#he wants to be helpful so they give him little things to do and he is very proud

[celiababy]

Ain't Right part 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: It's the holiday season and Joel is a Scrooge.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (56/20), swearing, p in v, unprotected sex, size kink, oral sex (m!receiving), SQUIRT, creampie, threats of violence, alcohol

Celia's note: uhm hello??? what the flip thank y'all sm for all the love on my first post!! I got so many requests to make a part 2 so dinner's ready y'all dig in!!!!

Read the first part! > part 1

Jackson looked so pretty this time of year. The Christmas lights, the snowmen, the comfy sweaters and chocolate chip cookies; you loved it all.

Especially gift-giving.

To you, there was really nothing better than seeing someone's face light up when they open a present.

This year, there was someone special you planned to go all out for.

It had been 3 days since Joel Miller fucked you in his house, on his bed.

You hadn't stopped replaying the moment in your mind, especially the part when he finished all over your stomach.

However, it just so happens that after those amazing thirty minutes, Joel was called away by Tommy.

He had to leave and do something that you weren't allowed to know about. Undoubtedly some dangerous mission that pained you to think about.

So your victory was short-lived.

But, like the gentleman he was, he walked you home and made sure you were okay before he left. You wanted to kiss him goodbye, but felt too nervous to do so.

You don't know why—he literally had his cock in you a few moments prior.

Yet you couldn't, and just had to watch him walk away.

Now, you haven't seen him in three days and were starting to get serious withdrawals. Whatever he was up to couldn't have come at a worse time.

You finally had the taste of his perfection, now he was gone, leaving you to deal with your desire alone.

You tried to preoccupy yourself with helping set up all the Christmas decorations around town as well as baking an absurd amount of treats.

You also managed to get him a little gift in the meantime, stuffing it in the cutest box with the prettiest wrapping paper.

God, you hoped he'd come back soon.

And luckily, he did!

You had heard from Maria that everyone had returned from their trip—safe and sound.

She had also told you that she was throwing a little Christmas get-together at her and Tommy's house to celebrate.

She was careful to mention that Joel would be in attendance.

So, that night, you whipped up your signature cinnamon apple recipe and put on your cutest outfit.

You topped it with some fuzzy reindeer antlers because you were in a very festive mood.

As you walked alone to Maria and Tommy's, you were freezing your ass off in your skirt and sweater. You wore tights with your skirt in hopes that it would help with the cold, but who were you kidding?

You didn't care, though. You just cared if Joel thought you looked pretty or not.

You pranced up the steps of their porch, letting yourself into the house and getting immediately bombarded by the hoard of people inside.

Maria made it seem like it was going to be a small thing, but the entire Jackson population seemed to be in her living room.

Thankfully, Tommy catches you come in and walks up to greet you. "Hey there stranger," He grins, looking down at the dish in your hands. "What you got there?"

"Brought desert," You chirp, handing it to him with a proud smile.

"Well well," He muses as he takes the glass container from you, looking it over with surprise. "Didn't think you could tie your own shoes, let alone bake anything."

You roll your eyes before scoffing. "You're just mad because I can tie my shoes and bake something before you can conjure a coherent thought."

Tommy fakes a wince before chuckling. "Alright, touché kid. We're gonna be playing charades in a little bit so stick around, alright?"

You nod, having absolutely no intention of 'sticking around' for charades. Tommy wanders off with your apples, finally giving you a moment to survey the party.

Obviously, you were looking for one person in particular.

You squeezed through all the crowds of people, scouring what felt like every room in the house.

But no dice.

Joel was nowhere to be found and sadness washes over you like a tidal wave.

Was he doing this on purpose?

Torturing you by depriving you of his presence? This was hell.

You plant yourself by the special eggnog and down several glasses to take the edge off.

You were tipsy in no time, it really didn't take much. It was like Maria just dumped an entire bottle of vodka in the bowl and splashed some milk in it. It was disgusting, really, but it was getting its job done.

As you hunched yourself over the bowl, someone tapped you on your shoulder.

You spin around, your hopes high.

"Joel!—Oh. Hi Connor." The disappointment you feel inside displays clearly in your tone.

You're now face to face with the boy who has been unsubtly trying to sleep with you for months.

"Hey there! You look fucking great tonight." He flirts, a smug grin on his face.

You grimace because you know he thinks he's so cool, even though you'd rather die than stand here with him right now.

"Thanks." You say flatly, turning back towards the eggnog and pouring yourself another glass. For some reason, Connor takes this as an invitation to step closer, now invading your space.

You don't even bother trying to hide your disgusted expression. His cologne is attacking your nostrils, and it doesn't even smell good.

"That skirt looks amazing on you." His eyes unabashedly drag along the skin of your legs, making you shiver in disgust. He takes it too far when his hand comes up to brush your arm.

"You come here with anyone?" He coos, leaning against the food table like he was hot shit or something.

You couldn't stand this douche. Just as you were about to tell him to fuck off or something, you feel someone looming over you.

"She did." A gruff voice comes from behind you, and you immediately recognize that it could only be one person.

You whip around, your face lighting up at the sight of Joel.

His expression is settled into a natural scowl, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed at the boy in front of you both. Even though he looked scary as shit, he was so fucking hot.

You're instantly horny just at the sight of him.

Connor scoffs, looking between the two of you, but your eyes stayed glued to Joel.

"Really? Him? But he's like—an old man." Connor spits, which immediately earns a glare from you.

Just as you're about to cuss him out, Joel beats you to it.

"Walk away before this old man breaks your jaw." His voice is stern, not to be tested.

It makes your core tighten with need.

Hearing the threat that he assumes to be all too real, Connor doesn't waste time scurrying off.

You turn back towards Joel, a warm, relieved smile spreading across your face. “Hi,” You whisper, wanting to hug him so bad but holding yourself back because he wasn’t a big fan of PDA. “M'so glad you're back." You do, however, step closer into his personal bubble.

His face softens when he finally looks down at you, and you can almost swear you see his lips curling up into a smile.

"Yeah, me too, kid." He husks out, looking between you and the bowl of half-empty eggnog. "Enjoyin' yourself?" He asks with somewhat of a disappointed look on his face, clocking that you were a little tipsy.

"Now I am." You answer truthfully, beaming up at him. "Have you been here the whole time? I was looking for you earlier but I couldn't find you."

Joel shifted on his feet, sliding his hands in his pockets. "Just got here. Tommy was talkin' my ear off at the door." He explained, an exasperated look on his face.

You laughed and nodded, knowing you both shared that experience.

"Are you having a good time, though?" You ask, actually curious because he seemed like he would rather be anywhere else right now.

He shrugs, brushing a hand through his short hair. "This Christmas holiday crap is givin' me a fuckin' aneurysm." He huffs out with complete honestly, scratching the back of his neck.

"What? Really? Why?" The shock and bewilderment in your voice isn't lost on Joel.

He sighs out, knowing you're about to explain the magical spirit of the season or whatever.

"The blizzards, people spazzin' out over gifts, all 'cause some fat guy is coming down chimneys—s'all just ridiculous."

You want to giggle at how actually annoyed he sounded, but you hold it down.

Grouchy old man.

"I'd let you come down my chimney," you flirt, but then correct yourself. "I have let you come down my—"

Joel shoots you a glare, daring you to finish your sentence.

You know when to cut your losses, so you don't.

"Well, speaking of gifts," You start, rummaging in your bag to pull out your present for him. You hold it up, the pink wrapping paper making him cock an eyebrow. "Merry Christmas, Scrooge."

Joel feels an unfamiliar feeling swimming around in his stomach at the sight.

He slowly takes the box from you, looking at it like it was a puzzle.

He really wasn't expecting anything from you. But he supposed people who have had the other persons genitals inside them should probably give them something for Christmas.

He finds himself very pleasantly surprised.

After a moment, he finds something to say.

"Couldn't find some manlier wrapping paper?" He coughs, his voice low but it's obvious he's joking with you.

You roll your eyes and scoff. "Just open it!"

Joel somewhat grins at your impatience but finally starts to open the box.

That grin drops off his face after he sees the contents, an immediate bittersweet feeling swelling in his chest.

You're watching his face so intently, so scared that he didn't like it based on his reaction.

Joel pulls out the watch from the box, clutching it tightly. He's not saying anything, so you hear yourself start to ramble.

"Do you like it? I just saw that the watch you wear is broken so I figured I'd get you a new one. If you don't like it I can take it back."

You're starting to crumble underneath the weight of his silence, anxiety bubbling in your gut. Just as you're about to ask him if he's okay, Joel finally looks back at you.

"S'real great. Thank you." His tone is genuine, you can tell he's telling the truth. But why does he look so pained?

"Of course." Your murmur, your eyes searching his. After a moment of silence, you clear your throat. "There's one more thing, actually."

Joel's shoulder slump. "You got me another present?" He asked tiredly, looking at you with disbelief.

A guilty smile paints your face before you gesture for Joel to follow you. "It's upstairs. C'mon."

He doesn't know how much more his heart could handle.

Reluctantly, he follows you up the stairs, wondering why you had a gift waiting for him in Tommy's guest bedroom.

You open the door and close it behind you both, purposefully not turning the lights on.

Joel walks into the center of the room, standing aimlessly and confused as to why you hadn’t flipped the light switch yet.

But then he hears the rustling of clothes and when you eventually turn the lights on, you're wearing nothing but a bra and panties.

His cock immediately gets hard.

"What do ya think you're doin'?" He whisper yells, trying to keep his eyes on your face but that proves to be impossible because your tits looked so good in lace.

"What? You don't like it? I bought it for you." You give him a 360 and he has to brace himself against the bed.

Fuck you looked good.

He sits down on the mattress, dragging a hand down his jaw in thought.

He's debating if he's really about to fuck you in his brother's house.

Why were you always making him go against his morals?

A few seconds of silence pass between the two of you before Joel snaps his eyes back to your figure.

"C'mere."

Got 'em.

You squeal excitedly before running over, slotting yourself between his legs and placing your hands on his shoulders.

In turn, his large hands come out to hold your hips, his gaze zeroing in on your perfect-looking cleavage that he was now eye-level with.

Just as he was about to slide his hands up to grope your breasts, you sink down to the floor.

Joel's puzzled as he watches you get on your knees, looking up at him with those mischievous eyes. He truly has no clue what you're up to, that is, until you bring your lips to the bulge in his jeans.

You place the softest kiss on his clothed hard-on, earning a groan from him.

Now he knows what you're trying to do.

He juts his hand out, holding you firm by your shoulder.

"You ain't gotta do that, sweetheart." Joel says softly, probably the softest you've ever heard him say anything.

Your body erupts in goosebumps when you hear the endearing pet name slip so effortlessly from his lips.

"I want to—been wanting to since, like, forever." You murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his inner thigh.

Joel wasn't sure what to think right now.

His past romantic experiences taught him that blowjobs were a hassle for women—something that they did only if they felt they had to.

But here you were, looking up at him with those wide eyes and wanting nothing more than his dick in your mouth.

You surprise him everyday.

His dick has literally never been harder, especially when you finally start unzipping his pants to let it spring free.

You gaze up at him again, waiting for his green light.

Joel had one hand white-knuckling the edge of the bed, while the other gently caressed the side of your head.

He offers a short nod of approval, already trying not to come just by the sight of his cock so close to your face.

You waste absolutely no time in grabbing the base of his dick with both hands, gingerly licking at his tip to warm him up.

Joel throws his head back, groaning at the feeling.

You tilt it up so you can drag your tongue all the way up his shaft, then bring your mouth down on his tip.

"Fuck," Joel curses, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before snapping back open, not being able to look away from you.

Tears are falling from your eyes the farther you go down on him, the sensation of his head poking the back of your throat was making you dizzy.

But you don't stop. You're eager to please.

Your hands pump at the length you can't reach, while your warm mouth and tongue swirl around him.

You're too good at this, and Joel knows he's not gonna last long.

He can't help it when his hand in your hair turns into a fist, tightly gripping the strands like he was afraid you might go somewhere.

You moan when he accidentally pulls your hair forwards, forcing you deep on his cock. You bet he didn't even realize what he just did, based on the way his chest was heaving and his face looked so lost in pleasure.

You gag and more tears spill from your eyes, but you don't even dream about lifting off. If Joel was getting off on this, you were going to do more of it.

You moan, still keeping his cock in your mouth as you try to go even deeper down on it.

"Oh fuck—" Joel suddenly yanks your mouth off his cock, breathing heavily as he stares down at you.

You cough and sputter at the loss, looking up at him with that same fucked out expression you had last time.

"Why?" You manage to whine, wondering why he stopped you before he came.

Joel doesn't answer—instead he picks you up by your armpits and places you on the bed.

The quick change almost gives you whiplash, but Joel's surprisingly steady and husky voice guides you.

"On your stomach, pretty girl." He mutters as he taps your leg in a gesturing manner.

...Was he trying to kill you with that bedroom voice of his?

A whimper crawls its way out of your throat, your body having an audible reaction to his sweet words.

You flip over onto your stomach, instantly arching your back for him.

Being the impatient man he was, he rips your panties and throws them to the side in a lust-driven blur.

You literally didn't even care. Sure, they were new, but you'd just find another pair. The only two thoughts in your mind right now was Joel and Joel's dick.

Something warm and soft prods at your entrance before slipping to wedge between your folds, gathering up your slick.

You try to push back on it, but Joel holds you still, making you lose the rest of the small amount of composure you had left.

"Joelpleasefuckme," You sob, your cunt weeping for his cock. "need you so bad it hurts,"

You reach back, your hand finding his that was holding your hip and squeezing it.

Joel didn't want to admit to himself how much he loved the neediness in your voice, your obvious desperation made him harder.

"M'gettin' there, don't gotta beg me baby." He mutters, his hand that you grabbed intertwining with your fingers. His other hand was rubbing circles in the skin around your hips.

You feel that same sensation of his tip, but then Joel also brings his chest down to engulf your back.

You're already trembling, but when he begins to pepper kisses down the nape of your neck and back, all while slowly sheathing himself inside your pussy...

You effectively lose your mind.

"OhFUCKJoelloveitsomuch," You blabber, not having enough strength to hold yourself up anymore so your head drops into a pillow, muffling your moans.

Effortlessly, he pulls you back up so that your back is flush with his chest, his one arm wrapped around your stomach to keep you secure.

You rest the back of your head on his shoulder as she starts rocking into you, letting your body go limp because you know he's got you.

"Can you take it or do I need'a stop?" He asks, his tone making you dizzier.

You frantically nod, turning your head to the side to look at him. "I can take it, promise I can," you muster out between moans. "please don't stop—want your cock in me forever-"

Joel chuckles.

God, he really never stood a chance against you.

"I don't know about forever sweet thing, but I'll see what I can do for tonight, yeah?"

You giggle airily, like you weren't all there, nodding your head in acknowledgement. Your eyes are closed for a second but you feel his lips on yours, hungrily taking whatever they wanted.

You passionately return his kiss, mewling into it because his lips paired with the slow thrust of his dick was enough to drive you crazy.

The stretch of his cock is as close to heaven as you're ever gonna get.

His speed picks up which means your moans get louder, and Joel has no choice put to bring his other hand up and cover your mouth.

There's still a party going on downstairs, after all.

"Gotta be quieter baby," he pants, even though he's not slowing down his speed at all.

You whine into his hand, surprisingly loving the feeling of it because it's like he's swallowing you whole.

You feel that tight coil in your stomach slowly start to come undone, and you know you won't last long now. You try to tell Joel, but his hand is muffling your noises.

All the sudden, he speaks in your ear—his voice low and raspy. "Don't want you doin' this with anyone else, hear me?"

...Well.

You weren't expecting that.

His words probably made you soak the sheets because of how wet you became.

He sounded so stern when he said it too, making your heart flutter even more.

You nod, tears pouring from your eyes. He lets his hand off your mouth for a moment and you immediately jump at the opportunity to speak.

"Only want you, only ever wanted you, Joel—m'all yours, always been yours," You mewl after gasping for air, your body jolting with each of his deep thrusts.

"Fuck," Joel swears, quickly but carefully putting you down only to flip you over onto your back. Now in missionary, he buries himself all the way inside you again before dropping down so your faces are centimeters apart. "All mine, huh?" Joel reiterates, and you can't tell if he's mocking you or maybe asking for clarification.

Probably the ladder.

You agree nonetheless, a string of yes's spilling from your mouth.

"Yeah, just for me." He pants, slamming into you with more vigor than before. Your cunt is constricting around him like a vice, he's—not planning to last much longer either.

"M'gonna cum," you whine, wrapping your arms around his shoulders for support.

When Joel hears this, he drops a hand down to rub at your clit, making you come undone altogether.

"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck waitwait Joel-" You feel something..unique boiling, but then Joel's expert fingers release the flood gates.

You scream as you squirt all over his cock, your entire body writhing with the overstimulating pleasure.

Your juices soak him. When he see's this, he comes immediately.

He groans as he finishes inside you, unloading into your snug cunt. The feeling is incomparable for the both of you.

Once the haze of perfect pleasure dissipates, Joel realizes what he's just done.

"Shit," he grits, pulling out and watching his seed drip from your hole. "Fuck."

You manage to sit up on your elbows, looking up at him with teary eyes. "Don't worry," Your voice is quiet and cracked—you just had the squirt fucked out of you, after all. "I've been on the pill since we had sex the first time."

Joel looks down at you, stupefied.

Eventually, he feels his heart start beating again and huffs out a sigh of relief. "Thank christ." He leans back against the headboard, raking a hand through his hair and thinking about how that was a fucking close one.

You're lying next to him, still trying to catch your breath. "That felt so good," You manage to murmur, your body still shivering from the after shocks.

After you catch your breath, you turn your head to look up at him. "M'serious about what I said, about bein' yours."

He looks at you and your serious face for a moment, then brings his hand down to gently ruffle the top of your head.

"Yeah, I know you are." His texan drawl prominent.

"I'd let you brand me with a fire poker if thats what you wanted." You say flatly, no joking tone in your voice whatsoever.

Joel is taken back by the sudden jump in intensity, assessing you to make sure you were being for real.

You were, and when he realizes this, he shakes his head. "You've lost your damn mind." He grunts, dragging a hand down his face.

You shrug.

"I think a ring would do the trick." Joel mutters, not meaning for it to have some kind of underlying message or anything. But you're quick to jump to conclusions.

"A ring?" You squeal, moving to lay on his chest which earns a huff from him. "Didn't know we were already goin' steady like that, Miller!" You tease, the giddiest smile on your face.

"I didn't mean—quit. You know what I was sayin'." Joel grunts, looking at you with an unamused expression.

You don't quit though.

"My ring finger is a size 6, would love 2 carats but if you can swing for 3 that would be perfect—also, I hate silver bands, it has to be gold—but make sure it's not that super yellow fake gold, I like more rustic looks, I mean, if that wasn't obvious-" You cast him a glance, alluding to the fact that he was rustic looking.

Joel rolls his eyes before gently nudging you off him, getting off the bed and walking over to your clothes that you discarded a long time ago.

You continue rambling from your position on the sheets, staring up at the ceiling as you recited, in extreme detail, how you loved oval shaped diamonds the most.

He walks back over and manhandles you to sit up. "Lift up your arms." He mutters, putting your sweater back on you.

"Hm, gettin' some serious deja vu right now." You murmur, smiling up at him.

"Yeah, yeah, hush." He grumbles before sliding your tights and skirt back on as well.

The act is so kind and heartwarming. You mumble a thank you before standing up, almost falling back down because your legs were still a bit weak.

Joel made a motion like he would've caught you, reaching his arms out. "Careful." He warns, planting a hand on your lower back for stability. You giggle and nod, regaining your ability to walk slowly but surely.

You guys tried to discretely walk back down the stairs, but with Joel's hand on your back and your happy expression--it wasn't hard for people to guess what happened.

***

A couple days had passed since Tommy and Maria's party.

You were finishing up some hand-made Christmas cards on your desk when you heard a knock at your door.

"Coming!" You shout, leisurely making your way to the front door.

When you open it, no one's there. You look around, only seeing a familiar male figure walking away in the distance. When you step outside to shout after him, you feel yourself kick something.

Upon looking down, a small velvet box lays at your feet.

You pick it up carefully, opening it to reveal a gold ring placed so delicately inside. The small note inside reads:

Merry Christmas. -Scrooge

[xinganhao]

🍨 svt spoiling their partner.

★ prompt: how ot13 spoils their partner? 🥹🥹🥹 i am just a girl give me treats c/o @shinwonderful

ⓘ established relationship, pet names, fluff. headcanons under the cut. special thanks to @chugging-antiseptic-dye for helping! ♡

🍨 read more?

seungcheol 𖹭 planning dates. he will refuse to let you lift a finger for your day out. everything will be meticulously laid out, finetuned to be something that you'll enjoy. his goal is to lessen the mental load of decision-making and planning; he wants you to be able to focus solely on enjoying the surprise, and he'll break his back to make sure that happens.

jeonghan 𖹭 'parallel play'. even if the two of you might not be interested in the same things, that's okay. he's happiest to spend quality time with you at home, where the two of you are free to do your own thing within eachother's presence. just being in your vicinity already makes him content, and so he plans everything around the two of you getting to explore and share your respective hobbies.

shua 𖹭 acts of service. need help with your taxes? need someone to fill up your tank? he's already on it. he'll say that these are all 'little things', call it the bare minimum, when it's apparent that he makes it a conscious effort to make your day-to-day easier. his brand of spoiling you comes in the form of quietly doing things that will improve your quality of life.

junhui 𖹭 buying clothes you'll like. he can't help it, really. when he sees an article of clothing that he thinks suits your style? when he finds a local brand that shares your advoacy? he's already pulling out his wallet. he likes the idea of dressing you up. nothing makes him happier than knowing you're wearing an outfit that he entirely picked out for you.

soonyoung 𖹭 daily reasons why he loves you. people always joke that he has a bit of a motormouth, so why shouldn't he use it on talking about you, you, you? he's big on words of affirmation, on making sure you never doubt how he feels for you. he'll point out the little and big things that make him adore you, and it's never the same reason twice.

wonwoo 𖹭 indulging your interests. he may not always understand these trends— blind boxes, must-have fashion pieces, et cetera— but he'll never make you feel bad about it. if there's anything that you want, he's already doing everything within his power to get it. his greatest joy is seeing your face light up once he's gotten you your 'priority' item; it's why he keeps doing it in the first place.

jihoon 𖹭 trying new things for you. there's a long list of things that jihoon never thought he'd do, but then he started dating you. time and time again, he willingly goes out of his comfort zone to accompany you on the little adventures and experiences that you ask to go on. he does these things scared, does them anxious, does them begrudgingly,— does them all for you.

seokmin 𖹭 meals he thinks you'll like. he's the type to have dozens of tabs open for homemade recipes dot com. he knows he's an amateur at this, but he's undeterred in trying. whether it's a trending pastry on tiktok or the comfort meal that your mother makes you, he's determined to learn it so you're always eating well.

mingyu 𖹭 getting-to-know card games. he gives as good as he takes, which means mingyu's way is to listen and remember. a night where the two of you can just have deep conversations with no interruptions is his ideal evening. he will know he succeeded if the two of you end up talking until the sun rises, feeling like the hours haven't passed at all.

minghao 𖹭 postcards from tour stops. he loves art and he loves you. his postcards are pocket-sized reminders of those facts, always packaged with a few choice words that are sweet and sincere. his trinkets are very "i-got-you-this-because-it-reminded-me-of-you" in nature, and you know each one was purchased with you at the front of mind.

seungkwan 𖹭 getting you your favorites. he figures he should put his industry connections to use somehow. he's always amused by how happy you get over a rare photocard, signed album, or concert tickets, and so he keeps it up. buying dozens of albums, contacting other labels, bearing the arduous ticketing. your excitement at the end of it makes it all worth it.

vernon 𖹭 producing songs. he hadn't really pegged himself as the making-music-for-the-sake-of-it type until he met you. now, he revels in getting to send you a track that's for your ears only. all the lyrics just seems to flow naturally when it's you inspiring him, and so he sends you works-in-progress with reminders that you're the only intended audience.

chan 𖹭 at-home massages. he's all too familiar with the aches of an ailing body, so he knows exactly how and where to work on you. he always does what he calls 'the works'— a good bath, scented candles, essential oils. he lets you take your time, and he takes his time with you in helping you unwind.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[rizzanon]

05 | UNTOUCHED MEMORIES

m.list | prev | next

Things between you and Damian weren’t perfect, but they were better. Slightly better.

Since that day, the tension that used to hang heavy between you had softened, just a little. He no longer avoided you like the plague, nor did he try to dismiss you every chance he got. Sure, there were still moments where you clashed—Damian was Damian, after all—but now, it didn’t feel like an outright war. It was more… playful. Almost.

He still had his sharp remarks, but they didn’t cut as deep anymore. And you? You’d give them right back, though with less heat than before. It was oddly satisfying to watch him bristle, his retorts coming slower and more thoughtful, like he was beginning to actually enjoy the verbal sparring. Though he definitely wouldn’t admit that.

One day, you decided to test the waters further.

You found Damian in the sitting room, a book in his hands and Titus curled up at his feet. He didn’t look up as you approached, though you knew he’d already noticed you.

“Hey, Damian,” you said, holding the plate out in front of you.

He finally looked up, one eyebrow raised. “What is it now?”

You rolled your eyes. “Relax. I made these with Alfred. Thought you might want to try them.”

He eyed the plate suspiciously, like it might explode if he touched it. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you offering me one?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral. “What’s your angle?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “No angle. If you don’t want them, you don’t have to take them. Simple.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want them,” Damian said quickly, his tone defensive.

You raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smile. “Oh? So you do want them?”

He scoffed, snatching the plate from your hands like you might change your mind. “I’ll try them. But don’t expect me to praise you if they’re subpar.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Damian took a deliberate bite, his expression carefully guarded as he chewed. You watched him closely, waiting for his reaction.

“Well?” you asked.

He paused, his lips twitching ever so slightly before he schooled his face back into indifference. “Adequate.”

You snorted. “Adequate, huh? That’s basically high praise coming from you.”

“Tt. Don’t let it go to your head,” he muttered, but he didn’t stop eating.

You grinned, shaking your head as you turned to leave. “Enjoy them, Damian. Or don’t. Whatever.”

As you walked away, you heard him mutter under his breath, just loud enough for you to catch: “I will.”

You didn’t look back, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

No, things between you and Damian weren’t perfect. But this? This was progress.

Stephanie twirled her mug between her hands, the steam curling into the air as she sat perched on the couch at the Clocktower. Across the room, Cassandra sat cross-legged on the floor, cleaning and reassembling her grappling gun with quiet precision. The rhythmic sound of Cassandra’s movements usually put the blonde at ease, but today, she couldn’t shake the restless thoughts spinning in her head.

“I don’t get it,” Stephanie muttered finally, breaking the silence.

Cass didn’t look up, but the subtle tilt of her head told Steph she was listening.

“It’s been almost three weeks,” Steph continued, gesturing with her mug like it emphasized her point. “Three weeks since (Name) quit, and I haven’t seen her here. Not once. No check-ins, no training, no anything. She just… stopped. Like she wasn’t serious about any of it to begin with.”

Cass paused her movements, her sharp gaze flicking to Steph. “Serious..?”

“Y’know, serious about being Batgirl..!” Steph exclaimed, setting her mug on a table with a clink. “I mean, she was so into it. Always had to be the best, always trying to prove she could do everything better than me. And now? Nothing. It’s like she dropped off the face of the earth.”

Cass raised an eyebrow, her hands moving again to tighten the grappling gun’s grip. “You miss her.”

“What? No! I—” Steph’s protest faltered under Cass’s calm stare. “Okay, maybe a little. But that’s not the point.” She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “It’s just so unlike her. You know what I mean?”

Cass considered this for a moment, then nodded. “She fights. Always fights. And she doesn’t stop.”

“Exactly!” Steph said, throwing her hands up. “She’s stubborn as hell. She’d never just quit without a reason. It’s like she’s a completely different person all of a sudden.”

Cass’s gaze stayed steady on Steph, her expression unreadable. “Maybe something happened.”

Steph frowned. “Like what?”

Cass furrowed her eyebrows, setting her grappling gun aside and leaning back on her hands. “I don’t know. But something.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” Steph admitted, slumping against the back of the couch. “I mean, yeah, we weren’t exactly besties or whatever, but we spent enough time together. I thought I had her figured out. Now I feel like I don’t know her at all.”

Cass tilted her head. “Did you? Know her?”

Steph opened her mouth to respond but stopped. She hadn’t really thought about it that way. Most of her interactions with you had been competitive or snarky, sure, but there had been moments—rare ones—where it felt like there was something deeper under the surface. She just hadn’t taken the time to dig for it.

“I don’t know,” Steph admitted, her voice quieter. “Maybe I didn’t. But I thought I did.”

Cass nodded slowly, as if that answer didn’t surprise her.

“What about you..?” Steph asked, turning the question back on Cass. “What do you think of all this?”

Cass didn’t answer immediately. She sat in thoughtful silence, her dark eyes focused on nothing in particular. “Not sure,” she said finally. “It feels… off. Like she’s hiding.”

Steph frowned. “Hiding what?”

“I… don’t know.”

The room fell silent as Steph mulled over Cass’s words. For all your bravado and stubborness, there had always been something raw about you, like you were desperate to hold onto something—anything. Maybe Cass was right. Maybe something had happened—something you didn’t want anyone to know.

Stephanie sighed, reaching for her mug again. “You’re probably right. She’s hiding something. But what exactly is she hiding, that’s the question.” She took a sip of her coffee, grimacing slightly at the bitterness. “I hate not knowing. It’s driving me nuts.”

Cass offered a small, almost imperceptible smile. “You care.”

“Of course I care!” Steph shot back, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I mean, yeah, she’s annoying and stubborn and always has to prove she’s better than me, but…” She trailed off, her voice softening. “She’s still one of us. Right?”

Cass nodded, the smile lingering.

Stephanie leaned back again, staring at the ceiling. “Maybe I’ll try talking to her. Or something. I don’t know. This is just… weird. It doesn’t feel right. To just leave things as it is.”

Cass watched Stephanie closely, her quiet curiosity cutting through the lingering silence. “What was it like?” she asked, her voice calm but insistent. “Between you and her?”

Steph froze, mid-sip of her coffee. Her first instinct was to deflect, to brush the question off with a joke or a sarcastic remark. But Cass’s gaze—steady, patient, unyielding—made it clear she wasn’t going to let it slide.

“What do you mean, ‘what was it like?’” Steph muttered, setting her mug down with more force than necessary.

“You and (Name),” Cass said, gesturing vaguely with her hand. “Before all this. When she was still Batgirl. When you were still Spoiler. When you became Batgirl as well.”

Steph shifted uncomfortably, her lips pressing into a thin line.

What was it like?

“It was… complicated,” she said finally.

It was anything but normal.

Cass tilted her head, waiting for her to elaborate. Steph sighed, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees.

Stephanie could still remember her first few nights as Spoiler, still rough around the edges and carrying the weight of Cluemaster, her father’s, shadow on her shoulders. She’d been furious when she found out after he claimed to be “rehabilitated”, he actually returned to crime instead, leaving no clues behind this time. She knew then and there that something had to be done—that she had to do something—to stop her father. So, she made her Spoiler costume, and set out to stop her father. That night, she’d intercepted one of his coded messages and had made the decision to spoil yet another of his schemes—alone.

It hadn���t gone according to plan.

The warehouse was dark and cold, lit only by a few dim bulbs hanging from the rafters. Stephanie had crept in quietly, her heart pounding as she hid in the shadows. The stolen tech Cluemaster planned to sell sat piled high in crates, guarded by a dozen armed men. She’d hoped to sneak in, plant some evidence for the police, and leave unnoticed. Instead, she’d tripped a motion sensor and found herself surrounded.

She fought back with everything she had, but it wasn’t enough. Her moves were sloppy, unrefined, and born of sheer desperation. A blow to her ribs sent her sprawling across the floor, and she barely managed to roll out of the way of another thug’s steel-toed boot. Just when it seemed like she was out of options, a flash of movement from the rafters caught her attention.

You arrived like a force of nature, swooping down in your Batgirl suit, taking out two of the goons before they even knew what hit them. For someone who appeared composed and confident, Stephanie noticed quickly that your movements weren’t as fluid as you likely hoped they were. You were good—better than her, no question—but your hits didn’t land with perfect precision, and you occasionally stumbled, as though still learning the weight of your cape.

Still, the two of you managed to fight off the group, leaving the thugs groaning on the ground. Stephanie was leaning against one of the crates, clutching her side and breathing heavily, when you turned to her.

“Who are you?” you demanded, stepping forward.

“I’m…” She hesitated, brushing off her torn sleeve and trying to stand straighter. “I’m Spoiler.”

“Never heard of you.” You crossed your arms, looking her up and down. “What are you even doing here? Who are you working with?”

Stephanie groaned, more from frustration than pain. “I’m not working with anyone.”

“Then why are you here?” You gestured to the tied-up henchmen. “This isn’t exactly a neighborhood bake sale.”

“I’m here to stop my father,” she snapped, throwing her arms up.

That made you pause. “Your… father?”

She sighed, already regretting the slip. “Yeah. My father.”

You frowned, the pieces slowly clicking together. “Wait… you’re Cluemaster’s daughter?”

“Congrats, you solved the mystery, want a prize for that?” she muttered sarcastically, shrugging your hand off her arm when you instinctively tried to grab her.

You stepped back, your stance cautious now, your expression wary. “Why are you trying to stop him?”

“Because someone has to.” Stephanie said, her voice rising. “Because I don’t want people to get hurt because of him. Is that good enough for you, Batgirl?”

You stared at her for a long moment before sighing. “You shouldn’t even be out here. This isn’t a game.”

“I’m not treating it like one!” she shot back. “I know what I’m doing.”

“No, you don’t,” you replied bluntly, but your voice softened after a moment. “But… I guess I can see why you’re doing it.”

Stephanie braced herself for you to knock her out or drag her to Batman, but instead, you just grabbed the nearest thug and tied him up.

“You’re not going to say anything?” she asked, suspicious.

You didn’t look at her. “Not tonight. But don’t make me regret it.”

And with that, you had disappeared into the night, leaving Stephanie confused and to her own thoughts, unsure of what to think about you, Batgirl.

Why did you let her go?

It didn’t make sense.

Stephanie leaned back against the nearest crate, ignoring the dull ache in her ribs as her mind spiraled. Was it pity? Did you feel sorry for her something?

The thought stung more than she wanted to admit. She didn’t need anyone’s pity—least of all from someone who’d clearly been at this vigilante thing longer than her. Or maybe—you just thought she wasn’t worth the effort of turning in.

Over the next few weeks—for some reason—Stephanie kept on running into you. Sometimes it was because you were actively following her, and sometimes it was sheer coincidence. Each time, the dynamic between the two of you shifted slightly.

“I don’t need your help,” Steph had snapped when you intervened in another one of her plans to foil her father’s, her voice tinged with irritation. She’d bitten off more than she could chew, but the last thing she wanted was you swooping in to save her.

“You’re welcome,” you’d replied coolly, barely glancing at her as you tied up the last of the thugs.

Steph had bristled. “I had it handled.”

“Sure you did,” you’d said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “That’s why you were about two seconds away from getting your head bashed in.”

This cycle had continued for weeks—an endless back-and-forth of barbed comments and unspoken challenges.

But then there were quieter moments. Like this one night—you both got stuck during a freezing rainstorm, huddled together under a flimsy overhang.

“You’re shivering,” you’d noted, tossing your extra cloak over her shoulders without a second thought.

Steph had blinked at you, surprised. “…Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” you’d said, leaning back against the wall and pulling your own cloak tighter around you.

That same night she’d cornered you on the rooftop after the two of you left evidence for the police and Batman to find to deal with Cluemaster.

“Why?” she’d asked, crossing her arms. “Why’d you go along with my plan instead of running to Batman?”

You’d glanced at her, your expression unreadable. “Because you’re not like him,” you’d said simply.

“Cluemaster, I mean. And because… I do think you mean it. The whole ‘trying to stop my father’ thing.”

For a moment, Stephanie had been speechless. She hadn’t expected that kind of answer—or the quiet sincerity behind it.

She hadn’t expected that. Not from a Bat. They weren’t exactly known for handing out compliments—or trust. Especially not to someone like her.

But then again, from the moment she met you, you hadn’t exactly acted the way she thought someone trained under Batman would. Not that she would know what that was like.

Stephanie’s arms dropped to her sides as she studied you, standing there under the faint glow of the Gotham skyline. You didn’t look like you were second-guessing your words or regretting them. You were calm like you’d just stated a fact. Like you really meant it.

Stephanie felt the knot in her chest tighten. What if you were wrong? What if she was like him? She hadn’t exactly proven otherwise had she?

Sure, she was trying to stop him now, but that didn’t erase the fact that she was his daughter. His blood ran through her veins, no matter how much she hated it.

But then, there was another thought, quieter and harder to ignore. What if you weren’t wrong? What if—just maybe—you’d seen something in her she couldn’t see herself?

Stephanie didn’t know what terified her more then—the idea that someone believed in her, or the possibility that you might be right,

She glanced at you again, half-expecting you to take it back or brush it off like it didn’t matter. But you didn’t. You just stood there, calm and steady, like your words had been obvious all along.

And for a moment, she let herself believe it. Just a little.

“Thanks,” she muttered, her voice barely audible, as she looked away. She didn’t know if you heard her or if you’d even care, but it felt like something she had to say.

When she turned back around though, you were gone.

Stephanie blinked, her breath catching for a moment as she scanned the empty rooftop. “Really?” She muttered, dragging a hand down her face.

“Was that a ‘dramatic exit’ thing, or do all you bats have to disappear every time someone tries to say thanks?”

“Afterwards…” Steph began, her voice soft. “I didn’t really get to see much of her.”

Cass looked up briefly, her head tilting in silent acknowledgment.

“I mean, even after I met you,” Steph continued, “I didn’t see much of her. I thought we were chill. You know?”

Cass’s hands paused over the grappling gun. “Thought?”

Steph hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek. Her gaze fell to her mug, and she let out a slow breath. “I guess… everything kind of changed when Bruce ‘died.’” She set the mug on the table and leaned back against the couch. “When you quit being Batgirl, and gave me your costume to take over you.”

Cass blinked, her expression neutral but her body language subtly shifting. “Oh.”

Steph turned to face her fully, brows knitting together. “I thought things would still be fine, but no. Not when Dick and Babs allowed me to take up the Batgirl mantle.”

Stephanie had found you on the rooftop of an old apartment building, your silhouette outlined against the Gotham skyline. The wind cut through the air, sharp and cold, but you didn’t flinch, your posture rigid as though the weather didn’t touch you.

“I figured you’d be here,” she’d said softly, walking closer, the crunch of gravel under her boots breaking the silence.

“What do you want, Stephanie?” Your voice was hoarse and low, but your tone was sharp enough to stop her mid-step.

Steph froze, the weight of the Batgirl costume suddenly feeling heavier than ever. There was something in the way you said her name—so cold, so distant—it made her chest tighten.

“I just… wanted to talk.”

You let out a dry, humourless scoff, still not turning to face her.

Stephanie clenched her fists at her sides, willing herself to continue. ���Look, I know you’re upset. I don’t know why Dick decided to bench you from being Batgirl, but—“

“Oh, you don’t know?” You spun around, finally facing her, your eyes burning with frustration. “It’s because of you, Stephanie. He benched me so you could play hero. He chose you. You. Over me. He’s saying I wasn’t good enough to be Batgirl. His Batgirl.”

Stephanie’s heart sank at the venom in your voice. She took a step closer, shaking her head. “That’s not true… Cass wanted me to take over her as Batgirl because—“

“Because what?” you snapped, voice rising. “Because she thought I couldn’t handle it? Because she thought you deserved it more than I do?”

“No!” Steph said quickly, her voice breaking slightly. “Because she thought I needed it. And maybe she’s right. But that doesn’t mean—“

“It doesn’t mean what?” you interrupted bitterly. “That it wasn’t a slap in the face? That it didn’t rip away the only thing I had left?”

Your voice broke, just slightly, and Stephanie’s heart clenched as she watched your walls crack under thr weight of your emotions.

“My father is dead, Stephanie. The one thing that he gave me that meant something, the one thing that I thought could truly be mine, was ripped away. Do you know how much it hurts to watch you parade in that suit like it didn’t mean anything to me? Like I don’t mean anything?”

“It’s not like that,” Steph shot back, her voice more desperate. “I didn’t mean for it to happen this way. I never wanted to hurt you—“

“Just stop,” you interrupted, turning away from her again. Your shoulders were stiff, your voice cutting like ice.

“I don’t care what you wanted. I don’t care what excuses you or Barbara or Dick have. They decided you were better than me. That I wasn’t good enough. That I was expendable.”

“That’s not true,” Steph said desperately.

“Oh sure,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “You somehow convinced Dick and Barbara to let you play Batgirl while I’m sidelined and tossed aside. Don’t even try to tell me you didn’t know what this would do to me.”

Stephanie felt frustration bubbling under the surface. “Do you think I have it easy? Barbara doubted me from the start! She didn’t think I’d survive as Batgirl. She only gave me a chance because I refused to back down—“

“So then why did they replace me?” you snapped, your eyes glistening with tears you refused to let fall. “Why did they bench me while you got to take my place? Even Cassandra seems to think you’re better than me.”

Steph froze. “That’s—“

“Am I really that replaceable?” you interrupted, your voice trembling.

Stephanie opened her mouth, but no words came out.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Save it, Stephanie. I don’t care what their reasons are. You want the mantle? Fine. It’s yours. But don’t come here pretending you didn’t know what this would do to me.”

Stephanie took a shaky step forward. “I’m not trying to—“

“I’ll prove them wrong,” you interrupted, your voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “I’ll prove I’m better than you. Better than any of them thought I could be. Even if it’s the last thing I do.”

Stephanie stared at you, stunned, as your words hung heavy in the air.

“So enjoy being Batgirl, Stephanie,” you said coldly. “And stay the hell away from me.”

Steph stood there for a long moment, frozen, as your words hung in the air. She wanted to say more, to fix this somehow, but the look in your eyes told her there was nothing she could do.

Without another word, she turned and walked away, her footsteps fading into the night as you turned back to the skyline, the cold wind biting at your skin.

Stephanie’s hands tightened around her mug as she replayed the memory in her mind.

“From then on,” Steph said, her voice soft, “she did everything she could to one-up me. Patrol routes, takedowns, intel—anything. It was like she was trying to prove herself, not just to Dick and Barbara, but to me, too.”

Cass tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable.

Steph hesitated before asking, “Why… didn’t you seem bothered by her quitting? Didn’t it… I don’t know, feel weird to you?”

Cass stayed silent, her hands stilling over the grappling gun.

“Cass?” Stephanie pressed.

Cassandra sighed softly. “If it’s what she wanted, then everyone should respect it.”

“But isn’t it weird? That she suddenly quit?”

Cass’s gaze flickered. “Yeah,” she admitted, her voice calm. “But it’s better if she doesn’t continue this path.”

Steph’s brow furrowed. “Better? What do you mean?”

Cass hesitated, her voice even. “She wasn’t built for this life.”

Steph blinked, confused. “Wait, what? What are you talking about?”

Cass looked at her, her voice quieter but resolute. “I’ve always seen it. A… blockage. In her body language. When she fights, when she moves, it’s always there. It never goes away.”

Steph tilted her head, confused. “A blockage? What does that even mean..?”

“It’s like… a wall she can’t break through.” Cass explained, her tone calm but firm. “No matter what she does, it stops her from reaching her full potential. And that wall… it’s dangerous. For her.”

“But she’s strong—“ Steph opened her mouth to protest, but Cass cut her off, her tone firmer.

“She’s strong,” Cass agreed, “but not for this. That blockage is something she can’t overcome. And if she keeps pushing herself, it’ll hurt her. Worse than being benched. Worse than losing the mantle. She should live a normal life. Away from this.”

Steph stared at Cass, her confusion shifting into an uneasy understanding. The weight of Cass’s words settling heavily in her chest. Cass’s ability to read body language was unparalleled—if anyone could see something like that, it was her.

“But…” Steph started, trailing off, her voice uncertain.

Cass shook her head, her voice soft but final. “This life—it would break her. It’s better this way. For her.”

Stephanie leaned back into the couch, the weight of Cass’s words pressing down on her. For the first time, she felt a flicker of doubt—not about you, but about what this life demanded of you.

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

Her thoughts swirled as she tried to piece it all together. Cassandra had always been the most perceptive person Stephanie had ever known, able to read people in ways that felt almost supernatural. If she said there was a “blockage,” some invisible wall holding you back, Steph believed her. She had no reason not to.

But why hadn’t Cass told you about it? Why hadn’t she tried to help you work through it instead of letting you walk away? Cass wasn’t the type to give up on people, so why had she just… let you go?

Stephanie’s grip tightened on the mug. She thought back to the nights she’d watched you push yourself too far, the way you’d thrown yourself into patrols and fights with a reckless determination that bordered on desperation. It made sense now, in a way. You weren’t just trying to be good enough—you were trying to be better than everyone’s doubts.

“I don’t…” Stephanie hesitated, her words faltering. “I don’t know how to feel about this.”

Cassandra didn’t respond, her silence stretching between them like the distant hum of the city outside.

The weight of the conversation pressed on Steph’s chest, but then a stray thought flickered in her mind, pulling her out of her tangled emotions. She striaghted slightly, her brow furrowing.

“Wait. Where’s Barbara anyway?” she asked, glancing around the Clocktower.

Cass tilted her head, thinking. “Not sure,” she said simply. “I think… she said she had plans. With someone.”

Steph raised an eyebrow. “Plans? With who?”

Cass shrugged, her expression giving nothing away.

Steph groaned, flopping back against the couch. “Great. So now Barbara is being cryptic too. What is it with you Bat people and your secrets?”

The lunch spot was cozy but buzzing with just enough noise to drown out any awkward silences—though not nearly enough to mask the tension sitting between you and Barbara. She sat across from you, her gaze flickering between the menu in her hands and you.

You should have refused the lunch. Should have claimed you were busy. But the text Barbara sent you left you with no real excuse:

“Lunch? 1 PM? Don’t pretend you’re busy, I know your schedule. ☕”

And so here you were, caught in what felt like an ambush.

As the server came over, you placed your order for a black coffee and a bagel.

Barbara blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Black coffee?” she repeated after the server left, her brows slightly raised.

You glanced up from your phone. “Yeah?”

“I just… didn’t think you’d be the type.”

It took you a moment to register her confusion, but then it hit you. Back when you were sixteen, you hated coffee—especially black coffee. You’d always opted for sugary drinks or anything sweet enough to mask the bitterness. Sixteen year old you would’ve gagged at the bitterness of black coffee. But time had changed you, as had many sleepless nights spent staring at mission briefs or reports, that you’ve gotten used to the taste of coffee.

“Just need all the energy I can get,” you replied, plastering on a small smile.

Barbara hummed, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to push further.

The two of you fell into a strange silence, interrupted only by the soft clinking of cutlery and quiet chatter around you. Barbara shifted in her wheelchair, wondering why this felt so… awkward.

Were you always this… standoffish?

After what felt like forever, Barbara finally spoke up. “I heard about what happened to your friend.”

Your fingers stilled against the edge of your cup. Oh.

Barbara glanced at you, gauging your reaction before continuing. “I just… wanted to say I’m sorry. That he got caught up in everything. I should have been more thorough.”

Your lips twitched downward, your voice coming out sharper than intended. “Yeah. You should have.”

The words left your mouth before you could stop them. Barbara’s eyes widened ever so slightly, the honesty of your tone catching her off guard.

Silence again. This time heavier.

The tension thickened between you both, the silence growing louder by the second. Barbara swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your words settle uncomfortably in her chest.

She opened her mouth again, determined to steer the conversation somewhere less hostile. “How’s school?”

You shrugged, your tone clipped. “It’s alright.”

“Are classes okay? Teachers good?”

“They’re fine.”

Barbara frowned, but she pressed on. “And your friends? Have you made any new ones?”

“No, not really.”

This wasn’t working. Every answer you gave was short, distant, like you were putting up walls. It felt unnatural, almost deliberate. Barbara wasn’t sure if she should press harder or back off entirely.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” she finally asked, unable to hold back her curiosity any longer. Was this about your friend getting hurt? Was this about her not being quick enough to prevent the incident? Or was it something else all together?

You paused, but your face remained impassive. “No,” you replied flatly, taking a bite of your bagel.

Barbara’s stomach twisted.

That wasn’t a no.

Not really.

Before she could respond, a voice spoke from behind her.

“Hey, I thought I recognized you two!”

The familiar voice broke through the tension like a wrecking ball, and Barbara couldn’t have been more relieved.

Dick.

He slid into the seat next to Barbara, flashing his trademark grin, though his eyes darted to you with a hint of hesitation. “What’s this? A secret meeting without me?”

Oh, so this was a setup.

Dick must have told Barbara about you avoiding him, and they must have planned this.

You straightened, folding your arms and leaning back into your chair like a wall had gone up.

Dick, oblivious, leaned forward with his usual enthusiasm. “What are you guys talking about? School? Life? Come on, catch me up.”

“Not much to catch up on,” you muttered.

Dick frowned slightly but pressed on, his tone light and cheerful. “You know, I’ve been meaning to hang out with you more, (Name). It feels like we haven’t really spent time together lately.”

You didn’t respond.

“Maybe we could grab dinner sometime?” Dick offered, smiling earnestly. “Or I could swing by the manor and we could—”

“I actually have plans, so I can’t stay,” you said curtly, reaching for your bag.

Dick blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. “What? No, wait,” he said quickly, leaning forward. “You just got here.”

“I already told you,” you said, standing up. “I have plans. I can’t hang out.”

“But—”

“Thanks for lunch, Barbara,” you interrupted, sparing Barbara a quick glance before heading for the exit.

“Wait—”

You were already gone.

Dick watched you go, his shoulders sagging as the door swung shut behind you. He slumped back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face. For a moment, he was quiet, his usual energy dimmed.

Barbara sighed, setting her cup down. She wanted to comfort him, but she didn’t have the words. After all, you’d been acting the same way toward her. Aloof, distant, standoffish.

“Don’t take it personally.”

That was all she could come up with.

Dick frowned. “She’s never acted like this before. It’s like she doesn’t even want to be around me.”

Barbara didn’t respond. She didn’t know what to say. She just wished she had an answer.

“She hates me,” he said quietly, his voice almost drowned by the chatter from the cafe.

Barbara glanced up at the man. “She doesn’t hate you, Dick.”

“Feels like it,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. “It’s like every time I try to talk to her, I just make things worse.” He paused, swallowing thickly. “….You don’t think she’s acting like this because of what happened before, do you?”

Barbara leaned back in her chair, her expression softening. “Which part of ‘before’ are we talking about?”

Dick’s gaze dropped to the floor as his mind pulled him back, unbidden, to those first turbulent days after Bruce’s death.

The cave had never felt more suffocating, its dim light and cold walls amplifying the tension crackling in the air. You stood across from Dick, your posture tense, fists clenched at your sides.

“You’re benching me?” Your voice was sharp, anger barely masking the hurt underneath.

“It’s not permanent,” Dick said, his tone measured but firm. “You’re not in the right headspace right now—”

“I’m fine,” you snapped, cutting him off. “I’m doing my job, same as I always have.”

“No, you’re not,” Dick countered, his voice tightening. “You’re reckless. You’re putting yourself in danger for no reason.” He took a step closer, his jaw tight. “I’ve seen you out there, and it’s like you’re not even trying to come back in one piece. You’re acting like you have nothing to lose.”

Your heart lurched at his words, but you refused to show it. “Don’t stand there and psychoanalyze me. I’m doing my job. If you think I’m not good enough, just say it.”

Dick let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. You’ve been through hell—losing Bruce—your father—and instead of giving yourself time to deal with it, you’re throwing yourself into the field like you have a death wish.”

Your fists clenched tighter. “So what? I’m just supposed to sit around, doing nothing? Let Gotham fall apart while you and Damian play Batman and Robin? I’m trying to help, Dick!”

“I know you are,” Dick said, his voice softening, but there was a steel edge to it. “But this isn’t helping. Not like this. You’re going to get yourself killed, and I can’t—” He stopped himself, shaking his head.

“You can’t what?” you demanded, stepping closer, your voice trembling with anger. “You can’t trust me? Can’t rely on me? What, am I just some burden to you now?”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Dick snapped, his frustration finally boiling over. His voice echoed through the cave, bouncing off the walls. “I’m saying I care about you, and I’m not going to stand by and watch you destroy yourself like this.”

The raw emotion in his voice caught you off guard, but it only fueled the fire burning in your chest. “You don’t care about me,” you spat. “If you did, you’d let me do what I’m good at instead of sidelining me. You’re becoming just like father—deciding what’s best for everyone else without asking.”

Dick flinched at the comparison, but he recovered quickly, his expression hardening. “This isn’t about control. It’s about keeping you alive. You’re grieving, and it’s clouding your judgment. Until you can think clearly, I can’t let you keep putting yourself in danger.”

“You can’t let me?” you repeated, your voice cracking as your anger reached its peak. “You’re not my father, Dick. You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t do!”

“No, I’m not your father,” Dick shot back, his voice low but sharp. “But I am your brother. And I am Batman now. So it’s my call.”

The words landed like a blow, cutting through the air between you. Your breathing was ragged, your chest heaving as you stared at him, your emotions warring inside you—anger, betrayal, grief, all swirling together until you couldn’t separate one from the other.

“Fine,” you said finally, your voice cold and flat. “Do what you want. Bench me. Replace me. I don’t care.”

Dick’s expression flickered, a crack in his resolve, but you didn’t give him a chance to respond. You turned on your heel and stormed out of the cave, your footsteps echoing behind you.

The memory twisted in Dick’s chest like a knife. A few days later, he’d seen someone in Cassandra’s Batgirl costume, her movements unfamiliar, the seams of the mantle not quite fitting yet.

“Tsk, tsk. Sloppy.” Damian had commented.

“How is this the woman who led the League of Assassins? The “warrior” who ran the outsiders at father’s command?” he had asked sharply.

“You’re right..” Dick muttered, narrowing his eyes as he realized who it was.

“She’s not as good as the other batgirls..”

When he confronted Barbara about mentoring Stephanie, the conversation had been anything but calm. She believed in Stephanie, believed Gotham needed a Batgirl. He’d been reluctant, furious that Barbara had allowed Stephanie to go around Gotham wearing that Bat symbol on her chest when she’s not prepared for what the city has become in the absence of Batman. But he’d eventually agreed, seeing how much Stephanie needed this, seeing how much Barbara needed this too.

But when you found out? That had been the breaking point.

The sound of hurried, angry footsteps echoed through the Batcave, snapping Dick’s attention from the monitor. He turned just as you came storming in, radiating anger.

“Are you serious?” you demanded, your voice sharp enough to cut through the quiet hum of the cave’s machinery.

Dick sighed, already bracing himself for the confrontation. He should have expected this, but the fury radiating off you still caught him off guard.

“Stephanie’s Batgirl now?” you said, your words laced with disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“She’s doing good work,” Dick said, keeping his tone neutral, though he could already feel the tension building.

“She’s replacing me!” you snapped. “Neither you nor Barbara even thought to talk to me about this. Not a single word. You didn’t think for one second about how I’d feel.”

“She’s not replacing you, (Name),” Dick said, his voice taut as he tried to keep his composure.

“Yes, she is,” you shot back, your tone rising. “You’re saying I’m not good enough. That I’m not fit to be Batgirl anymore.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Dick countered, his patience beginning to fray.

“Then what is it about?” you challenged, stepping closer. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you decided I wasn’t worth it. You didn’t even give me a chance to prove I’m not—”

“You don’t have to prove anything,” Dick interrupted sharply.

“Clearly, I do!” you spat. “Because you didn’t just bench me. You handed over my mantle to someone else, like I didn’t matter. Like I’m just… disposable!”

“That’s not what happened,” Dick said, his voice rising. “This isn’t about replacing you—it’s about keeping you alive!”

You froze for a split second, stunned, before your expression hardened. “Keeping me alive? What the hell are you talking about?”

Dick exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “Like I already told you, you’ve been reckless. Ever since Bruce died, you’ve been—”

“Don’t bring father into this,” you interrupted, your voice dangerously low.

“I have to,” Dick snapped back. “Because ever since he died, you’ve been running yourself into the ground, throwing yourself into danger without a second thought. You’re not thinking clearly, and it’s going to get you killed. I had to take you off the streets before it was too late.”

“I’m fine,” you said through gritted teeth.

“You’re not fine,” Dick retorted, his voice sharp. “You’re angry, you’re grieving, and you’re not in the right headspace to be doing this. You think I wanted to bench you? I didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” you bit out. “And you chose her.”

Dick’s jaw tightened. “Because Gotham needs a Batgirl who can think straight right now. Someone who isn’t running on grief and anger. That’s not you right now.”

“Oh, so Stephanie’s better than me now?” you said bitterly. “I see how it is. First, you replace Tim with Damian—without even talking to him about it—and now you’re doing the same thing to me.”

“This isn’t the same,” Dick said, his voice hardening.

“Isn’t it?” you challenged, stepping closer. “You didn’t even ask me. You just made the decision for me. Like I don’t get a say. Like I don’t matter.”

“Tim can handle himself,” Dick shot back, his voice sharp. “Damian can’t. He needed someone to guide him, someone to keep him from spiraling out of control.”

“And I don’t?” you fired back. “I lost my father, Dick. Everything changed the moment he’s gone. The ‘normalcy’ I had was no longer there. But instead of helping me, instead of guiding me, you just… tossed me aside. Like I wasn’t worth the effort.”

“That’s not what I did,” Dick said, his voice quieter but no less firm.

“Then what did you do?” you demanded, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions.

“I’m trying to protect you!” Dick shouted, his frustration boiling over. “You don’t see it, but you’re not okay. You think you can just power through this, but you can’t. Not like this. If I let you keep going, you’d—” He stopped himself, his voice catching.

“I’d what?” you pressed, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt.

Dick’s shoulders slumped, and he looked at you with a rawness in his expression you weren’t expecting. “You’d get yourself killed,” he said softly. “And I couldn’t live with that. Especially when I’m in charge.”

“Don’t make this about me being reckless or grieving or whatver you think is wrong with me,” you said through gritted teeth.

“It is about that!” Dick snapped, his voice rising even more than before. “You’re spiraling and you know it. You’re not in the right headspace to be out there right now, let alone as Batgirl.”

“I’m fine. I’ve been fine. I’m doing my job—“

“You’re throwing yourself into danger without thinking,” Dick interrupted, his voice sharp. “You’re not acting like someone who’s fine. You’re acting like you don’t care if you live or die, and I’m not going to let you do that under the Batgirl mantle.”

You stared at him, your chest heaving, your emotions a chaotic storm. But instead of softening, instead of understanding, the words only made the ache in your chest worse. “You don’t get to decide that for me,” you said coldly.

“Someone has to.”

You shook your head, tears pricking your eyes. “No. You don’t get to make that call, not for me. You didn’t even try to understand. You just made your decision and moved on.”

Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed toward the exit, leaving Dick standing in the empty cave, his hands clenched at his sides.

Dick stood there, staring at the spot where you’d disappeared. His chest felt tight, a mix of guilt and frustration twisting inside him. He didn’t mean to hurt you. That was the last thing he wanted. But letting you keep going out there, in the state you were in, wasn’t something he could allow.

“It’s for your own good,” he murmured to himself, but the words rang hollow in the silence of the cave.

Dick stared down at the hot cider Barbara ordered for him, the steam curling lazily above the cup. His voice was low, almost pained, as he broke the silence. “It had been rocky after that,” he admitted, the memory of your argument still sharp in his mind. “Even after I told her not to go out as Batgirl, she disobeyed me. Again and again.”

Barbara didn’t respond, her gaze steady on him, waiting for him to continue.

“I’d bench her, and she’d show up on patrols anyway,” Dick said, his tone bitter with frustration, but there was no hiding the regret beneath it. “At first, I thought she was just trying to prove a point—to prove me wrong—but the more I watched, the more I realized…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “She was just hurting. She threw herself into every fight like it didn’t matter if she came out of it.”

Barbara shifted in her wheelchair, her fingers tightening around her own mug.

Dick ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want to admit then, but I didn’t know how to handle it. I thought taking her off the streets would help, but it just pushed her further away. The fights got worse. She wouldn’t talk to me—or if she did, it would get messy. She didn’t trust me anymore.”

He paused, exhaling heavily. “And I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me for that.”

Barbara’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she stayed quiet, sensing there was more.

“When Bruce came back, I thought things would go back to normal,” Dick said, forcing a hollow chuckle. “I thought we could reset, you know? Bruce took over as Batman again, I went back to being Nightwing, and she officially went back to being Batgirl. It was like the pieces were all back in place. Like things were the way they were supposed to be.”

Barbara tilted her head slightly, catching the way his voice softened.

“But they weren’t,” he admitted, his voice breaking just slightly. “Not really.” He hesitated, gripping the edge of the table. “(Name) quit three weeks ago. Officially. And… she’s been avoiding me ever since. I see it in the way she leaves before I show up, the way she makes sure she’s never in the same room as me. It’s like—like whatever this is, it’s irreparable. Like I played into her quitting.”

Barbara reached out slightly, her hand brushing against his briefly, grounding him.

“I don’t think I was wrong in my decision,” Dick said, though there was an ache in his voice that made it hard to believe him. “I just—I handled it badly. I hurt her, Babs. And now, I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to make it right.”

He fell silent, staring into his drink like it held some sort of answer.

Barbara shifted her gaze to him, guilt clawing at her chest as her own memories surfaced.

“I…. should have handled things better too,” she admitted softly, almost to herself.

Dick glanced at her, surprised by the admission.

“I should have been there for her,” Barbara continued, her tone quiet but heavy with regret. “(Name) wasn’t in the right state of mind, and I knew that. I knew it. But I…” She hesitated, gripping her mug tightly. “I chose to focus on Stephanie instead. To guide her. To help her become Batgirl.”

“You were trying to do what was best for everyone,” Dick said gently, but Barbara shook her head.

“No, I wasn’t,” she said firmly. “I was avoiding the harder choice. Helping her—helping someone who was grieving, who was hurt, who needed someone to pull them out of that spiral—that would’ve taken more from me. More patience. More time. And I didn’t give it to her.”

Dick’s expression softened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I thought Stephanie needed me more,” Barbara said, her voice cracking slightly. “She was trying so hard to prove herself, to find her place—find what she needs. And she deserved my guidance too—but I shouldn’t have left (Name) behind. Not like that.”

The two of them fell silent for a long moment, both lost in their thoughts.

“She deserved better from me,” Barbara murmured, her throat tightening. “And now I have to live with the fact that I didn’t give it to her. I have to live with the fact that I let this gap between us grow so big. And I don’t even know when it happened.”

Dick looked at her, his expression softening. “It’s not too late to fix that.”

Barbara gave him a small, sad smile. “How do you fix something when you don’t even know where to start?”

Dick opened his mouth to respond, but the weight of her words settled over him. He knew exactly how she felt. But just like her, he didn’t have an answer.

“She’s so… closed off now,” Dick said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know how to approach her anymore. Every time I try, it’s like there’s this wall between us, and I just—” He stopped, exhaling sharply. “How did I mess up so bad?”

Barbara studied him, her heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice.

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” Dick admitted. “I just—I wanted her to be okay. I wanted her to stop putting herself in danger, to stop tearing herself apart over everything she lost back then. But now… I don’t know if I helped her at all. I think I just pushed her further away.”

Barbara placed a hand over his, squeezing it gently. “You did what you thought was right,” she said softly.

“Doesn’t make it hurt any less,” Dick muttered, his voice thick with regret.

They sat there in silence for a while, both of them weighed down by the choices they’d made and the consequences they were still grappling with. Neither of them knew how to bridge the gap you’d left behind—but they both knew they couldn’t just leave it like this. Not anymore.

finally done with this chapter lol. it’s been long overdue, so sorry about that 😭😓 i had to rewrite a lot of these scenes so many times because i wasn’t satisfied with it…but hopefully you lot are okay with this chapter haha.. 😬🙃 i slightly adjusted stephanie’s relationship with reader in this compared to the background info i posted because i thought this would fit better with the dynamic i intended for her to have. but for now, have this while i’m going to take a semi-hiatus/break to celebrate my bday which is coming up in 4 days and some other stuff 🫶 next chapter will most likely come out on 28 dec so yeah, until then, i’ll still try to reply to whatever is in my inbox 🫨

taglist is closed‼️

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[wonderjanga]

Head to the Wall Over and Over Until There’s a Dent

Harvey didn’t know how they ended up in an alley in Iowa of all places, let alone the one city there that had multiple heroes that patrolled. Currently, he was hiding out in an alley when suddenly some kid came by.

Billy: *walks past before stopping and walking backwards so he could take a good look at him*

Billy and Two Face/Harvey: *staring at each other*

Billy: “Do I know you?”

Two Face: “No.”

Billy: “Yeah I do. You’re a lawyer, right?” *remembers Batman saying that about him but not remembering the part where he’s an actual villain*

Harvey: “Not anymore-”

Billy: “Great!”

Two Face: *peeved at him for interrupting them* “You little…”

Billy: “Can you sue someone for me?”

Harvey: “Who?”

Billy: “My uncle.”

Harvey: “What’d he do?”

Billy: “He stole all of my inheritance and then kicked me out so I became homeless.”

*silence*

Two Face: *looks over Billy* “You don’t look homeless.”

Billy: “Well, yeah. I have a job. I work at Whiz, a radio company here. That also means I can pay you!”

Two Face: *thinking about how he doesn’t want to do this*

Harvey: *thinking about how he does want to do this so they flip the coin and it lands on Harvey’s side* “Alright then. We’ll take the case.”

Billy:“Great! Let’s talk business in somewhere more discreet. Cmon.” *gestures for him to follow* “By the way, why do you mean ‘we’? Do you have a lawyer team?”

Two Face: “No, we’re two different people.”

Billy: “Oh. Cool.”

The two walked out of the alley and started walking on the sidewalk. Both Harvey and Two Face were a little surprised at the lack of stares and running away they received.

Two Face: “No one’s batting an eye at us.”

Billy: “Why would they?”

Two Face: *gives him a look that suggests it should be obvious*

Billy: *raises a brow with a confused expression*

Turns out, the “discreet” place they were going to talk business in was a diner. They went in and sat at a booth. Billy skimmed through the menu and ordered a milkshake before handing the menu to them.

Billy: “You gonna get a milkshake too?”

Harvey: *takes out their coin, flips it and it lands on Two Face’s side* “No.”

Billy: “Your loss. They’re pretty good.”

They soon started talking business and made a plan of how they would sue the pants off Ebenezer. When that was done, they got to work collecting evidence to help them win the case. In the end, they won and left the courthouse with Billy richer and with the widest smile in the world. Billy gave him a portion of the money and they went their separate ways.

Billy: “Bye Mr. Dent! Bye Mr. Two Face!” *runs off with a comically large money bag*

Geez, Harvey nearly forgot what it was like to be lawyer again. Anyways, back to crime. But not before one little thing.

Harvey/Two Face: *breaks in to Ebenezer’s house, does the little coin flip and it lands on Two Face’s side so he takes out his gun to kill Eben*

Batman: *appears from behind him* “Two Face. What are you doing in Fawcett?”

Harvey: “We were representing someone for a case.”

Batman: “How? Your license got revoked.”

Two Face: “We don’t even know. This towns crazy. In a good way.”

They unfortunately didn’t get to shoot Eben because Batman apprehended them and took them back to Gotham.

[quarterlifekitty]

Hi! could you possibly write something about a fuckboy!soap and shy!reader that he uses for sex, and she keeps letting him? im craving angsty angst ANGST that just keeps hurting…you don’t have to if you don’t want to and thank you if you do! Have a great day!

Okay, one thing you all should know about me? Is that I’m a weenie lol so I can’t help but make things a little hopeful most of the time. Also— gonna make this like a college type AU

Soap clocks you from a mile away when he sees you at a party. There’s a cup of beer in your hand that you’ve been nursing, just sipping to have something to do while you cling to the side of the friend who forced you to come.

He’s seen you in his classes before. You’re good. Not the type to be seen in a place like this. And that kinda whets his appetite. He wants to fuck you, break you, make you fall apart for his own amusement.

He nudges Gaz— they have the routine down to a science— splitting up the birdies that are a little too huddled together so they can have their way with them. Gaz runs interference this time, Johnny mouthing an “I owe ye” his way— chatting up and pulling your friend away to talk a bit more. You’re alone now, and Johnny swoops in, weaving through people on a warpath.

He corners you expertly, and you’re a pathetically easy read. Easy to tease, to coax, to push. He just has to throw in a few lines about how pretty you look, peppered between him saying he’s always wanted to talk with you, always admired you in class— he gives just enough detail to lull you into thinking this is courting. That he’s going to fuck you because he likes you.

Works like a charm. Always does. You clumsily follow him to his room—“Ye didnae ken? This is my fraternity’s house, bonnie,”— as he pulls you along by the hand.

He enjoys pulling you apart. Like the birds taking Prometheus’s liver. He’s not a complete animal, he makes you cum, but he doesn’t give you kisses the way you’d probably hoped he would. He’ll tell his mates later— it was kinda cute how fucking bad you were at giving head, too.

He lets you stay the night even though your clinging is a bit annoying. Pushing you out would burn this bridge, and he’s not ready to do that just yet. Not when he could keep having fun.

Come morning your clothes are tossed your way (sans panties, those are going in his trophy collection), and he has the decency to drop you off at your place with the promise of further contact.

Come your next class, he’s back to acting like he doesn’t know you. You’re shy, but you’re not stupid. It’s easy to see that you were played, and you curse yourself for falling into it.

So why do you show up when he texts you, asking you to come over?

Promethean indeed.

And it keeps happening.

It’s not like he treats you badly— that’s what you tell yourself. You’re just the idiot for expecting more than orgasms. It’s nice to feel wanted. It’s not nice to put your clothes on and get out right after, but you’re willing to ignore that. You shouldn’t be. But you are.

You’re not the kind of girl who gets asked out. So why refuse the one source of attention you have? He makes you cum, right? That’s more than a lot of guys do, so it would be unfair to expect more. High maintenance. Right?

If Johnny can see the hurt behind your eyes when you turn to check behind you when you leave, as if he’ll suddenly change his mind and call you back into bed to hold you, he doesn’t do anything about it. He’s content to tug on his jeans and brush past you with a cigarette in his mouth.

You steel yourself as usual, double checking the straightness of your clothes as if it’ll make you feel like less of a cheap whore when his housemates glance your way as you leave.

The door across from Johnny’s is almost always open, despite how closed off its occupant seems. You’ve never met Simon. Well, you really haven’t met anyone in Soap’s life. That’s not what he keeps you for, is it? Fucktoys don’t get introduced to the friend group. Doesn’t stop Simon from staring holes in your back every time you leave. Must think you’re easy. Must wonder if Johnny’ll mind if he has a go. Or maybe he just thinks you’re pathetic. You certainly do.

But it’s happened one too many times. Apparently, even a worm will turn. His stare itches and crawls up your skin when you already feel like such a piece of meat— chewed up and spit out. And you must be losing flavor. Before long you won’t even have this. You turn to look at him instead of walking on as usual.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” You spit in a tone that surprises you. You’ve never said anything like that to someone, not in earnest, anyway.

“Lemme take y’out somewhere.”

What?

What?

[xo-adeline]

"To change for you..."

⋆°• ☁︎ - Things the Blue Lock boys do after picking it up from you Feat. Michael Kaiser, Isagi Yoichi, Nagi Seishiro, Shidou Ryusei, and Rin Itoshi

AN: I have the freaking cutest idea for a Wakasuki fanfic but nobody knows him and it's so sad...

Michael Kaiser ⋆°• ☁︎ - Listening to certain songs that he knows you like when he’s traveling

He never realized that he would have missed you this much when he was traveling. For the few months that he was still back in Germany with you, the thoughts of traveling had crossed his mind many times, and with a scoff and the thoughts that he used to do it alone all the time pushed the ideas to the back of his brain, well until now; Now when he was sitting on the Bastard München bus on the way to the PXG stadium for their next match, the long, almost 14-hour, bus ride they had, and every second since he had been on that bus, he missed you. Not that he would ever admit that to anybody, including you. So what better way than to either A. attempt to text you, But that sounded desperate, or B. do something that reminded him of you. And with his limited options, he scrolled his phone to find something that could bring him back to the thought of you, even if you weren’t there with him. To which that’s when he found it. A couple of weeks ago you had stolen his phone, saying that you were just looking at the weather, but rather, you knew he had a Spotify account and only listened to the songs he wanted to, so you put together a playlist for him of some songs you think he should listen to, including some of your favorites. He couldn’t help but give a little smile when he saw the playlist cover being a picture of the two of you at one of his previous games, and within no time he pressed the play button and started to listen through the songs, thoughts of you running through his head matching up with every song lyric.

Isagi Yoichi ⋆°• ☁︎ - Using more creative insults on the field after you used them against him

It all started a couple weeks after you had started dating and you got into a little spat about where to go for dinner, him trying to be nice and let you decide and you being indecisive and pushing it back on him. All going relatively nicely until you turned around and said:

“You decide, you wet noodle! I can’t pick.”

And he stood there for a second, a little surprised. A wet noodle? That wasn’t something you heard every day. So he let out a slight chuckled and picked a place he knew you would like and the two of you went there for dinner that night. The same thing with a couple other insults had happened a few times, being called a multitude of other things, and even hearing you’d snide comments sometimes about how you hoped that a person that cut you off in traffic ‘stepped into a puddle with only socks on.’

Now with these thoughts inside his head, and Barou running his mouth he could only turn towards him and give a dirty glare before pulling this out of his pocket:

“I hope you’re sleeves slide down while you’re washing your hands.”

Before turning back around and heading anywhere else in the building where he wasn’t. To which the rest of the people standing there could only look surprised, the same guy who called Barou much worse, just wished a minor inconvenience on him? What was happening?

Nagi Seishiro ⋆°• ☁︎ - Showing a little more effort rather than just in scoring goals

Reo could only look confused at the white-haired man as he was actually trying on some of the new training regiments given to them by Chris Prince. Even when he looked over to the coach, he looked a little shocked. It wasn’t that Nagi didn’t try, it’s that he had never tried this hard before. He did everything just enough for it to be acceptable and then move on with his life, well that was until he saw how hard you worked for things. He never understood why people worked hard until you had come home with a good grade on your test, the same test he had watched you work for hours and hours trying to study the material and cram into your head before you had to take it. The way that you smiled and were so excited that the work you did paid off gave him this spark of inspiration that he needed to see what it was like to train hard and then have that achievement pay off in the end. So when he went back to practice, he tried harder than he ever did before, even earning a couple comments asking if he was okay, or if he was dying and trying a little harder was his dying wish. All of which he responded a simple ‘no’ to before walking off to get water or work on something else. The only person who could actually figure out the truth was Reo, who had asked him if it had something to do with you. He just shrugged and nodded.

“They came home all happy one time because they studied hard and got a good grade and I wanted to know what that felt like… They clung onto me for a whole 15 minutes after… and I liked it so maybe If I do good I can do that to them..”

Reo could only laugh a little as he watched Nagi walk away. He would definitely have to send you a thank you card, Chris Prince’s signature in there as well as he had tried to ask Nagi the same question and it totally backfired.

Shidou Ryusei ⋆°• ☁︎ - Trying to settle arguments with words instead of his foot

The famous fighter, Shidou Ryusei, was actually trying to have a conversation. Nobody ever thought there would be a day. Well, except for one person, you. The same person who had told him off a multitude of times that he can’t just hurt people whenever he was pissed off at them, and there were much better ways to go about it. Even after days of him trying to get you to see his side of it, and you already, after hearing his explanation a few weeks ago, deeming it not the best way to settle things. So here he was now, putting his ego aside to make sure that Loki or Ego didn’t have to call you for the 4th time this week to try to get him to behave and attempt to try to not kick Rin square in the face after he stole a goal from him. Even Loki was surprised when Shidou was about to raise his foot, just to stop himself, mutter something, and then turn to Rin, attempting to try and talk it out. The first thought in everybody's mind, was this even Shidou? After Rin had walked away from him Loki came jogging over to him and trying to make sure he was okay.

“Ya’ I’m fine, jus’ the pretty thing back home ya’ always have to call told me to get my shit together, so I’m tryin’ talk it out with lower lashes.”

Loki looked surprised, I mean he knew from talking to you before that you were close with Shidou, but little did he know that you basically had the man wrapped around you’re finger. They’ve been trying to get him to talk something out for the entire time he was in Blue Lock, but he leaves for a few days and comes back a whole new person? The staff would be sending you thank you cards, as well as a small gift instead of having to pay the hospital bills from anybody else Shidou would’ve sent.

Rin Itoshi ⋆°• ☁︎ - Trying to be a little nicer to others

The world must have stopped turning and we were all gonna die. That was the only thing Isagi could think after he heard Rin actually complimenting somebody. Was it a backhanded compliment? Absolutely, but did he still say something nice to Nanase, yes. Isagi could only stare in shock as he walked over to him next, ready to be degraded or ignored for anything he did, until Rin stopped, cursing under his breath.

“You’re a shitty person, but at least you can score a decent goal..”

The world stopped, he was sure of it. There was no way the Rin Itoshi, had just come up to him and told him he could score a decent goal. So when he stood there a little confused Rin couldn’t help but curse a little more.

“This isn’t because I like you. It’s because I like my partner. Got it?”

And with that he headed off again, going who knows where.

Thought he didn’t learn the fully story until much later on when Shidou had been talking about it Charles and he had overheard. Apparently, Rin’s partner had been pretty upset when they realized that he was pretty mean overall, and wanted him to at least attempt being nicer, so the next time he saw somebody he knew he at least tried to give them a compliment, just attempting to make his partner a little less upset with him.

Isagi knew that it was just a little thing, but lord, he was sure that if Rin would go around complimenting other people, if you asked for the world to burn, he would set it on fire just so you wouldn’t be upset.

[nerdygirlramblings]

implied poly!141 x fem!reader

pure fluff, abrupt ending

They were smitten the first time they saw you, some new civvie working in the admin building. Price saw you first and was taken in by your open, friendly smile. You were sweet every time he had to come in, always saying hello and asking how his day was. He couldn't help but talk about you to his boys.

Gaz was next, finding reasons to drop by with a question for your boss or "remembering" paperwork he had already brought to someone else. He always seemed to pop in when your boss was out, though, so he had to talk to you about it instead.

Soap noticed how often Gaz was slipping off to your building. He knew Price was smitten; the man had all but admitted as much. But it seemed Gaz wanted to keep his interest in you a secret. Soap never could let a secret go, so he followed Gaz, found him flirting with you, watched you give him soft touches and shy smiles. He couldn't remember the last time Gaz had lost his sharp edges.

He told Ghost what he saw, and the two began watching you.

They saw how you always dropped by medical on Wednesdays with a bakery box in hand. They learned Tuesdays - the first full day of training rookies had - was always busier for medical, so you brought them a pick-me-up after a hard day. They watched you stop and chat with every invisible employee: groundskeepers, maintenance, custodial staff. You made it a point to acknowledge those who were often overlooked. Soap and Ghost didn't interact with you personally, but they fell for your kind heart nonetheless.

It slowly became clear that there were others as enamoured with you as they all were. Flowers on your desk they knew Price didn't send. Lunch delivered when you'd clearly brought your own. A few other officers who stood a little too close and for whom your smile was tight rather than inviting.

They tell all this to Price and Gaz who bring it up with you in their own way.

Gaz asks about the bouquet behind your desk. You tell him they were a gift, and when your tone seems strained, he presses for more, finds out they came from an officer who didn't believe you meant no. Price stops in after a lunch delivery and jokes about you having two meals. Turns out you're allergic to what was delivered (someone obviously did not do their homework), but it was a favorite of the same soldier who sent the flowers.

This man was making their bird uncomfortable, and they wouldn't stand for it.

Slowly, things take a turn for this poor sod whose main flaw was an overbearing interest in you. His reports come back flagged for missing information, and he gets reamed out by his superior. (Gaz hacked the system and deleted things. Don't worry, he fixed it later, after the damage was done.) His flowers get delivered to married women, which raises an HR concern. (Ghost offered the florist double the cost of each bouquet to send them to a list of other people. He told them you didn't want people jealous of your relationship with the soldier and to spread the joy.) He finds himself called to the head of medical about the legal issue of accidental poisoning. (Price dropped by with your ill-delivered lunch to chat with the head and accidentally let it slip how this delicious food was sent to a civilian employee deathly allergic to some of the ingredients.)

The boys could have gotten dirty and taken matters into their own hands, but they wanted to be able to keep themselves clear of the fallout. To be there for you in the aftermath.

It took about two weeks, but eventually the officer was demoted and transferred. Word gets around the other soldiers how the 141 was protecting its own. They staked their claim on you before you ever realized it.

Two days after the incident, Price shows up with a vase of your favorite flowers (courtesy of Soap's intel). Later that day, Gaz invites you to your favorite restaurant (thanks to Ghost's observations) for dinner, "no strings, doll, just a nice meal." You show up in a cute but classy dress to find the whole task force - including Soap and Ghost whom you've never even met before - seated and waiting on you.

They'd decided to let you know where things stood before some other idiot tried taking what was theirs.

Inspired by the "To the pain" scene at the end of The Princess Bride: "That is what to the pain means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever."

[erralinadventures]

okay so, I saw this, and decided I was bored again(I'm always bored), and so I shall answer this for Kinnio! He is the only character in Erralin I actually played as a DND character, from level 1.

Yes. Though trauma is usually not something he considers.

Usually saving them from a physical threat, like a dragon or bandits.

Fun Fact: Kinnio is an Illeist. Meaning he refers to himself in the third person, so usually it sounds like he's talking about someone else if you don't know him. But, to the actual question. He would probably be like, 'Kinnio is a super cool warrior king who can vanquish any foe set in front of him'. or just 'Kinnio super strong and cool.'

They percieve themselves well, not really having any problems with themselves, except that he could just be a better warrior.

He stabs into the air a few times, yelling something random.

Thunderstorms. It creates fun battle backgrounds

1994 Toyota Corolla. Why? I've seen too many memes recently.

Eh. I'd say pretty decisive, considering in the campaign he was played in, he made a lot of...decisions. (Nuking a city, nuking a giant stone mech, challenging a demon king, war crimes, buying a tavern, hatching literally every egg he found, including a tarrasque egg.)

Like the entire menu. Not a scrap of that food is being wasted either.

Normally by messing with his hands(Cracking his knuckles, tapping his fingers, cracking his fingers.)

Romantically, he will immediately just be the biggest gentleman whenever he is speaking to them. Also he likes carrying people. Platonically, he'll just be really nice to you and treat you as an equal. Or superior.

I'll just say, there is probably going to be a dead dragon by the end of it.

Silver. While gold is more valuable, he does like the color of silver and normally has his equipment made in that color or with that metal.

He honestly could not care. A little lie isn't one that will hurt anyone.

Strangely, he does like weddings. He doesn't like the people much, but he will usually bring the biggest gift. As a King of Erralin(Modern Day), it isn't unusual for him to appear at weddings, even if it's a commoner wedding.

He is the target demographic for most modern men care products. So like wood and other 'manly' things.

we love the fact you have to specify. Anyways, He likes apples and melon.

Uh, I don't know? I've never heard of this scale, so I'm going to just....skip it. Though it was an interesting google search.

Fighting, and any of the ancient pokemon, or Galarian Zapdos.

White Chocolate.

I don't know any, so I apologize.

He is incredibly loyal and will fight to the death for an ally he trusts.

His trust is hard to gain, and one of the easiest ways is proving a capable warrior.

No, because he can't read...sometimes. Sometimes he can. Depends on if the book has pictures.

I again, have no idea. I think I'm just stupid.

He would love the drift answer, but yeah, he would just pull the lever. That is, if he isn't allowed to just stop the trolley himself.

Fight his way back up. Failure is not an option.

He usually works out or finds one of his many pets, commonly his dragon, Crimson.

I might as well give up, I don't like not answering questions.

He typically just does whatever the hell you want him to do. He is basically just going to just dedicate himself to you.

The Chaos. Honestly, he is very consistent, but also chaotic, my DM has expressed since day 1 that Kinnio was his favourite character in the campaign, and he has tried killing him off ever since, to no avail.

I'm going to assume you mean a different person's action, and not at all. Canonically, King Kinnio killed a shop owner for retaliating against one of the party members(He also had no idea the party member was in the wrong, he just heard someone yell for help and jumped into action. The party member basically manipulated him into it.)

Not very. Usually, he just acts then thinks later.

No. Especially with his party, there is only one person he trusts more than anyone, and would only talk to him about his plans, if he had any at the time.

Alcohol. Wine, Beer, or any monster drop. He would also be the only character(That I can remember) that you can give old weapons to.

The most beautiful face any person has every seen, next. But really though, of the people he would know, it would probably be a royal he met in the campaign he was a PC in.

A poppy, as in the world wars they were a symbol of a battle fought.

For every character(Except Sparta) I use a random name generator and alter the name slightly.

Meat loversx10. It's probably going to be like 90% meat.

He eats a lot, due to his abilities draining his energy. A lot of it is unhealthy eating.

Wish. He has casted it like 8 times between levels 13 and 16.

It wouldn't really make sense unless you played the campaign, but the royal mentioned before, her husband, Sparta(He was thrown into the campaign hastily bc the DM didn't want to come up with a shopkeep), arnold schwarzenegger(He was also in the campaign)

Himself. He usually doesn't think about what other people might want unless they mention it directly.

DND Ask Meme but it's random questions I've asked other players apropos of nothing within the last 6 months

Does your PC believe it’s possible to save someone?

What does saving a person involve?

How would your PC describe themselves?

How do they perceive themselves?

What is your PC’s idle animation?

What weather does your PC prefer? Why?

So if your PC had a car what kind of car would it be

How decisive is your PC?

If your PC rolled through a McDonald’s what would they order 

How does your PC fidget?

How does your PC show affection?

If your PC had to set up a date, what would they plan for it?

What’s your PCs favorite color

How does your PC feel about white lies?

How does your PC feel about marriage? Weddings?

What scents do you associate with your PC? 

What are your PCs favorite fruits (not including gay people) 

Where would your PCs fall on the futch scale? 

What is your PC’s Pokemon Gym Leader type and Signature Pokemon?

What type of chocolate do they prefer? 

What tarot would your PC be? 

What is your PC’s #1 personality strength?

What is your PC’s #1 personality flaw? 

If your PC found a book that detailed their whole life, from birth to whatever death they’ll have, would they read it and why? 

What are your PC’s charm point(s)! 

How would your PC answer the trolley problem? 

When your PCs hit rock bottom, what do they do?  

When your PCs want comfort, what do they seek out? 

Please describe your PC’s romantic type 

How does your PC flirt? 

What’s your favorite part of playing your PC? 

How much does your PC think about their actions before they execute them? 

How considerate is your PC? 

Is your PC an effective communicator? What is their communication style? 

If your PC was a dating option in a farming simulator (a la harvest moon or stardew valley), what kind of items would they like? 

Your PC meets a trickster being whose face changes to the most beautiful face a person has ever seen. Whose face is your PC seeing? 

What flower represents your PC? 

How did you choose your PC’s name? 

What would your PC put on their pizza? 

What are your PC’s eating habits? 

Does your PC have a favorite spell, and if so, which? 

Who is your PC’s favorite NPC(s) and why?

When your PCs make decisions, who or what are they making those decisions on behalf of?

[wcters]

𝗖𝗛𝗥𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗠𝗔𝗦 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗢

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: what christmas looks like with you and lando

warnings: established relationships, sexual innuendos, wanted to give you something for christmas and as an apology for not getting all of the 1k celebration requests out !!! going though a bit of writers block :((( | christmas is almost here !!!! merry christmas and happy holidays if you don’t celebrate christmas🎄 , wanted to get a little something out before the holidays, hope everyone has a good time with friends and family !!!!

- first of all, you take christmas very seriously

- you’re not one of those people who set the tree up super early, you wait till remembrance day or american thanksgiving, but you still plan it out

- you have a planned tree aesthetic for now, when you guys are older and have kids then you’ll let them decorate, but for now it’s you and lando

- if lando isn’t there with you while you set it up, you will get the christmas tree up by yourself ‼️

- #independentwoman

- sooooo many decorations

- like you move some of lando’s mini helmets (sorry) to fit them

- you’ve got snow globes, garlands, mini christmas trees

- all of it 🎄⛸️🎁

- you’ve definitely made one of his mini helmets into a snow globe

- christmas flannel bedsheets and bedset

- binge watching christmas movies 🎥

- complete with charcuterie boards, wine, cookies you made

- LOVE christmas baking ‼️

- if it exists, you make it

- shortbread (my grandad made the best), snickerdoodles, gingerbread, peppermint, sugar cookies, etc

- that mostly consists of you baking and lando helping when you tell him too . . . and eating the batter while you slap his hand away

- you also cook a lot as well

- especially soups, you miss soup season 🥣

- music always coming from the kitchen

- lando just likes to watch you sometimes, other times he’ll start to dance with you

- when his hands start to wander (cause you know they will), you push him away and he gets sad

- MATCHING PYJAMAS

- if you have a pet or something, matching with them as well

- you love gift giving so you love going shopping for things 🛒

- we all know you help lando get gifts for people 🎁

- you spoil mila and athena 🥺

- we all saw the car lando got her BEFORE she was born, you go all out

- go out for any young kids in your family as well

- going out to christmas markets with him, max, and pietra ❄️

- sometimes it’s just you and pietra as the boys are big losers

- soooo many pictures being taken

- some for online, but most are for you to keep ❤️

- skating with each other ⛸️

- though it’s mostly lando holding your hands and helping you balance while you yell ‘lando!’ when you get scared or nervous

- trips to the alps with friends

- over the years you’ve learned to ski and you think you’ve gotten pretty good 😌

- so many nights of you and lando sitting together by the fire, blanket in top of you, max taking pictures because he finds the face lando makes when he’s sleeping hilarious

- you love taking baths, but especially during christmas time 🛁

- you and lando love having baths together after longs days and talk about what you’ve missed

- every soap is christmas themed, dish towels, pillows, you’re serious about this time of year

- each year you switch which persons house you’ll be spending christmas eve at

- you spend time with the others family as well but it switches for christmas eve

- if you decide to spend christmas eve at your house, you have traditions

- KARAOKE 🎤

- making christmas dinner together

- fighting over who makes what

- “i’ll take care of the turkey and stuffing while you take the carrot cake”

- “but i want to do the stuffing!”

- “you always burn it”

- “that is such lies”

- dancing in the kitchen 🕺

- at the end of the night you’re PLASTERED

- best sleep ever, though you are very excited for christmas day

- even more excited if you are spending it with family though ‼️

- you and lando are woken up to mila jumping in your bed and savannah coming in to grab her while apologizing profusely

- you just laugh it off and tell her not to worry while getting up because lando never likes to wake up that early on christmas

- you help make breakfast with sav and cisca while oliver helps when needed though he’s mostly playing with mila and athena with adam 🥺

- one of your favourite images is lando on christmas morning: his hair messy in the best way, the morning glow . . . when he goes to stretch and his stomach and the lining of his underwear show 😉

- you have breakfast first (obviously with some complaints from the kids) but you adults need coffee to get through the morning

- lando eats a lot because he doesn’t have to be on his diet

- after that it’s time for presents !!!!!! 🎁

- for some gifts you coordinate with sav and oliver so they go together

- lando sits on the couch and if you’re not on the ground with the girls you’re with him, back against his chest as you watch with so much love in your eyes

- you do the adults gifts on the side because you all want the attention on the girls

- lando LIVES and lives to spoil you

- he does all year, don’t get me wrong, but at christmas? it’s another level

- he waits till you guys are back at your house or alone when he gives you all the super expensive ones because you KNOW this man spends a ridiculous amount of money on you 💵💵

- you love to see everyone’s faces when they see their presents

- especially cisca and adam’s when they receive their vacation tickets

- spend the day catching up and doing family things

- the girls obviously have a gossip session about what’s been going on 💅

- naps when you both get home

- you are SPENT since you aren’t used to that much energy

- spend the next day together and giving each other the presents you got for each other

- lots of hugs, kisses, smiles, and cheeky jokes

- it’s mostly a lazy day after the last couple of days of getting ready

- just being close and spending time with each other ❤️ gives you guys a slow moment in your fast paced lives

- obviously visit max and pietra while you are in the UK

- gift exchanging as you do every year, though it’s mostly you going overboard with gifts for them and their dog 🐕

- again, gossip sesh with pietra filled with drama and wine

- just a great time of year where you get to catch up with friends and family and be together in each other presence ❤️

[puckstories]

Boyfriend Headcannons | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Fluff, that's it I think. Edited only once.

Summary; What I think Quinn would be like as a boyfriend (:

Word Count; 3.1k

Author’s note; Enjoyed writing this so much, also considering writing a nsfw version if anyone would be interested. As per usual, any thoughts or reblogs are greatly appreciated (: -Honey

Boyfriend Quinn, who absolutely lives for affection.

He’s not always the most vocal about it, but the way he craves your touch, your kisses, your warmth—it’s in the little things he does. Quinn has this quiet, relaxed way of seeking affection that makes your heart swell every single time. He doesn’t always ask for it with words; most of the time, he doesn’t need to.

You’ve learned to recognize his silent cues by now. Whenever he wants a kiss, he won’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Instead, he’ll simply stop whatever he’s doing and turn toward you, his soft hazel eyes locking onto yours, and then he’ll tilt his head ever so slightly, his lips gently pouting in that way that’s both completely endearing and impossible to resist. He’ll just look at you with that silent, expectant expression, waiting patiently for you to indulge him, because he knows you almost always do.

And how could you not?

Sometimes, he’ll be subtle about it—like when you’re both curled up on the couch, watching a movie. You’ll feel him shift beside you, and when you glance over, there he is, his lips pushed out just a little, eyes soft and hopeful, his attention fully on you. It’s a request, his gentle way of saying, "Come here, kiss me." You’ll roll your eyes playfully, but inside, your heart melts every time. You lean in, pressing your lips against his, and you can feel the contentment in the way his body relaxes, the way his hand automatically finds yours and squeezes, as if thanking you without a single word spoken.

Other times, he’s a bit more bold, more obvious—like when you’re cooking in the kitchen, busy chopping vegetables or stirring something on the stove. You’ll be focused on whatever task you have at hand, and you won’t even notice him sneaking up behind you. He’ll come up and wrap his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder, and before you even have a chance to say anything, you feel it. He presses his lips to your neck, soft and gentle, and then pulls away just enough to turn his face toward you, lips already slightly puckered, waiting. He doesn’t say a word, but his intentions are clear.

You’ll try to ignore him at first, teasing him, pretending you’re too busy with dinner to give in to his unspoken request. But he’s persistent. He’ll squeeze you a little tighter, nuzzle into your neck, maybe even let out a small, exaggerated sigh to get your attention. And when you finally turn your head, there he is again—pouty lips, soft eyes, silently waiting for the kiss he knows he’s going to get. You give in, every time. You can’t help it.

"Okay, okay," you’ll say with a laugh, turning your head to press your lips against his, giving him exactly what he wants. The way his lips curl into a smile against yours tells you just how satisfied he is.

It’s not just the way he asks for kisses, though. Quinn is equally generous when it comes to giving affection, and he loves surprising you with it at the most random times. You could be in the middle of reading a book or scrolling through your phone, completely absorbed, and suddenly, you’ll feel his presence beside you. He’ll lean in, wrapping his arms around you gently, his hands resting at your waist as he pulls you into a tight hug. No reason. No explanation. Just because he can. Just because he wants to.

And it’s those moments that catch you off guard the most—the way he showers you with love so effortlessly, so naturally. He never needs an excuse. For Quinn, giving you affection is as simple as breathing. It’s the way he expresses his love, the way he reminds you how much he adores you, even without saying a word.

It's in the way, he loves being close to you. He always finds a reason to touch you—whether it’s holding your hand, resting his head on your lap, or draping his arm over your shoulders when you’re sitting beside each other. He’s not clingy, but there’s a need for contact that’s just so Quinn—that gentle, understated craving for connection. And you’re always happy to give it to him, knowing that being close to you is where he feels most at home.

When he’s tired, he’s even more affectionate. After a long day of practice or a tough game, you’ll find him seeking you out the moment he steps through the door. He’ll drop his bag, kick off his shoes, and walk straight to you, wrapping you up in his arms without a word. He won’t even need to say he missed you, because the way he pulls you close, burying his face in your neck, says it all. And when he’s feeling particularly worn out, he’ll simply press his lips to your forehead or your cheek, a quiet sigh escaping him as he relaxes into your touch.

And then there are the nights when he’s lying next to you in bed, the room dark and quiet, both of you just on the edge of sleep. That’s when Quinn is at his softest. He’ll roll over, pulling you closer, his lips brushing over your temple or your shoulder, and you’ll feel his gentle pouting, his silent plea for one last kiss before he drifts off. You oblige him every time, pressing your lips to his in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window, and he’ll hum contentedly, his body relaxing completely as sleep finally overtakes him.

Quinn never needs to say much when it comes to affection—his actions speak louder than words ever could. The way he seeks out your touch, the way he silently asks for your kisses, the way he gives so freely of himself—it’s all a testament to how deeply he loves you, how much he cares about you.

Boyfriend Quinn, who always does the little things for you.

It’s in the smallest, most thoughtful gestures that Quinn shows his love, the kinds of things that make your heart swell and remind you just how lucky you are to have him in your life.

Take winter, for example. As soon as the first snow starts to fall, Quinn’s mind is already on you—making sure you’re taken care of, even when it comes to something as simple as the driveway or your car. He hates the thought of you standing out in the freezing cold, shivering as you scrape ice off your windshield in the early morning before work. So, whenever he’s home and able to, Quinn is always up before you, dressed in his thick jacket and boots, quietly heading outside while you’re still bundled up in bed.

By the time you’re awake and getting ready for the day, the driveway is already clear, the snow neatly shoveled into piles, and your car’s windshield is free of snow and ice. It’s not something he ever makes a big deal about—he doesn’t even mention it, really. You’ll only realize what he’s done when you look out the window and see the work he’s put in, your breath fogging up the glass as you smile to yourself, heart warmed by his thoughtfulness.

You always try to thank him, but Quinn just waves it off like it’s no big deal. "I don’t mind," he’ll say with that soft smile of his. "I just want to make things a little easier for you." And that’s the essence of Quinn—he’s always thinking about how to make your life better, how to take even the smallest burdens off your shoulders, whether it’s clearing the snow or making sure you don’t have to start your day on the wrong foot.

Then, there are the flowers. Every week, without fail, Quinn makes sure to pick up your favorite flowers when he’s out. It’s not a grand gesture, not some big bouquet delivered to your door—just a simple bunch of fresh flowers that he knows will brighten your day. Sometimes, they’re the ones you’ve always loved: delicate peonies, bright sunflowers, or soft, fragrant roses, depending on the season. Other times, he surprises you with something different—wildflowers from the local market or a mix of colors that remind him of you.

The best part is always when he walks in with them, his face lighting up just as much as yours does when he sees your reaction. He loves the way your eyes widen and the way your lips curl into that smile he adores, the one that makes his whole day feel brighter. "You didn’t have to do that," you always say, even though you both know how much you love it when he does. And Quinn just shrugs, placing the flowers on the kitchen counter or the dining room table with an easy grin.

"I like seeing you smile," he says simply, as though that’s all the explanation he needs. And it is—because, to him, these little moments of joy he brings into your life are worth everything.

It’s the same when it comes to things like the dishes. Quinn is the type of boyfriend who doesn’t just pitch in around the house—he takes care of the things he knows you hate. Like dishes. You’ve always hated doing them. It’s that one chore that gets under your skin, and you’ve made it no secret that scrubbing pots and pans is not your idea of fun. Quinn knows this, and so even on nights when he’s the one who cooked dinner, he’ll always make sure to handle the cleanup, too.

"Go relax," he’ll say, waving you off when you try to help. "I’ve got this."

You’ll protest, of course—after all, he’s already done the cooking, and it doesn’t seem fair for him to do it all. But Quinn is stubborn in the best possible way. He’ll roll up his sleeves and start running the water, ignoring your half-hearted attempts to convince him otherwise.

"You hate doing dishes," he’ll remind you with a smile, "and I don’t mind them. Plus, you always do so much for me." And that’s Quinn—always thinking about balance, about making sure you’re taken care of. He knows how much you appreciate the little things, and to him, doing the dishes after dinner is just another way of showing he loves you.

And then, there are the texts. When Quinn’s away for away games, his schedule is packed, and the time zone differences don’t always work in your favor. But he never lets that stop him from staying connected with you. No matter how busy his day gets, no matter how late it is, he always makes sure to send you a good morning and goodnight text, without fail.

Sometimes they’re simple—“Good morning, baby. Hope you have a great day.”—just a little reminder that he’s thinking about you, even when he’s miles away. Other times, they’re more playful—“Wish I was in our bed, I miss your icicle feet”—a teasing note to keep things light even in the middle of a long road trip. And when he’s too tired to string together a full sentence, it’s just a quick “Miss you” with a heart emoji, but that’s all it takes to remind you how much he cares.

He’ll always send these texts right before he crashes into bed, no matter how late or how exhausted he is. And when you wake up in the morning, knowing he’s already thinking about you from wherever he is, it never fails to make your heart skip a beat. It’s the small things like this that mean the most—how, even in the chaos of his life, Quinn makes sure you know you’re never far from his mind.

Boyfriend Quinn, who loves taking you on dates.

Whenever he has an off day, the first thing that crosses his mind is you. He always makes sure to check in with you first, sending you a quick text during the day or giving you a call, gauging how your day is going and whether you’re feeling up for it.

"How's work today? Not too tired? Feel like going out later?"

You never have to guess if he's planning, because you know Quinn's always thinking about how to make the most of his time off with you. It’s his way of creating balance in his life, something steady and beautiful amidst the chaotic whirl of hockey schedules, travel, and games. And even if you’ve had a long day at work, the thought of spending the evening with him—of getting out of the house, hand-in-hand, with nowhere else to be but together—always gives you the energy to say yes.

Most of the time, the two of you keep things casual, finding comfort in the familiar. Your favorite go-to is a small diner just a short drive away, the kind of place that feels like a second home. The staff knows your names, and there’s always that corner booth waiting for you two, tucked away enough for a little privacy. It’s not fancy, but it’s yours. The menu is simple—burgers, fries, milkshakes—but it never fails to hit the spot after a long week. There’s something cozy about it, something that makes you both feel grounded. You’ll sit across from each other, sharing fries and talking about everything and nothing, laughing over inside jokes that no one else would get.

But occasionally, Quinn likes to change things up. There are times when, instead of texting you about grabbing dinner at the diner, he’ll tell you something a little different: “Dress fancy tonight. I’ve got a surprise for you.” You can almost hear the excitement in his voice, even over text.

When Quinn decides to take you somewhere nice, it’s an event. He puts thought into every detail, planning a reservation at a restaurant you both love but don’t visit often—maybe that elegant spot downtown with the candlelit tables and soft jazz playing in the background. He’s a romantic at heart, even if he doesn’t always show it in obvious ways. On those nights, he wants to make sure everything feels just a little more special.

One of the best parts is the little ritual the two of you have before your fancier dates. Even though you live together, Quinn always insists on getting ready in the guest bedroom, leaving you to get dressed in the room you share. It’s his way of adding an element of surprise, a way to keep things exciting. He loves the idea of seeing your outfit for the first time when you come downstairs, just like on your earlier dates, when everything was still new.

The guest bedroom becomes his own little prep space. He’ll spread out his suit jacket or freshly ironed button-down on the bed, taking his time to make sure everything looks just right. Quinn isn’t the type to obsess over his appearance, but on these nights, he pays a little extra attention to the details—whether it’s making sure his tie is perfectly knotted (though, he rarely wears one anymore) or his cologne is subtle but present. He knows how much you love when he dresses up, and honestly, he loves seeing that look in your eyes when you see him standing there, ready for the night.

Meanwhile, in your shared room, you’re just as focused, choosing the perfect dress and making sure your hair and makeup are done to perfection. There’s a thrill in getting ready separately, knowing that in just a few minutes, you’ll come downstairs and have that little moment of reveal. It’s a simple tradition, but it always makes the evening feel a bit more magical.

When you finally step out of the bedroom, your heart always flutters with anticipation. You make your way downstairs, and there he is—standing by the door, looking impossibly handsome in his suit or tailored shirt, his eyes brightening the moment they land on you. It’s like time stops for a second. Quinn’s not one to gush, but the way his lips part slightly and that small, slow smile spreads across his face says everything you need to know.

"Wow," he’ll say softly, his eyes taking you in as if he’s seeing you for the first time. "You look... amazing."

You can’t help but smile back, your cheeks warming at the compliment. "You clean up pretty well yourself," you’ll tease, though you can’t deny how much you love seeing him like this—dressed up, standing there with that look of admiration in his eyes.

He steps forward, closing the distance between you, and without a word, he’ll reach for your hand, bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss—just a little gesture to avoid messing up your lipstick, but one that makes your heart skip a beat every time. It’s these small, quiet moments of affection that make Quinn’s love feel so real, so genuine.

And then, off you go, stepping out into the evening together, hand in hand, as the world seems to fall away. The restaurant is just a short drive, and the conversation flows easily between you, filled with laughter and teasing. When you arrive, the ambiance of the restaurant is perfect—low lighting, the hum of quiet conversations around you, and the soft clink of glasses and silverware. But for you, the real magic of the evening isn’t just the atmosphere or the delicious food—it’s the fact that you’re with him, that Quinn has gone out of his way to make this night special for no reason other than wanting to spend time with you.

Throughout the meal, he’ll reach across the table, his fingers brushing against yours, or he’ll lean in to whisper something that makes you laugh, that private smile playing on his lips. He loves these moments—the ones where it’s just the two of you, away from the rush of life, enjoying each other’s company in a way that feels intimate and timeless.

And when the night is over and you’re both back home, the magic of the evening doesn’t fade. Quinn always makes sure to cap off the date in the sweetest way possible. He’ll pull you in close, his arms wrapping around you as he presses a kiss to your forehead, whispering something like, "I had fun tonight," in that casual, endearing way of his.

[misswynters]

Just Because

ekko x fem! reader

requested by @inguuuuu

a/n. the boy deserves flowers 💐

Ekko wasn’t expecting this at all.

He wasn’t expecting the soft sound of your footsteps behind him as he tinkered with his latest project. His focus solely on the delicate machine in front of him. He wasn’t expecting the sudden hush in the air, a shift that made him look up from his work. His brow furrowed slightly as he met your eyes. You stood in the doorway, holding a delicate bouquet of flowers. They bright, vibrant, and impossibly beautiful. You were grinning like you were hiding a secret, and Ekko blinked in surprise.

“Uh... What’s this?” he asked, glancing between you and the bouquet, his voice still lingering with confusion.

You stepped forward, your smile widening as you gently held the flowers out to him. He hesitated for a moment, not sure if he was supposed to take them. But there was something in your eyes that made him reach out.

“Just because,” you said softly, your voice carrying that warm, comforting cadence that always made his heart skip a beat. “No reason at all. I thought you’d like them.”

Ekko blinked again, but this time, his expression softened. He glanced down at the flowers in his hands. They consisted of lilies, daisies, and something bright purple that looked almost like wildflowers. The colors were so vibrant, they looked like they were bursting with life. It wasn’t just that they were beautiful; it was the thought behind them that had him feeling a little overwhelmed.

“I—I don’t really get flowers,” he admitted quietly, a little self-conscious about the whole situation. “I mean, I usually see people giving them to... well, to girls. Not so much to guys.”

You chuckled at that, the sound like music to his ears. “And I’m not a girl?” you teased, winking at him as you slid onto the workbench beside him, your hands resting casually on the edge.

Ekko shook his head in amusement but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Yeah, you’re not,” he agreed, his fingers still wrapped gently around the stems of the bouquet. “But... why flowers, though? I mean, it’s not like I did anything to deserve them.”

“You’re why,” you said softly, turning slightly to meet his eyes. “I thought you could use a little brightness today. You work so hard all the time, and I just wanted to remind you that you’re appreciated. No special occasion. Just... because.”

Ekko’s smile softened as your words sank in, the sincerity behind them hitting him like a wave. He’d always been the one to show his affection through actions. Building and fixing things, helping others, however hearing you say those simple words meant so much more than he expected.

“Well, damn,” he said after a moment, his voice rough with emotion. He took a deep breath, looking down at the flowers again. “I wasn’t expecting that. But... thank you. Really.”

You grinned again, happy that you’d made him smile. “You’re welcome, Ekko. It’s no big deal. I just thought you might like them.”

There was a pause as Ekko took in the beauty of the flowers, his thumb brushing against one of the petals as if he were processing the gesture. Then, he looked back at you, his expression thoughtful.

“I mean, if I’m honest... I wasn’t really expecting to get anything like this, especially not from you,” he admitted, still holding the bouquet with reverence. “You’re always so... I don’t know, strong. Like you don’t need things like this.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile pulling at your lips. “Are you saying I’m too tough for flowers, Ekko?”

He smirked, but there was something soft in his eyes. “Nah. You’re just... not the type to do things like this. It’s nice, though. Really nice.”

“I just wanted to surprise you,” you said with a shrug, your voice soft and genuine. “I don’t always have to be the one to receive surprises, you know? Sometimes I like seeing the way your face lights up when you’re surprised. It makes it 100% worth it.”

Ekko’s heart gave a little flutter at that, the way you were looking at him making him feel a warmth he couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t just the flowers. It was how you knew him. How you understood him in a way that no one else really did. The vulnerability in your gesture made something stir within him. He placed the bouquet gently down on the table beside them, then took a step closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. He wasn’t sure what he was doing at first, but the words came anyway.

“Well... thank you,” he said again, but this time, it was softer, more intimate. “I... really appreciate it.”

Before you could respond, Ekko reached out and gently cupped your face in his hands. The movement was slow, like he was unsure of what exactly he wanted to say next.

“You’re more than just the person who surprises me with flowers,” he continued quietly. “You’re the one who makes me feel like I can take on the world, even when it feels like I’m losing. I just... I don’t know how you do it. But I’m really lucky to have you around.”

Your breath caught in your chest, caught off guard by how open he was being. The way Ekko usually expressed himself was more through actions than words, and hearing him be so vulnerable. It made your heart ache in the best way.

“Aww...” you whispered, your hand reaching up to rest gently against his wrist. “You’re more than enough. I’m lucky to have you too.”

He smiled then, soft and almost shy, as he leaned in a little closer, his forehead touching yours for just a brief moment. The world around you faded into the background, the scent of the flowers, and for a second, everything felt perfect.

You pulled back slightly, still grinning, but this time, there was a playful glint in your eyes. “So,” you said, your voice light, “what are you going to do with them?”

Ekko raised an eyebrow, his playful smirk returning. “Well, I think I should probably put them in water before they die, don’t you think?”

You laughed, nodding enthusiastically. “I think that’s a good start.”

He chuckled, giving you a quick wink as he grabbed a nearby empty glass and began carefully arranging the flowers inside, though the whole time, his mind was still reeling from your gesture. It wasn’t just about the flowers—it was about you, and how you always seemed to know just what he needed, even when he didn’t.

As he turned back toward you, holding the flowers carefully in his hands, you could see how much the little surprise had meant to him. His usual carefree confidence had been replaced with softer ambiance. He was quieter now, more contemplative, but still smiling.

“You’ve really got a way of making everything better, you know that?” he said softly.

You couldn’t help but smile back, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I’m glad. I like making you smile.”

Ekko looked down at the flowers again, then met your gaze, his expression full of warmth. “Well, mission accomplished.”

You leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, a silent thank-you for everything. You knew that this little gesture was just a small thing, but for Ekko, it was the kind of moment he would carry with him, a reminder that sometimes, even the smallest surprises could change everything.

taglist: @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights @chic-beyond-the-wall-oc-acct @celineandtulips @stuckinaoaktree @fxxvz @jadziulaa @luclue @1intrustivethoughts @finnsky666 @blkmystery @serena6728 @mvistl @kaedeprinz @alientee @ametheslime @turquoizxe @emforjin @ekkosh

[steviewashere]

I'm adding onto this because I am having more thoughts, somehow.

Steve is smart, we all know this. But he's smart in a way that's not perceptive to everybody around him. Keep on with me here, I know this is random.

He has a certain cleverness, a customized and form-fitting mask that he wears to protect himself. No, he can't protect himself by fighting—we've seen how that's gone down; one fight won and it still didn't end up pretty for him at the end of the day. He can't protect his preservation, constantly throwing himself in the danger. But he can protect his vulnerability, the rawer parts of himself that he hasn't allowed anybody to see.

It's so simple for him to slip into this mask, Steve Harrington the Charmer. He learned it, picked up all these skills on the way from being in the face of charismatic people: the businessmen that his dad would have over for work dinners, waiters he'd meet at higher end restaurants, John Travolta in Grease (who he totally wasn't drooling over), the principals in his schools, so on and so forth.

However, with how easy it is to basically form fit himself into this character, it's harder and harder to slip away from it. This...armored shell he's put around his flesh. Though, deep under that armor, beyond the flesh, under his ribcage, he has a heart that beats just like everybody else's; he has a brain under his "thick skull" that knows exactly what he needs and wants. He has his desires cupped in his palms, cradled close to his vivacious heart.

He crafts the mask early on in his life, though. Hears how his dad talks about "queers"—but queer just means different, doesn't it? So his dad must be talking about different people, right? Steve's different from the girl in his second grade class; it's simple—she's a girl, he's not—that's difference, that's queer...yeah? And so, based on that logic, he makes a little kid remark, "Madeline in my class is queer," and at that—his dad looks...just as angry as he is when Mom is arguing with him. So Steve isn't right. He doesn't say something like that again. It's all these small things. Just little things at first.

Then the little things turn to bigger things. Rumors in high school make him have to bite his tongue, in fear he'll get so outraged at his dad that something will just slip up. It's when he accidentally catches guys in the locker room giving each other handies—words of his dad's floating in his head about how "dirty" and "disgusting" it is.

Even if the locker room piques his interest. Even when he's catching drive-in movies and staring longer at the guys with their broad shoulders and tensing biceps and glistening eyebrows way more than he's making note about the women and their cleavage—like his buddy Tommy would do in his ear. And speaking of Tommy...his hands and his pretty big eyes and his freckles and the height difference and and and—

Wires get crossed somewhere in there.

He wants his dad to like him? Then he needs to make his dad proud, right? Spew the same words. Knock some screws around. Act a bit ditzy and too cool and class clown about the world. Earn a name, earn an image.

Even if it physically makes him ache deep and troubled in his stomach to say that bullshit. But he's gotta make his dad proud. "I'm taking a girl out," and "She was a very nice girl just...[not my type] no ambition after high school," and "I'm going out with Ted Wheeler's daughter, Nancy. She's a top notch student, willing to help me study, might actually get me into Tech."

He gets the pats on his shoulder. The smile with no teeth. The "atta boy".

Yet, at the same time, a slow to solder metal plate around his chest and a hammering heart behind it, jelly legs and heavy metal feet, his tingling fingers yearning for Tommy's soft palms and tensing his own hands so he can stop.

But Tommy is what he wants. And so is Peter in his English class. And so is Harvey from his Algebra class. There's Isaac and Ben and Ryan...Ethan and Jared and Luis...and how could he forget about Brad on his basketball team?

His mask is thick on his face, though; almost makes his head too heavy for his neck. And Nancy's hand holds are kinda nice. He misses her between classes...her gossip and her chattiness and her giggle fits...the kissing is alright, he supposes, just not as tender as he'd like to be. She's warm, though. And she's sweet, smart, caring. Breaks some of his mold with her nerdy friends and her nerdy brother, her saccharine smiles and long eyelashes. Sometimes, Tommy congratulates him after Steve goes on and on about the date he went on with Nancy—it's almost like he's getting a taste of what Tommy would want out of him, too.

Tommy thinks red roses are the best choice. And comedies are the best movies. He likes his popcorn with extra butter and a chilled can of Coke to go with it. Tommy doesn't put out on the first date—"Never have, never will. Gotta get to know my date first." He thinks dinner dates are terrible because he hates seeing how his date chews, especially on the first date—"Though, sometimes, it's better to know right away, Stevie. It's...kinda like a precautionary measure, y'know?" When Tommy kisses his dates, he cradles their neck; Steve has always wondered if Tommy would trace the moles on his neck if they were to—

Nancy calls him bullshit. Nancy can't tell him that she loves him.

And he shouldn't feel relieved, he shouldn't. But he sorta is. Sorta, though. Because if he couldn't even get someone like Nancy Wheeler to love him, then who will?

Have his other girlfriends felt the same way? Could they tell that there was something else to him? Were there too many cracks in his smiles?

If it's ever okay to have a boyfriend—because right now it isn't, not with that disease going around, not with what his dad says, not with Reagan—would those boyfriends think the same way? Would they call him bullshit for only ever being with women prior? Would they tell him that he doesn't have enough to give? That he's an impostor?

Who is he really an imposter to?

His partners? His parents?

Himself?

It's too big of a question to answer. But it's a question—or, really, a series of questions—that click and clack around his skull like the pendulum marbles that Mr. Clarke had on his desk. There's an itching, fresh scabbing anxiety carbonating in his blood. That everybody can tell there's something different, that maybe he's compensating a little too hard.

So he backs away a bit. Lets go of his previous ambitions, the desire to be seen one way—even if the true is desire is to just be free. To be the queer, the difference; a person he could be, rather than should be.

And once he's sitting on that bathroom floor, knees knocking against Robin Buckley's of all people, something settles in him. Not a calm sort of settle, but a settle nonetheless. He gets it. The reverent bravery, that peel back Robin is giving him, letting him see the citrus flavorful center of her soul. It takes a lot to admit something like this, like that.

It's not his time, not yet.

But he sees Robin flourish. Her rattling, raspy laughter. The freckles that develop on her face over the coming month after Starcourt, running free and open in the sun. Come September, ducking into the break room to ramble on and on about this girl in band, splitting burgers over a paper bag, dipping French fries into ketchup on the same damn bag.

It's surprisingly easy to talk to her about her queerness. To be able to pull out a magazine and point at actresses and models that seem like Robin's type. To finally pick-up on the subtle clues that Robin really, really likes this girl from band—noticing well before Robin even notices.

And though he keeps up the image for a while longer, he knows at least one thing:

Robin is who he'll come to first.

Well, after he faces the man in the mirror.

I love secretly closeted Steve Harrington. I love when he knows himself, knows the truth of his identity, knows that how he views men isn't a fluke. I love secretly closeted Steve Harrington who dates girls and has sex with girls to protect himself, to keep an image, to try and earn an ounce of recognition and respect from his dad.

I love secretly closeted Steve Harrington who recognizes Robin's bravery when she came out. But he keeps his secret to himself for a while longer. Who joins in on the joke of just how bad he is at pulling girls. Who upholds an image as just that, an image.

A secretly closeted Steve who gets frustrated at the projection painted onto him. Steve Harrington the ladies' man. Steve Harrington who gets the girl. Steve Harrington who can get into bed with any girl he wants. He's frustrated and he hates all the assumptions, but he can't shake them, can't explain why—not without revealing himself. But he knows who he is. Knows the type of person he wants.

I love when he's nervous, but still proud. Who, slowly and surely, cements his identity within himself—so it transcends knowledge, it's deeply intertwined within. He goes to Robin first, because he feels as though that's a good first baby step—because he knows for certain that Robin will accept him. And, with minor hesitance, goes to Nancy. And with a long conversation, some tissues, and gentle smiles passed back and forth, Nancy then understands, too.

The last person is Eddie. Which is harder. Which frustrates him further. Because Eddie won't stop asking him about women, won't stop categorizing him as straight, some god among men. He just wants to be Steve Harrington. Not Steve Harrington. Not ladies man, Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington who likes men. Only men. Who compensated for years just so he can uphold a safe life for himself, who was threatened constantly (though not directly at him) by what his dad would say about those queers, who covered for himself the only way he knew how.

And though it takes longer, some deep wounds and harsh words about how he isn't experimenting, that his sexuality can't just be decided for him, that he has a right to explore—even if the exploration never amounted to anything—Steve is able to get Eddie's trust. Eventually, again slowly, get Eddie's hand intertwined with his. And even later after that, a shy kiss; his first kiss with a man that aids in solidifying the last, hairline fracture in his whole.

Steve Harrington who is gay and learns over time to be proud of that. But also, closeted Steve Harrington who goes on the journey to get to the end result—I love him so so so much and he means so much to me. And now I need to write him and make this version a reality.

[wndaswife]

Love & Loathing: The First Christmas | Series Masterlist

The holidays feel lonely without your friends and family. Wanda faces her first Christmas after her divorce and miscarriage. The two of you build your first tradition.

Word count: 2635

Tags: some angst, light manipulation, foreshadowing of future toxic relationship as seen in main series, writing this after already writing the main series reminded me of emily im sorry by boygenius! sad!

Wanda’s cart came to an abrupt stop when a young child suddenly ran away from his mother to the other side of the aisle, passing in front of her without warning. Her orange juice lurched forward then fell onto her carrots. 

The child’s mother quickly came over, scolding her son for running in front of a moving cart as he begged her to buy rainbow chip cookies for Santa, oblivious to the fact that Wanda and her full cart were still standing idly behind him, unable to skirt around.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized after giving in to the rainbow chip cookies once her son apologized to Wanda too. He went to place the package in their cart. “Holiday shopping makes them a little wild too, I suppose.” She laughed like she was telling her an inside joke.

Them, like a proper noun.

“Children, yes,” Wanda conceded with a small nod and a smile. “I understand. But rainbow chip is a great pick. Very considerate of Santa’s tastes.” She looked over at the young boy who waited for his mother patiently, then seemed bashful when he made eye contact with Wanda. 

Wanda then noticed the woman’s eyes flicker down to her left hand, barren of a wedding ring, and then to her cart, empty of what a mother would shop for her children for. Wanda dropped her left arm to her side, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

After finishing up her grocery list, she strolled back down the cookie section and picked up a package of the rainbow chip cookies. As she walked to the checkout line, she ran her eyes across her cart — orange juice, the Pillsbury cookies you liked, eggs, milk, bagels, your favourite ice cream flavour, some things for the washroom, baking ingredients for a recipe you’d been wanting to try, some snacks, fruits and vegetables, and the rainbow chip cookies.

She put her left glove on first, then her right, then started to place her things on the conveyor. 

“My kids have been in a baking craze since they got off school,” the cashier told her as she bagged her flour, then her vanilla extract. “It must be the season.”

Wanda looked up from her wallet then smiled. 

“Mine too,” she said.

When she arrived at home, you were sitting at the dining table on your laptop. It was nearing the end of the semester, so you still had a few more final assignments to finish. You stood and helped Wanda unload the groceries.

“Hi, baby,” she greeted once all the bags were on the counter. She reached and placed her palm against your furthest cheek, pulling you in for a kiss on the temple.

“Hi,” you answered with a smile, putting some things away into the fridge. “Did you get the Pillsbury cookies? You saw the holiday ones, right?” 

Wanda handed you the milk. “I did. There were only the snowmen.”

“That’s fine. I just wanted something that was Christmas themed.”

The rainbow chip cookies came out last. Wanda had never tried them, and it wasn’t on the shopping list, and you hadn’t asked for it before. She handed them to you as you stored some things away into the cupboards.

“Do you like these? They were on sale,” she suddenly lied.

You took them from her, eyes running over the package. Then you set it on the counter with a contemplating hum as you peeled it open and looked inside. “Oh, I do like these. I last had them when I was really young.”

After dinner, you resumed working on your laptop, cuddled up beside Wanda on the couch as she flipped through Netflix for something to watch. She had a glass of white wine in hand and an arm around your shoulders, fastening the shared blanket around your body.

You’d been trying to apply for some jobs lately; after declaring a temporary leave from college starting next semester, you wanted to start working a little to make some income and keep yourself busy. You were hoping for something part-time and very casual.

The gold Christmas lights Wanda had hung up around the fireplace and curtains glowed warm, enveloping the living room in something gentle and festive. There wasn’t any other light on aside from the stovetop in the kitchen, so the laptop screen felt particularly intrusive.

“What are you working on?” she asked, putting her phone down and looking down at you from the rim of her glass as she took a sip.

“A final essay. It’s pretty overdue.”

Wanda eyed the tabs you were switching between. “Overdue? Online courses not working well?”

“I thought it might be better for me but…” you trailed off, your fingers pausing atop the keyboard. Your index finger tapped ever so slightly against the E key, just enough to make the plastic sound against the board.

“Is something on your mind…?” Wanda asked, setting the remote down. She craned her neck down and brushed her nose against your cheek.

Your fingernail traced the top edge of the D key. “It just feels like I’m always behind. I keep trying to change things around so maybe I might find something I can finally get accustomed to — online courses, a lesser course load.”

Then, quietly, you added, “My friends don’t even ask to study with me anymore. I know I declared a leave, but...” 

The Christmas lights reflected against Wanda’s glass, and against the pale golden hue of her wine, it looked like she was drinking champagne, slightly flat. 

She set the glass on the coffee table then carefully closed your laptop, allowing you to remove your hands from the keyboard. She placed it down, closed, beside her wine. Instinctively, you curled up and leaned your head against her chest, and Wanda wrapped both arms around you, one hand coming to cradle the side of your head.

Before she could say anything, you said, “They invited me out to the Christmas market downtown a few days ago.”

Something tightened in Wanda’s stomach and she looked down at you, but your face was covered by your hair and some of the blanket which was wrapped around her arms. 

“Really? You didn’t tell me,” she said. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to say at first.”

“Say to whom? To them or me?”

“I don’t know…” you muttered quietly. “Both.”

Wanda’s hand tightened around your shoulder. You buried your cheek against her chest, feeling like she was holding you tighter against her. Instead, Wanda felt tense; the idea that you could feel about her in any similar way that you did for your friends made her feel like she was just as disposable and temporary.

“Did you go…?” Wanda asked, trying to keep her voice from sounding strained as she feared the answer might be that, yes, you did make plans and see other people in your life without telling her.

If your feelings of uncertainty were the same between her and your friends, and you ended up seeing them and not telling her, wasn’t that the same as you picking them over her? Leaving her behind like some afterthought, only to come up later when you felt a little insecure about something?

You shook your head, and Wanda took a breath through her nose, tension in her lungs dissipating. Then you lifted yourself from her chest and reached for your phone. Wanda pulled you back against her when you leaned back, but now your head was on her shoulder instead of her chest so you could both look at your phone screen together.

You showed her a picture on Instagram of your friends together at the market. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” Wanda said, brushing her nose against your temple then kissing your cheek. “But you wouldn’t have really enjoyed yourself if you were with them, would you?”

“I don’t know…” you mumbled, eyes still on the screen, obviously not really caring what she was saying, and still feeling rather down about it.

Wanda bit the side of her tongue a little at your passive insistence that you still cared about the fact that they hung out without you. “Baby, you always say that you don’t really feel like you fit in when you’re with them. Don’t you say that…?”

“Yeah.”

“And what did we do that day, anyway? We went shopping for decorations, right? And got dinner? Wasn’t that much more fun?”

You nodded and looked up. 

Wanda felt her breath hitch and snag in her throat when you met her eyes. She swallowed, wondering what you might be thinking when you looked at her like that. 

“I… I’m really happy we’re spending the holidays together,” you said quietly. Your phone dimmed then locked, the image of your friends forgotten. 

Her lungs filled with air and her expanding rib cage pushed gently against your upper arm.

“Me too, Y/N.”

A warm hand cupped your cheek, smooth fingers brushing against your soft skin. She looked over your face in great detail. 

When the thought came over her, wondering what similarities you held in comparison to your mother and father, Wanda looked away. She reached over to get her wine glass then settled back against your side.

You leaned your head on her shoulder and Wanda rested her chin on top of it. 

“Any movie you’d like to watch?” she asked, combing her fingers through your hair. 

You reached for the remote and turned on the TV. 

Early the next morning, you sleepily padded downstairs to see Wanda setting up the Christmas tree in the living room. She was still in her pajamas, but she had a sweater on and her hair was clipped back. 

When you stepped off from the stairs, Wanda turned around to greet you with a smile. She outreached an arm for you to come over and give her a hug. 

Wanda thought you were rather light on your feet; you would sometimes sneak up on her when you’d enter a room. It was a stark contrast to Vision, who was quite tall, and seemed to always walk with the frustrating burden that he’d woken into another day, living the same life as he did the day prior.

It was the recollection of painful memories like that, ones where you’d no doubt see her as a spineless, empty woman, that made Wanda all the more confident in her decision to keep truths about Vision from you. She wanted to be someone different, and better.

You walked over and wrapped your arms around her waist, tucking your head under her chin before she kissed your forehead. 

“You started putting up the tree without me?” you asked, lifting your head and looking up at her.

“Oh,” Wanda replied, turning her head to look at the tree. She had only just started with the ornaments, and the cardboard box she stored the tree in was still on the floor.

She looked back down at you.

“You want to help?”

You nodded and pulled away from her before digging through the box of ornaments to begin decorating. “You shouldn’t ever decorate a Christmas tree alone unless you’re actually by yourself.”

Wanda smiled at your boldness as she watched you from behind. She pinched your side playfully, causing you to flinch away. She wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into her, pressing a kiss to your neck and causing you to giggle.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” you replied. Then you shooed her away so you could continue with what you were doing. 

Wanda hadn’t ever decorated with anyone else; Vision wasn’t very festive, and when she was younger, her family often travelled for work, leaving her and Pietro to celebrate alone with the company of their neighbour who watched over them.

Their neighbour was a strict elderly man who didn’t speak much English and slept most of the time, whose dialect was that which only their parents understood, and was never taught to Wanda nor Pietro. Her memories of Christmas as a jointly-celebrated holiday was reminiscent of bitter black tea, imported from her neighbour’s hometown overseas, and television on its lowest volume in the late evening, playing old holiday sitcoms.

“My parents and I got in a fight a few days ago,” you said suddenly, still hanging up ornaments.

Wanda looked at you as she adjusted the position of some of them she’d put up earlier. She thought for a moment before responding, “Is everything okay?”

“It’s okay,” you answered.

You’d been having a hard time with your parents the past few months. They were upset you’d taken a temporary leave from your schooling without consulting with them first, they were upset you’d been spending so much time with someone they’d never met, and they were upset that you hadn’t been speaking with them.

You still had a large sum of money left from when you worked more often than you attended classes, and so you were rather glad not to rely on them for any financial support, not that you often spent money while being at home with Wanda.

The change, according to them — and according to you, too — had seemingly come out of the blue. But, still, you could pinpoint when it started.

After meeting Wanda, all you wanted to do was run away from things. You wanted to run from your parents, who’d always babied you and never gave you your own choice in anything, and from school, and from your friends, and from the world.

To word it more accurately, you’ve always wanted to run away from things. 

And Wanda let you. 

She took you away and kept you safe.

You hung an ornament on the tree, and instead of leaning down to take another out of the box, your arms stilled at your sides and you looked down at the floor. 

After a moment of silence while Wanda was busy reaching up to hang an ornament close to the top, you asked quietly, “Is it okay if I spend Christmas with you…?”

Looking up from the floor, you met Wanda’s eyes.

Wanda felt her breath hitch at the sight of you looking at her that way — expectantly, patiently, like what she said mattered to you a great deal. She leaned down and placed the ornament back in the box. She stepped towards you and wrapped her arms around your shoulders. “Of course, baby,” she answered quietly, speaking against the side of your head. “Let’s stay home for the holidays — just the two of us.”

By next week, your gifts for Wanda were wrapped and stored under the tree. You mixed them in along with the ones she’d gotten for you, so you could see them altogether.

Wanda was still at work, staying a bit later tonight, so you went out to walk through the Christmas market downtown on your own. You saw a beautiful jade hair clip that you thought would look perfect on her; you imagined the shade of green tucked within the brown of her hair, bringing out the green in her eyes, and her delicate fingers wrapping around the handle to clip it in.

Wrapped in a small box, you crouched down and placed it on top of a gift Wanda wrapped for you.

When she came back from work, Wanda found you dozing on the couch in the living room with a blanket draped around you. You were bathed in the gentle light of the Christmas tree that you’d put up together.

She quietly put her things down before approaching your delicate sleeping figure. She crouched down and carefully brushed your hair out of your face, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m home, my angel,” she whispered softly, a smile growing on her face as she watched you awaken slowly.

[strwberri-milk]

Hii! Can I request LADs men with a reader that’s afraid of needles?

They have to get a shot or their blood taken, but they’re just downright terrified and trying to run away from the doctors.

It's not to say Zayne has no tolerance but the way that he acts around you makes it seem like he's not "entertaining" you. What's actually happening is he's used to people being afraid of needles so he's got a sort of procedure to help make things a little more bearable. He's there with you the entire time, but also isn't opposed to just asking if you want him to inquire about getting an oral sedative to help you sleep if you need a shot for some sort of longer procedure.

Xavier will just hold you down as long as you give him permission to before. He's talking you through the entire thing, trying to keep you calm as he holds you. Thankfully, his touch is reassuring enough that you do find yourself grounded in it to an extent, finding yourself feeling slightly soothed by his hands.

Rafayel wishes he could do something to make things easier for you but he's really not sure how to approach it. He'll try to see if you can do literally anything but get your blood drawn, and is not above paying a boatload of money if he needs to. Whatever it is he can do he'd be more than happy to. What he ends up doing is talking your ear off, making you look at him whenever you seem to get distracted. He keeps his voice level, making it hard for you to determine when the needle actually went in.

Sylus is a mix of all of them. He wants to do anything he can to try and prevent you from getting a needle but tries to use some tactics to distract you from the needle in the first place. If he needs to he's more than happy to hold you in his lap, covering your eyes and whispering soothingly in your ear to calm you down.

[lumosou]

୨୧ — The Harry Potter boys and their Love Languages ( ˆ͈̑꒳ˆ͈̑ )੭ ; 𖦹 + ♡

ꕤ — Characters ; Harry J Potter. Ron Weasley. Fred Weasley. George Weasley. Neville Longbottom. Draco Malfoy. Cedric Diggory.

ꕤ — Discretion ; none!! just fluff and love.

ꕤ — A/n ; eee i’m so sorry for disappearing for a bit ☹️. but i appreciate alll the support u guys have been showing me on all my works!! ily guys!! so here’s a fun lil treat :3 thank u endlessly 🫶🏻

; masterlist.

୨୧ — Harry J. Potter & Acts Of Service.

Harry isn’t good with words—not the ones that matter, anyway. He stumbles, stammers, gets stuck trying to say how he feels. But when it comes to showing you, there’s no hesitation. His love is found in the way he waits outside the library to walk you back to the common room, how he memorizes your favorite tea and makes sure there’s always enough sugar. It’s the way he notices when you’re too tired to finish an essay and stays up scribbling notes for you even though he’s just as exhausted.

He’s the boy who gives pieces of himself quietly, always watching, always finding the small gaps in your day where he can slip in and help without you asking. Because that’s what he needs—to feel like he’s protecting you, even from the smallest inconveniences.

Harry doesn’t say I love you in grand speeches. He says it in the way he fixes your broken quill without telling you, how he gives you the better seat at dinner, how he’d gladly carry your burdens if you let him. To him, love is action—every unspoken I’ll take care of this wrapped in the quiet hope that you’ll understand.

୨୧ — Ron Weasley & Quality Time.

Ron doesn’t need extravagant displays of affection; he just wants you. To be near you, to sit next to you, to share the little pieces of his world that make him who he is. He thrives in your presence, whether it’s laughing over a ridiculous chess match, walking the long way to class just to keep the conversation going, or sitting quietly by the fire while the hours slip by unnoticed.

Time with you is how Ron shows he cares. It’s in the way he always makes room for you—on the couch, in his day, in his life. He’ll wait for you after lessons, save you a seat at every meal, and offer you the last Chocolate Frog without hesitation. He’s happiest when you’re there, no matter what you’re doing, because your company makes everything better.

For Ron, love is in the small, stolen moments. It’s in the way he notices the things you like, the way he teases you just enough to see you smile. He doesn’t need to say it out loud—not when every minute he spends with you is his way of saying, You matter to me.

୨୧ — Fred Weasley & Physical Touch.

Fred speaks in touches—quick, fleeting, and full of mischief. A hand on your shoulder as he sneaks up behind you, a playful nudge of his elbow to make you laugh, the way his arm always ends up slung around your shoulders like it belongs there. He’s tactile in a way that feels effortless, like he can’t help himself when it comes to you.

But then there are the other touches, the ones that mean more than he ever says out loud. His hand brushing yours under the table, his fingers ghosting over your back when you’re standing close, the way he pulls you into a hug that lasts just a second longer than it should. He’s all warmth, all ease, all Fred.

With him, touch is a language of its own. It’s how he shows he’s paying attention, how he steadies you when the world feels too loud, how he reminds you that he’s there—always, without fail. He’ll twirl a strand of your hair around his finger while you’re trying to focus, just to see you roll your eyes, but his thumb will stroke gently over your knuckles when you’re quiet, reminding you that he sees more than you think.

Fred’s love is in the way he’s never far, his presence a constant, reassuring hum. Every touch, whether playful or tender, says what he won’t always put into words: I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re mine.

୨୧ — George Weasley & Acts Of Service.

George loves quietly, but he loves deeply. His affection isn’t loud or flashy—it’s in the little things, the unnoticed gestures that leave no room for doubt. He’ll stay up late helping you finish that essay, even though he’s got his own work waiting for him. He’ll charm the Gryffindor common room fire to burn just a little brighter when you’re cold, or tuck a sweet you love into your bag without a word.

With George, it’s all about thoughtfulness. He pays attention—really pays attention—to the things that make you happy. He knows your favorite snack, your favorite quill, the way you like your tea. He notices when you’ve had a rough day before you even say a word, and his first instinct is to fix it. A joke, a small gift, a ridiculous gesture—it’s all his way of saying, I’m here for you.

But his acts of service aren’t just practical—they’re personal. He’s always finding ways to make your life brighter, softer, more manageable. If you’re overwhelmed, he’ll take something off your plate without you asking. If you’re sad, he’ll make you laugh, even if it means making a fool of himself. And when you ask why he does it, he’ll shrug, his ears pink, and say, “Because I can.”

George’s love is subtle but unwavering. It’s in every thoughtful detail, every small action, every quiet I’ll take care of it that he hopes you’ll notice but never expects you to. It’s the kind of love that doesn’t demand attention—it just is.

୨୧ — Neville Longbottom & Words Of Affirmation.

Neville’s love is soft, steady, and full of reassurance. He’s the boy who sees the best in you, even when you can’t see it yourself. His words are careful, heartfelt, and impossibly earnest—he’ll tell you how brilliant you are after every small success, remind you how brave you are when you’re doubting yourself, and whisper how beautiful you look when you catch him staring.

But Neville’s words aren’t just sweet; they’re intentional. He notices the things you’re insecure about—the things you try to hide—and makes it his mission to remind you of your worth. When you’re frustrated or overwhelmed, he’s the one who tells you, It’s okay. You’ve got this. You’re stronger than you think. He believes in you wholeheartedly, and he’ll never let you forget it.

His love is in the way he writes you little notes when he’s too shy to say things out loud, the way he always manages to find the perfect compliment at the perfect moment. Neville’s words aren’t about flattery—they’re about truth. He means every single one.

With Neville, you never have to wonder how he feels. His words wrap around you like a warm hug, a constant reminder that you’re loved, cherished, and seen. To him, every You’re amazing is another way of saying, I’m so lucky to have you.

୨୧ — Draco Malfoy & Gift Giving.

Draco shows his love in the way he gives—not just things, but pieces of himself. His gifts are thoughtful, deliberate, and so carefully chosen that you can’t help but feel how much he pays attention. A rare book he tracked down because you mentioned it once, your favorite sweets neatly wrapped and waiting for you after a hard day, or an heirloom quill with a note that simply says, It reminded me of you.

It’s never about the price, though he pretends it is. He’ll roll his eyes and call it no big deal, but the way he watches your reaction gives him away every time. Because it isn’t just a gift—it’s his way of saying, I see you. I notice what makes you happy. I care.

But it’s not all material. Draco gives his time, his attention, his loyalty. He’s there when you need him, even if he doesn’t know what to say. He shows up with a coffee you didn’t ask for or slips a note into your bag that reads, Don’t forget how brilliant you are. It’s in the way he lends you his scarf when you’re cold or makes sure your favorite seat by the fire is saved.

Draco’s love is in the details, the way he always finds the perfect thing to remind you how much you mean to him. He doesn’t say I love you easily, but his gifts? They say it for him. Quietly, fiercely, and completely.

୨୧ — Cedric Diggory & Physical Touch.

Cedric’s love is quiet, steady, and impossibly warm, and it shows in the way he touches you. It’s never demanding, always gentle—a hand at the small of your back as you walk through the halls, his fingers brushing yours under the table, or the way his arm wraps around your shoulders without hesitation when you’re cold. With Cedric, touch isn’t just comfort; it’s a promise: I’m here, I’ve got you.

He’s affectionate in ways that feel effortless. He’ll press a kiss to your temple when no one’s looking, or pull you into a hug so tight it feels like he’s shielding you from the world. When you’re upset, his thumb traces slow circles over the back of your hand, grounding you. And when words fail, it’s his touch that reassures you—light, familiar, unshakable.

But it’s the little moments that matter most. The way he reaches for you instinctively, his fingers intertwining with yours like they belong there. The way his forehead leans against yours in quiet moments, his breath mingling with yours in a silent exchange of you’re everything to me. Cedric doesn’t just touch you; he anchors you.

To him, love is closeness. It’s the warmth of his body against yours, the feel of his hand in yours, and the way he’s always, always pulling you closer—because with you, he’s home.

﹙@ 𝗹𝘂𝗺𝗼𝘀𝗼𝘂 ﹚

[lucygraysboy]

“honey, you’ll be just fine,” billy reassures with a sweet smile, holding the cake pop and the cup of coffee in his left hand just so that he can use the right one to pull her close to his side, hug her again. “but i get it. that’s how i felt when i first came here, too. this city has a way of overwhelming and overstimulating you, but then you get used to it.” people are highly adaptable creatures. having lived here for almost six years, he barely notices the rats and other crazy things now. he’s grown so used to them. “mhm, yeah, i did that on purpose, by the way. wanted to make sure you wouldn’t steal a bite,” he fibs, chuckling when he looks down and finds her with her tongue out. the snow’s still falling all around them, and he can’t help but think about those times when, as children, they’d open their mouths and try to taste it. “right? just makes you want to give ‘em the life they deserve. maybe when we come back home, we can tell your mama ‘bout this idea. good morning, mrs. baird, we’d like to turn your guest room into a raccoon sanctuary.” laughing, it’s only so amusing because it wouldn’t be the wildest idea they’ve ever come up with. “sweet little squirrels. do they get along with raccoons? or will we have to separate ‘em?” funny how no one else gets his sense of humor, only lucy gray. blair would be making faces by now, telling him he’s insane and will get rabies if he plays with wild animals. “we’ll compare ear sizes later, and we don’t call other people’s stomachs big. mine’s just… capacious.”

“are you sure? i don’t think a woods dweller like me knows how to last in’a place like this.” especially with giant rats, she has a deep fear of rats. “eww, i don’t wanna share now anyway.” the way she’s looking up at him and sees him picking lint off his icing, then sticks her tongue out right back out at him. “an adorable little raccoon can live up that many years and instead, they only last for three most of the time.. that’s terrible. now i wanna save all the raccoons. like squirrels, they can live a long time too. but because of all the predators they’re up against, they only get a few years too.” which makes her wonder why can’t all animals just eat plants, why each other? “then you must be blind. your ears are bigger than mine and no, but you do have a big stomach.” innocently smiling, taking a small bite of her snowman.