#show pretended it was a good ending for him with two parents he barely fucking knows alone in a whole world. and landon got super screwed

[bibridlizzie]

Rafael Waithe

[viennakarma]

My dearest friend and enemy (2)

PART 2 | Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: You and Fernando always dreamed of the day you'd get into Formula 1. Unfortunately, the competition, the pride and the stubborness, get in the way of a beautiful friendship.

Word count: 7.1k

Tags: female!reader, driver reader, coming of age, ups and downs of a friendship, brocedes coded, very very angsty, cursing, anger, fights, overuse of flavio briatore as a plot device, lots of low blows, sprinkles of romance, kissing, making out, happy ending, not beta read

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: Someone requested this, with this very detailed request, and it has consumed my every thought for the past week or two. I had to tweak some things from the request here and there, hope it's ok. It's heavily inspired by brocedes. (There is a lot of info that is wrong or inaccurate, I did this on purpose to fit my narrative, if you catch them, please ignore)

I was wondering doing a bonus part about Fernando POV throughout everything (to show he was ALSO miserable), but I don't know if i have the time and energy for it. Let me know if you guys would be interested in it and I'll do it in headcanons/topics.

I'm sorry if it feels rushed, this was taking way too long and I just wanted to follow my heart. Feedback and opinions are appreciated xx

Find me on Twitter!

PART 1 | FERNANDO'S HEADCANONS

You were moping and crying in the living room when the phone started ringing. Looking at the little screen that showed the number that was calling, you knew it was Fernando. You had memorized his number at some point in your lifetime. Your parents weren’t home, so you hesitated. You took so long that his call went to voicemail.

“I know you’re there,” he said, voice sounding tired, low and inpatient, “please pick up the-”

You pulled the phone cable, unplugging the call and silencing him. Wiping your tears, you stared at the unplugged phone on the little side table for what felt like hours, until your parents returned from work, when you got up to plug the phone back and pretend like you didn’t spend the whole day mourning a friendship you always thought would last forever.

After two days ignoring all calls, even Flavio’s, you decided that you’d shield yourself from now on, and you wouldn’t give Fernando any more ammo to hurt you. You met with Flavio at the next race, face heavy with makeup to cover up the sleepless nights you had gone through. You put your bag down and stared at Flavio across the table.

“Good morning. Let’s go back to work,” you said, gently pulling the stack of papers from his grasp. He called your name in that tone, of someone wanting a heart to heart.

“We should talk about the f-” He started but you cut him off.

“No, I don’t want to talk about that,” you said.

“I talked to Fernando and he-”

“I said, I don’t want to talk about it. He’s dead to me.” You repeated slowly, finally looking up at him. Flavio must’ve seen something in your eyes because he let the topic go.

You didn’t see Fernando for two more days, and when the weekend officially started, you avoided him like the plague. Even when you two were in the same place with other drivers, you’d ignore his existence for the most part. Whenever you were in a little circle chatting with other drivers and he arrived, you’d leave immediately. Press conference, you convinced Jenson to switch places with you so you could be as far from Fernando as possible. Even with team debriefs, with Flavio trying to make you talk to Fernando, you refused.

The rest of the season was insane, during team meetings and debriefs you were cold and barely talked to him. He didn’t try to talk to you either, and the silent distance only grew.

You were head to head in a race, you were P2 and Fernando P3 right behind you.

“Switch with Fernando,” your engineer said on the radio.

“He won’t fucking pass me,” you said into the radio, holding your position and pace. He was less than a second behind, and you refused to let him pass.

“I repeat, let him pass,” That was Flavio.

“If he manages to overtake me, he can go.”

He didn’t. You knew you had more pace, but still he insisted, and through the mirrors, you could see him closing in behind you. He tried to overtake but you pushed the car fast, and when he couldn’t anymore, he turned into you, touching his front right tyre to your rear left tyre. You were too fast. The mere touch of his tyre bursted yours. You couldn’t even get angry as you lost control of the car in a millisecond, the speed making your car fly into the air as it hit the gravel. With your car overturning a few times in the air, you watched your sight going ground, sky, ground, sky, ground, sky.

Then you blacked out.

When you woke up, you were on a stretcher being placed carefully inside the ambulance, you tried to get up, dizzy and someone handed you a bag where you threw up inside.

You had an insane headache as they took you to the medical center. Apparently, everything else was alright as you checked your own body for any injuries or problems. The doctor checked you but still made you through a round of tests and injected saline solution diluted with pain medicine in an IV drip. They also decided you’d stay overnight to make sure nothing was wrong. 

Your dad, who was watching from the garage, was the first to find you in the medical center, visibly worried and crying. He hugged you for a whole minute, before taking a step back and touching your face to make sure you were really alright.

“I’m ok, Papá. Just passed out when the car was spinning in the air,” You smiled softly, wanting to dissipate his worry.

“When you didn’t answer the radio-” He choked back tears.

“It’s ok, I’m ok now.”

“What are you feeling, darling?” He pressed, holding your hands to look for injuries in your arms.

“I’m all in one piece, Papá. Just a little sore, but that’s normal whenever a racing driver crashes,” you let him know, and he nodded.

“Let me just call your mother. She was so worried she wanted to get into the first flight here,” He told you.

“Tell her I’m alright and I love her,” you whispered and he nodded, going outside.

You sighed as you were left alone, trying to find a comfortable position where you didn’t have to move too much, since your whole body felt like it had been run over by a truck. The door opened and you thought it was Flavio, but you were faced with Fernando, still sweaty and in his overalls. He looked disheveled, but he was full of worry, even his eyes looked a little misty as he stood there a few meters from you.

But you couldn’t look past the anger when the memory of him diving into your car came back. He had gambled with your life, out of pettiness, out of envy, he couldn’t pass you, so he decided the next best thing was to take you out, not even caring about the danger he was putting you through.

“Leave.” You said, with gritted teeth.

“Please,” he begged with his voice softer than you had heard for almost a year, “let me just-”

“Leave! You could’ve gotten me killed, Fernando. Get out!” You said, louder. “Do you have any idea that you could have ruined my life in a moment of anger?! That you could have gotten me seriously injured or worse?! I would have never done that to you!” You pressed your index finger to the nurse button repeatedly, and a few seconds later, a nurse came in, “Ma’am can you escort him out please?”

You could see in his eyes that he was hurt by your words, but in that moment, all you felt was blind rage, for what he did the last time you spoke and because he crashed into you on purpose. You didn’t want to hear any excuses now that he realized he put your life in danger just because his ego couldn’t take a hit.

The next day, after you were discharged, you traveled for a meeting with Flavio at Renault’s headquarters. He met you alone in the meeting room, talking to you about the accident, and after making sure you were physically fine, he went off.

“What you did yesterday was reckless and you went against express orders from the team and from me. This is not happening again, or you will be risking your seat at Renault,” He said, his voice never leaving room for debate, you swallowed and nodded, “When the team orders you to do something, you do. No questioning, and no going against it. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fernando was really worried about you yes-”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” You cut Flavio off.

“You two are best friends, it’s really sad to see you lose all that because of Formula 1” Flavio said, gently.

“He put my life at risk, Flavio. This is not something a friend would do,” you stood up, walking away but you stopped by the door, “Kinda curious how motorsports, the very thing that brought us together, is the same that tore us apart.”

Then you went to meet the engineers for the next race strategies. 

That night as you laid down at home, you thought that you’d never compete with Fernando solely because he was Flavio’s favorite. If it ever came to Flavio to decide whether you would win or Fernando would win, he’d always pick Fernando. You could’ve been fighting for the championship this year, he had promised you, instead you were being used as a step in Fernando’s path of glory, when you could be fairly racing him for the championship. You’d always come second to him there. That was also the moment you stopped seeing Flavio as a friend, and confined him back to a position of Team Principal.

You reread the Sauber proposal that came to you that year to start racing for them the next season, tempted to just go and make your name somewhere else. Somewhere where you’d be put first.

But deep down, a sense of indebtedness had rooted into your heart ever since the day Fernando told you the truth. You had to pay Flavio back for his trust and for his money, and the only way you thought you could do it was by becoming world champion under his team.

There was still a little kid inside you, a little kid who aspired to prove Fernando wrong, to become a champion and prove to yourself you’re more than him. More than who he wanted you to be, more than a loser.

You turned down the offer from Sauber.

The rest of the season you went almost robotically. You still gave your all every race, but your mood would always damper when you had to follow team orders.

“Ask if me and Fernando can switch, I’m faster!” You said on the radio. You kept driving, Fernando a little less than two seconds in front of you, but you were getting closer and would catch up to him in two laps.

“Negative, protect his position.”

“There’s a McLaren right behind me! They’ll pass us both!”

“Negative, team orders.”

You swallowed and held your position, trying to maintain your P2 and Fernando P1. But when the McLaren got close to you, they managed to pass you after a brief battle, going for Fernando a couple of laps later.

Later, you stood on the podium, looking ahead knowing that P3 could’ve been a P1 if they had let you fight for it. You didn’t look at Fernando on the other side of the podium, you just stood there, eyes watery. You pretended to take part throwing champagne for a few seconds, forcing a smile knowing that it would look bad not to.

The post race interviews were torture, and you wanted to go home and vent to your parents.

“How has it been to manage your friendship with Fernando outside the track?” A reporter asked, and your smile disappeared from your face.

“We were never really friends,” you shrugged, annoyed, you added “Are there any questions about racing instead of my personal life?” The reporter was silent, visibly taken aback by your responses, you had rarely been hostile toward a journalist before, you knew he would have a field day with just those replies, especially when your PR manager gave you a hard stare, “No? Thank you, see you around.”

You finished P2 in the race Fernando became champion for the second time. When you got out of the car, you watched as Flavio and Fernando hugged, jumping from the ground and celebrating. The number one and your team principal. After the podium ceremony, you didn’t bother to stay to spray champagne, just leaving and going straight out.

You got a couple more proposals from other teams, and you were tempted, until Flavio told you Fernando was leaving for McLaren the next year and offered you an extension. You took it under the condition to become the number one driver now that Fernando was out of the picture.

A part of you mourned the death of the dream, the one you had at fourteen to become teammates with your best friend. So many things had happened in between everything, now you would miss it. Only the good, not the bad and ugly. You wish you could go back in time, redo everything, and never allow yourself to lose your best friend on the way.

The next year you ended up striking an unexpected friendship with Jenson Button, Nico Rosberg and eventually the two rookies Lewis and Sebastian, who had been very vocal about being fans of yours.

You didn’t go back to talking with Fernando. You didn’t try and he didn’t either. It felt like the bridges were too far burned to recover.

One day as you walked out of the garage, you saw Fernando with a girl on the opposite side. She was clinging to his side, whispering. You knew he had his fair share of fun with grid girls but he never invited them to watch the race from his garage. You wondered if he was dating again, after a couple of years being nothing more than a player. You also wonder why it made a pang of pain flare through your chest.

You don’t linger too much. He had no reason to tell you. You weren’t even friends anymore.

You moved on, as much as you could. And eventually, you met Kaka, or Ricardo, as you preferred calling him. He was a footballer, a big name in the sport, playing for a big team in Italy. You actually met him at a gala party, the both of you being silly introverts, bumping into each other when trying to find a way out. You two ended up talking for hours on the balcony, watching the city lights.

He reminded you of Nano before Formula 1.

And you actually wanted to smash your own head against the handrail as you thought that.

After exchanging numbers and calling a couple of times, you managed to convince Ricardo to come to a Grand Prix. His presence was calm, funny without being mean, and so gentle. It was actually the calm between the storm your life and job was.

You were pacing around outside the motorhomes to try and see if he had arrived yet, since the last you had talked to him was when he was on his way. While waiting, your eyes found Fernando’s on the opposite side in front of McLaren, he was sitting down with his girlfriend telling him something. You stared at him for a whole minute, and for a brief moment, the anger left his eyes for something softer, something like-

“Hi, minha linda!” Ricardo showed up out of nowhere, and he hugged you so tight he actually swiped you off your feet.

Once the surprise passed, you hugged him back, your fingers finding their way through his hair. And he laughed, spinning you before putting you down. You talked for a bit, your face lit up as he told you about his day.

Your eyes unconsciously turned to Fernando, because you could feel that he had been staring at you for as long as Ricardo was there. His face was back to anger.

“You want me to give you the grand tour?” You offered, just so you could escape the weight of Fernando’s glare.

You took Ricardo by the hand and showed him all around, even introducing him to part of your team. After that race when you placed third, Ricardo invited you to a date, the first official one. After a couple of months and a few kisses, he asked you to be his girlfriend. You only hesitated for a second before smiling and squealing a yes.

Being the main driver of your team allowed you to live an entirely different season as a racer. You didn’t want to be arrogant, but you had it in the bag. You had the best car, the best engines, and just the perfect amount of boldness. Add insane strategies, and you were unstoppable.

Despite Fernando being your close rival on track, he was way too busy beefing with Lewis, his surprisingly great rookie teammate.

During summer break that year, you were on a trip to Brazil with Ricardo, but still, the night of July 29th, you got up at two a.m., slowly went to the fridge, where you got an ice cream pint. With a spoon, you sat on the handrail in the balcony, and watched the waves breaking on the beach a few meters away.

It was weird keeping the ice cream tradition alone, but you supposed it was even weirder not keeping the tradition. Staring at the stars, you wondered if Fernando had any ice cream to celebrate his birthday that day.

“Hi,” you heard Ricardo behind you, his hands sneaking around your middle and he hugged you from behind, laying his head against your shoulder, “everything ok?”

“Yeah, just wanted a little treat,” you mumbled, closing the lid on the ice cream, because a selfish part of you didn’t want to share the tradition with anyone other than Fernando. It was silly and stupid, and still… you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You put the ice cream back in the freezer and smiled at Ricardo as he pulled you into his arms and carried you back to bed.

You came back from summer break with a renewed sense of focus. Deep down you knew that was your season. Your season to become world champion, and nothing was going to get in the way of that. As you won the first two races after summer, you became first in the standings, this sense of purpose being the one thing motivating you every weekend to give your best.

It was Interlagos that year when you needed only a podium to become World Champion, pretty much the same as Fernando two years before. The race was tough, and it felt like Fernando was out to get you, especially in a moment right in the middle of the race, when you were behind him in P3 and he tried to brake test you again, but this time you were quick to react, avoiding his rear and using his own dirty trick against him, turning sharply to overtake him from outer side, moving past him fast enough to gain some precious couple of seconds.

After that, you managed to smoothly overtake the P1 with a carefully planned pit stop that allowed you to come out first. Later on, you saw a crash, nothing too bad, but you found out it was Fernando and Webber.

“Are they ok?” You asked via radio to your engineer.

“Yes, they are already back on the pitlane.”

You sighed and focused back to your race, keeping your P1 safe, and going smoothly to take the checkered flag.

“Congratulations, Y/N! You’re a Formula One World Champion!”

You felt the tears coming down and dampening your balaclava, as you took one last lap to parc ferme, waving at the crowd that went insane.

It was like a huge weight was lifted from your chest. Because you were now world champion. You were there, and you deserved to be there, among the best. You didn’t need to prove yourself anymore, and you had finally paid Flavio back.

You jumped out of the car straight into your team, jumping with them, and Flavio ran up to you, pulling you into a tight hug. Jenson also found you and hugged you firmly, patting your back and Nico also hugged you, both of them were on the podium with you.

As you looked down from the podium, with a watery, emotional smile, you saw your dad crying like a baby and clapping his hands. Unconsciously, your eyes looked for Fernando, silly hoping it mattered something to him, that at least in the name of your former friendship, he would be there, but he was nowhere to be seen, and you felt like that was another nail in the coffin of your friendship.

Deciding to forget it, you drank champagne straight from the bottle, laughing as both Nico and Jenson paired up to drown you in champagne, looking happy for you.

After talking to your mom on the phone, you stood up, taking your bag and going out to look for your dad. You didn’t make it very far, as you came out in the hallway, you found Fernando, leaning against the wall. You paused, looking up to him while your heartbeat went up.

“I’m happy for you,” he whispered. And you wanted to believe it really badly, but thinking about him brake testing you during the race, trying to take you out, made you roll your eyes at him.

“Sure, you are,” you said sarcastically. He shook his head and clicked his tongue, like he was disappointed you didn’t believe him, “my debt is over now.”

“What?” He frowned, confused.

“I just paid Flavio for his investment,” you explained, “I’m not just here because you asked him to support me, I’m a damn great driver. I’m here because I deserve it, not because you took me out of pity.”

Fernando stared at you completely shocked at your words, something painful stabbing at his chest. He never thought you’d think like that over disgusting words he said in a moment of anger. Words that never meant anything to him, that he didn’t even believe in himself. The hurt in your eyes was the same from the day he said the words, when you cried looking into his eyes and telling him he was dead to you.

You walked past him and away. He wanted to shout that he never meant those words, that you were so much more, so much better. But you just left. Fernando followed you outside, trying to catch you and explain himself, maybe fix things between you, making peace.

But as he got outside, he paused, seeing you jumping in your boyfriend’s arms, laughing at something he whispered to you. Fernando swallowed, closing his fist and jealousy burned through his limbs, with such force that it felt like a fever.

Right after the Brazilian Grand Prix, Ferrari got in touch with you, offering a two year contract to become teammates with Kimi Raikkonen and drive for what was one of, if not the most classic team in Formula 1. After negotiations, it was a no brainer. You didn’t owe Renault anything any more. And that’s what propelled you to meet with Flavio that winter break in a cafeteria in Monaco. When you had called, he said he wanted to talk to you about something, which was convenient.

After pleasantries and small talk, you were ready to start, but Flavio cut you off without noticing.

“I have to tell you something,” he started, carefully, “Fernando is coming back to Renault next year.”

You froze for a second, not wanting to think too much about the implications of that. The fact that Flavio was willing to force you and Fernando to be teammates again even after the catastrophic ending you had before. Sighing, you covered your face for a second.

“I know you have reservations, but I’ve talked with Fernando and he’s willing to-”

“I’m going to Ferrari.”

And Flavio understood, after talking for a while. He knew Ferrari was most drivers' ultimate dream, and you weren’t immune to that either. Unfortunately for you, Fernando released the news he was going back to Renault a week before Ferrari announced you, and the media had a field day with that, tabloids and media outlets doing numbers of articles about you avoiding being teammates with Fernando again, since he was coming back and you were conveniently leaving almost at the same time.

Your races with Fernando kept being dangerous, one always trying to one up the other, dangerous moves and overtakes, close calls of crashing into each other, and more and more jabs publicly. The attacks at each other never stopped, and the media seemed to enjoy it, feeding into it ever so often.

One occasion, you were going for a win, and the only thing between you and that damn P1 was Fernando Alonso. So you kept your P2, biding your time as you tried to close the gap, leaving your chance at overtaking for the last few laps. When a fast turn came, you advanced, overtaking him, Fernando tried to defend his position, but you were getting the lead, and both of you were in high speed. Someone had to back out, otherwise you two would crash. But you were feeding off of anger and hurt, and you didn’t back down well into the turn, but suddenly, Fernando slowed down, giving up defending. You took the P1 and after a few laps, the checkered flag. You knew on the podium that Fernando was seething, his face didn’t hide that. Later, at an interview, someone brought up the dirty move.

“So, a very dangerous move at turn 2 during lap 47, no?” The reporter asked, trying to get a reaction out of you.

“I thought it was a pretty common battle, no?” You said, a condescending tone imitating him.

“Well, it could’ve caused you both to crash.”

“I took a risk, either I would pass and win, or we would both crash and DNF. Alonso was wise and went for the safest option.” I gave the reporter a fake smile.

You knew that answer would piss Fernando off, and a part of you knew he deserved it. Sometimes you acted on pure rage and pettiness, feral and way more aggressive against Fernando on track than you really needed to be. But he just pissed you off. Walking around with his model girlfriend, his attacks at your racing abilities, his pretty eyes that always seemed to find yours at the most inconvenient times.

Then, the race weekend would end, and everything that was left was shame. Your burning shame every time your mom’s eyes shone when she asked about Fernando, hoping you two would have made peace. You, looking away from her face every time you told her you knew nothing about Alonso because you didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes.

Later that year, after your two year anniversary with Ricardo, you accidentally found a ring box in his suitcase. A proposal ring, a beautiful big diamond ring, probably worth a small fortune. And you tried to feel happy about it, but you could only find dread in your heart. Despite loving Ricardo, you knew you didn’t love him as much as you could. And certainly not as much as she loved you. You didn’t love him as much as you loved-

Closing your eyes, you also closed your heart, and after that just like the coward you were, you broke up with Ricardo the kindest way you could. He was confused, because your relationship was tranquil, without many problems. It broke your heart to break his heart, but you couldn’t lead him on, you knew Ricardo was husband material, and the earlier you let him go, the earlier he would find his true happiness.

Ultimately, you decided to only pursue love after your Formula One career. Having a bit of fun here and there, and a couple of casual relationships even with other drivers, but nothing serious or public. When you found out Fernando was single again, a flicker of hope sparked in your chest, but when you saw him go back to his playboy ways… It died down.

Sometimes you would dream of a different life, of one you never lost your best friend… or even better, one that you never had to suppress the love you felt for him. And sometimes it felt too much, like all this love was just filling up your hollow heart, filling up until it overflowed, until you felt like you were drowning in it, because there was nowhere for this love to go. And you wondered, what do I do with this love, there's no one to give it to, there's no recipient to put it. So you would just ground your teeth and bear it, holding onto anger because that much love, that much longing did nothing but cause you pain.

Every time someone mentioned him outside race weeks, you felt ashamed.

Despite being in a top team like Ferrari, you’d only get a few wins, and some podiums here and there, so it wasn’t like you didn’t achieve anything. But you were a woman so it was obviously not enough, and the media started questioning your career and your place in Formula One.

After two years of you driving for Ferrari, Domenicalli, your team principal, sat you down to let you know Fernando Alonso would be joining the team the next year, and you bit the inside of your cheek, considering just retiring. The criticism was getting to you, and the perspective of living hell with Fernando as your teammate was a broken heart all over again.

When an opportunity arose to drive for Red Bull Racing, with a two year contract, you didn’t think twice before accepting. It would be your chance to turn the tide in your career.

It sent the motorsport world into a frenzy when your new team announced you and a week later Ferrari announced Fernando as their future driver. The same narrative of you running away from him was passed ahead. And of course, it got to the paddock. Most drivers that were close to you actually congratulated you, but of course, nothing was ever good for Fernando. And despite not fully talking to him, he was always willing to throw a mean comment at you any given day.

“And people said you’re washed” Fernando said right after the news broke, the second to last race of that season, his voice dripping with venom. You knew it was a backhanded compliment, he always did that when he wanted to get a rise out of you. He smirked, waiting for your feral clapback, as you always had one on the tip of your tongue.

But when he looked back at you, your face was stony, and you were looking ahead with your chin raised. You didn’t even look at Fernando, nor answered his taunting. You pretended he wasn’t there but he noticed your eyes were misty.

That had been a low blow, even for him. He didn’t know shit about your feelings regarding your career, but he knew exactly how the world had been treating it, and it made you burn with shame that he could add insult to injury this easily. You wondered why he would say something like that if, just like you, it had been years since the last time he was champion of the world. Two years pushing yourself to the maximum so you could achieve your second championship.

Fernando had been your best friend for so long, he knew exactly what buttons to push when he wanted to hurt you.

When someone else arrived, greeting you, you cleared your throat briefly before answering and plastering a smile that never reached your eyes.

“Are you running away from me?” Fernando cornered you later that same day.

“What?” You paused.

“I went back to Renault and you left, now I’m going to Ferrari and you’re leaving,” he shrugged. You scoffed.

“I’m not sure if you know, but my life doesn’t revolve around you, Fernando.”

“Well, that’s a weird coincidence, don’t you think?”

“What do you want? Why are you here?”

Fernando paused for a second, his eyes searching yours, he looked vulnerable, open like he hadn’t been in so long. He looked every bit your best friend from years before.

“I miss you, I-” He started, then cleared his throat.

“I miss the old you,” You swallowed a whole bunch of your pride just to be able to say those words.

“Things are different now…” Fernando started, his eyes full of hoping, of longing, “We could- maybe we could-”

“Fernando, we’re too far gone, what we said- what we did…” You muttered, feeling a lump in your throat, “how do one come back from that?”

“We could restart. Try again-”

“You lost me forever that day, Fernando.” You muttered, the tears holding on to your eyelashes. You didn’t need to specify the day, he knew, he had seen in your eyes the moment he lost you, “I spent so long hearing your voice in my head, telling me I wasn’t good enough, I shouldn’t be here, and I- I hated you that day. And I had to hold onto this hate, because the alternative was overwhelming sadness.”

There was a numbing silence for a couple of minutes, as you stared down at your own feet, trying to stop all the feelings you spent years carefully locking away from breaking free. So much had happened, you believed you and Fernando were too far to recover now.

“I’m a woman here, the first and only woman in so long, and the whole world was against me. You have no idea how it felt that my best friend, the person I trusted the most, was also against me,” You shook your head, feeling the tears drop.

“I’m sorry, Nena… I’ve never- I’ve never meant any of that.” He muttered, and you didn’t look at him to see if he was being genuine. You had formed walls around your heart to protect yourself from heartbreak, and you now had a hard time believing him.

“There are some things… that are not meant to be.” You didn’t look back at Fernando after you said that, choosing to walk away with this broken heart feeling ever present.

It was hard to keep going everyday. You had always faced backlash for being a woman in Formula 1, and you were used to it. But the media took a turn over the next few years. When you didn’t win more championships, when years passed and you were still there, along with other champions and future champions. They started to call you old, washed, telling you to retire and placing bets on when you’d lose your seat. It was baffling because it had been six years since your championship, but it had been seven years since Fernando’s, but still, you were the only one whose spot was questioned all the time. It was unfair, and whenever they came up to you talking about it, you’d ask them if they’d ask the same to older drivers or other champions. They would leave you alone for a week and then come back stronger, ready to throw your whole career under the bus.

Finally, you got another chance at the championship in 2013, after an unbelievable start of the season with five consecutive wins. That had put you first in the standings for the championship, and from there on, your team molded the season around you. Smooth sailing through the season, you became world champion in Suzuka, way too far ahead in the championship to anyone be able to catch up to you.

When you stood on the podium that night, you cried happy tears. You had once again proved wrong years of demerit from the world. As you looked down to search for your family, your eyes found Fernando right beside them, a proud, emotional look on his face as he kept a hand over his heart, listening to your national anthem.

He nodded at you with a small smile, and a part of you healed a little bit.

You enjoyed a couple of days of pure bliss after becoming world champion. Parties, celebrations and trips, they were all you did for the next few weeks.

When the FIA Prize Giving ceremony came, you had another bombshell to drop at the world. You were the most stunning you ever felt that year when you arrived at the ceremony, in a beautiful dark blue dress with little crystals all over the bodice, a beautiful hairstyle and even more beautiful makeup. Never in your entire career in Formula 1, you had felt so fulfilled, so happy.

Hearing your name being called as the winner, the number one, was different this time, and had much more weight, and it made your heart burst with happiness. As you walked up the stairs to the stage, receiving your trophy, you stopped by the mic.

“Thank you so much. I’d like to thank my family for supporting me from the beginning, my team for making the perfect season, and the perfect car for me to be able to achieve this. I’d like to thank all my teammates that, in one way or another, taught me some valuable lessons as a racer. Thanks to Flavio for taking a chance on my career when probably no one else would.” You said, with a smile. You took a good look around, all the people in this sport who made Formula 1 the most important category of motorsport, all your peers, all the teams. “I’m announcing my retirement from Formula 1, as of right now.”

There was a wave of shock and loud gasps in the whole room, flashes and flashes bulbing harder than before, journalists scrambling to take notes… But you kept smiling, hand firm around your trophy as you let the news settle down before speaking again.

“In 2007 I wanted to pay Flavio back for giving me the opportunity to be here today. That debt was paid that same year. After that year I wanted to win for myself, to write my name in the history books, and my dream is now realized. I feel like I should move on and make space for new upcoming talents.” Your eyes were wet with unshed tears, but you smiled, the first genuine smile in a few years.

Fernando felt his heart drop at your words. Things weren’t supposed to go like this, you two should be best friends, drive together, retire together. Go down in history together.

“I’m grateful for everything this sport provided me, the adventures, traveling around the world, the people I met and the people I lost,” there was a calm pause, and Fernando wondered if you were talking about him too, “Now it’s time to go and achieve new dreams. Thank you very much.”

You turned around and walked away under the applause.

Later, after the ceremony was done, you were getting ready to leave when Fernando came to find you. He was dressed in a beautiful suit, looking like a million dollar man.

“Nena…”

It made you pause. It had been a while since he called you like that with that specific tone. 

“What? Came here to gloat?” You couldn’t help but be defensive, worried.

“What?”

“I knew you’d be one of the happiest when I retired.”

“No, I would not-”

“You would, Fernando. You did. Many times you said I was done, that my prime was over, that I should retire…” 

“I never thought you’d easily give up!” He shouted at you, “Like you did in 2006, not competing against me.”

“That’s because they didn’t let me compete! Do you think I couldn’t have competed with you back in ‘06? I could, but every time, they would tell me to back off, to let you pass, to not fight you, to not overtake you-” You threw at his face, because you wouldn’t stand there and let him look down on you like that. You refused to back down now that you were finally free. “Pat threatened my seat if disobeyed team orders.”

“What?! Why did you never tell me that?” Fernando looked shocked. His fighting stance was completely gone now.

“You were going to be World Champion again. I would never take that from you,” You whispered, voice failing.

“Nena…” He said, like he wanted to drop everything. “Please, don’t leave. If Red Bull don’t want you, you can find another spot with another team, we can think of something.”

“Fernando, I’m not leaving because the team doesn't want me. In fact, they offered me a 3 year extension.”

“That’s not how it was supposed to go, remember? We planned that-” His voice was kinder than it had been to you in many years, “We would go down in history together. Win together, retire together.”

“When push comes to shove, only one wins… We learned that the hard way.” I say, with a sad smile, “Life doesn’t always go as planned. And I got everything I could ever want from Formula 1. Now it’s time for new stuff.”

“What new stuff?”

“I want to have a family, Fernando. People don’t stick around long for this lifestyle, you know that-” You shook your head.

With one last look at Fernando, your eyes watered, and you walked away.

Sitting on the porch, you looked up at the sky, thinking of what’s next for you. It had been months since you announced your retirement from Formula 1. The new season had already begun. It was your birthday, a refreshing new one.

You heard steps coming closer and your heartbeat sped up as you saw Fernando walking up to you. He sat down by your side, holding a pint of ice cream and two spoons. He handed one to you and in silence, you started eating ice cream.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said after a few minutes of silence.

“Was it hard to find me?” You asked, with a tentative smile.

“It only took me my whole life to find you again…” He said, wistfully, his eyes shining under moonlight and you didn’t know if those were unshed tears or not, “my best friend, my nena, my girl…”

“I’ve always been here. Right here.” You said, eyes watering. You weren’t sure you could explain what that here meant, but somehow you knew he would understand.

Fernando took your hand, gently placing it on his chest, right above his heart.

“Right here,” he whispered, pressing his hand above yours, over his beating heart, “you were always here.”

Then, he kissed you. For the first time in more than a decade, for what felt like the first time for both of you. As his other hand pulled you closer, the kiss deepened, like a prayer and a promise. Both of you knew there was a lot of resentment to navigate through, and a lot of feelings you’d both have to unravel and understand. But there was one thing that was always there, through hate, anger and hurt… And it was love, unshaken, steadfast love.

As you broke apart, Fernando pulled you into him, hugging you tight for a few minutes, before pulling away to hold your face with both hands, his eyes looking into yours with so much devotion it melted everything away.

“We will be alright.”

TAG LIST: @loopnotloopythough @thegooglyeyedpumkin @fordlita @dudenhaaa27 @clockworkballerina @coffee-lover21 @inejismywife @dckgzz @multiplemando @thatsusbitch @hrts4scarr @mame-mp4 @heyheyheyggg @sam-f1 @shocolattesblog @sunnytkm23 @cmleitora @beskardroids @90intherain @clomo12345 @fall-bambi @emmdreams @booksandflowrs @iwmtfm @haloxmendes @yupnomeh @sittingalonereads @julesbog @luckyladycreator2 @c-losur3 @alliwantisadonut @velocesainz @adalynneva @croissantbakerylws @spideybv28 @hrrorflm @kimialaia @s4turnsl0ver @redfives @starksztony @bluechamp @astrostar24 @offbrand-slasher @splaterparty0-0 @foolforfer @madnesstaking0ver @sarahedwards16

@carlanno @enaticosencantados @too-many0-0fandoms @tatcutie @its-avalon-08 @mina-2056 @small-mean-dwarf @ironmaiden1313 @myhomeworksnotdone @albeelins @thesauronripper666 @teenwolf9-1-1lover @kat-s2 @freetimemachinequeen @mynicosensesaretingling @losore-prone @mrsmelinda @thatonesblog @strollnstroll @sadieurlady @chuxk-lerclerk @johnsmith1437386326263 @happylittlereader @formulanando @roguesourwolf @minkyungseokie @vampsarereal @kihc-zya @hjbbyyy @aloapple19 @users09 @feelslikealbon @smellybreath46 @a-disturbing-self-reflection @hereforfanficsnothingelse @kimialaia @danielricciardotr

[vlrspace]

there was never a time where the atmosphere was this thick with tension, gojo thinks, never with you at least.

his slender fingers dug tightly into the leather covered wheel, white brows meeting in the middle of his forehead as his cerulean eyes focus on the road ahead. how comical, of course it’s raining outside, accompanied with purple and white strikes appearing across the sky.

gojo gazes at you from the corner of his eyes, he’s desperately trying to ignore the churn of his heart at the sight of you. soft arms wrapped around your frame, fully embracing yourself and seeking comfort in a pair of arms that aren’t his. streaks of maskara coating the red apples of your cheeks, as you lean your head against the window.

he can’t decide what’s worse; the fact that you haven’t even spoke, let alone look at him ever since you two left or that he can’t find anyone else to blame, but himself.

truly, he hadn’t known about the invitation of his ex girlfriend by his parents. a vicious move on their end, just to taunt you with the thought that gojo could always do better than you.

his ex, who is a true golden girl, the definition of a perfect woman every parent desire their children to be with. however, she was far from the ideal partner, with her cunning and self absorbed nature. sure, she’s beautiful and comes from a wealthy family, like gojo, but she only ever cared about putting up a good show for the world. everything with her were non existent, unlike with you.

gojo is aware of how, unfortunately, his parents aren’t particularly fond of you and frankly, he doesn’t care.

the familiar silhouette of your home is visible in the distance and the white haired male tries to calm down his thoughts, to centralise them about making you stay with him. gojo thinks that it’s ridiculous how tied to you he really feels, how dependent he is on you and in such short time as well. six months were enough to make him obsessed with you, it’s utterly pathetic.

the buzzing of the engine comes to a stop and you get yourself ready to exit the car, but gojo locks the car before you even could reach the handle. the action makes you turn towards him, confused and nervous as you wait for him to talk.

“i’m so sorry” his sentence comes out shaky and breathless, his body wholly facing you, blue gaze never wavering away from yours. “i’m so fucking sorry” his shoulders are shaking, pools of tears leaking from the corner of his eyes.

with quiet sobs, he reaches for you, his hands carefully placing themselves on your waist, softly cradling you closer to him. the action makes your eyes widen, you’ve never seen gojo so vulnerable before. he threw his tie on the backseat the second you two entered the vehicle, along with his suit and his button up is halfway undone.

“you deserve so much better” his words are barely audible between the hiccups, his forehead gently pressing against yours as a hand comes up to wipe your tears away. “so much better than me”

gojo blames himself for the way his parents treated you at the dinner party, you realise, belittling you and throwing snarky remarks in front of everyone when his ex arrived. even though gojo stood up for you and got into an argument with his family, those words still hurt you.

“but i don’t ever want to let you go, you’re my everything. i didn’t know what home felt like till i met you, what love really was. i don’t have to pretend to be someone else when i’m with you and you make me feel whole” the desperation of his voice makes your heart break, you can feel his hold on you a little unsteady. “it’s you that i want, you make feel a better man and i love you so much it makes my heart hurt” he stutters out, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips, before pulling away from you.

“i don’t care what they think, i belong with you” your breath hitches in your throat as his words hit you with full force. not only that, but there is no hesitation in his voice and his face is full of seriousness.

“satoru..” you whisper out finally and reach for your seatbelt. swiftly unlocking it, you throw yourself at him, lips pressing against each other feverishly.

your hands curl around his neck, fingers disappearing in his white hair and you feel him wrap around your waist and move you into his lap. gojo’s tongue pushes into your mouth, salvaging every inch he touches. one of his hands cradles your cheek, thumb gently stroking your soft skin and you feel his other hand slowly moving you against him.

you’re the first one to pull away, just barely a few inches between you, gojo’s hips thrusting upwards to meet yours in the middle. both of your breaths are heavy and the atmosphere is now filled with a different type of tension. the sound of rain sounds distant, you can’t seem to care about the on going storm outside anymore. all you care about is gojo, the love of your life.

“i love you so much” your words are whispered against his lips as he leans up to capture yours in a kiss again.

if gojo wasn’t so occupied with you right now, he would laugh at his parents’ poor attempt to break you two apart. he knows his parent finally realised, how much you mean to him and the growing fear within them taken over.

satoru would do anything for you, even if it meant abandoning the great gojo empire just to be with you.

@/vrlspace, 2024

[andavs]

Seriously, does Eddie know what Kim unintentionally did to him?

I'm not trying to absolve him of everything that just happened because he was the one to go back to the store and talk to her in the first place. He continued to see her at least a few times, so that part is entirely on him—but he also came clean with her and ended it. It was over and done with.

But he brought her to his home to explain and she came back later to ambush him. She used the photos he showed her to dress up exactly like his dead wife—maybe it was just some careful styling, but it looked like she even dyed the white streak in her hair. He opened up about the faults in their marriage and she threw his own words back at him to push him into engaging with her. Everything he shared with her, she twisted and used against him.

Even with nothing but good intentions, Kim is a fucking actress! She is not in any way qualified to guide him through something like that! She broke him open while he repeatedly asked her to stop, unintentionally blew his life up, and then left him there in pieces. And he couldn’t even begin to process what just happened because Chris walked in.

Yeah, Eddie could’ve slammed the door in Kim’s face from the start or told her to get out, but even if he had, would she have left? She was determined to do this “for him” and didn’t take no for an answer. He could barely even look at her, but she kept pushing until she struck a nerve. 

That was such a fucked up thing that Kim did, yet Eddie defends her and blames himself completely in the aftermath. He was so messed up and wracked with guilt and worry about Chris that he couldn’t even properly explain what happened. He talks around it while blaming himself for everything, to the point where it sure as hell seems like Buck thinks they had sex while Kim pretended to be Shannon, and Eddie was fully into it.

In the episode before when he first confronted Eddie about her, Buck specifically clarified, “You haven't had sex.” And Eddie said, “Exactly, that’s not even what I want from her.”

And then when Eddie’s trying to explain, Buck says “And what wasn't happening between you two ended up happening.”

Buck thinks they had sex—or were at least making out—and Chris walked in when in reality, Eddie was pushed into a breakdown by the ghost of his dead wife about how he's broken and unfixable and alone. And I don’t know what that misunderstanding means, or if it’ll even end up being relevant! Will Eddie actually tell him what happened, or will he lock that away too?

Eddie’s made so much progress with opening up to people since his breakdown, but this time every single thing he shared got used against him and started a chain reaction that has left him completely alone with nothing. His son is gone, and his parents were there just long enough to convince him that he’s a terrible father screwing up Chris like they screwed up Eddie, which is what Eddie’s always worked hardest to avoid. The one remaining good thing in his life was the 118, and even that’s going to be terrible under Gerrard.

Either next season is going to be equal parts brutal and magnificent on the Eddie front, or it’s going to be incredibly disappointing.

[gremlingottoosilly]

they wouldn’t have had to divorce if he’d listened properly 😔 what about respecting her boundaries 😔 all this trouble and he’s still sneaking his way into her bed 😔 just be a good husband 😔

too bad she was sensible enough to go for joint custody so they couldn’t parent trap her

They wouldn't have to divorce him if he was a sensible human being!! But of course, having Konig as a husband would mean abandoning all of your hopes and dreams and understanding that, no, he is not fucking ready for anything serious, and he is only pushing you into marriage because he is far too insecure for anything else. This is Konig for ya - a crazy obsessive horny old dog who managed to fuck a few little brats into you, and now you're facing the consequences. The problem is - you can't just drop him off your life and go with your merry way. You have children together, and they don't see their dad's behavior as anything weird - so they would get sad if you are not allowing them to meet, and Konig is sensible enough to give them a good time any time he's in the country. It's crazy, with his irregular schedule, so you will often be forced into a spontaneous trip across the continent solely because he was in the area and already bought you and the kids tickets to Disney Park for a whole fucking week. Of course, you can't leave them with him, so you have to call off the school, you have to call off the work(if you have one) and you have to go and pretend to be a healthy couple because you love your kids. Konis is not a deadbeat dad, even though you kinda of almost want him to be one. He remembers all the important dates for you and children, he is good with gifts and he is still sending you money for childcare and for personal needs. He was never this good during the marriage, barely paying attention to the kiddos, but he pulled off such a good show in court, that he kinda has to be amazing now. He is very moody if you're getting a job - he can still provide for you, after all - but you want to be independent...or at least pretend to. You're getting fired all the time because of your constant disappearances - but you don't want to be the bad guy in front of your kids and say that they can't spend time with you two. You're tired, managing a single-parent household is hard, especially when your ex-husband is as annoying as Konig, and you find yourself relying on his for too many things...and ending up in his bed far too many times.

[nico-the-newt]

Dating Blaise Zabini would include...

Your first interaction being him asking you to the Yule Ball in fourth year

And at first you’re just kinda like “huh?” because you had never spoken to this kid in the four years you had been at school

But you somehow find yourself agreeing to go anyway

So you go to Hogsmeade with your friends and buy dress robes and a stupid pair of heels that you could barely walk in

The day of the ball you were shitting bricks and just wondering if you should pretend to be sick and then avoid Blaise for the rest of your schooling

And your friends are just like “fuck that - you are going to the ball and you will have fun”

And to your surprise - you did have fun

It was kinda weird at first, as the only other time you two had spoken was when he had asked you to the ball

But then you started actually having a conversation and it was as if something had clicked

(He had also sat out on the dancing with you when you twisted your ankle in the stupid heels, even though lots of people were inviting him to dance and he obviously itching to go)

It was a lovely night overall and you even shared a peck on the cheek at the end of the night but you didn’t show much interest in each other after that and basically went back to being strangers

That was until the following year when you joined the quidditch team and started reconnecting with him through that

So after a few months of chatting, flirting and training together he asked you on a date and you accepted

And the rest was history

You don’t really get along with each others friends

Your friends think he’s a bit of an arrogant dick and while you don’t deny that, you know how sweet he truly is when its only you two

And his friends are all the popular Slytherin kids so naturally they dislike you

Date nights on Saturdays which ranges from eating dinner on the astronomy tower to getting drunk and seeing how long you could play exploding snap in the library before getting kicked out (high score was half an hour)

Him not being a big PDA person

Not big on cuddles either but will still enjoy constantly touching and holding you (eg. Letting you lean into him or rest your head in his lap, holding your hand, running his fingers through you hair etc.)

Sneaking around for alone time

Its not as if you two don’t have anywhere to be horny idiots you both just get a thrill out of sneaking about

His mother inviting your family over for Christmas during your sixth year and you’re both nervous as fuck

Your parents being a bit iffy about your boyfriend and his mum purely because of the rumours about Mrs Zabini and her many husbands

Only Mrs Zabini is the loveliest person you’ve ever met in spite of her possibly being a murderer

Having a lot of arguments during the beginnings of your relationship because Blaise is bad at addressing his emotions and you’re too good at addressing yours which often ends up in a lot of miscommunications

Encouraging him to open up a bit more which leads to a bit more arguing

As you date for longer you both learn how to read each other a little easier which leads to less arguing

Breaking up during seventh year when you join DA

You both spend the year feeling even more depressed than you already were

Finding him after the fire in the room of requirement

Making up straight away and fighting side by side for the rest of the battle because you both realise that life is too short to not be with each other

And you also both know that theres a high chance of one of you dying

Vowing to never leave each other again after Voldemort is defeated

[munson-blurbs]

i am alrREADY SENDING IN MY REQUEST SO I DONT FORGET AND I NEED THIS

Peanut Butter Cup - Nerds

IM SO EXCITED.

Fake dating/Bookworm!Reader/Steve Harrington

Warnings: fake dating, Harrington familial dysfunction, drunk family members

WC: 1.1k

Divider credit to @saradika

Steve had heard it all from his parents:

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend yet?”

“Just go out on a date, Steven.”

“You spend all damn day at that video store; you’re never gonna meet anyone that way.”

He normally shrugs it off, until his parents give him an ultimatum: get a girlfriend before the annual Harrington Family Reunion in two weeks, or don’t bother showing up at all. 

“Twenty years old, and you barely passed high school, work a dead-end job, and don’t even have a girlfriend,” his father mutters, disgust marring his features. “You’re a disappointment.”

The insult reverberates around his skull all day: disappointment, disappointment, disappointment. It’s not the first time his father has hurled the term his way, and it likely won’t be the last, but the impact continues to sting.

It’s still gnawing at him when you walk in the door, sliding a VHS copy of The Shining across the counter with a bashful smile.

“Sorry, I know it’s a day late,” you apologize, already digging into your bag for change. “How much is the fee?”

Steve dismisses the notion with a wave. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, already checking the movie back into the system. “You, uh, went to Hawkins High, right?”

“Mhm,” you confirm, zipping up your purse and hitching it back up your shoulder, “class of ‘86.”

“‘85,” he chirps, clearing his throat to temper his enthusiasm. “Anyway, hope the movie was good.”

You nod and smile again; the gentle upturn of your lips has Steve melting. “It was. The book was better, though.”

And that’s when Steve finally places you: back in high school, you volunteered at the school library and, on more than one occasion, had helped him find a book for research projects. You were pretty then, and you’re even prettier now.

“I haven’t read the book,” he admits, embarrassed that he hasn’t read much of anything besides a comic book or two since graduation. 

Your jaw drops. “Well, now you have to!” You grab your car keys from your back pocket. “I’ll swing by tomorrow with my copy, if that’s cool?”

“Y-Yeah, ‘s cool,” he stutters, giving his head a soft shake to shift the hair from his hazel eyes. He watches as you walk out of the store, the sway of your hips drawing him in. 

He probably would have stared forever if Robin hadn’t cut in. “Hey, Dingus, you’re drooling.”

You stop by Family Video the next day to drop off the book. And then a few days after that, you go there again to grab another movie. Soon enough, you’re a regular customer.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” Steve blurts out from where he’s standing next to you as you peruse the horror section. “Feel free to say no, to tell me to fuck off, and I will. I will just…fuck right off.”

“Shoot.”

“Could you pretend to be my girlfriend at my family reunion next weekend? Nothing weird,” he rushes to add, not wanting to imply any unwanted contact. “Just hand holding, arm around your shoulder…no feels will be copped, I swear.”

You pinch your eyebrows, perplexed. “Is this the trade-off for having my late fee waived?” you tease, thumbing The Exorcist and tugging it from its spot on the shelf. “Because I’ll pay it.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, just tired of hearing my folks complain about me not having my life together. Figured if I showed up with a smart, pretty girl on my arm, they’d shut up for a little while.”

Your face burns at the compliments, both at the words and that King Steve is the one saying them. “What’s the dress code?”

You and Steve arrive in his Beemer, his hand already pressed to the small of your back as you walk into the restaurant. A room filled with Harringtons greet you as you enter the room, and your stomach flips as you wonder if you can pull this off.

“Showtime,” Steve murmurs in your ear, taking you around the room to meet his family. You’re suddenly self-conscious of where your black dress lands on your thighs and the cut of the neckline. Sure, Steve had approved it, but what did he know?

You note that he’s been gazing at you since he’d picked you up earlier, eyes drawn to you like a magnetic force. It’s part of the whole bit, you try and convince yourself, but something nags at you that Steve isn’t that good of an actor.

The conversations go as easily as they can; you spend the evening peppering in “facts” about your relationship that you and Steve had rehearsed over and over. Some of the details were truthful, like meeting at Family Video and bonding over horror movies. Other parts were much more embellished: relationship duration, your first date, the way Steve bragged that you were the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid eyes on.

It’s smooth sailing until Steve’s inebriated father stands up, clumsily clinking his knife to his wine glass. “I’d like to make a toast,” he slurs, swaying as he speaks, “to my son, Steve, and his girl! Never thought I’d see the day he’d land someone like her.”

Your eyes remain glued to the floor, waiting for the moment to be over, but if the impromptu speech wasn’t awkward enough, one of Steve’s equally drunk uncles calls out, “Give her a kiss, Stevie!”

Steve shakes his head with an uncomfortable chuckle. “Nah, we’re not really into the public–”

“Aw, c’mon!” His boisterous voice echoes throughout the restaurant. “Kiss, kiss, kiss!” he chants, and soon enough, most of the family joins in.

“Shall we shut them up?” Steve mumbles, turning to you. “Y’don’t have to…”

“N-No, we can.” It’s not the most conventional first kiss, but then again, nothing about this arrangement is normal. “We can just…”

Steve’s hand is on your cheek, nose nudging against yours as your lips press together. This isn’t a simple peck; no, it’s far more involved, more intimate, than you had anticipated.

You melt into him a bit more, resting your own hand on his bicep until the kiss comes to an end. The men hoot and holler; the women exchange awws.

“Now that,” Steve’s dad guffaws, clapping a hand on his son’s back, “is the kiss of true love!”

You manage a small smile, wondering exactly what just happened. The kiss was the best of your life, and it was supposedly just for show.

Steve’s breath tickles your earlobe as he whispers, “he may be drunk, but he’s not wrong.” His cheeks are pink at the admission.

It’s certainly a conversation you’ll need to have later, but you can’t say you disagree. For now, your fingers intertwine with his, and you give them a quick squeeze. 

Maybe it’s the wine, but you swear you love him back.

--

[ivysoul]

This Is a Family

dad!neteyam x fem!metkayina!reader

→ warnings: slight angst, neteyam doubting himself, aged up neteyam for the sake of him being a father (nothing sexual), one mention of being shot (pass tense).

→ summary: neteyam has doubts about his parenting, and he fears that he’s going to raise his son the way his father raised him.

→ i ??? love ??? him ??? so ??? much ??? he deserves the world.

→ 1.0k words

Neteyam always masked his fear. Growing up, he figured the best way to keep his siblings together during the war with the Sky People was to pretend he was never scared. It worked especially well with Tuk, and in turn, she felt herself feel less worry.

And people never questioned whether he was actually scared or not. Partly because he got so good at acting, but mostly because he was the oldest child of the great Toruk Makto. Apparently that meant he had the inability to feel regular Na’vi emotions.

It became a part of him. He never showed his fear to anyone, even in fearful situations. He buried it so deep down that he never once thought that maybe, just maybe, it would end up coming back to bite him in the ass.

Like it was in this moment.

He was sat down in your shared Marui, head held low in the palms of his hands, elbows resting on his knees with his legs crossed. His breathing was rapid and his chest was rising and falling like he just ran twelve miles. He couldn’t stop the racing thoughts in his head.

Pregnant. You’re pregnant. He’s going to be a father.

That in itself isn’t a bad thing. Don’t get him wrong, he was ecstatic when Ronal confirmed both of your suspicions. He kissed you so hard the moment the words left her lips, and he cuddled you tight that night (and every night after) with his palm resting on your tummy, where your son was growing everyday. God, he was so happy. So fucking happy. But there was still that overwhelming fear he felt when he thought about it some more.

Because no, he doesn’t think his dad was a bad dad. No, he doesn’t think ill of his dad. But he knows that his parenting method had affected the way he grew up in such a way he couldn’t even explain. And Neteyam was always scared that the way his dad raised him was so engraved into his brain that he would subconsciously raise his son to be the same.

It scared him so much, but like usual, he never let it show. Unbeknownst to him, however, you were always able to see right through him. Since the moment you two met, you were able to tell he was not only nervous to be around an entirely new clan, but also scared.

And he always wondered how you always knew when to comfort him, but he just thought that was some weird coincidence. You never mentioned it to him. Because admittedly, you thought the look of confusion he showed when you comforted him was cute. You always thought Neteyam was cute. Since the moment you saw him.

You were walking by your Marui to get to your friends’ when you heard sniffling inside. When you peaked your head in and saw that the sniffling was coming from Neteyam, your heart cracked. You’d barely ever seen him cry before. Only a handful of times; once when he got shot during the war with the Sky People; and once when you found out you were with child. Each time, he had people there to comfort him, but this time, as he sat alone inside the Marui, he had no one.

You quickly rushed over to his side, putting your hand on his shoulder gently. Neteyam jumped at the feeling of your hand on him, not knowing anyone was even there in the first place.

“Yawne, what is wrong?” Your voice was gentle, soft. It was one of the many things Neteyam lovrd about you. “What has happened?”

He sniffled again before answering, “Nothing tiyawn, do not worry.”

You let out a scoff at that and moved to kneel in front of him, hands finding their way on his thighs, moving up and down to comfort him. You wanted him to look at you and repeat it, because you knew he couldn’t lie to you like that. And when he didn’t meet your eyes, it was basically confirmed right then that something was wrong.

You took his face in your hands and tilted his head up, finally looking each other in the eyes. Neteyam placed his palms on the back of your hands and sighed.

“What is wrong.” It was more of a demand for him to tell you rather than a question this time.

He debated whether he should say it or not, but he ultimately decided he should. “I am scared.”

“Of what, my love?”

Again, he sniffled and placed a hand over your now very prominent baby bump, “Of becoming a father.” When you didn’t answer, he took it as a silent tell for him to elaborate. “I am scared that I will raise him the way my dad raised me. I do not want our son to feel the amount of pressure I felt growing up. I do not want him to feel like his siblings do not get the same amount of… attention, from his parents.”

To lighten the mood, you smirked, “‘His siblings’,” you repeated, seeing the smallest of smiles form on your husband’s face, “you want more, huh?”

“Well, yes. It is inevitable, I cannot just stop making love to you.”

A light cover of blush appeared on your cheeks, and Neteyam’s smile only grew wider. Though you kept as serious as you could in order to reassure him of his thoughts. “Mayawne, you will be the greatest father known to man. You will raise your son, and his siblings, with the amount of love anyone would only wish their parents had showed them. You will be an amazing father, no matter what your thoughts are telling you.”

He visibly relaxed at your words, shoulders dropping and chest loosening with a deep breath. “Besides, if you step out of line, I will be right there to slap you so hard you will forget you are even a father in the first place.”

Neteyam laughed, but nodded. Even if you were joking in the moment, he knew you would keep to your word. He leaned forward and kissed you lovingly. And though the kiss tasted of salty tears, you loved it. You loved any kiss your husband would give you.

“I see you.” He whispered against your lips, eyes closed and forehead against yours.

You smiled, “I see you.”

[kritischetheologie]

eagerly awaiting the next instalment of the ultimatum au

previously, in episode 6, back when it was still summer, the trial marriages came to an end.

Episode 7: Trial Marriages--Original Partners

By now, Jenson is used to Nico slinking back to him covered in bite marks and bruises. They move together into another Netflix-anonymous apartment, indistinguishable from the one where he'd lived with Lando, and Nico fills the closet with his clothes without asking. It hadn't bothered Jenson when they'd lived together before. He'd been ready to marry Nico. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Nico strips naked and drags Jenson into the shower with him. "I've been so dirty," he coos. "Are you going to clean me up?"

Jenson sighs, and reaches for Nico's Le Labo shower gel. "C'mere, sweetheart," he says, pouring the suds into his palm. He's exhausted. Lando had kept him up all night, god bless his twenty-something stamina, and Jenson had been hoping for a nap before he had to perform again.

Nico reaches for Jenson's soft dick. "Babe, why aren't you getting hard for me?"

Jenson gulps. "Bit worn out, frankly," he admits.

Nico's smile turns poisonous.

"I can clean myself up, then," he says, turning the water ice cold until Jenson takes the hint and retreats to their bedroom.

--

"Ok, so to be completely honest, I did fuck Jenson," Lando says. "But in my defense, have you seen the guy? He's gorgeous. And also, this is why we're here, right? Anyway, I just wanted to tell you. Because I love you, and I want to be honest with each other. That's the only way this is going to work, right?"

The entire speech he's been preparing pours out of Lando in a single breath, and then there's just silence. Daniel's wearing a hangdog expression Lando has only really seen on his face a couple times, like last year, when shit got really, really bad at work, before they fired him. He can barely look Lando in the eye.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Lando says. "I didn't realize it would bother you that much. Shit, fuck. Did I fuck everything up?"

Daniel looks at Lando, and Lando watches him pull the Danny Ricc smile over his face. It's the smile that hooked him in the first place. He'd never realized it could be an act, when Daniel needed it to be.

"You didn't fuck anything up, Lando," Daniel says. "It's all good, I promise."

Dating Daniel has always been easy, and fun, and it's a lot easier, and more fun, to pretend to believe him.

--

Max misses Daniel so much that it feels like someone carved part of him out with a spoon. He misses him like he'd missed his sister, and his mom, when his parents split up and split the two of them up too. The only reason he doesn't sit down and cry, on the floor of the new apartment where he and Charles will be living for the next three weeks, is because he's so used to the missing feeling that he's learned how to ignore it.

"I really missed you, Max," Charles says. Max catches himself thinking that Charles has no idea what missing means, before he remembers that Charles does, maybe even more than he does. At least he got to call his sister once a week, and he gets to see her now. Charles has to miss people forever.

"I missed you too," Max says, because he knows it's the right thing to say. He's known Charles for so long that he always knows what to say in the moment. It's not like how it was with Daniel. With Daniel, he'd felt like he was an alien learning how to speak human language for the first time, like he was always struggling to find words for things he'd never felt before.

Charles puts an arm around Max, where they're sitting on the sofa, and Max cuddles close to Charles. His phone, which had been open to Daniel's instagram page, sits black on the coffee table, staring at him.

--

Alex and George cook together, their first night in their new flat. George shows Alex how to make sourdough, which he learned from Sebastian. They light a scented candle, and put on soft music, and dance in the kitchen.

"This bread is delicious," Alex says, once they're tearing chunks of it apart to dip into the soup he's made. Charles hadn't cooked much, so Alex had been responsible for most of it. It's nice to have the team back together again. The nights when he goes over to George's to cook, because George has a big enough kitchen to fit both of them and an oven that doesn't turn itself off without warning, have been some of his favorites.

"You don't mind that I learned it from Seb?" George asks. He's got his collar turned up, hiding what looks like it might be a hickey on his neck, and Alex can't help wanting to wrap George in his arms and tell him that it's okay, that he doesn't mind any of it, if it was what George needed.

"Only if you don't show me everything else he taught you, too," Alex says, waggling his eyebrows at George's neck and watching him flush red all the way down to below his collar."

"It wasn't like that!" George exclaims, wrapping his arms around himself defensively. "We were very serious, the whole time, I promise."

Alex pokes at him. "You don't have to be serious all the time, Georgie," he says, tickling George's ribs until he bursts out laughing.

--

Rosecoe crawling immediately into Sebastian's lap, once he sits down on the couch of their new apartment, shouldn't feel as much like a victory as it does.

"We don't have to talk about it," Lewis says. He's pacing around, like he's afraid to sit down and stop moving. Seb had seen Nico when they'd all met up to re-join their previous partners. He'd looked like he'd been mauled by a wild animal.

"Bullshit," Seb says. "Of course we do. That's who we are. We're Lewis and Seb. When we have an issue, we talk about it, and we figure it out. That's how we got as far as we did, in the first place."

"And maybe it's also how we ended up here," Lewis spits back. "Too much fucking talking. Maybe some things can't be talked about. Maybe they can only be felt, and maybe the fact that you never understood that is the problem with us."

Seb stares Lewis dead in the face. "I knew you never wanted this, wanted marriage" he says. "I knew we were always operating on borrowed time. But I'm not going to sit here and let you act like there's something about us that's wrong. You would have found something wrong with anyone you were with, eventually."

"Sure, because you're so fucking perfect, man," Lewis counters. "You only want me as long as I fit the perfect little life you have planned out for yourself. How do you expect that to make me feel? At least Nico sees me as a fucking person, not some sort of, of, accessory, or--"

Seb can't stop himself from interrupting him. "Do you really think things with Nico would have been any different, if you'd started dating him three years ago?" Seb asks. "You two would be at each other's throats in a year if you tried to make things work with him, and not," his own laugh sounds bitter in his ears, "in a fun way."

"Maybe I don't want to have to try to make things work with anyone," Lewis says. "Whatever happened to actually being in love? Or is that not a thing, in your universe? Maybe you and George would be perfect for each other, actually. A nice pair of robot husbands, with a perfect little picket fence marriage. Fuck you. Send me a Christmas card, man."

Lewis turns on his heel and storms out of the apartment. "Lewis--" Seb tries to call after him, but the door has already shut behind him when the words leave Seb's mouth. It's too late.

"What the fuck do we do now?" he asks Roscoe.

[princess-of-the-corner]

I think Adrien always being on time, Akumas or not, is more indicative of the writers not wanting to do anything with him than it is of Marinette's character with her always being late

Realistically, who should have a harder time balancing their super and civilian lives timewise, the intended to be average girl from a middle class working family, or the teen model who's been well known since he was very young, is the son of a former film star and the fashion designer who's outfits he models, who's super busy and restricting schedule is constantly mentioned? Adrichat.

Except, of course, Adrichats super busy schedule, his controlling father, and the two fully grown and very competent adults who's literal jobs are 'get this kid to this place at this time and don't lose track of him' never actually matter when he needs to be Chat.

But hey, an actual story arc where something like, idk, Adrichat being stuck at an event for so long he completely misses an Akuma fight where Ladybug is barely able to scrape by without him happens long before episode 100, and Adrichat realizes 'oh, this is gonna happen again if I can't figure something out' and he spends a season going back and forth with his father until he finally manages to get Gabriel to drastically cut back on his modeling, which then opens Adrichat up to being involved in his own civilian plots that don't just involve Gabriel being a dick would be ... a fun and interesting use of the characters.

Let's point and laugh at Marinette being late bc she spent so long drooling at...an add of Adrien in his normal civilian outfit.

Bc that's better writing!

(i know we've all pointed out on this blog that Mari getting in good with a bunch of celebrities in the past year kinda defeats the point of her being a 'normal girl with a normal life' but the writers never address that, so I believe they do intend for Mari to be seen as a mostly average teen with a talent for fashion and a secret identity, so thats how I talked about her in this)

Oh yeah no like.

It's absolutely a thing where they should focus on both of them but they just don't.

Because yeah it's. Logically: Adrien /should/ be having far more trouble than Marinette if only because even his free time should be accounted for. While Mari has some genuine free time where she doesn't have anything planned and can do whatever she wants last minute and off schedule and just say to her parents 'hey I'm going to go out' and they're like 'okay cool be back by curfew', Adrien has to request hangouts 4-7 business days beforehand and is often told no because Gabriel is a controlling fuck.

And there's multiple potential stories with this!!

As above: Adrien is having trouble sneaking away to be Chat Noir. Either he ends up being unable to leave and Ladybug suffers for it, or he does leave and ends up missing/late/etc. for his other duties and he's punished for skipping out. Maybe even accidentally making his friends look bad because Gabriel thinks they're bad influences encouraging him to skip out. This forces Adrien to either figure out better ways to sneak off, or he manages to get Gabriel to relax his schedule to allow for 'more social life', or hell maybe we have a Gang of Secrets situation with The Gorilla as the confidant and he helps convince Gabriel that Adrien is where he's supposed to be.

OR! Or! Let Adrien lie. We've already had one or two instances where Adrien sneaks out/lies about where he is. Go full force on it. Sneak around Gabriel by pretending to be where he's supposed to be. Forge notes and gaslight Bustier into thinking his father pulled him out of class. Might be a little tricky since this is a kids show to teach good morals but 1.) HA! 2.) they have Adrien break these rules on occasion anyway and 3.) just have an exchange with Plagg where he suggests sneaking out again for fun social friend things, and Adrien goes 'no, that's wrong. I only break the rules because I have to be Chat Noir and save people! I'm not going to do it for fun!' This could even set up for the Lila plot as a narrative foil in someone who lies because they have to vs. someone who lies for fun and profit. Even hammering it home with Adrien feeling guild despite his situation.

Hell, you could even set up other plots like the Chloé stuff! Have the school staff not report Adrien's absences. Either because they think he'll be like Chloé and demand daddy fixes it, or even have Chloé cover for him by actually playing the card. Whether you see this as her using her abilities for good to help out a friend even though it's still 'wrong' she's trying, or any abuse of power is bad and therefore more proof she's a dick depends on the season.

Just. Could've done plenty with it.

[trickster-archangel]

Random thoughts about Hawaii Five-0 rewatch: part 2/?

Still trying to make sense, in sparse order, of some things I noticed and that made me question the mental stability of whoever decided determined plot points...

Thought #3: missed chance to be a fucking adult, evolved human being and not a caveman about divorced couples, or: if you had started with the intention of showing how Danny and Rachel could rebuild affection and understanding, why fucking slaughter her character that way?!?!

At the end of s1, I suppose it's in the Shorelines extra? anyway, the authors talk extensively about how it was their endgame since the pilot to portray the subtle change and the evolution of the relationship between Danny and Rachel, meaning: they wanted to show how two people, who once loved each other enough to decide to share a lifetime together, had fallen apart and started hating each other just as much because that's what happens in life, but in the end, slowly, thanks to life's twists and turns, they managed to find back the chemistry, the trust, the support, the love they had lost, creating a new kind of bond.

~~~~~~follows under the cut~~~~~~

Which....cool, really. It's fantastic. I obviously don't like the idea of no-mcdanno, but in a way I can really appreciate the intention of portraying something clearly fictional but way better, healthier and more hopeful than what happens in reality like, 70% of the times. My parents would immediately slaughter each other even after more than 30 years after the divorce. I have friends and ex colleagues who are just the same and cannot even be decent enough not to shit over each other in front of their children, making them part of their feud. In Italy, every three days a woman is murdered by her husband, ex husband, fiancee, partner, ex partner. The other 30% is barely civil enough to pretend NOT TO want to murder the other ex spouse.

So, cool. Good intention, I appreciated it, even if I don't agree with Danny sleeping with his ex wife behind her rightful husband's back.

Then 2x01 happened and ok, everything between them fell apart. Probably Danny didn't really believe the baby was Stan's, but it didn't matter because in the end he trusted Rachel and that was enough. He helped her deliver Charlie. He was a good friend. They could've kept this storyline, show how ex spouses can become civil and affectionate again, share a different love, explore the nuances of an extended family. Everything could've been normal and healthy.

So what the fuck happened with the whole "Stan wants to move to Vegas" and then "Rachel always knew Charlie was Danny's but had decided to keep him in the dark because she wanted to decide for everyone"?!?

Ready? The answer comes, plain and simple, in the following seasons' Shorelines commentaries.

They wanted to put Danny through an emotional grinder and imagine how he'd react, but most of all, they wanted to throw a curveball (multiple curveballs including Steve's storyline) at the audience, to hook them, shock them, and make sure they'd be unable not to be there for the next season to see what will happen.

That's it. That's the great mastermind masterplan.

Cheap shocking for the sake of audience ratings.

Ok, I get that after all the mess Rachel did, she probably didn't get much of a saying in Stan's relocation purpose...even if she could've been the friend Danny had been, and left Grace with him, moving only with Charlie and maybe getting Grace for school breaks. Anyway, that's a normal and believable kind of shock/curveball.

But the whole "Charlie’s paternity clusterfuck"?? I mean, it's not even realistically believable! In my 44 years, I've witnessed THIS EXACT SITUATION TWICE!! And in both cases, first thing the cheated husband did, apart from asking immediately for a divorce, was asking for a paternity test! That's what normal, real people do, if they KNOW their wife had an affair and suspiciously GETS PREGNANT immediately after!!

Unless you're a complete idiot who has no experience whatsoever of how the real world works, there's only one explanation for this mess: that you wanted us to imply that Rachel didn't even tell Stan about the cheating, that she simply told him, generically, that their marriage wasn't working anymore and she wanted to go back home, and made him believe that the baby had been conceived during their last-effort trip before Danny was poisoned....right after she'd made sure she'd get pregnant with Danny's kid to trap him with guilt AND need, and then lied to both men. FOR YEARS.

I call this clusterfuck one name only: character's assassination.

There were so many ways, even after s2 and s3 events had happened, they could've brought that shocking curveball forward, because the path they chose only managed to depict Rachel as a mean, cheating, liar bitch who managed to play both men. It's horrible, and chauvinist, and toxic.

She could've been genuinely sure Charlie was Stan's, and only with the disease outbreak and the test both Rachel and Stan had learnt about the truth. Stan could've kicked her out and Danny could've swept in like a real hero to help a friend who once was his love, or maybe they could've explored the difficulties of rebuilding a family.

More simply, Charlie could've been genuinely Stan's but Stan could've given her an ultimatum about Vegas and they could've divorced because Rachel couldn't bear the situation anymore, and made Stan go through what Danny had suffered with the move to Hawai'i.

Charlie could've been Danny's, and she could've decided to come clean with both instead of the whole shared custody arc (this situation, of course, implies that they could've been so far-sighted to imagine a several-seasons arc for Danny and Rachel, instead of improvising for the sake of shock).

Stan could've died, and Danny could've found himself suddenly in charge not only of his daughter and ex wife, but also acting as a father figure for a little kid who wasn't his, but who was his daughter's little brother thus deserving love and protection, making his genuine amazing humanity shine.

These are just some things I'm coming up with, right now, while I'm working and not even plotting, and avoiding any hypothesis implying both Stan's and Rachel's timely death to allow Danny the troubling experience of being a single father of two kids, maybe suddenly discovering that Charlie is his.

There were so many interesting nuances they could've explored, to make sure that they could've followed their initial masterplan about rebuilding a human bond between Danny and Rachel, AND granted them enough shock and emotional distress to hook the audience to the following seasons. Kinda like what they did, more respectfully, with the reveal of Harry's paternity.

They simply chose the cheapest route: harpy, bitch, whore ex wife cheats on both husbands and ruins everyone's life.

Good job.

[proceduralpassion]

Side Eye

Day 26 of Narcoctober- Pick a quote from the show that you love and use it as inspiration for your fanwork. Then share what the quote is at the end of your post.

Character(s): Walt Breslin x Sal Orozco; Walt Breslin x Dani

WC: 403

A/N: Something humorous and fluffy bc I'd love to see Sal as a low key wingman for Walt.

“...So, you’re not gonna do anything special?” 

An awkward silence had hit the car about thirty seconds earlier and Sal’s question didn’t do too well in relieving the tension.

Walt finally shrugs in response, his eyes jumping as his mind runs a mile a minute. His words are unsure when he speaks, “I mean, dating anniversaries don’t really count anymore once you get married, does it?”

Sal sighs, “I give your marriage six months.”

Walt grunts with indignation, “Who the fuck still celebrates their dating anniversary after they’re married?! My friend’s parents have been married for decades and I’m pretty sure they don’t celebrate two separate anniversaries.”

“Well, you haven’t been married for decades, that’s one,” Sal pops in, “And two: you even said that Dani’s been sad with the both of you working all the time. Maybe, a nice dinner out or something special might put her in a better mood?”

Walt gives a tired sigh as his reply because he doesn’t have any useful ammo to shoot back at him with. He’s right, Dani has been a little down in the dumps for the past week or so. He can tell that she’s not trying not to complain, but with her job and barely getting to see her new husband, she’s been craving more time and attention from Walt. 

The quiet remains in the car and Walt’s unsure of how to navigate the dialogue. Conversations like this weren’t commonplace in the bond that the two have built as partners. The fact remains though that Sal brought up a point that Walt cannot contest and so he’s not opposed to hearing more from his perspective. 

After a beat, Walt finally speaks up again, “...So what should I do?”

Sal glances over at him wearing a look of slight impatience, “She’s your wife. What do you think would make her smile?”

“She liked it when I cooked that one time…”

Walt swears he hears Sal mutter “Can’t imagine why,” under his breath but opts to pretend he doesn’t hear it. Instead, he only acknowledges Sal’s second statement, “Then, you should cook her favorite meal. Maybe light some candles. Play your wedding song or some shit.”

“Good idea, good idea..” he mutters.

The way Dani lights up when gets home tonight is a sight worth a hundred stars. Walt thinks to himself that maybe, just maybe, that Sal knew what he was talking about.

A/N: The "I give your marriage six months" quote is a funny comment from an episode of Chicago PD that I watched yesterday and it just kinda stuck in my head bc the dynamic between Antonio/Ruzek kinda reminded me of Walt/Sal lol. Click here if you wanna be added to my taglist. Taglist: @drabbles-mc @ashlingnarcos @asirensrage @narcosfandomdiscord

[youllallriseintheink]

Accretion, chapter 2

The end of day bell rang, but Cyrus stayed seated. He pulled out a book to pretend to read. He was far too anxious to actually focus on it.

His mother had wanted to pick him up that day. That probably meant he was in trouble. But for what? His grades had been impeccable lately, and his violin classes had been fine. He couldn’t recall any social behaviour that could have gotten back to her, either. He’d gotten staying out of trouble down to a science. He knew which kids were willing to let him sit near them at recess without bothering him, and that he could get away with keeping to himself two days a week, both for his own preferences and because there were hazards to social behaviour. Bullying and exclusion would get back to his mother as surely as staying alone by choice. He even knew to alternate days so not make his little schedule obvious.

Some time later his mother showed up and took him outside, where a staraptor was waiting for them. Thankfully, she didn’t seem angry. A bit sad, but not angry.

“Where are we going?” Cyrus asked.

“You’ll see,” she replied.

The trip by staraptor took around forty minutes and stopped in front of a large stone building in Hearthome.

“This is Hearthome Boarding School,” Cyrus’ mother explained, stroking its stone wall. “I went here. So do most people in my family, once they’re old enough. Hopefully, you will, too. Let me show you around.”

It was a long tour, with plenty of happy stories from Cyrus’ mother about the times she’d had there. It seemed like she was struggling to keep herself together, and Cyrus did his best to comfort her so she wouldn’t drink that night. It seemed like a nice place. Everything about it was so polished and big compared to his elementary school. Teenagers in uniforms were participating in various after-school clubs. Others hung around the halls or in the well-stocked library with little to no supervision. Some were alone, or only in the company of Pokémon. They all seemed so calm and civilized.

When the two finally left the building, Cyrus mother broke down in tears.

“Don’t fuck up like I did, Cyrus. I gave up my family’s support so I could marry some soldier boy, and what did it get me? A sham of a marriage, two girls that barely contact me anymore, an affair partner that ditched me the second you were conceived, and, well, you.” She gave him a disdainful look. “Your personality won’t make you any friends no matter where you go, but if you get into this school, it’ll look like you’re useful and that I’m raising you right, and my family will accept us again. They’ll have a place for us in the business empire, and our lives will finally make sense again.”

Cyrus nodded in response and kept a neutral face. Nothing could appeal to him less than the controlling approval of people he barely knew, but Hearthome Boarding School did seem like a good place for him.

“The school is grades eight to twelve, so you can start next year,” Cyrus’ mother continued. “The entrance exam is in a month. Unfortunately, we won’t have my family’s connections, so you’ll need a ninety to get in. From there, we’ll get you on an academic path to become whatever the family decides they need you to be.”

Cyrus nodded again. That sounded doable.

Unfortunately, there was too much studying and practice to be done that night for Cyrus to visit his rotom. The next day, though, Cyrus snuck off to the abandoned garage right after school and stuck his pokétch into the motor attachment he’d made. Seeing this, and his friend’s obvious excitement, Rotom rushed into the device.

Well, don’t you seem happy today, bzzt! Came the text on the pokétch.

Cyrus took the device and sat on the floor with it. “Yeah! Yesterday, Mom showed me this boarding school in Hearthome. It’s nice. It has tons of cool specialty classes, I wouldn’t have to see my parents except for on weekends, and there’s little supervision there. And we’re allowed to bring a Pokémon, so we could go there together.”

Bzzt, that’s great for you! Rotom’s smile flipped into a frown. But how many people are there, bzzt? Will they want to turn me into an experiment?

“Well... a lot, but they wouldn’t do that, I don’t think. And I wouldn’t let anyone take you.” Cyrus paused, waiting for Rotom to respond. It didn’t. “You’ll have a few months to decide. You don’t have to come. We’ll still be friends, even if I can’t see you as often anymore. And my mom said that if I get in, I’ll get to go on a Pokémon journey. Just you and me, three weeks, seeing the sights of Sinnoh together.”

Now we’re talking! Bzzt! I wanna see super contests, and the Snowpoint Temple, and meet all the ghosts in the Eterna forest!

Cyrus chuckled. “It’ll be a wonderful time.” He unzipped his backpack. “Perhaps you could come to school with me tomorrow and practice being around people? I know that people are largely unpleasant and unpredictable, but always hiding here must be getting old for you.”

Bzzt. Maybe in another day. I have plans with the other ghosts in the forest tonight. Wanna join us?

---

From behind Cyrus’ bedroom door, he heard the voices of his parents grow increasingly angry. His father was home from deployment. That meant his parents would fight, and that his mother would be drinking and taking out her hurt on whoever was nearest. He didn’t want to be around when that happened. He gathered his books, along with enough money to buy dinner, and snuck out the window.

When Cyrus got to the abandoned garage, Rotom was absent. That wasn’t surprising- he was probably just with his ghostly little friends in the forest. It wasn’t terribly disappointing, either, since Cyrus had to study, anyway.

A few days passed with rotom being nowhere to be seen. This was a bit worrying. Rotom rarely left for this long, and never without telling Cyrus first. Six days into its disappearance, the worry became overwhelming. Maybe Rotom had left for good, either intentionally or because someone else had come along and done something to it. Cyrus tried to push such thoughts away and concentrate on his studies, but he could barely read through a paragraph without his thoughts drifting back to Rotom’s whereabouts. He tossed the book aside and got up. He needed to look for his friend.

A thorough look around the garage told Cyrus that nothing valuable had been moved or stolen. He counted the special motors and found that they were untouched as well, including the tiny one that he’d put onto his toy robot like a backpack.

That was especially disturbing. Rotom loved that form. It was the only one that allowed them to touch. The last time Rotom had left- years ago now- he had taken the robot with him. Had he been forced to leave somehow?

Or does he just no longer care for that form, or anything else I’ve made for him?

Cyrus gathered up the robot and a few motors in his backback. The last time he’d lost his rotom, he’d thrown the motors away in a fit of emotion, and when he changed his mind and went to search for them, Rotom had been waiting for him. Hopefully, the same would occur this time. He scattered the motors at the edge of the junkyard and hoped for the best.

The next day, Cyrus went to the junkyard, but the motors and robot were untouched. Cyrus checked it every day after that point, as well as looking for Rotom in the wooded areas surrounding the garage. It was a good thing that his dad was home to distract his mom, so he could schedule his own studying around his search. Truthfully, he was not doing a good job of that as the entry exam crept up. Aside from the time he spent searching for Rotom, his mind was too full for him sleep, and he was too tired and distracted to concentrate even when he did crack open a book.

Did someone hurt him? he wondered, Can a ghost die?

Or...did he leave because he wanted to?

The older I get, the more we work on machines and the less we run around together. Did he not like that? Was I selfish? And I’m away to study more than I used to be, as well. Maybe he was bored and wanted to find a younger companion.

Did I really mean so little to him that he would leave without a word?

Did he feel pressured to come to boarding school with me? Was that was the last straw?

He seemed so excited to go on a journey with me...

The entrance exam came and went. Cyrus went through it in numb acceptance that he wouldn’t make the grade. Two days later he got the test results: a 79%. Scared to face his mother, he ended up going back to the abandoned garage. It might not have been a place of joy anymore, but it was privacy and safety. He sat down at the workbench to tinker and be alone with his thoughts.

Cyrus’ friendships were typically short-lived and far between. Most people he preferred to keep away, and while he’d found a few different kids he’d gotten along with over the years, in a few weeks or months they always found someone else, and then Cyrus was forgotten. The only person who’d kept a consistent liking for him was his paternal grandfather. Perhaps it was foolish to expect Rotom to be any different. Now that he’d missed his chance to get into boarding school, nothing was likely to get better for him for years. He wasn’t sure how he’d endure it all alone.

As Cyrus got up to retrieve a tool, he caught eye of an open history textbook he’d been studying from. On it were the dignified portraits and short descriptions of several Galaxy Team members, including his ancestor, Captain Cyllene.

A renowned warrior, Captain Cyllene served in the Hoennian wars as young as fourteen. Under her commanding officer Kamado, she served a vital role in defending their people from invaders. When Kamado’s home village was razed by a gyarados who had been attracted by the frequent conflicts, Kamado decided that his best course of action would be to move on to a nation less scarred by war. Cyllene was amongst the first to join him in settling Hisui and served as the Captain of the Galaxy Team’s Survey Corps. Her immediate willingness to leave home and help create a peaceful land for Hoennian immigrants did not surprise Kamado. As he put it, “Cyllene has always been a master of putting her feelings aside and doing what has to be done.”

Cyrus put down the book, gathered his things, and started home. He had been named after Cyllene, and many had compared him to her for his seriousness, solitary nature and tendency to use big, formal words. He had her hair and eyes and was growing into her facial features. If she could survive a warzone, he could survive his own problems. If she could leave everyone behind, he, too, could manage alone.

It was dark by the time Cyrus got home. He rang the doorbell and his mother opened it.

“Where were you?” She demanded. “It’s late.”

Cyrus handed her the test results and watched her face twist in disapproval.

“Well, you’re definitely not going on a Pokémon journey now. And I’m never letting you manage your own studying again.” Her voice was calm. That didn’t mean anything. She was sober.

“That doesn’t matter to me.” Cyrus kept his face even, as Cyllene would have.

“Listen to me, Cyrus. No one will ever love you unless you make yourself useful.”

“I could care less about being loved.”

“Well, you should. Life without love is miserable. Go to your room. I’ll figure out what to do with you later.”

Cyrus obeyed her. He could hear her uncorking a wine bottle before he even got to his room. He was in for a long night. He didn’t care. He shut himself in his room, took out his journal, and began to write.

I realized quite some time ago that life would be easier if I were a machine. But recently I’ve recognized that this does not apply only to me. If my mother were a machine, she would have no need for her family’s approval. If her family were rational, they wouldn’t have abandoned her for trivial reasons. If my father’s pride didn’t prevent him from caring about me, he would care how she treats me. And Rotom would have at least told me he was leaving for good if he hadn’t been so cowardly.

Further, if the government were run by machines, we would not suffer their greed, bigotry and corruption. Without anger, we would see less violence, and without lust, we’d see fewer broken families.

Everything would be easier if people acted according to logic. Alas, I only have control over myself.

I am named after Captain Cyllene and I will earn that name. I will no longer live in fear, nor care for anyone’s approval. I escape this house as soon as possible, and I will be an engineer and make something that people will love. That will be worth far more than the fragile liking of irrational people.

[kombuchaclock]

Wrote a story about how Eldricia and Zedd met (when Zedd was still living); had to split it into two parts, this first part has some suggestive elements but the second is WAY more explicit so it is going to be exclusive to my NSFW page(s).

There are some D&D-isms to this since that's what these characters originated as but this is NOT the default D&D setting, don't get it twisted.

This was the part Eldricia hated; copying down spells. It wasn’t enough to know them and how to cast them, they had to be written as well. They could understand why it was required; beyond being proof of understanding, it was also a good habit for someone as easily distracted as they were. But being easily distracted also meant that it was really fucking tedious. Half the time, they weren’t thinking about what was on the papers in front of them, even if they were looking at them. Focus was a fleeting thing. They kicked their little legs with unspent energy.

They heard a yawn coming from the desk opposite theirs in the small dorm room and, without thinking, turned to look at its source. Any excuse to turn away from work. A willowy young half-elf man stood up from his desk. “I’m done. How ‘bout you?” He turned to Eldricia.

“Almost,” they answered, with a sheepish smile that seemed to be more and more common these days.

He looked down his nose at the gnome. “… You’ve been at it for about as long as I have, how are you not done?”

Eldricia shot the man an uncharacteristically cross glare. “I said ‘almost,’ and besides, you’re…” Already their expression began to falter. “… You’re one of the best students in the school, Conley! We’ve already established I can’t really keep up with you.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t even have bougie parents to pay for it,” Conley sniped as he went behind the privacy screen, eliciting another glare from Eldricia, which he paid no attention to. Conley continued as he changed into his nightshirt. "Eldricia, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I know that big-ass head of yours isn’t for show. You could be just as good of a student as me if you knuckled down.”

“Mhmm,” Eldricia showed disinterest. They had heard this before. They were also not particularly focused on Conley’s words anyway, thinking instead about how he was disrobing behind the privacy screen. Conley was not exactly Eldricia’s type, but they wouldn’t kick him out of bed either. Maybe they were just desperate. They crossed their legs instinctively. “You doin’ anything tonight?”

“Yeah, sleeping,” Conley emerged in his nightshirt.

“Alone?” Eldricia teased.

Now it was Conley’s turn to glare, although his anger was tinged with something else: fear. “Apparently I haven’t been mean enough to you in the past few minutes, so let me make one thing clear. I’ve seen a glimpse of what you have to offer, and I am not interested.” With a huff, Conley laid on the bottom bunk of the dorm, turning towards the wall. Snapping his fingers by his ear, the faint sound of a babbling brook began to play, just barely reaching the corners of the small room.

“Suit yourself,” Eldricia chimed in response, back to their usual chipper disposition. They turned back to their schoolwork, stared at it for a moment, then turned away again. They hopped out of their chair, landing on the ground with a thud. They took another look at Conley to see if the sound had disturbed him; he either hadn’t noticed or was pretending not to notice. With that, Eldricia put on their jacket and stepped away, off the campus and into the night.

______________________________________________________________

“Magic? I’ve been on the bad end of a few spells myself, don’t really wanna-“ The gruff orc whose name Eldricia had already forgotten started explaining,

“No, no, sorry, close-up magic is just a name. I’m not gonna cast anything on you, it’s just, like… parlor tricks, you know?” Eldricia attempted to get him to buy in.

He grunted. “Alright, but just… tricks, right? Nothing more.”

Eldricia grinned and pulled out a deck of playing cards, fanning them out in front of him. “Pick a card!”

Rather than point to a card, he snatched one and looked at it briefly before showing it to Eldricia. “Ten of swords.” “… Right, I see it. Could you put it back in the deck? That’s part of the trick,” Eldricia barely tried not to seem condescending. Slowly, while squinting at Eldricia, he returned the card. Eldricia then started shuffling the deck with big, dramatic motions; at least as big as their little arms could muster. All the while, their mage hand, conveniently invisible, carefully pulled open a bag of coins at his side. “Is this your card?” Eldricia finally displayed the ace of hearts. “… No,” the so-far unamused bar patron replied.

“Oh?” Eldricia looked at the card and feigned surprise. “Oh! My mistake. Hey, what’s that under your drink?” He looked down at the beer stein. Sure enough, between it and the wooden bar was a playing card. He lifted the stein up and looked at the card. A slight smile crept onto his face. “Ten of swords! Not a bad trick.” He passed the card back to Eldricia. “Good enough for a drink?” Eldricia asked as their mage hand re-cinched the bag of coins at the man’s side. Only a few coins had been plucked from it; enough to blame on whoever had paid him, if he even noticed. Eldricia didn’t really need the money anyway. They just liked stealing.

He scoffed. “Fuck no. Not like you could handle much more than that glass of grape juice you’re nursing, anyway.”

“’Cause I’m short?” Eldricia propped their head up as their elbow rested on the bar.

“I’ll put it to you this way: my mama made stacks of pancakes taller than you,” he sneered before taking a swig of his drink.

Eldricia shrugged. “Eh, you’re probably right,” they acquiesced. They sipped their glass of red wine. It was one of the more expensive drinks at this dive, and it was still swill by Eldricia’s standards. They had the fleeting thought that their parents really had spoiled them. Well, their father did. Their mother didn’t want Eldricia to drink, period. If she could see this place her skin would crawl.

There was a sound of microphone feedback, followed by a shrill voice. “Attention, Undersump patrons!” Both Eldricia and the man sitting next to them turned towards the stage. As they did, Eldricia reminded themselves of where the bar’s name came from; kind of cool, honestly, naming your establishment after the abyssal realm of Juiblex. Another thing their mother would hate. There were four figures on the stage. The one in front, a kobold with very poor eyesight judging from the thickness of their glasses, spoke again. “Tonight, returning to the stage, we are happy to present St. Antoine’s own Black Pudding!” The kobold exited the stage as a smattering of cheers, not nothing but not impressive either, greeted the band.

The orc tapped Eldricia’s shoulder. “You’ve never been here before, right? You’re in for a treat.”

“You sure? The reception seemed a bit lukewarm,” Eldricia responded.

“Maybe, but they can get the crowd worked up easy. ‘Specially him,” he pointed to one of the band members, a human man, now approaching the microphone.

“Hello, all you lowlifes!” The man at the microphone started. “Good to see this place isn’t shuttered!” A few laughs bounced back from the crowd. “Before we begin… you fuckin’ heard about Argathos?” The crowd, suddenly much more spirited, began booing the name of the infamous St. Antoine prison. “A whole new wing, built to address St. Antoine’s ‘rapidly growing crime problem’…” He continued, the crowd growing more fervent. “… will be opened by none other than the Chief of Police Renee Ewald!” Eldricia recoiled at hearing their mother’s name, sinking into their jacket in the hopes that no one would notice the family resemblance.

“You know what we say to that!” Another one of the band, a tiefling with a shaved head and mismatched horns, spoke up. “Fuck! Off!” The human and tiefling shouted in unison before the band launched into a song.

The music was unlike any Eldricia had heard. First impression: loud. Almost too loud. The sound coming from the speakers was very blown out. The band also wasn’t singing as much as they were yelling. Except for the drummer, but he appeared to be a kenku, so Eldricia didn’t really expect him to say anything. He played vigorously, though. They all did. That was what Eldricia found themselves enjoying about the performance: the energy. Eldricia knew, to an extent, about different genres of music, but growing up what they had mostly heard had been orchestras in stuffy concert houses where they weren’t allowed to move. They would long for when their mother was away and their father would play something fresher, more upbeat, more danceable. This might be even better than that, they thought. It was rough, very rough, but it was… real! Real and exciting!

It helped that, as Eldricia saw them, the members of the band were attractive. Particularly the human. He was tall, and built, but not too… defined. His long, dark hair looked silky. He might’ve been suffering under the lights, but the hint of sweat glistening on his skin looked fantastic. Eldricia’s head was uncharacteristically still as they stared at the stage, but their legs squirmed atop their barstool.

After the first song, Eldricia dimly heard the man next to her speak again. “Huh?” “I asked if you liked it,” he clarified. Eldricia nodded. He laughed. “Yeah, I bet you did. You looked… what’s the word…” “Transfixed?” Eldricia suggested.

“Yeah, that works. Was it him?” He pointed to the man on stage. Eldricia nodded. “Yeah, he’s a dreamboat alright. If I were you, though, I wouldn’t hold out hope of scoring with him. No offense.” “He’s taken?” For a few seconds, Eldricia seemed almost deflated.

The other patron hummed. “Not really, he just prefers partners who are… bigger.” “Taller than me?” “Well, usually, yeah, but I’m talking about the groin, y’know? Again, no offense, but I ain’t never seen a gnome who’s packing. I don’t even know if you’ve got one, to be honest. Not gnomes in general, I mean, but you specifically.”

He didn’t notice, but Eldricia actually perked back up when he clarified that Black Pudding’s frontman was a size queen. Perked up, but said nothing. A bit of color went to their normally ghostly pale cheeks, and they resisted breaking out into one of the biggest, goofiest grins of their life. “That’s a bummer,” they finally said, after what was probably too long of a pause.

When Black Pudding finished playing, the windows had started to change from black to blue as the sun crept over the horizon. The nearsighted kobold who had introduced them was now making rounds, urging patrons to leave The Undersump before it closed. In the midst of the drunken exodus, Eldricia’s eyes remained on Black Pudding’s frontman. Their heart started to race when he started walking in their direction. Unfortunately for Eldricia, however, he was not here for them. He returned their wave, but then quickly started talking to the man next to them. The other patron was excited, but did his best playing it cool. He couldn’t help mention he was a fan of the band, though.

“That’s great! It’s nice to meet a fan,” the frontman said as he shook the patron’s hand. “I try not to let it get to my head too much, but, y’know, it’s nice when someone likes your stuff. I just hope the message gets across.”

“Oh, for sure!” The patron responded. The two of them started a brief discussion; it was something about St. Antoine. Eldricia tuned out their words. They weren’t normally one for politics. They did, however, look intently at the frontman as he talked. He was even better looking up close, they thought.

After conversing for a moment, the frontman stopped the patron. “Sorry to interrupt, it’s just that I came over here to ask you somethin’.” “Oh?” The frontman suddenly whispered something into the patron’s ear. Eldricia couldn’t hear it, but judging from the patron’s face, he liked what he heard. The frontman then patted him on the back before heading to the restroom. There was a pause before the patron laughed. He turned to Eldricia. “Well, one of us is about to get lucky, at least!”

“Really?” Eldricia responded. There was sincere surprise in their voice. It took them another few seconds to realize that of course someone who’s specifically looking for big dicks is going to approach the big, masculine orc before they would a vertically-challenged androgyne.

“Yep!” He downed the rest of his drink, belched loudly, then stood up and threw some coins onto the bar. “Catch you later!” He told Eldricia before heading to the restroom himself. Eldricia had to admit, he did have some amount of big dick energy. The patron was both taller and beefier than pretty much anyone Eldricia had seen tonight.

Eldricia watched the restroom door for a few seconds after it closed again. Then they turned to their drink. They knitted their brow, though they weren’t exactly mad. More anxious. Anxious about doing something that might end in rejection. “Fuck it,” they said, finally. They, too, downed their drink and threw their coins on the bar. They hopped off the stool then walked, trying as best they could to look casual, to the restroom.

[uncouth-the-fifth]

imagine damian and the reader at the wayne gala. he gets jealous when he sees her flirting with someone else. he ends up pulling her into a bathroom and fucking her in front of a mirror while saying that other person can’t treat her like he does

and that’s how the reader finds out damian has feelings for her. all this time he acted like he hates her because he’s in denial

Title: More Than They Ever Said

Paring: Robin!Damian (18+) / Canary!Reader

Tags/Warnings: semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, bathroom sex, slight underage drinking (reader is like 20 lol), mentions of golf.

Word Count: 7150

Notes: sooooo.... this def evolved beyond a drabble lol. the way gala sex kills me every time 😭 I was a little mushy w Dami here bc I miss his sweet side. This also sounded a lot like goldenspecs12's request from Wattpad, so I hope you don't mind that I meshed the two together 😚 I leaned toward Damian liking the reader more than being in denial, but that’s the only thing I sacrificed between the two requests. This one is my fluffiest and most romantic yet 💖

"can I request Damian w a Queen reader, like she's Oliver and Dinah's child? say the reader is a hero but not very active, like she comes in when her parents can't. so when she and Damian meet, they hit it off. The main request is that they sneak away at a gala held by Oliver and the reader and Damian have sex."

Ask to be added to my taglist for future posts!

The party was more fun than you thought it would be.

Benefits were usually chalk-full of old, wealthy people that thought they made good conversationalists. The board members of Queen Industries were tired of Oliver trying to escape their claws, so you’d been recruited in his place. While your dad got to play minigolf in the penthouse’s massive party floor, you were confined to the lounge, playing up what an intelligent, capable business partner you’d be when you were CEO. Fellow businessmen gruffed about their plans with you while their wives cooed and drank, pinching your cheeks.

You thought that you’d hate it, but the attention and the praise was nice. It made you feel like you were helping your dad and your family’s company, which was constantly criticized and judged for it’s choice in CEO. Everyone called your father a lazy silver-spooned idiot, but he was one of the only men in Star City who actually cared. By the time you had Q.I’s biggest donors laughing out of their seats, Dinah’s hands slipped over your shoulders and you were kissed on the side of the face. Thank you, she mouthed, and your position as family support-beam was covered.

Since most of the benefit-goers were at least forty years your senior, you gravitated to your dad. From the penthouse’s upper balcony, you could see his friends circling around the tiny green mats they were using as a makeshift golf course. Usually, Ollie made sure his public persona’s aim was as garbage as his taste in drink was. But tonight, he played as Green Arrow, who never missed. Not once. Especially when it came to Bruce Wayne, who’s golf game was abysmal at best.

But like Oliver, Bruce was a new man tonight. It looked like he was ready to break out the batarangs any minute now. The two men were barely civil about the viciousness of their competition, and if the view of the game from the balcony was interesting, then from below it must’ve been the greatest show of fragile masculinity ever displayed. You had to make fun of them.

The only opening in the circle of men, who all had their hands on their chins as Bruce lined up his next shot, was by the floor-to-ceiling windows to one side of the game. Just one man stood there, hands in his pockets. You slid next to him, unbothered, and squinted at the game.

Everyone in the crowd was dead silent. Bruce was lining up his golf ball so it would roll into a mug a couple of feet away, so you helpfully provided, “A little to the left, Mr. Wayne.”

Your words overlapped with someone else’s. Where you had said Mr. Wayne, they had said Father. Then the man next to you was his son, but...

You would have never guessed it would be him.

Reasonably, you knew that Robin was Damian Wayne. Oliver could be a little loose-lipped at times, and by his judgment you’d been a teenager just a year ago - what could a twenty year old do to Batman’s secret identity? Not much.

Until you saw Robin without his mask.

Damian was achingly beautiful. He was your age, but he stood and talked like he was much older. There was an angle to his shoulder that made him seem astute and sexy. His eyes fixed on you when you spoke at the same time, and they were a surprising mossy color that jumped out against his tan skin, like plants flourishing out of rich soil. There was just enough blue in them to make him seem haunting. Any moment, you felt like he was going to corner you and whisper your future throatily in your ear.

Looking into them, those piercing eyes, for longer than a second made you want to blurt, “You’re much prettier without your mask.”

But that would expose his secret to every golf-loving idiot in earshot, so Oliver had been wrong. A twenty-year-old like you could do fatal damage to Batman’s secret identity, but for Damian, the short-tempered, snappish leader of the Teen Titans, you would risk anything.

Damian stared, and you stared. He squinted, wet his lips, then turned back to the game. This was your only acknowledgment that he recognised you. His voice was deeper, smoother, than you remember it. “Queen.”

You shifted in your shoes, almost laughing in shock. “...Wayne.”

The game grew boring and Damian didn’t say anything else, so you said nothing too, sneaking glances at him. The last time you’d spoken to Robin had been in costume, when he’d thanked you for assisting with a mission. He’d really been thanking you for standing up for him. You didn’t team up often with the Titans, but when you did, you found that they were unusually snappy and mean with their leader. Not necessary on purpose, but you could tell that Damian couldn’t take as many bites as he pretended to. Standing up for him had been a simple thing. The good thing to do. Now, with that look in his eyes, it almost felt like he still thought about it.

He must have, because the kiss you shared at the end of that mission had glowed with heat. To be fair, you both may have believed you were going to die (before the team pulled through and saved you), so it could’ve been a heat-of-the-moment thing. But this was Robin - if he didn't want to kiss you, he wouldn't. And yet he did.

You’d kissed. And the energy of that kiss lingered between you now, drawing you closer together, putting tiny smiles on your faces. He was cute. Cuter without that mask on.

You stood in the stupid golf silence, feeling foolish. Flirting with boys was much easier in fishnets. It didn’t help how fine Damian’s profile was. He had soft, feathery lashes that occasionally touched down on beauty marked cheeks. His lips were even fuller from the side, forever drawn in a curious line. And those eyes, when they caught yours and danced away again, were much too nice to hide behind a mask. You couldn’t get that thought out of your mind.

When Bruce finally made his move, you leaned in to whisper something to each other at the same time, accidentally knocking shoulders.

“I - apologies,” Damian flushed.

“Oh, um, my bad,” you rubbed awkwardly at the spot where you’d collided. “...You were going to say something?”

Damian’s eyes flicked to your fathers, then to you, unimpressed. He lowered his voice so only you could hear. “They’re awfully hypocritical, don’t you think? Father snaps at me everytime I use my skills in public, and yet he’s putting with perfect aim like it’s not the very same.”

Chuckling, you rolled your eyes and scooted closer, ducking your voice into the bubble between your bodies. “My dad’s the same way. Don’t aim in the house, he says, unless it’s him trying to beat Bruce Wayne.”

Your company’s shoulders turned sideways, leaning into you. His breath ghosted the hair on your neck, standing it on end, and again that silky voice sent tingles down your spine. Damian must change his voice as Robin, because he never spoke like this then. So huskily, so low.

He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

You watched him. He watched you. You ran your tongue over your teeth, and Damian subtly adjusted his slacks from his pockets.

At the same time, you asked each other, “Would you like to get a drink?”

_

Your hiding place was a loveseat in the lounge, between more businessmen and their ditzy heirs. The bartender was your family’s, so he smiled and turned down your request for a drink, courtesy of your dad’s strictness. Luckily, he didn’t recognise Damian. You watched him order it at the bar, his rings catching the light, the muscle in his arms peeking out from under his blazer.

“I think he suspected I wasn’t of age, so he only gave me one.” He took the place next to you, propping his ankle on one knee and lounging out like a panther. Damian offered the cocktail to you, once he’d decided the coast was clear. It was a cute gesture. “Is that acceptable?”

You fished a five dollar bill out of your purse. “Only if you take this for paying. Don’t think I didn’t see you try and sneakily get that past me.”

Damian scrutinized the bill, then you, somehow managing to be a smartass without opening his mouth. Instead of thinking about how nice it would feel to kiss the slight crease between his brows, you traded hands with him so the bill was in his and the drink was in yours. The gentle brush of you palm to his knuckles put way too many butterflies in your belly.

You talked about everything and anything. About home, family life, your cities. The best of it was when Damian dipped his head so only you could hear him, keeping your secrets close and your bodies closer. This was the only way he talked about Robin, so you circled back to any vigilante subject you could think of just so Damian would keep purring into your ear like that. Better yet, he was smart. Talking to him was engaging, and within minutes he'd entranced you, so you sat there talking for more than an hour. Around you, the party rotated and went on.

At one point, you took a drink of the cocktail and passed it to him to share. Damian placed his lips right where yours had been, licking up the cocktail salt and gulping it down slow, adam’s apple bobbing, like it wasn’t the taste of the vodka he was savoring.

Eventually, your bliss was broken. Damian was called over to his father, again, to discuss business, and he left you with your remaining cocktail and the memory of that mission. You couldn’t find a reason to move from your seat. When you’d realized that you and Robin had been led into a trap on that mission, it’d been too late, and your efforts to escape became more and more futile. All you could do was pray the Titans got to you on time. Robin had offered you his glove as the walls closed in, and you’d watched up-close as he assumed you were both about to die. The fear in his eyes was strange - like it was familiar to him. At the same time, you cupped his neck and he held your upper back, and you’d kissed fervently, sweetly.

Damian had put his forehead to yours, and promised even as the trap shrunk around you, “You were excellent. More excellent than they ever said.”

In the big picture, it was a strange last remark to make, and afterwards you’d been too happy about surviving to think about it. But in the moment, you understood. You were understood. Somehow, Damian had reached into your soul and gouged out the words you’d been dying to hear, from your parents, from anyone, and uttered them to you with burning conviction. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe he meant it. Damian found you excellent. Someone, somewhere, didn’t think you were a failure.

Odd, how you’d never seen the face of the man you thought you’d die with (until now), and yet he saw you so easily. You watched him follow his father into the party crowd now, wondering. The Titans had saved you before you could ask what he’d meant. More importantly, before you could tell him the same. He was excellent.

_

Once you’d finished off your drink, you left it at the bar and grinned evilly at your family bartender. He rolled his eyes and slyly delivered you another, which, on your superhero schedule, would not have you drunk yet. Another heir to some big company was seated at your right, ignored by his father enough to look for some small talk with you.

He was one of the cute, nerdy types that were usually in awe of you. Girls, available girls, were typically rare at these kinds of parties, so he took you not having a boyfriend as permission to flirt with you. Unfortunately for him, your seat gave a perfect angle on Damian across the party floor. He was impressing the wives of Wayne business partners, who flocked around him like they’d flocked around you, pinching his cheeks. You could almost read their lips enough to guess what they were saying. What a handsome young man you are! Oh, Bruce must be so proud.

“...and then my father flipped over his kayak! Would you believe it? Two thousand dollars, thrown right in our family’s lake.” Your company snickered, howling at his own story.

You circled the rim of your glass, watching how Damian tried to teach some of the women phrases in Arabic. Unknown to them, they were some pretty funny swear words. It threw you into a bout of giggles, and the man next to you kept talking, spurred on by the noise.

The flock of hens around Damian receded, and his shoulders slouched in relief. That was cute, too. It wasn’t often that people understood how draining these parties were, but for people like you and Damian, it was a racetrack of endless, boring circles. Everything was a formality. Few things were genuine. Damian turned, and you caught his eye to let him know you were going to meet him. He nodded toward a side hall, his mouth a curious line again. If you looked at it long enough, it felt like a smile when he mouthed, escape?

Your company was still talking. He stopped when you grabbed his tie and planted a pity-kiss on his cheek, waving to him as you bounced away. “Sorry, kid. Not my type.”

_

You planned to bring Damian to the secluded balcony on the second floor to unwind, but instead, you were taken by the wrist and maneuvered into an empty powder room. It was colder than the steaming party air and smelled like champagne, with couches to sit on and mirrors to powder at. For a bathroom, the lights were warm and low. The noise of the party went quiet the instant the door was shut, like you and Damian had entered your own little world. No more circles. No more back and forth.

“Here,” Damian said, noting the mirrors. He tilted his head as he asked, like he was nervous, “Is this acceptable?”

“It is the ladies powder room, but I’ll give you a pass, since you’re cute.” You joked. Damian didn’t make a move to relax on one of the couches yet, hanging in front of you like there was more he wanted to say. There was more you wanted to say, too, but no good words came to mind.

But the silence wasn’t awkward. Again, Damian stared, and you stared. The glass he brought with him was set down. He put one fist on the counter beside the door, and like honey had been poured on your nerves, you realized how easy it would be for him to push you up against it. Kiss you senseless. Heat drooled off of him this close, and you wondered if he’d still lean in to whisper to you even if you were alone.

The lack of words drew to a point where something had to be said, anything, but his eyes felt so good on your skin and it was interesting to see him nervous. Something strange told you that Damian liked the silence, too.

You wet your lips with your tongue. Damian cleared his throat, and took a sip from his glass. “Was I interrupting something?”

“Between me and that guy?” You smiled gently, like you were reassuring him, and laughed to yourself. “Oh, man, you should’ve seen it, Damian. Poor kid really thought I was flirting with him. He’d totally convinced himself, it was hilarious.”

His profile was tense in the mirror, which you stole glances at to watch how the amber light played on his handsome skin. When Damian swallowed his drink, his throat rolled in the sexiest way, and immediately your mind fed you with visions of suckling, kissing, tonguing his neck.

“Why’d you ask?” Your eyes sparkled. Damian drew a step closer, and you used the opportunity to swipe a drop of alcohol from the corner of his lip with your thumb. “You jealous?”

It was the touch or the suggestion that made Damian pause. He didn’t stutter, but lagged over what to say, eyes vast and wanting as they raked over your face. “I don’t get jealous,” he clarified, “but… I do intend to be the only man to kiss you tonight.”

Damian’s hand took your chin. Your belly exploded with instant arousal, hitting you like a bullet of liquid lust. “You’re the only man who’s kissed me like that,” you whispered, taking his tie in hand. “I hope that’s always true.”

His voice had gone throaty. “May I kiss you again?”

Again, he reminded you.The two of you had kissed before, and it had been spectacular, terrifying, and excellent.

“Please,” you said, and Damian rushed to your aid.

Not a moment more was wasted. Curling his tie into your fist, you drew him in, slow and deep and wonderfully. Damian’s cologne hit you before his lips did, and both made your core throb for friction. Two broad hands slammed your hips into the door. His fingertips smoothed up the fabric of your dress, pressing you back and squeezing you in until you could feel his belt buckle against your belly. Damian was a sweet, magnetic kisser, chasing your lips like he was on a crusade to save them. Each time they met, he swam deeper. The point of his nose bumped against your cheek. You hummed your laugh against his lips, and Damian groaned as he pulled away, readjusting, twisting, testing the limits of the kiss. And you followed him at every step or more, revelling in his taste.

You didn’t want him to think you wanted the kiss to end, so you drew the hands braced under his blazer around his neck. Soon, that didn’t feel close enough, so you cupped each side of his face and pecked Damian until you were breathless. He brought you in until your arms were flat to his chest, the kiss almost vertical in its intensity.

He groaned when you parted, gasping and blinking just inches from your face. Your mouths were still connected by a thick string of drool, which hung until it split and clung to Damian’s chin and fell, marking a wet strip down into his collar. You panted, watching it go.

Damian left your waist to hold your wrists, keeping your hands around his face. He settled warmly into your touch, basking in it, and the pure enjoyment on his face made you smile. You wondered if anyone else had cared for him like this. If Damian had ever felt someone hold his face and treasure it. The thought gave you a strange urge, so you followed it.

You brought Damian’s brow level with your mouth and sweetly kissed his forehead. Then his nose bridge, then his temples. His face was so quickly warm that you giggled. In the most unsubtle way possible, Damian drew back his hips so you couldn’t feel the heat there, and closed his eyes, begging you to continue.

“I want you,” you whispered against his jaw.

Damian shivered. “You have me.”

You shifted one hand to his shoulder, giving yourself more room to nuzzle and kiss his neck. The line of drool was still there, so you cupped his skin and tilted his jaw up, and in one stroke, licked all the way to his earlobe. Damian’s moan poured from his mouth like a growing flood. You even felt his thighs press together between you, and pleasure tingled in your throat when he choked at the glide of your tongue.

He released your wrists, reached beside you, and locked the door with an audible click.

Then, Damian devoured you. Both hands hooked around your back, arching your chest into his, and finally, bringing his bulge between your hips. You clung to him for dear life, helpless as his teeth pressed into your neck like a vampire. Damian fed like one, too, suckling the skin there like he was starved. Your panties were so wet that you were desperate to get out of them, grinding your core against his.

Damian retreated, gasping. He licked the spit off of his lips and glared into your eyes. Bluntly, he said, “I want to eat you out.”

Once more, you kissed him, delirious with excitement. Your lungs burned for air, but your core burned harder for him. “Take off that suit and you can do whatever you want to me.”

His eyes gleamed. “I plan to.”

Quickly, you shoved your hands into his sleeves and pushed them off his shoulders, giving you a crisp glimpse at his carved shoulders. Damian's fingers blurred from button to button, but he saved the last for you on purpose. You worked in tandem and with little thought. If he could, Damian would steal a kiss, and you would bite his lip and chase him into more. When that last button was popped, his white button-down parted for a gorgeous plane of hard-earned muscle. His abs, ribs and pecs were pockmarked with scars, shrapnel marks and in some places, bullet holes. You stopped.

At your staring, Damian pressed his lips together.

“It's.. not appealing, I know,” he monotoned.

“No,” you disagreed, palming his stomach, “it’s impressive. All these do is show how strong you are, how long you've survived. You're so… built...” you didn't hide your thorough examination of him, “...I mean, we have to be to do what we do, but still… It suits you. It's sexy.”

You worried you'd ruined the moment with your babbling, but he glimmered under your praise. Damian brightened in the way only Damian could, smirking devilishly and towering over you like a supervillain.

“Sexy?” He pressed his naked chest into yours, whispering hotly in your ear. You could feel his silk tie pinned between you. “Does that mean I'm your type?”

You rolled your eyes. “Eavesdropper.”

“Temptress,” Damian replied, just as easily.

To claim your title, you found Damian's belt and pulled on it until the clasp gave. It made a satisfying whipping noise as you ripped it off of him, shouldered into his space to grab his waist in one hand, and cupped his throbbing boxers in the other. Damian's sigh came hoarsely and wanton from his mouth.

“Fuck me,” you demanded, grinning with delight.

Instead of wasting time on a response, Damian fell to his knees, a faithful worshipper. He did the gentlemanly thing and helped you kick off your heels. The tile was icy on your bare feet, but it only mattered until Damian ran his hands up your thighs. Sliding his fingers underneath the fabric, he bunched it up your middle, peering up at you smugly through his lashes. You could feel the debauchery of it - Damian, on his knees, tie hanging still from his neck, pinning you to the door. You, your legs spread and wanting.

Damian sucked in a breath. Your panties had an obvious wet patch, put there by him. He thumbed it carefully, watching your brows tense and your eyes close, basking in your initial whine. All of it enchanted him. You were soaking because of him, trembling because of him, marked because of him. There was not one place he would rather be than here.

Damian collected your sweetness and sampled the taste on his thumb, trapping it behind his smug smile. He ran his tongue over his teeth, spreading the flavor around his mouth, savoring it. As Damian rolled your underwear down your legs, his cock twitched in his open fly. You were beautiful. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

“Put your leg over my shoulder,” Damian ordered, smirking, “I want to taste you.”

Warmth exploded in your cheeks. “G-go ahead.”

Gradually, you situated your leg across his back, pussy tensing at the touch of the cooler air. This didn't matter for long. Damian's warm lips nuzzled and kissed the thigh closest to him, painting messy reflective circles on your skin with his kiss. Even that made your legs tense wildly, so Damian shoving his wet, blazing tongue into the folds of you cunt pumped moan after moan from your mouth.

“Damian!” You yelped.

Oh, he definitely liked that. Damian pinched your ass and used his mouth so passionately that his head shook back and forth. He darted right for your clit, sucking it until his cheeks were hollow and humming smugly between your legs with every squeal. Parting your folds with one hand, Damian kissed your core just as dirtily as he'd kissed you. The dangerous glint in his eye never faded. He plunges his tongue inside you in earnest, slurping obscenely, purposefully. There's no need for Damian to shoot you cute looks or put on a show - his skill was the performance, because that skill was unbeatable. Your pussy was already tender, fucked nerveless by Damian's filthy mouth. He vibrated your cunt with a deep groan before he drew away, face dripping with slick like a pornstar’s.

“You're suitably wet,” he said, matter-of-factly, “would you like me to use my fingers?”

All the strength you had went into a weak, pleading nod.

Damian was polite enough to grant you your bearings first, letting you grip his hair and squeeze the counter before he resumes. You give him the sweetest, most precious whine when Damian licks you open again. He wisely starts with one finger and builds from there, earning you with pumps and curls of his digits. Damian's talents quickly become a currency, one that you exchange with mewls and pants of praise.

“So good,” you whine, “oh, fuck - fuck, just like that…”

Damian smirks between your legs, jamming his fingers faster into your sore pussy. Lust sizzles low in your gut, ramped up again and again by his thrusting. It’s so powerful that you roll and buck off the door, your hips in his face. You want him - want him more than you want anything.

“You're ravaging,” Damian hums between licks. His eyes are closed, but that only gives the way he touches you more meaning.

It’s so surprising from his mouth that your hold on his hair slips, setting Damian free. He pants, catching his breath, and it’s easily the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. The effort has slouched him from his knees to his calves, further spreading his legs and opening up the fly of his pants. A solid bulge has formed and spilled out there, straining to escape his briefs like an arm in a sling that’s too small, way too small, for someone of his size. Three of Damian’s fingers are still twisting inside of you.

Slowly, Damian tipped back his head and hung down, arranging himself beneath your cunt. “So beautiful.” His free hand splayed where your leg met your hip. “May I touch you?”

“I-I get it’s the gentleman thing to do, to - to keep asking, but fuck, Damian,” you cursed, “you can do whatever you want to me.”

Damian’s intense jade eyes were so dilated that you could barely make out the color. He dragged his cheek against your thigh, fingers still circling inside you, and grinned like a shark. It was probably a bad idea to give the heir to the Demon’s Head that much power over you.

His other hand squeezed your skin, slow to passionate, from your belly to your breasts beneath your dress. It’s clear by the way Damian looks at you that he loves what he sees. The texture of his veiny, calloused hands feels good on your waist and ass, dragging you closer to him. He chuckles when your back arches, when your nails press into his hands, his back muscles, throwing himself into his task. Damian’s nose prods your folds as he licks you clean, tongue dipping and sliding against your sore clit. It’s like he’s done this for you before, in this exact way. Though he utilizes his tongue the most, his lips too are brutal, matched perfectly to fit your pussy lips.

But that tongue - how Damian’s jaw isn’t tired, you don’t know. He parts your folds and latches onto your clit, flicking his tongue at superspeed until drool and cum bubbles from your sensitive core. Your back winds tighter at every vibrating lick, paralyzing the muscles in your legs with glorious pleasure. It’s so exquisite you start to melt to the floor like warm clay, only to be bolstered back up by Damian, both hands viciously squeezing your ass. He keeps going not for you, but himself, sucking down every last drop of your juices.

Shattered, you twist hopelessly into his mouth, chasing the strained feeling like it’s the last you’ll ever glimpse. “Fuck, fuck - D-Damian, ah…”

“Did it feel good when I made you cum?” He teases, “It certainly tastes good. All those filthy little noises you make for me…” Damian shakes his head at himself, like it’s too fantastic to indulge again. He leaves your clit with a satisfied kiss. “Beautiful.”

Once more, the words are surprising to hear from him. You always considered Damian the prude type, but here he is, on his knees for you, mouth and chin glittering with your juices while he teases you in low, sexy tones. At your surprised look, Damian has the gall to blush.

With his ring finger in his mouth, he ponders, “If a man has never said that to you before...” pop, “consider me surprised.”

“Never while finger-fucking me, at least,” you admited, legs still trembelling. “It was sweet. You… you meant that?”

It was hard to imagine Damian Wayne finding anything beautiful. Even you, who was pretty enamored with him, figured he would judge by quality or skill, not beauty. The words tasted new on his tongue.

Slowly, Damian stood and stretched, his shoulders tight after staying in the strange position for so long. Lifting his arms coincidentally let his waistband sit lower on his hips, flashing his green boxers your way while showing off the huge, carved muscles of his arms. Truly, Damian’s subtlety was unmatched. You didn’t mind his miniature bragging fest - not when he had so much to brag about. Eating you out had put an excited shimmer in his skin, so the gold-toned lights of the room reflected sexily off his sweat, already accenting his kissable tan.

“I did,” he told you, moving on to his sucking middle finger. His other hand played on your thigh, stroking it. “I’ve always been… drawn to you. Every mission we’ve had together. I have a profound feeling that we are very similar.”

You laughed. Not at what he said, but the timing of it. “Would you believe me if I said I felt the same way?”

Damian made a face like his heart was doing jumping jacks. “A few hours ago? No. But now…” he barricaded you against the door, first with his hands and then his hips, closed in so tightly that you had to look past your nose to meet his eyes. “Your crush is adorably obvious. I’m annoyed that I didn’t see it before.”

Your rounded your hands against Damian’s shoulders, then his tie. It twisted nicely around your fingers, silky and cold in comparison to your flushed skin. You were tempted to fix your dress, but nothing, not even the world ending, could make you leave this room.

“My crush is obvious? Damian, all you’ve done for the last two hours is sneak me drinks and imply how much easier it is to be around me.” You grinned, “What’d you say earlier? There you are, Queen. Finally, someone intelligent enough to speak to me.”

Damian shrugged. “It’s true. Your knowledge of bioluminescent ocean life is fascinating.”

“I can’t believe you said that after giving me head for ten minutes.”

“It’s actually been closer to twelve,” Damian smirked.

Playfully, you pinched Damian’s cheek, then pulled him by the tie into a starved, energetic kiss. He must’ve been praying for your permission to continue, because the plan he’d been forming is quickly put into action. You’re hugged, arms scooped under your back as you kiss him. Damian surrenders his mouth to a bit of revenge tonguing while undoing your dress. No amount of kissing will pull him from his task, but your hand is a special case - it smooths down the front of his boxers and Damian melts.

“Y/N,” he groans.

Damian petulantly resists the temptation to close his eyes, but your touch is soft and sweet, demanding him to yield. Your lips suckle on his neck and Damian’s knees buckle. If getting his mouth between your legs didn’t turn him on, then this will finish him for sure.

“I missed you. Kissing you.” You purr into his throat. “One could never be enough for me.”

Is this what it’s like to be wanted? Damian asked himself. The only possible answer thrilled him, and he found himself pouring even more passion into the kiss, into you, wanting to share that rush of affection. You respond to his every touch with vigor. Damian’s heart stalls each time your thumb strokes his face, each time the other strokes him through his slacks.

“Me either,” he rasped, and helped you out of your dress. His tone was shy, but his words held too much depth to be meaningless. I want a wealth of them. I always want to kiss you, was what he wanted to say, but Damian was too embarrassed to raise the words. This moment was too special to ruin with his hopeless romanticism. He kissed you again and again, and to his amazement, you kissed him right back.

“Fuck me,” you begged him between breaths. “Right here. I don’t care if we’re caught.”

I don’t care if we’re seen together. I want to be seen with you, I’m not ashamed of you.

Damian cupped your face and almost knocked you both over with the strength of his kiss. Nose-to-nose, eyes closed, he commanded, “Bend over the fucking counter.”

In a blink, Damian turned and there you were, open and waiting for him. The sink was hip-level, so the bend was nothing but perfect - Damian could fuck you from behind and watch your lust-blown reflection without issue. Your perfect pussy drooled leftover cum down your legs, making your sex shine in the light.

In the mirror, you watched Damian’s eyes darken in delight. His pupils followed the line of your ass to your back, appreciating it like an artist would, like he intended to paint you later and needed to memorize the greatest shapes of your figure. The marble was icy against your hard nipples, which Damian had exposed when he’d impatiently shoved down your bra. Now, he cupped one of your breasts as he bent over you, kissing and suckling his way down your back.

“Perfect,” Damian hissed.

Shyly pressing your butt back against him, you buried your face in your arms and bit your lip, waiting for him to open you up. Damian’s shadow came to hover over you, and in the mirror his eyes were vicious, pools of circling sharks. “Are you ready?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Take your time.”

Though you weren’t being sarcastic, Damian took it that way and pinched one cheek of your ass. “With you? I will.” Then, with the same smoothness, Damian asked, “Condom?”

“Pill,” you replied, and Damian nodded his approval.

His pants rustled as they fell down his legs. Where you couldn’t see, Damian committed the sight to memory - his cock in hand, your pussy spread open, all for him. You squeaked when his hot tip touched your cooling clit, and squeaked again when it glided down your pussy and tested your opening. He knew he’d found the way when you winced.

In an unsurprising moment of compassion (for those who truly knew him), Damian kissed the top of your head and offered you his hand. “Would you like to hold it while I…?”

You took his hand and squeezed it to your chest, squeezing him closer in the process, too. “Thank you. Go slow, for this part…”

Damian complied. His sweat-sticky chest hovered warmly over your back. Even if Damian was big, you were wetter than you’d ever been in your entire life - any pain would quickly slide into pleasure. He braced himself with a deep inhale, and a hot, sharp sensation told you that he’d entered you. Where you choked in a needy gasp, Damian poured out his version of a whimper. You both held it. Then, breath by breath, you were struck with the realization that you’d been dying to feel this for weeks, for months, and only now was that heat being satisfied. Damian’s tongue and fingers had come close, but this is what would cure that aching emptiness - his big, girthy cock.

The deathgrip you had on Damian’s hand loosened. “You look perfect,” he murmured into your hair, instantly making your core flutter. “Oh,” he chuckled filthily, “you like that? Funny, how badly that idiot at the bar wanted to be in my place right now…but it’s me who gets to pound into—”

“Damian,” you warned.

He smiled smugly against your neck. “Nothing.”

Dutifully, Damian withdrew his hips, taking all of the heat with him. When he rolled back in, a hot, tingling sensation roared over all of your senses, and you let the moan at the top of that tsunami loose. It was clear that he couldn’t fuck you like he wanted to with one hand fished down at your side, so he glued both to the base of your back and started to thrust in earnest.

“So full...” You mewled, and Damian became a human pile-driver.

Your head seemed to roll off your shoulders with every crazed, rhythmic slam, so you grabbed the faucet and held on for dear life. Every slap was so loud, so powerful, that you prayed this one random bathroom in the penthouse was soundproofed. Anyone walking past would know you were getting railed out of your mind. You tried to compensate by moaning and squeaking quietly, but with force came volume. It didn’t matter how silent you were, Damian’s hips, your ass, the squelch of him inside you - each noise filled the bathroom, echoing off the tile.

The only way you could think to describe him was filling. First, there was the hot, cinching tension of his hands fused to your waist. Then there was his cock, which begged to be squeezed more and more with every pass. You responded to each throb with a mighty clench, which bent Damian over you like an animal, gasping for breath. His balls were painted with your slick. The closer you came to orgasm together, the closer Damian came to you. His hands migrated to higher on your sides, then up by your shoulders, then around you, where Damian kissed your back and rubbed your belly while he made love to you. He talked more than he moaned. Your ear was filled with sweet nothings, with vicious promises of what he would do with a whole night alone with you.

Damian’s reflection was wild with lust. He met your eyes as he fucked you, whispering how beautiful you are, how good you take his dick. His deep green eyes were so dark you couldn’t make out the brown in them anymore. The long muscles on his arms drew taut with each thrust, making his biceps bulge and pin your hips to the sink. Soon enough, a bruise would form from the pressure. One of many treasures from tonight - you would be thinking about Damian in his crisp suit for months to come, and the mess he’d become with you now even longer. Your pleasure built and built and built, like a nail struck further into the ground with a hammer. A very, very big hammer.

“M’ cumming,” Damian husked, slowing his plowing to a sloppy glide. Even his endurance was spent, and you were glad he’d spent it all on you. “Where d’ you…?”

You braced your hands on the counter, then on one of Damian’s. Together, you smoothed his digits down your stomach and between your soft, abused folds. “Inside me, please, please please—” you begged him, “fuck, a-as deep as you can go.”

As a test of your flexibility, Damian turned in and kissed you. Just as he parted your lips with his tongue, he parted your folds with his fingertips, overriding your clit as his cock throbbed inside you to the hilt. He took the invitation as a command. Damian pressed in until you could feel his abs mold to your ass, then stuttered his hips in quick, agonized dips to get himself there. With his fingers and his cock putting stars in your eyes, you finished first.

The white marble counter fizzed in your vision, until all you could see was that powerful, endless white, humming in your mind’s eye. Still, Damian wasn’t finished yet. You bumped your temple against his chin and hummed, “Cum for me, baby… fuck, a-ah!”

Your pussy’s throb raced and raced until it spilled over, pulling Damian right under the current. One clench and he was done for, so the velvety, periodic squeeze of your cunt emptied his store. You hung there, spasming in unison, until that overwhelming heat spurted in a ring around Damian’s cock and flooded out of you. Only then did his fingers stop on your clit, and you settled warmly in each other's arms and tried to remember your names and who you were.

Damian pulled out, then snuggled back in. He would’ve been nervous any other time, but he’d just put his dick inside you, so a little instinctive cuddling could be forgiven. On shaky legs, you turned around and sunk into him. You could tell by how he was eyeing the sink that he was desperate to get clean again, so with one kiss (on the cheek), you set Damian loose.

In companionable silence, Damian cleaned up and you collected the clothes abandoned on the floor. Staring at the corner where you’d just had the best sex of your life put an embarassingly pleasant warmth in your chest. Interesting, how one terrifying moment could become something as special as this. Fascinating, how you’d felt like you’d known him all your life.

“You know… I think you’re excellent, too.” You told him, finishing off the knot for his tie.

Damian dipped his head to hide his smile, but something so bright was impossible to hide.

[urwelcomeforthis]

Alex’s tattoo shows up the day after she punches Marcus Hinkle.

He had been picking on Kara in the hallway, dangling her math book above her head, taking advantage of his summer growth spurt.

Kara still doesn’t know what possessed Alex – Marcus Hinkle had been a thorn in her side since she had landed on Earth and started school a year ago, but whatever the reason, today was the day Alex couldn’t take anymore.

Eliza had been furious. Jeremiah had been (not so) silently proud.

Kara didn’t know what she had felt, really. Especially not when she asked Alex why, and the older girl had just shrugged and said “You’re my sister. It’s what we do.”

Up until this point being sisters meant fights in the hallway over the bathroom and ignoring each other at the dinner table.

Apparently, things were changing.

Kara is just waking up when she hears Alex’s hushed “What the hell?”

“What is it?” She asks, groggily sitting up and wiping at the sleep in her eyes.

Her sister is holding her forearm up, frantically scrubbing at a spot right in the middle, her eyes frantic.

“I don’t…. I don’t know! It’s like a tattoo but I didn’t get a tattoo! Fuck, Mom is going to kill me.” Alex sounds panicked as she continues scrubbing at the spot, and Kara feels her heartbeat speed up.

“You had a tattoo just appear on your skin?” Kara asks slowly, her mind suddenly far away on a planet that doesn’t exist anymore, in a culture she had been forced to leave behind.

Alex stops scrubbing and looks at Kara with a piercing gaze. “Yeah. It’s some funny symbol too, like the way you used to write before you learned English. Did you do this to me?”

Alex leaps off the bed and crosses the room in two quick strides, arm held out like an accusation.

Kara shrinks in on herself a little but nods. “I think so. I didn’t know it was possible here, but well, on Krypton when your soul mate reveals themselves, a tattoo linking you appears. I should have one too, somewhere, if you do.”

Alex stops dead in her tracks, her eyes wide. “Soul mates? But we’re sisters! That’s so gross!”

Jumping up from the bed, hands held up in surrender Kara hastens to explain further. “No! Not like that, I promise! Back home, people had different kinds of soul mates. Sometimes it was the romantic kind like you talk about here on Earth, but other times it could just be a compatible soul, someone who was meant to be a part of you.”

Alex still looks wary, if not relieved, as she tentatively holds out her arm. “So, what does this mean? What kind of soul mates are we?”

Stepping forward Kara delicately traces the symbols on Alex’s forearm. “It literally means “sister of the soul.” Je shesur. The symbol after it is unique, the way we would know we were linked. If this had happened on Krypton it would mean we were soul sisters. Not from the same parents but family just the same.”

Alex nods. “And here on Earth? What does it mean here?”

“The same thing. At least that’s what it means to me.” Kara refuses to meet Alex’s eyes, not sure she wants to see what waits for her there.

There’s a long minute of silence after Alex takes her arm back. The clearing of her throat brings Kara’s eyes up from their place on the ground.

“Where’s yours?” Alex asks, eyes burning with curiosity.

Kara shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s not on my arms like yours is. It must be hidden. Can you look on my back?”

“Sure.” Alex nods. “Lift up your shirt.”

Kara turns and tugs her shirt up and over her head. It takes a moment, but she hears her sister gasp followed by the feel of fingertips against her left shoulder blade.

“It’s the same as mine.” Alex says reverently, and Kara closes her eyes against the emotion welling up there.

Who would have thought she would get to have this piece of home?

“So, I guess I’m stuck with you. For like, ever, huh?” Alex smiles once Kara has turned back around.

Kara grins back. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Alex shrugs. “Could be worse. But you have to tell Mom about this, because she’ll never believe me, and she is going to be pissed that I have a tattoo.”

“Sure, I can tell Mom.” Kara grins, a piece of her heart settling in place. She hasn’t felt at home on Earth, not really, but at this moment she feels like it isn’t all that bad.

--

The next person to get a tattoo is, interestingly enough, James.

It doesn’t come when they’re dating, or whatever it was that they were doing, no.

It comes after he has revealed himself to be Guardian, and he and Kara have the biggest fight of their friendship.

Kara wakes up the morning after tired, groggy, and more than a little cranky. Its as she’s stripping down to get in the shower that she notices it – the Kryptonese scrawled along the inside of her right bicep.

Throniv Shesur. Protector of the soul.

Kara heaves a deep, deep, sigh and grabs her phone.

She meets James at the DEO, both tentative around each other after the yelling match of the day before.

“So. I woke up with a tattoo. Kryptonese. Any idea what that’s about?” James looks smug, like he’s won some kind of battle with Kara and god, at that moment she wishes they were in the training room and she could just punch him.

“Yeah. I did too. It means “protector of the soul.” She crosses her arms against her chest, desperately trying to hold onto her anger from yesterday but the wide grin on James’ face is making it hard.

“I know. I asked Clark first thing since I figured you’re still pissed at me. He was a little surprised, but he translated it for me.”

“Where’s it at?” Kara asks, still pretending to be upset but truthfully it was hard given the glaring message from home telling her that James was meant to be Guardian. That they were meant to protect each other. Protect others together.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” James says with a waggle of his eyebrows and that’s what finally breaks Kara, a laugh ringing out across the room.

It wasn’t who she expected to have a tattoo, not in this way at least, but if it had to be anyone, she’s glad it’s James.

--

Mon-El doesn’t get a tattoo. Kara wishes she were more disappointed.

--

The last person to get a tattoo is someone Kara had desperately hoped both would and would not get a tattoo.

For a long time, she feared what that tattoo would be, if it were to happen. She feared having to explain it, having to explain herself.

She had checked with Clark a few times, when paranoia would get the better of her.

No, he always told her. Lex did not have a tattoo. They were enemies, yes, but it hadn’t been decided by destiny or fate. It just was.

That mollified Kara because she couldn’t stand it if she and Lena were to become Clark and Lex. She would fight against it, fight against fate to keep it from happening.

And then, well. It kind of happens anyways.

They aren’t enemies, not really. Lena just hates Kara and aims a few Kryptonite cannons at her and tries to mind control the entire planet, but really everyone is allowed a brief lapse of their sensibility, right?

And what matters is she came around, in the end.

It did take time, however, for them to build back to what they once had. It was different now, but in the way that things once broken and fixed usually are.

It was better, if anything.

They were back to shared lunches and dinners, quick breakfasts and coffee breaks. They were back to game nights as partners and movie nights as friends, and the occasional sleepovers as best friends.

Things were finally back to normal, so of course Kara had to go and absolutely, irrevocably, mess it up.

It was Alex’s fault, really.

If she hadn’t said anything, if she hadn’t asked Kara what was up between her and Lena lately, Kara probably never would have stopped to think about it.

She never would have stopped to think about the way her heart sped up when Lena entered a room, or the way her palms got sweaty when they hugged, or the way she just could not stop staring at Lena when she laughed at game nights.

But now she had thought of it and had come to the very scary conclusion that she was in love with her best friend.

Her best friend who didn’t have a tattoo.

She would, after all this time, have a tattoo, the tattoo, if they were meant to be together, right?

Kara mulls it over for weeks. It haunts her. She asks Lena about tattoos, and if she has any.

She learns that yes, in fact Lena does have tattoos and boy howdy one of them is on her lower back and it is seared into the back of her eyes now that she has seen it.

But she doesn’t have any kryptonian tattoos, which is really what Kara was aiming for.

Much like it was Alex’s fault that Kara even realized she was in love, it’s also Alex who reminds Kara of one important detail.

“Well I didn’t get my tattoo until after I punched what’s his face. Maybe you have to tell Lena how you feel and then she’ll get the tattoo.”

Kara feels dumb struck, right there on her own couch, because of course, Alex is right.

The tattoos always come after the person has already revealed themselves.

Then of course comes the true fear: what if she tells Lena and she still doesn’t get a tattoo?

That’s the question she’s mulling over the next night as she and Lena sit on her couch watching some documentary that had been put on Netflix.

Lena looks beautiful, face bare of makeup, hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, glasses slipping down her nose.

She’s eating a piece of pizza, a rare treat after a long week of work, and Kara decides that it doesn’t matter if Lena doesn’t get a tattoo.

She’s hopelessly, desperately in love with the woman and she can’t let a tattoo that may or may not come dictate her life.

��I’m in love with you, you know.” Kara blurts out, like this isn’t a life changing moment, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to say. (It is.)

Lena chokes a little on the bite she was swallowing, her hand coming up to her chest as she sets down the slice.

“Excuse me?”

Kara laughs. She’s never felt more free than in this moment. “I’m in love with you. I just thought you should know.”

Lena looks at her, shock written all over her face. “Oh. I guess that’s good.”

“Just good?” Kara nudges Lena’s thigh with her knee.

Lena shakes her head. “I mean it’s more than good, considering I’m in love with you too.”

“Yeah?” Kara could float up to the moon, she thinks.

Lena smiles, nose crinkled. “Yeah.”

It’s the next morning that Lena calls and asks if Kara can stop by. She has this tattoo she didn’t have yesterday, right on her ribcage, and it looks like it’s Kryptonian.

Kara frantically searches her own body, finding the script on her hip, on the left side.

Zhao Shesur. Love of the soul.

It took them five years to get to this point, but Kara knows, this moment was more than worth the wait.