#Advanced Screen Printing

[psychopomp-namine]

you don't understand how much I felt the slow saline drip of gaining interest in a character, and instead of going, "oooh. interesting. new blorbo?" I instead went, "...really. that guy? oh. oh no."

<- guy with a li tianchen icon ends up blorbofying liu xiao. alas, I have played myself 😔

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[tarotsoul]

Smoke & Light — Part One

SUMMARY: Your ex-boyfriend gives you his dealers number, but you don’t expect for him to be so fine. And you certainly don’t expect him to be so goddamn flirty.

WARNINGS: heavy mentions and usage of drugs and driving under the influence (weed), azriel is a drug dealer, kissing, swearing, teasing, masturbation -- don't fuck your plug guys

WORD COUNT: 9.9k

SERIES MASTERLIST

Your patience was wearing thin. Very fucking thin. Those three grey dots mocked you as they bubbled at the bottom of the screen—disappearing and reappearing again—until they were replaced with another less than satisfying message.

Brandon: are you taking the piss? Why didn’t you just ask when you were here earlier?

You scanned the message over, swallowing back the groan at the idea of another potential argument. You needed to nip his attitude in the bud, you weren’t entertaining his bullshit anymore. Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, your fingers quickly typed a response.

You: I didn’t realise I was out until I got home. Can you get any or not? Just lmk

The dots appeared again after a few moments of silence, and you prepared yourself for the snarky remark he was most likely to give you, and took a deep breath to compose yourself in advance. 

Brandon: no. I can’t get you any. Sort it out yourself for once.

There was no way in Hell you were going to let your frustrations show. Despite the pure anger and annoyance that began to bubble even more within you.

Brandon could be a lot of things. A liar. A cheat. And a fucking asshole. In all honestly, the only thing he was truly good for was the occasional above par fuck and the fact that his dealer had the best weed you’d ever smoked.

But when they were the only two good things he had going for him, it was hard to justify the disgusting behaviour he showed throughout almost your entire relationship. You broke up every few weeks as it was, but if you’d known about the cheating before, you would’ve left for good sooner.

Instead, you found out a year and half into the relationship, coming to the deafening conclusion that he had, in fact, never been faithful for a single moment of his teenage and adult life.

Fuck him. And fuck his shit sex. The weed, you could get yourself.

You: lmao ok. What’s his number?

A heartbeat after he read the text, he was calling you. And the moment you answered the call, he was his usual, un-charming self.

“What the fuck do you mean what’s his number?”

“Hello to you, too.” You murmured, tucking yourself under the blanket on your couch.

His clipped tone didn’t startle you, didn’t worry you about any form of consequences. He wasn’t scary, even when he tried to be. He was just a douche.

“What do you mean what’s his number?” He repeated himself, that agitation growing thicker and thicker with every word he spoke.

“How else am I supposed to get any?”

“Find your own dealer.”

He was being bitter now, pathetically so. You picked at the aged edges of your book, a novel you’d read five times over but one you couldn’t get enough of. Your love for it could be seen by the fading print of the front cover and the severely broken spine—despite how careful you tried to be with your readings.

“Brandon, I’m not going to find a random dealer. Your Azriel guy has good stuff and I know it’s safe. Besides, me going to the same person as you is not going to affect you in any way.”

He was silent for a moment, mulling over your words. Despite his dreadful personality and lack of love and care and compassion, he knew how little you knew about marijuana. He was the one that taught you to roll, after all.

You’d barely smoked before you met him, and on the rare occasions you did get high, it was usually in the form of gummy edibles your friends had. And you weren’t addicted or reliant on it in any way. You just enjoyed a smoke every now and then if you’d had a long day.

Alcohol had never been your favourite, and you much preferred to feel the chilled buzz from a joint than cradle a hangover for two days after a soirée.

“Fine. I’ll text you his number. Say Marco gave you his number, it’s a code he made up—had cops on him a while ago. He can be a bit of an ass, don’t let him shit talk you. Ask for a 3.5, he usually charges 40 for it. It’ll last you a couple weeks unless you’re planning on smoking heavy.”

It was easy to be pulled back in when he was like that. When he did the bare minimum of offering advice on things he knew you weren’t too sure on. But you were better than that now, smarter. You weren’t going to fall back into your old ways again.

Not with him. Not with anyone.

“I’m not. Thank you.”

The line went dead as soon as the words left your mouth and a few moments later, he texted you Azriel’s number. You would’ve appreciated a reminder of what you were supposed to ask for but at least you got his number. Small wins. You weren’t his responsibility anymore.

It took you a few minutes to figure out what to say, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you typed and erased, typed and erased. Until you settled on ‘Is this Azriel?’ and finally sent the message.

Ten minutes passed and you didn’t get a response. Your nose was tucked back into your romance novel as you chewed on the drawstring of your hoodie. In all honesty, you could’ve quite easily slipped into a peaceful slumber under the warm golden glow of your lamps.

That was another thing Brandon couldn’t respect. Your No Main Light rule. The vibes were always immaculate with gentle warmth from lamps. The main light was not allowed on under any circumstances. You much preferred the cosy feeling of golden hues that accentuated the deep green leaves of your plants and vines that scattered the walls and crevices of your home. 

Your phone chimed from your lap, a small surge of anxiety pulsing in your chest. You unlocked the screen and read over the message.

Azriel: depends who’s asking.

Ah, Brandon did warn you. You considered fucking the whole idea off. Maybe cracking open a bottle of wine and snuggling on the couch with a book or tv show would be better than having to meet this asshole, but the bottle of White Zinfandel wouldn’t give you the mellow buzz you wanted.

Not unless you had at least four glasses which was usually paired with a hangover the next day. Something you did not want to entertain. So, you bit the bullet and typed your reply.

You: y/n, got your number from Marco. You about?

The more you let your mind wander, the more you realised how little you knew. You had no clue how this sort of thing worked. Would he come to you? Your home? Would you meet at a location of his choice? Or would he just stash the weed somewhere for you to collect and you don't cross paths at all?

But the burning fire of the what-if anxiety was quickly trampled and extinguished when another text came through and instead of him deciding for you, you were given a choice. 

Azriel: sure, I can meet you at old tower in 20 if that’s good for you? If not I can drop to your location. 

He didn’t seem as much of an ass now. No, quite the opposite. But you supposed that offer was something he probably gave to all new, female clients. If he truly was an ass or not, you couldn’t fault him for the consideration. 

Old Tower was the old old watermill tucked slightly away in the centre of the city. It had been derelict for years, but due to its location—so close to all the necessities and right opposite the police station—no one ever tried to break in or set it alight like many other derelict listed buildings had been in the past. 

Even now, at almost midnight, that part of the city would still be bustling with city-natives and tourists alike. And you appreciated the safe and public meeting spot he suggested. 

You: old tower in 20 is fine. 

As quickly as you sent the message, you received another reply. A text describing his blue Mustang and his licence plate. You shook the nerves off as soon as they came. Azriel was respectful and well known. He dealt to make his money and that was that. 

But the facts didn’t stop you from sharing your location with Brandon just in case, nor did it stop you from double checking you still had your little pepper spray clipped to your keychain. 

The walk to the Old Tower wasn’t a bad one. There were many ways you could access it, most of them leading you through the city, but here were a few that hid you behind back roads and alleyways—those were routes you never took. Not on your own and certainly not in the middle of the night. 

The air was still a bit sticky from the summer heat, and while the denim shorts you wore kept your body cool, you were grateful you kept on your hoodie—just that extra layer that protected your arms and shoulders from the chill of the breeze that your legs never seemed to experience. 

It didn’t take long for you to reach the Old Tower, and it took even less time to spot the electric blue 2022 Ford Mustang. Small tufts of white smoke emitted from the exhaust as it sat in its standstill, headlights facing the opposite direction of what you came in, but you could still hear the engine humming from your short distance away. 

You double checked the licence plate to the number Azriel texted you, and slowly made your way closer. While you didn’t know much about drop offs, deals, and weed in general, you did know the unspoken rules of picking up. And if you were picking up from someone in a vehicle, most people got inside for a few minutes before leaving. 

Azriel must’ve noticed you from the rear view mirror because just as you approached the back of the car, the passenger seat opened wide, inviting you in. You sucked in a breath but accepted the invitation, keeping your eyes forward as you settled into the warmth of the leather seat and closed the door shut. 

You finally let your body shift and your eyes met his. And you were fucking done for. 

You’d never seen a man so strikingly fucking beautiful before. He was tall, lean and muscular and oozed pure sex and charisma. Tan, golden skin and dark, luscious hair that swept loosely down his forehead and curled gently around the tops of his ears. 

His face was chiselled not too sharply, a subtle gentleness to the stark contrast of the cold, brooding aura he carried. And those eyes. Christ, those fucking eyes. Hazel iris’ that dripped with a golden hue of honey. 

You swallowed down the dry lump in your throat and willed your lips to part so you could finally speak. “Thank you for meeting me so late.”

And Azriel was absolutely hooked. 

When you’d texted barely thirty minutes ago, he did not expect to be meeting with someone so fucking gorgeous. Your soft hair was twisted in a loose braid that hung over your shoulder, wayward strands having fallen from the updo and framing your face mesmerizingly. 

Your eyes were the most captivating thing he’d ever seen; rich in colour and wide with slight anxiety, despite the sleepiness he could slightly notice beneath them. Your voice sounded like a fever dream. It wasn’t sickly sweet like most women he knew or dealt to. Perhaps it was just the sleep, but there was a rasp—a very slight ruggedness—in your tone and Azriel was certain he’d never heard something quite so sensual in his life. 

He cleared his throat, that all too cheeky grin teetering on the corners of his mouth. “I was already out,” he shrugged, nonchalantly. “How much are you after?” 

His voice was a perfect blend of sweet and rough. A deep depth to his tone that skipped hand-in-hand with a sweeter note. God, he was unreal, and the sound of him had you forgetting entirely what exactly Brandon told you to ask for. 

You pulled your lips between your teeth and offered a very sheepish—but mostly embarrassed—smile. “Um… I’m sorry,” you found yourself apologising for the second time tonight. “My ex used to do this part, so I have no idea how this works.”

You couldn’t help the flush that rose to your cheeks at your own admission, couldn’t handle being the subject of his firm gaze, and you absolutely could not fucking handle the soft rumble of rich laughter that chuckled through him. 

“Do you smoke a lot?” Azriel finally asked, a slightly amused smile on those full lips of his. His pink tongue swiped out to wet them and your heart thundered against your ribcage at the sight. 

“Not really,” you cleared your throat. “Just every now and then. Semi-regularly, I guess.” There was no such thing as semi-regularly when it came to drugs and alcohol. To someone’s own self, sure. But not the general mass that consumed whatever it was they did. 

Some considered three joints a day ‘semi-regular’, while others considered it as a joint every few days. Azriel had a feeling you were the latter, but he didn’t say anything about his thoughts or what you’d said. 

Instead, he hummed and chewed at the inside of his cheek in thought. He wasn’t laughing at you or your lack of knowledge or understanding. Usually, he’d have kicked a new client out of his car by now and told them to figure it out on their own—he was a dealer, not a fucking private tutor—but with you, he didn’t seem to mind explaining or breaking things down so it was easier to understand. 

Neither of you white understood why he was happy to explain, but you didn’t complain. You’d much prefer this than the alternative version of him that you’d been warned about. 

“A 3.5 would probably be best for you, then.” He decided. 

Yes, a 3.5… that sounded very familiar. You nodded, slowly, considering your next words carefully. You had already disclosed the most embarrassing part of not having a fucking clue how this worked, one more probably wouldn’t hurt, would it? 

“This is going to sound absolutely ridiculous,” you chuckled nervously, scratching at the nape of your neck. “But can you break that down in joint terms?”

Azriel laughed again, softer this time, through a breath. It was odd, really. He wasn’t laughing to be cruel or to embarrass you further. It seemed to you that perhaps he found it endearing—your innocence on the matter—and maybe, just maybe, you reminded him of himself when he too at one point, had no idea either. 

“It depends on how strong you have them. Do you smoke blunts or just joints?” 

Your eyes widened animatedly. “God, no. Just joints. I think a blunt might wipe me out.” 

A glint of warmth and light fluttered through his eyes for a split second. “So, a 3.5 would get you like seven joints.” 

“Yeah, that would last me like a week, two weeks.” You nodded. “I’ll have a 3.5 then, thank you.”

Azriel hummed in agreement, and it was only when he reached for the centre console and flipped open a compartment that you saw his hands. His golden skin was marred beyond belief, etched in burns and an array of pigmented colours. Your stomach lurched at the sight. Not from fear or pity or disgust, no. Your stomach twisted in agony, your brain couldn’t comprehend a reason for scars like that. 

You looked away as quickly as you clocked them, not wanting to stare and not wanting him to notice. You supposed he was used to lingering gazes, but you would not be a name added to that list of people. 

Azriel did nothing but make you feel comfortable in the brief few minutes of meeting one another. He was kind enough to not laugh in your face and kick you out of his car after your admittance. You were not about to make him feel uncomfortable either. 

He pulled out a small plastic baggie stuffed to the brim with forest green nuggets and handed it to you between two scarred, pinched fingers. You took it gratefully, a full and genuine smile on your lips now as you thanked him, reaching into the back pocket of your denim shorts for the cash. 

“Did you want me to roll them for you, too?” Azriel’s teasing voice dripped with sarcasm and your eyes snapped to him with a stern look. “‘Cause that’ll cost you extra.” 

“I know how to roll, thank you.” You bit back, and while your voice and tone held all the conviction, the amused glint in your eye and the corners of your mouth told him he hadn’t offended you in the slightest.  

“It’s twenty-five.” Azriel chuckled from beside you. 

Your brows furrowed as you pulled out two twenty’s, meeting his gaze again. “Isn’t it usually like forty?”

The air now smelt of that tangy, vile scent, something that you don’t think you’d ever get used to. Or enjoy. He shrugged, flipping down the lid of the compartment between you. “You’re a new client.”

You raised a brow now, a taunting smirk creeping at the corner of your mouth. “Do you always undercharge new clients, then?”

Azriel liked you. Very much. You didn’t shy away or hide your personality from him, even after only knowing one another for barely an hour in total. He had a feeling he was barely scraping the surface. 

He matched your stare, only he wasn't teasing. “Only the pretty ones.”

There was no hiding the heat that crawled up your neck and sat heavy on your cheeks. It had been a long while since you received a genuine compliment. Let alone one so forward and from someone so unexpected. You averted your gaze from him, looking at the two twenty’s in your hand. Raising them, you pursed your lips. 

“I only have two twenty’s on me. So you may as well take the full forty.” 

Azriel didn’t listen. Instead, he pinched one note from your hand, his skin brushing yours but you didn’t falter, didn’t shy away. He was warm, and despite the scars and marred skin, his skin was softer than you expected. 

You huffed, not ungrateful for the discount but this was his livelihood and taking away from that felt wrong to you. 

“Let me know when you’re out.” 

You smiled appreciatively and nodded, stuffing the bag and cash into your hoodie pocket and reaching for the door handle. “I will. Nice to meet you, Azriel.” 

He watched you climb out of the car, offering another warm smile as the cooler evening air kissed at his skin. He wanted to ask how you were getting home, if you’d be walking alone or if you needed a ride. But Azriel couldn’t cross those lines, especially not with someone he only just met. 

So he bit his tongue and prayed to the Mother above to get you home safely. “You too, Y/N.” 

He started up the engine again as soon as the door closed, but he didn’t drive away. He watched you through the rear view mirror until you were out of sight and when he finally looked down, he found his jeans tight around his crotch and a painful erection. 

“Fuck.”

“Why don’t we give the brownies idea a try?”

Azriel’s head felt like it may explode. For the past two hours, he’d been stuck in a discussion between his brothers regarding new ideas for new products to sell. And while Az and Rhys had no ideas to suggest (all agreeing cocaine, molly and ket were not up for discussion), Cassian was still hellbent on making weed brownies—despite knowing not a damn thing about baking. 

“Cass,” Rhys sighed, pinching sharply at the bridge of his nose. Azriel was going to lose his shit, he couldn’t go through this again—for a fifth fucking time. “We literally spoke about this last week! None of us know how to bake!” 

Cassian paid no mind to Rhysand’s clear frustrations with him and scoffed as he threw his head back on the couch. “It can’t be that fucking hard.” 

“Then by all means, buy your own shit and burn it while you try and figure it out.” 

Azriel blinked, looking between the pair. He’d barely said a word, too worried he may get a bit too heated. Cassian got like this sometimes—most of the time—and more often than not, Az got the idea he only did it to get a reaction out of Rhys, who had very little patience when it came to him.

Someone had to play mediator and devil’s advocate in every situation, and somehow, even since they were teens, that role always landed on Azriel’s shoulders. 

Deciding enough was enough, he leant forward and peered between them both. “As much as edibles would help out sales, Rhys is right,” Cassian snickered at him, “It’s not a good idea right now. Not when we have no clue what we’re doing, and especially not when we’re having problems with our supplier right now.”

It was silent in the room for a moment, for the first time in an hour. And after a few minutes passed and no one spoke, Rhys stood from the couch with a sigh. “I’ve gotta get going to the parlour. All my sketches are there and I’ve got a long day and a huge back piece to tattoo tomorrow.” 

He clapped a hand against both Az and Cassian’s shoulders before bidding them a goodbye and leaving. Cassian remained sulking on the couch, thick and toned arms crossed on his chest with an unsatisfied scowl on his face. Azriel took purchase on the coffee table in front of him, lips pursed to suppress his amusement.

Cassian often got like this if he was told no or something didn’t go his way. When they were younger, Azriel used to roll his eyes and tell him to get over it. But now, in their mid-twenties and Cassian sharing a striking resemblance to that hunky character from that one Disney movie, Azriel found his sulking the best form of entertainment. 

“Are you not working tonight?” Az broke the silence with a lighthearted question. As much as he found his brothers face amusing, he didn’t really have the energy to deal with it all fucking night. He had shit to do, people to see. And he didn’t particularly want to bring Cassian along to his drop off’s—not when Cass scared the shit out of most people. 

“Club’s closed, waiting for Nes to finish. Staying at hers tonight,” he mumbled.

Relief was quick to flow through Azriel’s blood as he let out a breath. His phone chimed from his back pocket as he said, “Tell her I say hi,” and a gentle smile tugged at the corners of Cassian’s mouth.

Az and Nesta had a decent friendship, he was closer to her than he was Feyre, but maybe that was because Nesta didn’t tiptoe around Az like most other people did. Maybe that was why he liked you so much. You didn’t shy under his gaze, and you didn’t treat him differently after noticing his scarred hands. 

Yes, he saw you watching, inspecting with hurt and curious eyes. But you didn’t say anything so neither did he. And when you purposely brushed your skin against his when you took that bag of bud, he knew you’d done it out of silent reassurance. 

And yet, he hadn’t heard from you since you met three days ago. Not that he expected you to message so soon, not after you said the 3.5 would last around two weeks, but he still felt that deep disappointment whenever he checked his phone and your name wasn’t the one to have messaged him. 

He needed to get a grip on himself, really. But you were different. So different from anyone he’d ever met or known before. You didn’t play up to any facade, you didn’t hesitate to tease him back. You were honest, painfully so when you admitted you were clueless, but that only made him find you even more endearing. 

“What about you?” Cassian’s voice drilled into his ears, abruptly pulling Azriel away from the memory of you. He quickly typed back a reply to a client that he could drop off within the hour and shoved his phone back in his pocket. 

“What about me?” Az asked. 

“Any plans?” 

Azriel shrugged, elbows leaning on his spread thighs and the oak coffee table creaked beneath his firm weight. “I’ve got a few deals to do, but that’s about it.”

Cass nodded, finally unfolding his arms and letting them drop to his sides. “Well, you know where I’ll be if you wanna come by, Nes would be happy to see you.”

Azriel raised a brow. “I saw her two days ago.”

His brother gave him a look, one that suggested ‘yeah, I know, but you’re like her best friend and she loves you to literal death’, and that was that. 

Cass left soon after, picking Nesta up from work and leaving Azriel home alone for what seemed like the thousandth night in a row. He didn’t mind it, not really. He enjoyed his own company and when Cass stayed at Nesta’s and Rhys stayed at Feyre’s, it meant Az could play around with new melodies and not be scolded for playing guitar at 4 a.m. and waking everybody up. 

Having the apartment to himself was a win-win for everyone involved. 

Only tonight, he didn’t want to sit and play with new sounds and rhythms. Not when his mind was completely distracted by you. By your smile, your eyes, by that sensual voice of yours that he hadn’t stopped replaying in his memory for the past three days. 

It wouldn’t hurt to send just one text, right? Just the one, just to check in on how you were finding the bud. As if you hadn't smoked it before they met. 

He shouldn’t. This wasn’t what he did—he didn’t chase after girls, he never had, and he most certainly did not get hooked—especially not on someone he’d known for three days. 

And yet, despite that, Azriel found himself on your messages, hovering his fingers over the keyboard and typing out a quick text and sending it before he could even think about it. 

Azriel: how’s the bud?

But it wasn’t his lack of thinking before sending the message that had his jaw slack, no. It was the fact that as soon as the message travelled from the box to the messaging thread, you had already opened it. Like you were already on the chat. Perhaps debating your own text to him. 

Those grey bubbles appeared at the bottom of the screen and Azriel made quick work to click out of the conversation. His heart should not have been stammering in his chest the way it was, he should not have felt so anxious about what you may think if he read your text as quickly as you read his. 

You: very good. And you were right. 7 joints! 

And then, another.

You: I may need a top up sooner than i thought, if that’s ok?

Azriel: what happened to it lasting you 2 weeks?? Nah, that’s fine. Did you wanna meet up tonight?

You: would that be ok?

Azriel: yes. Old tower in 20?

You: life saver <3 see u then!

He tried his damned hardest not to stare at the little heart you sent him, tried his best not to picture you thinking about texting him to meet up again. But all he tried, it didn’t work and a smirk began to tug at the corners of his mouth. 

His Ford Mustang parked outside the Old Tower fifteen minutes later, the engine still humming softly and his eyes flitted between the rearview mirror and his view in front of him, trying to gauge which way you’d come from. 

He didn’t expect for you to come out of the shadows in a third direction, one in the wake of the passengers side, and he didn’t realise until the door opened and you slid your body inside his car, shutting the door behind you. 

“Hi,” you turned to him with a beaming smile—eyes gently blazed with a moody pink hue. 

Azriel drank you in. Your hair was down today in what he presumed was your natural waves, face bare of makeup save for the sheen of pinky lip gloss that coated your mouth. You wore an oversized cropped olive cardigan; the large buttons done up just enough to offer a slither of a peek of the white bralette you wore beneath, and a pair of straight-legged black cargos. 

Gods, you looked even better than he remembered, but Azriel wasn’t naive to your staring either. Your eyes caught notice of his thick, muscled arms. They weren’t hidden beneath a jacket this time. No. They bulged from the black t-shirt he wore, and his brown skin was etched in intricate swirls and shapes and designs in black ink. 

You gulped, visibly so. Tattoos had always been an immediate attraction for you—not that Brandon ever had any—but the sight of Azriels and the one that hid beneath the sleeve of his top and curled up and around his neck… Gods, your throat felt extremely dry.

And Azriel noticed everything. 

“I thought you said you didn’t smoke much?” 

Your eyes finally snapped to his hazel ones and warmth coated your cheeks and chest. You cleared your throat, blinking a few times to regain some sense of composure. “I don’t,” you retorted. “Girls night. And it was my turn to host.” 

Azriel tried not to think too deeply into the idea of you having a night at home with your girlfriends, stoned and warm and cosy and all inhibitions thrown out the window. He wondered if those were the types of things you did with your friends. He’d been with a few before that did. 

He looked away as soon as he felt that familiar tightening in his jeans. “So, you want another 3.5?” He cleared his throat, lifting the compartment between your seats. 

You hummed, eyes following his movements. Your gaze lingered on his biceps for a moment, trailing down to the veins that protruded from his smooth skin. You didn’t know what was wrong with you. Oftentimes than not, you found yourself horny and riled up when under the influence, but never like this. Never so strongly at the sight of two veiny, tattooed arms. 

“Um, yeah… please.” You finally spoke. “I promise it’ll last me longer than three days this time.”

Azriel prayed to the fucking mother above that it didn’t. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he retrieved a 3.5 baggie and handed it to you, closing the compartment again and the second he opened his mouth to speak, you were already grabbing a marred hand and shoving two twenty’s into it before forcing his fist closed. 

Perhaps it was the buzz of the joint you smoked on your way, or perhaps it was the pure arousal you felt at the sight of him and the feel of his hand in yours that gave you a surge of confidence. Whatever it was, it had you saying, “Pretty clients might get a discount from you, but incredibly attractive, tattooed plugs get full pay from me.”

Azriel was stunned for a moment, by both your boldness and the shameless compliment. His mouth blubbered open, a retort just as flirty as yours on the tip of his tongue when the sound of his ringtone blaring through the car’s bluetooth speaker cut him off. 

He disconnected the call a bit too quickly, an amused smile teetering on the curves of your already twisted lips. Azriel paid no mind to his own actions, instead turning back to you with a fire in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. 

His lips parted in another attempt to speak when that gods-dammed phone interrupted him for a second time and you could no longer hold your laughter. Azriel decided there and then that the next time he saw you, he’d make sure he heard that sweetness again. 

You didn’t give him time to cut the call off again. Instead, you reached for the door handle and offered a grateful smile. “I’ll text you when I’m out.”

His senses were too on overdrive. Too torn between wanting to stop you, even if to spend a few more moments in your presence, and the deafening sound of his fucking phone. But you’d exited the car and closed the door behind you before he could do anything about it. The cash was still stuffed in his warm hands and the incoming call continued to make his ears bleed. 

“What?” Azriel seethed the second he answered the call. It was silent for a moment, the caller caught off guard by Az’s tone but that only pissed him off further. 

“It’s Brandon,” the line paused for a moment again. “You about?” 

Azriel felt his blood boil. “If I don’t fucking answer the first time, that usually means no.”

He disconnected the call without another word, marred hands now gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white. He hated the way he was reacting over you—over being interrupted from your presence. But he couldn't help it. Couldn’t get the thought out of his head of how sweet your lips probably tasted with that gloss. And without it. 

Azriel’s chest heaved slightly, that all too familiar sense of arousal tightening in his pants. He couldn’t stand this, couldn't understand how a tiny slip of your bralette could have his mind and body reacting like this. How a subtle smirk and a sultry gaze could have him ready to blow a load in his pants. 

Christ, he needed to sort himself out. Absent-mindedly, Azriel snuck a hand between his thighs, large scarred hand palming at his length through the fabrics. His breathing turned quicker, his movements growing needier. If he didn’t sort himself out soon he’d been in agony. 

With one hand on the wheel, he forced himself to drive—only for a moment or two until his Mustang was parked idly between two buildings and switched off the engine to not draw too much attention to himself. 

He was above this—above getting himself off semi-publicly. But he couldn’t fucking help it. He didn’t care how shameful and icky he might’ve felt afterwards, not when he was so desperate. 

As soon as the car was covered in shadows of darkness, he unclasped his seatbelt and unpopped the buttons of his jeans. He didn’t bother to pull them down, only releasing the zip and reaching into his boxers to tug his length free. 

The second he felt his skin on him, he shuddered. His slender fingers wrapped around his thick shaft, offering himself a teasing squeeze as he slowly moved. Azriel didn’t need lube or lotion—not when pearly beads of semi-translucent arousal leaked from his pink, ruddy tip. He smoothed it down his length, mewling at the contact he rewarded himself. 

And all he could think about was you. 

Your eyes, your lips, your voice.

He let his mind wander to sinful images of what may lay hidden beneath your clothes—beneath that little white bralette. Azriel quickened his pace as his eyes fluttered closed, the back of his head hitting the headrest. He throbbed in his hand, a gruff moan tearing from his throat. 

Azriel could picture you clearly in his head; on your knees in the footwell, your dainty hands around his cock as your lips kissed and sucked him. His hand in your hair, bobbing you on his length, watching your eyes water from the size of him as he hit the back of your throat. 

His breathing grew ragged, filthy images of your choking on his cock filling his brain, clouding his sensing and coaxing a release out of him. Azriel didn’t think he’d ever come so quickly before in his life, but the idea of you looking up at him with sultry eyes through thick lashes had him spurting warm ribbons of cum into his hand as he cupped his head to minimise the mess. A desperate attempt to replicate what he imagined the warmth of your mouth would feel like. 

As his breathing began to even out, the post-nut clarity hit him like a ton of fucking bricks. Shame boiled in his blood, a tint of pink embarrassment painted on his cheeks as if the shadows judged him, too. The idea of seeing you again while knowing what he’d done to the thought of you… it made his insides churn slightly. 

But more than that, it made his cock leap again in anticipation of soon being in your presence once more. 

“Az, what do you say? Up for a double date?” 

Feyre couldn’t hide her smile, unable to keep her emotions in check when it came to her attempts to set Azriel up. But the instant disappearance of his smile wasn’t missed on her. Nor was the way his shoulders tensed slightly. 

He sighed. “Fey, as much as I appreciate your concern for my love life, I don’t need to be set up.”

She pouted at him. Despite that always being his answer, she still held a shred of hope every time she suggested it. Even if he never changed his mind, she was willing to continuously try, even if he did find it annoying. Even if she didn’t tell him until the very last minute. 

“Who’s the lucky girl then, Az?” Nesta piped up with a wide grin from her seat in the couch, tucked closely into Cassian’s side who paid no mind to the conversation at hand. 

He rolled his eyes at her. “There is no girl.” 

“Guy, then.” Nesta scoffed, waving a hand. 

Azriel didn’t want to entertain this conversation, especially not because it had somehow brought his mind back to you. Something he’d been so desperately trying to avoid. 

Though, he supposed it was inevitable. He would be seeing you again at some point and then he’d be stuck right back where he started. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure why he was doing this to himself— why he didn’t allow himself to pursue you if that was what he truly wanted. 

His phone chimed from his pocket. 

In hindsight, it was probably a good thing that Azriel didn’t hear from you for two weeks. It gave him ample time to attempt to get his hormones in check, but it didn’t stop his blood from warming everytime he received a notification. Each time, he was left with slight disappointment to find it was just another client. 

Until today. Until now. Where your name was in fact the one on his lockscreen and all of that forgetting and willing to get you out of his mind faltered. 

You: Hey, are you free later?

Azriel: I'm free all night.

When you didn’t respond, Azriel assumed you were looking for a more direct answer. So he sent another text. 

Azriel: old tower in an hour good for you?

You: see you then.

He couldn’t help the frown that furrowed in his brows at your reply. Given, your only communication was mainly through text, and perhaps he was looking too much into it, but you didn't seem yourself. And that thought shouldn’t have irked him as much as it did. 

He barely bid anyone a goodbye, throwing a mumbled ‘see you later’ as he grabbed his shit and left. 

His first stop was to Sean, a lean Asian guy that had been buying off Azriel for two years now. He was decent enough, never tried to haggle or complain about the prices. They shared a mutual respect and minimal words were shared when Az handed him a Q and Sean gave 140 in one swift motion. 

And just like that, Azirel moved onto the next.

And then another. 

And another. 

Until he was waiting at the Old Tower and watching your silhouette approach the Mustang. You entered the car just like you always had done, though you didn’t meet his gaze this time. Instead, you kept your line of view ahead. Your hair obstructed the side of your face, effectively shielding you from his prying eyes. 

“Sorry I’m a little late.” 

Azriel absolutely did not like the quake in your voice as you spoke, nor did he like the way you seemed to cower into your body and clothes. Clothes that didn’t seem to match your usual vibe—instead, the mismatched black sweatpants and bright pink puffer jacket gave off the impression you threw on whatever was around you. 

Somehow, Azriel still thought you made it look good. On you, the outfit looked both planned and effortless. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that that wasn’t the case. 

“You good?” he asked through the piercing silence. 

You hummed, twisting the bulky silver ring on your thumb. “Yeah, just tired.” You tried your hardest to offer a convincing smile as you turned to him, but Azriel noticed the way it didn’t meet your eyes—the eyes that appeared slightly bloodshot, though he had a suspicion it wasn’t from smoking.

Not wanting to press on the matter, Az opened the compartment and pulled out a baggie of your usual amount and kept it pinched between two scarred fingers. You reached for it, the cash in your other hand but he kept his grip tight. 

Azriel raised a brow. “You’re sure you’re alright?” 

You could see the concern flood his hazel eyes, and the sight pulled on your aching heartstrings. How could someone who was a virtual stranger care more for you than the ones who were much closer in your life?

You didn’t trust your words, so you nodded and he finally released his hold on the bag. “Alright,” Az sighed. “It’s a different strain than my usual stuff, so go a little lighter with it. It’s pretty strong.” 

You were incredibly thankful for the warning, though you couldn’t help feeling a little offended. Did he really think you were so naive and new to this world that you couldn’t handle a new strain at your usual strength (which, admittedly, was very weak) without greening out? 

But as quickly as that feeling rose, it faded. He was a dealer, afterall, and he couldn’t afford to lose business all because someone thought they knew better and had a bad trip. 

“Thank you,” you muttered out, already reaching for the handle when his ruggedly soft voice stopped you. 

“You wanna smoke before you go? I can drop you back after.” 

You whipped your head to him, blinking through slightly blurred vision. With a brow raised and widened eyes, your lips parted. “Together?”

A smile stretched across his full lips, one so full of charisma and keen interest that it awakened something deep in the pit of your stomach. Something you distinctly remember feeling the last time you saw him. 

“Why not?” 

You swallowed as your hand slowly fell from the handle and made its way back in your lap. Your smile morphed into a smirk that matched his and the air shifted into something unreadable. Something palpable but not quite real. 

“Really? Do you normally smoke with your clients?” 

Azriel’s wicked grin widened. “I do with the cute ones.” 

You choked on a laugh, rolling your head back until it hit the headrest and Azriel didn’t think he’d ever seen or heard anything so fucking beautiful in his life. That laugh would haunt him in his dreams to a blissful paradise. 

“First, I’m pretty. Now I’m cute… what’s next?” 

Damn the rules he set himself. Damn the restrictions he forced when it came to someone who piqued his interest. It was about time Azriel took what he wanted for once. Even if that meant he started with no longer feeling guilty for flirting with you. 

Chewing at the inside of his cheek, Azriel started up the engine and shifted the gearstick. “Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.” 

He tilted his head to the dashboard compartment and you pulled it open. The small warm white light lit the cove, a golden hue casting on a small yellow tin. Throwing a glance to Azriel, he nodded and you pulled it out, closing the compartment and popping open his travel tin. 

It was packed with perfectly rolled joints and blunts. The smell was strong—potent—but you didn’t mind. Not as much as you had before. You picked one random of the bunch and pinched it between two fingers. It was rolled tightly and packed full, a very small twist of paper at the end and you hummed, impressed. 

Of course he could roll perfectly. And you had a feeling just two pulls of one of those would keep you warm and fuzzy for the remainder of the night. 

“There’s a lighter in the cup holder.” Azriel spoke as he pulled out of the space and began to drive further out of the lights of the city. 

You pinched the lighter. Just a simple black one, no funky pattern or engraved initials like most others had. No, Azriel’s was one that came in a pack of five and the other four were somewhere in the car or back at his apartment. 

“We can smoke in here?” you asked softly, that crack in your voice easing. 

Az hummed, taking a right turn. “If you’re comfortable to.”

You waited a moment, eyeing the joint and then him. “You drive when you smoke?” 

He seemed to notice your somewhat apprehension when he nodded again. He turned to you briefly before flicking his eyes back on the road again. “I drive better when I’m stoned. But if you’d prefer, we can park up somewhere.” 

You shook your head, warmth caressing every inch of your body. You didn’t know what it was, but something had overcome you. An overwhelming sense of pure yearning. You could admit when you first met Az that he was attractive, incredibly so. But now? Watching him, speaking with him, smoking with him… oh God’s… you had a fucking crush on your plug. 

“You wanna start it or should I?” Azriel’s voice broke you from your epiphany and you blinked quickly, willing the rising heat to just fuck off and give you a moments reprive. 

“Oh,” you squeaked. “You can, it’s your weed.” 

He didn’t look away from the road, not for a second. With a hand on the wheel and the other shifting gears, he edged his head closer to yours and angled his face just slightly with his lips parted. You were stunned for a moment, realising what he was asking you to do, and you swallowed back that bubbling arousal as you placed the unlit joint to his lips and sparked up a flame, igniting the end.

Az hummed in thanks as he took a long, deep drag. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. He was a fucking sight. Cheeks ever so slightly hollowed and eyes barely squinted as the smoke filled his lungs. 

A scarred hand left the gearstick to reach for the joint, his thumb reaching for the bottom while his forefinger grazed the top and he pulled it away with another fresh intake of breath, settling the drug further. 

You were soaked, you were sure of it. Your previous problems from today were a distant memory as you finally watched him exhale and bring the joint to his lips again for another long pull. 

The sound of the windows opening broke you from your trance and only then did you realise you hadn’t yet put on your seatbelt. You tore your gaze away to clip yourself in and when you turned back, Azriel was offering you the joint. 

With your free hand, you accepted it, the other stuffing the cash in his cup holder with the lighter. You inspected the joint, tried not to let your heart race. You’d only ever smoked with your friends and Brandon. Never with a dealer. Never with someone like Azriel. 

You slotted your pursed lips over the same area Az did, and inhaled as deeply as you could. The burn at the back of your throat was stronger than when you smoked your own joints, and as it filled your lungs you pulled it away and held back a cough that gagged to release from your throat. 

With a shaky exhale, you swallowed around the dryness of your mouth before bringing it back to your lips for another drag. When you pulled it away, the burn wasn’t as bad and you passed it back to Azriel who took another turn on the roads. 

“Where are we going?” You pondered, a certain rasp to your voice from the strength of the joint. 

Azriel took two short pulls and angled the burning end out the window, flicking off the excess ash before offering it to you again. 

“Wherever you want,” he replied. “But first, we should probably get some food for when the munchies kick in.” 

You laughed as you exhaled another breath and handed the joint back to him, waving a hand to signal you were tapping out and did not intend on smoking anymore. Five pulls of that shit was more than enough for you. You could not handle the idea of greening out in his car with him. 

Azriel stifled a laugh and finished off the rest of the joint by the time he pulled into a drive-thru. He placed his order first, turning to you with flushed cheeks and hazy eyes. You blinked a few times, your brain requiring a few moments to catch up with what was happening. 

“I’ll have the same as you.” 

He stifled a laugh as he spoke into the machine, doubling up on his order and driving through to the next window. Azriel paid no mind to you when you attempted to offer him your money—barely even looked at you as he tapped his card against the reader and then reached for the cash in the cup holder, shoving it back in your empty palms. 

“You can keep that, too.”

You knew it wasn’t up for discussion, so you begrudgingly took your cash back and stuffed it into your jacket pocket again. Az stopped in the parking lot, the two of you eating through hushed yet uncontrollable giggles at the people that passed by. 

It was the first time you’d heard his laugh so unrestricted and it spread another shot of warmth through your body. It continued like that for another undisturbed hour, where after the food, Az sparked up another joint and began the drive to your apartment. You’d told him Old Tower was fine, but he wasn’t okay with that. 

“Too many freaks around at this time of night. I’ll drop you to your door. Put your address in the GPS.”

And it wasn’t until the drive back to your apartment that you were reminded of your previous troubles. The ones that caused your teary eyes and sombre mood. The buzz off the night felt like it had dwindled away the second you thought of your situation, and you were left slumped in your seat again, fiddling with your fingers. 

Azriel noticed your change in mood almost immediately as he glanced over to you before flicking his eyes back to the road. He took another drag of the joint. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You pondered his offer for a few moments, weighing out whether or not you should. In the end, what difference would it make? If you divulge your issues or not, it wouldn’t fix them. But perhaps talking about it might help. 

“My sister got married yesterday and no one told me.”

Azriel blinked rapidly, almost spluttering on the breath he exhaled. “What?” 

“Yeah.” 

He waited patiently, eager for some sort of explanation as to how and why something like that was kept from you. But he didn’t know the relationship with your family, he couldn’t presume anything. For all he knew, you had troubles just like his. 

“My family and I didn’t have the best relationship growing up. I was born from a toxic relationship so I was cast aside as a kid, I guess. I thought we were past that, though. I thought things were better.”

That familiar ache sat heavy in Azriel’s chest. He knew all too well the hurt that came from being shunned by your own family. He wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. Especially not somebody like you. 

“I’m sorry.” His words held such compassion and sympathy. No pity, just pure understanding. 

You blinked back the tears, not wanting to show just how much it had all affected you. But it was no use. A single drop slipped down your cheek and as quickly as it fell, you wiped it away. 

You were agitated now, extremely so. “I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend, Az.”

“Why would they do that?”

There was a pause. And then, “because her now husband was my first everything.” 

You waited for the statement to settle into the thick night air. Your first kiss, first boyfriend, first time. First love. Azriel could understand even more now just how much it hurt you. And the fact they kept it a secret? Even your family knew what they did was wrong. 

“I’m so sorry, that’s truly fucked. But you know, families suck sometimes. I only speak to my mom.”

“Oh?” You hadn’t realised you were even on your street until he parked right outside your apartment and flicked on his hazards. 

Azriel flicked the but of the smoke out the window and held out his hands, showcasing the marred flesh and patchy skin. “My half brothers did this to me when I was eight. They didn’t like that our mom had me with another man before she had them. They said that my bastard blood tainted the family, so they wanted to taint me.” 

Azriel had absolutely no fucking idea why he was divulging such an intimate and traumatic part of himself. But he made no attempt to hide or sugarcoat any of the truth. Especially not when he looked up from his hands and caught sight of your face. 

Salty tears silvered the linings of your eyes at the truth of what had happened to him. Bile crept up your throat and hatred for his family formed. Eight years old. You felt sick. 

“Az… I’m so sorry. That’s… I can’t even…”

But Azriel waved it off with a gentle smile. “It’s awful, sure. But I’m fine. I wouldn’t have met Cass and Rhys if that didn’t happen. They may be my found family, but they’re my brothers. Blood doesn't mean shit to me.”

A single tear slipped down your warm cheek, staining the skin in its wake. Azriel reached out to wipe it away, his touch gentle and soft and yet all-consuming. Your gaze met in a flickering glance of hazy eyes and fluttering lashes. 

And then next thing you knew, your lips were on his. 

Azriel was quick to kiss you back; moulding his plump lips around yours as his large palms cupped the sides of your face. He was sweet on your mouth, a hint of salt from his fries and he swiped his tongue across the seam of your lips, you almost imploded. 

Azriel was no better. The second he got a taste, he was a starved man. Your tongues met in needy strokes and Az had never tasted anything like you before. Sweet like the watermelon lip gloss you wore, and a tang of smoke that haunted your mouth. 

He was hooked, desperately fucking hooked. Your own hands reached up to hold his wrists in hopes of keeping his touch on you. Azriel kissed you deeper, licking across your teeth before settling even deeper in your mouth. 

It was needy and messy and every unspoken word of desire was poured into that kiss, your touch. He could stay like that forever, kissing you, tasting you. Azriel could feel himself stretching in his pants, and from the almost inaudible whimper that strained from the back of your throat, he was certain you were just as needy between your own thighs. 

The thought spurred him on, as it did you. Your hands trailed down his forearms to his biceps, feeling at the muscle that tensed beneath your touch, until your arms were wrapping around his neck and he was pulling you closer over the centre console. 

Azriel kept a palm caressing your jaw while the other snaked to the side of your neck, his long fingers weaving through the hair at your nape and blunt fingernails scratching at your scalp. 

In your drug and lust filled haze, Azriel was shifting in his seat. You let one arm leave his body to reach for your seatbelt, planning to unbuckle it and crawl into his lap for a deeper, richer taste of him. 

But the second the safety belt was released, the blaring sound of an incoming call through the car's speaker jolted you both apart. It was then, and only then, that the gravity of the situation finally sunk in. 

His eyes were glazed over with something you’d never seen on him before, his lips even plumper and smeared with your gloss. You didn’t look much better. Only your eyes were wider than his and your hair had been a lot more dishevelled. 

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, the insistent ringing of his phone jarring your eardrums. For the fourth time tonight, warmth settled over you again but in the form of embarrassment. He confided in you about a trauma so deep, and you’d kissed him. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologised breathlessly. 

Too caught up in your own fear and anxiety of what you’d done, you missed the way Azriel’s brows furrowed. His confusion quickly turned into panic when the thought settled in that perhaps you had regretted it. That even though you kissed him, perhaps you felt he had pressured you. 

And that made him sick to his stomach. 

Before Azriel could utter a single word, your hand was on the door handle and you were pushing it open. “I’m sorry, I should go.” 

You climbed out of the car as you uttered another apology, and slammed the door shut without so much as offering him another glance. The incoming call died to voicemail but Az couldn’t take his eyes off your empty seat, couldn’t get the taste of you off his tongue, the feel of your lips off his. 

Frustration grew at himself. Azriel turned forward in his seat, nostrils flared and teeth grit. He’d fucked it. He’d gone and fucked it entirely. His open palm smacked against the wheel before gripping it tightly, taking a moment to compose himself. 

He looked over at your seat again. 

Despite the lack of your physical presence, you were still there. In scent and touch and taste. 

Azriel was fucking done for. 

A/N: guys you have no idea how EXCITED I am to finally be reposting this series. I love plug!az with every fibre of my being and I cannot wait to share it again and finally finish it!!! This is the original first and second part merged together and I’ll be scheduling the next part for some time next week!!

If you enjoyed it please consider giving it a like and reblog! Writers love to hear your feedback <3

[what-even-is-thiss]

Free or Cheap German Learning Resources for all your Hochdeutsch Needs

I will update this list as I learn of any more useful ones. If you want general language learning resources check out this other post. This list is German specific. Find lists for other specific languages here.

For the purposes of this list "free" means something that is either totally free or has a useful free tier. "Cheap" is a subscription under $10USD a month, a software license or lifetime membership purchase under $100USD, or a book under $30USD. If you want to suggest something to add to this list, include things in this price range that are of good quality and not AI generated.

WEBSITES

DW - A public broadcasting service from Germany that also has a German learning section. They have videos, tv series, and lessons from beginner to advanced. The website is free to use with an account.

Gothe Institut - An organization affiliated with the German government that administers language level tests and promotes German culture abroad. They have a lot of free exercises and test questions. If you're willing to pay they may also have classes available in your region.

thegermanproject.com - A free website with explanations of beginner German concepts and stories to read for people at the beginner level.

germancorrector.com - A free website that will correct your spelling and grammar. You can also set the dialect to Switzerland or Austria.

Your Daily German - A blog in English by a native German speaker named Emanuel who makes posts about grammar, vocabulary, tips, and suggestions for reading.

YOUTUBE CHANNELS

Comprehensible Germani - A comprehensible input channel with German lessons in German using visual aids. Has content from beginner through upper intermediate.

Learn German - A channel that explains certain concepts and provides listening practice. The channel uses a mix of German and English.

Chill German - A channel that makes vlogs in slow German. They have videos from beginner to lower advanced levels.

Natürlich German - A comprehensible input channel that talks about different aspects of German culture and other topics as well. Has videos for complete beginner to lower advanced. This channel hasn't updated in a while but there's a large archive to watch through.

Easy German - A channel that has a combination of videos about basic German phrases for beginners and videos with interviews on the street in German speaking regions. The channel has dual language German/English subtitles on screen. The hosts of this channel also have a podcast for intermediate to advanced learners.

Expertly German - A channel about learning German with discussion of grammar, vocab, and business German. The channel is entirely in German.

Deutsch Mit Lari - A channel with a mix of German Lessons and vlogs in slow German. Content ranges from beginner to intermediate. All content and explanations are in German.

Learn German With Anja - A channel with a mix of lessons and videos on culture and living in Germany. Videos are in a mix of both English and German and often have dual language subtitles on screen.

READING PRACTICE

German graded readers by Olly Richards Short Stories in German, Intermediate Short Stories in German, Conversations in Simple German, Western Philosophy in Simple German, World War 2 in Simple German. Books tend to range from $4-$20 depending if you buy the digital or print versions. The books can also generally be found easily at used book stores or used on Amazon for cheaper.

Dino Lernt Deutsch - A series of short stories for beginners about a man named Dino lost in various German speaking countries. The full series new in print costs about $25 but it can be bought used or as a digital edition. Each individual story can also be bought separately

Nachrichtenleight - A website with news articles in simple German. The website is entirely in German.

AlumniPortal - Website with articles about business, academics, and other related topics organized by difficulty level. Has articles from upper beginner to upper intermediate. The website is entirely in German.

Grimm Stories - A website with an archive of the original Grimm's fairy tales. Language may be a bit archaic. The website is available in multiple languages.

PODCASTS

Slow German Podcast - Advertises itself as being for beginner to lower intermediate. The host talks about everyday topics such as seasonal weather and describing your apartment.

Easy German Podcast - The hosts from the Easy German Youtube channel talk about different topics, news, and answer questions from listeners in clear and understandable German.

News in Slow German - It is a podcast with news in slow German, including international news and culture news. Only a small section of the program is available for free.

Top-Thema Mit Vokalbeln - A podcast from DW for lower intermediate learners that discusses news topics in simple German and provides vocabulary lists related to the episode topic.

German Stories - A podcast for beginners in a mix of English and German that gives lessons through dialogues and short stories.

Speaking of Berlin - A podcast by Babbel of Berliners telling personal stories in slow German.

SELF STUDY TEXTBOOKS AND DICTIONARIES

Complete German All-in-One from McGraw Hill - a textbook that also doubles as a workbook. It’s more expensive at about $30. It’s difficult to find intact used copies of this book because it’s also a workbook and people tend to write all over it and tear it up. However the sentence builder and grammar sections are sold separately for much cheaper if you just want one or the other.

German Made Easy - Individual books in this series tend to be about $10-$20. From what I’ve read it’s just fine but it’s cheap and has all the beginner concepts you need and used copies are fairly easy to find online.

Easy German Step By Step - This is McGraw Hill’s budget option at $12-$16 new. Though as this one isn’t a workbook, it’s easier to find used copies. It focuses hard on only the most frequently used vocabulary and grammar concepts to get someone started as quickly as possible. It’s also available in audiobook form.

German Grammar Complete - This book is a full comprehensive guide to all levels of grammar from absolute beginner to college level. However it’s on the more expensive side at $30 and the workbook is sold separately.

DK German to English illustrated dictionary - This dictionary is sorted by topic and includes pictures and English translations. This is a new edition and is slightly harder to find used as I’m writing this. The base price is about $20 but there are older editions of this dictionary that might be easier to find used.

Merriam-Webster’s German to English Dictionary - The OG. The legend. The menace. The classic bilingual dictionary. Simple. Many words. Decent explainations. Only $8 new. Easy to find used older editions.

SERIES FOR LEARNERS AND KIDS TV

Hallo Aus Berlin - A series infamous among German students everywhere. Made in the early 2000s for use in classrooms, it has ten episodes of kids talking about certain topics like numbers and going out to a restaurant. It also has a number of songs. It’s cringey but in a fun way in my opinion.

Löwenzahn - a kids tv series aimed at very young audiences that’s been on for several decades. Every episode discusses one topic like bridges or factories so you’ll hear certain words repeated a lot. Theres only been a couple of different hosts so the presentation style remains consistent and unlike some other shows for kindergarteners it’s not obnoxiously loud and can be enjoyable for adults.

Sesamstraße - Sesame Street in German and localized for the German market with different themes and characters. In their YouTube channel you can find clips from as far back as the 1970s.

[kefiteria]

Denial: As If It Were a Choice

Azul Ashengrotto x Reader

tags: fluff, inspired by azul 2024 bday card voiceline

summary: Azul was in complete denial. Your genuine interest and honesty about pursuing him romantically left him utterly confused. A date at the local fair? This had to be some kind of love scam—or worse, an elaborate mlm scheme. Right?

“How wonderful love is. It creates so many problems for folks that they have to come to someone like ME for help.”

Hypocrisy at its finest. Even Daedalus, the master craftsman, would laugh himself into the sun at the tangled mess Azul had just stepped into. Even Orpheus, after failing to retrieve Eurydice, would pat Azul on the back and say, “That’s rough, buddy.”

Because he, Azul Ashengrotto, was supposed to be the schemer. The one who spotted every loophole, exploited every weakness, and ensured that no deal was ever made against his favor.

And yet—

“You’re working hard as always, Azul!”

Azul flinched. He had been so engrossed in reviewing contracts that he hadn’t even noticed you enter.

“How did you—? Who let you—? How did you get in here?!” he snapped, immediately sitting up straight.

“Oh! Jade said I could just enter.” you replied, smiling like you hadn't just shattered every security protocol Azul had in place.

Feeling the betrayal seep into his bones, he knew those damn eels had sold him out. But before he could even begin plotting revenge, you spoke again—

Completely derailed his entire existence.

“I'm pursuing you!”

Azul instantly short-circuited. His brain did the mental equivalent of a blue screen.

“You’re WHAT?!”

“Romantically!” You clasped your hands together, beaming like this was normal human behavior. “That’s why I’m inviting you to the fair this weekend. Oh! They have fried chicken, by the way! I know you like it.”

Azul’s eye twitched violently. What— what was this?

A love scam? An elaborate multi-level marketing scheme? Some previously undiscovered pyramid scheme where he was the target instead of the orchestrator?!

No—NO. That wasn’t possible. He would have noticed the signs. The recruitment tactics. The suspiciously friendly invitations.

… Wait.

Was this one of those forbidden love spells he had always been so careful to avoid?!

Or worse.

Had someone abused a loophole in a contract he hadn’t accounted for?

His hands flew to his coat, patting his pockets as if a cursed contract would fall out. Did someone sell his own heart to this absolute menace in front of him?!

Is this how it feels to be scammed! IS THIS HOW HIS CLIENTS FELT?! Azul folded his arms, narrowing his eyes at you like you had just offered him a fraudulent stock investment.

“What’s your angle?” he demanded.

You blinked. “Huh?”

“This—” He waved a hand wildly between the two of you. “—This business transaction—!”

“Confession.”

“—This confession transaction—”

“Just confession.”

“—This blatant attempt at fraud—!”

You tilted your head. “It’s not fraud? I just like you. That’s it!”

He now felt something deep within his soul fracture.

“You’re too honest.” he muttered, rubbing his temple as if trying to ward off the migraine of the century.

“Yep!” You nodded enthusiastically. “Gotta make a good foundation, y’know?”

Azul’s soul nearly exited his body. A good foundation.

A GOOD FOUNDATION.

WHAT WAS THIS, A BUSINESS MERGER?!

WHAT SORT OF ADVANCED EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION TECHNIQUE WAS THIS?!?!

“This isn't how romance works.” Azul hissed, as if saying it aloud would somehow reverse time. “Where’s the fine print? The hidden agenda? The careful deception?!”

You blinked. “Oh! I mean, consent is cool! And so are choices! You can totally reject the date if you don’t want to. No pressure! Just lemme know once you’re done thinking, okay?”

“Done thinking—” He exhaled sharply, gripping his desk as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. “You—you expect me to think about this?!”

“Well, yeah! Big decisions need proper thinking time!”

BIG DECISIONS.

Azul can feel a second overblot forming, all from this nonsense.

You gave him a cheerful little wave. “Alright, see you tomorrow, Azul! Take your time!”

He sat there, paralyzed, as you exited like you hadn’t just tossed his entire worldview into some deepest trench. This had to be some kind of conspiracy. It had to be.

There was no way someone would just walk into his office, declare their romantic pursuit, and leave. So he just stared at the contract on his desk. The ink had smudged from how hard he had been gripping his pen.

His hand was shaking because the horrifying, gut-wrenching truth was—

You were being completely serious.

Azul had absolutely not come to this fair for a date.

Absolutely. Not.

This was market research. Yes, that’s all it was. He was simply here to observe seasonal trends, analyze consumer behavior, and assess potential menu additions for the Mostro Lounge.

The fact that you had invited him was purely incidental. The fact that he had dressed well was merely a reflection of his natural sophistication. The fact that he had spent far too long thinking about what to say to you was… irrelevant.

This was a professional outing. Nothing more.

At least, that was what he kept repeating to himself, right until the moment he saw you waving at him, beaming with an enthusiasm so bright it made him squint.

“Azul! You really came!”

Your excitement was unreasonably infectious, and before he could even formulate a proper response, you were already standing in front of him, looking genuinely happy to see him. He cleared his throat, adjusting his gloves as if the motion alone could help him regain his composure.

“I had business to attend to.” he said smoothly.

You raised your eyebrow, questioning his reply. “At a fair?”

“Yes.” he replied without hesitation. “As an entrepreneur, it's only natural to study popular market trends and analyze consumer interests.”

“Right, right, of course.” you nodded, completely unfazed. “Well, thank you for accepting my invitation!”

Azul froze like those fishes in the mostro lounge freezer in the kitchen. No. No, no, no—

He had, in fact, accepted your invitation. Which, by definition, meant— THIS WAS A DATE.

A headache bloomed in his temples as realization hit him like a tidal wave. He had been so focused on maintaining a logical excuse for being here that he had overlooked the most crucial detail: he had willingly agreed to spend time with you outside any contractual obligation.

This wasn’t a negotiation. This wasn’t a business meeting. There was no deal to be made.

So why was he here?

His thoughts were spiraling so quickly that he barely noticed you taking his hand and tugging him forward. “Come on! No pressure, let's just walk around and enjoy the fair, okay?”

No pressure? No pressure?! Azul wanted to scream. What kind of business tactic was this? You were just walking in, completely unarmed, with no ulterior motives? What kind of hidden agenda was this?

He had spent years mastering the art of deception, yet here you were, casually obliterating his defenses with nothing but pure, unfiltered sincerity. It was unnatural. Suspicious, even.

The fair was lively, bustling with chatter and laughter, but Azul was beginning to wonder if he had made a critical mistake in coming along. Everything had been manageable so far—mildly inconvenient, sure, but manageable—until you suddenly stopped in your tracks, eyes lighting up like you had just found buried treasure.

“Oh! A mushroom stall!”

Azul’s stomach dropped.

You practically skipped over, marveling at the selection of freshly foraged mushrooms, mushroom skewers, mushroom pies, and— Azul's blood ran cold—wild mushroom soup.

Why? Why did it have to be mushrooms?

Of all things, why did it have to be Jade’s most beloved fungi, the very ingredient Azul and Floyd had fought so hard to exile from the Monstro Lounge?

Before he could even think of an escape route, you turned to him, eyes shining.

“Want to try?”

Azul had never regretted a decision faster in his entire life.

Mushrooms. He hated mushrooms.

Not just in a casual, mild dislike way—no. This was a deep-rooted, visceral loathing forged from years of being subjected to Jade’s endless, borderline cultish enthusiasm for fungi.

Jade had force-fed him so many varieties, ranted about textures, aroma, umami, and gods-knew-what-else that Azul had developed a knee-jerk reaction to the mere sight of mushrooms. It was to the point that he had banned them from the Monstro Lounge entirely.

So when you enthusiastically ordered a bowl of mushroom soup, took a careful sip, but— your damn smile. Blasphemy!

Not just any smile. That smile. The one that made Azul’s mind go blank for a second too long, the one that messed with his judgment in ways he refused to acknowledge.

He should’ve just said no. He should’ve walked away.

Instead—

“Right…" Azul found himself saying. WHY? WHY WAS HE LIKE THIS.

You beamed at him like he had just agreed to some sacred pact of mushroom enlightenment. “See! It’s amazing, right? Fresh mushrooms have a way better depth of flavor!"

No. He did not see. There was no flavor except suffering.

Though somehow, Azul was now holding a spoon.

He stared at the soup like it contained his entire downfall. The rich, earthy scent mocked him, reminding him of every terrible mushroom-related experience Jade had ever inflicted upon him.

With the grace of a man walking to his execution, Azul lifted the spoon to his lips and took a sip.

… It was tolerable. Barely.

But before he could think better of it, before he could stop himself from digging his own grave even deeper—

“It’s good.” he said. Lies. Deception. Betrayal—his own betrayal.

And then, Jade’s voice echoed in his head.

“Oh? It seems you’re finally appreciating mushrooms, Azul. How delightful.”

A chill ran down his spine. He nearly dropped the spoon. He had to get out of here and need a palate cleanser after this.

As the two of you continued strolling, who had been quietly observing—suddenly tilted your head. “Are you tired from all that walking? I think merfolk might feel slightly weird after walking too much on two legs.”

This was an ambush!

He immediately straightened his posture, adjusting his glasses with practiced ease. “A businessman must always be prepared to handle different environments. This is hardly enough to affect me.”

Before you could press further, he quickly redirected the conversation by gesturing toward a woodcarver’s stall. “Look at that craftsmanship. A fine display of artisanal skill.”

Your attention shifted as you spotted a pair of octopus-shaped keychains carved from driftwood, complete with tiny pearls embedded in their tentacles. Your eyes sparkled with excitement as you grabbed them. “Azul! Matching keychains!”

Azul internally winced. How many times had he convinced love struck customers to buy exactly this kind of sentimental nonsense at Mostro Lounge? This was an absurdly cliché romantic gesture.

Nevertheless, his fingers moved on their own, smoothly retrieving his wallet and paying for them before he even processed what he was doing. “Wait. What?”

Why did he do that so naturally? Where was his resistance? This was a scam. A love scam. Brand new tactics!

Meanwhile, you simply smiled brightly at him. “Now we match! Thanks, Azul!”

Azul sighed, rubbing his temple. Too late to back out now.

To make matters worse, you suddenly turned toward a food stall and, without hesitation, bought a portion of fried chicken—with your own money. You returned with an eager grin, handing him a bag. “Here! Since I mentioned this when I invited you, it’d be unfair if I didn’t fulfil it!”

His pride was hurting. Both as a businessman and as a man in general. He was the one who should be paying. He was always the one in control of deals. Yet, here you were, giving him something so happily, without any ulterior motive.

“… Thank you.” he said, taking a bite. “Damn it, it was delicious.” he thought to himself.

The next stop was an exotic animal stall, where vibrant birds, fluffy rodents, and even small reptiles were displayed. Azul found himself absentmindedly discussing the market value of rare creatures.

“These birds—while striking—are often smuggled illegally, making them highly valuable in underground auctions.” he remarked, adjusting his glasses. “Of course, with the right contacts, their worth could—”

He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed your expression. You were simply chuckling, utterly amused.

“What?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“You sound like a merchant debating rare treasure, but you mean well.” you replied with a knowing smile. “It’s kind of charming.”

Azul felt his face heat up. This was dangerous. This definitely a scam. A perfectly crafted, terrifyingly effective love scam. And the worst part? He had willingly walked into it.

As time passes, the sky had begun its slow descent into dusk, painting the fairgrounds in warm hues of gold and violet. Lanterns flickered to life, their soft glow reflecting in Azul’s glasses as he found himself still by your side, a realization that should have alarmed him more than it did.

You turned to him, expression bright despite the long day. “Did you have fun today?”

Fun? That wasn’t something he usually factored into his outings. Business, market research, calculated investments—those were justifications. But fun? He was supposed to be scrutinizing every stall, noting trends, mentally categorizing what could benefit Mostro Lounge.

Hypocrisy shines through, here he was, hands full of a wooden keychain, the lingering taste of fried chicken on his tongue, and an entire afternoon that had somehow slipped away.

Before he could even conjure up a proper response, you smiled, cutting through his internal debate with infuriating ease. “Thank you for spending time with me! I appreciate it a lot. Can I invite you again?”

Azul’s breath hitched? No, perhaps hyperventilating at this point. His instinct screamed at him to analyze, to look for the loophole, the hidden terms of this ‘invitation.’

But his mind betrayed him, replaying the way you had laughed at his muttered grumbling over mushrooms, the way you had beamed when handing him the fried chicken, the way you had listened—actually listened—to his ramblings about exotic animals instead of brushing them off.

He should have walked away. He should have redirected, refused, twisted the situation in his favor.

Instead, he exhaled slowly, adjusting his glasses as he spoke.

“... No.”

The way your face faltered for a second almost made him smirk. Almost.

“Come to Mostro Lounge next Tuesday.” he continued, clearing his throat. “11 PM, after closing.” His fingers ghosted over the keychain you had chosen for him. A ridiculous, hand-carved octopus that he had somehow ended up paying for. “It’s… late for dinner, but I want it to be just us.”

It wasn’t an agreement. It wasn’t an answer for the confession. Just yet.

But the way your eyes lit up made him feel like he had already lost.

[starry-agere]

Hello!! I was wondering if you had any suggestions for age regression related activities to do that don't include looking at something with a screen (phone, computer, etc)? My eyes get dry really fast so staring at these things can cause some pain. If it helps to narrow things down any, I'm a middle regressor (tween-teen) so some activities around that age work! Thank you in advance!!

hi !! here are some ideas that will hopefully work for you :)

offline activities for tween/teen agere

make friendship bracelets, loom bracelets, or kandi

do activity kits! there's tons of types, like science, painting, jewelry, and so many more. i know that michaels sells lots of these !

visit science or history museums! there's always so much to learn, and you can always bring a journal or sketchbook and write about or make drawings based on what you see

if you have a friend or family member to play with, play board games, card games, chess, or checkers!

jump rope! try learning more complex tricks for an extra challenge

bake some treats! it doesn't have to be complicated; you definitely can make something from scratch, but using a mix from the store is easy, fun, and delicious

make something out of duct tape, like a wallet! (remember when that was a thing?)

build with legos! there's so many different kinds of sets, for any kind of skill level and age. i've completed space, animal crossing and minecraft sets !

put together jigsaw puzzles !

buy coloring books or print out coloring pages! there's such a big market for adult/more detailed coloring books these days, so you're bound to find something fun to color

make origami - all you need is some origami paper, and it's tons of fun

make slime! you can even buy kits from the store to make specific kinds of slime

garden! you could plant native wildflowers outside, plant a vegetable plant or herb, or you could even just plant a flower in a pot on your windowsill. there are also gardening kits that you can buy; i've done a couple of Back to the Roots' sprouts kits, and they're really fun!

i hope that these provide some good ideas for tween + teen age regressors looking for some offline activities! have fun <3

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

daddy is my #1 fan

pairing: re6! leon x reader

cw: ddlg, pacifier use, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex, sex toys

summary: reader is a camgirl and her biggest fan is leon. they meet up at a hotel and have a fun and sexy time

a/n: this is a commission from an anonymous commissioner

wc: 3.1k

taglist | ko-fi | masterlist

You started this gig in a moment of crisis. You’d just gotten laid off and didn’t know how else to come up with rent for that month. Plus, you’d seen the way men stare at you. You might as well use it to your advantage. Initially, you kept your face out of the frame, but the main attraction was still on full-display. It’s a good thing you already had a fair amount of plushies piling up on your bed and quite the collection of cute panties. DDLG had been a secret fantasy of yours for quite some time, but you’d never gotten the guts to bring it up to any of your previous partners. Good thing guys on the internet were totally into it.

You wore a schoolgirl skirt and a pair of pink cotton panties underneath. The skirt was for a Britney Spears Halloween costume, but you advertised it as a “Catholic school uniform”. The Catholic schoolgirl persona made you look even more innocent and girlish than you did when you slipped off your panties with Sanrio characters printed on them and began to grind on your pink frilly pillow.

Some of the usernames in the chat became familiar to you, though you referred to everyone as ‘daddy’ regardless of their handle. The money started rolling in and you were able to buy a vibrator that could be controlled by the paying chatters.

You also received gifts in the mail that you used on camera – sex toys, panties, and pacifiers. You ended up having to show your face with those, but it was worth it to see messages started flooding in, telling you how cute your expression was when you came.

There was one user in particular who donated a lot of money. You had set prices for access to your photos and live streams but he always tipped extra. Once, you were planning to stop the stream when he told you he’d send 300 dollars if you joined a private session with him and came one more time.

“Daddy, I can’t. I’m too sensitive,” you whined.

“I know you can, baby girl. You’ve been doing so well for me tonight,” he typed in the chat.

“Okay, daddy, only for you,” you said, the notification for a donation popped up on your screen. You could be mean and stop the stream, taking the money and using it to buy yourself a nice dinner, but you desperately wanted him to call you a good girl.

It was worth pushing through the over-stimulation to receive a private message with the words, “Daddy’s so proud of you,” along with an extra $100.

Some men could be kind of gross, but this man, whose name you’d had yet to find out, was so kind to you – just like a daddy should be. It seemed like he genuinely cared. He regularly booked private sessions with you and not only did he give you constant praise and encouragement, he would ask how your day was and listen to you talk about anything your mind conjured up. You tried to apologize to him once for wasting his paid time by talking about your life, but he told you he loved hearing your thoughts almost as much as he loved seeing you cum. You gave him an extra orgasm that night as a thank you.

So, when he messaged you with an interesting proposal, it was even more enticing to you.

“Any chance you’d want to meet up in person? I’d pay 1500, half in advance.”

Holy shit. He could very well be a serial killer, but 1500 dollars would be an entire month's rent. Plus, he was going to pay half in advance. Would a serial killer really pay 750 dollars to score a cute victim? You sure hoped not because you were going to meet that man.

You tried not to be shallow but you worried that he might be ugly. Why else would he be paying for sex? You could technically send the money back and bail out if he turned out to be completely disgusting. The fact that he offered to meet at the Ritz Carlton, and not a Motel 6, was your first clue that he wasn’t a total sleazebag.

He knew your face, but you didn’t know his, so you had to wait anxiously in the lobby for him to arrive. You wore your best dress and put your hair up in cute pigtails with a bow tied onto each one. You arrived on time, and began to worry that the mystery man wasn’t coming. A man—hot, mid-30s, you’d guess—smiled at you from across the lobby and you were instantly hit with a wave of disappointment at the fact that you couldn't flirt with him. You had to wait for your man to arrive.

But then, he started walking towards you. A little flirting couldn’t hurt, right? Especially since the other guy was late. He’d understand that you’re just too cute for other men to resist.

When he was within earshot, he said, “Hey, sweet girl.” It was just a coincidence, you assumed. He surely couldn’t be referencing your username. Or maybe he was another fan, maybe you were getting really popular. It only hit you when he said “Ready to go up to our room?” and flashed you a room key.

“You’re ‘agentdaddy’?” You only knew his screen name, which you came to find out was a reference to his real occupation as a government agent. Agent Leon Kennedy — a nice name, but you’d rather call him ‘Daddy’.

“Do I look different than you expected I would?”

“No offense, but I didn’t think you’d be so… hot.” You must’ve been starry-eyed. You hoped it made you look adorable rather than stupid.

“I’m far from offended that you think I’m attractive. I was worried it was the other way around.” He held out his hand and you took it. He led you towards the elevator.

“I’m just surprised that someone like you is paying for someone like me.” You made sure not to let him know that you’d let him have you for free.

“You’re too cute, baby,” he said, while pinching your cheeks which flushed bright pink at the gesture.

He leaned down and gave you the softest, sweetest kiss when you were in the empty elevator. When the elevator stopped at the floor you were staying on, you held out your palm, asking Leon to take it. He happily walked hand-in-hand with you to your hotel room.

When he opened the door, you barely had time to marvel at the gorgeous room because he was already kissing you, and his lips were so soft you could get lost in the feeling of them against yours. Thinking about what else he could do with his mouth made you feel dizzy. Good thing he was getting ready to pick you up and place you on the king-sized bed.

He drank in the sight of you, not hungry or animalistic—he didn’t want to devour you, he wanted to dote on you, to take his time with you.

Before he took off his jacket and his own shoes, he helped you unbuckle your mary-janes.

He ran his hands up the fabric of your thigh-highs. A brand new pair that you’d worn just for him. “These look so cute on you,” he said.

“Thank you, daddy,” you said in a small voice, both shy and falling further into your little girl headspace.

“Can daddy see what’s under your pretty dress?”

You nodded your head enthusiastically. You picked out a special pair of panties just for him. Baby pink with “I <3 Daddy” on the front in red. He manhandled you, standing you up so he could take off your dress. You lifted your arms up before being asked, knowing he was going to help you pull it over your head. Leon picked you up and laid you down on the bed, stopping to admire you. You watched as pure desire filled his eyes. He almost forgot to hang up your dress because he was so distracted by your barely covered cunt. Your arousal had already created a wet patch in the thin fabric of your panties.

Leon discarded his shirt before getting on his knees. He wanted to tease you further but longed to taste you. He spread your thighs with his big hands and then he ran his thumb across your still-clothed slit. His light touch was tantalizing, making you shiver.

“So pretty for daddy,” he said. “I knew you were beautiful on camera, but you’re even prettier in person. I bet you taste good too.”

All thoughts swiftly exited your brain and all you could say was “daddy”.

“Daddy’s right here, sweet girl.” His fingers played with the waistband of your panties before he asked, “Can daddy take these off?”

“Yes, daddy,” you said.

He gently slipped them off and began to play with your folds, admiring your beauty. “Oh, baby,” he said, “your princess parts are so wet. Have you been waiting for daddy?”

“Yeah,” you said, “Need daddy’s help.”

“Such a good girl for waiting. I bet it was really hard when you were feeling this way.”

You nodded repeatedly, making sure he received your silent confirmation.

Leon’s head dipped between your thighs and you were biting back moans of anticipation. He flattened his tongue and took a languid lick up your folds, stopping at your clit to suck gently, earning more of your slick and an unbridled moan.

You knew you could reach your peak quickly if he continued. You were already fighting the overwhelming urge to buck your hips as you were dying for the feeling of his tongue.

He pulled back all too soon. Your immediate response was a whine, so desperate it almost saddened Leon.

“Shh… baby it’s okay,” he cooed, bringing his hand up to your cheek. “Daddy just wants to take his time with you.” He selfishly needed to taste you first, but he knew he couldn’t neglect the rest of your body. It would be sinful not to worship an angel like you fully.

“Let me go get something to calm you down, okay?”

You agreed, though your eyes were glossy with tears the moment Leon stood up. You assumed the overnight bag he brought held only a toothbrush and an extra pair of clothes, but you were glad to see that he brought you a brand new pacifier.

Your lips parted, almost instinctively to let him slot the pacifier between them. You sucked on the nub contentedly as you allowed Leon to move you so that you were comfortably situated on the bed with your head on the pillow while he loomed over you, getting a perfect view of your gorgeous figure. Each of his hands cupped one of your tits, giving them a gentle squeeze and then taking a moment to play with your nipples. He gave a kiss to each one because good girls with pretty tits deserve kisses.

“You’re such a good girl. Daddy’s gonna kiss you all over now.” As Leon began to kiss down your stomach, making his way towards the parts of you that needed his touch the most, you held out a hand for him to take. He smiled at your adorable gesture and intertwined his fingers with yours while his other hand held onto one of your hips.

“I think your princess parts need the most kisses. Is that right, baby?”

You nodded eagerly and Leon got to work, beginning by pressing his lips to your clit. You were struggling to keep the pacifier in your mouth as the feeling of his tongue lapping at your folds had you holding back moans. His middle finger slipped inside you, followed by his index, and as he curled them upward to meet that sensitive spot, your legs began to shake. You gripped his hand tighter and he stopped the movements of his mouth only momentarily to say, “I know, I know, baby. Just relax for me. Let it happen. Daddy’s gonna be here the whole time.”

When his lips reattached to your clit as he continued to finger you, doubling the pleasure he was giving you, you came – causing the pacifier to fall from your lips, leaving a trail of drool dripping from your mouth. You moaned loudly, chanting “daddy” over and over again, gushing around his fingers. He made sure not to let a single drop of your arousal go to waste, savoring your taste and refusing to pull back until you pushed his head away.

“Too much, Daddy, too much,” you whined.

“Alright, alright, cutie. Daddy will give you a break.”

“No break, no break, daddy.”

“No break? I thought you said it was too much, honey.”

“Need daddy inside,” you pouted. Leon nearly let a groan slip from his mouth.

“Need daddy inside, huh?” He was unable to resist you. “Let me go get something for you first, okay?”

As it turned out, there were more surprises in his bag. He brought you a plushie to hold onto, and you pulled him into a hug, thanking him for the gift.

You held onto the plushie as you watched Leon take off his pants, fully entranced by the sight of his dick.

“Daddy, I don’t think it’s gonna fit.” It was a huge ego boost to Leon, but you truly weren’t sure if you could take him fully inside.

“It’s gonna fit, sweet pea. We’re gonna go slowly.”

Going slowly didn’t stop the intense feeling of being stretched, but Leon showered you in praise as he pressed inside you, one inch at a time.

“Look at you,” he said with a wide grin when you were fully filled by him. He pointed to the slight bulge in your belly where you could see his dick. You were amazed at your own ability to take him so well, and he was too, as confirmed with his next words.

“Daddy’s so proud of you,” he said. It was your favorite sentence to hear from him. The words alone could make you moan.

“We need to be careful not to get a noise complaint,” he said and picked up the pacifier, placing it back in your mouth. Your oral fixation happily obliged.

Leon fucked you slowly, but deeply, making sure that you felt every inch. The tip touched your cervix with every thrust.

It didn’t take long for Leon to say, “You’re gonna make daddy cum, baby. You’re so tight for me, feels so good.” Leon was nearly as lost in the feeling as you were. With the pacifier occupying your mouth, you couldn’t even tell Leon how close you were to the edge, but he was paying attention.

“Gonna cum for daddy?” he asked, needing to make sure that your pleasure came first.

Tears were forming in your waterline as you nodded, and you sobbed as your second orgasm hit you harder than the first. Leon continued to thrust slowly in and out of you as he held back his own impending orgasm. He led you through the aftershocks before pulling out and spilling all over your thighs, marking you the best he could without cumming inside you. He didn’t want to get you pregnant just yet.

“You did so good for me, baby,” he said as he placed a kiss on each cheek. “I think we should clean you up with a bath.”

Leon came prepared for bath time. From his suitcase – aka his bag of gifts for you – he pulled out rubber duckies and a bottle of bubble bath.

He picked you up and carried you bridal style to the bathroom so you wouldn’t have to use your tired legs, standing you in the bathtub, making sure to keep you upright while he wiped down your thighs that were still sticky with his release.

Leon removed you from the bath and sat you down on a towel, so he could run the water, making sure it was the perfect temperature – he had you stick your hand in to test it out before he helped you step into the tub.

You looked at him, confused. “Daddy, you aren’t getting in the bath with me?”

“Baby, the bath is for you. Daddy takes showers. You’re too little for those.”

Confusion turned to betrayal and a tear rolled down your cheek. Leon immediately backtracked. “It’s okay, honey, daddy can get in too if it’ll make his little girl happy.”

You nodded and the tears subsided. Leon swiped his thumbs across your cheeks and gave you a kiss on the forehead as an apology for suggesting you bathe alone. When he climbed in with you, he positioned in his lap, facing away from him so you could have fun with your rubber duckies, though you did end up laying your head on his chest by the end of bath time.

At first, it was difficult for Leon to stop himself from getting hard with your ass rubbing up against him, but he was soon distracted by your attempt at a bubble beard.

“Look daddy,” you said, proud of your work.

You were even happier with yourself after hearing Leon’s praises. “My baby looks pretty even with bubbles all over her face.”

“Gonna give you one, too, daddy,” you beamed before you coated his face in bubbles. It was too late for him to say no, though you were too adorable for him to refuse any offer from you.

Your fingers and toes were beginning to prune by the time you laid your cheek to Leon’s chest, and you were clearly ready for bed. Leon stepped out of the tub first so that he could be ready to wrap you in a towel the moment you got out. He wouldn’t want his baby to be cold for a second.

“Pajamas?” he asked when he carried you to bed.

“No, wanna be naked with daddy.”

Leon was more than happy to oblige with that request.

“We better get under the covers, then. Don’t wanna get cold, do we?”

You agreed, knowing that daddy was right. Lying skin to skin with Leon kept you warm through the night – so warm you almost missed your checkout time.

“Maybe we should just stay for an extra night, baby,” Leon said, leaning in for your first kiss of the day.

“Really?” You were more than pleased with his idea.

“Uh-huh,” he said, “I think daddy needs some more time playing with baby today.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “need to play with daddy.”

You were lucky you were still naked from the night before, so there was no hassle of getting undressed. Leon was willing to pay double for another day with you, but when his lips met yours, you forgot about all payment. Your number one supporter deserved a freebie, you decided. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Long Snake Moan 3

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki

Summary: your boss gives you a task you’re not prepared for.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You sit at your lonesome perch, hidden behind the large floating screen. Your job can be isolating. People only speak with you to get to Tony and even then, they’re just as often too intimidated to approach you. You only really have any sort of mutual acquaintance with your boss and he just tells you what to do.

You expect the footsteps that approach to pass you by as you always do. Instead, a shadow appears on the other side of your extended monitor arm. You look up as green eyes glare down at you from above the frame of the screen. You sit up as you stare at Loki.

“Stark. Now.” He demands.

Your eyes skitter over to your boss’ door then back to the angry man, er, god? In front of you.

“I’ll see if he’s available, sir.” You go to open your teams and he pulls your screen so it’s above you.

“I am not asking if he’s available. I mean to speak to that mewling quim and I would do so at once,” he demands, squeezing your monitor so splotches appear below his fingertips.

“Sure,

You stand and step around the desk. He moves with you, slithering like a snake. He’s too close. You go to Tony’s door and knock. He got in late last night. You know because you had to bring a burger and shake to his house. The fabulous life of Tony Stark’s assistant.

You wait but don’t get an answer. You tap again and peek back over your shoulder, “I don’t think--”

“Enough.” He presses against your lower back and reaches around you. He twists the handle and urges you inside ahead of him. Tony’s at his desk smirking at his phone. He looks up in surprised chagrin.

“Woah, what the hell--”

“There you are.” Loki greets with sinister delight. He nudges you to the side but you can’t escape the office. You just stand there dumbly as he blocks the door. “So, I am to be ejected from this rock.”

“Ah, yeah, sorry about that boss,” Tony drops his phone and leans back in his chair. “Something about a criminal record. Not exactly what I would call an invasion of a city but we don’t need to go into semantics.”

“Mm, you think you’re clever. Well, I do believe you’ve forgotten who I am.” Loki stands straight, birdlike as he glowers down his long nose. “I’ve become rather acquainted with your mortal legislation. Rather antiquated but simple enough to understand.”

“Sure, and what loophole did you find, oh, might prince?” Tony challenges.

Loki snickers. It's a noise that electrifies your scalp. You don’t like that.

“Upon my understanding, and I did consult with one of your Midgardian law practitioners, I have it that I am eligible for residence upon the grounds of marriage.”

It’s Tony turn to laugh. He cackles in glee and rolls forward, leaning his elbows on his desk with interest. “Marriage? And who the hell is deluded enough to marry you?”

Loki tilts his head and smirks. His eyes stick to Tony for just a moment then crawl around the office and land on you. You frown.

“It is rather cruel to make her tell me. I'm certain she begged you not to make her but we all know the sort of creature you are.” Loki sneers and unbuttons his jacket, reaching beneath. “The very same reason why you would be entirely unaware why she shouldn't like to hurt me.”

He unfolds the paper as he strides to Tony's desk. You watch, paralysed and perplexed. Your chest thumps. What is going on?

He spreads the document under his fingers and stands straight with a triumphant smirk. Tony slides the paper closer and clicks his tongue. His eyes skim the print and his mouth falls open. He looks at you.

“What?” You gulp.

“Married. To him. You? And him?” Tony wags his finger back and forth between you and Loki.

“Married?” You squeak.

“Oh do be certain to call city hall to confirm. You will see the signatures are legitimate, as well as the stamp and registration number,” Loki boasts. “We did expect your uncouth reaction so we did keep it under lock and key until we were certain. These dire circumstances however, have forced us into the light,” he lifts his chin, “isn't that right, darling?”

“Mr. Stark,” you cross the office and try to see the paper. It can't be real. A marriage license. With your name on it. Next to his. “I swear–”

“You know what?” Tony claps his hands then slams them on the desk. He pushes himself to his feet. “I don't have the time for all this stuff. It's weird. Look, sweetheart, call me a car. As long as you do your job, I can't be bothered. Got my own shit, you know?” He glances between the two ot you again.”Very strange.”

He struts around the desk and past Loki. The taller god steps in front of him, raising and open palm.

“Ah, one more thing. She isn't your sweetheart so lets keep that to a minimum,” he pats Tony's chest and hums.

“If you've had your snaky self near it, trust me, I'm good.” Tony knocks his arm away and continues out the door.

You stare after your boss only to find your eyes drawn by the pair watching you. You make a strangled noise and throw your hands up. “Married?!”

“A wonderful ceremony. Small. But romantic,” he purrs. “I've always been rather fond of tricks and you mortals make them so much easier.”

[beautifuldisaster88]

Pairing: Boyfriend!Rafe Kook!Girlfriend

Summary: Rafe has been in a relationship with his best friend, Topper's, younger sister for four years. When Rafe reluctantly decides to agree to letting his girlfriend go to a party with Topper, without Rafe, he makes Topper swear to not let her out of her sight. When Topper doesn't follow through with the promise, Rafe receives a call that he never wanted to receive.

Warnings: mentions of drugs and alcohol, mentions of almost rape, slight mention of violence. I think that's about it. Reader is female, but no mention of Y/N or readers name just the pet names Rafe calls her.

A/N: This is not proofread, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. I wrote this in like 15 minutes, after it randomly came to me... Like half my writing 😂 there's no smut in this. FYI, for this little piece, Rafe is 21 and reader is 18.

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Rafe angrily slammed open the door and came barging in, veins popping out and huffing. Topper opened his mouth to say something but was quickly cut off by Rafe putting his hand up.

"Don't." Rafe seethed, shaking his finger in Topper's face. His jaw clenched and his usual piercing blue eyes were full of rage. "Just tell me where the fuck my girlfriend is!"

"In her bedroom with Sarah. Look man, I fucked up and I'm sorry. I let her out of my sight for like 20 maybe 30 minutes." Topper began, his words only adding fire to Rafe's already burning rage. His mind kept playing back to the phone conversation he'd had earlier with his girlfriend. A call that will forever haunt his mind.

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~Hours Earlier~

Rafe was relaxing on the couch, watching some movie that his girlfriend had been going on about for weeks. Of course, Rafe being Rafe, he just rolled his eyes saying how you couldn't pay him to watch another fucking chick flick. Yet, here he was, home alone, snuggling with his girlfriend's favorite soft and fuzzy black blanket that had little cherries printed on it, loving how it smelled just like his girlfriend.

He'd never admit it, but he was really into the movie, finding himself getting invested in the relationships and friendships and all the drama. The sound of his phone vibrating beside him made Rafe side eye the phone, his brows furrowed together when he saw his girlfriend's face on the screen and her nickname 'Bunny❤️‍🔥'. It's not that he wasn't happy to see her calling because he was.

The problem was, his girlfriend was supposed to be out having fun with her older brother, Topper, who also happened to be Rafe's best friend. Rafe had business to take care of and wouldn't have been able to make it to the party until late, which is why Topper swore he'd keep an eye on her. Rafe told his girlfriend to call him if there was any trouble, and made Topper to promise to bring her back to Tannyhill after the party. Seeing her name on his phone instantly had Rafe regretting to ever agree to let his girlfriend go to a party without him.

"Is everything okay, bunny?" Rafe asked, trying to hide the concern in his voice. His knuckles were already turning white from gripping the side of the couch.

"R-Rafey.." His girlfriend slurred her words on the other end of the phone, sounding completely out of it. "I don't feel good... Make it stop spinning.. c-can't find you.. Rafey..."

"Baby? What did you take and where the hell is Topper!?" Rafe flew up off the couch, pacing back and forth as he ran his hand over his buzz cut out of habit. He was already seeing red, his girl was in trouble and he wasn't there to protect her. Damnit, why the fuck did he agree to letting her go without him!? This is why he doesn't let her go to parties without him. People are fucking irresponsible enough and when you add drugs and alcohol, they become fucking idiots.

"Topper... Dunno... h-he went upstairs with Sarah.. so sleepy, Rafey... J-just gonna take a nap." His girlfriend's words were even more slurred, causing Rafe to panic.

He was out the door in a flash, running to his truck. After jerking the door open and hopping inside, he fumbled trying to get the key in the ignition. "Fuck!" He yelled, hitting the steering wheel before trying again. The engine roared to life and Rafe took off like a bat out of hell, connecting his phone to the Bluetooth.

"Listen to me, baby. I need you to stay awake, yeah. I'm coming for you, just focus on my voice, okay, bunny? I ne-"

Rafe was cut off by the sound of a male's voice and he knew damn well it wasn't Topper's.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? Damn, you are really fucked up ain't ya, darlin'. Don't worry I'mma take real good care of you, baby." The male said, making Rafe's blood run cold and then begin to boil. He yelled his girlfriend's name over and over, but got no response. All he heard were her weak calls and begging the guy to get his hands off of her, before the call ended.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Rafe screamed, pounding his fists against the steering wheel.

He had to get to his girlfriend immediately. Shit, he forgot where Topper said the party was at. This could not be happening. Not his girlfriend, anyone but his bunny.

Just as Rafe was about to call Topper, his best friends name popped up on the screen in the middle console of Rafe's truck. Rafe immediately answered it, yelling at Topper.

"You fucking swore you wouldn't let her out of your fucking sight, Top! What the fuck is wrong with you!? Where the fuck are you guys!? I just received the worst fucking call of my life! My girlfriend, your fucking sister, Topper is completely out of it and who the fuck knows what someone slipped her! Wanna hear the worst fucking part!? Some asshole thinks he can take advantage of MY girlfriend! I swear I'm going to fucking kill him!"

"Rafe, look I know, I fucked up and I feel awful. Trust me, man. I've got her, she's with me and Sarah and I'm taking her home. I walked in just in time, that asshole didn't touch her. I-I can't believe I let my baby sister almost get..." Topper couldn't even finish his sentence, feeling the bile threaten to come up.

"I'll deal with you tomorrow. Right now, I need to make sure my girl is okay. I'm on my way to your place." Rafe ended the call, driving as fast as he could towards the Thornton residence.

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Rafe took one big step, putting his face in Topper's. "I don't want to hear your fucking excuses! The one fucking time I trust you to keep her safe when I'm not there, and this shit happens! You're lucky I don't fucking kill you, Top. Like I said, I'll deal with you tomorrow. My girl needs me, not you or my fucking sister."

Rafe pushed past Topper, purposely slamming into his shoulder as he ran up the stairs. Opening his girlfriend's bedroom door, he immediately glared at Sarah, clenching his jaw and balling up his fist. "Out." Was all he said, earning a few sorry's from his sister, which made him scoff.

As soon as Sarah left, Rafe locked the bedroom door behind her. His heart wrenched at the sight of his beautiful angel, seeing her smeared mascara from crying. He immediately walked over to the bed and climbed in beside her, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend and pulling her against his chest.

"I'm so sorry that I wasn't there to protect you, bunny. I promise, this shit will never happen again. Tonight was the first and last time you go to a party without me. I've never been as scared as I was tonight. The thought of you being hurt, and another man putting his grimy hands and shit on you... Fuck, I'm never going to forgive myself. I'm sorry, baby. I love you, you know that right?"

She shifted in his arms, turning to face Rafe. Taking one of her small hands, she placed it on the side of his face, her bloodshot eyes staring into Rafe's ocean blue eyes. A soft smile formed on her perfect plump lips. "Hey, look at me." She spoke softly and Rafe looked into her eyes, leaning into her soft and warm touch. "Don't you dare blame yourself. None of this is your fault. Someone must have slipped something into my drink, but Topper found me in time and forced me to throw up. Rafe, I would never blame you. I know that you love me, and I love you. Don't worry, I never want to go anywhere without you again."

Rafe chuckled, feeling a bit more relieved. He placed a kiss on her forehead, then both her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. It was crazy, how his whole world fit perfectly in his arms. Sure, he had everything and lived in a mansion, but if you asked Rafe Cameron where home was to him, he'd answer with the same answer he'd given the last four years... his girlfriend. All the money, the power, everything that Rafe had, none of it meant anything, not if he didn't have her by his side. She was without a doubt, the calm to his storm, a true angel. She was his, and he would always protect her at all costs.

It goes without saying that as soon as Rafe found out who the guy was that tried to take advantage of his girlfriend, went 'missing' two weeks later. Nobody messes with his girl and gets away with it.

[followsfrankiep]

Don't Worry About Her (Eddie Brock x Reader)

GIF made by @rei-is-still-here 💕

Divider from @plum98

Summary: They always say, when a guy tells you not to worry about his girl best friend, you probably should. Izzy's wild and free-spirited nature has always contrasted with her best friend Eddie's quest for stability. Now that Eddie is engaged, he never expected Izzy to complicate things for both of them.

TW: Smut, Unprotected Sex, Mentions of Burn Injuries, Explicit Words, Cheating, Minors DNI.

Word count: 6.2k (It's getting hefty bc its ending soon!)

A/N: I appreciate the love for Izzy and Eddie! But there's something inevitable in the story. I'm afraid this is one of the few since it's going to end soon. Let me share my pain with u 😭

No pressure tag 💕 @rei-is-still-here @feveredvisions @potter-solomons @tickettride @rach5ive @dreamygirli3

Previous Part

Part 6 - Burn Victim

Eddie lounged in her bed like it was partly his now. Lately, he’d been different—the space between them wasn’t something he could tolerate anymore. He was more present, their intimacy was more constant and pronounced as ever, like he couldn’t get enough of her. And truthfully, Izzy didn’t mind. There was something about the way he claimed her.

She was perched on her bed, cross-legged, her laptop on her knees as she scrolled through pages of dresses. It was another regular lazy day for Izzy and an after work unwinding for Eddie. She wore a rose printed white tank top and matching shorts that made up her perfect pajama set. He lounged behind her, sprawled across the pillows with one arm tucked behind his head while the other slowly traced up and down her arms.

“You know,” he muttered, sitting up, his lips brushed against her shoulder, “this whole shopping thing would be more productive if you, dunno... picked one.”

“You know,” she echoed, her gaze fixed on the screen, “this would be faster if you stopped distracting me.”

When it was mentioned said Eddie had been extra affectionate lately—it meant, he's really all in on him and Izzy. His lips pressed gentle, lingering kisses along her shoulders and neck, his breath brushing against her skin. Izzy didn’t protest, didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned into it. He'd been like this since that night in Muir Woods.

His movements slowing slightly as his gaze flicked to the screen. “That one,” he said, nodding toward a sleek, elegant dress displayed in the screen. His lips resumed their trail along her shoulder as he added, “That’d look perfect on you.”

“It's nearly two grand,” she announced flatly upon seeing the price tag, turning her head slightly just enough to shoot him a pointed look. “For a dress.”

“Yep,” Eddie replied casually, his kisses undeterred. “So buy it.”

“Oh, sure. Let me just pull two grand out of thin air.”

Eddie didn’t miss a beat. He shifted, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his credit card with an almost nonchalant ease. He placed it beside her laptop, his lips quirking into a soft smile.

“Here. Go nuts.”

She blinked at him in disbelief before letting out a breath of laughter. “Wow,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “Your show must really be rolling in it now, huh?”

“You could say that. Or you could just say 'Thank you for spoiling me.'.” He tilted his head, the mischievous glint in his eyes softening slightly as he added, “I mean it, Iz. Get what you want.”

Izzy rolled her eyes, the amusement still lingering in her smile as she placed the card back beside her laptop. I guess sex is not the only thing Eddie didn’t hold back from.

She resumed her scrolling, and Eddie rested his head against her shoulder, his lips brushing her skin once more. You could say he's having an advanced honeymoon phase but not to the woman he's bound to get married to, but to his best friend.

Eddie leaned back against the headboard, the card still sitting on the bed beside Izzy’s laptop. He watched her with silent pleasure as she shifted in her spot, his fingernails grazing gently along her shoulder. She clicked a few buttons, then paused dramatically, tilting her head just enough to smirk at him. If anyone could take advantage of the rare Eddie Brock generosity, it would be her as shameless as she is.

“Alright, Brock,” she cooed yet her tone laced with mischief. “The dress is settled. But… you know what would really crank it up a notch?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was headed. “This ought to be good,” he muttered, his grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, Knight, hit me.”

“Heels,” she said, dragging the word out like it was some grand revelation. “Tall, sleek, head turning heels. You know the kind.”

See? Shamelessly adorable.

“Let me guess,” he said. “Not just any heels—the kind that make you call me after a few hours to come wherever you are with fuzzy slippers because your feet hurt?”

She gasped playfully, eyes widening, pretending to be offended. He did know her so well.

"First of all, how dare you? Second, you clearly have no idea what you’re talking about.” She leaned back into him, her tone dipping into a teasing drawl.

“Third… you also have no idea how hot you are right now.”

Eddie smirked, his lips brushing against her ear and whispers, “Oh, I know,” the confidence in his tone both infuriating and endearing. “That’s why you better wrap this up quickly. Can’t have you distracted when I’m on a roll.”

His newfound confidence was magnetic, so irresistible that drew her to him in a way she hadn’t expected. She had spent years coaxing him out of his shell, watching him struggle against his insecurities, and now, here he was—a fucking tease, delicious, and more captivating than ever. She can't help but to bite her lip down. Damn, it was impossible not to get turned on and ignore the heat rising in her chest.

“You’re really leaning into the whole ‘sugar daddy’ thing, aren’t you?”

“Only for you, baby.” Eddie shot back, his voice smooth, his arm wrapping loosely around her waist as he settled in closer. “Now, go on—pick the heels. You're expensive but I don't mind spending my money on you.”

It seems like their previous conversation paved a way for them to dive deeper into whatever they are. Izzy was living the dream. A dream she wouldn't admit to herself that she wanted. But the truth about dreams is they don’t always end with soft awakenings. Sometimes, they end abruptly, with the sharp sting of a scalding pain that forces you back into reality.

And what are you supposed to do when you get burnt?

When something scorching presses against your skin, your instincts tell you to pull away—to retreat before the pain becomes unbearable. But Izzy? Izzy plays with fire, wants it closer, somehow attracting it to consume her. And now, after all the secret meetings, the unabashed intimacy, she finally feels the heat sinking in. The pain of playing with it is inevitable. The real question is—how long will she hold on to Eddie? To what extent does she have to get herself burned until she realizes it was time to let go?

Playing with fire, for Izzy, also meant wearing her Prada Sunglasses inside the mall. Yep. No sunlight, just something to hide the fact that she's rolling her eyes at the couple walking in front of her. Apparently, Carlton Drake happened to ask Anne about Izzy during a deposition she was working on for the Life Foundation and their conversation sparked Anne's curiosity about her unpredictable personality. She was surprised to hear Eddie's best friend dated the billionaire she was working for and asked why didn't he tell her about it. On top of that, how could he say no if his fiancé wants to get to know his treasured best friend more?

If only she knew...

First Degree Burn

The wild card was painstakingly dragging her feet slightly behind Eddie and Anne, her heels clicking against the mall floor as she adjusted her sunglasses. To anyone passing by, she might’ve appeared perfectly unbothered but within, she was counting every second until this supposed "bonding" ends. A third wheel wasn’t exactly her preferred role, especially when it came about to couple she found herself involved with in one way or another.

Their first stop was Eddie’s wardrobe—a rare moment of unity between Anne and Izzy as they both agreed it was time to retire Eddie’s infamous, godforsaken hoodie that somehow still made several appearances on The Brock Report. Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of his best friend’s cheeky, dimpled grin as she teamed up with Anne against his questionable fashion choices. For a fleeting moment, Eddie let himself soak in the rare warmth.

But that was short-lived.

As soon as they stepped into the store, it became a silent battleground as to who knows Eddie Brock more. Anne, meticulous and poised as always, was on a quest to refine Eddie’s look, holding up sleek blazers with an air of determination. "Honey," she called to him, "you should wear this to look more professional."

Izzy, meanwhile, rolled her eyes dramatically. Good thing she was wearing her sun glasses. She pulled a rugged leather jacket from the rack and tossed it toward Eddie. "No, this..." she countered, "is what Brock should wear. You’re not just a host—you’re the guy everyone wants to have a beer with."

Eddie stood between them, caught in the cross roads of their differing styles, careful not to make anyone of them upset. Anne’s vision spoke to his role in front of the camera, the polished professional she believed he could be. Izzy scoffed silently, arguing that the leather jacket fully captured his essence—the casual, unfiltered, and unapologetic charm that made The Brock Report what it was.

None of them was backing down.

It was a tamed exchange between them yet Eddie couldn’t help but shake his head in surrender. It wasn’t really about the clothes; it was about how they saw him. And while their opinions couldn’t be more different, the sheer effort they put into arguing over his look only reminded Eddie how deeply both women cared—each in their own way. Now, he's weighing his options carefully.

“It’s perfect for you,” Anne was still championing the blazer. “More refined and elevated. An upgrade you need for the show.”

Izzy, leaning lazily against a nearby rack with her arms crossed, raised an eyebrow and shot Eddie a knowing grin. “Yeah, Brock. How much is the real estate commission lately?” she joked, earning a forced smile from Anne.

“Come on, big guy. The leather jacket is you. Let’s be honest, its way cooler.”

Eddie chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced between the two women. Finally, Eddie reached for the leather jacket, sliding it on and adjusting the collar with an amused smile. “I gotta say,” he murmured, glancing at his reflection in the store’s mirror, “this feels more like me.” He turned to Anne with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, babe. The blazer’s nice, but the show’s called The Brock Report, not House Hunters.”

The power she had.

He chuckled, casting a glance toward Izzy, who tugged her sunglasses down and shot him a quick wink, clearly pleased with his choice.

Feeling defeated, Anne sighed, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. “I should’ve known,” she said, shaking her head with a soft laugh. "if that’s what you want, it’s your choice." she continued before stepping back. "I’ll see if they have a new stock in your size."

Izzy saw how dismayed Anne was with his choice and how oblivious Eddie was to it. Her best friend did look absolutely delicious in that jacket but her guilt creeped in, and she knew what to do. The moment Anne walked away, Eddie felt a gentle nudge against his arm. He turned to see Izzy leaning against the rack, holding out the blazer to his reach. She placed the sunglasses on top of her head, and he can now see her neutral expression.

"What’s gotten into you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Just pick the blazer, big guy," she murmured under her breath so only he could hear. "She’s trying. I realized this is a big deal for her and I’m not about to ruin it."

Eddie tilted his head, giving her a knowing look. "You’re the one who pushed for the leather jacket, Iz." he reminded her, feeling both confused and amused. "Now you’re backing out? What happened to being ‘timeless and rugged’?"

Izzy sighed, her fingers massaging her forehead as she avoided his gaze. "Look, you know I hate doing this, but... she’s your fiancé. She just wants you to look your best—her version of best." She finally looked at him. "So, make her happy, alright?"

Eddie stared at her for a moment, his chest ached when he noticed the guilt in her voice. He knew Izzy has always been thoughtful of others despite her constant reckless choices. He also knew how much she loved things being her way, so this was a huge sacrifice on her part. His instinct told him to stick with the leather jacket—it was him, after all—but his best friend's insistence weighed on him. With a small sigh, he shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

"Fine." he muttered.

When Anne returned, a fresh leather jacket draped over her arm, Eddie straightened and cleared his throat. "You know, babe," he began, his tone warm but steady, "I’ve been thinking. The blazer might actually be the better choice after all." Her face lit up in surprise, her smile genuine as she handed the jacket to the staff.

"Really? That’s great! I promise you’ll look amazing in it."

Eddie caught Izzy’s gaze as Anne started talking to the staff about sizes. Izzy gave him the faintest nod, though this time it carried a quiet understanding rather than triumph. She did not mind giving it away when she saw how happy it made Anne feel. She's done far worse towards Anne, unforgivable things she does not have the slighest clue. Letting this moment belong to her felt like the least Izzy could do. A small gesture to balance the scales she’d tipped so unfairly. Not for the points for forgiveness, not for herself, but for Anne—the person Eddie would come home to by the end of the day.

The cashier handed Eddie the neatly packed blazer, his card now safely tucked back in his wallet. Anne stood beside him, her smile bright with satisfaction as she brushed her hand against his arm.

“You’ll look amazing in this,” she said warmly, her excitement radiating. “Trust me, it’s exactly what the show needs.”

Eddie forced a smile but Anne didn’t seem to notice. It wasn’t about the blazer—he didn’t mind wearing it, really—but a part of him felt like something was missing, an piece of himself left behind on the rack. He asked himself: is this who he really was? Or was he once again settling for the path of least resistance, the thing that wouldn’t disrupt the peace of their world? Again, he is trying to convince himself it didn’t matter. But deep down, the pull of something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to want was there.

As they exited the store, Eddie adjusted the shopping bag in his hand, glancing over his shoulder at Izzy. "You coming?" he asked.

"You guys go ahead," Izzy replied smoothly, waving them off with a flick of her hand. "I just saw something that caught my eye. Don’t wait up."

Anne didn’t question it, tugging Eddie’s arm lightly as she led him toward another shop. Eddie lingered for a moment, his gaze meeting Izzy’s briefly. She knew he wouldn't leave her behind so she mouthed "Go, Go!", her head nudging towards Anne's direction, her smile returning as if to reassure him. Satisfied, Eddie turned to follow his fiancé, disappearing into the flow of mall traffic.

Once they were gone, Izzy straightened and turned back to the counter. The cashier glanced up at her with a polite smile. "Can I help you with something?"

"Yeah," Izzy said then gestured toward the leather jacket Eddie had tried on earlier. "I’ll take that one. Same size." She pulled out her card, as she glanced toward the door, checking if they truly left.

She didn’t need him to choose the jacket—it wasn’t about that. But a part of her wanted him to have it anyway, a piece of himself he didn’t have to sacrifice to make someone else happy. She had been selfish enough to keep up with their affair, it was the least that she could do.

"Gift receipt?" the cashier asked.

"Sure."

She tucked her card back into her wallet and took the bag with a small nod of thanks, her fingers gripping the handle tightly as she turned toward the door. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she walked out into the mall, the jacket now safely in hand. For now, though, she’d let Eddie live in his new blazer, playing the role he needed to play. But when the time was right, Izzy would give him the jacket—because what she felt for him was like how fire needed oxygen, burning with the kind of intensity that didn’t beg nor asked.

Looped around his arms, Anne was a walking ball of sunshine, enthusiastically chatting with her fiancé about wanting to grab a cup of coffee, and making an effort to glance back and include Izzy in the conversation.

"Izzy, you drink coffee, right?"

"As needed." Izzy flicked her gaze toward Anne, her lips curving into a faint smile when she replied, glancing towards Eddie, who was already watching her with a subtle smirk.

"She needs food first," he interjected, glancing at Izzy with a knowing look. "She can’t have coffee on an empty stomach—it messes her up."

Izzy paused, her lips curving into a cheeky smile as she adjusted her sunglasses, her gaze flicking playfully between Eddie and Anne. "I guess someone knows me too well." she teased lightly.

After a couple hours more of shopping, they ended up at a quiet corner of a restaurant for a late lunch. Eddie insisted on taking the bags back to his car, leaving Anne and Izzy to order first. The atmosphere at the table shifted again the moment Anne called over the waiter.

“I’ll have the Salmon with Quinoa and Spinach,” Anne said, before gesturing toward Eddie’s empty chair. “And the same for him.”

What?

Izzy blinked, her brows lifting as she leaned back in her seat with her arms crossed. “Salmon?” she asked, skeptic. “You do know Eddie’s practically married to burgers, right?”

“He needs to eat healthy. The wedding’s coming up, and staying fit is important,” Anne said with a smile that didn’t falter as she folded her hands neatly on the table.

“Fair enough,” Izzy muttered, reaching for the menu. Fighting the urge to shake her head in dismay with Anne's order. She couldn't help but wonder how much her best friend loves this woman. The only thing that this day proved to her was how Eddie was a completely different person in his fiance's eyes. She continued,

“Double cheeseburger. Extra fries. Thanks.”

The waiter nodded and left, and Izzy leaned back in her chair, catching Anne’s gaze briefly. She didn’t press further, biting back her instinct to defend his usual choices. If Anne thought she knew what was best for him, assuming that she did, then Izzy wouldn’t interfere. Eddie returned just as their orders were set down and his smile faltered slightly the moment his eyes landed on the plate in front of him—the delicate salmon, the bed of quinoa, the neatly arranged spinach. He sat down slowly, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face.

Oh boy. Izzy didn’t miss it.

He sighed, poking at the salmon with his fork. Izzy watched him for a moment longer. She didn’t say it outright, but she knew Eddie well enough to see the guy who loved greasy burgers and simple comforts force himself to like what's chosen in front of him. She didn’t watch him directly, though. Instead, she kept her gaze on her burger as she sliced it cleanly in half, taking her time with the first half while she waited for him to finish his meal.

She ordered extra fries for a reason, to compensate for what she's going to do next.

When Eddie finally finished, he set his fork down with a quiet sigh, leaning back in his chair. His expression gave it all away—the meal hadn’t come close to satisfying him, and she knew it never would. Without a word, Izzy slid the remaining half of her burger onto his plate casually as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

He glanced down at the burger, then up at her, his lips twitching into a grin despite himself. “Someone's getting soft.” he teased but filled with quiet appreciation.

"Just eat the damn burger, Brock."

He didn’t hesitate as he picked up the burger, taking a bite with the kind of contentment she’d expected all along. Anne, sitting beside him, shifted slightly in her chair, her fork pausing mid-cut. Her eyes flicked between Eddie’s sudden happiness and the half-empty plate in front of Izzy. She couldn’t help but feel... disconnected when she realized that she wouldn’t have done that—not because she didn’t care, but because it wouldn’t have even crossed her mind. His best friend seemed to understand him in ways that felt effortless and instinctive. It wasn’t jealousy she felt but rather an uneasy awareness that there were parts of Eddie she might never fully reach.

Izzy kept her focus on her phone, scrolling aimlessly, the screen lighting up her otherwise expressionless face. She didn’t need to look at Anne to know the questions forming behind her gaze. Izzy wasn’t interested in explaining herself—not to Anne, not to anyone. Eddie shot her another happy look mid-bite, and though she still didn’t meet his eyes, the faintest smirk tugged at her lips. She didn’t need acknowledgment, just the satisfaction of knowing he’d get through the rest of the day with a little less tension in his shoulders.

For Izzy, that was enough. It always had been.

"Time to go?” Anne asked and swung her bag over her shoulder, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she glanced at Eddie still comfortably reclined, his attention fixed on his phone screen. He didn’t respond immediately, his posture relaxed, his thumb lazily scrolling. Before he could answer, Izzy chimed in, her voice casual but laced with a smile.

“How about we wait for another ten or fifteen minutes?”

Anne blinked, paused as she glanced at Izzy, puzzled. There was no explanation, no follow-up, it was just Izzy cooly scrolling her own phone. Confused, she settled back into her chair, her curiosity bubbling and she turned to Eddie, raising an eyebrow in question, but all she received was a shrug.

He didn’t elaborate, and neither did Izzy.

It was like a timed magic trick, Anne tried to distract herself, sipping what remained of her drink and idly scanning the restaurant. Izzy remained absorbed in her phone, her cheek resting on her hand. It wasn’t until Eddie suddenly pushed back his chair, rising fluidly and slipping his phone into his pocket, that the pieces began clicking into place.

“Be right back,” he excused himself, weaving through the tables toward the restroom.

Anne sat frozen, her lips parting in silent realization as the scene replayed in her mind—the timing, the unspoken understanding between her fiancé and his best friend, the way Izzy’s seemingly casual suggestion had lined up perfectly. Her gaze flicked to Izzy, who hadn’t even glanced up, her attention still on her phone. She knew Eddie well. Too well.

It wasn’t romantic, she told herself, but it was enough to make her skin prickle. She couldn’t shake the lingering thought that this unspoken system in place was theirs, and Anne couldn’t help but feel like an outsider looking in.

Two days later, Eddie pulled up to the Knight Mansion after work.

When Eddie walked into her bedroom, Izzy was sitting up on her bed, scrolling through her phone until her gaze flicked up, and she saw him leaning against the doorframe, the rugged leather jacket hugging his shoulders, fitting him like a glove.

So fucking hot.

Her brow arched as she set the phone down beside her, smirking. “Well, look who’s decided to embrace his Brockness,” she teased.

Eddie grinned, stepping inside, closing the door behind him, and shrugging as if it were no big deal. “Someone left this in my car the other day...” he said casually. “Pretty solid choice, don’t you think?”

“Not bad,” Izzy murmured, leaning back on her elbows as she eyed him. Her gaze lingered, tracing the way the jacket framed him—strong, sure, unmistakably him. “Well, I did not want to steal your fiance's thunder so I just left it there.”

Eddie chuckled, his grin softening as he walked closer. “You think I didn’t notice?” He stopped just in front of her, tilting his head slightly, then climbed on top of her slowly. “Come on, baby. Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out?”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t look away, her smirk tugging wider. He was now pinning her down. “I just figured I’d save you the trouble of missing it. You seemed... attached.”

“Attached, huh?” Eddie echoed, his voice dropping making her stomach flip. He leaned closer, his knees spreading her legs. “Guess this jacket makes us even?”

"If I’d wandered off again, I would’ve found you something better,” she shot back playfully. “You know me—I don’t settle.”

Eddie froze for half a beat when Izzy mentioned wandering off. Anyone else could have dismissed her words but he hated it—how natural it sounded coming from her lips, how easily she acted like she could pull herself away from him and not feel the gravity of it. She had always been the wildcard in his life, the constant he couldn’t control, and the idea of her going away again felt like losing a piece of himself he couldn’t afford to lose.

"You're not wandering off,” he commanded, making her pause. “Not until I’m married to Anne. You stay.”

Izzy’s smirk faltered for a moment, and she didn’t argue, already knowing what he felt. He made sure she knew that previously. Instead, she let out a sigh, circling her arms around his neck.

Eddie closed the gap, his hand brushing lightly against her cheek as his lips met hers. He kissed her, slow and steady, their eyes were closed but their lips moved like a dance they’d both memorized, tasting her favorite pomegranate flavored lip balm she always applied on her soft lips. His tongue swiping on her bottom lip that made her mouth part slowly, deepening their kiss while his large frame pressed against hers.

Since the night he made her say you're mine, their dynamic shifted. Eddie took the lead more often than not. He knows he's engaged and is about to get married, but something about having no barries in their intimacy both physically and somehow emotionally, aroused the possessive side of Eddie Brock over Izzy.

The closing time,

The unspoken feelings,

The secrecy of their relationship,

The lies...

She pulled away slightly, her hands pressing against his chest gently, slowly gasping for air. "Jacket off, big guy.” she murmured, sliding her hands in between his jacket and shirt, tugging it down.

They loved exploring various positions now that they're doing it unprotected, though nothing beats the classic. They are gazing in each other's eyes, her knees spread out and bent, and her hands gripping on his arms. Eddie on top of her, thrusting his cock slowly, gently, repeatedly, in and out of her. His left hand gripping on her hips to keep her in place, while his right elbow kept him propped up as his face dipped into hers capturing her lips once again for a deep kiss. It feels so good, making her moan against his lips.

"Shhh, baby... they're gonna hear us." he mumured and nibbled on her lower lip before moving to neck, sucking and kissing her skin, all while continuing his pace. His hands holding her hips glided the curves of her body up to her chest, kneading it gently, while his mouth sucked on the other one.

He often swung by her parent's mansion earlier these days, right before her mom serves dinner, so he could spend more time with Izzy. Sex was usually reserved towards the end of his stay, when her parents have retreated to their bed room since her dad was a deep sleeper. They could make all sorts of noises they would want.

However, that night, sex came first.

Izzy arched her back when her stomach coiled, she huffed letting him know she was about to cum, and not to stop. His head nodded, tugging her nipples in between his teeth as he responded. Eddie was taking it slow, yet deliberate in hitting her spot again and again until her juices gushed warmly around his cock. She came and he was close.

He steadied himself, brushing her hair away from her face, the other hand secured her jaw, making her look at him. He made her cry out his name discreetly, bending her leg up to her stomach, plunging in her deeper. She pouted, lips red and her dark eyes looking up to him. She was fucked up, satiated, still receiving him, and moaning his name quietly. Slowly, she felt her stomach get filled with Eddie's hot seed, jolting at every whirl he made. Not a single drop wasted, he thrusted his cum inside her, grumbling "Take it all in, baby. It's all yours."

Izzy nodded absentmindedly, her eyes half-lidded as she sank into her pillows. Her limbs draped over the bed like she was holding on for dear life. Her lower abdoment was warm, filled to the touch, god it felt so good. The shot was worth it, they did not have to worry about anything, except the fact that they're only falling deeper into this pit they keep digging themselves. Eddie loved filling her up, giving him the perception that she was his, and his alone. He smiled, pulling out slowly. She looked so endearing in his eyes as he leaned down to press a kiss to her temple.

"Good girl."

And as he pulled back, he couldn’t help but feel that even in her spent state, Isobel Knight, in his arms, looked vulnerable yet radiant in his eyes. The woman he can't seem to let go.

Second Degree Burn

Five months out from the wedding, Eddie found himself falling deeper with the woman he couldn’t let go of. Every time he sat beside Anne, he’d nod and murmur agreements at the wedding preparations.

Anne saw it, too.

The way he seemed more distracted these days, coming home later than usual, brushing off her questions with vague mentions of “work stuff". The future Mrs. Anne Weying-Brock was starting to realize how distant her fiance has been lately, and the "bond" she wanted to establish with Izzy a few days ago got her wondering.

So, she did what any fiancé in her position might: she reached out to Izzy.

If Anne was being honest, meeting her was daunting. She was not that comfortable talking to Izzy without Eddie around. However, she was desperate for clarity. She wanted to understand her fiance, reach out to him in the same effortless manner his best friend did. She was not even sure that Izzy would show up in the said café but she did arrive, twenty minutes late. She slid into the seat across Anne, skipping the pleasantries and conversation appetizers. Izzy knew she would not have called her if this was not about Eddie.

“I don’t know what I’ve done wrong,” she admitted, the words barely above a whisper. “Eddie’s been pulling away, and I can feel it—even when he’s right there beside me.” She paused, her throat tightening, but forced herself to keep speaking. “I try to plan things, make it easier for him, take the stress off his shoulders... but it’s like the more I try, the farther away he gets.”

Izzy didn’t respond immediately, shifting slightly in her chair. It was uncomfortable to hear, but she was all ears. Her eyes are fixed on the blonde woman pouring her heart out.

Just when she thought it couldn't get any more uncomfortable...

“It’s hard to say this, but... we haven’t been..." Anne started, yet stopped for a second, clearly hesistating before she continued, "..intimate lately. Not for weeks. And I don’t know why. I don’t know what I’ve done to make him pull away like this.”

Fuck.

She did not want to hear that. Izzy had assumed naively, that perhaps Eddie’s relationship with Anne remained intact in 'certain' ways, even despite their affair. It dawned on her. He has been more consistent with her, making time to see her inside or outside the mansion, frequent calls and messages to check up on her, then their sex—the raw and unapologetic sex.

It was her doing.

Anne’s voice broke slightly as she continued, her composure slipping. “I love him—I love him so much. And I know he loves me, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s a part of him I’ll never reach. Like there’s this invisible wall between us, and no matter what I do, I can’t tear it down.”

Izzy’s gaze flicked to Anne’s trembling hands, her stomach twisting in a way she hadn’t expected. She wanted to look away, to detach herself from the rawness of Anne’s words, but something about the vulnerability in front of her that held her trapped in the moment.

Is this it? Is this finally it?

“And I don’t know how to fix it,” Anne said, her voice cracking as tears pooled at the edges. “I’m supposed to be the person who knows him best but it seems like I don't. Not the way you did at the mall.”

Izzy froze at the mention, her chest filled with guilt as it clawed its way into her throat. She did not mean to make her feel that way. She had only wanted to care for Eddie, to be there for him in the only way she knew how. She never realized that those small, intimate moments could haunt her like this and now, hearing Anne reference it so earnestly, Izzy couldn’t help but feel the sharp sting of her own actions. She thought, this was only the tip of the fucking iceberg she and Eddie created. She can't imagine how Anne would even look at her if she knew the depth of their relationship.

It was a scalding pain. Her conscience was a boiling hot water pouring in her skin.

Anne wasn’t accusing her, wasn’t even looking for blame. She was opening her heart, searching for help, clinging to the hope that Izzy might hold the answer to better understand Eddie. And in that hope, Izzy felt an unbearable guilt, the kind that comes from knowing she's part of the wall Anne was desperately trying to tear down.

She IS the wall.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. Anne met Izzy’s gaze then, her cheeks tear-streaked. “Help me, Izzy. You know Eddie better than anyone, and I can’t do this on my own. I don’t want to lose him.”

She felt a huge lump on her throat, listening to Anne's plead as she nodded slowly, struggling to maintain her calm facade. She had never felt like the villain before, but as Anne looked at her with such raw trust, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of her guilt settle deeper. “O-okay,” she murmured quietly, her tone softer than Anne had ever heard it.

“I will help.”

And in that moment, Izzy realized she wasn’t just helping Anne reconnect with Eddie, she was desperately trying to atone for the fire she’d helped create.

But this conversation was not the most excrutiating part of it all...

It was when she realized that the Third Degree Burn was ending it all at once. Facing Eddie, knowing she had to let him go and burning through all the layers of their relationship, for the sake of his engagement. For the sake of the woman he loved.

She called him later that night at the Bay area, a quiet spot where no one would hear what they were about to say.

Izzy rehearsed this conversation on her head over and over again. She thought about the right words to say, how she would open this topic up, and how she's going to hold herself in the process. What she did not realize how painful it could be until Eddie appeared in front of her.

That devilishly handsome crooked smile of his that always made her heart pound is now making it ache...

“Hey, baby,” he called out, a lopsided grin spreading across his face. “So, you’ve summoned me out here at this hour—what’s next? You plotting to start some scandalous sand sex? Because I’m all in, but let’s just say ‘Brock caught in bay-side mischief’ isn’t the headline I’m dying to see tomorrow.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled with mischief as his voice took on that teasing tone she knew too well. He reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his hands naturally grabbing her waist. But Izzy didn’t laugh. She didn’t have a witty retort or roll her eyes like she usually might. Instead, she flinched that was enough for Eddie to stop as his grin faded.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She took a shaky breath, her expression blank, her gaze distant as she finally spoke the words she’d dreaded saying aloud. She can't look at him without breaking.

“Anne spoke to me earlier...” her words came out sounding detached, as if she had to remove all feeling from them just to get them out even though it felt like her feelings are burning through her chest.

She had to do this, even if it left her in ashes.

Next part

[diamond-rozie]

scene 5: to win a war, fight the battles

continuation of tim's arch nemesis

Tim had done his research. He was a Bat after all. Mr. Nolan was infamous for handing out the most difficult assignment right after midterm, weighing a heaping 40% of their final grade. Physics class had never been of much interest to Tim, he found it straightforward and elementary compared to the many projects he’s committed himself to as a Bat, and member of the Young Justice League. And it just so happened to be the only classes Tim shared with one Daniel James Fenton for the semester. 

While Tim’s fellow classmates groaned at the announcement Mr. Nolan made, Tim’s knew his fate for the next three weeks was decided. He’d stayed up extra late completing his last case, and had even let his finger break so he could be off patrol without suspicion. Only his pinky of course, but enough for it to count. Despite all of Tim’s meticulous preparation for the assignment, he could only find the requirements with the rest of his class. 

Tim had considered hacking into the system and finding all of Mr.Nolan’s notes for this assignment. The reason he hadn’t done it wasn’t because he couldn’t - the school’s firewalls were a joke - but because that would mean he was admitting that the only way he could beat Daniel James Fenton was to use underhanded tactics. And that was not a defeat Tim would take. 

Tim listened closely as Mr.Nolan explained how this semester’s project would consist of him and an assigned partner creating a model using any of the physics topics they had covered throughout the semester and present it on the due date. They had till the next class to submit a formal proposal of their topic. Simple enough. 

There was just one liability in Tim’s way now: the assigned partner. Normally Tim wouldn’t have been so worried, after all this class was for the advanced students in an already competitive school. But this time was different. This time Tim had a goal. He needed to annihilate Daniel. 

“The partners for this project will be on the screen, I suggest you all get comfortable because you’ll be seeing each other a lot for the remainder of the semester.” As the projector flickered to life it dawned the document that would make or break Tim’s future. 

There were 36 students in their class, a perfect even number. Discluding Tim there were 35 other students. Daniel was simply one- one- of the 35. There was a measly 3% chance they would be paired. 

And yet. 

And yet, there it was. Printed clearly in front of Tim’s eyes. 

Timothy Drake - Daniel Fenton

In a moment of insurgence, Tim raised his hand, “Sir, I would like to change partners.” There wasn’t anyone in particular Tim would rather be paired with, but he could not have his plans mutilated by such a catastrophe. 

Mr. Nolan raised a brow at Tim, “Is there a reason in particular, Mr. Drake?” 

Tim hesitated. He had no qualms with telling Mr.Nolan the reason, but if he were to say it in front of the whole class with Daniel present he would lose the element of surprise. “No, sir.” 

Mr. Nolan leaned back onto the podium, “Is there someone else you would prefer to work with then, Mr. Drake?”

In pure humiliation, “No, sir.” 

“Well I’m glad to see I’ve made a suitable match.” Mr.Nolan concluded with finality, “Any other questions, Mr. Drake?” 

“Are we graded individually or together?” Tim clung to his last tether of hope like a lifeline. 

Unequivocally and mercilessly Mr. Nolan crushed Tim’s very being. “Together.” Tim sunk into his seat. He had become his own worst enemy. Tim ignored the confused look Daniel sent him from the other side of the classroom, saving himself the disgrace. “Any other question?” Mr.Nolan asked the class. 

There was still a way for him to crush Daniel under his steel toed Red Robin boots. Tim would simply overpower Daniel with his superior skills and intellect, and make it unquestionably clear that it was Tim who had gotten them the perfect score. A year - 5 - 10 years from now this would be the memory that woke Daniel up in cold sweat in the middle of the night. 

Psychological warfare. Tim’s specialty.

Once Mr.Nolan gave them the signal to disperse into their groups Tim met Daniel halfway between the two ends of the room where they sat. 

“Uh, Tim, right?” Daniel asked with an awkward wanna-be polite smile. 

“Yes, nice to meet you.” Tim flashed a smile he had perfected at the years of gala’s and business meetings he’d attended. Disarming, and charming. The perfect set up to sweep the enemy from under their feet. “Daniel, I believe.” A casual show of power, usually brushed off as unintentional. It was fully intentional. 

“Danny’s fine.” He corrected with what must have been an attempt at an unassuming smile. Tim knew better, Danny would be ruthless in his attempt to permanently upsurge Tim from beautifully satiating first place. “So any ideas on what we should do our assignment on?”

Danny’s coup would not be successful for Tim had come prepared. “We could reconfigure an airplane for better aerodynamics.” Tim had gone through great lengths to research and develop that about a month ago for the Bat Plane, and if he dumbed it down slightly it should pass for a civilian. 

Danny considered the idea for a moment, with the barest head nod. Victory was in Tim’s grasp now. “We could change the wingspan and nose shape of it and then widen the back fins for a more acute directional accuracy.” He offered easily. Tim blinked, that was supposed to be his line, where he would prove his superiority with the knowledge he’d already acquired. Victory, it turned out, was like a handful of sand that would, despite all efforts, spill through his fingers. “It seems easy enough.” 

“Did you have any ideas?” Tim asked testingly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Not really, but I thought it would be cool to try one of Tesla’s ideas. Nikola Tesla’s, I mean. The one off the top of my head is the thought camera.” Danny rambled with his hands. 

Tim may have admitted that he felt a bit inspired at the idea of mimicking and improving on one of Tesla’s ideas, if it hadn’t been proposed by Danny. “The thought camera?” Tim echoed incredulously, formulating the perfect eyebrow raise to show his distaste. 

Danny seemed undeterred, and was instead studying the rubric Mr.Nolan had left open on the board. “Yeah, I’m not a huge fan of that one either,” He said offhandedly, “I was just spitballing.” 

This would’ve been the perfect opening for Tim to intercede with the perfect idea. As a Bat, Tim of all people should know the importance of always being ready and well informed of any situation that may arise. Yet here he was, unprepared. Resiliently, Tim pulled out his phone and searched up potential suggestions. Danny peaked over to look as well. 

“The wireless energy transmitter seems like a good idea. If we proportionally scale it down we could have a fully functioning model.” Tim declared victoriously to his partner, who couldn't help but be on board with his amazing idea. 

Tim had already won the first battle, and the war would soon be over with Tim’s overwhelming conqueror of the first place position. 

Bouncing off of Tim’s original idea, the team had already procured a rough sketch of their model, and had designated a day to gather their supplies. 

--

Howard watched as his student’s chattering meshed into one indistinguishable sound. Howard through his past researching with other professionals in varying stages of their career, and teaching college students of various majors and life goals had become astute as discerning a person’s potential. He was aware his current students, now only between the ages of fifteen and nineteen, would not appreciate his sentiment on grading them on a scale of what he believed their personal best to be. Leading to his infamous profile through the halls of Gotham Academy.

Over his cumulative professional careers there was perhaps only a handful that Howard predicted to hold greatness. His visions always came to fruition as the sapling students of science and research once under his care, blossomed into leaders in their fields with headlining research papers under their name. And when Howard did find himself in the possessions of those saplings he made sure to nurture their growth as much as he could.

It just so happened this year Howard found himself with two. 

There was one who Howard had heard whispers of in the teacher’s lounge. Tim Drake always sat in class with a bored castover look, ready with the perfect answer when tested as if he were the one with the PhD. Tim completed all his assignments with a stern perfection, always unchallenged with the material no matter how difficult his peers seemed to find it. 

It only was Danny Fenton’s second year attending the Academy, and there were only a few that knew him as a student, but they were not stingy with their praises. In the first week of class Howard had found him unassuming, scribbling what Howard had assumed to be notes like his peers throughout class. He was swiftly corrected when Danny came to him, after class one day, frazzled over something in his book. Howard, always ready to help a student, welcomed him graciously. In the book Howard did not find scribbled notes of inertia and energy, but a diagram- more accurately a blueprint- of an archimedes engine applied for a re-designed drag car. 

Howard watched the first spark of intrigue be kindled between the two with deep satisfaction.

[doeidawn]

☁︎ — see you next saturday

a night at the bar turns interesting when a masked stranger crosses your path. he's far from approachable, but something about him draws you in until you're coming to the bar every weekend just to see him. he's enigmatic and exciting—exactly what you needed to interrupt the monotony of life. 11.2k

⟢ pairing: ghost x f!reader

⟢ tags: MDNI/18+; author is american and apologizes in advance—this probably isn't how bars in the UK are, sorry; ghost is unnamed for 95% of the fic but it pays off; alcohol consumption (no one gets drunk, it's just some sipping); awkward first meeting; slow-burn??? idk sex doesn't happen til the very end; implied size difference; biker!ghost; semi-public sex; fingering; table sex; praise; unprotected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it); oral sex [m receiving]; facial

Another excited cheer from the table behind you tells you that one of the football teams on screen has scored. Though you couldn’t care less about the game, you catch a glance at the television hung on the wall near the bar to watch the score rise. Aside from sipping on the same drink and watching people filter in and out all night, you didn’t have anything better to do, anyway.

A night out at the bar probably wasn’t the most efficient use of your time, or your money, but after a week of grueling work and the ever-increasing stress of life, it felt nice to ignore everything for a while. As long as you didn’t drink enough to hate yourself the next morning, who were you to deny yourself some fun? Well, as fun as watching drunk people mingle could be. A cheap local bar wouldn’t give way for much excitement.

You were almost thankful for that. The wrong kind of excitement only would’ve added to the weight on your shoulders. Yet, a part of you still yearned for something more than the monotony of asking the bartender for another round while your eyes scanned the crowds. Only two drinks in and already you were practically praying for an interesting face to look your way and add something that resembled anticipation to your life.

You set your glass down on the bartop with a sigh. Another cheer comes from your left, drawing your attention towards the table of patrons with their eyes glued to the television wearing their excited smiles. It’s only a momentary glance, but with your head turned in their direction, you notice the first interesting face you’ve seen all night.

Rather, it was the lack of his face that drew you in. Just a few seats down the bar stood a tall man, dressed head to toe in dark clothing, sliding an empty glass toward the bartender. Perhaps the most notable thing about him is how his hood sits on his head and a mask covers the bottom half of his face. Is that skull print on the fabric?

Whoever he was, he didn’t seem too keen on letting other people know. Part of you was surprised he was even allowed to be served. To say he looked suspicious would be putting it mildly. 

But there was something about him that caught your attention and wouldn’t let go. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the air of mystery that clung to him, or maybe it was your desperate need for excitement. At this point, you couldn’t quite tell what the reason was, but his presence was magnetic. 

His head turns slightly to look up at the television mounted near the bar. For a split second, you thought he had noticed you somehow. You don’t know why it affected you enough to make your heart leap into your throat, but it was enough to make you stop staring out of fear you’d come off rude.

Your leg bounces nervously on the barstool, itching to walk you over to him. But, Christ, you’ve been out of the game for a while, and you have to assume his…unique sense of attire was to wade off any unwanted conversation. What would you even say to a guy like that? Compliments aren’t easy when you can’t see any part of the man’s face. 

Your fingertips run over the edge of your glass and you can’t help but bring your eyes back over to him. Still focused on the game. 

“What’s with the mask?” The words leave your mouth before you can give them a second thought. You regret it almost immediately, hoping that maybe between the music and the surrounding conversations that he couldn’t hear you. 

There’s a slow turn of his head in your direction. His eyes meet yours, but instead of curiosity you find nothing but a piercing gaze that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s hard to tell in the dim light of the bar, but you swear his gaze moves over you before he turns his attention to the bartender.

Bummer. Well, it was worth a shot…even if you think you’ll have to order another drink to prevent yourself from cringing on the memory later. 

You huff another sigh and swirl your drink, watching the liquid move in the glass. If nothing else, at least you got a good night of people-watching and paid enough attention to the game to know what your coworkers will talk about on Monday. The next sip burns your throat as you swallow. 

“Tactical advantage.” A baritone voice—suddenly very close to you—comes from your left and startles you, making you jump in your seat. 

Your eyes dart to the side, wide in panic, meeting a masked face looking down at you. You curse under your breath, unsure whether it’s appropriate to feel relieved.

“Pardon..?”

“You asked about the mask,” the man gestures vaguely towards his fabric-covered face as he moves to sit on the barstool next to you. The old material groans under his weight. “Tactical advantage.” 

You couldn’t help but continue to stare at him. You could tell he was a bigger guy from far away, but, Jesus, he was even bigger up close. Not just tall, but his shoulders were broad and his hands practically dwarfed the glass he was holding. He was, objectively, terrifying.

Yet, you couldn’t help but smile at his simple, concise words. “Yeah? And what advantage is that?”

“To hide my face.”

You roll your eyes at his attempt at comedy. “Well, I coulda guessed that.”

“You asked.” He looks over at you and instead of the piercing gaze from before, there’s something much warmer in his eyes. You wish you could see if he had a smug smile to accompany his words. 

“That I did.” You take another sip of your drink, hoping it’ll continue to keep your nerves settled. “So why d’you wanna hide your face?”

He’s silent for a moment, looking down at the bar as he folds his arms and leans against it. You faintly hear him sigh before he shrugs his shoulders. “No need to show it.”

“Gotta be hard to drink with a mask, no?”

“Not if you lift it up.”

“Or you could just…take it off.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“‘Cause then I’d get to see what you look like.”

His eyes—you make a mental note of the deep brown color they are—narrow at that. “Oh, I dunno if you want that.”

“I think I do.”

The stool beneath him creaks with his weight as he sits up, straightening his back and reminding you just how tall he is. His chest expands against his hoodie in another deep breath. “Determined, aren’t you?”

Another smile creeps its way onto your face. “C’mon, I’m curious.” You want to lean in, to tease him with your proximity, but you withhold yourself.

Those blond eyebrows that peek out from the rim of his balaclava raise slightly. His eyes move over you in a movement he doesn’t seem to bother being subtle about. Though the gesture makes your heart skip a beat, his silence is deafening.

“Alright, alright,” you concede, hands up in defeat. “I get it. No face.” He makes an affirmative sound at that.

“Smart girl.” He says it so fast, a one-off comment that told you to not bother pressing him for any more information, but something about it makes your breath catch in your throat. 

You have to look down at your drink when you feel your cheeks grow warm. Even though it was nearly gone, you certainly didn’t have enough liquid courage to flirt openly. You wanted to ask his name, to ask where he’s from—what if he lived close by?—but if he wasn’t even willing to show you his face at the bar, you knew the chances were slim. 

From the corner of your eye, you see him shift in his seat again. He digs in his pocket, pulls out his phone, and barely looks at it before he starts to stand. Was he leaving already? Why?

“Where you goin’?” You ask before you can really think about why you cared so much.

“M’needed elsewhere.” 

Blunt, simple, and vague. That seemed to be how he operated. 

“Oh, a popular guy, are you?”

“You could say that.” Your eyes follow him as he moves, but he doesn’t look your way when he stands. Christ, he was a big lad. 

“You didn’t even touch your drink.”

“It’s not mine.” He moves the full glass down the bar until it clinks against your own. It’s then you notice it’s the same color as your drink. Same glass, same serving. Did he really buy you a drink?

“Have a nice night.” You look back at him to see his eyes meeting yours. Maybe it was the last drink still swimming in your system, but you weren’t able to form the words to respond. “Get home safe, yeah?”

And with a nod of your head, he weaved his way through the room until he was out of your line of sight. Despite his size, he was easy to lose in the crowd. You turn back to the bartop and stare at the two glasses. The one on the left—the one he’d bought for you—was invitingly full.

You reach out, fingertips skimming the rim before you bring the glass to your lips. It was the same drink you always ordered when you went out—your favorite. Only somehow it tastes sweeter on your tongue this time.

You’ve never made it a habit to go out and drink. As stressful as life could get, it just wasn’t an outlet you ever turned towards. It was expensive as hell, and you weren’t stupid enough to ignore how much it sucked to be hungover. 

But despite that, you found yourself back in that same barstool when the weekend came around. And for the first time, it wasn’t because of the overpriced liquor.

Only a few sips into your first drink of the night and you were already looking around in hopes that you’d find a skull-patterned mask looking back at you. Desperately you tried to tune out the chatter of people around you, hoping you’d be able to pick out his voice. Maybe it was stupid. It was definitely wishful thinking. 

For all you knew, he wasn’t even in town anymore; you figured he probably wasn’t the type of guy to stick around one place for very long. And, hell, he left so abruptly last time, who’s to say he’d even want to see you again? You hated the tightness that built in your chest at the thought of that. 

Well, you might as well enjoy your drink since you’re here. You tried to pay attention to whatever sport was on the television this time, tried scrolling on your phone, but nothing held your attention. Every sip of your drink tempted you to house the entire bar. But you didn’t figure yourself that pathetic. Still, you were pathetic enough to keep looking over at the entrance, hoping you’d see that tall figure slinking through groups of people.

But you never do.

Fuck. It was stupid to hope anyway. You curse yourself under your breath, rubbing at your temples like it’ll help clear your head. With a huff and a sigh, you finish the last of your drink. It doesn’t taste as sweet as it did last time. You’re more disappointed than you wanted to allow yourself to be.

You decided rather quickly that you’d rather mope and feel sorry for yourself in the comfort of your own home. It wasn’t worth wasting money on another lonely drink.

There’s a chill breeze outside that cuts through you, making you shiver as soon as you walk out the door. You cross your arms, trying to preserve some body heat, as you make your way down the pavement. A still-lingering part of you doesn’t want to leave but your legs don’t stop carrying you further away.

You eventually come to a stop, leaning against a light post as you dig out your phone. Even though you’re supposed to be looking up the rideshare to get you back home, you can’t help but look around last time. You think yourself too desperate for your own good until you see a tall figure just a few steps away.

Standing next to a motorcycle that you can only assume is his, the hooded figure drops a cigarette to the ground, his boot grinding against the pavement to stomp it out. You thought it might be too good to be true, but then he turns just enough for you to see him pull that skull-patterned balaclava back over his mouth. He doesn’t seem to notice you—a fact you quickly want to remedy.

“Hey, big guy,” you call out to him, the nickname a subconscious one you immediately cringe at yourself for. Fucking ‘big guy’? Yeah, that’s not gonna go over well.

But it certainly gets his attention. His head turns in your direction, if only barely. He does a double-take before stopping in his tracks and staring back at you. You have to hope and pray that he doesn’t think you’re crazy as you walk over to him. Luckily, he didn’t move away from your advances. Instead, he turns towards you as if to welcome your approach, dark eyes raking over you in that same conspicuous motion.

It’s when you’re face-to-face with him—well, more like mask-to-face—that you realize you didn’t quite know what to say. You were too sober to be making a fool of yourself like this. After an awkward beat of silence of you taking in once more just how tall he was compared to you, you finally manage to conjure up something.

“I just wanted to say…thank you for buying me a drink the other night. I…I appreciated that.”

“Course.” You’d almost forgotten the gruff sound of his baritone voice. “You leavin’ already?”

You hesitate for a moment, a lie stewing on the tip of your tongue. No, no, I was just hanging out in the cold, what a coincidence, right? How much you wanted to spend time with a man you barely knew was almost pathetic. You resign the thought with a sigh. “Sorry, you’re too late. I already had all my fun.”

“What, waitin’ f’me?” 

You didn’t know if he was just confident or if he somehow truly knew that was what you were doing. Either way, it made you feel like he could see right through you, like he knew you found him interesting. “Maybe I was hopin’ you’d come by.” You bite your lip, gaze hitting the ground before looking back up at him. “You were the most entertaining thing at that bar.”

He takes in a deep breath at that. “M’sorry I missed it.” Yeah, me too. “Can you get yourself home?”

“Yeah. Well, a rideshare can.”

“How ‘bout I take you home?”

The suggestion makes your heart skip a beat, staring up at him, frozen and probably looking half-crazed. The rational part of your brain was sounding every possible alarm. Why would you ever trust a man you met in a bar who never takes off his mask to take you home unless you had a death wish? And yet the winning part of your brain was the one that was extremely curious about his implication.

“Ah, take a bloke I barely know back home? How drunk d’you think I am?”

He looks over you again in a beat of silence. “You aren’t. That’s why I’m askin’.” Knowing he didn’t want to take advantage of you eased some of the lingering anxiety in the back of your mind. But, as if he could sense that anxiety, he continued, “You don’t gotta let me in, I jus’ wanna make sure you’re safe. I’m cheaper than a rideshare, anyway.”

“Well, can’t beat that, I suppose.” You move around him to approach his parked motorcycle. You didn’t have to know much about bikes to realize it was a nice one. Sleek, but not flashy. Your fingers glide over the leather of the seat as you eye the streetlights reflecting off of the shiny black body. “I’ve never been on a bike. People say they’re dangerous.”

“They can be, if you don’t know what you’re doin’.” You hadn’t noticed how close he was—moving as silent as ever—hovering just behind you as he grabs the helmet strapped securely to the bike. Holding it out towards you, he gives you a nudge. “Here.”

You take the helmet, holding it carefully like you’re afraid to leave your fingerprints all over it. You could already tell it’d be too big, but the consideration was nice. “I trust you know what you’re doin’, then?”

“Most of the time.”

Well, wasn’t he quite the comedian.

You slot the helmet over your head with a roll of your eyes. As you guessed, it was certainly too big, tilting forward over your brow and obscuring your view. A bitterly sweet smell floods your senses as you clasp it in place; you can only assume it’s his sweat, mixed with a faint air of tobacco, embedded into the foam lining.

A heavy hand rests on the side of the helmet, holding it steady while he slides the visor up. His head tilts as those dark eyes of his greet you. “Bit big on you, innit?”

“Yeah, just a li’l.”

“How far we goin’?” You should have been a little hesitant before telling him your address, but you don’t even stutter. He spoke like he had to know, like ordering people around was what he did for a living. An affirmative hum comes from behind his mask as he slides the visor back down. “You’ll be alright.”

You struggle to balance both yourself and the helmet long enough to swing your leg over the seat. You were thankful that the helmet obscured your face to shield some of the embarrassment, at least. Then you feel that same heavy palm on the small of your back, trying to keep you steady, only to make your body tense up. The helmet swings lazily on your head as you finally straddle the seat.

Once you’re situated, after asking if you’re comfortable, he slides his hand off of you. He has no problem getting himself sat, taking up the front half of the seat as he slots in the space before you. He turns his head and, though you have to lift your head awkwardly to see him through the visor, you hear his voice say, “Hold on tight. Can’t have you fallin’ off.”

What, did he plan on speeding out of here? Hesitantly, your hands find purchase on his waist. It was gentle, barely enough pressure to feel his hoodie under your fingertips, let alone his body underneath.

You think you hear him scoff. “I’m sure you’re stronger than that.” His fingers wrap around your wrists, guiding your hands forward until they rest on his chest. The movement shortens the gap of space between your bodies as your arms hover awkwardly around him. “I promise you won’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re afraid of. C’mon, tighter than that.” You strengthen your hold, closing the distance between your chest and his back, practically hugging him. “Atta girl.”

Your face heats up at that, and you were thankful the helmet obscured the sheepish smile that had painted itself on your face. 

The engine suddenly roars to life, loud enough to surprise you. The power behind it vibrates through the leather seat and seeps easily through the padding of the helmet. Though his takeoff was as smooth as it could’ve been, it didn’t stop you from tightening your hold around his body. 

The cityscape passes by in a blur of vibrant lights and towering buildings. The hum of the motorcycle’s engine overpowers the surrounding cars, echoing off of the asphalt and thrumming a rhythmic hum during the ride. The already-cool night air bites at your skin as it whips past. 

Though you have no reason to, you find yourself gripping him tighter on every take-off after a stop. And despite the chill on your skin, you felt the heat rise to your face as you realized you could feel how rigid and tough he was under that hoodie. 

There was a thrill, you realized, that ran through you and made your heart race. Not only because you were on a bike for the first time, but because of how close you were to the man in front of you. Holding on tight to a stranger whose name you didn’t know so he could bring you home safely sounded like something out of a novel. The smell of him embedded in his helmet and filling your senses, your body close to absorb some of his heat, the pure generosity of even offering to drive you home: everything made you want to abandon all self-respect and invite him in when you arrived.

The internal battle you fought over that distracted you for the rest of the ride.

You could barely see out of the helmet without cocking your head awkwardly, but you could tell when the trip was nearing its end. A pit formed in your stomach—a part of you unwilling to let the ride end just yet. It wasn’t until he slowed down enough to pick out your building that you realized how difficult it was to see over his broad shoulders. With a point and a nudge in the right direction, you guided him to your stop.

He pulls the bike up to the pavement before parking it. The sounds of the neighborhood replace the monotonous hum of the engine as he turns it off. Your movements are hesitant as your hands slide off his body, something you quickly regret and hope he hadn’t noticed. He helps you off the bike just as he had helped you on, reminding you of his gentle touch, thankful yet again for the helmet obscuring your shy smile.

You don’t ignore the sense of disappointment you feel knowing that he has to leave. Just taking off the helmet was enough to make you miss him and ache for something more, even when he stood right by you on the pavement. You knew it was strange to feel close to a man you barely knew, but he gave you more comfort than most. He made you feel intrigued in a way no one else did. 

“So,” you start, dreading the awkward silence, “do I get to know the name of my chauffeur?”

He pauses for a moment of consideration. Your heart beats faster, something akin to excitement making you hope for an answer. Finally, he looks up from the pavement. “Maybe next time.”

Initially, you felt more disappointed than you wanted to allow yourself to be. Surely his name was the one thing he could give up? But then you find yourself clinging on to that phrase. Maybe next time…Did he expect a ‘next time’? Should you expect a ‘next time’?

As you walked up to your door, he didn’t follow, staying true to his words from earlier. He kept a respectable distance to not crowd you, as if he didn’t want to make you nervous. If only he knew everything about him made you overthink your every move.

There’s a beat of silence when you grab your keys. An invite inside sits on the tip of your tongue, fighting with the rational part of your brain, consequences be damned. But his voice beats you to the punch as he breaks another long and empty silence.

“So d’you go and drink every Saturday?”

Your fingers toy with the keys in your hand as you debate your answer. “No, I don’t,” you admit after a beat of silence.

He hums a deep sound that you can’t quite identify the emotion behind. “So just a coincidence, then?”

You don’t respond to that. Instead, while fighting your sheepish smile, you look back at him. 

“Thanks for takin’ me home.”

“‘Course.”

“Maybe next time you should drink with me.”

Your heart pounds in your chest when the words leave your mouth. Eagerness didn’t seem like such a shameful thing anymore. Not when you were sharing body heat with him just a few minutes ago. Not when he knew where you lived because he cared enough to make sure you were safe. Maybe it was too hopeful to expect him to want to see you again, but when your eyes meet his under the streetlight, you’re confident the hope isn’t unfounded.

His eyes rake over you in a slow one-over as he nods. His voice is low in that same charming gruff timbre when he responds, “I’ll see you next Saturday, then?”

Fighting off an over-excited smile proves to be the most difficult thing you’ve done in a while. You sigh, calming your racing heart. “If you’re on time.”

“It’s a date.”

It wasn’t actually a date.

Surely he couldn’t have meant it literally. Still, it was enough to have you barely managing a flustered goodbye before fumbling with your keys at the door. Even after you were in the comfort of your home your face felt hot, your body practically vibrating from adrenaline. All from a stranger. The faint sound of the revving engine of his motorcycle moments later only served to remind you of his voice, the warmth of his body, and—hopefully—the promise in his words. 

You had to remind yourself constantly, every time your mind wandered throughout the week, that you were hoping for too much. You were daydreaming about a face you hadn’t seen yet from a man whose name you didn’t even know. And, God, that made you feel more pathetic than ever.

It was just a night out, spending time together over a drink, nothing more. Maybe you could learn his name if he was feeling generous enough. But to hope for anything more—a follow-up or anything deeper than friendliness—was foolish. Still, your mind kept wandering back to his words. It’s a date. 

No, this wasn’t a date, you scold yourself in the mirror, shaking your head as if it’ll dismiss the thought faster. That was just a throwaway line, something to draw you in to make sure he’d see you tonight. Nothing more, nothing implied, nothing to hope for. You knew that by now, practically drilled it into your own head. 

So why did you spend way too long looking at yourself in the mirror, obsessing over every little detail you could nitpick? Why did you drudge through your entire closet to make sure you picked the “right outfit”? Why did you stress about what perfume to wear and what drink to order? It wasn’t a date after all. 

Right?

It was too late to fight yourself on it once your rideshare pulled up. The implication of his words was irrelevant at this point; your heart seems to beat quicker with every turn of the wheels that brings you closer to the bar. Despite the cool air making you regret choosing to wear a skirt, you felt hot and stuffy—just downright nervous. Christ, you nearly felt like you could throw up when you saw a familiar tall silhouette outside the bar. 

He was on time. And he was waiting for you.

Every insecurity you nitpicked before comes to the front of your mind the moment you step onto the pavement. You force the thoughts away with a sigh and, for the first time in your life, your steps towards the bar are hesitant. His eyes meet yours as you approach and you almost wish you could see his reaction under that mask. But the more you thought about it, maybe you were better off not knowing.

He straightens up, pushing himself off of the wall, looking down at you with a face obscured by shadows and fabric. “I was startin’ to think I came too early.”

It was a huge relief to see him here, waiting and willing to see you again. You couldn’t hide your smile if you tried. “Well, lucky for you, I like an eager man.”

His steps are confident as he makes his way towards the entrance. “That’s definitely one way to describe me.” You barely hear the sentence when he utters it, which only makes your heart beat faster. He pulls the door open, holding it for you to make your way in. 

The bar is as crowded as it is every Saturday. Plenty of people scattered around, watching whatever team was on the television this weekend, drunkenly shouting overtop of the music. It never fails to overwhelm you when you walk through the entrance. A hand rests on your back, grounding you and making you all too aware of your posture, slipping to your waist before guiding you through the bustle of people.

Your date—it still felt weird to call him that—guides you towards the bar, towards the backend where fewer people crowded the space. His presence was comforting despite his silence. Not to mention how perfectly his hand slotted against your waist, a thought that had you too nervous to bring attention to his sudden touchiness.

The stools squeak and groan as the two of you settle into your seats. The bar is anything but quiet, yet an awkward silence hangs in the air between you. Something told you he wasn’t the type to care about the awkwardness, but you were far too sober to not overthink every thought that popped into your head.

You clear your throat, hoping it’ll boost your confidence to speak. “I wasn’t actually sure you’d show,” you admit. “But I’m glad you did.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

You weren’t sure how to respond. He raised a good point, one that spit in the face of your insecurities and anxiety. “I dunno…guess I worried I wasn’t exciting enough for you.”

“Well, you’re no mask-wearin’ bike rider.” He leans in your direction and nudges you with his elbow. “But I think you’re plenty excitin’.” You look up at his eyes just fast enough to catch his wink.

Flustered, you avert your eyes to the bartop as you laugh. “You don’t know me well enough, clearly.”

“I’d like to. That’s why I’m here.”

That brings your eyes back to his. You may not have been able to see his face, but those eyes told you everything about his sincerity. There shouldn’t have been any doubt left in your mind after that. The man admitted to having an interest in you—in getting to know you—and it surely set your heart on fire. 

“Well, that and to drink, I’m sure.” Your smile is an attempt to distract from the way you stare at him. It was like you had yourself convinced you could make out his features if you just studied him long enough. 

“Ah, that’s just a bonus.” He gestures for the bartender with a simple wave of his hand before fishing in his pocket for his wallet. 

“So what’s the drink of choice for a bloke like you?”

“Bourbon.”

You aren’t sure why that admission surprises you; of course a big guy like him would drink whiskey. Something about that fact makes you feel warm inside. You request one for yourself, an excuse to have something in common with him. 

Your eyes follow the bartender as they move, but your mind is far from the alcohol. Everything was going well—probably the best it could’ve gone meeting someone who could still classify as a stranger for the third time. But there was still something gnawing at the back of your mind, festering insecurity and uncertainty.

“Can I ask you something?” You almost surprise yourself with the lack of hesitance with which the question leaves your mouth.

“Shoot.”

“That night we met, when we spoke for the first time, you left awfully quick.” Your fingers tap against the bartop in an anxious rhythm. “What was that about?”

From the corner of your eye, you see him shrug. “Wasn’t my choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was work. It asks a lot of me sometimes.” Work calling at such a late hour was hard to believe, but the way he said it—a layer of exhaustion sullying his words—had you convinced. “Trust me, I would’ve preferred staying to talk to you.”

You believed that, too. 

“What do you do for work?”

He pauses, taking in a deep breath, like he’s thinking about how to phrase his response. You’ve started to learn how deliberate he was with his words. “A lot of dangerous shit.”

That definitely piques your attention. You hear the two glasses clink against the bartop, but you were more concerned with him than the alcohol. “Yeah? What kind of shit is that?” You didn’t have a lot of hope that he’d open up any more than that, but the curiosity ate at you. 

He reaches for one of the glasses, sighing as he moves. “The kind of shit that makes you want to drink to forget it.” He lifts the glass in your direction. “So let’s drink, yeah?”

Even if he didn’t completely open up, it was a sentiment you could sympathize with. You may not know exactly what he spent his time doing but you knew enough to hope he saw your company as comforting. You reach for the other glass and lift it until it clinks against his own. “Just don’t drink enough to forget me.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be forgettin’ you anytime soon.”

You smile at his sentiment, taking a sip of whiskey to wash away the anxiety-borne tension in your throat.

It’s done in a split second before you notice it, but he lifts the bottom of his balaclava over his mouth, resting the hem on his nose. It gives you a view of the blond scruff that dusts the sharp angle of his jaw, of those peach lips that look surprisingly soft as he raises his glass to take a drink. The way his mask sits makes you aware of the crook in the bridge of his nose—a sign of cartilage broken multiple times over. He’s rugged and rough underneath the soft cloth, far more attractive than anything you could’ve conjured up in your own mind. And that was without seeing his entire face. They were features that any other man could have, but he hid those features from the world for reasons you couldn’t fathom. Maybe that was what made him so alluring.

“You’re starin’.”

It takes a moment for his words to register in your head. You only realized he was speaking because you could actually see his mouth move. You scoff, brows furrowing as you finally blink for the first time in a while. “I wasn’t starin’.”

He grunts in response. You didn’t have to hear him speak to know he doesn’t believe you. Hell, you didn’t believe yourself. You roll your eyes at the sound, taking a sip of your drink and averting his intense gaze by catching a glimpse of the television behind the bar. You didn’t care one bit about the scores on the screen.

Especially when you suddenly felt the warmth of his hand on your thigh. There was no way he didn’t notice the way your muscles tense, flinching at the sudden contact. It’s indescribable the way it makes you feel. His rough and calloused touch barely underneath the hem of your skirt to feel the smooth and tender flesh of your thigh sends a jolt down your spine, a heat coursing through you that you haven’t felt in a while.

“You’re a terrible liar.” It isn’t lost on you the way his voice deepens when he whispers to you, leaning in close and quiet so he can make sure you hear him.

Your mouth suddenly goes dry, your face hot and your heart racing. “Piss off. The…bourbon’s just strong.” You force the words out in a half-hearted tumble as you bring the glass to your lips. 

His grip tightens ever-so-slightly, gently squeezing your thigh. Something about it tells you he doesn’t buy that lie either. “Ah, s’that what it is?” 

The sarcasm in his voice makes the whiskey burn as it slides down your throat. You take in a breath to try and combat the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth. Squirming in the stool, you press your thighs together to quell some of the heat pulsing through your veins. Nerves and excitement battle for control over your body. 

“I didn’t take you for a touchy lad.” Your own voice quietens to a whisper, almost too nervous to acknowledge his bold move.

“Usually m’not.”

Setting your glass down, you’re almost disappointed to find the mask is settled back over his face when you finally make eye contact again. “Mm. You must like me, then?���

The question wasn’t really meant to have an answer, but he didn’t hesitate to give you one. “Was that not obvious before?”

“The confirmation is nice.” You force the words out before you can think too hard about his reply. 

He liked you. One of the most enigmatic, confusing, intriguing people you’ve ever met—who should’ve made you feel scared—actually liked you. It was relieving and exciting and terrifying all at once.

You look down to see his hand on your thigh. The sight is enough to turn excitement into something much stronger that pools in your core. You run your fingertips over his knuckles, the discolored skin telling you they’ve been wounded multiple times over. You didn’t have the guts to ask. The contact makes his grip tighten slightly, his thumb slowly brushing gentle strokes against your skin.

The whole thing had your mind running wild. You certainly didn’t have enough to drink to excuse the images that flashed in your mind. But seeing his hand on you—feeling his touch—in a way you could only describe as intimate had desire pumping through you. You don’t know how good a job you’re doing at hiding it, either, but you’re certain he can feel when you squeeze your thighs tightly together.

“So,” you start, clearing your throat as if to excuse the rampant thoughts in your head, “do I get to know your name yet?”

You look over to see his eyes lingering absentmindedly on the television. “Depends on how this night goes.”

Well, it wasn’t a ‘no’.

You scoff, feigning annoyance. “What, y’gonna wait until I’m too drunk to remember it?” Your hand moves to your glass, raising it in his direction before taking a sip.

“Oh, I’m not gonna let you get drunk.” He says it so matter-of-factly that you couldn’t argue if you wanted to. Then, his hand moves carefully, readjusting his grip until the plush fat on the inside of your thigh is squished between his fingers. “Can’t have any fun if you get yourself plastered.”

At least now you knew you had no chance of embarrassing yourself in a drunken stupor. But your mind was far more preoccupied with that word—fun. Sure, he could have meant it literally; maybe he planned on taking you somewhere more exciting than a cheap bar after this. You silently scolded yourself for being disappointed with that reality. 

“I suppose you’re right…” The words came out breathlessly into your glass. You didn’t know if he heard you, but it didn’t really matter. He seemed like the type of man to be dead set on whatever he was determined to do. You just hoped the ‘fun’ he had in mind was the same type that had your heart pounding whenever you thought about it.

His hand slides off you and—God help you—you almost whimper at the loss of contact. Your eyes follow his movement, watching him slide his mask up enough to take another drink. You didn’t think you could ever forget what he looked like. It was a sight you swore you could spend the whole night staring at, but you looked away before he had the chance to tease you about it.

“Y’know,” he says with a voice quiet enough that only you could hear, “if you need somethin’, you can just ask.”

Your eyes dart over to him with an unconscious, wide-eyed look of guilt and confusion. There was no doubt in your mind that you needed something from him, but you hadn’t intended that to be obvious. A bewildered “what?” is all you manage to force out while you try to convince your rapid heart to slow.

“If you need somethin’ from me, you can just ask me for it.” He speaks slowly this time, looking in your direction with brown eyes so dark it was like his pupils had blown wide. Fuck, did you look like that too? He sets his glass down with a sigh when you don’t respond with anything more than a confused scoff. He leans in close, so close you could feel his breath on your ear and a whiff of tobacco and musk in your nostrils. “You were practically humpin’ my hand.” You swear he growls the words. “That makes me think you need somethin’.”

That immediately shot down any hope you had that you were doing great at hiding your wandering thoughts. Excuse after excuse ran through your mind, trying to justify why his touch made you squirm. But…was there really any point in denying something he so clearly had picked up on? He read you like a goddamn book—not that you were difficult to read—and something about that only made the desire heavier. And, most importantly in your mind, there was no sign that he disliked it.

Your lips quiver as they part, hesitation making your mouth run dry. “Maybe…maybe I do need somethin’...” It feels like your heart has jumped in your throat. But it wasn’t nerves that made your skin run hot. “Are you…offerin’ me somethin’?”

He straightens in his seat and pulls the balaclava back over the lower half of his face. From the corner of your eye, you watch him tap his fingers against his glass. Just before you think he’s going to end the conversation there, you hear the rumble of his voice from behind the skull-patterned fabric. “There’s a storage room in the back hall, last door on the right. Hardly anyone goes back there.” His tone is almost conspiratorial. “If we go one at a time, less chance of being noticed. We could have some privacy there.” There’s a pause before he looks in your direction, not bothering to be subtle when his eyes move over you. “That’s what I’m offerin’.”

Holy shit.

There was no reason to think he was joking, but you still couldn’t believe it. You also couldn’t believe that you were so desperate that turning him down didn’t even cross your mind. “You’re serious? Here? In the bar?”

He shrugs like the thought is obvious. “Well, you said it yourself: can’t take a bloke you barely know back home.” He leans in again, eyes boring through you. “I promise I’m worth all the hassle.”

Somehow, you didn’t doubt him one bit. You play off the disbelief and hesitation with a scoff, shaking your head. “Yeah, you better be.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you for a moment. You wish you could hear his thoughts or see his face, get some inkling of an idea of what was running through his mind. 

Then he sits up straight, cocking his head in the direction of the back hallway. “Go on, then.”

Truthfully, his impatience had you relieved; at least now you wouldn’t have to be the one to initiate. But that didn’t mean you wanted to be the first to get caught sneaking around the back of the building. “Why am I goin’ first?”

“So I can make sure no one follows.”

“Is that your specialty?”

“Somethin’ like that.” You weren’t sure how to feel about that confession. Just how much sneaking around was a guy like him doing? “Go on.”

You’d marinate the thought later. With a sigh, you slide off of the barstool. Looking at him you find his eyes on the television screen once more. With no reassuring glance or even a flirtatious wink, you set your sights on the hallway in the back of the bar.

You’re relieved to find that no one was waiting in a line outside the bathrooms. At least that would make the sneaking around part a lot easier. You felt ridiculous, like a teenager trying to avoid their parents when they snuck out. But the promise of what could’ve been awaiting you was enough to will you to walk down the dim hallway.

There was a door towards the end of the hall, on the right side, just past the bathrooms. Just like he had said. You didn’t have time to wonder how he knew it was here, or how he knew it was a storage room. But sure enough, after slinking past the bathrooms and quickly pushing the door open, you were greeted with a room full of boxes, cleaning supplies, and old furniture. The smell of mildew made your nose crinkle as you stepped further inside.

It was then you realized he didn’t tell you how long to wait. Your thoughts spiraled from there; What if he flakes? What if an employee comes back here? Each second felt like an hour, your anxiety mounting with every moment you were alone in the stuffy room. You move to an old table shoved in the back corner. A thin layer of dust coats your finger when you run it along the trim.

Your heart jumps when you hear the door click. You were prepared to play the part of a drunken fool looking for the bathroom in case it was an employee, but you’re relieved to see the large figure you’d come to recognize slink through.

“Hey,” you call out to him, casually greeting him like you hadn’t snuck in here under the implications of sex.

His steps are slow as he moves towards you. “Hey.” That gruffness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. The room feels smaller with every step he takes in your direction.

“So,” you sigh, “do you take all your dates to storage rooms?”

“Only the lucky ones.”

He stops just in front of you, closer than he’s ever stood before, making your breath catch in your throat as you look up at him. “Suppose I should feel lucky, then.” You don’t mean to sound breathless, but you weren’t too concerned with appearing composed.

“I’d hope so.”

“I will if you take off that mask.”

You think you hear something resembling a laugh from beneath that skull-patterned fabric. He tugs at the mask and, for a moment, you think he’s actually going to remove it. But the hem only moves to the bridge of his nose, taunting you by not revealing any part of himself he hadn’t already. You must look expectant, or disappointed, because he gives you an incredulous look in return. 

“What? You seemed plenty happy with this earlier,” he gestures towards the lower half of his face, earning an eye roll from you. He scoffs, leaning in and tilting his head to follow your gaze. “If I remember, you couldn’t stop starin’ at me.”

“Fuck off. I liked what I saw.” His teasing made your cheeks feel hot. That same heat thumps in your veins when your eyes meet his again. “...Still do.”

You barely feel the warmth of his fingertips as they graze your skin, tracing your jaw. He was gentle, exploratory, like he was waiting for your approval. When all he got from you was a sharp intake of breath, his thumb ran gently over your bottom lip. 

“So do I.”

You’d chastise yourself for leaning in if you were any more self-conscious. You’d blame the eagerness on the alcohol, or the way he seemed to pull you closer with his hand, but there was no denying the want stirring in the pit of your stomach. Nothing else mattered except making your lips meet. And when they do, all you find is gentle hesitance and the taste of whiskey. 

It was soft and careful, yet completely consuming. His lips were as soft as they looked and moved perfectly against your own. You couldn’t stop yourself from sighing into his mouth and inching your body closer, bringing your hand to his chest and feeling the soft fabric of his hoodie go taut as you curl your fingers into a fist. Afraid he’d move away if you didn’t, you kept your grasp firm and pulled him closer. 

He was the one to close the gap between your bodies. It was like he was waiting for that confirmation that you wanted this. His hands move to your waist as his groan vibrates against your lips. Gentle kisses slowly turn more desperate as both of you breathe heavily. The taste of cigarettes and alcohol is sickeningly sweet on your tongue.

Strong hands move down your body and over your hips. You half expected him to grope you and leave it at that. And while you would’ve been fine with it, you’re surprised when you feel his hands move down to your thighs to lift you off the ground. The sudden movement makes you yelp and gasp into his mouth, fingers clawing at his hoodie to keep you balanced while he haphazardly sets you on the edge of the dusty, wobbling table. 

It’s brash and hurried but it’s exciting. The type of exciting that makes you forget about the dust on the tabletop and the possibility someone could walk in. Nothing else mattered when his mouth was on you, trailing over your jaw with hot and wet kisses that took your breath away. 

“You’ll tell me if I’m too much, yeah?” The rough sound of his voice surprises you, grounding you amidst the overwhelming sensations. 

You nod, running your hands over his shoulders to try and feel the rigidity under his clothes. “Y-yeah, course.”

“Good girl.”

A small kiss is planted on your neck before he pulls back enough to look you over. As your hands fall from his shoulders, he hastily rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie. Not only does the sight of sinewy muscle hidden underneath make your blood pound in your veins, but the intricate sleeve of tattoos on his left arm catches your attention. In any other scenario you’d ask him question after question about each line and symbol. But right now his hands are running up your thighs and under your skirt, the muscles in his arms flexing as he kneads the fat between his fingers. 

The way he groans at your softness makes you throb. He nudges your legs further apart—a movement you would have done on your own volition—and pushes your skirt up as he moves to hold your hips. You lean back on your hands and watch mesmerized as his eyes lock onto the sight between your legs. 

“Pretty pair,” he mutters as his thumbs rub circles against your hips. It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about your panties. “Makes me think you were hopin’ I’d see ‘em.”

Seems like it paid off to overthink every part of your outfit. “Maybe I was.”

“Yeah? Hopin’ I’d see how soppin’ wet they are?” His thumb moves inwards, running over your slit through the wet fabric. The fabric clings to your sensitive skin, proving his point, as does the way you whimper and buck your hips.

“Yeah, that too.”

His fingers hook into the strip of fabric covering your cunt, pulling the garment to the side with a forceful tug. And you swear, even in the dim light, his pupils dilate at the sight. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Two fingers drag through your slit, through that slick that told him just how much you wanted him. His fingertips are rough but his touch is gentle. You gasp when he finds your clit and toys with the swollen bud by circling it teasingly. His lips find yours again with bruising kisses that swallow your sounds as you pant into his mouth. His fingers spread you open, gliding over your cunt and teasing every inch, gathering your slick as he circles your entrance.

Even though he moves slowly, the stretch of his thick fingers is certainly more than you were expecting. You whine as they curl and pump in and out in a rhythm that makes your cunt flutter and squelch with each push. Your head falls back with a moan when he hits something deep inside that sends shockwaves through you. 

His mouth moves down to your now-exposed neck, marking your skin with wet and sloppy kisses. “So fuckin’ wet for me,” his voice vibrates against you. “This is what you needed, isn’t it?”

You hum a broken “mm-hmm”, unable to focus long enough to form a proper response. But it’s that confirmation that has him moving faster and harder until your hips are jerking forward to meet his movements. 

“Yeah, y’couldn’t sit still ‘cause you were achin’ for it.” His free hand cups your face, gently squeezing your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. His eyes are dark with desire and something desperate that bores into you. “Just needed your pretty pussy fucked, huh?”

Your cunt flutters around his fingers at the praise, heat building in the pit of the stomach. Your pants turn into a moan as your breath catches in your throat. “Yes, I need it. I need it so fucking bad.”

His hand picks up speed as he coos a soft “I know, baby,” against your lips. His fingers curl and push just right, hitting every soft spot that makes your toes curl and your cunt tighten. One of your hands flies to his chest to claw at his hoodie as your body begins to tremble.

“Fuck,” you groan, barely able to get the words out, “d-don’t stop…”

“I won’t, love. Not ‘til you cum for me.”

For him. He wanted to see you fall apart under his touch and cling to him like he was the only thing in the world. You’ll care more about the sweetness of the thought when you aren’t stuffed full and moaning in the back of a bar. 

Whether it’s that thought or his touch or the heady mix of both, it’s not long before the muscles in your thighs go taut. Your breathing turns heavier as your moans and whines grow louder on each exhale. If it wasn’t for your subconscious fear of being caught and his need to feel your lips against his own you’re sure you would’ve screamed until the sound echoed off the walls. 

But even if your sounds were restrained, the sensations surely weren’t. That heat stirring in your core spilled over and your cunt clenched around his fingers until all you could hear was soft squelching as he pushed your slick cum back inside. Your thighs trembled and your chest heaved with the effort to catch your breath. It wasn’t until you could see straight against that you noticed the sweat along your brow and the ache in your back.

His fingers slid out, their girth just enough to leave you feeling loose. Before he could even take his hand off of you, his mouth was latching onto your neck for another set of rough and wet kisses.

“Turn around,” you barely hear his gruff instruction over the sound of your own breaths, “bend over.”

Still, you aren’t one to disappoint. You land on shaky legs after sliding off the table, using his sturdy form to balance yourself as you turn around. Your forearms rest against the table as you bend over the wobbling piece of furniture. 

You feel your skirt flip up, the fabric resting along your waist, before his large palms run over the swell of your ass. They’re warm and heavy and you can feel each callous as he kneads the fat in his grasp. He’s not rough, but it’s like he wants to savor the softness he finds.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you cum.” That was enough to make you twitch, but then he runs a finger over the cum-slick fabric of your panties. “Think you can do it again for me?”

You barely muster a nod and an “mm-hmm” before his fingers hook into your panties and pull them down to your knees. His impatience was only riling you up, especially when you felt him spread you apart and groan at the sight. 

“Christ, look at you…” you hear him mutter, the sound accompanied by the jangle of a belt buckle coming undone. 

You could practically feel his stare boring into you, branding your skin with his gaze. You think you hear him spit before a hand rests on your ass to knead your skin again. That hand moves to your hip, holding you firmly in place while the head of his cock glides along your slit and stops at your entrance. He isn’t even attempting to push in and it already has you whimpering. You can feel it—thick and warm and heavy—waiting to split you open. 

“Breathe for me, baby. Just relax.” His voice is soothing, deep and soaked in desire, and it makes your body obey without thought. 

A few deep breaths later and your mouth is falling open in a loud gasp as he pushes in. He moves slow, pausing every time you whine to mutter soft encouragement through clenched teeth. And while his voice was soothing, it didn’t exactly ease the stretch that had your cunt pulsing around him. Nothing had made you feel so full before.

You don’t think you’ll ever forget the way he groans when he’s fully seated inside you. Both of his hands hold your hips tight as he mutters a curse under his breath. Slowly, he starts to move, pulling back only to push in deep. You swear he hits deeper every time, every push forcing the air out of your lungs in a desperate moan. 

“That’s it, you can take it.” His voice was somewhere between gruff and breathless, tense beneath clenched teeth and restrained moans. Your back arches and your hips push back to meet his movements halfway to encourage him to speed up his steady rhythm. “Oh, good fucking girl.”

All you can manage is broken strings of curses and moans. Between his constant praise and the fullness of his cock, you couldn’t think straight long enough to focus on anything except the pleasure shooting through your veins. If your nails were any sharper, you might’ve left claw marks on the table beneath you as you held on.

“Fuck me. H-Harder.” You knew you were being greedy, aching for more every time you accustomed to his pace. But you were still so sensitive from your recent climax; you knew it wouldn’t take much more to hit that high again, especially when his cock kissed that spot deep inside that made your eyes roll back.

“Yeah, you need it harder, baby?” He put up no argument as he moved his hands to your waist for a better grip. He pounded into you with a force that made your legs shake, his hips meeting your ass with an obnoxiously loud sound that you couldn’t care less if anyone heard. “Goddamn, this cunt’s perfect.”

Underneath your squeals and whines are his own moans and growls, each one making you clench around him just to draw another one out of him. Knowing he was as lost in pleasure as you were filled you with pride. 

His hands move up your body, snaking under your shirt, feeling you tense and tremble underneath him. Strong palms find and grope your chest, kneading you eagerly while he bends over you. His thrusts don’t cease even as his lips find your neck.

Soft bites and hot kisses only add to the sensations wracking pleasure on your body. You almost don’t hear him when he mutters against your skin, “Simon.”

“...Huh?”

“Simon.” He repeats, moving his mouth to your ear so there’s no doubt you’ll hear him. “Say it.”

“Si—fuck…Simon…” The name comes out in a moan, something he seems to enjoy judging by the receiving growl in your ear. 

“Atta girl. Now you know what to scream when you cum for me again.”

Your panting lips curl into something resembling a smile. Simon. You were too far gone to recognize the implication of trust behind his sudden openness, but you did know how sweet his name felt in your mouth. And, evidently, it wouldn’t take long for you to mutter it incoherently as your body begins to tense.

Heat and pleasure and everything warm builds in your core with each hit of his cock. He—Simon—mirrors your heavy breaths with his own. He must feel the way you tighten; his fingers dig into your skin so tight it’d probably hurt if your mind was less hazy.

“M’gonna cum—shit, you’re gonna make me cum, Simon.” Your eyes flutter shut, all your focus narrowed to the pleasure between your legs. 

“I know, love. Cum for me, let me feel you.”

His rough and steady pace makes the build-up all the more sweet. When your climax hits, it hits hard. White-hot pleasure shoots through you, making your hips twitch and your legs shake, a breathless cry that you try (and fail) to hold back ripping through the room. Your cunt pulses around his cock, sucking him deeper while he fucks you through the high with much gentler strokes. The obscenely wet sound is accompanied by his groans on every push. 

“Fuck, y’gonna make me cum squeezin’ me like that…”

That was enough to snap you out of your haze. Perhaps a much less restrained version of yourself would’ve let him finish inside you right then and there, but you’ll entertain the thought another time. Still trembling and panting, you force yourself to sit up. “Wait, wait. Pull out, hold on,” you urge, pushing him back with your hand.

He follows your movements, his hands sliding off of your body as he leans back. The emptiness that follows as his cock slips out of you leaves you feeling gaped in the best way possible. Your body aches, sore from the rough treatment and the wobbling table underneath you, as you stumble to your knees in front of Simon. Your eyes immediately land on his cock, a dumbfounded grin you’re sure looks ridiculous painting itself on your lips.

Fuckin’ hell…that was inside you?

It was every bit as impressive as it felt. Thick and heavy and so damn hard you could practically feel it throbbing with the need to cum. No wonder he needed to prep you, and no wonder you felt so stretched regardless. 

“Enjoyin’ the view?” Simon’s voice startles you, bringing your mind back to reality.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding it to your mouth as you lean in. Licking a slow, wet stripe along the underside makes him hiss and twitch against your tongue. You could taste yourself on him, your cum mixed with his musk, and the heady combination made your head spin.

Your eyes flicker up at him, at that mask still obscuring half of his face. “Dunno if I can take all of you,” you admit as your hand glides up and down his cock. “You’re a big lad.”

Simon curses and you watch his jaw tighten as his cock twitches in your hand. “Don’t worry about it. After the way you felt around me, I’m not gonna last long anyway.”

You flash him a smile—a cheeky one that, no doubt, showed how proud that made you feel—before closing your lips around the head of his cock. His musk hits your tongue and fills your nostrils and you can’t help but groan at the taste. The rest of his cock fits in your hand, throbbing under your palm while you stroke. 

“Christ, that’s good, sweetheart.” One of his hands lands on the back of your head. He doesn’t push you down or force more into your mouth, he just rests it there, watching you through heavy eyes. “Real fuckin’ nice…”

You swallow around him, taking more of him into your mouth. His hips buck involuntarily in a movement that makes you gag when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat. He mutters an apology that you ignore, groaning around him as your head bobs and your tongue swirls.

“Fuck, I can’t…” Simon’s other hand flies down to his cock, replacing your grip as he wraps it around the base. “M’gonna cum, baby.”

The way he growls the words makes you hum, the sound vibrating through him. You give one last firm suck as your mouth slides off of him. “Cum on my face,” you utter before you can even catch your breath.

“Y-you sure? Your makeup—”

“M’not askin’, Simon.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He can barely get the words out as he strokes himself, fisting his cock with a lewdly wet sound thanks to your spit and cum coating his sensitive flesh.

You can hear his breath grow heavy, slowly turning to moans as his body tenses. All you can focus on is his face—what parts you can see—watching his mouth as he pants and seeing his brows furrow in pleasure. You think you’d give just about anything to see him like this without that mask on.

His hand stills on his cock just before he mutters a curse and spills onto your face. His cum lands in thick, warm globs across your skin, and you’re thankful he seems to have enough awareness to avoid your eyes. He taps his cock against your lips, spreading his cum just to revel in the sight. 

Simon’s growling breaths steady out as he comes down from the high. “You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he sighs, peach lips curling into a smile.

Your tongue darts out to clean your lips, tasting the unique saltiness that painted them. “You’re not too bad yourself. Simon.”

He offers you a hand and pulls you up to your feet. His thumb brushes against your cheek, collecting some of his spend before bringing it to your mouth. You gladly accept his digit into your mouth, moaning around it as you suck it clean. With a growl and a curse, he pulls you into a rough kiss.

“Next time,” he starts, still panting as his breathing steadies, “how about we go to your place? Then we can have a proper go at it.”

Your heart skips a beat. ‘Next time’…he wanted a ‘next time’... 

“As long as you’re a gentleman and drive me there.” You pat his chest before pulling back enough to readjust your clothing. There wasn’t much you could do about the smeared makeup and tousled hair, but you weren’t the only person in the bar who looked a little worse for wear. 

“Deal.” You can hear the shuffle as he refits his own clothes. Thankfully, the mask doesn’t come back down. “You fancy another drink?”

“Uh…m’not sure, why?”

“‘Cause if you don’t, I can take you home right now if you’d like.” You meet his eyes and he matches your smile with one of his own.

“Deal.”

[shtholee]

Always in all ways. (read with this song in mind) (Warning: angst, breakup, emotional distance, regret. No happy ending.)

The sky was gray the day he left.

You stood at the airport, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, like it was the only thing holding you together. Sae’s suitcase was already loaded. His boarding pass printed. Everything was in place—because that’s how he lived his life. Methodical. Calculated. Every step thought out in advance.

Everything…except you.

“I’ll come back,” he said quietly, staring at you with those distant sea-green eyes. The ones you used to feel so safe in. The ones that never flinched, never faltered. Except now, they didn’t quite meet yours.

You smiled, you still smiled for him. Even when it hurt, something within you is telling you to just stop him. Make him stay here-- with you. “I know.”

But knowing didn’t make it easier.

He left. And you stayed. He chased his dream. And you waited. And waited. And waited.

Spain swallowed him whole. He became someone you only saw through headlines and scoreboards. Itoshi Sae scores again. MVP. Rising star. You watched every game. Every interview. Hung onto every clipped sentence he spoke in press conferences, searching for any sign of you in them. But there was nothing. Not a single word about you. Not a single word at all. Does he still care for you? Is this a mistake? constantly waiting for him like a dog without it's owner.

Your calls slowed. His replies turned from hours to days. And when you finally said, "I can’t do this anymore," he only answered with silence. And you let go first, even though it felt like dying. He was already gone anyway.

Two years later, he comes home. He steps off the plane in Tokyo, the same one he boarded back then, and the air feels heavier. He’s won trophies, signed endorsements, lived every piece of the life he swore he wanted.

And yet.

And yet.

He finds himself standing in front of your apartment door. The place he memorized so well he could have found it in his sleep. He raises his hand to knock but lets it fall back to his side. Because he knows.

You won’t be waiting behind it anymore.

But his mind is cruel. It plays the same loop over and over. Your laugh, soft in the back of his head. The way your fingers brushed against his when you held hands in public. The way you whispered "I’ll wait for you," like you actually believed he was worth it.

He pulls his phone out. He still has your number saved. He doesn’t call. Doesn’t text. He types something out and erases it three times before leaving the screen blank.

Because what could he say?

"I miss you." "I was wrong." "I thought I had time."

He closes his eyes. He sees your face, clear as day. The look in your eyes when you let him go. The way you smiled even when it broke you.

And suddenly, he’s not the one who left. He’s the one who’s lost.

In Spain, he was always running forward. But here, standing on this street in front of the life he could have had, Itoshi Sae finally realizes.

You were always home.

And he’ll never get back to you.

That's that-- should i make a 2nd part?

[writeoffside]

DOCUMENTS AND DESTINIES, part six

♯ battinson!bruce wayne x fem! reader - 6/?

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX

summary: Continuation of Documents and Destinies — Ciphers, early mornings, meetings and new assistant. Bruce's days are turning upside down and everything is going another direction that he had planned. His assistant is here to save the day, though.

warnings: none

info: english isn't my first language, i apologize in advance for all the mistakes (if there are any!)

a/n: yes yes yes i know i'm taking my absolute best time publishing all chapters... i may have or may have not been writing another fanfic for another fandom, which is doing far pretty good! but ofc battinson is here, i love him <3 hope ur gonna like this

Bruce finally descends the steps down. Coming down, where Alfred is sitting at a table nearby. As he goes down, he is still shirtless. Fresh from the shower. He tugs his shirt on as he nears the man.

As he neared Alfred, he noticed the paper he had in front of him. He immediately recognized the picture on top of it. It was the cipher, which he had printed yesterday. Bruce eyed the page, coming from behind Alfred. He noticed that he had already wrote in new letters, filling in the empty gaps with newly discovered symbols and letters he hadn't seen or noticed before.

“Some fresh berries there…” Alfred said without looking up, motioning to the little old-fashioned bowl next to him, full of berries. Blueberries and raspberries peeking out

As he steps closer, Bruce squints as the sun hits his eyes. He looks up at the sun and shakes his head, pulling out a pair of black dark sunglasses onto his face.

"What are you doing?" he mutters, picking up the small bowl of berries. Popping a few into his mouth.

Alfred takes a deep breath, "just reminiscing about my days in the Circus. This is actually quite... elusive."

His finger grip the edges of the paper as he lifts it off the table, in front of him. Staring down at the decripthed parts, which newly added letters.

Bruce furrows his brows as he notices the additional letters, "where did you get those o's?"

Bruce then leans closer to the man and the paper in front of him. Pointing at the paper, where the letters are penciled in with a bright white colour.

Alfred kisses his teeth and leans back, his pen now pointing down at the other page he also has. It was a frozen screen-shot of Bruce's eyelenses, from where he stared down at the letter sent to him. Where the riddle laid and so did the answer. He lies still.

"He lies still is only a partial key. It only gives us H, E, L, I, S and T... So I'm looking for any double symbols to start, trying letters, see where it leads..." Alfred then points his pen at the letters he added onto the other page, in his hands.

"That's interesting," the younger man says, staring down at the page through his black sunglasses.

The sound of a heels clicking pulls both of them from the staring at the cipher.

They both turn towards the sound in an unison. An older woman, Dory, stood at the doorway.

"Mr. Pennyworth," she said.

"Yes, Dory?" he politely answered the woman.

"The accountants are here," she replied again, her voice firm and calm.

“See them in, please, Dory,” he said with a short nod. He started folding the cipher page neatly before tucking it under other papers. Alfred glanced down at the cipher and the frozen image from Bruce’s lenses for a brief moment and then turned back.

Dory nodded politely and her heels echoed again as she walked off, leaving the two men in the enormous towering room in a deep silence once more.

Alfred then stood up, taking the other papers with him. Bruce plopped few more berries into his mouth.

"Also, Bruce... Your assistant is there as well. I called her this morning," Alfred turned to the younger man, whose eyes widened beneath the dark glasses. You both had called together last night, he had asked you if you had made up your mind about the position, and true to Angus' words, you said yes. Alfred then asked you, the most polite way, if you could come to work the next early morning, as some accountants are coming in for a meeting. He very obviously knew Bruce wouldn't have the documents which were much needed for the meeting itself to go smooth. Or even to have the meeting happen.

"Alfred."

Alfred did not say anything back and just walked towards the doorway, where the older woman stood a few moments before. Bruce shakes his head and mutters something under his nose.

Alfred glanced over his shoulder, "also, you could’ve dressed formally.”

Bruce looked down at himself, at how he was dressed. He had a black shirt, loose black pants. Very comfortable to him.

“It’s my house,” he said simply, shaking his head. Moving just behind the older man. Alfred sighed at his words.

They turned through the doorway, into the room, where muted conversation and the quiet rustling of paper was heard through the slightly opened doors, from where the light was peeking through.

Alfred entered first, Bruce just behind him. There were two men, accountants, who were seated. One was an older man with brown, but greying hair, staring at the other man seated next to him. The other one was also an older man, a bald one with what looked like reading glasses perched on top of his nose. He had the urge to snap at the the men, as they sat. It wasn't like he allowed the two men to sit on his chairs. In his home. Then Bruce’s gaze moved past them.

He saw you.

And his breath hitched.

You stood with perfect posture. Standing next to the older woman, Dory. Speaking with her with a soft smile. Sleek black tights were tight around your legs, a very short skirt and a brown sweater-jacket that clung softly to your shape. Your heels were sharp and dark. You looked different from before.

Bruce didn't even give a spare glance to the men who were sitting and moved from behind Alfred. Straight towards you. The two men noticed Bruce and abruptly stood up. Both of them quickly straightening their suits. Ready to shake the man's hand. But he moved straight towards you, as if he had tunnel vision pointed straight at you.

"Mr. Wayne—"

Both of the men started to greet him. Scrambling to their feet from the chairs they were so comfortably sitting on at. Bruce then walked right past them, his glasses-hidden eyes pointed on you, as you were speaking with Dory. Then you turned just as he neared closer.

You tilted your head, a small greeting smile on your lips, "good morning, Mr. Wayne.”

He stopped right in front of you, his sunglasses reflected your image. His jaw worked once, and then again. Like he was about to say something, and then changed his mind.

"Morning."

His voice rumbled deep from his chest. Dory chuckled and turned away, leaving you and Bruce alone. The two accountants hovered behind Bruce, standing by the table, still with their hands outstretched. Confusion and awkwardness painting itself onto their faces. Both of them waiting for acknowledgment, now glancing at each other in confused silence.

Alfred came closer to the accountants. Outstretching his own hand to them, introducing himself to the two confused older men.

"First day duties?" Bruce asked you, voice low.

You smiled up at the man, "of course. Thank you so much for—"

"Don't thank me. You deserve it," Bruce cut you off.

Then you did something. You reached out and touched his arm. Just a gentle, guiding hand on just upper his elbow, your fingertips brushing the fabric of his shirt.

Your touch sent a spark through the skin beneath his clothes. His mind went completely empty, blank. Muscles tight beneath his shirt, he was all but frozen, caught off guard. It felt as if a wildfire started in deep of his chest.

With the same confidence as before, you turned gently, your fingers on his upper elbow, guiding him towards the two accountants. Then your fingers slipped away and he felt as if the entire world disappeared. He followed you without a word and with no doubt in his mind.

As you and Bruce reached the table, the two accountants quickly straightened again, clearing their throats awkwardly. Both of them reaching their hands forward towards the man in black.

“Mr. Wayne, it’s an absolute honor. We’ve recieved your response to the files that we've sent over and—” the bald man started enthusiastically speaking. His hand then clasped around Bruce's and in a firm grip, he shook it so quickly. His arm still felt tingly, from where you've touched him.

The bald man let go of Bruce's hand and then the other man reached for it. Shaking it with the same enthusiasm as the other one did, his finger digging into his hand. The man was treating him like he had met a king, a some kind of hero. Bruce felt an urge to roll his eyes at him. The man then launched himself into talking about a summary of the files, which, Bruce did not even read. Nor did he even see them. So, he just nodded along. Alfred was the one, who sent the response back. Who replied to them and who had hosted this meeting under Bruce's name. The bald man spoke about a sort of a long-term project, which Alfred quickly took a lead in and spoke instead of Bruce. Thankfully.

You all sat at the table, The two accountants on the right side of the table, while Alfred sat right opposite them. Bruce sat beside him and you were sat about two seats down from Bruce, keeping your distance, but listening every word.

Bruce was sat in the chair very comfortably, leaned back slightly, one arm rested along the edge of the table, the other on his knee. His sunglasses remained on, staring at the two men in front of him. But his attention was just partially on their speaking, his eyes glided few times towards you beneath the dark glasses.

"—some of it is routed through different layers and companies. Many were sent in under names we’ve never seen before. This has been going on for years," the bald man slid a file over to Alfred. Bruce wasn't listening, the words just flew over his head.

The accountants resumed their report again. They were growing more confident now that the focus had shifted to the two of them.

"—we have gone through the newer updates, which were recently added. There are few gaps in them, which indicates that they weren't—" the brown-greying man chimed into the conversation.

But even as the room moved on, Bruce’s thoughts didn’t. He could still feel where your fingers had touched his arm. Just a slight short touch.

The accountants had asked few more questions. Alfred had offered them answers and slid them over pages, documents and other informations printed on the white sheets.

"We’ll finalize the report and send a full breakdown by the end of the week,” the bald man said.

“And just... Just use a secure line,” Bruce said, already rising from his seat, which made both of the accountants quickly stand up as well.

“Yes, of course,” the bald nodded many times and quickly, "thank you for your time, Mr. Wayne.”

The men gathered their things and once again reached Bruce to shake his hand. He uninterestingly shook their hands, then they shook hands with Alfred. Both of the men did not even flicker their gaze over to you, not even interested in shaking a hand with you. Then both of the men exited the room, offering polite nods to Dory, who opened the door for them.

"You handled them well, Alfred," muttured Bruce as he watched the doors click close behind the two men.

“Well, you do not like meetings.”

Bruce's expression barely moved, but something flickered on his face. He sighed loudly, "I don’t like wasting time,” he said.

"Well, Mr. Wayne,” you said, tone even, teasing but not unprofessional, "so, what do you say? Am I a good assistant?"

Before Bruce could open his mouth and answer, a voice from behind him spoke, cutting him off.

"You were brilliant," Alfred spoke with the softest voice, "if you didn't get the files for me. I'd be lost there."

Bruce’s gaze flickered to Alfred, then back to you. A beat of silence passed before he spoke, "you did all of them?”

You nodded once, "yes. Last night. I pulled the latest archives we had. Half of their documents were out of date, actually. As well misfiled.”

"You are brilliant," Alfred repeated once again. A big smile adoring his older features.

Bruce stopped. He narrowed his eyes at you and then at Alfred, and then he spoke what nobody expected, "what if she worked out the cipher?”

There was a beat of silence. Then Alfred choked. Actually choked. Nearly falling over.

He coughed into his sleeve, eyebrows shooting upward as he turned to fully face Bruce, "What? What are you talking about? The cipher? The one—"

"Yes, Alfred."

“I said she was brilliant, yes, and she is,” Alfred shook his head, "but that doesn’t mean you hand her the murderer's bloody cipher like it’s a Crossword from the Gazette!”

You looked between the two men, eyes wide and confusion all over your face, "what are we talking about?”

"—she wouldn't say a thing," Bruce chirped in, his voice steady.

"How are you so sure?" Alfred narrowed his eyes and raised his voice a bit.

Your brows furrowed, still confused, "I really don’t know what’s going on..."

Alfred muttered under his breath, still baffled, “Bruce. Stop this nonsense…”

Bruce turned fully now, sunglasses catching the ceiling light. He raised his hand and his finger pointed straight you, "you are going to follow me. Now.”

You glanced at Alfred, whose lips were parted as if he still wanted to protest or say something against this whole situation. Then you looked back at Bruce, whose expression was unreadable underneath the glasses.

"Alright..." you muttured, your heels clicking as you moved towards Bruce, who was stalking through the opened doors.

You and Bruce walked to the room, where both the men were before. Where the printed papers laid on the table. Alfred was just behind you, as well stalking to the room, where the papers were.

Bruce took out the papers and put them in front of you. One where the cioher was and one where the answer to the riddle was. It was bright red, and there was scrawny writing on the paper.

“I trust you.” He finally looked at you, "and I need your eyes. You are clever."

You heard Alfred mutter something under his nose, but you stepped closer to the table, where the papers were laid out. You reached for it, your fingers brushing against the edge of the paper. Your eyes squinting down at the cipher.

"We have H, E, L, S and T. And this is the cipher," he pointed at the paper with his finger.

"Remove all other symbols,” you said certainly, your finger tracking the many symbols on the paper in front fo you.

Alfred made a small scoffing sound behind you, "what?”

You didn’t even look back at the man who spoke, "yeah. Just remove them. The ones we already have, H, E, L, S, T, they’re forming a word. The rest are just a noise around it. The message is in a plain sight.”

Alfred took a step forward, “but if we remove the rest—”

“We’ll see it,” you cut in, not letting the man speak his words, because you knew you were in fact right, "the answer is already here. He just wants you to be distracted by the rest of it, you know?"

Bruce's gaze was sharp on the paper in front of him.

"Wait here,” he said suddenly and then he turned on his heels and strode out of the room, leaving you with confused Alfred.

Alfred gave you one last, wide-eyed look and followed, hurrying after him with short, but pretty quick steps, leaning against his cane.

You stood in the middle of the room beside the table, where the cipher half-written with random letters laid. The known symbols spelling something that you couldn't figure out amongst all the other symbols. You looked down again. Furrowing your brows as you looked over it again.

You didn’t sit. You felt odd in this room, you didn't feel like sitting. You just waited, standing there, you looked around as well. There was an electric guitar on the floor near a huge speaker, that amused you. A bowl of berries was there as well. And a huge chandelier hanging above. The dining room itself was huge, the ceiling high above you. The decoration was aesthetically appealing to the whole tower.

Then, after you don't even know how long; you heard both of them walking back. Their footsteps echoing louder and louder until they reappeared in the doorway behind you.

And before you could even say a word to them, Alfred came straight to you. Or at you.

He grabbed you, his arms wrapping tightly around your shoulders, lifting you a little off balance, his voice breathless as he suddenly loudly exclaimed.

“You are... Bloody hell, you are fucking brilliant!” his arms wrapped around you so tightly.

You froze for second. Absolutely stunned. Alfred Pennyworth, the man who was so polite and professional, when you first met him when you had your meeting, was now hugging you and as well unprofessionally cussing.

Your arms came slowly up. You hugged him back awkwardly, patting his back. An awkward, a bit confused smile on your face. Unsure what to do in the moment.

"Um... Thank you?" you didn't sound so sure what to say.

"Alfred," Bruce's deep voice came from behind the two of you. Low and amused sounding.

Alfred finally let go of you, glancing back at Bruce. Alfred awkwardly coughed into his arm and turned away from you, pink colour rising to his ears quickly. There was a faint grin tugging at the edge of Bruce’s lips. He was amused of this whole situation. Then what took you by a surprise was the chuckle he let out.

Bruce Wayne actually chuckled.

"What does it say?" you asked the two men. They exchanged a glance, unsure if to tell you.

"Drive," Bruce muttured.

"Oh..." you trailed off, confused on what it means, "also what is... this? Why did you need to solve this cipher?"

Bruce stopped. His heart nearly skipped a bit. Alfred next to him casted him a glance. His eyes widened a bit more than before. Bruce turned his head to the direction of Alfred, facing him, his jaw shifting slightly. He then swallowed and turned his head towards you.

“A killer left this,” he finally said, those words made you drop your mouth, "at a crime scene yesterday.”

You blinked, realized what he meant, "at the mayor's place?”

He nodded once, his eyes not moving from you. You shook your head, mouth dropped slightly. Taking it all in. But something hung in your mind and you just had to ask the man.

"Why do you have that, though?"

At those words, nearly everything stilled. Quieten down. Everything froze, everyone froze.

Alfred turned slowly towards the younger man with his eyes wide. He didn’t speak, didn't utter a word. He stared at the younger man, as if he waited for an answer as well. Bruce didn’t flinch at your question. He didn't look away, didn't advert his gaze. His face was unreadable underneath the pair of glasses. But his silence was loud. You furrowed your brows at the two men, confusion rising even higher now. The older man then sighed, realizing that if he didn't intervene, the younger man wouldn't do as well. The younger man knew he wouldn't get the words out himself.

“She should know,” Alfred said under his breath, his eyes digging into the younger man's profile, "she already saw this," he pointed to the papers on the table.

"But—"

"And she is your assistant after all, Bruce," Alfred added, his eyes keeping themselves on the younger man. A small shift in his jaw as he stared ahead at you through the dark shades. Then, his mouth parted just slightly and then closed, as if he was calculating what he wanted to say. Preparing the right sentence, the right words. Then, his mouth opened and the words left it.

"The card, which the riddle was in, was addressed to me," Bruce finally spoke.

"To you?" you asked, tilting your head slightly.

"Yes. On the card was written who it was for," he replied again, his voice low.

"But... But in the news, they said that it was addressed to the Batman..." you trailed off at the last words, your mind working.

Then as if it clicked in the right place, your eyes widened. You didn't speak, you didn't ask anything else after that. Your eyes flickered from Alfred and then to Bruce. You were nearly at loss of words. You couldn't believe this absolute nonsense that he was telling you. He was not being serious. You didn't know if you should listen and believe or just defeat the sound of his voice and believe that it's all just made up. It didn't feel right. It didn't feel possible. It sounded like a dream, a more of a nightmare.

"Mr. Wayne—" you started but you were cut off by his voice.

"Bruce," he cut you off.

"Bruce. What— Whatare you trying to tell me?" you corrected the name and tried to ask the man with an awkward laugh. You feel like you knew what he was trying to tell you, but you just had to ask. To get the actual words from his mouth. To hear what you were curdently wrapping your mind and thoughts around.

"You do know what I'm trying to tell you," Bruce reached up and slid his dark glasses off, his eyes finally meeting yours. He folded them and gripped them in his hand.

"You're..." you trailed off again, his eyes boring into yours, now glasses-free ones.

"The Batman."

Your breath got caught in your throat. You stood still, staring at the dark-haired man in black in front of you with no expression in your face. You did not know what to show, what to say. You were lost in your own thoughts. You felt overwhelmed. The emotions were flooding in your chest, you felt like you just gained a new emotion. Yo tried to organize it all in your head, but nothing could move into the right position.

"You're joking," you let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. You step backwards and look around the room and then back at the man in front of you.

He simply stares back at you. His expression doesn't change.

"You're being serious..." you say after a few moments. The silence pressed tighter around you. Alfred was shaking his head, staring at the younger dark-haired man in black.

You think of what to say next. You have questions flooding your mind like a storm from every corner of your mind. You have hundreds of them. But one specific one escapes your lips.

"So... Are you killing me next because I know?" you said it too quickly, nearly stumbling over your own words.

“What—”

“No! Why would we—”

Both of the men spoke at once. Alfred’s voice sounded out with urgency. As if he was the scared one. Bruce’s voice sounded nearly as confused and nearly disgusted with the idea. They both looked confused. The confusion literally writing itself onto their faces. Both of their expressions in alarms.

"Don't be ridiculous—" Bruce breathed out, but Alfred cut him off.

"Absolutely not. That's not how this works. I am alive, am I not?" Alfred said, his voice a bit raised. As if he wanted you to believe him, to let you trust him on this.

"Okay," there was a beat of a silence.

"It's... Um? A lot of to take in. I really have no idea what to say," you finally admitted, you had questions. Many of them, but you didn't know if you wanted to hear the actual answers.

"I know," Bruce said, slightly nodding his head.

"What do I do now? Now that I know you're... Him?" you did not want to say the name out loud, it didn't felt right at this moment.

"You can help us. You're brilliant, as I've said," Alfred smiled at you, his fingers tapping against the wood on his cane.

"Okay," you replied after a few seconds.

"Okay?" Bruce rasped out.

"Yes. I'll help," you replied and nodded, staring at the dark-haired man. The older man, Alfred, smiled at you, his smile lines visible on his older face near his cheeks.

"I'll have to speak with Gordon. I've got an idea where this leads us next," Bruce spoke and glanced over his shoulder at a clock on the wall behind him. It was definitely a bit older one, dust collecting on top of it.

Then he turns back, staring at Alfred who is about to speak, "I have to speak with Dory about a thing or two that the accountants have mentioned. I'll leave you two."

Then he bid you a goodnight and a smile and waddles to the doorway and disappeared through them. The sounds of his footsteps disappearing as well, going deeper into the never ending house's hallways.

Then a two words broke the silence when the footsteps are no longer heard.

"Go home," the younger dark-haired man said quietly.

"What?" you blinked, raising your eyebrow upwards

"Go home," he repeated.

"I'm going to to Gordon in a few. We'll have a look on something. I have an idea what the cipher mean," his words ringed out in the room. His gaze lingering on your face.

"Alright, but if you—"

"Please," he whispered gently, softly. A small plea.

"Okay."

His gaze dropped for a fraction of a second, then returned to yours. He stepped forward, "stay safe… please.”

Those words slipped through you, down deep into your heart. Stitching themselves with a red string. Your eyes softened and you gave him a small smile.

"Goodbye, Bruce."

You gave him a short nod and walked just around him. The smell of your perfume hitting his nose as your figure just passed by his side. Your heels clicking against the floors, sound echoing through the whole room. He stayed frozen, staring ahead. He watched your shadow disappear with you through the doorway, leaving the same way Alfred did.

He knew where this could lead him, he is falling. Not into a dark hole. Not a cold one. It was is different. It is colourful. It is something soft, warm. Something he had not felt before. The scent of your perfume lingered under his nose, the sound of your voice lingered in his ears, the image of you lingered in his mind. He was slowly driving himself insane. He had a mirder to solve, to find who had so disgustingly and maniacally killed the mayor and he could not turn his mind away from a person he knew for such a small amount of time.

He wasn't really ready to hit the end of the hole he was falling into. He did not know how it would feel, what it would bring. It wasn't a crime fighting, it wasn't solving murders, it wasn't brooding in the dark night dressed as a known crime fighter of Gotham. It was something new to him. Unknown.

He wasn't ready to hit the bottom and become something, or someone, so different than he is now.

The thought terrified him.

thank you sooo much for reading! comments and feedback are always appreciated!

give it some love if u liked it thank u <3

[streetlightyeri]

the misspoken chapter ; scott miller

chapter I of the 28 series

“you took a train to the south side of boston, you showed me where your old man stayed.”

w.c: around 7000

warnings: misogyny, extended writing of being trapped in an elevator, mention of pregnancy in medical setting, not well proofread.

-

Aspen rested her head on Scott’s shoulder as the Red Line railcar thundered back up across the Charles River. His arms were folded across his chest for the beginning of the ride, but his sleepy girlfriend had wedged her arms through his, intertwining her fingers into the hand closest to her. He busied his other hand with grabbing the sliding tupperware of leftovers her parents weighed them down with. It was a short train trip; Scott wasn’t sure how she was able to fall asleep and get so comfortable so fast. It must’ve been her plan from the moment he saw her heavy blinks after dessert.

When they finally got to their stop, he flexed his hand she was holding before shaking it, the movement making her grumble and lift her head. He pressed a chaste kiss to her hair before standing, her arms still wrapped around his. “This is our stop.”

She stood and let him guide her back to the street where the cool air started to wake her up. He let go of her hand to reposition himself on the outside; he flexed his hand in the absence of hers, but her warmth found him again quickly, without him having to ask.

They finally made it back to their shared apartment, their soon-to-be alma mater shining in the distance.

-

The two met when she overheard him bitching at an undergrad she was just helping about how he messed up a line of code and didn’t deserve the second chance to correct his homework for something as simple as a parenthesis. When the student asked what he could do to learn from his mistake, Scott looked through stacks of paper and pulled out a piece with lines of letters and numbers printed on it. “Find whoever this is, and hope they have pity on you to teach you.”

Aspen scoffed from behind her computer screen, recognizing the paper. She never understood why they had to print out coding homework, but Dr Muher was weird. Scott’s eyes narrowed in her direction; the other two students using Dr Muher’s TA’s Study Hour quickly gathered their things and bolted out the door.

“I’m sorry, is another student’s struggle funny to you?”

Aspen stopped typing and shut her laptop as though she had all the time in the world. She interlocked her fingers and rested her chin on them. “No, just that you’re using my work as an example and you don’t even know what I look like.”

Scott looked between the paper and the girl and before letting out his own scoff. “Yeah, I will not believe this is your work.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Why not? Please enlighten me.”

“This is too advanced to be a junior’s work.”

“This is a junior level class, is it not?”

“Yes, but-”

“The name on the paper is Aspen Lee, is it not?”

The TA’s hand tightened around the paper in anger at being defied.

She stood, palms resting on the table. “Why don’t you say what you’re thinking? That it can’t be me because I’m a girl. You’re the TA, why is it my job to teach my peers? I know the army doesn’t pay you shit, but that isn’t my fault. You don’t see my name on a fucking building here, and I’m not making it someone else’s problem.”

She zipped her backpack and wrapped her laptop in her arms. Just before she was out of the door she turned back, hand on the doorknob, “And by the way, his work is missing a bracket, not a parenthesis.”

-

A few weeks later, after very fiery glances being thrown between the two, Dr Muher called the two to her office hours. She sat with perfect posture as she looked across to the two biggest headaches of her entire teaching career, both with their arms crossed and scowls set deep in their faces. “I will not have my TA and my highest performing pupil glaring each other down every second of my class! I do not care what animosity you have for each other, but your rivalry is causing a rift to form in my classroom. You will both give apologies in front of the class for the way you two have behaved.”

Scott went to speak, but the stone coldness of Aspen’s voice lowered the temperature in the room, “No.”

Dr Muher pulled her head back in a mix of surprise and disbelief. “I’m sorry Ms Lee, but did you just say ‘no’?”

“I’m not apologizing when this is his fault.” She jutted her thumb in his direction.

He let out a groan, “What are you, five?”

Aspen rolled her eyes and swallowed hard, standing from her chair and throwing her bag over her shoulder. The professor held her hand up to Scott, warning him to stop, before turning her gaze back to Aspen, freezing her in place. “Ms Lee, I will not tolerate the environment you two have created in my classroom, you must understand this.”

Aspen’s voice was throaty, years of anger seeping into her words. “Why is it me who always has to ‘understand’? And speaking of ‘understanding,’ I thought you of all people would! You are the only woman on this goddamn computer science faculty, you know what it’s like having to prove yourself, downplay yourself, humble yourself, just to make the very essence of you palpable for the men in this field. You’re trying to tell me my work was good enough to rub in another student’s face until he saw that it was me who did it? And you expect me to just lay there and take it? I will not apologize to my peers for something that is not my fault, especially when I have yet to hear an apology from him! And if proving the point that the woman always gets the worse end of the deal requires me failing this class, that is something I am willing to do.”

-

Seven days later, Scott had not apologized and neither had Aspen. She was missing from all three following lectures. Just seeing her name as he transcribed attendance from everyone’s clicker made him grip his pencil to near breaking. After that third lecture, Scott was sitting at his desk in Dr Muher’s office, grading freshman coding assignments. He nearly threw his laptop after the 4th student in a row couldn’t make a circle turn 360 degrees. When Aspen walked in, he pressed the 0 key on his keyboard so hard that the student’s grade input as 000000000/10 and tanked their grade to a negative seven.

Her backpack hung off one shoulder, and she had a single piece of pink paper in her hand. She didn’t acknowledge Scott as she handed the paper over to the professor.

Dr Muher pulled her glasses off her head and perched them on her nose, pretending as if she needed to read what the paper said to know that the Pepto Bismol pink paper was a drop slip. She dropped the paper on her desk with a sigh, “Ms Lee, you are aware that dropping my class this close to the end of the year will impact your financial aid and your transcript?”

“This class isn’t even for my major, I took it as a free elective.”

The professor blinked, rubbing her eyes with her thumb and forefinger, “Remind me again why you are taking junior level C++ and are a . . . what major?”

“I’m here for coastal engineering. My programs are in MATLAB and Python. I just needed the A from this class. I’ll get it elsewhere. So, can you sign the slip?”

Dr Muher sighed again and sprawled her signature onto the slip. When the door shut behind Aspen, she turned to Scott, pointing in the direction Aspen disappeared to with the end of her glasses. “Fix this.”

-

The first flurries of winter were falling around Aspen as she made her way across campus and into the student union. The snow was a month early; it was only the beginning of November. It was early morning, the first class section still multiple hours away. She paid for a coffee and redirected herself to the elevators to go to the study rooms on the top floor.

An irritatingly tall man in a military uniform walked up next to her, freshly showered but still flushed from a workout. “May we talk?”

Aspen gave him a side glance, refusing to turn to him and have to look up, continuing to walk down the breezeway. “No.”

That made him falter. Scott pursed his lips and took a deep breath, summoning all of the patience he never knew he possessed. He took two steps to catch up with her, shoving his hand in the door of the elevator she had already made it to. His teeth were grit as he spoke, “Please, may we talk?”

“Why, Dr Muher threatened to give you a bad review to your Lieutenant?” She made eye contact with him through the mirrors that surrounded them as the elevator slowly ascended.

“You have to be such a dick all the time?”

Aspen finally looked at him, eyebrows lifted and eyes widened as if to say “oh, I’m the dick?” but couldn’t finish her sentence, the jolting of the elevator before it stopped prevented her from finishing. The fluorescent light above them flickered; the two turned their heads up towards it. “You have got to be fucking joking.”

She was nearest to the buttons, the two having left enough room for a squadron of kindergarteners to stand between them. Aspen pressed the open door button, hoping the stop was a fluke and the pair just hadn’t realized they were already at the 3rd floor.

The door did not open.

“Shocking.”

Aspen swung her head to glare at him. “And if we pressed the emergency call button and hadn’t pressed that, what would we have done if that was the fix?”

Scott narrowed his eyes back at her, shooing her away from the buttons. She tried to resist but his arm pushing her backwards against her shoulders was too strong and she stumbled to the corner he just vacated. His finger hovered against the emergency call button. “No smart comment about how I might tell whoever answers that there’s only one person who needs help?”

“What would they do when they came? Pry open the doors to get you out then snap them back shut and cut the cable line to let me fall to my death?” Aspen swiped open her phone with her free hand but only an SOS signal shined back at her.

Scott mumbled out a Jesus Christ at the morbid quip before pressing the button. The two sat in tense silence for a few seconds before a voice cracked through an unseen speaker. “University Police Department, what’s your emergency?”

“This is Staff Sergeant Scott Miller, a civilian and I-” Scott saw Aspen mouth civilian to herself and quietly snort out a laugh, “are in an unmoving elevator in the student union breezeway.”

Aspen rested her head against the wall with her eyes closed while he continued the call. The mirrors reflecting off each other creating infinite Scotts was too much for her to handle.

“Please prepare to be there for up to multiple hours, as we need to ensure there is nothing wrong with the wiring due to the weather. It is pertinent that you do not open the doors from the inside; the elevator may resume working on its own and can be deadly if one of you is caught between a floor and the elevator.”

The voice clicked off just before it could hear the two of them say, “Hours?”

Then the light went out.

-

It took only a half hour for Aspen to suck her coffee dry and begin to lose body heat. The breezeway elevator shafts were connected to the outside, meaning whatever temperature was outside translated to the inside. The box was slowly becoming an ice locker. Scott was still warm, fully dressed in his three uniform layers that kept in his body heat from his post-workout shower. Aspen looked through her bag multiple times, hoping to find an extra scarf or gloves but was out of luck each time. She breathed into her hands and rubbed them together before putting her hands in her armpits. She kept her head down to blow warm air onto herself.

A camouflage jacket hit her body before falling to the floor. She looked at Scott, who was sitting on the opposite corner of the elevator, feet planted and knees up. She lifted a brow in question.

“Put it on so you don’t die of hypothermia. If I get saved and you’re dead, the military police are going to have my ass.”

-

Aspen was still shivering under Scott’s military jacket. The metal of the elevator was absorbing more of the cold air from outside and turning the cube into a certified meat locker. She pulled out her textbooks and stacked them on the floor so the two of them could avoid putting their cores near the cold metal. She didn’t want to admit that it was Scott’s idea, but he had little to offer for them to sit on aside from cold, sweaty clothes in his duffle bag.

She curled into his jacket, trying to seal in any warmth left from him. Her knees were pulled to her chest and she dipped her head to meet them so her hot breath warmed up her skin through her pants.

After a few minutes, Scott noticed a decrease in her shuddering breathing movements. He nudged her side. “Are you still alive, Lee?”

She let out a grumble. “Yes, Miller. I think I am alive because if I was in hell, it wouldn’t be this cold.”

He snorted, “Going to hell, eh?”

She peaked out of her cocoon, only one eye visible to him. “If I die and you’re there, then yeah, I’m in hell.”

-

“What were you going to say?” Aspen asked, her voice muffled.

“What?”

“What you were chasing me to say.”

Scott sat in the silence that followed for a while. “I wanted to apologize.”

She pulled her head out the cocoon she made, brows knit in surprise.

It looked like it pained him to say it, but Aspen could tell there was sincerity in his words. There was no need for him to be as truthful as he was being. “I was an asshole to you that day in study hour, but I feel like you put words in my mouth. It made me angry - livid, so I figured if you saw me as the bad guy, I might as well let myself play the part.”

“What words?”

“You said I inherently valued your work less because you’re a woman - it isn’t and never was true. I knew that whoever Aspen Lee was, she was a woman, or at least identifying as one, according to MIT’s gradebook. The part that I couldn’t believe was that you were already there, helping him. I heard the way you spoke to that student, the way you pointed out his mistake but didn’t make him feel bad for it but didn’t baby him either. You knew that you were right and were unapologetic about it, but not mean. I’ve spent my entire time in the STEM field learning to cope with being belittled and scolded for a mistake. I think it’s why I do so well in the army - it’s the same shit.

“The company I work for outside of the military wants me to recruit talent in coding, C++ specifically. When I first saw your work, I thought you had to be a graduate student. I think that belief, that refusal to admit that someone younger than me could be so good at something I do day in and day out, prevented me from finding you. I’ve been trying to figure out who you are for months now. Dr Muher refused to introduce us, said something like we were too alike and would either bite each other’s heads off or . . .” Scott trailed off and cleared his throat, blinking away whatever memory came with what he just said, “All of that being said, I understand why you took what I said the way you did, especially here, at this school, but I would never devalue someone’s work based on their gender. What you heard in my voice wasn't misogyny. It was jealousy.”

A sudden wave of guilt washed over Aspen, causing her to hide her face again. She spent so many hours burning with hatred over him only to be wrong. “I guess I’m so used to being seen as someone who’s here to meet a rich man then do nothing with my degree once I graduate that I struggle to see people’s true intentions. And, there’s nothing wrong with doing that, but I’m just so tired of people seeing me and thinking they know my future while my male peers get asked what their aspirations are. Dr Muher is such an inspiration for me, and I felt so betrayed by her, like she was doing exactly what everyone else had. When I was in elementary and high school, I was in a STEM magnet school, and I felt so out of place, but when I’d go visit my grandmother in Oklahoma over the summers, I felt like I couldn’t belong there either. So, I’m sorry for my reaction. I think a lot of my anger was projection. But I am not sorry for the emotions I felt after."

Scott nodded, taking in her words. He extended a hand, “Truce?”

She wiggled her hand back into the sleeve of his jacket and shook it. “Truce.”

-

The door creaked and the elevator rumbled after a man shouted what Aspen thought was gibberish or possibly a German sneeze. SNECF. Her head shot up while Scott was already fully up and standing. She followed suit. The doors started to pry apart, the butt of a crowbar sticking out; whoever was prying was grunting with the amount of force it took. Scott kicked his steel toe boot into the crack the man made and positioned himself to push one side out, forcing the mechanisms in the elevator to open the other as well. The face of a plump man in a fire suit peered down at them. He was belly down on the ground, only a small sliver of the elevator was open to the 3rd floor. The rest of the door was blocked by the shaft.

He reached his hand out and waved her up, “Come on, Miss. We’ll get you up first.”

She abandoned her belongings but tried to take the jacket off herself to hand back to Scott but he shook his head, nodding in the direction of the fireman. “Least of my worries right now, come on, get up.”

She understood this was not a time for joking, nor was she in the mood for it, watching as Scott held open her only exit with his body. Aspen lifted her hands and the man took hold of her forearms, pulling her up with the help of another fireman. When she made it out, she felt like she entered a sauna. The heater on the third floor was working overtime, and she was thankful for it. She breathed out a sigh of relief, but her brow knit when she noticed the man who helped the fire chief get her out pick up an industrial fire extinguisher and take a few steps back from the elevator.

All she could see was Scott’s head, but through a tiny sliver of mirror she had access to, she saw a million versions of Scott take a shaky breath and reposition himself in the elevator doors, starfishing himself through them, palms out against the doors. Aspen looked between the two firemen, one who was not helping and another who was face to face with Scott and only held a crowbar between the doors. She quickly made her way over to the doors, but before she could grab a door and help keep it open, the man with the fire extinguisher grabbed her by the oversized jacket and flung her into the opposite wall with his full force. Her temple collided with the drywall, the thin material crumbing around her head as she collided with the stud. Scott leveled him with a glaze that Aspen couldn’t tell was anger or thanks. “If you two aren’t going to help, at least let me.”

“It is too dangerous, Miss.” The man who grabbed her said.

“You guys said you wouldn’t get us until it was clear.” She rubbed at her temple, grimacing as she pulled back and saw her hand coated in red.

No one responded.

Scott hoisted his legs up, holding the doors open with nothing but his hands and the crowbar, his knees rising to his chest. He took a second to breathe before lifting his legs to the patch of floor and sliding his body out, belly down on the floor. The second he let go, the doors snapped the crowbar in half with a ferocious thunder. Then the elevator fell down the shaft with a deafening crack, leaving a gaping hole in the wall. Aspen quickly wrapped her hands around Scott’s bicep, helping him off the floor, opting to not mention the bloody handprint she left on his shirt.

“Jesus Christ, you’re freezing cold.” Aspen immediately shrugged off his jacket and tried to hand it back to him. He dug in his pants pockets and pulled out a cloth, pressing it to her temple, hard. The two firemen were calling in the rest of UPD and whoever else the school deemed in need to handle the fallen elevator. The man who flung her earlier took position at one end of the hallway while the chief took position at the other to direct any passersby away.

He grabbed her by the shoulder with his free hand and walked her away from the gaping elevator shaft. He finally took his jacket from her as she took over applying pressure, sliding his arms through and trying not to react as the smell of cherry vanilla perfume filled his senses and as though there wasn’t a patch of her blood on the collar. Scott barely had time to zip his jacket back up before a man rounded the corner, shouting Scott’s name and title. It was clear he knew who was speaking; his feet shot together as he pivoted, his posture correcting itself, his chest puffing out, and his hands coming to his side.

Aspen took a step back as a man in his mid fifties approached. When he was about 6 steps away, he spoke again, “At ease, soldier.”

Scott’s hands came to rest behind his back and Aspen averted her eyes. It felt weird seeing Scott so obedient, so tame. Her wandering eyes found the elevator shaft; if she focused she could feel the cool breeze coming up it. It was pitch black in the gaping hole in the wall, the other elevator sitting pretty and untouched. No doubt there was caution tape already put up in the breezeway. She was certain that there would be crazy rumors about the incident on the school’s YikYak page.

But as she stared at the shaft, all her brain could play was different imagingings of Scott pulling himself out of there a second too late and going down with it. Her mind conjured up scenarios that made no sense: him headless, him bodiless, all different ways of him dead. All because he let her out first. She must’ve been staring for a while because when someone touched her arm, she blinked hard and turned to see Scott looking down at her. 

“Sergeant Miller, bring this lady to an urgent care. No school affiliated doctors.” He turned to walk away but hesitated, turning back to Scott. “Get yourself checked too, while you’re there. Report back to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

She tried to protest, but his commanding officer had turned to another soldier who came up, giving orders.

“You okay?” He glanced between her and the elevator shaft.

She gave a half-hearted smile and nodded, “Yeah, yeah, I think so. You really don’t have to bring me to urgent care. I’m fine. It’s just bleeding a lot because it’s on my temple.”

He pursed his lips, eyes flickering from hers to the drywall dust sitting in her hair and the roll of blood down her cheek. He didn’t think she was aware there was a strip of blood on the exposed stud. “I cannot ignore an order from a commanding officer.”

-

The urgent care physician had eyes the size of saucers when he was taking down the reason for this visit. He started with Scott who kept a clenched jaw and flared nostrils nearly the entire time. He received a clean bill of health and a hand written and signed note stating he was allowed to continue duty as needed. Aspen on the other hand was given a doctor’s note excusing her from classes for the rest of the week for a minor concussion, only after a few too-nosy questions.

“I do want you to avoid screens and long periods of staring at boards and notebooks, so I’ll write a note excusing you. But Miss, are you pregnant?”

“I was stuck in an elevator for four hours, not an orgy.” Aspen was annoyed. She had already told the nurse that she was not pregnant and had to deny a urine test.

Scott let out a choked sound in the back, but the doctor pushed. “Exposure to the cold for that long can have an effect on a fetus. Are you positive you’re not pregnant?”

Aspen let out a scoff of disbelief. “Exposure to the cold that long can have an effect on me. How many times do I have to say I’m not pregnant until I’m believed? So unless you’re about to get on your knees and pray over my virgin womb for the second coming of Christ, then just write the fucking note.”

Scott gave her the keys to his truck once the doctor finally discharged them. He swiped his card as she climbed into his passenger seat. He joined her a minute later, their printed visit notes in hand. He handed her hers and she glanced over it and snorted before reading out loud, “Miss Lee presents to the clinic today with complaints of a possible concussion and extended cold exposure. Voiced complaints of mild double vision, ringing in bilateral ears, and nausea. Denies any slurred speech. Upon examination has poor eye tracking ability and has laceration on left temple. Cleaned and bandaged.”

“Sounds normal.”

“Yeah, until: Patient is argumentative and vulgar. Pregnancy status remains unknown.”

Scott took his hand off the gearshift, turning to her. “No way.” He’d glanced over his report earlier and the doctor had referred to him as ‘pleasant,’ something he hadn’t been called since his great-grandmother was alive.

Aspen held out the paper for him.

“You’re sure?”

She let out a belly laugh, shaking the paper for him to grab, “I think we were one more ‘are you pregnant?’ away from you watching me have a pap smear. No, I don’t care if you look.”

Scott looked over the report, “I’m taking you to a different urgent care.”

She waved her hand to dismiss the idea, adjusting in her seat to try and escape the beaming sun that came from behind a cloud. He reached out and pulled down the visor before producing a pair of sunglasses. “I’m fine.”

“If MIT sees this, they’re going to try and weasel out of any blame. You need to see a doctor that isn’t going to write off valid points as you being argumentative.”

She inspected the sunglasses, trying to tell if they were actually going to stop UV rays. “If MIT wants me to piss in a cup to prove my unborn child didn’t stop the elevator, I will. But right now I just want my bed.”

“You need to see a-”

She turned to him, fast. “What I need right now is to be alone because quite frankly everytime I see your face my brain plays the sight of you almost dying this morning all because you let me out first. I am holding onto my composure with the thinnest thread of humor right now. Please just take me home.”

She turned back in her seat and put the sunglasses on, hoping it would hide the welling tears in her eyes. Scott didn’t quite know how to react, so he just let her direct him to an apartment building near campus. When he parallel parked, she took a deep breath and went to take the sunglasses off.

“Keep them.”

She lowered her hand back down. “I just realized all of our stuff was in that elevator.”

“I’ll see if anything was salvaged and see if I can get it to you. You have a way to get in?”

“Yeah, my roommates don’t have class until 10, so at least one should be there. I’m in that one.” She pointed to a window on the 3rd floor with a Christmas tree in the window despite the fact it was nowhere near the season for it. A beat of silence passed. Aspen couldn’t find the courage to look at him. “Thank you. For everything, I-”

He held his hand out. “Don’t.”

More silence followed that Aspen didn’t know if it meant she was to leave.

“See you next Monday?”

She gave a small smile before nodding, “Yeah, I guess see you next Monday.”

-

She was freshly showered and no longer smelling like Scott Miller’s stupidly attractive cologne. She swiped open her phone and lowered the brightness, busying her mouth with biting her thumb nail, and typed in what she hoped was the spelling of what she now knows was a command.

SNECF

Nothing besides a few Polish articles about sunscreen.

SNECF command

Nothing aside from dog training and a targeted ad about Polish sunscreen.

SNECF military

Jackpot. But in a bad way. Aspen locked her phone when she saw it and processed what it meant. 

SAFETY NOT ESTABLISHED, CIVILIANS FIRST. This command is given amongst first responder and military personnel when a situation may be dire or serve as a threat to life and/or property, but civilians are present and informing them of said situation may cause panic that would worsen or in some way prohibit the ability of personnel to adequately perform safety evacuations or further assessments.

-

She saw Scott before the next Monday. He knocked on her door three days later. One of her roommates opened the door and waved him in. He wasn’t sure if that meant this girl had no sense of self preservation or if that meant Aspen had explained what he looked like - or possibly even shown the horrible photo of him on the MIT ROTC webpage - to them. The apartment was clean, if a little dilapidated. They had a small Roku TV as the centerpiece of the living room, a tapestry of a shirtless Marvel or DC or some other superhero pinned above the couch with thumbtacks. The area above the cabinets in the kitchen were decorated with empty liquor bottles. It reminded him of the house he shared in undergrad. “She’s in the room with the pink door.”

Sure enough, down the hall, there was a room with a hot pink door decorated with My Little Pony stickers. It didn’t seem to match any of the other door styles in the apartment and didn’t fit in the doorframe currently. The edges of it were sawed and sanded down poorly. He knocked.

Aspen’s voice responded. “Why’d you knock? Just come in.”

Scott assumed she thought he was one of her roommates. It wouldn’t have been fair to walk in. “It’s Scott.”

Shuffling ensued, but after a few moments the door opened to Aspen, still dressed in her pajamas. She gave an uneasy smile, “Hi.”

Scott held up her backpack and smirked, his dimple popping, as he tapped her door with his knuckle, “Hi Pinkie. I was able to convince UPD to give your things back from evidence.”

“My roommate’s boyfriend fell through my door, and I got the Landlord Special. Be careful, Pinkie Pie will give you a splinter.” She took her bag from his hand and opened the door more to let him in. She sat on the edge of her bed, motioning for him to sit wherever. He opted for her desk chair. Aspen pretended to not notice the way his legs spread and his arms crossed. “UPD has an evidence locker?”

“It was mostly confiscated scooters, but yes.”

“God, the only thing UPD does that benefits this campus is infiltrate the scooter gangs. I shouldn’t have to fear for my shins walking to class.”

“They do also save people from elevators.”

She snorted, still sorting through her bag to make sure everything was there and undamaged. “The fire department did that.”

“Then the fire department threw you into a wall so hard you cracked the drywall and got a concussion.”

“My mother would classify that as a symptom of my hard-headedness.”

“She’s got that right.” He muttered. Scott was met with an attempted pillow to the head. Instead, it grazed him and knocked down her pencil cup. He pivoted in the spinny chair to clean it up and to gather his thoughts as he was once again clouded by her scent. He should’ve just given the backpack to her roommate and left, but no - he needed to see her. And good thing he had.

“Just know that hit the other you I see.”

His brows furrowed. For a mild concussion, she should’ve been far on the mend by now. The weeklong excuse was liberal to ensure she was fully healed. “Still have double vision?”

He turned back to her after putting the cup back in order. She shrugged, placing her laptop back in its home at the charging dock on her nightstand. “Nothing worse, just continuous symptoms. double vision is only for stuff not in front of my face, though.”

“So most things on Earth?”

She placed a finger to her lips and shushed him. She went back to looking through her bag, squinting at different items such as chapstick and lip gloss. The room was only illuminated by a floor lamp by her bed, casting the entire room in a warm glow. That response wasn’t good enough for him; he stood from his spot and walked over to her, arms crossed as he hovered over her. When his shadow cast over her, she looked up, head tilting all the way back to take him in. He held a small flashlight in his hand that he produced from one of his many pockets. “Hello?”

“Let me see your eyes.”

She jokingly tucked her hair behind her ear. “At least buy me dinner first.”

“Aspen.”

She gave a little pout but repositioned herself so her feet were touching the floor as he widened his stance to bring himself closer to her. He reached a hand out but stopped short of her jaw. “Are you okay if I touch you?”

She nodded, too nervous to give him her usual snarky comeback. She had curled herself into his jacket in a broken down elevator and was half asleep in his passenger seat after the urgent care, but this was somehow the most intimate moment the two shared. His hand was warm and calloused, rough against the skin Scott was sure she had a 10 step skin care regimen to maintain. He turned the small flashlight with the other hand to the lowest setting he could manage. He slowly ran the light over her eyes, watching her left pupil fail to shrink, staying wide. He tried to ignore the two butterfly bandages on her temple. When he finally let her go, she could barely see his jaw tense amidst the white splotches in her vision from the light. She blinked and looked around the room, trying to escape the splotches but they followed wherever she looked until they dissipated a few moments later.

“You need to go to the doctor again. A real office, not an urgent care. ER preferably.”

She huffed, “Not this again.”

“Really? ‘Not this again?’ Your concussion is bad. You need a CT scan.”

She laughed out loud at that; his expression stayed serious. She held her hands out around her room. “I can’t afford to live in an apartment where I have a normal bedroom door. You think I can afford an ER visit for them to tell me that I need to rest for the next couple of days?”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“What? No. I’m fine. And speaking of-” She reached to dig in her bedside drawer, producing a wad of twenties. She held it out to him. “For the urgent care copay.”

He shook his head, his arms crossed across his chest. “It was $60 dollars. And I’m definitely not taking your money for it when I think that doctor’s a total quack.”

She ran a hand through her hair, “Please take the money, Scott.”

“Not unless you go to the ER.”

She leveled him with a stare. “I’m not saying this to be difficult. I do not think I need to go to the ER. My symptoms haven’t gotten worse, just persisted, which isn’t unheard of from what my Harvard premed roommate tells me. They check on me periodically and make sure I haven’t asphyxiated in my own vomit. Please just take my word.”

He took a deep breath through his nose to ease his emotions. He didn’t understand why he was so concerned about this girl he considered his number one pain in his ass a mere 4 days ago. All he said was “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a business card that had his name and ROTC office phone and scribbled his personal phone number on the back and placed it on her nightstand, next to a full glass of water and a pack of gum. “Call if anything happens.”

She blinked at him, reclining back on her palms on the bed. “Where do you get these things from? A cloth, then a flashlight, now a business card? And you kept your wallet in your pocket and not in your duffle bag that day. Very convenient. Very Mystery Mousekatool of you.”

“It’s called being in the military. Everyone should have that on them, sans business card.” He took a seat back at the edge of the bed, showing he was only staying for a few more minutes.

Aspen nodded. “Speaking of being in the military, why’d you join?”

“As you so eloquently put it, my name’s not on a fucking building. And Kansas isn’t really known for its rich families who can send their kids to MIT as legacies.”

She sighed, understanding all too well. She readjusted to recline against her pillows. “Too bad you didn’t get stuck in an elevator before the recruitment officer found you. I got a refund check for the semester’s tuition already, along with a promise of all-costs-covered for the next three semesters.”

He sat with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “You civilians have it so easy. I got a letter stating it was a ‘hazard of the job’ for me, so they will be providing a refunded copay for the urgent care visit that may take 6 to 8 weeks to process.”

She had to suck in her lips to keep from laughing out of shock. The two talked for another few minutes, Scott skirting the topic of what he reported back to his commanding officer (there was no way he was going to tell her that his captain asked how his “girlfriend” was doing and when informed that they were in no way a couple, was told “she should be - she makes you a lot nicer”). They got a few more subjects in before Scott noticed her responses getting slower and mumbled, her eyes fluttering open and closed, fighting sleep until she couldn’t. He quietly stood and turned her lamp off, making sure not to touch the edge of the door before he shut it behind himself.

The same girl he saw earlier was still in the kitchen, prepping her dinner. Another girl in maroon scrubs sat in the chair at the bar, a piece of pizza in one hand as she scrolled on her phone in the other. Both girls glanced at him when he closed the door before making eye contact with each other, having a silent conversation that Scott knew was about him. He figured if they were already talking about him, it didn’t hurt to interject. “Has she been doing okay?”

The first girl pointed her knife at the girl in scrubs, deferring to her. She put her pizza slice down in the box. She nodded as she finished chewing. “Yeah, for the most part. But if her symptoms stay this prominent for another day or two, I’m taking her to the ER.”

He raised his eyebrows, feigning as though he hadn’t tried to talk her into going a few minutes earlier. “ER?”

“I’m more concerned about the vomiting and nausea. She can’t keep anything down. I’m scared she’s dehydrated.”

“If she needs to go, call me, my number is on her nightstand. I’ll take her. I can tell them what happened.”

She tried to subdue her lifting brows and growing smirk. “Will do.”

Luckily, Aspen was on the mend the next day, her vision combining into one big picture again and her nausea slowly subsiding. She was back in class the next Monday and back in Dr Muher’s class for the first time in a while. Students murmured when she walked in, but settled quickly. She gave Scott a smile and took her usual spot four rows back and eight seats in. As Scott graded papers during the class, he found himself searching the faces of the massive class, continuing to land on Aspen’s, except instead of trying to incinerate the other with their gazes, she gave a small smile before turning back to the lecture. After everyone filed out, Dr Muher walked over to his desk, her heels clicking deafeningly on the tile floors. “I told you so.”

Scott fixed her with one of his famous glares.

She held up her hands in mock surrender. “Just remember what I said, you’ll-”

He shooed her away with his hand. “‘-either bite each other’s heads off or get married.’ Yeah, yeah, I remember.”

[pascallftv]

Girl Next Door— Part 3

Previous Part Series Masterlist

Summary: Joel invites you over for dinner and you watch a scary movie together.

Word count: 2.8k

AN: This had me kicking my feet and twirling my hair BAD

The drive down the road to Joel’s house consisted of your mind rerunning the events over the past few days. You over analyzed each touch, conversation, and even the way Joel looked at you. Consider it delusional, but you had yourself convinced that maybe your infatuation wasn’t one sided. The memory of Joel wrapping around you from behind to show you how to tear down the tiles replayed the most. Surely there was more to that interaction, you had thought to yourself. More so, you considered what your intentions were for the evening. Your plans to watch a movie could be harmless. The truth was you were lonely at the house alone, and you could only imagine how lonesome Joel got living by himself, so watching a movie together would lessen both of your times’ alone. However, there was a voice at the back of your mind laying out the potential to make a move on Joel.

Sure, the idea of being able to finally touch Joel in the way you wanted sounded captivating, but the consequences of your actions could be detrimental to the progress you’d made so far with him, and even ran a hazardous line for he and your father’s friendship. You fantasized about the sheer chance of Joel accepting your advances and everything working out perfectly when breaking the news to your father. It seemed within reach to you, but also so unobtainable at the same time.

After parking your car in Joel’s driveway, you tucked one hand into the pocket of flowy sweatpants, with a tote bag in the other containing a couple of movies that you’d picked out. For being a summer evening, the temperature had cooled off and you were a bit chilly with just a white camisole on your top half. Joel’s porch light was on, illuminating the steps and front door. You were nervous. It felt like the nerves before a first date, although this interaction was far from that. You lifted your knuckle and knocked on the door. After a few moments, the door opened to Joel wearing a pair of dark gray sweatpants paired with a black t-shirt. The outfit was very different from his usual attire, but damn did he look good. His muscular biceps and forearms were on display, as well as his tanned complexion.

“Hi.” You said, adjusting the tote bag over your shoulder. Joel’s eyes trailed down to take in your outfit as well. Your thin, yellow sweatpants flowed down your legs, and your tight, white camisole with lace details didn’t leave much to the imagination. The chilly evening air left your nipples erect, the fabric of your top peaked around them. Joel swallowed hard, his eyes falling upon yours before you caught him lingering on your chest for too long.

“Hi.” His gravelly voice responded, stepping aside to let you inside. His house was surprisingly decorated and very cozy. The walls were off white, and the foyer accommodated a beautiful dark green cabinet. The rug beneath your feet was an aged maroon with an extravagant bohemian print. A gold framed mirror was hung on the wall above the green cabinet. Joel’s attention to decorative details shocked you. You slid off your slip on shoes and sat them adjacent to a pair of Joel’s shoes against the wall. The aroma of cooking food wafted into your nostrils, the smell making your mouth water.

“I grilled some marinated chicken. The garlic potatoes are finishin’ up in the oven.” Joel explained, leading the way into his living room that was connected to the kitchen.

“It smells amazing, Joel.” You said, your eyes wandering, still observing the interior of his home.

The living room was just as breathtaking as the foyer. There was another bohemian rug across the dark, polished wood flooring. In front of a flat screen TV was a brown sofa and an aged wooden coffee table that matched the flooring.

“Your house is beautiful.” You spoke as you entered the kitchen. The tantalizing smell of the food was more intense, and you couldn’t wait to try his cooking. Joel looked back at you and smiled.

“Why thank you, darlin’.” He responded, grabbing an oven mitt off the counter, using it to pull the pan of potatoes out of the oven. He placed them on the stovetop next to the chicken breasts that looked grilled to perfection.

“I didn’t take you as a cook.” You said, stepping closer to steal a look at the food Joel prepared.

“It’s always the ones you least expect.” He said, reaching into one of the black cabinets to grab two plates. After dishing out a piece of chicken and some potatoes, Joel handed you one, then grabbed a fork and knife out of a drawer for you.

“I poured you a glass of wine, I wasn’t sure if you drank so I got you a glass of water too.” Joel explained, glancing over at the dining room table. It was a small, dark wood table and chairs with black cushions. The colors of his house felt like home somehow. In the center of the table was a clear vase with yellow flowers. They appeared to be flowers from the field behind your houses. For being such a gruff man, Joel’s house was delicate and cozy.

“I do love wine.” You chimed, following him to take a seat at the table.

You picked up your fork and knife, cutting into your chicken. You popped a piece into your mouth, and nearly melted at how amazing it tasted.

“Joel, this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” You gushed. Joel looked up at you from his own food, a smile toying at his lips.

“You sure do know how to flatter an old man like me.” He teased, taking a bite of his potatoes.

“I can’t believe no one has tied you down yet. I mean shit, you can cook, you’re an excellent builder and decorator.” You rambled. “Not to mention, you’re very easy on the eyes.”

Joel watched you with wonder in his eyes as you spoke. God, you were everything.

“If you find the answer, be sure to let me know.” Joel conceded, taking another bite of chicken. After he swallowed, he knitted his brows and rested his arms on the table. “You know, I could say the same for you.”

“Is that so?” You raised a brow, sipping on your white wine.

“Well, look at yourself, darlin’.” Joel gestured towards you. “You’re young, beautiful. You’re intelligent. What else could a man want?”

You swallowed hard, running your tongue over your teeth. You couldn’t decipher if he was simply being nice or if there was an underlying reasoning behind his words. You cleared your throat and chuckled softly.

“You’re blowing sunshine up my ass.” You said, poking a potato with your fork and bringing it to your mouth. Joel chuckled and shook his head.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” He insisted. You felt your cheeks flushing. You ate in comfortable silence for a moment, your thoughts running crazy. You felt even more delusional after Joel’s words.

“So I brought over a couple movies. I have the original Halloween and the first Scream.” You changed the subject.

“I haven’t seen Scream in a while.” Joel imputed, taking a swig of his mixed drink that appeared to be a Jack and Coke.

“Then it’s decided.” You winked.

When you both finished eating, you helped Joel pack away the leftover food into Tupperware containers. Even his refrigerator was organized. You helped put your dishes in the dishwasher before you both retired to the living room to put on the movie. You brought your glass of wine with you, placing it on the coffee table. Joel grabbed the movie from you, setting up the movie while you got comfortable on the sofa. After your conversations at dinner, your nerves had practically evaporated. You felt much more comfortable and less like you needed to act a certain way to impress Joel.

You watched his back flex underneath his black t-shirt as he leaned down to put the disc in the DVD player. You longed to run your hands down his back, feeling every curve and muscle of his back.

It was dark outside now, the only light source being a lamp that Joel had turned on. He walked to the couch, reaching behind you to grab a large wool blanket. He sat down beside you, your legs being only a few inches apart. Joel placed the blanket over both of your laps, and grabbed the TV remote off the table to click play on the menu to start the movie.

“This is going to give you nightmares, isn’t it?” Joel spoke, looking over to you. Your legs were curled up into your chest on the couch cushion, you pulling the blanket up over your arms.

“No.” You said with a smirk, looking from him back to the TV. “I’ll probably be scared shitless in that house by myself though.”

“A scary movie was a terrible idea.” Joel sighed, resting his arm over the back of the couch.

The first kill of the movie played across the screen, and Joel startled beside you. You turned to look at him, your mouth parted in surprise.

“Maybe it’s you we need to be worried about.” You teased, reaching over to squeeze his leg. His head snapped over at your touch. You turned back to keep watching the movie, but Joel’s eyes lingered on you. Your touch made him feel crazy. The power of your fingertips was enough to make him melt entirely. His eyes lowered to your plump lips, the shadows from the TV dancing across them. Your gaze was locked on the movie, not even paying attention to how you had Joel caught in a trance.

Strategically, Joel decides to lean forward to take a swig of his drink, coming back down to sit even closer to you. Your thighs were touching under the blanket now, his arm falling behind your head to rest on the back of the couch again. You glanced down to observe your close proximity. Your legs were still tucked up on the couch, so your knees were practically on top of his lap.

You continued to watch the movie, but you weren’t really paying attention. Your eyes followed the images flashing across the screen, but your brain wasn’t comprehending anything. All you could focus on was how good it felt to exchange body heat with Joel. You wanted to cuddle into his side, but you couldn’t find the courage to do so. Little did you know, that’s exactly what Joel longed for you to do. He wasn’t paying attention to the movie either. Likewise, he was fighting every urge to drape his arm across your shoulders instead of the couch.

As the movie progressed, a jumpscare happened, and you jolted and covered your eyes. Without thinking, you leaned into Joel’s side. He looked down at your head pressed into his chest, and he lowered his arm to wrap around you, his hand squeezing your arm gently.

“Holy shit, I even expected it too.” You muttered, leaning your head back just a little to peer up at him. Joel stared back into your eyes, the emotion in them unreadable. Joel reached his free hand up hesitantly, brushing your hair back out of your face. Goosebumps rose on your skin, your eyes flickered back and forth between his eyes, searching for any hint of emotion.

Joel didn’t speak. His thumb was working soft circles on your arm while his other hand lingered in the hair by your face.

“Joel.” You whispered. His eyes flickered to yours.

“Hmm?” He muttered gruffly.

“Kiss me.” You exhaled. Joel stared at you for a moment, his eyes dancing between yours and your lips. He furrowed his brows as he considered.

He was fighting himself mentally. If there were zero consequences, he would’ve kissed you way before this moment, but there were so many obstacles with taking things to that level with you. Would it make things awkward between you? Would you realize he was too old for you? What about your father?

Joel’s hand moved to your jaw, his thumb running gently over the soft tissue of your bottom lip.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Joel asked softly, the pad of his thumb still on your lip. You nodded, your hand reaching up to cup Joel’s face. His complexion was rough and tanned with wisdom, the crow’s feet by his eyes deepening with the perplexed expression on his face. You ran your fingertips over his beard, ghosting them slowly over the gray patches.

“Use your words, sweetheart.” Joel cautioned. You stared up at him, your fingers venturing into the hair by his ear. Your gaze flickered down to his lips, then back up to his eyes.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to.” You assured him, your tone smooth.

Your words were all Joel needed to hear. He leaned down, his lips softly pressing to yours. Your eyes fluttered shut, your fingers moving deeper into Joel’s salt and pepper hair. The kiss was sweet, the taste of the white wine on your lips mixing with the savory flavor of the Jack and Coke on Joel’s. Your bodies pressed together, your chests flush against each other. Your gut was swarming with electricity, Joel’s arm dropping to your lower back to press you closer to him. He craved you closer. Your tongue darted to brush against his bottom lip, a gentle whimper leaving his mouth, leaving enough of a gap for you to slip your tongue inside.

Joel’s hand lowered to your ass, pulling you up onto his lap, deepening the kiss further. Joel wound his hand into the back of your hair, his fingertips massaging into your scalp lightly. You placed your hands on either side of Joel’s face. You broke away from his lips, lowering your mouth to his jaw, peppering gentle kisses there, then moving to the rough skin of his neck. He exhaled deeply, leaning his head back into the couch, opening up more skin for you to press kisses to.

In that moment, the both of you knew you were playing with fire. You were at the point of no return. The intense infatuation reigned champion over the moral dilemmas that troubled your subconsciouses. The desire you felt for each other took precedence of any sort of reason about the reality of the situation.

Joel’s hands ran down the warm skin of your back as your lips ventured back to his. Your tongues danced together, Joel’s hips rutting up against yours. You felt him hardened underneath you, and suddenly reality swarmed your thoughts. A kiss was one thing, but the thought of moving further scared you. You wanted nothing more to be intimate with Joel, but it felt too soon. You wanted to take your time with him.

You pulled away from the kiss, resting your forehead against his, your warm breath fanning across his face. He ran his hands from your back to your hips, running them slowly up your sides.

“God, you’re beautiful.” Joel whispered, pulling away to gaze into your eyes. He brought a hand up to brush the pad of his thumb across your cheek. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the supple skin of your cheek, then lowered his mouth to your neck, breathing in your sweet, vanilla scent. You breathily moaned, intertwining your hands behind his head, pushing your breasts together.

“So so pretty, honey.” He murmured, his mouth ghosting over the soft skin of your breasts, his fingertip tracing over the peaking fabric from your nipples. Your brows taught together, your lips parted at his gentle touch.

“J-Joel I want to—” you began, “but it’s too soon.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Joel reassured you, lifting his hands to cup your face, pecking a soft kiss to your lips. “I’m just enjoyin’ tasting you. I don’t want to rush anythin’.”

Your belly fluttered, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. You bent down and kissed him again, this time with a little more pressure. You couldn’t verbally tell him how you felt about him, but your kiss told him everything he needed to know.

“Stay tonight.” Joel spoke against your lips. “We don’t have to do anythin’, just want to be with you.”

You nodded emphatically, running your hands through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Okay.” You muttered breathily.

You lifted yourself off his lap and sat back down in your spot next to him, this time cuddling into his side. You couldn’t hold back the smile that overtook your lips.