#also ignore how messy it is it was. very rushed

[steddieas-shegoes]

spiderman kiss

for @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up event for Valentine's Day

rated t | 896 words | no cw | tags: fake dating au, fake wedding date, strangers to lovers, fast burn of the century, getting together, first kiss, modern au

🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️

“I cannot believe you fell for this guy,” Robin hisses through her teeth as she gestures to Eddie, who is doing his best impression of a bat by hanging upside down from a tree branch. “You were supposed to bring him to the wedding, not want to marry him.”

“Woah. I said I liked him, not that I wanted to marry him,” Steve whispers.

“For you, that’s basically the same thing.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but she’s right. He may not fall for people often, but when he does, it’s all or nothing. Head over heels. Madly, deeply in love.

Eddie was supposed to be his date for this wedding to appease all the kids, to get them to just shut up already about how single he is and how miserable he is when he comes to events alone. He’s Dustin’s friend, apparently someone just as miserably single as Steve.

He’s weird. Steve likes weird.

He’s loud. Steve likes…his loud.

He’s exciting. Steve needs excitement.

He’s also hot. In a metalhead who didn’t get the memo that the 80s are over, wore jeans and a button-up to a formal event, played air guitar in his seat during the bridal march kind of way.

“He’s fun,” Steve settles on, shrugging. “Aren’t you the one who said I need more fun in my life?”

“I meant, like, a new hobby!”

“He could be my new hobby.”

“Ew,” Robin groans. “Okay. Alright, fine. You wanna be involved with him, be my guest. Dustin says he’s never once seen him in a committed relationship.”

Steve knows. They spent most of yesterday together talking, getting to know each other, making sure they could pass as boyfriends and not people who just met. Steve didn’t care about being single at a wedding, but apparently all of his friends had told Dustin’s mom they were dating behind their backs and now-

“Stevie!” Eddie yells when he notices him talking to Robin at the table. “We could Spiderman kiss!”

Steve glances at Robin, who rolls her eyes and throws her hands up. “Oh my god, just go.”

He stands and walks over to Eddie, who is hanging much lower than he should be for a proper Spiderman kiss. He’s grinning, and his hair has started to fall from its messy bun. Steve cannot believe he’s doing this.

He stands with his hands on his hips, smirking at Eddie trying to hold himself up higher, but not having the strength to do it.

“It would be a lot easier to kiss you if you got down,” Steve says.

Everyone goes silent.

Because everyone who is standing by Eddie– Max, Dustin, Will, and Mike– are all very aware that this was nothing more than a fake date for the wedding. Steve doesn’t need to kiss Eddie when no one is watching; He doesn’t need to kiss even when someone is watching.

Eddie stops trying to lift himself, eyes widening as Steve takes another step closer.

“You’d have to be on that branch to pull it off,” Steve says as he points at the branch about two feet above the one he’s currently on. “Unless I get on my knees.”

Everyone pretends they don’t hear the strangled noise that escapes Eddie.

“You’d get dirty, though. Those are nice pants,” Eddie says, still upside down, face bright red from embarrassment and blood rushing to his head.

“They are,” Steve agrees, laughing as he squats so he’s barely higher than Eddie’s face. “But I have to dry clean them anyway. Might as well get what I’m paying for.”

Steve places his hand on the back of Eddie’s neck and leans in, brushing their lips together softly. It’s awkward because Eddie’s upside down and Steve has no idea how they made it looks so hot in the movie, but-

“This is a turn of events I did not see coming!” Dustin’s new wife, Suzie, claps. “You were so right, Dusty Buns. They’re perfect for each other.”

Steve does what he does best and ignores them, focusing on Eddie, who looks unstable now.

“Do you need help getting down?” Steve asks.

Eddie nods, and Steve moves as quickly as he can to help get him upright so he can climb down. He’s surprised Dustin agreed to an outdoor wedding in the spring with his allergies, but Suzie insisted on having fresh flowers everywhere and would not accept store bought. He’s even more surprised that Eddie, who admitted to having seasonal allergies while they talked at dinner last night, is hanging in trees.

When Eddie’s back on the ground, Steve kisses him for real. A hard press to his lips, tongue brushing against him, teasing.

“Did you climb a tree for attention?” Steve asks him when he pulls away.

“It worked. I can’t be blamed for doing something drastic for you to kiss me.”

“You could’ve just kissed me,” Steve laughs.

Eddie does.

“Still fake? Or can we admit that there’s way more chemistry here than we expected there to be and kiss some more?” He asks.

“I regret doing this. I regret it so much,” Dustin groans as he walks away.

Steve rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t. He’s gonna go do his happy dance where we can’t see him.”

“He has a happy dance?” Eddie asks, smile growing as he leans into Steve’s side.

“Yeah, it’s embarrassing. Let’s go watch.”

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

for raphtav: long and indulgent makeout session with bonus dry humping

“You know,” said Tav, soft and sweet, lingering like what she hoped was an alluring shade in his peripheral, “today's something of a special day, in the mortal realm.” “Really.” Raphael's tone was completely disinterested. He didn't even glance up from the book he was reading, blind to the suggestive way she was dressed: a shirt loosely buttoned up (one of his) and small-clothes. Her long legs bare. She still had that messy, fresh-out-of-bed look she knew he liked. She also knew he was aware of the date, but was feigning ignorance to tease her. To annoy her. Simply because he could. Any of those reasons were valid for Raphael.

“I never cared about it much before, but…” She took his visage in, relaxed in his handsome human skin, manspreading on his fancy couch in only a pair of trousers but still immaculate. The concept of morning, noon and night didn't exist in Avernus, but in the House of Hope Raphael made the rules, and the rules said it was a lazy and quiet morning. “This time is different.”

“Is that so.”

“Yes.” Tav approached, reached for the book; it was a testament to how indulgent and amused he felt that he allowed her to slide the book from his hands and close it, putting it to the side. At last he looked at her, deep and soulful honey-brown eyes like inescapable sinkholes glimmering with interest, consuming her slowly from her toes to her crown, boiling her blood and raising the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. “I feel like celebrating today.”

“And why is that?”

“It's a holiday for lovers, you see.”

Raphael's mouth quirked. “Do you have a lover, pet?”

“I don't know,” crooned Tav, stood between his legs, smoothed her thumb across his thin but plush bottom lip. “Do I?”

She gasped when he took it between his teeth and sucked. “Any lover of yours would be quite the catch indeed, I imagine,” he rumbled, “greedy as you are, you wouldn't settle for anything less.”

“Greedy,” she repeated, sighing when Raphael's big, warm hands slid up her calves and the tender backs of her thighs to cup her ass. He squeezed those cheeks until she grunted. “I'm greedy, huh?”

“Very much so.”

He was right. Seeing him there, powerful and gorgeous and within her grasp, Tav wanted. And so she took. He was her catch, after all. She slid one hand into his silky soft hair and rested the other on his broad shoulder so that she could lean down and hungrily press her mouth against his. She felt him smile, a smug and satisfied thing, but then he was kissing back, just as hungry as she.

Hot and hard presses of lips that grew slick with spit, again and again and again, the tip of his fine nose pressed against her cheek with the tilt of his head, each puffing breath dusting across her face. It was she who opened her mouth first, she who invited his tongue, silver and slippery and sometimes forked, in behind her teeth so she could bite and suckle desperately on it. He liked that; groaned huskily, a sound that she swallowed and answered with one of her own, unable to help herself. He was an excellent kisser, of course. He was good at anything he decided to put effort in. Rotten bastard, Tav thought with a violent rush of affection that he absolutely didn't deserve.

She wanted to be closer to him, so she straddled his lap, knees either side of his waist. The hand on his shoulder drifted to his chest, fingers tangling in the wiry patch of hair across his pecs. When Tav lowered herself, pressed their crotches together with her full weight, she was delighted to discover Raphael's cock was already beginning to fatten. She rolled her hips, the thin barrier of her underwear and the thicker barrier of his trousers creating delicious friction for her clit that was peeking from its hood, enticed – as always – by the devil. Raphael grabbed a fistful of her hair at the back of her head and yanked, breaking their kiss with a wet smack. A thin ribbon of saliva kept them connected despite the way Tav squealed.

“Filthy little harlot, aren't we,” he muttered, forcing her head to tilt. He licked the length of her neck from collarbone to chin, focused on her pulse point where her heart thundered, blood flow so close to the surface. He nuzzled, took a sharp breath, kissed and nipped at the tender skin like he was thinking about biting her throat open and gorging on arterial spray. Or creating another hole to fuck. Or both. It shouldn't have excited Tav, but she'd long come to terms with the fact that she was peculiar. Her whole body shuddered. Raphael chuckled huskily, his hold on her hip iron and bruising. Bruises she would press on and reminisce in the coming days. His eyes were half-lidded, pupils completely blown. He smelled musky, like cherries and burning candle wicks and wine and sweat. He was utterly intoxicating.

“You make me this way,” Tav breathed. Beneath her palm, his own heart thudded, strong and steady. She, like a wanton whore, ground herself against the full, stiff erection now tantalising between them. How easy it would be to open his trousers and free his pretty, leaking cock, to take it to hilt deep inside her cunt and ride until she came all over him, but there was something enticing about rubbing like this. She knew Raphael's penis – both human and devil – intimately; had touched it, tasted it, felt it, watched it, as it throbbed and spurted ropes of hot cum. The idea that he might do it in his trousers like a randy schoolboy, this prim and proper devil creaming himself as she shamelessly humped him, was a truly thrilling one. An idea that soaked Tav's underwear embarrassingly easily. This beautiful and monstrous creature obliterated all her inhibitions without even trying.

“Do I,” he hummed. She felt his dick twitch. Possessive and egotistical, nothing got him going quite like flattery.

You make me crazy, Tav wanted to say, but even as far gone as she was, she knew that would be giving him far too much power over her. Over her heart. So instead she leaned in to reignite their kiss, sloppy and heated, this time slipping her tongue into the moist cavern of his mouth before it could get her into any more trouble.

[fynori]

the flags try the grimace shake!

[variety-fangirl]

Thinking about reader having a tough time, a tough couple of weeks, of just feeling awful. Your mental health had taken a toll and gotten bad again. You weren't exactly sure what specifically set it off this time. It was most likely a combination of things.

Your workload had picked up due to the increase in your rent, which put you financially out some, and you didn't want to bother others with that problem. You would feel too awful to even think of asking. You'd put on some weight due to the late nights and long hours working, so you didn't have as much time to prepare proper or healthy meals, which of course meant you had been snacking on the go. You'd overheard a few of your coworkers make some unkind comments on your weight and how "unkempt" you seemed as of late, whilst they finished early and had a dual income, so they didn't understand. But that had given your demons some fuel to get to work.

You were one of the very first people in and one of the last out. You had finished late every night for the last two weeks, running on caffeine, instant foods, and fumes. You pushed yourself, every day, just to make ends meet and it still didn't seem enough. You had almost fallen asleep a few times at your desk and had to down an energy drink or hurriedly drink coffee to stay awake.

You also had slacked on the household chores, which meant things were more messy and disorganised than you liked. It meant everything felt chaotic. It made things difficult to find when you were rushing around and late. You also felt like your relationship was suffering because of it, which just added the final nail in the coffin. Plus, your boyfriend seemed to be ignoring you as of late. So everything was just too much.

It was finally the weekend. You finally had some days off to do what was neglected through the weeks. You thought you'd start off easy, you did the mounds of laundry that needed washing. But the whole time, you were mentally berating yourself for not doing it sooner. You next cleaned the kitchen, mopping the floor and disinfecting the surfaces. Which is then followed by the living room and dining room. But, again, you just kept thinking about how gross and lazy you were, punishing yourself for not taking care of it.

You were doing mental hoops of insults, all the while making your mood worse and throwing you further into a pit of depression. You spent the whole of Saturday cleaning, putting away, and sorting your solo home out. You wanted to do nothing more than relax, but your brain kept saying how you didn't deserve rest or to relax until everything you'd neglected was completed. You hated it, which made you hate yourself.

It took you 5 hours to do everything. It took all of your energy to force yourself back upstairs afterwards. You still had more to do up there, so you got to it. You sat down on the floor where you had set out the weeks' worth of piles and piles of laundry to put away, but you quickly got frustrated and overstimulated with exhaustion. You just wanted a nap, things to be easier, and to stay on top of things. Was that so much to ask for? Apparently.

The tears began falling and refused to stop. Weeks of pent-up and pushed-down emotions had finally caught up to you and erupted. You were sobbing, loudly and hysterically, as you curled in on yourself and fisted the laundry in your hands. You were tired, so fucking tired. Of everything. You just wanted to go to sleep and not wake up for a while. You knew it wasn't healthy, this lifestyle that was taking absolutely everything out of you, but you didn't know what to do or how to break the cycle to give yourself some reprieve.

But here you were. The fumes that were running on nothingness had finally caved in under the mass of enervations and pressure. You weren't sure how long you sat there wailing and sobbing out your frustrations and complete exhaustion, just holding yourself and pulling at your hair. Your phone had vibrated multiple times in a short period but you just couldn't physically move, you couldn't do anything but weep to your heart's content. Not that you could look at your phone anyway, your vision was blurry from the constant stream of tears.

At some point, you hear the door open and footsteps coming up. Coming straight in your direction. You knew you had never unlocked the door from last night when you came home late. And only one person had a key to your place, your boyfriend. You watched with teary vision as he came around the doorway and walked towards you, pushing the laundry out of the way so he could kneel in front of you.

"W-what are y-you doing h-here?" You gasped out, whimpering about him seeing you in such a state of disarray and collapse. He had never seen you have a breakdown before, he'd naturally seen you cry, but not this bad.

"You butt-dialled me, sweetheart. I was so worried and stressed out that you wouldn't answer me and just kept sobbing. I dropped everything and came straight here. Think I broke multiple speeding laws to get here." He breathlessly chuckles as you giggle sadly through your tears, an accidental whimper following. You feel his hands gently grab your face to look at him.

"Talk to me, my love. What's wrong? Do I need to kill someone for you?" He half-jokes, a look of pure worry filling his beautiful features. You shake your head in his hands as you reach up to grasp his wrists in your palms to ground yourself.

You tearily explained everything to him, spilling all your stresses and worries to the man you love. You knew he wouldn't ever judge you or invalidate your feelings, so you felt comfortable laying everything out for him. He listened, hooked on every word, and patiently worked with you. All while stroking your face lovingly.

Once you were done, you sobbed once more. All the emotions pouring out of you in one go. He made you feel safe and gave you a space to be vulnerable and transparent with him. That was irreplaceable.

He wordlessly pulled you into his lap, manoeuvring you where he wanted you. You just let him, ending up with your face in the crook of his neck and straddling his lap. You immediately latched onto him, wrapping your arms around any part of you could, your hands fisting his clothing for dear life. He stayed there for some time, comforting you with sweet words and back rubs, until you calmed down enough. He was patient and kind, giving you everything you needed.

He eventually picked you up with him as he stood, not once releasing you and walked to your bathroom. He started the water, letting it warm up as he placed you down on the floor. He undressed you slowly, placing feathery kisses in the pattern and traces of where his hands once were on each and every inch of exposed skin, all the while adorning you with compliments and telling you how much he loves you. You were now crying for a completely different reason, but much less aggressively.

Once he finished his worshipping of your body, he undressed himself, discarding both of your clothes in the hamper. (So thoughtful). He then helped you into the shower, following closely behind, and proceeded to wash and massage every bit of you. He completely pampered and worshipped you, from your hair down to your toes. He took his time, being the most gentle and soft that he had ever been with you or anything in his entire life. He made all your stress and worries melt away. He allowed you to wash and tend to him in return after a lot of convincing, expressing you wanted to and it would make you feel better.

You worshipped him in return, not wanting to make everything about you. Especially with how well he was treating you, he always did, but he was extra attentive tonight to help meet your needs.

Once you were both done in the shower, he dried you and carried you into the bedroom. He spent the next hour on top of you and in between your legs. Being slow, affectionate, and gentle. His lips kissed every inch of skin he could while making love to you, wanting to express every bit of his emotions he could to you. You received mindblowing orgasm after orgasm, all while your hands stayed intertwined. And afterwards, you fell asleep on his chest with one of his arms wrapped around you and the other stroking your hair.

You were awoken the next morning with breakfast in bed from your favourite breakfast place, your favourite flowers and a fully cleaned home. Which of course made you cry again but from happy tears. You spent the afternoon in bed, making love and enjoying the calm and happy mood.

By the end of the following week, he was fully moved into your place, after a few months of dating. He made you cut down on your work hours, claiming to handle everything and helped you to keep on top of anything that needed doing. You were so thankful he was yours and didn't know how you would ever repay him.

(Multi) I had Simon, John, Johnny, Gaz, Gojo, Geto, Megumi, Nanami, Marc, Eddie, and Steve, in mind while writing this.

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙no saving u | LS2˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: logan sargeant x piastri!reader y/n (she/her)

genre: social media au, break up, brother's best friend/childhood friends to lovers

warnings: trigger warning many max verstappen mentions unfortunately /j

summary: in which they are pulled together following a particularly messy crash during the last race of the season and an even messier break up

a/n: i got this plot as a request and i love it ahhh i linked the request below!!! hope u guys enjoy i lowkey luv writing logan fanfic especially when max loses something 😆

request!!!: max is getting too cocky and dangerous on the track and he knows you disagree with his antics which causes tension between you, he continues his dangerous streak even though he’s just had the pit lane rules changed for abu dhabi and ends up crashing into logan during fp2, you’ve had enough of max putting himself and others in danger whilst he’s on an ego trip and rush to check on logan after he’s been taken safely from his car and end up going to the hospital with him (you’re childhood friends because he did karting and f3 with your brother), you leave max that night and end up spending more time with logan as he recovers, the summer is spent exploring your new relationship and you go public when you’re spotted in his paddock in 2024, max is humiliated beaten by the worst driver on the grid in his opinion, he’s finally humbled, you could also maybe have logan doing better as he’s had an opportunity to be involved with the cars development, and he even gets a couple podiums in his sophomore year :)

my masterlist

instagram ->

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, and 47,038 others

yourusername life lately:)

view all 2,012 comments

maxverstappen1 the true artwork is you!

oscarpiastri cringeee

danielricciardo he's trying

yourusername max verstappen most bullied f1 driver on the grid

logansargeant assuming we will see you in the williams garage in abu dhabi

maxverstappen1 no!

alex_albon it's our turn

oscarpiastri nope it's our turn

yourusername shame it's none of you lot's turn. you will see me in mercedes perhaps

lewishamilton i always win

georgerussell63 😊

user1 y/n x f1 2023 grid interactions are my absolute favourite

twitter ->

whatsapp ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted stories

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, and 10,384 others

maxverstappen1 wont you swing by?

yourusername yes of course hehe i will come see you before free practice 🧡

alex_albon u didnt cheat but ur still a traitor

yourusername 🐱

twitter ->

whatsapp ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by lilymhe, oscarpiastri, and 12,321 others

maxverstappen1 you are ignoring me

yourusername i just dont want to talk right now

maxverstappen1 why? you didnt even see if i was okay

yourusername i knew you were okay

yourusername im just very upset and angry it wouldn't be productive to see you right now

maxverstappen1 you are not coming back to the hotel?

yourusername no so dont wait up, i'll see you tomorrow

maxverstappen1 okay i am sorry y/n

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, and 64,734 others

yourusername im only welcome in one garage now

view all 3,294 comments

logansargeant this is literally false information

lilymhe she knows where she should be

landonorris im so lucky i get to see y/n before every race now

oscarpiastri you literally told her she stinks like 5 min ago

yourusername oh great thanks maybe im not welcome anywhere

mclaren we love you y/n

liked by yourusername

mercedesamgf1 you know where to find us y/n

liked by yourusername

user11 the caption...... is this a break up confirmation bc she isnt welcome at rb garage anymore

user12 i love how all the teams fight over her lol

f1wagupdates

liked by yourusername, user10, and 13,384 others

f1wagupdates we are gathered here today to mourn the alleged death of f1 couple max verstappen and our favourite aussie y/n piastri. please leave your respects below 🙏 we are celebrating with some of our favourite maxy/n moments!

tagged: yourusername, maxverstappen1

view all 3,283 comments

user13 wag death 🙏

liked by yourusername

user14 one of my favourite couples😢

user15 dont cry coz it's over.....

user16 this has rattled me

user17 the caption CELEBRATING? Hahahah

f1wagupdates whoops freudian slip

user18 😭 i will never know peace

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by lilymhe, carmenmmundt, and 8,743 others

carmenmmundt dodged a bullet 100%

yourusername then why does it feel like i got hit anyway 😐

carmenmmundt you are so strong y/n/n

yourusername somehow it's worse because he would have me back if i asked lol

carmenmmundt omg he has no idea what he lost .. you are going to be thriving whilst he is flopping by next season i promise

yourusername i hope ur right 😀

logansargeant

liked by yourusername, alex_albon, and 24,924 others

logansargeant vacation time 🏝️

tagged: yourusername, oscarpiastri

view all 4,283 comments

yourusername vacay vacay

oscarpiastri baecay baecay

yourusername ur so weird

oscarpiastri noo hahahh ..

user19 "baecay" what does that mean 🤔

user20 not oscar shipping his best friend & sister together 💀

user21 love seeing y/n hanging out with everyone now instead of being hidden away in max's dungeon

yourusername DUNGEON i just shrieked

user22 😀😀😀 im fine

danielricciardo

liked by yourusername, landonorris, and 284,929 others

danielricciardo woohoo woohoo woohoo

tagged: yourusername, lilymhe, landonorris, alex_albon, oscarpiastri

view all 13,294 comments

user23 omg more y/n x grid content

yourusername yoohoo

danielricciardo hi y/n

yourusername hey 😄

lilymhe my fav ppl

landonorris should we all give up our seats and hang out 24/7 instead

alex_albon no

danielricciardo no

oscarpiastri no

yourusername yea yay!

lilymhe yes wahoo

user24 i wish i was their friend

user25 max verstappen found dead

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, and 454,183 others

charles_leclerc what we've been up to

view all 17,064 comments

user26 y/n & charles taking a flight together🥹

user27 omg she is everywhere loll

yourusername exposing my weird airline meal

charles_leclerc still dont know what it was

oscarpiastri lol flying with y/n/n is an experience

user28 who is y/n dating im confused ??

user29 no one her & max just broke up but she's oscar's sister so she's always been friends with a lot of the grid

alexandrasaintmleux i can't believe u saw y/n without me

yourusername 😭 i miss you

alexandrasaintmleux get on a plane now

yourusername i genuinely will

charles_leclerc dont steal my gf

twitter ->

whatsapp ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by lilymhe, carmenmmundt, and 14,204 others

lilymhe oh hello

yourusername 👀

carmenmmundt excuse meee mrs

yourusername perhaps you were right

carmenmmundt not surprised

logansargeant

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername, and 27,924 others

logansargeant ...where should we go next?

view all 4,193 comments

user33 looks like y/n .. anyone else?

user34 that is deffo y/n

user35 why would we assume y/n is dating logan everyone has been posting them hanging out with her lately

danielricciardo go to japan

liked by logansargeant

user36 aww daniel giving travel advice

yourusername

liked by logansargeant, charles_leclerc, and 18,204 others

yourusername new favourite place

tagged: logansargeant

view all 6,283 comments

user37 omg not them going to japan because daniel told them to

user38 i rly think logan & y/n are an item

user39 aww she is having so much fun since the breakup

danielricciardo did not expect u guys to actually go where i said

yourusername we were feeling crazyy & impulsive

oscarpiastri come home im bored

yourusername make some friends

oscarpiastri why make friends when i have u

user40 lol i love their sibling relationship

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, and 4,294 others

carmenmmundt omg this is giving hard launch

yourusername 😭 this is special circumstances

logansargeant couldn't have done it without you

twitter ->

instagram—

yourusername

liked by logansargeant, carmenmmundt, and 17,294 others

yourusername bahrain bahrain p.s he was tired after getting p3

tagged: logansargeant

view all 7,294 comments

oscarpiastri just got the strongest urge to bully you for this post

yourusername u hate to see a girl win!! ur a misogynist or something

landonorris u didnt win anything y/n

logansargeant she won my heart actually

oscarpiastri omg.... lose my number.

yourusername lose ur seat!!! ur a b word

user44 not them arguing over literally nothing

mclaren we're on your side, y/n

yourusername i will always be a mclaren girl!

user45 lol y/n x grid interactions own my heart

user46 i love her relationship with mclaren in general

twitter ->

whatsapp ->

instagram ->

logansargeant

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 32,294 others

logansargeant me and my gf in murica

tagged: yourusername

view all 11,284 comments

yourusername 🦅

oscarpiastri you hate america

yourusername no need to mention that rn

logansargeant ???

lilymhe never been so happy

liked by yourusername, logansargeant

carmenmmundt i told you so, y/n

yourusername you did :)

logansargeant dont know what you told her but thanks 👍

user48 AHHHH i love y/n

logansargeant you and me both

yourusername WHAT?

oscarpiastri that's my sister bro

user48 omg what did i start

alex_albon oh shit

logansargeant urmmmm

yourusername i love you too 😜

carmenmmundt 🥰🥰

THE END 🤍

[hearts4golbach]

Can I request carrington x reader where his Lon term partner (reader) didn’t like flowers, so he makes her paper ones himself? Like those paper bouquets you see in like, booktok

Thank God for Tiktok.

pairing:

Carrington Bornstein x Fem!Reader.

a/n:

pre established relationship 👅

not proofread

warnings:

none.

word count:

1.0k

To say Carrington had been crafting for hours was an understatement. the sun had gone down a while back. He was sitting in his moonlit room surrounded by miscellaneous crafting tools and books. tomorrow was your birthday. no, he hadn't been procrastinating. he had ordered you a gift but stumbled upon the idea to make you paper flowers. you preferred not to get real flowers. You were always so upset when they inevitably died.

so, he was glued to his bed (pun intended), making you an immortal bouquet of paper flowers.

previously, he had rushed out of the house to go find some books he could cut up. clearly, he didn't own any, and he wasn't about to steal one of Johnnies' comics. he settled on going out, possibly to goodwill or target, to get a book or two for his project. he wandered to the arts and crafts section, getting a hot glue gun and sticks. he also found a pack of pipe cleaners and some ribbon. everything he had chosen was a perfect match for his vision. and with that, he was all set.

it had been about three and a half hours since then. he was about to finish the very last flower, then he'd have a set of exactly twenty. he mentally praised himself for how well they actually turned out. he even curled out the edges of the paper to imitate real flowers.

setting the last one in the pile, he admired his work. he couldn't help but smile to himself, dreaming of your reaction at dinner tomorrow night.

Carrington grabbed a handful of the dark green pipe cleaners and began attaching them to the paper flowers. thoughts of your bright smile plagued his mind.

he knew you'd be somewhat shocked at the present, considering he wasn't an arts and crafts type of person. when it came to you, he was up for anything.

he envisioned how the bouquet would look in your bedroom, grinning to himself whenever he realized it'd fit your aesthetic perfectly.

he sang to himself softly. the song that was playing reminded him of you. he was slightly relieved when gluing the stems on didn't take as long as the flowers themselves. he held the fairly large bouquet in one hand, a stupid smile plastered on his face. he tied a bow around the stems as perfectly as he could before setting it on his desk carefully.

as soon as he crashed into bed, he fell asleep almost immediately. ignoring the ache in his knuckles and the slight pounding in his head, he drifted off to sleep.

the next morning went by fast. he had a couple of 'business' things to figure out with Jake and Johnnie, which went by a lot quicker than he had figured. by lunchtime, he was anxiously waiting by his phone for you to respond. of course, he knew it'd take forever. you were at lunch with friends, and you were coming over straight after. it was a sort of nervous excitement. he couldn't wait to see your reaction to his gift.

Carrington decided against sitting there for another hour. he went to the bathroom and adjusted his hair. his curly dark brown locks hung in his face, complimenting his bright blue eyes. he tried to do something different with his hair, but there wasn't much. he knew you wouldn't care. You loved playing with his messy hair.

finally, his phone rang. your name and photo popped up on the screen. he scrambled to his phone and answered on the first ring. "Hi, baby." he greeted.

"Hey," he could hear the sudden smile in your voice, which made him grin. "im leaving now. Am I still good to come over?"

"Yeah. yeah, of course." he furrowed his eyebrows together, very expressive as he spoke even though you couldn't see his face.

you hummed and said goodbye before ending the call. you sped over there, so excited you drove over the speed limit without even realizing it.

meanwhile, Carrington prepped your present. he wrapped it in sparkly black, silver, and light blue wrapping paper. he taped the small card on top and grabbed the faux bouquet. he waited downstairs on the couch, holding the items in his lap.

whenever you arrived, you walked quickly up to the door. you knocked a couple of times before entering, which had become your usual routine.

Carrington jumped up and pulled you in for a hug. you felt contentment wash over you as his hands rested on the small of your back and his head in the crook of your neck.

he placed a kiss on your neck. "Happy birthday." he pulled away, beckoning you over to the couch. "c'mere."

you silently followed him over. he handed you the small box, which was neatly wrapped. "What's this?"

"What does it look like?" he laughed, "it's a present."

"I told you I don't need anything," you scolded, a sincere tone in your voice.

"I wanted to get you something. open it!" he urged.

you rolled your eyes, a contradicting smile on your face. in the box, there was a beautiful necklace. it had 3 charms on it, your initial, Carringtons' initials, and a small heart. you pouted your lower lip and looked up at him. "I love it."

"im really glad," he grinned, handing you two more things. "Read the card later." he was embarrassed to see your reaction to what he wrote in person.

you sighed, "Fine." he finally handed you the bouquet.

your jaw fell to the floor as you looked at the beautiful, handmade flowers. "You made this?!"

he nodded, a prideful smile on his face. "I thought you'd really like them since you're a bookworm."

you paid no mind to his joke. you were absolutely starstruck by the flowers. "they're so beautiful, Carrington." You couldn't contain the soft smile that threatened to appear. you placed a soft, slow kiss on his lips. "I love you."

he placed a kiss on your forehead. "i love you." All he could think was, 'thank god for tiktok.''

[psychemochanight]

So... Dick Grayson's Headcanons :D (this gonna be a long post-)

Some mine and some from the fandom!

Obviously not all of them (I don't have all of them in mind right now), but as you know, we will continue to post them here anyway🤙

And I already mentioned some of them before, but I'll mention some of them again anyway.

First I remind you that these are just HC and/or things that I like to project onto the character, you don't have to agree or share them with me, if you don't like one, just skip it please, you don't need to come here to discuss because of a HC of a fictional character.

I also advise that, although I always try to ensure that the HCs do not interfere with the canon, some may contradict it (mostly because I forget certain details of the canon- lmao).

Disclaimer made (?), let's go to it ✨

Dick has the body of a person who does calisthenics, an acrobat's body, indeed, more than that of an Olympic male gymnast.

(Ignoring canon on the first one, lmao). But yes, I like to think that Dick doesn't have as much muscle as Bruce, that way he can keep his flexibility intact, because, no matter how flexible you are, if you have too much muscle, you lose mobility, so, yeah. Still, he have more muscle than the average acrobat, but not as much as a gymnast... Kinda sleeper build.

Many heroes thought Dick was a meta.

Mainly due to his flexibility, others for more silly things like being able to understand Flash when he speaks.

Dick has a very messy eating schedule, He often forgets to eat and sometimes eats twice as much, not because he is hungry, but because he has forgotten whether he has eaten or not.

He doesn't eat much junk food, although he is constantly on a sugar rush. Anyway, thanks to Bitewing he has a better schedule now, since he doesn't forget to feed her, and he takes advantage of the opportunity to eat something too. He still doesn't sleep enough tho.

Although he seems to be the most relaxed in his family, he is the second most paranoid after Bruce.

Paranoia + anxiety, more specifically. He takes it as best he can.

Ironically, despite his paranoia, he is the one who trusts the others the most in his entire family; but he always has a plan in his head in case he is betrayed.

He doesn't have anger issues, not all the time at least... The poor guy is just overstimulated.

Except when he is underestimated for being a "pretty boy", then the anger is real.

He is quick to learn to play instruments given his high muscle memory and keen ear.

Canonically he knows how to play guitar and also some piano.

Although Bruce knows more languages, Dick is the most fluent in them.

Bruce knows the languages, but he makes the typical mistake of thinking in his native language and then translating. Dick does have the ability to think directly in other languages.

When he gets angry, Dick talks very fast and starts mixing up languages, so even though Bruce knows all the languages Dick is speaking, can't keep up because he needs to translate everything.

Continuing with languages, I like YJ's idea of Dick butchering the English language... So, yeah, he actually does that.

But he doesn't do it because English is not his first language (even if he has Romani ancestry, his first language will probably be English, since it was the common language in the circus), but because he has spoken too many languages since he was little, then they get mixed up in his mind and when a word doesn't come to mind in English, he just makes up another one. Sometimes he just says the word in another language.

Another one about languages: even if he canonically only speaks 10-12 languages, for me he actually speaks/understands many more, he's just not fluent in them so he doesn't count them.

He is an AUDHD person, without diagnosis, but on more than one occasion his friends said it to him.

Barbara especially, has been telling him this since they were younger.

As an added bonus: AUDHD is harder to diagnose than ADHD or autism alone, since it is known that the characteristics of each one can diminish or even cancel the characteristics of the other; at the same time, it can increase other traits, but these may be wrongly attributed to other conditions.

I say this as someone from the field of psychology, please don't think I'm making this up.

So, Most of the "weird" things they noticed about Dick they attributed to his growing up environment and subsequent PTSD... Which is partly true, but not entirely true.

He knows too many random facts that no one knows where he learned them from, not even him.

He's on the asexual spectrum, probably demisexual, and biromantic.

This doesn't mean that he can't "enjoy" it, but he definitely doesn't feel the same as he doesn't feel a real attraction due to the lack of connection.

He liked the rain.

It's not exactly a trigger, but he doesn't like it like he used to.

If you understand, you understand.

He doesn't like compliments about his physical appearance, but he responds egocentrically to compliments about his other qualities, although this is to hide his shame, he does not know how to take compliments.

He prefers to act to hide his embarrassment, otherwise he ends up as a bundle of nerves.

He definitely did the thing more than once where he went to Metropolis and jumped off a building to get Clark's attention instead of visiting him like a normal person.

He loves it when his friends are the ones who initiate the hugs, especially since most of them lift him off the ground when they hug him. He'll never say it, but he loves this.

Although he acts like an older brother to everyone, the moment someone older is with him, he becomes an annoying younger brother.

He only does it with people he trusts, tho, since it requires him to let his guard down a little.

This is a very normal trait in older siblings, actually, and most of the time it is unconscious, and it is even more common if they were only children for a long time.

He likes to act dumb so the bad guys will underestimate him.

The bad thing is that sometimes even his family forgets that he is also considered a genius.

Here we ignore what DC did with Dick by making him more focused on leadership, he was always a child prodigy and always will be.

Alfred taught him to clean in specific ways because Dick complained a lot about the texture that certain objects had if they were not cleaned properly.

He also taught him cooking tricks, because otherwise Dick would starve because he doesn't like to eat many things.

He only likes chips... And also football.

It's pretty good in all kinds of art, He may not be a artist like Damian, or a dancer like Cass, but he holds his own in those disciplines as well.

He mainly uses drawing to draw structures or spoken portraits rather than for artistic and recreational purposes.

He only dances at events to which he is invited or any type of mission that requires it.

Tbf, canonically, he does know how to draw and dance, it is the reasons why he does them that is a HC.

He also knows how to do things like sewing and so on, his mother taught him to fix his own clothes.

He doesn't have a favorite color, but he tells people it's blue because it just makes sense to everyone.

He likes to wear superhero merch.

He can't stay in an office for the sake of his sanity, prefers dynamic jobs.

He also changes jobs very often even though he is good most of them, he gets bored.

He took too many online courses, he just never claims certification so it looks like he didn't study any degree.

Sometimes he just sits quietly with Damian watching animal documentaries without a narrator.

He often complains that Bruce never let him have a pet.

He knows perfectly well why he couldn't, he never had time to take care of one, he just likes to complain about it.

He is the one who scares his siblings the most, but none of them admit it.

He is the most stealthy (with Cass), a consequence of his bright yellow coat when he was a kid. Jason is the next stealthiest, but Dick is the one with the "light feet."

He definitely understands synesthesia.

He discussed many times with people about what color Monday is and what number is orange.

Summer is too hot and winter is too cold, he is team temperate, thank you very much.

He listens to music very often, he also sings to himself whenever he is not listening to music.

He knows lullabies in several languages, even those he doesn't actively speak.

He helps comfort frightened small children, and entertains older children with juggling and magic tricks.

His resistance to pain is terrifying, but when he is in serious pain, his childhood accent becomes thick.

He camouflages his childhood accent as an adult, adopting the Gotham accent, but can still use his real accent or imitate any other.

He often imitates the voices of the people he is talking to when they are being hypocritical, or simply to annoy them.

Although he mostly makes bad jokes, he is actually more than capable of making genuinely very funny jokes and pranks, he simply made bad jokes part of his personality since they were the ones that made Bruce laugh the most.

Although he grew up in the circus and knows more swear words than he should, he's not really a person who casually swears. He grew up being around people, especially children, so he knows how to control himself pretty well in that regard.

However, he knows how to destroy someone with words in a much more damaging way than with simple insults, even more than insulting them in every language there is and will be.

He looks pretty all the time, this annoys his friends and especially his brothers a lot.

Cass doesn't care about it, she finds it interesting and kind of funny.

He likes to braid Donna's hair. <3

And this is all that comes to my mind right now, but I will add more in reposts if I remember others, because I know I have more- especially since I didn't actually add HC of him as Robin or Nightwing-

And if you notice any mistakes, sorry, writing too much actually messes with my brain... and my English-

Edit: Here's part 2 :D

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

last christmas | s.h. x gn!reader

“you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“then what better time to do it, finish the year off strong.”

robin lowly groaned, “yeah like a positive strong, not a fall on your face strong. i’m being honest to you when i say, don’t do this for steve harrington, it’s not worth it.”

tongue barely peeking out, eyes staring harshly at the folded notebook paper with the words, read me!, starting to blur together. you blinked harshly and gave a slight shake of your head before turning to face robin on your bed, her messy bangs curtaining her pitting gaze.

“look, first time i told steve i have a crush on him, he didn’t give any type of reaction. but i just have to knows these things, yes it’s extremely stupid, but i just want it to be out in the air so it’s gone from my brain.” you shrugged your shoulders tightly, “besides not like i have any type of chance with him anyway, pretty sure he’s set of the one of the food court girls.” trying for a joke but your tone of voice giving you away.

robin hung her head, “honestly anything at this point will be disastrous, but i’m here for you, like always.” giving a crook of a smile.

-

“hey you see the new girl? she’s kinda cute.” steve slid into the seat beside you, you on your lunch while steve was ignoring his job. you barely glanced his way, his words keeping you quiet, “aren’t you on the clock?” is all you said to him.

he clicked his tongue at that, “no one’s bothering us, robin and the new chick can handle it. wanted to stew in silence with you anyway.” giving a light nudge to your arm.

his words give you a moment of whiplash, nothing crash, but enough to have your stomach twist a bit. “you, uh- you going to robin’s get together?” stupid question that you know the answer to, but just needing to say something.

steve cocked his head at you, “course. not like i have anything better to do, but even if i did i’d ditch for her. and everyone, especially you.” things like that get you confused.

deciding now or never, with a slight tremor in your fingers, sliding out the bright white envelop you handed it in front of steve, “a christmas card with a little something extra, but i suggest you wait until you’re home.” rushing that last bit when you saw his fingers picking at the flap.

steve gave a quirked smile, “gave me a naughty gift?” his teasing words made your cheeks feel warm. you covered it up with an eye roll and a simple, “no stupid.”

-

you and steve don’t have matching days off, so you didn’t see each other for a week until robin’s little christmas hang. and those whole five days, you regretted your decision while also mentally standing your ground. what’s done is done, at least you did something very bold -and very stupid- but besides the point.

slowly sipping on your spiked eggnog, you spotted steve walking in your direction. the milk curdled in your stomach at the sight of his wobbly smile. “hey can i- can we go somewhere, private?” oh shit, it’s the conversation.

you nodded dumbly as you followed behind steve who lead you upstairs and what seemed to be robin’s bedroom. with the door shut you could barely hear the murmurs from the other side, locking you and steve inside your own bubble of brewing silence.

you sat on the edge of robin’s bed and played dumb, “so… what’s wrong?” watching how steve slowly turned on his heels to face you, and without saying a word his pointer and index fingers dipped into his front pocket then produced your folded note. you kept a poker face as well as steve.

“this is a nice note,” was how steve started his sentence. “and- and i have nothing against you. you’re an awesome and- and sweet person, i’d be extremely lucky if i get to call you mine one day. but i- i’m not sure if you’ve had your heart broken, but i have and it sucks, and i’m still slowly healing from that crap.”

you kept quiet as you let steve ramble, “and i think you’re just way too good for me. you deserve someone way better than me.” but i want you, is what you thought as baby tears gathered at your lash line. you just nodded along.

“and also… the new years thing.” that pulled an unexpected laugh from your lips. oh how you are just so naive and stupid, trying to ask steve to be your new years kiss then playing it off as a joke. you wish you could smack yourself right now.

“i’m not sure if you’ve ever done that, kissing in general, but again i think it should be with someone special. not me.” if you wanted to reject me you could’ve just been a bit meaner, this feels worse.

you gave a small cough, “yeah. i- i just wanted to get this off my chest. start fresh for the new year.” standing up to make your exit but then steve stepped in front of you, “i care about you a lot, y/n. and look- maybe someday i’ll be that guy for you, just not now. you’re still my best friend though, that won’t change.”

he threw his arms over your shoulders while his wrapped tight along his waist, your cheek pressing into his chest as your eyes stared heavily at robin’s bedroom door. you took a deep sigh before untangling yourself, “we should head back. rob’s probably looking for either of us.”

-

a/n: did something like this actually happen to me and this is a vent fic…yes😐

[honeybunhottie]

How do you think it would go if Josh was with Chris’s younger sister

How it would be if Josh was dating Chris’s younger sister

Oh my gosh, I love this request! I actually had some friends in this situation last year, so it’s kind of funny to be writing about it now. Also, this will be before Josh’s sisters go missing, or an AU where they never do. We need everyone to be silly and happy here

Chris’s side of things

Josh and Chris are best buds, they have been since the 3rd grade

They’ve been with each other through thick and thin, they share everything with each other!

Jokes, clothes, food, the list goes on

One thing that was never on the table, though, was their younger siblings.

Chris was fine in that aspect. He’d never felt anything romantic towards Beth and Hannah, as sweet as they were. He’d had his eye on Ashley for a while.

But when Josh starts leaving lingering gazes toward his baby sister, he subconsciously begins feeling a little protective.

(she’s only a year younger, but it pisses her off when he calls her that so he continues to do so)

There wasn’t concrete evidence yet that Josh liked her, but Chris's suspicion grew when he started inviting her to join their group hangouts.

and when he saw Josh taking his spot next to her at the movies, whispering into her ear instead of cracking jokes with him

and when he always seemed to be searching the crowd for her at parties

and when he kept not so subtly asking Chris questions about what she was into, if she was single, etc

(His hackles were raised with that one, but Josh rushed to say he was joking) he wasn’t

But… Josh couldn’t like HIS little sister, right?

Josh was his best bro, but… c’mon! He’s kind of a perv. And he had a few…issues. Definitely NOT the type to bring home to her high-strung mother.

But that didn't matter, because Josh definitely doesn’t like his baby sis

At least that's what Chris chooses to believe

Ignorance is bliss, as they say

Until he is forced to acknowledge it when he’s heading to the bathroom at a party and sees you and Josh making out in the hallway

All previous bladder needs are out the window as he freaks out at both of you

Eventually, he gets over it, he knows Josh well enough to know he won’t hurt you intentionally. And if he does, he’s sure Hannah and Beth will join him in kicking Josh’s ass <3

Josh’s side of things

Josh has known Chris since he was like 9, and they’ve been locked in ever since

He knew Chris had a little sister, but they’d never spoken more than 8 words to each other in one sitting

Except for the one time he stayed at Chris’s house and she “beat” him at Mario Kart

IT WAS TOTALLY HIS WIN UNTIL SHE BLUE-SHELLED HIM

needless to say, he still held a slight grudge

It didn’t help that they didn’t go to the same school as them, staying with her mother during the week and Chris’s family on the weekends

The messy dynamic was lost on Josh, but it worked for them

It wasn’t until the summer of junior year that he met her again.

There was a party, there was banter and there was dancing, and there was this beautiful girl who he might’ve been a little in love with

and also he may have been a little drunk

So imagine his shock when his best bud comes around and reintroduces the pair

Josh fought very hard to control his facial expression from contorting into shock

He bit his tongue and forced a grin with only one thought on his mind as he looked between the pair, noticing a few similar facial features

‘Oh shit’

Of course, Josh isn’t a quitter

So when he woke up in the morning with a text from her, thanking him for the dance and for the invite to hang out with everyone next week, he cursed his drunk perseverance

It would be the smart thing to leave his best friend's sister alone

It never ends well in all of the movies he watches

Betrayal, fistfights, arguments, the whole shebang he would gladly like to avoid with Chris

He resolves to see her at the hangout, have a good time, then never talk to her again

except that doesn’t happen

Somehow she charms another invite out of him, and another, and another

And before he knows it, Josh is in deep

He tries to be subtle about it, inviting her to group outings, asking Chris questions about his sister, real lowkey stuff

When he casually asks her on a date, with just the two of them, they mutually agree it’s best if they keep it quiet for now

And when they officially start going out, they try even harder to hide their relationship until the time is right for Chris to find out

“the right time” ended up being at Holly Becker’s 4th of July party as they made out in the mostly empty hallway

Never in his life had Josh been so freaked out

thankfully, Chris seemed to take it well

It feels like a weight is off his chest now that he can be honest with him again

Plus, now he can go back to making horny jokes without feeling weird about it

(he is dodging Chris’s punches each time he opens his mouth)

Your side of things

You’d always thought Chris’s best friend was kind of cute

Of course, as all childhood crushes go, the best way to show it was in competitiveness and aggression

You absolutely demolished that poor kid in Mario Kart, many times in fact

But when things between your parents got more tense, you stopped being able to hang out as much

It was weird at first, but soon with your new school your mind was filled with other things and you nearly forgot all about that Josh guy your brother always hung out with

Aside from a few photos he posted on his socials or the rare glimpse of them on the weekends, you hardly even saw him

So when the summer of Sophmore year comes up and Chris invites you to go to one of his friend’s infamous parties, the guy is the last person on your mind

You’re in your hottest outfit, your hair and makeup immaculate, your glasses traded for contacts, and ready to let loose

And let loose you do! Before you know it there’s this funny guy who’s kind of cute dancing with you the entire night

and when Chris comes trotting over introducing the guy as his best bud, you giggle a little inside

You’re about to be the main character of one of those brother’s best friend stories, and you can’t wait!

I feel like there's way less risk for you in this, because 1. Chris can’t stay mad at you, and 2. You’re kind of your own person at this point, free to date who you want to

So you gladly accept all of the charming Josh’s invitations to parties and hangouts

and you lean into him when he throws his arm over you at the movies, and laugh as he whispers jokes into your ear

and laugh it off when Chris finds you both in the hallway at Holly Becker’s party, because you know that he won’t stay mad at Josh forever

Lil fun things

You and Josh fight who can have him as your best man/man of honor

(Josh wins and counts that as revenge against the Blue Shell incident of 2006)

Holidays are the best with the two families combined

When you guys announce that you’re pregnant, Chris is ecstatic before being immensely grossed out

He enjoys being the best uncle ever though

I loved writing this! Hope you enjoyed too! Please send more requests!!

[ddejavvu]

hiya! i’m literally in love with your writing!

i was wondering whether you do another part of the cat animagus collection?

maybe one where no one can find where r is, they spend ages looking for her. when they reach the dorms or something she’s in a really odd spot that only a cat could get to

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4

--

After a thorough search of both the grounds and the castle, Sirius Black bursts through the door to his dormitory and looks wildly around the messy room. He sees Remus studying at his desk, James reading upside-down on his bed, several piles of dirty laundry strewn across the floor, but no you.

"Jesus, mate," James hisses, righting himself and looking bewilderedly at his friend, "What's the matter with you?"

'Gimme the map," Sirius demands, and when James doesn't scramble for it fast enough, he barks, "The map, Prongs! Y/N's missing."

Remus's nose scrunches, "She had a headache earlier. She's probably in her dorm."

"I've checked her dorm, Moony," Sirius resists the urge to sneer at the man, "I'm not stupid, thank you very much."

Remus doesn't appreciate Sirius's tone, no matter how restrained it is from what it could have been. He mutters something disdainful when he turns his attention back to his studies, seriously doubting Sirius's assertion of his own intelligence.

Sirius chooses to ignore it in favor of snapping at the map, the trigger words lighting it up in a coffee-brown display of home. His eyes flit to your dormitory first, finding it, of course, empty. Then the library, also devoid of your presence. The grounds show similarly none of you, and it's James who spots your name in their own bedroom, nose scrunching and raising his glasses as he points at the banner.

"Prongs, she's not- wait," Sirius huffs, shooting a glance at the corner of his room where you're supposedly lurking, "She hasn't borrowed your cloak, has she?"

"No, it's in my trunk," James shakes his head, studying the empty space of Sirius's bed and puzzling how you could be there and nowhere all at once, "Moony, is there an invisibility potion?"

"Not one that would last her since we've been here," He doesn't bother turning from his work, "We would have seen her by now."

"Well she can't just be there," Sirius scoffs, studying and re-studying the map like it'll admit to pranking him and showcase your real location in some hidden chamber, "Has anyone been in the closet today?"

"You think your girlfriend is hiding in the closet?" Remus verifies, once more not dignifying Sirius with a glance. It aggravates him, but he withholds from swatting Remus upside the head.

"Well, Moony, she can't have just disappeared, can she? She's gotta be in here somewhere, or else this map is shoddy. And I made it myself, so..." Sirius clenches the parchment in his fingers, grip too-tight and bruising it like skin. His eyes catch an old, out-of-use beater's bat that's protruding from the end of his bed and his words catch in his throat, silencing what would have been a very boastful statement about his magical craftsmanship.

"Hang on," He shoves the map at James, who smooths out its wrinkles with a grimace. Sirius darts for the end of his bed, reaching a tentative hand beneath it until his fingers meet soft fur and the blood rush of a beating heart.

"Gotcha," Sirius hums, peering beneath the space and, though his eyes have to strain in the little light offered by the rest of the room, he discerns that you've managed to wriggle your way into an old jumper of his; likely why you haven't heard their bickering.

"C'mere, darling," He croons, flat on his stomach as he gently pulls you out of the space. Your head comes uncovered and you wake with a start, but he's got a firm enough grip on your furry belly that you can't wriggle away from him.

"You gave me quite a scare," Sirius's tone should be admonishing like his words, but it's light and airy with mirth, "And a lot of exercise, darling. I was running up and down the grounds looking for you."

You knock your face against his in a love-warm apology, the fur lining your features ticklish to his slightly sweaty skin. He feels the stress of the hunt melt off of his muscles as he plants himself permanently on the floor, letting you curl yourself up again, this time against his face.

He should pick you up and move to his bed. He should give his sore body some reprieve on the mattress, but you look so perfectly coiled on the floor that moving you would be a sin. So he gets as comfortable as possible with his bony arm beneath his head, and lets your purrs pulse through his body and lull him into the same sleep that comes so easily to you in this feline form.

[foulphantomllama]

My Secret Desire | AESPA Winter x Male Reader

AESPA Winter x Male Reader (POV)

2. The Study Date

We talked about her grades, and agreed on a day to meet up and study. We decided on a Friday afternoon, in my little room. I was barely fitting in. But at least she is small. However, I had a feeling that something was off. My bully suddenly becomes a friendly face? No. I was sure that she has a plan to make me look ridiculous or guilty. I was going to find out tho. This was the sole reason I accepted to act in her little play.

On the other hand, It was killing me to think about what ifs. What if all of the bully thing was a cover up because she really liked me? Or this was the way she flirts? What if she expresses her feelings this way? It was hard to stop think about all of those. But after that day, she stopped abusing me verbally. She only smiled and wawed at me until the day of our meeting arrived. Thursday night, something unexpected happened. My routine, I brushed my teeth, get into my pyjamas and lat down to my bed then started scrolled through my Instagram. As I scroll down, Instagram has suggested me a familiar face. It was Minjeong’s account. Although she was hanging out with the richest girls in the school, her account was pretty modest with 17 followers. My finger wanted to push the follow button, my brain resisted. But in the end my heart was the one who stopped the argument by chooising my fingers side. I pushed the follow button. Her account was private. And I really wanted to look at her photos. Five or six minutes later, she followed me back. My hear was racing as I went to her account and started looking at her photos. I realized that I never looked at her as a girl. She was always my bully. Since I came here she always showed me her bully side. But you can feel that getting accepted into her account was a rare privilage.

Before looking at her photos, I wanted to check if she follows and boys. But she wasn’t. 17 girls, and there was me. The only boy she follows. What I was thinking? What I was expecting from her? Be my girlfriend? As I started to look at her photos, I realized that I probably in love with her. But I also despise her. Hate her. But I want her. I desperately need her attention. Her abuse. Out of the blue, I got a boner when I look at her photo. The urge for jerking off to minjeong was all over my head. But once I did that, there was no turning back. I was ashamed, angry and happy. I don’t know how to describe this feeling. Only thing I want was to kiss her. But I hold myself back. I needed to understand her true intention.

With all of that in my mind, I fell asleep. Then, I woke up to the doorbell. I looked at my phone to see the time. It was nine in the morning. It wasn’t be Minjeong. We agreed upon afternoon. But again, I was expecting nobody. So I thought it was just wrong, or my landlord. I ignored it. But then she messaged me on instagram. The message was saying “Are you sleeping? I’m at your door.” I rushed ot from the bed, and opened the door. There she was stading in from of me with her messy figure. No make up, her hair was all over the place. But she was wearing a skirt with no socks or something. Her pale white legs was very intimitading. Her legs were exposed but she was wearing a thick sweatshirt. “Aren’t you cold?” I asked. She laughed and answered. “My lower body never gets cold. Only the top. So I only keep my upper body warm. Because it makes my whole body warm.” I picked up her bag and invited her to my bed. Because it was to only place to sit. “I don’t have anything to eat, we have to order it if you’re hungry.” I said. “No, don’t worry I’m not hungry. But i will be.” She answered. Of course, I nodded. “Which books did you bring with you?” I asked. “I don’t have any books. I have my notebooks.” She answered. She gave me one of her notebooks. I took a brief look at her notebook. It was mostly empty. Some of the pages there were drawings and a couple of words related to the subject. It was totally weird because she was not verbally abusing me or anything. She was just looking at me in a way that could melt my heart . There was an awkward silence for a moment. I decided to break the silence by asking “So, what are we studying?” I sat on my bed while asking her the question. She came closer. And said “Nothing really. I lied to you about all the my father is going to remove me from the school thing.” “ I knew it!” i said loudly. “You knew what?” She answered curiously. “I knew that you’re hiding something from me.” I answered. She took the notebook off from my hands and threw it somewhere in the room. “And what is it that I’m hiding?” she asked me. She was so close and I was feeling so nervous. “I don’t know. You suddenly stop bullying me, and then this happened.” I answered. I was avoiding eye contact. And I knew that she was directly looking at me. I decided to look at her. I turn my head towards her. Then we made eye contact. And I have to admit it. She was looking like a dream. That eye contact made us get closer to each other. Our lips were about to touch. Then it happened. We were kissing. She put her hand on my belly while I hold her neck with my hand. Her hand were navigating through my body. I did the same. I put my other hand to her thighs. Then, with a sudden move, she grabbed my cock. I had a boner. Of course she realized that because I was still in my pyjamas. But we were still kissing. My tongue was inside her mouth, our tongues were dancing with each other. Suddenly she stopped kissing me and put her hand inside my pyjama. She started to jerk me off.  I couldn’t believe it. She was my bully and then, she was jerking me off in my dorm room. What a way to start a toxic relationship.

As she got faster, I couldn’t help but lean back. I was feeling amazing. Her little hands has such a good grip that I had a feeling that she will rip it off at some point. “Tell me when you’re about to cum.” She smiled as she talked. A moment later, I gave her the signal that I’m about to cum. She stopped. And seconds later she started again with a slower pace. I was about to cum, but I couldn’t. Because she was not letting me cum. “What are we even doing?” I asked her. She told me to shut my mouth and wait for her. I did not had any choice. “Are you about to cum?” she asked again. “Yes” I answered. She got faster. And I came. Her hands was covered with my cum. But she got faster and faster. It was painfull but I never had a better orgasm before. She licked some my cum off from her hands and got up to wash her hands. I was not expecting this to happen. “Are we going to talk about this?” I asked her. Because I was so curious about her intention. “It was so obvious that you don’t have a girl to satisfy you.” She sit beside me after saying it. “That obvious” I asked. She nodded with a little smile. “You’re pathetic.” She added. “I only gave you a little of me. Wait until you see a bigger part.” “You don’t have to pity me, Minjeong.” She pushed me back to the bed and sit on top of me. “You really think I pity you? Should I pity you” I said no. I was getting my strength back. So i hold her and get on top of her. “Tell me one reason not to fuck you right here.” I asked. She giggled and answered. “I can’t. But will you? Do you have the balls to fuck me?”  I was so furious. A part of me wanted to fuck her. But my logic got the best of me. I got up from the bed. “I knew you don’t have it.” She said. “Are you tired because I jerked your buddy to hard?” She was tempting me to fuck her. I realized that. “You hungry” I asked to change the subject. “Yes” she answered. “What do you want to eat?” She looked at me with her pretty eyes and answered my question. “Your heart.”

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

GUILTY AS SIN...? - PART II

summary: one summer with the man you can't have, but can't stop thinking about.

pairing: cillian murphy x popstar!reader

word count: 9.1k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). explicit sex. angst. cussing, slight age gap, mentions of alcohol and divorce. no use of y/n, heavily inspired by ts and ttpd. if i missed something please let me know. (also this is a work of fiction, none of it reflects how i feel about the people mentioned in this, most importantly cillian's wife, who im sure is a sweetheart irl. it's fiction, just relax and enjoy it, and if not, move along, friends.)

a/n: hi everyone! here's the second part, finally. i had lots of fun writing this one, happy reading <3

part one

After staying at Cillian's for awhile, you decided to go to the place you had rented. The truth is, you didn't want to leave, but you had already extended your stay longer than planned, and you wanted to give him space with his kids. And you also wanted to give him time to process the event that took place four nights ago in his bathroom. Or you wanted to give yourself time to process it.

At this point, you weren't sure who needed the space more.

It was all very confusing because, yes, you've had feelings for him for God knows how long, but you've squashed them down like a stubborn bug for the sake of your friendship and, most importantly, his family. Those two things were always at the forefront of your mind, guiding every action and decision. But now that his family is no longer a factor and the two of you almost crossed a line, it's hard to ignore those feelings.

Those feelings that crawl up your spine every time he smiles at you or brushes against your hand accidentally. Those feelings also make you feel like the worst person in the world, as if you're betraying his ex-wife and their children by even entertaining the idea of something more with him.

It's all so delicate.

The cottage is nestled between rolling green hills and the glimmering blue of a distant sea. The place is like a warm embrace. The floors are laid with wide, honey-colored wooden planks, their surface worn smooth by generations of footsteps. Exposed wooden beams crisscross the ceiling, their rich, dark wood adding a sense of history and sturdiness to the space. The walls are painted in a soft, creamy white. The master bedroom is a haven of tranquility, with white linen curtains billowing softly in the breeze from the open window. The bed, with its wrought iron frame, is piled high with quilts and pillows in soft shades of blue and green. It's the best sleep you've had in months.

It rained earlier today. You've stayed inside all day, not wanting to venture out into the wet weather. The gentle pitter-patter of raindrops against the window was a soothing backdrop to your day, but it stopped around mid-afternoon, leaving behind a fresh, clean scent in the air.

Now you’re sitting at the rustic wooden table beneath the pergola, one leg tucked under you, grapevines overhead casting dappled shadows on the weathered wood. The garden around you is alive with color—wildflowers in every shade imaginable sway gently in the soft breeze, and the lavender and rosemary release their fragrant scent into the air.

Bon Iver’s voice drifts softly from your phone, which lies next to your notepad on the table. The music is haunting, its melancholy tones matching the weight in your chest. You’ve been here for hours, or maybe it’s only been minutes—time seems to blur together lately.

The notepad lies open beside you, filled with half-written lyrics, fragments of thoughts and emotions that you can’t quite bring yourself to finish. The pages are messy, scribbled lines crossed out, some words barely legible, as if your hand couldn’t keep up with the rush of thoughts.

You’ve been chasing this dream for so long—touring, recording, performing in front of thousands of people—but somewhere along the way, you’ve lost sight of why you started. The music that once brought you so much joy now feels like a burden; the words that once flowed effortlessly are now tangled up in doubt and frustration. The applause, the fame, the success—it’s all there, but it feels hollow. It feels lonely.

The sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the water, but you’re too tired to move. You prop one leg up the chair and rest your chin on your hand. You focus on the water, trying to find some solace in its steady flow. But all you can feel is a deep, gnawing sense of unfulfillment, a yearning for something you can’t even name.

How pathetic.

You’re tired, so tired, and the dream that once seemed so bright now feels like a chore.

The door creaks open behind you, and you catch the faint sound of footsteps on the stone path. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. Cillian moves with a certain quietness, a soft presence that you’ve come to recognize. The footsteps grow closer until they stop just to your left.

"You should lock your door," he says, his voice low, carrying a hint of amusement but also concern.

You let out a small, tired laugh, not bothering to look up. "Didn’t think anyone would come by," you reply, your gaze still fixed on the stream; its gentle flow is the only thing that seems to make sense right now.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stands there, his shadow blending with yours. Then he pulls out the chair next to you, the wood scraping softly against the stone, and sits down. You can feel his eyes on you, but he doesn’t press, just lets the silence settle around you both.

You hear him shift beside you, and from the corner of your eye, you see him glance down at the notepad on the table. His gaze lingers on the unfinished words, but he doesn’t say anything about them. Instead, he just leans back in his chair, looking out at the water with you.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally speaks, his voice softer, almost reflective. "I know that look. The one that says you’re miles away, stuck in your own head."

You don't respond, knowing that he understands you more than most people. The music on your phone shifts to another Bon Iver song, this time Beach Baby.

He continues. "You know, sometimes I think about all of it—this life, the fame, the roles I play. It’s bizarre, isn’t it? I spend so much time being someone else, living in someone else’s skin, that it’s easy to forget who I am when the cameras stop rolling."

His words hang in the air, and you turn your head slightly to look at him. His expression is thoughtful, his blue eyes distant, like he’s lost in his own memories. "It’s like… sometimes, I feel more like myself when I’m acting, when I’m being someone else. That's what made me fall in love with it in the first place. I just loved being somebody else. It’s easier, somehow. But then there are those moments, when the lights go out, and I’m just… me. And that’s when the loneliness creeps in."

You nod, understanding more than you’d like to admit. "It’s the same with music, I guess," you say quietly. "There’s this rush, this high, when you’re on stage, when everyone’s looking at you and you’re giving them everything you’ve got. But then it’s over, and you’re left with the silence, the emptiness. It’s like… who am I when it stops?"

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and you can see the shared understanding in his eyes. It’s a strange comfort knowing that someone else gets it, that you’re not alone in this feeling of being lost.

You take a deep breath, the weight of the words you’ve been holding back suddenly becomes too heavy to keep inside. "I guess that's why I'm here. To escape. To escape the pressure, the expectations and…just be," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Everything is a performance. Everything. When we're out in the world, we're expected to act a certain way, to fit into a mold. We have to edit ourselves. As honest as we try to be, there's always a part of us that remains hidden. And it's exhausting."

Cillian nods, his gaze never leaving yours. "And when you’re alone, you can let go of that and let your mind just be still," he says, his voice carrying the weight of someone who’s thought about this a lot. "It’s quite peaceful, isn’t it? But it’s also… terrifying. Being alone with your thoughts, with no distractions, no one to perform for. It’s like staring into a void sometimes."

You swallow hard, the truth of his words hitting you square in the chest. "Yeah, it is. But it’s also when I feel the most myself. When it’s just me, and I don’t have to be anything for anyone. Just… here, in the quiet, letting my mind rest."

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The garden around you is alive with the soft sounds of nature—the rustling of leaves, the gentle murmur of the stream, the distant call of a bird. Bon Iver’s music still plays from your phone—Holocene.

You break the silence. "Sometimes I think about it. I think about letting go of it." It's a terrifying thought but also strangely liberating. You don't know what it means completely yet, but just saying it out loud brings relief. Cillian just looks at you, his eyes reflecting understanding and empathy.

It was so easy, existing with him.

In this moment, you feel a little less lost, a little more understood. And as the sun dips lower in the sky, a mix of orange and pink hues, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re not as alone as you thought.

The next day dawns softer, brighter. You wake up with a sense of calm that had been missing for a while. There’s a lingering warmth from yesterday, the conversation with Cillian still playing in the back of your mind. As you sat at the same wooden table this morning, you found yourself scribbling lyrics that flowed easier, more naturally. They’re different—slower, more deliberate. There’s a depth to them that feels right, as if you’re finally tapping into something real, something honest.

Last night had ended quietly. After that heavy talk in the garden, Cillian stayed for dinner. The two of you kept the conversation light, avoiding the unspoken tension. It was there, hovering between you, but neither of you brought it up. Instead, you talked about mundane things and watched Punch-Drunk Love in the quaint living room. He pointed out every little detail he liked in it, and you listened, soaking in the emotion in his voice.

When the movie ended, he promised to see you the next day, and you reassured him it was fine, that you understood his absence. You meant it, even though a part of you always ached for more of his presence.

Today, with that newfound energy, you decided to venture out. An early morning walk turned into a drive to the nearby town. You pulled on a cap and sunglasses—a funny and somewhat ineffective disguise, but it was something. The town was charming, with narrow cobblestone streets, quaint shops, and a relaxed pace. Most people didn’t give you a second glance, and for that you were grateful. It was nice to blend in, to be just another person out enjoying the day.

You wandered through the market, admired the local crafts, and even picked up a few things—a handmade bracelet, a small painting of the Irish countryside. Lunch was at a cozy little café, tucked away from the main street. You ordered a hearty bowl of seafood chowder, rich and warming, with fresh bread on the side. As you sat there savoring the meal, your phone buzzed. It was Cillian, asking if you wanted to grab drinks tonight. You hesitated, your mind running through a dozen reasons to say no, but in the end, you agreed. You wanted to see him again, even if you couldn’t quite admit how much.

Back at the cottage, you took your time getting ready. You set the atmosphere, lighting a few candles, playing some soft music in the background. It felt good to take care of yourself and put a little effort into how you looked. You chose a pair of jeans that fit just right, a black top, and your favorite leather jacket. Casual but confident. A swipe of red lipstick added a touch of boldness.

You didn’t know where the night would take you, but you felt ready.

Cillian arrived right on time, his car rolling up the gravel drive just as you slipped on your jacket. When you stepped outside, he was already out of the car, leaning casually against the door. He smiled when he saw you—a warm, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Ready?” he asked, his eyes flicking over your outfit with an appreciative glance.

“As I’ll ever be,” you replied, a hint of nerves bubbling up but quickly pushed aside.

The drive to the pub was easy, the conversation flowing effortlessly. You talked about your day, the town, the little things you’d picked up. He told you about his new movie coming out later this year, based on a novella set in the mid-1980s in a small Irish village. There was a comfort in the exchange, in the way your words mingled with the sound of the tires on the road.

When he pulled up outside the pub, you couldn’t help but grin at the sight. It was a small, unassuming place, the kind of spot that felt like a well-kept secret. The sign above the door was weathered, the windows glowing warmly from the inside. It looked cozy, inviting.

“Do I need to bring out my disguise?” you asked, amused, as you glanced at him.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, you’re safe here. No one’s going to bother us. I’ve been coming here for years. They don't give a shit about me.”

He was right. The pub was perfect—dimly lit, with a mix of old and new music playing in the background. The crowd was relaxed, more interested in their conversations than in who might be sitting at the next table. You found two empty stools at the bar and settled in.

Close to the drinks. Perfect.

You ordered beers—the kind that tasted awful but somehow fit the atmosphere. Cillian took a sip of his beer, and the reaction was immediate. He groaned, his head falling back as if in defeat, eyes closed as he savored—or perhaps endured—the taste. The dim light from the pub’s old-fashioned fixtures cast a warm glow on his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jawline and the shadow of stubble that had begun to form. His lips, still wet from the beer, parted in a wry smile that spoke volumes of his disdain for the drink. His brow furrowed slightly as he kept his eyes closed, letting out a deep, exaggerated sigh as if the beer was the worst thing he’d ever tasted.

It was a dramatic performance, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how absurdly handsome he looked even in that moment. There was something endearing about it—the way he could make something so ordinary seem so intense. His dark hair, slightly tousled, fell over his forehead, and you found yourself staring longer than you meant to.

“Bloody hell, that’s awful,” he muttered, finally opening his eyes and giving you a side glance. His blue eyes sparkled with trouble, the corners crinkling as he caught the expression on your face. “You should’ve seen yourself, though. Looked like you were trying to swallow glass.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, please. You looked like you were about to keel over from one sip,” you shot back, sarcasm lacing your voice.

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, and the amusement in his eyes deepened. “Can��t argue with that,” he admitted, taking another sip with a grimace. “Piss beer, this is. I’d almost prefer water.”

“Almost,” you teased, lifting your glass to take another drink. The foam clung to the rim as you sipped, and you made a point to keep your expression neutral, though you could feel the bitterness spreading across your tongue.

Cillian leaned in a bit closer, his Irish accent growing thicker with each drink. “But then, what would we have to complain about, eh? I think the shite beer is half the charm of this place.” His voice was smoother, more relaxed, and you noticed the way his words seemed to roll off his tongue, rich with the lilting cadence of his heritage. It was endearing, undeniably so, and you found it increasingly hard to focus on anything else.

“Is that what they call charm here? I must’ve missed the memo,” you quipped, smirking as you met his gaze. The clever back-and-forth felt natural, easy, and it warmed you more than the alcohol ever could.

“You’re lucky I’m here to explain it to ya,” he said, leaning in just a bit more, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “Otherwise, you might’ve gone your whole life without knowing the joys of terrible Irish beer.”

“Oh, I’m so grateful,” you shot back, sarcasm dripping from your words, but your smile gave you away. “I’ll add it to the list of things you’ve taught me.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter, and you noticed how close he had gotten. His arm was now resting casually on the back of your seat, and every so often, your knees would brush, those accidental touches sending a small, electric thrill through you. The pub’s atmosphere, once filled with distant conversations and the clinking of glasses, now seemed to narrow down to just the two of you. The world outside the booth blurred away, and all that was left was Cillian’s presence, the sound of his voice, and the faint, intoxicating scent of him that mixed with the pub’s woody, earthy aroma.

The more you drank, the closer you both seemed to get, each sip loosening the barriers that had been in place. His laughter grew louder, more infectious, and his accent, more pronounced with every word, sent a shiver down your spine. It was more than just the alcohol—there was an ease between you that you hadn’t felt before, a sense of connection that went beyond the usual playful exchanges.

“Y’know,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he leaned in even closer. “I think I’m starting to like this beer.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a smirk, feeling a little more brave. “Is that so? Or is it just the company?”

He chuckled, his breath warm against your ear as he replied, “Maybe a bit of both.”

A familiar flutter stirred in your chest—the undeniable pull that you’d been trying to ignore for days. But tonight, in this pub, with its terrible beer and terrible lighting, you decided you didn’t want to fight it anymore. Not here, not with him.

You moved on to something stronger, whiskey that burned going down but left a warmth spreading through your chest that felt as intoxicating as the alcohol itself. With each sip, the edges of your nerves smoothed out, and you felt looser, braver, and a little sexier. You sat on the bar stool with your body angled slightly toward Cillian. The leather of your jacket creaked as you shifted, the red of your lipstick standing out against the dim light. You felt his gaze on you, not just looking, but really seeing you, his eyes tracing the curve of your neck down to where your top dipped, lingering just a moment longer than usual.

His look was hungry, but it wasn’t just that—it was curious, intrigued. He rested his elbow on the bar, leaning closer, his knee brushing against yours as he picked up his glass, watching you over the rim as he took a sip. The whiskey seemed to bring out the blue in his eyes, making them sharp and piercing, but there was softness there too, an openness that had grown.

“You know,” you began, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. “I was just thinking about the first time we met.”

His eyebrow arched in curiosity, and he leaned in a little closer, his interest piqued. “Oh yeah? That was… what, 7 years ago? At the Globes, wasn’t it?”

You nodded, taking another sip of your drink, the liquid courage giving you the confidence to broach the subject. “Yeah, that’s right. And you… well, let’s just say you weren’t exactly my biggest fan.”

Cillian looked taken aback, a surprised smile curving his lips. “What? I don’t remember it like that.”

“Oh, come on, Cill,” you said, playfully nudging his shoulder. “You kind of hated me."

He laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t hate you. I just… I guess I had some preconceived notions about you."

“Preconceived notions?” you asked, a teasing glint in your eyes.

He hesitated, looking almost sheepish as he ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly? I thought you were this… I don’t know, shallow, self-absorbed person. Just someone who was there for the attention, you know?”

You let out a mock gasp, placing a hand over your heart in faux offense. “I’m wounded! I can’t believe you thought that about me, really.”

He chuckled, but there was a hint of regret in his voice as he added, “But I was wrong. I figured that out pretty quickly.”

“Oh, really?” you asked, leaning in a little closer, your voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “When exactly did you figure that out?”

“The first time we really talked,” he said, his voice equally soft, the words carrying a weight they hadn’t before. “After I saw you in the hall, crying. I don't know. You were so real, and I realized you weren’t what I thought. Not even close.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Wow, so I had to have a full-on breakdown just to convince you I wasn’t a shallow, self-absorbed diva? Good to know, Cill. I’ll make sure to cry more often around you.”

He laughed, bringing his fingertips to his lips, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Not quite what I meant, but I guess it did the trick, didn’t it?”

You remembered that night vividly, how everything had seemed to spiral downward so quickly. “I was having the worst night,” you said laughing, a slight bitterness creeping into your tone as the memories resurfaced. “I’d just been dumped by the world’s biggest asshole that morning, and then there you were, tearing down everything I said with some esoteric joke.”

Cillian winced slightly, the regret more pronounced now. “Yeah… I wasn’t exactly charming, was I?”

“You were a bit of a jerk,” you admitted, but there was no malice in your words. “But you made up for it with that burger offer.”

A grin spread across his face as he remembered. “I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.”

“Well, I figured a burger with you was better than sulking alone,” you replied, smiling at the memory. “And it was. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was exactly what I needed.”

His expression softened. “I’m glad I asked, then.”

The bartender interrupted your conversation to ask if you wanted another round, and without a second thought, you both nodded in agreement. It seemed neither of you were ready to call it a night. The place was warmer now. As you waited for your drinks, your eyes drifted to the ceiling. Neil Young's "Harvest Moon" played softly in the background, the gentle melody weaving through the low murmur of conversation.

You glanced over your shoulder and noticed that a few couples had begun to dance, swaying gently to the music. There was something so natural, so easy about it, that you couldn’t resist the urge that bubbled up inside you. Turning back to Cillian, who was taking a sip of his drink, you couldn’t help but smile. “Come on,” you said, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “Dance with me.”

Cillian raised an eyebrow, looking at you with a mix of amusement and skepticism. He muttered something in reply but you couldn’t quite make it out. It only made you more determined.

“I didn’t catch that,” you teased, leaning in closer as if trying to decipher his words. “But I know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh, do you, piano woman?” he shot back, his tone light but with a challenging edge.

“Yes,” you said, grinning. “You’re going to say that you don’t dance.”

Cillian chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “You’re right about that. I don’t.”

You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a low, persuasive tone. “I know, but you’ll indulge me anyway.”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if weighing his options. Then, with a small, resigned sigh, he downed the rest of his drink in one go and set the glass back on the bar with a decisive thud. Before you could react, he grabbed your hand and stood up, pulling you along with him.

It caught you by surprise, the suddenness of it, especially considering he had just insisted he wasn’t the dancing type. As he led you toward the makeshift dance floor, he leaned in and said with a grin, “You’re lucky I like you.”

You laughed, a loud, genuine sound that felt as freeing as the night itself. “Oh, am I now?”

He smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yeah, because otherwise, there’s no way I’d be making a fool of myself like this.”

You shot back with a playful, “Well, let’s see just how much of a fool you really are, then.”

As you reached the space where others were already swaying to the music, Cillian took your hand and pulled you in close. You could feel the warmth of his body, the solidity of his frame as he moved with you, the two of you finding a rhythm that was surprisingly in sync. It wasn’t anything fancy—just simple, slow movements to match the easy tempo of the song—but it felt intimate, like you were the only two people in the room.

Cillian leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Did you know I'm a failed musician?”

You couldn’t help but smirk, the alcohol loosening your tongue.

“Failed, huh? So, what happened? Couldn’t hack it with the rest of us rockstars?”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich, sending a shiver down your spine. "Something like that. I was in a band, actually."

You leaned back slightly, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief. “You? In a band? Color me shocked.”

It was kind of hot, imagining him on stage with a guitar in hand.

"We even had a record deal and everything."

"What happened?"

Cillian’s expression softened as he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of nostalgia. “My brother was still in school at the time, and my parents basically told me I could fuck up my life if I wanted, but I couldn’t take him down with me. So, it fell through.”

As you continued to sway together, the story of his past unraveled between you, each word carrying a hint of regret mixed with fond memories. “Those were great times, though,” he continued, his eyes distant as if he were seeing it all again. “I’d be out late, drinking, playing music in small pubs, thinking we were going to make it big. It was a bit of a rush, you know?”

You could imagine him there, young and reckless, with that same intensity in his eyes that he carried now, but wilder, untamed by the years. “So music was your first love, then?” you asked, your voice soft, genuinely curious.

He nodded, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, I suppose it was. I had been playing instruments since I was little. There’s something about it that just… gets into your blood. But then, acting came along."

“When exactly did you know that's what you wanted?” you asked, wanting to peel back more layers of him.

His smile turned almost bashful, as if recalling a secret he hadn’t shared in a while. “There was this guy who ran the Cork theater company—had a huge man crush on him. He was brilliant, and I ended up doing a workshop with him. After that, I just pestered him for an audition until he gave in.”

You chuckled softly at the thought of a young Cillian, determined and probably a bit of a nuisance, chasing after something he wanted so badly. “And that was it?”

“Well, there was a drama module in school when I was about 16, 17—during the transition year. That’s when I first got the bug. Ended up starring in A Clockwork Orange. It was sexy, dangerous, unlike anything I’d ever seen. I loved playing someone else, losing myself in the character.”

He paused, then flashed a self-deprecating grin. “There’s not much to look at, but if you give me a minute…"

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his modesty. “You’re selling yourself short,” you teased, leaning in closer, your bodies moving in sync to the music. "Cill, you literally have an Oscar."

“Ah, the Oscar... just a glorified doorstop, really,” he quipped, his tone light but with that familiar undercurrent of humility.

"It's the work that matters, blah blah blah," you joked, rolling your eyes playfully. His eyes were crinkling at the corners with genuine amusement. "Exactly," he agreed, before pulling you into a twirl.

"Do you miss it? you ask, hands circling his neck as you sway. "Music, I mean."

Cillian blew out a slow breath, his eyes growing thoughtful as he considered your question. “Sometimes,” he admitted. "But life has a way of taking you where you need to be, not where you want to be.”

His words settled over you like a blanket, warm and heavy, as you mulled them over. Is this where I need to be? The question echoed in your mind, reverberating through the deeper corners of your thoughts. You weren’t sure you had an answer. You were a successful artist, living the dream so many could only imagine, but there was always that lingering sense of something missing, a quiet ache that you couldn’t quite place.

Where do I need to be?

The thought spiraled, unfurling like an endless thread, pulling at the edges of your consciousness. You started questioning everything—your choices, your path, the very essence of who you were. Those words seemed to tap into something deep inside, a reservoir of doubts and desires that you hadn’t fully acknowledged until now.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, almost like you were talking to yourself more than to him.

You rested your head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around you, swaying slowly. See, this is the thing about Cillian, he had a way of making you feel seen and understood, even when you didn't fully understand yourself, even without saying a single word.

The warmth of Cillian's arm around you, the subtle way he moved—it all felt so natural, like this was where you were supposed to be. But then, the memory of four nights ago crept in—the way his breath had hitched as you said you weren't going to stop him from going further, the tension that crackled between you both like a live wire.

The room suddenly felt too small, too warm. Heat flushed through your body, a dizzying sensation that made it hard to focus on anything other than the way he was looking at you. A knot formed in your throat, and you swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing pulse.

The memory was like a current running through you, making you hyper-aware of every point of contact with him. The room suddenly felt too small, too warm. Your mind was swirling with thoughts, the alcohol making you bolder, more aware of the things left unsaid.

"I can't stop thinking about what almost happened the other day."

“What almost happened?”

He let out a low, almost inaudible chuckle, his lips dangerously nuzzled in your hair. “Don’t play coy with me, love. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach, the way your body reacted to his nearness. “I’ve tried to stop thinking about it,” he continued, his voice a hushed murmur that only you could hear, “but I can’t.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken desire. You wanted to let go of the restraint you’d been holding onto all night, but you were still aware of where you were, of the people around you—even if they weren’t paying you any attention. The thought of crossing that line, right here in the middle of the pub, was both thrilling and terrifying.

But Cillian, sensing your hesitation, didn’t push.

Finally, he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression serious but laced with that familiar smirk. “Wanna head out of here?” he asked, his voice low but with a note of urgency.

You didn’t need to think twice. “Yes,” you breathed, the word escaping your lips before you could stop it.

The night air hit you like a shock to the system as you stepped outside, the cool breeze carrying with it the faint scent of rain. The streets were quieter now, the lively noise of the pub fading into the background. You were drunk, the world tilting slightly with each step, and neither of you could drive.

Cillian pulled out his phone, his fingers deftly dialing the number for a cab. You watched him as he made the call, the way his jaw tensed slightly as he spoke, his voice low and calm despite the alcohol humming through his veins. There was something undeniably attractive about the way he carried himself, even in this moment of mundane practicality.

“What about your car?” you asked, your words slightly slurred but still coherent.

He glanced over at you, a small, reassuring smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll pick it up in the morning,” he replied smoothly, his accent curling around the words in that familiar, endearing way. “Don’t worry, love.”

The cab arrived not long after, the headlights cutting through the night as it pulled up to the curb. Cillian opened the door for you, and the two of you slid into the backseat, sitting close together but not touching. Not yet. The space between you crackled with unspoken tension, the thrill of anticipation hanging heavy in the air.

You found yourself playing with your ring-clad fingers, the cool metal a small distraction as the silence stretched out between you. The driver turned up the music a bit, and the opening chords of Inhaler’s "Dublin in Ecstasy" filled the car. The song was somehow fitting, its pulsing beat and haunting lyrics adding to the electric atmosphere.

It started to rain, the droplets tapping against the windows and turning them foggy, adding a sense of intimacy to the small, enclosed space. The outside world became a blur of lights and shadows, the city fading away as the cab sped through the streets. You could feel Cillian’s gaze on you, the weight of it almost tangible as you sat there, both of you lost in your own thoughts.

You turned to look at him, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The music became more intoxicating, the beat syncing with the rapid thudding of your heart. He noticed you bopping your head slightly to the rhythm, and a small, surprised smile crossed his face.

“You know this?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

You smirked, leaning back against the seat as you replied with playful confidence, “I know every song ever made, actually.”

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Is that so? A human jukebox, then?”

“Something like that,” you teased, the conversation light but charged with something more, something neither of you could ignore any longer.

The cab’s interior felt smaller, more suffocating as you neared your destination. When you finally arrived at his place, Cillian paid the driver, and the two of you got out, raising your jackets over your heads to shield from the rain, which had grown heavier. You both ran to the entrance, your footsteps echoing in the quiet night as you giggled like teenagers, the spontaneity of it all making you feel light, carefree.

He fumbled with his keys for a moment, the sound of metal clinking against metal filling the air before he managed to unlock the door. You stepped inside, the warmth of the house a stark contrast to the chill of the rain outside. The living room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the faint glow of the night sky through the large windows. The shadows played across the walls, casting everything in a soft, almost ethereal light.

You tossed off your jacket, letting it fall to the floor, your clothes clinging to your skin from the rain. You could feel the fabric sticking to your body, the dampness making you shiver slightly, but the heat in the room—and the heat between the two of you—kept you from feeling cold. Cillian wandered off somewhere for a moment, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited, the anticipation almost unbearable.

When he returned, his eyes locked onto yours, a predatory glint in his gaze that made your breath hitch. He took a step closer, the distance between you shrinking to almost nothing as he asked, his voice low and laced with a hint of something dangerous, “What should we do now?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with suggestion, and you felt a rush of heat flood through you, your pulse quickening. You moved toward him, your steps slow and deliberate, closing the gap until you were inches away. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly despite the bravado in your words.

His hand reached up, fingers brushing against your cheek before trailing down to remove a stray piece of hair stuck to your face. His touch was light, almost reverent, but it sent sparks of electricity through your skin, making you feel like you were on fire. His hand continued its path down your arm, and you followed it with your eyes, watching as his fingers traced the outline of your veins, the simple action making your breath catch in your throat.

He moved his hand up to your shoulder, his fingers ghosting over the strap of your top before slowly sliding it down, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Your skin burned under his touch, a mix of desire and something else—something that felt like shame, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It felt too good, too right.

His hand slid up to your neck, his grip firm but not painful as he held you there, your breathing coming in short, ragged gasps. You clung to his black t-shirt, your fingers digging into the fabric as you tried to steady yourself, but the room seemed to spin around you, the intensity of the moment making you dizzy.

Cillian’s eyes bore into yours, his expression dark and filled with an unspoken promise as he whispered, his voice rough and filled with desire, “Tell me what you want.”

You wanted him—every part of him. You wanted to forget everything else, to lose yourself in this moment, to give in to the desire that had been simmering between you for days. And as his grip tightened slightly on your neck, pulling you closer until your lips were just a breath away from his, you knew there was no turning back.

"Kiss me," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

So he did. He kissed you, long and slow. His lips were soft yet urgent, and you melted into his touch. Your hands found their way to his damp hair, tangling in the strands as you deepened the kiss, savoring every moment. His breath mingled with yours, warm and laced with the faint taste of whiskey, his hands still cradling your face as if you were something fragile, something to be cherished.

But then the kiss deepened, the restraint unraveling as the need between you grew too powerful to contain. His hands slid from your face down to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The kiss became more urgent, more demanding, as if he was trying to consume you, to lose himself in you. You responded in kind, your own hands gripping his t-shirt, pulling him closer, wanting more—needing more. The heat between you intensified, the tenderness giving way to something hotter, something that felt like it had been a long time coming.

The rain continued to patter softly against the windows, a distant sound that seemed to fade into the background as your focus narrowed to just him—to the way his hands gripped your waist, to the way his breath hitched when you bit down softly on his lower lip.

You started moving backward, the need to feel him against you overwhelming any thought of where this might be going. Your feet stumbled slightly as you both moved toward the couch, the dim light from the windows casting your entwined shadows across the floor. He guided you, his hands firm and sure, but there was a tenderness in the way he led you, as if he was still holding back, still trying to keep a grasp on the control that was slipping away.

You reached the edge of the couch, and he paused for a moment, his gaze intense as he looked at you, his chest heaving with the effort to catch his breath. “You're in control here,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, thick with the weight of the question, with the possibility of what was about to happen. "We stop whenever you want to, okay?"

Ever so polite, you thought. You answered him by pulling him down with you, your lips finding his again with a renewed urgency. The cushions gave way beneath you, the soft fabric enveloping you both as you sank into it. His body pressed against yours, the weight of him grounding you.

As the kiss deepened, became more frantic, more desperate, you could feel the tension in him—the barely restrained control he was struggling to maintain. His hands roamed over your body, landing on your jeans and slowly playing with the button, a silent request for permission.

"Don't stop now," you teased, your voice barely audible against his lips. He responded by deepening the kiss even further, his hands moving with purpose as he unbuttoned your jeans. He stopped for a moment, lowering himself to his knees in front of you, his hands taking off your shoes before sliding your jeans down your legs. He positioned himself between your legs once again, kissing you rough this time.

The couch was vast and soft underneath you as one of his hands traveled up your thigh—still not as high as you wanted it. You let out a needy moan, encouraging him. When his fingers brushed against the edge of your already wet panties, you couldn't help but arch your back in anticipation. He pushed them aside, his eyes never leaving yours. When his fingertips made contact with the wetness of your folds, he groaned too, in a way you found very satisfying.

"I've thought about this…a lot," he murmured, slipping a finger inside you, making you gasp with pleasure. "What you might sound like. What you might taste like. What you might feel like."

He pulled away from you swiftly, and you moaned at the loss. He kneeled down in front of you, his gaze intense as he leaned in to kiss your inner thigh, sending shivers down your spine. He pulled down your panties. You went stiff, suddenly aware of how exposed you were. He opened your thighs a little more, as if he wanted to see more. "I want to make you feel good," he whispered. "Let me taste you."

"Yes," you breathed out.

You couldn't stop looking at him as he pleasured you, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. Each flick of his tongue and gentle bite made you arch your back in ecstasy, completely lost in the moment. His hands tightened around your thighs, pulling you closer to his face. He groaned in pleasure, and you opened your thighs wider. His tongue was thorough and deliberate, exploring every inch of you with precision. Your hands grabbed the couch cushions, trying to ground yourself as you felt yourself spiraling into pure bliss. And just when you started to roll your hips, he slid two fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made you gasp and moan uncontrollably.

It was too much. Pleasure consumed you as you arched your back violently against his touch and you moaned his name over and over again, letting go. You were drunk on him— his touch, his mouth, his scent—lost in the euphoria of the moment.

"Fuckin' incredible."

Well, yes, fucking incredible indeed. But not as incredible as it would feel to have him inside you completely, filling every inch of you. To reduce him to the whimpering mess he had just turned you into.

Before Cillian could do anything, you sat up and pushed him flat to the floor. You were both drunk and too eager to make it to the bedroom, so you might as well just do it right there on the living room rug.

He grunted in surprise, but his hands quickly found their way to your hips as you straddled him, pulling you closer. You removed your top, your breasts spilling out as you leaned down to capture his lips in a hungry kiss. His fingers gently tangle in your hair as you pull away from his mouth, pulling his black t-shirt over his head and tossing it aside.

He stopped breathing as you worked your way down his chest, leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles until you reached the waistband of his jeans. Your hands made quick work of the button and zipper, and you eagerly slid them down his legs, revealing his growing arousal.

When your fingers wrapped around it—fuck—his skin felt hot and smooth against your touch, his breath hitching. You positioned yourself to take him in your mouth, savoring the taste of his desire as you licked a slow, teasing path along his cock. Cillian let out a ragged moan, his hands tangling in your hair.

You lifted your eyes. He had propped himself up on his elbows, watching you with his lips parted, pupils blown.

You had him.

You took him deeper, relishing the way he arched into your mouth, his groans spurring you on. With each flick of your tongue, you could feel him losing control, surrendering to the pleasure you were giving him. "Fuck, stop," he gasped, his voice strained with need. "I need to be inside you."

“Condom?” you asked, the question hanging in the thick air between you.

“Upstairs,” he said, his voice rough, almost pleading.

You hesitated for just a second. “I don’t mind… if you don’t.”

For a moment, he froze, his blue eyes darkening as they searched yours, as if to make sure he’d heard you right. Then, with a low growl that sent shivers down your spine, he nodded.

You released him with a smirk and sat up, swung over him. You positioned yourself so that his hands were on your hips, guiding you down onto him. The anticipation was electric, every nerve in your body alive with the need to be closer to him, to feel him, completely and without anything between you.

As you sank onto him, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy, a low moan escaping from both of you. The feeling of being filled by him sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire between you that burned hotter with each thrust. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you matched his rhythm, lost in the intensity of the moment.

This was going to end you.

His movements became more urgent, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered your name. The room was filled with the sound of your mingled gasps and moans, a symphony of pleasure that seemed to echo off the walls. He felt so good, so right. His thrusts became more deep and harsh—you wanted even more. As if he read your mind, he sat up against the couch and kissed you deeply, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

"Bloody hell," he murmured against your lips, both his hands grabbed your face as he looked deeply into your eyes, and you circled your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and circling your hips in rhythm with his. Your breasts pressed against his chest, the heat between you both rising as your bodies moved in perfect synchronization. He was close—you were close. His hands roamed your back, your ass, and your breasts, and you threw your head back when his mouth found its way to your nipples.

"Oh fuck," you gasped, "Yes, oh—" you screamed as white-hot pleasure shot through your body, causing you both to reach the peak of ecstasy together. You felt his cock swell, filling you completely as he released with a guttural groan.

The intensity of the moment left you both breathless, bodies entwined in a tangled mess of limbs and sweat. He had leaned back to the floor, and you had gone with him. He was rubbing your back, and your face was pressed to his chest.

"You okay, love?" he asked softly, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your skin. You hummed, feeling content and safe in his arms, basking in the afterglow of your shared pleasure.

You stayed like that for a moment, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath you, the quiet rhythm of his breathing syncing with yours. His fingers kept tracing those gentle patterns on your back, grounding you, reminding you that you were still here, still connected. The afterglow wrapped around you both, a warmth that made you feel safe, cherished. You could still feel him inside you.

“How bad would it be if we just stayed here?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the moment. There was a part of you that didn’t want to move, didn’t want to break the spell.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest, and you could feel the rumble against your cheek. “Well, love,” he said, his voice laced with amusement, “I’m not sure how comfortable the floor will be in about twenty minutes, but I’d say it’s worth a try if you are.”

You laughed, the sound light and free. “Fair point,” you conceded, shifting slightly to look up at him. His eyes were warm, a little teasing, but there was an underlying tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

“Come on,” he said gently, his hands sliding down your sides as he carefully helped you up. “Let’s get cleaned up. I promise the bed is much more inviting.”

He rose to his feet, extending a hand to help you up. You accepted, your legs feeling a little shaky as you stood, still a bit lightheaded from everything that had just happened. His hands lingered on your hips, steadying you, and you couldn’t help but smile at the care in his touch.

Together, you made your way upstairs, his arm draped around your shoulders as he guided you toward his bedroom. The space was warm, cozy, with a lived-in feel that made it undeniably his. The bed was unmade, sheets rumpled, as if he’d just gotten out of it before coming to find you.

He led you to the bathroom, where the soft glow of a single light illuminated the space. He turned on the shower, testing the water temperature before gesturing for you to step inside. You did, letting the hot water cascade over you, washing away the remnants of the night, though the memory of it clung to your skin. He joined you a moment later, his hands gentle as he helped you rinse off, his touch tender, almost reverent. You stood under the water together, letting the steam envelope you both.

When you were both clean, he handed you a towel, wrapping another around his waist. He left the bathroom for a moment and returned with a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, offering them to you.

“Here,” he said with a soft smile. “This will do.”

You took the clothes, slipping them on. The fabric was soft, worn in, and it smelled like him—woodsy, with a hint of something earthy and warm. You found yourself breathing it in, the scent comforting in a way you hadn’t expected.

When you were both dressed, he led you to the bed, pulling back the covers and slipping in beside you. He held the blanket up for you, and you slid in next to him, the cool sheets a welcome contrast to the warmth of his body. He immediately pulled you close, his arm wrapping around your waist as you nestled into his side, your head resting on his chest once more.

The room was dark, but the faint light from outside filtered in through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the walls. You could hear the rain still pattering against the window, a soothing backdrop to the quiet intimacy between you. His hand found yours under the covers, fingers intertwining as he held you close, his breath warm against your forehead. You could feel his heartbeat under your palm, steady and reassuring, and it lulled you into a state of deep relaxation.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you knew he heard you. You don't know for what exactly you were thanking him, but it felt like the right thing to say in that moment.

He responded with a gentle squeeze of your hand, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your hair.

You didn’t need to say anything more. The silence between you was comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. You both knew that tonight had changed something between you, something profound and unnameable, but for now, it was enough to just be here, together.

a/n: there you have it, i hope you guys liked it!! please like, reblog and comment. i wanna hear your thoughts! and as always, thank you for the support <3

[satosugusandwich]

His Angel and His Brat

Part 3!! Final part!!!

Part 1! Part 2!

Hard!Dom!Geto x Brat!Gojo x Sub!Afab!Reader

(I write stuff to be racially ambiguous!)

Summary: Gojo is a mega-brat to y/n and Suguru and likes to push buttons cuz he can so Suguru decides to overstimulate Gojo until he thinks he’s broken. (Key word: thinks.) To add to Gojo’s humiliation, he ensures that the reader is getting princess treatment while watching Gojo suffer endlessly. But, of course, things don’t always go as planned with Satoru Gojo. Or for y/n. Geto and Gojo have… motives.

CW and whatnots: Overstimulation, cum-eating, vibrators, dildoes, handjobs, touch of dom satoru at the end, spit, touch of humiliation and degradation, condescending!geto, usage of the word “cock”, gojo’s boundless stamina and cocky attitude, praise, cocksucking, angel ass reader that ends up in trouble cuz gojo can’t shut his mouth, geto is actually so mean to gojo but so soft cuz he’s actually a teddy bear dw. Use of “brat, princess, angel, cockslut, and slut.” There is aftercare in this part cuz imagine leaving pathetic Satoru and reader a cum drenched mess. Poor baby. :((( Also it’s very fluffy at the end :)))

Suguru wiggled the wand around, making you instinctively twitch away. He snickered at your sensitivity, pondering how he could get the most out of you. It was impressive how long he’s gone without getting off and it’s evident by looking at his cock that it’s begging to feel something. It’s reddened now, his cock typically a lighter shade of pink blending into his own skin color. The balls are heavy and begging to be touched, he’s probably doing his best to ignore the throbbing of it to focus on his lovers. How selfless of him.

Satoru, on the other hand, is slobbering all over the big, fat cock in his mouth. He’s a messy one, spitting on it and doing all the things you both like to see. Sadly, only you have looked at him this whole time. He was determined to make Suguru look at him even if that meant he had to behave for him.

Him sucking on the plastic cock was a sight to see for you, Satoru’s deepthroating skills never seemed to disappoint you, he’s become so good at it over the years of Suguru fucking his face until cumming straight down his throat. He keeps looking at you as you thrust up into the air, your hole clenching and beckoning him over. Suguru would never allow him to give you what your needy pussy is begging for as much as Satoru wants to give it.

“Please.” You whine, your first orgasm of the night rearing its head. “Suguru, I’m gonna cum.” The words rushed out from your mouth in a hushed way, as if you didn’t want to admit it.

Suguru cocked his head to the side slightly, pursing his lips. “Already?” He wiggled the wand again, making you cry out. “Poor girl, you have a rough time ahead of you.”

“I’m cumming, Suguru!” You looked back at Suguru, your mouth agape and eyes clenching shut.

Your volume increased, making a laugh huff from your dom’s nose. “Good girl. Let’s see you make a mess.”

Your orgasm was intense, your clenched fists were clawing at the pillowcase above you, your toes buried in the sheets, your breathing practically stopped, and your cunt spasmed so strongly, Suguru almost wondered if he should stop before you end up kicking him from the pleasure.

“Oh fuck! Fuck, Suguru! Oh my god—!” You sounded insane, babbling streams of cuss words all while you tried to calm down… but that wasn’t on the plans tonight. The second your body said no more, you instinctively tried to escape the pressure, but Suguru’s hand followed.

“No, no, no. Can’t have you escaping your punishment, can we?” He used his other arm to hold your leg down while sitting on the other one. “There, thought you mind need some help staying still.”

“Fuck! I don’t know if I can take it! It’s so much!” You still tried your best to move your hips around, finding any escape you could and you were grateful he didn’t stop you from doing that.

However, Satoru can’t help but feel a little jealous, if it were him trying to wriggle away, Suguru would tell him he can’t move or else he’d raise it a level. He babies you way too much! Regardless, he was getting to his limit, watching how Suguru looked at you so lovingly while looking nowhere in his direction. He’s tired of this boring plastic cock! It tastes like silicon and it doesn’t feel good hitting the back of his throat. Not to mention, there’s no pretty dark-haired sorcerer moaning about how good he’s doing. Instead all he gets to hear is—

“See, good girl, you can take it.” Watching as your eyes water and body twitches makes his own cock throb. And as much as he wants to ignore Satoru, the sounds of him whining around the cock and slobber pooling around the base of if is intense. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Satoru’s spit roll off onto the sheets, leaving a wet spot right beside him. You look so perfect, pulling at the sheets like you’re holding on for dear life, and if he turns to look at his other partner, his heart might fall out of his chest. Or he might cum just from watching Satoru fuck his own throat.

Each time you looked at Suguru, he was smiling with a twinge of sadism in his eye and each time you happened to look at his face his eyes would snap from your cunt to your face, to see how beautiful you look. And each time you looked at Satoru, his eyes would be on you, hungry and desperate for something else. He’d briefly look at Suguru, or really, his weeping cock, and hope he’d be blessed with the privilege of either fucking you or getting his face fucked instead.

You repeated Suguru’s name over and over with pleads spilling from your tongue. Please stop or please don’t stop, does it matter? Once that initial torture is over, you’re ready to cum again and you suppose that’s the fun part. But then you remember you’ll have to deal with that non-stop over sensitivity again. To cum or not to cum, beg for mercy or beg for more? You were at a crossroads, indeed.

“Ah, I can tell you’re getting close again, let’s just do three, hm? Your sensitive cunt is addictive, but I think for being such a good girl, I won’t torture you for too long.” Suguru leans down to kiss your stomach, vibrator pressed firmly against you.

You nodded weakly and watched him cock an eyebrow. “Yes sir, thank you sir.”

He nodded and hummed along, rubbing it in circles now. “At least one of you has manners.” He finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, looked at his cockslut of a brat to the left of him. “Satoru, why don’t you entertain me a little once she cums this second time?”

He pulls the toy out, ecstatic and grinning. “Oh, yes please!”

“Did I say stop?” Suguru warned him and Satoru quickly went back to fucking his own throat, knowing that Suguru showing him any mercy is a rarity. Bedroom or no bedroom.

“Suguru, I’m gonna—“ You brought their attention back to you.

“Yes, that’s right. I bet you love watching Satoru fuck his own throat, yeah?” He cooed.

“Mm-hm, yeah.”

“Does it turn you on to know he’s watching you get punished? I know it does. Admit it.”

You could barely focus on words, but you knew you had to answer. “I love it when he watches.”

“So cute, our pretty angel doesn’t seem so innocent now. You really wanted this, wanted it so bad. That’s so sweet. Go ahead and cum for me, angel.”

“I wanted it so bad! So bad! Thank you!” You came with a cry, not even able to finish your praises for him, just shaking and throwing your head back. You didn’t even care that your noggin hit the headboard, fuck anything else in that moment, all you could focus on is how your pretty pussy gushed and spilled for him.

“Ah-haha!” Suguru couldn’t help but laugh at the sound of your head hitting the board. “Is it that good, baby? Not even Satoru has done that!”

You couldn’t even protest before the pleasure became overwhelming again. This time, your wrists flew down to push him back against his own orders but he wasn’t mad, instead it only made him laugh more.

“Oh, angel, can you not take it?” He laughed. “Come on, please, I know you can. Here, let me show you some mercy. Count to 5.”

He lifted the vibrator off and you knew you had to count. “1…2…3…4…5.” And in that brief respite, all you could do was just count. It was immediately back on your clit and somehow it was even more overwhelming. “Oh my fucking—GOD!”

Satoru sighed beside Suguru. “I’ve should’ve warned her.”

Suguru looked to Satoru, their eyes meeting. “So, wanna talk her through it, for me. You’re just so much better at making people melt. As a reward, you can stroke my cock for me, yeah? Then once I cum on her pretty cunt, you’ll lick her clean?”

Satoru nodded and spat on his hand, moving it to Suguru’s needy wanton cock, then he looked at you.

You accepted your fate. With this level of pleasure combined with Satoru’s nasty mouth, you might die when you cum.

Satoru was more than eager to help you achieve heaven. “Look at that pretty cunt, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this swollen, have you? I bet if I were to just stick one finger inside, she might scream.” Oh hell, Satoru was really gonna kill you. Letting out a chuckle, he continued. “Aw, look at her whine, it’s like she can’t hold it in, never thought that she’d break down like that.”

You clamped your eyes shut, his condescending tone sending you further into pleasure but also embarrassing you, you almost wanted to hide. He would just chase you down anyways.

“Ah ah, open your eyes, I need to see them on me. Can you cry out for me? Keep begging for me? I wanna hear you say what you want, baby.” You didn’t say anything, the words caught in the back of your throat. Then Satoru suddenly grabbed one of your hands. “It’s alright, I got you baby.” He held on tightly.

“Fuck—fuck you guys!” You didn’t know if you were serious or not but that made both of them smile.

“Sorry love,” this time Suguru spoke up in-between panting and sighing, “but I think you might pass out if you fuck us.”

Satoru harrumphed in agreement. “She can barely speak, it must feel so good.” Satoru sped up stroking Suguru, knowing that you were already getting close and Suguru was too focused on you. “Our angel seems to be getting close again, much faster than earlier, you really like it when I talk to you huh? You like it when I hold your hand while Suguru tortures that clit of yours?”

“Yes-yes-yes!” You repeated, that familiar feeling coming up again. “Please don’t stop, I’m gonna cum!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. If I get to see you squirt all over Suguru again, it’ll give me more motivation to keep on fucking you, to keep on letting Suguru punish me too. I know our pretty angel has a mean streak, she sure does, but she’s at her best when she’s begging for more. Do you want more?”

“Yes!”

“Oh you’re cumming?” Suguru mused in a breathy, desperate voice, knowing that his own high was approaching soon after yours.

“Yeah she is! She is! Cum for us baby!” Satoru encouraged you and right when you hit your peak, he could feel your nails dig into his palm, clutching onto whatever you could with the strength you have left. “Good, that’s our angel, good girl.”

“That’s right, that’s right.” Suguru echoed. “That’s my girl.” He turned off the toy and you breathed in like you’ve never breathed before.

Satoru chuckled and looked at Suguru now, who was grunting and mumbling about cumming all over you under his breath. “Please, Suguru,” Satoru’s tone changing. “Cum for me please, I wanna taste it, cum baby, please.”

And once you calmed down, you joined him, spreading your lips wider to give him a perfect shot. “Cum all over my cunt, please I wanna feel it.”

His brain was going numb with both of your praises and begs. “Gonna cum all over your cunt and Satoru is gonna lick it up like a good little brat.” He grunted through his teeth.

“Please Suguru, I wanna lick it up, feel it on my tongue!” Satoru pleaded once more and you could see Suguru’s eyes roll back as his cock exploded.

It was messy and it was a lot. Thick ropes covered your clit, your abdomen, and rolled down between your ass cheeks. Satoru’s eyes widened like he was looking at his last meal as it spilled all over you. Suguru watched as Satoru immediately lapped at your stomach and travelled down to catch all that he could. “Thank you.” Satoru snickered, smirking as his tongue gathered his cum.

You and Suguru watched him, but you were the only one who could feel his hungry tongue, somehow pressing into your cunt like he wanted to taste all of Suguru and all of you. When he finished lapping up what was left on you, he licked Suguru’s pretty cock clean, licking each drop like he’s starved. “Thank you for the meal.” You heard Satoru say, his tongue finally disconnecting.

You spoke up. “I wanna taste.” Satoru leaned back and kissed you, swapping your tastes back and forth, relishing in how you worked to match his energy despite your exhaustion.

Suguru watched his pretty babies kiss and smile into each others mouths. Once you both noticed him staring, it was instantaneous the way you both went to kiss him.

“Hey!” Satoru pushed your face back down and you bit at his finger. “Don’t bite me!”

“One at a time.” Suguru said gently. “Since you’re so needy, I’ll get Satoru first.” You didn’t actually mind it, knowing he endured the most torture today. Their kiss was passionate but gentle and when it came to be your turn, Suguru leaned down to connect with your mouth. You caught his face in your hands and shared a breathy, open-mouthed kiss and then finished with giving him a peck on the nose.

“I’m exhausted.” Satoru plopped down beside you and rolled onto his stomach with his face in the pillow.

“Me too.” You giggled, copying him.

You could practically hear Suguru roll his eyes. “Such children.” He picked up all the toys from the today, the dildo, vibes, and Satoru’s cuffs from earlier and rose from the bed. “I’ll be back.”

Satoru moaned obnoxiously. “Abandoning us, I see.”

“Imagine not immediately taking your perfect, amazing, and gorgeous subs to the bathtub and lighting like 5 candles with rose petals.” You ran your hand up Satoru’s back and he turned his head to face you, still on his stomach.

“Honestly, what kind of person doesn’t worship their subs, so weird.” Satoru joked again.

From the bathroom, Suguru shot back. “You’re a switch, Satoru.”

He pouted and whined. “But not tonight!!!!!”

Suguru reemerged from the bathroom with a wet towel and started to wipe in-between your legs, gentle enough to not stimulate you again. You rubbed your head into Satoru’s shoulder, smiling. Suguru gave Satoru the same treatment. Suguru also had another clean towel on hand to wipe your heads, paying extra attention to your sweaty ass forehead. Satoru was the first to get up, sitting on the edge of the bed and stretching. You got up and went to the bathroom to piss, looking at yourself in the mirror and splashing your face with cool water. Meanwhile you could hear Suguru strip the bed of “sex sheets” and bringing out fresh ones. Satoru also walked into the bathroom, poking you with a water bottle on your cheek.

“Yes, yes, I’ll drink.” You snatched it from the grinning man and gulped practically the whole thing down. Satoru drank the rest of what you left and kissed your cheek.

“How are you feeling?” Suguru was now as the door to the bathroom.

“Naptime. I feel like nap time.” Satoru answered first.

You nodded and turned on the shower. “Shower time.”

Suguru looked content, placing a brief peck on Satoru’s cheek. “Were you okay with everything? Is there any feedback?”

You shook your head. “You didn’t go too far or anything. You were still so sweet the whole time. I really liked how you made sure me and ‘Toru both were entertained.” Checking the temperature of the water, you waited to hear anything else.

Satoru looked over to you. “Sorry if what I did was too unexpected, I just know you’re kinda scared to admit what you want sometimes. It’s pretty common with chicks.”

“No, it’s alright. It was actually really fun.” You admitted, mirroring Suguru’s kiss on his cheek. “If I wasn’t okay with it I would’ve said something.”

Suguru stretched and popped his neck. “Next time, we should talk more about what we’re doing.”

Satoru whined. “Predictability can be boring though!!!! But I guess it’ll help avoid bad things.”

“Satoru.” You both say, but you let Suguru finish talking. “We can still be spontaneous, that’s been basically our entire relationship.”

“I know.” He whined again and stepped into the shower. “I’ll be the spontaneity!”

After the three of you shower and wind down, you end up snuggled between both men, just talking the night away. You really couldn’t ask for more from them. Satoru made jokes the entire night, mostly cheesy, but all funny. Suguru started to get overly curious about what all you’re afraid to admit and you realized you’d rather be interrogated by Gojo, because at least whatever you say it’s nowhere near as freaky as Satoru’s brain.

“Hey.” Satoru poked your cheek.

“What?”

“Stop assaulting our angel.”

“Shaddup, I have an important announcement.” He rolls over and whispers in your ear. “I love you.”

Suguru puts his hand to his ear. “What was that?”

You follow suit. “Yeah, say it again.”

“I hate you both.” Satoru rolls over, now a red mess.

“Love you too.” Suguru says first, reaching his head across you to kiss Satoru one more time.

“I love you both.” You say, pulling the covers up and then attaching yourself to Satoru like a koala bear.

Satoru huffs and grabs your arm that wrapped around him. “If you didn’t we’d have a problem.” You nuzzled into the back of his neck and soon after, Suguru’s body weight shifted so that he had a hold on you. In one big triple spoon, you closed your eyes and just before you finally got to sleep. Satoru repeated himself. “I really do love you guys.”

[chuplayswithfire]

I have more thoughts on how and why the sex was a mistake. I will be thinking about this all week. All year.

Let's start with: the sex was consensual, they both wanted it, and that does not change that it was the wrong decision for their relationship in that moment. They should not have had sex! Ed is 100% correct and he is not running away when he says that! He is not just avoiding his feelings or getting cold feet, he is genuinely correct, and here's why:

They continue to be on different pages. They have not had a chance to talk it through. It's been like 2-3 max since Ed woke up from the Gravy Basket, and emotions are still running high. Even ignoring that they were just tortured in front of each other and that Stede killed a man right after Ed asked him not to, they were not in the same space emotionally regarding their relationship.

Fir one thing: Stede did *not* get his heartbroken (prior to this). He got his romantic affirmation. Season 1 was an entire arc leading to Stede realizing he is gay, that he is in love, that he is loved in return. For him, for HIM, sex is a natural next step, and we already knew he wanted it from how he deepened their kiss in episode 5. Their relationship itself is not a source of trauma for Stede; he loves Ed and he walked away from his old life to be with him, and now he found him again, and they've agreed to do it together, figure things out, his romantic hopes are realized.

And in that moment, adding to that background informations, is that Stede also wanted to avoid all his messy feelings by being physical. He was tortured and he watched Ed and his crew be tortured, he was insulted and had to listen to Ed be insulted, and he wanted to regain control and power by killing Ned Low, and removing the threat. That's where Stede's head is.

Ed, on the other hand, did get his heart broken and while the majority of what he's working through is about his self-hatred, his dissatisfaction with his career, and his desire to find a life that feels worth living, he is also dealing with a significant amount of trust issues with his relationship with Stede, because Stede left him. He has heard from Stede that he loves him, but Ed's deepest fear is that he's unlovable, and he hasn't gotten over that, or his hurt from how things went, in the like two days it's been.

But he loves Stede, and he's attracted to him, and he wants him, so when Stede initiates and manhandles him a bit and things get hot and heavy, he consents. He's all in, carried away by the moment.

And he regrets it.

He especially wasn't ready because Ed is a planner. I know we were all joking about how they definitely weren't going to take it slow and they were going to rush through, but I do genuinely think he meant it. Ed's natural state is as a planner and tactician, everything has an angle for him and even when he wants to just be simple, he always has a bajillion factors in mind that he's juggling, so we can be sure that Ed probably did very much have thoughts about how he wanted their first time to go, and what he wanted them to do and grow into as a relationship before they had sex, and instead they got tortured, Stede killed a man, and then they fucked in the aftermath.

Not bloody optimal indeed.

Now back to Stede: he is utterly unprepared for the idea that the sex could be a mistake because to and for him it was the natural next step in their relationship. This is his romantic fantasy is the thing; he was a cool brave pirate captain who made an enemy walk the plank in defense of his crew and his boyfriend, and then Ed came to him and Stede got to sweep him off his feet and shove him against the wall, kiss him, bring him to the bed, and pointedly shut the curtains on an audience that doesn't exist, followed by a lazy morning after with breakfast in bed.

So it probably hurts extra that Ed is like that was a mistake. This is literally him living his fantasy from episode 1, Ned Low even has facial hair and is mean to him like Izzy used to be. He could ignore all the realities of that situation, because he was living his fantasy, and Ed dragged them both out of fantasyland, back to the real world, where their relationship isn't fixed 100% and sex didn't change that.

They weren't on the same page. They still aren't, because they need to talk.

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

XI. I only have eyes for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was not what you meant to say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Detective Gordon Can we talk?

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

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

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

“What? No. What happened?”

“There’s been a break-in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that left you with more baffling culprits to consider.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She wasn’t in Bristol.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Why was she there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m looking for Vicki Vale.”

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

“It’d be stupid of her not to.”

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

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

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

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

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

You beeline for Vicki’s neck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus. What is your life these days?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Did something else happen?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bruce is... nowhere to be seen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay? You keep shaking your leg.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wait. And wait. And wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet.

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

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

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

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

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

"Going once..."

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

"Going twice..."

Bruce's smile is statuesque.

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

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

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

Bruce finally looks at you.

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

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

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

“100%.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that-"

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

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

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

"Do you want company?"

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

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

"That's why I offered, child."

"We can do lunch sometime instead."

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

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

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

Dinner, which you'd eaten only half of.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grab the back of his neck and bring his lips to yours, swallowing the tiny breath he releases into your mouth.

You feel him hesitate, but it's only for a moment. A moment long enough to make your stomach flip with budding regret—guilt at your own recklessness—but it's crushed beneath Bruce's heel when he gathers you into him by the waist, bordering on desperate for contact. The hand that had wiped the water from your chin cups your cheek now, and it's for the better because when he starts kissing back, it feels like he's trying to eat you alive.

You maneuver him away from the kitchen, following after him as you bump the wall, narrowly avoiding the heavy weight of Bruce's boots until you feel the plush of your rug beneath your feet. A thought forms in your head.

You press down on Bruce's shoulders until he gets the hint. His knees hit the floor, his lips separating from yours with a wet pop! and the ragged sound of his rough breathing. Bent at the waist, you pull back enough to see him looking up at you, hands still grasping for your hips. You don't like not being able to see all of his face right now, and so you slip your fingers underneath the neck of the cowl and tug it off, revealing his tousled hair that had looked so perfect earlier. You were the only one to see him like this. Your chest swells with pride.

You pry his hands off you and place them on his own waist instead, keeping his gaze the entire time. "Off."

Your command is but a whisper, and Bruce takes a second before he's peeling off his chest plate and utility belt and gloves, and eventually the under suit is hanging open at his hips like it had at your kitchen table not so long ago. He sits so pretty on his knees, chest flushed, waiting for you.

There are new scars on his skin. There would always be new scars. As your eyes trace each one, you almost laugh. His bullet wound stares back at you.

You shove him onto his back.

He falls to the ground with a thud and as you're straddling him, you hear a knock at the door. Bruce's hands pause in finding your hips as a voice carries through. "Hey, uh... you alright in there?"

It's the cop who couldn't be assed to look after you. "Yes." You hiss.

"You sure? Look, I know earlier—"

"Please fuck off." Bruce makes a noise from beneath you. When you look down at him, his eyes are lit up like they were at the auction. His hands finally settle on you, locking you against him, and a thrill rises within you. You wait for the silence outside to follow, and then you speak, hushed. "You never answered my question."

Bruce blinks away the haze settling over him, "What?"

"You wanted it to be me. You like when I... look at you. When I see what no one else sees. You like my attention or you wouldn't keep coming back." Your finger traces his bullet wound and you see his lips purse before any sounds could sneak past them. Your other hand travels up his chest, reaching until you can feel the edge of his stab wound.

Bruce's eyes narrow. You almost think you've struck the wrong nerve. "And you like looking at me."

You sink your weight against his lap and his eyelashes flutter.

You feel one of his hands sink into your hair when you bend to kiss the fading scars along his chest, feel his hips buck off the floor a little when your tongue presses into a purpled bruise. "We have to be quiet," you chasten, "I hear you pay your security well."

Bruce's breath warms the top of your head and he angles you away from his skin, eyes singling in on your puckered mouth. His other hand plays at your hip, fingers rubbing back and forth through the material until his fingers slip underneath and find the hem of your underwear. You shiver. His finger hooks underneath the hem and pulls teasingly, drawing a muted whimper out of you. "I'm sure you're creative enough to find a way."

Your eyes flicker to his. You rut your hips against his own for good measure, watching his jaw tick in an attempt to stay silent. "For me or for you?" Then, you begin to slip down his thighs, your kisses passing his navel and getting closer and closer to where his under suit still clings to skin. You feel something bump your chin.

The hand in your hair tightens just so. You feel lightheaded again.

You move back just as he sits up. You see the paint around the crease of his eyes beginning to run a little bit, the fingers stuck in your underwear now tugging with an urgency.

a/n: if I had a nickel for every time I wrote reader getting upset with bruce at a public function only to makeout with him when they got home i would have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it's happened twice right. anyway bruce used ur underwear as a gag happy holidays

[yuesya]

“Where is she?”

The injured man stirs faintly and coughs, but does not respond.

Sunday bares his teeth in a vicious snarl, seizing the bastard’s collar in his hands –oh, how he wishes to wring this animal’s neck instead, and he would in a heartbeat if he didn’t still need him to talk. To speak, and reveal his youngest little sister’s location to him.

Halovians are widely adored throughout the universe. Their kind are blessed with beautiful appearances and lovely voices, and many are those who find themselves charmed by such attributes. This knowledge is nothing new.

Slave trafficking is, unfortunately, also nothing new.

… This isn’t Penacony, where the Oak Family’s power stands unshakable. Where protection is extended even to the undesirables of their lineage. But away from the watchful eyes of the other families, this was–!

Sunday shouldn’t have let his guard down.

…

He knows that people talk. He knows about the rumors circulating about his youngest little sister –how she’s nothing like him, or like Robin; how she doesn’t even act Halovian at all. The halos of Halovians allow them to communicate emotions with each other through telepathic means, but no one has ever discerned any emotions emanating from the youngest child at all.

Broken, defective, a shame to her lineage and to her siblings–

Sunday should have ripped out their tongues for daring to say such things, and damn the consequences for such an act. Maybe then, no one would’ve dared to even consider the sacrilegious act of selling one of the family’s children–

“Talk,” Sunday demands, with all the authority that’s been drilled into him from his training. “My patience runs thin. Where is my little sister?”

The slaver has the audacity to laugh. “Ha! You think you can threaten me, little boy? Aside from you, no one will miss a Halovian like that, so you might as well let us make some value out of–”

Sunday punches the man in the face.

It’s uncontrolled, messy rage that guides his actions. Something stings on the back of his knuckles, and Sunday is vaguely aware of blood trickling down his fingertips, but there is something that’s almost euphorically satisfying about the startled cry of pain and flicker of fear that flashes across the slaver’s face.

Sunday raises a fist again.

…

Please let her be alright. Please don’t let it be too late–

By the time that Sunday is finally able to force the slaver’s compliance and rushes to the warehouse on the docks where his youngest little sister was taken, it has already taken far too long for his liking. The smaller strides of a young child are no match for those of grown adults, but it does not stop Sunday from running all the same, praying to Xipe that it’s not too late–

Blood.

Of the multiple warehouses, only one of them has blood seeping out beneath its cracks. Enough to form a veritable lake, and–

Sunday’s mind goes blank, and he immediately throws the door open.

A large hand suddenly reaches out, seizing Sunday by the arms with a death grip. It belongs to a rugged-looking man, who stares at Sunday with wide, bloodshot eyes.

“R… run…”

The man falls, heavy like a mountain. There is a knife embedded in his back –all the way up to the hilt.

Sunday ignores the blood staining his sleeves, and looks into the room.

It… looks less like a warehouse for storage, and more like a slaughterhouse. Blood splatters the walls, covers the ground, and everything is red. Dismembered body parts are littered all over in a mess, like some macabre work of art.

And at the very epicenter of it all, stands his little sister.

… There is another bloody knife in her hands.

Her hair… her blue-white hair is no longer pristine, and neither is the matching dress with Robin that she’d been dressed in this morning. Her clothes are tattered, and she’s drenched in blood just like the rest of her surroundings. There’s no question of what happened here, of what she’d done to keep herself safe.

Yet there’s nothing about her that seems disturbed, or tormented. His little sister looks at him calmly, and… even now, Sunday cannot sense any change in his little sister’s emotions.

But even so, all Sunday can feel is relief.

He instantly crosses the room, uncaring of the blood that he steps through to reach her, and engulfs the girl in a tight hug. The feathery wings behind her ears flutter lightly; the only outward indication of any surprise.

“Thank goodness you’re safe,” Sunday tells her, glad. “I’m sorry that I’m here so late.”

His youngest little sister does not say anything. But after a beat, she slowly raises a hand, mimicking his motions in a clumsy hug of her own, and Sunday feels a corner of his heart melt.

“… You’re not late,” she finally says.

Sunday tightens his hold on his unknowing little sister.