand him PB S’more. The tips of his fingers vibrated where yours had grazed. 

“It’ll change your life.”

Initially, the shower was wonderful. The water soothed your cool, dirty skin, and your body felt light knowing he’d just taken one. That his hands had touched the knob you just did. That his hands had opened the same sliding door. Past that, the shower was excruciating. 

Water hitting the drying mud had reactivated it, making it heavy on your hair and, if anything, making it even more impossible to get out of your strands. It clumped and stuck no matter how you fussed with it, and you were left with an agonizing choice: have Bruce come help you, or force Mar to come over the next day (if she could), meaning indefinite time with heavy, smelly hair all over your pillows, clothes… fuck.

“Bruce?”

His heart leapt out of his chest and the spoon clattered to the ground. You called out again. “Can you help?” Your voice was too calm, and his fingers felt too warm, too cold, then disappeared altogether as he approached the bathroom door. He kept his eyes tilted to the ceiling as he pushed it open, holding his breath. He did his best not to let his mind wander on what you wanted. 

“Can you rinse my hair? The mud’s stuck.” 

Bruce pulled up his sleeves and got to work, his hands running on autopilot or they wouldn’t move at all. Every skim of his hand against your back, shoulders, ears, even feeling the slip of your wet hair through his fingers spurred a riot. You smelled like passionfruit and citrus, and your skin was petal-soft. As his fingertips brushed your neck he wondered if you might ever feel the same way. Was every touch searing against your skin? Every breath measured and silent, your thoughts liquid smoke being this close? 

He’d more than managed to remove the chunks of dirt, rinsing the length of your hair entirely clean. His hands hesitated above your scalp as he calculated if you’d want him to finish. The intimacy of this was so sweet; he’d never washed hair besides his own before, and it tucked into him a tenderness he never thought himself capable of. 

Just as he was about to pull his hands away, he bit his cheek and tried to sound as casual (not terrified) as he could muster. “Want me to wash the rest?”

Maybe it was the steam, but you felt the heat of his breath waft against exposed skin. Your face was hot as the Sahara, stiff and still as a statue; your knuckles paled clenching the sopping towel wrapped around you. You nodded because if you spoke, your yes would’ve come out like a whine. Tilting your head back, he grabbed the shampoo bottle and slathered it across his palms, gently working it into your hair. You shut your eyes to savor the sensation of his fingertips delicately raking along your scalp, tickling up your spine. “That feels really good.”

“Does it?” Breathy, barely a whisper, almost certain you couldn’t hear it above the water hitting the floor. Your shoulders dropped when he moved to massage behind your ears. The firmer he pressed, the more your shoulders rolled forward. 

“That’s even better.”

Dramatic for such a simple thing, he might’ve fought to acknowledge it if it hadn’t ripped through him so forcefully; nothing compared to the high of pleasing you. It filled a cavernous well in his chest with a buoyancy that almost knocked the wind out of him. 

He hadn’t realized his hands hadn’t moved, and resumed too quickly; you startled when he recommenced working the shampoo, and he flinched like his nervous system had a string tied to yours. He hoped for your sake it wouldn’t work in reverse the next time he panicked. If doing this was any less soothing, he could’ve tested the theory right then.

Your breathing struggled to cooperate, confused between I want his hands to devour me and I could fall asleep right here, right now. Your eyes that had flashed open fluttered shut, and your breathing shallowed through your mouth. Cutting off your senses one by one until all you felt were his strong, deft hands across your skin. You tucked your lower lip under your teeth and held your breath as he traced the back of your head, the crown of your hair, ooh, up to your temples… allowing a small inhale through your nose brought the sudsy aroma to the background, rendering your thoughts cloudlike, misty. 

Your neck had gone from stiff to slack over the past two minutes—he certainly wasn’t counting—to the point it bobbled with the movement of his palms. Your hands shifted on the towel, the tension in your knuckles lessening. Your guard was down further than he’d ever seen it, seemingly melting into his touch. His heart jammed against his ribs. 

The shampoo was mostly gone, only the odd bubble slipping through your strands. Not wanting to interrupt your zen, he gently squeezed out the length of your hair and reached for the conditioner. As he expected, you didn’t even notice when he soaked your hair with it. He rinsed his hands before going back to your scalp with long combing motions, circling behind your ears and temples as he waited to rinse. 

Just when he thought he’d heard a snore, your weight fell fully into his hands. He rushed to support your back—one hand between your shoulders, the other fisting your towel to keep it from falling. Your conditioned hair swung back and stuck to his cheek when you gasped awake, grasping for the shower handle to steady yourself. 

“You fell asleep while I finished your hair.” 

You righted yourself and assumed control of your towel; your thoughts darted around the steamy bathroom, grateful that he hadn’t taken advantage of a slipped wardrobe. Your hand moved back to your hair, thick with conditioner. You didn’t recall him finishing the shampoo, let alone… your cheeks heated, self-consciousness creeping up your spine where his massage left fireworks. “Thanks.” 

His cue to exit. He mumbled something about it being no problem, and walked out to the kitchen. His hands flexed at his sides to either shake out the memory or encode it, he couldn’t tell. He stood in the kitchen while you finished up, feeling caged, like his body was in a mismeasured wetsuit. He glanced out the window to see if the signal was lit, and he couldn’t make anything out. Cars zigzagged below, people shouted, horns honked, ambulances skirted curbs, and the sky was dark night. He was never indoors when the sky looked like that. 

He caught himself eyeing the fridge, wondering what he might be able to fix for the both of you. His dizzy gaze flitted to the floor between his feet. His face tightened into a tense knot, knuckles going white as he gripped the counter’s edge. He’d liked that too much. Washing someone’s hair. Washing your hair. 

Bruce crossed his legs and faced the ceiling now, his shoulders dropping into the softness of the evening. He could make dinner for you both, enjoy some polite conversation, and—he uncrossed his legs, antsy and anxious, and surveyed your apartment. He went still with the brush of thick cotton on his skin. He didn’t do this. Never wanted this. Never even thought about it. It didn’t fit, and even if it did, it couldn’t. 

He winced when his vision snagged on the note. The shred of paper swayed against his breath as he held it. Did you appreciate it? Did you want more of them? Shards of glass danced in his throat and heat stung his face; he set it down as quickly as he had picked it up. 

Washing your hair, getting you coffee, spending nights inside, redecorating a room just in case you wanted to come over, not to mention… it might’ve been easier if this was a passing fixation; something told him this was a cigarette half-pressed into the tray, lingering and domineering. Maybe he could snuff it out, but the stench likely already filled the room and baked into the fabrics. Didn’t mean he had to sit in it and breathe it in, though.

You wiped the sleep from your eyes and wrapped your hair in a towel. You pulled on sweats and a tee, lotioning up your arms and slathering moisturizer on your heated face. Your hair was grateful for his assistance, but were you? You were supposed to be severing, creating distance between the both of you. You didn’t think that included nearly drowning in the shower half-naked while he massaged you to sleep. But… your fucking soul had relaxed for the first time in years when he touched you. 

You squinted. No, the first time since the night Miller attacked. In his arms for the first time. When everything was finally quiet. The room went still with the implication, soured by the impending trip home for the last time. You bit your cheek.

He grabbed a grocery bag and stuffed his muddy clothes inside. When his body tried to reject the notion of leaving, he reminded himself it wasn’t for lack of wanting, it was due to it. He frustrated his logic and patience, retelling himself that your life was quaint, punctuated by normal things like a normal person, and it would be a bad thing for him to interrupt that. A terrible thing.

Missing the click of the bathroom door opening, he turned toward your doorway when you stepped out; your face clean and bright, a towel wrapped in a short spiral atop your head. The light hit your cheekbones and his bag slipped to the floor. He sucked in a tight breath and cleared his throat, slingshot out of the weeds back into the clouds. 

There was nothing he could do about his legs walking to the fridge, or his question about what you had to eat; nor his clarification that he didn’t want something for him, he wanted to make something for, um, the both of you, and no, he was hungry too, and while he cooked you could pick a show, and it really wasn’t a problem at all, he never got to cook enough with Alfred around, don’t even worry about it. Damn. There was just something about being in service of you. 

And there he was, straight from this morning’s musings: situated at your stovetop fixing you something—you hadn’t had sex, which you were sure was hidden somewhere in your earlier daydream, but you had been close in a way that strangely didn’t feel too far off.

You peered at him while he cooked and felt a pull to feel embarrassed about the off-brand noodles and cheap marinara. Dressed in tattered black clothing and doing absolutely nothing a typical rich guy did, it was easy to forget that he was a billionaire, and at some level used to opulence. He cracked open the dollar marinara without a second glance, and you twiddled your thumbs. 

He was dangerous. Violent. Isolated. A man with so much power he could destroy you however he wanted and get away with it. Get praised for it, even. He could buy, bully, or hurt anyone into anything, yet here you were visualizing him with a halo. Dangerous, you reminded yourself as your eyes followed him grabbing the wooden spoon to fold the sauce in. Violent, it continued, desperate to protect, though you’d never felt more protected than in Bruce’s presence. 

“How much do you want?” He looked over his shoulder and you could’ve melted into a puddle. Maybe he’d earned a bit of that mesmerizing halo. 

You ate wordlessly, save an initial thanks and yeah. The way his eyes shifted you couldn’t tell if he actually wanted to be there, so you didn’t push your presence onto him with conversation. Bruce already felt like enough of an intruder, so he waited for you to initiate. It seemed like you wanted some silence. You both kept it, until you noticed he looked lost in thought.

You set aside the few noodles sticking to the edges of the bowl. He had finished his minutes ago, vacillating between the eating speed of a mouse and a vacuum dependent on the meal. Note: he likes spaghetti. “What’s up?”

His tone was tentative. “Can we talk about Oz?”

[love-belle]

my sunshine !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which they're the 'it' couple and everyone's obsessed with them, rightfully so.

or

for when you find your forever kinda person. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // lando norris x fem!reader

warnings - language

author's note - finally it's here!!! i really hope u like it!!! thank you so much for reading, i love you <3

edit - changed it bc the person who requested it doesn't speak hindi x

≡;- ꒰ °twitter ꒱

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yourusername 💐

tagged landonorris

7,728 comments

username i think i just died and went to heaven

username SHUT UP EVERYONE

username babe wake up y/n is slaying one again

username SHE'S SO ETHEREAL GODDAMN

carmenmmundt the most beautiful 🤍

-> yourusername all you angel 🤍

username SHE'S SO 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

username she's everything to me ❤️

lilymhe holy shit marry me ?

-> yourusername wdym you're already my wife???

-> lilymhe even better 🥰

-> landonorris she's stealing my girl again alex_albon

-> alex_albon should've never introduced these two

-> lilymhe stay mad x

username MOTHER IS MOTHERING

username just reject me so i can move on PLEASE.

username PLEASE THE LAST SLIDE

username her in traditional clothing is something that's so personal to me like 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

-> username im ready to throw these hands for y/n

charles_leclerc lando has been staring at this for 20 minutes

-> landonorris CHARLES

-> yourusername HELP

username lando is me

username just one chance pls 🙏🙏🙏

landonorris woah hahaha hey

-> yourusername hello 👋

landonorris i love love love youuuuuu

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landonorris HOW ARE YOU SO PRETTY

-> yourusername IDK WHY ARE U

landonorris marry me 🫡

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-> landonorris is this working

-> yourusername no

-> landonorris what happened to "i like shiny things but i'd marry you with paper rings"

-> yourusername i have yet to see a paper ring so

-> landonorris wow.

-> usernames honestly parents

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landonorris something about taylor swift and saving me a seat at every table

tagged yourusername

8,528 comments

username THEY'RE MY PARENTS OMG

username SHUT UP JUST SHUT UP

username i'll be on the highway if anyone asks

username ahahahahahah im fine!!!!!! im okay!!!!!!!!

username ok.

danielricciardo highlight of the whole outing was watching you crash that golf cart and then cry about it

-> landonorris just because you can type out a comment doesn't mean you should

username I LOVE THEM HELP

username LOVER

username they're so lover coded 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

username goodnight that's enough singleness for one day 🫡

username i don't know who to be jealous of tbh

charles_leclerc you should never be near a golf cart ever again

-> landonorris IT WAS AN ACCIDENT OKAY????

-> username WHAT HAPPENED WITH THE GOLF CART I NEED TO KNOW

username they're so in love it makes me wanna throw up (in a good way)

username screaming crying throwing up sliding down the wall bashing my head

lewishamilton loved seeing you last night!! the golf inchident definitely made my week!!

-> landonorris so glad to know my embarrassment is amusing to you

username i need them to adopt me like now.

username lando i seriously need to know if u can fight or not

yourusername you're my my my loverrr

-> landonorris yes i am 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰😘😘😘😘😘😍😍😍😍😍

yourusername but they're all right, never drive a golf cart again

-> landonorris NOT YOU TOO

username lando malfunctioning everytime y/n LOOK at him despite being together for such a long time is so relatable of him like ACTUALLY

username god i am not ur strongest soldier 🫤

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yourusername chellam ( sweetheart )

tagged landonorris

comments are disabled for this post

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landonorris 4ever and ever my girl. i love you.

tagged yourusername

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yourusername a series of unfortunate events

tagged landonorris danielricciardo

7,928 comments

username I DIED OMG

carlossainz55 i feel bad for laughing

-> landonorris at least you feel bad, y/n just laughed for 10 mins and then made fun of me 💔💔💔

-> yourusername but i love you

-> landonorris i love you so much more

-> carlossainz55 THE TONE CHANGE

username THE DOLL IM CRYING

username i would sell my family to witness this irl

username y/n bullying her bf and im here for every second of it

landonorris did you really have to do me dirty like that

-> yourusername it's my love language

landonorris you promised you wouldn't laugh

-> yourusername i'm not laughing

-> landonorris love i can hear your giggles from the living room

-> yourusername that's not me lol i'm out with lily and carmen

-> landonorris WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M HOME ALONE

username Y/N TERRORIZING HER BF EVERY MOMENT OF THE DAY AND I EAT IT UP EVERYTIME

-> username that's what he gets for stealing my wife thank you very much

lewishamilton pity i missed seeing it in person

-> yourusername i just sent you 8 videos of it from different angels

-> lewishamilton this is why i like you more than lando

-> landonorris fuck you both.

danielricciardo is it safe to come out of my hidden place?

-> yourusername negative. lando is still out on a hunt for you.

-> danielricciardo does he still have the fork?

-> yourusername it's a rubber spatula now

-> landonorris not my gf airing out my business to the enemy what is this economy

-> yourusername you're hardly secretive with the amount of noise you make every time you enter a room so !!

username they're so chaotic bruh i love her

username DANIEL'S FACE HELP IM CRYING

-> username it was at that moment he realised. he. fucked. up.

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liked by yourusername, danielricciardo, carmenmmundt and 886,688 others

landonorris sadly only 3 out of 26281927 made it to the gram 💔

tagged yourusername

8,931 comments

username SHE'S SO

username IM IN LOVE

username jaw drops to floor eyes pop out of sockets accompanied by trumpets heart beats out of chest awooga awooga sound affect pulls chain on train whistle that has appeared next to head as steam blows out slams fists on table rattling any plates bowls or silverware whistles loudly fireworks shoot from top of head pants loudly as tongue hangs out of mouth wipes comically large bead of sweat from head clears throat straightens tie combs hair ahem you look very lovely GRR BARK BARK WOOF WOOF ARF BARK BARK WOOF ARF ARF WOOF WOOF GRRR BARK GRR BARK BARK WOOF WOOF ARF BARK BARK WOOF ARF ARF WOOF WOOF GRRR BARK GRR BARK BARK WOOF WOOF ARF BARK BARK WOOF ARF ARF WOOF

-> yourusername babe are you okay?

-> username ahsjdjdkeksmssd;;;;72hsshskksk

username she's so 😭😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔

lilymhe girlfriend 💐🤍

-> landonorris right??? MY girlfriend

-> username lando forever getting defensive with lily around will never NOT be funny

-> username it's bc he knows that y/n and lily can and will absolutely wife eachother up

*liked by yourusername and lilymhe*

username IM ON MY KNEES GODDAMN

username HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE GOD'S FAVOURITE

-> username this is me yelling at lando btw

-> landonorris pretty good haha i know how lucky i am

-> username GOODBYE.

username SHE'S A REAL GODDESS LIKE WOAH

username lando better wife her up before i do (threatening)

*liked by landonorris*

username im SOOOOooooOOO normal about this

carmenmmundt i expect an email with those 26281927 photos

-> landonorris duly noted

username everyone being obsessed with y/n is so real of them actually

username lando norris i am under your bed.

username she's for the girls and the gays i don't make the rules.

username IM SO AHHASHSJDHSKSK

yourusername thank you for being my personal photographer ❤️

-> landonorris only for you ❤️

yourusername also thank you for choosing good photos of me 🫡

-> landonorris that's so not true because every single photo of yours is the BEST

-> username im blushing and he didn't even say it to ME

username god me when.

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yourusername just look at him if you have a vitamin d deficiency ☀️

tagged landonorris

8,732 comments

username HE'S SO SUNSHINE BOY

username STOP HE'S ADORABLE

username im love with both of them actually

username no bc he's her sunshine 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

carlossainz55 my eyes hurt from looking at this post for too long

-> yourusername they're being blessed so 😮‍💨

-> landonorris thank you baby 🥰

username lando always being 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰😘😘😘😘😘😘😍😍😍😍😍😍😍 with y/n is so

username i need this couple like serotonin every day im not joking

username god i knew u had favourites

username SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

username babe wake up my parents are being cute on the main again

lilymhe opened this app and saw this abomination what is this torture.

-> landonorris BLOCKED.

-> yourusername relax you both can be my side hoes 😘

-> lilymhe SIDE?

-> francisca.cgomes bebé ❤️

-> yourusername kika ❤️

-> landonorris that's a betrayal i did not see coming

-> lilymhe same omg

username HE'S SO GOLDEN RETRIEVER BOYFRIEND

username that's a look of pure joy like im smiling by just looking at these photos omg

landonorris my ❤️

-> yourusername my sunshine ❤️

-> landonorris i just need to hear those 5 words

-> yourusername i love you so much

-> landonorris cute but try again

-> yourusername i won't wife up lily

-> landonorris thank you ❤️

username THIS IS TOO MUCH FOR IM DONE

username sigh this is so 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

[jakesangel]

jake showing you brisbane around ꣑୧

lets go with bikes! youll see the beaches looks so much better by bikes than by feet baby ! your boyfriends says with a smile, his teeth full on display. it hasnt been an hour the both of you arrived in australia and jake is already excited to show you his favorite childhood places, the second your suitcases hit the floor. jake, we just arrived... you start, but seeing his smile slowly fading away, already makes you feel sad : him being the best boyfriend, always agreeing to everything you ask, you have to let him pass today. sooo where do we start ?

there you are, both of you biking next to each other, the australian's sun hitting jake's long hair perfectly. it feels so nice isn't it, my love, he talks-yells as the wind hits both of you. you can not see his face but you can hear how happy he is right at this moment : it's not everyday he can actually visit his hometown n further more, you being here with him. it is ! as you ride thru a beautiful garden. we're at the South Bank Parklands baby! he slowes down as kids is surrounding the both of you, coming down from his bike, i used to play a lot here when i was really young. if i couldn't make it to the beach, i would just go in the wheel wiht my friend after class and then walk back home next to the river. it's sooo beautiful at night, we should defo do a picnic tomorrow here. he is now looking at you, eyes shiny of dreaming of taking you out for the first time here. you break the eye contact, wanting to fully take in your environment, that sounds lovely jake, it does seem so beautiful at night.

after multiple stops he finally showing his favorite fishing place, cylinder beach, there we go baby, the fishing spot ! he stops his bike to the bridge's barriere and come close to you helping you to get off yours. he hold his hands to you, wanting to finish that quick visit going hand to hand. i've spent so many hours here n got my first fish here. he started, i've always wanted to show you this place bby. the sun has started to set, the orange sky highlighting jake's beauty. his infamous smile is somehow prettier in australia, showing a raw-er n better version of him, the true jake, unfolding in front you of n you only. before going to korea that was the last place i went to. i needed to see one last time and just think of what my future will be looking like. he stops at his track, the end of the bruges right in front of you and helps you sit down, feet's swinging on top of the water. his arms encircle you, your head naturally coming to his shoulder. i'm glad i went to korea, now i've got to hold my future in my arms, pressing a kiss on your temple.

perm tag list ( open ) : @berryyuni @stwrjvke @neos127 @goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby @heeheeswifey @sjylouvre @txnwvc @oopshee @mioons @en-ner-jay @en-chantedtomeetyou @jlheon @ghostiiess @theyluvfrankocean

[loveliestlovelygirl]

after hours

boss!anakin x secretary!reader

synopsis: since you slept together, anakin, your boss, has been acting pretty much normal around you. on occasion he flirts with you and leaves you little gifts. but you start to question if he sees you as little more than an office plaything.

w.c: 1.2k

highlights: {minors dni} requested anonymously, sexual content and themes, power imbalance, infidelity mentioned, explicit language, brief mentions of domestic abuse

Every single shift after you made the terrible decision of sleeping with your boss, you find a purple rose on your desk. And you have collected enough to make a bouquet which stands in a tall glass right beside your computer. Neither of you have had much time to talk about what happened afterwards. He’s been caught up in his work, and you’ve been caught up in managing his life and coffee orders.

Every time he passes your desk to get to his own office, he flashes his smile and gives you a little wink, letting you know that he hasn’t forgotten what happened. But you don’t know why he seems uninterested in talking about it. You’re too afraid to bring it up to him because… well, he’s your boss. And you’re not exactly sure of where you stand with him anymore. The dynamics of your professional relationship is just as fucked up as you had been on your desk only last week.

God, it’s embarrassing to remember how many documents were destroyed in the hurricane that had been desperate sex with Anakin. You wonder how long it had been since he’d fucked because he acted as though he was deprived. Considering his tumultuous relationship with his beauty queen wife, it all added up though. He needed a release. And you held your legs wide open for him.

It wouldn’t surprise you if he sees you only as a quick fuck, an office plaything to entertain himself with when his wife is upset. Each time you imagine that likely reality you chip off a piece of your self-image.

When he walks through past your desk this morning to begin the day, Anakin stops at the entrance to his office and turns to you. “Mind staying late today?”

You narrow your eyes at him slightly. “Why?”

He freezes for a moment as if he didn’t expect you to question his authority. “Well…” he crosses his arms, “Work stuff.”

You give him a sigh. Something is up. You can tell by the mischievous grin he wears as he looks at you. “I promised I’d meet my friends for drinks later.”

He opens his door a little wider to reveal his liquor cabinet. “I’ll make you one.”

“Are you asking me to have a drink with you?”

He gives you a shy smile and closes the door behind him. He knows you won’t chase after him. You’re too afraid to stand up to him. The dynamics have shifted even further in his favor now that you’ve slept with him.

You hit your hands against your face. You stupid, stupid girl!

Most people had left by five o’clock. The forty-floored skyscraper is a ghost town. As you wait at your desk for your boss to finish up, you swear you can hear yourself think. You nearly scream when he opens the door because you were lost in your thoughts completely. He waves you in, and he’s holding a red drink in his hand.

That’s your drink. A cosmopolitan. How’d he know that?

He hands it to you as you walk in. It’s love at the first sip. Apparently, the famous CEO is also a cocktail expert. 

“How is it?” he asks.

You sip slowly, pacing yourself. “Good. Thank you.”

Anakin offers you his office chair, burgundy, shiny faux-leather, and rolls across the floor as if it’s ice. As heat rushes to your cheeks, you accept his kindness and sit, crossing your legs daintily.

He steps over to his personal bar and pours himself a glass of wine. He swirls it around in his glass a couple times before taking a big sip. Then he turns to you again.

“So,” he mutters.

You smile. “What work stuff did you wanna go over.”

Anakin stands in front of you as if to purposefully occupy your entire view. He takes another sip before finally answering.

“Fine. You’ve got me. Not work stuff.”

You mask your surprised expression by sipping on your own drink. Honestly, you don’t know what to say. Maybe it’s stupid, but you don’t want to assume it’s to talk about your intimate encounter though you wouldn’t mind trying it again. You’ve started wearing matching lingerie every day to work.

“I was hoping…” he hangs his head as he grabs your hand, “we wouldn’t be a one-time thing.”

“What are you asking for, Anakin? Sex?”

With a grin on his lips, he glances up at you again. “You. That’s what I want.”

You set your glass on his desk with a white clink echoing through. “Just me?”

“Just you,” he repeats. “All to myself.”

“You know, I could have a boyfriend,” you say standing up, facing him.

“Well… I hope he doesn’t mind that you’re going to be working overtime…” he pauses and sets his drink beside your glass, “almost every night.”

Of course, his arrogance shouldn’t turn you on like it does, the presumptuousness of his assumption that you’ll be spending every night with him. But it works on you. His unbreakable confidence in everything he does amazes you, and you fall harder somehow. You throw your arms around his neck, and he leans your body back, his hands cupping your ass, and he kisses your deeply. His lips taste of sweet wine and the cigars he smokes sometimes. You chase his tongue into his mouth. And he likes it.

His hands start to lift the edges of your pencil skirt, seeking you. You push back to stop him. You want to take this slowly. Not like last time. Last time was messy and fast. You were swept away by the most animalistic passions.

This time you want to savor him. Savor his touch, the way he feels against your skin, the taste of his body, and the scent of his cologne.

You start with his tie, pulling it down from the back of his neck. It’s blue silk a little darker than his eyes. You unbutton his white dress shirt, slowly revealing the skin beneath decorated by curly hair. Against your fingers, it’s downy soft. You nuzzle his chest with your nose and with your mouth and with your tongue.

He rolls his shirt off and it falls behind him to the floor. Next, you deftly tackle his belt, unbuckling it and pulling it through the loops. The metal clatters on the hard floor, but you don’t stop.

In your last encounter, all he managed was to rip your panties off and unzip his fly. He could hardly wait to get inside you. And it had been a tight fight, even with his attempts to ready your body.

This time you fully undress each other and fully embrace your natural states during this intimate meeting. Anakin admires your body, rubbing his hands up and down the sides of your hips, savoring your breasts. 

You like this softer side to him. The life he lives has hardened him. You have to be cutthroat to survive. And you know he’s done things he’s not proud of.

But you know his heart. And right now, his heart is for you.

He’s looking down at you in the same way he used to towards his wife. All you can hope for is that his feelings for you will last.

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