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liviesjuno · 16 hours ago

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Every Definitive Byler Proof Broken Down

starting with - season one

1) “Will’s homophobia”

it’s said a few times here and there throughout season one that Will is often treated as “the gay one” in the party. His own dad called him “queer” and a “f*g” and bullies at school call him “gay” and a “fairy”

2) “Mike treats Will going missing differently to everyone else” :

we see from the very start of the season that Mike treats Will differently to all his other friends. It’s established that their bond is different from the others. Will, unlike Dustin and Lucas, tells Mike immediately that the roll was a 7. it’s already set in stone that their bond is built on trust and that they’re closer. Mike also has every drawing Will’s ever made for him in a binder and on his wall.

even when Will was missing, it’s still brought up that Mike’s feelings towards Will are different than his feelings towards his other friends. He’s the only one in his friend group much more focused on finding Will, he even went as far as keeping a strange bald girl with powers just because she could help (aside from the fact he also kept el because she was on the run from bad men). His feelings towards Will aren’t hidden to everyone else, even his own mom and sister see it.

(also that cute scene from Mike seeing Will in hospital for the first time since he went missing and he rests his head on his heart)

season two

1) “Mike notices things about Will that others don’t”:

despite Mike being more sensitive and aware of Will since he went missing, we see Mike picking up on small things about Will.

2) “Mike is more affectionate and protective over Will than any of his other friends”:

whilst Will going missing has a role to play in this, it goes without saying that Mike is worlds more affectionate and protective of Will than any of his other friends. Such as holding his hand, wrapping his shoulder around him and making efforts to be closer to him in group scenarios.

3) “Crazy Together”:

after suffering another episode Mike take’s Will home (which actually ends up being Mike’s home). In a sweet little conversation where they both open up to each other (Will talks about his episodes and Mike talks about how he keeps seeing eleven) Mike turns to Will and says “I don’t know I feel like I’m going crazy” Will then responds “yeah, me too.” Mike smirks in a caring way and says “Well, if we’re both going crazy we’ll go crazy together, right?” Will turns his head, smiling “yeah. Crazy together.”

This is one of the most famous byler proofs to date.

4) “Will remembers who Mike is even when he is possessed”:

when Will is in hospital after suffering internal burning from being connected to the shadow monster, and the vines related to it being burned underground. He is asked by Owen’s if he remembers who Mike is as Will is suffering amnesia type symptoms. And he does! (Mike also gets really giddy after this lol)

5) “It was the best thing I’ve ever done”:

in an attempt to bring Will back to his normal state and keep him occupied whilst he taps away at morse code, Mike digs deep down and truly opens up about how he feels and his first memory of Will. He tells Will every intricate detailing of the first day that they met and tells him becoming his friend was the best thing he’d ever done.

6) “Mike is lonely without Will at the snowball”:

this is one of the smaller byler proofs but a proof nonetheless. In the last episode of season two, the whole party goes to the school winter dance called “the snowball”. In which a girl comes up to Will and asks him to dance, initially it seems Mike doesn’t care as he encourages Will to dance with the girl. But when Will is actually gone, Mike looks at him in parallel to Dustin looking at Max with Lucas. Part of him wishing he maybe didn’t encourage Will to go dance at all.

season three

1) “Mike is always with Will when he’s not with Eleven”:

in season three of stranger things, it kicks off (unfortunately) with Mike and El making out to some music. this seems to be one of the only things they ever do together. When they’re apart and when they break up due to Mike lying (because of hopper). Mike and Will are often the main pair, even when El and Mike were together, Will is usually standing next to them or next to Mike.

2 & 3) “Mike reacts differently to his break up with El and his fight with Will” & “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls”:

this is a two in one because they’re linked:

in season three after El had enough with Mike’s bullshit and lies, she “dumps his ass”. Mike responds to this with the goofiest look on his face and spends all his time moping around, eating chips and being sexist.

Meanwhile after Mike’s fight with Will, he looks at Will leaving with a really emotional look on his face and bike’s to his house in the rain to apologise and then to Castle Byers when he wasn’t at home.

It’s important to note that Max said “he’ll come crawling back to you in no time begging for forgiveness” which is exactly what Mike did with Will, not with El.

Also Mike and El’s breakup was completely unserious. It was sunny, ice cream, people around, friends witnessing and Max and El laughing afterwards.

Mike and Will’s fight was private, in the rain, blue colours all around, heated and sad.

Speaking of their fight…

When Mike and Lucas make fun of Will’s campaign because they think turning 13 makes them too old for that stuff now. Will storms off (rightfully so) and starts to head home. Mike follows him, apologising and trying to reassure him that it’s a cool campaign but they’re just not in the mood right now. He then gets offended when Will says Mike is ruining their party, he says he’s destroying everything just so he can swap spit with some “stupid girl”. Mike then snaps in what people assume is internalised homophobia and projection and gives us the infamous line (this is also a hint into will being gay)

“El’s not stupid. It’s not my fault you don’t like girls”.

ouch.

4) “Mike and Will’s goodbye was much more intimate than Mike and El’s”:

at the end of season three, the Byers and El prepare to move to California after the “death” of El’s dad hopper.

When packing away a dnd set into the donation box, Mike stops Will and tells him as such. Will then tells him “I know, I’ll just use yours when I come back. I mean, if we still wanna play.” Mike then responds “yeah but, what if you wanna join another party” (oh poor Will has no idea how ironic this is) Will then responds with “not possible.” While smirking at Mike, Mike smiles back (of course) and then they have a very deep hug out front before Will leaves.

on the other hand…

Mike and El’s goodbye is very… awkward. It starts of sweet, Mike comes in and tells El that he’ll be calling her so much on Dustin’s cerebro and then they kinda talk about how much they both like gifts? ok. then El tells Mike she heard what he said about her and Mike pretends like he has no idea what she’s talking about. El then reminds Mike by telling him that she loves him too. Quick! Take a guess how Mike responds.

1) smiles

2) kisses her

3) “you do?” In a smiley way

4) stands awkwardly whilst she kisses him in front of an open closet (basic foreshadowing lmfao) and he doesn’t even kiss back. Then when she walks away, he stands there confused and staring at the ground.

…….

the answer is…. 4!! A totally normal way to respond to your feelings getting reciprocated. right?

Mike and El share a hug out front as well, and then Mike passionately looks at the Byers house whilst hoppers letter starts talking about not wanting things to change and that change is scary and then he rides his bike off into the distance. Well that totally wasn’t gay as fuck. Moving on.

season four (the gayest of them all)

1) “Will is painting a lot […] I’m sure there’s someone he likes”:

the season in present time, kicks off with El’s letter to Mike about life in California. It goes through things like Joyce having a new job, Jonathan smoking smelly plants 🍃 and… oh! what’s that? Will painting something for a girl, and he’s… been acting weird? there might be someone he likes? Oh this is terrifying news for Michael Queerler. anyways, the actual point of this letter is to give a hint to the audience that Will has a crush on someone, he’s making a painting for them and it’s supposed to be a girl but if you have basic media comprehension it’s for a boy. and that boy is Mike wheeler.

2) “Will gets his leg felt up by a girl’s foot and he gay panics”:

a very common and easy to spot hint of Will being gay is when Will is sitting in class and a girl pushes her foot over to Will’s leg and starts brushing it. She gives him a flirty look, but Will being gay, shuts her down and brings his leg further into himself and away from her.

3) “Mike’s airport “hug” with Will”:

I think this is one of the biggest proof for bylers. Mike’s awkward as fuck airport hug. When Mike arrives in California, dressed as a totally different version of himself. He kisses el, gives her some flowers and pretends to pay no attention to Will or that he even exists. Then when Will steps into the frame, Mike goes “oh. hey.” and….. shoulder taps him? your best friends of like 10 years and you shoulder tap him? okay Mike.

4) “Mike is jealous of Will and makes it a whole scene”:

following the awkward hug at the airport, Mike asks immediately after it what the rolled up painting in Will’s hand is. (As if he doesn’t know lmfao) Will tells him “nothing, it’s just this painting I’ve been working on” Mike then pretending to not give a single shit goes “cool.” And assumes Will has brung this painting for the girl he likes and that she might be meeting them here today. Mike then thinks his assumption becomes reality when El mentions the name Angela. Will then repeats “Angela?” Back to her and Mike gives Will a look. He thinks Angela is the girl Will must’ve made his painting for and he gets clingy with El after this, pretending to ignore Will.

speaking of…

5) “Mike pretends to ignore Will but actually proves he’s been paying attention the whole time”:

after the whole commotion of El getting bullied, Mike finding out the truth and trying to look for her. Mike doesn’t decide to get angry with El for lying.. no no he decided to turn his anger towards Will. He then accuses him of “sabotaging the whole day” as if his girlfriend didn’t just get bullied but ok. He then lists everything Will has been doing such as moping and barely talking.

6) “Mike’s gay ass taking everything Will says romantically in their rinkomania fight”:

After Mike gets angry with Will for being miserable and Will gets angry with Mike for being a third wheel, Mike then walks away and Will stops him in his tracks by asking about their friendship “well, what about us?”

Mike then turns around with a look of despair and says “what?”

Will then gets angry at Mike and basically says it’s ridiculous that Mike is mad Will didn’t talk to him as Mike made it super clear he isn’t interested in anything he has to say. It’s been a year (it’s barely been six months lol) and Mike has only called him a couple times, meanwhile El has a book of letters from him. Mike then snaps with “that’s because she’s my girlfriend Will” and Will responds, once again only talking about their friendship “and us?” Then Mike taking things romantically again says “we’re friends. WE’RE FRIENDS.” ….. who said you weren’t Micheal?

7) “Mike stuck by Will’s side as opposed to El’s even though they were in a fight and him and El weren’t (yet)”:

after their intensely gay fight where “in the closet” an original made song for the sound track starts playing. Mike and Will hear a scream, they turn around and see El standing over her bully now covered in blood. They run over to see more of what’s happened, and they are shocked to say the least. El stands there stunned at what she’s done, and Mike starts exclaiming “what did you do? What did you do?” Which triggers a lab flashback for El (what a healthy relationship). Mike is mad with El for some reason even though he’s literally seen her snap his bullies arm and snap people’s necks. And throughout this, he sticks with Will at Rinkomania while joining the turning heads that stare at El in fear and disgust as he stands next to Will, he leans next to and looks at Will in the van on the way home and he even suffers in silence during breakfast with Will. Even though… they’re in a fight? Ok.

8) “From, Mike”:

a day has passed since the incident at rinkomania and Mike has entered El’s room to clear things up. He tells El that she didn’t have to lie to him as he understands what it’s like to be bullied. El tells him he doesn’t understand that, she doesn’t belong and that he thinks she’s a monster. Mike argues he doesn’t and that he cares for her so much. El then argues that that’s all he does. “Care” for her, but he doesn’t love her anymore. Mike argues against this and says “who said that I didn’t” El says “you never say it” Mike argues “I say it.” And then El pulls up the receipts. She starts throwing each letter Mike has written whilst crying “From Mike, From Mike, From Mike” … and so on. Instead of Mike reassuring El that he does love her, he instead GASLIGHTS her and says that she’s being “ridiculous” and that she knows how he feels about her and that she shouldn’t allow these “mouth breathers” (El’s bullies which have nothing to do with this) to ruin their relationship. He then goes onto tell her everything he likes about her… which is…. Well, her powers. which she doesn’t even have anymore. He calls her a superhero and she says “not anymore.” Mike doesn’t even come up with a response for this.

9) “Looks like it’s gonna be up to us again.”:

a day later since Mike and El’s big fight and El is now off to quote “become a superhero again”. She writes this in a letter to Mike that says “From, El” (oh I love her so much, get his ass). Mike sits there staring at it before Will buts in telling him that staring at it won’t make it change. Mike then crumples up what could be El’s last letter to him and throws it in the trash… alright.

Mike then opens up to Will about their fight, how it felt like one of those fights you can’t come back from. He says that there’s something he should’ve said and if he said it maybe El would want him there with her but he… *sigh* “didn’t know what to say” 🧍🏼‍♀️okay. Will then reassures him that he’s going to see her again and whatever he didn’t say, he can say to her then. Mike doesn’t seem too pleased about this, but the conversation then moves forward. Will then goes onto talk about how it was “you guys” (Mike, Dustin, Lucas, Max & El… more so Mike lol) who saved him. Mike then says really flirty “looks like it’s gonna be up to us again” and Will responds also really flirty “it always is, isn’t it?” Then they share a super flirty laugh where they both can’t even contain their gayness.

10) “it’s Hawkins, it’s not the same without you.”:

after developing a plan to go find El. Mike, Jonathan and Will start packing for a road trip. In the middle of packing, Mike comes into Will’s bedroom and starts to apologise to him. He starts off with saying “thanks by the way..” to which Will says “for what?” Then Mike says “for knocking some sense into me, I was being a total self pitying idiot” and then Will says “I didn’t say it” very flirty to which Mike says “you didn’t have to” also very flirty (this is also a very important parallel to Mike and El’s fight where she says “you never say it” and Mike goes “I say it.”) He then starts bringing up the past couple of days, to which Will responds with “you don’t have to say anything.. I was being a total jerk to El, I deserve it”. (My selfless shayla I love you Will) Mike cuts him off “no.. no you didn’t deserve anything.” Will turns around, looking at Mike now listening and paying attention to what he has to say, and what he has to say is very important.

“listen, the truth is the last year.. has been weird. you know? and I mean, you know, Max and Lucas and Dustin they’re - they’re great… they’re great it’s just - - it’s Hawkins. It’s not the same without you.”

so Mike thinks home isn’t the same without Will and once again proving he feels differently towards Will than his other friends.

“And I feel like maybe I was worrying too much about El and… I don’t know maybe I feel like I lost you or something. Does that make sense?”

okay, wrap it up. I’m gonna cry.

“I have no idea what’s gonna happen next. But… whatever it is, I think we should work together. I think it’ll be easier if we’re a team. Friends. Best friends.”

we all know what he really wanted to say… lol.

all this followed by a painfully flirty

“Cool.” By Will and another “Cool.” By Mike with a smiley up and down look. and…. *INTERRUPTION TROPE*

11) “The interruption trope”:

going back a couple proofs and forward some too, byler is constantly suffering from the interruption trope this season.

It happens during “looks like it’s gonna be up to us again” scene, the “it’s Hawkins it’s not the same without you” scene, the “what if they don’t like the truth” scene on the car and lastly at the end of the series during the “We will. We will.” Scene. WOW. that’s pretty gay. Why are you interrupting them duffers? What would they do if uninterrupted? Hm? Moving on…

12) “Mike protecting Will”:

this is a very quick byler proof, but during the shooting scene Mike immediately protects Will and puts his arm over him and makes sure to remain in front of him. cuties.

13) “The triple take”:

we all know the triple take, we all love the triple take. all you need is to see it and soak it all in.

well that wasn’t the least bit suspicious. lol.

14) “What if they don’t like the truth”:

after burying a dead man’s body together #couplegoals

Mike and Will take a second to rest on one of the cars with a couple of soda cans (this is a craaaazyyy parallel to jancy in season two by the way).

Mike starts yapping AGAIN about if he said something that he for some reason doesn’t know what it is that he should’ve said then he’d know where El is and he’d be there right now. Idk I’m bored of this too. Will (god bless his patient soul) starts comforting Mike AGAIN and starts opening up from his own emotions. He says “sometimes.. I think it’s just scary to open up like that. to say how you truly feel. Especially to people you care about the most. because what if- what if they don’t like the truth”. Mike nods (for some reason *wink*) even though he knows him saying “I love you” is the truth El wants to hear. but ok. Anyway, if you couldn’t tell this is one of many hints to Will being gay also.

15) “Mike holding the phone for Will”:

this isn’t necessarily a proof, but it’s cute that Mike was holding the phone for Will and allowed Will’s hand to hold his on top. I love them.

16) “The Van Scene”:

oh boy oh boy where to begin…

Not only does Mike use the good old Will voice (I was gonna put this in here as an official byler proof, but it’s more of just a fun detail) he is constantly staring at Will in ways you can’t get straight explanations for.

Obviously, in this scene Will gives his painting to Mike as a way to cheer him up after (yet again) talking about how shit his relationship with El is. yeah I bet even milevens were sick of it at this point.

Mike unravels the painting and Will stares, anxiously waiting for a positive response. Mike smiles widely and Will reciprocates proudly with a smile of his own. Mike looks up at him and asks “did you paint this” after exclaiming how amazing it is. Will responds “yeah- I mean.. El asked me to, she commissioned it basically she told me what to draw”. NO. NOOOOOO. this is where every byler in the world face palmed and cried for 10 days.

he then goes on to tell Mike about the painting and all his feelings for him while disguising them as El’s.

“anyway, my point is. See how you’re leading us here? You’re guiding the whole party. Inspiring us. That- that’s what you do. And see your coat of arms here? It’s a heart. And I know it’s sort of on the nose, but, that’s what holds this whole party together. Heart.” Will was so brave for this actually, what straight homie makes a painting for his friend and puts a whole heart on his person alone. okay.

he then goes on to describing his feelings, I changed them to what it would be like if he didn’t use El’s name.

“I mean, without heart we’d all fall apart. Even me, especially me. These past few months I’ve been so lost without you. It’s just I’m so different from other people and… when you’re - when you’re different. Sometimes… you feel like a mistake. but you make me feel like I’m not a mistake at all, like I’m better for being different and that gives me the courage to fight on. If I was mean to you or if I seemed like I was pushing you away it’s probably just because I’m scared of losing you just like you’re scared of losing her.” (I know that one hurt, but from Will’s pov he believes Mike feels nothing towards him.) “and - and if I was going to lose you I- I think I’d just rather get it over with quick, like ripping off a bandaid. So yeah, I need you Mike. And I always will.”

“yeah?” Mike responds.

“Yeah.” Will answers, and cries out the window. Holy fucking shit. The duffers need to be hunted with pitchforks for that one.

17) “Mike and El’s reunion”:

after finally finding El, Mike hops out the van and they share a (honestly I can’t even lie about this) very sweet reunion. Except…

Will is in the background, because apparently he just loves to linger in the background of every heartfelt mileven scene lmfao. Mike then looks at Will, looks at El, looks at Will and then looks at El again. It’s a very interesting scene to say the least and then El and Will have this adorable reunion #brothersistergoals

18) “El’s drawing”:

I have nothing to say other than how painfully set up this is lmfao.

19) “Will’s heart to heart with Jonathan”:

this is a nice little bonus of just proving to the painfully stupid general audience that Will is gay and that Jonathan will always be there to support him. Jonathan basically reassures him of that, and Will tells him he’ll always be there for him too.

it’s a really beautiful scene and it ends with a tearful hug from both ends. I’m gonna cry if Will comes out to him next season for real.

20) “Mike’s love confession to El”:

not only was Mike telling the biggest amount of horseshit in this “love confession” but it’s also one of the biggest byler proofs there is.

For some odd reason, Mike sat there telling El the exact opposite of what she wanted to hear by listing everything he loves about her… again… which is.. again.. her powers? Even though he loves her without her powers? He also proceeds to call her a superhero again but this time “my superhero”. Okay.

He also says his life started the day he found her in the woods (“that’s not will?” Lmfao) and he’s loved her ever since that day… even though he wanted to get rid of her that same night to focus on finding Will, only kept her because she was on the run from bad men and could help find Will, got mad and snapped when she couldn’t help find Will, forgave her again when she found him in the walkie talkie, stopped them from finding Will so their whole friend group fell out, Called her a weapon and then used her for finding Will again. But sure, yeah, you’ve loved her this whole time michael.

He also couldn’t spit out the words “I love you” until Will got his attention and told him “you’re the heart. You’re the heart!” (I also find it hilarious how neither Will or Jonathan knew that Mike couldn’t say “I love you” and they’re just sitting there watching Mike say all this shit as if it means something).

Will is also constantly in the background of this love confession, more specifically when Mike says “I love you”. Imagine if in every love confession the “third wheel” or the “other woman/man” in the love triangle was just casually in the background with another season to go and their feelings haven’t properly been brought to the table yet. that’s pretty suspicious if you ask me.

there’s also the fact it’s never brought up again, Mike and El don’t discuss it and they don’t have a heart to heart but you know who does….?

21) “We will. We will.”:

two days have passed since Mike’s ass love confession and the gang have arrived back in Hawkins. After visiting max in hospital (and Mike and Will sharing a hug through Lucas) they’re now helping El clean up hoppers cabin.

El walks past Will and Mike sassy-ly and slams the door behind her (well sort of, this cutie still leaves it open 3 inches I love her). Will asks if she’s spoken to Mike at all, but he says she hasn’t much. He did say that she was worried she wasn’t ready and that Dr. Brenner might have been right when he said that. He also proceeds to say he hopes 001 (vecna) is dead.

Will, being dramatic as always and forever the bearer of bad news says he’s not dead. He tells Mike that now that he’s here in Hawkins, he can feel him, that he’s still alive but he’s hurting. and that it’s strange knowing now who it was this whole time, and he still remembers what he thinks and how he thinks. and that he’s not going to stop. Ever. Not until he’s taken everything and everyone. He then tells Mike “we have to kill him.”

Mike then grabs his shoulder, gripping tightly

“And we will. We will.”

*skrrrttt* you guessed it. ANOTHER interruption trope.

22) “Mike and Will standing next to the canon couples of the show”:

we’ve reached the very last scene of stranger things season 4 and also the very last byler proof of this post. Mike, Will, Nancy, Jonathan, Hopper and Joyce are all standing on the hill while El stands in-front of them holding the flowers she loves decaying in her hands.

there’s A LOT of symbolism here. The fact the flowers El is holding are the ones Mike gave to her at the start of season 4 and now they’re crumbling away in her hands possibly symbolising her and Mike’s relationship.

And of course, the most obvious one, Jancy and Jopper standing next to Byler. You seriously cannot make this up, if this isn’t the most blatantly obvious and in your face foreshadowing I don’t know what is.

To not make byler canon after all THIS is insane.

Anyway, thank you for reading this whole yap session. I care for you… so much. lol but yeah please give this a like it took me FOREVER. and remember, byler is endgame.

#byler #mike wheeler #stranger things #bylerendgame #will byers #willandmike #anti mileven #bylerproof #theory #analysis #deep analysis #proof #ship #byleriscanon #bylerisnotfanservice #byler scene #byler brainrot

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ladykailitha · 1 day ago

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Forever Young Part 4

Hey guys! We are back with this amazing fic! Since it's been a bit I'd recommend reading the last chapter: here or the from the beginning: here.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

A bit of a longer chapter with lots of twists and turns and a brief cameo of Joyce and Hopper.

Will and Dustin looked at each other and sighed heavily.

“I forgot that there is a distinct messy side to science,” Dustin said, putting his hands on his hips and looking at the bags and bags of garbage out by the garage.

“Let’s see if we can’t find gardening gloves or whatever to protect us...” he waved at the piles with a grimace, “from all of that.”

“Good idea,” Dustin agreed. “There is bound to be broken bottles in there and I really don’t have the desire to call Wayne about needing a ride to the hospital, thanks.”

They found gloves and got to work. They sorted out the bags that were clearly from earlier in the week and focused on the two bags that were the most likely culprits for being from last night.

“So I’m just seeing beer and joint butts,” Will said about twenty minutes later. “How about you?”

Dustin sighed and pushed his bag away. “A whole lot of nothing. Like chip bags and other junk food detritus, no real heavy alcohol or anything that might mix badly with the weed.”

Will nodded. “It just seems like their every day party with out us underaged teenagers. Different kinds of soda and other drinks but nothing that screams body altering drugs.”

He got to his feet and dusted off his knees. “This was a complete bust.”

Dustin got up too. “I don’t think so. Yeah, we didn’t find anything, but that means that it wasn’t drug or alcohol related. That’s something we cross off the list.”

“I suppose,” Will sighed as he pulled off his gloves. “Let’s go tell everyone we didn’t find anything.”

“Let’s hope Dr. Owens has some ideas,” Dustin agreed, pulling off his gloves too. “But I’m plumb out.”

The other four kids were sitting on the sofa, talking among themselves.

“Sorry, guys,” Dustin said flopping on the arm chair, while Will sat cross-legged on the floor. “That was a bust. All they had last night was the usual stuff to get high and drunk.”

“Ours was unfruitful as well,” El said with a sigh. “Dr. Owens said that they had never encountered physical regression before. But he’ll look into it further and call back. I worry he may want to take blood tests.”

“He can fuck off back to whatever hole he crawled out of,” Mike growled. “I’m not letting them do to Nancy what they did to El. I don’t care.”

Lucas put his hand on Mike’s arm. “And we won’t let them either. Especially with Wayne knowing what’s going on. I have a feeling that if they tried to take Eddie, he’d storm the lab with nothing but a shotgun and enough ammo take on a third world country.”

Mike straightened and blinked for a moment. “Oh, yeah. He’d go all Rambo on their ass. Huh. That does make me feel better. Thanks!”

“No problem,” Lucas said with a smile. “Plus if we add El and Erica to the mix, the lab would be razed the ground in seconds.”

El just batted her eyelashes at them sweetly.

“So we’ve got absolutely nothing,” Dustin said with a heavy sigh. “The lab was no help, the garbage was no help. They can’t tell us what went wrong. We��re pretty much stuck until something else happens.”

“Pretty much!” Mike huffed, throwing his head back against the couch cushion. “This sucks. I’ve looked up to Nancy my whole life and after the monsters I’ve admired what a badass she was. But that little girl isn’t the Nancy I grew up with. Like she knows she’s going to be a big sister, but she doesn’t understand what that means right now. For her it’s diaper changes and bottle feeding. Not being a reporter and shotguns.”

There was a creak on the stairs leading down to the basement and everyone looked over expecting Steve as he had slept earlier, but no it was Little Jonathan.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” he whispered shyly, sucking on his thumb.

Will was on his feet in an instant. One of the things that Lonnie liked to yell about either of his sons was that they were too soft. That they needed toughening up. The fact that Little Jonathan was still sucking his thumb at this age was sure sign that Lonnie was an ass and that there was no doubt he had hit his son for trying to get comfort somewhere in this big, wide world.

“Come with me,” he said gently. “I’ll take you to the one up here and then show you where the one downstairs is so you if you spend the night you know where it is, okay?”

Little Jonathan nodded, taking Will’s hand. Will led the way and as he was about to close the door behind the toddler, Little Jonathan looked up him and cocked his head.

“Will the Wise,” he said solemnly. “You’ll find someone who loves you for you some day.” Then he toddled into the bathroom and closed the door, leaving a very stunned Will staring at the wooden surface.

When Little Jonathan came out he didn’t seem to remember what he said before going into the bathroom. So Will just led him back to the living room where the teens were gathered.

“Hey there, buddy,” Lucas said with a soft smile. “Did you want to try to go back to sleep or did you want to color until everyone else woke up?”

“M’mm awake...” came the slurred voice of Little Eddie from the floor. “Just restin’ my eyes.” He sat up sort of cross-legged and rubbed his eyes.

Max giggled. “Sure are, big guy. All bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

Then Little Robin came in, hair a mess and drool all over her face. “I’m thirsty, can I get some water?”

“Sure!” Will said, his voice cracking. “El won’t you take them to the kitchen, I’m sure Eddie and Jonathan are thirsty too.”

El looked at him curiously, head cocked to the side. Then she nodded. “Come on, everyone hold hands like they did for lunch.”

The kids did as they were told and El took Little Robin’s hand to lead them into the kitchen.

The kids ooh’ed and awed when El used her powers to get the glasses down from the cupboard because it was too high for her to get.

“Cups are easy,” Little Robin said with a giggle. “She can throw cars with her mind, too!”

El froze and the cup headed for Little Eddie stopped too.

“Supergirl!” Little Eddie agreed, clapping his hands and reaching out for the cup. It took everything El had to let go of the cup so that Eddie could take it.

“You should see her fly a helicopter!” Little Jonathan crowed. “It’s so cool!”

She watched them in wide-eyed amazement as they didn’t seem to understand what it was they just said. They just happily drank the water given to them and then handed the cups back to her. She put them in the sink and then led them back out to the living room.

There was Little Nancy and Little Steve sitting on the floor with their heads together, playing tic-tac-toe as they waited for the other kids to come back.

“I think they’re getting some of them memories back,” El said bluntly. “But only in spurts.”

“I agree,” Dustin said putting his hands on his hips. “But when it does happen, it doesn’t stick around for long. Just a memory and then it’s gone.”

Max narrowed her eyes and then cocked her head back and forth. “Well you want to know what I think? I think we should just let them be kids for awhile.”

“What?” Lucas cried, springing to his feet. “We need them as adults!”

“And that’s the problem!” Max snapped back, getting to her feet, too. “We rely on them too much. When do they get to be kids? Especially Jonathan, Steve, and Nancy. They were our age when they first met the Upside Down, when do they get to shirk their duties and have fun?”

Mike grabbed both Lucas and Max and started pushing them toward the hall, but before he could even get them turned around, Little Jonathan and Little Robin burst into tears. Mike closed his eyes.

“I was trying to avoid that,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Please take this argument elsewhere. Dustin and El, too. They don’t need to hear this.”

There was a lot of shouting and protesting as even more of the kids started to cry.

Suddenly there was a piercing whistle from the doorway to the hall. All the teens stopped arguing even though the kids kept crying. They turned to the door and there was Joyce and Hopper standing there. Hopper had his fingers to his lips, pointing to him as the cause of the whistle.

The teenagers stared at them in shock and maybe a little bit of fear too. They were so busted.

“Where did you lot get a bunch of children?” Hopper groused. “I don’t think I’d let any of ya babysit for love or money.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Joyce smacked his chest. “Jim!” she cried in amusement.

Suddenly Little Jonathan broke from the crowd of children and dashed straight for Joyce’s legs.

“Mommy!”

Joyce scooped him up out of habit and then froze. “All my babies are grown up, little one.”

Will and El shared a grimace.

Little Jonathan traced a scar on her chin. “Daddy did that. I’m sorry, Mommy.”

Joyce and Jim both went wide-eyed.

Joyce moved Little Jonathan to her hip to get a better look at the little boy in her arms. “Jonathan?”

The little boy nodded.

Of course the other kids were still screaming so Mike and Lucas each grabbed one of the girls to calm down first. Mike took Nancy and began cooing a lullaby. She hiccuped softly, her sobs slackening until they stopped all together.

Hopper waded in and picked up the two boys, bouncing each on his hip. El immediately stood up and grabbed Little Steve from him so he could focus on getting the one quiet. El reading Little Steve’s mind to find a song that would calm him and started humming that.

Once everyone had stopped screaming and Joyce was over her shock, she sat down on the sofa, her son in her arms.

“Will, what’s going on?” she asked her other child.

“We don’t know,” Will huffed. “We know it’s not Upside Down related. El and I checked, but they just woke up like that.”

“They?” Hopper said, looking closer at the child in his arms. “Holy shiiiiivvva,” he said changing the last word at the last second.

“What’s a Shiva?” the little boy asked, cocking his head to the side and looking up at him with chocolate button eyes.

“Shiva is an Indian god,” Hopper huffed. “With too many arms and lots of rage issues.”

“So holy Shiva makes sense,” Little Eddie said solemnly, nodding. “Uncle Wayne said not to swear because they’re big people words. Can I say holy Shiva instead of cussing?”

“Sure, kid,” Hopper said with a huff of laughter.

“Oh no,” Joyce said softly. “If that’s Eddie, and this is Jonathan are those...?”

Will sighed putting his head in his hands.

“I’m afraid so Mrs. Byers,” Dustin said, putting his hands on his hips. “Steve was the first one found like this, then Nancy and Jonathan. We assumed, rightly unfortunately, that Robin and Eddie were affected, too.”

“Does Wayne know about his nephew’s cute-ifaction?” Hopper asked.

Max chewed on her thumbnail. “I think he was the first to know, but didn’t reach out to the rest of us because he didn’t know it had happen to the others, too.”

Hopper set Little Eddie down. “Sounds like you’ve got a bit of a mess. Especially since the reason Joyce and I stopped by is that we’ve got to head out of town for a bit. We were hoping to make sure Steve was aware he had to keep an eye out for you lot.”

“I’m not sure we can leave knowing the older teens are kids now,” Joyce said, holding Jonathan to her chest.

Hopper just shook his head. “I’d agree with you, but Murray was pretty insistent we both be there.”

“Is it Upside Down related?” El asked, cocking her head to the side.

Joyce sighed and then looked over at Hopper.

“We don’t know yet,” Hopper explained calmly. “We know that the Russians tried to open a gate before and if they’ve got someone like Henry Creel, they might try to insert them into the Upside Down to get control of it for their own ends.”

El nodded. “I’ve been keeping an ear out for any stirrings, but there haven’t been so far.”

He kissed her forehead. “That’s good to know.”

“How long will you be gone?” Will asked nervously. He remembered the last time his mom left and really didn’t want to repeat that experience.

Joyce looked up at Hopper and then back at him. “I don’t know love. I know things went bad last time, but that was because a general went crazy and tried to kill El. That won’t happen this time, I promise.”

“No offense, ma’am,” Lucas huffed. “But I really don’t think that’s a promise you can make. I get that it might be Upside Down related, but I don’t know about anyone else, I’m getting tired of grown ups leaving us behind to take on problems well beyond our capacity.”

“You watch your tone, young man,” Joyce said sternly. “It’s not your place to tell adults what they can or cannot do.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve still got PTO coming to me then, isn’t it?” Wayne growled from behind them.

“Wayne!” Lucas breathed in relief.

“Went out bought somethings for youngsters,” he said holding up his loot. “You two can go do what you want. I’ll handle this.”

Joyce chewed on her lip and then set Little Jonathan down gently. “I’m going away for a couple of days, but Mr. Munson is going to watch you and your new friends. You’ll be safe, I promise.”

Lucas rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut.

“I’ll take care of it,” Wayne repeated more sternly.

Joyce pressed her lips tightly and then nodded. She pulled money out her purse and handed it to Wayne. “To help cover any food they might need.”

Wayne set down some of the bags he had and took the money. “Thank you.”

“We’ll be in contact,” Hopper said squeezing his shoulder. “Keep the walkie nearby.”

They all nodded.

“Who wants to help me make dinner?” Wayne said with a grin, turning back to the other kids.

A cheer went up.

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @steddieislife @stripey82 @tony-2012 @stedestielfrattficlover @micheledawn1975

10- @moonshadows-13 @bridget-malfoy-stilinski-hale @morallyundefined @best-thing-at-this-party @ollieolive

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #kid fic

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fairytwles · 2 years ago

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five tickets to barbie please (el dragged mike along kicking and screaming)

#stranger things #my post #will byers #argyle #jonathan byers #eleven #jane hopper #mike wheeler #will jonathan and argyle are so excited #el is too but she doesn’t know much about it #mike was dragged along #pouted the whole time like the little emo boy he is #but he secretly liked it #he would never say anything tho #barbie #barbie movie #lol #⎯🧚fairytwles posts #⎯🛼 st

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starlight299 · 3 months ago

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Steve meets Wayne for the first time and starts off calling him sir and being a polite and then almost has a heart attack when Eddie starts swearing right in front of him. Wayne doesn’t even react he just keeps taking like everything is normal. Steve swears his heart stopped beating when Eddie gave his uncle the middle finger for teasing him about something.

And Steve knows his parents are a terrible example for how families interact with each other but he’s never once heard Will or Jonathan swear in front of Joyce and he was pretty convinced she was the best mom ever. And while Mike and Dustin have swords in front of their parents Dustin got scolded and Mike got grounded. Jane/El only got away with swearing in front of Hopper because she was raised in a lab and didn’t even know what swears were when she first said one. So something was off, right?

Steve quickly learned that not only did Wayne simply not care about swearing but he actually spent time with Eddie, and Steve while he was there. They played Janga together on the floor. And Wayne asked him to call him Wayne and not ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Munson’ and Steve was going to die. Wayne even started talking to him about baseball (much to Eddie’s dismay) and Steve was just stunned.

The first day of meeting Wayne Munson and Steve already wanted to steal him. As time went on that never wavered he just wanted it more. He told Eddie a month later and Eddie just laughed at him. Steve was entirely serious though. If he could live in their trailer with the two of them for the rest of his life he would and he’d be the happiest person alive.

Little did Steve know Wayne had already decided Steve was his son in a law. He was going to plan them a surprise wedding in the woods and while it might not be legally recognized they would remember it for the rest of their lives and it would be cute. Steve and Eddie were not dating yet. Wayne just thought they were too scared to say something. Eddie never even officially came out to him Wayne just told him to be safe every time he went to Indy and thought the kid knew what he was talking about. Eddie thought he meant driving.

#stanger things #steddie #wayne munson #eddie munson #steve harrington #fanfiction #ficlet #Wayne is the best uncle #Wayne: *hands on Eddie’s shoulder and a serious face* Be safe #Eddie: Geez Wayne I get it #Eddid does not think he drives THAT badly #Wayne is taking about AIDS #Eddie never even hooked up with anyone he just drank and danced #He was too scared

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bnnysweets · 16 days ago

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APPLE CIDER

loser!ellie x ditzy!reader

author’s note: english is not my first language. they’re inspired by cat and robbie in victorious bc i saw this edit and i couldn’t just don’t do nothing. ellie is just so mf in love with you omg.

warnings: ellie is IN LOVE, truly. reader is clueless. mention of marriage. reader is going out with a girl (booo🍅🍅) and she’s a asshole, ellie comforts you. fluff!

ellie is DELIRIOUS ’bout you, you share the same friend group so everyone knows she’s in love with you, but everyone also knows they can’t tell you because they already tried, but you didn’t believed, always excused it.

once, julien tried to tell you: “i’m telling you, she fucking loves you!” you laughed, “i knows she loves me, i love her too.” you said smiling and julien rolled her eyes, “i mean she wants you! like a girlfriend!” “yeah! we’re totally girlfriends!” you answered genuinely, “lord help me…ellie is in love with you. she wants to kiss you, with tongue. she draw you naked on her sketchbook, she writes songs about you, she gave your name to her favorite star.” you looked at her for a moment, without saying anything, just analyzing. “you know i don’t understand irony.” you said and julien gave up, changing the subject.

little did you know it’s aaaalll true, ellie’s big motivation to go the college everyday is to one day she have a great job and earn a lot of money to spoil you with all the expensive makeup you like and a pretty ring that you deserve. one page on her sketchbook has you in a wedding dress and veil, with your name + williams wrote on it. nobody else has ever saw it, it’s too precious to her.

so imagine her state when you started seeing a new girl, rachel. she was miserable, thinking you would never look at her the same way, but in one radom thursday you sat at the cafeteria table with a pout and sad eyes, ellie was experiencing a bittersweet feeling: at the same time time you looked so cute and sweet with that face, she was mad someone or something had made you sad. “rachel told me she liked me more when she didn’t really know me.” you announced to your friends, almost crying but before anyone could say anything ellie let a loud scoff, “are you fucking serious? this girl is insane?” she said and everybody was shocked, no one had ever seen ellie so mad and speaking so loudly, you just looked at her, speechless, batting you eyelashes at her, she swore you were trying to hypnotize her. “anyone who says they don’t like your personality is fucking insane, anyone should be fucking proud to get to know you. to know the pretty person you’re, inside and out, to know your kind heart and your bright mind. i’m not gonna sit here and listen to you say how rachel it’s just a difficult person when in reality she’s just a asshole, she’s a damn prick. she doesn’t deserve you, and you don’t see this! you don’t see how she talks ‘bout you when you’re not around, you don’t see because you trust her and it is the saddest and yet the prettiest thing ‘bout you, you believe her besides everything. but you need to wake up, she doesn’t like you! she likes to have you by her side, to show you off, to kiss you and show everyone how she has a pretty girl by her side. but she doesn’t truly like you, she likes how you make her feel, because she fucking knows how much you like her.” when ellie finished your face was all wet with tears, and ellie was out of breath, looking at you, fearing your reaction.

you got up and went to hug ellie, who was on the other side of the table. she embraced your body, smoothing your back while you cried and tightly hugged her body. when you calmed down you took your head out of her shoulder and looked at her, “thanks for the cold shower els, i needed it.” you said and waved goodbye to the group. you head to the rachel’s dorm to end everything right after this. maybe ellie has a chance after all.

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theonottsbxtch · 7 months ago

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EL COQUETO | FC43

an: welcome back as we write about my n.1 pookie, i've got some more works planned for him BUT i've just gotten to france so imma be very busy rip, based off of this request

summary: when franco catches feelings for a journalist who is persuaded he doesn't really want her.

wc: 7.6k

The paddock was alive with energy, buzzing with the hum of engines and the chatter of the press as they swarmed around the new driver. She watched him move through the crowd with ease, a slight swagger in his step and a dazzling smile that had already made him the focus of every camera. He was the story of the weekend: Franco Colapinto, the unexpected mid-season replacement, here to shake up the grid with his flashy driving style—and, evidently, his unapologetic charm.

He caught sight of her, raised an eyebrow in recognition, and made a beeline toward her with the confidence of someone who knew he’d be welcome, even if he hadn’t been invited.

“Hola,” he greeted, his voice carrying a thick, rolling Spanish accent that seemed to coat every word in warmth. “You must be my next question of the day. They warned me about the best journalist here—of course, I was told to behave.”

She gave him a practised smile, cool but polite. “Franco, welcome to the team. How are you feeling about joining mid-season?”

His eyes sparkled, unfazed by the businesslike tone. “How am I feeling?” He leaned in just slightly, as though sharing a secret. “Well, right now, very lucky. They said I’d get tough questions, but they didn’t say the interviewer would be… distracting.”

She fought the urge to look away, just barely managing to keep her composure. “So you feel ready for the pressure, then?” she asked, refocusing, though the tiniest hint of a blush warmed her cheeks.

“For the track? Yes, I am prepared to race anyone.” He paused, letting his gaze linger on her a beat too long. “For the interviews? That remains to be seen. Perhaps you can teach me how to handle that part, sí?”

She could sense her colleagues nearby, some watching with open amusement as they caught his flirtatious energy. Franco was as smooth as they came, that much was certain. But she wouldn’t be the one to crack first.

“I’m sure you’ll learn quickly,” she said, tilting her head, her voice steady, though her heart raced. “Now, back to the race. What are your goals for this weekend?”

His grin broadened, but he played along. “Goals for the weekend,” he echoed thoughtfully, shifting back into the question. “Win a few hearts, break a few records—no particular order.” He winked, and she felt a laugh bubble up before she stifled it, opting instead for a brisk nod.

“Right. Well, I hope you’re ready for the competition,” she managed.

He shrugged, eyes glinting with mischief. “With you here, qué competencia?”

She gave him a pointed look, resisting the smile tugging at her lips. “You know, charm doesn’t score you points on the track.”

“Ah, no?” He tilted his head, feigning surprise. “Then I suppose I’ll have to win the hard way.”

Just then, a flash of cameras went off around them, the media eating up every angle of Franco’s arrival. He seemed entirely unfazed, even performing slightly for the flashes. The crowd around them surged with questions about his plans, about what his first practice would look like, about his last season in Formula 2. But Franco’s attention was still locked on her, and he hadn’t missed a beat.

“So,” he said, with that soft smile of his, “do you think I’ll be able to charm Formula One, or will they be immune to my Argentian ways?”

She gave him a dry smile. “You might have your work cut out for you. It’s not a stroll through Argentina, after all.”

He laughed at that, clearly enjoying her wit. “You’re tough,” he said, a touch of admiration sneaking into his voice. “I can see why you’re the best.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Flattery won’t distract me from the questions, Franco.”

“No? Not even if I try very, very hard?” he asked, drawing out the words with a grin. It was ridiculous, really—the way he leaned into every word, the way he seemed to shine in the spotlight. But there was something endearing about it too, something that felt… unexpectedly genuine.

“Not even then,” she replied, her tone light but steady. “Let’s talk strategy. What’s your focus for your first race?”

He sighed, shifting slightly but keeping that glint in his eye. “Fine, I’ll behave,” he said with a sigh, straightening up to answer. “My focus is simple: get the car under me, push it to its limits, and aim for a strong finish. Maybe even a few surprise overtakes. I’ve been itching to get back on the track.”

It was the most serious answer he’d given yet, and she noted the shift in his voice—a hint of intensity breaking through the smooth, easy charm.

“And your teammate?” she pressed, sensing she’d found the thread to pull him out of his flirtatious veneer. “Are you prepared for the rivalry?”

Franco’s expression turned thoughtful for a moment, a flicker of something sharper in his eyes. “My teammate…” He paused, glancing away briefly before meeting her gaze again. “He’s William’s best. I’ll learn from him, give him the respect he deserves. But I didn’t come here to play second.”

She watched as someone next to her scribbled down his answer, though her mind wandered slightly, wondering at the complexity beneath his charm.

“Good to hear,” she said, offering a small nod. “We’ll all be watching to see if you live up to that confidence.”

“I live up to my promises,” he replied smoothly. Then he leaned in one last time, lowering his voice just for her. “One of them being to get at least one smile from you by the end of the weekend. I’ll start with that goal.”

Before she could reply, he gave a casual wave to the crowd, moving on to the next journalist as though he hadn’t just made her heart skip a beat with his easy, disarming confidence. She watched him go, flustered despite herself.

One thing was certain: Franco Colapinto was going to be a story.

When the time came, the race had barely begun, but her eyes were already glued to the screen, following the sleek white-and-blue car with Franco’s number emblazoned on the front. Despite her best efforts to stay neutral, to approach this like any other weekend, there was something magnetic about watching him. Franco Colapinto, the audacious rookie, who’d barely spent a week with the team and had taken to the grid without a single day of training in an F1 car.

From the start, it was clear he was playing it differently. He didn’t charge forward recklessly like other rookies might have, eager to prove themselves. Instead, Franco took a few cautious laps, feeling out the car, testing its responses. She noticed how his style evolved lap by lap, each one more aggressive, his moves sharper. He was adapting, learning the car right there in the thick of the race.

As the race progressed, he began to gain ground. Corner after corner, he squeezed every ounce of performance from his machine, edging closer to the pack with each lap. By mid-race, he was overtaking the backmarkers, slipping past seasoned drivers who had years on him, and the commentators were buzzing.

She caught herself smiling, feeling a strange, almost foolish pride as she watched. The memory of his easy, arrogant grin flashed in her mind, his voice low and teasing: “Do you think I’ll charm Formula One?” She’d laughed it off, but he had something special, didn’t he? That hunger for the track, the sheer nerve to go head-to-head with anyone in his way.

Then, as if her thoughts had summoned trouble, the camera cut to his car—a close-up on his visor as he fought for P12. Her heart caught as he made a daring move, threading his car through a razor-thin gap into the next turn. It was reckless, and yet somehow—somehow—he made it stick.

“P12!” The radio crackled through his team radio, their voice as surprised as she felt. For a rookie with zero F1 experience, it was practically a victory.

She exhaled, releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. The chequered flag fell, and Franco’s car slowed down, his voice breaking through the team radio with a triumphant laugh, half-sighing, half-cheering in disbelief at his own result.

When she saw him back in the paddock, she managed to slip past the swarm of journalists waiting to pounce, positioning herself where he’d inevitably cross her path. She didn’t want to admit how much she wanted to hear his version of the race firsthand, to see if the adrenaline still sparkled in his eyes the way it had behind the visor.

When he finally caught sight of her, his face lit up. “Ah, my toughest questioner returns,” he said, the grin wide as he raked a hand through his hair, still tousled from the helmet. “So? Impressed?”

She raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her expression composed. “Not bad for a first race,” she said, voice calm but betraying the slightest hint of a smile. “Though I have to say, you took some pretty risky moves out there.”

Franco laughed, that low, familiar chuckle that could disarm anyone. “You sound like my engineer. But I had to make it interesting, didn’t I?” His gaze softened slightly, the playfulness ebbing for a moment. “I did better than you expected, maybe?”

“Maybe,” she admitted, leaning in just a bit. “I wouldn’t let it go to your head, though.”

He feigned a wince. “Ah, so I’ll have to work harder to impress you, then.”

With that, she couldn’t hold back the smile any longer. “Perhaps,” she said, voice softer. “But you’ve made a start.”

She followed the rest of the press corps into the media pen, her notebook in hand, watching as Franco slipped into his role with practised ease. The other drivers, still catching their breath, answered questions in measured tones, clearly exhausted. But Franco was… well, Franco. He leaned back against the barrier, relaxed, a half-smile playing on his lips as he answered questions, some about his lack of training, others about his shockingly high finish.

She hung back at first, observing him as he effortlessly charmed each journalist in turn, flashing that disarming grin and making even the toughest questions seem like casual conversation. But when his eyes caught hers across the small crowd, he subtly waved her forward, his grin widening.

“Ah, finally,” he said, his tone playful as she approached. “I was starting to think you were hiding from me.” The other journalists shot her curious glances, some smirking at Franco’s obvious interest.

She managed to keep her expression neutral, clearing her throat and lifting her voice to a professional tone. “Franco, congratulations on P12. Quite a debut.”

“Gracias, cariño,” he replied, eyes sparkling. “For a moment, I thought you didn’t think I could do it.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly take the most traditional route,” she shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You had us all on the edge of our seats with those overtakes.”

He leaned in a little, lowering his voice to just above a murmur, his gaze fixed on hers. “I thought about what you said. ‘Charm doesn’t score points.’ So I had to give you something else to smile about.”

She could feel her cheeks warm under his steady gaze, and she fought to keep her expression cool. “Don’t flatter yourself, Franco. I’m just here to report the facts.”

“Hmm,” he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, though a playful smirk tugged at his lips. “Well, the fact is, I went from P20 to P12 on my first day. But somehow, I think I still haven’t impressed the person who matters most.”

“The person who—?” She trailed off, exasperated. “Franco, you were the story today.”

“Was I?” he asked, the innocent tone entirely ruined by the mischief in his eyes. “Because if I’m the story, you’re the reason it’s a good one.”

Before she could protest, he glanced over her shoulder at the next journalist, nodding politely. Then, in a flash, he was back to her, clearly undeterred. “When can we continue our interview?”

She forced herself to keep her composure. “I think you’ve given me more than enough material for one day.”

“A pity.” He shook his head, though his grin was unmistakable. “Then maybe next time, you’ll be a little more impressed.”

She watched him walk away, shoulders loose and steps casual as he moved from one group of reporters to the next, answering their questions with the same easy confidence he’d shown with her. She could still feel the heat of his gaze, the lingering effect of his words making her pulse quicken.

“Wow.” The journalist next to her, a seasoned reporter with a wry smile, gave her a knowing look. “You okay there? He has that effect, doesn’t he?”

She blinked, quickly snapping out of her daze, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. “I—yeah, I don’t know what’s going on,” she muttered, shaking her head, trying to compose herself. But she could still hear his words ringing in her ears, his playful teasing, the warmth in his gaze. “The person who matters most.”

“Oh, I think I do.” The other journalist smirked, nodding in Franco’s direction as he laughed and clapped a fellow driver on the shoulder. “It seems Franco over here has a slight crush.”

She scoffed, though it came out more flustered than she’d intended. “Franco has a crush on every woman he talks to. It’s his… thing since he got here.”

The journalist raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Maybe so, but I’ve watched him all day and that was different.”

Her colleague’s words only made her cheeks grow warmer. Was it that obvious? She was used to managing tough interviews, unflappable under pressure, and here she was, thrown off by a driver who hadn’t even been in Formula 1 for a full week. But somehow, Franco’s charm wasn’t just some casual game to him; it felt more… intense. And he’d directed every bit of that intensity straight at her.

The journalist chuckled. “Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the attention—it’s not every day a rookie looks at you like you’re the finish line.”

She glanced away, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. She didn’t want to admit it, not to her colleague, and definitely not to herself, but there was something in the way he’d looked at her, like she was more than just another journalist, more than just one of the many people crowding his spotlight.

“Well, let’s hope he stays focused on the real finish line,” she replied, aiming for a casual tone that didn’t quite land. But she couldn’t deny it—Franco Colapinto was becoming more than just the story of the weekend. He was starting to feel like her story, too.

Later that evening, she sat in her hotel room, trying to unwind from the chaos of race day. The lights of the city glimmered outside her window, but her mind was still caught on Franco—his effortless charm, that maddening smirk, the way he’d singled her out, even with half the media pen watching. It was absurd, really. She’d covered far bigger stories, spoken with veteran champions, and yet one rookie had managed to leave her feeling more flustered than she’d care to admit.

With a sigh, she scrolled through her phone, halfheartedly catching up on messages, until a notification popped up that made her heart skip.

Francolpainto has sent you a message.

She hesitated, a mix of curiosity and nerves swirling in her stomach as she opened it. The message was simple, casual—like he hadn’t already spent the whole day keeping her off balance.

Franco: Hola! Are you at the hotel?

Before she could talk herself out of it, she typed a quick reply.

Her: Yes, I am.

The response came almost immediately.

Franco: Perfect! I’m downstairs in the lounge. Come have dinner with me?

She stared at the screen, her mind racing. It was tempting—she’d be lying to herself if she said it wasn’t. But she knew his type all too well, didn’t she? The charming new driver who flirted with every journalist, every fan, anyone who would listen. She could already imagine him saying the exact same things to another reporter tomorrow.

No, she couldn’t let herself get pulled in. Not by someone who was probably just looking for a bit of attention.

Her: Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. Long day.

She set the phone down, hoping that would be the end of it, but a new message came through almost instantly.

Franco: Too bad. I was hoping I’d finally get a smile out of you without a hundred cameras around.

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t deny the small flutter his words sent through her. He was persistent, that was for sure.

Her: You’re very determined, Franco. But I have to ask—do you make this invitation to all the journalists?

A pause, just a few seconds longer than his usual quick responses. Then, his reply appeared, simple and direct.

Franco: No, just the one who keeps me on my toes.

Her: Pity, this one isn’t intrested.

She set her phone down after typing that, ignoring the little thrill that shot through her when he messaged her again almost immediately. Franco’s charm was undeniably effective, but she wasn’t about to let herself become just another name on his roster of admirers. He’d have to do a lot more than offer a casual dinner invite if he wanted her attention.

Franco: Really? You’re going to turn me down just like that?

She smirked at the screen. Of course he wasn’t used to hearing “no.”

Her: Really. I’ve seen you in action today, Franco. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to keep you company.

A longer pause this time, as if her words had taken him off-guard. When he replied, his tone was more thoughtful.

Franco: That’s not what I meant. Today was… different. I don’t want to go to dinner with just anyone. I want to go with you.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she forced herself to stay firm. She typed a quick reply, keeping it casual.

Her: Nice try. But I’ve seen the way you charm everyone you talk to. You’re going to have to try a lot harder if you want me to believe that.

A few minutes passed, and she wondered if maybe he’d let it go. But just as she was about to put her phone down, another message appeared.

Franco: Okay. Fair enough. How about this: tomorrow, after practice, let me show you what a real date looks like. No crowds, no cameras. Just you and me.

She hesitated, feeling the pull of curiosity mingled with doubt. She knew he could be as persistent as he was charming, and there was something intriguing about his willingness to push past her refusal.

Her: Why should I believe this isn’t just a game to you?

His response came quickly this time, almost earnest.

Franco: Because no one else makes me want to try this hard. I’m not playing around here, cariño. Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it.

She smiled, a little thrill rushing through her. For the first time, he seemed genuinely off-balance, unsure, and she couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Her: We’ll see if you mean that. Good luck tomorrow, Franco.

Franco: Gracias. And just so you know… I’m not giving up that easily.

The following week, she found herself in the bustling paddock of the Baku, her eyes catching sight of Franco’s car parked in the paddock. She had to admit, he’d stayed true to his word since their last exchange, staying out of her messages—though his lingering glances and smiles across the paddock hadn’t exactly disappeared. If anything, he seemed more determined, more focused. It was all part of his act, she reminded herself. And yet, there was something undeniably thrilling about it.

She was busy gathering notes when she felt a familiar presence beside her. Franco had sidled up, hands tucked into the pockets of his team jacket, his easygoing grin making her pulse quicken in spite of herself.

“Back to cheer me on, sí?” he asked, eyes bright with that familiar mischief.

She held back a smile, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “I’m here to cover the race, Franco. Your cheering section is back there.” She nodded to the growing crowd of fans waving his name on signs with Argentinan flags just a few metres away.

He laughed, the sound warm and rich. “They’re great, sure, but I was looking for one particular fan. The one who told me I’d have to work harder if I wanted to impress her.”

She raised an eyebrow, stepping out of earshot of the nearest camera. “Oh, you remember that, do you?”

“Every word,” he said, his gaze steady. “I thought about it all week.”

A small thrill ran through her, though she kept her voice steady and her tone cool. “Well, if you’re serious, you’ll have to do better than last week’s P12. Otherwise, it just looks like more talk.”

His expression shifted, his easy grin giving way to a flash of determination. “If it’s a higher position you want,” he said, leaning in just slightly, “then I’ll get it. Just keep watching.”

She crossed her arms, fighting the smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll be watching, Colapinto. Don’t disappoint me.”

He held her gaze for a moment, his eyes flickering with something that felt genuine, earnest. “I don’t plan to,” he murmured, stepping back with a wink before heading toward his car.

As he disappeared into the garage, her heart raced. Franco Colapinto, the rookie charmer, was setting out to prove himself to her. And, as much as she hated to admit it, she was looking forward to seeing if he could keep his promise.

She sat in the media centre, eyes locked on the screen as the race unfolded. Franco’s car was easy to spot, weaving its way through the pack with a precision she hadn’t expected. He was starting further up this time, P18, but it was still a long shot to even think he’d break into the top ten. Yet as the laps ticked by, he held his ground, pushing, clawing his way forward with a tenacity that had everyone watching in awe.

“Impressive for a rookie,” she overheard another journalist mutter, and she felt a strange pang of pride.

Halfway through the race, Franco made a daring overtake, squeezing past two midfield drivers into P10. She sat forward, barely breathing. He wasn’t just hanging on—he was gaining, going after every single opportunity on the track with a fierceness she hadn’t seen before.

He’d promised her he’d finish higher than last week, and she’d thought it was just talk, maybe a little playful charm. But here he was, proving her wrong lap by lap.

By the time he made it to P9, she was leaning forward in her seat, clutching her notebook tightly. And then, with a bold move on the final few laps, he passed another driver, slipping into P8. Her heart raced as she watched him hold his ground, fending off the competition, determined to keep the position he’d fought so hard for. The chequered flag dropped, and Franco crossed the line in P8.

She exhaled, a rush of surprise and admiration flooding through her. She’d known he was talented, of course—he wouldn’t have made it this far otherwise. But this? Climbing ten positions in a single race, all for a chance to prove himself to her? It was more than she’d expected.

As the race ended, she moved through the paddock, her mind whirling. Franco Colapinto, the charming rookie who flirted with everyone, had just delivered one of the most impressive drives of the day. For her. And she wasn’t sure if she was more impressed with his skill or his determination to keep his word.

She barely had a chance to catch her breath before she was back in the paddock, microphone in hand, ready to take on the post-race interviews. As she waited for Franco, she replayed his climb through the ranks in her mind—his nerve, his timing, the way he’d handled himself on the track. It wasn’t just impressive; it was astonishing. And as much as she tried to shake it off, she couldn’t ignore the small thrill that ran through her at the thought that he’d done it, in part, for her.

Finally, Franco appeared, still in his race suit his face glistening with the sheen of hard work. There was a slight glimmer of triumph in his eyes as he spotted her, a grin spreading across his face. He walked over, ignoring the other cameras and reporters, his gaze focused squarely on her.

She raised her microphone, keeping her expression as neutral as she could. “Franco Colapinto, P8—your second race in Formula 1, and already a massive improvement from last week. Can you walk us through it?”

He took a quick breath, then leaned in, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Well, you know, someone told me I had to get higher than P12 if I wanted to impress them,” he said, his tone light but his gaze steady on hers. “So I did it for them. Great motivation.”

Heat crept up her neck, and she forced herself to stay focused. She could feel the eyes of the other journalists and team members on them, her colleagues probably smirking at his obvious attempt to fluster her, but she managed to hold her ground.

“Impressive,” she said, keeping her voice level. “And this ‘motivation’—I assume it’s the same one who’s kept you on your toes all week?”

Franco’s grin grew wider, unabashed. “Absolutely. Turns out, when someone challenges me, I take it seriously.” He shifted his stance, his gaze softening just a fraction. “And if they ask, I’ll do it again.”

A few people around them chuckled, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. This wasn’t the usual post-race banter, and he didn’t seem interested in giving anyone the typical driver answers. He was speaking to her as if they were alone, and for a brief moment, she almost forgot the cameras.

“Well, whatever you’re doing,” she replied, finally letting a small smile slip, “it seems to be working. P8 is no small feat.”

He tilted his head, as if studying her. “Then maybe next week, you’ll set the bar even higher for me?” His voice was low, just enough for her to hear.

She felt her resolve waver slightly, but managed to maintain her professionalism. “We’ll see, Colapinto. For now, let’s just focus on how you plan to keep this up.”

He chuckled, shifting his grip on his helmet. “Oh, I think I have all the motivation I need right here.” With one last grin and a wink, he turned to greet the other journalists, leaving her to process what was easily the most disarming post-race interview she’d ever conducted.

Later that night, she was back in her hotel room, unwinding with a cup of tea, trying to shake off the lingering thrill of Franco’s performance—and his audacity in the post-race interview. She still couldn’t believe how he’d shamelessly directed half of his answers at her, leaving her just as off-balance as he had on the track. But as much as she tried to dismiss it, her thoughts kept circling back to his determination, his promise that he’d push harder just because she’d challenged him.

Her phone buzzed with a message, and she glanced down to see it was from the William’s Instagram Account.

Team Rep: Hey, what’s your room number?

She frowned for a moment, surprised by the casualness of the message. But teams occasionally followed up with journalists for clarifications or comments, especially after high-profile performances like Franco’s. Assuming they needed to drop off some post-race press notes or team statements, she quickly typed back her room number.

Her: Room 914.

Team Rep: Perfect. Thanks.

Not even a minute later, she heard a quiet knock on her door. She glanced at the time, wondering if the team rep had come by himself. But when she opened the door, the hallway was empty. Instead, resting on the floor in front of her was a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers—vibrant, unruly, and charmingly imperfect, wrapped with a small card slipped between the stems.

Her pulse quickened. She didn’t have to check the note to know exactly who had left them.

Still, curiosity got the best of her, and she crouched down, carefully lifting the bouquet to pull the card free.

“To my motivation: thank you for the push. Let’s raise the stakes again soon. — F.

A soft, reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She felt the warmth creeping up her cheeks, aware that Franco Colapinto had managed to surprise her again. It was a move so bold, so unexpected—and, somehow, more genuine than any casual dinner invitation could have been.

She sighed, shaking her head but unable to fight the smile any longer. As she placed the flowers on the table, their vibrant petals catching the soft light, she couldn’t help but wonder what Franco would pull next to prove himself. Because one thing was certain: he wasn’t giving up. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want him to.

She couldn’t resist. Picking up her phone, she sent a quick message, keeping it light, casual.

Her: Cute.

It didn’t take long for his response to pop up.

Franco: Oh? You find me cute?

She rolled her eyes, though her heart skipped a beat as she typed back.

Her: No, the flowers were a cute move.

A beat passed, and then came his reply, playful but edged with a hint of something more.

Franco: Well, then… would you let the guy behind the cute move take you out for dinner?

She hesitated, fingers hovering over her phone. She knew what this looked like—a line blurred between work and something personal, maybe too personal. And for him, a rookie who’d just broken into the sport, one misstep could easily become a distraction he couldn’t afford. It wasn’t just her reputation, but his too, and the stakes felt higher than either of them probably realised.

Her: I don’t know, Franco. There’s too much on the line.

A pause, longer than his usual quick responses, and for a moment she thought maybe he’d let it go. Then his reply came through, brief and simple.

Franco: Okay.

She stared at the word, an unexpected pang of disappointment catching her off guard. Franco, usually so persistent, so bold, had accepted her hesitation without a fight. But as much as she wanted to push away her own reservations, she knew she was right. Still, the thought of him backing off now left her feeling… unbalanced.

Setting the phone down, she let out a sigh, glancing over at the flowers resting on her table. A small part of her wondered if maybe, just maybe, she’d made the wrong choice.

Four weeks later, they were back at the track, Austin, the usual energy humming through the paddock as teams and drivers prepared for the weekend ahead. She found herself scanning the garages, a little spark of nerves in her chest that had nothing to do with work. Franco had kept his distance over the past few weeks—well, as much distance as someone like him could manage. He was still his playful, charismatic self with the press, charming everyone in sight, but there was something different. He hadn’t followed up on his dinner invitation, hadn’t tried to push beyond her boundaries. She told herself it was for the best. Still, a small part of her couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been too cautious.

Just then, she spotted him near the team’s garage, leaning against the wall in his race suit around his hips, deep in conversation with one of his engineers. When he looked up and saw her, his face lit up, a grin breaking across his face as if no time had passed. She felt a little of that old thrill in her chest as he walked over.

“Hola, stranger,” he greeted, hands tucked into his pockets of his team jacket, his voice as warm and casual as ever. “Miss me?”

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “You were just here four weeks ago, Colapinto. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckled, giving her that familiar, playful look. “Four weeks is a long time, don’t you think?”

She shook her head, feeling a bit of the tension from the past month melt away. Whatever her own doubts, Franco hadn’t let her brush-off change him—he was still here, as charming and persistent as ever. And somehow, that lifted a weight off her shoulders.

“Have you been behaving?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Or should I be prepared for more unexpected flower deliveries?”

Franco’s grin grew wider, his eyes flashing with that spark she was growing dangerously used to. “Depends. You miss them?”

She laughed softly, looking down to avoid letting him see her smile. “I’d hardly admit that if I did.”

He leaned in just slightly, his voice lowering. “Good thing I’m a patient man, then. Because I’m not done yet.” There was a softness to his tone, a hint of something genuine beneath his usual confidence, and it made her heart skip a beat.

Despite herself, she found comfort in his persistence, in his way of toeing the line between serious and playful without putting any pressure on her. For all his charm, he hadn’t crossed any lines. He was waiting, leaving the door open if she ever wanted to step through.

As he turned to head back toward his car, he glanced over his shoulder, giving her a wink. “You know where to find me if you change your mind, cariño. I’ll be around.”

And with that, he disappeared into the garage, leaving her standing there with a soft smile, feeling just a little lighter, a little braver.

She found herself glued to the screen as the race unfolded, Franco’s car darting through the pack with all the finesse and raw determination she’d come to recognise in him. Starting from P17, he had a long climb ahead of him, and as the laps ticked down, he kept gaining ground, his timing sharp, his decisions bold. He was relentless, working his way through the grid with an intensity that kept her at the edge of her seat.

By the halfway mark, he was already up to P12, and she could feel the anticipation building among the journalists and crew around her. Franco wasn’t just driving; he was fighting for every single position, taking advantage of each moment with an almost calculated risk. And he was doing it with the confidence that had both frustrated and charmed her from the start.

Then, in the final laps, with a daring overtake on the inside line, he claimed P10. A top ten finish. It was almost too perfect—his words from the last race echoing in her mind as he crossed the line: “If they ask, I’ll do it again.”

The paddock was buzzing with excitement as she made her way toward the media pen, preparing herself for the post-race interview. She tried to tamp down the flutter of nerves, reminding herself that he’d been charming his way through interviews with her for weeks now. But there was something different this time, a spark of pride mingled with her excitement, and she couldn’t wait to see him walk in.

When he finally appeared, the smile on his face was brighter than she’d ever seen. Still in his race suit, a towel on his head, he strode over to her with that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. She raised her microphone, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“Franco Colapinto,” she began, her own smile betraying just a hint of the thrill she felt. “P10 from P17—congratulations. Tell us, how did you manage such an impressive climb?”

He grinned, leaning casually into the microphone. “Well, you know me. I like a good challenge,” he said, his gaze holding hers for a second longer than necessary. “And I couldn’t let down the one person who told me I had to keep improving.”

The implication wasn’t lost on anyone listening, and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She rolled her eyes slightly, playing it off as best she could. “Seems like you’re making a habit of climbing positions to impress,” she replied, keeping her tone light.

Franco’s smile softened, turning almost genuine. “For some things,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear, “it’s worth the effort.”

She swallowed, momentarily at a loss for words, but managed to pull herself together, keeping the interview rolling. “Well, you’ve certainly earned that P10. What’s the plan for next time? Any more surprise performances in store?”

“Oh, definitely,” he replied, flashing her a grin. “But let’s say I’ll aim higher than P10 next time. If someone out there is willing to set a new challenge for me, I’ll be ready.” His words hung in the air, a subtle invitation that made her heart skip a beat.

She couldn’t hold back her smile as she wrapped up the interview, his gaze lingering on her with that same unspoken promise. And as she watched him walk away, her heart raced with the thrill of what might come next, realising that maybe—just maybe—she was ready to see where this challenge would lead.

As Franco walked away, she felt the lingering warmth of his gaze, that same thrill coursing through her that she’d tried so hard to brush off. But now, it seemed, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to. The interview had felt like more than just a casual exchange; his words, his look—there was something real beneath the flirtation, something she found herself wanting to chase.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of post-race coverage and media duties, but her thoughts kept drifting back to him, to the way his eyes had held hers, steady and genuine, as he’d promised to aim even higher. It was only when she caught herself looking around the paddock, almost instinctively, that she realised she was seeking him out. By then, her professional caution had faded, replaced by something far less reasonable but far more enticing.

She knew she was violating so many unspoken rules as she made her way around the paddock, ducking out of the more crowded paths and slipping past the occasional lingering crew member. A pang of guilt buzzed at the back of her mind, but it was no match for the magnetic pull drawing her toward his driver’s room.

She stopped outside the door, exhaling a shaky breath as her pulse raced with a mix of nerves and anticipation. The hallway was quiet, the sounds of the bustling paddock fading away. Before she could second-guess herself, she raised her hand and knocked softly.

The door opened, and there he was, in a grey tracksuit and plain black top, his expression shifting from surprise to that warm, familiar smile that had always managed to disarm her.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “I didn’t expect my motivation to show up in person.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding her smile. “I figured I’d come to make sure you’re planning to keep your word. That climb to P10 wasn’t exactly a small feat.”

His smile softened, and he stepped aside, wordlessly inviting her in. As the door clicked shut behind them, the noise and pressures of the paddock slipped away, leaving just the two of them. The look he gave her—warm, unguarded, and almost vulnerable—made her heart skip a beat.

She’d broken so many of her own rules just to get here, but in this moment, she couldn’t bring herself to regret a single one.

Taking a moment to look around, she noticed his bags were packed and ready for the triple header and that there was nowhere to sit.

She sat on the edge of his bed, trying to look at ease despite the heat rising in her cheeks. Franco stood in front of her, close enough that her knees brushed his legs. The room felt charged with his presence, the quiet intensity in his gaze making it impossible to look away.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he murmured, leaning down a bit. The way his dark eyes lingered on her, sweeping over her face and holding her gaze, sent a rush of warmth through her.

She felt a smile tugging at her lips, trying to keep her voice steady. “Figured I’d make sure you’re holding up after all that hard work.”

He chuckled, his voice low, with just a hint of playfulness. “Oh, I’m holding up just fine.” He reached out, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek, letting his thumb linger just a moment too long against her skin. “In fact, I think I’m doing better than fine.”

Her cheeks flushed even deeper, but she held his gaze, determined not to let him throw her off-balance—at least not completely. “You know,” she said, trying to match his tone, “you don’t have to turn everything into a line, Colapinto.”

Franco tilted his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Only with you, cariño.”

She let out a soft laugh, her heartbeat picking up as he moved closer, until he was standing right between her legs. She felt his fingers trace gently along her jawline, his thumb tilting her chin up so she was looking directly into his eyes.

“Not used to being flirted with, cariño?” he asked softly, his voice smooth and teasing.

She swallowed, feeling her blush deepen as her usual composure slipped. “No… not like this.”

“Shame,” he murmured, his thumb grazing her cheek as his eyes searched hers, warm and intent. His voice softened, and the playfulness gave way to something more genuine. “Because I’m just getting started.”

She felt her breath hitch, her pulse racing as his words sank in, leaving her both disarmed and impossibly drawn in. And in that moment, she realised that every wall she’d put up around him was slipping away, piece by piece.

For a moment, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, the air between them thick with anticipation. Then, she noticed the small silver chain dangling from his neck, glinting faintly against the fabric of his black top, and without thinking, she reached up, wrapping her fingers around it gently.

Franco’s gaze flickered in surprise, his breath catching as she tugged on the chain, pulling him just close enough that their faces were inches apart. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, and the intensity of his gaze sent a thrill through her that made her heart pound. His hands settled on either side of her hips as he leaned in, their breaths mingling in the charged silence.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she closed the space between them, pressing her lips to his. The kiss was tentative at first, soft and exploratory, but the warmth in his response was immediate. His hand slid up her back, pulling her closer, and she felt his fingers tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss, his touch gentle yet confident.

She didn’t realise how tightly she was gripping his chain until she felt his hand cover hers, his thumb tracing lightly over her knuckles as if to say, I’m here.

When they finally parted, both of them slightly breathless, Franco looked at her, hand caressing her cheek, his smile soft and real, devoid of his usual playfulness. He looked at her with a quiet intensity that made her stomach flip.

“You know," he started, his voice dipping into that smooth, charming tone, “I thought I never had a chance with you. You made me work for every single look, every smile…” He shook his head, his hand still resting against her cheek, his thumb brushing just beneath her jaw. “I was convinced you’d never actually let me get this close.”

She felt a warm, amused smile tugging at her lips as she listened to him, his words genuine but tinged with that familiar, playful charm. Watching him, her heart surged with an undeniable impulse, one she didn’t want to ignore any longer. In one fluid motion, she slid her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down, pressing her lips to his again with a fierce, unrestrained intensity that sent sparks through her.

Franco’s surprise melted instantly, his hands slipping from her cheek to either side of her hips, matching her passion. The kiss deepened, turning slower, almost reverent, as if neither of them wanted the moment to end. She could feel his pulse racing under her hands, his warmth overwhelming in the most exhilarating way.

Without breaking the kiss, she leaned back, drawing him down with her onto the bed. She felt his weight settle gently over her, his hands bracing on either side of her as he kissed her with a hunger that felt both new and inevitable. When he finally pulled back just slightly, his lips hovering over hers, his voice was breathless, a bit dazed.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his fingers tracing down her arm as he held her gaze, a vulnerable softness there she hadn’t seen before.

“Good,” she whispered back, her own voice unsteady, feeling as though her walls were completely gone now. “Because I don’t plan on making it easy for you.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned down, his mouth finding hers again with an eagerness that left them both completely lost in each other, as if the rest of the world had faded away.

Maybe he was worth the wait.

the end.

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cl0udy3 · 1 month ago

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𝐖𝐈𝐑𝐄

loser!ellie williams x fem!reader mostly smut cw: phone sex, dirty talk, uhmmm some other stuff that is nsfw idk the terms wc: 2030 a/n: honestly just needed to get this out of my system i have so much more to write but im so busy with class i hate everyhting (reader is purple, ellie is pink) requested backstory blurb: ✮

Ellie’s already halfway there. Sweats pushed low, tank top twisted, cheeks flushed, and her free hand tangled in her sheets. Her other one’s still between her legs, slow and desperate, like dragging herself through molasses.

She shouldn’t call. She knows she shouldn’t. But she does.

The phone rings twice before you pick up, cheerful as ever.

“Hey, Els! What's up?”

Ellie exhales hard, squeezing her eyes shut like it’ll help. Your voice alone makes her twitch.

“Nothing’, just… wanted to hear you.” “Aww. That’s cute.”

Your voice is warm, light. You don’t suspect a thing. She doesn’t deserve you. She also doesn’t care, not right now at least.

“So anyway—I had the weirdest dream last night. You were in it actually.”

Ellie bites down on her knuckle to keep from groaning aloud.

“We were in, like, this giant-ass mall that turned into a water park halfway through. You were riding this inflatable duck down a slide, but then you were like, “we have to go steal F1 cars,” and we broke into this underground showroom and—are you laughing?”

Ellie is laughing. Sort of. More like exhaling sharply through clenched teeth while her fingers circle her clit, slow and hot.

“No–uh—I’m just… listening.”

“Anyways. When I woke up I was like, ‘why would Ellie be on a duck floatie?’ Like, you’re so serious all the time. It was funny.”

She swears she’s gonna lose it.

“Keep going,” she mumbles, voice low and strained. “Okay! So, I also went to the mall today—I got a couple new bras and some underwear. They had those lace ones again, you know? Like the ones I wore last week that I told you—about the ones that ride up a little? Yeah, I got those in… I think yellow, red, pink, black, white, and navy if I remember correctly.”

Ellie’s hips twitch. She actually whimpers.

“Ellie? You good?” “Mhm. Perfect. Just… keep talking.” “So then I found these pajamas that are like—so soft, you have no idea. They’re like buttery or something. I wish you could feel them. I might wear them tomorrow, or maybe the new tank I got—oh! It’s like, super cropped. Kinda short, shows off my belly a bit. Might be too cold for it though…”

She’s gonna die. She’s gonna die on the phone to the sound of your voice, talking about stupid pajamas and bras and Ellie is soaking through her boxers like a goddamn teenager.

Ellie is gripping the phone like a lifeline, thighs twitching, stomach tensing, barely holding back the pathetic little noises threatening to slip out. Her fingers move slow, teasing herself, dragging out the ache because she wants this to last—wants to keep hearing you talk like you aren’t killing her.

You keep talking, your voice bright and animated, and Ellie can hear the click of your nails on the phone and the rustle of your bed as you shift under the covers. She imagines you twirling the cord around your finger as you continue, completely unaware of what you’re doing to her.

“Ellie?”

Her breath stutters. Too loud. That one was too loud.

“You good? You sound kinda—out of breath?”

She clenches her jaw, forcing herself to breath normal, but it’s so fucking hard when you’re still going—still talking—filling her ear with your voice, saying the stupidest things but somehow making it sound filthy.

“M’fine,” she rasps, swallowing thick. “Just—keep talking.”

She hears you huff a little laugh, clueless, completely unaware that Ellie’s got two fingers deep inside herself, biting her lip so hard it hurts.

“Okay, okay! Bossy much?”

Ellie’s eyes flutter shut.

“So anyways—I also got these new jeans. They fit so good, like all snug on my ass, but I don’t know if I wanna wear them yet because they’re kinda stuff, y’know? Maybe I should break them in first. Oh! And I also found this old band tee in a thrift shop, but it’s kinda thin so my bra shows through. Is that cute or is it too much?”

Ellie barely hears the question. She’s too busy pressing her palm down, fingers curling, breath hitching hard.

She lets out a sharp, uncontrolled sigh.

You go quiet.

“Ellie?”

She freezes.

“Are you okay?”

She almost drops the phone.

Her brain short-circuits. Her body is screaming. She’s too close, too fucking close—she needs to finish but she also needs to not get caught.

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, just—tired.” “You sure?”

Ellie wants to die.

“Mhm.” “...You sound weird.”

She forces out a laugh. Too forced.

“Nah, dude, I’m good. Just—keep going.” “Mmm… I don’t know… Something’s off with you.”

Her stomach twists.

“Are you—” You pause. “...Are you sick?”

Ellie wheezes.

Jesus Christ.

She’s getting off to the sound of your voice and you’re over there wondering if she’s running a fever.

She’s never been more embarrassed in her life.

At this point, she was fucked. LIke, really fucked.

Like, halfway to an orgasm and you think she’s got the flu kind of fucked.

“Sick?” Ellie croaks, trying to force herself back to normal, but her voice is wrecked, all strained and breathless and—fuck, fuck, fuck. “Nah, man, I’m—I’m fine.” “Are you sure?”

You sounded genuinely concerned.

Ellie could throw herself into a wall.

She’s got two fingers deep inside herself, hand shaking, stomach tight, so fucking close, and here you are, probably pouting, thinking she’s got a sore throat or something.

“Mhm,” she grits out, forcing her voice even. “Totally fine. Just—keep talking.”

There’s a pause.

A long one.

Ellie’s heart fucking stops.

“...Ellie.”

Oh, god.

“Are you—” You stop. Then, slowly: “...What are you doing?”

Her whole body seizes.

Her fingers go still.

Heat crawls up her neck, floods her face, sets her whole fucking body on fire.

She should hang up. Throw her phone across the room. Lie and say she fell asleep. Something. Anything.

But she doesn’t.

Because she’s a fucking idiot.

“N—Nothing,” she stammers. Too fast. Too guilty.

And you? You know. She can hear it in your silence.

“Ellie,” you say again, softer this time.

She squeezes her eyes shut. Curls in on herself. Feels her stomach tighten because fuck, even just hearing you say her name like that—

“Are you—” You exhale, slow. “Are you touching yourself?”

Ellie chokes. Actually fucking chokes.

Her hand jerks away so fast she nearly pulls something.

“What? No—no, dude, I—” She cuts herself off, dragging a hand down her face.

Her body is screaming. Her thighs are still shaking. Her fingers are soaked.

She’s so screwed.

“Ellie.”

Your voice is different now. Not teasing. Not laughing. Just—curious. Maybe even interested.

Ellie swallows hard.

“Keep going.”

Her brain stalls and for a moment she thinks she might’ve imagined it.

“What?” “I–I said… keep going.”

Silence.

Not from you—you’re breathing shallow and steady, like you’re waiting for her to say something. But Ellie’s mind goes blank. Everything in her short-circuiting. She’s half-sure she died and this is purgatory—somewhere between heaven and hell, wrapped in your voice.

Her heart stutters.

“You—” She swallows, throat bone-dry. “You’re serious?” “I mean…” You hesitate. A breath. “You already started, right?”

Ellie exhales hard through her nose, dragging her palm across her mouth. She’s stunned. Embarrassed. But also? Incredibly turned on.

“You’re gonna kill me,” she mutters, the ghost of a grin tugging at her lips. “Not if I get there first.”

The line goes quiet again.

Ellie’s fingers drift back down, slower this time, like testing the waters again. She’s still soaked. Still aching. And now she knows you’re there with her, listening.

“Okay,” she says, voice low. “But if I die, it’s on you.” “Deal.”

Her hand slips under the waistband of her boxers, breath hitching as she touches herself again—slow and deliberate now, no longer hiding. The sound of your breathing crackling through the line only pushes her further.

“Still wearing those stupid pajamas?” she asks, voice rough around the edges. “Mhm. The soft ones.”

Ellie’s eyes flutter shut. She bites her lip.

“And nothing underneath?” “...Wouldn’t you like to know.” “C’mon.” Her voice dips slightly lower. “Humor me.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh, and the way it curls through the phone makes Ellie clench around her fingers.

“Fine,” you say. “Just the top. No bra. No panties.”

Ellie groans. She can’t help it this time. It spills out of her like a secret, ragged and real.

“Fuck. You’re evil.” “You started it.”

She pumps her fingers slowly, building the pressure again, letting your voice carry her right to the edge.

“You’re gonna tell me exactly what you’re doing, Els.”

Ellie shivers.

“Yeah?” she murmurs. “You wanna hear all of it?” “Every single second.”

Her breath shakes as her hips roll forward, chasing the friction.

“Okay,” she says, teeth sinking into her lip. “I’m… on my back. Legs spread. Fingering myself to your voice. Thinking about those lace panties. The yellow ones. How they’d look on you.”

You inhale sharply on the other end.

“Ellie—” “Yeah?” “I’m—” You falter for a second. “I’m touching myself too.”

Ellie’s whole body jolts, like you flipped a switch in her spine.

“Jesus christ,” she whispers.

Her pace picks up—slippery, hot, the pressure unbearable now. She imagines your hand between her legs, the rise and fall of your chest, your lips parted just barely as you bite back the same kind of sounds she’s making.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” she gasps. “You,” you say instantly. “Your mouth. Your hands. The way you talk when you’re all worked up.”

Ellie moans into the receiver, low and shaky.

You hesitate—but only for a second. Your breath hitches, just loud enough for Ellie to hear it.

“The way you’d take your time with me,” you murmur. “Like I’m something to savor.”

Ellie’s eyes flutter shut. Her fingers move faster, wetter now, her other hand fisting the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping her tethered.

“Fuck,” she groans, jaw tight. “Keep talking. Please.” “I think about your hands on my thighs,” you whisper. “How rough they’d feel, how careful you’d be at first—until you’re not. Until you can’t help yourself.”

Ellie whimpers—actually whimpers—like the image is too much, like it sinks right into her chest and burns through her ribs.

“I’d be so wet for you,” you go on, voice shaking now. “Like I am right now. I’d let you taste me, let you take your time, until I’m begging—until I can’t even remember my name.”

Ellie’s breathing stutters. She’s so close her vision’s going white around the edges.

“You sound so good,” she rasps. “Wish I could hear you in person—wish I could see you.”

You moan, soft and desperate.

“I’m close, Els.” “Me too,” she chokes. “Fuck, keep going—please—don’t stop.” “Want you inside me,” you whisper, needy and ruined. “Want you to fuck me until I can’t think straight—want your fingers, your mouth, anything—everything—I’d take it all.”

Ellie comes hard.

Her whole body locks up, pleasure slicing through her like a live wire. Her legs tremble, her back arches, and she cries out your name into the phone, breathless and broken and absolutely gone.

And then she hears you—your own orgasm chasing hers, your voice all soft gasps and hitched breaths and her name falling from your lips like a prayer.

It’s silent after.

Just the sound of your breathing. Hers. The static warmth of the phone line connecting you both like some fragile, invisible thread.

Ellie laughs quietly, hoarse and giddy.

“That was…” she starts, then lets it trail off, too dazed to even finish the thought. “Yeah,” you say, just as breathless. “That was.”

A pause.

“Hey, Els?” “Yeah?” “Next time you call me like that…” A smile in your voice. “Don’t wait so long to tell me what you want.”

Ellie grins, cheeks still flushed, heart still racing.

“Next time,” she promises. “You’re picking up in person.”

lalala pls enjoy i love all of you

#ellie williams x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #the last of us part 2 #tlou 2 #tlou #ellie is my wife #i love her #married #on my knees for her every night #anyways enjoy

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thewritingfairy · 30 days ago

Text

↪ 05. Tim doesn't understand you

inspired by acid-ixx, rizzanon and nikovraskol

PREV PART trigger warnings: medical + emotional + physical neglect, Stephanie and (Name) don't mix, misgendering (reader isn't out to the bad family yet), shouting, manupilation attempt, shouting, filler chapter main m.list series m.list

Tim doesn’t understand you, he doesn’t understand why you were never told about their ‘nightly business’. To him you seemed the most trustworthy, the best at empathy and quite frankly the least problematic one, so he doesn’t understand Alfred’s anger. He doesn’t understand why he shouted at you the minute you walked through the door, he doesn’t know what to do except just stand there as Stephanie comes to look for him. They were supposed to play video games, after all. “Geez, Alfie is really laying it into her,” she comments, popping some popcorn in her mouth. “nice, finally it isn’t one of us.”

“Alfred,” You interrupt his yelling, painfully aware of how Stephanie and Tim are watching you two. “you lost the right to be concerned over me a long time ago.” Those words brought tension in the air Tim had only ever felt at his home. It was the tension of anger, righteous anger. Anger that Tim knows all too well. “I was spending time with my friends, my family.”

Those words made Stephanie scoff; “Hey genius this is your family.” But Tim knew better, he just hadn’t calculated that their neglect would harm you this much. He wants to keep you safe, but, oh he should have stepped more after what Jason did to you.

“Is it?” You ask Stephanie. “Oh, Stephanie, you of all people should know that blood doesn’t equal family.”

Alfred grabs you by your pulse and you try to pull it back instantly. “Your anger has become childish,” he hisses, squeezing your pulse tighter and Tim notices the way your eyes become numb. They look like those dead eyes Kon-el always show’s him (the clone had always been worried about not looking like he was human, even with all the reassurance that he is). “I am disappointed in you, and you will apologise to miss Brown.”

Tim turns to Stephanie as he sees her nostrils flare out, she’s furious. “She’s right,” he whispers to Stephanie, and she looks at him betrayed.

“This is not you, (Name),” Alfred scolds you, his voice harsh and unfamiliar to not just your ears but Tim’s as well. “where has my sweet girl gone, where has she disappeared to?”

“Let me go, Mr. Pennyworth,” you say, your voice shaking but steadfast at the same time. “you lost my trust the day you let Jason beat me, but you started losing me long before that.” You finally get your pulse lose and step back, the glare you had on your face was one that the whole family had only seen twice. It was the glare you had given Damian when he attacked Tim, just after he attacked you, and it was the glare you gave the family the day Jason beat you. “I was never that easy, I made myself that easy so that I at least got your affection!”

You were shouting back at Alfred, and to Tim it felt like the dam finally broke.

You could be strong and still feel hurt, you could be strong but still tell Alfred the truth without faltering.

“Be glad I haven’t showed anyone the scars that Jason gave me,” you laugh out. “I didn’t press charges, because I couldn’t. And I am too tired to even think about that man,” Stephanie and Tim were frozen. Tim felt like they were intruding, but Stephanie wanted to see how this would end. After all, to her you were just throwing a tantrum about the past. “I could ruin your precious Wayne family by just leaking a few photos. But I haven’t, don’t make me change my mind.”

Alfred says nothing. He was taking your threat seriously, but Tim knows better. He threatened the same so many times, this was just a method to make Alfred back off. Threats were the only way to make this family listen to you. Tim feels guilty, but what can he do?

“She wouldn’t, right?” Stephanie asks. “I get that Jason messed up but isn’t this too far?”

“She doesn’t have all the context,” Tim couldn’t help but defend you. “how can we expect her to understand when she does not know the full story?”

Stephanie hums. “I guess that’s why she made that comment about my dad, huh.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees, just to placate her. “she was beaten to the point she couldn’t leave the house for almost a year. I think (Name) is rightfully pissed still, she was attacked in her own room. And the last things she had gotten from her mother were destroyed by Jason.”

While Tim understands your anger is righteous,

he doesn’t understand you, for that he has to know you and he never took that chance. Oh, how many chances you have given him, them.

But if he was to try now, would you still let him after all this time? Would you still accept him when you realise that he neglected you because he thought that was better for you? Would you protect him again if you knew the truth about why he kept you in the dark. Would you view him different from the rest of the family (and team). Would you love him? Would you be siblings?

Would you let him in so that he can learn to understand you?

NEXT PART this isn't my best work, but I got the motivation for this chapter idea again thx to the ask about Tim.

Taglist: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @shadowytravelerlover, @1abi, @leeiasure, @frank-vanderboom, @stove-top96, @amber-content, @lithiumval, @bunniotomia, @chericia, @marsmabe, @cssammyyarts, @lingxio, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @alwaysholymilkshake, @miashico, @kittzu, @ironsaladwitch, @pix-stuff, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @icefox8155, @seemee3, @nxdxsworld, @princessbonnie-bell, @kenman00001, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @welpthisisboring, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @rtyuy1346, @lilyalone, @lettucel0ver, @dirtydiavolo, @leogf, @trashlaternfish360, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @plsfckmedxddy, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @smithieandy, @xzmickeyzx, @holderoflostmemories

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sirxaibs · 2 months ago

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Kon-el | Connor Kent X readerbatsis!

⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° Batblood ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ °

uhhh self indulgent bat family stuff

masterlist

This is mostly Batfamily X Batsis. Though I think I had enough Conner Kent X Reader to classify this as a thing.

GUYS I WROTE DAMIENS NAME WRONG THROUGHOUT THIS WAIT

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩ The first thing you learn about your parents is that they are fundamentally incompatible. The second thing you learn is that they will never stop trying anyway.

You don’t remember a time when Bruce and Selina were ever something as simple as together. They exist in contradictions she flirts, he broods; she steals, he stops her; she leaves, he waits. You used to think they would eventually find a middle ground, but you’ve long since given up on that idea.

Bruce and Selina have always been on and off, a constant push and pull. He loves her, but he can’t accept her choices. She loves him, but she refuses to change for him. You grew up watching them dance around their feelings. One moment, she’s draped over his desk in the Batcave, teasing him, and the next, she’s gone without a trace, leaving only a cryptic note behind.

Still, they make sense, in a way that defies logic. And despite all their back and forth, they both love you just in completely different ways. The truth is, Bruce and Selina will never be able to give you the same kind of love.

⸻

“Again.”

You grit your teeth, clenching your fists as Bruce circles you in the Batcave’s training area. You’ve already gone through this drill a dozen times. Your muscles ache, your ribs are sore from earlier blows, but he’s relentless.

You feint left, then pivot sharply, throwing a kick at his side. He blocks it easily. Too easily. His expression remains unreadable, but you can feel his disapproval.

“Sloppy,” he says, stepping back. “You’re letting yourself get tired.”

“That’s because I am tired,” you snap. “We’ve been doing this for over an hour.”

He crosses his arms. “On the field, you don’t get to decide when you’re done.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, but Tim does? Jason does? Even Damian doesn’t get this much micromanaging.”

Bruce’s jaw tightens. “This isn’t about them. It’s about you.”

“No, it’s about me being your daughter.”

His silence confirms it.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You trained all of them, let them fight their own battles. You trusted them to figure it out. But me? You’re scared to let me.”

Bruce’s expression darkens. “I’m not scared.”

“Then what is it?” you challenge, stepping closer. “You push me harder than you ever pushed them, but you still won’t let me prove myself. What’s the point of all this if you’re just going to hold me back?”

His voice is quiet when he finally answers. “Because I can’t lose you.”

The weight of those words presses against your chest. You want to be angry, to keep fighting him on this, but the raw emotion in his voice makes it impossible.

You don’t know what to say, so you settle for the only truth you have.

“You won’t,” you murmur. “But you have to let me go.”

Bruce doesn’t answer. He just exhales slowly, tension still radiating from his stance. You don’t expect him to change overnight, but at the very least, he doesn’t call for another round. That’s something.

⸻

Selina finds you hours later, sprawled out on the balcony of her penthouse. You weren’t planning on coming here tonight, but after your fight with Bruce, you needed air. And if there’s one thing Selina understands, it’s the need to escape.

She slides the glass door open, stepping onto the rooftop with effortless grace. “I thought I’d find you here.”

You don’t turn to face her. “Bruce is being impossible.”

She chuckles, settling beside you. “He’s still your dad don’t call him bruce, though when isn’t he?”

You sigh, tilting your head back against the cool metal railing. “I just… I don’t know how to make him see me as more than just his kid. He acts like I’ll break if I take one wrong step.”

Selina hums thoughtfully. “That’s what he does. He builds walls around the things he loves, convinces himself it’s the only way to keep them safe.”

You glance at her. “And you?”

She smirks. “Oh, I’d never keep a bird in a cage. I’d teach her to fly.”

There’s something appealing about that. With Selina, there are no rules, no suffocating restrictions. Just a quiet, unwavering confidence in your abilities. Even if you don’t approve of the way she lives, you can’t deny that she makes you feel free.

She pulls a small velvet pouch from her pocket and tosses it into your lap.

You raise a brow. “Do I want to know?”

She grins. “Just a little something I picked up.”

You groan, shoving it back at her. “I told you to stop giving me stolen jewelry.”

Selina only laughs. “It’s not stolen technically. I swapped it for something better.”

“That’s still stealing.”

“Details, darling.”

You can’t help but laugh. She winks, ruffling your hair before standing. “Come on. Let’s get something to eat before you let your father’s brooding ruin your whole night.”

You shake your head but follow her anyway.

For all their differences, Bruce and Selina have one thing in common: they both love you, fiercely.

Your dad will always try to protect you from the world. Your mom will always remind you that it’s yours to take. You exist in the space between them.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

Patrol had been standard until it wasn’t. You and Tim had been watching an arms deal go down from the rooftops of Gotham’s East End. The intel from Oracle suggested this was a simple exchange one that didn’t require much interference. The plan was to observe, gather intel, and report back if things escalated. But you weren’t convinced.

Something felt off. You crouched beside Tim, scanning the warehouse below. The deal was happening inside, but your eyes were locked on a figure slipping through a side entrance, unnoticed by the others.

“Tim, we’ve got movement,” you whispered.

He barely glanced at the figure before shaking his head. “Not our priority. We wait and”

“I’m going after them,” you interrupted, already moving.

Tim grabbed your arm. “That’s not the plan.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” you insisted, shaking him off. “Cover me.”

And before he could protest, you were already gone.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The side entrance led you through a narrow corridor, crates stacked high along the walls. You moved quietly, using the shadows to your advantage.

The man you were following a mercenary by the look of his armor spoke softly into an earpiece. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the urgency in his tone sent a chill down your spine.

You pressed closer, peering around a crate. Then you saw it.

This wasn’t just an arms deal. There were bombs. Crates of them. Military grade explosives, lined up and ready to be moved.

Your stomach dropped.

“Oracle,” you whispered, touching your comm. “We have a problem.”

“I see it,” her voice came through your earpiece. “I’m running facial recognition on the men inside. This isn’t just some street gang these guys are mercenaries.”

“Figures.”

Tim’s voice suddenly crackled through. “You were supposed to wait.”

“I’d say ‘I told you so,’ but I’m a little busy.”

A movement caught your eye. The mercenary was reaching for a detonator.

Shit.

You sprang from cover, knocking him back with a swift kick to the ribs. The detonator clattered across the floor.

“Got company,” you muttered.

“On my way,” Tim responded.

But it was already too late.

The other mercenaries had heard the commotion, and within seconds, you were surrounded.

⸻

Fighting in the Fire

You moved on instinct, blocking the first blow aimed at your head and countering with a knee to the gut. The second merc swung at you with a baton, but you ducked, sweeping his legs out from under him.

The fight was brutal there were too many of them, and you were alone.

A blade sliced across your side, and you hissed, twisting to avoid a deeper wound. Blood soaked into your suit, but you ignored it, focusing on staying alive.

Then the explosion hit.

A grenade thrown from somewhere behind you detonated against one of the stacked crates. The force sent you flying, crashing through a pile of debris. Your ears rang, and your vision blurred.

Somewhere in the distance, you heard Tim’s voice in your earpiece. “Hold on I’m almost there!”

Gritting your teeth, you forced yourself to move.

You weren’t dying here.

When the dust settled, the mercenaries were either unconscious or retreating. The explosives were still intact, and Tim arrived just in time to secure them.

But you were wrecked.

He looked at you, taking in the blood seeping from your side. “You’re an idiot.”

You gave a weak smirk. “Yeah. But at least I was right.”

Tim muttered something under his breath before helping you out of the warehouse.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

The moment you step off the platform, you feel him before you see him.

Bruce is waiting. Arms crossed. Silent.

He’s still in the Batsuit, the cowl pulled back, his expression unreadable but you know better. You’ve seen that look before.

Tim doesn’t say a word. He just gives you one final glance and walks off, leaving you alone with the inevitable.

You brace yourself, but Bruce doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. His disappointment is a physical weight in the air.

“You abandoned your partner,” he says, voice like stone.

“I chased a lead.”

“You disobeyed orders.”

You grit your teeth. “It was the right call.”

He steps forward, and suddenly, you feel small. Not because you’re afraid Bruce would never hurt you but because his presence alone is suffocating.

“The right call?” His tone sharpens. “You were injured. You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn’t,” you argue, though the sting in your side says otherwise.

Bruce exhales slowly, his jaw tightening. “You’re reckless.”

“You don’t say that when literally anyone else is on a mission,” you snap.

He doesn’t answer immediately, and that silence stings. Because you already know the truth. You’re different. You’re his daughter. And that changes everything. but it doesn’t Damien is younger than you. You don’t get it.

“You’re dismissed,” he finally says, voice cold.

You hesitate, fists clenched, but there’s no point in arguing. Not when his mind is already made up.

You turn and head toward the med bay, fuming the entire way.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

You’re half out of your suit, sitting on the medical table while Alfred patches up your side, when Jason storms into the Batcave like a force of nature.

“The hell happened tonight?”

You groan. Of course he found out.

Bruce, still near the Batcomputer, barely glances up. “Jason”

Jason ignores him, turning straight to you. His eyes flick to the bloodstained bandages, and his expression darkens. “Who did this?”

“Relax,” you sigh. “It’s just a scratch.”

Jason scoffs. “A scratch?” He turns to Bruce, eyes blazing. “What the hell was she doing in a situation where she could end up like this?”

“I made the call,” you interject. “It was my decision.”

Jason looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “That’s not a good thing, dumbass.”

You scowl. “It’s part of the job.”

Jason shakes his head, pacing. “Nah. No. You shouldn’t be out there like this. He shouldn’t be letting you”

“I let her do nothing,” Bruce interrupts, his voice a low warning.

Jason laughs humorless, sharp. “Oh, really? Because it looks to me like you’re putting her through the same damn cycle we all went through. How long before she ends up dead in an alley too?”

“Jason”

“No, screw that,” Jason snaps. “You’re just letting her walk into this life like it’s fine. Like it’s not gonna chew her up and spit her out like the rest of us.”

You push yourself up from the table, ignoring the sharp sting in your side. “I chose this, Jason. No one forced me.”

Jason turns his glare on you. “You don’t get it, do you? You think this is just about being a hero, about doing good?” He scoffs. “It’s a death sentence.”

You clench your jaw. “So what, you expect me to just sit at home and do nothing?”

“I expect you to be smarter than this,” he snaps.

Before you can fire back, his eyes narrow, and suddenly, the conversation takes a sharp turn.

“Speaking of dumb decisions,” Jason mutters, crossing his arms. “You’re still with Superboy, right?”

Your frustration spikes. “Oh my godseriously?”

Jason gives you a deadpan look. “knock off superman? Really? You could do better.”

You throw your hands up. “Why does everyone have a problem with me dating Conner?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Because he’s a walking red flag wrapped in blue spandex.”

You glare. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Jason scowls. “I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust anyone.”

He doesn’t deny it.

You exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. “Look, I’m tired, I’m injured, and I don’t have the energy for this right now.”

Jason studies you for a moment, then sighs, running a hand through his hair. His anger hasn’t faded completely, but the sharp edge of it has dulled.

“Fine,” he mutters. “But if he ever screws up, I will break his face.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of something warmer underneath the annoyance. Jason will never say it outright, but you know what this is.

It’s not just anger. It’s fear.

Bruce was right about one thing losing people leaves scars. And Jason? He has more than most. He won’t stop you from fighting your battles. But he’ll sure as hell be there when you fall.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

Dating in the Batfamily was a challenge. Dating Conner Kent? That was practically a declaration of war.

You weren’t an idiot you knew what your family thought of him. Bruce didn’t trust him. Superman’s clone, an unpredictable force of power, a boy with too much strength and too little control. That’s how your father saw him, at least. Jason didn’t respect him. “A knock off in a leather jacket? Come on, you can do so much better.”

Tim was wary. Conner was his best friend, but even he had his doubts when it came to you.

And your mother? Selina raised a delicate brow when she first caught wind of your relationship, a teasing smirk playing at her lips. “Oh, darling,” she had purred. “You know how your father’s going to react, right?”

You had sighed, rubbing your temples. “Yes, Mother, I know.”

She had hummed in amusement. “Well, Im starting to think i’m a bad influence, at least try not to be like me and your dad.”

“Mom.”

She had only laughed.

At first, it was easier to keep it hidden. You and Conner met in the shadows, in places no one else would look.

Abandoned rooftops, dimly lit diners on the outskirts of the city, quiet parks in the dead of night where he could float just above the ground, keeping you wrapped in the warmth of his presence.

He wasn’t like Superman and you weren’t just Batman’s daughter.

That’s what you loved about being with him. When he looked at you, he didn’t see the vigilante, the heir to Gotham’s dark legacy. He didn’t see someone who had to be perfect. He saw you. Your flaws, your fears, your messy, complicated emotions. And he never tried to change them.

“I don’t care about what your dad thinks,” he had told you once, leaning back against the fire escape outside your window. “Or your brothers. Or your mom, even.”

You raised a brow. “Not even a little?”

He grinned. “Okay, maybe a little. But it doesn’t change anything.”

You had smirked. “You are stubborn.”

“Says the girl who won’t admit she likes me.”

You scoffed, but he had been right. Liking him had been the easy part. Accepting that he was yours? That had been harder.

Gotham was a city of ghosts.

Your life had been built on shadows, on silent movements, on always thinking five steps ahead. Mistakes had consequences, emotions were weaknesses, and attachments?

They got you killed.

But Conner… Conner made you feel like you were alive.

He never cared about the weight of your family name. He never expected you to be perfect. He let you be wrong, and he still stood by you.

One night, after a brutal mission, you had been exhausted, bruised, and pissed at your father for another round of overprotection.

Conner had found you on the rooftop of your shared apartment, sitting at the edge, staring out at the skyline.

He had landed softly beside you, his presence warm against the cold night.

“You okay?”

You hadn’t answered right away.

Then, quietly, you had admitted, “Sometimes I think its much more worth it to leave this place”

Conner had been silent for a moment before he shifted closer. “Yeah. I get that.”

And you knew he did. Superman saw him as something broken. A project. An accident to be controlled. Bruce saw you as something fragile. Something not ready.

You had glanced at Conner then, at the way he looked at you not as something to fix, but as someone whole. You had leaned into him, and he had let you.

That was the thing about Conner.

He didn’t just love you. He trusted you to be exactly who you were.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Your father was the last to acknowledge it.

Bruce had spent months pretending you weren’t sneaking out to see Conner, pretending he didn’t know why your patrol routes started conveniently lining up with the edge of the city.

But Bruce noticed everything. eventually, he noticed him. It started with the little things.

Conner was always near you in battle, always the first to shield you from an explosion, always ready to catch you if you fell.

Bruce watched the way Conner would take the hit for you not because he thought you couldn’t handle it, but because he could. Conner was powerful, but he never used that strength to control you. He never underestimated you.

One night, after a particularly nasty fight against a group of assassins, you had ended up battered and bloody, a knife wound deep in your side.

Conner had carried you back to the Cave.

Bruce had been waiting.

The air had been tense as Conner laid you gently on the med bay table, his jaw tight, eyes burning with barely contained fury.

“She shouldn’t have been alone,” Conner had said, voice sharp.

Bruce had met his glare, unreadable. “Yeah she shouldn’t have.”

“Then act right on this and she wouldn’t have been alone,” Conner snapped. “shes strong but I don’t care like assholes like you neither does she.”

Silence.

Then Bruce had simply turned and walked away. It wasn’t approval. But it wasn’t rejection, either. You supposed, in his way, Bruce was starting to understand.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

Looking back now, lying in the med bay once again, you let out a slow breath.

The room was empty.

The cave was silent.

Your body ached, your side still throbbing from the mission gone wrong. You stared at the ceiling, letting exhaustion creep in.

Jason’s words still echoed in your head.

“Tights and a cape? Really?”

You sighed.

They’d never understand.

when Conner held you, when he saw you, when he treated you like something more than just Batman’s daughter… It didn’t matter what anyone else thought.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

Gotham was different when Dick was in town. Maybe it was the way he carried himself loose, easy, like the city didn’t weigh on his shoulders the way it did on everyone else’s. Maybe it was because he didn’t live here anymore, so Gotham’s shadows didn’t cling to him the way they clung to you, to Jason, to Bruce.

Either way, his presence always changed the air. Right now, though? It just made the tension in the Batcave feel even heavier.

Dick had barely been back for a full twenty four hours before he noticed. The way Bruce’s jaw was tighter than usual, how Jason was avoiding both of you, how Tim kept smirking behind his coffee cup like he was enjoying the chaos. And you?

You were just done.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched.

Watched as Bruce checked your gear three times before your patrol. Watched as Jason kept throwing pointed glances your way, muttering curses under his breath like you were the idiot. Watched as Tim leaned back against the Batcomputer with the most entertained expression, like this was his own personal sitcom.

Eventually, Dick just sighed.

“Alright, kid,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Burgers. Let’s go.”

Bruce barely looked up. “She has patrol.”

Dick raised a brow. “No, she has burgers with her favorite brother.”

Jason scoffed from across the room. “Favorite? Yeah, okay, Nightwing.”

Tim sipped his coffee. “I don’t know, Jay. He is also my favourite.”

You didn’t argue. You just grabbed your jacket and followed Dick out before Bruce could protest.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The diner was a little hole in the wall place, tucked between two crumbling buildings. Greasy food, crappy lighting, the kind of place that felt like Gotham to its core. You slumped into the booth, arms crossed as Dick slid in across from you.

He didn’t push. Didn’t prod. Just casually unwrapped his burger and took a bite, waiting. It didn’t take long for you to break.

“He treats me like a soldier,” you said suddenly, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Not even a good one. Just one he doesn’t trust to make their own decisions.”

Dick chewed, nodding. “Bruce?”

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously Bruce.”

You picked at your fries. “he’s such an ass, i know he’s had this tough love thing since Jason but god why cant he let me be? Every move I make, he second guesses. Every mission, he reroutes my patrol to keep me ‘safer.’ He acts like I’m some reckless idiot who’s one bad decision away from getting killed.”

Dick hummed. “Jason probably isn’t helping.”

You huffed. “Oh, he’s worse. At least Bruce lets me fight Jason acts like I’m made of glass. Like I need protecting, like I can’t handle myself.”

Dick smirked. “Well, you did almost get blown up yesterday.”

You scowled. “That’s not the point.”

“Mmhmm.”

You ignored him and kept going.

“And then there’s Tim. Who just smirks. Like he enjoys watching me get lectured by dad and chewed out by Jason. Like this is all some kind of entertainment to him.”

Dick laughed. “It is entertaining.”

You threw a fry at him. He caught it without looking.

“It’s just” You exhaled sharply. “Bruce doesn’t trust me, Jason coddles me, and Tim thinks it’s all a joke. And yet Damian gets to do whatever the hell he wants.”

Dick raised a brow. “Ah. So this is about Damian.”

You stabbed your fork into your fries. “It’s not. It’s about all of it. But also? Yeah. It’s about Damian.”

Dick took another bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully. “Bruce would let him get away with murder?”

“Literally,” you muttered. “Meanwhile, I take one risk one calculated risk and suddenly I’m ‘not ready.’”

Dick sighed, setting his burger down. “Okay. So, what’s the actual problem?”

You frowned. “I just told you”

“No, I mean the real problem. You don’t actually care that Bruce is strict. You expect that. You don’t even care that Jason’s overprotective he does that to everyone he loves.”

You looked away. “…So?”

“So,” he said, smirking, “what you actually hate is that they don’t see you as an equal.”

You frowned.

Dick leaned back, crossing his arms. “They see you as their little sister. Their daughter. They see someone they have to protect, not someone they can trust.”

Your grip on your fork tightened. “And that’s not fair.”

“No,” he agreed easily. “It’s not.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, casually, Dick added, “But hey, at least Conner treats you like an equal.”

You froze mid bite.

Slowly, you looked up at him.

He grinned.

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t.”

He tilted his head. “What?”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” he teased. “You could’ve gone for someone normal, but nooo. You had to pick another dark, broody, overpowered meathead”

“Dick, I swear”

“You surround yourself with annoying guys”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Never speak again.”

“Oh, absolutely not.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting mischievously. “In fact, I think I should speak more. Maybe bring this up at family dinner. Hey, Bruce, did you know your daughter has a thing for emotionally constipated guys in leather?”

You threw another fry at him.

He dodged it effortlessly, laughing.

“Dick. I will kill you.”

“I kinda want to meet this guy.”

You glared.

He just smiled. But despite your annoyance, despite everything Bruce’s overprotection, Jason’s coddling, Tim’s smirking something about the conversation helped. Because at least one of your brothers saw you.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

You regretted ever telling your family now. Dick knowing about Conner means you’ve been introduced to hell.

oh satan over there? yeah he’s on the body of your bug brother.

Not because he was mad not even because he was disapproving but because he was Dick.

Which meant relentless teasing.

Which meant grinning at you like he had the world’s juiciest blackmail material. Which meant the exact sentence that had been haunting you ever since your burger night.

“I want to meet my younger sister’s hero.”

It had been two days. Two. And he would not let it go.

You tried to avoid it. Tried to make excuses. But Dick was persistent.

So now here you were on a Gotham rooftop, arms crossed, glaring at him as he sat on the ledge like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m interested,” he corrected. “I mean, c’mon. I’ve only ever heard about this guy from our brothers, and none of them have anything nice to say.” He smirked. “Figured I should form my own opinion.”

You groaned. “Can you not?”

“Oh, I definitely can,” he said. “I just won’t.”

Before you could argue further, a gust of wind swept through the air, and There he was.

Conner landed a few feet away, hands in his jacket pockets, red cape billowing slightly behind him. His gaze flickered between you and Dick, brows furrowed in mild suspicion.

“You okay?” he asked you first, like he always did.

You exhaled. “Yeah. I just ” You shot Dick a look. “Had a situation to handle.”

Conner raised an eyebrow.

Dick, meanwhile, was grinning.

“Well, well, well,” he said, standing up and brushing off his suit. “The infamous Superboy.”

Conner’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And you’re…?”

Dicks mouth dropped glancing to you “Oh, wow. That actually hurt.” Then he extended a hand. “Dick Grayson. Also known as Nightwing. Also known as best older brother. Nice to finally meet you.”

Conner eyed him for a second before shaking his hand. “…Right.”

Dick’s smirk widened. “So. You’re the little guy my little sister’s been sneaking around with, huh?”

You instantly regretted your entire life.

Conner’s gaze flickered to you before he answered, clearly unsure how to respond. “Guess so…?”

“Oh, I like him already,” Dick laughed. “Got that classic ‘brooding hero’ energy. I see the appeal.”

You glared. “Dick”

“I mean, you do have a type,” he continued, grinning at you. “The whole ‘dark, broody, overpowered’ thing? Classic. keep the family values. I respect it.”

Conner glanced at you, fidgeting slightly as if trying to hold back a laugh. “its not a wrong point.”

You smacked his arm. “Not you too.”

Dick just laughed. “So. How’s the Super life treating you?”

Conner shrugged awkwardly, clearly not sure how to navigate the conversation. “Could be worse.”

“Dealing with my family yet?”

“All the time.”

Dick nodded sagely. “Yeah, that’s rough, buddy.”

Conner gave a quiet, awkward chuckle. “It’s not that bad.” His gaze softened slightly when he looked at you. “She makes it easier.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. Then slowly he grinned.

“Oh, man,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re down bad.”

You groaned. “Dick. it’s gross when you say that. Shut up.”

“I love this,” he continued, delighted. “This is so much better than I imagined.”

Conner crossed his arms and tried to lean against the ledge nonchalantly, but there was a slight stiff tension in his posture. “I wont stop her if she starts fighting”

Dick gasped, hand over his heart. “You’d turn her against me?”

“mmmmm i’m in a Y/n wrongs and right are rights morality,” Conner pointed out with a soft, awkward chuckle.

Dick sighed. “ew you sound like me with women.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay. We’re done here.”

But before you could drag Conner away, Dick clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, all jokes aside,” he said, suddenly more serious, “I get why Bruce and Jason are… difficult about this. You’re powerful. You’re dangerous. You’re not one of us.”

Conner tensed slightly, glancing over at you like he didn’t know how to respond.

Dick met his gaze. “But I see how you look at her. And I see how she looks at you.” His expression softened. “So, for what it’s worth? You’ve got my approval.”

Conner blinked, clearly caught off guard. He cleared his throat, trying to hide the flush creeping up his neck. “Wasn’t asking.”

Dick grinned. “Oh, I really like you.”

You groaned. “I hate both of you.”

Conner just took your hand, squeezing lightly, trying to brush off the awkwardness that had started to settle in. “You love me.” he whispered

You muttered something under your breath. Dick slung an arm around your shoulders, still grinning.

“Alright, Superboy. Don’t break her heart. Or I will break you.”

Conner didn’t flinch. “You could try.”

“Ohhh, I really really like him.”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

The gala was everything you dreaded about Gotham’s elite. The high end designers. The glittering chandeliers. The fake smiles and empty conversations about stock markets and charities you knew were just tax write offs. You were dreading it. But you had no choice. Your dad had insisted.

“You’re going with me,” Bruce had said, his tone one you couldn’t argue with. “Damien’s going too.”

Damien.

You rolled your eyes. If there was one silver lining, it was that Damien would make the night more bearable. Sure, he was insufferable, but deep down, he was your favorite… well one of them.

You didn’t know when it started, but you couldn’t deny it. Every time someone made a comment about you, something snide about being Bruce Wayne’s daughter or how you’d grown up in a world of privilege, Damien was right there. He might have been a bratty little boy, but he had a surprisingly soft spot for you.

He’d bark back at anyone who dared talk down to you. And that always made you smile.

Still, you hated the galas. The whole act of pretending to be someone you weren’t, of feigning interest in the people who rubbed elbows with the most corrupt figures in Gotham. It made you feel like you were just another part of Bruce Wayne’s PR machine, just another Wayne for the rich to admire, the perfect daughter.

You weren’t. At least not in the way they thought you were.

⸻

You stood in front of the mirror in your dress, adjusting the neckline slightly. It wasn’t too flashy. Not as tight or revealing as some of the other dresses you’d seen at these events. It wasn’t your style to try and look like you were above everyone else. There was an elegance to it, sure, but it wasn’t over the top.

You sighed, glancing at the clock. You were almost late. You had not been in the mood to get dressed up and pretend you weren’t itching to leave this stupid party as soon as you walked in.

The door to your room creaked open just a bit, and you turned to see Damien standing in the doorway, his usual scowl plastered on his face.

“Are you done yet?” he demanded, crossing his arms.

You blinked at him. “Are you done yet? You look like a little mini Bruce.”

He shot you a glare. “I’ll have you know, I’m a Wayne too, and I’m far superior to Father in many ways.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Mm. Sure, Damien. If that’s what helps you sleep at night.”

Damien’s eyes narrowed in the way they always did when he was being stubborn. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t embarrass the family again.”

“Again?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

You chuckled. “Whatever, Damien. Just don’t get in my way.”

He huffed, but his expression softened for a second. “You know, you don’t have to act like you don’t belong there. It’s your place.”

The rare kindness from Damien caught you off guard. You almost wanted to tease him about it, but something in the way he said it made you pause.

Before you could respond, Bruce’s voice echoed from downstairs. “Damien, [Y/N], let’s go.”

You rolled your eyes. No escape.

⸻

The gala was in full swing when you arrived, the grand ballroom filled with well dressed Gotham’s elite, all laughing, talking, and pretending to be better than they really were. As you walked in behind Bruce and Damien, you couldn’t help but feel like a fish out of water.

Damien, ever the mini Bruce, stepped confidently beside you, his posture straight, eyes sharp. He barely even looked at anyone around him, already ready to shoot down any attempts at conversation. You, on the other hand, put on your best poker face, walking with your head high, but your mind already halfway to escaping.

Bruce was already surrounded by some of the usual suspects, but it didn’t take long for the first person to notice you.

“You know,” a woman with a glass of champagne in hand said, smiling in that way people did when they thought they were better than you. “It’s nice to see the Wayne family so well represented. A fine, upstanding family, despite… well, you know…”

The pause was intentional, like she wanted to see if you’d react to the snide remark. It was a comment about your family’s history, a little jab that no one dared speak out loud but always found a way to slip into their conversations. Isnt being a woman supposed to be about supporting other women? Damien arguably had the same history as you.

You opened your mouth to say something, but Damien beat you to it.

“That’s quite enough.” He said it flatly, stepping forward with a warning glare. “I’m sure if you don’t have anything productive to say, you’d be better off leaving.”

The woman blinked, surprised by the bluntness, but Damien was already walking away, his weird little aura behind him like he was some miniature Dark Knight.

You couldn’t help but smile at him. You were right. He was your favorite.

Bruce glanced at you both, an eyebrow arched. He had seen the whole exchange. You could practically feel him holding back a smirk.

“Damien,” Bruce said, his voice a little too controlled. “You don’t have to go picking fights.”

Damien didn’t back down. “I’m simply defending Y/n. Some of these people need to remember their place.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, but the faintest glimmer of approval passed through his gaze, and it was enough.

⸻

The night dragged on, but you found yourself less uncomfortable with Damien by your side. His quiet protectiveness, the way he always seemed to catch the smallest slight before you did, made it easier to navigate the pretentious conversations. Every time someone made a comment about your family, you could feel Damien’s posture tense and his eyes narrow. And each time, he defended you.

Despite everything, despite how much you complained about his bratty tendencies, Damien was your brat. the weight of the night began to settle. The glittering lights of the gala still flickered in your mind, but the presence of your father and Damien beside you made the ride back almost bearable. Damien, as usual, sat stiffly, his posture perfect even in the backseat of the car, while Bruce remained uncharacteristically quiet, his gaze focused out the window.

You couldn’t help but glance over at Damien, who was looking out his own window, seemingly lost in thought. There had been a moment earlier when Bruce had shared a look with him, something small but meaningful a look you couldn’t quite place. But it was enough to make you feel something unspoken between the two of them. It wasn’t often you saw your father show a soft spot for anyone, let alone his own kids.

The car pulled up to the Manor, and as it came to a stop, you turned to Damien, the words already spilling out before you could stop them.

“You know, you’re not as bad as you pretend to be,” you said, voice teasing but soft. “I might just like you after all.”

Damien scoffed. “You shouldn’t like me. I’m better than you, after all.”

“Pfft, whatever,” you grinned, ignoring his words. The sudden burst of affection you felt in that moment made you throw all your self control out the window. Without thinking, you lunged at him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.

Damien let out an exaggerated, dramatic gasp, his body going stiff in shock. “Unhand me, woman,” he hissed, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden outburst of affection.

You ignored his protests, squeezing him tighter. “Nope! Not until you admit that you love me.”

Damien scowled, his face flushing just slightly. “I do not love you, you foolish girl.” But there was no hiding the faint blush creeping onto his cheeks as he tried unsuccessfully to push you away.

Bruce, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, cleared his throat from the front seat, as though reminding you both that you weren’t exactly alone. But it was too late to stop now.

You pulled back just enough to look Damien in the eye, still grinning like a cat. “Come on, admit it. I know you love me.”

Damien tried to glare at you, but there was no hiding the slight curve of his lips. “I tolerate you,” he said begrudgingly.

You held him tighter. “Close enough!”

He growled, finally breaking free from your grip. “This is not over,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting his suit with a dramatic flair.

You leaned back, still grinning like an idiot. “Sure, sure, Damien. You can pretend all you want.”

Bruce finally spoke up, his tone surprisingly light. “Alright, break it up, you two. We’ve still got a whole night to get through.”

Damien shot a glare at Bruce. “I’m not the one causing disruptions here.”

You and Bruce shared a look, and for just a brief second, you saw it, something rare and almost tender between the two of them. Damien wasn’t as bad as you’d thought. he had his own way of showing care.

Damien, still grumbling, marched ahead toward the front door, muttering something about how he was going to “train” and “get away from these ridiculous people.” But you knew better. Underneath the bravado, Damien was just like everyone else in this family he cared.

As you stepped out of the car and onto the front porch of Wayne Manor, the cool night air hit your face, carrying the faint scent of rain. You were exhausted, mentally drained from the fake smiles and shallow conversations of the gala, and the weight of the night hung heavy on your shoulders. You couldn’t wait to retreat to your room, get out of this damn dress, and let your thoughts settle.

But as you walked toward the front door, something or rather someone caught your eye. Standing by the door, just under the archway of the Manor, was a familiar silhouette. The figure straightened when he saw you approach, a soft smile appearing on his face.

Conner.

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected him to be here, but there he was, waiting for you, like he always did.

“Hey,” you said softly, as you run over to him. your exhaustion suddenly lifting at the sight of him.

He tilted his head, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. “You look… very beautiful tonight.”

You let out a small, tired chuckle. “Beautiful? someone is learning how to express his emotions”

Conner’s brow furrowed, his eyes scanning you like he could see the exhaustion beneath your calm exterior. He stepped forward, his large frame nearly blocking the door. “You okay?”

You nodded, but only half heartedly. “Yeah, just… tired of it all. Tired of pretending.”

Conner didn’t say anything at first, but his gaze softened. His next words were simple, but they always meant more than you expected. “you’re done now, don’t have to think about it now.”

You stepped closer to him, letting the tension in your body melt just a little. “Thanks, Conner. It means a lot. I don’t think I could stand much more of these stupid galas if I didn’t know you’d be waiting for me.”

He smiled at that, the kind of smile that made your heart flutter in your chest, as he stepped aside to let you in. “Always. You know I’ve got your back.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “You’re the best.”

Conner chuckled, stepping back as you passed him. “I’m just doing my job, keeping you out of trouble.”

You shot him a playful look over your shoulder. “Really? Keeping me out of trouble?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, you seem to find it even when I’m not around.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, but the moment you passed him, you felt his hand gently grasp your arm, a soft but firm hold that pulled you back toward him.

“What?” you asked, confused.

Conner was staring at you, his blue eyes intense but gentle. “You looked like you needed someone tonight. If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

You stared at him for a moment, letting his words settle. But instead of saying anything, you simply let out a long sigh and let your shoulders relax. You didn’t need to talk about it now. Not when Conner was here, offering comfort without the need for words.

Instead, you smiled softly, stepping into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “I think… I think I just need this right now.”

Conner wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as if to shield you from everything outside this moment. “I’ve got you.”

You closed your eyes, letting the familiar warmth of his embrace wrap around you.

The moment of quiet was shattered by the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat.

You tensed slightly, already knowing exactly who it was before you even turned your head.

Bruce stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable but his presence alone was enough to make the warmth in your chest falter just a bit.

“It’s late,” he said, voice even, but carrying that weight of authority only he could manage. “You should be inside now.”

You sighed, pulling back slightly from Conner but keeping your hand locked around his wrist. Of course, Bruce had impeccable timing.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” you muttered, turning toward the door but you didn’t let go of Conner. Instead, you tugged him along with you, acting like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Bruce’s eyes flicked down to your hand still gripping Conner’s, his expression barely changing, but you knew he noticed.

Conner hesitated for half a second, casting a glance between you and your father, as if gauging whether it was a terrible idea to follow you inside. But you weren’t giving him a choice.

Bruce let out the tiniest sigh, stepping aside to let you both in, but not without a warning glance at Conner.

“Don’t make me regret this,” Bruce said evenly.

Conner just glared at him, tight lipped smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

You definitely caught the way Bruce’s brow twitched ever so slightly at the sir, but you didn’t dwell on it. You just smirked to yourself and pulled Conner further into the Manor, past your father, past all the unspoken tension, and straight toward the one place you could finally relax.

Conner leaned in as you walked, voice low and teasing. “You dragged me in here.”

You grinned up at him. “What, scared of my dad?”

Conner huffed. “No. But I am scared of what your brothers are gonna say when they see me here.”

You just laughed. “Oh, you should be.”

As you pulled Conner deeper into the Manor, you moved quickly, knowing full well that the longer you lingered, the higher the chance of getting ambushed by one of your loving brothers.

You practically speed walked through the grand hall, past the dimly lit corridors.

“Ah, welcome home, Miss.”

You skidded to a stop as Alfred appeared seemingly out of nowhere, standing near the bottom of the staircase with his usual composed demeanor.

Conner tensed beside you, standing up straighter like he was about to get scolded. Clearly, even he wasn’t immune to Alfred’s presence.

You shot the butler a quick smile, still keeping a tight grip on Conner’s wrist. “Hey, Alfred. Gala was awful, as expected. Goodnight!”

And before he could reply, you dragged Conner up the stairs.

“Goodnight, Miss. Goodnight, Mister Conner,” Alfred called after you, voice laced with mild amusement.

Conner barely managed to glance over his shoulder to offer a polite, “Uh goodnight, sir,” before he was pulled around the corner and out of sight.

When you finally made it to your room, you threw the door open and all but shoved Conner inside before shutting it behind you with a sigh of relief.

“Okay, safe,” you muttered, leaning against the door.

Conner raised a brow. “You act like we just broke into the White House.”

You pointed a finger at him. “This house probably has better security than the white house.”

Conner snorted, shaking his head as he glanced around your room. He’d been here before, but it was still surreal for him standing in Wayne Manor.

You walked over to your bed, flopping onto it dramatically. “I swear, I love Alfred, but he always pops up at the worst moments. It’s like a sixth sense.”

Conner smirked, stepping closer. “Maybe he was just making sure I wasn’t sneaking in to corrupt his favorite Wayne.”

You peeked up at him through your arms. “Bold of you to assume I’m his favorite.”

He sat down beside you, resting his elbows on his knees. “You definitely are.”

You grinned, nudging him lightly with your foot. “Flatter me more, Superboy.”

Conner just chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t need flattery. You already know how great you are.”

You huffed, rolling onto your side. “Tell that to my dad.”

Conner didn’t say anything right away, just let his hand rest on yours, grounding you. You let out a slow breath, the exhaustion of the day finally settling in.

“Get some sleep,” Conner murmured. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”

You didn’t even think about it before squeezing his hand. “Stay.”

And he did.

Conner sat beside you on the bed, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your wrist. The room was dimly lit, casting shadows across his face, making his blue eyes stand out even more than usual. He was warm, solid, grounding in a way you desperately needed after the night you’d had.

You shifted closer, tilting your head up toward him. He caught the movement instantly, his gaze flicking down to your lips before he leaned in, closing the space between you.

The kiss was gentle at first, unhurried. His lips pressed against yours in a way that made your chest tighten not with nerves, but with something softer, something steady. His hand slid up, fingertips brushing your jaw before cradling your face, pulling you just a little closer.

You sighed against him, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. He kissed you again, deeper this time, as if memorizing the shape of your lips, as if reminding himself that you were here, that you were his.

A loud noise from the window, followed by the distinct sound of fabric rustling, and then.

THUD.

Conner barely had time to pull back before a voice cut through the moment.

“Oh, come on I just ate.”

You both snapped your heads toward the window, where Tim stood, looking absolutely horrified, like he’d just walked in on the worst crime imaginable.

You groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “Jesus Christ, Tim”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose like he was experiencing actual pain. “You know I tolerate this relationship for your sake, right? Doesn’t mean I need to see it.”

“Theres a reason we’re in my room with the door closed. what did you even want anyways”

“Ok miss shitbag, I was gonna see if you brought any food from the gala”

Conner, looking far too smug for someone just caught making out, leaned back on his hands. “You could’ve knocked.”

Tim made a disgusted face. “Knocked? On her window? I didn’t think I needed a warning before coming in.” He gestured wildly between the two of you. “I thought I was safe! But no, I have to live with the trauma of seeing my best friend all over my sister.”

You threw a pillow at him. “We weren’t even doing anything!”

Tim caught it with one hand, unimpressed. “There was face touching. That’s enough.”

Conner just shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, I think she’s a better kisser than you.”

Tim immediately gagged, doubling over like he’d been physically attacked. “WHY WOULD THAT MAKE ME FEEL BETTER?!”

You burst out laughing, while Conner grinned like he’d won something.

Tim groaned dramatically, shaking his head as he turned toward the window. “I hate this. I hate both of you. I’m leaving.”

“Goodnight, Tim,” you called sweetly.

“I hope you both stub your toes,” he shot back before disappearing out the window.

As soon as he was gone, you turned to Conner, still grinning. “You did that on purpose.”

Conner smirked. “Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes before pulling him back down into another kiss because if Tim was gonna be dramatic about it, you might as well make it worth it.

#kon el #kon el kent #kon el superboy #kon el x reader #conner kent #conner kent x reader #young justice #young justice x reader #batfam #batfam x reader #batfam x batsis #dc comics #dc universe #dc #dc comics x reader

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potchi-fics · 4 months ago

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note: takin' breaks from long fics LMAO here's ellie cus i love her

your girlfriend is a pussy-magnet, but she doesn’t know that. everywhere you go, some girl is always trying to get into her pants; whether you’re at a bar, at the library, at a cafe, seriously.

you’re not the jealous type, but it gets to a point, alright? and once you’ve told ellie about it, she’s made it her mission to assure your nerves–err, fuck the jealousy out of you, more like.

“baby, say it, yeah?” she smiles fondly at you under her, two fingers deep in you, curling her fingers when you try to open your mouth. ellie coos, “go on, baby.”

you paw at her hand digging into your thigh, forcing you to open your legs wider, “el-ellie, i’m… jesus fu–” and once again, her finger curls to hit your spot, “you’re m-mine.”

you barely managed to say it, they stumbled out of your mouth, ending with your broken moans either way.

a whimper of her name followed when you felt her play with your clit, rubbing small circles on it, coaxing you to make more noise, and you do. your vision blurs every time the tip of her fingers meets the spongy wall inside of you, you don’t want it to stop.

each time her fingers come out, the more they get coated with your slick. if the squelching sounds that are coming from your cunt aren’t enough to convince you that she’s yours, then i don’t know what will, to be honest.

ellie groans at you taking her so well, “look at you—her, pretty girl. takin’ me s’good. i don’t care if other girls want me,” her voice is laced with warmth and lust, staring you down, “i only want you anyway.”

that’s enough to tip you over the edge, creaming around her fingers even more, clenching and tightening around her still pumping long fingers.

you cum with a whimper of her name, thrashing in her hold, making her click her tongue and use force to hold you down. and you can’t do anything but take it—take her fingers still fucking you, take her fingers that seemed like they’re going deeper and deeper, her thumb joining back to stimulate your twitching clit.

your sore throat from making noise managed to barely let out a whisper, “to-too much, ellie. ca-can’t anymore.”

“stop telling me what you can’t do, baby. you can give me one more.”

#writing #fanfic #imagines #female reader #wlw #tlou #tlou2 #tlou ellie #ellie x you #ellie x female reader #ellie the last of us #winners long winning #wuhluhwuh #ellie williams #gays #lesbian

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holyblonded · 2 months ago

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adoption day | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, olga rios x teen!reader

summary: you manage to make you adoption day chaotic

warnings: abandonment issues(?)

notes: the ending is a bit similar to teenage dream but this was written first and idk how else to end 😭 i almost revealed estrella’s real name but decided against it

The house is too quiet. Too quiet. Alexia’s stomach is in knots as she turns to Alba, her voice sharp but low. “What do you mean she’s not in the house?”

Her eyes flick toward the hallway, making sure Eli and Olga don’t overhear. She doesn’t want to worry them— not yet. But the urgency in her voice is unmistakable.

Alba forces a tight-lipped smile, waving casually as Eli and Olga step out to grab more disposable plates and cutlery for the party later that evening. The second the door shuts behind them, her expression drops.

“I mean that I have torn through every single room in your godforsaken house, and Estrella is not in any of them,” she hisses. Alexia’s stomach sinks. “We have to find her,” she says immediately, already grabbing her keys. “We have to be at the courthouse soon.”

Alba groans, rubbing a hand over her face. “She knows what today is. Why would she disappear now?”

Alexia doesn’t have an answer.

They search everywhere. The backyard. The front yard. The neighbor’s driveway, just in case. The park down the street. Your favorite café around the corner. Nothing. No sign of you.

Alexia’s worry mutates, twisting into frustration. She pulls out her phone— no missed calls, no texts. Not even a single, stupid emoji from you.

“She’s going to give me a heart attack before she’s even legally my kid,” she mutters, pacing the sidewalk.

Alba, just as frantic but unwilling to admit it, crosses her arms. “You think she ran?”

Alexia stops pacing. The thought stings more than she wants to acknowledge. “No. No, she wouldn’t.”

“She might,” Alba counters, voice quieter now. “She panics sometimes. Maybe it’s too much for her.”

Alexia clenches her jaw. “Then we find her and tell her it’s okay.”

They split up again, checking every place they can think of, but the clock is ticking.

The courthouse appointment looms closer.

And still, there’s no sign of you.

Alexia’s grip tightens around her phone, her breath coming short. She’s about to call the police, or hunt you down herself, or…

The front door creaks open.

Both she and Alba whirl around at the same time, watching as you shuffle inside.

You look exhausted.

Hair slightly disheveled, hoodie too big on you, shoes scuffed like you’ve been walking for hours. Your expression is guarded, your shoulders hunched—like you’re bracing for impact. But more than anything, you look guilty.

Relief crashes over Alexia in a dizzying wave. It’s quick, sharp, and almost immediately replaced by frustration.

“¿Dónde has estado?” she demands, crossing the room in seconds. Her voice is firm, but there’s a raw edge to it. “Where were you? We’ve been looking everywhere.”

You hesitate, your gaze flickering toward Alba before landing back on Alexia. “Out.”

“Out where?” she presses, hands hovering near your shoulders, like she wants to shake the answer out of you but is afraid you might break.

You shift uncomfortably. “Just… around.”

Alba narrows her eyes. “Around where?”

You glance at the floor, shrugging slightly. “Just walking.”

Alexia exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. “Estrella, hoy es el día. We have to be at the courthouse soon—”

“I know,” you say quickly.

She stops, studying you. There’s something off. Something unreadable in your expression.

“Then why disappear?” she asks, quieter now.

You don’t answer right away. The front door swings open again, saving you. Olga and Eli step inside, bags in hand. The air in the room shifts immediately, tension settling in thick and heavy. Olga raises a brow, glancing between all of you, while Eli exhales like she already knows exactly what just happened.

“You found her,” Eli notes, setting the bags down.

“Barely,” Alba mutters.

Alexia’s frustration softens, just a little. Her eyes stay on you, the fight in her fading into something warmer, something quieter.

“You’re here now,” she murmurs, reaching up to cup the side of your face briefly before letting her hand drop. “That’s what matters.”

You look away, shifting on your feet.

Olga watches you carefully. “You okay, bebita?”

You force a small smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah. Just… a lot on my mind.”

Alexia sighs. She doesn’t push. Not now.

There will be time for that later.

“Come on,” she says, nudging your shoulder lightly. “Let’s get you changed.” A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “We’re going to make this official.”

You nod, following her down the hall.

But even as you move, your expression remains unreadable.

You stand stiffly in front of the courthouse, fingers twisting the fabric of your dress in a desperate attempt to smooth it down, to steady your shaking hands, to control something. But nothing feels in your control.

Your chest is tight, your stomach churns, and your vision blurs slightly as you blink rapidly, trying to hold yourself together. You should be happy. This should be one of the best days of your life. So why does it feel like you can’t breathe?

A warm hand presses gently against your back, and you flinch so hard it’s obvious.

“Mi amor,” Olga’s voice is soft, laced with concern. Her eyes scan your face, taking in the tension in your jaw, the way your shoulders hunch like you’re trying to make yourself smaller. “You guys go ahead, find the room,” she tells the others, not taking her eyes off you. “I’m going to talk to Estrellita real quick.”

Alexia, already watching you closely, doesn’t hesitate. She steps forward, placing a quick, gentle kiss on your forehead, then on Olga’s, before catching up to her sister and mother.

Olga guides you toward a bench overlooking a small park, where children run freely, their laughter ringing through the air. It feels like another world—one you can’t quite reach.

She sits beside you, but not too close, giving you space, waiting.

“Alright, mi nena.” Her voice is low, soothing, but firm. “What’s going on? You’ve been quiet all day. It’s not like you.”

A sharp exhale rips from your chest— too deep, too heavy, like you’re forcing the weight of everything inside you out in one breath. Your hands clench together in your lap.

“I’m scared, Olga.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but she hears every word.

“I want this. I want to be Ale’s daughter. She’s been more of a mom to me than my real mom ever was. I want to be part of this family, officially, but I’m terrified. What if one day she decides she’s not ready? Or she changes her mind?” Your voice cracks, but you push forward, words spilling out faster now, harder to control.

“What if one day you and Ale want to start a family and I prevent that? What if I just get in the way?”

Olga shakes her head instantly, but you don’t let her interrupt.

“I can’t let that happen,” you murmur, eyes locked on the pavement like if you look up, everything will become too real. “I spent my whole life praying for a family like this, one that wanted me, that cared about me, that let me just…be me. And now that I have it, I’m scared that once it’s real, once it’s official, it’ll all just—” You take a deep, shaky breath, voice barely holding together. “Go away.”

Olga doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, she pulls you into her arms, cradling you against her chest like she’s trying to shield you from every fear, every doubt, every ghost from your past whispering that you don’t deserve this.

You feel a tear drop onto your hair.

“Mi amor,” she whispers, voice thick with emotion. “Oh, mi corazón.” She pulls back just enough to cup your face, forcing you to meet her eyes. “Listen to me, and listen carefully. You are not in the way. You will never be in the way. Alexia, Eli, Alba, me, chose you. Not out of obligation. Not because we had to. Because we want you. Because we love you.”

Your breath shudders. “But what if—”

“No.” Olga shakes her head firmly, thumb brushing against your cheek. “There is no what if. This is your family. We are your family. And that is never going to change.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until she wipes a tear from your cheek.

You let her hold you for a little while longer, letting her warmth sink into your bones, letting yourself believe, really believe, that maybe, just maybe, she’s telling the truth.

Eventually, Olga presses one last kiss to your forehead and stands, holding out her hand.

“Ready?”

No. You’re not sure you’ll ever be ready. But you nod anyway and let her lead you inside.

The moment you step into the courtroom, you freeze.

The room is packed. Not just with Alexia, Alba, and Eli. Not just with Olga.

The entire Barcelona team is there. The coaching staff. Your friends: Vicky, Lamine, Alejandro, Héctor, Pau. People who have been there for you, who have stood by you, who have loved you without hesitation.

Your breath catches, and for a split second, that familiar panic claws at your chest. But then Alexia steps forward, smiling at you with so much warmth, so much love, that the fear starts to melt away.

She reaches for your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Come on, mi Estrelleta.”

You let her guide you forward, your other hand still holding onto Olga.

The judge begins speaking, but the words blur together. Your heart pounds as the moment approaches, as everything you’ve feared and longed for comes to a single point in time.

“Do you, Alexia Putellas, accept this young lady as your legal daughter, with all the rights and responsibilities that come with it?”

Alexia doesn’t even hesitate. “Sí. Always.”

“Then by the power vested in me, I hereby declare Alexia Putellas as the legal parent and guardian of ‘Estrella’ Putellas.”

The room erupts into cheers.

And before you can fully process what just happened, Alexia sweeps you into her arms, lifting you off the ground as you cling to her, burying your face in her shoulder.

“I love you,” she whispers fiercely into your ear. “Forever. Unconditionally. Do you hear me?”

You nod against her, too overwhelmed to speak.

“I’m never letting you go,” she promises. “Not now. Not ever.”

Even though you never responded, you believe it.

The party is in full swing. Laughter echoes through the house, glasses clink, music hums in the background. The Barcelona team is here, the coaching staff, your friends, everyone who has loved and supported you. There’s warmth, celebration, and a steady stream of people hugging you, ruffling your hair, calling your name with joy.

The air feels thick, the noise pressing against your skin, the walls closing in just slightly. Your heart beats too fast, and your breath comes too shallow. You can’t explain it; it’s not sadness, it’s not fear, but it’s something. A pressure in your chest, a weight in your throat.

Alexia notices. Of course she does. She’s been watching you all night, eyes flicking to you between conversations, gauging every twitch of your fingers, every shift in your expression. So when she sees you standing by the back door, shoulders tight, eyes distant, she excuses herself from a conversation with Lucy and moves toward you without hesitation.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just nudges your arm gently with her elbow. “Come on,” she murmurs, tilting her head toward the door. “Let’s get some air.”

You nod, relieved, and follow her outside.

The night air is cool, crisp against your overheated skin. The backyard is quiet, the noise of the party muffled behind the closed door. Alexia leads you to the steps of the patio, sinking down onto them, and you follow suit.

For a while, neither of you speak. You just sit there, breathing in the fresh air, letting the tension in your shoulders loosen bit by bit.

Alexia stretches out her legs, hands resting loosely on her knees. Then, after a moment, she glances at you. “Too much?”

You exhale, nodding. “Yeah. I just needed a second.”

She hums in understanding, gaze drifting up to the sky. “I get it. Big days like this… they don’t always hit right away. Sometimes it sneaks up on you later.”

You swallow, staring at your hands. “It feels real now,” you admit quietly.

Alexia turns her head slightly, studying you. “Does that scare you?”

You shake your head, but then pause, reconsidering. “Maybe a little. Not because I don’t want it. But because… I’m not used to things like this being permanent.”

Alexia’s chest tightens. She wants to tell you that this is different. That she’s not going anywhere. That this is forever. But she knows words alone won’t make you believe it. You’ve spent too much of your life with people making promises they couldn’t keep.

So instead, she shifts closer, draping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into her side.

You lean into her instinctively, letting yourself rest against her, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath. It’s grounding.

After a while, you break the silence. Your voice is quiet, but sure. “I called you mamá in my head today.”

Alexia goes very, very still.

You hesitate, then let out a soft, nervous laugh. “I’ve never called anyone else that before. Not really. I was scared to say it out loud. But… it felt right.”

Alexia exhales shakily, and when you glance up at her, there’s something raw in her eyes, something vulnerable, something that looks suspiciously like unshed tears.

She cups the side of your face, her thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, like she’s memorizing the moment. Then, her voice barely above a whisper, she asks, “Do you want to say it now?”

You hesitate. Just for a second. And then, you take a breath and let it slip past your lips, quiet but steady.

“Mamá.”

Alexia lets out a choked breath. Then she’s pulling you into her arms, holding you tight, her hand cradling the back of your head as she presses a kiss to your temple. “Mi niña,” she whispers, voice thick with emotion. “Mi amor. Mi hija.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing yourself closer into her warmth, into the safety of her embrace.

For the first time in your life, the word mamá feels like safe.

#barca femeni x teen!reader #barca femeni x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barca x reader #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #barcelona femeni x teen!reader #alexia putellas x teen!reader #alexia putellas x reader #olga rios x teen!reader #olga rios x reader #woso x platonic!reader #woso fic #woso x teen!reader #woso x reader #woso community #woso #⋆｡˚ stargirl

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stevieschrodinger · 11 months ago

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This is not how Steve wanted to spend his afternoon.

Actually, he’s found himself doing a lot of things he hasn't wanted to since Starcourt burned down but, honestly, this is probably right up there.

God it’s disgusting.

But he had to try. All the kids had looked at him with their stupid hang dog faces, so he said he’d try. Which is why he’s at lovers lake, freezing his ass off in the water and nipple deep into the shrubbery, ripping slimy crappy weeds and grass out of the muddy lake bed.

At least Robin got in with him. She’s shivering in her bathing suit, but she’s gamely holding onto the cooler as it floats in the water, so at least there’s that.

The bin full Upside Down vines next to the tank hadn't made much sense at the time, but it became apparent pretty fucking fast when the fish creature in Steve’s pool hadn’t eaten for forty eight hours, and Steve was now, finally, sober enough and not concussed enough to put two and two together.

Hopefully this works though; all the kids have, obviously, become immediately like, fucking pack bonded with the thing. Man. Fish Man.

El and Max keep insisting he’s a mermaid – Merman? Merdude? - like he’s something out of a fairy tail and is all magical and shit.

Steve takes a breath and ducks down again, having felt something hairy and frond like with his exploring toes.

“You think this is enough? Like as a fair test?” Robin rocks the half full cooler forward and Steve peeks in.

And alright, Steve just doesn’t want to fucking be here at all, so he says, “yep, looks good,” as they share a lightly guilty look.

It might not work at all, of course, so their wanting to give up is legitimate. They can always come back when it’s warmer if the fish man does eat this shit.

He certainly isn’t interested in the raw fish the kids have been trying to feed him – Steve’s going to be eating fish for a fucking month with what’s in his freezer now, and don’t those reprobates realize the price of fucking prawns??

The fish man wasn’t interested in meat either, not raw, not cooked – even though Dustin insisted that because of his ‘forward facing eyes’, ‘claws,’ and ‘slightly pointed teeth,’ he must be a predator Steve! The vines must have just been for, in his tank, or whatever, Steve!

Whatever.

Steve’s here to prove them wrong, and Robin’s backing him up.

The kids have gone home when they get back, which is a fucking relief. Even with the heaters in the car on full, Steve still feels cold in his bones. His skin warm and tingly, but the shivers still locked inside; him and Robin head for separate bathrooms without even really talking about it, fishboy has survived this long, he can do another twenty minutes.

Steve finds the biggest sting of kelpy weedy seaweedy stuff from the lake, and drags the tip of it in the pool. It’s dark out, the light from in the house reflecting on the surface of the pool, making it impossible to see where the creature might be hiding; until he disturbs the surface, a few seconds later.

Steve splashes the end in the water, “here fishy fishy fishy.”

“Steve,” Robin elbows him.

“What, it’s not like he has a name,” Steve doesn’t look at her though, he’s watching that strange pair of eyes come closer. They reflect the light strangely, like a wild animal in the headlights. His dark hair is plastered to the top of his head, being wet, and everything else is submerged.

Steve knows he can breathe fine for at least an hour out of the water though; that’s how long the rescue took. And then the bathtub; he was fine in there for a day while they drained the pool of chlorinated water and refilled it with fresh. And it was easy enough to get him in there; if he was human, Steve would say that fish dude was starving to death. Concave stomach, all his ribs clearly visible, pale flesh pulled too tight over the knobs of his spine. Steve had lifted him easily, the sad curl of his dull black tail hardly adding any weight to him. He felt frail, breakable; like a bird.

If there’s any lingering chemical in there, it doesn’t seemed to have hurt fishguy, but then a creature from the upside down must be tolerant to plenty, Steve thinks, imagining the constant fall of ashy dust from the dark sky.

The creature cautiously approaches, and when he’s near enough, there’s a gentle tug on the weed, like the most cautious of bites on a line. Steve lets go, and both fish guy and weed disappear under the water.

“Do you think it worked?” Robin whispers, like they’re viewing a skittish wild animal. Which, they kind of are.

“Don’t know,” Steve whispers back, unable to stop himself. There’s just something about someone whispering to you that’s irresistible; it’s like an unavoidable instinct to follow suit.

“How will we know if it’s worked?”

“Dunno. Try another? See if he takes it?” Steve’s just about to break open the cooler again when the head pops up. All of it, this time.

He has dark hair. So dark it looks black; thick and ropey, it kind of reminds Steve of the vines of the upside down. His face is...pretty much human; just very pale. When he’s got his mouth shut, hiding the slight point of those teeth, nothing would give him away.

He lifts a hand out of the water, offering something to Steve who, gingerly but reflexively, takes it.

It’s the stalk of the weed. The leaves are gone, and the fleshy green of the outside has been carefully stripped off; use for those pointy teeth. Steve guesses all the plant material of the upside down is actually probably quite sturdy and quite hard to eat. It probably also has the nutritional value of wet cardboard.

Steve offers another weed, and the fish dude doesn’t leave this time. Steve watches as he eats; quick, practiced movements, trimming leaves with his claws, rolling them, eating them, then just as Steve suspected, using his sharp teeth to strip the outer stalk of all it’s fleshy wet goodness.

Steve doesn’t shudder at the thought of the mud at the bottom of Lovers Lake.

“Steve one, Henderson zero,” Robin says quietly, the fish man tipping his head to the side, as if he’s listening. Steve’s seen it a lot, the amount that the kids chatter at him, but the fish guy tends to stay at the other end of the pool to them. Watching. Nervous, and frightened, if Steve had to put a label on it.

But then, wouldn’t anyone be? Stolen from your world by unrecognizable creatures in hazmat suits. Shoved in a tank. Probably experimented on.

The whole thing sounds shitty.

Steve offers another weed, and the fish guy repeats the process, floating closer still, “Robin, humor me, go and see what’s in the crisper drawer.”

She follows his logic immediately, “on it.”

Steve watches the creature, the fish man, and the fish man watches Robin warily, moving away from the edge again a little, but coming back when Steve offers another frond.

He takes it, strips it, hands it back.

“We need a name for you man, I can’t just keep calling you ‘fish dude’ and ‘creature’ in my head.”

Steve looks over at the house, figuring he has another minute before Robin comes back, he taps the middle of his chest, fishguys strangely gimlet eyes tracking to movement from his too thin face, “Steve.”

Nothing. He tries again, pointing to himself and tapping, “Steve,” and then pointing to the creature, trying to get him to understand.

Fish guy swims a little closer, raising a hand out of the water. Steve sees the stubby but pointy black claws, like little ovals on the end of his fingers. His webbed fingers, Steve sees next, webbing stretched between them up to the first knuckle. He hesitates for a moment, but Steve doesn’t move, wanting to see where this is going.

Fish guy points cautiously at the center of Steve’s chest, close but not touching, lifting far enough out of the water to reveal protruding collar bones. He opens his mouth, and Steve watches with baited breath, fish guy frowning like he’s concentrating, such a human emotion on his face.

Footsteps, then, and he drops back into the water, backing away into the middle of the pool, sinking down so only his eyes are visible. Steve remembers to breathe; he’s not imagining it, something was about to happen. But he can try again tomorrow, once Robin has gone.

“I got some lettuce and some frozen peas,” she whisper hisses at him as she sits again, handing them over.

“Gimme the lettuce,” that seems like the next nearest thing to Steve.

Part two

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #steddie ficlet #mermaid au #mermaid eddie #creature eddie munson #steddie fic #pre steddie #mermeddie #upside down creature eddie

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meazalykov · 6 months ago

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first lady

barcelona femeni x uswnt!reader

summary: the girls give you a nickname for being the first american on the senior team

the day you arrive at barcelona feels like a dream. the journey from being just another girl playing in american youth leagues to standing in the famed blaugrana colors is something you never imagined happening.

you walk into the training grounds two days after your signing was official, trying to keep your nerves in check. the weight of being the first american on barcelona femení’s senior team presses on your shoulders.

keep in mind you’re the first american on the senior team.. there is an american at la masia, onyeka, who you’ve been in contact with– you hope to play with her someday. she has been telling you about the fun experience playing in barcelona.

you’re humble but you can’t wait to see what onyeka is talking about.

the first person you meet is alexia. she approaches you with a calm confidence, her presence demanding respect even though she doesn’t say much at first.

“bienvenida,” she says simply, her smile small but warm. it’s clear she’s sizing you up, trying to see if you’re up to the challenge. there’s no coldness in her eyes though, just curiosity.

you return the smile, trying not to seem too overwhelmed.

“gracias. it’s an honor to be here.”

“we’ll see how you do in training,” she says shortly after she gets to know you, teasing, but the underlying tone is serious.

alexia is known for her dedication, and she’s testing you without even needing to. her acceptance means everything here.

from that moment, she takes you under her wing. she doesn’t hover or smother, but she’s there when you need her on and off of the pitch. during drills, she’s quick to offer tips, showing you the ropes of how barcelona plays—fluid, fast, and always a step ahead.

it’s a steep learning curve, but you thrive on it. your dribbling skills, honed from years of street-style play and youth development back in the states, shine here in ways even you didn’t expect.

you notice the way some of your teammates watch you closely at first—wondering if you’ll live up to the hype. the media had already dubbed you the "american girl version of ronaldinho" for your flair and trickery with the ball, and it seems the team had caught wind of the nickname, too.

slowly, as you start dancing past defenders in the league and champions league— leaving them in your wake.

the skepticism by the team fades, replaced by respect.

alexia seems particularly impressed by your ball control. during the first el clasico, after you nutmeg two defenders and finish with a perfect strike, she pulls you aside.

“not bad,” she says, though her smirk tells you she’s genuinely impressed.

“keep playing like that, and you’ll fit in here just fine.”

you start to settle in over the next few weeks. the locker room becomes a second home, the banter flowing easier as the language barrier fades.

you’re still working on your spanish, but with every day, you pick up more phrases, understanding the jokes, and joining in on the conversations.

the younger players, especially vicky, start warming up to you quickly. she loves your laid-back vibe, but also the intensity you bring on the field.

alexia, though, remains your closest connection. she never hesitates to correct you or push you harder in training. she also pulls you into the social side of the team. the late-night dinners, the coffee stops after practice, the little moments that build a bond off the pitch as much as on it.

two months in, you feel like you’ve found your place. the media continues to talk about your dribbling, and your presence as the first american on the team still makes headlines.

the comparisons to ronaldinho haven’t stopped, though they’ve started to bother you less. you just want to be seen as you—not a copy of someone else, no matter how legendary.

it is after one particularly grueling training session that the idea of a new nickname starts floating around the locker room.

you’re outside on the pitch with patri, perfecting your penalties while the rest of the team heads into the locker room.

inside, vicky, ellie, and ewa sit around, chatting while everyone cools down.

“so, what do you think we should call her?” vicky asks, leaning back against her locker.

“i mean, she’s amazing, but we can’t keep calling her ‘the american ronaldinho.’”

“yeah, she’s her own player,” ellie agrees.

“we need something that fits her.”

ewa, sitting across from them, grins.

“but it has to tie in with her being american, right? i mean, it’s a big deal. maybe not to her– but she’s the first american to play on the senior team for the women.”

ellie nods, deep in thought.

“maybe something with ‘first’? i mean, she is the first…”

they go back and forth for a while, throwing out suggestions. nothing seems to stick, though, until ewa suddenly straightens up, her face lighting up like she’s cracked the code.

“wait, i’ve got it,” she says, snapping her fingers.

“how about ‘first lady’?”

the room goes quiet for a second as everyone processes it.

pina raises an eyebrow.

“first lady? like... the president’s wife?”

ewa shrugs, still grinning.

“yeah, but think about it. she’s the *first* american on the team. it’s perfect. and it’s an american term, so it’s fitting.

"plus, y/n got elegance on the ball." patri notes.

slowly, the others start to nod, the idea settling in. salma, sitting on the opposite side of the room, lets out a laugh.

“that’s genius. she’s literally our ‘first lady.’”

before long, everyone’s onboard, laughing and testing out the nickname as they get ready to head out.

the whole team seems to love it, and as they file out of the locker room, they’re excited to see how you’ll react.

meanwhile, you’re still out on the pitch, working through your penalties with patri. by the time you make your way back inside, you’re sweaty and tired, but satisfied with the extra work. as you step into the locker room, you immediately notice the way everyone is looking at you, a few smirking, some trying not to laugh.

salma is the first to break.

“hey, ‘first lady,’ how’d the penalties go?”

you blink in confusion, pausing mid-step.

“wait, what?”

salma grins wider, the rest of the team now barely holding back their laughter.

“you know, ‘first lady,’ since you’re the first american here.”

it takes a second for it to click, but when it does, you burst out laughing, doubling over as you process the absurdity of it.

“first lady? seriously?”

the whole room erupts into laughter with you, and suddenly, it feels right. the nickname sticks, and soon, it’s all anyone calls you.

at first, it’s a playful joke, but after a few weeks, you realize it’s become your new identity within the team.

even mapi starts using it, giving you a teasing smirk during passing drills.

“first lady, over here!” she calls during one session, and you can’t help but shake your head, grinning.

as the season rolls on, you know you’ll keep proving that you’re not just the first american here—you’re their first lady.

masterlist

#barcelona femeni #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #esmee brugts #alexia putellas #vicky lopez #mapi leon #jana fernandez #keira walsh #aitana bonmati #kika nazareth

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estrellami-1 · 2 months ago

Text

March Mating Madness

Day 24: Arranged Marriage/Mating of Convenience & Day 25: Scentmates/Soulmates

North Dakota

Ao3 Link

“Munson,” Steve Harrington says, standing on his doorstep, because apparently this is the bullshit the universe is throwing at him today.

He sighs, steps outside. Leans against the doorframe with crossed arms and feigned nonchalance. “I don’t sell from home,” he tells Harrington. “You wanna buy, you can do it at the table behind the school.”

“No, I- I’m not here to buy,” he says. Eddie looks closer, realizes the confidence is feigned bravado. He’s scared.

Eddie narrows his eyes. “Then what are you here for?”

“A mating, hopefully.” He sighs, runs a hand through his perfect hair. “Listen, can I come in? Can we not discuss this outside? ‘Cause I know El’s here with Max and if I know them as well as I think I do, they’re spying on us.”

Eddie blinks, flicks his eyes over to the Mayfields’ trailer. Sure enough, a curtain slots back into place.

Eddie narrows his eyes again, but steps inside, holding the door open for Harrington. “Shoes off. How do you know Mayfield?”

“She’s pack,” he says simply, toeing his shoes off just inside the door. “They both are. There’s some boys too, you might’ve seen Lucas before? Sinclair? He and Max are dating. We’re all pack.”

Eddie motions to the couch, sits down. “You said you’re here for a mating.”

Harrington looks down at his hands, clasped in his lap. “Yeah.”

“I think I’m gonna need a little more than yeah, Harrington.”

He winces. “Um. My parents? They’re trying to marry me off to the highest bidder.”

Eddie’s brow hits the ceiling. “You? King Steve? No way.”

He winces again. “Could you please not call me that? I get that you hate me, and you have every right to, but I’m trying not to be that guy anymore.”

Eddie tilts his head in thought, then nods. “Alright. Still doesn’t mean I believe you.”

Irritation flickers over Harrington’s features. “Why the fuck else would I ask you to mate me, dude?”

Eddie shrugs. “A dare? Laugh at the Freak when he says yes? Any number of reasons, really.”

He scrubs his hands over his face. “I was really shitty to a lot of people,” he starts quietly. “And I get that this might be, like… cosmic judgement, or something. But I refuse to mate the person my parents want me to.”

“Why?”

He sighs. “Take your pick, man. It’s a business deal. He made a joke with my dad about, like, smacking me around, and… compliance, or some shit. He doesn’t see me as a person, he sees me as an object. Some… thing to have sex with whenever he wants it. To hell with whether or not I want it. He’s controlling, manipulative, and I know he won’t be faithful. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t get rejection sickness within the first year.”

Eddie blinks, sits back. “Shit, man.” He thinks for a moment. “And you’re asking for a bite because?”

“If I’m mated, my parents have no recourse, legal or otherwise. A bite should be enough to get them off my back.”

“And if it’s not?”

Harrington shrugs. “I run, I guess. I’ve got- y’know Robin? Buckley? From band?”

“I know of her, sure.”

“She’s… she’s my best friend. Like, in the entire world. She knows what my parents are planning. And if it comes down to it, we’ll run. We’ve got some savings tucked away, but it’s not much. But my whole life is here, my pack is here, and my parents aren’t. Much, at least. I don’t want to leave, at least not without my pack.”

“So why not ask her for her bite? She’s an Alpha too, right?”

“She is, but…” he shakes his head. “I can’t. Mostly because she’d do it.”

“And that’s a bad thing because?”

“Because it would fade. Or we’d separate, because as much as we’re gonna be in each other’s lives for the rest of our lives, we’re not… like that. We’re not meant to be together like that. And I can’t put her through that pain and heartbreak, if I have to bite her too.” He quirks a corner of his lips up. “Plus she’s a terrible liar. My parents would see straight through her.”

“And how do you know I’m a good liar?”

Hazel eyes flick over to him. “You were in theater. I took an educated guess.”

Eddie snorts despite himself. “That’s fair, I guess.” He tilts his head, sighs. “I’m still not sure you’re telling the truth, but say I believe you. What would I have to do?”

He works his lip. “It should just be a bite. That should be enough for them.”

“And if it’s not?”

He shrugs miserably. “I run, I guess. I go to Robin and we run.”

“And you think you won’t get isolation sickness from leaving your pack so quickly?”

“What other choice do I have?” He bursts out, an angry whine tearing its way out of his throat. “I can’t do what my parents want and if I stay in this town there’s no way for me to get away from them! I probably will end up sick but it’s better than fucking killing myself!”

“Shit,” Eddie whispers.

Steve puts his head in his hands. “I can’t,” he whispers. “I would. I’d find a way to kill myself because I know my parents and I know my dad’s friends. There’s no way I’d make it one step out of the door before they find me again. It’s running or suicide but I don’t actually want to die.” He sighs, long and drawn-out. “Yet.”

“Okay,” Eddie decides.

Steve peeks up at him. “Okay?”

“I’ll bite you. If your parents want to meet me, you’ll bite me. We’ll find a way to dissolve it after that won’t end up in sickness.”

Steve studies him. “You mean it.”

Eddie spreads his hands. “What gave it away?”

He cracks a smile. “Mostly the lack of any jokes.”

Eddie snickers, stands. “C’mon. I was about to make lunch when you showed up. Hungry?”

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah, actually. Thank you.”

Eddie makes mac and cheese, silently daring Steve to say something about the box, but he just meekly thanks Eddie when he’s handed a bowl.

“Y’know,” Eddie starts, mouth full, “you’re not who I thought you were.”

Steve blinks down at his bowl. “Um. Thank you?”

Eddie grins. “Yeah, it’s a compliment.” He swallows, looks down at his bowl to scrape together another bite. “Thought you were perfect, in the worst sense of the word. You’ve got the hair, the looks, the car… people of every secondary gender lusting after you. What could you possibly not have? Especially that I do?” He shrugs. “Choice, apparently.”

Steve huffs a breath out. Eddie thinks it might be a laugh, or something trying to be one, in any case. “Yeah. Most castles are also dungeons.”

“Shit,” Eddie murmurs, leaning back in his seat and regarding Steve with wide eyes. “You’re kinda metal, Harrington, you know that?”

He looks up at Eddie uncertainly. “Is that a good thing?”

“Hell yeah that’s a good thing,” Eddie agrees, stuffing another bite into his mouth. “You want the bite today? Or was today to just pitch the idea to me?”

“No, I- if I can, if you don’t mind- today, please.”

Eddie leans back, looks at the clock. “You got anywhere to be in… six-ish hours?”

“Um,” Steve says. “No?”

“Cool. I live here with my uncle, and he’s chill, he won’t mind, but he’ll definitely mind not knowing about it.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “Okay, yeah. Makes sense, I guess. So… you want to wait until after you tell him?”

“After we tell him. If you don’t mind telling him.”

“No, I don’t mind.”

“Okay. Until then,” Eddie grins, “I’m pretty sure you should know your Alpha more than just surface-level. Your parents are gonna have questions, right?”

“Probably,” Steve agrees, looking vaguely nauseous.

Eddie tilts his head. “Can I ask a question?”

“You just did,” Steve retorts, then colors. “Sorry. Yeah.”

Eddie snickers. “You’re kinda bitchy. I like it. Do you wear blockers because you want to or because you’re forced to?”

Steve’s breath catches in his throat. He glances at Eddie’s neck, his uncovered gland. “It’s- it’s not proper,” he starts, then bites his lip.

“That what your parents tell you?”

Steve nods.

Eddie hums. “I don’t mind. Wayne won’t, either. If you want to take the patches off.” He frowns. “Do you- wear them at home, too?”

Steve sighs, won’t meet his eyes. “I think, maybe, me being an omega is the improper thing.”

“Well fuck that,” Eddie says, grinning and winking at Steve. “C’mon. I’ll show you mine?”

Steve giggles, glancing at Eddie before looking away and peeling the patch off.

In just a minute, a new scent starts to filter through the trailer. Peaches and raspberries, and something a little sour from the anxiety starting to show on his face.

Eddie sends out reassurance, calm-happy Alpha scent. He knows from Wayne that it smells like pine and petrichor, and as soon as Steve gets a sniff he begins to calm down. “Oh,” he murmurs, glancing at Eddie’s neck, then back away. “You, um.” His cheeks flush. “You smell good.”

Eddie chuckles. “Thanks. You too. I like fruit.”

“Um,” Steve says, confused, “I like fruit, too?”

“No, ‘cause- ‘cause of your scent? Peaches and raspberries.”

Steve shakes his head, brows furrowed. “Robin says I scent like marshmallows,” he says. “What, um- what do people say you scent like?”

Eddie’s heart slams double-time in his chest. Says quietly, “I’m guessing to you I don’t smell like pine and petrichor?”

Steve’s eyes widen as he shakes his head again. “You scent like the beach, to me,” he whispers. “And, like- sunset? I know that doesn’t make sense, but-”

“No, I- I get it. The moment when the sun goes down and it gets cooler?”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, eyes still saucer-wide. “Are we-”

“Looks like it,” Eddie agrees, glancing at Steve’s neck and leaning over, extending a hand, stopping just before he touches. “Can I?”

Steve nods, eyes wide, so Eddie does, rubs their glands together. His eyes widen at the feeling that zings through him. He keeps a tight leash on his scent until he smells the peaches and raspberries bloom, sweet and floral and fruity. His eyes widen even more. “You’re… happy?”

The fruit suddenly turns, goes bad. “Um.”

“No, shit, I-” he scrambles over on the couch, grabs Steve’s hands, lets his own scent bloom and fill out, tangible happiness. “Steve.”

Fruit turns ripe again as Steve’s eyes meet Eddie’s. “You are too?”

“I’m a fuckin’ idiot,” Eddie tells him, “but yeah.”

“You are not.”

“Mhm. So is now a good or a bad time to tell you about the embarrassing crush I had on you starting your junior year?”

“No,” Steve gasps. “Really?”

“Yup. ‘Course, I a little bit hated you too, but that’s a separate issue.”

Steve snickers. “Of course.” He softens as he watches Eddie. “I am glad it’s you,” he says softly. “Out of everyone.”

“Why?”

Steve looks down at their hands, still intertwined. “The Alpha my parents chose for me wouldn’t let me make my own decisions. Would decide everything for me. Probably enforce a strict regimen for me. I’d be… nothing to him. He wouldn’t see me as a person. But you will.”

“Of course I would,” Eddie bites out, scent going tar-sharp. “Because you’re a fucking human being.”

Steve shrugs, squeezes his fingers a little. “He wouldn’t see it that way. A lot of people—Alphas, really, especially in the business world—still see omegas, especially male omegas, as… secondary. Sub-human.”

“Which is fucking stupid.” Eddie sighs. “Wayne’s a beta, so he… kinda gets it, y’know? So I kinda get it, like, by proxy.”

Steve hums, shifts. “Yeah. Okay, this is a complete one-eighty, but… I mentioned Robin, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. She’s my absolute best friend in the entire world, we’re closer than anyone. She’s an Alpha but we’re not, like, together. Is that… going to be a problem?”

Eddie makes a face. “What the fuck? No! Be friends with who you want to be friends with!”

“Oh, thank god,” Steve whispers, sagging against the couch. “We’re basically siblings, except we tell each other everything, and I do mean everything, and-”

Eddie snickers. “You wanna call her and tell her we’re scentmates.”

“Yes!” Steve exclaims, then pulls back. “Unless- is that-”

“It’s fine, is what it is. She’s probably gonna threaten me, isn’t she?”

“Yeah. Uh. She might threaten you. Sorry in advance if she does.”

“Steve,” Eddie says quietly, “you don’t ever have to apologize for someone loving you so completely.”

“Oh,” Steve whispers, staring at Eddie.

He inclines his head with a small smile. “Phone’s right there. Want me to talk to her after?”

“I- yeah, she- like we said, she’s gonna want to talk to you.” He frowns at Eddie. “You really don’t care?”

“That you’re friends? No.”

“We’re, like- it’s not just friends, though. She’s my soulmate.”

Eddie snickers. “As long as she’s not your scentmate. That would merit a talk.”

Steve smiles. “No, we’re not scentmates. Just… closer than any non-bonded people have any right being.”

“Steve,” Eddie reminds him, “my nickname is the freak. I’m pretty sure you can’t out-freak me.”

“You’d be surprised,” Steve murmurs, walking over to the phone and dialing Robin’s number.

They speak for a few minutes before he calls Eddie over. “Please be nice,” he begs her, then hands the phone over.

“-talking about, I’m always nice,” Robin retorts.

Eddie blinks. “Hello?”

“Eddie.”

“That’s me.”

“You’re Steve’s scentmate.”

“I mean. Yeah?”

Robin hums. “How do you feel about it?”

“Honestly?” He smiles at Steve. “Really good. I’m really happy.”

“And he explained how close we are?”

“He did.”

“What did you say?”

“He apologized for you threatening me, and I told him he never needs to apologize for someone loving him so completely.”

“Oh, shit,” Robin says knowingly. “Did he cry?”

“Almost,” Eddie chuckles. “Listen, Robin, you can properly threaten me later, but he wanted to call you as soon as we found out, so we haven’t really gotten a chance to talk yet. Maybe the three of us could do lunch later this week? My treat?”

“If you’re trying to bribe me out of threatening you, it’s only a little bit working. Lunch sounds good. Tuesday?”

“Tuesday?” Eddie asks Steve, who thinks, then nods. “Tuesday works,” he confirms.

“Tell Robin I’ll pick her up,” Steve whispers.

“Tell Steve he’s picking me up,” Robin says.

Eddie blinks, then bursts out laughing. “You two just said the exact same thing at the exact same time.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods.

“We do that,” Robin finishes.

Eddie shakes his head. “Damn that’s freaky. Okay, see you Tuesday, Robin.”

“Yup.” She hangs up, so he does the same, then pulls Steve back over to the couch.

“So.”

“So,” Steve parrots.

“We should probably talk more about your parents.”

Steve groans. “Probably.”

“If- if you don’t want to-”

“No, it’s- I can, just-” he bites his lip, looks at Eddie, looks away.

“What?” Eddie asks softly.

“Can, uh. Like, the hands is nice, but can we-”

“Oh,” Eddie says, catching on, “yeah, sweetheart, come here.”

Steve trills softly as he settles by Eddie’s side, leaning on him, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “So. What do you want to know?”

“I think it’s more a question of what they’re going to want to know about me. I know the type of person you’re talking about. I know I do my best to not associate with them.”

Steve scoffs. “Sounds like a dream.”

“It takes some work, but it’s worth it. You hopin’ to distance yourself from them?”

“I think so. Especially now- I never thought…”

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs, pulling him in closer, as if he could protect Steve from the thoughts in his own head. “You never think it could be you until it is.”

“Exactly,” Steve murmurs back, then sighs. “They’re going to want to know that you can provide for me. Not because they care about me, because they care about their image.”

Eddie snorts. “They’re going to love the fact that I’m a drug dealer, then.”

Steve giggles. “Probably not. Anything they’re going to want to know about you… they’re not interested in getting to know you. They’re interested only in their status, in how other people see them. In the stories they can bring back to their friends to prove that they’re better.”

“Well ain’t we just a slap in the face,” Eddie mutters, lip quirking up.

“We really are,” Steve agrees. “I don’t care, though. Once we’re bonded… you’re my Alpha. They have no legal recourse.”

“Would they try something illegal?”

Steve sighs. “Maybe. Probably. Depends on how much this Alpha was gonna pay them.”

Eddie’s silent for a minute. “I’ll have to talk to Wayne, but it shouldn’t be an issue. Space’ll be a little tight but I’ll find a job, I know the mechanic’s hiring and Bill’s a friend of Wayne’s, owes him a favor I think.”

Steve shifts back to look up at Eddie, brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Eddie blinks at him. “You moving in.” He waves a hand around. “If they’re gonna try something illegal, it’s gonna be a hell of a lot harder to do if you no longer live in their house.” He pauses suddenly. “I mean, of course, if you’d rather not move in, I get it-”

“You were right,” Steve says, snuggling back in to Eddie’s side, happy omega scent blooming. “You are an idiot. Of course I want to move in with you.” A pause, then, “you’d get a job?”

“Course I would. I need to take care of you, don’t I? Buy you sweet things to make you smile? Your favorite candy just because? A flower because I like the way you blush?” A blush crawls up Steve’s cheeks, and Eddie leans in to nuzzle it. “All those things cost money, darlin’, and dealing is a nice hobby, but it ain’t gonna cut it as my only source of income.” He shifts, shrugs. “‘Sides, uh. I dunno if you want pups? But I know what growing up as the son of a dealer was like, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Steve looks up at him, wide-eyed. “But not- you said-”

“Not Wayne,” Eddie soothes. “He’s my dad’s brother in name only. Dear ol’ Pa, may the devil be tap-dancing on his soul, was the drug addict of the family. Taught me some things, though. Like how to hotwire a car.”

Steve snickers. “Please don’t.”

“What if it’s your car? And you’re right there watching me?”

Steve wiggles around, turning where he sits to face Eddie and cup his face in his palms. “Eddie,” he begins, eyes wide and serious. “My car is my baby. You are not touching her.”

“Noted,” Eddie agrees. “Idea forgotten.” A pause, “your parents’ car?”

Steve collapses in laughter, leaning forward so his forehead rests on Eddie’s shoulder as he shakes with the force of his giggles.

He calms down a few minutes later, relaxing into the feeling of Eddie running a hand up and down in his back. “In all seriousness,” he tells Eddie, “they’ll definitely have you arrested for that. And it’ll be a hell of a lot easier to do what they want with me if my Alpha’s locked up.”

Eddie’s scent sours. “I was due for a pickup in about a week or so,” Eddie says thoughtfully. “I’ll tell Rick I can’t make it, won’t be his gofer any more. We can smoke the rest of my stash, it’s just weed. I’ll talk to Wayne tonight about talking with Bill sometime soon.”

“Eddie-”

“Steve,” Eddie interrupts softly, shaking his head with a small smile. “I was pretty done anyways. It’s no secret I had to retake senior year twice, and it’s a badly-kept secret that I’m a dealer. It doesn’t take much to put two and two together, even if it’s not right. People weren’t really buying anymore anyways.”

Steve looks up at Eddie. “Why did you have to repeat twice?”

Eddie hums. “Honestly? I kept forgetting to turn in my homework first go ‘round, and the second I decided I just… didn’t really care. This year I stepped it up, turned in my work, actually came to class… hell, I even participated in gym. I want to be the first in my family to graduate.”

“You will be,” Steve whispers. “I believe in you.”

Eddie hides his smile in Steve’s hair. “I’m glad.”

They spend the next hour or so talking on the couch until Wayne gets back, blinking at the boys cuddling on the couch, then moving on to the kitchen. “I’m makin’ grilled cheese, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“Sit down,” Eddie calls back, laughing. “That’s your tired meal, old man, you can’t hide from me. And we wanna talk to you anyways.”

Wayne sighs and sits in his chair, nodding at Steve. “Hello.”

“Hello, sir.”

“Wayne,” he corrects kindly. “I recognize you.”

“You, uh. You probably know my father.”

Wayne smiles. “Probably. ‘Ve been here long enough, I recognize just ‘bout everybody.” His eyes turn kinder, somehow. “Who’s your father, boy?”

Steve looks down. Eddie tightens his hold on Steve’s shoulders. “Richard Harrington.”

Wayne hums. “Yeah, I know ‘im. Knew ‘im, more like, left soon as he was able. Came back with a pretty little wife from the big city.” He leans slightly, catches Steve’s eye. “In this house, we don’t judge based on who your daddy is.”

“Thank you,” Steve whispers.

Wayne leans back, nods. “Now. Eddie?”

Eddie shakes his head. “It’s his story, Wayne. What I can tell you…” he looks down at Steve, smiles. “We’re scentmates.”

Wayne inhales sharply. “Well then,” he says, smiling at Steve again, “welcome home.”

Steve immediately tears up. “Shit,” he mutters, pawing at his face. “Sorry, I’m- thank you, I’m sorry, I don’t-”

Eddie shushes him, pushes his hands down, gently wipes his face. “Hey, sweetness, it’s okay. A little water never hurt anybody.”

Steve sniffles. “Hurt the wicked witch of the west.”

Eddie giggles. “Then it’s a good thing no one here’s a witch, huh?” He pushes out comfort, and Steve relaxes into him, letting his eyes flutter shut as Eddie wipes underneath them with his thumbs. “You’re home,” he whispers. “Wanna tell Wayne why?”

Steve looks up at him with hopeful eyes. “Can you?”

Eddie holds his gaze for a minute, then pulls Steve back in. “Sure I can.”

He tells Wayne what led Steve to the trailer earlier that afternoon. Wayne stays silent, then when Eddie’s finished, he nods. “Alright. So what’s for dinner?”

Eddie immediately looks to Steve, who shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. I’m not picky.”

“Steve,” Eddie tells him, “you’re both a guest and my mate. You get to decide.”

Steve’s eyes sparkle. “Then I decide that I don’t want to decide.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at Steve just as Wayne bursts out laughing. “You’re gonna be good for him, kid,” Wayne tells Steve, who grins back. “Grilled cheese sound okay to you?”

“Sure,” Steve agrees. “I can help?”

Wayne shrugs an unaffected shoulder. “You could,” he says. “Or you two could go into his room an’ make it official. And do whatever comes after that.”

Steve blushes at the implication, but can’t argue that he’s practically itching for Eddie’s bite. He turns to ask Eddie and is arrested by the look in his eyes.

“Up to you,” Eddie murmurs, hungry eyes tracking Steve’s every move.

Steve nods, stands, and approaches Wayne. He pitches his voice low as he asks where Eddie’s room is, and after Wayne tells him—also quietly—he glances back at Eddie, just once, before taking off.

He hears Eddie laugh behind him as he scrambles off the couch. “Oh, you fucker!” Eddie yells gleefully, chasing him into his room and tackling him onto the bed, laughing along with Steve up until he pushes his nose into Steve’s scent gland and inhales.

Steve whimpers loudly and pushes at Eddie’s chest. “The- get the door, please, Eddie-”

Eddie rolls off the bed with a half-hearted grumble and shuts the door before jumping back onto the bed, bracketing Steve with a grin. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Steve giggles.

“Are you ready?”

Steve settles his hands on Eddie’s waist. “Are you?”

“Almost,” he admits. “It feels a little weird, biting you before kissing you.”

A slight tug on his hips. “We can change that.” Steve leans up a little, nudges their noses together. Eddie pushes in until Steve’s laying down again. Eddie slides his nose off to the side, landing on Steve’s cheek as his lips barely brush Steve’s.

The grip on his hips tighten. “Don’t tease,” Steve begs, and Eddie acquiesces.

He pushes in harder, locking their lips together in a kiss that goes from zero to one hundred in less than a second as Steve parts his lips on a moan.

Eddie licks in between them with no hesitation. His aim is sucking Steve’s soul out from between his teeth, and based on the whimper that escapes, he’s successful.

He pulls back to pant out, “fuck, where’ve you been all my life, sweetheart?”

Steve gives a breathless laugh. “Right here, apparently, if it weren’t for my parents.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Eddie agrees. “Wanna bite you, baby, wanna show ‘em, give you my mark. Can I?”

“Fuck,” Steve breathes out, writhing. “Please, want it, Eddie, want you-”

“Yeah, I gotcha, baby, I gotcha, gonna mate you, omega-”

He latches his teeth into Steve’s skin and he goes boneless. “Alpha,” he whispers, horny and reverent, fingers pressing flower petal bruises into his hips.

“C’mon, ‘mega,” Eddie whispers back, blood in his teeth and sliding down his throat like honey. “Want your bite too, wanna complete it. Want you to feel me like I feel you.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, leaning up. “Yeah, please, wan’it-”

“Take it,” Eddie whispers, and slots his mark into Steve’s mouth.

Steve bites down and moans, and then Eddie moans, and he nudges his hips into Steve’s one last time—when had he even started?—and comes as Steve stiffens up, also coming.

Eddie collapses onto Steve, nudging his nose into Steve’s gland, as they both get their breath back.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes. “Shit. I didn’t know it could be that good.”

Eddie snickers. “And we haven’t even done anything yet.”

Steve looks at him mock-seriously. “I might actually die.”

Eddie laughs and starts sucking a bruise into Steve’s jaw. “Nah,” he pulls back to say. “I’ll be careful with you.”

“Fuck,” Steve mutters. “Eddie, can’t go again this soon.” He pushes ineffectually at Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie moves away from his jaw, kissing up his cheek and over to his mouth instead.

“I wanna say something crazy right now,” he tells Steve.

Steve’s eyebrows raise. “I doubt anything could be crazier than asking an Alpha you barely know to mate them.”

Eddie crawls up Steve’s body and rolls them over on the their sides. Says into Steve’s hair, “I love you.”

Steve pulls back to see his face. “You do?”

Eddie nods. “I know it’s insane, and way too soon-”

Steve bursts into tears.

Eddie’s heart drops somewhere into his left thigh. “Baby?”

Steve cries harder, but he’s still scenting sweet as pie, and Eddie is thoroughly confused.

He decides to give Steve a few minutes, and eventually he calms down, wiping at his face and sniffling. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Eddie tells him softly. “I’m just confused.”

“I just…” Steve waves a hand around, laughs at himself a little. “I fall fast, and I fall hard, and I’ve never… I’ve never met anyone who falls like I do. And it’s always me getting left with the broken heart. So for you to say it first, and after, like, three hours… I mean, yeah, it’s insane, but holy shit, Eddie, I love you too.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. “Good.”

Steve giggles, pressing back into Eddie’s chest. “Yeah. Good.”

Eddie sighs, wraps Steve up in a hug. “Now there’s just one thing to figure out.”

“What’s that?”

Eddie hums. “It’s not really an if Wayne heard us. These walls are ‘bout as thick as paper. So the question is, do you think we can sneak out the window, escape to North Dakota, and change our names?”

Steve giggles again. “Change our names? Who’d you be?”

“Hm,” Eddie thinks. “I always liked the name Joseph.”

Steve pulls back. “No!”

Eddie blinks. “No?”

“That’s my middle name!”

“Oh, shit!” Eddie laughs. “No wonder I like it!” He nudges Steve’s cheek with his nose. “What name would you choose?”

Steve sighs, settles back into Eddie’s chest. “I like the name Elias,” he admits softly.

Eddie’s quiet for a few moments. “Can I say something else crazy?”

“Hm?”

“I like Joseph Elias. As a baby name.”

Steve’s arms tighten around Eddie’s waist. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “Me too.”

A little over a year later, Steve holds Joseph in his arms as Eddie watches. “Our North Dakota boy,” Eddie murmurs, petting over Steve’s hair.

“Ours,” Steve agrees quietly, smiling up at Eddie.

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