#reading all your messages and never replying

[rafesangelita]

♡ just dilf!rafe making sure everything is to his liking when his precious little bunny comes home from all of her beauty appointments!

warnings: fluff, bunny being a lil clingy, suggestive language, use of the nickname ‘daddy’ (pls scroll if it’s not for you), heavy petting, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), praise, finger sucking, slight overstimulation

a/n: i recently got all of my beauty appointments done so this felt fitting lol. read more of dilf!rafe x bunny!reader here <3

wc: 1.4k

while rafe never let you step out of the house by yourself, there was very few instances when he did. going out with your girlfriends and paying for all of your appointments was one of those things, and he didn’t mind in the slightest. the day would start very early in the morning so that you’d have enough time to get everything done. rafe would watch you from the front door as you basically hopped down the driveway in excitement before getting into your best friend’s obnoxiously pink car, your lip gloss still sparkling on his lips from when you kissed him before leaving.

maybe it was the father instinct inside of him, but rafe made it a point to always pay for you and your besties meals, the idea of you going hungry or having an empty stomach just not sitting right with him. you and your friends would start the day by knocking out whatever took the longest, so that all of you could breeze through the extra upkeep and still go shopping afterwards. despite rafe tracking your location and checking where you were at religiously, he still wanted you to text him and send him photos and updates throughout the day.

he’d smile down at his phone whenever your contact name, which you came up with by yourself, would pop up on his screen.

[1:15 PM] bunnie ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡: i miss you sooo much already daddy. thank you for the food it was yummy <3 me and the girls still have a handful of things to do but i’m hoping to be done soon!!

[2:57 PM] bunnie ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡: i think you’re going to reallyyy like the color of my nails!! my toes came out super cute too 🎀

[4:03 PM] bunnie ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡: (1 attached image) look at this pink flatiron at the salon! i need one just like this! pretty pleaseeee!

he’d reply to each message, even going ahead and buying that flatiron with overnight delivery so you could have it in your pretty hands in no time. you two would go on like this until you’d finally send him that ‘on my way!’ text, a relieved sigh falling from his lips. as much as he liked for you to have your girl time, he selfishly wanted to have you all to himself more than anything. rafe had already been anticipating your arrival, your favorite candles already lit up upstairs in his bedroom. it wasn’t long before he heard the faint bump of music outside, your playful yelp sounding from down the driveway as you struggled to carry all of your shopping bags.

rafe was quick to help you out, your best friends teasingly telling him hi as he briefly waved at them before guiding you inside. “oh, i missed you!” you didn’t waste any time in throwing your arms around his neck, the scent of sweet vanilla filling up his senses. you clung to him like a koala, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist as he made his way upstairs. “yeah? i missed you more.” you breathed him in, smiling softly against his chest as he put your bags down on the chair he had in the corner. “everything go good?” he took a seat at the edge of the bed, resting his hands on the soft globes of your ass.

“mhmm!” you nodded, “i’m happy with how everything came out.” rafe pecked your lips before helping you up on your feet. “let me get a good look at you.” standing up, you couldn’t help but feel shy as he scanned over your figure agonizingly slow. “your hair looks real nice, baby, that style suits you.” your cheeks heated at the simple compliment. “wow look at your lashes, ‘you try out a different lash map?” you gasped softly, hitting his shoulder playfully. “look at you using girly terms!” rafe was bound to learn about the stuff you’d be rambling on and on about, your lashes being one of many things he now knew the intricacies of.

“your eyebrow lady did a real good job, too.” you wiggled your brows suggestively, fluttering your lashes at him while he took your hand in his. “you were right, i absolutely love this color on you,” he took in the pinky nude of your manicure, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles, “let me see those toes.” you giggled, bringing your foot to his lap as you held onto his arms for leverage. “wow, you got a bow charm?” you smiled down at the sight, “yes! isn’t it so cute? she even put on some rhinestones for free because i’m a regular!” rafe massaged the back of your calf, guiding you back down on the bed.

“damn, bunny, and your skin is so soft, you got that full body wax?” you welcomed him between your thighs, running your freshly manicured nail down the side of his jaw. “yes, i know how much you like it..” he kissed you deeply, his lower half grinding down on where you needed him most. you couldn’t help the whine from leaving your lips, your glazed orbs shining with something mischievous. “do you want to see how that came out, too?” rafe smiled, his fingers already hooking between your skirt and the waistband of your panties. “yeah? you gonna let daddy inspect you?”

once your clothes were off and forgotten about on the floor, rafe took your thighs and spread them open to expose your bare cunt, the look on his face making you take your bottom lip between your teeth. “fuck,” he marveled, “you’re just so pretty, you know that?” you smiled, melting under his gentle touch. he looked up at you as if to ask ‘can i?’ before you nodded. rafe sat back on his heels, stroking your glistening folds as you writhed with desire. “i need to be inside of you so bad..” oh, how bad you needed that too. “rafe, we can’t have sex for at least a full twenty-four hours.” you pouted.

“but we did it last time.” you giggled, shaking your head. “i know, but i’m so sensitive..” rafe sighed, leaning down so he could whisper against your lips. “would a little touching hurt, though?” you gasped when he slipped a digit inside your entrance, his long digit filling you just right. with the pad of his thumb, he began rubbing hard circles on your clit, your eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. “you’re so perfect, always dressing and getting dolled up the way i want you to.” he curled his finger, nudging that soft spot inside of you that made you see stars.

your back arched softly off of the bed, your fingers intertwining with his own. he kept his eyes on your trembling form, your mouth falling open as moans and whimpers fell from your lips. “i’m so close, ray..” the man above you lowered his head between your thighs, popping his digits into your mouth so you could taste yourself on his fingers. “so soft and smooth, i could eat this cunt for days.” you cried out loud when you felt his tongue prod at your opening, the tip of his nose finding your sensitive bud. “fuckkk!” you covered your mouth at the slip up, yelping when you felt rafe pinch your inner thigh.

“what have i told you about cussing?” he groaned, pulling away from your soaked pussy before diving back in again, your hands shooting up to cup your tits. rafe watched your face carefully, the rise and fall of your chest being a telltale sign that you were going to finish soon. you felt the familar heat begin to simmer in your tummy, your thighs threatening to snap shut as the coil in your stomach got tighter and tighter with every stroke of rafe’s tongue. “oh, my god!” your eyes rolled back when the band in your tummy finally snapped, your orgasm hitting you in waves of pure bliss.

your breath shook as you thrashed against rafe’s mouth, your thighs locking around his head as he pinned you down by your hips. your mouth opened but no sound, except for a pathetic shriek came out, your hands fighting rafe off in an attempt to pull away from him. that only made him grip you tighter, his tongue working relentlessly on your poor cunt. it wasn’t until you tapped out, your nails digging into rafe’s arm before he gave you a final kiss, his gentle hands massaging into the skin of your calves. you whimpered as rafe helped you come down from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your vision hazy.

rafe licked his lips clean, palming at the hard-on in his boxers. “how about just the tip?” all it took was one blissful glance at him through your lashes before he was yanking you towards the edge of his bed by your ankles.

[mytherapyisreading14]

Drunk Confessions

Summary: You got drunk during a night out with your best friend and accidentally send your Professor a photo of you in lingerie. Now you try to avoid him, which is not really working.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Category: Smut (18+ MDNI)

Warnings: alcohol consumption, dirty talk, dom!spencer, semi-public sex, hair pulling, thigh riding, spanking, fingering, praise kink, multiple orgasms, oral sex (kinda, he comes in her mouth)

Word Count: 4,6k

Author’s Note: My last posts got so many likes, I didn’t expect that at all, thank you sm!! <3

Your alarm goes off - 8:30am. You groan. Your head is pounding and the sun shining into your room is just way too bright. Your stomach turns and you close your eyes to escape the wave of nausea. You slowly sit up and search for your phone on the nightstand. It feels like your head is going to explode. You reach out and unlock the screen, turning your alarm off.

It's way too early. And you drunk way too much last night. It was a chaotic but nice yesterday, a night full of laughter, way too much alcohol and karaoke. Your best friend celebrated her birthday and you promised to go to your favorite bar with her. You have to smile when you think back to the night and start checking your messages. You see that she already texted you this morning to find out how you are doing.

How are you?

I have the worst headache after last night

It was fun though, wanna go again tonight?

Just kidding, I feel like I need a week to recover from this

You can’t help but laugh and answer her quickly. You are about to put your phone away to finally get ready when a new chat catches your eye. You freeze in shock. It’s your Professors name. The one you’ve been crushing on since you saw him for the very first time.

Back when you found out that you were getting a new professor, you didn't expect much, a lecture like any other with someone who was only concerned with reciting his material. But then he entered. He came through the door and for a moment it seemed as if time stood still. The room, which had just been immersed in the murmur of conversation, suddenly became silent.

He was tall - taller than you expected and his presence filled the room in a way that you couldn't put into words. He wore a simple but elegant suit that somehow effortlessly fit him perfectly. His hair was a little longer, curly and fell slightly over his forehead. And then he looked up. His big, brown eyes met yours and in a split second everything became clear to you. You immediately knew you wanted, needed, this man.

Now you stare at the chat in complete horror. He recently gave you his number for a project. That's how this whole texting thing could even happen. Your heart is pounding in your chest. Obviously you can't remember texting him. You were so drunk yesterday that you can't even remember how you got home.

You open the chat - and your heart stops for a moment. It wasn't just a message that you sent him. It was a photo. Of you, in lingerie. It’s one of your favorite sets, you got it a couple of weeks ago. "I wore this for you today, Professor. Do you like it?” You wrote in addition to the photo.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. You just stare at the screen, the picture of you that you should never, ever, ever have sent. And the worst part: He read it. But didn't reply. Confusion and panic spreads through you. You jump out of bed, your feet barely finding purchase on the floor, and your heart keeps racing. You try to think clearly, but your thoughts are a complete mess.

You reach for your phone again and frantically tap on the chat with your best friend, but you pause and call her instead. "Hello?" Her voice still sounds sleepy and hungover. “Oh my God, I need your help!" you gasp and immediately start telling her everything.

The line is silent, then you hear a short laugh. "Wait a minute... what? You did that?" You close your eyes and search for the right words. But before you can say anything, it hits you like a blow. You also have a lecture with him today.

"I’m not coming today," you tell her. “You can't just cancel!" she says immediately, and you hear her getting herself settled in her bed. Her voice sounds determined, but also worried. "You know how it is, our seminar today. We can't miss it. We said that celebrating wouldn't stop us," she says. "Celebrating isn't what would stop me either. Seeing him definitely is," you say and lean back with a groan.

You close your eyes and sink even deeper into the pillows. Your stomach clenches when you think about it. She’s right, You really have to go today. But the text, the picture that you sent him - what if he wants to talk to you about it? Or worse, he reports the whole thing?

"I can't just sit in front of him today and pretend that everything is normal. I sent him a picture of me in lingerie... I can't face him. It's just... it's just too much!" There is silence on the other end of the line for a moment. She still hasn't said anything, and you know she's thinking. Then you hear her take a deep breath.

“Okay, the thing with the picture, that's really... a little crazy. But hey, you can skip the lecture. Just disappear after the seminar and then hide in your apartment. Or you can go and hope that when you run into him, he'll do completely different things after you seeing this photo. I bet you looked hot, was it the new set you recently bought?” she asks and you can hear her grin even though you're on the phone.

Obviously she knows about your crush on your professor. You couldn’t stop talking about him after your first lecture and she took every opportunity to tease you about it. You look at your phone as if it were the only thing that could help you think clearly. Of course she's right. You have to go to your seminar. And you can really skip his lecture. Still, the idea that he might be thinking about it makes your heart beat faster and not just in excitement.

“You're right, I... okay, I'll come," You say after a short pause, but the thought of maybe running into him still makes you nervous. “You'll see, it won't be as bad as you think. You'll get through the seminar, it's only an hour. And then we'll be out and we can take our time for everything else. And you'll just avoid your favorite professor today," she continues to teases.

“Today? More like forever," you mutter and finally get up, even though the thought of getting out of bed still paralyzes you. “See you soon then. I'll shower and get dressed now, then I'll come. Let’s meet outside the building, okay?" you ask. "Sure!" she calls out happily. "See you soon and don’t forget to wear another fancy set for your professor today. Just in case you run into him,” she jokes.

After you hang up you put the phone on the pillow and stand there for a moment, your legs heavy, your head still about to explode. But then you take a deep breath. It'll be fine, you just have get through the seminar. With a sigh, you go into the bathroom and take painkillers first. Then you start getting ready.

You turn on the water and let it run hot. A short time later, you go into the shower. The hot steam envelops you and slowly your body feels a little alive again. The nausea subsides and the hangover becomes more bearable. After the shower, you get dressed in peace - black skirt, a comfy sweater and your favorite sneakers. You quickly walk through the apartment again to make sure you packed everything and when you leave the house, you somehow feel less like a wreck.

-

The smell of freshly served pasta is still in your nose as you say goodbye. You got lunch together after your seminar and it was nice to get a little break and talk about everything that happened. Now you are ready to leave but you still have to go to the library to get a book that you need for your upcoming assignment first.

“I still have to go to the library," you tell her, pulling your bag over your shoulder. “Are you coming with me?” you ask her. “I’m sorry, I have to pick up my sister now. But be careful, you don’t want to run into your favorite professor, or do you?” she teases again. “I’m not going to run into him. I’ll hurry up and leave immediately. I’ll call you later. See you tomorrow," you say and give her a quick wave before you set off.

-

The campus is full of students rushing through the halls, carrying their books around or sitting in groups and discussing. You slip into the library and head straight to the section where the book you need is. Unfortunately it’s at the top of the shelf and you realize that you probably won't be able to reach it. You jump up a few times, but the distance between you and the book just seems too big. You sigh. If only you were a little taller.

As you attempt the jump for the third time, you suddenly feel a presence building behind you. One that seems familiar. Your heart beats faster and a nervous tremor takes hold of you. You turn around and stare straight into Professor Reid's eyes. He is standing just inches away from you and you can hear the soft sound of his breathing.

The look he gives you is almost piercing - warm, but somehow also searching. He leans forward slightly without saying a word and effortlessly grabs the book with one hand. You avoid his gaze as he hands it to you. “Thank you," you murmur, trying to hide the slight nervous tremor in your voice. He nods and stands still for a moment.

"You weren't at my lecture today." You stare at the book in your hands and feel your stomach clench. This is not good. “I..." you take a deep breath. "I haven't been feeling so good. My head..." He waits, his eyes still fixed on you, and you get the feeling that he wants to hear more. You feel his gaze on you and when you finally raise your eyes to look into his eyes, there is a silent understanding, and for a moment you wonder if there’s more. “Sick, or...?" he asks calmly. You hesitate and bite your lip.

"I went out partying with my best friend yesterday, it was her birthday… we drank a little bit too much and... well, I'm not feeling so good today. That’s why I skipped." His expression remains neutral, but something in his gaze changes. You can hardly believe it, but it's almost as if he's interested. He frowns slightly. "I understand," he then says. "But it's not ideal to miss class, especially when important topics are involved."

You nod. “I know, Professor. I won’t happen again.” You just want to get out of this situation, and as you try to take a step back he stops you. "No, wait. I need to talk to you." You pause and turn back to him. "About what? I don’t really have the time -" you begin, pretending you don't have any idea what he wants to talk about, when he cuts you off.

"Doesn’t matter, it’s important. We'll sort it out in my office." His gaze is intense as he steps towards you. The thought of him asking you to come to his office makes your heart beat faster. The idea of ​​being alone in a room with him is tempting. "Okay," you say quietly, unable to prevent a nervous tingling from spreading in your chest. You follow him, even though your legs feel like they're made of jelly.

He leads the way, his steps calm and determined, and you can barely keep your eyes from lingering on his back. As soon as you reach the door to his office, he opens it and lets you enter first. You step in, your heart now beating loudly in your ears. The moment he closes the door behind you, you realize that it is more than just a conversation about the seminar.

The look he is giving you now is not the look of a professor. It is the look of a man who wants more than just academic discussions at this moment. And the thought that you’re alone with him in this room inevitably leaves you nervous and intrigued at the same time.

As the door closes behind you, you’re left breathless for a moment. His office is quiet, almost too quiet, compared to the crowded hallways outside. The room is sparsely decorated, except for the desk covered with stacks of paper and a few personal items. He is still standing at the table, his arms loosely folded in front of his chest and looks at you.

"Sit down," he says calmly, pointing to the chair on the opposite of the desk. You hesitate, then finally sit down, your heart pounding in your chest. The nervous energy inside you grows as you try to organize your thoughts. Before he can say anything else, you can’t hold it back any longer. The words come out of you hastily, almost in a rush, and you feel your body tense.

"The picture, it was a mistake! I didn't mean to... It wasn't meant for you. I was drunk, and it was stupid of me, really. I'm sorry." You look at the table, avoiding his gaze. But as you say the last words, you immediately notice how the atmosphere in the room changes. He remains silent for a moment, but then his body language shifts slightly - his gaze becomes more intense, the tension between you almost tangible.

"Hmm," he says after a pause, his voice deep and calm, "so the picture wasn't meant for me?" You flinch when you hear his question. What exactly does he want to hear? What does he want to know from you? You try to stay calm and answer hesitantly.

"It... it's none of your business." His expression hardens instantly. "It is," he says, and his voice sounds sharper, more determined now. "Because you sent it to me." Your heart beats faster as he continues. "I don't think it was an accident, even if you were drunk. You wanted to send it to me. And you did."

A cold shiver runs down your spine. You open your mouth, trying to say something, but you can't find a way to defend yourself. Instead, you just stay still, looking at your hands, which are resting nervously on your lap.

He laughs quietly, a mocking, almost challenging laugh. "So you're really sure it was an accident, huh?" He slowly leans forward, rests his hands on the table and looks straight into your eyes. The look in his eyes has changed, and something in his expression shows you that he is the one in control.

"Do you really think I haven't noticed how you look at me in class? How you keep watching my hands? How you press your thighs together when I approach you?" His words hit you and you freeze for a moment. Your cheeks burn hot, you feel your heart pounding uncontrollably, but you keep quiet. Everything inside you screams to defend yourself, but you stay silent because you know he’s right.

"I noticed from the beginning, angel," he continues, and a shiver runs down your spine. You can’t believe he just called you that. It turns you on immensely. "I know you didn't just do it because of the party and the alcohol. You also sent it to me because you wanted to." He leans further forward, his presence overwhelming, and you can't help but feel small even as you try to assert yourself.

You open your mouth to say something, but the words stick in your throat. What could you say? That he's wrong? That would be a lie. “You sent it to me," he repeats, his voice now almost like a command. "Because you wanted to show me. And I don't think it was an accident. You were drunk, yes, but you wanted me to see you like this."

Your body is paralyzed. It feels like the room has suddenly become smaller. You can hardly breathe. His words and his look have completely captured you in that moment. “I... uh," you begin, but the thought that he is in control, that he sees you like this at this moment, leaves you speechless and you’re unable form a proper sentence.

He remains silent, only his eyes continue to focus on you. "You have to understand that you can't just play with me like that." His gaze becomes more intense, and for a moment it seems as if he wants to say more but then he slowly stands up, walks around the table and stops right in front of you.

"I'll show you something," he says in a calm but unmistakable voice. "And you will understand why it wasn't just an accident." Your heart beats faster. His hand reaches for your chin, lifting it up and tracing his thumb over your bottom lip. Your breath hitches and you lean closer, craving his touch. “Get up and lock the door for me,” he says and pulls his hand away slowly.

You do as your told immediately and when you turn around, he is sitting on his chair with his legs spread. He looks so hot and you desperately clench your thighs together to relief the pressure between your legs. “Good girl. Come here,” he says and pats his thigh. You shiver in excitement and when he notices a grin spreads across his face.

You go over to him and when you stand in front of him, he pulls you down into his lap. He leans forward to whisper into your ear “That’s what you wanted, right? To be my good girl. That’s why you send me that picture. You wanted to end up here,” he says and places his hands on your hips. You press yourself closer against him and inhale his scent, he smells like cinnamon, peppermint and aftershave, it’s addictive.

However, you get interrupt by his hand reaching into your hair to pull your head back. You gasp in surprise and he leans closer to you, looking deep into your eyes again. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer,” he says and you can feel yourself getting even wetter. “Yes, that’s true. I - I always wanted that,” you manage to say and he releases your hair, satisfied with your response.

Then he leans forward and you finally feel his lips against yours. It’s even better than you always imagined and you start to grind against his leg, desperate to release the friction between your legs. But Spencer quickly stops you. “Did I allow you to move?” he asks and you shake your head.

He sighs in disappointment but before he can say anything you quickly answer him. “No, you didn’t,” you say and his grip on your hips looses a little. “That’s right. I didn’t. And you’re not allowed to move until I tell you to. You’re going to listen to me and do exactly what your told, do you understand?” he asks. “I understand.”

“See, it’s not that hard. You listen to me, you behave and you’ll get your reward. Now, do you want to ride my thigh?” he asks, his hand slowly sliding behind your back to your ass, squeezing it. “Yes, please. Can I?” you ask and he leans forward to kiss you again, his tongue exploring your mouth. When he pulls back you can see his eyes sparkling with lust. “So polite, I like that. Yes, you can,” he says and you finally go back to moving against his thigh.

It feels good, so good and when Spencer starts to slide one hand under your shirt to grab your breasts you press closer against him. You can feel that you soaked your underwear trough and wearing only a skirt, you can already see a small wet stain on his pants. His gaze follows yours and he chuckles. “Someone’s needy,” he says and you nod, leaning against his chest, grinding down more against him.

“Spen - Spencer, I’m going to come,” you whimper but he pulls you back by your hair again. “It’s Sir for you, angel,” he says and you correct yourself immediately. “Please Sir, can I come on your thigh now?” you breath out and he grabs your hips again, stopping you.

“No, not yet,” he simply says and you whine when he stands up and you lose contact. “But I thought - “ you start but he doesn’t let you finish. He turns you around and pushes you down onto his desk. “Doesn’t matter what you thought. I decided I’m not letting you come yet,” he says and flips over your skirt to expose your underwear to him.

“I see, another pair then the ones you wore yesterday. I’ve got to admit, I prefer the other ones, but you look pretty anyway, angel,” he says, sliding his hands over your thighs and your ass. “Last night when you send me that picture, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admits and you can feel your whole body reacting to his words.

A wave of confidence flashes through you. “Did I keep you up last night, Sir? Did you have to stroke your cock while you looked at my picture? Thinking about all the ways you want to fuck me?” you ask him and turn your head slightly back to look at him with a smirk on your face. His eyes darken and he tightens his grip.

“Oh you have no idea, angel. I’m going to show you exactly what I was thinking about last night,” And suddenly you feel a harsh smack on your ass. He just spanked you. And you liked it. Your breath hitches and you bit down on your lip to keep quiet. You don’t want anyone to find out what’s going on in here.

His hand strokes the spot he just hit before going further down to pull at your panties. He takes them off and stuffs them into his pocket. You are convinced you’re not going to get them back. Then you feel his long, slender fingers sliding between your legs before he presses onto your clit. You gasp in surprise and try to press against him but his grip on your hips is firm, holding you still.

Then he pushes two fingers inside you. “So fucking wet.” His eyes wander over your body down to your legs hungrily, appreciating every curve and every spot. “I’ve never seen such a pretty pussy. And it’s all mine now. You’re all mine now,” he says. The way his fingers move and the way he stares at you intensely feels just way too good.

When his thumb goes back to your clit, rubbing it in slow circles, you can feel how your orgasm builds up inside of you and you can no longer hold back your moans. “Spencer - Sir, feels so good. Please,… I need more,” You clench around his fingers and he quickly puts a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. “Shh, be quiet, angel. As much as I would love to hear all these lovely sounds you make, I don’t want to get interrupted. Not now, when I finally have you, after all this time.”

His fingers curl inside you and keep hitting your g -spot. You clench around them, he notices and chuckles. “Can I - please,” you stutter. “Yes angel,” he says, already knowing what you’re asking for and you come around his fingers. You never had such an intense orgasm from foreplay before, but you don’t mind. It’s even better than you always imagined.

He wants to give you a moment to recover but you want more. You somehow manage to turn around, even though your legs feel like they are going to give in any second and push yourself up on his desk. He looks surprised and opens his mouth to say something but you interrupt him by pulling him closer by his tie.

You wrap your hands around his neck and rank your fingers through his soft, brown hair before kissing him. You moan into his mouth and he groans, sending a shiver down your spine. “Thank you, Sir. That was amazing,” you say with a smirk on your face when you pull back. “Now is the time to lose your pants and relax, I want to return the favor.”

“As much as I want to see you down on your knees with your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, we don’t have much time left. Office hour starts in less than 30 minutes. And I need to fuck you. So drop it and spread your legs for me. Now,” he demands and you obliged, sitting further back on his desk with your legs spread.

He takes a step back and starts to unzip his dress pants. When he takes out his cock your eyes widen. He is even bigger than you expected. “Are you on the pill?” he asks while he starts to pump his cock. “I am,” you say. “Good. I want to fuck your pussy and then, since you suggested sucking me off, come inside your mouth. I want you to taste me. You don’t swallow until I say so. Do you understand?” he asks, sliding his cock through your folds to tease you. “Yes Sir, I understand,” you whimper and he wastes no time and pushes inside you.

His first thrust already make your eyes roll back and you feel like you’re going to die from the intense pleasure. Your legs wrap around his waits and your hands are on his back, pressing him even more against your body. Everytime a whimper or a moan escapes your mouth his thrust become deeper, rougher and faster. You can feel him throb inside you and he keeps hitting your g- spot over and over again.

One of his hand is sneaking through your breast, squeezing it and toying with your nipple. You graze his back with your fingernails and make sure to leave marks on him. Your mind goes blank and you lose yourself in the pleasure completely. After a few more thrust you can feel the orgasm building up inside of you. “Close,” you breath out and he nods. “Me too. You can come on my cock now.”

You let go and your orgasm is even more intense than you expected. You moan his name so loud that he quickly covers your mouth with his hand again. He picks up his speed and a few thrusts later he pulls out of you to shove his cock into your mouth. You can feel his cum inside your mouth and taste him, just like he told you to. He watches you closely the whole time while he recovers from his own orgasm.

“Now swallow,” he says and you do. Then he pulls you forward with both of his hands to kiss you. The kiss is different this time, more gentle and caring, not just full of lust. When he pulls back you both smile. “I guess sending you this picture was not bad at all. And I was so worried.” He laughs. “I’m glad you send it, angel. Now I finally have you all to myself. It's a shame I couldn't take more time for you right now. There's a lot more I'd like to do with you,” he says with a mischievous smile on his face. “Why don’t you show me after your office hours, Sir?” you say with a smirk on your face. “Make sure to be here on time, angel.”

[hellyeahscarleteen]

To hear spiteful men leading the richest countries, declaring the hurt they want to do can be overwhelming for young people the world over, most of whom had zero political say in where they now find themselves. However, it's never "over" and we have been around the block, as have the many activists in movements who fought for and won the rights and freedoms the first time round, which are being attacked today. Relationships, intimacy and identity are major themes in our work, and care for those relationships is the very thing that make us stronger and nurtures the radical compassion, joy and hope that allows us to survive through and overcome threats, setbacks and oppression. We're here if you just want to talk, we're here if you want to help make a change and we are here if you are looking for support. The good that can come from taking care of yourselves and those around you knows no bounds which is the reason tyrants try to crush our spirits, and is also why they never can fully succeed.

Jacob Mirzaian

Codirector at Scareleteen.com

If you are struggling with this political moment and the vocal attacks being broadcast against every vulnerable group imaginable and you want somewhere to talk, we are here and you can reach us on our direct services at this link:

You can also read Rebel Well: A Starter Survival Guide To A Trumped America, which has become so obviously relevant once more, here:

[fluentmoviequoter]

Oh, We're Lovers Now?

Requested by Anonymous: friends to lovers with Hal Jordan with accidental kisses

Pairing: Hal Jordan x fem!reader

Summary: After accidentally kissing your friend Hal Jordan, you're saved by Green Lantern and realize that your relationship is special.

Warnings: one trauma joke ab Hal's dad, fluff, reader is injured by a villain that hasn't been in a comic in over a decade, panic attack, many kisses, kind of a 3+1 fic

Word Count: 3.5k+ words

Masterlist | DC/Hal Jordan Masterlist | Request Info

“You’re late,” you muse when you hear your front door open.

“I know,” your best friend Hal replies. “There was a crash at work, and I couldn’t get out on time.”

You stop what you’re doing, drop the wooden spoon from your hand into the bowl, and turn slowly to face Hal. He hides a smile at your reaction; you can tell because his cheek hollows when his tongue presses against it.

“Are you okay?” you inquire.

Hal lets his smile appear as he replies, “I’m sorry.”

“Answer the question, Hal.”

“I’m fine,” he assures you, walking into the kitchen to hold your arms. “Everyone is fine.”

Nodding, you turn away from him and feel his hands slip from you. When you first met Hal, you worried every time he mentioned work. Test flying planes and experimental aircraft is not the safest job in the world, but Hal is good at it. So, over the years, you’ve learned to trust him more. As a result, you worry less. It doesn’t make it any easier to hear about bad things, though, and the thought that it could have been him who crashed clouds your mind.

“What did you do today?” Hal inquires as he shrugs out of his jacket.

“Not much,” you answer. “Cooked a full meal for you and then thought you stood me up, so, the usual.”

Hal rolls his eyes at your teasing, then tosses his jacket onto a nearby chair and returns to your side.

“Thank you,” he says. “And I mean it.”

“Do you not usually?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him.

Hal tilts his chin in thought, then admits, “Depends.”

“Hey when you fly tomorrow, be sure and check the ignition sequence and do the gyro calibrations.”

“Stop trying to talk shop with me,” Hal pleads. “How ‘bout you tell me about how you do your hair or something, anything less painful.”

“You’re just mad because I know more about flux capacitors than you.”

Hal groans, dropping his forehead against your shoulder. You laugh beneath him as you turn the knob on the stove to turn the burner off.

“If you’re done being dramatic, can you grab the plates?” you request.

“Dramatic?!” Hal exclaims. “I have never, not once in my life been dramatic. Not since 1993, at least.”

“Trauma jokes aren’t always funny, Hal,” you chide, “but that one wasn’t bad.”

“I bet you’d laugh at the Flash’s trauma jokes,” Hal murmurs as he reaches over your head to get two plates from your cabinet.

“Hey, I need to go shopping this weekend, wanna come with?” you invite as you serve yourself and Hal.

“As riveting as that sounds, I already have plans,” Hal deadpans.

“Okay, I’ll ask my neighbor to tell me how the jeans fit.”

“On second thought,” Hal interjects, turning toward you with his finger raised.

Shaking your head, you place Hal’s plate by the seat that has become his and sit beside him. He’s your friend, but teasing him about hanging out with other people – other men, specifically – riles him up in a way you can’t resist.

A crash sounds in the distance as you take the first bite of dinner, and within ten seconds, Hal’s phone chimes. He taps the screen, reads the message, and looks up at you with an apology ready.

“Go,” you say, smiling. “I’ll pack up the leftovers if you get off work again any time soon.”

Hal sighs and pushes up from his seat. He leans toward you to kiss your cheek, but you turn toward him at the last minute, expecting him to wish you a sarcastic farewell, and your lips meet. Time freezes, and all you can feel or think of is Hal’s lips against yours. Friends kiss sometimes, right? you think rather than let yourself realize how right it feels.

You exhale and move back, keeping your gaze on Hal’s widened eyes as he clears his throat. His hand is flat against the table and only inches remain between you.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I didn’t know you were-“

“Going for your cheek, yeah,” Hal finishes. “Sorry.”

“Uh, be- be safe, okay?” you stutter. “We’ll talk.”

“Later, yeah, we’ll talk later,” he agrees, walking backward toward the door.

“Hal, wait,” you call.

He stops, and his brows raise as he leans toward you.

“Your jacket,” you remind him, pointing to the back of the chair.

Hal shakes his head and murmurs, “Oh, right,” as he snatches it up. “Bye.”

After he leaves, Green Lantern flies across the sky, and you raise your fingers to your lips, forgetting about dinner.

It was accidental, you remind yourself. Pull it together; he was going for your cheek. Like a friend. Because that’s what you are.

Days after your accidental kiss, you exit your bedroom with one thing on your mind: Justice League-themed breakfast drinks. You aren’t sure why Coast City’s most popular tea and coffee chain decided to create teas and coffees based on superheroes. After scrolling through too many copycat recipes last night, you want to try one.

The television in your living room is on, though you don’t remember leaving the volume on. Shrugging, you enter the kitchen and look through your cabinets to gather ingredients before you open the fridge.

“… A spokesperson says Ferris Aircraft pilot Hal Jordan ejected in time and no one was injured,” a reporter says. “There will be a press conference Friday afternoon regarding the company’s future and the Air Force’s decisions on acquiring the latest Ferris technology.”

You push the fridge closed and look into the living room. Someone moves in the shadow of the television light, and your heart thumps harder in your chest. They move toward the doorway, and you raise a carton of milk as the shadow moves something between their arms.

As he steps into the kitchen, Hal pulls his shirt over his head, then immediately raises his hands in surrender.

“Put the milk down,” he requests slowly.

“What-“ you begin before your eyes drop quickly to Hal’s exposed chest. “You- the-“

“Deep breath,” Hal advises. “Can I finish putting this shirt on without getting hit by that milk?”

You swallow and lift your gaze back to Hal’s face. He smiles and grips the bottom of his shirt to yank it downward.

“You look disappointed,” he muses. “Want me to take it off again?”

“Shut up,” you grumble, setting the milk on the counter. “You didn’t tell me you had to eject from the plane.”

“It was an accident,” he responds. “That’s all.”

“You…” With your eyes on the counter, you say, “You’re a good pilot, Hal. This kind of stuff isn’t supposed to happen to you.”

“It happens to everybody,” he reminds you. “I’m fine, I promise. Now, what are you making?”

Your mind clears, something which occurs often when Hal is around, and you turn toward him. Crossing your arms over your chest, you say, “I don’t think I want to tell you.”

“Ooh,” he breathes out, smiling as he leans against the counter beside you. “It must be embarrassing.”

“You know, you’re missing some really good cartoons, and I think Channel 7 is showing-“

“You think you’re funny,” Hal interrupts, dropping his head against his shoulder.

“I think I’m adorable,” you correct. “And I’m not telling you what I’m making because you’ll make fun of me.”

“Me? Make fun of you? I’d never.” Hal shifts so his weight rests on his hip, propped against the counter, before he adds, “That’s what friends are for.”

“Friends, right,” you murmur, twisting the food coloring package so you can see it.

“Can I have one?” Hal inquires.

“I’m not making them,” you say through a laugh. “Not until you leave. You do still have a home, right?”

Hal looks around, then says, “This place is pretty homey, and I distinctly remember you saying, ‘Make yourself at home, Hally-Wally.’”

You lift one brow and point out, “I have never – and will never – call you Hally-Wally.”

“Let’s make a wager,” Hal announces.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m serious.”

Hal doesn’t say anything else. He looks at you, so you sigh and ask, “What wager?”

“If I win, you make us whatever you're wanting to make. If you win, you get to pick something to call me for a week – appropriate, inappropriate, stupid, whatever you want.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. Wait, what’s the wager? What are we doing to win?”

Hal smiles. “We’re going to fight.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh,” Hal says, moving back as if surprised. “I didn’t realize you were scared.”

“I’m not scared, I just know you’d win.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the confidence, but we have to do something.”

“No, we don’t! You can just go home.” After you say it, you realize you don’t actually know why Hal is in your apartment. Or why he was changing clothes in your living room.

“C’mon,” Hal whispers. “Live a little.”

You sigh and rub the side of your palm gently across your forehead. “Fine. But if I win, you have to take me on another desert drive.”

“Deal,” Hal says, extending his hand.

“And do donuts,” you add.

Hal nods, and you take his hand. After he shakes it once, Hal uses your joined hands to pull you forward. As you fall toward the ground, you grab Hal’s arm with your free hand and bring him down with you. On the floor of your apartment, you move your shoulders, attempting to get out from underneath Hal. You knew before you agreed it would be hard, if not impossible, to defeat Hal in a fight. Granted, it’s not a real fight, and there are no rules, so you move your hand to Hal’s side and dance your fingers along his serratus anterior.

“No,” Hal grunts, jerking sideways.

You roll with him, landing against his side and pushing up onto your elbow. Reaching across his chest, you try to pull his other arm across him, but Hal fights against your movement. He leans away from you so you reach higher. When Hal leans up, planning to hook his leg between yours to flip you once more, his jaw brushes against yours. You stop, and Hal slows. His lips press against the corner of your mouth, and yours are on his cheek because of the angle caused by your failed roughhousing. How you accidentally kissed Hal twice in one week isn’t clear, but the world around you seems to slow.

“Sorry,” you whisper against his cheek.

“My fault,” he answers, unconsciously moving his lips against yours.

You lean back onto your heels and wait for Hal to sit up.

“Call it a draw?” he inquires, reaching forward to straighten your shirt.

“I’ll, uh, I can make the drinks,” you offer. “If you want to stay.”

“Sure,” Hal says with a nod. “And thanks for telling me it’s a drink.”

You stand and walk toward the kitchen. “It’s the Green Lantern latte.”

Hal smiles as he watches you go, wondering if he’d be pressing his luck by asking if you like Green Lantern or are just thirsty.

The Ferris Aircraft cafeteria is never busy. You visit Hal at work a few times a month or so, usually over lunch, and you’ve never seen more than twenty people in the space at one time. Today, you ignore the other people sitting at the wing-shaped tables and watch the door. Hal texted that he was running late and you have a joke ready to go about how much time he spends admiring himself in the mirror.

When the door swings open, however, your smile drops. A large, dark-haired man dressed in a blue and gold overcoat enters the cafeteria with an umbrella hooked over his wrist.

“Live and let live, people!” he yells, cracking his knuckles as he looks around the room. “Anyone in here been struck by lightning?”

No one answers, and the man shakes his head. He points at a Ferris Aircraft employee using his phone beneath the table, and a lightning bolt extends from his pointer finger. The phone sparks before it falls to the floor, and a woman whimpers as she sinks in her seat.

“I suggest you start talking,” the man demands. “If you’re staying quiet to save your life, there is no need. I’m not here for you, I’m here for them.”

He points to the flight control tower and a black storm cloud forms above it.

“What do you want?” someone asks.

“Carl Ferris designed an indestructible fighter jet. I want the prototype.”

“It was destroyed!”

“You really believe that?” he challenges.

The room falls silent, and his jaw tenses. The sky outside darkens, and thunder rumbles loudly, rattling the tables and chairs. Gripping your seat, you watch the man.

“That kind of thing can’t be safe,” you call. “It wouldn’t be easy to find, if it even exists anymore.”

Turning toward you slowly, the man muses, “You seem to know a lot about it.”

“Just-“ you interrupt yourself with a swallow. “Just common sense, I think. It sounds dangerous and there’s so many regulations on military-grade weapons.”

“Then use that common sense to tell me where it might be.”

“I have no idea; I don’t even work here!”

“So, you don’t fly?”

“No.”

The man runs his tongue over his top lip. “I’m Major Disaster. What’s your name?”

You whisper your name, and he walks toward you, leaning against the opposite side of your table.

“Lightning strikes are dangerous. The last one I felt wiped parts of my memory, made it harder to do what I’m good at-“

“Villainy?” someone interjects flatly.

You keep your eyes on Major Disaster, but he turns quickly.

“Green Lantern,” he seethes. “It’s too late. I know what I deserve, and I’m going to take it.”

Green Lantern shrugs, then says, “No, you’re not.”

Major Disaster points to you and says, “She can’t fly.”

“Neither can you, if memory serves,” Green Lantern replies. “Although, I guess yours doesn’t, does it?”

Green Lantern flies out of the way of a sudden lightning bolt. As the sky becomes pitch black outside, several employees run toward the exit and into the hallway.

“I know who you are!” Major Disaster roars.

“You knew who I am, Paul,” Green Lantern replies. “Still just causing chaos. Not quite the life you wanted, huh?”

Major Disaster stops suddenly and turns toward you. You scramble off your seat, but Major Disaster extends his arms toward you, and a strong gust of wind pins you against the wall.

Green Lantern forms a transparent green train and knocks Major Disaster off his feet, but the hurricane-force wind continues to hold you in place.

“You want a plane, you’re going to have to build it yourself,” Green Lantern growls as he kicks Major Disaster to keep him down. “Clear the sky and I’ll let you walk out of here with your dignity.”

Major Disaster laughs and leans against Green Lantern’s foot. “What dignity? How am I supposed to build a plane that stands up to what I can do?”

Green Lantern looks at you and notices that you’re struggling to breathe with increased pressure on your chest. Major Disaster uses his loss of focus to knock Green Lantern off of him and onto one of the tables.

“You can fly, GL,” Major Disaster says, his coat fluttering in his created breeze. “I can fly. She can’t. So, I’ll give you a choice. Help me find my plane, or she takes a little flight.”

“I don’t make deals with psychopaths, Paul,” Green Lantern replies, holding his ringed hand out before him.

Major Disaster clicks his tongue, then sweeps his arms from right to left. The wind holding you in place shifts, and the glass windows shatter before you’re tossed out of them. Carried up on a wind vortex, you scream and wave your hands wildly, attempting to find anything to catch yourself with.

Major Disaster yells as he Green Lantern shoves him into the concrete runway, then silences. He loses consciousness, and his weather clears. The sky shines a bright blue, the clouds fade over the horizon, and the wind holding you up calms in a single breath. Suddenly, your yells of fear turn to a continuous, terrified scream as you freefall toward the earth. Your head spins as your chest heaves, though your lungs feel completely devoid of oxygen. Closing your eyes, you anticipate you’ll never open them again, but warm arms wrap around you, and you stop. You move quickly, pressing one hand against the firm chest you’re being held against.

Opening your eyes, you see Green Lantern holding you and lowering slowly toward the ground. Your breaths remain short and uneven, and when he drops one arm to set you on the ground, you cling to Green Lantern like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded – literally and figuratively.

“Hey,” he murmurs, keeping one hand around your waist as the other moves to the back of your head. “Uh, miss? Take a deep breath.”

“He- I-“ you stutter before struggling to take another breath.

“C’mon, focus, breathe with me,” he encourages.

You shake your head, too panicked to even consider watching his breaths to imitate them, and he tightens his grip on you.

Without much thought, he pulls you against him. Green Lantern kisses you, and with your lips pressed firmly to his, you forget about the fear and the panic and freeze at the sudden attention.

He pulls back almost immediately, apologizes, asks if you’re okay, waits for you to nod, and then flies away. You turn, panting for breath, and watch the green streak fade into the blue sky.

“Hal Jordan,” you whisper before you run toward the approaching police cars.

Hal paces on a rooftop, tapping his fist against his forehead as he thinks. He replays the kiss, sees the look in your eyes again, and berates himself for ruining everything. You froze when Hal kissed you because he overstepped and didn’t think. He was running on adrenaline, relieved that he caught you and needed you to breathe, but there were other ways to deal with all of those things. It wasn’t an intentional kiss, even if the feelings behind it were.

“Stop accidentally kissing your friends, Hal,” he tells himself. “Friend! Singular. Don’t make this a habit or Barry will never let you live it down.”

Hal’s ring grows brighter, and he sighs before he follows its beckoning call.

“Green Lantern!”

Hal turns away from his incapacitated foe and says, “I’m sorry.”

You don’t reply, running toward him. He apologizes again as you near him, but you remain silent. When you reach him, you slide your hands up his chest and onto his shoulders. He holds your waist and watches you.

“Are you-“ he begins.

You kiss Hal, interrupting his question and changing everything. It’s not the first time you’ve kissed him, but it’s the first time you’ve meant it and done it on purpose to show him how you feel. Hal is your friend, but you’ve felt more for years, and after kissing Green Lantern today and feeling the emotions behind how he touched you, you’re sure this is the right thing to do.

The accidental kisses made the world still but this kiss is different. Hal raises one hand to your cheek, moving with you as the world shatters. You only know Hal in this moment, and he is all you will ever want or need.

Hal pulls back and rests his forehead against yours. His thumb brushes over your cheek, and for once in his life, Hal stays quiet.

“Let’s make a wager,” you whisper.

“You already know my secret identity, what could we possibly bet?”

“I think there’s a lot more options now that we aren’t friends who kiss on accident.”

“Oh, we’re lovers now?” he jokes.

“I do have a crush on Green Lantern,” you reply with a smile.

“He might like you, too.”

“Might?!” you repeat incredulously. “That’s how it is?”

Hal shrugs, and a green light flashes on your wrist before a charm bracelet appears. The links are decorated with little planes, green gems, coffee cups, and a heart.

“That’s how it is,” he says.

“What now?”

Hal smiles and holds you against his side as he pushes off the ground and shoots upward into the sky. You wrap your arms around him tightly, focusing on Hal rather than Coast City growing smaller beneath you.

Hal lands in the desert, where his car is parked, and his suit disappears.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he announces. “Again.”

“On accident?” you ask, stepping toward the car. “Because I was wrongly distracted when we were fighting for drifting in the sand.”

Hal disappears, and you raise your brows before you feel him standing behind you. He puts his hand on your waist and turns you to face him before he kisses you again.

Bonus:

“Wait, you’ve been Green Lantern this whole time?!” you ask, stepping back from Hal.

“Not the whole time,” he replies, his brows pinching.

“I was worried about you crashing a plane, but you can fly,” you accuse, pushing both hands against his chest.

Hal catches your wrists and points out, “I was worried about you crashing too. Call it even?”

“Not a chance.”

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - Chapter 6

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 1200

Masterlist

———————————————————————

It was late on that Tuesday night. Past 10 p.m. Alexia and I were going over the final preparations for Thursday’s event. Many guests had confirmed, much to our delight. We were expecting over 200 people, which meant we’d need to reorganize the office for the evening.  

The only downside, on Alexia's end, was that the Mayor hadn't confirmed her attendance. At least, it was assumed she wouldn't be coming, as she hadn't deigned to reply to my message, simply sending an email to schedule a Friday meeting at the construction site, saying she wasn’t available before then. Not a word about the invitation. This didn’t bother me. Her presence always made me uneasy, and I didn’t like that feeling.

At 10:40 p.m., my phone buzzed. A new notification. An email.

"Good evening, 

I’ll be attending your event on Thursday, accompanied, at 8 p.m. I won’t stay long.

Lucy."

Stunned, I read the email several times. That curt tone—there was no mistaking it, it was classic Lucy. Alexia looked at me in surprise and asked what was going on.

"The dragon is coming. Tomorrow at 8 p.m.!"

Alexia shrieked and jumped into my arms.

“You’re the best! We’ll call the press tomorrow!”

“I don’t think she’s coming because of me! She’s bringing someone … but who?”

"Her husband!"

I had forgotten she was married. I had never met her husband, and she had never mentioned him.

"Alexia, there’s a problem. Philou is very likely to be there, and she doesn’t know. I might need to let her know…"

Philippe was the opposition leader from the last rather heated election. To say they didn’t get along was an understatement.

"No, no, no! Just tell her we’re expecting her! They’re adults! And with so many people there, they don’t have to cross paths. Everything will be fine!"

I didn’t quite share her optimism.  

I sat down at my keyboard.

Good evening, Lucy,

We’re delighted you’ll be attending! (Hypocrisy x1)  

We eagerly await your arrival. (Hypocrisy x2)

Best regards,  

Ona

---

Thursday, 8:30 p.m., the party was in full swing. I wore a black dress for the occasion, both classy and sexy, hugging my curves. My long blonde hair was up, and I wore high heels, which was rare for me.  

The guests moved between the cocktail bar and the hors d’oeuvres. A band, friends of Alexia’s, was playing. We had completely rearranged the space, with an exhibition of our work from the past year, along with paintings by local artists. The effect was fabulous. The evening was starting perfectly, and I moved from guest to guest, smiling as the alcohol began to flow through my veins. Alexia was nearby, looking a bit tense, her eyes darting toward the entrance, watching for the Mayor, who still hadn’t arrived. Would she come? The thought barely crossed my mind.

Suddenly, the chatter died down, and heads turned toward the large entrance door. Lucy had just entered, accompanied by a tall, gray-haired man—her husband, presumably.  

She looked stunning, in a royal blue dress that fit her perfectly. She didn’t look 42 at all. I was captivated, taking in the curves of her body, her lips, her gaze… She radiated. She greeted many people with a broad smile, shook plenty of hands, then made her way toward us, still wearing that rare smile when she looked at me.

“Good evening! Thank you for the invitation! May I introduce my husband, Paul.”

Tall, commanding, he greeted us politely.

“Good evening, Madame Bronze,” Alexia said eagerly, as usual, going a bit overboard. “And this is my partner…”

“And the mother of your future child, I presume?” she teased, laughing. So, the dragon had a sense of humor. “Congratulations, by the way.”

Then she turned to me, her piercing blue eyes holding mine.

“Good evening. So, uh… This is my friend, Alessia is…”

“A surgeon?” she cut in instantly, with a mischievous look that only I noticed.

We took some photos for the press, and as the conversation turned to the hospital expansion, I stepped away from the group.

I needed to catch my breath, to clear my head. Her arrival, her gaze—I knew now. I desired her as much as I couldn’t stand her. It was a raw, physical desire. I had to regain control of myself; I didn’t like the effect she had on me. Calm down, Ona, calm down.

I went to chat with a few guests, then moved to the music area and began to dance. Alessia joined me, and soon, we were kissing. The alcohol was rushing through my veins, I was euphoric.

At 11 p.m., the guests started leaving, one by one. I hadn’t seen Lucy again; she must have left much earlier. My head was spinning from the alcohol. I decided to go outside to the large terrace for a cigarette.

I lit my cigarette when I was surprised by a voice.

“You smoke?”

It was Lucy.  

“You smoke?” I replied, noticing the cigarette between her fingers.

She smiled and stepped closer. Silence settled between us, which I decided to break.

“I thought you’d left long ago!”

“No, what can I say, you get caught up talking, and time flies. Plus, the cocktails are really quite good.”

Her eyes were sparkling; she must have had more than one cocktail, I thought with amusement.

“And your husband?”

“He went home. He has to take the twins early tomorrow for a school trip.”

The twins? My mind was hazy. Ah yes, Alexia had mentioned she had 16-year-old twins.

To my surprise, she asked:

“How long have you been with that Alessia?”

It was the first time she’d ever asked me something personal.

“We’re not together anymore, well, not really… We keep in touch, and…”

I was rambling, digging myself deeper. She reached for my forearm, and her touch gave me goosebumps.

“I see, I see. And have you always liked women?”

Her question caught me off guard. We had gone from talking about work to “tell me about your coming out.”

“More or less. I dated a few guys, but nothing serious. I’ve known I liked women since I was 20.”

I continued, now looking directly at her.

“And you’ve always liked men?”

I smiled broadly, meeting her intense blue gaze. I needed to calm down. The alcohol was loosening me up a bit too much.

“Well, that’s something Madame Mayor cannot disclose! Private life!”

She smiled back, holding my gaze. Neither of us wanted to look away. It was like a standoff.  

This time, I reached for her forearm, leaned a little closer, and murmured.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to find out…”

Get a grip, Ona! You’re going too far. She looked at me, seemingly amused.

Our exchange was suddenly interrupted by a man stumbling toward us, shouting incoherently.  

I recognized him. It was Philippe, visibly drunk, a glass in hand.

“Well, The Mayor! Great to see you here!”

He staggered, completely inebriated, and I tried to push him back. Lucy’s face showed concern.

“You’re a bastard, M’am! An old hag spouting lies about me! Scum! Bitch!”

He was yelling now, and all the remaining guests had turned their attention to us. It was a nightmare.  

As Lucy tried to pull away, he threw his drink in her face and attempted to grab her arm. Covered in mojito, Lucy shot a glare at Philippe, then at me. I held Philippe back, trying to apologize to her.  

But it was too late. She had turned on her heel, striding toward the exit under Alexia’s astonished gaze, and slammed the door.

A complete disaster.

[kk-cats]

i think i should stop posting before i worry people or annoy people

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting invites four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, the competition is won.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. End. Words: 1,762. Rating: all audiences.)

Chapter 50: Wanted

It was hard to overstate how impossible it was to marry Trevelyan off. A mage of such little accomplishment, and such signifcant unimportance, she had always been unwanted.

And thank the Maker for it.

For had she not been so magnificently undesirable, Trevelyan would have none of what she had now: a home; an occupation; a hope, for her future.

And she would certainly not be preparing to tell Cullen that she cared for him.

But she was. Within the sanctuary of her room, she readied. Her hair was tidied into place, her dress selected and draped over her body. In the little looking-glass upon her dresser, she inspected herself for the thousandth time.

Caught, within her reflection, were the golden rays of a setting sun, filtering through her window to herald the arrival of the evening hour. The moment had come.

Trevelyan begged the trinkets upon her desk to bring her luck. Beside her book of astronomy and a neatly-folded napkin, lay an onyx-encrusted Orlesian mask, a ribbon of pink chiffon, and a little wooden chess piece. Reminders.

They’d be proud of her. They would support her.

(They’d want the gossip after.)

Smiling, emboldened by their memory, Trevelyan found the courage to leave the room.

The corridors of the castle beyond carried on as if normal, blissfully unaware of what transpired within her mind. No soul she passed could tell how extensively it practiced the words she’d practiced all night and all morn:

Cullen, I care for you.

Such a simplification. Those few words alone could not tell of how every time she heard his voice, her ears did warm. Of how every time he smiled in her direction, her eyes could not bear the sight. Of how every time their fingers brushed, her body gnawed itself from within.

But that was perhaps a lot to say, so the simplified version would have to do.

Yet words fell away, as she reached his tower. Skyhold came to a hush, breath and breeze the only sounds. The drum-beat of her heart quaked through the valley. Evening sun cowered below the horizon. Mountains watched, in anticipation.

Ancient, gnarled wood stood between them. A door Trevelyan feared to open. She raised her hand to knock.

The door opened anyway.

A startled messenger appeared on the other side. With a hasty, “Sorry, ma’am,” they hurried past, and left her to the room beyond. Trevelyan shook the concern of their business from her mind, and peered inside.

Cullen’s office was warm, inviting. Candles flickered in every corner, an intimacy radiated by their glow. His desk had been cleared of its usual clutter, place settings prepared on either side. A chair waited, for her to take it.

Cullen already occupied another. But his mood did not match that of the room. He leant hard upon his hands, eyes shut firm. Only when her foot crossed the threshold, did he look up.

“Arcanist,” he greeted, solemnly rising from his seat. “Are you well?”

“I am,” Trevelyan confessed. “And—you?”

Cullen shook his head. “I am afraid I can’t stay.”

“What?”

He made his way around the table, hand trailing its prefectly-prepared surface. “We’ve received word, from the Champion—the Grey Wardens have been corrupted. The Inquisitor has called the War Council. We may be at war with Adamant.”

Everything Trevelyan had been worried for mere minutes ago now paled. Though words could hurt, the theatre of battle could kill. And a general must ride with his army.

“How soon will you march?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

“...At dawn.”

Breath spilled from her lungs. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no—it’s… I understand. It cannot be helped.”

The Maker had a wicked sense of humour. Truly, at last, urgent business did call him away. Yet it was this. Yet it was now.

“You can stay, if you like,” he offered, as if a concession. “You may eat—I can still have the food brought.”

“What about you?” Trevelyan asked. She meant it more ways than one.

So did he: “I’ll be all right.”

His hand almost reached for her, but any attempts at gestures or reassurances died in place. Though the ache upon his face told the story of a man who wished to do something to fix this, there was, in truth, nothing to be done.

“I’ll try and see you before I depart,” he told her, his only consolation.

“Thank you,” she said.

Little more to do or say, he retreated from her side. Though she could feel his lingering gaze, linger he did not. The War Council beckoned.

“Wait—”

She said it before she’d even had chance to contemplate what came next. Cullen halted at the door. Anticipating.

“Arcanist?”

Trevelyan resolved herself. She would not have this moment taken from her. She would not allow him to leave, to march off to battle, for Maker-knows-what to happen—not without first knowing this:

“Cullen, I care for you.”

The candles flickered. Cullen’s fingers slipped from the door handle. His voice was but a whisper:

“You… even after everything..?”

Even after everything. “I thought you should know.”

The door was abandoned; he padded towards her. “Are you certain?”

“I am,” she said. He drew in close. She asked, “Do you..?”

“I do,” he murmured, “also. Care for—care for you, I mean. As well.”

Trevelyan’s breath caught. Maker, let this be real. Let this not be a dream. Let her not have imagined this.

Yet here he was, before her. She hadn’t imagined it. She hadn’t imagined any of it. The pining looks, the accidental touches, the hopeful invitations—they had all been meant. And they had all been meant for her.

Cullen whispered, “I didn’t think, after all that’s happened, that you would…”

“I do,” she reassured him, “I do.”

His anxious face softened to a smile, the warmth of it flushing Trevelyan’s cheeks. Quite unable to meet his eye, she settled instead upon that smile. And the lips that formed it.

Cullen must have noticed, for he cleared his throat, and withdrew.

“I should... get to the War Council,” he told her, guilt strung throughout his voice. “But, we could talk, later?”

“Yes,” Trevelyan agreed, wholeheartedly, “please.”

“Good”—reluctant, he took a step from her—“good.”

Her eyes did not leave him, as strode for the door. Nor did his leave her, even as he opened it. And though his hand remained upon the handle, his feet hesitant to pass the threshold—with one last smile, he slipped on through.

And was gone.

Yet in Trevelyan’s mind, he remained; for within, she replayed the moment over and over and over. He cared for her. Maker, he cared for her. Weeks ago, she would not have wished to hear such a thing—but now, it was all she wished to hear. He cared for her! And she—

The door slammed open. Trevelyan had little time to express her surprise—as Cullen marched back in, took her by the waist, and asked:

“I… May I—?”

She kissed him.

Their lips met as if shaped for one another, as if sculpted by the same godly hand. His, warm and wetted, were as tender in their touch as the man to whom they belonged. There was a tangible distinction, between their caress and that of his scar, and there was an irreplacable intimacy in the knowledge of it. She did not know how she would bear it.

But bear it she would, for the kiss was worth it. No sensation in all of Thedas could compare to the sensation of him. To have the barriers between them burnt to ash; to feel the fire within him intertwine with her own; to succumb and melt into his form. There was nothing so perfect.

When at last he withdrew, her eyes opened. She had not realised they were closed.

“That was… really nice,” Cullen murmured, himself too dazed for grander description.

“Just one,” Trevelyan whispered, “or more?”

“More,” he replied.

Their lips connected again, and the sensation was no less divine the second time. Nor the third. Nor the fourth.

It was sweet, slow, satiating. Her curiosity to know the touch of his lips had long become a hunger which only they could satisfy. Dinner was unnecessary. His was a nectar she could sup on for eternity.

If only they had that eternity. But into their next kiss, she murmured:

“Shouldn’t you be on your way to the War Council?”

His reply was spoken upon her lips: “In a moment.”

Trevelyan had no objection. She would fight the war herself, for a moment more of this. But she wasn’t the one who had to.

“Cullen—”

He kissed her again, as if to stop her from saying it.

“Cullen...”

One more—and he finally relented:

“All right.”

Though their lips parted, their foreheads remained as one, each rested gently upon the other.

“You cannot forsake your duty,” she warned.

But the tip of his nose still trailed her skin, as if in search of another kiss: “Don’t tempt me.”

She stroked his hair back into place. “So you do find me tempting?”

He caught her hand, and brought it to his lips. “Naturally,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the centre of her palm. Trevelyan curled her fingers around it, and kept it safe within.

“The stars are out tonight,” she told him.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll see you there.”

“Yes.”

She leant in, to leave a final kiss upon his cheek; but felt his stubble graze her skin, as he turned and caught her by the mouth one last time.

It was only when he began to linger that Trevelyan did object.

“Cullen,” she whispered.

His lips withdrew, his body parted. The loss of his warmth and pressure left a chasm; the reluctance and hesitation of it was shared between them. Their hands remained intertwined until the last—until he took one step too many, and his fingers slipped away.

“Farewell,” he told her.

“Another time,” she replied.

One last look, one last smile, and he left the room. For good, this time.

Trevelyan collapsed against his desk. Her fingers traced the path of his lips, across her own, onto her skin, burning the memory into her mind, so that it would never leave her.

A feeling welled within her chest, entirely unfamiliar. But as she wiped the first, joyful tears from her cheek, she recognised it.

Wanted. Finally, wanted.

[martian-martian-martian]

theres nothing better after a long day of actually pertinent real life responsibilities than relaxing online with a nice, familiar fandom flame war.

apparently believing canon shouldnt be completely actively ignored, especially to the detriment of BIPOC representation, for the sake of a cringe ship is a controversial take.

i dont know what i expected, its always the same people actually. they tend to swarm to the same shit, just different fandoms.

im not saying i presume every vaultghoul person is a racist creep… i just probably need proof lmao.

because rn yall look like basic bitches who find it very convenient to push characters of color completely out of the way and pretend they don’t exist. 🤷🏻‍♀️

[woundedheartwithin]

Something y’all need to know about me is, if I message you or tag you or send you an ask or comment or address you in the tags, I am NOT expecting an answer! Not ever, and I mean that. I will not get upset if you never reply to it, and this is for two reasons:

1. I know intimately how stressful and scary and exhausting notifications can be, especially when you’re not feeling so great mentally/physically/emotionally, and I will automatically assume this is the case if I don’t get a reply, even if I see you actively posting on my dash

2. I have already forgotten that I sent you something

[sakkac]

for now i only logged in to post my thots on <3 19th life <3 but i’ll try to remember to check other stuff on tumblr later orz

[acid-ixx]

ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

otherwise, i can't add anymore to my taglist so taglist requests are closed!

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[alexanderwales]

"I don't think I could have the relationship with you that you have with me," she said. She was very casual about it, and I was immediately on the defensive.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked.

She put the book she'd been reading down. "It's just, the way you've described it, and the vibe that I get, I don't think I could do it how you do it."

"I still don't know what that means," I said.

"You're always doing this like ... micro calculation thing," she said. "You weigh your words. You try to time things. You have never once called me up while I was at work, or asked me for something when it was inconvenient for me, and you check and double check that you're not being a nuisance."

"And ... that's bad?" I asked.

"No, I love that about you," she said. "It's very kind and considerate. I know that if I tell you I'm not in the mood to hang out, you'll apologize and not push it. If you suggest that we get pizza and I say I'd rather have Korean BBQ, you fold instantly and we get Korean BBQ. I like that. I get the things I want. But it seems like an exhausting way to deal with people."

"I want you to be happy," I said with a small voice.

"I am happy," she replied. "You're great. You remember when we first got together I was like 'hey, look, if you want pizza, we can get pizza, it's just not what I'm in the mood for', and you kept insisting that you didn't care, that you would rather have me follow my needs? And I just thought, 'you know, maybe I should just trust that's what they actually feel'. And it is, as far as I can tell. There's not some secret part of you that wants me to break your way."

"You think I'm ... a simpering coward?" I asked. Even as I said it, it felt too accusatory, the wrong thing to say in the situation.

"Whoa, no, not at all," she laughed. "I think you do all that stuff because ... I don't know, you want to? Because otherwise why would you do it? It's how you are with every aspect of your life, you're a tryhard. I mean you said to me that you wanted to reclaim the term. Your relationship with me is that you're a tryhard (affectionate)."

"And you're ... not?" I asked.

"I'm not that way with anyone," she replied. "You know why I hang out with you so much? It's 'cause I like you. Most days, I am very much in the mood for you, and if you ask for a meetup, I'll say yes, and if you don't ask for one, then I'll ask you first. And for you ..."

"What?" I asked.

"It's like ... you're keeping track," she said. "You want to make sure that you're not sending me more messages than I'm sending you. You're balancing social micro stuff that I don't pay attention to. You're consciously monitoring how much each of us has said and making sure it's the right number of words or whatever."

"It's really not about the number of words," I replied. "It's more ... making sure that social and emotional labor is equitable, that there's a good rhythm to the conversation. I don't think you'd get good results by tracking word count."

"But see, I don't do any of that," she said. "I talk because I feel like talking. I listen when you need to vent because I like you and it feels good to give you an outlet. I mean you are undoubtedly putting in a bunch of work, and for me, there's no work. That's all I meant, really."

"You've thought about it," I said.

"Oh, I'm just reading this book, and there are two characters like us in it, and I was like 'yes, exactly', and then 'that would not work for me'." She shrugged.

"And if I stopped 'putting in the work'?" I asked. "Would we still be ... friends?"

"See, I don't know," she said. "Because that's never who you've been. You're asking me if I would still be friends with you if you changed your personality and how we interact with each other. Maybe? Probably? Who knows? Maybe we'd be better friends somehow. Maybe we're just two basically compatible people, and every time you've ever worried about anything it would actually have been completely fine."

"Or maybe it's load-bearing," I said.

"Maybe!" she replied with a smile that slowly faded. "You okay?"

"I'm thinking," I said. I didn't know if I could verbalize what I was thinking in a way that would be palatable.

"Do you not like being this way with me?" she asked. "Because I have never asked you to. I've made my preferences known, but if you've been bending yourself into knots and feeling a burden, then ..."

"No," I said, because I knew it was what she wanted to hear. "No, I like the way things are between us."

"Good," she smiled. "I do too."

[agxxb]

Prettier Than a Star (pt2) .𖥔 ݁ ˖

rafe cameron x f!reader

summary: after you and rafe hooked up, he couldn’t stop thinking about you… good thing you couldn’t get him out of your mind either.

warnings: smut. fluff. rafe is a sweetheart & lowkey whipped for reader. possessive!rafe. unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), vaginal fingering. use of pet names (baby, babe, sweetheart). praise. best friend’s brother. one mention of y/n. [3k]

read part one here!

Rafe had spent the past few days thinking about you. He couldn’t get you out of his head, couldn’t stop thinking about the way you looked, the way you felt, the way you sounded. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face, every time he touched his skin, he felt your hands.

But it wasn’t just lust. He tried to ignore it, tried to tell himself that it was just a fling, that it was nothing more than physical, but there was something about you that he just couldn’t get out of his head, that he couldn’t shake off.

He had tried to stay away, to put some distance between you, but he couldn’t get you out of his mind. You were like a drug: addictive, intoxicating, all-consuming — and he needed another hit. He tried to distract himself, tried to keep himself busy, but it was no use. You were under his skin, invading his thoughts, making him feel things he didn't even know he could feel. He had never felt this way about anyone before, a need so intense it was like you were a narcotic.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Sarah asked her brother as she entered the kitchen, heading towards the fridge to grab a cold bottle of water.

Her voice startled Rafe, the boy looking up from his laptop with wide eyes. He relaxed after seeing who it was, scowling and moving his attention back to the bright screen in front of him.

“Nothin’,” he muttered gruffly, but the tension in his body betrayed him, his jaw tight.

He didn't want to talk, didn't want to explain why he was in such a bad mood, because she still didn’t know about what had happened between the both of you. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to appear indifferent, but he couldn't hide his irritability.

Sarah knew not to push Rafe’s buttons, knowing she could be on the receiving end if he snapped, but she also knew him well enough to know that ‘nothing’ was almost always something. She simply hummed in response, taking a sip of her water and looking at him over the bottle.

Rafe shot his sister a glare, his irritation growing. "I'm not in the mood for your bullshit."

Before Sarah could reply, his phone buzzed. Glancing down at the device, his finger hovered over the new message.

𝙉𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪. 𝘽𝙚 𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙚𝙣?

Rafe’s eyes widened once again, though this time it was in surprise. He hadn’t expected to hear from you, let alone receive a message asking to meet up. He clicked on the notification, thumbs tapping away at the screen as he quickly wrote out a reply and sent it.

Shutting his laptop – and not bothering to turn it off – he stood from his place at the kitchen island and put his phone in the front pocket of his jeans.

Rafe's reaction to the text message did not go unnoticed by Sarah, she couldn't help but feel intrigued, tilting her head slightly in curiosity. "Who was that?"

“None of your business,” he said, tone somewhat harsh. However, he knew that was a lie. With you being her best friend, Sarah had every right to know… but he couldn’t tell her.

Your hands shook as you typed out the message. You hadn’t stopped thinking about Rafe since his party: the way he looked, the way he felt, the way he sounded… You knew you shouldn’t be feeling the way you did, but you couldn’t help it — and that only added to the guilt you felt.

Your heart raced as you awaited his response. You couldn't shake the feeling that clawed at hour stomach, couldn't ignore the little voice in your head telling you that what you was doing was wrong. The guilt you felt when you thought about Sarah, his sister, your best friend, only made everything worse. You knew that you were crossing a line that you shouldn’t, that you were betraying her, but you couldn’t help it.

You felt something for him, and you needed to know if it was reciprocated.

A few moments went by without any word from him, and you began to regret sending the message. Just as you went to delete it, your phone dinged — a new message. You picked it up, seeing Rafe’s name on your screen with his response below it.

𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙣.

When you read his reply, a flutter of excitement washed over you, and you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth. You put your phone down and took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. You knew you should be feeling penitent, but all you could feel was excitement at the prospect of seeing him again.

Ten minutes felt like ten hours as you waited anxiously, tapping your fingers against your thigh out of habit. You didn’t know what to expect, what to say, how to act, but you knew that you needed to see him, needed to talk to him.

About fifteen minutes went by before you heard a knock at your door, your heart leaping into your throat. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and stood up slowly. Every step you took towards the door felt like an eternity, your legs feeling weak, your knees like jelly. You reached for the handle, taking a deep breath before opening the door.

You could feel the tension in the air, the electricity between you. For a moment, neither of you said anything, you just stood there, looking at each other. Finally, he spoke up, breaking the silence.

"Hey.” His voice was low and rough, though simultaneously soft and affectionate.

"Hi," you replied, doing your best to keep your voice steady. "Come in."

Rafe gave you a small smile as he stepped through the doorway, his body moving with confident grace. You closed the door behind him, feeling his presence fill the small space, consuming you completely.

He stood there with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders relaxed, expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything, just watched you with an intensity that made your heart race.

You lead him up to your bedroom, not wanting a million and one questions if your parents ended up coming back whilst he was at yours. As soon as you walked through the door, he closed it behind him, almost trapping you in with him. The space suddenly felt small and intimate, filled with the tension that crackled between you.

You walked over to sit on your bed, watching him glance around your bedroom. It was the first time a boy had ever seen your room, and you were somehow comfortable with it, despite knowing your parents would freak out.

Rafe took in every detail of your room: the soft, floral-patterned duvet on the bed, the fluffy pillows, the framed photos of you and your family… He couldn’t explain the feeling in his chest as he looked around, a strange mixture of possessiveness and belonging.

“It’s very you,” he said as he turned around, his gaze finally landing on you, sitting on the bed, your legs crossed in front of you. A small smile found home on his lips as he spoke, and you blushed a little at his words, his observation.

"You think so?" you asked, your voice soft as your eyes met his. You couldn’t help but return the gesture, a gentle smile of your own curving your lips. Rafe nodded, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans to keep himself from reaching out and touching you.

He walked over to you, sitting down on the side of the bed, in front of you. He took a deep breath before he spoke. "Why’d you ask me to come over?"

The question he ask brought back the nervousness you were feeling earlier, and you hesitated for a moment before responding. "I… I needed to talk to you," you said, your voice quiet but steady.

“So talk.”

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. You’d wanted to talk to him, but now that he was here, sitting in front of you, waiting for you to say something, you felt a little unsure of yourself.

“I think…” you began, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. You took another deep breath before your rambling started. “I think I like you. Well, I’m pretty sure I do, but I’m scared because I overthink a lot. I can’t stop thinking about how I’m basically betraying Sarah and if you didn’t feel the same way, I could ruin two friendships that I really cherish all because I-”

Before you could continue, you felt his lips on yours, cutting off your endless string of words.

Rafe had watched as you rambled, his expression softening ever so slightly. He had expected a lot of things when you asked him to come over, but admitting to liking him hadn’t been one of them.

The moment his lips touched yours, all your thoughts vanished, replaced by the intense sensations flooding through you. You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, all you could do was feel. His palms were against your cheek, his thumbs gently stroking your jaw, whilst your hands found their place on his wrists.

He pulled away just enough to speak, his voice a rough whisper. “You need to stop talking, babe.” The nickname, coupled with his gravelly voice and intense gaze, sent a shiver of pleasure through your body. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the party.”

His eyes were full of affection as he looked at you, a gentle smile on his face that held nothing but adoration. He ran his fingers along your jawline, tracing your features like they were delicate, something to be treasured.

“Really?” you asked, voice but a whisper and laced with surprise and curiosity.

Rafe slowly dragged his thumb over your lower lip, his touch gentle. “You’ve got no idea what you’ve been doing to me,” he said, voice softer than you had ever heard it. “Can’t think straight when I’m around you. Can’t concentrate on anything else but you.”

Your made him feel strangely vulnerable, a feeling he wasn't used to, but at the same time, he found that he didn't mind it that much. He was so used to being used, being treated like a prize to be won or an accessory to be flaunted. But now, with you, he found that he actually wanted more than just a meaningless fling.bHe didn't know how to handle these new feelings, but one thing was sure — he wasn't going to mess it up.

You suddenly leaned down and captured his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. You didn’t verbally agree on what this meant for you both, but you didn’t need to. You deserved so much more than someone like him, but he wanted you, and he didn't want to let you go.

Rafe Cameron wanted to be selfish — an action he was used to.

He moaned against your mouth, one of his hands leaving your face and moving down to your waist, gently squeezing. His body twisted round slightly, his front now facing you as he leaned closer to you and deepening the kiss.

The sound of his moan sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt a sense of pride that you could make him feel something. His hand on your waist was firm, almost possessive as he squeezed, the heat of his body seeping through your clothes.

His tongue ran along your lower lip, silently asking for access, and you parted your lips for him, allowing him to explore your mouth. The kiss grew more urgent, more desperate, and you soon found yourself with your head on your pillow, Rafe hovering above you.

Rafe groaned against your lips as your leg brushed against his hardening cock, the feeling sending a jolt of pleasure through his body. He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire as he looked down at you, his voice low and guttural as he spoke. "You feel that? You feel what you do to me?"

Rafe’s lips trailed down over your jawline, down to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and small love bites as he went. “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled, breath hot against her skin. “And I’d tell you every day… if you’ll have me.”

You nodded, filled with emotion at his sweet way of asking. “Every day sounds good to me.” Placing your hands against his cheeks and bringing his face back to yours, you captured his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. You let out a soft moan against Rafe’s lips.

He loved the sounds that escaped your lips and the way you arched into his touch. It fueled his desire for you even more, knowing that he was the one making you feel this way.

He kisses across your cheek before he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips trailing kisses down your sensitive flesh, his free hand roaming down your body. You giggled as he did so, bringing your hands up to rest on his back. "That tickles!"

He continued his assault on your neck, his lips leaving a trail of kisses and love bites across your sensitive skin. A low, gravelly chuckle vibrated from his throat as he heard you giggle, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah?" he murmured, his rough, deep voice low in your ear as his lips moved to another sensitive spot, his tongue darting out to tease your skin.

Your giggles turned into a soft moan, your eyes closing as you relished in the pleasure Rafe was giving you. He licked and sucked on you skin, leaving his mark on your neck — letting every one know who you belong to: Rafe Cameron.

Rafe lowered his hand from your waist, his fingers working deftly against the buttons of your shirts before his hand reached in. You moaned as his thumb came into contact with your puffy clit, biting your lip as your head tilted back.

Rafe moved away from your neck, eyes flickering down your lips. “Nuh uh, Sweetheart. Wanna hear you.” You let your lip go, letting it bounce softly back into place. “Good girl.”

Your eyes rolled back when you felt two of his fingers enter you, stretching you out. You were so wet, they slid in easily, not a sting of pain in sight. “Fuck!” you moaned when he curled them, his fingertips rubbing against that spot inside you.

Rafe suddenly reached up and cupped your face in one hand, his thumb stroking gently over your cheek, "Look at me,” he ordered, though his voice held no bitterness. You did as was told, looking up into his blue eyes whilst yours watered in pleasured. “That’s it, baby. Feel good?”

“So good,” you whispered, hand squeezing his bicep.

Rafe’s movements suddenly stopped and you whined in disappointment. “When I ask you a question, I expect to hear the answer.”

“Feels so good, Rafe,” you spoke louder, a moan quickly following as he started fucking you with his fingers. “So fucking good…”

“You belong to me,” Rafe mumbled, seemingly to himself despite also talking to you. He wasn't used to ever being possessive, especially over a person, but the thought of you belonging to anyone else pissed him off. “Say it. Say you belong to me.”

“I belong to you, Rafe,” you cried out, looking up at the man above you and his fingers moved faster. “I’m yours.”

“Damn fucking right you are.”

Rafe suddenly removed his fingers and got off your bed to unbuckle his belt. The clanging caught your attention, and your mouth watered as you watched him pull it from the loops of his jeans — which were next to leave, his shirt following after.

He crawled back over you, claiming your mouth with his as he kissed you deeply. His hand moved to your bottoms, hooking his fingers on the edge and pulling both your shorts and underwear down at the same time. He pressed his forehead to yours. “You want this?”

“So badly,” you begged, nodding against him. Your hands came back up to his back — touching the bare skin this time. “Please, baby.”

"Yeah?” Rafe placed his hands on your stomach, pushing your top up as his hands went higher. He cupped your tits, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. You nodded again, reaching a hand down to stroke his cock, thumb rubbing over the head to collect the pre-cum. His eyes fluttered closed, a moan leaving him. “Fuck.”

He gently slapped your hand away, replacing it with his own and guiding himself to your entrance. Your eyes rolled back when he pushed forward, sinking into your warmth. Your nails dug into his biceps as he pulled back, only to thrust back into you.

“Damn," he groaned. "You feel so good, baby. So damn good.” He rested his forehead on yours again, watching himself disappear into you with every movement of his hips, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he felt you, all of you.

One of his hands moved to your throat, adding just enough pressure — the way you like. “Just like that,” you moaned, your legs wrapped around his waist so he could go deeper, ankles crossed at his lower back.

Rafe wanted to see your face while he was inside you, wanted to see the look on your face as he made you feel nothing but pleasure. He used the hand around your throat to nudge your chin upwards, you getting the hint. You did as he wanted, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. He groaned as he looked at your face, his eyes roaming over your features, taking in every little expression, every little sound that escaped your lips.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, his hips speeding up, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure through his body. He suddenly pressed his lips to your neck as he mumbled against your skin, "God, I can't get enough of you."

He could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, the sensations mounting as he continued to move with you, his force gradually increasing. He nipped at your skin, his teeth sinking in just enough to leave a small mark. He wanted to claim you, to mark you as his, to leave a physical reminder that you belonged to him.

"Need you to fill me up," you moaned, pleading with him. It was a need, not a want. You loved feeling him cum inside you last time, and you didn’t know how you went so long without it. "Please."

His breath caught in his throat as he heard your words, his body reacting immediately. He pinned you down onto the bed, his voice low and guttural, "You want that?"

"Need it," you cried, tears welling in your eyes from the pleasure Rafe was giving you. He could sense you were on the edge, and he knew exactly what you needed, what you craved.

He started moving faster, his hips snapping against the backs of your thighs in a firm, steady rhythm. He was so close to the edge, he just needed to hear you say it one more time...

"You're mine, baby. Say it."

"I'm yours, Rafe," you clung onto him, letting out a loud moan as his thumb found your clit again — the little bundle of nerves swollen and begging for attention. “All yours.”

He felt a primal satisfaction surge through him as he listened to you speak, and his thrusts got faster, less controlled. Your legs started to shake, so close to the edge, and your fingernails dug into the skin of his back, scratching down it once again and leaving bright red marks in their wake.

"You're all mine," he grunted against your skin.

"Yes, yes, yes!"

A loud moan ripped through your throat as you came undone around him, head thrown back against your pillow and eyes squeezed closed.

Rafe felt you squeeze him, the sensations sending him over the edge. He let out a guttural groan as he came, pushing himself as deep as he could go and burying his face in the crook of your neck as he shuddered. He couldn't speak for a few moments, his body going boneless as he collapsed on top of you. He was completely shaken, his body quivering from the force of his orgasm.

He lay like that for a moment, trying to catch his breath as it left him in ragged gasps. He eventually spoke, his voice low and gravelly, "Damn, baby. That was..."

"Incredible."

The two of you basked in each other’s arms, sweat dripping down your bodies. You were feeling relaxed, content in Rafe’s arms… until you heard the front door open.

“Y/N, we’re back!”

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Self-Aware!Sylus x Down-bad!Player

Sylus becoming aware he is a character in a game and now he’s aware of you as well. A modern day Romeo & Juliet story here …. A tragic love story pt. 2 here A/N: Don’t fight me [Requested by: Anon]

Self-Aware!Sylus who realizes he’s in a game when he can sense your energy on the other side of a phantom wall. He can hear you squealing when he calls you honey and you're radiating happiness when you send him random emojis.

Self-Aware!Sylus who finally sees you when he happens to be looking around during a photoshoot and sees your shocked face when he makes eye contact. He smirks and turns back to the in-game version of you. “Why are you out there?” You dropped your phone and stared at it in shock. Did Sylus just ….. talk to you? You muttered a low ‘Hello?’ but got no response. You brushed it off as you just being tired and on the game too long.

Self-Aware!Sylus who manages to create a keyboard in your chat so he can actually text you. You were so confused when you opened it and it allowed you to type without just pressing a prompt. You gave it a spin with a quick ‘Hey Sylus’ something simple. Of course the message was read immediately and he replied with a ‘Hello [your name]’ you stared at the screen in shock not knowing if this was a new update or if you were just going crazy.

Self-Aware!Sylus who chuckles when he sees you pouting because you didn’t get his card so when you close the app and lay down he gifts you the card himself. You opened the app and the first thing Sylus says to you is “I don’t like seeing you sad, check your memories I left a gift for you”. When you open your memories you see that you not only got his most recent card but all of his five star memories. “What's happening here?” “You’re smile is so captivating I just had to see it again”

Self-Aware!Sylus who opens the app randomly throughout the day so he can see you “I haven’t seen you all day what are you doing?” causing you to snatch your phone off the table because he always seems to catch you when you’re at work or around a group of people. “Sylus I'm at work I'll call you when I get off” he crosses his arms and seems to be pouting? “I don’t like how much you have to work I don’t see you as often” “Well not all of us are billionaires some of us work for said billionaires to make a living” “I wish I could take care of you….” “You and me both”

Self-Aware!Sylus who teases you when he wins a game of kitty cards or who uses his evol to get every stuffed animal for you when you get frustrated. “You sure do wear your heart on your sleeves sweetie”

Self-Aware!Sylus who stares directly at you when you’re doing a photoshoot with your in-game MC “Sylus focus on her so I can get the picture” “I want to focus on you though” “She is me” “…..she’s not”

Self-Aware!Sylus who tells you not to fall in love because he’s not real, but he falls head over heels in love with you anyway. From the late night conversations of you explaining your world to him and just talking about everything and nothing at the same time. He can’t help it one night when you’re up late on the phone as always he just has to ask “Do you love me?” you’re shocked by his question, but swiftly answer with a shy “Yea I do”

Sylus: I thought we agreed not to fall in love Y/N: I was already in love you just noticed late Sylus: I believe I fell harder You giggled as something somber settled in your chest. Y/N: We’ll never truly be together you know? Sylus: I know and yet I continue to long for you …. I wish I could kiss you Y/N: I wish you could too…..

Self-Aware!Zayne

Self-Aware!Xavier

Self-Aware!Rafayel

[sturnlsstuff]

MISSED YOU | chris sturniolo

| ".... god, i hate that i missed you so much"

pairing: dealer!chris x fem!reader

summary: your dealer has been out of town for almost two weeks and after he's finally back, he texts you needing to see you.

warnings; smut, dom!chris, sub!reader, p in v, pet names, praising, unprotected sex, dirty talking, hair pulling, rough sex, car sex, crying, public¿ sex, cursing, mdni

a/n: literally my first fanfic after a looong time so please bear with me, if its bad... you know why. english isnt my first language so sorry for any mistakes! also its a little long 😭 part two here !!

~~~

she laughed at some joke her friend made and took another bite of her pizza. it was late friday afternoon, she and her bestfriends were hanging out, since there was nothing else to do. everything was great, until her phone buzzed. she looks at her screen, immediately smiling when she sees his name. she wasn't even aware that her lips had curved into a smile.

her friends were too busy with their own conversation, so she uses her moment and grabs her phone, reading the message from chris. she hasn't heard from him in over two weeks, she had no clue what he was doing, or where he was. she also didn't want to ask, hating the feeling of being too desperate. and it's not like he owns her any explanation either.

chris: u busy?

she bites her lip, fighting the urge to smile again as she replies back.

y/n: hi to you too

y/n: yeah im out with friends, whats up

chris: having fun?

chris: when u gonna be home ma?

y/n: like in an hour or so

chris: can u hurry up? c'mon kid i miss ya

y/n: you do???

she can't help but genuinely grins this time, her eyes widen a little. did he miss her? or was he just saying that to make her give in? he always knew how to talk to her, to make her going feral over him. but she wanted to believe he means it this time.

chris: hell yeah i do

chris: get ur ass out here

she looks at her friends, that were still yapping about something, that she couldn't care less about right now. she needed to see him. he never said he missed her before.

y/n: then come pick me up, im sending u the address

chris: omw gorgeous

chris is already in his car, when she sends him the address. not being able to see her for over two weeks, made him think. A lot. he has been her drug dealer for over a year now, there was tension between them since the beginning, so it didnt take them long to finally fuck at some party a few months ago. and since then, it's happening every now and then, usually they meet to smoke together, then they end up all over each other.

after a few minutes, he parks the car in front of the pizzeria, finally seeing her. she made a stupid excuse for her friends to leave, not being able to hide her excitement, so they just could assume what was going on.

chris gets out of the car, looking her up and down, licking his lips as she was only wearing a black crop top and baggy camo pants. he personally loved those, especially on her.

he opens the door for her, a smirk playing on his lips. "get in."

she tried her hardest to act casual, but just seeing him after a while, in all black outfit, was enough to make her dizzy. and she could swear he got a haircut. his hair was so much shorter, and she loved it.

she smiles, keeping the eye contact while getting inside the car. he closes the door, his eyes roaming all over her body as she walked towards him. he snaps back to reality, getting to the other side and climbing back into the drivers seat. he was feeling so many things that he couldn't express.

"missed me so bad, you couldn't wait an hour, huh?" she speaks up, putting on the seatbelt and looking over at him, while he starts the car.

she notices the way he looks her up and down, his eyes stopping at her exposed skin a little too long.

"i've missed my favorite customer." he smirks, going back to the eye contact.

"yeah, your favorite customer... right." she says sarcastically, trying her hardest to keep her cool and not to blush under his stare.

he grins before replying, focused on keeping his hands on the wheel instead of her body. it was getting harder with every second. "yeah, the one i always gotta give free stuff to."

"oh, dont act like i force you to do this..." she scoffs, still looking at him. "you know i always want to pay you."

"i know y'do... doesn't mean i will stop givin' it to you for free though."

"see, and that's crazy."

chris rolls his eyes, loving and hating at the same time, how she always had to talk back to him. he's driving, planning to go to her house, but the way she's looking right now, and especially her attitude, is making him crazy. he feels his dick getting harder with every second.

"whatever, ma. i know you secretly like it."

"yeah, sure." she mumbles with sarcastic tone, her eyes still watching him. seeing him driving was one of her favorite things in the world, he always looked so good. she appreciates, that he gives her stuff for free or cuts down her prices, but dealing was his job, he was making money out of it, so she always felt bad when he didnt want her cash. "what made you busy for so long? thought the cops caught or some shit"

chris bites his lip, his eyes glancing over to her for a second, before focusing back on the road. he never felt so desperate like right now, just having her in his car like that...

once he hears her question, he snaps back to reality and smiles. "the cops? please, sweetheart, they can suck my dick."

chris changes his direction, spotting an empty parking lot and he drives there. "i was out of town, had to deal with some business... nothin' to worry about now." he explains, parking and turning off his car, and his stare travels to her, scanning her face and body. "you're so curious...."

she nods, now understanding why he wasn't texting her these past two weeks, she was a bit ashamed 'cause she honestly thought maybe he got bored of her, so she didn't text him either. she still got some weed until yesterday, so she also had no reason to.

"why would you stop here?" she asks, looking at him with a little frown, but once she sees his smirk, the realization hits her. the excitement filling her body, the tension between them so noticeable, it makes her shiver.

he stares at her for a moment, adjusting his pants and then suddenly he unbuckles his seatbelt, sitting back in his seat so there was more space now.

"c'mere."

her eyes travels down on his lap, seeing the noticeable big bulge even through his jeans. she blushes slightly, looking back at him, the smirk still playing on his lips and it makes her weak in her knees.

"chris..." he cuts her off by reaching over and grabbing her chin, tilting her face closer to his.

"y'gonna do what i said, or keep talking back?"

she immediately unbuckles her seatbelt, moving over the center console and she gets into his lap, straddling him. she wasn't gonna act like she didn't miss him too, because, goddamn, she did. she presses herself onto his hard dick, watching him closely, and seeing how desperate and frustrated he was right now. It made her feel a little bit of a power, that she decided to take advantage of.

"now, was that so hard, ma?" he smirks even more, trying to hide his growing need for her, but his hands moves to grip onto her thighs. he felt the urge to touch her all over.

"you know, fifteen more minutes and we would be at my place-"

"you really think, i would wait fifteen fucking minutes, when i havent seen you for two weeks, and you look like that?" he loves the way she looks at him, with such admiration. she was so pretty in his eyes, he never felt this type of desperation for anyone ever before.

"and who's fault is that?" his hands grips her tighter and puts her closer in on his lap, making a little bit of friction, that he so desperately needs. his fingers digging into her skin, while he stares into her eyes.

"shut up for once, yeah?"

"make me." she smirks, challenging him. he doesn't have to hear it twice, loving the attitude she's giving him right now. his hand moves up from her thigh to the back of her neck, pulling her face closer and he kisses her roughly, grabbing her ass with his other hand as he does.

she smiles against his lips, immediately kissing him back with the same intensity, and she grinds down against his clothed dick, feeling her own need growing with every second. she missed the way he kissed her, she missed his lips, his hands all over her, his body against hers. she missed him and she hated to admit that.

she slides her tongue into his mouth, he bites her lip in response and lets her lead the kiss. moving up his hips to feel her more and not being able to hold back, he groans against her lips. he never felt so needy before. he pulls away for a moment to speak, and starts trailing kisses down her neck, squeezing her ass, before his hand moves up, caressing the skin on her exposed stomach.

"god, i hate that i missed you so much."

it slips from his mouth, he doesn't think much about it as he sucks on her skin, but for her it meant everything. she tilts back her head, giving him more space and she grinds against his lap some more, running her hand through his brown hair. he lets out a growl as she grinds down on him, making him even harder and he bucks his hips up again. lifting up his head from her neck his stare finds hers, the noticeable lust in his eyes made her bite her lip to hold back a moan. the smirk coming back to his face once he notices her flushed cheeks.

"what 'bout you, huh, ma? missed me too?"

she closes her eyes, their face so close to each other, it makes their lips brush when she replies him back.

"yeah... i did"

he grins, his hands playing with the waistband of her pants. that's all he needed to know, that she missed him as much as he missed her. even though they both were aware, they should'nt.

"how much, hm?" he unzips her pants, she lifts herself up, gripping his shoulders to balance herself and helps him take them off. then she straddles him again, trying to hold back her smile, but not being able to.

"want me to show you?"

he groans after her words, feeling her wet panties pressing against his hard dick and he bucks up his hips again, being so desperate, that he was ready to beg her. he starts marking her neck again, his hand traveling between her legs, massaging her clit through her underwear. her breath hitches in her throat, she lets out a little whine and grips his hair slightly.

"so wet already... shiiiitttt... all this f'me, huh?" he says against her skin, bitting on it slightly and making her moan. he adds more pressure, circling over her clit. "lift this shit up."

his tone demanding, he wasn't asking. she lifts up her top, revealing her breasts. he looks at her now, his eyes going back and forth between her tits, and her face. "fuck... not wearing a bra? fuckin' slut..."

he licks her hard nipple, then starting sucking on it. her hand tightens in his hair, tilting her head back and she lets out more whimpers. she was supposed to be the one in control this time, she craved it and saw how needy he is, but the way he's touching her, makes her losing her mind. he then pulls her panties to the side, running his fingers through her wet folds and suddenly putting one inside her. not even giving her any time, he just starts pumping in and out, adding another finger after a moment, now stretching her out. he pulls away from her nipple, looking at her face.

"c-chris..." she moans quietly, trying her hardest to keep the eye contact, but struggles to do so. her hands now traveling down his chest and unbuckling his belt.

"yeah, ma? y'like that?" he tries to keep his cool, still working his fingers inside her dripping pussy, curling them and making her whine in response. "look at you... so, fuckin' desperate on my lap. missed my fingers, huh? want some more?"

she desperately nods, squeezing around his fingers, but once he feels that, he pulls them out immediately putting them in his mouth to lick them clean. she whines, pouting her lips when he stops.

"show me how much you missed this dick then."

she bites her lip, unzipping his pants and with his help, she pulls them down to his knees, his boxers following after a second. chris leans his head back against the seat, gripping her hips as she gives him a few strokes before pulling her underwear to the side. she runs her thumb over his tip, collecting the precum and spreading it all over his cock, using it as a lubricant and then she lowers herself slowly on his cock, the movement making them both moan out loud with pleasure. she stays like this for a moment, needing to adjust after these past two weeks without him.

"fuckk...so tight...your pussy was made f'me.." he groans, tightening his grip on her hips and he watches her closely, as she finally starts moving on him. he’s holding himself back from moving up his hips and taking over, trying so hard not to thrust into her. he loves the feeling of her body against his and he’s missed it so much. he needed it, he needed her and he hated that. the feeling just kept growing, making the space in the car feel even smaller.

he pulls her back down into another kiss, this time more sloppy, continuing to move his tongue against hers, tasting her. she kisses him back, starting speeding up her pace and now bouncing on him harder. his dick hitting just all the right spots, making her moan loudly while chris tries to focus on the kiss and not to lose his composure. he wanted to take over, he always did, but the feeling of her riding him like that, has him gripping the seat. he grits his teeth, trying to keep himself together and he knows his patience wont last long. he looks up at her again, his eyes glued to her face.

"fuckkkk, ma.... takin' all of me so well... shit..." he hisses, when she speeds up even more. "so good.... s-so good f'me...."

she grips into his shoulders more, moaning loudly at his praises and she continues moving. chris is in complete ecstasy as she picks the pace up, a feeling like he hasn’t experienced before. there's just something about her on top and taking what she wants, that's got him feeling so many things at once.

“fuck.. just like that” one of his hands grab her ass, giving it a squeeze and then slapping it. "fuckin' slut... you like it? fucking in my car? takin' it just like a little bitch.... yeah? shitttt..."

he moans now not being able to hold back, and he starts thrusting into her. she gasps for air, her eyes closing shut as she tightens around him. "oh, wanna cum, huh? not yet darlin'...." he grips her hips more, his tip hitting her g-spot with every move.

"chris i-"

she cuts herself off with another moan, not being able to think straight. she digs her nails into the back of his neck, her head falling down on his shoulder and he immediately stops. her eyes snap open, she lifts up her head to look at him, a smirk playing on his lips.

"you better don't look away f'me, ma.... wanna see your pretty face y'know? and keep makin' those sexy little sounds...got it?"

she nods, but it's not enough from him as he speaks up again. "use your words baby, c'mon... you aint that fucked out of your mind yet, hm?"

"i got it, just... please..." she whines, moving her hips, wanting to bounce on him again, but he stops her. she pouts. "chrissss......"

"get to the backseat." he demands, after scanning her face for a while. he wanted to give her all the pleasure she deserves. he wasn't even thinking about himself, he couldn't care less about his release. he just needed to make her feel good, making sure no one else can do what he can.

she pulls away from him, now moving over the center console again, struggling a bit but she gets into the backseat. chris obviously smacks her ass as she does, what makes her squeak.

"chris!"

but he just smirks, pulling off his pants and boxers all the way down and throwing it on the passenger seat, so it wasn't in the way. he gets on the back himself, there was little space, but enough to get into his favorite position. chris puts his hand on her back, forcing her to get on her knees and hands on the seat, as he positions himself behind her. chris loves the way he can get her all desperate and begging, so he teases her now. he moves his tip along her folds, making her whine. then he slowly puts it in, but after a few seconds he pulls back again.

"chris...." she whines, knowing he's playing with her now.

"yeah, baby?"

she bites her lip, her face pressing into the seat and she lifts up her hips more. "stop teasing me, please...."

he grins even more, slapping her pussy with his dick and then he suddenly pulls his cock all the way in, making her gasp and scream out of pleasure. the new angle let him hit all of her sweet spots.

"whatever you want, princess." he starts thrusting into her with a very intense and fast pace, going as deep as he could. the car now filled up with her moans and the sounds of skin slapping against each other. he grips her hips tight, keeping her in place. he can feel her squeezing around his cock again, and he lets out a growl. "c'mon.... cum all over me...wanna see you while y'do..."

chris moves one of his hands, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back, having a good view on her face. her mouth wide open, letting out loud moans, her eyes rolling back.

"oh my god!" she cries out, gripping the edge of the seat like her life depended on it and she releases, the wet, squelching sound coming from her now louder. he groans, kissing her neck and whispering into her ear.

"you feel so good... cummin' like that f'me... such a good girl.."

she moans, squeezing around him again, the overstimulation now making her shiver as he keeps going with the crazy pace, not slowing down at all. he lets go of her hair, her head immediately falling onto the seat and he grips by her hips again, making sure she feels him as deep as he wants her to. he growls, being on the edge himself.

"i'm... close.." he mutters, throwing his head back. "gonna fill you up, yeah?"

she whines nodding desperately, but then he smacks her ass giving her a sign to answer verbally.

"shit! yes, fuck, yes chris, please!" she feels tears filling up her eyes from the pleasure, a few of them coming down her cheeks moment later. chris bites his lip, feeling her tightening around him. he moves one of his hands between her legs, now rubbing her clit, while still thrusting hard into her, but his movements getting sloppier. she cries out, her legs trembling and his dick twitches, finally cumming inside her, his warm sticky release filling her up and dripping out of her. he curses under his breath, digging his fingers into her skin, leaving bruises as he does. she feels him cumming, and the overstimulation from him lazily massaging her clit and still hitting her g-spot, makes her finish again. the pressure in her stomach now becoming too much, unable to hold back, she feels the liquid squirts out of her in waves.

his eyes snap open, looking down at her and he growls. he slows down until he eventually stops, after they both ride out their highs, this time not wanting to overstimulate her. looking at the mess she made, he can't help but feel a bit cocky about it.

"shit, ma.... squirtin' all over me, huh? is it how it is now?" he smirks, a little surprised that he made her do that but he couldn't be more proud. he pulls out of her, letting go of her hips and her body immediately falls onto the seat. she's breathing heavily, not being able to reply yet. "that's my fuckin' girl.."

he runs his fingers along her inner thigh, collecting her and his cum and he leans in a bit, covering over her. he looks at her fucked out expression and the smudged mascara on her cheeks. "look at me."

she opens her eyes, her mind blank, body shaking. he puts his fingers into her mouth, she immediately cleans them up, tasting both his and her release on her tongue, making sure she keeps the eye contact with him while she does that.

"you're so hot." he says now kissing the tears on her cheeks away. "took me so well..."

she smiles, seeing his flushed cheeks and messy hair sticking to his forehead. it was her favorite view.

"y'good, kid? don't go all mute on me now.."

"don't call me that...." she mumbles, trying to get her sarcastic attitude back, but she was absolutely spent right now. "i'm fine."

he just grins, gently patting her cheek before he pulls away. she slowly lifts herself up, trying to fight her trembling legs and she sits up now, facing him. not being able to do anything more yet, her glare moving to her legs and the seat she made mess on. she feels her cheeks growing hotter, now suddenly embarrassed and trying to ignore his stare. this never happened to her with him before and she didn't know what he thought about it.

"sorry about... the seats" she mumbles, grimacing.

he raises his eyebrows, now seeing her embarrassment and he doesn't understand why. it was a little surprising but he felt so proud. he already wanted to make her do it all over again. "you f'real? don't even say sorry, ever again."

she's still not so sure, blushing even more as he wipes her cheeks from the smudged mascara and then runs his hand through her hair, trying to fix it a little bit. he smiles softly. "gonna clean this up later, don't you worry 'bout that, okay?"

chris then reaches into the center console for the tissues, grabbing them and spreading her legs with his hands. she watches him closely seeing how he starts just gently cleaning her up. this simple movement makes her feel the heat rising from her cheeks down to her neck, so she just covers her face with her hands shyly. not really being able to understand why is she so embarrassed this time, he grabs her wrists, forcing her hands to move away from her face.

"y'gotta be kiddin' me. don't hide from me, ma." chris mutters. "not when you made such pretty mess in my car."

with a quiet sigh, she lets him take her hands off of her face. she chews on her bottom lip nervously while he goes back to cleaning her up, touching her slightly as she was made from some kind of glass. it was even cute, how he just made sure she was fine. it's not their first rough sex, but this one was definitely more intense and for some reason felt so... different. she had this strange feeling in her chest, just seeing him focused on wiping her legs and how he didn't seem to care about his covered in her release seats. once he's done, he sits beside her, wrapping his hand around her shoulder and pulling her close. she doesn't like the silence, even if before it was never awkward, this one was bothering her as she couldn't stop feeling unfamiliar emotions.

"i ran out, by the way." she suddenly blurts out, making him laugh. there was no way in hell this girl was real.

"yeah? good to know. gonna give y'some more later."

"im paying this time."

"oh, you've paid enough already." she immediately looks up at him, smacking his shoulder and he chuckles in response, pretending to be in pain. "woaaahh, bein' a little brat again, hm?"

"that's not funny, im giving you money." her tone shows no objection, he smirks and nods, knowing he won't take anything from her anyway. they sit like that for a moment, before he speaks up, knowing he will get another hit after that.

"soooo... round two?"

"christopher, i swear to god."

_____________________________

a/n: oh my god this seems sooo long 😭 tell me what yall think, i feel like i kinda fucked up with the whole dealer vibe but lmk please! i honestly enjoyed writing that so who knows..