#“there's always hope” is just a fact to them

[aureatelys]

adore you

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!bau!reader w.c. 3k a/n: written for @mggslover's 1k celebration event, congrats baby! i initially wrote 5k, hated it, and basically rewrote all of it but i swear i still had fun writing this. i hope you enjoy <3

summary:

Weird. You're acting like my boyfriend. - God Is a Freak, Peach PRC Your boss has essentially become your best friend. What the hell does Derek mean he looks at you a certain way?

c.w.: fluff! friends to lovers, age gap ofc, feelings realization, reader is oblivious and tipsy but is a consenting party

read below or on ao3 here <3

“So, you and Hotch, huh?”

You had just finished putting your coat up, stepping through the massive entryway of Rossi’s mansion, when Derek approaches you with that familiar shit-eating grin and hands rubbing together like he’s scheming something.

You blink up at him, confused. “Yeah… he gave me a ride.”

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head but still wearing that smile that made you want to lovingly punch him. “Yeah, I saw that. I meant, you and Hotch aren’t…?”

You squint at him, because you really aren’t sure what he’s hinting at. Also, a glass of wine has been calling your name since you started getting ready and Derek is very much in the way of that. Hotch was always annoyingly punctual, and today was no different because you were honestly about to open up a bottle when you heard his car pull up in the driveway. “We aren’t what?”

“Sweetness. You’re really trying to tell me you and Hotch aren’t together?”

You choke on your spit, coughing so loud in your fist that it echoes down the entryway and gathers the attention of Rossi and Hotch at the end of it. You wave them off when they both give you equally alarmed and concerned looks while Derek laughs heartily, like the asshole he is.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you hiss at him, slapping him on the shoulder as he nearly makes himself tear up from laughing.

Derek puts a somewhat apologetic hand on your arm as he steers you to the kitchen and pours you a glass of red, finally. “Hey, I see the way he looks at you, I just wanted to make sure I’m up to date on everything.”

And that catches your attention.

Your chest still aching from your coughing fit, you give him another perplexed look. “What? He looks at me the same way as he looks at everyone.”

Derek’s face morphs into a nervous, almost uncomfortable one as he starts slowly backing away into the living room, as if you were an unpredictable dangerous animal. “I think I’m gonna… look for Garcia.”

And then he turns on his heel and is out of the kitchen before you can blink, leaving you with your lone glass of wine and the sounds of laughter emanating from the patio.

You’re still so fucking confused, because you and Hotch were only friends. In fact, you can almost consider him your best friend with the way you two are spending so much time together, even on the weekends.

One late night spent in his office to work on reports that were due the next day that you had procrastinated on and ordering Chinese food eventually turned into a habitual thing, now spending the last hour of the workday every night in his office. Then, he started inviting you to the park to play with Jack who had apparently been asking for you, then staying for dinner because Hotch was not eating the way he should’ve been and him and Jack didn’t deserve to eat pizza rolls with mac and cheese every night.

It's been a couple of months and now, you can honestly say you two are nearly attached at the hip. You’ve tried to tone it down for the office, because you knew you would get teased, and clearly you were right.

But dating Hotch? Honestly, the thought had never occurred to you.

You’ve been single for over a year and you were okay with that, because at least the job kept you busy. And you know for a fact that Hotch hasn’t even thought about dating since Beth moved a couple of years ago.

The sudden thought of Beth, her pretty blue-green eyes and perfect hair, causes a sour taste to form in your mouth. You had never met her, having only technically heard good things about her, but every time you thought of her or someone mentioned her in passing, you felt… upset.

For no reason.

When you glance at Hotch from where he’s talking with the rest of the team on the patio, you catch his gaze for a brief second before he’s turning his head back around to chuckle at something Rossi says.

You feel your heart start to race, your blood rushing through your ears, because what the fuck did Derek mean when he said Hotch looks at you a certain way? You were telling the truth when you said you’ve only noticed him looking at you platonically and nothing more.

Sure, Hotch was conventionally attractive, handsome even. You guess he hit all your boxes in a guy; tall, capable hands, and pretty brown eyes. He was a good boss, a good man, and was always putting other people first before even thinking about himself. He had an intense sense of justice, loves children, and would do absolutely anything for his team and even beyond for Jack.

He has a nice laugh once you break down his walls. For all he’s meticulous at work, his house is absolutely chaotic and it takes you nearly an hour sometimes to get him and Jack ready for a soccer game. He doesn’t prefer to cook but he seems to enjoy it more when you’re in the kitchen with him, laughing at his technique and groaning about the lack of certain utensils.

The sudden realization that you like Hotch, your boss that is older than you by 20 years, hits you like a ton of bricks. You nearly snap the stem of your wine glass, something like panic and mortification climbing up your throat before you could help it.

It’s fine, you’re fine. It’s normal to have a crush on someone you spend time with on a regular basis and is conventionally attractive. You can deal with that.

But the absolute possibility that Hotch doesn’t want you romantically was very real. In fact, it had to be the only possibility. You were younger and less experienced, both romantically and professionally. The only reason that he’s been spending so much time with you was because you needed guidance and reassurance as the newest member of the team.

He doesn’t look at you any differently than the others. That’s it. Derek has no idea what he’s talking about.

You take a shuddering deep breath, quickly composing yourself because, hello, you work with profilers. Which meant you couldn’t avoid or hide from Hotch tonight, no matter how much you wanted to.

When you make your way out to the patio to join the others with a full glass of wine and you spot the only space left in the circle was between Spencer and Penelope, you internally thank whatever God was out there. The sound of them talking over each other about something inane was oddly comforting as your eyes met Aaron’s from the other side of the circle.

His eyes appeared golden from the numerous fairy lights strewn across Rossi’s backyard, making his face appear softer and younger. You’re not sure how it took you this long to realize he was so handsome.

He raises his eyebrows at you, silently asking if you were okay because, somehow, he’s grown to learn your facial expressions like the back of his hand, which means he most likely will catch on to you having a silly juvenile crush on him.

You give him a weak smile, raising your glass slightly before taking a large gulp of it. You’re glad that Rossi is Rossi and that he doesn’t spare any expenses when he throws his parties, the strong cherry flavor refreshing compared to your cheap boxed wine you’re used to. You don’t even remember what you were celebrating tonight, or if you were even celebrating anything at all and this was just another much needed get together after case after case.

You catch something soft in Hotch’s eyes that makes your chest pang painfully as he raises his own glass of whiskey before taking a sip. No one else has noticed, too enthralled by their own conversations, so the intimacy of the private moment doesn’t escape you, in fact making you even more anxious.

It was going to be a long night.

-

You are absolutely going to give Derek an earful on Monday morning.

It’s entirely his fault that you’re not enjoying Rossi’s party to the full extent, his words swimming in your mind.

Now, you’re psychoanalyzing and second-guessing everything Hotch does.

You had made sure to walk alongside Penelope on the way to the large round table for dinner, somewhat consciously as you continued to avoid Hotch but also because she was rambling about the show you suggested she watch. Spencer was on the other side of you, interjecting whenever he could, and you made a mental note that Hotch was still on the other side of the circle between Rossi and Tara.

So imagine your surprise when, after you tear your attention away from Spencer’s ramblings and back to Penelope, you’re met with Hotch’s pretty eyes and woodsy cologne instead.

“Oh, hi,” you say, hoping he doesn’t hear the shakiness that’s suddenly overtaken your voice as that familiar panic starts to crawl up your throat. This wasn’t going to be good.

“’Hi.” The corners of Hotch’s lips quirk up, eyes softening, and what the fuck is going on. “Can I sit next to you?”

You swear you’re going to have a heart attack. This man cannot be healthy for you. “Oh, yeah, sure.”

And then he’s pulling out your chair for you.

And it’s not anything new—he pulls your chair out for you all the time, in the conference room, in his dining table when you made not-pizza rolls, and even at restaurants the afternoons after Jack’s soccer games. You’ve never thought anything of it, but tonight, after your impeccably timed realization, your brain feels like it’s going to implode.

He’s just being a gentleman, that’s all.

“Thank you,” you manage out, heat starting to come to your face. Before Hotch, no one’s ever pulled your chair out for you. It’s nice.

Hotch doesn’t say anything, because of course not, just scoots your chair in closer to the table before he takes his seat on your right.

And he’s sitting really fucking close to you.

Have you always sat this close to each other before? You must have at least once during those late nights in his office, poring over case file after case file.

Not only could you feel the heat of his body just from sitting next to him, but his arm kept brushing up against your bare one while he ate, because of course you had to sit on the left side of a left-handed person. Every brush of the sleek fabric of his green button-up against your bare arm sent shivers down your spine despite the summer air, making you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

His hand kept brushing against yours as you ate and your eyes are drawn to how large his hands are as he handles his fork and the thickness of his forearms, having had rolled up his sleeves earlier. If you searched closely, you could find scars scattered over them through the dusting of hair, undoubtedly from his time on the job.

You don’t realize you’re staring at his Rolex and the way it glints underneath the lights, until Hotch is suddenly leaning into you. “Are you okay?”

Jesus Christ, hearing that smooth voice speaking lowly in your ear, breath warm as it fans over your cheek, causes all of the air in your lungs to escape. Has his voice always been that smooth, attractive?

When you risk a glance at him, conversations around the table slowly fading into the background, his face is merely inches from yours. His brows are pinched in concern and lips are pressed into a flat line. There’s something dancing in his eyes that you couldn’t quite put a finger on.

You clear your throat. “Sorry, I think the wine is just getting to me.”

He chuckles low underneath his breath. “Good thing I’m driving.”

And then he’s knocking the back of his hand against yours, the briefest brush of skin that causes electricity to zing up your spine, and then he’s back to listening intently to Derek and Emily’s bickering over who cheated at the last game of charades.

At this point, you think Hotch is able to read your mind. Why else would he be touching you, be sweet on you, if not to torture you?

You try to wrack your brain through these past couple of months, trying to find whether Hotch touching his hand to yours has happened before or any other sign that he actually is attracted to you. You come up short.

You chalk it up to him loosening up from his whiskey. He’s already moved onto water, because he was your ride, after all, so maybe this was a fluke. A one-off.

But it’s not a one-off. In fact, you think you’ve honestly died and gone to Heaven after suddenly tripping and breaking your head open in the entryway after Derek spoke with you. If you didn’t know any better, you would think you were actually on a date with Hotch, sans the rest of the team.

He must have noticed your distracted mood, because he’s making sure you’re included in almost every table conversation by glancing at you and giving you a smile that has started to make something flutter in your stomach. He’s participating minimally like usual, content to listen, but whenever he has a comment or thought he wants to share, he’s leaning in and sharing it with you.

He's leaning in to top of your wine, reaching over the table to get more of those green beans you like, and once even knocking his knee against yours underneath the table when you looked especially lost in thought while staring at your plate.

And then when the team has moved into the living room for charades, Emily wanting payback against Derek, it somehow gets even worse.

You’re quick enough to be the first to volunteer to not play due to there being an odd number of players, thus requiring Hotch to play. Everyone cheers teasingly, because Hotch is always quick to volunteer himself out of games, content to watch.

You blame the copious glasses of wine you’ve consumed and the decadent filling dinner, warmth thrumming through your entire body, when you poke at Hotch’s considerably firm bicep. “Show us what you got, old man.”

There are resounding oohs and aahs from the rest of the team. Something fuzzy settles in your chest when Hotch rolls his eyes good-naturedly at you and stands up from where he had sat next to you on the couch to JJ’s team.

You continue to nurse your wine, pleasantly buzzed, as you are thoroughly entertained by your team’s antics. Emily and Rossi argue at least 3 times, Penelope gets significantly close to having a private meeting with HR, and Hotch continues to stare at you.

Or at least, you think he’s staring at you. The alcohol has started making you second guess things even more than you already were. Because for some reason, despite JJ sitting on the other side of the living room and being on a team with her, he moved to sit in the empty spot next to you after the first round.  

He’s definitely participating in the game, even in second place behind Penelope and Derek, but you swear you feel his eyes on you now more than ever.

It’s distracting as you try to follow the game and guess along with everyone else. This time, the right side of him is nearly molded against your left side, pressing into you so hard that you’re starting to sweat from how much body heat he’s radiating.

When you glance at him to try and catch his eyes, he meets your gaze steadily. His hair is starting to come undone, a few strands falling against his forehead, and his dimple seems to have made a permanent appearance from how much he’s pretending not to laugh at his team’s antics.

It’s nice to see him enjoy himself—a flush rising up his neck and shoulders relaxed. Although you understand he has a certain image he maintains for his team, it’s become familiar to you.

By the time it dwindles close to midnight, there’s a chorus of yawns around the group. Penelope’s the first to call it, stumbling to grab a hold of Derek’s arm and dragging him with her out the door to drive her home, ruining your initial plans to catch a ride home with her instead of Hotch. After that, everyone starts to say their goodnights and exchanging hugs despite the chance you may get called on a case as early as tomorrow morning.

“You ready to go?” Hotch leans to whisper in your ear, his breath fanning over you again and causing heat to rise to your face.

“Absolutely,” you exhale, clutching the water bottle that Hotch retrieved for you in the middle of the game, hoping the breathiness in your voice could be blamed on how late it was.

When you get to Hotch’s car, heart full and warm after spending another wonderful evening with your makeshift family, he opens the passenger side door for you.

You think you’re going to lose your mind if he keeps this up. How are you supposed to stop having a crush on Hotch when he keeps doing things that justify that crush?

“Do you need to stop anywhere for anything? Are you hungry?”

You blame it on the wine despite the fact you’ve been drinking nothing but water for the past hour, thanks to Hotch silently getting you and only you a water. Your body and tongue feels loose, inhibitions naturally decreased, and it’s not your fault. It doesn’t matter if the soft lights of the driveway highlight the sharp angles of his face or the way his woodsy cologne has infiltrated your senses.

“Weird, you’re acting like my boyfriend or something.”

The silence that ensues is deafening. Your brain takes forever to catch up with you, but then you’re suddenly struck with humiliation and dread. You mind starts to race, as best as it could, when you realize that you may have just royally messed up the best job you’ve ever had and the best group of people you’ve ever met.

Before you can backtrack and say that you were just joking, Hotch carefully says “Do you want me to be?”

“What?” Wow, you really can’t hold your alcohol well, why did you drink so much wine?

And then Hotch is stepping closer, into your space, and you’d be worried that the rest of the team was going to see if the car door wasn’t shielding you from view from the front of the house. You get a whiff of whiskey on his breath again, but when you meet his eyes, there’s not a hint of the same full body dizziness you feel.

“Was I not being direct enough?” There’s amusement sparkling in his eyes, eyebrows raised. He looks like he’s politely trying to hide a fond smile. He’s teasing you.

This Hotch is the one you’ve grown to become familiar with over the past several months. Charming and unafraid to tease you when you’re away from prying eyes. Hotch is a private person, always has been, so it’s not a surprise that him essentially torturing you tonight was his version of being direct.

“You’ve been flirting with me?”

Hotch ducks his head bashfully to chuckle. It’s ridiculously endearing and you want to tug him closer and touch him all over. “I’ve been trying to flirt with you all month so I’m guessing I didn’t do a very good job.”

You stare at him as if he grew a second head, suddenly feeling much more sobered up than 5 minutes ago. Clarity sluggishly comes to you. The various invitations to spend the night or go out to dinner without Jack comes to mind. The touching had steadily increased, but you had assumed it was just due to Hotch getting more comfortable around you.

For a profiler, you weren’t very good at noticing what was happening right in front of you.

Hotch may be a ridiculously patient person, clearly since he’s been content to flirt with you for apparently a month while you didn’t notice, but you were not. You knew what you wanted. The wine still thrumming through your veins just gave you that little extra push.

You place your palms on his chest, relishing in the subtle firmness you can detect through his shirt, and you wonder if that’s his heart you feel thumping erratically or your own. “I promise I’m not that drunk and am fully aware of what is going on right now.”

Hotch hums and places his hands on your hips, the heat of him searing through the fabric of your dress. His eyes briefly flit to your mouth before back up at you. “I’m not sure if I believe you.”

Instead of providing a snarky response, and because you know Hotch wouldn’t make the first move since you did have some to drink, you finally lean in to close the distance between you two to kiss him.

It’s soft, chaste in a way that makes you feel pleasantly warm all over, the barest tendrils of electricity tugging at the pit of your stomach. The intensity of how much you like him, how much you adore him, nearly barrels you over, but Hotch’s grip on you tightens, steadying you. His lips only slightly move against yours, as if briefly testing the waters, but it does nothing to quell the sudden desire slowly twisting inside of you.

When he pulls back, chest only marginally heaving, you instinctively chase after him. He chuckles again, low and comforting, as his hands come up to hold you still by the shoulders. It shouldn’t feel as nice and soothing as it does. “I should take you home.”

“Are you coming with me?” You sincerely hope that Hotch doesn’t question you and your boldness tomorrow. Again, not entirely your fault.

“I’ll walk you to your door, how about that?” As if he already wasn’t going to do that.

On the drive back to your apartment, the tight ball of panic and uncertainty in your chest quickly unfurls and is replaced by affection, tenderness, and promises of the future. Hotch’s hand, large and protective, doesn’t leave your thigh the entire way home.

You make a mental note to send Derek a gift card and thank you note on Monday.

[cowgirlvi]

mdni, sub bottom!vi, fem top!reader, vaginal sex, strap-on usage, rough sex, filthy

wc; 1,256

thinking about being ex-girlfriends with vi. since the breakup, you’ve heard numerous rumors about her getting around campus, taking girls out on sweet little dates and then fucking them stupid afterwards. it would normally bother you, except you know vi’s pent up, you know she’s not fully satisfied with the sex she’s having, because you know none of these other girls have put in the effort to fuck vi. 

you’ve yet to hear any rumors about these girls stuffing vi’s hole with their cocks, and you know it must be killing her. she’s always had a greedy hole, one that needs constant attention— whether it’s from your tongue, your fingers, or your strap. 

after seeing the types of girls vi has been taking out on dates, you know for a fact that they’re not fucking her— and even if they wanted to, they wouldn’t be able to fuck her right, they wouldn’t be able to fuck her like you do.

so you honestly find this whole situation funny, the way vi is so clearly trying to rub these girls in your face. you’re not falling for her bait, you’re not going to give her a reaction, because there’s nothing to even react to.

which is why you aren’t surprised when vi shows up at your doorstep a week later. her cheeks are flushed and her puppy-dog eyes are round and filled with a mix of conflicting emotions. you almost laugh in her face, but you’re quick to school your emotions.

clearing your throat, you say, “can i help you, vi?”

”i just— i feel bad about the way things ended between us,” vi replies. god, her eyes are so blue, so full of hope and desperation. she longs for you to fuck her, that you’ll finally make the ache go away, the one that’s been tormenting her little pussy.

”mmm, you do?” you tap your manicured nails against your front door, appearing bored and uninterested. “will that be all, vi?” you ask, already beginning to shut your door.

vi is quick to shove her hand against your door with a loud thud, pushing it open and then peering at you with eyes suddenly full of shame. “baby, i— fuck, i miss you, okay?” she finally admits.

you smile. you already knew that.

which explains how vi ended up in your bed, the pink sheets a ruffled mess, her clothes flung across the room, and her muscular frame a trembling mess on your mattress. she’s laying on her back, holding her legs up to her chest, her cute pussy on full display, and your strap is pressed inside her to the hilt.

you can reach so deep inside her in this position, you can hit all the spots that make her shake, that make her cry and scream. not to mention, the view of her cunt swallowing you whole, her fluttering hole drowning your cock in her tangy juices. 

you can see the desperation in every line of her body, the way she’s aching to be used. it’s a sight that would have once filled you with jealousy and possessiveness if anyone else were to see it, but now as you stare down at vi, all you want to do is laugh at her, to coo at how pathetic she looks.

”you missed me, huh?” you say, driving your hips forward with a rough thrust. “that’s funny, baby. i heard you’ve been keeping pretty busy.”

vi goes crosseyed when you slam against her cunt, a strangled moan escaping her pouty lips. “mmffuck!”

you run a finger along vi’s slit while keeping a steady pace with your strap, feeling the slick, warm heat of her arousal. vi shudders at the touch, her hips twitching forward slightly, seeking more contact. you giggle, knowing that no matter how many girls vi brought home, no matter how many times she tried to replace you... nothing could compare to this.

”fuck, baby, your pussy’s a mess. none of those girls knew how to take care of this greedy cunt, did they?”

vi immediately shakes her head, mindlessly moaning. “ahh, only y-you— it’s only ever been you— unhh— i swear!“

you know vi too well, you know her body better than vi knows it herself. you know that vi needs to be stretched, to be filled, to be used hard and fast and without mercy. and judging by the desperate— borderline anguished— look on vi’s face, you were right to assume that none of those other girls could give her what she craved.

vi’s feet bob aimlessly in the air, her legs spread as wide as her flexibility allows her to, and she looks like an easy whore— she looks like the type of dumb slut that would be desperate enough to beg some rando on the street to fill her up.

”poor baby,” you coo down at her. “you just needed me to take care of you all this time.”

”yes, yes, fuck! need you, uuuh—“

you relish in the desperation in vi’s voice. you know you have vi right where you want her, trembling and needy, craving the one thing no one else can give her.

the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by vi’s high, breathy moans and grunts. you know you’re hitting all the right spots, know that you’re fucking vi in a way no one else will ever be able to replicate. she’s stuck with you forever.

"fuck, baby... you're so tight," you groan, your hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. “your pussy is sucking on me so hard— mmf— can’t get enough, can you?”

her creamy pussy is hugging your strap like a vise and you relish in the way her body spasms around you. you know vi is addicted to this feeling, to the delicious mix of pleasure and pain that only you can give her, to the way you stir up her guts. it’s a high she can’t find anywhere else, a blissful oblivion that vi has been desperately chasing ever since your breakup.

you watch in dark satisfaction as vi’s tough, muscular body goes pliant and soft underneath you, all because she’s filled with cock. vi’s a fucked-out disaster; her abs twitching and flexing, her arms trembling as she tries to hold her legs back for you, her thick thighs quivering.

”ohh— hnnnggff! fuck, fuck, i’m gonna come!” vi sobs, her back arching harshly, her tits bouncing obscenely with every slam of your hips. her voice is raspy and she looks sinful.

you grip vi’s waist hard enough to leave bruises as you piston your hips impossibly faster, her wetness splashing between the two of you. vi’s eyes roll back in her head, her tongue hanging out stupidly as she surrenders to the intense pleasure radiating from her core. 

“come for me, vi. who knows, ah, if i’ll ever wanna fuck you again after this, so you better come right fucking now,” you threaten.

it’s like a flip switches within her because suddenly vi’s body seizes beneath you, as if she has no choice but to obey. she’s squealing and gasping as her body tenses and shakes at the same time, her thighs trying to close around you, but you’re quick to shove her legs back open; you’re determined to wring out every last drop of pleasure.

“mmffagh! holy fuuck— ahhh! yes, yes, please!”

it’s the most devastating orgasm of her life.

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 14 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: Life with him is really good...Right?

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder/gore/death, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation and low self-esteem, mentions of sexual activities, loss of identity, threatening, penetration, breeding kink, degradation kink, cockwarming, edging, overstimulation, sleepy sex (both consent!), not beta-read, if I've missed any warnings or tags please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

Life was good.

Uncharacteristically so even.

There was still a tiny part of you that was tense around him and that was for various reasons. One of them being, that you never really knew when his evil persona would take over. So far you could tell, albeit roughly, but there were always moments, when he would simply snap and there was nothing you could do about it. Was that a problem? Probably, but not to you, anyways. Why? Because life was good.

The little trip to the balcony hadn’t been a one-time thing. In fact, it happened more and more regular. Not only to get naughty, because he was a freak, who liked the thought of possibly getting caught – but also because, as he said, you’ve been such a good girl for me all this time. And I told you, sweet girl, I don’t want to keep you locked away. I just needed to make sure you’re mine.

That you were. Quite obviously.

That one time when you told him you wanted to leave, it had been exactly that. One time. The reasons for that outburst were in the past so far. There were still moments when you feared punishment and rightfully so. But to your great relief, you were both learning.

You were learning not to expect a painful blow, whenever you went out of your way to speak your mind (which wasn’t quite as often as you wished, but you were getting there). Slow and steady.

And he? He was learning, too. He was learning to leave you be and control the wild beast that lived inside his mind and soul. The darkness that surrounded him became lighter every day or so it felt to you. Of course he wouldn’t let you downright insult him, without at least some punishment in sight. But he was working on himself and his behavior. He didn’t hurt you without a reason. He didn’t hurt severely. And on some lucky days, he didn’t hurt you at all.

Slow and steady.

What was probably the greatest part of it all, it felt like a relationship. A real one. Two people who shared a life together, doing all kinds of things, sharing an intimate relation, but most importantly, you talked.

You talked a lot.

And now it wasn’t only through games and the fear of punishment. It wasn’t even only you who was forced to talk. No, he talked as well. The important things were still a big issue, obviously. He didn’t have a name, an identity or a past, when it came to you. But you had the great, undying hope that one day he would trust you. Trust you enough to let you know who he was and where he came from, what made him who he was and what was truly important to him.

Sometimes you’d get those tiny, little flickers that shone through his façade, his tight mask. The moments when the look in his eyes became faraway and distant, when his voice became softer and the tension in his body gave way to something quiet. Maybe one day that would be the version of him that you would get. Entirely and without question. Without the filter to rule out his emotions for him.

Until then, though, you would make do with what you had. And what did you have?

His favorite movie? The good, the bad and the ugly. What a question. Actually, anything with Clint Eastwood in it. Haven’t you seen the man?

His favorite musician? Ennio Morricone. Did you watch that scene in Inglourious Basterds, right before the Bear Jew comes out of the cave? That scene – and that composition – it’s reason enough to watch the movie. Aside from all the Nazis getting burned, of course.

His favorite food? Tteokbokki. But they have to be spicy enough to make your tongue fall off.

You smirked to yourself as you stood by the stove, slowly stirring the rice cakes in a black pan. He was talking movies all the time and that was a language you understood well.

In a minute you needed to add the spices and that disturbingly hot, red sauce. It was something you had cooked before, back in England. You had been scrolling aimlessly through one of your countless apps, which you normally used so you wouldn’t have to think and there you found some recipe that had been viral for a while. A Korean recipe with rice cakes in a sauce, topped with sesame and green onions. It had been quite the ordeal to find rice cakes back where you lived, but when you finally did and you tasted the recipe you had so carefully and lovingly prepared, you found it was worth it. It had actually been the first step into the life you were now living.

South-Korea, you had thought. Why not?

You poured the sauce in and wanted to try it, but decided against it in the end. You’d spend the next hour trying to soothe the pain in your mouth with bread and milk. With a soft sigh, you turned off the stove and served the food on two plates. You set the table with the gentle precision of a lovely homemaker. Even the napkins were folded prettily, giving the whole scene the last touch it needed to come off as…thoughtful.

Of course you never mentioned to him that you knew the dish. He had mostly likely thought it was just another Korean word he threw around and you’d forget immediately. And you had made no attempts to make him believe differently. So, when you began to cook this, it was with the intention to surprise him. A short glance at the clock showed you that it was almost ten in the evening, so he would most likely be home soon.

Home. What an odd thought.

You sighed again and washed your hands. A lecture you had to learn only once before in your life – spicy food didn’t quite match well with eyes.

You glanced around the kitchen once more, half-expecting him to be late. After he luckily gave you the books back, you asked yourself if you should go and read something, until he arrived, but that question answered itself, the moment you heard the door creak open. A nervous smile grew on your face and you nibbled on your lower lip. For some reason, a part of you was still afraid. A tiny bit, at least. It was like you expected him to punish you for good things. For being affectionate or caring.

But the moment you saw his head perk through the door, you knew you wouldn’t get punished tonight. Well, at least not, until you gave him a reason to…or asked him to.

His face lit up in surprised delight, his brows furrowed in a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

“Hello?” He murmured as he stepped closer and set the briefcase down on a chair. Your smile grew somewhat and you folded your hands behind your back.

“Hey.” You took a step closer and tilted your head to the side. “I made dinner.”

“I can see that.” He glanced at the lovely decorated kitchen table. You had put in quite some effort, looking through all the drawers until you found a tablecloth, lit some candles and then there was his favorite food. He looked from the table to you and smiled.

“And what exactly did I do to deserve this?” He raised a brow in suspicion. You returned the smile.

“I just felt like it.”

“So, you know Tteokbokki!”

You laughed quietly. “We’ll see about that. You should try it first.”

He hummed softly and stepped closer. You expected him to head for the sink and wash his hands, which he most definitely would, but before that, he stepped close to you, so close that you felt the warmth radiating off him and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. Then your cheek and then your lips.

You closed eyes and leaned into the kiss, immediately aching for more. But a second later he pulled his head back and smiled again.

“I just know I’m going to love it. Thank you.”

You felt yourself blush and so you averted your gaze. He finished up getting ready and then pulled out your chair for you, like the gentleman he was, or well, he could be.

The both of you settled down and you kept a keen eye on him to check his reaction, the second he brought the fork to his lips. You half-expected him to recoil in disgust, but instead, his brows furrowed and he hummed in approval.

“This is perfect.”

You scoffed in amusement. “Stop bullshitting me.”

“No, I mean it. It’s perfectly spicy, just the way I like it. And it’s homemade. Do you know how much that me-“ He stopped himself and cleared his throat. The filter. “I really love it. Thank you.” He squeezed your hand under the table.

You smiled again and leaned back in your chair, taking a moment to simply watch him eat.

When he saw you were staring at him, he cocked a brow. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Now it’s you bullshitting me, huh?”

That made you laugh. God, how beautiful this was. Just simple, plain banter. Back and forth, like normal couples shared. You loved it.

You loved him.

When you laughed, a cocky grin grew on his face. “Mhm. I still have it in me, don’t I?”

You smirked. “Oh, shut up. For an old man.”

His grin widened and he picked up the fork, bringing it to your lips. Wordlessly, you parted them and took the food in your mouth. It was painful, of course, but you tried to keep a strong façade. And failed.

He laughed and held out a glass with milk to you, of which you took a big, grateful sip.

“Why are you making it, if you can’t even eat it?”

“You like it.”

He hummed softly. “And you remembered.”

“It’s not that hard. I collect the few things I know about you like postage stamps.”

He snorted. “Oh, so now we collect stamps, do we?”

You grinned cheekily and gently nudged his shoulder. “Eat your abnormal spicy food and shush.”

He shot you another smirk and eyed you up and down for a moment. It left you feeling oddly comfortable.

“You’re beautiful.” He mumbled before he took another bite. Your brows shot up and you titled your head to the side. You were better now, when it came to this. Compliments and accepting them. After all, he had no reason to lie to you whatsoever, now, did he?

“Thank you. But why are you saying that?” Not as good as you thought, but better.

He brows furrowed. “And why wouldn’t I?”

You shrugged and he shot you a long, suspicious look. “I’m not taking it back.”

That made you laugh again. He sounded like petulant child and you loved him even more when he was like this. Just…easy.

Easy to love.

“Why are you laughing at me?” He joined your laughter.

You smirked and took another sip of your milk. “If you can’t tell, it’s already too late.”

Days passed, weeks even, and life was still good. Very much so.

Every now and then you would ask yourself, when will things take a dark turn again? You couldn’t help yourself. These first few weeks were stuck in your mind like a nightmare you hardly remembered and yet felt in every inch of your body. Even when you didn’t...

Your body remembered.

He had that in him. That dark, that evil. It would undoubtedly come out again at some point. That’s why you always tried to remind yourself, not to dive too deep into what you called your perfect world. At some point, you’d surely be in pain again.

Though, you had to admit, you were hardly in pain nowadays. Your mysterious man was a gentle man, when he wanted to be and that happened more and more these days. Whenever he came home, he’d make a habit of kissing you and asking you about your day. His smile came out, more and more often. On very rare occasions, when you got really lucky, you even heard him laugh. And not the mock-kind of laugh he’d have so well-rehearsed in his repertoire of masks, he had for the world to see, but the real kind. A sound so unbridled and genuine, so warm and endearing, it made something inside of you ache. Why was it so rare?

Of course he still hurt you sometimes, but that was more of a consented kind of thing. In most cases.

Whenever he decided it was time for you to cockwarm him, for example. God, you hated, when he did. Because you loved it.

You loved the feeling of having him inside you on any occasion, really. Sometimes he’d be reading the newspaper and have you on his lap, his free hand on your hip to hold you perfectly still. You always asked yourself, how on earth did he manage to read like that, without even cocking an eye brow, while you were nearly fainting in agony, because all you wanted was for him to move?

On other nights, and you were ashamed to admit how much you enjoyed it, you’d even sleep like that. You’d lay either facing away or facing him, but often clenched around him. He’d nuzzle his face in your hair and after a while he’d usually drift off like that, his breathing slowly soothing down to a soft sound. Sometimes, when he’d wake up in the middle of the night, you felt him move and grind his hips against yours, giving you the friction you so desperately desired. Sometimes it happened quickly, sometimes it took a few hours and sometimes it didn’t happen at all. But when it did and when it did take hours to get to that point, you’d normally be half-asleep and yet desperate. The second you felt him move inside you, it was as though a switch got flipped. You became needy and…

Wicked.

 For you, it didn’t matter how many times he fucked you. How many times he made you cum. When you felt him like that, you needed him. Ardently.

But in most cases you managed to be good for him, just like he asked you to. Good and perfectly still. When you did, you got rewarded. Which, in most cases, consisted of him going down on you and making you feel things with his tongue that made your toes curl and your breath stutter. He made you cum so good that you nearly forgot your own name.

At times, you did forget it. But odd enough, you didn’t really miss it. Names weren’t important. Not with him.

And then there were those other times. The times, when you got too needy, too desperate and, despite your better will, you found yourself moving against him, desperate for any kind of friction. That was when you got punished still.

Sometimes with a firm slap to get you back on track. That wasn’t enough to make you forget about your need for him though. Normally, you’d just fall back into the same pattern, given enough time. And after a while, he got more creative with his punishments. When he realized that pain was something that you were rather immune to, compared to other things, you were fucked.

Quite literally.

When you moved and disobeyed his orders not to…

He fucked you. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Not at all, actually.

That was until…

You came. You came every time with him, which was something you had highly doubted, before you started this thing between you. But to your surprise, you were more than relaxed with him. And so you came.

But he didn’t stop there. No, it was a punishment after all, right?

So, he kept fucking into you, like a feral animal. Even after you came and the pleasure quickly shifted into overstimulation. You got so sensitive, it was close to painful. But he kept going.

And then, oh God, you’d come again. Of course you did. He was good at what he was doing. You came again, shuddering and gasping.

And he still wouldn’t stop.

Even when your body arched into the air and you tried to get away from him, all desperate, he’d continue fucking you, until your mind was a mess and all you could do was stutter and whimper, cry even.

It was one of his favorite ways to punish you.

When he didn’t keep you on edge or withdrew your release for the time being, he made you cum until you begged him to stop, sobbing and whimpering.

Oh, the crying turned him on, you could tell. Because it normally ended with him filling you up to the brim. And then he’d go back to sleep, wouldn’t he? With his length still buried deep inside to keep warm.

Let’s just hope you learned your lesson now, darling. I’d hate to punish you again.

He had done exactly that the night before and so you found yourself lying on the sofa, feeling sore and exhausted. When he came home that night, you were still passed out on the couch, too sleepy to even open your eyes. He regarded your broken frame with a warm, yet subtle smile and set his briefcase down. He took a few slow steps closer and watched over you for a long moment, before he reached for the nearby blanket and pulled it up to your shoulders. You weren’t really fast asleep, just somewhere in-between, so you felt his knuckles gently caress your cheek. You mumbled something in response and you heard the way he smiled, before he vanished to the bathroom and you heard the way the water got turned on.

After a while you slowly blinked your eyes open and yawned. When you saw the blanket, a smile crept onto your face and you hugged the material tightly to your body. Slowly and carefully, you sat up and rubbed your eyes, before you decided to try and cook something for a change. You got better and better at it, considering how little you knew about the Korean cuisine. Yet you had to admit, it seemed healthier than anything you had ever eaten back home.

When you couldn’t think of anything, you decided to be safe and went for Bibimbap. It was a mixture of near everything and also the fastest thing you could think of. But before you even started, you went back to your room to grab a claw clip for your hair. You swiftly did it up and made your way through the hallway, when you saw that the door to his bedroom stood open. You saw his white shirt splayed out on the bed and you just knew it smelled like him. You bit your lip as you slowly tiptoed inside and picked the shirt up, only to bury your face in the material and inhale softly.

If this wasn’t home, what would ever be?

You hummed softly to yourself, before you swiftly slid off your caramel colored skirt and your black tank top, to put his button down shirt on instead. The material hugged your body like a gentle hug and you smiled to yourself as you rolled the sleeves up in the way he would. Of course the shirt looked fairly huge on you. You took a long glance at the big mirror and smirked. It looked like a dress on you, albeit a short one. You twirled around like a ballerina and took in the way your thighs were barely covered by the material. That gave you a wicked idea.

Of course your body was begging you to leave it be, especially after last night, but the devil inside your mind forced you to keep the shirt on and make your way back to the kitchen.

In the meantime, he had finished his shower and now he sat on the couch, with the newspaper in his hand. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants (the damned bastard) and a black shirt. His hair was still damp and hung loosely into his face. He looked delicious.

When he heard you approach, he looked up, ready to greet you, when he hesitated. His gaze roamed up and down your body in a way that made you bite back a smirk.

“Hello, darling.” He murmured, without ever looking up at your face.

“Why, hello.” You purred cheerfully and approached him with slow, tiptoed steps. His gaze wandered up your legs and torso, until he finally met your gaze.

“You look…”

“I thought it suits me better than you.” You teased.

His lips curved up into a slow smile. “I can’t disagree.” He took your hand, ready to pull you onto his lap. But after last night, you felt in dire need to take some action and control.

Not, that you didn’t somehow enjoy it. But still.

You briefly squeezed his hand, before you pulled yours away. You gave him a quick peck on the lips, then took a step back.

“I’ll go cook.”

His brows shot up. “I can-“

“No.”

You hid your smirk, until you had your back facing him. With quick, measured steps, you disappeared into the kitchen, all the while pretending not to hear his frustrated groan.

The next few minutes went by rather quickly. You did a great job cooking up some ingredients and even an egg, Sunny Side Up. You quickly set the table and eventually left some rice on the stove, to slowly simmer. With a soft, exaggerated sigh you made your way back to the living room.

“It’s almost done.” You murmured as you slowly approached him. When you looked at him, you deliberately missed his face and his expression became more and more dour.

“Good. I was thinking-“

“I nearly finished my book.” You interrupted him in a sweet voice, as you sat down on his lap, causing him to freeze for a moment. It only took him a second to relax, though he seemed to have forgotten that you had interrupted him and what he even intended to say in the first place.

“That’s…good.” He murmured.

“Just two more pages. I’ll finish it quickly, before dinner, okay?”

He cocked a brow and shrugged slowly. “Sure. Suit yourself.”

His shirt rode up your thighs and revealed more and more of your skin to his gaze. He didn’t even try to be secretive about it, he was straight-up ogling you. All the while you buried your nose in your book, without reading a single word. You had to save up all your energy as not to smile.

His fingertips brushed over the skin of your thigh and you did your best to keep your expression neutral. And he, he was just…

“Are you-“

“Oh God, I didn’t see that twist coming.” You closed the book and sighed. Then you shot him an innocent look and smiled. “That was a really good book.”

You leaned back against his chest and kept up your innocent façade, all the while the look in his eyes equaled that of a bear with his fish.

“You really-“

“I’d better go and get myself another one. I’m sure the rice needs a few more minutes.”

His hand ended up in the middle of the air, while you practically jumped off of his lap. He let out a soft grunt of frustration, while you slowly swayed your way back to the bookshelf. Of course your hips swayed along and obviously his gaze did the same.

You held a finger against your lips, pretending to think, while you slowly went about the rows and rows of books. And then, what a coincidence, a book in the last row caught your attention. You smiled and bent down, pretending to read.

At the same time, his patience snapped. When his shirt rode up further, exposing just a hint of your rear to him, he let out a low growl.

“That’s enough.” He hissed. You smirked, before you slowly turned and replaced the smirk with innocent surprise.

“What? What’s enough?”

“Oh, stop this.” He slammed the newspaper down on the coffee table and stood up in a swift movement. “Stop acting all innocent. You’ve been parading around here, half-naked and ready to…”

“To what?” You murmured and tilted your head to the side in feigned curiosity. He growled again and ran a hand over his chin. Only then did you see the obvious tent in his grey sweatpants. It cost you half your life not to look down there and trust your peripheral view.

“Don’t play dumb.” He murmured. “Get over here. Now.”

You licked your lips. “But the rice-“

“Now!”

That made you laugh and there went your innocent act out of the window.

“You minx! You’re doing this on purpose!”

You chuckled. “Well…”

The look on his face was near rabid. Only the foam was missing.

“I’ll forgive you this once, if you’ll be a good girl for me and get your ass over here.”

You smirked and took a step back, circling the sofa. “And if I don’t?

He hissed in response. “You don’t want to test me today.”

And for some inexplicable reason, right then and there, you weren’t scared. That tiny part of your brain that had continued to keep up the fear, albeit briefly and barely, was completely silent. And you knew he wasn’t going to hurt you, no matter what you did.

“Make me then.”

His eyes widened and he tilted his chin up. “Oh, that’s a mistake.”

You grinned. “Oh, that’s a mistake.” You mocked his voice.

With a movement so quick that it almost made you wince, he jumped over the back of the couch and stood before you, eyeing you like a predator. You let out a soft shriek and turned on your heel, running and laughing, without looking over your shoulder.

It took him only a second to put his hand on your shoulder, but it took you only a second to shrug him off and circle the coffee table.

“That all you got, old man?”

You could have sworn you saw his lip twitch, but that would have been too easy. He tried hard to keep his expression serious.

“Grew a backbone, did you?”

You raised a brow and smirked. “Oh, boo-hoo. Did I hurt you, oppa?” You hinted a mocking curtsy.

“Oh, you just wait!” He rushed to catch you from one side, but you quickly ran the other way. When he tried the other way, you went the other way, yet again. He gave a frustrated growl.

“What now, hm?” You smirked. “Giving up already?”

He gave you a long, wild look. For a moment you almost thought he was indeed giving up, but then he rushed forward and kicked the table out of the way. It rolled over and crashed against the wall loudly. Your eyes widened in surprise and you took a step back, but before you knew it, your back was already pressed against the wall and you had to tilt your head back to stare up at him.

“You caught me.” You whispered.

He clenched his jaw and reached out a hand. You were sure. You were still sure, that you were safe.

And then…

His hand slowly tangled in your hair and gently grasped the back of your neck. He leaned down so that your lips nearly met.

“I caught you.” He whispered back, before he captured your lips in a bruising kiss.

And you let the rice burn.

A few days later, you couldn’t even tell which day it was, because every day was but a collection of memories you kept replaying in your head, he was off to work.

And to no one’s great surprise, you missed him.

Every waking moment without him was empty. The emptiness was so intense, it left you nearly suffocating. All the while, all you could do was wait. Wait and eat. Wait and sleep. Wait and read.

Sometimes, you wrote. You remembered that one time you told him about your greatest dream.

To become an author one day. You didn’t even care, if anyone knew your real name, you just wanted to touch people with your words. Like the Bronte-sisters.

Ellis Bell, huh? And who would you be?

Hana, maybe. The thought made you equally as sad as it filled you with hope.

But that was about all you did. And after hours and hours, the day neared its end. Eventually it was far past eleven, so you were sure he would be late tonight. Of course you were concerned. As you always were. You had no idea what his job was, but you could tell it was dangerous.

The man in his clean suit and a briefcase full of secrets.

When it got closer to midnight and he still wasn’t back, you decided to distract yourself, by getting yourself ready. You changed into a beautiful, white negligee with a neckline made of pretty, see-through lace. You loved it. The silk made you feel like you were the most beautiful girl on earth. And you were sure, once he saw you in it, he would totally destroy it. Chew it off or tear it down, whatever worked faster.

You did your hair down (it was slowly growing back and you barely thought back to the dreadful day that he cut it) and took a last glance at your appearance in the mirror. You smiled at yourself, something you rarely did, and eventually made your way back to his bedroom to surprise him. On his bed, wearing nothing but the negligee and a pair of…

Where were the handcuffs? You frowned as you glanced around and didn’t immediately find them. You bent down to look under the bed, but still no cuffs in sight. Your frown deepened and you gave another quick onceover, before you decided that they most likely were in the wardrobe.

You opened it and knelt down, finding the knife and several guns in the process. The small shudder brought you back to reality and you exhaled softly, before you sat back and looked at the countless weapons. Had he ever killed someone with them? Most likely.

But for a strange, inexplicable reason, you didn’t really care. Not really. Because it wasn’t real. Not then, not there, not in that moment. What was real, was him and his…

Desires.

You opened your mouth and closed it, before your fingers slowly closed around a small handgun. You swallowed thickly and carefully held it up, only to realize it was far heavier than you always assumed. The material felt cold and wrong in your hand.

Your mind involuntarily wandered back to the day he pressed one of them against your temple or…his. You closed your eyes. The thought of him…

Him…

With a shuddery gasp, the gun slipped through your fingers and landed on the carpet.

There was no thought more painful than that one. You couldn’t lose him. Not ever.

You loved him. And you loved him far too much.

Enough, to be what he wanted.

Enough, to give in to his desires.

You took another deep breath and picked up the gun again, determined to take it back to bed with you. You wanted to surprise him, right?

All you had to do beforehand was to make sure that it wasn’t loaded.

A frown formed on your face, when you realized you didn’t even know how to do that. The thought of accidentally shooting yourself, while waiting for him to come home…It didn’t sound all too appealing, though it did sound like something that could happen to you.

You sighed and already gave up the thought of ever finding the cuffs, when you caught sight of something else instead. It was far in the back of the wardrobe and you were sure, for some reason, you weren’t supposed to see it.

Of course you weren’t supposed to touch his gun, either, but you felt he would forgive you, once he realized you were slowly submitting to his every desire.

Even if it meant him fucking you, while he held a gun to your head. In your mouth…Or, God help you, somewhere else.

You were twisted. You were sure you were. Because you felt it. You felt how the thought did things to you.

But for now you tried to push the thought aside and instead glanced back at the box.

Then again, what terrible thing could be inside there?

Someone’s teeth maybe?

Your soft smile disappeared the second you realized it was possible. You nearly recoiled in disgust. But then you realized, you had to know.

It couldn’t be teeth. It was too sick. Too deranged.

Too…him?

No. No, no, no.

As if in a trance, you picked up the light, wooden box and took off the lid.

No teeth inside. Only…

Fuck.

What was in there was so much worse than teeth.

Your forehead creased into a small frown, which grew further with every second.

And suddenly you felt nauseous.

No.

Oh, no.

You nearly dropped the box and backed away like you’d been struck, the moment you heard it.

“Goddamn it." He sighed impatiently and the door slowly closed behind him. "You weren’t supposed to see that.”

___________________________________

Tag list 1:

@mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3 @misty-q

Author's note: Did I lately mention that I love you, guys?

Ps. The Tteokbokki and the teasing were anon requests! I loved them and I hope I did them justice!

[enwoso]

Hi, would you write a lovie fic where she’s learning how to ride her bike? And in the learning process she takes some tumbles, but in the end she learns it.

BALANCING ACT | alessia russo x child!reader

grumpy masterlist

it was a sunny day in london, painting the backyard in hues of gold and orange as alessia crouched down, adjusting the pink helmet strap on your chin, to stop it scratching. your wild little curls peeking out from under the helmet and a determined glint in your big blue eyes as you gripped the handlebars of your small pink bike. 

the training wheels had officially came off and alessia's heart was doing an uneven dance between excitement but also worry and dread. 

"you ready then, lovie?" your mummy asked, giving your cheek a gentle squeezed as you looked up a big grin on your face.

you had been begging your mummy for the past few weeks to take the training wheels of your bike telling her you were a big girl and didn't need them anymore and had nothing to do with the fact that all your friends from school were also learning to ride their bikes without training wheels.

"i'm ready!" you declared, your tiny hands tightening on the handlebars as your mummy positioned you so you were facing down the driveway as she silently hoped you were out the way of her car - not wanting it to get scratched.

with a soft smile, alessia placed her hands on the back of the seat, steadying the bike for you. "okay, remember to look ahead and keep pedalling. i've got you." 

you gave her a resolute nod as your face scrunched up in concentration, alessia pushed gently on the back of the seat as she jogged alongside you as the little bike wobbled forward. and for a few glorious seconds, you were actually doing it. the pedals turned and you and the bike seemed to stay upright as you let out a excited giggle.

but then, the inevitable happened. the dread that had lingered in alessia's head happened.

the front wheel veered slightly and you tipped to the side, alessia's hands reached out trying to catch you but it was too late as you tumbled onto the grass on the side of the pavement.

you sat up, your lip quivering as you clutched your scraped knee. "owie" you whimpered, your fingers hovering over the fresh scrape.

"oh, lovie" your mummy cooed, scooping you up into her arms, kissing the top of your head as she brushed a stray tear that had escaped from your cheek, "lets get you inside and patched up!"

alessia carrying you into the kitchen before lifting you onto the counter and rummaged throught a drawer for a box of plaster, ones with a cartoon character of course as in your mind they worked so much better than the boring normal ones. 

your tiny legs swinging back and forth as you watched your mummy carefully clean the scrape with a damp cloth. "does it hurt a lot?" your mummy asked softly, placing the cloth to one side.

"a little" you admitted but your voice wasn't as small as alessia had expected it to be.

"okay, now this plaster is magic" your mummy said with a grin as she peeled of a bright blue strip decorated with cartoon stars, "this will make you all better in no time!"

you gave your mummy an amused look, "magic?" 

"absolutely, doctor mummy guarantees it!" alessia pressed the plaster gently over the scrape, giving it a little pat for good measure. as alessia turned to toss the wrapper away, she heard your little voice, matter of fact and full of determination.

"can we go back outside now?"

alessia froze, blinking as she processed the request, turning back to you as you were already trying to wriggle off the counter, "wait- you want to keep trying?"

"yeah!" your face lit up with a smile as you spoke so full of confidence as if it was the most obvious thing you could have ever said. "i need to learn by myself!"

for a second, alessia just stared at you, a tiny whirlwind of stubbornness and resolve that you were as alessia thought back to her own childhood and how she would always feel more determined after the smallest of failures.

but here you were, your knee scraped most likely still stinging and you were ready to jump back on the bike as if nothing had happened. a big swell of pride filled alessia's chest it was making it ache slightly.

"okay," your mummy said, brushing a small strand of hair out of your face, "let me just grab a bottle of water first. and if you feel tired we stop, okay?"

"ok mummy!" you chirped and already halfway to the door to put your trainers back on after your mummy had dumped them at the front door when she carried you in.

once you both got back outside the sun was lower, as it casted shadows across the grass. alessia steadying the bike once more, her hands firm but gentle on the seat.

"let's try again," this time, alessia could tell something was different. your wobbling was a little less wobbly, your pedalling was a little more confident as then all of a sudden, you didn't need your mummy's hands there to keep you steady.

"thats it! keep doing it!" your mummy cheered as she clapped loudly her voice high with excitement. your face breaking into a wide grin as you realised what was happening. 

you were riding your bike. by yourself.

"im doin' it! mummy! look i can do it!" you cried with excitement as the same small giggles left your lips. alessia clapped her hands, pride radiating from every pore as she jogged beside you. tears pricking at her eyes as she blinked them away, focusing on this moment.

when you finally came to a triumphant stop, as the pavement has ran out, you hopped off the bike, throwing your arms around your mummy's leg as she scooped you up into her arms. "i did it!"

"you did it, lovie!" your mummy murmured, twirling you around with chorus of cheers and laugher, "i'm so so so proud of you!"

you grinned, resting your head on your mummy's shoulder, "you were right the plaster was magic!" you giggled out.

alessia laughed as she held you close as she shook her head, "no baby, your the magic."

in the glow of the setting sun, you rode your bike back home perfectly before leaving it triumphantly in the garage before listing off what you wanted for dinner that nigh as alessia while listening to your list realised she had just witnessed a small but extraordinary moment - your first taste of determination and victory.

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Here"

Ok yall I'm back with chapter 7!! Hopefully this posts bc it wasn't working yesterday. Sorry if it's confusing, I rewrote it like 5 times! I tried not to use {y/n} but i mightve slipped up! Hope ya'll enjoy!! The plot is finally moving!! Lmk if you have any questions. Likes, reblogs, and asks motivate me! I love when yall send me your ideas and comments and asks! Wish me luck, I'm posting this and then taking my math exam! If you don't like it, don't read, stop sending mean asks and submissions!

Breakfast the next morning was horrible.

The awkward silence lingered, thick with unspoken words and eyes that felt like they were scanning every inch of you. You could feel their weight on your back, like a thousand invisible hands pushing you deeper into your seat, forcing you to stay in this uncomfortable moment.

You could already feel the heat rising in your chest, but you bit your lip, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You weren’t going to lose your cool—not yet.

Damian’s gaze was fixed on you, like he was waiting for some kind of reaction, his lips pressed into a thin line. You knew what he was expecting: compliance. Submission. He expected you to shrink back under his scrutiny. And yet, there was something oddly satisfying about not giving him that satisfaction.

Instead, you focused on the plate in front of you, stabbing your fork into the pancakes with far too much force. You were still hungry, but the food felt like cardboard in your mouth, tasteless and dry, even though Alfred’s cooking was always the best.

Bruce was still watching you, his eyes heavy with a kind of expectant patience, like he was just waiting for you to crack. You could feel the tension in the room like a ticking clock, the seconds stretching longer than you’d ever thought possible.

"Why are you all staring at me?" you finally muttered, breaking the silence, your voice low but biting. You didn't look up from your plate, but you could feel the eyes on you. They all thought they could break you. They thought you were some fragile little thing, someone they could fix with their pity and their "family time." But you weren’t. You’d stopped being that person a long time ago.

Dick was the first to speak, his voice softer than usual, like he was trying to tread lightly around you. “We’re just trying to connect, I know it’s been a long time, and things got… complicated, but we don’t want to lose you again. Not after all this time.”

His words weren’t as comforting as he probably thought they were. In fact, they made your skin crawl. He was trying to be kind, but it felt forced, like he was reading from a script. You didn’t need this. Not from him, not from any of them. You wanted them to stop pretending like they could fix everything with a few hugs, a couple of "we missed you"s.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you said quietly, your voice almost a whisper, but it carried a weight. “I didn’t ask to be here. And I didn’t ask to be part of this family anymore.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened at your words, but he didn’t say anything at first. You could feel the flicker of something in his expression—guilt, maybe. Regret. He was looking at you, like he was trying to see the person you used to be. The person you had been before everything fell apart.

You weren’t that person anymore. And he needed to understand that.

“You don’t get to decide that,” Damian suddenly said, his voice a little too sharp. “You can’t just shut us out like this. You’re still a part of this family. Whether you like it or not.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his. " I can shut you all out, I can do whatever I want” you snapped, the frustration leaking through. “You’ve done it to me for years.”

Dick’s brow furrowed, his lips pulling into a frown. For a second, he looked genuinely taken aback by your words, “You don’t understand,” he said, his tone quieter but still laced with an edge. “We didn’t abandon you. Not on purpose. You think we didn’t care? You just never seemed to need help.”

You could feel the sting of his words, but you pushed it down, locking it away. You weren’t going to break. Not for him. Not for any of them. Of course you never needed help, you were too busy trying to be perfect.

“I was just a kid,” you replied, your voice a little rawer, louder than you intended. “And I was ignored by the people who were supposed to be there for me. So fuck you and fuck your family time too.”

There was a long pause, everyone looked around in shock, not expecting you to be so combatant and then Jason finally spoke up, his tone softer than usual, less teasing. “We’re trying, okay? I'm trying. We’re not perfect, and I’m not asking you to just forget everything. But we want to try. Let us try.”

You shot him a look, your eyes narrowing. “Trying isn’t good enough,” you muttered, your voice tight. “Not when it’s years too late. I don't want scraps of love anymore, not when i've had the real deal.”

Everyone seemed to quiet at the last part of your statement, suspicious of what it meant and from who you received "love" from. What convinced you that you didn't need them anymore?

“Then what do you want?” Tim interjected, his voice suddenly sharper, more direct than before. “What do you want from us? We’re here, and we’re trying to make it right. But you’ve got to meet us halfway.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell them that nothing would ever be good enough, that the damage was already done. But you didn’t. Instead, you just stared at Tim, meeting his eyes with a challenge of your own. You didn’t owe them answers. Not anymore.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, almost defeated. “I don’t know what I want.”

It was the truth. You didn’t know what you wanted. You didn’t know if there was anything they could do to fix things. But one thing was certain: you didn’t want to stay in this mansion, suffocated by their expectations. You didn’t want to play along with their idea of a happy family.

Before anyone could respond, you stood up abruptly, pushing your chair back with a loud scrape against the floor.

“Don’t worry about me,” you said, turning on your heel. “I’ll figure it out on my own. I always have.”

You heard Duke’s soft voice in the background, calling after you, but you didn’t stop. You just walked out of the dining room, your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way toward the staircase.

As you climbed the stairs, you could feel their eyes on your back, the weight of their presence pressing down on you, but you didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care if they watched. You didn’t care if they were disappointed. You just wanted to be alone.

That day, you stayed in bed. You ignored every knock on your door, every phone call, every beg and plead to come down and eat. You just wanted to be alone.

You woke up to the quiet hum of the manor, but it was far from peaceful. The silence was suffocating, a constant reminder that there was no escaping them—not now. You tried to pretend the night before hadn’t happened, that their constant attention wasn’t as overwhelming as it was, that you were going back to New York soon. Unfortunately, fantasies don't become realities, especially when reality is chasing them down.

Every one of them was here, waiting. Watching.

Bruce stood near the staircase, his presence larger than life. His eyes lingered on you as if he expected something. You weren’t sure what. Maybe gratitude, maybe obedience. He said nothing, just watched you with that expression of silent insistence.

“Good morning,” he said in that deep, calm voice of his, but there was something off about it. There was a layer of expectation beneath his words, like he was waiting for something from you.

You ignored him, brushing past him without a second glance. You didn’t want to engage, didn’t want to pretend like everything was okay. But it didn’t matter. They were all around you now, slowly closing in.

Tim was the next to corner you. You could feel his calculating eyes on you the moment you stepped into the kitchen. He had a cup of coffee in hand, but his focus was on you. Just you.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, the question seemingly casual but the undertone too sharp, too analytical. It wasn’t just a question, it was a probe, a way for him to gauge how much control he had over you.

You rolled your eyes, reaching for the fridge to grab something that could distract you, something that could make the reality of this house feel a little less like a cage. But the moment your hand touched the door, he was there, standing far too close, watching you, almost breathing down your neck.

“You know,” Tim said, his voice low, “we can talk today. If you want. We need to keep your abilities in check, make sure you’re safe, protected. ” His tone lingered on that last word, like he was reminding you that you were under his watch now.

You hated how calmly he said it. It made your skin crawl.

Steph was next, adding onto what Tim said with her stupid signature smile, "He's right y'know. It's dangerous out there. For you especially."

You ignored them both. Payback for their years of negligence.

Tim just stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning your face. “Fine, be like that,” he muttered, before walking away, but you knew he wasn’t done. He never was.

And then there was Dick. His usual cheerful demeanor didn’t falter as he breezed into the room, but it was too cheerful, too bright. He was pushing something, forcing something, like he was trying to manufacture happiness out of thin air, trying to remind you of who you were, who you used to be.

“Hey! How about we do something today?” he said, his voice far too eager. “We could go out and grab coffee, breakfast, anything. I know you’re probably not feeling it, but you need to get out of this house for a bit.”

You wanted tear him apart for thinking you could just “forget” everything and fall back into some comfortable, happy routine. But you didn’t. Instead, you just nodded stiffly, walking past him without acknowledging his words.

“Come on,” he tried again, following you, “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Just drop it, Dick,” you said, your voice like ice. “I’m not going anywhere. Ya'll made that pretty clear.”

His face faltered for just a moment before he plastered that damn grin back on. But you saw it, the frustration and determination behind his eyes. He wasn’t going to stop. None of them were.

Jason leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a smirk you couldn’t quite decipher. “Ah, the princess finally comes out her tower,” he teased. “What? Got tired of throwing shit around in there?"

You narrowed your eyes, feeling the heat in your chest rise. Jason always had a way of pissing you off with his words, making everything seem like a joke, but you knew there was something darker underneath. He wanted to get a rise out of you, he craved it. He wanted you to go back to being his annoying little sister with anger issues.

“Shut up, Jason,” you muttered, turning away from him, not caring that you weren’t hiding your anger anymore. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today.”

Jason just laughed, but there was a hint of something softer there, something that felt almost... like concern, buried beneath the sarcasm.

“Stop,” you snapped, but before you could escape, Damian stepped in.

Damian was the most direct, the most unforgiving in his attempts to bond. He stepped into your path without hesitation, his posture rigid and eyes narrowed, as if daring you to push him away.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice low, yet intense. “You think you’re some rebellious teenager trying to escape, but you’re not. You don’t get a choice in this.” His words weren’t harsh, they were final, like he had already decided your fate. And you were staying here, whether you liked it or not.

“You’re wrong,” you spat, your voice venomous. "I don’t need you.”

Damian tilted his head slightly, an unsettling calm settling over him. “You’ll need us eventually. Whether you want to or not. And you'll be grateful we never let you go.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you didn’t let him see it. Not yet. His audacity was insane. To think that you'd be thankful for being trapped in Gotham. Never.

As you tried to walk past him, you collided with Cass, who was standing silently behind you, her eyes filled with that knowing, unspoken concern. She's so creepy. She didn’t say a word but you could feel her presence, like a weight pressing down on you.

Cass placed a hand gently on your arm, her touch barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to make you freeze.

Why are they acting like this? What changed these two weeks?

"You’re safe here," she said quietly, her words cutting through the tension in a way that made your skin crawl. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a command.

You pulled away sharply, nearly punching her, your fists clenched at your sides. “I'm not happy.” you said, more to yourself than to her.

But she didn’t respond. Of course she didn’t. Her eyes just followed you, and that was worse than any words.

Barbara was close by, but she didn’t need to be loud. She never did. She had this way of talking in soft tones that made everything sound so reasonable. So loving.

“You don’t have to keep shutting us out,” she said gently. “You can talk to us. We just want to make sure you’re okay. All of us. We care about you.”

You felt the weight of her words crash down on you, suffocating you with their sweetness, with their hidden demands. Care. It was just another word for control, for keeping you locked in their world, locked in their gaze. If they cared, they would let you be happy in New York.

“Just stop,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her. “Just... stop.”

You sat in your room for hours again, ignoring everyone.

Bruce had spent the last few days carefully watching you, keeping his distance just enough to make you think you had some semblance of freedom, but now he was ready to step in, to claim his role as your father.

He had promised himself when you left for France, he would make it right. That he would make up for everything he had missed, for every moment he had abandoned you for the greater good of Gotham. But now, as the silence stretched between you two, he was determined to close that distance.

You had just returned to your room after another breakfast you didn’t want to be part of when you heard the knock.

It was Bruce.

“You’re not busy, are you?” he asked, his voice almost too warm, too hopeful.

You shot him a glance, wondering if he truly thought this would work. After everything that had happened, after all the times he had failed you, he still thought a few “father-daughter” moments could make things better.

"I guess not," you replied flatly, stepping aside to let him in, your mind already racing with how to get through whatever this was going to be.

The moment he entered, Bruce seemed to settle, as though he had a plan in mind, one he was eager to execute.

“Good,” he said, looking around the room, his eyes scanning for something, maybe an opportunity. Then, he turned back to you, hands clasped behind his back. “I thought today, we could spend some time together. Just us. It’s been a while since we’ve done something like this, hasn’t it? School starts soon and you'll get busy, you won't have time for me anymore.”

He was trying to joke around.

School. More like prison. The more he mentioned school, the angrier you got. You'd never done something like this. He did it with all his other kids though, with Tiffany. As you thought of her, all ideas of being nice to Bruce, of trying to bond with your father, flew out the window.

The words felt like a slap, and you couldn’t keep the bite from your tone. “Is that what you think this is? Quality time? You really think we’re just gonna pick up where we left off? Think you can change the past with brunch?”

Bruce’s eyes softened for a moment, his expression cracking, but only slightly. The guilt was there, unmistakable, but it didn’t erase the unspoken expectation behind his words. His voice became more gentle, more insistent.

“I know it’s not easy,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something else—something almost pleading, though he would never admit it. “But I want to make this right. You deserve this. You deserve... me. We can go out, maybe catch a movie, grab lunch, talk, whatever you want. I just want to be with you. Like you always talked about.”

You didn’t respond immediately. For a moment, you just stood there, frozen, as the weight of his words crashed over you. It was nice watching him beg for once. You had always wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted him to be a father, to care for you like he did the others. But that was before you tasted freedom, before you tried love.

Now, the idea of spending time with him felt like a betrayal to everything you had tried to protect: your own independence, your own space, your freedom. You didn’t want to be a part of his perfect little family anymore.

“No.” you muttered, unable to stop the anger from flooding your chest. “You really think that’s going to fix things? You think I just forgot what you did? Because i'm nice sometimes?”

Bruce didn’t flinch at your words, didn’t even show any sign of anger. Instead, he just stepped closer, his presence filling up the room, looming over you like an impenetrable wall. His tone remained patient, almost too controlled, like he was walking on eggshells.

“I know I can’t undo the past,” he said quietly, a trace of regret slipping through. “But I can be here for you now. I won’t make the same mistakes. I promise.”

A cold laugh escaped your lips. “You already have.”

You could feel your pulse quicken, the anger bubbling up inside you, but you pushed it back. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

Bruce’s eyes softened even further, the guilt twisting in his expression, and for a moment, you saw something else there—desperation. As if he was begging you to let him in, to give him just one chance to prove he wasn’t the same person who had abandoned you for years.

“We could just sit and talk,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “No expectations. No agenda. Just us. I’m not trying to fix you or make everything perfect. I just want to spend time with my daughter.”

Something in you snapped at the mention of daughter. The word that had haunted you for years. The word that had felt like a lie every time he used it. You clenched your fists, struggling to keep your composure.

“No,” you said, your voice flat, cutting through the tension like a knife. “You don’t get it. I don’t want this anymore. I don't want you anymore.”

Bruce’s face faltered, just for a moment, before he recovered. But the hurt was there, tucked in the corners of his eyes. “I'm sorry. I hope you know that.”

You shook your head, not wanting to hear it anymore. The damage was done. He couldn’t erase it. No amount of “father-daughter time” was going to make you forget what it had been like when he wasn’t there for you.

“Stop,” you snapped, taking a step back. “Just stop. You don’t get to do this, Bruce. You don’t get to waltz in here and act like everything is fine. Like everything’s fixed. You’ve ruined it. All of it.”

Bruce opened his mouth, but no words came. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle to understand where it had gone wrong.

“I’m just trying to make up for it,” he said quietly, but the sound of it made your stomach churn. The way his voice cracked slightly at the end of the sentence only made it worse.

And you hated yourself for feeling even a little guilty for saying no.

But no. You wouldn’t let him do this. Not again.

“I don’t want your apologies,” you spat, your tone sharp, venomous. “And I don’t want your ‘time.’ You don’t get to play the father now.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked toward the door. You needed to escape. You needed space. You needed to breathe. You were leaving your own room to get away from him.

Bruce’s voice stopped you, and you felt the pull of his desperate plea in the back of your mind. His words clung to you, too heavy, too much. “I'll go, don't leave. This is your room. I just want you to know I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You watched your father walk away, and only after he left did you fall to your bed and cry.

The next days before school were a blur. You spent them locked in your room, alternating between crying on the phone with Ariel, avoiding the family when you went down to sneak food to your room, trying to butter up Bruce and convince him to let you go back to boarding school, and online shopping.

Yet somehow Monday morning you were up at 5:30 getting into the shower.

The thought of returning to Gotham Prep made your stomach churn. How could you go back to a place where you had no true friends? A school where you’d been bullied by half your grade. Where Tim pretended you didn’t exist, Damian and Tiffany ridiculed you in front of everyone, and Duke ignored you like you were invisible. Where you ate lunch in the bathroom, alone and cried in the janitor's closet like a loser.

But you weren't the same girl who walked through those halls last year. No, this year was going to be different. You were different.

Last night, as you scrolled through Tik Tok, a new idea formed in your mind. You’d had enough of being invisible. It was time for a change.

You had a plan.

You found the bleach blonde hair dye in your bathroom, hidden away in the back of a drawer. You didn’t need permission, and you certainly didn’t need anyone to hold your hand.

By the time the dye had set and you’d rinsed it out, you felt like a new person. It was the kind of hair that would make people stop and stare.

You woke at 5:30 and hopped in the shower, you wanted to take your time getting ready. You plugged in your pink dyson and curled your new blonde hair, it would fall into a blow out later in the day, complaining about your family to Ariel and Claire. You spent the next two hours getting ready, perfecting your makeup. You’d learned to contour, learned to do your eyeliner just right, and became a bronzer girl over the summer. You grabbed your favorite Chanel palette and messily applied dark eyeshadow in smoky charcoal, blending seamlessly into the crease of your eyes and eyeliner. You smudged on a bold dark burgundy lipshine that drew attention. You weren’t trying to be anyone but yourself, your new self.

Then came the clothes.

You'd already shortened your Gotham Prep skirt by more than a few inches. It was below your knees and now it showed off the thighs you spent all summer tanning. You wanted to make a statement, and if they didn’t like it, that was their problem. The white blouse, originally oversized, was now form-fitting, you wanted it to give that one Bella Hadid picture. You left the top buttons undone, the tie hanging loosely around your neck in a deliberate, I-don’t-care gesture. You could feel the fabric clinging to your skin, reminding you of how much control you were regaining. You looked like the kind of girls you used to call whores last year.

You looked through your drawers for your signature jewelry you collected over the summer and during school. Big gold hoops on your ears, studs in all your other ear piercings, a tiffany heart necklace that rested on your exposed collar bone, and multiple bracelets stacked on each arm, jingling as you moved.

As you stood in front of the mirror, you smiled. You looked good.

Lastly you grabbed your Isabel Marant sneakers, chic and effortless, and slipped them on. They were expensive, but it wasn’t about the price—it was about the look. The vibe. Then, more than few spritzes of perfume. Something sharp, and not too sweet. You wanted to make a lasting impression, to turn heads as you walked.

By the time you were done, you felt invincible. The girl staring back at you was someone who didn’t care what anyone thought. You weren’t going to be bullied anymore. You were going to be the one who dictated the terms.

You walked out of your room, head held high, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Downstairs, the Batfamily was gathered at the breakfast table, doing their usual routine. They all stopped talking the second they saw you.

You’d barely stepped into the room when the heavy silence fell over the table. Bruce looked up, his expression instantly darkening. His lips pressed together in a thin line, his gaze flicking over your appearance.

“Is this what you're wearing?” His voice was tight, a hint of disapproval slipping into the words.

You gave him a look that said everything. “Is something wrong? I thought it was cute.” Your tone was soft, teasing, but with a bite underneath. You weren’t asking for his permission. You were daring him to say something.

Tim, who had been looking at his phone, blinked up at you with wide eyes. He’d been so engrossed in whatever he was reading that he didn’t even seem to know how to respond. His fingers hovered over his screen, unsure whether or not to comment.

“Are you seriously going to school looking like that?” His voice was tight, an edge of surprise and confusion beneath it.

You crossed your arms, leaning back in the doorway. “What? You don’t like it? Your friends might.” You knew how to unsettle him. That much you were sure of. You wanted to push his buttons, make him paranoid.

Dick was the next to react. He put down his coffee, glancing over at Bruce before looking back at you. “I get that you’re, you know, trying something new,” he began carefully, but the unease in his voice was clear. He was trying to be supportive, trying to understand, but it didn’t take much to see how disapproving he felt. “But—”

“But what, Dick?” you interrupted with a sudden change of attitude. “You don’t like it? That’s a shame. It's so crazy I literally never asked.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out. He simply shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

Jason snorted, clearly not impressed. “You trying to turn heads or get yourself in trouble? Skirt's too short, change that shit.” His voice was low, but it had a sharpness to it now. His gaze scanned you from head to toe, his mouth curving into an almost imperceptible frown.

You weren’t fazed by his dismissive and angry attitude. If anything, it made you want to lean into it more. “I'm not changing, you want alonger skirt? You go put one on and come talk.” You shrugged nonchalantly, your tone saccharine sweet. "And I don't want trouble, but i don't mind it."

“Yeah, I can tell,” Jason drawled, eyeing the large hoops dangling from your ears. “Nice hoops. Real classy.” His lips twitched, mocking the exaggerated size of them. "I didn’t realize big was your thing now."

You smirked, reaching up to tug at one of the hoops, the gesture playful, but intending to piss him off. “Big boys like big things, Jason,” you replied smoothly, without missing a beat. “And you know what they say, the bigger the hoop, the bigger the....” You were quickly cut off before you could finish talking and ruining everyone's apittite.

Damian, ever the hater, set down his cereal with a dramatic flare, slamming it down and glared at you. “You look like you belong in a cheap nightclub, not Gotham Prep. Should we drop you off on the nearest corner?” His words were sharp, cutting—typical Damian, though you could hear the pure anger in his voice.

You chuckled softly, not phased in the slightest. You'd rather be at a cheap nightclub honestly. “I’m just bringing a little fun to Gotham, Damian. You should try it sometime, maybe then you wouldn't be so hateful all the time." Your tone was uninterested, like his insults weren't even worth your time.

Steph and Cass exchanged a look, both clearly unsure of how to react. Cass, as always, seemed more interested in watching you than engaging, while Steph’s gaze flickered between you and the rest of the family. Barbra was just staring at you in disbelief.

“Is it really that bad?” Steph finally asked, though her voice wasn’t quite as gentle as it could have been. There was a nervous edge to it. “I mean, you’re, uh, pulling it off…” She trailed off, clearly unsure how to proceed.

You ignored her, who cares what she thinks? Her and the rest of them are irrelevant. If you like it then so what. Her comment did make your lips twitch into a smile subconsciously though.

Alfred, who’d been quietly observing the exchange, cleared his throat before standing. “Miss, I must say, it’s a rather bold change. But perhaps not one that will be received well by the staff and teachers.” His words were polite, but you could hear the disapproval in the undertones.

You gave him a bright smile, not at all sorry. “I’ll take my chances, Alfred. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I've played this game before.”

Bruce, who had been seething quietly, finally stood up from the table. His usual calm demeanor was replaced with a tense frustration. “Go change. Now.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. “Make me.”

There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, then something else, something more. He clenched his fists for a moment, clearly fighting to maintain control. But you weren’t backing down. Not this time.

“I’m not going to let you walk out of here like that,” Bruce snapped.

You didn’t miss a beat. “You won't let me do anything. I go to school like this or I don't go at all. And since when do you care?” You crossed your arms and stuck your foot out, pouting like a child, staring him down waiting for him to surrender.

Bruce hesitated for a moment, his expression softening ever slightly. “Fine. But you’re pushing it. You're not going like this tomorrow.”

Bruce 0, You 1.

Jason, who had been watching the exchange with interest, chuckled. “You really know how to work him, don’t you?”

You flashed a smile at him, leaning back in your chair as you stood up and grabbed your bag, ready to leave the room. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We're already late. Jason, you driving?” Jason was the most fun, and he wasn't as nosy as Dick or Barbra.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m driving us all today. Come on, let’s go before Dad starts pulling rank.”

With a dramatic sigh, Bruce reluctantly agreed, shooting a last, disapproving look at your outfit before turning toward the door.

The engine of Jason’s car hummed steadily, but the air inside was anything but calm. You had decided to make this ride your moment. If you were uncomfy, you'd make them all feel the same. The others in the car—Damian, Tim, and Duke—were bracing themselves for your usual attitude, though this time you could tell there was a noticeable edge to the tension.

Jason, who was driving, was trying his best to keep his eyes on the road, but you knew he was glaring at you through the rearview mirror. Damian was next to you in the backseat, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, like he was ready to throw down at any second. Tim sat on the other side, buried in his homework, something to do with Gotham Prep’s ever-pressing academic requirements. Nerd.

And Duke? Duke was the least bothered, but you were sure he was mentally rolling his eyes at you the moment you stepped into the car.

You were far too busy with your phone, flipping through TikTok videos and checking your DMs, but every so often, you’d glance at the boys just to see their reactions.

“So…” You leaned forward a little, propping your elbow on the middle console. Your voice was light, casual, but you could feel the energy shift around you. You knew this would get under Jason’s skin. “You think any of the boys at Gotham Prep will notice my glow up? ”

You heard a long, heavy sigh from the driver’s seat before Jason muttered, “She's in that phase huh,"

But you weren’t listening. You were too busy smirking at Tim, who barely looked up from his book. You could feel his eyes narrow, probably out of sheer annoyance. “I mean, it’s inevitable, right?” you continued. “I'm 16 now, I'm better looking. Is there any fresh meat since I left? Anyone interesting, new friends maybe??"

Jason was silent for a moment, but you could see the grip on the steering wheel tightening in his peripheral. He wasn’t going to let you get away with this.

"Listen," Jason said, his voice calm but with that sharp edge he always used when he was trying not to lose his temper. "I don’t want to hear about boys, okay? Not today, not ever."

You blinked dramatically, as if you were the one being attacked. “Oh, come on, Jason, don’t be such a buzzkill. I’m not doing anything. I just wanna know if anyone’s looking.” You reached forward and pressed the button to connect your phone to the car’s Bluetooth, your nails clicking loudly across the screen as you searched for the perfect song to add to the atmosphere.

You knew you were getting to him. Jason was always so serious when it came to boys, always so guarded, especially when it came to you. It was fun getting under his skin. He glanced over his shoulder at you, but you were already half-distracted by your phone.

“Relax, Jase,” you shot back, ignoring his glare. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just curious. It’s just—boys.”

You needed something to stop the ache that came with your new powers.

“Don’t make me pull this car over,” Jason threatened, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror again.

You laughed softly, loving how easily you could provoke him. You leaned back in your seat, stretching out your legs, and noticed Damian watching you like he was deciding whether to strangle you with his own scarf.

“Damian, you’re so serious,” you sigh, you'd been ignoring him lately but you forgot how easy he is to provoke. “You know, you should loosen up. Boys are fun to look at, and to—” You cut yourself off before you could finish the sentence, letting the tension simmer.

Damian’s face twisted in that way he did when he was trying to pretend you didn’t bother him. “I don’t care what you do with boys,” he muttered. “But if you think I’m going to sit in this car while you talk about them like you’re some kind of—”

“Oh, no,” you interrupted with a teasing smile, “Not some kind of what? Some kind of what?” You stretched your legs a little further, drawing more attention to the hem of your skirt as you adjusted yourself in your seat. Making it even shorter now that Bruce wasn't here. You felt the eyes of your brothers boring into you, especially Jason's. “Honestly, Damian, lighten up. If you stopped being such a little grumpy loser all the time, you’d get more attention from girls. You have my looks y'know. ”

Tim, who had been pretending to focus on his homework this whole time, finally looked up from his papers with an exasperated sigh. “Can you not?” he asked, voice strained. “We’ve got school in twenty minutes. We don’t need a whole lecture about boys in the car.”

“Hey, no need to be so dramatic, Tim,” you said, turning your attention to your phone. You found your favorite song, the one that was guaranteed to annoy everyone in the car. “I’m just having fun. It’s not like I’m gonna do anything crazy. I just wanna know who’s gonna be there today."

You were making them all uncomfortable, and you loved it. You could already see Damian’s jaw tightening in the rearview mirror and Jason’s knuckles whitening around the steering wheel. Tim was staring at you like you were a whole new level of annoying. Even Duke rolled his eyes.

But that wasn’t enough. You needed them to be seething.

“I’m telling you right now,” Jason warned, his voice dead serious, “no boys today. No messing around. You’re going to class, and you’re staying focused. I'll check your phone if I have to. Got it?”

You put on your best innocent face, looking up from your phone as if you hadn’t just been causing a small riot in the car. “Okay, okay, Jason. No boys. I'm more into men anyway.”

Damian scoffed again, muttering something about how “pathetic” it was. You just grinned and rolled your eyes.

“Hey, you’re just jealous because girls don’t look at you,” you said, winking at him. “Maybe if you weren’t such a pain in the ass, you’d get noticed more.”

Duke, who had been quietly observing the entire conversation, finally spoke up from the backseat, his tone easygoing but with a hint of amusement. “You got any tips for me? Am I chopped liver”

You rolled your eyes at him, still not over his betrayal. “Glad you’re entertained, Duke. I don't think even I could help you.”

As you said that, you grabbed the aux cord and plugged it into your phone without asking.

Jason let out a sharp sigh, but you just grinned. “I’ve got it from here,” you said as you clicked on Drake’s Hotline Bling. The song blasted as you maxed out the volume. Damian looked like he was about to combust.

“You really are a pain in the ass, aren’t you?” Tim muttered under his breath, trying to focus on his schoolwork again.

You grinned. “I like to think of myself as entertaining.”

Duke nodded his head to the beat, tapping on his phone and Jason’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror, but you could see the playfulness in his face. He was trying not to smile, despite himself.

“I’m just saying, no boys today, no skipping, no trouble” Jason reiterated, trying to keep a semblance of control. “And if I hear anything about you messing around, we’re going back home, got it?”

You leaned back in your seat and stretched again. “Sure, sure, no boys. But just so you know, if i get into "trouble" it’s not my fault.”

Jason didn’t respond.

When you finally arrived at Gotham Prep you sighed, grabbed your bag, straightened out your skirt one last time, and nearly ran away from them so you didn't have to walk in with Duke, Damian, and Tim. “See you later, losers,” you said with a grin, pulling your sunglasses on as you walked away from the car.

Gotham Prep didn't know what's coming.

Taglist:

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

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

[shysuccubusstuff]

L&DS LI are for those that... pt. 1

Content: Reasons why some people may find themselves feeling more attracted for some of the LI ♡. Gender neutral reader! + Non proof-reader + SFW content

Possible TW: Mention of unsafe child bringing + yelling + parents issues +

Note: My brain has been so lazy lately... So sorry for not posting! Together with the fact that my tumblr page has been acting a lil weird is just so---. I hope that everyone who reads this is having a good day!! This is actually my first time writing about Rafayel!

Question: Who is your favourite LI in L&DS? Mine are probably Sylus, Zayne, and Caleb (in that order). Something interest abt this is that my first LI was Xavier!

Xavier:

Xavier is for those that need someone that loves taking life slowly. The ones that have that feeling that they have been running their whole life's, always having that fear of loosing to someone they don't even know.

Xavier is for those that have quality time as love language. The ones that enjoy spending time with their significant other. It doesn't matter if they are making a trip to some lost place or if they are laying in bed together, the fact that they can spend the whole day together is more than enough to keep them shining the whole day.

Xavier is for those who prefer a calm yet confident lover. The ones that love someone who is able to remain calm even when they can clearly see someone trying to hit on their lover. Still, as soon as it's just the two of you, rest asure that he will make sure to show you just how much he loves and wants you, leaving trails of his kisses all over your neck, not one spot free from his lips.

Xavier is for those that long for an everlasting love, the one that grows over time. The type of love that goes beyond the boundaries of life and death, the one that all those novels talk about. One that allows the other to simply know who their lover is regardless of your physical appeareance. I mean, how could he simply ignore those small gestures? From the way that you smiled, those sweet wrinkles appearing in your eyes as he made a silly joke, to that loving gaze you gave him while the two of you were cooking together, your arms wrapping around him as you tried to avoid him from burning the little pastry. He is aware that the one he met and the one he knows now are not the same person, he knows it, he isn't the naïve prince from centuries ago that decided to run away as an attempt to save you. So he makes his decision, choosing this time to stick close to you, his sword always following yours as if the two of you had been fighting your whole life, protecting you from each wanderer, while reassuring you and your abilities, as he is aware of just how strong you truly are.

Zayne:

Zayne is for those that love being taken care of. The ones that have spent all their life feeling as if everyone is relying on them. It's not something just about being the oldest sibling, but always having to be the bigger person. The one friend that is always taking care of the other friends, never being asked how they feel or what they want.

Zayne is for those that love a gentle lover. The ones that have grown up in an unsafe environment. The ones that were constantly being yelled at or insulted. Zayne is for those that need a gentle love, someone who will never raise his tone, his voice always soft even when you keep testing his patience.

Zayne is for those who yearn for physical affection. The ones that have always been too scared of asking for it, the ones that get uncomfortable with the feeling of being close to someone. You have always been afraid of it, fear of them rejecting it, so you have grown accustomed to it, hugging your soft plushies as you dream about having a someone to hug and be hugged by.

Zayne is for those who always fall in love with the socially awkward men, the ones that aren't even aware of the way their frowns are always furrowed. The ones that love seeing a more than capable men become a mess because of love, those that keep their exterior face completely frozen, yet their mind is rushing, heart beating as fast as if they were running away from a wild animal. The ones that begin to feel their face heat up as they keep noticing the presence of their loved ones, his pupils expanding as they lock eyes with you.

Rafayel:

Rafayel is for those who have a fear of abandonment. The ones that have that constant feeling that the people they love are actually tired of them. Rafayel is for those that have grown always feeling as if they are the black sheep, the ones that were always the friend that had to walk behind the rest. Rafayel, who makes sure to let you know just how much you are loved, sending messages constantly, calling you everytime you let him know that you're free. Rafayel, who sends pictures of every little thing that reminds him of you.

Rafayel is for those that always feel kind of pessimistic. The ones that need someone that reminds them that the world didn't stop when they failed on that something that they were supposed to be the best at. The ones that yearn for that feeling of hopefulness, the ones that love being reassured that nothing will happen if they take a small break, letting them rest during a whole day after working so hard during the week.

Rafayel is for those who never got to really act like a children. The ones that were forced to grow up, pushed by the different circumstances that made them realise just how harsh the real world is. This is exactly why you need someone like Rafayel, someone who is able to bring that inner child, making you laugh from the top of your lungs while you chase around him as if the two of you were still children. He is the kind of man that may get on your nerves at first, always joking around while you treat everything as a matter of life and death, but this same attitude allows you to relax, becoming more and more playful as the time that the two of you spent together increased.

Rafayel is for those that dream about a love that gives just the same as you. Rafayel is for the ones that have always felt like they get the short end of the stick, the ones that always love too much and too hard, the ones that don't mind hurting themselves as long as the other person doesn't feel hurt. Rafayel is for those that seek for someone that is ready to give them everything they have just as they would do. He is for those that have always looked for someone that will accept them as a whole, not just the soft and funny part, but also the part that they have been trying so hard to hide, the one that is so scared of being abandoned after giving everything to their loved one.

[jugheadtheredhead]

now that this is making its rounds again, it’s even more important than ever to foster and grow this hope. im a young queer woman living in the united states rn, do you think that i do not see horrors? i live in a red state. i wake up everyday with crippling fear, but do you know what keeps me going?

hope. that is what keeps me going.

hope doesn’t look like me blindly optimistic about everything and the fact that people think that that is what this post means breaks my heart. hope is knowing things are bad and wanting to change that. so many people have spread hate on this post and missed the point that both op and i were trying to make, hope is so much stronger than fear. every revolution started with hope. every rebellion. every movement. and that is what i say in my original post.

because the world and humanity at its core is beautiful. people can be beautiful. if we work together to take down the people who want us to be scared, who want us to give up, we can build the world that this post is about.

and listen: they take away our rights, they censor our media, they send away our friends, they rob us blind, and you’re really gonna let them take away your hope too? that is exactly what they want. don’t become complacent, don’t say “oh well things are just terrible and that’s life”, because you can make a change.

hope is not ignorance. i am not ignorant. hope is diving into the abyss scared as shit but the only way out is through and there is always, always a light at the end of the tunnel.

i have seen the abyss too. have sat in the abyss. have let it consume me. i will not let the darkness win, i will not live in the abyss forever. why choose darkness and nihilism when you can choose light and be the change you want to see?

In the future, children will think our ways are strange. "Why do old people always grow so much milkweed in their gardens?" they'll say. "Why do old people always write down when the first bees and butterflies show up? Why do old people hate lawn grass so much? Why do old people like to sit outside and watch bees?"

We will try to explain to them that when we were young, most people's yards were almost entirely short grass with barely any flowers at all, and it was so commonplace to spray poisons to kill insects and weeds that it was feared monarch butterflies and American bumblebees would soon go extinct. We will show them pictures of sidewalks, shops, and houses surrounded by empty grass without any flowers or vegetables and they will stare at them like we stared at pictures of grimy children working in coal mines

[midnite-c6]

hear me out — nam-gyu is actually soooo icky. i don’t care what anyone tells me. he’s a icky icky man. he’s so fucking mean too. he thinks of women as possessions (he’s sooo misogynistic. you can’t convince me otherwise) like what do you mean women are their own person and can control their own lives?! no…. they are possessions!

additionally, he is sooo convincing with his words — he can get anyone to trust him quite easily (especially if they’re naive) and he’s taking full advantage of that.

honestly nam-gyu probably has anyone naive trying things they were always against. he has such a way with words when it comes to getting anyone to open up or doing what he wants them to do. he'll give them everything they need to get them to say yes even if it means making promises he doesn't even plan to keep or fulfill.

also, no one can convince me otherwise that this man doesn’t have a thing for trad wives. he definitely likes the idea of codependency and the fact that someone clings to him like a second skin (but let’s be honest, he definitely doesn’t make it out to seem like he likes it — it’s always constant degradation from him: “stupid bitch, can’t ever do anything for yourself, huh? i have to do everything for you”). also likes the idea of baby trapping, because you can’t leave him ♡ but 100% does not like kids.

i also can see him fetishizes the FUCK out of lesbians (once again… this man is ICKY) and i definitely feel like if he was the type to get into a relationship with someone who is bisexual (or closeted lesbian. specifically if he coerces them) he would exploit the shit out of it. bro definitely has a premium subscription to ph. constantly doom scrolling to find something he hasn’t watched yet (specifically lesbians or threesomes (two girls, one guy) it’s definitely one of his biggest fantasies. he is soo gross ♡)

he would probably likes giving some naive, lightweight (never done drugs before) drugs that he knows they wouldn’t be able to handle just so he they can take advantage.

I AM GOING INSANEEEE. i am clawing and gnawing at the bars of my enclosure.

warnings: 18+, DARK content, dubcon, baby trapping

bro i am so sorry i haven't let this out to the public sooner, this is so good and factual fr 💔 like this guy is an misogynistic incel honestly, idfc what anyone else says, u literally can see it in the show how he treats se-mi. he's a meanie.

THE PH SUBSCRIPTION IS SO REAL. also, forces or not, makes u watch porn with him, the disgusting ones like heavy bondage/bdsm, prolly whilst sticking a wand vibrator on ur clit in a setting that's intense BUT wont make u cum so its pure torture..

guys has anyone done se-mi x reader x nam-gyu ? like hello? hello????? ITS RIGHT THERE prolly would watch u & se-mi whilst he's cucking himself. or he's right in the middle of the action, both ur pussies rubbing on his dick.

also, i love nam-gyu corruption kink, to someone whos absolutely clean, pure, law abiding citizen, prolly doesnt even know half of the kinks or stuff u see in pornhub, BUT THAT'S WHY NAM-GYU EXISTS!! to teach you allat, to corrupt u :^

i just dont feel like hes a good person at all, in smut mindset, and in fr the character, hes those toxic bfs who's only "strong" cuz u're just a lil bit weaker than him. and if u try to leave, nuh-uh, u can't, u wanted a child to begin with right?

"fuck you mean, 'i'm leaving you'? bitch please," he scolds, pumping another load inside- straight to your womb, "you wanna be a single mom?" you shake your head immediately, you were on birth control.. but maybe not... oh no! "then don't bullshit me with saying you're 'leaving me'... you know you love me." let's just hope he'll be a good dad... (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

if anyone needs a fluffy lovey namgyu smut this aint the place.. jk, i would prolly post one too heheh <3 also, now i wanna make a full on incel!nam-gyu x reader smut mannn

[princesssmars]

sooooo....sub!vi and sub!reader tribbing.

nsfw. fem!reader. lesbian sex. tribbing ofc. inspired by one of the first nsfwtwt accounts i encountered 5 years ago...ill never forget you </3 wc: 905.

at first glance, every woman vi approached thought she was a dom. in a way she could understand it, she was muscular and tall and had every other stereotypical dominant top butch feature that had femmes falling at her feet begging for a chance for her to strap them until they saw stars.

while she was always flattered, there was an uneasy feeling whenever she was commanding a girl in bed, a nagging in the back of her head that she just couldn't shake. she figured it was just her brain catching up to the fact that she had become incredibly desirable to so many people so quickly, that after a few more girls in her bed, she’d settle into a good rhythm

until she met you.

after a few shared drinks at her favorite bar and a sloppy make out in the back of a taxi, she’s got your pretty form pushed down onto her bed, sheets ruffled and both of your jackets thrown to the ground as your form writhes beneath her, your body so, so pliant for her. but that nagging feeling is coming back with a vengeance, and before she can stop herself she’s pulling off of your body with a groan and flopping into her pillows face first.

she muffles a somber apology, words barely legible through the soft fabric, telling you that she’ll pay for your uber home and that she is really sorry for getting your hopes up. she expects to hear you scoff and get up with a huff, to hear the rustling of you putting on your clothes before the slam of her door. but instead, it's quiet, the only sound reverberating through the room is your shared heavy breathing and the faint sound of crickets in the night.

she slightly jerks when she feels your hand graze her shoulder, so incredibly gentle as you tug on her so she turns onto her back, eyes locking onto yours. your face is…calm, understanding almost.

“is everything okay? do you want to just…talk about it?”

and maybe it's your delicate look and touch, the tone of your voice, and genuine inquiry about what she’s truly feeling instead of being mad at your ruined night, but she lets every little bottled-up emotion that's been building up for the past few weeks go.

and you understand her problem completely.

“im sorry you felt like you had to hold all of that in. if you want,I know a few ways we could help with your problem.”

her eyes widened and face flushed at the prospect. “you mean that you - you would?”

“wish I could, but i’ve never been very good at it. but there are other things we could do. together.”

and it's in moments like these, where after a long day of work she gets to come home, relax, and lose herself in pleasure with you in front of her, that she’s so grateful you helped her find this part of herself.

there isn't an inch of space between you, your shared borderline possessive embraces and the tightly connected collars around both of your necks ensuring so. she doesn't even want to (or can, at this point) think about how desperate she must have looked when you raised the surprise up to her gaze earlier, how she had shown no hesitation in attaching it around her neck before dragging you to your shared bed to get her hands on you and yours on her.

she’s brought out of her thoughts when a punctured cry is torn from her throat, the friction of your clits brushing and grinding together sending a burst of sharp pleasure up from her cunt into the rest of her body. it amplifies the heat already surrounding the both of you, a thin sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies from the strain of rubbing against each other for…for who knows how long at this point.

but it doesn't matter, she’d risk the chance of passing out if it meant she got to feel like this for even a few more seconds.

neither of you can speak, only shrill whimpers and endless moans bouncing off of the walls. luckily you seem to have maybe a few more brain cells active at the moment, aware of the impending fifth noise complaint, taking initiative, and pushing your heads together to lock your lips in a sloppy kiss.

and god, everything is just too much. the friction of your slick cunts meeting in a rabid frenzy, both of your hands scratching at each other backs and breasts, and the mushing of your tongues leading to drool dripping down your faces only catapults her into a mind-breaking orgasm, back arching and arms holding your body even closer to hers as she feels you both gush against each other.

and once your highs finally die down, you both take care of each other. the collars are taken off, and giggles are shared when you both stand up to wobbly legs to clean each other up in the bathroom. and it's in moments like these, where you're sitting across from each other in the tub, rubbing fruity-smelling suds over each other's bodies and sharking sweet kisses and praises, that she really, really loves being a sub.

[emsdevs]

Luke Hughes requests reader is doing the TikTok trend where she ask Luke and Jack questions about her to see who knows her better but pretends that Jack get all the answers right and Luke gets them wrong and his reaction Jack also knows what the reader is up to please

Know Me Better

a/n: i had way way wayyy too much fun with this one! nonnie you're a genius!! sorry for the wait but i hope it was worth it!! fair warning this is mostly dialogue!

masterlist | NHL Masterlists | Luke Hughes Masterlist

It took you days to talk both boys into doing a TikTok with you. Jack was completely against it until you told him you planned to prank Luke, and then he was game. Luke was much easier to convince after you had Jack’s help.

About a week ago, you were doing your nightly TikTok scroll when you came across a video of a girl pranking her boyfriend. She had gotten him and his best friend to answer questions she was asking about herself. However, she was pretending that whatever the best friend said was right and her boyfriend was wrong. The best friend was obviously in on it, and it took the boyfriend way too long to catch on. As soon as the video ended, you knew you needed to try the video with Luke and Jack. 

Now, the two brothers sat at their kitchen table, you standing behind them with your list of questions at the ready. You prop your phone up and press record. 

“Okay, guys, so I have this list of questions about myself, and I’m gonna make my boyfriend and his brother,” you point at Luke and Jack respectively, “and by the end, we’ll see who knows me better. You guys ready?”

“So ready, babe.”

“Yeah, let’s go.” “Okay! First question is easy. What is my favorite color?”

“Oh! Easy it’s purple!” Luke is the first to answer.

“No bro it’s green,” Jack says smoothly.

“Jack got it right! Good job!”

“Babe, no. Your favorite color is purple. It’s always been purple,” Luke is confused, his brows furrowed.

“No, hun, I changed it a few weeks ago remember? We talked about it with Jack.”

“Whatever,” he gives up, not wanting to argue while doing something you were so excited for.

“Okay, next question! What is my favorite flower?” “Oh! Marigolds!” Jack jumps in first this time.

“Um, no. It’s lilies.”

“Actually, Lukey, Jack is right! How did you even know that?” “Heard you guys talking about it last week,” Jack shrugs, knowing that’s not what he heard you say your favorite flower was.

“You mean when I got her lilies, and she was so happy because lilies are her favorites? So she told me that lilies were her favorites ten times?” Luke was beginning to get frustrated, narrowing his eyes at his brother. He knows for a fact that lilies are your favorite flowers, so he doesn’t know where Jack is pulling his information from or why you’re agreeing with everything Jack says. Then again, what if Jack is right? Is Luke a bad boyfriend?

“Anyway! Next! What color were my nails two weeks ago?”

“Light blue!” Jack speaks up again. He had no idea what color your nails were. He was guessing random stuff at this point.

“They were dark red, kinda a maroon color, and your ring fingers had a tiny white heart on them,” Luke knows there’s no way he was getting this one wrong. He had gone to your nail appointment with you, content to sit and mess around on his phone while you got your nails done. 

“Wow, Luke, that’s impressive detail, but Jack was right.”

“What?” he was borderline shouting, not really angry, just offended. He knew he was right, but what if he wasn’t? Either way, how was Jack getting every question right? “Babe, I know for a fact that’s what you got. I bought them. At the salon. I was there. I paid. Right in front of you.”

“No, baby, that was the set before the blue ones,” you force yourself to ignore the pout that now sits on your boyfriend’s face, “Okay, next up! What’s my go-to karaoke song?”

“Oh! It’s ‘Black’ by Dierks Bentley!”

“No, dude. It’s ‘Dancing Queen’ from that one Meryl Streep movie,” Jack had seen you sing that song once at karaoke, and it was after you sang “Black.”

“Oh, my god! Jack got it right, again!”

“No, babe. We sing ‘Black’ together,” Luke was giving you puppy dog eyes now, and you’re not sure how long you can keep this up.

Jack steps in to save you from answering again, “Yeah, bro, but she said her go-to karaoke song. That one is for both of you.”

“Whatever. How many more questions are there?” His pout is intensifying, and you can tell if you keep this up much longer, he’ll walk out. You decide to make the next question a little more obvious, something only Luke would know.

“Okay, Lukey, you should get this one. What did I eat on our first date?”

“Chicken alfredo,” Luke answers without even having to think about it. He remembers every detail of that night. 

“Nah, she had a plate of shrimp.” You don’t eat shrimp. Jack knows this. Luke knows this. That’s when it all sets in for Luke.

“Are you two kidding me?” he shrieks standing up, giggles coming out of his open mouth. “You’ve been messing with me this whole time?”

“Yes, Lukey,” you’re cracking up. You can’t help it, “You got every question right.”

“I knew it! You two had me freaking out thinking I was a bad boyfriend or something!”

“Sorry, man. She put me up to it,” Jack could barely talk through his laughter, but he still managed to throw you under the bus.

“Jerk!” Jack continued laughing as he walked away. You stopped the video, laughter still taking over you and Luke, “I’m sorry. I saw a video like that and thought it would be funny,” you smile at your boyfriend sheepishly.

“Yeah, real funny,” he rolls his eyes before grabbing your waist and throwing you over his shoulder.

You’re overcome with giggles yet again, “Where are you taking me?”

“To bed! We’re watching Secretariat, so you can make this up to me! And your hand better be in my hair the whole time!”

taglist: @heartsforjh @alex-wotton @devilinpradaheels @juxmi @macklin-celebrini-71 @puckmedude @alexxavicry @dancerbailey3 @madebyhappymeals @beenucks @

join the taglist

[fairestwriting]

RAHHHH, I LOVR YOUR WRITING!!!!

Can I kindly request for Leona, Jade, and Idia with a Hyper! Reader?

Like, Reader is up for everything and anything and is always either preparing for shenanigans or doing them.

ah yes. the trio i am definitely not biased towards when it comes to writing stuff (TYSM im glad you like it!!! i hope you enjoy this too <33

𐙚 Leona Kingscholar

It’s a good thing that you’re so lively, you can just have energy for the two of you, is the sort of thing you’ll hear from him a lot. Always seasoned with his signature snarky feeling, sometimes he’s more exasperated, and other times, he can actually sound quite fond and sweet.

The “Herbivore” nickname isn’t going away anytime soon, that’s for sure. It’s more than just a little jab at how non threatening you come off— You honestly kind of remind him of a rabbit. If you ask him to elaborate he says it’s because you’re “always hopping around and sticking your nose into other people’s business”. If you ask him for further explanation he says you’re just proving his point by being too curious.

To anyone who knows how to read him, it becomes quite visible that he’s really very unsuccessful at concealing how endearing he thinks your antics are. He’ll never miss an opportunity to tell you he’s absolutely not going to join you on whatever you’re up to that day, and yet… he’s always there to say these exact words.

You might manage to convince him to take you out on some fun dates, things like going to amusement parks or arcades. He actually really enjoys it, despite always playing up that unamused, grumpy act. Most of the time he’ll just stand on the sidelines and watch while you have your fun, but it’s not that hard to bait him into following you to the roller coaster. At the end of the day, he tells you he hopes you’re satisfied because he won’t be indulging you again too soon— Something you can easily prove wrong in about a week or so.

𐙚 Jade Leech

He’s always not-so-secretly overjoyed to hear about any new troublemaker type that might pop up into Azul’s radar. These people are always the most interesting to observe, after all. So even before you two actually spoke, you’ve been keeping him more than engaged.

Jade has no desire to actively cause anything that might count as mischief… or at least that’s what he says. It’s not a full blown lie, but the key word here really is “actively” — Any antics of yours that he can support will be supported. Whether by conveniently making others too intimidated to get in your way, or sharing little hints of possible interesting things to do around school. It takes him some time to start actually tagging along, even if it’s just to stand around and watch you having your fun, but when he starts to do it, he’s pretty much become your new henchman.

While he mostly keeps to himself, if you show any interest in going on hikes with him, or learning about mushrooms and such, you’ll find that he can match your energy level quite easily. Jade is actually a bit surprised at your enthusiasm when it comes to that, he’s always wondered how it’d be like to explore the woods with a partner. Very quick to make new hiking plans, even quicker to think of multiple creative ways to use up whatever you picked while out.

He finds himself smiling and laughing a lot when he’s by your side. Of course, he already does both often in general, but it’s different when he’s with you. You always have some new, interesting topic to talk about, paired with a remarkable skill to find entertaining points about seemingly anything, it’s really contagious to him.

𐙚 Idia Shroud

Thinks it’s a miracle someone like you ever became interested in him. Shouldn’t a pessimistic, anxious introvert just come off as boring to someone who’s so bright and active? For a good while, Idia just couldn’t understand how you’d even fit him into your world. You two are just so different—

He would’ve probably rejected you out of sheer hopelessness if it wasn’t for the fact that… pairing a cheerful character with a gloomy one is, in fact, a pretty popular romance trope in anime. A part of him, sort of shyly and almost guiltily, hoped that he would get to have that in real life one day.

The fact you’re even open to indulging his interests definitely helps to bring you two closer. He was so anxious about showing you anything he liked, even if it was some popular game everyone in school is talking about, it’s just too nerdy for someone like you, isn’t it? Sometimes he’s still comically surprised whenever you mention liking a game or something like that. But he can get over his nervousness pretty quickly when you suggest playing together, even if it’s just on call.

When you’re messing with other people, he likes watching it from afar. Texts asking for updates on how your latest plans are going. If he can, he’ll even bail you out of trouble, it’s not like it’s that hard to make one of the school cameras just stop working for a little bit… And he really likes your reactions to him doing things like that, the way you praise his skills with so much enthusiasm. It really makes him feel like he’s won in life, honestly.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[nanaminxs]

Bruce is ecstatic! Why wouldn’t he be? He’s basking in the warmth of his beloved, in the bed of their hotel suite in Vegas.

Bruce had spared no expense in making your honeymoon in Las Vegas unforgettable. The suite was a masterpiece! I mean, floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the dazzling lights of the Strip, while plush furniture and luxurious amenities filled the sprawling space.

In the middle, a very nice sized bed. It’s headboard covered in intricate patterns, and details.

Bruce stood by the window, his silhouette illuminated by the neon glow from outside. He wore a simple black shirt and slacks, but somehow, he still looked like the billionaire playboy Gotham knew him to be. His lips curled into a small, rare smile as he turned to look at you lounging on the sofa, a glass of champagne in hand.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, the way it always managed to send shivers down your spine.

“Too much,” you replied with a grin, swirling the champagne. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I carry the Wayne name now.”

Bruce laughs, pure and genuine. His frame smushing you despite your protests.

“You’ll get used to it.” Bruce kisses your temple, then your nose, then your cheek. And when he gets to your lips, it’s almost needy.

The man plucks the glass from your hand, setting it somewhere on a flat surface before his hands are all on you.

Bruce hasn’t done this before, despite that phony playboy title—you’re his first. He just hopes you can’t tell by the way his hands tremble as he’s pulling your panties off your ankles and letting them fall to the floor.

Bruce kisses you so passionately it makes your head spin, chest tightening because your body craves his touch after so long of not having it.

Two thick digits slot themselves between your legs, rubbing up and down your slit. His touch is gentle, like he’s figuring out what makes you tick.

“Right here?” He questions, pressing the pad of his middle finger to your sensitive bud. When you let out a small gasp and dig a fresh set of nails into his wrist he hums, lips trailing down your neck.

His voice vibrates into the valley of your breasts. “Yeah. Right there.”

He’s so cocky, especially when he’s kissing down your body while his fingers push past the tight ring of your entrance oh-so-slowly.

Bruce is using one thumb to pull one of your pussy lips to the side, as his tongue gives an experimental kitten lick.

His eyes burning holes through your face as he’s gouging reactions—good or bad. He wants to do good by you, wants to make you feel good. So naturally he’s just doing what feels right in the moment.

A long whine falls from your lips like a symphony when his fingers brush against your g-spot.

“Talk t’me. Tell me where—show me how to please you, baby.” Spills from his lips, voice rumbling between your legs.

“Fingers—hah! Right there, jus’ curl..fuckkk..”

Bruce is a fast learner. And you’re embarrassed to say that—just five minutes in, and you’re making a fat puddle on sheets that aren’t even yours.

But the fucker doesn’t know when to stop. He keeps his tongue on you, licking up and down your slit in the softest way possible. Just shy of that sensitive bundle of nerves.

A small hiss from your lips causing him to look up as he’s pulling fingers from you. He presses them to your lips—“Taste yourself.”

Bruce Wayne is gentle. And carefully protected as he’s nervously rolling the rubber down the base of his cock.

Palms press against both sides of your head and you’re both letting out a sigh.

“Bad time to say this is my first?” He mutters out. He’s met with a smile from you and a head shake.

“At least I’m not alone on this.” You snort.

His cock head nudges against slick folds, and he’s kissing you. A way to distance your mind from the stretch as he’s pushing into you. Inch by inch.

With one final soft and needy thrust, he’s burying himself to the hilt.

It’s definitely a struggle to fit him in, even more so a struggle to kiss him back like this.

But there’s something just so intimate about the way he’s muttering softly, “I got you. M’right here.”

But what can be more intimate than the fact he’s literally balls deep inside of you???

He starts slow. Drawing back, then pushing forward. You both moan in sync.

Then continues his tender assault, his cock slipping past gummy walls just to pull out enough for his tip to kiss the ring of your entrance.

Every inch he gives you is a slow torturous promise of what’s yet to come. Bruce revels at the sensation, in the way your velvety walls grip his cock and draw him impossibly deeper.

“Need more.” You tap his bicep, gaining his attention. He grabs your ankle and chucks it over his shoulder, the new angle about to force a protest from you.

“Okay. Like this?”

As he’s sinking deeper, you’re shutting up. Barely able to muster out anything than whines for more. For him. Hell—you’re thinking more with your pussy when you’re begging him to fuck a baby into you.

Oh but he eats that right up, pelvis grinding against your clit with each harsh thrust, a force that makes your back arch off the material under you. He’s excited by the way your body responds to his, hips rocking to gain more friction from his.

He’s not gentle, not as much. But he’s still careful, ensuring that each time the fatness of his length delves into you, it hits that spongy spot that makes you churn.

Bruce fucks you so good, you don’t even realize that after he made you cum—he’d snatched the condom off. But that’s okay right?

It must feel so good to take a break from his nightly activities, especially when he gets time with you <3

[chelseeebe]

timeless

18+. mdni. smut. mentions of drugs. no use of y/n!

you find yourself back in hawkins, with nothing but your grandad’s old diner and a bunch of conflicted feelings about your old best friend, can you say goodbye to him all over again?

a/n: set in the 80s but also the 50s idk i just wanted that old timey feeling pretty long fic i was originally going to split up but decided against.. hope you read it and enjoy anyway:)

⋆ and you were headed off to fight in the war, you still would’ve been mine, we would’ve been timeless ⋆

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

hawkins was really the end of the road for you. 

deserting the dreams of the big city to come right back to where it had all started. 

it had been years since you’d stepped foot in this town, not much had changed since then, if you were completely honest. 

still the same old shitty, rundown dump it always was. 

eternally grateful that your grandad still owned the old diner at the other end of town, meaning you’d flounced right into a job and somewhere to stay once you’d packed your bags and left new york behind. 

it’s nothing like the office used to be, barely seeing a dozen customers a day, only if you were lucky. but it was nice, a change in pace after the hustle and bustle of the city. 

the radio hums on quietly in the background, a couple of regulars sit sipping their coffee at various tables. they did this day in, day out. drink coffee, complain about some mundane new issue they had with the town and then shuffle off back to their homes. 

it didn’t exactly seem like your idea of fun. 

there’s a bang from outside, metal hitting the ground and a chorus of laughter pulling all attention to the back of the kitchen. 

you don’t hang around, barrelling through the kitchen to just about catch the gaggle of kids sprinting off down the road leaving behind their cans of spray paint and a delightful new mural on the back wall. 

“what the fuck?” screaming out after them though it’s really no use, they’d already gone. 

exasperated that in the seven years you’d been gone, the kids hadn’t changed a bit. 

you slink back inside, immediately reaching for the phone, hoping that maybe the police had gotten a little better since you’d left. 

though you hold no hope, if they were anything like they were when you were a misfit teen, you’re screwed. 

-

the sun had set, the regulars had scurried off home and now it was just you and the crude painting on the wall. hours and hours of waiting for someone to get out to you. 

only for the patrol car to rattle up into the parking lot, just as you had given up all hope. 

you storm out of the building, infuriated by the nonchalant attitude hawkins police still seemed to hold, “oh, how nice of you to come! i only called three-,” stopping dead in your tracks as the man exits his vehicle. 

you still completely, frozen to your spot, blinking rapidly in disbelief. 

eddie fucking munson stands, with his thumbs hooked into his belt, at the door of his patrol car. hawkins police department uniform to boot, a complete shell of the man you had known years ago. 

“when’d you blow in?” he asks innocuously, slamming the door shut. a new found confidence, or maybe it was cockiness, in his stride. 

“last week,” still coming to grips with the fact that the man stood before you was the same nerdy metal head you were once inseparable with, “when’d you become a cop?”

out of all the possible occupations you could’ve imagined eddie munson in, cop would’ve been dead last on that list. in fact, inmate was several dozens of spots higher. 

he chuckles, realising how ridiculous it must look, “few years ago,” he’s close now, close enough that you can see his long black curls peeking out the back of his hat, “didn’t know you were coming back, i would’ve been quicker if i’d have known it was you.” 

you scoff, very much doubting that, “you should’ve been here hours ago anyway,” beckoning him to the back of the building, no time for reunions while you had a diner plastered in lewd drawings. 

“these fuckin’ kids,” you huff, shaking your head like a scolding old lady, “look at it,” motioning at the hideous spray painting they’d vandalised the entire back wall with, “if you were here on time, you might’ve been able to catch ‘em,” turning your displeased scowl to eddie. 

the corner of his lips twitches, creeping into a full smile. only angering you further. 

“what? d’you think this is funny?”

he shakes his head, cautiously meeting your eye, “no, it’s just.. pretty sure we got taken to the station for doin’ this behind melvalds,” his shoulders shaking as he chuckles. 

you stand, straight faced, the irony wasn’t lost on you, it just didn’t feel like a laughing matter. 

“are you joking? no, really? you’re serious?” rubbing your fingers viciously over the dried paint, “you can paint this shit since it’s so funny to you.” 

“alright alright,” eddie soothes, “i’ll help you paint it,” eyeing the large canvas he’d now been tasked to paint. 

“no,” you frown, “i said you can paint it, i’m not helping you.” 

he smiles, teeth peeking out from his lips, “you get the paint and i’ll do it, deal?” 

driving such a hard bargain, it’s almost impossible not to fall at his feet and sarcastically thank him for his help. 

“fine, deal.” 

“great,” he beams, “now how about some coffee?” 

“we’re closed.”

he exhales, pursing his lips slightly, “please?” 

-

eddie blabbers on about the vagrant youths in hawkins, how just yesterday he was dragging some boy by the scruff of his neck back to his parents. 

it’s all great, exhilarating stuff really. except, you can’t help but let your mind wander, noting his lack of visible tattoos and a ripped up band tee. 

and then further down onto his wedding ring. 

wedding ring?

“you’re married?” you blurt out, staring at the plain band on his fourth finger. eddie munson, married. a feat you had never thought possible. 

“huh?” following your gaze down to his hand, “oh, no,” sliding the silver band from his finger, “it’s the only one they’d let me wear.”

his fingers once adorned with various rings and shoddy stick and poke tattoos, now plain and simple with only the shadows of once black markings. 

“oh,” looking back at his face, “i don’t like it,” shaking your head as if you had any real say on his jewellery, “doesn’t feel like you.” 

eddie takes a sip of coffee, looking just through you, rather than at you, “maybe this is the new me.” 

you ponder, wondering whether you should get as equally profound as he was, “maybe.. still don’t like it,” turning to slide the rest of the dirty plates through the hatch, “when’d you decide to become a traitor anyway?” 

eddie chuckles loudly, the walkie on his shirt crackling incoherently, “a few years ago, it was either this or jail so..” 

“how was it between this or jail? what the hell d’you do?” motioning to his iron pressed getup. 

he sighs, looking down into his mug, “hopper caught me selling at the high school.. not just weed but,” he nods, making a circular gesture with his hand, “like, real hard shit..” sighing softly again as his eyes meet yours, “he told me that he could turn me in and i’d be lucky to get a couple years, or he could get me a job down the station and we could forget all about it.” 

you can’t help the pang of guilt from seeping across your chest. you’d left pretty abruptly in ‘89, much to eddie’s defiance, leaving him to a  town full of people that either hated him or only acknowledged his existence when he was useful to them. 

there’s no question as to whether your departure was anything to do with him peddling hard drugs, that was a given. 

“well shit,” the frown between your brows deepening, “i’m sorry for opening my mouth,” brushing your hands down your apron, hoping that he would see the funny side. 

eddie just shrugs, sliding the empty coffee mug back over the polished wood top, “it’s alright, i don’t mind it actually, not much happens in hawkins anyway.” 

“i wouldn’t say that,” you frown, deciding that the mug would simply have to wait until tomorrow to clean, “there’s a bunch of ugly graffiti on the side of my diner,” quirking your brow, hoping it’ll serve as a reminder to why you’d even called him up here in the first place. 

his eyes sparkle in the dim light, creasing with contained laughter, “i told you i’ll paint it,” his chair scrapes across the wooden floor, straightening his hat, “where’re you staying now anyway? need a ride?” 

you shake your head, looking back at the clock, “i’m at my grandpa’s for the time being.. he should be here soon,” silently praying that he’d arrive so you weren’t forced to ride in the back seat of his patrol car. 

certain people would have plenty to say about that for sure. 

“alright well.. i’ll see you later,” saluting with his two fingers as he leaves. 

an indescribable feeling settles in your stomach. somewhere between melancholy and regret. 

maybe things would’ve been different if you’d stayed. 

maybe not. 

that’s what makes you the most unsettled, it’s a sick nostalgia for something that never even happened. 

a question that had plagued you for the past seven years, one you’ll probably never know the answer to either.  

you brush whatever wistful, reminiscent reflections out of your mind, turning the lights off to wait for your ride in the mellow july evening instead. 

-

the coffee machine hums, the only thing in this place that seemed to be used consistently. forced to make hundreds of bland black coffees for crony old men day in, day out. 

that’s how bored this place had you, pondering the feeling of the inanimate coffee machine. jesus christ. 

time creaks on by, ticking slowly as the sun clears off and the night settles in. one more hour and you’d be on your way home, ready for another night of re-runs and a stale tv-dinner with your grandad. 

you couldn’t complain really, he’d been extremely welcoming, sorting your own little bedroom out for you in his unused office. 

tires screech into the parking lot, crunching on the gravel, alerting you to that damned patrol car pulling up again. 

you watch as he does his little routine, strolling into the diner with a tiny smile, sidling up to the counter with such an air of self-importance, it actually makes you a little sick. 

“you come to paint the wall?” you quip, offering nothing but a tight lipped smile back. 

he clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth, “uh.. no, coffee actually,” pointing to the used and abused machine. 

“hmph,” shaking your head, “you promised.”

“yeah and i’m gonna do it,” holding his hands up, admitting that this was a battle he had already lost, “tell you what, i’m free all day next saturday, you get the paint and i’ll be here.” 

you don’t believe him, you have no reason to but alas, you nod anyway, “you better or you can kiss this friendship goodbye.” 

eddie grins, splaying his palms out flat as he shrugs, “so how about that coffee?” 

-

eddie makes sure to stop in every single day this week. and next. often for hours at a time until his walkie dragged him away and back to the work he’d been ignoring. 

like clockwork, his car crunches over the gravel, swinging in to the same spot without fail. 

nobody even looks twice as the bell rings, too invested in the financial times to spare a second of their attention. 

“you’re here an awful lot,” raising your brows, sliding your notebook back into your apron. 

eddie shrugs, placing his hat onto the counter, “what can i say? i like the coffee,” smiling innocently as he takes his seat. 

“oh i’m sure,” rolling your eyes in return, grabbing a mug and pouring his coffee before gently sliding it over the bar. 

he stays until close tonight, lingering behind as you lock up, no doubt pretending to offer some sort of protection though you’re absolutely sure that you’d be more capable of fighting off any potential threats than he’d ever be. 

you look at your watch, knowing your grandad should’ve been here by now. it was a long, treacherous walk back to his place, not exactly something you wanted to tackle at ten pm either. 

“you need a ride?” eddie asks, standing at his car with his keys in his hand. 

you press your lips together, taking another look at the ticking clock face on your wrist, “if you’re going that way, that’d be great.” 

his eyes roll back, knowing that even if he were driving to the other side of the country, he’d still take you home first, “c’mon,” opening the passenger door as you begrudgingly slink over. 

he certainly keeps his car in better condition than he ever kept his beat up, old van. sometimes it felt like you’d die from dust inhalation than his shoddy driving. 

“they give you this for free?” you ask, admiring the plush leather seats. 

“yup,” tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, “pay for the gas too.” 

“wowww,” feigning amazement, “you’ve got it good.” 

he glances over, scowling just so, unappreciative of your sarcasm, “who’s the one with a driving license and a car here? because it’s not you.”

your mouth falls open, blinking rapidly at his terrible attempt at a joke, “ouch okay,” hoping he’d regret his callousness, though it wasn’t likely. 

“i offered to teach you.. you could’ve been on the road by now,” his eyes leaving the road every other second, fingers itching to rest on your knee. 

“pffft. driving lessons from you? i’d rather walk.” 

you wish he’d just do it, his hands were twitchy, begging to make contact.  

they don’t. 

keeping on the steering wheel instead. 

but he chuckles, low and grumbly, “dustin didn’t wanna learn with me either for some reason.”

“oh wow yeah, i wonder,” turning to stare blankly at the side of his head. 

he glances over, shaking his head before turning back to the road, “you’re so mean,” throwing out a pathetic pout. 

the car rolls onto the familiar street, an unwilling sinking in your gut that the journey was over too soon. 

eddie taps the wheel, peering out of the window at the decaying row of houses, “jeez,” air blowing out of his lips, “hasn’t changed a bit.”

you shake your head, wanting to stay in the car just a bit longer, “nope..” emphasising the ‘p’ as you follow his eye to the splintering door. 

he nods, still staring straight ahead rather than daring to meet your eye, “i’m really glad you’re back,” his fingers playing a repetitive tune on the leather, “i feel like i’ve been waiting for you to come home for so long now that i wasn’t sure if you ever would.”

you hadn’t ever planned on it. 

dreams of new york had filled your mind for as long as you can remember. 

that was supposed to be it. 

and at the start it really did seem like you’d spend the rest of your life there. but a string of tumultuous relationships and an awful

boss had forced you back to hawkins. 

“i didn’t think i was ever gonna,” sighing softly, “i’m sorry for just.. leavin’ you,” turning unexpectedly bashful, “i thought about you all the time you know? new york’s not really that great but i think you would’ve made it better,” feeling the heat soar to your cheeks. 

it was true, at least, at the start. you’d often find yourself wondering about what eddie was up to or if he was thinking of you too. 

“don’t apologise for that,” shaking his head, “i get it. if i coulda, i woulda done it too. you’ll have to show me around one day when i’m-,” clearing his throat, “when i’m not stuck at work.”

he sounds off, something hidden in his tone that you really don’t understand. the moment too tender to query it too much, apprehensive to change the subject just as things had started to feel normal again. 

“i can do that,” turning to eddie to find him already gazing back. “you gotta give me a tour of the station first though, it’s only fair.” 

“deal,” eddie nods, offering his hand out for you to shake. 

you do it, not acknowledging his clammy palm or the way his fingers are shaking just so. 

“alright,” you nod, breaking the tension, “i better go, you’ve gotta busy day tomorrow,” reminding him of your long-awaited agreement. 

“wait-,” grabbing ahold of your fingers before you’re able to climb fully out of the car. 

you turn, eyebrow raised, “what?” 

he’s been so strange all night, like he’s edging to say something

“uhm.. what time did you say again?” 

you blink, baffled by his outburst, “uh.. anytime in the afternoon, i’ll close up early and come and help.” 

“o-okay yeah perfect,” letting go of your fingers. 

your face contorts but you keep your thoughts to yourself, he was pretty peculiar at the best of times, this was no exception. 

“goodnight eds,” finally closing the door, leaving him to his confusing little stupor. 

-

eddie’s there right on time, with a paint bucket in hand and the brush tucked into the pocket of his ratty, paint spattered shirt. 

he looks a picture, resembling more wayne than the eddie munson you knew. 

“what?” he questions your marvelling expression. 

“you look ridiculous,” tucking the cloth back into your apron to get a further look at his get up. his jeans closely resemble the ones he wore as a teen, tattered and torn with spatters of paint adorning the denim. it’s no wonder who he’d stolen his clothes from. 

“ouch,” clutching his heart, “i can just go home if you want? leave that graffiti on your wall?” 

“i didn’t say that,” tutting your tongue against your teeth, “go on out, i’m just gonna finish up in here and i’ll join ya,” ushering him back out the door. 

closing takes longer than you’d expect. mr. casey wasn’t best pleased to hear he had to finish his coffee and go, grumbling all the way out of the door and into his car. 

you make it outside just as eddie spreads the last lick of paint onto the wood, “nice of you to join me!” 

you stare up at the freshly painted wall, grateful to never have to look at the god awful eyesore every again, “doesn’t look like you needed my help anyway,” feet crunching against the stones as you make your way over to him. 

“what d’you think?” proudly showing off his work. 

your eyes scan the wall for anything you can make a quick quip about, only to find that he’d really done a great job. 

“yeah..” frowning slightly as you peer at the wall, “you just missed a tiny little spot,” gesturing for him to come closer. 

“what? where?” stomping over, displeased with your criticisms of his hard work. 

“right here,” grabbing the brush from his hand, smearing a streak of dusty grey across his cheek before immediately jumping back to admire your handiwork. 

eddie stands in shock, hands in the air while the cogs in his brain tick away slowly, figuring out how to get you back. 

he goes for the can, picking up the full metal bucket and angling it in your direction, a maniacal, nay, evil grin on his face. 

“don’t even fucking think about it eddie, i’m serious!” dropping the paintbrush in defeat, surrendering your hands in the air. 

he cackles, thunderous laughter that makes you shriek in response, hands flying over your face to protect yourself for the onslaught. 

eddie bounds over, the paint spilling over onto the floor as he goes, forcing you to brace yourself. 

except the paint doesn’t come, daring enough to open your eyes to find him a few steps in front. 

“come on,” he complains, “you didn’t really think i was gonna do it, did you?” 

“yes! i did!” 

he collapses into a fit of laughter, placing the can safely back on the ground, “i would never,” inching closer to prove his innocence. 

only, he isn’t at all. 

his fingers swipe the paint from his cheek to wipe the dusky colour onto yours instead, a perfect hand print encapsulated on your face. 

“you’re an asshole,” grabbing his wrist to redirect his paint covered palm back to his own face.

eddie is, no doubt, stronger than you are. twisting your arm until it’s tangled around your own body. encasing you within your own limbs, held tight by his own unfaltering grip and his chest pressed against your back. 

“what was that?”

“you’re an asshole and i’m going to scream if you don’t let me go,” an empty threat really, considering the dreary regulars had all shuffled off home and the nearest neighbourhood was a good mile east. 

“i mean, you can if you want to but i don’t think anyone’ll hear you,” snickering into your ear. 

you hadn’t anticipated that he’d now had years of experience with apprehending criminals, you were never a worthy opponent nowadays. 

you lurch forward, taking both of your bodies over to the wall, eddie’s clumsy clown feet knocking over the tin of paint on his way. splashing the bottoms of your legs and shoes with the ghastly stuff. 

you go stumbling into the still-wet wall, eddie following closely behind, pressing your back into the sticky paint. his chest heaves, still holding onto your arm though you’d come to face him now. his fingers twitch against your skin, slotting his between yours, holding your hand against the wall after the most painful few weeks of almosts. 

quickly, his other hand comes to cup your chin, tilting it up to meet his. in a split second he goes from staring at your lips to crashing his into them.

knocking your head back against the wall with such ferocity, years of tension and unanswered pining leading to this moment. 

“jesus christ,” he mutters through rushed kisses, “i’ve been waiting to do this for so long,” combing his dirtied fingers through your wild hair. 

your arms snake around his neck, surely spreading white finger prints across his clothes and into his hair, “you should’ve.”

the sun beats down on your skin, painting his face a glorious orange hue, wanting nothing more than to bask in this view for the rest of your life. 

eddie pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours, “you okay?” 

you’re breathless, chest heaving against his, “yeah,” falling into a fit of giggles, “yeah.. are you?” 

he nods, fingertips gently tucking strands of messy hair behind your ear, “yeah.. well, i’m better now,” ducking his head to lean in and meet your lips again. 

you’d read about sparks flying and all sorts of other romanticisms in books for years, brushing them off as exaggerated works of fiction, only now, the very happenings you’d denied were happening to you. 

to feel that someone’s lips were made so perfectly just for you seemed absurd, but truly, it was possible. 

eddie’s words rumble against your lips, incomprehensible as your brain is preoccupied with processing what was happening. 

“hey.. hey,” only really hearing him once he’d pulled away and was staring into your eyes with his deep, brown ones. “anyone home?” laughing at your vacant smile, as if he weren’t the culprit behind it. 

“just shut up and kiss me again.”

-

the evening winds down rather quickly, now covered in peeling eggshell paint, your uniform half-off, half-dirtied. 

you didn’t mind one bit, slowly making your way inside the diner to attempt to clean yourself up before heading home. 

“since we’re in here..” eddie starts, leaving you wondering what was going to come out of his mouth next, “coffee?” eyeing the machine you’d already polished and turned off. 

“seriously?” dead-eyed as you turn to face him. 

“i wasn’t lyin’ about coming for the coffee,” smiling from across the bar, “i just didn’t mention that i was also coming to see you.” 

your eyes roll back instinctively, however sweet he was being. 

eddie offers to take you home, a gesture of goodwill after you clean him up and fill him with free coffee. both of you skirting around the fact he had you pinned up against the wall just mere hours ago. 

if he’s not going to, you have to. 

there was no going to back to normal, not after that, not after he had proclaimed that he had been waiting for that. 

“pull over,” you blurt out. too loudly, too rushed that eddie can’t help but panic, questioning your urgency and most likely, safety. 

but he follows your orders, pulling into the nearest clearing, all the while looking completely panicked and a little unsettled. 

the engine is barely off before you’re sliding over onto the drivers seat, thighs resting either side of his as you skilfully lean down to push his chair back all at once. refusing to give him the chance to jabber his way out of this one. 

“hey.. woah, what the fuck?” chuckling softly though his hands reluctantly come to rest on your hips, eyes darting around the dark outside of the window, “i’m in my patrol car.. what if someone sees?”

“who d’you think’s gonna see?” 

“i-i dunno,” allowing himself to get comfortable, “but i’ll get fired,” reluctance in his throat. 

“you can come work at the diner, you’re there all the time anyway,” interrupting his worrisome whining with a kiss to the side of his lips, taking his bottom lip between your teeth. 

he indulges for a moment, sighing softly into your parted lips before hastily pulling away, “i mean it, i can’t,” gazing up to you with his doe-like eyes. 

“fine,” you grumble, sliding back into the passenger seat, “d’you wanna come over? grandad’ll be asleep by now,” picking at your fingernails like some teenager talking to her crush. 

that’s sort of what he was, an eternal crush that you’d never really get over. 

“you sure? we could.. i mean, wayne still lives with me but i’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” eddie offers, though the thought of doing anything in that trailer made you recoil and shudder. 

it was cozy and served you well during your adolescence but privacy was nonexistent, every breath or movement was projected very clearly into the next room. 

you shake your head, “i’m closer anyway, i’m sure it’ll be fine,” after years of living on your own, debating where the safest place to have sex was seemed like a hundred steps back. 

eddie can hardly focus, hand squeezing your knee the entire drive over. any longer and he’d have broken skin, that’s certain. 

but now it’s your turn, you can’t keep your paint tarnished hands off of him, the second eddie steps over the threshold and into the corridor, you pounce. wrapping your arms tight around his neck, pressing your lips together with such ferocity that he falls back into the wall. 

but he catches up quick, finding your waist as he walks the both of you up the hall, hungrily grabbing at the sliver of flesh peeking from underneath your shirt. 

a light at the top of the staircase flicks on, forcing your lips apart. 

“hi sweetie,” your grandad calls from upstairs, “good day?” 

eddie’s fingers squeeze your waist, sharing a panicked look before you clear your throat, “hey grandpa.. it was good,” knowing full well that he wouldn’t venture out of his room at this time to catch you, “i’ll see you in the morning, alright?” ushering eddie through the kitchen door. 

“okay, goodnight dear,” he calls, the light finally flickering off allowing you to release the breath you weren’t aware you were holding. 

silently pulling him down the tiny hall and into your converted bedroom, holding in a devious cackle. 

it really wouldn’t matter if he had caught you, grandad had always been a huge fan of eddie’s, cooking him dinner and offering him unsolicited dating advice during your teens. if anything, he’d be championing the ship. 

“oh my god,” you mouth, closing the door, your room was the tiny office space right at the back of the house, which in hindsight, seemed like the best option now. 

eddie’s hands find you again, resting on your hips with a sickening smile, “thought he was asleep?” 

your eyes roll back on their own, hooking your arms around his neck once again, “so did i,” guiding him towards the bed, “just be quiet and we’ll be okay,” rushing to unbutton his shirt. 

fifteen years of friendship boiling down to this very moment, a litany of teenage tension and hidden feelings bubbling to the surface all at once. 

eddie moves your bodies as one, lowering your back onto the bed with tepid hands, coming down on top of you, “i don’t know if i can do quiet.”

“well try,” you hush, connecting your lips in a haste, rushing to unbutton the rest of his messy shirt. 

grandad was partially deaf, the likelihood of him hearing anything was minuscule, but you weren’t willing to take that risk.  

his tongue swipes across your bottom lip, no longer the novice he once was apparently. groaning softly into your mouth with every slight move of his hips. 

you struggle with his shirt, his now-defined arms hold himself above you, leaving the fabric draped around his shoulders. you can’t complain, fingertips tracing over the solid muscle, a stark contrast to the spindly biceps you once clung to. 

he taps your hip, signalling for them to move, allowing him to slide your pants down your thighs. 

eddie had seen you naked a handful of times, mostly followed by you screaming at him to get or close his eyes. it was different then, when being naked in front of someone was the most personal thing you could ever do. 

now it feels natural, his hands roaming your body as if they’ve always belonged there. 

tossing his shirt to the ground before working on removing yours, all the while pressing hungry kisses to your lips, jaw and neck. chest heaving with the palpable tension. 

it’s mostly silent bar your concealed sighs and the sound of his lips smacking against the crook of your neck. 

he’s so hard, nudging against your aching core, you can feel it with every tilt of his hips, painstaking in the way he comes so close just to pull back again. 

your panties end up on the heap of clothes last, eddie’s teeth gnaw at his bottom lip, watching the lacy fabric slide over your supple thighs. 

“fuck,” gasping under his breath, marvelling your bare body. 

his boxers go next, your eyes trailing down to his slick cock, far different to how you’d ever imagined. 

there’s a slight jolt in your stomach, wondering why you’d ever waited so long for this to happen. 

you’d have to make up for lost time, secret pining and infantile crushes all gone to waste. 

two fingers tease your hole, shining in your release as they draw in and out. stifling the squeaks of pleasure into your palm, thighs closing around his arm. 

you could truly cum from this alone, so pent up, so turned on that just his thumb tapping at your clit had you clenching around his digits. 

“need.. more,” holding onto his bicep, refusing to let him prolong this any further. 

“yeah?” eddie nods, “i can do more,” positioning himself at your sopping entrance, waiting for your go ahead to slide in. 

“yes.. yes.” 

he slips inside with a groan, only, the groan doesn’t come from his lips, but instead the creaky old mattress holding you both up. 

eddie freezes, wide-eyed as his hips still. there was no way you could have sex on this old thing, at least not indiscreetly. 

your lips twitch, laughing at the sheer insanity of this entire encounter, the world was clearly against the idea of you two having sex. 

he falls into a quiet chuckle, still halfway inside of you at this point, “what should i do?” unwilling to disrespect your grandad while also being unwilling to give this up. 

you felt like a teenager again, sneaking around with boys you shouldn’t, except, this time you’re twenty five and far too old to be worrying about being caught in the act. 

“just- just fuck me,” you order, sick of the karmic interventions. there was only so much you could tolerate before things became too ridiculous. 

eddie’s eyelashes flutter, letting his hips move as your cunt envelopes him. 

“god- fu-uck,” fingers gripping at the sheets besides your head. beginning to lose his sanity already. 

your pants fill the room, closely followed by the sound of his skin colliding with yours. moving in perfect harmony around one another in a bid to keep this as quiet as possible. 

“eddie,” you sigh, loosening your grip on his neck only to cradle his cheek, meeting his eye in what was possibly the closest he had ever felt to anyone in his life. 

there’s no hope in this lasting much longer, not with the way he was fumbling his words, certainly not with his cock twitching as he reached new, otherworldly heights. though his strokes are slow, they make your legs tremble, his tip nudging softly against your sweet spot. 

your chin tilts, pressing clumsy kisses to the side of his mouth, panting in tandem with one another. 

there’s something skilful about the way he angles himself, sliding in and out of your glistening pussy, pulling almost all the way back out just to end up filling you to the hilt again. 

refusing to think about the implications of that. 

“sweetheart i can’t- won’t last much longer,” whining against your cheek, carelessly pecking the soft skin. 

“nearly.. nearly there,” you breathe, letting your eyes roll back, focusing on the way his core meets your clit and his soft cries that fill your ears. 

this gives him the much needed determination to not let himself topple over before you had. coming even closer as he lowers himself, using one hand to glide down to your throbbing clit, two fingers rubbing lazy circles in time with his messy thrusts. 

your stomach flips without warning, falling to pieces underneath his body as your thighs tighten around his hips. cumming around his cock, accompanied by incoherent mewls, an attempt to keep quiet though it fails miserable. 

eddie’s hips sputter, grunting with each feeble, final thrust. barely pulling out before he cums, thick ropes of his release paint your cunt and stomach. 

“ohh shit,” he curses, sitting back on his knees to assess his mess. 

heaving for breath as he searches frantically for something to clean you up, a reformed gentleman. there’s no way eddie of the past would ever think to do something so thoughtful. 

“there’s a towel.. somewhere,” gesturing vaguely to the floor, though your legs are intertwined with his, making it a much harder ordeal. 

he scrambles off anyway, sweaty skin on skin causing him to fumble, almost tripping over completely just to save himself seconds before disaster. 

your cackle erupts, watching him stumble around like a mad man. this had been anything but the quiet endeavour it should’ve been, and yet you can’t bring yourself to care. 

after years of waiting for things to fall into place, they finally felt like they had. like something had clicked and you were right where you were supposed to be. what you had been missing was eddie, a best friend before he was ever a lover. someone that knew you and not just the version of you the city brought out. 

“jesus christ,” he huffs, wiping his release from your stomach, “i tried,” tossing the towel back onto the floor, coming to collapse beside you. 

immediately nestling into his side, still giggling over his pathetic tumble, “you’re ‘bout as grateful as a baby deer,” placing a hand on his chest, much leaner than his teenage years. 

“be grateful i’m too tired to fight back,” sliding his arm under your resting body, bringing you in close. “god i missed you so much,” he sighs, melancholy out of nowhere, “i uh.. i..” trailing off into silence, while his fingers find their way onto your shoulder, drawing lines on the goosebumped skin. 

you’re too weary to pay too much attention to his muttering, dozing off to sleep with the help of his chest. there’s something about his thumping heartbeat that soothes your messy head, he could tell you in the morning if it were truly that important. 

-

a late august morning blooms outside the window, peeking through the curtains to pull you from your slumber. 

only to find an empty bed and the scent of bacon wafting into your bedroom. 

that can only mean one thing, and that petrifies you. 

there’s no saying what your grandad would divulge about you over morning coffee, he was terrible at secrets at the best of times. 

“..what’s going on?” rounding the corner with apprehension in your face, not wanting to disrupt whatever conversation they were having. 

you meet eddie’s eye first, his lopsided grin and messy hair making your own smile emerge, grateful that he hadn’t ran off during the night. 

“breakfast,” your grandad replies, sharp and snappy but soft as always, “we normal folks tend to eat it in the morning,” a dig at your late awakening, despite the clock only reading 9:30. 

“has anyone ever told you how funny you are?” pulling a face behind his back, purely for eddie’s benefit. 

your grandad hums, “i found eddie here, rather underdressed, coming out of your bedroom this morning,” transferring the greasy bacon onto a plate, thankfully avoiding all eye contact, though you can spot his cheeky smirk a mile away. 

“oh.. right,” catching eddie’s eye just to widen your own, terrified for what else he may come out with. 

there’s a silence between the three of you, only the sounds of cutlery clinking against the plates and your feet shuffling awkwardly around the kitchen. 

“i don’t care,” he announces, breaking the uncomfortably long quiet, “i think you deserve this more than anything,” finding your gaze, a gentle, sincere smile plastered over his face. 

“thank you grandad,” ignoring eddie for a second, you’d shared tidbits of your time in the city, but nothing compared to what your grandad had heard for years. 

“i mean it,” he starts, including eddie in the conversation finally, “you’ve both grown into remarkable young people and you..” pointing his fork at eddie’s smiling face, “you, i would’ve never guessed you’d grow up,” eddie doesn’t wince, taking his jabs on the chin, “but look at you.” 

eddie nods, grinning sincerely, “thank you sir, i appreciate it,” a tender moment that makes your heart swell. 

you don’t want to call it what it so obviously is, not yet. but watching him grin at your grandad, completely domesticated and tender, you can’t help but think about it. 

your grandad smiles, sliding plates of food in front of you both, “now get and eat this before it goes cold.” 

-

the diner had apparently become a circus of sorts, only you seemed to be the main attraction. 

now that things were partially out there and eddie didn’t feel so scared to let you ride him in his patrol car, people, namely his colleagues had become regulars at the diner. 

you wouldn’t have ever cared, really. it was bound to get out at some point and if this was going to be a permanent, serious thing, you’d have to meet them all eventually. 

what you aren’t fond of, is their incessant staring, the gawping and tittering about your endeavours. 

eddie hadn’t believed you, always arriving just after they’d left, leaving you feeling crazed all alone. 

except for today, too busy refilling coffee to notice his car pull up, his lackeys too busy watching you refill coffees to notice either. 

the bell rings above the door, your eyes flitting up to find him staring at the table. 

they notice one by one, quickly looking down into the mugs and unfinished eggs, embarrassed and rosy-cheeked. 

vindicated in your madness at last. 

“afternoon,” eddie nods, strolling over to the counter, looking more amused than the angry, stern eddie you’d hoped for. 

“hmph,” awaiting his reaction, 

“you weren’t joking, huh?” eyeing the rambunctious table, his chest puffed out to showcase his seniority. 

you scoff, rolling your eyes, “no,” making your way around the bar to grab his arm, “what’ve you told them? i thought we weren’t going to make this a big thing,” shoving the mug of coffee into his chest, though he didn’t deserve your hospitality. 

eddie holds his hands up high, a plea for his innocence, or forgiveness, “i just.. i told a few people about you. i’m happy, im sorry,” opting for puppy dog eyes. “i didn’t think they’d come up here to antagonise you, honest,” stroking your arm, a gesture of peace you can’t help but resist. 

your eyes narrow, slipping away from his grasp to get back to your job, “you’re so lucky i like you.”

-

eddie had stayed until close again, mumbling something about vacation and helping out. but you’re ravenous the second the door locks, a one track mind to get into his pants and out of yours.

tugging him by the collar into the kitchen, throwing yourself on him with such ferocity his body almost sends the cutlery to the floor as he holds the counter for stability.

“okay.. okay,” he laughs, breaking away from your lips to hoist you atop of the cold, steel counter, “rough day, huh?”

you nod, wasting no time in getting your legs wrapped around his midriff, arms draped over his shoulders. now that having this was a real thing, you didn’t want to ever stop. 

your lips find solace in the crook of his neck, working your way up to his ear, your teeth nibbling at the sensitive skin. 

“huh- fuck okay,” eddie’s hands clamp down on the surface top, enveloping you perfectly within his grasp. his uniform hangs off of his frame, disheveled by your wandering hands. 

eyes scanning the clearly empty restaurant for what feels like the thousandth time already, as if even he believed that someone would sneak in just to catch you two out. 

“eds please,” huffing frustratedly into his ear, “i practically own this place.. no one’s gonna find us,” snapping his distracted gaze back to your pouty lips, his hands settling on your hips almost immediately. 

“i know i know,” nodding along, “okay, shit,” further diving into the space between your legs, his cock teasing as it nudges your clothed entrance. 

“need you so bad,” jutting your bottom lip out further, fingers dipping below the messy collar of his button up, in dire need of something a little more substantial to satiated the ache between your legs.

his twitchy fingers struggle with the button of your jeans, failing him in his time of need. 

“ah fuck,” eddie gives up completely. head dipping into the small space between you, forehead resting on your chest. 

“what’s wrong? what’s.. what’s the matter?” you tug at his hair in an attempt to bring him back upright. 

he sighs, the warm air splaying across your exposed skin, “i gotta tell you something,” finally reemerging to meet your eyes, “you’re gonna be mad but.. i just need you to listen, okay?” 

your brows furrow, features crumpling in sheer confusion. he was terrifying like this, cryptic and coy. what could he possibly have to say that couldn’t wait until after you’d fucked? 

“what is it?” your voice trembling, still cradling his face, terrified for whatever he might blurt out. 

he sighs again. deep and guttural as his gaze flickers, “i’m.. sorry, first of all. for not telling you about this.” 

your anger and worry both grow increasingly stronger, “sorry for what? eddie, i don’t understand what’s going on.”

eddie pauses, brushing his thumb over your hot cheek, “i’m being shipped out on monday,” chewing down on his lip nervously. rightly so too. 

dropping the bombshell of the century at five in the afternoon as you sat pathetically, covered in grease and coffee stains all the while ridiculously turned on. 

“what?” 

his mouth opens but nothing comes out, he’d run out of things to say already. he’d had weeks and weeks to tell you, to at least prepare himself for what to say and this was the best he could come up with? 

“why didn’t you tell me?” dropping your hand, positively raging with the stupid boy, “how long have you known?”

you can almost hear the gulp, regret and guilt seeping through his face immediately, “the day after you got back,” sounding utterly pathetic. 

your hands push him back instinctively, anger pulsing through your veins, “and you didn’t tell me?” you slide off of the counter, shoving him backward. 

“i didn’t know how..” scrambling now, refusing to allow his cowardice ruin this, “i wasn’t expecting to fall in love with you again-“ 

“-don’t! don’t do that!” jabbing your finger harshly into his chest, “why didn’t you fucking tell me!” 

“because i was scared,” eddie somehow remains level-headed despite your lack of control, “i didn’t know that i was gonna feel this way or that you were gonna stick around again,” sighing frustratedly, “i never wanted to hurt you,” a complete and utter dejection in his voice. 

your lip trembles, tears threatening to spill over, “and you thought that not telling me would be any better?” 

“no! i didn’t..” shaking his head, hands reaching out one more time, “i wasn’t thinking at all,” you don’t push him away this time, too encompassed by your devastation to notice his hands grab yours. 

“you’re unbelievable eddie,” scolding him for his ignorance, but he can feel you relax into his touch, “three days… three days is all i’ve got to say goodbye again,” forlorn, already wishing away the year. 

what if he never come back? 

he could meet someone else, decide that hawkins was a dead end and stay the rest of his life with someone other than you. 

it’s unfathomable, the last time you said goodbye, you didn’t see him again for years. 

eddie’s eyes are wet, 

“wait for me,” he nods assuredly, “a year and i’ll be back,” trembling as he speaks, desperate to not lose you again, “please.”

“a year?” you fret, angry all over again, “i’ve just.. i’ve just got you back! you can’t-” struggling to breathe through your sobs, “what if you don’t come back? and then i’m stuck here for the rest of my life waiting for you!” 

“that’s not gonna happen,” pressing the rough pads of his thumbs into your wrists, keeping you in his hold, “i’m coming back for you,” wrapping your arms around his waist, pulling you into his chest where your cries become muffled wails. “i want to be with you forever. you don’t have to worry about that,” resting his chin atop of your head, drawing soothing patterns into your back. 

“promise me,” you blubber, pulling back just enough to catch his eye, “promise me that you’ll come back,” sniffling through your words, a mess that would scare any man from coming back. 

“i promise you, i’m coming back.”

[the-ghost-of-jason-todd]

Interesting that you bring that up, because I think it ties into a different Jason post I made once. You don't have to read all of that, the important part is this:

i think thats my favorite thing about the red hood. he pulls people out of the abyss. he never steps entirely out of the shadows himself, but he will extend a hand to someone else, until they can get their own grip and climb past him. he did it with roy and kori, and with the random pyg minion in batman reborn, and with duela dent, and suzie su, and bunker, and ma gunn, and in a way even his own father. he does it all the time, and i love him for that.

That post is in regards to the (eventual) conclusion to the Duela Dent arc, where Jason helps her unjokerfy and go back home. Because it really is a theme we see! I don't think DC did it intentionally, especially since half of these happened during Scott Lobdell's runs and I don't think the man did anything except throw spaghetti at a wall in the hopes that it would stick, but it's become a theme. (....Scott Lobdell also had the Generation Outlaw storyline that he didn't fucking land or conclude in any satisfying way, but that's a rant for a different day).

Anyway, the point is that yeah, in some ways Jason DOES still have to choose. A lot of the storylines he has are with people who do, eventually, decide to be less morally gray. And that's just something he doesn't do. Or, if he somehow did, if he TRULY came back into the light, he would ABSOLUTELY lose the ideological purity that drove him in the UTRH era. I'm not saying it's not possible for someone to stay with him in his moral gray zone or even in his True Villain Zone, but there is actually an interesting tragedy in the fact that no one does, because it kind of highlights the point of his character--which is that he KNOWS BOTH SIDES and he CHOOSES to stay somewhere between them. He wavers sometimes in canon, moves more toward one side or the other, but so far he always returns to that gray zone, consistently, every single time.

Comics are, in a lot of ways, black and white. Questions of morality are almost always framed in what is right and what is wrong. Characters are good or bad. Things are mutually exclusive. I don't think it's impossible to find the balance, but IMO it would be much trickier to make it work, especially in canon. To find that balance and make it truly compelling would need some significant skill. We would need someone who was truly okay to live in that gray zone, but whose values wouldn't turn out to be incompatible (which is often, I think, why he and Rose don't usually work out when they're put together. Rose WOULD be that character, but I just don't think they're sustainable, generally speaking).

With that in mind, I can see why it's usually the Batfam that he returns to in search of family. He doesn't want things that are fleeting. He doesn't want "well, we can put Joker in Arkham until his next breakout", he wants the Joker DEAD. And he really doesn't want the people in his life to give up on him!! He WANTS both. NEEDS it, maybe. Even as far back as UTRH we saw this tension. Jason is holding VERY tightly to his ideals in that comic, and still he all but begs Bruce to join him so that he can have both. His origins will always be most deeply rooted in the Batfam. But maybe that brings a different sort of tension to the question--one having to do with whether a fan wants Jason to keep hold of his history, his roots, and find the permanence that Bruce promised when he took Jason in... or if they want him to give that up and forge a new future with a new family.

Jason really is, IMO, about tension. Not just in the conflict sense, though he does tend to bring tension and conflict to interactions. But thematically, his character and his arcs are filled with themes that constantly pull him in opposing directions. Even the dichotomy of the poverty he faced as a child versus the abundance of living with a millionaire is like that. In a lot of ways, canon tells us that he really just can't have everything he wants. So the question is... what does he have to give up?

i’m starting to realize there are at least two camps of jason todd fans. 

there are the ideological campers, who took under the red hood and ran with it.  the ones who believe whole-heartedly that jason todd is a character with a moral stance–counter, perhaps, to the man who raised him and the monsters that shaped him, but extant, all the same.  these people see jason shucking his ideals in canon and scoff, saying that it is a loss of integrity and a tragedy of what was good characterization. 

and then there are the emotional campers.  the ones who saw jason todd’s pain, his desire for a family who loved him enough to act as executioner.  it wasn’t an ideological purity that drove him–it was the emotional one, the familial one, and these people see jason struggling to mend bridges once burned and cheer him onward.  the ones who desperately want to see him shed his lone wolf persona and really, truly, become a part of the family.

in some sense, it ends up being a question of how faithful to the original characterization you want to be.  when jason is the villain and often when he’s the outlaw, he is antithetical to batman by nature.  he grips his pain and grief in his hands and uses it to act, same as batman, but in a diametrically opposed way.  in order to hang onto this, to keep this opposition in place, he cannot have his family.  but in order to have his family, to change from what he once became, he cannot have his ideals.

and i think it’s neat, because both of these camps want jay to succeed, you know?  but the question lies in whether they want that success to be in ‘cleansing gotham’/‘ridding the world of that which hurt him so no one else can be hurt’, so that he might save the world…

…or if they want it to be just him, reaching out a hand to someone and asking to be lifted up, so that he might save himself.

[maretinelli]

FOR THE BEST MOM

Lewis Hamilton X Wife!fem!reader

Summary: When Lewis and Y/n have already lost two babies during pregnancy, but he never fails to send her flowers on Mother's Day and reminds her that even without them there, she is a good mother.

Words: 3K+

Warnings: Mention of pregnancy loss, mention of child loss, anguish, anguish, and anguish until the end. But Lew is a good husband, and this will make you cry.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. And this story leaves me COMPLETELY speechless, I don't know why I wrote it, but I needed some anguish. Sorry, and grab some tissues.

MASTERLIST

⚠️SENSITIVE CONTENT⚠️

The love between Y/n and Lewis was always strong, built on complicity, respect and admiration. They were partners in everything, in joys and challenges, in moments of lightness and in those of greater weight. Just as they had promised on their wedding day.

Every shared laugh and every silent touch carried a deep meaning. They had each other, and that was always enough. At least, that's what they tried to believe.

The day they discovered their first pregnancy was one of the happiest of their lives. Y/n was in shock for a few seconds before letting happiness flood her. Lewis, upon hearing the news, felt a wave of emotion take over his body. Tears came before he could even contain them. He lifted her into the air, spinning her around carefully, his chest exploding with joy. Every kiss he placed on her face was a silent thank you for that gift.

They spent the next few days daydreaming. They imagined what it would be like to hold the baby for the first time, how they would decorate the room, what traits they would inherit from each other. Life seemed even more colorful, full of new promises.

But then, it all came crashing down.

Shortly after, Y/n started to feel unwell. At first, she tried to ignore it, believing it was something temporary.

But then the doctors broke the news, and it came as a brutal blow. The silence in the room felt overwhelming, and the air became too heavy to breathe. All the happiness, dreams, and plans they had made were gone in an instant.

The next few days were cloudy. Y'n felt like the world around her was spinning in slow motion as Lewis tried to be her stronghold. But at night, when she fell asleep, he would let the tears flow silently.

A year later, a new positive test. The fear was still there, haunting them both, but there was also hope. The rainbow baby they had wanted so much was finally on the way. They decided to celebrate, even though deep down they held on to happiness with caution,

But once again, pain struck them.

The second loss was even worse. There were no more words of comfort that could fill the void. The silence became more frequent, the conversations about the future with children diminished, and the pain settled between them like a constant presence.

Years passed, and the subject of 'having children' ceased to be mentioned. They moved on with their lives, still in love, still partners, but with the feeling that two pieces of their hearts were missing.

And the flowers arrived.

On the first Mother's Day after the second loss, Y/n noticed the bouquet of flowers left on the table. She hadn't connected it with the fact that it was Mother's Day. It was just a silent gesture from Lewis, a tribute he made without expecting any reaction. But it made her smile and thank her husband for the beautiful flowers.

The following year, he repeated the gesture, but this time he added a note. When Y/n found the small piece of paper among the petals, Lewis's words made tears fall before she could control them.

'To the best mommy our little ones could ever have. I know they're not here physically, but I believe they feel all your love. And I feel it too. You're amazing, Y/n. You always will be.'

She cried until Lewis got home. And when he found her clutching the note to her chest, all he could do was wrap his arms around her and hold her tight.

The years continued to pass, and with them, flowers became tradition.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

3 years after the second loss.

It was Mother’s Day, and Lewis wasn’t in town. He wanted to be with Y/n and her mother, to hold her in his arms and remind her that she was never alone. But his running that weekend kept him from going home.

Y/n spent the day with her mother, having lunch together, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. But, even surrounded by love, there was an emptiness that persisted, a feeling of longing for something that never came to be.

On the way home, as she drove through the quiet city streets, one of her favorite songs played on the dashboard of her car. The sound brought comfort, but the tears came before she could stop them.

They fell silently, aimlessly, without her really noticing until she had to wipe them away with the back of her hand. She sighed deeply, trying to push away the thoughts that haunted her.

When he reached the garage, he turned off the car and stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath. Gathering his strength. When he opened the front door, the low sound of Roscoe's snoring in the living room filled the silence. A soft laugh escaped his lips, mixed with the tears that still insisted on falling.

Before she could close the door, a voice called her name. She turned around and saw the doorman of the condominium approaching with a gentle smile.

"Good evening, Mrs. Hamilton."

Y/n walked down the steps and shook the older man's hand affectionately. "Good night!"

The doorman then held out a bouquet to her, a beautiful arrangement of lilies and white roses. "Mr. Hamilton asked me to deliver this to you. I forgot about it when you came through the gate just now."

Y/n blinked in surprise. She took the bouquet delicately, feeling the soft scent of the flowers fill the air. "Thank you" She said with a small but sincere smile.

The man nodded and returned to his post, while Y/n hurriedly climbed the front stairs of the house.

As soon as she entered the house, she walked to the kitchen, placing the flowers on the table before carefully removing the note stuck between the petals. Her hands trembled slightly as she unfolded the paper.

'To the best mom in the world.

I know today is a difficult day, and I wish I could be by your side, to hold your hand and tell you that you were never alone on this journey. You will always be the mother of our little ones, no matter where they are. I know that if they could, they would tell you how much they love you and how proud they are of you. I know I am.

You are the strongest, most incredible woman I know, and my heart will always be yours. Forever. All my love, Lewis.'

The tears came before she could stop them. But this time, they were not tears of sadness, but of love.

She ran her fingers over the words, taking each one in. That man. That man always knew exactly what to say, even from far away.

Quickly drying her tears, she took out her cell phone and took a photo of the bouquet, sending it to Lewis with a short but sentimental message.

Before locking the screen, he read the note once more, a small but genuine smile dancing on his lips.

Lewis always found a way to remind her that even in the quietest, most painful moments, she was never alone.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

4 years after the second loss.

Mother's Day had arrived once again. Four years had passed since the second loss, and somehow Y/n felt like she was doing a little better this year.

She spent the afternoon with her mother and siblings, enjoying the day with laughter, stories, and shared memories. There were moments when she felt homesick, but the weight was a little lighter. She knew that Lewis was with her mother too, and that at the end of the day, he would be home to her arms.

When she arrived, the house was silent. Roscoe was sleeping peacefully on the couch, and a small smile appeared on Y/n's lips. She turned on some soft music on her cell phone, letting the melody fill the rooms as she prepared dinner. She cut the vegetables calmly, humming softly to the song that was playing.

It was then that he heard the familiar sound of the lock unlocking.

Seconds later, Lewis's voice sounded in the entrance hall, speaking softly to Roscoe, who had come to meet him excitedly. Her smile widened without her realizing it.

Lewis appeared in the kitchen doorway, watching his wife for a moment. She was stirring the pot with a calm expression, humming softly, and it warmed his heart in an indescribable way.

He approached silently, holding a bouquet in his hands. As soon as he reached her, he leaned over to place a soft kiss on her shoulder.

Y/n smiled and turned to him, touching his face briefly before giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

"How was your day?" He asked softly.

"It was good. My mom made that broccoli lasagna she always makes and we spent the day looking at old photos. She even sent some for you to see," he replied, and Y/n laughed. "By the way, she said hi to you too."

She smiled fondly. "I spent the day with my mom, and my brothers were in town too. It was nice...fun even."

Lewis nodded, and for a few moments, silence reigned between them. Y/n went back to stirring the pan, and he just watched her, as if recording every detail of that moment.

Then, with a small smile, he held out the bouquet to her. Y/n held the flowers, a tender glint in her eyes. She already knew the reason for that gesture.

Lewis kissed her cheek before murmuring, "I love you." Then he pulled back a little, giving her space to read the note attached to the bouquet.

Y/n opened the small envelope and skimmed over the words. Lewis still couldn't say all of that out loud. It had always been easier for him to write, to let the words spill out onto the paper so she could feel them in every letter.

'My love,

Another Mother's Day, another year by your side, and another reminder that you will always be the best mom our little ones could ever have. I know they are watching over us, and I know that if they could, they would tell you how much they love you and how grateful they are for you. You have always been and always will be an incredible mother. No matter where they are, the love you have for them echoes in every corner of the universe. I love you, Y/n. Forever. With all my heart, Lewis.'

The tears came before she could stop them. But this time, they didn't just carry sadness. They brought love, longing, memories.

With a tender smile on her lips, she turned to him and hugged him tightly. "I love you too, baby daddy." The words hit her before she could think.

Y/n felt them in her heart, and Lewis felt them in his soul.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her as if he would never let go. He placed a soft kiss on her shoulder, soaking in that silent but meaningful moment.

Then, Y/n sighed and broke the silence with a light tone, "My nephews were hell today. You should have seen the chaos at my mother's house.

Lewis let out a low laugh, feeling the air lighten.

They didn't avoid the subject, but they were still healing. They talked about it as best they could, in whatever way they could, respecting each other's time.

And somehow they knew they were walking together, side by side. Always.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

5 years after the second loss.

The day had been peaceful. For the first time in years, Mother's Day was not marked by heavy silences or painful moments. Lewis and Y/n spent lunch with Carmen, laughing at the stories she told about Lewis's childhood. Afterwards, they had dinner at Y/n's mother's house, enjoying time with her brothers and nephews.

Neither of them mentioned the loss they shared. They just lived in the moment, allowing themselves to feel the lightness of being with family.

Now night spread across the sky as Lewis drove back home. The car was filled with the sound of Y/n's excited voice, telling something funny that happened at work.

"And then he thought I was serious!" She laughed, leaning her head back against the bench. "You should have seen his face!"

Lewis laughed along, shaking his head. "I swear, sometimes I think your job is just a big sitcom and you're the lead."

Y/n laughed, feeling her chest lighten. But as the laughter died down, she realized Lewis wasn't heading home.

"Where are we going?" She asked, curious.

Lewis smiled sideways and placed a hand on her thigh, giving it a light rub. "I'm just looking for an open place to buy something."

"What thing?"

"Surprise."

Y/n rolled her eyes, but smiled. She knew there was no point in insisting. So she just went back to telling stories about work, and Lewis listened attentively as they drove through the city.

A few minutes later, he stopped in front of a 24-hour store.

"What are you going to do?" Y/n asked as soon as he turned off the car.

Lewis smiled. "I'll be back in a few seconds." He leaned over, kissed her on the cheek, and got out of the car.

Y/n laughed to herself and started changing music on the dashboard, waiting for him.

When Lewis returned, he held a single rose in his hands. He opened the door and handed the flower to her with a small smile.

Y/n frowned, but took the rose, laughing. "Thank you..."

Lewis took a deep breath and looked at her. "I didn't have time to buy a bigger bouquet," he said softly. "But I had to do it today. You know!"

Y/n understood instantly. Her chest tightened, but not in a bad way. Just intense.

Then, for the first time, Lewis began to speak. "I never knew how to put it into words. You know. I used to write it on notes, but now I'm a little better at saying it out loud," he began, his voice low but firm. "All these years, I've tried to move on, I've tried to accept it... But the truth is, a part of me has always felt like I failed you. That I should have done more." Y/n squeezed the rose between her fingers, feeling her heart tighten in her chest. "I've imagined so many times what it would be like. You holding our baby in your arms. Us choosing names, setting up the nursery, fighting over who would stay up late at night... I always knew you would be an amazing mother, Y/n. And it hurts me to know that we never had that chance."

His voice wavered at the end, and Y/n felt tears well up in her eyes. She ran her fingers down Lewis’s cheek, feeling the texture of his stubble beneath her touch.

"You didn't fail me, Lew," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "And you'd make an amazing father. I always knew that."

His eyes met hers, seeking comfort in the midst of their shared pain.

"I know it still hurts" Y/n continued, smiling sadly. "But... today I feel like I can breathe a little better. I'm taking the courage to say this out loud to you."

Lewis smiled slightly, bringing his hand to hers and intertwining their fingers. With the other, he places it on her cheek and smiles. "You are an incredible woman. And a very good mommy, with or without them here. I love you." Lewis kisses her, Y/n smiles and returns the kiss.

When they lose their breath, Lewis still keeps his hands intertwined with hers and starts the car, to go home now. Y/n smiled at the rose in her hand and went back to talking about the funny moments at work.

When they got home, Lewis opened the door and let Y/n in first. As soon as she stepped into the living room, Roscoe came running up to her, wagging his tail excitedly.

"Hey, kiddo" Y/n smiled, running her hand through the dog's fur.

She walked to the kitchen and grabbed a vase to put the rose in. When Lewis arrived shortly after, Y/n was leaning over the counter, looking at the flower with a smile on her face.

The silence stretched for a few seconds before she took a deep breath and hesitantly closed the distance between them. "I... I still want to have children."

Lewis was quiet for a moment, but then he nodded and walked over to her. Y/n looked at her husband, feeling her heart beat faster. "All of this still hurts." She confessed, "And I'll never forget. I don't want to forget. They're part of our history. But I want to move on."

Lewis nodded again, and Y/n felt his hand on hers, warm and comforting. She swallowed hard before asking, "Do you still want to have children with me?" She cried softly.

And then, that question caught Lewis off guard, pain shot through his chest and punched his heart. It made tears come to his eyes as well.

"Of course I do, love." His voice was choked, but full of conviction. "I've never wanted this with anyone else but you. I could never imagine my life without us building a family together." Y/n sobbed softly, and Lewis squeezed her hand tighter. "It still hurts to think about them... and I think it always will. But I want to move on with you, in whatever way, for as long as it takes. Not to forget... but to turn the page. To give new meaning to all of this. I'd face anything to be able to hold our baby in my arms one day" He whispered. "And I know that when that day comes, it will be worth every moment."

Y/n sobbed harder and pulled him into a tight hug. Lewis's chest rose and fell rapidly, trying to control his emotion, but he held her like he never wanted to let go.

For a long time, they stayed like that, just breathing together, feeling each other's warmth, allowing that moment to completely envelop them.

A comfortable silence fell, and then Roscoe came over to them, nudging Y/n’s leg with his nose. She laughed and bent down to pet the dog, while Lewis watched her, his heart lighter than it had been in years.

And in that moment, as he watched the woman he loved smiling softly, her eyes still shining with emotion, Lewis knew that no matter what the future brought, he would never be alone.

He had Y/n. And one day, they would have a little piece of their love in their arms.

Author: I had seen somewhere where the husband did exactly that to his wife, but I can't remember where I had read it. But anyway, I cried while reviewing it.

[paetalks]

the first time sukuna ryomen hears 212 by azealia banks it’s through the walls of his room that he shares directly with your bathroom. your voice sounds muffled over the loud bass base that is pounding a hole in his head while he’s trying to focus on his pc. he’s trying to write a paper for college and it’s almost impossible with all the noise you have been making. you weren’t a bad neighbor overall - i mean, he has never seen you in person - but the music you would blast while showering was absolutely insufferable to him. you always kept quiet, day and night, never run around or moved furniture. sukuna has been living there for well over a month and everything was going well, apart from the fact that you loved singing in the shower. it was okay the first times, really, but lately the songs kept getting louder and louder. and it was all annoying, girly club music. the one he couldn’t really stomach.

so when he hears the first notes of yet another kim petras’ song he gets up from his chair and bolts out the apartment, ringing at your doorbell. it takes a while for the volume to be turned down, and ever more for you to reach the door. when you crack it slightly open, you see a tall, tattooed, attractive, muscular man looking down at you with pure hatred in his eyes. your brain goes blank and you let the door slip from your hands, opening fully only to reveal your towel-covered body and damp hair. his eyes widen, but never leave your frame or seem to be less angry. “hi?” you say, confused.

“hi.” his voice is deep, his sentences short and cutting “would you mind turning the damn music down?”

“oh” you frown, looking at him from head to toe. you notice how he’s wearing grey sweat pants and a black sabbath’s t-shirt that looks like it has seen better days. his hair is all over the place. a smirk makes its way to your face. “yeah, i would actually mind. i was kinda in the middle of something…” you gesture back to the direction in which the music is still coming from and your towel falls slightly lower.

the stranger’s eyes follow your hands as you pull it up again, rolling them afterwards. “i’m trying to work here.” he gestures (mocking you) at his front door, right next to yours.

“okay?” you purse your lips. “i don’t think that’s any of my business really. i’m just playing some good music.”

“good?” his eyebrows furrow. “you don’t even know what good music is.”

you roll your eyes. “okay, stranger. go ahead and insult me right in my house.” you chuckle ironically, meanwhile ayesha erotica starts playing in the background. “oooh, i love this song!” you squeal, and his eyes dart quickly between the direction in which the music is coming from and your body. your frame hugged by that towel is making him rethink being mad at you.

before he can say anything else, you smile forcefully. “gotta go back in there. byeeee!” and you close the door right in front of his face.

he stands there for a while, eyes widened and twitching. how can you be so hot and yet so annoying? he starts asking himself while walking back to his room. he sits back in his chair and as soon as he decides to surrender for the day and give up on his work, the music finally stops. sighting in relief, he opens his laptop again, still thinking about you and how that little towel wasn’t even covering all that much.

you definitely will be a problem, he thinks, taking a deep breath finally in silence.

or so he thinks, because not even a second later the first notes of paranoid from black sabbath start playing at full volume on your speaker. he laughs with himself. “she’s funny” he mumbles, shaking his head, secretly hoping to bump in you again soon.

sorry guys just had a shower and thought aboyt this. also i love music bye <3 hope you get all my songs references i’m sorry