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mimiiiiiiiiisstuff · 15 hours ago

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Ok yall I'm back with chapter 7!! Hopefully this posts bc it wasn't working yesterday. Sorry if it's confusing, I rewrote it like 5 times! I tried not to use {y/n} but i mightve slipped up! Hope ya'll enjoy!! The plot is finally moving!! Lmk if you have any questions. Likes, reblogs, and asks motivate me! I love when yall send me your ideas and comments and asks! Wish me luck, I'm posting this and then taking my math exam! If you don't like it, don't read, stop sending mean asks and submissions!

Breakfast the next morning was horrible.

The awkward silence lingered, thick with unspoken words and eyes that felt like they were scanning every inch of you. You could feel their weight on your back, like a thousand invisible hands pushing you deeper into your seat, forcing you to stay in this uncomfortable moment.

You could already feel the heat rising in your chest, but you bit your lip, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You weren’t going to lose your cool—not yet.

Damian’s gaze was fixed on you, like he was waiting for some kind of reaction, his lips pressed into a thin line. You knew what he was expecting: compliance. Submission. He expected you to shrink back under his scrutiny. And yet, there was something oddly satisfying about not giving him that satisfaction.

Instead, you focused on the plate in front of you, stabbing your fork into the pancakes with far too much force. You were still hungry, but the food felt like cardboard in your mouth, tasteless and dry, even though Alfred’s cooking was always the best.

Bruce was still watching you, his eyes heavy with a kind of expectant patience, like he was just waiting for you to crack. You could feel the tension in the room like a ticking clock, the seconds stretching longer than you’d ever thought possible.

"Why are you all staring at me?" you finally muttered, breaking the silence, your voice low but biting. You didn't look up from your plate, but you could feel the eyes on you. They all thought they could break you. They thought you were some fragile little thing, someone they could fix with their pity and their "family time." But you weren’t. You’d stopped being that person a long time ago.

Dick was the first to speak, his voice softer than usual, like he was trying to tread lightly around you. “We’re just trying to connect, I know it’s been a long time, and things got… complicated, but we don’t want to lose you again. Not after all this time.”

His words weren’t as comforting as he probably thought they were. In fact, they made your skin crawl. He was trying to be kind, but it felt forced, like he was reading from a script. You didn’t need this. Not from him, not from any of them. You wanted them to stop pretending like they could fix everything with a few hugs, a couple of "we missed you"s.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you said quietly, your voice almost a whisper, but it carried a weight. “I didn’t ask to be here. And I didn’t ask to be part of this family anymore.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened at your words, but he didn’t say anything at first. You could feel the flicker of something in his expression—guilt, maybe. Regret. He was looking at you, like he was trying to see the person you used to be. The person you had been before everything fell apart.

You weren’t that person anymore. And he needed to understand that.

“You don’t get to decide that,” Damian suddenly said, his voice a little too sharp. “You can’t just shut us out like this. You’re still a part of this family. Whether you like it or not.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his. " I can shut you all out, I can do whatever I want” you snapped, the frustration leaking through. “You’ve done it to me for years.”

Dick’s brow furrowed, his lips pulling into a frown. For a second, he looked genuinely taken aback by your words, “You don’t understand,” he said, his tone quieter but still laced with an edge. “We didn’t abandon you. Not on purpose. You think we didn’t care? You just never seemed to need help.”

You could feel the sting of his words, but you pushed it down, locking it away. You weren’t going to break. Not for him. Not for any of them. Of course you never needed help, you were too busy trying to be perfect.

“I was just a kid,” you replied, your voice a little rawer, louder than you intended. “And I was ignored by the people who were supposed to be there for me. So fuck you and fuck your family time too.”

There was a long pause, everyone looked around in shock, not expecting you to be so combatant and then Jason finally spoke up, his tone softer than usual, less teasing. “We’re trying, okay? I'm trying. We’re not perfect, and I’m not asking you to just forget everything. But we want to try. Let us try.”

You shot him a look, your eyes narrowing. “Trying isn’t good enough,” you muttered, your voice tight. “Not when it’s years too late. I don't want scraps of love anymore, not when i've had the real deal.”

Everyone seemed to quiet at the last part of your statement, suspicious of what it meant and from who you received "love" from. What convinced you that you didn't need them anymore?

“Then what do you want?” Tim interjected, his voice suddenly sharper, more direct than before. “What do you want from us? We’re here, and we’re trying to make it right. But you’ve got to meet us halfway.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell them that nothing would ever be good enough, that the damage was already done. But you didn’t. Instead, you just stared at Tim, meeting his eyes with a challenge of your own. You didn’t owe them answers. Not anymore.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, almost defeated. “I don’t know what I want.”

It was the truth. You didn’t know what you wanted. You didn’t know if there was anything they could do to fix things. But one thing was certain: you didn’t want to stay in this mansion, suffocated by their expectations. You didn’t want to play along with their idea of a happy family.

Before anyone could respond, you stood up abruptly, pushing your chair back with a loud scrape against the floor.

“Don’t worry about me,” you said, turning on your heel. “I’ll figure it out on my own. I always have.”

You heard Duke’s soft voice in the background, calling after you, but you didn’t stop. You just walked out of the dining room, your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way toward the staircase.

As you climbed the stairs, you could feel their eyes on your back, the weight of their presence pressing down on you, but you didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care if they watched. You didn’t care if they were disappointed. You just wanted to be alone.

That day, you stayed in bed. You ignored every knock on your door, every phone call, every beg and plead to come down and eat. You just wanted to be alone.

You woke up to the quiet hum of the manor, but it was far from peaceful. The silence was suffocating, a constant reminder that there was no escaping them—not now. You tried to pretend the night before hadn’t happened, that their constant attention wasn’t as overwhelming as it was, that you were going back to New York soon. Unfortunately, fantasies don't become realities, especially when reality is chasing them down.

Every one of them was here, waiting. Watching.

Bruce stood near the staircase, his presence larger than life. His eyes lingered on you as if he expected something. You weren’t sure what. Maybe gratitude, maybe obedience. He said nothing, just watched you with that expression of silent insistence.

“Good morning,” he said in that deep, calm voice of his, but there was something off about it. There was a layer of expectation beneath his words, like he was waiting for something from you.

You ignored him, brushing past him without a second glance. You didn’t want to engage, didn’t want to pretend like everything was okay. But it didn’t matter. They were all around you now, slowly closing in.

Tim was the next to corner you. You could feel his calculating eyes on you the moment you stepped into the kitchen. He had a cup of coffee in hand, but his focus was on you. Just you.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, the question seemingly casual but the undertone too sharp, too analytical. It wasn’t just a question, it was a probe, a way for him to gauge how much control he had over you.

You rolled your eyes, reaching for the fridge to grab something that could distract you, something that could make the reality of this house feel a little less like a cage. But the moment your hand touched the door, he was there, standing far too close, watching you, almost breathing down your neck.

“You know,” Tim said, his voice low, “we can talk today. If you want. We need to keep your abilities in check, make sure you’re safe, protected. ” His tone lingered on that last word, like he was reminding you that you were under his watch now.

You hated how calmly he said it. It made your skin crawl.

Steph was next, adding onto what Tim said with her stupid signature smile, "He's right y'know. It's dangerous out there. For you especially."

You ignored them both. Payback for their years of negligence.

Tim just stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning your face. “Fine, be like that,” he muttered, before walking away, but you knew he wasn’t done. He never was.

And then there was Dick. His usual cheerful demeanor didn’t falter as he breezed into the room, but it was too cheerful, too bright. He was pushing something, forcing something, like he was trying to manufacture happiness out of thin air, trying to remind you of who you were, who you used to be.

“Hey! How about we do something today?” he said, his voice far too eager. “We could go out and grab coffee, breakfast, anything. I know you’re probably not feeling it, but you need to get out of this house for a bit.”

You wanted tear him apart for thinking you could just “forget” everything and fall back into some comfortable, happy routine. But you didn’t. Instead, you just nodded stiffly, walking past him without acknowledging his words.

“Come on,” he tried again, following you, “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Just drop it, Dick,” you said, your voice like ice. “I’m not going anywhere. Ya'll made that pretty clear.”

His face faltered for just a moment before he plastered that damn grin back on. But you saw it, the frustration and determination behind his eyes. He wasn’t going to stop. None of them were.

Jason leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a smirk you couldn’t quite decipher. “Ah, the princess finally comes out her tower,” he teased. “What? Got tired of throwing shit around in there?"

You narrowed your eyes, feeling the heat in your chest rise. Jason always had a way of pissing you off with his words, making everything seem like a joke, but you knew there was something darker underneath. He wanted to get a rise out of you, he craved it. He wanted you to go back to being his annoying little sister with anger issues.

“Shut up, Jason,” you muttered, turning away from him, not caring that you weren’t hiding your anger anymore. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today.”

Jason just laughed, but there was a hint of something softer there, something that felt almost... like concern, buried beneath the sarcasm.

“Stop,” you snapped, but before you could escape, Damian stepped in.

Damian was the most direct, the most unforgiving in his attempts to bond. He stepped into your path without hesitation, his posture rigid and eyes narrowed, as if daring you to push him away.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice low, yet intense. “You think you’re some rebellious teenager trying to escape, but you’re not. You don’t get a choice in this.” His words weren’t harsh, they were final, like he had already decided your fate. And you were staying here, whether you liked it or not.

“You’re wrong,” you spat, your voice venomous. "I don’t need you.”

Damian tilted his head slightly, an unsettling calm settling over him. “You’ll need us eventually. Whether you want to or not. And you'll be grateful we never let you go.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you didn’t let him see it. Not yet. His audacity was insane. To think that you'd be thankful for being trapped in Gotham. Never.

As you tried to walk past him, you collided with Cass, who was standing silently behind you, her eyes filled with that knowing, unspoken concern. She's so creepy. She didn’t say a word but you could feel her presence, like a weight pressing down on you.

Cass placed a hand gently on your arm, her touch barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to make you freeze.

Why are they acting like this? What changed these two weeks?

"You’re safe here," she said quietly, her words cutting through the tension in a way that made your skin crawl. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a command.

You pulled away sharply, nearly punching her, your fists clenched at your sides. “I'm not happy.” you said, more to yourself than to her.

But she didn’t respond. Of course she didn’t. Her eyes just followed you, and that was worse than any words.

Barbara was close by, but she didn’t need to be loud. She never did. She had this way of talking in soft tones that made everything sound so reasonable. So loving.

“You don’t have to keep shutting us out,” she said gently. “You can talk to us. We just want to make sure you’re okay. All of us. We care about you.”

You felt the weight of her words crash down on you, suffocating you with their sweetness, with their hidden demands. Care. It was just another word for control, for keeping you locked in their world, locked in their gaze. If they cared, they would let you be happy in New York.

“Just stop,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her. “Just... stop.”

You sat in your room for hours again, ignoring everyone.

Bruce had spent the last few days carefully watching you, keeping his distance just enough to make you think you had some semblance of freedom, but now he was ready to step in, to claim his role as your father.

He had promised himself when you left for France, he would make it right. That he would make up for everything he had missed, for every moment he had abandoned you for the greater good of Gotham. But now, as the silence stretched between you two, he was determined to close that distance.

You had just returned to your room after another breakfast you didn’t want to be part of when you heard the knock.

It was Bruce.

“You’re not busy, are you?” he asked, his voice almost too warm, too hopeful.

You shot him a glance, wondering if he truly thought this would work. After everything that had happened, after all the times he had failed you, he still thought a few “father-daughter” moments could make things better.

"I guess not," you replied flatly, stepping aside to let him in, your mind already racing with how to get through whatever this was going to be.

The moment he entered, Bruce seemed to settle, as though he had a plan in mind, one he was eager to execute.

“Good,” he said, looking around the room, his eyes scanning for something, maybe an opportunity. Then, he turned back to you, hands clasped behind his back. “I thought today, we could spend some time together. Just us. It’s been a while since we’ve done something like this, hasn’t it? School starts soon and you'll get busy, you won't have time for me anymore.”

He was trying to joke around.

School. More like prison. The more he mentioned school, the angrier you got. You'd never done something like this. He did it with all his other kids though, with Tiffany. As you thought of her, all ideas of being nice to Bruce, of trying to bond with your father, flew out the window.

The words felt like a slap, and you couldn’t keep the bite from your tone. “Is that what you think this is? Quality time? You really think we’re just gonna pick up where we left off? Think you can change the past with brunch?”

Bruce’s eyes softened for a moment, his expression cracking, but only slightly. The guilt was there, unmistakable, but it didn’t erase the unspoken expectation behind his words. His voice became more gentle, more insistent.

“I know it’s not easy,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something else—something almost pleading, though he would never admit it. “But I want to make this right. You deserve this. You deserve... me. We can go out, maybe catch a movie, grab lunch, talk, whatever you want. I just want to be with you. Like you always talked about.”

You didn’t respond immediately. For a moment, you just stood there, frozen, as the weight of his words crashed over you. It was nice watching him beg for once. You had always wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted him to be a father, to care for you like he did the others. But that was before you tasted freedom, before you tried love.

Now, the idea of spending time with him felt like a betrayal to everything you had tried to protect: your own independence, your own space, your freedom. You didn’t want to be a part of his perfect little family anymore.

“No.” you muttered, unable to stop the anger from flooding your chest. “You really think that’s going to fix things? You think I just forgot what you did? Because i'm nice sometimes?”

Bruce didn’t flinch at your words, didn’t even show any sign of anger. Instead, he just stepped closer, his presence filling up the room, looming over you like an impenetrable wall. His tone remained patient, almost too controlled, like he was walking on eggshells.

“I know I can’t undo the past,” he said quietly, a trace of regret slipping through. “But I can be here for you now. I won’t make the same mistakes. I promise.”

A cold laugh escaped your lips. “You already have.”

You could feel your pulse quicken, the anger bubbling up inside you, but you pushed it back. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

Bruce’s eyes softened even further, the guilt twisting in his expression, and for a moment, you saw something else there—desperation. As if he was begging you to let him in, to give him just one chance to prove he wasn’t the same person who had abandoned you for years.

“We could just sit and talk,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “No expectations. No agenda. Just us. I’m not trying to fix you or make everything perfect. I just want to spend time with my daughter.”

Something in you snapped at the mention of daughter. The word that had haunted you for years. The word that had felt like a lie every time he used it. You clenched your fists, struggling to keep your composure.

“No,” you said, your voice flat, cutting through the tension like a knife. “You don’t get it. I don’t want this anymore. I don't want you anymore.”

Bruce’s face faltered, just for a moment, before he recovered. But the hurt was there, tucked in the corners of his eyes. “I'm sorry. I hope you know that.”

You shook your head, not wanting to hear it anymore. The damage was done. He couldn’t erase it. No amount of “father-daughter time” was going to make you forget what it had been like when he wasn’t there for you.

“Stop,” you snapped, taking a step back. “Just stop. You don’t get to do this, Bruce. You don’t get to waltz in here and act like everything is fine. Like everything’s fixed. You’ve ruined it. All of it.”

Bruce opened his mouth, but no words came. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle to understand where it had gone wrong.

“I’m just trying to make up for it,” he said quietly, but the sound of it made your stomach churn. The way his voice cracked slightly at the end of the sentence only made it worse.

And you hated yourself for feeling even a little guilty for saying no.

But no. You wouldn’t let him do this. Not again.

“I don’t want your apologies,” you spat, your tone sharp, venomous. “And I don’t want your ‘time.’ You don’t get to play the father now.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked toward the door. You needed to escape. You needed space. You needed to breathe. You were leaving your own room to get away from him.

Bruce’s voice stopped you, and you felt the pull of his desperate plea in the back of your mind. His words clung to you, too heavy, too much. “I'll go, don't leave. This is your room. I just want you to know I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You watched your father walk away, and only after he left did you fall to your bed and cry.

The next days before school were a blur. You spent them locked in your room, alternating between crying on the phone with Ariel, avoiding the family when you went down to sneak food to your room, trying to butter up Bruce and convince him to let you go back to boarding school, and online shopping.

Yet somehow Monday morning you were up at 5:30 getting into the shower.

The thought of returning to Gotham Prep made your stomach churn. How could you go back to a place where you had no true friends? A school where you’d been bullied by half your grade. Where Tim pretended you didn’t exist, Damian and Tiffany ridiculed you in front of everyone, and Duke ignored you like you were invisible. Where you ate lunch in the bathroom, alone and cried in the janitor's closet like a loser.

But you weren't the same girl who walked through those halls last year. No, this year was going to be different. You were different.

Last night, as you scrolled through Tik Tok, a new idea formed in your mind. You’d had enough of being invisible. It was time for a change.

You had a plan.

You found the bleach blonde hair dye in your bathroom, hidden away in the back of a drawer. You didn’t need permission, and you certainly didn’t need anyone to hold your hand.

By the time the dye had set and you’d rinsed it out, you felt like a new person. It was the kind of hair that would make people stop and stare.

You woke at 5:30 and hopped in the shower, you wanted to take your time getting ready. You plugged in your pink dyson and curled your new blonde hair, it would fall into a blow out later in the day, complaining about your family to Ariel and Claire. You spent the next two hours getting ready, perfecting your makeup. You’d learned to contour, learned to do your eyeliner just right, and became a bronzer girl over the summer. You grabbed your favorite Chanel palette and messily applied dark eyeshadow in smoky charcoal, blending seamlessly into the crease of your eyes and eyeliner. You smudged on a bold dark burgundy lipshine that drew attention. You weren’t trying to be anyone but yourself, your new self.

Then came the clothes.

You'd already shortened your Gotham Prep skirt by more than a few inches. It was below your knees and now it showed off the thighs you spent all summer tanning. You wanted to make a statement, and if they didn’t like it, that was their problem. The white blouse, originally oversized, was now form-fitting, you wanted it to give that one Bella Hadid picture. You left the top buttons undone, the tie hanging loosely around your neck in a deliberate, I-don’t-care gesture. You could feel the fabric clinging to your skin, reminding you of how much control you were regaining. You looked like the kind of girls you used to call whores last year.

You looked through your drawers for your signature jewelry you collected over the summer and during school. Big gold hoops on your ears, studs in all your other ear piercings, a tiffany heart necklace that rested on your exposed collar bone, and multiple bracelets stacked on each arm, jingling as you moved.

As you stood in front of the mirror, you smiled. You looked good.

Lastly you grabbed your Isabel Marant sneakers, chic and effortless, and slipped them on. They were expensive, but it wasn’t about the price—it was about the look. The vibe. Then, more than few spritzes of perfume. Something sharp, and not too sweet. You wanted to make a lasting impression, to turn heads as you walked.

By the time you were done, you felt invincible. The girl staring back at you was someone who didn’t care what anyone thought. You weren’t going to be bullied anymore. You were going to be the one who dictated the terms.

You walked out of your room, head held high, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Downstairs, the Batfamily was gathered at the breakfast table, doing their usual routine. They all stopped talking the second they saw you.

You’d barely stepped into the room when the heavy silence fell over the table. Bruce looked up, his expression instantly darkening. His lips pressed together in a thin line, his gaze flicking over your appearance.

“Is this what you're wearing?” His voice was tight, a hint of disapproval slipping into the words.

You gave him a look that said everything. “Is something wrong? I thought it was cute.” Your tone was soft, teasing, but with a bite underneath. You weren’t asking for his permission. You were daring him to say something.

Tim, who had been looking at his phone, blinked up at you with wide eyes. He’d been so engrossed in whatever he was reading that he didn’t even seem to know how to respond. His fingers hovered over his screen, unsure whether or not to comment.

“Are you seriously going to school looking like that?” His voice was tight, an edge of surprise and confusion beneath it.

You crossed your arms, leaning back in the doorway. “What? You don’t like it? Your friends might.” You knew how to unsettle him. That much you were sure of. You wanted to push his buttons, make him paranoid.

Dick was the next to react. He put down his coffee, glancing over at Bruce before looking back at you. “I get that you’re, you know, trying something new,” he began carefully, but the unease in his voice was clear. He was trying to be supportive, trying to understand, but it didn’t take much to see how disapproving he felt. “But—”

“But what, Dick?” you interrupted with a sudden change of attitude. “You don’t like it? That’s a shame. It's so crazy I literally never asked.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out. He simply shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

Jason snorted, clearly not impressed. “You trying to turn heads or get yourself in trouble? Skirt's too short, change that shit.” His voice was low, but it had a sharpness to it now. His gaze scanned you from head to toe, his mouth curving into an almost imperceptible frown.

You weren’t fazed by his dismissive and angry attitude. If anything, it made you want to lean into it more. “I'm not changing, you want alonger skirt? You go put one on and come talk.” You shrugged nonchalantly, your tone saccharine sweet. "And I don't want trouble, but i don't mind it."

“Yeah, I can tell,” Jason drawled, eyeing the large hoops dangling from your ears. “Nice hoops. Real classy.” His lips twitched, mocking the exaggerated size of them. "I didn’t realize big was your thing now."

You smirked, reaching up to tug at one of the hoops, the gesture playful, but intending to piss him off. “Big boys like big things, Jason,” you replied smoothly, without missing a beat. “And you know what they say, the bigger the hoop, the bigger the....” You were quickly cut off before you could finish talking and ruining everyone's apittite.

Damian, ever the hater, set down his cereal with a dramatic flare, slamming it down and glared at you. “You look like you belong in a cheap nightclub, not Gotham Prep. Should we drop you off on the nearest corner?” His words were sharp, cutting—typical Damian, though you could hear the pure anger in his voice.

You chuckled softly, not phased in the slightest. You'd rather be at a cheap nightclub honestly. “I’m just bringing a little fun to Gotham, Damian. You should try it sometime, maybe then you wouldn't be so hateful all the time." Your tone was uninterested, like his insults weren't even worth your time.

Steph and Cass exchanged a look, both clearly unsure of how to react. Cass, as always, seemed more interested in watching you than engaging, while Steph’s gaze flickered between you and the rest of the family. Barbra was just staring at you in disbelief.

“Is it really that bad?” Steph finally asked, though her voice wasn’t quite as gentle as it could have been. There was a nervous edge to it. “I mean, you’re, uh, pulling it off…” She trailed off, clearly unsure how to proceed.

You ignored her, who cares what she thinks? Her and the rest of them are irrelevant. If you like it then so what. Her comment did make your lips twitch into a smile subconsciously though.

Alfred, who’d been quietly observing the exchange, cleared his throat before standing. “Miss, I must say, it’s a rather bold change. But perhaps not one that will be received well by the staff and teachers.” His words were polite, but you could hear the disapproval in the undertones.

You gave him a bright smile, not at all sorry. “I’ll take my chances, Alfred. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I've played this game before.”

Bruce, who had been seething quietly, finally stood up from the table. His usual calm demeanor was replaced with a tense frustration. “Go change. Now.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. “Make me.”

There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, then something else, something more. He clenched his fists for a moment, clearly fighting to maintain control. But you weren’t backing down. Not this time.

“I’m not going to let you walk out of here like that,” Bruce snapped.

You didn’t miss a beat. “You won't let me do anything. I go to school like this or I don't go at all. And since when do you care?” You crossed your arms and stuck your foot out, pouting like a child, staring him down waiting for him to surrender.

Bruce hesitated for a moment, his expression softening ever slightly. “Fine. But you’re pushing it. You're not going like this tomorrow.”

Bruce 0, You 1.

Jason, who had been watching the exchange with interest, chuckled. “You really know how to work him, don’t you?”

You flashed a smile at him, leaning back in your chair as you stood up and grabbed your bag, ready to leave the room. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We're already late. Jason, you driving?” Jason was the most fun, and he wasn't as nosy as Dick or Barbra.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m driving us all today. Come on, let’s go before Dad starts pulling rank.”

With a dramatic sigh, Bruce reluctantly agreed, shooting a last, disapproving look at your outfit before turning toward the door.

The engine of Jason’s car hummed steadily, but the air inside was anything but calm. You had decided to make this ride your moment. If you were uncomfy, you'd make them all feel the same. The others in the car—Damian, Tim, and Duke—were bracing themselves for your usual attitude, though this time you could tell there was a noticeable edge to the tension.

Jason, who was driving, was trying his best to keep his eyes on the road, but you knew he was glaring at you through the rearview mirror. Damian was next to you in the backseat, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, like he was ready to throw down at any second. Tim sat on the other side, buried in his homework, something to do with Gotham Prep’s ever-pressing academic requirements. Nerd.

And Duke? Duke was the least bothered, but you were sure he was mentally rolling his eyes at you the moment you stepped into the car.

You were far too busy with your phone, flipping through TikTok videos and checking your DMs, but every so often, you’d glance at the boys just to see their reactions.

“So…” You leaned forward a little, propping your elbow on the middle console. Your voice was light, casual, but you could feel the energy shift around you. You knew this would get under Jason’s skin. “You think any of the boys at Gotham Prep will notice my glow up? ”

You heard a long, heavy sigh from the driver’s seat before Jason muttered, “She's in that phase huh,"

But you weren’t listening. You were too busy smirking at Tim, who barely looked up from his book. You could feel his eyes narrow, probably out of sheer annoyance. “I mean, it’s inevitable, right?” you continued. “I'm 16 now, I'm better looking. Is there any fresh meat since I left? Anyone interesting, new friends maybe??"

Jason was silent for a moment, but you could see the grip on the steering wheel tightening in his peripheral. He wasn’t going to let you get away with this.

"Listen," Jason said, his voice calm but with that sharp edge he always used when he was trying not to lose his temper. "I don’t want to hear about boys, okay? Not today, not ever."

You blinked dramatically, as if you were the one being attacked. “Oh, come on, Jason, don’t be such a buzzkill. I’m not doing anything. I just wanna know if anyone’s looking.” You reached forward and pressed the button to connect your phone to the car’s Bluetooth, your nails clicking loudly across the screen as you searched for the perfect song to add to the atmosphere.

You knew you were getting to him. Jason was always so serious when it came to boys, always so guarded, especially when it came to you. It was fun getting under his skin. He glanced over his shoulder at you, but you were already half-distracted by your phone.

“Relax, Jase,” you shot back, ignoring his glare. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just curious. It’s just—boys.”

You needed something to stop the ache that came with your new powers.

“Don’t make me pull this car over,” Jason threatened, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror again.

You laughed softly, loving how easily you could provoke him. You leaned back in your seat, stretching out your legs, and noticed Damian watching you like he was deciding whether to strangle you with his own scarf.

“Damian, you’re so serious,” you sigh, you'd been ignoring him lately but you forgot how easy he is to provoke. “You know, you should loosen up. Boys are fun to look at, and to—” You cut yourself off before you could finish the sentence, letting the tension simmer.

Damian’s face twisted in that way he did when he was trying to pretend you didn’t bother him. “I don’t care what you do with boys,” he muttered. “But if you think I’m going to sit in this car while you talk about them like you’re some kind of—”

“Oh, no,” you interrupted with a teasing smile, “Not some kind of what? Some kind of what?” You stretched your legs a little further, drawing more attention to the hem of your skirt as you adjusted yourself in your seat. Making it even shorter now that Bruce wasn't here. You felt the eyes of your brothers boring into you, especially Jason's. “Honestly, Damian, lighten up. If you stopped being such a little grumpy loser all the time, you’d get more attention from girls. You have my looks y'know. ”

Tim, who had been pretending to focus on his homework this whole time, finally looked up from his papers with an exasperated sigh. “Can you not?” he asked, voice strained. “We’ve got school in twenty minutes. We don’t need a whole lecture about boys in the car.”

“Hey, no need to be so dramatic, Tim,” you said, turning your attention to your phone. You found your favorite song, the one that was guaranteed to annoy everyone in the car. “I’m just having fun. It’s not like I’m gonna do anything crazy. I just wanna know who’s gonna be there today."

You were making them all uncomfortable, and you loved it. You could already see Damian’s jaw tightening in the rearview mirror and Jason’s knuckles whitening around the steering wheel. Tim was staring at you like you were a whole new level of annoying. Even Duke rolled his eyes.

But that wasn’t enough. You needed them to be seething.

“I’m telling you right now,” Jason warned, his voice dead serious, “no boys today. No messing around. You’re going to class, and you’re staying focused. I'll check your phone if I have to. Got it?”

You put on your best innocent face, looking up from your phone as if you hadn’t just been causing a small riot in the car. “Okay, okay, Jason. No boys. I'm more into men anyway.”

Damian scoffed again, muttering something about how “pathetic” it was. You just grinned and rolled your eyes.

“Hey, you’re just jealous because girls don’t look at you,” you said, winking at him. “Maybe if you weren’t such a pain in the ass, you’d get noticed more.”

Duke, who had been quietly observing the entire conversation, finally spoke up from the backseat, his tone easygoing but with a hint of amusement. “You got any tips for me? Am I chopped liver”

You rolled your eyes at him, still not over his betrayal. “Glad you’re entertained, Duke. I don't think even I could help you.”

As you said that, you grabbed the aux cord and plugged it into your phone without asking.

Jason let out a sharp sigh, but you just grinned. “I’ve got it from here,” you said as you clicked on Drake’s Hotline Bling. The song blasted as you maxed out the volume. Damian looked like he was about to combust.

“You really are a pain in the ass, aren’t you?” Tim muttered under his breath, trying to focus on his schoolwork again.

You grinned. “I like to think of myself as entertaining.”

Duke nodded his head to the beat, tapping on his phone and Jason’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror, but you could see the playfulness in his face. He was trying not to smile, despite himself.

“I’m just saying, no boys today, no skipping, no trouble” Jason reiterated, trying to keep a semblance of control. “And if I hear anything about you messing around, we’re going back home, got it?”

You leaned back in your seat and stretched again. “Sure, sure, no boys. But just so you know, if i get into "trouble" it’s not my fault.”

Jason didn’t respond.

When you finally arrived at Gotham Prep you sighed, grabbed your bag, straightened out your skirt one last time, and nearly ran away from them so you didn't have to walk in with Duke, Damian, and Tim. “See you later, losers,” you said with a grin, pulling your sunglasses on as you walked away from the car.

Gotham Prep didn't know what's coming.

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harmonyrae · 3 days ago

Text

Inked

Synopsis: Somehow you won a free session from the most famous tattoo artist in Linkon. You never expected to be sucked into his world, but you’re slowly becoming even more obsessed with him. And with who you are when you’re with him. When you finally discover what he’s involved in, will he push you away or show you a whole new world?

AN: This fanfic was inspired & entirely fueled by the artwork above, done by the amazing @obligatedart - thank you for letting me use your work as the cover art! Go check them out and see the other tattooed Rafayel pieces they’ve done. I’ve written over 80 pages in a week so... comment if you want to be tagged for part 2!

Content Warnings: explicit language & sexual content, alcohol consumption, public sex, threesome, oral (m&f receiving), creampie, PiV, birth control mentioned (yay protection), mentions of needles (tattoo needles, not medical), genital piercings, vehicle accidents, injuries, blood, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 16k

“I still can’t believe you won the fucking contest!”

Tara punches you in the arm and you grunt, swatting at her with a pout. She leans away from you to protect the coffee in her hand before giggling and gently rubbing the spot she hit.

“Sorry, sorry, I just… I spent so much money buying like 50 raffle tickets and you bought ONE and beat all the odds. Did you cast a spell? Are you a witch?!”

Tara’s animated voice draws the attention of the other cafe patrons. You sip your latte silently and try to avoid their judgemental gazes. Tara sets her cup down and crosses her arms. She leans back, squinting at you.

“So it’s tomorrow, right?”

You nod and lean on the table in front of you to pick at your blueberry muffin. Tara snatches the muffin away and you look up at her with wide eyes. She’s definitely irritated with your silence. But what can you possibly say? Sorry? Sorry for winning a once in a lifetime raffle to get a free tattoo by the best tattoo artist in Linkon? Who has a 5 year waitlist? Who has tattooed the biggest celebrities? Who was a judge on the #1 reality show for 3 years running trying to find the next big artist? Who is absolutely, positively, undoubtedly the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life? Fuck no, you are not sorry at all.

“I know you wanted to win so I don’t want to talk about it and make you upset.”

Tara rolls her eyes and plops your muffin back on its plate. You sit back and sigh, looking Tara up and down. She didn’t seem like the type to have a lot of tattoos, but she hid them well. When she wasn’t in her uniform she was showcasing the artwork on her body. The designs were gorgeous and you wished you had been more patient when getting yours. You basically ran to the tattoo shop on your 18th birthday to get a super basic bitch tattoo just because you could.

“I want to hear about it! I am going to live vicariously through you. Spill bitch.”

You chuckle and finish off your latte before pulling out your phone to show Tara the email chain you started with the artist. She grabs your phone instantly and scrolls through the messages.

“Oh my god, even his emails sound hot.”

You roll your eyes and watch Tara’s eyes light up when she sees the design.

“Holy shit. You are BRAVE! AN underboob tat?! You’re gonna show him your tits the first time you meet him?! Biiiiiitch!”

She squeals before zooming in on the design and ogling at the details.

“This is so pretty! The seashells and the little pearls and chains? Amazing. It will match your chest piece really well too!”

She was right, the seashells and pearls would tie into your mermaid chest piece perfectly. It was the first tattoo you put a lot of effort into, getting the design nailed down and taking your time finding a good artist. You wanted this next piece to compliment it and expand on the original concept. The shells would be a dusty pink to match the tails with the beading and pearls adding a little sparkle. You smiled, your pre-tattoo butterflies swirling.

“OH! You sent him a picture of your chest piece.”

She slapped your shoulder excitedly.

“In a bikini top! Are you KIDDING ME? Imagine him opening that picture and just getting to stare at your gorgeous tits and that tat? I’m horny just thinking about it.”

You grab her wrist to stop her flailing, your cheeks are burning since her voice is just a little too loud. She glares at you, her sly smile absolutely beaming.

“Jesus Tara, shh! It’s not a big deal, I’ve wanted this piece expanded for a long time and Rafayel’s specialty is literally anything ocean related. He’s going to touch up the girls too.”

She raises her brows and drops her eyes to your chest and you quickly realize your mistake.

“The mermaids, you horny bitch, the mermaids.”

She nods slowly.

“Uh huh… sure!”

You don’t argue with her, let her think what she wants. You were already anxious thinking about the appointment. She was right about one thing, you were basically showing him your tits the same day you officially met. It’s like “Hi, nice to meet you, here’s my tits” - nice.

When you get home that night you spend extra time prepping your skin and finding the right outfit. Sure you’d be taking off your top and just wearing pasties, but making sure you felt your best beyond that was important too. You drink your sleepy time tea, since the pre-tattoo butterflies had turned to pre-tattoo anxiety.

You slip on your nightgown and settle back, trying to force yourself to relax. About 30 minutes later, you’re on your phone. You just couldn’t help it, you scroll through your feed liking Tara’s selfie with her boyfriend, Jeremiah. A photo of Caleb at a bar, he must have gotten some R&R today. And what’s this? Zayne posted a meme? Doctor Zayne? Oh, Greyson won a bet - that makes more sense.

As you scroll, you start finding posts reposted by Lemuria Studios, recent clients, sketches done by artists and then a video that makes your chest tighten. Rafayel sits hunched over the arm of some buff dude in a tank top, the tattoo gun in his hand moves steadily against his skin. God, he looks hot. He’s just sitting there, doing his job, why are you freaking out? You want to put the phone down, watching him work is only going to make you more anxious for tomorrow. But you can’t seem to let it go. You’re mesmerised by the outline of the muscles of his forearm, barely visible under his own colorful tattoos, they twitch as he colors in the lines he just made. His dusty purple fringe brushes his cheeks, his earrings sway as he bobs his head to whatever music is playing. He stops and wipes the guy's arm with a towel before leaning back and looking at the camera. He smiles and… fuck… You drop your phone and stifle a moan. You’re not going to survive tomorrow.

The next morning, you wake up early to get ready. You cook a huge breakfast, as difficult as this session was going to be, you didn’t want to make it worse by passing out. You down a huge glass of water while you do your makeup. You sweep your hair over your shoulders in two long braids and slip on a beanie. Your joggers sit comfortably on your hips and you change out your fitted halter for a dark cut off t-shirt. You were committing to the comfortable vibe, especially if you were going to be mostly uncomfortable very soon.

Your phone rings and you race to the kitchen to see Tara’s picture flash on the screen. You answer and put it on speaker as you lace up your boots.

“What’s up?”

“I’m just checking in before your session. Are you nervous?”

You chuckle under your breath. She has no idea.

“Oh yeah, I always get pre-tattoo jitters. They’ll go away when I get there.”

“I doubt it! Girl, his face is going to be inches away from your tits. I’d bring a change of panties if I were you.”

“Tara, what do you think people at work would say if they heard you talk like this?”

“Oh, they’d lose their minds! Sweet, innocent Tara would never warn you about imagining him dropping his tattoo gun and climbing on top of you, ripping your pasties off and –”

“TARA!”

She giggles for a minute straight, barely able to catch her breath. You swing your backpack over your shoulder and jog down to the garage.

“Sorry! Honestly, I think you’ll have a great time. You’re gonna look hot with the new tat and I can’t wait to see it. Send me pics!”

“Of course. I’ll text you during breaks.”

After you hang up, you secure your helmet and hop on your bike. You take back roads instead of the highway since you know you’re too nervous and driving fast would be a bad idea. By the time you get to Regent Square, you can feel your heartbeat pounding against your ribcage. You find a long term parking garage and pay the outrageous fee. When you check your phone, you realize you only have 10 minutes before your appointment. You were supposed to be there at least 15 minutes early to fill out the paperwork. You jog down the street, only slowing long enough to catch your breath before heading inside the studio.

Lemuria Studios is gorgeous, the pictures posted online don’t do it justice. The floor to ceiling windows bathe the room in sunshine, the weathered brick walls covered in bright graffiti, neon signs with what you assume to be words - although you are not sure what language it is and the hardwood floors are covered with vibrant rugs with intricate patterns. A large sectional couch corners off the waiting room where a few patrons wait for their artists. There are various tattoo stations, each decorated to suit a different artist. Towards the back of the studio there is a door with an ‘R’ in what looks like ceramic tiles. Must be Rafayel’s private room.

You approach the front desk and greet the receptionist with a smile. She passes you a clipboard with release forms and leaves to walk to the door at the back. You watch her knock and crack the door open, she says something before turning back to look at you. You quickly refocus and fill in the paperwork. You place the clipboard on the counter and take a seat on the couch, fiddling with the tassels of the pillow next to you.

You’re about to stand and start pacing, your nerves getting the best of you, when you hear a door squeak open. You lift your eyes to see the man himself, emerge from the room and stroll towards the front of the studio. You clench your fists, yep, he’s even hotter in person.

He’s dressed casually, his button up is definitely not buttoned up. His neck tattoo swirls down his neck to the center of his chest, two koi fish swim in a circle around his Adam's apple, the fins extend towards his jaw and down his neck with pink lotus flowers complimenting the red scales of the fish. Cut off sleeves let you see his signature tattoos, full sleeves on both arms. Not an inch of skin untouched, the full color underwater scenes are vibrant, bright orange and purple coral, dark blue waves highlighted with teals and white, schools of yellow and blue fish swim in circles around his forearm and a dolphin soars over the waves. His fitted jeans hide the leg tattoos you’ve seen in photos, the ocean waves that look more like flames than water that spiral from his ankle to his hip. He also supposedly has more tattoos on his torso, but you avoided looking up any photos of him shirtless because, well… that would be dangerous.

His shaggy hair casts a shadow over his eyes, but his smile is on full display. He turns to you and you hold your breath to avoid giggling like an idiot. His blue eyes are so bright, the wash of pink in them shines in the morning light that streams through the windows. As he approaches, you awkwardly stand and put on a shy smile.

“Hi! I’m Rafayel, nice to officially meet you.”

He extends a hand and you nearly fall back onto the couch, finally taking a breath. You take his hand and revel in the softness of his skin. He suddenly yanks you forwards and starts pulling you toward the door at the back of the studio. You stumble along after him.

“I can’t wait to show you the final sketch, it’s everything you described but I added a little something that I think you’ll like.”

You giggle as he pulls you into the room. The bright purple walls are covered in either framed sketches, polaroids of tattoos, or random tattoo designs scribbled on a napkin or envelope. A vintage jukebox, with a modern AUX attachment, sits in the corner. A stack of canvases leans against the wall and a bucket of various spray paints sits on the floor. His drawing table has countless sketches pinned to it, including yours. The design is exactly what you imagined, but there’s an additional element. The centerpiece that directly connects to the chest piece is now slightly larger, having a net pattern woven behind it with a few fish and broken shells.

“That’s amazing, holy shit! But it’s a bit more than we originally planned on, are you sure you have time?”

He immediately starts getting the transfer paper prepared. You see him shrug.

“The whole day is yours, it was booked by the radio station that set up the raffle. It’s actually pretty nice only having one client to work on, I can take my time.”

You feel your cheeks flush. He would take his time on your piece, it was flattering and nerve wrecking. You set your bag down on a chair in the corner and stuff your hands in your pockets.

“Oh, awesome, I didn’t realize…”

“You’re nervous aren’t you?”

You huff out a laugh and put your hands on your hips.

“Not at all, I have plenty of tattoos. I know the drill. I’m totally fine, just excited.”

He turns, the transfer paper in hand, and walks over to his station. Everything was meticulously set up from the tiny cups of ink to the paper towels to his tattoo gun. He sets the transfer paper down before heading to the sink in the corner and washing his hands.

“Do you need tape?”

You watch him scrub his hands, it was almost like he was a doctor preparing for surgery. You tilt your head and hum to yourself, trying to figure out his meaning. He dries his hands and looks at you, his lips set in an amused smirk.

“For your nipples.”

You immediately drop your gaze and try to laugh to distract from the blush rising to your neck and cheeks. You clear your throat and meet his gaze.

“No, I wore pasties. Like I said, I know the drill.”

He smiles and motions towards the table. He puts on gloves and gives his bottle of transfer cream a shake. He eyes you expectantly.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

You turn away from him and face the padded table in front of you. You tug your shirt off over your head and toss it over your bag on a nearby chair. You hesitate to turn around. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous - sure you are literally half-naked in front of a guy you could only dream of, but he’s done this countless times! Your tits are not the first ones he’s tattooed under. You turn to face him and watch his eyes drop to your chest, he glances at the transfer paper and back to you, mentally lining up the art on your body.

“Yea, this will look amazing on you.”

His voice is rougher than before, you clasp your hands behind your back and rock on your heels.

“Thank you… uhm… do you want me to lie down or?”

He walks up and squeezes some transfer cream onto his gloved hand.

“Just stand right here. This might be cold.”

You brace and when his fingers touch the skin just under your breast, you gasp. Not from the cold, but rather from the jolt of electricity that sparked through your system.

“You were right, s’cold.”

He chuckles and continues to rub the cream along your upper rib cage, under your breasts and down the center of your chest. He grabs the transfer paper and lines it up.

“Can you hold 'em up for a second?”

You blink.

“Your… breasts. I want to make sure this will line up properly.”

You silently curse at yourself for how stupid you feel. You really should have chosen maybe a leg piece or maybe a cute little forearm number, but no you had to do this. You cup your breasts and lift them, staring at the ceiling to avoid eye contact. He lines up the transfer and presses it to your skin, slowly peeling it away.

“Fuck yes. That looks perfect. Take a look in the mirror and let me know what you think.”

He turns away and changes his gloves while you check his placement. Just the transfer looks insane, your previous embarrassment melts into excitement. You turn back to him with a huge smile.

“I love it! It’s gonna look so good!”

Rafayel smiles and you skip over to the table. You miss the flush that spreads across his cheeks as he watches your tits bounce on your way over. You hear him clear his throat as he leans to drag his chair over with his foot. You lay back on the table, your head sinking into the pillow and your hands resting on your stomach.

Rafayel sits and slides closer to you on his chair. He picks up his tattoo gun and dips the needles into the ink. He looks up at you, shaking his head to get his fringe out of his eyes.

“Ready?”

You relax your shoulders and sigh, looking up at the ceiling.

“Hell yeah.”

The outside of Rafayel’s palm rests against the side of your breast, holding the skin taut as he begins tattooing along the edge of your rib cage. The pain is about as bad as you expected. The vibration of the tattoo gun against your ribs makes your teeth chatter. You close your eyes and try to distract yourself while adjusting to the sting of the needles.

“So, why mermaids?”

Rafayel’s voice breaks up the monotonous buzz of the tattoo machine. You tilt your chin down and look at his god-like profile. With his attention on your tattoo, you finally let yourself examine his face. The ear you can see is littered with piercings. Double conch, helix, daith, an industrial with a little fish charm attached. His eyes have a hint of black smudged along his lash line, of course he wears eyeliner… of fucking course. And it looks so damn good too.

He has a variety of facial piercings, which look amazing and now you want one… or two. A small silver septum hoop. You notice he occasionally wiggles his nose, rubbing it across his top lip, a nervous habit perhaps? His lip piercings have you in a trance, the shark bites, the vertical labret - how would they feel against your lips? You also caught sight of a tongue ring. The things this man could probably do with his tongue…

“Still with me, cutie?”

You are glad he was refreshing the ink on the needles as you have a very physical reaction to this new little nickname he’s given you. You cough and try to steady yourself, once you are still he continues his work.

“Yeah, sorry, I was just distracted.”

“Oh yeah, by what?”

He’s teasing you now. Great. But you never back down from a fight and if he wants to poke at you with his cute little comments - and not just the needles in his tattoo gun - you’ll give it right back to him.

“By you.”

He laughs, a hint of surprise on his face.

“Oh really? What distracted you exactly?”

“I was just admiring your piercings. I haven’t gotten nearly enough.”

“What piercings do you want?”

His tattoo needle continues to buzz and the pain slowly fades to a numbness.

“Definitely more on my ears. I like the tragus. And then maybe my navel, basic, I know.”

“No way, the navel is a great piercing. There are a lot of creative jewelry options too. I love mine, I’d recommend it to anyone.”

“You have your belly button pierced?”

He chuckles and shifts his hand, his pinkie dangerously close to your pasty making your heart flutter.

“Yup. Was one of my first actually. After that it was all downhill. Now I have too many to count.”

“Really? What other piercings do you recommend then?”

He hesitates and glances up at you. His eyes flick to your breasts and back. And you swear you caught him biting his lip for a moment.

“Body piercings are fun. But if you’re not ready for that but bored with your ears, facial piercings are a good place to start. Septum made me cry like a bitch, but it’s a great one.”

“Made you cry like a bitch, huh?”

Your mocking tone makes him pause and look at you, his lips set in a pout. You giggle at his pathetic, yet adorable, expression.

“It’s because it fucks with your sinuses or some shit, not because it hurt!”

“Okay, okay!”

“I’ve gotten some piercings that make grown men weep and didn’t flinch, trust me, it was not because of the pain.”

You raise your eyebrows at the implication, but you decide to hold your tongue and not entertain the thought of what those “other” piercings might be. You settle your head back and take a deep breath.

“And what about tattoos? Which one was the most painful?”

He hums to himself, his hand once again shifting and pushing your breast slightly upward as he colors in a line.

“My neck was the worst, by far. I’m glad I didn’t pick something that went directly over my Adam’s apple cause I would not have survived.”

“That piece is really nice. Did you design it?”

“I did. Then my apprentice tattooed it. Never been prouder of the kid. Now you’ve asked a few questions, I think it’s only fair you answer one of mine.”

You sigh dramatically and chuckle when he stops working. You know he is staring at you, probably pouting again, so you stare at the ceiling.

“Alright, fair is fair.”

“Why mermaids?”

“Oh uhh…” You stutter as you try to find the right words. “Because they’re tragic yet beautiful.”

Rafayel stops again and looks at you, his brows raised.

“Art and literature depicts them as beautiful creatures, but their counterparts are much darker. Sirens lure sailors to their watery graves. They’re… underestimated? Like their beauty distracts while their voice reels them in. It’s powerful.”

“Was there something that prompted the need for a constant reminder of their power etched into your skin?”

You shift your gaze to his hands, resting on your stomach, the tattoo gun hovering over your skin.

“I spent a long time under someone’s thumb, feeling powerless. He always felt like he had to protect me. I was… lost… for a while. Then I read a book about a siren, using the form of a mermaid, who charmed the men in her life into submission while planning their downfall. I didn’t want Ca– my friend to be hurt though! I decided to put on a ‘damsel in distress’ act for him but I’m still in control, ya know?”

Rafayel nodded sharply, his gaze more intense. He shifted on his stool and the familiar hum of the tattoo gun started again. With his focus back on your body, you felt your mind start to spiral. Was your explanation dumb? You know sirens are not exactly mermaids, but mermaids looked better. Did he think you were dumb and confused them? Should you have said ‘cause they’re pretty’ instead?

“Most people don’t realize sirens and mermaids aren’t the same thing. Seems like you do.”

“I do! Yeah, I just… I guess…”

“Liked how mermaids looked better than a half bird sea creature?”

His voice was light, sarcasm had found its way back to him and you sighed in relief.

“Don’t get me wrong, I saw some good siren designs but nothing clicked. This one did. Plus I think it makes my tits stand out.”

Rafayal lets out a breathy laugh and sits up straighter in his chair. He grabs a paper towel and wipes the excess ink from your skin. He moves his chair forward and settles his arm over the top of your breast, his hand resting at the center of your chest. You can feel his breath fan across your skin and you have to bite your lip, hard, to avoid shivering.

“It does, but I have a feeling they looked perfect before too.”

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you feel slightly dizzy. Did he just? Did he? He complimented your tits. This man complimented your tits, with his face inches away from them, while stabbing you repeatedly with a needle. How are you supposed to respond to that?

“Thank… you.”

Rafayel laughs at your whispered appreciation. His hands work carefully, shifting and sliding to draw the centerpiece.

“Okay, next question.”

Over the next four hours you and Rafayel go back and forth with questions. It almost felt like you were on a first date. You talked about your favorite music, his favorite movies, your job at the Hunters Association, his secret sushi restaurant that’s opening in six months. On your break at the two hour mark, he offered you a soda and walked in circles around the room, stretching his legs, while talking animatedly about a rave happening later this month. And when you begged him for the details so you could get tickets, his smile grew tenfold.

As he was adding the final touches, he stood bent over you poking and dabbing away ink until you were nearly ready to scream. His hair would brush against your shoulder and you’d stiffen, leading to Rafayel joking about ‘staying loose or it’ll hurt more’ which made you squeeze your thighs so tightly you nearly cried. When he finished and was doing the clean up he surprised you, his cheeks were a tad rosy and his usually playful tone more serious.

“I haven’t had this much fun during a session in a while. So… Thank you. I hope you like it.”

You took his hand and sat up, hopping off the table to turn and face the mirror. You were speechless. The lines were sharp and straight, the colors bright, the shading made everything pop out as if the seashells were just sitting on the surface of your skin. Your mermaids were glowing - their scales nearly sparkled and the ocean waves surrounding them looked so real. Tiny sparks floated around the mermaid's hands, creating a shield of fire. Like they were putting on a show or putting up a forcefield. You couldn’t stop yourself from squealing with excitement before you turned around and lunged towards Rafayel, pulling him into a hug.

“Oh my god…”

As soon as your chest collided with his, your excitement faded and pure terror replaced it. You jumped back, instinctively covering your chest with your hands. His ears were bright red and he stared at you, unable to blink it seems.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think! I was so excited and… Shit… I –”

He reaches out and takes hold of your arms. You snap your mouth closed.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you love it. I do wish that you hadn’t… pulled away so quickly though…”

You blinked rapidly. He was pouting again, pouting because you pulled away from hugging him. From hugging him while… His thumbs brush against your skin and you tilt your head, scanning his face for confirmation that what he said was real.

“I was going to wait to ask you out until after I bandaged you up and you had your shirt on, but why waste a perfectly good moment?”

Your mouth hangs open and you feel your knees jerk. Rafayel’s hold on you tightens and he helps you lean back against the table.

“Shit… let me get you some juice, you’re probably crashing a bit.”

Oh, he has no idea just how badly you are crashing out right now. He jogs out of the room and returns with a small bottle of orange juice. He opens it for you and holds it to your lips. You take a sip and lift your hand to hold his wrist while he helps you drink. His eyes meet yours and you stare at him, he doesn’t look away, his gaze burns straight to your core. He sets the bottle down and grabs a paper towel, dabbing at your leaking tattoo gently.

“Yes.” You whisper.

“What?”

“Yes, I’ll go out with you.”

If you thought you’d seen him excited before… He smiles, his dazzling teeth take your breath away. You raise a brow when you realize he has gems adhered to his canines - can he get any sexier?

“Well, I’d say this session went swimmingly.”

You giggle and rest your palms on the table behind you. He gets to work cleaning your tattoo and snapping a few pictures for you before covering the fresh ink with Saniderm wrap. You pull your shirt back on and down the rest of the orange juice - you were starting to feel your endorphins fade away and your body was reeling from the experience.

“How does tomorrow night sound?”

He holds his phone out to you and you take it, seeing he already set up a contact for you. You feel your cheeks burn when you see the contact name “Tattoo Cutie.” You don’t correct it, just add your name beside it and punch in your number before handing it back to him.

“Sounds perfect.”

You wake up to a banging on your front door, it’s so loud you’re sure your neighbors will complain to you later. You don’t even bother putting on your robe and jog through your living room. You swing the door open and Tara flies through, nearly knocking you over. You close the door and follow her through the hall to your living room.

“You’re casting a spell or making one of those wish bottle things or whatever it is that you’re doing to make your life so damn perfect.”

She plops down on your sofa and crosses her arms. She stares up at you with a stern expression. You try not to giggle since Tara’s version of “stern” comes across a lot like Rafayel’s pout.

“I didn’t cast a spell. I just –”

“You just what? Became the luckiest girl in the world without even trying? That’s even worse!”

You finally let out a laugh and sit down next to her, pulling your legs to your chest.

“Listen, I have no idea what’s going on, I am just trying to enjoy it while it lasts. It feels like I’m going to wake up any moment and realize it was all a dream.”

She shifts on the sofa and turns to face you.

“I don’t want to sound like I am jealous in a mean way, I am jealous in a ‘give me some of your luck’ way. Maybe then Jeremiah will finally propose…”

You grab her hand and squeeze gently.

“Oh come one, you literally picked out your ring with him! He’ll propose, he’s obsessed with you. He’s also terrified of you, so he knows better than to half-ass a proposal. Give him more time.”

Her cheeks flush and she looks down at her hand, holding up her ring finger. She lets out a sigh and looks up at you with determination.

“I want to know everything about last night. Every dirty detail. Spill.”

She kicks off her shoes and crosses her legs under her, fully facing you. She won’t let go of your hand, so you’re trapped on the sofa with her until you tell her about your date.

“He picked me up on his bike and –”

“He rides a bike! Oh my god that’s hot - what kind?!”

“A Kawasaki. It was really nice, dark blue with bright blue headlights. He told me he collects them so –”

“He collects motorcycles? Oh my god…”

“Are you going to let me tell you about the date or not?”

Tara huffs and lets go of your hand. She lifts her fingers to her mouth and pressed her lips together, “zipping her lips” so you can continue.

“We drove around for a while and then he took me to – oh I don’t know if I can tell you…”

“BITCH IF YOU DON’T –”

You laugh and lean away from her flailing hands. You raise yours in surrender.

“Okay, okay, but you have to promise not to say anything, swear.”

She places a hand over her heart.

“I swear on Winterford the 3rd I will not speak a word.”

“Woah, swearing on your dog's life is intense Tara.”

She crosses her arms and glares at you. You roll your eyes and continue.

“He is opening a sushi restaurant in a few months, so he took me there to show me around. It’s down at the pier near Whitesand Bay.”

Tara opens her mouth to say something but instantly closes it. You nod in approval, her self-control is improving.

“He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but the interior and kitchen are done. We made sushi together and ate on the rooftop terrace looking out over the water.”

Tara lets out a closed-mouth squeal and claps her hands. She motions with her hands for you to continue.

“We walked along the pier and talked for a long time. When it got dark he offered his jacket - I know - and then we went back to his bike. He drove down this alley where graffiti artists practice and gave me a can to try it out.”

“Wait - sorry - you defaced public property?”

“Rafayel owns the building and advertises it as, and I quote ‘an artists playground’ so no I did not.”

“That’s a shame, it would have been hot.”

“Tara! I’m a public servant! I’d lose my job.”

She pokes your shoulder.

“Only if you get caught!”

You rub your temples and suppress the urge to laugh at her antics.

“What happened next?”

“He drove me home.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

She punches your shoulder and you fall back onto the couch.

“TARA!”

“YOU DIDN’T EVEN GET A KISS? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“I DID! Just not… okay… he kissed me on the cheek when he said good night. It was cute.”

“CUTE?”

You sit up and push her, she doesn’t even move.

“I don’t want to rush things!”

“At least tell me he made plans for a second date with you?”

“He did. We are going out on Friday night.”

“Thank god. Please, I beg of you, get laid or at least make out with him!”

“Tara, I swear to god…”

“You have been insanely stressed lately and from what you’ve told me, he is super into you. Just let go babe, enjoy it! Enjoy him.”

You cross your arms and shake your head.

“It’ll happen when it feels right. I won’t lie, I hope it’s sooner rather than later, but I also am willing to wait. I –”

You stop yourself, feeling your cheeks heat up. Tara’s expression softens.

“Oh. Oh.”

You get up from the couch and head into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Tara is right on your heels.

“You liiiiike him. Aww, babes!”

She wraps her arms around you, hugging your back as you pour coffee beans into your espresso machine.

“I just started seeing him, it’s too early to tell.”

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

She releases you and slides onto a bar stool, her arms leaning on the island. You start chopping up fruit and try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. The sound of your coffee machine cuts through the silence and you avoid looking at Tara, knowing she can read you like a book. Maybe it was after the tattoo session or when you were holding hands on the pier, but at some point you realized you really liked Rafayel. He made you laugh and he asked the most bizarre questions that made you think about life in a new light. You wanted more and god, you hope he does too.

By the time Friday rolls around you are definitely ready for some fun. You’ve been constantly sharing memes back and forth with Rafayel all week. It’s certainly eased the stress of work. But you want to see him and you’re eager for his call when you finally clock out and head home.

You’re barely in the front door when you hear your phone buzz. You see Rafayel’s name light up your screen and have to force yourself to count to ten before answering it. You don’t want to seem that eager.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey cutie, how was work?”

“It was okay, not too much activity today so I was stuck cataloging old reports. I almost fell asleep like three times.”

“I bet. I… shit… I have to tell you something.”

You clench your fist and lean against the door to your bedroom, dropping your bag to the floor.

“Okaaaay.”

He sighs and the knot in your stomach tightens.

“I have to reschedule.”

And there it is, your heart sinks.

“Oh… yeah okay.”

“Not because I want to, trust me. I owe someone a favor and have to be at a party.”

You bite your lip, propping your hand on your hip as you start to pace.

“I see.”

You can’t mask the edge to your voice. A party? Someone is calling in a favor for him to come to their party? He is famous, so it would make them look good, but why couldn’t he invite you? Was he embarrassed of you? Did he not want people in his life to know you were dating? Or seeing each other? Or just talking? Are you even dating?

“It’s more like work, she’s offering free tattoos to the guests. The other artist fell through so she’s calling me in so her party doesn’t ‘crash and burn’ - her words not mine.”

“Uh huh.”

“Okay, you’re pissed.”

You stop dead in your tracks and straighten up.

“I am not!”

“I can hear you pacing.”

You look down at your shoes. Of course you wore your chunky boots with the clicky heels today. The taps on your wooden floors were that loud? Damn.

“I’m not mad, I promise.”

“Then you’re irritated?”

“No…”

“What is it? Come on, tell me.”

“I guess… confused?”

“Confused about what?”

You close your eyes and sit down on your bed. Bracing yourself for the embarrassment you’re sure will wash over you after your next statement.

“Is there a reason you couldn’t bring me? I know you said it was more like work, but I guess… You know what, nevermind.”

You flop back onto your mattress and cover your eyes with your arm.

“Nope! Not ‘nevermind-ing’ - I would love to bring you, I just… I… fuck how do I explain it?”

“You don’t want anyone knowing about me?”

“No! Fuck no! That’s not what I… shit… okay, I didn’t think you’d want to come. It’s not a normal party. Not everyone is… comfortable with this sort of thing.”

You sit up immediately. Your hand tightly grips your phone.

“What kind of party is it?”

He pauses. The silence stretches for what feels like hours. He finally sighs and chuckles under his breath.

“It’s a sex party, babe.”

You audibly gasp and slap a hand over your mouth. You shake your head and ignore your throbbing clit to continue the conversation.

“Oh, I… right… I get it. Sorry. Uhm…”

“You’re more than welcome to come as my plus one, but only if you’re comfortable.”

You take a moment and consider your options. A sex party. As Rafayel’s plus one. You’ve never been very adventurous with your sexual endeavors. You didn’t even realize sex parties happened in real life. You’re practically salivating just thinking about it. You stand and face the mirror hanging next to your closet. What have you got to lose?

“What should I wear?”

Rafayel laughs, he clears his throat before continuing.

“Something sexy, but that’ll be easy for you. I’ll bring you a mask.”

You pause after opening your closet.

“A mask?”

“Yeah, everyone wears masks to add to the ‘experience’ - everyone at these parties knows each other most of the time, but the masks offer a sense of freedom. Everybody can do what they want for the night, no consequences.”

You tug at the fabric of a sleek black dress as you mull over the idea. Just for the night. No consequences. Maybe Tara is right, maybe you should just let go.

“What time?”

“It starts at 9. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

“See you then.”

After you hang up you get to work figuring out your outfit. Rafayel might have confidence in your ability to pick out a sexy outfit but you certainly didn’t. Should it be sexy and cute? Just sexy? Sexy and slutty? Sexy and fancy? You pull dress after dress from your closet and nothing feels right. You finally decide to forgo dresses completely. The first skirt you pull out is the one. You can visualize the outfit and while it’s much more revealing than you’re used to, you are pretty sure you’d be wearing more than most of the party goers regardless.

You zip up the pleather mini skirt, adjusting it so it sits high on your hips. Your legs were on full display, the skirt mostly serving to just cover your ass. You grab your favorite black bra and shrug on the mesh top. Layering gold necklaces so your torso doesn’t appear so bare. You look in the mirror and jump up and down with excitement. Your tattoos are fully visible through the mesh. You had lathered lotion onto your new tattoos so the peeling wasn’t noticeable and carefully applied perfume, avoiding the healing skin. Your red pumps sit next to the door with your red crossbody clutch. You were ready, well sort of.

Rafayel called you only a few minutes later and you carefully made your way to the first floor. You were comfortable wearing heels, opting to wear them all the time when hitting the club with Tara or going on dates. But tonight, your nerves were making your ankles a little wobbly. The elevator door opens to the front lobby of your apartment building and you spot Rafayel leaning against a car just outside. Fuck.

He had a button up, that was actually buttoned up this time, tucked into shredded jeans. His boots were laced with gold laces. He had multiple chain necklaces around his neck. As you got closer you realized his shirt was also see through, just little golden floral appliques scattered over the sheer fabric. You could see everything and god, it was a sight. The definition of his abs, the dark lines of a tattoo on his side and swirls of ink trailing from his neck piece down his chest. You spot his navel piercing, sparkling as the setting sun casts what almost felt like a spotlight on him. Something else sparkles, nipple rings. You swear under your breath. He’s going to kill you, not literally, but - well he might with how fast your heart is beating.

He finally looks up from his phone and spots you. His eyes widen and he stares, jaw slack, for at least a full minute. Your cheeks burn and you have to focus on his face so you don’t sneak a peek at his torso again.

“Fuck, you look amazing.”

His words make you stammer. You swallow hard, working up the courage to respond.

“I can say the same for you.”

He wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek. You feel his body against yours and sigh, wishing you could delay him letting you go.

“Ready to go, cutie?”

You nod and he opens the passenger door for you. You slide in and finally take a good look at the car you’re in. You’ve never ridden in a Bentley before - the seats were soft under your thighs. The leather is silky rather than sticky against your skin. The car was painted a similar dark blue to his bike and had the same bright blue headlights. You already knew he liked the color blue, but this just made it more obvious.

He settles into the driver seat and the engine revs to life.

“You’re sure you’re comfortable with this?”

You lean on the center console as you face him, leaning forwards.

“I’m sure.”

“We can leave at any point, Talia will just have to deal with it. Just don’t hesitate to –”

You press your index finger to his lips, silencing him. The surprised look on his face makes your smile hurt your cheeks.

“Rafayel, I’m sure.”

He smiles and you drop your hand, but he grabs it immediately and laces his fingers with yours. He rests your hand on his thigh, rubbing your hand with his thumb as he sets off down the highway.

As the gates to the mansion open, you squeeze Rafayel’s hand trying to quell a wave of nerves. This mansion is huge, you spot two guest houses and a pool with a waterfall - a full ass waterfall - nestled in the backyard surrounded by hundreds of trees and flowers. The cobblestone driveway leads to a massive mahogany front door, where two men stand, dressed in black. Rafayel continues rubbing your hand with his thumb.

“It’s intimidating, I know. It’ll be better once we’re inside.”

You watch party goers enter, getting pat down briefly before heading inside. From what you can see, they’re dressed fairly normally. Dresses and heels, suits or blazers. Rafayel parks in the garage of one of the guest houses and rushes around the car to open your door. You give him a playful glare.

“You know I can open my own door, good sir.”

He takes your hand and helps you out, bringing your hand to his mouth, his lips pressing against your knuckles.

“I’m aware.”

You don’t argue when he wraps an arm around your waist as he leads you to the main house. He enters through a backdoor and a security guard greets him with a smile.

“Raf, good to see you. Talia is in the main room already. She told me to show you to the booth. And who is this with you?”

His voice hardens when he spots you. Rafayel leans over and kisses your temple.

“She’s with me.”

The guard nods and unlocks a door, ushering you both inside.

All the lightbulbs have been replaced with warm red bulbs, fake candles cover every surface, cushions and blankets are tucked in corners. Rooms that typically never have beds have become makeshift bedrooms. Wait staff stroll in and out of the kitchen with platters covered in hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne. A DJ is perched on a balcony overlooking the main floor, the music a mix of soft jazz with sultry singers.

You’ve yet to spot any party goers, so you relax a bit as you take in the lavish interior. You’re pulled behind a curtain, a small room sits behind it with a padded table, a small cabinet, a portable sink, a large medical light and a few stools. Rafayel walks up to the cabinet and crouches, examining its contents. You spot a large collection of tattoo equipment. As Rafayel sets up his station, you peek through the curtain and see people walking around. Everyone is wearing masks and at least some form of clothing. You hear Rafayel call your name and you jump back through the curtain.

“Curious, are we?”

You scoff and cross your arms. He turns to you and holds something out. You take it and realize it’s a simple black eye mask, made of simple fabric with a thick elastic band. When you look back up at Rafayel, he is already putting his on. You slip the mask on and fiddle with the elastic, unsure if you should tuck it under your hair. Rafayel touches your hand and you pause. He turns you around and collects your hair, holding it up so you can slip the elastic band underneath. He lets your hair go and smoothes it back in place.

“You’re welcome to look around, you don’t have to stay here with me.”

“I’ll stay, at least for now. I can be your assistant.”

He smiles and brushes his thumb across your cheek. He stares at you for a moment, his eyes bouncing from your eyes to your lips. You hook your fingers in the belt loops of his jeans and he leans closer. Is he going to –

“Raffie! Oh my god thank you thank you thank you!”

A woman with long purple waves bounces through the curtain. You almost let out a gasp when you see she’s naked from the waist up. Rafayel slaps a hand over his eyes and sighs.

“Talia… You might be the one person at this party I absolutely do not want to see naked.”

“Raffie, you’re so dramatic. I have pasties on!.”

If she did have pasties, they were… camouflaged. Her teasing voice only seems to irritate Rafayel more. Or maybe it’s because of her cute little nickname for him.

“Talia, please…”

Talia sighs dramatically and dives through the curtain for a moment. When she returns she has a silky purple robe on. She reaches up and yanks Rafayel’s wrist and pulls his hand from his face. His eyes remain closed.

“I put on a robe, Raffie. Chill out.”

Rafayel opens his eyes and shoves her shoulder playfully.

“Stop it with the Raffie.”

“I don’t know, I like Raffie. It’s cute.”

Rafayel stares at you and you can’t help but laugh. Talia giggles and grabs your hand, shaking it wildly.

“When Rafayel said he was bringing a plus one I was shocked. He never brings anyone around me honestly. You must be special.”

“Oh, no I’m –”

“She is.”

Rafayel cuts you off and you nearly choke on your own saliva. His hand grazes your hip, holding you close. Talia smiles and pokes his shoulder.

“I see. Well… here you go.”

She hands you and Rafayel a keyring with three cards attached. You flip the cards back and forth, not seeing anything printed on them.

“In case you decide to… participate. Feel free to tattoo as long as you like, I only promised the service until midnight.”

Rafayel nods and accepts the side hug Talia offers. She gives you a quick hug as well - taking you by surprise - before skipping out of the room.

“So that’s Talia. She’s my aunt. And she’s so great at introductions.”

He puts his keyring in the cabinet and sits down on one of the stools next to the table. He starts spreading out a wide array of flash tattoos he’s designed, making it easier for selection. You fiddle with the keyring.

“So what’s this about?”

He looks up and, even in the dim lighting you can see his ears turn red.

“It’s a… aha… a way to approach someone you want to interact with and express interest.”

You stare at him, letting your mind wander as you try to figure out how it works. You avoid Rafayel’s gaze, embarrassed that you don’t understand his implications. You hear him stand and approach you. His hand covers your own and he takes the keyring. You watch as he flips to the blue card.

“An individual will approach another individual, or a group of individuals, and hold up a card. They’ll wait until they’re chosen or refused. The card tells you what they want.”

You lift your wide eyes to meet his.

“The blue card is for the male. The red card is for the female. And the yellow card is for both.”

You blink rapidly and clear your throat.

“So if I approached you and held up this.”

He holds up the red card.

“It means I want you… In whatever way I can have you.”

You take a deep breath and feel your chest tighten. You press your thighs together and basically beg your pussy to calm down. He places the keyring back in your hand and closes your fingers around it. He lifts his hand to hold the side of your neck. He leans closer, his nose brushing against yours, his breath fanning across your face. His lips barely graze your cheek, just above your lips. Every breath you take pushes your chest against his. It takes everything you have not to grab him and devour him on the spot.

You hear the curtain behind you flip open and Rafayel lets go of your neck, looking up to see his first client. You sit on a stool and watch Rafayel tattoo client after client. Most are completely naked, which takes you a bit of time to adjust to. You help him by cleaning the table - very well - between clients.

Every time a woman enters, their breasts bouncing and pussy proudly on display, you feel a twinge of pain. And when Rafayel puts his hands on them to begin working, it feels like you’re going to throw up.

Before you know it, midnight is less than a half hour away and your nerves start to swirl. What will Rafayel want to do once his “duties” are done? Just as you’re getting ready to ask him, a perky brunette with olive skin strolls in. Golden chains draped over her perfect body. She leans against the table and points to a simple jellyfish design.

“It’s a popular one. Where’dya want it?”

He clears the table and she lays down on her back. You glance down at your phone and check the time and when you look back up, she is laying with her legs spread wide. You hold your breath and look to Rafayel, who is still focused on getting his supplies refreshed. When he turns around a look of genuine surprise graces his face. He sets his tattoo gun down and crosses the room to wash his hands.

“Are you sure about that? It’s worse than a piercing and harder to heal. You won't be able to participate anymore tonight.”

“A night of passion or a tattoo on my pussy by the famous Rafayel? I am absolutely sure.”

Rafayel doesn’t look at you as he puts on his gloves. You tense and drop your gaze. He sits on his stool and slides over, when you finally look up you see him basically staring at her pussy. You gasp silently, you didn’t think it was loud enough for anyone to hear, but when Rafayel glances over his shoulder at you you quickly get up and dash through the curtain.

You don’t look back and you don’t hear him call for you - not that you could hear anything over the music and moans. You walk through the various rooms, grabbing a glass of champagne from a waiter on your way. You finally find an empty room and sit down to catch your breath. You down your champagne in one go and fiddle with the stem of the glass.

You know you shouldn’t be upset, you weren’t in a relationship and this was technically your second date. From the sounds of it, he’s tattooed that area before. Of course he has, it’s his job. It isn’t a big deal. You feel foolish for running out like that, he probably thinks you’re dramatic and can’t handle his job or his fame. You set the glass on a table nearby and cover your face with your hands.

You finish off two more glasses of champagne before feeling brave enough to head back into the main hall. You take your time as you walk back to Rafayel’s tattoo booth, letting yourself watch the chaos around you. Clusters of people on beds, tables and even the floor. Riding, licking, sucking, moaning. You feel like you’re in another world, where shame and embarrassment don’t exist. If you weren’t so frustrated you might actually be enjoying yourself.

You stop at the staircase, your eyes locked on a couple wrapped around each other. It’s not like the others, they take their time, kissing and touching before he lifts her to ride his cock. Her moans are soft and the smile on her face - she’s experiencing pure bliss. You feel your cheeks heat and your throat tighten. You want that, not just a night of passion with a hot guy. And maybe you aren’t able to handle Rafayel’s job or fame. Is that such a bad thing? That you know what you want? Or what you don’t want?

“Cutie?”

Rafayel’s voice breaks you out of your spiral. You feel his hand on your back and you turn to face him. You know your cheeks are flushed, your eyes hazy yet vacant as your mind tries to make sense of your newfound clarity.

“I’m sorry I ran out.”

He places his hands on your shoulders and rubs your arms.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I know it’s your job and you’ve probably tattooed plenty of pussies - it’s not a big deal.”

“Really? I think it is a big deal if it upsets you.”

“I wasn’t upset. It doesn’t matter anyway, if I can’t handle it then maybe you should find someone who can.”

He stiffens, his brows knit together and his eyes darken. His voice drops and his tone becomes rigid.

“Is that what you want? For me to find someone else?”

“Maybe I am uncomfortable with the idea of you touching another girl's pussy, even if it is for your job. So yes, find someone who doesn’t care.”

He pushes you back against the wall. His hands move from your arms to tightly grip your hips.

“What if I like that about you?”

You open your mouth to respond, but he leans in, pressing his chest against yours.

“Do you want my hands on you? Only you? Only touching your pussy?”

Your chest heaves, pressing against him with every breath. His hands move up your waist, forcing your back to arch off the wall towards him.

“Cause that’s what I want. I don’t want to touch anyone else like that, not when yours is the one I can’t stop thinking about tasting.”

His nose rubs against yours.

“I told her to change the location or get out.”

His lips brush against yours, you can almost taste him.

“So don’t tell me to find someone else because you’re the one I want. So please, don’t run away.”

You let out a shaky breath and reach up to grab his neck, you capture his lips. He moans against your mouth and you bite his lip. He gasps and tries to pull back but you don’t let him. You hold him to you and slide your tongue into his mouth, which he quickly sucks in. His tongue dances with yours leaving you breathless.

He leans down to pick you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and his hands dive under your skirt. He grabs your ass and you roll your hips against his stomach. He walks over to an unoccupied sofa and sits down with you straddling his lap. You run your hands down his body, feeling the chill of his nipple rings against your palms. He pushes your hips down and you lower onto him, his bulge growing harder under you. He suddenly pulls back.

“Wait - do you want to go somewhere private?”

You grind your hips against him and he groans loudly. You can feel eyes on you and it makes you grind harder. You lean forward and press your mouth to his ear.

“I can’t wait… and I want them to watch you take what’s yours.”

Something inside of Rafayel snaps. He rips the mesh top from your body and pulls up your skirt over your hips. His hands roam across your back as he places kisses to your chest. Your relentless grinding makes him nip and lick at your skin in response. He unhooks your bra and tosses it over the sofa, his mouth moving to capture your nipple. You throw your head back and sigh, your breathing becoming more erratic by the second.

He lifts your hips and you whine, the friction of his bulge against your clothed pussy wasn’t perfect, but it was something. He picks you up and stands, dropping you onto the couch. He kneels and unzips your skirt, pulling it completely off of you. You tug the buttons on his shirt loose and run your hands over his chest. He pulls off the shirt and you reach to unbutton his pants, but his hand stops you. You look at him, confused.

“I have to show you something first, okay baby?”

You nod and lean back. He unbuttons his pants and bends to pull them down completely - along with his underwear. Your jaw drops, literally drops, at the sight of his cock. Not just because he is well-endowed - not to the point of discomfort, but you’re sure you’ll be sore tomorrow. But because the moment you saw that glint of silver your pussy throbbed so hard you nearly came.

Right at the base of his slit sat the silver ball, you reach out and wrap your hand around him. He shudders but remains still for you. You run your fingers over his slit, already leaking pre-cum, and roll the silver ball between your fingers. You feel the other end of the piercing underneath, you shift the piercing back and forth. He moans and his hips twitch. You stroke him slowly, working your way down to the silver studs at the base, sitting atop his pubic mound. You moan as your fingers rub across it, imagining how good it will feel against your clit.

“Having fun, cutie?”

His words are broken, his breathing labored as you work him. You smile up at him and push yourself to the end of the sofa. He reaches his hand out and strokes your cheek. You hold his gaze as you stick your tongue out and lick his slit. His hands grip your hair and he pulls you away from him. He towers over you, making you lean back onto the couch. He climbs over you and leans down, pressing his lips to your neck.

“How wet are you right now?”

You roll your hips up against his cock and he growls into your neck. He sits back to tug your panties down your legs. He lowers himself again, pressing his entire body against yours. You moan with how hot his skin feels against yours. You wrap your arms around him and cling to him, your legs spreading wider as he settles against you. His hands roam your body, pinching at your nipples, fingering your weeping pussy, palming your ass - every touch sending shockwaves through your system.

He dips his fingers further into your pussy and you pull your hips back. He looks at you, sweat already dripping down his forehead. You run your fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes - those beautiful fucking eyes.

“I don’t want your fingers Raf, please…”

He chuckles and slides his hand down to line himself up. You feel the chill of metal against your entrance and flinch.

“Look at me.”

You tear your eyes away from his cock and meet his gaze. He leans forward and kisses you. It’s a slow and steady kiss. Your mind swims as you feel his tongue slide in. And then you feel that delicious stretch, his cock sinking into you, the metal balls of his piercing stroking your inner walls. The kiss turns messy as your moans and his gasps harmonize and fill the air around you. Finally your hips jerk forward and you feel his pubic piercing press to your clit. You pull away from the kiss to scream his name, the pressure and chill of the metal overloading your senses.

Rafayel whines as he holds still to let you adjust to him. You claw at his back and he drops a foot to the floor beside the couch to angle his hips better. You know he’s about to pound into you and make you scream even louder. The thought of the people around you watching makes you delirious.

“Raf.. I need you– I need you to move, please…”

He doesn’t hesitate and he pulls back until just his tip is tucked inside and then he rams his hips forward, sending you backwards on the couch. You squeal and moan as he finds his rhythm. He rests his forehead against yours and gasps for air, his chest turning red from the exertion. Every snap of his hips pushes his pubic piercing against your clit making it throb and the drag of those inside of you drives you crazy. Finally you feel it, that silver ball hitting that spongy spot that makes your legs shake. You whimper and ignore the tears sliding down your cheek, the pleasure completely encompassing your being.

“Fuck… I need to come, ahh.. Shit…”

He starts to pull out, but you wrap your legs around him and lock your ankles. He looks at you, his forehead tight as he fights off his orgasm. You release his back for a moment to grab his face, pressing a kiss to his swollen lips.

“Come inside me, baby. Pill… I’m on the pill, just come for me…”

Your command is immediately obeyed, you feel his release and shudder as the warmth fills you. His pace never falters and the added slickness from his release makes his cock slide through you even faster. Your g-spot is hit every single time he thrusts and you finally feel your back arch and your body tremble, your orgasm hits and you scream.

“Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes Rafayel fuck yeeeeessss…”

As you both come down, you feel his body relax against you. You lean your head to the side and he nuzzles into your neck. His soft kisses help your breathing to steady. You open your eyes and gasp quietly. Rafayel lifts his head and follows your gaze. A small group of people are standing in a circle around the sofa where you and Rafayel are lying. Some of them are holding cards and leaning on each other, some are just smiling and whispering to each other.

“They want to join.”

Rafayel whispers in your ear. You hold onto him, suddenly very aware of how naked you are - how naked everyone is. Rafayel lifts you, his cock slipping out before he settles you on his lap. He wraps his arms around you protectively.

“We can tell them to leave, if you want?”

You hear your heart pounding in your ears. Before tonight, you never would have thought you’d be interested in experiencing certain things, but now…

“Are you uncomfortable with anything?”

He looks at you, his brows raised in surprise.

“Another man’s dick in you, for one. Or his tongue…”

“I meant, for you.”

He tilts his head.

“I thought…”

“I don’t want you anywhere near another girl’s pussy. But his… tongue…”

You look up and stare at a particularly attractive man standing on the outskirts of the small group, partially hidden in shadow. He’s tall, broad shoulders, the hard lines of his abdomen glisten with sweat. An intricate tattoo of a dragon starts at his chest, its wings spread across his shoulder and down his arm, the body trails down his side, curving over his abs before its tail spirals down his hip and coils around his thigh. Before you can stop yourself, your eyes shift and damn… you can appreciate a pretty cock when you see one. His black and red mask covers his whole face, but even from a distance, his eyes are piercing. Rafayel follows your eyes and sees him, a blue card in his hand.

“What do you want him to do to me?”

You lean into his ear and nip at his earlobe, his cock springing to life against your thigh.

“I want him to suck you off while I ride your face.”

Rafayel groans, his head pressed into your shoulder. You play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Only if you want to. I want you to be comfortable. I want you to feel good.”

He lifts his head and looks at the man, who you’re positive is smiling wickedly. Rafayel gives him a nod and he approaches. The rest of those watching move back slightly, giving your trio more room. The man pulls a large round ottoman over and kneels beside it. His voice is deep and smooth, sending shivers down your back. Watching a man like this make Rafayel writhe with pleasure sends a new slickness to your tender pussy.

“Your ass goes here pretty boy, you lay back with your head on the couch so your girl can sit comfortably.”

He pats the ottoman, now lined up against the couch. Rafayel stares at him, his mouth hangs open. You examine the man before you, you wonder if he’s wearing contacts. Crimson eyes stare directly at Rafayel. Just as Rafayel is about to speak, the man lifts a finger to where his mouth would be. He reaches around his ear and you hear a quiet click. The lower half of his mask detaches and he slides it off, his face now only partially disguised. His smirk is breathtaking, he licks his lips slowly.

“I’m a man of my word.”

You look at Rafayel and narrow your eyes. He shakes his head.

“I’ll explain later.”

You lean in and kiss him, he whines when you pull back. He stands up with you in his arms and sets you on your feet beside him. He approaches the man, who is at least 2-3 inches taller than him. The man places a finger under Rafayel’s chin and lifts his gaze.

“Your legs don’t move and your hands stay still. If you thrust, I hold you down. I’m doing the work here. Just like she –”

He points at you over Rafayel’s shoulder.

“She is riding. You lay there and take it, got it?”

You watch Rafayel tense, but with how his breathing accelerates you can tell he is turned on. He lays down, positioning himself as instructed. The man kneels and places his hands on Rafayel’s knees. Rafayel looks down and watches the man slowly glide his hands up his thighs. You crawl onto the couch, watching the man caress Rafayel. Finally the man wraps his large hands around Rafayel’s cock and strokes him until Rafayel is panting. The man nods at you and you pull on Rafayel’s shoulders until he rests his head back on the couch. You lift your leg over his head and hover over his face, but he doesn’t let you tease him. He grabs your thighs and pulls you down without warning. His lips close around your clit. You gasp and grab onto his elbows.

You feel the chill of his lip piercings, his septum ring brushes against the skin just above your clit. And you finally have your answer, how his tongue ring would feel… you’ll never be the same. The ball rolls over your clit, the sudden chill and pressure makes your vision blur. You start rolling your hips. His moans start to get louder and you look up to see the man has started licking Rafayel’s shaft, placing sloppy kisses to his tip. He sucks his tip into his mouth and suckles, the lewd slurping sound he makes pushes you to grind your hips faster. When he finally takes Rafayel fully into his mouth Rafayel’s hips jerk. The man stops and lifts his mouth off of him and you feel Rafayel shake.

“I told you, no moving.”

He presses his forearms onto Rafayel’s thighs and grip his hips. You feel Rafayel’s fingers dig into your thighs as he laps at your clit, making your core heat unbelievably fast. You watch the man take Rafayel back into his mouth, lowering himself until Rafayel’s cock is fully in his mouth. Rafayel shakes under you and whimpers loudly. Hearing him whimper like that could make you come untouched, you’re sure of it. You watch the man’s throat move as he swallows around his length. You grind faster, knowing Rafayel won’t last long if this mystery man is deepthroating him so easily. He finally thrusts his tongue inside you and you lean forward, resting your hands on his stomach.

“Tell him to finger you.”

The man’s rushed words take you by surprise. As soon as he says them he is taking Rafayel in his mouth again. You lift yourself up just enough to hear Rafayel take a deep breath and groan wildly. You shift and bring your knees closer to his head.

“Raf, fingers… in me.”

A cocky smile tugs at his lips.

“I thought you said… you didn’t want my fingers?”

He barely gets the words out before he gasps, the man has shifted and sucked one of Rafayel’s balls into his mouth, his hand stroking his shaft. You look back at Rafayel and smile.

“Do as you’re told, pretty boy.”

You sit back down before he can reply. He quickly lifts his hands and circles your pussy as he continues to work your clit with his tongue. His teeth graze the sensitive bundle and his fingers curl and scissor rapidly against your puffy walls, not giving you a moment to adjust. You lean down and run your tongue over his nipple ring, he rams his fingers into you harder in response, finding your sweet spot. You take the piercing between your teeth and give it a gentle tug and start rolling your fingers over the other side.

You watch as the man starts bobbing up and down, from tip to base he takes Rafayel’s cock over and over.. You swear you can see the outline of Rafayel’s cock in his throat. He starts groaning, the vibration sends Rafayel into a frenzy and you feel your orgasm crest.

“I’m coming fuck fuck fuck… ahhhh yes Raf yes..”

You hear the man moan and look up to see Rafayel’s release leaking out of the sides of his mouth. That sight makes your climax so intense you worry you might blackout. You feel Rafayel start tapping your thigh and you quickly lift yourself away, he gasps for air but laughs as he relaxes. You crawl off of him and are mortified to see the couch around his head completely soaked, his face and hair drenched. But you can’t find a reason to care when he looks so pussy drunk.

The man stands and wipes at his lip with his thumb, you glance down at Rafayel’s cock and see not a drop of his release is left behind. This man really sucked him dry and cleaned up… impressive. Rafayel sits up and looks up at the man.

“Debt is paid. See you next week, Rafayel.”

With that, he turns and leaves. You look at Rafayel and crawl onto his lap.

“I’m looking forward to hearing what that was about…”

You try to wipe his forehead with your wrist.

“Leave it, I like smelling like you.”

You slap his chest and he chuckles. He looks up to see there are still people waiting.

“Still in the mood to experiment?”

You don’t even glance around, you just lock your arms around his neck and kiss his cheek.

“No, I want you to myself. I need to see if my mouth can make you whimper like that again.”

He glares at you and pinches your side. You try to wiggle away from him, but he grabs you and hauls you over to lay on top of him.

“I can promise you, when it’s your mouth, I’ll be so delirious I might speak another language entirely.”

You kiss his nose.

“That’s hot.”

He laughs and kisses your nose.

“Let’s get out of here, yea?”

You’ve basically lived at Rafayel’s apartment over Lemuria Studios for the past week. It’s closer to the Association and much nicer. Plus, waking up next to him is a great way to start your day. And being fucked senseless every night is definitely helping you sleep better.

“You should go by your place after you get off work, pick up some clothes and shit.”

You put down your coffee and stare at him.

“I want you to be comfortable when you stay here.”

You stand up from the bar stool and walk around the kitchen island. He stops chopping vegetables to lean on the counter and look at you. His shirt hangs off your shoulders, the hem barely covering your ass. You run your hands down his chest, placing a kiss over his heart. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you press yourself against him. He rubs his hands over your back and rests his chin on your head.

“I like changing into your clothes when I get off work. I like using your shower gel so I can smell like you. I like sleeping naked in your bed. I am more comfortable than I’ve ever been.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I want you wearing my clothes and sleeping naked…”

You feel his hands glide down your back and pull his shirt up over your ass. The cool air against your bare skin makes you shiver. He leans down to kiss your neck, his hands feeling the curve of your ass and diving lower between your legs.

“I just think you should have some of your own things, you know?”

“I’ll pick up a few things after work.”

His fingers press against the crotch of your panties and you shiver.

“When do you have to leave for work?”

You glance over his shoulder at the clock and smile. You giggle and grab onto his neck, keeping him close.

“About an hour…”

He plants his hands under your ass and lifts you up. He continues placing messy kisses to your neck as he walks you to his bedroom.

“That should tide us over until tonight, yea?”

Work wasn’t boring, but you were itching to leave and head to your place. The more you thought about it the more excited you were to have your things at Rafayel’s place. You loved smelling like him, but your hair types are very different and his products are definitely not working for you. You planned your entire evening while working. Completing reports, canvassing Wanderer hotspots, scanning physical reports into the digital system - with every mind numbing task, you got closer and closer to the self-care date with yourself.

When you open the door to your apartment you’re greeted with the scent of extremely ripe bananas. You forgot you’d gotten them the day before the party and now… You close your front door and drop your keys on the entry table. You enter the kitchen and stare at the bananas. As you poke at them, you have an idea. It’s been ages since you’ve baked banana bread, but your grandmother's recipe is a classic. You find the recipe book on your bookshelf and gather the supplies you need. But before you bake, you need “an everything shower.” Badly.

Your shower gel is more floral than Rafayel’s, which is refreshing. And your scalp is finally able to breathe with your products gently scrubbing away the buildup. Shaving takes forever, but it’s worth it, Rafayel’s silk sheets would feel like heaven against your skin tonight. You put on a face mask while moisturizing and dance around your kitchen in your underwear while you stack the ingredients for the banana bread on the counter

Once the bread is in the oven, you grab a small suitcase and start packing up a few essentials. The travel size versions of your hair care products, underwear, an extra work uniform, a set of pajamas - just in case - two casual outfits and your go-to little black dress. You throw the uniform you wore today in the washer into the dryer and go through your fridge in case anything went bad while you were gone.

You’re setting the trash bag by the front door when you hear a muffled grunt. You press your ear to the door and hear more quiet groans and shuffling feet. You stand on your tiptoes and look through your peephole as quietly as possible. You see what looks like a white helmet and a purple jacket. They’re so close to your door you start to panic. You hear a knock at your door and you freeze.

“Cutie? Are you still here?”

Rafayel’s voice is muffled behind the door. You let out a sigh of relief and swing the door open, forgetting you’re only in your underwear. Rafayel is hunched over against the doorframe, the sleeves of his leather jacket are torn and the left leg of his cargo pants are shredded and bloody.

“Shit! Rafayel what happened?!”

He tugs at his helmet but can’t get it off. You push his hands away and unhook the straps to pull the helmet off his head. His face is pale and he’s drenched in sweat, but he still smirks when he sees you.

“Damn… what a welcome.”

“Shut the fuck up…”

You lift one of his arms and wrap it around your shoulder. You carefully help him walk into your apartment, kicking the door closed behind you.

You help him sit down on the couch and drag your coffee table closer to elevate his leg. The fabric is almost completely torn away from his skin and you can see the dirt and gravel stuck in his wounds. You help him remove his gloves and jacket, carefully inspecting his arm to see if there’s any wounds you haven’t seen. You tug his damp t-shirt off and look for any cuts. Bruises are already starting to darken over his ribcage.

You rush through your room to the bathroom to get a first aid kit and a few towels. You toss your face mask in the trash and put on your robe, haphazardly tying the belt at your waist. When you return Rafayel has his head back on the cushion with his eyes closed.

“Raf? You with me?”

He opens his eyes and smiles weakly. He tries to sit up, but clutches his side with a grimace.

“Rafayel, you need a doctor.”

He shakes his head, but keeps a hand pressed over his ribcage.

“It’s not that serious, trust me. I just need it cleaned up. I’m sorry I just showed up like this…”

“Rafayel…”

“I’ll get checked out when my doctor gets back in town. I promise.”

You rub your forehead and reach to turn on another light. You place the first aid kit on the coffee table and rush to the kitchen to grab a glass and a bowl of water. You hand Rafayel the glass, set the bowl down and sit down in front of him.

“Drink that.”

He doesn’t argue, he drinks the water slowly while he watches you work. You dip a towel in the water and gently try to clean the dirt and gravel out of his wound. He winces, but doesn’t struggle. You start putting a bit more pressure to see where the deeper cuts are and he groans. You look up at him and he has his eyes closed tightly.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

You continue cleaning the wound until it looks clear of debris. You shake a can of antiseptic spray, squinting your eyes at him as he shrugs.

“I crashed, no biggie.”

You grit your teeth and spray a more than generous amount on his leg. His leg shakes and he curses under his breath. He reaches for your hand and takes the can, chucking it across the room.

“Enough! I.. I think it’s clean…”

You flash him a smirk and grab a roll of gauze to start wrapping his leg.

“I haven’t crashed in a long time, but these things happen. I’m okay.”

You continue wrapping his leg in silence. The feeling he is hiding something ripping into you like a knife. This is a serious injury, he could have lost his leg or worse. He’s a careful driver, you know that. So what caused him to crash? You finally look at the helmet on the floor next to the couch. The white paint on the side is scraped and you can see a thin crack along the visor. But what catches your eye is the intricate red design on the front.

“Nice helmet.”

“Thank you. I don’t get to wear it often. Guess it’ll be retiring until I get it fixed up, huh?”

You nod. He leans forward and grabs your hands.

“I know it looks bad, but I’ve had worse. Come on, look at me, please?”

Just as you meet his gaze his phone rings. He grabs his jacket on the couch and digs his phone out. His gentle smile drops when he sees the caller.

“I need to take this, I’m sorry.”

He lifts his leg and tries to stand up, but you push him back.

“I’ll go, you need to keep your leg elevated.”

You walk to your room, closing the door behind you. Holding the handle, you don’t let the lock click. You wait until you hear a hushed “hello” before pulling the door open a crack. You press your ear as close to the opening as possible. Rafayel’s voice is hushed.

“I need to know their name.”

“No, I know. I know. I’d never seen them before.”

“I don’t give a fuck, they almost got Ryūō caught. Cops knew which bike to follow.”

Your eyes widen at the mention of cops. Who is Ryūō? Is that really a name?

“Yea, they caused my crash. No, Zayne’s out of town. Of course I’m not at the hospital, I’m not a fucking idiot. I’m okay, seriously, I need to focus on Ryūō.”

Zayne?! As in your childhood friend, the head of cardiology? That Zayne? Is he Rafayel’s primary physician too? Why can’t Rafayel go to the hospital?

“I want a name by the end of the night, put any expenses on my card.”

“No, don’t say anything. I’ll set up the next meeting and fill everyone in.”

“Yeah, fuck… Okay, have Ryūō call me.”

You’re tempted to swing the door open and confront him immediately, but your brain is swimming with theories.

“Cutie? You can come out now!”

You open the door slowly. Your eyes narrow and you glare at him from across the room. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and your stomach tightens. As you approach him, he shifts uncomfortably, your gaze finally unsettling him. Just as you sit down to finish treating his leg, his phone rings again.

“Is that Ryūō?”

He looks up from his phone, his expression darkens. You don’t leave, instead you continue wrapping his leg and sit in silence while his phone continues to ring. Finally, he answers it.

“Hey.”

“No, doc’s out of town. I’m okay. It could have been worse.”

“Where’d you stash your bike?”

“No no no, I’ll send someone to get it. Keep your head down for a few days.”

“I’m looking into it.”

“He put down Onryō so I’m guessing it’s personal. Could be you, could be me, or both. I’ll have more info by the end of the night.”

Onryō? As in the Japanese yokai? You remember reading about popular yokai’s before your vacation to Japan after you graduated college. You recall they are ghosts who hyperfocus on vengeance. Their passion could be born out of jealousy or hatred. Does he think this person is trying to hurt him and this Ryūō person? Now Ryūō makes more sense. Another yokai.

“Sy, I am asking you not to look into it. It’ll get too messy if you get involved.”

Who is Sy?

“I know what you can do and I am asking you not to do anything. Please. I will call you as soon as I know anything.”

He hangs up and tosses it on the couch. He covers his face with his hands and groans, running his hands through his hair before looking up to stare at you.

“Go on, ask.”

You secure the gauze with tape. Picking up a new towel, you dip it in the water and squeeze out the excess before moving to sit next to him. You wipe his face and he relaxes, you continue down his chest.

“I’m pretty good at puzzles. So… I think I pieced most of it together.”

“Do tell.”

You feel his fingers trace your jaw. You pause and look at him.

“Bikes, cops, code names, someone is messing with you or whoever Ryūō is. My educated guess… Racing?”

He looks down at his leg, his brows furrow.

“Am I wrong?”

He sighs and looks at you again.

“Spot on.”

“So can you tell me what really happened now?”

He pulls the towel out of your hand and pulls you to him. You lean against the couch, careful not to put any pressure on his ribs. Once you settle, he takes a deep breath.

“I’ve been a part of the racing scene for a few years. Ryūō and I started around the same time. Now, we’ve become leaders… kind of? We’re used to having targets on our backs. So we’re careful about bringing new people onto the scene. Today, we held an open race to test the waters and it bit us in the ass.”

“Onryō? You mean?”

“Yeah... They signed in and before the race even started, cops rolled up. They targeted Ryūō and he pulled off the race to pull the cops away from us. That’s when the prick kicked me off my bike on a turn and I fucked up my leg.”

“So you have people looking for this Onryō person, what will happen when they find them?”

“My people will call me. And I’ll deal with it.”

You cross your arms and glare at him.

“And how will you, “deal with it” exactly?”

Rafayel tosses his head back on the couch and closes his eyes.

“I can’t tell you that, cutie, you know that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am not going to put your job on the line. You have a duty to report this kind of thing, right? The less I say the better.”

“So Ryūō and Sy, they’re the same person, right?”

Your question makes Rafayel sit up straight, he turns to you and grabs your shoulders tightly.

“Drop it. Please.”

“No. You came to my door, bleeding and bruised and you’re expecting me to just ignore whatever shit you’re into that caused all this? Really Rafayel?”

His grip tightens.

“You’re not getting hurt because of me.”

You reach up to hold his face in your hands. Your thumbs brushing under his eyes.

“I’m a hunter, I am good at taking care of myself. I’m not afraid of whatever it is you’re involved in, but what I am afraid of is you getting hurt.”

He leans into your touch, his cheeks warming and his pale skin starts to flush.

“I know you’re able to protect yourself, but these people… They’re different. They play by a different set of rules and I don’t want you to risk your job or your safety for me.”

“That’s my choice.”

He huffs out a laugh and leans his forehead against yours.

“I know, I just… fuck…”

You kiss his nose affectionately and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. You curl up beside him, pressing your face into his neck.

“Let me choose you.”

He rubs your back and your body relaxes next to him.

“So…”

He kisses the top of your head and hums encouraging you to continue.

“What’s your name? Like your racing name?”

He chuckles and leans back, tucking you into his side. You rest your head on his shoulder.

“Kiko.”

You close your eyes, it seems all the racers pick a yokai as their code name. You try to remember the lore behind Kiko.

“That’s a type of Kitsune, right? A holy fox? No, spirit fox!”

“Yep.”

You shift so you can look up at him.

“I thought you’d pick something ocean related like… Kōjin or Tatsu?”

“A biker with an oceanic racer alias, purple hair and brightly colored Kawasaki?”

“Oh…”

“Yea, I don’t need cops breathing down my neck at the studio. So I chose something, I guess, that fit my personality?”

“You relate to a fox, huh?”

“Curious, playful, intelligent. Yea, I think so.”

“They’re also very loud if they don’t get love and affection.”

Rafayel nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, you giggle, swatting at him to sit up.

“I guess it’s an accurate description then.”

You look down at his helmet and squint. The white base and red lines around the eyes and at the center.

“Ohhh… that explains your helmet!”

“Yeah, usually I wear a white leather jacket but I was in a rush today.”

“You don’t race the blue bike you’ve been driving me around on, do you?”

“No, I have a different bike for races. Different colors and fake plates.”

You sit up, cross your legs and face him.

“Take me with you.”

His eyes widened in surprise.

“Like, on a ride?”

You smile, a wicked gleam in your eye.

“On a race.”

He stares at you, his mouth open and eyes unblinking. You stare back, your smile unwavering.

“You realize it’s illegal, right?”

You nod.

“And dangerous?”

You nod.

“And you might –”

You slap a hand over his mouth. He chuckles, the vibrations tickling your hand.

“I know the risks. I want to see more of your world. Especially when mine is so… blah…”

“Hmm mmh mmh hmm huh mhm!” He mumbles, trying to speak to you through your hand.

You move your hand away and pinch his cheek. He grabs your hand and holds it tight.

“You fight Wanderers for a living! That’s not ‘blah’!”

“Fine. I want to see more of your world because I…”

You look down at your lap, trying to hide the blush spreading across your cheeks. He grabs your chin and lifts your face to meet his gaze.

“Because what, cutie?”

“Because I hope I can be a part of it…”

He plants his hands on your waist and lifts you, plopping you down on his lap. His hands hold onto your ass and he pulls you closer. It’s at this moment you realize you’re still not wearing any pants and the rough fabric of his cargo pants rubbing against your nearly bare pussy makes you twitch. You grab onto his shoulders and try to lift yourself off his lap.

“Your leg!”

“It’s fine, stop squirming.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh and shift your knees wider to properly straddle him. He squeezes your ass and rubs his hands down your thighs. You run your hands down his chest and start to play with his nipple rings, which earns you a deep groan. He takes the hint and stops teasing you.

“I want you to be a part of my life, but it’s a complicated one. Are you sure?”

You wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers through his hair. You lean forward and place a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Show me a whole new world, Aladdin.”

He chuckles and bites his lip as he looks up at you.

“My dick is not a magic carpet, but I will take you for a ride.”

You slap his chest and try not to laugh.

“You’re so stupid…”

He seizes the opportunity, with your hands on his chest, to grab your face and pull you to him. He kisses you until you can barely breath, your worries fade. You’re not sure what you’re getting yourself into, but you’re sure of one thing - Rafayel has made you feel more alive in the past week than you’ve felt in years. And you’re going to chase this feeling, for as long as possible.

Rafayel finally lets you breathe and you smell something burning. He scrunches his nose and you sniff the air, trying to determine what it could be. Your eyes widen and you scramble to crawl off of Rafayel’s lap.

“My banana bread!”

(AN Part 2: Surprise! It's also a crowfish fic. Smile.)

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname

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tpwk-formula1 · 2 days ago

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Hi, can you please do Fisting with Lewis Hamilton. Maybe like reader and Lewis are trying something new and possibly an age gap relationship

An: Good morning! I hope everyone is having an amazing day!!

TW: MDNI 18+ Fisting, age gap

WC: 1k+

Y/N POV

We had finally settled down in Maranello after a long few days.

"Lew, I saw something I kind of want to try but I'm scared you're gonna think it's weird," I admit softly while crawling into the lap of my older boyfriend.

"What is it love," Lewis asks softly while rubbing my sides up and down in a soothing manner.

"I don't even know if I can say it," I admit feeling my cheeks heat up just thinking about what I'm about to say.

"Hey, you know I will never judge you for something you want to try," Lewis tries to reassure me. I nod my head softly feeling myself fidget a little getting turned on just thinking about it.

"I saw a video when I was touching myself a few days ago..." I start feeling my hips slowly start to grind slowly into Lewis's hardening crotch.

"You didn't tell me you needed some relief," Lewis whispers leaning down and placing a soft kiss on my lips.

"Anyways, I want you to fist me," I spit out the words as fast as I can hoping Lewis knows exactly what I'm talking about.

"You wanna feel my whole hand stretching that pretty pussy out?" Lewis asks with a smirk written all over his face. The grip he has on my hips only tightens while he helps me grind harder down into his crotch.

"If it's too weird I'm sorry," I whine feeling my panties start to dampen making Lewis release his grip on my hips and move his hands to grip my face gently making me look at him.

"It's not weird, if it's gonna make my girl feel good than we are gonna stretch this pretty pussy out to take my fist," Lewis tells me before pulling my face towards him and placing a soft kiss on my lips.

Lewis got the both of us moved to the bedroom where he undressed me completely and undressed himself down to his boxer briefs letting me see his hard cock pressing again the fabric of his briefs.

"Are you ready?" Lewis asks softly while running his fingers through my soaked folds making me moan while nodding my head softly.

I notice Lewis quickly pull off the rings on his right hand gently placing them on my fingers before kissing my hand before bringing his now bare fingers back to my pussy.

Lewis easily slips two fingers deep into my pussy making me moan at the feeling of him filling me up.

Lewis fucks my pussy for a few seconds before he slips a third finger in making me gasp at the slight stretch.

"Take my fingers so good," Lewis whispers before leaning down and kissing my inner thigh in a soothing manner.

"Feels so good," I moan when Lewis's fingers continue to fuck into my G-spot before slipping his pinky finger to join the other three making me tense up in a loud moan.

"Come on relax love," Lewis whispers softly while using his free hand to rub my thigh trying to get me to relax.

"It's a lot," I gasp while trying to relax to let Lewis continue to fuck my pussy.

"You can do it," Lewis encourages while slowly starting to pump his four fingers in and out of my pussy trying to loosen me up enough to be able to slip his thumb into my pussy.

"Feels so good," I moan when Lewis starts picking up pace with his finger fucking.

Lewis slows his fingers down knowing if he makes me cum right now it'll be too sensitive to keep going. I can feel Lewis using his free hand to softly start rubbing my clit before I feel Lewis folding his thumb in softly trying to stretch my pussy enough to be able to take his whole hand.

"Relax baby," Lewis comments when I tense up so much that Lewis can no longer move his hand that he's still trying to fill me up with.

"Fuck Lew! It's so big," I gasp out while trying to relax to let Lewis continue pushing in.

"You can take it baby," Lewis says while pushing in a little bit more making me moan at the pleasurable burn of the stretch. I can tell Lewis is close to being able to slip the rest of his hand in.

"Just push it in!" I moan loudly which had Lewis pinching my inner thigh hard making me whine from the pain but during the pinch he pushes the rest of his fist deep into my pussy making me scream in pleasured pain.

"Fuck Lewis!" I scream out never being stretched this wide before.

"Fuck, you took my full fist baby," Lewis comments while slowly starting to move his fist deep in my pussy making me moan loudly.

"So much," I mumble getting lost in the pleasure.

"Doing so good for me, you gonna cum like this?" Lewis teases knowing damn well I was getting close to cumming for him.

Lewis uses his other hand to start teasing my throbbing clit making me moan loudly while he starts fucking into my pussy faster and faster making me arch my back off the bed at how close I'm getting to cumming.

"Cum for me," Lewis groans while rubbing my clit even faster throwing me over the edge almost instantly.

"Fuck!" I cry out when I fall over the edge squirting all over both Lewis and I. I could feel myself starting to cum once again letting my second orgasm wash over me blending into my first one.

"Oh God," I cry feeling my orgasms start blending together in one overstimulating mess.

Once Lewis helps ride out my orgasm he slowly starts pulling a his fist from my pussy making me moan and whimper from the over stimulation.

Once his fist pops out of my pussy I can feel how much my pussy is gaping and when I notice Lewis staring I can't help but feel slightly embarrassed.

"Fuck that's so hot," Lewis groans before leaning down and taking a teasing lick out of my overstimulated clit making me jump at the contact.

"Did so good for me," Lewis groans while pulling himself back up to place a kiss on my lips.

----

The end

Sorry for not posting yesterday but my goal is to post 3 or 4 more times today but absolutely no promises

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markleessodalite · 2 days ago

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They Can Hear Us...: n.jm

content: bf!jaemin drags you to an event you don't really want to attend, so you try to devise an escape plan... but he's not one to be fooled.

warnings: fem!reader, lots and lots of kisses, maybe a tiny bit suggestive(?) but mostly just fluff, nothing else to warn about afaik

word count: 0.5k

a/n: i had a mini hoard of drabbles that i was saving to post later, but i've read over them so much to the point where now i hate every single one :/ but n e waiz i got some extra days off work this upcoming week and i'm hoping to do NOTHING but write the whole time :3 (also if you're one of the anons who sent in requests i promise i'm gonna get to those asap!!!)

“Jaemin! Stop. I mean it!” you half-heartedly scold your boyfriend, although your soft tone and light giggles clearly indicate a message that’s opposite to the words leaving your lips.

Jaemin plants another teasing kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Hmm, are you sure?” He kisses the tip of your nose, then your cheek, making his way down your jaw and to your exposed shoulder as he laces his fingers with yours. “Seems like you kinda like it, huh? Love this dress, by the way.” His free hand rubs gentle lines along your back, with only just enough restraint to not mess up the delicate fabric of your one-shoulder gown.

You knew he loved this dress, particularly how you look in this dress, which is exactly why you wore it to this gala. You weren’t especially excited to be here, but Jaemin was over the moon eager to take you, show you off to everyone else there, his girlfriend who looks like an absolute princess under ballroom lights with her arm linked in his. Of course, you knew that after about 5 minutes of you in this dress, he wouldn’t be able to focus on whatever charity event is going on around you two– which is how you’ve found yourself hidden in an offshoot hallway, Jaemin cornering you against the wall, planting light and playful (but very obviously needy) kisses anywhere his lips can reach.

Hey, it got you out of sitting at that boring table with those boring people listening to that boring speaker, right? All part of your coy little plan.

The only sound filling your ears now is your own soft giggles against Jaemin’s low chuckles and whispers, with him now developing a game to entertain himself with: trying to find that one particular spot that will drive you crazy.

“Here?” He plants a kiss behind your ear.

“Nope.” You bite down on your lip to stifle any noise that could possibly slip through. You may be vaguely hidden, but you’re definitely still within earshot of the rest of the gala.

“Mmm. Then… here?” He hovers around the middle of your neck before leaving another kiss.

“No…” You can’t help the giggle that slips through your teeth.

“Okay… what about… here?” He leaves a kiss in the nook between the bottom of your neck and your collarbone, before biting down teasingly, drawing a squeal from you before you can catch it.

“Jaemin!” You can’t help but laugh, amused at Jaemin’s quick victory in his own game.

“Shh! Y/n, you know they can hear us…” Jaemin buries his face further in your neck, and you look over him to see the silhouettes of the other guests, turning their attention from the monotone speaker to figure out what direction the hushed giggles are coming from.

Here it is. Exactly the opportunity you need to convince him to go home.

“Then why don’t we go somewhere they can’t hear us, Jaem?”

He lifts his head from your shoulder to look in your eyes, and you know right away he sees through your little escape plan. And he’s not falling for it.

“No. I kinda like this little game. Round two? Let’s see if you can keep quiet, babe.” He smirks proudly at your shocked face before his lips crash into your neck again, and you realize he’ll play this game he’s made up for as long as this gala lasts. Can you handle Jaemin teasing you for several more hours without making a sound?

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sexually-attracted-to-pans · 13 hours ago

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My drama so far is so much more lame. I'm about halfway through my Freshman year so you have a timeline for this.

Theater: So this couple that's in sophomore year, broke up after three years together. They were cast together as the main couple in our play Puffs this year, and on the night of the second show they had an argument. Now I'm a tech person so I didn't see anything go down but apparently this happened again the next day, the day of our final show. And that night at the cast party, one of the other actors was flirting to the girl from this relationship while she flirt back and that's how everyone found out they broke up. About 90% sure they got together. But anyway the guy was devastated no one saw or heard from him for weeks, we were all getting really worried and then he just showed back up one day and hooked up with one of the senior guys(yes he's bi its high school theater none of us are straight), and we found out he was quitting theater the same day.

(Bonus: I wrote fanfiction about 2 unrelated characters from the play and it was shared around the entire cast before a senior friend of mine read it out load in dramatic reading for one of the actors who played one of the characters that I wrote about. The fanfiction I wrote about to sad gay Hogwarts kids and the life of one of them after the other dies in the battle of Hogwarts. traumatized him. I feel sorry for the man but we have talked and luckily he only holds the grudge against the friends that read it to him, who later wrote smut fanfic about the characters on Wattpad(mine was ao3)).

BEN(before I start this one I want to say I did date him for a month in middle school but I hate him for being a manipulative gaslighting bitch): SO started with small lies last year about being extremely good at a card game he played called Battle Spirits, none of us though anything of it as it was just him being cocky and pretending to be cool.

Then this year, supposedly has 9 grandparents die in the same 2 weeks, is still going to school and claims he cared but never brings it up unless we are talking about something he doesn't know about. Then claims his mom got pregnant with his what 5th sibling, a little girl. We know he doesn't have a mom that he's in contact with as he was adopted and his father is gay(my friends dad is friends with Ben's dad that's how we found out). Then less then 5 months after he made up lies about her whole pregnancy he claims his "little sister" dies of a non-existent heart disease. Still going to school and doesn't even bother pretending to act sad. Claims to win a world wide contest for the card game in Japan, we don't even have proof of him going to Japan over the summer.

We are getting tired and kick him out of the group. You want to know how he tried to convince us to let him back in? Claim he got a girl(from our school who we know) pregnant. Only took a month for him to try and gaslight the school into believing that abortion wasn't a medical procedure which you need parental consent for so that he could lie and say they never told their parents.

He also tried to claim he had the rarest blood type in the world when our school did a blood drive. He was referring to Rh-null also called Golden Blood. "Rh-null aka “Golden Blood” is the rarest blood type in the world with fewer than 50 (43 to be exact) known cases ever reported. While there are only eight main/common blood types, there are an additional 61 possible antigens in the Rh system, which means that the eight main blood types can be subdivided into millions of different blood types. Rh-null occurs when a person’s blood lacks all of the 61 possible antigens." (I am quoting this from an article about blood types: https://rarest.org/people/blood-types).

Yep this man has done so many other small things like claiming to have 1000s of dollars in custom made costumes while showing us ai photos of them, and thousands of dollars in cards for the card game(which might be the only true one as his dad owns a card and game shop).

Now that I wrote that whole thing maybe my life is much worse then I thought...

where do TV shows get this idea that high school is constant drama, nothing even fucking happened to me in high school

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qrrieterisunnq · 3 days ago

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Am I Really Enough? - Luke Hughes

masterlist | wip's

— WARNINGS: Hateful comments, grammar errors — SUMMARY: Luke wants you to know how much he adores you and that he doesn’t care what others say about you on social media. — WORD COUNT: 1,5K

It had been going on for a few months. Firstly, you didn’t really pay attention to it, but lately, the comments get worse and worse and the TikTok’s got even more nastier that you somehow let them in your mind.

You tried to act like nothing was happening in front of everyone, but keeping put together was getting harder and harder.

It wasn’t until a few days back that Luke started to notice the changes in your behavior. It wasn’t anything big, but he could sense the distance you slowly put between each other.

It was the way you would check yourself in the mirror with a slight disgust on your face but would quickly mask it as soon as you saw him.

The way you would hide your body whenever you were with the other Devils’ or when you saw someone taking a photo of you.

Or the way he would notice dry tears on your cheeks after he got out of his shower after a late game.

He doesn’t know what is happening but needs to find out.

Today, he had an early morning practice, so he had to be really quiet because you were still sleeping. Normally, you’d be awake by the time preparing him a quick breakfast and snack, but your head was hurting yesterday, so that is why you were sleeping.

Right before he left, he looked at you to ensure you were still sleeping. He sat down beside you, slightly caressing your hair away from your face. With a soft smile, he kissed your forehead and with quiet ‘love you’ he left.

Jack was already waiting for him in front of your apartment building, so he threw his bag on the backseat and slid next to Jack.

“Morning,” Jack yawns from behind the steering wheel, forcing Luke to look at him.

“Morning. Tired?” Luke’s eyes wander around Jack’s face, noticing the dark bags under his eyes.

“Yeah, Florence didn’t sleep too much during the night. it’s the time her teeth start to grow.” he sighed running his hand down his face as he groaned.

“We can always look after her on the weekend so you two get some sleep,” Luke offered with a small smile gazing at his lips. Maybe it would brighten your mood.

“Yeah, but you know, Sunny, she wants to spend as much time with her as possible.” He sighed and pulled out from the parking lot toward the Prudential.

“I know, just saying. You two could use some time alone.”

“Yeah. Tell me about it,” Jack sent him a smile and stopped at red. “Anyway, how is Y/n?”

“Ugh, I am not sure. She’s been acting weird lately,” Luke sighed this time it’s him who runs his hands down his face. “She’s been distant and just not herself.”

“Hey there lover boys!” Jesper shouted as soon as he caught a glimpse of Luke and Jack.

“Hello, Swedish man!” Jack grinned at him and fist-bumped him on the way inside the locker room.

“Hi, Bratter,” Luke smirked ruffling the shorter guy’s hair.

Jesper swatted the hand away with an annoyed huff and kicked Luke in the shin.

“You look tired man. Flo giving you a hard time?” Nico chuckled when he noticed the black bags under Jack’s eyes.

“Yeah, her teeth are growing,” He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face yet again. “She lets up sleep only three hours a day, so it’s tiring.”

“I got it. If you want to, you can't take a few days off or always bring her to me I’ll gladly look after her.” Nico offered, and Jack had to smile. He is so grateful for you all. “Hey there Lukey!” Nico waved at the younger Hughes as soon as he saw him.

“Hello, Captain,” Luke grinned at him. “Ready for practice?”

“The hell I am." he grinned but remembered he needed to talk to him. "Anyway, I need to talk to you after, do you have time?” Nico says more seriously, causing Luke to swallow hard and nod his head.

“Uhm. Yeah sure.” He swallowed again, and the smile on his face vanished away.

“Move your asses guys!” Coach Sheldon yells inside the locker room, startling most of the guys.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Luke sat down next to Nico after he got out of the shower, the towel wrapped tightly around his waist.

Nico nodded and handed him his phone, which was playing some TikTok with you and Luke. Luke watched it with furrowed eyes because he didn’t know what he was supposed to looking for.

“Look at the comments.”

Luke opened the comments, and his jaw dropped. He knew people were cruel on social media, but he had no idea they were this cruel.

“And that is not the only one. Do you remember when Y/n posted the photo of you and her on New Year's,” Nico asked and took his phone back.

“Yeah, what with that? I didn’t see any ugly comments.” Luke looked at Nico with raised eyebrows, not catching up.

“That’s because y/n deleted them.” Nico sighed and for the second time handed Luke his phone with screenshots of the comments.

I don’t know what he sees in her, but he could do better.

You should put down some weight

Don’t you feel a bit out of place when you’re with his friends?

Do you ever feel embarrassed standing next to him? I mean, people must wonder why he settled.

Luke swiped through the screenshots, tears forming in his eyes as he read through them.

“Oh, my fucking shit.” Luke breathed out as he finally realized, why were you acting so off for the past few weeks.

“Yeah, I noticed that y/n was acting off, so I just wanted to show you.”

“Thanks, man,” Luke nodded, appreciation clear in his voice even though Nico could hear the tears. “I um, I need to go.”

Luke quickly changed into his clothes and rushed out of the arena. He probably broke most of the road rules, but he didn’t care, he just needed to talk to you, to make sure you know how beautiful you are no matter what.

Luke barges into your apartment like there is some murderer inside the building startling the shit out of you.

“Jesus Christe Luke! What the fuck?” you yelped out, your hand hovering over your heart.

“Is it true?” he panted out, dropping the bag from his shoulder on the floor, his voice full of hurt.

You straightened your spine, not knowing what he was talking about. Or more like being afraid of what he’s talking about.

“What are you talking about?” your voice is a little bit shaky from the fear that he knows. He knows all about what is going on in her head.

“You know what I am talking about,” He breathed out, slowly approaching her. His heart was beating fast from the number of steps he ran up, just because he didn’t want to wait for the elevator. “The comments, the videos,” he dropped down on his knees before you, his hands flying to your knees. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” You shook your head in denial.

“Y/n, I love you the way you are. And it pains me to see that I’m not showing you enough how much I love you,” Luke sighed and took your hands in his in a reassuring move. “And I promise you that I will try harder from now.”

“No, no, Luke, it’s not your fault!” you rushed out, shaking your head hurriedly. “You make me loved so much, but it’s me. The comments and videos make me feel like I should do something with myself.”

“Hey baby, look at me,” he shook your hands to get your attention back on him when he noticed you drifting away. “You have nothing to change, just because someone said in comments. You are gorgeous the way you are. But if you really want to, then I will support you, you know that.”

“So you think I am fat. I knew it.” You sniffed, the tears you’ve held back now falling over the edges.

“Hey, hey. I didn’t say anything like that, y/n, and you know that!” Luke sighed and stood up, only to sit down next to you and pull you in a tight hug.

“You know I love you the way you are, and I would never change anything about you,” Luke whispered, his lips pressed against your temple, rocking you side to side. “I love you so fucking much, baby. But if you don’t feel comfortable in your body, I will support you if you want to start going to the gym.”

“I am sorry.” You sobbed out, clutching Luke's biceps tightly. “I ju-just don’t want you to re-realize that maybe one day you’ll need s-someone more o-on your le-level.”

“Hey! You are way on a higher level than me, baby, and you know that.” He grasps your face in his palms, forcing you to look at him. “I don’t fucking care what the people say about you in comments, and you too shouldn’t, because they are just pathetic excuses of people, okay.” He didn’t let go until you understood that you were gorgeous. That day, you spent cuddling on the couch, watching Supernatural’s and him whispering in your ear how beautiful you are and how fucking lucky he was to get you as a girlfriend.

#luke hughes #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes fic #luke hughes imagine #nhl #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes fluff #lh43 #new jersey devils #nj devils #new jersey devils fic #nhl fanfiction #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x plussize!reader

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nanaminxs · 2 days ago

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Bruce is ecstatic! Why wouldn’t he be? He’s basking in the warmth of his beloved, in the bed of their hotel suite in Vegas.

Bruce had spared no expense in making your honeymoon in Las Vegas unforgettable. The suite was a masterpiece! I mean, floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the dazzling lights of the Strip, while plush furniture and luxurious amenities filled the sprawling space.

In the middle, a very nice sized bed. It’s headboard covered in intricate patterns, and details.

Bruce stood by the window, his silhouette illuminated by the neon glow from outside. He wore a simple black shirt and slacks, but somehow, he still looked like the billionaire playboy Gotham knew him to be. His lips curled into a small, rare smile as he turned to look at you lounging on the sofa, a glass of champagne in hand.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, the way it always managed to send shivers down your spine.

“Too much,” you replied with a grin, swirling the champagne. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I carry the Wayne name now.”

Bruce laughs, pure and genuine. His frame smushing you despite your protests.

“You’ll get used to it.” Bruce kisses your temple, then your nose, then your cheek. And when he gets to your lips, it’s almost needy.

The man plucks the glass from your hand, setting it somewhere on a flat surface before his hands are all on you.

Bruce hasn’t done this before, despite that phony playboy title—you’re his first. He just hopes you can’t tell by the way his hands tremble as he’s pulling your panties off your ankles and letting them fall to the floor.

Bruce kisses you so passionately it makes your head spin, chest tightening because your body craves his touch after so long of not having it.

Two thick digits slot themselves between your legs, rubbing up and down your slit. His touch is gentle, like he’s figuring out what makes you tick.

“Right here?” He questions, pressing the pad of his middle finger to your sensitive bud. When you let out a small gasp and dig a fresh set of nails into his wrist he hums, lips trailing down your neck.

His voice vibrates into the valley of your breasts. “Yeah. Right there.”

He’s so cocky, especially when he’s kissing down your body while his fingers push past the tight ring of your entrance oh-so-slowly.

Bruce is using one thumb to pull one of your pussy lips to the side, as his tongue gives an experimental kitten lick.

His eyes burning holes through your face as he’s gouging reactions—good or bad. He wants to do good by you, wants to make you feel good. So naturally he’s just doing what feels right in the moment.

A long whine falls from your lips like a symphony when his fingers brush against your g-spot.

“Talk t’me. Tell me where—show me how to please you, baby.” Spills from his lips, voice rumbling between your legs.

“Fingers—hah! Right there, jus’ curl..fuckkk..”

Bruce is a fast learner. And you’re embarrassed to say that—just five minutes in, and you’re making a fat puddle on sheets that aren’t even yours.

But the fucker doesn’t know when to stop. He keeps his tongue on you, licking up and down your slit in the softest way possible. Just shy of that sensitive bundle of nerves.

A small hiss from your lips causing him to look up as he’s pulling fingers from you. He presses them to your lips—“Taste yourself.”

Bruce Wayne is gentle. And carefully protected as he’s nervously rolling the rubber down the base of his cock.

Palms press against both sides of your head and you’re both letting out a sigh.

“Bad time to say this is my first?” He mutters out. He’s met with a smile from you and a head shake.

“At least I’m not alone on this.” You snort.

His cock head nudges against slick folds, and he’s kissing you. A way to distance your mind from the stretch as he’s pushing into you. Inch by inch.

With one final soft and needy thrust, he’s burying himself to the hilt.

It’s definitely a struggle to fit him in, even more so a struggle to kiss him back like this.

But there’s something just so intimate about the way he’s muttering softly, “I got you. M’right here.”

But what can be more intimate than the fact he’s literally balls deep inside of you???

He starts slow. Drawing back, then pushing forward. You both moan in sync.

Then continues his tender assault, his cock slipping past gummy walls just to pull out enough for his tip to kiss the ring of your entrance.

Every inch he gives you is a slow torturous promise of what’s yet to come. Bruce revels at the sensation, in the way your velvety walls grip his cock and draw him impossibly deeper.

“Need more.” You tap his bicep, gaining his attention. He grabs your ankle and chucks it over his shoulder, the new angle about to force a protest from you.

“Okay. Like this?”

As he’s sinking deeper, you’re shutting up. Barely able to muster out anything than whines for more. For him. Hell—you’re thinking more with your pussy when you’re begging him to fuck a baby into you.

Oh but he eats that right up, pelvis grinding against your clit with each harsh thrust, a force that makes your back arch off the material under you. He’s excited by the way your body responds to his, hips rocking to gain more friction from his.

He’s not gentle, not as much. But he’s still careful, ensuring that each time the fatness of his length delves into you, it hits that spongy spot that makes you churn.

Bruce fucks you so good, you don’t even realize that after he made you cum—he’d snatched the condom off. But that’s okay right?

It must feel so good to take a break from his nightly activities, especially when he gets time with you <3

#batboys #dc comics #batfam #dc #dcu #dc smut #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne smut #batman x reader #.nanaminxs #i quit

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chelseeebe · 3 days ago

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timeless

18+. mdni. smut. mentions of drugs. no use of y/n!

you find yourself back in hawkins, with nothing but your grandad’s old diner and a bunch of conflicted feelings about your old best friend, can you say goodbye to him all over again?

a/n: set in the 80s but also the 50s idk i just wanted that old timey feeling pretty long fic i was originally going to split up but decided against.. hope you read it and enjoy anyway:)

⋆ and you were headed off to fight in the war, you still would’ve been mine, we would’ve been timeless ⋆

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

hawkins was really the end of the road for you.

deserting the dreams of the big city to come right back to where it had all started.

it had been years since you’d stepped foot in this town, not much had changed since then, if you were completely honest.

still the same old shitty, rundown dump it always was.

eternally grateful that your grandad still owned the old diner at the other end of town, meaning you’d flounced right into a job and somewhere to stay once you’d packed your bags and left new york behind.

it’s nothing like the office used to be, barely seeing a dozen customers a day, only if you were lucky. but it was nice, a change in pace after the hustle and bustle of the city.

the radio hums on quietly in the background, a couple of regulars sit sipping their coffee at various tables. they did this day in, day out. drink coffee, complain about some mundane new issue they had with the town and then shuffle off back to their homes.

it didn’t exactly seem like your idea of fun.

there’s a bang from outside, metal hitting the ground and a chorus of laughter pulling all attention to the back of the kitchen.

you don’t hang around, barrelling through the kitchen to just about catch the gaggle of kids sprinting off down the road leaving behind their cans of spray paint and a delightful new mural on the back wall.

“what the fuck?” screaming out after them though it’s really no use, they’d already gone.

exasperated that in the seven years you’d been gone, the kids hadn’t changed a bit.

you slink back inside, immediately reaching for the phone, hoping that maybe the police had gotten a little better since you’d left.

though you hold no hope, if they were anything like they were when you were a misfit teen, you’re screwed.

the sun had set, the regulars had scurried off home and now it was just you and the crude painting on the wall. hours and hours of waiting for someone to get out to you.

only for the patrol car to rattle up into the parking lot, just as you had given up all hope.

you storm out of the building, infuriated by the nonchalant attitude hawkins police still seemed to hold, “oh, how nice of you to come! i only called three-,” stopping dead in your tracks as the man exits his vehicle.

you still completely, frozen to your spot, blinking rapidly in disbelief.

eddie fucking munson stands, with his thumbs hooked into his belt, at the door of his patrol car. hawkins police department uniform to boot, a complete shell of the man you had known years ago.

“when’d you blow in?” he asks innocuously, slamming the door shut. a new found confidence, or maybe it was cockiness, in his stride.

“last week,” still coming to grips with the fact that the man stood before you was the same nerdy metal head you were once inseparable with, “when’d you become a cop?”

out of all the possible occupations you could’ve imagined eddie munson in, cop would’ve been dead last on that list. in fact, inmate was several dozens of spots higher.

he chuckles, realising how ridiculous it must look, “few years ago,” he’s close now, close enough that you can see his long black curls peeking out the back of his hat, “didn’t know you were coming back, i would’ve been quicker if i’d have known it was you.”

you scoff, very much doubting that, “you should’ve been here hours ago anyway,” beckoning him to the back of the building, no time for reunions while you had a diner plastered in lewd drawings.

“these fuckin’ kids,” you huff, shaking your head like a scolding old lady, “look at it,” motioning at the hideous spray painting they’d vandalised the entire back wall with, “if you were here on time, you might’ve been able to catch ‘em,” turning your displeased scowl to eddie.

the corner of his lips twitches, creeping into a full smile. only angering you further.

“what? d’you think this is funny?”

he shakes his head, cautiously meeting your eye, “no, it’s just.. pretty sure we got taken to the station for doin’ this behind melvalds,” his shoulders shaking as he chuckles.

you stand, straight faced, the irony wasn’t lost on you, it just didn’t feel like a laughing matter.

“are you joking? no, really? you’re serious?” rubbing your fingers viciously over the dried paint, “you can paint this shit since it’s so funny to you.”

“alright alright,” eddie soothes, “i’ll help you paint it,” eyeing the large canvas he’d now been tasked to paint.

“no,” you frown, “i said you can paint it, i’m not helping you.”

he smiles, teeth peeking out from his lips, “you get the paint and i’ll do it, deal?”

driving such a hard bargain, it’s almost impossible not to fall at his feet and sarcastically thank him for his help.

“fine, deal.”

“great,” he beams, “now how about some coffee?”

“we’re closed.”

he exhales, pursing his lips slightly, “please?”

eddie blabbers on about the vagrant youths in hawkins, how just yesterday he was dragging some boy by the scruff of his neck back to his parents.

it’s all great, exhilarating stuff really. except, you can’t help but let your mind wander, noting his lack of visible tattoos and a ripped up band tee.

and then further down onto his wedding ring.

wedding ring?

“you’re married?” you blurt out, staring at the plain band on his fourth finger. eddie munson, married. a feat you had never thought possible.

“huh?” following your gaze down to his hand, “oh, no,” sliding the silver band from his finger, “it’s the only one they’d let me wear.”

his fingers once adorned with various rings and shoddy stick and poke tattoos, now plain and simple with only the shadows of once black markings.

“oh,” looking back at his face, “i don’t like it,” shaking your head as if you had any real say on his jewellery, “doesn’t feel like you.”

eddie takes a sip of coffee, looking just through you, rather than at you, “maybe this is the new me.”

you ponder, wondering whether you should get as equally profound as he was, “maybe.. still don’t like it,” turning to slide the rest of the dirty plates through the hatch, “when’d you decide to become a traitor anyway?”

eddie chuckles loudly, the walkie on his shirt crackling incoherently, “a few years ago, it was either this or jail so..”

“how was it between this or jail? what the hell d’you do?” motioning to his iron pressed getup.

he sighs, looking down into his mug, “hopper caught me selling at the high school.. not just weed but,” he nods, making a circular gesture with his hand, “like, real hard shit..” sighing softly again as his eyes meet yours, “he told me that he could turn me in and i’d be lucky to get a couple years, or he could get me a job down the station and we could forget all about it.”

you can’t help the pang of guilt from seeping across your chest. you’d left pretty abruptly in ‘89, much to eddie’s defiance, leaving him to a town full of people that either hated him or only acknowledged his existence when he was useful to them.

there’s no question as to whether your departure was anything to do with him peddling hard drugs, that was a given.

“well shit,” the frown between your brows deepening, “i’m sorry for opening my mouth,” brushing your hands down your apron, hoping that he would see the funny side.

eddie just shrugs, sliding the empty coffee mug back over the polished wood top, “it’s alright, i don’t mind it actually, not much happens in hawkins anyway.”

“i wouldn’t say that,” you frown, deciding that the mug would simply have to wait until tomorrow to clean, “there’s a bunch of ugly graffiti on the side of my diner,” quirking your brow, hoping it’ll serve as a reminder to why you’d even called him up here in the first place.

his eyes sparkle in the dim light, creasing with contained laughter, “i told you i’ll paint it,” his chair scrapes across the wooden floor, straightening his hat, “where’re you staying now anyway? need a ride?”

you shake your head, looking back at the clock, “i’m at my grandpa’s for the time being.. he should be here soon,” silently praying that he’d arrive so you weren’t forced to ride in the back seat of his patrol car.

certain people would have plenty to say about that for sure.

“alright well.. i’ll see you later,” saluting with his two fingers as he leaves.

an indescribable feeling settles in your stomach. somewhere between melancholy and regret.

maybe things would’ve been different if you’d stayed.

maybe not.

that’s what makes you the most unsettled, it’s a sick nostalgia for something that never even happened.

a question that had plagued you for the past seven years, one you’ll probably never know the answer to either.

you brush whatever wistful, reminiscent reflections out of your mind, turning the lights off to wait for your ride in the mellow july evening instead.

the coffee machine hums, the only thing in this place that seemed to be used consistently. forced to make hundreds of bland black coffees for crony old men day in, day out.

that’s how bored this place had you, pondering the feeling of the inanimate coffee machine. jesus christ.

time creaks on by, ticking slowly as the sun clears off and the night settles in. one more hour and you’d be on your way home, ready for another night of re-runs and a stale tv-dinner with your grandad.

you couldn’t complain really, he’d been extremely welcoming, sorting your own little bedroom out for you in his unused office.

tires screech into the parking lot, crunching on the gravel, alerting you to that damned patrol car pulling up again.

you watch as he does his little routine, strolling into the diner with a tiny smile, sidling up to the counter with such an air of self-importance, it actually makes you a little sick.

“you come to paint the wall?” you quip, offering nothing but a tight lipped smile back.

he clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth, “uh.. no, coffee actually,” pointing to the used and abused machine.

“hmph,” shaking your head, “you promised.”

“yeah and i’m gonna do it,” holding his hands up, admitting that this was a battle he had already lost, “tell you what, i’m free all day next saturday, you get the paint and i’ll be here.”

you don’t believe him, you have no reason to but alas, you nod anyway, “you better or you can kiss this friendship goodbye.”

eddie grins, splaying his palms out flat as he shrugs, “so how about that coffee?”

eddie makes sure to stop in every single day this week. and next. often for hours at a time until his walkie dragged him away and back to the work he’d been ignoring.

like clockwork, his car crunches over the gravel, swinging in to the same spot without fail.

nobody even looks twice as the bell rings, too invested in the financial times to spare a second of their attention.

“you’re here an awful lot,” raising your brows, sliding your notebook back into your apron.

eddie shrugs, placing his hat onto the counter, “what can i say? i like the coffee,” smiling innocently as he takes his seat.

“oh i’m sure,” rolling your eyes in return, grabbing a mug and pouring his coffee before gently sliding it over the bar.

he stays until close tonight, lingering behind as you lock up, no doubt pretending to offer some sort of protection though you’re absolutely sure that you’d be more capable of fighting off any potential threats than he’d ever be.

you look at your watch, knowing your grandad should’ve been here by now. it was a long, treacherous walk back to his place, not exactly something you wanted to tackle at ten pm either.

“you need a ride?” eddie asks, standing at his car with his keys in his hand.

you press your lips together, taking another look at the ticking clock face on your wrist, “if you’re going that way, that’d be great.”

his eyes roll back, knowing that even if he were driving to the other side of the country, he’d still take you home first, “c’mon,” opening the passenger door as you begrudgingly slink over.

he certainly keeps his car in better condition than he ever kept his beat up, old van. sometimes it felt like you’d die from dust inhalation than his shoddy driving.

“they give you this for free?” you ask, admiring the plush leather seats.

“yup,” tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, “pay for the gas too.”

“wowww,” feigning amazement, “you’ve got it good.”

he glances over, scowling just so, unappreciative of your sarcasm, “who’s the one with a driving license and a car here? because it’s not you.”

your mouth falls open, blinking rapidly at his terrible attempt at a joke, “ouch okay,” hoping he’d regret his callousness, though it wasn’t likely.

“i offered to teach you.. you could’ve been on the road by now,” his eyes leaving the road every other second, fingers itching to rest on your knee.

“pffft. driving lessons from you? i’d rather walk.”

you wish he’d just do it, his hands were twitchy, begging to make contact.

they don’t.

keeping on the steering wheel instead.

but he chuckles, low and grumbly, “dustin didn’t wanna learn with me either for some reason.”

“oh wow yeah, i wonder,” turning to stare blankly at the side of his head.

he glances over, shaking his head before turning back to the road, “you’re so mean,” throwing out a pathetic pout.

the car rolls onto the familiar street, an unwilling sinking in your gut that the journey was over too soon.

eddie taps the wheel, peering out of the window at the decaying row of houses, “jeez,” air blowing out of his lips, “hasn’t changed a bit.”

you shake your head, wanting to stay in the car just a bit longer, “nope..” emphasising the ‘p’ as you follow his eye to the splintering door.

he nods, still staring straight ahead rather than daring to meet your eye, “i’m really glad you’re back,” his fingers playing a repetitive tune on the leather, “i feel like i’ve been waiting for you to come home for so long now that i wasn’t sure if you ever would.”

you hadn’t ever planned on it.

dreams of new york had filled your mind for as long as you can remember.

that was supposed to be it.

and at the start it really did seem like you’d spend the rest of your life there. but a string of tumultuous relationships and an awful

boss had forced you back to hawkins.

“i didn’t think i was ever gonna,” sighing softly, “i’m sorry for just.. leavin’ you,” turning unexpectedly bashful, “i thought about you all the time you know? new york’s not really that great but i think you would’ve made it better,” feeling the heat soar to your cheeks.

it was true, at least, at the start. you’d often find yourself wondering about what eddie was up to or if he was thinking of you too.

“don’t apologise for that,” shaking his head, “i get it. if i coulda, i woulda done it too. you’ll have to show me around one day when i’m-,” clearing his throat, “when i’m not stuck at work.”

he sounds off, something hidden in his tone that you really don’t understand. the moment too tender to query it too much, apprehensive to change the subject just as things had started to feel normal again.

“i can do that,” turning to eddie to find him already gazing back. “you gotta give me a tour of the station first though, it’s only fair.”

“deal,” eddie nods, offering his hand out for you to shake.

you do it, not acknowledging his clammy palm or the way his fingers are shaking just so.

“alright,” you nod, breaking the tension, “i better go, you’ve gotta busy day tomorrow,” reminding him of your long-awaited agreement.

“wait-,” grabbing ahold of your fingers before you’re able to climb fully out of the car.

you turn, eyebrow raised, “what?”

he’s been so strange all night, like he’s edging to say something

“uhm.. what time did you say again?”

you blink, baffled by his outburst, “uh.. anytime in the afternoon, i’ll close up early and come and help.”

“o-okay yeah perfect,” letting go of your fingers.

your face contorts but you keep your thoughts to yourself, he was pretty peculiar at the best of times, this was no exception.

“goodnight eds,” finally closing the door, leaving him to his confusing little stupor.

eddie’s there right on time, with a paint bucket in hand and the brush tucked into the pocket of his ratty, paint spattered shirt.

he looks a picture, resembling more wayne than the eddie munson you knew.

“what?” he questions your marvelling expression.

“you look ridiculous,” tucking the cloth back into your apron to get a further look at his get up. his jeans closely resemble the ones he wore as a teen, tattered and torn with spatters of paint adorning the denim. it’s no wonder who he’d stolen his clothes from.

“ouch,” clutching his heart, “i can just go home if you want? leave that graffiti on your wall?”

“i didn’t say that,” tutting your tongue against your teeth, “go on out, i’m just gonna finish up in here and i’ll join ya,” ushering him back out the door.

closing takes longer than you’d expect. mr. casey wasn’t best pleased to hear he had to finish his coffee and go, grumbling all the way out of the door and into his car.

you make it outside just as eddie spreads the last lick of paint onto the wood, “nice of you to join me!”

you stare up at the freshly painted wall, grateful to never have to look at the god awful eyesore every again, “doesn’t look like you needed my help anyway,” feet crunching against the stones as you make your way over to him.

“what d’you think?” proudly showing off his work.

your eyes scan the wall for anything you can make a quick quip about, only to find that he’d really done a great job.

“yeah..” frowning slightly as you peer at the wall, “you just missed a tiny little spot,” gesturing for him to come closer.

“what? where?” stomping over, displeased with your criticisms of his hard work.

“right here,” grabbing the brush from his hand, smearing a streak of dusty grey across his cheek before immediately jumping back to admire your handiwork.

eddie stands in shock, hands in the air while the cogs in his brain tick away slowly, figuring out how to get you back.

he goes for the can, picking up the full metal bucket and angling it in your direction, a maniacal, nay, evil grin on his face.

“don’t even fucking think about it eddie, i’m serious!” dropping the paintbrush in defeat, surrendering your hands in the air.

he cackles, thunderous laughter that makes you shriek in response, hands flying over your face to protect yourself for the onslaught.

eddie bounds over, the paint spilling over onto the floor as he goes, forcing you to brace yourself.

except the paint doesn’t come, daring enough to open your eyes to find him a few steps in front.

“come on,” he complains, “you didn’t really think i was gonna do it, did you?”

“yes! i did!”

he collapses into a fit of laughter, placing the can safely back on the ground, “i would never,” inching closer to prove his innocence.

only, he isn’t at all.

his fingers swipe the paint from his cheek to wipe the dusky colour onto yours instead, a perfect hand print encapsulated on your face.

“you’re an asshole,” grabbing his wrist to redirect his paint covered palm back to his own face.

eddie is, no doubt, stronger than you are. twisting your arm until it’s tangled around your own body. encasing you within your own limbs, held tight by his own unfaltering grip and his chest pressed against your back.

“what was that?”

“you’re an asshole and i’m going to scream if you don’t let me go,” an empty threat really, considering the dreary regulars had all shuffled off home and the nearest neighbourhood was a good mile east.

“i mean, you can if you want to but i don’t think anyone’ll hear you,” snickering into your ear.

you hadn’t anticipated that he’d now had years of experience with apprehending criminals, you were never a worthy opponent nowadays.

you lurch forward, taking both of your bodies over to the wall, eddie’s clumsy clown feet knocking over the tin of paint on his way. splashing the bottoms of your legs and shoes with the ghastly stuff.

you go stumbling into the still-wet wall, eddie following closely behind, pressing your back into the sticky paint. his chest heaves, still holding onto your arm though you’d come to face him now. his fingers twitch against your skin, slotting his between yours, holding your hand against the wall after the most painful few weeks of almosts.

quickly, his other hand comes to cup your chin, tilting it up to meet his. in a split second he goes from staring at your lips to crashing his into them.

knocking your head back against the wall with such ferocity, years of tension and unanswered pining leading to this moment.

“jesus christ,” he mutters through rushed kisses, “i’ve been waiting to do this for so long,” combing his dirtied fingers through your wild hair.

your arms snake around his neck, surely spreading white finger prints across his clothes and into his hair, “you should’ve.”

the sun beats down on your skin, painting his face a glorious orange hue, wanting nothing more than to bask in this view for the rest of your life.

eddie pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours, “you okay?”

you’re breathless, chest heaving against his, “yeah,” falling into a fit of giggles, “yeah.. are you?”

he nods, fingertips gently tucking strands of messy hair behind your ear, “yeah.. well, i’m better now,” ducking his head to lean in and meet your lips again.

you’d read about sparks flying and all sorts of other romanticisms in books for years, brushing them off as exaggerated works of fiction, only now, the very happenings you’d denied were happening to you.

to feel that someone’s lips were made so perfectly just for you seemed absurd, but truly, it was possible.

eddie’s words rumble against your lips, incomprehensible as your brain is preoccupied with processing what was happening.

“hey.. hey,” only really hearing him once he’d pulled away and was staring into your eyes with his deep, brown ones. “anyone home?” laughing at your vacant smile, as if he weren’t the culprit behind it.

“just shut up and kiss me again.”

the evening winds down rather quickly, now covered in peeling eggshell paint, your uniform half-off, half-dirtied.

you didn’t mind one bit, slowly making your way inside the diner to attempt to clean yourself up before heading home.

“since we’re in here..” eddie starts, leaving you wondering what was going to come out of his mouth next, “coffee?” eyeing the machine you’d already polished and turned off.

“seriously?” dead-eyed as you turn to face him.

“i wasn’t lyin’ about coming for the coffee,” smiling from across the bar, “i just didn’t mention that i was also coming to see you.”

your eyes roll back instinctively, however sweet he was being.

eddie offers to take you home, a gesture of goodwill after you clean him up and fill him with free coffee. both of you skirting around the fact he had you pinned up against the wall just mere hours ago.

if he’s not going to, you have to.

there was no going to back to normal, not after that, not after he had proclaimed that he had been waiting for that.

“pull over,” you blurt out. too loudly, too rushed that eddie can’t help but panic, questioning your urgency and most likely, safety.

but he follows your orders, pulling into the nearest clearing, all the while looking completely panicked and a little unsettled.

the engine is barely off before you’re sliding over onto the drivers seat, thighs resting either side of his as you skilfully lean down to push his chair back all at once. refusing to give him the chance to jabber his way out of this one.

“hey.. woah, what the fuck?” chuckling softly though his hands reluctantly come to rest on your hips, eyes darting around the dark outside of the window, “i’m in my patrol car.. what if someone sees?”

“who d’you think’s gonna see?”

“i-i dunno,” allowing himself to get comfortable, “but i’ll get fired,” reluctance in his throat.

“you can come work at the diner, you’re there all the time anyway,” interrupting his worrisome whining with a kiss to the side of his lips, taking his bottom lip between your teeth.

he indulges for a moment, sighing softly into your parted lips before hastily pulling away, “i mean it, i can’t,” gazing up to you with his doe-like eyes.

“fine,” you grumble, sliding back into the passenger seat, “d’you wanna come over? grandad’ll be asleep by now,” picking at your fingernails like some teenager talking to her crush.

that’s sort of what he was, an eternal crush that you’d never really get over.

“you sure? we could.. i mean, wayne still lives with me but i’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” eddie offers, though the thought of doing anything in that trailer made you recoil and shudder.

it was cozy and served you well during your adolescence but privacy was nonexistent, every breath or movement was projected very clearly into the next room.

you shake your head, “i’m closer anyway, i’m sure it’ll be fine,” after years of living on your own, debating where the safest place to have sex was seemed like a hundred steps back.

eddie can hardly focus, hand squeezing your knee the entire drive over. any longer and he’d have broken skin, that’s certain.

but now it’s your turn, you can’t keep your paint tarnished hands off of him, the second eddie steps over the threshold and into the corridor, you pounce. wrapping your arms tight around his neck, pressing your lips together with such ferocity that he falls back into the wall.

but he catches up quick, finding your waist as he walks the both of you up the hall, hungrily grabbing at the sliver of flesh peeking from underneath your shirt.

a light at the top of the staircase flicks on, forcing your lips apart.

“hi sweetie,” your grandad calls from upstairs, “good day?”

eddie’s fingers squeeze your waist, sharing a panicked look before you clear your throat, “hey grandpa.. it was good,” knowing full well that he wouldn’t venture out of his room at this time to catch you, “i’ll see you in the morning, alright?” ushering eddie through the kitchen door.

“okay, goodnight dear,” he calls, the light finally flickering off allowing you to release the breath you weren’t aware you were holding.

silently pulling him down the tiny hall and into your converted bedroom, holding in a devious cackle.

it really wouldn’t matter if he had caught you, grandad had always been a huge fan of eddie’s, cooking him dinner and offering him unsolicited dating advice during your teens. if anything, he’d be championing the ship.

“oh my god,” you mouth, closing the door, your room was the tiny office space right at the back of the house, which in hindsight, seemed like the best option now.

eddie’s hands find you again, resting on your hips with a sickening smile, “thought he was asleep?”

your eyes roll back on their own, hooking your arms around his neck once again, “so did i,” guiding him towards the bed, “just be quiet and we’ll be okay,” rushing to unbutton his shirt.

fifteen years of friendship boiling down to this very moment, a litany of teenage tension and hidden feelings bubbling to the surface all at once.

eddie moves your bodies as one, lowering your back onto the bed with tepid hands, coming down on top of you, “i don’t know if i can do quiet.”

“well try,” you hush, connecting your lips in a haste, rushing to unbutton the rest of his messy shirt.

grandad was partially deaf, the likelihood of him hearing anything was minuscule, but you weren’t willing to take that risk.

his tongue swipes across your bottom lip, no longer the novice he once was apparently. groaning softly into your mouth with every slight move of his hips.

you struggle with his shirt, his now-defined arms hold himself above you, leaving the fabric draped around his shoulders. you can’t complain, fingertips tracing over the solid muscle, a stark contrast to the spindly biceps you once clung to.

he taps your hip, signalling for them to move, allowing him to slide your pants down your thighs.

eddie had seen you naked a handful of times, mostly followed by you screaming at him to get or close his eyes. it was different then, when being naked in front of someone was the most personal thing you could ever do.

now it feels natural, his hands roaming your body as if they’ve always belonged there.

tossing his shirt to the ground before working on removing yours, all the while pressing hungry kisses to your lips, jaw and neck. chest heaving with the palpable tension.

it’s mostly silent bar your concealed sighs and the sound of his lips smacking against the crook of your neck.

he’s so hard, nudging against your aching core, you can feel it with every tilt of his hips, painstaking in the way he comes so close just to pull back again.

your panties end up on the heap of clothes last, eddie’s teeth gnaw at his bottom lip, watching the lacy fabric slide over your supple thighs.

“fuck,” gasping under his breath, marvelling your bare body.

his boxers go next, your eyes trailing down to his slick cock, far different to how you’d ever imagined.

there’s a slight jolt in your stomach, wondering why you’d ever waited so long for this to happen.

you’d have to make up for lost time, secret pining and infantile crushes all gone to waste.

two fingers tease your hole, shining in your release as they draw in and out. stifling the squeaks of pleasure into your palm, thighs closing around his arm.

you could truly cum from this alone, so pent up, so turned on that just his thumb tapping at your clit had you clenching around his digits.

“need.. more,” holding onto his bicep, refusing to let him prolong this any further.

“yeah?” eddie nods, “i can do more,” positioning himself at your sopping entrance, waiting for your go ahead to slide in.

“yes.. yes.”

he slips inside with a groan, only, the groan doesn’t come from his lips, but instead the creaky old mattress holding you both up.

eddie freezes, wide-eyed as his hips still. there was no way you could have sex on this old thing, at least not indiscreetly.

your lips twitch, laughing at the sheer insanity of this entire encounter, the world was clearly against the idea of you two having sex.

he falls into a quiet chuckle, still halfway inside of you at this point, “what should i do?” unwilling to disrespect your grandad while also being unwilling to give this up.

you felt like a teenager again, sneaking around with boys you shouldn’t, except, this time you’re twenty five and far too old to be worrying about being caught in the act.

“just- just fuck me,” you order, sick of the karmic interventions. there was only so much you could tolerate before things became too ridiculous.

eddie’s eyelashes flutter, letting his hips move as your cunt envelopes him.

“god- fu-uck,” fingers gripping at the sheets besides your head. beginning to lose his sanity already.

your pants fill the room, closely followed by the sound of his skin colliding with yours. moving in perfect harmony around one another in a bid to keep this as quiet as possible.

“eddie,” you sigh, loosening your grip on his neck only to cradle his cheek, meeting his eye in what was possibly the closest he had ever felt to anyone in his life.

there’s no hope in this lasting much longer, not with the way he was fumbling his words, certainly not with his cock twitching as he reached new, otherworldly heights. though his strokes are slow, they make your legs tremble, his tip nudging softly against your sweet spot.

your chin tilts, pressing clumsy kisses to the side of his mouth, panting in tandem with one another.

there’s something skilful about the way he angles himself, sliding in and out of your glistening pussy, pulling almost all the way back out just to end up filling you to the hilt again.

refusing to think about the implications of that.

“sweetheart i can’t- won’t last much longer,” whining against your cheek, carelessly pecking the soft skin.

“nearly.. nearly there,” you breathe, letting your eyes roll back, focusing on the way his core meets your clit and his soft cries that fill your ears.

this gives him the much needed determination to not let himself topple over before you had. coming even closer as he lowers himself, using one hand to glide down to your throbbing clit, two fingers rubbing lazy circles in time with his messy thrusts.

your stomach flips without warning, falling to pieces underneath his body as your thighs tighten around his hips. cumming around his cock, accompanied by incoherent mewls, an attempt to keep quiet though it fails miserable.

eddie’s hips sputter, grunting with each feeble, final thrust. barely pulling out before he cums, thick ropes of his release paint your cunt and stomach.

“ohh shit,” he curses, sitting back on his knees to assess his mess.

heaving for breath as he searches frantically for something to clean you up, a reformed gentleman. there’s no way eddie of the past would ever think to do something so thoughtful.

“there’s a towel.. somewhere,” gesturing vaguely to the floor, though your legs are intertwined with his, making it a much harder ordeal.

he scrambles off anyway, sweaty skin on skin causing him to fumble, almost tripping over completely just to save himself seconds before disaster.

your cackle erupts, watching him stumble around like a mad man. this had been anything but the quiet endeavour it should’ve been, and yet you can’t bring yourself to care.

after years of waiting for things to fall into place, they finally felt like they had. like something had clicked and you were right where you were supposed to be. what you had been missing was eddie, a best friend before he was ever a lover. someone that knew you and not just the version of you the city brought out.

“jesus christ,” he huffs, wiping his release from your stomach, “i tried,” tossing the towel back onto the floor, coming to collapse beside you.

immediately nestling into his side, still giggling over his pathetic tumble, “you’re ‘bout as grateful as a baby deer,” placing a hand on his chest, much leaner than his teenage years.

“be grateful i’m too tired to fight back,” sliding his arm under your resting body, bringing you in close. “god i missed you so much,” he sighs, melancholy out of nowhere, “i uh.. i..” trailing off into silence, while his fingers find their way onto your shoulder, drawing lines on the goosebumped skin.

you’re too weary to pay too much attention to his muttering, dozing off to sleep with the help of his chest. there’s something about his thumping heartbeat that soothes your messy head, he could tell you in the morning if it were truly that important.

a late august morning blooms outside the window, peeking through the curtains to pull you from your slumber.

only to find an empty bed and the scent of bacon wafting into your bedroom.

that can only mean one thing, and that petrifies you.

there’s no saying what your grandad would divulge about you over morning coffee, he was terrible at secrets at the best of times.

“..what’s going on?” rounding the corner with apprehension in your face, not wanting to disrupt whatever conversation they were having.

you meet eddie’s eye first, his lopsided grin and messy hair making your own smile emerge, grateful that he hadn’t ran off during the night.

“breakfast,” your grandad replies, sharp and snappy but soft as always, “we normal folks tend to eat it in the morning,” a dig at your late awakening, despite the clock only reading 9:30.

“has anyone ever told you how funny you are?” pulling a face behind his back, purely for eddie’s benefit.

your grandad hums, “i found eddie here, rather underdressed, coming out of your bedroom this morning,” transferring the greasy bacon onto a plate, thankfully avoiding all eye contact, though you can spot his cheeky smirk a mile away.

“oh.. right,” catching eddie’s eye just to widen your own, terrified for what else he may come out with.

there’s a silence between the three of you, only the sounds of cutlery clinking against the plates and your feet shuffling awkwardly around the kitchen.

“i don’t care,” he announces, breaking the uncomfortably long quiet, “i think you deserve this more than anything,” finding your gaze, a gentle, sincere smile plastered over his face.

“thank you grandad,” ignoring eddie for a second, you’d shared tidbits of your time in the city, but nothing compared to what your grandad had heard for years.

“i mean it,” he starts, including eddie in the conversation finally, “you’ve both grown into remarkable young people and you..” pointing his fork at eddie’s smiling face, “you, i would’ve never guessed you’d grow up,” eddie doesn’t wince, taking his jabs on the chin, “but look at you.”

eddie nods, grinning sincerely, “thank you sir, i appreciate it,” a tender moment that makes your heart swell.

you don’t want to call it what it so obviously is, not yet. but watching him grin at your grandad, completely domesticated and tender, you can’t help but think about it.

your grandad smiles, sliding plates of food in front of you both, “now get and eat this before it goes cold.”

the diner had apparently become a circus of sorts, only you seemed to be the main attraction.

now that things were partially out there and eddie didn’t feel so scared to let you ride him in his patrol car, people, namely his colleagues had become regulars at the diner.

you wouldn’t have ever cared, really. it was bound to get out at some point and if this was going to be a permanent, serious thing, you’d have to meet them all eventually.

what you aren’t fond of, is their incessant staring, the gawping and tittering about your endeavours.

eddie hadn’t believed you, always arriving just after they’d left, leaving you feeling crazed all alone.

except for today, too busy refilling coffee to notice his car pull up, his lackeys too busy watching you refill coffees to notice either.

the bell rings above the door, your eyes flitting up to find him staring at the table.

they notice one by one, quickly looking down into the mugs and unfinished eggs, embarrassed and rosy-cheeked.

vindicated in your madness at last.

“afternoon,” eddie nods, strolling over to the counter, looking more amused than the angry, stern eddie you’d hoped for.

“hmph,” awaiting his reaction,

“you weren’t joking, huh?” eyeing the rambunctious table, his chest puffed out to showcase his seniority.

you scoff, rolling your eyes, “no,” making your way around the bar to grab his arm, “what’ve you told them? i thought we weren’t going to make this a big thing,” shoving the mug of coffee into his chest, though he didn’t deserve your hospitality.

eddie holds his hands up high, a plea for his innocence, or forgiveness, “i just.. i told a few people about you. i’m happy, im sorry,” opting for puppy dog eyes. “i didn’t think they’d come up here to antagonise you, honest,” stroking your arm, a gesture of peace you can’t help but resist.

your eyes narrow, slipping away from his grasp to get back to your job, “you’re so lucky i like you.”

eddie had stayed until close again, mumbling something about vacation and helping out. but you’re ravenous the second the door locks, a one track mind to get into his pants and out of yours.

tugging him by the collar into the kitchen, throwing yourself on him with such ferocity his body almost sends the cutlery to the floor as he holds the counter for stability.

“okay.. okay,” he laughs, breaking away from your lips to hoist you atop of the cold, steel counter, “rough day, huh?”

you nod, wasting no time in getting your legs wrapped around his midriff, arms draped over his shoulders. now that having this was a real thing, you didn’t want to ever stop.

your lips find solace in the crook of his neck, working your way up to his ear, your teeth nibbling at the sensitive skin.

“huh- fuck okay,” eddie’s hands clamp down on the surface top, enveloping you perfectly within his grasp. his uniform hangs off of his frame, disheveled by your wandering hands.

eyes scanning the clearly empty restaurant for what feels like the thousandth time already, as if even he believed that someone would sneak in just to catch you two out.

“eds please,” huffing frustratedly into his ear, “i practically own this place.. no one’s gonna find us,” snapping his distracted gaze back to your pouty lips, his hands settling on your hips almost immediately.

“i know i know,” nodding along, “okay, shit,” further diving into the space between your legs, his cock teasing as it nudges your clothed entrance.

“need you so bad,” jutting your bottom lip out further, fingers dipping below the messy collar of his button up, in dire need of something a little more substantial to satiated the ache between your legs.

his twitchy fingers struggle with the button of your jeans, failing him in his time of need.

“ah fuck,” eddie gives up completely. head dipping into the small space between you, forehead resting on your chest.

“what’s wrong? what’s.. what’s the matter?” you tug at his hair in an attempt to bring him back upright.

he sighs, the warm air splaying across your exposed skin, “i gotta tell you something,” finally reemerging to meet your eyes, “you’re gonna be mad but.. i just need you to listen, okay?”

your brows furrow, features crumpling in sheer confusion. he was terrifying like this, cryptic and coy. what could he possibly have to say that couldn’t wait until after you’d fucked?

“what is it?” your voice trembling, still cradling his face, terrified for whatever he might blurt out.

he sighs again. deep and guttural as his gaze flickers, “i’m.. sorry, first of all. for not telling you about this.”

your anger and worry both grow increasingly stronger, “sorry for what? eddie, i don’t understand what’s going on.”

eddie pauses, brushing his thumb over your hot cheek, “i’m being shipped out on monday,” chewing down on his lip nervously. rightly so too.

dropping the bombshell of the century at five in the afternoon as you sat pathetically, covered in grease and coffee stains all the while ridiculously turned on.

“what?”

his mouth opens but nothing comes out, he’d run out of things to say already. he’d had weeks and weeks to tell you, to at least prepare himself for what to say and this was the best he could come up with?

“why didn’t you tell me?” dropping your hand, positively raging with the stupid boy, “how long have you known?”

you can almost hear the gulp, regret and guilt seeping through his face immediately, “the day after you got back,” sounding utterly pathetic.

your hands push him back instinctively, anger pulsing through your veins, “and you didn’t tell me?” you slide off of the counter, shoving him backward.

“i didn’t know how..” scrambling now, refusing to allow his cowardice ruin this, “i wasn’t expecting to fall in love with you again-“

“-don’t! don’t do that!” jabbing your finger harshly into his chest, “why didn’t you fucking tell me!”

“because i was scared,” eddie somehow remains level-headed despite your lack of control, “i didn’t know that i was gonna feel this way or that you were gonna stick around again,” sighing frustratedly, “i never wanted to hurt you,” a complete and utter dejection in his voice.

your lip trembles, tears threatening to spill over, “and you thought that not telling me would be any better?”

“no! i didn’t..” shaking his head, hands reaching out one more time, “i wasn’t thinking at all,” you don’t push him away this time, too encompassed by your devastation to notice his hands grab yours.

“you’re unbelievable eddie,” scolding him for his ignorance, but he can feel you relax into his touch, “three days… three days is all i’ve got to say goodbye again,” forlorn, already wishing away the year.

what if he never come back?

he could meet someone else, decide that hawkins was a dead end and stay the rest of his life with someone other than you.

it’s unfathomable, the last time you said goodbye, you didn’t see him again for years.

eddie’s eyes are wet,

“wait for me,” he nods assuredly, “a year and i’ll be back,” trembling as he speaks, desperate to not lose you again, “please.”

“a year?” you fret, angry all over again, “i’ve just.. i’ve just got you back! you can’t-” struggling to breathe through your sobs, “what if you don’t come back? and then i’m stuck here for the rest of my life waiting for you!”

“that’s not gonna happen,” pressing the rough pads of his thumbs into your wrists, keeping you in his hold, “i’m coming back for you,” wrapping your arms around his waist, pulling you into his chest where your cries become muffled wails. “i want to be with you forever. you don’t have to worry about that,” resting his chin atop of your head, drawing soothing patterns into your back.

“promise me,” you blubber, pulling back just enough to catch his eye, “promise me that you’ll come back,” sniffling through your words, a mess that would scare any man from coming back.

“i promise you, i’m coming back.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader

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