#the universe specifically made sure i had money in time to get them

[semiotomatics]

about to fight tooth and nail for dan mangan tickets please pray for me

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 24: The Last First Time

Summary: You and Simon both get what you want.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 15,019 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rough sex (it's like straight animalistic y'all), grinding, mutual masturbation, fingering, slightly violent imagery, scratching, biting, hair pulling, dry humping, blood (only a little), slight BDSM vibes, licking, squirting, praise, fluids (so many fluids), choking (only for a second), Simon's oral fixation, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, slight fluff, language, Simon being Simon, excessive use of the word "fuck", it's basically porn with very little plot.

A/N: This...this thing is a beast. It beat me up and stole my lunch money. I may have been a bit ambitious with it, but I've denied the Ghosties long enough and so I'm making up for that. Anyway...this might be one of the most depraved things I've ever written (not really, but you get the point). He'd the warnings, and I don't recommend reading this in public. Or standing. Or in underwear you care about. It's a good thing today is Sunday because y'all are gonna need Jesus after this.

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*This is the gif*

Your teeth sink into your lip as you slowly draw your gaze back to his face. He’s still looking at the bear, and once again, you wish you could see his face so you could guess what was going through his head. 

“I missed you.” You say quickly, ready to explain away the shirt and why you put it on that bear specifically. “A lot.” 

His eyes turn back to you, the intensity in them almost forcing you to take a step back. Any words trying to explain your actions die on your tongue as you hold his dark gaze, your heart thumping in your chest so loud you’re surprised he can’t hear it. A quiet sound rumbles in his chest as he looks at you, his eyes darkening just slightly. He takes a step closer, your head tilting up so you can hold his gaze. 

“Then I best make up for it.” He says, his hand moving to your side. His fingers bunch the fabric of the dress at your hip, lifting the hem a couple of inches. “Yellow sundress?” He asks. 

“Johnny bought it for me.” You say, your voice wavering from the anticipation of his touch. “I-It was nice out today, so I wanted to wear it.” 

“Fucking hell.” He breathes, releasing the fabric to drag his hand up your side, stopping just under your breast. 

You want him to continue, to push his hand higher, to finally touch you. You feel electric, every nerve fiber in your body alive as you stare up at him. Yet, you can see the hesitation, the conflict in his eyes. 

“We don’t have to.” You say, leaving that option open for him. Sure, it might be a little difficult after being so worked up, but the last thing you want is to push him too far. You can always get one of the other members of your pack to help ease that ache. “You just got back. There’s...there’s no need to rush it.” 

His fingers tighten around your side for a moment before he releases you, turning his back to you. You begin to panic, wondering if you pushed too far, made too many assumptions, made him too uncomfortable as he walks to the door. You’ve done it, you’ve messed things up and now it’s all crumbling down around you. 

His hand wraps around the knob, slowly pushing the door closed until it clicks. He stands there with his back to you for a moment before he turns back around. You let out the breath you had been holding, trying to calm the panic. Of course he’d want the door closed. This is just between you and him right now. 

You hold a hand out to him, trying to fight the tremble of your fingers. Your emotions are swirling and you need his reassurance. You need his grounding presence. 

He approaches you again, each step slow and calculated as he reaches out, his fingers brushing your palm before he wraps them around your hand. You close your hand around his as best you can with how big it is. You lift your gaze to his, the temptation to fold under the intensity strong, but you refuse. You need to be strong for him, for both of you. Your gaze doesn’t leave his as you slowly turn, walking backwards towards your bed, leading him by the hand with you. 

Your gaze finally leaves his as you turn to face your bed, stopping dead in your tracks. Simon’s chest brushes your back, obviously not expecting you to stop so suddenly. Something tickles in the back of your mind as you stare at the mess that’s become of your bed. The blankets and pillows are still a bit rumpled and misplaced from your lounging earlier, but something’s wrong. Something’s off, something’s not right. 

“Wait.” You say, dropping Simon’s hand before taking the two steps to the edge of your mattress. 

You move the giant bear to the floor next to the bed before you fix the blankets, smoothing them out and making sure they’re just right. You rearrange your stuffed animals and pillows, the need for them to be perfect taking over your mind. You can’t control it, can’t stop it until everything is perfect. 

You take a step back, staring at the nest you’ve made. 

Nest. 

You’re nesting again. 

You turn to face Simon, blinking up at him as the haze clears. He’s staring at you intensely, hands curled into fists at his side. “Sorry.” You murmur, hands closing around the fabric of your dress nervously. “I-I don’t know what-” 

“Don’t.” He says, the word sharp and biting. “Stop apologizing for your instincts.” 

“Sorry.” You say again, wincing at the instinct to immediately apologize. 

He rolls his eyes, closing the distance between you. You take half a step back, your legs hitting the mattress and you’re ready to sit on it when he grabs your hand, flipping your positions so fast it nearly makes you dizzy. He seats himself on the mattress instead, staring up at you. The look in his eyes takes your breath away as he tugs you to stand between his parted thighs. 

He tugs the bottom of his mask up and you don’t even have to be told, your head immediately lowering to kiss him. You rest your hands on his broad shoulders, feeling the muscle beneath them. His hands close around the back of your thighs, calloused skin biting at the softness of your own. Goosebumps rise on your skin, covering your body from the sensation. It’s nothing new to you, but he’s new to you. You’ve never been in this position before with him, never under these circumstances. 

His kiss is searing, just as the first one had been. He kisses you like a man starved, like he wants to devour you. It’s sloppy and wet, his hands squeezing around your thighs until your lips part in a gasp, and he takes advantage of it, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You press closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands begin to crawl up the backs of your thighs, warmth blossoming in your stomach again as they slip under the hem of your dress, continuing higher and higher. 

His fingers brush the skin where your thighs and ass meet, before continuing upwards until they brush the fabric underneath your dress. He groans into your mouth, pulling away from your lips. “Turn around and show me.”  

You shiver at the growl in his voice, turning slowly between his knees until your back is to him. You slowly lift the hem of your dress until it’s bunched around your waist, the cool air in the room brushing your exposed skin. You hear the sharp inhale as he stares at you, his fingers twitching against the sides of your thighs. 

“Fucking hell.” He breathes, his hands gripping the sides of your thighs as you bend over just slightly, causing the fabric to ride up slightly higher. 

You sink your teeth into your lip as you stand there under his critical gaze. You had planned this after Johnny’s hint that you should wear the dress since the weather was going to be nice. You knew there was more to it than that, the subtle hint that Simon would enjoy seeing you in it. The panties had been a deliberate choice just on the off chance that something like this would happen. You’re glad you made that decision now, half bent over with your ass in Simon’s face, showing off the black, skull print fabric adorning your skin. 

Simon curses again, his hands gripping your waist to tug you back into his lap. Your back collides with his chest, but he offers no complaint as he wraps his arms tightly around your middle. You can feel him, the bulge in his pants as you press back against him, the knowledge that he’s turned on by just the sight of your ass in skull print panties sending heat rushing between your own thighs. 

You tilt your head to the side, meeting his lips as you press back against him, his hands hot against your stomach. You need him to lower his hand, press it between your thighs, relieve some of the ache. 

His arms release around you and you turn in his lap, straddling his thick thighs. His hands settle on your own thighs, rocking your body against the prominent bulge in his pants. You continue to kiss him, gasping into his mouth as your clothed slit drags against the rough fabric of his jeans. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers brushing the sensitive skin below his mask. You can feel the hair at the nape of his neck, the short strands prickling your fingers. 

Simon pulls away from your lips, releasing his hold on your thighs. You freeze, holding your breath as you wait for what’s going to happen next. You’re worried perhaps you went too far, or perhaps he’s having second thoughts. He drops his head to your chest, pressing his face against your clothed breasts. He holds himself there, taking a shaky breath in. 

“We don’t have to.” The words come spilling out. “We can stop any time.” You rub his upper back, trying to release some of the tension in his shoulders. 

“‘S not fair to you.” He murmurs, his breath hot through the thin fabric of the dress. 

“I’ll be fine.” You say, moving off his lap. 

He lets you, releasing his hold around you. He doesn’t lift his head, still bowed almost in shame. You sit next to him, close enough your arm is pressed against his. 

“Like I said, there’s no rush.” You say, trying to reassure him. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He says, closing his hands into fists. There’s more emotion in his voice than you’ve ever heard before, the sound almost startling compared to the usual gruffness and bite to his words. 

“You won’t.” You shrug. “I can handle Johnny just fine, and John.” You put your hand over one of his. “I would tell you, if you hurt me, or if I got uncomfortable. I’m not as breakable as you think. You’ve thrown me around in training and I’ve been fine.” 

A low sound rumbles in his chest at your words. It sends a shiver down your spine, half of your brain telling you to run, and the other half sending heat between your thighs. He sits up straight, pulling his mask down as he turns to look at you. “Touch yourself.” 

“W-What?” You ask, taken aback.

“Touch yourself for me.” He repeats himself. 

You hesitate for half a second, before you nod. “O-Okay.” You reply, thrilled and nervous at the idea. 

You push yourself up further onto the bed as Simon adjusts himself so he’s against the headboard, lounging in your bed. You ignore the feelings rushing through you at the sight of the big alpha in your nest. It’s almost comical, seeing him in his dark clothes, an imposing figure surrounded by soft blankets and stuffed animals and colorful pillows. You lean against the footboard at the end of your bed, adjusting yourself so your thighs are spread, giving him a perfect view of your fabric covered pussy. You slip your hands under the waistband of your panties, but he stops you. 

“Leave them on.” He growls, eyes glued at the slightly darker patch of fabric between your legs. 

You slowly release your panties, tugging the hem of your dress up higher before you slip your hand into your underwear. You’re soaked, your fingers slipping along the slick skin. You stare at Simon’s face, his eyes glued to the movement of your hand under your panties as you begin to tease your clit. There’s an obvious tent in his pants, a painful looking bulge in his jeans. 

A quiet sigh leaves your lips as you circle your clit slowly, spreading your legs even further, draping one over his. His hands settle on his stomach as he watches, his breathing slow and even. 

Your breathing has picked up as you continue to tease your clit. Between the moment shared with him and the intensity of his gaze on your clothed pussy, it’s almost too much. You could cum just like this, barely touched, shivering under the gaze of your pack’s second alpha. It’s the most intimate you’ve ever been with him, and you’re not even naked. 

You slip your fingers lower, gathering slick on them before pressing two into your throbbing pussy. You moan softly at the slight stretch, your eyes focusing on his hands and where they rest on his stomach. How full you’d be on his fingers. Yours are nothing compared to his. The depths he could reach, the delicious stretch of them. You sink your teeth into your lip, biting back a moan as you begin to thrust your fingers in and out of you. 

His scent is intensifying, growing muskier in his arousal as he watches you. For once he doesn’t complain about the sweetness of your scent, the two mixing in the air, the perfect blend of alpha and omega. 

“A mixture someone could get drunk off of.” 

That’s what John had said. You want to, let it flow straight into your brain and numb your senses until there’s nothing but the two of you. Until you’re full of giddy happiness and warmth as your limbs go lax and all tension and stress leaves your body. Until you forget where you are, lost in some far away land where there’s nothing but you and the overwhelming scent of alpha, of Simon. 

A shudder wracks through your body, your scent intensifying as pleasure begins to sear through your veins. Simon’s nose twitches beneath his mask, his pupils dilating as your scent goes straight to his brain. You wonder what kind of iron grip he’s keeping on himself, how he’s managing to hold himself back. You’d jump his bones right now if he hadn’t set this boundary between you. Perhaps it’s that boundary keeping him still on the bed. There certainly wouldn’t be any complains from you if he crossed that boundary, ripped your hand from your panties and fucked you until you couldn’t move. 

“Fuck.” He growls, almost as if he could read your thoughts, as if there was some sort of telepathic link between the two of you giving him a glimpse into your mind. It would explain how in tune he is with you, how he always seems to know, how easily he can read you. 

Your movements falter as he slides his hand down his stomach, tugging at the button on his jeans. You watch, enraptured as he slips his own hand into his pants, palming at his bulge. Your mouth waters at the thought of finally seeing him, of getting a glimpse of what lies beneath. He’s big, you know he has to be. Alphas generally are, thick and long to match their build.

Your pussy clenches at the thought of the stretch, how he’ll have to open you up with his fingers first so it doesn’t hurt. He’ll take good care of you, making sure you’re nice and slick and ready for him before he sinks into you, still stretching you with his cock. 

A needy moan falls from your lips as slick gushes around your fingers, increasing the wet squelch of them with every thrust. Simon’s hand slips under his briefs, wrapping around his cock. You keep your gaze on the movement of his hand beneath the fabric as he pumps his length in time with the movements of your hand. 

Your free hand grips the sheets under you as you adjust the position of your fingers, pressing your palm against your throbbing clit. The coil in your stomach is tightening, your thighs beginning to shake as you get closer and closer to the edge. 

“Gonna cum?” He rasps, his hand pumping his cock faster as he chases his own high. “Gonna cum for me?” 

“Yes!” You gasp out, curling your fingers against that spongy spot inside you. “Yes!” 

He curses, the word a drawn out rumble in his chest as your thighs close, squeezing around your hand as you cum around your fingers. Your back arches as you nearly spasm from the pleasure, working yourself through the orgasm as he grunts in pleasure from his own approaching orgasm. 

Your body settles, still shaking slightly as you withdraw your fingers from your underwear. They’re shiny with slick and your cum and you lift them to your mouth, letting your tongue dart out to lick at your own juices. 

The sound Simon lets out is nearly animalistic, the pace of his hand frantic as his head tilts back, his hips jerking. You watch him cum, the muscles in his arms flexing as he spills into his underwear. It’s beautiful, the sight of him lost in pleasure. You wish you could see his face, see the way he looks in this moment, but you can’t. Instead you focus on the way his eyes flutter, those long blonde lashes golden in the light from your lamp. 

His breaths are heavy, chest heaving as he comes down from his own high. Your own breathing has settled as you lay there lax at the end of your bed. It’s quiet between you for a moment, his gaze locked on yours. How far things have come just from a couple weeks of distance from each other. It’s impossible not to wonder if something happened, if there was a close call that caused him to think of all the things he’d regret not doing. Or perhaps it was just the distance, the realization that holding himself back was foolish and pointless. You’d welcome him with open arms, just as you had when he walked down the ramp and onto the tarmac. 

He had been the one to make that first move, kissing you when you least expected it. What had gone through his head to cause such a reaction? Had he panicked just as much as you would have, overthinking it until he convinced himself you wouldn't want it? Did the emotions of the moment take over and he couldn’t stop himself from giving in to those desires? Or had he simply faced those fears head on and did it because he wanted to? 

He knows how you feel. The kiss in the car had confirmed that, and you inviting him into your space was the gavel strike that sealed your fates. You don’t want to turn back, you wouldn’t turn back, not after everything. 

Simon moves first, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of your bed. You desperately want to know what he’s thinking, what’s going on in his head. He doesn’t regret this decision, does he? You’ve leaped over the boundaries he’d once set, sharing such an intimate, vulnerable moment with each other. You’d let him go if he wanted to leave, no matter how desperately you’d want to cling to him and beg him to stay. 

He pushes himself up to stand, jeans still unbuttoned as he turns to face you. “Be right back.” He says, leaning down to press a kiss to your head through the mask before he heads into your bathroom, closing the door. 

You let out a quiet breath, sitting there for a moment before you get up, tugging your sundress off. It’s late, the others likely in bed already, or heading that way. You wonder if he’ll be permitted a day off tomorrow, or if he’ll even want to take one. You know how strictly he likes to keep to his schedule, even when he has to be utterly exhausted. 

You’re tempted to pull his shirt off the bear and wear it as you stand there in nothing but your panties, but you’re not sure if that will be pushing too much at once. You decide against it, instead digging out a baggy shirt from your dresser, pulling it over your head. 

You rearrange your nest as water runs in the bathroom, pushing most of the pillows and stuffed animals to the end of the bed before you turn down the blankets, climbing in. Simon’s scent wafts up around you as you lay down, unable to stop yourself as you press your face into your pillow and inhale deeply. Your tongue darts out, pressing against the fabric before you can stop it. It’s musky and slightly tangy, making your mouth water. You want to lick it from the source, wrap your teeth around Simon’s scent gland and devour him. 

Your mind is hazy as you push yourself away from the pillow, blinking away the animalistic thoughts seeping to the front of your brain as the bathroom door opens. Simon steps out, taking a couple slow steps to the middle of your room. He stands there like he’s unsure of what to do next. Should he offer to leave, or ask to join you in bed? You can see the hesitation, the conflict as he tries to decide which is okay, which one might be the best decision. 

“You could join me, if you want.” You say, giving him an offer, a chance at a decision. You wouldn’t be upset if he left, well, not entirely. He’s shown a lot of vulnerability tonight, and you wouldn’t blame him if he wanted space to think over things. You don’t want him to leave, but you’d understand if he did. 

“Is that what you want?” He asks, shifting on his feet. 

“I did offer.” You shrug. “It’s up to you. I can always cuddle the bear.” 

His gaze drops to the bear seated on the floor next to the bed, still wearing his black t-shirt. His hands curl into fists before he looks back up at you. “Move over.” 

You try to hide your grin as you press yourself back against the wall, watching as he unbuttons his jeans again. He pulls them off, folding them in half before draping them over your footboard. This is the most exposed he’s been in front of you, the most skin you’ve seen at one time. You can’t help but stare at his legs, thick thighs dusted with dark blonde hair and covered in scars. They’re not surprising to you, not after seeing the others, though he has the most by far. Small lines, pink and white speckling the skin. There’s a puckered scar on one calf, a bullet wound you now know. There’s a long, thick scar on the other thigh cutting from the side of his knee, up his thigh until it disappears under his briefs. 

You quickly avert your gaze as you realize he’s standing there, watching you. He quickly crawls under the blankets, a nervous sweat starting to form across your back. You don’t mean to make him uncomfortable, but it’s hard not to stare. You want to know, you want every story that explains every scar. You can’t even begin to imagine the horror of the big one on his leg. So far John has been the only one to tell you about all of his scars, as much as he could at least. Johnny had relayed a couple dramatic stories about his, and Kyle has told you about a couple when you’ve asked. You’re not even sure you could ask Simon, much less how you would go about it. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts as you’re suddenly yanked down against Simon’s chest, his arm wrapped around your back. 

“You’re thinking too much.” He says, shifting just slightly to get comfortable on the small bed. It’s a tight squeeze with the two of you, forcing you to nearly lay half on top of him. You’ve never wanted that dream of a bigger bed to be more true than in this moment. 

“Sorry.” You say, wincing at your instinct to apologize again. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

“Not uncomfortable.” He says, his voice rumbling in his chest. “Just not used to it yet.” 

“Is that why you keep yourself covered as much as possible? The scars?” You ask, biting your lip as soon as the question comes out. You hadn’t meant to ask it out loud, but you can’t stop your curiosity. 

“Partly.” He says, his thumb stroking your back. “People like to stare, they like to talk.” 

“I don’t care about the scars.” You say quietly. “You all have them. Just...makes me worried thinking about the things that caused them.” 

He hums quietly, the sound vibrating in your ear. “Some scars are symbols of survival. Things that almost killed us, that should have. Some are old wounds the body won’t let go of.” 

“That’s very poetic.” You murmur. 

His hand squeezes your side. “Don’t tell Johnny. He’ll never let me live it down.” 

A sleepy smile tugs at your lips, the exhaustion of the day and the bliss from the events of the last hour begin to drag your mind into the realm of sleep. Simon reaches for your lamp, shutting it off, bathing the room in near darkness.The dark doesn’t scare you anymore, not with Simon here. His violence and brutality should scare you, but instead, it only makes you feel safe. He’d make anyone who dared to try and hurt you pay. 

“Sweet dreams, Simon.” You murmur, a quiet purr rumbling in your chest, content as you drift off to sleep. 

It’s light out, the first rays of sunlight streaming through your window. You rub your eyes from the offending light, reaching for your sheets to tug them over your head but they’re caught around something. Your elbow knocks against something solid as you try and pull them up, a quiet grunt sounding beside you. 

Arms wrap around you, pinning you against a solid warmth. “Stop movin’.” Simon grumbles, tossing a leg over you to keep you still. 

You’ve traded places with him in the night, his back against the wall as you lay stretched out on your back. A quiet purr starts rumbling in your chest as the memories from last night begin to seep through your half-awake brain. He stayed the whole night with you. You had half expected him to get up, to leave, to wake up early, stick to his normal routine. Instead he’d stayed, even far later than he usually would. 

You turn your attention to the arm wrapped around you, your eyes trailing his tattoos. You’ve never seen them this close, able to make out the details of them now. Your fingers begin to trace his tattoos, working your way up his arm until you reach his sleeve, pushing it up as you continue to follow the tattoos all the way up to his shoulder. It’s when you get there you see something familiar. You hold his sleeve out of the way as you trace over the three images. 

“You got a tattoo for each member of the pack.” You say quietly. 

“Almost.” He says, tightening his hold around you. “Missing one.” 

You turn as best you can to look up at him, the meaning of his words not lost on you. His eyes are still closed, and had you not known better, you might have guessed he was still sleeping. His breaths are slow and even, his body still and relaxed. 

“What are you going to get?” You ask. 

“Haven’t decided yet.” He says simply. 

You turn in his grasp, managing to free one of your legs so you can toss it over his hip as you snuggle in close to him. “You could get a kitten, since that’s what Johnny calls me.” 

He snorts. “Absolutely not.” 

“Why not?” You say. “A fluffy little kitten would be cute!” 

“It would throw off the aesthetic.” He says, squishing you up against his chest. 

“Can I go with you when you get it?” You ask. 

“We’ll see.” He sighs, adjusting his leg between yours. 

You bite your lip as it presses against your mound. How easy it would be to press your hips down, grind against him. There’s still a warm electric current thrumming through you from the events of last night. Things have moved fast between you. You’ve gone from thinking he hates you to masturbating in front of each other in a matter of weeks. The leaps you’ve made between the two weeks he was gone almost seem surreal. Does he regret last night? Will he change his mind, retreat back into himself once the reality sets in? You had thought there was no going back once he stepped into your room, but in reality, he could decide to pull back, he could decide this isn’t what he wants after all. 

You’d let him. You’d watch him revert back into himself, face the pain of rejection and acknowledge that what you wanted turned out to be nothing but a dream. His comfort matters more than your needs. You’d fight to cling to the fraying bonds for nothing else besides the sanity and stability of your pack. His rejection would slice clean through those supposedly indestructible bonds, disrupting the dynamic of the pack. It would fracture, crumbling like a building with a structural failure. The bonds that they built with each other, the bonds they’ve built with you will snap leaving decaying waste with you and Johnny caught right in the middle of it all. 

You’ll do everything in your power to cling to those decaying edges, frantically gluing them back together like omegas are supposed to. Fight to hold the pack together while the betas desperately try to resolve the tension and keep everyone sane. It will be the end of the pack, the initiative will be a failure. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have pushed so much. It’s all going to go down in flames because of you. 

“You’re thinking too much again.” 

The quiet rumble of Simon’s voice pulls you from your spiraling thoughts. It drags you back to reality, back into your body from the quickly deepening hole of worry and fear in your mind. Your eyelids flutter as you take a deep breath, the musky scent of alpha clearing away the haze that had come over your mind. You’re still laying in Simon’s arms, pressed up against his chest, his thigh pressed between your legs. 

“How do you always know?” You murmur, snaking your arm around his side. 

“You have tells. You freeze, staying so still even the best snipers in the world would be impressed. You get this glazed over look in your eyes, and your scent changes depending on what you’re thinking about.” He says, tightening his hold around you. 

“You notice all of that?” You ask in amazement and embarrassment that he can read you so easily. You’re still not used to it, his uncanny ability to just know things when it comes to you. 

“‘S part of my job,” He says, shifting slightly closer to you. “What makes me so good at it.” His face presses against the top of your head as his thigh shifts between your legs, putting even more pressure against your clothed pussy. “You’re overthinking this, aren't you.” 

“I just...” You let out a shuddering breath, trying to ignore the throbbing between your legs. “I need to know if you regret last night.” 

A low grumble vibrates through his chest before you find yourself suddenly on your back under him. It happened so fast your brain can’t even register it completely, his hand is gripping your thigh, the one you had thrown over his waist, keeping it hooked over his hip. He’s pressed between your legs, body slotted against yours like he was made to fit there perfectly. Hard edges pressed against your soft curves. 

“Does this feel like regret to you?” He says, voice rumbling deep in his chest as he presses his hips into yours. 

You can feel him...all of him through his briefs as he presses against you, nothing but thin fabric separating you. He’s just as big as you imagined, long and thick and throbbing. He drags his hips along your covered slit, closer than he’s ever been to you. The electrifying moment during training is almost nothing compared to the feeling of him pressed against you. 

“No.” You squeak out, wrapping your arms around his back as he continues to grid against you. You can feel every inch of him against your quickly dampening underwear, the fabric sticking to you and providing delicious friction with every roll of his hips. 

Your hands slip under his shirt, your palms pressing against the warm skin of his lower back. A shudder runs through him, dragging a low growl from his lips. He releases you just long enough to tug his mask up over his mouth before he descends on your neck, your head tilting to the side to give him room. 

The front of his briefs are quickly getting wet from the slick coating your thighs and his precum. Your nails sink into his skin as his teeth scrape across your throat, his tongue following to ease the sensitive, stinging skin. 

“Simon,” You whimper, pressing your hips up against him, desperately seeking relief from the ache building in your core. 

He lifts his face from your throat, your lips clashing against his in a mix of teeth and tongue. His hand slips up to cup the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. He uses his hold on you for leverage as the drag of his hips becomes almost violent. You can imagine it, the feeling of his cock thrusting into you, reaching so deep you can feel him in your stomach, the way you’ll ache for days after he’s done with you. 

“Simon, fuck...” You whine against his lips, your legs shaking as you get closer and closer to the edge. “Please!” 

His grunts and moans have turned into growls, low and deep in his chest. It sends a shiver up your spine, your omega rolling in your mind, scratching to be free. You sink your teeth into his lower lip until you taste blood, the air between you quickly becoming primal. His hand tugs on your hair, pulling your head back until your throat is bared to him. He sinks his teeth into the skin, biting until you yelp. He eases back, dragging his tongue over the sore spot. 

Your moans get louder as you get closer and closer to the edge, every sharp bite of his teeth into your neck sending a shockwave of pleasure straight to where his cock drags against your clit. You feel alive, your vision getting sharper as you get closer and closer to your orgasm. 

“Simon....Simon please.” You whine, clutching him to you so tightly it almost hurts. “I need you. Need you to rearrange my guts, fuck me until I can’t stand. Make me hurt, remind me that I’m yours.” 

A low growl reverberates in his chest, vibrating through your entire body. Your thighs squeeze around his hips, hanging onto him for dear life as he ruts against you like an animal. “Say it again.” He growls, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin of your ear. 

“I’m yours.” You gasp, your back arching. “Have been since the first day.”

“Fucking hell.” He grunts, grinding his hips against yours with so much force the headboard bangs against the wall. 

You cum almost instantly, soaking your underwear and his briefs. He shoves his face into your throat, inhaling deeply against your scent gland. His hand grips the pillow next to your head, his body tensing as his hips jerk against yours. Warmth coats his briefs as he spills into them for a second time in the last day, a deep growl rumbling in his chest as he nearly goes limp on top of you. 

Both of you lay there, shaking and twitching in the aftershocks of your orgasms. It’s hot and stuffy in the room, the heat from Simon’s body not helping any. For a moment you wonder if he’s fallen asleep again from how still and relaxed he is, but the twitch of his body as you soothe your hands over the marks you’ve left on his back says otherwise. 

“Simon?” You speak his name quietly in the sudden stillness of the room. 

“Soon.” He says, slowly beginning to untangle himself from you. “I’ll give you what you need soon.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, shockingly soft compared to what had just transpired. 

He slips a hand around your back, flipping the two of you again as he flops on his back on your bed. You fall against his chest, resting your head over his heart. Despite the exertion, it’s thumping steadily and evenly. Your pussy clenches at the thought of his stamina, how long he’ll be able to go. You’ll tire before him, nothing but a boneless, babbling omega as he fucks you blind and unconscious. 

The moment is ruined by the knock at the door, both of you tensing for a moment. 

“If you don’t hurry, you’ll miss breakfast.” John’s voice sounds from the other side. 

Your cheeks warm at the idea of him hearing what had just transpired. How long has he been standing out there, waiting for you to finish? Does he think Simon was just fucking you, or does he somehow know you had just been rutting away like two eager pups? You can picture the tent in his pants, the way he adjusts the painful bulge at the thought of you being taken by his second alpha. He’s been waiting for this, for the walls to finally come down, for you and Simon to finally release that pent up energy and remove the weight that has been hovering over everyone’s heads. 

“Come on,” Simon says, sitting up with you in his arms. “Need to get some food in you.” He stands, still holding you like it’s nothing to him. It probably isn’t, but the thought has your face nearly bursting into flames. 

He sets you back on your feet, his hands lingering on your sides. You stare up into his eyes, getting lost in the beautiful brown irises. He holds your gaze for a moment before delivering a sharp swat to your ass. 

“Get yourself cleaned up, then we’ll go.” He pulls away from you, grabbing his jeans off the end of your bed. 

You stare at his ass as he bends over to pull them on, an idea popping in your head. “Wait,” You say before he can leave, pulling off your panties. You tuck them into his back pocket, giving it a firm pat. “Keep them.” You stand up on your toes, kissing his cheek before scurrying off to the bathroom before you get distracted again. 

You’re still shaking as you tug your shirt over your head. You look like you’ve been mauled by an animal as you stare at yourself in the mirror. There’s marks across your neck from Simon’s teeth, and your hair is a tangled mess from his hands. Your thighs are trembling a bit as you stand there, your slick drying uncomfortably on your thighs. Your lips feel bruised as you quickly brush your teeth before stepping into the shower. 

The excited tremble of your hands makes holding the body wash a struggle. You still feel electric, your mind rushing from not one but two very intimate moments between you and Simon. If this is how you feel now, you can only imagine how you’ll feel after actually having sex.

You feel a bit sore as you get dressed, doing your best to hide the scattering of marks across your skin. You don’t really have to hide them. Everyone knows you fuck the members of the 141. The images that must flash through their minds when you walk around with them. Do they think you take all of them at once? On your knees as they stand around you, being a good omega for them like in some cheesy porn video? Or bent over, presented for them as they make a mess of your pussy, fucking each other’s cum into you until you can’t hold anymore and it seeps out, leaving you laying in a puddle of it?

Your pussy clenches at the thought, warmth starting to pool in your stomach again. 

“Down girl.” You say, talking to yourself as you slip on your shoes. “We’re not there,” You straighten back up, smoothing your hands over your shirt. “Yet.” 

You take a deep breath, trying to steady the excited thrumming between your legs as you step out into the hallway. Simon is waiting for you, having changed clothes, or at least you think so. He’s in a black t-shirt and jeans still, his most common uniform when he’s not in training. 

“Come on, let’s go.” He says, motioning towards the door with his head. 

He didn’t change his shirt. 

The overwhelming scent of alpha and sex and you is wafting off of him. He might as well be wearing a bright neon sign declaring what you were up to this morning. Your omega purrs at the idea of him being coated in your scent, staking your claim over him. Maybe you shouldn’t have showered after all, wanting to wear a matching scent projecting his own claim over you. 

The mess is sparsely occupied this late in the morning, something you’re silently grateful for. Had you walked in during the peak breakfast time, you might have died on the spot. Most don’t pass a glance your way, only those you pass by directly giving you both a second look. 

Simon yanks your tray from your hands as you grab one, setting it down on the counter next to his. He begins spooning food onto it, adding the things you like. You stare at your tray wide-eyed as he fills it, your omega practically preening. 

He doesn’t even let you carry it to the table, setting it down next to his. You beam up at him as he stares down at you, unable to hide your smile. 

“What?” He asks, his eyes scanning your face. 

Your smile widens. “Thanks for making my tray.” 

He glances down at your full tray before looking back at you. “Sit down and start eating.” 

You can’t stop smiling as you sit on the bench, Simon going to get you something to drink. The activities this morning have left you hungry, hungry enough that the mess food looks appetizing. Simon returns quickly, setting a cup of tea down in front of you. 

“Tea?” You ask, staring at it.

“Yeah. ‘S good for you.” He says, starting in on his own breakfast. “Better than that sugary milk you call coffee.” 

“But you put sugar and milk in your tea.” You say, looking up at him. 

He turns to you, giving you an exasperated look. “Anyone ever tell you you’re annoying?” 

“Yeah. All the time.” You say, taking a bite out of the sausage on your fork. 

“Little shit.” He murmurs under his breath, turning back to his own tray. 

You both eat in comfortable silence, no awkward or tentative energy between you like you had worried there would be after the events that transpired over the last few hours. There’s no dancing around each other anymore, the forced distance dispersed between you. It makes you happy, your omega satisfied as your pack now feels complete. 

You almost feel like skipping as Simon leads you back to the barracks. You slip your hand into his, swinging your arms back and forth. He doesn’t pull away or even complain at your actions, letting you have your moment. Who knew he was such a big softie underneath all that armor? 

Well, you sort of knew the whole time. He could have been mean. He could have been nasty towards you, forcing you into a corner made up of only you, John, and Kyle. He could have kept Johnny from you, drawing that line in the pack and keeping you on one side. He could have let you face the consequences of punching that alpha on your own. So many times he could have left you on your own, been rough with you, let things escalate until he was violent, let his anger win and use it against you as many alphas do. 

But he didn’t. 

Even in his early avoidance of you, he was never a bad alpha towards you. He might not have liked you at first, or approved of your presence, but he never took it out on you. He put up with you because he had to, until his hesitant tolerance grew into more. You had wiggled your way in without even knowing it, long before you started trying, long before you became determined to win his approval for your sake, as well as the rest of the pack’s. 

Look at you now, holding his hand after he made you orgasm an hour ago. You would have never thought you’d get to this place with him back then. You’ve surpassed the point you wanted to get to, but you’re certainly not going to complain. You’ve gotten what you wanted, and from the sounds of it, so has he. 

It’s been two days since Simon’s return, and he has yet to fuck you. The marks on your neck have begun to fade, and you wonder if he’s waiting until they’re gone so he can make new ones. He certainly hasn’t been ignoring you, no he’s been quite clingy. He sits close to you, holds your hand every chance he can. He’s been filling your trays at meals when he takes you to the mess, something John is content to let him do. 

Your omega is satisfied, still preening at the idea of him courting you. You certainly won’t complain, nor will you try to stop him. He could claim you too, if he wanted. He could have claimed you from the start and you would have let him. Back then it would have been because it was your duty to do what your pack wanted. Now it would be because you want him to. You want to be his, just as much as you’re John’s. 

You won’t tell him that, though. Not yet. You don’t want to push him, to seem like you’re trying to move too quickly. You don’t want to scare him off now after making so much progress. That can be a conversation for later, once the two of you have adjusted to this new development in your relationship. 

An excited shiver trails down your spine as you stand outside the door. It’s early, but the world outside is grey with the coming dawn. Your heart jumps as the door in front of you opens, Simon pausing as he exits his room. He blinks down at you as you grin up at him, obviously not expecting you to be up and ready before him. 

“Ready to go?” You say, bouncing excitedly on your toes. 

He rolls his eyes at you, pulling his door closed behind him. “You’re in far too good a mood for 4:30 in the morning.” 

“I’m excited.” You say, taking his arm as you walk down the hallway. 

“And far too happy.” He says as you step out into the cool morning air. 

“I am happy.” You say, leaning your head against his arm. “You make me happy.” 

He lets out a sigh, and you can almost hear him rolling his eyes at you. “Don’t make me regret this.” 

You pause outside the door to the gym, looking up at him. “You don’t, do you?” 

He stares down at you for a long moment, your heart beating in your ears. You don’t want to scare him off with your happiness, the glee you can’t control at the relief of finally being accepted by him, of finally feeling like your pack is complete. 

“No.” He says, opening the door for you. “Now get your ass inside.” 

Relief floods through you, a smile tugging at your lips as you step into the gym. It’s quiet inside, quieter than normal even for 4 AM. 

“Most of them are out running drills today.” Simon says as he leads you down the hallway to the training room. “Base will be quiet.” 

“Won’t catch me complaining.” You say as you step into the training room. 

Simon locks the door behind you, setting his things on the bench and kicking off his shoes. You stare at him shamelessly as you follow him onto the mat, unsure whether you should thank or curse the grey sweatpants hugging his ass. 

He turns to face you and you decide to curse them, warmth flooding through you. Your mind flashes back to the morning after his return, the feeling of his cock grinding against you, his teeth sinking into your skin, leaving marks all over you. 

Fuck this is going to be a long training session. 

You’re half distracted as he runs you through combinations, most of your punches missing, your kicks almost half-hearted as most of your energy is pulsing between your legs. You keep messing up, punching at the wrong time, the order getting messed up in your mind. Agreeing to train today was probably a bad idea, given the uncontrollable lust that’s been plaguing you. Being so close to Simon and his scent isn’t helping either. 

You mess up another combo, half distracted, half dazed as you throw a punch, missing the mitt entirely. Simon lets out a frustrated growl, moving before you can even think to block yourself as he drives his shoulder into the center of your chest. You fall flat on your back, the air leaving your lungs with a sharp gasp. 

You lay there, coughing and gasping as he comes to stand over you, staring down at you disappointedly. “You’re distracted.” 

“Yeah,” You cough out, trying to catch your breath. “You keep fucking with my head.” 

“Half of fighting an alpha is a mind game. They’re going to fuck with you, because it will work.” He says, lowering himself to his knees over you. 

“Yeah, but this is different.” You say, your breathing finally returning back to normal. 

Or it was. Your inhale catches in your throat as he leans over you, his hands settling on either side of your head. “How?” He asks, his voice rougher than it had been. 

You take a deep breath as you stare up at him, feeling very small in this position, but you know he’s doing it on purpose. “I don’t want you to fuck with my head,” You say, trying to gain the upper hand. “I want you to fuck me.” 

Your words stun him for a moment, and you take the opportunity to try and reverse your positions. You swing your fist towards his side, aiming for the spot below his ribs. He recovers faster than you thought he might, catching your hand before you can make contact. He pins it to the mat beside your head, pinning your other hand on the other side. You try to use your knees to hit him, but he settles his weight over you, effectively pinning you to the mat. 

The position is reminiscent of the morning after he returned, his body pressed into yours, clinging to you as you both chased your orgasms. It sends a shiver down your spine, your body shuddering under him. His grip around your wrists shifts, pulling your hands over your head. He holds them with one of his own hands, keeping them pinned to the mat. A thrill shoots through you as you stare up at him, his body shifting to the side. 

“You want me to fuck you?” He growls, lifting his mask up to his nose. “Want me to take you right here where anyone walking by could hear you screaming my name? Where they could stand at the door jerking themselves off like needy pups, hoping to get just a whiff of your scent?” 

You would let him. He could take you right now on this mat and you wouldn’t care. Heat is pulsing between your legs, slick soaking your underwear and quickly beginning to seep through to your leggings. 

“Yes!” You whine, clenching your thighs together, seeking out any kind of friction you can get. “Please!” 

His free hand grips your chin, fingers pressing into your cheeks to force your mouth open. He leans over you, holding your gaze as he spits into your mouth. Your whine is cut off as two of his fingers follow, pressing against your tongue. They taste salty from the sweat on his hands, yet you don’t care, licking the sweat from his skin. The pulsing of your pussy is starting to get to be too much, your thighs rubbing together in a desperate attempt to ease the ache. 

You moan around his fingers, laving your tongue over them as he shifts his gaze to your legs, watching you squirm and writhe. You can hardly stand it, his scent getting thicker and thicker in the air as he begins to get aroused as well. You nip at his fingers, trying to get him to pull them from your mouth. 

“Please!” You gasp as soon as your mouth is free. “Fucking touch me, Simon!” 

It’s like he had been waiting for your permission as his hand slips between your clenched thighs, cupping you over your leggings. You press your hips into his hand, grinding against him in desperate need for release. 

“What, you want this?” He says, rubbing his hand along your clothed slit. 

“Yes!” You almost sob, squeezing your thighs around his hand. “Please, Simon! Please!”

You lift your head as he slides his hand up your pelvis until it’s resting right at the waistband of your leggings. His eyes are on your face as he slowly pushes his fingers under the fabric, trailing lower and lower until he reaches the top of your mound. Your breath hitches in anticipation, lips parted as your chest heaves with every breath. So close. You’re so close to finally being touched by him. So close to getting relief. 

Your head falls back against the mat, a loud moan slipping from your lips as he finally slides his fingers lower, the rough pads brushing over your clit. “Fuck...” You whine, letting your legs fall open as he begins to circle the sensitive bud. 

It’s more than you could have imagined, better than you would have ever thought, and all he’s done is rub a few circles over your clit. His touch is electric, lighting a fire in you again, sending shocks straight through your nervous system and into your brain. You push against the hand holding your wrists but he doesn’t relent, not letting you touch him like you so desperately want to. 

His fingers leave your clit, sliding lower until they’re pressed against your hole. You shift your hips against his hand, trying to get even some relief from the ache that’s been throbbing between your legs for two days. You’ve avoided even touching yourself, wanting to make sure you were still sensitive and ready for when Simon decided he was ready. You’re glad for that now as Simon presses two of his fingers into you, your walls clamping down around them tightly. 

“C’mon,” He groans in your ear, his tongue darting out to lick at the sweat dampening your face. “Relax for me.” 

You breathe deeply, trying to get yourself to relax as he pushes his fingers further into you. His fingers are so long and thick, his knuckles catching at your entrance. 

“This tight around my fingers, how are you gonna take my cock?” He groans, thrusting his fingers gently to try and open you up for him. 

“I can take it.” You pant, bucking your hips against his hand to take his fingers deeper into you. 

“Been a while since someone fucked you, huh?” He says, beginning to thrust his fingers in and out of you. 

“Weeks.” You whine, your pussy fluttering around his fingers in relief. “Not since before you left.” 

“Oh?” His brows raise in surprise. 

“Missed you too much.” You gasp as he speeds up the movements of his fingers. “Didn’t want to.” 

“You were hoping I’d fuck you when I got back, huh.” He says, curling his fingers inside you. “Give this poor neglected cunt some attention.” 

You let out a moan that’s almost a sob as he finds that spongy spot inside you, directing the movements of his fingers directly against it. Your hands close into fists, pushing against his but he doesn’t let you go, starting to nearly pound his fingers against that spot. 

It’s too much and not enough all at once, your body starting to shake almost violently as pressure builds in your stomach. You’re being loud but you don’t care, unable to hold anything back as pleasure ripples through you, nearly blacking out your vision. You writhe on the mat, legs shaking as your feet plant on the floor, lifting your hips up against his hand. 

“That’s it.” He groans, the wet squelch of his fingers obscene in the quiet training room. 

Your body writhes from the intensity of your pleasure, tears leaking from your eyes uncontrollably. You can’t tell if you’re moaning or sobbing or both as pleasure cuts like a knife through you, toes curling and uncurling in your shoes. It’s like you’ve lost all control, your body given over to the pleasure as his fingers are pushed out of you from the force of your orgasm, fluid soaking your underwear.

You’re shuddering and shaking under him as his fingers return to your clit, rubbing it harshly. It’s almost too much, your pussy contracting almost painfully. A second orgasm is forced out of you, your thighs clamping together, your leggings soaked with fluid between your thighs. 

Simon finally relents, pulling his fingers from your pants. They’re soaked, shiny and slick with your release. You’re gasping for air, body still shaking in the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

“Good girl.” Simon praises you, wiping his hand on his sweatpants as he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. It’s strange, the tenderness after what he had just done to your body. 

And that was only with his fingers. 

He eases you up to sit, your legs trembling uncontrollably. You’re not sure how you’re even supposed to stand on them, much less walk. There’s an uncomfortable wetness between your legs, your panties and leggings sticking to your skin. 

“Easy.” He says, supporting your body as you try to rise to your feet. 

There’s a small puddle where you were laying, the outline of your body in sweat on the mat and then more fluid beneath where your ass had been. Simon lifts you into his arms, carrying you over to the bench before sitting you down. He wipes down the mat, cleaning up the mess you left before he approaches you again. 

“What was that?” You ask, shifting uncomfortably in your wet underwear. 

Simon smirks, slipping his phone and keys as well as your phone into his pockets. “Made you squirt, love.” 

Your mouth falls open, your thighs subconsciously clenching together. “You-what?” You blink in surprise. “Didn’t know I could do that.” 

He chuckles, lifting you into his arms again. “Gotta know what you’re doing to make it happen.” 

Warmth floods your cheeks as the double meaning of his words aren’t lost on you. You’re glad for the cool air outside as he carries you back towards the barracks, your legs still trembling a bit from the intense orgasm he had just given you. You’re glad the base is mostly empty, the thought of others knowing what he had just done to you is almost too much. 

“What happened?” Johnny asks as soon as Simon enters the door of the barracks, his eyes flickering back and forth between you. “Didnae hurt her, did ye?” He asks, getting defensive. 

“Quite the opposite.” Simon says, walking past him towards your door. “Taught her a little party trick.” 

Johnny’s nostrils flare as your scent finally hits him, his eyes going wide. “Fucking christ, Simon.” 

He starts towards your door as Simon sets you on your feet, but the alpha pushes him back, keeping him from entering your room. “Easy, mutt. She’s had enough this morning. Let’s get some food and liquids into her first.” 

Your pussy clenches in anticipation at his words and you quickly close the door before you, or they, change their minds. 

You’re not quite sure what to do as you stand in front of the open door, peering into a space you’ve never been in before. It almost feels wrong to take the step, to enter into sacred ground you’ve been kept out of until now. The space is plain and laid out not entirely unlike your own. There’s books lining the back of the desk, a box with what looks like records sitting on the floor next to it, and what looks like a painting hanging on the wall. The wardrobe is exactly where yours is, and you can assume there’s a dresser behind the door. 

“You going to come in or do I have to drag you?” 

You startle at the voice, lifting your gaze to Simon’s. He’s standing in the middle of the room, staring at you as you hesitate in the doorway. You swallow the lump in your throat, taking a step into the room, and then another. 

All feelings of plainness go out the window as you step further in. His bed is the same as yours, sheets blue instead of black like you might have assumed. There’s a nightstand next to the bed with a lamp and his phone, but that’s not what’s surprising to you. 

Across the wall behind his bed is a black and white mural of skulls stretching wall to wall, ceiling to floor. You stare at it in awe, taking in all the details, the shading, the realism. 

“Johnny did it for me.” Simon says, stepping up next to you. “Not long after I claimed him.” 

“It’s incredible.” You say. “Very fitting.” 

“Might need to commission him for another piece, one of the ones he’s done of you.” 

Your cheeks warm at his words, very aware of Johnny’s stash of drawings of you from pictures he’s snapped while you weren’t looking, and some while you were. You’d flipped through his sketchbook, just happening upon a rather detailed drawing of your tits when he’d grabbed it and quickly shoved it on top of his wardrobe. 

It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what filled the rest of the pages in that book. 

“I’m sure he’d be happy to do one for you.” You say, turning to face him. “Maybe if you ask nicely, I could be convinced to do a custom reference for him.” 

His eyes darken as he stares at you, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Your teeth sink into your lip as you stare up at him, refusing to look away despite the strong musky scent rolling off of him. You stand your ground, pushing back against his attempts to make you yield, to make you submit. 

A shiver runs down your spine as he takes a step closer, and then another. You can feel the warmth of his body as he looms over you, his hand lifting to settle on your waist. His thumb brushes your side through your shirt, the heat of his palm radiating through the fabric. 

“You want me to fuck you?” He asks, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. 

“Yes, sir.” You respond. 

His hand tightens around your waist, his scent intensifying at your words. “Fuck,” He hisses, the front of his pants suddenly getting tighter. “Brazen little shit.” 

A smile tugs at your lips. “You love it.” 

“Mmm, you seem so sure of that.” He says, tugging the bottom of his mask up. 

“Because I am.” You say, lifting yourself up onto your toes. 

He bends down, meeting you halfway. Your lips clash in a fiery kiss, your hands lifting to grip his shoulders. His own slide down your sides to grip your thighs, lifting you into his arms. He walks backwards, kicking his door closed before pressing you up against it. 

You moan as your back hits the door, Simon’s tongue sliding into your mouth as soon as your lips part. The kiss is messy and rough, his fingers digging into your thighs as he pins you against his door. It’s finally happening, what you’ve been waiting for. Two long days you’ve been waiting and wishing for this moment. Simon’s bruising grip on your thighs, and the low rumbling growl echoing in his chest speak volumes of his own desire. 

His grip tightens on you, almost becoming painful as his teeth sink into your lip. You let out a surprised yelp as he breaks the skin, the coppery tang of blood filling your mouth. 

You nearly hit the floor as Simon wrenches himself away from you, stumbling back a couple of steps. He wipes the blood from his lip and you quickly purse your own lips to try and hide the blood. He turns his back to you, his shoulders tensed and slightly hunched. 

“Simon?” You take half a step forward, but he lifts his hand, making you pause. 

You stay where you are, staring at his back. You don’t want this to ruin things, to push him away from you. A little blood hasn’t stopped you so far, nor has a little pain. You can tell he’s nervous, though, on edge, and you know exactly why. 

“Simon?” You say quietly, approaching him slowly. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He says, repeating the words he’s said over and over the last few weeks. It’s almost like a mantra now, and you can imagine it echoing over and over in his head. He turns his head to look at you over his shoulder as you reach him. 

“You won’t.” You say, putting your hands on his back, turning him slowly. “You haven’t so far. His eyes flicker between the healing marks on your neck, and your bleeding lip. “I trust you, Simon.” 

“You shouldn’t.” He says, his hands closing into fists. 

“Don’t be stupid.” You say, rolling your eyes. “We both want this. Denying it isn’t going to make anything better. I trust your ability to control yourself, and you have to trust that I’ll tell you if you go too far.” 

“What if I can’t stop?” 

“Johnny’s next door, and John is across the hall.” You say simply. “If nothing else, I’ll scream. They’ll know the difference.” You take his face in your hands, pulling him down slightly so you can look him in the eyes easier. “Let me be in control if you’re so worried.” 

A rumble vibrates deep in his chest at your words, his eyes flashing. Your thumbs stroke his cheeks, ghosting over his five-o’clock shadow. 

“The mask can stay on, hell all of your clothes can stay on.” You shrug. “I’ll take good care of you, I promise.” 

He stares down into your eyes for a moment before leaning forward, pressing a kiss to your lips. It’s softer this time, less heated and animalistic than before. 

Simon releases you, taking a step back. He unbuttons his pants, letting them drop to the floor, leaving him in just his briefs. He picks them up, folding them like he did two nights ago, draping them over the back of his desk chair. He hesitates for a moment so you take the lead, pulling your shirt up over your head. You drop your shorts as well, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. 

Simon’s eyes scan your body and you fight the urge to cover yourself under his intense gaze. He steps forward, his fingers reaching for you. They’re surprisingly soft as they trail up your arm, goosebumps forming on your skin. His eyes follow the path of his fingers before they reach the strap of your bra. He slips his fingers underneath, pulling it up before he releases it, letting it snap against your skin. 

“Take it off.” He says, a subtle growl underneath his voice. 

It sends a shiver down your spine, goosebumps forming all over your skin. “Thought I was in charge, Mr. Big Alpha Man.” 

“Little shit.” He breathes, letting out a long sigh. 

You reach behind you anyway, undoing your bra and letting it fall to the floor. 

“Christ.” He breathes, his eyes glued right on your tits. 

“Understanding all the hype now?” You smirk. “You can touch them if you’d like.” 

He curses under his breath but lifts his hands anyway, cupping your breasts. You bite your lip as he squeezes them gently, his eyes glued to your chest. 

“Didn’t take you for a tits guy.” You say, biting back a moan as his thumb brushes over your nipple. 

“I'm just full of surprises.” He says, earning a surprised yelp as he tugs harshly on your nipple. 

He leans down, dragging his tongue over the sensitive skin to soothe it. You let out a soft moan at the sensation, your hands lifting to grip his biceps. 

“Fuck,” He groans against your skin, straightening back up. “On the bed.” He says, motioning with his head. 

“Thought I was in charge.” You sass. 

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you.” He retorts. 

You open your mouth to argue but you can't. You know he's right, so instead you make your way to the bed, crawling onto the mattress, making sure he can see the damp spot on your underwear as you do. 

You pause when you hear crinkling, running your hand over the sheet. “A heat liner?” 

“Gotta protect the mattress.” He shrugs, approaching the bed. 

Your eyes widen as your face warms, the implications not lost on you. You think back to earlier in the gym, your face only warming even more. “Oh.”

He grips the back of your knees, tugging you to the edge of the bed, pushing your knees up. You're spread open in front of him, the damp spot on your panties only getting bigger as he stares down at the only barrier left between you. 

“You could take a picture.” You say as he stands there, frozen. “Something to remember me by.”

“Little shit.” He says under his breath, his hands sliding up your inner thighs until they reach your hips. 

His fingers curl under the waistband of the lacy black fabric, slowly dragging them down over your ass and then down your legs. He tosses the fabric behind him before parting your legs again. He's shamelessly staring at your glistening pussy, bare and spread open for him. 

A moment passes as he stands there frozen, and for a second you wonder if he's ever seen a pussy before, much less a naked woman. Obviously he has, based on what happened earlier. He’s experienced, and you try not to let the thought bother you, jealousy rising at the thought of his hands on another woman. Did she get to see his face? How vulnerable was he with her. 

You bring your attention back to Simon as he stands there frozen. “You okay?” You ask, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. 

He nods, eyes still glued to your pussy. 

You sink your teeth into your lip as you stare up at his mask-covered face. “Why don't you show me what you did in the gym earlier.” You suggest, finally getting him to react.

His eyes flash up to your face, his grip on your legs loosening. He stares at you for a second before letting them go completely. “Wait here.” He disappears into the bathroom for a moment before he comes out carrying a towel. 

He lays it on the floor beside the bed, looking between you and the towel for a moment before nodding in approval. You watch him as he grabs a pillow, slipping it behind you to prop you up before sinking onto the mattress next to you. He pulls one of your legs over his lap, and you hook an arm around the other one, getting the idea. 

Your eyes are glued to his hand as he drags it across your stomach, letting his blunt nails scrape across your skin. You shiver in response, goosebumps covering your skin again. His hand slips through your folds, gathering some of your slick on his fingers before he returns to your clit, circling it like he had earlier. You let out a sigh, relaxing back against the pillow as he teases the sensitive bud. 

Simon leans closer to you, pressing gentle kisses to your jaw. “Fucking beautiful omega.” He praises you, his teeth scraping your skin gently. “Been working me up for weeks, laying in here listening to you fuck the others, those sweet little sounds coming from you.” He groans into your skin, his fingers applying more pressure to your clit. “Had me in here wanking like some needy teenager, imagining it was me making you scream like that, like it was your hand on my cock.” 

His words make you shiver. You know he’s heard you, it was impossible not to, but you had always pictured him with ear plugs in or headphones on, trying to drown out the noise. Or maybe he always chose those moments to shower, trying to drown you out with the water. 

You hadn't considered that he'd be in here masturbating to the sound of you being fucked by the others. You certainly wouldn’t have guessed it was you he was jerking off to. You would have assumed his focus was on the others and the sounds of their pleasure. Your pussy clenches at the mental image of him in bed, fisting his cock, trying not to cum until you do. He knows what you sound like when you cum, he'd have figured that out quickly. He'd use that knowledge, edging himself until you came so he could cum with you. 

“Fuck...” You moan, slick dribbling out of you at the thoughts flashing through your mind. 

“Nearly blacked out when you let Johnny fuck you from behind the first time.” He groans, circling your clit faster. “Imagining you bent over his bed, split open around his cock,” He shakes his head. “Wanted to be in there, bend him over you and fuck him into you, get both of you desperate and needy, begging me for release.”

Your head tilts back, your legs shaking as his words nearly send you over the edge. The mental images are almost too much, the possibilities now that you've opened this door. 

You whine as his hand leaves your clit, his fingers closing around your jaw and pulling your head back up. “Keep your head up.” He says. “Want you to watch.”

You whimper as he returns to your pussy, dragging his fingers down your slit before pressing two into your slick hole. They slide in easier than they did this morning, your body opening to him in anticipation. He thrusts his fingers slowly, teasing you as he continues to work you up. 

“Wanna fuck you so full of cum you're almost bursting then let Kyle eat it out of you. Might let him fuck you after just to see the two prettiest members of the pack together.” He continues. 

You squeeze around his fingers, a loud moan leaving your lips. You could cum from his words alone and the mental images flashing through your mind. All the possibilities, all the opportunities that are now in front of you. 

He curls his fingers, finding that spongy spot again. You know what's coming, the anticipation building in your stomach as he begins to thrust his fingers against that spot. 

“Want Price to bend you over my desk, watch as he fucks you until you're a crying mess, and then it will be my turn.” He growls, pounding his fingers against that spot. “Make you forget your name, forget how to do anything but whine in pleasure.

You desperately keep your eyes on his hand as that overwhelming pressure begins in your stomach again, your moans getting sharper and sharper the more it builds. Your hips jerk uncontrollably as you nearly black out again, fluid squirting from you and into the air. Simon's fingers are forced out of you from the intensity of the orgasm, but he's not done as he begins frantically rubbing at your clit. Another orgasm is forced out of you from the hypersensitivity as you squirt again, soaking your pussy and the side of the bed. 

You let your head fall back as you gasp for air, your body shuddering uncontrollably in the aftershocks of such an intense orgasm. Simon leans down, kissing you like he wants to devour you as he slips his fingers back inside your spasming pussy. It’s almost painful, the sensations too much as he stretches you open again. 

“One more.” He groans against your lips as he starts bullying that spot inside you with his fingers again. “Give me one more.”

“Simon,” you grip the front of his shirt, the feeling almost too much as it builds faster this time. “Simon!” You let out a high pitched shriek, squirting again all over his hand and the floor. 

“That's it.” He groans, finally relenting as his wet hand comes to rest on your clenching stomach. 

Tears blur your vision as you lay there shaking, nearly having an out of body experience from the pleasure. It's painful, but not in a bad way. 

His hand slides up your body until he's gripping your jaw, turning your face to his. He kisses you roughly, forcing his tongue past your lips as he holds you there, your release dripping from your pussy onto the sheets. His kiss is all tongue and teeth, bordering on the animalistic violence that had almost taken over you both two days ago. It had thrilled and terrified you, how easily both of you got lost in the moment. 

You hadn't even been naked then. 

You don't ponder on it long as he pulls away from you delivering a slap to your pussy before he stands, watching the way you jerk from the sharp sting on the sensitive skin. You nearly cum from it, pussy clenching from how sensitive you are. 

He reaches into the top drawer of his nightstand, pulling out a bottle. He moves to stand between your legs again, letting them fall to the sides for a moment. You're limp as you stare up at him, not sure you could move your body at all if you had to. You're beginning to understand why he was so worried.

He palms at the very prominent bulge in his briefs, an excited thrill running through you as he slips his hands under the waistband, slowly sliding it lower and lower. You lick your lips as more skin is revealed to you, a trail of light hair leading to the thick shaft of his cock. It keeps going and going as he lowers his briefs, thick and long and an angry red color as the fabric finally drops out of sight. 

“Fuck...” You breathe as you stare at it, looking big even in his large hand. 

He moves closer, lifting your legs from where they're hanging over the side of the bed, pushing them up as close to your chest as they can get, essentially folding you in half. His cock drags through your folds, the head catching on your clit. It makes you twitch with every pass of his hips, your lips parting in anticipation. You could cum like this, your pussy still oversensitive from your three orgasms already. Four, if you count the one in the gym earlier. 

“You said you could take it.” He teases, his hands keeping your legs pressed back. 

You nod. “Uh huh.”

“Having second thoughts?” He smirks. 

You're not sure if it's your ego or your pride or just sheer determination that has you shaking your head. “Nope.” 

His smirk widens as he reaches for the bottle, popping the cap before squirting some lube on his cock and onto your hole. He tosses the bottle back onto the bed before rubbing the lube on his cock, dragging the head through your slick folds, spreading the cold lube against the heated skin. “Good girl.”

You shiver from the praise, your breath catching in your throat as he begins to press into you. The burning stretch is almost too much for your oversensitive walls despite the preparation he had given you. His fingers were nothing compared to his cock, and for a moment you regret not fucking one of the others in the two weeks he was gone. 

Your breaths are coming in high pitched gasps, broken by moans as he sinks into you, your legs shaking and he hasn't even fucked you yet. You could cum just like this, just from the stretch. You can feel all of him, every inch of his length, every inch of his circumference as your pussy gapes around him. 

“Wait,” You grip his wrists, his movements pausing. “Fuck, gimme a second.” 

His eyes are on you as you lay there, trying to relax around him, fighting desperately not to cum like this. He might as well be in your guts, and you're beginning to think you had been right in asking him to rearrange them for you. You lift your head, staring down between your legs. A low groan of astonishment leaves your lips. He's only halfway in. 

You let out a keening moan before you nod. “Okay, okay. Keep going.” 

If his cock is this big, you can't even imagine taking his knot. 

He sinks even deeper, moving slowly as he watches your face. Your eyes are on the ceiling, the stretch seeming almost endless as it keeps going and going. 

Finally he's seated inside you, practically snuggled up against your cervix, or at least that's what it feels like. You could cum just like this, laying here with your knees by your ears, stuffed full of Simon's cock. He wouldn’t even have to move, just stand there as you flutter around him, soaking his cock with your release. 

“Fucking hell.” He groans as you squeeze around him, his eyes closing as he takes a deep breath in. 

“Can't help it,” You moan, squeezing around him again. “So big.” 

He lets out a low groan, his hips twitching. “Tell me I can move. Let me fuck you.”

You're half tempted to stay silent, to lay here and see how long he lasts, how long he'll let you hold control before he takes over. A battle of wills, just as everything seems to become between you. Alpha versus omega, instinct versus instinct, willpower versus willpower. Just like every battle, though, you find yourself bowing, giving in, unable to fight the power he holds over you. It’s for a different reason this time, though, your desperation and neediness is just as strong as his. You’ve both been waiting for this, neglecting yourselves for far too long. 

“Fuck me, Simon.” You breathe, fingers gripping the sheets for dear life. “Fuck me till I can't remember anything but your name.” 

He lets out a low growl as he pulls back, drawing his cock out halfway before snapping his hips forward until they slap against yours. You yelp as your body rocks from the force of his thrust, not expecting it. He pulls his hips back slowly again before he repeats the motion, practically slamming into you. It hurts, stealing your breath away, but it leaves you feeling almost electric, pleasure bubbling under your skin.  

Slowly his thrusts get shorter, but they lose none of their force as he fucks into you roughly. You're creating quite the cacophony of sounds from skin slapping skin and the obscene squelch of your pussy to your high pitched keening moans and his deep growls. His eyes are glued to your face, watching the pleasure glaze over your eyes as you stare at the bulge in your stomach from his cock. 

He moves the pillow out from behind you, pushing you flat on your back as he folds his body over yours. He releases your legs, letting them drape over his shoulders as he continues to pound into you. There's a wild look in his eyes, your omega beginning to stir as your brain registers the shifting scents, the heavy musk in the room. 

Sweat has slicked your skin and Simon's, mixing where your skin is pressed together. He turns his head, licking the skin of your thigh, tasting the salty sweat. Your mouth feels dry as you stare up at him, wanting to sink your teeth into him and chew on him. You want to make him bleed, have him howling in pain as he stuffs you so full you'll be leaking for a week. 

You grip his forearms, your nails digging into his skin, making him hiss out a curse. A wild look flashes behind his eyes as he sinks his teeth into your thigh, clamping down as you continue to dig your nails into his arms, neither of you relenting. He shifts his hips just slightly, hitting a different angle that has you releasing his arms as pleasure wracks through you. He releases your thigh with a satisfied grin, fucking into at the new angle like a wild animal. 

Your body shudders, your moans muffling as he presses two of his fingers into your mouth again, pushing on your tongue. You choke around them, fighting every urge to sink your teeth into his skin until he releases you or you taste blood. 

“That’s it.” He grunts as you whimper desperately around his fingers. “You can take it.” 

Drool seeps out from around his fingers as he fucks you until you’re almost cross-eyed, your pussy spasming around him as every thrust brings you closer and closer to the edge. 

You can’t stop it as you sink your teeth into his fingers, your legs squeezing together as your body seizes, your release gushing around his cock as you cum. Your eyes roll back, blood on your tongue as he wrenches his fingers from your mouth. Your head tilts back, back arching as he doesn’t stop, undeterred by your orgasm. 

“Fucking hell.” He grunts, the clenching of your pussy almost painful as he continues to fuck you. “Fucking tight around me.” 

“Please, please, Simon!” You whine, the only two words you can pull from your brain, and even they begin to mesh together into mindless babble as you grip his sheets, nearly pulling them off the edges of the mattress. 

Tears leak from your eyes as he fucks into you so hard the frame shakes, knocking into the wall. He leans his head down, his teeth sinking into the skin over your collarbone until you bleed. Droplets of blood mix with the sweat dripping down your chest, Simon’s eyes following them as they disappear between your breasts. 

“Gonna cum for me again?” He growls, blood staining his lips red. He looks like a ghoul, wild eyed and bloody mouthed, feasting on your flesh. An incubus sucking the life out of you as he brings you endless pleasure. 

“Simon!” You squeal, eyes squeezing closed as you’re thrown into another orgasm, your legs shaking uncontrollably as you clench around him, almost as if your body is trying to suck his cock in deeper. 

He continues to fuck you, every curse word known to man spilling from his lips as you tighten around him, dragging his own orgasm from him. He slams his hips into yours, letting out a feral growl as he spills into you. Warmth fills your belly as he spurts his hot cum into you, filling you up. Your legs are shaking where they’re tossed over his shoulders, clenching around his neck. His skin is flushed red from the bottom of his mask to the collar of his shirt. 

You can’t move as you lay there, shaking in the aftershocks of your orgasm. You want to take a break, tap out, ask for five minutes and a glass of water, but from the look in Simon’s eyes you know it’s not over yet. There’s no taking a break, not that he’s gotten a taste of your pussy. 

He releases your legs, letting them drop off the side of the bed. He pulls away long enough to flip you over, bending you over the side of the bed. You whine as he presses his cock back into you, ignoring the squeeze of your sensitive walls as he splits you open around him again. He bends over you, pressing his chest to your back as his hips press flush to your ass. 

“Simon.” You whine, your hands gripping the sheets as his hand snakes around you, wrapping around your throat.

He growls low and dangerous, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your back. You squeeze around him, a chill running through you, your instincts telling you to run or roll over in submission to him. Your omega claws at your mind, desperate to meet him toe to toe, one for one. You begin to push your hips back into him, fucking yourself on his cock as his teeth sink into the skin on the back of your shoulder. The tables have turned, the control has shifted. 

He’s not Simon anymore. 

Your lips part in a gasp as he thrusts into you, meeting your own movements on his cock, reminding you who’s in charge, who holds the reigns in this position. The word comes tumbling from your lips, brainlessly and unconsciously, no thoughts there to stop it, your hands too busy clinging to the sheets for dear life to even prevent it from slipping out. 

“Alpha!” 

NEXT ->

Taglist:

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @protokosmonaut

@fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites

@kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos

@konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13

@anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry

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@mirzamsaiph @xlxnq @chickennn-soupp

[itsabird-itsaplane-nopejustabird]

DPxDC Prompt

I've had this idea for a while (since seeing that art of Johnny and Kitty robbing a bank so Danny can get Top Surgery lol) but I haven't even had the brain to work on my own fic recently (sorry about that btw) so I'm writing this instead

So the concept:

T4T Johnny and Kitty, who died in the 80s after running away together.

Johnny was the kid of some rich asshole automobile mogul from Bristol, and Kitty was one of the workers' kids from the Narrows. They become friends, fall in love, both realize they're trans around the same time and then decide to run. They know that being trans on top of tax bracket difference gives them almost no chance of making it. Johnny steals a bike and a fuck-ton of money from his parents, and Kitty's parent(s) helps them leave.

They're still toxic and spiteful as hell, but nothing the other does can change the fact that they know and understand each other better than anyone else could.

They travel around the country being menaces together for a while until they decide to settle down in a strange city called Amity Park. They figured it could handle a couple more anomalies. But before they can get there, they get into a bike wreck with their final thoughts being of each other and Johnny specifically cursing his bad luck in life.

The next thing they know, they're in the infinite realms being given the chance to stay together and the freedom to simply exist with no strings attached. (Other than each other cause I firmly believe that they're mutually the others' obsession)

About 20 years have passed, a portal to their old world is permanently open and this scrawny little ass kid ghost that they've never even heard of keeps stopping them from going through it.

It isn't until Johnny actually starts paying attention a few months into it that he notices that first, the little shit can actually fight, and second, HE WAS FIGHTING THEM WITH A BINDER ON. (Johnny also vaguely wonders why Danny looks so much like his old neighbor Brucie, but that's less important than the binder thing). Johnny lets out the universal ghost fight timeout signal and vaguely explains the situation to Danny, who seems confused about the noise he made and why it made him stop.

Johnny gets Kitty to spread the word that if the timeout isn't called off by the next morning, stay TF away until they get an all-clear.

That night, *after yelling at him a bit*, he starts teaching Danny how to reshape his ghost form to his preference and even his vocal cords.

From there, Johnny and Kitty sorta ghost adopt him as a sibling and then take him to Frostbite to make sure his T-shots are ecto compatible.

(I hope this was coherent it's 4am for me and I haven't slept lol)

[oatmealthighs]

-`♡´- plug!eren x blackfem!reader

ᯓᰔ contents: nsfw 18+, MDNI. reader indulges 🍃, eren is overprotective, public sex, maybe semi public? idk. daddy/mama usage. might be some slightly toxic dynamics. but nothing too serious. rushed ending cus i suck at endings 💔 a sequel full of fluff will be coming soon out of this.

ᯓᰔ author's note: omg i haven't posted in like months. but anyways what would i be without dropping the token plug!eren drabble. nothing too crazy, just some bathroom sex. also there are instances where there are texts but i got too lazy and didn't bother making texts out of them mwahahahaaa sorry in advance. this is barely proofread and not my best so if there are mistakes i am sorry. requests are open! also look out for a tengen x reader x wives fic coming really soon. like this week soon

the feeling of your phone buzzing in the back pocket of your true religion jeans whisked your attention away from the pearled blunt you had pinched between your fingers.

your glossy lips curled into a little smirk, your acrylics clicking at the keyboard of your screen.

you've been pushing eren's cute lil buttons all night. honestly all day... but you didn't feel bad for making him sweat. he's been trying you as of late.

you and eren were supposed to be spending some quality time together last night, and he was specifically supposed to be over your place by no later than 8:00. you had the whole shabang... bath and body works candle burning out, led lights on and set to the color purple, some of his favorite snacks and some dinner and dessert you had wrapped up for him that you had made earlier. you were planning on watching a show with him, giving him a scalp massage while he played his playstation that he always brought whenever he came over, and give him the best head he's ever received that night before riding him into the sunset, but all those plans went soiled. 8:00 came, and on the dot he had sent a text message about him having to go make a few more drop offs, then he'd come to you. 8 turned to 9, then 10:30, then 1... fucking... AM.

was it fucked up you didn't answer the door when he came knocking finally? kinda, but the guilt didn't last long when you thought about how he practically stood you up.

eren was a popular plug on the university you attended. you knew friday is usually the day that people were trying to cop, given it was majority people's payday and the weekend, but you were hoping that he would close up shop early just this one time for you. his clientele would live-- there were plugs by the dozen on campus. but eren knew wasn't none of them fucking with his shit. you weren't sure what other outcome you were expecting. he never turned his head away from possible income.

eren already knew he fucked up, but he knew ultimately in the end it was going to be worth it. the extra money was going to go into play towards his proposal to ask you to be his girlfriend, and no amount of your anger was going to get that out of him. he was prepared to keep his mouth shut, throw away the key, and take his lashings like a man. so when he was met with radio silence, he was flabbergasted.

when he pulled up to your crib and didn't get an answer from him knocking on your door and calling your phone, he figured you fell asleep and resulted in retreating to his abode. the next morning, when he woke up to find that you didn't respond to his apology texts from last night, it made him sit up in his bed and squint at his phone with crust-ridden eyes.

no response? it was so unlike you. usually you would respond with a barrage of text messages stating your feelings, or at the very least he'd get a passive-aggressive dry text from you. but to be met with nothing at all made his gut twist in a disgustingly vexing way.

he rubs at his temples, sending you a "good morning baby" text before opening the safari app and going to the local floral shop's delivery site.

later that afternoon, eren's sitting in his blacked out durango when he receives email confirmation that the flowers have been delivered, the low hum of the strong engine the only thing somewhat soothing his frazzled nerves. he made sure to get your favorite, and tried to ask them to incorporate your favorite color as much as possible.

he checks your location as he hits his blunt, releasing the smoke from his mouth and inhaling it through his nostrils. he already knows your home, having your schedule downpack. and you were. so why didn't you say anything about the flowers? did you not like them? he sends you a text, saying, "i sent you some flowers," staring at the screen and awaiting your response.

yess, you know he sent you flowers, and you loved them. you had gasped when you found them on your porch, bright and vibrant in color and smelling so freshly sweet. you had already cut the stems and put them in some warm water in a lovely vase. you almost wanted to text eren, to tell him how much you loved them and thank you, but the strong annoyance you had from last night still lingered. with a twist of your lips you disregarded your phone on the kitchen counter, humming a tune as you moved about the kitchen to prepare you a nice lunch.

eren releases a defeated sigh as he puts his jay out, not even in the mood to smoke anymore. mopily, he clicks off his phone, shifting his gear to drive to make more plays.

he spends the rest of the day pondering ways to possibly pull a conversation from you, and a lightbulb flickers in his head when he recalls you saying you were running low on weed. eren always gives you gas free of charge, one of the special privileges that comes with being his favorite girl. he opens his phone to text you again.

doechii's expressive voice flows through your speaker at a volume level most would call excessive. but you didn't care. anything to drown out the annoying pensive thoughts of eren's sexy little face. "i ain't a killer but don't push me, don't wanna have to turn a nigga guts into SOUP BEANS!" no, really, doechii.

your phone vibrates on your vanity as you rummage through your closet for a cute outfit to wear tonight, striding over to your phone with nimbleness. you figured it'd be hitch, since you and her were accompanying each other to the kickback tonight and she was asking either what time you wanted to go or what you were wearing. your hypothesis was proven incorrect when you saw eren's name on your notification wall instead. just him asking if you wanted to him to drop off some more weed for you.

your heart twinged ever-so-softly at the thought of you ignoring your baby. you missed him. it was embarrassing to say this was the longest you went without talking to him. but how would he know you were serious if you just gave in now?

you wanted to respond and tell him you were cool. hitch was bringing the weed tonight. but you refrained, if anything that would get him all the more riled up. eren doesn't like you smoking others weed, his reasoning being he doesn't "trust their product." he was so sexy when he was protective. you remember when you told him you copped from someone else when he had to go off campus for a little bit to see his family, and he spent a half hour inspecting it on the scale with his phone flashlight.

eren let out an irritated growl after constantly checking his phone for 10 minutes, still no reply from you in his notifications. he wanted to tell you you were dragging it, but he knew you weren't. you had every right to be pissed with him given he had promised you this quality time and swore he would make time for you. you were never a stickler for too much attention, but with eren always on the run it was easy for him to neglect you. he's been getting better at it though. until last night.

connie's name flashes across eren's phone screen. he slides the answer button right and lets his car sync the call to the radio. "yo."

"what's good, man. you coming to the kickback tonight? it's gonna be at jean's place." eren rolls his neck until he hears it pop. he knows you'll be there.

"yeah, i might come. today's been slow. don't got nothin' else to do."

"damn, i know that voice. what'd you do this time?"

eren weakly chuckles at connie's intuition. "what can i say, business was booming like crazy last night. we were supposed to hang out but my phone just kept ringing."

connie let out a long sigh over the line. "typical eren, never knows when to close shop." he pauses. "you know you're the asshole, right?"

"yeah," eren groans, shutting his car off and putting his phone on speaker. "i know. i plan on making it up to her."

"yeah, how? surely not with some weed and dick." connie snorts. "[name]'s a nice girl, you plan on locking it down with her anytime soon? i see the way floch be looking at her."

"he wouldn't dare," eren denies, the simple thought of it just making his eye twitch. while you and eren weren't official, basically everyone in the friend group and the vicinity knew y'all were on each other bad. but some assholes just didn't respect boundaries. he noticed floch's gaze would linger on you a little longer than he deemed appropriate. how they would trail your body. he noticed the way his cheeks would blush when you would speak to him in passing or make small talk.

"i dunno, man," connie instigated, smugness in his voice. "but, bring a quarter with you. it's on me, i'm gonna zelle you."

"just send me $50." eren and connie exchange a few last words before they end the call, leaving eren in silence as he stares at the gray wall of the parking garage he was parked in. he didn't know what he was gonna do about you.

eren always tended to look the sexiest when you were mad at him, or he was upset with you. he always would wear his hair down, taupe tresses brushing his broad shoulders. he'd always wear a black tee and some baggy sweatpants that always had you imagining what it was he had underneath. it was nothing you haven't seen, but it was always a pleasant surprise.

you felt your defiance wavering when he and all is glory walked in to jean's house, high as fuck. you swore you could smell his ysl cologne from across the room.

"you okay girl?" sasha questions, her eyebrows pinching in concern as she leans into your eyesight. you blink your mascara coated lashes, giving her a smile.

"yeah, my man just walked in. he always looks so good when im pissed at him."

"it's a trap. don't fall for it." hitch scoffs, her hazel eyes trained on the blunt she was busy rolling. her thighs were squeezed together to keep her carebear rolling tray in place. "don't even look his direction."

"i forget hitch is such a hard-ass. how does marlo manage," ymir jokes. historia chuckles, her head resting against her girlfriend's broad shoulder.

as their conversation goes on, your eyes can't help but find eren again through the decent amount of people crowding the bottom floor of the house, watching him interact with connie and hand him a bag of what you assumed to be cannabis. his turquoise eyes cut across the room, and you know he's looking for you. you look away before any eye contact can happen. when you feel eyes burn into your skin, you know he spots you.

the night involves you acting as if he doesn't exist, keeping your back turned and acting like you're too busy to acknowledge your phone notifications. when you finally light the blunt hitch pearled, you know eren texts you asking where did you get that. you chuckle to yourself as your thoughts were confirmed when you snuck a peek at your phone.

eren feels anger welling in his body as he watches you from a safe distance, lounging against the wall and his eyes never leaving you. you knew what you were doing at this point. wearing them jeans that made your ass sit so perfect and a crop top that teased at your skin and your belly button piercing. your hair was in curls, and your glittery lip gloss shone in the low light of the room. he knew you probably had on his favorite perfume too. that vanilla one he loved so much.

"just go talk to her dude," connie yells over the aggravatingly loud jersey mixed song that was booming through the surround sound, his words slightly slurred from the drink he's been sipping on. eren furrows his thick brows as he hits his spliff, watching the tip burn bright orange as he shuts his eyes for a moment. "and you better hurry. i think tonight's the night floch makes his move."

"connie, shut the fuck up." eren's tone is firm and warning as he feels the vein in his neck rising to the surface of his skin. he finally opens his eyes, glancing at you, and what he sees makes his stomach cave and everything around him turn red.

floch, with his ugly fucking haircut and that ugly dangling earring had the audacity to be all up in your glory, smiling sheepishly as you were saying something to him. he doesn't know what you were saying, your back was to him, but the way your head swayed and your hands were moving he knew you were talking.

honestly eren was never this defensive of someone before. maybe it was your constant insistence of you being fine on your own. "boy, i'm grown," you'd say to him. it only made his instinct to protect you grow stronger.

he knew well you could handle your own. but how fucking dare him?! it's like floch was begging for an ass whooping!

he wasn't actually. he was begging for you to send him the homework answers for your chem class. "not gonna lie floch, i haven't even looked at that shit yet," you admit with a shrug, your lips pulled into a friendly smile.

floch groans as he rubs the back of his neck. "i'm for sure gonna flunk that class. i might just say fuck it and retake it next year."

"not if i can help it," you interject, furrowing your brows. "we pass together, we fail together. i'll send you the answers on groupme tomorrow when i finish."

floch pumps his fist. "man, you're the fucking best, [name]. if you weren't in there i dunno what i'd–"

a hard body brushes past floch, harshly and intentionally slamming his shoulder into theirs. "hey, man, what the–"

you smell eren before you see him, wearing that delicious cologne that's stained into your bed sheets. you look up to find him looking down at you, fire in his sea green irises as he glares at you.

you feign oblivion, lifting an eyebrow at him. "hey," you speak first.

"why haven't you been responding to my texts." his voice is curt, but still soft nonetheless. you feel your girls looking at you intently to see how you were going to play this.

"been busy, sorry," you respond, not sounding much too apologetic.

eren cuts his eyes to the right to see floch still standing there, much to his distaste, a look of confusion plastered across his face. "you need somethin'?" he asks him, a foreign, cutting edge to his question.

"i was just trying to ask her about the homework, dude," floch bites back defensively, taking the smallest step back.

your dainty hand trails up to grab eren's forearm, your soft, irreplicable touch quelling his aggravation. you swear you could feel his taut muscles relax at your contact, knowing he was probably deprived. so dramatic.

"eren, calm down," you reprimand him gently, but sternly. you gave floch an apologetic glance. "sorry, floch. see you tuesday."

floch nods, his auburn eyebrows creased in the middle as he glanced at eren, then back at you, before departing. in tandem, you let go.

"what's your problem," you seethe, but not loud enough for your friends to hear. "you damn near made that boy shit his pants."

eren sucked his teeth, closing his eyes to roll them as he clenched his jaw. "why are you ignoring me, [name]," his low voice is strained, constricting his internal anger to the best of his ability. his high was blown, the music was too loud, you smelled and looked too good, it was all too much.

you place a hand on your hip, your beautiful eyes passive, but holding a glint of hurt behind them. "just collect your breath. i don't wanna talk about it here... even though you know what the problem is-"

"yo, [name], wanna hit this again?" saved by the bell.

"yes, pleaseeee," you drawl. you turn on heels, but not before telling eren, "i'll see you later."

shortly after eren departed to god knows where, and you got high as hell, was when you received that text. and you don't know if it was the marijuana making you fuzzy and horny, the growing urge to just be in his arms, or what, but you complied.

as you brushed and weaved between drunken bodies, you couldn't subdue the underlying feelings of anxiety that swelled in your chest. you didn't know what to expect. but you knew one thing for certain, you were gonna give eren a piece of your mind tonight.

when you finally made it to the bathroom door, you released a breath you didn't even realize you were holding, shaking yourself of your jittery nerves before your knuckles rapped against the hollow wood of the door.

it wasn't even three seconds before eren cracked the door, and before you could say anything, you were yanked in.

you squealed at his presentation of strength, the butterflies in your stomach downward-diving straight to your core. "well, damn! what happened to hello? how are you?!"

eren ignored your playful reprimanding, instead using the time to soak and drink you in. you were so pretty, fussing at him like that. the way your glossy lips twisted as you spoke on about nothing relevant, the way your hair swayed with every movement you made. every muscle in his body urged him to kiss you, breathe you in.

"whatcha call me in here for? it's hot as hell..." you murmured, leaning against the cool wood of the door in attempt to catch your breath.

eren was quiet as he loomed on the opposite side of the bathroom, half-lidded cyan eyes carefully trained on you. you lifted your eyebrows with a shake of your head, prompting him to go on, your arms crossed against your glittery chest. "you're so pretty," he hums, a side smirk playing at his lips, showing his pretty white teeth that you wish you were nibbling on you just about right now.

"can't smooth-talk your way out of everything, eren," you resisted with a strain in your voice, turning to face the mirror to the left of you instead of him. "i'm still upset with you."

"rightfully so," eren agrees, slowly closing the distance between the two of you, backing you against the cool oak wood of the bathroom door. "'m sorry baby, you know i love spending time with you more than anything in this world–"

"i beg to differ," you interject. eren rests his eyes as he clenches his jaw, withholding a sigh. "all i asked was that you put me first for one night... and you couldn't even do that."

"baby, listen to me." eren's large hand engulfs yours, the warmth of his palm spreading through your limbs like wildfire. "words can't even begin to express how deeply sorry i am. i know i fucked up... i know. but, i had reason i've been wanting to work a lot more often as of late." he pauses. he couldn’t possibly pop his question in a bathroom at connie’s party. you’d hate him ten times more than you already do in his moment.

you cock your brow, looking up at him through those pretty lashes that framed your eyes so well. “i’m waiting, eren.”

he sucks in a deep breath, making the sound he usually makes when he’s about to say something you don’t like. “just… trust me. okay?”

that was enough to make you head for the door, reaching out to twist at the knob before he grabs at your wrist. “man, move,” you mutter, over the bullshit. you were over it all: the lies, the empty promises. and you were especially over being crowded in this bathroom with him, because you felt your resolve faltering with each passing second you remained in his presence. you felt like an animal resisting every primal instinct and bone in your body, begging you to let him touch you. it was borderline pathetic.

“you aren’t going anywhere, [name].” he meant that in more ways than one.

“how much you wanna bet?”

the frustrated glint in his aquamarine eyes and the knit in his thick brows made your knees give.

“ummm, have you guys seen [name]?” hitch asks after a good thirty minutes fly by since you first departed the group, skating her eyes around the living room with a quizzical glance.

ymir snorts. “you already know she ran off with that boy,” she exhaled the smoke she was holding in her chest out towards the ceiling, running her long fingers through historia’s golden locks. “wouldn’t be surprised if she already dipped off with him.”

not quite. instead, you and eren were still in the bathroom, your ass on the bathroom counter and your head resting against the mirror as eren was crouched before you, low to the ground as he slurped at your pussy like a man starved. he looks up at you from his place between your thighs, tongue flicking at your swollen clit before taking it into his mouth to suck on it whole. you let out a breathy, high pitched moan, your eyes rolling behind your closed eyelids as eren gazed up at you with hearts in his eyes. you were always so fucking beautiful, whether you were mad at him, grinning at him, or cumming for him.

“fuuuck, i think i’m bouta cum again,” you whimper, your eyebrows pinched as your orgasm brewed at a slow boil within the pit of your stomach. you already left your mark all over the marble sink, leaking down your thighs, and all over eren’s chin. but when was that ever enough to satiate his thirst?

“do it, baby,” he breathes, french kissing your pussy before speaking again. “you know i want it.”

“get it outta me, then,” you retort, a sexy simper pulling at your lips, and the darkened glare he have you through heavy eyelids made your pussy squeeze.

his big hands grip your thighs, blunt nails digging in your skin as he begins rocking your lower body up and down, sliding his long tongue from between your pussy lips to your ass with each bounce. you let out a squeal of surprise, your pink toes wriggling as he just kept doing it, over and over and over. you hear him, moaning with each stride, reveling in the saccharine taste of you. his dick felt like it was bouta break, restricted to his boxer briefs, and he felt the sticky precum leaking on his thigh. he needed to fuck you. but he always prioritizes you over all.

your orgasm bust inside you, your pussy profusely contracting as your juices coated eren’s face. “fuck, yeah,” he encourages in you, his voice in a low growl of satisfaction. he didn’t stop, cleaning you up and slurping your pussy clean. you flinched as he left a final loving kiss to your aching clit, and he chuckled as he stood to his feet. your eyes couldn’t help but look at his crotch, you couldn’t help but smirk at the prominent tent of his stiff dick being held hostage in his sweatpants. “turn around for me. i want you to see me fuck you.”

you slid off off the counter, ringing your panties off the ankle they were hanging on to, before turning around, leaning against the sink and arching your back. you looked back at him, gazing at him tauntingly. “whatchu waiting for?”

“cool it,” he warns you playfully, his thumbs hooking into the bands of his sweats. "don't bite off more than you can chew."

"i've had mouthfuls of you. i promise you i can chew."

"look at the mirror."

you turn back forward, looking at eren in the reflection. he was so pretty, his hickory locks tousled around yet still framing his face beautifully. his bottom lip was pinched between his teeth as he shifts his pants to fall below his knees before rolling his briefs down his thighs. he lifts his tshirt up, showcasing his tan abs that had a slight shimmer of perspiration as he readies the head of his dick at your opening. then, with steady hips and a deep breath, he pushes forward.

him putting his cock inside of you was such an irreplicable feeling, you don't know how to explain it. to feel his girth stretching you, giving you a burn that was so deliciously good, always made your head spin. you whine, pushing your ass back just a little bit to help eren bottom out in you. he cusses under his breath, grounding himself with a hand on your ass cheek as his pelvis met flush against your tailbone.

you felt his dick twitching inside you, and you couldn't help but let out a satisfied moan as you let your head drop against your arms folded over the sink. eren grit his teeth, his jaw clenching as he tries to regain his composure. you were so warm, so wet, so greedy judging by the way your pussy squeezed him like a vice. any sudden movements and he was bound to nut in you.

suddenly, the bathroom knob jiggles, followed by pounding against the door. you jump, your muscles stiffening as fear tickled at your tummy. eren hisses, his nails digging crescents in your cocoa buttered skin at you tightening around him. "uh, anyone in there? i gotta piss!" connie. what are the fucking odds.

"uhh, give me a few minutes!" you yell, your voice uncharacteristically shrill from your newborn anxiety as you looked back at eren with wide eyes. "maybe we should-"

you were shut up with one, heavy stroke, eren almost completely unsheathing himself before bottoming out in you again. your words died in your throat, replaced with a gasp.

"uh, okay...?" the end of connie's okay drawls up in the end. "wait, [name], is that you? are you straight in there?"

"yes... fuck, yes!" you sputter out, squeezing your eyes shut as eren picks up his speed a bit, but not his power. he was gonna do you a favor and not fuck you too dumb in here. he wants you to at least have some chance of walking out of here on your own two feet. "i'm fine!"

"okay, okay! i'll just go upstairs." after a few seconds, you hear connie shifting away, but that genuinely wasn't your main focus. eren was rolling his hips, making sure the tip of his dick hit that sweet spot that made you sing with every. single. thrust. your head was down, resting against the counter, your eyes stuck in the back of your head as you took every inch of him with grace. your moans were mere whimpers, trying your best to muffle them with the inside of your arm.

eren sees his phone vibrate from his place on the hanging shelf beside him, and he smirks to himself when he takes a brisk glance at the banner:

convict: [name]'s in the bathroom. she didnt sound too great so u should prolly check in on her

eren groans under his breath, leaning forward to mold his abdomen against the curvature of your spine. that motion was enough to make him feel like he was touching your stomach. "what are you doing?" he purrs, flicking his tongue out to lick at the shell of your ear. he feels you shiver, your shoulders shuddering as a sex-soaked cry escaped your lips. "i said i want you to watch me fuck you. why are you hiding that pretty face?"

you had nothing but a pathetic moan to offer as a response, and he scoffed to himself, a smirk curling at his lips. he stands straight, both of his hands settling at your lovehandles as he begins sending you to poundtown. the impact of his hips against your ass was loud, and there was no doubt that if anyone came to the door they would hear you getting the shit fucked out of you. "be a big girl, mama," he muses. his hand reaches for your curls, gripping your tresses to pull your head up and back. you squealed, your eyebrows pinching at the burning sensation. you mustered up the courage to flutter your eyes open to be met with the godly sight of your man, looking down at you throw those thick eyelashes, his cheeks tinting pink from the overwhelming heat of the small, crammed space. " watch me while i fuck you."

his wish is your command as you watch him through teary eyes, licking your lips at the feeling his hand snaking up the arch of your spine to come around and grip your chin. the pads of his fingers rest on your cheeks, slightly squeezing as he snaps his hips against you from behind. his eyes are boring into you, clouded by lust with a hint of adoration, watching the way your face contorts into pleasure-ridden expressions. he's watching the way your plump lips wrap around his thumb, the way your titties bounce with every deep thrust and threaten to spill out your victoria's secret bra and tank top, the way that fat ass jiggled and made waves every time he drilled his dick in you. you were perfect. from your pretty face, to your loving heart that had a padlock with his initial on it, to your gushing pussy that would squirt all over him just for him.

"this pussy is so perfect," eren hums, looking down in awe as he watches the way you cream and squeeze on his shaft. "it's like it was made just for me. was it, baby? this is just my pussy, right?"

"you know that, daddy," you slur, feeling your orgasm coming to a head. you were so ready to release, your pussy just aching to cum. you hear him give a chuckle, his hips speeding up in tandem.

"i think you're ready to cum now. i want it all on my dick. can you do that for me, princess? or is that too much to ask of you?"

but before you could even muster a response, it was as if a tsunami hit your pussy, because the way your juices sprayed against his upper thighs was a damn shame. eren lets out a moan of appreciation, biting his lip as he lets your orgasm ride out and coat his dick. he gives your ass a few appreciative cracks, making you tighten around his cock until you managed to collect your breath.

eren slowly begins unsheathing himself from you, his dick still solid as concrete but he honestly wasn't concerned with getting his own nut off right now. after all, this wasn't going to be the last time he was to be in you tonight. as soon as he takes you back to his place, he was gonna fuck you through the mattress and the bedframe.

"girl, there you are! you've been missing for like, an hour!" you bumped into hitch on your way towards the front door, eren being your guide but you squeezed his hand to let him know to stop. she shifts her eyes to him, then looks back at you with an "oh-i-see" look. "you headed home?"

"yeah, eren's gonna take me."

"okay, be safe," hitch adjusts your shirt, tugging the top hem over the shadows of your peeking bra. "call me when you get in."

"she will." eren assures hitch, and she nods, the two of you slipping away from the crowd and going off into the night.

[bratscave]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 IN ANOTHER LIFE !

summary. falling in love with a old! driver, who's name was james while you were still in college was one thing — but finding out that he was wolverine after his death and meeting another version of him, was another.

includes/warnings. lots of flashbacks (sex heavely implied!!), let's just pretend he was an uber driver or smth cause miss college princess had no money for a limousine for sure :/, there will be chpt 2 dw!!

You remembered that first time like it was yesterday. It had been raining, one of those cold, relentless downpours that drenched you the moment you stepped outside. It had been your first day back at physical collage after all the online classes, all nervous, fumbling with your phone as you waited for the car to pull up.

He was intimidating, didn't utter a single thing, you quickly learned he wasn't a big fan of small talk. You had tried to make conversation, anything to fill the suffocating silence. You’d rambled on about the rain, about how much you hated storms, but Logan had only grunted in response, his gaze fixed firmly on the road. You’d thought that was his way of telling you to shut up, and for a while, you had.

But silence had always been uncomfortable to you, so you continued talking, about school, your shitty new teachers, your weekend plans. Anything that crossed your mind, really.

He had pretty hands, veiny n' all. That's what you thought when you first saw them, inappropriate thoughts to have about a man who was so much older then you. But back then, you weren't actually planning on doing anything about that small attraction.

It had been a particularly bad day — the kind where nothing seemed to go right, where you felt like the universe itself had a problem with you specifically and decided to make your life hell. You had barely held it together as you climbed into Logan’s car, your hands shaking as you fumbled with the door.

And for the first time in months, the car was quiet.

But you remembered the way he drove slower than usual, the way his eyes had softened every time they flicked to the rearview mirror. When he pulled up in front of your apartment, he had turned to face you for the first time, his voice low and gravelly: “It’s just a test, bub. You’ll be alright.”

You had always asked yourself weather he listened to your ramblings or not, the fact that he remembered that you had an exam that day, clearly proved one of your points.

It was such a simple thing to say. And if any other person would've said it, you would've given them attitude because nothing had been going alright that day and you were sure you had failed the damn thing.

But when he said it, you believed him.

“When does your shift end?”

Logan didn’t respond at first, his brow furrowing as he kept his eyes on the road. For a moment, you thought he hadn’t heard you, or maybe he was just ignoring you like he usually did when he didn’t want to answer a question.

But then, he glanced at you again, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Why?”

Your breath caught in your throat, but you pushed through, your voice softer this time. “I know a place. Quiet. You might actually like it."

For a second, you thought he was going to say no — that he was going to shut this down before it even started.

But then, he muttered a rough, “Sure,” and the air in the car shifted.

The tiny ramen shop was a street down your apartment complex, the prices were afforadable, for your college-spent wallet to afford, at least.

The familiar bell over the door chimed, and the owner — a small, elderly woman. She had made a lighthearted comment about 'you finally getting a man' and you were sure you had seen logan fight a grin.

You glanced at Logan as he sat across from you, his gaze sweeping over the modest interior. His lips quirked, just a little, at the sight of the place, like he found it amusing in a way you couldn’t quite place. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a second, you forgot what you were going to say.

But you'd quickly gather yourself, a chuckle escaping you at his antics, "Don't give me that look. You'll like it."

You didn't talk a lot, for the first time around him, you didn't feel the need to.

When the bill came, you reached for it, but Logan’s hand shot out, his fingers brushing against yours. The brief contact sent a jolt through you, your breath catching as you looked up at him.

“I’m paying,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl.

You shook your head, determined. “No. I invited you. I’m paying.”

His brow furrowed, and for a moment, you thought he was going to argue. But instead, he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, giving you a look that screamed ‘you’re being ridiculous.’

“I’m not letting you pay.”

“Well, tough shit. I’m paying,” you shot back, pulling the bill toward you and slapping your card down on the table before he could react.

Logan let out a deep, frustrated sigh, but the corner of his mouth twitched, just for a second. “Stubborn as hell,” he muttered, shaking his head.

When you finally stepped outside, the cold air hit you harder this time, cutting through the warmth of the ramen still lingering in your stomach. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering slightly as you started walking back toward your apartment.

“I’ll walk you,” Logan said, his voice gruff as he fell into step beside you.

You shot him a look, raising an eyebrow. “It’s literally down the street. I think I’ll survive.”

Logan didn’t respond. He just started walking down the street into the direction of the complex, his larger frame casting a long shadow over the pavement. You smiled though he didn't see it, in your humble opinion he was the stubborn one.

It took you all your courage to press out a, "Wanna come in?" after he walked you all they way to your door.

You had silently cursed yourself for not tidying up the space before wards, everything was just such a mess.

Shelves stacked with vinyl records lined one wall, your favorite albums mixed in with a few old books and random knick-knacks. Posters hung slightly crooked, tacked up without much care for symmetry, while polaroid pictures were scattered across the walls.

And then there were the plushies—so many plushies—bright pops of Sanrio characters peeking out from the corners of the couch, the bookshelves, even the bedroom beyond, where they seemed to be taking over your bed. A pink Cinnamoroll pillow lay tossed on the couch, its floppy ears slumping over the armrest like it was too tired to stay upright.

Logan’s eyes swept over everything, taking it in with a slow, deliberate gaze. You could see the corner of his mouth twitch again, that same almost-smile from the ramen shop, but this time it didn’t go away as quickly.

“You’ve got… a lot going on here,” he muttered, nodding toward the Sanrio plushies with a low grunt, but there was no judgment in his voice. Just something… curious.

You rolled your eyes, kicking your shoes off by the door. “I like cute stuff. Sue me.”

“Cute stuff,” he repeated, letting out a low, amused sound, but his eyes stayed on you, lingering just a little too long as you made your way to the couch.

He picked up one of the countless vinyls, carefully sorted next to a shelf, running his rough fingers over it. Something older from the 70s.

The next time you play that record, you'll think about how he kissed you on your coach a few minutes later. started of slow and tender, went all sloppy.

Maybe you’ll think about how he whispered your name, low and gravelly, like it was the only thing grounding him. Or the way his lips found your shoulder, kissing a line down your collarbone as he leaned you back against the cushions, his body hovering over yours, every inch of him pressing into you until you could barely think straight.

You’ll remember how his weight felt on top of you — solid, real.

“Christ,” he’d muttered against your throat, his breath hot, rough as he began moving. You highly doubted he believed in christianity or any religion at that, but the way he treated your body; felt like he was starting to believe in a new one, worshipping and all.

You had talked a lot that night, a few more hours, before you both fell asleep on same coach. It was the first time you heard multiple sentences beside just grunts and nods, from him.

If you only knew just how fast he'd leave you.

[maxwellatoms]

Hello Mr. Atoms, I'm an animation student in college and fan of your work. I got this assignment in which I need to ask questions to a professional in the area. Could you pretty please answer them? It'd mean a lot to me.

1- Are you happy with your career? How it's going.

2- What are your opinions, expectations and hopes about the independent animation industry that's developing?

3- What do you think about the advent of artificial intelligence? Do you fear for the future of animators?

4- If money wasn't a problem, would you still do what you do?

5- Any animators you admire and would like to mention?

Okey dokey.

1- Are you happy with your career? How it's going.

Not really, in that there seems to be no career left.

The animation industry swelled its numbers greatly before 2020. Almost immediately after that, corporate greed synergized with a pandemic to reduce animated programs and the number of people working on them to almost zero. It takes almost a year from beginning to end to make a single episode of an animated show (by the modern standard). There was nothing being made in 2020 and four years later, we''re not in a much better spot. It's going to be a long drought for (especially) Kid's TV Animation.

Recently, many of my former co-workers have hit the financial wall and can't continue, moving away after (sometimes) 20 years in the industry. I begin to wonder if I'm very far behind.

A "bounce back" a year from now would need to start today. There are still some animated shows being made now, but those are almost universally "library" properties. That means it's an existing I.P. (Intellectual Properties like Garfield/Mario/Batman/Star Wars) so as an artist you're immediately in that box. Depending on the property and the studio, it can be an unpleasantly tight box. I grew used to holding and maintaining the vision for a show, but it's less fun when it's not my vision. It's even less fun when you can't inspire someone to follow your vision because they've been so ruthlessly abused.

I'm pretty sick of how big media corporations treat their employees. If I inherit one more burnt out crew due to mismanagement, I'm gonna lose it.

Over a decade ago I fought hard to get board artists story credit for the episodes they were actually writing, and felt like I'd won a big victory for everyone. The second my back was turned, it all reverted.

Mostly... what is the point now? My career is/was developing ideas, crafting those ideas into a workable show, then managing teams of thirty to seventy people to produce a couple of dozen episodes per year. Studios actively do not want new ideas right now, and are actively searching for ways to eliminate what artists from the process. I'm not sure what my job would be under this new system, but it feels like they decided to hang onto the anxiety-inducing deadlines while removing anything remotely pleasurable from the experience.

2- What are your opinions, expectations and hopes about the independent animation industry that's developing?

It's the only way to get anything done, currently.

The current state of the industry is not sustainable. I (along with a lot of other animators I know) are trying to decide what's next, and pretty much everyone agrees that "you just have to make something".

It is (in that very specific way) a great time to be a young animator. The system was never going to treat you well anyway. If you can get something like a Hazbin Hotel happening without studio help, you can currently write your own ticket. I'm super proud of Vivsie, because that's a LOT of stuff to handle. I never had to handle my own marketing or drum up money to make Billy & Mandy happen.

There are opportunities there, but it's definitely "Hard Mode". The best idea is probably to team up with a few other people you like and like to work with.

Hopes? I hope that the young animators take over and make something new on top of the bones of the old industry, rather than just allowing that industry to patch its rotting hide with their collected works.

3- What do you think about the advent of artificial intelligence? Do you fear for the future of animators?

I suspect true AI might just peace-out like ScarJo in "Her", but we're not there yet. What we have now isn't Artificial Intelligence at all (though I do believe it may be the underpinnings of the Artificial Suconscious of what may one day become an actual Artificial Intelligence.)

The LLMs and "Generative AI" are (so far) a big dumb waste. They consume tons of energy and aren't great for doing anything creative. If you've sat down with Chat GPT for a creative writing session, you've probably run into the "out of the box" limitations which prevent it from talking about sex or violence-- which happen to be a major component of most stories.

Still, the technology has come incredibly far in an incredibly short amount of time. I imagine we're going to hit the point where we're being hazed by artificially generated political ads way before Generative AI can produce a consistent and usable character turnaround, so that'll be the test. Whatever the legal fallout is from this stuff over the next few years will set the tone.

Still, studios have a vested interest in pleasing their shareholders. Generative AI potentially has the capability of not only replacing swaths of money-eating artists, but handing that control directly to the billionaire studio heads. Mark my words: We're headed straight for billionaire-generated content.

I don't think the public at large will want to watch Elon Musk's fever dreams, so there's that. So law and general distaste might stave it off for a while, but I think there's just too much impetus for studios to continue to try to please their investors. "AI Art" is here to stay.

Eventually that will lead to millions and millions of bots generating millions and millions of songs and paintings and movies all day every day. Most of it will be utter trash. Right now (so I'm told) viewers are already burnt out, and will generally only click on what they already know. On Netflix, where there are twenty things you've never heard of and one you have, you're more likely to pick the thing that gives you comfort and gives you a guarantee you're not wasting your time. With exponentially more A.I. trash, how would you even begin to filter it out?

You'd need absolute control of an already existing distribution system. We currently have a few of those, and all of the media companies are desperately trying to merge with them to insure their own survival.

To me, the post-Gen-AI landscape looks a lot like old-school Cable, but with endless I.P. and fewer masters.

4- If money wasn't a problem, would you still do what you do?

The real question is, maybe, "What am I even doing?" These days I try to do a lot of gardening. I'm trying to learn new art skills, because suddenly twenty five years of experience managing, drawing, and writing isn't worth much. I recently worked on Jellystone until Zaslav lost 2.5 billion in the wash and had to find justification for his new yacht. The show before that? Also culled midway through to save money. The days of multi-year gigs seem to be over, and if I'm going to scrape by doing freelance, maybe I can do that somewhere else.

I'll always make art. I can't seem to help it. Ideas aren't my problem-- it's executing those ideas without the help of a structured pre-existing system. I honestly don't know if I'll ever be able to pull that off. My strengths are great, but were always supported by friends I worked with.

Can I start an indie cartoon with all of these cool friends? Sure, maybe. Most of those people have gone on to have other careers of their own and got used to being paid. Now nobody is getting paid and no one can pay anyone else. My immediate circle are all now middle-aged people with families and no jobs. Convincing them to give up a large chunk of their day for an idea that's not guaranteed to pay off is going to take some real effort.

I technically have fifteen years until I can claim my "retirement", assuming that still exists by then. That's a pretty big hole to fill with... I don't know what.

The difficult "What comes next" discussions at home are really just starting.

5- Any animators you admire and would like to mention?

There are a lot of cool animation people out there. I already mentioned I was proud of Vivsie. I was also reminded recently just how great C.H. Greenblatt and Mr. Warburton are. I know they're my friends. They're both just really upstanding, creative people who take good care of their crews.

The treatment of animation industry professionals by the studio system has been one of the most demoralizing and heartbreaking parts of this demoralizing and heartbreaking time.

---

So there ya go. If you want to look for someone whose attitude is a little more upbeat, I won't blame you a bit.

Wherever you are, I wish you the best of luck. For me, just climb up there and crush it. I would very much like to add you to #5 someday.

[followthebluebell]

would love a list of low energy enrichment activities to try with cats. im always looking for more ways to be involved with my cat but she is 3 and very high energy and after a long day i often dont have the spoons to chase her around with a toy while she finds new exciting hiding spots to look at it from. this makes me sad :( i dont want her to be understimulated

Food-based enrichment:

Feeder toys are a favorite! But these carry the drawback of requiring cleaning afterwards, so calculate that into your spoons. Some of them are machine washable, so that may be an option if you've got a dishwasher.

Snuffle mats - another favorite, these also require the occasional clean but don't need to be cleaned every time you use them. You can make your own pretty easily. Or, hell, just grab a very cheap bath mat from a dollar store. Your cat won't know the difference.

Scatter feeding - literally just. Throw a handful of treats or kibble on the floor or down the stairs. Literally, that's it. Calculate clean-up into your spoons because cats aren't reliable vacuums. But it keeps them busy for a few minutes.

Toy based enrichment:

Get a cardboard box. Crinkle up some brown wrapping paper or whatever cheap paper you've got on hand and put it in the box. Congrats, you've now combined your cats two favorite things in the world: boxes and paper. For extra fun, add catnip (or silvervine or whatever your cat's drug of choice is), toys, or treats.

Ripple Rug: this is actually a specific product. It's literally a square of carpet or rug with velcro on the bottom that attaches to ANOTHER square of carpet or rug. It's fairly stiff. The idea is that cats can dive into it and make their own little tunnels. My cats LOVE it. You can probably recreate it quite cheaply using cheap rugs or carpet, tbh.

Cat crinkle mats: again, this is something fairly easily made at home. You get some cheap crinkly plastic and sew it into two old washclothes or something similar. Congrats. You now have a little mat your cats can sit on, bat around, and crinkle. You can also just buy them in multiple sizes. Many have catnip in them too.

Paper bags: cats just love paper bags. Be sure you remove the handles to make sure no one gets their head stuck. Most cats entertain themselves pretty well with bags.

Cat springs: those little plastic springs are a favorite, and so are those cheap rabbit-fur covered mouse toys.

Cat race track toys: another favorite.

Cardboard cat scratchers: the cardboard ones require MORE cleaning because they leave little bits of cardboard all over the place, but it is kind of nice that you can just throw them out when your cat is done. Any scratcher is good, though. I've listed cardboard for ease of clean-up and because it's a very popular material for cats.

Cat tunnels: like bags and boxes, cats just love tunnels.

I'm not a big fan of laser pointers or robotic toys. I haven't seen many cases of light chasing disorders in cats compared to dogs, but it's an issue enough that I don't readily recommend them. I also don't really recommend robotic toys because a lot of them make noises that cats don't like. If your cat enjoys these things, congrats; I just don't find them universally popular enough to really recommend. But I had to mention them, because if I didn't, my notes would be full of 'but what about Product X!!".

I've tried to keep this list to low cost toys and activities. There are other things you can do, like installing wall shelves or getting a big cat tree, but these things are more likely to be expensive, either in terms of money, time, or energy. I wanted to focus on low cost activities that I felt were more accessible to disabled folks.

[hellishjoel]

delicate - chapter one: someone new

3.4k / pairing: joel miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

summary: Sarah decides it’s time for her dad to start dating again. Joel isn’t sure he needs to, but decides if it’s for Sarah, he’s willing to give it a go. After a few failed attempts, he finally stumbles across someone new. 

A/N: This is the first chapter of a new fic co-written with @thetriumphantpanda - we’re both so excited for you all to finally read what we’ve been working on. You’ll be able to find the masterlist on both of our Tumblrs, and we’ll be taking turns in posting chapters, so if you want to keep up to date with posting, please make sure you’re following us both! 

warnings: Joel being terrible at dating apps, mentions of being a single parent, flirting, rom-com vibes, allusions to more mature themes but nothing explicit as of now, foul language, mentions of food & alcohol, Sarah & Tommy being menaces. 

“Dad, have you thought about settling down soon?”

Joel had nearly just sat down at the dining table, a warm bowl of chili stinging his hands as he set down a glass of water with a quiet huff. 

“Am settled down.” He grumbled, diving straight into the warm bowl with ferocity. 

Sarah sighed quietly and circled her fingertip over the rim of her water glass. 

“I mean,” she tries again, “settled down with someone.”

Sarah knows this is a weird topic to bring up over dinner. She can see it in the way her father stops chewing on his food, his water glass halfway to his lips now frozen midair.

Since she was a small girl, her father’s world revolved around her. She put the sun in the sky and the smiles on his face. He put her through years of soccer practice and clarinet lessons, drove her across the state for tournaments, and made her favorite dinner when it was her birthday. She was his little girl. 

Sarah knew she had a very loving father, always lucky in that regard, but that love felt a little lost when she started attending university. All she could think about was leaving her dad in an empty house with no one to cook for, no one to bug about cleaning their room. He didn’t have anyone besides Uncle Tommy. And Sarah was sure that was the last person he wanted to spend his free time with.  

Fresh from graduating with a bachelor’s degree in biology from Texas State University, Sarah opted to live at home for a year in the hopes of saving up money for med school. And perhaps she could complete the side quest of finding a potential date for her dad. 

Joel clears his throat and wipes his hand on a paper towel, smearing it a reddish-orange from the chili.

“Don’t need anyone else when I’ve got you, peanut.” He gave a lopsided smile and continued eating. 

Why would she ask something like that? Why was she thinking about finding someone for him? 

Joel thought of himself as an independent man. Never went looking for love, going on about his business, so why start now? 

Sarah looked unsure of what to say next, wanting to push the conversation and letting that uncertainty fill the air between them. 

Joel sighs, his spoon sputtering in the bowl and listening to it clang around the rim. 

“You don’t gotta worry about me, kid. I’m fine on my own.” He insisted, shrugging casually.

“Uncle Tommy and I were talking about you, more specifically about you dating-”

Joel buried his face in his hands, letting out a loud, exasperated sigh as he ran his hands down his face, calloused palms scraping against beard stubble. 

“Sarah, what did I tell you about talkin’ to Uncle Tommy? Take nothin’a substance from those conversations.” 

“Dad, please.” His little girl was frowning now, desperate puppy dog eyes searching his own. “How bad would it be if Uncle Tommy and I put you on a few dating apps, y’know? You could meet a nice woman, take her out for dinner, do whatever you want, but you can’t not try anymore.” 

Joel snuffed out a scoff, quickly dialing it down once he was receiving daggers. 

“Peanut, ya just… you get to a certain age where you give up on that type of stuff. Love n’all. M’an old dog, been outta the game for too long.” Joel returned to his dinner, thinking the conversation was done and over with. 

Sarah let out a heavy breath through her nostrils and crossed her arms. “Dad, we’re finding you someone,  or at least we’re going to try. You can’t just-just shrug off your feelings!” 

Sarah’s chair scraped backward, standing up suddenly and commandeering the room. 

“It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. What happened with Mom was a long time ago. You can’t shut off trying to find love. I saw you go on two dates when I was growing up. Two! You can’t say you’ve tried, you can’t say you don’t want it, everyone wants to find their special someone. And you,” she said with wide, frantic eyes. “You are not done trying. Not if I have anything to say about it.” 

Joel sat in silence as Sarah retrieved her bowl of chili and glass of water, fleeing up the stairs to her room. He sat back in his chair, shifting his jaw from side to side in thought. 

Guilt festered in his chest. Seeing Sarah so adamant about something like his love life was telling it was something she thought a fair amount about. She worried about his happiness, his life alone. 

Though he thought a life of solitude worked well for him, he couldn’t deny that small part of him that wished he had someone to share the little moments with. Sarah wouldn’t be living at home forever, and she would never be replaced in Joel’s heart, but maybe she was right that it was time for him to start trying again. 

“Okay, so I downloaded Tinder, Hinge, Bumble, eHarmony, and Farmer’s Only.” 

Sarah paraded around Joel’s smartphone, downloading different online dating apps left and right while he watched helplessly beside her on the couch. He could feel a headache spark in his temple already. 

“M’not a farmer.” 

Sarah simply shrugged and opened up the first app, Tinder. “True, but we’re trying to keep our options open.” 

Joel sighed and leaned back into the couch cushions, hearing the front door open without a knock. His brother, Tommy, paraded inside, a six-pack of beer in his hand and a jean jacket in the other. 

“The hell are you doin’ here?” Joel asked as he saddled his hands on his knees and pushed himself off the couch, eyes narrowed on his younger brother. 

“What? You think I would miss Sarah putting you up for auction?” 

“Hey,” Sarah said defensively, disliking that her Uncle Tommy was making fun of her genuine attempt to find Joel a woman. “Don’t make him feel bad. It took several hours of convincing just to get him to hand me his phone.” 

Tommy sneered and plopped down into Joel’s recliner, cracking open a beer despite it only being late afternoon. Hell, he might need one too. 

“Okay, Dad, focus. We need to fill out some of the Tinder prompts.” Sarah patted the section of the couch beside hers, Joel joining her after a few grumbles of resistance. 

“Prompts? What sorta prompts?” He asked, craning his neck to look at the phone screen she held up in her hands. 

“Prompts to get to know you better. You know, like, what are your likes and dislikes, what are you looking for in a relationship, where would you want to take someone for a first date,” Sarah continued the list until Tommy’s chuckle broke her concentration. 

“Ain’t Tinder for hookin’ up with chicks?” Tommy asked, making Joel’s head snap to Sarah. 

“Sarah, the hell are you doin’ to me?” 

“It’s not just for hookups, dad-”

“Yes, it is.” Tommy snicked, making Sarah glare at him. 

“C’mon, we’re trying everything to see what sticks.”

Joel felt rather hopeless about the whole ordeal. They added pictures, and Sarah crafted answers for his prompts. He didn’t really know what the hell he was doing with the whole left, right, swiping action. At one point, he expanded the age search by accident and didn’t realize it the next morning until he got a very forward message from a young woman. 

Hey, good looking ;) you look like a big man in more ways than one, if you catch what I mean… how about you come over to mine and show me a good time, I bet we can make it fit if we try hard enough. 

Joel storms into the kitchen, shoving his phone at Sarah’s face, “Take that damn app off,” He demands, “It ain’t for me.” 

“What did she say to you?” Sarah snorts, taking the phone from him, Joel watching as she holds her finger on the icon until it wobbles. 

“That ain’t for you to know,” Joel shakes his head, “Just delete the damn thing off my phone.” 

He watches as Sarah presses the cross in the corner of the icon, making a mental note of how he can delete the rest of them later when she’s not watching, she hands his phone back to him, taking a sip of orange juice, whilst he pockets the phone. 

Despite his first attempt at dating apps failing horribly, he was intrigued. A lot of the women out there were beautiful, some with children of their own from past relationships just like him. 

Joel was trying to watch the first Dallas Cowboys pre-season game with Sarah when his phone buzzed with a notification. It was just one of those that stated he had potential matches out there on Bumble. 

He chewed at the inside of his cheek, flicked his eyes up to the television screen, and clocked he wasn’t missing anything before he opened his phone. 

A few profiles later, he landed on a woman he found with a nice smile. He read through her profile, even letting out a quiet chuckle. 

Sarah’s eyebrows were drawn together with curiosity, watching her father smile goofily at his phone. 

“What’s goin’ on with you? You’re scaring me.” She teased as she pushed herself off the couch and leaned over his shoulder to see he was actually on one of the dating apps. A small sense of pride filled her. 

“I like ‘er. Got a nice smile, funny too.” Joel affirmed with a nod. He swiped like he was directed to, but then there was nothing. 

His face fell, smile and happiness swirling down the drain as he grew frustrated. 

“How the hell do I message ‘er?” He asked, neck craning as he held up his phone to Sarah, his silent way of asking for support. 

“You can’t message women first on Bumble. They have to like you back and message you first.” Sarah said with a shrug, snagging her dad’s beer from his hand and taking a quick swig. 

Joel was only scowling in disappointment and frustration. “Y’mean, I can’t even talk to ‘er? I can’t be a proper gentleman and make the first goddamn move?” 

He grunted in annoyance, swiped back his beer, and threw up the glass bottle to drain the last of its contents as he deleted the app. “Sick of these damn datin’ apps already. None of them are worth a damn.” 

Sarah sighed quietly and found her way back to the couch, nervousness settling inside of her. He wasn’t a very disagreeable person, in fact, her dad was neutral about a lot of things. What did he want to have for dinner tonight? Anything was fine. Which movie did he want to watch? He didn’t care, said she could pick. So why was he finding so many excuses with the apps? Not even the women, but the apps. 

Part of her thought about him trying to find a woman the old-school way, but he was maybe too out of the game to brush up a conversation with a random stranger. He might fail miserably, but maybe it would help with his confidence. He only had a few apps left, ticking off one by one. 

Joel stared at the ceiling, encapsulated by the slow-circling fan overhead. Darkness laid a dark veil over his bedroom, a sliver of moonlight being cast through the window. His head laid back into the pillows, jaw ticking from side to side as he lay wide awake. He lightly scratched his chest, feeling the dark hair that clustered at his sternum as his head rolled to the side and read the digital numbers on his clock. 

Another sigh left his parted lips. It was late, far too late for someone who worked the early mornings to be awake. At least tomorrow as Friday. 

His phone vibrated gently on his nightstand, a little chime he wasn’t accustomed to. He plucked his phone from the charger and squinted at its brightness, sitting up on his forearm to read the text. It was a message from a woman on Hinge. They had matched. 

Joel grunted and stared blankly at his lock screen until it went black with inactivity. No. Just go to sleep, Joel. Forget about it. He set his phone on the bed and laid on his side, digging his cheek into a pillow and forcing his eyes closed. Well, what was she doing awake at this hour? 

He opens his phone, clicking on the ‘H’ icon with its tiny red notification dot. He pays no mind to reading the message yet, instead clicking onto the mystery womans profile. The first picture is one of her wrapped up in a big coat, plaid scarf wrapped around her neck with a bobble hat and something warm clasped in her hands - it looks like she’s in a big city from what he can tell from the blurry background behind her, but he notices how happy she looks - big grin plastered on her face that reaches all the way to her eyes. 

Scrolling further down her profile, he finds the first prompt ‘Best Travel Story’ - her answer reading about a time she’d been hiking with her family. She likes the outdoors Joel thinks - something he and Sarah also enjoy, but he shakes his head before he thinks too much about a third person he can take hiking. There’s another photo then, clearly taken in the summer - she’s in a lovely dress, sitting at a table with a young boy on her lap, perhaps a nephew? He tries not to imagine that he’s stumbled across another single parent, what good luck that would be. 

Joel doesn’t make it much further down her profile - just to the section with all of her basic information. She’s around his age, shorter than him but not by much, she’s got a yes next to drinking, but a no to smoking and drugs, and she works in marketing. A steady job, he thinks. He’s praying, silently, that when he clicks back to her message, she’s sane. 

Good evening Joel! Sorry for such a late message, I’m a slight insomniac. I love your profile, you seem lovely! How are you doing this evening? (Or this morning depending on when you read this!) 

The corner of his mouth twitches into a small smile. A slight insomniac who thought he was quite lovely. Her words, not his. Maybe asking Sarah for help on his profile wasn’t such a bad idea. His fingers twitched above the keyboard, but he was unsure of what to say next. 

Joel sat up in bed, about to shove the covers off his lap and ask Sarah for help, when he took another look at his digital clock. It’s too late to wake her, he thinks. He’ll have to craft a response on his own. He dreads it, words never really being his strong suit. Would he look creepy if he replied this late back? 

Looks like we’re both slight insomniacs. Besides being unable to fall asleep, my evening was fine. How are you doing tonight, ma’am? 

Joel sighed and stared at his response, picking it apart and cursing under his breath. Now, he was wide awake. 

Ma’am? Way to make me feel 101… charming though, I like it ;) I’m doing okay, thank you. Just enjoying the only peace and quiet I get before I go to sleep. What’s keeping you up then, Joel? 

Joel’s face crumpled, pushing a hand through his hair after reading his response over and over again. He meant it in a gentlemanly way, not to make her feel old. He really screwed the pooch on that one. Nipping at his lower lip, he tried again. 

No offense intended ma’am, I’m just a Southern man is all.  Don’t mind about what’s keeping me up, I want to know about you. You don’t get much peace and quiet until midnight? How’s that?

None taken, just not used to someone being a gentleman on these things - normally at this point someone would be asking for a picture of my tits so you’re doing well so far. It’s usually my son that keeps me up, he’s been asleep a while but I only get so much time to clear up after him, so midnight is me time once that’s all done. You sure you don’t wanna tell me what’s keeping you awake? 

Joel’s smile only grew larger as she responded, and rather quickly, too. He imagined they looked quite similar right now. Different towns, different houses, both curled up in bed and staring at their phones, waiting for the other to reply. He wondered if she was smiling like he was, trying to push away an undeniable flutter in his stomach. Making him feel like a damn teenager. 

His face softened at her response. My son, she said. That boy on her profile, with chubby cheeks and a toothy smile, a head full of hair, and glee all over his face, was her son. She was a mother, just like he was a father. He wondered if she saw the young woman in his pictures and knew that was his daughter, Sarah. How could he subtly drop the hint? 

Those aren’t gentlemen, just boys. Sorry to hear they were wasting your time. I understand your limited personal time. When my daughter Sarah was young, my alone time consisted of sitting in the truck during her soccer practices and after she went to bed. It’s not easy. What’s keeping me up is partially Sarah’s fault. She’s the one who urged me onto Hinge. I don’t really know what I’m doing, to be honest. Just know a pretty flower when I see one. 

Is Sarah the young girl on your profile? She’s beautiful if so, you must be so proud of how she’s grown up. Well Joel, you don’t seem clueless, you’re keeping my attention pretty well, especially calling me pretty, I might be blushing. What made her decide now was the time for you to start dating? 

He’d never admit it if anyone asked. But it looked like he still had that Southern charm, you never really grow out of it. He reached over and plucked the string to his lamp, sitting up against his bedframe and sipping on a glass of water as he read over her reply again and again. He had a fondness for the way she complimented his baby girl. She got extra points for that. 

Yep, that’s my Sarah. She’s going to med school next year, couldn’t be prouder. I suppose she graduated from college and thinks she knows everything now. Thinks I need a love life. I think she’s felt this way for a while, but she knows I’m stubborn. What’s your son’s name? Looks like a good kid. 

Smart and beautiful, you must have very good genes Joel. That’s incredible though, I can imagine how proud you are of her. Well, I for one am pleased she’s pushed you here, you seem a really nice guy Joel. My son is Noah, he’s seven so full of beans, I’ve never known anyone have so much damn energy! 

And you seem like a real nice woman, ma’am. Sarah had so much energy at seven, that’s when I put her in soccer to run all that damn energy out of her. 

His fingers hesitated, typing out the message but not quite pressing send. He liked her. He liked how sweet and funny she was. Plus, she understood what it was like to have a kid, someone who would always be put first. 

Since it’s technically 12:57, are you doing anything tonight? Is having a drink okay for a slight insomniac? 

Well, thank you very much Joel. I have a feeling Noah and Sarah would have gotten along well if they were the same age, he’s just started soccer practice for that very reason. And, lucky for you, Noah has an evening with his grandparents tonight, so a drink sounds lovely. Just let me know a time and a place.

His heart was thumping in his chest, a tired little grin on his face as he offered to take her to The Aristocrat Lounge on the North side of Austin. They settled on seven, enough time for Joel to get home, shower, and convince Sarah to help clean him up a bit. A daunting feeling pressed into his chest, making his breath snag tight in his lungs. He was nervous, those strange butterflies still fussing around. He shoved them down, persistent on ignoring the feeling. 

It’s a date. Try to get some sleep, I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, ma’am. 

[nicromancytarot]

WHAT DO YOU NEED TO FOCUS ON RIGHT NOW?

This is a general reading based on a collective of people. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you don’t feel the pile resonates with you, don’t be scared to try another, if it still doesn’t feel right, that’s ok! Maybe our energies aren’t as connected and my readings are not for you.

I do these strictly for fun and educational purposes. I do not charge for these readings, and I do not fake readings. I would tell you the cards I get for the readings, but I pull like 15-20 cards each reading and that is just slightly a strenuous task to write them all down lmao.

PICK A CARD TAROT READING

I asked my spirit guides what you need to focus on right now, pick a picture and find out what they had to say!

Pile 1 ———> Pile 2 ———> Pile 3

Pile 4 ———> Pile 5 ———> Pile 6

PILE 1

Maintaining relationships and friendships is the most important thing for you guys right now. It’s been proven hard for people to hold up friendships and relationships of those who they are about, as lots of people are becoming less tolerant towards bullshit. Perhaps you’re not being the best version of yourself towards your friends right now. I’d recommend taking a look inside yourself and figuring out what is making you act out in possibly not the best ways, and how can you help yourself, and make up with others in the process?

PILE 2

You guys need to focus on your money and how you are treating it, I don’t know if you’re being too lenient, or too stubborn with your spending, some of you will fit into their of these. Make sure you spend responsibly. For those of who who have the money and are scared to spend it because you fear you will lose it, you won’t - you can spend an amount without worrying about not making it back, because you will gain that back. For those of you who are the opposite and spending too much, or too impulsively, take a breather and allow yourself to take a break from spending for this next month, only spend money on necessities.

PILE 3

You guys have a decision that you need to make right now, something in which you are very confused or stuck towards. I’m assuming this decision to be quite life changing for you guys, so get thinking and try to figure out the best choice for you. Not to scare you my pile 3’s, however if you don’t make this decision and choose the direction or path you desire to go down, the universe will do it for you, and they will lead you to that tower moment to get rid of everything and start again.

PILE 4

This is a very specific message, so if it doesn’t resonate, choose another pile. For the ones of you who this does resonate with, you guys seem to currently be struggling on whether or not you want to give your heart to someone. You may have been hurt in the past and now worried about opening yourself up to a person in such a way. Don’t stress so much about this, you will find and make the decision that is right for you.

PILE 5

Focus on your healing journey so those around you who have hurt you and caused you great sadness will be able to feel that of what they made you experience. Your reading is themed heavily around karma that can only be achieved once you heal yourself and accept that these people hurt you. Take your time, not too much, but allow yourself to figure out who these people were and what they did to you. You are so incredibly powerful, the universe wants you to heal so they can have your back and get at those who have hurt you. For a very select few or you, this could theme around legal trouble, gather your evidence and keep it all orderly for when you need to speak about it.

PILE 6

You guys need a breather, take some time to just relax, rest, stop doing so much. You guys are very busy, some of you are really into the whole nightlife scene, and are constantly out partying until early hours of the morning. Take a moment from it and relax, you need to rest instead of working or doing so much constantly. Allow yourself to relax for the love of god. SLEEP.

[angie-likes-to-art]

Fic Recs (Marvel Edition iv)

These are in order of how recently I read them, not in favorite order. All fics are fem!reader

Marvel One Two Three Harry Potter One Two Three Stranger Things One Two Three Four Five Six Specific Characters Tangerine Masterlist

First Date by @luveline

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader Summary: “you take care of a sick Peter on your would be first date. later, he returns the favour and makes some promises.”

Healing by @crispychrissy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Nurse!Reader Summary: “Tasked with examining the injured soldiers that were liberated from the Hydra factory, one sergeant in particular gives you a run for your money.”

A Guide To Rebuilding Your Life by Peter Parker by @liberty-barnes

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader Summary: “After the events of NWH, Peter returns to his own universe determined to get his life back on track.”

Spider Lilies by @swimmingthroughthemilkyway

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader Summary: “you give peter flowers”

Crush by @ptersparkers

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader Summary: “peter has been visiting you as spider-man long enough to develop a crush on you. the problem? you have a crush on somebody else.”

Paparazzi by @lanadelreyscokewhor3 (18+ Only)

Pairing: Dark!Perv!Peter Parker x Innocent!Reader Summary: “as the outgoing, spontaneous cheerleader of the school, you arent too familiar with quieter people, such as peter parker. he sure is familiar with you though. soon, the photos and obsessions give him the courage to talk to you, which leads into his darker desires coming true.”

Best Friend’s Girl by @fqjth (18+ Only)

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x TASM!Harry Osborn x Reader Summary: “harry grows aware that his best friend has feelings for his girlfriend, confronting him one night at a party”

Our Girl by @spider-stark

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x TASM!Harry Osborn x Reader Summary: “ You're forced into attending a gala with Peter and Harry, where your best friends unintentionally plant a tempting idea in your head.”

5 Times There Was Only One Bed (and the one time there were two beds) by @mrs-elsie-barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: “Whether it's on a mission, a work event or a holiday, your sleeping arrangements never seem to work out as planned. It doesn't really bother you until...it does. Confronted with a night sleeping apart, you and Bucky finally talk.”

Past Life by @thinkinnonsensee (18+ Only)

Pairing: dofp!Logan Howlett x mutant!Reader Summary: Logan meets his wife in the past, long before they would meet in his timeline.

Nasty Dog by @not-neverland06 (18+ Only)

Pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant!Reader Summary: “You'd thought you'd had a good thing going with Logan. You weren't officially anything to each other, but you were getting close. You truly saw a future with him, but he made it incredibly clear he did not feel the same”

Knuckle Velvet by @ohcaptains (18+ Only)

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader Summary: “he walks you home, then lets himself in.”

Patience Wears Thin by @reidsworld (18+ Only)

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Reader Summary: “Logan’s flirty behaviour has you thinking he’s just being sarcastic. But when his attitude changes and his grumpiness intensifies, leading to him avoiding you, you confront him, only for him to finally snap.”

Like a Moth to a Flame by @wannabespacesmuggler

Pairing: Lumberjack!Logan Howlett x Bartender!Reader Summary: “Logan Howlett is a dangerous man; at least, that's what he wants you to think when he first meets you during your shift at Lucky's. However, he only seems to prove the opposite as he becomes a more constant presence in your life. After learning his true identity in a dark back alley, he's certain you want nothing to do with him. But against your better judgment, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame.”

[volturiprincess]

Little Brother

Paul Lahote x fem reader

Summary: reader has a little brother who is a shifter Warnings: some angst, I think there were some curse words A/N: So this was a request, sorry it took a while to get this out but school comes first ☺️. if anyone has a request, don't hesitate to ask me, I am open in doing them. There will be a second A/N in the end. Word count: 2k+

Researching for colleges is such a pain in the ass, why am I doing this again? Oh yea I want to be a Doctor, more specifically a Physician. I have been in my room for over 3 hours already looking at different pamphlets of schools that have caught my eye. I have a little brother to take care of so I have been looking at schools near La Push but there are not a lot of schools that have the program I am interested in. And little old me decided to also graduate from High School one year early so that I could have a gap year to save up money and to visit different universities. I've been dragging my little brother with me to these college visits for the reason we are close and I don't like going alone on these visits. 

We are only 3 years apart but I still treat him like a small child, even if he is already slightly taller than me. I heard a sudden knock at my door and called out for them to come in. I sat up from the floor and saw my little brother walk in

“Hey Oli, what's up?”

“I just came to check on you, I haven't seen you in like days already and you missed dinner”

“Shoot, sorry, I didn't even know so much time has gone by, I been trying to narrow down my choices in colleges down to 5 but it has been a struggle but I did eat a sandwich earlier”

He nods 

“Why don't you take a break and we can go walk at La Push?”

My eyes widen at the mention of the beach

“Sounds like a plan bro, meet me outside in 10 minutes”

He rolled his eyes playfully but walked outside nevertheless. I stood off the ground and got somewhat ready, I just needed a sweater and shoes. I left my room and went outside where Oliver was waiting, we then started to walk to the beach, it was literally over the the treeline of where we live so it didn't take long. I have been coming to this beach since I was born, and when Oliver was born I made sure he came as frequently as I did or sometimes I would sneak at night just to come see the moon over the ocean. 

As we arrived at the beach I saw a group of boys and knew right away who they were, Sam Uley's pack. I went to school with them. I even had a class with some of the members but they always seem to annoy me with their loudness so I personally decided to stay away.

As we were walking Oliver asked me 

“Do you know those guys?”

“Yes I do, why do you ask?”

“Just asking, you always look at them like they killed your dog or something”

I laughed 

“Well there are just rowdy boys, and that annoys me you know?”

We kept on walking until someone shouted out “HEADS UP '', I grabbed Oliver instantly and pulled him down and saw a football flying over us. I stood up and walked over to the ball and looked at where it came from and I stiffen up when I saw it came from the pack, I grabbed the ball and threw it back to them immediately. I could hear one of the guys shout back “THANK YOU” which I just responded with a hand signal and walked off with Oliver.

“You know I'm surprised you didn't do sports in high or middle school, that was one heck of a throw, the distance you threw was easily a whole football field”

I rolled my eyes but wrapped an arm around his shoulders and ruffled his hair

“Oh yea? Easily a football field? You need to go touch the grass more often then, but I do got to agree it was a beautiful throw, an old friend of mine and I would practice throwing either a football or baseball in the backyard”

“I remember that, I preferred to sit at the porch and read a book while you two played”

“Such a bookworm, you know thats suppose to be me right, the amount of books I have read so far in the 17 years I have existed would blow your mind”

Chuckling he answered 

“I'll take your word on that”

—-------------------------------------------------------

Recently Oliver has been a bit distant with me, I thought at first it was just him being busy with school and his new job he told me he got recently but I hardly see him at the house anymore. I have approached him multiple times but his response is always “I'm just busy living my life”. He always says it in this tone that is just bland and he doesn't sound like himself. I know I've been busy with applying to colleges and stuff but he's been like this for a couple of months now. It also appears he's been getting into shape, not only has he gotten taller out of the blue but he has muscles now and on top of that he cut his beautiful thick locks. It makes me think that maybe there is a girl he likes and he wants to impress her or maybe there is something else. I wish he would come up to me but for now I am giving him his space and hoping he will come up to me when he is ready. 

I decided to go take a  walk at La Push beach to just clear my mind from the stress of life for a bit. It has been a while since I've been here and I kind wish Oliver was here with me. As I am walking on the sand, I see a group of boys all shirtless and with jorts on close by. I knew right away it was Sam Uley's pack but then I saw a familiar figure amongst them. My eyes widen and before I even think twice I shout out his name

“Oliver!”

I saw him turn his head to me slowly and his face reflects my current face. I felt slightly betrayed and went up to the group of boys and confronted my little brother.

“The hell are you doing with these guys Oliver, I told you to stay away from them”

Sam was the one who spoke up

“Miss why don't you relax and leave Oliver alone”

I snap my gaze to him 

“Excuse me? You don't get to tell me what to do when it comes to my little brother, that is between me and him. Sir”

Oliver spoke up still with that same monotone voice 

“Y/n just go home please, I will talk with you later”

I stared at him and then I saw something else I didn't notice earlier, a tattoo, the same tattoo that all of the other guys in this pack had. At that moment I had to bite my tongue so I didn't blow up on him in front of the guys so instead I nodded stiffly and walked away. So many thoughts started to flow through my mind; “why is he hanging out with older guys, more specifically why is he with those guys?” “Is that why he changed, so he could fit in with them or was he forced?” “What happened to that sweet boy who was scared of the lighting and would come to my room for comfort?”

I sat in the living room waiting for Oliver's arrival. I really wanted to blow up on him right there in front of the guys but why embarrass him like that, even if it was very tempting. I just realized I was addressed as “Miss”, I literally had a class with Sam and he sat right next to me and we were even partners once for a stupid math project. But what went totally over my head was a certain guy was watching intensely, he was looking at me like I was the only person alive. Before I could decipher this guy's name Oliver came into my view of sight.

I looked at him with narrowed eyes,

“So? Care to explain to me what I witnessed at the beach earlier? Or are you going to brush me off again like you have these past few months?

I saw for a moment he was hesitant but what he said next was expect

“You wouldn’t understand, they are helping me with stuff”

“Helping you with stuff? Like how to flirt with girls or how to be an idiot?”

“As I said you would not understand? How could you, you are only focusing on yourself and your future, I seen the pamphlets you been looking at, and they are all colleges far away from here”

I tried my best to be face to face with him but he is at this point he is a whole foot taller than me now

“For your information little brother, I have been looking at schools near here, why do you think it's been so hard for me to find the one, and for your information you think I am so self absorbed that I don't think about you? Why do you think you don't live with mom and dad? it's because they never paid attention to you or even cared to  raise you, it was all ME who raised you. I am trying to work towards a good career so that I could give you a better childhood that mom and dad failed to give you.”

I didn't even know a tear spilled from my eye but I quickly wiped it away and stood my ground, but for some reason he huffed and stormed out of the house without giving me a second glance or anything. I stared at the door for a while until I decided to just drop this for now. Teenagers really are something else, I really wish I did have someone to confide in when I face these problems with him but there is nobody. I decided to just make dinner and call it a night already, if he does not want to talk with me then so be it. 

—-----------------------

I was getting ready to go visit another college alone once again when I heard a knock at my front door. I went to it and did not expect to see Paul Lahote there. Secretly I thought he was pretty cute, even if he flirted with all the girls at school but I just admired him from a distance and in silence. 

He was the one to speak first 

“Can I have a quick word with you?”

“Yea sure, what's up?”

“It's about you brother”

My mood dropped at that moment

“What about him?”

“Are you familiar with the Quileute legends?”

I nodded with suspicion 

“Yes i'm aware of them, but they are just stories”

I saw that look of hesitation once again, it was the same face Oliver did when I confronted him at home after the beach incident.

“Well, to some people it is but they are real you see, and your brother happens to be a shifter along with me and the other guys”

My hand went straight to the dorm frame to steady myself and Paul instantly went to a concerned stance.

“Hey you good?”

“You-your telling me, that my little brother who is 14, is a shifter, that the stories I grew up listening to are true and he didn't even tell me?”

He gave me a sheepish look

“Well the thing is, he couldn't tell you, it's a secret that is between the pack, it's to protect each other and not to reveal others our existence, can you imagine if others found out about us, the panic everyone would go through?”

I nodded since he did made a valid point.

“Yes well you have a point, but why are you telling me then, why not Oliver or Sam for instance?”

He scratched the back of his neck and he avoided eye contact with me. It's strange to see him like this, all flustered and nervous when I knew him as some cocky and flirty guy from High School. 

“Well you see I um….. imprinted on you….”

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion 

“Imprinted on me? What the hell is that? And why me to be exact?”

“Well you see it's an involuntary mechanism that us shifters go through when we find out soulmates, we have no choice in who we get to imprint on, it just you know.......happens”

At the mention of soulmates my eyes widened in shock, the guy who I secretly liked but annoyed me at the same time is supposedly my soulmate. I always thought soulmates was an interesting topic hence my obsession with Greek Mythology and the topic that Zeus splitted people's souls in half and it was mortal's mission to find their other half. I looked back into his eyes 

“Soulmates? That's insane”

He chuckled and teased in return

“Oh and not shifting to a big wolf is not insane, your brother definitely knew you would react like this”

“Well I have heard the legends for years, so it's not like `oh what the hell your mental” kind of situation, at least I knew some part of this, but soulmates? You got to admit that's something you don't hear everyday”

Rolling his eyes playfully he gave a me a smile that stopped my heart for a minute 

“Fair but you're not too creeped out by this or have questions or whatsoever?”

I chuckled at his rambling but asked him 

“Well now that you say that I think about 1 million questions came up, please don't tell me Oliver has found an imprint yet?”

“No he hasn't yet, he's still figuring this whole shifting and stuff”

I nodded along

“Good, Good, I don't think I would accept it right away thinking he found love so young, but I also wanted to thank you”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion

“For what?”

“You and the other guys probably were a great help to him with all of this, even if I was completely clueless to all of this, he was for sure scared and confused with all of this, wasn't he?”

He nodded 

“Yea he was lucky me and Sam were close by, we heard a yell of pain and then a growl and well we knew what it was, we went up to him and calmed him down and then we explained everything to him”

When he said yell of pain, that hit me, as much as I might not tell Oliver directly that I love him, I do, I just show it a different way by being there and being his best friend. I looked up at Paul and hugged him tightly. I felt him stiffen from shock but eventually he wrapped his arms around me. He was so warm, even with the layers of clothing he had on, his heat was radiating through it to me. I felt him caressing the back of my head while I just had my cheek against his chest.

We pulled apart shortly after and I looking down mumbled 

“I'm sorry for calling you and your pack a cult and annoying behind your back”

I heard him chuckling loudly and I looked up at him with a surprised look

“No need to apologize sweetheart, we know we are annoying and I could never be mad at you”

I rolled my eyes playfully but let out a breath of relief

“Is Oliver with the other guys?”

He nods 

“I can take you to him, the cat is out of the bag already or this case the wolf is out of the bag”

I punched his arm playfully 

“Your such a nerd”

He did a fake pout but smiled while offering his arm for me to take. He guided me to his car and we drove off to who knows where. We eventually arrived at a cabin in the woods and I saw a bunch of shirtless guys running outside of the house towards us. I spotted Oliver and ran into his arms and pulled him into a deep hug. He returned the gesture immediately and I felt some small tears spill 

“I know everything, I'm sorry for blowing up on you”

He pulled away slightly to look at with slightly teary eyes

“It wasn't your fault y/n, it's mine, I just wished I could've told you about this but you know why I didn't, right?”

I nodded and wiped away his tears

“I'm just glad you didn’t have to deal with all of this alone” I turned to all of the guys “Thanks to all of you” they all nodded in a reassurance and some of them went back inside the house 

“So Paul also told you about him imprinting on you?”

I nodded 

“And he told me you have not found an imprint yet which is a relief, I don't think I would be ready to see you with someone yet, your just a little boy”

I ruffle his hair and he just chuckled slightly 

“Im 14, almost 15, and I'm taller than you also”

I huffed at his response

“Well i'm older and more mature than you”

Paul came up to us,

“She's got you there dude”

I looked at Paul who winked at me and Oliver just groaned in disgust

“Can you not be like that in front of me”

“Hey! since I know about all of this, you will see more of me and Paul together”

He scoffed but then smiled 

“Whatever, at least you won't be alone that often now”

Paul wrapped an arm around me and looked down on me 

“She will never be alone”

My heart skipped a beat at his response

A/N: My third one-shot DONE. Anyways I will get to that extended version of that Felix drabble/random idea/ im not sure what to call it, hopefully I will get it down in the next couple of days. Plus I will work on another moodboard since its been a while.

[yall-batman-fanfic]

PTA Rivals | Bruce Wayne/Batman x OC!Magician ft the Sandman

Synopsis: It's not only as Batman and the Phoenix that Bruce and Vivian face an adversary. Who knew PTA can be just as cut-throat, especially when you want to make your kids proud. This is a really, really long fluff.

Being called to attend the PTA was the last thing Vivian ever expected. Actually, she wasn't the one invited to the said meeting since she wasn't Dick's legal guardian. It was Bruce. The man did try to get Alfred to attend instead of him but Alfred made a good point about how inappropriate it is for him to ask the butler to attend his ward's Parent Teacher Association meeting. It was one thing to fetch the boy to and from school, it was another to be there in those meetings. What would the people and the school say? Bruce Wayne just took in the orphan for show? He needs to set an example.

Now, Bruce has attended many ones before and found them a waste of his time and often had to leave before these things ended. He would have gotten away with it if it weren't for that one nosy parent who “mentioned” to Alfred if Bruce was going to attend at all. Her words were, “He can't just throw money into this and expect everything to be okay!”

It was the first time in a while that Bruce got a long lecture from his surrogate father, hence his current situation of leaving the meeting early in Wayne Enterprise to attend Dick's PTA. But he wasn't going alone. As a request by Alfred, the man asked Vivian if she could accompany Bruce in the meeting to make sure he stays. His words were: “I am embarrassed to ask you this, Professor Pryor, but considering your declaration with Master Bruce about his role as a father to Master Dick, he needs a little guidance on how these things go. And from the both of us, I believe he'll find you more of a role model in these things.”

Vivian, who was having tea with Alfred in the kitchen that time, as Bruce and Dick were running around as Robin, said, “Role model. Can't say that's the right word for me. But I get you… no son wants their parents to meddle with how they're raising their kids. Sure, haven't really attended PTAs here, the ones I usually go to are from when my brother and sister were still at school and it's usually just, here's what they did now fuck off.”

Alfred laughed and offered her a sandwich, “I'd rather have that than the ones I've encountered when Master Bruce was still in school. Mothers here, specifically at Gotham Academy, are vicious and political. They'll do anything just to secure their children's spot in the best.”

“Huh, should have known corruption starts in schools too,” Vivian ate her sandwich.

“You have no idea, Professor.”

They both drank their scotch and Alfred poured them another. “Can I count on you to guide Master Bruce throughout the ordeal?”

“I'll handle it, Alfred, don't worry. What can possibly go wrong?”

“So many things.”

The PTA meeting was around five, just after classes and where the parents are out of office. Though Alfred have already asked Vivian to accompany Bruce to the meeting, she didn't mention it until Bruce invited her himself, not wanting to overstep her boundaries on raising Dick. She wanted him to keep his confidence about taking in the boy, and one of those is letting him reach out to her for help. She didn't want to be a hovering parent.

Holy shit, was she raising Bruce to be a parent too?

When Bruce arrived at Gotham University, she was already waiting by the entrance. It was raining then and she made a run to the car before he could come out with an umbrella.

“You got wet,” he told her.

“Nothing I can't fix,” Vivian said as she settled in with her seatbelt. “So, shall we?”

“Thanks for coming with me tonight,” Bruce drove out of Gotham University and merged in the traffic. “I hope it didn't clash with anything on your plate.”

“It didn't, don't worry about it.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Why would I be? Despite my demon-hunting and occult phase,  I practically helped my dad raise my brother and sister. I attended these things too.”

He chuckled. “I can imagine you attending a parent-teacher meeting while carrying a cross and a pentagram for some reason.”

“Oh, I did one time. Just finished a job for Ric the Vic. Just used a coat to cover my clothes and attended the meeting while still holding a cross. I told everyone that it was for a play at school. We were doing Jesus Superstar, and I was Mary Magdalene.”

Bruce laughed. “I can imagine the look on their faces.”

Arriving at Gotham Academy, the couple parked near the gates. This time, Vivian waited for Bruce with his umbrella and the two of them ran to the building where the other parents sought refuge. 

“Whoah, you actually came!” Dick ran up to them.

“Sorry if we made you late, kiddo,” Vivian greeted him.

“You're not late, you're right on time. Thanks for coming with him, Viv.”

“Anything for you. Can we use the bathroom first? I need to freshen up before we head inside.”

“You look okay,” Bruce noted.

“Friendly reminder, my love, I'm just the girlfriend! Gotta look my best!” Vivian called out as she and Dick went to the ladies’ washroom and he waited outside for her.

“Is there anything I should know about before we go in?” Bruce asked Dick.

“Nothing.”

“Dick.”

“I swear! I didn't do anything that would incriminate you! Besides, when Alfred said that Viv will be in this meeting, I promised him that I'll be a good boy!”

“So, you'll only behave when it's Vivian, huh?” Bruce messed with his hair. 

Vivian stepped out with fresh makeup, hair fixed, and her clothes dry. No trace of rain or a long day at work could be seen on her.

“This is PTA, Viv,” Bruce told her.

“I know,” Vivian replied.

“You're all dressed up.”

“Come on, Bruce. I gotta dress up at least. Don't wanna make a bad impression, right? It'll reflect on Dick.”

He never thought of that.

“The incident when I brought a cross to my siblings’ PTA was a one-time thing. I promised them it would never happen again. That's why I always bring extra clothes when picking them up. One that doesn't have fuck the system written on my shirt.”

“You're a badass, Viv,” Dick laughed and walked with them to the room. 

The multimedia hall where the meeting will be was already lined with chairs with parents waiting for everyone to come in. Teachers were at the side interacting with the others there, and those members of the PTA board — Vivian thinks they're the board — were already seated at their table before everyone else. Hence, she thinks they were the PTA board. Unless they were the panel and all of them were going to do something to get on their good side.

“Mr. Wayne, you're here!” One of the teachers greeted him. Her smile reaching her ears and Vivian was sure there was a look of starstruck on her face. She didn't hold anything against her on that, Bruce was a Gotham celebrity, and very good looking. It wouldn't be surprised if every teacher and parent here had the hots for him. A single-dad. Well, single on paper since they're still just girlfriend and boyfriend. “I'm glad that you decided to attend today's meeting.”

“Wouldn't miss it. I hope it's alright but I invited Vivian to attend as well.”

The teacher's smile felt for a moment as she turned to Vivian, finally noticing her presence. “I wasn't expecting.”

“I know, I should have informed you about this.”

“It's not that, it's just odd to have a…”

“Girlfriend?” Vivian supplied with a smile, she still held Dick under her arms, hugging him from behind. “Dick mentioned that there's this big that's going to happen in school and he just kept asking if I could help out in it. I can't say no to this guy.”

“It's just uncommon…”

“Vivian has been a part of Dick's upbringing. They're close, and according to Dick, she's a far better study partner than me.”

“And she makes a really good presentation board too,” Dick added. “Come on, Mrs. Hallaway, Viv's great and she's practically a teacher and teaches class in a fun way. Maybe she's got some ideas that we could use for the school event. I mean, it is for Gotham Founder's Week, right?”

Mrs. Hallaway was unsure but how can she say no to Gotham's powerful celebrity? “

“Why not? But you'll need to register here — well, everyone registers, just for attendance.”

“Not a problem,” Vivian released Dick and took out her own pen and signed in. Bruce followed just below her name. “Well, we'll be heading in, kiddo. What about you?”

“I'll just hangout out here. I'll meet you guys once it's done,” said Dick.

“You sure you don't want Alfred to pick you up?” Bruce asked.

“I'm good. I'll see you guys later. Thanks for coming, Viv.”

Vivian smiled and messed with his hair, “I'll always be there for you, kiddo.”

“I know,” Dick grinned and left.

Taking their seats, Vivian got out her journal and pen, ready to listen. Bruce looked at her for a moment and Vivian caught his questioning look and said, “Come on. Didn't you bring one?”

“Not really.”

“Well, not everyone has a good memory like you. Don't judge.”

“I'm not,” Bruce had an arm over her back to keep her close to him. “I'm just… Dick's lucky to have someone who is willing to go all out, attending PTAs with a notebook. I've been going to these things and, personally, I don't know what the hell I'm going to do here.”

“It's your first time, Bruce. You're bound to make mistakes. Do you know how many times my Mom and Adam messed up for my school events? The old man brought ale for the drinks because he thought when he was assigned drinks for a school football event it was for the parents.”

“I haven't really done anything like that. But good for Adam to think about the parents. Did they drink?” Bruce asked.

“They had to make it look like they dispose of it but they hid it in paper bags.”

“And no one got hurt?”

“Not everyone is a lightweight, Bruce,” Vivian teased him.

“Funny.”

“Bruce, what a surprise!” A woman in a business suit appeared. “And you got the best seats.”

“Sharon Lawford,” Bruce greeted her with his face. He got up to greet her, with Vivian following his lead. “I hope it's alright if we beat you to these seats.”

“Well, it's not like we have a name written here, right?” Sharon laughed. “Oh, you brought a guest!” Her smile was also fake. “Professor Peters, right?”

“Pryor, but you can call me Vivian,” Vivian had a hand on Bruce's back and she pinched him. He discreetly took her hand and held it. Giving her a squeeze.

“What brings you here? Do you have a kid here too?” 

Is she serious?

“Yeah, Dick asked me to come today. He's been telling me all about Founders’ Day here in Gotham and the things you do and asked if I could help out.”

Sharon hummed. “I'm not sure if that counts. You're not a parent here, really.”

“Trust me, Vivian deserves to be here more than me,” Bruce said with the mask that he wore for everyone that wasn't his family. “The meeting's about to start. Why don't we sit down and get this started? I don't know about you but all had a long day and we want to get more things done.”

“You're right,” Sharon said. “But, no pressure, Vivian with the plans. This may be a little overwhelming for new comers.”

“I'm sure I can keep up. I mean, this isn't rocket science, right? And I've helped out in numerous Founders’ Week events in Gotham University,” Vivian chuckled.

“Well, this isn't Gotham University. These are children.”

“I got this, Sharon. Don't worry. Now, I think there are still seats back there,” Vivian pointed to the very back.

Sharon hummed and left with her acolytes. Some moms and dads who too wore those fancy business suits and had a smug look on their faces.

“So, she's the one that Alfred mentioned,” Vivian whispered to Bruce. 

“So, Alfred gave you the pep talk, huh?” Bruce had them both sit down. 

“Oh, yeah.”

The meeting began with a report on the last bake sale that was held to raise funds for the campus renovations, which was a success thanks to Bruce who bought everything and gave away the cupcakes for everyone to enjoy. While it was a nice thought that the kids would get free cupcakes, it totally beats the purpose of it. Donations to school are expected but Bruce should refrain from doing so often else people would think badly of him and of Dick. 

“You don't seem to approve,” Bruce whispered to him.

“We'll talk about it later. Is that why there were a shit ton of cupcakes in the fridge that month?” Vivian whispered back.

He only hummed.

“Who was it that made those cute Batman cupcakes, they were really good.”

“That was Alfred.”

Vivian turned to him in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“What?”

Following the report on the bake sale was the ranking of Gotham Academy amongst the schools in New Jersey. They weren't exactly number one but they weren't exactly low ranking either. This then led to the educational part which involved which book they should allow in the library in the very beginning. One of the parents mentioned stopping the addition of fiction books and comic books in the shelves so students could have more learning material. 

“Excuse me,” Vivian raised her hand, she stood up with her notebook. “Hi!”

“Hello, who are you?” One of the PTA board members asked.

“I'm Vivian. And before you ask — I'm here with Bruce Wayne, so basically my kid is Dick Grayson. I know that legal-wise he isn't my ward but he is the one that I’m representing here. About barring fiction books and comic books in the shelves. It's just that, if you're goal is to get the kids to read more, don't you think you should let them read something they're interested in?”

“Your point, Vivian?” Sharon asked.

Bruce glared at Sharon but Vivian continued, “You can't force kids to develop the habit of reading. It needs to come from them, and at this age, this is them exploring what they want. Also, yes, I'll admit, non-fiction is important. These are studies, facts. I've read many non-fiction books and published some too, but it's different with fiction. With fiction, people develop critical thinking and empathy. At this stage, it’s important that these kids develop those things to help them become decent and functional human beings. 

“Textbooks can only take you so far with facts and high GPA scores, but fiction helps build character. So, I don't think you should stop kids from borrowing those books because it develops their character.”

“But fiction can't get Gotham Academy at the top one spot as best school in New Jersey, Vivian,” Sharon said, still with her patronizing smile.

“Then how come Homer's works are still being taught in secondary education? In fact, why is Homer even still in the reading list when there are studies that show that the Iliad and the Odyssey are a collected narrative from orally told stories or that it could have been written by multiple authors passed on for generations.

“Or Dante whose work is actually a well written self-insert historical fiction of him being part of the crusade and then going through hell, purgatory, and heaven for Beatrice and his redemption.

“Homer and Dante are classics.”

“The Iliad and the Odyssey are historical fictions. And Dante is a self-insert historical fanfiction. And I have the right to say that because I studied Dante. If you’re going to take out fiction, don't be biased with the contemporary ones from the classics. Also, fiction can help kids be inspired on finding what they want to be in the future. I actually was inspired by a fictional character to pursue my career. And I think I'm doing well.”

“So, you want the kids to be demon hunters and witches and knights?”

“I have full faith that every kid has common sense, Sharon,” Vivian shrugged. “That's all that I got to say on the matter.”

“Thank you, Professor Pryor,” said one of the PTA boards. “We'll take into account your opinion on the matter with the books, and while you did make a good point, we won't be barring fiction in our library.”

Vivian sighed. To her shock, Bruce snuck a kiss on her temple which made Vivian slap his shoulder playfully. “We're in school, Bruce.”

“Have I ever told you how much I love watching you work?” He whispered.

“That wasn't work.”

His other hand went to her knee that was propped on her leg. “Still liked watching you and listening to you put down Lawford.”

Chuckling, Vivian leaned back and rest her head on Bruce's shoulder. She was a little tired from a long day with classes and meetings, and wanted to get some rest. She was actually a little hungry now. 

“How much longer?” Vivian whispered to Bruce.

“We haven't even tackled the Founders’ Week event,” Bruce replied as he rest his head on hers. “Are you hungry? I can head out and get you something from the vending machine.”

“I'm good. I wanna eat a real dinner after this… I'm craving for a cheeseburger.”

“Dick will like that.”

“Mr. Wayne, Professor Pryor, if you please,” the PTA board called for their attention. “We're still in the meeting.”

Vivian and Bruce sat up and apologized for getting too cozy, but Bruce kept his arm around Vivian and leaned closer so she could rest against him.

When the part on Founder's Day came, Vivian took note on every detail they were planning. She wasn't surprised that Gotham Academy was going full out on Founders’ Week, even GU has been hosting big events for one week — shops, plays, parties, fundraisers. All hosted by students and their organizations. But here, while the older students get to have their booths, those younger batches have their parents to do that for them. 

Sharon had the idea of another bake sale to raise funds for the school multimedia rooms.

Then there was the option of having a raffle. Then there was a marathon or obstacle course option. Or a dance. Not bad options but all would require the parents to do the heavy lifting. 

Vivian raised her hand.

“Yes, Professor Pryor?” 

Vivian got up again. “What about letting the kids set up their booths?”

“We're already doing that with the higher levels,” said Sharon.

“Don't get me wrong, those raffles and bake sales are a sure way to get donations but that’s mostly the parents doing the work. Why not get the kids involved.”

“They're too young to concern themselves with those things!”

“They don't need to worry about the money part, that's what we're here for, it’s just — shouldn't they be involved too? This is their Founders’ Week too, and I think they will be encouraged to attend and participate for that week if they see that they're part of building something.”

“And what do you suggest we do, let them run the show? It would be a disaster!”

“The PTA still runs the show, but give them a chance to think and create something that could raise money too. Let's say, a class has their own gig or a whole year level of them has a talent show, they can sell tickets. We buy a prize and whatever's left will be for the school. Or — I saw the art studio here and a lot of works there are really good. Or an essay writing content on ‘what is Gotham for you?’ and whoever writes the best gets featured on the newsletter. It would be nice if the kids there see that their art is being bought. It would boost their confidence.

“It helps them grow and teaches them how to create things and lead. That's what Founders’ Week is about, right? The five founding families of Gotham building and leading its people to create this city. It aligns to the whole message of the event.” Vivian covered her mouth as a yawn escaped her lips. “I am so sorry. It's been a long day, and I haven't had a snack or coffee since lunch.”

“Not to worry, Professor,” said the PTA board. “We'll take all of this to consideration. And maybe we can start with something different for this year's Founder's Week by letting the kids lead too. And much like yourself, I'm sure everyone is hungry and tired. We'll call this meeting to an end and send out the newsletter on what to expect for Founders’ Week.”

The meeting ended and Vivian got up, stretching. “I want a burger. Double patty and double cheese, and fries. I don't care if Alfred kills me for eating something like that.”

Bruce grabbed her coat and bag from her seat and said, “We'll make sure to go to that place you and Dick liked so much.”

Vivian was about to get her things from him when Bruce got it out of her reach so he could sneak a kiss on her lips. 

“Bruce!” She hissed.

“To build and to lead. That's a nice message for the kids to learn from experience,” said Bruce.

“Come on, admit it. You don't want another bake sale.”

“I do not.”

Just as the two were to leave the room, they were blocked by Sharon and her acolytes. Vivian had to fight the urge to roll her eyes, and to do that she held Bruces hand. 

“Hello, Sharon,” Vivian greeted with a yawn. 

“Vivian,” the woman said with a smile. “You had a lot of idea earlier, right?”

“Well, when Dick said he wanted me to give my input, I gotta at least give it, right? I hope I didn't overstep. I just get passionate when it comes to kids and their education. “

“You don't say… so, what is Gotham to you?”

“Yeah, that's just a suggestion. You can change that if you want.”

“No, that's an actual question. What is Gotham City to you, Vivian?”

Confused, Vivian turned to Bruce who shrugged. “Gotham City is my home. It's where my family is. And you don't give up on family.”

“Well, Gotham City to me is the children. Rather, their future.”

“Right… where exactly is this going?”

“You're not exactly a parent, Vivian, so you wouldn't understand how much pressure you'll be giving these kids to make them lead in this Founders’ Week.”

“Sharon,” Bruce warned her.

“Okay,” Vivian started pulling him out of the room and away from the group of parents. “Not in a mood for this. But don't worry, I doubt any of the things I said would even be considered for this Founders’ Week. So, don't get your panties in a twist, okay?”

“Excuse me?!”

“Bye, Sharon!” Vivian waved at her and walked away with Bruce. “Dick, get down from the catwalk or we're leaving you!”

To the surprise of the parents, Dick Grayson jumped down from the catwalk in the multimedia room with his backpack. He waved at them hello and then ran after Vivian and Bruce where he happily held the former's hand as he gushed over the plans she suggested.

“I hope they let us do a circus gig!” Dick said to Vivian.

“Don't get your hopes up, there are some people who likes to stick to tradition.”

“But if we do, promise you’ll come watch!”

“I will, kiddo.”

~*~

Vivian was at campus when she got a school newsletter and it wasn't from Gotham University. It was from Gotham Academy.

Shit.

They were pushing with her ideas for Gotham's Founders’ Week, and they want her to be part of the committee.

Shit. Shit.

Her phone rang, Vivian quickly answered it with, “I saw the newsletter.”

“I did too,” Bruce said. “Congratulations.”

“No, not congratulations. I have to do the work now. I got my hands full in GU's Founder's Week, I can't be a committee for Gotham Academy too! There's gotta be a way out of this, Bruce.”

A laugh.

“It's not funny.”

“It'll be fine, Viv. I'll be there to help you. See it as a way to boss me around. You'll be fine, Vivian. Dick's looking forward to it. If it helps I'll let him out on the night-shift for the next couple of days.”

“Aw, he'll do that for him? How sweet of the big guy,” Vivian teased.

“You'll be okay, Vivian. I promise, I'll help you out if you need anything. But I think you got it covered too. You spoke more than I do for the past PTAs I've attended.”

“You don't say. Fine, I'll help out, but it's gotta be after my classes and meetings. I'm saving up my Annual Leaves for that trip you mentioned.”

“Sure, but I'll be in and out then.”

Vivian snorted. “Yeah, I expect you to be.”

Bruce hummed at the innuendo she spotted in what he said, “I'll pick you up from GU later so you can attend the meeting tonight.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Bruce.”

“Thank you, Vivian.”

~*~

Bruce has seen Vivian in a dress, skirt, her favorite combination of earth toned tweed trousers and a shite shirt paired with her blazers, and even in lingerie or nude. He couldn't figure out why seeing her in those white sneakers, blue jeans, and a vintage rock-band shirt was so attractive. It was the most casual thing she's ever worn, that was probably the clothes she wore whenever they had a lazy day in the manor (well, she wears shorts at home than jeans). He's been watching her for a while now and would try to glance at her from time to time which would often get him in trouble with Dick. But, man, he wanted to come over there and kiss her nape.

“Ow!” Bruce winced, he glared at Dick who accidentally hit him at the head with a plywood. 

“Whoops. How about helping us with these plywoods than giving yourself wood right there. I don't think it would be a good image right here in school.”

Bruce hummed in annoyance and took the plywood from Dick. It was day three in working with the PTA to help the kids in setting up their booths and the events that they had planned for Founders’ Week. To ease the load on the students, each class was given a chance to vote if they want to do a whole-grade event or do it by class.

Let's just say, competition runs through the children's veins in Gotham as they opted for class booths rather than having to collaborate with everyone else.

When the results came, Vivian joked at the PTA, “Look at that, even here they're divided into gangs and would prefer to set up their own organized crime than team up.”

No one laughed. 

Well, Clinton laughed and said, “crime gangs, I get it. Good one… because Gotham has so much organized crime syndicates…” but then he was reprimanded by his wife. Clinton happens to be a GCPD Officer, so he gets it.

Dick's class opted to do a circus show, so they signed up to borrow one of the multimedia halls in a slot to make their show. Dick was ecstatic to perform again. He is a Flying Grayson, afterall. And he's pointed that out numerous times when Bruce found him danging from the chandelier. 

“I'm a Flying Grayson, I need to fly,” Dick told them when they found him up there.

Since then, Bruce built him a gym that would let Dick do acrobats. He never used the chandelier again. Thank god, Alfred almost had a heart attack when he saw the boy that day.

From the planning to the execution, Vivian was all hands on deck. She worked with the PTA board with planning the events, the schedules, and the criteria for winning these gigs.  It took a lot of convincing but she did get the PTA to agree that the prize is a day off from school for those who won first place, a half-day off from school for the second-place, and a free period for the third placer. 

“Kids would prefer to spend the day out of school than get food. Trust me, even college kids like that. They're brutal in those sports day events,” Vivian told them.

And just as she said, those kids roared in excitement to hear a day-off from school and were doing everything to win number one.

After a long day, Bruce approaching Vivian and took her bag from the bleacher and handed her a vending machine snack. Vivian sighed and happily accepted the snack.

“Where's Dick?” Vivian asked.

“He's still helping his classmates in practicing for their gig,” Bruce said as he sat next to her and pulled down her hair from its bun so he could massage her scalp. Vivian hummed in pleasure with the massage she was getting. “You did good today. You worked harder than any of the members of the PTA in this event.”

“No I didn't.”

“Yes, you did. Even at home you're going through your plans.”

“Everyone has their thing, Bruce.”

“Dick's lucky to have you… I know it's sudden, considering he's only been in your life for two years but how do you think of having a ward?”

Vivian turned to Bruce with wide eyes. “That's a huge step, Bruce.”

Bruce shrugged. “If anything happens to me, I don't want Dick to be placed in the system. He loves you, Vivian.”

“But what does he say about that?”

“Viv, you told me that Dick said that if I don't marry you, he'll propose so in the event of us breaking up, he's leaving with you. Along with the tights.”

Laughing, Vivian leaned in and kissed him softly. “Nothing is going to happen to you, okay? But yes. I love, Dick, and I'd want to have him with me on paper too since I'll be doing this a lot now. Less questions on who my kid is attending here.”

“You're not spooked by it?”

“No. But you're not breaking up with me, right?”

Bruce kissed her again and said, “Never.” He held her hand and held it tight.

“Bruce, Vivian,” Sharon approached them, making the two groan and then put up their fake smiles. “While we love to see… parents? I'm not sure what to call you both since you're not really married.”

“Your point?”

“While it's nice to see two co-parenting unmarried-couples setting an example on how a marriage is, we're still at school.”

“Right, sorry about that. It's been a long day,” Vivian sat up. “Anything else?”

“The other parents are heading out for dinner, and we'd like to invite you both to celebrate since we're all done with the preparations and all that's left are the kids who will be practicing for the next days until Founders’ Week,” Her tone and smile was enough to say she really didn't want them, rather, Vivian in that dinner. For the past few days, Vivian has been the talk amongst parents as the one to bring fresh ideas and the person they go to for questions. It was Vivian this, Vivian that. It was getting on Sharon's nerves.

“No thanks,” Vivian and Bruce said. 

“We kind of promised Dick that we'll be celebrating something when we get home. Alfred even prepared for it,” said Bruce.

“He did?” Vivian turned to him.

“Yes.”

“Did you know that I was going to agree to it?” She grinned.

“Yes or no, you deserve that celebration dinner for doing all this. Alfred's the one who insisted we have it. But with the news we'll be telling Dick, that dinner will be for him too. Hey, chum! Let's go!”

Dick waved goodbye to his classmates and ran up to Bruce and Vivian. “Got in trouble for PDA, again?”

“You can say that,” Vivian got up with her things.

“Sorry about them. I try to remind them that they'll be at school. I even made sure Bruce was at leas five feet away from Viv,” Dick told Sharon.

The woman only smiled.

“Let's go, I'm starving!” Dick pulled Vivian away.

“Okay, okay, kiddo,” Vivian laughed and left with her boys.

~*~

With her first PTA event being a success, and Dick's class winning that top one spot, giving them a day off from school. Vivian became active in those meetings as much as she could. But there were times when she had to tap out since she had a lot on her plate, or Bruce and Dick had a lot on their plate. 

When Dick was in high school, her involvement in the PTA lessened with her kid now running the show with his older classmates. And when he graduated, Vivian thought that was it. Her mom-PTA phase was done, until Jason came along.

~*~

As much as Vivian wanted to be part of the planning for Gotham Academy's Founders’ Week for Jason, she had her hands full. So, she promised him to be there in the event by attending his class’ performance and joining some games with him. It was easier now with Jason because parents didn't question her presence at school at all with her now being married to Bruce and carrying the Wayne name at the end of her name, and the fact that Jason is their adopted son. 

On Founders’ Week, Vivian and Bruce would leave work earlier to be with Jason and see all the things they did. That year, the school had a carnival themed event with students opening fair booths and feed talent shows for students and parents.

“Hey, Viv, let's try this out!” Jason dragged her to the shooting range booth.

Vivian gave Bruce look asking if he was alrigh with it.

Bruce leaned down and said, “It's a toy.”

“Principles.”

“I'll turn a blind eye today. For Jason. Besides, I’d play these games for you at fairs too, you know.”

“And win me a special prize,” Vivian grinned and paid the attendant with their bought ticket and picked up the toy riffle. Jason toon picked one up but needed a step to be the same height as her.

“Knock them all down before the timer runs out and you get the grand prize! Warning though, it gets faster,” the student told them. “Ready? Go!”

Vivian and Jason started shooting the targets, all of which are figures of Batman's rogues’ gallery. It was a little out of hand but they're kids. What was Bruce going to do? Vivian was fast with shooting down her targets with those BBs, and when it got faster, she picked up the pace and shot each one until the big surprise appeared. Joker.

She was startled by the sight of Joker's face that she completely froze. It was just a couple of days ago when she found herself getting caught in Joker's antics and if it weren't for Batman and Robin, she would have been jokerized or dead.

But Jason took out the Joker by firing at it over and over until the Joker's face fell.

“Congratulations! You won a Batman plush!” The student handed Jason the huge plush. He huffed and said, “How come there's no Robin plushie?”

“You okay?” Bruce asked her.

Vivian handed the rifle back to the kid and said, “Yeah. Just – they did a good work with the final boss. That's all.”

“Let's go play another game. One that's not inspired by Gotham's criminals,” Bruce suggested and took her and Jason to another booth that was far from the others as it involved a batting ring. 

This time, it was Bruce playing with Jason. The two entered the cage and were given bats. Standing in separate cages, the two glanced at each other with that competitive look in their eyes, and started hitting every ball that came hurling at them. Maybe it was the chance to win that special prize that got them so competitive or the chance for Jason to prove he was better than Bruce, which means he was better than Dick. Or maybe it was the sight of the Superman caricature plastered on the automated pitching machine that got both of them so damn competitive.

“Wow, that's all of the balls,” said the student. “No one's ever done that even in hard mode. You win this, I guess.” He handed Bruce and Jason the big prize: A Superman plush. The two of them said, “give it to the next one who wins.” And left the cage.

“Seriously? And I thought I was going to get the whole JLA set,” Vivian teased them.

Jason shrugged and then pointed to their next destination, “They got darts there. Wanna try that out?”

“Are you purposely outing me with my history, Jason?” Vivian teased him.

“Come on, Viv. Out of everyone here, you’re the coolest parent there is!” Jason laughed.

Laughing, Vivian followed Jason and went to the darts where it was mostly dominated by parents, well, husbands. Jason quickly handed three tickets to the student manning the booth and then gave the darts to Bruce and Vivian and himself. 

“You play, Viv?” One of the husbands asked.

“I played when I was a teenager,” Vivian admitted. “Gotten a little rusty.”

“Well, we won't hold it against you if you miss the mark.”

“301, right?”

“Yes.”

Vivian smiled then asked the student: “What's the highest score so far?”

“Seventy-five. It was Mr. and Mrs. Lawford who scored it.”

Sharon and her husband smiled at them. “My husband used to be part of the professional team then.”

“Okay. Seventy-five,” Vivian turned to Bruce. “We go zero.”

Bruce smirked. “Zero it is.”

Jason grinned and willingly held the darts for them.

Bruce was the first to throw, his darts hitting three treble 20s. When the husbands were left agape, Bruce said, “I think I still got it from my party days,” he shrugged. “Your turn, Viv.”

“121 left, huh… so I'll need a treble 20, a treble 11, and double 14 to win.”

“Yeah,” said the student.

“This is  just a game, Viv. Don't beat yourself too much,” said Sharon.

Vivian smiled and took aim. “You know, not everyone knows this but I was also a party animal when I was a teenager. Back in Liverpool, I'd go to pubs with my friends and we play darts while drunk. We'd mess up big time. Nicked the bartender's ear too.”

Many winced at the image, and Officer Clinton covered his ears.

“But we got better. And the manager was a sport and so was the bartender,” Vivian smirked and threw her darts. First hitting the treble 11, then the double 14, and then the treble 20, just close to Bruce’s marks. “And a zero. Still got it. I guess all those times playing in those pubs while drunk did get me somewhere,” Vivian said as she accepted the prize, which was a pizza place gift card. “I guess we're having pizza later.”

Jason cheered and took the gift card. “You're amazing, Ma!”

Stunned, Vivian and Bruce turned to Jason who was too busy trying to look for the next thing he wanted to do. Overwhelmed with joy, Vivian dropped all of her things and knelt to the ground, not caring if it ruined her pants, and brought him to an embrace.

“Viv, what the hell?” Jason blushed him embarrassment.

“You called me, Ma,” Vivian teased him.

Realizing what he did, Jason pouted. “Right. Sorry, it slipped.”

“Don't be,” Vivian kissed his cheek. “I love you, my sweet boy.”

Jason smiled and hugged her back. “You've always been my Ma, Viv.”

~*~

It was actually a science fair that year, and Vivian got to plan and attend for Tim for the PTA event in Gotham Academy. For the past few days, she's been hearing tinkering in Tim's room on a secret project that he refuses to let her or Bruce or Alfred see. He even put up a curtain at the corner of his room to hide it from them.

On the day of his presentation, it was odd to find him only bringing his bag and laptop to school.

“Where's your science fair project?” Vivian asked him.

“It's here,” Tim said, motioning to his bag and laptop.

“Hold on. All this time, it's in there and you went through the dramatics of setting up that curtain to hide it from us when you could have just,” she made a motion of closing her palms referring to his laptop.

“Trust me, Viv. It's way long bigger than you think.”

Vivian snorted and whispered, “That's what he said.”

Bruce turned to her with a narrowed gaze. “Really?”

“Not you,” Vivian reassured him. “It's something I remember an ex said. You, Wayne, live up to your promises.”

Bruce smirked and kissed her, “Maybe when we get home I could remind you of it.”

“Not saying no to that… Good timing too, now is my best time to get pregnant.” They have been trying for a baby for a while now, and after consulting a doctor about trying to conceive, the couple have been putting it on a calendar on when their best chances on getting pregnant were. Vivian has done everything to make it work — healthy diet and lifestyle, she cut out ale and coffee. Bruce too did his best, even if it meant getting longer hours of sleep and a healthier lifestyle than his usual. Nightwing was there to help him out with the patrols now, and Batwoman, and they were willing to take the nights he couldn't go out because he was busy… 

As Kate put it, “busy railing his wife.”

It made Nightwing and Robin shudder and told Batwoman to never say that again. Ever. They don't want to ever think or imagine Bruce and Vivian going at it. Dick was unfortunate to walk in on them one time and he ran out immediately. 

“You both are disgusting,” Tim told them. “Let's go before I vomit all over your… well all of this.”

“Right, let's go!”

Arriving in Gotham Academy, the group of four, Alfred came along, were met by Dick who wanted to see Tim's project as well. He was also intrigued to know what the kid had hiding in the corner of the room all this time. 

“I'll go set up, you guys don't go to where I am, okay?” Tim said and left with Bernard.

“Now I really wanna know what he has for his project, and it better be something good,” Dick said.

“I'm sure it is,” Vivian laughed. She hooked her arm around her eldest and they both walked around the venue. Bruce and Alfred were busy talking to the school director, leaving them to do what they pleased. “Say, Dick.

“Yeah?”

“Tonight, I was wondering if you and the others could babysit Tim?”

“Oh, it's that time, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Fine. We'll keep him company tonight. Just try to keep it down when we get back and not in the basement.”

“You got it.”

“Holy shit, Sharon Lawford is still here? How many kids does she even have?” Dick said as they spotted the woman with a kid that looked a lot like her.

“I was also surprised,” Vivian muttered. “I mean, she's gotta be middle aged and yet she's still pushing out babies like it's nothing.”

Dick sighed and wrapped an arm around Vivian. She and Bruce have been trying for so long, actually they have been trying ever since they got married and still nothing. “Who knows, stick with your schedules and you'll find yourself with a little bean in no time.”

“Vivian, I see you're here and with Dick! Wow, you have grown since I last saw you,” Sharon Lawford said as she approached them.

“Yeah, not so little any more,” Dick said. “It's been a while Mrs. Lawford.”

“You moved to Bludhaven, right?”

“I did.”

“Are things okay with you all?”

Vivian took a breath and but in, “Okay. I see where this is going. Yes, everything is okay with all of us. It's just Dick starting on his own, and I think Bludhave is a good place to start.”

“With criminals walking around?” Sharon raised a brow.

“With it being close to us while still having the chance to live on his own. Besides, he survived Gotham he can survive Bludhaven.”

Dick snickered. “Right.”

“And, like I said, he's still close. The kid's got separation anxiety.”

“Speak for yourself, Viv! I do not have separation anxiety,” Dick laughed.

“So, what's Reggie got for his project?’ Vivian looked over Sharon's shoulder to get a glimpse. With the theme of the science fair being “Gotham Tomorrow!” the kids were tasked to research and build something that could help Gotham in the next decade or so or build something that Gotham could be. It was her idea to let the kids build something that could change the future instead of seeing volcano replicas and the solar system again — but to be honest, it was just an idea that she got at the top of her mind in the rush to get home because she was in her window and wanted to stick to the schedule with Bruce with their baby-project.

“Oh, Reg worked so hard for this. He got the inspiration from his father's work. As you know, Lawford Utilities has been aggressive in helping the water supply in Gotham,” said Sharon.

Dick and Vivian glanced at each other, knowing fully that wasn't the case. Batman and Robin were currently working on a case that involved some schemes with Mr. Freeze and Lawford Utilities. 

“What's it about?” Dick asked.

“Well, we wouldn't want to ruin the surprise now, would we?” Sharon did that annoying laugh of hers. “And what about Tim, what did he do?”

Vivian and Dick shrugged. “Who knows.”

“You don't know your kid's project?”

“He’s been secretive about it. I tried asking but Tim just kicks me out of his room and said that I'll find out on the day of the fair.”

“But how are you sure it's good?”

“It's Tim. The kid can do calculus problems for breakfast. He's got this,” Vivian shrugged.

“You have a lot of faith on Tim.”

“I have a lot of faith on all my sons. Especially, Tim.”

“Gee, thanks,” said Dick. “Looks like Bruce is giving you the signal. Better save him.”

“Right, see you, Sharon,” Vivian left with Dick and approached Bruce. “Thanks for ending that conversation.”

“No problem.”

“My love, is everything alright?” Vivian asked Bruce.

“Yes, but I did see you talking to Sharon, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything's fine. When is this going to start? I'm dying to see Tim's project, the suspense is killing me.”

When the event started, the judges went from table to table to see the works of the students. Some created researches with graphs and charts and 3D diagrams on their laptops on how they envisioned Gotham in the future, others made studies on how to help reduce Gotham's crime rates by an AI project (“What the hell happened to a normal science fair project? You know with the potatoes and wires and lightbulbs?” Dick whispered to her and Alfred). When it was Reggie Lawford's turn, the young boy showed the diorama of Gotham's water supply and a filter being used in Lawford Utilities to filter all the water to provide clean drinking water for everyone and can be accessed from the homes and public places too. 

“I wonder what Killer Croc or Grundy would think about that,” Dick whispered to Alfred as they watched Sharon butter up to the judges on how wonderful her son's project was.

“Not so well, I presume. Mr. Grundy is territorial,” said Alfred. “Ah, it's Master Timothy's turn!”

As the judges approached Tim's table, Vivian bent down and whispered to his ear, “you got this, detective.”

Tim chuckled, he turned to her and did their little handshake. “Thanks, Viv.” Facing the judges, Tim stepped up and with Bernard's and Dick's help they removed the blanket cover over his project. There was his project board, a required material for the fair, which has his study, then his laptop, and then a long black and slick mat on the table.

“Hi, Tim Drake,” he started. “And how I envision Gotham Tomorrow starts with this. Dick, can you kill the lights?” 

“Uh, sure?” Dick was confused but did what he was asked.

Only when the lights were turned off did Tim pressed his laptop and the mat lit up for a moment, capturing their attention and then it slowly built the image of Gotham in thin air using a hologram. The hologram got the city down to the smallest detail on every major island, the outskirts of Gotham, and the minor islands too. 

“Holy shit,” Vivian whispered as she looked at the hologram.

“Indeed,” Alfred muttered.

Tim's project was about creating better living situations for every Gothamite, and to do that he'll be using a device he created that would make power and electricity free for everyone to use. To do that he designed a device that would collect the kinetic energy from the actions of people in the streets by replacing all of the streets with what he calls “blocks” that would absorb the energy that movement makes. 

But that wasn't all, he’s shown that the device can also be used for windmills. Gotham has many uninhabited minor islands where they can place those windmills and make electricity accessible to all. With the amount of emergy it could store, they could start investing on turning public transportation to electric vehicles and slowly encourage people to go electric too, which could help lessen the smog that's covered the city for decades now.

That wasn’t all. Tim also tacked and showed the prototypes he devices for a new water system filtration with new plans that avoids Croc and Grundy's lairs. Then a new subway system that was far more optimal for the city. He tackled everything, about Gotham and built a new Gotham which was slowly showing on the hologram he created which became the very vision of Bruce for the city at the end of his presentation.

The lights were back on and everyone applauded him for his work. 

“And if you need proof of it working out, I got studies that covers the economy and plans on what to do first,” Tim handed the judges a binder.

“Right, thank you, Tim. We'll look into this,” said the judge and shook his hand as a congratulations before proceeding to the next. Poor Samantha Sullivan had to follow that with her agricultural project, which was actually an interesting take. But the girl was a little shy when ahe started presenting.

“That was interesting,” Vivian told Tim. 

Tim grinned. “They did say the future of Gotham.”

“Now I feel bad that I just randomly suggested the topic because I wanna go home early.”

“Good job, chum,” Bruce patted Tim on the back. “Making necessities accessible to all.”

“I could have used that when I was studying,” Vivian mused. “I'm proud of you, detective,” she knelt down and kissed Tim's cheek.

“Viv!” Tim blushed in embarrassment. “I gotta go and help Bernard with his presentation.”

“Yes, go!” Vivian ushered him away. Alone with Bruce, Alfred, and Dick, she sighed and said, “He's going to dominate the world, isn't he?”

“I have no doubt about it,” Alfred said.

“Better watch him, Bruce. You'll never know what he's got up his sleeve,” Dick teased.

Bruce only hummed in amusement.

Tim won first prize with his project and Samantha Sullivan the second prize. But Tim admitted that he liked Samantha's project and gave the girl the chocolate bars he got in the basket and congratulated her. 

As they were packing up, Tim helped Bernard with dismantling the diorama he made, and sa they did, Vivian and the others were happily eating the chocolate that Tim won.

“Well, congratulations on the win,” Sharon approached them.

“Sharon, it's Tim who won,” Vivian pointed out. “But, Reggie's work was nice too.”

“Yes, but I guess it does take advanced technology to wow the audience.”

Bruce frowned. “Tim's win isn't because he used a hologram pad, Sharon. It’s because of his idea. Samantha Sullivan won second prize with her project board and a pot of plants and an idea that was inspiring.”

“Right,” Sharon smiled at them but Bruce and Vivian could see steam coming out of her ears and nose. She said nothing more and walked away.

“She's got problems,” Vivian said as she accepted the chocolate that Bruce unwrapped for her.

“It's kind of sad though. I mean, it's not like you're doing anything, right?” Dick said. “Hey, I was holding onto this, but maybe Tim's idea can help lessen the electricity bill of the manor.”

“That's the point,” said Bruce.

“I know, if you add That device in your bed, you won't have to pay for electricity ever again.” He grinned mischievously at Vivian and Bruce.

Tim was confused as to why Vivian had Dick in a choke hold, and the latter was just laughing and saying, “You're only acting like this because you know it's true!”

~*~

Damian’s first PTA event was in his first year of high school. With his arrival, a lot has happened in their lives that PTA just didn’t fit her schedule to be active in. She was guilty in not being hands-on in Damian’s education, but the boy did tell her: “I know more than what America’s educational system can offer.” And he was true to his word on that. 

Straight As and a chance to skip a grade. Damian was far too advanced for the educational system but Bruce and Vivian were adamant to give him a taste of normalcy, just like their other children. Damian was the only twelve-year-old in high school, and the shortest  one of the boys too, but he made a huge shadow. One that intimidated and pissed off many of his classmates. And some parents.

Three sons and all excelled in everything and graduated with honors, but for Jason who never finished his formal education. And just as Sharon Lawford thought that this time, her children will take the spotlight, Damian Wayne comes along.

Yes, Sharon Lawford has another child to show off. Vivian and Bruce wondered how it was even possible, then the truth came out that the Lawford couple had a surrogate this time and wanted to have another child in hopes of saving their marriage.

“She’s fucking weird,” Jason muttered when Vivian and Bruce told everyone about it.

“I pity her for some reason,” said Tim.

“Don’t care, I’ll still take down her son in this match,” said Damian.

Despite being part of the art club, Damian also joined the football club as per recommendation by the coach. And it was that football match that Vivian helped the PTA in setting up. From finding food stalls and trucks, to the prizes, and even the uniforms, Vivian was hands on in hopes of making it up to Damian. 

And to piss off Sharon Lawford and her husband, Bruce paid for unlimited ice cream for the entire day of that school game.

“You don’t have to rub salt on their wounds, Bruce,” Vivian told him after learning about the donation from one of the moms in the PTA meeting.

Bruce shrugged. “He was looking at you during the setup. And I didn’t like the way he looked.”

“So, you bought everyone ice cream?” Stephanie asked.

“He was asking Vivian if they wanted ice cream for the game, and that he could go with her to look for a caterer or a food truck.”

“Creep,” Jason said. “I know where he lives.”

“Jason, you and Roy are not going to do anything, understand?” Vivian told him.

“Ma, come on! He deserves it!”

On the day of Damian’s soccer game, Vivian and Bruce went to his school with Alfred and Dick to see the game. The others were busy with their own classes and work to be there but promised to be at the celebration. Unlike in previous events where the couple wore formal attire  with their blazers and dress pants, this time it was more casual.  With Bruce in his simple shirt, flannel, and trousers; and Vivian wearing her Gotham University shirt back when she was still a student, a pair of jeans, and her favorite sneakers.

“You’re both actually here,” Damian said as he saw his parents standing at the side. “All of you.”

“Wouldn’t miss this game for the world,” Dick said and Alfred agreed.

“You took time off from work?” Damian asked his father.

“Of course,” Bruce said. “You sound surprised.”

“And if there’s an emergency?”

“Duke can handle it.”

Damian smiled softly but hid it as he turned to Vivian. “Wilson Lawford is the captain of the other team. I may not be captain but I plan to humiliate him in this game to get back on his father’s disgusting attempts.”

Vivian got down and said, “The son shall not bear the iniquity of the father.”

“Quoting the bible now?” Damian smirked.

“It’s part of the job,” Vivian laughed. “And, hey, I got every right to considering my track record with the divine and damned.”

Damian hummed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“While I do appreciate the thought, just have fun. Okay?”

“I will.”

“Good, now go and destroy them.”

Damian chuckled and ran back to his team. 

The game started as soon as all the players were lined up. Just as they expected, Damian was dominating the field with his tricks, and agility, though Vivian admitted that he needed to work on his teamwork, she was more pumped at the fact that Damian was playing a sport. Not the kind that has him fighting for his life but a sport that normal kids do at school and she couldn’t help but call out: “Kick their asses, Damian!”

Many turned to her in surprise, and while Alfred and Dick usually apologize for anything embarrassing or over the top she and Bruce does on campus, they didn’t care. They all cheered for Damian. Even Bruce called out: “You can do it, son! Go Damian!”

Damian made the kick but the goal keeper caught it.

Damian was not the only one stunned. His entire family was speechless. 

Did Damian Wayne just lose that goal?

The goalkeeper smirked and kicked the ball back to the field, to catch it was another player from his team. And it was there that they saw, the determination and how royally pissed he was.

“Oh, boy,” Dick sighed. 

“Oh, boy, indeed,” Alfred said.

“It’s okay, Damian!” Vivian called out. “You guys still got a chance!”

“I’ll go get us some ice cream,” Bruce said to her. “Chocolate, double scoop?”

“You know it!”

“Can you get me one too?” Dick asked Bruce, but the man only looked at him and his silence was enough to say: I only have two hands. And Dick sighed and asked Alfred what he wanted. Alfred said he was fine with vanilla.

As Bruce and Dick went to get ice cream, Vivian and Alfred watched as Damian tried to steal the ball from the other team, but as he did one of the players – Wilson Lawford – tripped him.

“Fou! That’s a foul!” Vivian called out.

“You’re really into this, aren’t you, Vivian?” Sharon mused as she approached where they stood with an ice cream cup. Her husband wasn’t far off. “I wouldn’t worry too much, it’s just a soccer game after all.”

“Sharon, you tend to forget that I got a dual citizenship, and that for most of my childhood I was raised in Liverpool. Football – not soccer – is the fucking center of English culture and society.”

She wasn’t startled with Vivian’s language, after years of working with her in PTA, she got used to it. “You played?”

“A little — kid, pass the ball, he’s open!” Vivian called out to the field.

“Like I said, this is just a school game. You shouldn’t put too much pressure on the kids.”

“Who says that I am?” Vivian raised a brow at her. “This is a relaxing game compared to the ones I went to.”

Bruce came back just in time with her ice cream with Dick giving Alfred the man’s vanilla cone. “What’s the score?” Bruce asked her.

“2 - 1,” Vivian answered and licked her ice cream. “Is that strawberry?”

Bruce looked down at his cup and fed her a spoon, while she let him lick on her cone. “I see Damian is still working on teamwork.”

“Yeah — Damian, pass the freaking ball!” Vivian called out.

“Ah, what a relaxing day,” Alfred sighed and watched the game.

“This is relaxing?” Dick asked. “Vivian looks like she’s going to pop a nerve.”

“Trust me, this is a relaxing game, my boy. All that’s needed is a pint and it would make this game even more perfect.”

“You got ice cream, Alfred.”

“It’s not the same.”

“I’m surprised Vivian didn’t wear her Manchester United jersey,” said Dick.

“She didn’t want to cause a scene,” Alfred snickered.

Half-time, and the teams were called back to recuperate and discuss a change of tactics. As they did, everyone was getting snacks from the stands and the food truck. She and Alfred decided to sit on the grass as Bruce and Dick brought the snacks, both happily enjoying the nice day and the game.

“I wish we get to have more of this,” Vivian leaned back on her elbows and sighed.

“So do I, Ms. Vivian,” Alfred said. “Would you care for an umbrella, Ma’am? It is getting a little hot.”

It was, Vivian was sweating with the sun above their heads but she declined. “Relax, Alfred. Take off the coat and enjoy the day.”

“I’m afraid I am on duty, Ma’am,” Alfred smiled.

“Today, you’re not. Please, at least take that off, it’s me who's suffocating just looking at you wearing that thing.”

Alfred got up and removed his coat and tie. “As you wish, Ms. Vivian,” he teased her.

“Aside from the fact that I bloody love football, I really want this to be a fun experience for Damian,” Vivian began. “I wanted this to be perfect for him.”

“I’m sure he appreciates your efforts, Ms. Vivian… from Master Dick, to Master Jason, and Master Tim, you have done a marvelous job to make their school life memorable… and I was not supposed to tell you this but when Master Damian saw you working so hard in the PTA meetings, he wanted to win for you.”

Vivian sighed with a smile. “But I think he’s enjoying the game… he’s not so pissed anymore after he scored three times. And he’s learning to pass the fucking ball.”

Alfred chuckled. “Indeed. It seems someone is enjoying the sight of your sunbathing, Ma’am.”

Vivian followed Alfred’s gaze and frowned as she saw Warren Lawford and some of the other husbands looking at her with those disgusting smirks on their faces. Then there were their wives who didn’t appreciate their husbands ogling at her direction. Rolling her eyes, Vivian got up and focused on the game.

Damian’s team won with him making the last score. The team roared in cheers at their victory and ran to get their trophy, but Damian didn’t join his team in the celebrations. He went to where his family was instead.

“Congratulations, son,” Bruce told him.

“I am so proud of you!” Vivian hugged him, not caring if he was sweaty.

“Good job, kid,” Dick smirked. “Why aren’t you there celebrating with your team?”

“I will. I just want to tell Mom that I had fun today, and thank you for helping making all of this,” said Damian.

“Don’t just thank me, thank your father too,” Vivian said.

“He just bought the ice cream.”

Bruce sighed.

Damian hugged Vivian again and then ran back to the others where he was called for a team photo, and to get their snacks. With the kids taking a break, the field was free, some of the PTA members asked if they could play a game. The coach didn’t seem to mind and offered to referee too. Bruce was forced to play after many of the parents called for the dads to come to the field, and when the numbers were odd.

Vivian wrapped her arms around Bruce as he took off his flannel, and then got on her toes to whisper in his ear, “Win this and you get a prize when we get home.”

Bruce smirked. “I got a lot at stake here then?”

“Yes, because if you lose, Echo and Ace are sleeping in the bed.”

Bruce hummed. “I’m concerned with how passionate you are with football that it’s borderline madness.”

Vivian chuckled and kissed his cheek. “Go kick their ass, Wayne.”

“You got it, Pryor.”

With the dads lined up the game started, and just as they thought Bruce dominated the field with his speed and agility.

“Is it cheating considering he’s Batman?” Dick whispered to Vivian and Alfred.

“He’s got a lot riding on this win, not surprised he’s giving his all,” Vivian grinned.

Dick turned to her. “Seriously?”

“And the fact Warren Lawford happens to be the goalkeeper, so Bruce isn’t going to hold back,” just as Vivian said it, Bruce kicked the ball and it zoomed to the net with a powerful force. So powerful that they thought Warren Lawford broke his fingers when he grazed the ball.

“Another win for team Wayne,” Sharon approached their little space.

“It’s just a game, Sharon,” Vivian told her.

“That doesn’t look like it’s just a game,” she pointed at Bruce.

“What can I say, we’re passionate when it comes to football,” Vivian shrugged.

Dick scoffed and whispered to Alfred. “Football huh?”

“But your son did good today. He stole the ball from Damian and scored most of the points for his team. He could be a striker.”

Sharon narrowed her gaze at Vivian. “Don’t patronize me, Vivian. Gloating doesn’t suit you.”

Raising a brow, Vivian said, “What? I’m serious. Your kid was good.”

“He lost this game to Damian.”

“It’s a team effort. It wasn’t just Damian. But seriously, your son was amazing in the field, and he can push this for college. GU is actively recruiting and they usually start scouting in this coming season. If he catches their attention, freshman or not, they might keep him in their records as a player to watch.”

“My son doesn’t need a local university to be his ticket to the big leagues if he ever wants it. He has far better opportunities with other schools. In fact, some high schools have already sent invitations for him to apply for them this next semester with his good track record in his academics and soccer —”

“Look out!”

A ball was hurling towards their direction, while Sharon ducked to get away, Vivian simply caught it with her foot, dribbled it a little to get its momentum and kicked it back to the field which Bruce caught in his hands.

“You don’t play, huh?” Warren Lawford said as he stopped before her.

“Not professionally or for schools,” Vivian shrugged. Turning back to Sharon, she said, “I grew up with a dad who raised me as both a daughter and a son.”

The dads’ game ended with Bruce’s team winning. As the man returned to their spot, he lifted Vivian off the ground, making her laugh. But he immediately placed her down before they were reprimanded for public indecency again. 

“I won,” he told her.

“Your team won — now I know where Damian gets it,” Vivian handed him a water bottle. “Had fun destroying Warren Lawford?”

“Very. Had fun shutting up Sharon?”

“Yes. I did.”

[crazyoffher]

WATCHTOWER. - 4

jenna ortega x fem!reader

summary: photos of you and jenna's hangout surface along with dating rumors, leaving jenna forced to find a way to deal with the rumors without her management's dreadful ideas.

warnings: small mentions of homophobia, unedited.

word amount: 2900+

a/n: condemn this as a filler chapter.

part one part two part three part five

“Now, I think we have to get you into a PR relationship.”

“No! God no! I’m not even dating her, for Christ's sake.” Jenna was exasperated. It had been about a week and a half since she had hung out with you. She was now in Romania to finish her ‘Wednesday’ season two reshoots, and her manager had flown out there to do a proper, in-person meeting to discuss the current news surrounding her.

Jenna Ortega reveals a new love interest; sources confirm she is a Michelin-starred waiter (Y/N) (Y/L/N)!

Rising actress Jenna Ortega finds consolation in a non-famous woman after her breakup with her former co-star, (NAME REDACTED).

For fuck's sake, they broke up a year ago. Why were the media still hung up on them?

New photos reveal a possible relationship between young actress Jenna Ortega and a woman not in the Hollywood spotlight.

The articles went on and on, none of them speculating that the two could just be friends. Just headlining them in a “relationship” to grab their money.

“Are you sure? The paparazzi photos say otherwise, Jenna. Have you even bothered to see them since they’ve been released?” Her manager, Castillo, pulled out a folder filled with papers, specifically printed photos. He skimmed through them before sliding the folder over to Jenna, who took the folder warily.

At first glance, Jenna didn’t see anything wrong with them. There were a maximum of five pictures, two of them of you and her at the Bradbury. The first photo didn’t show much, just your back turned to the camera while you talked to Jenna, her face in the frame as she looked to be thoroughly listening to you.

The second one was shot from above you guys, with the photographer on the third floor while you and Jenna were on the second, both your faces in the frame this time. You were pointing to the Bradbury treaty that you had been so giddy about seeing, pointing to it while you faced Jenna with a big grin on your face, showcasing your excitement.

The other three photos were of you and her at the restaurant. The first one showed you two in the waiting room, Jenna’s hand on your shoulder, and her facial expression with faint concern etched on it. It was when you were doubting your clothes. The second photo shows the two of you at your table, with a smile on her face as you talked about university.

The last photo was probably the most questionable photo, to Jenna anyway. It was of you two outside after leaving the restaurant, and you were pointing at the note that the waiter gave Jenna in her hand, but from the angle, it looked like you were going to hold her hand.

“I don’t see much wrong with these except for maybe this photo,” she held up the very last photo, “and even then, she wasn’t even holding my hand or going to; she was pointing at a note a waiter had given me.”

Castillo sighed, rubbing his face. “It’s because you’re not analyzing them properly. Look,” he said as he rounded the table, standing behind Jenna’s chair to point at the photos she had spread out, rubbing his face.

“Notice how you’re looking at her. That’s what people focus on; they don’t determine two people being in a relationship only if a photo of them kissing is released; they base it off of facial expressions, how one looks at the other.”

“That’s fucking stupid!” Jenna grabbed one of the photos, analyzing how she looked at you. She now understood what Castillo was saying; her look was one of admiration, but it didn’t make the situation any less odd.

“You talk to her about this?” Castillo’s assistant, Louis, chimed in. He was a nice guy, but such a nightmare at times that it made Jenna wonder how she had not beaten him with a baseball bat at this point.

“We talked about it briefly,” Jenna mumbled. When the news stories and images were released, she remembered the conversation she had with you the day before she left for Romania. She could only ever express regret so many times, and you promised her that you would call her when you had some free time. You had yet to call, though. It worried her.

“This is no time for mumbling, Jenna! All of this can stain your career heavily.”

“How?”

“You know how,” Castillo’s tone issued, telling her to stop playing dumb, “parts of society are still not acceptable to… same-sex relationships.” He could see the expression that formed on Jenna’s face, quickly turning his words around. “I don’t know what you identify as, and as of now I have no interest in knowing, but you have a reputation to keep. Don’t tell me you’re going to throw away a lifelong career’s work for a girl you’ve known for a little over a month.”

“I’m not throwing anything away.” Jenna grumbled, clearly in a worsening mood. “I’m not dating her. I won’t lie to you and say that I have no attraction to her, but we’re just friends. I’m not cutting her off because of some flawed rumors.” She argued.

The stranded photographs were gathered and shoved back into Castillo's folder with a sigh. “Louis, get RJ on the phone.” He directed his assistant, who nodded and moved out of the room with urgency in his steps. “You,” he turned to Jenna, who was shrunken in her seat, undeniably drowning in neverending stress, “call her. If I check back in and you’re not on the phone with her, I’m putting you in a PR relationship, regardless of your opinion.”

Castillo ushered out of the room, leaving Jenna in solitude. She flicked through the numbers saved on her phone, soon clicking yours, but she felt herself hesitate to click the ‘call’ button. It was all shit to her that she couldn’t even hang out with a friend alone without possibly crashing her career.

She bit her lip with a patient sigh, clicking the button, and holding the phone up to her ear. It rang once, twice, three, and four times before she was sent to the automated voicemail message. She rubbed her face, clicking the call button again, then again, then again, but you didn’t pick up, and it was starting to worry her.

It’s not like you were avoiding her; you were just busy. “My phone keeps on fucking buzzing!”

“Then set it down somewhere if it’s bothering you that much.” Jack quipped, and you went into the backroom and toward your locker. You mindlessly shoved your phone into the small space, too time-poor to check who or what was the recipient of the constant buzzing.

“(Y/N)! Come on, you've got five tables waiting on their food, and you’re — what? Chilling in the backroom?” You could hear Derek’s loud yelps through the commotion in the kitchen, and you rolled your eyes at the audacity of his accusations. “I’m coming!”

You relocked the locker, pulling at the handle to check for security. Harvey stole a lot more than tips.

“So?” Castillo entered the room after a generous fifteen minutes. “She didn’t pick up.”

Despite his serious tone, stoic face, and clouded mind, he could see the worry in Jenna’s face, and he let out a frustrated huff. “I’m giving you until tomorrow, Jenna. If you don’t talk to her by that time, then we’re pacing your reshoots and taking you back to the States to have a proper meeting with your entire management and publicity crew.”

She wasted no time in burying her face in her hands when Castillo and Louis bid her farewell, the suffocating urge to cry her eyes out taking over her. She eyed her phone for ten minutes; that’s it. She sat there and bore her gaze into the device, hoping to see your caller ID pop up, but nothing.

“Derek! When can I go on break?”

You stuffed your filthy tray into the dishwasher, fuming as you hurriedly shut the door and accidentally hit your finger. You gripped your finger in pain as you searched for the busied man.

You could see his head pop into the kitchen, as if he was too preoccupied in the dining room to move the rest of his body. “I’ll stop sending tables to you. Finish up with the ones you are currently serving, and then take your thirty minutes." And as quickly as he entered the kitchen, he exited, and you grinned slyly as you grabbed a clean tray from under a countertop, stacking the meals for your table before hurrying out with imperativeness in your steps.

You returned to the backroom after finishing all of your tables (with the inevitable process of having ice-cold water thrown at you) to find Jack in your usual seat. He was scrolling through his phone when you pushed the back of the chair up, causing him to fall to the floor.

“Hey!” He got up, brushing himself off, before sitting in the chair across from you. “Your phone’s still been buzzing like crazy; it’s getting kind of annoying.”

“You’re annoying.” You stood from your chair, grabbing an 8-ounce soda can on the way to your locker, the buzzing growing louder as you moved closer. “Jesus, that sounds like a vibe.”

“Ew!” Jack shouted. You smiled to yourself, first grabbing a hanging towel to wipe your face of any water residue before gripping the vibrating phone, eyeing it for a second before you saw Jenna’s caller ID pop on the screen.

“Who keeps on blowing up your damn phone?”

“Jenna!”

“No way you’ve been having Hollywood call you nonstop and sending her to voicemail, at that.” Jack stood up, making his way over to you and eyeing Jenna’s caller ID. “So are you going to pick up or what the fuck?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You swiped the button, pushing Jack away and moving toward a more secluded area while you listened in. “Hello?”

“Fucking hell, (Y/N). Look, I know you said you’d call me when you had the time, but I don’t have any more time to waste. I need to talk to you about the whole media thing.” You could hear the exasperation in her voice, and that made you worry.

“I’m sorry, Jenna. I took a couple extra shifts this week to try and help my brother pay for something. I was actually going to call you tonight, but if you need to talk to me now, I’ve got thirty minutes.” You turned toward Jack, shooing him out of the room, and he gave you a ‘what the fuck?’ look before begrudgingly leaving. You knew he didn’t really care where he took his break; he just wanted to eavesdrop.

“You don’t have to apologize any more; it’s fine if that’s why you’re calling.” You sat down in your seat, cracking open the soda can and taking a small sip. You unbuttoned your vest, throwing it on the back of your chair, as you suddenly heard Jenna start rambling.

“Itsnotbecauseofthatitsbecausemymanagementisconcernedthatyouregoingtostainmycareerandthat-”

“Jenna,” you let out a breathy laugh, although it probably wasn’t the time to do so, “slow down. I have no idea what you just said.”

You could hear her catching her breath and letting out a sigh, and you could imagine her rubbing her face in stress. “I’m not calling to apologize to you again. It’s because my management is concerned that you’re not good for my publicity because of these fake dating rumors, and I don’t know what to do.”

If anybody walked into the room you sat in, they’d laugh at your expression, jaw slack, and eyebrows furrowed in moral confusion and slight fright. Was she cutting you off?

“I’m not cutting you off; I’d never do that.” It was like she read your mind. “I just — I have no idea how to deal with all of this. Do I make a public statement? Leave it all as is? Get into a PR relationship? I’m stuck.”

“Jenna,” you tilted yourself back in the chair, unconsciously doing a check around the room to see if anybody had come in, “it’s fine if you need to not be seen with me in public. I do have a living space that is private, after all. For the whole situation…” You trailed off, biting your lip in thought.

“Definitely don’t do a PR stunt; it’ll only make you unhappy. I say just make a public statement, but regardless, isn’t it up to your management?” Shifting around, you moved the soda can to the side of the table before standing up and walking toward your locker. Last you knew, your backpack was in there with your laptop, and you were keen on seeing what people kept on saying.

“Yeah, but they told me to think of what I want to do, and when I get back to the US and have a proper meeting with them, then they’ll see whether or not it’d be a good idea.” From Jenna’s perspective, she was back in her trailer, shuffling back and forth with the phone up to her ear while she mindlessly cleaned up the kitchen area.

You opened your laptop, typing in the complex password that was ‘0001’ before opening Microsoft and searching up Jenna’s name. A slew of news articles appeared at the top of the page in an instant, and you saw the same old picture you had been seeing for the past week. “In that case, I’d say bring up the public statement, because you can’t leave it all as is, and I know you’d rather die than get into a PR relationship. It’ll all be alright, Jenna.”

You needed to reassure the girl because her tone had softened but was still filled with a stressed sound. Jack entered the room, assuming that the seriousness of the conversation had subsided (because he was eavesdropping from the other side of the door), and sat across from you. He flung his hands around, asking for your attention, which you gave him while listening to Jenna thank you for the talk you guys had. “Tell her you miss her!”

“Why?” You mouthed it, raising your eyebrows in an attempt to get him to lower his voice. “Because you do, duh.” His tone hadn’t lowered in the slightest, and you threw the soda can that was now empty toward him, putting a finger over your mouth.

“Yeah, no, don’t worry about it. And trust me, if it seemed like it, I wasn’t avoiding you.” You returned to the conversation, ignoring Jack’s heart-hand gestures toward you. You eyed the time on your laptop, seeing that you had five minutes left on your break, and you usually took the last five to prepare.

“I thought that at first, but I brushed it off because it didn’t seem like you, you know?” Jenna bit her lip, throwing away a styrofoam cup that sat on the sink counter. “It didn’t seem like me?” You asked, repeating her words. Jenna shook her head, blurting out a “no” when she remembered you couldn’t see her and mentally scolding herself for her dumbness.

You had put her on speakerphone when Derek ushered Jack out of the room, seeing as his break time ran out, with a reminder to you that you had about a minute or two left. “What does seem like me, then?” It came out in a teasing tone, though you weren’t trying to tease her. You were genuinely curious as to what the high-priority girl thought of you.

“Nice, funny; definitely not the ghosting type.” She laughed, and you smiled while buttoning your vest back on. “Somebody I can be myself with, definitely.”

“You’re not yourself with some people?” That genuinely shocked you. Jenna seemed like one of the most open people you knew, though, to be fair, you still hadn’t known her all that well. She gave off a vibe, you’d say. “No, not really. Whenever I hang out with more high-end people, they act all serious, so most of the time, I just stay quiet.”

“That must suck. I can’t hold myself from talking; the longest I can go is maybe five minutes — oh!” You exclaimed, remembering what you had planned on asking her. “Do you know when you come back to the US? I want you to try this little cafe that’s in my bar. It doesn’t sound the best right now, considering all of this… crap, but it’s always empty. Up to you, though.”

“That sounds nice.” Jenna sat down on a stool, playing with the top of her fingernail that she had cut too short. “I’m always open to trying new things, though I’d probably be in some sort of disguise for precaution.”

“Risky, are we?”

“Definitely.” Jenna’s smirk was engraved into your brain, and you knew she was doing just that. You enjoyed talking to her more than anything, but the sound of clattering plates crowded your ears, and you were surprised that Derek hadn’t dragged you out of the breakroom by now.

“Hey, I have to go back to work, but I can talk to you more tomorrow because I’ll have a day off, yeah?” You never made commitments like that because you were afraid of breaking them, but you knew you would be laying on your bed, phone in hand, listening to Jenna rant about her struggles as a producer and actress on the show she was filming the next day. You couldn’t wait.

“Yeah! Oh, and (Y/N)?”

“Yeah?”

“I miss you too. Goodnight.”

☟ ☟ ☟

taglist: @grandpatrolnut @annalestern @rhythm-catsandwine @yara124 @daryldixonsw1fe @red1culous @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @n0vabug @idkwimdtbh @alexkolaxs

[sleepysnk]

a/n: i rlly like sanzu and uhh this idea just came to be after a long chat with some friends! 🤍 i hope you all enjoy! <3

pairings: sanzu haruchiyo x fem!reader

warnings: modern au, nsfw, established relationship, sanzu and reader have an onlyfans, smut, mentions of oral sex f!receiving, consensual recording, public sex (they’re in a dressing room), lingerie, degradation, use of pet names (baby, princess, babydoll), finger sucking, slight breeding kink, rough sex, dirty talk.

synopsis: you and sanzu began an onlyfans, and, after a video blew up, you became quite popular on the platform. the two of you are out and about one day at the mall, and sanzu just can’t help but think you look so pretty in your lingerie.

smile, you’re on camera ft. sanzu haruchiyo

It was all Sanzu’s idea to begin an OnlyFans.

The first time your boyfriend proposed the idea of making one, you almost completely spat out your drink. You had heard many stories from people online who made hundreds to thousands of dollars off of the platform. Whether it was something simple as nude photographs or videos of someone being fucked to oblivion, it was many people’s way of making money and paying their bills. You wouldn’t have ever expected Sanzu, your boyfriend of two years, to suggest such a thing to you. 

There were so many possibilities and questions you had for the man. You protested over the fact that someone could possibly recognize the two of you if the videos were leaked. It wouldn’t be that great if one of your friends or even your family found out what you two had been doing. Sanzu explained to you that it would all be anonymous. He would wear a face covering every time he uploaded content, and he would do his absolute best to make sure your identity was hidden as well. It was sort of overwhelming. Random people would be paying to see your body, and you knew the internet was a dangerous place and it could be quite harsh. People were often body shamed and it wasn’t something you wanted to see. Sanzu understood your concerns completely and he knew they were valid. He wouldn’t ever wish that kind of treatment on another human being. 

Though, after lots of convincing, Sanzu was able to make you comfortable enough to begin an account. 

It was slow and sloppy at the beginning. Some of your videos only had about thirty or so views, and you didn’t have many followers. The both of you considered just deleting your Twitter and removing the OnlyFans all together. You barely had any profit coming in, so you assumed that maybe that idea would be chalked up.

One day, all of that completely changed.

You awoke one more morning with your phone blowing up, as well as Sanzu’s. When you entered your Twitter account, your jaw fell to the floor when you saw that one of your videos had blown up. Apparently, there had been a popular Twitter porn account that had retweeted one of your videos. More specifically, it was a video where Sanzu’s mouth was latched onto your pussy. It was filmed from your perspective and the camera was able to capture Sanzu’s gorgeous emerald eyes, along with his lengthy eyelashes that made every woman jealous. The people who liked the video left many comments on it, and it in turn led to you both ranking many followers and the profits in your OnlyFans to rise. You couldn’t stop reading the replies and retweets, because they were just so encouraging.

rxdomuser822: me n who? 👀

stxllasexs: someone find this mannn!!! 😩

ppowerrs: if a man looked at me like that i’d cum on the spot

mxikasyu: find them both right now

Eventually, you two managed to make a living off of your content. People paid to see you get fucked by your boyfriend all of the time, or they’d want to see him play with your pussy until you were shaking from how great his fingers worked along your clit. It had all gone in such a successful direction that you and Sanzu were able to move out and pay off any debt you had remaining from university. The two of you were satisfied with everything that had happened so far. There had been a few flaws on separate occasions, but you both were so happy with where you were now.

Sanzu spoiled you rotten at times. He’d buy you any gift you wanted and he would take you out whenever he had the opportunity to. It was a luxury and you both enjoyed it more than anything else.

Today, he decided to take you lingerie shopping as a treat for reaching almost fifty thousand followers on Twitter. He adored seeing your pretty body in all kinds of thin fabric, and he knew that nothing would be better than treating you to some fine lingerie. You were his pretty little girlfriend, how could he resist such a woman like you? He honestly loved seeing the faces you’d make whenever you would pick up different bralettes or thongs that would fit just right around your hips. Sanzu lets you buy anything you desire at the shop. He could never say no to you. 

Though, Sanzu’s mind wandered somewhere else when you began trying on the different pieces he had picked out for you.

He couldn’t help but peek at you through the curtain that was pulled over the changing room. He got a nice view of your perky tits that were held up by the bralette you wore, and immediately his cock hardened inside of his sweatpants. He thought it would go away after a few minutes, but much to his dismay, Sanzu’s mind wouldn’t halt on reminding him how gorgeous your body was. Whether it was him fucking you so good that you saw stars, or eating your pussy until you made a mess on his face, the images refused to leave his head. He tried his best to keep up the facade at the lingerie shop, but his cock was aching inside of his boxers. It almost hurt that he wasn’t stuffing your cunt with his cock. He was growing anxious, but he didn’t want to ruin your shopping day.

You weren’t sure what came over him, but Sanzu had managed to slip into your changing room and he began fucking your brains out.

Your body was pressed against the mirror that faced the wall. Your cheek and your tits were against the glass, while Sanzu’s cock fucked into your pretty walls. You tried to protest to your boyfriend that it was quite risky to be doing such a lewd act in a public place, but that’s what enthralled him the most. The risk of potentially being heard or caught by the workers or the people who were shopping made him all the more turned on. He could only think of the fun this experience would bring for you both. He even had the idea to record the entire thing, with your knowledge of course.

Sanzu’s hand trailed down your backside. He watched the way his cock slid into your soaked pussy with such ease. His pace was quite fast, because he couldn’t help himself. He just needed to have you around him. “Fuck.. yeah, you take me so good, babydoll.” he gritted his teeth from the ecstasy that coursed throughout his body. “Bein’ such a good little slut for me.. fuuucckk,” 

He held his phone at a certain angle so the camera could pick up on how fucking amazing you looked. He had taken several videos already of the entire situation. He even went out of his way to record himself in the mirror fucking you from behind. Sanzu just couldn’t help but feel so turned on by what you were both doing. “Mmph.. Sanzu..!” your eyes rolled backwards when the tip of his cock reached your g-spot. You weren’t supposed to be moaning at all. Sanzu reminded you several times to remain silent, but you just couldn’t. He was too good.

He shoved his phone into his pocket once he finished taping you. Sanzu then reached around to your plump lips where he forced two of his fingers into your mouth, allowing you to suck on the digits. He knew he was fucking you good, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wanted other people to possibly hear you. “Keep that mouth shut, princess..” he smirked. “Don’t need us getting caught.. yeah?”

Oh how you wished you could keep quiet. His pace was erratic and rough. He was winding you up just perfectly enough so that your orgasm would hit you quite hard. Once again, there was that great risk of you two possibly being exposed by one of the workers. You were already used to somewhat of an audience. Hell, you and Sanzu recorded yourselves all the time and posted your videos for the world to see, so this was almost nothing to you. 

Sanzu was about to let out a groan, but paused immediately when he heard those familiar jingles of keys walking towards the changing room. His thrusts came to an abrupt slow when the noise filled his ears. He feared too much would bring attention to your room, but those thoughts stopped when he felt your cunt clenching and twitching around his cock. You were such a dirty slut. You liked this. You enjoyed the fact that both of you could be caught at any second. He didn’t think you would ever be that inappropriate, but fuck, it turned him on so much more than he already was. He placed his palm against your hip, beginning to thrust inside of you once again. This was surprising to you. 

You turned your head to meet Sanzu’s seductive expression. His bubblegum pink hair hung over his hazy eyes that were blown with lust. He removed his fingers from your lips, causing your mouth to fall slack. “Aw.. so you do want to get caught, huh? You like when I fuck this pretty cunt, baby? I’ll let them hear you being a slut for me..” he then picked up the pace of his ruts, earning a loud moan to fall from your lips. You were about to cover your mouth, but your boyfriend was much quicker than you and he pinned your wrist behind you. 

Your whines slipped from your lips at an endless pace. The knot inside your belly was tightening and making itself known. You were growing desperate for that euphoric high you craved more than anything else. Sanzu’s grip on the plush of your hips was tight enough to leave bruises on your delicate skin. “Ah..! Sanzu.. ‘m close!!” your nails dug into the glass of the mirror, leaving fingerprints on it. 

The sound of skin slapping filled the dressing room. Sanzu was so determined to make you a mess all over his cock. He wanted those people outside to hear how amazing he was making you feel. He didn’t give a single fuck. 

You let out one last whine, then your orgasm had washed over you. Your thighs trembled and shook. Sanzu grinned when he saw the white ring that circled around his cock. Your pussy squelched and squeaked from his thrusts. There was his pretty girl he knew so well. He was so proud of you for being a good little slut for him and his cock. He was close to his own high. His dick twitched and he could feel that pit in his belly growing larger with every rut of his hips.

He grunted several times, throwing his head back at the pure bliss of your tight cunt. You were a drooling mess and you were in paradise at how great you felt. Tingles spread throughout your body with every touch of your g-spot. “Fuck.. ‘gonna cum, baby, fuck..” he let his jaw fall open as he pumped himself into you. “Fill up this cunt.. yeah.. that’s it!”

With one thrust, he finally reached his climax. Sanzu’s cum filled into your hole, reaching your womb. He held your hips in place so none of it would slip out onto the floor. Sweat clung to his forehead and his chest heaved, trying to catch his breath from the exhilarating orgasm he just went through. He was beyond excited to upload the video he had recorded for his fans. It was quite unexpected, but he was so happy he decided to fuck you in that dressing room. He was certain somebody heard you both, but he couldn’t care less about that. 

Sanzu then pulled out, turning you around so your back was now flat against the mirror behind you. He pulled you in for a sloppy kiss, wrapping his hand around the base of your throat. “Better not let a single drop out, okay..? Don’t make me fuck it back into you, babydoll.” he whispered into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You nodded your head, looking your boyfriend in the eye when you did so. “Okay..” you looked down at the floor where your clothes had been previously discarded, along with the lingerie you were just wearing several minutes ago.

Sanzu picked up the fabric from the floor. He smiled devilishly at you, exposing those pretty scars of his that were near his lips. He then placed another small peck on your lips. “Let me go pay for this, you deserve it.” he winked.

[ghost-proofbaby]

SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER FIVE: HOLY GROUND

I LEFT A NOTE ON THE DOOR WITH THE JOKE WE MADE, AND THAT WAS THE FIRST DAY. AND DARLING, IT WAS GOOD NEVER LOOKING DOWN.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, minors dni

☆ WC: 8K+

☆ A/N: trying something new in the formating here amongst the chapter - please bear with me <3

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.” 

Oh, how you realize you’ll come to regret that taunt. 

The first week of working on organizing Corroded Coffin’s single release party is easy enough. Most of the communication is restricted to Matt and vendors, beginning the process of assessing venues as you start your list of all that will be needed for the party. An actual location, an open bar, entire stage crews. Matt is able to provide a few connections here and there, people in the live music industry that owe him a favor as he had so kindly put it. You had your spreadsheet of contacts that was growing with each passing day, you had several venues that looked as though they would work well for the occasion — the only thing you had yet to do was go over options with the band or properly reach out for their list of requirements for their night of celebration. 

You had tried to be sneaky about it. Get around asking for any of their emails, continue living comfortably in the radio silence of not hearing from Eddie. And then you’d made the fatal mistake of asking Matt if he could gather the list of things the boys may want.

And of course, as any sane person would do, he had only forwarded the email to all of the boys’ professional emails and replied: I’ve CC’d our rockstars. I’ve instructed them to personally send you any requests they may have.

Fuck.

Eddie’s email sat at the lead of the list of CC’d emails, almost teasing you as it stared back at you from your laptop screen. A full week, you had avoided this. Even if he could have gotten your email from Matt, he hadn’t, and like a fool, you’d assumed that meant you were in the clear. 

So much for that.

You compose and erase multiple emails until you decide that if the boys want to reach out, they can. There was no need for you to make first contact; they now had your email, a bait set for them to initiate a conversation by sending you their lists. If Eddie wanted to reach out to you, he had the perfect excuse to do so. 

For a few hours, you don’t hear anything, and instead of sighing in relief, it only puts you further on edge. You want him to just get it over with. To send you an email, preferably an impersonal list that allows you to continue your job. No relations, no interferences. You didn’t know it, but the Universe was already laughing in your face. 

The first email from any of the boys comes from Jeff.

A simple list, just as you’d requested. There was nothing outrageous; he’d recommended an open bar, asked for a specific brand of whiskey if possible, and thanked you for all you were doing. Simple, kind, appreciative. Jeff, it seemed, had stayed as humble as you remembered him. 

The next email came from Gareth. Less simple, but still just as expected.

Nerds (the CANDY) of any kind. That vodka infused whipped cream (does it even get you drunk?), the softest robe money can buy. Actually, can I get matching house shoes with that robe? Can we also have some cigars in the dressing room? (We are getting a dressing room… right?) 

You’re so busy snorting at his requests, rolling your eyes but also losing yourself in the warmth to know he also hadn’t changed much, you don’t see the next email come through.

It was comforting. You knew Eddie had changed — more than you could ever wrap your head around — but these boys you once knew seemed to still be connected to their roots. You read the requests and recall the times you’d spent in Gareth’s hot garage over the summer, sitting on warm concrete as you cheered overly excited, even occasionally standing up to jokingly mosh to their rehearsals. Sweltering summer nights between friends and beers that lost their chill far too quickly, laughter that echoed down the driveway and out into the empty streets of Hawkins. Nostalgia burns away at you, sitting restlessly in your chest as you let yourself simmer in it for the first time since…. since moving to New York, really. Even in that first year, life had moved so quickly, you and Eddie never took the time to ruminate in your past too often. If you did, it had caught you off guard, always fleeting to make room for the next uncertain experience. 

You two had been so busy running away from your hometown, you’d never stopped to consider what you had given up in the process. 

A soft sigh escapes your lips, and you swear you can still taste the shitty Miller Lite, the only brand that seemed to occupy the Emerson’s fridge, on your tongue as you exit the email and scribble on the notepad before you. Even if Gareth had been joking around with some of his requests, you’d take them seriously — besides, the mental image of Gareth in a plush robe and fluffy slippers to match made you laugh. You were thinking about your past, and for once, you were laughing. This part wasn’t a stain, wasn’t something you had scrubbed away at in a haste to make it fade from your ledger. This was the part you should have been lingering on. 

And linger you did until you glanced up to find the next unread email.

Eddie. 

EDDIETHEBANISHED@gmail.com. You could fool yourself, tell yourself that email is from anyone else, but you know it isn’t. It isn’t even the email that had been CC’d. It’s his personal email. 

Your mouse hovers over the highlighted and unopened message, heart dropping with each passing second. There’s a small preview of his message, but your vision blurs just enough that you can’t make out the small words. 

Is this how you were always doomed to live out the rest of your days? To freeze, to panic, to malfunction at every slightest thing that has to do with the man you left to begin with? Would he always pull such visceral reactions from you? 

In an act of bravery, you press the tip of your finger against the smooth mouse pad, a muted click that doesn’t reach your ears signaling the official opening of the email. All of your hopes are shattered as you realize it’s clearly too short to be a list similar to the other boys, a simple response that you could acknowledge and move on from. 

No, he sends something that specifically calls for you to play with him. To reply and interact, to give him what he wants. To talk. 

Two fucking words. Two loaded, vexing, provocative words that call to you with the titillating grin you imagine he wore as he typed them. 

Your fingers work faster than your brain, slamming away at the keys hurriedly without thought as you type your least professional email to date. 

The bottom of the email is automatically signed off with your work signature, including your direct personal line. If you had half the mind, you would have erased that bit of information to keep it from Eddie. It even has your actual signature, a mature one that differs from how you used to scrawl your name atop of schoolwork in high school, that you had scanned into your computer after having gone through the painful process of rewriting it what must have been a thousand times. No one had let you in on the fact that most other corporate monsters and coworkers just used one of the sloping fonts available to them. No one had shown you the ropes – you’d just assumed that it was the normal, to go so above and beyond. 

Another brick in the foundation you’d built for yourself, separate from Eddie. Another attempt to change from the girl he’d once loved. 

You’re shocked when a reply comes very quickly. You hadn’t even clicked out of the thread before it entered your inbox.

You try to channel fury, years of irritation and calluses you’d built up against him. But your chest has been weakened by that brief moment of nostalgia that Jeff and Gareth had triggered, and it’s a fruitless battle when he sends another message rapidly. He’s treating it like casual texting rather than stiff business interactions. 

Your entire body flushes, a shock to your system coming that brings you out of the allusive hypnosis easily. 

My emails are monitored. They’re going to see that we know each other. I’m going to get fucking fired. 

You steady your breathing and try to stave off the anxiety. It’ll be fine; Lydia has no reason to comb through your emails at this time. Nothing said would trigger any bells or whistles to cause concern. It’s fine. It’ll be fine. It has to be. 

You wish you had it in you to see red. He had an incomprehensible amount of nerve to be asking for your personal email all because he refused to use his professional email. 

Soft. You’d worked on becoming a hardened version of your old self for two years, and all hard work was quickly going down the drain as you remained too soft for him. It was easy, too. All the rough edges had melted so discreetly somewhere amongst the in between. 

You think he’s dropped the topic of your personal email, but you should know better. Not even mere seconds after you receive the first email, brimming with nonchalance and a teasing tone that has no room between the two of you, another message comes through.

Good to see he’s still annoying and persistent as ever, I suppose. 

He’s all bark, no bite. That’s what you convince yourself. There’s no way he could find your personal email, a plethora of power and connections at his fingertips or not. Even if he could, it would take him ages and more effort than it would be worth. 

All bark. No bite.

You hadn’t realized just how quick and consistent his replies had maintained until you’re met with silence. You wait impatiently, biting at your fingernails as you await for another one of his responses. The more the time passes, the excessive minutes piling up in the quiet midday hum of your midtown apartment, the more noticeable Eddie’s online silence becomes.

No, you think suddenly and strongly. No, I am not doing this. 

You refuse to sit around like this and succumb so easily. All your half-healed scars thrum with aches deep-rooted within the skin you’ve grown over the last two years, screaming out in phantom pains with a reminder of what happened to you the last time you’d let yourself sit around and wait on the boy on the end of the line. Every lonely night, every tear shed, every beat of your bleeding heart — you cannot be doing this again, and not so soon. 

Quickly, you click out of your email tab and back onto the list of vendors you needed to contact for the bar commodities. Distract, distract, distract. You comb through your list. Some vendors seemed to hold more potential than others, more attainable in the grand scheme of it all. For the first time ever in your very short career of event planning, budget wasn’t the issue.

Eddie’s reputation was.

But you’re not thinking about Eddie. No, your focus was anywhere but him right now. You weren’t thinking about him, or his new cologne, or his new rings, or his new life-

Just as you pick up your cell phone to start your calls down the list, a notification pings.

Only seven minutes had passed. Seven minutes, and your phone is suddenly alight with a small but terrifying notification from your personal email.

New email from EDDIETHEBANISHED@gmail.com!

Oh, fuck.

Your thumb hesitates over the tiny banner before you release the breath you were sure you’d been holding the entire seven minutes. It shouldn’t have taken him such little time. You expected it to realistically take him a few hours, all your anxious waiting aside. 

There had been only one fatal flaw in your taunting — well, technically there were several becoming more apparent as the seconds ticked by, but only one so glaringly obvious. Your personal email address. You had forgotten.

You hadn’t changed it since high school, since moving to New York, since meeting and since leaving Eddie. 

CORRODEDSUGAR@gmail.com. 

The stupid inside joke haunts you. 

“Why does your email even matter?” Eddie huffed from where he was sprawled out on your bed, tossing around some bouncy ball he’d acquired a few nights before during dinner at a local pizza joint, “No one even uses email anymore.” 

He tossed the ball of rubber into the air once more, a blur of the rainbow swirl pattern whirring too close to your ceiling for comfort. Your focus waned from your laptop for just a moment as you suddenly shot out a hand, attempting to intercept the ball. 

No use. Eddie used one hand to swat yours away, the other happily capturing the toy in his palm with a muted thud. 

“Nuh, uh, uh,” he drawled as he looked at you with his boyish grin, eyes sparkling as his fingers closed loosely around his prize, “If you wanted one so badly the other night, you should have also coughed up a quarter.” 

You snorted, “Are you really proud of that? You spent a whole twenty five cents on a hunk of rubber, Rockstar.” 

“A hunk of rubber you’re now trying to steal from me.”

“I’m not trying to steal it,” you scowled, “I’m trying to focus here. Emails are important, despite your pessimism. Something my English teacher said about professionalism.” 

“You’re really going to listen to that dinosaur? The old O’Donnel-saurus?” Eddie mused, chuckling beneath his breath at his own joke.

You refused to crack a smile in return, or show any recognition at the awful joke, but your chest still warmed. The smoke of your affection for the boy in front of you unfurled, thick enough to choke you up a few extra seconds but thin enough to not suffocate. Never suffocate — it was a time in which you could never imagine your love for Eddie Munson being your downfall. It was a wispy and adaptable type of adoration, just like the smoke that flows off of the end of the incense you’d taken to burning in your room lately in lieu of candles. 

“It’d do you well to also come up with a professional sounding email, you know,” you hummed. You were mere seconds away from shoving your laptop away and joining Eddie in his relaxed position, maybe even laying your head on his chest or shoulder and bringing up the idea of a late afternoon nap you knew he’d never turn down, “Can’t go around emailing important people when you’re a rockstar with your Dungeons & Dragons nickname.” 

“One,” he held up a stern finger, “Like I said — I don’t use email. And two, I’m very happy with my email, sweetheart. I’ll probably email the damn President with that name. Life’s too short and we’re too young to get a stick up our ass about shit like that.” 

You reached out and wrapped your palm around his finger, tugging it down. Unlike with the ball, he let you capture him in your grasp, “I don’t have a stick up my ass about it.” 

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.” 

“Then make it something funny,” he wiggled his brows, “Make your email something stupid and live a little.” 

“A little?” you scoffed, “I think I live plenty for the both of us. You’ve put me through at least three lifetimes worth of stress before I’ve hit twenty. I probably have grey hairs already.” 

Your hand curled around his pointer finger drops to your thigh, but doesn’t release him. The touch remained, ever constant, now more for comfort rather than defiance. And he let you continue to hold him, as if your touch was a luxury he was indulging in just as much as you were his. 

“Wanna check?” he taunted. He lifted up off his back for a microsecond, tugging your arm with his before the roll of your eyes had him falling back flat once more.

It was a losing battle, arguing with Eddie.

Your conjoined hands settled back atop your thigh as you sighed. Maybe Eddie had been right, and you were stressing out too much about this. He was right; you were young, and having a dumb email was a right of passage. Something to giggle at in your maturity when you’d provide it later down the road, a flash of your youth to keep close. 

Fuck professionalism, or whatever high horse O’Donnel had been on.

“Fine,” you huffed, “What do you suggest?” 

“… To check for grey hairs?”

“For my email, you idiot.” 

A bit more back and forth, a bit too raunchy of ideas that passed Eddie’s lips only to be rejected quickly with rough shakes of your head. His finger remained locked in your palm, at some point his knuckle wiggling between suggestions to stroke at your skin. 

“Sweetheart, you’re being too picky,” Eddie finally whined as you shot down yet another one of his ideas, “At this point, just make it something related to the band. You’ll probably be Corroded Coffin’s manager when we make it big, anyways.” 

“That sounds like a nightmare,” you murmured, even if you enjoyed the thought. You already had started to get a hang of wrangling the boys in your small town for menial tasks and day-to-day activities. But on a wider, professional scale? You could already feel the headache pressing into your temples. If they ever offered you the proposition, you wouldn’t have said no, but you certainly would have complained to no end. And definitely got grey hairs.

“Sweetheart.”

The repetition of the nickname froze you. Your eyebrows furrowed as the wheels in your brain turned and you looked down at your boy, the formulation of an idea that was combining both of Eddie’s suggestions suddenly.

“Why do you call me sweetheart?” 

Eddie was taken back by your question, face crumpling with confusion, “What?”

“Why do you call me sweetheart?” you repeated yourself as you finally let go of his finger and twisted to face him fully, laptop momentarily forgotten as your legs folded beneath you and pressed into your worn mattress, “Like, I call you Rockstar because I know you’ll be a rockstar someday. Already are technically, to me, but don’t let that go to your head,” you explained, smiling shyly as Eddie narrowed his eyes and shined his dimples at you, “So why do you call me sweetheart?”

He hardly had to think about it, although his answer came out as more of a question, “Because you’re my sweetheart?”

“That’s all?”

“Is this a trick question?” 

You nearly cackled at his hesitation, “It isn’t, I swear. Just… humor me.” 

This time, he took his time to carefully deliberate his answer, “Well, I guess because it just fits,” he paused, wide eyes catching yours as you lifted your brows in question, “You know? Cause you’re sweet like sugar, and you’ve got a heart of gold,” he grabbed up the hand that once held him and drew it into his lips, peppering kisses across your knuckles and fingertips, fighting a grin as he groveled, “There. Is that romantic enough to humor you?” 

“Almost.” 

You pulled your hand away despite the fact that you wanted to let him continue his display of affection. You would have laid around all day, letting Eddie Munson shower you in all the affection he had to give. But you really needed to create this email.

And now, you had the perfect name.

CORRODEDSUGAR.

You created the account quickly. Set everything up with ease before you proudly turned your screen to Eddie. 

“Corroded sugar?” he read outloud in a murmur as a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, “Cute. But also, very metal. Very badass. I approve, Sugar.” 

A new nickname was born that day, to haunt you and taunt you at every corner. In soft mornings when he woke before you, his voice softly cooing ‘wake up, Sugar’ as he’d brush his nose along your jaw and attempt to awaken you with needy nuzzling. Amidst heated and passionate arguments had all in good fun while out with friends, where he knew you were right but the closest he’d come to admitting it would simply be ‘whatever you say, Sugar!’. He’d even once weaponized it against you during sacred moments, where his lips worshiped you as they trailed leisurely down the skin of your torso until he’d settled between your thighs, humming as he wrapped ringed fingers around your hips and whispered nothing more than the nickname. ‘Sugar’. He had sighed as if he were a starving man, and you were the plate of sweetness that would bring him back to life.

Sugar. A prayer, a promise, a reminder. 

You couldn’t remember the last time he’d called you that. Until now.

When you’d tried to reset, rebuild, remake yourself, it had been hard to figure out a new email address. Amongst all the changes and all the decisions to be made, choosing a new email just felt overwhelming. And you’d been foolish, clung to one last relic of your past like an estranged child fisting a blanket to sleep. 

The seven minutes suddenly makes crystal clear sense. 

Whether it had really been Eddie’s rockstar connections from his fame, or simply recalling a far away memory, you hadn’t made yourself a very hard person to find. And you never considered that your laziness would have a consequence like this. 

You don’t know what else to say. Your mind keeps reading over that silly five letter word, the bold lettering jumping off the page at you. All recollections of every time he’d ever called you that slip into the forefront of your brain, slapping away any concentrated thought. 

You’d had dreams of him calling you that again. A mixture of memories and fantasies that would wake you up in the months following your departure. Compared to the other dreams you’d had amongst those, they had been a sweet reprieve. Not a nightmare of Eddie with his lips pressed to another, or mournful dreams where you reached out to him only for him to become intangible smoke where your hand should have connected with his torso. They were one of your only dreams you had awoken from without immediate tears. 

They were the type of dreams where you’d awake, and for just a moment, you’d forgotten all that had happened. They’d twist you up in a blissful blanket of delusion that he was still yours, that you were still laying in a shared bed in that small apartment, that there was still a calendar on the wall with the date of his return marked with a scarlet heart. 

The tears would come later. Once the dreamy fog cleared, and your eyes opened up to see the unfamiliar space you had taken to calling home instead.

The two of you should be discussing the release party. He should be handing over a list of requests and you should be adding them to the same page that you’d copied down Gareth’s. 

You shouldn’t be doing this. 

Talking, like nothing happened. Having a playful conversation over email that reeked of the same make-believe that had clung to your dreams of Sugar. 

He won’t break the illusion, so you do.

Messaging him from this contact only reminds you of all that could have been. All the joking conversations back in Hawkins of your involvement with the band once they inevitably blew up, all the late nights where you’d been privy to a private show as he hunched over his guitar and hummed out melodies to new songs, all the bruises those once familiar hands had left and then caressed in the afterglow. 

For just a moment, you miss it all. 

For only a second, you wish he wore the same cologne and you wish you still signed your name as you had when you first met him. You wish for days of instability and the solid touch of his shoulders beneath your palms as you convince him to take a leap of faith on himself and the band. Dancing in a small apartment, falling asleep on the phone while he was a world away, quiet confessions of love to soothe the wound that distance made grow larger — for just a moment, you want it all back. Even the pain. Even the hurt you’d been burying alive for years.

Silence. Once again, he’s left you with static lines as the minutes pass and no new message is received. 

You think you liked it better when he was being inappropriately playful. 

At least then, he was saying something. Now, as he says nothing, you have to resort back to doing your job. You bring up a knee to rest your chin on as you adjust in your home office chair, clicking over to tabs of information on a physically small but well-known venue that had several different capacity options. Ranging from a small room that could hardly fit twenty five people to a rooftop set up with the ability to entertain several hundred people. Something about it had felt very Eddie to you; reclusive, with opportunity for an afterparty. Some odd mixture of who you once knew and who you’d seen flashes of through headlines and brief encounters. You hadn’t been given many guidelines from Matt to go off of, and when you’d questioned capacity size, he’d only brushed it off.

Just something smaller than the venues they play on tour.

Would Eddie even want this small of a venue? Looking over the venue’s website, you catch sight of the approximate occupancy limit for the “largest” stage room — 750 standing. What was Corroded Coffin’s new normal? Once upon a time, you were amongst a crowd that couldn’t even break double digits. But now, a show like this might sell out for them in five minutes flat. Hell, they could probably even sell out a thousand person capacity room. 

A ding sounds to signify a new email. 

For a second, you’re nonsensically relieved when you see it’s from Eddie. You find yourself blindly hopeful for a continuation of banter, another message solely trying to get on your nerves – something to satiate that stubborn need to slip back into old habits, even if for only just today. 

It’s not. It’s a stale list of requests. Sent to your work email, this time.

No sight of his playfulness between the words. No beckoning of him taunting you, teasing you, whispering for you to just give in and play pretend with him one last time. 

It’s probably for the best. 

—

Have Mondays always been this hectic? 

Week two of working on Corroded Coffin’s album release was starting off very differently from the first week. It seemed every corner you turned, you were faced with a new challenge that only made the headache behind your temples pound more relentlessly. Denial from venues, cold calls being forwarded to voicemail when you’d reach out to vendors, and Matt being impossibly busy with the band to get back to any of your emails in a timely manner. 

If you had to hear one more venue representative turn down your business proposition with a “Sorry, but we’ve heard about Eddie’s reputation…”, you might make a detour to go jump off the Empire State Building. 

Had he really been that awful to venue properties? 

“You look stressed,” Romina notes when you hang up on your third unsuccessful call of the day, slamming the phone down more violently than you should. 

“Who, me?” you bitterly reply, looking over your shoulder to where she leans in her chair, turned entirely from her desk to watch you with gentle amusement, “Never. I have never been stressed a day in my life.” 

She quirks an eyebrow, “And before this new secret project of yours, I would have agreed.” 

“Every venue is shooting me down.”

“It happens,” you yearn to feel the nonchalance that flows through the shrug of her shoulders, as if she’s now the one without a worry in the world, “Are they giving reasons?” 

You open your mouth, but your tongue stops short. Because yes, they were each giving the same resounding, completely valid reason. But to admit this is to inform Romina what your secret project really is – something that a certain NDA strictly prohibits for the time being. 

“Conflict of schedules,” you tightly lie as your glare diverts to your computer screen, still open on a mostly empty inbox. 

Eddie hadn’t emailed you since last week. 

Somewhere amongst your frustration, there was a sore disappointment lying in patient wait. You have not a single doubt that once the storm of the task at hand passes, once you finally secure a venue, that you’ll be forced to deal with it. But for now, a boy not emailing you after being so insistent for your personal contact was the least of your worries. 

Romina’s voice draws you back in, “Really? How far out are you trying to book for?”

“Three months.” 

The squeak of her chair pauses abruptly. Your eyes shift and you catch the way all her mindless swaying has ceased, mouth flat with eyes widened in disbelief. 

“Three months?”

“What?” you finally spin your chair to face her, playing off nonchalance. You know why she’s reacting so dramatically, “Should I not be booking that far in advan-”

“I- No, no. You absolutely should be. It should actually be making it easier to book,” she leans forward in her seat, squinting at you, “Is that really the only reason they’re giving?” 

You get it. Because she’s right; giving such fair notice should be making your job easier. But you can’t defend yourself and explain how the client you’re representing is the real issue. 

“Yeah,” you force a forlorn sigh.

“Jesus,” she whistles out, “Well, that’s just… Fuck. I’m sorry, babe. That’s rough. What types of venues are you even trying for? Wait - didn’t you say you were arranging for a grand opening of a bakery? Wouldn’t they already have their shop set up-”

“Hello ladies.” 

Thank fucking God for Lydia. 

“Lydia!” you sit up just a little bit straighter, nearly leaping out of your seat with relief as your boss approaches. You knew exactly where Romina’s train of thought was heading, and you wouldn’t have been able to come up with a single pitiful excuse to keep up with your little white lie, “How are you today?” 

Romina is still perched in her chair with a confused look, but Lydia doesn’t even glance her way, looking just as concerned as she looks down at you, “I’m… fine. There’s a client for you in the conference room.” 

Straight to the point. Except, you didn’t have a meeting scheduled today. 

“A client?” you echo, shrinking down a bit. You only have one client, technically, at this moment, “I didn’t have anything on my calendar.” 

“Apparently, they were just on this side of town. Said you’d left a few voicemails and he thought it’d be easier to just pop in to discuss things.” 

It had to be Matt. He must have gotten one of your frantic voicemails you’d left over the weekend, the ones you’d instantly regretted and worried had lacked in professionalism. 

It has to be Matt. 

“Oh,” Romina’s eyes are burning holes in the back of your chair as you fumble to lock your computer screen, scrambling to gather anything you might need. The notebook you’d been using to keep track of the entire ordeal crinkles slightly in your grip, “Yeah, of course, that- I’ll go straight there. Are they in one of the smaller conference rooms or the-”

“The main one,” Lydia interrupts you, and her tone makes you pause. 

She sounds as if Matt’s arrival is the largest inconvenience she had experienced in the last month. 

Why would Matt popping in to talk to me be such a big deal? 

She’s clearly not in the mood for questions, so you only nod as you stand up, “Got it.”

And then she’s gone. No interest in joining you, or to question what could be going wrong. No sign of involvement like the day you’d originally met with the band and Matt to sign all documentation. 

Your gut twists in knots that not even boy scout’s have discovered yet. 

And they only worsen when Romina calls after your retreating figure, “Good luck with your baker!” 

You’re kind of fucked. It’s clear she’s no longer buying into your lie of your client, and the thought of facing her after Matt is nausea-inducing. What if you just came clean? Would they sue you for telling Romina? Would Romina tell anyone else if you confided in her? Your thoughts race with question after question as you quickly make your way through the maze of cubicles, taking lefts and rights far too fast as you worry about making Matt wait much longer. 

It was just stupid. Because amongst the questions, one rings out that’s insane enough to make the rest of them actually sound reasonable.

If you did manage to fuck this up in any way, would Eddie protect you?

Whether it be because you couldn’t complete the task at hand that was beginning to look impossible, or if it was because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, would he defend you? 

You’d figured you’d lost his servitude and protection long ago, back when you’d first left that apartment and ignored every attempt at contact. But if it came down to it, would he offer you one last privilege of his defense? Probably not. Which — fair enough. You hadn’t done anything in the last week to have already earned that back. You hadn’t wanted to earn that privilege back, either. No matter how badly you found yourself wanting a new email from him in your inbox, there was a clear line in the sand drawn by your own stick, and you had to stay to your side of it. 

You were a big girl. You could handle it.

Just as you finally approach the conference room, eyes trained to the ground and brows tightly furrowed in careful consideration (definitely not frustration, because the thought of Eddie surely couldn’t frustrate you), you make a fatal mistake. It’s a small detail you’d never paid much mind to prior — a stain on the carpet just outside the doorway, subtle yet large once the shadowy shifting of the carpet’s color caught your eyes. You’re so busy letting your eyes trail the perimeter of it, trying to focus on the threaded shades rather than the shade of Eddie’s dark eyes in the hallway the week before, that you aren’t prepared when the toe of your shoe catches against the said carpet. 

You should have ate shit, to put it plainly.

One quick fumble, and you’re flying forward, hardly thinking as you throw out your hands to brace for impact. Foolish, considering the fall would have left you with severely aching wrists, or a bruised face. But it never arrives. 

Large hands suddenly appear to grab you, catching you halfway through the sudden fall, and the unfamiliar cologne that’s plagued your waking thoughts for a week now overtakes your senses. 

You thought it was Matt waiting for you.

“Woah!” his voice echoes easily in the empty hallway, “Shit, are you okay?”

You swore it was Matt waiting for you. 

“Fine,” you strangle out, pulling away from that touch as quickly as possible. Like he’s burned you. Like those hands that once knew you all too well held your entire demise in their palms.

 And they might. 

It wasn’t Matt waiting for you.

Eddie doesn’t seem shocked by your retreat, only watching with a blank face as you regain your balance on your own and avoid eye contact. He looks nice – a leather jacket too shiny to be the one he wore when you wore together, a faded band t-shirt beneath you can’t fully see the logo of but know was bought that distressed just for looks due to the familiar unfamiliarity that has begun to cloud around the man you once knew, heavy boots planted right on the stain in the carpet that had distracted you. 

“What did you even trip on?” he finally questions, looking curiously behind you as he retraces your path, “Was it-”

“Air,” you cut him off, “Save me the embarrassment, but I tripped on air.” 

If you had half a mind, you would have interrupted with something more useful. Maybe demanded to know why he was here in your office. Questioned his intentions of showing up unannounced. Asked why he never emailed again. 

Okay, maybe not that last one. 

He lets out a short chuckle, more a breath than anything else as his face finally cracks and he almost grins, “I see. To be fair, it’s an easy thing to trip on. Very hard to see. Almost as if it’s invisible.” 

He gauges your reaction, but you don’t let yourself so much as smile at his awkward attempt at a joke. 

You can’t. You can’t casually joke with him, you can’t laugh and pretend like there isn’t an elephant sitting on your chest every time you occupy the same space as him. There’s no magic eraser to everything between you two; no amount of emails, no amount of bad jokes that can vanish all that has transpired. Your past and the carpet, it seems, have something in common.

Never thought you’d say that about the ugly threads you only look at to disassociate during particularly long days. 

“What are you doing here?” you finally whisper out the right question, and internally cringe as your mouth keeps moving only to tack on a completely unnecessary addition of, “I didn’t receive any emails about a meeting-”

“Matt sent me,” Eddie shrugs. You watch the way the leather creases and fits his wide shoulders, catch yourself studying to see if there’s any new muscle beneath the layers to further estrange you further from him, “He’s been stuck in meetings for the album and single, and said you’d left him a few voice mails so… I’m the rescue team, I guess.” 

You finally look him in his eyes, jaw dropping ever so slightly, “You?”

“What about me?”

“You’re my ‘rescue team’?” the words are bitter on your tongue, his presence anything but a relief of rescue, “No offense, but how can you possibly help me?” 

And then he smiles. And, oh Lord, you’ve forgotten how nice of a smile he has. It’s painful – a sharp reminder of the past that you just can’t shake. He’s an old photograph that never quite burns, a stain on your favorite article of clothing you’ll never wear again. For a moment, it doesn’t matter how many parts of him he’s replaced, how many pieces of him have been turned over brand new and unfamiliar, because he looks just like the boy you left behind. A relic you can mourn for once you return to your apartment all alone. A whisper you’ll exchange with your children about someday, as you tell them all about the boy who changed you for the worse. 

“You’d be surprised,” he muses, reaching a hand up to drag over a chin shadowed over in faint facial hair, “Apparently, once you make it big, you have to learn about more things than just how to play an A chord on a guitar or sing in tune. Business, for example. That’s what you’ve been struggling with, yeah? The business aspect of it all?” 

You kind of want to walk away from him. To go and eat shit in a different hallway, on your way to tell Lydia you can’t do this anymore. 

“I’m not struggling,” you snap. 

He’s quick to lift his hands in surrender, “Don’t shoot the messenger. Those were Matt’s words, not mine.”

“Yeah, well, tell Matt I’m fine,” you huff indignantly, “I’m a professional who can handle myself. I can figure this out on my own.” 

You’re turning your back to him, ready to storm off dramatically for your own sanity, when he clears his throat. 

You pause. You don’t turn to look, but you halt mid-step. 

“Humor me, for a second,” he begins, “What exactly are you fully capable of figuring out on your own?” 

“The planning,” you state the obvious, staring at an odd piece of art on the office wall to your left. Not quite turning your head to him, but angling so your voice carries. 

“Yeah, no shit,” his words spark a little more anger, a little more rage, “I mean what part of the planning? You’ve left Matt at least two voicemails. Probably more, if he’s resorted to sending me.” 

More like five. Possibly seven, but you’d indulged in more wine than would be wise to admitting this weekend after receiving your third venue rejection. 

“Maybe he just got tired of babysitting you. Decided to make you someone else’s problem.” 

“Maybe,” Eddie hums, and you can hear his slow footsteps as he slowly walks to block your vision of the abstract artwork. Your gaze is cut off from the silvery lines splattered across a black background and forced upon brown eyes that are more lively than you remember from the previous week, “But I already made the trip all the way down here. Might as well make myself useful to you.” 

He’s still wearing that smile. The one that belongs captured in a polaroid at the back of your closet. The one frozen in a time that was so much simpler than this. 

The kind that leaves a mark – a stain. 

“You want to make yourself useful to me?” you narrow your eyes, straighten your shoulders, prepare for battle, “Then leave. That is the most useful thing you can do for me right now – walk out of this building, and leave me to figure this out without being a pest.” 

Your words should hurt him, but they only seem to fuel him. It’s the exact same reaction you’d imagined on the other side of all the emails. A pep to his step and a perk in his posture that elicits unhinged annoyance from deep within you. 

“No can do,” he smirks, “Sorry, I’m on Matt’s orders to not leave until we figure this out. Together.” 

You don’t care how nice Matt is – you decidedly hate him at this moment. 

“Eddie,” you don’t notice the way his chest catches when you say his name, even in your defiant tone, “I am telling you right now, there is nothing you can do to help.”

And then he takes you off guard, breathing still not quite steady as he breathes out, “Let’s go get coffee.”

“I already told you, I have no interest in getting coffee or lunch with yo-”

“Not like that,” he waves off, finally slipping back into his casual demeanor, “Just- throw me a bone here, Sugar. We don’t even have to talk. You can bring your laptop and phone, focus on work and pretend I don’t exist the entire time. But I have to stick around long enough to get Matt off my ass, and you clearly have been stuck in this stuffy ass building for too long.” 

Sugar.

Your breath catches at the nickname, just as his had when you said his name. 

Shakily, you exhale, “No, I-”

“Funny thing,” he shoves both hands in the pockets of his jeans. Well-fitted, fairly new. No signs of distress like he preferred in his youth. Just starch black that clings to skin you once knew, “I’m not asking. Technically, I’m your boss. And as your boss, I’m instructing you to join me for nothing more than a free coffee and change of scenery. Like I said, it’ll be as if I’m not even there. I’ll keep my mouth shut the entire time – strictly business.” 

You nearly slip up and inform him that it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t talk – if he’s near you, your body always seems to know. Your body, your senses, your soul. Any time he occupies the same room as you, his vicinity lights something in you impossible to ignore. It had been that way since the first day you met him. And would probably continue to be that way until the day you were buried six feet under. 

Even in death, his soul would probably haunt yours. You would never know another day of peace since meeting Eddie Munson. 

“You’re not my boss,” you argue, crossing your arms, “You’re my client. Lydia is my boss.” 

“And would Lydia appreciate you arguing with a client like this?” 

“What do you want from me?”

The question falls from your lips with unexpected weight and exasperation. 

Your arms fall down from your chest just as quickly as they’d risen, the two of you encased in silence as you both realize the implication behind the question. It’s about more than just the coffee, more than just his impromptu visit to your work. It’s the heaviest question you could have asked at this moment; and one that neither of you were ready to hear the answer to quite yet. 

There’s a million unsaid words swirling behind whiskey irises. A hundred and one conversations never had, a thousand and one battles never witnessed on both ends of this war. Something in them whispers you might not be the only one haunted. 

Maybe, just maybe, his soul will only haunt yours for as long as yours haunts his. A haunted house, a ghastly gallery. Two ghosts always meant to hang up parallel to each other in crooked frames, in an empty hallway. 

“Just a coffee,” he whispers, and something in you cracks quietly, “Just one cup of coffee, for now.” 

With all things considered, it’s not asking that much of you. 

You don’t have any fight left in you. Whether he’s here, whether he’s a world away, you’re still destined to be stuck across from him in the damn hallway. Always staring, always drawn. There might not be a single corner of this world far enough away to break whatever thread ties you to the man before you, whether you still know him or not. 

After a pregnant pause, you sigh, “Let me grab my purse.”

With all things considered, he probably should be asking more of you. 

But you’re grateful he isn’t as you retreat and do exactly as promised, not looking Romina in her eyes before you begin your doomsday march for just one cup of coffee. 

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[gallusrostromegalus]

AEIWAM : what are the divisions specialities actually ? Like obviously the 4th heal and the 11h fight but like. The 9th? Do crosswords?

BOY AM I GLAD YOU ASKED BECAUSE THIS IS SOME OF THE BEST RETROACTIVE WORLD BUILDING I HAD TO DO AND I'M PROUD OF IT.

So in canon, almost none of the guard squads have "specialist" jobs, mostly because it's not terribly important to the plot, and because the court guards were essentially formed as an ad-hoc mercenary gang to protect one city specifically, but since Yamamoto didn't have to remain loyal to any noble family specifically, he kept getting pulled in as an arbiter and more and more responsibilities heaped upon him until the Court guard squads were acting as a De-Facto government, until the old man got pissed off with being involved in everybody else's business and rounded up a gang of nerds to do that for him so he could go do sword stuff. Seriously, everything about the administrative Bullshit in Soul Society makes sense when viewed through the lens of 'this shit was made ad-hoc out of what was available by people who only kind of knew what they were doing.

So the main government of Soul Society functions approximately like so:

Royal Guard:

Only technically part of the government, the Royal guard consists of The Monk who is responsible for making sure nobody steals any more of the soul king's body parts, and the four people he chose to help/didn't want left unattended in the Spirit World: The Guy who makes Zanpaktou, the Guy who can (theoretically) heal the Soul King, the lady who can literally mess with the fabric of reality and the lady who can create new souls. They spend nearly all their time in the Royal Realm trying to prevent the universe from unrevealing further, and don't really have administrative power so much as if any one of them decided to, they could wreck house of anyone in the spirit world, so if they say something, the central 46 listens and obeys.

Central 46:

The Highest Administrative level, sets society-wide policies, mediates disputes between provinces, wrangles the noble houses, assigns aid and designs social programs. It's comprised of 46 sages and other wise people appointed by the 46 as they die off. IN THEORY "Let a bunch of academics and philosophers who presumably know what they're doing make policy" isn't *that* bad an idea by itself, but it got coupled with "Also, to make sure these guys aren't being bribed or politically pressured, let's keep them in near-total isolation :)" and that's when things got weird.

The Central 46 does try it's best to maintain a peaceful and prosperous society, but it's got to strike a weird balance and the isolation sure does not fucking help maintain a cognizant worldview.

Noble Houses:

So the soul society, by the way they measure time*, only JUST got out of a major warring states period because magical Germany invaded and the guy that lead the army also managed to get The Mandate Of Heaven, but a lot of those formerly-warring states are still around, especially the ones that stole pieces of the soul king. They're not governmental bodies, but the families have shitloads of money, private armed forces and political influence. Think of the worst possible combination of magacorporation, mercenary army and royal dynasty. The are, unfortunately, still a political force to be reckoned with.

*Badly.

Provincial Governors:

So the Soul Society is divided up into Districts like so:

(Embiggen to actually see the damn thing)

The Seireitei is in the center, with the districts counting out until the central 46 got to the outer edge they could theoretically get forces and/or emergency food to in under a month and declared everything after that "District 80" AKA "You're on your own" No taxes are collected in the 80th district and people who don't want to deal with the soul society government often try to strike it on their own out there.

Each of those little rectangles is a district, and each of them has approximately the same number of people living in it- the lower districts are densely populated and, due to their proximity to the Seireitei, well-developed. The districts generally get less developed and less densely populated as you get farter from the center, but this varies wildly by the competence of that district's Daimyo or Governor. West 51 is a much more developed district than it's position would dictate, because it's Daimyo is canny and made good use of it's mineral resources and position in inter-mountain shipping. South 14 Should be one of the nicest districts, but their Governor is a moron who keeps picking fights with the neighboring districts like he's allowed to annex them, and the district has been sanctioned from hell to breakfast over it.

Gotei-13 / Court Guard Squads:

Sort of the executive branch of the Central 46, founded out of Yamamoto's gang of criminals he rounded up to deal with the Quincy invasion back when Rome was collapsing. So the court guard acts out the orders of the Central 46, and *theoretically* has authority over the noble houses and provincial governors, but they are pretty much constantly dancing on the edge of another warring states period, so things can get... tricky.

ALSO DID NOT HELP that The Monk who guards what's left of the Soul King came down from the Royal Realm and foisted a bunch of trans-dimensional responsibilities onto them but the Specific duties of the 13 court guards in AEIWAM are as follows:

(It's worth noting that the order of the court guard squads was determined literally by the order that the 12 criminals signed the agreement with Yamamoto to protect the seireitei, not the order of importance)

Division 1: ADMINISTRATION Oh god there is so much coordination to do between the central 46, the running of internal affairs, recruitment, training new shinigami, coordinating assignments that take more than one division's input. securing and distributing funding, etc. It's main jobs are: assigning work based on policy from the central 46, running the Shinigami Academy, and actually running the Gotei-13.

Division 2: SPY SHIT Gotei-13 is a shady-ass organization with a lot of enemies and that's not about to change. The second division is responsible for keeping an eye on the provinces and noble houses and anything else of interest, "Handling things quietly" for the Gotei-13, and preventing the Central 46 from being corrupted or assassinated. The Shihon Clan has historically held the captainacy of the 2nd division as part of the compromise Yamamoto struck with the noble houses at the founding of the court guard squads to end the civil wars- that each of the 4 noble houses would hold a captain's position, until the noble houses fell apart or the court guard did. This gave the Shihon clan a GREAT incentive to undermine the shit out of other noble houses, and Yamamoto gave them his blessing to do so. Ironically, the Shihon clan was one of the first to collapse.

Division 3: INTERNAL AFFAIRS Law Enforcement, but specifically the Seireitei and shinigami/martial court/jail. The court guard kind of lives and dies by how much it's respected* and it's essential the Gotei-13 follow strict ethical standards and also a tight adherence to authority lest one of the squads break off and start a civil war. Accepting Bribes and Defying Orders are much more severe crimes than say, excessive collateral damage. The 3rd division is responsible for investigating complaints, mediating disputes between divisions, and generally making sure everyone is behaving properly. *By the noble houses, Daimyos and central 46. The average civilian? not so much.

Division 4 Medical This division was actually the FIRST established, even before the court guard really became Squads. It was Chigiri and her pack of field surgeons that commanded Yamamoto's respect and gave him the idea of letting the other criminals have minions too. 4th divison is responsible for maintaining the health of the court guard- not just emergency medicine, but vaccinations, post-service medical care, and civil sanitation- keeping the streets clean and water safe is the #1 way to prevent deaths. Until recently, this meant a lot of trained medics were doing a lot of grunt work, until Zaraki, a guy from districts where Dysentery is still the #1 killer, successful argued a proposal to Unohana that her medics should be managing other, less-in-demand squads doing the labor, which would get the jobs done a hell of a lot faster, and not back up triage as much. Unohana, who had previously not *trusted* other squads to do the work reliably, finally relented and accepted some damn help.

Division 5: Rukongai Affairs The 5th division is responsible for coordinating efforts between the Gotei-13 and the Provincial Governors- Hollow Eradication, Disaster Relief, additional armed forces to help local police, Helping distribute grain to mitigate famine, etc.

Division 6: External Affairs Responsible for representing the Gotei-13 to other groups and dealing with Noble House Bullshit specifically. While Noble House Bullshit is 95% of what they do, but technically, they're also responsible for handling diplomatic relations with the Beastfolk in the eastern districts, Las Noches after the winter war in the west, Any Kami that might come through, and Hell, if they ever get a line open. The Kuchiki family has held the 6th Division captaincy for generations as a peacekeeping measure between the gotei-13 and the noble houses.

Division 7: Incoming Souls The reason the soul society doesn't reunite people with their families when they die is that they do not actually have control over who reincarnates as themselves (and if they retain their memories), who is reborn as a baby in the spirit world, and what district they get assigned to- that's all decided at the moment of a Soul's death by Hell, using a Metric the Shinigami can only guess at. That said, the 7th still can do a lot- Souls that had to be cleansed with Konsho go through the 7th division and are escorted to their assigned districts. Other, non-hollowfied but odd case souls will end up in the pocket dimension that serves as the queue into the afterlife- people with high spiritual power, animals that achieved personhood in the world of the living and other nonhuman persons, and somtimes spirits who were almost certainly supposed to go to a different afterlife all come through. The 7th division is also charged with keeping a running tally on important statistics like the relative balance between souls, who got hollowfied and why, collecting data on who goes to hell when konsho is prefromed on them and why, and other data to try and work out Hell's metric backwards.

Division 8: Income and Funding The court guard squads are... kind of taxpayer funded. The Daimyos collect taxes from civilians, they pay those taxes to the central 46, and the central 46 disburses some of that money to the Gotei-13, but the truth is, for all the duties they're expected to preform, they're wildly underfunded. So the court guard has had to get... inventive to make sure everyone gets paid and they can do what they need to. Investments in industries, ownership of weird land grants, taking out loans, selling merchandise and straight-up schmooze have all been used by the 8th division to make sure the bills get paid. Shunsui is, by that measure, the best captain the division has ever had- he's shrewd and had astonishingly good luck when it comes to finances so there hasn't been a pay strike since he took over. Probably his best idea was handing the branding and product design of the Gikon to the Shinigami Women's Association- that one paid mad dividends.

Division 9: Information Services The ninth division is most famously home to the Seireitei's first and most largely-ciculated newspaper, but it's also the records office, PAYROLL, library, document archives, data collection and data analytics. Also, tech support. Also also: manage all the arts programs, propaganda and festivals. This is why Kaname was load-bearing to Aizen's plan.

Division 10: Living World Affairs The 10th division was responsible for monitoring the living world- mostly keeping track of hollow appearances, but also: what the remaining Quincies are up to, reporting back on useful technological advancements, any other weird shit that turns up there, and keeping track of all the Shinigami on deployment to the living world (mostly 10th division but the post-war population boom means every division's having to chip in now.

Division 11: Emergency/Heavy Deployment Every time the Gotei-13 had to do some heavy lifting, it's the 11th division's job. Mass outbreak of hollows? 11th's job. Emergency Dam repair to prevent a flood? 11th division muscle time. Daimyo got funny ideas about conquering a neighboring district? 11th division. Funcking Quincies again? 11th division. Rampaging Kami afflicted by a terrible curse? you know who to call. This was the SECOND Division to be founded, because the actual sentence that came out of Yamamoto's mouth was "Chigiri, you and your gremlins put my guts back in, Yachiru, round up some assholes and DEAL WITH THAT FUCKING THING." and the 11th's prerogative and hiring practices have not changed since. Since the 11th's work is more intermittent, there are long periods between jobs for them, and it's only recently they've been allowed to pitch in on regular maintenance and rehabilitate their reputation as a bunch of lazy degenerates.

Divison 12: Supplies (more recently, Research and Development) Prior to Kisuke Urahara's weird science boner, the 12th Division's primary job was the manufacture and supply of everything the Shinigami would need to do their jobs. Uniforms, Gigai, medical supplies, communicators, rations, Gikon, the actual buildings in the Seireitei, bedding, Protective gear- if a Shinigami received it for their job, it was made by the 12th division. Despite previous captain Kirio Hikifune being the most accomplished chef in the history of Soul Society, it's Mayuri that has made the most profound mark on Soul Society Cuisine with the fast-prepared, acceptable-tasting and surprisingly nutritious meals he developed to deal with the mass influx of souls after WW2, and the franchise distribution centers combined with his attempts at children's educational programming mean that Mayuri occupies a cultural niche in Soul Society not unlike Krusty The Clown.

Division 13: Magical Research, Kido Corps Until recently, the Kido Corps was a seperate division governed under the purview of the central 46, and the 13th division was doing it's research into Hado, Bakudo and Haikido independently, but as the two organizations worked increasingly closely together, they began to share more until the catastrophic events of Turn Back The Pendulum left the Kido Corps severely depleted and without leadership, at which point Yamamoto persuaded the central 46 to let the 13th division absorb the rest of the Kido corps and take on their work.

So that's how the government in Soul Society is SUPPOSESD to work.