#not having a good day. I started my period this morning and then I got to work and found out only me and one other opener were there but our

[mountaesan]

most ardently; h. taesan

pairing. bf!taesan x fem!reader genre. newly est. relationship au , fluff  synopsis. the arrival of an unexpected guest ruins your plans for your first valentine’s date but lucky for you, your sweet boyfriend is very accommodating word count. 1.6k warnings. reader is menstruating , hormonal , and emotional  playlist. the shade by rex orange county , i <3 u by boy pablo notes. happy belated valentine’s day ! the only red thing i got this year was my period . hence this fic LOLLL hope you enjoyy

You stared at your phone screen with a quiet sigh, your boyfriend’s latest text glowing back at you.  

my taesan <3: hi babyyyy my taesan <3: so excited for tonight!! my taesan <3: be sure to wear something warm it’s getting chillyyy my taesan <3: i’ll see you later bbyyyy i love you so much!

His enthusiasm broke your heart.  

Fingers hesitating over the keyboard, you finally mustered up the courage to type out a response. 

you: hi babee i’m really sorry but i think i have to raincheck today…  you: i’m not feeling too good TT  you: i’m really sorry 😭 you: i promise to make it up to you next time! i love you moreee 🤍

The moment the message sent, you let your phone slip from your grasp and melt further into your bed. The mattress swallowed you whole as you stared blankly at the ceiling, letting the weight of your own body press you deeper into the sheets. The pain was dull but constant, an ache in your lower abdomen that refused to subside, pulsing in time with the fatigue settling into your bones.  

Your period had come early that morning, utterly wrecking any plans you had for the day. The first day was always the worst—bloating, exhaustion, mood swings, cramps so unbearable you wanted to curl into yourself and never move again. It just had to start today of all days. Your first Valentine’s Day with Taesan. The day he had been planning for months, ever since the two of you had just started dating. You wanted it to be perfect.  

Now, instead of getting dressed up and meeting your boyfriend at the fancy restaurant he had painstakingly booked in advance, you were drowning in self-pity beneath your blankets, hugging a heating pad to your stomach and feeling like the absolute worst girlfriend in the world.  

A small part of you considered telling him the truth. But maybe because your relationship was still so new, you hesitated. It wasn’t like you were embarrassed about your period—God, no—but admitting that this was the reason you were canceling, especially when the night was supposed to be so special… it felt mortifying.   

Your thoughts swirled in self-reproach, so lost in your misery that you didn’t notice the flurry of new texts lighting up your phone screen.  

my taesan <3: oh noo 😭 my taesan <3: is everything okay? my taesan <3: baby? my taesan <3: honey plz respond i'm starting to get worried my taesan <3: i’m going over to your place right now

You barely had time to register his arrival before Taesan was there—standing in your doorway, completely out of breath. His oversized black leather jacket was slightly damp from the lingering rain outside, a simple white shirt visible underneath. His baggy jeans hung loosely on his frame, but the first thing you noticed wasn’t any of that.  

It was the massive bouquet of roses in his hand.  

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest.  

Taesan barely spared a second before setting the flowers on your desk and rushing to your side, his brows furrowed with worry as he kneeled beside your bed. The moment his warm palm pressed against your forehead, you felt yourself crumble.  

“You don’t feel warm…” he murmured, frowning as he compared your temperature with his own. His hands were cupping your cheeks now, gently squeezing them together as his eyes scanned your face for any signs of sickness. “Have you eaten? Do you need medicine? Should I get you—”  

Your vision blurred.  

The guilt and gratitude crashed over you all at once, so overwhelming that the only thing you could do was burst into tears.  

Taesan’s eyes widened in panic. “Wait, baby—what’s wrong? Does it hurt? What happened?”  

You hiccupped between sobs, the emotions tangled up in your chest making it impossible to speak. Still, you managed to croak out, “M-my period started.”  

For a moment, he stilled. Then, his entire body sagged with relief. “Oh my God,” he exhaled, pulling you into his arms with a small laugh. “You scared the hell out of me. I thought you were seriously sick or something.”  

You were still crying, your face buried into his shirt, hands clutching onto his jacket like he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. “I’m sorry,” you sniffled. “I didn’t want to ruin our date—”  

“Hey, hey,” he cooed, his hands stroking the back of your head, soothing you in gentle circles. “Baby, look at me.”  

You pulled back slightly, puffy eyes meeting his concerned gaze.  

“You’re not ruining anything,” he said firmly. “You don’t have to be sorry for something you can’t control. I just wish you told me sooner instead of going through this alone.” His thumb wiped away a stray tear from your cheek. “I’m your boyfriend. You’re not supposed to hide when you’re in pain.”  

His words made your chest tighten with warmth.  

Sniffling, you nodded, and Taesan rewarded you with the softest smile, his dimple making a brief appearance.  

“Okay,” he hummed, wiping the last of your tears. “New plan.”  

You blinked. “New plan?”  

He nodded. “We stay in tonight.” He gestured dramatically with his hands. “We’ll watch ‘Pride & Prejudice’ and ‘Legally Blonde’ as much as you want, order all your favorite takeout, eat a bunch of heart-shaped desserts, and cuddle in bed for the rest of the night. Sound good?”  

You stared at him, the guilt slowly ebbing away, replaced with overwhelming affection.  

“Yeah,” you whispered. “That sounds perfect.”  

Taesan grinned, leaning in to press the softest kiss to your forehead. “Good. Now scoot over, baby. I’m cuddling you for the rest of the night until I smother you.”  

And with that, he pulled off his leather jacket and set it aside before climbing into bed beside you, pulling you into his warmth, his arms wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. 

You smiled, tucking your face into the crook of his neck.  

Taesan was warm. Too warm.

You groaned, shifting against his chest, your body sluggish from the heat pooling beneath the blankets. “Tae, I’m gonna make you hot,” you warned, voice laced with fatigue. “My body feels like a furnace right now.”

His arms only tightened around you in response, his fingers still laced between yours, tangled and unmoving. “Don’t care,” he murmured, lips pressing another soft kiss to your temple. You lost count of how many times he’d done that tonight, like he physically couldn’t keep himself from kissing you.

You huffed, attempting to shift away, but Taesan just whined dramatically, pulling you even closer, burying his face into your hair. “Nooo, stay,” he mumbled, voice muffled against your scalp. “You’re my personal teddy bear.”

You let out a soft laugh, exasperated but secretly loving the way he held onto you like you were something precious. “I’m literally a human space heater right now.”

He hummed, lips brushing against your hairline. “Mmm, my favorite.”

Your heart did a ridiculous flip.

He had you wrapped up in his arms, one of his legs thrown lazily over yours, anchoring you in place. Your fingers were still tangled together, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against the back of your hand. Every few minutes, he would bring your hand to his lips, pressing featherlight kisses to each knuckle like it was second nature to him.

The TV cast a dim glow across the room, Pride and Prejudice playing quietly in the background. You had chosen the 2005 version, your favorite, because it was the perfect mix of romance and comfort. You expected Taesan to zone out within the first fifteen minutes, maybe even fall asleep, but to your surprise, he was fully engaged.

When Elizabeth Bennet shot one of her sarcastic remarks at Mr. Darcy, Taesan actually let out a laugh, a soft, amused chuckle that rumbled against your cheek where it rested against his chest.

“She’s so sassy,” he commented, grinning. “I like her.”

You turned your head to look at him, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes still glued to the screen. “She’s feisty. I respect it.”

You shook your head in fond exasperation, nestling back into his embrace. “You better,” you teased. “She’s literally me.”

Taesan scoffed, pressing yet another kiss to your temple. “Please, you’re worse.”

You gasped, swatting at his chest, and he laughed, catching your hand with ease before intertwining your fingers once more.

But it wasn’t until Mr. Darcy’s iconic love confession that you realized just how much effort Taesan was putting into this.

The moment Darcy muttered “I love you… most ardently”, Taesan sucked in a sharp breath, gripping your hand tighter.

He turned to you, eyes wide, brows furrowed in concentration. “Wait, wait, this is it, right? This is the scene?”

You blinked at him, completely caught off guard. “…Yeah?”

“Oh my God,” he whispered, turning back to the screen, his expression filled with anticipation.

Your chest swelled with something warm and fond. Taesan wasn’t just tolerating this movie—he was fully invested, even though period dramas and slow-burn romances were not his thing. He was making an effort. For you.

This night was supposed to be for the both of you. Your first Valentine’s Day together. And yet, Taesan had somehow managed to make it all about you, making sure you were comfortable, happy, and safe in his arms.

You squeezed his hand, your heart aching in the sweetest way possible.

Taesan glanced down at you, sensing the shift in your mood. “What?” he murmured, voice soft.

You shook your head, burying your face into his chest. “Nothing,” you mumbled. “Just love you.”

His hold on you tightened instantly.

“Love you more,” he whispered, pressing the softest, most lingering kiss to your forehead. “Most ardently.”

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[misettemisette]

Chapter 6 ➺ Paris est magique

Starting over In Madrid

Summary: After moving to Madrid as Real Madrid's new photographer, Nicky can’t seem to take her eyes off the pretty face Misa Rodríguez. But how will she handle her growing desire for the Canarian goalkeeper when her contract strictly forbids dating players? WC: 6K words TW: smut +18 PS: French writer Chapter 1 ➺ A harder job than I thought Chapter 2 ➺ Clearly on a bad slope Chapter 3 ➺ Calmly panicking Chapter 4 ➺ Hell Clásico Chapter 5 ➺ Valleys and Peaks

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ 

The rain was pouring down when we landed in Paris, droplets splashing hard against the windscreen of the bus, which was crawling along at an unbelievably slow speed. I was sitting beside Ana at the front row, slowly dozing off, lulled by the steady movements of the vehicle. My mind wandered, taking me back to when Misa and Hayley would wave happily at me at the start and end of training sessions. I was so glad to have them back. 

The vibration of my phone pulled me out of my memories. I took it out of my pocket and smiled when I saw Angela had texted me.

A: Hey Nicky! How are you it’s been years!

N: Hey Angela! Yeah so long sorry I didn’t call. Work has been mad but I’m good and you?

A: I’m fine! What did I miss? Can we call?

N: Sorry I’m on the bus in Paris right now, so I can’t call. But I do have a lot to tell you.

A: Tell meeeee! Wait I know. It’s Misa???

N: Well spot-on lol

A: Tell me everything!!

N: I told her about the clause and we kissed again… more than once.

A: Oh that’s all…?! What are you waiting for!! Good for the clause though… Wait… you’re in Paris with the team?

N: Yes

A: And you’ll be staying in the same hotel?

N: Yep

A: And you have a room to yourself? 

N: Yes……..

A: This is looking good… or bad. Depends.

N: Stop it Angela! Right now Misa is focusing on her match and won’t let anything happen. 

A: How many nights are you staying?

N: 3 but only one after the game

A: That still leaves one night…

N: Girl!!! you’re not supposed to be encouraging me!! The clause still exists…

A: Right yeah fuck the clause! She’s a friend with benefits, no big deal! Just keep it secret… anyway you and I both know it’s bound to happen.

N: Pfff I can’t. Bye Angela

A: I’ll call you when you’re back in Madrid! Can’t wait to hear the whole Paris story, especially the ending!

I rolled my eyes and put my phone back in my pocket, a part of my body itching now my brain was imagining the things that could happen in two days. I shook the thought away, peering at the blurry shapes of the fancy Parisian buildings through the heavy rain.

We arrived at the hotel in the late afternoon, and everybody got back on the bus shortly after for practice session. Misa didn’t break her self-promise to work hard and we didn’t interacted much during our first hours in the French capital. After training, we ate quickly and went straight to bed. Everyone was fully focused. 

***

The next day, the rain had stopped, replaced by bright sunshine. The players trained all morning at the Parc des Princes stadium, where the match would take place. However, the club allowed a free period in the afternoon and Naomie, who was born in Paris, organized an improvised visit of Montmartre with some of us. 

I was the only non-footballer in the tourist group. Hayley had forced Misa to join. She originally planned to study in her room, watching videos of goalkeepers as a last minute homework, but she eventually gave in under her friend’s insistence, agreeing she deserved a well-earned break. 

Even though most of us had been to Paris before, we were charmed by the winding, hilly streets near the Basilica. I was dragging myself behind the sporty women, falling farther and farther behind as I laboriously climbed the endless stairs to the Sacré-Cœur. Misa glanced back, saw me struggling, nudged Hayley, and the two of them slowed their pace to let me catch up.

“Qué pasa Nicky? Tired after the morning training? I must admit it was a tough one…” She teased as I finally leveled with them. 

“I didn’t sign up for this! I don’t have your stamina!” I panted. 

“Come on, let’s go that way! It’ll be a detour but maybe that means fewer stairs” Hayley suggested, pointing to a winding pedestrian path on the left. 

We chatted happily on the way and before long, we reached the front of the Basilica. A huge flight of stairs still separated us from the entrance. 

I groaned. 

“Come on Nicky!” Hayley nudged me forward but I had just spotted an empty bench off to the side. 

“I just need a break!” I said, heading toward it. As I passed in front of her, Misa grabbed my arm to hold me back.

"If we leave you on that bench, we won’t see you at the Sacré-Cœur for another two hours!" she joked.

"Then carry me!" I challenged, feeling playful. Being in Paris, far from Ciudad Real Madrid, made me feel freer, and flirtier. I dramatically pretended to be on the verge of fainting.

Misa was already grasping my arm, ready to catch me. "Don’t temped me, Princesa!“

"Okay, girls! I’m still here, remember?" Hayley cut in, waving at us, clearly amused. Misa and I quickly stepped apart, flustered. "We'll do Nicky a favor and rest a bit," she added, already making herself comfortable on the bench. 

We joined her, silent for once, calmly enjoying the beautiful view of the Parisian roofs while tourists and locals flocked toward the Basilica. A large pigeon waddled over to us, eagerly pecking at the ground in search of food. 

“Esta paloma ha comido demasiado, French pigeons are fat!” the goalkeeper remarked, watching it curiously. 

I squinted at the oversized bird. “I don’t think it’s just a regular pigeon…" 

Hayley pulled out her brand-new camera  "I think it’s cute", she said fondly,  snapping a picture. “It’ll be our souvenir of Paris!”. The Aussie jumped up and position herself in front of us, scaring the bird away. 

"Oh no! Bigpig’s gone!" she whined before shrugging it off. "Anyway… say cheese!" 

I slung my arm around Misa’s shoulders, and she wrapped hers around my waist as we put on our best smiles.

“You two are too cute,” Hayley commented. 

I felt my face flush and instinctively buried it in the crook of Misa’s neck. But the embarrassment was almost pleasant, it felt so good to enjoy this little moment of freedom with her. Hayley knew the truth and was keeping it safely to herself.

A light breeze swept some fallen leaves across the path. The peacefulness of this foreign city was so soothing that I rested my head on Misa’s shoulder, comforted by the warmth of her hand at my side. Hayley took another shot. 

“You can tell me if you want a photo of you two kissing in Paris at this rate…” she teased. 

We chuckled, and I hid my face in Misa’s neck again. But Hayley was only joking. She had the delicacy to turned away to photograph the beautiful city stretching before us, giving us this little moment just for ourselves.

I straightened up and glanced at Misa. Her half-closed eyes were focused on her lap, a bashful grin making her look even more adorable. I scanned our surroundings to check if any of our teammates had followed us. The coast was clear.

"I think I’d like a kiss in Paris," I murmured, my hand, still on her shoulder, softly caressing the side of her neck.

Misa smiled shyly and lifted her gaze. A flicker of worry passed through her eyes, and like me, she glanced around to make sure we weren’t being watched. When she was certain we weren’t at risk, she leaned in and kissed me timidly. Sensing that she was about to pull away, I cupped her face, unwilling to let her go just yet, not nearly satisfied with the feel of her lips on mine and I felt her grin against my mouth. 

“You can’t devour me in public like you almost did in your office” she said softly. 

I pulled back and met her gaze, warm and soft, making my stomach flutter. I had the urge to wrap my arms around her, to hold her close, but I didn’t dare. Somehow, it felt even more intimate than a kiss. Instead, I took her hand, stood up, and gently pulled her along with me.  

“Let’s go to that damned Basilica!" 

***

The teams entered the stadium in two neat rows under the cheers of the crowd, with the Ultras Paris stand loudly chanting, "Paris est magique !" Tension and concentration gripped the Real Madrid players as the traditional greetings took place. Shortly after, everyone took their positions on the pitch, ready for kick-off. Misa's knee was fully wrapped since her injury during El Clasíco, but she was jumping and stretching energetically in front of her goal.

The game started with PSG in possession. Grace Geyoro quickly advanced, passing the ball to Tabitha Chawinga. The forward picked up speed, closing the gap to the penalty area in less than a minute. Ivana, Rocío, and Oihane surrounded her, forcing her to pass back to Sandy Baltimore, who sent the ball straight to Marie-Antoinette Katoto’s feet. The French striker dribbled past Ivana but was blocked by Olga. However, she managed to keep control and passed to Sakina Karchaoui before recovering the ball behind Olga’s back, heading straight into the penalty area. 

Misa braced herself to jump, shouting instructions at her defenders. Katoto crossed the ball, Chawinga waiting inside the box. She controlled it, aimed, and shot. The ball sped between Rocío’s feet at full force. Misa dived, crashing onto the grass, her outstretched arms missing the ball by mere centimeters as it rolled into the net, almost brushing the right goalpost. The crowd erupted in celebration, PSG had scored in the 6th minute. It was a tough start for Real Madrid. 

Misa got up, furious at her defenders, and probably even more at herself. She kicked the ball back into play, her brows furrowed, her mouth nervously chewing on her gum.

The first half passed without any notable events, aside from a misfired kick from Karchaoui in the 40th minute. However, the second half was marked by numerous attacks on both sides. Unfortunately for Madrid, every attempt was thwarted by the impenetrable French defense.

Madrid fell back as fast as they could, as Sakina rushed down the left flank, knowing just how dangerous she could be. She crossed the ball once more, aiming for Grace Geyoro. The ball was lost in a tangle of players, confusion reigning in the box. The referee’s whistle blew, and her gesture was unmistakable. She mimed a square with her hands, pointing the center toward it. The ball had struck Oihane’s arm, leading to a penalty for the French team. 

At first glance, Misa’s face was unreadable, but I knew her well enough to recognize the extreme tension she was holding inside. What she feared, and secretly longed for, was happening: a chance to prove herself again, with everything riding on her. She settled herself on the goal line, stretching her arms and legs to prepare. Katoto would take the shot. The entire stadium held its breath. Katoto took a few seconds before jogging toward the ball and sending it toward the left corner. Misa dived the correct way, her fist connecting with the ball, sending it soaring out of play.

She sprang back to her feet, screaming in triumph as her teammates rushed in to hug and slap her in congratulations.  

The match resumed. Just like before the penalty, both teams fought hard to score but failed to do so for the remainder of the game. Finally, the whistle blew, signaling the end of the match. Madrid had lost again. Despite the disappointment, the team felt less defeated than after El Clásico. We all knew we had put in an honorable performance against a great opponent.

***

On the way back, the team was unusually quiet, everyone brooding over the defeat. It was still early when we arrived at the hotel, and small groups of teammates formed outside, discussing ways to take their minds off the loss. I overheard Sofie and Kathellen talking about a club on a houseboat. Hayley eagerly joined their conversation, grabbing a moody-looking Misa as she passed by, who clearly wanted nothing more than to bury herself in bed. 

“Don’t even think about escaping, Misa Rodriguez. You’re coming with us, willing or not !”

"Estoy cansada y no quiero bailar! Leave me alone, Aussie!" she moaned, trying to free her arm from Hayley’s grip.

Hayley gestured for me to step in. “Nicky’s coming too! You don’t want to miss a night with the best girls, do you?”

“Vamos Misa, it’s our last night in Paris!” I insisted, grabbing her other arm to stop her from running away again. She stopped struggling but started sulking in silence.

"We’re going to a péniche on the Seine," Kathellen announced, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Misa gave her a questioning look. "It’s a boat on the Seine—you know, the river in Paris," Kathellen teased.

"I know the river of Paris, thank you," Misa snapped back, though I couldn’t tell if she was bluffing. Either way, she didn’t seem particularly thrilled about the plan.

"Misa, stop being so grumpy and just let go for once!” Like she would have with a child, Hayley cupped the goalkeeper’s chin between her fingers, mimicking her sulky expression until Misa finally broke into a small smile. “Thanks Jesus, we have Misa back! "Let’s go get changed. We meet at the hotel reception in one hour max!"

After hesitating over and over about what to wear, I had finally settled on a knee-length dark gray T-shirt, a denim jacket, and a pair of black derbies, with my Real Madrid socks sticking out. I didn’t like to look too classy, even in Paris. 

When I arrived in the lobby forty minutes later, Misa, Hayley and Kathellen were already there, chatting casually. Hayley was the first to notice me. 

"Girl you’re looking good! Come sit with us. We’re waiting for Sofie and God knows she can take forever to get ready”. 

I took a seat on the sofa beside the midfielder, facing Misa, who discreetly looked me up and down before giving me a thumbs-up to silently show her approval of my outfit. My voiceless lips formed the words "You too" in return. The goalkeeper was wearing simple gray pants and a sleeveless top, which nicely highlighted her muscular shoulders.

We waited for Sofie for an entire hour before finally ordering a taxi. The Danish girl barely apologized, quickly gathering us for a selfie as we got out of the car at our destination. The surroundings were charming, vast, open lawns stretched in front of the Palais des Invalides on one side, while on the other, a magnificent bridge spanned the Seine. The streetlights and granite paving stones completed the picturesque setting.

We walked to the bridge, descended a few stairs, and arrived at the docks, where several barges were moored. As the cliché goes, the riverbanks truly had a romantic feel, and I suddenly wished Misa and I were alone. The tall brunette was busy taking pictures of the scenery, finally seeming to appreciate the place.

A few minutes later, we entered the barge-club and made our way to the dance floor on the lower level. The place was packed and suffocating, colorful spots of light splattering over a sea of moving heads. After getting some drinks, we found a less crowded space and formed a small dancing circle. It was great to see the footballers having fun wholeheartedly, momentarily free from any kind of pressure. Kathellen and Sofie spent much of their time dancing together, pausing now and then to take selfies and chat on their phones. Misa was starting to loosen up as she drank more and more Piña Coladas, while Hayley kept making fun of her wild dancing. As for me, I was sweating heavily and feeling slightly tipsy after two pints of beer.

The partying, pretty footballers were attracting attention. A few girls approached them more than once. Kathellen and Misa had the most suitors, with six and five women, respectively, coming to chat or dance with them. Of course, it annoyed me to no end, especially since I was forcing myself to stay distant from the goalkeeper. When the sixth girl, who wasn’t exactly unattractive, tapped Misa’s shoulder with confidence, I slipped away from the crowd and cooled off near the wall, unable to bear another flirt.  

I took a long sip of my beer, wiped the sweat off my forehead, and peered darkly at the girl chatting with Misa.

“C’est toujours étouffant ici ! T’as bien raison de faire une pause si tu veux tenir toute la nuit !” a woman leaned against the wall beside me. 

I glanced at her, puzzled. She was tall, Black, her face adorning with piercings and wearing her hair in long small braids. I found her very pretty. “Sorry, I don’t speak French!” I apologized.  

She moved closer to avoid shouting over the music “Oh, I couldn’t guess! You look very Frenchy. I’m Sonia.” she pointed at herself. “Nicky” I mirrored her. 

“You dance, Nicky ?” she extended an inviting hand with a smile. I glanced at the place where I had left Misa but I couldn’t spot her. Still irritated by the goalkeeper’s ability to attract women like moths to a flame, I nodded, set my empty glass aside, and followed Sonia into the crowd.

It was clear from the first contact that she was an experienced dancer. Her hands on my waist and shoulders guided my movements effortlessly. She spoke into my ear, maintaining the rhythm of our dance. “Are you living in Paris?” 

Her smile was charming and I felt exhausted all of sudden. Why couldn’t I crush on a girl like her? Why couldn’t things be simple and flowing? Why did I have to fall for someone I could never have?

"No, I live in Madrid actually, I’m just here for a couple of days ” I answered. She twirled me around with a few quick steps, and as I spun, I caught a glimpse of Misa across the room, watching us with a scowl, her lips tight. I couldn’t help feeling a little satisfied jealously had switched side. 

“When are you leaving ?” Sonia asked. 

“Tomorrow” I said sadly. I had truly been enjoying my time in Paris.

Sonia tightened her grip, her lips returning to my ear. “Too bad… but we can still make the most of tonight.” 

I let out a soft chuckle. The idea was tempting, but I knew I couldn’t go through with it. We weren’t even together, but the thought of being with Sonia made me feel like I’d be betraying Misa. My chest tightened at the thought of the goalkeeper’s disappointed face.

I pulled away from Sonia, my expression already apologizing. “I’m sorry, Sonia, but I can’t. Thanks for the dance, though. It was really fun. You made me feel like I was dancing well too.” Sonia smiled, clearly not upset. “De rien! Good night, Nicky,” she said, before disappearing back into the crowd. 

The room had filled even more, blocking my view of the goalkeeper and barely allowing me to find my way back to the wall. I leaned against the relatively cooler surface and began texting Misa to find out where they were. The familiar silhouette of a brunette with broad shoulders extricate herself from the crowd of dancers. Misa’s scowl disappeared the moment she saw me and I was so happy to find her that I flung myself into her arms, the alcohol making me feel bold. 

Misa raised her eyebrows, surprised by this outpouring of affection, especially after seeing me dance with another women. But soon her body relaxed, and she held me close. Not leaving her embrace, I slowly began to moved with the rhythm of the song. The goalie followed, our hips pressed together, moving in sync. Somehow feeling sheltered by the dense crowd, we danced as if we were alone, eyes closed, bodies pressed against each other. 

The music slowed, and I turned around, putting my back to her. My butt pressed against her hips, and she wrapped her arms around me, brushing my hair aside to plant a kiss on my neck. I shivered, blindly reaching back to grasp her hair, urging her to kiss me more. Her hands on my stomach pushed my hips harder against her as her lips moved up to my jawline. I tilted my face toward her, and she found the corner of my mouth. I growled in frustration and turned to her again to fully receive her kiss. The clause, the risks, the consequences… were swallowed by those luscious lips pushing me back toward the wall, my arms around her neck ensnaring her body to mine as she cornered me. 

The slow melody faded to a groovy beat but we weren’t dancing anymore, lost in our heated kiss against the wall. I was so worked up it was painful. Kissing her wasn’t close to enough, it was becoming excruciating. I was dying for more, for the all party, for a release that had never came yet. So I broke the kiss and panted in her ear “Let’s go back to the hotel, to my room… please!” Her gasp convinced me we shouldn’t stay here any longer.

As I started dragging her toward the exit, Misa held me back. “We can’t go together alone—it’ll look suspicious. We need to wait for the others or get them to come with us!” She had been more sensible tonight, and I had to admit she was right. We didn’t want Sofie and Kathellen spreading the juicy story of two girls returning early to the team in the morning.

We found the other three footballers, and I caught Sofie muttering something to Kathellen while looking at us. I realized we were already suspected. Misa stood next to the Danish girl, who nudged her with her elbow and exchanged a suggestive glance. The goalkeeper shook her head, bitterly adding, “I queued for the bathroom and found Nicky having a good time with a pretty French girl.”

Sofie half-bought the story, hitting my shoulder in collusion. “Why didn’t you go with her? Enjoy your last hours in Paris, baby!”

“Nah, I’m too tired! Honestly, I just want to leave. You can’t breathe in here!”

“Oh! So soon?” Sofie probed, giving the rest of our group a look. I locked eyes with Hayley and silently begged for her help. I saw the Australian midfielder glance at Misa, who imperceptibly nodded, her face reddening with embarrassment.

“I’m good to go too. It’s too hot in here, and I don’t want to end up looking like Misa’s lobster face.” Hayley teased, backing us up, causing Misa to shrink in embarrassment.

To avoid further suspicion, the goalkeeper and I didn’t take the same cab to return to the hotel. I paired up with Hayley, leaving Misa with Sofie and Kathellen. In the taxi, I thanked my friend for covering for  us. 

“I got you, girls, but be more careful, you two are getting so obvious it’s a miracle nobody else has figured it out yet”. The Aussie winked. “And please, go to your room. I’m next to Misa’s and I’d actually like to get a good night’s sleep.” 

“For God’s sake, Hayley…" 

*** 

I closed the door of my hotel room, the tension in my expectant body reaching new heights. All I had to do was wait for Misa, but even that was too much to handle. My mind was running wild. What if she couldn’t come? What if she changed her mind? I had to keep myself busy to stay sane.

I took off my jacket, shoes, and socks, then glanced around the room. The bed had been made, its white sheets and pillows neatly smoothed and waiting for us. The lighting felt too harsh, so I switched on the night lamps by the headboard before turning off the ceiling light. A dim glow wrapped the room in a quiet, warm ambiance.

In the bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked tired, a little messy. I brushed my teeth and hair, adding a bit of conditioner to freshen it up. Then, I checked my makeup, reapplied deodorant, and sprayed on some perfume… once, twice, three times—anything to regain some confidence, though it was in vain.

Back in the bedroom, I felt more nervous than ever. The waiting seemed endless, making me wonder if she was going to come at all. Maybe she decided it was too risky in a hotel we shared with the team and staff…

…A soft knock on the door made my heart leap.

I rushed to open it, revealing a very agitated Misa. She checked several times to make sure she wasn’t followed before finally stepping inside. 

"Perdón, Nicky!" Misa sighed once she had closed the door. "Sofie wouldn’t let me go. She insisted we chat and drink more in her room because she wasn’t feeling tired! I told her I needed to sleep, but then she wanted to come to my room and keep herself busy on her phone while I slept!"

I giggled. "Sofie is one of a kind…"

"Sí, she is! But I finally got rid of her—¡uf!" She leaned back against the door, relieved.

"Phew! Here you are at last!" I smiled at her, my nervousness surging again.

We faced each other in the small room, jittery and shy, now that we had finally made it to this moment. Silence settled between us as we watched each other expectantly. Misa looked down, pressing her lips into an embarrassed smile while nervously massaging her neck. In spite of her usually charismatic presence, she could be surprisingly timid in moments like these.

I shook off some of my own hesitation, walked up to her, and cupped her face in my hands. Looking at her tenderly, my desire for her rose once again.

I embraced her, kissing her softly, my impatience giving way to a desire not to rush. The night was still ahead of us. I wanted us to savor everything, every kiss and touch, equally moved and aroused by the fact that tonight would always be our first time together. 

Misa melted into our slow rhythm, her arms wrapped around my neck. Her fingers gently crept into my hair as she pulled me closer, deepening our kiss. I slid my hands under her t-shirt, stroking and caressing her skin before grabbing the fabric and pulling it over her head. As our lips parted for a brief moment, my gaze roamed over her body and she seized the opportunity to remove my dress, her fingers slowly gathering the fabric, inching it up my body before finally slipping it over my head. We resumed our kiss, skin brushing, hands and fingers tracing along each other spine, giving each other goosebumps. 

Our already rapid breathing quickening, Misa advanced, guiding me backward toward the bed while slipping off her shoes along the way. My heels hit the bedframe, and I gasped, turning at the last moment, causing Misa to lose her balance and fall onto the mattress. She let out a surprised smile before settling herself in the middle of the bed, her half-bare body an irresistible invitation to join her without delay.

I moved over her, instantly returning to deep, full-mouthed kisses as a needy fire surged through me, spreading with every touch of her hands against my bare skin. Misa straightened up, and I instinctively wrapped my legs around her hips. Her powerful hands secured me against her, and she looked up, silently asking for more. Leaning toward her mouth, I softly bit her lower lip, drawing a rasping breath from her in return. As I released her, she slipped her tongue between my lips, seeking mine, while her fingers found the clasp of my bra, working to unhook it. I mirrored her movements, and within moments, our underwear joined the growing pile on the floor.

We pressed our bodies together again, skin against skin, our hands exploring, caressing, savoring the feeling of each other. The sensation of Misa’s soft, bare chest against mine sent waves of heat rolling through my stomach.

I couldn’t bear to take my time anymore. I pressed my weight against Misa, urging her to lie back down, but she grinned and resisted. Unwrapping my legs from around her, I straddled her thighs and I pushed her back onto the mattress with little ceremony. Her eyes devoured me, taking in my almost naked figure, just as mine lingered on her, topless, sprawled out on the bed, arms and long hair splayed across the pillow. The dim light accentuated the sculpted lines of her abs, the smooth velvet of her tan skin. She gazed up at me with hooded eyes, lips slightly parted, surrendering as I took the lead and for a moment, I simply let myself admire her. 

I came to lie slightly over the goalkeeper, Misa’s arms enclosing me, pressing our breasts together, making us both gasp at the sensation. One of her hands cupped the nape of my neck, pulling my mouth back to hers as I felt her thigh rise between my legs. I let out a wail, my fingers gripping the pillow as she began applying light pressure there. Slowly, I ground against her, waves of pleasure rushing through me with each movement. But soon, the fabric of her jeans became a frustrating barrier.

I broke the contact and adjusted my position above the goalkeeper. I started with a soft kiss on her lips, then trailed down to her neck. Misa’s hands traveled down my back to my bottom as I nipped and licked my way to her breasts, her long moans filling the room as I kissed her there. One of her hands found mine, while the other rested in her hair, her furrowed brows betraying her longing. I paused, inhaling the scent of her skin, before continuing my journey downward.

I stopped when I reached her jeans. Propping myself up on one arm, I let my other hand trail down to unbutton her pants before gripping them firmly and pulling them off. Misa's chest rose and fell deeply, her gaze locked on me, fully aware of where I was planning to go next. I took a moment to slip off my own panties, my arousal intensifying as I watched her head fall back onto the pillow, Her breath coming in fast, shallow gasps. Fuck, she was so hot! The sight of her, waiting, exposed, and gorgeous, threatened to undo me right then and there. I forced myself to hold back, pushing aside my own need as I swiftly pulled off the brunette’s panties, leaving us both bare and trembling with desire.

Slowly, I lowered my head between the goalkeeper’s spread legs, glancing at her blushed face. Her half-open, quivering lips were almost begging and I didn’t want to make her wait more. I ran my tongue through her intimacy. Her head fell back again, eyes closed, as a hight pitch whine escaped her lips. Her hands desperately gripped my hair, urging me to continue, her cries getting louder as I went on eating her out slowly. 

After a moment, her voice filled the room completely, drowning out my own whimpering and she lifted her arms above her head, causing her hair to fall beautifully over her face. One of her hands hided her face, the other gripping the bed sheets as my fingers found their way inside. The sighs of the brunette, lost in pleasure, almost send me over the edge once again. She was so loud now I would have been worried she awoke the entire floor, if I hadn’t been totally entranced by making love to her. 

I lifted my head to check is she was close, barely able to go on, but she wanted more, and she pressed my face back between her legs. Fuck! I’m s so close! My muffled cries were coming out in jerky sighs when her legs went rigid against my head. Misa's body shuddered, her deep groans trailing off as she surrendered to the bliss.

I exhaled and rested against her leg for a moment, regaining my breath, my head spinning from the overwhelming arousal. After the short break, I moved beside Misa, facing the goalkeeper lying on her back, her face serene and beautiful. She turned onto her side, weakly draping an arm over my waist, inviting me in and nestled against my collarbone, peaceful and exhausted. I gazed at her yearnfully, then kissed her forehead, a discreet smile tugging at her lips as I did.

A couple of minutes had passed, with us still cuddling, when Misa lifted her head and placed a soft kiss on my lips. She pulled my face closer to give me a more heated kiss, then another. Grabbing my leg, she lifted it onto her hip, and my breathing quickened at once. Her hand grasped my neck, she sent it traveling to my breast, caressing my nipples softly, and turning me into a moaning mess, before she led it down, and downer. 

She touched me at last and gasped when she discovered I was completely drenched. I hugged her tightly, feverish whimpers escaping my lips, as her fingers sled easily between my legs before slipping inside. I whined so loudly I would have been ashamed, except I didn’t gave a fuck. Warmth grew, choking and pleasant each time she went in and out, filling me more and more when I was already so full. 

My half-closed eyes wandered over Misa, and the sight of her far too pretty blushed face, so deeply focused on giving me pleasure, made me cum suddenly. The deep waves of pure joy radiated through my entire body, my hold on her tightening as I let the overwhelming feel swallow me completely. 

Both of us went limp against each other. Exhausted from her match earlier, the footballer had given her last ounce of strength and feebly stroked my hair before I rolled onto my side, pressing my face against her skin. The scent of her soothed me as I tried to catch my breath. 

The brunette managed to turn off the light and pulled the duvet over both of us. She wrapped her arms around me, pressing me tightly against her. I reached for her hand as it draped over me, and she let out a soft, approving sound in response. Her breathing grew slower and deeper, signaling that she had fallen asleep almost instantly, against me, in Paris, the magical French capital. 

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

they call me the griever because halfway through a thing I enjoy I’m already sad that it’s closer to being over

[ayyponine]

maybe i am gods favourite little bitch after all..

[keenestpeach]

.

[letthebookbegin]

.

[sluttyten]

I still have 5 hours left in my shift 😭😭😭

[mecachrome]

notes from nicole piastri's interview on red flags pod

oscar started playing monopoly and chess when he was 4-5 but he was too good at chess (relative to nicole) that she boycotted it

nicole opened her twitter account because oscar wasn't replying to her at boarding school and she needed a place to chastise him ("can you not answer... i KNOW you're on your phone") (it worked because he started replying to her there)

instead of unflappable she calls him "conservative"

even during christmas and birthdays he was never super excited, one time they went with a group of 5 mums and 5 kids to a hi-5 concert (popular australian kids' musical group) and while all the kids were "going nuts" oscar just sat there "focused the whole time" and didn't smile or move lmfao. they were like 3 years old

didn't know what she was doing with oscar as a baby because he was her first child and her mothers' group was her only reference and they went "isn't the best part of the day when you wake up and go to their crib and they smile at you?" and she was like ??? because oscar would wake up and just SCREAM every single day needing to be out of there immediately and she thought that was just normal... then she had the girls and went "ahhhh... so that's what they're talking about"

when he was younger than 2 he needed them to read car magazines to him and was already obsessed with all things automotive and while they were driving would just name off and point out car brands by their badges

for a long period of time he behaved like he was a car and would "spin" his wheels and pretend to accelerate and run like a car lol

did a big burnout the first time he was on a bike (it had training wheels but he still learned very early)

as a mum she wishes he'd chosen golf or tennis since it's much safer than f1 and sometimes people tell her that she technically had a say in that when he was a kid and she said "but i didn't! it was just in him!!!"

won an academic award when he was 13 and she was president of the parents' community so she presented it to him, normally these events are super formal and you simply shake hands but she gave him a big kiss and instead of acting embarrassed or spluttering he looked at the crowd, nodded silently, and walked off

came back for the summer a few years ago and they were biking on the beach together when she had to brake hard to avoid a kid and went over, when she recovered and got back on he went "are you all right?" very deadpan but after they got home they checked his heart rate monitor and saw that he was totally steady the whole time except for when she crashed and his heart rate went through the roof, told him "ah so you do have a heart... we just don't see it"

"there's no sibling that can piss him off?" "well he's a boy with three girls so he just doesn't go there because he's never going to win"

met lily in person for the first time when he came home for the melbourne grand prix (was still alpine reserve), at midnight oscar was like "hey mum you know the dts film crew are coming tomorrow morning right?" and she was like WHAT... and he was like yeah it'll be chill they just want to film us having breakfast like a normal family or whatever and she was like Mate you haven't lived here for 5 years now do you know what breakfast looks like. it looks like your sisters storming downstairs and grabbing an inappropriate breakfast and storming out the door giving me the finger!!! and then the next morning lily comes down and nicole is like "oh is oscar up?" and lily is like no... i think he's still in bed... (many such cases) and then mae refused to be in it so she got dressed and ran off to school 2 hours early to escape them. and then the mclaren fiasco happened and the whole thing got cut out of dts anyway

when she said "oh my god you met matt damon!" he was just like (shrugs) "yeah... yeah..."

they communicate by facetiming and he's Always lying in bed. one time in bahrain he was leaning back on an ornate tapestry and she asked what hotel he was staying at and he was like oh i'm at the royal palace i'm like a guest of the crown prince. she freaked out and was like "oh my god!!! get your head off the tapestry!!!" and he just looked back like ? no it's fine it looks pretty old lol

called her to tell her that he signed his f1 contract and when he said mclaren she Realized and was like oh no i love daniel!! and he straight up deadpanned "yeah everyone loves daniel. that's going to be a problem..." and said verbatim "of all the f1 drivers ever daniel is the worst one to be replacing"

one time in f4 chris couldn't go to a race and billy monger had just had his crash so she flew to the uk for the weekend to support him and when she was driving him back to boarding school she was happy because she had 2 hours to spend with him and she wasn't sure when she'd see him again but instead he slept the whole way through and the moment they got back to school he went "ahhhh... home sweet home" and she wanted to slap him lmfao

first day of primary school when he was 5 years old he said he didn't need her to walk him to school and she was like "well i actually do mate" so he forced her to walk behind him the whole way and the moment they got there he turned to her and went "all right i'm here you can go now" 😭

the chinese & italian & yugoslavian is on chris's side of the family while nicole's is scottish & irish ("that's where the pasty skin comes from")

red flags pod sent her a shirt with oscar's face composed of His Tweet and she showed it to him and he immediately said he wanted it

he gave her a small warning before he posted the tweet but it was just like "mum so this is going to happen just don't worry about it. it's all under control. it'll be fine" and was very calm the whole time

"we just had to trust that his personality would come through at some point, because the way he came across was not at all what he's like. people will work out who the real you is so just continue to do what you do" 🥺

all of the kids were obsessed with Cars (2006)

likes his mum's golden syrup dumplings and grandmother's rumballs

AT THE SINGAPORE GP IN 2023 HATTIE DISAPPEARED FOR HOURS TO GO SEE A K-POP CONCERT 😭😭😭😭 i think it was p1h lmfao (nicole was asked for her favorite group and went "i have no idea. five boys") ((it's txt)) meanwhile oscar is only into house music and she thinks everything he plays is the same song

did pilates when he went home but never with her and thinks it's a lot harder than it looks

takes him minimum 24 hours to respond to anything she sends

she had an exact conversation with oscar where she asked who he wanted to be teammates with and he said "well if i go up against lando i don't even have to get close the first year because everyone knows how good he is" 😭

oscar you are so you 🧡

[soap-ify]

i got this idea out of nowhere and now i can't stop giggling HELP.

what if simon somehow always knew when you were going to have your period? it was as if this man had your whole cycle memorised, oddly enough.

even your period tracker wasn’t that good at predicting your next period.

you were just sitting on the couch beside him, scrolling on your phone when he just randomly spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence that was lingering.

“you’re gonna have your period tomorrow, love.”

you turned over at him, confused and surprised, a soft giggle leaving your lips at his odd bluntness. “i don’t think so, si. it’s early. probably gonna have it after three days.”

“whatever you say.” he grumbled gruffly, seemingly very sure of his words.

it was the next morning while you were making some coffee for yourself and simon when you started feeling the familiar queasy feeling in your stomach, and that horrible sensation in between your legs that made you rush into your bathroom.

you came out after about ten minutes with a new pair of shorts, all embarrassed as you sheepishly walked over to simon. just how did he even know you were going to have your period early? were you cranky? too obvious?

“i got my period…”

“told you so.”

cocky bastard. maybe you should just delete your period tracking app and count on him instead.

[archangeldyke-all]

Isha walking into reader and sevikas room to sleep because jinx kept on pushing her off the bed :,(

(also I love the stuff you write and I hope your having a good day/noon/night!)

aweeeeeee (also tysm!! i'm slugging thru my period but i'm feeling better this evening hehe!)

men and minors dni

around midnight, you wander into the living room to find jinx taking apart your coffee maker. you rub your eyes, pull the blankets over sleeping isha's shoulders, before pouring a glass of juice and placing it beside jinx's workspace.

"can't sleep?" you ask, sitting beside her and ruffling her bangs. jinx shrugs.

"your coffee maker kept drippin', couldn't sleep with it." she mumbles, taking a slurp off her juice, her eyes studying the parts scattered on your dining table.

"y'know if you're bored... sevika's got a big ol' stash of comic books in the storage closet. classic oldies from when we were kids-- 'sharkshooter', 'janna's ravens',--"

"does she have any 'sparkgirls'? she asks, an excited glimmer in her eye. you grin.

"that was her favorite. go ahead, just don't rip any of the pages. these're her babies." you chuckle, pulling open the closet and letting jinx clamor over to you. you give her a quick kiss then wander back to the bedroom, ruffling isha's hair as you pass her on the couch.

"y'okay?" sevika mumbles as you crawl back into bed beside her. you giggle and kiss her cheek.

"just checkin' on jinx 'n the kid."

"mmm." sevika mumbles, flipping over to bury her face against your tits. "love you."

her snores quickly lull you back to bed.

you wake up a few hours later to sevika jumping awake beside you.

"'s wrong?" you mumble.

"i don't-- there's something-- isha?!" sevika asks, throwing the blankets back and flicking a lamp on.

a big pair of gold eyes blink up at the pair of you.

"s-sorry ms. vika. i go' cold without ms. jinx on the couch wi' me."

you burst into giggles, cooing down at the baby in your bed and laying back down against the mattress. isha curls up against your side. "come back to bed, sev." you say, rolling your eyes at your gawking girlfriend.

"she's in my spot!" sevika sputters, pointing at where isha's curled up on your chest. you chuckle and make grabby hands for her.

"c'mon, w'ere cold! right isha?" you ask. the kid giggles and nods, mimicking your own grabby hands.

sevika snorts an exhausted laugh, crawling back into bed beside you two, pulling the covers up and flicking the light out.

when isha's little snores start up sevika reaches over the bed to poke you. "you realize this means we gotta put a lock on the door for when we wanna fuck, now, right?" she asks.

you fall asleep laughing, reaching across the mattress to weave your fingers between sevika's.

when you finally wake up in the morning, jinx has joined your cuddle pile, curled up at the foot of the bed like a dog, one of sevika's comics clutched to her chest as she snores.

isha's laying directly on top of sevika, and sevika's got one arm curled around the girl, the other reaching out to hold your own hand.

she blinks awake when you press a kiss to her forehead, groaning when she realizes how many guests have joined your bed. you chuckle.

"you're the one who dragged 'em both home." you remind her.

"we need to find a bigger fuckin' house." she mumbles.

"or at least a bigger bed." you giggle.

sevika glances over at you, and all the annoyance and frustration melt away the second her eyes meet yours. "they're lucky i got you, y'know. no fuckin' way i'd let two kids crash the bachlorette pad i had before i met you."

"y'mean you weren't softened up enough yet?" you tease.

sevika grins and shrugs. "somethin' like that."

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @lavandasz

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

[julymusings]

dark chocolate cherry

i want to bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. i want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

or; your boyfriend shows up when you just want some alone time [3.2k]

jason todd x fem!reader; reader gets her period and describes painful symptoms; just fluff; jason "words don't come easy so here's acts of service" todd this is earlier in the relationship which is why he's still a little shy but she knows he's red hood? idk man. i was just going with it; can you guess what inspired this? (everything is awful)

The day started at 2 AM when you woke to shooting pains in your abdomen and blood everywhere. It continued until 2:45 while you cleaned yourself, changed clothes, put on a fresh pad, took some painkillers, and changed the sheets. It paused for about an hour until you woke up again at 4:00, courtesy of Gotham’s patented night-life that had taught you to completely tune out the sound of police sirens. Tonight, however, they weren’t tuning out.

The sirens quieted at 4:10, by which angry tears collected in the corners of your eyes as you flopped around in bed in an attempt to get comfortable. No matter what you did, there was always something wrong; the pillow was too hard, the blanket was too scratchy, the position hurt your arm.

From 4:11 to 4:12, you screamed into your pillow.

By 4:15 you had settled in front of the TV with a bowl of dry cereal (it took everything in you not to cry over the lack of milk in your fridge), a heating pad, and your favorite comfort show queued up.

At 8 AM you managed to drag yourself to work, where you half-assed the day’s tasks, took a 15-minute break to cry in your car, then dipped out a half-hour early.

Now, at 5 PM on a Friday evening, you’re curled into the fetal position in front of your TV with your comfort show resumed and your trusty heating pad cranked to the highest setting. Prepared to spend the entire night here, you already changed into pajamas and kept a couple blankets within reach. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, and you stretch to reach it, careful not to lose your comfortable position or roll off the couch.

Jason About to leave Be there in 20

You groan out loud. You want to throw your phone across the room, but decide against it because no amount of hormones from hell are worth six hundred dollars. You’re still angry, though, for being so stupid as to forget about the date you had planned for tonight. Scrolling up to earlier messages, you see another text from today wishing you a good morning and telling you he was excited to see you tonight. But, too down to bother checking any messages today, you had missed it.

You I can’t tonight anymore I’m sorry I don’t feel great

After hitting send, you place your phone on the ground, not even having the energy to reach for the coffee table again. Or the energy to lift your arm back up, apparently, given how it hangs limply over the edge of the couch. You feel guilty about cancelling, but you are in no state to go out tonight. You’re used to the symptoms of your period hitting so hard. As much as you and Jason care about each other, you’re not sure you’re ready for him to see you like this. You’ve managed to plan your relationship around your hormone cycle so far, but today it came early.

Your phone’s buzzing is muffled by the rug, and you almost don’t hear it. Jason’s photo is displayed on the screen.

Your hanging hand clicks ‘answer’ and puts it on speaker so you can take the call without moving from how you're curled up.

“Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine, I just don’t feel up for going out tonight. I’d rather stay home.”

“Did something happen?”

“No, I just got my period so I’m not really in the mood.”

“Okay, we can stay in tonight. What do you feel like eating? I can pick something up.”

“No, Jason…I want to stay home alone tonight.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line.

“Okay…did I do something?” His voice comes out a little smaller.

“No, you’re fine, I promise. I just don’t feel like seeing anyone right now.”

“…Not even me?”

Your hand presses against your temples to soothe the building tension headache. The self-doubt in his tone brings the anguish of the entire day bubbling up your throat. You feel like the worst person in the world. Exactly how you don’t want him to see you.

“Jason…it’s not you. I just…I feel like shit right now, honestly. Everything hurts, I’m miserable and sad and angry at everything, I’m breaking out all over.” You feel yourself welling up at all these little stresses coming out. “I’m craving everything but feel too sick to eat anything…I feel pretty disgusting right now, and frankly, I don’t want you to see me like this.” You finish your rant with a sniffle. You wipe your nose, trying to hold back the sob that’s threatening to break through. But at his silence, your worst, most improbable fears claw their way to the surface: he hates you now. You scared him away. You exhale heavily into your sleeve as more tears spill.

The phone is quiet for a long moment.  Then; “I could never find you disgusting,” he says, gently. “But if that’s what you want, then we’ll reschedule.”

“Thank you. And sorry.”

He speaks with a tone you can’t quite parse. “Don’t apologize. Just feel better.”

-

-

-

It’s one hour after your phone call, and at the first knock, you know who it is. Who else could it be? With that soft, somewhat hesitant, one-knuckle rap on the door. Only one person knocks on your door like that.

“Jason, I told you not to come here,” you say a little more cutting than you intend to, but your back and shoulders feel like they’re about to snap under a phantom pressure and the frustration of your request being outright ignored leaves a burning bitterness that channels itself into a violent wrenching open of the door.

He jumps a little at the abruptness of your greeting. One look at your face and he visibly deflates.

“I’m sorry…I know you said not to come, but…” his gaze casts downward to his hands. You follow; he’s clutching a reusable grocery bag. Peeking out of the top is a gallon of Neapolitan ice cream. The ice cream carton’s condensation seeped through a small patch of the cloth bag and dripped onto the other items; a bushel of greens, among some other fruits and vegetables, as well as a parcel of brown paper that was fastened closed with a twine string. You return your gaze to his face.

“I think—” he cuts himself off, free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Then he drops his hand and sighs. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. You told me not to come here and I ignored you, but I thought…” he trails off, probably hoping you’ll say something so he can gauge your reaction.

You just stare at him.

He shifts his weight back and forth. His hand twitches.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll—”

Then, you burst into tears.

Jason’s eyes widen. He reaches out to touch you, then stops himself. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, this was stupid. Please stop crying, I’m so sorry—” He’s panicked, trying to calm you down with apologies and soothing assurances that he will leave immediately and never go against your wishes again. All the while you stand in the doorway, blubbering like a toddler with a skinned knee, new tears forming faster than you can wipe the old ones away.

He once again raises a hand towards you, before it stutters, then clenches into a fist as if it takes all his strength to fight against the instinct to be close to you, fighting against the string that tethers him to you. He drags his hand down his face, then it falls back to his side.

“Okay, I—I’m leaving now. I’m leaving. Do you…want this?” He holds the bag out to you.

With it now in front of you, its further contents are visible. You manage to tamp down your tears enough to get a few words out.

“Did you—hic—buy me groceries?”

“Yeah…” There’s a wince in his tone, as if he’s only now realizing that his gesture is not translating as he intended.

You look back up at him with pursed lips and knitted brows, sniffling. Sure, the ice cream you can understand, but…you have no idea what to make of the rest.

The bag drops back to his side. “I figured…it’s just— it’s the stuff that you’re supposed to—” He strokes his palm over his mouth, eyes screwing shut for a moment. He huffs at himself, then continues. “I mean I’m sure you already know all of this, so maybe you already have all these things, and now I’m realizing how unnecessary all this was, and I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“Jason,” you say. Your upset has since been overshadowed by something else, though you can’t tell what it is. And your crying has stopped, but its lingering effects have you feeling congested and a little foggy. You’re half expecting this to be a fever dream that you’re moments away from waking up from in a cold sweat.

“—because obviously you know what helps you feel better much more than I do—”

“Jason.”

“And you— yeah?” His eyes are a little harried when they find yours again. But off your tired and still-confused look, he gets the message and collects himself.

“Right, yeah, I just thought that…maybe I could bring you some of the stuff with all those minerals that are supposed to help women when they’re…menstruating.” He briefly breaks eye contact at the end of his sentence, red rouge creeping up his neck.

You can’t help it; you start to giggle. You can’t remember the last time you heard a man use the term ‘menstruating’ in a non-medical context. And the fact that he’s so shy about it— upset as you may be (though not at him), there’s no denying how adorable your boyfriend is. His head shoots back to you as your laughter intensifies. He blushes harder.

“It’s not that funny,” he mutters.

You step away from the door, finally closing the space between you, and wrap your arms around his torso. Your head nestles into his chest. He gently drops the grocery bag on the ground and reciprocates your hug. He rests his chin on your head, which fits perfectly under his. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place. You breathe him in.

“Sorry I’m such a mess,” you murmur into his shirt.

He breathes into your hair. “You have nothing to apologize for. And you’re not a mess.”

You look up, chin resting in the space between his collarbones. He looks down at you with a small smile, but some wariness is still etched into his features. Fear of unwittingly upsetting you again. He brings up a hand to push some hair out of your face and tuck it behind your ear. His hand remains there, toying with the hair that falls below your shoulder.

"Thank you for the food,” you whisper. The moment feels too intimate to speak any other way.

“I’m sorry for not listening to you. I just…” He imitates your quietness, like his admission is also too vulnerable to say loudly. “I really wanted to see you. And I hated the idea of you feeling bad about yourself, or being in pain. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Your eyes feel wet again. The first instinct is to hide your face, maybe press it to his chest once more. But, for some reason, you don’t. You want him to see you like this, messy and emotional and upset. You want him to see every part of you, and you want to see every part of him, the good and the bad.

“You didn’t.” A tear slips past the effort to keep it at bay. He shows no reaction to it, eyes never leaving yours, other than a quick swiping away with his thumb. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. That’s why I was crying. Not because you showed up.”

“That doesn’t seem right. This is nothing. You deserve even more.”

With no words to fully, adequately communicate the blooming in your chest, you stand on your toes, reaching up to him for a kiss. But given his stature, your lips only reach his chin and brush over its underside.

At your quiet whine, he chuckles and leans down to meet you in the middle. The kiss is soft; filled with the innocence of fresh blossoms in the spring, and the sweetness of its borne fruit.

You pull away when a vicious cramp roots you back to the present. Your limps tighten around Jason with a groan.

“I need to go back inside. I’ve been away from my heating pad for too long.”

His shoulders sag when you step away from him. “Oh, um…do you still…want me to leave?”

With a simple exhale of humorous disbelief, you grasp his hand in yours and tug him to your front door. He’s like an excited puppy, eyes brightened and perking up as he grabs the grocery bag and happily trails after you.

He goes straight to the kitchen, pulling out a chair at the counter for you to settle into, then sets the bag on the counter. The ice cream carton has dampened most of the cloth by now, and likely the rest of its contents, but rather than attending to the groceries, his first action is retrieving your heating pad from where it rests on the couch. He unplugs it from the wall outlet and brings it to you. You curl up on the chair with it pressed flat against your lower stomach. It only takes a minute for the pressure in your hips to abate.

Then he moves to the groceries. The ice cream immediately goes in the freezer, and he unloads what’s remaining onto the counter, one by one, and you take note of each item. There’s spinach, carrots, apples, oranges, dark chocolate, some kind of meat wrapped in brown paper, and, strangely enough, an entire block of cheese.

You give him a quizzical look, picking it up to read the label. “You got me…cheddar cheese?”

He retrieves a cutting board and knife from its spot next to the sink, then takes the cheese from you. “Good for certain symptoms.” He slices open the plastic wrapping and cuts out some cubes with skilled efficiency. He does the same with an apple. “They all are,” he says, referring to his entire haul. He completes the makeshift charcuterie board with a couple squares of dark chocolate and slides it across the counter.

You look down at the cutting board, thinking about everything he’s done for you; everything you never even had to ask for. The words sit on your tongue, encaged by your clenched teeth; an admission that coils itself around your spine and squeezes tight, restricts your breathing and pumps your heart at thrice its speed. But you feel yourself welling up again, and the first bout of tears already exhausted you so much that all you can manage is, “I don’t know what to do with all this. I don’t have the energy to make anything good.”

But he just smiles and says, “That’s what I’m here for, honey. Can I make you something?”

You nod. He gets to work. The immediacy of his actions, how he takes no time to decide on a dish or find a recipe, makes you think his previously stated intentions of ‘just dropping this off’ were less genuine than he lead you to believe. Nevertheless, you munch on the snacks he laid out for you and watch him work. The cheese and apples are a surprisingly cohesive combination, the meshing of sweet crispiness and savory creaminess eliciting a contented sigh from you. You try to ignore the way Jason smirks in the corner of your periphery. The chocolate is incredible, yet unfamiliar. You read the label on the packaging: 80% Dark Chocolate with Cherry and Almond Filling. Even if you hadn’t tasted it yet, the quality of the packaging itself would have been enough to let you know that this chocolate is extremely high-quality. Like, special-order-from-Europe quality. Not stop-at-the-grocery-store-on-the-way-home quality.

“Where is this from? Did you buy this today?” You ask him through a mouthful of the rich, melting chocolate.

He doesn’t look up from the carrots he’s dicing. “Uh…no.”

Anyone else would attribute his avoidance of eye-contact to standard kitchen-knife caution. You are not anyone else. You could blindfold him, spin him around ten times, put a sharp knife in his hand, and he could still pull off a perfect julienne. You look closer. His cheeks are dusted with pink.

You let out a laugh. “Jason, you’re not embarrassed about liking fancy chocolate, are you?”

“No! Not at all,” he says, ceasing his chopping. He looks up, but not quite at you.

“Then?”

“‘Then’ what?” He asks.

“Then why are you being so shifty right now?” You try to catch his gaze.

“I’m not!” He defends. “It’s just chocolate! Do you like it? I’ll bring you more.” He’s stealthy with the way he avoids your eyes; you almost can’t notice how hard he’s trying not to make eye contact.

“Jason!” You reach across the counter, having to rise off the chair slightly, and take his face in your hands, making him look at you. When he does, he wears a sheepish smile.

“It’s…” His removes your hands from his face, holding them in his. He mumbles something, turning his head to the side. But you catch the tail end of it, a goading grin already creeping up your face.

“What was that?” You tilt your ear towards him, exaggerating the action.

“It’s Bruce’s.” He, in turn, exaggerates the enunciation, rolling his eyes at your simpering. “I…found it. In his pantry one day. And I liked it, so I took it. And then I…kept taking it. Every time I visited.”

You pout teasingly. “And you’re ashamed to admit that you think he has good taste in something?”

He doesn’t say anything, only hiding his face in his shoulder. You pull on your intertwined hands and he gets the message, skirting around the kitchen counter to come closer.

“You are so adorable, you know that?” You say. You reach up and pinch his cheeks. He swats your hands away, but there’s no mistaking his broad, childish grin for anything but affection.

He breaks off another square from the chocolate bar and holds it to your lips. You bite off a small portion, then push it back to him. He takes the remaining piece in his mouth and his eyes close for a brief moment as he savors the sweet, tart, and nutty flavors. You simply watch, entranced by him. Then, he kisses you. You lean into it, hands sliding up his shirt to grip the fabric and bring him even closer. His hold finds your waist.

He tastes like cherries and dark chocolate.

He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead on yours, and you want to tell him that. That, and so much more. But from the look on his face, the way his eyes find yours and the tips of his ears have a similar heat to the one in your chest, you can tell he already knows.

when it comes to jason's post-pit-repressed-teenager characterization (aka despite being older he's still as inexperienced and confused and insecure about the world outside of vigilantism and w/ women as a 15 y/o would be) (aka my favorite characterization tee hee), i think that he's mature about periods, knows they're normal and not gross or shameful etc, but still gets shy about saying the actual word, for no other reason than the 'shy around women' part always makes me giggle

also bruce is keeping the chocolate stocked specifically because he knows jason likes it and will keep taking it because he loves his son even if his son doesn't love him (he does he's just in his angsty teen 'i hate this family you don't understand me' phase rn)

divider is from here

quote at the beginning is pablo neruda <3

[mulloey]

the shop

your car has broken down for the nth time, but yunho’s there to save the day. just your luck you don’t have enough money to pay him.

mechanic!yunho x fem!reader

words: 2.7k

join my taglist

warnings: dom!yunho, sub!reader, paying with your body trope, you already wanted to fuck him though, probably inaccurate pricing for car repair services cus i can’t drive tbh, unprotected sex, degrading, choking, slapping, creampie etc. not proofread

—

You’re dizzy and delirious, putty in his hands as he holds you firmly in place, right where he wants you.

“Y-Yunho!” You squeal. You writhe in his grip a little but it’s far too strong to resist.

He’s got you bent over the hood of the car—your car—while he pounds into you like a desperate, starving man. His overalls are hanging around his waist, just low enough for him to pull his cock out; his white t-shirt is soaked in sweat and the oil-covered gloves on his hands rub painfully against the skin of your hips.

“F-fuck,” he grunts. Your hips collide painfully with the hood every time he thrusts into you and your ass bounces and reddens each time your bodies collide. “What a fucking cock whore. You do this every time you can’t pay the bill? Huh?”

“N-no,” you sob. “Just you, Yunho. Just… hngh… just you.”

“I don’t believe you,” he snarls. His hand comes down on your ass again, raw and painful over the marks he left earlier and you find yourself looking back on everything that lead you here—lead you to being bent over your broken down car while the hottest man you’ve ever fucking seen is slamming his dick into you like his life depends on it.

You suppose the first part—ending up at the auto shop—was inevitable. The car was fucked when you bought it, honestly, but there weren’t many other options for a broke college student. You lived in another district where rent is cheaper, so needed a car to get to class. Didn’t matter how good it was, it just needed to run.

Trust your luck that that seemed to be the only thing it wouldn’t do.

For a period you managed to get by fixing it yourself; Youtube tutorials and favours from friends were enough to deal with all the minor issues that came up, but as minor issues tend to do, they quickly piled up on top of each other until, the morning your presentation was due, you put the keys in the ignition, started the car and—nothing. It did nothing. You were the unluckiest person in the fucking world.

You’d called your best friend immediately, hoping he’d be able to find and fix the problem, but really, you knew it was past that point now—and if you didn’t before, the shock on Hongjoong’s face when he’d popped the hood was evidence enough.

“Jesus, woman,” he said. “You gotta get this thing to a repair shop.”

“You know I can’t afford that,” you snapped back. Instantly you felt guilty for your tone, he was just trying to help after all, so you tried to soften up a bit. “Joong, can you really not fix it?”

“No, I’m sorry. But I know a guy who owns an auto shop. He’ll probably let me use my friends and family discount on you. I’ll give him a call.”

Relief flooded your chest and you hugged him tightly, thanking him profusely even as he walked away chuckling to make the call. In the meantime you called your professor; you thanked God you were such a good student, never missing class or assignments—you doubt she’d have been so forgiving otherwise. “Come by during office hours tonight and you can present it then,” she’d said, and you thanked her with a smile.

Okay, you thought. You just needed to deal with this, do your presentation and the nightmare would be over.

How wrong you were.

—

The auto shop was, well, pretty much how you pictured it. Cars in various states of completion sat in the spacious garage, walls piled with wheels and various other parts, the uses of which you probably would never have been able to guess. The only thing that took you by surprise was the tall, young looking guy who came up and introduced you as the owner.

“Hey, darling,” he smiled. “I’m Yunho. Let’s get you all fixed up, yeah?”

You blushed at his words, and the deep, sultry voice that spoke them. You imagined that was his intention; the way his eyes flickered up and down suggested the attraction was mutual. Or maybe that was just his personality; maybe the flirtatious tone, the innuendo of his words and his intense, intimidating gaze just came naturally to him.

He walked you over to where he had your car laid out and ready to go. Popping the hood, he surveyed the condition with a serious, focused expression. In the heat of the garage, his face was sweating slightly, and he swallowed thickly as he looked everything over. It made the vein in his neck bulge, tension obvious. When he stood back up again he seemed cool and assured; the opposite of you. You felt… confused. Hot. Tense.

“It’s not a huge problem,” he smiled. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour to fix it.”

You didn’t expect that. “Really?” You lit up, overjoyed and he chuckled.

“Yeah,” he said. “We’ve got a staff room if you wanna wait around. May as well, since I should be done pretty quick.”

“Oh, yeah.” That made sense; there didn't seem to be many cafes or places around here for you to wait in anyway—and even if there were, none of them offered the view that the staff room he led you to had; the large glass window looking directly into the garage. You’d be able to keep an eye on your car as he worked—and on Yunho.

He got to work straight away and though you knew next to nothing about cars, save for the Youtube tutorials on greasing brakes and whatever else, but his skill was obvious. His large hands, covered by thick, dirtied gloves, worked quickly and efficiently.

He clearly knew you were watching him, and he clearly enjoyed it; every now and then he would look up from the car, meeting your eyes and tilting his head with a small, smug smirk. When he stood up to unzip his overalls, revealing a thin white t-shirt clinging to his broad chest, you found yourself inching closer and closer to the window without realising. Only when your face was practically pressed up against the glass did you back away, blushing furiously as you sunk into your seat. What the hell was wrong with you?

You’d never been like this about a man. Not even close. No one had ever made you so needy, so hot, so desperate. You didn’t even know you could be affected by someone in this way, yet here you were; thighs clenched together, breathing heavily and your face so hot you were practically feverish. He’d catch your gaze now and then still, and the expression on his face told you he knew everything that was going on in your head—and your body.

The sight of him putting the hood back down was a mercy and a curse; your car was fixed, you could leave, and you could get away from this man; three things you’d been waiting desperately for all this time.

But…did you even want to leave? It would be the smart thing to do, and the sooner you could get him out of your head, the better. But everything in your body screamed at you not to go, to stay and see what happens—if nothing did, at least you’d know. At least you wouldn’t have to wonder for the rest of your life.

He gestured for you to come out of the staff room, proudly showing you your fixed car. Your attraction to him aside, Yunho’s skill surprised you; the old, battered vehicle almost looked new, and when he started the engine to check it worked it sounded clearer and healthier than ever. “Holy shit,” you muttered.

Yunho laughed. “Yeah, I’m pretty good. How do you wanna pay?”

You sighed. You never liked this part; who did? It was always painful to part ways with the little cash you earned at your god awful waitressing job, but you had to do what you had to do. “Card,” you mumbled.

“Alright,” he smiled. “It’s 250,000won. I’ll get the machine.”

He disappeared into what you guessed was another staff room and you stood awkwardly for a moment. Even with him gone the air was thick, sweaty; tense. He returned with the card machine, holding it out for you to take and you put your card in with shaking hands, pressing down the familiar numbers. Well, there goes the last of your mone—

The machine made a high-pitched, displeased noise that you knew all too well. Declined. You made a noise of shock, shaking your head in disbelief. It can’t have declined. You knew you had enough for this. You had to have enough. What the hell is—

Oh. Fuck. When they towed your car here this morning and you followed in a taxi with Hongjoong. When you insisted on paying the fare to thank him for his help. Fuck. You need to be a worse friend.

You didn’t realise you were crying until you felt hands on yours; he grasped your shaking hands carefully, holding them steadily. His face was blank, but he seemed thoughtful.

“Fuck,” you groaned. “Fuck, what do I– I swear I–”

“Hey, hey.” His voice was calm and soft but a little lower than before. “Relax, doll. We’ll work something out, yeah?”

“Work something out?” You echoed his words, voice shaking.

“Of course,” he smiled. He tilted his head and you saw his eyes raking over you again; but this time it felt less like leering and more like… an inspection. You knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Tell me.” His voice seemed to have dropped an octave, thick with tension. “Are you really out of money?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Are you really out of money?” He repeated it, slower this time as though he was trying to dumb it down for you. “Or did you do this on purpose?”

You shook your head fervently, your body heating up with embarrassment and desperation and shame and, well, pretty much everything honestly. “No, Yunho, I—”

“I think you did.” He was grinning now, eyes piercing as he stared you down. He was still for a moment, seeming to consider something before he grabbed your chin, yanking your head up to meet his eyes. The material of the gloves was rough against your soft skin and the tightness of his grip was even more painful. “I bet you put the wrong numbers in on purpose, huh? Didn’t you?”

“I…” You didn’t know what to say. You knew what he was saying wasn’t true, but fuck, you could already feel wetness pooling at the thought of what he’d do to you if it was. But he seemed to have made his mind up either way, so you decided to play his game—you widened your eyes fearfully, lip shaking as you said “I promise, I didn’t” in the most pathetic voice you could muster.

He knew what you were doing, and he fucking loved it. His smile widened as he leaned in closer to you. From this distance you could see his pupils were blown, eyes flashing with arousal. “I think you’re lying to me,” he whispers. “And you know what’s more, little girl?”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

He tightened his grip, yanking your head upwards again to expose your neck. His other hand wrapped itself around your throat like it belonged there. “I hate liars.”

—

You don’t even know how long he’s been fucking you now; your sense of time has blurred and muddied and it could have been minutes just as much as it could have been hours. All you can feel or think about is the feeling of his dick fucking you open, hitting your cervix over and over; and the strong arms that move and manipulate your body to increase his own pleasure.

He grabs your hair, yanking it back painfully and forcing you to look at him. “That’s it,” he grunts. “You’re gonna look at me while I’m fucking you, yeah?”

“Yes,” you cry. “Yes, Yunho.”

“Good fucking girl.” His other hand wraps around your throat again, choking you just this side of too much. The head rush it gives you only sends you further into delirium, amplifying the other sensations. His deep, strained voice is fire in your ears. “Fucking stupid whore, aren’t you?”

He punctuates it with an extra hard thrust and you cry out again, voice strangled. “Yes, Yunho!” You scream. “Yes!”

“Say it,” he growls. “Tell me you’re a fucking whore.”

“I’m a fucking whore,” you repeat. To hear the words from your own mouth, to taste them on your tongue as he forces you to degrade yourself sends another wave of pleasure through you that pushes you closer to the edge. Yunho makes a pleased sound, rewarding you by loosening his grip on your neck ever so slightly.

“You’re my fucking whore,” he whispers. “Yunho’s whore.”

“Yunho’s whore.” You repeat it without thinking and you feel him throb again inside you at your natural submission. “I’m Yunho’s whore.

“That you fucking are. Bending over for me over 250,000 fucking won. You’re a cheap little slut,” he spits. “But only for me, yeah?”

“Yes!” You feel yourself about to come undone and just as you finally reach breaking point he pulls out, cock hard and leaking; before you can protest he picks you up without a word, flipping you onto your back before shoving his cock back inside. “Wanna see you properly when I come in you,” he grunts. “Wanna see those eyes go fucking dumb for me.”

He lifts your legs and pushes them back towards you. The stretch is painful and uncomfortable but it’s hard to care about any of that when he’s fucking you so deep and hard. The weight of his hands pressing down on the backs of your thighs will surely leave bruises but you don’t mind—you’d probably love it, actually.

Now that you’re facing him you can see all the small details of his face while he fucks you; the beads of sweat pooling on his forehead, the black hair soaked through with it, the narrowed eyes and clenched jaw as his grip on your thighs tightens even further. He’s practically pressing all his weight against you now and it’s a delicious, painful pleasure. You reach out to him desperately—though desperate for what you’re not quite sure—and he grabs your hands, bending down to pin your arms against the car as he takes you in a hot, wet, messy kiss.

“Pretty girl,” he chokes. “So fucking pretty.”

“Yunho.” You feel tears pouring down your cheeks, overwhelmed with sensation, with the feeling of Yunho on every inch of your body. He pulls his mouth away from yours to press sloppy kisses across your jaw and neck, teasing the skin with his teeth. “Think you can come for me?” He murmurs. “Just from being used like this?”

“Yes, Yunho,” you whisper. “I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he growls. He moves a hand down to press his thumb against your swollen clit, making you buck against him. “Come on my fat fucking cock like a good little girl. Earn your keep, baby.”

The heat in his words and the pressure of his thumb on your clit are enough to send you barrelling over the edge; you come with a noise you didn’t even know you made and he follows quickly, releasing inside of you with a strangled cry.

It’s silent for a moment and time seems to still while you process what’s just happened. You whine when you feel him pull out of you and he chuckles, gently slapping your pussy. “What a good girl,” he muses. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He sends you on your way with his business card in your pocket and his number in your phone. It takes you two weeks to find the nerve to call him, and that’s only because your car’s been making a weird noise that you can’t figure out. To be honest, it’s probably something Hongjoong or one of your other friends would be able to solve, but it’s too late now; you’ve already pulled up his contact and pressed call.

“Well hello, sweetheart.” Yunho’s voice is as deep as ever, his tone teasing. “Was starting to think I wouldn’t hear from you.”

“Yeah, um.” You clear your throat awkwardly, feeling yourself heat up again. “My car— it’s making a weird noise. Can you take a look at it?”

“Of course,” he says, and you hear the leering smile in his voice. “Why don’t you come down now? It’s a slow day at the shop anyway.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

“Great. Oh, and baby?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t bring your credit card.”

—

requests open! comments and feedback appreciated. love🖤🖤🖤

tags: @pixie0627 @hon3ysun @bbdeongi @hwaromi

[flowersforbucky]

it's nice to have a friend

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: you're having the worst period you've had in a long time. bucky is determined to help you feel better.

author's note: this is a silly and smutty piece that i felt compelled to write when i got my period a few days ago!

warnings/tags: smutty, reader has a period, langauge, use of a vibrator, nipple stimulation, no use of y/n, use of a cbd gummy lol, 18+ only

Approximately every twenty-eight days, you curse the fact that you were born with a uterus and vagina. 

This month, however, you were cursing that fact a bit earlier than expected. Cycle day twenty three, to be exact. 

Your periods never start this early, but as soon as you opened your eyes at six o'clock this morning, you knew what had occured while you were asleep. You could feel the moisture that soaked through your underwear and pajama pants before you could turn on the light to see that your white sheets had been dyed bright crimson beneath where you'd been laying. 

One load of laundry with extra stain remover and as much Pamprin max strength as one can safely take later, you are curled up on the couch of the compound's living room with a cup of coffee and a heating pad turned up so high that you risk first degree burns. 

“Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you today? We can go to Coney Island another time,” Natasha tries to reason with you once again. 

“I promise I'll be okay here,” you assure her. “These cramps are killing me, I won't be any fun to hang out with today. Go, enjoy yourself. When is the next time that you'll all have a free day and weather this perfect?” You gesture towards the sunshine streaming through the living room windows. 

“If you're sure,” she caves after a few moments of hesitation. “Promise I’ll win you that stuffed panda that you wanted so badly last time.” 

“I am going to hold you to that,” you tell her in a faux-serious tone. 

After Natasha and the rest of your friends have left for their day of riding rollercoasters and eating hotdogs on the boardwalk, you turn on your comfort show and settle in for an unexciting and uncomfortable day by yourself. 

A few hours later, you decide you've sat in the same position for long enough - you can practically feel your body morphing to the sofa. You're walking to the kitchen to refill your water bottle and find something to snack on when you collide with what feels like a brick wall. 

A brick wall that happens to smell really, really fucking good. 

You step back, finding that the brick wall is staring at you with a confused look on his face. 

"What are you doing here?” Bucky asks as he glances you over from head to toe, taking in your choice of apparel - baggy sweats that are about two sizes too big for you, a cropped tank, and fuzzy slippers. You resist the urge to cross your arms over your stomach - you didn't think anyone else would be here today and the tank top you're wearing doesn't exactly conceal the period bloat you're currently experiencing. 

"I live here,” you snap, a bit harsher than necessary. “What are you doing here?” 

“I also live here,” he says, returning your attitude. You roll your eyes, maneuvering your way around where he blocks the doorway. 

“What I mean,” he continues as he turns around, following you into the kitchen. “Is why aren't you with everyone at Coney Island?” 

“I could ask you the same question,” you challenge, pouring some more ice into your cup. “Steve never shuts up about the glory days, all the time the two of you spent at Coney Island. I'm surprised you're not there with him right now.” 

He huffs a laugh, pulling out one of the barstools at the kitchen's giant island and taking a seat. “We did spend a ridiculous amount of time at Coney Island,” he admits, his voice almost wistful. He hesitates before continuing, staring down at his hands as he traces a metal crevice on his left palm.

"But I haven't been to Coney Island since the forties. Guess I'm kinda scared it won't live up to my memories of it. Plus, I had a lot of laundry to catch up on, so..” he shrugs, trailing off. 

You're taken aback by the honesty of his explanation. “Yeah, well,” you start awkwardly, turning away from him to search through a cabinet for something to eat. “I can't say that I know what it was like in the forties, but it's one of my favorite places, present day.” 

“Then why are you hanging out by yourself while all of your friends are at one of your favorite places?” 

Damn it, you curse internally. He's really not going to drop this. What should I say, that my uterine lining is falling out in clumps? 

You grab a bag of freeze-dried fruit from the cabinet before turning back to face him, trying to come up with an excuse. 

“I just didn't sleep great–” you come to an abrupt stop in the middle of your sentence as a blinding pain shoots through your lower abdomen. The bag of fruit falls to the floor as you steady yourself on the ledge of the counter with one hand, clutching your stomach with the other. 

Bucky rises from his seat in an instant, closing the several feet of distance between the two of you in one big step. 

"Are you okay? What’s going on?” His hands are both extended to you in an offer of help. 

“I'm fine,” you say through a sharp intake of breath. “It’s.. it’s just cramps. Bad cramps,” you force the words out, propping your elbows up on the countertop to relax your body weight. 

“Oh,” he says as realization dawns on him. He bends down to grab the bag of fruit that lays next to your feet, and then places it on the table in front of you. “I guess that answers my question, then,” he adds, referring to why you didn't go to Coney Island. 

“Ya think?” You stand back upright, grabbing your snack and water bottle off of the counter. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a busy day of bed-rotting ahead of me.” 

“Some exercise would help,” he calls when you're about to exit the kitchen. “Laying in bed won't do much for you. A little bit of light exercise to release some beta-endorphins, maybe an abdominal massage–” 

“Are you really man-splaining menstrual cycle pain management to me right now?” You ask, slowly turning to face him with an incredulous look on your face. “I wasn't aware that you had a medical license or that I asked for your opinion.” 

“Just trying to help, sweetheart,” he shrugs with a mischievous grin. 

“If you want to help, you can go get the Italian food that I'm craving and give me an abdominal massage yourself,” you practically spit at him. “Otherwise, keep the unsolicited advice to yourself and fuck off.” 

You turn back around and all but run out of the room before you can process the shocked, albeit pleased look on his face.  

After you've closed your bedroom door behind you (with perhaps a bit more force than necessary), you sink into the fresh sheets on your bed and shove several pieces of apricot into your mouth. 

Rationally, you knew that Bucky's advice was solid, and that he was just trying to get a reaction out of you. That's just the kind of friendship that the two of you have. Sarcastic, teasing and occasionally… tension-filled. 

You definitely didn't help the matter by telling him to massage your abdomen, but what does he expect when he suggests something as horrible as exercising during a time that you simply want nothing more than to melt into your mattress? 

Your cell phone chimes from the pocket of your sweatpants. You dig it out and look at the text displayed across your lock screen. 

Bucky Barnes: What kind of Italian food, specifically? 

You would never admit it to him, but the corners of your mouth tug upwards into a smirk as you read his message. 

You type: Don't you have a lot of laundry to catch up on? and press send. The message is marked as “read” right away. 

He types. And types. And types some more – until those three dots indicating a message in progress disappear. 

Whatever. You click your phone off and toss it somewhere in the covers around you. 

The next couple hours are spent sitting under the near scalding stream of your shower, and then reading on your Kindle in the dark. As jealous as you are that your friends are undoubtedly having a blast today, you honestly don't mind your current situation - aside from feeling like your organs are being pulled out of your vagina, you hardly ever have days with zero obligations other than to just relax in whatever way you see fit. 

A strong knock on your door causes you to lose your place on the page. 

"You didn't give me a legitimate answer so I hope you like gnocchi, or eggplant parmesan, or traditional lasagna, or extra breadsticks..” 

“You know, it's not funny to joke about carbs to someone when they are–” 

You come to a stop in the middle of your sentence when you swing your door open to see him holding several plastic bags. An aroma of garlic and herbs hits you in the face. 

Oh. Not a joke, then. 

He extends one of the bags to you with his big, blue puppy dog eyes. You take it from him, opening the door further as an invitation to enter your bedroom. 

"Consider this a peace offering,” he says, placing the other bags of food on your bed and perching awkwardly on the edge of your mattress. You close the door behind you, walking back to where you had previously been lounging on the bed. 

“I'm sorry for being a smartass,” he adds more genuinely. “I just.. didn't like seeing you in pain. That's all.” 

“This is far from my first period,” you shrug, not meeting his stare. “You get used to it after a while. But consider yourself forgiven.” 

He gives you a small smile when you finally look up at him. He grabs a smaller bag that you hadn't noticed him carrying, one that is visibly less full than the others. He reaches inside, pulling out a small jar that he hands over to you. 

Your brows furrow as you inspect it closely. “CBD gummies?” You ask, your brows now raising quizzically. You open the jar, popping one of the pink, cube-shaped gummies into your mouth. “Watermelon flavored CBD gummies?” 

You notice the faintest trace of blush bloom across his cheeks. “I take them sometimes to help me sleep,” he starts, fiddling with some of the beading on your comforter. “But they can help with all different kinds of pain too, so I just thought you might like some.” 

You close the jar, placing it on your bedside table before reaching over and grabbing his flesh hand in yours. “Thank you, Bucky,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze and then releasing it. “Really. I appreciate all of this.” You try to ignore the jolt of electricity that buzzes through you when your skin comes in contact with his. His hand is both softer and warmer than you would have imagined. It brings you back to the last words that you spewed at him in the kitchen earlier. 

"A shit ton of pasta and CBD gummies,” you snort a laugh. “Would I be pushing my luck if I asked for that abdominal massage too?” You say it in a way that sounds halfway serious, halfway joking. 

“If that's what you want,” he says lowly, turning to angle his body towards you on the bed. “Then just say the word.” 

The air in your room suddenly feels suffocating. 

It is what you want - but you're at a loss for words. So instead of a verbal response, you scoot over to the middle of the bed, closer to where he sits on the opposite side. You lay down so that your back is flat against the mattress, your head propped up by a single pillow. 

Bucky's eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly wipes the look of astonishment from his features. He moves so that he's sitting directly next to your legs, giving him a proper angle to put his hands on your lower stomach. 

You're wearing the same sweatpants and tank top from earlier, having thrown the outfit back on after your shower. The loose sweatpants hang low enough to expose your hip bones and the edge of your underwear. 

The intimacy of the entire situation hits you the second that his hands make contact with your skin. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, perhaps sensing your nerves. “Or if I do anything that doesn't feel good.” 

Your eyes shut instinctively at the polar opposite sensations of his flesh and vibranium hands. Skin and metal, fire and ice.

“I will,” you assure him. Your words come out breathier than intended. 

There's an immediate relief in your lower stomach as he rubs languid circles across your midriff. It's a feeling beyond pleasure as the cramps fade the more he touches you. 

His vibranium pinky dances along the waistband of your underwear, causing goosebumps to spread across your skin. You try to focus on the relief he's bringing you - not the fact that you're wearing a thin tank top that leaves so much of your skin on display, giving him a clear view of the goosebumps that he's caused. 

He continues with the precise motions until the pain in your abdomen has faded nearly entirely - you feel so good that you can't stop yourself from letting out the smallest moan when his flesh hand applies just the right amount of pressure near your pelvis. 

You know he heard it - there's no way he didn't. Just as you know there's no way that he doesn't notice your fully hardened nipples through the thin fabric of your tank top. 

You keep your eyes closed, terrified to meet his gaze in this state. You dread the moment that you feel his hands pull away from your skin. 

"You know,” he starts, his voice possessing a strained edge. “I don't think this is good enough for you.” 

Your eyes shoot open, looking at him in a nervous confusion. There's a glimmer in his eyes that you can't quite pinpoint - his stare trailing to your bedside table on the opposite side of you. “But I think I do know what could make you feel much better.” 

“What are you talking about?” Your voice quivers as you follow his stare. You're not sure what he's looking at - all that sits on your nightstand is the CBD gummies he had just given you, your Kindle, a few books, a bottle of lotion, and the Himalayan salt lamp that paints you both in an orange glow. 

He smirks before leaning across you - keeping his vibranium hand pressed firmly on your belly as he uses his flesh hand to pull open the drawer of the small table. 

“Hey! What are you–” but he retrieves the object he’s looking for before you can finish questioning him. You freeze at what he's holding in his hand. 

Your vibrator. Your glittery, lavender colored vibrator. 

“How the fuck did you–” 

“Do you think I can't hear you using this from across the hallway late at night?” He grins smugly. “That I can't hear your little whimpers when you think everyone's asleep?” 

Your face heats up a hundred degrees. You don't know whether to be infuriated or massively turned on. 

Both. You're definitely feeling a mix of both. 

He clicks the power button, turning on the device to its lowest setting. He watches you for a moment, giving you ample time to tell him to fuck off.

Instead, you once again relax against the pillow, your body going limp for him. You spread your legs the slightest bit. 

He takes this as his signal to proceed. Not taking his eyes off of your face, he trails the head of the wand from your lower stomach and over the fabric of your sweatpants until he reaches the apex of your thighs. Your nipples pucker once again, your thighs clenching around the tip of the vibrator. 

Bucky moves the device in a circular motion, making your back arch off the bed and your head tip back. 

How is it that it feels better when he massages you with it through your fucking pants than it does when you use it on your bare pussy? 

You hear the clicking of a button again, and the force of the vibration over your clothed cunt increases. You grind down on the device, desperate for friction. 

Bucky watches you with something akin to pride on his face. 

“You know how I told you to tell me if I do something you don't like?” He asks as he pushes the head of the wand directly down on your clit with the perfect amount of pressure. 

“Yeah,” you answer - it comes out like a moan that you'd hear in a porno.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Remember that.” 

Before you can clear your head enough to wonder what he means, he's tugging up the cotton fabric of your tank top and exposing your breasts. 

You gasp at the sensation of the cool air blowing from the AC coming in contact with your already hard nipples. Bucky leans forward, keeping the vibrator on your core, and captures one of your nipples in his mouth. 

Your hand immediately goes to his hair, tugging the soft brown locks in your fingers to keep him in place. His free hand grasps your other breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. 

The combination of pleasure radiating from your pussy and his hand and mouth on you is fucking perfect. Fucking perfect, and all too much. 

You clench your thighs together, riding against the vibrator until you feel warmth spreading through your lower belly. 

“Oh my god, Bucky,” you moan - he groans when you say his name, the vibration sending you tumbling over the edge. You come hard, possibly harder than any other orgasm you've had in your life, thoroughly soaking your panties. 

When you've finished writhing beneath him, Bucky pulls back, removing both his mouth and the vibrator. He clicks the device off, tossing it towards the foot of your bed. 

You're panting, staring up at the ceiling, trying to process what the fuck just happened when you hear Bucky let out a low chuckle. 

Your eyes snap to him, finding that he looks thoroughly pleased with himself. 

"Can't say that's how I expected the day to go when I decided to sit this Coney Island trip out,” he sighs. 

“You can say that again.” You sit upright, bending your legs and crossing them at the ankles. You lean forward, tugging your shirt back into place before pulling one of the bags of food to you. 

"We should go sometime soon. Together,” you add, somewhat nervously. You aren't sure why - the guy just gave you the best orgasm of your life (and barely even touched you). 

“Are you asking me on a date?” that sly smile reappears. 

You shrug. “Yeah, I suppose I am.” 

"Then my answer is yes. But only if you share some of this food with me.” 

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

thanks so much for reading!!! can anyone tell that i really fucking love food by how often i incorporate it into my writing? 😅

[chiasfeu]

as a retired ff writer ive come out of hibernation bc the lack of smallville clark kent ffs is unacceptable tom welling is toooooo fine

sorry for all the grammatical errors i wrote this all at once and didn’t reread

part two

SECRET ADMIRER - clark kent x reader

Fumbling the lock of your locker, you sigh; you were on your fifth day at smallville high school and you weren’t ecstatic to say the least. After your dad had gotten into some legal trouble with LutherCorp your family had to move out of Metropolis to somewhere more safe.. more remote. Adjusting to the rural life of smallville had proven to be difficult and the people seemed strange. Slamming a fist against your locker you try again, meticulously turning the lock of the locker. Click. As you open the doors of the locker, a piece of paper slowly falls out.

Picking it up you read your name in bright red across the folded up piece of paper, you smile to yourself thinking, my very own secret admirer..

Maybe smallville won’t be so boring.

—————

Sipping on your coffee, you annotate your copy of the scarlet letter for English class. “Hey! y/n right?” A friendly voice calls out. You look up from your book, smiling. “Yeah! you must be Lana?” She nods, “I see your getting ready for the English exam, you need any help?” You glance at your book before starting, “I’m good for now.. I’ll let you know if I have any questions!” She smiles again before turning away to walk back behind the counter. Your eyes follow her as she talks to the costumers by the counter, they look familiar— a blonde girl with short wispy hair, and two other guys beside her.

You almost jump out of your own seat when you lock eyes with one of the boys, has he been looking at me this whole time? You think, embarrassed, quickly focusing on your book again. Although you’ve looked away you can still feel his gaze lingering on you.

“Hi.” You’re startled as you hear the voice, looking up at the boy that was staring at you from across the room. Before you can reply he starts, “You’re in my first period Bio class.. you know.. with Jenkins..” You blink, waiting for him to continue. He gulps, “uh well Jenkins is really tough.. and we have our first quiz next class so I was wondering if you would want any help….?” You smile sweetly, what is it with small town folks being so eager to help out? “Yeah I would really like that actually,” He smiles, almost in a relived way. “Great. You’re actually my new neighbor so I’ll just come over to help out,” He says before turning away. You cock your head to the side before saying, “Wait.” He turns around, facing towards you, “I never got your name,” you say.

“Clark Kent.”

—————

You’re sitting on your bed as you peer up at Clark while he explains how to convert moles into grams, “So you’re going to divide the number of particles by Avogrados number..” You yawn tuning him out, your eyes fall the paper that slipped out of your locker earlier today. I still haven’t read that note. You grab the note, opening it up, “y/n are you listening to me.” He says clearly frustrated. “Sorry Clark..” you say apologetically smiling, he notices the paper in your hands and nervously looks back up at you. “What is that?” He says, shifting around in his seat, looking intently at your face. You smile lightly, giggling, “It’s a letter from my secret admirer.” He visibly relaxes, “Oh.. I take it you like having one?” You nod shrugging, “makes smallville a lot more interesting than it could be.” He fake winces, “Smallville is a lot more interesting than you think.” You raise your eyebrows unconvinced, “Really? You’ll have to show me what’s so ‘interesting’ one day.” He smiles glancing down, “Maybe I will.”

You look at Clark’s notebook and your eyebrows furrow, the handwriting looking strikingly similar to the one in the note you found this morning. “Clark..” “Hm?” He looks up at you, “Do you possibly happen to know whoever wrote me that note?” He scratches his head, “No? Why would I?…” You shrug, “Just curious..” He awkwardly smiles before writing in his notebook again. You shift your position on your bed, scooting closer to him, “Clark, it’s ok you can tell me if you do know…” you bring your hand to his exposed forearm caressing it. He coughs before breathlessly stating, “I really don’t know who wrote it, y/n.” You push up against him, drawing circles up his arms, “Hm.. that really is too bad..” He swallows dryly, “yeah?” You nod slowly, “yeahhh.. I would’ve gone along with everything they wrote in that letter..” There’s a moment of silence as he looks at you. He shuts his eyes, sighing hard before confessing, “I wrote it.”

You grin mischeviously, running a hand through his hair, “You really didn’t have to lie, Clark..” He opens his eyes to look at you, his cheeks red from embarrassment, “y/n” “hmm?” You hum, tilting your head bringing your lips closer to his. He glances at them, sighing heavily before parting his lips to say something. He’s cut off by you pressing your lips against his, you feel his body relax into yours, his hands sliding up your back and his lips pushing deeper into the kiss. You pull away from the kiss, your hands holding Clark’s head; using your thumb you wipe lipstick off of Clark’s swollen lips as he looks at you longingly.

Yoau press your lips together, suppressing a giggle, “Hmm it’s getting late.. how about we pick back up tomorrow?”

[multific]

In This Together

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: Your period is late.

You tried your best not to panic. You tried your best to keep it together.

You tried... but on the inside, you were panicking over it.

And who wouldn't be?

Your period was late! And you wanted to crawl into a hole and cry all day.

Overdramatic? Possibly, yes.

But you were scared, so in your mind, it all made sense.

You even got to a point on your third day that you avoided Mattheo at all costs.

Which he of course noticed.

He tried to catch you in the halls but you were quicker.

He even debated barging into the girl's restroom at one point. 

On the fifth day, he finally caught you and cornered you in the library.

"Why are you avoiding me?" he genuinely looked hurt.

"It's just..." you looked up at him, you knew no one was around you, so you decided to tell him. "I'm late."

"What do you mean? You don't have any classes."

"No..." you wanted to cry and yell but you just let out a sigh. "My period is late." you whispered and he froze in one place.

"But we always used... protection."

"Yes."

"How would it be possible? Did you check with the nurse?"

"I didn't check. My period always came when it should."

"We should go to the nurse."

"I'm scared." you said and you sounded so honest and desperate Mattheo hugged you.

"I'm here, we will figure it out okay? It could be that you are just a bit later than usual. Everything will be fine." he kissed your hair as you hugged him closer.

The next morning, you woke up to a certain pain.

A pain you knew very well.

And indeed, your panic was for nothing. You were simply later than usual.

You felt so relieved. 

Someone knocked on your door before barging in.

"Good morning, Beautiful, so, I made a plan. Simple but I think we could do it. So, you stay in school, I drop out. I go and work in a store or at the Ministry, anywhere. I will put all my paychecks to one side and it would be a start. Then, you can give birth and we would have a home, you can decide if you want to go to finish school after or work, but I also have a small inheritance from my father so we can figure it out."

You blinked at your boyfriend. 

"You didn't sleep did you?"

"Not a blink! Theo threw pillows at me because I kept mumbling, but I thought my plan was good. What do you say?"

"I really do appreciate you coming up with this, Matty but-"

"We are keeping the baby. I don't think that is up for debate... at least not to me."

"We don't have to keep the baby."

"But I want to! I-I realize we are young but we can do it."

"Matty, I'm not pregnant. You were right, my period was just later than usual."

"Oh." his shoulders slacked. "And I spent all night thinking..."

"I appreciate it, and it is very nice to know you wouldn't just leave."

"Of course, I wouldn't."

"Yes, I get it. You look disappointed."

"I'm not going to lie, I spent probably the last four hours just imagining the cutest kid with your eyes and smile and... I kinda am disappointed. It's okay though, I know your father would have killed me so at least now we can wait until after marriage."

"Yes, what? You want to get married?"

"Don't get me started on that. It was another sleepless night after you told me about your father and his... older views." you smiled and walked over to him. 

"I love you." you wanted to say so many things, but you knew this would be simple and enough.

"I love you too." you hugged him and kissed him. "Then, I will get you some chocolate and candy."

"Aww, thank you. Who could have thought you would be such a great boyfriend."

"Well, duh. I'm the best Slytherin."

"That you are."

"And the best boyfriend."

"Exactly." you pulled him in for another kiss.

You really feared that he would just run and be like the guy your friends thought he would be, but it was good to know that he had his own plans, and his future certainly involved you.

Taglist: @castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse  @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @brascaris @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Waking Up in Vegas"

Prologue, Chapter one:, Chapter 2,Chapter 3, Chapter 4:

ok guys! we're back and reader's hot girl summer has started! Sorry I was gonna put this chapter out earlier today but i've just been so busy today plus i'm cooking up a 3rd part for "older" I got my period AND i have a math test and english essay coming up. If some parts don't make sense, its on purpose. Reader is disoriented and drunk half the time, the days blur together for her. Lmk what yall think of readers hot girl summer and what you want/think will happen in the next chapter .Sorry for any mistakes! Comments, reblogs and ASKS make my dayyyy and encourage me.

Saint-Tropez wasn’t just a place, it was a playground, a haven for those who didn’t care about consequences or anyone else’s rules.

And you? Well, you were done with rules.

For the last two weeks, you’d been living like this, untouchable, free, and completely lying to your family.

You had told Bruce you were staying with Ariel and her father, which was true, for the first two days anyway.

Ariel's father is a busy man, he couldn't take 2 and a half months off work to babysit two 16 year olds who would do what they wanted anyway. As soon as he left, Ariel began calling your two other close friends, Claire and Rory. Together, all four of you were unstoppable at school though it was an unspoken rule that you and Ariel were the dynamic duo. All four of you stayed in Ariel's ocean front villa, relaxing, tanning, and just getting settled.

God, let's not even start on how drastically everything changed while you were at boarding school and the family found out Tiffany's true colors. They were all so.....protective now. You got calls everyday, from each of your 'siblings' separately, dozens of texts asking you what you ate, who you were with, and what you were doing. You didn't entertain them. The only person you replied to was Bruce, and that's only because you knew if he wanted to, he could call off this whole trip.

You didn't answer Tim's random, vague questions like, "Who's that on your story? Do you know them? Are you sure they're safe to be with?" He was asking about a simple sunset dinner picture you posted with Ariel, so you blocked him. He's way too nosy.

You didn't reply to the groupchat the girls, Barbra, Steph, and Cass added you in called "The girls!!"

What a creative name!

You left after you saw 'Tiffany was removed from this conversation'. Maybe you were being petty but they obviously had this chat before and didn't bother to add you to it before Tiffany was exposed. It was your turn to ignore them.

You definitely didn't reply to Damian's outright threatening messages that he sent almost every other day, they all sounded something along the lines of "You will regret this. You cannot simply leave and run away from your family. Come home or else."

He's such a strange little boy, he spoke and acted like an angry Victorian prince. He texted you like you were close before, like it wasn't him who pushed you away. You were coming back in two months and yet he acted like ran away and changed your name.

Jason, Bruce, and Dick were the most consistent and annoying, in that order exactly.

Jason texted you every morning at 8 and every night 11, like clockwork. His texts were daily updates what he was planning on doing that day, asking you the same, and reminding you that he's sorry and that he loves you. It tugged at your heart not to answer him, and sometimes, you gave in and you could feel the joy in his response when you replied. You and Jason's conversations went like this, on the odd occasion you replied,

"Good morning." - Jason

"How are you? No trouble in paradise I hope."- Jason

"My days gonna be pretty dull today, nothing much except patrol. Might go to that bookstore you used to like." - Jason

Your cold heart would melt when he said things like that and you would reply,

"awww! jason, thats so sweet." and follow with "I'm good!! how bout you??? staying out of trouble?"

Jason was your softest spot and he knew it.

Bruce texted you three times a day. Morning, afternoon, and evening. His messages were dry and authorative, demanding answers. He wanted to know who you were with, what you were doing, if you left the house, and if you were okay. The fatherly care and authority isn't something your used to, it was strange. You weren't sure if you felt cared for or suffocated. You answered Bruce once a day, your tone straight to the point, answering only what he asked, nothing more.

Dick is by far the worst. He texted you constantly, as if trying to make up for 11 years of not texting you at all. He texted you when he woke up, when he slept, when he ate, what he ate, and sent you pictures of everything. Once he sent you a picture of a tiny bird saying it reminded him of you. You nearly blocked him after that, the only reason you didn't was because you liked how desperate he was. Not long ago, it was you spamming him like that. Plus he can be funny most of the time. You don't even want to think of the constant selfies he sent. You only ever replied once.

Dick sent a selfie of him hanging with some of the Titans, you forgot why or what he said along with it, but you do remember seeing Connor Kent shirtless in the background. You giggled and showed Ariel how hot he is. You replied to Dick almost instantly hearting the picture, screen shotting it, and drawing a heart around Connor saying something like, "WHO DAT IN THE BACK????" and "Tell superboy to hmu".

Dick was not happy about that, that was the last group selfie he ever sent. He got more frequent with his texts after that. He must've snitched to Jason because not even five minutes after you got a text from him.

"Remember what I said. No boys, i'll kick his ass." - Jason

You ignored him of course.

The sun beat down in the south of France, but you were far from concerned with the blistering heat. Not when there was a private yacht at your disposal, a poolside filled with strangers and familiar faces alike, and the soundtrack of Drake keeping your pulse racing. You felt the vibration of your phone against your palm for the third time in ten minutes. Another text from Bruce. He was becoming more insistent you answer him the longer you were gone. It's only been two weeks! Another "where are you?" or "be careful." As if you were gonna listen. Or reply to him.

Bruce. The man who'd ignored you for the better part of your life, suddenly acting like a worried father because Tiffany, the perfect sister, had betrayed them all. Tiffany, the adopted daughter who had somehow replaced you in their world. Now, she was the enemy, the traitor, the spy, and she was gone. That meant you had all the freedom you could ever want.

The more you thought about Tiffany the angrier you got. She had everything. How many summers has she spent on yatchs partying? How many times has she blown thousands of Bruce's dollars? Why were you forgiving them so easily? Why were you even listening to him?

Just because he apologized and said he'd change?

Why should you forgive Jason so easily and respect his rules, he ignored you for years and replaced you with Tiffany. The more you drank, the more you thought and the angrier you got. Who do they think they are? You've always been too nice, too obedient, and they're still taking advantage of it. You'd show them, show them what its like to be ignored and forgotten and made fun of.

For the next two months, you were going to ignore them. Bruce and jason included. You've been too nice, too good these two weeks, your friends were begging to party but you didn't want to, you were scared of disappointing them.

You were so angry nothing changed in you that you finally caved and decided to do what Claire and Rory were doing, give your phone to a worker here and have them turn the location on and send updates to Bruce. You still used the same icloud so you could read their messages and make sure they weren't suspicous.

He'd think you were always at the villa or just going into town, they won't know what hit them.

You turn to Ariel and grin, "I'm free. What are we doing tonight?" You were done obeying their rules and living your life for them. Who knows when you'd be alone in Europe with your best friends again.

Ariel hopped off her chair and squealed, her dark skin glowing from the sun, she grabbed you and twirled you around, your giggles echoing through the yacht and drawing Claire and Rory's attention.

Ariel grinned and explained to Rory and Claire, "Little Miss good girl finally came to her senses and went M.I.A with her dad. Now we can finally party! Hot girl summer starts now."

All three girls start squealing and join Ariel in her celebration.

You rolled your eyes feeling guilty, "I told you, you could've gone without me!"

Ariel wrapped her arm around you, "Nonsense, it's not a party without you. Now, come on we gotta go shopping if we're going out tonight. It's lucky that we both have daddy's black cards. It's really lucky that they have Dior, Hermes, and YSL down the street."

You weren't sure how much you spent and the drinks kept you from feeling guilty. Bruce is like, a bajilionaire, what you spent won't make a dent.

Somehow, you ended up on an even bigger yacht filled with guys, in your brand new Dior bikini with a matching bag.

By the time night fell, the yacht was buzzing, the VIP lounge overrun by people who hadn’t even been invited. The bass was so loud you felt it in your bones. You didn’t care. You've never felt so alive.

Your new phone wasn't getting any messages except DMs, and the woman you hired confirming Bruce thought you were sound asleep in the villa.

You can practically taste the summer air as you step onto the deck of the boat, laughing with Ariel and your friends and the others you’ve met along the way. No one cares about where you’ve been, where you’re going, or who your family is.

As the DJ cranks up the volume, a cute guy with long blonde hair catches your eye. You wink at him and saunter over. This summer is all about freedom, and you’re ready for it. His hands are already on your waist, pulling you close, and suddenly you’re lost in the rhythm, spinning and laughing, his lips brushing against your ear.

The night wears on, you drink more, laugh louder, flirt harder. The yacht turns into a blur of lights, drinks, and music. As midnight rolls around, the party shows no signs of slowing. You could stay here forever, with no rules but your own.

But then it happens. You wake up in a completely different city.

London.

You’re sprawled on a plush couch in a ridiculously luxurious flat, a half-empty bottle of champagne next to you. The room smells like expensive perfume, and the decor is all sleek lines and minimalist chic. You sit up slowly, your head pounding from last night.

You sit up straighter, rubbing your eyes.You vaguely remember a private jet, but it’s all blurry. One moment, you were on the deck of the yacht, living it up, and the next, you're waking up in an entirely new country.

You look around the room in panic and spot Ariel sleeping on the couch and a random guy, butt naked on the floor next to her. You sigh in relief at Ariel being okay and the fact you weren't kidnapped.

There’s a knock at the room door, and when you answer, it's a random guy from last night, British accent, disheveled hair, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. He grins at you sheepishly. “Hey, you good?”

You, Ariel, the naked boy named Christian, and the Brit named Thomas, have breakfast and exchange stories of what you remember from last night. It was fun, but you and Ariel flew back to St. Tropez where a jealous Claire and a worried Rory were waiting.

Last night was fun, but it couldn't happen again. It was dangerous and if anything happened Bruce wouldn't know.

Except it did happen again, and again, all summer long.

The next weeks were a blur, Venice, Monaco, and Madrid, with stops in Dubai and Los Angeles along the way. Each city more vibrant and intoxicating than the last. Every place you went, you had the freedom to be whoever you wanted to be. There was always a fresh crop of people, and you reveled in not having to answer to anyone. No father, no brothers, no sisters, just you and your friends against the world.

You and Ariel lived your lives like you were gonna die tomorrow. You were unstoppable, no family, no rules, no responsibility. Your abilities weren't acting up at all, everything was perfect. Bruce and the family were off your back, being made to think you were at the villa all day.

The “No Boys Rule” was completely disregarded, though. It seemed that whenever you let your guard down for just a moment, you’d end up surrounded by someone new. Whether it was a guy from a club in Monaco or a guy you met on a private yacht in Venice, you were always finding someone new

Despite all the parties, the alcohol, and the private Instagram posts, and funny Tik Toks, there was still a growing sense that you weren’t living this life for you, you were living it for the rebellion, to spite Bruce.

It wasn’t just about freedom anymore. It was about finally being seen, even if that meant drifting away from everyone you once called family.

You only had one month left of absolute freedom, and you were gonna make the most of it. With Ariel, Rory, and Claire by your side, you partied in just about every city.

The final month of your wild European escapade had arrived, and things were only getting wilder.

The clock had no meaning anymore. Days and nights blended into each other as you danced from one city to the next, your world a whirlwind of music, champagne, and endless laughter. Ariel, Rory, and Claire had become your partners in crime, literally when you got arrested, but thats not important.

Each morning you woke up in a new place, groggy and confused, only to remember the night before—flashing lights, pounding beats, and the promise of more. Cannes, Monte Carlo, Paris, or Dubai, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the freedom you’d found in them, and in yourself. You were more than the neglected, ignored girl from Gotham; now, you were the life of the party.

there was always someone waiting to whisk you away to the next nightclub, the next gala, the next beach party where the world’s richest men tried to get your attention.

First, it was Paris. You could feel the eyes on you as soon as you entered the hotel lobby. The air smelled of expensive perfume, freshly polished marble, and the faintest trace of guilt, because in some corner of your mind, you could still hear Bruce’s voice echoing in your ears. But it quickly faded as the first private yacht rolled up to the dock. The deck was crowded with Parisian socialites and half-drunk billionaires, but it wasn’t about the crowd, it was about the feeling of being wanted. Being worshipped.

It was in Paris that you really started feeling the distance between you and the life you’d left behind. The champagne flowed easily, the laughter came effortlessly, but there was an ache you hadn’t anticipated. A pang that struck at the edges of your satisfaction, the kind you couldn’t drink away.

You thought about Bruce. His pleading words, his desperation, and how, for a moment, you almost felt sorry for him. But only for a moment. You couldn’t let him win. Couldn’t let them see that you’d needed them. Because that would mean giving up everything you had now, the freedom, the endless nights, the city hopping, the boys who adored you.

You let it all sink in, just for a second, how much control you had over them now. How much they wanted you back, how much they needed you back. It felt good, knowing that you could walk away and have them chase after you, like you used to chase them.

Maybe it was the brief, fleeting moments when you thought about Gotham, about Bruce, about your family, and how none of it felt real anymore. They’d played their games, ignored you, and now it was your turn.

Meanwhile, your phone was a constant buzz of messages. Tim had sent at least five texts, each one more urgent than the last. Jason called twice, his voice sharp and filled with that annoying overprotectiveness he just developed. And Bruce… well, Bruce sent you one long, pleading message, something about understanding, about giving him another chance, and answering his calls. You didn’t even bother reading it all. You didn’t need to. You didn’t care enough to respond.

You had no intention of being tied down by anyone, but when a French prince with dark, tousled hair and eyes that burned through your soul offered you a glass of champagne and a seat next to him, you took it.

You didn’t even have to look for him, he found you. He was the one with the perfect jawline, the one who could be a model if he wasn’t already a prince. His eyes, blue locked onto yours the second you entered the VIP area. A raised brow, a subtle smirk, and you knew that for tonight, he was yours.

You didn’t speak much. He didn’t ask questions, and that was the kind of energy you craved. A few words, some flirting, fleeting touches, and then you were in his Lambo, the leather seats smooth under your skin as the city sped by. He went as fast as you wanted, loving the thrill and impressed look in your eyes.

The thrill was intoxicating, the feeling of being someone else, someone free. The kind of person who didn’t have to answer to anyone. A few hours later, you were standing on a balcony, watching the sunrise, your lips tingling from the kiss he’d stolen.

Your mind was a haze of laughter and the aftertaste of expensive whiskey. The view of the French Riviera was far too beautiful to appreciate right now, and your thoughts wandered back to Gotham, to the family you’d abandoned, the ones who had never cared for you.

But as the days wore on, it was harder to ignore the hollow feeling creeping in. The message from Dick, the one where he told you that he loved you, stayed in your mind longer than it should have. You told yourself it didn’t matter. You didn’t owe him anything. But you couldn’t help but wonder, just for a second, what it would have been like if things were different.

You turned away from those thoughts quickly. You couldn’t afford to get attached. Not now. Not when you were on the verge of something bigger. The freedom you had now was everything you wanted. No one could take that from you.

You couldn’t let them control you. You wouldn’t let them.

You and Ariel were inseparable now, pulling Claire and Rory into your whirlwind of recklessness. You all had your roles, Ariel was the carefree partier, Claire the quiet one who always managed to keep ya'll out of trouble, and Rory was the one always ready with a camera and a new Tik Tok idea. You were the star, the one they all gravitated toward.

Each day was a new city, a new set of challenges, a new set of eyes who wanted to be close to you. You knew the game, knew how to play it. You knew how to keep them guessing, how to make them want you more.

So, you danced. You partied. You lived in the moment and let your life spiral further from Gotham’s grasp.

From there, it was off to the next city.

Las Vegas; Sin City, there was no place like it. You couldn’t even remember how you got there, your mind fuzzy with a mix of adrenaline and whatever was in that last glass of tequila. The strip was lit up like daylight, people everywhere, the air thick with smoke and the sound of slot machines ringing through the night.

You woke up in a penthouse suite that could have been mistaken for an entire floor of the Bellagio, the morning sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. And there he was, a prince. The same French prince, draped in a robe embroidered with gold thread, a fresh glass of mimosas on the table beside him. He was smirking, lounging on the couch like this was all part of his daily routine. You couldn’t even remember how you got to the suite. What had happened between the bar and now? You didn’t care.

He didn’t seem to care either, his hand casually tracing the rim of his glass, his eyes never leaving you. You laughed, feeling the surrealness of it all wash over you, the weight of your last 48 hours in Ibiza and Monaco still fresh on your skin. One minute, you were dancing at a celebrity’s secret after-party in Monaco, and the next, you were here, on the other side of the world with some mysterious prince who had probably already forgotten your name.

The rest of the night was spent taking private jet rides to exclusive clubs, partying with people whose names you couldn’t even pronounce, and waking up to the flashing lights of a casino floor. Vegas was the kind of place where everything felt fake, but that didn’t matter. You really are Brucie Wayne's daughter.

Next stop, Ibiza, the heart of Europe’s clubbing scene. Ariel and you slipped into the club, stepping past the velvet ropes like it was second nature. The security guard practically bowed as you walked by. The crowd parted for you, the clinking of champagne glasses and the hum of expensive conversations filling the air.

This was where you belonged. The heat of the island, the night that stretched into forever. You and Ariel danced on top of the table at Pacha, popping bottles like they were nothing, the music vibrating in your bones, the crowd chanting your name like you were the star of the show. It was your second night there, and you had already met a Spanish duke who was more interested in buying you a yacht than actually getting to know you. There was white powder everywhere, tempting you to try but you didn't give in. Who knows what could be in it. Your friends and most people at the club didn't share the same idea.

You just wanted to enjoy the view and keep the party going but you were worried, maybe this was too much.

“we’ve got to live for the moment,” Ariel grinned, taking a shot of something that made her eyes water. “Who cares if we’re in a foreign country surrounded by dangerous people? It’s the best kind of chaos. When else are we gonna do this?”

Somehow you ended up on a private yacht again, this time surrounded by Ibiza’s elite. You weren’t sure how many shots of tequila you’d had, but you knew that the man at your side had given you a diamond bracelet to match your dress. You accepted with a grin asking him to put it on for you, your hair wild, your makeup smudged from hours of dancing, but it didn’t matter. You were untouchable.

It was getting close to 3 AM, and the music hadn’t stopped. The drinks kept flowing, and the Duke’s yacht you somehow ended up on was finally leaving the dock. You couldn’t remember how you ended up on the boat, but you were there now, floating on a million-dollar boat with peopl you’d only seen on TV. One of the men from the night before was already making eye contact, his glass of sangria in hand.

It was hard to be shy in a setting like this. Rory, who’d never been afraid of attention, was deep in conversation with a couple of supermodels who were likely on their third or fourth drink. Claire was wrapped up in a flirtation with the duke who owned this yacht, and Arie was in her own world, laughing with a group of guys who were definitely not short on cash.

The next morning, you woke up on the yacht, the sun blazing over the Mediterranean. You stretched lazily, your body still buzzing from the night before, and found yourself face-to-face with the man from last night.

He smirked, “Care for another round?” he asked, his accent thick, the sound of the waves crashing against the boat providing an oddly peaceful background.

You laughed and agreed. It was all so easy, this life. This endless, carefree abandon. No rules, no family to answer to, no obligations. It was just you, your friends, and a bunch of gorgeous strangers who only saw you for the party girl you had become. And for now, that was enough.

Next, Monaco, the grandest of them all. You didn’t just go to Monaco, you ruled it. You, Ariel, Claire and Rory crashing the most exclusive gala in the world; rich industrialists, F1 drivers ,tech moguls, the faces that appeared on the front of every magazine. But to you, it was just another game to play. Every conversation was a carefully curated performance, everyone vying for your attention, for your approval.

The days blurred together. Each city more beautiful, each party more decadent than the last. Monaco was wild, filled with the world’s elite and their very bored children. The private yacht parties were nothing short of a movie set, jet skis, champagne, drugs, and the sun beating down relentlessly. The thrill of it all never left, and every night you found a new billionaire, actor, or race car driver to distract you. It wasn’t about them, not really, it was about keeping the power in your hands, it was about feeling good. Taking away the pain that came with your powers, fortunately, men were jumping into your bed.

You didn’t even have to try. One wink, one smile, and suddenly you were in a Bentley, whisked away to a private after-party in a hidden corner of Monaco’s coastline. The prince of some oil-rich kingdom was at your side, and the night was long, filled with laughter and stolen kisses under the stars. You didn’t care what his name was, where he came from, or who he was, he was just another prince who could buy you anything you wanted.

You met guy, almost as rich as Bruce, who you beat at poker, he was more than happy to throw a yacht party in your honor. The invitation was clear: “Come party with us. No rules. No limits.”

Ariel had already decided to make a game of seeing how many men she could flirt before sunset, while Rory was doing her usual thing, charming people with her wit. You, on the other hand, had become the center of attention, as if the whole event was designed around you. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a conversation that didn’t involve someone trying to buy you a drink, or a private island.

As the weeks stretched on, you could barely keep track of all the cities you had visited. You spent one night in Berlin, dancing until dawn in one of the city’s most infamous clubs. The next, you were in Milan, draped in designer clothing and laughing with the most influential fashion people in the world. Every day felt like a new chapter, filled with new people, new parties, and a new sense of power.

It was intoxicating. Everyone loved you here, you were the life of every party. You had so many friends, you'd never be alone again.

There was something so exhilarating about being surrounded by people who knew your last name, who were used to rubbing elbows with people like Bruce Wayne, but didn’t realize you were his daughter.

You felt it in your bones now, the distance between you and Gotham was growing wider. The weight of the past, the guilt that had once threatened to crush you, was nothing more than a distant memory. Each city, each new face, each new party was a reminder that you didn’t need them. You didn’t need anyone.

But deep down, something shifted. Maybe it was the late-night conversations with Ariel on the balcony of a villa in Santorini, the wine flowing freely as you discussed the future, her dreams, your dreams, how you’d never go back to the way things were. Maybe it was the quiet moments alone on the edge of some private infinity pool, staring out at a horizon that seemed endless and just… empty.

You didn’t know when you started to feel it, but you knew one thing for sure: when you finally did come back to Gotham, you weren’t going to be the same person who had left.

The Final Stop, St. Tropez. You did a full circle. Your last hurrah before you returned home, or where your family assumed you were all this time. The private beach parties, the yachts that lined the harbor, the whispers of billionaires in their private jets. You danced in the sand, surrounded by flashes from cameras and jealous glares from women who had no idea who you were, but wanted to be you all the same.

A private villa awaited you, and there, amidst the most extravagant décor, you found yourself facing yet another prince, yet another man eager to claim you as his own.

You turned to find a prince—probably from denmark—standing next to you. You immediately recognized his face from magazines. He was the one who was always pictured at galas with his equally famous family. He was beautiful, dark-haired and dangerous, with a body like chiseled stone. But the only thing you could think about was how long it would take before you got bored of him, before you moved on to the next.

His thick accented voice cut through your thoughts, "Well, if it isn't the infamous party girl." He smirked eyeing you up and down.

"Oh, so you've heard of me" You said smiling. You had no idea how he knew you, all your socials were private and theres no way you had mutual friends. You froze for a second, just how far has your reputation proceeded you, did Bruce hear?

You brushed the thought away as soon as it came, Bruce didn't exist. Not tonight, your last actual night of freedom. Not when you were boarding the flight to gotham after tomorrow.

"Hard not to. You've been everywhere. Paris, London, Ibiza, Monaco, Dubai, Vegas. You're practically the princess of Europe." He grinned leaning closer.

After two months you were finally starting to feel the rush of it all catching up to you. But for now? Who cared? You were a 16-year-old filled with confidence, chaos, and fun. The world was yours, and there was no one who could stop you, least of all, your father, who were still clueless about your whereabouts and secretly obsessing over your every move. You were too busy living in the moment to care about that.

You were officially the European Party Girl, the one everyone wanted to be friends with, the one they all wanted to take selfies with.

Ariel once called you a prince magnet, she wasn't wrong. You woke up next to him the next morning, his strong arms around your waist.

When you went back to Gotham, you weren’t just going to show up. You were going to treat them like they treated you all these years, you were going to laugh in their faces, ignore them like they ignored you.

As you and Ariel spent your last night together packing, you couldn't help but smile. In these two months with her, you lived more than you had in your entire life.

When you boarded the plane back to Gotham, you were different. You were someone new, someone who had tasted freedom and wasn’t sure if she could ever go back. The Waynes had no idea what was coming for them, but you were ready. The game had shifted, and you were about to play it all the way to the end.

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