#is the birthday reference too desperate?

[zmediaoutlet]

Hey, wincest people.

I made a little shipping survey that I want you to fill out. It's in Qualtrics, so a little more official-looking than one of the tumblr surveys, but how official can it really be if you're getting asked about butt stuff?

Full disclosure, next wincest wednesday is my actual honest-to-goodness birthday and I think it'd be nice if you filled out the survey for me as a little present. And then I'll show you the results as a reciprocal present. How's that sound?

If I could make the link look less like I was trying to survey your preferences in fast food bun choices I would, but frankly I couldn't figure it out. Nevertheless, I am applying big winsome eyes and saying: pretty please? Survey time?

[jayybugg]

nurse

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ghost avoids you but it's not what you think.

Warning: Slight Time Skips, Kinda Asshole Ghost?, Smut (18+), Use of Y/N, Language (?).

Word Count: 4.6K

Note: Now, I know in my master list I said that right now I would only be writing for the Slytherin Boys......but I have spiraled back into my Call of Duty, specifically Ghost. Now this is just an experiment, I don't know how this will go over but if you guys like it then maybeeee I'll post my other fandom fics that I have.

Also! This is a birthday gift for my beautiful gem, @slytherinslut0 , so everyone thank her and wish her a happy birthday. As always, @cafekitsune is on the banner.

Taskforce 141 didn’t pay any attention when they were told that they would have a new nurse on the base. They assumed it would be another male, just like everyone who got employed here.

So, only one could imagine their shock when the base’s doctor, Dr. Moscaw, introduced a pretty little thing like you to the team.

“This is Y/N. She will work under me. Your first point of contact for anything medical-wise.” Moscaw spoke, “Don’t go scaring her off, boys.”

There were grumbles and protests as Dr. Moscaw left you with the team. You cleared your throat as you gave them all a nervous smile. All their eyes were on you, surveying you almost like prey. A certain man with a skull mask being the most intense one. “Um, right. You all desperately need an annual check-up. So, whenever you all have a moment, please stop by the medical ward. I would love to update your records and meet you all.”

Before any of them could say anything, you had scurried off.

Over the next few weeks, they all came in one by one. Introducing themselves as you went through updating their records.

First came Captain Price. You liked to think that he came in to lead by example and not to get out of his mountain of paperwork. Then Kyle came in the next day. He begged you to call him “Gaz”, saying that nobody on base ever calls him Kyle.

Not long after Gaz came, Johnny waltzed into your office. He was flirty but overall friendly. Johnny, just like Gaz, begged you to call him Soap like everyone else. He was the one who referred to you as a breath of fresh air amidst the testosterone-filled air. Often, he and Gaz came to your office. They always claimed to be checking up on you, but you knew it was because they were hiding from their duties.

“Where is…. um, Ghost? Or is his name Simon? It’s two first names on this file.” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows at the lack of information in his records. Soap chuckled, glancing up from his phone to you. “Ghost is the name he’s gonna give ‘ya. It’s the name that we all know him by.”

“A field name, I assume?” You asked, looking up from your computer. Gaz and Soap nodded. “Yep. His name for plenty of reasons, but that’s neither here nor there.” Gaz waved his hand dismissively.

“Well, is he going to come in for a check-up? He doesn’t have another doctor or anything listed.” You sighed. “His medical record is empty. There is nothing on here, other than his name and height. No birthday, no past medication history, nothing.”

“Of course, that’s all that’s on there. That’s all anyone knows about him.” Soap laughed. “He’s not gonna come in here for a check-up.”

“What? Why not?” You asked, closing your computer.

“Too much information.” Gaz shrugged. “Nobody knows anything about him. It’s a shocker that he even allowed his real name to be on those records.”

“So, nobody knows if this guy even goes to the doctor?” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “That’s insane.”

“Ya may be right, but that means nothing to Ghost.” Soap said.

“And insane is basically his middle name. The man does whatever he wants.” Gaz added.

“Do you think he will come in if I just ask?” You pondered to the men.

Gaz and Soap glanced at each other before shrugging. “If you bat those pretty eyelashes at any man on this base, they’ll be eating out the palm of your hand,” Soap said.

“But Ghost isn’t like the average man. He’s not easily swayed like most.” Gaz added, “But I mean, it won’t hurt to try.”

With the encouragement from Gaz and Soap to just try to ask him, you spent the next few weeks attempting to track Ghost down. Unfortunately for you, he lived up to his name very well. It was like every time you went looking for him, everyone had “just seen him.”

Eventually, you found him, by pure coincidence. You were walking to your car, getting ready to leave the base for the day when your eyes landed on a 6’4, muscular man who donned a skull balaclava. You hadn’t seen him since the day that Price had introduced you to the team. He seemed bigger and a bit more intimidating than before, but your determination outweighed your nervousness.

You walked up to him, clearing your throat. Ghost stopped fiddling with his motorcycle to drag his eyes up to your face. His eyes were dark and analytical as he scanned your face before tracing down your body. You felt self-conscious of his wondering gaze.

“Whatcha ‘ya want?” His voice was deep, his accent coming out heavier than you thought it was.

“Um, I’m the new nurse.” You squeaked out before clearing your throat.

“I know.”

“Right.” You took a deep breath. “Your medical records are empty and you’re the only one who hasn’t come in for a check-up.”

There was a brief silence between you two as you waited for him to say something, anything. When you got the hint that he wasn’t going to say anything, you decided to just push forward and ask.

“Will you come in for one? And maybe introduce yourself a little more?”

Ghost stared at you a little longer before turning back to his motorcycle. “No.”

Your eyes widened at the blatant refusal. You raised your eyebrow, crossing your arms. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“Do ‘ya not know what ‘no’ means? Aren’t ‘ya educated?” Ghost grunted; his back still turned to you.

“You can’t just…. You must fill out these records somehow!”

“No, I don’t.”

You narrowed your eyes at Ghost, huffing slightly. “It’s mandatory to at least get an annual check-up.”

“So, I’ve heard. Don’t care.” He spoke again, throwing one leg over the motorcycle. He started it up, gripping the handles. His eyes focused on your face again as he revved the engine.

“But-”

Before you could even think about responding, Ghost had sped off, leaving you in the dust.

“And he just sped off?” Soap laughed. Gaz smacked his arm, giving you an apologetic look.

“Ignore Soap. He has a terrible sense of humor.” Gaz rolled his eyes. “But we told you he was hard to sway.”

“I just don’t understand why he doesn’t want to come in.” You groaned, “Maybe he just doesn’t want to get to know me?”

“It’s Ghost, you aren’t supposed to understand him.” Gaz shrugged. “But I doubt it’s you that he’s against.”

You let another groan, causing the two men to chuckle.

“Hell, Darlin’, you might just make the man nervous as hell. As you can see, we don’t have many pretty females around here.” Soap leaned back in his chair, grinning at you.

“Me? Make Ghost nervous? Please.” You raised an eyebrow, rolling your eyes. Soap shrugged, “You never know, he could be.”

“You never know,” Gaz said, agreeing with Soap.

“Whatever.” You muttered, ending the conversation.

Weeks had passed and Ghost gave no sign of even considering stepping into the medical ward or trying to talk to you. He evaded you any chance he got. You told Dr. Moscaw and Price about the predicament with Ghost. Both waved it off and said, “He’s Ghost, that’s just how he is.

When your official first three months of working on the base had come around, Soap and Gaz had invited you out to the bar to celebrate.

“It’ll be everyone. Cap, Laswell, König, hell, even Ghost said he would come.” Soap smiled at you. You scoffed slightly at the revelation that Ghost was going to show his masked face at the bar. “Are we sure he’s coming for me, or rather, the drinks?” You asked, your eyes focused on the computer screen in front of you.

Gaz chuckled. “He refused to go until we said it was a celebration for you.”

“Funny that the man that evades me wants to come to my celebration.” You muttered.

“You know, he’s probably around you more than you think,” Soap said, causing you to look up at him with a raised eyebrow. Soap shrugged, continuing, “I mean, he’s known for being around without others knowing, hence the name Ghost.”

“Like he sees me, but I don’t see him?” You asked. Soap and Gaz nodded.

“Think of it like he is collecting information on you. The poor guy lives and breathes our missions and the military. It’s all he knows. It works with the idea that you make the man nervous.” Gaz said, patting your back as he and Soap filed out of your office.

Gaz’s and Soap’s words stuck to you. Maybe you had gone about approaching Ghost all wrong. He was quieter than Gaz and Soap and obviously more secretive, given the blank medical record and the mask. Maybe you should let him approach you, let him feel you out to see if you’re trustworthy or not.

When the night of the celebration rolled around, you promised yourself that you would not pester Ghost. Despite the growing need to get to know him and your nursing instincts to make sure he was healthy; you were going to let him come to you.

You walked into the bar, tugging slightly at your dress that rose from sitting in the taxi. Your black mini dress hugged your curves and had a low neckline that showed off your cleavage with your matching strappy heels. Although Soap and Gaz had to you to come dressed up, you debated calling the taxi back and going home to change. You were going to be with your co-workers, who were most likely going to be in jeans.

You sighed, pushing open the door to the bar. Your eyes snapped over to the large table in the back of the bar where all your coworkers sat. “Y/N!” Gaz yelled, jumping up from his seat. He grabbed your arm, escorting you to the table. Everyone shot you a smile, except König and Ghost, who both donned a balaclava. Although, you could tell from the crinkle in König’s eyes that he was smiling at you.

“The guest of honor is finally here.” Laswell smiled at you. “Congratulations on sticking it out at the base for three months. I must admit, I thought these boys would scare you away by now.”

“No, I’m tougher than I look.” You joked, “Plus, everyone is nice. I felt welcomed.”

Gaz and Soap gave Ghost an unmistakable side eye that you caught, and if you caught it, then everyone at the table caught it. You also didn’t miss the narrowed eyes that Ghost gave back to Gaz and Soap.

“A round of shots! For our new family member.” Price winked at you, giving you a warm smile.

That’s how the night went on, chatting and drinks getting passed around. It didn’t take you long to get buzzed. You kept true to your promise to yourself and didn’t go looking for interactions with Ghost.

However, you felt his eyes on you. It was like they never left you, always following your every movement.

It felt familiar.

Ghost stayed quiet the whole night, not cracking a chuckle at any jokes or taking part in the conversations. His eyes wandered the bar as if he was looking for any type of escape. Whenever your eyes met his, he looked away, his eyes hardening in the process.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” You said, feeling the alcohol finally run through you and back up your throat. Although everyone was too occupied with their conversations to hear you. You stumbled your way to the bathroom, pushing open the door. You wasted no time, bending over the toilet and vomiting what little contents that were in your stomach.

“I knew I should’ve eaten before….” You whispered to yourself.

“Yeah, ‘ya should have. Not very nurse of ‘ya.” A deep voice echoed behind you.

You jumped, turning around, clutching your chest as your eyes landed on Ghost. He stood behind you, arms crossed, as he leaned against the stall door.

“God, when the fuck did you get in here?” You asked, your eyes traveling down his figure. This would be the first time that you had ever seen Ghost in civilian clothes. Even on relaxed days on the base, Ghost wore full tactical gear. Tonight, he opted for a compression tee and black sweatpants, as if he was planning to go to the gym after all of this.

Which wouldn’t be surprising for Ghost.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos.” Your eyes landed on his sleeve, which seemed to move as he unconsciously flexed his muscles.

“I know ‘ya didn’t.” Ghost said, offering his hand out to you. You took it gratefully, standing up to your two feet. Ghost handed you some mouthwash and gum, along with your purse.

“Didn’t want nobody shifting through ‘ya stuff.” Ghost said when he saw the look that you gave him, “Also thought ‘ya might want to touch up ‘ya make up.”

“Thank you.” You gave him a small smile. He nodded, turning on his heel to leave out the bathroom. You swigged the mouthwash around, spitting into the sink. You freshen up your makeup before popping the piece of gum in your mouth.

You made your way back to the table, sitting down when a waitress came and dropped a personal pan of pepperoni pizza in front of you with water. “Oh,” You looked up at her, “I didn’t order this.”

“One of your friends ordered it for you. Told me to bring it when you came back to your seat.” She smiled and walked away. You glanced down at the pizza with a smile. Pizza was your favorite greasy food; it matched the rumbling of your drunk stomach perfectly.

You looked up at Soap and Gaz, the only two people who would know about your guilty pleasure food. Soap was leaning against the table flirting with another waitress while Gaz made bets with Price on football games. You decided you would thank one of them later when they weren’t busy.

4 am finally rolled around, causing the night to end. Gaz had called you a cab, walking you out as everyone said their goodbyes. Ghost had already mounted his motorcycle and sped off into the night. Once Gaz got you settled in the backseat, you smiled at him. “Thanks, Gaz. Oh, and thank you for the pizza, too.”

Gaz raised his eyebrow. “What pizza?”

“The pizza you ordered me when I went to the bathroom.” You clarified.

“I didn’t order you a pizza, hell, I didn’t even know you went to the bathroom.” Gaz said before chuckling a bit with a mischievous smirk, “The only person who ordered food was Ghost.”

Before you could ask anything more, Gaz tapped the roof of the car and your taxi pulled off.

You went even longer without seeing Ghost after the bar. It was almost as if he had just disappeared into thin air. You tried to question Gaz and Soap, but they claimed they knew nothing about it. Saying that it was probably a “lucky guess” but if anything they had told you about Ghost was true, nothing he did was just a lucky guess.

You pushed all your questions to the back of your mind, as you knew you weren’t going to get any answers any time soon. You were cleaning up the office as your day was ending. 141 were out on a mission, a relatively relaxed one, so your office was quiet and easy to pack up rather than having to tell Soap to stop touching stuff every 5 minutes.

You hummed to yourself, not taking notice that your office door had swung open.

“You’re terrible at being aware of ‘ya surroundings.”

You jumped, a squeal falling from your mouth. “You have to stop doing that!”

Ghost stood at your door, in sweatpants and a hoodie. His arms crossed as he stared at you through his mask. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. You suddenly felt small like the room was closing in on you due to Ghost’s tall frame.

“What are you doing here?” You asked. Ghost’s eyes seemed to widen, as if he wasn’t sure why he was there either.

“Give me a check-up.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, glancing over at the clock. It was 7:35 pm, and the base was basically empty.

“It can’t wait til tomorrow?” You asked. Ghost took a step closer to you, “I thought you wanted to get to know me?”

“I do but-”

“Then give me the check-up.” Ghost grunted, sitting on the bench. His large frame made the normally large bench look small under him.

You sighed softly, getting out your equipment to start his check-up. You stay silent as you slip on your latex gloves after washing your hands. “So, I’m guessing something happened on the mission.”

Ghost looked over to you, his eyes coated in a small dose of confusion. “What?”

“I mean, you seemed very adamant about not getting a check-up before and now you’re here after a mission. I just assumed maybe something happened.” You clarified as you moved to check his heartbeat.

It took everything in you not to let your hands wander across his chest as you pulled away from him to turn to your computer and record the data.

“Nothing happened. Just built up some confidence.” He said, getting off the bench to stand behind you closely.

“O-oh…. confidence for what?” You took a deep breath, your eyes focusing on the computer screen.

Ghost didn’t answer your question, instead, he grabbed your shoulders and spun you around to face him. “You’re very annoying, you know that?”

“What?” Your eyes widened.

“You’re always around, smelling good. In these scrubs that hug your body tighter than any other scrubs I’ve ever seen.” Ghost muttered, “Always laughing at Soap’s stupid jokes. Always getting pizza when you know you aren’t supposed to.”

“I try to avoid you and ignore you, but you just crawl your little ass into my mind anyways. All mission…. just thinking and wondering what you’re doing.” Ghost continued.

“Is this your way of admitting that you’ve been thinking about me?” You asked.

Ghost stayed silent. His eyes stay trained on you, no words or sounds coming from him. His hand moved to take a piece of your hair and twirling it around his finger.

“Um, we should finish the check-up so we can go.” You spoke softly. Ghost ignored you, dipping his face into your neck. He took a deep breath. “God, you smell heavenly.”

“Ghost....”

“I need you.” He grumbled, “I need you all around me. I’ve learned everything I can about you and all I can think about is how I need to feel about you.”

“How I need to ruin you.”

You felt a knot in your stomach at his words, heat pooling inside you. “R-ruin me?”

“Beyond belief.” Ghost confirmed, “Give me the green light.”

You stayed silent as Ghost pushed his knee between your legs, pressing his knees gently against your core, causing a whimper to fall from your mouth. He lifted his mask to reveal his lips, pressing against your neck in soft, wet kisses. “Y/N. Answer me.”

“I….” You gasped for air, “P-please…do it.”

Ghost didn’t need to hear anything else. He lifted you easily, throwing you on the bench. He yanked your top off, groping your breast. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about these since the bar. So soft and plump…” Ghost grumbled, pulling your bra down and latching his mouth to your nipple.

A small moan fell from your mouth at the actions. His tongue swirled around your nipple before he pulled away with a slight “pop”. He left a trail of kisses down your chest to your naval. He tugged down your pants, throwing them in the same direction as your top. He groaned at the sight of the wet spot in your panties.

“So wet and ready for me. Huh, love?” Ghost said, blowing softly on your clothed clit.

You whined softly, nodding your head. He slapped your thigh, his eyes looking up at you. “I want to hear use your words. Let me hear that pretty voice that has been plaguing my mind for these past few months.”

You let out a sigh as Ghost pressed the pad of his tongue to your slit through your panties, teasing you. “Yes…. I’m wet and ready for you.”

“Good fucking girl, Lovie.” Ghost chuckled, moving your panties to the side to latch his mouth to your clit. He sucked and lapped at your clit harshly, your moans becoming uncontrollable as he ate you out like a starved man. His tongue teased your slit, flicking his tongue up and down.

He gripped your thighs tighter, pulling you closer to him. His nose pressed against your clit, stimulating you more and more. “Oh God, fuck, Ghost.” You moaned, your hands reaching out to grip the top of his balaclava.

“That’s right. I want you moaning my name like it’s the only thing that pretty little mind knows.” Ghost muttered, slipping two fingers into you as he kept lapping up all your juices. Your thighs tightened around his face as you felt your climax coming.

Ghost groaned at the action, his cock twitching with anticipation. You tossed your head back as pleasure coursed through your body. “I’m about to cum, fuck, I’m s’close.”

Your words seem to push Ghost further into sending you over the edge. His tongue moved faster against you as his fingers matched his pace. Your mind was blanking from the orgasm that rushed over your body. Ghost pulled his fingers out slowly as he pulled away from your swollen clit. His mouth was covered in your slick as he smirked. “Taste so sweet, Angel.” He spoke.

He pushed his two fingers into your mouth, groaning at the warmth of it. You suck on his fingers, tasting yourself on them as you swirled your tongue around. “Such a good, eager girl. So happy to taste yourself on my fingers.” Ghost whispered, pushing them down your throat so he could hear your gags.

Ghost pulled away, yanking his sweatpants and boxers down. His cock sprang out, revealing its large length. It hit his abdomen; the tip leaking with pre-cum. Your eyes looked down at him, eyes widening at the sight. “My God….” You whispered.

Ghost grabbed the base of his shaft, jerking himself off slightly before pulling you to the edge of the bench and wrapping one of your legs around his waist while propping the other one on his shoulder. “I need this pretty pussy wrapped around my cock, taking every inch of me.” Ghost growled. He rubbed his tip up and down your slick, coating it in it.

“Tell me how much you want this, Lovie. How bad do you want me to fuck you?” Ghost demanded; his eyes focused on you. You let out a whiny moan, looking up at him, “Please fuck me. I want your cock so bad.”

Ghost pushed into you, filling you up slowly but surely. Ghost groaned, sinking into you until he was fully inside you. “S’fucking tight. Gonna fuck this pretty cunt until it’s molded to only take my cock.” Ghost groaned, snapping his hips forward for a forceful thrust. A guttural moan fell from your mouth, as Ghost gripped your throat with both hands, pounding into you at a ruthless pace.

“M’been dreaming of this since the day I laid eyes on your fucking application picture.” Ghost muttered, “Such a pretty fucking girl. Batting your eyelashes at everyone.”

Ghost’s hands moved down to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. Your moans were drowned out by the loud slapping of your skin. If it wasn’t for the way that Ghost was viciously railing you, you would be concerned that someone would walk past and hear you.

“Such a fucking whore. Getting fucked in your office…. you like being railed after work? Hmm?” Ghost hissed out as you clenched around him.

“You look s’pretty being full of my cock.” Ghost muttered, leaning down to kiss and nip your neck. You whined, feeling another knot form in your stomach. You clenched around Ghost, making him groan. “M’close…. s’close…” You spoke in between moans.

“Go ahead and make a mess on my cock, baby. Cum all over this cock like the slut you are.” Ghost demanded. It didn’t take long for your legs to shake and for Ghost’s cock to be drenched in your climax. He slowed his thrusts, pulling out of you. You whimpered at the lost feeling.

“Get up, Lovie. I want to cum all in that pretty mouth of yours.” Ghost said, pulling you off the bench and to your knees. You looked up at him as he pumped himself. Slapping his cock against your lips, you opened your mouth to let him slip in.

“S’fucking warm. Fucking made to take my dick in every fucking hole you have.” Ghost muttered, his hand snaking around the back of your head to shove his dick further down your throat. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you tasted all your juices that drenched his cock. Saliva trailed down your chin as Ghost thrust in and out of your mouth at an unforgiving pace. “A fucking slut you are, taking my dick so well. Fuck.” Ghost groaned as his hip stuttered slightly. His cock twitched in your mouth before ropes of cum shot down your throat.

Your eyes screwed shut as Ghost stayed deep in your throat, making sure you swallowed all his cum. He pulled out, bending down to level as you looked up at him. “So, this was going through your mind all this time.” You spoke breathlessly.

“Shocked, Lovie?” Ghost smirked, lifting you back to your feet.

“A little.” You nodded. Ghost tilted your head back to press a rough but gentle kiss to your lips. “Well, I suggest you get used to it because there will be more of that.”

“So, you made your move, huh?” Soap grinned wickedly at Ghost, who sat further down the table. Ghost’s eyes shot to Soap’s as he narrowed them at the man.

“Don’t even try to deny it, LT.” Gaz said, his eyes staying trained on his phone. “All the talk around the base is how a certain skull mask-wearing lieutenant is attached to the hip of the pretty little nurse.”

“She must’ve really made you nervous if it took you almost three months to make a move on her.” Soap teased.

“I did more than make a move on her, Sergeant.” Ghost spoke, “That pretty little nurse is now my pretty little nurse.”

Ghost smirked underneath his mask as he looked between Gaz and Soap. “So, it would do you both good to watch your hands the next to you hug her. Would hate to have to break your fingers off for wandering too far for your own good.”

Without another word, Ghost sauntered out of the meeting room, leaving Soap and Gaz dumbfounded.

“Hm, I was wondering when that boy was going to make a move.” Price hummed from his spot, “All that begging to hire her to this base and took nearly four months to even talk to her.”

“Wait, what? Ghost knew about her before she even got to base?” Gaz asked.

“Ghost was the one who pulled her application.” Price said, “Said ‘his future girl’ had applied, and I needed to get her on base.”

Gaz and Soap looked at each other before sighing. Of course, Ghost knew you before you knew him.

Because it wouldn’t be Ghost if he didn’t.

[joelsdagger]

intermission || one shot

shout out to @dinandwhiskey for feeding into my delusions for this one and to @skrunkly-scrimblo for the beta <33

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader summary: movie night with joel doesn’t go to plan, or joel fucks your mouth while you’re sleeping. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ rating: 18+ MDNI warnings: [No Outbreak], established relationship, age gap [reader is 24, joel is late 50’s] , dd/lg dynamics, daddy kink, somnophilia [no explicit consent in this fic but she’s cool with it, therefore dubcon], oral [m receiving], face fucking, deepthroating, finger sucking, praise kink, pet names [little bug, little angel, baby, the works lol], references to tummy bulge, references to unprotected p in v sex, mentions of creampie, cum eating, reader can be carried [tho in my mind joel is huuuuuge so size kink as well], Joel’s POV. word count: 2.3k a/n: happy father’s day (iykyk) :3 masterlist | ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. 

I don’t fall asleep during movies, daddy, you had sassed him. 

Whatever you say, little bug. 

That was an hour ago and now you’re resting your pretty little head against his belly, your hand tucked beneath your head. You look so peaceful. So pretty. So soft. So – pliant. 

He really shouldn’t. 

But then your hand slips from under your head and falls to rest a hair's breadth away from his clothed cock, it jumps in his sweats. You’ve practically pavloved him to react like that with just a mere graze of your fingertips. 

“You got no idea what you do to me, sweet girl, drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy over here,” his voice a low rasp, reaching for your fingers and gently pulling them from his lap, squeezing your fingertips twice before resting them atop his thigh. 

You’re completely limp, deep in your sleep and Joel is unable to control himself.

He snatches up the remote, hastily turns down the TV, shoves his gray sweats down to the middle of his thighs and frees his semi-hard cock. He wraps a hand around the base, gives it a firm tug, and rests the tip of his length on your lips.

He stills and swallows hard. He shouldn’t do this. He can’t do this, it feels selfish to take what he’s been desperately wanting from you — for the better part of an hour — when you’re unable to respond. He should wake you. 

But then, almost as if you’ve made the decision for him; your lips part and a soft moan releases from you, mmm, daddy. His cock twitches against your lips, opaque droplets already gathering at the slit. Your lips stay parted and the glistening tip slips between your plush lips. 

“Fuck– ” He groans at the sensation, eyes rolling back into his head, hand flying up to the back of yours, cradling your skull in an attempt to anchor himself as he slowly rolls his hips up into you. He stiffens fully at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth around him. It feels fucking incredible. 

How the hell did he get here? A rare lazy sunday night with you on his lap, taking a man almost three times your age in between your lips, letting him use you in your sleep. 

He remembers first laying eyes on you. You showed up on his porch one night, not too long ago, with sparkling eyes and a shy smile on your face. He didn’t even hear what you had said to him, too distracted by the soft skin of your exposed thighs just below the hem of your pale pink dress — barely covering the plump shape of your ass — and the flow of your hair as a wave of muggy summer heat swept past. He thinks it was something about the leftover cake from your birthday. He only guessed that from the sad, fat square slice of funfetti birthday cake held up in a flimsy paper plate before him, the letters jaggedly cut down the middle of the celebratory phrase.

Joel is a strong man; at least that’s what he tells himself. He knew you were too young for him. The split letters that barely spelled out twenty-four on your birthday cake told him as much. Trouble, he’d muttered. He still mumbles that occasionally when you push his buttons, though hours later, he often finds himself burying his length deep inside of you, tears pricking your eyes while he stretches your needy cunt.

But then you glanced up at him with wide, curious eyes and flashed him a big, toothy smile — the prettiest little thing he’s seen in all his long, hard years — and he cracked; his cement walls came crumbling down. He brought you inside his home, into his too-small bed, and fucked you until you cried, until you asked him for a break only to climb on top of him minutes later, begging him to feed you his cock again.

His cock pulses on your tongue at the memory, your voice high-pitched as you cried, Daddy, please, I want it. And Joel couldn’t resist his special girl. How could he? When you softly gasped into his mouth as he pushed the blunt head of his cock past your puffy folds — nuzzling in and making a home for himself — where he belongs. Your warm, drooling cunt sucking him in to the hilt, sheathing the entirety of his hard length inside your messy little pussy. 

Joel is a strong man, but not when it comes to you. 

Please, please, I need to feel it inside me. All the way up here, daddy, you whined, one hand gliding up your belly, the other fisting the fabric of your lace-trimmed dress. He just couldn’t resist you. So he fucked you and fucked you deep, until he was in the soft pouch of your tummy and poking through from the other side, just as you had asked of him. He fucked you full of his spend, until your poor, tiny hole couldn’t take any more of his cum. 

He’d damn himself to hell before he’d refuse you. He only hopes you don’t deny him if you wake. 

His deft, roughened fingers brush the hair out of your face before settling his hand back on your head. He sits up and leans over; marveling at the stretch of your lips around him, sweat beginning to pool at the nape of his neck and the corners of his temples. 

He feels filthy. A dirty old man. He’s never taken you like this before. But it doesn’t feel wrong. He’s only missing those pretty sounds you make —

You stir and let out a soft moan around him. Sweet Jesus, there you go. Your head dips lower down his belly, nestling more of his length into your hot mouth. Atta fuckin’ girl. Let me in, baby. Open up real big for daddy.��

“Such a naughty little thing, lettin’ me fuck your throat while you’re sleepin’, just needed to be full o’me huh?” He whispers softly, and at that, you hum. Joel can’t help when he bucks up into your mouth in response, saliva pouring past your lips and onto his graying pubic hair. 

“Fuck, baby, you like gettin’ daddy all messy? Like chokin’ on daddy’s big cock?” He taunts, a grin tugging on his face. 

Once again, as if you can hear him, you hum. 

You’re so damn responsive. Or maybe you just like having his dick in your mouth.  

“Fuck, yeah, you do,” he pants, his voice strained with restraint. His free hand glides down to the swell of your ass — the softest skin he thinks he’s ever felt — and hikes up the frilly hem of those pink sleep shorts that he likes a little too much — the ones speckled with tiny red hearts — over one cheek, grabs a handful of your plush flesh, and squeezes. You moan, and Joel feels your tongue twitch, feather-like, beneath the heavy weight of his cock, then pressing up against the thick, pulsing vein on the underside of his shaft. He bites down on his lip to muffle the loud moan that sneaks past his lips, the back of his head hitting the couch behind him. 

“Goddamnit, takin’ me so damn well, even in your sleep, such a good fuckin’ girl,” he babbles, his eyes shut tight as he revels in the feeling of himself in your mouth, the action movie silently playing on the screen flashes against his eyelids, measured shaky breaths escaping him. The strong hand on your head easing you lower and lower to take more of him, your lips now grazing the drool drenched hair at his base.  

Your mouth feels like velvet around him — warm and soft and so perfect that his hips cant upwards unconsciously, the pace of his thrusts increasing. He’s losing himself in the haze of his fast-approaching release, a deep-seated tension building in his gut, teetering on the edge until—

You splutter around him and Joel’s head snaps up to peer down at you, your eyelids flutter open against the soft glow of the television.

“Shit, baby. ‘M sorry,” he rasps and quickly retracts his hand from your head. Yet, you don’t pull yourself off him, instead you curl your weak fingers into his thigh. You don’t want him to stop. 

“You want me to keep going?” He asks gruffly, he knows you can take him, you’ve done it countless times since you have met. He’s trained you well. Yet, he needs to be certain he’s not reaching your limit. 

You drag your lips off his cock, an obscene wet slurping sound fills the too still air, letting off him with a pop and maneuvering yourself to sit up on your knees. “Yes, please daddy,” your voice still thick with sleep, peering up at him with an innocence to your needy gaze; a mixture of drool and precum coating your pouty lips. 

“Christ,” he mutters, under his breath. Such a pretty fuckin’ sight. One he reckons he’ll never get tired of seeing. He can’t deny you. Not when you look at him like that. 

“Okay, baby, here,” he murmurs, his hand retakes its place on the back of your head, guiding you toward his aching cock, your lips latch onto the fat head — all angry and red — and he inhales a shuddery breath as he watches your face contort at the stretch of him in your mouth. 

Your tongue flattens underneath him and he presses himself deeper into your willing mouth, filling you up and messaging the walls of your throat with the wide head of his cock. 

His grip in your hair tightens and a low groan rumbles in his throat, “There you go, baby, hold still.”  

Fucking hell. He could keep you here forever. 

“So goddamn pretty like this, baby,” Joel grits, “Love havin’ your mouth stuffed full o’ my cock, huh?” 

You make a low muffled sound around the length of his cock.

“S’right, you do,” he answers for you.  

His free hand trails down the length of your body, instinctively gripping the meat of your ass, dull fingernails digging into your skin, just barely grazing your puckered hole. You whine around him, the vibrations from your throat has him flexing his fingers your hair in response, and with shallow, quick thrusts of his hips, he fucks himself into your mouth. 

Fresh tears begin to sprout in your eyes as you gulp hard, your throat constricting around him. Joel feels his throbbing tip choked tight at the small opening at the back of your throat. The warm walls of your throat so tight — so good for him — the muscles in his belly tighten, and the hand on your ass is quick to join the other on your head, gripping your skull. “Shit— that’s it, angel. M’comin’.” His dick pulsates on your tongue, and a loud, guttural groan spills from him as hot, thick spurts of his cum coat your throat. His hand holds you there, firmly pressing your mouth flush to his spit-smeared balls. He feels you swallow around him again, and he whines quietly. The muscles in his jaw go slack, and his head falls back onto the couch while he lazily thrusts upwards, his leaking head bruising the back of your throat as he empties the last of himself into your mouth and filling your belly, his chest heaving from exertion.

He lifts his head when he feels you pull off him; you cough softly against him, the warmth of your breath brushes against his now softening cock, and his hooded gaze meets the sight of a thin string of saliva and cum dribbling from your wet, puffy lips, tears dripping from the corner of your eyes and down your cheeks. “Oh, c’mere, little bug, lemme see.” 

Just as he taught you, you plant a small, wet kiss on each of his heavy balls. Joel sighs through his nostrils. Fuck. What did he do to deserve you? You’re too good for him. You scoot over to sit up in his lap. Joel feels the slick between your legs through your tiny shorts when you press against his soft cock. He lets out a little groan; if he hadn’t just come, he’d be getting hard at the sensation.

His hand reaches to grip your jaw, angling your face up as you present him with your open mouth, the corners of his lips twitch at the sight of the walls of your little throat; empty, swollen, and used. 

“My filthy girl, you did so good f’me,” he cooes, coaxing away your tears and swiping your glistening lips clean. He pushes the pad of his thumb — covered in slobber and cum — into your mouth and presses it onto your tongue. Your wet eyes lock with his as you enthusiastically suck his thumb clean. 

Man alive. Maybe you’ll damn him to hell.

You release his thumb and giggle, biting your lip and smiling up at him dreamily. “Thank you, daddy, I liked it,” you rasp quietly. 

“Yeah?” He breathes, both of his hands on either side of your face, thumbs stroking your wet cheeks. 

Your wide, glassy eyes meet his gaze, “I like when you do things that make you feel good, it makes me feel good,” your voice hoarse and small, fingers toying with the collar of his t-shirt.

“Well – you always make daddy feel good, little angel,” he praises, leaning forward to lay a long kiss to your forehead that elicits a breathy sigh from you, your eyelids fluttering closed. 

“You tired, baby?” He whispers, tucking your soft hair behind your ear, fingers stroking down your hair and twirling the end of the gathered strands between his fingers.   

You yawn quietly and give him a slow, small nod, a sleepy smile to your face as you sink down in his lap, your weeping cunt throbbing against him. He’ll play with your perfect little pussy in the morning. Maybe your other little hole too. 

He chuckles at that. “Alright, little bug...” he starts, tucking his soft cock back into his sweats. He scoops you up into his arms; his weak, achy knees pop, and a low grunt spills from him as he stands, “Bedtime.”

[megu-meow]

when gojo falls in love - gojo satoru

gojo satoru x fem. reader

Summary: She fell first, but he fell harder.

It was hard not to fall in love with Gojo Satoru. He was a ray of sunshine, always lifting the mood in every room, radiating the friendliest, kindest aura you have ever witnessed. His youthful, laid-back personality complemented his intelligence and wit, always having a funny comeback to Suguru's constant teasing.

He seemed so unapproachable to you, the Strongest, the Honored One, the Heir of the Gojo Clan, the Wielder of the Six Eyes, and Master of the Limitless. Those were the titles he was referred to in your crazy world, someone who was to be praised for the immense power he wielded and the enemies he had eliminated. However, you saw Satoru in a different light, finding other reasons to praise him. The gentleness he would befriend a stray cat with, the way he politely bows at the cashier at his favorite bakery, or the fact that he makes soup for everyone after a night out to cure your hangovers. He buys a bouquet of tulips for every girl and woman on Jujutsu Tech's campus, without exception, on International Women's Day. He remembers the lunch lady's son's birthday and gives her the remote-control car the young boy so desperately wanted because he knew Watanabe-sama, as he refers to her, could never afford it. He sits down to play chess with the elderly man in front of the convenience store every day because he knows he lost his opponent for the last 40 years not too long ago.

It is easy to fall in love with Gojo Satoru, however, it is hard for Gojo Satoru to fall in love. Or at least, that's what he thinks. At first, when you join them, he doesn't give much thought to it. He's pleased that there is another girl added to the group, so he and Suguru don't have to listen to Shoko's constant whining about them being gross anymore. He also relishes in the attention you give him, because he knows you're quite infatuated with him, like most of the girls are.

However, as time passes, he realizes that your kindness makes a red hue run across his pale cheeks. Every time he does the smallest things, you praise him for it. Others don't compliment him on his politeness, something he prides himself on because his mother taught him to act this way - the only person who loved him for him so far. Other people praise him for his technique, his unique eyes, and his otherworldly good looks. You're the only one who notices the small things he does and that warms his fragile heart. So he asks you out on a date.

He doesn't give it much thought, just a walk in the park full of cherry blossoms and ice cream. However, he swoons at the fact that you seem like this is the best date you have ever been on, you thank him repeatedly for paying for your ice cream and offer him the Kit Kat chunk the guy stuck into your dessert as an attempt to flirt with you, because you know Satoru loves Kit Kats, they're his favorite candy bar.

Gojo Satoru reaches one important conclusion that night, after walking you to your dorm room. You are, in fact, very easy to fall in love with.

Instead of fighting it, he lets this new feeling flourish. He starts putting in an insane amount of effort, he pays attention to the small things, he drinks up every word that you speak, he takes notes on his phone because he wants to walk the extra mile for you. His new goal in life becomes making you, the first girl who looks past the titles and likes him for him, happy. His enthusiasm in doing so never falters, even after years together or after marriage.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" he asks you as his extremely perceptive eyes take in your slumped shoulders, the dark circles under your eyes and the slight frown that replaces the pretty smile he fell in love with.

"Long day, baby, long day." you sigh and he is quick on his feet, he embraces you, leaving a loving kiss on the crown of your head.

"Change your wizarding clothes, pretty girl, I'll run you a bath. How does that sound, huh?"

"Amazing, Satoru. Thank you!" you respond, smiling tiredly, leaving a kiss on his glossy lips.

"Everything for you."

Not only does he prepare a bath, but he also lights some candles, drops some lavender-infused salts in the water, and prepares some fruits and your book as well. While you relax your body in the water which is the perfect temperature, he makes your favorite meal for dinner and starts up the fireplace so that the two of you can cuddle up on the couch.

After dinner he holds you close, absentmindedly running his hands over your back, in your hair, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, small confessions that make you feel a lot better about yourself. Satoru would like to think that he is perfect at everything, but there's only one thing he takes pride in the most: learning how to make you feel better over the years. He always knows what to do, regardless of the reason why you're down. He knows how to pick you up.

"Toru?" he hears your voice, calling him by his favorite nickname. It makes him blush every time you call him that and he swears his heart picks up too.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Don't you ever get tired of taking care of me?"

"How could you say that?" he asks as he sits up, glaring at you with offended eyes "Of course not, baby. You're my everything, I could never get tired of making you feel good, love. It is also my duty as your lover to ensure your happiness. It's in my contract and everything." he makes you smile fondly, adoring his way of phrasing these things. Because even the hardest of conversations are pleasant when Satoru is there to put things so stupidly.

"Oh yeah? What else is in this contract of yours?"

"That I have to kiss you all the time. And - and that I will have to get you a cat at one point because I know you want one. I have to feed you when you're hungry and I have to do the laundry when you get home late. Oh, and most importantly I always have to split my desserts with you. Only you, not even Suguru gets to do splitsies."

"I see. And what is in my contract?"

"Nothing. You already honored yours." he says curtly and you look at him with confusion.

"How?"

"Well, the only thing in your contract was that you have to be my lover. Nothing else. I'm the one doing the heavy lifting here, every day I get to spend as your significant other is a good day for me. You don't have to do anything else to make me happy." he explains.

You look him in the eyes, your irises filled with nothing but adoration towards the man in front of you. It is so easy to be in love with Gojo Satoru, because he is a gentleman in a world of boys.

[morning-star-joy]

half asleep, half awake

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader, ASHWAH Universe

Summary: Every time Joel Miller realizes he loves you. Every time he wants to tell you, and the time he does.

Warnings: Brief smut (unprotected p in v, possessiveness, creampie), brief reference to canon-typical violence, longing, Joel can’t communicate his feelings until he can, lots and lots of love. Multiple specific references to the main series. Joel's POV.

A/N: I’ve gotten asked a few times when Joel realizes he loves Reader in this series, and the inspiration hit me the other day to write out my answer to it. Because it could be one scene, but so many before, and so many after when he wants to say it. I miss these two and I love these two and I hope that this little companion piece to the fic makes somebody as happy as I was to write them again!

Wordcount: 1.8k

gorgeous dividers by @saradika

Important: Please read this post and how to help Palestine.

The first time Joel feels it—really feels it, settled into his bones with an undeniable weight, tugging at his heart with an unimaginable lightness—is the night of his 57th birthday.

Months of staying out of his bedroom, of keeping you off his bed, dissolve into a forgotten time the moment you tug the glass of whiskey from his hand.

Move over, you’d said, making room for yourself amongst the place where he laid his head every night. You finish off the drink, take the rest of the poison he’d been diluting his veins with to drown out the pain of all he’d lost, and settle next to him.

He thinks he wants to see you there every night.

You ask him things like his favorite fucking color, things that don’t matter. Not to him, not to you—but you ask anyway. You meet his eyes readily, open and honest and searching his soul for the same old breaks in your own, and he feels it.

You hold his hand, and it fits there. You would fit into his side too, he muses, if he pulled you in.

He wants to pull you in. He wants you in ways nobody’s ever had you—he knows they haven’t, can feel the trepidation in your soul when he looks at you for too long, or lets his touches linger.

You’ll fuck him like there’s no tomorrow, because maybe there isn’t, but you won’t let him hold you tender. Not that he’s tried, but he knows you. Not everything about you, but enough.

And that night, there’s more. More to you, wounds open and pain spilling out, and it looks like his own. It is his own.

I should probably go, you say when it’s become too much, and he feels the urge to ask you to stay.

Joel asks if you want a drink instead, because he’s an idiot, and you say he’s had too much, because you’re right.

He watches from his window as you walk home under the streetlights for once instead of sticking to the darkness, and though he won’t call it what it is, he knows it’s love.

Joel’s loved you longer than that, though. Somehow he knows it, but he can’t place when.

In front of his fireplace, maybe. You’re shivering from god knows how long you had spent in the rain, in the graveyard, in your own mourning. Broken, and he wants to find each piece of you that you’ve lost and put you back together.

Or at least hold you tight enough that you feel okay again. He just knows that he misses your damn smirk, your fucking laugh, and maybe that was love too.

Or maybe it’s when he wants you to be his, his, his only. When he wants to erase the image of that man’s hand on your back with his own on your skin, fingertips digging into your hips and pulling them back to slap against his.

Maybe it’s the skirt of a temptress bunched up around your waist, each desperate thrust of his cock into your needy cunt, dripping and squeezing as you say, moan, scream his name, his, his.

Maybe it’s when you’re half-naked after, admitting you don’t know what the fuck this is, don’t understand what it’s become, and he doesn’t know either. But it’s something delicate. Maybe it’s love then.

Maybe it’s love on the bathroom floor when he realizes you’re the first friend he’s made in years.

Maybe it’s love when he wants to kill every single bastard raider who took you from him, wants to tear them apart with his bare hands and make them bleed and bleed for how much blood they’d taken from you. Precious blood, blood that kept you alive, kept you snarky and angry and wrapped around him each time he took as much pleasure from you as he gave back.

Or it’s Halloween, the bright lights, loud music, and clothes of a bygone era. None of it real until Maria shoves the truth of the matter into his face. She tells him he’s an idiot and just what it all means, what you mean to everyone, and to him, and he finally accepts it.

That’s the first night he has you in his bed. The first night he sees all of you, feels all of you, skin against skin, and you come again, and again, and again. It’s not enough, he needs to keep feeling it, needs you to fall apart in his hands so he can put you back together. A single thread he weaves through you and tugs with each ripple of pleasure, pulling you apart again with each clench of your cunt around his cock, until you pull it from him too.

You fall asleep in a matter of minutes after. Lips parted, and he wished he could watch them swell after a kiss, but you were still holding back.

So he settles for his palm on your cheek, stroking the scar that he still doesn’t know how you got, and feels so much longing, so much love when you sink into his sheets, wrapped up in his favorite color that you knew because you cared to ask. Settled by just the touch of him.

Joel thinks you tried to say something that night, but he’ll never know what. He does know what he wants to say, but he holds back. He’d wait for you, even if you never wanted this too. He’d be whatever you did want him to be.

Time passes in a blur after that, as you tangle yourselves together in ways he never would’ve once thought possible. He doesn’t move, and you lean into him. He doesn’t move, just lets you come to him, too scared you’ll run away again if he holds you too tight, or at all.

Then that night. A meal shared with the family you’d found. He tries to go home alone after, and you chase after him, hold him tight, and he knows. He knows what he feels, and he knows you feel it too.

He doesn’t have to say it, but he wants to. Night after night he wants to, the more that you settle and the more that you’re his. The more that he is yours.

You kiss him, finally—or he kisses you, he can’t remember which. And it says it all.

Still, the words are trapped in his throat as his home truly becomes yours.

His body had already been your home for a year.

His heart, for longer than he would ever know.

But his house. Four walls that didn’t mean anything, not really, not until you lived within them and your sister’s art was on the mantle, your photograph of your parents was in your room that was his room, all your mugs in the kitchen and his coffee was your coffee—he needs to tell you.

He tries to every morning, in his kitchen with your cups of coffee—or tea, with complaints falling from both his mouth and yours if you were out of your preferred beverage. He doesn’t, but he knows you can taste it in the drink he brews for you, perfected to your liking.

He tries to before every patrol, in case somebody takes you from him again. He doesn’t, but he knows you can see it when his eyes seek yours, when he gives you a nod and a lingering gaze before you’re out of the gates and on your way. He knows you can feel it when you both get home, his arms wrapped around you tight and the tension seeping from his body when you’re pressed to him.

He tries to every night, but it’s lost on his tongue every time it slides into your mouth. He knows you know with every kiss, every thrust of his hips from where he’d found a home nestled between your thighs, spilling himself into you as you welcomed him in and made the most beautiful music every time.

You’re comfortable in bed months after the holidays, after that first kiss. Winter is warming into spring, the air feels like starting again, and he tries to tell you.

You’d been reading when he crawled into bed behind you after a shower. His face buried into your neck, each drop of water onto your skin so cold it makes you shiver. But your nails dig into his forearm when it wraps around your waist, the book tumbling from your fingers as you grasp at the nightstand with each drag of his pulsing cock inside your tight heat.

The lamp on the nightstand rattles with each thrust, sending waves of warm light flashing across the room. He’s mesmerized each time it washes across your face, pinched in the familiar climb for pleasure you trusted him to guide you through. He mouths at the scar on your cheek, caressing with lips and tongue as you gasp his name.

You’re so beautiful. His moon, his heart, his home, his everything.

Joel wants to tell you when you come, your eyes fluttering open and seeking his. Seeking that connection between you, as hungry as you are reverent, and he doesn’t deserve it, that undying loyalty. But you think the same for yourself, so what did either of you know, besides what this was.

Love, and he wants to say it. Wants to say he loves you when each flutter of your pussy around him sends him spiraling into an orgasm, a blissful moment of release he now only ever associated with you.

Half asleep after, you’re content, the warm light of the steadied lamp caressing your skin as he cleans it. You know what he wants to say, he thinks. Your eyes are heavy and lazily watching as he kisses the inside of your thigh, peppers his love up your body to your lips.

Half awake, Joel watches you reach for him, pulling him down into a soft caress of your lips against his, with more tenderness either of you ever thought you were capable of.

He won’t say it. You know he won’t.

But you know he will. Someday.

And that one morning amongst many that belong to just you and him, when you ask about other lives, when he realizes you’d want him in more than just this one—in every one—he says it.

You say it back, and everything is right.

When you ask him when he first felt it, he tells you the truth; that he hadn’t felt it just yet on that snowy street a year ago, but a part of him always knew he would love you.

And now, Joel knew he always would.

[bettyfrommars]

Touch my cheek before you leave me, baby

gigolo!Eddie x virgin!older!Reader

(part 2) (part 3)

18+Only, mature themes, intimacy smut, protected p in v, oral (f receiving), paid sex, pet names, insecurities, reader is wearing a skirt, f & m orgasm. WC: 2.8k

Summary: Reader is a 29 year old virgin introvert in need of a confidence boost. Eddie is hired to make our first time a good one. Eddie catches some feelings that he wasn't expecting. Tummy rolls are briefly mentioned, but not in a disparaging way.

A/N: I had this idea last night about him needing the intimacy as much as reader. And then my head started running with all of his possible other clients and the debauchery they could get into together, but this one is just sweet.

Today is your 29th birthday, and your friends pooled their money together to get you the one thing you desperately wanted: to not be a virgin anymore.

You hadn’t been holding onto your virginity for any particular reason, but there had been several factors at play.  First of all, you didn’t like to leave the house much, aside from going to work and the rare meetup with friends, and so the chance of bumping into a promising sexual partner in your hallway was remote.  Secondly, you considered yourself to be fairly plain; you weren't one of the babes that men drooled over or tripped over themselves in the street for.  The crushes you’d had thus far were never reciprocated.  No one had openly pinned over you or held a boombox over their head outside your window, and on the occasion that someone did show interest, they often did not earn your affections. 

Your friends decided, and you agreed, that your first time should be with a professional, a guy who could give you the best first time that money could buy.  

Enter, Eddie Munson.

Covered in tattoos, he played in a band, and  had a reputation around town for being a favorite sexual companion for bored housewives and curious young women alike.  He was notorious for being particular about the clients he took on, though, and he didn’t just advertise in the paper—you had to be referred by a friend.  

That friend came in the form Robin Buckley, one of the baristas your friend Nellie worked with at the coffee shop.

“He’ll treat her right,” Robin assured her, jotting the number down.  “Now, I’ve never needed his services, personally, but I’ve never met an unsatisfied customer.  He makes women feel…desired.  As they should.”

So, there you were, two glasses of wine later, perched at the edge of the sofa in the lobby of the hotel where you’d been told to meet him.  Your friends knew exactly where you were, and there had been paperwork to fill out and sign—you didn’t know gigolos needed official signatures, but all the same, it stripped it down to a business transaction which is basically what it was. There were a few boxes to check off regarding things that turned you on and, conversely, triggers that he should avoid saying or doing during your time together. Did you have a praise kink or a daddy kink? Did you enjoy the use of pet names within intimacy, or was that something he should avoid? Hair pulling, choking, spitting, ass play, all of it was available for a check mark and you felt like you had the potential to compile one seriously huge fuckfest ice cream Sunday.  

He knew you were a virgin, and that you might not even know if you’d like some of the things offered, and he promised to take that into consideration to enhance your experience on the whole. 

Once he had accepted you as a client, he gave Nellie a safety list of things that would make your experience more enjoyable, and one of them had been not to drink too much, because he didn’t want you to engage in any activity you might regret.  Another one was to dress comfortably; there was no need to try and impress him—he was the one who needed to impress you.  

And impress you, he did.

He showed up earlier than expected, beard stubble grown in and a little scruffy (because you said you liked it that way), long hair tied back, button down black shirt cuffed at the elbows exposing his tattoos, and black jeans.  He also had a bouquet of yellow daffodils clutched in his fist, wrapped in cellophane.

His eyes locked onto you immediately and you watched them light up; a smile breaking the sigh that hitched in his chest.  He put the palm of his free hand over his heart as he walked toward you.

“Damn, baby, you are a sight for sore eyes,” he was beaming genuinely, as if he really meant it.  “Even better in person.”  Your friends had shown him a photo of you so that he would know what you looked like, but you had no idea which photo it was.

You didn't feel like you looked good, though, so you lowered your eyes as you got to your feet on wobbly legs, feeling frumpy and bloated, taking in the sharp reminder that he was being paid to lie to you.  You were so nervous, your palms were sweating, and the wine was churning sour in your stomach from the swarm of butterflies in there.

“Hey,” he got close enough to crook his finger under your chin and tilt your head up; his golden flecked, rye bread eyes were serious.  “You know how beautiful you are, right?”

All you could do was nod under the kind assessment of his stare, and it made a smile stretch across his lips. “That’s my girl,” he said, introducing himself properly, handing you the daffodils.

He knew that daffodils were your favorite flower, because of the paperwork you filled out, but you never expected to receive any, since they weren’t even in season.  There must’ve been a flower shop somewhere that had them, and Eddie had found it.  He offered his elbow for you to take.

There were two other people in the elevator, and he pulled you back flush against him, possessively holding you by your hips.

Eddie had a key to the room, and once he pushed the door open, you could tell he’d already been there.  The lights were all off, but for a lamp on the opposite side of the bed near the window, and two candles lit on the desk near the TV.  What you assumed was his leather jacket was the only thing hanging in the closet.  You even spotted Magnum condoms and a fresh bottle of lube on the nightstand.

“How’s the lighting, sweetheart? You want me to turn that lamp off?” 

You specified that you wanted the room to be dark, maybe just enough light to see what each other was doing, but you didn’t want him to see you in full brightness.  This whole time, you’d been too nervous to say more than one or two words.  

“Because, if I’m being honest,” he slid his hand up the side of your neck, palm warm against your skin.  “I really want to see you.”

“It’s fine,” you choked out, unable to hold eye contact with him for too long.  God, you bet he was already regretting taking you on as a client.  What a waste of a boring evening for him; but, at least he was getting paid.  

Yet, not even a flicker of his enthusiasm for you left his eyes.  He took the daffodils from you and put them on the dresser at the foot of the bed.  

When he turned back around, he cupped both hands around the sides of your throat, thumbs at your jawline.  “You can trust me baby.  If things start moving too fast, you let me know okay?”

You nodded.

“Have you ever been kissed before?”

You bit your lip and then, “a couple times. I had a boyfriend once, but it was long distance and it—”

But then Eddie’s hands slipped up to cup either side of your jaw, fingers slotting at your ears.  He nudged your nose with his, then then he kissed your top lip, parting them with his tongue.  

You closed your eyes, letting him move your head from side to side, and you couldn’t help the moan that squeaked out of your throat as arousal built between your legs.  He smiled against your mouth, nuzzling your nose.  “You’re a good kisser, baby.”

Deciding you liked it when he lied, you allowed yourself to become an active participant and slid your hands up his ribs, clutching him, pulling him closer.  He kissed you softly a few more times, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs, and your hand found the courage to travel down yonder and see what was below his belt.  

What you found made your eyes fly open: not only was it huge, but it was hard.  

Eddie chuckled.  “See what you do to me?”

The one thing you had done several times was given a few blow jobs here and there, and so you were working his belt open and dropping to your knees at the same time when he stopped you, catching you at your ribs to pull you back up.

“Tonight is all about you, angel,” he assured, urging you back to drop down to take a seat on the bed.  You stared up at him while he straddled your legs and unbuttoned his shirt.  Once the defined muscles of his chest and scattered tattoos were exposed, he helped you take your shirt off, pulling it over your head, and then he knelt before you.  

You braced your hands behind you as he pushed your skirt up  your thighs, maintaining eye contact.  He caught a glimpse of the lacy underwear you had on and he lifted an approving eyebrow.  

You swallowed hard, and then he was sliding the underwear down your legs and off, kissing your knees as he went.  He came closer, arms nudging your legs wider, taking a glimpse at the glistening gift you had for him underneath.  

Eddie bit his bottom lip, making a hungry groan.  “You gonna let me taste you, sweetheart?”

“I think so, um, yes?” your hips twitched forward a bit, begging.  Normally, you were too shy to let others go down on you, but you were determined to get all you could out of this night, knowing it was a rare opportunity.  

He brushed his lips along your thigh as his hands worked your skirt up higher.  You shivered when you felt the warm breath on your swollen lower lips, and then he was watching you as his tongue flicked out in a few kitten licks.  After a taste, enjoying the way you writhed, he buried his mouth, moaning, fingers clutching your thighs.

“Grab my hair, baby,” he said.  “Tell me how much you like it.”

So, you did just that.  His ponytail tie was off, so his hair was around his shoulders, and you slid your fingers in to hold on as he took you in his mouth and rolled your bundle of nerves around with breathtaking accuracy.  

He'd only intended to tease you a bit, but once he tasted you, he couldn't stop. He had his tongue buried inside as soon as he was able, feeling the tip of his cock leak at the gift of your arousal.

It wasn’t long before you could feel yourself beginning to unravel, at it was the first time another person had brought you to that peak. The tension mounted in your belly, going taunt, before it sprang loose and a fizzy warmth gushed through your nerve endings. “just…like that,” you told him.  “I think you might make me…”

You held his head as you were cumming, leg jerking, head falling back, pining his ears wth your thighs.  

He wanted you to kiss him right then and there so that you could taste your release on his mouth, and you obliged, holding his face as you did so, melting into the moment.

For the next minute, you helped each other undress, and it was all happening so organically—it felt so real—that you could almost imagine he was actually your boyfriend, or someone who at the very least, wanted to be. 

Both naked now, he held you close as you stood next to the bed, tracing a finger down the side of your face.  “Are you ready, baby?”

Truly, you’d been ready your whole adult life, and you were glad you had waited for Eddie, even if this was a paid arrangement and you’d probably never see him again.

His lips tended to your neck and your breasts while he worked the condom on, making the educated decision that you were so soaking wet, he wouldn’t need any extra lubrication.  

It was the intimacy that you’d specified wanting to feel; like he was no stranger to you and this moment was something special between two people who felt deeply about each other.  So, he came down close and gave you exactly that, putting his forehead to yours.  “I’m gonna go slow at first, okay?” He breathed.  “You tell me if it’s too much?”

“I will, baby.”

He smiled at the way you returned the use of the pet name, feeling your body open up beneath him as anxiety and doubt morphed into trust.

“Shit,” Eddie broke character for a second as the tip sank in, caught off guard at how tight you were, and he had to pull out again for a second to catch his bearings.  

It was the closeness that he loved, too---he craved it.  He’d never had a client who wanted it this way, and it was the main reason he’d taken you on.  It wasn’t the virgin aspect—surprisingly enough, he’d been a first-time experience for a good handful of his customers.  It was the opportunity to pretend he was someone’s boyfriend for the night—a role he hadn’t played in real life for far too long.  The chance to pretend that you both cared deeply for each other and no one else in the world existed.  

He sank in this time a little further than the tip, and you cursed, but then nodded for him to keep going.  “All of it, baby,” you urged, leaning into your role.

Your core was rippling around his length, aching for more.

He went half in and dipped it back and forth a few times, pausing to watch your face.  

“I’m worried that I–” he started, but then he realized he was breaking character again, and the vulnerability made him stiffen.

“What are you worried about?” You whimpered as he stretched you out a bit more.  Your legs were wide, bottoms of your feet planted on the bed.

He thrust in with a shudder, both of you gasping.  “I’m worried I might like this too much.”

Inside, there were party streamers exploding in your soul at the mutual yearning that ebbed between you.  As you gave yourself over to him, there was a feeling that he was also giving himself over to you, and it felt so real, that you rode the wave with every fiber of your being, wrapping your legs around him, kissing him deep.

The kissing and the endearing moans were about to make him cum, so he sat back, shaking his head, and hooked your knees over his elbows.  

He took you in from under hooded eyes as he made long, slow thrusts inside.  “You’re so fucking hot, sweetheart."

You were so deep in it, you actually believed him this time.

“Harder, baby,” you coaxed. 

That elicited a coy smile and an eyebrow wiggle from him.  “Oh, that's my girl,” he breathed, and then he was fucking you so hard your tits bounced, as did your belly rolls, and you could tell he was getting off at the sight.  His thumb found your nub and worked there, making you expose your throat with a whine, enjoying the wet slap of your arousal as your bodies met.

The connection and intensity between the two of you was palpable, and you couldn’t tell if it was manufactured or real, but regardless, you could feel another velvet bomb inside of you about to explode.  

His eyebrows were pinched when you found his eyes.  “I’m close, I’m close, I think I’m…”

The closest you’d ever been to knowing the sweet pull of a mounting orgasm be gore that night was from those moments alone with your vibrator, and having your hole satiated by Eddie thick cock enhanced it in a way you could’ve only imagined.

“Fuck, me too,” he grabbed your thighs with both hands and buried himself over and over.

It never happened this way.  In fact, there had been several times when he had never cum at all: he was always very content to make it about the other person.  He fully intended to wait for your second orgasm before he even tried to relieve himself, but this time it felt too good; he wanted it too fucking bad.  

Your head snapped to the side as you came, babbling his name, walls clenching around his cock in a way that sent his hips jerking, pounding against you, pretending his seed was filling you up instead of a condom.  

Eddie bit his lip as you both chased the high, and then his sweaty forehead was on yours again, long hair grazing your cheeks.  He needed to kiss you when he was done, and that was how you liked it, too.

Your friends had only been able to pay for two hours' worth of Eddie’s time, but you ended up staying for much longer than that, at his urging.  He coaxed you over to lay all of your body weight on him, and the two of you stayed like that, listening to each other breathe. You called to give them this update, and the confusion in Nellie’s voice was priceless.  

When you were both getting dressed, Eddie started buttoning his shirt while you sat down to put your shoes on.

“Hey, so, if you ever want to do this again,” he swallowed, thinking of his words while you waited, head turned to look at him.  He couldn’t meet your eyes, he just kept fumbling at a button.  “You wouldn’t have to be a client.  I mean, I wouldn’t charge you.”

Part 2

[cillivnz]

a good host [k. heisenberg]

PAIRING — KARL HEISENBERG x DIMITRESCU!READER

TROPE — DBF! [here, mother’s friend, no really close relation] WORD COUNT — 2469

WARNINGS — NSFW. 18+. fem!reader. f!masturbation, usage of sex toys, virgin!reader, voyeurism, hefty age-gap (reader is in early 20s, Karl is in his 50s), vaginal fingering, innocence/corruption kink, cursing, pet-names (bunny, little girl, etc.), slight degradation (he calls you a whore), slightly mean!Karl, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, squirting, overstimulation, clit-play.

A/N — i just think heisenberg would be a good fuck, that’s it— that’s what motivated this. i’m slowly rising like a phoenix out of the fires of writer’s block, so, slowly but surely i’m trying to get back on track with my requests and works. though, a full comeback might take a few months. no mention of Alcides [ gender-bent Lady Dimitrescu ], didn’t want to jinx the two verses, so Alcina is Alcina.

more from my ‘resident evil: village’ world.

“FUCK,” YOU GROAN as you shut the door to your chambers behind you.

you’d excused yourself for the umpteenth time, now inconsiderate of how rude you would seem to the man you’ve been leaving all alone in the cold and empty dining room of your manor.

well, your mother’s.

and a friend, too.

well, not a friend.

Karl Heisenberg and Alcina Dimitrescu would prefer the term, “(unfortunate) associates”, but manners run well in a noble’s blood so it’s natural for the two to try and be cordial.

and it’s the same manners, the same etiquettes instilled in you that have put you in this state.

flushed, embarrassed, and wet.

you couldn’t bare to look Heisenberg in the eye while he made small talk with you in your home.

his round, black glasses were perched on the tip of his strong nose, his hat, like a loyal companion, sat next to him on a wooden chair, his greyed hair, out and frisky. his overcoat had been long abandoned, perhaps, at the very entrance to the castle, so his beige undershirt, clasped around his big broad muscles and softer belly didn’t go unnoticed by you.

fuck, the more you took in his appearance, the hotter became the air in the room, your ability to breathe and the more frantically you’d rub some friction between your thighs.

YOU’VE FOUND KARL HEISENBERG INSATIABLE since you were a little girl, which you still were in his eyes, as he painfully reminded you every time by referring to you by that and nothing else. as of lately, your urges around him have worsened.

since your eighteenth birthday, Heisenberg’s began to look at you a little differently.

he listens carefully to the squeaky little bunny that’s lately got the balls to interrupt her own mother and company, correct them in political matters. yeah, Heisenberg’s began to notice you. earlier, your greetings would be dismissed with a nonchalant wave in the air, but now? heisenberg could hear you talk for hours, so desperately wanting to hear the sultry tone of your voice that he’d ask to hear the same story about your earliest memory hunting, over and over again.

so, to say he felt appalled by your frequent exits from your evening together— an evening he had committed to your mother, had Alcina been home— was an understatement.

after the third time you had left him alone, his impatience and ego got the best of him, though there was an undertone of curiosity there, too. so, he, sly as a fox, followed you to your room.

your back was pressed against the door, muffling your cries while you rubbed your clit down with a toy. you were in a trance, mind fogged with painful lust that drove your legs on its own fervour. you sink into your bed, ripping your dress off of yourself in a swift motion, and hiding your bare skin with a poor excuse of a duvet.

your toy was swimming in your slick with every rub against your cunt.

“fucking hell,” you moaned when the tip of the toy nudged your slit, massaging your hole, easing in only to pull out immediately.

while you edged yourself, thoughts of Karl crawled in, like their usual tendency. you fantasised about his big hands, how they were resting on your knee for a brief second, before continued sipping on his earl grey tea.

you sighed when his name escaped your parted lips. you wanted nothing more than to be split open on his cock, at his mercy. your mother would be so ashamed if she ever finds out one of her most disliked friends is the prime source of your infatuation.

you think about his lips on yours, your breasts, his fingers inside you, on your clit— you whined, “this so wrong, but fuck me,”

AND KARL HEISENBERG COULDN’T AGREE MORE.

admiring you from afar, he couldn’t help but feel a twitch of arousal in his pants. he is no damn saint, but he knew it was wrong of him to enter your room without permission. not his fault, your moans sounded like cries, so you worried him, he just wanted to make sure you’re okay. and his reason for staying to watch the show? well, like i said, he’s no goddamn saint. he just wants to make sure you’re really okay.

“so this is what you keep hopping off to do, little bunny.” his thunderous voice roared in the quiet of your room, the transatlantic accent deeper once laced with lust and mischief.

you jolted upright, “L-Lord Heisenberg!” you clutched the duvet to your chest, failing to cover a breast, still, and his eyes were quick to catch your mistake.

“please, call me Karl.”

“you seemed to have no problem in moaning it.”

you froze, clenching involuntarily around the the length of your penetrating toy.

“i—”

“shh, it’s okay.” your stammering was interrupted by a single step taken by Karl closer to you.

“i don’t mind, bunny.” he cooed, softly.

he took this moment to admire you.

you looked like a deer caught in headlights. your doe eyes, furrowed brows, plump, parted lips, the subtle perspiration settled on your collarbone, the duvet clinging to your cleavage and your pebble-like nipples peaking through it.

“i’m just mad you had to hide the show from me.” by the time those words leave his mouth, he’s on the foot of your bed. “thought Mama Dimitrescu would’ve taught you better, sweet girl.” he ‘tsk’ed.

“A GOOD HOST ISN’T SELFISH, HM?”

“A GOOD HOST LETS THE GUEST JOIN IN ON THE FUN,” he says; nods convincingly. a gentle hand inching towards your blanketed body, ready to peel the duvet off and expose you in all vulnerability.

he eyes you for a moment, face searching for any sign of hesitation or discomfort, but was pleased to see you rip all coverings off yourself on your own, grabbing Karl by the hand and pulling him towards you.

his face was so close to yours, you felt heat emitting from your body onto his.

“now, little bunny, are you sure yo—”

you cut him off by placing a kiss of fervency on his lips, giving Heisenberg the answer to questions he was yet to ask.

he let you enjoy the lead for a brief moment more, before taking control. laying you down, Karl was quick to climb on top of you, his hands not wasting a minute to feel your body beneath him.

“i’d be lying if i said i didn’t want this, too, little bunny.” you gasped at the confession, Karl using your parted lips as an opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth.

you were kissing your mother’s friend, holy fuck.

“tell me, baby,” he pulled away, eliciting a whine from you. he now laid besides you, relishing the warmth of your bare body.

“‘you ever put a real cock in there?” his hand grabbed a hold of the toy, easing in the tip into your slick folds.

your mind went blank, grinding your hips slowly into the sudden intrusion. “when i ask you a question, little girl, you answer it.” Heisenberg’s voice deepened in dominance. “n-no, sir.” you shook your head.

Karl groaned in arousal.

the thought of stripping away your innocence was so intoxicating.

“of course not. that brute dame knows better than to let you out of this shithole.” he scoffs, evidently insulting your mother, for reasons he named himself, “the minute you ought to step out, men would be pouncing on you like rabid dogs.”

he didn’t stop pumping the toy inside you, agonisingly slow, leaving you whining and begging for more.

“you want more, huh, bun?” he spoke so gently. you nodded, unable to form words because of the aching sensation between your legs.

“okay, i’ll give you more.” he lifted you up like you weighed a feather, placing you between his legs. his own were positioned between yours, so all it took for him to have you spread out was just a nudge of his knees.

“there we go, now spread that pretty pussy for me.” he rested his head on your shoulder, watching eagerly while you hesitated a little to comply.

he put his hands on yours,

and they fit like pieces of an intricate puzzle.

enveloping your smaller ones completely, his hands guided yours to spread your pussy open. the cold air of your room hit your leaking slit, causing you to shudder in his arms.

“look at you glistening, baby.”

“my god,” he groaned, rubbing your hand (and his atop) into your slick.

you sighed into the feeling of your soft hands, mixed with his large, rough ones.

“show me how you please that little pussy.” he whispered in your ear, kissing your lobe.

you nodded, biting your lower lip at his vulgarity.

a lord, yet so crude.

you began toying with your clit, rubbing figure-eights on the swollen bud. Karl’s hands wasted no time in fondling your breasts— groping, squeezing, twisting your nipples, tugging at them— only adding more pleasure to the sensation.

“ease one in.”

you weren’t sure what he mumbled until he decided to take matters into his own hands (literally) and rubbed a finger against your slit.

you swore you forgot how to breath when the sharp sensation of the digit penetration was felt.

“Karl…” you moaned, relishing in the feel of being stretched open.

“what do you think about when you touch yourself?” he asked, velvety voice dripping honey on you.

simply answered, “you.”

he kissed your neck, “i know, bunny. but what in specific?”

“uh~”

“tell me.” he grunted, pushing another finger inside.

“y-your hands… i think about your fingers… inside me.”

you mewed hearing him groan in your ear, the subtle nuzzle of his head into your neck urged you to continue. “‘want nothing more than your cock pounding me— wanna be at your mercy, Karl!”

“fuck, baby,” Karl groaned at your vulgarity; even you were surprised at the profanities leaving your lips but the lust hazed cloud in your mind burst with rains of arousal.

“i’ll give what you want for being such a good girl.” he purred in your ear, discarding the drenched toy. your whine at the loss of contact turned into a gasp when he so carelessly threw away your toy to the corner of the room.

you looked up at him through your lashes, feigning faux offense at the abandonment of your favourite companion on a lonely night. “don’t worry,” assured Karl, grinning.

“you won’t be needin’ that no more.” he grinned, plunging two of his thick digits right into your core.

you were stretched like a spring at the hands of this rugged noble. he nuzzled his head into your collarbones, the rugged stubble adorning his handsome face prickling your soft flesh.

Karl bit, licked, sucked, and nibbled, while you writhed, moaned, shivered, and cried in ecstasy.

“such a naughty girl— ‘acting so noble and sophisticated all the time, but when Mama’s friend comes in sight, you start cussing like a sailor with the libido of a pervy sleazeball.” he chuckled at his own descriptions of you, while you hadn’t registered a word he said, simply clenching and unclenching around his experienced fingers, moaning his name with every haggard breath.

“c-close!” you hiccuped, tears staining your rosy face.

“god, you’re so beautiful.” Karl groaned, licking the shell of your ear. you shuddered, not knowing if it was at his lewd actions or the mere compliment.

Karl breathed in your scent, your sensual oud suppressed by the sweet fragrance of your arousal.

he pulled out his fingers.

you began crying.

“why…?” you sobbed, “because,” he explained.

“you’ve not been a very good host, baby girl— leaving your guest waiting like that. only fair you don’t get release this soon, hm?”

he cooed his justification and you weeped like you had committed the most heinous crime.

your hole fluttered around the damp, chill air of your room. gaping around the new nothingness that replaced the stuffed fulfilling treatment you were receiving prior.

“please, i’m sorry— i’m… i’ll do better next time—”

“next time?” Karl was quick to intervene.

“what makes you think there’ll be a ‘next time’?”

your glassy eyes widened, “please, Karl, i’m begging you.”

“hm…” he hunched over your shoulder, chin prodding into your shoulder blade while he looked over at you, nonchalantly. not even an ounce of remorse, amusement, if anything.

“okay. since Mommy taught you manners,”

he rammed his fingers back into your cunt, a look of devilish glee spread across his face.

in and out, in and out, in and curl.

you screamed when he hit that spongy spot inside of you, dead-on. Karl was quick to cover your mouth.

“now, now, we don’t want sweet ol’ Pasha hearing us, do we?” he slowed, referring to the chamberlain that’s often posted right outside your door. you shook your head, urging him to go faster like he was.

“good fucking girl,” he groaned, feeling you pulsate around his wrinkled fingers.

“give me a show, host. make it worth the hours you kept me waiting. ‘dry and hangin’.” he nudged your legs wider, further apart with his knees. the hand that covered your pretty lips now wrapped itself around your own hand.

a sweet moment that lasted mere seconds, he took your interlaced fingers and placed them on your clit, shaking your hand fervently.

your brows furrowed, vision blurred as you peaked. afraid you can’t let go, but he’ll make you.

he’ll make you lose control, just like he’s made you his.

with one last push, or shove of his fingers, he quickly pulled them out, and broke the dam of pleasure.

your slick gushed out of your drooling cunt, drenching everything, including the two of you, nearby.

Karl chuckled, triumphantly. still rubbing fervently at your overstimulated clit, urging more of your juices to squirt out.

“now, that’s a show, darling.” he chuckled, grabbing your flushed face by the chin and connecting your lips to a passionate, chaste kiss.

when you closed your legs, he slapped your thigh, causing you to wince and jerk them open.

“—the hell are you doing?” he asked, seemingly offeneded.

“are you kicking me out?” he raised a brow, a sarcastic smile threatening to break on his face.

“b-but i thought we were—”

“done? oh, no, baby. you left me alone in that dining room thrice this evening.”

“this was just the first of three.”

“now, ass up, face down.” he manhandled you in the blink of an eye.

“your guest’s gotta entertain himself.”

he chuckled, and you nearly choked when you felt something mean, and thick prodding at your abused folds.”

you were in for a long night with your guest.

pt. II. main masterlist. blog directory. COCKUETTE MASTERLIST.

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶On Monday, he was a ghost. By Friday, he was a man. Saturday night? He was the unintentional third wheel to your and Adrie's Trick-or-Treating antics.✶

NSFW — slow burn, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, reader wears eddie's jacket, light angst, 18+ overall for eventual smut, drug/alcohol mention/use

chapter: 4/20 [wc: 10.8k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 4: Ghost Days

Eddie went through Monday like a ghost.

A spectacle in his youth, now a specter. A phantasm phasing through walls. Not a hello, nor a goodbye. Existing in the corners of the room, watching. No attention on him, just working, and thinking. Tending to his dying garden of thoughts when the sun didn’t shine. Moving around you, and the tug of your gravitational pull, with your gaze firm on the desk in front of you, not on the haunt who brought this upon himself, and hurt you in the process.

“You okay, Eddie?” his uncle asked, running a hand up and down his back. “You’ve been staring at that pot of boiling water for ten minutes.”

Eddie fluttered his lashes at the bubbles bursting on the surface. “Sorry, got a lot on my mind.”

————

Tuesday, Wednesday he was a full-body apparition.

No morning smiles, no afternoon laughter, but a single sentence.

“Oh!” You hugged the files to your chest, not knowing Eddie was passing in the hallway to break room right as you were leaving Mr. Moore’s office. Several of the papers crinkled from running into him. Your eyes were screwed shut, expecting an impact. All signs Eddie was real; a thing of worth, a precious brick wall who cupped your arm when you stumbled, who slotted his thumb in the crease of your inner elbow. A chest to brace your hand against. Fingers grasping his dirty coveralls. He was there. He caught you.

And the next day–

“Eddie?”

Your sudden presence scared him. He slammed his black spiral-bound notebook shut and kept his palm over the devil-horned skull he drew on the front.

Sat alone at the table to eat his lunch, the low drone of the vending machines camouflaged the sound of you approaching, and he was too absorbed bin what he was writing down to notice you had entered the break room. Did not realize how close you had gotten until the heel of your palm pressed into a particularly sore muscle in his back from how you steadied yourself on his chair as you bent over.

You picked your gaze up from the notebook, and landed on his eyes. Even if you didn’t mean to, the knot between your brows relaxed the smallest degree–a nearly imperceptible amount–but with how he drank in your appearance, he detected it.

“You wrote O2 for this part here, did you mean X2?” you asked, referring to the invoice in your hand. He watched you bring the question to life. Voice and lips working together to create a lullaby for the unrest in his head. Breath cooling the wet trace of his tongue on his lips.

He was desperate for interaction. He knew. You were too. You just hid it better.

“Eddie,” you reminded him, keen on the five-o’clock-shadow peppering his cheek from neglecting a shave.

If things were different, would you have caressed your thumb along the grain? Would you have pushed his bangs off his forehead, run your fingers through his hair, and pressed your lips to the delicate curve of his temple? Would you tell him he was a good dad for fixing the water heater again, and getting his daughter to school on time, even when he wanted to do nothing more than lay on the couch and cry?

“X2,” he confirmed, “Yeah, I meant X2. Sorry.”

————

Thursday? He was corporeal.

Carl returned from his stay-cation. Stay-at-home-vacation, also known as his wife’s birthday.

He was taking a break in his story to microwave his lasagna when the fading voice of a customer went out the front door, ringing its chime. There was shuffling in the lobby. A backpack being unzipped.

The microwave beeped, and Carl picked up his container with the tips of his fingers, bringing it over to the table, where he sat in the chair facing the hallway.

You walked in with your lunch container, saw the back of Eddie’s head, and walked out.

Carl watched Eddie’s demeanor wilt at the swift exit, gaze falling to the corner of his eyes in acknowledgement of where you were just standing. Face blank, except for the heavy depression drifting his eyelids half-closed. Posture sagged more than normal.

“Is Adrie excited for Saturday?” Carl asked, keeping the conversation light, because boy, did he know that heartbroken look.

“Mm?” Eddie jerked his head up, attentive. He processed the question, and crowded his packed mish-mash of leftovers to his chest, chewing his horrible attempt at replicating Wayne’s pork chop supper as he talked, “Oh, yeah, yeah. Free candy and seeing her friends? She’s been bouncing off the walls all week.” He stabbed an undercooked carrot and brandished it with the same motion he rolled his eyes. “But,” he drew out for comedic effect, “She wanted to dress up as a bat again. Great! Same as last year. No problem, right? So, I take out her costume from the closet, have her try it on, and you know what she says?”

Carl shook his head with a slow grin stretching across his face.

“It’s not pretty enough!” Eddie ate the carrot. “She never wants to be a princess, but all her friends do, and now she’s gotten it in her head that if her costume doesn’t have the same glitter and pizzazz theirs does, it’s not good enough.”

He laughed, “My boys were easier. When they fought over who got to be Donatello, and who got to be Michaelangelo, all we had to do was switch mask colors and weapons.”

“See, they knew what they were doing with the Ninja Turtles, man. Easiest costumes to reuse.”

“Exactly.”

“Now I gotta figure out how to navigate telling her most of the stores are sold out of everything.”

“It’s a toughie, that’s for sure.”

The conversation ended with two knowing nods, sharing the same shallow gripes about parenthood. Carl finished his meal first, and left the table to return to work, while Eddie picked away at his, submerging himself in his thoughts.

A recent drizzle cast Hawkins in a misty haze. The drink machine clicked, and the steady hum rose to a higher frequency. Footsteps squeaked down the hallway. The nervous hand of a once confident woman gripped the doorframe, and she leaned into the room, speaking in a small voice, “I can help.”

Eddie perked up. Head visibly lifting, shoulders drawn back and down. He didn’t respond. Not until he turned around in his chair, and you persevered through the awkward amount of eye contact; wide and unblinking.

You reiterated, “I can help fix up Adrie’s costume so it’s glittery.. Or whatever you said.” Totally not eavesdropping. You waited for a response. “More her style,” you mumbled, filling the void when he forgot what words were.

“Y-Yeah! That–Uhm.. Yeah, you have that kind of stuff?” He clutched onto the back of his chair, knuckles white, bending the plastic from the weight he leaned on it. His face was of equal intrigue, eyes pleading for more interaction, lips parted for more questions, eyebrows pinched in and upwards to show his humility. His thanks.

In a valiant effort for normalcy, you started with a self-deprecating comment, “I mean, it’s not like I was performing on Broadway with a whole costuming department’s worth of tailors, you know. Bobbie and I had to pull all-nighters to finish our own shitty ensembles, so I’m pretty handy with a glue gun, and my sewing skills are serviceable, if I do say so myself.” You stepped further into the break room to put your unfinished lunch in the fridge. “I have tons of fabric and crafting supplies left over. Seriously, I don’t mind spicing up her costume if you wanna bring it by tomorrow. I think I can make something she likes.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to–”

His mouth sealed itself shut at the incremental smirk sneaking its way across your face.

“Well, you see,” you said, exuding pure charisma, “Now you’ve gone and phrased it in a way which enacts my policy. I have to say ‘yes.’”

Given his current state, Eddie was little more than a mess of nerves; sleeping in uncomfortable positions that had his bones aching due to Adrie’s fear of monsters under her bed sending her to sleep with him on the couch; along with the general up-and-down rush of stress when he passed by your desk, and nothing came of his sad glance in your direction.

Unfiltered relief slipped past his chapped lips as he looked up at you, “Thank you.”

————

By Friday, he was a man.

Eddie skipped his morning cigarette. He wore his lucky Metallica t-shirt under his coveralls. Adrie had to beg him to release her from his powerful hug this morning, flailing her arms and pretending to choke, until the other parents in the carpool lane stared, and he relented.

He walked into the garage’s lobby with sure steps, making a quick stop behind the receptionist desk to drop off a neatly folded pile of black fabric. Then, he looked down the shadowed hallway leading to the lively break room, and he breathed deep.

You were framed by the doorway. Your back was to him, bent over the sink, just beginning to wash the coffee pot.

One thing was for certain.

If anything ever happened between you two and it didn’t pan out, work would be weird. That much he learned this week. And that was just another reason to keep his boundaries up. Another good fucking reason to apologize, turn around, and go back to being cordial work buddies, and have that be the extent of your relationship.

And yet, here he was, flirting with the ring of fire he lit himself.

Crossing his arms, he squeezed his biceps, and leaned his shoulder on the wall outside the room, mind racing as he organized the same speech he rehearsed hundreds of times this morning. “Can we talk?”

Now, the unfortunate thing about rehearsing one-sided speeches was the unpredictability of which you’d follow the script.

“If you’re here to apologize–again–for spending a runtime of 83 minutes with me because it was just that awful, I’ll scream.”

Eddie had to manually force himself to relax out of his wince. “I deserved that,” he exhaled, speaking to himself only. He deserved your stern tone, your angry way of scrubbing the pot. The stiffness between your bunched shoulders. The tight annoyance in your throat from the way he treated you.

Yesterday was a nice break from the tension, but he hadn’t yet made amends, despite the olive branch you extended to him in the form of fixing up his daughter’s costume. “What if I apologized for something else?”

“The jury’s still out on that one.”

“Good enough,” he said. “Listen, ah, I’ve been reflecting on what happened Friday, and I realized I came across like an asshole,” –He shut his eyes, and shook his head– “I was an asshole, whether I meant to be, or not. I mean, yeah, I had a lot on my mind, but that doesn’t justify my behavior in blowing you off like that, especially when you were nothing but nice to me when you saw they set us up together, and you just wanted us to have a good time.. I can tell I hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”

You rinsed out the soap suds and filled the pot with water, turning off the sink.

There, he apologized, now he should turn around, and go back to being cordial work buddies.

But he was so fucking stupid.

Committing to something he may come to regret, he entered the break room and stopped when he came to the counter beside the sink, bending sideways to rest his arm there, and kicking out his hip. “I didn’t even get to tell you how pretty you were.”

Immediately, you angled yourself away to pull the coffee machine towards you, and poured water into the reservoir.

Eddie let out a groan as his brain caught up with his mouth. “I meant are. How pretty you are..” he spoke at your back while you still refused to acknowledge him. “I meant to say how pretty you are.”

His stomach seized. None of this was going how he planned, so.. fuck it. “I think you’re really pretty right now, actually.”

Nothing seemed louder than his quick breaths, and heart beating in his throat.

The longer you went silent, he considered getting a new job bagging groceries for the supermarket they built on Cherry Street last year.

You slotted the pot onto the hot plate, and opened the cabinet in front of you, blocking his view of you as you reached for the coffee container. But when you closed the door, he had to clench the tremble of annoyance out of his hands.

Try as you might–lips scrunched to the side, cheeks sucked in, making a big production of counting the spoonfuls of grounds you scooped into the filter basket–your smile was obvious. Obvious, and irritating; leading him on as if his advances were a worse offense than his attitude after your date.

“Fine, fine,” you sighed like you were doing him a favor. “I guess you’ve appealed to my ego enough for me to forgive you.”

“You’re the absolute worst person I’ve ever–”

“Yeah. But you think I’m pretty.”

“Whatever,” Eddie grunted, tugging a strand of hair over his mouth, embarrassed to hear his own honesty repeated back at him. “So we’re good?”

You had a sarcastic statement ready on your tongue–he saw it in how you narrowed your eyes, and tipped your head. A loftiness to the way you regarded him; all pompous and teasing and so sure he was being silly and asking questions for the sake of bothering you.

Then, you witnessed his shy quirk, and were instantly disarmed.

“Yes, Eddie, we’re good. The best of friends.. And are you sure you weren’t disappoint–”

“If you’re about to ask me if I was disappointed that you were my date for the third time, I’ll scream.”

You laughed. You tore your gaze from his fingers playing with his curls, and closed the lid of the coffee machine, but in doing so, you turned away, and you both discovered a subtle truth about him.

Eddie was the type who wanted to witness the full scope of the joy he brought on others. When he made someone laugh, he wanted to drink it all in. He wanted to observe the exact way they smiled, how far back they threw their head, if their eyes closed with mirth, if tears sprang, if they giggled to appease him, or if they were expelling a cathartic release. When he made someone happy, he leaned in to hoard the revelry, collect it, and share it. Seeking out their gaze, mirroring them to experience their pleasure first-hand. It’s what made him happy.

It caused him to encroach on their personal space subconsciously, pursuing the pride, and sense of achievement he felt when he accomplished making someone else feel good.

He stood close to you. Very close to you, studying you unabashedly, basking the pure unadulterated validation of making you smile.

You idly scratched your thumbnail over a stain on the counter. “Pretty, huh?” you mused quietly. “Is the hoodie really doin’ it for ya?” It was once black, now sun-faded and overwashed. There was a logo on the front for a random high school. Your high school, Eddie assumed. Clearly, a beloved item, and one you wore when doing craft projects, as indicated by the layers of glitter, dried paint, and burn marks from a hot glue gun marring the sleeves.

Still leaned over, he dropped his hand from his mouth, and swept his hair to one side, exposing the length of his throat. “Maybe it is.”

“Shut up,” you snorted.

“The frumpy ‘just rolled out of bed at noon and forgot to get milk at the grocery store’ look really gets me going.”

“Frumpy–?” In the middle of pressing the ON button and shoving the coffee machine into its place on the counter, you went to pin Eddie with a glare for laying the teasing remarks on thick today, but your attention drifted. Your focus found his eyes shining with slyness, and dropped your gaze to the crook of his neck, where you spied something dastardly. “How does this keep happening? Do you not look in a mirror?”

As you nagged him, you reached for his coveralls. Somehow, the collar kept managing to tuck itself on the inside, and you were at its beck and call, slipping two fingers underneath to unfurl it, coaxing it out in a long stroke over the peak of his collarbone, and down the slope of his chest, over his heart. Longer than two beats worth. The fabric was quite rolled up today. You had to slide along his lucky shirt to find the pointed end, and pull it out, laying it flat. Smoothing down the edges, and securing his tan work jacket over it. Patting them both to seal the kind gesture.

From his periphery, he watched you tend to him, and his smirk grew.

Fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

“Guess I don’t look at myself too often,” he said, eyeing your hands lingering on his person–flattening your palms over his pec for a prolonged moment before retreating–and he nodded for you to follow him out of the room to your desk. He needed the extra seconds away from you to rid himself of his smugness.

Talking about the costume, he rounded to the taller side of your desk, while you sat opposite him in your chair, “Luckily it was big on her last year, so it still fits. It’s just a little short in the legs.”

“Gotcha.” You shook out the bat wings and rubbed the fuzzy material of the suit between your fingers. “Does she have room for another layer underneath? Warm pajamas, or something? The temperature’s supposed to drop tonight. I think a cold front is coming in.”

“Yeah, there’s room.”

“Okie dokie.” You cracked your knuckles and looked at him expectantly. He raised his eyebrows. You raised yours higher. You made a more obvious face. He made a confused one back at you. “Dude, leave. I can’t work with you watching me.”

He curled his lip in a mocking sneer, and went to work in the garage, where–ironically–you could watch him.

~~~

Turns out, you were serious about the double standards of your relationship.

Eddie caught you sneaking glances in his direction whenever he’d wheel out from underneath a car, or when he was bent over the engine of a truck, but as soon as he took his sweet time locating his favorite socket wrench from the tool cabinet (that most definitely wasn’t already in his back pocket), you blocked your project with your body and moved your lips like you were telling him off.

And when he knocked on the glass to gesture for more clean rags from the supply closet, you scrambled to hide the felt shapes you were cutting out, and sent a tube of glitter paint rolling across the lobby.

Even as he relaxed into the plush seat of his car after a long day of work, and the rumble of the engine soothed his mind from exterior worries, his eyes traveled from the bright red stop light swaying in the wind, to the custom crimson interior of his Dodge Omni Shelby, to the pile of black fabric next to him.

He drove with one hand on the wheel. He could just.. take a peek at what the hell you were doing all day.

“Don’t even think about peeking! It’s a surprise. I want Adrie to see it first, and then you can look when she’s trying it on.”

He snatched his wandering fingers away from the bat wing and cupped them around his inner thigh–his usual place for resting them.

~~~

When he opened the door to his trailer, the little lady of the hour came running at him full-speed.

“There’s my facehugger!” Eddie announced through his laugh, stepping backwards to soften the blow of her enthusiasm. And yeah, maybe he shouldn’t refer to his daughter as a parasitic alien from a horror franchise, but the clinginess comparison was accurate.

Adrienne made her immediate attempt to climb him known–clutching onto the hem of his work jacket, and shaking it. “Daddy!” she demanded, making grabby hands at him.

“Hold on, hold on.” He knelt to her level, and promised to pick her up in a few minutes if she exhibited an ounce of patience. “You remember that nice lady from work you drew pictures with?” Thinking about it, she twisted back and forth with excess energy, and gave a big nod, pressing her fingers along her smile. “Well, she heard your costume wasn’t up to your standards, so she wanted to make your Halloween extra special this year. She worked on this all day..” he said slowly, drawing out the grand reveal.

True to his word, Eddie unfolded the outfit he had clutched under his arm, and held it out in front of him, showing it to her first and watching her reaction.

Uncle Wayne opened the bathroom door in the midst of tidying up his beard, dragging a towel around his neck to wipe away the excess shaving cream. Interested in the commotion, and especially curious as to why the person he referred to as his own granddaughter was currently running around the coffee table screaming at the top of her lungs, he questioned anyone who could hear him, “What’s all this goin’ on?”

“The lady at work made my bat costume pretty–Look!” Adrie tugged on the bottom of Wayne’s flannel.

“I see,” he said, vaguely recalling the young receptionist she was referring to. He raised his eyebrows at Eddie. “She did all that?”

He shrugged. “She’s nice.”

Too excited, Adrie unzipped the back of the jumpsuit and climbed in while Eddie held it open. Still, he did not peep at the finished product. Not until every foot wiggled out of the appropriate amount of leg holes, and every sleeve found a hand.

Adrienne walked backwards into the living room and struck a pose with her arms out, flapping them.

Wayne ‘aww’d and clapped.

Eddie sat back on his calves, mouth slightly agape.

You really were nice.

The costume was magnificent. The black fleece was painted with thin strokes of white paint to give the illusion of hair, with special attention around the turtleneck collar where you glued white faux fur into a short mane. Cleverly, the pants were extended with layers of iridescent tulle that caught the light in shimmery rainbows, disguising how short they were on her.

The wings themselves were works of art. Showstoppers. Instead of hanging limp from under her arms, you had used flexible plastic to create bones, giving them some structure.

They were exactly what Adrie wanted. Silver glitter served as a mere backdrop to the myriad of foil stars glued to the fabric. As one’s attention panned downwards, they grew in size and frequency, until there was a disco ball amount of flash and pizzazz. To top it all off, there were felt clouds and crescent moons dangling on strings from the bottom. The stuffed and stitched celestial motifs swung with Adrie’s grand gestures.

And as if that wasn’t enough, Wayne picked up two little black triangles that bounced onto the carpet when Eddie revealed the costume. “C’mere, Adrie,” he said, holding them up to her head. “You’ve got two little ears on barrettes, too.”

“Jesus,” Eddie exhaled.

His next breath caught in his throat. He discovered why you snipped the fabric where it was previously attached to the suit, and gave it an extra bone structure to wrap around.

It was so he could slip his arms around his daughter, and hug her tight without any impediments. “You like it, yeah?”

She threw her arms around his neck, and imbued all her surprise into her little voice, “Are you kidding me? It’s my favorite–the best costume ever! I love it.”

“We’ll have to find a way to thank her when I see her on Monday.”

The hug lasted until Eddie’s knees ached. Still, he clung to her as one clung to a lifesaver. He passed his palm over her hair. He stroked his thumb on the back of her head. He pressed her into the darkness against his throat. He squeezed her to conceal the way he shook. If anyone were to notice the secret of his actions, it would be the person who raised him as one would raise their own son.

Wayne walked over and ruffled his nephew’s hair.

~~~

Later, after Adrie had gone to bed, Eddie confessed, “That took me so off guard, I almost cried. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me, or Adrie, in years.. I mean, outside of everything you do for us. And Steve, too. I just didn’t expect her to put that much effort into a costume.. Or to care that much.”

“I know, son,” Wayne said, patting him on the knee as they sat on the couch, lit by the muted earthy tones of the local news channel. “She seems real nice.”

————

It was a howling Halloween night.

Eddie pulled off the main road into the nice neighborhood on the west side of Hawkins. Everyone knew you went to the rich houses on Halloween, as evident by the agonizing minutes it took to find a place to park, while Adrie was oblivious and just wanted out of her car seat.

Crowds swarmed the doors handing out the best candy. Groups of friends gathered in the streets. Kids ran down the sidewalk to ogle the elaborate decorations. “Is the entire population here, or somethin’?” Eddie grumbled, shifting the gear stick into park.

Once Adrie was out, he asked her, “Do you wanna stop by a few houses on the way to Steve’s?” She eyed the rowdy bigger kids pushing each other on their way up the driveway next to her, and she held out her hand for Eddie to take as a silent answer.

When she was with her friends, she was outgoing, but in this unfamiliar place, surrounded by strangers in the dark, she needed her dad to guide her.

“You’ll feel better once we have some candy in your bucket,” he promised, swinging the orange jack-o-lantern pail back and forth.

In reality, Eddie dreaded this part. Hated it. Going up to houses, knocking on doors, glancing away the second they were answered. He dressed differently. Tried to blend into the back of a big group. Kept his gaze on his daughter shying behind his legs, speaking for her, and hoping her cuteness distracted the adults from taking too close of a look at him. Shuffling away before they could recognize him, remember his last name, and make that same face they always did:

Barely concealed disgust.

Eddie held her hand for several streets until she felt comfortable going up to doors without him, thanks to finding a friend or two from preschool. Those parents were easier. Some he’d gotten to know over the last two years due to birthday parties and school events. Yet, they returned his greeting out of politeness. Waited on the sidewalk like him, but at a distance; in a circle, not inviting him to their grown-up talk.

That’s okay. He felt less alone when Adrie came jogging back to show him her candy. And although she insisted she was a big girl and didn’t need to hold his hand anymore, she walked as if she were glued to his side, three steps to his one stride.

“I don’t need you, Daddy.”

“Yeah, you do.”

On and on, they made their way up the streets, and came upon a white-picket fence dwelling sat modestly between two larger statements, right as the porch light turned off and a group of people left the home.

Fate was a funny thing.

Steve held the gate open for Nancy and whispered something in her ear as she passed, earning a withered glare before she turned and the moon caught the smile flitting across her lips. Behind her, dashing from the shadows, was their son. He held his plastic sword high above his head, and gave a brave battle cry against the person who emerged next.

Robin, also dressed as a pirate, jumped from the top of the stairs and clashed her sword with his. They tussled on their way to the fence, stopping when she feigned a dramatic death, and had to chase down her tricorn hat from rolling into the street.

Eddie’s hand was sweating–Adrie said so with a yuckiness to her words as she ran to join Steve’s son and their group of trick-or-treaters, leaving him behind to stare. And stare. And stare. And try not to burst into a grin.

He wouldn’t have to wait ‘til Monday to thank you.

Step by step, you helped their daughter teeter down the stairs. Patiently holding her hand, encouraging her to the bottom, and brought her to Steve, who was getting out the stroller from the trunk of his car.

“No! I’m–I.. Will walk,” their little girl finished in a disjointed manner, engrossed by the array of bedsheet ghosts, lispy vampires, and corn-syrup-blood-covered werewolves moving around her.

“Yeah, okay, kid,” Steve said sarcastically. “You wanna be a big girl and walk on your own, but we both know after two houses you’re gonna be begging for the stroller.”

Like most girls, she brushed him off, and turned to you for assistance with her jacket. The puffy orange snow suit hindered her movements; her walk was a waddle, and her arms stuck out from her sides helplessly. She was warm, though.

You, on the other hand, were dressed in what Eddie could only call an adult onesie. A fitted one; hugging you in places he shouldn’t notice it hugging you while you were squatting down to zip up her jacket, but a onesie, nonetheless.

“There we go.” He heard you say from where he stood, roughly a car-length away, lurking in the darkness like a creep.

But he’d have to find a way to repent later. His fate tapped you on the shoulder, and his heart set the tempo for his plucky courage’s passion.

“Adrie!” you squealed at her. She greeted you with equal fervor. “Your costume is so, so pretty!” Without a second thought, you bent over, put your hands on your thighs, and asked while waggling your eyebrows, “Wanna fly?”

“Yeah!”

Adrie unveiled her full glittery wingspan, and you clasped her under her arms, instructing her to jump. Up she went. You raised her above you to your full extent and spun in circles. Giggly, messy circles. Showing her off for everyone to see. Parading her for the slew of compliments coming from onlookers. And when your strength tired, you brought her to your hip, and held her tight, still spinning. Dizzy, silly twirls. Savoring the closeness of your foreheads almost touching.

You slowed to stop to scan the scene around you, searching the shapeless night. “Where’s your dad, hmm?”

She pointed behind you.

Over your shoulder, your gazes connected in between a family dressed as Peanuts characters.

Eddie raised his hand, but forgot to move it back and forth.

Your face brightened. The love you showed Adrie reflected in your eyes when you found him. Smiling bigger, somehow, at his stupid wave when he remembered how to perform one.

“Nice costume,” you teased, sauntering up to him with a swagger. “Light-wash blue jeans instead of black. How different.”

“Yeah, and what are you? A cat? So creative.” He meant it as an insult to your gray onesie with a tan belly, but he was the one who followed your quick glance at his stupid hand still waving like an utter moron, and he stuffed his fists in his pockets, wondering if he’d ever recover his dignity after this encounter.

“Uh, I’m clearly a mouse,” you drawled, inclining your head to show off your rounded mouse ears on your headband.

Adrie copied your exact tone and inflection to serve as a gut punch, “Yeah, Daddy, she’s clearly a mouse.”

His greatest fear mocked him. With Adrie on your hip, and your two matching smirks taunting him with your cheeks pressed to one another, he shook his head, and pinched his eyebrows up in worried exasperation. “I don’t need two of you.” A revelation he should take more seriously as you looked at Adrie, and you both giggled. Tips of your noses grazing. Hugging you around your neck. Touching your animal ears and calling you ‘Miss Mouse.’ Thanking you for her costume, and you asked, seeking her genuine approval as you fitted one of her tiny hands in yours to stretch a wing out.

“You like it?”

“I love it!”

You swayed with her in the new position, resembling two people slow dancing despite there being no background music other than shrieks of laughter, and a chorus of “trick-or-treat!”

Yeah, this feeling in his chest was evolving past the boundaries.

Shit.

Eventually you had to support her with two arms again, thus ending your waltz, and you remembered Eddie was there, and Eddie remembered to direct his tender expression at his daughter.

“So, really,” you said, nudging his white tennis shoes and giving him a once-over, “Who’re you supposed to be? A grumpy guy who couldn’t be bothered? A wet blanket?” You leaned in. “Don’t tell me you’re dressed as a stick in the mud for the second week in a row. That’s just gauche, Eddie.”

Adrie latched onto one word specifically. She pointed at him with all her might, and declared, “Grumpy! You’re Grumpy.”

“Great,” he groaned. Yet, there was not a trace of annoyance tugging at his lips–just his tongue poking through as his daughter reduced him to an unpleasant character. “Tell her what movie you watched this morning.”

“I watched Snow White with grandpa,” she said. You gave an understanding ‘ahh.’ “Grandpa is Sneezy. Daddy is Grumpy. You can be..”

“I’ll be Dopey.”

Eddie snorted, “Fitting.” You cut him a soft frown, and he shifted his focus back to his daughter. Eye contact with you was too difficult. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. A single longing look gave away too much, he had to put an end to them. “You think I’m Grumpy, huh?”

She jabbed her finger at him again. “You! Most definitely are.”

The immediate flash of devilry in his eyes was her only warning. “What’d I tell you about pointing at people?” He snatched her wrist in a weak grasp, and lunged at her, snapping his teeth, pretending to bite her finger off with a smile. She scream-laughed and buried her face in your shoulder.

“Aw, it’s okay, Adrie,” you consoled her, “I always knew he was a biter. Lemme count your fingers, ‘nd make sure you have all six.”

“Six?” she cried.

Besotted by your willingness to indulge his humor, Eddie lost track of his inhibitions, and acted on a deep-rooted impulse from his youth, when he was more expressive of his urges. He crept in close while you were busy doting over Adrie, and lowered his face to where he was allowed to whisper in a deeper register, “Hey, no picking on my kid. That’s my job.” To make matters worse, he reached for your side, aimed for your ribs through the single layer of fleece, and prodded. It was a success. You yelped. You were ticklish. Another trait to add to the list of things he shouldn’t know about you.

Steve’s bafflement pierced the rambunctious Jedi fight happening in the middle of the road, “Are you three gonna catch up, or do I need to make you get in the wagon?” he threatened. Sure enough, he was hauling a red wagon of someone else’s kids behind him dressed as various dinosaurs, complete with masks.

More parents had joined the trick-or-treat cavalry, milling about on the sidewalk, waiting for Adrie before they knocked on the next house. You recognized this quicker than Eddie, and offered to take her by, well, simply walking off with her in your arms.

For the first block he was alone with his thoughts. Watching you go from house to house holding his daughter’s hand. Sitting back while you took over for him, and lessened his burdens. When it was you crouched next to Adrie, smiling up at the adults with buckets of candy, they didn’t see Munson. They saw a cute little girl and her supposed mom participating in innocent fun.

“Hey, bud,” Steve said, swinging around to his side, tossing an arm around his shoulders, and shaking him. Eddie could sense the subject he was about to bring up from his consoling squeeze alone. “So, how goes the whole ‘not falling in love’ thing?”

Eddie had his correction at the ready, “I said ‘attached,’ not ‘fall in love.’”

Steve gave him a long, hard stare.

“And I said it was Adrie I was worried about getting attached.”

Steve deepened his stare.

Eddie looked away, then back, then away again. He was quiet for a few strained moments, shuffling his feet while the kids thanked a woman dressed as a witch for her cauldron of candy, and his passing gaze lingered on the Mouse holding his daughter’s hand.

You glanced in his direction, where he stayed on the outskirts of the group, and suppressed a giggle. You were listening to Adrie and her friend’s story about mermaids with full interest, asking questions, and gasping at the information they were disclosing, acting as if they knew the world’s secrets and deemed you worthy of its knowledge.

It was sweet. Endearing, adorable, attractive in the worst ways, and exactly the sort of fun Adrie craved that he couldn’t provide when he was overworked, tired, and stressed to the point of crying frustrated tears.

Except, of course, those bad days had become less and less since you started working at the auto shop..

Eddie surrendered. “How does it look like it’s going?”

“Like you're happier when she’s around,” Steve replied.

“Real good that’s doin’ me.”

They had reached the end of the street, and waited to cross at the stop sign.

Steve shrugged, and said, “I think it’s cute you finally found someone to have a crush on–Ow!” He clutched his side where Eddie elbowed him.

He hissed, “Not so loud,” even though you were several feet away, and talking animatedly with Robin.

“Oh, c’mon, it’s precious.” Lifting his chin, Steve alluded to the way you picked up Adrie and herded the other children across the road like sheep. “Y’know, you were right about her saying ‘yes’ to everything. Her and Robin have some wild stories. Did you know someone came up to them at one of those sleazy hole-in-the-wall bars and asked them to perform on stage–like, obviously meaning you know, stripping–but she accepted his offer, and that’s how they started doing stand up together? Yeah, they just went up there and started shouting jokes at all the drunks. Dodging beer being thrown at them, and whatever. Sounds fun.”

“Yeah, real fun,” Eddie muttered with a horrified expression, wondering how you managed to survive this long with your absurd policy.

“Anyway,” Steve surmised. “I think you should go for it.”

The mood shifted instantly. Eddie’s face went lax, aside from his flared nostrils. He spoke firmly, “I can’t do that, man.”

“Why not?” When Eddie refused to elaborate with a scornful shake of his head, and sudden tenseness to his jaw, Steve softened his nature. He tightened his hold on him in a make-shift hug, and requested, “Talk it out with me. Tell me what you’re going through, and what you want out of this, because you sure do flirt a lot for someone who keeps denying themselves a real relationship.”

“I don’t know what the fuck I want anymore,” he exhaled in mind, body, and spirit. Just a complete depletion of all his anxieties under the weight of Steve’s arm.

Eddie ran his tongue along the back of his bottom teeth while he observed you crouch in someone’s driveway to make a case for Halloween themed pencils, and how they may not be exciting as candy, but there were bats on them, and Adrienne liked bats, therefore, the pencils were cool.

The anxieties were replaced with the blooming realization of how deep his crush went, and the stab of reality pierced the good feelings.

“There’s a million reasons why it’s a bad idea,” Eddie sighed, and gathered his thoughts to list them out as succinctly as possible. “Uh, let’s see. First of all, we’re coworkers, and this week has already been a real glimpse into how this would all pan out if I took the risk and things didn’t work out.”

Steve rocked his head to the side. “Fair, but it’s pretty obvious she likes you too, with how she flirts back.”

“Perfect segue. Okay, so maybe she does like me. But does she like me? And does she like Adrie? Can’t have one without the other. And, man, she made it clear at the movies that she doesn’t even ask if her dates have kids, because there’s never been a second one–a second date, I mean. She’s that casual about it.”

“Why not try something casual, then?”

“When have I ever approached anything casually in my life?”

“You raise a good point there,” Steve answered, shivering at the sudden uptick in frigid gusts biting through his thick jacket.

You and Robin pulled off to the side so your gaggle of kids could take turns stomping on crunchy brown leaves before they blew away.

Ensuring they were at a good distance to watch, but not be overheard, Steve kept his voice low, “What else?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Gee, I dunno, how about the fact she hates this place, and is going to leave eventually? Hate to break it to you, but even if she likes me like that, and even if things worked out for a while, I’m not ready to explain to Adrie why the nice lady she loves so much doesn’t come around anymore.”

“So make her stay around.”

“What?”

Shrugging with that stupid grin of his, Steve explained, nonchalant and lackadaisical, “You said she says ‘yes’ to everything. So just ask her to stay.”

Leaning into it, Eddie pulled an overjoyed face, and threw his arms up, gesticulating overdramatically. “Okay! Yeah, you’re right. I’ll just ask her to marry me, then she’ll be forced to stay in this hellhole with me forever. What a grand idea!”

Steve’s full-bodied laugh sent them both doubling over. “Okay, stud, going straight for marriage. It was just a suggestion that maybe she’s over the crazy party-til-dawn city life, and is looking for.. whatever it is you’ve got.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” he said with more than a hint of sarcasm. Easing out of his glare, he broke himself out of considering Steve’s validation as anything more than an audible feedback loop of the things he wanted to hear, and not the facts he needed to hear. “Doesn’t matter. She could like me, she could not. She could want kids, she could not. She could stay, she could not. I still have to see her every day, regardless. There’s not a lot of other options out there for me, and even if she didn’t want the city life anymore, I don’t think she’s gunning for the single dad whose biggest aspiration is getting a trailer of his own, so his uncle can have his room back.”

Cynicism, cynicism, cynicism. Denial.

Steve’s mouth twisted, and he became serious. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“It’s true, though.”

Ahead, a guy caught Steve’s attention and signaled that it was his turn again on wagon duty, which was the perfect excuse to make his exit because you were standing on your tip-toes, seeking out Eddie in the sea of Stormtroopers. You spotted him and waved with childlike glee, making your way over.

Steve’s hair fell into his eyes as he drew Eddie in. “One last piece of advice,” he began, gaze set on the side of his friend’s face, accepting not even he could win over his attention when it came to existing in the same universe as you. “If you’re serious about not pursuing her, maybe stop looking like you’re gonna blow your load every time she smiles at you.”

Eddie sputtered, “Jesus Christ, dude.”

With that last remark to recover from, Eddie was forced to rearrange his pale face into anything remotely appropriate while Steve got to stroll away as if nothing happened.

“Uh, hey,” he said, eyes scared wide, and showing too many teeth in his tight smile under your scrutiny.

You brought your hand up, and stepped into him until your chests were nearly together. Cocking your head, you pointed at something over yonder, and slowly, unwillingly, he stopped analyzing the nuances of your face to look at the group of kids at the house across the street. One kid in particular. Dressed in black, and with six additional arms dangling from his two human ones.

You couldn’t keep the sheer triumph out of your voice, “That spider is certainly bigger than your palm.”

He winced as if your joke physically pained him. He curled in on himself, and depleted himself of oxygen to groan a long, contemptuous, “So lame,” stressing both words to exaggerate his misery. Shaking his head as if his grievance was anything other than a ploy to discover what it felt like to reject reality, and satiate the envy he felt when Adrie got to be this close to you. Foreheads almost together. Noses almost grazing.

As if your hand trapped between your bodies was anything other than a ploy to rest the backs of your fingers on his chest as you laughed. As you leaned into him. As you tugged on his sweatshirt underneath his leather jacket, begging him to give in until, at last, he broke.

Eddie laughed with you, recklessly.

“Did you really abandon my kid to run over here and tell me that?”

“She’s safe with Bobbie,” you promised in a whisper. “And yes, I did.”

Leaf-shaped shadows danced across you both, cast from the orange glow of the streetlamp above. Autumnal bare branches, electric wires, swaying in the wind, revealing your faces in quick pieces; a wrinkled forehead here, contours of a nose there. Flashes of a puzzle you both collected and assembled in the scarce seconds before it was time to move on to the next house.

You crossed your arms tight over yourself and walked beside him, smiling at the ground.

“How’ve you enjoyed your Halloween experience?” he asked, swinging his arms wide to gesture at Hawkins in general. “I’m sure it’s a lot different than what you’re used to.”

“Oh, I love it!” you said in earnest, surrounded by all the things you’d only seen on screen before. “It’s just like the movies. Trick-or-treating, little kids running around in costumes, the weather, the decorations. It’s surreal. Usually I’d be drunk in a nightclub by now.”

Furrowing his brow, he looked upwards as if he were reading a nonexistent clock, and asked with a twinge of parental disapproval, “Isn’t it, like, 8PM?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, unperturbed. Too impassive to put him at ease. Like you were lording a secret over him. “Don’t act like you weren’t the same before you had Adrie.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Harrington’s been telling me stories about you,” you informed him, and rolled your bottom lip inward, biting it as he zeroed in on your cheeky grin getting a rise out of him.

He squinted at you. “Calling him Harrington, huh? Well, aren’t you two chummy.” Mentally rolling a Nat 20 for Stealth, he lifted his hand to your side without you noticing. “What’d he tell you?”

You made an ‘X’ over your mouth with your fingers.

The perfect position to leave yourself open for attack. I mean, the opportunity presented itself so splendidly, how could he not? How could he resist the greatest temptation?

His impending threat continued to go undetected. Giving you one last chance, he dipped his face to yours–relishing how the apples of your cheeks intruded on your eyes when you smiled this hard, forcing them to scrunch closed–and he asked, “What did he tell you?”

“I’m not repeating!” you giggled.

Oh, you were giggling all right. And in the next gasp, you were squealing, jerking away from him.

Eddie was merciless. His large hands proved too difficult to escape. He poked, prodded. Tickled you until his every, “Tell me, tell me, tell me,” was met with your, “Stop, stop, stop, please!” You fought him fruitlessly, grappling at his forearms, and failing to do little more than slip against his sleeves. He cackled at you. Mocked you with the tip of his tongue to his teeth each time you thought you got away, only to be caught again. You resisted. Resisted. Persevered in the face of evil–knocking your forehead into his chin on accident. Eddie thought you would’ve caved by now, but it was him who stopped; and not because of the unwanted attention your antics drew.

You pried him away from your ribs.

“You’re freezing!” Eddie’s mood changed on a dime at feeling your frigid fingers on top of his. He shifted so that he was enveloping your hands, encasing you in his warmth in exchange for the cold seeping to his bones.

“Yeah,” you answered sheepishly.

“You made a fuss about reminding me to put Adrie in extra layers, but you’re not wearing a jacket?”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, distorting your grin. “Yeah.”

“You’re irresponsible, you know that?”

“Yeah.”

“A real bad example.”

“Yeah.”

“An absolute pain in my ass.” Eddie grinned with you. Eyelids falling half-closed. Searing your skin with his heat. Enacting the subtle art of asking questions for the sake of prolonging the moment. Not like it was obvious, given you readily accepted his fingers curled around yours with a coy glint to your gaze. Totally discreet as he let go to shrug off his jacket and hand it over.

Obliging him, you raised your eyebrows. “What a gentleman.” You slid your arms into the sleeves, snuggled into his blanketing warmth, and tugged the collar over your mouth, rendering yourself to a pair of pretty eyes.

He was a goner.

“Tell me what Harrington said.”

“Okay,” you indulged him, breath coming out as a fog. “He said..” You were back to giggling behind the collar, remembering the story. “He said one time at a party there was this big watermelon keg he spent all day working on.” Eddie pressed his lips into a line, knowing where this was going. “He scooped out the innards. Spent painstaking hours cutting up fruit to put inside it and soak up all the rum. And then you wandered in. Already hammered, and you, you–” You snickered and peeled back the collar. “You knocked it over within ten seconds of walking in the kitchen, smashing it everywhere like a crime scene.” You hid behind the collar again, then opened it, voice gone high-pitched with suppressed laughter. “And he said you panicked, and tried to scoop it up in your hands and put it in people’s cups!” More laughter. “And when they said ‘no’ because it was fucking gross floor juice, you tried eating all the fruit yourself.” One more hide and seek of the collar as you lost it in a final squeak, “And you cried!”

He waited until you calmed down to show how thrilled he was in a deadpan tone, “Great, great. I’m so glad he told you that one.”

“It certainly conjures an image.”

Thinking the conversation was over, you took a step in the direction of your trick-or-treat group, but something caught your eye. You tilted your head. He mirrored you, tilting it the same way. You shuffled to the side. He turned with you, more, more towards the streetlamp. Curious as to what you were doing, and why you were staring at his chest, mouthing something.

“What’s Corroded Coffin?”

“Uh–It’s–It’s nothing,” Eddie said a bit too loud, wiping at his sweatshirt like the self-printed logo was a crumb he could discard himself of.

Fortunately, a wild Adrienne appeared, interrupting him from making a bigger fool of himself. “My hands are cold. Can I have my gloves?”

Eddie glided his hands over his stomach out of habit, and realized his pockets weren’t there. Without warning, he grabbed a fistful of his jacket, and yanked you to him, spinning you, manhandling you. Forcing you to catch yourself on his braced muscles–shoulder to his chest, hip to a place he’d rather not dwell on. Not gentlemanly at all.

You released a string of flustered remarks, and pushed away from him, making it appear to be a benign accident in front of his daughter.

“Here,” he said to Adrie, holding the black mittens above her head, out of her reach.

She jumped, and jumped, and stomped. “Daddy,” she whined.

Dusting yourself off from the previous encounter, you agreed, “You’re so cruel, bullying your own child.”

“She knows the magic words,” he led on.

“Please!” She jumped higher, huffing and puffing.

“And?”

“And thank you!”

He relented. His evil reign came to an end. First, the tickling, now, the height advantage over a little girl. He gave Adrie the mittens and she stuck her tongue out at him before bolting off faster than lightning.

It was you turn to poke a stern finger into his ribs. “Awful, awful man,” you scolded him. Unlucky for you, he wasn’t ticklish there, nor was he ashamed of any of his actions these past few minutes. He might come to regret them when you move back to New York and these were the memories he was left with, but he wasn’t ashamed.

No, not ashamed to overstep the boundaries he resurrected in pursuit of happiness. If only a little. Enough to feel the thrill of danger, but remain safe inside his walls.

Casual.

You liked casual.

Fuck what he said earlier. He could keep it casual. He could handle innocent flirting without it getting out of hand.

“We should probably catch up with everyone before they send Scooby and the gang to search for us,” you said, walking backwards, throwing your thumb over your shoulder.

He snorted. “Terrible joke. Are you sure you were a comedian?”

You answered him with two middle fingers, which you promptly put away. Adrie came running back after just one house, hunched over, dragging her feet; hair a loose mess, barrettes dangling. Displaying all the theatrics of her father.

She made grabby hands at you. Not him. And before he could voice his hurt, you scooped her into your arms, and she rested her chin on your shoulder.

“Hey,” he complained weakly, walking up to you from behind so he could take the treat bucket before it spilled, and talk to Adrie directly. “You told me you were a big girl who could walk on her own, and didn’t need to be held.” Her refute was a babbling grumble laced with fatigue.

Speaking to you, he said, “You don’t have to carry her.”

“I don’t mind. I think they only want to do a few more houses before we head back. Do you wanna join?”

At first, Eddie was quiet, and you spun in a slow circle to see him, catching the end of his wistful expression at the rich neighborhood and its opulent houses owned by affluent people who heard a rumor or two about Munson, and decided he wasn’t worth more than their wary glances when his kid played with theirs.

“Nah, I’m good over here.” He ran his hand over the back of Adrie’s head, and relaxed his stance, staying put.

“Let me help ya out there, Cool Guy,” you said, motioning for him to bend to you. You picked a narrow, apple-red leaf out of his tangled hair, and flicked it away.

“How long has that been there?”

Shrugging your mouth to disguise your beaming grin, you feigned ignorance while walking away. “Who’s to say?”

To further exacerbate his embarrassment into genuine distress, after two Mummies answered the door, and you were coming down the sidewalk, he saw you pull off the side for Steve to pass with the stroller, and you laid your cheek on the top of Adrie’s head. You whispered something in her ear. Something most intriguing, on account of her coming to life, no longer sleepy. The exchange was short; her asking a question, and you answering. But as you nodded with heavy-lidded eyes, and she pressed her fingers to her smile, you both turned, looked at him, and giggled.

Eddie gulped.

He didn’t like this new feeling of you two sharing secrets about him. Especially ones he couldn’t threaten out of you, no matter how many times he put his hands on your ribs.

~~~

As the evening came to a close, Eddie carried Adrie on his hip while you lugged her bucket of sweets. The plastic handle bowed from the weight of the candy, and your fingertips went numb from the burden. And maybe for your troubles, you took a piece. Or two.

The group petered out until it was left to the core of you returning to Steve’s house. The goodbyes were truncated due to the three sleepy kids in tow. You handed off the bucket to Eddie, first asking if he was sure he didn’t need help getting to his car, and when he assured you he was fine, you squeezed Adrie’s ankle and whispered a goodbye she didn’t hear, too lost in Dreamland and drooling on her dad’s shoulder to know the night was over.

He said he’d see you Monday and parted ways, walking in the opposite direction, and you waited at the white-picket fence gate for Robin to stop swapping sneaky peeks at Steve and Nancy to join you.

“Bobbie, I know you don’t want me driving.”

She made eyes at Nancy one last time, and descended the porch stairs at a leisurely pace. “Yeah, we can leave.”

~~~

The drive home was a welcomed respite after the constant overstimulation. The radio was set to low, the heater caressed warmth along your wind-burnt cheeks, the headlights spotlighted deer grazing on the sides of the lonely road. Robin kept lofting soft smiles in your direction, which you returned.

Parking at her parent’s house, you closed the car door behind you, hearing it echo off the forest. The rocky driveway crunched under your shoes on your way to the door. The porch light was on, elongating your shadows across the ground, following you step by step.

“So, you and Eddie, huh?” Robin asked, turning the key in the lock.

You snapped to attention, schooling your features from giving you away. “Just friends,” you reiterated at her suggestive tone. “Just friends and coworkers. He’s dropped more than enough hints that he’s not looking for more.” You finished in more of a sigh, “Not with me, anyway.”

“Is that so?”

Her lopsided smirk struck undesired hope in your heart.

Robin pushed open the door, and curled in her forefinger to tap her knuckle on her upper lip. She dropped her gaze to your general upper body, and hummed, “You, uh.. forget something?”

You looked down at yourself. “Oh–”

————

Eddie dropped his shoulders back expecting to feel something slide down his arms. Then, he patted his chest, and realized. “–Shit.” He stared at his coat hook next to the front door where his leather jacket usually hung, and reprimanded himself in a soft laugh. “Guess I’ll have to get it back on Monday.”

“How much candy can I have?” Adrienne asked, dumping out her bucket on the coffee table, and scrambling to pick up the Tootsie Rolls that fell on the floor. She began sorting into piles of most favorite to least favorite.

“One,” Eddie stated sternly.

He turned on the TV and sat on the couch, decompressing while Adrie cackled over her hoard like Smaug. He should’ve known something was up when she wouldn’t stop giggling to herself.

His suspicions were answered when she turned around to show him the one piece she picked out–perfectly following his rules.

“Uh, absolutely not!” Eddie swiped it from her. “Seriously, who gives out full size Snickers bars on Halloween?”

“But, Daddy, you said!”

Leaning forward to rest his arms on his thighs, he demanded her attention before the pitiful crocodile tears started. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said, and reached past her for a mini Musketeers to compare. “You can have the Snickers, but you have to share half with me. See, half is still bigger than one of these little ones, so you’ll still be coming out of this a winner. ‘Kay?” She nodded and went to grab it. “But! I don’t want any tantrums when I tell you it’s bath time.” Again, she agreed and he reeled the candybar back into himself, away from her quick fingers. “And! You have to brush your teeth after.”

“I will,” she promised with a deep frown.

“And you still have to go to bed at the normal time.”

Pushing her hair out of her face, she dropped her head in another big nod.

Eddie was satisfied and went to give it to her. But another thought crossed his mind–one of true luxury–and the allure of the idea proved too good to ignore.

Much to her dismay, he snatched the candybar away before she could get a good grasp on it, and he deepened his voice to show he was serious, “And I want to shower. Ten minutes. Uninterrupted.”

She groaned at the ceiling at his never ending list of rules. “Fine!”

~~~

Riding his tingly feel-good high, Eddie opened the bathroom door to let the steam out, and toweled off the fog on the medicine cabinet mirror. He took out his comb and scissors, and sectioned out his bangs.

Brunette snips of wet hair fell in triangles onto his white tank top and around the sink. It wasn’t a noticeable trim, just enough to get them off his eyebrows when dried.

With some amount of clarity, he looked his reflection in the eye as he evened out the cut, and didn’t know if he should be wearing the faint smile he did, or if he should listen to his better judgment, and stop making modifications to his barriers.

He knew you deserved a better life than what Hawkins could offer, but he could enjoy the innocent workplace flirtations, right? They were harmless. Little compliments here and there to boost his confidence. That’s all it was. It’s not like you actually found him attractive, right? You’d been on enough dates to know what to say to a guy. That’s all.

Though, he did need to remember to have a talk with Adrie about setting her expectations and understanding Daddy could have friends without it leading anywhere, and that was okay.

“–some.”

Jumping, Eddie said a prayer that was not righteous, and thanked the stars he was not trimming closer to his eyes when his daughter scared him. “Jesus Christ, kid,” he exhaled.

“Handsome,” she said again.

Taken aback, he let the flattery sink in. Besides last week at the movies, he didn’t get compliments often, or at all, and to receive one now while his thoughts circled back to that familiar sting of ugliness with the way other parents looked at him tonight, Adrie’s kindness matured his grin into a real smile.

“You think I’m handsome?” he asked in a mild, quick laugh. “That’s sweet.” He leaned over the sink and worked on his bangs again, snipping up into the strands between his fingers.

“Miss–ouse does.”

“What–?” Her words were incoherent from her fingers stuffed in her mouth. “Did you say..?” He dropped the comb and scissors, and spun around, eyes set on her. Adrie released a high-pitched shriek and ran from the doorway. “Wait! Adrie! She said that? She said that about me?” He chased her into the living room, dodging back and forth around the coffee table. Duping left, right. Catching her as she made a quick escape to her bedroom. “Tell me what you said? Did Miss Mouse say that about me? Did she call me handsome?”

Try as he might, threatening to tickle her until she repeated herself, Adrienne refused to tell him the secret you whispered in her ear.

[thebestandrealestever]

~NOT YOU TOO!~

miles1610/hobie brown x black fem! reader

sum: miles cheats on reader w gwen, reader gets even 🤷🏽‍♀️

warnings : slang, the n word, cursing, cheating . emotional cheating. READER BEING PETTY unedited and not proofread

genre: angst, a lil of comfort?

a/n:i rly hope it don’t disappoint, part 2 w miles and reader make up eventually, cause i can’t stand writing miles as a dickhead. JUST A STORY, I DONT CONDONE CHEATING, DONT THIS TO PEOPLE.

- - - - - - - - - <\3 - - - - - - - - - -

first time in a long time.

hurting deeply inside .

there it was. the confirmation you so desperately needed to blow off on miles. you’d suspected he was messing with gwen for a little while now, him leaving you too go on missions with her that ONLY they knew about, being on facetime with her while he was at YOUR house, his highlight on instagram for her, not to mention the countless drawings of her around his room that he hid horribly, just a bunch of weird shit. you had conversations about it before but he always reassured you and gaslit you until you shook of the accusations. but now, now you knew he was cheating. miles was in the shower he left his phone on the nightstand, you looked long and hard at it. debating whether if it was a invasion of privacy, as you thought about it you get more and more upset. if gwen could be an invasion of your relationship then this didn’t really matter. you pick up the phone and put the password it, it’s his birthday (narcissist 🙄.) you go to gwen’s message thread, the blue heart next to it made you infuriated. your stomach twist and your eyes leak with tears that you don’t even try to wipe not wanting to miss anything. all of the “i love you’s” and the “im with her right now’s” made your fingers tremble as you scrolled farther into their text. why did he waste his time with you if he loved her? why would he do that to you? when did he fall out of love? what did you do? your thoughts quickly interrupted by the sound of the shower turning off you jumped up turned the phone off and put it in the same downward facing position wiping your face speed walking back to the bed pretending to watch tv.

“what’s going on now , ma?“ he asked referring to the episode you were watching. your face turned as you came up with a lie. “uh nothing really they just found out she was pregnant” you huffed, you’ve never been a good liar and miles could read your emotions like they were his own, you had no idea how you were going to go the rest of the night with him, so you didn’t. getting up from the bed you acted like your mom texted you to come home, frowning looking at the fake text. miles squinted at your pout, walking closer to you he said,

“you okay?” “my mom said i had to come home, she’s going out tonight and wants me to watch my sister, she’s sick” miles fake frowned “you want me to come with you?” he suggested walking to his drawers to get some clothes. you shook your head no “i don’t want you to get sick, it’s fine i’ll just facetime you okay?” you said as you picked up your purse and put on your shoes. “okay at least lemme drive you home. can’t have my baby walking alone in the dark.” he joked as he put on his own shoes and jacket too. you internally cringed at his sentence reminded of who he also called his “baby”.

trust, trust who?

watching my back even when i’m in the booth.

ohh, trust who?

you’re in the passenger seat of his car, seeing the blue hair tie in the cup holder that wasn’t yours. you stared at it for a bit rethinking your entire relationship. he glanced at you, then the hair tye. he spoke up rubbing your thigh trying to get your mind off of it. “u wanna go to the mall tomorrow? we can get froyo.” he suggested knowing that you liked the froyo place in the mall, you knew he was trying to make you happy so you wouldn’t question the hair tye you just went along with it.

“yea okay.” you smiled warmly at miles not meaning it at all. his phone buzzed and you both looked down at it, the speed of which he grabbed it in was almost inhumane. you side eyed him closely as he swiped the opened the message then turned his phone off placing it into the cup holder facing away from you. as you pulled up to your house he leaned forward to peck your cheek, you couldn’t stand the feeling of his lips on your skin right you. “bye mami, facetime me later okay?” he whispered as he looked into your eyes with that same look on his face that made you swoon once before. “okay, i will” you said knowing you weren’t. as soon as you got into your room you cried, searching in your mind for a clue on why he was doing this to you. you’d tears interrupted once again as your phone buzzed, who was calling you and why couldn’t they go away ?? you checked it as a small smile speared on your face it was margo. margo kess had been your best friend since before you met miles, she worked at the same spidey agency he did , or whatever the fuck it was called. you answered wiping your tears. she was eating unti she saw your expression. “what happened??? why you crying boo?” she frowned at you through the screen “miles is cheating on me with gwen, i checked his phone” you chuckled through sniffles as her jaw dropped “what the fuck?? u exposed him his ass right ??” she shouted and you shook your head “i was in denial i guess, i still can’t believe this shit” “you know what you gotta do right?” she said and your face turned into a confused expression “what i gotta do?” she rolled her eyes “get even duhhhhh!! you way to pretty to let this nigga cheat on you with a big back ass bitch you know that.” you snorted at her compliment “ion know mar, maybe gwen didn’t know we was dating” you said trying to express grace to gwen.

“bitch how?? all that nigga do is talk about you, not to mention youre his lock screen.” you tilted your head in agreement, she spoke up again “and you been told his ass all that shit he did with gwen was weird and he didn’t stop it? if he wanna act nonchalant you can act notchabitch” margo smiled as she her attempt to cheer you up worked. “speak of the damn devil, guess who texted me.” you smirked as margo raised her eyebrow “don’t tell me you talm bout hobie.” you tried to fight the smile on your face as you clicked on his message

“hey, wyd rn?” the text read. margo sighed as she saw the smile on your face “HOBIE. HOBART BROWN?? really (name)? well i mean the way he looks at you is crazy, and i been saying y’all would be mad cute .” she shrugged as she resolved up her own feelings, you nodded as you thought about it . was this really what you wanted to do? hurt miles? nonono if he didn’t care about hurting you he can’t say shit when you do it back. you texted hobie back “nun rn, wby?” and he replied almost instantly “im bored, lemme come over?” you almost laughed at how you realized that hobie has never cared about your relationship with miles . you told him yes and you said your goodbyes to margo as you got ready for him to come over, eyes burning as you saw the multiple hoodies that miles owned .

“hey love.” hobie said as he walked into your room from the window, you always noticed hoboes accent but you never noticed how attractive it was until now. “hey hobie.” you said as he lifted your chin up with index and thumb. “you’ve been crying? what happened ?” he said trying to read your face. “um nothing just stuff with miles” he almost winced at the mention of miles, he would offen tell you that he wasn’t good for you, guess he was right. “what did he do now. something when gwen again i bet” you sighed deeply remember the messages in his phone again. “yea, he’s cheating i just found out.” hobie eyebrows furrow as you say this, if he didn’t like the way miles was treating you before, he definitely hated him now.

“i was just joking but, really? what the fuck? after everything you’ve done for him? i’m gonna murder him i swear to g-“ “hobie no, no don’t say anything. i’m fine i’m gonna deal with it myself.” you say pushing him back with your fingers. “at least let me make you feel better.” he said giving you a tight hug. he smirked as he said “you know i’d never make you feel like that.” you snorted into his chest pulling away, hobie grabbed your face with both hands and kissed your forehead. “you don’t deserve this ,(name) you deserve the entire world” he muttered , looking down at you with so much care. stand on your tipe toes to kiss hobie, he doesn’t kiss back for a while in shock but then he reciprocates it and you know you shouldn’t do this, that’s the exact reason why you did it anyway . you pull away looking up into his deep brown eyes, you needed this, comfort from someone that wasn’t hurting you. someone that wasn’t him. he kissed you again more aggressively this time. he pulls away this time only to catch his breath. he pecks your lips once , then twice. he smiles at you then walks to the bed and turns on the tv, you thought it was weird but you also didn’t want to talk about it, and definitely didn’t wanna do anything further. after watching tv with him at a uncomfortable distance you decide to address the elephant in the room.

“so, we not gon talk about that?” you turn off the tv before turning your head to look at him and he does the same “we don’t have to, you know i like you. but i don’t think you need that tonight, i think you just need me here.” he said and honestly, he was right. even though he had you all the way fucked up onna tuesday, you still loved him. you just nod at hobie and he kisses your cheek wrapping his arms around you so he’s spooning you, the way hobie is holding makes you think that he’s the only boy in the world. he falls asleep and you lie awake looking at the ceiling, you decide to go on instagram looking at people’s story until you see gwen’s story, it was a picture of her and miles in his car her feet up on the dashboard, the same car you were just in, the same car you had your first kiss in. that’s not even the half of it, the picture had a “besties” caption on it but you could tell from 20 miles away they were far from that. you take a picture of hobie asleep and post it, tagging him too copying the same caption as gwen had. after maybe 20 minutes miles replies to it “wtf? why are you letting hobie touch you like that? and i thought u had to watch your sister” “and i thought you and gwen were besties?” you reply back sending him the screenshots you send to your phone if gwen and miles text he starts blowing u up like crazy but you put your phone down and snuggle closer into hobie, maybe you could get even.

doing my own thing,

i’m down to come clean,

not like you.

lmk wat u think 😭.

[spiderhanzzz]

"I'M FUCKING SPIDERMAN, BABY" — han jisung.

who would've guessed that the guy you've been texting on tinder is spiderman?

word count: 2.7k

pairings: spiderman!han x journalist intern!reader

genres: humor, fluff, slight angst, comfort, kind of fake dating???

warnings: swearing, drinking, han is referred to as peter, reader and han are both uni students, mentions of vomit and violence, mild injuries, lowkey blackmailing if u squint, no use of y/n & gender neutral reader, han calls reader "pretty" once, usage of "baby" and "sweetie" too

playlist: les childish gambino, dare gorillaz, novacane frank ocean, i bet you look good on the dancefloor arctic monkeys, making the bed olivia rodrigo

a/n: my first fic raaahh!!! >:3 so so excited for u 2 read all these crazy ideas swirling inside my head

“...whoever provides the information on Spider-Man’s real identity will receive a cash prize of $1,000 US dollars…”

Your gaze bores to the glow of your old crappy TV. You haven’t had the time nor funds to purchase a new one, given that your only employment at the moment is a journalistic internship. It’s a good agency, the same one reporting on screen right now, and you acknowledge how hard you had worked to get the position. Nevertheless, you wish you prioritized financial gain over prestige, because now you’re stuck in your run-down apartment in New York, investigating the biggest issues for no money at all.

So you guess it’s not that big of a deal that you have no leads on who the hell Spider-Man is. If any higher-ups scold you, you could just hit them with those snarky remarks you’ve kept in the back of your mind all this time. How do you expect incentive from me if you’re not even paying me? I’m writing all your scripts because everyone else is a damn deadbeat! Maybe then they’ll start appreciating you.

You released a heavy sigh. All this nonsense is giving you a permanent headache, and it doesn’t help that you spend most of your free time scrolling mindlessly on your phone, which lights up with a new text notification the moment you start thinking about it. Perhaps you’ve spent so much time on your phone it’s becoming a part of your brain?

Peter Han: hahah tbh im pretty busy this week, but i’ll let u know for sure :)

A light shade of embarrassment tints your face when you catch yourself smiling at the text message. Usually Peter— the cute guy you’ve been texting on Tinder— never uses any emoticons. In fact, he’s been acting pretty uninterested and dry with you, which wouldn’t bother you as much if it weren’t for the fact that you desperately need a date to your friend’s birthday party next week.

Despite your humiliatingly destitute lifestyle, you pride yourself for your unmatched abilities to blend into any crowd. So like any other New Yorker, you decided to surround yourself with upper class Manhattan socialites. They like you; they don’t need to know about your financial status.

But with great power comes great responsibility, and with great social life comes great expectations. Last week it was a certain Kate Spade wallet with the intentions to match with the whole group of girls, and the week before it was table manners at a European restaurant (how in the hell were you supposed to know which fork to use for a crème brûlée?) This week, though, they gave you the most impossible task of all: get a date.

And you would. Truly, you would. It’s not like you’re particularly unattractive or unlikeable or anything like that. It’s just that you haven’t dipped your toes into the dating pool since university started, and you’re too far gone now. Your peers are fluent in these unspoken rules of dating and you don’t even really know what a situationship is.

Thus why you’re acting a little bit too desperate with Peter.

As you draft a response to him— is it better to use two or three y’s in hey?— your train of thoughts are interrupted by a loud thud on your balcony, followed by a shadow of vibrant colours. Your couch is situated safely so you can see right out the window, but angled in a way that someone outside wouldn’t be able to see you inside. You found this hack on social media on a particularly paranoid rush of nerves and thanked whoever that person was every single night.

Hesitating for a minute, you consider your options: a) attempt to fight off whoever is in your building, b) run out and alert security, or b) pretend like you didn’t hear anything and pray you don’t see your own face on TV tomorrow instead of Spider-Man’s.

If you were acting rational you would have chosen the last option. After all, it’s New York— if there’s anything prevalent here, it’s crime. But you are just so fucking bored. 

So you grab a baseball bat and swing open the window. 

“Get the hell off my balcony, dude!”

To your surprise, you stand face to face with a pair of dangling Converse All-Stars (really dirty ones, too). In your spur of confusion you come to the conclusion that whoever is sitting above your flat has the ugliest red socks you’ve ever seen in your life.

“What the fuck, man?” The person exclaims. “You bruised my knee!”

“That sounds about right for messing with my place, no?” You say, stepping out onto the balcony to get a good look at the stranger.

Just when you think you couldn’t get more disoriented, you realize the man you’re looking up to is not a stranger at all. It’s none other than Peter Han, in a full on Spider-Man suit.

“Peter…?”

The stranger, AKA Peter, breathes out a nervous laugh, raking his hand through his messy hair. Cute, you think.

“I think you mistook me for someone else. I’m not Peter.”

“Okay…” You say dubiously. “Why are you wearing a Spider-Man suit then?”

“I’m a… uh… cosplayer?”

When his eyes meet yours, the truth sings: he’s been caught. Peter Han is Spider-Man.

He’s terrified, you can tell. You don’t blame him— you would be too in his position. But it’s not just the fact that you know now; it’s also the mischievous glint twinkling in your eyes. Just what the hell are you thinking about that could be so amusing right now?

“W-what’s that look for?”

You can’t hold it in anymore. Maniacal laughter bursts out of you like you’ve been possessed by the spirit of a circus clown, and you have to hold on to the balcony railing to stop yourself from falling over. “Oh, Peter, you naive little fool.”

Peter’s brows furrow in confusion. You mentally curse yourself for admiring how handsome he looks when he doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Didn’t I tell you? I’m on the case to find out Spider-Man’s identity. Well, your identity, I guess.”

“You did not tell me that.”

“Yes, I did.” You cross your arms over your chest, shooting him a judgemental look. “You’d know that if you paid any attention to what I have to say.”

“Look, listen…” Peter braces his lean arms on the side of the window to lower himself on your balcony. Standing face to face, you note that he’s not as tall as you thought. “I know I haven’t been the warmest person to you, but I would literally get on my knees and beg for you to please not tell anyone about this.”

You hum in amusement, taking a step closer to him and raising your chin with undoubted sanguine. Like this, you’re almost the same height as him. “As tempting as that sounds, I’d rather have you doing something else for me.”

Peter chuckles in disbelief, eyes wandering to the sky as if to ask God what have I done to deserve this absolute nonsense? His palms rest upon your shoulders when he looks you dead in the eye and says, “You are not blackmailing me, sweetie.”

“That’s a lot of confidence for someone who has very blackmail-able secrets.”

“That’s not even a word!”

“Whatever.” You peel away his hands from your shoulders, straightening your posture and pulling your shoulders back. Peter faces you with a puzzled gaze as you offer him your hand, clearing your throat and stating, “Peter Han, I would like to make a deal with you.”

He doesn’t move. “And that is…?”

“Date me.” Seeing his face contort into an even deeper state of befuddlement, you follow up with elaboration. “One date to a party next week, and just a few meet-ups and texts to prove that our relationship is going strong. In return, I’ll pretend this whole exchange never happened.”

You’re both silent for what feels like hours, eyes fighting a silent mental battle, until Peter’s rough palms finally envelop your own. You’re aware of how crazy and delusional you sound, but you swear he pulls you in just a little bit closer.

“Deal.”

It’s your third year in the city, and you’re still not fully familiarized with the parties. Contrary to your expectations of drunk sweaty bodies dancing up on each other, your friends’ definition of parties consists of low warm lighting embracing their glittered luxury brand dresses as they swirl their fancy little martinis and cosmopolitans. You appreciate it, really, since you don’t have to use up your voice every other night just to shout over the deafening electronic music. However it’s much harder to appreciate the pressure it puts on you to behave a certain way— dance like nobody’s watching, but be aware that they are.

As you slowly walk to approach your friends (rule #32: no running in public spaces, you’ll look like an idiot) you feel a large hand brush softly against your waist. You turn to face your date for the night, warmth creeping up your cheeks as you take in his appearance. The only suit he’s wearing now is an all-black tuxedo with no tie, the first three buttons of his shirt opened. His black hair is brushed down smoothly, pieces of it falling just right to frame his glowing face.

“You clean up well,” you remark, circling your arm in his as you guide him towards the bar where your friends are sitting.

“I could say the same to you, pretty.” With the sleek black shoes he’s wearing, he’s a few inches taller. Slightly looking down on you, he gives you a subtle wink.

God, he’s such a heartthrob.

Your friends round up to give you hugs and kisses to welcome your presence, ever so politely. One of them acknowledges Peter’s companionship. “You must be the date.”

“That I am.” Peter returns the approach, showing off his adorably heart-shaped smile. “Peter Han, pleasure to meet you.”

The rest of the night runs as it does in your dreams the night before. By the time you had arrived, your friends were already buzzed enough to pay no mind to the way the leather is peeling off your only pair of formal shoes nor to the typo on your fake branded bag. Just the way it’s supposed to be.

Peter doesn’t leave your side the entire night, only lifting his arm around your waist to grab more drinks for the both of you. Occasionally you catch him absentmindedly rubbing your back, and occasionally you catch yourself wondering how someone who spends so much of his life fighting can be this gentle.

During a small bathroom break, one of your friends pulls you aside and whispers, “He looks at you like you hung the stars, you know.”

If you weren’t so swept up in the feeling of finally belonging under the subtle incandescence of a high-end bar in Manhattan, you would have noticed the way Peter’s eyes darken when he read a notification off his phone, or the way his lips press into a tight line when he gazes at you, laughing your heart away amongst your friends.

So you’re nothing short of confounded when he wraps his arms around your waist and leans down to mumble, “Baby, I have to go, there’s a work emergency. I’ll catch you later, alright?”

Your friends bid him farewell and you press a chaste kiss to his cheek, immediately turning away when you feel his body tense. When he walks out the door, you keep your eyes focused on how his soft hair loses its shimmer as he walks out into the night.

And you try to enjoy the warm liquid pouring down your throat for the fifth time tonight, savoring the way you can almost taste a bit of yourself pull away from reality each time, knowing at least one of the people around you will walk away tonight asking, “don’t you think that Peter is a bit cold?”

You sit on the edge of your balcony, something you never do unless you’re going through an existential crisis or drunk off your ass. Tonight it’s both. As usual, the distant sirens and exclamations of curses wrap a tight band around your head. You’re dizzy; either from the alcohol or situation or both.

The ocean of fluorescent lights from the streets of Queens drift your mind to recall just how you ended up here. Three years ago, you were a fresh high school graduate with a million opportunities in front of you. Now you’re broke and rely too much on the validation of your non-broke friends to fulfill the void inside you. The thought of eventually having nobody but yourself after you graduate makes you wanna vomit on a passerby’s head.

“Hey, baby.” A particularly resonant voice startles you out of your thoughts. Peter is swinging from your balcony railing, a pair of gray sweatpants and zip-up jacket slung over his Spider-Man suit. “Sorry for ditching early. I got pizza and flowers to make it up to you, though.”

He swings himself to sit down next to you, placing the box of pizza and bouquet in front of your crossed legs. When he pulls his mask over his head to remove it, your eyes glance over his cuts and bruises. They definitely weren’t there earlier.

“What happened?” You unconsciously bring a hand up to his face, brushing your knuckles tenderly over the sensitive areas. It’s only when he winces that you drop your hand back down to your lap.

“Some guy tried to rob a bank.” Peter shrugged, refusing to meet your gaze. “Turns out he brought a bunch of other guys to back him up.”

“Did you win, at least?”

Though his face is turned down, you can see Peter’s eyes crinkle into a smile underneath his tousled hair. “Yeah, ‘course I did. Who do you think I am, a loser? I’m fucking Spider-Man, baby.”

Ten minutes later you’re seated face to face, still on your balcony, with you dabbing a cotton pad onto his injuries. No words were exchanged; you just went in and out to grab your emergency medical kit and grabbed him by the chin. The pizza box is left unattended, but neither of you care much about the hunger puncturing your insides.

“Why do you look so down?” Peter inquires as you place a Hello Kitty bandaid on his cheekbone, giggling breathlessly as you do so.

“Do I?”

“Yeah.” He brings his own hand up to your face, brushing away the strands of your hair on your forehead. “I mean, you’re smiling now, but your eyes have this sadness to them. So, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

What the actual fuck? It literally takes you every nerve in your body to fight the urge to propose to this man right then and there.

“Hey, come on,” he urges, delicately pulling your face an inch closer to his. His thumbs run down your flushed cheeks, and it takes you a while to notice he’s brushing away your tears. “I said talk to me.”

“Well, you’ve probably already noticed that I’m different from my friends.” You wrap your fingers around his wrists. “I guess I thought I could pull off the whole socialite act, but I’m starting to feel so…”

When you can’t find the words, Peter finds them for you. “Lost?”

He presses his forehead to yours as you nod softly. “This might not be the best time, but I think you’re a star.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you shine the brightest amongst everyone else’s shadow. And your friends probably see you that way too. Also that I really, really want to take you out on a real date.”

“You were right, it’s terrible timing.” You fake pout, pretending as if your heart didn’t skip a beat at his words.

“Sorry, sorry!” Peter laughs, setting distance between the two of you once again. There is no inclination to pull him back, though; the space devoid of someone else finally feels comfortable.

“My answer is yes, by the way, you can take me out on a real date. Unfortunately no blackmail this time, though, I think I'm gonna quit that dumb internship.”

Both of you share a fit of affectionate laughter. The temperate scent of food merges with that of the flowers and caresses your senses as Peter opens the box of pizza. “If they ever make fun of you for not being rich, we can always stage one of them as Spider-Man. We'll even get $1,000 from it, then you'll actually be rich."

“I’ll take you up on that offer, Spidey.”

[thebigbadbatswife]

He Let Me Steal You Like A Thief In The Night

Pairing(s) - (Starts with) Bruce Wayne x F!Reader, (Ends with) Selina Kyle x F!Reader

Summary - After Bruce Wayne continues to not treat you the way that you deserve, Selina Kyle decides to steal you away from him.

Warnings - Inspired by the song Diamond Girl by Set It Off. Bruce is a dick, Angst, References to cheating, Implied sexual content, Fluff and a happy ending, Bisexual!Reader. (If I missed anything, lmk!)

A/N - So, several months after saying I was working on this fic it's finally finished! It's also now my longest one shot to date which is cool! Anyway I hope the wait was worth it and that you all enjoy 💜

Word Count - 10k

As you finish putting your earrings in, you pause and look at yourself in the mirror. You look good tonight, you think. Your dress hugs your figure and accentuates your breasts and ass, but in a classy way that’s fitting for the charity fundraiser that the two of you are going to tonight. Your jewellery and makeup is much the same. Classy. Nothing too flashy. You wonder if Bruce will even notice the effort you have put in to make yourself look nice. He hasn’t the last few time. Hell, the last time he took you out to an event like this, he not only barely payed any attention to you, but he completely vanished from the venue. Leaving you alone and having to call Alfred to pick you up and take you back to your apartment.

Though Alfred had done a good job that night to try and hide it, you had still been able to tell he was absolutely fuming at Bruce. As are you each time that you think about it. Though you do have to keep in mind that he has been very stressed recently in regards to his company. While he hasn’t told you exactly what’s going on, you know it’s left him with a lot on his mind, a mountain of paperwork and has led to him being forgetful. You’re positive that it will all pass once he’s figured things out and then everything between you and him will go right back to the way that they were before. 

Back when he would text you while in the middle of a meeting because he was thinking about and missing you. Or when he would call you, usually in the middle of the night, because he was miles away in another country and desperately wanted to hear the sound of your voice. And there were the times when you and him would curl up on a couch and watch a movie for date night instead of going out to some restaurant, away from the constant flashing of cameras that often left you becoming overwhelmed very quickly. Or there was that time…

Your train of thought is broken by a knock against the door of the en-suite. It’s probably Bruce wondering what’s taking you so long to get ready.

“Yes?” you call out.

“Master Bruce was wondering when you would be down.” It’s Alfred… Wait… Alfred? Bruce couldn’t even be bothered to come up and check on you himself? You push the thought away.

“I’ll just be a couple of minutes!” you call back. 

“Of course, dear. I’ll let him know.” 

With Alfred now gone, you turn you attention to the two bottles of perfume on the counter. One of the bottles is an expensive perfume that Bruce bought you for your birthday. It’s not your favourite scent in the world, but it was a gift from him and you have yet to wear it. The other is the perfume that you wore on the night that you and him finally went all of the way. Maybe if you wear that one he might actually pay you attention. The scent of it making him remember that night hopefully. After a moment of debating you decide to go for the latter. Tonight you wish to stay hopeful.

Once you have spritzed the perfume onto your pulse points, you grab your clutch and make your way out of the en-suite and bedroom and to where Bruce is waiting for you in the foyer. As you make your way down the stairs you expect him to look up at the sound of your heels clicking on the wood. Instead his eyes remain glued to his phone screen like a teenager; his fingers typing out a message just as fast as well.

You do your best to hide your disappoint, keeping your face blank, but it must have shown briefly because, as you reach the bottom of the stairs, Alfred suddenly clears his throat. The sound catches Bruce’s attention and he finally looks up from his phone. Before he’s allowed to say a word though, Alfred is speaking.

“You look lovely, dear,” he tells you. His compliment has you smiling. At least someone noticed.

By now, Bruce’s phone is back in his pocket and he’s stepping toward you. He checks you out, his eyes lingering on your breasts a little longer than is gentlemanly. His smile that genuine one he only ever gives you. 

“Absolutely beautiful,” he says, his hand coming to rest beneath your chin and tilting your head up a little. “Aren’t I the luckiest man in the world?” You can feel your cheeks heating up at his words and the way he’s looking at you, as he breathes in your perfume. He presses a kiss to your lips. It’s a light one so that he doesn’t end up ruining your lipstick. “Come on. We’re going to be late.” He pulls away and takes your hand in his. 

You and Bruce grab your coats and say goodnight to Alfred, who wishes you both a pleasant night. He leads you down the stairs to the car already parked out front. 

The drive is a silent one. Neither of you saying a word nor him even bothering to put some music on. It has you yearning for the days when you both couldn’t stop talking, discovering all of these new things about each other or even discussing how you’re going to sneak away from the event at some point. Usually so that you could do other things together. And then there were the times where the speakers of whatever car you were in at the time would be blasting music as you and him sing along loudly to whatever song was playing.

Not being able to listen to the silence any longer, you decide to break it yourself. 

“What’s the charity that’s being supported tonight?” you ask him. You don’t remember him ever mentioning a name, just that there was a fundraiser.

“Uh, it’s something to do with endangered animals,” he replies.

“What sort of animals?” There’s so many of them this day and age that are in trouble and you doubt that tonight is going to cover every last species.

“I believe it’s for big cats, but I honestly can’t remember. We’ll find out for sure once we get there.”

“Right. Of course.”

The car once again falls into silence as you struggle to think of what else to talk about. What even is there for you to say? How that was the longest you have spoken to him without his phone ringing and him walking away to answer it? And it’s not like Bruce is trying to fill the silence either. Is it just as awkward for him? Or does he simply not care?

You turn your attention to your window, watching as the city passes by as he drives. Silently, you continue to hope that things will get better once you arrive and he is no longer focused on getting to the venue.

Upon arriving, Bruce does help you out of the car and keeps you shielded from the vultures who are sat outside of the venue, waiting. The bright flashes from their cameras is blinding as they do their best to surround both of you, making large dots dance in front of your eyes. You’re sure that you would be stumbling blind if it wasn’t for him keeping you close and guiding you toward the entrance. Even after you both are inside the building and the doors are closed behind with security making sure that the paparazzi cannot follow, he keeps his arm linked with yours. Despite the harrowing experience with the paps that has left your heart hammering against your ribcage, not once does Bruce ask if you are okay. Perhaps he assumes that since you have been with him for the past year and a half that it no longer fazes you? You honestly can’t imagine it ever not fazing you, how invasive those people can be. 

You are about to say something to him, ask him why he cares enough to try and shield you, but not enough to actually check on you, yet you’re not given a chance to as you’re already stepping into the main hall. All eyes are on you both. Bruce is already smiling that dazzling billionaire smile of his and you quickly follow suit, shoving your irritation away. The last thing you need is headlines about how pissy you look. 

Your arms stay linked together for the majority of the night. Though they might as well not have been considering he spends the night basically ignoring you. You sip on champagne while Bruce talks to men who have no interest in the good cause that they are all suppose there for and would rather try and get him to invest in their company.

It’s not like you expect him to have his tongue down your throat (though that did happen a few times very early on in your relationship). And it’s not like you’re just standing around expecting him to pick up that something is wrong simply by your mood. You’ve tried talking to him, but each time he dismisses you. You’re honestly starting to feel like the only reason he brought you is for you to be his arm candy. The thought has you wanting to be anywhere, but here with him. And you would call Alfred and leave if you thought that you wouldn’t end up on the front page news thanks to the cockroaches sitting in wait outside. 

Even with that said, you still don’t want to be around him right now and this is a big hotel. There’s got to be somewhere for you to retreat to for a little while. Some sort of garden or courtyard perhaps? You’ll find out once you slip out of the ballroom.

You pull away from him, unhooking your arm from his, as you tell him that you need to get some air. He doesn’t look you, not even a glance, as he replies with an “okay” and continues talking to the three men in front of him. As you make your way through the ballroom, you place your half finished glass of champagne onto the the tray of a passing waiter and leave the room through the nearest exit.

You wander the halls of the hotel for a little while, following the various gold plated signs that eventually lead you outside to the flower garden. A majority of the flowers are in bloom, leaving a very floral and sweet scent in the air and there are lamps in the ground between the flowerbeds, lighting up the pathway for you. You follow it until you reach a bench, where you decide to stop and take a seat.

It’s nice and quiet out here. The perfect place for you to be left alone with your thoughts. All of them about Bruce. You honestly do not even know when things started to actually change. It’s like one morning you woke up and he went from being totally and completely head over heels for you to not giving a damn about you. It leaves you wondering if the girls, who had approached you shortly after your relationship became public knowledge, were right. Has he grown bored of you? Is he really only keeping you around while he looks for someone new? 

What if he’s already found that someone new and is with them on the nights that he doesn’t come back to the manor? 

Almost as soon as the thought has entered your mind, you’re shoving it away again. No. No! You know Bruce. You’ve seen the way that he looks in disgust at the people in these rich people circles who are cheating on their spouses. You’ve listened to how he talks about them, a sharp edge to his voice. He hates cheaters so why would he turn around and do that to you? No. Absolutely not. He would never. Maybe… maybe this is just the end of what they call the “honeymoon phase”? At least, that’s got to be part of it. And you cannot forget how busy he is. But the more that you think about it, the more you think about these last few months, the more the doubt starts to trickle in. What if you’re wrong? What if you don’t know him like you think you do?

The more that you think about it, the more upset you become. So much so that you can feel tears threatening to spill, but as much as you want them to fall, you can’t. You’ll ruin your makeup if you do and as upset as you are, you don’t want that. It took forever and you do look really good tonight. Not that the man you got all dressed up for even cares about the effort that you put into your look tonight. Other than back at the manor, he has barely even looked at you.

And that thought alone is enough to finally get the tears rolling. After all what the hell does it even matter if he doesn’t care? 

As you cry, you don’t even hear her. You don’t hear her heels against the stone pathway that leads to the bench you’re sitting on. You don’t even feel her as she sits down next to you. You only become aware of her when her hand comes in contact with your back and she rubs your back. You don’t jump at the sudden contact, you’re just confused as you look up at her, brow furrowed. 

You go to speak. You’re not sure what, maybe to apologise for the state you’re in? You honestly don’t know, but it doesn’t actually matter as she doesn’t let you say anything, shushing you softly. The woman pulls a handkerchief from her purse and uses it to dab away your mascara filled tears. As she does that, through your tear blurred vision, you do your best to make out her appearance. Perhaps you know her?

She has striking green eyes, almost like a cat’s, and long, curly black hair. She’s gorgeous. That much is clear to you, even in your heartbroken state. And you’re certain that you do not know her. You would remember if you did.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

You shake your head, not trusting that the second you try to speak that you won’t turn into a babbling mess as your tears start to fall again. And it’s not really fair to burden a stranger with all of the reasons why you think that the man you’re in love with likely doesn’t love you. The look she gives you is one full of sympathy, which only makes you feel worse.

“A woman as beautiful as you shouldn’t be crying over a man like him,” she tells you.

“But things were so good in the beginning,” you say. All reservations that you had a moment ago about not burdening a stranger with your problems are suddenly out of the window. As you talk you half expect her to come up with an excuse to leave, most people would, but she doesn’t. Instead she stays and listens. The more you tell her the more annoyed she seems to get, but it doesn’t feel like it is directed at you. More likely she is getting annoyed at your boyfriend. Hell, now that you’re talking about it, and therefore thinking about it more, you are starting to get annoyed at him yourself as well.

“I’m sorry. That’s a whole load of information that you really did not need. I haven’t asked you your name.” And now you’re completely embarrassed. So caught up into your own shit that you completely forgot about basic manners. She doesn’t seem to have minded though. She smiles softly.

“Selina Kyle,” she introduces herself. “And you are?”

You introduce yourself. For some reason her name strikes a cord of familiarity with you. It takes you a second for you to know where. Tonight’s fundraiser, of course! She’s the one who organised tonight; you remember seeing her name on the notice board just outside of the ballroom. She must be so busy tonight yet she’s still taken time to make sure you are okay and she doesn’t even know you? It has you feeling rather touched.

“We should probably be making our way back,” she begins, “but first let me help fix your makeup,” she offers as she reaches into her purse.

After she helps you fix up your makeup, making it look you had never cried to begin with, you and Selina make your ways back to the hotel’s ballroom. Not long after you have reentered the room you lose sight of her. Not that you expect her to spend the rest of the night with you. You are strangers, after all, and she is busy. Instead you set yourself your own mission; finding the bar. You don’t care to look for Bruce. He didn’t bother coming to look for you despite how long you were gone for, so why should you look for him?

It doesn’t take you long to find the bar. You order your drink of choice and take a seat. Now that you’re here, your only interest is drinking as much as the bartender will allow.

As soon as the two of you re-enter the ballroom, Selina leaves your side and quickly, but gracefully moves through the room. Her eyes scan the area as she moves, looking for someone in particular. 

Honestly she can’t believe him. Actually, maybe she can. This is Bruce after all. It still infuriates her. How is it that he has a beautiful woman like you in his life, who very clearly loves him, and yet he treats you like you are just another one of those models he used to “date”? And, from what you have told her, things weren’t all this way.

She can easily think of what’s changed. It’s the exact same thing that led to her leaving, several years ago. No matter what. One way or another, Batman will always end up taking priority over everyone else. Clearly, he needs a serious wakeup call. 

It doesn’t take her long to spot him. He’s with several other men and honestly looks extremely bored. Yet he would instead give them his time than give it to you. She scoffs and rolls her eyes. Typical. 

Bruce takes notice of her quickly, doing a double take as his eyes widen for a brief moment. He regains his composure, the shock disappearing as his eyes narrow and his brow furrows, his lips set in a grim thin line. He’s not happy to see her and, quite frankly, she’s not too pleased to see him either. A cat does not easily forget those who have wronged her. 

She had been hoping that she would not have to interact him at all tonight. Simply take his money for her charity and then leave this city once more. Maybe forever. But things rarely go to plan in a city like Gotham. 

Selina raises an eyebrow at him before gesturing with her head for him to follow her. She doesn’t look back, doesn’t wait for confirmation that he will. She knows he will follow. His curiosity always gets the better of him whenever she’s involved. Almost like it’s a law of life like gravity.

She weaves her way through the crowd once more, leaving the ballroom behind her. She decides to head back toward the hotel’s flower garden. It’s the perfect place to talk away from he nosey busybodies that make up Gotham’s higher society.

“Hello, Bruce,” she says, turning around to face him.

He scoffs. “Really? After all of this time that’s all you’ve got to…” he shakes his head. “I’m already with someone else. I–”

“Oh I know,” she cuts him off. “I’ve already met her. She’s beautiful, it’s just a shame that she’s so sad.”

Bruce frowns, an eyebrow raised. “What are you talking about? She’s fine.”

“She’s not, but you would know that if you were actually paying attention.” Selina steps toward him and leans in close. “Let me put it this way, clean up your act and start paying attention to her or I will.” 

It’s toward the end of the night when you finally see Bruce again. You feel all warm from the alcohol running through your veins and each step that you take isn’t very coordinated, especially in these ridiculous heels.

“There you are,” he says as he approaches you. You’re currently using a pillar to steady yourself after almost tripping over your own feet. He looks troubled, but you don’t care enough to ask him what’s wrong. As of right now you really don’t see why you should. “Come on.” He links his arm with yours again, bringing you close to him to support you. “Let’s get back to the manor.”

You follow him back to the car. You’re so in your own head, focused on how good the drinks have made you feel, that you don’t even notice that there are barely any paparazzi around now, as he helps you into the car.

Much like the drive to the hotel, the drive back is silent. Of course you really don’t think you can hold a conversation properly any how. You’re sure to slur your words and, damn, your eyelids feel so heavy right now. It wouldn’t hurt to close them for a few minutes. Your last thought is how you’re going to have a killer headache in the morning.

The cafe had been busy when you had first entered, but the more that time passes and the lunch rush ends, the emptier the place becomes. You were suppose to meet Bruce for lunch, but while you showed up, he hasn’t. He hasn’t even bothered to reply to any of the texts you have sent him either. Instead they have all been left on read. You put his contact on mute. If he can’t be bothered to even reply to you then you can’t be bothered to talk to him full stop.

What makes it all worse is that, the day after the fundraiser, when you were somewhat recovered from your hangover, he had promised. He had promised that things would change and that you were important to him. And things had changed… For about a week. Once again you are left wondering whether or not the man that you love even loves you anymore.

The looks of pity and sympathy the other customers keep sending your way have you wanting to disappear forever. It’s humiliating. You decide that, as soon as you are done with your hot drink and food, you’re going straight back to your apartment and never leaving it again. You do your best to finish your drink and food as quickly as possible while also trying to not draw anymore attention to yourself.

As you are finishing up your drink, the chair across from you is suddenly pulled out and a woman sits down. Despite getting drunk, you recognise her instantly. Selina Kyle, from the fundraiser. Even now you still feel embarrassed about that night, crying and venting to a complete stranger about your relationship issues.

“Sorry I took so long, traffic was a nightmare!” She says it so casually, like she is the one who you were meeting today. She gives you a smile and wink. She doesn’t have to do this, hell you don’t even know why she is doing this, but you play along with her anyway.

“It’s fine. You’re here now,” you reply.

You briefly get up from the table to get another drink. After you have sat back down, the two of you beginning to talk. It starts off as basic small talk. The weather, the city’s current state, the money she had raised through the fundraiser and the good it was going to do for the big cats. She even leans across the table to show you pictures of her many, many cats. All of whom are, of course, utterly adorable.

As you take a sip of your drink, she asks you the question that you have been waiting for from the moment that she sat down at your table. 

“That boyfriend of yours was supposed to meet you, wasn’t he?” she asks you. Though, you suspect, that she already knows before you answer her.

“Is it that obvious?” 

She nods and, immediately, you want to disappear completely once more. She regards you for a moment, before speaking once again.

“Forget about him,” she tells you. “At least for tonight.”

“If I’m forgetting about him for tonight, what will I be doing instead?”

“You’ll be coming out with me to have some fun.” 

The way that she says it. Like they are plans that have already been made and you are not allowed to back out. You don’t want to anyway. It sounds like fun, a night out with Selina, leaving Bruce alone and wondering where you are for once. It’s the least of what he deserves. Maybe it will be the wake up call he needs. And if not… You don’t want to think about that right now. He’s pissed you off, but he is still the man you love and, even with the way he has been treating you recently,  you still cannot imagine a life where he isn’t in it. 

So, you agree to going out with her and you exchange phone numbers. For the first time in a while you were actually looking forward to something.

The nightclub is loud, the base thrumming through you and you cannot hear yourself think. The place is packed and so many bodies close together has you feeling hot, and you haven’t even done any dancing yet! 

These types of places are not usually your scene. You find them far too loud and there are far too many people around, but it’s hard to focus on all that with the woman in front of you. Selina’s outfit and makeup is casual, a strapless black top, jeans, a simple cat eye and red lipstick, yet she is easily the hottest person in the room. Sure, you’re in a committed relationship with Bruce, but you’re not blind and you can appreciate still. You are sure that he does.

She grabs your hand and leads you through the crowd and toward the bar. Much like the rest of the club, there is quite a few people around the bar. Definitely not enough room for the both of you to approach, so you tell her your preferred drink to order and she disappears amongst the crowd to get it.

You’re not entirely sure what to do with yourself, while you wait for her. Which has you feeling rather awkward. It doesn’t really help that people keep looking over at you. They’re likely just checking you out, but, standing here by yourself in your own head, you start wondering whether or not they are just judging you and the outfit that you have picked out for tonight. You aren’t left to fall down that rabbit hole for long though as Selina repappears, drinks in hand.

You do your best to shout over the music to thank her, but after the third time she finally moves in close to you. So close that her body is now touching yours, which leaves your heart thumping hard against your ribcage. Now that you have been able to thank her, she somehow moves closer, bringing her lips up to your ear. You can feel her breath fanning across you skin, making goosebumps raise across your skin, despite the heat of the nightclub.

“If you want to thank me, relax and have some fun.”

You almost laugh at her words. Is your nervousness that obvious? You had been hoping that you would be able to hide it more from her, but it seems she doesn’t miss a thing. Your nervousness doesn’t last. With the alcohol of a couple more drinks flowing through you, any doubts or anxiety you had before are quickly forgotten about. As are any thoughts of Bruce.

Hours fly by without you noticing as you dance and drink with Selina. Your laughter is loud, though still drowned out by the base, but she hears it easily enough. The green of her eyes seems to almost sparkle each time the neon lights hit them. The same way that you remember /his/ eyes lighting up when he first met you. Though you’re sure that it’s just the alcohol making you see things. She knows that you have a boyfriend and there’s not possible way she could be interested in you like that. (Though there had been a time you had thought the exact same when it had come to Bruce).

As the night draws on and the club starts to empty once curfew has hit, instead of finding your way back to your apartment, you and Selina find your way in a diner. With how late it is, the diner is mostly empty. The only other two customers there being a couple of cops taking a short break on their night shift. She leads you to the booth furthest from the cops, side eyeing them like she expects them to do something.

The waitress brings over a couple of menus. You thank her and take one of the menus while Selina declines, ordering only a coffee. After looking over the menu, along with your own coffee, you also order a burger and fries. While you did eat before coming out tonight, all of the dancing has left you absolutely starving.

While you wait, you decide to have a quick look at your phone. You quickly wish that you hadn’t. There’s dozens of messages, voice mails and missed calls from Bruce. He is very obviously worried and it has you feeling guilty. Maybe you should give him a call and let him know that you are okay?

“Your boyfriend?” Selina asks, breaking the silence that had fallen.

You nod. “Yeah. Maybe I should give him a call,” you say. “He seems really worried.”

“Does he call you when you send texts worried about him?”

You stop to think for a moment. “No,” you finally reply. “He usually only sends a short text.” Almost immediately, you understand what she is getting at. He doesn’t call you, only texts. So that’s what you do. A short text that reads “I’m fine. Still out with a friend.” Then you turn off your phone’s screen and return your attention to Selina.

Within that time, the waitress returns with yours and Selina’s coffees and your burger and fries. You both thank the waitress before returning to your conversation. You talk quietly, mostly about tonight. Despite your originally anxiety about tonight, you did end up having a lot of fun that you otherwise wouldn’t of had, had she not met you in that coffee shop and suggested it. As you talk, between taking bites of your burger, she steals a few of your fries, causing you to smile and shake your head.

“If you’re hungry, why didn’t you order your own fries?”

She shrugs. “They taste better when they’re not actually yours.”

Her reply makes you laugh and nod in agreement. After all, you are guilty of having done the same thing a few times, in the past.

The food and coffee does a good job at sobering you up. Not that you had been super drunk. Certainly not nearly as much as you had been after that fundraiser. Once you’re both finished, you reach for your bag to pay, but Selina beats you to it.

“You can pay next time,” she tells you.

You raise your eyebrow at her. “There’s going to be a next time, is there?”

“Of course there is.” She says it so matter of factly, like it’s already a done deal despite there not even being a discussion. Not that you mind. You would be more than happy to come out with her again.

With the food and drinks paid for, you and Selina leave the diner. Her driver is already waiting out front for both of you, ready to drive and drop you off at your apartment. You thank her again for suggesting that you go out with her tonight and that you definitely wouldn’t mind if there was a “next time”. You both say goodnight to each other and you make your out of the car and into the building.

Your apartment is pitch black and you fumble in the dark for a few seconds before your fingers finally find the switch. Despite the fact that you were expecting it, you still wince as the sudden brightness of the lights blinds you for a moment. You’re actually surprised to find your apartment so empty, you would have thought that Bruce would drop by unannounced, he has a key and you remember the endless messages and voicemails left by him, that you saw just a couple of hours ago. You haven’t checked them since then. Maybe you should do so now, but first your feet are killing you and you desperately need to get your shoes off.

With your shoes finally off, you collapse onto the couch. You pull your phone out of your bag and have a look at your messages. Since the one text you sent while at the diner, he’s only sent you one other text.

”Why didn’t you let me know? I had something planned tonight.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t going to make it to lunch?”

As soon as you hit send, you decide to put your phone on do not disturb mode. You will deal with Bruce in the morning. Now that you are home, the high of the night is starting to wear off and you are starting to feel really tired. All you want to do is get your makeup off, get into your pyjamas, curl up and go to sleep. So that’s exactly what you do.

In the weeks that follow, you end up spending a lot of time with Selina. She takes you to the other nightclubs that are dotted around the city and you often meet up for lunch. You learn a lot about each other during these lunches. Like how she came to have so many cats and the passion she has in the various causes that she supports. In turn you tell her about your own work. As you talk you honestly expect her to lose interest and not pay any attention. You expect various hmms and huhs and to see her looking either at her phone or at something else in the room instead of you, but it doesn’t happen. The entire time her attention is always focused on you and she actually asks you questions. You have got so used to being ignored that you had forgotten what it was like to actually be listened it. 

It’s not like Bruce didn’t ever not listen to you though. He did, in the beginning at least. But like everything else, with the honeymoon period being over, he just doesn’t do it anymore. All of it leaves you to continue to wonder whether or not he does actually love you or if you were just another “conquest” in a long line of them. But it’s not like you can even ask him. Right now Bruce is half a world away from you, thinking that sending endless gifts, flowers and chocolates is a good way to apologise. Which is not the effect you had hoped ignoring him that first night out would have. And even if he wasn’t half a world away from you, getting him to stay and talk to him is nearly impossible since you can never seem to hold his attention for more than a few seconds.

It’s late at night and you’re laying wide awake in bed. You can’t stop thinking about Bruce and not in the way that you used to. More like you have no idea how you even feel about him anymore. Do you love him? Before you had an immediate answer. “Yes, of course I do.”. Now though? You can’t answer it anymore because you don’t know what the answer is. 

And then there’s Selina. The way that she looks at you from over the table during lunch or the way that she touches you when the two of you are dancing together. It makes it feel like there are butterflies fluttering around your stomach and your heart pounding hard against your ribcage. More often than not you have found yourself looking at or dreaming about her lips, wondering how it would feel for her to kiss you…

Almost as soon as the thoughts come to you, you shove them away. They really aren’t helpful to your current dilemma when it comes to you trying to figure out how you feel about Bruce.

You groan and bury your head in your pillow. When did things in your life become so complicated?

“You seem distracted,” Selina says. You look up from the plate where you have just been pushing the food around, like a child.

“Sorry,” you reply. She invited you out to dinner a few weeks ago, at one of the fanciest restaurants in Gotham and you’ve spent the entire time distracted because you can’t stop thinking about Bruce and how you feel about him. It’s been plaguing your mind for a few weeks. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks. 

“I…” While you have thought the words a couple of times now, you don’t think you are ready to say them out loud. Especially in public with so many eavesdroppers. You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Selina frowns, clearly not believing you, but she doesn’t push it. Which you are thankful for. Saying those words out loud will make them really real and you don’t know if you are ready for that. How did the relationship you had once been sure would last forever end up turning into this?

For the rest of dinner, you do your best to push away any and all thoughts about Bruce and your relationship with him. He will be back from his business trip by the end of the week and you can deal with your feelings then. Though, as you eat and talk with Selina, it briefly occurs to you that he had once promised to take you, but never did. It leaves a somewhat bitter taste within your mouth.

You pull your coat close to your body as you and Selina leave behind the warmth of the restaurant and step out into the cold Gotham night. She links her arm with yours and pulls you close as you start walking down the street, back toward your apartment. It’s not a long walk, only a couple of blocks. 

Selina knows why you have been distracted, not only tonight, but for the past couple of weeks. She’s felt the way you have responded to her touches and she’s seen the way that you have been looking at her. She has also seen how you are around Bruce now, during various events he’s taken you to. You are no longer looking at him, waiting for him to pay attention to you, instead you are looking around for her.

She hasn’t missed the way you react to her when she touches you, while you are dancing with her. And she certainly hasn’t missed the way that you look at her. Especially her lips.

She hasn’t made a move to kiss you yet though. While you’re drifting away from him, you haven’t actually broken up with Bruce yet. And you have so much inner turmoil right now she doesn’t think it’s fair to add on to it. But if you were to suddenly decide to kiss her, well, she certainly wouldn’t stop you. In fact, she would like it a lot. 

Does Bruce even know? She wonders. He prides himself in being the world’s greatest detective yet, as far as she can see, he hasn’t caught on to the fact that you’re drifting away from him. Or that she is the cause. 

At least he hasn’t caught on to it until tonight.

Out of the corner of her eye, high above on a rooftop on the opposite side of the street, she catches the sight of a large black mass billowing out into the wind. He lied to you. You have told her that he said he would be back at the end of the week, yet here he is. Using his mask to spy on you instead of the usual crimefighting he’s so passionate about. 

Knowing that he’s watching, she pulls you closer to her.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“It’s colder than I thought it would be tonight and you’re nice and warm.” 

She knows that Bruce can hear the two of you speaking and she knows that it must be driving him crazy that he can’t just swoop down and interrupt. There’s people everywhere and, from what she can tell, you have no idea what he does when the sun sets. Things probably wouldn’t be as bad between you and him if you did know about his nightly activities. Or, maybe, if you did know, you would have already left him.

“Do you want to come in?” you ask her, once you and her have reached your apartment and you’re opening the door. 

“Normally I’d love to, but something has come up with the land I was hoping to turn into a cat sanctuary,” she explains. Selina has her phone out, open on the email she received at the start of the week. It’s not a complete lie. She has hit issues involving that land, but she’s not dealing with it tonight. 

Your face drops for a second before it’s quickly gone and replaced by a well practised understanding smile. Even the words you say “Of course, I understand,” sound rehearsed. He has done a number on you and it has her feeling a little guilty. How many times has he pulled this move on you? And now she’s doing the same thing. She steps forward and takes ahold of your hands. 

“Are you free tomorrow?” she asks, “We could have lunch, maybe even check out that new jewel collection at the museum? You know, to make up for me having to suddenly leave.”

You look at her for a moment, like you weren’t expecting that. “Oh, I’ll have to check my schedule, but I think I should be able to. I’ll text you?” 

“Of course.”

As soon as you are in your apartment and the door is shut, Selina is gone. Back out into the night, into her car and then back out into the night once more; wearing a completely different outfit. It’s not long before she is swinging high above the streets of Gotham, with a certain pointy eared man following after her. 

It doesn’t take him long to catch up to her. She feels the change in the air around her as his hand closes around one of her arms and her world spins briefly as he grabs and spins her around, slamming her against a wall.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing Selina?” he growls, the white lenses of his cowl narrowed. His act might work on the common criminal, but it has never phased her one bit. Calmly, she removes his hands from her arms and pushes him away. 

“I warned you, Bruce,” she says as she steps away from him, putting space between them. “Don’t you remember? I told you what would happen if you didn’t change how you were treating her."

“What? I didn’t think…”

“You never do. If it makes you feel any better she hasn’t kissed me yet. Maybe there’s still a chance for you, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

“Why?”

“It’s rather simple, you weren’t treating her correctly so I decided that I would.” Her shrug is causal, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Which it should be to the person who considers himself a detective. “And maybe it’ll make you think twice before you decide to treat another woman like this.”

She doesn’t wait for him to say anything. She walks to the edge of the roof, not even taking the time to look back like she once did a long time ago, and jumps. He doesn’t follow. Likely too caught up within his own inner turmoil about the revelations of tonight.

If she was anyone else, Selina wouldn’t be able to understand how or why you are still with him. But she does understand the how and why because she was you several years ago. It’s easy to get caught up in a man like Bruce Wayne. With his looks and the way he talks, that silver tongue of his. The way that he makes you feel like the most important person in the world just with one look. 

Though, she really does wish that you would break up with him and soon. 

This may have started out with her proving to you that you deserve so much better than putting up with the way that he treats you, but she has grown to like you. A lot. And she would rather see you with her than him. Though, she supposes, it’s only a matter of time before that happens. She simply needs to have some patience.

When you wake up it’s to a couple of texts from Bruce. Telling you that he’s coming home early and wants to meet for lunch. You reply telling him you can’t, you already have plans. So he offers dinner at the manor, away from the prying eyes of the public. Just you and him. Normally the premise of having a quiet and private night with him would excite you. Finally having him all too yourself far away from flashing cameras and gossipers. Instead, you don’t feel… anything. There’s no more looking forward to seeing him. No quicken of your heartbeat against your ribcage, or between your thighs, as you think of him. No wanting to blow off any other plans so that you can see him sooner. Hell, you don’t even want to see him. Not really.

As you sit there in bed, looking over the text messages again, those words comes back to you. The ones that you have been struggling to admit out loud. Though, with this newest revelation, you know that you need to and sooner rather than later. It’s not fair on either of you if you don’t.

Lunchtime feels like it takes forever to arrive as you do some chores around your apartment. You only just saw her last night, like every time, you can’t wait to see her again. And that excitement has the hours ticking by so slowly. There is a part of you that does have you pausing for a moment, wondering if this new feeling of excitement will end up the same. But you remind yourself she isn’t him. 

You meet Selina at the same cafe that you had when she had suggested going out and giving Bruce a taste of his own medicine. You often meet her here. The place essential becoming your “spot”. Like how the park had once been yours and Bruce’s.

She’s already at the table, waiting for you. She has her hair done up in a bun and she’s wearing a red dress. You feel your heart almost skip a beat when you lay eyes on her. There’s already a latte on the table. 

“I’m not late, am I?” you ask as you sit down. There had been some traffic on your way, but you had been sure you would still arrive on time. 

“You’re on time,” she says before covering her mouth and yawning, “I didn’t get much sleep last night,” she explains. “I already ordered you your usual.”

“You’re not going to lose that land are you?”

“With all the work that I did last night, I would say that it’s safe and sound now,” she replies with a smile.

“That’s great news.” 

She looks you over for a moment, her smile now gone and replaced by a small frown. “Something’s still bothering you,” she states.

“Bruce texted me this morning, he’s back early and wanted to meet for lunch, but I wasn’t about to cancel plans with you, so we’re having dinner instead tonight…”

“But you don’t want to go.” 

“Is it that obvious?” You glance around the cafe, wondering if anyone is listening to your conversation. This city is filled with people who don’t know how to mind their own business. Especially when you are dating the renowned “son of Gotham”. 

“I just… I know I have to face him because it’s unfair on both of us to keep this going, but I feel so guilty. He’s got no idea.”

“He would had he been paying attention,” she says. You can’t help, but agree. 

Much to your disappointment the lunch goes by relatively quickly and before you know it your back at your apartment, getting ready for your date with Bruce. Just as your finishing up, there’s a knock at your door. 

You answer the door to Bruce, who’s holding a bouquet of red roses and that genuine smile that he has only ever given you. You honestly weren’t expecting him to show up. Instead you had been expecting him to send Alfred.

“Hey, baby,” he greets you, using his free hand to pull you close and pressing a light kiss to your lips. Doing his best not to mess up your lipstick. “You look beautiful.” 

The way he’s looking at you and kissing you has your heart skipping a beat. For weeks now this is all you have wanted. Your man looking at you like he actually loves you and wants you. All of his focus on you. But a voice in the back of your head reminds you of what he’s been like for weeks now and that he’s only acting like this now so that you don’t leave him. Chances are, as soon as he’s sure you won’t leave, things will go straight back to him ignoring you again until you think of leaving and the cycle will repeat.

You can’t go through that again. You won’t go through that again.

“I need a few more minutes,” you tell him as you let him inside of your apartment. 

“Of course. I’ll put these in water for you?”

“You can just leave them on the side if you want. I’ll deal with them later,” you reply. 

“It’s no trouble.”

You really wish that he would just leave the damn flowers alone. After tonight you’re only going to end up throwing them out. By the time you’re finished up and leaving the bedroom, he’s put the roses into a vase of water and set it onto your coffee table.

“Ready?”

The more that you look at him, the more you can see the man that you fell in love with to begin with. The way that he looks and talks to you, touching you, making you feel like the only woman in the world. But, once again, you can’t forget the way he’s been. Going from the most attentive boyfriend ever and then completely ignoring you like you aren’t his girlfriend, just another acquaintance he has on his arm and back again. And other than your heart skipping when he kissed you earlier you’re not feeling anything else. Your heart’s not even skipping anymore.

You haven’t eaten a thing all night. You usually love Alfred’s cooking, but tonight you have absolutely no appetite. It makes you feel worse than you already do, even if Bruce has barely touched his own food. You push your plate away from you.

“Sorry, I’m just not hungry,” you say.

“Same here,” he replies, shoving his own plate away. He sighs before taking a sip of his drink. 

A long awkward silence falls between the two of you. Just as you start to think about saying something, perhaps the words that you have been too chicken to finally say, he breaks the silence.

“It’s over, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, Bruce. I just… I don’t love you anymore.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who’s sorry. It’s my fault. Maybe if I had been more attentive or something. I don’t know. Maybe I could have saved this.”

“I still should have said something sooner.”

“Maybe, but at least this way I got to see you one more time.” Bruce gets up from his seat. “I’ll go get the car and I’ll drive you home.”

“I really am sorry,” Bruce says. His hand is cupping your face, thumb softly stroking your cheek. You expect him to kiss you for the last time, but he doesn’t. He pulls away, letting his hand fall away and back to his side. “Maybe we could have made this work if I was a different person leading a different life or maybe we would have ended up here anyway. I don’t know, but don’t blame yourself, okay?”

You nod. “I think I’m going to miss what we could have been,” you reply. 

“So will I.” He steps forward and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Goodbye,” he says your name softly, as if it hurts him to say it. “Good luck with the rest of your life.” 

“Goodbye Bruce.”

As soon as he’s gone, and you’re back inside of your apartment, you’re pulling your phone out of your purse and dialling Selina’s number.

“I thought you were supposed to be on a date,” her voice comes over the phone, sending butterflies swirling through your stomach.

“I was. Are you home?” you ask. 

“I am. Why?” You picture her smiling, like she already knows why you’re asking.

“I have something to tell you, but honestly, I need to say it in person,” you explain.

“Oh? Well I certainly won’t say no to you coming over. You know my door’s always open to you.”

“Good because I’m on my way over.”

Your heart is hammering against your chest as you stand in front of Selina’s apartment, waiting for her to answer. It feels like forever before the door finally opens, which only makes the butterflies worse. Her hair is flowing over her shoulders and the only thing she’s wearing is a short red silk robe, that’s barely containing her breasts. 

“I broke up with him,” you tell her. 

“Well it’s about time,” she replies. She pulls you close. Her fingertips on your skin, sending electricity jolting through you. One of her hands remains on your arm while the other comes to cup your jaw. Her green eyes flicker down to your lips before quickly returning to your eyes. Understanding her silent question, you make your move and lean in. Your heart is somehow beating even harder, feeling like it’s trying to burst from your chest while everything else seems to slow down. Seconds feel like they trickle by before her lips finally connect with yours, making everything stop.

Selina kisses you slowly and sweetly. Her lips are even softer than you imagined them being. Kissing her is even better than you imagined. Your hands find her hips and you move forward, stepping more into her space until your bodies are touching. She smiles against your lips and pulls away. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” she says. Both of her hands are cupping your face now and that look in her eyes has your stomach doing flips. 

“And you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to do that,” you reply. That makes her laugh softly. 

“Come inside?” she offers. You agree eagerly and let her pull you inside of her apartment. 

The feeling of kisses being pressed to your face slowly bringing you out of your sweat dreams. You grumble as you turn over and try to bury yourself further into the covers. Laughter reaches your ears and has you feeling warm and fuzzy inside. She keeps kissing you. Pressing them to your neck and shoulder blades. You sigh as you finally lift your head and look over your shoulder at Selina.

Playfulness sparkles in her green eyes. Her hair is a mess, but you think she looks as radiant as ever. You sit up and pull her close to kiss her. She kisses you back with fervour and heat rushes through you. Before you know it, she’s straddling you and has you pinned down against the mattress. You whine when she pulls away. You do your best to chase after her lips again, but she holds you down.

“As much as I would love to keep you in bed, we’re only here for a couple more days and we still have a long list of places to check out,” she says. She gets up off of the bed and walks over to the curtains where she pulls them open, letting the daylight into the hotel room and showing the view it has of the Eiffel Tower. 

You and Selina had come here to Paris after visiting and exploring London. Shortly after getting together, you and her had decided you both needed a change of scenery, far away from Gotham. Before the two of you had left she had let you know about her secret double life. 

She didn’t want there to be secrets. She knew how quickly they could break down a relationship so she told you about Catwoman. Stealing from the rich and how she was the East End’s self appointed protector, keeping the women and children safe from the men that prowled the area.

You didn’t believe her to begin with. That was when she showed you her catsuit and her bullwhip. You couldn’t not believe her after that. While it had come as a shock, it didn’t change how you felt about her. You love her.

“Don’t you mean you have a long list of places to case so you can take from them?”

She turns around to face you, hands on her hips, completely unashamed of her nakedness. Not that you’re complaining as you run your eyes over her body. “They’re not all for me. Picked out a few spots that I know you’re going to love.”

As soon as you have showered and you’re dressed, you and Selina leave the hotel. You let her lead the way, like always. First she takes you to a small cafe for breakfast. The food and drink is good, though your company is certainly better. Once you were both done eating she takes you by the hand and you continue your tour of the city. 

She takes you to a couple of different museums, sharing with you her favourite exhibits. And then she’s taking you to almost endless jewellery and clothing stores. Neither of you buy anything from any of the stores you visit, but you know, beyond a doubt, that she is shopping. You don’t know the ins and outs of it, it’s safer that way if the cops come knocking, but in the fifteen minutes you’re in each store, she already knows what she wants and how she’s going to get it without tripping the security systems. And she knows what you want as well, keeping an eye on whatever your eyes linger on for just a moment too long.

As evening time rolls around, you and Selina decide to end your long, yet enjoyable, day at a rooftop restaurant. The Eiffel Tower acting as the backdrop, like you’re in some ridiculous cheesy romance movie. 

Though you both arrived back at the hotel to change for dinner, she leaves long before you. You know why, but if anyone was to ever ask you where she is was on any particular night, you already have an answer. “Yeah, she was with me all night.”

Selina doesn’t leave you waiting at the restaurant for long, arriving five minutes after you. She arrives breathless, but looking perfect. Ringlet curls, a smokey cat eye and purple lipstick that matches her dress. Your mouth almost drops open at the sight of her. 

“I didn’t keep you waiting long, did I?” she asks as she sits down.

“Of course not. You never do,” you reply. 

Dinner goes by quickly which isn’t hard with how caught up you and Selina are with each other. The subtle touches sending goosebumps across your skin and how she looks at you. Only this time there’s no guilty when you think about kissing her. And you can kiss her. Nothing and no one in your way to stop you. And you do love kissing her. 

“I’ve got you something,” she says. She reaches into gift bag she brought with her and presents you with a blue rectangle box, complete with a green bow. It’s light and doesn’t make much noise when you gently shake it. 

You undo the bow and remove the lid. Inside of the box is the diamond bracelet that you had been eyeing up earlier. You smile at the sight. She leans over to help secure it to your wrist.

“You shouldn’t have.” 

She shrugs. “It’s not like it cost much,” she laughs.

After dinner, you go for a walk together through a nearby park. You walk hand in hand, talking and laughing quietly. She suddenly stops in her tracks and before you can ask what’s wrong she kisses you. It’s not a peck either. Her full lips move against yours, tongue working your mouth open and stealing away your breath. Not that it’s hard for her to do that.

She rests her forehead and you can’t stop thinking about how happy you are. It’s strange for you to think that there had once been a moment not too long ago when you had thought you knew what happiness was. You had been wrong. Standing here with her, you know what real happiness is supposed to be.

“Let’s sit,” she says. You agree, thankful for the chance to sit, your heels are starting to hurt. She leads you toward a nearby bench where you take a seat.

With that feeling of happiness that’s flowing through you and the realisation you have come to, you decide to take a chance.

“I love you, Selina,” you tell her. 

She looks a bit taken back which has you panic. Is it way too soon to say that? It only lasts a moment though as she smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling before she’s leaning back in to kiss you again. 

“I love you too,” she replies. Hearing those four words has your heart feeling like it might burst from how happy you are. You can’t hide your huge smile, nor would you want to. She then leans in close and lightly strokes your hair. “How about we go back to our hotel room and, should we make it the bed, we won’t leave it for all of tonight and tomorrow hmm?”

You agree eagerly.

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

According to yesterday's reports, about HALF A MILLION Israelis are currently displaced and homeless. The number is expected to rise as the war progresses, when Hamas and Hezbollah will intensify their rocket fire into Israel.

These next pictures only begin to explain the scale of devastation in Israel. The picture on the left was taken before Hamas' massacre, the one on the right after.

Since Oct 7, BBC has refused to call Hamas "terrorists," instead they preferred the terms "militants" or "gunmen." When criticized for it, BBC brought in one of their top reporters to explain that it is not the BBC's place to judge who is a terrorist. Yesterday, when a man killed two Swedish soccer fans in Belgium, right away the BBC referred to the killing as a "terror attack."

This is the kind of bias that makes your Jewish friends feel unsafe.

Another thing that makes Jews everywhere afraid is this, it's a speech made by a Cornell University professor, speaking about how exhilarating the Hamas massacre of innocent men, women, children and babies is, and how thrilled he was. According to him, any one of us that was not exhilarated by the beheading of civilians is not actually human.

Another personal story, this time of a little boy, who was murdered on his birthday, and no family members were there to attend the funeral, because they had all been slaughtered by Hamas, too.

An Israeli Arab officer saved countless lives when he realized what was happening, took off his army shirt, and called out to the Hamas terrorists in Arabic. Believing he's one of their own, they came out of their hiding places, and he was able to take them out.

A video was released by Hamas yesterday, showing one of the hostages, badly wounded in her arm, saying she's physically alright. Analysis of the New York Times shows it was filmed 6 days ago, casting doubt on what her state might be now.

I've posted these two bits of info separately, but I'll post again, because this is important if you want to understand Gaza right now.

Hamas stole fuel and medical supplies from UNRWA, the UN agency designated with helping the Palestinians.

2. A convoy of evacuees was mistakenly reported to have been hit by Israeli missiles, but after further investigations, no missiles were launched at it. The likely culprit of blowing up the convoy is Hamas, whose terrorists have been desperate to kill the civilian population of Gaza as human shields.

Lastly, more info about why the process of identification for the bodies is so difficult...

Some of the bodies will never be identified. Some of the bodies will never be identified. I am once again thrown to the post I made where I tried to explain why Hamas' atrocities, while nowhere near the scale of what the Nazis did, echo the horrors of the Holocaust to me. I never, not in a million years, thought that in my lifetime we'll be talking again about the bodies of Jews that are too disfigured to ever be identified.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[greg-montgomery]

any other world - part 2

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader - soulmate au

series masterlist

A/N: there’s no cheating in this story i promise

this chapter is nsfw! minors pls dni

(21)

The sound of another thunder startled you and almost caused you to spill red wine all over the place as you emptied the bottle inside your glass.

Aaron had big plans for that night, fancy restaurant and everything, but the heavy thunderstorm left you no choice but to stay in. You genuinely didn’t mind. You loved nights in with him, feeling like he was only for you.

Full from the pizza you had made earlier, he was laying on the floor with his head on your lap, staring up at you with a drunken smile. You took a big sip from your glass and ran your finger across his face, starting from his forehead, going down his nose and reaching his lips.

He grabbed your hand and brought your wrist to his lips, and as if he was some kind of vampire he bit your wrist. “I wish I could just chew these two letters up and spit them out,” he said, referring to the initials of your own soulmate.

“Can you chew up yours too while you’re at it?”

Aaron reached his hand up to your face and rubbed his thumb on your cheek. “Do you ever get jealous of her?”

“All the time.”

“I’m jealous of the bastard you haven’t even met yet too.”

You grinned at his words, and the gentle stroke on the side of your face turned into a grab of your chin. “You enjoy that, don’t you?” he asked.

“Mhm…” you said, nodding.

He sat up and brought his face close to yours, staring at your lips. “Torturing me…ever since I can remember us.”

“Aw, my poor boy…” you cooed, and gave him a sweet kiss. Already dizzy - a little from the wine and a little from Aaron’s mouth on you - you accidentally spilled what was left in your glass on his shirt.

“Shit, sorry!”

“The lengths you go to just to see me shirtless...” he said, shaking his head in disapproval before taking his shirt off.

You giggled and threw yourself into his arms, quietly begging for another kiss. He was more than happy to give it to you.

“Can I take you here, on the floor?” he whispered.

“Please.”

He gently laid you down and you observed him, letting him undress you and himself.

Growing a bit possessive of him after the events of that year wasn’t something you could really blame yourself for. Staring at him and seeing that deep desire in his eyes made you feel good about yourself. You were the one he wanted so desperately to see naked, you were the one making him hard, you were the one that would make him feel good.

But you weren’t the only one growing possessive. Ever since your own mark had appeared, Aaron was leaving marks all over your body as if it was a competition. Yes you had another man’s initials on your wrist, but it was Aaron’s mouth that had touched every part of your body, and those marks were the evidence.

You wrapped your legs around him and let him fuck you slowly, welcoming every word of praise he would give you.

“You take me so well.”

“Fuck you feel good.”

“Made for me, weren’t you?”

You could swear that sometimes his voice felt as good as his cock.

--

(22)

“Aaron!”

A familiar voice stopped him from walking into the bookshop he had his eye on. The girl had raised her hand to catch his attention, in case her calling out his name wasn’t enough. Her excited smile made him almost sad, so he put on a happy smile to match her energy.

“Haley…I haven’t seen you in a while. How you’ve been?”

“I’m good! Just got a new job, so I’m spending my first paycheck as a reward,” she laughed, and showed him the bags she was holding.

Aaron couldn’t help but laugh with her. “Well, no better feeling, is there?”

“Nope.” Her smile met her eyes. “How are you?” she asked.

“Good. Shopping as well,” he answered, hesitating to get into more details. Maybe it would be hurtful to tell her he was shopping for his girlfriend’s birthday.

Haley had been really understanding and respectful of his feelings, and he didn’t want to hurt hers any further than he already had.

“Books?” she asked, pointing at the bookshop they were standing outside of.

“Yeah.”

“Mind if I join you?”

--

[11.59 pm]

Your phone was in your hand, waiting for your boyfriend to call. He’d call you and sing happy birthday in a very dramatic and very off key tone exactly at midnight, and right after he’d show up with an equally dramatic bouquet of flowers.

It had been a tradition for eight years now and even though you teased him for being too much, you loved that kind of attention on your special day. He never failed to make you feel like a princess.

But then midnight hit, and your phone didn’t ring. Not five minutes later, not ten, not even fifteen.

At exactly 12.30 am, your doorbell rang instead.

Aaron was hiding behind a huge bouquet of roses.

It was just thirty minutes. It was just the half of an hour. It isn’t important. It doesn’t mean anything.

You kept repeating that to yourself when he apologized for being late, for breaking the tradition, for getting you worried. You repeated it when he gave you a first edition of your favorite book. You repeated it when he hugged you, and the scent of another woman’s perfume on his coat made your stomach drop.

--

(45)

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

Aaron hadn’t heard your voice in such a long time, that you talking to him would have melted him entirely if it wasn’t for the context of your words. Were you in danger?

He opened his mouth but his voice wouldn’t come out.

“Can we come in?” you asked, your own voice trembling.

We?

His eyes travelled down your body and they caught something moving under your long coat. A tiny arm was wrapped around your leg and a pair of beautiful eyes that looked just like yours looked up at him.

“Of course,” he finally answered.

He stepped aside and made room so you could walk inside his house. You took the hand of the little girl that was attached to your body and entered his home.

A burning feeling of protectiveness took over his chest. If someone had hurt the two of you, he would make sure they’d never see the light of the day again.

He checked the hallway for any suspicious movement and after making sure it was safe, he followed you into the house and locked his door.

“Y/N,” he said, but you raised your hand to cut him off.

“I’ll explain everything. We’re fine. I just…I needed a safe place…and some legal advice.”

“Who are you hiding from?”

“My husband. Ex-husband.”

His blood boiled. If that man had laid a hand on you or your daughter he would burn him alive.

“Are you alone?” you asked.

“Yeah. It’s just me and my son. He’s sleeping.”

A sweet expression appeared on your face at the mention of his son. He could relate to the feeling of seeing the person you grew up with being a parent.

You were kids just yesterday. And now you had your own.

Your little girl was looking up at him, with an intimidated expression. He was aware that his large frame and angry eyebrows could maybe scare a kid. So he walked closer, squatted down and smiled at her.

“Hello, little one.”

She waved instead of replying, but that was enough for him. She seemed more shy that scared.

“I’m Hotch. What’s your name?” he asked, gently.

“Leila.”

Aaron looked up at you, and found you already staring at him. He knew that the same memory of the two of you planning your future had flashed in front of your eyes.

“Nice to meet you Leila. You’re safe here with me, okay?”

She nodded her head a few times. “Okay. Mommy said you are best friends.”

“We are,” he answered, without a second thought.

tag list: @magical-spit @lilsunshine1092 @hiraethrhapsody @cult-of-enji-todoroki @emo-markie @jxvipike @ttokkisbee @geminitapestry @rae-pottah @the-night-viewer @i-am-funsize @louderfortheback @hasu-ko @rousethemouse @hotchs-bitch

[freakyformula]

Pretty like the sun part two

Summary: Reader is a huge Lewis fan and is attending her first race in her life with her brother. She catches Lewis eye and he instantly falls for her.

Writers comment: -

Warnings: Reader is referred to as she/her, reader has a brother, age gap but readers age is not specified.

Word count: about 3,5k

Y/N= Your Name and Y/N/B= Your Name's Brother

Thursday evening

Y/N POV

"His father is coming here on Sunday? I've always looked up to Anthony, he seems like a good father to Lewis. I hope I get a few words with him" Her brother says to himself.

"Lewis asked me about our parents too…" She started. "I told him about them and what they made us go through as kids."

Her brother stayed quiet and she couldn't decide if he disapproved of what she had told the brit or if he was okay with her sharing such personal details about their family.

"How did he react?" He asks

"He thought it was unfair, I guess." She said, thinking back on what he really said. She couldn't admit that Lewis had told her how she deserved to be worshipped and loved like royalty.

She and her brother had arrived at the hotel and checked in. They figured a twin-size room would be enough when they made arrangements a couple of months ago in order to save money. It made perfect sense at the time. But all she wanted now was to undress, take a refreshing bath and lounge on the bed, naked. She needed some space to think. Her brother kept talking as if The Lewis Hamilton hadn't gotten them paddock passes and spoiled them a couple of hours earlier. That was so him, always seemingly calm and collected. She on the other hand, was ready to explode.

Her brother seemed completely oblivious to her nervousness and lack of effort to keep up with his conversation. He must have caught up at some point because he finally stopped talking and looked at her.

"Are you okay? You're awfully quiet, you're not mad I hope?" He asks his sister.

"No! No, I'm not mad." She responds, giving him a weak smile.

"Thinking about Lewis, then?" He asks, afraid to piss his sister off.

"Yeah… I guess I'm just imagining things?"

Her brother seems to ponder for a minute, carefully thinking of a good answer.

"You know what? I know you, and I know that you have a good intuition, so trust it." He says as he sits down on the bed beside her.

"I don't even know if I want to go back to the paddock." She sniffles.

Her brother looks at her with sadness in his eyes and offers her a hug which she accepts with open arms.

They do their evening routines and call it an early night.

She hadn't been able to sleep all night, her thoughts kept racing and she couldn't stop thinking of Lewis and their chemistry the day before. This was more than she ever could have hoped for, not even in her dreams would she even dare to think that Lewis would show this much interest in her. What were his intentions with her exactly? She was dying to know but she knew she would be too nervous to ask. She had been his fan ever since he was a rookie in Formula 1. She knew every single detail about him, his birthday, his exes, she had even memorized most of his race wins. She knew everything about him, and she was the one being madly in love with him no matter how much she hated to admit it, and yet, now when she had the chance to cheer him on the whole weekend, she didn't dare to.

Friday

She's awakened by the sound of her brother scrolling on tiktok. Her brother was up early, way too early for her liking.

She throws one of her pillows his way in a desperate attempt to make him understand to turn the volume down but he manages to dodge it before it does any harm.

She'd managed to sleep for a couple of hours in the early morning. She could sleep a couple of more hours but in that case, she would miss the official start of the race weekend.

Reluctantly, she gets up from the warm bed. She groans in discomfort, and practically drags herself to the shower. When the warm stream of water hits her naked body, she finally feels herself slowly waking up from her slumber.

She looks at herself in the mirror and gasps.

The bags under her eyes are staring at her just as intently as she is staring at them.

She panics for a couple of seconds until she takes a few deep breaths. She remembers that she packed undereye cooling patches. For once, overpacking seemed to pay off.

She puts them on as she's putting together an outfit. She decides on a black midi dress.

It complements all of her features perfectly.

She does her skincare as usual and notes that she can barely see her undereye bags.

"Thank fuck…" She mutters to herself.

She applies some mascara just like the day before and gives her hair a good blow dry to maximize volume.

They have a quick breakfast at the hotel before they leave for the track.

Lewis POV

He had a good nights sleep behind him. He woke up with a smile on his lips as the first thing that came to his mind as he awoke was her.

Last night he was thinking, on his way back to the hotel. Was he too blunt and forward with her earlier? Was he about to scare her away? These were all questions he wanted answered. He knew she was timid. On the other hand, he had taken care to not come across as flirty, deciding that acting friendly would be the most appropriate choice.

He had a quick workout scheduled with Angela and he ate a light breakfast after. He made his way to the paddock in good time before FP1. He sat in his drivers room, having already changed into his fireproofs and his race suit was tied around his hips until someone from the Mercedes staff knocked on his door to let him know that his friends had arrived.

Lewis felt his heart skip a beat. Finally, he would get to meet her again! He quickly jumped into his racing shoes and found his way down to the garage.

He looks around and finally sees them, at the same spot as the day before. Both seemingly waiting for him nervously. She looks even more nervous today than yesterday.

"Y/N, Y/N/B! I'm so happy to see you both!" Lewis exclaims, holding out his arms.

Y/N POV

Lewis walks towards her and her brother with a wide smile and seems to expect a hug from her. She reluctantly walks towards him and they meet halfway, accepting the hug he offers.

"Hi Lewis." She chuckles and looks down, feeling flustered.

"I know this sounds crazy but I've missed you." Lewis admits.

She looks up at him with a confused look on her face. Confusion soon turns to a smile. She turns to her brother for moral support, and he walks up and gives Lewis a handshake.

"Once again, thank you for letting us stay here, Lewis!" He says.

"Oh, don't worry about it! Thank you for being such good company yesterday." Lewis waves off her brothers concern.

Lewis is called off to prepare for FP1 but before he leaves the siblings, he follows them to the seating area of the garage.

"Good luck!" Her brother says and sits down.

"Drive carefully, yeah?" She asks him and that earns her a smile from Lewis.

"Are you worried about my safety, Y/N?" Lewis asks.

She looks at her brother, waiting for instructions on what to say. "I guess I am." She finally admits.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine. Remember, I'm not a 7-time world champion in vain." He winks at her before he walks off to make final preparations and go through the final details with Bono.

The siblings follow the whole 90-minute session carefully and with much nervosity.

"He's doing fine so far" They ascertain.

She glances over at her brother that is biting on his nails and fidgeting with the buttons of his navy blue shirt.

Her brother wasn't usually cheering on anyone specific but today, he would only cheer on Lewis. Her brother hasn't admitted it yet but she knows that he's impressed with Lewis. He would admit that Lewis is one of the best in Formula 1 history but he wouldn't let more than that slide. Her brother used to be a big Kimi and Seb fan, especially when they were teammates at Ferrari. Now they're both retired and she's guessing he still hasn't found anyone worthy of cheering on. She knows he has a weak spot for Daniel and his humour, and judging from their laughs yesterday, they got on really well.

Lewis seems to struggle a bit, coming to the pit every couple of laps to make modifications and tiny changes to the car. George is doing better and gets some solid laps in. At last, with a couple of minutes to spare, Lewis gets a couple of good laps in too.

Lewis ends up 5th, after Lando at 1st, Oscar at 2nd, Max at 3rd, and his teammate, George at 4th.

Lewis looks disappointed when he unbuckles and gets out of the car, shoulders slumped and shaking his head. He walks up to Toto and Bono to discuss the issues with the car. After a while, he looks their way and gives them a wave. Her brother takes that as an invitation to walk over to the brit and drags her with him.

"Toto, Bono… This is Y/N/B and Y/N!"

The siblings shake hands with the men and they all agree to have lunch together.

Her brother is talking away with Bono as he's studying mechanical engineering himself and is interested in the topic.

Lewis excuses himself to go and change, but before she can panic Toto takes over.

"I saw you walking around the garage with Lewis, how do you know each other?" Toto asks, obviously nosy.

She thinks about telling a white lie at first but decides to tell the truth. "We don't actually, he invited us in here yesterday."

Toto stares at her with a confused look and continues, "That's interesting, he's never done that before. But I trust his judgement, you're both very welcome to the Mercedes family!" He says as he gives her a reassuring pat on her shoulder.

Before she can thank him Lewis walks up behind her and startles her.

"Oops, I'm so sorry Y/N." Lewis says as he quickly puts his hand on her back to keep her steady.

She sees Toto and Lewis exchanging a grin with each other and all four of them walk off to hospitality for lunch.

Lewis eats light while the rest eat to their hearts content. The british food has never tasted better.

"We're sorry if we keep indulging you, Lewis." Her brother cringes as he realises, putting down his pudding.

Lewis only responds with a shake of his head and encourages them to keep eating.

As they're all done, they walk down to the garage again.

All of a sudden your brother realises that he's supposed to meet up with Daniel and Yuki before FP2. She panics slightly, not wanting to be left alone in the garage. Lewis looks around for someone from the crew who could keep her company.

Toto looks at her and decides to take her under his wing.

"You can go, I'll keep an eye on her" He says with a reassuring tone.

She instantly calms down, knowing that Toto would take very well care of her. He takes her to his chair and sets another chair down next to his.

"Here, you can sit here with me if you want." Toto smiles down at her.

He's tall, and yet, she feels comfortable with him instantly. He's got that look to him, his aura oozes over with kindness.

"Would you like to see my drivers room, Y/N?" Lewis asks. She looks between Toto and Lewis, looking for permission to say yes, perhaps.

"Y-yeah" She says while looking at him with wide eyes.

"You need to hurry" Toto yells after them as they leave for the second floor.

The room was dull, a sofa, a desk and a wardrobe with everything a Formula 1 driver could possibly need. Lewis walks over to the sofa and sits down.

"What do you think?" He asks.

"About…?" She teases.

"The room!" He laughs.

"Well… it's tastefully grey and small." She says, sarcasm evident in her tone. "The carpet is the ugliest thing I've ever laid my eyes on" She adds. Lewis laughs and watches her sit down on the chair at his desk. She crosses her legs and waits for him to say something, but he never does. He just sits there, with that wide adorable smile of his.

She can feel the butterflies fluttering in her chest and stomach and looks down in order to avoid his eyes.

"Why did you bring me here?" She finally asks and looks directly at him.

He surely didn't expect that question because he scratches his neck and looks away, staring at himself in the mirror instead. Finally, he gets up and kneels before her.

Lewis POV

Panic, what was he going to say?

That he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen? That he was falling for her, hard? That he had their future already planned out in his head?

No, he can't do that to her. He needs to take it easy, for her and their relationships sake.

"So, Y/N…." Before he gets the chance to continue his door flies open and a stressed George walks in.

"Fuck sake mate, have you ever heard of knocking?!" Lewis exclaims, clearly annoyed about the intrusion.

"Yeah, fuck sake! FP2 starts in 10 minutes!" George argues back.

Lewis groans, quickly apologizing for how things turned out. He leads her back to the garage and places her next to Toto.

"See you later?" Lewis softly asks her.

"I'm sure you'll find me in the same spot" She says as Lewis pats her back and turns his heel and jumps into the car, feeling ready for FP2.

Y/N POV

"Nervous?" Toto asks.

"A little…" She admits. "Do you ever get used to it?"

Toto looks her in the eyes, "Yes you do, it only takes a couple of weekends. Maybe it's different when it's a loved one in the car." Clearly assuming that her and Lewis are more than friends.

"I-I'm sorry, me and Lewis are only friends. Nothing more." She quickly counters.

"I've seen the way Lewis looks at you, that's all I'm going to say." He says and looks away at the screens.

Toto hands her a headset to wear during the session. She listens in to Lewis and the communication between the mechanics and engineers.

"Good job, George! Now, Lewis, do you think you're be able to pull off a P1 or 2?" Toto asks his number one driver. George had just given Toto the best time of the session, placing himself first. Lewis drives the lap of his life and puts himself first, most likely disappointing George in the process. Never did she think she'd be have a chance to look at a Mercedes 1-2 this weekend.

Working on some last details on the car had paid off and the whole team seemed hopeful for a win this weekend. Especially Toto, who sat staring at the data with a grin on his face.

He tears his stare from the screen as he escorts her to Lewis who happily takes her into his arms, surprising her.

"Only friends, huh?" Toto teases.

Lewis gives his boss a nudge, probably wishing for him to shut his mouth.

"I need to shower and do my interviews, will you wait for me at my drivers room? If you want to, we can meet up with your brother and maybe have dinner? I know a small Italian restaurant not far from here."

"Sounds like a good plan, Lewis. I'll wait for you." She says and starts navigating her way to his drivers room. As she's walking up the stairs she crashes into George. She lets out an audible gasp as she runs into the taller Brit.

"I'm so sorry, I-I really didn't mean to!" She panics, worried about getting on anyone's nerves.

"Heyyyy, I know you! You're the girl from earlier!" He says as he recognizes her from the awkward encounter in Lewis's room.

"I didn't want us to be introduced like that, I'm sorry." She says as she offers him a handshake, "Hi, I'm Y/N!"

George grabs her hand as he greets her, as he's quietly judging her.

"Well hi, I'm George, it's a pleasure to meet you Y/N." He smiles down at her. She feels her nervosity melting away as they make small talk.

As they talk, she realizes that George is even nicer than she imagined he'd be. Is everyone at Mercedes this nice? So far, everyone she had met at the garage treated her like a princess.

George looks at his watch and gasps. "Shit, I need to find Carmen before I get in trouble. See you around Y/N!" And with that, he walks off.

She continues up the stairs to Lewis room. As she sees the sofa, she walks up to it and crashes down. She must have dozed off for a bit because she didn't hear anyone walking in. Only when she feels them touch her arm lighty she bolt up.

"Hey, you were asleep. It's just me." Lewis takes her hands and holds them.

She grounds herself and works out where she is.

"Ready to go find your brother?" Lewis asks. She nods as an answer and they take off. It wasn't hard to find him, he was sitting at the Red Bull garage with Max, Daniel and Yuki. They seemed to be enjoying each others company, laughing hilariously at some dry joke her brother cracked. They walk up to the group and her brother quickly gets up as soon as he sees them. Lewis introduces her to the drivers.

"Daniel, Max, Yuki…" He nods at each of them, "This is Y/N, Y/N/B's sister." The drivers stand up to greet her.

"We were actually planning on going out for dinner, care to join?" Lewis asks her brother.

"Of course!" He says as he waves his goodbyes to the other drivers.

"Hey, what about me?! I feel discriminated!" Daniel blurts out.

The trio look at each other and shrug.

"You can come, as long as you behave" Lewis laughs as he gives Daniel a teasing push.

"Hey, I always behave!" Daniel grins at his rival.

The walk to the restaurant went by quickly, they spoke about their results and the interviewers outrageous questions. Daniel and Lewis were really interested in getting to know the siblings and they both took in the moment they had with the drivers.

The restaurant was small and run by an older couple. The interior reminded her of her grandparent's house, warm and cozy.

The two drivers order diet-friendly alternatives, Lewis settling for vegan bean soup and Daniel deciding on stuffed bell peppers. She orders a lentil pasta and her brothers goes for a mushroom pizza. The food was fantastic, and so was the company. Lewis had the genious idea of making a WhatsApp group so they could keep in touch with each other. They ate and talked for what felt like an hour but in reality was four hours at least.

When the server comes with the bill Lewis is the first to bring out his card to pay. Despite everyone's protests, he insists.

When they get out again the sun has set and it's dark. She can feel the air threatening to chill her skin.

"Cold?" Lewis asks.

"A little but it's fine." She shrugs.

Lewis takes his jean jacket off and throws it over her shoulders.

"Wouldn't want you to get sick…" Lewis smiles down at her.

Her brother and Daniel were deep in conversation and didn't notice Lewis and her walking falling behind them, walking slower and getting closer.

"Can I say something, Y/N?" Lewis starts off.

She turns to him, "Of course you can, what's wrong?"

"It's about what I was about to say earlier." He grabs her arm and pulls her closer. "I know we just met but I don't think I can forget about you when I leave for the next race." He says loud enough so only she can hear his words.

"Will you go on a date with me? A real date, without your brother or other distractions, just us two?" Lewis asks, clearly nervous.

She looks at him with wide eyes, unable to process what she just heard her idol say.

"Why me, Lewis?" She asks, tears of joy and fear in her eyes.

"Oh darling, because you're perfect. You're everything I've ever hoped for. I want to at least give this a chance and if it doesn't work out, we can just stay friends? I don't want to lose you."

She's about to open her mouth to speak but as she does she feels Lewis leaning closer, making her flinch away.

"Sorry, it's too early for that." He admits. "Come on, I'll walk you back to the h-"

"I would love to go on a date with you, Lewis. It's just that… I've never done anything like this before and to be honest, I'm really scared and clueless." She says everything that's been building up these last two days.

"We will take it slow, would you be okay with that, Y/N?" He looks deep in her eyes as they keep walking. "What about a date after the race on sunday? How does that sound to you?"

"Sounds good to me" She smiles to herself.

They arrive at their hotel as her brother and Daniel is waiting for the two slowpokes to catch up.

[blackreaderfics]

Tell Me How You Really Feel | Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader

↳ Pairing : Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader

↳ Rating :  T

↳ Summary : You're a new Titan and the stern and serious team leader Dick Grayson treats you like you don’t exist. Convinced that he hates you, you confront him about what his issue with you truly is.

↳ W.C : ~2.1K

↳ Tags: fluff, misunderstandings, aggressively shy boy dick, mild language, this is Titans DC!verse y'all, dickkory hasn't happened yet, there’s some mild Jason Todd x Reader in here if you squint.

Titans Tower had never been more festive. Gold foil streamers hung along the rafters, Gar’s disco lights spun across the dimly lit common room, and Jason’s playlist boomed on their surround sound speakers. Everyone had now abandoned the living room and gathered in the kitchen, party hats and all, but you lingered behind scrolling through your phone.

As much as being a Titan was hard work, they always made sure to take time to celebrate holidays and birthdays. And after officially becoming a Titan, you were thankful to have friends who actually cared about you, a team who had your back. 

You smiled at the camera roll full of pictures you had snapped with the team: one with a big bear hug from Dawn, another of you happily sandwiched in between Conner and Gar, a selfie with Jason, and one of Rachel, Kory, and you making silly faces. When you flipped to a shot of you and the man of the hour, Dick Grayson, you paused with a frown. 

Hank had ushered you and Dick together for a picture, but you knew he was just trying to get you two to get along. It was no secret that everyone could notice the weird tension the team leader had with their new recruit, but Hank was probably the only one bold enough to voice it out loud.

“How about one with birthday boy, new kid?” Hank snatched your phone from your hands and dragged Dick over by the arm. He hadn’t so much as looked your direction the whole day; in fact, it was like you didn’t even exist to him. You got used to it over time, but it was even worse when others pointed it out. 

“Get closer together,” The brawny man insisted from behind the camera but neither of you moved. Hank lowered the phone and gave you a desperately pointed look. You took a small step closer to Dick and you could feel him tense up. 

“Dick who fucking peed in your cereal today? It’s your birthday act like it.” You glanced up at the man everyone referred to as leader next to you briefly. He looked like he would rather be anywhere but next to you. 

“Smile,” Hank said, which was rather ironic since it seemed he was the only one smiling.

You felt mortified seeing the picture now juxtaposed with the scene in the kitchen in front of you. In the picture, Dick looked uncomfortable—angry even—that he had to even stand next to you let alone take a picture with you. But in the kitchen, however, he stood in front of a birthday cake ready to blow out the candles, smiling at everybody but you. 

Jason, who had come to the living room to pause his playlist, raised an eyebrow at you. “You coming for the cake or you just gonna stare into space all day?” 

You nodded, breaking yourself out of your thoughts. He gave you a weird look, begging an answer but a short “Sorry,” was all you could give him before following the teen into the kitchen. 

Kory latched onto your arm, giving it a squeeze when you joined their circle around the table. “Dick was just singing our praises, you almost missed it.”

“Yea, he was getting all sappy on us,” Gar piped up to tease. “‘Gar, you’re like a brother to me,’” he quoted dramatically before pretending to gag. 

You cracked a smile at the green-haired boy. He always knew how to make everyone laugh. When your eyes flashed over to your team leader, you saw that he was smiling too. You envied that smile that he gave so easily to others. When your eyes met briefly, he looked away almost immediately and that smile turned into something like a grimace.

You frowned and looked away too. One look at you had stolen every bit of joy away from him in that split second. More than being sad, you were embarrassed. It was like he didn’t even think you deserved to be looked at, like you didn’t deserve your place as a Titan.

Jason looked from you to Dick and scratched his head in frustrated confusion. Rachel broke the silence by clearing her throat. “Anyway, how about some cake—”

“No wait, Rach I’m really curious.” Jason finally spoke up. “He still needs to tell us what he thinks about us. All of us.”

Jason stared at the elder Wayne brother with an intensity that rivaled their previous spats. If there was one thing Jason hated, it was authority and unfairness. And to Jason, Dick’s ignoring you was an extremely biased assertion of his role as leader.

“Here we go,” Rachel said rolling her eyes. “Can’t we ever have one birthday party without arguing?”

“No actually, the kid’s right!” Hank raised his voice, gesticulating towards you as if you weren’t even in the room. “Hey, what the hell’s your problem with her?”

Dawn put her head in her hands with a groan. “I can’t believe we’re doing this right now.”

Dick’s eyes were now boring into yours, jaw set with a clench. You stared back, eyes threatening to spill tears at all the unwanted attention now turning towards you in the room. He redirected his attention back to Jason.

“If you must know, Jason. I think you’re a huge pain in the ass.” Dick smirked, bringing back some levity into the room. You could feel the tension in the room relax and everyone seemed relieved for it.

“Ok, we knew that,” Jason continued exasperatedly, “And?” He motioned for the elder to continue, nodding his head toward you rather unsubtly.

“A-And—” He faltered in his speech, flickering his gaze at you. “She’s—” He blinked in surprise when your gazes met and quickly looked down, unwilling to continue.

That was enough for you. You didn’t want to stick around anymore. Not when you could feel tears already escaping down your cheek. You tore away from the table, wiping the wetness from your face furiously. 

“Y/N!” Jason called after you only to be held back by Gar. 

You slammed the door and locked it behind you, throwing yourself on the bed. Now you knew what your team leader really thought of you, and it was absolutely nothing, nothing at all. You didn’t mean anything to him. You weren’t a friend and even much less a teammate. What was the point of being part of a team, if the team leader hated your existence? What was the point of all that training if he never even let you do anything? You were excluded from most missions and left to stay behind because it was “too dangerous”. At this point, you were about as important to him as a plastic bag.

A knock came at the door. You curled into your pillow even more. It was probably Dick being forced to apologize to you. 

He knocked again and you felt the anger in your chest rising. You suddenly had the urge to tell him off. Fuck the fact that he was technically your superior. You had so much patience due to your poor upbringing that you had let his mistreatment slide. You thought that was just how things were as part of a team and you just had to deal with it. But now that even the team was calling him out on it, you couldn’t ignore it any further. 

You opened the door to find Dick standing outside, arm still outstretched in mid-knock. He blinked back his surprise and settled back into the neutral “leader-like” expression you hated so much. 

“We need to talk. Can I come in?” He waited for you to respond. Upon seeing your angry glare, he took a short inhale. “Please Y/N.”

Your heart stuttered against your will. It had been the first time he’d addressed you by name and there was something else stirring in his eyes. His face wore a vulnerability you’d never seen on him before. You stepped aside warily, letting him in.

When the door closed behind you, you spun around wildly to face him. 

“What the fuck is your problem with me, Grayson? Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you—” You hated the fact that you were tearing up again.

“I don’t hate you.” He cut in lamely. When your eyes met, he held your gaze briefly breaking to looking off to the side again. 

“See? What the fuck? You can barely even look at me. Hank had to force you to even stand next to me. How the hell am I supposed to be a part of this team if the leader can’t even pretend to like me? Just admit you can’t fucking stand me.” You continued airing your grievances out at him, growing more agitated at the man’s silence. “Fucking say something!”

“I don’t hate you,” He said again, jaw set sternly. He took a step forward, and you took a step back. “I don’t want to look at you.” Another step. Another step back.

“W-what?” Your back was at the door, and he was now standing—towering— over you.

“I don’t want to stand next to you.”

“I…don’t understand.” You furrowed your brow in confusion, searching his eyes for the meaning behind his words. His professional poise had disappeared and was replaced with something else—something darker. Nothing made sense anymore; He said he didn't want to stand next to you, but you were now practically breathing the same air. 

“And you’re right. I can’t fucking stand you.”

You flinched at his words. Admittedly, you had been cursing at him the whole time since he’d entered your room, but he rarely cursed, and hearing him repeat your words back at you gave you pause. 

You tried to move but he kept you caged in on either side of his arms. You had enough; you heard enough, and now you just wanted him gone. Once he was out of your room, you could resign yourself to ignoring each other for the rest of your time on the team. Fuck him.

“Thanks. I got it the first time so just let me go.” You were hurt, and whenever you tried to mask your feelings, sarcasm came out as a defense mechanism. When he didn’t budge to let you move, you pushed against his chest. “Let me go, Grayson,” you applied more pressure to his chest as a warning. You wouldn’t hesitate to use your powers to make him move.

Dick leaned back, allowing for more space between you. You caught your breath, relishing the newfound breathing space. Instead of letting you go fully, he circled your right wrist keeping it at his chest. You felt his heartbeat erratically pulsing under your palm. 

“I can’t be near you. I…I can’t even hear myself think.” He spoke a little quieter now,  splaying his fingers flat against your hand deepening the pressure on his chest. His heart was beating faster now. “That’s all I can fucking hear.” Seeing that you got the point he was referring to his heartbeat, he released your hand. You watched his throat bob as he swallowed thickly. His face looked flushed.  

 “I can barely look at you because then…you’d probably notice.” He mumbled the last part but you heard him quite clearly. He looked more boyish than ever as he stood before you.

“I’d probably notice…?” You trailed off, hoping he would continue. You were curious mostly not as to what he would say, but how he would say it.

“Don’t make me say it, Y/N” Dick grimaced again. You had come to know this look as disdain, but with the man’s revelation, you were beginning to see that expression in a new light. He looked more embarrassed than anything, and now the tips of his ears began to burn a bright red. Holy Shit. This is what Dick Grayson was like when he had a crush. 

“I can’t pretend to like you because…I already like you. Like a lot. I can’t stop thinking about you-mmph“

You pulled him down by the collar and into a kiss. His initial surprise from your sudden interruption melted into passion as he deepened it, hungrily grasping at your waist to pull you closer to him.

You stopped kissing him for a moment to stare seriously up at him. “What about for missions? You never let me come.” You were beginning to put 2 and 2 together for all the other stuff like the times he would make that weird face at you, or avoid you completely. But you still couldn’t see why, as an active member he wouldn’t let you participate in missions.

“You,” He said simply. He was looking at you fondly now, eyelids languid and lazy as his thumbs rubbed circles into your waist. 

“What about me?” 

“You’re distracting.” His gaze flitted to your lips, “To me specifically.” He added, looking at you with such an innocent honesty that you could only partly contain your laugh.

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” You groaned feigning annoyance. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” 

“Tell me how you really feel.” He grinned dumbly into your lips as you pulled him down into another kiss. 

©️ blackreaderfics // credit to cafekitsune for the dividers

[oddsconvert]

Shattered #10 - Happy Birthday, August! Part III

Previous / Masterlist

CW: kidnapped whumpee, captivity (kinda/kinda not), defiant whumpee, whumpee thinks caretaker is a whumper, forced to kidnap references, vampire caretaker, threat of violence/death, weapons, adult language (pls let me know if I've forgotten any!)

AND FINALLY! THE LAST PART FOR AUGUST AND LUCAS' BACKSTORY! 🎉 Thank you so much for your guys' patience, with this one - it means everything <3 We resume with our usually scheduled Declan next chapter! 😍 And a mahoosive thank you to @darkthingshappen for her beta and help!

---

August feels like a stranger in his own home. A prisoner in his own home; his sanctuary now nothing more than a gilded cage. He is forever and always a captive of his own compassion and a victim of his cowardice. 

But August curses himself for daring to think like that. It’s unjust to think like that, especially on a night like tonight. The frantic hammering of a human heartbeat upstairs is his bleak reminder that he’s not alone anymore, and yet somehow… he’s never felt more alone in his life. The quiet has never screamed so loud, and the walls stretch to endless empty space around him.

For decades, August has been a ghost haunting this house. Lost in the in-between, a nobody with nobody. For decades, August has been at peace with that. Or at least, he had convinced himself that he was - if he dared to admit that the solitude was crippling, then the silence would drag him under and swallow him whole. Contentment was a convenient lie for the last century, but August’s loneliness is a glaring truth rearing its ugly head. He isn’t ready to face it.

Despair gnaws at his insides, sharper than the bite of the cold nipping his skin. Daylight has been and gone, and now moonlight bleeds through the dusty drapes. The ornate windows have blurred over with swirling white as the blizzard wails like a banshee and rages outside. August waits and waits, the grandfather clock in the corner ticks with a maddening slowness. He waits for something, anything and nothing all at once. He doesn’t know what. His comeuppance, perhaps? A wooden stake plunged straight through his spine? 

The human is still hidden away upstairs. Hours have bled by without a sound, not a whisper of movement and not a creak of the floorboard. No doubt he is plotting and scheming, waiting for his perfect chance to strike. Who could blame him? If August were in the human's position, trapped and desperate, the only natural urge for survival would twist his mind too.

August repeats his earlier vow in his mind like a broken record, over and over. When the snowstorm clears, the human will be released, and not a second later. He is a healer, not a gaoler. Every fibre of August's being aches with the need to atone. He will right this wrong no matter the cost. 

A sudden chill snakes down August's spine. A different kind of chill than the frosty air that fogs his breath. He snaps around, his eyes zeroing in on the dark figure lurking in the doorway. The human. They hadn’t made a sound, they’d just…appeared. Materialised out of thin air. Their sunken-in and bloodshot eyes lock with August’s in the dim light. His stance is imposing, his demeanour threatening. August feels strangely diminished by the very sight of him, as though he’s two inches tall.

"Hungry."

A single grumbled word is all that leaves the human's lips. Barely audible but the demand is crystal clear. Not a beg for scraps or a plea, it’s a demand. An attempt to claw back a sliver of control in a situation spiralling wildly out of reach for both of them. The terse delivery, the lack of a complete sentence - it speaks volumes. August isn't worthy of conversation, of any respect or dignity. He isn’t human, afterall - why should he be treated with any humanity?

The realisation eats away at him more than the rumbling of the human’s stomach.

That’s another thing. August forgets how quickly the human’s digestive system and their metabolism works. It’s a miracle how they live as long as they do. It’s as though the second they swallow, their belly immediately roars for even more. It must be impossible to keep up. August can’t keep up.

"I-I'll see what's in the pantry," August stammers, his voice cracking under the weight of the human's burning stare. "It- It won't be much, but..."

He shuffles towards the kitchen and its meagre cabinets. A can of chicken chunks, a tin of kidney beans, cobwebs and layers of dust line the shelves. The human catches a glimpse of the miserable sight, his expression drops to a mix of disapproval, offence and somehow, something akin to pity.

“If you plan on keeping me prisoner, you need to feed me, vamp,” the human snarls with contempt, “That’s human biology 101. Didn’t you claim to be a doc?”

August's jaw clenches. That hit a raw nerve. He wants to retort, to defend his capabilities, but the accusation lodges itself deep in August’s gut. He feels a flush of shame and embarrassment fill his cheeks, because the man’s words were a bitter truth. How can he call himself a doctor? When all he’s responsible for is pain and misery? He can’t even provide basic sustenance.

August finds himself at a loss for words. He can’t even look at the human. Instead he hangs his head and anxiously picks at the skin on his fingers.  “I-I …I didn’t p-plan this. Any of this-”

“-Food,” the human makes his demand again. His fuse running short.

“H-Help yourself. You don’t have to ask. Please, just make yourself at home.”

“This will never be my home,” the human spits venomously, his hands balled tight into fists.

“No - I - I didn’t mean tha-”

The human tears past August in a huff, his body vibrating with barely contained rage. His shoulder slams into August with deliberate malice. August, however, stands firm and absorbs the shove without a flinch. He watches as the human throws himself at the kitchen with the ferocious hunger of a starved lion. He wrenches the cupboards open with bone-jarring bangs and slams them shut with enough force to rattle the windows.

“So what’s your plan?” the human side-eyes August, squatting down to the lower cabinets and flinging them open. They’re empty too. They all are, really. He groans in frustration and slams them shut. “Earn my trust to break it? I’ll be a mindless zombie in days?”

"My plan is to return you to where I found you. As soon as I possibly can. Without hesitation." 

“‘Without hesitation?’” the human scoffs, a bitter and humourless laugh, “what a fucking joke.”

He snatches at cans and packets, what few there are that he can get his hands on. He crams a half-empty bag of dry pasta and a tin of peaches into his arms - god knows how long they’ve been there. Nothing that constitutes a full meal but his stockpile will stretch to a couple days, at least. August feels a weight settle heavy on his chest at that. He knows with a devastating certainty that the bridge of understanding between them is crumbling away. The human will surely disappear upstairs again, never to be seen. There will be no getting through to him. Strangers, they will remain.

The human fills his arms and races back towards the stairs. August scrambles after him, his voice tight, "Please, can we just talk? Before you-”

“NO! Don't follow me! Don't talk to me. Don't you dare come anywhere near me. Don't even knock on my door. You want to make good on your promise? I don't want to hear from you or see your face until we’re heading back to human territory. Comprende?!”

If August had a tail, it would be between his legs. His shoulders slump as he nods solemnly, shamefaced.

“I understand,” August croaks,  “I’m so sorry. I won’t come near you until it’s time to go.”

“Not a moment before, and not a damn second later,” the human growls with a point of his finger, veins bulging in his neck that August can’t help but notice.

One moment he’s there and the next, he disappears up the stairs in a flash. He slams the door like a hormonal teenager and August hears the unmistakable screeching and scraping of furniture being dragged across the room all over again.

*!*!*!*!*

Lucas doesn’t count the days it’s been. He doesn’t need nor want to. Even if he tried, the numbers would slip through his fingers like grains of sand. He refuses to be one of those prisoners who scratches tallies into the walls until there’s no space left to etch, until their sanity crumbles to nothing.

Either yesterday, or three days, or a week ago - Lucas can only guess, everyday has turned to mush - the storm knocked out the power lines. The house plunged into pitch-black darkness and stayed that way ever since.

It’s now or never. The vampire or him. Lucas knows no-one is coming to save him. No-one is looking for him. He can’t afford to be the damsel in distress and wait for a saviour or a miracle. The gnawing ache in his stomach and the dwindling rations remind him that his clock is ticking. 

Only one of them walks out of this alive.

Lucas grits his teeth, his resolve hardening like steel. He will be the last one standing. He dismantles his barricade, and the stake finds its way back to his palm again. His fingers curl around the splintered, shaved wood. On tip-toes, he sneaks through the shadowed hallway. A too-loud creak of the floor and Lucas freezes on the spot, his ears pricking. When nothing comes of it, he creeps on towards the stairs.

How will it feel? Brief hesitation coils around his gut. His hands turn clammy. How will it feel to take another’s life? There’ll be blood on his hands for the rest of his life - maybe guilt will eat him alive. But needs must. If he doesn’t slay the monster, there’ll be no life left to be wracked with guilt. How many countless other lives will this save aside his own?

Lucas holds his breath, cautiously poking his head through the bars of the stairwell railing. In flickering candlelight, the vampire hunches over a worn chessboard. Its face etched with an ageless ennui, it tediously moves the black knight across the squares. Somehow, its pale skin seems even more ghostly in the dim light, but Lucas notices how its dark eyes seem to hold a profound loneliness and deep despair.

The vampire was playing all by itself; the opposing white pieces stood sentinel in their starting positions. A ragged sigh escapes its lips as it captures a white pawn with a languid grace. The victory, if it could be called that, brought no spark of joy or satisfaction to its eyes. The vampire simply reset the captured pawn. And played on.

Lucas watches the vampire, his mind in turmoil. This isn’t what he envisioned; being kidnapped by a vampire. He’d imagined a life of forced subservience, drained for every drop of his blood. He saw himself fighting tooth and nail for a life no longer worth living. A life as livestock, waiting for slaughter. His grip on the stake loosens, and he stares down at it with deep contemplation.

This doesn’t feel like the nightmare Lucas had always feared it would be. This vampire, this monster that stole him… has kept to every promise it’s made. Lucas can’t believe that he’s admitting that. It hasn’t used persuasion. Why? It would be so easy, like taking candy from a baby. Lucas would have no choice but to grovel at its feet and offer it a drink from his neck. But the vampire hasn’t even tried to feed, claims it doesn’t want to feed. The vampire hasn’t laid a hand on Lucas. It’s given him peace and solitude, food and drink, endless promises to return him to human territory, safe and sound. 

A wave of doubt crashes over Lucas. Could he dare to trust the vampire’s word?

“Care to join…?”

Lucas jumps out of his skin. The vampire is looking right at him, its gaze fixed and intense. For a moment, Lucas fears the worst. Has he angered the creature? But as he looks closer, he realises that the vampire's expression was not one of anger. Instead, there’s a raw desperation and longing in its eyes, a look that Lucas had never seen or maybe cared to notice before. He quickly and discreetly shoves the stake into the waistband of his jeans, and grabs the bars of the stairs like the prisoner he’s been so convinced he is.

“What do I win?” Lucas calls down. There’s still hesitation to his voice, an air of stubbornness. He’s not fully prepared to let his guard down just yet.  

For the first time, the vampire actually smiles. “Bragging rights. I never lose.”

Lucas hesitates, a mixture of curiosity and trepidation coursing through him. Perhaps this game of chess would help pass the time before he goes back, and maybe, just maybe, it would give him a chance to glimpse into the mind of this vampire. He nods and heads down the stairs as the vampire frantically and meticulously restarts the board.

“I’ll let you go first, of course. Give you a headstart. It would be unfair otherwise,” the vampire lightly teases.

Lucas moves first, his fingers hesitating slightly as he places a white pawn forward. The vampire responds with equal care, its movements precise and deliberate. They play in pregnant silence, the only sound the soft click of the pieces against the board. An eternity and a half passes before the silence is dared to be broken.

“I’ve been thinking,” The vampire ponders, “when the power is restored, is there anyone you could call? Just to let somebody know you’re safe? That you will be back as soon as you can?”

Lucas leans back, his eyes glued to the board, and without looking up, simply replies, "Nope."

“No-one at all? Not a single soul?” the vampire presses.

“That’s what nope means, don’t it?” Lucas takes a pawn, and the vampire uncomfortably shuffles in its chair. “You know that no-one’s looking, that’s why you chose me, remember…?” a condescending smirk curls on Lucas’s lips. Like he can afford to prod and jibe. He’s feeling more at ease, his confidence growing with each passing moment.

"Anyway. You must be the softest leech going. Either that or you're playing the long game. The self-restraint is mind-boggling... don't you want a bite? Bet the smell is driving you almost cuckoo," Lucas outstretches his arm and waves it underneath the vampire's nose.

Lucas doesn't know how much he even believes what he’s saying anymore. His thoughts are a whirlwind. He has been so hellbent on survival, on staying one step ahead of the vampire, that he hadn't had a second to breathe and take a step back to really think about what was happening. He watches the vampire's face closely, searching for any sign of weakness or desire. Is the restraint genuine, or is it just a facade?

Instead the vampire’s face falls and it gasps, reaching out for Lucas’s wrist, “Your wound-”

The gash on Lucas’ palm is deep, the edges jagged and uneven and the skin around it is inflamed and swollen. Lucas had bigger fish to fry than worrying over a silly little cut, but now he notices it, he feels it throb with dull pain.

“That’s not looking good. Would you let me take a look at it?”

Lucas quickly retracts his arm and cradles his hand defensively. His eyes narrow. “If you win. If you win, maybe I’ll let you. But what do I get if I win?”

The vamp seems satisfied by that. So certain of its inevitable triumph. “I told you. Bragging rights.”

Lucas isn’t so certain that the vampire will best him. He remembers the long days spent practising his moves against the undefeated champion. His grandpa was tough, but Lucas had always held his own. There were times when he thought he might just be able to beat him, but the old man always managed to pull through.

A flicker of nostalgia and a flicker of grief passes over Lucas's face.  “My grandpa. He was the undefeated champ. But I got pretty damn close on occasion. This will be childsplay.”

The vampire’s face softens, its voice gentle, “Is he…still with us?”

“If he was, do you think I’d be sleeping rough on some sopping wet cardboard?” Lucas makes another sharp move, capturing one of the vampire’s pieces. Silence fills the air, and Lucas sighs.

“Why aren’t you using persuasion? You could easily win this. Make me move my knight and the game’s all yours,” Lucas suggests, shrugging. The vampire lets out a low chuckle, his eyes scanning the board as he calculates his next move. But Lucas's words lingered, a nagging thought in the back of his mind.

“No…but, in all seriousness…why - why aren’t you using persuasion? Like, at all? I’d be powerless to stop you. I’d… be y-yours,” he stutters. “Entirely at your mercy. You wouldn’t have to follow through on your promise to free me.”

The vampire's ruby-red eyes widen in shock. Its mouth drops open as though he’d been struck. It averts its gaze down to the flickering candlelight.

“Why would I?” the vamp laments, “I don’t want to use persuasion. To what aim? I’ve made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it. I value your trust, and I would never do anything to jeopardise it. You deserve your free will. Your choices and your thoughts are, and will always be, your own.”

“I didn’t choose to be here-” Lucas' lips respond quicker than his brain can comprehend. He can tell those words cut like a knife to the vampire. 

“No… you didn’t.” The vampire whispers, its tone heavy with guilt. “And that will haunt me for as long as I shall live.”

Lucas is taken aback. He’d always assumed that vampires were cold, unfeeling monsters - devoid of all emotion. But here, he saw something different. He feels something different. The vampire’s words were filled with a mournful regret. He fears he’d been too quick to judge, too eager to paint the vampire as a villain. Maybe there is more to this creature than meets the eye.

The wind suddenly picks up outside, it howls and screeches, whipping against the glass. Lucas stares out the window, a chill running down his spine as he watches the snow swirl and fall.

“I hate to say it… I am glad you are here. Not out there tonight,” the vampire says, watching the blizzard too with a heavy heart.

"Yeah. Me too,” Lucas mumbles. 

"What would you do?” the vampire frets, dragging itself back to the game’s attention and playing its turn, “If you were? Where would you go?"  

"I...I don't know,” Lucas shrugs, “Loiter somewhere warm inside until they chuck me out?" 

"Is there truly no-one you could go to?" 

"No-one. I – I don't have any family left. And try making friends in a nomadic lifestyle. I'm never in one place long enough to keep friends. And if I'm honest? I'm shocked one of you lot hadn't snapped me up sooner. I was...kinda expecting it." 

Every night was a gamble, every morning was a blessing. Lucas always had to be careful, to seek refuge in shadows and find safety in numbers wherever possible. He knew it was coming sooner or later. He was always a sitting duck for a vampire to come along and nab.

“Forgive me if I do say, I am glad I was the one to snatch you up. And not another.”

The walls Lucas put up seem to be slowly knocked down brick by brick. He doesn’t feel like a hunted animal or a captive anymore. He doesn’t feel like he has to look over his shoulder at every turn. It feels almost…safe. 

“Yeah… guess I probably lucked out, huh?” 

Silence falls once again, Lucas looks down to the board. But now he sees an opportunity. With a swift and decisive move, Lucas advances his rook, placing the king in check. The vamp’s king is trapped, cornered by Lucas's pieces.

There’s no escape. The vampire’s face falls as it realises. Lucas has won the game.

“There’s no way-” the vamp mutters, shaking its head in disbelief. “Well played,” he concedes, offering a hand out to shake. Lucas takes it readily. 

“I - I know we made a deal, but please may I look at your wound?” the vampire tries its luck.

“Finee,” Lucas rolls his eyes jovially, “Guess I’m feeling benevolent. Coming off a high from my win.”

*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*

The human sits on top of the examination table, swinging his legs nervously like a child. His eyes flitter around the room, eyebrows furrowed. There’s no sign of the destruction and chaos he unleashed last week. 

August approaches him and gently lifts the human’s hand, examining the slash across the palm. “This looks deep,” he murmurs to himself, turning the human’s hand to different angles and reaching for a bottle of antiseptic.

“Luckily, I don’t think it’s infected. Just a bit swollen. I have some antibiotic ointment - neomycin - and we’ll dress the wound. Shouldn’t give you too much trouble.”

As August pours the antiseptic onto the wound, the human flinches and hisses through his teeth. His eyes squeeze shut, snatching his hand away. The sudden movement startles August, who flinches back too, his heart hammering at his ribs.

"Are you alright?" August asks once he’s caught his own breath, his voice filled with concern. He tries to appear confident and in control, but the truth is, he’s just as nervous as the human.

"Yeah, I'm fine," the human replies, his voice a bit shaky. "It just stung a bit, is all."

August nods, his eyes filled with a strange intensity. "Want to know something?" he asks. The human nods, his own eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"I used to be terrified of humans," August confesses.

The human’s eyebrows shot up. "You? Scared of humans? A vampire?"

“My mother spun tales of hunters, mobs, and lynchers. I was taught hell hath no fury like a human. I grew up believing our own blood bags would tear me limb from limb should they grab hold of me. I thought humans were my natural predator."

The human is silent for a moment, his mind racing. "…when it was the other way around," he finally finishes. “I’ve lived my entire life in fear of you - of your kind.”

“Me too. Our practices are cruel-”

“What makes you so different?” The human cuts in, desperate for answers, “Why - Why are you being kind to me?”

August gently applies the ointment to the human’s wounded palm, then a clean bandage securing it with a strip of medical tape. He places a cold compress on the area to help reduce swelling and pain.

“Kindness costs nothing, but means everything,” August explains, “You were not put on this earth to suffer, or to be my food. Nor would I ever want that. You deserve your freedom -  your humanity. I will live my life, and you will live yours.”

“Why-Why did you take me? If you never wanted me, if you never wanted this … why am I here?” the human croaks, tears brimming in his eyes. 

“I was left with no choice, I promise you. I - I took you to save you. My family - they forced my hand. They said they would take you if I didn’t. They would hurt you. They would make your life a living hell. It was the only way I could stop them - It was the only way I could make sure you made it home again-”

A tear freely rolls down the man’s cheek, he quickly swipes it away. “You…You saved me?”

“I’m so sorry it had to happen this way. But I would do it ten times over if it meant I knew you were safe in my hands.”

The human closes his eyes, and exhales a deep breath of relief. August can see the weight of the world lift from his shoulders. “T-Thank you,” the human whispers.

“Please,” August shakes his head in abnegation, “Don’t thank me. I don’t deserve gratitude. You deserve every apology I could ever utter, and still it would never be enough.”

August scuttles across the room to his cabinets, rummaging around for the painkillers he knows are hiding in there somewhere.

“August?”

August’s heart leaps. He stops still, the world stops still. It’s the first time the human has spoken his name. Not vamp, not leech, or monster. August. It’s like music to his ears.

“My…My name is Lucas. Lucas Slater. I - I thought if I gave you my name… I was giving myself away. But I trust you with my name.”

It’s not much, but it’s more than August could have ever hoped for. It feels like the sun rising after a long, dark winter. His legs feel as if they might give out beneath him, he has to lean against the countertop to steady himself.

“Lucas.” August whispers to himself. He can finally put a name to the stranger.  “It’s - It’s nice to finally meet you, Lucas.”

*!*!*!*!*!*

The day finally arrived. The day Lucas had been waiting for was finally here. Hometime. To where or whatever his home is supposed to be. But home has never been just a place to Lucas. It’s always been a feeling, a sense of belonging. This house, that was supposed to be his prison, has become more of a home in this short time than he has ever known in his entire life. The days spent with August felt like a new lease of life, their connection grew day by day. At night, Lucas slept like a baby, without a care in the world. In a toasty bed, and not on cardboard and newspaper. With a warm belly, and no starved rumbling. For the first time, he feels that sense of belonging he’s craved.

He’s never belonged anywhere, and neither has August, it seems.

The snow has melted, revealing a landscape that was both familiar and foreign. It looked so much like human territory but felt worlds apart. As they drove through the countryside, Lucas couldn't help but think about all he would leave behind. The vampire's old, dusty house had become his asylum, a place where he felt safe and protected. He had grown to trust August, to rely on him.

Lucas couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had been gnawing at him all morning. He knew his time with August was coming to an end, and the thought of leaving filled him with a sense of loss. He had grown to respect the vampire, more than he ever thought possible. He glances at August in the rearview mirror. His expression is unreadable, dormant. He’d been quiet all morning. He stares absentmindedly out the window, lost in thought. Lucas wonders if August feels the same way. They both live such lonely lives. A nobody with nobody. What if he stayed? Would that be so awful? 

They continue driving in silence, the only sound the gentle hum of the car’s engine. Lucas watches the road pass them by from the window, edging closer and closer to human territory. Lucas feels his stomach sink. Going ‘home’ shouldn’t feel like that. This isn’t right.

"Stop the car," Lucas blurts out.

"You want to get out here? We're still miles away yet!" August queries.

"No, I... I've been thinking," Lucas stammers. "How do you... feel about a new roommate? I guess I'd feel bad leaving you to your lonely, boring self with your dusty, old books."

Lucas silently scolds himself, using his humour as a shield. He lets the mask slip, and his lip wobbles with impending tears.

"I - I have nothing back in human territory. You plucked me from the streets, my cardboard bed, my only possession was a paper cup with a few coins... I'll do anything. Odds are another vampire will find me again in no time and I - I doubt I'll be as lucky to get another one as kind as you - it'd be like lightning striking the same spot twice."

"If you truly wish to stay, you're more than welcome..." August began, his voice soft. "The guest bedroom is yours for the taking, stay as long as you need or want. Please do not stay on my account, or out of fear of me. You truly are free to go."

Lucas hesitates, a thousand what if’s fill his mind. This is quite possibly the most idiotic choice he’s ever made, but it just feels right in his gut. It’s the path he’s meant to take.  "I - god this is so stupid, I barely fucking know you but... I think I trust you. If this kindness is all an act or a game then hey, props to you for keeping it up this long, you deserve to feed off me."

August can't help but smile, a gentle expression that warmed Lucas's heart. "Only if you're absolutely, positively sure. You can change your mind at any time. But...I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

Lucas takes a deep breath. He rests his head against the window.  "Turn the car around. Let's go home."

---

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