#but boy is there a lot going on right now.

[hanniebaeee]

Clueless: Peek-a-boo?

Felix x fem!reader

Warnings: suggestive content MDNI

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff

Summary: You and Felix live on the topmost floor of your buildings - apartments facing each other, with long windows giving a glimpse into each other's lives. And then one day, everything changes.

Clueless Masterlist

Every evening, Felix saw the most beautiful girl in the window opposite to his. You lived in the apartment facing his, in the building opposite to his.

He didn’t know he believed in angels, until you showed up at that damn window, all soft light and effortless grace, and he became a devout believer. But those floor-to-ceiling windows in your bedroom seemed to be your favorite place because he saw you there a lot. Looking so peaceful as the breeze kissed your skin and the city lights illuminated your face.

He told himself to stop. That you were just a stranger. That this window obsession was not normal human behavior. But every time you stretched by your window or gave him a soft smile, Felix felt blessed.

And then, it happened. 

It was a normal night. Felix had just finished a shower, steam curling around him as he stepped out, a white towel hanging low on his hips. He was drying his hair with another one. 

Completely normal. Until it wasn't. 

Because of course, God had favorites and Felix definitely wasn’t one of them, apparently. You were standing by the window as usual. Your eyes met. Felix didn't even know what had happened until it was too late, and the towel around his hips was already on the floor.

For a solid three seconds, you froze. You didn’t mean to look. You really didn’t. But it happened so fast that your poor, innocent eyes bore witness to everything.

A choked sound clawed its way up your throat. Your hands flew to your face as you spun on your heel, bolting so fast from the window that Felix swore you left behind a cartoon dust cloud.

And Felix? Felix quickly covered himself with the towel in his hand, his heart pounding so fast. 

"NO. NO, NO, NO, NO"

---

Felix: GUYS I’M MOVING TO ANTARCTICA. IT WAS NICE KNOWING Y’ALL.

Chan: What? 

Hyunjin: What did you do?

Minho: Leave your key under the mat.

Jeongin: Wtf happened? 

Felix: I FLASHED MY NEIGHBOR.

Felix: MY WINDOW GIRL. MY ANGEL. THE LOVE OF MY LIFE. SHE SAW EVERYTHING.

Seungmin: define everything

Felix: Everything everything. 

Changbin: bro what do you mean you flashed your neighbor??

Jisung: Oh Lord 💀💀

Felix: MY TOWEL FELL. SHE WAS RIGHT THERE. OMG. 

Hyunjin: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Chan: Oh my god.

Felix: AND NOW I HAVE TO FAKE MY DEATH AND ASSUME A NEW IDENTITY. OMG.

Hyunjin: You just gave your crush an exclusive, VIP, free-of-charge viewing of your whole ass body and you think you're suffering??

Felix: YES I’M SUFFERING??

Jeongin: Nah bro I think she’s the one suffering.

Felix: I AM GOING TO CRY.

Minho: Pack your bags.

Seungmin: It was nice knowing you. 

Felix: I’M NEVER SHOWING MY FACE AGAIN.

Hyunjin: Imagine running into her 😁

Felix: SHUT UP.

Changbin: Bro ur gonna have to move.

Felix: I KNOW.

Jisung: Idk man. she might’ve liked what she saw. 👀

Felix: HAN JISUNG I WILL KILL YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS.

---

You were disintegrating. No. Worse. You were ascending. No. Even worse. You were being violently ejected from the mortal plane.

Because you had just seen your hot, ridiculously beautiful neighbor - on whom you had the biggest crush - completely utterly naked.

Your soul had left your body the moment his towel hit the floor. It was probably somewhere in another dimension, floating through the galaxies, forever lost. 

And his eyes - those big, brown, Bambi eyes - had gone so wide, so shocked, so horrified. Oh your heart did weird flips. You were never recovering from this. Ever. 

Felix had spent the entire night buried under his blankets, contemplating his life choices while the boys absolutely tore him to shreds over this incident. 

He had spent the entire next morning aggressively gaming to forget everything (it didn’t work). He had spent the afternoon avoiding every single window in his apartment. 

And yet. And yet.

When the evening rolled around, when the sky turned a dusky shade of orange and the city lights flickered on… he couldn't help it.

He looked. He had walked into his bedroom, and his eyes fell on the window, and he took a peek. His brain told him no. But his dumbass heart said yes.

And there you were.  Beautiful as ever. But your face? Murderous. You were arguing.  

Your phone was pressed to your ear, your free hand waving wildly as you went off on whoever was on the other end of the call. Your brows were furrowed, your lips moving rapidly, and your whole body was tense. 

Felix froze. And Felix was turned on. So damn much.

How did you look this good while yelling at someone? How did you manage to be so breathtakingly hot when you were this angry?

And unfortunately for him, you turned and looked straight at him. 

Felix panicked, and flinched. Instead of playing it cool like a normal human being, his reflexes betrayed him in the worst way possible. He was just trying to run, but tripped over his own feet - legs tangled, arms flailing.

His entire body went crashing onto the floor. For a second, he just lay there, praying you didn’t see that.

But of course you did. The phone was off your ear, and you were looking at him with concern on your face and Felix just wanted to die. 

---

Felix: I JUST FELL FLAT ON MY FACE. 

Felix: IN FRONT OF HER.

Felix: SHE WAS LOOKING RIGHT AT ME.  

Felix: I AM NOT OKAY.

Hyunjin: LMAOOOOOOO

Jeongin: HAHAHAHAHAHAH 

Jisung: At this point, I don't even know how you do this. Repeatedly. 

Seungmin: Hold on. HOLD ON.  

Seungmin: You got caught staring at her AGAIN?

Felix: IT WASN’T ON PURPOSE.

Minho: You are an embarrassment.  

Felix: I AM IN DISTRESS.

Felix: SHE’S SO HOT WHEN SHE’S ANGRY I WANT HER TO YELL AT ME.

Minho: Yongbok. This is not how I coached you.

Jishng: Oh please. This is exactly how you coached him. Striptease and simping. He did just that.

Hyunjin: Omg, LEE KNOW?!

Minho: 😑

Hyunjin: Do you need me to send an ambulance?

Jeongin: No, he needs a one-way ticket to the underworld at this point.

Seungmin: SHE HAS SEEN YOU BUTT-ASS NAKED AND NOW SHE’S SEEN YOU FACEPLANT INTO THE FLOOR.  

Seungmin: Wow. You're even worse than Jeongin at this point.

Jeongin: Excuse me, my girlfriend will Osotogari you into another dimension if I say so. 

Seungmin: Try me.

Jeongin: 👊

Felix: Why am I like this 😩 Why does God hate me?! 

Minho: He doesn't hate you.

Minho: He’s just trying to humble you. 

Felix: I AM HUMBLE ENOUGH.

Jisung: Are you though. 

Hyunjin: Just confess at this point bro wtf. 

Felix: CONFESS WHAT??? 

Jisung: THAT YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH HER. 

Felix: I DON’T EVEN KNOW HER.

Chan: Bro.

Minho: You know the exact times she gets home every day.

Jeongin: You literally talk about her all the time. Jisung: AND YOU JUST ADMITTED YOU THINK SHE’S HOT EVEN WHEN SHE’S ANGRY.

Felix: Bye. 

You had resisted Jennie’s invitation at first. Because it's already a trap that your best friend lives in the same building as him. But you were not going to run into him after the two disastrous days you've had.

“No. Absolutely not.” You said, shaking your head.

Jennie's face was so close to the camera, you could literally smell her through the screen. 

“Why?” Jennie asked. "Why are we on video call? I live right next door!"

“Because the hottest man I’ve ever seen lives there, and I -”

Jennie squinted. “Uh huh. It's never stopped you from visiting before. You’re lying.”  

“Am not.”  

“You are. Spill.” 

“I might have accidentally seen him naked -”

“EXCUSE ME?” Jennie shrieked. 

You waved frantically, trying to talk over her shrieking, “NOT ON PURPOSE!”  

“WAIT, WAIT -” She pointed at herself. “You saw a naked hot guy and you didn't tell ME?!”

You sighed. “Yes.”  

Jennie’s jaw dropped.

“WHY HAVE I NEVER MET THIS GUY?!?”  

“I'm hanging up!”

“Oh my God, chill! SO VIOLENT.”  

“I am not running into him. You can come over anytime you know.” You said, glaring at her. 

Jennie rolled her eyes and said, “Oh, come on. What are the odds you’d run into him?”  

You hesitated.  

Jennie had a point. You wouldn’t randomly see him, right? 

---

Fast forward to now:

You sprinted for the elevator just as the doors were closing, because you weren't going to climb ten floors to Jennie's apartment. 

You barely made it. And the second you stepped inside, you locked eyes with him.  

HIM.

You felt every single one of your brain cells exit your body. And he didn't look any better. In fact he looked seconds away from climbing the walls like a feral animal. You had never seen a man so close to death before. 

But your mind? Your first thought? Oh. He actually looks nice in clothes. Like you've always seen him in pyjamas, or hoodies (or absolutely nothing). But he actually looked so good in his jeans and black t-shirt and the leather jacket. 

Ok, you needed to leave. Immediately. So you turned, trying to make it out before the doors closed. It was funny how they slid shut right on your face. 

The silence was even worse. Crippling and suffocating.

---

The doors slid open on Jennie's floor, and you were about to step out, but there stood Jennie.

Why the hell was she standing there? 

Her eyes immediately landed on you.  Then on Felix. Then back to you. You don't know what she saw on your face, because her eyes narrowed.

“IS THAT HIM?!”  

You jumped and slapped your hand over her mouth. 

“SHHHHHHHH.” 

Jennie’s eyes screamed, as if to say, “OH MY GOD IT’S HIM” 

The elevator doors closed again, and Jennie said, “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME HE WAS THAT HOT?!”  

“JENNIE WHAT THE FUCK?!”  

“Oooohh, you like him!” Jennie smirked, wiggling her eyebrows at you.

You swung you bag at her and she escaped narrowly with a squeal. 

---

Felix: I WAS IN AN ELEVATOR WITH WINDOW GIRL.  

Jeongin: OH. MY. GOD.

Hyunjin: LOL 

Minho: WHAT ARE THE ODDS????

Felix: ZERO. THE ODDS WERE SUPPOSED TO BE ZERO.

Chan: LMAO 

Jisung: Felix, this is destiny  

Hyunjin: Did you talk?

Felix: NO. I WAS TOO BUSY MALFUNCTIONING

Changbin: Did she say anything?

Felix: NO. She tried to escape but the doors won that round. 

Jisung: STOPPPP 

Hyunjin: NOT THE ELEVATOR BETRAYING HER🤣  

Minho: So much potential

Jisung: Ask her out, you coward. 

Felix: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP 

You felt bad. Because the poor guy has been repeatedly traumatized for no reason, and it felt absolutely unfair. So you decided to be mature about it. 

Your knees wobbled at the thought of talking to him face to face. So you had another idea. 

---

Later that evening, you sat by your window as usual (waiting). 

There he was. Felix walked into his room, stretching, and then froze when his eyes landed on you. You quickly picked up the little white board you'd ordered just for this (dramatic yes, but this was a dramatic situation). 

He watched curiously as you wrote something on it quickly, and held it up for him.

I’M SORRY FOR WHAT HAPPENED.  

Felix blinked, completely surprised. And his face turned a cute pink. And then he did something that made your heart flutter. He smiled. A soft shy one.   

Felix watched, his heart pounding so fast as you started writing again. Then, you held it up. 

DO YOU WANT TO GET COFFEE WITH ME?

Felix.exe has crashed. His crush, his dream girl, just asked him out.  

Felix scrambled. He looked around his room for something and came running back with a book and a marker. 

 YES. YES. HOLY SHIT YES.  

You snorted as you saw his reply. Then he wrote again. 

I’M FELIX.

You grinned, quickly scribbling back.  

I’M Y/N. NICE TO MEET YOU FELIX!

You watched as he smiled softly, his cheeks still pink.  

AND YOU. CAN I PICK YOU UP TOMORROW?  

Your stomach flipped. This was actually happening. Really really happening. You bit your lip, then quickly scribbled. 

7PM?

Felix beamed and nodded, with the biggest, dorkiest smile on his face.  

---  

Felix: HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT

Hyunjin: WHAT WHAT WHAT?! 

Jisung: HE’S HAVING A STROKE I CAN FEEL IT.

Felix: SHE JUST ASKED ME OUT.

Changbin: YOU’RE LYING. 

Seungmin: LMAO

Jeongin: And and and?!? 

Minho: SHE WHAT.

Chan: SAY YES. SCREAM IT. 

Felix: WE HAVE A DATE. I’M DYING. OMG.

Felix: SHE JUST ASKED ME OUT THROUGH A FUCKING WHITEBOARD.  

Jisung: WHY IS THAT SO STUPIDLY CUTE! 

Hyunjin: NOT THE WHITEBOARD CONFESSION!

Jisung: EVERYONE SHUT UP. LIXIE HAS A DATE! 

Hyunjin: Gotta say, you have the best story to tell among us

Minho: And here I thought Hyunjin was the most embarrassing among us

Hyunjin: Obviously it was Jeongin for being thrown around by his girl

Jeongin: Well excuse you, Jisung nearly peed his pants when he wanted to ask HIS girl out

Jisung: Please. Guess who stripped for forgiveness? Um, not me? 

Minho: I DID NOT STRIP FOR FORGIVENESS!

Chan: Amatures. All of you.

Changbin: You didn't even know that your fiancee was literally carrying your child and ran around wailing that she didn't love you anymore. Oh my God.

Chan: CHANGBIN!

Seungmin: He's got a point, ya know

---

Felix was obviously so stressed. Because he wanted this to be perfect. And suddenly, everyone was giving him dating advice. And none of it was remotely useful. What's new. 

---

Changbin: Bro you gotta flex. Show her those arms. 

Felix: WHAT.

Chan: Yeah, mate. Roll up your sleeves, make the veins pop.

Felix: Omg  

Hyunjin: He'd literally pop a vein and then we'll actually have to send an ambulance. 

Jisung: Accidentally brush fingers when you pass her the coffee. Totally innocent. 

Minho: ALPHA MALE STARE. Look her in the eye. Don't blink. 

Felix: I’M GONNA GET ARRESTED.

Jeongin: Drop something, and pick it up slowly so she sees your back muscles.   

Felix: She has unfortunately seen way too much muscle to last a while 😵‍💫

Hyunjin: OK. SHUT UP EVERYONE. FELIX. JUST BE YOURSELF.

Jisung: YEAH. BE YOURSELF. BUT HOTTER. 

Felix: 🙄🙄🙄  

The date was in an hour. And Felix was barely keeping it together. His entire apartment looked like a crime scene, with outfits thrown everywhere, his hair was still wet from the shower.  

---

Felix: I'm so nervous, my stomach hurts

Jisung: It's a good nervous though? 

Hyunjin: You can do it, Lix

Changbin: REMEMBER. SHOW HER THE VEINS. 

Felix: OMG 

Chan: Don't worry, she likes you. You like her. It'll be OK!

Seungmin: Just be yourself, make her laugh. 

Jeongin: If you're nervous, just sit there and look pretty 🤷‍♂️

Jisung: NOOOO HE NEEDS TO DO BOTH. LOOK PRETTY AND BE CHARMING.

Felix : I’M SWEATING. I’M ACTUALLY SWEATING.

Hyunjin: GO WASH YOUR FACE RN. AND FIX YOUR HAIR.

Felix: I LOOK LIKE A DROWNED RAT.  

Minho: Great. You're ready.   

Felix: I AM GONNA THROW UP.

---

But he does go and get you some flowers and meet you at the entrance to your building. He was fidgeting, checking his reflection in his phone camera for the 100th time when you walked out.

Felix froze for a second because you looked like a dream. And for once Felix felt like the universe did love him. Because it gave him you. 

You grinned and held your hand out.

“Hey, Felix.” you said, and Felix quickly shook your hand, before giving you the flowers. 

“Thank you,” You said, and his entire brain short-circuited.

He was so fucked.

---

Felix: WE SHOOK HANDS. I’M DEAD. BURY ME.

Jisung: A HANDSHAKE??? YOU FORMAL ASS IDIOT. 

Changbin: BRO YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO HUG HER NOT INTERVIEW HER. 

Felix: I’M IN LOVE.  

Hyunjin: OMG DON’T BE A SIMP. 

Minho: TOO LATE. 

---

The date was perfect.  Felix had never been this happy in his entire life. You were amazing - you laughed at his jokes, teased him mercilessly, and your eyes? It was on him the whole time. 

Felix was literally in heaven. 

You even let him walk you home.  Stood side by side in the elevator, unable to hide the smiles on your faces.  And then you stopped at your door and glanced at him, eyes sparkling with something mischievous.  

“Maybe next time,” you mused with a smile, “I’ll invite you in.”

Felix nodded dumbly - he would have nodded to anything you said to be honest - his entire body heating up. 

Next time. You said next time. You wanted a next time.

You laughed softly at how dazed he looked, and then leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek. A little too close to his mouth. A soft lingering kiss. 

And when you pulled back a little bit, Felix chased your lips with his - it was almost involuntary, like he had no choice but to close the small gap.  

And then his lips caught yours in the most perfect kiss of his life. Just long enough to drive him insane, but not long enough to satisfy the absolute hunger suddenly roaring inside of him.

When you pulled away, your breath fanned against his lips and your eyes flickered with mischief. You were both grinning like idiots, blushing so hard.   

You bit your lip, taking a step back and whispered, “Good night, Felix.”

He barely managed a choked, “Good night,” before you disappeared into your apartment. 

The second your door clicked shut, Felix sprinted.

---

Hyunjin: WHERE TF IS HE.  

Jisung: DID SHE KILL HIM? 

Changbin: FELIX ANSWER US RIGHT NOW.  

Minho: I'm so curious

Chan: OMG LET HIM BREATHE!

Jeongin: I BET HE'S HAVING THE TIME OF HIS LIFE.

Seungmin: He's probably just walking home. 

Hyunjin: WELL HE CAN TEXT AND WALK. 

Jisung: WHAT IF HE PASSED OUT. LIXIE!! 

---

Felix stumbled into his apartment, collapsed onto his bed, and with trembling hands, grabbed his phone.  

---

Felix: GUYS. 

Jisung: HOLY FUCK HE’S ALIVE.  

Hyunjin: REPORT. IMMEDIATELY.  

Changbin: Spill. 

Felix: IT WAS AMAZING. WE KISSED. SHE SAID WANTED A NEXT TIME. WITH ME. OMG. 

Chan: Go Felix!! 

Minho: Details. Now. 

Jeongin: We need a play-by-play.

Felix: She kissed me on the cheek first. But then, I kinda kissed her on the lips.

Felix: It was so soft and sweet

Felix: Wait. WHY AM I TELLING YOU THIS.  

Changbin: Because we are your emotional support animals.

Jisung: You what. 

Hyunjin: You chased her lips didn't you? 

Felix: HOW DO YOU EVEN KNOW THAT?!

Chan: How are you so weirdly accurate all the damn time Hyunjin?! 

Hyunjin: It's a talent Christopher 😎

Minho: You're ignoring the fact that your little boy chased her lips like a starving animal. 

Felix: I DIDN’T MEAN TO! IT JUST HAPPENED.

Seungmin: OUR BOY IS HUNGRY. 

Chan: Felix, do you realize what this means? 

Felix: WHAT.

Minho: YOU’RE GONNA GET LAID.

Chan: NO NO! OH MY GOD! I MEANT YOU SHOULD INVITE HER TO MY WEDDING AS YOUR PLUS ONE! MINHO!! 

Felix: I AM GOING TO PASS OUT.

Felix: GOOD NIGHT. 

Jisung: Bro’s gonna have good dreams tonight.  

Hyunjin: Spicy ones for sure. 

Felix: LEAVE ME ALONE.

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @hanadulsetaad

[bi-writes]

I’m sooo curious, how did John and his young wife meet if you have an idea?

I read a young price fic where she was his son’s nanny and now I’m curious if you have lore for them too!!!

-anasdump

they are the most obnoxious group of oxygen-stealers you've ever seen, and they're in fucking uniform.

taking up all the bar counter space. hogging the pool tables. throwing the darts so hard, they nearly took out some poor man's eyes. if they laugh and holler and spill one more fucking speck of beer on your leather purse, you're going to wind it up and smack them up the throats with it.

you approach the bar for a refill. you crane your neck as you look for a spot to grab the bartender's attention, but they're all shoving each other and slamming their hands on the wood and getting in the way. you huff, stepping up to a couple of them.

"hey, you need to move. no one can order if you're just gonna take up the whole counter."

the biggest one turns to look at you head-on. you glare a little, motioning with your hand for them to move, but he just leans back against his elbows. he's got the ugliest army haircut, and he wears his dog tags out in front like it's some kind of medal. you doubt he's ever seen anything outside of whatever stupid base he came off of.

"sure, we'll move. but it'll cost ya."

he looks you up and down, and you purse your lips when you meet his eyes.

"no. move over. i'm asking nicely right now."

"oooo," he laughs a little, nudging his friends with his elbows. they laugh, too. "i'm terrified, love."

you decide to just move them yourself. you shove your way between them, but when someone grabs your arm and tugs you backwards, you don't think. you just swing.

your knuckles connect with that asshole's face, and he cries out as he steps backward into his friends.

"don't fucking touch me!"

"you cunt--"

"oh, you did not just fucking call me that, you stupid, brainless piece of shit--!"

"easy," a low voice says behind you. you're almost glad for the interruption. your fist would falter with another punch you think, already bruising around the knuckles.

he's weathered, this new man. you would smell the military on him from a mile away, but he's older in a way that speaks volumes to you. he has the hands of someone that only knows hard labor, and the lines in his face have been warped not by time, but by decisions. he wears a beanie and a scruffy beard, and by the way the other men shuffle in his presence, he must be someone important.

when he steps in front of you, he blocks the view of wandering eyes. you peek around his arm, and every single one of those idiots has their gaze on the floor, and they stand at attention.

"you're an embarrassment to the crown, you lot," he mutters. "supposed to be examples. supposed to enact...some sense of duty in others, and yet all i see are a line of fucking boys that never learned their manners in primary." he laughs, "i mean...to call a lady a cunt?"

you rub your knuckles gently, looking down.

"i expect all of you to report to lieutenant riley at 0600 tomorrow. and your weekend passes are hereby revoked."

the whole pub is a little more relaxed once they're gone. you take a seat at the bar, and the bartender gives you a solemn smile before going to make you another drink.

"i uh..." you stiffen when you hear him behind you. "i want to apologize on behalf of them. tha's no way to treat someone, especially a woman."

"especially a woman," you laugh a little, shaking your head as you pick up the drink set down in front of you. you take a long sip of it, turning to face him. "i can handle myself, thank you very much."

"i can see tha'." he nods to your hand, which looks a little raw. you hide it under the counter, taking another sip of your drink.

"you know, i think you have a lot of other things to worry about," you snap. "like the band of assholes you apparently are in charge of."

"i'm sorry about them," he says again. "you won't see them here or anywhere close to you ever again. tha' i can promise you."

"you listen here--" you turn in your seat to face him, poking his chest with your finger. you try not to think about how your finger doesn't even budge, hitting a thick, pelted chest that has no give. you glare up into those baby blues. they're so bright--gorgeous. your breaths shake, but you steel yourself. he looks anything but afraid of you, no, he looks amused. "you all bring nothing but shit tracking in those boots of yours."

he sniffs, tilting his head to the side. "not a fan of servicemen, are you?"

you laugh, shaking your head.

"i'd spit on you, but even that's too good for you."

he grins. a full-blown smile, and when he leans into your space, you don't move. your finger on his chest flattens, your entire hand pressing there in the middle of his chest.

"i'm john."

you look him up and down. his pretty eyes, the dated but kept beard, the smile lines, the warm and solidness that sits under your hand. he's a teddy bear under that, but you're not fooled. this man isn't like the others--he's wise. experienced. it means he's trigger-happy, and it means he has blood on his hands.

you give him your name anyway, and he repeats it, low enough and close enough that you feel his breath on your face.

"i need another drink," you say, putting a finger on his lips and pushing him backwards. "and you're gonna buy it for me. buy me a few, actually."

john chuckles, taking his jacket off. he drapes it over the back of your chair, and you try to avert your gaze when you see big, burly biceps and coarse hair. his arm stays there, behind you.

"you understand me, john?" you coo, and he smiles big. he nods.

"yes, ma'am."

[moonstruckme]

hi Mae could do a reader with Spencer (or any boy u want!) where she's feeling super nauseous and throwing up a lot and trying to hide it from him like may be it's early on and she feels embarassed? I went out to brunch with a friend and idk what happened but I think I got food poisoning I've already thrown up twice and still feel so so sick

Ugh food poisoning is the worst, but I hope you're over it now lovely! Thanks for requesting <3

cw: vomitting, nausea

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Part of you thinks you should cancel. You’re not a very good time right now, nauseated and shaking a little from the exertion of walking from your car to the host’s stand. Spencer deserves a date that doesn’t have to scope out bathrooms like escape routes the moment she enters the restaurant. But oh, he’d been so sweet in asking you. All soft eyes and gentle voice, and he’d sent you the menu to make sure you found something you liked before he made the reservation. You know it can’t have been easy to get, at a nice place like this on a Saturday night. Really, at the end of the day, there is simply no world where you cancel on Spencer. 

You paste on a smile for the hostess, wondering if she’d find it odd if you leaned on her stand for support just for a moment. “Hi,” you say. “Um, I’m meeting someone, I think he’s already…” 

A touch at your elbow prompts you to turn. 

“Hi,” Spencer says. 

You go a bit breathless at the sight of him. Spencer in a suit. His hair still messy as if he ran his hands through it after leaving home, the top button of his shirt open like he had it done up all the way and then felt too constricted. He looks handsome and endearing and nice. Your sundress and half sweated-through makeup feel suddenly, hopelessly inadequate. 

“Hi,” you say back. “Sorry, I thought you’d already be sitting down.” 

“I wanted to wait for you,” he replies simply. He turns to the hostess. “For Reid?” 

As she walks you to your table, it dawns on you what an idiot you are. Possibly the only thing you could do to Spencer that would be worse than cancelling on him would be to show up as you are now. Listless and unprepared for conversation. You’re going to have to order either the smallest thing on the menu or nothing at all, and he’s going to think you don’t want to be here with him. And for yourself, you want to experience this—a first date, with Spencer, and quite possibly your only date—with all the appropriate butterflies and nervousness. Instead, you just feel…tired. And sick. 

“This is really nice,” you say as you sit down. 

“Yeah?” Spencer reaches for the carafe in the center of the table, pouring water into your glass and then his own. “I’m glad you think so. I’ve only been here once, but I thought it was good then, so. I hope you like the food.” 

He spills a little bit of water on the tablecloth, missing his glass. Winces as sharply as if he’d shattered it. Oh god; he’s nervous. You’re going to so disappoint him. 

“Sorry I was late.” You take your water, the cool glass against your hand a relief. “I was…” Well, you were vomiting in your bathroom. “I got a bit tied up on my way out.” 

“That’s okay,” he says easily. “You look really beautiful.” 

You wish you could tell yourself he was only a good liar. You feel clammy, and disgusting, and entirely undeserving of sitting across from him, but it’s all earnestness in Spencer’s puppy brown eyes. 

“Thank you.” Your voice has gone soft with sincerity. “You look very handsome, too. I’ve never…I don’t think I’ve seen you in a suit.”

Spencer smiles, bashful. “I should probably wear them more for work. Most of my team does.” 

“I like what you wear,” you say. “It suits you. Very professor-y.” 

Drinking water was a bad idea. You’ve been too greedy for the cool feel of it going down your torn-up throat; your glass is nearly empty already, and already it wants back up. 

“It would probably be more professional if I dressed like the others, though.” He gives a one-shouldered shrug. Adorable. “I am a professor, but I’m also a profiler, so…” Spencer’s smile slips when you swallow against the nausea tightening your throat. “Are you okay?” 

You press your lips into a smile. “Yeah, sorry. I don’t think there’s anything unprofessional about your regular clothes. I like your cardigans.” 

“They’re not…they’re not unprofessional, I guess, but I…” You can see Spencer’s brain working, his eyes moving over your face as you struggle to appear attentive. “Sorry, are you sure you’re okay? You look uncomfortable.” 

You could almost laugh, if you weren’t feeling so awful. Trust Spencer to tell it like it is. 

“I’m okay,” you say. “Sorry, I’m not feeling great, but I’m fine.” 

“You’re not?” Spencer looks troubled. Sad, puppy brown eyes. 

Oh, and there are the nerves you’d been missing. Malicious, evil butterflies turning your stomach into an inhospitable environment. 

You stand, your chair squeaking against the floor. “I’m so sorry,” you say in a rush. “I’ll be right back.” 

You are not, unfortunately, able to keep that promise. You spend the next twenty minutes kneeling in a bathroom stall, trying to convince yourself they probably keep the floors very clean in a nice restaurant like this while your body rejects the water you had and then several phantom meals it suspects you might’ve had while it wasn’t paying attention. When you finally emerge, Spencer is waiting outside the bathroom with a glass of water. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking it from him. You’re wary of repeating your mistakes, but you take a small sip to appease him before simply giving in and pressing the cool glass to your temple. 

Spencer assesses you with his gaze. You resign to it, knowing he’ll have you figured out by now whether you make it easy for him or not. 

“How long have you been sick for?” he asks softly. 

“It’s not contagious,” you want him to know. “It’s food poisoning, I’m pretty sure.” 

“That’s not…what I’m worried about.” Spencer sounds almost hurt, but his touch is gentle as he brings his knuckles to your forehead. “You didn’t have to come if you weren’t feeling well.” 

“I’m sorry,” you sigh. You’re too exhausted to pretend at being anything else anymore. “It was stupid. I didn’t want to bail on you, but instead I’m ruining it.” 

“You’re not ruining it.” His first knuckle moves almost imperceptibly, a tiny caress. “This isn’t your fault. We can do this another time. Did you drive here?” 

“Yeah,” you say meekly. 

Spencer frowns. “Can I take you home? You’re too hot to be driving yourself.” 

He flushes instantly, though you weren’t going to say anything. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“I know.” 

“Here.” He guides you to a bench, his hand ever so gentle on your waist. “Wait here, okay? I’ll grab our stuff.” 

You’ve fully given into wretchedness. You have no shame about resting the side of your head against the wall, closing your eyes until Spencer returns with a touch to your shoulder. He’s carrying his jacket and your bag, and the sympathetic look the hostess shoots you says that he’s conveyed you’ll be abandoning your reservation. 

“You don’t have to drive me,” you say as Spencer leads you outside, one hand at your back like he’s afraid you’ll keel over. “I can get home alright. I don’t want to throw up on your nice suit.” 

“I thought you liked my cardigans best.” If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was teasing you. “Anyway, the idea that you could be sick again this soon isn’t consistent with the idea that you could get home alright.”

It’s so him, the way he reasons this out, like he’s outlining an argument you’d never honestly expect to win. It reminds you that you’re on a date with Spencer Reid, and that makes you feel worse. 

You let him shepherd you to his car and sit you in the passenger seat. He buckles his seatbelt, looks over to see that yours is on, and his hand twitches as if it’s going to reach for yours before rerouting to the ignition. 

“Spence…” 

“Hm?” 

“Just, thank you. And I’m sorry, for making us leave.” 

“It’s okay.” He says it so easily, like a given. He does reach for your hand now, his fingers closing over yours to give the gentlest of squeezes. “You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t ask to be sick.” 

“I’m really sorry I ate that sketchy pasta last night.” 

Spencer laughs. It’s a lovely sound, lovely enough to make you smile despite the roiling of your stomach. 

You say, in a softer voice, “I think it would have been a really nice date.” 

“We’ll find out,” he says surely. “Maybe next week, if you’re not doing anything. We could come back here, or go somewhere if seeing that bathroom again will make you uncomfortable. I know that for some people nausea can be a Pavlovian response. You spent…a long time in there.” 

You stifle a groan, leaning your head against the window and turning your face in humiliation. Spencer’s thumb stroking down the side of your hand makes it all worth it.

[yunyunsyndr0me]

Under the cut

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents?

Only my mother

02: Who did you last say “I love you” to?

Sister

03: Do you regret anything?

A lot

04: Are you insecure?

Yes

05: What is your relationship status?

Single

06: How do you want to die?

The way God intended

07: What did you last eat?

Salmon

08: Played any sports?

Was never athletic

09: Do you bite your nails?

No

10: When was your last physical fight?

Over 6 years ago

11: Do you like someone?

Not currently

12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours?

Yes

13: Do you hate anyone at the moment?

Yes

14: Do you miss someone?

Yes

15: Have any pets?

No

16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment?

Bored

17: Ever made out in the bathroom?

No

18: Are you scared of spiders?

Yes

19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance?

Yes

20: Where was the last place you snogged someone?

Dont know what that means

21: What are your plans for this weekend?

School tomorrow

22: Do you want to have kids? How many?

Never

23: Do you have piercings? How many?

No

24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)?

Math, physics

25: Do you miss anyone from your past?

Yes

26: What are you craving right now?

Buldak

27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart?

Don't think so

28: Have you ever been cheated on?

No

29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry?

No

30: What’s irritating you right now?

Stomach ache

31: Does somebody love you?

Unfortunately

32: What is your favourite color?

Pink

33: Do you have trust issues?

Yes

34: Who/what was your last dream about?

Don't remember

35: Who was the last person you cried in front of?

Mom

36: Do you give out second chances too easily?

Yes

37: Is it easier to forgive or forget?

Forgive

38: Is this year the best year of your life?

I hope so

39: How old were you when you had your first kiss?

Never had

40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked?

No wtf

51: Favourite food?

Noodles

52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason?

Yes

53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night?

Scrolling

54: Is cheating ever okay?

Usually not

55: Are you mean?

I try not to be

56: How many people have you fist fought?

057: Do you believe in true love?

Yes

58: Favourite weather?

Wind, rain

59: Do you like the snow?

Yes

60: Do you wanna get married?

No

61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby?

No

62: What makes you happy?

Gamea

63: Would you change your name?

Definitely

64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed?

No

65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do?

Reject but keep being friends

66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around?

No

67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to?

Dad

68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with?

Oomf

69: Do you believe in soulmates?

No

70: Is there anyone you would die for?

Yes

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[steddieasitgoes]

Eddie helps Jeff and Grant move into their freshman college dorms. Eddie's not going to college; it took him six years to graduate high school. He's not about to put more time and now money into a dead-end education, but he respects the guys' decision.

They're upset the university's stupid roommate questionare didn't pair them together. They answered everything exactly the same, and yet they still got split up. It's bullshit. Eddie knows it, they know it, everyone knows it. But it is what it is. Jeff doesn't want to make waves with the school, and Grant's just happy they accepted his sorry ass, so they'll have to live with it.

Jeff, Gareth, and Grant are currently figuring out how they're going to smuggle a microwave into Grant's room. Eddie leaves them to it, already holding a box marked for Jeff in his hands. He saunters out of the elevator and down the hall toward Jeff's room, nodding his head at anyone who does the same to him.

College is weird, he thinks. No one has sneered at him -- not even the frat dude bro type who checked Jeff and Grant in earlier. Maybe it's true what they say, college is full of open-minded people. He'll let the boys be the guinea pig on that one.

Jeff's door is half shut when he gets there, which is weird because he knows they left it wide open. They still have to bring in his record collection, and even though he ditched hundreds at home, the box is still way heavier than it should be. Having to put it down to open the door is a no go.

Thankfully, the box Eddie is carrying now is rather light so he turns and uses what little ass he has to bump the door open before sliding inside.

He stops dead in his tracks as Jeff's roommate turns to meet his gaze.

Eddie doesn't believe in God, doesn't believe in angels -- he likes to think Demons exist, but that's more of an aesthetic thing than anything else -- but he's pretty sure he's in the presence of an angel.

No, he's certain he is.

The large window between the beds shoots rays of sunshine through the horizontal blinds, painting the guy in beautiful shades of yellow and orange. And jesus h. christ the shadow gives off the illusion of a halo around his gorgeous, lush, perfectly styled hair.

He's wearing a sweater -- how he's wearing a sweater in the sweltering heat, Eddie doesn't know, but he is -- with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Eddie can't help but let his eyes take in the miles and miles of sun-kissed skin, unmarked with ink like his own but decorated with freckles and moles that Eddie wants to trace, connecting them like constellations he spent decades staring at on the roof of the trailer back at home. And, okay, maybe a few other unholy thoughts also pop into his head -- sue him.

He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at that. Of course Eddie's first thought upon stumbling on an angel is to wreck them.

"Hey, I'm Steve," the man says, extending a hand out to Eddie.

Jesus H. Christ, it's bigger than any hand has any right to be. Eddie's mind immediately wonders what else might be bigger than most. He can't help it.

"You must be Jeff," he smiles. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Yep, that's me!" Eddie says without thinking it through. He scrambles to put the box down and reaches out to shake Steve's hand.

It's a firm handshake, what Wayne would call "business-like," but it sends a burst of electricity coursing through Eddie's body. It's silly, really silly, but Eddie doesn't think his hand has ever fit so perfectly in someone else's before.

Maybe they're soulmates. He doesn't believe in those either, but he could if this Steve guys is his.

Steve smiles and drops his hand a second later and Eddie tries his best not to buckle under the loss of touch.

"What do you think of the place?" Steve says. His hands shoot to his waist, settling there as he gives the room a bitchy glance over. "It's a lot smaller than I was expecting."

"At least it's only a double," Eddie says. "My friend's stuck in a triple."

Poor Grant. As if losing out on rooming with Jeff isn't enough, he really got fucked.

Steve whistles lowly. "Damn, man, that sucks."

He squats then, digging through an already unopened box, and Eddie feels faint. His jeans were already tight, but with his new angle, they're stretched to the max, leaving very, very, very little to be imagined. And Eddie has no problem imagining anything, much less what the skin under those pale blue jeans looks like.

Steve's shirt rides up a bit as he leans over more, really sifting through the box now, and the tiny sliver of skin above the waistband of his boxers is enough to send Eddie into full-blown gremlin mode.

Maybe he should have applied to college.

"So, Jeff," Steve says, standing again and glancing between the two beds.

Neither has seemed to claim them yet. Jeff -- the real Jeff -- didn't want to be rude, and judging by the single box Steve's been looking through, he's only just started the move-in process.

"Got any bed preferences?"

Sharing it with you.

No, no! he scolds himself.

"Nope, have at it," Eddie says, casting his arms out wide and bending at the waist. He's not sure why he's done it, but by the time he registers how weird it might be, it's too late. So he commits to the bit, and it's worth it when Steve chuckles.

"Cool, cool," he nods. "I'll take this one, then." Steve shuffles over to the bed farthest from the door and tests the firmness with his hand. It gives just enough to make Steve smile. "I can work with this, if you know what I mean."

Eddie thinks he's really gone and died then because Steve honest to god winks at him.

Winks!

At. Him.

Eddie!

What the fuck.

"Yeah," he croaks, a little awkward and a whole lot aroused. He needs to get out of here before he jumps Jeff's roommate and accidentally gets him kicked out. Better yet, he needs to figure out how to get enrolled and kick Jeff out of his room himself. "Alright, well, I've got more shit to bring up, so I'll be back."

"I'll be here."

Eddie nods then bolts, ditching the elevator altogether and taking the three flights of stairs two at a time. Jeff's still arguing with boys when he gets down there, sweaty and out-of-breath.

"Jesus, what happened to you?" Gareth snaps.

"Oh no," Jeff winces. "Is my roommate a dick? Did he chase you out?"

"No," Eddie pants, shaking his head widly. He reaches out with both hands and slams them down on Jeff's shoulders way harder than he needs to. "Your roommate, Steve-- he's-- I think I'm in love."

The guys burst into laughter.

"Here we go again," Gareth says, rolling his eyes.

"You just met the guy," Grant adds. "How could you possibly be in love?"

"You can't be in love with my roommate," Jeff scolds, shaking Eddie's hand off of him.

"Jeff, Jefferson, Jeffery," Eddie rambles. "I am in love. He is the man I am going to marry. The one who will father my children. The one to tame this wild horse--"

"You've slept with two dudes, Eddie. I don't think that makes you a wild horse," Gareth scoffs.

Eddie ignores him. He doesn't have time to deal with Gareth. Not when Steve is upstairs waiting for him.

"I need to go back to him."

Eddie moves to step around the three, eager to grab another box with Jeff's name on it and get back to Steve. Back to the love of his life. But Jeff blocks him.

"No. No. Absolutely not," Jeff says, reeling Eddie back in. "I have to live with this guy for a year. You are not going back up there and making it weird."

"Well then I have good news for you," Eddie says, wicked grin already breaking out onto his face.

"This can't be good," Grant mumbles.

"You don't even have to go up there. He thinks I'm Jeff."

"Okay, but you're not Jeff," the real Jeff says, crossing his arms. "I'm Jeff and I'm going to go to my room and introduce myself to my roommate and you're going to stay far, far, far away from him."

Eddie shakes his head. "You can't do that! He'll think I'm a liar."

"You are a liar," Gareth butts in.

"Eddie," Jeff groans. "I have to go up there! I live here. I'm Jeff. He needs to know the truth."

"Or, or!" Eddie shouts, full of frantic energy now. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet, mind reeling a million miles an hour as the plan starts to form in his head. This could work. It could totally work. "How about I pretend to be you for the next year and you can be me."

"Dude, no!" Jeff scoffs. "I worked my ass of to get here. I'm not trading lives with you so you can try to fuck my roommate."

"Oh, I won't have to try," Eddie says. "He might have already offered."

"Oh my god. My roommate thinks I want to fuck him."

"Your roommate doesn't even know you exist," Grant corrects.

"What were you thinking?" Jeff shouts.

"He clearly wasn't thinking with his head," Gareth says.

"This is a disaster."

"No," Eddie says, shaking his head. He doesn't know why they're being so catastrophic about this. It's fine. It's all going to be fine. "Okay, new plan, I'll pretend to be you but only in your dorm. You can still go to class and do all the college shit. I'll only be Jeff to Steve."

"And where am I supposed to live?"

"With Grant."

"Asshole! I'm already in a triple! We can't house another person."

"And you're not even enrolled!" Jeff adds. "What happens when the RA finds out? I'll get kicked out and you'll--"

"Go to jail."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "I don't think people go to jail for impersonating college students, Gare."

"They might!" Gareth says, throwing his hands up. "Are you really going to risk going to jail just for a chance at fucking Jeff's roommate?"

"Well, I hope it would be more than fucking. I did say I was in love."

Gareth doesn't get it. The only thing he's ever loved is his drum set -- and he can't marry that. Not even in bumfuck Indiana.

He goes back to ignoring Gareth and focuses on Jeff. He braces his hand on his shoulders again and slinks down to his knees. He's not above begging. Not for this. Not for the angel that is Steve who is probably wondering where he is right now.

"Jeff," Eddie says, hitting the pavement. He retracts his hands from Jeff's shoulders and clasps them together in prayer. He's making a scene.

"Get up, you're making a scene," Jeff hisses, yanking him back to his feet. Eddie goes willingly and Jeff huffs. "Alright, alright. Let me think."

"You can't seriously be considering this," Grant chimes in. "Eddie's plan is shit. It'll never work."

"I know that!"

Eddie watches as Jeff paces in a circle with his eyes closed. If he wanted to, he could bolt right now. Grab a box and make a run for it. Lock himself and Steve in the room and not come out until he's sure Jeff won't rat him out. Holding Steve hostage might not be the best impression to give Steve though, so he stays put.

"Okay, how about this," Jeff says and Eddie gives him his undivided attention. "The two of us are going to go back to my dorm and we're going to set the record straight--"

"No! That's--"

"Eddie," Jeff says, firmly. "If you really do love my roommate or well, you want to eventually love him. You have to tell him the truth."

Jeff's right. He's always right that's why he's going to college on a scholarship and Eddie's not. But he doesn't like it. Steve's going to think he's a total weirdo and he'll never get a chance to see what's actually under those tight ass pants.

Still, Jeff's right.

"Fine."

Steve really is an angel because he doesn't even bat an eye at the truth. He does laugh, but Eddie doesn't mind that. He wishes he had his cassette recorder and a mic so he could record it. It's music to his damn ears, and he knows a thing or two about music.

Jeff and Steve hit it off and Eddie tries not to pout about it as he continues lugging in box after box. When Eddie's van is finally empty, Grant and Gareth meet up with them in Jeff's room. Steve introduces himself and Eddie can tell they're both silently judging him.

Yes, this is the dude he would risk going to jail for, Gareth. Eddie thinks, he hopes Gareth gets the message in the glare he shoots his way. He thinks he does.

It turns out Steve also has a best friend who just moved in, too. She's in a different building than them, but he's meeting up with her for pizza at the parlor down the street. He invites them all to go and Eddie says yes on behalf of all of them a little to quickly.

When they get there, Steve introduces them all -- Jeff, Gareth, Grant. He gets all their names right, even Gareth, but when he gets to Eddie, he smirks. "And this," he says, smiling as he slings an arm around Eddie's shoulder. "This is not-Jeff my not-roommate."

"Hi, Not Jeff," Robin says.

Eddie laughs and introduces himself to her with his real name and Robin nods before her eyes lock on with Steve. He can tell they're non-verbally communicating with each other. It's not unlike the way he is with the boys. One look is all it takes sometimes for them to know what he's thinking.

It's weird watching it happen from the outside and especially difficult when he's still stuck under Steve's arm. Not that he minds that part not at all.

Finally, her lips quirk up into a smile and she pulls her gaze from Steve, letting it land on Eddie. At the exact same time, Steve's name gets called and he excuses himself to get pizza, leaving the two of them alone.

Robin's smile falters just a bit as she takes a step closer to him, replacing the spot where Steve just was. "Just so you know, I'm obsessed with Murder, She Wrote. If you hurt him, I know where to hide your body."

Eddie doesn't have time to even think of a retort before she's scampering off to help Steve with the pizzas.

He might not be enrolled in college, but he has a strange feeling he's going to spend a lot of time up here from now on.

[mewhenimanangel]

need that, hamzahthefantastic

prev pt 3*

—synopsis. hamzah invites you over to be in their new video

—warnings!: freaky uti, dry humping, undressing

notes 🫧: the fight was so tuff, i’m a die hard noob

—🐞

you parked your car outside hamzah’s house, fixing your lip gloss and zipping up your sweater before going to knock on his door.

him and martin invited you to be in one of their sims videos since mandy was on vacation and they knew you played as well.

it’s been around two weeks since you and hamzah made out in his car. since then, you’d been texting a lot more and you hung out twice with mandy and martin. though, you haven’t done anything to continue what he started.

hamzah answered the door with a grin, “come on in boi, we haven’t started playing yet. martin’s still connecting the camera and the mic” he closed the door behind you.

you felt something brush against your leg, looking down to see his cat rubbing itself on your leg. “awwww he’s so cute” you reached down to see if he’d let you pick him up.

when he did you held him in your arms and rubbed behind its ear. “which one is this?” you asked hamzah. “this is blue. red’s probably upstairs somewhere clawing at something.” he said, reaching over your arm to pet blue.

“i had to put a child lock on my fridge cause they figured out how to open it bruh” he shook his head.

you giggled looking at him with a smile.

“oh hey y/n, didn’t know you were here already. i just finished setting up the camera” martin said. “heyy” you put blue down on the floor, following martin.

“you ready to get your sims on?” he asked. “try freaking born ready” you giggled, hamzah following behind you.

you sat off to the side on the couch in hamzah’s office while they started the video. “hello everynyan-” hamzah interrupted him “dude what” “it’s like a meme like have you ever seen it? it’s like oh my gahhh” martin awkwardly repeated the video, hamzah stifling a laugh. “anyways we’re back and better than frigging ever” martin started off.

“now it has been a while-“ “definitely been a while-“ “right, a while since our regularly scheduled programming” hamzah said. “i hope you guys enjoyed the fight, we worked super hard literally for like six months”

“and you may realize we’re not in our usual spot, wanna tell them why that is?” martin said. “yes we are, we’re in my house this time because mandy’s on vacation and martin, feeling like a sad little lonely boy wanted to come over and play with me”

“yes mandy is gone. she is in spain right now because she doesn’t love me anymore. you know what they say, ‘go to spain when your lover’s a pain’. that’s why she hasn’t proposed to me yet in the big year of twenty twenty-five” martin went on. “literally nobody says that”

“but speaking of mandy, today we’re playing the sims. something we haven’t done in a long time and we need a little bit of a refresher” “yes, the sims is a girl game and since we don’t have mandy, we brought back up” hamzah added.

“yes, we obviously cannot play this game ourselves so we brought in another expert” they looked at each other before counting down from 3 and snapping their fingers. you knew they were gonna put some silly transition effect over this.

hamzah got up to get another chair for you “you good?” he asked you, making sure you were comfortable. and you nod your head before sitting between them. “hellurr. yes i am mandy’s back up today. because obviously, they don’t know what they’re doing so im taking over.”

“dude what is it with girls and the sims. only girls know how to play the sims” martin and hamzah riffed while you logged into your sims account.

“now this is your first time on here y/n, how do you feel in the presence of such greatness” martin asked. “well im honored to be on but i don’t know about ‘greatness’” you joked.

after two hours of creating sims and making them kill, cheat, fornicate, and find love, they ended the video. “banger video alert” hamzah turned the computer off. “uhh yeah that was really good if i do say so myself.” you pat yourself on the back.

the three of you lounged around hamzah’s living room for another hour after that. “are you guys hungry?” hamzah asked “i was gonna order some food” “actually i still have some packing to do for my flight tomorrow” martin sighed while playing with red. “oh shit right, i forgot” hamzah shrugged.

“i’m gonna head out now bro i’ll see you next week” he dapped hamzah up before doing the same to you. hamzah followed him out before closing the door behind him.

“i could eat” you shrugged and hamzah smiled. he pulled his phone out and ordered chick-fil-a, adding in your order.

you sat criss crossed on his couch as blue jumped into your lap, snuggling up against you and purring. “his ass definitely likes you” hamzah chuckled.

“do you want one?” he asked, coming back from his bedroom with a little jar of edibles. “sure” you reached to grab one with your nails.

hamzah grabbed one too and you tapped them together in a ‘cheers’ motion before eating them.

you soured your face and gagged “okay these are nasty oh my god” you laughed. “yeah they taste like butt but they do the job. the food should be here in like twenty minutes” he said, joining you on the couch.

you helped him review the footage from the video before he sent it to their editor. by now the edible was beginning to kick in and you were growing hungrier by the minute. his door bell rung and he got up to answer the door.

he came back holding the bags of food up with a smile on his face and plopped down onto the couch, this time much closer to you, legs and arms touching.

“fuck i’m starving. is that shit kicking in for you yet?” he asked, handing you your sandwich and fries. “oh it is” you grinned.

“have you ever had the mac and cheese?” he asked you. “no i usually go for the fries” “okay here you gotta try it.” he took some on his fork and put it in front of your mouth, paying close attention to the way your lips wrapped around the fork. “right?” he nod his head at your reaction.

“wait here, you’ve got some cheese on your mouth” he said, brushing your lip off with a napkin. “oh..oops” you giggled through your slowed words.

the two of you tore through your food, turning on family guy in the background. “that was so fucking good” you looked at him, eyes low and red.

“right…..i’m stuffed.” you slowly sipped on your milkshake. “do you ever think about what they do with the cut out pieces of fries?” you asked, just chatting. “i always wonder but they probably just throw them away.” he added.

you leaned back into the couch, cross legged, knee resting atop of hamzah’s as he put his arm on the back of the chair behind you.

he slowly rubbed your bare shoulder that peeked from under your hoodie that was falling off. you leaned your head back, resting it on his arm before looking at him.

“so, are we just never gonna talk about it again?” you addressed the elephant in the room. “hm?” he looked at you. “the kiss, are we just gonna act like it didn’t happen?”

“no of course not, i just wasn’t sure if i had made you uncomfortable so i didn’t wanna push anything again” he shrugged. “hamzah i kissed you back for a reason. i wanted it” you reassured. “and i still do” you said, looking away for a second.

he grabbed your chin, turning your face back to his before kissing you. you leaned into the kiss, rubbing your nails at the back of his neck.

the room filled with your mutual satisfied sounds, hamzah pushing his hand up under your sweater. he laid you down against the couch arm, keeping himself steady atop of you.

he slowly pulled the zip down, taking off your sweater off, you willed yourself to follow his lead, wrapping your arms around him. he broke the kiss, “you good, right?” he asked. “yeah, keep going. i want you, hamzah” you reassured. he kissed you again before lining kisses down your jawline and throat. he sucked down on your skin “wait don’t leave any hickeys” you said through a moan.

“too late” he let out a breathy laugh, making you giggle. hamzah let out a soft noise at the feeling of your nails rubbing through his hair. he slowly eased his up under your tank top, reaching up he grabbed a handful of bra. “here, hang on” you sat up, taking off your shirt and throwing it by your sweater. you fiddled with your bra clasp and eased the straps off your shoulders, letting your boobs rest.

hamzah stared at them, mouth agape. “that was a push up bra by the way, so don’t be too disappointed” you joked. “how would i be disappointed. you’re fucking hot” he pulled you atop of him and kissed you, hands firm on your ass.

he kissed down the middle of your chest before his mouth latched on. you sighed in satisfaction when he rolled his tongue.

you subconsciously grinded your hips on his, feeling him grow. “fuck” you winced. you stayed in that position for a while, dry humping each other as he kissed and sucked all over your upper body. you felt yourself getting needier by the minute. “hamzah-“ you started before being interrupted by a knocking on the door. “dude let me in, i forgot my wallet” it was martin.

you looked at hamzah before getting up. he kissed you “go to my bedroom, i’ll be there in a second” he told you and you smirked before leaving the room.

hamzah let him in “ugh thank you, i was worried you fell asleep” martin said, spotting his wallet on the side table.

hamzah looked over his shoulder realizing your shirt and bra were still thrown around on the couch. “imagine i went all the way to spain and forgot this just sitting here” martin chuckled before turning around, hamzah missing the chance to let him not to.

“oou you got chick-fil-a? anything left?” he looked inside a bag before he came face to face with your bra. he turned around, jaw dropped “dude!” he gasped and hamzah grinned.

lvryn

Liked by hamzahthefantasfic, clairedrakee and others

lvryn alright who pressed fast forward on my weekend 😂

mandys_iphone cute

user HELLO? is this a soft launch?????

ynlover omg this and how touchy they were in the sims video last month, they’re definitely dating ?)!(!;$:

— 🐞 the end

[espresso1patronum]

Nine Lives, One Knight

(batman!gojo x catwoman!reader)

synopsis: By day, Gojo Satoru is Gotham’s golden boy—billionaire, genius, untouchable. By night, he’s the Bat, a relentless force in the city’s shadows. You? You’re Catwoman—master thief, chaos incarnate, always one step ahead. You’ve spent years dancing around each other, neither willing to truly win. But when a new faction, the Black Veil, sets its sights on Gotham’s most powerful players—including you and the Bat—you’re forced into an uneasy alliance. Tension crackles, lines blur, and the game you’ve always played turns deadly. Because this time, it’s not just about the city. This time, it’s about each other.

cw: batman au, mutual pining, slow burn, sort of enemies to lovers, angst, violence, blood, injury mention, gun violence, kinda gory? kinda forbidden love? Toji, geto, shoko and nanami cameo lmao

word count: 10.1k

author's note: this had been in my drafts for a very long time and after the poll results, I thought i'd finish this. it's not much, but I enjoyed writing this jjk x dc crossover.

Gotham was never silent.

Not even at midnight.

Not even when the rain came down in thick, suffocating sheets, drenching the city in shadows. Somewhere below, sirens wailed. Tires screeched. A single gunshot cracked through the air, distant but unmistakable.

To some, the noise was chaos. To you?

It was home.

You move across the rooftop with practiced ease, the weight of the Black Veil’s encrypted drive tucked safely into the pocket of your suit. The heist had been too easy. A little slip past the lasers, a quick crack of the safe, and just like that—you were out.

Something worth a small fortune in your hands. Or rather—something that could destroy half of Gotham’s elite if it ended up in the wrong hands.

(Or the right ones, depending on who you asked.)

A clean escape. A successful job. You should be gone by now.

And yet—

A shiver runs down your spine. Not from the cold. Not from the rain. From something else.

Something you can’t see, but feel.

You land soundlessly on another rooftop, pausing only for a second to scan the city below. Nothing. No movement. Just the familiar neon glow of Gotham’s underbelly.

Still—your fingers twitch. Instinct coils in your gut, whispering a warning you don’t want to acknowledge.

Too easy.

Too—

“Going somewhere, kitten?”

The voice comes from behind you, smooth as silk, dark as thunder.

You don’t startle. You don’t turn. Instead, you let a slow, knowing smirk curl at your lips before you finally glance back.

There he is.

Perched on the edge of the rooftop like he belongs in the night, the rain dripping off the edges of his cowl, his cape shifting slightly in the wind. Batman.

Or rather—Gojo Satoru.

You should’ve known he’d show up. Maybe you did. Maybe you ignored it.

"Bold of you," you murmur, fingers flexing, ready to bolt. "Sneaking up on a cat in the dark."

His head tilts, and though the mask hides half his face, you can hear the smirk in his voice.

"Please," he drawls. "You knew I was here before you even touched the ground."

He's right. You did. But you don’t let him win that easily.

"Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night, Bat?" You shift your weight, rolling your shoulders, keeping it casual. "Or do you just like following me around?"

He steps closer. Slow. Deliberate. The way a storm rolls in—inevitable.

"You stole something," he says.

You sigh, dramatically. "I steal a lot of things. You’ll have to be more specific."

"You know what I’m talking about."

He’s close enough now that you can see the flicker of blue beneath his mask. The kind of dangerous blue that makes your pulse stutter for half a second before you shut it down.

"Give it to me," he says, voice quieter this time.

You shake your head, clicking your tongue. "Oh, Bat. You always ask so nicely."

Before he can move, you bolt.

And that’s when the rooftop explodes.

A deafening boom shatters the night, the blast wave knocking you clean off your feet. You don’t have time to think, don’t have time to react—your body moves on instinct, twisting midair, boots scraping against the slick rooftop as you skid dangerously close to the edge.

Shit.

The explosion wasn’t meant for him. It was meant for you.

You barely have time to register the shift in the air before an arm wraps around your waist—strong, unyielding, and familiar—yanking you backward just as the ledge beneath your feet crumbles.

You don’t fall.

Because he doesn’t let you.

When the smoke clears, you’re half-sprawled against him, one of his arms still locked around your waist, his other hand braced against the rooftop. Your breaths come hard and fast, heart pounding against your ribs, adrenaline flooding your veins.

"Well," you huff, dazed but not broken. "Didn’t think you cared, Bat."

His grip tightens—just for a second. Just long enough for you to feel it.

"I don’t," he says flatly. But his jaw clenches. "Stay down."

You snort, pushing off of him as you roll onto your feet. "You and I both know that’s not happening."

He doesn’t argue. Because you’re right. Because whoever just tried to kill you isn’t done.

And they’re not alone.

From the rooftop across the alley, figures emerge from the shadows. Armed. Precise. Waiting.

Batman’s shoulders go rigid. His voice is low. Dangerous.

"They knew you’d be here."

You exhale sharply, adjusting your gloves. "Looks like we’re on the same side tonight, Bat."

The rain slicks the rooftop, turning it into a death trap. But you’ve fought in worse.

Across the alley, four figures move into position. Their weapons gleam under the glow of a distant streetlight—guns, knives, and something that looks an awful lot like a taser baton.

Cute.

Satoru tenses beside you, assessing. Calculating. His voice is low, barely audible over the rain. "Stay behind me."

You scoff, rolling your shoulders. "Not happening."

He doesn’t waste time arguing. Because you’re both outnumbered, because the enemy is moving—because there’s no time to fight each other when you’re about to fight them.

And then—they strike.

One gunshot. Two. You react on instinct, dropping low, twisting away, boots skidding against the rooftop. Batman’s cape flares as he moves—one sharp flick of his wrist, and a batarang slices through the dark, knocking a pistol clean from one of their hands.

Fast and efficient. Classic him.

You? You have your own way of doing things.

The second attacker lunges at you with a knife. You sidestep, grab their wrist, twist—the blade clatters to the ground. Before they can react, your elbow smashes into their ribs, sending them stumbling backward with a wheeze.

"Really?" you taunt, dodging another strike. "You came all this way just to embarrass yourselves?"

Batman doesn’t look at you, but you swear you can feel his exasperation.

"Focus."

You grin. "I am focused."

And then you flip over one of the attackers, landing smoothly behind them before slamming them headfirst into a ventilation unit.

Batman exhales sharply. "Could’ve just knocked them out."

"They’ll wake up." You dodge another strike. "Eventually."

More gunfire. Batman twists mid-air, cape flowing like liquid shadow as he dodges the bullets. In the same motion, he grabs your wrist—yanking you forward, pulling you out of the line of fire just as another shot rings out.

You’re so close you can hear his heartbeat.

For half a second, the world shrinks. The rain, the chaos, the rooftop beneath your feet, it all disappears.

It’s just you and him. Breathing the same air.

Then—"Move."

And just like that, the moment is gone.

You both explode into motion, flawless in sync. A kick to the ribs. A punch to the jaw. A perfect sweep of your leg sends another attacker sprawling.

It’s fast. Clean. Too easy.

When the last enemy collapses, groaning, you barely break a sweat.

You exhale, shaking out your arms. "Well," you say, breathless. "That was fun."

Satoru glares at you. "This wasn’t a game."

"Could’ve fooled me." You step over one of the unconscious bodies, crouching slightly to pat them down. No ID. No insignia. No obvious ties to the Black Veil.

But then— your fingers brush against something cold. Metal.

Your stomach drops.

A small device is clipped to one of their belts. Black, sleek, with a blinking red light.

Shit.

Your head snaps up. Satoru sees it the same moment you do, his voice is sharp. "Bomb." A soft beep. A single second.

And then— the rooftop blows apart beneath your feet.

Pain.

It drags you back to consciousness, slow and disorienting, like surfacing from deep water. Your body aches, the sharp sting of a fresh wound cutting through the dull throb of bruises.

The last thing you remember—the rooftop. The explosion.

And then—falling.

Your eyes snap open. You’re not on the street. You’re not dead.

Instead, you’re somewhere dimly lit, the soft hum of an old heater filling the silence. A safehouse.

Your head tilts slightly. The room is small—just a battered couch, an old desk, and a half-broken lamp casting flickering shadows against the walls.

And across from you— standing near the door, arms crossed, still in full suit— is Batman.

Gojo.

Watching you.

You shift, trying to sit up, but a sharp pull at your side stops you. That’s when you realize— your suit is torn and your stomach is bandaged, and you sure as hell didn’t do it yourself.

A slow smirk tugs at your lips. "Didn’t take you for the hands-on type, Bat."

His jaw ticks. "You were bleeding."

"Aww," you tease, voice still hoarse. "You do care."

He steps closer. The soft glow of the lamp catches the edge of his mask, illuminating the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint tension in his shoulders.

"You almost died." His voice is quiet now, lacking its usual smugness. Too honest.

You tilt your head, studying him. Something about the way he’s looking at you feels... different.

Like he hated seeing you like that. Like it unnerved him.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The air is thick, heavy, charged with something unspoken.

Then—he exhales, stepping back, breaking the moment.

"You need rest," he mutters.

You shift again, testing the pain, biting back a wince. "I need answers."

"You need to not die."

"You didn’t answer my question."

His hands tighten into fists at his sides. He doesn’t look at you, but his voice is sharp, precise. Avoiding something.

"The bomb was a trap. Someone wanted you dead."

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, I figured that part out, Bat."

He ignores the sarcasm. "Who else knew you’d be at that vault?"

"Just me."

His gaze flickers to you, sharp and assessing. Like he doesn’t believe you.

You sigh, leaning back against the couch. "Look, I don’t have a name yet. Just whispers about a buyer wanting the drive. But if they’re willing to go that far to kill me for it—"

"—then you’re already in too deep."

There’s something grim in his tone that makes your stomach twist. You study him carefully. His cowl hides most of his face, but you’ve seen him fight, seen him move.

Gojo Satoru is always too confident. Too smug. Like he knows he’s the strongest, the fastest, the smartest in the room.

But right now? Right now, he looks... frustrated.

Not at you. He is frustrated for you and the realization is dangerous.

You push it down and swallow it whole. "Relax, Bat," you say, forcing a smirk. "I still got, what, six lives left?"

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t take the bait. But then your breath catches as he kneels infront of you but you don't move.

You should. You should say something—anything—but you don’t. Because his hands are on you again, pressing carefully against your bandaged side, checking his work.

He’s too close. His touch warm, solid, and careful.

And for the first time, he looks at you—not as an opponent. Not as a thief. But as something else entirely.

The silence stretches and you wish it hadn't because your heart is pounding in a way it isn't supposed to.

And then— he shifts.

You feel it before it happens. The slow lean forward. The weight of his stare. The way your own pulse betrays you, beating too fast, too hard, in the space between you.

Almost—

But then, the moment shatters.

The old radio in the corner crackles to life, static hissing before a voice cuts through. "Breaking news—an attack on Gotham’s financial district just moments ago—"

You blink as he pulls back and you just clear your throat, wanting to push all the wierd thoughts that were clouding your mind right now.

Satoru's expression hardens, as he stands, straightens his suit and steps away. "You stay here," he says, all business again.

You smirk, ignoring the sharp ache in your ribs. "Come on, Bat. You know that’s not happening."

He exhales, long-suffering. "You’re injured."

"And yet I still fight better than half your enemies."

He pauses and stares at you as though you'd said something wrong. Then, finally—a reluctant smirk. "Try to keep up, kitten."

Satoru hadn’t always been like this in the past when you met him. He was obnoxious, full of himself, always eager to show off his strength and speed in front of you. But today—this time—he felt different. For the first time, he seemed genuinely serious. And maybe, just maybe, there was a flicker of vulnerability in the way he spoke, in the way Gotham’s Batman spoke.

You told yourself it had nothing to do with you. But no matter how hard you tried to push the thought away, you couldn’t help but wonder—what if it did?

Sneaking into Gotham’s financial district isn’t hard. But sneaking in with Batman?

Now that’s a challenge.

You slip through the shadows like you were born for this—because you were. Satoru moves beside you, silent, precise, and still annoyingly smug. You glance at him. "Not bad, Bat."

He doesn’t look at you. "Not trying to impress you, kitten."

Liar.

The building looms ahead, dark and empty except for the guards patrolling the perimeter. "Twelve," you murmur, already counting. "Four on the roof, two at the entrance, six inside."

He hums. "I’ll take the roof. You take the inside."

You grin. "Awfully trusting, Bat."

"If you get caught, I’m not saving you."

You both know that’s a lie.

Getting in is easy. Getting to the main office where the stolen drive is hidden? Even easier. You’re already at the vault, fingers working over the lock, when— you hear footsteps.

Shit.

You whirl around, but it’s too late—one of the guards spots you. The alarm blares.

"Dammit," you hiss, already moving, flipping over the desk as more guards storm in. You could take them. You should take them. It's really easy for you actually.

But before you even get the chance— a blur of black crashes through the skylight. Batman lands hard, cape billowing, taking down two guards before his boots even hit the floor.

You blink. "Show-off."

"You’re welcome," he mutters, throwing a punch.

It’s a blur of fists, kicks, and electricity. You move too well together, too in sync. It’s not just skill—it’s instinct. Every time you dodge, he’s already covering your blind spot. Every time he moves, you’re already reading his next step.

It’s flawless. It’s deadly. It’s perfect but— a bit too much. At some point, you end up back-to-back. Panting, bruised and your adrenaline spiking.

His voice is low, breathless. "You good?"

You swallow hard because you shouldn’t be this affected. You shouldn't be affected by anything he says or he does because you don't care, right?

"Always."

And then— a hand grips your wrist. It was a guard you didn’t see. You twist your hand, ready to counter, but before you can, Batman moves first.

Fast. Too fast.

His hand grips the front of your suit—yanking you forward, spinning you behind him as he slams the attacker into the wall with enough force to shake the room.

With a loud thud, the guy drops instantly and you hear nothing but the silence that is lingering in the air. The only sound is your breath and his, his hand still gripping your suit, still holding you.

You look up at him and find him already watching you. He’s too close for your liking. Or is he?

His jaw is tight, his chest rising and falling in steady yet controlled breaths, and his grip on you remains firm. Your pulse slams against your ribs. There’s something in the air—something that shifts, pulling both of you in. You feel it. And so does he.

You hate this. Or at least, you tell yourself you do. But the truth is, you can’t stop it. It’s happening, inevitable and inescapable. This isn’t just a fight anymore. This is something else entirely. And this time, no one interrupts. No radio crackling to life, no explosions in the distance, no convenient excuse to look away.

It’s just you. Him. And a choice.

Before you can even pull yourself back, before your mind can fully grasp the situation, Satoru makes the decision for you. He yanks you forward, his lips crashing onto yours, his mask half-pulled up—just like yours. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you in closer.

And despite everything, despite all the reasons you shouldn’t—you kiss him back.

Your back slams against cold metal, the impact sending a shiver down your spine—not that you can focus on it. Not when he’s leaning in, fingers curling into your suit, pulling, pressing, taking.

You don’t even realize you’re kissing him back until it’s too late. Until your hands are in his hair, gripping, tugging, dragging him closer. Until his weight is the only thing keeping you upright.

The vault. The alarms. The entire damn mission—forgotten. Because all you can think about is—

This is dangerous. This is a mistake. This is—

“Fuck,” you breathe against his lips.

And then— he pulls back, barely.

His breath is ragged, his gloved hand still firm on your jaw, his eyes burning with something wild, like he can’t believe he just did that or like he can’t believe he wants to do it again.

The silence between you crackles like a live wire.

Then he swallows. “We can’t—”

You shove him off. Hard.

Your body still hums from his touch, your lips still tingling, your pulse betraying you. But you don’t let any of it show. Instead, you smirk, sharp as a blade.

“Didn’t know the Bat had such bad impulse control.”

His expression doesn’t change, but you see it—the exact moment he chooses denial. The way his walls snap back into place like steel reinforcements.

His mask comes down. His voice turns cold. “Let’s move.”

And just like that, it’s over.

Except it isn’t.

Because now, the line between you is blurred beyond recognition. Because now, you know what he tastes like. Because now, everything has changed.

And there’s no undoing it.

Gotham’s elite love to party.

It’s how they distract themselves from the fact that their city is rotting beneath them.

Big money, expensive champagne, and a ballroom filled with people who don’t care about anything but themselves.

It’s your kind of scene.

A place where no one notices a missing diamond necklace. Where a stolen keycard goes unreported. Where masks are more than just accessories.

And yet— tonight, you’re not here to steal. Tonight, you're here for him.

It had been a few days since that night—since everything that happened between you and Satoru. Or Batman.

Now, another party was being thrown by Gotham’s elite, and of course, Batman had been invited. And, of course, you had to see him again.

It felt awkward.

Because no matter how much you wanted to ignore it, that kiss had meant something. To both of you. And you didn’t want it to.

You wanted to talk to him like nothing had happened. Like nothing ever would happen again. Right?

You wanted to tell him it was just the adrenaline, just the chaos of that night, nothing more. That’s all it was. That’s all it could ever be.

Gojo Satoru feels you before he sees you.

A shift in the air. A prickle at the back of his neck.

And then— you walk in, dressed to kill.

Silk. Black. Dangerous. A slit running high up your thigh, the soft glint of diamonds resting against your collarbone.

And when your gaze meets his across the ballroom— his throat goes dry.

Because he hasn’t seen you since the kiss. Because you’re smiling like it never happened. Because the second you do— you turn away, and walk straight into another man’s arms.

You feel his stare before you even see him. It lingers on your skin, heavy and unrelenting, like a touch without contact. But you don’t look. Not yet.

Instead, you let the man beside you—some rich idiot with more money than sense—pull you closer, his hand brushing over your waist, his breath warm as he leans in.

"You look exquisite tonight," he murmurs, voice smooth, practiced.

You hum, barely interested. "I know." And still, you feel him.

Watching. Brooding. Jealous. Exactly as you wanted.

So when you finally turn—when your gaze finally locks onto his across the crowded ballroom—you make sure to smirk.

And just like that, he’s gone.

But you know better. He didn’t leave. Not really.

So when you step outside onto the balcony, the cool Gotham night air brushing against your skin, you’re not surprised to find him already there. He stands by the railing, his posture deceptively relaxed, fingers curled around a glass of untouched champagne.

His mask is gone, but his walls? Higher than ever.

You exhale slowly as you step closer, watching him carefully. "Didn’t take you for the jealous type, Bat."

He doesn’t look at you when he answers. "I’m not."

You tilt your head, amusement flickering in your eyes. "Could’ve fooled me."

Silence settles between you, thick with unspoken words and something else, something heavier. The tension coils between you like a wire pulled too tight, waiting to snap.

And then, you break it.

"You’ve been avoiding me," you say, your voice quieter now.

His jaw tightens, but his expression doesn’t shift. "You’ve been avoiding me."

"Maybe," you admit. A small smirk tugs at your lips as you step even closer. "Or maybe I was just waiting for you to make the first move."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "That’s not how this works, kitten."

"Then how does it work?" Your voice is softer now, your gaze steady. "Because last I checked, you kissed me."

His breath hitches, barely audible.

For a moment, he doesn’t move.

And then— you’re against the railing, his hand is on your waist, his grip firm, fingers pressing against the silk of your dress as if anchoring himself in place. His breath is warm against your skin, his voice low and edged with something dangerous.

"It was a mistake," he murmurs, though there’s no conviction behind the words.

You smirk, tilting your head slightly. "Then why are you still thinking about it?"

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. Because you already know.

And when his grip tightens on your waist, when his breath ghosts over your lips, you can see it—the exact moment he realizes he’s already lost.

You could kiss him right now. It would be easy. He’s already too close. His body is practically caging you in, his presence overwhelming. His fingers press into your waist like he doesn’t want to let go, like he’s memorizing the feeling of you beneath his touch. His breath is warm against your lips, his eyes dark and unreadable.

And you know he wants it. Because he hasn’t moved away. Because his grip keeps tightening, like he’s fighting himself but losing the battle.

Because when you whisper, "What are you so afraid of, Bat?" his lips part—like he’s about to answer.

Like he’s about to give in. Like this is finally it.

And then— "We’ve got a problem." The comm in his ear crackles to life, shattering the moment.

Just like that, his entire body stiffens. The warmth disappears, replaced by something cold, something distant. You watch it happen—the exact second he shuts down. The moment he remembers who he is. Who you are. What this is.

His hand falls away. His walls slam back up.

When he speaks again, his voice is devoid of whatever had been lingering between you just seconds ago. "I have to go."

You don’t let it show—the disappointment, the frustration curling inside your chest, the ache you don’t want to name. Instead, you force a smirk, tilting your head slightly.

"Duty calls, huh?"

His expression remains unreadable. "Always."

And with that— he’s gone.

But there's always a problem. You should've known this was a setup. You should have left the party the second he walked away.

You should have ignored the champagne, the meaningless conversations, and the empty laughter echoing through the ballroom. You should have disappeared into the night before anyone had the chance to notice.

But you didn’t. And now, you are paying for it.

The moment you step out the back entrance and into the dimly lit alleyway, something slams into you with brutal force. The impact knocks the air from your lungs, sending you stumbling. Before you can react, a sharp sting pierces the side of your neck.

Your vision blurs instantly as your body feels heavy and unsteady. The world tilts beneath you as you struggle to stay upright, but your limbs refuse to cooperate.

Through the haze, a voice reaches your ears, low and amused. "Nighty night, kitty."

Darkness swallows you whole.

"Say that again."

His voice is quiet. Too quiet.

Shoko hesitates over the comms. "She’s missing. No one’s seen her since the party. Word on the street is—"

She doesn’t get the chance to finish. He is already moving. His mind is no longer in the conversation. His focus sharpens, narrowing in on a single, undeniable truth.

Someone took you. And that changes everything.

This isn’t part of the game you and he have played for years. This isn’t the usual chase through Gotham’s streets, the endless dance of pursuit and escape. This isn’t teasing smirks and near-missed captures.

This is something else, something darker.

Someone dared to take you, and that is a very, very big problem.

Because you are his to chase. Because no one else gets to touch you. Because if they have hurt you— he will burn this entire fucking city to the ground.

Pain is the first thing you register. The feeling's not new at all though.

A dull, throbbing ache pulses behind your eyes, heavy and unrelenting. A sharp sting burns at your wrists where the rope digs into your skin. Cold metal presses against your ankles, the bite of steel cuffs locking you in place.

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself as the haze begins to clear. You’re tied to a chair.

The air is thick with the scent of damp concrete, musty and stale, like an old basement that hasn't seen fresh air in years. A single lightbulb flickers overhead, its dim glow casting long, shifting shadows against the cracked walls.

You take a slow breath and assess your surroundings.

You’re underground. Maybe an abandoned warehouse. Maybe a storage facility. Wherever you are, it's hidden, tucked away from prying eyes.

And whoever took you here—they know what they’re doing.

You flex your fingers, testing the restraints, but before you can shift too much, a voice cuts through the silence.

"Ah, you’re awake."

The words are smooth, laced with amusement, as if this entire situation is nothing more than an entertaining inconvenience to him.

Your eyes snap toward the source of the voice, adjusting to the dim light, and when you finally see him, irritation flares in your chest.

Fushiguro Toji.

You let out a slow breath, biting back a groan. "You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me."

Toji smirks, leaning back in his chair like he has all the time in the world. "Surprised, kitty?"

"Annoyed," you correct, rolling your shoulders against the ropes. "Didn’t think I was worth your time."

He chuckles, dark amusement dancing in his green eyes. "Oh, you weren’t. But then I heard about your little… situation with Gotham’s Bat."

The words are casual, but your stomach twists.

You don’t react. You don’t tense. You don’t let the flicker of unease show on your face. Instead, you arch a brow and smirk. "Didn’t know he had fans."

"I wouldn’t call myself a fan," Toji muses, tilting his head. "But I do love a good weakness. And you, sweetheart?" He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You’re his."

Your heart skips just for a second.

But you keep your expression neutral because he’s wrong.

Right?

Right.

Right.

…Right?

Gojo finds the first guy in ten minutes.

The second in five.

By the time he gets to the third, his knuckles are already bloodied, bruises forming across his fingers from the force of his hits.

The man stumbles back, pressing himself against the brick wall, his breath coming out in short, panicked gasps. "I-I don’t know where they took her, I swear—"

Gojo’s expression is unreadable beneath his blindfold, but his voice is ice. "Where."

It isn’t a question. It’s a demand.

The man chokes, scrambling for words. "P-please, man, I just heard they took her underground—"

That’s all Gojo needs.

His fingers loosen, and the man collapses to the ground, coughing and gasping for air. But Gojo doesn’t wait. He’s already gone. Because he’s close. Because they took you from him. Because they think they can keep you.

And they’re about to learn just how wrong they are.

You won’t let him see you sweat.

Not when the ropes burn against your wrists, cutting into your skin with every twitch of your fingers. Not when your head pounds from whatever the hell they drugged you with, the fog in your brain refusing to lift. Not even when Fushiguro Toji leans in, eyes dark with amusement, the sharp glint of his knife catching the dim, flickering light.

He’s enjoying this.

Enjoying the way your muscles tense when the blade spins between his fingers. Enjoying the way your gaze flickers toward the door, toward the single exposed bulb swaying overhead.

Enjoying the way you’re waiting for something.

Or rather, someone.

"What’s wrong, kitty?" he murmurs, the cold edge of steel pressing against your cheek. "Thought your Bat would’ve come for you by now?"

Your lips curl into a smirk, masking the way your stomach coils with unease. "What, jealous?"

Toji chuckles, low and amused, before his fingers curl beneath your chin, tilting your face up. His grip is firm—not cruel, but controlling. A predator playing with his food.

"Nah," he muses. "Just curious how long it’s gonna take him to break."

Your stomach tightens because if there’s one thing you know about Gojo Satoru, it’s this— he doesn’t break.

He shatters. And when he does— he takes everything down with him.

Gojo hears your heartbeat before he sees you. He has some sirt of a bat instinct, you see.

Faint. Steady. Alive.

That’s the only thing keeping him from ripping this place apart.

But the moment he steps inside—the moment his eyes land on you, tied to that fucking chair, with Toji crouched in front of you like a wolf toying with its prey—something inside him snaps.

"Step away from her." His voice is quiet and deadly. The kind of voice that promises violence.

Toji doesn’t even turn around. Instead, he grins, spinning his knife between his fingers. "Took you long enough, Bat."

Gojo doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink. "This is your only warning."

Toji finally turns, his sharp green eyes glinting with something dangerous. "Or what?"

Gojo tilts his head, slow and deliberate.

Then—he smiles. "Or I’ll show you why Gotham is afraid of the dark."

You’ve seen him fight before. You’ve seen the way he moves—quick, calculated, precise.

But this? This is different. This isn’t the controlled Bat, this isn’t the patient hunter.

This is Gojo Satoru with nothing left to hold back. And it’s terrifying. Because he’s not just fighting Toji.

He’s dismantling him.

A fist meets flesh with a sickening, brutal crack. Toji throws a punch—Gojo catches his wrist mid-air, twisting hard enough that the snap of bone echoes through the empty warehouse.

Toji grits his teeth, lunges—Gojo moves faster, dodging with ease before slamming him into the concrete so hard the ground cracks beneath them. There’s no banter. No smirk. No teasing.

There’s just rage.

And the worst part? Gojo is enjoying it. Because this isn’t just about you anymore. This is everything.

This is Gotham. The corruption. The powerlessness.

This is every ounce of anger he’s swallowed down for years, unleashed on the one bastard stupid enough to give him an excuse and if you don’t stop him now— he won’t stop at all.

"Satoru." Your voice barely reaches him over the pounding in his ears.

But the second you say his name—his real name— he freezes.

Fist still curled in Toji’s bloodied collar. Breath coming in slow, heavy exhales. Shoulders rising and falling with barely contained fury.

And then, slowly—he turns. His eyes meet yours, and for the briefest moment, they flicker—from Gotham’s Bat to the man underneath. That’s all you need.

"Let him go."

Gojo stares at you, unmoving, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second.

Then, with a sharp breath—he lets Toji’s unconscious body drop to the ground. The tension in his frame lingers, coiled tight, but his steps are steady as he moves toward you. The anger is still there. The darkness. The weight of everything he just did.

But his hands are gentle when they find the ropes binding your wrists.

"Let’s get you out of here."

The silence is suffocating.

You should be grateful though. The moment he cut you loose, he got you out—carried you through Gotham’s backstreets, made sure you weren’t followed. Now, you’re in a hidden safehouse—one of his, no doubt—sitting on an old couch, trying to ignore the dull ache in your wrists.

And him? He’s in the bathroom. Avoiding you.

You hear the water running, the steady drip of blood swirling down the sink. You should leave, you should run. But you don’t. Because you’re not done with him yet.

But for him it keeps replaying in his head. The way you said it.

'"Satoru."'

Not Batman. Not Bats. Not some teasing, smug nickname meant to piss him off. Just his name.

Like you knew exactly what it meant to use it. Like you knew it would break him.

His knuckles sting as he washes off the blood. He should have killed Toji. He should have— no.

No, he shouldn’t have let you get this close. He grips the edge of the sink, eyes burning into his reflection. He can’t want this. He can’t want you.

But then—a creak of the floorboard, a shift in the air. He doesn’t need to turn around to know you’re standing in the doorway. And when you speak— he already knows he’s fucked.

"Let me see your hands."

He doesn’t move, neither does he look at you. But he also doesn’t stop you when you step forward and reach for his hand. The bruises are already blooming, dark and angry across his knuckles.

You should say something sharp—something to piss him off, make him smirk, drag him back into whatever stupid game you’ve been playing for years. But for once, you don’t want to play.

"You could’ve killed him," your voice is quiet.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. "I should have."

"That’s not who you are," you say as you caress the back of his hand.

That makes him snap.

His head jerks up, eyes flashing. "You don’t know who I am."

But you don’t let go.

You squeeze his hand—challenging. "Then tell me."

He doesn't say anything for a while and you feel frustrated.

And then, softer—barely a breath. "You don’t want to know."

The silence between you stretches, thick and heavy, coiling around your throat like a noose.

His hand is still in yours, bruised and warm, fingers twitching like he’s fighting the urge to pull away.

Or worse—hold on tighter.

You don’t let go. Neither does he. And for a moment, just a moment, you let yourself believe that maybe— maybe this isn’t something you have to fight. Maybe this doesn’t have to be another battle, another game of pushing and pulling until one of you finally lets go.

Maybe— but then his grip tightens, and his voice, when he finally speaks, is hoarse. "You should leave."

The words hit harder than any punch.

Your breath catches, but you don’t let it show. You force yourself to smile, to tilt your head like this is nothing, like you aren’t standing on the edge of something that could shatter you completely.

"So that’s it?" you murmur, fingers tracing absent patterns along his wrist, feeling the steady pulse beneath your touch. "I almost die, you almost lose your mind, and now you’re just gonna pretend none of it happened?"

His jaw clenches, eyes flashing, but he doesn’t pull away. "It can’t happen."

You scoff. "Can’t, or won’t?"

He exhales sharply, the muscle in his jaw twitching again. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?"

"Make this something it isn’t."

Anger flickers hot in your chest, and this time, it’s you who tightens your grip. "And what exactly is this, Satoru?"

He doesn’t answer and that’s the worst part. Because you can take a fight. You can take sharp words and heated arguments, can take anger and fire and frustration.

But this? This silence? This refusal to even acknowledge what’s between you? This is what fucking hurts.

You shake your head, laughing bitterly as you finally drop his hand. "You know, for someone who always acts like he’s got all the answers, you really are a fucking coward."

Then you turn. And this time, you walk away first.

He lets you walk away, though he shouldn’t.

He knows he shouldn’t. But he does.

Because if he stops you—if he says anything else, if he gives in even an inch— he won’t be able to stop himself at all.

He won’t be able to stop himself from pulling you back, from letting himself want this, want you, from letting himself believe that there could ever be a world where this doesn't end in disaster.

So he lets you go. He stays in that goddamn bathroom, gripping the counter so hard his knuckles turn white, staring at his own reflection like it’ll give him an answer he doesn’t already fucking know.

Because he knows.

He knows that no matter how many times he tells himself to stay away, no matter how many times he buries it— it’s still there.

It’s been there for years. And now? Now it’s unraveling, slipping through his fingers like smoke, impossible to ignore, impossible to deny. Because the moment you walked away? He felt it.

The weight in his chest, the tightening in his throat, the overwhelming urge to chase after you, to take it back, to do something—

And fuck.

Fuck.

He slams his fist into the mirror before he can stop himself, glass shattering beneath his skin, pain blooming sharp and hot across his knuckles. He doesn’t even feel it. Because all he can think about—all he can fucking think about— is you. And that’s when he knows. This is it. This is the breaking point.

Because the second something happens—the second something puts you in danger again, the second someone so much as looks at you the wrong way— he won’t be able to stop himself.

And this time? He won’t fucking try.

You shouldn’t care. You tell yourself you don’t.

You tell yourself it’s better this way.

You tell yourself you should be used to it by now—used to the push and pull, used to the way he always leaves first, used to the way you always let him.

But this time? This time, it feels different.

This time, it feels like something inside you has been cracked open, exposed, left bleeding in the space between you. This time, you were the one who walked away—and it still fucking hurts.

Because the truth is— you wanted him to stop you. You wanted him to prove you wrong. But he didn’t.

And that? That fucking stings.

You exhale, pressing your fingers to your temples, eyes fluttering shut as you try to push it down, try to shove it deep, deep, deep beneath the surface where it can’t touch you anymore.

But the second you open your eyes, the second you see your reflection in the grimy window of your apartment—

You know. You know this isn’t over, because no matter how hard you try to run from it— it always brings you back to him.

You were lost in your thoughts, more like consumed by them that you forgot. You're Catwoman. You're in the freaking city of Gotham. You should've known. It happens fast. Too fast.

One second, you’re walking down the empty streets of Gotham, the cool night air biting at your skin, the weight of earlier still sitting heavy in your chest—

And the next? You’re surrounded.

Shadows slip out from the alleys, footsteps closing in, voices murmuring in low, amused tones. "Look what we have here…"

"Thought you were untouchable, sweetheart?"

Shit.

You recognize them instantly—Falcone’s men. Which means this isn’t a random attack. This is a message, a warning. A consequence for getting too close to Gotham’s Bat.

You bite back a curse, hands twitching at your sides, muscles tensing as you count the men, assess the distance, calculate your odds.

Four—maybe five. Armed? Most likely. A fight you could win? …Not without consequences.

But what other choice do you have? Because you already know— no one is coming to save you. Not this time.

Satoru feels it before he hears it.

It’s instinct.

A sharp, sudden shift in his chest, a gut-wrenching pull like something inside him is being ripped apart. Then— the comm buzzes.

"We got a situation." Nanami’s voice is clipped, urgent. "Falcone’s men. Five of them. Near Harbor Street."

And before he can even think—before he can stop himself—he’s already moving. Because he knows.

He fucking knows.

You don’t go down easy. They think they’ve already won. They think this will be easy.

They think you’re just a pretty little thief, just a girl who got in too deep, just another lesson to be taught. And that’s their first mistake. Because you don’t go down easy.

You move before they do—a sharp kick, a twist, a knife pulled from your belt and pressed to the throat of the closest man before he can even blink.

"Try it," you hiss, voice laced with venom.

He hesitates, and in that second, you know—you have an opening.

But then— a gun cocks.

And a voice—low, amused, familiar—cuts through the night like a blade. "Tsk. Always making things difficult, aren’t you, kitten?"

Your blood runs cold because you know that voice.

Suguru Geto.

And that? That changes everything.

You’ve honestly been in worse situations. But not many.

Not ones that make your stomach twist quite like this, not ones that make your pulse hammer against your ribs in something too sharp, too visceral, too close to fear. Because this isn’t just anyone. This isn’t some low-level thug. This isn’t even some mob boss looking to put you in your place. This is Suguru Geto.

And he doesn’t waste his time on small threats. No, when he moves, when he speaks, when he smiles—it means something.

"You’ve been causing quite the stir lately," he muses, stepping closer, his hands tucked casually in his coat pockets. "Getting on the Bat’s good side, stepping on all the wrong toes—really, kitten, I expected better from you."

You force your grip to stay steady, the knife still pressed against the throat of the man you caught off guard.

"Flattered, really," you say, keeping your voice light, like your pulse isn’t hammering, like your fingers aren’t itching to grab your grapple and run. "Didn’t think I’d be important enough to warrant a visit from the great Suguru Geto himself."

He chuckles—low, smooth, condescending. "Oh, you’re important," he says. "Just not in the way you think."

Your jaw tightens. "Yeah? Then why are you here?"

He tilts his head, watching you like you’re a puzzle he’s already figured out. "Because," he hums, "you have something that belongs to me."

The USB.

Shit.

Your grip on the knife falters for half a second—half a second too long. Because before you can react, before you can process, before you can even think— The man you were holding twists, shoving you off, the cold barrel of a gun pressing against your ribs before you can recover.

And just like that— you’re out of options.

Satoru's close.

Close enough that he can hear the words, close enough that he can hear your fucking pulse spike.

And that? That’s what does it. Because it’s one thing to be reckless. It’s one thing to be stubborn, to push him away, to insist that you don’t need him, that you can handle yourself.

But this? This is different because Geto doesn’t make idle threats.

And the second Gojo hears the sharp intake of your breath, the second he hears the shift of movement, the second he realizes exactly what’s happening— he moves. Fast. Too fast for them to react.

Because one second, Geto is smirking, enjoying his little game— and the next? He’s eating pavement.

Satoru doesn't hold back. He could, he should. But he doesn’t.

Because the second he sees that gun against your ribs, the second he sees the way your shoulders tense, the way your eyes flicker with something you never let anyone see— it’s over.

The first punch sends Geto flying. The second cracks something, leaves him coughing up blood.

The third? That one’s personal.

Because Gojo has been patient. He’s let things slide, let lines blur, let the underworld think he’s just another player in the game. But this? This is different. This is you. And that? That changes everything.

You've seen his fight countless times, but not like this. Not like he’s tearing through them without a second thought, not like he’s this close to losing control, not like the only thing keeping him from going too far is the fact that you’re standing right there.

It should scare you.

It should make you rethink everything, should remind you why you’ve always kept your distance, why you’ve always told yourself you couldn’t afford to get caught up in whatever the hell is between you. But it doesn’t. Because all you can think, as you watch him break Geto’s men like they’re nothing— is that he came. That you didn’t even call for him, and he still fucking came.

And when it’s over, when the dust settles and Geto is left bloody and laughing on the pavement, when Gojo finally turns to you, breath ragged, knuckles split, eyes burning— you don’t run. You don’t even flinch.

Because you know what this means. What it’s always meant. And maybe—maybe this time, neither of you will walk away first.

You really think you should stop this. You should. You should shove him away, should tell him this doesn’t change anything, should remind yourself why this is a bad idea, why this has always been a bad idea.

But when his fingers curl around your wrist, when he tugs you closer, when his breath ghosts over your lips— you don’t move. You don’t speak. You don’t even breathe. Because this isn’t like before.

This isn’t a game, isn’t a moment either of you will walk away from, isn’t something that can be brushed aside when the night is over. This is the point of no return.

And when he finally, finally closes the distance— you let him.

Because maybe—just maybe—you were never meant to run from him in the first place. It was always going to be you, always.

From the moment you first slipped past his defenses, from the moment you first met his gaze across the rooftops of Gotham, from the moment you first left him standing there with nothing but your name on his tongue and your laughter ringing in his ears— it was always going to be you.

And now? Now, with you in his arms, with your fingers tangled in his hair, with your taste on his lips, he knows there’s no going back. He doesn’t want to.

Because if Gotham is his curse, if the mask is his burden, if the weight of this city is something he’ll never escape— then you? You're the only thing that’s ever made it worth it. And for once, just once—he’s taking what he wants.

You find yourself on the rooftop with him, where it all began.

The city glows beneath you. The skyline stretches out, endless and alive, neon lights flickering, sirens wailing in the distance, the hum of Gotham’s heartbeat steady and unyielding.

It’s always been like this. Always moving. Always demanding. Always taking. And you? You’ve always been running.

But tonight? Tonight, you stand still. Because Gojo is in front of you, mask off, white hair ruffled by the wind, the cut on his lip still fresh from the fight, his eyes— those damn blue eyes—locked onto yours like he’s trying to memorize you, like he already knows what’s coming.

"So this is it, huh?" he says, voice low, rough.

You swallow hard, forcing a smirk. "Come on, Bat. You knew it wouldn’t last."

His jaw clenches. "Doesn’t mean I have to like it."

You step closer, tilting your head. "You’ll live."

He exhales sharply, like he’s about to say something—something real, something that might make you stay— but you can’t let him.

So you reach up, fingers barely brushing his jaw, a ghost of a touch, a silent goodbye.

"Goodbye, Batman," you whisper, voice softer than you mean it to be. "Gotham needs you."

For a second, just a second—you think that’s it. That he’ll let you go. That he’ll watch you disappear into the night like you always do.

But then— his hand catches yours. Tightly. Desperately. And when he speaks, when his voice finally breaks— it nearly stops you in your tracks.

"Why don’t you stay, Cat?" he murmurs, raw, unguarded, everything. "I need you."

Your breath catches as your heart lurches. Because that—that’s the one thing you weren’t ready for. But you force a smirk, even as your chest aches.

"That’s your problem, Bat." You squeeze his hand once, just once—before slipping free. "You’re not supposed to." You pause and for once give him a big genuine smile. "See ya later batman."

And with that— you step back and you turn, as you disappear into the night, like you always do.

Because Gotham needs him. And maybe he was never meant to need you.

@do-morochaa @madamechrissy @katthekat1234 (hope y'all like it😭💗)

[emsdevs]

Be Okay

Bear and Bug AU 🐻🐞

a/n: this got incredibly long 🧍‍♀️ 3.5 k words and 7 pages on google docs later... here is the next part of Bear and Bug!! I hope you guys enjoy it!! Also I posted this the other day as well but just because this is the last part of the main "story" in this au does NOT mean it's over!! I wanna keep Bear and Bug going as long as you all will let me!! So pls feel free to send in any requests, thoughts, or questions you have about the universe!! once again, i hope y'all enjoy this one because I enjoyed writing it!

masterlist | NHL Masterlists | Bear and Bug Masterlist

“Hey,” you stared at Jack, unsure where to go from here. You can’t take your eyes off of your best friend, but you can hear Trevor, Alex, and Cole moving around behind you in order to give the two of you some privacy. It was silent for a long time, but you knew this was a conversation that needed to happen, not just for you two. You weren’t sure what exactly had been happening at the lake house while you were gone, but you doubted it was anything good. You knew Quinn was blaming Jack, and the last you knew, Luke was as angry with you as Jack was. You figured that whenever you decided to return, the tension would be tenfold what it was when you left.

Finally, Jack breaks the silence, “You came back.” You could see the slightest bit of relief on his face, mixed with a lot of regret.

“Yeah, Alex talked me into it,” you’d never felt this awkward around Jack. You almost felt unsure, of yourself, of what to say, of where to go from where you are. It was unnatural for the two of you.

“We really need to talk,” he sounds worried, and your heart drops. You can feel it. This is it. This is where your friendship with Jack ends. This is the last time you’ll see him. It’s the last time you’ll see Quinn, Luke, Cole, Trevor, Alex, Ellen, Jim. Your life is about to go downhill.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “yeah, you’re right.” You reluctantly move to sit near him on the couch. He sits back down as well, leaving plenty of space between the two of you. 

“So,” he begins, rubbing his hands on his pants to rid them of the sweat. 

~~

Trevor, Cole, and Alex had taken it upon themselves to search for Quinn and Luke, not wanting them to accidentally interrupt the conversation you were currently having with Jack downstairs. After not finding them anywhere down there, the three boys made their way upstairs. Trevor checked Quinn’s room, finding nothing, while Alex checked Luke’s, finding the same. Just as they were about to give up, assuming the two of them must’ve gone somewhere, Cole makes the decision to check your room, just in case. There, he finds Quinn curled up on your bed, cuddling into one of your pillows, and Luke nestled into a large beanbag chair you had in the corner of your room. The three boys share a look, silently deciding to at least wake up Quinn so that he’s aware of what’s going on.

“Quinn. Q. Wake up, bud,” Trevor was whisper-yelling, trying to wake Quinn up but also let Luke sleep.

Soon, Quinn began to stir, giving the three boys a confused look before his brain caught up, “Where is Bug?” He wastes no time. He wants you, not them. No, he needs you. 

“She’s downstairs, but you can’t go to her right now,” Trevor knows he’s probably the last person in the house that Quinn would want to listen to, so he looks over his shoulder toward the other two boys for help.

“What do you mean? Does she not wanna see me?”

“She’s talking things through with Jack right now,” Cole steps in, “We all know whatever happens between you two will depend on how her conversation with Jack goes. You gotta let them talk it out before trying to fix things between you.”

“Then why even wake me up at all?” Quinn was more miserable now than before. You were in the same town as him, in the same building. You were just downstairs, and he still couldn’t go to you. The boys should’ve just let him sleep.

“We just wanted you to know what’s going on. We know how you feel about her. We want everything to work out between you two, okay? She’s been miserable the past few weeks,” Cole has hated seeing you so down. You were always bright and sunny, always meeting his permanent smile with an even brighter one. You were the light of everyone’s life, and somehow your light was blown out in minutes. It felt like wandering around in darkness for all of the boys. They needed you to keep them going, so they can see what’s ahead of them, what they could accomplish. Without your light, everything was dull for all of them.

“She’s been miserable?” Quinn felt his chest somehow cave in even further than it already had. He felt empty inside, but now it’s just a tightness taking up his entire chest, like someone squeezing him, trapping him.

“Yeah, man. She’s just been crying and moping. It’s taken so much effort to get her to eat any real meals too. She misses all three of you guys, but I know even just one conversation with you would’ve helped,” Cole stared at his lap as he talked. You had almost been a shell of yourself without your three favorite boys, and that scared Cole. He’d never seen you like that, and he didn’t want to see you like that ever again.

“Oh, god. I knew I should’ve reached out. I just,” Quinn sniffled, the tears welling up again, “I just didn’t think she’d wanna hear from me. I mean, when she… when she walked out,” he cut himself off. He was fully crying now, which he would usually never do in front of any of the boys, but he didn’t care right now. 

“Don’t blame yourself, bro. She thought the same thing about you. It took all three of us all morning to talk her into coming back here. She was blaming herself. She never hated you. Promise,” Alex was speaking softly to Quinn now, hoping to help console someone he considered an older brother. The four boys sat there, worry for you clear on all of their faces. They couldn’t hear what you and Jack were saying downstairs, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t wondering what the state of all of their relationships with you would be after today.

~~

“So, uh, first of all, I wanna say I’m sorry, and I swear we’ll circle back around to it later, but first I feel like I need to actually listen to what you were trying to tell me three weeks ago. Tell me about you and Quinn. I’m all ears,” he gives a tight smile, and although you’re a little weary, you begin to tell him.

“Oh- okay, um. Nothing happened on purpose. We got really close that first year I was at UMich while you were with the National Development team. It was nothing serious then. It was just nice to have someone on campus who really knew us. When he left for Van in second semester, we called each other a lot. That’s when the nicknames started. It kept going like that until the summer, but after you got drafted, you and I decided to live up the summer with each other. I guess Quinn felt a little neglected or jealous or whatever. That’s why he was so short with everyone then, especially me. I went back to school that fall so worried that I had somehow done something wrong. He still wasn’t talking to me, but I didn’t know why it hurt so badly then. Toward the end of October, the Canucks were playing the Red Wings in Detroit. After the game, Quinn came to campus, and we argued for a while. But he ended up telling me that he was falling in love with me, and I felt the same way about him. We worked on things together for a while and ended up deciding to give us a shot. We didn’t wanna freak anyone out or cause drama or get anyone excited if it wasn’t gonna work, so we decided to keep it to ourselves for a while. It was just supposed to be a long distance thing, but we both struggled with that. I went to visit him once over Christmas break and over spring break, and he came to spend All-Star break with me. I need you to know that I felt horrible hiding it from everyone, mainly you. I felt so guilty for so long, and I couldn’t wait for the summer so that I could finally tell you. We knew it would be better to tell everyone in person, especially after how long we waited to mention it. I didn’t mean to mess anything up between you and your brothers or between you and me. If you want me and Quinn to end things for good, I understand that, and I would do that if it meant the three of you would be on good terms again,” you finally stop talking. Tears are streaming down your face now, and although you haven’t been able to look at him, you’re sure Jack looks similar. There’s a pit in your stomach, and you’re still worried about where this conversation might lead you and Jack.

“I should have listened to that story a long time ago, and I don’t want you to end things with Quinn, okay?” he can feel his heart breaking at the sadness on your face.

“But Jack-” 

“No. I’m serious. You both were so happy together, and I’m so sorry I ruined that. You’ve sacrificed so much for me throughout our lives that I couldn’t even begin to count it all. I overreacted, like a lot. I was only thinking about myself, and I’ve realized just how often I’ve done that now. It’s a little weird for me, yeah, and of course, I wish you had told me sooner. But I understand now that you had valid reasons, and the only thing I should’ve done is support you. I’ve never been good at sharing you, but I think it’s time I start. I love you, Bug. You’re my best friend, and it’s time I start treating you like it,” he takes a deep breath. He can see the hope in your eyes now and the relief surrounding it. Maybe this would work out for the two of you after all. 

“Jack, no. Please don’t feel bad. I should have told you. You were going through such a difficult time, and I made it ten times worse. I’m so sorry, Jacky,” you place a hand on his leg, almost as if he’d be able to feel how sorry you felt through the contact.

“I’m serious, Bug. I want you both to be happy. It’ll be a lot to get used to at first, but I’ll get over it,” he’s looking at you so earnestly, but if you’re honest, you didn’t hear much past the first sentence.

“You’ve been calling me Bug?” you’re sure you probably look shell-shocked or something. He hated that nickname just a few weeks ago, probably because it was from Quinn. Now, though, he’s using it. That alone is enough to prove his acceptance of your relationship with his brother.

“Oh-” he’s surprised that’s your answer, “yeah, I uh, I used it a decent amount over the past few weeks kinda sarcastically, but I, um, I guess it stuck? I don’t know. It suits you.”

“Thank you,” you’re smiling now. It’s not as bright as it would normally be, but it’s a smile nonetheless. “Thank you so much, Jacky. I love you,” you spring forward, bringing him into a hug. He hugs you back just as tightly, glad to have his best friend back.

Soon, he pulls back and starts speaking again, “Go find Quinn, Bugger. He needs you.”

“Thanks, J,” you press a kiss to his cheek before standing up to go find Quinn, “We’ll hang out later, okay? Promise.”

“Sounds good,” as he watched you walk away, Jack felt a weight lift off of his shoulders. Everything will be okay between the two of you. The guilt doesn’t disappear completely, though. If he had just heard you out in the first place, nobody would’ve gone through this emotional stress.

~~

You went straight for your room. You didn’t really have a reason. You could just tell that’s where Quinn would be. What you didn’t expect was to also see Trevor, Cole, and Alex with tears streaming down their faces and Luke who looks like he’s just woken up. You stand there, shocked and dejected. You’re the reason they feel like this. Maybe you should call things off with Quinn anyway. Things were so much easier before you two got closer. 

They stare at you with similar looks. It’s obvious they want to know what just happened between you and Jack, but that’s just something Jack will have to deal with. You need to talk with Quinn as soon as possible. 

“Can I talk to Quinn? Alone?” you whisper.

“Yes! Yeah, of course. C’mon guys, let’s go,” Cole is the one to get the other boys up and out of your room. They each gave you a stiff but supportive smile on their way out. Luke touched your shoulder for a moment as he walked out, giving you an apologetic look, letting you that he was no longer angry with you. That lifted some of the weight off your shoulders, but for now, you needed to focus on figuring things out with Quinn.

“How are you?” you’re hesitant, but you know he won’t be the one to start the conversation.

“How do think I am?” his words cut into you, sharper than any knife you’ve ever held. This won’t be an easy conversation.

“Quinn, I-”

“No, Bug, you don’t get to do that. You left. You left me. You left Jack. You left Luke. For what? To let us suffer? You thought we were all better off without you here, but we’ve all been miserable,” you can see the hurt in his eyes. It traps you, wraps around you like a barbed wire fence, leaving cuts and bruises all over. 

“Bear, I promi-”

“Just stop. I mean did you seriously think that was the best way to go about this? Running away? We could’ve talked this out three weeks ago! Instead, you had to run off to who knows where and do who knows what while I sat here worried sick about you. God, Bug, it only made things worse. Can’t you see that?” he was standing now, pacing back and forth as he spoke. He wasn’t about to hold back. No, he was done with that. He had to get his feelings out, even if it was the last thing he did.

“Will you let me speak?” you had to raise your voice so he’d listen to you, or even hear you at all. “I realize now that it wasn’t the best option. I know that, okay? But I did need to get away, from the house, from the stress, from my emotions. I needed to leave, so I knew how I felt about all of this. You can’t be mad at me for that. If I had stayed it would’ve only gotten worse. I would’ve just been stuck in my anger, and none of this ever would’ve gotten resolved,” you were breathing heavily now. There had to be some way to make him see your side of this.

“Well you could’ve come back sooner,” his voice was quieter now, but it hadn’t lost any of its venom.

“I know that! God! Will you please just stop trying to make me feel bad? I feel horrible! Does that make you happy? I’ve been losing my mind for three weeks, thinking I ruined your family! I’ve been miserable, Quinn, so don’t sit here and tell me how bad I should feel!”

“No,” something in his eyes changes. He’s looking at you differently now, and you’re not sure if that’s good or bad.

“What do you mean, no?” you can’t help the bite that comes with your words. 

“No, that doesn’t make me happy. I’m sorry, Bug. You’re right. You finally chose yourself, and I shouldn’t be sitting here making you feel bad for it. You deserve to do what’s best for you, but please, don’t ever think I’d be happy about you feeling like that. That’s the last thing I want. I just… I was hurt. It seemed so easy for you to walk away. I’ve barely left your room since you left. I sleep in here most of the time. It, uh, made me feel close to you I guess,” he wasn’t meeting your eyes now. Hearing how he truly felt shattered your heart. You had hurt him like that. 

“Oh, Quinn. I’m so, so sorry, but you have to know that was nowhere near easy for me,” you step toward him, holding his right hand in your left and moving your right to cup his cheek. “I hated walking away from you, from all of you, but leaving you there on the dock left a hole in my chest that I haven’t been able to fill. I need you as much as you need me.” 

“I shouldn’t have come at you like that, Bug. I’m sorry. I was just scared to lose you. For good,” he moves his hands to hold your waist and leans his forehead down to rest against yours.

“I’m not leaving, okay? Never again. It’s me and you,” you give him a reassuring smile before pulling him into a hug.

“What about Jack? He’s most of the reason we’re in this mess in the first place,” he squeezes you a little tighter when you attempt to pull away, so you continue hugging him.

“He’s okay with this. He apologized, even wanted to know how we got together and everything. We’re okay, and he’s good with us being… well… us,” you feel Quinn breathe a sigh of relief, and suddenly, the weight on your shoulders has completely lifted and the hole in your chest has been filled with the only thing that could possibly fill it: Quinn.

“Oh thank god. Just you and me now?”

“Just you and me,” you nod, “except I’m sure Jack and Luke will want you to share me sometimes,” you let out a laugh, feeling much lighter than you did when you walked in.

“I guess I can handle that,” he pulls back, and you’re worried the moment is over. The second he’s far enough away, though, he’s pulling you in for a kiss you’ve been waiting three weeks for.

~~

“Hey, man,” Trevor let his sentence hang in the air as he and the other three boys approached where Jack sat on the couch.

“Hey,” Jack looks up at them as they enter the room.

“So, uhhh, did you fix things with Bug?” Luke is the first one to bring it up. He’s tired of all the tension, and he wants you back in his life.

“Yeah, um, I think… I think we’re all good. I- I mean it’s not exactly like it used to be… before… well you know. But, um, I mean we talked it out, and I think we’ll be okay,” Jack still feels the weight of the future of your friendship resting on his shoulders, but after your conversation, it’s slowly been lifting. He has high hopes that everything will turn out alright.

Luke sighs in relief, “Finally. I just want everything to be normal again.”

“Wait. What about her and Quinn? Are you… like… chill with that?” Trevor once again chimes in.

“Dude,” Cole sighs.

“Bro…” Alex trails off at the same time.

“What? We were all thinking it,” Trevor says the last part under his breath.

Jack can’t help but breathe out a laugh, “I told her to go for it. They make each other happy. I should’ve never been mad about that.”

“What do you guys think they’re talking about up there?” Luke speaks in a small voice. 

“Are they just talking?” Trevor snorts out a laugh.

“Ew, bro. I do not need to think about that,” Jack might be cool with you dating his brother, but he definitely doesn’t want to think about what you two might get up to when you’re alone. 

“We just talked, guys,” you and Quinn find your way into the living room at the wrong time.

“C’mon, guys, we’ve only been back together for like five minutes,” you chime in. 

“Bug!” Luke makes his way to you in two strides, needing to have you near him.

“Lukey!” you give Luke the best hug you can manage, dropping Quinn’s hand in favor of hugging Luke.

“So everything is good now? Like you’re back? Summer can be normal? We can be normal?” Luke is rambling, but he doesn’t care. He needs his family to be okay again.

“Yeah, bud. We’re all gonna be okay,” Quinn reaches to ruffle Luke’s hair before joining in on the hug. He motions for Jack to come join, and soon all four of you are feeling like nothing had happened at all. 

Trevor decides for himself to join in, not one to enjoy feeling left out. He drags Cole and Alex with him, not wanting them to be left out either. Now, you’re all one big, happy family, in your own little weird way. It’s not perfect, and not everything is completely okay. Somehow, though, you all know you’ll make it through it. It’ll turn out alright.

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[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Made Your Mark On Me

...a golden tattoo Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Your feelings for Dieter grow even stronger as you spend Christmas in London with him. Warnings: pov switching, christmas vibes, warren's a pos, pining, fluff, comfort, unprotected p in v sex, oral (f&m receiving), semi-public sex (in a dressing room), panty ripping, dieter's RICH, marijuana, alcohol, coke flashbacks, my google maps history knows a lot about the hyde park area of london Words: 7,800

A/N: Well folks, in true Gemini fashion, I've changed my mind. I know most of you voted for one mega chapter, but I think this arc is going to flow so much better as two. The next chapter is done, so expect that next week. My thanks to @devineconjuring for her eyes and dot eating and @schnarfer for her eyes and support. 💞

Previous Chapter Golden Girl Masterlist Masterlist ✨✨✨

December 23

Early morning light seeps through the curtains. Dieter’s arm lays heavily draped over your waist, his breath steady against your neck. Just as you nestle closer into the warmth of his body, the silence is shattered by the beeping of his alarm. He stirs behind you, his arm tightening briefly before he reaches over to silence the intrusive sound. The mattress shifts as he sits up, and you instantly feel cold.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice deep with sleep. "I have to get ready for set."

When you roll over to face him, he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your lips.

"You should go back to sleep," he whispers against your skin. "It's still early.”

You nod, already feeling the pull of slumber.

He kisses you once more before sliding out of bed. You watch through half-closed eyes as he stretches, his long, lean back rippling.

"I wish I could stay,” he whispers, bending over and cupping your face in his hands. "One more for the road,” he murmurs before giving you one last kiss.

He disappears into the bathroom. The shower turns on, and the steady sound of water flowing against the tiles helps you drift back to sleep.

—-

He wipes the condensation from the mirror, and the same brown eyes he’s known all these years stare back at him. They look different–not clouded under a druggy haze, not behind a red gloss after drinking too many glasses of expensive alcohol, not empty and hollow waiting for someone to focus on. They look bright, happy, and full of love. 

He dresses in the bedroom, careful not to wake you as he watches you nestled among the blankets, peacefully sleeping. He so badly wants to crawl back into bed and hold you close. But duty calls, and he knows the sooner he leaves, the sooner he can return.

One final day before the holiday break. He’s so glad you’re here–he couldn’t fathom not being with you for Christmas. Soon, he’ll have the whole week to spend entirely with you. He used to see these breaks as a reason to fly somewhere beautiful and far away with a suitcase full of drugs and drinks, maybe taking a pretty girl or boy–or both–with him. A reason to leave the stress of Hollywood behind, ignoring Christmas, where everyone is happy and full of love, and New Year’s, where everyone asks him how he’ll improve, as if they were calling him a fuck up. 

My, how times change. Now, domestic bliss swells in his heart when he pulls out two mugs, pouring himself a cup of coffee, leaving the sugar out for you. It’s a small gesture to make your morning better, and he’ll never tire of making you happy. 

In the living room, your robe lays in a heap on the rug, right where it fell from your shoulders last night. He picks it up, depositing it onto the chair by the bed before moving silently to your side. He’s careful not to disturb you as he leans over and leaves a kiss against your soft lips, slightly parted in slumber.

“I’ll be back soon, baby. I love you.”

—-

The sun shining in through the large windows warms you awake. Your mind clears, three softly whispered words echo through your head. The room feels empty without him, but you know there are only a few hours until you have a whole week with him. 

The smell of coffee and the leftover remnants of Dieter’s cologne tempt you out of bed. You choose his robe over your own, inhaling the scent of him before heading to the kitchen.

Signs of the night before are strewn amongst you as you enjoy your coffee on the couch–the same couch where your story with Dieter fundamentally changed. Two glasses of gin and tonic that have long gone flat sit on the table, a half-smoked joint lays in the crystal ashtray, and your phone sits on the chair, ignored since Dieter put the movie on. 

The corner near the window catches your eye and an idea lights in your mind and heart. Today, you’re going to get a Christmas tree for Dieter. After a quick shower and change of clothes, you bundle up under the warmth of his favorite brown coat and take the elevator down.

“Good morning, my lady,” Lamar greets you as you step out of the elevator. “Anything I can help you with on this lovely, cold December day?”

“Actually, yes,” you smile. “Dieter’s room is lacking a Christmas tree. Where can I get one? Preferably with lots of branches for ornaments?” “Ah,” Lamar’s eyes light up. “Leave that to me. I’ll get you two the finest tree in all of Britain. You just take care of the ornaments. I’ll get you a car.”

—-

“You’re needed on set in ten,” Court says with a sharp knock on his door.

“Alright,” he responds, sighing at his phone and staring at your last text.

I have a surprise for you when you get home.❣️

He can’t think about it too much. There’s a vital scene that he needs to get done before the break. Today has been filled with nothing but impatience and annoyance. He just wants to get back home to you.

Dieter takes a deep breath, pushing thoughts of you to the back of his mind. He needs to focus. What he has to do is crucial to the production, and he can't afford any distractions. Sometimes, he hates being an actor. 

The director calls action, and Dieter easily slips into character. But even as he delivers his lines, a part of him remains anchored to you back in that hotel room. To the feel of your lips, to the warmth of your body next to his, to the years of wanting you—and finally having you.

Hours pass in a blur of takes and retakes. Finally, the director calls it a wrap. Dieter hurries back to his trailer, shedding his costume and makeup as quickly as possible. And now, he has nine days with you.

—-

The door opens with a click and beep, and you quickly finish adjusting a branch before running to the entryway. 

Dieter lights up when he sees you, a wide, crinkling-eye-smile across his face.

“Hi, Sweets,” he says, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around you. "I’m so happy to see you.” He inhales your scent, his lips meeting the juncture between your shoulder and neck.

“Hi. I have a surprise for you,” you sweetly tease. “Close your eyes.”

He pulls back, his eyes squeezed shut, the dimple on his cheek sitting deep with his smile. 

You grab his hand and lead him into the living room, the thrum of anticipation and excitement growing louder inside you with each step. 

“Okay,” you whisper, positioning him just right. “Open your eyes.” His eyes flutter open, and his jaw drops when he takes everything in.

A large Christmas tree adorned with tiny white lights is set up in the corner of the living room. Under it, bags from Liberty London and Selfridges sit filled with ornaments. 

“I figured we needed a proper Christmas tree.“

“I-I… Sweets, this is… amazing.”

“Yeah?”

He turns to you, tiny tears prickling at the sides of his eyes. “Yeah. This is surreal.”

Your heart pounds at that word. Surreal. The implication of his words last night before you drifted to sleep. Love. Love surreal. 

“I know,” you respond. “But it makes sense, right?”

“Fully.”

He wraps his arm around you, and your head rests against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. He sighs contentedly, the sound of it vibrating against your cheek.

“Shall we get changed into our finest robes and decorate it?” you suggest.

“I’d love nothing more.”

—-

Christmas carols softly play in the background as you unearth ornament after ornament from your shopping bags. He hasn’t decorated a tree in years, usually leaving it to his assistant to sort it out just because he feels obligated to have one. He often wondered what spending the holidays with you would be like. You always made things look so picturesque, always went above and beyond. He wanted that, and when he couldn’t have it, well, the holidays really never mattered.

The soft glow of the Christmas lights dance across your face as you carefully unwrap each ornament with wonder in your eyes. You’re so beautiful.

“Oh! I got these too,” you excitedly say, pulling a box of colored Christmas lights out of the bag. “I figured you love a colorful tree.”

You’re perfect.

—-

The tree is just what you hoped it would be, shimmering in the corner with a mix of twinkling white and rainbow lights. You’re proud of the ornaments you found that now cover it. A film camera for Dieter, a record player for you, a fuzzy raccoon for Dieter, a furry corgi for you, a basket of chips for Dieter, a cup of tea for you, and every single star-shaped ornament you could find.

“We did a good job, didn’t we?” you ask, sitting on the couch with the lights off, only sitting in the warmth of Dieter and the tree’s glow. He sparks the joint, the lighter and the tree reflected in his big, brown eyes. 

“Mm, we did,” he responds, blowing out a plume of smoke before laying down and placing his head in your lap. 

“This is nice,” you say as you reach down and grab the joint from his lips to take a hit. 

You play with Dieter's hair, occasionally trailing your fingertips along his jawline or tracing the shell of his ear. He leans over and stubs out the joint, grabbing your hand and planting a kiss against it. “I’m really happy you’re here. Surreal, right?”

“So surreal,” you whisper.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

December 24

Silver bells…

Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much as you and Dieter sway to the crooning voices of Christmas carols. Dieter's arms are secure around your waist. You’re both clad in matching flannel pajamas. All you can feel in this moment is the warmth of his body and the joy inside you.

He pulls away with a wide smile lighting up his face. “I have something for you. I don’t want to wait until tomorrow.” He takes your hand and leads you to sit down in front of the Christmas tree, where he pulls out a small, clumsily wrapped box from behind it. "I wrapped it myself.”

You tear off the Rudolph-themed paper and open the velvet box, revealing a golden chain bracelet adorned with delicate charms–a camera, a shooting star, a biscuit for your tea, a bee for your garden, a mixtape, and a pig with wings (“because when pigs fly, right?).

“I tried to find a charm for everything that made me think of you,” Dieter softly says. 

Running your finger over each one, you feel like finally, after all these years, someone truly sees you.

"It's perfect," you say, awe in your voice. “Thank you.”

You reach out your wrist to him, and he gently fastens the bracelet's clasp. You’re enamored by how the golden charms glisten in the light when you shake your wrist back and forth.

“Surreal,” Dieter says as he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your inner wrist, just below the bracelet.

Slowly, he trails kisses up your arm. You shiver, your free hand coming up to tangle in his hair when he nuzzles into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder before he licks his way up to your lips.

His hand cups your face, his thick thumb softly caressing your cheek as his lips meet yours. He deepens the kiss before guiding you to lie back on the floor. You feel his warmth as he covers you. An unfamiliar emotion you haven’t felt in years swells in your heart. He pulls away, his eyes roaming over your face with a small smile, the Christmas tree lights twinkling in his eyes.

You unbutton your top before shrugging it off. He takes in the sight of you before he lowers his head and presses soft kisses along your collarbone. He makes a path down to the swell of your breasts, looking up at you with a mixture of awe and desire.

A gasp escapes your lips when his mouth closes over your nipple, his hand cupping your other breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak.

Your back arches into his touch, Dieter’s lips curling into a smile against your skin as he trails kisses down your stomach until he reaches the apex of your legs. He wraps his fingers around the waistband of your plaid pajama pants before tugging gently. “It’s a shame. I loved matching with you, but these have to go, baby.” The flannel slides down your legs smoothly, his lips following the path, leaving a trail of warm kisses along your thighs.

He pauses at your knee, nuzzling the soft skin before continuing downward. When he reaches your ankle, a final kiss is pressed to the delicate bone before removing your pants.

He makes his way back up, his hands caressing your calves, knees, and thighs before he parts your legs and settles between them. His breath is warm against your inner thigh as he places sweet kisses there.

Brown eyes meet yours, the Christmas lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors inside his eyes as his tongue darts out and tastes you. His eyes flutter shut, a long, low groan vibrating against you as his tongue traces every fold and curve of you with reverent devotion. His fingers join in, parting you as he laps at your clit. 

Carding your fingers through his hair to urge him closer, your moans overpower the Christmas carols playing through the speakers.

Two thick fingers are slid inside you, slowly fucking you as your hips buck against his face. He hums against you, the sweet vibrations lighting you from within.

You’re panting for him, rolling your hips and clutching at your chest as his mouth and fingers work you. Just as you’re about to cum, he pulls back, making you whine at the loss. But before you can protest, Dieter’s already moving up your body.

The taste of you is left upon your lips when he kisses you, his tongue covered in your slick, licking against yours. You can feel the heaviness of him between your thighs, gently pressing against you. 

He breaks the kiss, pulling away to look into your eyes as he slowly pushes inside, both of you gasping and smiling. 

"You feel incredible," he sighs, peppering kisses along your jaw. "So perfect."

He languidly moves inside you, savoring the feel. His forehead rests against yours, your breaths mingling as he rocks into you.

He’s so beautiful, lit by the Christmas lights–the glow makes him look almost ethereal. His broad shoulders cast shifting shadows as he moves above you. Your hands move down to the plush of his stomach, your nails raking across his skin. You wrap your legs around his waist, drawing him into you deeper. He buries his face into your neck, groaning as he fucks into you faster.

“Dee,” you breathe before he lifts his head to kiss you again, swallowing your moans and gasping into your mouth. 

His movements falter as he gets closer. Your back arches as your whole body tightens and then trembles. You cry out his name as your orgasm flows through your body, setting you alight as your walls clench Dieter’s cock. The sensation pushes him over the edge as he groans your name, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you. It’s so warm, the heat of it filling you.

You cling to him as he collapses on top of you, both your bodies quivering with aftershocks. Dieter softly kisses along your neck and jaw as you both catch your breath.

He lifts his head, glancing over at the clock above the doorway that now reads 12:01 AM.

“Merry Christmas, Sweets.”

“Merry Christmas, Dee.”

—-—-—-—-—-—-

December 25

Steady breaths against your neck slowly wake you. Dieter's arms are wrapped around you, your bare skin pressed against his. You turn, careful not to wake him, drinking in the sight of him. His face is relaxed in sleep, long eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. His chaotic hair is even more mussed, a stray lock falling across his forehead. You reach out to gingerly brush it away before touching the glinting gold earring in his ear. A surge of affection lights your body. This moment–waking up with Dieter on Christmas morning in London–feels almost magical and unbelievable. You lean in, pressing your lips softly to his.

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper against his mouth.

He stirs, his brown eyes fluttering open. A slow, lazy smile spreads across his face as he focuses on you. "Merry Christmas, baby," he says, voice deep with sleep. His arms tighten around you, pulling you flush against him.

You kiss him again, deeper this time. He responds eagerly, one hand sliding up to tangle in your hair as you begin to move your body against his.

He rolls you onto your back before entering you slowly, groaning at how wet and ready you already are for him.

“God damn,” he sighs as he slowly fucks you. “Merry Christmas to me. You’re the best gift ever.”

You have the most relaxed Christmas morning you’ve ever had. Dieter has spoiled you–piles of wrapping and tissue paper are strewn across the suite, and a pile of gifts lies next to you. Designer and vintage clothes, cute trinkets, sparkling jewelry, a hand-bound journal with your initial embossed on the cover, a crystal rolling tray, a new frame for “a photo of us.” Everything is perfect and so well thought out by Dieter.

The small stack of gifts from you is grouped next to him. He holds up the ALF plush you knitted for him, knowing it’s one of his favorite shows ever.

“I can’t believe you made me this. It's… amazing, baby. Definitely my favorite gift ever.”

“You said that to me last night when you stuck your dick in me. So it’s ALF and then me?”

His jaw drops before lifting to smile. “God, you’re funny.”

He looks around the room, taking in everything before he reaches for his iPad.

“So, I have something else for you, but it’s, uh,” he lifts his hand, nervously rubbing his neck. “It’s not here, and it’s not done yet."

You arch an eyebrow, looking at him with a hint of puzzlement.

He beckons you over with his finger. “Come here.”

You crawl through the sea of crinkly paper into his lap, the back of your head resting against his chest.

A video plays of an artist painting delicate stars around a woman who looks similar to you, emerging from shadows into a luminous golden space.

“This is Layla Profar. She’s an up-and-coming artist who uses pure gold in her paintings. I told her your story, and this is what she’s painting. For you. She’s been working around the clock to finish it.”

Tears well in your eyes at the thoughtfulness. Nobody’s ever done or given anything like this to you.

"This is how I see you,” he says, his voice low against your ear. “Stepping out from what held you back, coming into your own. Away from Warren. You're free now, Golden Girl.” You stare at the painting, seeing a mirror of your own journey, tears falling down your cheeks.

A sniffle and a small sob alert him to your tears. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close.

“That's the blank, unholy surprise of it. You're the golden girl. Full of life and warmth and delight.” He nuzzles into your neck, leaving a soft kiss against your skin before he breathes you in.

You want to say the three words that spill out of your heart and up to your mouth, but you stay silent, quietly crying as he cradles you, gently rocking you back and forth.

“You like it, right?” he asks after a bit.

You choke out a laugh, turning to face him, tears still streaming down your face. His eyes search yours, a flicker of uncertainty in them.

“I love it,” you whisper. “Dee, this is the most thoughtful, beautiful gift anyone has ever given me.” Relief washes over his handsome face, a smile blooming across it. “Yeah?”

You reach up, cradling his head between your hands, the stubble of his jaw prickling against your palms. You seal your mouth over his in a tender kiss, trying to pour every ounce of emotion swelling in your chest into him. He crushes you against his broad chest, tightening his arms around you.

He pulls back, the small tears in his eyes mirror your own.

“Our first Christmas together, Golden Girl.”

—-

A small, sated smile still lights your face as you peacefully slumber next to him. He pulls you closer, marveling at how perfectly you fit against him.

He thinks back on the past few days–decorating the Christmas tree together, exchanging gifts, making love under the twinkling lights, sharing meals and joints with easy laughter. It's the happiest he's ever been.

For the first time, the holidays truly feel special and magical, filled with joy and… love. Because he loves you, wholly and completely. He’s known it for so long. For years. But sharing this Christmas with you has only solidified what his heart already knew–you are his Golden Girl, his person, the one he wants to spend every Christmas, birthday, and lazy Sunday morning with for the rest of his days.

For so long, he thought he could never have this, never dared to imagine he deserved you. His life has been a whirlwind of chaos—film sets, red carpets, shallow flings, a failed marriage, pills of different sizes and strengths, empty bottles of alcohol. But then there was you–his beautiful, talented, funny friend who always saw past the celebrity. Who saw him.

He leaves a kiss against your forehead before he also falls asleep with a smile.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

December 26

Dieter shuffles behind you as you rub face cream on your cheeks, a towel wrapped around your body fresh from the shower you two shared.

“Are you sure we’ll be okay?” you ask

“I’m sure. They don’t care about all this,” he says, gesturing wildly, “and all the celebrity bullshit like they do at home.”

He thinks you like staying in, away from the prying eyes of the public. Still unable to realize how free you are from Warren’s influence and watchful eyes.

He remembers the first time he met you. He, Warren, and some friends were out celebrating his multi-episode arc on some procedural police drama. He spotted you across the hazy bar, surrounded by your girlfriends, your smile wide and your dress gold, sparkling under the dim lights.

He made his way over to you, the gravity of your pull too much for him to ignore. He asked you to dance, and you giggled, taking his hand. He pulled you close, and from that moment on, you’ve been the only girl he’s ever wanted. He told you he was an actor. You confided in him then that was always your dream. He felt brave, his self-esteem boosted by the new role. He couldn’t resist you, his lips seeking yours, cutting off your cheerful giggle, tasting the sweet alcohol left in your mouth.

And then… he went to snort some lines in the bathroom, only to return to find Warren spinning you across the dance floor, the same smile you gave him, the same kiss you shared now given to his friend.

He was too high to care that night. Funny how the lines of coke in that disgusting bathroom would come to haunt him for years.

Now, as he helps you shuffle into your jacket, turning you around to button it up before sweetly kissing you, those ghosts are replaced by a hopeful future with you.

“Come on, baby,” he says, grabbing your hand. “I want to take you shopping.”

—-

The wind is crisp against your cheeks as you and Dieter walk hand in hand, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your skin as you make your way towards Harrod’s.

“I’m so excited,” you beam as the grand building comes into view. You lead him to a window, pausing in front of it and taking in the festive display. You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “I’m glad I get to see this with you.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Me too.”

To call Harrod's busy on Boxing Day is an understatement. You’ve never seen such a whirlwind of activity before. Your and Dieter’s eyes light up as you both take everything in.

His hand never leaves yours as you weave through the crowds, getting lost in the maze of sections, taking in the displays and glittering lights.

"Look at these," you say, holding up a pair of plush, fuzzy slippers adorned with a smiling corgi face. "Aren't they adorable?"

“Get ‘em,” he smiles, his eyebrows rising above his sunglasses. “And get me a pair, too.”

—-

A kind shopping attendant named Phineas effortlessly holds on to the many bags and boxes piling up high.

“Oh, that’s so pretty,” you exclaim, pointing to an emerald green silk scarf adorned with delicate golden stars. Dieter plucks it from the display.

“I don’t really need it. I just thought it was pretty.”

“Yeah, but I want to see you in only this later tonight,” he whispers into the shell of your ear. “It’ll look good against your skin.”

You chuckle and shake your head as you lead him into another section.

He loves spoiling you. He loves the way you get shy and flustered as he keeps adding more and more items to Phineas’s arms.

“I won't have enough room,” you sigh as he tucks a Judith Lieber Ticket to Space clutch under his arm. “Poor Phineas is suffering.”

“Bullshit,” he says with a doting smile. “I’ll mail it to you.” 

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his “wallet”—a paper clip-secured stack of pounds and credit cards. He hands Phineas a platinum card and a stack of £50 notes. “Do me a favor, Phin. Get this all packaged up and delivered to the Mandarin for me. Keep the cash. Merry Boxing Day.”

“Yes, sir, thank you!” Phineas exclaims before he departs.

Dieter watches him leave, a roguish grin on his face. “Let’s go see what lingerie this place has to offer, huh?”

—-

Harrod's has a LOT of lingerie choices to offer… and a private dressing room. Dieter sits on a luxe blush pink velvet couch, waiting for you to appear from behind the curtain.

You take a deep breath, smoothing your hands over the matching bra and panty set you found. The dark blue fabric is almost sheer, and golden stars embroidered across the delicate lace shimmer as you check yourself out in the mirror. The bra cups lift and shape your breasts, the matching thong sits low on your hips. You’re going to drive Dieter crazy.

With a surge of confidence from how you look, you open the curtain and step out. Dieter throws his sunglasses off, his eyes widening and lips parting as he takes in the sight of you.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes.

You saunter over, standing in front of him. He throws his head back as he struggles to maintain his composure, his hands gripping the edge of the couch. When he looks at you again, his eyes turn dark.

“Turn around.”

You comply, slowly spinning to give him a view of your ass. He leans forward, placing a kiss against the supple shape of it. You chuckle, shaking your head at how needy he is for you.

“Fuck, you look so fucking good. Wish I could scoop you up in my arms and carry you out of here.”

He makes you feel confident, sexy, and… brave.

“Dee, we can be quick.”

A huge smile breaks across his face as he reaches forward, pulling you on top of him. He fumbles with the drawstrings of his pants, quickly pulling them down. He tangles the flimsy lace of the expensive thong in his hand before he rips it off.

“Oh my god! We haven’t bought that yet.”

“Don’t care, I’ll buy you ten more,” he growls.

He grips your hips, lifting you slightly before guiding you onto his hard length. You both groan as he fills you completely. His hands move to cup your ass, encouraging you to ride him.

“Fast, baby. Fuck me fast,” he groans before leaning forward and kissing you. His hands roam your body before he palms your breasts through the lace of the bra, his thumbs brushing over the hard peaks of your nipples.

There’s a thrill of potentially getting caught that makes you ride him harder, roll your hips with more force, and bite your lip to stifle your moans and sighs.

You’ve never done something like this before–so risque, so close to getting caught. The suspense pushes you over the edge. Your body trembles as you orgasm on his cock, squeezing and clenching, urging him to cum. Dieter follows right after, burying his face in your neck to muffle his groan as he spills inside you.

You collapse against his chest, both of you breathing heavily. After a moment, Dieter chuckles softly. "Well, I think I liked that set.”

You giggle. “Me too. I can’t believe we just did that.”

“Whatever designer that is, buy everything they have.”

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

December 27

You’ve been in London for five days, and tonight is the first night you’re actually leaving the hotel room for dinner. Yesterday, Dieter told you to surprise him and pick a dress, telling you he wanted to take you out on a proper date.

You’ve been holed up in the guest bedroom, digging through various Harrod’s bags and boxes, pulling out makeup, hair products, and jewelry to complete your outfit.

A light knock on the door catches your attention as you pull on your brand-new boots.

“The car’s here,” Dieter says at the door. “Reservation’s in twenty, Sweets.”

“Coming!” you shout.

—-

Dieter buttons up his plaid wool jacket, his fingers freezing on the last button when he looks up and sees you. The gold mini dress you’re wearing clings to your body, reminding him so much of the dress you wore the first night you met. The hem falls mid-thigh, your legs clad in black tights that end in knee-high boots. But what really catches his eye is the green scarf covered in golden stars that you’ve tied around your neck. He knew it’d look gorgeous against your skin. He wants to say fuck it and cancel the reservation right then and there.

“Wow, you look stunning, baby.”

“Thanks,” you shyly respond, smoothing down the front of your dress. “Is it too much?” You ask, glancing down at the top swell of your breasts framed by the v-neck neckline.

“Fuck no,” he chuckles. “It’s perfect. Though, maybe we should stay in.”

“No, Dee. I’m starving, and you promised me a proper date.”

He pulls you close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re right, let’s go.”

—-

The plates have long been cleared, and your glass is filled with more melted ice than gin and tonic. You haven’t been on an actual date in years.

Warren used to wine and dine you, take you to the fanciest restaurants, and surprise you with flowers. Then, your nights spent together dwindled, and the bouquets disappeared. It was then up to you to grow your own flowers.

The streets outside the restaurant are busy. Londoners walk, bundled up in coats, scarves, and hats, clouds of condensation puffing out from between their lips. You wonder if they’re all as happy as you are right now. Your hand in Dieter’s as he regales you with a story about a mismatched dance belt fiasco from his theatre days.

The candlelight flickers in his bright brown eyes and the dimple carved in his cheek is deeper as he smiles. He’s so gorgeous, it’s hard to believe it took you this long to give yourself this moment. Your lips tingle when you think about leaning over and kissing him, but you don’t. You’ll thank him for this night once you get back home.

“Dee,” you interrupt as he continues his story. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you get the check?” You ask before glancing around and leaning in closer to him. “I’d like to go back home and suck your cock.” 

The table clangs and clatters as Dieter stands quickly, throwing a large wad of money on the surface before grabbing your hand. 

—

As soon as the elevator doors close, you’re on him, your lips capturing his.

“Whoa, baby,” he chuckles as you suck on his lower lip.

“Want… to… thank… you…” you say, punctuating each word with a kiss.

“Fuck.”

He lifts you into his hold, your legs wrapping around his waist.

The elevator dings open, and he stumbles out. Your kisses turn to licks along his jaw and down his neck. You’re already moaning for him, and he fumbles with the key card until, finally, the door beeps and swings open.

You’re already sliding down his body when the door shuts, hands trailing over his stomach as you sink to your knees, your fingers working at his belt buckle.

“Jesus, baby,” he groans, head falling back against the wall as you free his hardening cock from his pants.

He lets out an audible gasp when you look up at him through your lashes, a coy smile playing on your lips before you take him into your mouth.

He’s not a strong man. He’s thought of this so many times throughout the years. Your mouth all over him, not his spit-covered palm. The sound of your moans vibrating against his cock as you take him in deeper, not his soft whimpers as he jerks himself off. Your pretty face covered in his cum, not his hand and stomach.

Now, his thumbs feel the softness of your cheeks, hollowing and sucking him harder. He hears the soft keens mixed with the wet slurp as your tongue swirls around his head. His knees get weak right as your hand cups his balls, gently squeezing and massaging them.

He can already feel the rush of bliss overtaking his body. He knows he’s leaking against your tongue, and when you pull his cock out of your mouth, slapping it against your lips, he cums all over you.

Your jackets haven’t even been removed–the only sign of anything uncouth happening is his softening dick and your pretty face covered in his cum.

He can’t believe his luck, looking down at you smiling wide as you collect a dollop of him on your thumb and suck it off with a sweet “mmm.”

God, he loves you.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

December 28

“Man, I miss Lucky Charms,” Dieter sighs as he stirs a spoonful of sugar into his coffee.

“You should have told me. I could have packed you some.”

“Damn, good point. Well, I’ll be home in a few weeks at least.”

Home. Your vacation will soon be over. Your flight is booked for the 2nd. You know you need to get back home. Once Dieter goes back to filming, you’ll never see him, and you can’t stay cooped up in this hotel suite waiting—and distracting him. But damn, you don’t want to leave.

You wonder what the future holds for the two of you once he returns to Los Angeles. Has something fundamentally shifted between the two of you? You can’t imagine being in the same city as him but not together.

You're pulled from your thoughts by Dieter's hand on yours. "Hey, where'd you go just now?" he asks, his brow furrowed in concern.

"Just thinking about going home," you say with a small shrug.

His face falls slightly. “It’ll only be a few weeks.”

“I know, I just… I’m going to really miss you. Like a lo—”

Your phone dings, interrupting your confession. You look down.

notwarrengharding posted a tweet

Your curiosity gets the best of you, and you remind yourself for the hundredth time to turn off notifications for him as you go to Twitter.

It’s a photo. Of you—and Dieter—at the restaurant he took you to last night. Your head is thrown back in laughter, your smile wide. He’s grinning at you, his hand on yours, with his dark brown eyes glowing in the low light. You look like a couple in love.

You’re enamored by the photo until you notice Warren’s retweeted a celebrity gossip account with the eye-rolling emoji and the quote: “Trust is earned, respect is given, and loyalty is demonstrated.”

Your stomach drops. How dare he. 

“Fuck,” you sigh. Handing Dieter the phone.

His face sets in anger after his eyes widen when he sees the photo.

“Fuck, indeed.”

Panic sets in. That’s a paparazzi photo.

You knew this would happen eventually, but you weren't prepared for it to be so soon. And you certainly weren't prepared for Warren to chime in. Dread settles in your stomach.

“That’s… everywhere now. All over. W-Warren knows and-”

"And what?" Dieter interrupts gently. "So he knows we're together. Is that such a bad thing? He’s just being a petty asshole. Sweets, all that matters is what we have together here, nobody else. I’ve waited so long for this. For us. Fuck everyone else.”

“I just… I remember what happened with Anika, and I don’t want that to happen to me.” A tear falls down your cheek.

He gets up, kneeling down in front of you and gathering your hands in his. “Baby, look at me. Everything that happened between Ani and I was only because, for so long, I tried to recreate what I felt for you, what I thought you and Warren had, and I failed miserably at it. You’re my golden girl, only you.”

“I just… I don’t want this to cause problems for you. With your career or the press or-”

He cuts you off with a soft kiss. “Fuck everyone else, okay, baby?”

—-

You’re quiet today, keeping your face stuck behind a book you bought at Harrod's while Dieter studies his lines for the upcoming shoot days.

He tries to focus on his script, but his eyes keep drifting to you, curled up on the couch. Your brow is furrowed in concentration as you read, but he can see the tension in your shoulders. He knows you're still upset about the photo and Warren's post.

He sets the script aside and moves to sit next to you on the couch. Gently, he tugs the book from your hands. You look up at him, your eyes clouded with worry.

"Talk to me, Sweets," he says softly. "What's really bothering you?"

You sigh, leaning into him as he wraps an arm around you. "I'm scared, Dee. Everything felt so perfect before and… I don't know. I don't want to lose this."

Dieter pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're not going to lose me. Or this. I know my track record isn't great, but you're different. You've always been different."

He tilts your chin up, meeting your eyes. "I meant what I said earlier. Fuck everyone else. All that matters is you and me.”

He regrets so many parts of his past but never meeting you. Now that he has you, he’ll never let you go. The future used to always freak him out, but now, with you, it’s something he can’t wait for.

—-

There’s a cloud over the hotel suite, full of uncertainty and fear.

You try to focus on the book in your hands, but the words blur together as your mind races. The photo of you and Dieter keeps flashing in your thoughts, along with Warren's tweet.

You can almost hear his voice, dripping with fake concern as he shares the image with mutual friends, painting himself as the wronged party.

"Did you see this? I can't believe she'd do this to me…"

Bullshit. Warren left you. You shouldn’t feel guilty for moving on, for finding happiness with someone else… even if it is with Dieter. And yet…

You can’t fathom thinking about the tabloids and gossip sites, the way they’ve molded Dieter into whatever narrative they decide will sell. Tragic drug-addicted actor has-been, drunken playboy who has a new person to fuck every other week, happily married man who found love with a hotel receptionist, heart-breaking divorcee who will never find love, charming darling who booked a comeback project… you’ve seen them all.

But you know Dieter. He’s the most caring, sweetest, and thoughtful man you’ve ever met. You’re damn lucky to have had him as a friend, even luckier to have him in whatever way this is now.

Dieter sets his script aside, wrapping an arm around you. You feel the anxieties already disappearing, his touch reminding you of why this is all worth it.

His brown eyes, filled with concern, meet yours. “Fuck everyone else,” he whispers against your lips before pressing his gently against yours. 

—-

It’s one of those nights, the one where he’d typically toss and turn before getting up and downing a couple of sleeping pills with a whiskey chaser, but tonight, he simply lies awake. Your body nestled close, your smooth skin against his. There’s something about sharing a bed with you that still feels so foreign to him. Years of yearning to feel your touch, and now he has it. It still doesn’t feel real.

He remembers a couple of months after he had met you, you called him in a panic, saying your car had broken down on the freeway near the apartment he and Warren shared in Burbank. He grabbed his keys and bolted out the door. He couldn’t bear the thought of you alone and scared on the side of the road.

When he pulled up, he saw you, small and vulnerable, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. Your face flashing from worry to relief as you recognized him approaching.

He jumped out of his car, rushing to your side. The sight of you, tears streaking your cheeks and mascara smudged under your eyes, made his chest ache. The flat tire was obvious.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here now,” he soothed, pulling you into his arms without thinking. You melted against him, your body shaking slightly as tears started to fall.

You looked up at him, your eyes wide and full of tears. “Thank you. I-I didn’t know who else to call. Warren and I… we’re not really talking right now, and I don’t have a spare and can’t afford a tow.” Your lower lip quivered as fresh tears spilled over.

"You can always call me, no matter what. I'll always come for you."

He was broke as hell, waiting for a residual check to come through, but he didn’t hesitate to call for a tow truck and pay for it. He drove you home and dropped you off. You leaned over and kissed his cheek softly. “Thank you, Dee. You’re my hero.”

As he watched you walk into your apartment building, he knew he was in deep. He would do anything for you. Like waiting years and years to finally have you in his arms.

Now that he has you, he’ll be damned if he lets anybody or anything come in between you. Whether it’s shitty ex-husbands, tabloids, or his own demons, he’s not going to let anything ruin this.

He thinks about the future, years down the line. Lazy mornings in bed, walking hand-in-hand through flea markets, laughing over shared meals. He pictures you by his side at red-carpet events, the cameras flashing around the two of you, a wide smile across his face as he shows off his golden girl. 

He sneaks out of bed, careful not to wake you, and throws his robe on before grabbing his phone. The air is cool as he opens the door, quickly walking out onto the same balcony he used to spend his late nights and early mornings on talking to you. He does the familiar math in his head. It’s 2 AM in London and only 6 PM in Los Angeles.

It only takes two rings for Alex to pick up.

“Bravo. It’s late there. Everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine. Listen, those photos of me and Sweets at the restaurant…”

“We’re aware.”

“Take care of them. I don't want her dragged into this. Make sure the tabloids know she's off-limits."

Alex sighs on the other end. "You know how this works. Once it's out there—"

"I don't care," he interrupts. "Use whatever connections you have. Call in favors. I'll do extra press, more interviews…” Dieter looks over when he hears the door open. You’re wrapped in a sheet, your tired eyes blinking back at him. “Whatever it takes. Just keep her name out of it."

There’s a pause before Alex responds. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Alex,” he sighs and hangs up as you lay your body over his. You’re still warm from the bed, covering and comforting him like a blanket.

“Was that call about me?” you ask, your voice still soft and sleepy.

“Mm, it was.”

“You didn’t have to do that, Dee, Not for me. I’ll get over it, I’ve had to get over worse.”

“Sweets, look at me. I’ll do anything to keep you happy and protect you. I—” he struggles to say the truth, but he doesn’t want to complicate today for you even more. “Anything. You know that, right?”

You cuddle in closer to him. “I know,” you whisper. “I’d do anything for you too.”

“Anything?” he asks. “Do you think we could go inside? I can’t feel my toes.”

—

 “Fuck everyone else.” Dieter’s words echo in your mind.

A simple phrase, really, yet so powerful coming from him. The way he sprang into action, calling his agent in the middle of the night to shield you. You can’t remember the last time Warren made such a sacrifice for you–if he ever did. 

You nestle deeper into Dieter’s warm, strong arms wrapped around you, protected by his actions and steady breathing as he sleeps. 

You try to recall a single instance where Warren put your needs before his own. The memories are hazy, obscured by years of neglect and indifference. Your husband always focused on his own image and career. You were an accessory to be shown off when it suited him and ignored when it didn’t.

But here, in Dieter’s arms, you feel cherished. Valued. Protected. And… in love.

✨✨✨ A/N: Next chapter next week. Thank you for reading! Please feel free to yell at me. 💞

Alternative chapter header. ALF FOREVER

✨✨✨ Perma tagging: @schnarfer @mothandpidgeon @ohheypedrito Tagging some friends and lovers of GG (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed): @sawymredfox, @secretelephanttattoo, @galway-girlatwork, @whatumuhcallit, @chronically-ghosted @copperhalfcent, @jessthebaker, @moel-jiller, @sunnytuliptime, @jokesonthem @lotusbxtch, @mysterious-moonstruck-musings, @flawssy-227, @toomanystoriessolittletime, @littlemisspascal @cas-readsandwrites, @wave0fg00dvibes, @rulexofxnines, @tuquoquebrute, @littlevenicebitch69

[genderqueerdykes]

This feels almost stupid to say but it feels useless for me to try and be taken seriously as a non-binary person in my day to day life. Everyone sees me as a girl. I will always be a girl to them. And even in the queer community I feel scared because I was a girl in my childhood and I feel like that makes me less valid, like my existence makes a laughing stock of people who deserve better. I tried to be a girl and I felt wrong, I tried to be a boy and it felt wrong...

I also. This feels really selfish to say but I get sort of...lonely? Sad? When I see things about trans men and trans women that don't include non-binary people, or when trans men/transmascs and non-binary people are lumped together. Makes me feel invisible, but at the same time makes me want to just...stop trying. It feels bad. So bad.

i'm sorry that you've been made to feel that way, it really sucks and i get it. people really do just only focus on trans women and trans men if they do acknowledge both binary genders and not focus on one or the other. i understand that theres a lot arguing going on between trans men and women right now but people are just totally forgetting about other genders, or like you said, lumping everything together

i can relate in that i never see mentions of genderqueer people in positivity posts at all unless myself or another genderqueer person wrote them. i feel there's the same going on with nonbinary as well. even though it's more well known, i feel like people don't treat nonbinary people any better. for whatever reason people assume nonbinary means quirky cis girl and it's like why are we still doing this. why are we still hurting people. why are we still misgendering people. why are we still willing to be misogynistic as hell to people we interpret as women, anyways? how is that okay? even if you were a girl why would it be okay to treat you like that?

people are just very open about how they don't see nonbinary people as real queer people and its exhausting. i'm sorry you're going through that. i know i don't talk about the broader gender spectrum enough and i really need to. it's like other genders are being pointedly left out for the sake of having something to argue about. it's not okay. i hope things improve soon. you're nonbinary no matter who you are or how you identify. nobody has the right to tell you who you "really" are or how you identify. take care of yourself

[youreonmymind37]

My delicatessen boss is after me. She’s 25 and I’m 18. I thought she was gay. She cornered me in the walk-in freezer. I was carrying a box full of croissants. Marla’s hand reached under the box and caged my groin. She said, “I’m bisexual.” Her boss is a mobster. He doesn’t come into the store. I think he’s using his deli as a money laundry scheme.

“Uh…. I’ve to heat these croissant up, Marla” I said and rushing to the exit of the freezer.

I waited on a customer. I scrubbed the dishes. I have intense conversations with my buddies. I read a graphic novel in the kitchen.

Marla watching me. “Yeah, Marla?”

Marla said, “I’ve a few packages. Can you help me, Patrick?”

“Sure,” I said jumping down off the counter. I struggled with her heavy packages. “Where’re theses going,” I said.

“To my apartment,” Marla said, “It’s quarter to eight. Hey, Charlotte, can you lock-up the place?”

One of my buddies, the Jamaican girl nodded.

“G’bye, losers!” as I walked through the doorway.

“This way,” Marla said.

“Okay.”

We came to a brownstone. Marla let us in. “Put them on the table. I’m going to make some margaritas. D’you want one?”

“Sure”

“You don’t have a girlfriend. Right?”

“Nope”, I said, “Ah. What’s bisexual?”

Marla hand me a margarita. “It’s a condition that the person have a cock and a pussy.”

I stared at her.

“Seriously?” laughed Marla, “I like girls and boys.”

“Oh.” I gulped my drink. “Wow. What’s it this called?”

Marla undressed herself. I took a step backwards.

“Ahhh. Maybe I better go.”

The intoxicated of the liquor and Marla’s enormous breads and red pussy made me stumbled.

“Go and sit on the couch,” said Marla sternly.

I did.

Marla attacked my belt. Her hands ripped my pants off. My underwear was forming a tent. “Mmmmm. Look what we see…”. My tip of my cock protruded in the seam of my boxer short.

Marla caressed my cock as if it was a golden idol. Her hand cuddled my balls. Her mouth opened to let my monster in. Her seductive eyes met me. They seems to said, “You’ve the sweetest lollipop, Patrick.”

Now, I flung my neck over the back pillows of the couch. I was staring at the ceiling. Gushing semen erupted from my cock’s head.

“I like the way that a teenager boy’s cock is straight, Even through you came a lot.”

Marla picked herself up on the floor. She placed her right thigh next to my lap. Marla sucked her fingers and smeared her saliva on my cock. Her other hand braces her weight on my shoulder. Her twat barreling down on my cock. She was riding like a cowgirl. I was her horse.

It was a feast of pleasures. My mouth suckled her warm luscious boobs. My left hand grabbed her tongue inside her mouth. My right hand slapped her ass. Time after time again. My lap began to bucked and wallowed in our broken rhythm.

Once, I slipped to the floor taking Marla with me. I decided to wrestled my ass with my balls. Two lusty wild animals humping each others.

I came for the third time. We french kissed and my semen dripping out of Marla’s snatch.

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 33. An Unlikely Hero

Summary: Celebrations for Reunification Day are well under way. But it's not a day for all to celebrate. Something a certain family member makes sure she doesn't forget.

Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Support Me

The party was now in full swing, the crowd a mix of pale blue, cream, navy blue and black. The one time of year all the Quadrants interact in celebration of our win over the rebellion. I wave at Austin, Liz and Kai who are with the rest of our squad. I want more than anything to go join them, but I’m stuck with Dain for the evening. Garrick was right, for someone who normally didn’t care about people I sure gave a damn tonight.

”Well I hear you two are excelling in the Quadrant.” A familiar voice says from behind, turning to see General Sorrengail looking at Dain and I. “Sounds like I have some promising prospects for our front line when you two graduate.”

”Thank you General. Hopefully we can serve our nation proudly.” Dain says with a smile I swear he reserves for when he’s sucking up to his superiors.

”I’m sure you will. With signets like yours on our side, nothing can stand in our way.” She says with a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. She almost looks… worried. Why would she be worried? “Anyway, I have a lot of people to see. Enjoy the night.”

I watch her leave, unable to shake the look in her eyes from my memory.

”I see your usual entourage are missing.” Dain notes as he scans the crowd.

I scoff, “Can you blame them? Were celebrating the death of their parents. If you were in their shoes would you want to be here?”

He narrows his eyes at me. “They aren’t the only ones who lost someone on this date.”

Ouch, low blow. And he knows it. I swear I see regret in his eyes before I turn, his hand grazing mine as I walk away, heading for the staircase I know will take me back up to the corridor leading back to the quadrant. I hear him call out to me but I ignore him. He knows I am well aware what today means for us. It had been years since I’d been reminded due to this celebration taking priority. But I still fucking knew.

”Disappointing. Just like always.” His cold voice drawls from behind me as I reach the corridor.

I turn and see my father leaning against the wall, his gaze down on the crowd below. He’d been watching me. Probably waiting for me to sneak off.

”Like I said in that tower, I’m use to being this disappointment. Just another day for me.” I tell him sternly, noting the tick in his jaw at my words.

”And always will be it seems.” He states as he turns his attention to me. “First your mother. And now you fall in with that lot.”

”You know that day wasn’t my fault.” I hiss at him as I bawl my hands into fists at my side.

”It was entirely your fault. If you hadn’t gone running off with those infantry boys, nothing would have happened. If you had been in training like you were meant to, nothing would have happened. And today wouldn’t be tainted by what you did.” He snaps at me as he stalks over to me.

”I didn’t throw the rock!” I nearly yell at him, instantly regretting it as fury washes over his features.

”You might not have thrown it but you were the reason it was thrown. And you chose to throw yourself in with those marked ones. You made those choices, and you will deal with those consequences.”

I shake my head, chuckling nervously at his words. “Trust me, I deal with them every day thanks to you and your lies. But don’t worry, those marked ones you’re so worried about aren’t an issue any more.”

I hated to speak the words, but they were true. I’d already noted how Xaden had been more reserved around me. How much quieter Bodhi had gotten with me. Even Imogen had been around less at training. Either due to me reverting back to the usual cold demeanour I’d had prior to coming here, or due to what had happened with Garrick. Either way, I’d already noted the shift since that night.

”Ah, they finally figured out the disgrace you are. They were going to find out eventually.” He sounds almost pleased by the idea.

”She’s not a disgrace.” Someone calls from behind me, my body going rigid at their voice.

No. Why the hell was he here? He shouldn’t be here. Not today. He should be far away from here. He didn’t celebrate today, and he’d made it clear what he thought of me attending. And yet he was here. Right behind me and…. defending me?

”Please, that’s rich coming from someone like you.” My father shoots back as he narrows his eyes while looking over my shoulder.

”Well aware. But she’s not a disgrace.” Garrick states, his footsteps getting closer and closer.

”And what would you know about her?” My father says cockily, as if he has the upper hand.

”A lot more than you it seems. She’s strong, determined and a hell of a strategist. Hell she’s been running circles around me all year with out blinking an eye.” Garrick rattles off with ease. “And it’s not just me she’s doing it to. She could probably run circles around most of the Wingleaders without a second thought.”

”She’s only like that because of me.” My father lying through his teeth.

”No.” I say loudly, my father shifting his attention to me. “None of that was because of you. All of the was because I was trying to get your approval. When I was young and naïve enough to think if I could do better than Dain that you would love me again.”

”There is nothing you could do to get my approval after killing your mother.”

The words leave his mouth so easily I barely register what he’s said at first. But he said it. He said the words he’s only ever spoken to Dain and I. I look over my shoulder at Garrick who is right behind me, as if standing guard. He doesn’t even seem phased over my fathers words.

”Is that what you tell yourself at night to make you feel better?” Garrick says without missing a beat.

My fathers eyes meet his again. “How dare you speak to me like that cadet. How dare you stand there act like you know better than me.”

”And I will continue to do so, because it’s abundantly clear you know nothing about your own daughter.”

As I look at Garrick, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this angry. Not even at me. The way he looked at me earlier feels like nothing to how he’s glaring at my father. He was the epitome of if looks could kill. And for the first time since I was a kid, I was actually worried for my father. But I can’t help but feel something else. A feeling I can’t describe because I’ve never felt it before. Not even an hour ago Garrick was pushing me away, being completely shut off to me. And now here he was defending me like I mean something to him.

”And you think you do?” He snaps back at Garrick.

Garrick fucking smirks at my father while crossing his arms across his chest and leaning towards him as he looks down at him. “Definitely. Because if you did you’d realise how amazing she is without any of the so called help you denied her of.”

My father scoffs, taking a step back from Garrick and I. And with a shake of his head he turns and marches down the stairs I’d just come down from. I breathe a sigh of relief as I watch him disappear into the crowd below. Garrick might have won this one for me, but I knew this was far from over. Especially with Garrick stepping in.

I turn and look at Garrick, unsure what I should say. There’s a part of me that wants to yell at him for defending me like that and stepping in. But there’s another part of me that isn’t quite sure how to feel about it. No one had ever defended me like that. Especially not to my father.

”Why?” I ask him finally as I turn to look at him.

Garrick shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes flickering with something I can’t quite place. Hesitation, maybe. Or guilt. “Because it was the right thing to do,” he says simply. “No one should talk to you like that, not even your father.”

His words hit me harder than I expect them to. I cross my arms, partly to shield myself from the sudden vulnerability I feel and partly to keep my hands from trembling. “You don’t understand. It’s… complicated. My father and I—”

“It doesn’t matter how complicated it is,” he interrupts, his voice firm now. “Respect isn’t something that should come with conditions. You deserve better than that.”

I blink at him, stunned. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. The air feels heavy between us, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say.

“I didn’t ask you to fight my battles,” I murmur, though the words feel weak as they leave my mouth.

Garrick lets out a soft laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “You didn’t have to ask. Sometimes, people need someone in their corner, even if they don’t realise it.”

I look away, the knot in my chest tightening. I hate that his words make me feel seen in a way I’m not ready for. “You’re awfully quick to play the hero,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, but it comes out sharper than I intend.

“I’m not trying to be a hero,” he says, his voice softening. “I’m just trying to be… someone you can count on.”

The sincerity in his voice disarms me, and I feel my defences crumbling, piece by piece. I shake my head, letting out a shaky breath. “You don’t even know me, Garrick. Not fully.”

“Maybe not yet,” he admits. “But I’d like to. If you’ll let me.”

I nod, dropping my gaze to the ground as I try to figure out the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside my head. Which wasn’t uncommon in the last few weeks and months since that night in the gym. I look back up, Garrick’s hazel eyes already on me, watching and waiting. There’s a softness and warmth to them I’m not use to seeing and it sends my heart into a chaotic rhythm. The last time he looked at me like this was in that tower after I’d used his signet.

”Garrick….” I start, but I’m unsure what I want to say to him.

”It’s ok,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to say anything.”

But I do. I want to so badly. But I have no idea how to put into words the whirlwind of emotions I’m feeling. Instead I take a step closer, feeling the space us shrink, my heart now pounding loudly, so loud I’m sure he can hear it. Because it’s all I can hear right now.

He doesn’t move an inch, watching as I step towards him. But his eyes flicker down to my lips for the briefest second, enough to make my breath catch. I swallow hard, trying to stop the slight shake that has started in my hands. Before I can stop my self I raise my shields, closing this distance between us as I grasp his flight jacket in my hands and pull him down to me, pressing my lips to his. Fuck it.

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01 @hyperfixation-train-station @lxnvmvrzx @thebreadisthetruevillian @red0202 @fangirling-galore @craftytrashprincess @taliyahvermillion @xadenswhore @fenixyrie @lagrandeourse @hellodarling1357 @iambored24601 

[amnayel]

some time since I talked about twst lore but here’s my take:

silver wont ob, but he isn’t leaving unscathed from this

I have seen a lot of people talking about the possibility of silver overblotting but here’s the thing

for ob to occur you need both: using more magic than you should AND accumulated negative emotions

Idia explains this (dont remember if it’s in chapter 6 or 7) put ob only happens when the mage have been accumulating these negative emotions for a long time, and we have seen this is the books: every single ob boy had a very traumatic upbringing

silver doesnt have that

silver is a good person that even the animals in the forest take care of him, he has had a dedicated father a loving brother liege and a best friend/rival for all his life

silver was never alone, he didn’t have absurd expectations put onto him, he wasn’t a servant, he wasn’t bullied, he didn’t had his whole life decided at birth… silver had a pretty good life, normal even

so he doesn’t fit the criteria necessary for a ob, but it’s pretty obvious by now that the boy is not okay

and this is probably a major turning point in the story

I think we were so focused on Lilia that we forgot that the last straw for malleus ob was actually silver

malleus was lost and he didn’t knew what to do, when he saw silver crying he finally lost it and realized what he could do to solve this problem

I think we tend to forget that malleus raised this boy, he brought him food from the palace he sang him to sleep he watch over his training… malleus was there for the entirety of silver’s life

i dare to say that malleus has a soft spot for sebek and silver (Halloween 2024 I’m looking at you) and this is precisely what is going to get him out of his ob: he won’t be able to hurt them

and I’m pretty sure that “silver not being able to wake up” theory will come true in some way

mama shroud said that malleus spell is so fuckin complex that literally only him can indo it, even maleficia wouldn’t be able to, this hints that malleus really won’t be defeated by being overpowered, but by being convinced to undo the magic

and what is more convincing than having the boy you raised, the son of your father, collapsing right in front of you… because of you?

so in the end, the lost (prince)ss that was sleeping in a castle full of thorns is awaken by true love, and the evil dragon is defeated by a silver sword craved onto his heart

malleus being the one to break silvers curse of being constantly sleepy and silver being the reason malleus is freed from the ob monster…

well thats what happens when you learn to love humans I guess lol

[luckykiwiii101]

THE DEVIL DOESN’T WEAR SUBMISSION! SHE WEARS PRADA, OH!- AND NARCISSISM!

| | THE 411 ON HOW TO MANIFEST YOUR DREAM LIFE! | |

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

ཐི keep your head & heels high, and your middle finger higher ཋྀ

ཐི TABLE OF CONTENTS ཋྀ

✰ BELIEVING IN THE LAW ✰

✰ “AND WHO AM I? BETTER THAN YOU” ✰

✰SELF CONCEPT; BE NARCISSISTIC, THE GOSSIP GIRL WAY✰

✰ YOUR WAY IS THE RIGHT WAY & THE ONLY WAY ✰

✰ SPIRALS ARE ONLY FOR STAIRCASES ✰

p.s. psssst!! hey “void” worshippers, this is also for you. so read it. To everyone, take a day off to let all this information settle, it’s quite a lot!!

Welcome back Upper East Siders.

It’s often said that, no matter the truth, people see what they want to see. Some people might take a step back and find out that they’ve been looking at the same big picture all along. Some people see that their lies have almost caught up to them. Some people may see what was there all along.

But because you’ve fallen to submission, chances are that you’re blinded from the things that are right in-front of you. I’d call you legally blind but it’s a different type of law that you’re breaking.

Talk about secrets of the universe, but you’re living proof that knowledge doesn’t always mean wisdom, and that money can’t buy style, or class.

And if there’s one thing we all know about fashion, it’s that before putting an article of clothing on, you have to take one off, usually with the intention of putting another one back on. Or you’ll end up looking like a complete mess! or under your best friend’s BF! I hope S is taking notes…but even the biggest superstars need a stylist. And luckily for you, I have a friend who’s into fashion, and not just any fashion, high fashion, Little J, come out, come out wherever you are…

Oh wait! Almost lost track of my endless talents but i’m also great at fashion, and i’m simply just better. You can go back to crashing runways little J, and also just…running away.

✰ BELIEVING IN THE LAW ✰

First of all, I want you to know that all your dreams are possible and very easy. So this is for those doubtful upper east siders who forgot that the law of assumption is actually real, and not some joke made up by teenagers online.

Spend some time going through my law of assumption proof gallery to help clear your doubts in the law -> CLICK ME!

Now that you’ve boosted your faith in the law of assumption, of course you can believe 99%, but you’re going to have to fill that 1% on your own, through your own success.

✰ “AND WHO AM I? BETTER THAN YOU” ✰

Do you understand the law of assumption? -> CLICK ME

And do you understand who you actually are? Cause when someone asks, your only response should be “god”. -> CLICK ME

So how does “the void state” & “reality” work? In your favour, as usual -> CLICK ME

✰SELF CONCEPT; BE NARCISSISTIC, THE GOSSIP GIRL WAY✰

Spotted: Lonely boy’s rude awakening. Upper East Side Queens arent born at the top. They climb their way up in heels, no matter who they have to tread on to do it. Now what to wear with those heels…

Well, we hear narcissism’s in fashion, and rumour has it, she’s here to stay. But as I said before, putting a new outfit on requires taking the other off, and I ask disrespectfully, WHAT is that outfit!? You need a serious makeover! -> CLICK ME

A wise woman once said, the most dangerous enemies are the ones we never knew we had. And then there are those assumptions you never knew you held.

Now that you know why you kept failing previously, it’s time for your new self concept! And your permanent self concept. I promise, you’ll never fail again. You can’t do something impossible like failure. And since you understand the law and who you are (I AM) you know that failure simply isn’t possible.

What to wear? Failure? No. Narcissism. She looks much better on you anyway. Choose to wear the ugly outfit? Well I’ve got a friend on cyberspace who knows exactly what to do. And those flashes of clicked pics definitely aren’t coming from the paparazzi.

But I know, I know. “Narcissism” Isn’t that a bad thing? Not when it comes to being who you want. And all I mean is putting yourself on the highest pedestal. You’re going to completely fall in love with yourself, by becoming your desired self. That includes you void worshippers! Stop being submissive to the outer self. You dictate her, not the other way around. You’re going to be your desired self who has their dream life, no matter what. You’re above everyone and everything! Narcissistic, I like it.

First of all, remind yourself of what your dream life is and who you’re going to dedicate yourself to being. All good? Perfect! So here’s your new self concept & reminders to self -> CLICK ME

With this, what you’re going to do, is make your own personalised self concept guide. The one i’ve given you is only generalised to everyone’s use. I’ve given “directions” on where to add your own ideas, but don’t remove my ones because they’re extremely important and shouldn’t be ignored!! To make your own personalised self concept guide, just copy & paste the text on the template, and add your own ideas to your heart’s content, and decorate it to your liking & aesthetic. No harm in making it look pretty. Use pretty colours, pretty pics of your dream life etc. I recommend making yours on either notion, or tumblr. If you do end up making yours on tumblr, make it a private & pinned post so that you’ll see it on your front page and remember to come back to it. The only time you should ever open tumblr is to view your self concept guide or this post or the other ones i’ve made!!

Get into the state of being your desired self. Because that IS you. Embody your new self concept. Relish in it. Love it. You are going to fully immerse yourself into your new self concept. Finally, once and for all, be the real you. She’s been waiting for you.

✰ YOUR WAY IS THE RIGHT WAY & THE ONLY WAY ✰

A lot of upper east siders have been wondering. “What’s the right way to manifest?” Your way. Your way and only your way. Whatever you want is the right thing to do. You should already understand that from “enter the god state” post. That’s why it’s important that you personalise your own self concept guide!! YOU make the rules!

I hope you like the self concept template i’ve given you, and now you’re going to embody your dream self.

✰ SPIRALS ARE ONLY FOR STAIRCASES ✰

Need a wake up call? CLICK ME! They don’t call New York “the city that never sleeps” for nothing.

The purpose of the self concept guide and why it’s so important is to stop you from spiralling. Need guidance? Go back to the self concept guide and remind yourself of who you are.

Also, I have a post that really helps with spiralling. Come back to this every time you feel like spiralling -> CLICK ME

And don’t forget upper east siders, if you won’t do it out of love, do it out of spite. And you’re going to be bitch, at-least do it the right way. You’re the boss. The devil doesn’t wear submission, she wears prada, oh!- and narcissism. XOXO

- gossip girl

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

Oh boy there is so much here and I'd absolutely love a crack at explaining it. "What is weird about cats in Arknights?" a lot actually, and honestly, it's what is weird about every animal in Arknights.

So, yes, first of all, you have the "Feline" race, which broadly includes every cat person in the game, with the exception of lion people, who are categorized under Aslan instead. These aren't actually super important to our discussion immediately, so I'm going to gloss over them for right now. Point is, lots of people are cat people in this world, and this isn't given much pause.

That, at minimum, though, is a little weird. People on Terra don't seem to know that "cats" exist for the most part. There are a few people in particular that are important to our discussions here: first is Mousse, who has a bunch of friends she calls "kitties" but whom don't seem to be creatures known to the wide world; second is Haze, who has a major interest in "kitties", but these being BOTH the normal cat looking varieties AND Felines; and Phantom, who is a feline that is followed around by a two-tailed cat named Ms. Christine.

Ms. Christine gives us our first clue into all of this. Haze has a lot of respect for her, and Ms. Christine seems to just randomly appear in places following Phantom. What's more, the implication is that Ms. Christine won't show herself without her consent. If she doesn't want you to find her, you won't. While this might just seem like your average cat behavior, this is actually a common trait about the various Beast Lords in the game. Dolly, the Beast Lord for Sheep, can also make it so he is not visible to people if he so wishes, with one exception (Kal'tsit).

Ms. Christine hasn't talked at all, so we don't specifically need to know what her deal is. We do know that she is trying to keep Phantom away from the Crimson Troupe, the wandering assassination theater group who raised and groomed him from when he was a young orphan, and given that she can freely walk amongst the troop's castle in Calais, it's at least clear she's not ordinary.

What about Mousse's kitties? We don't know! They do seem to have some degree of deliberate intelligence to them, but they might simply be normal cats. The point here is that the others don't know what they are, so it's possible they could be Beast Lords too.

What IS interesting is that, according to Dolly, Beast Lords and their modern races originate from the same source. Beast Lords are _probably_ manifestations of animals that resulted after the first Catastrophes brought Originium to the surface worldwide, and from that point, the Beast Lords were born and the other animals began their evolutionary divergence (because remember: this is not a people becoming animals story, it's an animals becoming people story!).

There are also cloudbeasts, or at least at minimum, cloudbeasts are similar enough in shape to cat and dogs that the people of Terra don't find Mio or Woof to be particularly strange (Mio and Woof being Beast Lords themselves). Terra does seem to have its own unique versions of many animals we would know: fowlbeasts for birds, burdenbeasts for large herbivores etc. But on Terra, by and large (depending on what is happening with Mousse), it lacks the animals that we would expect in our world, as they either became Beast Lords or turned into animal people.

(For example, there is a Hound type enemy in the game, but they're actually some kind of fragment of a dog-like Beast Lord in Bolivar. This is only explained in the CN only lorebook because Hypergryph hates me in particular.)

This covers almost everything there is to say about cats in Arknights, with one exception: Kal'tsit. The like immortal green cat girl of the setting. Her conversation with Nezzsalem, the almost as immortal leader of the Nachzehrer, indicates that she seemingly was not always a cat girl, and we know that she is actually an artificial creation from the Precursor Civilization to Terra that brought both the original animals and Originium to the moon. So what is Kal'tsit, if she were not always a cat girl?

We don't know! My theory is that Mont3r, her companion, is in some way a "larval" form of Kal'tsit, given that it is sentient and that Kal'tsit seems to trust it to do the right thing when she passes. Curious!

Anyways yeah. Cats are weird in Arknights.

Arknights could pull off an event about a young witch searching for her lost cat in the alps. In fact it’d actually be super hype considering how weird cats are in lore

[seongwars]

more lads dad!au because dad!zayne and dad!caleb beef would be hilarious. spinoff from this drabble

The thing about heart surgeons was that they spent years in medical school, training relentlessly to save lives. But despite Zayne’s expertise, the one thing he couldn’t mend was his four-year-old daughter’s broken heart.

“Elsa, sweetheart, why are you crying?” he asked, crouching to her level as she hiccuped between sniffles.

“Because Archer doesn’t want to be married to me anymore,” Elsa sobbed, rubbing her fists against her red-rimmed eyes. 

“He said he likes Cece.”

Oh. His heart.

His daughter was barely out of preschool, and she was already experiencing the crushing weight of betrayal. While he remained calm on the outside, Zayne was seething on the inside. How dare this boy break his daughter’s heart? Who did he think he was?

“Archer?” 

“Caleb’s son,” you chimed in from the doorway, setting Elsa’s backpack down on its hook.

Oh. It all made sense now.

There were rumors that Caleb had been Mr. Popular back in high school, then again in college, and even at the academy. The kind of guy who could walk into a room and instantly become the center of attention, effortlessly drawing in mobs of adoring fangirls. His son, apparently, had inherited those same infuriatingly charming qualities.

Zayne clenched his jaw. No one, not even another four-year-old, was going to trample on his baby’s feelings and walk away unscathed. He turned back to Elsa, brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek.

“Sweetheart, listen to me,” Zayne said gently, wiping away the last of Elsa’s tears with his thumb. “You don’t need to be married to Archer. You’re the most brilliant, kind, and incredible little girl in the whole world.”

Elsa sniffled. “Really?”

“Absolutely. Now, let me ask you something: does Archer know medical terminology?”

Elsa frowned, thinking hard. “No,” she admitted, shaking her head.

Zayne gasped dramatically. “See? That right there is a red flag, sweetheart. You’re already smarter than him! Do you know how many medical words you know?”

Elsa sniffled again, but a tiny smile started forming. “A lot.”

“That’s right! And what’s the big one you learned last week?”

“Myocardial infarction!”

Zayne’s eyes widened in exaggerated amazement. “That’s incredible! Now, tell me, does Archer know what a myocardial infarction is?”

Your daughter scrunched up her nose, thinking. Then she clapped her hands. “No!”

“Sweetheart, how could you possibly be married to someone who doesn’t even know what that is?”

Elsa giggled, wiping at her damp cheeks.

“What other big words do you know?” Zayne encouraged, leaning in.

She tapped a finger against her chin before her face lit up. “Hippocampus!”

“That’s my girl!” Zayne grinned, nodding approvingly. “Anything else?”

Elsa’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Gluteus maximus!”

She giggled so hard at the meaning of gluteus maximus that she nearly toppled over, but Zayne caught her just in time, lifting her up and pressing a kiss to her forehead. Just minutes ago, she had been devastated over some preschool betrayal, and now she was giggling about medical jargon like the brilliant little girl she was.

It was far better than pining over a boy who didn’t even know what a myocardial infarction was.

☾⋆

“Hey, I saw Zayne today at drop-off, and he was squinting at me the whole time,” Caleb said, pulling Eden out of his high chair.

“Huh. Did he have his glasses on?” his wife asked, refilling Stella’s sippy cup. 

Caleb furrowed his brow. “Now that I think about it…no, he didn’t. Oh! That makes so much sense! I waved at him, like, three times, but he just kept squinting. Poor guy was probably struggling to see without them.”

Cece - Sylus' daughter Eden & Stella - Caleb's twins