#once again how did they get away with that

[sunni-stuff]

fwb!Simon, who grunts out, I love you mid thrust, leaving you rightfully lost for words and unable to question him, not while he was hitting a spot that had your toes curling and stars dancing in your eyes.

It's only afterward that you confront him, sheets pulled up to your chest, trying to assemble some semblance of decency while he gets dressed with deliberate purpose, his back to you as if eager to escape your presence. Scars crisscross his back like a road map of past battles, mingling with the fresh evidence of your fruitless moment of passion—angry red streaks left by your nails, which had clung to him in desperation and abandon.

"Did you mean it?" The meek whisper escapes you as you watch him tug on his shirt, concealing the marks of your shared tryst as though they were nothing more than another wound to bear.

He doesn’t face you, his head slightly turned but unreadable, the balaclava masking any trace of vulnerability or regret. Simon sits on the edge of the bed to put on his boots, the silence stretching between you like a chasm. The weight of your question hangs heavy in the air, rendering him unable—or perhaps unwilling—to answer, though his stoic demeanor betrays nothing.

"Simon, I'm talking to you." Your voice trembles, frustration spilling into your tone.

"I heard you," He mutters, his voice low and clipped, refusing to meet your gaze as he tightens the laces of his boots.

Simon always does this. He always does this—offering you fragments of affection, fleeting and fragile, leaving you grasping at it like sand slipping through your fingers. No matter how tightly you hold on, it escapes, grainy and rough, leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake. How much more could you take? How much longer could he toy with your heart before it finally broke?

"Then say something!" You finally scream, the words sharp and raw, slicing through the oppressive silence like a blade, desperate to shatter the wall he always hides behind.

He stills, shoulders stiffening, and for a moment, you think he might ignore you. But then, he snaps—his voice booming in the small room, rougher than you’ve ever heard it.

"What am I supposed to say?" The words come out like a growl, his frustration spilling over in a way that’s uncharacteristic of his usual control. His head whips around, and though his face is hidden by the balaclava, the intensity in his eyes burns through you.

You flinch, never having seen him angry before, let alone enough to yell at you. The sharpness of his outburst leaves you unnerved—just for a moment. But then your own anger surges forward, overwhelming the tremor of fear. He’s been toying with your heart, leading you along like a puppet, pulling the strings, the conductor of a train you never asked to board.

"Did you mean it?" You ask again, your voice steady now, even as your chest tightens. You meet his brown eyes head-on, the fire in them slowly dimming your own, leaving you to wonder if there’s anything real beneath the cold facade he so carefully constructs.

Again, he doesn’t answer. Typical Simon. Instead, he reaches out, roughened hands cupping your cheeks, his thumb gently rubbing your soft skin. There it was again, that flicker of affection, brief and fleeting, poured into your palms like a delicate offering, expecting you to cherish it, to hold onto the scraps he gives.

But much to his surprise, you pull away, your gaze hardening. For once, you let the sand slip through your fingers, choosing not to cling to something so unreliable, something that always fades just when you think you’ve grasped it.

Simon stares at you in utter shock, his gaze frozen as you move away, laying back down, refusing to face him. He watches in silence as you refuse to look at him anymore with those eyes—those eyes that always regarded him as your guiding sun, the one constant in a world full of uncertainty.

Now, your back is turned to him, the sheets pulled up to your shoulders, leaving him in the dark, unable to see your eyes, the eyes that once held all the softness, the trust, the devotion he’d never truly earned.

There was nothing else that needed or could be said. No oasis in this desert, no water to quench the sand he's suffocated you with. Simon rises, grabbing his jacket and keys from your dresser, his movements mechanical. He wants to look back, wants to see if you're watching him leave, wondering if you’ll be crying like all the times before. The sullen look in your eyes, the one that always made his heart strain, that soft ache whenever he walked away.

But this time, he doesn't look. Not this time. Because he knows there will be no hopeful eyes waiting for him, no quiet plea left in your gaze. Instead, he sees only the remnants of what he’s broken, the red thread that once held you together now frayed beyond repair. He’s a coward, unable to face what he’s done, unwilling to see the damage he’s caused.

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Slipping through my fingers"

ok yall this is an emotional one!! it expands more on reader and jason's dynamic before he died and shows why jason is an especially sore spot for reader. it's also jason who she's most vulnerable and willing to forgive.

You and Jason ate the popcorn chicken on your bed in silence. For a moment, you pretended that everything was normal again. That Jason was still just Jason and you were still just you. That he was still your big brother that meant the world to you and that you were still his baby sister who he adored and couldn't go a day without.

For a moment, jason could pretend he wasn't the Red Hood, a vigilante who struck fear even in the darkest of hearts, he could pretend he was just comforting his little sister who meant the world to him.

Jason stares at you, his eyes locked onto yours like he’s trying to burn through the walls you’ve built between you. His breathing is shallow, tight with something unspoken, something raw. He’s been holding it in, holding it all in—his guilt, his regret, his anger—but it’s all starting to crack. The cracks are sharp now, and they’re starting to bleed.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he spits, his voice gravelly, thick with the weight of what’s unsaid. “I didn’t want to become this. I didn’t want to lose you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, harsh and mocking, and you can feel the edge of your own frustration clawing at you. “Well, newsflash, Jason, you did. You lost me the moment you decided that pushing me away was the best option. You don’t get to sit there and tell me how you didn’t want to hurt me when you were the one who abandoned me without a second thought. I ran into your arms and you acted like you couldn't care less.”

His jaw tightens and you see something almost vulnerable flicker across his face. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by something darker; guilt, maybe, but also something like self-loathing.

“You think I wanted to leave? You think I wanted to hurt you?” His voice is quiet, almost deadly calm, but the tremor in his tone betrays him. “I didn’t want to drag you down, okay? I didn’t want to make you part of this... mess I’ve become. I thought if I just kept my distance, kept you away from all the shit in my life, I’d be doing you a favor. ”

“And what the hell makes you think I needed your protection, huh?” You snap back, “You think I couldn’t handle whatever shit you were going through? You think I couldn’t handle you? You never gave me the chance to help. You just shut me out, Jason. Like I was just some... some stranger. Like you weren't the closest thing I had to family. There wasn't anything I wouldn't have done for you. you were my brother. I loved Dick but he was never you.”

Jason’s eyes flash, anger mixing with the guilt, there’s an almost pleading intensity to him now. “I wasn’t protecting you,” he murmurs, voice breaking, just a little. “I was protecting myself. Because every damn time I saw you, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I needed you. How much I wanted you in my life, and I was so fucking scared that if you stuck around, you’d see everything I was trying to hide. That you’d see how broken I really am. And you didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve to get caught up in my shit, in the mess I was making of myself.”

Your heart clenches at the rawness of his words, the vulnerability creeping in, uninvited and unwelcome. You want to scream at him, to tell him he’s a coward, to tell him how much it hurt, how much it still hurts. But instead, you feel a lump form in your throat, something tight, constricting. The years of silence between you, the hurt, the loneliness—it hits all at once.

“You were never a mess to me,” you say, quieter now, as if the weight of his confession is slowly wearing you down. “I knew you, Jason. I knew who you were before all this. The guy I could talk to about anything. The guy who knew me better than anyone. The one who made me feel like I actually belonged. ”

Jason’s eyes widen, his breath catching as if you’ve just hit him in the chest. “I thought about you every day, you know?” he says in a hoarse whisper, his voice trembling. “Every day. You think I didn’t miss you? I thought about those times, the way we used to be... how you would just be there. You and me against the world. I remember laughing with you. Just... sitting there, talking about stupid stuff, and it felt like we were the only two people who really got it. I missed that, more than anything.”

You feel a tightness in your chest at the words, something fragile breaking open. You remember. You remember the late nights, the quiet conversations that meant more than anything else in the world. He was everything to you, back then. But now... now everything is just fractured pieces, fragments that don’t fit together anymore.

“You left,” you whisper, voice shaking, barely audible. “You left me, Jason. You left me without a word, without a reason. And I don’t care how much you missed me. That doesn’t change what you did. How you let her in after years of ignoring me.”

Jason’s face twists in pain, the anger shifting into something else, something raw and regretful. “I thought you’d be better off without me,” he admits, his voice breaking, the quiet words ripping through the space between you. “I thought if I just stayed away, you wouldn’t have to deal with my shit. You wouldn’t have to deal with... me.” His fists unclench, and he runs a hand through his hair, pulling at it in frustration. “I didn’t think you’d need me anymore. I thought I was dragging you down. I was so damn scared of ruining everything we had. But instead, I ended up ruining everything. And I can’t fix that. I know that. I just... I just wanted you to know that I didn’t want to leave. I thought if I stayed, I’d hurt you even more. I thought... I thought it’d be easier to let you go than to keep pushing you away. I was wrong.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and painful, like a confession he’s carried for too long. You want to reach out, to say something—anything—but the words are stuck, lodged in your throat. The vulnerability between you is unbearable, but you can’t ignore the truth in his eyes. He’s not the same person who walked away all those years ago. And maybe, just maybe, he’s not the same person he was when he left. But you don’t know if that’s enough. You don’t know if you can trust him again.

"I wrote to you, you know? When i thought you were.... gone. I wrote to you almost every single day, I figured you'd like it, think it's something out of those books you used to read. It made me feel like you were still with me, like you were watching over me. When you, when you came back, I was convinced I wished you alive." You admitted your childish thoughts, voice breaking in between sobs.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” you say, your voice trembling with emotion. “I don’t know who you’ve become. I don’t know if you’re the person who cared about me, the one who sat with me and talked about everything or if you’re just some... some shadow of him. And I don’t know if I’ want to find out. Or if i'm ready to let go and forgive”

Jason stares at you, his face pale, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and frustration. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t deserve that,” he says quietly, his voice barely a whisper. “But I’m begging you. just let me try to make it right. I’ll prove it to you. I’ll prove that I’m not that guy anymore. I can’t erase what happened. I can't erease Tiffany. I can’t take back the years we lost. But I can try to be the person you used to know. The person you trusted. I can be your big brother again. I can still keep the nightmares away”

The silence between you stretches, each second heavier than the last. You’re caught in the middle—caught between the person you were, the person you are now, and the person he’s trying to be. But for the first time in a long time, Jason isn’t running. He’s not hiding from you. And as much as you want to shut him out, to protect yourself from more pain, something inside you is aching—aching for that connection you once had, aching for the possibility that it’s not too late to fix this.

What really broke you was seeing him cry. It was like you were a child again. It nearly broke your brain seeing Jason, your fearless big brother, your idol, cry.

“We can try” you whisper, your voice small, fragile, like it’s a decision that could break you. " it’s not gonna be easy, Jason. Things cant magically change no matter what we wish."

Jason nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, his face stricken with the weight of everything he’s put you through. “I know,” he breathes, barely audible. “But I’m not going anywhere. Not this time. Never again.”

After Jason left, you had to sit and process what happened. In truth, you didn't know if things could ever be the same between you and jason. So many years of neglect and anger couldn't disappear with just a conversation and apology. No, you would make him, them, know what it feels like to be begging for scraps. Maybe things wouldn't be the same with jason, maybe after time and effort, they could be better. You missed him. So much. It would be easier to forgive him than Bruce. Yeah, Bruce is your father but Jason was your hero.

When Bruce reaches your door, he hesitates for a moment. The heavy weight of guilt in his chest is hard to ignore, but there’s something more, something that unsettles him even more than the tension in the air: the fear that you’re slipping through his fingers. That what happened today might have cracked something too deep to repair.

He knocks once, then opens the door.

You’re sitting on your bed, your back to him, staring out the window as if you’re already a million miles away. It’s almost as if you’ve already shut everything out, ready to move on.

His voice comes quietly, strained. " we need to talk.”

You don’t respond, not right away. Bruce steps into the room, quietly closing the door behind him. The air feels heavy, like something’s already been decided, but he won’t let that deter him. He takes a slow, steady breath, trying to calm the rising panic in his chest.

He’s careful, almost too careful, when he speaks again. “I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. But what happened today, what you did to Tim and Damian, it can’t go unanswered. It wasn’t just about the fight. You crossed a line, and I need to know that you’re aware of that.”

You turn slowly to face him, your eyes burning with frustration, and Bruce can see the rawness in them. The anger. The hurt. It cuts through him, deeper than any physical wound ever could.

“And what should I have done, Bruce? Sit there and take it? Let them walk all over me? Let ya'll act like nothing's wrong? Like you didn't ship me away because some bottle blonde bitch said to?” You scoff, the bitterness in your voice thick enough to choke on. “I’m sick of being treated like I don’t matter. Like I’m just an afterthought. You and your little Batfamily can keep pushing me to the side, but don’t expect me to sit quietly while you pretend I’m not even here. Not anymore. Never again”

Bruce’s face tightens with guilt, but he doesn’t back down. “That’s not what I want. I never wanted you to feel that way. I know I haven’t been there like I should have. I know we've all been horrible and cruel. But that’s no excuse for what you did.”

The words sting, but your anger doesn’t dissipate. If anything, it flares up again. You stand up abruptly, pacing, the frustration too much to keep inside. “Oh, I get it. You don’t want me to do anything that inconveniences you or your precious Batfamily. You want me to apologize for fighting back like I’m the one in the wrong here, right? You want me to crawl back to them, all nice and meek, because that’s what you think I should be. What I used to be. But I’m not that person anymore, Bruce. I’m not. And it’s about damn time you realize that. If anything, me and Damian aren't even close to even, he's hurt me before, threatened me before, that always went unanswered. Because fuck me right? Who cares about me? Tell Tim he's welcome to come get his lick back, I wasn't thinking when I hit him.”

Bruce flinches, his jaw tightening at your words. You’re right, he’s failed you. He’s allowed the distance between you two to grow, let it fester until you finally exploded. He’d told himself that you would always be there, that you were part of his family, but he’d taken that for granted.

You were right, Damian was never punished but Bruce would ensure that no one, not even Damian would ever get away with hurting you again.

But then, just when he thinks he has a handle on the situation, you drop the bombshell that completely shatters any control he had left.

You cross your arms over your chest and exhale, your voice soft but full of finality. “I’m leaving tomorrow. For the South of France. I’m staying with Ariel and her dad for the summer.”

The words land like a punch in the gut. Bruce freezes, his hand almost involuntarily reaching out toward you, though he stops himself just short. His breath catches in his throat.

“France?” His voice cracks for the first time since he entered the room. His mind races, how could you leave like this? How could you just walk away? You two were making progress, learning to understand each other. How was he supposed to fix this if you left? Was it that easy for you? Was it that easy for him to lose you? “You can’t.” He states, his tone final and unforgiving.

“I can. I already have everything packed, in fact, I literally didn't even unpack.” You shrug nonchalantly, trying to hide the ache in your chest behind a mask of indifference. “Ariel and I have been talking about this for months, it's our trip.”

Bruce takes a step toward you, voice low and edged with something darker, more possessive. “You’re not leaving. Not like this.”

You shake your head, the fire in your eyes fading just a little, replaced by something more resigned. “You really don’t get it, do you? You’ve barely noticed me, Bruce. You’ve been too busy with your missions, your family, your life, and I’ve been here, waiting. But not anymore. I’m not going to sit around and wait for you to remember I exist. I deserve more than that. That boarding school was the best thing that happened to me.”

Bruce can feel the weight of your words, the sting of rejection, and it makes something inside him snap. He knows he’s messed up. He knows he’s made mistakes. But the idea of you leaving—of you walking away, out of his reach—is something he won’t stand for. Not now. Not when he’s just starting to recognize how badly he’s failed you. Not when he can still feel the resentment rolling off you in waves.

“I can’t let you go,” Bruce says, the words slipping out before he can stop them. His eyes lock with yours, the intensity between you two growing, thick with unspoken emotions. “Not like this. Not when I’m just starting to understand everything that’s been wrong. I’ve messed up, but don’t leave. I’ll fix this. I promise. I’ll fix it.”

You stare at him, unmoving, but the fire in your eyes softens just a little. There’s a flicker of doubt now, a tiny crack in the armor you’ve put up. But it’s not enough. Not yet. Not enough to change your mind.

“I don’t know, Bruce.” Your voice is quieter now, but still laced with hurt. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this. You’re not the person you used to be. And neither am I. Maybe that’s just... something we both have to face.”

Bruce steps closer, close enough now that his presence seems to fill the room, heavy and suffocating in a way that only he can. His hand reaches out slowly, this time not hesitating, and he places it on your shoulder gently.

“I don’t want to lose you, not when I've just started to see you,” he says, his voice hoarse with a desperation he’s never let show before. “I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right. But I need you to stay. I need you here with me, please.”

The words hang in the air between you two, a fragile plea that feels both urgent and terrifying. The mighty Bruce Wayne, billionaire, playboy, the Batman, stood in front of you begging.

You don’t respond immediately. Instead, you stand there, staring at him as if you’re seeing him for the first time in a long while. And maybe, just maybe, there’s a flicker of hope in your eyes. But not enough.

"Compromise. I'll stay with Ariel for two and a half months and i'll come back here for two weeks before school." You say, eyes gleaming with the signature look all Waynes get when negotiating. Yes, you wanted to give him a small chance but there's no way you're backing out of this trip and leaving Ariel and her hot dad hanging. You weren't about to give up a summer of tanning, flirting, partying, and country hopping with your best friends for the chance that you might fix things with your father.

Bruce raised his brows, almost smiling. You were cute when you tried to be tough, but the deal is what made him falter. Two teenagers, two months unsupervised in a foreign country, who knows what could happen? Who knows what kind of influence this Ariel is? But what was really funny was that you talked like you were going back to New York for school! No, you were coming back to Gotham Prep and staying the manor, where you belonged. But Bruce wasn't cruel. He'd let you hope. "We can go as a family, a family vacation. I'll meet your friend and decide if she's trustworthy. I have a villa right in the-"

"No! Please no! I would rather die. This is a girls trip. As in only me and Ariel. We've been planning this forever. I won't cancel. Or bring my family, that's so lame. You never would've cared before." You say almost stomping your feet, playing the guilt card. You couldn't have your family there seeing what you get up to and who you get up to it with!

"One month and you take Dick with you." There was no way you were going alone. Bruce wouldn't cave, nor would he be guilt tripped.

The mighty Bruce Wayne got hustled by his 16 year old daughter. In the end he caved, you would stay with Ariel for two months and two weeks, not a day more nor a day less. You would apologize to Tim and leave tomorrow after a peaceful family breakfast. You would have your location on at all times. Yeah Bruce got played, but as he walked out your room and looked back to see you grinning from ear to ear and calling your friend, jumping up and down, he decided it was worth it to see you this happy.

He would let you have these two months, then you'd be back home where you belonged.

The morning felt too still. Too quiet. The clock ticked on in the background, but it didn’t seem to matter. Every movement felt exaggerated, every breath, every shift of your weight, every step as you made your way around the dining table. It was as if the house itself were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Something to shift.

As you went and sat down at the table, it was quiet once again and the air was even heavier than yesterday.

Bruce sat at the head of the table, his face unreadable as he sipped his coffee, eyes occasionally flicking toward you but never fully meeting yours. He was distant, but somehow… present in a way that felt more intrusive than comforting. He hadn’t been this present in years, actually never. Not to you.

Bruce’s gaze didn’t leave you as you walked, his eyes colder than you remembered yesterday. Your fingers tightened around the strap of your suitcase, the weight of his attention pulling at your chest.

Jason sat to his right, his hand resting on his mug with a white-knuckled grip, his expression hard and unreadable. Every so often, his eyes would slide over to you, watching your movements, the way you tucked things into your bag or adjusted the straps of your suitcase. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at you, like he was mentally memorizing every detail, every shift.

Bruce’s gaze was fixed on you as he slid the black card across the table, its dark, sleek surface catching the light just right.

“Take it,” he said quietly, his tone laced with authority. “Use it for whatever you need. You don’t have to go without. Don't forget, you're a part of this family, always have been. I want to make sure you have what you need.”

You almost recoiled at the gesture, the black card a symbol of everything that tied you to this mansion, to this family. It was a physical representation of his control, their attempts to make you feel like you were part of something. But it felt more like a chain. But it is unlimited money... You didn’t take your eyes off him as you slid it into your bag, the tension in the room making your throat dry.

Your outfit—intentionally revealing, a far cry from the usual soft layers you wore when you spent time with them—felt more out of place than ever. The shorts, lulu lemon in the shortest length, the cropped top—it had been a subtle rebellion. A way to assert yourself, to feel free. But now, as their eyes flicked over you, you felt too exposed. Too seen.

Jason’s eyes lingered on your exposed skin, his expression unreadable, but his lips were pressed together in a thin line. There was an edge to his stare, like he didn’t like what he saw, but he didn’t speak. Not directly. His fists were still clenched at his sides, his jaw taut.

Damian’s eyes flicked over you as well, but his anger seemed to burn hotter, sharper. “Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath, too low for anyone else to hear. But it wasn’t meant for you—it was meant for himself, for the way he couldn’t control you. For the fact that you’d gotten away. For now.

And then, there was Bruce. His gaze never wavered, never softened, just cold and steady. He said nothing more about the card, but his eyes held something that felt too heavy to bear. Possession. It hung between them like an unspoken truth. And the way his eyes moved over you—lingering just a little too long on the exposed parts of her skin—made your skin crawl.

Jason’s voice broke through the silence next, but it was low, playful, but edged with something else. Something that made her skin crawl.

“No boys,” he said, his tone playful, even as his gaze flicked to the door. “I don’t care who you’re staying with, but no boys. Got it?”

The playful tone didn’t match the intensity in his gaze, though. She raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to play it off.

“I’m sorry, what?” you replied, letting a smirk cross your face, trying to make it clear that this was just Jason being Jason. They were back to normal.

“No boys,” he repeated, the humor slipping from his voice now, replaced with something colder. “I’m serious. No fucking around while i'm not there. No fucking around in general, figuratively and literally.”

Your heart skipped. You glanced at Bruce, expecting him to give a soft chuckle or a reassuring nod to say it was just Jason being… well, Jason. But Bruce didn’t flinch. His gaze remained locked on you, unwavering. His expression was cold, his lips pressed into a firm line. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t even looking amused.

“Jason’s right,” he said, his words steady and resolute. “No boys. Not while you’re here. Not while you’re under this roof.”

You almost scoffed, good thing you weren't gonna be under this roof for long.

You blinked, the sharpness of his words catching you off guard. He wasn’t joking. His posture was rigid, his eyes locked onto yours in a way that almost felt like a command.

Jason didn’t speak again, but the message had been clear.

No boys.

You nodded stiffly, the weight of his demand sitting in the pit of your stomach.

Duke, who had been mostly quiet up until now, was the next to speak, but his voice was softer, more thoughtful, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to handle the situation.

“You don’t have to go. You know that, right?” he said, his voice tentative, though there was an undercurrent of something else—something protective. "We could all go together. It’s better that way."

But his offer hung in the air like a dream you couldn’t quite reach. You could see it in his eyes—a hint of something, perhaps concern, perhaps something more. It wasn’t quite the same as Bruce’s cold stare or Jason’s intense grip on control. But there was an edge to it.

Cass, perched at the far end of the table, seemed as unreadable as ever. But there was something in her posture today—an intensity, like she was bracing herself, like something was about to happen, even if she couldn’t quite put it into words. She didn’t speak, but her gaze tracked every movement, every gesture, as if she were memorizing it.

Tim, seated next to Cass, had barely said anything all morning. His eyes flickered to you now and then, but it was more of a quiet observation, something far too careful and deliberate. He was almost… detached. But there was a coldness in the way he looked at you, like he knew something you didn’t. Like he was waiting.

Barbara was the exception—her smile was too wide, her eyes too bright, like she was trying to convince herself of something she wasn’t sure about. She kept trying to fill the silence with light conversation, but it always felt forced. And when her gaze landed on you, it lingered a little too long.

Steph, across from her, was the only one trying to keep things light. But the way she kept glancing at the door, at the phone on the table, at her own reflection in the polished surface—it was obvious she was uncomfortable. She was nervous. Especially after yesterday. And it was more than just the impending trip.

The room was alive with their watchfulness. It wasn’t just their presence—it was the way they didn’t speak directly to you, but everything they did seemed to be a reminder that they were there, that they could be there.

Damian scoffed from the end of the table and opened his mouth but closed it as Bruce looked at him sternly. He just rolled his eyes and went back to glaring at the wall, muttering things under his breath and gripping the table tightly.

He had been unusually quiet up until now and scoffed from his spot at the table, his eyes narrowed as he shot you a glare so venomous it was almost rivaled your actual venom.

“You think you can just leave, after everything?” Damian hissed, his voice dripping with disdain. His fists clenched under the table. “You think a simple apology makes everything okay? You punched me and left. You don’t just get to walk away from that.”

His anger seemed to grow with each word, but there was something beneath it, something that felt darker than simple sibling rivalry. As if the violation of his personal space and authority left him feeling more than just hurt, but threatened.

You knew that hitting him, striking him with all the force you could muster—had been the culmination of everything you couldn’t say, couldn’t express after all these years. But now, facing him again, you felt the weight of his anger. His rage wasn’t just directed at the punch. It was everything: the way you were walking out. The way you were leaving.

“Alright, listen up,” Dick said, his grin playful, cutting through the tension though his voice carried that same underlying weight. “Rules. You're not running off on some crazy solo adventure without us knowing every detail. I’m serious, okay?” His smile remained, but it was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re not a little kid anymore, but that doesn’t mean you get to act like an adult. I’m gonna need you to check in—like, every single day. Got it?”

The way he said it, like it was a joke, yet his tone was so firm that it left no room for argument. And then, with a playful but almost possessive look, he added, “No crazy parties, no boys, no drinking, and if you get yourself into trouble, don't come running back here. Just kidding! If you need anything, call me.”

His words had a strange effect, both reassuring and infuriating at the same time. You didn’t need him or anyone else telling you what you could or couldn’t do, you didn't need him acting like cared. Like he was suddenly your big brother after years of ignoring you and brushing you off.

Dick was still watching you, like he was hoping you’d cave to whatever soft version of control he was offering. “Alright, just... make sure you come back. I know we don’t say it much, but we care about you, okay? I can't change the past but I do regret it and I do love you. Don’t forget that.”

And there it was—his mask slipping for just a second. His voice softened, but there was something underneath it. Possessiveness, cloaked in affection. It was hard to ignore, the way his eyes followed your movements just a little too closely, the way his words lingered like an unspoken demand.

You didn’t respond immediately, your mind swirling with everything you wanted to say, but didn't. Instead, you let the silence hang in the air, a heavy, thick thing. There was something off about the manor now. Something that hadn’t been there before. The way they all watched you, their glances lingering a little too long, the small, subtle ways they tried to control your every movement—it was suffocating, and yet... it was addicting.

It felt nice being cared about, knowing you had control over their feelings now.

Your mind wandered, thinking of the freedom waiting for you in France. The sun, the beaches, the boys, the carefree nights with Ariel and your other friends—the perfect escape from all this suffocating attention. They don’t get it.

And then you realized—it wasn't just you going on vacation. Something would change when you came back.

When the time came, you’d have to navigate this new, tense version of your family. A family who acted like they cared.

The game had shifted, and now you were part of a strange, unspoken power struggle—your power over them was now as much as theirs over you used to be.

As you were leaving to the airport, your family bid you goodbye. None of them were driving you, they all had busy days today. Jason wrapped you in a short, tight hug, telling you to text him when the plane took off and landed and telling you to be careful, his eyes hard and filled with warning.

Something is his tone set you off, you pulled away before you realized it and got in the car, ignoring Bruce and Dick's awkward attempts to hug you and not even glancing at everyone else.

As you pulled away from the manor and watched their figures in the distance, dread pooled in your stomach. You didn't know why but you were already dreading coming back.

OK YA'LL SORRY ITS LATE. Idk why is struggled writing this chapter so much! lmk what yall think of it and why the reader thinks things are off.

Taglist:

@strwberryglass @lilithquillete @delias-stuff @bellatrixmld @damainwayneisthebestrobin @kittzu @lilyalone @yokesmam @sanjisluvbot @facelessisnthere @dollwhite @superstarbucks

@angelunatic @littledollete @cutelittlesugarfairy @darbystrange @sxftiebee @zealous0mouse @trashlanternfish360 @galaxygirlsblog @euphoria-looney @1simpchunkygirl @a-lurking-fae @analuixxy @naturallyspontaneous @horror-lover-69 @pastel-mouse @ladyrosemone @frankie-moon3 @catley1011 @justannie18 @yandereaficionado @ithoughtthinks @asdfghjklgayblog @shadowyknightbeargoth @peche4et3chocolat @boredselkie @rogueofbullshit @iamabeaner @rosesunderthegarden

[submattenthusiast]

covered loser!virgin!matt

"i-i like that lipstick" matt shyly mumbled while adjusting the camera angle. you liked that that shyness never left him. that same pink blush took over his face almost every time you two spoke. finishing the filling swipe you smile in return, "thank you, it's supposed to be transfer proof as well". confusion filled his tinted features at your statement. pushing his glasses up to his forehead he frowned, "what does that mean?". getting up from the from the vanity you stride over, taking his attention away from the camera. placing a hand on his freshly shaven left cheek, you plant a kiss on the right side of his face and then another on his moisturized lips.

mischievously so, you knew the lipstick needed to mattify before it would actually become transfer proof. opening your eyes you faked a pout once you saw the bright lipstick staining his pale face. bringing him to the mirror you showed him the new additions to his face. his body was bending in all sorts of ways while he looked at the makeup on his face. his tongue poked into his cheek and his eyes widened. with a wicked smile you respond to his worried look, "oops i guess it's not but you look so pretty baby"

his fingers messed with the almost forgotten camera as he asked a new question, “what are we filming today?”. his question broke you out of the self appreciation trance you were in, your reflection in the full body mirror took all your attention away from matt momentarily. fixing the wrinkles in your short short skirt you think about it. originally, you were gonna sit on his face but as you stare at the lipstick on his face a better idea popped in your head. “i’m gonna take good care of you, just let me take the lead okay?”

the rigid texture of the camera began to make marks on his clammy palms as he held it tightly. he angled the camera so only his lower half was in frame. your feet snuggled into the fuzzy rug on the floor as you rid him of the remainder of clothes. your boobs were practically falling out of your thin lingerie as you kneeled infront of him and into view. you winked at matt so he could turn the camera on with a nod he did so and you heard the loud beep. upon hearing that you began to press your lips all around his pretty cock, the red lipstick staining the paler skin.

his hands began to shake and struggle to hold the camera, your lips plus the intense contact you were making had the poor boy struggling. he could barely contain his sounds as a moan ripped from his throat at the repeated contact, and his cock started to swell as precum dripped from the tip. your eyes widen in awe as you observe him, seeing how reactive he was being just from simple kisses. you didn't know if it was the lipstick or excessive cleavage showing but you were gonna find out. you felt he had enough of the teasing and started to focus your lips on his cock, placing kisses on every vein along him.

the camera began to pick up his soft whimpers, catching every sound he made once your lips made contact with your flesh. balancing yourself on one hand, you bring the other up to give his decorated length some languid strokes. his quieter sounds disappeared as you gave him the touch he desperately needed. "oh god — please". the pitch in his voice had your eyes twinkling and your panties soaked, he was sounding so pathetic. you gave his balls some much needed attention, saving them from being blue. planting kisses at the same rate that you were stroking his cock.

matt's breathing got heavier with the increased attention his most sentisive parts were receiving, when not breathing like he had climbed a flight of stairs, he was letting out the prettiest moans. "close—please please" he warned and begged all in the same sentence. releasing his cock, you focused on kissing him again, wanting to watch him fall apart covered in your marks, your lips, your lipstick. you. the strawberry red painted a nice picture on his upper thighs, there was hardly space for more kiss marks once you released his skin from the seemingly endless touch.

glancing up at him, you saw his stomach tighten and his chest rapidly rising and falling— the biggest signs of an upcoming orgasm. "gonna cum for you ah—" he whined, grip on the camera loosening. sitting aside you watch hungrily as the white spurts of cum paint the rug and some of the floor white. "such a good boy and looking so pretty while you cum". feeling awfully helpful, your hand reaches up to finish him off, jerking the last of the cum out of his messy cock. "thank you ma'am ah—ah thank you so much" he whimpers, shutting the camera off.

as promised @whore4mattsturniolo @heartsforvin

heavily based off of this p!link

[alotofpockets]

Stay where you are | Keira Walsh x Reader

5k celebration prompt: "Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you."

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.5k

-----

Today had been a long day, and it was finally time to pack up and go home. The rest of your coworkers had already left, but you had to finish some work, so you had stayed behind. After packing your stuff and closing up the office, you made your way to your car.

When you reached your car, you went through your bag to find your keys. You were so exhausted that you had just tossed them into your back, so of course they had made their way to the bottom of the bag. 

Once you finally find them, you unlock your car and sit down with a sigh of relief. Finally time to go home and relax. You slot the key into the ignition and turn it to start the car, but nothing happens.

With a frown you tried again, twisting it harder as if that would make a difference. The engine made some noise, but it still refused to start. You felt the panic set in as you tried time and time again, but your car still wouldn’t start.

You let out a frustrated groan and let your head fall back against the headrest. Why did this have to happen today of all days? You were exhausted and just wanted to go home, order some dinner, and relax, but no. 

For a moment you look at your girlfriend’s contact in your phone, wanting to call her to pick you up. But with a shake of your head you put your phone away again. Keira was hanging out with her friends today. A night out with some of the girls on the team she had said before you left this morning.

You knew that if you called she would drop everything to come and pick you up, but you knew how busy she had been lately. She deserved to enjoy her night off and to hang out with her friends uninterrupted. 

The bus was your next best option. The nearest bus station was only a few blocks away, so you got out of your car and locked it again before taking off. It was dark out already. The past few weeks it had started getting dark so early, but you should be fine because there were plenty of street lights lighting up your path towards the bus stop.

That feeling of thinking you should be fine, faltered after you had just turned the corner off of your office’s street. At first it just felt like someone was walking behind you, that feeling quickly got confirmed when you heard footsteps.

You felt your chest tighten. It was probably nothing, but still the thought of someone following you was enough for you to be on edge.

However, the longer you kept walking, the less you were convinced that they weren’t following you. Only one way to find out, you thought, and took the next turn right. The bus stop wasn’t to the right, but you were going to take three more rights to come right back where you just were to see if they were really following you.

With your phone in hand, you pretended to check for directions, trying to act casual in case the person behind you really was following you.

Your heart was nearly beating out of your chest as you turned the last corner and were back where you started, with the person still behind you. Your feeling had been right, someone was following you.

Trying to act like you hadn’t noticed them, you kept walking. Getting into a bus right now wasn’t a good idea. What if they followed you home? So, instead of taking the left to head to the bus stop, you took a right to take you into the city centre. 

You didn’t stop walking until you made it into a bar. A crowded place, with plenty of people around to keep you safe if necessary. 

Your heart was still beating rapidly when you got your phone out of your pocket and dialed Keira’s number without thinking twice. 

“Hi love, is everything alright?” Keira said as she picked up the phone. You could hear muffled noises in the background, she was clearly in a crowded area, out with the girls. 

“I’m sorry I called and interrupted your night out, but I think someone is following me.” You scanned the room to check if the person had followed you inside. “Wait, what? Where are you now?” Keira’s voice instantly turned to worry. 

“I was walking to the bus stop because my car wasn’t turning on, and someone was behind me the whole time. I even walked around a block and they still followed me. I didn’t want to go home in case they-” You started rambling, but Keira stopped you. 

“Hey hey, take a deep breath.” She waited to hear you do so before asking, “Are you somewhere safe now?”

“I’m at our bar.” You didn’t even have to say which one you meant, Keira knew that our bar meant the one that you had met, and had gone too often to celebrate your relationship. “It’s crowded, and I thought it was safer than staying outside.”

“Good thinking, love. Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you." Wait, that’s not what you intended, you just wanted to hear her voice, not for her to drop her night out with friends. “Wait no, you don’t have to. I’ll just-”

“No. Stay where you are. I mean it.” You could hear her already moving, keys jingling, muffled voices in the background as she hurriedly spoke to someone. “I’m with the girls. We’ll be there in ten.”

You could hear by the tone of her voice that there was no convincing her to not come and pick you up. Still you were about to argue again, but that died out the moment that you saw the person that had been following you. Well you hadn’t seen their face, but they wore the same black hoodie and jeans that you had seen when you had been faking looking for direction.

“He’s inside.” Your voice dropped to a panicked whisper as you were trying to move further into the bar so he wouldn’t be able to see you. 

Keira’s surroundings had started to sound different, but you didn't notice. You were way too panicked to hear that she was already on her way. “Make sure you stay near the bar or close to people, okay? Stay on the line. We’re about five minutes out.”

You did as Keira said and moved towards a crowded section at the bar. Keira’s voice was the only thing keeping you from freaking out. “I’m scared.”

“I know, love. You’re okay and you’re not alone. We are almost there, I promise.” Five minutes sounded fast, but they felt forever as you kept going over the crowd to see if he was coming closer to you.

And then finally you spotted Keira, followed by Ona and Patri. They searched the bar for you, and were relieved when they saw you unharmed walking towards them. 

Keira immediately wrapped her arms around you and held you close. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” Ona and Patri stayed close, looking around to check that no one was following you, while Keira guided you out of the bar.

The rest of the girls were waiting outside. Aitana was talking to the security at the door, and when she laid her eyes on you she motioned you to come closer. “I’m so glad you’re okay. Can you describe what he looks like? I told security what happened, so they are going to kick him out after we’ve left.”

You nod and tell the security guard all the details you knew. He told you he would take care of it, and that he wished you a safe rest of your evening.

Keira, who hadn’t left your side since she found you at the bar, wrapped her arm around you and guided you to the car. “Thank you.” You said softly.

“You never have to thank me for keeping you safe. Just promise you’ll call sooner next time, alright? I would come pick you up if you weren’t in danger too, no matter what.” You nod, “I promise.”

When you got back, you expected them to just drop you off and continue their night, well everyone except Keira. You didn’t think she would leave your side any time soon. But all of them got out of the two cars and followed the both of you inside.

“You guys should continue your night out, I’m okay now.” You tried to tell them, but they weren’t having it. None of them were planning to leave any time soon, so you all decided to watch a movie together. Pina got to work on ordering everyone some food, while Vicky looked for a movie to watch.

Meanwhile, you sat leaned into Keira’s side with her arm wrapped protectively around you. 

She held you close, her fingers drawing soothing patterns on your arm. The comfort of her presence, combined with the chatter of the girls as they settled in, began to ease the tension that you had been feeling in your chest since you left the office.

Keira pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We’ve got you.”

-----

💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! You can also supporting me by leaving a tip 💗

[adhdbraingoburrr]

I don’t want to speak over the voices of the people in this post because this post is IMPORTANT. Im not Jewish in the slightest, but I am a trans man.

We DID get the bad ending, and it’s happening again. All of the early signs of the holocaust are starting to repeat in America and if we don’t do something it will end the same way.

Millions of deaths.

At this point the government is directly attacking minorities, not even trying to hide their violence AND THEY ARE GETTING AWAY WITH IT. They are revoking rights of immigrants and POC and LGBTQ people and directly targeting trans people and nothing is being done! Their hate campaigns have been so successful that people are standing by and even supporting this mass violence. Something needs to be done.

We got the bad ending once, we don’t need to let it happen again. We CAN’T let it happen again when we know how this goes. Please stand up, please say something, please don’t let people be slaughtered again without doing anything.

being a jew studying preholocaust european jewish history is just *mourns over what could have been, mourns over what could have been, mourns over what could have been, mourns over what could have been, mourns-*

[rinffection]

୨ৎ Let me do your makeup, love!

when you’re too sleepy in the morning to do your makeup.. so your boyfriend helps you do it instead!

featuring! Itoshi Rin x female reader. Pure fluff!!

a/n : my first work.. I hope you guys enjoyy :3 sorry if it’s short I get bored of writing really fast ;(

notes : afab!reader, mxf, NOT PROOFREAD, rushed!

“Why’re you still in bed?” Rin narrowed his eyes at you as he examined your current situation, — messed up, still sprawled on the bed and hugging that stuffed bear he had won for you at the arcade last Saturday.

The alarm clock on your bedside table flashed 11:57am. You had overslept. You groaned, flipping over and slowly sitting up as if it was a pain to do so.

You knew that you and Rin always went out together on a Saturday, except today, your limbs were giving you a hard time, and you really didn’t want to get up at the moment.

“I’m too tired.” You whined, rubbing your eyes to focus on your vision. “Let’s stay home today,” you mumble after yawning.

“Too tired?” He scoffs, raising an eyebrow at you. But it didn’t take long before he sighed and sat on the edge of your bed, as if complying to you.

“Come on, I’ll help you get ready.” He mutters, reaching his hand over to your face to brush away a few strands of your hair messily framing your face. You grumbled and whined in mumbled complaints as he hooked you up into his embrace, carrying you to the bathroom.

—

“What are you doing?” You let out a sleepy chuckle as he applied foundation over your face with a makeup sponge. His phone was playing one of those makeup tutorials on YouTube as he followed the steps precisely.

“Doing your makeup.” He huffed, setting the sponge down and lifting your chin to observe how well he did.

When he let out a grunt of approval, he pressed play on his phone, watching intently once again. You smiled faintly at his determined expression.

“Awh, are you my personal makeup artist now, Rinnie?” You teased, poking at him for a reaction. His lips curved into a slight frown as he shot you a small glare, before pausing the video again.

“This is only a one-time thing.” He mutters, before scanning all your makeup items and eventually finding some concealer. As he dabs some over your blemishes, you give him a teasing grin.

You hum a playful tune, letting him follow the instructions on the YouTube video playing on his phone. He seemed too intent to make sure your makeup looks flawless, so you didn’t bother ruining his focus as he did your makeup.

Once he was done, he clawed the top of your head and turned your head to face the mirror. It was an hour later, which was longer than you usually took. But considering it was his first time, you shrugged it off. At least he didn’t create a monstrosity on your face.

Well, he was the Rin Itoshi. Your boyfriend who was precise and detail-oriented. You figured he would’ve probably freaked out if he messed something up anyways, — even if he didn’t show it on his face.

You beamed at your own reflection, before catching his nervous expression from the corner of your eyes.

“You did so well, Rinnie. You should do my makeup more. Maybe when I’m sleepy in the mornings, mhm?” You smile, turning around to give him a small peck on his lips.

“Whatever. It’s nothing.” He huffs. Though, you giggled at the light shade of pink dusting his cheeks as he turned his head to the side.

after notes! : HII! I hope you enjoyed this one. I got this idea from a instagram reel where the girl was letting her boyfriend do her makeup because she was too sleepy… and I was like, bye, this is literally me. (Except I have no boyfriend 😭)

[wordsmeetwbb]

Need You

Word count: 3.8k

Content: smut (sub Azzi)

Pairing: Pazzi

Notes: Hello loves! This one is a little bit longer than my usual and as per usual, the only editing I did was putting this through grammarly so please let me know if there's anything that doesn't make sense or is incorrect. Your reviews and reactions really fuel me so feel free to tell me what you think of this one! Enjoy!

________

When Azzi got done with class, she was exhausted, mentally drained, and needed a hug from her girlfriend. She had gone straight to Paige’s apartment, not even bothering to drop her backpack off at her own first. Paige had been notably absent from the living room, but Allie had kindly informed her that she and Ice were in Paige’s room playing Fortnite. Azzi thanked her and made a beeline for Paige’s closed door.

Ice was seated on the floor in front of Paige’s bed, the TV glowing with her view of the game. Paige was sitting in her desk chair, the computer monitor showing the beginning of a game as she fiddled with the controller in her hands. Azzi stood in the doorway for a moment, not wanting to walk directly in front of Ice’s view of the TV to get to Paige. Both of the girls had headphones on, but Ice quickly noticed Azzi and popped one side of the headphones off her ear.

“Azzi, hey!” She called, still locked in on the game. It must have been a really interesting match because Paige barely glanced away from her screen, pale fingers twiddling the buttons on the controller. The blonde shot Azzi a quick smile.

“Hey Az, how was class?” Paige asked, still distracted. Azzi deflated, dropping her backpack onto the floor and flopping onto Paige’s bed.

“Fuckin’ hate accounting,” she mumbled into the sheets. Paige did look over at her then, swiveling the chair 180 degrees to face the bed. Azzi didn’t lift her head out of the blankets.

“What happened?” Paige asked in that gentle tone she reserved specifically for Azzi. Ice glanced back from her spot on the floor, concerned about her friend.

“I just don’t get it,” Azzi whined. “Don’t wanna talk about it.” She raised her head from the bed finally, brown eyes going right to Paige’s blue ones. Paige’s expression softened, the game still playing on her computer temporarily forgotten.

“Can we play some other time, Ice?” Paige asked, her focus still on Azzi. With a glance up at the brunette still sprawled pathetically on the bed, Ice nodded.

“Yeah, no problem,” she said as she picked herself up off the floor, turning the TV off as she went. “Feel better, Azzi.” Azzi mumbled a thank you, her face once again buried in the blankets. As soon as the door clicked shut behind Ice, Azzi felt the mattress dip under Paige’s weight.

Warm hands settled on her back, stroking soothing lines up and down. Azzi melted, body sagging under the weight of her day. She let out a long breath. Just having Paige’s skin on hers, even through the fabric of her sweatshirt, was helping immensely.

“What do you need, Az? Lemme help,” Paige asked. Azzi shifted herself into a sitting position.

“Just need to touch you,” she said simply, but a little bit of guilt crept in. It must have shown on her face because Paige’s eyebrows drew together in concern.

“What’s wrong, mama?” Azzi hesitated.

“It’s dumb,” she mumbled, sinking into Paige and hiding her face in her shoulder. Paige’s arms enveloped her.

“It’s okay, just tell me what’s on your mind,” Paige coaxed. Face still hidden in Paige’s skin, Azzi felt herself blush lightly. Feeling utterly ridiculous, she responded.

“I don’t want to stop you from playing your game. I interrupted and I’ll feel bad if you have to stop playing just because I’m being dramatic about accounting,” she confessed, voice muffled by Paige’s shirt. Paige’s fingers splayed out on Azzi’s back as if she were trying to cover as much surface area as possible. She must have known that if she protested, it would be the end of Azzi’s rope today because she just brought a hand up to scratch gently at Azzi’s scalp.

“Would it make you feel better if I keep playing? And you can come sit in my lap? Does that sound like a good compromise?” Paige suggested. If she hadn’t been completely in love with Paige before, Azzi felt herself fall just a little bit further in that moment. She nodded into Paige’s neck. Paige started to get up from the bed, guiding Azzi with her, but Azzi hesitated again.

“Whatchu need, mama?” Paige asked immediately, drawing back to Azzi. She felt her face grow hot. She really must have looked pathetic because Paige didn’t even tease her about it.

“I want… can we…” Azzi couldn’t get the words out, her brain too much of a mess to ask for what she wanted.

“Show me, baby,” Paige prompted. Azzi reminded herself to breathe and got up from the bed, going to the closet and pulling out the purple strap they stored there. Paige’s eyebrows raised briefly but she quickly guided Azzi back to her desk.

“You wanna keep me nice and warm and wet while I play Fortnite, baby?” Azzi nodded quickly, desperately. She could already feel herself getting wet, panties growing damp as she looked at the way Paige held the strap.

“Okay, mama, go ahead and take your pants off for me, ‘kay?” Azzi obeyed immediately, sliding her sweats down her legs, and keeping her underwear on. Paige hadn’t told her to take those off. She could feel herself slipping into that submissive headspace Paige brought out of her occasionally. She may not have been good at accounting, but she could definitely do what Paige told her to do. She needed to do what Paige told her to.

In the few moments Azzi was distracted with her own clothing, Paige had rid herself of her sweatpants and slipped into the harness, adjusting it slightly as she sat down in her chair. Azzi stood in front of Paige, body trembling from both anticipation and residual anxiety and stress from her day. Paige’s eyes were so, so soft as she looked at the brunette. Azzi felt herself blush, stomach full of butterflies.

“You wanna keep your sweatshirt on, baby? Or do you want it off?” Paige prompted. Azzi’s hands came down to fiddle with the hem, fingers partially hidden by the sleeves. She looked at Paige carefully, trying to gauge if there was a correct answer to the question.

“On,” she answered slowly. Paige just nodded and beckoned her closer, pulling her girlfriend onto her lap. Azzi’s knees settled on either side of Paige’s legs, their chests bumping together as Azzi got comfortable. Paige’s fingers came down to play with the waistband of Azzi’s underwear. Azzi shivered at the contact, finally feeling skin on skin.

“Gonna take these off, that okay mama?” Paige asked softly. Azzi nodded, shifting around to help Paige pull the fabric off. As soon as they had been tossed onto the floor Paige’s fingers wandered right back between Azzi’s legs. They dipped into her just slightly, then pulled out to spread her wetness around.

Paige brought her thumb up to Azzi’s clit, drawing slow circles. It wasn’t enough to make her desperate, but god it felt good. Azzi let out a little whine and buried her face into Paige’s neck.

“Good?” Azzi nodded, brushing her lips over Paige’s neck. She nibbled on the skin there a bit, just needing something to keep her mouth busy and her mind distracted. The taste of her girlfriend’s skin was certainly a good enough distraction.

Paige’s thumb continued to apply gentle pressure to her clit, but she brought two fingers down to tease at her entrance. Azzi could feel herself dripping onto Paige’s thighs. She wished she could see what it looked like- her arousal shining on pale skin, so close to that purple strap on Paige’s hips.

Paige’s fingers pushed into Azzi’s pussy slowly. It drew a soft moan from the brunette, shifting her hips to work Paige’s fingers deeper. Paige’s fingers, long and veiny, felt divine, but it wasn’t enough. She needed more, deeper, thicker.

“Please, more,” she whined. On most other days, she would be embarrassed about the needy tone in her voice or the already desperate expression she knew was on her face. Today, however, she couldn’t care less. She needed more of Paige, needed to be wrapped in her embrace, and filled to the brim until all she could feel was Paige.

“I know, honey, I’ve got you. Just gotta stretch you out a little bit, get you ready for my cock, okay? Gonna take care of you, I promise. Make you feel so good, baby,” Paige soothed. Azzi whimpered into Paige’s shoulder. Paige loved to talk during sex, and yeah, it was hot every time. But when Azzi got all submissive like this? She would never admit it to Paige, but she sometimes thought she could cum just from listening to Paige talk to her.

Paige spent some time thrusting her fingers in and out of Azzi’s pussy, scissoring them occasionally to get her ready for the strap which was, admittedly, a little bigger than they maybe should have purchased. Azzi couldn’t stop thinking about how good it would feel to be split open on it. No matter how much Paige got her ready for it, there was always a stretch. Today, she needed that.

“Please, please, ‘m ready, just put it in, please Paige,” Azzi begged. Paige smiled, a hint of pride on her face.

“Look at you begging, Az. I didn’t even have to ask you to. Doin’ so good for me already,” Paige praised. Azzi squirmed, grinding her hips on Paige’s fingers until Paige pulled them out. She raised her hand to face level, taking her clean hand to pry Azzi’s face out of her neck. Azzi blinked, confused for only a moment before she understood.

She took Paige’s fingers in her mouth, licking each one, sucking enthusiastically, cleaning herself off pale skin. The weight in her mouth reminded her of the game still open on Paige’s computer, glowing on the “Start game” screen. She popped her mouth off of Paige’s hand, guiding it back to the controller sitting forgotten on the desk.

“Please,” she said simply. Paige’s expression melted. Sometimes the blonde looked at Azzi with so much visible love and longing that she didn’t know what to do about it. Right now, however, she knew exactly what she wanted to do about it and how to get it from Paige.

“Need it, Paige, please, please, just need to be full, please,” she begged.

“Such a good girl begging for me like that,” Paige murmured, pressing a couple of sloppy kisses to Azzi’s lips. When Paige tried to pull away, Azzi bit the older girl’s lip gently, letting the tip of her tongue drag over the spot to soothe it. Paige let out a heavy breath.

“Fuck, baby. Drivin’ me crazy,” Paige whispered as she gripped Azzi’s hips, lifting her to position her cunt above the strap. Azzi whimpered at the feeling of Paige’s fingers digging into her ass. She hoped it would leave bruises. Then she felt the very tip of the strap nudge against her folds and forgot all about Paige’s fingers.

She tried to lower herself onto the strap quickly but only got a couple of inches down the silicone before Paige’s grip tightened and stopped her. It punched a moan out of Azzi anyway.

“Slow down, baby. Gonna fill you up, just gotta be patient, okay? Want it to feel good,” Paige murmured, placing barely-there kisses on the skin below Azzi’s ear. Azzi let out a frustrated breath but forced herself to relax into Paige’s hold.

After giving Azzi a few seconds to adjust to the bit of the strap already inside her, Paige began to drag Azzi lower.

“Fuck,” Azzi whimpered. Her hands, still mostly covered by the sleeves of her sweatshirt, came up to grab Paige’s shoulders, needing something to anchor her. The stretch forced all of the air out of her lungs in the best way, pulling a moan out of her throat easily.

“There you go, good girl Az. Takin’ me so good, mama,” Paige praised. All Azzi could do was try to keep breathing, slow and steady. Mindlessly, she licked a stripe up Paige’s neck. Paige tilted her head so Azzi could continue her ministrations more easily.

“Feel good, baby? You need anything?” Paige asked. Azzi mumbled a “no” into Paige’s skin, continuing to leave soft kisses and nips over every inch of skin she could reach without moving her position. Paige’s hands brushed over the tops of Azzi’s thighs, the gesture making Azzi relax further into Paige.

“Your game,” Azzi whispered softly, lips brushing Paige’s neck as she spoke.

“I know, honey. Wanted to make sure you’re comfy first,” Paige soothed. Since Azzi was doing just fine, Paige picked the controller up from where it had been resting on her desk. Azzi heard the clicking of buttons, the soft sounds of the joystick being pushed back and forth as Paige entered a new round. She let her eyes close, her heartbeat slowing as she breathed deeply.

Paige shifted slightly as the game loaded, arms circling around Azzi’s lower back and resting against her sweatshirt. The slight movement caused the strap to nudge its way a little bit deeper inside of Azzi. She let out another breathy whine, shifting her hips to get it even deeper. Accomplishing her mission, she moaned quietly. Paige shushed her, one hand rubbing up and down her back carefully.

“Just relax, honey. I’ve gotchu,” she promised. Azzi sighed in contentment, nuzzling her way back into Paige’s neck to continue leaving kisses and kitten licks on the skin there. Azzi knew it was driving Paige crazy based on the way her breaths were coming heavier as time went on, but her skin was so warm and soft that she couldn’t stop. She lost track of time, unsure how long they sat there with Paige playing Fortnite and herself leaving bruises on Paige’s throat.

“You’re being so good for me, mama. Such a good girl. Keeping my cock so wet and warm for me, marking up my neck. Takin’ this so well, Az,” Paige said softly, the clicks of the controller continuing as she played. The praise sent warmth rushing through Azzi’s stomach. She suddenly became far more aware of the way she could feel herself, so unbearably full, dripping down the purple silicone. She whimpered, biting at Paige’s neck in one place, sucking on another spot, and leaving little licks with the tip of her tongue over the whole area afterward. Then a thought hit her.

“Sorry,” Azzi mumbled, pulling back to look Paige in her eyes, light blue irises capturing her immediately.

“You’re sorry? Sorry for what, baby?” Paige asked, confusion clear in her voice.

“You’re gonna be uneven,” Azzi explained. Paige’s eyebrows scrunched together. One of Azzi’s hands came up to her forehead and smoothed the skin down gently. “Your neck,” Azzi elaborated, finally noticing the blonde’s confusion. Paige’s face opened up in understanding.

“It’s okay, baby. I don’t mind. As long as you’re comfy and you feel good and I get to walk around for the next few days with these marks, everything is great,” Paige comforted.

“Are you sure?” Azzi asked delicately. Usually, she would have been self-conscious about how fragile she sounded, but not tonight. Tonight, she knew that Paige was going to take care of her. She wasn’t going to make fun of Azzi for anything, wasn’t going to tease her about sounding unsure.

“I’m sure, baby,” Paige promised. Azzi let out a breath of relief. “You still feel okay?” Paige asked, grinding her hips slowly into Azzi. Azzi moaned at the sensation. She had gotten used to the comfortable fullness of the strap pressed deep inside of her. Almost forgotten it was there, even. Now her attention was drawn back to the pressure of the cock against the walls of her pussy. Her clit throbbed.

“Need you,” was all she managed to get out, grinding her hips down against Paige’s. When Paige didn’t do anything else, Azzi’s gaze darted up to her face, desperation etched across every line of her expression. Paige looked right back at her, blue eyes soft and safe. Azzi heard the thump of the controller being set down on the desk. She clenched around the cock in anticipation.

“Feelin’ a little bit calmer now, honey? Ready to come?” Paige cooed. Azzi felt so needy she thought she might cry if Paige didn’t fuck her in the next few seconds.

“Please, Paige,” she begged. She wanted to fuck herself on the strap, but two things held her back: her legs already felt too much like jelly to lift herself, and Paige hadn’t given her permission to move. So she sat, the purple strap so deep in her pussy that she knew she would feel it for days, and could do nothing but beg Paige for more. Luckily for Azzi, the neediness and desperation in her voice were enough to make Paige give in quickly.

The blonde’s hands came down to grip Azzi’s hips, lifting her off the strap so that just the tip remained inside. The emptiness was such a stark contrast from how full she had been mere seconds before that Azzi gasped. Then Paige dragged her back down the cock, hips thrusting up to meet her. Azzi cursed softly, eyes rolling back at how good it felt. Paige repeated the process of pulling Azzi off the strap, then moving her all the way back down, thrusting up with just the slightest bit of pressure.

It was slow and gentle but it was exactly what Azzi needed, and the whole situation was driving her insane. Within minutes she was babbling, not even sure what words were coming out of her mouth. She just knew she needed Paige to never stop the motions she was doing, needed her fingers to stay firmly on her waist, needed the strap so deep inside her cunt that she could feel it in her stomach.

“More, more, please baby, I need it so bad. Touch me, please. It hurts, need you to touch me,” Azzi begged. She wasn’t sure she was making any sense. Her head was too fuzzy, too firmly set in the mindset of being good for Paige, to think about anything else. Paige knew what she needed though, even though Azzi herself didn’t.

One of Paige’s hands left Azzi’s waist and she nearly started protesting, but then she felt two of Paige’s fingers brush her clit lightly. She moaned.

“Yes please,” she pleaded before Paige could even ask. Paige smiled and started to rub gentle circles around her clit. Azzi’s hands gripped Paige’s shoulders, biting her lip and throwing her head back.

“So good, mama. Bein’ so perfect for me, just takin’ my cock like such a good girl,” Paige praised. A high whine left Azzi as she fucked herself back down onto the purple silicone. “You almost there? What do you need, Az?” Azzi was panting at this point, barely able to get breaths in and out of her lungs between moans.

“Just- fuck- this. Keep doin’ this,” Azzi stuttered. Paige’s hand squeezed her hip gently, the other hand still busy playing with Azzi’s clit. Azzi’s eyes were permanently closed at this point, the pleasure too overwhelming to keep her sight locked on anything.

As Paige continued her ministrations, Azzi felt the pressure in her stomach grow tighter and tighter. Between the sensation of Paige’s breath on her neck, the dildo stretching her pussy so good, and Paige’s fingers rubbing her clit, Azzi felt like she was going to die from pleasure.

“Oh god, Paige, gonna cum, please let me cum. Need it, please please let me,” Azzi begged as the pressure low in her stomach became unbearable. She bit her lip roughly. Paige watched the action with blown-out pupils, face looking just as fucked out as Azzi felt.

“Cum for me baby. You’ve been so good for me, just need you to cum all over my cock, make a mess for me,” Paige encouraged. That was all Azzi needed to fall over the edge. She cried out, grinding down onto Paige harder, letting the blonde fuck her through it. The fingers on her clit quickly became too much, Azzi pushing Paige’s hand away with a whimper.

“Too much, can’t take anymore-” she gasped out. Paige let Azzi remove her hand and began to pull the strap out of her pussy, a thick white sheen covering every exposed inch, when Azzi whined out an objection.

“No, no, please. Not yet,” she protested. Paige paused.

“Don’t you wanna go clean up and lay down, baby?” She asked. Azzi shook her head adamantly but hesitated to explain. Luckily, Paige took pity on her. “You just wanna be full for a little longer, huh?” Azzi nodded quickly. Her words seemed to have been stolen from her, but she needed Paige to understand what she wanted.

“Need you. Please,” she whispered. Paige smiled softly, the sides of her eyes crinkling.

“Okay, mama. We can stay just like this for a while,” she agreed. Azzi sighed in relief, letting herself sag against Paige’s warm chest, burying her face in the newly marked skin of her neck. Azzi wasn’t sure how long they sat like that. She just knew that when she opened her eyes again, Paige was already looking at her like she had hung the stars and the moon in the sky. Like she would do anything for Azzi.

“What?” Azzi asked softly, feeling like her brain had finally reconnected to her body. Paige soothed her hands up and down Azzi’s back slowly.

“I just really love you,” Paige whispered. Azzi smiled.

“I love you too, Paige.” Paige let her head drop to Azzi’s collarbones, leaving soft kisses there.

“You ready to go clean up now? Feel better?” Paige asked. Azzi nodded, feeling the most serene she had in weeks.

“Yeah. Just needed you.” Paige brushed a curl out of Azzi’s face gently. The strap was still nestled deep inside Azzi’s cunt and she knew she would feel reminders of the stretch for days. The knowledge soothed her. She brought her hands up to cup Paige’s face, leaving featherlight kisses across her face.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Paige’s own hands came to rest on Azzi’s face.

“You don’t have to thank me, baby. I’ll do anything you want if it helps you feel better. Anything,” Paige murmured. Azzi’s heart felt like it was going to burst open. She didn’t know it was possible to feel this much about one person, but Paige made it happen every day.

“I love you,” Azzi whispered again.

“I love you too, Az. Now let’s get cleaned up.”

[hiimlego]

I just discovered this post from a YouTube video and I can't help but think up ideas for it too, even though I don't know that much about Muppets stuff.

Dick makes frequent appearances on Sesame Street as a guest star, and is always willing to do musical numbers and stuff like that. The producers feel bad when they have to deny him the opportunity.

Jason wouldn't be caught dead on Sesame Street, the other Outlaws would never let him live it down...Although Bizarro would probably adore it atleast. Eventually, Bruce goes to him to request that he be a guest. Jason refuses adamantly, until he discovers that the episode is about teaching to help those experiencing poverty, how to stand together in the face of difficult lives caused by money troubles and lack of food. He never really paid much attention to the Muppets, believing it was just baby stuff that Bruce just uses to his advantage to look like an idiot, but he learns it's actually teaching children valuable information that they should know, and Bruce believes that he's the right person to go on to talk about what it's like to be in a situation like this. And so, he does, recounting stories from his past (Albeit probably simplified down a bit to be okay for kids) before he was adopted by Bruce. By the end, he has all the Puppeteers on the verge of tears and wanting to give him a hug, which they promptly do in the form of all the puppets. He still believes it was embarrassing, but also feels like he helped teach something and would hopefully make things better. If the price of that is a little teasing, he can handle it...And oh boy, he does indeed get teased for it. Albeit in a light-hearted way not meant to actually demean him. Infact, they're all proud of him.

I can imagine Tim being brought in during a Muppets Special where they have to solve a mystery, with Tim being portrayed as basically just some kid who loves riddles and mysteries. He ends up getting into a rivalry with one of the Muppets (Not sure who, because again I don't really know that much about them) over who can solve the mystery first, and is a bit embarrassed by how seriously he takes said rivalry.

Damien sees it as the most insulting thing possible, and ends up death-glaring Kermit and Ms. Piggy's puppeteers every chance he gets. To the point where they end up going to Bruce to ask him for help because it's starting to genuinely feel like he's planning an attempt on their lives at that point. Although at some point, the franchise does end up growing on him, and reluctantly gives his blessing to the puppeteers if they ever genuinely want to marry his father.

At some point, Bruce himself returns to Sesame Street to talk about the pain of experiencing your parents pass away and becoming an orphan, for once shedding the wealthy himbo playboy angle. He talks about how difficult it was for him for some time, how he built up his walls and pushed everyone away from him. However, he eventually found a light at the end of the tunnel and was able to feel happy again with the support of those he called his family and friends. He talks about how much he wanted to make sure others who experienced pain could come out into the light just like he did.

No citizen is used to seeing Bruce this eloquent and mature, thanks to his himbo playboy angle. They know how much he cares, thanks to all the money he pours into charities and all the kids he adopts, but it's still shocking to see him so outspoken about these issues. Bruce then realizes he got a little too into it, and promptly asks if they could tell Ms. Piggy and Kermit how cool he was for that speech as a way to distract from it.

I feel like Bruce Wayne projects the kind of amiable playboy 'fun' vibe that he'd be the type of celebrity that certain interviewers feel comfortable surprising with puppies.

You know the kind of shows I mean.

The late-night talk show situations where they're making benign small talk with their smiling guest, and there's a segment where animals get brought out, usually to talk about some sort of ecological relief effort.

So you're watching your trash TV talk show late at night, and you get to watch billionaire pretty boy Bruce Wayne be begrudgingly talked into holding a (relatively) harmless creature which inevitably gets a lot of delighted shrieks from the audience as it starts being a lot more active than the handler promised. And to his credit, Bruce doesn't flinch, he doesn't freak out. But his eyes are a little wide, and his voice a little tight as the smile on his face takes on a slight rictus quality before he's inevitably rescued by an apologetic handler who is also laughing because they all know there was no real danger, it was just funny to put Bruce, who is an undeniable good sport and already laughing along, out of his comfort zone for the sake of charity.

Meanwhile, up in the Justice League headquarters, several founding members of the League are wondering how fast they can get a fake Oscar award shipped to the space station because fuck off. Absolutely fuck off, Bruce. Where the fuck did he study? Juilliard? (Probably.)

(Clark ends up going to a novelty store during the commercial break. It's faster than trying to get anything shipped, even with the infrastructure Bats built for them. He finds it several days later taped to his console in a conspicuously empty briefing room. It's gaudy and awful, the words "Best Actor" engraved on the plaque. No one's around to see him smile. No one comments when it vanishes. Everyone thinks it's been yeeted out an airlock. Dick absolutely comments when it shows up in the manor, stashed in one of the trophy cases that sprung up for all the bat kids' school awards. Bruce has no idea how it got there. Must have been Alfred. (It was not.))

Anyway, consider, for your amusement, Bruce Wayne getting highjacked on The Gotham Toight Show with a handful of wriggling puppies and, for a split second, not having to pretend he's delighted to be there.

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

junior.

synopsis: holding your child for the first time is always the first step to becoming a good parent. and…what now?

ft; itoshi rin, mikage reo, barou shouei

a/n: my tiktok is cryinggirlnamedhelen with a thanos pfp from squid game season 2. follow me if you want to.

itoshi rin

rin didn’t know how to feel about the cries and yells inside of the delivery room.

it wasn’t common for husbands in japan to stay with his wife during labor, so rin waited outside, pacing around with beads of sweat rolling down his temple. sae and rin’s parents sat on one of the benches while your parents sat on another, hands clasped together and mumbling prayers.

god, rin wasn’t even this nervous during the finals at the world cup.

stupid isagi and bachira had begged to come, and when they came, they just kept on asking what rin’s thoughts were on some stupid names for the baby that they had come up with. rin had shooed them away, and the two were now in the cafeteria, getting food for you when you would finally be done with the painful labor.

rin’s palms began to sweat; why was it taking so long? was it really normal for you to be screaming bloody murder in there? rin didn’t like hearing you in pain, not at all. each of your yelps and cries felt like a stab to rin’s heart. if he could be in there and stay by your side, he would in a heartbeat. but the doctors didn’t want him to be there, and rin trusted the doctors more than himself.

and finally, the high pitched cries of a baby erupted.

everyone stood up, and isagi and bachira came just in time with mountains of food on each plate that they held. the moment a doctor came out of the door with a smile, rin sprinted through the door and kneeled down by your side.

he placed a hand over yours, your skin pale and your breaths shallow, although to rin, you still looked like an angel. “rin. he’s healthy. he’s got your lashes.” a shaky smile made way to your lips before a doctor gently handed rin your newborn baby.

a tuft of dark green—almost black—hair was atop his head, and long underlashes that has been in the itoshi family for generations made way onto his eyes. rin felt his chest tightening, and his eyes began to water.

why did he feel so prideful of someone who he had just met?

the baby boy’s eyes opened; a bright teal, the color of sea glass. rin stiffened; was his kid going to cry? was rin holding him too tightly? did he fail at a father already?

but the small boy just smiled up at rin.

rin’s eyes gleamed, tears glossing over his turquoise irises like the most expensive porcelain china. “hey,” rin whispered softly. rin smiled gently when his son giggled softly. “you must’ve recognized my voice from when i used to talk to you through your mom’s stomach, huh? your mom’s amazing, she just delivered you through so much effort.” isagi and bachira stared from the doorway with their jaws dropped, although isagi’s eyes soon softened.

rin didn’t know why he loved this child so much. he didn’t know why a smile crawled to his lips the moment he saw him. he didn’t know why he felt the need to protect him forever. it scared him a little, but rin knew this feeling well, and he welcomed it.

after all, it was how rin felt when he had first met you.

mikage reo

reo once again winced at the sound of your screams, holding in even more tears and begging that your pain will end soon. once again, he asked his butlers and secretary the same thing as a few minutes again. “is everything there? her favorite foods? her favorite video games and snacks? her favorite movies? that one drink that the nurse recommended that was good for women who just gave birth?”

nagi, who was sitting on one of the benches and was dragged here by reo, replied tiredly, tapping away at his console. “reo, we just checked 3 minutes ago. they’re all here. even your butlers seem tired of this.” reo sent him a glare.

“reo, honey, you should sit. the nurses didn’t want you in there for a reason.” reo’s mother’s attempts at coaxing him were weak, and reo wouldn’t budge from his position standing right next to the door of the delivery room. “they knew that your crying during her pain would distract them.”

reo ignored his mom’s words. he had even tried bribing the nurses into letting him in before realizing that he really would just be a hindrance to deal with in the middle of trying to deliver a baby. a crying husband probably wasn’t a good addition to a screaming and wife.

suddenly, the screaming became higher pitched, more wet, more…alive.

your daughter was born.

without needing any confirmation from the doctors, reo shoved the door open and ran in, sitting on the chair right next to your bed that was placed by the doctor who had cleverly predicted his intrusion. “love, are you okay? does it still hurt? are you hungry? tired? how are you feeling? do you—“

“reo, im okay. thank you. and…” you weakly gestured to the nurse who held your baby wrapped in a bundle of purple blankets. instantly, reo stood up and took the baby into his arms, his eyes brimming with warmth.

“she looks just like you. she’s just as beautiful as her mom.” reo whispered, sitting on the chair again and gently cooing at his newborn daughter. he gently tickled her cheek with his pointer finger, and she giggled. reo’s heart melted and his eyes began to water again before he sniffled. “you’re like an angel. both you and your mom.”

reo’s parents walked in, discussing something about the future heir of the company, although reo ignored them for now. he’ll have to talk to them about how he wanted his daughter to follow her own path at another time. but for now, he just wanted to value this beautiful moment with his wife and newborn daughter.

nagi walked in, reading the room and shoving his gaming console into his jean pocket. he walked to you. “reo panicked a lot, and you screamed a lot. was it really that bad?” at your weak nod, nagi’s eyes widened a little bit. “wow. im suddenly really glad im not a woman.” a glare was sent from both reo and a few nurse.

reo glanced down at his daughter again, and his eyes softened, as if his daughter were the most precious thing in the world. “i love you so much.”

reo barely even knew this newborn girl for a few minutes, but she was always tied for the most beloved person in his heart: tied with you.

barou shouei

barou grew up with two younger sisters. he tolerated and loved them through temper tantrums, periods, puberty, boy heartbreak, and girl problems. he’s been changing their diapers, teaching them how to walk, feeding them, and cooking for them ever since they were infants.

so why was he so nervous about his own daughter, who was soon to be born?

barou didn’t tremble as he waited outside of the door, nor did he cry when he heard your wails and moans of unease. however, he was awfully stiff and overly snappy, even for barou. even when his beloved sisters tried to talk to him to ask about you and your soon to be born daughter, barou was practically already yelling.

when barou’s mother tried to calm him, barou couldn’t bring himself to reply, knowing that he would say rude things that he would regret later on to his own mother. he’d rather not risk it, and instead just nodded, trying to believe that you’re okay in there and that you’re trying your best, which he knows you are.

when the wails of a newborn baby daughter reached barou’s ears, he pushed open the door without even using the handle and instantly stood by your side.

“are you okay? was it too bad?” barou knew that he was being weirdly gentle, but how could he not when his wife just gave birth? you were pale, panting, and beads of sweat rolled down your face and neck, but you were still drop dead gorgeous in barou’s opinion.

“no, not at all.” you whispered. “you know what they said? they said that she’s one of the healthiest they’ve ever seen, maybe the the healthiest. you really did spoil and pamper me during the pregnancy, huh?”

“well, what else was i supposed to do? mistreat you? im not heartless.” a nearby nurse offered barou to hold his daughter, in which he accepted. same colored hair as him, and when she looked up, the same ruby red eyes as him. only difference? her eyes were soft and full of warmth like yours.

barou didn’t think that anything could ever be more perfect than you, but maybe he just found a tie.

[seungcheorry]

"chan, you idiot!", seungkwan exclaimed, his hand itching to slap his youngest member. "how can you be so clueless all the time?"

and, once again, chan had that look on his face, as if he didn't know shit - and to be honest, he didn't.

"what did i do this time?"

"they aren't saying they are bored because they think you're not interestant or annoying", seungkwan rolled his eyes. "although you are very much annoying."

chan sighed, covering his eyes with his hand. of course he wouldn't get out of that conversation without being insulted at least once, even though he know his hyung didn't actually mean it.

he went to his hyungs, sharing this one thing that has been bothering him; you.

oh, don't get me wrong, chan liked you so much. he felt attracted to you the moment he laid eyes on you, and was over the moon when he found out you also liked him. however, everytime the two of you hang out, you always look a bit... annoyed. bored. disappointed. like you were expecting something else.

"then what? what should i do to entertain them?"

"chan-ah, don't be silly", seungcheol laughed when jeonghan stopped seungkwan from getting up to hit chan. "they look like that because they want you to act on your feelings."

"act on my feelings?", there surely was lots of '???' over chan's head.

"oh my god...", seungkwan groaned.

"you like them, they like you. they're expecting you do do something about that", a calm seungcheol explained, shrugging.

and those words stayed with chan for the whole time he was away from you, counting the days to see you again and try to test his hyung's theory.

so now he's sitting right beside you on his couch. your head is resting on a cushion, once again a bored expression on your face as you don't pay much attenttion to the movie that is playing on his tv. chan takes a look at you from the corner of his eye, mirroring your expression and sighing a little too loud; but it's okay, it's all part of his plan.

"what?", you ask him.

"um, nothing...", he let his body melt on the couch, to look even more bored. "this movie is shitty."

"it is, i stopped watching like ten minutes ago."

with a sigh too, you sit up straight to look around the room. chan is watching your every move, getting ready to say his next words out loud.

"yeah, i feel you. i'm really bored right now."

"hm, me too..."

and it's comical, actually, how you turn to look at chan and how his eyes slightly shine when the two of you say together:

"wanna kiss?"

there it is. chan smiles, not only because his plan has half worked (and definitely not because his hyungs were right), but because you thought the same thing he did, and maybe you too were just waiting for him to be as bored as you to act on your wishes.

"thought you would never ask", you chuckle, already throwing yourself at chan, smacking your lips against his.

he welcomes you with passion, holding your waist and helping your adjust beside him while his lips works wonderful on yours, parting them just enough so he can slip his tongue into your mouth.

it's great, and it makes chan's chest burn with that feeling he hasn't felt in so long - he really likes you; he's just on the edge to actually fall in love with you.

and god, he hopes you're right beside him on that edge too.

a/n: inspired by this moment right here.

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐉𝐀𝐖

Summary: A frustration fueled Joel comes back from scouting with a very prominent issue.

Warnings: PORN NO PLOT. Teasing, thigh riding, throat-fucking, oral m!receiving, Joel calls himself daddy (my bad 😵‍💫), pussy & dick pronouns. Wc: 2k, f!reader

AN: this was all written within the span of an hour so my bad, this is what ovulation does to a bitch.

Home alone. For three whole hours.

Joel went out scouting.

Your eyes that whole time had been staring holes into the floral wallpaper of the flat, without much to do -or, more realistically without the man you’ve been thinking about doing all fuckin’ day. It was a draining experience. Your fingernails peeling up the flesh of your thighs as you sunk further, deeper into his living room couch. It smelled like him. The musky scent he wore all seeped into the upholster.

The sound of the front door’s lock clicking once he had inserted the key made your ears perk, hours of listening to your own heartbeat the time you weren’t desperately trying to stimulate your accumulating thoughts about him. The touch, the feeling of his body that you’ve only felt one whole time in which you had never gotten it off your brain. Thick fingers running along the puffy, sopped folds of your pussy, stretching you. Running his free, spit slicked palm over and all the way down his cock to get himself ready. The feeling of his girth forcing into your hole.

You’d never forget.

The door would creak open before you locked onto him. A thick hand wrapped around one of the straps of his supply bag before he dropped it onto the ground next to the door, a long exasperated sigh escaping past his parted lips. Running thick fingers through the greying curls on his head.

“Fuck.”

Cursing, Joel would walk past you and to the kitchen, opening the first cupboard which to his luck had some booze in it. A stale, half empty bottle of said booze. Popping the cap off, taking a swig.

Finding it difficult to look away while the man did something as simple as drink, the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat as the bready liquid moved down the pharynx.

Satisfied from the liquid quenching his thirst he walked back over to the couch, sitting down directly next to you, his thigh touching yours. Hadn’t been able to notice earlier whether it was the angle or how fast he walked through the house, his cock was writhing tightly against his jeans. Sunrays shone through the windows, curtains open. Yellow hued light outlining the bulge. Clearly he had been like this for a while. His worn palms running down his face.

Your lips parted, tongue tied by the sight. It was a test, surely.

With little-to-none resistance your hand reached out to place on his thigh, one of your fingers would stretch to touch the curve sticking out in his jeans, the pad of your index hardly applying any pressure before tracing his dick, watching it jump before you felt Joel’s hand grab your wrist.

“All day- All fuckin’ mornin’, baby.”

Fingers twisting over the skin on your arm, another twitch from his cock would draw in your attention. He’s been waiting.

“You didn’t have to come all the way back here. You have a hand.”

Stating as if there wasn’t a pool of your own slick in the middle of the lace underwear you had only dug through your drawer to find earlier in the day. On your mind all day was this very moment, you had been counting every tick from the clock as you waited for him to walk into the room at fuck your face.

“I swear to fuckin’—“

His legs spread open over the cushion, tapping his boot against the hardwood. Impatient.

To reiterate again, waiting all fucking day. Now with you here the thought of waiting another second had him struggling. Wearing loose boyshorts around your hips as you sat there he’d lean over you, hooking his finger to the hem before yanking them off those pretty legs. A palm he had placed on your low stomach now sliding til his hand was underneath the white, lace panties he oh-so-loved. His tall finger slipped past your clit, into your swollen slit. You’d mewl.

Soaked.

“Knew it.”

He yanked you onto his thigh, moving his hand down to your ass, squeezing, fat spilling between his fingers. Luckily his second hand had been lazily resting at his side now had a purpose, up your back and to the back of your head to hold onto your hair. His lips slamming into yours. No mercy behind the kiss.

Your hips began rolling at a quick pace, your cunt slowly coming un-covered with every thrust down into his jean clad thigh. His tall finger finding his way back to your hole beneath your underwear, tracing it with his thick digit. Pulling his lips back from yours with a wet smack.

“She’s fuckin’ droolin’.”

He’d drawl, to no avail you’d try to force that finger into you by a buck of your hips downward. Thus, he’d withdraw. A reward game, you’ll earn his fingers later.

One more long grind down into his thigh that’d surely serve you a friction burn later and you were off his leg. Dropping onto your knees in front of his lap. You’d swear you’ve only dreamt of being in a position like this. Your smaller hands started at his calves before resting on his thighs. His coffee eyes staring into yours.

He wouldn’t waste precious time now, unbuckling his belt to toss it away. Unzipping his jeans to shove them to his upper thighs, the last article of suffrage being his boxers, a dark wet spot painfully obvious on the grey cotton. He’d tug on the elastic that rimmed the top before tugging his briefs to his upper thighs, with the quick pull his cock sprung up slapping against his tummy.

His shaft was turning red. Tip pulsating. His thumb ran down to spread the bead of precum over him, laminating the dark pink bulb til’ it looked like glass. A flutter in your stomach at the sight.

“Stick your tongue out.” He’d just barely manage to groan.

Control now gained with his fingers wrapped around his base. Your knees now hitting the base of the couch, it was as close as you could get. Obeying the commands you opened your mouth, your pink, saliva slicken tongue sticking out.

His cock slapped against your tongue, driving it into your wet hole with his free hand as his other worked into your hair, his fingers forming an O around your thick locks as a makeshift hair tie. Though, you’d find this was better.

He was fuckin’ big. Even taking him into your pussy didn’t do him justice, only truly able to fit him halfway into your small mouth.

It wouldn’t be enough for him.

His hips would buck forward, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat. Involuntarily your throat would clench - teetering the lines of a gag and a spasm of your muscles. Though, your eyes began to gloss over.

The knot in your pelvis tightened while Joel craned his neck back against the back of the couch letting out a long, rough groan. Such a tough girl, he’d figure a few good thrusts wouldn’t be the thing that’d ruin you.

Another buck of his hips sent a wrack through his body, fucking his thick cock into your throat. Your drool dribbling down his shaft. Your eyes hadn’t unlocked with his own ‘less they were going to roll back into your skull with every hit to the very back of your tongue. A moan bubbled up from your tightened throat, vibrating up the thick length of his dick. You could taste how his vein would throb and pulsate against your cheek. No doubt he was close.

With your mouth managing to take every. Last. Inch. Of him so deeply. There was no way he could last.

Your own thighs would clench together as your eyes finally took a break from straining upwards to now clenching shut. Your juices collecting all in the middle of your panties. Your clit throbbing excruciatingly hard. You knew better than to touch yourself. Focusing and giving your body up to the task at hand.

Joel’s breaths turning into deep pants. His balls tightening, drawing up. Though he had a better idea than just cumming straight on the spot despite that just being the thing he’s been pining for all fucking day. Tugging on the hair falling between his fist he pulled your head back, his cock extruding from your mouth with an audible, wet ‘pop!’ sound. Glossy eyes gazed into his as his flickered down to his cock, jumping straight up once released from your mouth one big mess of his precum mixing with your salivation.

“Makin’ such a mess of him, huh?” He’d grunt. Completely gawked by the sight. “Such a fuckin’ mess of daddy’s cock.”

You could’ve sworn this man was giving your pussy a heartbeat.

Before you could give any sort of catty response his cock was shoved back into your mouth, giving you no time to readjust, to get used to the feeling of his burning tip knocking at the back of your throat. Managing by the grace of God to stowaway your gag reflex seemingly just for the evening. His pace slowing, beginning to get sloppy quicker. You’d have a lot to say if you didn’t have a mouthful. Though, deep down you knew that your unhealthily cock-drunk brain would be unable to formulate a coherent sentence. One with both sense and grace.

“Just. Like. That.” He punctuated.

Thrusting deeper til your nose was bobbing up and down against his pelvis. Nuzzling into the scent that came within the dense thicket of greying, wiry hairs. All curled around and crowing his base. You felt the thick vein that traveled all the way down the girth of his dick pulsate against your overstuffed cheek. A whine from you would only shake up his shaft. His tummy tightening up, hips spasming. Another violent thrust to the back of your tongue those built up tears to freely fall down your cheeks.

Again.

Sliding his cock from your lips to shove it back in again. Every time taking the split second to admire all that drool dripping down the line of his strained cock.

“Fuck! Baby—“ Absolutely strained.

He’d throw his head back, bumping it against the back of the couch as he let out a long, throaty moan. He pulled out of your mouth, the overused motion you’ve grown so very accustomed to, though this time your tongue stayed out, perfectly so as he was able to paint the pink muscle with hot, thick ropes of cum. Pumping his fist over his cock as ropes of semem shoot down your tongue and straight to the back of your throat. Painting his own perfect masterpiece on the fleshy canvas of your mouth.

Swallowing every last droplet as if it were liquid gold.

His stomach rose and fell heavily with each breath, his hand reached out to grab your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing down on your glossy bottom lip. Every. Last. Drop. Though, he just had to make sure.

“That’s what I like to see, babygirl.” He’d praise. Lazily tugging up his boxers so he could conceal his freshly mouth-fucked cock, concealing with another layer courtesy of his unzipped jeans. Sure, you finished him the fuck off but that didn’t mean he was gonna soften up anytime soon.

You’d just hardly make it back onto your trembling legs as you looked at him, panties slid to the side from unconsciously grinding against the cold, wooden floors. A droplet of that warm, glue-like slick trickling down your inner thigh once you stood up. Joel’s eyes followed the stray tear.

“Goddamn, baby. Lemme take care of that for you.”

That’s what you like to hear.

Standing up from the couch with a long grunt he’d lift you off of your feet, carrying you straight to his bed. Soon enough he’d be two knuckles deep into your aching pussy, giving you all that sweet pleasure you so deserved after earning it so fuckin’ well.

[atlabeth]

in over my head

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: between all the arguments, you and spencer begin to understand each other a little bit more.

a/n: wauw.... out of nowhere i wrote 4k words and finished this chapter in one night... god bless spencer reid. i hope you all enjoy. r's cold heart is finally starting to defrost. title from the fray song

wc: 5k

warning(s): arguing, case discussions (stalking, murder, etc), talk of parental neglect, hurt w/o comfort then hurt/comfort. r lowkey freaking out this whole fic. the usual good time

You lean against the wall, trying to keep your breathing as quiet as possible. 

You don’t really want Spencer to know you were eavesdropping on him the whole time. You don’t really want him to see the look on your face because he defended you to your dad. 

He— he should expect it, shouldn’t he? He’s sitting out in the living room on the phone, and you’re you. It’s only natural you’d listen in on him. 

Spencer defended you to your dad— mouthed off to him in very un-Spencer-like fashion. 

Why? 

From what you’d gathered, he practically worshipped the guy. Even if he didn’t, your dad was still his superior. It didn’t really seem like any kind of good idea to talk back to him. 

But he did. 

For you. 

You thought Spencer merely tolerated you because he had to. You wouldn’t blame him, the way you treated him. So why would he do something like that for you?

You’re jarred out of your thoughts when you hear Spencer say your name. You blink back into yourself to see him standing in front of you, and you feel your face burn. 

So much for not being obvious. 

“I’m assuming you heard everything?” he asks.

You nod. You have the decency to not insult his intelligence, at least. 

“That means we can go over everything,” Spencer says, already starting to walk away. “Come on.”

You frown. You expected him to be mad at you for eavesdropping, or use what he did for you as leverage for something, or— or do anything but act normal. 

You shake yourself out of your thoughts once again as you follow him back to the living room. Spencer sits back down on the couch and you tentatively sit across from him. 

“I don’t want what I said to scare you,” he says. “Hernandez may be our lead right now, but I doubt it’ll stay that way. Elle and Morgan are going to check him out, and I’ll get another call once they do.”

You blink. Of course he’d expect you to be focused on that part—your stalker, the threat against your life, the whole reason you’re in here. Not Spencer sticking up for you. 

“Right,” you say. “Do you think it’s him?”

“Honestly? No.” Spencer sighs and shakes his head. “You heard what I said. He doesn’t fit the profile—he’s a man who made the worst choices of his life when he lost everything. If he’s been released, he might have actually changed. We’re only on him because he’s all we’ve got.”

“…Good,” you say. “Strangling wouldn’t be my top way to go.”

“You need to stop talking like that,” he says. 

“I need to stop doing a lot of things,” you respond. “Any idea how much longer we’ll be in here?”

Spencer shakes his head. “We’re here until this case is solved or our cover is blown.”

You huff. “Like if this guy finds us again?”

He nods. “But that shouldn’t happen. Elle, Gideon, Hotch, and Strauss are the only ones who know about this place, and they’re obviously sworn to silence.”

“Strauss?”

“Erin Strauss,” he says. “The BAU’s section chief.” 

“Ah.” You realize you’re still holding your mug, now empty, and you lean forward to set it on the table. “What happens if we’re made?” 

“You’ve got to stop thinking about the worst case scenarios,” Spencer says. “Pessimism doesn’t just make anxiety, depression, and paranoia worse—it can raise your blood pressure, increase your chance of cardiovascular problems, and mess with your immune system. It’s literally bad for your health.” 

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” you ask. “I’ve got a stalker and we didn’t realize until he’d been watching me for a month. Your team has only got one lead and you don’t even think it’s the right one. That sounds pretty negative to me.” 

“We’re still at the beginning of this case,” Spencer says. “It usually takes a few bodies for us to figure out what’s really going on and find the unsub in our regular cases.” 

You stare at him, and he seems to realize what he’s actually said. 

“Of course, there won’t be any bodies in this case!” he rushes. “You— you’re going to be perfectly fine!” 

“You’re really not great at reassurance,” you say wryly as you pick up your cup and stand up, “are you?” 

“Homicides only occur in two percent of stalking cases!” Spencer continues, his voice rising as you go into the kitchen. “A- and you might not even be the primary target! If anything, he might be going after your dad!” 

By now you’ve finished filling your mug again. You stop at the edge of the hallway when he finishes, leveling a tired look at him. 

“Thanks, Spence. That really helps.” 

You walk back to your room, and once again, you only close the door halfway to humor his concerns. 

If you’d lingered a little longer, you would have been able to see his frown. 

“Spence?” he murmurs in confusion.

-

The rest of the day goes by smoother than you thought it would, largely because Spencer keeps his distance and you don’t fight it. 

You busy yourself with more cleaning—you never finished it after your last outburst—and when you finish that, you read. You find Pride and Prejudice in the box of books the BAU provided, and it’s a good distraction. You’d much rather worry about the problems of the Bennets rather than your own. 

You end up cooking first, and you offer Spencer some of your pasta when you finish. He initially looks shocked at the olive branch, but you figure you owe him something for all he’s put up with. 

You don’t tell him that, of course. You just tell him he has five seconds to make a decision before you finish the rest, and he snaps out of it pretty quickly. 

(“I promise I’m capable of cooking,” he says as he spoons a helping into his bowl. “I— I just don’t have much time for it. We’re always out on cases so we go to a lot of restaurants, and I get take-out at home because I get home at ungodly hours.” 

“Just shut up and eat your food,” you say. “I don’t need to hear your opening statement.” 

“Actually, I wouldn’t call this an opening statement. It’s more of—” 

“Oh my god.” You pick up your bowl and walk off. “Goodbye.”

“I think it’s more of a witness testimony!” he calls out.)

A similar thing happens with dinner, where you pull out the old reliable of chicken and rice. Dressed up a bit with some of the vegetables that are somehow already on the verge of going bad, but still the same thing you’ve eaten a million times throughout your life. You don’t really feel like cooking, but you also don’t feel like having to hear Spencer set the smoke alarm again, so you settle for this. 

(“You know,” Spencer says as he cuts into a chicken thigh, “I should really be trying everything first. Just in case there’s poison or something.” 

You stifle your incredulous laugh. “How would there be poison in anything? You all bought and brought this stuff in.” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. But you can never be too careful.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you say. “I— I think that is the most ridiculous thing you’ve said since I’ve met you.”

“I hope you’re not challenging me,” Spencer says. “Because I can beat it very easily.”) 

Between that, he calls out on occasion to make sure you’re still alive. You think it’s stupid, but it seems to ease his mind, so you play along.

He gets a call from your dad late at night, which he then goes on to relay to you—Agents Greenaway and Morgan paid a visit to Adam Hernandez, and they weren’t able to find anything suspicious. Penelope Garcia is going to comb through everything she can find on what he’s done since his release before they officially abandon the lead, but Hernandez is on parole and hasn’t violated it once—he seems to be clean. 

You don’t know whether you’re thankful for that or not. On one hand, you want this to be over. Getting lucky on the first suspect would be great. On the other hand, having a face to all of this scares you more than not knowing. You still have the chance to deny that all of this is real, really real—when they find their guy, you can’t do that anymore. There’s actually someone out there that wants to hurt you. 

The thought crossed your mind more often than not. 

Other than that, he doesn’t really bother you. Another thing where you don’t really know if you’re thankful or not. 

It’s close to midnight, and though you haven’t been able to sleep, you’re ready to accept this as another, thankfully non eventful day. 

But then there’s a huge flash of lightning, visible even through your closed blinds, followed closely by a deafening crack of thunder, and your whole body freezes up. Your hands stop on the page you were on, and a chill runs all the way through you despite the layers of covers you’re under. 

Rain has been pittering against the house for half the night, and you can deal with rain. You can’t deal with thunderstorms. 

You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. The absolute last thing you need to do is work yourself into a panic attack and get Spencer involved. You don’t think you could take the embarrassment. 

You attempt to go back to your book. You’d just arrived at Mr. Collins’ unsuccessful marriage proposal, but you can hardly focus. It doesn’t help when lightning illuminates your room once again, a clap of thunder sounding even quicker after, and your lamp flickers for a moment. This is actually the last thing you need—for the power to go out. 

A knock on your door suddenly sounds, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You’re already on edge and the storm’s just barely started. You hear Spencer call your name and ask if you’re awake, and you clear your throat before you respond. 

“What do you want?” You try to keep your voice as level as possible, but it wavers ever so slightly. 

“Can I come in?” 

You don’t want him to see you like this. “Is there something wrong?” 

“It’s the storm,” he says, and he doesn’t wait for you to respond. “I’m coming in.”

You have all of two seconds to make sure you don’t look as pathetic as you feel before Spencer walks in.

He looks like he just got out of bed. He’s wearing a Caltech crewneck and sweatpants, and his glasses are about to fall off his face. His disheveled appearance is in stark contrast to his usual image, with dress pants and button-ups and sweater vests galore. One of his hands clenches around the doorframe, and he uses the other to haphazardly push his glasses up as he sets his eyes on you.

“You need to come back into the living room,” Spencer says. 

“And good evening to you too.” You try not to look at him. You’ve learned that’s the best policy when it comes to him and those stupid glasses. “Why?”

“Because there’s a storm going on, and the power’s already flickered,” he says. “I don’t want to lose track of you if it does go out.”

“If the power goes out, we’re in the open out there,” you say. “If you’re so worried about it, you should stay in here.”

You expect a fight, but he just sighs and sits down in the chair across from your bed. “Fine.”

You frown. “That was easy.”

“I don’t feel like fighting with you over every little thing,” he says simply. “You might enjoy it, but I don’t. So I’m trying to take the path of least resistance.”

“That’s no fun,” you say.

“Well, you’re not very fun to be around,” Spencer says. He glances at you for a split second before his gaze goes back to the wall. “So.”

“Well, neither are you!” You don’t mean for your retort to come out so defensively, and you cringe as he looks back at you. It’s impossible to be around profilers without them knowing your every intent. You’d hate to know all the thoughts he’s had about you. “I might turn everything into a fight, but you turn everything into a drag.” 

“You’re doing it again,” he says. You expect him to go on, but he leaves it that. You find your brows furrowing deeper. 

“And?” 

“Maybe if you recognize your patterns, you’ll stop,” he says. “Sometimes people don’t realize they're doing something until it’s pointed out to them.” 

You huff. “How many times do I have to tell you not to psychoanalyze me?” 

“I don’t choose to do it,” Spencer says. You don’t miss the slight bite behind his words, and it almost makes you smile. As much as he doesn’t want to give you a fight, he can’t really help himself. You tend to bring out the worst in people. “It just happens in my brain automatically.” 

“Try to hold back,” you say. “It—”

Your words die in your throat with another crash of thunder, almost simultaneous with the lightning. It shakes the whole house, and you can’t help the full body flinch that wracks you, almost freezing completely. The power flickers again, and then it goes out altogether. You don’t even hold back your groan of annoyance. 

“Of course,” you grit out. “Of fucking course.” 

“Are you okay?” You look at him despite yourself, and even in the dark you can see the concern in his eyes. It makes your hands clench into fists beneath the sheets.

“Fine,” you mutter. “It doesn’t matter.”

Spencer frowns. “Of course it does.”

You scoff. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Why would it not matter?” he asks incredulously. “You— you’re clearly distressed, and holding it back isn’t helping anyone.” 

“Maybe I just like silence.” 

“Well, you clearly don’t like storms.” 

“How’d you figure that one, genius?” you mutter. You wrap your arms around yourself and pull your knees up to your chest, trying to lessen the sudden chill you feel. 

“...Normally, I would give you a real answer,” Spencer says. “But based on the lecture you just gave me—” 

“You figured right,” you snap. It only takes a second—and those stupid, soft eyes of his to dart away again—for you to feel… bad. 

He sighs and shakes his head as he stands up. “I’m going to get a candle. Stay put.” 

You tense as he walks out. Your whole body does, actually. You don’t know what it is about him or those stupid eyes that always manage to skirt out sympathy from you. 

You should feel gratified. At the start of this, you wanted to push Spencer to his limits—he’s too nice for his own good, and you wanted him to not only give you a more concrete reason to hate him, but get a reason to hate you back. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with this one-sided rivalry with the apparent saint of the BAU. 

But you don’t. You feel bad, and you hate it. You hate it more than any reasonable person should, but then again—you’ve never been reasonable. 

Spencer comes back in sooner rather than later, two lit candles in his hands. You can see the on-sale sticker plastered on the side of both, and you suppress a laugh. It’s something so small but so typical. 

“One’s vanilla, and one is,” he squints as he shifts it in his hand to read, “beach escape. What does a beach escape even smell like?” He shakes his head, then looks at you. “Which one do you—” 

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt. You blurt it out before you can even stop yourself. 

This time, it’s Spencer’s turn to frown. His face is illuminated from beneath by the candlelight and it gives him an almost haunting beauty, highlighted with yellow and white along his jawline and cheekbones. The flames are mirrored in the lenses of his glasses. “For what?” 

“For snapping.” You almost snap at him again out of instinct, and you let out a long, loose sigh in an effort to try and chill out for once. “Sorry. Again.” 

“Oh.” He stands there for a moment holding the two candles, and it could be a laughable sight were you not near consumed with guilt. “Uh— it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Fine,” he says, “it’s not. Which candle do you want?” 

“Which one do you want?” 

“This isn’t where you have to start the ‘being nice to me’ thing,” Spencer says. “They’re kind of starting to burn my hands.” 

“Beach escape,” you say. He nods and sets it on your bedside table, then sits back down in his chair after placing the vanilla one in the window sill. 

“You… seem a little pent up,” Spencer says after letting the silence dwell for a beat. His shoulders have relaxed some, not hunched up almost to his ears. Small victories, at least.

“I don’t talk about my emotions much,” you respond in equal fashion. “It’s not really my thing.” 

He shrugs. “Why not start now?” 

You laugh. “Why would I ever start now?” 

“You said it yourself,” he says. “I have a psychology degree. I’m a good listener.”

“You interrupt me all the time to say stuff.”

“You interrupt me all the time too, so I guess we’re even.” Spencer shifts in his chair. “Besides, I can listen when it’s important. And this is.”

You stare at him. He stares back. 

He has beautiful eyes even in the dark, and you hate that you can’t deny it. Deep brown like the oaks surrounding this place, that shine like pools of honey in the firelight, that always seem to soften just so when he looks at you.

You break first. You have to look away. You always have to look away. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you manage. “I was a latchkey kid. Storms happened a lot when I was home alone and they scared me. I guess they still do. Happy?” 

“Believe it or not, your pain doesn’t make me happy,” Spencer says. 

“I didn’t think it did,” you say, trying your best to snap. 

He nods. “So we’re in agreement?” 

“I—” you pause, a slight frown creasing your brows. “I guess.” 

Spencer nods again, and he leans forward a bit. “Wasn’t that a lot better than fighting with me, getting upset, and isolating yourself?” 

You scowl. “Don’t you dare therapize me.” 

“It’s hard not to,” Spencer says. “Especially when you seem determined to make our conversations one-sided.” 

You scoff. “I do not.” 

“You act like talking to me is a physical pain.” He crosses his arms. “You locked yourself in the bathroom last night to avoid talking to me.” 

“I locked myself in the bathroom so I wouldn’t lose my mind in front of you,” you say. “Just because I know everything about you doesn’t mean I want you to know everything about me.” 

Spencer scoffs. “You don’t know everything about me.”

“My dad talks about you more than you think,” you say. “About your whole team—but especially you.”

“Where am I from?” he asks. 

“Vegas,” you say. “He mentions it every time you beat him at cards.”

“That— that doesn’t really matter,” he says. “I know you’re from Fairfax.” 

“The worst place in the world,” you say emphatically. You can’t believe you’ve been stuck in NoVa your whole life. “Doesn’t count, though. You’re an FBI agent—you’re supposed to know things like this.” 

“So it counts when you know it, but it doesn’t count when I do?” Spencer asks. 

You nod. “I’ve heard about Penelope Garcia. I’m more surprised you don’t know everything about me by now.” 

“Me too,” he says. “Garcia can find anything. Gideon really did a good j—” 

He stops in the middle of his sentence, his eyes widening slightly as he clamps his mouth shut. 

“What?” You lean forward, looking him in the eye. “He did a good job doing what?” 

“I don’t want to start another argument,” he says. 

“Oh, poor you.” You don’t think you could sound more sarcastic if you tried. “You don’t want to hear me talk about my absent father that didn’t have time for me because he was too busy with you.” You glance away. “You don’t know what it feels like.” 

“There’s something you don’t know about me then,” Spencer says. “Because I do.” 

“Unless your dad’s ignored you all his life in favor of his job and the stray genius he found there, you really don’t.” 

“My dad left when I was a kid because he couldn’t deal with my mom’s schizophrenia,” Spencer retorts. His words get you to look right back at him—they’re not overly sharp or exceedingly soft, just matter-of-fact. “I haven’t seen him since. So you’re right—I don’t know exactly what it’s like, but I know a hell of a lot more than you think.” 

Regret hits you immediately, sour and spiny as it settles in your chest. You’ve been an asshole to him this whole time, and all along he’s held this inside of him? All along, you’ve been accusing him of stealing your life from you when he’s lost more than you have. 

For a moment, you can only stare at him, at a loss for words. He meets your eyes in equal measure. You might know a lot about Spencer Reid, but you’re quickly realizing you don’t know Spencer Reid. 

“Guess we’re a lot more similar than you thought,” he says in your silence. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you murmur, finally managing to muster up words. “That’s awful. You didn’t deserve that.” 

“No one does,” he shrugs. This time, he’s the one to look away. “But it is what it is.” 

“How can you just say that?” you ask. You lean forward, a frown creasing your brows. “How are you not just— just angry all the time? That your dad doesn’t give a fuck about you or your mom?” 

“For a while, I was.” He chuckles, but there’s no heart in it. “I was angry at everyone. My dad, my mom, the adults around me— I hated myself most of all. It’s part of the reason I was so good in school. I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t want to deal with it, so I studied as hard as I could, read as much as humanly possible.” He smiles thinly at nothing in particular. “Turns out I’m very good at avoiding things when I want to.” 

You shake your head with a scoff. “You’re a better person than I am. I would have hunted him down by now and given him a piece of my mind.” 

“It’s not worth it.” Spencer looks back at you. “He decided he didn’t want to be a part of my life. I’m not going to reward him by letting him ruin it when he’s not even here.” 

Is that what you’re doing? Letting your dad ruin your life by letting him occupy every part of it even when he’s not there? He’s influenced every part of your life, every part of you, and he hasn’t been here for half of it. Sometimes you’re surprised he didn’t miss your birth.

Another flash of lightning, another crack of thunder. You tense every muscle in your body to stop yourself from flinching as hard in front of Spencer. You think he notices anyway.  

“I’ve been angry at my dad since I was a kid,” you say once you’ve recovered. “He missed my dance recitals and my gymnastics meets and my soccer games, but he signed the checks for all of the payments. He told me to take honors and AP classes and missed the ceremonies for the awards. He was never there for anything that mattered, but—” you laugh again, and you blink back the tears— “but he waited until I was eighteen to get a divorce so I wouldn’t have to deal with a custody battle.” 

You bite down hard on your lip to force them back even harder as you look at Spencer. “Isn’t that fucked up? Neither of them have been there for us, but they’ve still shaped every part of us with their absence. We can’t escape it even when they’re not here, because them not being here is what caused it.” 

“I refuse to give him that much power,” Spencer says. “My dad left. He chose to leave. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, so I don’t want anything to do with him. I mean, I’m an FBI agent. I work with some of the best profilers in the world. I could find him if I wanted to, but I’m not going to waste my time chasing some pipe dream of a father that doesn’t exist.” 

“Your situation is different, though.” Both his eyes and tone soften, and something inside you stirs. “The only break I know Gideon’s taken was that six month medical leave that was practically forced on him. I think it would take an actual, life-threatening injury to get him to take another one. It’s a lot different having someone around and just… being neglected.”

“I’ve just always felt like such an asshole for it,” you mutter. “You all save lives every day. You’ve taken down a thousand sick criminals.” You shake your head with another mirthless laugh. “My dad saves women like me every day, gives them the chance to see their fathers again, and I’m mad at him because— because he won’t meet me for brunch? Because he missed my school band concerts?” 

“It’s not that simple,” Spencer says. “It’s never that simple. You don’t need to feel bad for hating him, but you also don’t need to feel bad for loving him, too.” 

You scoff. “There you go again with the psychology degree.” 

“It’s the truth,” he says. “Just because you feel rightfully angry doesn’t mean you don’t still love him. It’s part of the reason why you’re so conflicted about him.” He gave you a wry smile. “It makes everything a lot more complicated, doesn’t it?”

You shift in your bed. “Far cry from everything you told me before all this started.” 

“We see completely different sides of Gideon,” Spencer says. “I’m just… ashamed that it took me so long to believe you about all of it.” 

You huff a laugh. “I’m the one that should be ashamed. I thought you had this— this perfect life, with my dad loving you on top of it. That’s why I hated you so much.” 

He perks up. “Hated? As in, past tense? As in, you don’t hate me anymore?” 

You try to bite back your smile. You barely succeed. “Call it a truce.” 

Spencer grins and nudges his glasses back into place once again. “This might be my favorite truce since 1914.” 

“Christmas Truce,” you nod. “Good one.” 

“You know it?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “I’m a teacher.” 

Spencer blinks. “You— you are?” 

“Why is that such a surprise?” you ask. 

“You’re so…”

“Mean to you?” You chuckle. “Trust me, I’m not like this with my kids. My job is one of the parts of my life that I’m actually happy with.” 

“...Huh.” Spencer smiles at you, and you find yourself smiling back, subconsciously. “You should tell me about it sometime.”

“Sure,” you nod. “Maybe you can tell me about everything you do sometime.” 

“You’re sure you won’t get bored?” he asks. “You might not realize, but I have a tendency to rant.” 

You laugh. “Part of our truce.” 

This time, he nods. “Cool. That— that’s cool.” 

You roll your eyes as you look away, but your smile betrays you once again. Your gaze snaps over to the lamp as it flickers back on, and you realize you haven’t heard any thunder in a while. 

“Looks like the storm’s passed.” Spencer separates two of the window blinds with his fingers and peers through. You’ve never really focused on his hands like you do now—with the way you feel your face burn, it’s probably a good thing. You look away as soon as possible. “Just rain, now.” 

“Good,” you say, and you let out a yawn. “All our talking tired me out.” 

“Good,” he echoes as he picks his candle up from the window pane. “You should get eight hours of sleep a night, and I know for a fact you don’t.” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, professor.” 

“You’re the teacher here,” he says. “I should be saying that to you.” 

“And yet you’re so much more annoying than I could ever be,” you muse. 

“Does our truce include this?” 

“Naturally.”

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head. He starts walking to the doorway, but you speak up before he can leave. 

“Night, Spencer.” You pause as you bite the inside of your lip, then continue before you can stop yourself. “I really enjoyed talking with you.” 

He hesitates for a moment, his hand lingering on the doorframe. Then he bids you goodnight in the same fashion, actually saying your name. “I did too.”

It makes your heart skip a beat. 

Spencer closes the door behind him, and you find yourself staring at the wood long after he’s gone. You jolt when you finally come back into yourself, and you shake your head to get out of the haze. 

You glance at the clock on your bedside table, and blink when you realize it’s almost 1:30. You really do need to get to bed. 

The smoke makes you cough as you blow your candle out, and you wave a hand around to dispel it before you turn the lamp off. You lay down and pull the sheets up around you. You end up having to switch positions at least five times before you start to get comfortable. 

But the strangest thing is plaguing you despite your restlessness. You were freezing before the storm started, even when the electricity was working, but now there’s a strange warmth attempting to permeate within you. It almost helps you relax. 

The room feels a lot smaller without him in it. 

You exhale, long, slow, and deep as you close your eyes. The scent of vanilla lingers in the air.

You hope you don’t dream tonight. 

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 2

Hii! Here is the second chapter. I will post the chapters when the next one is either 50% or 90-100% ready, based on how long it has been. Hope you enjoy!

previous<< Chapter 2 >>next(tbc)

Breakfast became awkward as soon as you shyly walked in, hunger beating the desire to stay hidden in your room- in hindsight, maybe you should have. They were chatting so eagerly, laughing. You wanted that too but as soon as you peeked through the door the noise stopped. It was like the first day of kindergarten. Lonely, your palms were sweating with anxiety, and- and you missed your mom.

You tried introducing yourself to Richard, but you were met with a hum and one singular glance, no interest from the older boy, your supposed brother. Bruce- you’d rather him not look at you at all. It was like he was trying to read your mind and dissect it.

By the time you had it in you to speak again, to try and create some bonds, it seemed like they couldn’t get away fast enough. They both looked so tired. You’d think they would have taken their time. Your eyes meet Alfred’s icy blues once the room is empty.

“Do they hate me?... Did I do something wrong?” Alfred’s whole body flinched at the question, unseen by the untrained eye. The old man felt pity, a bit of guilt for the way he, himself, acted. But the mask of indifference he’s been trained for years to keep took its place once more.

With a gentle hand, he did his best to soothe her worries. Bruce could never hate a kid, Alfred was sure… He hoped he was. Alfred shook his head- no, he shouldn’t doubt his child- Master Bruce. He shouldn’t doubt Master Bruce like that. He knows better. The old man cleared his throat. “Here, young miss. Master Bruce wanted you to have this. Just like Master Dick has.” His explanation of what and how to use the little black card and the modern phone came just as quickly as his try at making connections between the two kids.

“Giving a kid unsupervised access to so much money and the internet sounds like a bad idea.” Your mumbling made Alfred’s lip twitch. It was and he said as much, but it was what Master Bruce wanted, and what he wanted he got… usually.

And with that, Alfred left too. You understood why he left; he seemed to be the only employee. Taking care of such a big house all on your own must take all day, and to have to cook as well… Poor man, Bruce mustn’t like him very much either. He was old, ancient to your five-year-old self, maybe you could help with something.

After finishing your meal, you take the dishes and carefully put them in the sink. You wanted to wash them but sadly, the counter was taller than you. Instead, you focused on cleaning the table and pushing the chairs back into their place.

Bruce must have gone to work, and Richard to school. Your brows furrowed and your lips stuck out in a pout. You were supposed to go to kindergarten. Neither of the adults seemed worried about that, and you didn’t know how to get there either, so it must be a deliberate choice. Maybe it was closed. Or maybe they forgot.

Your feet carried you across the manor, from the withered garden to the many floors of the cold house, relying on the whispers from the shadows to know what door you can open, and which way you should go. They were leading you in a specific direction, you knew, but what else could you do but listen? Not like you had anything else to do or anywhere to be.

You stopped as soon as the shadows stopped whispering. The overlapping murmuring going silent made the room feel colder, and yet your amazement at the object before your eyes filled you with the warmth and hope you needed to survive another day. It was a simple thing, a painting.

A couple, a woman sitting on a chair and a man standing tall beside her. The position on any other would seem imposing, controlling even, but the hand on her shoulder wasn’t gripping her. It was a tender caress of care that reflected in the man’s face as a gentle smile and his eyes fixated on the woman, his wife. The painter did a great job of portraying the love and softness the man held for his beloved, as they did for the warmth in her smile and mischievously happy gleam in her eyes.

She was beautiful, full of life. Her dress was silky white. Must have been painted on the day of their wedding. She was the perfect picture of elegance as beautiful, shining pearls adorned her neck and the bottom of her dress, and yet… Her eyes seemed as sad as they were happy. She probably missed her mami too. You couldn’t imagine marrying someone and leaving your mom, but then again, you’re young and idealistic, dreaming of things that cannot be anymore.

You sat there for what felt like hours, taking in every little detail you could. You wanted to do this, to paint, to draw, to have your art hung for generations to see. Maybe you could fix the garden as well. Make it a beautiful background for your art, and a little something to make you feel useful. Now… how do you get back to your room?

The shadows seemed to giggle at how your demeanor soured once you realized how lost you actually were. Nevertheless, once they had their fun, they led you back to where you needed to be, gently nudging your tired little self back into the walls of your room. All that walking exhausted you so much, a nap was long overdue- you were sure they’d wake you up for lunch or dinner.

They never did. You woke up at one in the morning, more tired than when you went to sleep, and ten times hungrier and colder. Maybe they didn’t have dinner? The trash in the bin and half-chopped veggies in the fridge told a different story. It seems you’ll have to fend for yourself once more.

Tag List: @bat1212

[cinnamonest]

Thinking again about forced cultural assimilation, particularly linguistic… snatched up by some foreign visitor to your homeland, dragged far far away and thrust into an environment where you can't understand a single thing.

You don't understand anything said around you — all the others in this place you're kept in (underlings, servants, partners in crime, whatever they are) are constantly talking to each other and to your captor, saying so much, yet it's all meaningless babble to you, a frustrating barrier of confusion and unknown that makes you feel on edge, a constant state of discomfort and unease.

You know they're talking about you, given the glances your way, but you don't know exactly what. It's a very discomforting feeling.

It's actually quite endearing, the way you bite your lip and cling to him out of perpetual bewilderment and fear whenever you're brought out of your room… still, at the moment, he's forced to resort to your language to communicate with you, which he doesn't like.

But that's okay. You'll learn.

It's not like you have a choice. Even if you're stubborn and noncompliant at first, it's no big deal. He just won't respond to anything you say until you say it in the correct tongue. It's adorable, watching you get so frustrated at the silent treatment, your stubbornness slowly breaking down until you finally give in and start making a very clumsy, stuttering attempt to communicate correctly.

But it's only fair that you do try. You know, if you're going to be living in a foreign land for the rest of your life, you have a responsibility to learn… okay, sure, you didn't exactly choose to live here, but that's not really relevant.

So you'll learn. He'll help you, of course, aren't you grateful? He went out of his way to buy learning books to get you started. And even if you're too stubborn to utilize them at first, a couple of hours in isolation with nothing else to do will essentially force you into at least looking them over, even if merely out of boredom. He'll set it up as a reward system — if you study a few hours a day, you get to do something else. Any other sort of activity or stimulation is withheld from you, kept behind a barrier, forcing you into compliance.

But that's not enough, you need direct practice. So he'll integrate learning into your daily life.

If you want to get dressed and not have to walk outside naked — and you could, don't think he won’t do it, it would be so funny watching all those other men drool and crowd around you, make you the center of attention to all their hollering and jesting — you'll just have to ask for your clothes piece by piece.

P-please, give me the… the…

And he just sits there and holds your shirt so close yet just our of your grasp, patiently waiting for you to remember. You've gone over it several times now. But even if you give up, he'll tell you again — you need to repeat it several times, though, before you finally get it.

Meal time is also turned into a learning ordeal — you're made to ask for a plate, for water, to have salt or anything passed over to you, all perfectly, all of which is kept out of your reach until you do so.

You hate the smile he always gives you, the little pats on the head and praise for saying things correctly. It feels mocking, demeaning, more than anything — and you're fairly certain he intends it that way.

Because it's not like he hesitates to make fun of you either — snickering with a hand over his mouth when you say certain words, repeating what you said with a mock exaggeration of your accent as if it's peak comedy. But hey, don't pout like that. It's just cute, that's all… and a little bit of revenge, if you recall, you once teased him the same way, back when he was just some foreigner visiting your land that you happened to become acquainted with. How the tables turn, yeah?

At night, you're held firmly in place — a normally sweet gesture, arms wrapped around you, yet a grip so tight it ruins any semblance of affection.

What did you do today?

You stumble out some words. You mess up the past tense. You're made to say it over again.

How do you feel today?

He's decided ‘good’ alone is no longer an adequate answer, so you have to elaborate, be more detailed.

You'll answer questions on things like weather, recall what they said on the news and such. Moreover, you can't neglect those reading and writing skills, so you'll have to comply with him on exercises for that too. He even went out of his way to get some newspapers for you to read aloud to him for practice. You should be grateful he's so nice.

Other times, it's not so nice.

When you've done something wrong, been bad, even then, you're not exempt from it being turned into a lesson. Bent over his knee, skirt pulled up to the end of your spine, shaking and grinding your teeth. At least you have the dignity of being behind closed doors, but that's not much.

What did you do?

As it turns out, panic is not conducive to coherent sentences. Your mind goes blank, you struggle to summon any words at all, much less ones you have to mentally structure before you speak. Harsher swats — you squeal, squirm, try to pull yourself forward, just for the hand on your shoulder to jerk you back into place — indicate a mistake. You'll have to try again, and it will continue until you get it correct — and then some more, for whatever you did in the first place.

What do you say?

You're sniffling and trembling, but at least that one is easy, a phrase so often uttered it's permanently etched into your brain.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…

There's a few such phrases that come to you very naturally, without any real effort to recall, but you're not proud of it. No, you resent, you loathe, how deeply your vocabulary is entrenched in filth, simply due to how frequently you're made to speak such words.

You still struggle to remember the words for door or apple or lamp, but you know how to say cock and cum and fuck without the slightest pause.

You had to stutter and stumble over trying to ask one of the others ‘excuse me, what time is it?’, but you can perfectly recite the words you say every single night — please let me cum, please go harder, it feels so good.

Likewise, you begin to better make out the words he mutters and growls into your ear every night — you wish you didn't, wish you couldn't understand the humiliating words about how much he enjoys violating you, loves watching you fight and squirm, loves seeing you struggle.

Unfortunately, you also begin to understand what the others around you are saying all the time. When you first came, you didn't understand a word, but still felt the burning knot in your stomach of embarrassment, knowing whatever it was was clearly derogatory and humiliating, with the way they looked at you, the gestures and cheeky grins.

You wish you still didn't understand, that you couldn't make out the crude, vulgar words. Comments about your body, your thighs and your chest, all the joking comments about how they don't blame your captor for abducting you, after all, I'd want to be inside of that too.

But unfortunately, those vulgar comments are pretty much all your grasp from them — those are, after all, spoken at moments of rest, when they're all just lounging around, each word more drawn out. When you're forced to sit there through more serious discussions (clinging to your captor’s arm like a lifeline, the way he makes you feel safe from the scary men he associates with), they just speak so damn fast that you can't catch more than the occasional single word or two that you recognize, the rest a jumbled haze of meaningless sounds.

It's all so frustrating, so humiliating, you hate the dependency, you hate the power exchange that both of you are mutually aware of, yet left unspoken — the fact that you're the one forced into his way of life. The words themselves are more than words, more than their literal meanings — each one serves as a little reminder that you're owned, each is another way of forcing submission out of you. It makes you angry, makes you bitter, makes you resentful.

One day, that resentment drives you over the edge, all of a sudden, as you're being chastised and reprimanded for whatever misbehavior you've engaged in. Your fists clench and your face contorts with fury and you break.

A slurry of heated, snarling words come pouring out of your mouth — words in your tongue, familiar words. Saying that you won't do what he said to, that he doesn't get to tell you what to do, saying that you're sick of it all, saying he doesn't scare you, saying you'll do what you want. Vulgarity and profanity spills out, calling him every nasty word you can think of.

It's so soothing to feel words pour out so naturally, not having to pause to think about them. It's cathartic, you feel your heart pounding with rage and frustration and relief—

—and then your blood runs cold when you turn your head and see him looking back at you. Silent, eyes narrowed, quietly letting you go on and on and dig the hole deeper. He only smiles when your words come to a halt.

What's wrong?

Now you're so quiet, standing there shaking. You’re pulling your clasped hands up to your chest and shrinking back, your eyes start to water… but didn't you just say you're not scared of him? Why are you stepping backwards now?

And you say those words again —

I'm sorry, I'm sorry…

It’s so satisfying that you immediately switch back, after such a heated outburst. Deep down, even if you're still too proud to accept it, you really do know your place. You're still repeating it over and over as you're dragged by the hair back to your room, as if apologies will save you from whatever he's going to do to you.

But really, he kind of hopes you never master the language in full. How scared you are all the time, surrounded by a world that you struggle to make sense of, the way you're forced to depend on him so much… admittedly, it's a very satisfying feeling. And hey, the accent is cute, too.

[satorella]

“𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲”

𝐘𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐲𝐚 noticed you in the crowd cheering for him, while everyone else was mostly cheering for either Otoya, Karasu, Kaiser, or whoever else, and couldn’t help but think about how gorgeous you were in his jersey. He made a mental note to find you after the game… but unfortunately, lost you.

He saw you again a couple days later at the bar across from the stadium, where he and a few of the guys usually hung out after a gruesome day.

He casually watched as you chatted and laughed with your girl friends at a booth. “You know her?” One of the guys asked him, noticing how his gaze kept wandering back over to where you were. “Not yet.” He answered confidently, fixing his hair in the reflection of his glasses before getting up and making his way over to you. Normally, he was the cocky type that wouldn’t even give someone a second glance. But yet… he’s been thinking about you for days; the one that got away from him before he could even say a word to you.

“Can I refill your drink?” He leans against the side of your booth, smiling down at you. Your girl friends gushed and giggled, quickly taking the hint and leaving you two alone. “You don’t have to-” You smiled back up at him, trying to protest. God you were pretty. He sat down in the empty seat beside you, waving the waiter over. “I want to.” He ordered a refill of whatever you were drinking, and a beer for him. “You were at last weekend’s game, right?” He asks. “I was, yes. Your dribbling was impressive! And then that goal you made! I felt like I was gonna lose my voice from screaming your name!” You chuckled. Screaming his name huh? He had to actually pinch his thigh under the table to snap himself out of it. He chuckled and took a drink of the beer that the waiter dropped off. You quickly shut your mouth and sipped on your fruity little cocktail, the heat rising to your cheeks at how much of a fangirl you must’ve sounded like. He just smirked at your flustered state, finding it cute. “Relax, I don’t mind.” He leaned into you, so that only you could hear him. “I quite like the sound of you screaming my name.” You couldn’t help but blush. Was… Kenyu Yukimiya hitting on you right now?! “Kenyu!” You playfully tapped his arm. He smirked again, his eyes glistening a little as he moved in even closer. “I was looking for you after the game y’know… but you were nowhere to be found…” He whispered lowly, tilting his head to the side so that his lips were nearly brushing the side of your neck. “Oh really? I’m sorry…” You looked down at your glass. “It’s like you just, I don’t know, disappeared.” He chuckled, continuing, “Like something out of a Cinderella movie.” He moved a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, making you suddenly feel shy. He grins mischievously, “I don’t bite…”

He later ate his words that night, after sharing a few more drinks with you.

He did, in fact, bite… more than once…

“Hnngh! K-Ken! Jusss like that!” You moaned, slurring a bit. “Here? Right here?” He grunted, angling his hips up to where the tip of his dick was rubbing against your sweet spot. He picked up his pace, holding onto your waist and fucking into you like you were his personal fleshlight. He was making the same face he does when he’s trying to score a goal. The look of determination. He was determined to make you cum. He watched as your tits bounced in sync with his thrusts, the view riling him up more. He moved a hand to grab one, and lightly pinched your hard nub, making you clench around him. “Fu- … d-don’t do that… n-not yet…” He groaned. Your pussy felt like heaven. “I wanna make this last a little longer!” He looked down at you and smiled a goofy, drunken smile, licking his lips hungrily. He leaned forward to swirl his tongue around the nipple he was just pinching. He ended up throwing his glasses somewhere on the floor, due to them starting to fog up. “What if you- Ah! S-Step on them?!” You whimpered. He shook his head, “Don’t worry about it… I’ll j-just buy another pair.” He panted, capturing your lips in a sweet, but desperate, kiss.

“Just focus on me.”

The next morning, you awoke to the heavy feeling of an arm wrapped around you. You forgot where you were for a minute, blinking until your vision cleared. There was a framed soccer jersey on the wall, that had Yukimiya’s name on it.

Ah, so it wasn’t a dream…

You slowly and gently shifted around to face him; his arms pulling you closer against his chest in his sleep. He was so warm. You couldn’t help but curl into him, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck.

Should you really be this comfortable? You guys barely even know each other…

Yukimiya could feel the subtle changes in your movements as you turned to face him. He also felt you settle in the crook of his neck. He smiled to himself, still groggy. “Hey…” He mumbled, eyes still closed. “…Don’t worry… I’ll be out of your hair in an hour…” You mumbled against his neck, “Just let me wake up…” He pulled you closer to his chest and placed a soft kiss on the top of your head, “An hour?” He repeated as his hand moved up and down your back. “Don’t you even think for a second that I’ll let you leave that soon.”

You were slightly surprised that he actually wanted you to stay. “W-Why…” He shifted around, turning over on his back and pulling you up and over to straddle him. His hands slid up your body, and came to rest at your hips; eyes watching you carefully. He tilted his head curiously at your question, “Why do I want you to stay?” “…Yeah…” You sheepishly covered up your exposed breasts, as if he wasn’t literally all over them last night. He let out a small huff of amusement, reaching up to gently grab your wrists; pulling them away from your chest and pinning them down on either side of his head. “If this is about what we did last night…” He paused, his eyes slowly raking down your body to linger at the bite marks and hickeys that were scattered along your skin. “I don’t regret a moment of it.” “I’m surprised you remember at all.” You chuckled softly. He smiled, pulling you down more so that your chest was pressed against his; your lips were only a few centimeters apart. “Oh, trust me… I remember every. single. moment.” He emphasized every word, his tone laced with desire. His hand landed on your ass, earning a jolt and yelp from you. He chuckled from below as he felt you jerk against him, looking up at your adorable reaction with pure delight. Asshole. He smirked and spanked you again. “What, you thought I was gonna keep the spanks limited to just last night?” “Yukimiya!!” You squirmed, rolling off of him and moving to sit back over on your side of the bed. “Sh-Shouldn’t you be getting ready for practice this morning?” You tried averting the subject. He snickered, pushing himself up so that he was sitting up against the headboard, and looked over at you with an amused expression. “Nahh, practice isn’t for at least another few hours. So there’s no rush.” He reached out and grabbed a small lock of your hair, twirling it around with his finger. “Which gives me plenty of more time with you.” “Sorry, but I have work...” You pouted. He let your hair go as his face mimicked your pout. He wasn’t expecting this. Most girls would be begging to stay. He really thought he had you on lock. “You’re seriously already trying to get out of here?” He asked, his eyes narrowing at you slightly. “I’ll call you.” You got up, letting the sheets fall from your naked body as you searched for your clothing on the floor. He watched shamelessly, as your naked body moved around in front of him. He was trying his best not to pull you back into bed and have his way with you again. “You better…” He mumbled as his gaze stayed fixed on your ass. “Miss me already eh? I haven’t even left yet.” You joked, giggling as he threw a pillow at you. You definitely knew what you were doing. He just huffed, sitting there, pouting while you began to get dressed.

He couldn’t help but think about how last night was actually the hottest sex he’s ever had…

He shook those thoughts away, and sighed in defeat as you put your shoes on. He got up and made his way towards you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. You turned around in his arms and placed his glasses, that you picked up off the floor, back onto his handsome face. He smiled warmly as he watched your actions; feeling his chest flutter just a bit as you tended to him so gently.

He was feeling oddly soft this morning… but he would deny ANY and ALL accusations of this fact.

He leaned down, so that his forehead was resting against yours as he muttered out, “So, you said you’re gonna call me… right?” “If that’s what you want?” You caressed his cheek. He leaned into your touch; his tongue darting out to moisten his lips before answering your question, “Of course that’s what I want.” “Then I’ll call.” You said in a playful tone, before turning around to walk towards the door. He stood there and watched as you walked away, his eyes fixed on the way your hips swayed as you walked.

He flopped back in bed once you were out the door and stared up at the ceiling. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him…

You guys never exchanged numbers.

He quickly ran out the front door to see if he could still catch up to you… but yet again… he lost you.

“Damn bro… she really smashed and dashed. How does it feel?” Karasu teases him later that day at practice.

“I’ll find her again. Bet on it.”

© 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒-𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

Join my tag list here!

Note: It’s implied that all characters in this oneshot are of drinking age!🍻

[shortbcofkoffee]

CW: OD and coke addiction

Bruce knew what was going on. He'd been an insanely rich teenager too, granted Tim was a little more stressed than he was at 17. He's not blaming Tim, he'd never blame anyone for an addiction but it was getting worse. Tim was good at hiding it from the public and his friends (if he was hiding it from them at all. Bruce should investigate that further), but it was hard to hide things in a house full of detectives.

The sudden erratic highs and low lows were hidden because everyone in this family had some sort of those. The late-night spikes of energy could be accounted for by the mini-fridge full of energy drinks in his room. His paranoia and anxiety were just par for the course with Tim, no one would bat an eye. But there were some things he couldn't hide. Tim was losing weight. Dramatically. If he wasn't light before, he was now. He skipped almost every meal but he never made a peep about being hungry. His exhaustion was evident in his eye bags, but he never acted tired.

But then, during his lows, Tim looked sick. He looked so much smaller, so vulnerable. He looked like he was thirteen again. When the joy of Robin had just rubbed off, faster than it did with the others. Just sad eyes and a thin frame, sinking in on itself and avoiding Bruce like the plague.

What scared Bruce was that he knew he couldn't stop Tim if Tim didn't want to stop. Short of having eyes on him 24/7, Bruce couldn't control Tim's actions without destroying their relationship. Even then, the second Tim was away from him again he might go back to using. But he wanted to help. He needed to at least talk to him.

Back when Bruce had been using he had Alfred and Harvey. He hadn't felt a need to hide anything from Harvey because it was cool back then. It was a truly casual thing, you did a line before an event, or during if the host had any. That was being rich. Bruce didn't need help because no one needed help. Until he became dependent. Everywhere he went, every day, if he didn't have at least one bump first, he couldn't get through it. Bruce was a good actor, he always had been. That was part of being famous. Bruce was good at hiding his anger and paranoia because you can't always be scared and angry at everyone, even when you are.

Bruce had screamed at Alfred. And he never hated himself more. He screamed and insulted one of the only people who knew him. Liked him. Everyone loved Bruce Wayne, but no one really liked him. Not like Alfred. And he'd screamed at him. Bruce overdosed that night. He hated himself so much and the thoughts wouldn't go away no matter how much he took. He woke up a day later in a hospital bed with Alfred next to him.

Getting off coke was one of the hardest things Bruce had ever done. It'd be hard for Tim. But it was possible, and that's what mattered. He found Tim after patrol finishing his log for the day. Damian had long since gone to sleep but Tim was still wide awake, full of energy. Just like the last three days. His domino mask was still on but Bruce was sure if he took it off Tim's pupils would be the size of sausers.

"Tim," he started. The boy, because that's what he was, a little boy, jumped. "If you're finished, I'd like to talk to you."

Tim quickly glanced over his shoulder. Bruce is sure there's a tension that Tim can see in him, but he doesn't say anything. "Yeah, I'm pretty much done. What's up." He spins to face Bruce in his chair.

Bruce took a deep breath. He wondered if this was what it was like for Alfred. "I'm... worried about you. I-"

He didn't want to say it. Even if he knew without a shadow of a doubt, saying it made it real. And once he did there was no going back. And if he was wrong, God how he wanted to be wrong, he would've accused Tim of something awful. But no matter how he looked at it, this was reality. Tim hating him was better than Tim being dead.

"I know... you've been using cocaine." He looked for Tim's reaction. The boy looked clammed up suddenly. Like he'd rather be anywhere else. It didn't surprise Bruce but it confirmed what he already knew. What he wished he didn't know. "And I'm not judging you. God knows I'm not, I'm just worried."

"I'm fine, Bruce," Tim said. His voice was small and Bruce could tell he was looking anywhere but him despite facing him.

"Okay. I don't agree. I just want you to know that just because this feels good now, it can seriously hurt you later. If you-"

"I'm not you Bruce. I'm not an addict, I can hold myself together." Tim's face had twisted into anger. "Just because you almost killed yourself doesn't mean I will or want to."

That hurt a little. He shouldn't be surprised Tim knew about his overdose, it was a public obsession for a while and Tim was his self-proclaimed biggest fan before he became Robin. But it still hurt. Either way, Bruce just nodded and reminded himself it wasn't Tim. He was being affected by an exterior source, besides he could've said worse.

"I'm not saying that, sweetheart. I'm just saying you're headed down a dangerous path. I know how hard it can be, you know that. I want what's best for you, I want you to be healthy. Whenever you come down you look half dead. You don't sleep, you barely eat, if you're not working, you're not home."

"So what, I can't hang out with my friends? I'm sorry you can't understand or maintain interpersonal connections, but you're supposed to hang out with your friends." Tim stood from his chair. "I'm not talking about this with you. I finished my log, I'm going to my room."

"Tim. Sit down," Bruce ordered.

Tim scoffed. "I don't know if you've noticed Bruce, but you're not my father. The second I'm out of the cowl, your orders are barely suggestions. You're lucky I can stand even being around you anymore because trust me, most of us tolerate you at the most. There's a reason Dick left the second he was 18, there's a reason Jason would rather kill himself again before he lives another day in this house, there's a reason all of us would rather have our own lives outside of you. Me, Cass, Steph, Duke, none of us can stand being around you. The only reason Damian still does what you say is because he's literally a brainwashed cult baby. The only reason I don't leave is because you would literally kill yourself without a babysitter."

There was a lump in Bruce's throat. He'd learned not to cry before he learned to fight, but God did he want to. It's not Tim, he reminded himself again. The worst part was that he knew it was true, at least partially. He knew his kids loved him, that was an indisputable fact. But they also always let him know when he messed up. When he hurt them. All accept Tim (and Damian, but that was a different story).

Because Tim was never there to be a child. Bruce realized that a while ago, but no matter how he tried to remedy it one thing was the same. Tim hadn't entered his life to be a child, Tim was, despite everything and no matter how Bruce hated it, a caretaker. He shouldn't've been, he was only thirteen, but Bruce had let him. He tried to fix it, he really did. He tried to treat TIm like any of his other kids. But had he ever properly apologized? Was that why Tim felt like he had to do this to himself? He took a step forward and reached out.

"I know. I know. I'm so sorry, sweetheart, I put too much on you."

Tim jerked away and all but growled at Bruce. "Don't touch me! This is your fault, damn straight you put too much on me. Do you know how fucking draining it is to deal with you every day? I'm surprised no one else you know is coked up all the time. Do you even know what it's like to deal with you?"

"I'm sorry." That was all Bruce could say again. His voice sounded weaker than he would have liked. He looked away and kept his hands to himself. "I'm really, truly sorry, Tim. I'm just... I love you. I should've never been your responsibility. You've always done so much for me and I haven't given you the appreciation you deserve. But I love you. And I'm worried. And I want to help you because you're better than me. You always have been." He took another step, closing the gap between them. He placed a palm on Tim's cheek. He didn't notice before but it was starting to sink. "You're an amazing person. And I don't want you to end up like I did."

Bruce could hear Tim's breath hitch. When he looks into Tim's eyes the boy looks like he's about to cry. He looked like he wanted to say something, to apologize. Maybe that was wishful thinking. Tim shoved Bruce's hand away and took a step back.

"Shut up, Bruce. There's nothing wrong with me. You're right, I am better than you."

On that note Tim turned and darted up the stairs, leaving Bruce alone in the cave.

I hate searching up Tim Drake addict and getting coffee addict Tim.. I need this man on COKE. NOW.