#he deserves for his secret to be blown

[obsessiveloveistheonlylove]

Yandere bruce wayne with neglected!daughter reader

Seen a bunch of neglected reader fics recently but I haven't seen one of a Reader who slowly starts to take advantage of the situation and uses batfam for their money and connections so here's this! This only focuses on Bruce for now but if anyone is interested I'd be willing to do some for the other batfam members + hcs for when/if they snap and kidnap the reader. 

Was suppoused to headcanons but ended up more as long rambles than anything lol mainly set up for later posts detailing the situation

Pt1 it got too long, word count ; 2461

Unedited

___

Bruce is absolutely the most susceptible to this behavior, he feels the most guilt about the situation (as he should for being a neglectful father) and he is not going to lie to himself to try and save face and make himself feel better and if he does it's only for a short while before reality slaps him in the face and he has to see the truth. The truth is that there is no one to blame but himself.

When he first noticed your disappearance it had happened slowly… entirely too slow when he really took the time to think about it. You had been gone for a full year and he hadn't even noticed? Were you even old enough to be on your own like that? Something he felt ashamed that he even had to ask. When Alfred informs him that you're nineteen just this month he's shocked not only that you're an adult and that he didn't even realize your birthday had passed but that he couldn't even remember your face. He searches his memories for your Visage but all that he can recall is murky; he can't even remember the correct shade of your eyes or your hair and it startles him how long has it been since he took the time to properly look at you? 

It takes some time but eventually he remembers your face with sudden clarity, he hadn't seen it in a while and the only image he could conjure up was when he first saw you, a small helpless looking child left on his doorstep by commissioner Gordon.  your eyes held the same dull glassy look that his did the night his parents died, you had lost your mom in a similar vein he felt he could relate to at the time. he remembered seeing you and feeling sad for you but not in the way a father does for his child the way he felt was the same way he felt as Batman seeing victims in Gotham streets you didn't deserve this life but you weren't anyone close to him. 

His chest aches and he remembers the way you'd clung to him your first week in the manor and then the way you wilted when he shut that down, it wasn't like he was trying to hurt you but he couldn't have you following him around everywhere especially not when gothams crime was getting out of hand even with the other members picking up his slack. So he reprimanded you, way too harshly now that he looks back on it he knows he only meant to keep you from discovering his secret but he could have worded it better instead he made it sound like you were a burden. Maybe you were to him at the time he thinks and is disgusted with himself for even letting the thought cross his head. 

He reads your diary page after page until he reads through the whole thing. The first few pages are hopeful but solemn detailing how much you missed your mother but you're glad that you have a whole new family and you hope that they will like you, it's heartbreaking to read that kind of childish hope turn into sadness and then hate. You detailed how no one would make time for you that you'd tried everything to get their attention but you'd get blown off by each one it turns into rants about you asking what was wrong with you and why no one ever spent any time with you the writing was scribbled on so he knows you did it in a hurry just to vent out your frustration. The part that hurt most were the pages about him, you had nothing good to say about him in fact in one of the pages you had written that you didn't have much to say about him at all that you hardly knew him and barely saw him once a month and couldn't even call him your father. 

Surely that couldn't be true right? He's not the best father figure by far but he always tried to make time for dick, Tim, Jason, Steph, Damian and Cass ... .surely he did for you. 

He tries to find memories of him being a good father or at least trying to be any kind of father figure to you at all but he can't he can only see the times he rejected your pleas to spend time with you for things he deemed more important than you he sees it clearly each time he rejected you how you got sadder and sadder how you seemed to wilt at each and every rejection until you stopped asking. 

he tries to tell himself that he did it for your protection that he just didn't want to get you involved in the crime fighting scene and since gothams streets were never without crime he spent an exorbitant amount of his time as Batman down in the batcave or out fighting crime with his other children and that's why he couldn't spend time with you. And that's why he seemingly had so many memories with them in the recent years; hell even in the recent weeks he has more memories with dick and the others than he ever had made with you. he tries to use it as an excuse to mask the truth; that you didn't matter in the grand scheme of his life, at least not then but he's going to do everything to make this right.

You'll be surprised to suddenly get a ton of texts from an unknown number even more so when you find out it's from bruce. Suddenly he's asking you how you've been, how was the move, are you in college right now, what major did you take? Obviously you're taken aback when the man who acted like you didn't exist suddenly wants to know everything about you. You would think he'd needed something but you know better than that what could he possibly need with you now? You don't have any money and he wouldn't need that anyways. Maybe he's dying and needs a kidney or something…whatever you don't care that man can rot. 

You leave his messages on read of course, because you don't owe him a response and well maybe to be a bit petty and give him a taste of his own medicine. You don't know how bitter the taste is in Bruce's mouth, he knows you've seen them so why won't you respond? Bruce usually isn't a multi texter but he'll send more and more trying to get any kind of response out of you, he's constantly checking his phone hoping to see three little dots appear and he's noticeably slightly more angsty when out patrolling with the others. 

The texts were annoying but you could mute his notifications and after the first few weeks you basically forgot about the texts going about your normal life until he started calling. It seemed like he was always calling Day in day out, you blocked his number because of how annoying it was but he always just gets a new one leaving the same text “ hey your name its dad” and then the calling would resume. 

One day you pick up and Bruce sounds so relieved when he says your name into the receiver you figure he might really need that kidney if he sounds this excited to see you.

When you answer back he knows you aren't excited in fact you sound completely disinterested in him which takes him by surprise, isn't this what you wanted? What you cried for in your diary begging God that your father would notice you. You're older now so maybe you just aren't looking for that kind of attention anymore, the thought haunts him the idea that he could never truly make it up to you still he pushes through his voice sounding nervous as he starts to tentatively ask about your day. You cut him off with a scoff after some terse conversation telling him to just get to the point already and stop wasting your time. 

The silence is deafening and you almost hang up before he croaks out a response “sorry name, I just wanted to know what you were up to I know we uh.. haven't talked in awhile I just wanted to hear from you and know that everything was alright”  could this really be your father? He sounds so pathetic to you at that very moment, nothing like the confident man you saw on television often nor the man you saw taking care of everyone but you. 

And no nothing was alright you were working a job you hated in some shitty little apartment in Gotham that you had to fear if it would get broken into or not because the damn landlord wouldn't change the faulty locks a rage takes you and you just let it all fall out cursing him for your shitty life and the shitty apartment and for being a shitty father letting all that rage out until you're left heaving.  its silent after your outburst you think he might have hung up but after a moment he offers to pay for a new place and offers to pay your current rent until you can break the lease and that he will take care of you and not to worry about anything financial telling you to quit your job and to send him your bank so he can get things sorted out.  

At first you wanted to vehemently deny this, wanting to prove to yourself that you didn't need him or his help but something In the back of your head tells you to accept it, that if he expects anything back for it then that's his fault for assuming. So you tell him and soon there's a large sum of money in your account more than you have ever had in there. For once you can actually afford to treat yourself instead of eating shitty microwaved ramen, and so you dine out in a nice reasonably expensive restaurant with your friends and you enjoy yourself. 

A week passes in silence and then he's sending you pictures of luxury apartments telling you to pick out any one you want and that he'll get everything settled and you almost can't believe this. Would he actually pay for something so outrageously expensive? You almost doubt it but once your lease is up Bruce is at your door helping you move out any furniture you wanted to keep which was almost nothing seeing as everything was already worn out anyways. 

You didn't say much to him and he seemed to realize you were in no talking mood so he allowed you to be quiet and told you about himself instead talking about the boys and what he'd been working on recently, it feels like what he should've been for you years ago an interaction you'd have killed for when you were fourteen and it just pisses you off so you turn on the radio instead to drown out his words. You don't care how he's doing, you don't want to hear about dick or damian, you're only accepting his help because you're tired of living in that shitty apartment. The ride is otherwise silent except for the annoyingly upbeat pop music which would probably make Damian or Jason have an aneurysm if they had to listen to it. 

The goodbye is  awkward. You can tell Bruce wants to come inside and talk more but you thank him for helping you move in the furniture and shut the door. 

He buys you new furniture without you asking and sends it in by the second week you're in the apartment. You don't realize that he stalks your posts and that he saw one of you complaining about the lack of good furniture.

Life has never been better for you, you live in luxury and can go on shopping sprees literally whenever you want and Bruce sends you a random stream of cash whenever you start to get low and you're definitely not going to look a gift horse in the mouth not when you enjoy every luxury you are afforded. 

Life is good until a certain black haired prick starts inserting himself into your life and this time it isn't bruce, nope it just had to be your annoyingly bubbly, touchy, and all too friendly ‘stepbrother’ dick grayson.

___

So yeah all in all Bruce has the capability to recognize your strained relationship is all his fault and that he never should have ignored you and how selfish he was to put his duties as Batman above his duties as a father to you. He realized he didn't even try to balance the two. 

And Despite himself he ended up hurting you and neglecting you so he feels he owes it to you to make things right even if 'making things right' entails him buying you a luxury apartment or purchasing the latest phone or new car. The best part is that Bruce will not demand time from you (yet) because of his guilt.  He simply suggests that maybe you should come out with him saying that he planned a whole day for the two of you but the ball is in your court since whether or not you ever accept his invites he will continue to be your cash cow to absolve himself of his guilt. 

It's fun because now you get to watch him wilt everytime you reject his attempts at reconnecting, you get to have your petty revenge watching as a part of him dies inside each and every time you ignore the conversations he tries to start when pulling money out of the bank,  you get to watch how he seems to lose all of his luster when you leave once the cash is in your hands without so much as a thanks. Bruce isn't stupid he knows this dynamic is unhealthy and recognizes it for what it is but this is the only way he can get you to talk to him or to even look in his direction. He has his limits though eventually you will talk to him whether you want to or not 

[aerynwrites]

Longing

Halsin x Fem!Reader

A/N: I have been burning with an intense CRAVING for Halsin and there is such little fic about him (although there are some good ones out there 👀) so I had to do my part and add to the pool 😏 hope y’all enjoy!

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, reader is insecure about her virginity, talks of inexperience, love confessions, Halsin is a sweetheart, references to NSFW content. Very very minor spoilers for act 2.

Part 2

The fur of the rabbit is soft between your fingers as you prepare it. Yet, despite having a knife in your other hand and your task being a delicate one, you can’t seem to focus.

Your eyes keep drifting back to the druid across camp chopping wood for the fire. The axe is a large one, heavy - heavier than you’d be able to lift. Yet the large elf manages to bring it up above his head and swing it back down with a grace you never understood how he possessed.

The muscles in his shoulders ripple with each movement, accompanying the rythmic thump of the axe through wood. His soft grunts as he pulls it from the stump he’s using before placing the next log onto the surface and starting the process all over again.

“The rabbit is already dead, darling.”

The familiar voice rips you from your staring as your head whips around to see none other than your vampiric companion standing over you, a smirk tugging at his lips. You huff at him before looking down to the rabbit by your knees and heat rushes to your cheeks. What should have been a simple skinning job to get the meat ready for dinner has turned into a mess. Cuts in the wrong places, the hide nowhere near usable anymore.

You look back up just in time to see Astarions red eyes go from you, to Halsin, then back again. His smile grows. He shifts his feet, one arm resting across his chest as he gestures with his other to Halsin.

“You know, you could paint a portrait. It would last longer.”

Your cheeks somehow get even hotter, as you turn back to the rabbit in front of you, doing a much better job than earlier.

“Leave me alone, Astarion,” you mumble, cursing internally when the elf lowers himself to the ground beside you, arms resting on his knees.

“And why would I do that, when teasing you gives me so much joy?”

You can’t stop the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Okay, well you got me all flustered. So now that’s out of the way, did you need something or did you really interrupt your reading to bother me?”

The vampire sighs, leaning back on his hands as he looks over to you. “What I need is for you to finally jump that druids bones.”

You nearly choke as the words leave his lips, looking around to see if anyone heard and feeling heat creep up your neck once more as you see Shadowheart failing to hide a chuckle.

You turn to face your friend, eyes narrowed. “Could you be a little more quiet? I don’t need the whole camp hearing you.”

Astarion laughs this time, loudly, and it draws more glances than you’d like. You roughly shove the man next to you before he can speak.

“Your next words better be a whisper or I’m going to stab you ” you threaten, poking the knife in his direction.

Astarion places a hand over his heart, faux hurt in his eyes. “You wound me, darling. I’m just trying to help you. Plus,” he gestures to the camp, “it’s not like your attraction is a secret, nor Halsin’s.”

You shake your head turning back to grab another rabbit, embarrassment welling up in your chest. “He doesn’t…” you trail off, getting defensive. “Nothing’s there, Astarion. So can we please just drop it?”

Of course, he doesn’t.

“Look,” he starts, “all I’m trying to say is that neither of you are benefiting from holding back so…indulge, for once. Gods know we all deserve it.”

You ignore him. Curling in on yourself at the mention of…indulging. There nothing wrong with it of course. Everyone at camp has blown off steam along this adventure. Just…not you.

And the vampire must be able to tell too, because at your silence he straightens up, brows pinching in the rare way that shows he’s concerned.

“Wait, have you never…?” he gestures vaguely in the air.

His words, despite their genuine curiosity, strike a chord in you. You stand abruptly, tossing your work to the ground and stabbing your knife in the dirt.

“No I haven’t. Not that it’s any of your business.” Your words are louder than you intended and draw the eyes and ears of your other companions.

Astarion softens, obviously not expecting this reaction. “I didn’t mean to upset you-“

You clench your fists at your sides, interrupting him. “You never mean to Astarion but -“ You cut yourself off, taking a deep breath. “You’re such an ass sometimes.”

You turn on your heel and storm from camp before anyone can stop you, ignoring the concerned gaze of a certain druid.

———

The water is cool against your skin as you squat by the stream’s edge, rubbing at your hands as you try to get the blood off of them.

You feel foolish now, storming off like that. But Astarion pointing out your inexperience just struck you. It’s not something that’s ever bothered you before. Especially not in recent months since dealing with the tadpole. You all have more important things to worry about.

But the moment you rescued Halsin…it’s like something changed. You were instantly drawn to him. His kind smile and thoughtful words. His care for everyone and everything in nature.

And he flirted with you.

The memory is still fresh in your mind. The night of the tiefling party after you had stopped the ritual at the druid camp and saved Halsin. You were worried you were talking his ear off, but he was attentive the whole conversation. Answering your questions and asking some about you.

Then he said those honeyed words. Suggested celebrating by spending the night with someone special. Implied he would spend it with you if his mind wasn’t elsewhere.

You withdraw your hands from the water to drag them down your face as more memories surface.

More flirtatious banter and kind words. Thoughtful conversations and fighting side by side. The night sat by your bedside nursing you back to health after a particularly nasty fight. After Ketheric Thorm almost took you out.

Your side still aches with the memory. But the thought of his hands with their soothing healing glow, makes the ache subside.

You sigh, sitting back into the grass as your eyes lock onto the slowly gurgling stream, Astarion words playing over and over in your head.

Indulge, for once.

You want to. Gods do you want that.

You’ve spent many sleepless nights thinking about it. About his lips against yours, his hands on your skin, the sweet words he’d no doubt whisper against your ear.

You shudder at the thought before shoving it away. Because any time he hinted at that - showed any interest in you - you would be so elated before insecurity took over.

Halsin’s views on love and intimacy are no secret. You’d asked him once about current lovers and while he did confide no one currently held his affections back home he also expressed that there were others in the past.

Others. Plural.

And you’ve never been with anyone. Not physically or emotionally, you’ve never trusted anyone enough.

Not until now.

You sigh, frustration creeping back in as you press the heels of your palms into your eyes before quickly standing up. You need to apologize to Astarion and finally, maybe, talk to Halsin.

You turn on your heel to do just that when you run straight into a solid mass. You gasp, stumbling backwards just as two strong hands reach out to steady you, gripping your wrists firmly.

Once steady, you look up to see none other than the man haunting your thoughts smiling down at you.

“You must have been very deep in thought for someone like me to sneak up on you, little one.”

You have to suppress a shiver at the nickname. A moniker he’d given you since you teased him about his size at the beginning of your friendship.

You shake your head, moving to step away and only stopping when his hands let go only to slip down and take your own gently.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I was just…thinking.”

Halsin stares at you for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face before he steps away, gesturing down the first path, one hand still in your own.

“Walk with me?” he asks. “I know being in nature helps me clear my head of even the darkest thoughts.”

You give a hesitant nod and follow him as he turns towards the path, not able to stop the smile when he doesn’t drop your hand.

———

The walk is mostly silent, a comfortable silence, but silent nonetheless. And you are grateful for it, not sure what you would say if Halsin were to ask what has you so upset.

But, silence can’t last forever it seems, because eventually the large Druid breaks through the sounds of nature surrounding you to speak.

“I overheard your conversation with Astarion,” he says, voice gentle. Probing, but not not forcing you to talk if you do not wish.

You stiffen, your pace slowing slightly, wanting to pull away from the man at your side. But his sure grip on your hand keeps you in place. The warmth of his skin on yours puts you slightly at ease.

“You…you heard that?” you ask, cringing internally. “You were across camp.”

The druid chuckles, gesturing to his ears with his free hand. “One of the curses of us elves. Impeccable hearing. Even when we don’t wish for it.”

You can feel your shoulders creeping up to your ears. Embarrassment settling in once more. “You were listening to us? To me?”

Halsin shrugs. “Not intentionally,” he admits, slowing his steps until you’re both stopped and he’s facing you. “But I find my attention turning towards you more often than not these days.”

His words tie your tongue and before you can gather enough sense to respond he continues.

“Nature works in mysterious ways, little one,” he tells you, eyes never leaving your face. “There is no one way to traverse it, and others journey do not define your own. Each one is unique, as it is intended.”

His words are beautifully woven, as always. And despite his cryptic deliverance, you know the meaning behind his words.

He’s comforting you. And once again, he speaks before you can detangle the jumble of thoughts in your head.

“And,” he reaches out, placing a curled finger beneath your chin to urge you to look up at him, “if it’s any encouragement, I seek you out as much as you do me. Possibly more so.”

Your eyes widen, heart stuttering in your chest at his words. He…does he feel the same way? Rationally you know he does. But that ever familiar self doubt, the tiny voice in your mind has always brushed away the flirting - the kind words and gentle touches as just part of his nature. None of it is reserved just for you.

Right?

Halsin smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners gently as he looks down at you. “Is that really such an outlandish thought? That I return your affections?” He pauses, “unless my heart has run ahead of itself and I have misread-“

You stop him then, reaching up to place a staying hand on his own beneath your chin.

“No! You haven’t…you haven’t misread,” you assure him, trying to still your racing heart.

His smile never falters, his other hand finally coming up to cradle the back of your head, teasing soft strands of hair between his fingers.

“That is good to hear,” he says, pulling you ever closer, his nose almost brushing yours, “it puts this old druid's mind at rest.”

Gods, you can’t breathe. The air in your lungs refusing to expel as he lean even closer, lips a hairbreadth away from your own. Your body sings with anticipation, your skin hot despite the cool air ushered in by the sun sinking below the horizon, the days last rays barely filtering through the trees.

“Can I kiss you, my heart?”

Halsins words are soft, barley a whisper and nearly drowned out by the sounds of nature around you and the roaring of blood in your ears.

You nod. “Please-“

The word barely passes your lips before he descends upon you, sealing his mouth with your own.

It’s both everything you expected and completely surprising at the same time. His hands are sure as he pulls you into him, one hand still cradling your head as the other slips down to your hip before wrapping around your waist. Yet his lips, the kiss itself is…soft. Gentle. Loving. The action speaks louder than any words either of you have said to one another. Louder than the words you never worked up the courage to speak.

Finally, your mind catches up with you, and your hands slide up his chest to clutch tentatively at his shoulders.

Halsins still hasn’t broken away from you, and when his tongue brushes against your lips you let him in. You tug him closer then, one of your hands sliding up to rest at the back of his neck eliminating any empty space between you as his tongue slides against your own.

He only pulls away when he must sense your need for air, but he doesn’t go far, lips pressing gently to the corner of your own, and then another to your jaw.

You’re breathless.

Chest heaving against him, as he pulls away just enough to look at you once more.

“As much as I’d love to continue…” his hand squeezes your hip gently, “we should make our way back to camp. I can imagine our absence as stirred gossip with our vampiric companion and..” he sighs, pressing another soft kiss to your lips. “I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

You can’t surprise the shiver that runs down your spine, or the smile that tugs at your lips.

“I’m…I’m okay being overwhelmed if it’s like that,” you tell him breathlessly.

Halsin laughs, a deep down genuine laugh that makes your heart sing even as he steps away from you.

“Then I will overwhelm you in all the ways I know how.” He promises, eyes trailing over you heatedly.

Your stomach does a flip at his words, and the effect they have on you must show on your face because Halsin chuckles again, leaning in to press one last kiss to your cheek before tugging you back in the direction towards camp.

“Another night, my heart,” he says, thumb brushing over your knuckles from where your hand remains in his own.

You let out a shaky breath, and nod, smiling as you walk closer to him. “I’m holding you to that.”

“I hope you would, though I doubt I will forget such a promise,” he assures before letting silence blanket you both one more.

You can’t stop the thrill that runs through you at his words.

Yes, I’ll hold you to that promise indeed.

[backwzzds]

Toji getting out jail and showing us some appreciation 🙈🙈

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ daddy’s home, toji fushiguro (nsfw)

omg bc prison bf!toji would be something interesting.

the story would be that before prison, toji was the ORIGINAL scammer. all these mfs his sons forreal. of course with being a hired professional hitman, it came with its financial perks, all of which he’d used to spoil his pretty little princess.

you lived comfortably well. you’d known toji since he was just a bum scrounging for any type of work, so you actually got to see the come up frfr. though you’ve always loved him from the start (even when he was broke), he was nearly 10 years older than you. just in your early twenties, you always told him—you did not deserve any type of struggle love. and a struggle life toji lived indeed. you assured him that if he was really about you the way he always swore he was—he’d do whatever he could to support for you.

and support for you he did!

it wasn’t anything about being a gold digger—you just had standards. toji chased after you for years and you loved it—but you knew you deserved better when he couldn’t even take care of himself. by the graces of whoever allowed him to stumble upon a secret job that could land him 1 mil cash—500 upfront as a deposit and the rest later—toji was yours the moment he proved to you he could take care of you indefinitely.

ass ironic as this sounds, he was actually arrested on false charges. the nature of the charges were true on everything—but the actual person they were accusing him of executing and murdering, he simply did not do. the courts didn’t care though, they just needed someone to hang for it and make an example out of them. that led to toji being sentenced to life in prison.

but thanks to his crooked ass lawyer, the piece of shit was out in 6 years.

you nervously tapped your acrylic nails on the pink wrap of your car as you leaned against the passenger side of the door. it seemed as if today was release day for a few other prisoners, seeing as a group of men walked out with plastic bags, all while staring you down. your arms remained crossed over your fat tits barely being able to breathe in the baby tee you wore to accompany your long flowy skirt as you awaited for your own man to re-enter the world again.

the minute another person leaves the building, your eyes meet with the familiar man’s. it was almost as if your energy was instantly drawn to his, because you immediately recognized him off the bat. toji is blown away by your beauty. you were always fine, but damn, watching you outside of a bulletproof plexi glass was top tier when he finally got to see your fuller ass and pudgy stomach in person again.

the second he’s in your vicinity again, instead of doing the normal thing like hugging him—you slapped the shit out of him.

“ow’!” toji groans. “fuck was that for?!” the old man rubs the spot you hit him in, giving you a fearful look. toji didn’t fear anyone or anything, but you had to be at the top of that list, especially when you were upset.

you give him a knowing look with your hands on your hips. toji rolls his eyes and grips your waist, “tch, i told ya i didn’t do that shit!” he groaned, referencing the one crime he was actually innocent for. “but with all the trouble that dead bastard put me through, wish it was me.”

you mirror his previous actions and do a double take in his physique. you weren’t the only one who got finer. toji’s waist got smaller—probably from starving himself like you told the fucker not to—but his build was more muscular, yet lean. he had an unimaginable number of new tattoos hidden under his normal clothes, and you couldn’t even think about what more laid hidden beneath his thick jeans.

toji fully notices your gawking eyes and gives you a cocky smirk with the scar on his lip fully rising. “miss me mama?” a smile can’t help but form on your own lips as you embrace him in a tight hug. not feeling the love enough, toji wraps his arms underneath you, fully lifting you from the ground. with your legs now around his waist, you were finally face to face with the man of your life.

toji leans into you and pecks your lip ever so lightly. with the sun in his view, he still got the best look of just how perfect you really were. “i missed ya,” he says so low, you barely catch it. “missed ya so much. went crazy dozens of times from you not being with me.”

it was strange for toji to be so vulnerable. but his time under made him realize just how ungrateful he really was for all the great things in his life. how ungrateful he really was for you. he vowed that when he did get out—if ever—he wouldn’t waste a minute without reminding you how he felt about his little girl.

with a proud smile on your face, you run your manicured thumb over the callous of his aging skin. you kiss the small scars there and then his lips. snuggling your head in his neck, you whisper, “let’s go home daddy.”

and that was how you ended up here, face down and ass up into your own mattress.

“you gonna tell daddy you missed him yet?” toji grunted while thrusting in and out of you. the ripples of your fat ass had him in a trance. “been almost seven years since i been in this pretty pussy’a yours. think i deserve at least that, baby.”

you whine into your pillow, drool pooling from the sides of your mouth. you wanted to play stubborn; let toji know that if he ever went to jail for something so stupid again, he wasn’t gonna see you or your pussy he loved so much.

your silence results in a hard slap to your ass. “ahh!” you yelp out, leaning forward into your white duvet. with another harsh smack and then the smooth rubbing of his large hand, toji smirked at the reddening imprint forming on the terrain of your pretty brown ass. “this ain’t about you!” you can’t help but seethe out to his previous statement. your voice is muffled by the fluff of your pillow, “i suffered these last seven years. not you.”

toji slows in his movements. you were so right. he knew how much you longed for him. your big hunky man that walked the streets with you 24/7 was no longer by your side to protect you like he usually did. he left you open. he left you vulnerable. though he’s had his people, geto and gojo watching over you, it wasn’t enough, you constantly slept in fear. you walked in fear. you lived in fear.

you didn’t know why, but suddenly all the emotion you felt in the past seven years came flooding to you. tears flowed from your eyes and you were crying. but from the pulsing grip your pussy had around his dick, toji knew you wanted more.

“look at me,” toji’s voice is muffled. when you made no effort to move, too ashamed to rven be crying at a time like this, toji pulls out of you and softly grabs you by the hips, turning you over so that your back was no against the mattress and you were facing him.

swiftly, the older man slides back into you, but this time moves inside you with more care. toji’s body is so close to yours, your hard nipples are brushing against his own with every thrust he makes.

“‘m sorry,” toji whispers with every rut into you. “daddy’s so sorry baby. didn’t mean to abandon you the way i did.” you could hear the genuineness in his tone as he stops fucking you, but begins to make love to you. “can’t imagine how scared you must’a been these past few years. haven’t been taking care of you the way i promised all those years ago.”

more tears flow from your eyes as toji brings you to your building orgasm slowly. “know you can’t forgive me for being so stupid ‘n careless now. ‘s gonna take some time. i know that. but jus’ lemme in again mama. let daddy back into your heart ‘n i promise i’ll take acre of you again.”

“daddy,” you sob. “‘m close,” is the only words that could leave your mouth. “don’t leave me, please. ‘m so close.” you were begging to cum, but deep down toji knew you were also begging him to stay.

toji brings his hand down to your pretty pussy and rubs at your clit as his lips engulf in yours. with just a few touches, you were creaming over his fingers and crying into his mouth.

“never gonna leave you again, mama. daddy’s home now.”

[scuderiasundays]

better together

summary: airline lounges, box box widgets, and a cheesy greeting card 💌

words: 1,045

a/n: the romcom girlie in me has always wanted to write a meet-cute and i've been listening to too much lizzy mcalpine! tagging @vamossainz55, @sainzcaleruega, @monzabee, @ssainzz, @diorleclerc, and @userlando just because. let me know if you'd want a part two! hugs and kisses 🫶🏼

Love comes when you least expect it. Those same old words had fallen from the lips of every person you knew, so much so that they now felt weightless. On this particular evening, you found yourself at your best friend’s wedding reception, zoning out at the open bar. You nodded along as some man who’d had one too many G&T’s rambled on about his meet-cute on the Paris metro. Seeing two people you adored make a lifelong commitment only reaffirmed the fact that you craved the same.

It was no secret you weren’t exactly the MVP of the single scene. On any given night out, you’d leave the club before midnight to get a full eight-hour snooze. Dating apps were a no-no, as reruns of Catfish had made you skeptical about “finding the one” online. At work, you kept a low profile, socializing just enough to have a tight circle of work friends. It was as if you were coasting on autopilot, wanting love but hesitant to steer towards it.

Not to say that being single was all bad. Every hard-earned dollar was invested right back into the things you loved: trips, clothes, and your dog Cannoli. You silently weighed the pros and cons of your lifestyle as you stepped into the airline lounge.

Setting down your latest read to save your seat, you made your way to the breakfast buffet and grabbed a plate of avocado toast, poached eggs, and a glass of orange juice. On your way back, you spotted someone in a hoodie and cap making themselves at home in the armchair opposite yours.

The whole lounge was virtually empty, and this just had to be his seat of choice? You slowly approached from behind and let out a quiet gasp as you noticed them flipping through your book. “Love languages, huh?” The man pointed at the cover and smiled.

Your pupils dilated twice their size as you registered just who it was. The fan-made bracelets, the Leica, and, most of all, the signature McLaren cap—it all fell into place. “My manager and I just got into a huge argument, and honestly, I’d rather be anywhere but with him right now. Do you mind if I-" He gestured towards the seat beside you, his eyes radiating a silent plea.

“No problem. Let me give you your space,” you responded, hastily gathering your things. Just as you were about to step away, his hand gently clasped your wrist. “I could use the company. I’m Bob, by the way,” he mumbled, oblivious to the fact that his cover was blown.

As in, you knew he was currently seventh place in the driver’s championship and slowly but surely climbing up the standings. The last thing he needed was for you to bring any of that up, so you did as he said, trying to give him a sense of normalcy he so deserved.

He headed to the breakfast buffet and returned with the very items you had selected. "Copying me?" you teased. “First step in getting to know you,” he grinned. Curious about your life, he asked about your job in the emergency room. You told him the hours were grueling but watching extremely sick patients leave healthy made it all worthwhile. "Hope I never end up being your patient," he joked.

His interest didn't stop there; he inquired about siblings (only child), your dream vacation destination (Antibes), and whether you were a dog or cat person (not even a question). You, being a proud dog mom, wanted to show your furry guy off and handed Lando your phone.

As he squinted at your phone, you heard him say, "7 days to go. United States Grand Prix." A wave of panic washed over you as you remembered the Box Box widget that also occupied your screen. The silence was deafening as you wished the ground would swallow you up. 

“Let me see the app,” He said. You normally wouldn’t have acquiesced so quickly, but you crumbled and unlocked your phone. He appeared to scroll and click a few things before he handed it back. “Widget Preferences. Constructor: McLaren? Driver: Lando Norris?” You asked as you noticed he’d made some selections.

“You hadn’t bothered with the preferences, so I took the liberty of choosing.” He blushed as the awkwardness of it all hung in the air. “That doesn’t feel fair. I’ve had all this time to get to know you, and I can’t say the same for the other drivers.” You teasingly retorted.

“I'll let the guys know they're in a tight race for your heart." He snickered. The man was on the verge of tears when his manager came by to remind him of his impending flight. “Flight’s in an hour, Lando,” snapped him right back to reality.

He entrusted you with his bags as he ran out to run a quick pre-flight errand. You couldn’t help but squeal the second Lando had vanished from view. What kind of magic was in the air at this airport and could it be bottled?

You tapped through your best friend’s Instagram stories as you awaited his return. The nearly empty lounge echoed as Lando asked a nearby gentleman for a pen and jotted something down. Breathless, he handed you a card, urging you to read it later.

"Your shoelace is untied," he mentioned, and as he bent down to tie it, his blue-green eyes met yours. 

The British racing driver left your life in the abrupt way he had entered it. You took in the card, decked out with drawings of mac and cheese, milk and cereal, and avocado and toast, captioned "Better Together" at the bottom.

It was the only card in the store, but it felt just right. You highlighted “words of affirmation” as your love language, so I thought I’d give this a go. Thanks for keeping me company. Talk soon? - LN 

His number was scribbled at the end. You quickly changed your lock screen widget to showcase his stats and took a screenshot to send his way.

New look. I might be biased, but I think you just became my favorite driver. Let's see if you can keep it up.

He replied right away.

I like the sound of that. When can I see you again?

[scoops-aboy86]

Crushing (Secret Admirer pt 6)

Steddie Week 2024, July 6: Dizzy / drunken confessions / Crush on You by Bruce Springsteen

Fun fact: there are “sorry”s to correspond with a nat 20. It’s a luck thing, though more reflexive than actually hopeful. 

If you turn 6 upside down it's a 9 and today's the 9th, so I would argue that I am still right on time. 🙃 Anyway, I didn't get to the drunken confession part but it was getting too long, so that can be in the last chapter. Enjoy!

wc: 3034 / rated: T / set during season 3 / also on ao3

Sweet Steve, perfect Steve, golden Steve,

Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry SORRY

I cannot adequately express how much I regret hanging up on you. It happened a few minutes ago and I’m already writing this because I can’t call back now, not after that. I can’t believe I even did that, I’m so stupid. I’m so stupid because you were saying all these perfect things? Literally everything I never thought I’d get to hear from anyone ever and then I ruined it. 

(The scribbles in the margins are representative of all the times I stop writing just to explosively cuss myself out for being so chickenshit. It looks messy but I am a mess and it’s all my own doing, made my bed and lying in it etc. etc., if I could mount my own head on a pike right now I would Jesus H. CHRIDJDBBWLSNEVEOALAVSVALAMDBDBXJXLFKENSVAVWUELMFBDUSKANS <— an example and demonstration)

I’m sorry I’m a coward. I’m sorry I started this and can’t seem to follow through, I’m sorry I keep yanking you around when it’s not what you deserve sweetheart, it isn’t at all. You were perfect, do you hear me? I had a whole list of songs planned, but picked that one spontaneously because you weren’t digging WASP and I was thinking about the way you’re so hard on yourself sometimes about the guy you were in high school, even though all high schoolers are idiots. (With how many times I’ve had to repeat, I am an expert on this, obviously largely from personal study and reflection.) You didn’t peak in high school, Steve, because you are a wonderful person right now and that’s what matters. You call yourself a romantic sap but I love that about you, please never lose that. 

With every letter you’ve poured out a little of your soul; it only seems right that I try to do the same to make up for my… everything. 

I’m a guy. I’m gay. I’ve never written that down before so explicitly but it’s true. You were so thoughtful about the whole music thing and trying to show we can have common interests but, to be blunt, unless dick is one of those I don’t think this is going to work out. 

No hard feelings obviously. It’s on me for letting this go on so long without being more honest. This is absolutely no reflection on you and does not make you queer by association. I won’t tell anyone—though if I did I’m not considered credible or trustworthy in this town, believe me. 

If you’ve read this far… I mean, I won’t know unless you tell me, obviously. But it doesn’t have to mean anything other than that you’re a good dude. The only person in my life who knows about me and knows my name is the man who’s more like a father to me than my “real” dad; it’s nothing personal, I’ve just had some bad experiences. Remember that concussion I mentioned? … Yeah, that was courtesy of the ol’ sperm donor. Thought I was over freezing up about it after more than half a decade, but no such luck!

On that note, I need to go… not be a person for a while. Take care. I remain, as always—

Your Secret Admirer

P. S. The song you said you liked was Rainbow In The Dark by Dio, off his Holy Diver album. It’s a good album, even if I’ve blown it with you I still hope you check it out sometime. 

Eddie drops the pen over the side of his bed, practically throwing it. He drops the notebook he’d scribbled the letter in to the floor; he’ll tear it out and mail it later. 

Probably. 

Maybe. 

He’ll think about it, once he’s done not wanting to think anything at all. 

~

Dear Secret Admirer,

Are you okay? I can’t call you back, so the best I can do right now is write. I shouldn’t have pushed you again, I keep doing that, like an idiot. 

I was having a nice time

Call back whenever, if I’m there I’ll pick up. Call back tonight even, except I can’t get this in the mail until tomorrow so never mind, but I won’t be mad, I promise. Or you can write to me. Please. At least to be friends, if you’re tired of how I always come on too strong (which is literally what Robin keeps telling me with that damn whiteboard all the time, go figure). And maybe you can tell me more about your music, like that one with the rainbows? I think that maybe you’ve been writing to me so much because maybe you’re lonely too, and I know how much that sucks. 

So, I’ll be here. Whoever you are, wherever, I hope you’re okay. Stay safe. 

— Steve

~

All Steve can think about is how stupid he was, pushing Secret Admirer like that. He hasn’t gotten a letter yet, and genuinely doesn’t know if he ever will again. 

Robin doesn’t ask why he’s quieter than usual during work for the next few days. Dustin returns from Camp Know Where and Steve tells him he doesn’t want ice cream because he has to stay in shape for the ladies, but it leaves the bad taste of a mostly-lie in his mouth. 

Because, oh yeah, breaking news: he thinks Secret Admirer is probably a guy. 

That would explain the adamant secrecy, the way the letters are careful not to suggest one or the other. No matter how embarrassing Steve is, a girl would have less to lose compared to a gay dude being outed in Hawkins. And he knows for a fact there were rumors circulating after Jonathan Byers gave him his first and mildest concussion in ‘83. Rumors about what he’d said, what he’d spat at the guy, all no doubt spread by Tommy and Carol. All his past actions coming together to prove that he can’t be trusted, can’t be confided in, even after everything. 

It’s almost secondary that it doesn’t seem to make a difference to his feelings. He may have fallen for someone who happens to be a guy—so what? It’s better than crushing loneliness. Better than no one caring. Better than being forgotten aside from his douchebag legacy at school and all his parents’ dashed aspirations for his future. 

Then Steve finds himself trapped in a Russian elevator with Robin, Dustin, and Lucas’s little sister (who should absolutely not be here, what the fuck were they thinking) and he just. 

He just regrets never getting to say goodbye. 

~ 

Eddie gets Steve’s letter the day he manages to crawl out of his room long enough to mail his own, checking his PO Box like a nervous tic. He’s absolutely floored by what he reads and screams into his pillow some more because it doesn’t change anything, because Steve wrote it while still not in possession of all the facts. 

After a drive out to Reefer Rick’s to replenish his stash, Eddie does the bare minimum of his regularly scheduled drop-offs. No rest for the wicked, because even the wicked need gas money and shit, but it’s all just halfhearted busy work. 

Then he goes home. Against all common sense and knowing that for the sake of his own heart he probably shouldn’t, he spends the rest of the day trying to call. Every time he punches in the numbers with his heart in his throat, but no one ever picks up. 

~

“Ask me anything,” Robin prods blearily from her stall. “Interrogate me.” 

Steve tries to think through the swimming in his head. “Okay, uh… When was the last time you peed your pants?”

“Today!”

He almost laughs. “No way. What?”

“When the Russian doctor brought his bone saw out. It was just a little bit though!” 

He can picture her holding one hand up, fingers pinched together to indicate a tiny amount. And, okay, fair. “Yeah it’s definitely in her system,” he mumbles to no one. 

“My turn,” she declares. “Have you… ever been in love?”

Steve does laugh this time, not because it’s funny but because the question hits him right between the eyes. “Shit, yeah, a couple times. Uh, first was Nancy Wheeler, junior year.”

“Ooooh… She’s such a priss, though.”

“Yeah, turns out, not so much.” He shrugs, even though she can’t see, hands dangling from where his arms are draped over his bare, scraped knees. There isn’t a part of him that doesn’t ache—including his stomach and throat now, fucking Russian drugs. 

“Huh.” Robin pauses. “So… who was second?”

Sighing, Steve drops his head back against the metal divider at his back. “That blind phone date I told you about.”

It’s a toss-up as to whether he’s admitting this because of the aforementioned drugs or because he’s just too tired to give a shit anymore. What does it really matter, at this point?

“Really? Wow. Okay, I didn’t realize that got so serious.”

Steve lets his eyes fall closed, despite what is likely his third concussion in almost as many years. “It kind of didn’t, I just got… over-invested, I guess. I don’t know if he’s going to write again anyway.”

“H… he?”

“I think so. It was a secret admirer kind of deal, so I never actually knew, but… every time I brought up meeting in person, things went wrong. And like an idiot I kept doing that, so. I don’t know for sure, but I think it might be over.”

Robin’s hand smacks on the tile floor—gross. “How do you not even know for sure after a phone date? Gay guys still sound like guys, Steve.”

“I know that,” he says, a little stung by her reproachful tone. “I talked and he didn’t, he just played some of his favorite songs for me to see if I liked them. Which I did, some of it. It was like, really hard rock or something, not what I usually listen to—”

“I’ll say, Mr. ‘No, Not My Wham! Cassette!’”

“—but it was okay. There were some really cool guitar parts.”

“And it… doesn’t bother you? That a guy was, uh, hitting on you?”

Again, Steve shrugs. “More writing love letters than just hitting on me, but… yeah. I was in pretty deep by the time I figured it out, but I guess not. Is it my turn to ask another question?”

“Um… Sure?”

He’s not sure why she sounds so nervous, figures it should be obvious what he’s going to ask next. It’s kind of a staple of their friendship at this point. “Who sent me that ice cream cone? The strawberry with rainbow sprinkles?”

Dead silence. 

“Robin?” he asks with a flicker of nerves, because, well. It’s been a long day. (Or two days? He’s lost track of how much time they’d spent underground.) “You OD over there?”

“No… I am alive,” she replies, but in such a quiet voice that it doesn’t really reassure him all that much. 

He shifts, scooting on his ass to get under the divider between them and pop back up on her side. It gives him a wedgie, but that’s the least of his problems. 

Robin wrinkles her nose at him. “Steve, these floors are disgusting.”

“Yeah, well, I’m already covered in blood and probably some puke, so.” He tests his tongue on his bottom lip, trying to decide if the split is still bleeding or if it just stings for the hell of it. “Who was it?”

She bites her own lip, then whispers, “Is it your secret admirer?”

“I’m ninety-nine percent sure,” he tells her. 

“Okay.” But she’s still hesitating. “Before I tell you… About what I said down there, about Click’s class. I wasn’t staring at you because of you, it… it was because she wouldn’t stop staring at you.”

Steve blinks, confused by the sudden change of topic. “Who? Mrs. Click?”

Robin shakes her head faintly without breaking eye contact, literally without blinking as she whispers, “Tammy Thompson.”

“But she’s a… Oh. Oooh.” He remembers Tammy. She’d always fawned over him in that class, back when he’d been so busy mourning the way things had gone with Nancy that he hadn’t given her the time of day. “Yeah, I guess I see the appeal. Pretty, perky, blonde… She’s a total dud though.”

Robin gapes at him. “What?”

He waves a hand. “I’d just broken up with Nancy, and she was all over me all the time, dropping these hints about wanting to go out. It’s like she wanted to be a rebound relationship.”

“So? She’s goal oriented!”

“She wouldn’t leave me alone! Also, she wants to be a country singer but she couldn’t hold a tune if someone put it in a bucket for her.”

Sputtering, Robin smacks at his shin, one of the few places he isn’t bloody or bruised. “I will not take this superiority from the guy who’s surprise-crushing on Eddie Munson!” 

Shock zings through Steve like he’s just had his fingers jammed into an electrical socket. “On—really?”

He remembers Munson too. Who wouldn’t? Loud and weird, and the guy had always seemed perpetually on, always bristled like a porcupine. Stalking around campus in a black leather jacket regardless of weather and ripped black jeans. (Dark colors.) That denim vest with all the weird band patches on it. (Music that Steve didn’t know anything about.) Big flashy rings on his fingers, and Steve knows he’s in some sort of band, probably has guitar calluses. (Hands that would give him away at a glance.) Up on cafeteria tables with his Hellfire Club shirt and long hair, taunting the jocks who gave his friends shit. (Nerd, check. Not into sports, triple check. He’s pretty sure the dude had failed gym at least once for refusing to wear gym shorts.)

Literally the last person in Hawkins who should’ve had eyes for King Steve.

“Munson likes me?” Steve can’t feel his face too well, what with the beating he’d taken earlier during interrogation, so he’s not sure if he’s blushing. His voice definitely does something funny on the last word, though. 

“He said not to tell you who it was from because he thought you might toss it if you knew it was from him,” Robin admits. “Which seemed like a reasonable concern at the time, but that’s because I didn’t know—”

But then Dustin bursts in on them. The kid looks frazzled, and from there on out it’s all running and more blood and a monster made out of people and fireworks and death, their bathroom conversation forgotten. 

~

Eddie had given up on calling around the time the fireworks show started over the mayor’s kiss-ass 4th of July fair. Downed a couple beers while trying not to wonder if Steve found a date to take. Is still awake when Wayne comes in from his shift, and wanders out of his room because anything’s got to be better than staring at the ceiling. 

“Starcourt burned down,” his uncle tells him while Eddie moves zombie-like through the motions of making them each a cup of coffee. “Radio said the police ain’t ruling out arson. Drove past it on the way, there’s search and rescue folks crawling all over the rubble lookin’ for survivors.”

After Wayne goes to bed, Eddie tries dialing Steve’s number one more time. 

No one answers. 

~

After much pleading from Robin, and since Steve’s car keys are still god knows where and his parents are out of town, the Buckleys graciously agree to let him stay in their guest room. It’s just as well, Robin insists; with the concussion, someone should be around to check on him every few hours. 

“That’s only for the first twenty-four,” he points out the next day. He knows the drill. 

“I don’t care,” Robin insists. “You took a beating to protect the rest of us. You could have been killed, Steve! I am checking on you every few hours for the rest of my life from now on, just see if I don’t.”

“Please don’t,” Steve groans, but he’s grinning. Despite the way his ribs and head throb, and the dark circle under the eye that isn’t literally still swollen shut, it’s nice to have someone to be normal with—not ignoring what had happened, he’d learned his lesson about that with Nancy, but taking it into account and then going ‘yes and.’  “Or at least make sure to always knock first.”

“Why w—Ew! Never mind, if you’re feeling good enough to make jokes then you’re probably fine, offer rescinded.”

“You’re still gonna,” Steve points out, then knocks back the painkillers she’s brought him. Mr. Buckley’s shoulder surgery prescription, meet two broken ribs, black eye, and recently re-set nose. 

She sits on the edge of the bed, next to the duffel bag of clothes from his house that her mom had driven her to pick up for him. “Yeah yeah, shut up.”

Silence settles over them for a moment while Steve tries to get comfortable. And fails. His ribs really aren’t doing him any favors today. The discomfort is why he’s still in unflatteringly baggy shorts borrowed from Mr. Buckley and a t-shirt Robin had thrown at his head as a joke (and then helped him out on, since he can’t lift his arms that high without wanting to scream) that declares him a fan of Siouxsie and the Banshees. 

He has no idea how to pronounce Siouxsie and is kind of afraid to ask. 

“Sooo,” Robin starts. “Eddie Munson, huh?”

“Uh.” Steve can’t run a hand through his hair with his stupid ribs, not when he’s not running entirely on adrenaline or before the painkillers kick in, so he settles for twiddling his thumbs. “Yeah? I guess so. His letters are… They’re really good, Rob. I kinda don’t know why he keeps writing when my replies are so crappy. Like… I can’t even do them justice trying to explain.”

“Huh.” She waits a beat. “Well, I checked your mailbox, just in case, and there was a hand-addressed envelope that I brought back for you—”

Ribs be damned, Steve lunges for that duffel.

Tag list (and if you missed the earlier chapters check the "#secret admirer steddie" tag on my blog): @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @steviewashere

@cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve @rozzieroos @lunaraindrop

@just-my-latest-hyperfixation @wheneverfeasible @swimmingbirdrunningrock @yesdangerpls @matchingbatbites

@ihavekidneys @p0lybl4nkk @grtwdsmwhr @cheesedoctor @whalesharksart

@thetinymm @envyadams-vs-me @practicallybegging @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @dauntlessdiva

@nerdyglassescheeseychick @fuzzyduxk @chaosgremlinmunson @greatwerewolfbeliever @goosesister

@dolphincliffs @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @beckkthewreck @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Lazarus (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 2)

"According to tradition, Lazarus never smiled during the thirty years after his resurrection, worried by the sight of unredeemed souls he had seen during his stay in Hell..."

Word count: 5.7 k

Tags and warnings: Angst, fluff, soft smut 🔞. Slightly possessive!Ghost. Graphic depictions of past suicidal thoughts. Dating, kissing, cuddlefucks, emotions (the most daunting cw there is). Unfettered prose about a grown man's complex trauma. Reader is female and works as a medic at the base. Ghost POV.

Summary: You've just started dating Ghost. (This is a standalone sequel to Refugee)

She tastes round and sweet after the tang of blood and smoke and metal of the field. She feels like warm cascading water after the bleak, dead weight of a gun that leaves his hands throbbing with recoil. Her skin returns the memory of Paradise until it overrides everything else.

She's a soft blooming to the senses.

And his have been blown wide, torn apart, shot full of noise. There's an amputated, burnt stump where there should be a limb and some soft skin. But still, a blast that burns flesh from bones is not that different from her soft whisper that has the power to level him like a nuclear wind.

. . .

They're some kind of a secret, although he doesn't know why exactly.

Perhaps because she knows enough by now. She knows he's a dead man.

A ghost.

And women like her don't date apparitions. They deserve more than just bones and a haunting: they deserve flesh and blood and solid ground. She deserves far more than promises he has no power or right to give.

He has no mandate for life. His is a half-life, and stolen; he's living on borrowed time.

She doesn't only protect his phantom, she shields herself from talk and rumors. It's only understandable. He takes everything she gives him, which is more than he deserves.

He fucks her to ruin on the conference table people share in the meetings. He makes her leak all over his desk during quiet afternoon hours of his office; he makes her come on his tongue in the fucking hangar after a long day, just to get the taste of dry desert sand off his mouth.

She stops complaining about propriety after that. After all, she's the one who came there on his call and allowed him to rip her pants down when there was only settling dust to accompany them in the quiet hall.

It doesn't take long to see that the woman's not actually complaining at all. She fucking loves it when he barges in and simply takes her.

And he buries himself inside her like she's the base. His home after a mission, his destined location after deployment. She lets him fuck her practically anywhere except on the floor.

That's his place. And he has no problem with lying down there in the filth, especially if it means he gets to watch how she sits on his cock until that pretty little face distorts with pleasure that looks like pain.

His field pants and navy blues have cum stains after his visits while she cleans herself up in no time, fixes her hair and looks as innocent as ever. His mask smells of cunt when he's trying to concentrate on missions, and the scent of her juice makes him hard while he's supposed to be instilling brass into bodies. He smokes cigarettes just to drive the maddening taste of her from his tongue.

He's gonna get killed one of these days. The irony doesn't escape him: it's not a bullet or a grenade that will take him, but that sweet, hazy memory of her cunt.

She's an obsession. He injects himself full of her like the most pathetic addict.

Until one day, she says it can't continue like this. That it won't do to rut like animals until the smell of mad sex coats the room she's supposed to stitch and staple people in.

It causes a small panic till she asks him to visit her.

In her home.

It sounds serious: it sounds like she wants more than just his cock. And he's fucking terrified.

Women think about whether to wear this dress or that on a date: he thinks about whether to put on the mask or not – he meditates on it for two whole hours. Everything else is clean and in order; he looks like a human and not a soldier. But he can't rid himself of the skeleton.

There's a storm coming when he reaches her place. It electrifies the air until his spine is full of thunder.

She seems surprised – happily so – when she finds him at the door, decent as can be. He gets one of those innocent smiles which are pure sin beneath.

"You came."

"Sure."

She doesn't ask why he's always wearing a mask. She takes what he has to give, which is his all, which he fears will never be enough.

"There's food–"

She lets out a delightful little noise when he picks her up and carries her to what looks like the biggest and softest bed he has ever laid a woman on, ever laid himself on.

So, she likes luxury. Or at least, comfort.

Softness. Hugs… Support.

And kisses, apparently, because his mask is lifted without permission. Not that she needs one.

"Simon, I made you some dinner," she laughs in his mouth, and he's smiling – she's the only one who makes him fucking smile.

"Later," he rasps with a sore throat – he has become soft, too, and it's her fault. He has barked orders all day, but with her, his voice always comes out quiet and calm.

Where her domain at work consists of harsh lights and sterile frigidity, her home is dark and warm like a womb. His senses are filled with lemon and thyme – she has made something he's never tried before, something… Mediterranean, perhaps. A culinary ambrosia for someone who has lived on dog food and tried to thrive on it.

It's a pity that he's a barbarian, and here for dessert. As much as he likes the dainty little thing she has put on just for him, it's not cunning enough to stop him from ripping it to shreds.

She protests at first with a posh little gasp, but then she spreads her legs like it's open season and he's the VIP customer. The laced, pathetic little thing lays in wreckage around all that softness creaming just for him, and his mouth shoots full of water.

The feel of her is better than sinking a knife between two ribs. She's velvet on his scar and coarse stubble and for the first time in his life, he curses the mask. She moans all around him, tries to grab him by the hair still under the black fabric.

And it makes him want to rip it off and let her yank and tug to her heart's content, grab his hair and push his face as deep inside her cunt as it goes.

He tries to fit inside her apartment, a serene space filled with scented candles and clean carpets and frilly little curtains that shift in the restless night wind.

He tries to fit inside her.

The attempt always makes her moan and tremble and sigh. It's hard to focus on the task at hand when he wants to freeze the moment to where her lashes flutter and she stops breathing for a second – when she takes him in with grace and hunger.

"Oh fuck…"

She swears this time, watches with helplessness and an open mouth as his cock slowly disappears inside her. Then she looks up at him like…

Like she's missed him.

"You're a brute," she whispers, eyes shining.

"Thought you liked brutes."

"I made you dinner and you…Ah…"

He arrives home, heavy and loaded with yearning.

First things first.

It has been a week, and there's been no time to relieve the pain, nowhere to go and wank off the sickness that festers inside him every second they're apart. And she's the only one who can cure his disease. But he does feel like a brute for not letting her feed him. When was the last time anyone made him anything?

The sea is booming now, roaring behind the window she has left open. This time, they're not fucking at the base, in some corner of a room with a lock hurriedly latched on. He's fucking her amidst doused lights and a seaside breeze that enters their skin through an open window. He's at the beach, even when there's no sun. The sands are even more stunning with a gathering storm.

He fucks her like a dog, and she looks at him with weak love in her eyes. She's looking up at him with those big, wet eyes like he's the best leader there is - like she's counting on him. Like the people under his command, those who ask for his advice, ask for the next move.

It drives him fucking insane.

It's even better than a good round of sex: that unbound look of adoration. His mask is a poor shield against all that. She slips past it like she's the expert in clandestine warfare here. And suddenly he doesn't want any more secrets. There's a ton of them already; he carries the weight of them in his soul.

He's an underdog, always has been, but he's also a hound for claiming her as his that night.

After he's done fucking her to oblivion, he descends. She comes alive like a jolt of lighting in his arms as he kisses her, then sucks the tender skin of her neck. Everyone's going to see it, he makes sure of that by using the tiniest amount of teeth to finally mark her. She moans an equal amount as she does when she's clenching around his cock.

"Did you just give me a hickey?" She asks, breathless when he's done.

"High time, don't you think," he mutters. The woman will look glorious on the beach and highly improper at work.

Lie down with dogs, get up with fleas…

"You're unbelievable." She only laughs at his obsession. The woman’s not afraid at all, even when she’s face to face with a monster. The sunshine of her smile pairs well with the crackle of thunder outside.

"You want a beer?"

He's too drugged to answer with nothing else than a surprised, drowsy blink. She laughs again and takes it as a yes, which it is. He stares in awe as the woman walks to the fridge, all naked and lax from his treatment, takes out a bottle, opens it, and brings it to him. She takes none for herself; she only serves him like he's some kind of a king. When he takes a sip, she smiles again: lighting flashes somewhere in the distance and gives her an aureole of light, a halo of an angel for a second.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." The wink she gives him makes it perfectly clear that she wouldn't mind him joining her. But as she goes by the mirror, the vision of his claim stops her.

"Simon…"

He gets a scolding, and it only makes the corner of his mouth tug.

"No concealer is going to cover this."

"That's the point," he takes another sip while lying on her too-soft bed. She shakes her head before walking to the shower. The eye of the storm is above him, and everything's silent, like he's lounging on a dream.

The bottle in his hand sweats cold condense in his hand, and like always with her, he finds himself in the present moment. He drinks the beer in less than ten seconds, then takes the mask off and leaves it somewhere among the sweat and cum stained sheets.

It's the first time she has seen him without the shield, the first time she sees his body in full light. Every protrusion of white scar, every part of uneven skin, every marring of two and three stage burns is visible as if he is on a well-lit stage.

"Well. Pleased to meet you."

The smile that greets him, the veil of surprise that draws aside to reveal pure delight and marvel is more than worth the risk. She's frozen in time with a bottle of shower gel in her hands, too preoccupied with the trust he has decided to arm her with. She now has power over him, but he proceeds to do what he came here to do. Which is to make her sing a second time.

"For what do I owe this pleasure–"

The bottle falls on the tiles with a soft plunk as he steps between her legs and lifts her against the wall.

On that, she doesn't only kiss him; she takes the scar of his lip between hers and sucks. The warm water is nothing compared to her hands which sweep up and down his back and release years and years of tension. She whines when he only gives her shallow thrusts, then tries to claw his back to get more of his cock. It makes him chuckle.

"Needy," he comments on such delightful hunger, and she lets out the most annoyed, frustrated noise he has ever heard on her.

"Stop teasing, Riley…"

She tends to use his last name when she's fed up with him. It's supposed to create distance, but it only makes him latch himself onto her more fiercely.

He could torture her, delve deep, dig out even more frustrated sounds from her, but that's a quest for another time. He grants her wish along with his own and slides fully in. She kisses him through the whole fucking, and he feels like he's in boiling water, cooking until the raw meat grows tender and prepared.

And he realizes he's not actually fucking her: he's making love to her. He didn't even know he could do that.

When they've had their fill, the water takes away his gift. It feels wrong that something meant to be inside her leaks down some filthy drain. It's like a testimony, an illustration of his whole life: that his essence, his worth, belong in the sewers.

"You're a beautiful man," she whispers on his skin while caressing his back filled with past torture. His stomach churns, he feels like throwing up and falling asleep at the same time. An odd sensation.

She holds his mutilated corpse under the descending water and breathes life into him. The vomit never comes. He exhales history on her skin, inhales some peace in its stead.

In the morning the sound of thunder has been replaced by myriad birdsong.

. . .

He never meant to bring her here, but the wind on the beach is too harsh today and she's cold. It would be ungentlemanly not to get her a jacket from his apartment when it's only a few hundred meters away.

"To say that this place needs a woman's touch would be an understatement, Riley."

There's little else here but a tv and a fridge. He doesn't need either of them, but they're there to remind him what a home should look like. She takes the deafening silence and barren wasteland well, far better than he ever imagined she would.

"Y'can touch anything you want."

She turns and raises an eyebrow – he already knows that look. He's in for it now.

"Smooth... Very smooth." She walks to him and pushes him to the armchair. Not with force, because she doesn't need it. He falls to the sagged old thing like it's suddenly cloud nine rather than his old deathbed.

He waits for her to climb onto his lap and ride him until the chair breaks under the weight of their love. He could use a new chair anyway.

But she doesn't do that.

She gives her what this place has been missing.

A woman's touch.

Her mouth is hot as hell, wet like the gulfs that used to drown men in the sea centuries ago. She's a siren with her songs, but this time, she's quiet.

The room is not: the deathlike silence is suddenly filled with wet urgency and sloppy sounds of adoration. All his hauntings recede to the shadows like the blowjob is a whole exorcism.

His head falls back, and the first charred moan coats the air like it's been entombed for decades. And it has.

She is encouraged by the sound, and the tongue that sweeps the underside of his cock sends him jolting from his shallow grave.

Jesus fuckin'–

"Fuck…" He tries to blink back tears or death while looking at the crumbling paint on the ceiling. He feels equally worn out on her tongue: old and a lot of work, but a woman's touch is like magic.

"Mm–h." She dares to moan on his cock as if it's the best thing she's had in her mouth in decades, too. She even brushes her fingertips over his balls like they're some newfound treasure. They pull taut under her touch, stupefied by the sudden attention.

He can feel the upcoming blaze. It gathers at the base of his spine, his cock is brick-heavy in her mouth, and she won't stop – fuck, she goes even deeper…

"Fuckin' hell, pet…"

His thighs bunch and spread, a scorching groan erupts like he's a volcano and not a man. That's when she gives his cock a long, torturing suck, and he's gone, there’s no time and space other than her hot velvet mouth that surrounds him like the hot core of a star.

She adds a hand at the base of him, and he explodes so hard that he barely has brain cells left to worry about whether she will choke on it. But she doesn't even gag, even if the first spurts must be more than generous.

Fuck, this woman…

He melts in the chair while she finishes the rest of him, takes all he has to give, like she always does. They're an odd pair: an angel and a demon, and he feels like he's finally saved, resurrected – this room, this chair has never seen anything like this.

It's different with her, the emptiness that comes after. It's not filled with grief but deliverance.

He wants her to know what she’s just done, but he knows the things he's good at, and he knows the things he's not. Words are one of those things. She moans and begs and shatters and swells in his arms, she takes on a volcano and resurrects corpses long since dead, and he still doesn't know how to tell her. That he's hers, that he wants to make her feel as good as he bloody fucking can. He could be tortured for days and he still wouldn't know the right words. He tries to tell it to her in other ways and sees how she settles.

He would rather kill the whole human population on this earth than see her settle for anything.

So he forces the strange words out, fleshes them on his tongue and pushes them through teeth to haunt the stale air of his apartment that has never seen such love before.

"I missed you."

Of course it sounds so odd that she laughs. Bitter, too.

"You missed my tongue."

"No. I missed you."

She finally raises her eyes to his, doesn't try to blink back the watercolors. Those eyes are shining; they're beckoning.

"I missed you too," she says, then lays her head on his thigh like she's only a humble servant begging for mercy.

It's a farce. He's a skeleton, a ghoul of useless rubble while she's celestial; she's summer, a fucking empress.

It rips his chest to see her on her knees on the dirty floor, that she's comforting him in a chair that should've been his disposal site. The leather was supposed to be painted with shards of bone and puddles of pink-white brain; this room was supposed to echo with a single blast of a gunshot, not with roars of fragile love. He would've been found relatively soon, the neighbors wouldn't have had to complain about the smell: after all, the military takes care of their own. A lieutenant's absence wouldn't have gone unnoticed, even if everything else in him would never have been missed by anyone.

He brushes her hair, and she sighs, oblivious to his past hell. All nine circles of it, an inferno that would put poets to shame. And she doesn't know she has pulled him from the depths just by smiling.

. . .

"Promise to come back."

"Yeah I promise."

He can't promise that. Fuck, that he wants to.

Every bullet acquires sound, like that birdsong from her little window. They gain weight, they start to carry death. It used to be his power: to bring destruction. He was put on this earth to reap.

Now he's alive.

He's suddenly a man who can be killed.

Now everything's bright like he's a newborn trying to get used to a world full of pain. Light and sound and time and space; mortality.

Sharpened instincts have never been his friend. It used to be a simple dance: knife out, knife in. Drop 'em.

Line the sights and deal extinction. Walk like a ghost until the battering ram announces there's death coming.

It takes him a while to understand where the sorcery lies.

It's in the senses. She's sensuous.

"Simon–"

He hears her in the shaded crevice of rocks, catches phantom notes of vanilla from the dry desert air that tries to push through the filthy fabric of his mask. She’s with him just before the hatch opens, and for the first time in his life, he hesitates before the jump.

She tastes round and sweet after the tang of blood and smoke and metal of the field. She feels like warm, cascading water after the bleak, dead weight of a gun that leaves his hands throbbing with recoil. Her skin returns the memory of Paradise until it overrides everything else.

She's a soft blooming to the senses. And his have been blown wide, torn apart, shot full of noise. There's an amputated, burnt stump where there should be a limb and some soft skin. But still, a blast that burns flesh from bones is not that different from her soft whisper that has the power to level him like a nuclear wind.

He has to learn how to come back to his senses. It's a joke that makes him wish he could shed tears. Luckily, she's the best teacher he could ever have.

"Fuck, Simon…"

He tries to quit smoking just to be able to taste her better. A scorched tongue is a curse when a man can't get enough of cream and silk.

"I need you. Need you so much. You don't even know..."

He knows. He knows that the depth of his need surpasses hers; it always has and always will.

The last time he saw her wasn't at the base; it was when he woke up to the sight of her foraging for orange juice from the fridge with his sweatshirt on. She combined sultry lace and bare, smooth skin with an old, black hoodie.

And it swallowed her. All his darkness. She only looked sleepy and content while being smothered by all that dark cotton.

"I'm gonna make some breakfast," she announces upon seeing he's awake. "You like bacon and eggs?"

What the fuck did I do to deserve you.

She knows full well she could offer him a chest filled with gold, and it wouldn't be half as tempting as her little American breakfast.

"That'll do."

He was supposed to go to the shower but instead, his feet take him right back to her. She gives him a pleasant hum when his hands fall on her shoulders and start to rub some stress away. He knows it will make her moan, as it does now. She leans a little into him, surrenders to his treatment.

"Simon… Do you come here just for sex?"

The hiss of cooking bacon almost drowns the question. Just one syllable less, and the question would be as she originally meant it to be.

Does he come to her just for sex.

"No."

She turns to look at him with a shy little smile. It makes him want to crush her against that counter until those lips part with a helpless sound.

"I like your cooking."

"You…ass," she laughs, shoves him lightly.

He treats every day like it’s his last with her, waits patiently for her to realize he is not the man she thinks he is. Under the bones he wears there’s only more bones, nothing more. She can feed him all she wants, but it will only make him more hungry; and a day will come when she sees he’s not actually a man at all but a yawning, six feet grave.

The black cotton hugs her and makes it falsely look like this woman belongs to him. It’s another round of torture to see how she takes his shirt, takes his cock, plays with the only things he can give her for a while or two.

She has the sweater on as she gives him the softest farewell smile. She adds a few words, some more detail to her request. In truth, it's his new protocol.

"Promise to come back to me."

He doesn't ask for the sweatshirt back.

She's left with it and his promise.

. . .

"Poor lass's always sulking when you're on those solo missions."

He knows that Price might know about them by now. But if Soap knows, everyone knows.

He doesn't care: after all, the woman doesn't even try to conceal the seductive looks and dreamy smiles she gives him whether there are other people present or not. They're not a secret anymore. Perhaps that's the way she wants it to be.

But the information Soap gives him is new.

"She is?"

He goes straight to her after the plane lands. Doesn't give a single fuck about that smug look the boy gives him.

She looks slightly surprised as he simply walks in: she can see he's filthy. He has grime on his hands, on the fingerless gloves that make it easier to operate a gun when there's no threat of sweating. He smells of smoke and ruin, gasoline and tobacco – a lousy compensation for her, a ridiculous substitute to calming his nerves when he knows the mission is going to be tricky. It already pisses him off that her cream will be mixed with smoke and disease again. He knows his weaknesses, which aren't many. But with her, he has learned it's not about the quantity.

The sorrow is briefly disguised from him. It's admirable: the way she tries to hide even the plainest of things. He knows her by now, knows that the sun casts shadows too. She should know he's the one she can cast them safely with.

The throat between the shoulders burdened by work and worries looks fragile in his hands. A bird's neck he could wrench without breaking a sweat.

"Mmh. I love your hands."

"Just my hands?"

He shouldn't be touching her with his filth, but he can't help it anymore. If she loves it, who is he to argue back?

Love your hands too.

Fuck, I love your smile. Your tits, your lips. That little pout you got when you don't get what you want right away.

I love–

She sighs. Then she cranes that beautiful neck, clings to him with one, tiny hand. "Why are you here, Simon?"

"Heard you were sulking," he mutters in her hair.

"What…?" She laughs. She laughs, but she's not happy. "What on earth are you talking about?"

She's shy. Reserved. Hiding behind a wall of humor and sunshine and smiles. His darkness penetrates it all.

"Heard you're devastated when I'm gone," he tries even more softly.

She could take it as arrogance. One of his lousy jokes. But she knows better than that.

"I am," she finally says, angel-soft. When she turns, there's finally sorrow in her eyes. She looks up at him, up, up, again with that stare that says I am yours to command. On the brink of tears; tears he wants to battle to the abyss. But his muscles are no use here.

Her lip trembles, just a little, when he brushes his knuckles over her cheek.

"We can't have that."

"We can't?"

"No."

"Well what are you going to do about it?"

Her voice is soft, pleading. It's not a demanding question: the woman's simply out of it. She wants assistance, assurance.

What are your orders, sir?

She worries too much. Up until this point, he thought it’s just because she's dutiful, responsible, one of the best employees there is. But she's not tense from work.

It's not just the missed you's she whispers when his skin is at its most thin.

She fears losing him.

Stone-cold realism is required in his field of work; no sleight of hand magic can help him when he's facing the unavoidable. If the mission is impossible, he doesn’t take it. Because he can't change the unchangeable; he can't fight the inevitable. They both know he can't promise anything.

They both know he will do his best to come back. There was a time he would’ve considered it a blessing if he didn’t. Death used to be his only ticket to some peace.

She gives him an impossible mission, and he can't say no. Leadership is about taking care of people. His people. And she's more than just a subordinate.

He grabs her by the waist and raises her to the counter, relishes the way she gasps. She weighs nothing in his hands after cold, hefty cannons. It’s almost like she gains wings and flits to the tabletop designed for him to take her. It’s the perfect height for him to simply open his pants and alleviate her pain.

"Gonna fuck you until you cry."

She sighs. "You can't solve every problem with a gun or a cock, Riley."

The woman knows how to penetrate him, too. The stabbing doesn’t stop even when her thighs part slowly - she knows, just as much as he, that this is the best way to remind her just how alive he is. This is the only thing he can give her, and he is damn right going to deliver. His hand covers half of her thigh as he brushes a thumb over the sensitive inner side.

"You sure about that?"

That look of desperation makes him hard already. Her hands go about his neck in a perfect paradox with what she whispers next.

"Honey… Not here."

She calls him honey. As if this tar-black madness is only golden nectar to her.

"No?"

It’s not only sorcery, but necromancy: how she’s brought him back from the grave. No wonder such arts are considered dangerous. This is forbidden, and still, he cannot stop.

"Ya want me to stop?"

"...No."

He leaves most of her uniform on because he is in too much of a hurry to get between her legs. The woman molds herself against him the second his tip meets her folds.

"God, you feel good," she sighs as he slides in. It's like a prayer: both her words and his return back to the base. Alive.

"So fucking good…"

Fuckin' tell me about it.

She whimpers and clutches him like a little leech. Almost cries already.

"That's it. You just hold onto me."

If someone heard the way he's cooing in her ear, they would deem him soft in the head. He doesn't give a fuck.

Her moans chime inside his head like the softest, most beautiful opera. He has never been a man of high culture. The whole civilization could go to hell for all he cared. But she sings to him so beautifully that even a man like him can finally see the appeal. Legs wrap around him even tighter than those small hands until he doesn't know who's holding who here.

"That feel good..?"

"Yes… Don't stop, just don't stop."

She's almost limp in his arms. Good. He's managed to relieve that tension already.

He goes deeper, deeper, and a tiny hand that saves people instead of slaughtering them grabs him by the shirt, probably in an instinct to try and catch some skin. He can't see her face but the body against him trembles and shakes as he spreads her wide and pours love in her.

"No need to sulk, sweetheart. I got you."

She's crying, or laughing, or both. Of course she likes pet names paired with support. He adds it to the list of things the woman loves, the things he can give her. He hopes, half expects that she will shed some tears after shattering around his cock. She needs a good cry as much as she needs him. And nothing feels as good as this: being needed by her.

When she comes with an arched back and a scream he fears and hopes will reach every other officer here, he knows he can let go too. He's done his duty: now it's time to collect the reward. It's not transactional, she's not work, but she's still his responsibility. The woman's paycheck is fatter than anything he could ever get from his employer. He's inside her, but that doesn't mean she isn't inside him too. She's embedded in him in ways that threaten to swallow him and leave him on the shore like bleach-white bones on a beach. He stays inside her long after the waves have passed. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he doesn't dare to move.

"I still have your sweatshirt," she sighs while holding him.

"Good. Looks better on you."

"I sleep with it sometimes," she whispers and wraps herself around him so tight that he wishes he could be there every night to send her to sleep. Now she only has his memory as a company, some darkness far too big for her. "Sleep in it, actually."

His mind is like a wheel that turns around nothingness. There's nothing to hold on to; he's falling through starless space.

The eerie sound of gunshot echoes in his head, he thinks about the splatter of brain matter on the armchair; how there's at least one person in this world who would cry from hearing the news.

And not just any person, but her; a whole summer in one woman. A midsummer sun, missing some forgotten, weatherbeaten bones on a beach when there's plenty of flora and fauna to shine on.

"If you ever break your promise…"

She sniffs in his neck, and his embrace tightens instantly.

"Would rather die than break it."

His promise doesn't make any sense. Or perhaps it makes every sense. She finally cries like she's supposed to.

"Shh. I'm here now."

I'm not dead.

I'm not dead.

[sunlightmurdock]

anyway, don’t be a stranger | Bradley Bradshaw

one year after the hardest break-up of your life, you see Bradley Bradshaw again at your aunt’s wedding.

warnings : stand-alone. implied significant age gap (around 10-15 years). low-key dilf bradley except he has no kids. just angst really. this is based on scott street by phoebe bridgers and I felt like that deserved a warning in itself. reader is Penny’s niece. no physical descriptors of reader except brief mention that Bradley stroked their hair. post-break-up, kind of alluded to that the relationship was a secret. wc: 1.6k

…

“I missed you.” He whispers, all past-tenses nowadays. His lips brush your hair before he settles his cheek there instead, his left hand settled politely at the base of your spine while his right holds yours once again.

You miss him. Present-tense, as your make-up marks the white of his neatly steamed shirt. Your head on his chest and his stomach grazing yours.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, and behind your eyelids the floor plan of his living room is etched there. You know what steps to take to mind from bumping into the couch, or the coffee table, or the guitar he keeps by the lamp. You’re wearing his boxers and he’s telling you off with a grin on his face, for not knowing your nineteen-sixty-eight’s from your nineteen-seventy-four’s.

The records he gave you are nestled in the bookcase in your room. Your collection isn’t as extensive as his.

“You’ve been… doing okay?” even the way he speaks to you is cautious now. It wasn’t, once. Once he would have held both of your cheeks in his hands and you would have told him everything without him even having to ask.

He steps back, you step forwards, his hand on your back keeps your middle against his. The music rises and falls, his body keeping yours in rhythm.

“Yeah,” you guess. Okay is subjective, anyway. Your fingers skim along the seam between his shoulder and arm, careful to miss the ticklish spot at the back of his neck. “I got a new place.”

He had been constantly telling you that you needed to move out. That place was shitty in every sense of the word. Your roommates were useless, and rude. He was constantly fixing a leak in your bathroom, or a stiff window latch, or a blown fuse. Not to mention he hated the area.

It hadn’t seemed like too much of a pressing issue back when you spent most of your days at his place.

“Oh,” He murmurs, turning his face toward your hair once more, like he had all of those nights you spent in his bed. If he was an honest man, he would admit to you that he had always figured you would move into his place next, once he finally got you out of that shitty shoebox apartment. “That’s great. By yourself?”

He does everything by himself.

“No,” You answer. It would be far too lonely, far too empty, to have stretched through the winter by yourself. “With a friend.”

He’s glad to hear that. He knows you hate coming home to an empty place. Almost as much as he does. “It’s near the park?”

“No,” You wish. You wish, too, that he didn’t remember how much you wanted to live near there. You wanted a lot of things a year ago. “By the river.”

The smell of him makes the hole he left in the middle of your ribs throb with a painful emptiness. His thumb strokes the space of an inch, top to bottom and there again, on the small of your back.

A year ago, slow-dancing in a packed room, in a pretty dress with Bradley Bradshaw would have made all of your dreams come true. Him spinning you the way he did when you were alone in his kitchen, kissing you with a grin on his face.

It’sforthebetterit’sforthebetterit’sforthebetter. It’s for the best. Your fingers skim along his shoulders, turning your face toward his neck as you had so many times before.

“You could… come see it.” You don’t want him to see your new apartment. He’ll see that it’s everything he wanted for you and it isn’t enough. That his missing shirts are strewn between either your laundry hamper or your closet. His favourite Eagles record on the player he bought you. The stuffed animal he won you so proudly that night on the pier laying on his side of the bed.

He’ll see all the ways you’ve let him down after swearing that you would move on.

You want to see his place. It gnaws at you as he holds you in his arms; to know if pieces of you linger in his life the way he does for you.

Maybe you haven’t held onto the way it ended the same way he has. Bradley remembers, every day, the look in your eyes when he told you that it was over. The way he hurt you. He hadn’t meant to, he hadn’t ever meant to.

He’d hoped to see you here tonight with a new boyfriend and a big smile on your face. He’d hoped to be walking out with a knife in his side about how happy you were without him — at least that would mean he’d done the right thing.

“Is that what you want?” Maybe if he had taken the time to ask you that thirteen months ago you would have washed a few less mascara stains out of your pillowcases this past year.

The band slows and the music fades until the song is gone all together.

“No.” Comes through the resounding silence. His hand pulls away from the small of your back and comes to rest against the back of your neck, hugging you closer as an instinctive gesture.

His fingers squeeze softly at your nape.

This isn’t a very platonic way to dance together. Your arms reach around his shoulders and squeeze. Without checking to see if anyone’s watching, Bradley presses his lips to your temple.

Just like that, it’s over again. He drops your hand and unwraps himself from you.

“Alright,” His adam’s apple bobs as he takes a step back. He tries to offer you a smile. You don’t even attempt at the same courtesy, your eyes trained on him. He reaches out, grazing his fingers against yours as a parting gesture. “You take care of yourself, baby.”

And you’re expected to watch him walk away again.

He swallows thickly, weighted by the all too familiar glassy-eyed look you’re giving him. The dance floor swirls around the two of you, something gravitational that keeps them from getting too close. There had always been a certain level of privacy that came with being his, it lingers even in this vibrant room.

The song slows to a finish, and Bradley feels a familiar sinking feeling. He has to be the one to do the difficult thing, here. He straightens just a little and reaches for you once more, tapping platonically at your forearm.

“Have a good night.”

Don’t. The word almost spills right out. You bite down hard on the inside of your lip to keep it to yourself. He takes his first step back.

He opens his mouth, then. Lights twinkling above him and that look in his eyes, such strong regret— the kind of look that always comes before his best apologies. His eyes snag on the figure behind you.

Pete Mitchell leans against a support beam with a glass in his hand and a waning smile on his lips. His head is cocked with a vague curiosity, his steely irises flickering between the two supposed strangers before him.

Nothing more than passing ships.

No one will ever know how Bradley’s heart had thundered when you had kissed him. How he misses the way you’d tangle in his bedsheets, smiling at him while he got ready for work.

Pete’s dark brows start to pull together just slightly under the dance floor lights, illuminating him in a brash violet while you’re passed into the shadows.

Bradley closes his mouth, and turns away.

Your timeout is over, and the game is back on. As you have been for the past year, you’re invisible. He isn’t, he couldn’t be and you couldn’t even pretend that he is. Your gaze lingers on him through the passing shadows and lights, watching his gleaming smile spread around the room.

Charming the masses, he seems okay.

Your gut twists.

All day, all year, you have picked yourself up and carried on like normal. Like he hadn’t ever stroked his fingers through your hair and told you all the things he hadn’t been brave enough to tell anyone else.

All of those insecurities, and dreams, linger between you like a storm cloud in the sky. No one in this room has the sense to look up and see what’s there.

No one knows exactly what time you leave. It’s just passing conversation that they haven’t seen you in a while, that maybe you had gotten a ride home.

Bradley isn’t surprised, somehow, when he stops at the end of his driveway. The taxi pulls away behind him. His cheeks are flushed and warm-looking, his curls tangled over his forehead and his unfastened tie resting in his hand rather than around his neck.

Sitting on his porch steps, you’ve never felt quite as small. He watches you shrink further, pulling your knees closer and huddling yourself away from him. Memories of the times he would come home to you here and you would throw yourself into his arms flash across his mind.

Wordlessly, Bradley puts one foot in front of the other. He digs his house keys from his pocket as he passes you by, unlocking the door with a familiar jingle. You push yourself up from the steps and hug your arms around yourself while he flicks on the entryway lights.

[1800kfics]

Bittersweet

pairing: beomgyu x reader

wc: 2.5k

genre: angst + smut :0

It has been 2 months since Beomgyu broke up with you.

You had been passing the time by distracting yourself with your classes and friends. Nothing felt the same without him, though. The blueberry lattes you both would share from your favorite cafe turned bitter, and his side of the bed was always cold.

You hated the way he broke up with you.

He had spent the whole weekend with you acting like he wasn’t going to end things. When he finally did break up with you, he started crying before you did.

His reasoning confused you. He said that he was “too immature” for you and was only weighing you down. He wouldn’t listen to any amount of reassurance from you, he had already convinced himself otherwise.

You tried to put him out of your mind, you really did. But it was hard when he kept texting you. First came the “how are you?” text near midnight 2 days after you broke up. You were crying silently to yourself when your phone lit up, so it was safe to say that you were not happy to see that it was the perpetrator of your tears.

You played along, however. You couldn’t pretend that you didn’t miss him. When he sent you a selfie with the bear plush you had bought him for his last birthday, you hearted the picture.. 

A month ago, he called. You picked up.

He’s called consistently the past 4 Sunday nights. The night he broke up with you. The first time he called, you had half expected him to ask for all the clothes he had left at your apartment back. He didn’t.

It was awkward at first, but became a part of the week you involuntarily looked forward to. You hadn’t just lost a partner when you broke up; you had lost a best friend. Your other best friends would kick you for saying that, but there was something so special about trusting someone with your time, secrets, and body.

Some nights he would ask about your day, listen intently, then tell you about his. Other nights were rougher on your conscience. He would reminisce about your time together, followed by large bouts of silence. It was evident that you both missed each other. These calls made you sad and confused. You’ve tried asking why he broke up with you and if he still misses you, but he continued to say that he didn’t “deserve” to be with you, that he loved you too much to continue to be a burden.

It didn’t matter what kind of night it was, you would always hang up first. His voice would always falter when he bid you farewell. In reality, it terrified him that you might decide one day to not pick up his call - that he might never hear your voice again.

“Goodnight, sweet dreams my love.” He never dropped the pet names, which gave you mixed emotions. On one hand, it tore you apart. On the other hand, you were glad he never stopped.

His texts became more and more blunt the more you opened up again over the phone. When you texted him that the blueberry latte didn’t taste the same anymore, he responded, “I know”.

Last week’s call was interesting to say the least. When he asked you about your day, he wasn’t as responsive as he usually was. When you finished, the other end of the line was silent. “Gyu?” you said softly. “Keep… keep talking” he said breathily. So you told him the nuances of your day like you used to when the two of you were dating.

When you had nothing more to say, you asked him how his day went. He didn’t answer your question.

“Have you slept with anyone since we broke up?” He asks.

You’re silent for a moment. You couldn't bring yourself to be intimate with anyone since you broke up. Your friends tried to get you out there. You tried.

“No.” You confess.

He sighs, seemingly in relief. “Good. I haven’t either.”

Shaky breaths came through the mic. “Gyu? Are you okay?” You ask. Your mind immediately goes to what he could be doing, but you dismiss it. He couldn’t be.

But he was.

Cover blown, he lets out a light moan. “I miss you… so much.” He says with a half whine.

You don’t know how to react to your ex shamelessly touching himself while on the phone with you.

“I miss you too Beomgyu… so much.” You say after a pause.

“Do you really? Say it again for me. Please” He whimpers.

Weirdly, you wanted to let him have this. You enjoyed this.

“I do. I miss coming home to you, miss your embrace, miss you in bed next to me…” You tell him. You weren’t lying.

His breaths get shallower, and his speech labored. “God I need you… can’t do anything without you, f-fuck… nothing without you.” He rambles.

You feel something stir in your core, but you don’t let yourself act on it. This was wrong.

“Wanna hear your voice…” he pleads with you.

You inhale deeply. “I miss the way your breath feels on my skin, the way your tongue feels in my mouth… I miss the way you feel inside of me. I miss the way you make me feel. I miss you.”

With that, he let out a strangled moan, then went quiet.

“Thank you, my love.” He said gently.

“Goodnight, Gyu.” With that, you hung up. Needless to say, you had trouble sleeping that night.

It was Sunday night again, a week after the incident. You had just gotten back from an exhausting dinner with your friends. Almost its entirety was spent lecturing you on how you should cut contact with Beomgyu, how foolish you were for letting him back into your life.

“I don’t know why you respond to his texts, let alone his calls… if he loves and misses you so much, why did he break up with you? I don’t get it. Either way, letting him weasel himself back into the picture is dangerous. You don’t want him back, right?” Your friend advises.

What your friends don’t know is that you do want him back. So desperately. He sends mixed signals - leaving you sad and confused - but that doesn’t mean you love him any less.

His call couldn’t have come any sooner.

“Gyu.” You say rawly.

He says your name back, voice hoarse as if he hadn’t spoken all day. He speaks again.

“I… I miss you.”

You sigh even though you knew he would say something like this. You stay silent.

“Do you miss me too?” He asks apprehensively.

“I… I do. I miss you, Gyu. But listen, we… I can’t keep doing this.” You respond.

After a few heartbeats, he speaks up.

“I know, I know we need to stop. That this is wrong. But… I need to see you. Please. One last time. Come over.”

You’re silent for more than a few heartbeats. You contemplate for a minute. For the sake of self-preservation, your brain was yelling at you to deny his request, hang up on him, and block his number. The ugly truth was that you needed him just as much as he needed you.

“Now?”

He was quick to respond. “Yes, god, any time. I would let you in at any hour of any day”

You look over at the clock. It reads 11:13pm.

“Ok… ok. See you soon.” You think out loud. You hang up and slink out of bed. I’m definitely not telling my friends about this, you think to yourself.

20 minutes pass and you’re approaching his apartment unit. You knock softly, knowing that he was probably waiting nearby the door. He always was like a puppy dog.

As you expected, he opened the door almost immediately. You both were silent for a moment, laying eyes on each other for the first time in 2 months.

He had baggy eyes and puffy lips. He was wearing the plaid pajama pants you got him last Christmas. You’re sure you look like you’re in bad shape, but that doesn’t matter. You’re not here to look pretty for him.

He outstretches his arms to wrap you in them and you walk forward, letting it happen. You stand at his doorway for a moment, holding onto each other. When you pull away, he looks at you in the eye. Suddenly realizing how bad this idea probably was, your eyes dart to the side, breaking contact.

He senses your unease. “Want… want to sit? To talk?” He asks. You shrug. He’s the one who asked you to come over in the first place. He leads you to the couch with a light hand on your back.

When you’re both sitting, it’s silent for a moment. You decide to ask the question you’ve been agonizing over for the past 2 months.

“Why did you break up with me Beomgyu? I know why, but why couldn’t we have worked through it together?”

He stares at his feet as he responds. “I told you. I was a burden to you already, I wasn’t going to burden you with my problems.”

“Gyu, you’re the only one who thinks that. Please stop being so hard on yourself.” You counter. 

“You’re better off without me.” He mumbles. This makes a spark of anger light up inside of you. It’s so ironic considering the fact that he is making it impossible to move on.

“Then why won’t you leave me alone?” You ask, voicing your thoughts and raising your voice slightly, making him raise his head to meet your eyes.

Surprisingly, he responds with equal fervor. “Because I need you! I need you like-like air. I can’t stay away from you.”

“Why are you pushing me away then?” You say, softer this time.

He responds candidly, “I don’t want you to see my shortcomings. I don’t want you around when all I’m going to do is be a loser. You deserve more than that. More than me.” he continues. “But I don't want you to move on, to stop loving me. I’m… I’m fucked up. I’m sorry.”

He has tears welling up in his eyes at this point. The both of you do. Your eyes meet with his and you search them like they hold all of the answers.

Suddenly he leans forward and you let him. His lips ghost yours, noses touching. After what felt like eternity, he pressed his lips against yours tentatively. He swiped your bottom lip with his tongue, asking for entrance. You let him in, letting him explore your mouth.

After a few minutes of teeth clashing and knees bumping, he breaks away and stands up. He extends his hand out to you. Looking up at him, you take it. You would let him lead you anywhere.

You trail behind him to the bedroom. Your thoughts are racing. This is wrong. I missed him so much. We shouldn’t be doing this. I just want to feel his touch again.

He climbed onto the bed, releasing your hand and beckoning you over. He sits in front of you, spreading your legs to get closer to you. Your lips find each other again.

He pulls away from you, begrudgingly so, and backs up enough to grab your pants by the waistline and pull them off of you. He slotted himself between your legs and sunk his head down like he had so many times before.

You can feel his breath against your core as he presses light kisses in the innermost parts of your thighs. He finally starts by pressing his tongue flat against you, licking a strip up to your now throbbing clit. His spit mingles with your juices as he eats you out. Your mind drifts to all the times he ate you out, how he destressed you instantly and turned your bad day on its head. He always knew how to take care of you. His soft grip on the plush of your thighs tightens lightly as you start to squirm around.

Your thoughts melt away as Beomgyu continues to work in between your legs. Your stomach begins leaping with anticipation, and you know you’re getting close. Your hands search for something to hold. One finds the sheets, crumpling up as much of it as you could into your balled fist, and the other reaches down to grab a handful of his hair.

He knows you’re close. Your legs start jolting and you let out breathy moans. He slows down and retreats from your now soaked cunt. He wipes his chin lazily with the sleeve of his shirt, sitting up. He starts tracing circles on your thigh, suddenly acting sheepish. You push yourself up onto your elbows.

“What is it?” You ask, having your high stolen from you just moments ago.

“I want… I want you.” He says quietly.

“You can have me. You can have all of me, Gyu.” You say, letting yourself collapse back onto the bed.

You feel the bed rise then sink again as he takes off his pants. Staring at his ceiling you realize that coming to bed with your ex wasn’t the best idea. It was a lie to say that he didn’t always have you, though. That you ever stopped being his.

With that, Beomgyu climbs up alongside you, encaging your body under his. You had just given him the world. He wastes no time aligning himself with you and slowly sliding in, filling you up with a slight burn.

As he thrust in and out of you, he craned his neck down so his lips could meet yours. Lightly you tasted yourself in his mouth, yet it mattered not because in this moment he was you and you were him.

When his lips weren’t desperately on yours, they were buried into the crook of your neck. “I missed this so fucking much… I missed you” he panted. His voice was muffled yet his words were perfectly clear.

After a bit you could feel your release approaching. Your orgasm that had been pent up for the past two months. You finally reach it, Beomgyu fucking you through your high. Your release was bittersweet.

His thrusts became less coordinated and shallower. He always was vocal, though the whines and whimpers were amplified due to the lack of physical intimacy for the past 2 months.

“God, fuck… feels so good… I hope this feeling is the last thing I feel on Earth.”

As he reaches his release, he presses his forehead against yours, hot breath against your face. Routinely so, as it were. He always did like to be close to you as he came.

He pulled out of you and slumped down at your side. He quickly snaked his arm around your waist and pulled you close to him.

Hazily, he says, “I just want you in my arms tonight. Please. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

With that, the two of you fall asleep, him hugging you like if he held you tight enough you wouldn’t leave again.

[missmarveledsblog]

Now she's mine ( Bradley bradshaw x reader) 18+

summary : sequel to if she were mine  where  rooster shows y/n how much she really loves her in the best way possible . 

warnings: smut so 18+ , oral ( fem receiving)   p in v unprotected ( wrap it before you tap it) , body worshipping and to be honest its just pure sensual filth ,goofy fluff  ending though. AWAY MINORS

From thinking the universe was against him to feeling like the luckiest man in the world was an outcome Bradley bradshaw . His hand held hers the whole time as he drove home ready to show her what she deserved and why he was the one worthy to give it to her. Was he nervous fuck yes but he wasn't letting the it pass not when he finally had a shot of getting the girl , getting his girl . He still felt her tears on his shirt when she broke in his arms earlier in the night and timing wise it may of looked quick but for him , who waited all his life well now time limit was needed.

" roo" she called so sweetly it made him melt in his seat and yet grip the steering wheel like he was holding on for dear life all in one. " yes baby girl" the sight of his driveway was never so exciting .

" how come you never said anything before" she asked pulling the belt of her body as she slide to his side leaning over and taking his seat belt off .

" well i mean a number of things i already told you but mainly i didn't wanna ruin our friendship , you mean world to me and if it meant keeping my feelings a secret to keep you in my life well i would of done it .. oh fuck" he groaned as she sat perfectly on his lap , like she meant to be there all this time on him , with him . " well giving the situation and in a blinding hindsight i think we got a lot of time to make up for don't you think" his eyes searched her hoping she wasn't having second thoughts not just about what they were doing but future or too .

" you know i never thought you'd love me like the way i love you " was all she got out of her mouth before he kissed her deeply hoping he could show how wrong she was as his tongue slid against hers . like two soulmates finding each other after eternity of being a part , puzzle pieces that fit together it made the most beautiful picture. Heated yet tender and sensual like she never been kissed before, her heart beating just for him but it always did since they were kids and he used to give her wild flowers he'd find or when they were teen and he slip silly notes in her locker to make her smile.

" sorry i had to shut those silly and wrong word up one way" he smirked as he pulled back eyes never leaving hers locked in a hypnotic trance of full blown love and lust .

" roo i meant what i said take me to bed" she leaned kissing down his jaw nipping the skin like she was staking her claim , marking what was hers . He wanted to pinch himself wondering if he somehow crashed during training and this was his heaven because never in his life would he think that he and his dream girl would be making out in his bronco like horny teenagers .

" show me the way babygirl" his fingers under her chin making her look at him .

Every nervous feeling she felt on the way was gone the minute his lips touched hers, every worry , insecurity wiped in the moment and replace with a need , an ache only bradley bradshaw could soothe . she opened the door sliding off his lap wordlessly took his hand and keys locking the car her back flush with his font as her head lolled to the side giving him more access and he kissed , teeth scrapping the sensitive skin as she a mix between a moan and sigh escaped her lips . the moment she opened his front door he spun her to face him , large hands under her thighs kicking door closed as she was pressed up against the wood . fire , passion , hungry ready to eat each other whole her hip rolling to quell the inferno that he was building between them.

" scratch that i'll show you the way" he rasped voice low making her breathe hitched and eyes blown in lust . maybe another time she would fight for dominance but this time she was submitting to anything he wanted of her and what he wanted was to take her apart and show her how a woman like her needed to be treated . lips down her neck feeling the scratch of his moustache she would never make fun of again as his hands on the hem of her top when she heard the rip and his hands sliding her ribs sliding around her back up her spin and in her hair pulling her closer if it was possible .

So lost in him that she didn't even notice she was in his room til he placed her ever so gently on his bed . sitting herself up on her knee soft hands pushing the hawaiian of his shoulder , her hands slipping under his vest feeling every nerve coming to life like it was solely under her control . leaning over her she felt so small compare to his sheet size which only added to the excitement that filled her from within .

his large hands coming to the clasp of her bra pulling it from her body throwing well he didn't know or care he had to stand back and admire the view her chest bare as she set prettily on his bed a place he would keep her forever if he could . he imagined this so many times he was alone with his cock and compared to reality it was nothing even close .

" fuck you are a dream come true" he rasped pulled his vest from his body . now it was her turn drool . she may of seen it before , admired for a second or through the lens of her sunglasses and yet now was different without obscurity in the way of such a view. Tanned muscled body that only a god could of took his sweet time carving to utter perfection . bradley bradshaw was beautiful inside and out so much so it would cause a nun to sin .

" fuck" both panting.

" god my mind didn't do you justice one bit" he growled leaning over her caging her like a hunter and his prey . his bare chest against her alone had him fighting the urge to cum in his pants like a teenager. Leaning back up his hand went to top of her pants opening the button pulling them down with her thong , knuckles grazing her skin a blaze in it trail. His lips kissing the tops of her breast as his hands slide under her knee spreading her open as he pressed his bulge against her weeping cunt. Hands still trailing up her body , up her ribs and cupping her breast pushing them together as he took the stiff peak of her nipple in his mouth and the other between his finger tips.

" roo please" she begged fucking begged for him he could die a happy man from that alone.

" patience baby waited so long wanna burn this in to my memory" he groaned hand sliding down.

" god you are soaking for me baby you are a fucking dream come true let me show you the goddess you are , a goddess i would spent rest of my days worshipping" he rasp thick digits sliding through her glistening folds . she whine as he pulled them away only for her breath to hitch as he brought his finger to his mouth tasting her sweet nectar like it was essence of life itself.

" fuck i got a taster now i need the whole meal" he smirk licking and kissing sloppily down her body she never felt anything like it already driving in a lust filled madness before he touch her .

" i will warn you baby once i get a taste i may never stop" was all he said before he dove in . eating her out like it was his first and last meal all in one . every sound she made he wanted to record have it on repeat better than any song he's heard and yet he got her singing like it was a personal concert . his tongue lapped at her cunt as if it was only source of water in the desert the coil in her stomach winding tighter and tighter she honestly thought she was going to snap in have .

" oh fuck baby you would have jesus christ himself to come off the cross for a taste" he slipping a finger then two in her weeping hole playing her like his personal instrument .

" fuck fuck fuck rooo don't stop" she cried. head thrown back on the pillow as scream came out her throat as the coil wound so tight snapped in a toe curling pleasure that made her vision blur . he chuckled when she weakly pushed his head away . if she wasn't in such a blissed out horny state she would of blushed as her arousal coated his face yet instead everything was doing made her feel powerful , a confidence she never had building inside her . lips on her she moaned at the taste of herself on his lips as her hands undone the buttons of his letting her finger graze his painfully hard length going to push him up for a taste of her own.

" baby girl any other time i would be all for those lips on my cock but i need to be in that pussy pronto before i die of madness" his voice deep graveling as his thumb tugged her bottom lip .

" please roo" she whimper mouth cover his thumb as her tongue swirl around the digit before sucking it softly.

" tonight is about you baby" he smiled kissing her nose hand around his own length guiding it through her folds letting her slick coat him .

" i just need you" she admitted softly as leaned down hand on one side of her head and another guiding his cock to her weeping entrance

. " you have me you'll always have me" he moaned pushing inch by inch feeling the velvet walls tighten around him . " gate of paradise between these leg" he trusted slowly watching her plump lips form o shape.

" oh roo faster" she moaned. She never needed to ask twice not with him sitting himself up as he went faster , harder as her back arch his hand held her in place .fucking every feeling he's had all these year. Hitting spots she only ever read of. Every coherent thought in her mind leaving as she babbled in a pleasure filled daze his hand down her body til she felt his finger coming to her clit . she was losing her god damn mind in every good sense possible feeling it approaching.

" don't stop fuck roo dont stop i'm gonna.. ohhh roo " she cried as she the world crashed around her .she gushed around his length sending his own release following after . tear falling down his cheeks in post orgasm haze .

roo you ok" she panted eyes filled with concern although her own tears we soon approaching.

" fuck i love you so much" he kissed her more softer , gentle like he was afraid she would vanish in thin air.

" roo i have loved you since we were kids and it never gonna change anytime soon" she peck his cheek before his nose and then his lips . pulling out of her before he felt onto the bed beside her pulling her to his chest holding her in his arms like he's dreamed of so many times before.

" except i pulled your hair back then" he kissed her head both panting covered in a sheen of sweat.

" i wouldn't be opposed to it now just wait til i can feel my legs again roo you've ruin me" she giggled nuzzling her face in his neck as he groaned at her admission .

" good because i'm the only one you need i know its probably not the best timing but if i know anything time means nothing your it for me have me down since that day you gave me your ice cream cause i dropped mine" he lifted her face to his .

" i just want you" she smiled repeating her words earlier.

" you have me all of me" he smiled nose rubbing hers.

" good because big heart and big dick your stuck with me" she giggled only for him to laughed pounce on her again .

" now your mine" he peppered her face in kissing as her laugh fill his house.

He woke up smiling , he was laid in bed with the girl of his dream except it was real , he got the girl now wrapped in his arms like the greatest gift on the earth. He wanted to make their first morning perfect softly out of his bed throwing his boxer on ready to spoil his girl. Extra pep in his step as he strolled confidently into his kitchen , turning the radio on searching the presses and fridge and getting to work. Maybe he had too much or too little he never knew because he had no idea what he was doing but it was going to be perfect  even if he had no idea what he was doing . 

She stretched out feeling the emptiness of the bed wondering if she dreamed it all but the ache between her legs set reality right and his room coming to focus in her sleep induce view. She didn't get a chance to wonder where he was when the smell of burning his her nose and string of incoherent curses travelled to his room. A giggle escaped her lips as she hopped out of the bed putting his hawaiian shirt amused at how much bigger it was on her to him . looking around the room to find her thong and padding down to see what the hell the burning was. Coughing and swiping the smoke she stood at the door way not noticed as he was busy cursing the pan .

" no shit stop burning ... fuck you need to perfect" he scolded only for the sweetest laugh hitting his ear making him turn and his jaw to drop .

" whatcha doing " she went on her tipping toes trying to get a glance .

" well i was trying to make my girl breakfast in bed but then a five course meal walk in the door" he purred sight of her in his shirt and his shirt alone sent him feral.

" move over big boy before you kill us both" she pushed him to the dinning table . watching in amazement as she moved easily around his kitchen so easily then groaning when she bent to reveal what was under his shirt.

" bradshaw , man we got a problem y/n not at home and we cant get .... Woah now i see why you like those shirt" jake rush in snapping him out of his trance. " phoenix found her" he called as the brunette ran in .

" oh thank god i was so ...OH MY GOD " she screamed.only for y/n to pull bradley in front of her

" its just our friends although bagman stop looking at my girls ass" he said when she let out a squeak.

" she still not ans..." .

" oh my god kill me now" . "We asked for help " jake shit eating grin was not helping  sitting at the kitchen island .

"hey mav" ,

" hey dad see i'm safe ... breakfast..anyone? " she squeaked pulling the shirt to cover her more.

" go get dress we need to have a talk .... Both of you" pete mitchell sigh as the worry was long gone as two rushed out the room.

"i'll have some breakfast" jake snorted only for nat to slap him. He definitely wasn't missing the show .

[wroteclassicaly]

After everything with Vecna and since you’re both lonely, Steve asks you to stay at his. And in his bed, because neither of you can (want) to be alone. You’re both there, trying to sleep on your backs, then on your sides. But that doesn’t last long, before you’re both turning over and overlapping questions at the same time, his voice breaking through in desperation and a quivering hesitation, like he expects you would say know before he’s even heard your own reciprocal response.

“Can I hold you —“

“Will you hold me —“

You turn over and let his forearm drape around your midriff, fingertips stroking along the veins, those defined tendons and freckles that run there. He’s got a few cuts from battle, ones you don’t shy away from. There’s a sudden urgency, something you tack onto as comfort, seeing a side of one another for years that no one else has. You don’t need to label, and you don’t fight it. Steve is working you over in his arms, his massive palm disappearing in your sleep shorts and over your own wounds, kissing them with his calloused thumb-pads, reaching the elastic band of your panties as you’re finding him beneath his pajama pants and over his briefs.

His breath is warm against your mouth, lines diminishing before your very eyes. You’re crying, he’s crinkling his nose with the beginning of his own anguish and recovery. “Yeah?” His voice is raspy, lips tickling your own. You can’t hear his wall clock, the tick you had heard many times being in his room over the past several years. He’d smashed it when you both came back here, unable to stand the noise — reasons obvious.

You can hear your own shaky breaths, heart rate stuck to your esophagus, shattering your emotions into a web across your insides.

“Honey, we deserve this. It’s okay.” The bridge of his defined nose glides over your own, and that’s it.

You do. You will. You want to. You need to. You’re taking. You’re accepting. And Steve Harrington is right here with you.

And it goes on without time counting. Hands shoved in each other’s underwear, wrapped around and stroking, fingers inside and pushing. It’s sloppy, hot, wet, and sticky. You’re moving in a secret rhythm, up and down his bed, chests squished together, wrists aching from their twisting movements, fucking yourselves on and in the other’s hand, sheets kicked off, lips open and pressed together when you want to kiss, but you’re mostly sharing pants and receiving whimpers, pleas, and cries.

When Steve Harrington comes, with wide, mossy, midnight blown irises that are focussed on you — tears spill over his thick lashes, and he gasps.

“It’s okay, Steve. We deserve this.” You’re assuring him, reiterating his own words, letting him ride it out and get what he needs as he spills all over your hand and up your wrist.

You find your own release moments later, watching him as he watches you, cream drenching his fingers. It’s loud, but welcomed. You collapse into his injured neck, nosing his chain, lips kissing along the angry red welts.

And Steve thinks, this is the exact definition of okay.

[goldsbitch]

Right? p7

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

summary: Y/N is a photographer for McLaren F1 team. Hard working, goal oriented professional who would never put her career in jeopardy for some stupid crush, right?

You were a professional. That's what you used to believe, right?

One would wonder how would the teenage version of you felt seeing that you're putting your career on the line because of a boy. Was the pride, dignity and all the hard work worth a one night stand? All those years of hard work, blown away in one night.

It was a mix of ultimate regret and and a massive fuck you to your own sense of what was right or wrong. How could a unique memory like the one Lando gave you last weekend be wrong?

Your heart sank the moment you saw the first photo. And another and another. Your arrival to his house was documented from several angles.

The mystery girl. You were not sure whether to scream or cry. It was just a matter of time before someone would make the connection.

If you were to fall from grace and loose your job, you'd at least try to save your dignity over there. Many people before you had made these types of mistakes. You were not the first one nor last one. But before you made the dreaded call to your boss, you changed your mind back and forth seventy times, cursed yourself out loud in public, and at one point even slapped yourself in front of a mirror. There was absolutely no way you'd ever tell your family. They held you too highly and the fear of disappointing them was too big. Your mother's kind reassuring words were not something you needed to hear in the near future. But your boss, the one that gave you the chance in the first place, deserved to know it from you. After all she did for you, how much of a role model she had been, she deserved to be told directly by you. After all, she was the one who taught you that the worst thing to do when there is a fuck up is to try and lie about it to the team. Open door policy. This was a fuck up. A good one. The best one, right?

Lando called you few times. You did not answer.

Alessia was a mentor to you. Italian super boss who left the Ferrari team to run the McLaren media team. She liked you. Really did. So when you called her on a Sunday evening, she picked up and then spend a good hour on the phone with you. You told her everything, from start to the end. She was surprised, told you that it was your fault that you had compromised your job...but, she did not judge. Understood, as if she knew what you were describing. You dared not to ask.

To your surprise, there wasn't even one moment where she would suggest firing you. On the contrary, together you devised a plan for diversion of attention. Took one of the secret fake social media profiles you had in the database, for moments like these. She also had few prominent gossip profiles set up, which were now used to feed the curious crowd with a diversion - blame a fake person and they will be happy for a moment and then move on. It was not the first time this had been done for Lando, but for the first time without his knowledge or request. And of course, for someone who was a part of the team.

You were also instructed to get rid of all the clothes or things you had on you when you went to his house. Oh and you got a hair cut. Not something too dramatic, but your long hair that used to fall to the middle of your back was now a wolf cut with proper bangs, done hastily on a Monday morning by a private hair dresser.

Alessia was also pretty blunt about the fact you had to stop the affair with Lando immediately if you wanted to keep your job. You'd be assigned either to Oscar or behind the scenes content - not Lando Norris. It was all so fast and cut with adrenaline induced fear that you dared not to object. Or even think about it.

When Lando saw those pictures in the morning, he paid little to no attention to them. Just another attempt of bad journalists to make some easy money. He was not going to give in. Only later on during the day he realized that might not be the case for you. The reality hit him when noticed all those comments during his casual stream session. Were you aware of this? Was it affecting you? Were you about to run away because of this? He decided to call you. And then few times more. When you did not respond, he figured he's just wait until he saw you at the paddock again, which was only a few days away anyway. He figured you were due to a talk about what to do next. In the meantime, he'd try to figure out his response. Because there was something very strong attracting him towards you. And he kinda liked that. At different times during his day, he had to stop himself from smiling for no reason.

By the time you both rolled back to the paddock, he was touch starved and hungry for you attention. He knew there was something stopping you from reacting to his attempts of communication, but he wasn't worried about that. He knew you had an amazing time, had your climax face still in fresh memory and most importantly, he was unapologetically sure and confident that he would sway you away from any doubts you might have by the power of his cheeky wink and few reassuring words. Mr. "not-a-worry-in-the-world" was living on his own cloud 9 while you tried to find something that would suit your new strange haircut.

The only thing he searched for was you. Walked around the paddock, pretending to be heading somewhere, several times. When he finally saw you, walking opposite of him, smile he could not contain in crept in. Was that a new haircut? First he got taken back, but then imagined how your new hair might bounce and fall to your face when you're on top of him, and he decided he was much of a fan. His fantasy of sharing a smile and lightly brushing your hands as the two of you passed vanished into thin air as soon as he realized you were not even going to look at him. In fact, it was like he was the plague you might contract just by accidentaly laying your eyes on him. As you passed and went even further away from him, he stopped, confused and somewhat annoyed. No, this was not going to just happen like that.

He turned around and marched his way right back to you - only to be very aggressively stopped by your boss. Surprised Lando could not ever watch you leave as he shared a confused look with Alessia. She simply looked at him and mouthed no. Lando didn't consider himself smart - that didn't mean he wasn't. It all made sense real quickly. He walked away without a word, the opposite way from you and still without any clue where he was actually going.

//

Your days were now cut with the same level of anxiety as you'd have during your first days at the paddock. Tripping over things, afraid to talk to anyone and generally trying to blend in or hide behind the camera. It was always a good reason why not interfere people's conversations. The fly on the wall. Because it was safe, right?

Wrong. Lando got more frustrated and mad with each hour that turned into another day. He was somehow able to contain it, but was getting more and more worried that it might start showing on his performance. He confided in Daniel during one of their padel matches. He just had to tell someone. Very rarely was he asking for advice from other drivers. But this time he had to. Daniel's stance on this was very clear and straightforward. "Mate, while it's good to have fun and all, it will never work out. Ultimately, she is working for your team and they will never allow it. Plus, she obviously does not want to risk anything anymore if she's not responding." Lando was mostly silent during the rest of their game. A little joke here and there, but with each hit to the ball he became more and more certain that he did not agree with any word that Daniel said. He had to know what you thought. This no contact thing was not good enough. He was cursing Alessia, the whole paddock and probably the rest of the world as well. Getting the number of your room was easy. Probably little too easy, he thought as he walked towards your hotel room, hoping he will not run into your boss again. It was 11PM. He assumed you'd be getting ready for bed right now.

And you were - the stress and loneliness of the past days meant frequent evening baths to ease the tension in your chest. Not that it was working in anyway. You put all your focus into work these past few days. Editing like crazy. Creating double the content that was needed. You didn't even turn most of it in. Would be too suspicious. Many photos of the team and Oscar. Not a single photo of Lando. You were on self induced probation.

The knock on the door surprised you. After a moment of second guessing, you got out of the bath, put a robe on and slowly opened the door. You genuinely did not expect to see his face. Which was strange, as he was on your mind every waking hour and in few of your dreams. He entered without saying a word. You let him in and closed the door, hoping nobody saw him enter. The anxiety was back in full speed. He thought he had a speech ready and put together - he did not count in the factor his own distraction with the fact you were obviously wearing only the robe. He never saw you this raw and human, if that was the right use of the word. Toned down to basics, no glam or work smile. Just you, young woman ready to get to bed. It was refreshing and a sight he had no idea how much he wanted before stumbling upon it. For him, there was no choice. He had to know where you stood.

"Sorry for barging in like that," he stated, trying to get you on his good side. But he was riled up with adrenaline, having hard time to contain himself. "But it's not like I exactly had other way to get to you, did I?"

You were vulnerable. As if he opened the box you managed to keep hidden. The moment he touched the door and the box lid flew away.

The two of you stood uncomfortably far away from each other. You were biting your cheek while burned you down with his stare. He waited for any reply from you, but he saw how frozen you were. His face relaxed, letting a rather concerned sigh out. Where to start?

"Are you avoiding me?" he asked.

Last time you felt this amount of stress was during your job interview. "Yes."

He nodded, disapprovingly. "Okey. Fair. May I know why?"

You wondered if he understood your situation and was just making sure, or whether he was just plain clueless. What a different world he lived in.

"Isn't that obvious? We had one dinner, and I had to cut my hair...It this goes on, I'd be bold in a month," you tried to put it in a humorous way, but it was really forced.

"Is that why?" he said, examining your hair once again from afar. "I quite like it."

It would be a lie to say that you didn't blush.

"Look, I am sorry for any trouble that caused you. We can be more careful..."

You grinned. "Careful. Right. Sounds delightful." You weren't sure where this bitterness came from.

Lando rolled his eyes, seemingly royally annoyed this time.

"Really? So you're just giving up, just like that."

He had enough of your silence.

"Ok, fine. I apologize for interrupting your evening," he said and marched to the door. You did not expect him to leave so abruptly. Panic set in, you know if was now or never - or at least a long someday. This was wrong, all of it. You caught yourself going after him and stopping him leave.

"Wait," you said with a tone of despair. It was easy to get him to stop.

"Yes?" he asked, clearly waiting for you to meet him half way.

Lost for words, again, but you pushed through this time. "It's a miracle it didn't blow up this time. Do you realize how much work went into covering it up?"

"I do. Believe me," he said with a look in his eyes that showed fatigue, as if this was not something he encountered before. "What I came here to say that even though we have had only one official date, I know that it is worth it to at least try and not bury this at the first bump. And I came here to ask you plain and simple, if this radio silence came from your head and reflects your true wishes."

You did not expect him to be direct. How refreshing to hear someone speak clearly after a run of situationships you'd have. This guy just knew how to shut you up and make you melt.

"I panicked when the pictures came out..."

"Yes, I see now that I shouldn't have left you alone with your thoughts."

"I like you," you returned the blunt honesty. If not now, then when? "I really do. You make me feel alive and I want to make you feel the same way."

His face relaxed, as if another protective wall fell down. Yet, there was a strain of pain in his eyes, something you'd never seen before.

"So why are you giving up? I thought you're someone who is willing to fight for what you want," he said, hitting where it hurt. "I've seen you go the extra mile many times before, going where your passion takes you. I sort of hoped this could be applied to us."

Never before has a guy stood before you with such a burning look and straightforward attitude. It was intimidating in the best way possible.

"I never expected you to be interested in anything beyond a fling," you said the first thing on your mind.

It was him now, lost for words a bit. You were happy a bit that you were able to return the bluntness.

"Yet, here we are," he stated simply.

"Here we are."

You both took few second of silence before you continue, finally getting your point out.

"To be honest, I did not expect the media to pick up so easily. I called Alessia, because I didn't know what to do-"

"Why didn't you call me?" he interrupted you.

"-I mean, we don't know each other that much! In the serious stuff anyway-"

"Yet."

"Yes, yet," Oh, was this man ever gonna let you finish a sentence? You took a deep breath in and continued. "I wasn't sure what to do, she on the other hand looked like she knew well enough how to proceed in this damage control and I just followed her lead. I can't jeopardise my career because of a fling, you understand that, right?"

In his eyes, it was a simple thing. "Well, let's make sure you don't."

"Loose my job?"

"Loose your job over a fling."

"Lando...you can't be saying things like that if you don't mean them seriously."

"I do mean them seriously...I meet a lot of people. Famous, gorgeous, fans and what not. I can't remember the last time I actually liked someone. What I do remember is putting other things as a priority, being lead by several different fears and ignoring this feeling. I'm getting older, I don't want to run away. Not until I've done all I could to give this a chance. If you want to, of course."

He was waiting for your response. You could see in his eyes, he was begging for an answer for a question he didn't ask.

"Of course I want to be with you! I want us to go the natural way of things and see how it goes! But, I'm afraid we don't exactly have that luxury," you said, grabbing your short hair to prove your point.

"What's the worst that could happen? In your own view?" he asked, using the same tone you recognized from his strategy meetings.

Ok, let's play it his way. "Well, I get marked as a slut, someone who does not have any real talent and I'll get fired and never get a job again."

"Interesting. Because I think the worst that could happen is us just walking away and never finding out what could have been just because we're scared of what some insecure people online will think. And of course people will doubt your talent, hell there are people still doubting Picasso's talent, so you'd be in a good club! People doubt my talent all the damn time. You can't let them control your actions? And dare I say, your talent is so obvious, even if you lost your job at McLaren there would be thousands of other jobs, maybe even better ones for you. Unlike me, you can do something that's universally needed around the world. It's not a one niche specific thing, formula 1 is not the only option for you!" he said and you felt as if he let his own insecurities creep in this time.

You desperately wanted to hug him. To ease the tension of what felt like once in a life-time conversation.

But maybe he was right? You realized you'd never heard someone verbally acknowledge your talent. Not your parent, who did not understand photography, not your colleagues, who were always focused on the professional criticism. He was the first person to do so.

"You really think that?" you asked, because why the hell not at this point.

His face turned to confusion, as if he did not understand what you were saying.

"What, that you have talent? Bloody hell, of course. A blind man could see that." Surprised face stayed on him for a while. "Don't tell me you don't believe that."

With that, he closed the distance between you two and went to cup your face. "I can't believe you'd be so harsh on yourself," he said, looking deeply into your eyes.

You laughed lightly. "That's rich, coming from you."

Your foreheads touched. "I don't want to pressure you into anything, Y/N. But I don't want to watch you go without a fight. Who knows, it might be a dead end after few weeks. But what if not?"

"I'm scared...but like, the good kind of scared, you know?"

"Yeah," he laughed. "I know." The two stayed in your own thoughts for a moment, foreheads still touching. "Can I kiss you?" he whispered quietly.

"Yes, please do. But only if you plan of staying the night. I want to find out what it feels like to wake up next to you."

He chucked. "Yes, me too. You did run away on me pretty smoothly," he pointed to the fact you were nowhere to be found the morning after your date.

And then- he kissed you.

It felt like opening the windows for the first time after a long winter. Like finally finding the perfume that suit you. Looking into a mirror and liking a new haircut. Realizing you grew out of your old insecurities. Listening to a song you'd heard a thousand times before and finally getting its meaning. A shoe that fits. Laugh that comes from within. Your true self coming out. Letting go of the past. Becoming yourself.

part 8

_______________________

@i-wish-this-was-me @lqvesoph @ophcelia @noneofyourfbusinessworld @formulaal

[suzukiblu]

Day five of fic NaNoWriMo; obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

The Superboy problem is a problem, but it's a backburner problem. There isn't really much Tim can do about it, after all. Bruce isn't gonna accept "hey so I know secret identities and maintaining the Bat-mystique and everything but could you just like . . . take in an extremely high-profile teenage superhero with no vested interest in maintaining any kind of secret identity of his own, maybe?" as a plan. Tim needs something better. Something more functional. And also something Kon will actually go for.

And there's just no way that Tim can just walk up to a notoriously independent and proud and defensive teammate who barely considers him an acquaintance and say "do you want an apartment and monthly living expenses and maybe also an allowance, no strings attached?"

That would be weird, definitely.

Like. Very definitely.

Tim's still tempted to try it, mind. It's not like he couldn't afford it, with a little bit of abuse of his trust fund and a lot of lying to his dad. And really, would that even be an abuse? If helping his teammate live his fucking life outside of a fucking lab counts as an abuse . . .

Well, maybe he really will move up his supervillain timeline, that's all.

But it's a backburner problem, still, and Tim isn't actually thinking about it at all when his best chance to solve it pops up. What Tim is doing is suffering through a field trip to a Metropolis art museum, because the school board is full of cowards and thinks sending his grade to an outside-Gotham museum will decrease the chances of said field trip being interrupted by a museum robbery.

Obviously it will, but come on, they're from Gotham. Like they can't handle a museum robbery.

Also all the art here is pretentious. Like, in obnoxious Metropolis-type ways.

If Tim has to look at one more stylized interpretation of the sun reflecting on a skyscraper while a "subtle" caped figure flies by in the background, he will actually choke. Like literally, actually choke.

Get one original thought. Please. Someone. Anyone.

(No, the stylized interpretations of the moon reflecting on a Gothic building while a subtle caped figure looms among the gargoyles are not equally uncreative, thank you very much. At least duplicating Gotham architecture involves some actual artistry beyond "paint a few straight lines and add a lens flare".)

Tim takes some half-assed notes about the boringly generic exhibit they're here to see and then goes looking for literally anything more interesting than said exhibit. There's got to be some photography somewhere in this place, right? Or at least some loaner art that somebody outside of Metropolis put together before Superman's public debut. Or something.

He ends up in the ancient Mesopotamian exhibit mostly by trying to avoid people and, unfortunately, immediately runs straight into a magical artifact. He doesn't actually know it's magic at the time, but the assholes who are about to blow in an outside wall in pursuit of it sure do.

Tim, unfortunately oblivious to phenomenal cosmic power in clay form, thinks it looks kind of like a cute little toy goat and is just grateful it isn't another skyscraper.

Then the wall gets blown in.

"The school board deserves this," Tim mutters, closing his notebook and sticking it back in his bag because sure, why not. This might as well happen.

Ugh.

The very obvious thieves rush in through the gap in the wall. A few people scream–Tim assumes to be polite, since this is already the most unimpressive museum robbery he's seen in months–and the civilians scatter as the guards rush forward. Tim wonders why anyone's even bothering, given that this is Metropolis. What, are they worried the thieves aren't gonna validate their parking for them?

Seriously, Tim knows all the robbery statistics in this city. Even when Superman doesn't show up, the injury and fatality rates are shockingly low. It's statistically more dangerous to go for a walk in Gotham Park mid-afternoon than it is to be present for an armed robbery in Metropolis.

Which is funny, considering the people doing armed robberies in Metropolis come armed for Superman.

Look, Tim doesn't understand the statistics, he just records them.

The thieves tie up the guards first, which seems like a waste of time to Tim when time is of the essence but probably will be for the best if they get pinned down in the gallery, he supposes. Then again, that'd likely end up in a hostage situation anyway, so why worry about containing a couple of unarmed guards over saving thirty seconds when you're doing a smash and grab?

Seems inefficient to him, considering.

He keeps assessing the situation and taking mental notes as he ushers various classmates and museum-goers towards comparative safety, since a successful supervillain timeline requires appropriate research and development. And also, Metropolis-based criminals should know how to work around Superman, at least in theory, so it's best to keep an eye on what does and doesn't work for them.

Not for any specific reason, obviously.

Definitely not.

One of the thieves goes for the little clay goat, smashing its glass display case with their armored elbow, and only then do the museum alarms start screaming. Seems like a stupid design choice when an exploding wall doesn't set them off, but whatever, at least there are alarms.

Honestly, if it were him, Tim would have a silent alarm and a secondary alarm set to a specifically Superman-discernable frequency, though he's sure Superman would get sick of that quick in non-life-threatening situations, so maybe there are local regulations about that or something, who knows. He should look into that, actually. Or just play something annoying on a frequency normal human hearing can’t discern and see what happens, if nothing else.

They make sonic fences to keep dogs in and teenagers out, don't they? Same theory.

The thieves are all yelling orders to each other and arguing; no clear chain of command and a poorly-established plan, Tim notes. Most of the civilians are clear or behind cover, so if he just–

Right, Tim remembers belatedly as one of the thieves makes a grab for him. He's currently wearing civilian wear, isn't he.

That probably means he needs to let this incredibly clumsy grab work, doesn't it, he reflects resignedly. Definitely it does, actually.

Ugh.

Tim, dubiously, lets the thief grab him and debates how upset he's supposed to look about this situation. A Gothamite can't look too freaked out over a Metropolis criminal, obviously; he'd never live it down at school. Seriously, is this guy even armed, he–

Ah, never mind. Definitely armed.

And an idiot with no concept of trigger safety, judging by the way he's holding the gun he's currently jamming into Tim's temple.

Great. Just great.

What does this moron even think he's doing, anyway? The guards are all tied up, as far as he knows there's no superheroes on scene, and nobody's actually trying to stop them. If he accidentally murders a civilian right now, they're all going to be in way, way worse trouble than just stealing a little clay goat would entail.

Tim resists the urge to point that out since there is, again, a gun to his head right now and the person holding it there is in fact a moron with no concept of trigger safety. Not an ideal time to start a conversation, especially not to criticize said moron.

It's tempting, just again, not ideal.

"The fuck are you doing?!" one of the thieves yells to the one going to a really unnecessary amount of effort to drag Tim along. "You were supposed to grab a little kid for the hostage!"

"There's no little kids, Mark!" the thief holding Tim protests petulantly. "I'm doing my best here, man!"

"No names, asshole!" the apparent "Mark" yells back at him.

Tim is pretty sure these thieves are just not very good at crime in general. Or possibly just not very good at anything at all.

He starts calculating the best place to "trip" out of this guy's arms and "accidentally" elbow him in the dick–off-camera, obviously, he doesn't want to leave any footage for anyone to review later–and pretends to be a good little hostage in the meantime, if not a particularly cowed one. Again: Gothamite. He can't actually let it look like a Metropolis criminal did anything worse than mildly annoy him.

Okay, maybe like, Lex Luthor or Brainiac could get a Gothamite past "mildly annoyed", but not a half-assed handful of petty thieves with a shitty plan and an even shittier exit strategy. They would've been better off running in, grabbing what they wanted, and then just scattering; even Superman can't be everywhere at once, especially if the thieves all blended into the crowd or had a couple of getaway cars waiting or something similar. Multiple targets, it'd be easy for him to miss the right one until it was too late.

That would require actual skill and planning and genuine forethought, though, which are very clearly not things this crew has bothered with either developing in themselves or outsourcing to someone competent.

Tim is going to be so fucking embarrassed if he dies to a low-level Metropolis criminal's craptastic trigger discipline. At least the Joker got Jason. There was a plan and actual malicious intent there, and also intentional targeting of specifically him. Tim has apparently just been tagged as "person who looks easiest to hold hostage", which he guesses he could take as a good sign for his acting abilities but honestly is more likely just this guy being a fucking dumbass with less brains than a mummified limpet.

God, imagine what his classmates would put in the yearbook if he died on a Metropolis field trip, too. Actually, no, never mind, he doesn't even want to think about it. Too fucking mortifying a possibility.

The thief drags Tim closer to suitable "tripping" territory, Tim debates how hard he can elbow him and still claim it was accidental, and somebody says, "Are you fucking serious, man?"

Somebody, specifically, is Kon. He's standing in the middle of the hole in the wall in the full leather jacket and S-shield combo, hands on his hips and expression exasperated. Tim has a weird, irrational moment of thinking he actually recognizes him and wants to know how he fucked up this bad, but Kon's eyeing the thieves, not him.

"You know I'm gonna get blamed for this, right," Kon says, gesturing meaningfully at the smashed-in wall. "I always get blamed for the property damage."

"Back off or I'll shoot!" the thief holding Tim yells, jamming the barrel of his gun annoyingly hard into his temple.

"Does 'faster than a speeding bullet' mean nothing to you people?" Kon asks, tilting his head just enough to make it obvious that he's rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

"Superman is faster than a speeding bullet," another thief snaps. "Not you, you shitty little poser."

"I mean, you could try testing me and then get attempted murder on your crime bingo cards for absolutely zero reason," Kon suggests conversationally, smirking in amusement. "Security cameras still running in here?"

Tim guesses he's saved, technically, but this definitely means he can never tell Young Justice his secret identity, because if Kon recognizes him he will never, ever let him live this down.

Also, everybody at school is going to give him so much shit for getting saved by a Super.

[captainnameless]

First I want to say that I obviously agree with all the nice messages you’ve been getting lately. You deserve all the praise and much more 🥰

Since I’m a bit greedy can I please request a few words about Maxy having a very clingy day? Doesn’t want to be more than 5 cm away from Daniel at all times.

Either because of something sad that has happened or just because Max just wants to be closeclose.

No worries not ofc, you’re awesome regardless 🥰

aw i appreciate you so much, always love having you in my notifs, genuinely. your support means a lot 🫶🏻🥹

- - -

Especially in the beginning of their dynamic, Max always needed a lot of reassurance after any sort of discipline, needing to be reminded that he’s actually forgiven, something Daniel will make sure to adequately remind him off.

The post tantrum sniffles always break Daniel’s heart a little, when Max is curled into his chest, nose not yet blown so there’s shaky snotty inhales every 15 seconds or so.

He makes sure to press soft kisses to Max’s forehead, mumbling reassurance until the the sniffles are all gone.

Daniel holds Max’s hand taking him to the bathroom, hoisting him up on the counter and helping him blow his nose before taking a warm cloth to his face to get rid of the stray tears. There’s a soft little sigh that leaves Max when Daniel finishes.

It’s too early for a nap, and he really needs to get some food in Max first too.

“Daddy make you some lunch?” He asks, putting both hands on Max’s knees and squeezing gently, standing in front of him. “What do you want, Muffin?”

Max seems to think for a couple beats. “Açai?”

“Good choice, bub.” Daniel praises, patting Max’s thigh. “Hop on down.”

Max follows instructions and immediately searches for Daniel hand again, pressing himself into Daniel’s side.

In the kitchen, Max follows Daniel around like a shadow, so much so that they keep bumping into each other. Max seems a little on edge about it at first, until Daniel starts making funny boink or bump noises every time they touch, pulling soft little giggles out of Max. Much better.

“You want yoghurt in it too?” Daniel asks, pulling the container out of the fridge and holding it out for Max to see.

“Daddy do?”

“Hmm.” Daniel nods, setting it down on the counter. “Daddy wants some, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, ok? But you are allowed some.”

“Max too.” Max answers, so soft Daniel barely catches it.

“Come help, Daddy.” He hums, moving Max closer to the counter and handing him the spoon. “2 scoops please.”

Max diligently spoons 2 scoops into the first bowl, before missing a bit on the second spilling some on the counter.

Daniel anticipates the worried look on Max’s face and swipes his finger over the counter, plopping it into his mouth. “Secret treat.”

Max’s shoulders relax immediately, soft smile playing at his features as he spoons in the second scoop.

He hands Max a butter knife then, to cut up some strawberries while Daniel handles the banana. One of the strawberries ends up on the floor after one of Max’s cuts and Max snaps his head around to gauge Daniel’s reaction.

“Uh oh!” Daniel hums. “Looks like that one is for Jimmy or Sassy, quick, drop another one so they don’t get jealous!”

Max’s eyes go wide, the good wide, and with a little chuckle he drops another strawberry before completely abandoning them and pspspspspspsing around to house to try and get them to come over.

Daniel finishes their lunch.

-

When it’s time for a nap Daniel doesn’t put Max to bed. He makes a little blanket nest on the couch and cuddles Max to sleep, enjoying the soft little snores that come from the younger, figuring clingy days aren’t bad at all.

[tototalks]

That’s a wrap on Prince’s Gambit!! 🥳 Let me tell you, there was not a SINGLE chapter of this book I didn’t adore. Absolutely stunning ♥️

Final thoughts! ✨ (Sorry for the length again 💀)

- Starting off strong with seeing Halvik and the awesome lady warriors again!! Halvik really saw the longest, prettiest, most luscious eyelashes on a man and knew it was an absolute waste. She is SO valid for that.

- Laurent is playing Game of Thrones 5D chess, and his mind terrifies and amazes me. His strategy and diplomacy with the reinforcements was absolute genius and this is why I need a Hamlet situation to happen with uncle dearest.

- Damen. Leather loincloth. That’s it. That’s the post. 🙂

- I love this weird point where Damen and Laurent both look at each other like “this is so clearly more than friends, but what the actual FUCK is this??”

- AIMERIC?! NO NO NO. FFS!! Omg I didn’t see that coming!! Why do I even bother getting attached anymore. I am the fool.😭

- Jord is breaking my fucking heart in two. I need good things to happen for him after this. He’s done nothing to deserve the betrayal, and that’s the phenomenal cruelty of it. Bad things happen to good people and there’s not shit you can do about it. ☹️

- BATTLE FOR THE PRINCE!!!! Man, I was ready to ride into battle with them! What an adrenaline kick of a scene!

- Damen was fully recognised, and yet, in the midst of it, there is MORE PAIN FOR JORD 🙃

- I am so happy that we get to see Erasmus and the living testament to the fact kindness is powerful.

- “I don’t like the Regent. He burned my leg!!” YOU TELL THEM BABE!! His revenge is so so sweet. Enjoy it, Erasmus♥️

- The kiss. Oh my stars, the kiss. That was the most angst promising, stunning, and oh-so-earned kiss made even more poignant by the fact I’m convinced Laurent KNOWS and is letting it happen anyway. If my suspicions are correct, he’s had to come to terms with the fact he’s fallen for the man who killed his brother. I am TERRIFIED for King’s Rising. 🙃

- Aimeric and Laurent, both very different victims. - “you attack those who can’t defend themselves” - Damen… bro… I love you but stop. But I like the fact we get to see that Laurent is not impenetrable. He’s cold and cunning but still human and deeply hurt.

- Damen and Laurent’s first time. Wow. Just wow. The layers to this scene. Laurent’s clear trauma associated with sex and Damen’s reassurance and honour. “How a man takes a boy?” “No. How a man takes a man.” You hear that? That’s the sound of my heart shattering further. Sex scene done RIGHT.

- “Nicaise would not see fifteen now.”… well there goes the last of my fucking heart. I am DEVASTATED. He deserved to live. If you hear sobbing coming from the general direction of Hong Kong, just know it was me. 🥲

- “I’m sorry, Jord” - C.S. Pacat. We are gonna have words. You cannot make a bad bitch like me cry this hard.

- The Regent and Kastor in kahoots. Ooooooh boy - it pains me that deep down I feel like Laurent wanted to prove to himself that Damen wasn’t special and goaded him into that punch to prove it, and yet Damen recognises the cycle of abuse and that BLINDSIDES Laurent.

- AKIELON REINFORCEMENTS??!!! NIKANDROS!!??

- Aaaaaaand there’s Damen’s secret blown to utter smithereens. Nice job, Nikandros lol

- And if all that wasn’t enough, chapter 19 1/2 killed me off for good, so long folks 💀

Let’s go, King’s Rising!! 👑 ⚔️

[julianalvarez9]

three of us / john stones

summary: keeping secrets from john is never easy, but telling the news is much sweeter after the treble. wc: 900 words mentions of: the ucl final, kinda planned pregnancy, established couple.

today was the day: the champions league final.

john had been waiting for it ever since that dreadful match against chelsea in 2021, when the other english team got crowned. they had to swallow the bitter taste of the loss, while seeing their rivals bask in the rays of victory and history, in equal parts.

this time around, though, it was different.

not only the vibes were different -the entire club had this strange aura only winning teams had, which was backed by their evergrowing cabinet they were filling with trophies almost every week now-, but the players, too. they trusted each other, knew each other by heart, almost having the capacity of anticipating what the other would do, and thus, being able to cover for them in case things got out of hand unexpectedly.

but you didn't really see john in a different light until recently, when you found out you were expecting your first child.

after finding out you were pregnant two weeks ago, you figured it would be better to keep it quiet. at least, after the finals: john was too focused on it, anyways, and you didn't want to bring him any more pressure he didn't need. but also, you wanted to tell him in some meaningful way, and you were too busy right now to figure out how to do it.

luckily, your symptoms weren't strong; you didn't have any food aversion or morning sickness that could alert your partner. but today, after the 95 minutes ended and the whistle was blown, signaling the end of the match, your eyes started to pour.

truth be told, your eyes had started to get a bit glassy when you saw kevin fall to the floor in the first half. you knew the functioning of the team by having seen them almost every weekend when you were cheering for your boyfriend, so you knew something was wrong when the belgian didn't quite have the ball on his feet as much as usual. obviously, it could have been due to inter's plan in defense, but you just knew something was off.

when the whistle was heard across the stadium, all emotions got loose. it truly felt like the stars all aligned, and it couldn't have gone another way. the family box for the man city players started getting empty soon enough, and you knew everyone was running towards the pitch, to give the champions of europe their deserved congratulations. 

it wasn't long until you found your boyfriend, the biggest smile on his face that only seemed to grow ten times bigger when he saw you getting closer. his long legs helped him reach you even before you could take two steps to get to him. "you did it!” you squealed, engulfing him in your arms. he had to hunch a bit to get himself to your size, and do what he meant to do all along: grab your head in between his hands to plant the biggest kiss to your lips. “you don't know how proud of you i am!" you get to say, before he’s bringing you back in for another bone-crushing hug.

"you're part of this, you know?" he says, his big, blue eyes boring into yours. his forehead is resting against yours softly, and it feels like it’s only you two inside the stadium where the match had taken place. "should i start calling you champion of europe now?" you joke, and john laughs at your quip, head tilted back and all.

"i think it'd be fine if you continue calling me love, sweetheart".

that’s when it occurs to you. you won’t get a better moment than this to announce the sweet news. you two wanted this for so long, it doesn't make sense to wait for another occasion, planning a big announcement when it feels like the correct timing is right now.

"what if i have another nickname for you in a couple months?".

john tilts his head in confusion, backing off a bit to see your face and reactions more clearly. "in a couple of months? why not now?" he asks, and you grin at his dumbfounded face. "they're a bit small now,” you begin, and he opens his eyes wide. “they won't use it for a couple of months…".

"they?" he smiles, while bringing you closer to him, hiding your stomach by his larger frame. he was gripping at your waist before, ever since he caught hold of your figure, but now he's drawing little circles with his thumbs. you don't really know if the loving gesture is due to the implication, or he's just mindlessly doing it. still, it warms your heart, just like the way he's looking into your eyes with his bright, hopeful blue ones. 

you nod, and his smile can't get any bigger than it is. "you've just made me the happiest man in the world, you know?" john grins, as he fixes a string of hair behind your ear, that had previously fallen over your eyes. his big hand rests there, on your cheek, softly caressing it and enjoying the soft moment shared between you two.

"thought you already were, with getting the treble and all" you joke, reminding the greatness of what they had just achieved. "good that we won it, then,” john says, heavy barnsley accent clear in his voice. “three trophies for the three of us".

[consoledacup]

"Pen, ever since I found out you are Whistledown, I have down everything I can to try to separate you from her. But the other day, I went back and read all of the letters you have sent me. Your letters have always been the ones I am most eager to read. And I realized you are her. You have always had one voice. There is no separating you from Whistledown. And after seeing you speak today, I... well, I would not want to. Because forgive me, but that was bloody brilliant. I think, in truth, I... I have been envious of you. Of your success. Of your bravery. And now I simply cannot believe that a woman with such bravery loves me. How lucky I am to stand by your side and soak up even a little bit of your light. If my only purpose in life is to love a woman as great as you, then I will be a very fulfilled man, indeed."

-– Colin Bridgerton, "Into the Light," Bridgerton

OMG????? Even typing all of this out is wild.

This is the first time he's called her "Pen" since he discovered her secret. He admits he couldn't reconcile his Pen as Whistledown. Then he tells her how much her letters have always meant to him. He kept them all, and they have always been his favorite. He's always held her in such high regard and clearly has always had a great deal of affection for her.

He gives Whistledown the proper respect she deserves. And although earlier in the ep, he tells Cressida that Penelope is not Whistledown, he's now declaring that she absolutely is. Just like Penelope has finally taken responsibility for her actions, he is finally accepting that Penelope and Whistledown are one and the same.

And then he admits his professional jealousy, and he's so ashamed about it. He's called her brave before. He witnessed it piece by piece in each episode. But I think he was absolutely blown away that she decided to gamble everything and reveal her identity out of love for him, his family, and hers.

He's in complete awe of her and is fully ready to support her dreams in whatever way he can. And he says not only am I happy to do that, but I am proud and honored and so thankful that I get to do that.

And in the epilogue, he's obviously found a purpose of his own. The show's not saying, "you can find your identity in a romantic relationship!" But for him to say, I've decided to simply love you and not run myself ragged over whether I'm worthy enough is incredible growth.

This is quite the love declaration because it is honest and real and brimming with adoration and devotion. I cannot believe he said all of this to her after she was willing to set him and his family free.