#playing around with a rain brush I saw too

[kaitaiga]

WIP from like a week ago or smth

…Damn he kinda sad 😔

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 4]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: It is very, incredibly important not to get attached to someone who will no doubt be leaving you high and dry to die stranded on an island any day now—be they man or fish. And you are definitely, definitely following that rule. For sure.

🌶️ Obligatory Warning for Mild Spice

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

The next morning, there was a conch shell set beside the familiar offering of half-mauled fish.

The insides were a shining, pearlescent pink—smooth and sleek. You picked it up curiously and turned it over in your palms. You’d never seen such a complete one before. Normally they were at least a bit dinged, cracked here or there along the thin edges. But this one was practically perfect. It sat heavy and warm in your palm, and you brushed a finger along the rough ridges.

You looked up and the Siren was lounging at the shoreline, waiting expectantly.

“Thank you,” you said. “It’s really pretty.”

He preened, the fins along the side of his head fluttering wide and colorful. You huffed, amused, and set the shell neatly at the forefront of your slowly accumulating corner of Things. You’d rebuilt the little shanty shelter that he’d had his seagull minions pick apart into useless nonsense that first day together, and it wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep some of the sun off your shoulders at the height of the afternoon and would probably (maybe) hold up under a bit of rain. And that pleasantly cozy hovel of yours was where you’d been keeping your Stuff. The best sticks for poking at the fire, a rock that you’d found with a dip in the middle that made it sort of, almost a bowl if you squinted hard enough, bunches of drying beach grasses that you’d been tediously twining together into bits of rope and other nonsense. That sort of thing.

You placed the conch shell on the roof of it, prodding at it with the tips of your fingers until it sat just so. Like a figurehead on a ship. The crown jewel on your little mess of ferns and driftwood.

“What do you think?” you asked, turning back to the Siren. “Really brings the room together, huh?”

He puffed something under his breath and rolled those amethyst eyes of his, but there was a curl to his lips that looked far more amused than irritated.

You trudged back over and plopped beside him in the sand, the soft, low roll of the waves playing against your toes.

“Today feels like it’s going to be gross again,” you sighed, squinting up at the sun overhead in distaste. The big ball of glowing fire had barely crawled its way over the horizon and already it felt like the world was beginning to steam.

The Siren curled his claws around your ankle and tugged.

You arched a brow at him and he pushed his stupidly, perfectly shaped ones up right back. Like he was positive that he could out stink-face you with ease.

“It’s too early to swim,” you complained.

He tugged again.

“I can’t be in the water that long. You’re going to turn me into a prune.”

He said something back, mouth quirking in irritation, and you focused hard on the shape of it. His expression smoothed with that familiar, near-eerie perception of his and he was reaching forward to dig his free fingers into the sand at your hip.

‘Don’t know what that is.’

“It’s like a—” you frowned, waving your hand around your head. “Y’know. A fruit, that’s gone pruney. A prune.”

He looked at you like you were the dumbest human he’d ever met, and to be fair you very well could have been. You doubted it was an extensive list. And even if it was, you tended to have a proclivity for landing near the top of those illustrious sorts of rankings either way. At least that’s what your Captain saw fit to remind you ad nauseum.

So, like the very mature and intellectually competent person that you were, you kicked a mess of seawater right into his face. And then the Siren was screaming something silent and mad that had all the goosebumps on your arms popping up to say hello, and he was dragging you into the shallows ass first. You skidded along the wet sand and landed in the white surf with a laugh that you had to swallow real fast. Because if you drowned in three inches of water just because you couldn’t manage to not choke to death on a giggle fit, you’d never forgive yourself.

.

.

That night, you were lounging by the fire with a belly full of seared snapper and the Siren curled just as contentedly only a few feet away. His fins were splayed out across the damp sands, and you couldn’t help but compare them yet again to some of the finest, spun silks you’d ever seen. Even when they’d been pinched and shredded beneath the prickly teeth of your ropes, they’d still been lovely. But now that they were near-fully-healed, the spread of them was truly impressive.

And they were. Almost healed, that is. You could barely make out the trailing, scar-puckered lines of even the biggest tears anymore. Which was good! Great, even. Because that meant he’d be able to begin his journey home soon, didn’t it? And then at least one of you would manage to get away from this barren mess of rocks and sand.

There was a thump against your thighs that had you jolting back into focus, and you looked down to see a pair of familiar, gem-cut irises staring back in the dark.

The Siren was glaring up at you like there was a Purpose to his sudden loss of personal boundaries, and you blinked down at him in confusion. After a long moment of nothing but your silent gawking, his brow started to pinch and the skin around his eyes went tight with irritation. The fins along his ears rippled like a pissy cat raising its hackles in preparation to lunge, and you cautiously placed a hand against the edge of one. The grumpy fluttering stopped all at once, and if you were a touch more sun-poisoned you would say that those delicate, purple pins relaxed against your palm. Either way, you were clearly on the right track. So you let your fingers trail down towards his temples, and then to the salt-curled waves of his hair. His eyes slipped closed with a pleasant rumble that you could feel all along your skin, and you puffed in half-hearted irritation. Prickly, fussy, bastard man.

You weren’t really sure what he wanted, but for now the gentle scratch of your nails against his scalp seemed to do the trick. After a few cycles of lazy petting, you let your fingers catch in some of the softer, pale hair beneath his fins. It was a bit tangled—possibly from all that frilly posturing of his—and you carefully began picking apart the small knots there one by one. Once those were cleared away, you found yourself with little else to do but sit and play with the newly freed waves of lavender-tipped gold. You tucked one strand over the next, twisting the familiar pattern of a simple braid beneath your palms.

“Deuce grew his hair out at one point,” you chattered idly as you wove those silky locks together beneath your fingers. “That’s someone from my ship, by the way. Deuce. Anyways. He thought it’d make him look more rugged, or whatever. But he just ended up looking like some rogue, sea elf, and everyone was teasing him about how he’d gone for ‘windswept sailor’ and ended up with ‘foppish, little lordling.’ So he chopped it all off again.”

The Siren hummed, and you could feel it against the pads of your fingers.

“Which was a real shame,” you continued. “Because obviously I spent all that time learning to braid it, but also because it actually looked pretty nice—OUCH! What is your problem—"

You yanked your hand away from his sharp teeth and cradled your smarting fingers to your chest. Because the stupid fish had bitten you! Not hard, or anything. Just a little nip. But it’d still hurt. If less as a genuine injury and more as a sting to your pride.

The Siren spat something quick and harsh under his breath, turning up his nose like you’d been the one to err here, and not his wandering fangs.

“What?” you huffed, reaching out to flick at those purple fins in irritation. They twitched against the side of his head to smack at your fingers. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I not allowed to call anyone else pretty, your highness?”

The Siren rolled his eyes with a look that screamed ‘well, duh,’ and you forced your irritation to override the little, bursting bubble of fondness in your chest. So silly, so silly. This ridiculously primped fish of yours.

“Well, too bad,” you grouched, tugging at the end of that half-bound braid. “Just because you win ‘most attractive specimen on the island’ doesn’t mean you get to tell me to pretend I’m blind on top of being deaf. Let me have something, you prick.” And it wasn’t like it was much of a competition—seeing as the entrants were you, him, and the octopus (if you were being generous). Less of a contest and more of a merciful slaughter, perhaps. A kindness that you were even allowed to share the same stage at all.

The Siren muttered something low and amused under his breath, the amethyst in his irises twinkling with the crackling, orange light of the embers beside you. He reached up to twist his claws along your palm and snatch the hand he’d so viciously nipped—bringing it down to eyelevel to observe it more closely in the dim glow of the fire. There was a steady trickle of blood bubbling up along your thumb. Honestly, not much worse than a papercut. Nevertheless, his brow quirked at the soft trail of red and his gaze jumped up to yours with a pointed sort of curiosity.

“What were you expecting to happen? Humans are fragile,” you huffed. “At least more than you are. It’s not like I have scales or things to keep me safe.”

His mouth tucked down on a frown, and his tail swept irritably back and forth through the sand.

“What? It’s not like you didn’t know that,” you tried, awkward. Because he ate stupid, little flesh bags like you for breakfast. Surely he ought to be well aware that there wasn’t much there. Just skin, and muscle, and all the gory, gooey bits beneath. Just like how you knew what it felt like to bite into a piece of bread, or the crunch of an apple. Solid enough to survive in its own right, but something that would give beneath your teeth easily enough that calling it anything other than ‘delicate’ would have been a gross exaggeration.

He turned your palm this way and that, brow pinching down more and more with each fresh prick of crimson. His tail beat against the sand and his talons curled up and away from your skin—like he was worried just touching your fragile, little, egg-shell of an exterior would burst it.

“It’s fine,” you blurted out, still far too confuddled over his progressive panic. You pulled your hand away from his claws and popped your finger in your mouth. “See?” you garbled around the faint taste of copper. And then pulled it out with a pop to show him the slowing trickle. “Totally fine. Just a scratch.”

The Siren watched that little bubble of red with all the vigilance of a hawk eyeing its super, and then he was snatching your wrist back between his talons and dragging your hand down towards his own mouth. And oh my God, this was it. He’d finally decided to eat you after all. What was it? Had your oh-so-breakable human foibles finally pushed him over the edge? Or was it the blood? Were Sirens like sharks? Driven to hungry frenzy by the very scent of your—

There was a gentle, wet warmth along your skin and you blinked through your hysteric descent into adrenaline-manic-mania to see the Siren carefully cleaning the blood along your cut, just as you had only moments before—his tongue running smooth lines along the teeny wound until the sore skin was tingling and spotless. Granted, his endeavors were carried out with a great deal more delicacy than your earlier example of just shoving your whole finger into your mouth like a gremlin, but…

“Uhm—” you spluttered, too gobsmacked to come up with much else. “You—ah—you don’t have to—uh—"

The Siren grumped something at you that you could feel the shape of against your palm, and then returned to diligently wiping away each new drop as it appeared. It was a strange sort of sensation. Not bristly like a cat’s tongue, but certainly not all human. There was a sting to it—something hot and prickly. Poison, maybe? Or… something. Whatever it was, it had the hair on the back of your neck rising to attention and a shiver working along your shoulders. He kept at, silent and meticulous, until finally—finally—the bleeding slowed to a stop. He hummed and turned your palm this way and that, looking over the drying nick in your skin like an artist admiring their work.

Once he was content with whatever it was he’d been searching for, he tucked your hand back along the fins at the side of his head and butted up against your palm in as blatant of a ‘get back to work’ as you’d ever seen.

You swallowed the weird mess of something that had clawed its way up to tangle your tongue and dug your nails back against his scalp just to give yourself something to do other than—than—

“I hope you don’t expect me to do that for you,” you babbled, still far too out of your head with What In The Fuck Was That to do much but gawk like an absolute imbecile at the fact that he’d actually, factually, just—

The Siren rolled his eyes and reached over to drag the point of his talon along the sand at your hip.

‘No need. Already healed.’

You barked out a startled laugh and tugged at the ends of his hair. Your fingers caught at the edge of the braid you’d been weaving, loosening one of the twining sections, and he was hissing and swatting your hands back into place—poking around with his dark claws at the little end you’d fussed with until it was exactly how it had been. And then was dragging your hands back to the half-woven bulk of it with a pointed snarl that was clearly an order to finish what you started, human. Or else.

“Okay, okay, jeesh. I’m on it.”

The Siren trilled low and rumbling under his breath, and beneath the weight of your palm it almost felt like the steady drone of a cat’s purr. Warm, and pleasant, and comfortable in a way you couldn’t quite place. The thin strands of chain-twined-rope you’d woven to make his necklace pressed into your thighs with a scratchy tickle, and the pretty piece of sea glass at its end reflected the low light of the fire in a kaleidoscope of purples. His fins flicked against your fingers in a steady tempo, and when you gave in and pinched one he was rolling onto his side to shove the full weight of himself into your lap. You whined, and bitched, and complained about suffocation, and the stupid bastard of a fish just smacked his tail indignantly against the wet sand and draped over you even more.

Seven, he was such a nightmare. And you were going to miss him so, so much.

.

.

The next day passed in much the same way as the one before, and the day after that, and the day after that. And as pleasant as it was, you couldn’t help but feel like the headsman's axe was hanging over your neck. Always there—just a breadth away from falling.

You were fixing your Siren’s hair—redoing that braid of his that he insisted you tuck into his golden locks each and every morning—and normally he was quite responsive to your prattling. Flicking you with his fins and curling his tail along your ankles as you rambled. A silent, steady way of expressing his interest when you couldn’t hear his own responses in return. But today he was… distant. Amethyst eyes locked on the grand expanse of the ocean before you with a forlorn sort of expression on his face. The water was still and quiet today, with sunlight bouncing off the low, rolling waves in a pretty glimmer like the glow off his own, shining scales.

You trailed off, fingers falling from his finished braid to twist in your lap. And he just kept staring. Fins half-pricked along the side of his head and gaze heavy with focus.

You swallowed around the tightness in your chest and forced a smile. You hopped to your feet with a merry, little bounce and reached down to pat him on the shoulder.

“It seems like a nice day for a swim,” you said, and ignored how you could feel your nerves eating through the words. The wobble of them in your throat.

The Siren startled, as much as someone as grandly majestic as he could really do such a thing, and turned your way with a fondly exacerbated huff. He held up a hand, like he was expecting to drag you along with him into the lulling tide, and you shooed away his fingers. His brow pinched and his mouth turned down at the corners.

“For you, I mean,” you clarified. Like your blatant stepping away from the water’s edge wasn’t an obvious rejection in its own right. You turned back out towards the ocean beyond your little cove. “Your fins are doing a lot better, aren’t they? You could probably stretch them a bit, right? With how smooth the waters are today.”

He hummed, considerate, gaze skirting out to track your own. You swallowed around another ball of prickling ice in your throat and kept your grin buoyant and encouraging.

And then he turned back and offered you his hand again.

You frowned, confused. “I can’t follow you out there.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned forward to dig his talons into the damp sand.

‘I will swim with you.’

A pause, where he reached out to poke at your ankle with a pointed jab, jab, jab before finishing off with a—

‘Like always. Stupid.’

“Oh, yeah? Well, I won’t be so stupid when you ditch me halfway out and I drown in the riptide,” you harrumphed and his eyes narrowed grumpily.

He dragged his claws through the sand in short, angry jerks.

‘Won’t leave.’

“Uh-huh,” you drawled, swallowing stiffly again when that curl of awful something tightened behind your ribs. Hoping you could manage to choke it down. It sat heavy and unpleasant on the back of your tongue, like food gone off.

He underlined the ‘won’t’ with hard, pissy strokes.

“How about this,” you tried, because man oh man, you couldn’t do this. It was going to turn you into a ridiculously weepy, clingy mess if he kept talking (writing?) like this. “Prove that your fins work well enough to keep you up and alive before I risk it. And then we can go from there.”

The Siren huffed, sending the longer ends of his hair flipping out to the sides. But those gem-cut eyes of his kept flicking out to sea, and you could see the tip of his tail twitching back and forth—like he was itching to just leap forward and swim. The fins along his ears pricked up again, and then he was turning his nose up at you with some petulant comment under his breath and diving forward into the surf. He smacked his tail down with a splash!, drenching you in a mess of salt and seafoam. You spat, and hacked, and scrubbed the water from your eyes.

“Great way to prove you won’t try and drown me!” you called, hands cupped over your mouth and still spluttering around lingering saltwater. He reared up quick enough to swipe another wave your way before slipping back under, and you laughed through the spray of mist.

You settled yourself back in the sand, ankles crossed and chin pillowed in your knees, and watched the shadow of him dance just beneath the surface—starting in his familiar, looping circles before slowly venturing towards the mouth of the cove. He paced along the breakwater, pectoral fins cresting above the waves to glint bright and sleek in the light of the morning. And then he was darting forward with a great beat of his tail, spraying salt behind him as he dove towards the depths. You waited, anxious, as one moment faded to the next, and then—finally—there was a burst of frothing bubbles as he broke the surface with a great, curling leap—fins flared wide like the wings of a great bird and scales shining like jewels. It was nearly effortless, how he crested over the water. Diving back down in a mess of spitting mists with a flick of those long, trailing fins. He leapt up again, twisting in the air to crash down on his back and it almost looked like he was dancing. You could see the white flash of his grin even from all the way where you were sat. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him so happy. Truly, a sight worthy of every grand tale you’d heard of the Sirens of the Sea.

He circled the mouth of the bay at least a dozen times more—fast, and wild, and breaching the waves in a burst of seafoam like he was trying to give every pod of dolphins out there a run for their money. Gradually, he began to lose steam, and those grand leaps melted into soft curls of his tail in the tide. And honestly, this was the part where you expected him to sink beneath the surface and glide off into the sunset. You braced yourself for it—for the moment that golden head of his would vanish beneath the water and never pop back up again—but instead he bobbed closer.

The Siren rolled in with the waves, panting, and flushed, and looking like someone coming off of a marathon. The muscles all along his torso were jittery with the strain of it, and he looked positively exhausted. Ecstatic beyond compare, but exhausted. He slipped up the damp shore with wobbly arms and came to a stop at your side before very gracelessly and rudely flopping the entirety of his sopping wet bulk onto your person and squashing you into the muck.

You squawked, rightfully indignant, and he just puffed against your neck and let his tail smack harder against your flailing legs.

“You’re going to crush me!” you wailed, shoving at his shoulder.

He rolled his eyes and curled his fins along your hips—spreading himself out in the sands like your complaints held no merit whatsoever. You could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against yours, and the rabbit-fast thump-thump-thump of his heart. His skin was so warm. You could even feel the heat of it off his scales, which you hadn’t even thought was possible. Weren’t all fishy, scaly things supposed to be cold? Slimy, and gross, and like poking a wet blob of some unmentionable gunk scraped off the hull of a ship? Instead it was just… smooth. Glass-polish sleek and all warm muscle twined along your much, much smaller self.

You cleared your throat and turned to blow a frustrated raspberry against the sand.

“You do realize if you break all my bones that there isn’t going to be anyone to cook your stupid fish for you anymore.”

The Siren grumbled something against your shoulder that almost felt like the breathy puff of a laugh, and then he was collapsing all over again with a sigh that ruffled all the soft, short hairs at the nape of your neck. He scrubbed his cheek against the curve of your throat and you froze. Because it almost felt like—was he purring?

A deep, low, tremulous thing that you could feel rumbling against your skin. Like laying a hand against a mast strung too tight in a storm. Or maybe more like that one time you’d found a stray cat lounging in the sun by the docks—the sweet, old thing chirping softly beneath your palm in a lulling drone that tickled all the way up your arm.  

The Siren’s purr wasn’t quite like either of those things, but perhaps a mix of the two. Dangerous but warm, powerful but cosseted. More predator than pet, and, well, that’s what he was, wasn’t he? And honestly, it was pretty nice. A language you could feel rather than hear, something just for you.

So you let yourself relax beneath the weight of his scaly bulk with a sigh that wasn’t quite as aggrieved as you would have liked, and his tail twisted another loop around your calves. His fins spread around the pair of you like a roll of fine silks, and while the texture wasn’t exactly soft, they were delicate enough not to feel suffocating or coarse either. Sleek and cool to the touch, and maybe the thickness of canvas. And there were just so many of them. Long, and trailing, and ruffled along the edges like the folds of a fine-boned fan. Your weird, purple blanket. If Riddle ever found out you’d been using a Siren as bed linens, he’d probably have an aneurism and scrub you in one of the scullery buckets for a week straight.

It was stupidly easy to fall asleep like that—wrapped up in lavender and plum, with the thrum of his heart next to yours. You napped all through the afternoon, and only woke up once the sun had set over the horizon.

You blinked awake to stars in the sky and a strange, scratchy sensation at your hip.

The Siren had apparently finished up whatever little bout of insanity that had made him think you’d be the perfect impromptu pillow. He hadn’t gone far—or even anywhere at all really—but he was propped up at the hip now instead of crushing you into the shore. His hand was resting just beneath the hem of your shirt, right over the origin of that bizarre, ticklish feeling. You blinked again to clear the salt and sleep-grit from your eyes, and realized it was his talons. Not ripping, or tearing, or rending. Just very, very carefully tracing a set of shapes into your skin. The same three symbols, over and over. Up, and down, and up, and curled.

He traced those shapes again, and again, and again. It was almost—you’d think it was letters, if not for the strange, swirling pop of them. Almost like the words he’d written in his own language all those days ago. His claw dragged along the skin there in the faintest prickle, leaving slowly growing streaks of red in their wake with each repetition. You opened your mouth, ready to ask him what exactly he was so painstakingly etching into your hip, and paused.

You’d realized over the past however many weeks you’d been marooned on this little crescent of sand and stone that maybe Sirens weren’t all you’d thought them to be. And that maybe you really didn’t know much about them at all. Something about the slow, cautious way that his claws were tracking along your skin made you think that this was another of those things that you just didn’t get. And going by how quiet he was, how stalwart and careful he was being not to let the knife-sharp curves of those talons dig too deep or do anything other than trace back and forth, and back and forth, it might be something… Something important. Or at the very least something that you had no business bothering him about.

Least of all if he’d be leaving any day now.

So you tossed your head back on a very loud, very dramatic yawn and used the ensuing stretch to gently swat his hands away.

He didn’t look put out by your ridiculous show of flopping around and scooching out of his grip, so that was good at least. You sat up and rubbed at your eyes, and he just kept staring. Kept to his place in the soft, wet sand not a foot away and eyes sharp in the lowlight of the evening.

“Well,” you chuffed on another yawn. “I’m starving. Dinner?”

The Siren rolled his eyes and dipped his chin in what could perhaps generously be classified as a nod. He reached up to flick at the mused braid in his hair with a pointed scowl—twisted and tangled from the salt of the sea and his earlier rambunctious tomfoolery. You sighed, overly put upon, and hefted your way to your feet.

“Yes, yes. And I’ll fix your stupid hair.”

Another nod, this one far more pleased, and the Siren settled himself neatly back into the low roll of the waves to watch you work.

.

.

The next morning when you clawed your way back into consciousness, the Siren was already awake and staring off into the distance.

The fins along his head were pricked in that same, focused way from before that made you think of a hound dog catching a scent. There was a strange sort of energy about him—not quite nervous, but certainly not anything comfortably at ease either. Unsettled. Jittery. The end of his tail flicked against the sand, and the fins along his spine curled and arched to an unsung tempo.

You followed the path of his leer and didn’t see much of anything yourself. Just an endless stretch of blue in all directions with the occasional white crack of a wave breaking along its surface.

His tail smacked at the muck again and you felt something tight and stupidly, stupidly selfish curl in your stomach.

You swallowed it down, just like you’d said you would. Because you’d meant it when you’d told him he deserved his happy ending, and you weren’t going to let the rotten, nervous thing growing in your guts stop him from having that. Not that you could even if you wanted to, but it was the principle.

“…are you going to swim again today?” you asked, and one of those fins swiveled in your direction. You came to stand at his side and curled your toes in the sand to keep yourself steady. “You should, you know. To make sure everything is really all fixed.”

The Siren tore his gaze away from the sea to cant his head at you with a sharp, suspicious narrowing of his eyes.

You held your hands up in defense. “I’m just saying. You want to be able to go home, don’t you? Back to your pod?”

He frowned, tight, but his glare flickered back out to the mouth of the bay like he couldn’t help himself.

After a long, long moment, he reached out and dug his claws into the sand.

‘Not safe yet.’

You arched a brow. “Oh, come on. I’m sure it’s fine. If anyone could make it back, it’d be you.”

He turned back your way and arched a brow, looking entirely unconvinced.

You huffed and crossed your arms. “Don’t get all modest now. You’re the most obnoxiously proud person I’ve ever met—fish or otherwise. I’m sure you can do anything you set your mind to.”

His brow pinched again, and there was something almost like worry sparking in those amethyst eyes of his.

“Look—” you said, reaching out to plant a palm against his shoulder. “If it doesn’t work out, you can always just come right back here, okay? It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

You weren’t going to think about how nice that sounded, and how absolutely, bitterly selfish it was to hope that he’d turn right back around and head back. You weren’t.

The Siren’s brow pinched and he turned back to the open water, fins rippling against his sides and mouth twisted down at the corners.

You tugged at the braid in his hair.

“Don’t make me tie you back up again just so I can drag you out.”

He scoffed and spat something at you that looked like it was properly bitchy, and it had your lips quirking on a smirk. But prissiness or no, he’d started to let himself slip down against the surf, to lull deeper into the shallows and flare his fins at his sides for balance rather than a show of irritation.

You swallowed the last, lingering bite of dread at the back of your throat and offered him a winning smile.

The Siren huffed, and right before he sunk all the way into the water, he set his talons by your feet and scribbled—

‘Do not do anything stupid.’

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved off. “Sure.”

He underlined the ‘do not’ with a harsh sneer that could have made paint curl and the fiercest of generals quake in their boots, and you burst into peals of too-fond laughter.

“Okay, okay. I promise. Swear.”

He nodded, firm, and finally—finally—sunk beneath the surface with a grand, sweeping beat of his tail.

He circled the whole of the bay once, twice, thrice, and then set out past the breakwater with another of those bounding leaps that looked like something straight out of a painting.

You sat and watched the rolling waves until the sun was high in the sky, and then long after it had begun its creeping descent. Fat and sluggish over the horizon, dripping gold along the water like the strokes of a paintbrush. Until there were no shadows in the tide, no purple fins popping up from beneath the surface to smack at your ankles. There hadn’t been for hours now. The glint of his tail had slowly grown further and further away, and you’d been staring out at nothing for longer than not.

You stood with a sigh, legs wobbly and prickling with static as you stretched out of your scrunched up crouch.

You moved towards your little shanty hut and carefully readjusted the conch at its helm so that it sat just so. You stepped back with a soft nod and began your familiar trek towards the other side of the island, dutifully ignoring the stutter in your steps and that tight, miserable something twisting in your guts that you refused to name.

It was fine. He’d be home soon, surely. With his pod—his family. Which was what you’d wanted. And now… well, you had to go catch some dinner for you and your octopus. And there was no use waiting around.

.

.

You fucking sucked at fishing.

Which was a lesson learned with miserable, sopping wet consequences. You sat in front of your stupid fire, ringing out your stupid, soaked shirt, and sneezing in the chill of the night air. You’d never been responsible for hauling in food on The Rose Queen, and the Siren had basically been feeding your stranded ass from day one (whether intentional or otherwise). And so now here you were. Fishless, friendless, and freezing.

You sighed, miserable, and carefully made your way back to the familiar, little tidepool in the crags. You knelt down by the teeny pool of water there and the octopus inside was immediately scurrying for cover. When no tasty treats rained down overhead like the gift of some benevolent god, it slowly creeped its way out from beneath the stones with a trudging sort of paddling you wanted to call pouty.

“Sorry, little guy,” you huffed. “I don’t have anything for you today.”

You reached forward and the octopus panicked—trying to flee so fast that the poor thing wound up twisting itself in knots. Its stubby tentacles curled and flailed uselessly in its puddle, and you tutted in sympathy. You scooped the blob into your palms and immediately four sets of tentacles were curling around your fingers like a lifeline. Its little suckers pulled at your skin with sticky smacks as it tried to burrow away into your skin. And Sevens—OW! What the Hell!

“Chill, chill!” you squawked, trying to wrangle the thing more securely into your hands and stop it from pinching the flesh clear off your bones. “I’m just—would you—look, I don’t want to drop you, okay? So would you just—"

The octopus screamed, and you didn’t even think that was possible. You could feel the sharp, yowling vibrations of it all along your fingers and a few of the gulls nesting along the rocks took off into the air with a harried flurry of feathers and scrabbling claws. Their wings thwacked the back of your head and you swatted them away with a shrill scream of your own. Why did everything on this stupid island have to be a no good, dramatic, serenading, piece of shi—

“Fine!” you shrieked, feeling your molars ache with it. “Begone!”

And hurled the thing as far as you could over the edge of the rocky shore. It landed in the water with a lackluster plop of fat bubbles and immediately darted away like a prisoner fleeing captivity. And not, you know, the benevolent hand of the very lovely pirate who had been feeding and caring for it all these weeks.

You kicked angrily at a mess of pebbles, and then swore loud and furious when all it did was scuff up your toes and prick bruises into your heels.

You trudged back to your stupid, little hovel and collapsed miserably into the sand.

Here you were, trying to be noble, and kind, and give all of these ridiculous sea creatures the second chance at life that you would never have. And what did you get for it? An empty stomach, an aching heart, and gravel in your fucking feet—

“Well,” you chattered to yourself. Pleasantly poisonous and tendons jumping in your jaw, “I suppose at least it can’t get much worse.”

Which should have been the universe’s signal to do something truly petty. The skies opening overhead in a torrential downpour. Your little, stick home collapsing under the sheer weight of your patheticness. A crab scuttling up from the depths just to pinch your toes. Something like that.   

Instead, there was a gentle breeze that tickled your cheeks and coaxed you into looking out over the horizon.

There was something there—something in the distance that you couldn’t quite make out from where you were curled up suffering in the sand. You sniffled past angry tears and scrubbed the back of your hand over your nose, and then let that touch of wind guide you forward on wobbly legs.  You had to climb all the way up the salt-slick rocks to get a good look at it. But there it was. Not too far at all actually.

A ship.

Large, and wooden, and cresting through the low rolling waves with all the ease of the monstrous vessel it looked to be. There was a silver insignia emblazoned on its side, but it was still too far away to make out the particulars. But you didn’t care, because it was a ship. An actual, factual ship.

You waved your hands high over your head and shouted at the top of your lungs.

And holy shit, holy shit—maybe the universe didn’t actually hate your poor guts. Maybe there’d be a happy ending to this whole thing after all.

You watched in the distance as an anchor dropped, and you had to stop yourself from tumbling off your rocky perch in your excitement. One of the small dinghies was lowered into the water and a gaggle of crew climbed down to man it. Slowly but surely, that little boat grew closer, and you sprinted down to the shoreline to meet it.

A man with short, dark hair climbed over the side and met you halfway. His eyes were soft, and brown, and kind, and he offered you a warm smile when you nearly tumbled straight into him in your haste—catching a hand around your arms and helping keep you upright.

He said something polite that you assumed was the usual sort of greeting and intrigue into how exactly you’d managed to find yourself in this state of affairs, and you hastily made to explain your situation as you always did.

‘Thank you—I can’t hear, but I can write and read—And I—’

Your train of thought cut off sharply, and your rambling explanations with it. The brunette was already nodding your way in sympathy and rattling off instructions to his crew. They were all decked out in slightly differing variations of the same, white and navy uniform. With golden buttons and sashes glinting in the low light and silver pendants pinned to their breast pockets. Your doe-eyed savior turned back your way and offered you his arm with another of those sap sweet smiles that lit his cheeks in a merry, rosy pink.

You hesitated, throat bobbing around something tight and cold that curdled along the back of your tongue.

Twining songbirds, wings frozen in flight as they soared up towards an endless sky.

The intricate, little emblem stared back at you proudly from its place on his chest, and you couldn’t help but think of the Siren who’d only just left your cove a few hours before.

‘Not safe,’ he’d demanded, dragging you away from the wreck so frantically you’d nearly drowned from it. ‘Not safe.’

The brunette’s smile wavered at your hesitance, and he wrapped his hand around yours to tug you into the boat.

You climbed in on wobbly legs, because—what else were you supposed to do? Stay stranded on this little patch of sand and stone until you starved to death or went mad from loneliness? Run? From sailors with swords on their belts as long as your arm? To hide on an island that you could traverse in its entirety in a half hour or less? You were always one to happily snatch up the weird and wonderful opportunities life could present to you and run them into the ground, but now… What else was there?

You were settled against one of the small, wooden benches and the brunette shucked off his jacket to drape over your shoulders and the silver songbirds glinted in the low light. He offered you another of those warm, warm smiles before turning to call an order to his crew.

You sighed, miserable, and slouched against the siding—fingers dangling down to brush along the surface of the water.

‘Do not do anything stupid,’ your Siren had said.

And you’d really been hoping to last more than twenty-four-freaking-hours before inevitably breaking that promise, but it seemed the universe really was out to get you after all.

.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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[itaipava]

— f1 boys falling asleep on you.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

trying to sleep at an ungodly hour after returning home from a night out; still feeling giddy from the rush and excitement of the night as you both get ready for bed. he hugs you from behind and rests his head on your shoulder as you brush your teeth, almost falling asleep right there. after you’re done, you crawl into bed together, saying “goodnight” for the thousandth time, but neither of you closing your eyes as you gaze happily at each other with soft giggles and bright smiles amidst yawns. sleepy and a little tipsy, but too in love with the moment and each other to want to fall asleep, but inevitably doing so with happy sighs as he pulls you closer to him, with his face in your neck and intertwining your legs.

˒ ⌕ GEORSE RUSSELL

he always says he wants to do a lot of things with you when he gets home to make up for the time he was gone, but as soon as you settle in to watch that new movie you were looking forward to watch, he falls asleep. you look at him and smile, gently placing his head on your lap. you stroke his hair as he sleeps peacefully. but he ends up waking up in the middle of the movie, and starts asking questions like "what happened to him?" while lazily pointing at the character and, as soon as you finish talking, he dozes off again, even though he promised himself that he would stay awake.

˒ ⌕ SEBASTIAN VETTEL

you woke up early, but you didn't want to disturb his sleep, so you tried to get out of bed as quietly as possible. you sat up and stretched, but before you could actually get up, you felt his arm around your waist, pulling you against him. you smiled, and tried to tell him that you needed to get up, but he was too busy using your lap as a pillow to even hear you.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

he had been trying to sleep alone for a long time, but he couldn't even with the gentle sound of the rain outside. you open the bedroom door and he smiles when he sees you; he lifts the blanket next to him, a silent invitation for you to go lie down with him. you smile and lie down, silently he pulls you to him, holding you lovingly. you stroke his hair and he closes his eyes, enjoying your affection and the warmth of your body. and when you least expect it, he is in a deep sleep while holding you.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

you were lying together on the couch in the living room, savoring the warmth and the cool breezes that came in through the sunny window; you admired how the sunlight fell beautifully on each other's features as he held you close to him. there was soft music playing in the background as you hummed along to the melody or said things like "oh, i love this song!" which always made him smile. wordless but meaningful looks of "i love you" to each other. suddenly he stopped running his fingertips over your body and, looking at his face, you saw that he fell asleep holding you, feeling safer than ever.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

you and him love to talk before bed; it’s an unspoken routine in your relationship. you talk about your days, your thoughts, your worries, about that squirrel you saw on the street, anything and everything; your voices only slightly above whisper, trying not to disturb the quietness of the night but failing to do so when laughter comes over you both. he hugged your waist and put his face in your neck while you spoke, but at a certain point you felt his heavy breathing and, when you looked at him, you saw him sleeping. you smiled affectionately and gave him a kiss on the corner of his mouth, which made him pull you even closer to him.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

after he takes you to a great restaurant in the city, you arrive home and rest on the couch while talking about anything that comes to mind. he sighs deeply, and puts his head on your shoulder, looking at his face, you notice how sleepy he is when the food coma kicks in. you smile, and pull him closer to you, and that's when he settles down next to you on the couch, holding you tightly against him as he lets sleep take over.

˒ ⌕ FRANCO COLAPINTO

he comes home absolutely exhausted after a long training session. after a hot shower, he lies on top of you, hugs your waist and puts his face in your neck, feeling your warmth and your scent. at that moment, he feels like he is in heaven. you gently stroke his back while asking him how his day was, but he is so tired that he just mumbles something softly and falls asleep on you.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

you woke up earlier than usual, and you couldn’t fall asleep again but you didn’t want to leave his side; quiet moments with him are so rare, so you wanted to make the most of them. he also wakes up, but only to pull you towards him even more, using you as a pillow. you smile and stroke his hair, which makes him sigh and fall asleep again, without a care in the world.

[maiiuelle]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ᡣ𐭩 ⋆ ˚｡⋆

rafe cameron is not known for giving heartfelt apologies, but after what he had done to you last week, he couldn’t shake the sick feeling in his stomach.

he tried all his usual methods of letting go — starting with more meaningless hook ups, cocaine, and partying. it felt natural to try to move on like you were just another fling, after all you were never officially together. it worked enough to keep him occupied, but ultimately, it only made him feel worse to pretend you meant nothing to him. it serves as a constant reminder of exactly how he made you feel that night — like nothing.

the intrusive memory of what happened haunts him. before the incident, you were really growing on him. he made you his main girl without meaning to, inviting you to the club and out golfing just because he genuinely wanted you there beside him. by the time he realized he had real feelings for you, it felt like everyone else already knew.

you made him feel vulnerable, and it scared him. being so public with you put his emotions out on display. he had to remind himself that you weren’t his girlfriend, you were just supposed to be another girl he had on his roster. he has a big ego and an even bigger reputation, and in an attempt to protect that rather than you, he continued on with his bachelor lifestyle.

he never imagined you’d show up that night — he hoped brushing you off would shoo you away, save you from the inevitable realization he isn’t as great as he makes himself out to be. instead, you made him face you head on, and he would remember the devastated look on your face forever.

the nonchalant mask finally slips when his friends start asking where you went, having noticed your sudden absence. after all that time of trying to suppress his guilt, it struck a nerve just hearing your name. “who’s asking? ‘cause—cause i know it’s none of your fuckin’ business what she’s up to.”

topper lifts his hands in surrender, eyeing kelce. “woah. chill, man. i was just wondering, i thought you were into that chick.”

kelce snickers, taking the chance to finally get payback for every time rafe mocked them for chasing after girls. “what? did she dump you or something?”

rafe just pushes out of his seat, waving them off as he finishes what’s left in his glass. he doesn’t spare his friends another glance despite their boisterous protests, instead just addressing the bartender on his way out. “put it on cameron.”

he can’t handle it anymore, he has to do something.

it’s officially been a week since you last saw rafe. like clockwork the early birds begin to sing songs as they welcome the brand new day, the sun just starting to rise above the horizon. you’re still awake from the night before, unable to sleep with how your mind is racing.

you had been holding it together much better than rafe — to the public, you’re thriving. you go out with your friends every night, looking better than ever at yacht parties and the island club. it’s freeing to spend more time with your girl friends again, but you really can’t stand to spend any time by yourself.

thats why the nights are the worst, when you’re stuck alone in the silent solitude of your bedroom. that’s where you are now, wrapped up in your duvet with puffy eyes from crying all night over him. you just couldn’t wrap your head around the betrayal — after you thought you truly knew him, he turned out to be exactly how everyone said he was. manipulative, slimy, and selfish. your heart aches at your own ignorance, feeling stupid for not seeing the now obvious red flags.

to try to get your mind off of him, even just for a second, you tune into the gentle tapping of morning rain on your windowsill. in an overtired daze, you dream of being a princess locked away in a tower with your heroic lover waiting below, tossing stones at your window to garner your attention.

you don’t let it play on for too long, cutting it off abruptly by pulling your pillow over your face, silently scolding yourself. your infatuation with romance novels is what got you into this mess in the first place, making you delusively believe that rafe cameron was your prince charming. so stupid.

but, the tapping grows louder, your silly fantasy rebelling against you, refusing to disappear. in a fit of exhausted frustration, you grab the pillow off your head and throw it across the room, watching as it lands flat on the floor just short of the window, just in time for one of the shiny stones from your garden to hit the glass. then another, and another.

it couldn’t be. you can’t believe your eyes, especially after a long night of sobbing and zero sleep. you slowly slip out of your bed, walking up to the window cautiously.

“oh, you have to be joking.” you look down from your bedroom window to see none other than rafe standing in your lawn with a hand full of rocks and his truck parked on the curb. he’s clearly had a long night too, swaying on his feet and deflating when he sees you appear in the window.

“baby! baby — please talk to me!” he shouts, and you rush to push your window open. your father already hates the camerons, and you don’t want to deal with that confrontation if he wakes him up this early in the morning.

“shhh!” you press your finger to your lips, practically pushing your whole upper body out the window urgently to whisper-shout at him. “what are you thinking? my dad’s gonna kill you!”

“baby, i—i need to talk to you, please.” rafe whines, dropping the rest of the stones in his hand so he can push his bangs back. desperation looks strange on him, in your state of shock you hold up a hand to silence him and give yourself a second to weigh your options. you could get him back for what he did right now, do exactly what he did to you — you could scream at him to leave, to never speak to you again, and go get your father to handle the rest.

but instead, you just roll your eyes. so stupid. “just.. just wait a second.” you sigh as you shut the window quietly, closing your eyes for a moment of pause. before you change your mind, you march to your bedroom door, grabbing your fluffy robe and slipping it over your shoulders followed by your slippers.

you would never do any of that to him, not with the way you still feel about him, no matter how frustrating that is. you wish he could just be dead to you, but that’s not how you feel. the least you could do is hear out what he has to say for himself, even big bad rafe cameron deserves a second chance.

you take a deep breath as you slip down the stairs quietly, bracing yourself to face him. you open the front door, pulling your robe tighter over your nightgown to fight the cold morning air that bites at your skin as you sneak outside.

rafe rushes toward you, holding his head in anguish. “baby, listen to me. i—i know i screwed up, alright? i—”

“stop!” you thump your foot on the front porch, glaring at him from the top of the wooden steps. just because you’re kind enough to give him the time of day doesn’t mean he’s off the hook. he listens, pausing with wide eyes as he looks you over. he really is a mess, tears falling from his eyes and mixing with the morning rain that’s already soaked his hair and shirt. “god, rafe. what is going on with you?”

“i’m a fuckin’ idiot.” he cries, his face twisting as he sobs. “we had something good, right? and—and i fucked it all up. i did. it’s all my fault.”

you stand there with your arms crossed in front of you like a shield.“how do you think i feel? i thought you cared, meanwhile you’re lying to me and fucking some other girl?” you frown, staring him down. “you.. you humiliated me!”

“i know, i know — trust me, i know!” he grits his teeth, spinning on his heel in frustration before pacing back toward you. “you’ve got no idea, alright? i promise you, i’ve torn myself apart enough over this. just—” he strains, sucking in a shaky deep breath and forcing it out, trying to calm down. “i need you. okay?”

“oh really? how am i supposed to trust you?” you spit, venom in your voice. seeing him grovel at your front steps is oddly satisfying, even though the deep hurt in his voice is twisting your stomach.

“baby, look at me!” rafe drags his hands down his wet shirt, looking at you like a puppy dog stuck out in the rain. “i’m a fuckin’ mess without you. look, i—i took advantage of the situation, alright, i admit that. but i can’t breathe without you.” he stops, fidgeting anxiously as he waits for a response. you’re frozen, equally as shocked as him at his words. the anxiety gets the better of him and he steps forward, moving up the steps toward you. seeing your teary, red eyes stings in his chest. “c’mere, okay? let’s just — let’s just put this all behind us, right?”

“rafe—”

“nah, nah. it’s alright, c’mere.” he coos, and you kick yourself because you don’t back away, instead letting him come up on your porch and put his arms out for you. you blink up at him with your doe eyes, the sympathetic look on his face melting your defense. you just crumble into his arms, having been so desperate for him to comfort you exactly how he his now. “c’mon, there you go. you’re my girl. my girl.”

could you give him another chance?

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ᡣ𐭩 ⋆ ˚｡⋆

[eddiesxangel]

Need You Now | Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Requested by @mmunson86 : Eddie and Reader were best friends who secretly liked each other, but then they went their separate ways after high school and kind of lost contact. one day, Eddie runs into Steve, who still talks to Reader, and after five years he realizes that he should’ve taken his shot and I don’t know maybe he has the urge to call her and instead he just shows up at her doorstep in the pouring rain he’s drenched in water, and he tells her how she feels and hopes that she does and well she does feel the same (Eddie finally asks her to be his girl) & well it gets smutttty 🥹💗 included the song Need you Now by Lady A

Cw: angst, mutual pining, friends to strangers to lovers, fluff, no use of y/n reader is referred to with nicknames (Peach, sweetheart, baby) smut, p in v, dirty talk, one mention of birth control, no use of condoms, creampies? Alchohol.

wc: 7.6k

comments and reblogs are always appreciated and encouraged <3

August 1984.

"So this is it, huh?" Eddie was completely taken aback by the suddenness of it all. He had known deep down that this day would eventually arrive, but it had always felt like a distant threat. Now that it was here, he struggled to come to terms with the fact that you were leaving him. You had always been ambitious, and he was incredibly proud of everything you had accomplished. But the thought of being left behind while you went on to bigger and better things was a tough pill to swallow. Despite his own feelings of loss and sadness, however, Eddie knew that he couldn't stand in the way of your dreams - he would never be the kind of person to hold someone back from reaching their full potential.

"Y-yeah." you sigh with shaky breath.

How could you leave him? The guilt gnawed at you because, even after everything, you never got to tell him how you felt. Now you are standing in the airport, feeling lost. It's too little, too late for confessionals.

Since you can remember, going to school in England has been your dream. You made it a mission and are now attending the University of Cambridge. You got in on a scholarship and scrapped up every penny working at Family Video for your four years of high school.

"You better write to me and all that shit" he pointed.

This made you giggle. "Of course, I'll even call once in a while. Hopefully, the long-distance charges won't be too lethal." You play with the chain hanging from your neck. You never took it off.

"Oh! I almost forgot... here!." Eddie rummaged around his pockets and pulled out a small wrapped gift. "Uh, open it when you get there, okay?"

"Teddy, you didn-"

"I wanted to. Please? Just take it." Eddie’s heart fluttered at your name of endearment.

You reach for the gift, fingers brushing, and you swear you feel sparks fly. You instantly jump into him, arms wrapping around his neck, taking in his feel, scent, and touch. Fuck this hurts more than you thought it would. But you kept telling yourself it wouldn't be forever, only four years; you could survive that. And you would be home in the summers. It wouldn't be so bad.

Tears threaten to fall as they rim your lashes. "I'll miss you," you sniffle, and your voice cracks.

It breaks Eddie's heart to see you like this. You were his girl, well, not technically, but you had his heart. You had it from the first moment he saw you in ninth-grade science when you were assigned to be his lab partner. From then on, you were as thick as thieves; if only you felt the same way...

"All passengers for flight 739, please make your way to gate 67; you are now boarding." Your heart sinks at the announcement; that was you. No more stalling.

You turn to your parents, giving them another tight hug, then quickly turn to Eddie again. You hug him once more, as tight as you can this time.

"You're squishing me, Peach. Can't. Breath." He jokes, and you look up at him with glossy eyes.

You reach up to your tiptoes, kiss his stubbly cheek and mutter the words he has been waiting to hear for the past four years. "I love you, Eddie."

Eddie was stunned, did he hear you correctly? You don't give him time to answer because you quickly turn without another word, not giving him a chance to speak, and you run. You run to the gate and don't look back.

For most of the flight, your mind was racing. You couldn't help but feel like a coward. Your mind was racing with questions and doubts. What if Eddie misunderstood your words as just platonic love? Or would he understand that you were actually in love with him?

You sat on the plane, staring at the gift box Eddie handed you. It was a small black square box with a red bow. Nothing fancy.

Once you were over international waters, you decided you couldn't wait anymore and opened it up.

As you slowly lift the lid, the tears start to well up in your eyes again. Your heart is pounding as you peer inside the small box and handwritten note and a silver mood ring were nestled inside. You reach in and carefully pick up the note and begin to read.

Dear, Peach

I am going to miss you so much, so here is a small token to remember me by…

Your Teddy.

You sniffle as you pick up the ring and hold it up to the overhead light to get a better look.

You turn it over in your fingers, examining every detail, trying to confirm whether or not this was Eddie's ring. It looks exactly like the one he wore daily, but you can't be sure. You had never seen him without it before? You try to think about if he had it on at the airport.

As you examine the ring, memories of Eddie flood your mind. You remember how he constantly fiddled with it, absentmindedly twisting it around his finger. You remember how he told you it was his mother's ring and how much it meant to him. But now, as you hold it in your hand, you can't believe he did this.

You try to slide it onto your fingers, but it's too loose to stay in place. You don't want to give up on the ring, though. It's too precious to lose. Suddenly, a thought strikes you, and you take off your necklace. You carefully latch the ring onto the chain, ensuring its security. You can keep it close to your heart as you wear it around your neck...

Now, 1991

"Peach?!” You jump and turn; you were startled when browsing the chips section at the Dollar Store. “Holy shit, it is you!"

"Steve?" You smile brightly and embrace him in a hug when you realize who is speaking to you. Not even twenty-four hours back home, and you’re already bumping into old friends. You had forgotten how small Hawkins really was.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" he asked with a bright smile across his face.

"Brian-you remember my brother Brian? He's getting married, had to come back for the wedding." You smile.

"When did you get back?! Have you seen anyone? Oh god, everyone is going to be thrilled." He hugged you again for good measure to make sure it was really you.

"I got back late last night; I'm still jetlagged, so I haven't seen or reached out to anyone yet... I don't think I have anyone's numbers anymore; it's been so long..." You felt so guilty. Your life in Hawkins was worlds away. You had been so busy once you graduated. You hadn't been home in about four years; visiting you was easier for your folks.

"I'll alert the media; I'll be the town crier! Let everyone know Peach is back!"

"Thanks, Stevie," you giggled.

"How long are you in town for?"

"Ummm, that's the thing; I think I am back for good?" Sure, you loved being overseas, but seven years was so long you missed your life back home, your family, your friends, and your visa was running out.

"This is amazing! Oh, we have to all get together to celebrate!"

"How um- how is everyone?"

"Good! Robin and I are roommates, Nancy and Jonathan are still going strong, Dustin, Mike, Lucas and Will, El and Max are off at their different colleges..."

"What, uh-what about Eddie?" You hadn't mutter his name in years. Things fell off like they did with everyone else. You used to write almost every day, but then school, friends, and boyfriends happened, and eventually, the letters stopped altogether.

The two of you never spoke of the "I love you" statement you made at the airport. You tiptoed around it like it didn't happen. Sometimes, you wished you had stayed to hear what he would have said, and other times, you were glad you ran. You took the hint that he didn't feel the same way when he never said anything back in his letters or the few times you called him.

"Oh, Ed's is great! Yeah, he has his own shop downtown; you know how good he was with fixing cars and all that. He got promoted a few months back when Richards decided to retire..." You smile at the thought of Eddie finally owning up to his potential.

"Oh, well, um, that's amazing! I really missed you guys." You sighed, subconsciously playing with the ring attached to the chain around your neck. You hadn't taken it off in the seven years you had been away.

"Well, I better get going, but I'll call you, ok?"

"Yeah, I'm with my folks for now until I find an apartment, so same number,” you smiled.

When you leave Steve, your mind can't help but race with thoughts of seeing Eddie again. Seven years is a really long time; would he still have his long hair? Would he have a girlfriend? Oh god, what if he has a girlfriend? Of course, he would have a girlfriend. He's Eddie. He is the most flirtatious guy out there; there is no way he would be sitting around waiting for you. Not that he would be waiting for you... he never said those three words back.

It's been less than twenty-four hours since you've been back in Hawkins, and yet your thoughts are consumed by memories of him. The sound of his voice echoes in your mind as if you had heard him yesterday... The way he laughed, the way he walked, and the way he used to look at you. His presence has left an everlasting mark on your psyche, and you can't help but wonder what he's doing right now, whether he's thinking about you too, or if you'll ever see him again.

Your stuff was all over the new apartment. You managed to score a place not too far from everyone, and it only took about a week and a half to find, sign and finalize a place to live.

The living room was filled with countless cardboard boxes, each one crammed with different items from your childhood home and England.

As you rummaged through them, your attention was suddenly grasped by a photo album that had been buried deep inside one of the boxes. It took you by surprise - I had completely forgotten about it. As you held it in your hands, you couldn't help but feel a rush of nostalgia and curiosity, wondering what picture-perfect memories were inside.

You grabbed your drink from the side table and crawled on the messy couch covered in old newspapers and bubble wrap. Pictures of you with the gang, in the Wheelers basement, at lovers lake, in the trailer…

Memories of late nights, early morning school pick ups, dnd creation sessions, forcible study sessions that ended up just you two talking for hours on end, Eddie making you fall for him and him you with neither of you were the wiser.

The phone ringing breaks you out of the trance. You scramble up off the couch the photo album falls off your lap and onto the floor as you scurry over to the phone mounted on the wall.

“Hello?” Nice to know the phone company installed it correctly.

“Hey! It’s Steve, how are you?”

“Good, just settling in; my place is a mess,” you giggle.

“Good, good. We are all getting together on Friday; maybe you can take a break from unpacking? We thought it would be nice to meet at my folk's place, old time's sake.” you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” You hesitated. “Is, um, everyone going to be there?”

"Yep! Folks are out of town; we can use the pool to put advantage. Everyone is so excited you're back" emphasis on everyone.

“That’s great, Steve; I’m happy to be home, glad no one hates me," you chuckle uncomfortably. "I was kinda worried since I fell off the face of the earth...”

“Nah, we could never be mad at you.”

“Okay then! I’ll see you guys Friday,” you smile. Oblivious to the fact that none of your friends knew you were in town…

“So Stevie, what’s got you bouncing off the walls?” Robin asked.

It was Friday, and Steve had everyone already over for an hour before your arrival.

They had no idea you were back because Steve wanted to tell everyone simultaneously. So he invited Nancy, Jonathan, and Eddie so he could share the big news.

“Yea, you’re killing us, man,” Jonathan smirked.

“Okay, okay, okay! Everyone sit down.” Steve instructed. “So I was out running some errands, and you’re never going to guess who I ran into!”

“Vicki?” Robin asked.

“Nooo.”

“Chrissy?”

“Nope.”

“Max?”

“Nope, guess again.”

“Lucas?”

Amidst the incessant guessing, Eddie's mind drifted away to a memory of you. He pictured you walking through the front door with that enchanting smile you always had on your face. The sound of your voice was etched in his mind as if he had heard it only yesterday. His heart yearned for you, how you used to take over his whole world and light up his day with your infectious energy and captivating aura.

Just as Eddie is about to get lost in his thoughts of you, the doorbell snaps him back into reality.

“You uh expecting anymore else man?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah, you uh mind grabbing the door for me?” Steve was up to something, and Eddie could sense it. Maybe Dustin was home early?

“Why? Are you busy or something?”

“Yea, 'bout to get the pool ready..” he winks.

With his suspicions, Eddie tentatively stands and reaches the door. Behind him, in the distance, he hears Nancy, “Oh my god, shut up!” He must have shared the mystery person while he was out of war shot… jackass.

With his heart racing, he took the last few steps towards the door. His curiosity was piqued, and he felt a sense of anticipation building up inside him, wondering who could possibly be waiting on the other side. As he jogged, he could hear his own footsteps echoing in the hallway. Finally, he reached for the doorknob, ready to discover the mystery person on the other side.

You rang the doorbell once again… what had been taking so long?

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, hold your horses-” Eddie swung open the door without any hesitation as he was in the middle of his sentence. However, his words trailed off when he saw you standing on the other side.

“Hey, Teddy” you smiled as your heart pounded. It was pumping so hard he could probably see it beating through your chest.

“Oh my god.” Eddie looked like he had seen a ghost. The blood drained from his face. His eyes are wide with shock. Did Steve not tell him? “Oh my god!” You were suddenly knocked off your feet as Eddie's weight collided with yours.

“Hi,” you giggled, wrapping your arms around him.

"Peach?" It took him a second to process. “Holy shit, you’re here!” He spun you around before putting you down.

“Did Steve not tell you?” As you slowly stepped back, your eyes fixed on his face.

His once baby-smooth skin now bore a few fine lines, a testament to the life he had lived. Life was never kind to Eddie, but he held on to hope. His facial hair added a more mature rugged charm to the baby face you once knew. You couldn't help but admire the beauty that was Eddie Munson.

You also couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off your face and Eddie was so thankful because he had never been witness to something so beautiful.

“No! Oh my god! No, he didn’t tell us anything.” He couldn’t let you go; he needed to feel you to convince himself he wasn’t seeing things. You smelled just as he remembered, but also sweeter.

“She’s back?!” You hear Robin's voice coming from far inside the house. That made you giggle, and Eddie heard angels singing.

The loud sound of footsteps fills your ears, and you see Robin running towards the door. She bulldozes her way past Eddie and engulfs you in a suffocating hug.

“How long are you here?!” She squealed.

“For good!” You smile as you see Nancy and Jonathan run out after Robin.

“What?! You’re back forever?!” Nancy came running out the door

“Yes, forever!” You smile, glancing over at Eddie.

Eddie needed to process everything and stepped back so everyone else could say their long-awaited hellos.

He missed you so badly; of course, he tried to move on, but nothing was the same. Feeling overwhelmed by the avalanche of information he had just received, Eddie needed a moment to gather his thoughts. With a smile, he excused himself from the room and went through the house to the backyard.

The warm afternoon breeze hit his face as he leaned against the deck railing. Taking a deep breath of the fresh air. He reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, and with a flick of his lighter, he lit one up. As he took a long first drag, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander, hoping to find clarity amid the chaos because you were back.

He hadn’t been out there for two minutes, barely making a dent in the cigarette, when he heard the sliding glass door open and close behind him.

“Hey, you okay, man?” It was Steve.

“Yeah, yeah, just in shock, I guess...” He took a long drag of the cigarette and blew the puffs of smoke in the other direction, away from Steve's face.

“She looks good, huh?.” Steve smirked as he also leaned back against the railing next to Eddie.

"Yeah, uh yea really good" He tried releasing his tense shoulders, but it was of no use.

"I didn't see a ring on her finger… but I did see one around her neck… looked familiar too.”

"What?” Eddie’s head snapped up.

“See for yourself.”

You were now in the kitchen, facing him through the window. Clear as day your exposed chest dawned his ring.

What did this mean?

"Looks like now's your chance." Steve clapped his back.

"It's been so long… things are- I don't know, things just won't be the same. Too much time has passed."

"That's why I say seize the day!"

"Don't Carpe Diem me," Eddie scoffed.

"Well, you better because there is no way I’m going to let someone else swoop in and snatch her up because you’re too dumb to say you love her back." In a swift motion, Steve reached out and plucked the cigarette from Eddie's lips, brought it up to his own mouth, took a long drag, and savoured the taste of the smoke. As he exhaled, he brought the cigarette back down and carefully stubbed it in the ashtray, snuffing out every last bit of ember. The two friends sat silently for a moment, lost in their thoughts.

"Don’t fuck this up again,” he smirked before slipping back inside with the others.

Your gaze automatically finds Eddie as you make your way out the door and into the yard, it was a pool party after all. You even bought a new swimsuit for the occasion because you wanted to make an impression on Eddie. He hadn't seen you since you were no more than a few weeks older than eighteen, when you were still awkward and pimply. Now at twenty-five, you’ve come into your body, and you looked fucking good.

You knew that your body had changed considerably since you were a teenager, and you wanted to look your best.

So when you went shopping you settled on a navy blue option with little white anchors, cute without trying too hard, or so you hoped. It accentuated all of your best assets.

Confidently, you let the shawl slip down your shoulders. Eddie felt like you were moving slowly as he watched you bend over to remove your jean shorts.

If Eddie didn't know any better, he'd think you were doing it intentionally. His hands were getting sweaty, and he needed to tighten his grip on the beer bottle so it wouldn't slip. You made him nervous; you were beautiful, elegant, and not to mention sexy, even more so than he remembered.

As you reach out to grab the drink from Robin's hand, you can sense Eddie's intense gaze fixed on you. Robin, who seems oblivious to the brewing tension, turns around and walks towards the pool chairs where Eddie, Steve, Jonathan and Nancy are lounging. You watch as Robin joins the trio, leaving you standing alone, wondering what Eddie's piercing stare could possibly mean. With a deep breath, you take a swig and join your group of friends.

Like a flip of a switch, Eddie's face softens when he sees you coming towards them. He takes in your body the closer you get. As soon as he caught a glimpse of you, his heart began to race uncontrollably. He couldn't believe how stunning you looked, and his eyes were immediately drawn to his ring that adorned your necklace.

You watched as Eddie gazed at you with admiration. It was like he was noticing every detail about you. Memorizing you - the way your hair cascaded over your shoulders, the sparkle in your eyes, the curve of your lips as you smiled. Eddie always knew how to make you feel special, even with just a look.

"Here, you can take mine." Eddie gets up. Alwasy the gentalman.

"No, it's okay. They are big enough we can share." You smile as you lay out your towel to sit at the end of the long white chair.

Conversations about everyone and how they have been lasted about an hour before you decided it was way too hot to not take advantage of the pool. While living in England, you have had to endure the cool and damp weather. It's such a contrast to the hot and humid summers that you grew up with in Hawkins. The scorching heat can sometimes get unbearable, yet a refreshing change from the gloomy weather back in England.

"I'm going in if anyone wants to join me." You set down your sweaty glass and walk over to the pool. Nancy and Robin follow closely behind before you glance back at the boys.

“Hey, come in with us.” You offer with a smile.

You hear a splash from the pool and see the two other girls' heads bobbing up from under the water.

Steve and Jon nod their head while Eddie shakes his no.

“You sure?” You offer once more, raising your brow.

Once again, Eddie shakes his head no before the other two boys grab him by the arms and drag him to the water's edge.

You giggle before taking a graceful dive in to join your girlfriends. The three of you tread water as you watch the boys struggle from land.

"Hey! Come on, I still have my shirt on!" Eddie protested.

"Take it off!" Robin yelled, pulling another giggle from you.

"Oh you think seeing me shirtless is funny, Peach?" He quipped. He was kidding, of course, but you couldn't help to fight off the blood rushing to your cheeks.

Too flustered to reply, you don't say anything; however, the boys save you by throwing Eddie in the pool. You flinch away from the splash of water that gets in your eyes and wait for Eddie to come back up for air. You stare at the spot that he was thrown in, but he doesn't come back up.

"Eddie?" you ask, feeling a bit worried. However, as you are standing in the water, a feeling of terror fear overtakes you as something grabs your waist from below the surface and pulls you backwards. You let out a small scream, but quickly cover your mouth as you feel strong arms wrap around you, holding you close to their chest.

"Teddy, you idiot!" You play scream but also can't hold back your laughter as Eddie pops back up for air, trying to swim off with you in toe.

"What? I'm saving you from sharks." He shrugs like he is doing the most obvious thing in the world.

"God, you haven't changed a bit, have you?" You gaze into his eyes as he pinned you against the pool wall. You can’t help but take in his beauty.

"What is that a bad thing?" He cocks his head.

"N-not at all," Your breath hitches.

For a fleeting moment, you lose the sense of your surroundings. You forget about group's presence that is intently observing your and Eddie's every move. It's as if you are in a bubble, separate from the rest of the world. Your attention is drawn to the black t-shirt that now clings tightly to his wet body, accentuating every contour of his muscles in a way you hadn't noticed before. During your high school days, you remembered him as a lanky teenager.

Now, you noticed he had put on a lot of muscle mass. His chest was broad and well-defined, his biceps looked like they were about to burst out of his shirt, and his forearms were thick and veiny.

You couldn't help but feel a slight tingle through your core as the thought of running your hands over his muscular chest crossed your mind…

"I like what you did with the ring." He flicked your necklace with his index finger, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"Oh yeah, I, uh, it didn't fit, so... Had to keep it safe, you know." You chuckled awkwardly. "Never took it off."

"Never?" He was shocked.

"Never," You whispered back.

"Your boyfriend okay with having another man's ring around your neck, Sweetheart?"

"I-I-uh- no, no boyfriend." God, why was it like you had forgotten how to speak.

"Noted." You can't help but want to kiss the stupid gin off of his face.

You reminisced about the countless hours you had spent lost in your own thoughts, daydreaming about kissing his lips. Maybe, just maybe, a new beginning would allow Eddie to finally see you in the same light that you had always seen him. Little did you know Eddie also daydreamed about your lips. Especially the memory of watching you say those three words in the airport. It plagued his dreams day and night. He should have said them back, but he was too shocked to react, and before he knew what was happening, you were boarding the airplane to take you far far away from him.

"Okay, love birds, enough of this. We are playing macro polo!" Robin announced, popping the bubble that was you and Eddie.

You were suddenly embarrassed by your behaviour in front of your other friends. You were there to see everyone, not just Eddie, but you can’t help yourself, you have missed him so badly, sometimes you felt like your chest was in physical pain from how much your longed for him.

He still was the last person you thought about before going to bed many nights. Even the times when you had a boyfriend…That’s why none of your relationships worked, because he was right. You wore another man’s ring on your neck and refused to take it off no matter your relationship status. You were forever his, even if you technically never were, but your heart belongs to him.

The rest of the day was filled with laughter and catching up on old times. You tried your best to divide your attention to everyone but somehow you and Eddie were drawn to one another. He needed to be sitting next to you, to touch you whenever he could. To convince himself that you were in fact real and not going anywhere.

To Eddie you were the one that got away. The endless nights he stayed up thinking about you, the day you left, the days and nights spent, platonically, wishing he had just made a move… but maybe that would have made your move all that harder?

The ring was a spur of the moment decision that he was glad he made. He always caught you looking at it. He loved that you loved it and that you would have a piece of him while you were gone. He knew you would protect it and cherish it because he knew how much you knew it meant to him. It was one of the last things that he had left of his mother, and he felt that it symbolizes how much you meant to him…

Saying goodbye to every wasn’t half as painful as the last time you had to do it because it really wasn’t ‘goodbye’ but ‘see you later’.

Eddie offered to walk you to your car, before you left. He wanted to speak with you alone.

“It was really good seeing you” you lean against the door of your car.

“Yeah it really was… Um, hey… look can we talk?”

“Of course, what’s up?”

“I just need to know, why?”

“You gotta be more specific there Teds” you giggle.

“You tell me you love me then run away to England for almost a decade!.”

“Oh.”

How was it that this conversation was happening now, in Steve’s parents driveway? Things were fine a minute ago back in the house?

“How was I supposed to process that? What was I suppose to do with that information? Tell me Sweetheart because let me tell you it really fucked with my head.”

“Teddy I’m sorry, I was so young and scared but I had to let you know… I couldn’t stand the thought of you not knowing.”

“You didn’t even give me the change to say it back…”

“What?”

“ I said you-”

“I know what you said Eddie but you had plenty of chances! We wrote every week and we phone once a month what about them!”

“I can’t do this again…”

“Wh-what?” Your words betrayed you as your voice wobbled.

“It’s good to see you, but I don’t think I can go through all of this again.” Eddie couldn’t stop the words. He didn’t know why he was saying these things? This was not how this was suppose to go. But he was so mad you left him and he never got closure.

“Go through all of what?”

“You left. You left me here in Hawkins while you went out and became someone! I was held back two years, a fucking super senior as you were out in the world without me.”

“Oh I see. So this is my fault?” Now you were pissed. How dare he pin his mistakes on you.

“Forget it.”

You didn’t know what to do. You and Eddie never fought before? Now he’s a perfect stranger and yelling at you because you had left him. But he knew you were to leave eventually. How could he expect you to not go to your dream school? Why did he give you his ring?

“Well if that is how you feel.” You reach up to unlatch the chain from your neck and let go of the thing that had been attached to you for the past seven years.

Without a word you hand it to Eddie, and get in your car and drove home.

You cried the whole way home. It was a miracle you were able to see through the burning tears that stained your cheeks. Fitting that it should start to thunderstorm the second you get out of the car; at least it will hide your tears from your nosey neighbours.

As you stepped inside your apartment, the weight of the day's events pressed heavily on your mind. You reached for the nearest bottle and poured yourself a glass, savoring its amber color and the warmth it brought to your throat. The first glass went down quickly, followed by another and then another, each one helping to ease the pain of disappointment and frustration.

After a few hours of wallowing in self-pity and letting the alcohol work its magic, you finally gathered the courage to walk over to the phone. You braved the hallow ringing as it seemed to go on forever.

There's a fat chance he will answer, but you had to get this off your chest. You still love him.

"Hey, sorry I missed your call, just leave a message after the" beeeeep

"Hey, yeah, it's me... Peach. Just been thinking about everything tonight…And I don't know,” you sniffle. “I just miss you so much. I thought about you all the time… did you think about me? -shit- I’m a little drunk I uh…just ignore that last part. Give me a call back if you can?"

Shit, this was so stupid... could you sound any more desperate? “Did you think about me?” God, you wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He’s already shot you down twice, but at this point, you would rather be hurt than feel nothing at all. He has found a permanent home within your heart, and the eviction notice has been shredded and burned.

After you hung up the phone, you went straight to bed. You did nothing but toss and turn for two hours. Thinking about Eddie and the words he spoke. You had to do something; you regretted giving him the ring back. Your neck felt bare without it like a part of you was missing.

As the rolling thunderstorm rumbled in the background, you heard a knock on the front door. At first, you were sure it was just the storm playing tricks on your mind. But then, you hear it again - three distinctive knocks that make you freeze in place. You couldn't help but wonder who could be knocking at your door at this hour and in the middle of a storm? Your mind raced with thoughts of potential intruders, lost travellers seeking shelter, or even a neighbour in need of assistance. With a sense of caution, you waited another minute, hoping to hear something that would help me identify the person on the other side of the door.

Again, three more knocks.

You let out a string of curses under your breath as you nervously glance towards the door, wondering who could be knocking at this ungodly hour. The darkness of the night envelopes you completely, with no one else around to offer you any comfort or protection. So you flick on the hallway light for some semblance of comfort.

The howling wind outside only adds to your anxiety as it whips through the trees with a mournful wail. The rain pelts against the ground with a relentless force, creating a deafening crescendo that echoes through the stillness of the night. You feel as though you're trapped in the middle of a horror story or some twisted nightmare.

“Peach, it’s me!” You hear a deep voice coming from the other side of the door as you slowly approach it. You peer through the peephole to double-check, but as soon as you see who is on the other side, you wrench the door open so fast that you almost take it off its hinges.

“Eddie?” You look at him with swollen eyes. "It's one in the morning."

"Quarter after, actually." His heart sank a little when you called him by his actual name.

"Okay?”

"You cheated me out of the chance to say it to your face! That's the least you and I, for that matter, deserved!" Eddie barged his way past you and into your home, not caring that he was leaving a puddle from the relentless downpour. He was drenched from the tips of his hair to the soles of his shoes. "You didn't even let me say it back!"

“You loved me?” The realization of his words sunk in.

“Not loved, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” the disappointment was evident on your face. Eddie could always read you like a book.

“Love, present tense.”

Your heart rate at this point should have been concerning. After all this time?

"and to answer your question, I thought about your every goddamn minute of every goddamn day."

"Please, I didn't mean any of that stuff I said back at Steve's. I don't know what came over me; I'm an idiot, forgive me? I take it all back!"

"You love me?"

"Yes, oh god, yes, I have since the ninth grade and never stopped!" Eddie's heart pounded in his chest as he awaited your reply. Maybe this was stupid? Perhaps he fucked up so badly that it was irreversible. Never did he ever think you would give him the ring back. He knew he fucked up the second you placed it in his hand, but he was too hard-headed to apologize.

When you exited the driveway, he immediately snapped out of his foolishness and started chasing you down the street. No way he was losing you again because of past hurt feelings and pure stupidity on his end. He can't believe he was about to let you walk away from him. Again.

"Please say something?" Eddie pleaded, stepping closer to you.

"I don't know what to say, Eddie? You've been sending me mixed signals all day."

"What is it you need? Space? Time?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"You!"

"Me?"

"I just need you now." With a surge of courage, you stepped forward and closed the distance between you and Eddie.

Heart racing, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his, feeling the cold, wet rain residue and softness of his mouth against yours. It was a moment of pure bliss, leaving you breathless.

After years and years of imagining, dreaming, and picturing, this moment finally came to fruition. Some may say it was a manifestation; others might say it was destiny.

An overwhelming heat bloomed from your core and spread throughout your whole body as Eddie’s strong hands explored your exposed skin. Your burning need to overpower the feeling of the coldness of Eddie’s wet, damp clothing. You had been wearing an oversized shirt and underwear when you opened the door, but that only aided him.

His hands trailed up from your hips and slid under your shirt so he could hold you by your waist. As he tasted you, he pressed his body further into you, pushing you back further down the hall towards the bedroom.

"You have me." He pulled away breathlessly as he took you in. Your once dry white shirt was now damp and translucent, sticking to your body. Eddie couldn't help but groan at the sight of your peaked nipples trying to pierce their way through the thin material blocking you from him.

You could feel the pool of arousal collecting in your panties. Never had you been so turned on in your life than in this moment.

“I have you.” You mumble before taking his lips once again. You let his tongue part your lips as he explored your mouth. You tasted like mint toothpaste and a hint of whiskey.

"Baby, I need you now." He moans.

Baby. A plume of butterflies erupted deep within you at the name. There was no going back now; you and Eddie were destined to be together like it was written in the cosmos.

Despite the tension between you two, somehow, you managed to break apart just enough to lead him to the bedroom. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation as you both stood there, breathing heavily, staring into each other's eyes.

"You're perfect," Eddie whispered as he backed you up onto the bed that stood in the middle of the room.

You willingly fell back onto the soft sheets below as his lips met yours. Needy hands pulled at the fabric that separated you.

Lightning lit up the room as your silhouettes danced on the walls. Eddie, atop your body, melted into your plush bed as you both stripped fully.

“Please, Eddie,” you whined as he was taking too slow; the wet fabric clung to his clammy skin. He needed warming up, but you knew just the cure. “I’ve waited for so long.”

“Me too, Sweetheart.”

Having been confined for what seemed like an eternity, he was finally able to break free from the shackles of his own clothes that had become a wet and cold prison for him.

You are both now fully naked in your room. You take in the sight of the man before you and what a man he is. Drinking in every last detail your eyes could see in the dim light. He had more tattoos than when you had left, and you were right about his body being more filled out than you remembered. And his cock, so beautiful you could almost cry at how perfect it was.

“God you’re beautiful.” Eddie whispers as he did the same thing.

"So are you." You reach up to take his rough cheek in your palm, gently pulling him down towards you. You sigh into the kiss as you feel Eddie’s weight fall on you.

You can’t help but grind your hips up into his throbbing cock. It’s rock hard as it rests on your soft middle.

Eddie reaches between your two connected bodies and finds your wet pussy with his fingers. A feral moan leaves your lips, and his calloused fingers brush against your swollen, sensitive clit.

The lewd sounds of lips smacking and Eddie playing with your wet pussy fills the room with the pounding of the storm in the background.

“Please, Eddie, I can’t wait. I just need you now.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, please I need your cock so bad.” You begged. There was no time for foreplay; you’ve waited long enough for this moment.

Eddie couldn’t believe this was happening to him.

“I don’t-I didn’t- shut I don’t have-”

“I’m on birth control,” you blurt out.

“You sure?”

“Please, Eddie, I need to feel you… to fill me. All of you.” You craned your neck to reach up and kiss the side of his. You marked him, leaving a significant bite mark that would let everyone know he’s taken. He is yours. Always has been.

“Shit, okay,” he moans as your mouth explores his throat. Eddie would do anything you asked of him at this point.

Eddie slowly guides through your folds, collecting your slick on his shaft, and glides into your pussy.

God, you felt amazing, so wet, so warm, so tight. His perfect girl.

“Oh my god,” you arch up into him so you could feel every inch of him.

“You look so pretty like this.” he mewled as he slowly ground his cock into your needy pussy.

“Fuck fuck fuck” Eddie rambled as he hit the hilt. He slowly dragged his cock back and rocked gently back into you like he didn’t want you to break.

You captured his lips on yours once again, muffling your throaty moans.

Eddie was tender; Eddie was sweet. He wanted to make sure you knew he wasn’t just fucking you; he was making love to you.

God, he loved you, even though all those years separated you. He still loved you.

“Eddie, feels so good!” Your mind was captivated by him. Everything in this moment was eternally Eddie.

Eddie’s hips never stopped, they sped up only a little to gain momentum as the sticky heat between you only grew more are more delicious.

“You feel that baby?”

“Oh god, yes.” You hook your ankles around Eddie's back, pulling him in deeper. His cock hit your g spot with each grind and roll of his hips.

His hands find yours, and he laces his fingers between your own, bringing your hands above your head.

“You make me feel so good; oh god, your pussy is taking me so well, fuckin’ made for me.”

“Mmmmhmmmm,” you agree, “made to be with you,” you moan.

“Yea, baby, you think we were made for each other?”

“Yes,” you answered, too fucked out to be self-conscious about what you were saying.

Your orgasm was quickly building and building as Eddie’s hips continued to grind into yours.

“I love you,” you let slip as Eddie continues to make you feel like you’re floating.

You’ve died and reached heaven. You swore nothing could make you feel better. But you were mistaken; Eddie proved you wrong with the next words that were uttered out of his mouth.

"I love you." He sealed his declaration of love with an emotional kiss.

Your head spun with his words. Did he really just say that? Are you really here? The reality of where you are hits you hard as your orgasm rips through you. You were in bed with Eddie, your Eddie. Eddie, who makes you feel safe and loved and important and worshiped.

“Oh my god, oh my god!”

“Shit-fuck” your cunt clamped down on Eddie so tightly as he tried to hold on a little longer, savouring the moment, trying to hold out as long as possible.

“Where do you want it?” He breathlessly asked.

Still making love to you for as long as he could hold off until you told him you loved him again over and over, totally overcome by the serotonin washing your brain, you don’t even know you’re speaking.

“Inside,” you look up into Eddie’s eyes, and he cums immediately. He swore he never heard more beautiful words.

Eddie slowly pumped himself inside of you as he rode out his orgasm, and you kissed every inch of his face.

“I’m never letting you go.” He sighs as he collapses his body weight on top of yours.

“Good, because I’m never going anywhere without you again.” You incase him in a bear hug as your legs and arms wrap around his body one more.

“I love you, Peach.”

“I love you more, Teddy.”

Taglist: @seexyyprincess @cigarettesaftersmut @urdadsnewgiirlfriend @sunnythespookyghost @babybimbo777 @luxaeterna13 @edge-just-edge @slayyymisha @veemoon @asimpforthe80s @chrrymunson @skyline4446 @xxhellfirebunnyxx @paperbackprettyboy @hellfirenacht

[anadiasmount]

love struck - jude blurb.

request: yes! mix of my imagination and also @judesecret as well! 🤍

“you’re shivering, baby,” jude laughs, wrapping the towel around your body and rubbing his hands in your shoulders to warm you up. he pulls you into his chest, feeling great warmth. and beat from his embrace as you close your eyes and relish the feeling. you ignore the small nickname, still not used to the fresh relationship with jude.

“i-i-i know. i didn’t-t-t see the r-rain coming,” you say giggling, wiping your nose with the towel as you felt a water drop run along the skin. “you’re crazy, you know? walking in this storm just to show me the new minion movie trailer?” jude teases, resting his head on yours as you finally stop shivering from cold.

“despicable me four, actually,” you correct him, hiding in the crook of his neck embarrassed. “and, to see you before i travel to germany for a work trip,” you say shyly, leaning back to stare at his brown iris who shined even in the dark corner by the entrance.

“gonna miss me that much?” jude asks, kissing your nose, making you nod slowly and intimidated at the proximity of both of you. “gonna miss you too. wish you could stay here with me since our next game is here at home…” jude replies.

he could sense the nervousness, chuckling deeply before pulling away. “how about we have a movie marathon, tonight? i’m off tomorrow and i wanna spend the night here with my girl,” he says walking to the kitchen to retrieve something. you furrow your brows in confusing or maybe coming to the fact on what he said.

“you mean like spend the night over? like a sleepover?” you say walking to the kitchen, wrapping the towel tighter against you.

“only if you’re comfortable with it. i don’t want to rush you or make you feel uncomfortable,” jude says, knowing you. he knows how new the relationship is, and the last thing he wanted was to scare you away because of how shy and reserved you were. “if you start snoring i’m out though,” you joke agreeing to his suggestion, earning cheering of yes from jude.

“cmon let’s get you showered and changed.”

jude handed you some of his clothes as you took a hot and steamy shower. you let your mind wander to tonight and how it would play out. it would be the first time you spent the night at his. when you came over it was for the evening and to hangout but staying over was always out of the picture.

you could barely look him in the eye without feeling your head spin or get shy under his gaze. you’d drown yourself with his smile and big brown eyes. if he asked you to do anything, you would do it with no hesitation. he had a spell or daze that always drew you in no matter what.

jude would always be the one to initiate hand holding, hugs, even kisses. you appreciated him so much for that feeling nervous or overall giddy because you couldn’t believe he was actually yours. if he sensed you were nervous he would kiss your hands to distract you from whatever you thought.

out in public, jude gave you a small peck on the lips to reassure you he was here for you, not once leaving your side, letting you have the say when you wanted to call it a night. he kept you at your side, protecting you from anyone who wanted to be quick and jump at you. “you’re like my bodyguard,” you often joked earning a laugh from him.

you don’t know what changed, one minute you guys laughed and spoke quietly as you made a fresh cup of chocolate, eyes gleaming in happiness as you got to spend the night with him. feeling better then cuddled up quietly as you watched the movies, to now where you sat on the edge of the bed bitting your nails anxiously.

jude had finished taking a shower and brushing his teeth. he walked in and saw you sitting on his bed, shaking his head in amusement as you looked down not being able to meet his eye when he returned shirtless, abs in full show. jude caged you in on the bed, arms locking you in side to side as your eyes connected.

“what are you think about?” jude whispers making you clear your throat and smile. “how lucky i am to have a boyfriend who takes care of me,” you say hiding the anticipation and urge to kiss him first. jude smiles looking down after couple seconds of silence.

your hands cup his face, just above his jaw making jude look back up rapidly, seeing your flushed face and bottom lip bit. “baby what are-”

you cut him off with a rushed and urged kiss. closing your eyes sinking into his taste as your lips molded with his. it took jude a while to process what was going on, not believing you had finally initiated and kissed him first. he could feel your hands slowly fall onto the nape of his neck. jude’s stomach filled with butterflies, the chilling sensation running down his spine as he tasted your sweet taste.

jude kisses your further, making you let out a small whine and kiss him deeper, clashing teeth as you moved your head slightly. you felt the fire run along your veins, getting dizzy from how jude was kissing you, jude the same. he got nervous all of the sudden due to the fact you weren’t being all hidden away, letting you be in charge.

the two of you let out breaths, the room filling with the sound of your kissing and noises you made. jude got lost, lost in how you tasted, how you kissed him with urgency yet love, lost in how much he loved this new side of you. he wanted it all, more with you.

jude pulled away, out of breath and panting, lips red and plump from the kiss. you giggled resting your foreheads together processing what had just happened. you finally did it, what you wanted to do for a while. “you kissed me first,” jude said licking his lips making you squirm.

your hands traced his cheeks, feeling a sense of confidence inside you. “i know… been wanting to do it for a while,” you confess watching jude’s eyes go crazy in bewilderment and lust. he couldn’t believe it, his shy girl wasn’t so shy, and he was sure he fell even more in love with you. jude smirked kissing the inner part of your wrist before speaking up again.

“wanna show me again? i think i forgot how it felt…”

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ 29

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,130ish

Summary: You find Logan. The two of you work on your relationship.

Warnings: Emotional, Angst, Nightmares, Injuries

Notes: I hope everyone likes this chapter! We're going to have a couple of chapters of them working on their relationship and growing. There's about a ten-year gap between X-Men: The Last Stand and The Wolverine movie, so we have some to cover!

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks! 

Logan saw you every time he closed his eyes. He saw you every time his mutation let him feel a little drunk. He saw you every time he passed out, letting his opponent win the cage fight. You were everywhere, haunting him. But Logan didn’t mind. He needed to keep you with him somehow.

Tossing back another drink, Logan slammed the glass on the counter. The bartender jumped, turning to face the man.

“Another,” Logan mumbled, eyes unfocused.

“I don’t think that’s smart, buddy,” the bartender responded. “You should get going. It’s raining badly out there.”

“Don’t care.”

“I’m serious. You’re done.”

Suddenly, Logan was reaching across the bar. His fists grabbed the bartender’s shirt as he tugged him closer. “I get to decide that.”

The bartender swallowed nervously. “You need to go home.” 

“Don’t have one.”

“Then call someone.”

“Don’t have anyone.”

“Nothing that I can do about that, pal. I’m not serving you anymore.”

“Logan?”

Logan ignored the familiar call of his name. He shoved the bartender away and threw some money on the counter. Turning on his heel, Logan marched out of the bar, closing his eyes as he passed what he believed was an illusion of you. The rain soaked Logan quickly as he headed towards the motorcycle. 

“Logan!” You shouted after him. He simply shook his head. His mind was playing some cruel trick on him. “James!” He stopped.

“You’re not real,” he muttered. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Just another trick.”

Slowly, you walked up to him, stopping a few inches from his back. “I’m real, Logan… I’m alive.”

“No,” he shook his head. “You… you died…”

You reached how to take his wrist. As soon as your fingers brushed against his skin, his claws were out, and he was turned around. Logan’s claws pricked against your neck and side as he glared at you.

“You’re not real,” he heaved. 

“James,” you breathed out. “I am so sorry about everything… I know that I… I died. But I’m back. I’m so very much real.” 

You couldn’t completely light a fire amidst this rain, but you carefully wrapped your hand around Logan’s wrist, which was aiming claws at your neck. Slowly, you began to heat his skin up. You couldn’t imagine the demons that his brain had conjured over this last week and the toll that it had taken. Logan didn’t budge as the heat from your hand began to burn his wrist.

“Y/N…” he whispered, clearly still questioning everything.

“It’s me, James.”

“You died.”

“I know… I’m sorry.”

Slowly, his claws retracted. “This is some trick, right? My mind… I’ve lost it.”

You stepped closer, cooling down your hand but gripping his wrist tighter. “This isn’t a trick. I’m real.”

Logan’s free hand came up shakily to cup your cheek. It was clear he was still hesitant as his thumb began brushing against your skin. “Y/N…” You could see the tears swell up in his eyes. “Sweetheart?”

“It’s me, Logan. I’m alive. I’m here.”

Logan’s knees gave out, and before you knew it, he was kneeling in the mud. His head rested against your knees and he wrapped his arms around your legs to pull you closer. Your hands shot to his head to steady yourself and to try to bring him so comfort. You heart broke as Logan’s shoulders began to tremble as sobs wracked his body.

“Don’t—“ His voice cracked as he let his emotions loose. “Don’t disappear—Please.”

“Logan, baby,” you tried to kneel down, but his grip was too tight. “I’m not going anywhere.” Your fingers traced down the side of Logan’s face and gently forced him to look up at you. “I’m right here.”

With a hard tug, you were suddenly on your knees, with Logan pulling you into him. His lips crashed onto yours as one of his arms tightened, keeping your body against his as his other hand held the back of your head. Your hands found the back of Logan’s neck as he continued to kiss you so desperately, like you could disappear at any second. When the two of you finally pulled back for air, you still kept a hold on each other, with your foreheads meeting.

“You’re here…” He panted.

“I’m right here,” you repeated. 

You figured that it would take a long while before Logan could truly wrap his head around that you weren’t dead. And you would do whatever he needed for him to believe that you were real.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbled. “For everything… I shouldn’t have left you anywhere, the Danger Room, the Island. I should have protected you better. I should have—“

“James,” you stopped him with the mere call of his name. “I know you’re sorry… I am, too… We have a lot to work on, don’t we?” He nodded. “At least now we have more time.”

“I’m never letting you go again.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

~~~

Logan couldn’t let you go. His hands were constantly on you, arms around you. It's how you ended up staying the night at the nearby motel instead of heading back to the mansion. Logan wasn’t ready to bring reality back, especially if this was all some cruel dream. That also meant that after the sex you two had, Logan couldn’t get himself to fall asleep. His eyes were glued onto you, looking over your freshly healed skin, memorizing every detail of your face, enjoying the warmth that your body brought. 

In the morning, the two of you headed back to the mansion, where Ororo was excited to see you, and Hank wanted to run tests. Logan didn’t like the idea of you being tested on, especially if he couldn’t be in the room. He nearly took Hank’s head off when Hank suggested that Logan wait outside. Hank allowed Logan to stay, but he was only allowed to hold your ankles. So Logan gripped tightly to both of your ankles, trying to ground himself as Hank ran tests on you. 

“There is absolutely no reason for what happened to you,” Hank stated as you, Logan, and Ororo sat in the Professor’s office.

“Could it happen again?” You asked.

“Unfortunately, I can’t answer that.”

“So those tests were for nothing?” Logan’s voice was almost as tight as his grip on your knee.

“They weren’t for nothing,” you tried to calm him. “We just… don’t have any answers to any questions at the moment.”

“I’ve got to go,” Hank said. “But I will be checking in. Keep an eye out for anything strange, especially surrounding your mutation.”

“Thanks, Hank.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Ororo said, standing with Hank. 

The two left, leaving you and Logan on the couch. You looked at Logan, who was clearly still struggling.

“What’s going on?” You whispered, placing a hand on top of the hand he had on top of your knee.

“Nothin’,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Don’t… Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out. If we are going to get better—if we’re going to get through this, then you can’t shut me out. Or this isn’t going to work.” He pulled you into his lab, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “Talk to me, Logan.”

“I can’t—“ He cut himself off. “Sweetheart, I was so… I don’t even know… I felt emotions that I didn’t even know I could. I can’t… I can’t do that again… I can’t lose you.”

“I completely understand what you’re going through. You have to remember that I lost you at one point, too. I thought you were dead for years.”

“Shit. I forgot. I’m sorry—“

“Hold the spiral for a second. Your emotions are valid, no matter how long you felt them. All I’m saying is that I get it, and I’m here.”

“You’re here.”

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “We’re going to get through this. It’s going to be long and hard, but we will.”

~~~

It had been a few weeks since your ‘rebirth’, as the students started to call it. The two of you were working on your relationship, barely teaching any classes to try and fix things.

Logan’s nightmares came back in full force. He kept trying not to fall asleep, wanting to keep watch over you, but his body won over every night. You would wake up to his cries, moans, and groans. You were familiar with the drill for how to avoid his claws and how to gently wake him. Logan always felt guilty, but you never allowed him to stay feeling that way. 

Tonight’s nightmare was different from the rest. A new version of hell.

There you were, standing in front of him. It was a version of Alcatraz Island, only you were in Jean’s place and weren’t begging him to kill you. But before he knew it, his claws were in you. 

Logan’s eyes snapped open as he sat up with a roar. His eyes weren’t focusing, though he could tell that someone was in front of him.

“Lo—Logan.”  

Your voice snapped him out of his trance. His eyes widened as he took in the sight in front of him. You were kneeling between his legs with both his fists up against your stomach, blood seeping out.

“Oh, God!” He exclaimed. 

“It’s okay, Logan,” you tried, words slurring together. “Just slowly pull out your claws.”

“What have I done? What did I—“

“Focus here, James. Focus on me.” You were growing weak and dizzy. His eyes searched your face for any sign of anger or fear, but he could only see love and concern. “Slowly, pull them out. But keep your eyes on me.”

With great care, Logan slowly pulled one of his fists away from your abdomen. His claws disappeared, allowing him to pull you closer as he repeated the action with his other hand. You fell forward with a small gasp. Logan quickly helped you lie down. With trembling hands, he lifted your shirt up. Your skin was mending itself slowly, leaving drying blood and scars in its wake.

“I’m so sorry,” you could barely hear the words spill out of Logan’s mouth due to how soft he was speaking. His hands were hovering over your abdomen, not knowing what to do. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Logan, ssshhhhh,” you gently grabbed his hands. “I’m alright. I’m healing.”

“I hurt you… I hurt you…”

“It was just a dream, Logan. I shouldn’t have got between your legs. I knew that it could be dangerous.”

“My claws… I hurt you…”

“I’m fine.” You placed his hands over the newly formed scars.

“I gave you scars…” He yanked his hands back and stumbled off the bed. “I… I can’t…”

You sat up. “Logan, don’t run. Please. Stay. Work this out with me.”

“I… I’m going to my room tonight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Logan! Please!” You reached out as he opened the door. “Don’t run.”

He paused, gripping the doorknob tightly. “I hurt you…”

“You’ll hurt me even worse if you walk out that door.” Tears were collecting at the edges of your eyes. “Please, James, stay.”

Letting out a shaky breath, Logan slowly closed the door, staying in the room. “I’m sleeping in the chair.”

“Okay.” 

You watched as he almost robotically moved towards the chair next to the window. Before Logan could sit down, his eyes found the drying blood on your abdomen. He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment before returning with a damp washcloth. He knelt on the bed next to you.

“May I?” Logan quietly asked. 

You simply nodded in response. He hesitated for a moment before beginning to gently wipe away the blood. Once Logan was done, you grabbed his wrist before he could get off the bed.

“Don’t leave,” you whispered, finally letting some tears slip. “I… I need you to hold me.”

“I can’t,” he shook his head. 

“You won’t hurt me, Logan.”

“You don’t know that.” 

Logan pulled his wrist from your grip and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He closed his eyes and leaned against the door as he heard you try to muffle your oncoming sobs. After a few long, agonizing moments, Logan finally couldn’t handle it anymore. He opened the door and took wide strides over to you. You were curled on your side, facing away from him. He quickly got on the bed and pulled you back into him.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” 

You turned around and buried yourself into him, continuing to cry. Logan pressed a kiss to your head. This was hard for him, not running. But he couldn’t live without you, that was for sure. And he knew that you couldn’t live without him.

next chapter >

[kiss-me-cill-me]

Devour

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Word Count: 5k

Summary: When you accept a ride home from your colleague, Dr. Crane, the last thing you expect is for him to drug you. Crane is surprised as well, however, as his fear toxin has a very... unusual effect on you.

Warnings: NON-CON smut, non-consensual use of fear toxin, sex pollen-esque situations, kidnapping, S&M themes, dacryphilia, fear play, breath play

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

You were having an extremely bad day.

There was really no use mincing words about it. From the moment you’d woken up this morning, it had felt like the universe was conspiring against you. A cold shower, thanks to the hot water breaking yet again; facing what should be a criminal amount of traffic on your commute to work; and overall just a miserable shift full of difficult patients and unfriendly coworkers. It seemed like everyone had woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.

And now, as this long day was finally coming to an end, there was one more problem to face.

“Crap, crap, crap, where did I park?” you muttered.

The parking lot was dark. It was raining - of course it was raining. And the result was that you had been unable to find your car for the last ten minutes, and were now soaked through to the bone.

You raised an arm to shield your eyes from the relentless downpour of water, and scanned over the cars in front of you, again. You could have sworn you’d parked in your usual spot, but you had been in such a rush from being late because of the traffic that you must have carelessly parked somewhere else and forgotten.

Just as you were about to give up and go back inside to call a cab, you spotted the silhouette of a familiar make and model. Well, somewhat familiar - it looked like the car was listing to one side, at an odd angle to the pavement. As you approached, you instantly saw why.

Two of your tires had been slashed. The front and rear left wheels were completely deflated, causing the car to lean down and scrape its metal rims on the asphalt. There was no way you could drive this home.

“You have got to be kidding me!” you yelled, frustration crumbling into the beginnings of a sob.

It had been hard to hold it together at work, but you were always careful to project a certain sense of stability in front of the patients, and you had done so today as well. But now, in the privacy of a parking lot crowded with cars but devoid of people, you allowed your walls to come down and a tear to escape the corner of your eye.

“Everything okay over here?” asked a voice behind you.

You spun around, suddenly self conscious, to find one of your colleagues, Dr. Jonathan Crane, standing a few feet away from you. It was hard to see the expression his eyes might have held, behind the glare of his glasses and the sheeting rain between you - but you imagined it must be pity. You probably looked like a soaked rat, standing here clutching your briefcase, clothes plastered against you from the rain. Meanwhile, Crane was perfectly dry under an umbrella, his suit crisp and well-fitting as usual.

“I… no,” you admitted. “Some asshole slashed my tires.”

Crane had taken a few steps toward you, and now was holding out the umbrella to you. It wouldn't do much good at this point; you were already completely drenched and shivering. But you appreciated the gesture. You took the handle he offered, freezing cold fingers brushing against his for just a moment.

“Let me take a look,” Crane offered.

You wanted to tell him to not bother. That the damage was done, and there was no reason for him to get soaked, too, when at this point all that could remedy the situation was to call a cab. But before you had the chance to say anything, Crane was already stepping out from under the umbrella and leaning down to examine your front tire.

He kicked it with the toe of his fancy leather shoe a few times. Seemed to consider something with his hand to his chin for a moment. And then turned back to you and held his hand out for the umbrella. You gave it to him.

“Doesn't look like you'll be able to patch that up,” he confirmed.

You had already known that, but resisted the urge to tell him so. He was just trying to be helpful; you weren’t going to snap at him.

“Do you have any other way to get home?”

You shook your head.

“The bus line that goes by my apartment has been out of service for weeks. Something about an investigation,” you told him. “They found chemicals or a potential bomb or something. I don't even know. Just my luck, I guess.”

Crane’s voice had a soft lilt of amusement as he responded, or maybe it was just in your imagination.

“Sounds like Gotham for you,” he said.

For the first time, you looked up at his face. Crane wasn't particularly tall, but he had an imposing presence all the same. It was his intelligence - obvious from the moment you stepped in the same room as him - and his eyes - a hollow, piercing blue even behind his glasses - that gave him an air of authority. You were familiar with him as a colleague, but hadn't spent much time actually working with him. He was the Head of Psychiatry at Arkham, and you were one of the general physicians on staff. There wasn't a great amount of overlap in what you did. Crane made policies and studied the patients’ minds. You just tried, desperately at times, to keep them from succumbing to outbreaks of lice and flu.

As he looked back down at you now, you felt oddly comforted by Crane’s presence. He was intimidating, yes, but he also seemed to hold real interest in your predicament. Like he was concerned about what would happen to you, a coworker he barely knew and probably hadn't said more than a dozen words to before this. You recalled something - just an aimless piece of gossip - that you had heard from one of your nurses a few weeks ago.

“Crane is such an unbelievable creep,” she’d said.

He didn't seem creepy to you. A little awkward, maybe, coming to play the white knight and offer his opinions on a car tire that you could clearly tell needed to be replaced. But friendly; kind. It felt like he was your first piece of good luck all day.

“Tell you what,” Crane said, lowering his head to yours just a bit so as to be heard over the rain. “My apartment isn't too far from here. Why don't I drive you there, and you can dry off and change into some clean clothes while I call a tow?”

Gratitude flowed through you. Okay, you decided, he could play the white knight if he wanted to. If pretending that chivalry wasn't dead meant you could get out of this awful rain, you would take it. Still, part of you felt bad for making him go out of his way.

“Are you sure?” you asked. “I wouldn't want to trouble you.”

“It's really no trouble at all,” Crane assured you.

He motioned for you to walk with him, and set off toward a dark corner of the parking lot. You trailed alongside him, eager to stay under the shelter of his umbrella.

Crane’s apartment felt strangely secluded. It was quiet; with none of the usual bustle of other people coming and going, having arguments over dinner, smoking on the patios. No neighbors, Crane explained to you. He had the fourth floor all to himself, for the time being, due to renovations in the other two apartments. You weren't sure what they could possibly be renovating. The whole apartment building was spotless and modern; expensive-looking in a way that told you Crane had a lot of money. More money than anyone who worked at Arkham Asylum should have, considering the paltry wages they paid. But, you weren't about to judge; maybe he just came from a wealthy family.

“Would you like some tea?” Crane asked, shrugging out of his damp suit jacket and running a hand through his hair.

“Sure. Thank you.”

Crane filled a kettle with water, took two mugs out of a cupboard, and dropped two tea bags into them.

“Hope chamomile is okay,” he said, as he set the kettle to boil. Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “Let me get you some dry clothes. Wait right there.”

And with that, he disappeared into one of the rooms. 

You took a quick survey of the space around you. It was bright in the kitchen, but in a strangely clinical way that reminded you more of an operating room than a place drenched in sunlight. Maybe that's what they were renovating in the other apartments. For all the expensive amenities this place seemed to offer, harsh white fluorescents seemed an odd choice. 

Crane reappeared with a few items in his hands.

“Nothing fancy,” he explained, “but these should fit you. And here’s a towel if you need it.”

He offered what he was holding, and you took it. The logo on the t-shirt was for the Gotham PD. Strange. As far as you knew, Crane wasn’t connected with the police. It seemed a bit odd for him to have this shirt, but you didn’t question it too much. You didn’t really know him well at all, you reminded yourself. Who could say what he got up to in his free time?

“Guest room is down the hall and on the left,” he told you.

You thanked him and shuffled away to get cleaned up. You were dripping onto the linoleum of his kitchen floor, and you felt bad, again, for all the trouble you were causing. Crane surely had his own errands and hobbies to get to after a long day at work, and they almost certainly didn’t include looking after his errant coworkers. You smiled to yourself. Maybe after all this was over, you could do something nice to thank him. 

Crane’s shirt was only a little bit too big on you. He’d given you a pair of lounge pants as well. It was hard to imagine Crane wearing anything like this, even in his free time. He was always so well put-together in his suits and ties. Even though you mostly only passed him in the hallways, it was hard not to notice someone who so clearly took pride in appearances.

As you reentered the kitchen, Crane snapped his phone shut. He looked up from where he was sitting at the table, one mug of steaming tea in front of him and the other at the chair perpendicular to his. He smiled, and you took your seat.

“Tow truck is on its way,” Crane told you. “It’s all taken care of. Drink your tea and then I can drive you home.”

“Thank you… again,” you said. “I really feel bad that you’re doing all this. What do I owe you for the tow?”

“Don’t worry about it. Nothing.” 

Crane waved a hand. He was still in his dress shirt, but had rolled up the sleeves. You noticed for the first time how muscular his arms were. Not absurdly so, but more like the tense, lean muscle of a jungle cat. He still wore his tie, but reached up to loosen it a bit. 

“Drink up,” Crane continued. “It was cold out there. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

You raised the mug to your lips. Crane watched you, maybe just a little too intently, and you suddenly understood the nurse’s comment about him. He did have a disconcerting quality, just below his carefully curated surface. But still, he had been nothing but nice, and so what if he was a little socially awkward? The tea passed smoothly over your lips; the perfect temperature, but still hot enough to warm your throat.

“Delicious,” you commented. It felt like the warm tea was snaking its way through your body, mending aching joints that you hadn’t even realized were tense until now. “What did you put in this?”

Crane’s expression didn’t waver as he answered you. 

“Just tea… some sugar…”

It almost seemed like he was about to say more, but didn’t.

“Just sugar?” you asked.

You took another sip. The flavor was unlike any tea you’d had before; there was a complexity to it that you couldn’t put your finger on. A sweetness that somehow tasted different than usual.

Crane smiled, and said nothing. He took a sip of his own tea, carefully replacing the mug when he was finished.

A rumble of thunder shook through the apartment, and you jumped in your seat.

“Afraid of storms?” Crane asked. Casually, but with a glimmer of interest.

“Not really,” you replied, embarrassed. “Just a little jumpy, I guess.”

You took another long gulp of your tea. The mug was already half empty, and you could still feel the warm liquid soothing you. You were getting more relaxed by the minute. Strangely so. And something else was happening, too. A flutter in the very bottom of your stomach; like you were back in middle school at your first co-ed dance, building up the trembling courage to talk to a boy you liked. You looked up from your mug at Crane, to see that he was staring intensely at you.

“Um, I’m sorry,” you began, not quite sure where you were going with the sentence. “I’m just…” “Feeling okay?” Crane asked. 

There was concern in his voice, but his tone didn’t match the expression on his face. He was rapt; observing you like a rat in a maze. Like he was trying to read what was going on behind your eyes, which now felt like they were bugging out of your head.

“I…”

A new sensation rippled through your body, ending in a sharp pang right between your legs. You gasped, and your eyes went even wider. With shaking fingers, you reached out toward the mug in front of you.

“What the hell did you put in this?” you whispered.

Crane ignored your question. Your heart was pounding as he dragged his chair closer to you, leaning in so that his blue eyes were level with yours.

“What are you seeing?” Crane asked. “Rats, spiders? Does the room look normal to you?”

“What??”

He wasn’t making sense. You didn’t understand his words - and yet, you did, because as you looked around the room, it did seem to swirl in front of you. The bright fluorescent lighting took on an impossibly harsh tone, making shadows appear in all of the far-off corners. They started creeping closer to you, darkening the sides of your vision.

“Snakes are a pretty popular one,” Crane continued, his voice now clinical. “Do you see snakes?”

What was he talking about? Rats, spiders, snakes? Either this apartment needed way more renovations than you’d thought, or Crane had lost his mind. 

“I don’t know what you’re- ah!”

You were cut off mid sentence as another wave of something moved through you. Horrified, you finally recognized what it was. Desire.

Crane seemed to realize it at the same moment, watching you miserably cross and squeeze your legs. 

“Fascinating…”

His eyes trailed over you almost lazily as he took in your whole, writhing body. You weren’t sure how you had managed to stay in your chair this long. As whatever had been in the tea took hold of you, your heart raced faster and faster, and you felt an ever-building need to be touched. By yourself, by anyone. Even… The idea of it repulsed you, but that didn’t stop the want.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Crane observed. “Tell me: do you have a fear of intimacy, or does being afraid just turn you on?”

You wanted to spit insults at him and tell him to fuck off. But you were immobilized by a pressure that seemed to squeeze all the air out of your lungs. You had never felt such pure terror before. Your body was too hot; a weightless, flaming heat pulsed through your every limb. And woven through all of it was that gnawing, primal hunger that started deep inside of you and seemed to try and claw its way out. 

Crane sat calmly across from you. He took off his glasses and folded them neatly in front of him on the table. His eyes shined with something that looked like lunacy; ten times brighter now, without the thin pane of glass obscuring them.

“Based on the way that you don’t seem to be bothered by anything else… I’m going to assume it’s the first one,” he said.

It infuriated you that he was right. You’d had bad experiences with intimacy, and they had shaped you into a woman who was fearful of her own sexuality. You had no idea what Crane had spiked your drink with. But whatever it was, it was bringing those fears to the forefront of your mind; forcing you to face them instead of pushing them down deep - where they belonged, you thought bitterly. You couldn't ignore the arousal that creeped through you, clouding your mind even as it terrified you. And the worst part of all of this was that Crane was here to watch. There was, ironically, no greater intimacy than fear. Your fear was the most personal, private part of you.

You took a deep breath, and pushed up from your chair, hands still shaking as you braced them against the table. You were going to get out of here, you promised, even if you had to do it through clenched teeth.

“Impressive,” Crane remarked. “You’re actually trying to fight through it.”

He stood up, easily, and hovered next to your hunched form. You looked up at him, trying to force as much hatred into your eyes as you could, despite the intense pain and arousal that wracked your body. With great difficulty, you stood up straight to face him. It felt like you were about to pass out, but you stood your ground.

“I really don’t know where you think you’re going, though,” Crane said calmly. “I’m not even close to being done with you yet.”

Just as you were wondering what he could possibly mean by that, Crane's lips came crashing into yours. You let out a muffled cry - half of shock, but half, to your ever-growing horror, of need. You mewled against his mouth, disgusted with yourself, but unable to stop. Your eyes were blown wide. Crane’s were closed, his brows furrowed almost in concentration, as he wrapped his arms around you.

When Crane finally broke the kiss, you could feel your lips starting to bruise. He smiled wickedly down at you.

“I’m going to have a lot of fun with you,” he growled. “Does that bother you?” The drug - whatever it was - still had a powerful hold on you. But you could feel yourself slowly regaining control of some of your faculties. Probably, you could have answered him. Still, you refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that, yes , what he'd said had terrified you.

“Well, it should,” Crane replied to your silence. His tone was still clinical, almost detached, as he continued. “You’re going to do whatever I want you to, or else this is going to get a lot worse for you. Do you understand?”

You didn’t want to answer him, but something within you was starting to slip. You were losing the fight to stave off your own submission. You nodded.

“Good.” Crane kept smiling at you, his eyes now blazing. “You know, I think you like it when I’m mean to you.”

You hated the way that your thighs clenched around his words. The way you could feel the blood rush to your clit. You were practically throbbing. 

“That’s good for me to know,” Crane continued. “But maybe not so good for you.”

You yelped as he lifted you up, forcing you to straddle his waist. Crane was a lot stronger than he looked. Outside, the storm continued to rage; you could hear the rain roaring against the windows.

“I have to say, I really didn’t expect things to go like this,” Crane said as he carried you through the apartment. You were heading down the hallway, but not into the guest room you had been in earlier. “I’m usually not the type to put out on a first date,” he joked. Suddenly, you were thrown down, landing roughly on what felt like a bed. “And I doubt you are either. You know… considering…”

As you lay on the bed looking up at him, Crane pulled at his tie and took it off, throwing it down next to you. Next came his belt. He untucked his shirt and started to work on the buttons, his hands moving nimbly down the front of his body. He wore no undershirt, and you hated yourself for staring at the way his bare chest peeked out from behind the fabric. Leaving his white shirt on but unbuttoned, he climbed onto the bed to hover over you.

“But I think we can make an exception just this once - don’t you?” His lips hovered inches away from your ear, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

The rage that you felt momentarily pushed aside the fear that was still swirling inside of you. Scrambling to grab at the moment, you pushed his body with all of your might, trying to throw him off you.

You might as well have been pushing against a brick wall. Crane stayed exactly where he was, chuckling as he shrugged your hand off.

“Oh, honey,” he said, his voice full of pity. “I like it when you fight.”

He kissed you again, even more roughly than before. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, and you swore you could taste blood. You thrashed below him, trying to kick out but unable to because of how tightly his body was pressed to yours. You scratched at his back, but that only made him moan greedily. Out of other options, you tried to bring your hands to his throat.

“Oh.” Crane broke away from you, just slightly, enough to snatch your hands away and slam them against the bed. “So that’s what you’re into. You can just use your words, you know; I want this to be good for you, too.”

With one hand keeping both of yours pinned, Crane brought his other hand down to your neck. Your eyes widened with fear, and he seemed to drink in your desperation. Frozen, you willed yourself to fight back, but couldn’t. Crane’s fingers ghosted over the soft skin of your neck for a moment as he looked at you.

With a wicked smile, his hand clamped down on your throat. Your vision was already clouded from whatever drug he had slipped to you, and now the sides of it seemed to close in, trapping you in your own body as his hand tightened. It wasn’t enough to actually hurt you, but the panic it caused made your heart rate spike more than you would have thought possible. You felt your pulse thump against his fingers. You squeezed your eyes shut and started to breathe quickly, in short, desperate gasps. Crane’s hand that was holding your wrists in place came down to tug at the hem of your pants.

“Shhh,” he soothed. “Breathe through it and focus on me.” His voice, gentle but commanding, was in stark contrast to the way his hands hungrily moved over you. You opened your eyes to see his cool blue ones staring back at you. He had somehow wrestled you out of your pants - the ones he had given you less than twenty minutes ago - dragging your underwear down along with them, and you lay beneath him in nothing but your borrowed shirt, tears streaming down the sides of your face.

“You’re so pretty like this,” Crane said, one hand still on your neck. The fingers of his other hand started to trace small patterns on your hip. “Scared, such a mess, crying for me. Sorry if I cum too quick; it’s just hard not to get riled up when you’re like this.”

Crane unzipped his pants and pushed them down to his thighs. You didn’t want to look at him, but you could feel him pressing against the inside of your leg. He was clearly enjoying this.

You let out a choked sob, and Crane’s smile grew. He was pressing against your entrance, threatening to take you at any moment he wanted.

“You’re wet,” he commented. “You’re actually turned on by this.”

No, you told yourself. No, you weren’t; it was just the drug he had given you. Some kind of fucked up aphrodisiac that was making your body function independently from your mind. You didn’t want this. But then, why did you feel such a rush every time his hands brushed against you?

“Fear is exhilarating, isn’t it?” Crane said quietly, still hovering just on the edge of penetrating you. “Some people find it addictive. Seems like you might be one of them.” He let out a short laugh as he pressed just a bit more into you, inch by devastating inch. “It makes the mind so malleable,” he continued. “Just think: less than an hour ago, you were so afraid and alone that you agreed to come with me - a man you barely know - back to my apartment, alone. That was a bad choice. I’m sure you realize that now. But in that moment, you were so pathetic and vulnerable, I think I probably could have gotten you to do anything.”

You tried not to listen to him; to block his words out. This wasn’t your fault. He was your coworker - a senior member of the staff, for fuck’s sake. You should have been able to trust him. But you had, and look where it had gotten you.

“Now here you are,” Crane continued. You realized with a gasp that he was fully inside of you. “Still just a scared little girl, shaking in my bed. Crying her eyes out.”

“No,” you said weakly, tears still streaming down your face. “No, no, no…”

Crane removed his hand from your neck, and placed his elbows on either side of you, caging you within his arms.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like this,” he spat. “I feel you clenching around me. Maybe I was wrong; maybe it is just being scared that gets you off.”

Now that your hands were free, you brought them to grip at his shirt collar, trying again desperately to push him off. You tried to wriggle away from him, but all that did was make Crane moan at the friction and laugh at your struggling. 

“Slow down, honey,” he warned you, his voice thick with sex. “I already warned you how fast you’re gonna make me cum.”

One of his hands found your hip, stopping you and holding you in place. Once he had you submissive again, Crane started to move his hips in slow circles, relishing the feel of you. Despite yourself, you arched your back and grabbed at the sheets with your fingers. He felt good. A fresh round of tears sprang to your eyes as you moaned loudly.

“That’s it,” Crane praised. “Cry for me. Beg me to stop, hit me, scratch me - it doesn’t matter. None of it changes the fact that you’re enjoying this.”

Again, you hated him for being right. Even through the fear - even knowing how horrible what he was doing to you was - somehow, you only wanted more. The room swirled around you, shadows creeping in on your vision again. 

You gasped as Crane’s thumb found your clit. You had been on the edge of an orgasm practically since Crane’s drug had entered your system, and it took everything in you to fight the feeling that was building as he pressed on your most sensitive spot. 

“Don’t be shy,” Crane pushed. “You can rub yourself against me; pull my hair if you want. Whatever you need to get off. I want to feel you cum on my cock.”

You hated Crane. You hated him so much - for what he was doing to you, for how he was enjoying it, and most of all for how he was making you powerless to fight against the pleasure. Making your own body a traitor against you. It was obscene and embarrassing and terrifying. With a flash of passion, you reached up and slapped him across the face.

“Ohhhhh, fuck,” he growled.

It was the first time you’d heard him swear, and the realization sent a new heat pooling between your legs. Crane, usually so organized and meticulous, was starting to come apart.

“You have no idea how good you’re making this for me,” Crane teased. A few strands of hair, slick with sweat, were sticking against his forehead. “You’d better be careful, or I’m not gonna be able to pull out of you in time.”

You cried out, half in frustration and half because of the way his thumb was still brushing against you with every shallow thrust of his hips. Everything you tried to do to him only spurred him on more. Your face contorted in anguish, eyes staring up at the ceiling as an orgasm finally ripped through you.

Crane was babbling in your ear - god, he never shut up. You weren’t even paying attention; too focused on your own private nightmare that was unfolding but never seeming to end. You bucked against his hand, involuntarily pushing his cock deeper, and heard him utter a breathless curse.

“Shit.”

When you were conscious of your body again, the first thing you noticed were the wet ropes of cum squirting across your breasts. You still wore Crane’s t-shirt, and the damp fabric pressed against your skin as Crane rutted into his hand above you. Disgusting. He was so depraved. So unbelievably fucking creepy. So hot.

You shook your head. That was just the drug talking. Crane flopped down on the bed next to you, smiling. Pleased with himself. It made you shudder. He let out a satisfied breath.

“Well, again, not what I was expecting,” Crane grunted, sitting up to balance on one elbow as he looked at you. “But I’m certainly not complaining.”

His blue eyes looked at you, making you squirm under the intensity. Without warning, he pinched your chin between his fingers and held you in place for a long, horrifically sensuous kiss.

“I think you and I are going to have a lot of fun together.”

Outside, thunder crashed again, and you jumped.

[hannamoon143]

Next to me

lee felix x fem. reader

not proofread!

"I wanted to go visit lix today, wanna come with me?"

"Oh, sorry we already made plans together, didn't he tell you?"

"...Y/n... Are you okay?"

You were so excited to finally come home. Today it was cold and windy outside, and your boss yelled at you for something you didn’t even do. You felt like the day couldn’t get worse when it also started to rain all of a sudden and you didn’t have an umbrella. Oh but the whole day you could still be excited for when you’d come home. Felix had said he’d come over after work, and that you could do a movie night with your comfort drama.

With a big smile on your lips you finally opened the door to your apartment, quickly slipping off your shoes and coat. Felix already came to the door to greet you. His smile seemed to be even brighter than yours, and he came up to you and opened his arms. Without hesitation you stepped into his warm embrace, nuzzling your head into his neck. „Had a good day at work angel?“ He asked, swaying you around a bit. „Not really, it was kinda rough.“ You mumbled, closing your eyes and inhaling your boyfriends sweet scent.

„Hmm, if your day was rough you deserve princess treatment now.“ He said, and suddenly scooped you into his arms. You broke out into a fit of giggles, fighting him, but not really. He chuckled too, giving you a light, tender kiss on the forehead. Then, with you in his arms like a bride, he was walking into the living room, where your favorite candle was burning, and a fluffy blanket waiting. Softly, felix sat you down on the couch, settling down next to you. Felix tucked the blanket around you, and started the tv. You nuzzled into his side, already feeling a bit sleepy. But suddenly you got shaken entirely awake again, by your phone ringing. You took it out your pocket, but felix turned to you with suddenly sad eyes. „Please don’t pick up.“

„Why sunshine?“ you mumbled, brushing a few strands of hair out his face.

„Just…don’t, okay?“

You sighed and laid your phone on the beside table. Felix again pressed a kiss to your forehead. „It’s better like this, love.“ He added, but his attention was fully on the tv again.

You wondered a bit what got into him but decided not to question it further. Probably he just didn’t want you to get engrossed into work again, how you always did when you got a message from work. So as felix started the drama you laid your head on hi schest, and he wrapped his arms around you, pressing tiny kisses to your head once a while, a habit he one day just got used to.

„Hey want to go to the beach tomorrow?“ He murmured next to your ear.

You smiled, looking up at him. „That is so random but, to be honest it sounds really nice. But only if it’s okay with the boys.“

„Of course, i’ll just take a day off.“

You caressed his cheek gently, and then pressed a sweet kiss to his soft lips.

And this moment felt perfect, how so many others with felix. Just him, and his comforting presence in your apartment, with the tv softly playing in the background. After a while your eyes got heavy, and slowly you fell asleep. The last thing you remembered was the boy quietly smiling, and giving you a kiss on the forehead again, tender and loving just like him.

The next morning you woke up, feeling unusual cold. As you opened your eyes you saw that you must have fallen asleep in the living room. Soon you remembered the previous night and smiled to yourself. You looked around, but felix was nowhere in sight. You called for him, once, twice, but no answer. Probably an emergency at the company again, or he was getting his stuff from the dorms for the beach. You sat up, taking your phone with a yawn. There was a missed call from chan and a few messages. That had to be the call from yesterday.

You got dressed quickly, getting a mug of coffee and then you called him back. You were best friends, since you had gotten closer because of felix, but you had no idea what he could have wanted yesterday night.

After a few ringings he picked up.

„Hey y/n…“ his voice sounded drained, and sad. Probably he overworked himself again, and tried to finish something over the night. Felix always hated when he did that, working too much so he could be a good leader to the boys.

„Hey chris! What’s up?“ you said, trying not to sound concerned.

„So… i wanted to go visit lix today, wanna come with me? I’d ask the boys, but i don’t know, i somehow feel like it would be just… you got time?“

„Oh sorry channie, but felix and I already have plans today, didn’t he tell you?“

A long silence followed. Did you say something wrong?

„…Y/n… are you okay…?“

You were confused. What was going on with him? He was only talking weird stuff, it didn’t seem like him. Was he really so overworked that he couldn’t think straight?

„Channie, you’re scaring me, why wouldn’t i be okay?“ you spoke into your phone, sounding unsure.

„Y/n, god you are the one scaring me. Did you drink or something?“

 „Chan, what… i don’t know what you are talking about, you are seriously scaring me now, maybe you should get some sleep.“ You told him, shaking your head.

„Y/n… you really don’t remember?“ he said, his voice small, and unusually quiet. He was never like this, was there something that slipped your mind? Did you have plans or something?

„I don’t know… Did we have plans or something? Felix didn’t say anything either yesterday. We wanted to go to the beach today…“

You heard a short gasp on the other side of the phone.

„What do you mean yesterday?“ Chan sounded terrified, the horror in his voice made you feel really uneasy, and a lump formed in your stomach.

„He was over at my apartment, and we…-“

„Y/n.“ Chans voice cut you off. It confused you only more. This was probably some prank or maybe chan was mad at you, you had not other explanation for why-

„Felix is dead for three months already, what do you mean yesterday?"

taglist: @lina-linny @0omillo0 @onementally-unstabel-kid @darqlys

[witchywithwhiskey]

Hi! 💙

For your impromptu springtime ask game, I'd love to request Ransom Drysdale with smut prompt 3. “do you want them to hear you being such a slut?”

Thank you in advance! 💙

a scheme on a spring day

pairing: husband!ransom drysdale x female reader

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, anal play/butt plug, anal sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, creampie, choking, daddy kink, dirty talk, light degradation, light humiliation, praise kink, light bdsm, orgasm control, pet names (baby, baby girl), aftercare, fluff, light family angst, established relationship

word count: 1,800ish

a/n: hi hi thank you so much for sending in this prompt!! this turned out to be a little more angsty than i anticipated, but sometimes i just wanna smuggle Ransom away from his family and cuddle him—and this was my opportunity to live out that dream!! anyway, i hope you enjoy!! ♡

You knew better than to let your husband convince you to go along with one of his schemes, but Ransom Drysdale had a way of winning you over to his side. In fact, it took shockingly little convincing from Ransom to get you to go along with his idea to make a boring visit with his family more entertaining. 

But then, he was your husband, and you trusted him. Besides, you knew you’d get just as much enjoyment from his scheme as he did.

Eventually, anyway. 

Still, you couldn’t help but rue the moment you’d given in to Ransom’s idea when you walked into the Thrombey house desperately aware of the plug in your ass that shifted with every step you took.

From an outsider’s perspective, you knew you looked every bit the presentable wife on Ransom’s, wearing a pretty spring sundress with sandals. But you and your husband knew the extra accessory you’d worn, and it gave you just as much of a thrill as you were sure it gave Ransom to know what you were hiding beneath your skirt.

By the time you arrived at the Thrombey estate, you’d already soaked through your panties on the short ride over from the home you shared with Ransom. To make matters worse, you had to make small talk with Linda and Richard while worrying about your arousal dripping down your thighs.

Thankfully, Ransom kept his hand on your lower back, his touch having a steadying effect on you. That is, except when his palm occasionally dropped low to grope your ass, making you shoot him a warning glare when no one was looking. 

He ignored you, pretending to play the part of dutiful son and grandson. You were the only one who saw the way he gritted his teeth, making the muscle in his jaw pop, when Richard or Linda gushed over how you’d turned Ransom’s life around. How you’d finally been the one person to set him straight.

No matter how many times you tried to brush off the comments, telling them that Ransom had made himself a respectable man, they persisted. When you could tell it had become too much for Ransom—and you worried over the state of his teeth if he kept grinding them—you politely excused yourself and your husband from the conversation.

Before you could get roped into a sales pitch for Joni’s latest pyramid scheme, Ransom guided you to the back of the house and out onto the porch, though he didn’t stop there. When you set foot in the lush green lawn and turned your face up to the bright spring sunshine, something inside your chest loosened—which only reminded you of the plug wedged deep in your ass.

Ransom paused for only a moment to brush a kiss to your lips, a thank you for getting him away from his parents, and then he grabbed your hand and began tugging you toward the tree line that separated the lawn from the rest of the Thrombey estate. 

Behind the house, there were paths that meandered into the forest and Ransom led you down one of these until you were hidden in the trees. There, scattered along the forest floor were hundreds of small purple flowers, sprung up thanks to the spring rains. 

You admired the blooms as you walked behind Ransom, your husband picking his way carefully off the path and beneath the shade of a massive tree.

Turning to you, Ransom wrapped you up in his arms and kissed you again, a more thorough plundering of your mouth that had you moaning against his lips. Your knees went weak beneath you, but your husband’s strong arms held you up, your fingers digging into the soft wool of his sweater. 

When Ransom pulled away, he didn’t move far, his forehead pressing to yours and his deep breaths ghosting past your lips, making you crave him more. 

“You’ve been such a good girl for me, baby,” he murmured, squeezing you in his arms and pressing a quick kiss to your swollen lips. “I think it’s time daddy gives you a little treat for being so good.” Ransom bucked his hips against you so you could feel the bulge in his pants, making you moan again.

“Yes, please, daddy,” you cried, throwing your head back and baring your throat to Ransom’s hungry mouth. His trailed kisses down your neck, grinding his erection against your belly until both of you were desperate with desire.

Then, he turned you around and knelt behind you, pushing your dress up past your hips and baring your ass to him. He pulled your panties down your legs, ducking forward to sink his teeth into the plush softness of your ass, making you squeal loudly. 

“Ransom!” you admonished your husband, shooting him a look over your shoulder, though there was no real heat to your tone. Especially not when Ransom licked the bite mark he’d left, wringing a soft whimper from your lips.

“You know I can’t help myself when it comes to your ass, baby,” Ransom said, exactly zero repentance in his tone. You huffed a laugh, but the sound devolved into a low groan when your husband began to play with the plug in your ass, pulling it out and pushing it back in. “You’re such a good girl,” Ransom murmured, pressing kisses to the globes of your ass between his words, “Wearing this pretty little plug for daddy—now it’s time for your reward.”

With that, Ransom eased the plug from your tight hole, tucking it into his pocket while he pulled out a small bottle of lube. He spread more in your ass and on his cock when he pulled it free from his pants. Then he was helping you sit down on his lap, his cock sliding easily into your tightest hole.

You gasped and moaned, feeling Ransom’s cock stretch your ass even more than the plug. But wearing it had prepared you well enough that it didn’t hurt. You only felt the delicious fullness and pleasure of Ransom filling you up, moaning happily when your ass pressed flush against your husband’s thighs. 

Ransom leaned back against the tree you sat beneath, pulling you to recline against his chest, making it impossible for you to move. All you could do was sit in your husband’s lap, your ass impaled on his cock, your pussy dripping down between your legs and coating his balls while you enjoyed the warm spring day, the sweet scent of the purple flowers filling your nose and the breeze rustling the trees of the forest.

“Enjoying your treat, baby?” Ransom rumbled in your ear, a little bit of teasing in his tone that made you squirm. Both of you moaned as you shifted and Ransom’s big hands grabbed your thighs, spreading your legs wide open. “Such a filthy little slut, baby girl,” he groaned, cupping your pussy in his palm. You whined, trying to grind against him, but he spanked your cunt instead, making you cry out. “Soaking wet from taking daddy’s cock in your ass when we’re supposed to be spending time with my family.”

You didn’t have a chance to respond because Ransom shoved three of his fingers into your pussy, the intrusion feeling so much more overwhelming with his cock buried in your other hole. You screamed. Your back arching away from Ransom’s chest, your head falling back on his shoulder, and the piercing wail of your pleasure filling your ears and the forest around you.

Quick as lightning, Ransom’s other hand flew to your throat and he squeezed it tightly, cutting off the sound. “You’re going to have to be quiet, baby girl, unless you want them to hear you,” he growled in warning. 

But at the same time, Ransom’s fingers began fucking your pussy, plunging sloppily into your cunt, his palm slapping against your clit with every thrust. It was all you could do to shriek and squeal as pleasure consumed you.  

“Do you want them to hear you being such a slut?” Ransom taunted you, his words only making you writhe and squirm more on his cock. “Do you want them to find you like this—my cock buried in your sweet ass, my fingers fucking your tight cunt, and you unable to control yourself because you’re such a fucking slut for me?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, not even knowing if you were agreeing with your husband or simply urging him on. Your pleasure was building, coiling tight in your core, and you knew if he kept up his treatment of your body, you were going to come. “Please, daddy, please can I come?” 

“Already, baby girl?” Ransom teased, warmth in his tone. You whined your answer, pressing your throat into his hand and he chuckled. Your husband brushed a kiss to your cheek, fucking you harder with his fingers, grinding his palm against your clit every time they bottomed out in your cunt. “Go ahead, baby, come whenever you want.”

That was all you needed to tip you over the edge. Your screams of pleasure were stifled by Ransom’s hand around your throat, choking you hard enough that your entire being was reduced down to the feeling of his cock in your ass and his fingers in your cunt. Your orgasm was explosive, your body going tight and shaking through wave after wave of ecstasy.

Your husband grunted in your ear, and you knew from the way his cock throbbed in your tight hole that he was spilling himself deep in your body. A pleased smile curved your lips as you sagged back against his chest, letting the warmth of his come fill you with as much satisfaction as your release had.

Heaving a deep groan of relief, Ransom’s body relaxed beneath yours, his arms circling your waist and holding you tight against his body while he pressed butterfly kisses to your cheek, neck and shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was as soft as his kisses, a contrast to the rough way he’d fucked you.

“Thank you, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “I needed this today.”

You stroked his arms soothingly and turned your face so you could capture your husband’s lips in a gentle kiss. “I know, Ran,” you whispered when you pulled away. And you did. 

You knew how hard it was for Ransom to see his family. No matter how hard he tried, they still only saw him as the black sheep. In fact, marrying you was the only right thing he’d done in their eyes. 

It made days at the Thrombey house nearly unbearable, which was why you always went along with Ransom’s schemes to make it enjoyable for both of you. His ideas were often filthy and naughty, but they meant giving your husband the reassurance he needed to get through the day. 

So if you had to go along with a scheme on a spring day to help your husband, you were more than happy to do so—especially when it ended with the both of you smiling and content in each other’s arms.

[selineram3421]

*finally has a day off* Fucking hell.

I'll Be Here

Previous: Coming Apart

Human Alastor X Human Reader Oneshot

Warnings ⚠

⚠ she/they for reader, italics = thoughts, blood, mentions of stalking, shaking head = no, mentions of near death, fluff ⚠

"While in your sleep.."

You started in your journal entries.

You've been writing in a journal for your fiance to read when he does eventually wake up.

It's been a few days since the incident. The local paper had printed out most of what happened but you asked to keep your names out of it and they were respectful enough to listen.

You finally learned what your stalker's name was and how many other women he had gone after. You were glad it was finally over and that he couldn't hurt anyone else now.

The night Alastor was admitted, you were so worried about him and rushed to ask the doctors why he wasn't waking up. They reassured you, saying it was quite normal and that he would wake up soon once he was well enough.

You stayed by his side most of the time.

Knowing better than to leave yourself uncared for while taking care of him.

Brushing his hair, cleaning his teeth, and overall just making sure he was comfortable while he slept.

Whenever your thoughts became too much, you'd clean his glasses or listen to his past recorded Radio shows.

Now, you've finished writing about what happened last night in the journal, sitting near his bedside in one of the chairs provided.

Putting away the light brown book in your bag before letting out a sigh and crossing your arms, resting your upper body on the bed as you stare at your love's sleeping face.

You missed him.

You know he's just resting but you still miss him.

Brushing a strand of hair away from his face, you let out another sigh.

I'll have to eat breakfast soon.. You thought and continued to run your fingers through his hair. Maybe I can just get a sandwich or something from the liquor store across the street.

Taking a glance at the window, you see that it's raining.

It's been raining since last night. You woke up to a loud clap or thunder and thought it woke Alastor up too. But he was still sleeping when you turned to look.

You shifted a bit to get comfortable, still playing with strands of his hair.

"You might be dreaming right now for all I know..", you mumbled, moving your hand to hold his. "I'll take a nap and dream with you for a bit."

Slowly, you felt yourself drift off into sleep.

.

At first you saw Alastor covered in gashes and blood.

With a shout, you ran over to him, but when you blinked he was fine.

He smiled at you and pulled you into a hug.

God did you miss his hugs.

You practically melted in his arms as you hugged him back. The warmth and comfort the hug was providing was something you needed. His arms around your waist, squeezing you with just the right amount of tightness before relaxing.

He was mumbling something in French but it was hard to pick out.

You were just happy to be with him.

"Ma amour." (My love.)

.

You felt yourself wake up to soft humming and someone gently rubbing your head.

Still feeling sleepy, you stayed put. But then you realized that no one comes into the room without knocking. Quickly, you sat up and found him awake.

Smiling gently, looking at you with a soft gaze.

"Alastor..", you said in a whisper, a bit scared that this wasn't real.

He just continued to smile and said your name. "Good morning.", he greeted and wiped away a tear running down your cheek. "I hope I didn't worry you too much this time."

"Alastor.", you felt more tears build up before you carefully reached over and held him close, being mindful with his injuries. "I missed you so much."

"Missed me?", he let out a soft chuckle. "I didn't go anywhere."

All you did was shake your head and kiss his forehead.

"I'll go get the nurse, have them check on you and-", you let go and went to stand.

"Wait.", he tugged your shirt. "I..I missed you too."

Confused, you sat back down and let him pull you close, wrapping his arms around you. "I thought you said you didn't go anywhere?", you hugged him back.

"Hmm.. I was still here.", he nodded. "But I couldn't hold you."

What did he mean by that?

"She likes you by the way.", he mumbled, burying his face into your shoulder.

"She?", you asked, even more confused.

"My mother."

Then it clicked.

Alastor was on the brink of death. Not only that, he got to see his mother again. But he stayed around.

"Told me not to keep you waiting and to hurry up before some male nurse tried to hit on you.", he said and chuckled.

"I would never acknowledge them.", you replied and pecked his lips. "For they have perceived me with their eyes but you have met me in depth."

"I love you beyond time."

"I love you more."

*brain, saying I have to write more human Alastor* You know what? You're right.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @valenfawkes @willowshadenox @aria-tempest @alastor-simp @nonetheartist @gallantys @i-3at-kidz @luxky-aish @ceafighter @xalygatorx @xangel-8 @big-brother-problems @mistpurpl3 @chewbrryarts @willowbrookhoot @briethekitsune @alastorthirsty @sir-aadiboii @+?

ML II Alastor🎙️

[sashi-ya]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟑 DAY 24: COCKWARMING 𝘈𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘯 𝘚𝘰𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘦 𝘹 𝘍! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Requested by: anon ➡ Hi, I saw your requests were open for the upcoming event, do you mind writing 24 (if it's not already taken) for Aizen and adding a bit of praise, just him being kinda soft with the reader (which can be written as gender neutral if you'd like), thanks for considering ♡  Best wishes. tw: mdni. cockwarming. praising. kinda romantic in aizen's way. wc: 990 masterlist

Trembling limbs are left after he has you in between his claws, nights like this are the ones who made it all worth it… the sex, and the aftermath as well. Those who know Aizen would probably say that Sosuke fucks you and leaves you there, with no consideration whatsoever… but, they are all wrong. Perhaps, it was just you. With you. Who knows?

Outside it’s pouring rain, those fall downpours. Your body still lays warm after he made love to you, where kisses abounded, and climaxes teemed.

Curled up in between fine silky sheets, you hear the whistling sound of his kettle coming from the kitchen. Whenever he is over, and you are all cleaned up, he always stands up to take a cup of tea. And tonight, it wasn’t the exception.

As he comes back, with steam coming from his cup reaching out his glasses, the uncovered chest and the loose grey pants present before your eyes. His skin, with a hint of caramel tint, goes very well with his cinnamon eyes. His chocolate hair, makes the perfect combination with his sweet facial traits.

“Do you want some tea, (Name)?” he asks you, brushing his hair back as he speaks. You swallow; how comes this man is as hot as the sun itself?

“No, thanks…” you mumble, yawning after. You are by far tired, exhausted. Sosuke had the fantastic idea of spending together the weekend at the mountains. The amazing cabin he chose has a huge window wall, perfect for enjoying the scenery outside, and the crackling noises of the fireplace mix with the heavy rain outside lulling you.

Aizen takes a last sip of his tea while enjoy peaks of your nude anatomy in between the covers. You lie on your side, with legs crossed as he commanded… who knows why he is so interested in you doing so…

“Hmm… Seems to me that you are sleepy” he giggles in that sexy way he only knows how to. Aizen walks towards the bed once he leaves the cup and his glasses by the table. The way his hipbones move when he does, makes you shiver, makes you squeeze your thighs even more.

You nod, shily smiling at the man in front of you and while he gets in bed you can smell the everlasting scent of his skin. A sugary perfume that’s both sweet and manly.

When he finally gets in bed, he pulls you closer to his chest. Hairless, well trained, still with a barely visible scar from a very old surgery in the middle of his chest.

“Come’ere” he murmurs, allowing you to place your head over one of his pecs. His hand, delicate but dominant, finds the perfect place to rest; the small of your back.

You get drunk of his scent, of his soul. There is something within this man that’s so strong, so attractive, that invites you to willingly submit to him, to praise him like a love and sex god.

With his free hand, that up until now he kept behind his head, he grabs yours. He plays, first tapping the tips of your nails and then down trapping your ring finger. Sosuke’s autumn eyes fix on an invisible ring, the sharp brows slightly rise, and his lips separate just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his front teeth.

“Heh…” he scoffs, licking so slowly his upper lip. What is this man thinking? Perhaps a new plan? In any case, you sigh loudly… no matter how sleepy you might be, there is always energy for arousal.

Aizen lets go of your hand and looks up to the ceiling. He smiles, pleased, and pulls you closer against him. You snake your leg around his, giving your body exactly what it needs; to be one with him.

He takes a big gasp of air through his pointy straight nose; he is tired too. Both have lost track of how many times he made love to you.

“Mhhh, I adore your skin… you are always so warm, so soft” he whispers, pressing down and sliding his hand up until your ass. Soft, almost like caresses, spanks follow.

“Sosuke…” you gasp, looking up. Your eyes run through the sharp line of his mandible, and land on the apple of his cheeks. The everlasting soft honey tint on them invite you to kiss them.

Your hand reaches for his shoulder, the protrusion of collar bone joining his scapula, feels sharp on your fingertips. You crawl up until you reach for that spot. A soft peck planted, the first of many sleepy kisses given.

His neck, a temptation you are not willing to give up even as asleep as you are. Nibbling softly on his flesh, you can’t leave marks… Sosuke Aizen is one of the most influential leaders in the world, nobody must see him with something so silly like a hickey.

“You are about to fall asleep, you are such an insatiable pretty little thing…” he mutters, kissing the crown of your head and passing his hand down your chin to lift your face up. “Look at you… look at your tired eyes, come on let’s go to sleep” he continues, helping you turn around and lay on the side.

Aizen waits for you to get comfortable and hugs you as the big spoon. You move back your ass, enough for it to perfectly align with his crotch. The more your skin can feel his body, the more you smile.

“You are still so needy, don’t you…?” he whispers in your ear, sliding his hand from your waist down your belly, to push you even closer. More and more, squeezing you very well against his growing hardness.

His naked chest receives your naked back, his chin rests on your shoulder. A sloppy kiss, with wet lips, is left in your neck.

“Mhh… yes, I want it ~” you purr, because there is something you two do whenever is sleep time…

“You wanna sleep with me inside, mh? You will allow me to feel you so warm around me?” he asks, taking his pyjama pants down until they reach for they feet and finally are completely off.

You nod, groping blindly for his hipbone to push him against you. Wet, and drippy, overly sensitive you are, and you can’t wait to feel his shaft very, so deeply inside of you.

You can feel him smirking, with his lips pressed on your nape. You can sense his hand pumping his dick against the small of your back, getting ready to slide inside you.

Sosuke lets his wet tip play with your entrance, up and down, before letting the pressure of your bodies to push his shaft into it.

You feel it stretching you and a little whimper leaves your lips. Your moan combines with his low grunt, right by your ear.

“So… tight… such a perfect creature you are” he melts pronouncing those words. “God, you are so warm and tight…” he whispers, biting the lobe of your ear. After a big sigh, in which he had to fight not to fuck you until you drop, he hugs you tightly.

Aizen remains completely still but relaxes against you. You do the same, just by only being full of him, is enough to make you feel so good and calmed. “Keep me warm, baby” he murmurs, with his eyes closed, about to fall asleep. “I will, Aizen-sama💖…” you whisper, joined in one… a single soul.

Taglist: @miabiaria @carmenthedreamer @stygianoir @electronicwitchcollection @aizenwifey @deputy-videogamer @efrodd17 @mizugami @uzxotic @cyberdazetragedy @bookandyarndragon @fushiguroshotwife 💖🙆‍♀️

[dropitpunk]

when a vampire becomes obsessed with you

male vampire oc x gn reader, hypnosis, blood mentions, he really is obsessed.

he first saw you as a bat, peeking through your window when you were fast asleep and illuminated by the moonlight.

even though your face was just a shadow, he kept staring. over and over, and over. he forgot the reason for his outing was feeding and simply admired your form until his stomach was aching again.

he could taste your blood on his tongue, feel the warmth of it burning his throat, filling his long dead being with your life.

he felt the urge to bang against your window to wake you from your slumber and see your face clearly, to see every vein on your arms, your chest your neck. to hear your heartbeat speeding up, your blood flowing in the river of your mortality.

the vampire craved more, he wanted to know you.

he kept coming back every night, watching you sleep, observing the rise and fall of your chest as your eyes seemed to never open. he wished to build you a casket, to secure you in the same darkness that surrounded him.

you were not so different from him, no less lonely. however, your humanity was undeniable, and everything that made you human was so vivid he felt impotent.

but he could use your humanity for himself.

one night, it poured rain as it never did, the only light keeping your company was the one coming from the fireplace and the few candles scattered around, making it possible for you to discern the words in your book.

you heard three knocks in your window, and you thought you were hallucinating. maybe your imagination was trying to bring your book into reality, playing games on you. but then you heard again, the same three knocks.

your face fell in surprise when you opened the door, gasping in shock as a man stood in front of you. dripping from head to toe, holding his right shoulder with his left hand. his shirt was full of blood, thick and recognizable among the water.

"what happened to you?" you were stuck in place, debating on whether to try contacting a doctor or rushing the man inside.

"i fell in the streets, trying to escape the rain. i hurt my shoulder in a tree, my sight was too blurry in this weather." his voice was melodic and deep, although weakened by his injury. his eyes seemed to look into your soul, into the very core of you.

you couldn't quite make out the color at night, but you would swear his eyes were red. what a nonsense, you cursed yourself.

"please, come in. i fear the storm is getting worse." you would never deny help to anyone who needed it, it went against your principles and learning.

your first mistake, your compassion was infuriating.

he sat on your couch as you fetched supplies to treat his shoulder, touching the book you were previously holding. he smelled you all around him, engulfing him in your sweetness. your voice was perfect, you looked divine, as if the ugliness from the world was unable to stain your beauty.

"how odd, it looks like it's healing already." your smile was shy, as was your touch on his arm. he held his blouse down, looking into your eyes as you examined him. his skin was cold, which wasn't so surprising. it was raining heavy outside.

you could feel your face warm up, blood rushing to your cheeks. his hair was long and soft when it brushed against your fingertips, his lips were full and inviting. he was so close, you felt trapped in a trance.

his skin could be made of porcelain, he was beautiful and haunting.

"how have i longed to look at such perfection." he whispered, tracing your jaw with his long nails.

the vampire was aware of his effect on humans, you were no different. you didn't even question all the blood on his clothes. the victim who scratched his shoulder trying to escape their tragic death for sure left a mark, and would feel great disappointment at how easy you left him in.

your eyes were glazed over, you couldn't speak, his eyes were all you could see, scarlet red and shining under the fire.

it did not take long, the bloodsucking beast thought, putting you under his spell was like with any other mortal. you were his to control, his beautiful pure human.

he sat you down at his side, making your night clothing humid with his own wet trousers. he caressed your face, your heavy breath hitting his skin and making him shiver.

the vampire came closer, smelling you all over, pushing his nose into your hair, holding your body against his as you held no protest, accepting his affections with no reluctance.

"they all taste so bitter. so disposable." he held your hand, bringing it to his icy lips. "but i know you will be different, they are not worthy of the presence of someone like you."

he leaned in, admiring the veins in your neck, the way your hair was raised with goosebumps. "of someone who was not contaminated by mortality, yet is so full of it."

he licked around your ears, watching the way you trembled under his touch, completely paralyzed. "of someone who was touched by the gods, sinless."

the bite was hard and hungry, ripping at your neck with days and more days of adoration from afar. he wanted to empty you of your essence and fill you with his, consume your everything and leave you dry.

the taste was not comparable to anything, he could feel all your thoughts, your feelings and fears on his tongue. it was rich, gushing into his mouth and running down his chin.

at that night, he tainted your for the first time, taking you away from the dishonorable human world.

[oneshotnewbie]

A jogger finds a phone and calls the cops. When they take it and put it into a zip back, they accidentally turn on the phone - revealing a picture of The Captain of the SVU and Reader?

Possible trigger warning: This one-shot includes the mention of blood and kidnapping, the plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

William Jacobs ran across the Brooklyn Bridge at the same time every morning, trying to beat his best time. But today he desperately thought about turning back and skipping today's sports session - the weather was playing into his cards.

Despite all the negative voices in his head, the young man ran from the Brooklyn bridge to the Manhattan Central Park and back. At this early hour there were hardly any passers-by and only occasionally a few cars drove past. As he took his first step off the bridge, he was inspired by the release of happiness hormones and increased his pace.

William loved being able to look out over the East River and let his thoughts and feelings flow freely. His black hair flowed in the wind and was dampened by the drizzle, her ragged breathing evident in the chill of dawn. When he managed halfway of his way, he was panting like never before in his life - the cold air making it harder to force enough air through his lungs. The young man felt the slight sting in his side, but did not hesitate to stop.

It was not until his head moved towards the entrance of the Central Park that he saw something blue and shimmery lying on the ground. Confused, he stopped and cautiously approached the object, peering left and right to locate other people.

Startled, he jumped back and almost stepped into the street when he saw red-brown stains around it, some of them even splattered on the cell phone he had found. William did not even hear the car behind him screeching to a stop next to him and the car door being opened with an aggressive jerk. "Are you crazy? I almost ran you over!"

But the young man did not answer the older women. She looked at the black-haired guy and saw fear and disgust on his face. His shaky fingers pointed to the main reason he stopped, which was why the woman looked confused on the ground and shortly after promptly walked back to her car in shock. "We have to alert the police." he shouted in a shrill, abnormally bright voice. The stranger nodded her head and pulled her cell phone out of the glove compartment of her red car. She quickly tapped on her phone and held it trembling against her ear.

"Emergency call center, how can I help you?" A calm voice asked on the other end of the line, beginning to type on her keyboard to find out the location of the caller. "We found a phone." she spoke anxiously, earning a sigh from the 911 agent. "Mam, you know this is not an emergency, right?"

William looked confused at the device in the old lady's hand, and in his adrenaline rush he did not quite understand why the sigh was being given. So he quickly snatched the cell phone from her and continued the conversation. "Listen. Here is a cell phone lying at the entrance to Central Park, covered in blood splatters. I also recognize an original NYPD cell phone case."

“Which entrance are you at?” the woman's low voice slowly calmed his rapidly beating heart. He took a deep breath while trying not to let his mind sink into a hole of horror scenarios. He looked around, trying to figure out which entrance he really was at. "Fifth Avenue at the Plaza Hotel,"

"Do not touch anything. I will send you a unit."

ᕚ---ᕘ

The gentle rain pattered quietly against Olivia's bedroom windows and made her open her eyes just a crack wide. Her tired gaze glowered out and a hand brushed over her face as she watched the night slowly fade away. Her attention turned to the other side of the bed, her fingers curling into the cold sheets next to her.

Her fiancée was no longer lying next to her and she sighed heavily. She usually woke up before you almost every morning, kissing along your naked spine stroking her hand with pleasure over your sides before she remained on your bare hip, waking you up for another day. Olivia loved waking up next to you since she shared a bed with you and enjoyed every minute of it. But she respected your exercise routine in the early hours of the morning and was in no way offended if she started the day without you.

The brunette tried to close her eyes for another five minutes, but quickly abandoned the idea when her cell phone rang. A little angry, she felt around on the bedside table for the annoying-sounding device and answered the call. "Lieutenant Benson?" she sighed loudly, already pulling the blanket off her body.

The brunette, half asleep, rummaged through her closet for some clothes and ran into the bathroom to get ready. "Central Park, I will be right there." When she ended the conversation, she tried to reach you on your cell phone to take you home, but her attempt came to nothing and she did not think about it any further - you had already put your phone on silent often enough to avoid being distracted.

After quickly downing a cup of coffee to wake herself up, she pulled her coat off the hook and slipped through the door into the day's events. The rain worsened on the way to the crime scene, washing every possible mess back into the sewers. When she got out, Amanda and Fin were already standing at the cordoned off area that had been created to protect the evidence from the rain. "What do we have?"

"A blood-spattered cell phone," the blonde expressed, gratefully accepting an evidence bag from another officer. She carefully placed the found object in it and handed it to her boss. "A cell phone? Why were we called?" the Sergent and the detective shrugged and raised their hands in question. "The caller thought it was a cell phone belonging to one of our colleagues, which is why we were notified because a significant amount of blood was found next to it."

Olivia nodded, looking worriedly at the phone in her hand. You had the same case around your phone, she had given it to you as a small gift. She turned it around so the screen was facing her and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the scratch on it. The brunette had almost caused the same one on your phone when she saved you from a bullet a couple months ago.

She always wanted to have it repaired but you would not let her - it was a memory for you. "Liv, are you okay?" Finn asked worriedly, watching as the color suddenly drained from his best friend's face. She nodded in response, looking back from the evidence to the paving stone. A good amount of blood that was not easy to ignore. "Yeah, it is just.."

The tough woman could not finish the sentence right away. The screen turned on on its own, showing a reminder notification on the display. Underneath you could clearly see two smiling faces smeared with light gray paint as a background image.

She recognized the image immediately. Olivia shot it herself when you were recoloring your bedroom together. Olivia swallowed hard, the phone shaking in her hands as she tried to suppress her rising panic. “It is y/n’s. It is her phone."

[goblinontour]

Somethings That I Shouldn’t Have Done

but i haven’t stopped loving you

series masterlist

warnings: angst, smut, just normal fucking, cheating

word count: 10.1k

Between Paris and London, 2023

You were used to Alex being gone. In fact, you’d had to get used to it long before he was truly yours. Before he called you his, before the world started to pair your names together in passing conversations. You were familiar with the ache of waiting, the distance, the silences that stretched too long between calls. Nights spent wondering where he was, whether he was thinking of you. And after a while, you learned to fill the space his absence left behind, telling yourself that it was just part of loving someone like him. Someone whose life was loud and sprawling, filled with constant movement. He was the man made for stages. You were just a shadow at the edge of all that.

So when he left for tour, when the rhythms of his life pulled him away from yours, you told yourself it shouldn’t hurt. You should have been used to it by now.

But this time was different.

The difference wasn’t something you could name at first. It was quiet, like the feeling of standing in a room before a storm hits, the air thick and electric, waiting for the first drop of rain. He still made the effort to call, and you still made the effort to see him when you could. That part hadn’t changed. You flew to meet him in airports, standing by the baggage claim, waiting for his familiar silhouette to emerge from the blur of strangers. Every time, without fail, your heart would jump at the sight of him, even slightly dishevelled from the flight, always with that bag slung over his shoulder like he wasn’t entirely ready to put down roots.

He would smile, that lopsided grin that once made you feel like you were the only person in the world he saw. But this time there was something else behind it. A kind of tiredness that wasn’t just from travel. A weight in his eyes that lingered even when he pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in your hair to remember the scent of you.

Your hands would slide up to his head, fingers threading through his hair, a small ritual you’d developed over the years. Checking its length like you were marking time. Had it grown since you last saw him? Was it shorter? You liked to feel the changes. Subtle things no one else would notice. To anyone else, he was still the same man they saw onstage or in photoshoots, the same tousled rock star they’d idolised for years. But not to you. You knew the man beneath the persona. You knew every inch of him, every shift in mood, every line that had deepened in his face over time. 

As your hands slid down to his face, lightly brushing the scruff on his chin, you felt the familiar scratch of his stubble. Even this had become something of a compass to you. His facial hair was always a little different each time, like the changing of the seasons. It was your way of reorienting yourself to him after the time apart. You would catalogue the changes and tell yourself it was still him. Still the man you loved.

But this time, there was something else in the details. A slight hesitation in the way he held you, a flicker of discomfort that passed through him so quickly, you almost thought you imagined it. But you knew better. Your heart had grown sharp in noticing the things he thought he could hide.

You pulled back to look at him, really look at him, and for a moment, you saw a flash of something in his eyes, there and gone so fast you almost missed it. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You okay?” you asked, your tone casual, thumb brushing over the scruff on his chin. “You look…I don’t know, different.”

“Different?” he laughed softly, tilting his head, playing along.

You grinned. “Yeah, you’ve got that tragic rockstar look going on.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Tragic, huh? I thought I was pulling off mysterious.”

“Mmm, mysterious, tragic…same thing.” you teased, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “But seriously, you need a nap or something.”

His smile softened, and for a second, it felt real again, like the way things used to be before the distance started to creep in. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” he joked, but there was a quietness to his voice, a softness that tugged at your heart.

“Maybe you should take a break now and then, so you don’t end up there too soon.” you replied, letting your hands slide up to rest on his shoulders. 

He laughed, the sound warm, as he leaned down to nuzzle his face into your neck. “I’ve got you for that.” he mumbled against your skin, his breath warm. “You always take care of me.”

You smiled, relaxing into him, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the muscles in his back. “Someone’s gotta. Can’t have you falling apart on me.”

He held you tighter, almost too tight, like he was afraid to let go. “Never.” he whispered, his lips brushing against your collarbone.

For a moment, it was easy to fall into the warmth of his embrace, familiar in all the ways that mattered. His scent, the way his hands knew just where to hold you — it was all the same. 

Paris in the spring. The city you both returned to again and again, as if drawn by some invisible thread. The first time you came together was different — back when neither of you belonged to the other, when the lines between ‘friendship’, your arrangement, and something more were blurred beyond recognition. 

It had been magical then, walking the narrow streets, hand in hand, like you were the only two people in the world. He had taken you there, not because he was on tour, not because it was convenient, but because he had wanted to. He had wanted to show you the city through his eyes, and in doing so, made you feel like you were something special.

One night, or more accurately, one early morning, you lay naked in bed together, the sheets kicked to the side in the heat of the stuffy air. The room smelled faintly of sweat and the sweetness of sex, the street noises below filtering in through the open window. The first light of morning crept in, just enough to cast a soft glow on the walls. You were both wide awake, buzzing, like the night hadn’t quite let you go yet.

He sat up a little, leaning on one elbow, and then without a word, pulled the sheets over your body, covering you up, while he stayed bare. You laughed softly, your hand tugging at the sheets. “Why are you covering me up? A little late for modesty, don’t you think?”

He smirked, his hand resting on your hip through the fabric. “Just want to keep you to myself for a little longer. Don’t want to steal the view now, do you?”

“How poetic.” you teased, though your smile softened, your heart swelling with something warm.

He looked at you then, the playfulness fading into something deeper. “You know, I've never really brought anyone here before. Not like this.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden seriousness in his voice. “What do you mean?”

He lay back down, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. “I mean, this...us. This isn’t something I do. I guess. Bringing someone here, or anywhere really, just because I want to. No agenda. Just…being together.” His voice was quiet, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You felt a weight in your chest, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the words or because of the way he said them — like he was trying to let you in, but only just enough. “Alex…” you started, but he interrupted you.

“You don’t have to say anything.” He glanced over at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not trying to be weird, I just-” He stopped, swallowing hard, his eyes soft in a way that made you feel exposed. “Sometimes, I think I feel too much.”

You reached for him, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breath. “You never seem like it.” you whispered.

“I know.” he said, his voice almost a sigh. “I think that’s deliberate. I got good at pretending. But with you…it’s different.” His hand found yours, squeezing it lightly. “You make me say things I probably shouldn’t. Things I’d never tell anyone else.”

You chuckled softly, trying to lighten the moment even though your heart was pounding. “Like what? Your deepest, darkest secrets?”

“Like how I’m terrified, sometimes. That I’ll fuck this up. That I’ll never be able to keep things like this, easy. How being with you makes everything feel so fucking simple, and I don’t know how to deal with that.”

You froze, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you. This wasn’t a conversation you were supposed to have. You weren’t supposed to be more than what you were — a fling, a moment in time, something fleeting. But here he was, unravelling in front of you, saying things you weren’t sure you were ready to hear and he wasn’t ready for you to hear.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, trying to brush off the heaviness. “You’ll be fine, Alex. We’ll both be fine.”

He laughed softly, but the sound was hollow, almost resigned. “I don’t know if I believe that, sometimes,” he admitted quietly, his eyes still avoiding yours. 

You frowned, but you didn’t let it show to him. Instead, you shifted closer, draping an arm over his chest, pulling the sheets tighter around you. “You deserve more than you think, you know that?”

He didn’t respond at first, just looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read, a mixture of sadness and something else. Then he smiled again, but it was softer this time, more vulnerable. “Maybe you’re the only one who thinks that.”

You shook your head, leaning in closer. “Maybe I’m the only one who knows you well enough to see it.”

He met your eyes then, really looked at you. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek. “God, you make everything sound so easy.” 

“It can be.” you whispered back, smiling up at him.

For a moment, he stared, his eyes searching yours, and then, slowly, he leaned in. His lips found yours, soft and warm, and the kiss was slow, like he was trying to say something he couldn’t put into words. His hand slid behind your head, pulling you closer as his body shifted against yours. 

He kissed you like he wanted to stay in that moment forever, as if the world outside didn’t exist and it was just the two of you, tangled up in each other, the city of Paris breathing softly around you.

There’d be time for everything else later. For now, there was only this — this kiss, this closeness, this fleeting moment that you both wanted to hold on to, even if you didn’t know how.

That was years ago. Back then, his hair had been short, styled in a way that made him look more polished, sharper around the edges, like he was still trying to prove something to the world. But now, now his hair was longer, curling slightly at the ends, falling into his eyes in a way that made him look softer, more real. You liked it better this way. It felt like he was letting go of the need to keep up appearances, letting you and everyone else see the man underneath.

He never really pretended with you. Not in the ways that mattered, at least. He had tried, back when you were still getting to know each other, when he was still figuring out how to let you in without losing himself. But with you, he never succeeded in keeping up the walls. You saw him, really saw him, in a way that no one else did. He knew that, and so did you.

The first night in Paris, he was exhausted, and it showed. He leaned into you as you walked back to the hotel, his arm heavy over your shoulders, his body sagging from the weight of too many sleepless nights, too many miles spent away. 

As you walked in silence, his head dipped closer to yours. “I’m so tired.” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges. “Feels like I haven't slept in days…maybe weeks.”

“You look like you haven’t.” you teased lightly, though your heart wasn’t quite in it. He smiled, but it was weak, like it took too much effort.

“Yeah.” he chuckled half-heartedly, his fingers tapping against your arm as you continued down the hallway. “Think I forgot how a bed feels. Been living off caffeine and power naps. God…what I’d give for a real cup of coffee. The stuff on the bus is awful. Like drinking mud.”

You hummed in agreement, though your mind was elsewhere, caught up in the quiet distance between you. He went on, the words drifting out as if he was speaking just to fill the silence. “And I think I left my good headphones somewhere back in Berlin...can’t keep track of anything lately.” His voice trailed off, his arm pulling you in a little closer as you entered the room, as if seeking some kind of comfort.

The smell of him – sweat, cigarettes, and that familiar musky cologne – was stronger now, clinging to his clothes, to his skin. It was the scent you’d always associated with him, something that had once been comforting, like coming home. But now, even that felt different, like the smell was masking something else. When you slipped your hands beneath his jacket, your palms brushing the heat of his back, it didn’t feel the way it used to. His warmth was still there, but it didn’t pull you in like before. There was a barrier between you now, a wall that you could feel but couldn’t yet see.

Even with his body pressed against yours, it didn’t feel the same. Not like it used to.

You had sex. There was no other way to put it. It wasn’t making love. Whatever softness had once defined the two of you, whatever tenderness had lingered in your touches, was missing. It wasn’t even fucking, because there wasn’t enough passion in it for that. It was just…sex. A simple, transactional act, like something to get through. In, out and done.

He’d taken you from behind. No foreplay, no buildup. Just the raw mechanics of it. His hands gripped your hips as he thrust into you, but there wasn’t any urgency, any need to be closer. There was distance, even in this, the most intimate act you could share. It reminded you of something he’d told you a long time ago, back when you were still figuring each other out. He had once joked, back then, he was afraid that if he looked at you during sex, he’d fall in love. It had been a flirty, careless comment, something that made you laugh at the time because you thought it wasn’t really true. This time, it felt like he didn’t want to look at you because if he did, maybe the love would crack, or worse, fall apart completely.

He didn’t say much throughout, only the occasional grunt, a breathless “fuck” or a muttered “yeah” when you responded to him. You moaned for him, not because it was some elaborate performance, but because even in the fog of whatever was happening between you two, he still knew your body well. He still knew how to work himself inside of you, and you didn’t have to fake that part. But it wasn’t connected to anything deeper. It was just a reaction, just your body doing what it always did.

When he came, his grip tightened for a moment before he pulled out and slapped your ass, a gesture that felt more like habit than anything meaningful. Like punctuation to an act that didn’t need one. In, out, and done.

You rolled over, silent, and made your way to the bathroom. The water felt good, scalding hot, as you stood under the showerhead, letting it wash away the sweat and the sense of something unfinished. You’d expected him to follow you. He usually did. When he didn’t, you felt a brief moment of relief. Space. At least there was that. But then, after a few minutes, the door creaked open, and there he was, stepping into the shower behind you, his hair sticking to his forehead from the heat. Without a word, you reached for the hotel shampoo and started working it into his hair, your fingers rubbing through the strands. It was something you’d always done for him, something you had never thought twice about.

He groaned, not in pleasure but in complaint. “This stuff’s gonna dry my hair out.” he mumbled, and you could hear the tiredness in his voice, the strain of a day that had been too long. You didn’t say anything. Just nodded and kept working the shampoo into a lather. You worked it through his hair, feeling the way his muscles relaxed under your touch, his eyes closed as if he were already half-asleep. It was such a mundane conversation, the kind you’d had a hundred times before, but now it felt almost surreal. He still handed you the little packet of conditioner, though, the same way he always did, as if that small gesture of care could make up for everything else that had gone wrong. 

There was a time when moments like this had felt intimate, like the quietest parts of your relationship were the ones that mattered the most. The nights when you washed his hair, or when he kissed the back of your neck while you brushed your teeth, or when you lay tangled together in bed, too tired to speak but content just to be near each other.

Now all of it felt like a routine. A hollow echo of what it used to be.

You finished rinsing his hair, and he stepped out of the shower without another word, leaving you standing there alone, water still running, wondering if you’d ever truly get back what you had lost. Or if it had been slipping away long before you even noticed.

When you stepped out of the shower, the room was dark, save for the dim glow from the city lights outside the window. The hotel room felt colder now, the silence thick in the air. You dried yourself off, the damp towel heavy against your skin, and made your way toward the bed. He was already there, lying on his side with the covers pulled up to his waist. His breathing was deep and steady, and you knew without even looking at him that he was asleep.

You slipped under the duvet quietly, careful not to disturb him. But the moment your body hit the mattress, even though he didn’t wake, his arms found you, pulling you in without hesitation. His hand slid around your waist, his palm pressing against the curve of your hip, trying to hold onto you, even in sleep. It was instinctual, the way his body gravitated toward yours, like it always had.

His chest pressed against your back, and you felt his breath, warm and slow against the nape of your neck. It was comforting in the way it used to be – the weight of him behind you, the way your legs fit together like pieces of a puzzle. His skin was cool from the night air, but the warmth between you began to build, seeping into the space where your bodies met, turning the cold bed into something almost bearable.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the feeling of him, of this.

“I love you.” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with sleep. It was slurred. He hadn’t fully woken up, and it felt both real and fragile, like a secret said in the dark.

A soft smile tugged at your lips. “I love you, too.” you whispered back, your fingers tracing lazy circles on the back of his hand where it rested on your waist.

“Missed this.” he added, his voice fading as sleep pulled him back under. “Missed you.”

You felt his body relax even more against yours, his breathing growing deeper. “Goodnight.” you whispered, but he was already gone again, lost to the quiet rhythm of sleep, holding you tight even in his dreams.

But even as his arms tightened around you, the feeling of safety that had once come so naturally felt fragile, like a thread that could snap at any moment. There had been a time when being wrapped up in him like this meant everything was right, when the simple act of falling asleep in his arms was enough to make you forget whatever else was going on. He still held you the same way, but something had shifted, something that his arms couldn’t bridge.

Your thoughts wandered back to the way he had touched you, how it had been automatic, devoid of the tenderness you craved. You had shared your body with him, but it hadn’t felt like sharing at all. It had been two people going through motions they’d gone through so many times before, and now, lying here, entwined with him, it was hard to know which felt more distant – the silence of his sleep or the brief, hollow intimacy you’d shared just earlier.

Still, you let yourself lean into him. Your body softened into his embrace because, at the very least, you could hold onto this moment. He was still here, still wrapped around you, and there was a strange comfort in that, even if it wasn’t the same. You could feel his heartbeat against your back, slow and steady, syncing with your own, lulling you into that hazy space between sleep and waking.

For a moment, you let yourself forget. You closed your eyes, focused on the rise and fall of his chest against you, on the way his breath brushed lightly against your skin. It was enough to let sleep pull you in, despite the lingering thoughts that still crowded your mind. In this small, fragile moment, it was just the two of you, tangled together in the dark, the way you always had been. 

You wondered if he held you tighter in his sleep because, somewhere deep down, he knew that he was losing you. Or maybe it was you who was losing him. Either way, you slept like that, wrapped in his arms, bodies entwined, pretending, if only for a few hours, that the distance wasn’t there.

He was distracted, his phone buzzing more than usual. At first, you didn’t think anything of it. He was always busy, always connected to something or someone. But then you started to notice the way his eyes darted away from yours when he checked his messages, the way he quickly put the phone down when you glanced his way. Little things. Things that didn’t feel right.

And then you found out.

You weren’t sure how, or when exactly it happened. Maybe it was a stray comment from someone, a mention of a name you didn’t recognize. Or maybe it was the look on his face when you asked him a simple question, the way he hesitated just a second too long before answering. That hesitation was all you needed.

You didn’t make any accusations. You didn’t need to. That hesitation – so small, so quick – was enough to confirm what had already started to unravel in your mind. The truth lingered between the two of you, hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break, but you kept silent. What would have been the point of asking? You knew. You didn’t need him to say it. Saying it would make it real, and somehow, keeping quiet allowed you to hold onto a piece of what you had for just a little longer.

So, you let the moments pass.

You spent the next two days in Paris, walking the streets you’d come to know so well, trying to lose yourself in the city, in him. You visited the places that had become sacred to the two of you. It should have felt like a homecoming. It didn’t. 

You walked with him, your hand still clasped in his, but the warmth wasn’t there. His grip, once tight and reassuring, now felt like a formality. The café where you shared your first real conversation, where you used to sit for hours, talking about everything and nothing, felt smaller now, like the space between you had grown so large that even this place couldn’t contain it. He ordered for both of you, his voice still carrying that gentle tone, but he didn’t meet your eyes. You smiled when the waiter brought your drinks, tried to carry on the conversation, but it was all surface-level. The usual ease of your back-and-forth had vanished, replaced by polite exchanges that felt more like strangers trying to keep the peace.

There were pauses now, long stretches of silence that once might have felt comfortable but now only reminded you of what wasn’t being said. You sipped your coffee, nodding when he spoke, but your mind was somewhere else, circling back to that moment of hesitation, that flicker of guilt in his eyes. 

You didn’t ask him about the messages, didn’t mention the way he quickly turned his phone face down on the table every time it buzzed. You didn’t ask why he seemed distracted, why his eyes seemed to dart away from yours whenever you caught him in a rare moment of stillness. You just…let it be. You let it pass, hoping, maybe foolishly, that if you didn’t press, it would somehow dissolve on its own.

At the bookstore, he picked up a volume of poetry, holding it up for you to see, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Remember this?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia.

You glanced at the cover and nodded. “Of course I do.” you said, taking it from his hands. It was the same book he had bought for you on one of your first trips here, back when everything between you was still new and full of possibility. You remembered lying in bed together, his voice low and steady as he tried to read the French words aloud, his thumb gently tracing the back of your hand.

He leaned over your shoulder as you flipped through the pages. “We never made it through the whole thing, did we?” he said, his tone light, almost playful.

“No.” you replied, forcing a smile as you skimmed over the familiar lines. “We got...distracted.”

He chuckled softly, but the sound wasn’t as warm as it used to be. “Yeah, well…maybe we should try again. Finish what we started.”

You paused, your fingers resting on the edge of a page, not quite turning it. “Maybe.” you said quietly, glancing up at him.

His smile faded just a little as he caught your eyes, but he didn’t say anything more. He lingered behind you for a moment, his presence close but somehow distant. You felt the empty space between you growing, even as he stood there beside you, and when you turned back to the book, the words on the page blurred into nothing.

The city had always been a place where you could lose yourselves in each other, where the noise of the world faded and it was just the two of you. The streets felt smaller. The air felt heavier. And the gap between you was everywhere. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t escape it. 

You spent those two days trying to fill the silence. He still held your hand, still smiled at you when you made a joke, still kissed the top of your head in passing. But it all felt practised. As if he were going through the motions of something he no longer fully believed in.

And you played along. You laughed at the right moments, kissed him back when he leaned in, made small talk about the things you’d always shared. But inside, there was a quiet resignation building. You didn’t start a fight. You weren’t sure if you had the energy for it anymore. Maybe a part of you was afraid of what he might say, what kind of lie he might offer to cover the truth you already knew.

So, you stayed quiet. You told yourself you just needed to get through the weekend. Get through these last moments in Paris without shattering everything. Because once you did, there would be no going back. And maybe, just maybe, you could somehow preserve what was left of the two of you.

But as you walked through the city, his phone vibrating more often than not, the silence between you started to feel louder. Louder than the sounds of the traffic, the chatter of people in the streets, the clatter of dishes. The truth was always there, looming over everything.

He knew you knew. That much was clear. You saw it in the way he avoided your gaze, in the way his touches felt just a little too brief, too careful. But neither of you said anything. Maybe because saying it out loud would make it impossible to pretend, and right now, pretending was the only thing keeping you both together. You let the truth sit between you, unspoken, like a third presence neither of you wanted or dared to acknowledge. And the city that had once felt like a homecoming, now felt like a goodbye.

He knew he shouldn’t have done it. He knew it then. He knew it when it happened, and he knew it even more now, with the weight of everything pressing down on him like a knot in his chest. It was one of those truths that was always there, lurking in the background, even when he tried to tell himself otherwise. He’d spent so long convincing himself that he didn’t know what he was doing, that maybe in the moment, he wasn’t aware of the damage it would cause. But that wasn’t true. He did know. He knew it every second before, during, and after.

Maybe pretending he didn’t understand the consequences made it easier to live with himself. Maybe it helped him sleep at night – those rare nights when the guilt didn’t wrap around him like a tight coil. But the more he let himself think about it, the more it ate away at him. That promise he made to you, the one he had buried so deep, came creeping back, clawing at him. It had been a constant, gnawing reminder that no matter how far he ran, no matter how many miles separated you two, it was still there, festering inside him.

You hadn’t seen him since then, since that trip to Paris. You both existed around each other, circling the same truth without ever speaking it aloud. He still called. You still answered. But it wasn’t the same. There were no lighthearted moments, no jokes, no sweet nothings whispered into the phone at midnight. Just empty conversations filled with pleasantries, both of you dancing around the silence. He never suggested meeting up. He knew better. The gap between you had grown too wide, and now it was too vast to ignore. 

And now the tour was over, and it wasn’t exhaustion weighing him down. It was the thought of you waiting for him back home. He was tired, sure. His body ached, his mind worn out from endless flights and crowded venues, but what really haunted him was how he’d look you in the eyes again when he saw you at the airport. The guilt was always there, lingering, but now it was sharpening into something real. Unavoidable. He couldn’t hide from it anymore. 

You were waiting for him at arrivals, standing among the sea of strangers with your arms folded, eyes scanning the crowd. He spotted you instantly. He always did, like some instinct he couldn’t shake. You didn’t wave or smile, just stood there, waiting, and when he finally reached you, he hugged you close. His arms wrapped around you like they always did, pulling you into him, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. To anyone else watching, you looked perfect. The couple everyone probably envied, the kind that made people roll their eyes and wonder how anyone could be so lucky. 

To you, nothing was perfect. And he knew it.

“I missed you.” he said, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

“Yeah?” you replied, glancing over at him but not reaching out like you usually would. “Long trip?”

He shrugged, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “Same as always. Glad it’s over though.” He flashed you a smile, the kind that might have once melted you, but now it just felt like a thin cover. “Paris was nice, wasn’t it? I’m sorry we didn’t see each other, uh…”

“It was, yeah.” you said, your voice neutral, as if you were commenting on the weather.

He looked ahead, the sound of the airport buzzing around you. “You didn’t touch my hair.” he muttered, almost like he was joking, but you could hear the edge in his voice. “Didn’t check if I trimmed it.”

You swallowed, keeping your eyes forward. “Did you?”

“Yeah.” he said, and his hand reached up, brushing a strand of it back. “Thought you’d notice.”

“I did.” you said, not meeting his eyes.

He kept his glasses on as you walked out of the airport, hiding behind them, keeping his face just out of reach. You kept your distance, and he could feel it. He could feel everything had shifted, even if neither of you were ready to say it aloud.

Home wasn’t much different than before. The same familiar walls, the same furniture, the same little routines you had fallen into. But it felt like there was a new layer now, an invisible wall that kept you apart. You’d moved into his place months ago, but now it felt like you were more distant than when he was halfway across the world. He stayed out later than usual, spending evenings at the pub around the corner, avoiding the quiet tension that filled the house. He’d come back after a few drinks, claiming his bones were tired, that he was still adjusting to being back, to sleeping in his own bed again. But you knew. You both did.

And then tonight, something shifted again.

You were both lying in bed, the flicker of the TV casting shadows across the room. He was on the right side, you on the left, the gap between you as wide as ever. The opening credits of some film he’d chosen were rolling, but neither of you were really watching. You were lost in your own thoughts, in the quiet sound of the city outside, when you felt him glance over at you.

“Is this one any good?” he asked, his voice soft, almost casual.

You blinked, not even sure what the movie was. “I don’t know.” you replied, shrugging slightly. “You picked it.”

“Right.” he muttered, his eyes still on you. His hand reached out, fingers brushing over your chest, rubbing your nipples through the thin fabric of your tank top. The touch was familiar, almost automatic. “You cold?”

You shook your head. “No.”

“You’re stubborn.” he teased lightly, glancing at the blanket you hadn’t pulled up. “You know it’s freezing in here.”

“You could just turn the heat on.”

“It’s barely October.” he chuckled, his fingers now lazily trailing down your side. “Gotta wait ‘til Halloween, remember?”

It was early October, the chill of autumn creeping into the room, but you refused to wear anything heavy. He refused to turn the heat on before Halloween, claiming it was still too early for that. You rolled your eyes but didn’t say anything, your focus drifting back to the movie, though neither of you were really watching. His touch lingered, his thumb grazing back over your nipple as he glanced at the screen.

“Let me know if it gets good.” he said quietly, leaning a little closer. 

His touch was tentative at first, but when you didn’t pull away, he became bolder. He rubbed your breasts through the fabric, his fingers lingering, and you felt his gaze, that intensity returning. You turned to him just as he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, and this time, there was love in it. It was broken, yes. Fractured. But it was there, a flicker of something still alive.

You reached for the remote, turning off the film, and he reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. He moved over you, his body pressing into yours, and in that moment, he seemed bigger than you remembered, or maybe you just felt smaller. His hands roamed over your skin, tracing familiar paths, and his lips followed, pressing soft kisses to your collarbone, your neck. Your mouth parted, a soft moan escaping your lips as his fingers trailed lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.

There was something desperate in the way he touched you, something that felt like he was trying to make up for lost time, for the distance that had grown between you. His hands were rough, his kisses urgent, but there was love in it, somewhere beneath the layers of guilt and longing. You felt it in the way he whispered your name against your skin, in the way his breath hitched when you moaned beneath him.

For a moment, it was just the two of you again, bodies tangled together, lost in each other like you used to be. The outside world didn’t exist. The mistakes, the lies, the silence. It all faded away, leaving just this. Just you and him, wrapped in the fragile remains of what you once were.

But even now, as he kissed you, as his hands moved over you with the same familiar rhythm, you knew that when the night was over, when the quiet settled back in, everything would still be there. It would all still be waiting for you, lurking in the dark corners of your home, reminding you that love, once broken, is never quite the same again.

He undressed himself slowly, his hands trembling as he pulled his shirt over his head, then shimmied out of his pants. It wasn’t that he needed to. It would’ve been enough for him to stay half-clothed, letting you be the one stripped bare. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not when the distance between you had been so stark for so long. He needed to be just as exposed as you were. Naked. Vulnerable. Your equal.

The cool air hit his skin, but all he could feel was you – your warmth, your breath, the way your eyes traced the lines of his body. He needed this, needed you, needed to feel small beneath you, as if the weight of everything that had happened could be lifted, if only for a moment. He needed you to make him feel small, to remind him of the part of himself that was still yours.

His hands shook as he braced them on either side of you, lowering himself over you, the skin-to-skin contact sending a shiver through him. His body pressed against yours as he looked into your eyes, searching for something, some sign of forgiveness, some hint of the love you once shared. His gaze was intense, desperate, and as he entered you, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

You felt him everywhere. He filled you, his hips moving against yours with a deliberate, slow rhythm that was more careful than it had been in months. His arms caged you in, the weight of him pressing into the mattress as if he was trying to hold you there, to anchor you to him. Even if you looked to the sides, his hands were there, gripping the sheets, bracing himself as his body moved over yours. And even when you closed your eyes, the sensation of him was inescapable, his breath hot on your neck, his hair sticking to your skin as he pushed into you, again and again.

But you wanted more. More than this. More than his body moving above you. You needed to take control. To flip the script. To remind him that this wasn’t just about him. It wasn’t just about guilt or regret. It was about you, too. 

You shifted beneath him, pushing against his chest with a gentle firmness, and in one smooth motion, you flipped the two of you around, your thighs wrapping tightly around his hips as you straddled him. 

He slid deeper inside you as you pressed down, his breath catching in his throat. His hands instinctively found your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, but there was no resistance. He let you take control, let you lead, his body sinking back into the bed as you stayed on top of him, every inch of him buried deep inside you.

His eyes locked on yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw something break in him. His tough exterior, that carefully constructed wall he’d built around himself, started to crumble as you moved. His gaze softened, his pupils blown wide, his lips parting as his breath grew shallow. His eyes were beginning to get glassy, the emotion he’d been holding back flooding to the surface, threatening to spill over. He gripped your hips tighter, his fingers trembling as he tried to keep some semblance of control, but it was slipping away from him, fast. 

You could feel the shift, the way he was unravelling beneath you, the way his need for you – this moment – was consuming him. You rocked your hips, slow at first, grinding down on him, and a guttural sound escaped his throat. His hands slid up your back, clutching you closer as if he couldn’t stand to have even a fraction of space between you. 

You leaned over him, your hair falling around his face as you pressed your forehead to his. Your breaths mingled, your bodies moving together in perfect sync. His hands roamed your body, no longer possessive but reverent, afraid you might slip away if he didn’t hold on. You rode him harder, faster, and his eyes fluttered shut, his mouth falling open as he let out a shaky breath.

There was no more pretending, no more hiding behind the silence. It was raw, exposed, and for the first time in a long time, you were both on the same page. Both needing, both wanting, both afraid of what would happen when this moment ended.

He came with a sob.

You weren’t sure at first if it was because of the orgasm or something deeper, something raw that had been building inside him for longer than either of you cared to admit. But as you felt his body tense beneath you, his arms wrapping around you tightly, holding you down against him, you realised it wasn’t just about release. His chest was pressed so firmly against yours that you could feel his heart racing, the uneven breaths he was trying to control. 

He didn’t want you to see. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his lips pressed against your skin, as if he could hide the crack in his facade, as if he could bury the shame, the guilt, and the weight of everything he had been carrying. But you felt it – the way his lip trembled against your collarbone, the slight quiver in his chin as he fought to hold it all in. The tear that slid down his cheek and onto your skin was undeniable, no matter how hard he tried to press you into him to hide it.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t ask. You didn’t stop him. You let him hold you down, let him keep you close, his arms a cage around you, trying to anchor himself to something real. The room felt heavier, as though every breath you took pulled you deeper into this tangled mess that neither of you were prepared to face.

Even with his body trembling, his dick still moved inside you, slow, with that familiar purpose. His hips jerked involuntarily, prolonging the sensation, and despite the sob that had escaped him, despite the vulnerability that hung thick in the air, he knew how to move in a way that still brought you there with him. He knew your body, even now, even through all the confusion and hurt, in a way no one else ever could. 

Your head fell back, a quiet moan slipping from your lips as the sensation built within you, your thighs tightening around his hips. The tension that had been coiling inside you for what felt like an eternity finally snapped, your body trembling as you came, the pleasure crashing over you. It was quiet but intense, your muscles tightening around him as you ground down into him, riding out the last of it as his body softened beneath you.

But as the high began to fade, the reality of what had just happened – the sob, the tear, the fragile state he was in – settled in the quiet between you. His hands stayed on your back, but their grip had softened, as if he wasn’t sure whether to keep holding on or let go. He hadn’t said a word since it happened. His breathing was still uneven, the aftermath of his breakdown lingering in the room like a ghost.

You could feel him underneath you, his chest rising and falling, but the connection between you wasn’t just physical anymore. There was something deeper now, something you both had been avoiding, something that neither of you could quite find the words for. And in the stillness, with your bodies still tangled together, the weight of it all – the love, the pain, the betrayal, the regret – settled heavily between you.

And neither of you knew where to go from here.

Your chest rose and fell against his, still catching your breath as the tremors of your orgasm faded. Slowly, you pulled back, your body lifting slightly off his. He didn’t stop you. He didn’t fight it. His hands fell away from your back, loose now, no longer gripping you with that desperate need to hold on. 

For a moment, his eyes flickered down, as if he considered turning his gaze away. But he didn’t. He met your eyes, and in that second, you could see everything. His guilt, his pain, the extent of what he’d done. It was raw and unfiltered, no walls left between you. And it hurt him. He could feel it deep inside, that crushing feeling of seeing himself reflected in your eyes like this. But he deserved it, and he knew it. You deserved to see him like this, broken, even if it wasn’t any kind of consolation.

You reached up and gently wiped the tear from his cheek, your thumb brushing his skin with a softness that only made his heart ache more. A second later, you felt your own tears, the hot, stinging trail they left as they slid down your face. He caught them before they could fall too far, his hand trembling as he wiped them away, his thumb hesitating at your cheek. His lips parted, as if to say something, but nothing came.

Instead, you both just cried together. Quiet, broken sobs, tangled up in each other in the most intimate way possible, yet somehow feeling miles apart. He was still inside you, still connected to you in the most physical sense, but emotionally, it felt like a chasm had opened between you that neither of you knew how to cross.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His hand drifted to your waist, as if holding onto you would make the apology mean more. 

You bit your lip, trying to steady yourself, to keep from breaking completely. “It’s fine.” you whispered back, but even as you said it, you knew it wasn’t true. You felt the words as they left your mouth, hollow and unconvincing.

He smiled then, but it was small, weak. Bittersweet. “No, it’s not.” he said quietly, shaking his head, his eyes shining with the remnants of tears. He let out a breath, like he was trying to gather the strength to keep speaking. “It’s not fine.”

You looked down, nodding as a fresh wave of tears threatened to spill over. “No.” you agreed softly. “It’s not.”

He closed his eyes for a second, the truth of it was too much to bear, his hand slipping from your face to rest against your thigh. The silence that stretched between you now felt heavier than anything you’d experienced before. There was no rushing to fix things, no desperate attempt to gloss over the cracks. Just honesty, raw and undeniable.

“After laughter may come tears,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, “but we owe it to ourselves to feel everything. The highs, the lows…all of it.”

You blinked back your tears, taking in the warmth of his breath on your skin, the way his hand trembled ever so slightly against you. He was right, even if it hurt to admit it.

His thumb brushed lightly across your cheek, wiping away the tears that fell. “We owe it to ourselves,” he repeated softly, his eyes locking onto yours, “to embrace it all.”

The days passed quietly. You both existed in the same space — ate together, slept together, spoke in passing — but it was as though you were living in parallel worlds. Every interaction was careful, deliberate, skimming the surface of the deeper things that needed to be said. You both avoided the hard truths, as if dancing around them might keep them at bay a little longer.

But you knew it couldn’t last forever. The distance, the unspoken questions, the answers you already half knew but needed to hear were inevitable.

It was a Sunday evening when you finally felt ready to ask. The house was quiet, the autumn chill creeping in through the windows, and he was sitting on the edge of the couch, flipping through the channels without really watching anything. You were sitting at the kitchen table, half-heartedly scrolling through your phone, but you weren’t paying attention to the screen. Your mind was elsewhere, circling the same question over and over.

The thing about knowing the answer to something before you ask is that it doesn’t make the asking any easier. If anything, it makes it harder, because once it’s spoken, it becomes real. And you weren’t sure if you were ready for that, if either of you were.

You watched him for a moment, his familiar profile lit by the soft glow of the TV. He hadn’t shaved in days. He didn’t put in the effort anymore. He glanced over at you suddenly, as if sensing your gaze. His eyes met yours, and for a split second, there was something vulnerable there that he quickly masked with a half-hearted smile.

“What?” he asked, his voice light, too casual.

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Nothing.” you said, though you knew it wasn’t true. “Just...thinking.”

He nodded, his attention drifting back to the TV, but you could tell he was waiting. There was a tightness in his posture, a tension in his shoulders that said he knew exactly what you were thinking about, and he was bracing himself for it.

“Do you ever...” you began, your voice quiet, almost tentative. “Do you ever wonder if things would’ve been different if I hadn’t come back to Paris that last time?”

He looked over at you again, brow furrowing slightly, as if he hadn’t expected that question. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light, deflecting just a little. “I don’t know. It just feels like...everything shifted after that trip. Like we crossed some kind of line, and we’ve been...off balance ever since.”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting down to his hands. He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. restlessness settling into his movements.

“I don’t think it’s about Paris.” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “I mean...I- I don’t think the city had anything to do with it.”

You nodded, even though his answer wasn’t really an answer at all. It was a way of avoiding the real issue, the same way you’d both been doing for weeks. But it didn’t make you angry. If anything, it made you sad. Sad because you both knew the conversation was coming.

He turned the TV off, tossing the remote onto the coffee table, and then leaned back on the couch, his head resting against the cushions. “Why?” he asked after a moment, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Why are you asking about Paris?”

You stared at him for a second, trying to figure out how to answer that without tipping into dangerous territory too quickly. “I don’t know. Just...thinking about how different things felt before that. How easy it was.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, but it wasn’t a happy sound. It was hollow, as if he was laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Yeah.” he muttered, his eyes still on the ceiling. “Things were definitely…yeah.”

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “So, uh, what changed?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, and as soon as the words were in the air, you knew there was no taking them back.

He didn’t move for a long moment, just lay there, his chest rising and falling slowly. You watched him, waiting, your heart beating in your throat.

“I don’t know.” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been asking myself that same question.”

You stood up then, needing to move, to do something with the restless energy that was building inside you. You walked over to the couch and sat down next to him, close but not touching, your hands folded in your lap.

“Do you really want to know what changed?” he asked, his voice tentative, as if he was testing the waters.

You met his gaze, your stomach tightening. “Yeah.” you said quietly. “I do.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I guess…I guess I got scared.” he admitted. “Of everything. Of how much I needed you, of how much I could hurt you. I tried to pretend like it wasn’t happening, like I wasn’t feeling all of it, but…it caught up with me.”

You frowned, confused. “You got scared of me?”

He shook his head quickly, sitting up a little. “No. Not of you. Of…what we have. What we had. It’s like I started thinking I wasn’t good enough for it, that I’d screw it up eventually.” He paused, his eyes searching yours, trying to gauge your reaction. “And I guess…I guess I did.”

“You didn’t screw it up.” you said softly, though you weren’t sure if you believed it.

He smiled at you then, but it was a sad one. “I did, though. You just haven’t figured out how much yet.”

His hand reached for yours, fingers brushing against your skin as if he needed to touch you to get through the rest of it.

“I think I have.” you said quietly, your voice steady even though your heart wasn’t.

His hand stilled. He glanced away, shifting uncomfortably. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened, in the way his eyes flickered to the floor. He wasn’t good at hiding.

You thought he might deflect again, retreat into that space where he kept things locked away, just out of reach. But something in him seemed to crumble. His shoulders slumped, and he took a breath that sounded heavier than it should’ve.

“You know?” he said, but there was no challenge in his voice. It was soft, resigned, like he knew that pretending wasn’t going to save him anymore.

You nodded, keeping your gaze on him. “Yeah.” you said, the words sticking a little in your throat. “So…who’s the mystery girl?”

There it was. The question that had been hanging between you for weeks, maybe longer. The question that neither of you had wanted to ask because once it was out in the open, everything would change. You’d felt it — her presence — without ever meeting her. You just didn’t know how or when or who. But you could feel her shadow there in the distance.

His head dropped, chin to his chest, as if he was trying to disappear. You watched him, the way his fingers fidgeted, the way he couldn’t quite look at you now.

After what felt like forever, he looked up. His eyes were glassy, full of something that resembled regret but also shame. “It’s not like that.” he said softly. “I didn’t mean for any of it to…”

His voice trailed off, and you could see the internal battle written all over his face. He was caught between wanting to tell you everything and wanting to protect himself, protect you, maybe, from the reality.

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Then what is it like?”

He rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers digging into his hair. “It’s not- She’s not…I don’t even know how to explain it.” he admitted, frustration edging into his voice now. “It just happened. I wasn’t looking for anything. I didn’t want anything to happen. But…”

“But it did.” you finished for him.

He looked at you, eyes wide, like he wasn’t expecting you to be so calm. And maybe you weren’t calm, maybe it was just the shock of hearing it said aloud, of it becoming real after so long of pretending it wasn’t.

“Yeah.” he whispered. “It did.”

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to feel. You felt all of it, but none of it was coming to the surface. Instead, you just felt…numb. Like this was always going to happen, and now that it had, there was a strange sense of inevitability to it.

“Is she still around?” you asked, your voice quieter now, almost detached.

He winced, the question hitting him hard. “No.” he said, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t…serious. It wasn’t anything, really.”

You raised an eyebrow at that. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

He let out a sigh, one that seemed to carry the weight of all the guilt he’d been holding onto. “I know. But I swear…it’s over. It’s been over. I don’t even know why it happened in the first place.”

You nodded, taking in his words but not sure how to process them. “So what now?” you asked softly, your voice trembling a little despite your best effort to keep it steady.

He didn’t have an answer. At least, not one he could give you right then. His eyes searched yours, pleading, but he stayed quiet, his fingers brushing against yours as if that could fix everything.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

You nodded again, staring down at your hands, trying to keep the tears at bay. You were angry. Of course you were. But more than that, you were tired. Tired of carrying this weight, tired of not knowing what was real between you anymore. 

What could you even say to him when you didn’t know what to think anymore? You wanted to explode. You wanted to kiss this man — with his stupid beautiful face and the most perfect brown eyes. You wanted to make love to him. You wanted to pull his hair straight out with your bare hands. You wanted to hurt him too. 

You didn’t. You loved those eyes too much. 

“I know.” you said softly. “But you did.”

a/n: the end, I suppose.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Not Worth It? (Batman)

Summary: you were never worth his time.

Warnings: Angst

WC: 760ish

Read on Ao3!

--

The cold Gotham air clung to your skin as you leaned against the brick wall of the dark alleyway, the remnants of your latest encounter with Batman bruising your body. You could still feel the ghost of his grip on your wrist, the weight of his shadow towering over you moments earlier. The sound of his cape had always unsettled you, like the promise of an inevitable end looming.

You wiped the corner of your mouth, smearing blood with the back of your hand, and smirked. It wasn’t the first time you’d crossed paths with Bruce Wayne, but tonight, you had gone too far—or so you’d hoped. Every carefully laid plan, every disruption, had been met with his impenetrable calm and precision. He was a force you couldn’t quite match, not yet. But you wanted to see him slip, to break.

The rain fell harder now, and the alley was empty except for the two of you. His silhouette remained unmoved, cloaked in shadow, but you knew his eyes were fixed on you. Waiting. Judging.

"You don’t get it, do you?" you taunted, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "All this time, and you still haven’t caught on to what I’m really after."

Batman stepped closer, his boots making barely a sound against the wet concrete. His presence alone could suffocate. "Enlighten me," his voice was low, a dangerous growl that vibrated through the alley.

You tilted your head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “It’s not Gotham I want, Bruce. It’s you. All this chaos—every crime, every carefully crafted plan—was to get you here. To make you see that your precious city isn’t what matters.”

His expression remained unreadable, but his silence spoke volumes. You reveled in it, believing you had finally pushed him to the edge, but his response came cold and calculated, cutting through the tension like a knife.

"You’re not worth the effort."

The words hit harder than any blow he had ever dealt you. His tone was sharp, devoid of any emotion, as if you were a mere speck of dust on his cape, easily brushed aside.

You scoffed, though the sting of his words simmered beneath your bravado. “Not worth the effort, huh? You sure don’t act like it, chasing me around this city for months.”

“That’s because I don’t have a choice,” he replied coolly, stepping closer until he was directly in front of you, looming over you like the dark knight he was. “Gotham needs protecting, even from nuisances like you.”

The word “nuisance” made your teeth grit. For all your genius, all your effort, to him you were nothing more than a fleeting annoyance. You had spent months crafting a web of deception, challenging him at every turn, and he still saw you as insignificant. Just a piece in the bigger game he played, but never a real threat.

But something in his eyes betrayed him—a flicker of something deeper, something that wasn’t all indifference. You’d been dancing this dangerous waltz with Bruce Wayne long enough to see it. He wasn’t immune to you. You had gotten under his skin, even if he would never admit it.

“You and I aren’t so different, Bruce,” you whispered, stepping forward, closing the distance between you. “We both care about Gotham in our own way. We both have our masks.”

He narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenching ever so slightly, but he didn’t move as you leaned in, your voice low and tempting. “You can pretend all you want, but I know I matter more than you’re willing to admit. Why else would you be here?”

For a moment, the rain and city seemed to fade, leaving only the weight of unspoken tension between you. But then, in typical Batman fashion, he shattered the illusion.

“You’re wrong.” His voice was hard, final. “This isn’t about you. It never was.”

Before you could respond, he turned, his cape swirling behind him as he melted into the shadows, leaving you standing in the rain, watching him disappear into the night.

The echo of his words lingered, and for the first time in a long time, you wondered if you had miscalculated. Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t the player in his game—you were just another obstacle. Another distraction he had overcome.

But that didn’t mean the game was over.

With a defiant smirk, you wiped the rain from your face and disappeared into the dark streets of Gotham, your mind already working on your next move.

After all, no one walks away from you, not even Bruce Wayne.

-

tags

EVERYTHING PERM: @nekoannie-chan @kjs-s @notyourtypicalrose @mistressofallthingsgeeky

DCEU PERM TAGS: @other-fandom-reblogs

BRUCE WAYNE: @hallecarey1 @fandom-princess-forevermore