#i love them but god i wish it had just been wrestling

[kissesfrombangtanatnight]

Roman Reigns: "Go ahead, touch it." (Part I)

Warning: Explicit language

Roman. "Girl, I can't believe you refused to kiss that man. It's just one little kiss. What harm could it do?" Your best friend and co-worker, Bianca Belair, teased as you and she walked, arm-in-arm, down the corridors of the building. Tonight, you were filming yet another episode of Friday Night SmackDown to yet another sold-out crowd.

You roll your eyes as your heart skips a beat thinking about your meeting with the creative team earlier that morning alongside the Bloodline. See, you were currently one of the hottest WWE stars on the roster so of course it made sense that you somehow found a way to connect with the hottest faction in all of wrestling history, The Bloodline. You've been a part of WWE for over ten years, having made history throughout your career. You were always prepared for a challenge, no matter what came your way. However, nothing could prepare you for what Hunter (aka Triple H) had requested of you just hours ago during your meeting with the Bloodline.

What was the tough challenge he assigned to you? Well none other than forming an on-screen relationship with The Bloodline's leader, the Head of the Table, the Tribal Chief himself....Roman Reigns.

Why was this such a hard task for you? Well, it's simple really...you have no experience when it comes to men...especially hot ones like Roman Reigns. I mean...the guy looked like God himself took his time crafting him in his mother's womb. He was fine as hell and aged like fine wine. You'd be lying if you said his presence didn't intimidate you. And it didn't help that you've always had a crush on him since you debuted in NXT the same year, he and fellow Shield members, Dean Ambrose and Seth Rollins, debuted. I mean, how can you not?

When he first debuted as the quiet "Muscle" of The Shield, it was no surprise that women were all over him, especially after finding out he was single. Back then, women would fall to their knees for him if he asked them to, and now, it's only heightened since his transformation into his Tribal Chief gimmick. The ladies were like moths to a flame when it came to him. Which you hated because you wished you had the confidence to even approach him and say hi, yet you didn't. Instead, you'd sort of sit on the sideline and watch as different women went in and out of his locker room, often sporting a fucked out look of exhaustion, satisfaction, and accomplishment. Why just a couple of months ago you watched, shocked, as the newcomer on the SmackDown roster, Jade Cargill wobbled out of his locker room only minutes before the show started. That's just how easy it was to fall to the command of the Tribal Chief.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Why the hell would you have a crush on a man like that? A player like that. You didn't know but the innocent woman in you couldn't help but wonder what it felt like to be with the Tribal Chief in such an unwarranted predicament. Underneath him. Screaming his name like the sweetest of song lyrics. But then again, the common sense in you wanted nothing to do with being just another woman in his bed. You've obtained one of the best, if not the best, reputations with not only the WWE Universe but your co-workers and fellow staff and you refused to mess that up with your curiosity about the Tribal Chief.

"Did you hear me?" Bianca says, knocking you out of your thoughts, as she momentarily stops walking to glance at you.

"Huh? Oh yeah....I heard you. But girl, it's simple. I just.....I don't want a love storyline right now. I've never had a love storyline in my entire career, so I was just a little shocked when Hunter said he wanted me to start working closely with Roman. I mean, it's an honor considering Roman is one of the top, if not the top, stars in the company, but.....I don't know. Plus.....I.....I've never even had my first kiss so it would be a little awkward. And I want my first kiss to be speci-" Bianca cuts you off by yelling.

"GIRL WHAT?! You've never had your first kiss?!" she exaggerates as you quickly put your hand over her mouth to shut her up. The last thing you needed was for people to hear your conversation.

"Girl...tone it down. And no...no I haven't. Sis, you should know by now that I keep to myself. I don't socialize like that. So no, I never dated." You sigh as you shrug, and resume walking down the halls to get to the catering room. You were starving and your stomach was growling.

"Girl...I knew you were an introvert, but I didn't know you were like that. Damn girl....so you're a virgin? Which means you ain't ever got no di-" you cut her off.

"Girl...uh-uh. Don't use that vulgar language around me. Plus, it's not like it's a bad thing....right? I understand people around my age (27), who usually have already been in relationships and had sex and whatnot. Hell, most have already had their first kiss, but I don't know. I've never had that experience before. So...when I do, I just want it to be special. Not because my boss told me to do it. You know what I mean?" you say as Bianca quietly nods.

"No...I get it. Your first kiss can either be a magical experience or dreadful. Thankfully, Tez made up for the terrible kisses I've experienced in my past." Bianca giggles as you both smile, turning the corner just as you accidentally bump into someone.

"Omg I'm so so-"you say quickly as you almost stumble over your words.

"Ahhh just the young woman I was looking for. Y/n...Bianca, how are you ladies?" The loud voice of Paul Heyman greets you as you look at him apologetically.

"Doing great actually. Y/n was telling me that she possibly has a storyline with Roman coming, is that right?" Bianca smiles, nudging your arm slightly as you stand quietly, playing with your fingers.

"Well...that was until Miss Y/n refused to fulfill her obligations of the storyline as a companion of the Tribal Chief, your Tribal Chief. Which brings me to why I was searching for you, Miss Y/n. The Tribal Chief himself has requested to see you in his locker room, privately. I presume he wants to speak business away from others. Surely you won't keep him waiting for much longer." Paul speaks as you feel your heart flutter.

You were pretty sure you weren't in Roman's good graces after refusing to do a storyline with him. One thing about him is that he was a professional, a businessman if you will, and he prided himself on doing whatever was best for business. Whatever kept the dollars and viewership rolling in, he made sure he perfected his craft. Hence, why you assumed he'd look at you indifferently after you awkwardly told him and others in the meeting room that you didn't think you were a good fit to be the on-screen lover of the Tribal Chief. Yet, here he was, requesting to see you.

You guess you were sitting contemplating too long because Bianca speaks up for you, "She'll be right there. Gone head, Y/n."

You snap out of it as you look at her like she is crazy. You were starving and the last thing you needed was to sit in someone's locker room for hours as your stomach growled embarrassingly.

"I'm sorry Paul, but...I can't. My decision stands. Now if you'll excuse me, Bianca and I were headed to get something to eat." You say politely as you try to walk past Paul, but he blocks your way.

"Settle down Miss Y/n. He's not asking you to do anything unbecoming. He simply wants to have a one-on-one verbal exchange with another top star in this business. Now, being that you are at the top of the women's division, I'd presume you want to make decisions that demonstrate why you are at the top. Hence, why it would be in your best interest, and the best interest of this company, to meet with the Tribal Chief, the Head of the Table, the Greatest Champion of the Modern Day Era, the G.O.A.T., and Undisputed WWE Universal Champion himself. Now please....let's not keep him waiting. After all, he is a man with a very busy schedule and timeliness is a courtesy to others." Paul rambles as you look at him and Bianca in disbelief as he begins walking away, gesturing for you to follow behind him.

"See you later girl!" you hear Bianca say as you reluctantly follow Paul's lead.

Your mind is racing as he leads you down the corridor until you finally make it to the only locker room with The Bloodline sign stamped on it. Paul instinctively knocks on the door as you mentally prepare yourself for whatever this is going to turn out to be.

"Who is it?" you hear Roman's booming voice question from the other side of the door.

Oh God....his voice was filled with so much authority, it scared you.

You swallow the lump in your throat as Paul responds, "It's me Tribal Chief, I've brought along Y/n to speak with you as you requested."

"Come in," Roman responds as Paul happily opens the door for you. You inwardly sigh.

Here goes nothing.

You slowly walk into the locker room as you come face-to-face with The Bloodline members, The Undisputed tag team champions, The Usos, The Enforcer known as Solo Sikoa, the Honorary Uce Sami Zayn, and of course, the man himself, Roman Reigns.

Breathe Y/n....breathe.....

"So, I told her, why eat your p*ssy when I can get fish from Captain D's then I kicked her stank a** out my hotel room. Hahahaha" Jey laughs as he, his twin brother, and Sami chatter.

Suddenly, all chattering comes to a halt as the attention is turned to you. Gosh, you hated this. You hated being the center of attention. It made you very self-aware of your appearance, flaws, everything. You awkwardly nod your head towards them before you build the courage to use your voice.

"Hi...." You mutter.

"Everyone....out, now." Roman commands as the Bloodline members immediately jump to their feet to leave.

"Sup, Y/n," Jimmy says quietly as he walks past you, his brothers and Sami following suit, each greeting you.

Paul quickly goes over to Roman and whispers something in his ear as Paul not-so discretely points at you before hurrying out the door.

The door closes and it's now just you and Roman in the quiet room. You look anywhere but his face as he looks at you in amusement.

"Don't be shy, come on. Have a seat." He says lowly as you slowly follow instructions and take a seat on the couch, making sure to keep a distance between the two of you.

He chuckles lightly at your actions before taking a deep breath.

"Well, I don't want to keep you long, Wiseman said he interrupted you on your way to get some food, so I'll be quick. The reason I wanted to speak with you was to ask why you didn't want to do the storyline with me. Have I done something wrong? I'm sure I haven't because we haven't crossed paths since your days of the Wyatt Family (which you were a part of) and my days as a member of The Shield." He says as he looks over at you, curious to hear your response.

"Listen Roman...I-I don't want to come across as rude, okay? I don't want to come across as someone who doesn't do what's best for business. Trust me, I know you and I partnering together would do astronomical numbers but-"

"But what?" he says softly as he leans back, spreading his legs to get comfortable.

You try not to be so obvious as you take a glance at his sweatpants or rather what was in his sweatpants as it came to full view when he leaned back. Gosh, just the outline of it was.....

Omg girl, no! Stay focused!

A light chuckle knocks you out of your inner monologue as Roman bites his beautifully pink bottom lip.

(I do not own this gif)

"Like what you see, babygirl?" he quips, noticing how you instantly look away after being caught staring at his dick print.

"N-n-no I wasn't looking I-..haha" You laugh nervously as his presence starts to overwhelm you. This is the most you've ever spent alone with a man. You've officially broken a personal record of yours.

"It's okay...you can do more than just look at it." He smirks as your eyes nearly bulge out of your head at his comment.

"E-excuse me?" you say standing to your feet, displaying disgust at his lewd comments towards you.

He shrugs, casually propping his feet up on the coffee table in front of him.

"I'm just saying....I can put that mouth to good use. Maybe that'll convince you to be my on-screen romance." He laughs.

"Excuse you, but I am not some hoe. You think just because you're used to getting what you want, I'll just agree to anything you say? Look, I'm not your cousins, I'm not Sami Zayn, and I'm certainly not the Wiseman Paul Heyman that waits on you hand and foot. I-" he cuts you off.

"Whoa, whoa Miss Class-And-Dignity. I'm only teasing. Calm down, we have serious business to discuss. I'll keep my hands to myself...if that's what you want." He says as you roll your eyes but take your seat again.

"Listen Y/n, I'm a businessman that makes the best business decisions for my career and those I work with. I want to elevate to the top of the mountain and do whatever it takes to maintain it at the top. With that being said, when the opportunity presented itself, I had to jump on the chance to work with you. After all, you are in a league of your own. I mean.... you are the first black woman to main-event Wrestlemania. You are the first woman in WWE history to do a lot of things. You are at the top of the women's division-"You listen quietly as he continues.

"..... And I'm at the top of this company. I am the greatest champion of all time and it's only right that I have the greatest women's wrestler by my side, Y/n. And that's you. No other woman on this roster can compete with you. No other woman fits me the way you would. I'd love to have you by my side. Imagine the things we could do together, running this business. It's an opportunity that we just can't pass up." He says as you slowly consume his every word.

He did have a point. You two were the best of the best, the cream of the crop, so it only made sense to collaborate and make some major money. But you just couldn't. Just the mere thought of working with him scared you a little. Again, as previously stated, this is the same man you've had this huge crush on for years. You didn't really know how to act around him.

He watches your features closely as you ponder over his words.

"Listen, Y/n. I don't want to force you into working with me but just think about it. I want you to be comfortable. Besides, what is it exactly that makes you so.....nervous around me? You seem so confident in the ring cutting promos and tossing people around the ring, yet right now, you look.......nervous." He inquires curiously.

You sigh deeply.

Well....here goes nothing.....

"Well...it's just that...well....I...." you try to come up with the right words to say without making yourself look stupid.

He stays quiet as he looks at you expectantly, wanting to hear what you have to say.

"I just.......Roman, I've never been in a relationship before, okay? I've never even had my first kiss yet, so when they asked me to start a romance with you, I got extremely nervous. Especially when they said they wanted us to eventually kiss for the cameras. It just makes me nervous, and I don't want to mess this up. I-"

"You've never been kissed before?" he says, in an almost shocked tone.

You shrug your shoulders, playing with your fingers as you quickly respond, "No."

It grows quiet in the room as he ponders what you just revealed to him. No wonder you damn near flipped at his filthy comments earlier. 

Suddenly, he smirks to himself. Maybe he can get you to get comfortable around him. If it was experience you were looking for....maybe he could offer his services to you.

"How 'bout this, Y/n, you agree to work with me, and I do what I can to make you comfortable with me. It's a win-win situation." He suggests as you look at him confused.

"What do you mean?" you ask as he stands to his feet, rolling his shoulders back as he peers down at you.

"It means I'm gonna make you comfortable with my body first and foremost. Body language is especially important in convincing the audience. So, for now, I'm gonna familiarize you with my body. Capeesh?" he says grinning at you.

You look at him confused and nervous, "And how are you going to do that?"

Suddenly he removes his shirt as you let out a gasp. Followed by him dropping his pants, along with his boxers, as he stood bare in front of you.

"Oh my God!" you squeal as you instinctively cover your eyes.

"Go ahead, touch it." He smirks, licking his lips, as you can't believe what is happening right now. Did this man really just expose himself to you and permit you to touch his dick? This can't be reality.

"Absolutely not. Are you insane?!" you say continuing to keep your eyes squeezed shut.

"Babygirl...it's a dick. It's not gonna bite. Touch it. Feel it. Stroke it. Suck it. Fuck it. Do whatever you want to it so long as you don't bite it." He encourages as you're going insane in your head.

This can't be real.....

"Time is ticking." He sighs playfully looking at his gold Rolex on his wrist.

Omg...omg....

He clearly wasn't gonna leave this alone. Maybe if you tapped it, he'd pull his damn pants back up and you could run out of there, never to see his face again.

You sigh heavily, "Omg this is....o-o-okay fine but....I'm not stroking it." You say nervously as you shakily reach your hand out blindly (as you still have your other hand covering up your eyes).

Roman chuckles at your innocence. He's never had a woman react to him this way. Sounds crazy, but it made him a little excited, intrigued, almost feeling animalistic like a predator amongst its prey. He was gonna break you in, starting now. However, it appeared you were having trouble with this simple task of touching his dick, let alone looking at it. Maybe you needed a little encouragement.

"Here, do this," Roman says as he grabs your hand and gently guides it around his dick. You instantly squeal upon contact with the thick flesh.

You couldn't believe it. It was a new sensation as your hand remained unmoving on the soft skin. You hear Roman slightly hiss and you grow scared. Had you unknowingly hurt him? Gripped him too tight?

"I'm so sorry. Sorry. Did I hurt you?" you apologize, releasing your hold on his flesh.

He chuckles deeply, "No, actually. You did quite the opposite. I'm sorry but I will try to contain myself a little better next time. Now, that wasn't so hard was it? Congratulations, you've touched a dick for the first time." He teases as he reaches down to pull his boxers and sweatpants back up.

"You can uncover your eyes now." He grins as you finally do that, heart racing in your chest.

"I....I-I...." you stutter, unable to recover from what just happened.

"Don't worry, you ain't gotta say much right now. I know you're perplexed. Look, it's almost time for SmackDown to start and I've held you up long enough....I'll see you later, okay?" he says as he sits back down on the couch, grabbing his shirt from the floor.

"O-okay...." You whisper as you hurry towards the door.

My eyes, my eyes, my eyes. My hand, my hand, my hand.

You couldn't get out of that room quick enough as you shut the door behind you. You were in such a rush that you didn't notice Jade and Naomi standing off to the side (having been engaged in conversation until they saw you), looking at you hurry away from the Tribal Chief's locker room. Jade had a scowl on her face whereas Naomi looked a little concerned. She knew the type of guy her cousin (by marriage) was and though you and her weren't friends (as you always kept to yourself), she didn't want to see you become just another hit and quit for Roman Reigns. No, you were above that. So, what were you doing in his locker room...alone....she wondered. She didn't know, but she'd speak with you later on tonight.

Your feet hurry towards your locker room, your appetite long gone. You were beyond perplexed and to make matters worse, there was a slight tingling, aching sensation in your nether region and it wouldn't go away. It was a foreign feeling to you.

"Oh God, I think I need a cold shower." You whine as you finally reach your private locker room, slamming the door shut behind you.

Tonight started off surprisingly...........but the Tribal Chief had more surprises for you to come..........

[transguygardner]

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 6 - Round Two. Fight!

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

Damn. Your indulgent TV stalking of the Wayne’s really doesn’t hit the same once you technically knew them. And you were hiding inside one of their bedrooms, inside one of their clothes, using their TV subscription. It just didn’t feel right. Morally, of course, but that wasn’t what you were talking about. No, you were just pissy your favourite pastime was basically ruined. You shovel another spoonful of cookie dough ice cream into your mouth, glaring through tired eyes at the screen.

There’s an up-close shot of Dick Grayson’s abs. The presenter ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ over his physical form, and you have to agree. You wish you had abs like that. Unfortunately, you did respond to most unwanted experiences with stress eating. As always with these celebrity figures, you can’t really tell if you want to be Dick or be with Dick. Your butt is nowhere near the level his is at.

While you hadn’t really set out today looking for shirtless pictures of the Waynes, it wasn’t like you were going to say no to them. So, when the gossip channel had switched from the reactions of the Waynes to last night’s fiasco to… this… you’d just kept watching.

You wonder if you should stop doing this. It’s definitely kind of creepy, and now you’d technically once been his… step-sister. What a mind fuck. You’ve been crushing on these dudes for a while, and now they were your ex-step siblings. This was like the start of a bad porno, but you knew you were not that lucky. And it wasn’t like you were going to start thinking of him as a brother any time soon. You hadn’t even met the guy. No, he was still firmly in the ‘celebrity crush’ section of your mind. Pretty and untouchable. The way things are supposed to be.

Which was also bad because you would probably have to meet and interact with him at some point. Probably in the near future. God knows you’d absolutely humiliated yourself in front of the fucking Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne,. Twice, in fact. You didn’t even want to think about the display you’d shown for Bruce Wayne or Damian Wayne.

You didn’t really know what to do with your slightly obsessive crushes. And you could see it definitely being a problem in the near future.

…You decide that what you do in your private time is absolutely nobody but your business, and keep watching. It’s a mix of bitter spite and genuine mental breakdown levels of desperation that leads you to that decision. You feel like you’re a child with their toy being taken away, and it’s making you mad. And sad too. Even if you shouldn’t do this anymore, you still want to keep the habit. You’d mentioned before your creature comforts were one of the few things that kept you going. And while you were mostly very good at not being the jealous, heinous creature you really are, you knew you wouldn’t be giving this up.

They’d have to tear your gossip channels from your cold dead palms. You weren’t giving them up, not without a fight at least. Unfortunately for you, the universe seemed determined to wrestle away literally everything you loved.

Guilt’s for tomorrow. Today is for ice cream and purposefully ignoring everything. Speaking of which, you can not remember the last time you had a good Ben & Jerry’s. They were so expensive these days, as all groceries were. You simply couldn’t afford it. The Waynes, of course, had multiple tubs in multiple different options. Alfred had seemed delighted that you’d taken the ice cream, for which reasons you could not perceive.

Oh, yeah! His name was Alfred. Very butler-y. You’d remember it this time, he was a very nice man. And he called you ‘young miss’ which earned him points. He also didn’t seem to hate you on sight or treat you like a two-headed freak, like some of the other people in this household. Not naming names. Yeah, fuck that noise, Damian Wayne obviously has issues and it’s much less attractive in real life.

The woman drones on, and your eyes flick to your phone. Yup, she’s still yapping. It’s not like you don’t appreciate Dick’s abs or anything, it’s just that you think she might’ve been talking about this one specific photo for over half an hour now. Lady should get a hobby. Wait, wait, this is her job. Maybe you should start a podcast where you rant about the Wayne’s exercise regimes. It seems to be quite a lucrative field.

You shriek when the door slams open, nearly tumbling backwards off the bed. Hands manage to grip the bedcovers before you tip over, not making a complete fool of yourself. As it goes, you lose your spoon to the carpet. Bits of cookie dough spread over the floor in a divine sacrifice. And you lose your sanity to the man standing in the doorway. To be fair, he looks just as confused as you feel.

You blink at the physically perfect form of Dick Grayson and then turn your head to the TV to look at the other physically perfect form of Dick Grayson.

…You really wish you had a good explanation for this.

He mutters out your name, lips parted. Dick Grayson seems absolutely shocked to find you here. His eyes flick around the room and eventually land on the TV. Said baby blues widen to the size of saucers when the reporter makes a really, really unnecessary comment.

“And in news that broke the hearts of both ladies and gentlemen everywhere in Bludhaven, Dick Grayson has announced he will be returning to Gotham to assist his family in this difficult time. My cousin in the Blud is probably crying right now. There’s no ass out there quite like his, and there’s no replacement for Bludhaven’s favourite young rich bachelor,” she winks at the camera, and then the shot of his toned stomach phases forward to take up the entire screen.

Well, there’s a lot to say about that. First of all, fuck. Second of all, shit. Third of all, she really couldn’t have said that part about Dick coming back to Gotham sooner? Perchance, before you’d found yourself in this situation?

You said you weren’t that lucky, you meant it.

“But still, ain’t that lucky for us Gothamites? I myself have spent a lot of time on Dick’s Tiktok and Instagram, and his acrobatic videos have been used in a lot of my personal-”

You snatch the remote from the sheets and pause it right there. The silence is tense. You wait for him to say something, but he just stares at you. Completely stunned, mouth-catching flies. You want to pull the covers up and hide under them, but you don’t think that’d make him leave.

“I couldn’t find my room,” you finally manage to say. It’s the worst excuse you’ve ever heard, sounds like a complete lie. And yet, unfortunately, it is the truth.

Dick’s eyes drift to the TV, which you still haven’t unpaused. You can’t tell if it would be worth it, just to get rid of his golden brown abs staring at you judgementally, even if you’d have to deal with the extra embarrassment of the dialogue over them. Maybe if you muted the TV? It wouldn’t make up for the insult of his paparazzi photos on a widescreen.

It takes you even longer to come up with an excuse for… that.

“I was checking the news about last night,” you continue, the panic in you rising like a tea kettle left on the stove for too long. You might start shrieking like one too.

You don’t think he believes you. He looks down at the Beatles shirt you’re wearing. You know what he’s going to say before he does, but you still dread it.

“You’re wearing my clothes,” he mutters, his voice awed.

You want to say, ‘Nooo! No, no, no! Don’t do this to me, damn it! Not anymore! No more, please! It’s enough, enough suffering! This is genuinely ridiculous, damn you!’ but instead you reply with a shaky, “…Didn’t have any of mine.”

Also, you’ve been huffing Eau de Dick Grayson? That’s definitely in character for you. You want to beat your own head in with a stick.

“And I couldn’t find my room, and uh, thought this one wasn’t being used,” you continue, daring a glance back at him. He still looks completely stumped.

“It wasn’t,” he answers, but it sounds like he’s a thousand miles away.

You know, Dick Grayson was supposed to be a lot more charming than this. You’re almost proud you managed to stun the man into near speechlessness. Almost, almost. Almost not going to kill yourself once he leaves.

If he leaves. He doesn’t look like he’s getting up. You eye the gap between you and the door. Your animal brain is telling you to just run for it. But Dick has Olympic level athletics, and you don’t doubt he could catch you if you ran. Would he try though? That’s the deciding factor here.

He doesn’t seem like he’s actually going to fucking do anything though. He just keeps staring, like if he looks for long enough, it’ll all start to make sense. Which, you wish.

“Do you know where my room is? I couldn’t… remember…”

He nods, instead staring at his own abs on the TV.

“Can you take me to my room?”

He nods again. Still doesn’t look back at you.

“…Mr. Grayson?” you say, and almost immediately regret it. ‘You’ wouldn’t have used his last name, even though you might’ve. ‘You’ had been a casual person, as far as you could tell. That was the kindest way you could say it, at least.

His head snaps to you. He somehow looks more confused. You wonder if you should pinch him or something, god knows you’ve done your fair share of pinching yourself recently.

“Yes, right, sorry. Let’s… go,” he gives you a cheery smile, shaking his head, but it seems quite strained. You’re probably matching. This is the most humiliating moment of your life, and of course, it’s with the most beautiful man on earth right beside you.

A break. You want a break.

The two of you quietly shuffle out of the room, and when he guides you forward, you follow him obediently. Your head naturally bows, shame making it hard to look at him. You stare at the wooden floors as you walk. Watching it shine in the morning light that filters through the windows.

Eventually, he comes to a stop in front of a door that has obviously been avoided. Though it’s as clean as every other inch of this house, there are no marks in the rug from the door opening and closing. And even then, it seems… well, it sounds silly, but the door seems sad to you. Too many things seem sad to you these days.

Your thoughts must show on your face because Dick clears his throat and gives you a worried look. Is it rude to say you’re sick of those sorts of looks? That they just make you feel sick and burdened these days? It’s not like you could bring your family back from the dead, or convince your cheating boyfriend to not be a piece of shit. It was out of your hands.

“…Are you alright?” he asks you, blue eyes sincere. You tilt your head to the side.

“No?” you say, but it sounds more like a question. No, you are not alright. Yes, you will be okay. It’s the only option. It’s one of your rules. You have to be okay. You just have to.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You almost laugh.

“No,” this time your voice is firm, confident. Dick seems like he’s going to push it, but something in your eyes makes him stop. You give him a forced smile and say goodbye, closing the door gently in his face. Once you do, you crouch down and once again, press your face to your knees. Then you press your hands to your mouth and let out a scream that had been bubbling up for a while. After that, you feel you can live with the humiliation that is your existence without jumping out the three-story-height window.

You stand up, turning to the room. The first thing you notice about it is that there’s dust in here. Same as Dick’s old room. Now that you think about it, Alfred doesn’t seem the type who’d randomly leave certain rooms uncleaned, so it must be something he does out of respect for the tenants of Wayne Manor. Or maybe the old you requested it? God knows.

Sitting down on the old bed, your eyes rove around the room. It’s well decorated, as the rest of the manor is, but you can’t see anything that would make it your room. There’s none of the novels you’d collected from the used books store, no dorky little items you impulse bought, no pictures of your family. The apartment hadn’t had those either.

‘You’- she- seemed like a ghost to you. While you’d often felt like you’d barely been alive, simply going through the motions, this girl seemed like she hadn’t even been conscious half the time she was doing it. It made your stomach swim, your face pulls taught.

While you’d had few things holding you afloat, it’d been enough to keep you alive. Molly, your co-workers, the need to work so as to not starve to death. She hadn’t had anything like that. No liferaft. You’d been sputtering and gasping your way through life, and she’d been drowning. Maybe already dead, at the bottom of the sea, hair tangling with the seaweed.

This room feels like a coffin, and this manor like a cemetery. It makes you physically sick.

Showing off your fickle-mindedness, you realise that despite this being the Wayne manor filled with all your idols, you actually don’t want to fucking be here. You need space to clear your head, and the creaking floorboards that echo down the creepy hallways just don’t offer that. The atmosphere at your too-modern, too-minimalist apartment is leagues better than the atmosphere at this gorgeous old house which you’d usually love spending hours getting lost in.

Usually. Unfortunately, this place was more suffocating than the workplace when you knew you were about to get fired again. And you weren’t getting paid to stay here, so why the fuck would you?

Once you realise you’ve decided to run, you’re quick to pack up your shit. There’s not much in the room you need. A pair of sneakers, because you would rather die than put those heels on again. And you’ll grab some shirts because they’re comfy and remind you of home. Hopefully, it’ll make everything… grate… a little less. All of this is thrown in an old ratty backpack, which is then tossed over your shoulder. Shoes slipped on, and tapped against the floor so they’re on comfortably. And then you’re ready. Ready as you’ll ever be. With one hand on your phone, you take a peek outside the door. Coast is clear.

You press call for ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’. Jeanine picks up on the third ring.

“Hello, Jeanine Ryans here,” she says, her voice all business.

“Jeanine, I need an evac, stat,” you whisper to her, creeping down the hallway of the manor. The floor is unbelievably creeky, so it’s pretty fucking difficult to be stealthy about it.

“…What?”

“Get me out of this fucking manor, please,” you beg, now going down the stairs. Almost out, almost out.

“Right, on it. I’ll have a car outside in ten minutes if that’s alright?” Jeanine replies, immediately on the case. It almost makes you cry. You know she’s being paid for this, and very desperate for the job for some reason, but it’s still a hail mary that you are so grateful for.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” you say, turning a corner and-

Oh, fuck. Damian Wayne glares down at you, green eyes cataloguing every single guilty piece of you in existence. He sees your hand tighten around your backpack, hears Jeanine telling you not to worry through your phone, and probably notices the way your eyes desperately flicker behind him to the door. To your goal, to the exit to this labyrinth.

You can practically hear the wind blowing, see the tumbleweed drift by.

And then, he moves past you, twisting his body so no part of it touches you. There’s a moment where your brain freezes, something spicy smelling (cinnamon, maybe?) flowing past you, and by the time you turn around, he’s gone. Your deer-in-headlights tensed-shoulders look falls, leaving you confused in the foyer. He didn’t even say a word to you. You felt like you just got passed over by a boss from a Dark Souls game.

…Well, you’ll take the wins where you can find them! Quickly, you hurry out the front door, skittering down the steps like some sort of rat. It’s a long walk to the gates, and you don’t really know how to open them to let the car in, so you decide to take your time and enjoy the walk. The early morning dew apon the clean-cut blades of grass glint and sparkle, the gravel on the road crunches under your technically-not-stolen sneakers, and even if it’s a miserable life, it’s a pretty day. From the hill the manor lives upon, you can see Gotham’s tall skyline, cloaked in its characteristic fog.

Eventually, you find yourself in front of the gate, where you can see Jeanine waiting with a black car on the otherside. There’s a big green button next to the side gate, which you press, and it clicks open. There’s a moment where your neck tingles, and you glance up at the camera pointed down at you. The red flickering light beside it holds your attention. You can see your bedraggled reflection in its lense.

Shaking your head, you move on, greeting Jeanine. She gives you a quick bow of the head and opens the door for you. You hike the bag over your shoulder, give the Wayne manor one final, lingering look and then you step into the car. Jeanine starts speaking to you about some future appointments you have, and you’re too tired to understand a word of what she says. She realises you’re not processing anything she says, and hands you a pair of headphones with a wire adapter.

You could kiss her right then and there. You don’t because that’d be weird, but you definitely think about it. Headphones on, you watch the rolling hills and luxurious manors turn into highways and honking traffic, to finally the upside part of town which was now apparently where you lived.

Eventually you find yourself being delivered in front of your swanky new apartment. With a passing goodbye, Jeanine tells you that she’ll be busy for the rest fo the day so if you need anything to call the number on the card she hands you. You tuck it in your pocket, certain you’ll lose it like every other business card you’ve ever been handed.

The elevator ride up to your room is contemplative. The music is boring, your reflection is bedraggled and tired, and the gentle feeling of gravity under your feet tugs at you. You rock slightly when you finally reach your floor. The doors open, but you don’t make any move to leave. They shut again, and you’re left staring daggers at your mirrored self.

You’d woken up, still here. It wasn’t a dream. It was reality. And more than that, it seemed more and more like you’d be staying in this reality. You didn’t think you could go home. Sure you were rich but… but your home. Your few things you’d managed to save. Your meagre group of friends and your hard-sought job. It made you nauseous. Where had you lost it all? Why were you here now? Why did you keep having to lose everything?

You manage to snap yourself out of it before someone else calls the elevator. Striding out of the space, you look to the right where you remember your apartment coming from. It’s not hard to find the unit, as there are only three on the entire floor. Rich people.

The door closes with a satisfying thud behind you, and you nearly melt with exhaustion.

This apartment is the ninth circle of hell for you. Scrambling around on your knees, you’re desperate to find the damn phone that won’t stop ringing. You can’t understand where the sound is coming from.

Under your bed? You shine your other’s phone’s light under it. Nope. Behind the dresser? Nada. You search inside the drawers and then peek inside the fancy lamp. Absolutely nothing. You’re ready to tear your hair out when you spot something… odd.

There’s… You think there’s something stuck in your floorboards. You dig at the space with your fingernails and the piece of wood pops open. Inside is… a cardboard box. An awfully familiar cardboard box, actually. The sight of your Mum’s old keepsake box makes you cry out with joy, lifting it from its little enclave. You’d lost a lot in the past few days but at least the old you knew how to keep your family’s stuff safe.

This apartment looks brand new. And apparently the past you dug into it to hide her stuff. You can’t really judge, you have a hidey-hole back at your apartment. It was a brick that had already been loose in the wall, so it didn’t feel quite as criminal as this.

The ringing is coming from inside the box. When you pull the lid up, you find a keepsake box a little different from yours. While yours only ever had your family’s old passports and photo albums, this one had a sleek phone sitting on top of all the mementos. It’s an exact copy of the phone on your bed- or well, it would be, if you hadn’t dropped it.

Two phones? This bitch was greedy. And so are you, eagerly sweeping the expensive item into your gremlin hands. Your thieving high is instantly quashed when you see who’s calling.

Of all fucking… George.

You roll your eyes before hanging up, tossing the phone to the side as you start rifling through the old keepsake box. You flip through family photo albums and lovingly cradle old stuffies. The phone buzzes. You ignore it. You find one of your mother’s old necklaces, and because you’re desperate for anything that can ground you, slip it over your head. The cool heart locket rests just under your collarbone, and you clutch it with one hand as you keep exploring. The phone keeps buzzing. It’s only almost half an hour later when you realise something about this is strange.

Why is George… not blocked? You glance down at the vibrating object like it’s radioactive, a despairing frown pulling at your face. Cautiously, you pick it up, making sure not to open the notifications lest it tell George you read any of his messages.

He’s… apologising for not being there for your birthday. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. And it’s not even a proper apology, it’s one of those ‘I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings’ bullcrap. He keeps spamming you, and eventually, you realise that he’s not going to just stop.

You decide to nip this in the bud quickly because even remembering his cheating face makes you feel like throwing up.

‘You’: Why are you contacting me?

‘George <3’: Seriously? Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t there yesterday. I was busy, you know that.

Stupidly, you reply:

‘You’: ‘No, seriously, why are you contacting me? I’m done with you.’

You wonder how you ever loved this jackass. Even if he was obviously more of a jackass here, than where you’d come from. He was just better at pretending there. You keep scrolling, ignoring the new texts that pop up. Your stomach sours at the number of texts he himself had ignored, of the amount of ‘sorry baby, can’t come tonight’, the begging, the pleading.

No, he wasn’t worse at pretending. He just didn’t care.

You wonder if this could have been you, further along down the line. Abuse happens slowly, right? Like a frog in a pot. You’d have forgiven and forgotten, written away his worse behaviours till you couldn’t anymore. Till you couldn’t leave, till you were trapped.

You think George Lancaster would’ve tried to. He would’ve isolated you from everyone you had left if he hadn’t screwed up and got caught.

You realise now there were a lot of red flags in your relationship with George. Molly always hated him and he hated her. He’d constantly complain about how much time you spent with her, spamming you with texts when you went out.

You were only… only two days since you’d actually broken up with him. Which was sort of crazy to think about. You feel like you’ve lived eons since then. Like that one traumatic incident aged you thirty years. Anyway, you still hadn’t processed the whole George thing. You’d been sort of busy fighting for your life.

‘George’: I’m here, can you at least open the door so we can talk face to face?

Freeze. A knock sounds, and your head snaps up to the front door. You don’t move. You just wish it away. The knocking only gets louder and louder.

You feel like a dumb girl in a horror movie as you walk towards the door, unlocking it and creaking the knob open. George Lancaster stands on the other side, and before you can slam it in his face, he grabs you by the arm and yanks you out of the door. And then he’s pulling you to the elevator, even as you try and get your bearings, get yourself away from him.

“You can’t just ignore me like this,” George says, pissed off to high hell, “We’re going to miss the reservation I booked specifically for you. I told you it was happening today and-”

There’s white noise between your ears, you can’t hear what he’s saying. Told you? It wasn’t in any of the texts. He’s still talking even as the elevator dings, even as he shoves you in a white sports car that’s half parked on the curb. Even as he drives his way through Gotham’s streets, he won’t fucking shut up.

Why are you letting this happen to you? Why aren't you fighting back, wrenching yourself from his grasp? He takes you into a restaurant, one so upscale that normally you wouldn’t be able to get in for months, and your head snaps from staring socialites to watching politicians to gawking celebrities. You have the eyes of the world on you right now, and they’re all watching George yell at you.

And you can’t find your voice.

It's like a scab you can't stop picking at. Like you think this is what you deserve or something. And it's not. You know it's not. And yet you follow obediently, chastised and embarrassed, as he pulls you through the restaurant. When he picks a table in the centre of the room, you don’t protest. When he chooses your meal for you, even though it’s not to your taste, you don’t protest.

Looking at George, scrolling lazily on his phone, your hands clench against the table. They’re sweating, shaking, nails digging into your palms.

You… you didn’t have to break up with him again, did you? You realised it earlier, but you didn’t- it didn’t really sink in. Your first breakup with George Lancaster was a miserable traumatic experience, and it had been in the solitary streets of Gotham’s Narrows. This one, this one would be seen by literally everyone.

Nauseous. You feel so damn nauseous, your mouth dry as you swallow down bile. This was ridiculous. You couldn’t stand seeing his face. Was he texting her right now? God, did she even know? You’d just stormed out that night, running from what you’d seen.

George had chased after you. Had he left her there? Your stomach churned at the idea. You had to hate her on principle but, well, you also had to sympathise with her. Contradictions, that was the average you. You didn’t want to help this random girl. Didn’t want to have to ever think of her again.

…Staring at George, a definitively awful person, you can’t do it. Can’t just leave her to it.

“I’m breaking up with you,” you say.

“What?” George replies, not even looking up from his phone.

“I’m breaking up with you!” you shout. It’s not even intentional, just a result of being pushed too far, of breaking too easily.

The restaurant goes quiet. Guess you’re up for another scandal then. Whatever, it wasn’t like you would’ve lasted much longer anyway. This was all too complicated for your recently traumatised mind to handle. And it was just too damn stupid to bother with anyway. All of this was fucking stupid.

You included.

Just pull the bandaid off, right? You could already see how this version of you had so many scandals to her name. You probably should start giving a shit. Or at least trying to. You don’t think you want to, though.

George puts his phone down face down on the tablecloth, giving you a calm look. That slightly pitying stare activates something in your brain you didn’t really know was there. It’s a type of rage you haven’t known since you were a kindergartner and one of the other girls said you couldn’t play princesses. Since your first service job where your manager felt you up. Just pure, petty, anger. The type of anger ready to burn the world down as long as it burns whoever pissed you off as well. He opens his mouth, probably to say something condescending, and your hand whips out and snatches his phone.

“Hey!” George says instead, his eyes widening.

You turn the phone back on. Hm, passcode. You flip it around and use facial recognition to open it. Despite the fact that George wears the most comically shocked expression, with saucer-wide eyes and a mouth open to catch flies, it unlocks. Nice.

“Hey! What are you doing?” George demands, reaching over the table for his phone.

You twist away from his reach. Password. You flip the phone, and despite George’s comically shocked expression, it still unlocks. He shouts again when it does, probably realising that you might be taking this seriously. That he might actually be in trouble. That his sugar mummy might not take too kindly to the numerous texts to other women on his phone.

…You really can’t believe you’re a sugar mummy. And for George of all people. What a horrendous waste of money, it’s fucking tragic.

He’s got the texts with someone known as ‘Pizza Hut’ pulled up, with some very flirtatious messages. You scroll up furiously, ducking under George as he gets up from the table and tries to get the phone. Still, backing up, the sight of a very poorly shot dick pic of George’s has you grimacing. Your focus on the picture, trying to decide whether his penis looked so unappealing before you’d learnt of his betrayal, has you distracted when one of the servers come around.

And, well, shirt, meet soup. Very, very hot soup. Everyone? Meet a screeching, klutzy moron.

George takes the chance to advance on you, snatching his phone from you. He doesn’t even seem to care you’re currently getting third-degree burns. The sting scorches through the thin fabric of your dress shirt, burning your skin. George grabs you again, his grip harsh enough this time you know it will bruise, and you can’t really say why you do what you do at that moment.

Your aunt used to have a chihuahua. It was an ugly, grumpy thing. She’d rescued it late into its life, and it had been treated poorly beforehand. It didn’t like to be touched at all and used to run from anyone who tried. And if you tried to touch it? Cornered it?

Well, of course, it started biting.

George’s howl is the most satisfying thing you’ve ever heard. His squeal of “bitch!” might be even more so. He slaps you away from him, and the sound echoes in the restaurant. Your face stings. When you land ass first in the puddle of still-too-hot soup, you wonder if you might try and bite him again. You don’t think you even broke the skin, considering you can’t taste blood. The other patrons stare on in genuine horror, like they’ve never seen a messy breakup before. One woman raises a hand to her mouth, and gasps-

You find yourself staring up at a furious George, one with a menace in his eyes you’ve never seen before. You wonder, idly, if he’s ever hit you before. Well, not you, but ‘you’. You realise now that he has the capacity for it, that he probably always did.

“What the fuck!?” he hisses, angry eyes darting from side to side, “Biting me?! In fucking public?! Have you lost it, you crazy bitch?! And you got my phone fucking soaked in soup!”

“Did you buy it?” you ask, wiping your mouth with your sleeve to get George’s dirty taste out of your mouth.

He blinks, confused, thrown off by your question, “Huh?”

“Did you buy that phone?” you repeat, your staring starting to turn into a furious glare.

You don’t think he did. Your George had never been able to afford those sorts of things, he’d been as broke as you were. Of course, you’d seen him lust over those items, but you’d always managed to convince him not to go into debt over silly things like sports cars and fancy phones. And even then, you’d been the one to buy him a PS5.

He looks down at the phone and back at you, and you can see his jaw tick.

“I bought it. That’s mine.”

“It was a gift. You’re going to be such a bitter bitch to take back everything you gave me? Gonna leave me out on the fucking street?” he says, spittle flying with angry words.

This was escalating fast. Maybe before you’d have been cowed by his words, but you were genuinely off your rocker by now and were very much willing to tango with this bastard. Like yes, he did terrify you, but so did everything else. You could handle this much at least. You weren’t ready to back down.

“And if I did? What then George? What could you even fucking do?” you throw back, voice rising to match his.

“It’s not your money either, it’s theirs, you little leech!” says the pot.

“Does it matter?” replies the kettle.

Pushing to your feet, you find George without another answer. He stands between you and the exit. With the plain murderous rage on his face, you think he’ll try to grab you again if you run past. He wouldn’t bite you back, but he might slap you or something. So instead, like any good coward does, you run straight to the girl’s bathroom. It hasn’t failed you yet, and you doubt it will today.

You shove into the bathroom, past a woman doing her makeup. Her head bobs up and down as she takes in your seemingly infamous face, and your stained shirt. You stride as far away from her as possible, darting into the last bathroom stall and sitting on the closed toilet lid. You pull your knees to your chest and hiss out a sound of frustration when that presses the sticky liquid against your chest and pants. Not your brightest idea, but you were sort of running on fumes right now.

The bathroom stall is extremely clean. One thing you were quickly realising about rich people is they didn’t have to suffer shitty public bathrooms. You didn’t think they deserved it. Like customer service jobs, and traffic, they built character.

What were you doing? Right, trying not to cry. You’re doing much better than yesterday. Still, sitting on top of the toilet’s closed lid, your phone pressed to your face, you wouldn’t say you’re doing ‘good’.

But because you knew George was too much of a pussy to ever enter the woman’s bathrooms, you refuse to move a single inch. You don’t want to go out there. At all. At all, at all. You’d tried to call Jeanine, but she hadn’t answered. Some P.A. she was. You still weren’t going to fire her. Then you remember that she told you she was going out later, and that she’d left a card with you. Digging through your pocket, you decide it’s finally time to die when you realise you lost the card somewhere along the line.

So, she wasn’t going to come save you as your knight in shining armour.

You can’t remember Molly’s number. Who did these days? That was your phone’s job. So you were left with… this. You were left with this. Four blocked numbers and a third had sent an automatic reply because he was driving. Alfred was probably busy. Weren’t butlers always very busy?

…Rich people weren’t often very busy. They had butlers and assistants to do all their chores. You unblock all four of the Waynes that you have on your phone.

The first thing you notice is the amount of texts between ‘you’ and Dick. Scrolling and scrolling, you find most of them are him checking up on you and one-word replies from the old you. He’s friendly and accepting, even when you respond in cruel and aggressive tones. The further back you scroll, the kinder your replies are. At one point it seems like the two of you had a good relationship.

You check the other chats. Tim’s message log is filled with coffee requests sent back and forth between you, Damian’s is completely empty, and Bruce’s has had no response from your phone in years. But eventually, you scroll back far enough that you find an actual conversation instead of just ‘Call Alfred’ repeated every few days.

‘You’: I miss them.

‘Bruce Wayne’: I know. I miss them too.

You press the back button, sighing. That felt like you’d seen something you shouldn’t have, like you’d peeked into someone’s diary. Which was unbelievably stupid. All of this is unbelievably stupid. You should just leave, you should just be brave. Two days ago you faced off against one of your worst fears, but today you couldn’t even handle George Lancaster.

You want someone to rescue you. You know no one will unless you ask. It makes you choke on your own self-disgust. This is the second time in one day. God, maybe you should just do it yourself. It’s not like you couldn’t pay for your own Uber.

And still, you find yourself clicking on a name and begging. Skin crawling, you type and retype the text probably a hundred times. You go from long apologies to begging to rants you never intended to send in the first place. Tap, tap, tap, and then you delete, delete, delete.

What you settle on is simple.

‘You’: hey. can you come pick me up? thx

Maybe a bit too simple. You cross your arms and tuck yourself in the good ol’ fetal position. You feel like you’ve spent half your time holding yourself like this the past three days.

‘Dick Grayson’: I’ll be there in five.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[h8ani]

A Gift For You

Pairing: Chifuyu Matsuno x Reader

Anime: Tokyo Revengers

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Nothing really, Emma isn’t really canon in this, Sano!Reader, fluffy cute as shit, her and Emma argue 🤣 lil sister tingz, afab! reader in mind!

A/N - I just wanted to say thank you @kkittycries for proofreading and helping me revise this because I most definitely would’ve trashed this 😭😭

“God, you’re so in love with him.” Emma says before taking a sip of her drink. She watches you stare off with hearts in your eyes beside her as you two sit by Hina at the shrine. Your eyes were zoned in past Mikey and on the vice captain of the first division, Chifuyu. His focus looking up as Mikey speaks aloud to all of Toman, his body straight and center, you could see his hair sway with the crisp fall breeze that came every now and then.

You weren’t listening as Emma spoke to you, barely hearing the giggle Hina let out until she nudged you to get your attention. “Huh- what?” You look at the two girls who were just smiling at you.

“Stop gawking at your boyfriend and listen to me, we need to talk about your party.” Emma says. Your eyes narrow before turning fully to her. “At least I don’t have a Draken shrine in my room.” A gasp leaves her as she sits up, slamming her canned drink on the ground.

“You didn’t!”

“Oh I did.”

The tension rises as you two stare daggers at each other, Hina uncomfortably clears her throat before speaking up. “No family fighting please! The last time you guys fought you two tumbled down the stairs.”

“That was her fault!” You both say in unison while looking at Hina causing her to shrink up at the outburst.

You and Emma were close in age which more than likely reasoned with why you two argued so much. She was a year younger than you and Mikey yet you out of all of the siblings look the most different. You had darker hair like your older brother Shinichiro and you were taller than both of them as well, standing a few inches taller as your siblings were just under you.

Emma and you were very alike aside from constantly bickering and wrestling around from time to time. You both were really sweet, caring about your friends the second you grow that bond, she has a big heart for those she loves and you’re just a bit more reserved. You’d rather like someone from afar while Emma goes and gets what she wants when she wants it.

You sigh and bring your attention back on the blonde boy you were fawning over earlier. You spend most of the nights you come here with Emma and Mikey doing this, staring from afar and not doing anything but thinking of how cute he is. You’ve been introduced to him when you were younger, always knowing all of Mikey’s friends and most of the members in Toman yet you still knew nothing about him. Sometimes you wish you could trade places with Emma, at least she’d know how to catch his attention. “Hey (y/n)?” Hina speaks up, “do you ever talk to Chifuyu?” She asks.

Your thoughts about said blonde were cut short as you feel yourself deflate. “No...” you mumble, tucking your knees against your chest.

“She’s too scared he won’t even know who she is.” Emma teases, “she’s too chicken.”

“Am not!” You whip around, glaring once again at your younger sister who’s snickering to herself. As much as you love her, you want to tackle her down the stairs once again. The bickering between you two never ceases to stop even once the meeting ends and others pass by you sparing glances at you both.

“Just go talk to him!” Emma shouts

“Who does (y/n) want to talk to?” A voice speaks up from behind you, you turn to see your brother walking up the steps of the shrine with Draken following close behind.

Your mouth drops open slightly, how much did he hear? Does he know of the feelings you’ve had? No, he couldn’t. You’ve only told-

“Oh she wants to talk to Ch-” you whip your head around to send another set of daggers at her, a sly smile spreading across her lips before she can finish her sentence. “No one, she doesn’t want to talk to anyone so nevermind.” She smiles up at Mikey, her attention now settling on Draken as she stands up.

Your eyes stay on your sister as Mikey’s stay on you, a smile threatening to form on his face as he says his next words. “I’ll just tell him to go ahead then leave then.” All three of you girls look at Mikey, curious as to who it was.

“What?” Emma asks while glued to Draken’s side.

“Who?” You raise your eyebrows, curious as to who wanted to speak to you.

A small hum came from beside you, Hina’s features riddled with confusion as to everything that’s been happening. Poor girl.

“Chifuyu, he said he wanted to talk to you but I’ll just-”

“Where is he?” You interrupt making Emma snicker and Hina lets out a small gasp. You rise to your feet and look at Mikey who can’t help but let a smile across his face. “He’s waiting by his bike, better go before you’ve made him wait too long.” You’re gone walking down the stairs before Mikey could even finish his sentence, his head follows you as you keep a steady pace trying to walk too fast to the boy who wants to talk to you.

As he watches you a smile stays formed on his face, seeing his 2 minute younger little sister who’s clearly walking like she’s on a mission was heartwarming. You tried to be tough on the outside despite you keeping everything bottled up and being one of the more sensitive siblings; you’re sometimes the spitting image of his older brother and it does something to him. Yes he’s protective over you, that’s what brothers are for, but with the similarities you give he can’t help but give you a push in life and especially in the love department, god knows Shinichiro needed it.

Your thoughts were everywhere as you made your way towards all the bikes, what did Chifuyu want to talk to you about? Why’d he send your brother out of all people? Did he catch you staring at him? No he couldn’t have you would’ve seen him look back at you there’s no way that’s the reason. But what if it is? Someone else could’ve told him and he wants to talk to you and tell you that you’re a creep. You grab onto your fingers anxiously pulling on them as your mind goes in high gear. If you turned back now you could highjack Mikey’s bike and never look back-

“(y/n).” A voice calls out ahead of you. You glance up and see Chifuyu and realize that you made it to all of the bikes. He smiles at you as he’s leaning against his own, his hands tucked away in his pockets, cheeks a light shade of pink, the weather did drop a bit since being out here. God he was just so cute. You were staring again, no words able to leave your lips as you gawk up at the boy in front of you. Embarrassment quickly takes over once you hear him chuckle. “I wanted to give you something.”

“Huh?” The word came out before you meant for it to as you were snapped out of your mindless stares. “I heard it was your birthday.” He speaks again while standing up from his bike and walking closer to you. You blinked standing there dumbfounded as you put two and two together of what he just said. Did he just say a gift?

He pulls his hands out of his pocket and raises a small necklace up in front of you. It’s a small moon pendant with a little green stone in the middle of it. Your eyes widened upon seeing it and he swore he could see the stars in the night sky sparkle in them, a smile graced your lips as you looked closer. The relief he felt once he saw your smile relaxed him a bit. “I know it’s your birthstone but if you don’t like the color then I could always return it-”

“I love it.” You interrupt while clasping your hand over the pendant. “Thank you Chifuyu. I really do love it.”

“Want me to put it on you?” He asks, you look at the necklace and hand it back to him and turn around, pulling your hair to the side so he can clasp it on better.

The necklace hangs perfectly, it’s not too big but not too small either. You turn around and meet his eyes, he smiles seeing you wear his gift.

“So um I’ve been meaning to actually ask you something.” His cheeks deepen in color as he scratches the back of his neck and chuckles. “It’s stupid really and I’m sure whoever told me is just joking.” You tilt your head in confusion but still nodding nevertheless “Do you stare at me like Mikey says?”

Emma is going to only have a sister soon enough.

[billlydear]

BASIC BIOLOGY - BILLY HARGROVE X READER (PART THREE | FINAL PART) | PART ONE | PART TWO

word count: 9492 // masterlist | inbox (please request) | WIP list

Summary: you're paired with billy for a biology project. you only visit his house once, but it's enough for you to understand why he doesn't want you to come over again. when he starts showing up more and more in your life, you realize that it's basic biology: you were made for him, and he was made for you.

Contents: mentions of injuries (healed/healing), trauma, discussions of billy's past, angst with a fluffy ending, cows !

A/N: oh my gosh ! the end ! it feels like i've been working on this forever and thinking about it even longer, and as a new-ish writer on the billy scene, i just want to thank you all for how sweet you've been, in response to this fic and many others. your support is so important to me, and i'm so glad that many of you enjoyed this fic. i hope that you like the ending, too, please tell me what you think!

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)

You wake up beside Billy Hargrove differently than you’d fallen asleep beside him. Where his face had been previously tucked snug to your neck, his breath fanning out over your collarbones, his cheek is smushed to your chest now. His arm is slung over your stomach, one of his legs thrown over your own as his torso lays slumped up against yours. His cheek chubs up where it’s resting on your breast, and- god, his eyelashes are beautiful. The eyes behind them are just as gorgeous, but for now you’re glad they’re shut. He looks so relaxed, so peaceful, and you’d stay still for an eternity beneath him if it meant he’d be able to stay in that drowsy state of serenity. 

His curls are mussed with sleep, bent out of shape and frizzy where they’d typically be slicked. There’s still bruises littered over his face but they’ve already begun healing, shifting in color to be lighter and less jarring. 

Your fingers come up without you noticing to brush over one of his curls. It’s soft to the touch, and you give it an experimental squeeze, watching as it bounces back. You notice that it’s tangled slightly with another strand, and brush your pinky between them to separate the tangle.

It must tug lightly on Billy’s scalp, because he heaves an unconscious sigh. You wait for him to frown, to wake and snap at you for touching his precious hair, but he never does. Instead he settles again, eyes still firmly shut.

You can’t help it; you reach for his scalp. Your nails scrape gently, ever-so-slightly over his skin, brushing over hundreds of individual strands of hair rooted there and curled together. 

Your breath catches in your throat as he moves. He hums, deep, soft, and low in his throat, the sound vibrating in his chest that’s pressed to your side. It sends a shiver up your spine, but it’s quickly quelled with the warmth that comes from his face as he presses it even further into your chest. Now his cheek is practically invisible, buried in your breast and angling his nose to one side. He tightens his arm around your waist, hoisting himself up and over you even further than he’d been before. He reminds you of a cat, purring and leaning into soft touches.

He seems to like it, so you don’t stop. You rove your fingers through every inch of his scalp, scratching and stroking and smoothing through his curls until they’re a mass of individual strands instead of grouped twists. It’s ridiculously soft, and you wonder how you’ve been able to refrain from touching his hair before now.

There’s nothing you’d rather do than stay here for eternity. Holding him, brushing through his hair, loving him. But your bladder has other wishes. 

Wrestling yourself out from under him is difficult, but he accepts a pillow in exchange for your torso. He burrows his face into it just the same, and you can’t help but brush over his curls one last time as you stand over him, tucking the blankets up and around his shoulders.

When he’s securely tucked into your covers and snoozing away, you pad out of your bedroom, thankful that your parents work early shifts.

You seem to have woken up at a perfect time to make a breakfast larger than you normally do. It takes double the time to prepare a meal for the two of you, and you’re thankful that you think to group the eggs together in a pan to cut that extra time down. You’re setting plates at the table, stuffed with eggs, toast, and fresh fruit when Billy emerges from the hallway, staring cautiously at you where he stands.

His hair is haphazardly smoothed, but there’s no fixing the frizz that your fingers had worked out of it. Your clothes look good on him, even if the sweatpants are stretched over his upper calves instead of at his ankles from how he’d shifted in his sleep. Your shirt is riding up at his stomach and you politely avoid looking at his toned torso, even if you really want to.

“Breakfast,” You hum, pointing your spatula at the table, “Orange juice or milk?”

“Uh-” He flounders, blinking rapidly, “Water, please. Or- I can get it.”

He makes to step towards the kitchen but you whirl your spatula around to face him, intent on pampering the boy, “No, just go sit down. I can do it.”

He looks properly chided, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as he ducks to hide it from you.

You set an ice cold glass of water at his place and notice that he’s waited to begin eating until you sat down. You give him the go-ahead, digging into a chunk of egg with your fork.

“Sleep good?” You glance up at him, a questioning glance shot through your lashes. He nods, silent and careful, and you realize that he seems to have closed himself off since last night, and you think that maybe leaving the bed before he woke wasn’t the best idea, even if it was just to make breakfast. You try remedying it by knocking your foot against his under the table, and he nearly chokes on his water. You leave your foot pressed flush to his own, a constant reminder of your touch on his skin.

“Does your stomach still hurt?” You try again, gulping down OJ. 

“A bit,” His morning voice is raspy and you know you’re going to fawn over it later, even if you’re trying hard not to take advantage of his vulnerability.

“It’s mostly a cut up here,” He reaches a hand under his (your) shirt, rubbing at a patch below his left pec. You can see his fingers move under the shirt, and you remember the wound that’s there from last night.

“That probably means your ribs aren’t broken,” You conclude, relief washing over you at the fact that his bruises are just that.

“Nah, not broken,” He shakes his head, stuffing fruit into his mouth and ignoring the way juice drips down his chin, “I know what a broken rib feels like.”

You still, looking up suspiciously at him with your head ducked to your plate. His shoulders slump, “Just some kid from school. He had rings on, and he hit hard.”

“Oh,” You supply lamely, “I’m glad they healed.”

You eat in silence for a few bites, but he doesn’t shy away from your touch beneath the table, and you’re thankful for that. He even shifts his foot to press more against yours, his sock slightly itchy against your skin. Right after he leans into your touch, he speaks.

“My dad doesn’t usually… do this. This was bad, he tries not to leave marks. I think-” He hesitates, and you nudge his foot with your own again, encouraging him, “I think he’d be even more angry if I missed school than whatever he was mad about in the first place. So he has to keep things inconspicuous. And if anyone sees anything I just have to make excuses.”

“I’m sorry,” You say, not out of pity, but sympathy, “I… I really don’t know how you do it. You’re strong, Billy, y’know that?”

He scoffs into his honeydew.

“I mean it,” You press on, “You just… take it. You let him do that to you because if you fight back other people might get hurt, and that takes strength. Even if it feels weak to get beat on, just know you’re saving your stepsister and her mom, and… I’m proud of you.”

He stills for a moment, jaw stiffening in the middle of a chewing motion. He swallows dry, but whatever it is goes down fine, and he clears his throat without meeting your eye.

“He used to hit my mom,” Billy admits, voice now hoarse from emotion rather than sleep. He scrunches his eyes shut momentarily, “I.. I couldn’t stop him. I was too young. And she left. So I guess I just… got bigger. Just in case.”

You recall seeing a set of weights in his living room. You had presumed they were his, but hadn’t bothered to ask among discussions of mitosis. Now, though, you realize he’s bulked himself up to combat his dad’s abuse, even if he uses it to protect others rather than himself.

It spreads a thin layer of mist over your eyes, the thought of preteen Billy experimenting with handheld five-pounders in hopes of blocking a punch. What hits you even harder is his current image, a toned teen who still doesn’t have the heart to hit back.

You can’t figure out how to respond. If you say you’re proud of him again, he might shut down. If you sound like you’re pitying him, he’ll be angry. So instead you reach over the table, your fork clattering to the wood as you take his free hand.

He’s startled by the sudden movement paired with the noise, but he makes up for his momentary flinch by ghosting his thumb softly over the back of your hand. His fingers don’t curl against yours, so it’s not a mutual gesture, you’re just holding his hand. Slowly, surely, his fingers move inch by inch, slipping between your own and settling against your skin.

You wonder if it’s the first time anyone’s ever held his hand.

“Thanks,” He breathes, his breath a huff of cantaloupe scent. He sniffles, hard, aggressively, and you know he doesn’t want you to acknowledge the tear that streaks fast down his cheek. 

You let him wipe it away without saying anything, even though you want to tell him it’s okay. You hope that the way you squeeze his hand tells him that, though, because it’s true. It’s okay for him to cry, and you’re glad that, even if he tries hiding it around you, he feels safe enough to let the tears fall in the first place.

The rest of your breakfast is filled with mindless chatter, a few gossip strands weaving their way through an otherwise pleasant conversation. He learns that Amanda Weaver has been telling everyone he gave her a promise ring, but you’d seen her fish the plain silver band off of her keychain. 

“I don’t even know her,” He snorts, “And promise rings are dumb.”

Your nose wrinkles, “I don’t think so. They’re cute.”

“They’re pointless,” He insists, shoveling egg into his mouth, “Having a ring to chuck in the garbage is gonna hurt a whole lot more when they leave.”

“If.” You murmur.

“Hm?” He glances up at you, mouth full.

“If they leave.” You correct him quietly, “Some people stay.”

He’s frozen. Baby blues unblinking, he stares at you like a deer in headlights. You hold his gaze with your own steady one, waiting until his brain wraps around what you’re really trying to tell him: I’ll stay.

He’s quiet, for a long time. He keeps his eyes on his eggs, roving over every crease and hill in their structure. Then he mumbles so soft you can barely hear it, “Right.”

There’s a thousand things you want to say. A thousand promises you want to make, a thousand reassuring words you want to mumble against his skin so that they’re absorbed. But the not-so-nice blare of your kitchen timer kindly reminds you it’s time to get to school, and you settle for none at all.

“Shit,” You mumble, shoveling your last bite of melon into your mouth and standing, “I’ll get my-!” 

You glance back at him when you feel a tug, and he’s sitting in place, hand still entwined with yours. He’s cautious, frozen, and you melt into a smile, squeezing his hand.

“My bag.” You clarify, “Are we taking the bus, or walking to your place?”

“Let’s walk,” He decides, his hand never letting up in its grip on yours. It’s bold, it’s forward, it’s healing.

“Okay,” You grin, keeping your fingers tightly curled around Billy’s and tugging him up through the shared embrace, “Let’s go! I’ve gotta be on time today, we’re taking a quiz in first period.”

“We don’t have to go in, we can just get my car.” He lets you drag him to the living room, “The only thing I keep in my bag are cigarettes, anyways. I can bum a few.”

“Billy,” You scold, “Where do your papers go?”

“In the trash.”

“Nice,” You scoff, wincing as you step outside and the harsh sunlight hits your eyes. You fumble with your house keys, slipping them into the lock to close up the house, “I’m gonna buy you a binder. And you’re gonna put your school stuff in it, nice and neat, and you’re gonna carry a pencil, and you’re gonna bring water, and you’re gonna-”

“And you’re gonna fall,” He yanks on your hand, pulling you tight to his side as he points at a rock you’d been headed for, “Pay attention, clumsy.”

“Oh.” You flounder, his toned arm against your cheek as you struggle to right yourself, “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” He flashes you a grin you’ve seen before, primarily aimed at his basketball teammates or a girl he’s chatting up. It’s confident, shit-eating, and it sends a wave of butterflies through your stomach.

The walk to his house isn’t terribly long. It’s a trek, for sure, but you’re there in under a half-hour, laughing all the while. Billy’s hand is still firmly gripping yours, and he’s funny, you remember, when he’s not crying.

“Dad’s not home,” He clocks the car missing from the driveway, “I can get mine and go.”

“Get your bag,” You order, face stern and brows scrunched, “And don’t throw away any of your school papers today!”

“No promises, babe,” He teases, his own key in his pocket as he jams it into the door. You’re thankful that he turns away to step inside so that he doesn’t see your eyes widen at the nickname, but you hope your hand doesn’t begin to sweat, or he’ll notice.

“Maxine?” He calls, shouting through the house. There’s no reply, and her sneakers aren’t by the front door, so you presume she’s not home.

“Probably skated,” Billy shrugs, “My bag’s in my room.”

He doesn’t have to drag you there, you know the way. You send a withering glare towards the room at the end of the hall, where you know Billy’s dad sleeps, as if it’ll cast a curse over the doorway and land him seven years of bad luck. You see the fireplace poker on your way, set neatly back in its place. There’s blood on it.

He changes quick, and you occupy yourself with the collection of tapes by his closet. He’d yanked your shirt right off of his head like you weren’t standing there, but when you’d turned with burning cheeks to give him some privacy, he hadn’t said anything.

Billy’s persistence on holding your hand is sweet, but surprising. The last thing you’d have expected from him was a clingy puppy-boy, but his head turns to track you whenever your hand nearly slips out of his own, and he wrestles with his bag one-handed instead of dropping the embrace. You’re just glad he’s finally holding onto something good in his life instead of pushing it away.

You think it’s a massive inconvenience that he can’t drive while holding your hand. He tries, at first, resting them on the center console, but when he changes lanes and almost overshoots it, you pry your hand out of his own.

“Two hands,” You laugh bashfully, “It’s okay, we- uh, later… later we can…”

“Later,” He turns his head to grin at you, a brilliant display as he slaps his now-free hand onto the wheel,  “Later’s good.”

Unfortunately, later gets pushed back a lot. When Billy pulls into the parking lot, the bell rings. He knows you’re going to be late for your quiz, so he doesn’t try to keep you, smiling softly, “Just go. See you in bio.”

Then between classes, you catch a glimpse of him in the hall. Your stomach starts acting up again, butterflies coming in droves, mind reeling with the thought of him grabbing your hand in public. He almost does, eyes widening as he catches sight of you, broad shoulders muscling everyone out of the way. But before he can reach you, a similarly-toned man steps up beside him, a basketball jersey slung over his frame.

He talks, and talks, and talks and talks and talks, all waving arms and loud jeering. Billy tries holding your gaze over his shoulder, nodding mindlessly along to whatever the boy is saying, but the warning bell rings and you send him a soft, defeated smile.

‘Later,’ You mouth, and his eyes dim when he nods.

Your efforts are futile at lunch, too. He has the class period before with a few of his friends, loud and brash, not your style. It means that you occupy your normal seat, a corner of a bench that the group to your left isn’t using, and tug out a book to entertain yourself. You feel his gaze burning against the side of your head, but if you get caught staring at him, his friends will turn it into some wild story about how you’re infatuated with him, and you’re not the type of person that makes that observation a compliment, at least, not to Billy’s friends. You almost hope he stops looking at you, too, because if they catch him staring, you don’t know how they’ll torment you.

It almost kills him to wait until you’re seated together in biology to reach for your hand. You’d never seen him arrive to class earlier than today, he’s even there before you are. He doesn’t bother to hide his staring, icy eyes tracking you from the second you walk through the door to the second you sit beside him.

You’re thankful that you’re officially seated together now, and you’re thinking that maybe you don’t hate group projects as much as you thought you did.

“Hey,” He murmurs, sliding his hand across the back of yours under the desk.

“Hey,” You hum, flipping your hand over to meet his palm-to-palm.

Everything seems right with the world again.

There’s a certain security you get from Billy’s touch, even if he probably gets more from yours. Having someone to hold grounds you, and you hope it does the same for him. It’s strange, feeling such a strong connection to someone you’d only started talking to days before, but you suppose that’s what happens when you remove all of the formalities of friendship. Your first sleepover just happened to be in an effort to keep him alive, not to eat junk food and watch movies.

You try to pay attention to the teacher, you really do. But she’s nowhere near as interesting as the soft scratching of Billy’s pencil on your paper, and you can’t help but watch as he writes.

You need a ride home?

You reach for your own pencil, scrawling your answer and sliding the paper to him in response

I can take the bus. You should take Max, she skated this morning.

He nearly breaks his pencil writing: She’s got tutoring after school today, she skates home anyways.

Okay, You decide, and you see him smile out of the corner of his eye as you write the word, Thanks, Billy.

He squeezes your hand, and he doesn’t need to write ‘You’re welcome’ for you to know it’s what he’s saying.

Biology typically drones on. You try to stay on top of your schoolwork, of course, but that doesn’t mean you enjoy it. The class is suddenly a lot less dreary with Billy beside you, and it becomes a game of stifling giggles. He steps on the toe of your shoe beneath the table, you tug at one of his curls. He crowds your space with his shoulder and nudges you to the edge of your seat, you let go of his hand to pinch at his thigh. He has to stifle a groan at that one, and to do so he thumps his head forwards on his desk, using the cool plastic against his forehead to quell his rugged laughter.

The thunk of his head against the desk alerts your teacher, and you sit up straight, eyes on your paper that’s covered in doodles as you try not to laugh. She scoffs, seeing Billy slumped over the desk, and probably assumes he’s fallen asleep. When she turns away, you elbow him, dipping your head down to where his rests on the desk to whisper in his ear.

“Cut it out,” You hiss, kicking his foot beneath the desk, “She almost saw!”

“Oh no,” He gushes, turning his head so that a sliver of his face shows, glinting with a shit-eating grin, “Do you think we’ll get in trouble?”

“It’s not funny!” You insist, keeping your voice as hushed as possible, “I’ve never been in trouble before, and if I get sent to the principal’s office, I’ll-”

“Y/L/N! Hargrove!” You stiffen at the voice of your teacher, your eyes widening where Billy’s only sparkle with excitement, “You two seem distracted. Anything on your minds?”

“Not mitosis.” Billy quips, straightening up from the desk and leaning back in his chair. He earns a few laughs from his scattered friends, and the teacher’s face hardens. Your stomach drops.

“You think you’re funny? You’re one missed homework assignment from failing this class. And now you’re dragging Y/N into this, too? Both of you, head to the front office. This ends here.”

There are tears burning at your eyes. You’re not the best student in the world. Hell, you’re not even in the top ten. But you’re not a bad one either, at best you slip through the cracks. You’ve never had disciplinary action taken against you, and gathering your things amongst the tense silence of your peers feels like a death sentence. 

Billy barely remembers to get his own bag, and he pointedly leaves his papers scattered over his desk. You scoop them up in your own handful, and he waits diligently by your side as you pick up your things. When you’re finally packed up he snatches your hand from where it’s hanging at your side, marching the both of you to the door.

He offers the teacher a very quaint, very polite middle finger as he drags you out of the door, and that’s what does it. The second the door shuts behind you, you burst into tears.

He looks up, alarmed at the sob you let out. The classroom you’d just exited has a row of windows that your back is facing, and he’s worried that if you turn slightly, your classmates will see you cry. As much as you’d told him it was okay to cry this morning, he’s sure you wouldn’t want your peers witnessing the meltdown you’re having. He acts fast, using your intertwined hands and yanking you into the nearest bathroom.

Your sobs echo off of the tile, and he pulls you haphazardly into his chest. Your head rests there pitifully, shoulders slumped as you cry.

“Jesus, okay,” He pants, peering under the few stalls in the back to make sure you’re alone, “What’s wrong?”

“I- I don’t know!” You do know, but it feels embarrassing to say it out loud, “I just- I’ve never been in trouble before, and it’s going on my-” You break to quell another sob, tamping it down in your chest, “Permanent record, and-!”

“Okay, calm down.” Billy scoffs, and you’re surprised to find that it’s not a derogatory one, but a fond one, “It’s fine. All we were doing was talking, it’s not like we were smoking weed in the bathroom.”

Your head shoots up and you recognize your surroundings. You glare at him suspiciously, “You don’t have any weed on you, right?”

“No!” He laughs incredulously, “I do not have any weed on me. Now,” He takes your shoulders in his broad hands, and your fingers go cold now that his aren’t intertwined with them anymore.

“You and I are gonna calm down,” He tells you, voice slow and steady. You’re the only one that needs to calm down, but you appreciate his cooperation.

“Then we’re gonna leave this bathroom, and do you know where we’re gonna go?”

“The front office,” You recite, but he breaks into a grin, shaking his head so that his curls fly.

“But that’s where she told us-”

“She can suck my dick.” Billy scoffs, “She made you cry. Forget her.”

“Billy, I can’t just forget her,” You insist, eyes wide and teary, “She’s our teacher!”

“Today’s Friday,” He reminds you, “She’s not our teacher again until Monday.”

“Fine. Where are we really going?” You look at him skeptically, raising your hand to wipe your nose against its back.

“Okay, first, ew.” Billy wrinkles his nose, yanking your hand away from your face and wiping it with a paper towel that he jerks out of the machine. He wipes your nose next, but he does it aggressively, smearing the paper towel against your face and pushing your head back until you’re laughing, trying to swat him away. The sound makes him smile, and it doesn’t fade as he continues talking.

“We’re gonna go see a movie,” He decides, hiking the strap of his bag higher up on his shoulder. Your face darkens slightly, goofy grin dimming.

“We can’t.” You protest softly, “She told us to go to the front office. You said it yourself, Billy, we were just talking. But if we ditch, we’ll be in more trouble, real trouble.”

“I’m always in trouble,” He huffs, “And you’re never in trouble. You really think this’ll be a breaking point for either of us?”

“What’s gonna happen when we don’t show up to the office?”

“They’ll give us detention.”

“We have to go, then!” Your eyes go wide, and you start for the door. He lunges for your hand, grabbing it just before you can push your way out, and this time he doesn’t drop it when he pulls you back inside.

“Detention means we’ll get to sit together for two hours and mess around.”

“No we can’t,” You scoff, “They monitor you. So we can’t just mess around.”

“Hey.” He snaps, begging your attention with those icy blue eyes of his, “Have you ever been in detention before?”

“No.” You admit quietly.

“Right. I have. They don’t care. They don’t want to be there, and they know we don’t either. They’re not gonna punish us any further, ‘cause then they’d just have to sit there with us for longer. Trust me, this will be fun.”

“Fun,” You groan, slumping forwards into his chest rather than covering your face with your hands. It’s a bold move, but a well-received one, and you feel his firm chest shake as he chuckles.

“Yes, fun.” He promises, “But if you really wanna walk up to that office and get lectured…”

“Billy,” You bite the inside of your cheek, lifting your head up so that your chin rests against his chest, “I.. I do. I’m sorry, I know you want to have fun, and- and you can go to the movies if you want! But I don’t want detention on my record. Even if it won’t do anything, I just- it sounds bad.”

“Okay.” He says, after a moment of tense silence. His grin fades, but he doesn’t scoff or push you away. He sighs dramatically, “You’re changing me, y’know. Normally I’d be halfway home by now, but you’ve got me hauling myself in to see the principal, this is bullshit.”

“I told you you could go to the movies!” You gush, laughing weakly at his dramatic display. He brings one of his large hands up to your face, smearing his rough thumb beneath your eyes and wiping away the sticky tear tracks there.

“No,” He sighs again, huffing and puffing, “I’m the one that got you in trouble, I’m not gonna ditch you. We’ll just suffer together.”

His words strike something in you. He’s chosen to change himself, to face consequences for his actions when he’d normally flee. You’re proud of him, so insanely proud that you decide to change yourself as well, and when he leads you towards the office by your intertwined hands, you turn sharply and drag him the other way.

“Wha- Woah.” His eyes widen as you yank him down the hallway, your feet slapping against the shitty linoleum flooring. You beeline for the door, bursting into the daylight with your adrenaline-pumped chest heaving. You come to a stop just outside the building, looking back at him with a thrill glowing in your eyes.

“What movie are we seeing?” You pant, and his grin reappears.

“You’re trouble.” He declares in a laugh, “Let’s go.”

Billy drives fast. This time it doesn’t seem like recklessness, though, but fun. The windows are rolled down, and wind whips through the car and ruffles your hair. His own blonde curls are flying, in his face and over his shoulders against the seat.

“Slow down!” You shriek, laughing through your words, “We’re gonna crash!”

“What are we gonna crash into,” He gestures to the empty road in front of you, all farmland and dust as the same laughter bleeds into his own voice, “A haybale? You want me to slow down so you can admire the scenery?”

There is no scenery. There’s fields, half-dead grass rolling on for miles and miles and passing by so fast that it looks like the sand on a beach. The sky is your ocean, blue and foamy white where clouds streak across it. You pass isolated barns, groves of trees, and-

“Cows!”

“What?”

“Cows! There’s cows up there,” You gush, pointing aggressively at the pasture, “Stop!”

“I can’t-! Uh, okay,” Billy rushes to step on the brakes, wheels screeching against the poorly-paved asphalt as he skids to a stop.

You’re surprised he doesn’t burn through his tires with how fast he stops. You’re out of the car before he can even turn to look at you, seatbelt long unbuckled in favor of dashing for the cows. They’re grazing aimlessly in their pasture, only a weak white fence standing between you and them.

“Hey- Hey!” Billy shouts, rushing to get himself out of the car. He’s panting slightly when he finally stands beside you, regarding you with an indignant look, “What the fuck was that about?”

“Cows,” You croon, sticking your hands over the fence and reaching for the animals, “Come pet the cows with me, Billy!”

One of them seems very interested in any potential snacks your hand might be hiding. Its large, wet nose bumps against your skin and you laugh, long and loud and free, letting the animal explore your scent and petting along its face when it finally realizes you have nothing yummy to offer it.

There’s damp bits of grass stuck to your arm from where its mouth nuzzles against you,, and its tongue is purple when it comes out to swipe along your skin. You shriek, the sound morphing into an elated giggle.

“Oh,” Billy’s nose wrinkles and he takes a step back, “Gross.”

“It’s not gross!” You insist, pulling your arm away to wipe the grass on your jeans, “That’s just what cows do. You’ve never pulled over to pet some?”

“No,” He scoffs, “That’s the most ‘country’ shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah,” You nod gleefully, and he thinks maybe you’ve misinterpreted the scathing tone of his voice, “Come on, Billy, come pet the cows!”

“No thanks,” He shakes his head, “I’m gonna go smoke in the car. Jus’ come back when you’re done.”

You let him head back to the car only for long enough to get a few more scratches in under the chin of a cow to your right. Then you beeline for the passenger’s side, and Billy looks surprised at your arrival.

“Done?”

“No,” You shake your head, reaching for your backpack, “I’m just getting my strawberries.”

“Uh,” Billy watches, apprehensive as you pull a plastic bag of the fruit from your backpack, “You’re not gonna feed those to the cows, are you?”

“Duh,” You nod, pulling the bag open and nearly ripping the seam, “Cows love strawberries, I feed ‘em all the time.”

“You what?” Billy looks at you like you’ve told him you’re made of the red fruit you’re holding, “You’re gonna stick your fingers next to those animal’s faces with food in your hands and you don’t think they’re gonna bite you?”

“No, Billy, cows don’t bite! Not like that,” You insist, hair flying as you shake your head. “I’m not gonna put my fingers in their faces, I’m gonna hold the strawberries on my palm. Then they can’t bite me. Come on, I’ll show you!”

“I’m not feeding cows,” Billy insists, but he moves to get out of the car anyway. When he’s standing at full height he rips the cigarette out from between his lips, blowing smoke into the road, “But I’m not gonna let you run off on your own and get mauled by some hunk of beef.”

“You’re totally gonna feed the cows,” You grin, eyes narrowed at him as you turn on your heel and head back to the fence, “You’ll see!”

You’re already jamming your hand under a cow’s mouth, a strawberry staining your palm red and sticky, when Billy saunters up to the fence. He watches warily as you let the cow nose at your fingers, then it sticks its tongue out to sweep the fruit off of your skin.

You giggle at the ticklish feeling, but Billy’s mouth falls open in horror.

“Oh,” He groans, nose scrunched and grimace strong, “That’s so fucking gross. Its tongue is purple.”

“It’s cool!” You insist, offering the cow a hearty rub between the ears as it munches on your strawberry, hand slimy with spit, “Is there much farmland in California?”

“A bit,” Billy shrugs, blissfully unaware of the curious cow sneaking up behind him as he’s turned towards you, leaning sideways on the fence. “It’s kind of a mix. We didn’t live anywhere near farmland, but sometimes we went to visit Susan’s-!”

Before he can tell you what random relative lived far out in the California farmlands, there’s a cow tongue in his ear.

He jolts away from the fence with a squawk, nearly toppling over as one hand comes up to cover his ear. You’re roaring with laughter even as you help steady him, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his waist while he stumbles to a stop a few feet away from the fence.

“He was looking for strawberries,” You giggle, pulling your sleeve over your hand to wipe cow spit off of his cheek, “I think that was your official welcome to Indiana, Billy.”

“Laugh all you want,” He groans, smearing his own hand over his face to rid his skin of any residual slime you’d missed, “But if we ever make it to an ocean and you wipe out, I’m laughing at you.”

“Deal,” You grin sideways at him, another strawberry in hand.

Of course, Billy does end up feeding the cows. It takes another round of hand-holding, though, where you place the strawberry in his palm and flatten yours beneath it. 

“Just be patient,” You murmur, feeling Billy’s hand tense as the cow noses at his fingers, “He just wants to say hi.”

“We’ve been acquainted,” Billy drawls, grimacing once more as the cow licks the strawberry off of his palm, “He tried eating the thoughts out of my head.”

“What thoughts?” You tease, but before you can gauge the situation and figure out whether you need to start running or not, Billy flips his hand over his shoulder to where you’re standing pressed to his back, and smears his sticky palm across your face.

“Oh,” You gasp, eyes squeezed shut and nose scrunched. You stagger backwards, nearly colliding with his car,  “Gross!”

“Oh, really?” Billy roars with laughter, grabbing you around the waist and leaning his chin over your shoulder as he presses your back to his chest, “I thought it was an Indiana welcome! I thought it was cool!”

“Not when you do it!” You can’t help but laugh, trying desperately to hold the cracked pieces of your disgusted facade together, “You’re not as cute as a cow!”

You’re lying, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“And to think,” He scoffs, loosening his hold on you but not letting go completely, “I was gonna buy your movie ticket for you.”

You’d almost forgotten your movie adventure. You’d been so wrapped up in having fun with Billy, soaring down the streets with music blaring from the speakers that you’d completely ignored the way he’d driven miles away from any nearby movie theater.

“Hey, yeah,” You stiffen in his grip, turning your head to knock your forehead with his. You try not to pay attention to how close you two are, keeping your focus on his stunning blue eyes, “Why are we out here? The theater’s back that way.” You jerk your thumb behind you in the direction you’d came, and his face settles into a smirk once more.

“We’re not going to that shitty theater,” He boasts, “We’re going to a drive-in. It’s a few miles into the next town over.”

It makes sense, you suppose. He has a cool car, and what better place to show it off?

“I’ve never been to a drive-in,” You gush, excitement brewing in your belly, “What are the showtimes?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs, finally letting you go to saunter back to his car and lower himself into the driver’s seat. You follow to the passenger’s side, tucking the empty plastic bag back in your backpack.

“We’ll catch something.” He reasons, hands finally back on the wheel as you shut your door and buckle your seatbelt, “People around here have nothing better to do, I bet there’s movies playing every hour.”

He gets started on the road once more, and you decide to let him drive uninterrupted. Although it hurts you to watch unpet cows whizz by the windows, you know you’ll be back too late if you keep stopping. When his tires crunch against gravel, then smooth over dirt, the unlit neon sign of the drive-in looms overhead. He leans out of the window at the counter, ordering a large popcorn and two sodas along with your tickets in that rough drawl of his.

He’s a bit rough when he stops on the asphalt, but that’s just how he drives. He’s used to driving recklessly, it’s not a habit easily broken. You hope you can help him live better, sending him a soft, sweet smile as he passes you your soda.

“This view good?” He glances over at you, hand already buried in the popcorn.

You nod emphatically, “Mhm! What movie?”

“No clue,” He lets out a huff of a laugh, “Does it really matter?”

“No,” You shrug, “‘Guess not.”

“It’s almost five,” Billy glances at his watch, “Are your parents gonna freak if you’re not home by dark?”

“They’re having dinner with friends tonight,” You recall relievedly, “They’ll probably be out way later than us. And they’ll just leave dinner in the fridge, they won’t know I’m gone.”

“Nice,” Billy nods, absentmindedly gnawing on a solid popcorn kernel, “My dad never goes out with friends. He doesn’t really have any, I don’t think. Susan does, work friends, but she’s probably not eager to show off her husband.”

He speaks about his dad with a bitter tone in his voice, words coming out brittle like they’ll snap if he tries putting any feeling into them. You hum in understanding; if your husband was like Neil Hargrove, you wouldn’t bring him around your friends either.

“You have friends,” You hum, “Don’t you ever eat out with them?”

“Uh,” He turns his head to stare expectantly at you, “Hello? Remember how I drove you a town over to see a movie, and I let you stop us halfway to stage a petting zoo?”

“I don’t mean me,” You gush, “Like, your other friends! The guys on the basketball team, or whoever you usually hang out with. That little crowd. You don’t go out with them?”

“Not really,” Billy shrugs, “They’re not my friends. Not like- um,” He drops his gaze to his lap, picking at the bucket of popcorn, “Not like you are.”

“Oh.” Is all you can manage, then you wet your throat to speak again, “They seem… no offense, shallow. Like- like they only talk about superficial stuff together. I’ve heard some of your conversations, I think.”

“Oh, so you’re updated on the riveting world of Hawkins High’s popularity pageant?” He scoffs, reaching for a cigarette, “Shit’s so stupid.”

“You say that from the top of the food chain,” You point out tentatively, “You don’t like it there?”

“It’s better than nothing.” He slows his attempts to self-medicate, hand frozen where he’s striking his lighter, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I’m not getting pushed into lockers. But, it’s like-” His fingers tighten slightly around the cig, jaw tight, “I got there because of what I have, not who I am. And not even that, I got there because of what it looks like I have. They think I’m some kind of rich kid ‘cause I have a nice car, but we’re lucky we don’t live in the trailer park. They think I’m mowing my way through the cheerleading team because they’ve seen us talking before. Sure, maybe I’ve flirted with a few, but-” His face darkens in frustration, nose scrunching slightly, “On the weekends, my dad makes me do shit around the house. And on the weekdays, I’m looking after my sister.” 

You don’t point out his slip-up, how in a fit of passion he’s dropped the ‘step-’. It’s nice to hear.

“I have no time to sleep around,” He chuckles darkly, disdainfully, “Not often. But because people like me, or- or like what they think of me, they just assume I’m selling myself out for it.”

“It’s bullshit,” He concludes, huffily so, “It’s all bullshit. And it’s not gonna last past high school.”

A tense silence falls over the car after he’s finished speaking. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised anymore, not after two days of emotional curveballs from the man, but you think it might be the most you’ve ever heard him speak.

He looks nervous, fiddling with the keys in his ignition. Before he can regret opening up, you reach out to take his hand, pulling it away from the keys and linking yours into it on his thigh.

“I’m glad I’m your friend, Billy.” You confess, equal parts honest and tender. You want the words to soak into his veins, flow through his bloodstream and bloom sweet blossoms inside that light up his dark world.

“Me too,” He breathes, eyes glued to your intertwined hands as he tightens his fingers into the grip. As if on cue, the movie screen lights up, and it’s just barely dark enough outside to see the film.

“Here we go,” You settle in your seat, keeping your hand securely in his own, “Popcorn?”

Billy uses his free hand to pass the bucket over, and you can feel the heat concealed by the thick paper bucket hovering just above your hands. You munch on the buttery snack, a kernel already lodged in your teeth.

To Billy’s slight disinterest, it’s an old romance movie. He should have known, all that ever plays at these movie marathon nights are romances and beach flicks. He has a fleeting thought that he’d rather be watching women in bikinis, but it seems like something he shouldn’t think while holding your hand, so he pushes it away and tries to focus on the grainy, black-and-white footage. 

The transatlantic accents and over-dressed main characters only hold his attention for a few minutes. But he’s family to Neil Hargrove, and he knows how to tune out a boring speech. He focuses more on the warmth that your hand pushes against his, sweet and soft and soothing like the blanket he used to get tucked in under at his grandma’s house. His grandma who knitted that blanket herself, just for him, and who slipped him strawberry sweets anytime his dad got too drunk to notice. And the way you hold his hand feels just like his mother used to, with her thumb stacked on his so that she could stroke it like you’re doing now. He’s only held his dad’s hand a few times, and he’s not able to remember much. He just remembers his mom had always dropped Neil’s hand in a big dramatic fashion, claiming that it was like holding a dead fish.

There’s nothing morbid about holding your hand, though. You’re not stiff and cold like his father, your fingers curve around his and mold to his skin. You not only reciprocate, you initiate, squeezing at a funny line or brushing over the back of his hand.

You’re all the best parts of the people he’s loved, and none of the bad parts of the ones he couldn’t. If he was any sleazier, he’d ask if it hurt when you fell from heaven.

You let out a particularly sweet laugh at a scene and the sound takes him back to only a few nights ago, sitting on his bed and feeling safe. He’d actually forgotten about his father until the man had stormed his bedroom, and he marvels at how you’d managed to suck the terrible thoughts from his head. 

Your study session puts mitosis in his mind. Then biology, and he wonders if there’s ever been two organisms more compatible with each other. Personally, he thinks your biology is pretty basic: you were made for him, and he was made for you. 

He’s broken out of his scientific reverie when your head falls to his shoulder. You throw a quick glance up at him through your lashes, silently begging for permission for something you’ve already done. His heart thuds in his chest as he watches you with curious eyes, and a slow nod of his head is all you need to settle against his side. You’re at an awkward angle, side arched over the center console to get your head to his shoulder. That makes it better, Billy thinks, that you had to work for it. It means you really mean it, that you’re not just doing it because it’s convenient. You’re loving him because you want to.

“Shitty movie,” Billy grumbles, his voice hoarse from its prolonged silence.

“Good popcorn,” You hum, reaching for another piece. Billy leans down to snatch it out of your hand with his teeth, and chews it with a growing grin as you chuckle. 

“You’re a monster,” You tease, and a word that his brain usually whispers at him past midnight, loathing in his thoughts and venom in his veins, becomes nothing more than a nickname.

He thinks he wants to be your monster if it makes you laugh like that, all teasing teeth and careful manhandling.

You’re almost afraid you’ve insulted him with the title until he leans his head against yours, neck bent at an angle. His ear is pressed to the crown of your head, and just in case he can hear your thoughts, you think extra hard: I love you.

You last longer than Billy had, but you lose interest in the film, too. It’s not that it’s boring, it’s just not particularly interesting, and your brain is moving too slow for you to concentrate on careful dialogue. Apparently, the excitement of the day has caught up with you. Your eyes are starting to droop, and you think Billy might be able to feel your lashes flutter against his bicep. If he can, he doesn’t say anything, he just stays curled around you in his seat.

Slowly, second by second, minute by minute, you fall asleep. You drift away from the world and all that remains is Billy’s arm against your cheek, his hand holding yours. You don’t know if you’re fully sleeping or not, all you know is that Billy is the one constant between your life and your dreams.

Billy feels your breathing even out, the soft puffs of air that hit his arm soft and consistent. It’s the last thing he wants to do, but he lifts his head to peer at your face, seeing that you are, in fact, asleep.

He has the strongest urge in the world to kiss your forehead. He doesn’t, half because he’s scared you’ll wake up and think he’s a creep, and half because he’s not sure he’s capable of loving back. He’s taking it slow, and he’ll stick with leaning his head on you. 

He does that until the movie’s almost over, and the romantic climax is shining on the screen.

The woman has fallen asleep on the man’s shoulder. They’re not in a car, they’re on a park bench, but her nose is nudged up against his bicep, too, and their hands are intertwined.

The man reaches up to her cheek, and so does Billy.

His hand is warm and slightly rough against the soft skin of your cheek, but it’s his warm breath against your face that wakes you. Your lashes flutter open, and the only thing you can see are Billy’s pretty blue eyes. You’re almost startled, almost caught off-guard, and then you notice the dark flecks of insecurity in them, ridged between peaks of blue like ocean waves. 

He can’t speak. He’s paralyzed, eyes unblinking against your own, unable to ask, to tell, to beg. All he can do is stare, and hope that his hand isn’t shaking against your cheek.

He licks his lips, and you know what he’s trying to muster up the courage to do.

“Billy,” You breathe, soft and careful, “Are you sure?”

He manages to hum questioningly, but it’s a choked sound from somewhere deep in his throat.

“You’re speeding again,” You let out a breathy chuckle, but you raise your hand to hold his to your face, “Is this because you want me or because you think you’ll never get the chance to have me again?”

“I want you,” Billy murmurs, and the man on screen echoes his sentiments.

The woman on screen leans in, and so do you.

The kiss you share is unlike anything Billy’s ever felt. What he’s used to is prodding tongues, nipping teeth, below-the-belt grabbing, but this is new. This is the soft, dewy sweetness of lips barely touching, and the watermelon balm spread over your mouth. It’s tender in the way that you hold his hand to your cheek, and only made more so by the fact that you’re still holding hands between the seats. It’s less of an active kiss and more of an embrace, lips holding each other in place and noses bumping.

Billy’s never felt safer letting his eyes drift shut. At night there’s always the possibility that his dad will unlock the door in the middle of the night and take out insomnia-fueled rage on him. In his car he’ll get arrested for loitering. Now there’s nothing but you, and that’s all he ever wants there to be.

There’s muted claps from the other cars around you as the movie ends, and you choose to attribute the closing scene of fireworks to your kiss and not the leads’. When you draw away it’s with soft, content sighs, awestruck and breathless.

“I want you too, Billy.” You vow, more than happy to let him know he’s loved, “I’m glad we didn’t go to the front office.”

“Me too,” Billy breathes, leaning in to brush his lips against yours one last time, just holding them there as his fluttering eyes stare into yours.

The sound of revving engines breaks you out of your trance, and Billy pulls away from your face to look over your head. He’s still got his hand on your cheek, and you’re cradled to his chest as he watches everyone around you disperse.

“Let’s head home,” You murmur into his collarbones, kissing the skin there chastely, “You can stay the night at my house again, if you want.”

“I should get home,” He admits reluctantly, “My dad is probably still freaked about last night.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go back,” You hum, tracing the outline of a bandage through his shirt against his stomach.

“Me too,” He sighs, and finally lets your face go when the overhead lights to the lot flick on, “But we’ll get out soon.”

“Oh? Where are we going?” You settle back in your seat, turning to face him with curious eyes.

“California,” He smiles, and his genuine one is a breathtaking sight, “And anywhere you want to stop along the way.”

“That sounds perfect,” You sigh happily, head leaning comfortably back against the headrest. A yawn breaks through your lips and scrunches up your face, and Billy has to fight himself so that he doesn’t pull over and kiss the lines near your mouth.

The silence in his car is peaceful now, serene. There’s nothing left unsaid anymore, nothing hidden in your eyes and nothing withheld in your touches. You drift off to sleep wishing you were still holding Billy’s hand, and when you wake up, you are.

“Hey,” He whispers, squeezing your hand where his is interlocked with it, “Hey, wake up. You’re home now, we’ve gotta get you inside.”

“Hm? Oh,” You hum, bleary eyes taking in the outline of your house against the harsh beams of Billy’s headlights. “Thanks, Billy.”

“Uh-huh,” He nods, offering you a hand after you undo your seatbelt, “C’mon, if you can stand, I’ll carry you up to bed.”

You;re more than happy to let him sweep you off of your feet. He can feel your smile as you bury it in his neck, and he doesn’t even worry about shutting his car off and locking it before he pushes open your front door. Sure enough there’s tinfoil covered dinner on the counter alongside a note from your parents, and Billy marvels at how well they take care of you even when they’re not home. 

“To the right,” You instruct him, realizing he’s only ever gotten into your room from the window outside, “And it’s the second door down.”

“Got it,” He murmurs, chin bumping your cheek.

Your bed is still unmade from that morning, and he yearns to slip beneath the covers again. He’s jealous when he tucks you in, and you’re glad you wore comfy clothing to school so that you can burrow under your blankets and not worry about changing.

“Goodnight,” Billy leans down, an inch away from your face, “Can I…?”

You lean up to do it for him, pushing your lips against his once more.

He melts into it, and the way that your nails scratch the hair at the base of his scalp only makes it worse.

“Goodnight,” You mumble, words wonky and misspoken against his lips, “I had fun today, Billy. I’m glad we’re friends, and I’m glad we’re more.”

“Me too,” He agrees, and the sentiments he’s agreeing to feel foreign to him. Five days ago he’d have been the least likely person on earth to have a friend, and now he’s got a partner to boot. In every sense of the word, he loves you, even if he won’t say those three words yet.

“Please be safe,” You cup his cheek, stroking over his slightly bruised cheekbone with tenderness he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to, “And if he hurts you again, stay with me instead.”

“I will,” Billy promises, dotting a dewy kiss to the side of your mouth as you settle into sleep, content with his safety.

He tells himself he’s just puttering around, throwing a stray sock into the laundry hamper and straightening a book he’d nearly knocked off of your nightstand on the way in. But really he’s waiting to make sure you’re really asleep, ring already slipped off of his finger and growing sweaty in his palm.

Once he’s sure you won’t wake, he peels back the covers on your bed, taking your hand in his. It’s got a familiar weight to it, a fact that he mentally celebrates, and his fingers shake as he slides the metal band onto your finger.

Having a ring to chuck in the garbage is gonna hurt a whole lot more when they leave, he reminds himself. Then, ‘If’.

“If they leave.” Your soft voice rings in his ears, and as he treks back to his car, revving the engine in the silvery light of the moon, there’s a feeling he’s never felt before rising in his chest. Hope: “Some people stay.”

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)

[hauskate]

One Night [ Yuji Itadori x Fem!Reader ]

Pairings: Yuji Itadori, Implied Female Reader

Description: You hadn't seen each other since high school - and nothing has changed, right?

TW: 18+ content, language, body worship, praise kink, sub reader, soft dom yuji, oral (f receiving), no mention of condoms (wrap it before you tap it), both of you are so damn loud, friends to lovers, overstim if you squint, this man is so precious oml

Word Count: 1k

♡ You’d been best friends all of high school (and always thought him considerably attractive).

♡ But the first day you saw him on campus? Sure it’d been a few years since you’d gotten your bachelor’s, but god damn he’d aged well. Reeking of testosterone, he carried broad shoulders, toned arms, and had grown more than a foot taller than you - yet his previous sparkling eyes and light pink hair had never changed. 

♡ Not to mention the second he made eye contact, you knew it was all over.

♡ So, only a few hours later you found yourself on his locked door and roommate gone. He had you pushed against the cold wood, legs wrapped around his thin waist and gasping for air. The makeout session had only gone on for a few minutes, but the dark, lustful eyes of his let you know there’d be more to come.

♡ His touches were gentle, caressing your figure as if it were glass. However, even the most loving can get impatient - and he wasn’t spared. 

♡ Picking you up without breaking the kiss, Yuji laid you down on his single bed. The plush sheets stirred under you, and he gave you no time before gently pulling on your shirt hem. 

♡ “Is this okay..?” His caution was adorable, but the heat growing in your lower stomach had you answering rather quickly. “Aww, I see someone’s needy~”

♡ You weren’t the only one, though. As soon as your bra and panties were off, his tongue was diving into your velvety walls. Both hands gripped his hair, holding on for dear life as your childhood best friend ate you out as if you were his last meal. 

♡ “Yuji… Yuji, I- r-right there- ah~ fuck fuck fuck..”

♡ It took no time at all for you to get through several orgasms, legs shaking so badly he had to wrap his arms around them to keep you still. 

♡ He let you calm down for a moment, breath still uneven. His figure glistened with sweat, hair matted, abs tight, and lustful eyes drinking in the sight of you.

♡ "You're so good for me darling…" He muttered, finally coming up from your dripping cunt. 

♡ His words were sweeter than you'd imagined, eyes and hands worshiping every part of you. It was too much for you- you needed more.

♡ "Baby… Baby I need you so- so badly… Need your dick… please… " 

♡ Little did you know it took every ounce of control not to rail you into next Tuesday. Little did you know how often he'd thought about you, for all those years he's just waited for the chance to see you again. Little did you know that he'd been dreaming of this very moment, stroking himself nearly every night just wishing those hands were your gorgeous pussy.

♡ His lustful eyes softened, fearful of hurting you. What if he had ruined your friendship? The thoughts wrestled with him for a while, until your sweet lips cut them off. 

♡ Once you'd pulled away, a small "you're sure…?" left him one last time, his feather-light touch grazing your thighs in admiration. "I don't want to hurt you…"

♡ "Please… Please just fuck me, Yuji-"

♡ And that was all he needed before unzipping his pants, hands shaking and relying on you for some help. 

♡ He didn't need much help after that, though.

♡ Lining himself up with you, his large hands made you look him in the eye. "I want you to tell me exactly what you're feeling. To be honest, I don't entirely know what I'm doing because I'm… actually a virgin…" He admitted, voice softening by the end.

♡ "Yuji.." you began, gazing lovingly into his light brown hues. He began to look away, but you gently pulled him back. "I am too."  The two of you held a meaningful gaze, filled with raw emotion.

♡ And with that, without wasting a moment, he slid in you. It was a perfect fit, and he went slowly to allow you to adjust.

♡ It didn't take long, though, before your whimpers became loud moans- it was impossible to keep quiet. His dick touched every spot that made your body shake, hands gripping your soft breasts and hot mouth kissing you as if he'd never be able to do this again in his life.

♡ You weren't the only one moaning, though. His were even louder, growing in volume as he hit the spot within you that made both of you see stars. 

♡ Within minutes you were spasming from his quick but accurate thrusts. The bed creaked under you, and your eyes closed as you screamed "I-I'm cumming… Yuji, Y-Yuji, I- fuck~!"

♡ "L-Let it out, darling… Let me hear those sweet sounds of yours. You're- You're so good for me," he groaned into your ear, not far behind himself. 

♡ Yuji's always had some of the best stamina you'd ever seen, but that wasn't the case when he had his world underneath him. His breath became short pants, sounds getting so loud that most likely the entire campus could hear what was going on. 

♡ And before long, both of you came to your climax. It was the strongest feeling you'd ever had, back arching, toes curling, vision going white- the only word you seemed to know was Yuji's name. He was the same way, praising you through his own orgasm.

♡ The two of you helped each other through it, soft touches and sounds of pleasure filling the room. 

♡ Ever so slowly you both came back to the land of the living, his arms wrapping themselves around your figure. He pulled the blankets up over you, smiling and panting in the same breath.

♡ "I love you," he muttered, tangling his hand in your hair. "I've always loved you, Y/n."

♡ "I love you, too, Yuji."

© hauskate (writing), pinterest (art)

i am so sorry to those who wanted to be on the taglist - for some reason the comments aren't showing up on my other post, so either leave them here or send them to my inbox. thanks so much! love you guys/gals/nonbinary pals <3

[dotterelly]

I finished it. Time to scream.

God, for once I wish there was someone there that qPhilza would let down all his walls with and just let himself be weak and let them help and protect him! He's been letting down his walls with the kids but there's still an underlying thing of he has to be the one protecting them and he feels so guilty about leaning on them at all, and honestly he's based to feel that way, he put way too much on them. It's sounding like his reasoning for not relying on the other adults is a combination of not wanting them to think of him as weak or unreliable and a desire for them not to become known weaknesses of his like his kids are already in case his enemy uses them against him. You could argue the Enderking *has* been using his kids against him already by using his desire to provide for them and his love for them to disguise the manipulation of his behavior.

I really really wish Missa was about. In fact I deeply hope Missa is recovered enough from his sickness to log in at least once this week so the kids can at least talk to him about what's happened. The most ideal would be if he got online on Friday.

It is going to be Philza's birthday on Friday. That means either he's going to come back fine and be able to have a birthday party with everyone, and have a reprieve before the Enderking finds some other way to come after him. Or he's not going to come online at all and it's going to be longer before we see him again. Our maybe he'll come on as the Enderking and use his birthday to traumatize all his friends and their eggs XD.

The kids break my heart. Chayanne is constantly getting between Tallulah and qPhilza to protect her if necessary, and he's direct about wanting promises and time frames from his dad for now long he'll be away and when he'll come back. And then there's Tallulah. Where to even begin. This is her papa. The most constant parent she's had through everything she's been through. Not always the best at helping with the problems she has but always trying and always a safe and steady presence in her life. And now she's seeing glowing purple creep down his back as his behavior changes, and I'm sure she can't help remembering someone else with black creeping over their body until it consumed them entirely and they hurt her and her siblings, shot them with a gun. And then he yells at her. The first openly aggressive behavior he's ever shown towards her, and her fears are validated. No wonder she keeps her distance. No wonder she can't trust him. And then he takes them somewhere isolated to deal with the problem and I'm sure as she hesitated getting into that boat that she was remembering the last time she and her siblings were led somewhere. But that was her brother, already in the boat, determined to help his dad any way he could. And that was her papa. She didn't want to lose him either even though he might be already gone. So she gets in anyways. And they go, and her papa tells her and her brother to keep their swords out and be ready to defend themselves. And then she has to be the one to get between him and Chayanne when it's really like her papa is gone and something else is taken control. And oh god the emotion in his voice when he wrestled back that control and tells Tallulah to go to her brother and flee. And to them, it must have seemed like they might not see him again at that point. But he comes back to the house, sounding more like himself again but seemingly there only to day goodbye, telling her he's going to leave her. And Tallulah, still unable to trust this, still crouched in the corner on the bed watching him carefully, realises this could be the last time they ever get to talk. Because no matter how much he might promise to come back, her papa can't hide in his voice that he might not be able to. So she summons all of her courage to make sure she's told him the things she would regret not telling him if he never returned. To hug him one last time at his request even though she's terrified of coming close to him right now. My heart is broken into a million tiny pieces and then ground into a fine powder.

Back to qPhilza. I really love this trait he has where the minute he has an entity to directly confront, even if it is unkillable, he will fight tooth and claw. Seriously, if the Enderking had stuck to being creepy and vague and surrounding qPhilza with blocks and hallucinations, he might still have ground our crowman down. His biggest mistake was trying to taunt qPhilza directly. Because now he has a voice, he has become something qPhilza can fight. I've said it before that qPhilza, even knowing it was a fight he could not win, would punch a creative mode enemy until his knuckles bled and then keep punching if it meant defending his precious family and friends. I honestly don't think the Enderking can win this one. Which worries me, because the next logical step would be for him to go after the kids and use them as a bargaining chip. Or another thing that did cross my mind is that the Enderking may try to use one of the other islanders as his vessel for now, maybe that was one reason that qPhilza is so anxious that none of the others involve themselves in such a dangerous situation. Ugh, I just want him to be coddled like a baby for once, and to let it happen and *feel safe* and not have to hold onto everything so tightly.

I'm gonna leave this here because it's already far too long and I'm beginning to just ramble. If you read this far, I am impressed. I myself have now bled off enough adrenaline to be eepy. I will reblog some stuff and be back to theorize some more tomorrow. Much love <3

See under the cut for my play by play live blog notes.

This little shit. "This will be a short stream I think, I'm a bit eepy." All men do is lie.

OK, so we start with some nice subtle waving corruption behavior in front of friends who don't appear to pick up on it much, and then the thing with getting no saturation which is cool, and now we're dissing on twilight? Not sure how we got here but I'm living for it.

Weird effects to get from a dungeon, aaaaaaand now the enderking is leading him by the nose by highlighting mobs for him to see. I mean, it might have been a coincidence but i chose to believe it was not. XD 

Weird noise in the orc camp. And now his shoulders glow. I was a bit in and out of focus listening to this at work, I wasn't paying attention at this point and only came back to check when he got back home.

Yeah, kiddos already talking to each other about what's going on, but pretending everything is fine to dad for now. Early cookie time. *stare*

Of course Chayanne's got all the food already. And now there's crying obsidian all over, but this is fine, it's going to be fine. It's in the house now but just get rid of it, it's going to be fine.

The way the kids stare at him. Oh God it's so awkward. Their behavior is so off, but he's not noticing. They aren't jumping around nearly as much as they usually do. It's such a stark contrast with the wholesome family banter and falling asleep cuddled up together from last stream.

Now he's getting irritable and monologing about how the money is pointless and he just wants blocks. And now he's digging straight down. And saying he's not going to give all the zinc to Bad like he promised. At least he fell into a gay cave and not something more dangerous.

Fit and Bagi are here! Pac too! The kids definitely brought them. Intervention time let's go. Ok they're asking all the careful questions, and look to be muttering amongst themselves too a bit if I'm any judge. They went to talk while Ramon and Empanada chatted with Phil. Now Fit is back to confront him and has sent the kids away. Philza trying to deflect awkwardly and Fit not falling for it at all. 

Oh. 

The line that Tallulah mentioned someone protecting them and he's activated lore mode this is bad. He's taking Tallulah to have a private talk. He doesn't want people asking questions. He's twitching and yelling. Oh sweet crowfather where art thou.

Tallulah is so brave fr fr. The last time someone got corrupt and angry they pointed a gun at her and her siblings and shot at them.

Oh god our Dadza is so soft for his kids, not even the sneaky corruption lies can break that. The moment he realised Tallulah was scared it entirely broke the trap in his mind. Tallulah keeping her distance is all it took for him to come back.

(Haha, Bagi trying not to intrude but probably also wanting to make sure Tallulah is safe. I really want to see all this from her perspective next XD)

He's back, but Tallulah is still keeping her distance. Chayanne came and immediately crouched protectively on front of Tallulah. That's our boy right there. Philza is talking normal again now, he's going to get the backpack off. We have actual communication again, no secrets promise finally being at least somewhat honored.

RICHAAAAAAS! (He thinks Phil has scoliosis XD Tallulah the angst queen was not happy with him interrupting their serious rp moment XD)

Wings! The wings are safe, it's just his back that got stuff all over. But he's taking the kids away somewhere isolated to deal with this. God I wish he'd let other adults help him. He really seems to be trying hard to look like he can handle everything himself. God I wish he had someone who he could be weak around. Where's Missa!

Telling the kids to keep their swords out, attempt one goes about as well as you might expect. He jumps in the fire to rescue the backpack. Second attempt, Chayanne got the thing and ran. Philza is being scary. Poor Tallulah. Chayanne blows the horn and he has a moment of clarity and tells her to go to him. The realization of what he just did to his kids is setting in now.

Roses, and the dawn. The night is over. But the trauma remains. And as he rejects the need for stuff, the Enderking speaks. Our Enderpookie has a voice! This is what Philza needed. The creeping about was making him anxious, but give him something or someone solid to fight against and he'll fight by any means necessary. In this case, a battle of words and philosophies. It is very cathartic to hear him call the creeping horror a lonely little shit. Interesting that the line is that he's going to keep his wings out and not hide them. He's going to prove himself, he's determined.

But first he's going to make sure his kids know what's going on. Oh god, the two of them huddled on the bed. And Tallulah just stays there in the corner nearly the whole time, she can't trust him, that hurts. He's going to go away until he's better so that they feel safer, but Chayanne insists on having a definite day set for when he'll come back by. The little "papa" and "I still love you regardless" my heart. "Please come back dad i need you" Oh God. The intrinsic understanding that this might not work. That it might be the last goodbye. I'm near certain Tallulah is remembering the time they argued and she went to bed in a huff and then that was the last conversation she had with him face to face before they disappeared. She's making sure to say the things to not have regrets even though she's scared and can't trust him rn. And he's barely holding it together. And then he tells Chayanne not to come looking for him.

And with that, he's gone into isolation. Fuck, what a ride.

[purecantarella]

Everything Is Blue

short fluff piece again!! i'm trying to cover all my bases with the blackpink girls!! i got rlly excited so im hoping to post these all at the same time because i couldn't finish the reaction i had lined up for this week :"") i hope you all enjoy, my lovelies 💓 disclaimer/s : none, pure floof!!

Kim Jennie wasn’t the type to question her skills and charms, much less the unbridled love and support of her fans. But with all eyes hot on her after the dozens of alleged scandals coming her way as of the last few months, she couldn’t help her confidence from faltering.

The girls weren’t much comfort given that they were wrestling with their own anxieties, she didn’t want to burden them with her issues on top of hers.

Then there was you.

Her loving and devoted girlfriend who was willing to drop everything at the drop of a hat if she so needed you to. The rapper’s heart fluttered at the idea of the comfort you brought her. You had so much pride in her and it overflowed, so much so that there was enough belief in you to flow into her. If only you were there beside her, not in another timezone attending to your father’s business.

As quickly as your name brought her joy, it faded just as fast. In its place was an acute sense of your absence. She sits defeatedly in her make-up chair, the anxious energy now diminished. Jennie gingerly plucked her phone from the counter, eying your smiling face on her phone screen, not a single notification from you to wish her luck. She knew that you were probably asleep but it still didn’t make her feel any better.

“Ten minutes to places, ladies.” A stage manager called from the door before dashing off to head to another artist. The rest of the girls nodded off and began preparing themselves for the first time back on stage together in a year.

Jennie again stood up and faced Lisa who was running the steps back again quickly with Rosé and Jisoo who was warming her throat up. The rapper closed her eyes and breathed a heavy sigh in a useless attempt to recenter herself. ‘What would Y/n tell me to do right about now…?’

A rhythmic knock on the door pulls everyone's attention to it, Jennie’s focus broken once again. She knew it probably wasn't the staff's fault but they were likely set to perform a little later and the rapper felt a bit of frustration at the blow by blow report.

“Oh my God.” Rosé’s Aussie accent reverberated before the room was filled with slow and building laughter. Jennie’s ears perk up as she pulls herself off the make-up chair, cracking an eye open.

The first thing she notices are the large blue roses neatly collected in familiar hands. Then she finally looked up and her heart jump-started again. Her lip trembled as she fought off the smile from breaking when she saw you holding a bouquet of deep blue roses in one hand and a basket of baked pastries in the other.

Oddly enough, Jisoo and Rosé were the first to approach you, wrapping you in half hugs before snatching the bag of warm goodies and handing some over to the staff. Jennie walked up to you speechless. Her eyes glanced down at the flowers in your hand then lovingly in your eyes.

The dam finally broke and her lips upturned into a big, bright, gummy smile. Her hand raised and caressed your cheek gently, her thumb delicately trailing the outline of your jaw.

You smile, leaning into her touch, “Surprised?”

“Pleasantly.”

Jennie’s heart swooned as you handed her the roses, ones that bore a striking resemblance to the ones her mother would get her on her birthday. “I know you normally get these once a year, but I knew how much you loved them, and how homesick you’ve been—”

Before you can finish your thought, her lips are on yours in a delicate and loving manner. Soft and quaint. She wasn’t trying to make a show of it, she merely wanted to show you just how much she appreciated you. You pull away reluctantly as another knock at the door reveals a staff member.

“Blackpink, on stage in five minutes.” 

Jennie breathed another shaky breath in an attempt to calm herself. You look back at her and take the bouquet from her hands, placing it on a nearby table. Her hands are in your warm ones in seconds. “You know you’re going to be amazing right? All those blinks are ready to see you girls, and I know you’re going to kill it.” You place a feather-light kiss on her nose before nuzzling against it.

“And I’ll be right here afterwards.” Jennie smiles before leaning up again and kissing you. “Thank you. I needed that reminder.”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, squeezing her tightly, whispering in her ear, “And I’ll be here to remind you every single day of your life.” You peck her cheek before they’re ushered to the stage by awaiting staff.

Before she’s out the door, Jennie takes one last look at you, as you stick your thumbs up and offer her the dopiest smile you had. The rapper giggles and is filled with a sense of calm as she takes the stage.

And she was magnificent, just like you knew her to be.

so this was written back in august while i was sick and i never got around to finishing it HAHAHAH but i hope you all enjoyed this short fluff piece!! i am on christmas break so i'll try to be more active. i hope you're all taking care of yourselves and i love you all vv much!! see yall soon 💓 - r

[krikeymate]

I love your double whammies so 

prompt: 

Tara gets her wisdom teeth out and Sam has to get her back to the apartment and in bed as she’s coming off of the laughing gas. Chaos ensues. 

I gave the inverse to Tee :) 

Catch the mirrorverse over here. Take your bets, which one of us is the evil twin?

“Sam.”

“Yes, love?”

“NO! I want Sam!”

Tara struggles, unsuccessfully, in the taller girl’s arms.

After damn near half a year of suffering, mostly in silence, Sam had gotten the truth out of her about her sister’s grumpy mood and poor appetite, and made a dentist appointment. A short hour later, and $300 poorer, Tara was down two wisdom teeth, and Sam was making the difficult trek home with her unsteady little sister.

“I am Sam, dummy.”

“Nu-uh!”

God Sam wishes she was filming this.

For posterity.

And payback.

It would make such good payback next time Tara decides to be a little shit.

Alas.

“Ok then,” she struggles to say beneath the laughter bubbling up in her throat and the elbow she catches in the stomach, “who am I then?”

The question seems to stump her little sister, taking up all the brain power she has access to, giving Sam a blissful four minutes where Tara is quiet and complacent.

“A kidnapper,” she eventually blurts out with a matter-of-fact tone more concerned with being right than about what she’s actually suggesting.

“A kidnapper?”

Sam hums in delight.

This is what life is about, she thinks.

This, this, right here, is something she could have never imagined in her wildest dreams when she was younger. Heck, even a couple of years ago, holding her sister’s hand in an ambulance, promising never to let go… she never could have foreseen where it would take them.

Tara in her arms, high as a kite, and calling for Sam. Out of her mind and all she wants is her sister.

She’s never felt so loved.

Tara always manages to show her in the funniest of ways.

But then again, they’ve never been a normal family. Why should the way they love be any different?

“I’shud warn you,” Tara says, tripping over her own feet as they turn the final corner before home. “My sister is gonna kick your ass.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam mutters absent-mindedly as she keeps her girl from face-planting the floor.

“Yup,” Tara continues, unaware of her near-brush with the pavement. “She’s real good with a knife, an’ she doesn’t like it when people touch me. She’ll cut your hands off!”

Sam snorts at the declaration.

“Damn, better get you home then.”

She wrestles with the door to the apartment block, catching Tara’s hand just a moment too late to stop her swiping every button on the buzzer box.

“Shit,” she mutters under her breath, grabbing Tara around the waist and lifting her into the air. ‘The walk home will sober her up’, my ass, she muses, as her sister whines in her hold.

Sam walks them quickly the elevator, Tara perched on her hip like they’re a decade younger and haven’t been through unspeakable horrors, before anyone thinks to investigate the asshole messing with the intercom system. She really doesn’t need the neighbours to hate them any more than they already do.

A couple of murders happen one time and they hold it against you forever!

It wasn’t their fault.

But what do they care, judgemental busy-bodies with nothing better to do.

Speaking of, there she is, Mrs Shepherd, glaring beneath her glasses, heavy on the judgement. Lingering in her doorway, as always.

“I was kidnapped,” Tara whispers, loudly, over Sam’s shoulder as she hurries to unlock the door.

Oh jesus.

“She wasn’t–” Sam’s quick to correct, spinning on her heels… door across the way now closed and hallway empty.

“Aaand she’s gone. Thanks Tara.”

“You’re welcome,” she chirps back.

The apartment gossip mill will be thriving tonight.

Sam shakes her head, unable to hold back a smile. She can’t bring herself to care. “Home sweet home,” she declares, pushing the apartment door open with her foot.

“Sammy,” Tara whines, head pillowed on Sam’s shoulder and nudging at her jaw.

“Yes, love?” Sam murmurs, nudging the door shut and eyeing the locks for a moment.

“Feel sick.”

More pressing matters first.

“Let’s get you to bed, you can lie down for a while.”

They’re safe, the locks can wait.

It’s something Sam’s been working on. Feeling safe.

The suggestion to leave the door unlocked during the day when they’re home had been a stupid one if you ask Sam.

She wouldn’t entertain it at all if the suggestion hadn’t been made in their joint therapy session.

If Sam were a paranoid person, and she is, she’d almost think that their therapists were colluding together. Why else would the most suspicious of advice be set out in their joint sessions, where Sam has no choice but to follow the homework set if she wants to provide a good example for her sister.

God she fucking hates therapy.

How many years, and how much progress?

Shit.

“Tara honey, you have to let go,” she murmurs as she tries to deposit Tara on her bed.

“Stay with me,” she whines, clinging tighter. “Don’t want you to go.”

Sam sighs. Inside her, a silent war wages, as always.

“I’m not going anywhere, darling.”

It was never a choice.

“Good, the kidnapper might come back, always safe with you here.”

“Oh my god.”

[livfastdieyoung69]

hi!!! love your work. was wondering if you could write a randy orton x fem!reader where the reader gets real sick before a big PPV and has a main event match at the PPV, so she gets stubborn and tries to wrestle anyways but randy keeps telling her otherwise? would love some fluff, but angst can also be sprinkled in <3

A BITTERSWEETNESS TO THE AIR

The royal rumble is a huge deal for the entire roster of WWE, no matter which part of it you were on. Everybody wanted to be in it, because anybody truly had a chance to have their Wrestlemania moment, something everyone in the entire wrestling industry seemed to yearn for.

This year, you had gotten a spot- a good one too, number 22. Also this year, you seemed to coincidentally come down with the worst cold to have ever graced this earth the night before.

Racked with shivers all night- thank god Randy had been on Smackdown the night prior and had to go on a different plane, landing in an airport halfway across the state. By the time your sore throat forced you up, Randy was already driving to the arena in the cheapest rental car available. And with no Randy, that meant no one to hold you accountable for bad decisions. Not that he made very good decisions all the time, but at least he usually stopped your bad ones.

So here you were, driving to the arena- shaky hands, tired eyes and all. Luckily it wasn’t much of a drive, you had booked a pretty close hotel to the arena, but not close enough for it to be expensive. Pushing out of the driver's seat of your own cheap rental and slamming the door shut, blurred vision and congested sinuses quickly making you stumble and pause for a bit in your spot, gripping onto the side of the car for support. After the small pause, you unlock the trunk and heave the couple duffle bags with much more difficulty than you should’ve had.

With a tight smile, you thank the staff members holding the door open with a raise of your hand.

”Ready for a long night?” The staff member asked from behind you, still standing by the door, now closed. Surprised by the sudden voice, you turn back and raise your eyebrows in their direction. Your ears ached and ringed as they repeated their question.

”Oh, yeah! Yeah, definitely. Long but worth it.” You answered, voice much more nasally than usual as you smile at them. They were quick to become concerned at the sound of your voice, asking if you were all right. You nodded quickly.

“Just a small cold- some warm tea and lemon, and I’ll be alright.” With another tight smile and nod, wishing them luck in their work for the night, you followed the arrows directing you to the lockerrooms.

“Hey!” A voice cheerfully calls, your name sounding after. With a want to do nothing else but sit down for even just five seconds you reluctantly turn from the door, shoulders dropping as you put on a small smile for the sweet, smiling girl.

”Hey, Molly.” You say, trying not to sigh through your words. Much like the former staff member, Molly Holly seems to notice your sickness as soon as you talk.

“Oh Jeez, are you sick? But you’re in the rumble!” She exclaimed, somehow still happy through all of her worry.

“I’m fine, promise. Really.” You ramble off the same excuse used on the other staff member, but it didn’t seem to work as well on Molly Holly. She reluctantly nodded, taking a step back from you.

”…Alright. Y’know Randy’s here, I just saw him a second ago! I can grab him if you want?” Before Molly was even able to finish, you were rapidly shaking your head, eyes grown wide.

“Oh, no no no,” You shook your hands out in front of you, an awkward chuckle falling from your lips. “No, that's ok. He’s-hes busy and I gotta get ready and…stuff.” With another awkward chuckle and a stumbled, quick goodbye you pushed into the locker room, leaving Molly very confused in the hallway.

Sitting in the first available spot that met your eyes and beginning to rummage through your duffle bags, your other fellow superstars looked on anxiously at your state. With much trouble, you began the hard process of ring gear (specially made for the royal rumble and even more troublesome than usual) and just about gave up halfway through before declaring it was time to take a break, half dressed.

Falling back against the lockers you sat against and closing your eyes with a sigh in your half-clothed state, the door practically rips from the hinges.

”Randy!”

”You can’t be in here, what the hell!”

”Oh my god!!”

Screams tore through the locker room, all of which Randy seemed to ignore. He marched his way towards your form, now leaning up on your elbows and trying your best to look up at him through sore eyes.

“May I help you there?”

“Yes,” He stated, quite aggressively, tagging your name on. “You can. Why the hell did you not tell anyone you’re sick?” Rolling your eyes with a groan, you sat up against the back of the locker.

”Randy, I think I can make it through a cold for a chance at a title at Wrestlemania.” Looking up at him with a snarky look as he moved a bit closer, gently taking the back of your neck in one hand and holding the palm of his other against your forehead, he exclaimed your name.

”You’re fuckin’ burnin’ alive, baby, christ!” He pulled you in closer to him, resting your head to his stomach. The relief of all of his cold against your warm face, your eyes close with the first good sigh of the day.

“You’re just cold from walkin’ around in a speedo all day long, weirdo.” You mutter (even though you also have no pants on), leaning into his warmth. The hand on the back of your head starts to stroke your head, your own hand moving to rest of his leg. Randy ignores your comment, shaking his head down at you before he starts to speak, starting with your name in a warning tone.

“We’re going to go see the medics.” You look up at him with a glare but he gives you a scornful look with raised eyebrows, stopping you from speaking.

“And you’re going to take some medicine. Then I’m going to go talk to someone and get you out of the rumble.” Randy spoke as softly as it seemed he could, knowing how much it would suck to be in your position. Unable to find any words you only close your eyes again and rest your forehead back against his stomach.

“Okay?” He asks. You nod against him, whispering an okay back. He plants a soft kiss to the top of your head before moving away and grabbing the pair of sweatpants you had just taken off to help you put them back on. He walks you down the halls as you sulk, rubbing your shoulder through the itchy material of the top of your ring gear.

The doctor was quick to declare you not healthy enough to compete (as if it wasn’t already obvious) and moved onto their next patient from the match that had just ended quite shortly, leaving you to sulk further on top of the cushioned table.

“I’m telling you this with all of the love in my heart,” Randy started, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you to him. Your head finds his shoulder with a soft bump, breath meeting his neck. “You wouldn’t have won in the condition you’re in. You could barely walk here, you’ve got the highest fever I’ve ever goddamn heard of. You wouldn’t have won.” He pauses, holding you close to him. “But next year,” With another pause he puts his hands on either side of your face, bringing your forehead to his. Noticing the glare of tears framing your eyes, his hands grasp softly at your head, giving you a small, playful shake. “Next year, you’re gonna rock them out of the fucking park, baby. You hear me?” He asks with a little smirk. With a wavering smile and a couple sniffles, you give him a small nod, barely noticeable. He pulls you back into his chest with a hand moving to hold you close once more. With a choked sob, you bury into his shoulder with hands grasping at his back.

“I know.” You muffled into his shoulder, the both of you rocking back and forth. “I know, this just sucks. So fuckin’ much, n now I have to wait a whole ‘nother year, n I’ve already waited so, so fucking long, Randy.”

He pulls you from his neck, placing your head to his, cheek-to-cheek. He nods, almost forcing you to do the same against him. “Yeah. Yes, it's terrible, but this is just the universe saying not yet. And next year, you’ll be better, and nothing will ever stop you. Nothin’, so let's get this cold gone, okay?” Randy pulls away from you for the final time to help you off the table with an offering hand.

Taking his hand in yours, you walk back to the locker room to grab your stuff with your head held high and a small smile but tear-filled eyes. Laying against a disgusting and sort of scratchy sofa somewhere backstage, Randy leaves you to compete in the royal rumble very bitter sweetly, and you try to sleep with many thoughts clouding your mind- to find a way to be better, to be the best, to grow as an individual outside and inside of wrestling. A smile graces your face with one final thought- these people better be fucking ready next year, cause they sure as hell weren’t this one.

look at me go! sorry this took me so long but also i used you instead of y/n for the first time and i feel like my frontal lobe has developed (it absolutely has not) and omg not molly holly ratting you outttt

Set in 2004 idk y i just chose a year and i felt like that one ig

Techincally gender-neutral bc everything I write is, but a bit of a nod to being afab with randy not being wanted in the locker room.

[queerstake]

As a queer drawn to the faith and trying to deal with the messiness of entering into everything, I've been trying hard to read more of the Book of Mormon because I only have a very vague understanding of it's Whole Deal, but executive dysfunction, ADHD, and honestly, a million other excuses are making it very difficult. Are there any good resources for walking through the fundamentals? Childish but I feel like I'm disappointing the Lord if I'm not more on top of this.

Hi anon! I totally get it and yes, I can think of a few ideas!

If you're looking for ways to understand the BoM (or even just general doctrine) from more of a bird's eye view:

I hope you don't find this silly, but when I was a kid, the church published an illustrated children's version of the BoM that's obviously way quicker to flip through. It might be harder for you to find those exact editions I read as a kid if you don't have ready access to a church library, BUT I found this!! It's (almost) the ENTIRE BoM illustrated and summarized and it's online!

Looks like they put out videos too that summarize the BoM beginning to end. Here's a link to the video series. I haven't seen these, so I can't vouch for them, but they might be helpful! Similarly, there's a BoM in 60 seconds video you might find helpful.

If you'd benefit from a schedule, the church is currently studying the BoM in sunday school! The past few years, we've been using a study guide called Come Follow Me with weekly assigned reading chapters. I've actually been working on posts about CFM as they relate to queer mormon theology, but I haven't had much posted yet since I've been having a rocky start to 2024. As things improve, I'll be able to hopefully even establish a schedule on this blog!

I'm not sure if missionary lessons is something you're interested in at this point, and it's definitely not something you ever need to do, but the missionary lessons themselves are a pretty good doctrine intro if you're looking for just Mormonism 101 in a digestible way. The missionaries teach out a book called Preach My Gospel, which is available right here. You'll be interested in the lessons, which are found in Chapter 3. If you just scroll down, you'll see some of the links are labeled Lesson instead of Chapter--just click on those bad boys. And if you have any doctrinal questions, I'm always MORE than happy to talk about the church! You'll probably get a faster answer DMing me personally at @logans-mormon-blog, but I'll always answer asks here as soon as time permits.

If you're looking for easier ways to finish the BoM from beginning to end:

The BoM on tape. The church has an audiobook version available on the Gospel Library app and other audio apps like Spotify.

The Reader's Edition. If you can get your hand on a reader's edition, a lot of people find this is an easier way to plow through the BoM. What's special about this one is that it's formatted not like scripture but like prose, and it really does change the reading experience!

I don't know if this helps any, but I struggle with some of the same issues as you and I'm always bitterly disappointed when I'm not able to move mountains. If I had my way, I'd be the most well-read scriptorian of all time and this blog would be updated constantly. But life often doesn't shake out that way. I spend way more time than I want to with my brain entirely burned out of my head. So you're not alone, if that's any comfort. I think God gets it--he made our brains, after all, and knows how hard it is to wrestle with. It's easier said than done, but don't beat yourself up. God loves the both of us and he's the most perfectly patient person who's ever lived. He's not frustrated or disappointed with our efforts. Religion exists, in my opinion, to help improve and enrich our lives, not make them more challenging OR even to make them perfect if we only could just run fast enough. I too wish I could be more diligent and on it, but shit happens, right? And we're not on earth to be perfect, we're here to be happy and to learn. When Joseph Smith was translating the BoM, God told him "Do not run faster or labor more than you have strength and means provided to enable you to translate; but be diligent unto the end." D&C 10:4. We're doing our damndest, and that's all God even wants from us.

If anyone else has more resource ideas, please let us know!

-Logan

[gay-transformation-stories]

The Revenge

Elliot was tired and hungry as he walked home from his job at McDonald's. He had been frying burgers and fries all day, and his boss had been yelling at him constantly. He just wanted to go home and hide in his room where he could read his comics and play Minecraft. He was a typical nerd, with glasses, small, unathletic, shy, and with a big belly. He had no friends and was often bullied by others for his nerdy ways.

The worst of all was Chad. Chad was the exact opposite of Elliot. He was at least two heads taller than Elliot, very muscular, and above all, good-looking. He was the star of the wrestling team, winner of the regional championships, and the crush of all the girls. He looked like a young god and his body was a gift from heaven. But he was also arrogant, cruel, and sadistic. He loved to harass Elliot, beat him up, take his food, exploit him as a helper, or expose him in front of everyone. Elliot hated Chad more than anything else in the world. At the same time, he also felt attracted to Chad and envied his life.

To get home, Elliot had to cross the abandoned freight yard. It was evening and it was already starting to get dark. Elliot slipped through the hole in the fence as he always did. It was a forbidden shortcut, but also the shortest way home. He always hoped that he wouldn't meet anyone, especially not Chad or his friends.

But today he was out of luck. As he crawled through the hole in the fence, he saw Chad sitting on an old freight car with his legs apart in the sunset. He was smoking a cigarette and grinning wickedly when he spotted Elliot.

"Hey, fatty! What are you doing here? Looking for something to eat? Oink, oink!" Chad jeered and laughed.

Chad jumped off the freight car and ran after him. Elliot was startled and tried to run away, but it was too late. Chad caught him easily, grabbed his neck with one hand, while taking drags of his cigarette and blowing smoke in Elliot's face with the other.

"Let me go! Leave me alone!" Elliot whimpered.

"Why should I? You're my favorite toy. I have so much fun with you," said Chad, tightening his grip around Elliot's neck.

"Chad, please stop, you know I have asthma," Elliot said, gasping for air.

"You don't have asthma, you're just FAT," Chad said with a sneering grin. His eyes were full of contempt as he said it.

Elliot wanted to run away, but Chad held him up like a puppet. Elliot didn't know how much longer he could take it, he couldn't breathe anymore. He closed his eyes and wished for only one thing: that he could be in Chad's place. That he could be as big and strong as him. That he could be like him!!

Suddenly they heard a loud shout. A flashlight shone on them. They were no longer alone in the abandoned freight yard. They were standing between the wagons on the tracks, and one of the security guards had spotted them.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? GET OUT OF HERE IMMEDIATELY!! THIS IS PRIVATE PROPERTY!!" the security guard shouted.

The security guard aimed his stun gun at them. He pulled the trigger and two electric arrows shot out of the device. One hit Elliot in the back, the other hit Chad in the arm. They felt a powerful electric shock run through their bodies. They screamed in pain and fell to the ground.

Then everything went black. They both lost consciousness and fell to the ground...

Chad slowly opened his eyes and stared at the wall. He felt strange. He tried to remember what had happened. He had been holding Elliot, who was looking at him pleadingly. Then the guard came and shocked them both. Then everything went black. He heard a faint buzzing around him. He turned his head and saw a cell. He was in prison. He saw the bars that locked him up. He saw the other inmates staring at him hostilely. He saw the guard looking at him contemptuously and talking to the police.

He wanted to protest, but his voice failed him. He wanted to stand up, but his body did not obey him. He looked down at himself and was shocked. That was not his body. That was a small, misshapen body. He was wearing Elliot's clothes, Elliot's thick belly. He was Elliot!

He touched his face and felt the rough stubble. He ran his fingers through his greasy hair. He opened his mouth and saw his yellow teeth in a reflection. He was ugly.

He suddenly felt different. He felt weak and insecure. He felt helpless and small. He felt like Elliot.

He started screaming and thought: This is a nightmare. This must be a mistake. This must stop. He must get his body back. He must find Elliot and hold him accountable. Eventually, he managed to get up with difficulty. Everything was still spinning, he staggered to the cell door and started screaming, "LET ME OUT OF HERE, THIS IS A MISTAKE, LET ME OUT OF HERE IMMEDIATELY, DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM??"

Elliot also started to wake up slowly. He felt warm and secure, he hadn't felt this good in a long time. He felt the fresh sheets on his skin, he thought it was a dream. Elliot fell asleep again. It wasn't until the next morning that he slowly opened his eyes.

He looked around and noticed the many posters of naked women and race cars on the walls. Where was he?? This was definitely not his room. He was still slightly dazed and got up and went to the mirror. He couldn't believe what he saw. He was huge and muscular. His upper body was extremely well-trained and shone in the light. He wore jogging pants that emphasized his trained ass. He looked like an Abercrombie model. He looked like Chad.

Elliot touched his face and felt the smooth skin. He ran his fingers through his dark hair. He opened his mouth and saw his white teeth. He was perfect.

He suddenly felt different. He felt strong and confident. He felt powerful and attractive. He felt like Chad.

He turned around and looked at his back and shoulders. He couldn't help but flex his biceps and touch his abs. He couldn't stop looking at himself in the mirror. Elliot looked into his jogging pants and was impressed by what he saw. He could hardly believe that he was now so well-endowed.

He wondered what it would be like to live in Chad's body and what it would be like to sign up for Grindr with his new body.

But how could this happen?? He remembered the incident at the freight yard and the electric shock he and Chad had received. This probably led to the body swap. Chad's family probably learned directly from the sheriff about the incident and brought Chad home immediately. He thought that Chad was somewhere in his body. And wondered what Chad was doing right now and how he was feeling in his body.

He smiled and thought: This isn't so bad. Maybe he can take advantage of this. Maybe he can live Chad's life. Maybe he can have everything he ever wanted and teach Chad a little lesson with his new body.

Several days passed without Elliot hearing anything from Chad, and he began to worry. Was the shock perhaps too much for Chad?

Elliot tried to push the thought out of his mind and enjoy his new life. He could hardly believe how easy life at university suddenly was for him. With his new godly body, he was a magnet for attention. The other students admired him for his strength and looks, and his presence in the room was simply unmistakable. Elliot enjoyed the positive looks and compliments he received from others. It was a completely new feeling for him to be so accepted and admired.

He found it incredibly satisfying how easy it was for him to shine in social situations. Suddenly, he was invited by everyone, and people seemed to be drawn to him. Elliot felt a new energy within himself, and his self-confidence grew with each passing day. Life was suddenly so much easier, and he enjoyed how easy he had it. At the same time, he tried to be nice to everyone; he wanted to be a better person than Chad.

One day after class, Elliot went to his locker to get his things. He wanted to go home quickly and relax. He had had a long and tiring day.

He opened his locker and looked for his backpack. He couldn't find it. Instead, he found a note with an ugly drawing of himself and a message:

"Hey Fatty! I stole your backpack! If you want it back, you have to meet me at the old warehouse! But be warned: I have a few surprises for you! HAHAHA! Your best friend Chad"

Elliot, in Chad's body, angrily crumpled up the note. He knew it was a trap, but he wanted to confront the situation. He decided to finally teach Chad a lesson.

He went to the old warehouse on the edge of town. It was an abandoned building that used to serve as a storage facility for building materials. It was dark, dirty, and dangerous.

As Elliot entered the warehouse, he heard a voice from the shadows:

"There you are, you loser! I've been waiting for you! Because of you, I spent the last few days in custody because your stupid mother didn't have the money for bail."

It was Chad in Elliot's chubby, small body, emerging from behind a stack of wooden planks.

He held Elliot's backpack in his hand and grinned wickedly. "Do you want your backpack back? Then come and get it!"

Chad threw the backpack on the floor and stood with his legs wide apart. He still believed he could intimidate the now huge Elliot. He still believed he could beat Elliot. He still believed he could defeat the now muscular Elliot.

The now small and chubby Chad was not stupid. He knew he was physically inferior and would have no chance if he fought fairly. He took every opportunity to surprise or confuse Elliot. He threw things at his head and sand in his eyes. It didn't take long for Elliot to lose control of the situation. He was overwhelmed; he had not expected this. He thought it would be an easy game for him in Chad's muscular body, but he was wrong.

Elliot fell back into his defensive posture from before; he froze, curled up, and hoped it would all be over quickly. But Chad was angry, angrier than ever before in his life. He kicked Elliot in the shin and then punched him with all his might in the soft parts. Elliot fell to the ground on his knees and groaned. In the past, Chad would have been satisfied with that, but not this time. Too much had happened; he had lost his body and his life to the fat nerd, and he was going to make him pay.

Chad grabbed one of the many wooden planks lying around and hit Elliot with all his strength on the back of the head. Elliot immediately lost consciousness and fell to the ground. When Elliot came to, he was kneeling on the dusty concrete floor of the abandoned factory. Elliot felt his muscles ache and his joints crack. His hands and feet were tied together with tape behind his back and attached to an old radiator. He had a sock in his mouth that muffled his screams. He was now a prisoner waiting for his torture. He couldn't imagine how he got into this situation. Chad wanted his body back and Elliot was going to pay for taking it away from him. Elliot wept bitterly, his snot running from his nose. Chad stood nearby like an uninvolved spectator with a crowbar. "Well, how do you like your new body? I have to say, you have good taste. Too bad you can't handle it. What a waste," said Chad. Elliot was terrified, he tried to scream and free himself, but it was useless. He felt helpless and alone. He wondered how he was going to get out of this situation. Elliot tried to speak, but his mouth was still stuffed with an old sports sock. Which Chad eventually pulled out. Elliot, who was almost 2.00 meters tall muscle man, began to cry: "Please Chad, please let me go, I don't know how the bodyswap happened, please Chad, you have to believe me." Chad: "I believe you, you don't have enough backbone for such an action, fatso. But I still think you're not entirely innocent. What happened at the old freight yard happened because you wanted it to." Elliot: "Please Chad, I'll do anything you want, but please let me go now. I'll really do ANYTHING for you." Elliot looked like a fighter, but he felt like a weakling.

In the end, Elliot continued to be harassed and tormented by Chad, even though he now had a muscular body. Chad enjoyed his power over Elliot and treated him like a slave. Elliot felt trapped and scared of Chad, but he didn't know how to break free. He longed for his old life back, but it seemed out of reach. Chad took advantage of the situation and pushed Elliot further into despair. He forced Elliot to work for him and to harm others. Chad used Elliot's new muscular body as a shield against others. He told him what to do and threatened to inflict pain on him if he didn't obey. Elliot, who was afraid of being hurt even more, obeyed him and helped him cover up his criminal activities. Chad knew he could exploit Elliot's fear to manipulate and control him. Chad's thoughts now revolved around Elliot's body.

He saw it as a tool to help him expand his power and tyrannize others. He became obsessed with controlling the body and using it to achieve his goals. Chad treated Elliot's muscle body like an object that belonged to him and no longer like a human being. Chad began to feel increasingly drawn to the body he once owned. He started to intensify his obsession with his old body and spent hours looking at old photos and remembering what it was like to live in that body. Chad was obsessed with how perfect Elliot looked in his new body. Every morning, he styled Elliot's hair and carefully chose the perfect outfit for him. He shaved Elliot's body daily in the shower and selected the perfect body spray for him. Chad wanted to make sure that Elliot was outwardly just as perfect as he once was. He spent hours styling and perfecting Elliot's body until he was finally satisfied. Elliot became a life size toy.

But despite all his efforts, he couldn't really hide Elliot's lack of confidence and insecurity. Elliot was uncertain in his new body and often felt uncomfortable, even though he now looked physically strong and impressive. He was afraid that he was no longer himself, that he had changed. He no longer felt comfortable in his own skin and had difficulty adjusting to his new physical strength. He often avoided looking in the mirror because he couldn't bear the image he saw. His eyes reflected this insecurity and despite his muscular body, he still seemed like a nervous nerd. Chad had been shaving Elliot daily for some time now, but something was different this morning. As he ran the razor over Elliot's muscular chest, he suddenly felt a strange tingling in his own groin. Chad had never before reacted so strongly to the touch of another body and couldn't believe he was so attracted to his own former, muscular, and masculine body. As he shaved Elliot's ass, he couldn't help but let his hands glide over the tight muscles he discovered in Elliot's body. The tingling in his own body grew stronger and he felt his heart beating faster. Chad had never felt attracted to a man before, but in this moment, he couldn't help but realize that he was drawn to Elliot's body. Chad quickly withdrew and tried to suppress these new and confusing feelings. He had no idea what was happening to him or how to process these unexpected sensations. But he knew that he was now looking at Elliot's body differently than before and that he couldn't ignore this new attraction.

The End

[sophiethewitch1]

UwU any spoilers for the next chapter,,

I have meant to do this multiple times but keep forgetting so here's an extra long snippet in apology! It's basically the entire start of the next chapter ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Damn. Your indulgent TV stalking of the Wayne’s really doesn’t hit the same once you technically knew them. And you were hiding inside one of their bedrooms, inside one of their clothes, using their TV subscription. It just didn’t feel right. Morally, of course, but that wasn’t what you were talking about. No, you were just pissy your favourite passtime was basically ruined. You shovel another spoonful of cookie dough ice cream into your mouth, glaring through tired eyes at the screen.

There’s an up close shot of Dick Grayson’s abs. The presenter ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ over his physical form, and you have to agree. You wish you had abs like that. Unfortunately you did respond to most unwanted experiences with stress eating. As always with these celebrity figures, you can’t really tell if you want to be Dick or be with Dick. Your butt is nowhere near the level his is at.

While you hadn’t really set out today looking for shirtless pictures of the Waynes, it wasn’t like you were going to say no to them. So, when the gossip channel had switched from the reactions of the Waynes to last night’s fiasco to… this… you’d just kept watching.

You wonder if you should stop doing this. It’s definitely kind of creepy, and now you’d technically once been his… step sister. What a mind fuck. You’ve been crushing on these dudes for a while, and now they were your ex-step siblings. This was like the start of a bad porno, but you knew you were not that lucky. And it wasn’t like you were going to start thinking of him as a brother any time soon. You hadn’t even met the guy. No, he was still firmly in the ‘celebrity crush’ section of your mind. Pretty and untouchable. The way things are supposed to be.

Which was also bad because you would probably have to meet and interact with him at some point. Probably in the near future. God knows you’d absolutely humiliated yourself in front of the fucking Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne,. Twice, in fact. You didn’t even want to think about the display you’d shown for Bruce Wayne or Damian Wayne.

You didn’t really know what to do with your slightly obsessive crushes. And you could see it definitely being a problem in the near future.

…You decide that what you do in your private time is absolutely nobody but yours business, and keep watching. It’s a mix of bitter spite and geniune mental breakdown levels of desperation that leads you to that decision. You feel like you’re a child with their toy being taken away, and it’s making you mad. And sad too. Even if you shouldn’t do this anymore, you still wanted to keep the habit. You’d mentioned before your creature comforts were one of the few things that kept you going. And while you were mostly very good at not being the jealous, heinous creature you really are, you knew you wouldn’t be giving this up.

They’d have to tear your gossip channels from your cold dead palms. You weren’t giving them up, not without a fight at least. Unfortunately for you, the universe seemed determined to wrestle away literally everything you loved.

Guilt’s for tomorrow. Today is for ice cream and purposefully ignoring everything. Speaking of which, you can not remember the last time you had a good Ben & Jerry’s. They were so expensive these days, as all groceries were. You simply couldn’t afford it. The Waynes, of course, had multiple tubs in multiple different options. Alfred had seemed delighted that you’d taken the ice cream, for which reasons you could not perceive.

Oh, yeah! His name was Alfred. Very butler-y. You’d remember it this time, he was a very nice man. And he called you ‘young miss’ which earned him points. He also didn’t seem to hate you on sight, or treat you like a two-headed freak, like some of the other people in this household. Not naming names. Yeah, fuck that noise, Damian Wayne obviously has issues and it’s much less attractive in real life.

The woman drones on, and your eyes flick to your phone. Yup, she’s still yapping. It’s not like you don’t appreciate Dick’s abs or anything, it’s just that you think she might’ve been talking about this one specific photo for over half an hour now. Lady should get a hobby. Wait, wait, this is her job. Maybe you should start a podcast where you rant about the Wayne’s excercise regimes. It seems to be quite a lucrative field.

You shriek when the door slams open, nearly tumbling backwards off the bed. Hands manage to grip the bedcovers before you tip over, not making a complete fool of yourself. As it goes, you lose your spoon to the carpet. Bits of cookie dough spread over the floor in a divine sacrifice. And you lose your sanity to the man standing in the doorway. To be fair, he looks just as confused as you feel.

You blink at the physically perfect form of Dick Grayson, and then turn your head to the TV to look at the other physically perfect form of Dick Grayson.

…You really wish you had a good explanation for this.

He mutters out your name, lips parted. Dick Grayson seems absolutely shocked to find you here. His eyes flick around the room, and eventually land on the TV. Said baby blues widen to the size of saucers when the reporter makes a really, really unneccesary comment.

“And in news that broke the hearts of both ladies and gentlemen everywhere in Bludhaven, Dick Grayson has announced he will be returning to Gotham to assist his family in this difficult time. My cousin in the Blud is probably crying right now. There’s no ass out there quite like his, and there’s no replacement for Bludhaven’s favourite young rich bachelor,” she winks at the camera, and then the shot of his tone stomach phases forward to take up the entire screen.

Well, there’s a lot to say about that. First of all, fuck. Second of all, shit. Third of all, she really couldn’t have said that part about Dick coming back to Gotham sooner? Per chance, before you’d found yourself in this situation?

You said you weren’t that lucky, you meant it.

“But still, ain’t that lucky for us Gothamites? I myself have spent a lot of time on Dick’s Tiktok and Instagram, and his thirst traps have been used in a lot of my personal-”

You snatch the remote from the sheets and pause it right there. The silence is tense.

[aemondsquill]

Never Admit Defeat

Aemond Targaryen × Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Y/N is feeling frisky and she's making it Aemond's problem

Warnings: mostly fluff, a little fingering and suggestive language, but not full on smut, and wrestling but lmk if I should add any

Y/N could not pick a singular word to describe her mood on this night. Hyper? No, that wasn't it. How about excited? No, that wasn't quite the right word either. Whatever word it was made her feel antsy.

Sitting at the dinner table piled high was delectable meats, vegetables, and rich wines could not distract her from the droning conversations that never seemed to end. The banality of it all made her restless. Her husband, Aemond, the fearsome Dragon Prince himself, sat next to her with perfect practiced posture. He didn't seem to mind the humdrum of conversation that flowed endlessly amongst his family, contributing every so often when he was addressed.

Y/N felt his warm hand rest against hers, stilling her tapping fingers.

"Are you alright, wife?" He asked, concern etching onto his face. Y/N let out a breathy sigh and smiled politely, "Yes, I am quite alright, my Prince." Conversation between the couple still felt stilted and awkward, as they had only been wed for a couple of weeks. Y/N hated it. She wished she could just scrub away the awkwardness and at least speak like friends.

The Dowager Queen perked up at the voice of Aemond's wife. She also picked up on Y/N's odd mannerisms and frazzled eyes, much to the dismay of her good-daughter.

"Tell me about your day, dearest Y/N." The Queen spoke softly. Her eyes were warm and inviting and her smile was nothing less than motherly.

Y/N blinked, pondering the question for a minute. "My day was wonderful, your Majesty. The Princess Helaena made a wonderful companion in the gardens today. She found a lovely wisteria plant for me to hang in my chambers." The Queen seemed pleased at the praise for her darling daughter, Helaena. "I'm glad to hear it, my Lady."

Gods, how long is this blasted dinner going to last? It had been hours since the sun had fallen and Y/N wanted nothing more than to return to her chambers so she may think of a way to dissipate her nervous energy.

Her salvation came from the least likely source: Aegon. He was deep in his cups, so much so that his head was lolling back and forth and his eyes drooped with sleepiness.

"Motherrrrr....May I *hic* be esscused?" His words were heavily slurred and he looked to be on the verge of collapsing. Alicent huffed out a sigh before glaring at him. How dare he have the audacity to present himself in a manner that was utterly unbecoming in front of his new good-sister? She dismissed him quietly, glancing over at Ser Cole, who was already stalking over to the future king of the realm. With a heave, Aegon was slumped against the knight and the two stumbled out of the dining hall.

Aemond rolled his eyes at his brother's antics, yet he expected no less. Of course his brother would make a fool of himself in front of his new bride. He picked at the roasted vegetables on his plate for a moment before deciding that he had enough of this drab affair.

"Mother, Y/N and I should retire to our chambers. Thank you for hosting us at this dinner." Y/N shot up quickly from her seat and curtsied politely, excited at the prospect of finally leaving. Alicent sent them a small smile and allowed them to leave.

The heavy skirts of Y/N's dress swished around her legs as she walked through the endless corridors of the Red Keep, holding onto her husband's arm. Nerves fluttered in her chest at the realization that the two of them were completely alone. During the months of their betrothal a chaperone accompanied them everywhere to make sure neither engaged in unseemly behaviors before their marriage. Of course, Aemond and Y/N still managed to sneak a few chaste kisses every so often, but never anything more.

Y/N's mind wandered to the night of their wedding, only several days behind them. How cold the Prince had seemed at the ceremony and feast, as though it had been another one of his mother's tasks assigned to him. In a manner of thinking, one could say the whole marriage was exactly that: a duty and nothing more. But Y/N wanted more! Her own mother and father had a wonderful marriage! Laughter was no foreigner in the halls of her old home, and love was always abundant. She feared Aemond had only viewed her as an obligation and the thought prickled her spine. A shiver of frustration shot through her.

"Are you cold, my Lady? I can send for a chamber maid to bring you another blanket."

"No, thank you, my Prince, that will not be necessary." Y/N smiled gently. Beneath her practiced smile a storm was brewing. She didn't know how long she could keep herself together before she made a fool of herself.

Aemond eyed her warily. She had been acting so strange this night. Did she hate him that much? Perhaps. He knew that he hadn't been the most loving husband in the realm, but at least he wasn't cruel.

After several minutes in silence, the pair arrived at Y/N chambers. She halted for a moment, still feeling jittery, but now she had been trying to build up the courage to invite him in. Surely it was not improper for a woman to want to spend time with her husband! She took a breath and before Aemond released her arm she spoke quickly, "Would you care to join me, my Prince? Just for a moment?" His eye widened at her request. He had to be dreaming, right? To his embarrassment, he stuttered out his reply.

"Oh, um,y-yes of course, my Lady." Y/N grinned at him broadly, the nervous butterflies in her stomach coming to a stand still. She held his hand and led him inside.

Aemond surveyed the chambers carefully. It was tidy, mostly, and had a few touches of her personality: flowers hanging by the window, a portrait of her family above the fireplace, and an easel with an empty canvas.

"So, you enjoy painting, my Lady?"

"Oh yes, very much so, my Prince. My mother taught my brothers and I how to paint when we were very young. My father always wanted the boys to hunt or spar with him, but they favored the arts more so. Forgive my ramblings, my Prince, I miss them greatly." Aemond walked around the room, arms clasped behind his back as he took everything in before stopping in front of the roaring fire.

"Hmm. My sister seems to be taken with you. I appreciate that greatly, my Lady. Not many have the patience for her ramblings, certainly not my brother." He said briskly. Gods, how long will this wretched conversation continue? Y/N might as well be watching her paintings dry! At this thought she closed her eyes and let out a sigh more harshly than she intended. Aemond's head whipped around at the sound, slightly startled that she could be so rude.

"Have I done something to offend you, my Lady?" He asked incredulously. Y/N felt a flicker of fear, but it quickly turned into annoyance and the strange feral feeling she felt at dinner.

"Gods, my Prince, I cannot continue like this! Why must our conversations be such a bore?! Surely, there are more interesting things to talk about!" She all but shouted. She didn't feel angry, she just felt like her emotions were pent up. Y/N had spent months displaying a watered-down version of herself so as not to offend the royal family.

Y/N began to pace around the room, attempting to untie the lacings of her elaborate dress. "All we ever have are stilted conversations fit for old lords who don't give a shit about each other! I wish to speak freely with my husband, but no, my father said I had to be prim and proper to keep you happy. Well piss on that!" By this time, the outermost layer of the dress was gone, leaving Y/N in her cinched corset and chemise. Aemond could only watch her, feeling slightly scandalized at the vision before him. His words had failed him in his shock.

Y/N took a deep breath before removing the several pieces of jewelry that adorned her body and placing them on her dark wood vanity. She turned to look at her husband, a wild glaze in her eyes.

Aemond seemed to get his bearings. "Why are you looking at me like that, wife?" He snapped. In a million years, Aemond would have ever been able to guess what his wife would do next.

Y/N let out a roar as she charged at him with ferocity. The impact of her body against his sent them both clambering to the ground.

"What in the seven hells has possessed you, woman?!" Aemond shouted, baffled at the actions of his wife. He scrambled against her flailing limbs. How was she so strong for such a little thing? She pulled on his hair and he he groaned.

"I have been stifled for too long! I need you to see me for who I truly am, husband!" Y/N cackled like a woman crazed above him. She leaned down and bit as his neck and shoulder and he let out a series yelps at each sharp contact.

"You are nothing more than a wildling! I should have you shipped off to the North, vile woman!" Aemond, truly baffled, continued to grapple with his lady wife's arms before flipping them over so she was on her back. He took a second to breath, but that was a mistake. Y/N managed to slip out of his grasp and fling her arms around his neck and pull him down towards her.

Aemond huffed and puffed as Y/N slithered around to his back from underneath him, wrapping her legs around him and tightening her hold around his neck. His one hand gripped her forearm, while the other pushed against the floor. The whole time Y/N giggled madly, Aemond was left wondering what the hell his mother had gotten him into. This was not the same meek lady he had been betrothed to just weeks before. And he definitely enjoyed the newfound fire in his wife. Her giggles proved to be contagious as his own laughter filled the room.

The two still struggled against each other, Aemond now on top pinning Y/N down on her back. They slowed their movements as they gazed into each other's eyes, both alight with mirth. Aemond's soft lips inched closer and closer and Y/N's eyes started fluttering softly.

In a sudden movement, Aemond flipped Y/N onto her belly and held her hair so her head was gently lifted off the ground. She gasped in delight.

"Your insolence must come to an end, wife, I can tell your tiring out" he taunted at her. Y/N rolled her eyes and looked back at him.

"I will never bend to your will, husband, I am too fierce for you to handle!" She said indignantly. Aemond let out a chuckle before his palm struck her supple ass cheek. He watched it jiggle beneath her thin chemise, blood rushing to his crotch. Truthfully, he had been hard as a rock the entire time they had been wrestling, but this was the first time he really took in every curve of her body.

Slowly, his fingers trailed up the back of her thigh and under her chemise. Her breathing halted as his sped up. The thrill of touching his wife ignited his entire being.

She let out a gasp and she felt a slender finger prod at her slickness. She was embarrassingly wet after being so physical with her dear husband.

"Husband, please." She whimpered out while attempting to grind against his finger pathetically. Aemond, however, greatly enjoyed the sight of his wife so desperate and aching for him. The thought of it made his belly feel warm.

He clicked his tongue at her, "I thought you said you'd never been to my will, wife. I wouldn't want to make a liar out of you." Y/N let out a soft whimper as his finger traveled deeper into her causing her to arch her back slightly.

"I don't care, husband! Please, I just want more!" Hearing his wife begging beneath him nearly caused his own release. He was happy to oblige as he added a second finger, the additional stretch almost overwhelming his little wife below him. She moaned out as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of her, the wetness causing squelching noises.

"Get on the bed, little wife, I'm going to fill you with an heir tonight."

[the-gentleman-pining]

Decided to rewatch OFMD S2 eps 1-3 and actually jot down my thoughts as I go! Oh what fun! Ngl this is mostly for me babes but if you enjoy it that's neat ❤️

Episode 1: Impossible Birds

Stede bearded in his dream could just be playing to swashbuckling archetypes for funsies, but is it some lingering wish that he was more masculine?

Con O'Neil truly graceful about it with the sword huh

"WHERE IS HE. WHERE'S ED?" Stede seeing Izzy as the thing that is keeping Ed from him when he's the one that left lol ok

His idealised version of Ed doesn't hold him accountable either. My mans doesn't want to face what he did at all!!

His first words to Ed in his letter are reassuring him that the crew are safe, as if he doesn't remember that Ed marooned them and left them for dead on purpose??

I know it's meant to be funny but Jackie was a bit of a sex pest toward Swede at first and the power dynamic was a bit 🫤 Glad he was into it in the end!

WHY DOES WEE JOHN SLAM THE HEAD OF THE ONE WHO GOT STABBED INTO THE TABLE INSTEAD OF THE ONE WHO STABBED THEM?? 😂

Stede truly is unphased by people being assholes to him and I just,,, respect it.

Ricky your vibes are strange and unsettling

Who in their right mind would have an ocean wedding in the golden age of piracy?? I know they probs didn't know it was the golden age of piracy while they were in it but STILL

Ed looks so dead behind the eyes 😭 Just going through the motions eh buddy?

Dressed up like the book Blackbeard I see. God he's trying so hard to inhabit this character.

I would die for Archie. Truly the himbo we need in these depressing angst riddled times.

Jim asking someone else how they're bottling things up?? Hello?? Who are you and what have you done with Jim?? Aren't you the bottling up Master? Olu bewitched you too good and now you've unlocked Feelings 😔

"He's actually a good guy" Stede babygirl did we actually forget the marooning???

I have so much I could say about how Izzy and Blackbeard's relationship has deteriorated hhhhh,,,, Izzy is a problem child but I'm so glad the story is crashing towards his character actually growing and changing. In season 1 he at least got the crumbs Ed would throw him like "I need you here", now he's only getting abuse and maybe he's throwing himself at it because he recognises he had a part to play in reaching this point and believes he deserves it.

Fang's delivery on "how you doing Izzy" will keep me warm and fed all winter. Masterclass in approaching someone, truly tender and genuine but not too pressuring. God.

That second "unhand me" hhh the panic of realising you're going to start crying if the situation continues

Con is gonna rip my heart out and eat it this season if I'm not careful

Labour exploitation Jackie what a girlboss x

Why does "you'll be having a lot of breakfastseses together" sound so ominous though 😭 Smeagol Jackie my worstie...

Stede doing Blackbeard Voice is adorable but damn he really doesn't believe that he made Ed's life better. Like how??? Why doesn't Stede equate happiness with better? Ed was explicitly happier around you ya dingus!

Swede deserves his married bliss so much. The crew can be so mean to him!!

"What am I to you" and "I have... love for you" are said so softly I'm gonna be sick,, Izzy you fucked it by wrestling this man into this particular coping mechanism and your tenderness is coming wayyyy too late. Heartbreaking tbh cause the guy didn't know how else to help Ed and now he's realising it could have been different. Sick and twisted little dynamic I'm eating it like good soup.

Definitely supposed to be taken that Izzy didn't realise "talk it through" was a Stedeism as he said it but godddd you idiot dude

Once again god bless you Archie I'd die for you

Fang I want to rescue you hhhhhh my hot topic fashionista must be so dehydrated from all these tears!!!

No way in hell Ed expected anything else out of Izzy's mouth than something about Stede, but god I wish the guy had just payed attention to Frenchie shaking his head. The catharsis of saying the quiet part out loud wasn't worth your leg, man.

"Start by cleaning up that mess"... yeah we def see Ed is killing people himself again but outsourcing the Big Job on Izzy makes sense. He's also exactly the kind of self sabotager atm that would know Frenchie won't do it, and he's looking for reasons to Be Worse.

Indigo heist my beloved. Fuck those hammies up!! I love how loud Black Pete was omg 😂

Oh fuck off Ricky I know you're a S1 Stede mirror but you're doing it detestably

Roach why is your instinct to immediately put the blue dirt on your face darling

Zheng Yi Sao completely unphased by Jackie is giving me so much delight

Sexy Dutchman 😭😂 Jackie never change

I love that Zheng Yi Sao is taking the whole crew on just to have her lil Olu moment, get it girl

TENDER JIM IM SO HAPPY FOR THEM THEY'VE COME SO FAR. I LOVE THEIR BIG SMILE 😭 (also Archie is so wholesome what is she DOING here???)

Ed oh my god you're not alright at ALL

Frenchie's quiet "sounds like a plan" is just so... painful. The acting this season is off the charts.

When Roach asked if they were in soup now I thought he was referring to the ocean as soup I'm an idiot 😭

[wandering-spirit77]

Take My Love and My Name

Literally felt confident enough to share this, it's just a BG3 Gale x Tav (Dark Urge) fanfic so if you want to read you can! I just wanted to post it for fun! Cross-posted on AO3

Summary

(MILD SPOILERS FOR THE DARK URGE AND ACT 3 PLOT READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!)

Domestic life was uncharted territory for Clarrie Fifer. She loves Gale Dekarios with everything she has, willing to stop at nothing to show her devotion to her future husband. And with their future approaching, she wrestles with the fear of being rejected as a unique request for Gale comes to mind.

CW: Referenced sexual themes but not shown, not beta-read so anything typos wise just go with it.

Also! If you want to give this any CONSTRUCTIVE criticism you can but please be gentle about it! I'm fragile

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Clarrie loved Gale Dekarios. Truly, unashamedly, and wholeheartedly adored him. He was one of the reasons she smiled in the morning and why she was composing new music to play on her flute. He was the one she curled up next to every night, falling asleep to soft whispers of their future together. He was the reason she had finally found a home for the first time since she was young. She loved the clever wizard currently at his desk in their little library. Gods, theirs. It was still such an unfamiliar thing to her. To be able to share a place so sacred and loved like the walls of the tower with the man she loved.

It was almost enough to ease her worries, to soothe that growing bubble of anxiety in her chest. She knew Gale had noticed. He had asked her what had been bothering her these past couple of days. She glanced down at the band around her finger, a small smile stretched across her face as she recalled how Gale knelt and kissed her hand after proposing to her. The day right after defeating the Netherbrain. Waking up beside him that first morning without a tadpole threatening to turn them into mind flayers, an insatiable urge to kill everyone, or a dormant orb of Karsite Weave resting in his chest that didn’t beg for magical boots to feast on. It was a day she knew she’d never forget.

“My love?” Clarrie was broken out of her thoughts by Gale’s voice, meeting his brown eyes with her pinky-gray ones. “Did you need something?” Gale’s easy smile calmed some of the anxious thoughts burning in her mind as she leaned off the door frame and strode over to him. Gale’s hands reached out to wrap around her middle once she was within arm’s reach, pulling her in. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I know you’re prepping your lesson plans for your first semester.”

“You could never disturb me. In fact, you are my, much needed, reminder that I should take a break. It wouldn’t do good for any young, aspiring magic user to suffer in the pursuit of arcane knowledge if I don’t also allow myself time to rest. Lest they learn to cast fireballs far too early.” Clarrie giggled at that, tilting her head down a bit to rest her forehead against his soft brown locks. Her hands moved to rest on his shoulders as she stood there for a bit, not wanting to break the peace with her worries. But she couldn’t keep silent forever.

She pulled back a bit from his embrace, her hands moving to his cheeks and thumbs idly brushing against the bone there. The rough feeling of his beard scratching against the pads of her fingers was enough to ground her as she tried to not let the worry take over. “I… I want to talk to you about something that’s been on my mind for a little while.” “Yes?” Gale’s hands moved to cover her own, moving one of her hands so he could briefly kiss her palm. She smiled a bit at the gesture, how he knew exactly what she needed to calm down was a marvel and something she refused to take for granted. “I… I know it’s a little bit expected for me to take your last name when we marry. And believe me, it’s an honor to be a part of the Dekarios clan officially. But… I was wondering…”

She really wished she had come up with a better plan to broach the topic. Clarrie was known to go with the flow, when need be, but this was important. Or important to her, and that made her curious to know if he deemed it to hold the same significance. She was glad Gale was giving her the time to speak, to format her ideas without jumping to the conclusion she didn’t want his last name. It was far from the truth after all. “I was curious to know if you’d… you’d be interested in taking my name too? Becoming an official member of the Fifer clan and turning it from one person into two?” Clarrie chuckled a bit at her terrible joke at the end.

“You don’t have to, of course! And I’m not asking for you give up your name either, but maybe we hyphen it instead? That way we both have each other’s last name?” Clarrie’s form tensed, fearful of his reaction to her request. Her tail swishing behind her anxiously as the silence lingered, though her fears were quickly dashed away as Gale pulled her down into his lap, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I’d be just as honored to become a part of the Fifer clan, just as I’m delighted and honored to have you become part of my family.” Gale moved his hand to her to take her own, bringing her knuckle up to his lips and kissing the ring against her finger.

A ring shining with peacock ore and a glittering gold band with purple runes glowing with some sort of enchantment she didn’t understand. Magic came to her in the form of a perfect melody, harmonious and performed exactly how she desired. Though she knew the magic on her finger was a way Gale showed his love in his own way to match the shiny crystal they had woven together. The material knotting together to symbolize their future eternal union.

All of eternity tied with this man before her and Clarrie still believed it wouldn’t be enough to sing his praises. To show him just how grateful she was to be in his life as his lover. And as she stared into his eyes, she wondered if maybe Gale was thinking the same thing.

She surged forward to kiss him, the biggest smile on her face as she did so. It was a clashing of teeth and soft laughter but neither of them seemed to mind. Her tail swished excitedly as she tried to pull back to speak… after maybe another peck or two. “Thank you.” The words were soft, but the intention behind them wasn’t. It was a loud, joyous choir in her heart that wouldn’t ever stop singing for him. Gale Dekarios, a man she most certainly didn’t deserve but would spend the rest of her days thanking Orin of all people for taking her place. For putting that damn tadpole in her head in the first place so she could have this moment, this life with him.

“Do you have a preference which one of our namesakes should be first in order?” Gale asked, pulling her from her reverie. “I didn’t really, I was focused on trying to work up the courage to ask you about it in the first place.” A bashful look crossed her face as Gale chuckled. “No matter, we have ample time to decide. Though I will say I’m partial to ‘Fifer-Dekarios’, it has a bit of a ring to it don’t you think?”

"You don’t want your name first? I don’t mind!” She truly didn’t, “It’s not something I need to come first in order or anything!" She was on the verge of rambling now, trying to think of any way to convince him that she was more than willing to accommodate having the Dekarios name come first.

“Clarrie,” Gale interrupted, his hand squeezed the one entwined with his own as his other hand moved to cup her cheek. “My love, you told me that the Fifer name is all you have left of your family. And as I said, I’m honored that you wish to include me in it. I think that it’s only right for your namesake to be spoken first.” Clarrie was sure her eyes were wide as saucers as she looked at him. She had assumed this conversation would be more of a back and forth. Though his swift agreement and even his desire to have her family name be uttered first was unexpected.

But in the back of her mind Clarrie knew she shouldn't have been surprised, it was Gale after all. He would do anything to make sure she was happy the same way she'd do the same for him. Especially when it came to something important to one another. It was a trait she was more than grateful for.

“You just enjoy the fact you’ll get to mention I’m your wife whenever someone questions it.” “I will admit that is a selfish reason of mine as well.” Clarrie playfully swatted at his arm with her tail at his comment, a toothy grin spreading across her face as Gale laughed. She hummed, her hands moving to rest on his chest and idly tugged on the collar of his tunic. “If we’re sharing some of our selfish desires. Then the future Mrs. Fifer-Dekarios wishes to show you how grateful she is that you wish to take her name.”

Gale’s hands moved to her hips, a low hum of his own slipping out as he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her neck. “Then would the future Mrs. Fifer-Dekarios wouldn’t mind if soon-to-be Mr. Fifer-Dekarios also shares his thanks for her wish to be with him as well?” Clarrie tilted her neck to the side, eyes glinting with mirth, “I don’t believe she would.” She replied, a loud laugh reverberating around the private library as Gale guided her to stand before taking her hand to lead her out of the room. Though his wide smile would be forever ingrained in her memory as the two of them moved to their bedroom to celebrate one another.

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