#just want to be with them all day and never go back to work

[petalbcrnes]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𓈒 𝅄 ✶ ۪ ݁ w/ the BAT-BOYS𓈒

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　

𝅄 ꒰ ⌕ ꒱ ۪ ݁ After being a brat all day, you send them pictures wearing lingerie, while they are out on patrol𓈒 ݁ ۪ ୧

↦   ⟡   ∬ incl  ﹒  jason﹐dick﹐tim & duke𓈒

❛   ꜝ   ┈   ✺ cw ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎mature and suggestive content𓈒 ‎‎ ‎ ‎ᰍ

︩︪ ׅnotes𓈒⠀i’ve been working on this for two whole days. i loved every second of it but dear god did i give my sweat and blood for it. there are every reaction of the boys to the pictures also in phone text for alongside text id. hope you all enjoy!⠀ꞌꞋ ࣪

𓈒 ᯇ 🧷 : links𓈒　　mlist　　rules𓈒 ୧

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𓏲𓏲⠀.. You’ve been a tease all day— pulling every trick in the book just to get a reaction out of your boyfriend. In the early hours of the mornings you didn’t let him go— clinging to him to make him stay in bed, while your touch turns from innocent to something a little more wicked. He’d warn you— hushed whispers by your ear telling you that you were playing with fire. You didn’t care. You wanted to touch that fire and feel it on your skin. That’s what landed you in this situation. ✶

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 ︶︶

It was already evening— the time to curl up with your sweet boyfriend on the couch, watching the shows on the screen in front of you, while the two of you exchanged nothing but sweet nothings and soft touches.

That was the norm for most evenings, but not this one. You had a different plan for this evening. Jason would go out for patrol soon. He liked to make these moments right before he left just a little more special. While that was sweet of him, this time you craved more.

You made sure to show him that. Even now, when the two of you are curled on the couch together, you moved a little closer. Jason instinctively gives you more space, opening his arms and wrapping you in his hold. He doesn’t even notice what you’re planning.

You shuffle even closer, moving yourself on his lap. In response he lets out a choked breath he can’t hold back. Maybe he thinks you won’t notice. But you do. He moves on the couch, trying to make the two of you more comfortable.

You’re almost annoyed. Jason will never assume anything you do is seducing him unless you spell it out for him, after that he’s putty in your hands— eyes glossed over and knuckles white, wanting more and more of you.

You just need to try harder, tease him even more.

You squirm on his lap. You can feel his chest rise with every unsteady breath. You could turn around— see how affected he is by the look in his eyes. But you can feel how he hardens against you and that’s all the reassurance you need.

You push even more— while moving on his lap, your hand drifts across the exposed skin of his arms, mindlessly tracing shapes on the surface.

The dam finally breaks. His hands land on your hips, their firm touch hold you down. That just makes you feel how affected he is even more. You turn to face Jason. A truly wonderful sight awaits you.

His brows are furrowed. There is a small pout on his lips. Just like always, his eyes are glossed over, trained on you. There’s a silent question in them. His fingers dig into the plush skin of your hips and in response you grind even harder— he almost moans at the movement, but the sound gets stuck in his throat— only a choked whimper leaves his mouth.

“What are you up to, pretty?” He asks, one brows raised.

He keeps his firm hold on you, as if to tame you— for his sake, and yours as well. You know if you continue to tease him like this, all it would take for him to flip you over on this very couch and take you there is only your consent to do so— only a few words— ‘I want you.’

“Nothing.” You hum in response, the feather-light touch on his arm rises, reaching his chest. “Can’t we have a little fun?”

He chuckles, the sound akin to a melody to your ears. Jason moves against the couch, giving you more space to settle on his lap. You move your legs so now you’re straddling him. Your hands still stay on his chest. He’s opened himself up to you. By instinct.

“I think you want more than a little fun.” He murmurs while his hand leaves your hip and settles on the back of your neck.

He guides you to present the surface of your neck to him. You tilt your head. His lips softly settle on the sensitive skin. You can feel every tender kisses he leaves on your pulse. Every little kiss has you melting in his hold.

“I want to have fun too. Unfortunately, I have to go out for patrol.” He says with one final kiss on your neck.

“You’re no fair. Leaving me with only kisses.”

The pout on your lips makes him laugh. He tilts his head, eyes locked on your figure on his lap. You can tell he wants more. You can even feel that he wants more— his dick is still hard underneath you. Every time you move you can feel his hips thrust up slightly. He wants this just as much as you do.

“You’re such a brat— a needy brat.”

“Well, this ‘needy brat’ wants to spend a very long night with their oh-so sweet boyfriend.”

He shifts his hands beneath your thighs. You tilt your head in question at his touch. Suddenly, he’s lifting you up while he sits up. The way Jason can manhandle you in any position makes you crave him even more. Your wrap around him even tighter by instinct, trying to savor the feel of his body against yours.

“You’ll have to be patient, pretty. Then you will have me all to yourself.”

That conversation was a few hours ago. Jason has been out on patrol and you have been left unsatisfied, needy on the bed you share with your boyfriend. You keep thinking of him. His hands on your hips and thighs; his eyes— so telling of how much he needs you.

You need him too, just as much he needs you. Why not send him a little present while he’s away? Just to remind him what he’s got waiting for him at home. The pretty red lingerie you bought a few days ago just to wear for him would be perfect for this.

Red is his color, no?

It takes a few minutes to finally to put on the lacy fabric— the way it flows around your body is downright sinful. For a moment you thing this might be a little too much.

Then you decide against that train of thought and start taking pictures— on the bed; in front of the mirror; on your knees— all just for your sweet boyfriend.

You sent the pictures and waited for a response.

[Text ID: Jason: “you just couldn’t wait until i got home.” Reader: “just sending you a little something to keep you company.” Jason: “you really are a tease tonight.” Reader: “only for you.” Jason: “let’s see if you’ll keep up with that attitude when i actually get home.” Reader: “all talk. waiting for you to prove it.” Text ID end.]

You turn off your phone, satisfied with yourself. You’ve successfully teased your boyfriend all day, and probably made him hard while he’s out there on the streets of Gotham fighting god knows who. You rummage the closet, looking for one of his shirts to wear to sleep. After finding it, you settle on the bed, the soft sheets lulling you to sleep.

It’s only after a few hours of sleep you hear the window of the bedroom open. You know it’s him— you can recognize his quiet steps and shuffle of his leather jacket anywhere. You pretend to be asleep, trying best to hide the growing smirk on your face.

“I know you’re awake, pretty.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice. He moves closer to you. You can feel how the bed creaks under his weight. Suddenly, there’s not enough oxygen in the air.

You’re in for a long night.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍 ︶︶

Dick has always been so sweet to you— bordering on his affections being saccharine, something that makes your teeth ache with how tender every touch and word of his is. You know he’d give you anything you ask him. All he wants is to please you.

His eagerness makes teasing him even more entertaining. You know there’s a line you can cross— when he’ll turn the tables on you. Suddenly, you’ll be the one begging for him to touch you, to unravel you with his fingers and tongue— you’ll beg for all of him. You’re sure he gets off on your neediness. You’ll have to find a way to balance the scales. The first move is to catch him off guard.

Dick is currently in the kitchen, mindlessly humming the song that has been stuck in his head this week. His attention is on the cookie batter in front of him. He insisted to bake for you tonight before he left for patrol. You almost feel bad about what you’re about to do. He seems so caught up with his mission to bake for you.

But you need something else from him. You move to the kitchen. Dick notices you immediately. He only turns his head slightly your way.

“Hi, lovely! I’m sorry, I have to go out before I finish baking.” He’s so enthusiastic to see you. He immediately points to the batter. “Came here for a taste?”

Oh, you did come here for a taste. Just not the one he thinks. You’re sure his taste would be more delightful on your tongue.

“It’s alright. I can take it from here.” You tell him, approaching him from behind and wrapping your arms around him.

He melts into your touch. His back settles against your chest. You trail kisses along the exposed skin of his neck. You can feel how his spine straightens. You hum against his neck, still leaving soft kisses.

“Baby, what are you doing?” He asks with a shaky voice.

“Want me to stop?”

He looks over his shoulder at you and you see the frown on his face.

Cute.

He tilts his neck to give you better access, eyes locked on you. His hands lay on your hands that are currently still wrapped around him.

“I didn’t say that.”

You smile against his neck. He preens at the sensation. You continue your kisses, getting a taste of him against your tongue. You savor it all. His taste, sounds and the small ways he tries to move closer to you.

You want to push a little more. Let’s see how much more you can do before he actually flips the tables on you.

You free your hands from his. He notices the absence of your touch. His eyes find yours again with a silent question in them. You just smirk as an answer. He raises a brow and a similar smirk forms on his lips.

Your hands drift lower and lower. You can see how the smirk grows even bigger on his lips. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. Your hands settle on his sweatpants, fingers tease the waistband— tugging the fabric and tracing the exposed skin beneath with your fingers.

You can hear him laugh.

Maybe you’ve already crossed the line.

“Now you’re just being a brat, lovely.”

It takes him only a second to switch the position the two of are in. Suddenly he isn’t the one cornered against the kitchen counter— it’s you. He’s flipped you from behind him and pushed your front to the cool marble surface.

You squirm in his hold— more firm than your own when you had him in your arms.

“Two can play this game, lovely. But I play it much better.” He whispers, his lips close to your ear.

Dick leaves a single kiss on your pulse point on your neck before returning your ear. He nicks your earlobe and you let out a small yelp. Your body moves on its own, slightly bending over against the counter and grinding against him.

You hear him groan behind you, an amused chuckle following.

“You just had to get a taste. Couldn’t wait until after patrol. You’re all bark, aren’t you? No bite.”

“Shut up—”

The words die on your tongue as you feel him push himself even closer to you. You can feel how hard he is against you. You whimper at the sensation. You try and grind against him but he stops you by the firm hold on your hip.

“Not yet. You’ve been a brat. You have to earn it.”

“But you’ll be gone for hours!”

“You can wait right, baby?”

He asks you in the softest voice you’ve ever heard. That’s the most infuriating and intoxicating thing about all of this. He has you bent over the kitchen counter, his dick already hard against your ass and somehow he still denies you. He knows you’re drunk on his touch and as a punishment for being a ‘brat’, he’s teasing you back.

The hours after he leaves for patrol are agonizing. You toss and turn in the bed. The sheets are too hot on your skin. You’d rather have something else on your skin— or someone else.

Unfortunately, Dick decided to punish you by leaving you high and dry by going on patrol. You know he’s affected by tonight as well, but he still has a way of making you the needy mess. He said he played this game better than you did. Let’s see if he’ll keep up this confidence after the little present you plan on sending his way.

Blue light be his color, but it always looked good on you as well. Especially when it’s the lacy and intricate fabric hugging your body. Sending the pictures were easy. You know he’d be even more affected after this.

[Text ID: Dick: “is this payback?” Reader: “you're the one who said you played this game better. i like proving you wrong.” Dick: “you really are all bark. will you be this eager when i get back? or will you melt in my hands just like before i left?” Reader: “keep thinking that.” Dick: “i am thinking of all the ways i'll get you begging. you don't have to remind me, lovely.” Text ID end.]

You spend the next hours in a haze. Your mind keeps imagining Dick— what he’ll do when he returns; what he will say; how he’ll handle you. Curse him and the hold he has over you.

You’re settled comfortably in bed, almost asleep when you hear footsteps approaching the bed. You didn’t even hear the window creak open. In the dark you can make out the blue of his suit. You don’t even have the time to close your eyes to pretend to he asleep, he’s already right next to you, hovering over your figure.

“Don’t pretend to be asleep, lovely. Prove that you have the bite.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐓𝐈𝐌 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐄 ︶︶

There’s something mesmerizing about how Tim gets ready for patrol. It’s a routine he’s repeated almost every night. You’ve grown used to seeing him hunched over a desk, cleaning his weapons and going over the patrol route for the third time.

You like to watch him when he does all of this. His brows are furrowed, concentration evident on his face. His lips thin every time his fingers graze another one of his supplies. You do love his hands when they’re handling something. Especially when they’re handling you.

Unfortunately, tonight you aren’t receiving that attention from him. Tim is in another world right now, too far away to grasp how much you need him. You hear him hum in concentration. He flips a dagger in his hands, eyes locked on it.

You might actually be jealous of a dagger. Time to fix your problem.

You waste no time approaching him. Tim is used to your presence— he doesn’t even look behind to sense you walking over. Instead he leans on the chair’s back, as if he’s trying to maneuver closer to you. He’s sweet. But you need more than that right now.

When you reach him, your hands settle on his shoulders. You can feel him already preen at your touch. He lets out a small satisfied sound at the feel of your fingers against his shoulders.

You know he’s stressed most of the time— knots tangle themselves up underneath his skin and he can’t ask for help, or won’t allow himself that short reverie. But you— as his partner— take it up on yourself to help him unwind.

Your fingers push a little deeper. Tim tilts his head to give you more access. You peek over and see how he closes his eyes in pleasure of the feeling.

“Feels good?” You ask, even though you already now the answer to your question.

He hums as a yes, a small smile appearing on his face. “Feels very good. But why now?”

Nothing gets past him. Sometimes you want to curse his beautiful and genius brain. Your fingers trace circles on his skin, trying to untangle every knot. You feel him getting even more distracted. He’s leaning into your touch, searching for the pleasure only you can give him.

“Can’t I just make my boyfriend feel good for a little while?”

“I think you want to do more than just ‘making me feel good for a little while.’”

Tim tilts his head up, looking right at you. His eyes unravel every string of confidence you had just a few moments ago. You can feel the way your cheeks heat up. You’re sure he can notice how affected you are as well.

There’s a satisfied smile on his stupidly pretty face. You wish you could wipe it off of him, turn the tables on him for once.

Maybe you can.

Your hands drift from his shoulder, one settling on his jaw and another on his cheek— holding him in place. You see the way he licks his lips, almost in anticipation.

“You want a kiss?”

Tim raises a brow, as if offended you’d ask him that.

“What? You’re going to make me beg for it?” He quips, challenging you to push back.

You know how this will go. You might have him in your hands right now, looking up at you with those glossed over and wanting eyes, but he can play the long game a lot better than you.

“You’re such an ass—”

“You were literally desperate for my affections not even a second ago.” He interrupts your little tantrum. “Are you mad it didn’t go your way, baby?”

“Shut up. Don’t you have some equipment to show more attention to than you show me?” You huff, hands settling on your hips.

He laughs at the pout on your lips. Smug bastard— a pretty bastard— but still.

“Don’t be a brat and I’ll give you all the kisses you want. After patrol, alright?”

That’s how you ended up here— on the bed and utterly alone, missing your boyfriend and his stupid kisses. He’s probably out there smug, satisfied with the fact that he’s got you all needy and wanting for him.

You have to fire back somehow— show him what he’s missing.

You did get a new lingerie set a few days ago. It was supposed to be a surprise, but desperate times calls for desperate measures. Right now, you need him to be the desperate one, not you. The pictures you sent will have him just as needy as you. You’re sure of that.

[Text ID: Tim: “all you’re doing is showing me how much you need me.” Reader: “don't act too cocky. i can keep myself company.” Tim: “sure. while thinking of me right? leaving me on read isn't going to make me thing otherwise.” Text ID end]

You go to bed even more frustrated. He’s right and you know it. You could only get off when you’re thinking of him— pretty and long hands, skilled with how they unravel you; prettier eyes that lock on you and analyze your every expression filled with pleasure. God curse him and his stupidly pretty face.

You spend the next few hours like this, needy for him. In the dark of the bedroom, you hear the door creak open. You know it’s him— you can feel that it is him. Your body instinctively grows hotter in response to his presence. You try and pretend to be asleep, but nothing could get past him.

Tim laughs, so free and satisfied.

“You thought you could tease me like that and I’d return begging for you? I know you aren’t asleep. I’ve got to teach you a few lessons you’ve seem to forgotten.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐃𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐒 ︶︶

Over the course of your relationship with Duke, you’ve learned that he is very kind— so eager to please and give, whatever it takes for you to be happy. Every satisfied smile you give him is a reward to him. All he wants to do is to make you happy.

He’s right in front of you right now, searching for his misplaced helmet. He has to be out for patrol in about an hour and he desperately needs that helmet.

You feel a little guilty. You’re searching right alongside him. But most of your attention is on his face— the concentration on his face; the way his pretty eyes dart across the room, a shining glint in them— basically, Duke is gorgeous, and you’re having trouble concentrating.

“Babe, have you found it yet? There’s no luck on my end.” He says, still looking around the room.

You’re really starting to feel the guilt. He needs his helmet and you’re too busy checking him out. He’s taken over your mind and you can barely even pay attention to your surroundings. That’s what makes you almost trip over something. You look down and see a flash of yellow near your feet.

Duke’s helmet.

You pick it up, excited to show it to him. Suddenly, a devious idea forms in your mind. Truly, an evil little idea. You could keep the helmet hostage just for a little while. Just for a minute. Duke could get it back. Maybe with a little kiss?

You find him still rummaging around the apartment you two share for his helmet. His eyes lock on you instantly, the light in them glowing a little brighter. There’s an equally bright smile on his face.

“Hi, baby. Did you find it?”

“Yes, I did!” You proudly show of his helmet, the triangle eyes of it staring right at him.

Oh, right. The plan.

“I would be lost without you.” He moves closer. “Thank you for finding it.”

“Wait just a second!”

He blinks, eyes growing a little wider. The smile is still on his face. He tilts his head, the confusion seeping onto his face.

“What’s wrong?”

God, you do feel actually guilty for this. But you desperately need him, so you have to do this.

“I’m not giving you the helmet.” You say, trying to fake the confidence and holding the helmet close to your chest.

He smiles even wider. He’s really pretty when he does that. You tell yourself to focus, to stay strong against your boyfriend and his disarmingly charming smiles.

“Why not, baby?”

“Give me a kiss or two and I might return it.”

“Might?”

“Yes. I might deem you worthy of returning the helmet to you. Actually, make that three kisses.”

He chuckles, the smile reaching his eyes. He moves a little closer and you can feel your knees weaken. He doesn’t even know how much sway he was over you.

“You drive a hard bargain, babe.”

“The kisses, Thomas. Or no helmet.”

He narrows his eyes at you, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. There’s a mischievous look in his eyes. You want to look inside his beautiful mind and figure out what he’s planning.

“So, you’re holding my helmet hostage for a few kisses?”

“Yes, I am. Make your choice, pretty boy.”

“I think you’re just being a brat.” He rolls his eyes playfully. “Want a kiss? Ask for it properly.”

It’s now your turn to narrow your eyes at him, but in annoyance. He’s playing you, and you know it. Unfortunately for him, you’re stubborn and not giving in. You stomp your foot on the floor and hug the helmet closer to your chest.

“You won’t hear me begging. Good luck with that.”

“Really? Not even when I do this?”

“Do what?—”

Suddenly you feel his hands on your waist. They wrap around you and you instinctively melt in his hold. He feels so warm. You want to stay in his arms forever and never leave. He locks his eyes on you.

“Hi.” He mutters, a playful grin on his lips. “Am I getting my helmet back?”

“I already said—”

He must have a talent for getting you to shut up. He leaves a little kiss on your cheek, lips warm against your skin and his hand cupping your cheek. The small piece of his affection already has you going limp in his hands. You don’t even notice how his hand drifts closer to his helmet and how he quickly snatches it away from you.

“Hey! Give that back!” You exclaim, but no matter how much you squirm, he keeps you in his hold and the helmet away from your hands.

“Thought you’d give me the helmet back if I gave you a kiss.”

“You know I didn’t mean a kiss on the cheek!”

“So you didn’t like it?”

“I didn't say that…”

He lets you go from his hold. He slips the helmet on, finally ready to go out on patrol.

“Trust me, I’ll come home and I’ll kiss you senseless.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure.”

“Hey.” He clicks his tongue. “Gorgeous, I’m not lying.”

You smile at him one last time and he’s already out of your apartment for patrol. You spend the next few hours waiting for him to return so he can follow up on his promise. Your mind is already going wild with every scenario that could play out.

Would he kiss you first? What would he do next? Would he finally untangle the knot that has been burning inside of you this entire night? Duke is someone who loves to give at heart, especially when it comes to you. He’d be good to you, right?

Why not speed up that process— give him something to look forwards to?

You have that lingerie you bought just to show off to him. The ivory one with the small and intricate sun rays sewn in with a lighter cream color. He’d like that little surprise, right?

Only one way to find out.

[Text ID: Duke: “is this just for me?” Reader: “for who else, sunshine?” Duke: “You're driving me crazy.” Reader: “that’s the whole point.” Duke: “does the fabric have little sun rays on it baby?” Reader: “come home soon and find out.” Text ID end.]

You feel satisfied enough, happy even— you’ve successfully teased your boyfriend so much that he’s probably rushing to come home. You settle on the soft sheets of the bed and wait for his arrival, drifting in and out of sleep as you do so.

It only takes a hour or two for Duke to come back. He opens the door to the bedroom gently, careful not to frighten you. You’re awake, of course. You’ve been waiting for him all night. But you don’t plan on giving in that easily. You keep your eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.

“Don’t pretend with me, baby.” His voice is saccharine sweet. “I know you’re awake.”

He sits right by your side, his hand touching the exposed skin of your shoulder above the sheet.

“I wonder if you’re still wearing that lingerie. Don’t you want to give me a show?”

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.... 🌷 .. ! , ... wow you made it all the way here. hope you enjoyed all 4.6k words of this. my hands r literally numb !!! ty for reading it all <3

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[bihexualandferal]

THIS IS SO TRUE!!!! at least for most job fields. I work in childcare so I have a slightly different experience. It’s a whole new kind of terrible :/

Nearly all the job listings are real, and there’s a lot of them (definitely not because this field has a high turnover rate or anything hahaha). But they want you to have a PhD in child development and 10 years of experience for $23 per hour. 99% of the jobs you interview for will ghost you.

If you actually manage to get a job, you’ll get there on your first day and find out you’re the only one in charge of 50 kids grades K-5 (many with special needs) in an empty concrete room with like 2 broken toys and a crayon if you’re lucky, and maybe a packet of crackers as their only snack for 5 hours. and they’re all screaming and running away and hitting each other. you can’t even hear yourself think.

your boss and coworkers hate you AND the kids, who they scream at and degrade like they’re in the military or something. your boss will deduct like an hour of pay if you’re 5 minutes late. they’ll get mad at you for not having everything under control and not abusing the kids hard enough.

the kids’ parents will either just not give a fuck about anything, or they’ll get mad at you for not having everything under control and/or daring to mildly discipline their precious innocent baby angel. a quarter of them don’t speak English and there won’t be a translator, so good lucky trying to talk to them if you don’t speak their language. a few of them will also just kidnap their own kids over the fence without informing you, and then they’ll get mad when you freak out because you don’t know where their kids are.

then you work like this for a whole school year (if you’re lucky and/or don’t go insane first). your boss will never call you back again after that, but you’ll never be officially fired either, so you’re forced to quit. And then people wonder why there’s a teacher shortage.

it's easier to apply for jobs than ever! so what if you lost your insurance, anyone can get a job these days, even without meds. everyone is hiring! there's a "good employee" shortage!

well you just need to revamp your resume, here's a paid app subscription that can read it for you. rewrite the cover letter they won't read. google jobs in my area and then scrawl through Monster/Indeed/worbly. did you want to save the search? this was posted 98 days ago. over 1 billion applicants! this position is trending.

jobs i actively like doing and get paid for. your search returned no results. easy-apply with HireSpin! easy apply with SparkFire! easy apply with PenisFlash! with a few short clicks, get your information stolen.

watch out! the first 98 links on google are actually scams! they're false postings. oopsie. that business isn't even hiring. that other one is closed permanently. find one that looks halfway legit, google the company and the word "careers". go to their page. scroll past brightly-lit diversity stock photo JOIN US white sans serif. we are a unique, fresh, client-focused stock value capitalism. we are committed to excellence and selling your soul on ebay. we are DRIVEN with POWER to INNOVATE our greed. yippee! our company has big values of divisive decision making, sucking our dicks, and hating work-life balances. our values are to piss in your mouth. sign here and tell us if you have gender issues so we can get ahead of the sexual harassment claim. are you hispanic although let's be real we threw out the resume when we saw your last name.

sign up to LinkHub to access updates from this company. make a HirePlus account to apply. download the PoundLink app. your account has been created, click the link we sent you in 15 minutes. upload that resume. we didn't read the resume, manually fill in the lines now. what is your expected pay grade. oh actually we want hungry people, not people driven by a salary. cut a zero off that number, buddy, this is about opportunity, and we need to be thrifty. highest level of education. autofill is glitching. here is an AI generated set of questions. what is your favorite part of our sexy, sexy company. how do you resolve conflict. will you get our company logo tattooed on your person. warning: while our CEO is guilty of wage theft, we will absolutely refuse to hire a nonviolent felon.

thank you for your interest at WEEBLIX. we actually already filled this position internally. we actually never had that posting. we actually needed you to have 9 years of experience and since you have 10 years we think it might be too many? we'll be texting you. we'll email you. we'll keep your resume. definitely absolutely we won't just completely ignore you. look at your phone, there's already a spam text from Bethany@stealyouridentity. they're hiring!

wait, did you get an interview? well that's special, aren't you lucky. out of 910 jobs you applied to, one answered, finally. and funny story! actually the position isn't exactly as advertised, we are looking for someone curious and dedicated. it's sort of more managerial. no, the pay doesn't change - you won't have any leadership title. now take this 90 minute assessment. in order to be a dog groomer, we need you to explain cell biology. in order to be a copyeditor, write a tiny dissertation about the dwindling supply of helium on the planet. answer our riddles three. great job! we just need to push this up to Tracy in HR who will send it to Rodney who is actually in charge. and then of course it's jay's decision and then greg will need to see you naked and if you survive you'll be given a drug test and a full anal examination.

and of course you'll be hungry this whole time, aren't you, months and months of the same shit. months of no insurance, no meds, no funding, barely able to afford the internet and the phone and the rent - all things you need in order to even apply for our thing. but do it again! do it again and again and again, until you flip inside out and turn into a being of pure dread!

you're not hired yet because you're lazy. there's over one million AI-generated hallucinated jobs in your area. don't worry. with zipruiter, hiring and firing is easier than ever. sign up. stay on-call.

in the meantime, little peon - why don't you just fucking suffer.

[crazziforazzi]

Red Jersey

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

One shot

Warning: MDNI, Possessive!P, Mild dom/sub dynamics

A/N: This started out as a cute little post-game one-shot I drafted after the match… then I went to work, came back, and rewrote it into whatever this is now. I will now be closing my laptop and pretending this never happened, okay? We don’t talk about it.

But in my defense, I did promise to deliver something if P dropped 20. Next time I’m betting on 25+

Word Count: 4k words

Azzi Fudd was in big fucking trouble.

Not the catastrophic, relationship-on-the-line kind of trouble. More the you knew what you were doing and now you’re dealing with the consequences kind. The kind of trouble where your girlfriend doesn’t raise her voice, doesn’t throw a fit, she just misses three open layups in the first half of a game she should be dominating and avoids eye contact the whole time.

That kind of trouble stung, because it meant Paige was actually upset. And Azzi couldn’t even say she hadn’t earned it.

It had started with the post. Their hard launch, yesterday. Paige had known it was coming, they’d even laughed about the case together when it arrived in the mail. She’d said Azzi could post it whenever she felt ready. Azzi had felt ready. Paige, apparently, had felt… too busy to react.

Sure, they had agreed Azzi would be the one to go public first, to slowly place the signs for their fans. But she hadn’t expected complete silence from her girlfriend. No like, no repost, not even their pink heart emoji. Just…nothing.

And that silence? It annoyed the hell out of her.

And she knew it was stupid. She knew Paige was barely online these days. She knew that one like didn’t matter when her girlfriend made sure she woke up to a good morning text every single day, and treated her like a princess whenever they were together. But still, Azzi liked to be claimed. In every way possible.

So yeah, maybe Azzi was feeling a little petty when she showed up to the Wings-Mystics game today. 

Her hair was still perfect from the event she’d been at the day before. Her natural makeup hit just right. She even pulled on the jeans Paige loved and decided on a cropped white UConn shirt that left just enough abs and her piercing peeking out. She looked good. Hot, even. First official WAG game and she was showing up for it.

But when she was greeted by Georgia Amoore instead of her own girlfriend first, with a cheeky grin and a "You want this?" Azzi caught the jersey, smiled, and pulled it on right over her tank top without missing a beat.

Okay, maybe she paused for a second. But only because she knew Paige would be annoyed. Her girlfriend was way too possessive for this kind of shit.

Which made her do it anyway.

She’d barely been sitting for a few minutes, casually chatting with the girl next to her, when she saw them. Or more accurately, felt it first. The stare.

When she looked up, Paige and Arike were jogging toward the sideline for warmups. Paige wasn’t even trying to hide the glare. Azzi met her eyes across the court and raised her brows, all faux innocence, like what? Someone else gave it to me.

She didn’t expect Paige to actually come over to her side of the court. But she did.

With Arike flanking her, both of them bouncing the balls casually as they strolled toward Azzi’s section like they had no other place to be. Paige didn’t say anything right away. She just gave her that look. The one that said 

You think you are funny, huh?

"Interesting jersey choice," Arike said with a sly grin, clearly enjoying the drama way too much.

"Georgia said she didn’t want it getting wrinkled on the bench," Azzi shot back smoothly. "I’m just doing her a favor."

"Mhm," Paige murmured, eyes flicking up and down slowly. "Bet she appreciated that."

Azzi tilted her head, playful. "Bet you noticed."

That earned her a look. Paige didn’t respond though,—just turned back to warm up again with Arike, glancing over at Azzi every once in a while before shaking her head. Each time, Azzi just smiled back sweetly, all charm and no remorse.

Now it was halftime, and Azzi sat very still in her seat, Georgia’s red jersey still on, and maybe regretting everything, just a little.

Paige had gone 1-for-6 in the second quarter alone. She’d gotten beat on defense twice, once by Citron, and passed up an open three just to dish to Smith, who wasn’t even ready for it. It was a turnover.

It was bad, like noticeably bad. The kind of bad that made sports Twitter start asking if something was wrong.

Azzi chewed the inside of her cheek, eyes fixed on the Wings bench. Paige was pacing in front of the seats, towel draped over her shoulders, head down. She wasn’t even pretending to be composed anymore. Nalyssa tried to say something to her. Paige just nodded and looked up, directly at Azzi. And Azzi… flinched.

Shit.

This wasn’t what she meant to do. This was supposed to be fun. 

Azzi thought she’d fire Paige up. That it’d get her locked in. She thought Paige would come out swinging, torch the Mystics for daring to even flirt with the idea of taking what was hers. She thought Paige would have the kind of game where she dropped 25 just to spite the Mystics, the kind of night that ended with her backing Azzi against the door as soon as they got to the hotel room and saying mine in every possible way.

That was what Azzi had expected. A little fuel. A little bite. 

Not throwing off her game. Not making her doubt everything.

Azzi tugged at the collar of the jersey, suddenly very aware of how obvious it was. Bright red. Amoore #8. 

Cute… if you weren’t Paige Bueckers watching your girlfriend flaunt someone else’s name across her chest less than 24 hours after hard launching your relationship.

She chewed her lip as the players made their way into the tunnel. Paige didn’t look up once. Not toward the bench. Not toward the crowd. Certainly not toward Azzi.

Azzi had wanted a reaction. Just… not this one.

This wasn’t the fun kind of jealousy. This wasn’t Paige rising to the moment and proving a point. This was Paige shutting down, overthinking, spiraling, playing like she was stuck in her own head.

And Azzi, still stubborn, still too proud to admit it out loud, was starting to realize that maybe she’d misjudged the line between teasing and testing.

She slouched lower in her seat, elbow on the armrest, chin buried in her palm. 

She decided to open the group chat. UConn Huskies 💙💍. 

It had been buzzing with activity all game, mostly with playful jabs and updates. A few GIFs. Some exaggerated "OOPS" messages after Paige’s third turnover. Classic KK.

Azzi didn’t even want to scroll down to see the vote percentages. She knew what option was winning. Judging by Jana’s flame emojis and Sarah’s unhelpful "👀👀👀," her teammates were thriving off this chaos.

And then there it was:

KK: "New poll: What should Azzi do to fix being a dick and wearing the enemy’s jersey?"

Option 1: Beg for forgiveness after the game.

Option 2: Buy new shoes for lil Paigey.

Option 3: Put on that lingerie she packed and wait in the hotel room for Big Daddy Bueckers.

She exhaled, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Do I defend myself? 

The silence lasted maybe thirty seconds. Then the floodgates opened.

Finally, she typed:

Azzi: Okay but… do you guys actually think she’s mad at me?

The words hit her like a slap. And suddenly, all the teasing and jersey-stunting didn’t feel worth it. Not if Paige was hurt. Not if she was second-guessing herself. Not if Azzi did that.

Sarh: Girl.

Morgan: She is mad.

KK: I’d be mad. I am mad. You look like you are repping Georgia like y’all go way back 😭

Caroline: Azzi, you literally hard launched yesterday and then pulled the most passive aggressive side chick stunt of all time 💀

Sarah: Also. She missed a layup which she almost never does. What do you think?"

She stared at her phone, jaw tight. No more playing it cool. She had to fix this.

She opened Paige’s contact, stared at the empty message window, hen finally typed:

Babe, are you ok?

Read, almost Immediately. 

But nothing else. No bubble. Just that quiet little confirmation that Paige saw it, and still wasn’t ready to say anything back.

Azzi’s chest tightened. She glanced to make sure her dad wasn’t watching, took a breath, and typed the kind of message that might break through. The kind that usually worked when normal words weren’t enough. The kind that brought Possessive Paige out of hiding.

It was her asking for a second chance in Paige’s language.

Can you please come out and show them why, even if I wear someone else’s name on my back right now, I only ever moan yours when we get home?

Remind me who I belong to. I’ll be good for you when you do. Promise.

She hit send and was ready to see the effect.

Azzi sat on edge the entire second half—barely blinking, barely breathing—silently praying Paige would settle in. The arena was loud, tense, alive with every possession, but all Azzi could hear was her pulse hammering in her ears. Her hands were clenched in her lap, fingers curled tight in the hem of Georgia’s jersey. She hadn’t sent another message after that last one—but she didn’t need to.

Because Paige had read it. And now Paige was responding.

It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t pretty. She was getting double-teamed off the inbound, blitzed every time she touched the ball, and still not getting much help. But she was fighting. Hard. Every floater came with a shoulder dipped through contact. Every pass was threaded like a dare. Every drive ended with her hitting the floor and popping back up like it just fueled her.

Azzi didn’t move. She just watched.

By the final stretch, Paige had clawed her way to 13 points. And then, with just seconds left in regulation, she pulled off a screen and hit a cold-blooded three to tie the game and send it to overtime.

Azzi shot up before the ball even dropped through the net, hands in the air, mouth wide, screaming without thinking. Pride surged through her like a flood. She was full of relief and awe and love. This was her girl.

And then Paige turned. She didn’t look at her teammates. She didn’t even glance at the bench. She looked straight at Azzi.

Their eyes locked across the chaos, and Azzi’s whole body went still. Paige didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. She just stared, held her there, then lifted her hand and pointed. One deliberate motion, right at her chest. Right at the red jersey.

You are mine.

Azzi’s heart stuttered so violently it nearly made her dizzy. Paige’s eyes burned into her with a promise so sharp it almost hurt. It said, You wanted a reaction? You got it. Now get ready for what’s coming.

Azzi looked down and suddenly couldn’t stand the feel of the jersey she was wearing. The red. The number 8. The smug little game she thought she’d been playing. It felt like wearing someone else’s skin. 

Her fingers flew to the hem and yanked it over her head, not caring who saw, not thinking about the cameras or Georgia or anyone else. She folded it once, maybe out of guilt, maybe just habit, and set it down behind her on the seat like it was something she no longer had permission to wear.

Azzi froze in place, heart stuttering. She didn’t even realize she was still wearing the red jersey until she looked down and suddenly hated it all over again. Her fingers yanked at the hem and she pulled it over her head like it was on fire, not caring if the arena cameras caught it or if Georgia saw. She couldn’t keep it on anymore.

When she looked up again, Paige was mid-huddle, sweat slick on her skin, hair damp, jaw tight but her eyes were still on Azzi. She’d seen the jersey come off. Of course she had. She was waiting for it.

And now she looked at Azzi like she was taking inventory. Her eyes dragged over Azzi’s now-bare shoulders, her fitted white UConn crop top, the deep rise and fall of her chest as she tried to catch her breath. And then, so subtle it almost didn’t register, Paige nodded.

It wasn’t a "thank-you" or a "you’re off the hook" nod.

No.

It was more of a a good girl nod. A that’s more like it nod. A you’re-in-so-much-trouble-later-and-I-hope-you-know-it nod.

Azzi sank back into her seat, suddenly hyper aware of every part of her body. Her pulse raced, her throat dry, her skin flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the arena lights. It was anticipation, pure want. The dizzy, sweet ache of having poked the wrong version of the bear and realizing, too late, that the bear liked being poked.

She tried to steady her breathing, tried to look composed, but she already knew.

She was in trouble. The kind of trouble that would show up in slow drips of sweat down the back of her thighs later, with Paige hovering over her until Azzi was begging for release.

And god, she deserved every second of it.

Overtime didn’t go how Azzi had hoped.

It started well enough. Paige hit a tough two right off the jump, then James came up with a steal and fed her for another clean finish at the rim. The Wings had momentum, briefly. But as always, without structure, without support, it crumbled fast. Missed switches, bad spacing, no real plan. And even Paige, locked in and pushing through, couldn’t hold the whole team together on her own.

Still, she fought. She always did. And she still finished with 20 points. Came damn close to a triple-double  through sheer willpower alone. She didn’t quit. She just ran out of hands.

The crowd emptied quickly after the final buzzer. People were already halfway to the parking lot by the time Azzi stood from her seat. Paige stayed behind, as always. She signed every poster, took every selfie with the kids pressed against the railing, even as her body sagged a little under the weight of the loss. Her smile was tired, but it was still there. Her shoulders tense, but still straight. That was Paige. Win or lose, she showed up.

Azzi watched all of it from courtside, the red jersey balled up in her hand now. It didn’t feel like a statement anymore, just a mistake she was ready to be rid of.

She made her way across the court toward Georgia, who was still near the bench, smirking like she’d just watched a live drama unfold and maybe enjoyed it a little too much.

"Thanks for the loan," Azzi said lightly, holding it out.

Georgia accepted it with a grin and a quick once-over that lingered a beat too long. "Anytime," she said, flicking her gaze over Azzi’s shoulder, straight toward Paige, who was still watching. Still tracking. "Though I gotta say... it looked better on you than it ever did on me."

Azzi didn’t dignify that with anything more than a tight smile, already turning away.

She lingered by the baseline with Lili and Amari, pretending to laugh, letting the noise of the court fade around her. She didn’t check her phone. She didn’t need to. She knew Paige would come to her.

And she did.

Azzi felt it before she saw it and then an arm wrapped around her from behind, firm and familiar, dragging her a step off balance.

Azzi didn’t resist. Her body fell into Paige’s without hesitation, like it had been waiting for permission. Her shoulder pressed under Paige’s jaw, her back tucked tight against her chest, and for a second, she just stood there. Breathing, absorbing. 

Paige smelled like heat and sweat and the same damn perfume Azzi had been sleeping in when she missed her too much. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this, Paige’s weight on her, the sense of being held intentionally, not just lovingly but fully possessed.

And Paige? She didn’t say hello. She didn’t ask. She just held her there, one hand gripping her waist, the other resting low on her hip, fingers splayed like a warning sign to anyone watching.

Mine.

Then Paige looked down at her with that maddeningly smug smile. "You really think you can wear someone else’s name on your back and not answer for it?"

Azzi blinked up at her, breath stuttering. "I thought it would get you fired up," she admitted. "That you’d…y’know, prove a point. On the court."

"Oh, I did," Paige murmured, eyes unblinking. "And now I’m going to prove the rest of it. Not here. Not in front of all these people. But you are going to pay for it."

Azzi swallowed. Her entire body responded to that tone, it was low and clipped. The kind of tone that promised she’d be lucky to walk straight tomorrow.

"I mean," she tried to deflect, voice lighter, "you’ve definitely made your point already…"

Paige didn’t even blink. "No. That was the warm-up."

Before Azzi could say another word, a voice behind them groaned dramatically.

"Oh my god. You two still lookl disgustingly obsessed with each other. Nothing’s changed."

Paige didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look away.

"Disgusting and exclusive," she said coolly, her voice dropping to a murmur as she leaned down, close enough that only Azzi could hear the rest. "And territorial as hell. Keep that in mind when I have you face-down tonight."

Azzi’s breath caught. Her heart forgot how to beat. Paige straightened like nothing had happened, throwing a casual wave toward a passing staffer.

Azzi just stood there, blinking like she'd been hit by a truck. One that smelled like sweat and victory and consequences.

She’d pushed. Paige had pulled.

And now she was in so much trouble. And she loved every second of it.

By the time they finally started heading out, the arena was almost entirely empty besides the staff cleaning up. Azzi had Paige’s gym bag slung over one shoulder, ignoring the way Paige kept glancing down at it with an expression that practically screamed give it to me. But Azzi just shook her head.

"No," Azzi said firmly, swatting her hand away. "Absolutely not. You carried the team tonight. You played forty minutes and got a bruised knee. The least I can do is carry your bag."

Paige narrowed her eyes. "Azzi—"

"Babe," Azzi cut in sweetly. "Let me be a good girlfriend and carry your stuff for once. You always carry mine."

Still, she muttered under her breath the entire walk to the parking lot, and Azzi caught enough of it to know that "good girlfriend" was going to be revisited. Thoroughly. Later.

When they reached the car, Azzi popped the trunk and turned to grab the keys from her back pocket, but Paige was already standing there, palm extended. Silent and Expectant. 

Azzi met her eyes and couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips. She dropped the keys into Paige’s hand like she was surrendering something more than just a fob.

"I may carry your stuff," she said, saccharine sweet, "but I’m not giving up passenger princess treatment."

Paige cocked her head, that sharp smile slowly spreading. "You are really pushing your luck and my limits tonight, princess."

"Pushing," Azzi echoed, already sliding into the passenger seat. "Not over it."

"Yet," Paige murmured.

They shut the doors almost in sync, the cabin falling into soft darkness. The air shifted, quiet and charged. No noise, no lights, no crowd. Just them. Paige’s hands on the wheel. Azzi practically vibrating beside her.

And Possessive Paige finally alone with her girl.

Paige turned toward her without a word, eyes sharp in the shadows, and reached out slowly, like she’d been holding back for too long and was finally ready to take. Her fingers found Azzi’s jaw, curling under it, her thumb brushing up the line of her cheekbone, firm and unhurried. She guided her in like gravity, lips brushing once, soft and purposeful, then again, deeper, hungrier, heat blooming between them.

"I missed you, baby," Paige murmured against her mouth, voice low and possessive, the baby nearly swallowed by how close they were.

Azzi let out a whimper, high and helpless, her fingers already clawing at the back of Paige’s neck, tangling into the damp curls stuck to her nape. She pulled her in again, harder this time—mouths crashing, breath catching, her legs shifting to pull Paige closer over the console. Their kisses turned messy fast. All tongue, teeth, gasps. Azzi made a small, broken sound every time Paige tugged at her bottom lip. 

It had only been two days, but with the month before that hollowed out by travel and tension and late-night missed calls, it felt like she was kissing life back into her lungs.

Paige leaned in harder, pinning Azzi into the seat. Azzi folded under her without resistance, knees parting, one thigh pressing up against the console. Paige's hand slid from her jaw down to her throat, thumb pressing right beneath her jawline. Azzi’s breath stuttered, eyes fluttering shut. Her whole body pulsed under Paige’s touch.

She was already shaking.

Paige didn’t stop kissing her until she felt it, felt how gone Azzi was. Then she pulled back just slightly, hovering above her, lips swollen, eyes black with promise. Her hand never left Azzi’s throat. She didn’t squeeze. She didn’t have to. The weight of it was enough.

Her smirk was slow, calculated, absolutely devastating.

"I haven’t forgotten about your little stunt," she said, voice low and deliciously cruel. "You think just because you handed the jersey back, you’re off the hook that you are a good girl again?"

Azzi’s pupils blew wide. Her breath hitched so sharp it was almost a gasp. She swallowed, her whole body taut with anticipation, thighs squeezing together without permission.

Paige leaned in closer, lips grazing her jawline, her voice dropping into something even darker. She was all breath and threat, velvet and warning.

"You’re not getting off easy tonight. You want to play games in public? You want to wear someone else’s name on your back and act like you don’t know who you belong to?"

Azzi whimpered, hips twitching upward like she could grind against the air. She was panting now, eyes dazed, hands tightening into Paige’s hoodie like an anchor.

"You’re mine," Paige growled against her ear. "And you’re gonna remember that for days."

Azzi couldn’t speak. She just nodded, desperate and shaking.

Paige kissed her once more, harsh and claiming, then pulled back, just far enough to look her in the eye.

"First I’m going to hold you down and make you scream my name over and over again until it’s the only one left in your head. And then I’m going to make sure your thighs are too sore to pull another stunt like that for a long time."

Azzi made a sound that was half-moan, half-plea. Her head fell back against the headrest, lips parted, eyes dazed.

"I’m serious," Paige said, softer now, but no less threatening. "I’m not going to rush it. You’re going to feel every second of it. And you’re going to thank me when it’s over."

Azzi’s voice finally broke through, wrecked and trembling. "Yes. Please."

Paige smiled, dark, satisfied, cruel in the way only someone who loved you could be before pulling away and starting the car.

Azzi Fudd was in big fucking trouble. She was about to pay for every second she spent in that red jersey. And god, she couldn’t wait.

[batsandbirdbrains]

I need Bruce trying to gentle parent Dick as a child. Like maybe Bruce isn’t exactly a good parent but tries. When Dick starts throwing massive tantrums, he just puts Dick in an empty room for time out. This does not stop Dick as he ends up destroying the room despite nothing being in it. When Dick does something Bruce doesn’t approve of, Bruce just says softly “Don’t do that.” Dick does it again. Like I need him trying and failing. Nothing he does works. Then Dick decides to turn that gentle parenting back on Bruce. No whenever Bruce makes him mad, he puts Bruce in a time-out room. Whenever Bruce is being dumb, he just gives him a pout and says “Don’t do that.” Bruce actually does his best to listen to Dick because he thinks it might foster trust or encourage Dick to follow along when Bruce does it to him. It doesn’t really work. Dick still doesn’t listen and now Bruce is being parented by the child he’s supposed to be raising. The only plus is that it calms down Dick’s more violent urges because instead of destroying shit he just sends Bruce away.

Then Dick gets shot, and something in Bruce snaps. There is no more gentle parenting, no more kind words or soft punishments. He needs to make Dick listen, and if that means hurting him, then so be it. He loses sight of the fact that Dick is still a kid, an incredibly traumatized one at that. He still lets Dick parent him, although he’s more snappy about it. Dick stops being soft with him, too, instead telling him harshly to get to bed, threatening to sic Alfred on him, or screaming in his face about how he’s the worst. Somehow they’ve fallen into this horrible dynamic and neither of them know how to get out of it. Dick blames himself for being such a troubled kid, and though Bruce never says it, Dick knows he blames him too. So Dick leaves.

Eventually, over the years their family grows, but Bruce’s softness never really comes back. He’s meaner, more controlling, even downright cruel at times. And one day when the entire batfam is arguing with him over how unreasonable he is, one them snaps and says “Jesus, B, who turned you into such a fucking asshole?” and before Bruce can even think about it, he responds “Dick did.” He closes his mouth in shock, face going ashen while everyone else freezes. The words cut straight into Dick’s heart. He replies with the only words he can think of at the moment “Don’t do that.” He meant for the words to be cold, confident. Instead they came out soft, chiding and pained. Before anyone can say anything else, Bruce turns on his heel and leaves. They all try to follow him to argue more but then stare, confused, as he walks into an empty room, locking the door behind him. He doesn’t come out for a long time.

🥺 rip out my fucking heart why don’t you, damn.

But now I’m just thinking of the scenario with Bruce saying Dick turned him into an asshole, and the whole room freezes.

Jason didn’t expect an actual answer. Tim and Damian thought Bruce would have just chided Jason for his language. Dick thought a Bruce was just going to keep yelling.

But then the way he says, “Dick did” without even thinking about it, without hesitation, it shocks everyone.

And Dick feels like he wants to cry, because sure, he knew he was a pretty fucked up kid. He was troubled. Traumatized. A problem child. But Bruce for the most part had been so patient when he was little. And when Bruce started being an asshole after Dick got shot, it wasn’t like Dick couldn’t fight right back. It was almost like a game, sometimes. But Dick has always felt so guilty about it, because Bruce had been so soft spoken and patient and nice, and then Dick went and fucked him up. Dick ruined him. It’s all Dick’s fault.

Dick has always had that thought in the back of his mind. But he’s never had any real proof that Bruce felt the same.

Now he does. And Dick’s chest feels hollow as he stares at a horrified looking Bruce.

All Dick can manage to say is a soft, desperate, “Don’t do that,” just like Bruce always tried to use with him, before he started using yelling as his go-to response.

Then Bruce turns without saying anything and walks right into an empty room, and Dick feels like he’s going to throw up. He turns too, towards his bike, and he ignores the way his siblings are calling after him. He turns off his comms and rides home, going way too fast, feeling the wind whip around him, and tears blurring his vision until he blinks them away.

When he gets back to his Blüdhaven apartment, he slides in through the window and doesn’t even change out of his costume before he’s puking in the bathroom.

He silences his phone, turns in his security system, and then spends the next hour sitting under the water in his shower, spacing out until the water goes ice cold and he has to get out. Then he crawls into bed, pulls out Zitka from under the pillows to hug to his chest, and buries his head under his pillows. If he doesn’t pay attention to it, he can pretend he’s not still crying because of the guilt.

He stays like that for a long time, not moving. He falls asleep for a while, wakes up in a panic, rinse and repeat.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but the next thing he knows, someone is sitting down on his bed next to him, laying a hesitant hand in his back. And he knows it’s Bruce, and it just makes him feel even worse.

“Go away,” he begs, the words muffled under his pillows.

“I didn’t mean it,” Bruce tries to tell him.

“Yes you did,” Dick says miserably. “And it’s true. I know it’s true, you don’t have to pretend it’s not.”

“It wasn’t you who made me an asshole,” Bruce says. “The situation-”

“Caused by me,” Dick argues.

“You were just a child, Dick.” Bruce sighs.

“A horrible, no good, rotten child!”

“Don’t say that about yourself,” Bruce says firmly. “It’s not true, Dick. I don’t care what anyone says, you were not a rotten child. You were just a little boy. I was the adult, and I should have found other solutions that worked for you.”

Dick doesn’t say anything, but he eventually moves out from under the pillows to curl up with his head in Bruce’s lap. Bruce plays with his hair, and the two of them stay quiet for a long time. Neither of them really knows what to say. They’re both still upset. And they’re both awful at dealing with their feelings.

The sadness and anger and guilt they’re feeling from this fight won’t be resolved. They won’t really talk about it. It won’t be talked about without someone else bringing it up, and that won’t happen for a while.

But for now, Bruce is going to comfort his son. And for now, Dick will let him.

[saetiate]

call it what it is. (or, the five times sae and you are "just friends". and the one time it stops being possible to deny what this really is.)

itoshi sae x f!reader fluff. friends to lovers, first kiss, how love happens, reader goes by she/her pronouns and has some personality (sorry, i couldn't get around it bc of The Plot but i kept it as minimal as possible). personality mentions are as follows: career-focused, likes sweet things, drinks alcohol sometimes, little regard for self care especially when busy, doesn't like to be touched by people they don't know, is alone often. word count: 2.3k author's note: you both have a whole dinner date, go to events together, take care of each other, and then get surprised when people think you're dating??? okay so the sound of fireworks are less obvious than whatever yall have going on

Bitterness churns at the back of your throat. Is it from the roasted beans of the coffee you've been slamming into your system for the last few days, or from the lack of sleep?

Not that it matters. You've worked OT, both your team and your clients are unhappy, and according to your Excel worksheet, you're on your 85th job application. So really, it doesn't get worse than —

The doorbell rings.

Who the actual —

You breathe out the biggest sigh at the pretty face standing before you. It's definitely the lack of sleep, isn't it? Either you really should've checked the peephole and put on something a little more flattering, or he's a hallucination.

Let's hope it's the latter. You move to close the door, and his hand reaches out lightning-quick, holding it still. In a spark of annoying rebellion, you press all of your body weight against the door, and it doesn't budge an inch.

Right. Athletes and their stupid, stupid strength.

"You didn't answer my calls."

They say sighing is a necessary part of your lungs, that one of the struggles of artificial lungs was getting them to sigh. You wonder if it meant this many times in a day. "Sae, I'm busy. Wait, I didn't answer your calls? You don't answer my texts 90% of the time."

Then he's in your entryway, because of course you can't argue where your neighbors can hear, that's rude. But then he's in your kitchen, washing his hands, opening your fridge.

"There's nothing in here. When's the last time you took a shower?"

"You come here just to insult me?"

A towel hits your face with an oof before it falls into your arms.

"Sae," you try again, as the towel slides down your cheek, "You can't just barge in here and —"

20 minutes later, there's two steaming bowls of katsu curry rice on your now-clean desk. Sae opens up the little ziplock of togarashi, leans it against your bento box with more care than you'd expect.

"Itakadimasu."

~

It's the strangest thing, walking into your place only for someone to already be in there. How the noise cuts through, something unbelonging but welcomed.

"You know, giving you the key wasn't so you could just walk in here whenever you want. It was for emergencies only."

The only answer you get is the smell of onions being caramelized, crackled sparks of savory in the air.

"I answered your call," you continue, undressing behind a half-open door. "So this can't be an emergency. And you have a much nicer place than this."

Sae barely glances at you as your head peeks into the kitchen. "You could stay there."

"What, with you? Like we're roommates? Nah, you'd see what a mess I am."

"I'm already seeing it."

A spatula waves in little circles around the pan,

What are you doing here, Sae?

Like he's already braced for the question, the refrigerator light beacons out into the descending night. Your favorite wine passes from his hand to yours.

"Got gifted it," he responds before you can even ask. You could've caught him looking at you, but the gold label glints with stars in your eyes.

"How'd you get gifted icewine? You've never talked about it in an interview."

He doesn't tell you he asked his manager for recommendations, that he knows they let it slip to someone looking for a brand deal with him. Instead, he watches as you struggle to pop the cork open, the xylophone clink of ice into twin wine glasses.

"So you do like sweet things," you comment as the nectared drink meets your tongue with a smile. There's a reverence to it: how he watches you chop the vegetables before sliding them into the pan, how the last remnants of today's sunlight filter through the window and past your hair.

Sweet things. He supposes he does like something like that.

~

"This event, is it a big deal?"

He vaguely hears a ruffle of clothing behind the half-shut bathroom door, lightstream swept across the floor. He offered you what he knows his teammates get their wives for these events — stylist, makeup artists — but he watched you stand in his bathroom layering on eyeshadow for yourself anyways.

I don't trust anyone else to touch me. A simple statement made stark.

"Sorry, Sae. Could you help zip me up please?"

Maybe it's that implication, that hidden trust you place in him, that makes his exhale a little shaky as one of his hands wraps around your waist to hold the dress down, the other carefully pulling up metal piece up.

You've often thought athletes would naturally be aggressive. You've seen Sae make a fast pass across the entire field without breaking a sweat. But when his hands are on you, they're always light. You think of the falling of snow, its soft and silent touch that comes unexpected, the easy descent it makes before it melts into the ground.

Love is a little like that, maybe.

~

It's a common feeling, to feel as if you're completely alone in this world. Easy to get into your own head, to see only yourself within four walls again and again and forget that there is a whole world outside. It's logical, well-researched, known. It's because of that that you can factor out the feelings when it hits you.

The four walls has never felt as striking as now, coughing into the hollow quiet. The morbid thought strikes that if you died here, no one would know. They'd find your body days later, after the smell starts to waft out.

But you chose this. To move and to fight and to create a life worth living. You, with your ambitions and heavy heart and endless survival faith that makes you somehow believe you can still make it. Sometimes you have to force a door close before wrenching another one open with nothing but your bare hands. Sometimes you have to swallow all your pride and roll up your sleeves and pray to no higher gods you worship that the decision you made is worth it.

You think you hear something click as your mind fogs back and forth into sleep. You hope whoever's burgling you will at least leave you alone and only take what they need. You hear your name, and then a shuffle, and god this is really the worst time to have a stalker.

The back of a hand over your forehead is cool to the touch, the night's breeze still pressed between the molecules.

"You're sick."

Thank you, intruder, for pointing out the obvious is what you want to say. But instead, your head lulls heavily to the side. "I just need to rest for a bit."

"You need a hospital."

"I'm fine. I'm just- being dramatic. But I'm fine."

Your world tips on its axis, warmth blooming into your side. He lifts you into his arms soundlessly. You almost envy how effortless it is for him; the weight you carry is so heavy when you're carrying it yourself.

It's only halfway towards his car that you find yourself processing, finally speaking, "Thank you, Sae."

There's a sharp intake of breath from him, the hard line of his body protecting you from the night's chilled-sweet air. His heartbeat against your ear is as steady as the shore, the way it waits for the kiss of the tide.

"Just call me next time."

~

Sae's not sure how he feels about this.

It's his first time being late when he's meant to be taking you to this event. He moves fast through the crowd, searches with keen eyes. Chandeliers flicker and crystal-light dances —

Only to find you propped up against the wall, Rin leaning down close.

Sae might be less confused if Rin didn't look — for what might be the first time at an event ever — like he actually wanted to be there. He's listening to you with all his attention, has no problem being in your space.

Sae only approaches once you've been whisked away by Bachira.

"Why were you talking to her?"

Rin whips around, and instead of looking guilty, he's in wide-eyed shock, and then narrow-eyed annoyance. "Ha? She's your girlfriend, isn't she?"

Sae blinks. Did he say that? He would've remembered, wouldn't he?

"You good-for-nothing older brother," Rin's voice is a grunt, nothing like the sweetness he gave you. "You didn't even introduce me. I had to fucking find out through Isagi."

"How does Isagi know?"

"Oliver."

"How does Oliver know?"

Rin gives him an begrudged, deadpan look. "He's your teammate?"

That explains nothing. Actually, Sae is even more confused. He has about a dozen more questions.

"She's nice." Rin mumbles low, playing with the stem of his wine glass, watches as it almost tips before swooping it back up.

"You like her?"

"I think she's nice." Rin grits, and Sae really doesn't know how Rin gets away with faux passes on the field when his reactions are this obvious, because he watches how his eyes grow with realization as another thought passes through his brain. "You don't like her?"

"I like her." Sae accepts quickly.

"Ha??? Then what are you asking me for?!"

~

If Sae's being honest, he knows he has more than enough. He wonders what this thing is that he's had since he was born, never satiated even as he reaches the top. He thinks about how Bachira describes his 'monster', a childlike wonder, whether this is his own version of something like that.

But even the blackhole-depths of his greed doesn't anticipate wanting you. Like remembering the sea upon the drink of an oyster. A second breath, heart soaked with knowing.

What am I doing, sleeping in his bed? The night grows darker with every step, so the invite was innocuous enough. You sink into the mattress and the blanket of night muffles the fear, the thought that love is never so easy. There will be complications and contracts —

You turn to him and all the braveheart strength seeps out of you. Maybe you can put it down here, just for a moment.

He looks at you love-first, in a thousand colors, something he can't find with anyone else. He brushes the hair from your face so delicately, you find yourself stuck between watching his relaxed expression and fluttering your eyes shut to absorb the feeling. The back of his fingers caress your cheek, a butterfly's wing.

"Are you happy? Satisfied?"

Sae is not abstract. It's a vague but concrete question. You understand him at first glance.

"Not yet," you exhale honestly. "I have more to do. I'm gonna get there."

I'm gonna be the person I want to be. And by that time, I'll also be —

I'll also be the kind of girl you'd consider worth dating.

"Just wanna be worth it," you smile weakly instead.

He looks at you with a tenderness that feels dangerous. You think of a bird's first flight, the swoop of the fall. The crackle of a flame before it eats the firewood.

"People are worth something the moment they're born," he recites with no inflections.

"I know that."

"You're the one who said that." It's not accusatory, it's a reminder: your own truth, a perception of love you've been made the exception of. It's too heavy with degradation for him to feel comfortable focusing on, so instead he asks something he knows.

"If you had everything you want now, would it be enough?"

You sit up, his eyes following you. Your body heat no longer pressed against his feels like a loss, something he's sure to correct.

"No. You know that's not how it works." You should know, better than anyone.

He does know. That greed is a bottomless abyss, ambition an infinite sky. There is no amount of good enough that could ever make it all feel worth it.

His hand circles around your wrist, pulls you in on top of him until you're chest to chest.

Love is not your right. Shattered somethings cradle your heart. Trees can grow around items. You wonder if your heart is the same — muscle grown strong around fractured glass, a whisper of a cutting edge with every beat.

If you're always going to want more, be better, go further —

Could you have a little something in the now?

He's so close to you now that it fills your mind completely. He's not naked but he feels so bare under you, your hands framing his cheeks, soft skin brushing against your fingertips. One of his hands skates up your back, the other slides up your jaw, cups the back of your neck.

You wonder when you started letting him touch you like that.

He treats you so gently, so unlike the overwhelming emotion that crashes into you. Both lightweight and heavy, you feel swept under, you just want to anchor onto something —

His lips touch yours and everything falls into place.

~

"How'd you know about her?"

Oliver could make it easy for him. He won't, because getting a reaction out of Sae is much more fun. Instead, he tries and fails to feign ignorance. "Who?"

"My girlfriend."

Oliver leans his head back against the wall, a playful smile over his face. "So she is your girlfriend. Loyal too."

Sae narrows his eyes.

"Relax. I just talked to her at one of those events you brought her to."

"You talked to her?"

Oliver gets the sense that Sae is trying to make it sound like a normal question, but all it sounds is exactly how annoyed he feels.

"She just said she's waiting for you."

notes: unbelonging is not a word, i used it anyways on purpose to strengthen the idea of something not belonging. nectared and lightstream are also not real words, but i like them. twin wine glasses is kind of a reference to twin flames, though i do think you and sae are actually soulmates. i wonder if people can be both. "the weight you carry is so heavy when you're carrying it yourself" is a double meaning, not just your body weight but everything else you carry too.

call it what it is: / a love created, hand-sculpted to fit. / a silent reprieve, / to be seen, / constellations bursting at the seams. / unfounded heart, / a tepid start,/ an easy, soft-sweet thing. / say what this really is. / place it on the justice scales of the abyss. / what you're meant to be / versus what you choose / you can decide you have a right to this.

[cherryberry-sugarandspice]

Nanny for Ms. Maximoff

Summary: You're the nanny for the prestigious Wanda Maximoff. She's one of the top business women in New York, making newspapers and magazines about her success. Due to her busy work life, she needed someone to watch her two young children, and thankfully you were desperate for a job. Only, you can't help but lust after your boss. Does she feel the same for you?

CW: use of dildo, older woman younger woman, dirty thoughts, reader is very perverted, secret camera A/N: if this is a success and hits 500 notes I'll do part 2

"Goodnight Tommy, goodnight Billy," you say softly to the young boys, tucking them into their bed. They insisted on sleeping in the same bed, and after what felt like a year long tantrum, you gave the okay. They sleepily wave their hands, their eyelids growing heavy and falling shut, hugging their favorite stuffed animals before sleep takes over and the twin boys snore softly.

You smile and reach over to turn off the lamp, double checking the nightlight is still on. You forgot to check once and you never heard the end of it from them, who woke up screaming in a dark room. Surprisingly, children hold grudges.

You close the door with a quiet click and you raise your arms above your head, feeling the aches and tiredness of the long day slither through your muscles and out the tips of your fingers.

Taking care of twin boys is not an easy job. They get up at 7 am on the dot every morning and it's not like they need time to wake up. No, they're bright and energetic and bouncing all around the house. Unless they didn't get their full ten hours of sleep, then it's hell until nap time.

See, you're the nanny for Wanda Maximoff. Yes, THE Wanda Maximoff, runner up for CEO at Avenger's Enterprise. One of the top ten business women in all of New York, admired for juggling a full-time job and motherhood. She went through an entire packet of potential candidates to help take care of her children, and out of the 150, you were chosen. Considering you had wonderful recommendations, experience in childcare, reliable transportation, know CPR, and you're able to keep up with her kids after a trial week, Wanda thought you were the perfect person for the job.

There are nanny cams. Wanda told you this during the interview. She keeps a camera in the playroom, living room, and the upstairs-the camera only faces towards down the stairs and not into any rooms. She likes to check on the kids throughout the day and she assured you she's not spying on you, just wanting to make sure neither of the twins fell down the stairs.

You languidly walk down the hall, feet cushioned by the soft, plush carpet, and stop in front of two doors with golden curved handles, the wood freshly coated in white. You bite your lip, rocking back and forth on your heels while fumbling with your fingers.

The doors in front of you lead into Wanda's room. The older woman has a queen sized bed covered in silk sheets and a giant soft comforter. Four high bed posts with a canopy tied back. Dark wood dressers and a walk in closet with a vast collection of various heels, flats, shoes, and clothes you'd never find anywhere, only exclusive. A giant bathroom you'd swear could work as two bedrooms.

How do you know this?

Well, it's a bad habit of yours to sneak into her room and try on her clothes. You can't help yourself. You live in a rich woman's house who owns everything expensive. Sometimes, you like to picture yourself living a lavish life such as this.

"No," you scold yourself, turning away from the doors and crossing your arms over your chest. "You promised you'd stop going through her stuff! It's not right."

Diamonds and heels flash through your mind and you spin back around, tonguing the inside of your cheek. "Well...it's not like I'm stealing."

You push open the doors and close them, giggling to yourself as you run over to the closet. Flipping on the light, you're never failed to be amazed by the sheer size of the walk in closet holding luxurious, expensive brands. You run your fingers through the clothes, mouth open in awe. These dresses are definitely more than your paycheck.

A scarlet red dress catches your eye and you pull it out, sighing. It's a silky smooth dress that stops mid thigh. A plunging v-line and a thigh slit. Holding in your hands felt as though you're holding gold. You shimmy off your clothes and slip it on, ignoring the space in the chest and butt area.

Wanda is blessed with a shapely body. Supple curves that leaves many envious and many drooling.

Truth be told, you're crushing hard on your boss. You couldn't help it. You've become drawn to the older woman, shivering from the scent of her floral perfume and mouth going dry whenever she stood too close. More than often you've grown embarrassed from staring at her plump, delicate lips that are just calling to you.

You ache for the touch of her body upon yours. Whenever Wanda needs help choosing an outfit, she'll stand in her bra and panties and hold dresses against herself, asking which you think is better. On the outside, you're cool and collected, giving your honest opinion, but on the inside you're a howling wolf. You'd cover her in kisses if allowed to. God, just thinking about it is leaving you tingling. You shake your head and pair the dress with red heels and gorgeous diamond earrings and necklace.

You do this for a total of fifteen minutes, trying on different dresses and shoes. The closet is an endless maze full of expensive clothes probably worn once and left on the rack, watching as more clothes are added to the collection and left to suffer the same fate.

The array of clothes leaves you envious, but one day you'll have a big walk in closet like this and fill it with expensive clothes from exclusive name brands. You try on more jewelry before putting everything back where they belong and gather your clothes, shutting off the light. You lean against the threshold momentarily, staring at the nightstand that suddenly caught your attention. You hum and lift yourself up, sitting on her bed and open her drawers.

In her nightstand were multiple dildos of different sizes and color. A few ribbed, curved, and a vibrator with a clit sucker. You sit there, eyes wide and face flushed, feeling as though you're interrupting something...personal.

Wanda is a grown woman. Of course she has these. Though you're left wondering...

How often does she use them? What does she think about when she uses them? Is she massaging her breast while thrusting the dildo deep into her wet heat? Does she attach one of them to a pillow and bounce on it until completion?

You gasp as you realize you're stimulating your nipples and jump up, clothes falling from your hands. Heart ramming itself into your rib-cage, damn near threatening to burst free. Your eyes dart towards the door, half expecting to see Wanda walk in on you in nothing but your panties and her drawer of toys opened. Thankfully, she's working late tonight. You sit back down, sighing in relief before smacking yourself upside the head. Keep your dirty thoughts to yourself! Walk out of her room and pretend you never saw anything!

Except, you keep staring at the drawer full of lube and toys, pussy throbbing.

Without realizing it, your hand is reaching out to grab a hold of a bright neon dildo, ribbed around the tip near the fake silicone folds of the tip. The dildo is thick, nearly the same size as your forearm. Is this..is this her favorite toy?

The tension in the room grows thick with arousal, heat seeping into your flesh rising with goosebumps. A shiver runs down your spine as you pant against the dildo, peppering the toy in kisses. Your chest heaves, supple body flinging back against the plush mattress. And oh, is this mattress heavenly.

Imagines of Wanda thrusting this fat dildo deep into her yummy pussy fills your mind and you suckle on the tip, a finger tracing around your glistening folds. Nasty wet squelching noises emitting from her fat, delicious cunt rings in your ears, your stomach doing flips.

God, she's so fucking hot.

This is wrong, you know, laying in your boss's bed and imagining her fucking herself on her toys, but you can't help it. Wanda Maximoff leaves you hungry, and goodness are you starving. You trap your clit between two of your fingers and go to town on your poor, innocent rosebud, moaning around the thick toy.

You whimper, upset the toy doesn't have a single trace of her. You're desperate for a taste. You'd love it for her to sneak into your room and plop her pussy on your lips, having you wake up to yourself eating her out.

"Wanda," you moan, back arching off the bed from the pleasure you're giving yourself. You rub your clit in quick circles, mouth dropped open, thick breaths heaving out. Your breasts bounce against your chest as you squirm against her mattress, pussy weeping out onto Wanda's silk sheets.

Your thoughts went from Wanda playing with herself to her grinding her fat pussy against yours, clits bumping against each other. She's staring down at you over the arch of her nose, perfect lips curled into a devious smile. Her massive breasts bounce and jiggle with every thrust, sloppy holes hotly kissing each other.

You bite down on your lip and push the fabric of your panties aside, guiding the dildo to your entrance. You swirl the plastic tip around your hole, body jolting, and pushing it against your slit you fight back the urge to squeal. It's already so thick!

"Look at you," Wanda purred, tongue dampening her swollen lips. "Taking it like the bitch you are. You like it when our holes kiss? You can feel that, right?" When you don't respond, she slaps you across the face, angling her hips so her clit fucks your hole. "Answer me!"

"Yes!" you cried out, but in reality you mouth it, trying to stay quiet. You slap a hand over your mouth as the dildo eases into your velvet heat, it's girth spreading you apart and your mind nearly melts.

"Good girl," she praises, tossing one leg over her shoulder. "You're going to let me play with this pussy all night long, hm? Until I'm satisfied?"

"Y-Yes! Fuck! Just keep fucking me!"

"Such a needy little thing," Wanda said, clicking her tongue. Her head falls against her shoulders and she moans, thrusting harder into you.

The dildo pumps in and out of your cunt, pleasure coursing through your veins. You imagine all the things Wanda could do to you. All the things you want her to do to you. The older woman completely taking control and power over you, and you'd let her. You'd let her do anything to you and you'd beg her for more.

She can mark your skin in bites and bruises and you'd find more spots on your flesh to show her so she can mark you up more.

You end up squirting all over the dildo and sheets, body shaking violently, vision blinded momentarily. You lay on the bed, panting, coming down from the high of your orgasm before you realized what you did. In a panic, you scramble up, cleaning the toy and hastily tossing it into the drawer, putting on your clothes and tearing the sheets off the bed to go clean.

Thankfully Wanda won't be home anytime soon, giving you plenty of time to clean up after yourself.

However...you didn't realize there was a camera in her room. A camera that was only active when she checked it.

And it was blinking red the entire time.

[literary-dolly]

pride & prejudice

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 11.3k warnings: ANGST, pining, enemies to lovers, violence, violence against reader, arguments/fighting, alcohol, murder

When you first meet Jason Todd he seems to be nothing more than an entitled asshole, but as the seasons change, you begin to realise maybe you were wrong about him. (Loosely inspired by the book/film Pride & Prejudice)

Winter

“Honestly, I can’t wait for you to meet him, I can’t believe you haven’t already.”

More often than not, it was endearing to hear Babs talk about her boyfriend. You would think that Dick Grayson had hung the stars in the sky the way she sang his praises. It almost made you sick, the way her eyes would get moony as she practically recited poetry about his charms, his kindness, and occasionally, his body.

She was right though; you and Babs had been friends for as long as you could remember, it was absurd that you were yet to meet her long-term boyfriend. Phone calls and photos hadn’t really been enough to capture a true image of him, who he was and what he stood for. Babs meant the world to you, however, and you were determined to meet the man who had crashed into it so suddenly.

‘Suddenly’, you’d believed, until she’d informed you that he did in fact used to be the Robin to her Batgirl. You’d barked out a laugh at the time, there was nothing sudden about the relationship in that case – Babs had been pining over him for as far back as your mind would stretch. 

It had been a rocky few years for your relationship, your time at Gotham University had separated the pair of you, forcing you to become little more than a library recluse, drowning in books on any given day. Babs had been equally as busy, rebranding herself as Oracle and working so diligently with the Bats most days until the sun came up. It was never anything less than an honour that Babs had trusted you with her identity, the identities of most of them – she’d claimed it couldn’t hurt to have someone like you, a journalist, on the inside if needs be. Deep down, you knew she just wanted to have someone to talk to about it who didn’t dance around every evening in a spandex suit.

Degree finished and countless more hours on your hands, Babs had welcomed you back with open arms, your relationship immediately rekindling to a mirror image of what it had been in your youth. Even Jim had been ecstatic to see you, pulling you into a bear hug when you’d appeared on the doorstep.

This is how you ended up where you are now – nursing a drink in some shitty Gotham dive bar as Babs practically vibrates beside you, anticipating the arrival of her beloved. As hard as it is to resist the urge to wallow in the dingy, depressing lighting, it’s difficult to remain glum with your best friend so excited at the mere prospect of her two favourite people finally meeting. You’d resolved to try and make a good impression, working your utmost to disregard of any animosity you held for excruciating small talk.

“Oh, there he is! Dick!” Babs calls, waving a hand out enthusiastically. Dick saunters over to the table with a million-dollar smile plastered across his cheeks. The images hadn’t done him justice and you can’t help but feel proud of her as he materialises in front of you. He was, admittedly, hot. Jet black hair swooped almost too perfectly against a seamless California tan, defined muscle decorating any visible parts of his physique. Peppy, is the word that comes to mind, and instantly you can see how a man like Dick Grayson would have enraptured your friend so.

“Nightwing,” you whisper, all tongue in cheek as he settles at the table, “Nice to finally see the face behind the mask.”

So much for a good first impression.

You don’t miss the way Dick’s smile falters for just a second or how his body seems to go rigid – or the soft slap Babs throws against your shoulder. It’s amusing to watch, as Dick and Babs eyes flicker in silent communication, Babs offering him a delicate smile to let him know that you were trustworthy.

Clearly, otherwise you wouldn’t know in the first place.

Babs, out of nothing other than good manners, repeats your name to Dick as soon as it becomes apparent you aren’t going to offer it up out of goodwill any time soon. She throws a teasing smile in your direction before adding, “She’s always like this, it’s been a blessing and a curse over the years.”

In spite of your brashness, Dick extends his hand politely, flashing you a stark white grin and a bemused look, “It’s nice to finally meet you. You may as well of been hiding behind a mask too up until this point, ya’ know?”

Begrudgingly, you shake it. It’s frustrating, how difficult it is to remain prickly against all of his oozing charisma. Disarming is what it is, with how quickly his demeanour seems to be crumbling your defences – you can imagine Dick Grayson is a man used to being adored.

Ice broken, the conversation begins to flow smoothly, allowing you to slowly loosen up with every passing phrase. Dick politely asks about your time as a student, making it clear he’s listened diligently to the scraps of information Babs had no doubt given him, and you give him the same courtesy of asking about his day job as opposed to his night one. As your eyes travel between the couple in front of you, you can’t smother the flicker of warmth that makes its home in the pit of your stomach; they look good together, and anyone with a working pair of eyes could see they were absolutely smitten.

“Oh, Babs, I hope you don’t mind, I invited Jason. He’s been a bit down in the dumps recently. Thought a bit of socialisation might do him some good.”

Instantly, you throw Babs a scrutinizing glare, trying to assess if this has all been some ruse to set you up with some random her boyfriend has decided would be a good fit for you. Instead, all you see on her face is genuine surprise, if not a smidge of happiness.

“Of course, Dick, Jason is always welcome – I’ve tried to tell him the same.”

As if on cue, the bar door slams open, ricochetting against the wall behind it. A man who could only be Jason, based on the way Dick and Babs’ faces light up, seems to practically storm in, stopping sharply on his heel to survey the room before his eyes finally land on you.

Naturally, the first thing there is to notice about him is his sheer size, towering over you, your companions and likely everyone else in the bar as well. But its more than that, the way he seems to fill the space, not just with the throes of muscle that seem to be a constant cycle of tensing and relaxing down his neck, arms, jaw – but through an aura, glowering, almost dark. The hair on his head is such a shadowy black it’s striking even in the dim light of the bar, but what’s even more noticeable is the tendril of white that curls its way forward to rest on his brow. His features, you think, wouldn’t be amiss on some kind of Greek statue, distinct and severe. What catches your attention the most, however, is the deep frown etched into his brow, matching seamlessly with a similar snarl of disgust on his lip – you’d think he’d stepped into a sewer with the repulsion that seems to emanate off him.

Without even an acknowledgement, Jason simply marches over to the booth and plants himself in the only empty space directly beside you.

“Jason! I’m happy to see you, in person anyway. How you feeling?” There’s an impossible degree of kindness in Babs’ voice, you think, for a man seemingly so vehement at even being here in the first place. Your impression isn’t helped by the curtness of his response.

“Fine.”

“Jay, you want a drink from the bar? I was just going to –”

“No, I’m not planning on staying long.”

You have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from admonishing the man for his sheer rudeness, his nerve to come blazing into your evening and sap every smidgeon of happiness out of the room without a care in the world. Concern is written plainly across Dick and Babs’ faces, but you can’t pretend to share the same sympathies. To you, Jason seemed to be nothing more than a dickhead with an attitude problem.

“Jason, this is an old friend of mine,” Babs offers him a smile, “I think the two of you would get along pretty well.”

“Oh great, a friend,” Jason’s words are practically lethal, “How on Earth should we celebrate such a momentous occasion?”

“I’m guessing it’s not one you get to celebrate much,” the words spill out of your lips before you can stop them, nothing more than a quiet mumble, but Jason’s head snaps to the side in an instant. There’s a fire that rims his greenish eyes, and there’s not much more that you can see in them other than downright murder. His fingers begin to lighten from his chokehold grip on the table in front of you.

“Who are you and why are you talking?” Jason bites, eyes quickly returning to the chip in the wood you wouldn’t be half surprised if he created with the intensity of his stare.

“Oh, you know, nobody you should care about. By all means, take centre stage. You’ve practically done it anyway.”

Dick’s voice comes out nervously, a hand scratching the back of his head, “Easy, guys.”

“I’ve sat down and said fuck-all,” Jason spits, “I’m not the one making bitchy comments about guys I don’t even know.”

“Bitchy? What is this 1813?” You turn your body to face him directly, edging on shouting. You try to ignore the flutter of regret in your stomach when he does the same, his figure casting a shadow across the entirety of, well, you.

“Well, I like to think of myself as a pretty modern guy but if the shoe fits.”

“That’s enough,” Babs’ voice is swift and severe when it rises, and Jason must be familiar enough with her to know to snap his mouth shut as you do, the pair of you shuffling back to how you’d been seated before. “We’re trying to have a nice evening, not start a war. Jason, why don’t you go get a drink at the bar?”

“I said I don’t want a fucking –”

Babs sends him a particularly pointed look, at which Jason seems to huff and hoist himself out of the booth. Dick is quick to follow, sliding out and trailing in the footsteps of his counterpart.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, you practically lurch forward to Babs, “Who the fuck is he and why –”

“You need to calm down,” Babs’ voice is as stern as it had been only seconds before, and you’re fairly certain you can feel your jaw drop.

“I need to calm down? I need to calm down? Babs he –”

“He’s my friend. Whether you like him or not,” her voice softens ever so slightly, and she reaches across the table to grasp your hands, “I understand he can be difficult, but so can you. He wasn’t being any worse than you were.”

You can’t muster the words to form an answer, instead opting to slump down into your seat with a few breathless grumblings. You cast your eyes over to the boys at the bar, and based on the way Jason’s shoulders are hunched forward, you can imagine he’s getting a similar tirade from Dick. That thought comforts you at least.

When they return, Dick slots himself next to you with a bubbly smile, Jason collapsing opposite him next to Barbara. There’s an awkward silence that seems to engulf the table, until Dick’s eyes begin to shine as he starts on the story of some thug he’d arrested the other day and the chaos that followed. It’s almost manageable like that, Dick happily chittering away as Babs listens intently, leaving you and Jason to glower in silence.

It’s brief, but for just a second, your eyes meet Jason’s. It’s only as you look up from the table that you realise, he’s staring, and you can’t help but feel a little burned by his gaze. If anything, you would say its apologetic, and ever so slightly longing. You watch as his lips part, almost as though he’s about to say something, but instead he just reclines back in the seat, crossing his arms over his chest and ripping his eyes away to stare at the poker table across the room.

The rest of the evening continues in that stead, and as time ticks over you find it easier to edge yourself back into the conversation, offering up small stories or observations of your own. To your surprise, even Jason pipes up every half an hour or so, mostly to offer some snide remark that sends Dick and Babs into a fit of giggles.

The four of you stay until the bar closes, a worker coming to awkwardly rush you out onto the street into the smoggy Gotham night. Babs and Dick turn to chatter to each other hurriedly, no doubt trying to orchestrate where they would be staying this evening, leaving you and Jason to stand awkwardly to the side swinging on your heels like petulant children.

Eventually, Babs sighs and turns to the pair of you, a stern look in her eye, “I need to go home with Dick to check out a case he’s been working on, I promised him I would a few days ago.” She pauses before turning sharply to Jason, “Can I trust you to walk her back home without starting a fight?”

“I don’t want him to know where I live!” You throw your arms up in exasperation, “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Wow,” Jason’s chuckle is bone-chillingly dark, “Charming. I’m charmed. Truly.”

“You’re not walking on your own,” Babs snips, before tempering, “I’m sorry. I forgot about this, but it’s important. Please can you do me a favour and just go with him.”

“Do I get any say in this?” Jason quips, back half turned to the conversation.

“No, you don’t,” Babs replies firmly.

It’s not long after that Dick and Babs depart, Babs offering you what seems to be a look of both sympathy and warning as the car pulls away from the sidewalk, leaving you and Jason alone in the silent early morning air, refusing to even cast a glance in each other’s direction.

The only word to describe the walk back is painful.

It’s completely silent, bar for your mingled breathing, and the occasional call of directions on your part. Not a glance is shared, the pair of you pacing side by side without any acknowledgement of the other. You have to pretty much jog to keep up with Jason, who if he notices, does not seem to care.

Time seems to drag impossibly slowly until you reach the door of your apartment building, and you swallow your pride as you turn to face him. He seems to recoil slightly as you meet his eye, clearly not expecting such a direct confrontation.

“Uhm, thank you,” you sigh, almost defeatedly, “I wouldn’t really have wanted to walk back on my own. And,” you pause, scrubbing a hand over your face, “I’m sorry, for how I acted in the bar.”

Just as before, you watch as his lips part ever so slightly, like there are words bubbling on his tongue attempting to fight their way forward. His eyes almost seem frantic as they flitter up and down over you with a confused kind of scrutiny.

Then he turns and walks away.

You don’t stop watching him until he disappears around the corner at the end of the street, not once turning to check if you’re still stood gaping like a fish behind him. The rage that burns through your veins is hot and fast, and you nearly slam the door off its hinges as you make your way into the building.

Never before have you met such an arrogant, entitled, rude caricature of a man. Not one who would so shamelessly put on the performance Jason had this evening. It was foolish of you, you think, to believe that the two of you could have come to some kind of level-footing.

As you climb into bed, attempting to quieten the anger that seems to course through every limb, there is only one desire that twists in your stomach.

To never see Jason again.

Spring

It was only so long, really, until you got invited to a Wayne gala.

Babs had requested you come as her plus one, seeing as Dick was (naturally) invited regardless. It had taken no shortage of begging on her part, pleading and harassing you with various different threats and promises until eventually you’d lapsed and agreed. To most, you can imagine, it would be a great honour – but you can only seem to focus on the way your toes seem to be splintering against the heels that had been dashed away into the back of your closet until exactly three hours ago.

The beauty of Wayne Manor cannot be understated, with its grand archways, decadent furniture and collection of gargoyles crooning mercilessly overhead. It reeks of an almost sterile air of perfection, not a single decoration out of place, every member of staff working diligently and only answering with a set of perfectly rehearsed responses that you were certain had been tailored to every possible whim. It’s a battle with your more inquisitive nature to venture beyond the contained room in which the party takes place, longing to explore the vast halls and the secrets that must be embedded within them.

Bruce Wayne does moonlight as a bat, after all.

Babs had been by your side for the first hour or so, pleasantly making your introductions to the wealthy of Gotham, many of whom you’re sure could skyrocket your career forward with nothing more than a click of their fingers. You try your best to be pleasant and accommodating, laughing at their jokes and basking their minor achievements in glowing praise. It’s deceptively easy, at this point, to slip into your professional persona, the voice echoing from your throat one that you can barely recognise as your own.

You can see Babs becoming impatient at your side, longing to go and mingle with a few others across the room who you could hazard a guess were some of her more super friends based on the way they lingered around Dick Grayson. You’d been assured that Dick was typically the life of an event of this calibre, enrapturing guests with his charms, but instead he had been left fairly stationary by a leg break in two places, wincing from his spot in the corner as his cast pokes out the bottom of his suit trousers.

“Go,” you’d huffed with a giggle, “Go see them. I’m going to get a drink anyway.”

“I won’t be long,” she assured before barrelling away. It was sweet, the way Dick’s eyes seemed to light up when he saw her approach.

Without Babs at your side, however, it seems impossible to mix with the elites. To them, you are nobody, and without an ‘in’ into their conversations, you may as well be dressed as one of the wait staff. You opt instead to haunt the walls, trapsing round the shadows of the hall with a flute of champagne in hand that seems to empty itself far too quickly.

“I can show you where they keep the bottle, if you like,” a gruff voice calls out from beside you, and your stomach twists when you realise that it’s Jason, slotting himself between you and the wall. He looks, well, good. His suit is clearly tailored, as you would imagine it would have to be for a man of his stature, and there’s a loose red tie knotted somewhat haphazardly around his neck. In any other context, it would scream of laziness, but somehow, he seems to make the whole affair work for him.

“That’s oddly generous of you, you feelin’ okay?” You keep it curt, barely sparing him a glance and instead keeping your eye fixed on the couples swaying about the dance floor.

“That’s oddly presumptuous for someone who doesn’t actually know me at all,” Jason’s words lack the bitterness they had the evening at the bar, instead dripping out like smooth velvet, and seemingly somewhat amused.

“I think I know enough to make a judgement on your character,” you quip, downing the last of your champagne and placing it politely on the tray of the closest waiter with a quiet ‘thank you’.

“Is that so?”

“It is, I’m afraid.”

“Dance with me.” It throws you for a loop when he says it, offering a hand out at your side. He looks somewhat amused as you must stare at him like he’s grown a second head, but still waves his fingers insistently.

Speechless, and albeit a tad shaken, you take his hand as he guides you to the dance floor. It’s swift as he spins you to face him, a hand settling loosely on your waist. You swallow a gulp before bringing your own to settle on his shoulders, and as the music starts up again the pair of you begin to sway in tandem. You’re certain he must be able to feel how tense you are beneath his palms, but if he does, he doesn’t mention it.

“I’m…” he starts, clicking his head to the side in frustration, “I’m sorry. For my behaviour that night. It was… rude.”

“It was,” you agree, not faltering at the sharp look he sends your way.

It takes him a few seconds to find the words, and you almost feel pity for the way he seems to struggle. Eventually he lands on, “I’m not known for my first impressions.”

You bark out a laugh at that, startling some of the other guests beside you. Jason’s eyes seem to widen in shock, but when they settle there’s no contempt in them.

“You can say that again,” you pause before adding, “But I appreciate your apology.”

He does little more than grunt in response, as the pair of you continue to rock back and forth. You would have expected it to be awkward, given your previous encounter, but you can feel yourself beginning to relax into his hold. He still appears tense, and you can feel his fingertips biting ever so slightly into your side, but there’s nothing about him that would suggest any kind of animosity.

“No offense,” you hum, just quiet enough for only him to hear, “What are you doing here? This doesn’t exactly scream of your scene.”

He chuckles lowly, spinning you in sync with the rest of the crowd, “No, it’s not. I usually avoid these things like the plague. I’m doing it to keep the old man off my back.”

“The old man?” You question, throwing Jason a quizzical glance. He too, looks confused at your admission.

“My old man. Bruce Wayne.”

You pretty much stutter to a stop on the dance floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. You’re not sure how it hadn’t clicked into place until this very moment, what with Nightwing being the one to introduce the pair of you – but you had never for a second considered that this Jason could be that Jason.

“You’re Jason Todd?” It comes out as an exhale, and Jason casts an obvious glance in your direction.

“Aren’t you meant to be a journalist? I thought you’d figured that out already.”

“No, I’d heard the news that you were…” you falter, watching as he seems to brace for the words that follow, “back from your, ah, imprisonment. That was what they said in the papers, correct?”

The look he throws in your direction is a grateful one, despite the shared knowledge that you both know what really happened to him. Babs had told you the bare bones of the story. It was enough to know that the man in front of you had travelled all the way from the grave to be here tonight.

“Me and Bruce have our differences,” Jason offers, and it’s the bluntest you’ve heard him all evening. A warning, not to press any further. You decide that it wouldn’t be the smartest idea to divulge your knowledge that this revelation would also make the man in front of you Gotham’s infamous Red Hood.

The two of you continue to dance for the next few songs, making casual but polite conversation amongst the crowds. Scarily, you begin to feel that his company might not be so deplorable after all when he dares to crack the odd joke or two, developing a sneaking suspicion he may be genuinely sorry about what had happened at the bar.

“Okay,” you huff out, sinking forward into him ever so slightly, “I think I might have to call it quits on the dancing for this evening. My feet feel like they’re about to tear in half.”

He doesn’t reply but instead guides you towards the edge of the room on his arm with more poise than you’d have thought him capable of, allowing you to perch down on a chez-lounge and give your tired body a brief reprieve. You sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes until Jason lets out an awkward cough.

“Look, I have to go and talk to some people,” he almost cringes as he says it, and it’s near enough a look of abject horror on his face, “But… thank you, for the dance.”

“Thank you,” you reply earnestly, meeting his eyes with as tender a look you can muster. Under your glance, he seems to mellow, the corner of his lip even quirking up ever so slightly.

“I’ll… I’ll catch you around,” He bumbles, “Maybe even see you later.”

“I would like that.”

And with that he’s gone.

You feel the loss of his presence almost instantly, and the emptiness that accompanies it is what surprises you most of all. You decide to stay put for the time being, most of the socialites so drunk at this point that they couldn’t object to your own lack of decorum without blatantly highlighting their own.

You remain perched for at least half an hour, grateful for yet another glass of champagne that gets thrust in your direction. You’re fairly certain you can make out Babs across the room, Dick draped dramatically across her wheelchair with an exuberant smile. The time passes fairly quickly as you glance over the hall, people-watching with the ever so slight buzz of alcohol muddying your thoughts.

“You might have just taken the best spot in the room,” a deep timbre echoes out from beside you, and of every person in the world it could have belonged to, you weren’t anticipating it being Bruce Wayne.

“Mr. Wayne,” you shoot up instantly, cringing at the way your ankle rolls in your heel. He only lets out a deep chuckle before motioning for you to sit again, occupying the spot next to you with his looming presence.

“I must admit,” he begins, all smile, “I was unfamiliar with your work before you appeared on my guest list, but you are indeed, incredibly impressive.”

You can’t do much to fight the blush that rises on your cheeks, “Thank you, uh, sir. That’s very kind. I’m only just starting out really, but it’s an honour to know my work has been recognised.”

“You will come to me,” he places a warm hand on your shoulder, “that is, if you need anything. Any friend of Commissioner Gordon and his family is a friend of mine.”

“That’s very kind of you, thank you,” you confess, wishing you had been slightly more sparing with your alcohol consumption in the past few hours. That being said, there was no part of your evening plans that had involved chatting with Bruce Wayne himself.

You dare not mention his other career path, not to his face. Not when you couldn’t be sure if Babs had divulged such information or not. Not that she needed to, he probably knew anyway.

“I must confess,” Bruce sighs, a tired smile drawing on his features, “I do have other motivations for coming to speak to you.”

“Oh?”

“I couldn’t help but notice you were dancing with my son earlier,” Bruce begins with a tut, “I get so little from him. I figured I would inquire about his, ah, connection with you instead.”

“Oh, oh, no,” you burst out almost too eagerly, “Me and Jason? This is only the second time we’ve ever met.”

“Is that so?” Bruce questions, a curious quirk on his brow. It only makes it all the more sudden when a stormy disposition seems to cross over his features, “In that case, I suggest you keep it that way.”

There’s little you can do to mask the confusion on your face at his remark. Sure, Jason had been more than a little rude on your first encounter, but he’d been nothing other than pleasant to you this evening. You weren’t unfamiliar with the Red Hood and his methods, under no illusions regarding what Jason was or wasn’t capable of.

“May I ask why you say that Mr. Wayne?”

“Ever the journalist,” Bruce hums, “My son has turned himself into a man not to be trifled with, and in that effort has made himself an outcast to both me and my family. I am aware you know of my family’s activities, Miss, and as a result you no doubt know of his. However, it is not Jason’s choices that bother me most, it is the pain that he inflicts upon those around him.”

The question stutters out of your mouth before you can stop it, not even sure you wanted the answer, “What is it that he’s done? To your family, I mean.”

Bruce doesn’t open his mouth to answer but instead nods to Dick now tucked away in the corner of the hall, struggling to steady himself on his broken leg. To most, Dick’s smile would be enough to ensure them that he was okay, but your multiple encounters with him at this point are enough to let you glimpse the pain in his expression.

“Jason tends to be destructive, and as much as I try to guide him, I’m beginning to fear there isn’t much else he knows anymore. It isn’t the first time he’s done such damage, and it won’t be the last.”

It’s sickening, the way that the universe chooses that moment for you to lock eyes with Jason, leaned against the bar. Swiftly as a growing forest fire, his eyes are a quiet smoulder when they lock with yours, only to grow into a blaze at the image of Bruce sat next to you. You feel at an impasse, two sides of you being tugged in opposite directions.

You look away from Jason quickly. If what Bruce was telling you was true, you had no reason to spare him a glance. Hurting Dick meant hurting Babs. Hell, Dick was a friend, and you couldn’t stand for the idea of someone hurting him either. A spin on a dance floor and a few uptight compliments wouldn’t change that.

“My advice, if you would take it,” Bruce sighs, beginning to stand, “you seem like an intelligent young woman, and you have a bright future ahead of you. I would make an expressed effort to stay out of Jason’s sights in your shoes, I fear it is not a particularly safe place to be.”

Your conversation ends fairly abruptly after that, Bruce shaking your hand and slipping you a business card with a reminder that he would be keen to help with your career given the opportunity. It’s difficult not to trust him, with his warm smile and kind words – you find it almost impossible to believe that his speech couldn’t have been without some kind of merit.

“So, you finally met him?” Babs wheels next to you when Bruce is out of sight, pressing a teasing elbow into your side. Her face seems to drop when she scans across your own, your turmoil clear as day, “Hey, you okay? What did he say to you?”

“Oh, nothing too crazy,” you snap yourself out of it, “Just work, really.”

The look that Babs gives you is enough for you to know that she doesn’t quite believe what you’re telling her, but your saviour appears in the form of Dick Grayson, hobbling over to join you with sweat practically dripping from his brow.

“Congrats,” he slaps an arm around your shoulders, positively beaming, “You just survived your first Bat interrogation.”

The two of them continue to chatter for a few minutes, and you can’t help but scan the room for Jason himself. It’s an odd sensation, and you can’t pinpoint why exactly you care where he is, but you can’t seem to settle without setting your sights on him.

You rejoin the conversation just as Dick turns to face you, “…Anyway, we were thinking of heading back to mine to chill, we’ve done our bit. Bruce can’t complain. Obviously, you’re more than welcome, we just need to find Ja – ”

“Actually,” you plaster on the brightest smile you can concoct, “I’m really not feeling too good. Definitely had a bit too much champagne. I might call it a night, I have work tomorrow, you know.”

“That’s fine, I get it, I get it. We can drop you back home –”

“Honestly, it’s fine, I think I’m just going to call a cab. Thank you though, it’s been a wonderful evening.”

You can only hope that Dick and Babs will chalk your eagerness to escape up to the alcohol as you make your departure, rushing to collect your bag and coat as quickly as you can in stupid fucking heels. As soon as you’re out of the hall, you peel them off your feet and set off at a brisk pace to try and get out of Wayne Manor as quickly as possible.

Until you collide headfirst with what may as well have been a wall, with how stiff and unyielding it seemed to be.

Jason stares down at you with an emotion you can’t quite name, and you’re reminded of just how big he really is. How imposing it would be to see him, clad in a red mask, glaring down towards whoever might be his latest victim. You think about what Dick must’ve felt, as his own brother battered him so.

“One final dance for the road?” He questions with a quirk of his lips, but you can see the nervousness in his eyes. It transforms swiftly into something else when you respond.

“No, I don’t think I will, actually,” you snap, pulling yourself out his way and continuing your mission towards the end of the driveway.

You’re thankful for the silence, that he doesn’t attempt to chase you or catch you in some kind of confrontation. You make it halfway down the drive before he finally calls out.

“What did Bruce say to you?” It’s quiet, and you can barely hear it behind you from the ruckus of the party inside. There’s something about it that pangs in your chest, but you steel yourself and continue walking, without even a glance behind you.

It’s only when you hail the cab that you turn around to face him, and unlike last time, he’s still there. Alone. Stood outside the manor with nothing other than hurt radiating off him. It’s surprisingly easy to turn away, ripping the car door open and slipping inside.

You climb over to the other seat so you don’t have to watch him as you pull away.

Summer

If someone had told you 6 months ago that you would be sat on the roof of Nightwing’s apartment building, surrounded by all sorts of metahumans and vigilantes, having a barbeque – well, you probably would’ve laughed in their face.

It’s hard to believe, as you’re reclined on a sunbed, cocktail in hand, best friend at your side while her boyfriend flips burgers in his, quite frankly, egregious Kiss the Cook apron, that things could be going so well. Bludhaven hadn’t ever been on your list of top holiday destinations, but basking in the hazy summer sun is more than enough to make up for it. It’s raucous, as you would expect many young superheroes crammed into a small space trying to cook a banquet of food would be, but the grouch within you can’t even seem to care about the chaos.

It’s jarring how well life seems to be going. Babs and Dick had pushed you to contact Bruce about working with Wayne Industries on some insider reporting, and the man himself had accepted your proposal with open arms. He’d even doubled the amount you got paid for the pieces as a ‘tip’, a token of thanks for your time dedicated to the cause. As a result, your writing had been the talk of the town since, and you had every major paper scrambling to offer you an exclusive contract.

You and Babs are closer than ever, and to your surprise, you’d integrated fairly seamlessly into their wider friend group as a regular staple of their gatherings. Sure, you were much quieter in comparison to the Titans and other various young heroes, but they seemed to enjoy your presence, nonetheless. You’d even spent some time at Wayne Manor with Dick and Babs, finally meeting the other members of the family after hearing about them in excess.

You’d run into Jason a few times.

It never failed to be an awkward encounter, often comprised of curt greetings and nothing more. Jason showed no signs that your rebuff had scorned him but, as expected, any trace of the warmth he’d shown you that night at the gala seemed to have disappeared promptly. You were just as cold, often refusing to look him in the eye on the rare occasion he would enter a room that also contained you. It was baffling, that he still had a place beside Dick and Babs and the rest of them, given the only increasing rumours you’d heard once being integrated into the super-community about his mistreatment of those closest to him. You’d never brought the topic up to either of your friends, primarily out of fear that they would attempt to see beneath your distain for something deeper – you didn’t have to mention it, they were ever lenient on Jason’s behaviour and seemed to welcome him with open arms at every opportunity.

Which is why you’re unsurprised, later in the evening when most of the heroes have gone home or out on their various patrols, that Jason appears on the roof next to Dick overlooking the city, a quiet conversation muttering between the pair. Your eyes catch him, Jason, for just a second as he turns ever so briefly to watch you sprawled out with a book in hand. Your eyes meeting is enough to drive him away again, jaw grinding as he turns to look forward.

Good, you’re glad your presence is enough to piss him off.

You continue that way for the next hour or so, tearing through your book until the words begin to blur into a splodge of ink on the page. The steady cooling of the dusky air is a welcome reprieve from the blazing sun, and it doesn’t take you long to drift off, your last waking feeling being that of your book dropping onto your chest.

It’s significantly later when you blink yourself awake again, the moon settled comfortably against the Bludhaven skyline. You instantly take note of the blanket that’s been draped over your body, curled between your fingers, and take a second to scan around the rooftop in search for any other waking body.

To your chagrin, the only figure that comes into view is Jason, sat with his legs dangling over the side of the building and a cigarette clutched tightly within his fingers. It’s almost picturesque, watching him inhale and exhale with a stream of smoke, the plains of his face framed by the moonlight. It strikes you that he’s likely in his element, perched on a rooftop shrouded in the darkness of the night, and it pains you to admit just how beautiful he looks.

Without even a glance in your direction, he simply chuckles mockingly, holding the cigarette up plainly for you to see, “Been trying to quit for months now.”

“Maybe you should try harder,” it’s snide and a bit pathetic and you know it, but you can’t seem to mellow the bite in your words. He simply laughs and returns to taking slow drags, barely even acknowledging that you had said anything.

Quickly, you begin to gather your things together, pulling the blanket tightly around your body as you make your way to the door back inside, wishing to be out of this awkward situation and less than stellar company as fast as you can.

It’s Jason’s voice that stops you, “You never told me.”

“What?”

“You never told me what Bruce said to you.” There’s an odd resignation in his words, and his voice remains remarkably even, not giving away any hint of whatever emotion was hidden beneath his words.

“I’m sure you can guess,” you huff out, drawing your hand away from the door to turn and face him.

Wordlessly, Jason hoists himself up from the side of the building and starts to make his way towards you. He stops a comfortable distance away, not enough to be an imposing presence, but so close that you can see his fingers fidgeting in front of him.

“I just want to know if what he said to you is what changed your mind about me,” Jason bites, “or if it’s always just been how you felt.”

“Why do you care about how I feel, Jason?” It comes out far harsher than you intended. He only scrubs a hand over his face in response, and you’re not sure if it’s a laugh or a whimper that crawls its way out of his throat.

“Do you really not see what’s going on here?”

“No, Jason, if I knew what was going on –”

“I like you, okay? I’ve tried my best to make it obvious, I really have. And trust me, I don’t want to, but I do. You’re beautiful, you’re talented, and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks because you know who you are. I like how opinionated you are, everyone else in my life fucking dances around me like I’m about to explode – but you don’t. I was rude at the bar because I wasn’t… I wasn’t expecting you, and I tried to make it up to you at the gala and then Bruce –”

“Bruce told me the truth, Jason.” The fumbling words are all that you can manage, your brain spinning at the revelation that Jason had just laid bare in front of you. Everything feels jilted, and surprisingly the only feeling whirring around your chest that you can articulate is anger.

“I don’t know what Bruce told you,” Jason’s practically pleading, “But I just wish you would judge me on me rather than what everyone else has to say.”

“Jason. You don’t know me,” your words are slow, but it does little to soften the viciousness tainting them, “you think you can – what? Just waltz in after months of being rude and judgy and – and after hurting my friends and act like all of it was okay because you like me? I haven’t been able to judge you on what you have to say because you never talk to me!”

The warm summer sun is long gone now, replaced with a chilling breeze and an ever so slight smattering of rain. The only word to describe Jason is speechless, but you don’t miss the way his fists curl at his sides. You practically leap sideways as he spins round with a number of cusses, pacing back and forth with what at a glance seems to be pure anguish.

“Hurt?” He spits out, all venom, “Who exactly have I hurt?”

“Well, Dick, for starters –”

“Dick? Oh, of course,” Jason lets out a bitter chuckle, “Of course, I hurt the golden boy.”

“He had a broken leg!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, and in an instant Jason is on you, so close you can smell his smoky cologne and the lingering touch of burnt leather.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” It’s nothing more than a ghost of a whisper, and he’s so close you can almost taste the words on his tongue.

“Real romantic by the way,” you refuse to back down, instead only edging closer and angling your chin to lock onto his eyes blazing down into your own, “I like you but I don’t want to. I didn’t realise I was just so deplorable.”

The rain is blinding now, hammering down around the pair of you, eliminating anything in your eyeline other than him. You’re both soaked to the bone, locked in a standoff neither one of you is willing to back down from. His hair is flattened to his forehead, and his shirt has plastered itself across his shoulders – you don’t dare to consider what you look like, clad in nothing other than a blanket and casual swimwear. It’s only then that you register the jittering of your entire body, and you can’t pinpoint whether it’s the cold or the sheer rage coursing through your veins as the source.

Both of your heads tear to the side at the soft call of your name, the silhouette of Babs highlighted from the doorway back into the apartment. Squinting through the rain, you can make out the shock and concern marring her features, and you instantly jump back from your stalemate. Jason takes a similar course of action, turning on his heel to march inside without a second thought.

He makes it halfway before he stops and turns to stare at you.

“You shouldn’t just listen to everything people tell you. I thought you were smarter than that. There are two sides to every story.”

And then he disappears inside.

Autumn

All the glee of summertime had been quick to disperse. Life seemed to pass by in a blur: work had slowed considerably as Gotham herself seemed to ready for hibernation, you had moved to a different apartment, nicer but nestled significantly further away from everything you’d become accustomed to. Babs had taken on a lot more work with Batman which seemed to consume the majority of her waking life, and with the loss of her constant company went Dick Grayson too. You still texted daily, but in person visits had become disappointingly scarce.

You’d be a downright liar if you said in every spare moment that your thoughts didn’t trapse back to your encounter with Jason. It reeled like film in the back of your mind whenever your eyelids fluttered shut, a constant rerun of every minute detail – the way his hands seemed to ring, the flexing and rolling of his shoulders as he paced, the hurt in his eyes as you’d unleashed a tirade onto him on what was supposed to be a relaxing summer evening.

It was nothing more than professional curiosity, you’d told yourself, your desire to know more. To glean some kind of insight into the other side of the story that Jason had preached. It was in your nature, journalism and the like. However, it was much easier to pretend that the world had alienated you from the answer, forcing you away from your work and friends, than it was to admit that you had run away because you were scared.

Which is why it took months for you to finally ask Babs to meet up for a coffee, rather than her asking you. The air had begun to bite as you lingered in the street, longing for a familiar face, even the nip of the cold bringing back persistent traces of that night. A sigh of relief materialises in a faint cloud of vapour as Babs appears round the corner, throwing her arms out for a hug as soon as she’s close enough. It’s uncharacteristically awkward as you settle down at a table, Babs doing little to hide her expectant stare as the barista places your drinks down in front of you.

“What did you want to –”

“Jason.” The slight curl of her lip at your mention of his name is enough to throw you, her knowing look pressing forward into what feels like every inch of your body.

“What do you want to know about Jason?” Babs offers, tracing her finger around the rim of her mug casually. If the display is supposed to make you feel less under pressure, it does nothing to alleviate the hammering of your pulse.

Your brain goes blank. “Uhm – how is he?”

Babs seems unable to stifle the laugh that barks out, bringing her coffee up to her lips, “You invited me out for coffee to ask how Jason is?”

You take a deep breath and muster all you can to steel yourself, allowing a smidgeon of your work persona to bleed in. “That night on the roof. He said some things and – and I never got any clarification. I just have some things I need to know.”

“How come you’re asking me and not him?”

“I don’t think Jason and I are in a place to be asking each other deep and thought-provoking personal questions,” you wince as the words tangle themselves on your tongue, and you can’t subdue the simmering feeling of disappointment that seems to accompany them.

Babs’ pauses for a second, as if weighing in her options, before eventually letting out a soft sigh and offering you a tender look, “Go on, what is it you want to know.”

“At the gala,” you begin far too quickly, grimacing at your own eagerness, “Bruce told me that Jason was dangerous. I’d already figured out that he was, you know, but the way Bruce painted this picture. It was like Jason was a monster, like he chose to hurt everyone close to him. He told me that he broke Dick’s leg.”

“Jason did break Dick’s leg,” Babs states plainly, and you can feel yourself deflate, “Jason broke Dick’s leg to save him. Dick was trapped in rubble, and he was losing oxygen fast. He was, he would’ve, died if Jason hadn’t gotten there before any of the rest of us could. The only options were to break Dick’s leg – who was unconscious by the way – to get him out or leave him to suffocate.”

You’re practically speechless. Never before has your mind stuttered so suddenly to a halt. All you can seem to do is gape at Babs as her jaw seems to clench; anger wasn’t a familiar emotion in your relationship, but you had seen it enough to recognise it.

“Bruce and Jason have a fractious relationship at the best of times, and they were certainly not going steady back then. Bruce showed up and saw Jason manhandling Dick out of a collapsed building with a broken limb and assumed the worst. God, it was awful, only Tim could stop them fighting and eventually Jason just disappeared. The first time any of us saw Jason after that was the Gala, and that was only because he promised Alfred.”

“Did Bruce ever find out the truth?” You’re practically reeling as all of the puzzle pieces begin to fall into place, Jason’s distance from his family at the Gala, his hurt at your insinuations about him. You’d treated him atrociously and this whole time he was the one that had been hurt.

“We told him straight away. We told him as it happened. But Jason and Bruce have this blindness when it comes to each other, they can only see what they want to see. Bruce refused to hear anything other than that Jason had brought the building down and Dick with it.” There’s a rawness in Babs’ voice, and a pearly ring of wetness dampening her eyes.

“But I’ve heard so much about…” you pause, contemplating the weight of your words, “It’s not just Bruce. I’ve heard everyone talk about him and the things he does, like he’s some kind of sadist. Like he kills people for fun and –”

“Jason does kill, there’s no doubt about that,” Babs’ tone hitches slightly, shifting to something more resolute, “but it’s not just for fun or how he gets his kicks. He has an ethos, a system, the same way Bruce or Dick or any of us do. Agree with it or not, he’s trying to make things better in his own way.”

It’s a harrowing feeling, every synapse being excavated and laid bare, the devastating realisation that all was not as it had seemed. Jason had been right, you should’ve known better than to presume. “I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I?”

Babs wastes no time reaching over to take your hands in hers, some of the warmth returning to her gaze, “No, you haven’t. You acted on all the information that you had and that’s all we can do. But you can –”

“No,” your reply is instant, and Babs draws back in surprise, “I can’t. Not after all this. I’ve hurt him, I can’t imagine he wants me in his life. And I still don’t know him. I just –”

Babs calls your name softly as you begin to gather your belongings, hastily sipping down the last of your drink and scanning desperately for the nearest exit. She doesn’t attempt to say anything, just offers you an almost infuriatingly tender look. You quickly mutter your goodbyes, a small smile and a promise to text later, before rushing out into the Gotham traffic.

It had been easy to be so righteous, so comfortable in your position, but now every noise and sensation felt like a slap. A kick while you were down. It had been so simple to deny anything you had felt towards him, any kind of attraction, from your high horse; to look down and tell yourself that you had been wronged and anything you felt was out of nothing more than a lingering feeling of pity.

It’s overwhelming, the sensation of missing out on an opportunity, a friend, and maybe something more that made itself so scarce in your life to begin with. It’s shame, you think.

You can’t help but think that if you were Jason Todd, you would never want to see you again.

Winter

Gotham in the winter is a sight to behold: flickering lights casting a yellow haze over the murky skyline, the cold lick of the coast sneaking its way into the alleyways and street corners, an entire civilisation cloaked in a dreary blanket. It was much kinder from inside the warm glow of your apartment, staring out at the figures on the street below fighting against the elements.

Life had continued, as it always does. It had taken you some time to process what had happened with Jason, mourn the prospect of what could’ve been. Bruce had offered you a full-time position at Wayne Industries. You’d turned it down. Told him you wanted to ‘explore different avenues’ this early in your career, and in spite of the suspicious look he’d given you, he’d assured that there would always be a position for you if you desired.

Instead, you had taken a role at a local up-and-coming paper focussed on exposing corruption within Gotham’s elite. It was perfect, the hands-on kind of work you had favoured during your studies, and the success was already beginning to blossom. Babs and Dick had been nothing but supportive: you weren’t as involved with their ‘super-gatherings’ anymore, finding the whole group to be a tad overwhelming, but they still made time for you each and every week in the same dingy bar in which Babs had first introduced you to everyone.

Everything didn’t feel right yet, but it was getting there.

Being nestled in your apartment in the evenings alone didn’t feel so glum anymore, instead lighting a warm flicker in the bottom of your belly. You were working on a big piece, the biggest you’d written so far, scouring into the Falcone family and some of their more illegitimate dealings – papers sprawled across every available surface, a few stripes of ink now decorated your dining room table. You were certain you looked a wreck; sleep hadn’t come easy the past nights – you were in limbo. Until the article was published and in the public eye, there was little to protect you from anyone who had questions about what you were looking into. You’d even gone out and brought a gun. As a result, there was little that could drag you away from your laptop, a desperation to finish your work that felt somewhat like your life depended on it.

Which is why when there’s a hammering at your front door at 1am, it becomes difficult to breathe all of a sudden.

“Miss?” A gruff voice calls out, “Heard you had some interest in a friend of mine. I have some information that might be of use to you.”

As quietly as you can, you scramble for your keys. Dick had given you a small device, some kind of button, when you’d told him and Babs about your new job and its dealings – he’d assured you that as soon as you pressed it there would always be help on the way. It’s impossible to stifle the gasp of relief as you finally feel the tiny device roll between your fingers, pressing it down hard and watching as it illuminates your apartment in a soft blue.

“Miss? We know you’re in there,” the hammering gets much louder all of a sudden, and you dip down behind the couch, drawing yourself into a ball, “This can be much easier for you if you just let us in.”

From across the room, you can see your phone light up, and you thank the lord that you’d put it on silent – it’s Babs, you can see from the cheesy lockscreen of you draped across her lap after some raucous night out. The men, multiple of them now, continue to scuffle outside your front door as they no doubt contemplate the best method to enter and beat the shit out of you. You could make a run for the gun now, but if they came in you would be cornered in your bedroom, nowhere to escape to.

“Right, lady, you’re starting to piss me off,” A new voice calls out, “I’m giving you ten seconds to come out before we come in.”

Ten seconds is a long time for a vigilante, right? Normally, you’d pride yourself on your ability to think on your feet, but unfortunately the only course of action seems to be waiting out the storm. The idea of leaping out the window dances across your mind briefly, but with no fire escape and a 40ft drop it wasn’t the most thrilling concept. Quickly, you reach out and snatch your pen off the table – it was sturdy, metal, a gift from Jim Gordon when you’d graduated – it wasn’t sharp by any means, but with enough force it could definitely do some damage.

You grimace at the thought.

All at once, a barrage of sound erupts in your ears; the door swings open and groans as the hinges splinter bit by bit, the thundering of footsteps is instant, you can count one, two, three sets of steps against the creaking floorboards. It all happens far too quickly, one of them calling out a signal to the others that they’ve found you, and you’re hoisted to your feet, both arms held tightly by a brute on either one. You swing from side to side with as much force as you can muster, kicking out and screaming, relishing as you hear a deep groan from your right.

Nothing prepares you for the swing of a fist, though.

You’ve never been punched before, surprisingly, and it strikes you that maybe its one of the only things movies do justice. It’s less the impact itself, but more the way that your head wrenches to the side that sends you reeling. Before you can even recollect yourself there’s a hand clamped around your jaw, tugging your face back upwards. Most of the man’s face is covered, donned in all black, but there’s a cruelty in his eyes that collapses your chest. It’s disgusting, the way one of his fingers hooks around your teeth, keeping you trapped like a fish on a line. You contemplate spitting in his face, but as if out of instinct, you snap your teeth shut.

It makes you retch as he pulls back, the thick, hot metallic sheet that coats every surface of your mouth. Abject horror is the only phrase to describe the look of the man opposite you, clasping his mangled finger gingerly to his chest. Before you can revel in your small victory, another slap sends you clattering across the floor, wood splintering beneath your fingertips.

If a punch was a bee-sting, a kick to the ribs is a bomb going off.

“You fucking bitch!” The man hollers, drawing his foot back for another swift kick. His boots must be metal capped, you think.

“Haven’t you heard? Bitch is so 1800s.”

It’s a rough modulated voice that draws you from your stupor – it’s difficult to make out shapes through the tears that have spilled over, but if the shrill whimpers of the men around you are enough to go by, you’d say help has arrived. The pause gives you enough time to shuffle back against the wall, gradually shifting to something akin to a sitting position.

“Hood,” One of the goons whispers, and you’re not sure if its double vision or the man is actually trembling, “What – this isn’t your turf –”

“Don’t care. Goodbye.” The echo of a gunshot is so much louder up close, and you can’t help but slam a hand over your mouth as the giant of a man seems to crumple to the ground, brains splattered all over your bookshelf. One of the other goons attempts to make a run for it but is stopped by a gloved hand that shoots out and catches him by the throat. It’s a horrible wheezing sound that sneaks its way out of his windpipe, all while the Red Hood takes his time strapping his gun to his thigh, before bringing his other hand around languidly to snap the goons’ neck.

It’s all so quick, you think, not like the long-winded tit-for-tat action movie sequences where they trade blows, it’s just sheer overwhelming force. A black hole that’s come to consume anything that dare move in its presence.

It’s Jason.

Out of your peripheral you can make out the man, your main attacker, breaking from his stupor. You recognise the way his hands begin to curl in his pocket, a hand wrapping around an all too familiar shape that he begins to draw outwards painstakingly slowly. Before you can clamber to your feet, the gun is aimed straight for him, a clear shot, and Jason seems to realise just as you do that the man’s finger is contracting on the trigger.

You can’t even process your own movements, let alone pain, yet you feel your feet underneath you, pushing you forward. The cool feeling of the pen between your fingers feels so familiar yet so absurd, and with all the force you can muster you slam it round into the side of the man’s throat. It’s so much worse, watching death this way; Jason had the decency to make the others quick, but here you were watching a man bleed onto your rug as he stares at you with surprise and your engraved pen in his jugular.

It’s only seconds before he flops to the ground too.

Jason’s there before your knees can buckle, wrapping a solid arm around your waist and holding you up like a puppet on a string. As much as you try and move your tongue, it’s like lead in your mouth, and you can’t do much more than stand there gaping as Jason checks your injuries.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” You didn’t know a modulated voice could sound so tender, “I’m sorry I didn’t get here in time.”

“Jason, I –” It sounds so wet and broken, barely recognisable as your own voice.

“I know,” he coos, bringing a hand round to cradle your less injured cheek, “But you did so good, so good. You saved me.”

The tears begin to flow promptly after that, and you wonder if the Red Hood often has people sob into his chest, and if he ever lets them. Slowly, he lowers the pair of you to the ground, and as soon as you hit the floor it feels as though every drop of energy has been drained from your body.

“I’m so sorry,” you hiccup, “I’m sorry about what I said and –”

If you’re not mistaken, he laughs, and even through the robotic filter you can hear the hint of amusement, “You’re an idiot.”

“What?”

“You’ve just killed a man and you’re worried about apologising to me over an argument we had months ago.”

You let out a wet laugh, “Can’t help it. I don’t want to like you, but I think I do.”

“Maybe we should start again,” Jason hums, pulling off his helmet. You know deep down that he’s just trying to distract you from the weight of your evening, and you’re sure that it will hit you when the brain fog begins to wear off – but right now, you can’t seem to care. Clearly, a near death experience has changed your perspective.

You mumble your name quietly, offering your hand out to him, “I’m a journalist, I’m allergic to cats and I have a kill count of one.”

Jason only barks out a laugh, those mesmerising green eyes finally rimmed with mirth rather than rage, “I knew there was something I liked about you.”

Spring

You’d never thought that such a dingy, depressing bar tucked away in the veins of Gotham could feel so much like home – but the regulars at the poker table wave each time you step through the front door, the bartender smiles while she pours your regular and asks how your latest article is coming along. But your favourite part, without a doubt, is slumping in after a long day at work and seeing your closest companions huddled together at your booth in the corner looking up at you with beaming smiles.

You slide into the booth next to Jason without a word, and his arm drapes itself across your shoulders automatically. It’s still new, the pair of you sharing bashful smiles at every intimate moment, but there’s a love that burns in your chest brighter than any feeling you thought yourself capable of.

“You guys are disgusting, I hope you know,” Dick whinges, letting out a chuckle as Babs punches him hard in the arm.

“Be quiet, you,” Babs chuckles, “Our plan finally came to fruition.”

You narrow your eyes at her across the table, quirking your head to the side, “I knew it. You did want to set us up.”

“Well that was obvious from the get go, Princess,” Jason chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I like to think we gave them a challenge though.”

“I certainly didn’t think you would develop a body count on the way,” Babs brows go up and she sends a grin in your direction.

“That’s my girl,” Jason whispers, throwing a grin in your direction, “What a fearsome thing to behold.”

“God, I love it when you quote Pride & Prejudice to me.”

“I know you do, baby, I know.”

This has been a WIP for sooooo long, like since before I even started this account. I don’t know if it’s obvious but I really struggled to finish it, I had absolutely no idea how to leave it. But oh well 🤷‍♀️

also im SORRY for making Bruce the BAD GUY it was the only way i could make it work in my head 💔

If you liked it, well, like it - a reblog is always appreciated. If you don’t like it, leave me alone.

[baepsays]

Musician Geto Suguru and his never-ending beef with his bandmates over your attention.

The thing is, as their main producer and just a very sought-after producer in the industry, he's barely able to leave his studio. Things were different before the scandal, before he was reintroduced to you, and before you two went official. His schedule was simple then—studio, recordings, shows, parties and clubs he was a regular at, getting high out of his mind on coke and weed, and going back to his studio. He barely saw any light, and his apartment felt foreign; hotel rooms were more homely than his apartment. Now it's lived in, with traces of you and the life he is building with you. Your—and now also his—scoundrel cat's claw marks are everywhere; there are stains on the couch, and all the smooth and shiny furniture is now matted. He also prefers his home studio, which he never came around to using, much better than the one at the company.

To simply say, things are mundane in the best way possible. Having lunches and dinners with his bandmates and just talking about things other than work or how he's losing himself was much more fun, he has to say. Especially when no one is throwing punches at him backstage, ahem—Sukuna—ahem. Of course it took more effort to carve out this new usual than how he used to just live off of drugs, caffeine, burning through cigarettes, and barely any food. He much prefers the boring days where he just goes from work to home to see you only at the end of the day, of course, not more than when you come to their shows. But he'll take anything, just to have you around for more than the mornings before and nights after work; it's a privilege. Even having you for more than just 3 shows for a tour is a blessing, due to the vast difference in your schedules.

Which is why he truly looks forward to days when you drop by to have lunch with him. Those weekdays are always a highlight of his week. So when he has to compete with his own bandmates for your attention or the home-cooked lunch you make for him to eat with him in the privacy of his studio, preferably sitting on his lap.

He wants to fight his own bandmates as violently as he used to. Choso, he gets; after all, Choso is the sweetest of them all; it sometimes does not make any sense to him how he ended up in this edgy rock band. But then again, where was Suguru going to find a vocalist and guitarist of Choso’s caliber? Yet still, Suguru does not appreciate it when he takes up your time when you two exchange recipes. Then there is Toji, always barging in to steal the precious food you made for Suguru, eating up most of the food while always making excuses about just one small bite. Suguru would have made Shiu (their CEO) kick Toji out of the company itself, just because of this petty reason, if there was anyone else better on the drums than him. 

Then there is Sukuna. Probably the one who pisses him off the most. Because why is the broody, scary, and one of the quietest men that Suguru knows like a social butterfly around you? Sure, you legally represent their band, but why is he so chatty around you about everything and anything? Is it not enough that he has to deal with one social butterfly, aka the nation's most desirable man and industry's favorite actor, Gojo Satoru, snitching out Suguru to you? There's now also Sukuna, snitching to you about how Suguru skipped meals to hole himself up in his studio for days or smoked more than two cigarettes a day. The worst part is when you drop by, you text in the group chat you are in with them to see if they would be at work that day. And you bring extra food for them or invite them sometimes to eat out with you two (and yet Toji still manages to steal off of Suguru's plate), and if it's just a you and Suguru kind of day, you still see them before or after your boyfriend locks you up in his studio with him.

Just like today, when you dropped by with a packed lunchbox for him and got roped up, yet again, with his bandmates. He got your text at exactly 13:34 PM that you entered the building, and sure, his studio was on the 19th floor, but it took only 5 minutes or so to get there. Unfortunately for him, he had to wait more than 30 minutes for you because you texted him you were just a floor below, in their practice room with his bandmates. And when 40 minutes were about to pass, Suguru had to essentially go down and abduct you by carrying you on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and making a run for it with your bag in his other hand. He could hear Sukuna yelling his name from behind, but he made it just in time to the elevator to get away with you.

“The only reason why I will ever go fully solo is because of your little fan club.” He walked into his studio while grumbling and with you still dangling on his shoulder.

“Issok, I will replace you.” He threw you on the black leather couch and lay on top of you, like he just fought an army of hungry coyotes and ran a marathon at the same time. “Hmm, I see you guys are scheming behind my back now.” He looked up at you from where he buried his face in your chest.

“I say it's very up front.” You giggled and pushed away the loose strands of his hair covering his face, and he didn't reply. Instead, he lifted himself off of you to hover and then moved up to kiss you. It was sweet, smiling, warm faces basically pressed together. Everything still feels surreal, how mundane life is right now for him considering even just two years ago the kind of mess he got himself into. That how his life looked doomed after that moment, and yet here he was.

“I have this new track in the works.” He broke off the kiss and hovered over you with his hooded eyes and a smirk so sleazy, it always made you wonder about your life choices. “Oh, am I hearing it?” You raised your brows at him, and his smirk only widened into a half smile.

“Nope. You're getting on it.” Which basically translates to, ‘I am about to make you moan, and the recording is going into the track.’ You threw your head back into the couch as you tried to push him away and groaned in annoyance. Which was not much avail to you when, despite your efforts, he nuzzled his face in your neck and started leaving a trail of kisses from the base of your neck to your jaw, then up to your lips. And when his lips met yours, a small moan just absentmindedly left your lips as his lips slotted with yours. Suguru’s lips stretched into a big smile while his eyes remained closed, and he continued kissing you until he stopped to murmur into your mouth.

“Ooh. Save all of that for the track.”

FIND MORE OF MY WORKS HERE II FIND MORE ABOUT MUSICIAN GETO

a/n: dividers by @/hyuneskkami

you can think about this as the epilogue to the musician geto au :3c which will take time. I have not graduated yet lol fuck lab exams and i am brainrotted by prince geto soooooo. you can assume what the scandal may beeeee you will be finding that and more band dynamics in the fic!

[karikitdemonrp]

Kari rubbed her eyes with a soft sniffle and took a breath. Hawks words and presences had helped her calm down. Sure the pain still lingered, but it didn't hurt as much. "I... I wanna keep going. No, I need to keep going." She chirped softly after a moment. "I can't just stop now. Not yet." She informed and turned back to look over more hero logs for her father.

Training logs showing his improvement, journals that dated before Kari's birth, interviews, news reports, and so on. Eventually Kari stopped on a journal entry dated a few weeks after Kari's birth.

"August 5, I brought Kari home for the first time. She's gained a bit of weight which is good. She's such an active little girl. Kitearo was immediately so protective despite how he acted before. I guess seeing how small she was and having processed what happened helped him a lot. Therapy has been a huge help for all of them. Shade us still sneaking top shelf books when I'm not looking, last time I saw her reading Moby Dick to Kari and immediately stepped in. We made an agreement that if she didn't read these to Kari then I'd allow her to read certain top shelf books with supervision. She's enjoying spending time with Kari, reading her books while she's is in Shade's lap. Boom and Beats always love to play with Kari, running around happily with toys and including Kati in their games. Flo shows Kari a ton of different plants, mainly flowers. Fino likes to have Kari ride on his back while in a random animal form. I feel like these kids will super close when they're older. Sure they'll get into arguments and maybe even fights, but thats life. I'm just happy it looks like things are gonna be alright. Still waiting for Boom and Beats to get their quirks, I'm not sure what they'll be since Mikomi's quirk is so different. She never explained why, but I have a rough understanding. Either way, I've made up my mind and I'll help with hero work in some other way, but I'll be retiring as a pro hero before Kari's first birthday. I can't risk it right now, there is too much at stake. I'll keep doing my best for them. - Lynx Himura."

Kari gave a soft smile then went to type in her mother's hero name and began looking through the hero logs there. Eventually she came across an interview, roughly around the same time as Lynx, though it was off by a few days.

"Hello, thank you for meeting with us, Angelic."

"Of course, I'm glad I could make it work. Been super busy and all." Mikomi laughed. Her eyes, while a different color, were roughly the same shape as Kari's. Though Kari's were a bit more pointed and Mikomi's slightly more rounded. But it was easy to see the resemblance.

"Yea, you've been very busy it seems. Your already the number six hero and you're still pretty young. Any insight as to why you're working do hard?"

"Ah, going for that question already. Fair enough. Well, it's kinda has to do with my quirk being so easy to... adapt to different situations so I can help out in many areas. So I'm able to be noticed more often and so on. That and I just like helping. It feels right to me. Don't get me wrong the money is nice too but I'm not wanting for anything. I'm actually only using what I need and saving the rest for future emergencies or plans."

"You planning on starting a family?"

"Maybe, maybe not. But I'll never let that information slip. I'm aiming high after all. If I have kids and I'm in the top three, their lives could be in danger so I'm keeping stuff like that close to my chest." Mikomi looked to the camera and smiled knowingly almost, in Kari's direction. Kari shivered a bit.

"Thats fair," the reporter hummed off camera and Mikomi looked back at the reported. "Now, about your quirk--"

"Sorry but I'm not divulging information about my quirk either." Mikomi was quick to interrupt. "I know it is different and rather weird but I'd like to keep that to myself as well."

"Ah, I see. Well, what about your relationship with Redone?"

"Oh, I--" Mikomi blushed a bit with a grin. "Well, it's a long story but after moving back from America, I had to go cuz of my mom's job, we reconnected in highschool and haven't really been apart since. He's really sweet and caring. We've been together for a while actually."

"Can we plan on a hero wedding anytime soon?"

"Ya know, I watched his interview last week and I tried asking him when he came by with the sweet buns. He just laughed and told me he'd propose when the time is right. I'm not sure when but I'm sure everyone will be made aware eventually." Mikomi chuckled softly. The interview went on, more questions, some dodged some answered. But all in all Kari got a good feel for Mikomi's personality. Kind but firm, not willing to take bullshit but not rude either. Stands her ground and proud of it.

Kari smiled and went on to find some missions, training logs, and a family tree. Kari widened her eyes. There she was with her siblings, her mother, her father, even her grandparents. There was Maica, Core, Core's father. Her whole family.

Looks like Lynx had two younger brothers one of which was deceased while the other was still alive but no where in Japan and no contact information listed and he looked to be estranged. Lynx's parents were listed too though his father passed away the same year as one if his brothers while Lynx's mother passed two years before Kari was born. Kari frowned, concluding an accident happened that took Lynx's father and brother. She shook it off and opened up a journal from her mother, taking a breath.

"I'm simply writing this so it is on record in case something happens to me and one of my children develops my quirk-" Kari perked up a bit. "I don't know if it'll come to that but dad said it's better safe than sorry. He probably knows something since we share a quirk and all. Thats besides the point. I plan on having this under heavy lock and key until I die or if one of my children requests it or whatever. I'm not the best with formal stuff but I'll try my best. Either way, I am Mikomi Himura. Mother to Kitearo Himura, wife to Lynx Himura. My quirk is called All of the Above. It is a highly adaptive quirk, able to integrate any other quirk upon seeing it, though it takes time. My DNA is very unstable for lack of a better way of putting it. My son's quirk is vastly different to mine. Well, it's going to be, he hasn't developed it yet but I already know. Sir Nighteye's quirk has been super helpful in calming the nerves of a new mother. For the most part at least, but I'm keeping that close to my chest for now."

Kari shivered a bit, having a feeling she knew what Mikomi was referring to but kept reading.

"As for the specifics of my quirk, I'm able to use a quirk I've copied with in a certain length of time after seeing it, depending on the type. A week or two for emmiter quirks, two to three weeks for transformation and accumulation quirks, and four weeks for mutation quirks. I don't just copy the quirk, but a snap shot of the person as well for lack of a better way of putting it. It can be refreshed if I see that person again but yea. Ugh this is more difficult to explain than I thought. Uh, the reason there is a snap shot is because I can call on it to help learn quirks more effectively, they take over my body and I learn through muscle memory. The quirks I have copied as well as the snap shots of the people will be passed on to which ever of my children inherits my quirk but those quirks will be locked until certain things are met, I'm not sure how that all works. Dad hasn't explained it and I haven't figured it out. It's weird to explain and better to show but I don't plan on dying so ill be able to show my kid when the time comes. Regardless, this is just a precaution and I don't plan on needing it. With that I'm closing this journal."

Kari blinked, moving to look through more journal entries. Some where around the time she was pregnant with her siblings. Then another caught Kari's eye.

"It's July 20th today. I'm feeling pretty weak from this pregnancy. Little Kari is really sapping me, but that's fine. I've had six kids before her so I'll be okay. But I'm not gonna lie this one has been rougher than all the others so I'm a bit worried. My due date isn't for another two month so it's fine."

"July 25th, something isn't right. I asked Lynx to take me to the hospital to have a check up. I might need emergency surgery. Kari might be born sooner than expected."

After that journal entry Kari found an obituary for her mother. "Number 3 hero dies for unspecified reasons." It lists the funeral date as well as other information.

Kari sighed softly, going over to Hawks and clinging to him, shaking and crying in weak sobs. She just needed a moment to process it all. "I... I know it's not my fault... but a part... A part if me still... still hurts." Kari hiccuped, nuzzling into Hawks' leg, just letting it all out. "I wanna know her. Who would she have been? What would be going on right now if she were alive? Why did she have to die cuz of me? It's not fair." The child cried, trying to hold back a bit but still needing to let out some emotions before continuing, if she even wanted to.

Hawks stood beside Kari the whole time, his usual laid-back expression softened into something quiet and pained. He didn’t say much while she clicked through the files—he didn’t need to. His hand gripped hers back just enough to remind her he was there, grounding her, steady and real in a space full of shadows from the past.

When Kari tried to lighten the mood at the end, Hawks crouched down a little to her level and gently brushed a few strands of hair out of her face. His expression didn’t shift into pity—it never did. Instead, it was the expression of someone who understood, who had lived through too many ghosts of his own.

“Two pounds, huh?” he murmured with a gentle smile. “And now look at you. Tough enough to face all this head-on, brave enough to want answers even when you knew they’d hurt. That kind of strength? That’s rare, Kari. That’s hero stuff.”

He let the words settle before continuing, his thumb brushing over her knuckles where their hands were still locked together.

“Your dad loved you. All of you. You can feel it in every word he wrote—even when things were falling apart, his thoughts were on keeping you safe. That’s not something a lot of kids get to grow up knowing. But you? You’ve got that. You’ve got him with you every time you use your quirk, every time you snort like he did.” Hawks grinned a little at that, trying to lift her spirit without pushing her too fast.

He then stood and offered his other hand to steady her.

“We can look for more when you’re ready—your mom’s records, maybe some old hero logs. But we don’t have to do it all today. There’s no rush. What matters is you have this now. It’s a part of you, but it doesn’t have to define you.”

He gave her hand a soft squeeze, his wings flexing slightly behind him.

“You wanna keep going? Or you want a break, maybe get something warm to drink, clear your head?” he asked gently, letting her take the lead again. “Whatever you choose, I’m here, little bird.”

[geeky-politics-46]

NSFW Alphabet

John F. Walker (US Agent)

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is pretty great at aftercare, actually. He will check in with you to make sure you are okay and help clean you up. I think he's the kind of guy who would immediately shift to put himself in the wet spot so you can have the dry comfy spot without even saying a word about it. I also think he is a massive fan of cuddling after sex, even if he doesn't necessarily say it. If you try to get up to get dressed or do anything more than pee, he's immediately trying to pull you back into bed and wrapping himself around you. He likes cuddling with you completely bare against him. Especially once he's really let himself fall for you. He has missed being held and holding someone in return. He didn't even realize how much he missed it, but he did.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I think John has a lot of things he likes about himself. I think he's very proud of his muscles. Even before the serum, he worked really hard for them. I think he likes his eyes. They are what people tend to compliment the most. I think his favorite thing, though, is his smile. He was always smiling in photos before. He sees the posters and pictures of him smiling proudly, and now, whenever he smiles, he tries to channel that confidence again. That's part of why he grew the beard. To disguise from the fact that his smile was so different now. He can never quite get the smile to go all the way up to his eyes. Until you. You brought back his genuine smile again.

In his partner, I feel like John likes the curvier bits. Hips and thighs. He likes having something to grip onto. Something that jiggles when he fucks you. Something he can cuddle into and snuggle up with. A part of him also likes the idea that you have birthing hips. He wants more kids. The caveman part of his brain immediately hones in on the fact that you are built perfectly for that. He'd be lying if he said he didn't also love leaving little bruises and marks over the soft skin of your hips and thighs. If he's eating you out he's gonna be biting your inner thighs at least a couple times. If you're on top he's holding onto your hips so tight you're gonna have fingerprints.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

At first he's very particular about only cumming in your mouth or in your pussy. After you catch him watching porn one day you find out he really has a fantasy about cumming all over your face and tits. It hadn't really been a huge turn on before, but he cums a lot now because of the serum and that makes the idea all the more appealing to him. He loves the idea of essentially marking your body. Of you letting him cover you in himself. It’s possessive and intimate all at the same time. Since he can cum multiple times in a short period thanks to the serum he will be especially over the moon if you let him cum inside you and then all over you, back to back. He'll think he's died and gone to heaven if you let him take a video of it or pictures of you afterward for when he's away on a mission. The first time cums all over your pussy he swears it could be considered art. If he's feeling romantic or his breeding kink is going full strength he just wants to cum in your pussy. Filling you up and then daydreaming about getting the second chance at the happy life with a white picket and you bouncing his babies on your hip. Except this time he won't fuck it up.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He is absolutely dying to fuck you while he's still wearing his suit. It's his biggest fantasy. He's praying you will ask him when he gets back from a mission and tends to linger before he takes it off or tries it on at random times in hopes you'll figure out what he wants. He doesn't want to ask for it, but absolutely wants it to happen. He loves that it makes him feel manly and in command. He also knows he looks pretty damn hot in it. In particular, pressed up against the wall with you hanging onto the harness for his shield or with you bent over in front of a mirror. Also he would really like it if you happened to call him Captain while he's fucking you in the suit. Actually he's gonna need to fuck you in the suit at least twice. Once with the helmet on and once without

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I tend to believe he and Olivia were each other's first. So he has maybe only had a couple of partners. Obviously, he was with Olivia for a long time, and they have a kid, so he knows what he's doing. He's also very much an overachiever. That being said, I think the variety of his experience is pretty limited. Probably hasn't done much beyond what would be considered vanilla. That doesn't mean he's not open to it. You just may have to teach him, and he will 1000% pretend he knows all of this already, even if it is completely new. I also don't know that I see him going above and beyond to learn if you aren't doing it with him. He's got tried and true ways of getting himself off. He feels there's no need to fix it if it ain't broken.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Mating press or horizontal cowgirl with him fucking up into you instead of you doing the work. He likes positions that feel a little intense where he can press his body tight to yours and give him a lot of control over speed and depth. He's a control freak with abandonment issues. He wants to be in charge and he wants to know you aren't going anywhere until he's done with you. Mating press is his go-to on any given day. Something feels very primal about it and the way it opens you up for him, but he still gets all the benefits of missionary like being able to kiss and talk to you. Horizontal cowgirl is his pick if he's feeling a little subby. He'll let you have control at the start, let you set the pace and ride him, but by the end he's usually holding you against his chest so tight you can't move and he's busy pounding into you from the bottom. If he's had a really bad day or is really frustrated he wants it in doggy or prone. A position where he can just go to town and fuck the shit out of you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He is a definite dork, but that definitely doesn't translate to the bedroom. He can be a smartass in both normal situations and sexy ones, but he generally considers sex to be a more serious intimate moment. It's somewhere he can let his guard down and doesn't have to hide behind his shield or his sarcasm. You get to see a side of him no one else does. A side that isn't protecting itself with sarcastic humor or hidden by ego. He almost feels like these moments between you are sacred. You get glimpses of the sweet man he was before the military really got a hold of him, and before the government decided he was a weapon to be discarded once he made them look bad. You can see why Olivia had fallen for him, and yet at the same time, you can see why him changing broke her. He has a lot of heart, he has just built up so many walls around it it's not always obvious to everyone else.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's meticulous about it. He doesn't necessarily mean to be, but it's something harmless he can obsess over when he gets in his head. He's been told by strangers that he looks better with the beard. You kind of agree, but you tell him you'd love him either way. He keeps everything trimmed. He's not insanely hairy, just enough to feel manly to you. You love to run your fingers through the hair on his chest and tease him about how you never thought you'd be with a blonde guy and how you always liked guys with dark hair before him. The hair on his chest and his pubic hair is just a touch darker than the hair on his head. It's more the same color as his beard. He's still blonde all over, though. When you want to get frisky in the mornings, you love waking him up by letting your fingers start on his chest and slowly tease over his abdomen following his happy trail until you are stroking him. He practically starts purring when you do this.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He gets very in the moment. Totally focused on the task at hand, getting both of you off. Sometimes, he does lean more romantic. I firmly believe there is still a soft sweet hopeless romantic guy in there somewhere. He's just buried deep, and he has to trust you before revealing that side of himself. Even when it isn't overly romantic or soft, it's still very intimate and intense. As we've discussed before, he just wants so much to be good enough and not let people down. He doesn't want to let you down, and he wants to be enough for you. Even if he doubts himself, he's gonna give it everything he has every time. Even when he lets you take charge, he still will make sure that you are satisfied. I think once he falls for you, he falls hard and will do everything in his power to try and communicate how much he cares for you in bed. Sometimes he fucks you, but sometimes he full on makes love to you.

J = Jerk off (masturbation headcanon)

He jerks off a lot. Partly because of the serum, and his stamina will always outpace yours. He can jerk off in the morning and still have plenty to give you that night. Partly for stress relief. It's a good way to get his mind off something that is bothering him. You have caught him a few times. Walking in on him with some sort of porn on, his eyes closed and his hips thrusting up into his fist. It's gotten common enough at this point that you think he might like it when you catch him. Especially if you start teasing him about how needy he is. He always cums really quickly when you playfully scold him about jerking off when all he had to do was ask for your pussy and he could have had the real thing. He jerks off the most when one of you is away on a mission. In these instances he's almost always thinking of you and how he'd much rather be in bed with you moaning underneath him than stuck God knows where dealing with idiots.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise kink. He wants to hear how good he feels. How good he's making you feel. How big his cock is. How well he fucks you. He wants you to tell him he's pretty and that you want him more than you've ever wanted anymore. If you tell him he's a good boy he will practically spontaneously combust. He can almost cum just from your praise alone. He just wants to be loved and told he's enough, both in and out of the bedroom.

Breeding kink. He also didn't really consider this to be a kink necessarily until you mentioned it. Humans are supposed to procreate, right? Isn't everyone turned on by the idea of breeding their partner? He didn't really dirty talk that much until you started encouraging him to say those thoughts out loud. Now, there are days where all he can think about is knocking you up. How sexy you would look with a pregnant belly and swollen breasts. Talking about cumming in you over and over until you are leaking him for days and your body has no choice but to give him a kid.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Not a fan of PDAs, so he definitely prefers the bedroom. He's not opposed to other places for quickies, though. He likes being in a safe place with you where he can really let his guard down. Let his mind and body relax and indulge. The place he's most comfortable doing that is in one of your bedrooms. He also really likes to cuddle after sex, but he will never admit it out loud. That's much easier to play off as “making you comfortable” in bed. That being said if one of you, or both of you, have been on a long mission he's not opposed to fucking you the first place he can get you alone. Especially if he's still wearing his suit, as we discussed earlier. At least one team member has almost walked in on you in a closet or bathroom or something. There was also an incident on the jet that made Yelena consider pouring bleach in her eyes.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Praise and genuine affection. At this point, he's so used to everybody either taking the piss out of him or treating him like dirt. If you actually treat him kindly he'll follow you like a puppy. He's not used to soft things anymore, and it makes his mind spin a little when you don't immediately start making jokes at his expense. We've all agreed this man desperately craves praise both in and out of the bedroom. If you want to get him going, all you have to do is hold him close and whisper in his ear how sexy he looks or how good he did on a mission or in an interview. If you think to call him Captain or Agent, his knees will go a little wobbly. I also think he's a very visual guy. So you in his shirt or any sort of lingerie, doesn't matter if it's something fancy or just a silky nightie, will get his blood flowing south pretty quickly

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Swinging or watching you with someone else is a non-starter. This man can get very possessive. He doesn't even like it when someone else flirts with you, even if its a mutual friend. He sure as shit isn't gonna let someone else fuck you. I also see him as being a pretty faithful guy. I dont even think hes the kind of guy who would be into strip clubs if he has a hot woman he loves waiting at home. He doesn't want anyone else so the idea of swinging is a hard pass. He would feel like he was cheating even if it was something you both agreed to. He's not very kinky. So I see a lot of freakier stuff being a turn off for him. Handcuffs and spanking? He'll figure it out. Whips and chains or full on BDSM? Nope. Not for him. Also not a fan of weapons play in the bedroom. That's a part of his life he'd rather keep separate from sexy time. I don't think he'd be into exhibitionism or voyeurism either. Unless it's just you and him watching each other. That he can get into.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

If you ask him, he'll definitely tell you he prefers to be the one receiving. He loves how you work him so well. How manly he feels when you are on your knees focusing on his pleasure. He loves when you moan around his cock like he's the most delicious treat you've ever had. He's particularly sensitive when you start licking and sucking on his balls. He can't keep himself from fucking your throat when you look up at him while you take his whole cock in your mouth and suck.

However, the way he eats your pussy, you have a sneaking suspicion he actually prefers to be the one giving. His eyes never leaving your cunt and his mouth working overtime to bring you to climax. He wants you pulling his hair and grinding against his face. It's not uncommon for him to leave hickeys on your inner thighs almost every time you have sex. He gets so into it he ends up humping the bed more often than not. For a guy who says he's not that crazy about eating pussy, he eats it like his life depends on it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Let's just say if you share a wall with anyone, you will be hearing a lot of complaints from them. On occasion, he can be slow and romantic. Long and deep thrusts. Talking to you the whole time. Fingers interlocked with yours. Lots of kissing. More often, though the super soldier serum and the way he tends to hold onto his emotions leads to rougher sex or at the very least faster thrusting on his part. He gets too into it to be slow. Even if he tries to start slow, by the end the bedframe is creaking, and the drywall behind the headboard is starting to crumble. He's broken at least one bedframe so far, and he's stupidly proud of it. You were slightly mortified when you had to explain to Val how your bed had been completely demolished and that you needed a new one. Perhaps a reinforced one. John just sat there with a big stupid grin on his face the whole time. Also, as mentioned in my headcanons, this has led to a bruised cervix at least once or twice. Or, at the very least, you are walking and sitting very awkwardly for a couple of days.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He's absolutely down for a quickie. Especially since with the serum, he's good to go for multiple rounds. At the start of your relationship, he's pretty insatiable. So quickies are a must. If you are alone on a mission together, as soon as the work is done he's pulling you away for a quickie. He does generally prefer not to have to rush his time with you, but he will absolutely never turn down a quickie. Especially if he's a bit upset or frustrated, a quickie is a great way to get him in a better mood. The team immediately calls on you when he's being extra bitchy. He does tend to get a really dopey smile on his face afterward that always gives it away to anyone who knows him though.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's not opposed to trying some new things, but he does like being in his comfort zone and knowing exactly what is going to happen. This is part of why he leans towards constantly being the dominant one. He will try new positions without any hesitation. New surfaces? It depends on where they are and the variables around privacy. Toys or role-playing or anything he'll have a little bit more hesitation with, and you will probably need to bring them up multiple times before he agrees to try them. Eventually, he will probably give in. Especially if the role play you want to do is him as a star quarterback and you as a cheerleader. He also won't take the risk of sex interfering with a mission. Even if it's just the two of you alone in a secluded safe house, he won't give into his urges or yours until the work is done. Once the mission is completed, he'll take you the first chance he gets, but he takes too much pride in his job to let anything else come first.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He's a super soldier. His stamina is off the charts. He doesn't necessarily worry about making each round last a long time because he knows he will be able to go multiple. It's also probably the first time he's really getting to test what the serum has done to him in the bedroom. Somedays, he's probably gonna wanna test how many rounds he can go. Somedays, he's gonna wanna see how long he can last before cumming. He isn't gonna push you past your limits though. Once you tap out he's probably done. He'd rather save the energy for you than exert it by himself when he could be taking care of you… unless you really want him to. We know he is probably very eager to please. You want to watch him or talk him through what you want him to do, he'll put on the best show for you he can. That happens fairly often, actually.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He knows you have them, and he's not gonna stop you from using them, but he's not crazy about them. If he's on a mission, then sure, go ahead and use them on yourself. Especially if you are thinking about him while using them. He knows that he shouldn't be threatened by them, and he's slowly coming around to your bullet vibrator. Especially after you showed him you could use it on him during a blowjob. He still generally lets you be the one to bring it up, and you be the one holding it. Anything bigger or more phallic he's still not sure about. We know he has insecurities around being enough. That would apply to comparing himself to your toys too. If you have a realistic looking dildo he doesn't really want to know about it, even if it's to send him a naughty video while he's away. Maybe someday, a part of his brain is very curious, but he's more worried about how he will start to compare himself to the toy after he sees you cumming from it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He does like to tease. He gets off on you begging for him. He needs you to nerd him. So he will tease you until you are pleading for him. Biting and licking at your thighs and the creases of your hips until you are gripping his hair and trying to push his face into your cunt. Letting his fingers dance around your clit without making direct contact or circling your entrance painfully slowly. Using just the tip of his cock until you are writhing and crying for more. His patience for being teased is not great though. Sometimes he loves it, but if he's having a bad day he will pout and whine if you try to tease him. Ultimately reminding you that he is a super soldier and can stop your little game whenever he wants. You know when he says this he's giving you a warning that he's at the end of his rope.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Just like when he fights, there's lots of grunting, growling, and snarling during sex. Baring his teeth when he gets close to climax. He doesn't even realize all the noises he's making when he gets really into it. He will also encourage you to praise him at every turn. Asking if something he's doing feels good or if you like how he feels inside you. He's not a screamer, but he's certainly not quiet in the bedroom. He loves hearing you talk to him during sex. So he may not talk at length, but he will encourage you to be as elaborate and filthy as you can. Give him directions and feedback. Overwhelm all of his senses. Make him forget everything but how he's making you feel with every deep thrust of his cock or lick of his tongue.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Would absolutely love his partner to do a striptease for him or give him a lap dance. This man craves attention. Having all your attention on him as you put on a naughty little show for him is a dream come true. The thought of you slowly taking off your clothes and wiggling around naked in his lap just for his enjoyment makes him downright giddy. It's an extra boost to his ego if you get aroused and wet doing this for him. He won't really ask you to do this for him, but he will be happy as a clam if you come up with the idea. If you take a pole dance class with the girls for shits and giggles, he will ask to see what you learned with a cheeky grin on his face. He knows you can't say no when he smiles at you like that. Although be warned, there is no way he's keeping his hands to himself during the lap dance portion. At the very least, he's gripping onto your hips or fondling your breasts. By the end of the song, he'll probably have his fingers inside you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

The serum didn't really change much here. He didn't completely change size like Steve or get a ton more muscle mass like Bucky. When he's soft, he's the same size he always was. Average. It's not huge, but not small. Like most men, he probably wishes he was a little bigger, but he's not unhappy with it. He was pleasantly surprised the first time he got hard after taking the serum that he was about an inch longer and a bit thicker than he was before. I definitely think he has measured to confirm this. He knows that you don't know that the serum did this, but it's probably come up during foreplay that you are getting the bigger post-serum version of him. You tell him you would have been happy with either version, but he's really proud of it now. He also leaks a lot more pre-cum now than he used to. It has made his alone time better, no need for extra lube, and if you like it, he's even happier about it. Bringing your hand to stroke him through his underwear. Ready to have you feel how wet you get him. How much you turn him on.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I feel like he's got massive pent-up energy and has probably been denying himself a lot of things since the events of Falcon and The Winter Soldier. Sex and human touch in general included. I think it's gonna be like shaking a soda can then popping the top. He's literally going to explode once you ceack the seal. He will not be able to get enough. Between his super soldier stamina and all the repressed emotions and energy, you'll be spending a lot of time with him inside you. You are an outlet for his emotions. After one or both of you has been on a mission plan on keeping your schedule completely open for the next day. He feels like he's borderline addicted to fucking you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It takes him a while to fall asleep. He also sometimes has nightmares about his experiences as a soldier. So even when he's asleep, it's not necessarily restful. He will always wait until you fall asleep before he lets himself fall asleep. He just feels like he can protect you better that way. Holding you however you need him to and just lay there thinking about things. Sometimes, he gets too into his own head to sleep. He likes having some sort of background noise on. Usually some movie or sitcom. Sometimes, he will just lay there and watch you sleep, the tempo of your breathing like a metronome lulling him to sleep himself. He does generally sleep more soundly if you are there next to him. I can also see him being a giant teddy bear who likes to cuddle you close as he falls asleep and when he wakes up. There have been times you've woken up unable to move because a certain super soldier has you pinned to the mattress in his sleep.

--------------------------------

John Walker taglist: @sareim123122 @witchygagirl

Back to main masterlist

[powderpuff-divines]

pick a pile: what makes people's hearts flutter around you

thank you so much for the love on the previous reading!! i was so happy to see that so many of you enjoyed it. i hope that this one resonates too. once again, it is a general reading. only take what applies, leave the rest and please forgive any grammatical or spelling errors xx

pile 1 ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

(judgement, ace of pentacles, queen of pentacles, page of pentacles, page of wands)

there's just something intimidating about you pile one (you may or may not have a resting b-face) but there's also something about you that makes people want to impress you. whatever way you express your dissatisfaction- whether it's the way you curl your lips in distaste or scrunch your eyebrows- it sets people on edge. it makes them nervous but also very eager to please you.

you could come from a well to do family, like a long line or surgeons, etc. (if not, that's the vibes you give) or even if it's not wealth, it feels like you come from a very reputed family.

but regardless of your family, you have built have a very good reputation for yourself amongst your peers. your work ethic is also very good- you put your head down and get to work, and even that makes people's hearts flutter sometimes. you elicit awe and admiration quite easily.

capable. that's the energy i'm getting from this pile. someone capable who wants to work hard, who wants money, who wants status, who wants recognition. majority of the people from this pile are the go-getters, the type to want to work in student body councils or win a lot of trophies (i'm getting more academic/corporate achievement than sporty though).

there's also another section of people who picked this pile who wouldn't necessarily call themselves hard-working, they'd prefer to call themselves lazy even but regardless of how you label yourself, you just breeze through your work anyway. in the eyes of others, it looks effortless. the people around you take one look at you and just know you're going to achieve great things with your career

regardless of all this admiration, i don't think you're friends with many people. there may only be a few in your inner circle. there's something about other people wanting to be a part of your personal life so bad. i'm seeing this image someone who randomly posts a Instagram story of them surfing and the people viewing it are so shocked ("pile two surfs? i never knew that about them. that's so cool!") they're intrigued by you and want to know you better but you don't let people that close easily. you might just have really strict work-life boundaries and are very particular about who in your life gets to see how much about you.

and because of who you are, what you've accomplished and how you carry yourself, your approval means something to the people around you, especially if it's something you don't dole out to just anyone.

your approval; that's what gets their heart fluttering-- a nod from you when they show you what they've done, a pat on the back, a smile on your lips as you give praise, even if it's off-handed, it gives them something to feel good about for the rest of the day.

pile 2 ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

(chariot, 8 of pentacles , ace of cups, seven of swords, ten of pentacles) (oh my god 😭 who are you peopleeee. i would not be surprised if multiple people were crushing on this pile.)

pile 2, you're popular and you definitely know it to some extent too. this pile is a bit similar to pile 1 in some ways but still vastly different you could have lot of admirers and people who want to get close to you and i do see you engaging with these people, because you do enjoy the attention (nothing wrong with that), but i also get the feeling you're very controlling and picky over your image and how you come off to people. even while trying to channel the messages for this pile, the energy feels a bit reserved and doesn't want to give me too much.

there's one particular thing you could be known for, some sort of craft you've worked hard at or you're really talented at. this could be something like dance or music but that's where most of your popularity comes from. you have a good network of friends and people who you can pass time with.

i'm ngl, lowkey getting some player energy from this pile but not necessarily in the bad way. it's just some of you are aware of effect you have, and you have fun teasing people, toying with them, making them blush. oh, pile 2 you like making people's hearts flutter, you do it on purpose. you like knowing that you have the power to make people flustered.

what makes people's heart flutter is the rush they get when your eyes meet, the flirtatious lilt in your voice, maybe a smirk on your lips as you tease them in a very nonchalant manner, when you say something and playfully tell them that it's a secret only the two of you will know, when you make them feel like they are the sole focus of your attention. heart are fluttering left and right because of you.

i don't know if this pile will resonate with a lot of people or if the things mentioned here are too specific, but bottom line is that there's a very flirtatious and seductive vibe to your energy. you guys might be bored the majority of the time but man, when you're interested in someone, you tease and play with them until you get a reaction. even if you're not like this currently, you have great potential at charming people my pile twos.

pile 3 ˚ . ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

( 6 of cups, the empress, nine of pentacles, eight of pentacles, temperance rev)

pile 3, are you really uncomfortable with being perceived by any chance? i had the most difficult time channeling the energy of the people who chose this pile out of all three piles. i think you keep to yourself for most of the time but there's also this adorable energy around you, like that of a cat that just puts its head down and sleeps whenever it gets the chance to.

you could not like attention and maybe most of your days, you put your head down and focus on getting through. that's not to say you have a sad life. maybe you're not where you want to be yet, but you do have hobbies, things you enjoy and to pass the time with.

there's something casually cool about you. i cannot say what it is exactly since it's different for each of the people who pick this pile, but something about the way someone gets their drink from the vending machine? for someone, it's the way they hop over a gate. you have these tiny particular habits and methods of doing things that catch some people's attention without even knowing it.

i think it's your affection that makes people's hearts flutter.

this is giving me the energy of that one type of male lead/character (i'm just talking about the vibe, this could apply to you regardless of your gender) in anime that slacks off all the time but will randomly say something observant or serious that will have your heart skipping a beat. it's very endearing, i feel like you're very laid-back but still very straightforward and blunt with your affection. you'll say something simple but it'll be so earnest and the most romantic thing ever in the moment; it would exactly the thing the other person would happen to need to hear.

and it's not even intentional for most of you, it just comes naturally.

AHHH pile 3s, i get the feeling most of you don't think very highly about your work or aren't very comfortable with yourself but you should know that you're inherently a very chill and cool person. you aren't nearly as embarrassing as you think you are. be proud of your existence please!! and take up more space!!!

what makes people's hearts flutter around you aren't big gestures or big speeches, but it's just simply you in the rawest form possible. maybe it's you holding a cold soda can to someone's cheek and murmuring something that was just on your mind; a silly joke, a comment about a look on their face. it's your nonchalant affection that arrives so silently yet reassuringly steady every time. it's the way you unknowingly make the weight of the world lighter for others, even if just for a second.

this pile gives me maomao vibes? i haven't seen ad yet, just clips and edits but the way she just puts her head down and dgaf about anything except posion/her own thing and she's just inherently endearing and people adore her??? that's your vibe pile 3!!! also this is the second time anime has been referenced, so maybe that's a sign for some of yall

i love how much you can customise your tumblr post but the gradient text is just too stressful for me to do more than twice in one post lol. do let me know which pile you picked and on how it resonated!! in all honesty, i'm a bit nervous about it since i feel like i went too specific so i hope it still resonates with people.

[tinytarotandtea]

「 ✦ PICK A CARD✦ 」

What's your future S/O's love language?

Masterlist || GET YOUR PERSONAL READINGS HERE <33 Directions: Take a moment to breathe, calm down and focus as you choose a picture from above. From left to right is pile 1, 2 and 3. Then Scroll down to your pile! Please remember to only take what resonates with you and leave the rest 🫶

A/N: Hiya my loves! Sorry it's been awhile, been super busy and just not in the right headspace to be doing readings and I didn't want to force them. But, I'm back, and hoping to get back to doing more of these. Also apolgies for the change in style for these reaidngs, just trying out new ways to do these :)

PILE ONE -

Hello my lovelies!! How are y'all? Good I hope! And I hope this lil reading brightens your day a little if not :)

Your future S/O is very much giving off acts of service vibes when it comes to their love language. But in a deeper, more emotional sense. They're there for you through every dark time that passes through you. They're there to carry your burdens, help with your responsibilities, and help you heal.

So whilst they might show their love through little things like making you tea or helping you with the small things, they're also there to help carry those deeper burdens, ease your responsibilities and help with those deep emotional struggles that threaten to drown you. They're there to help you heal, too, maybe from past relationships that snuffed you out. They're there to help you learn those tricky lessons, too.

Masterlist || GET YOUR PERSONAL READINGS HERE <33

PILE TWO -

Hiya, pile two! I hope your day is as bright as you are, and that this reading brightens it even more!

With your future S/O, my loves, I'm getting a mix of acts of service and a hint of quality time and emotional reparenting.

Their acts of service are subtle. Things like checking every morning, learning your routine and what helps you feel safe. They're not big talkers, or big on flashy, but they're reliable. They're there for you when it counts, and when you need them. They love spending time with you, too. Even if it's a quiet, daily activity. Be it helping you with the laundry or talking to you whilst they cook. They're not big on adventurous activities, and probably prefer to stay in for dates, or have sweet little dates like picnics or book shopping, things like that.

I'm also getting that your future S/O is healing from past wounds, childhood stuff or nostalgic wounds. They might be trying to unlearn love languages that they grew up with, or things they never received. This might mean them being extra soft with your inner child because they understand how that pain lingers.

Masterlist || GET YOUR PERSONAL READINGS HERE <33

PILE THREE -

Hello pile three!! Are we doing well today? I hope so. Anyways, let's get into your reading.

So, your future S/O is giving major words of affirmation and emotional presence.

With words of affirmation, I feel like it's a mix of giving and receiving. Something in them wants to know that they're doing well, doing good, that they're safe and wanted. But they give it in return, too, like by giving you such words, it's helping them as much as it's helping you. They'll give the same reassurance in return.

They're very emotionally present, too. They're not going to leave easily, no matter how hard you try to push them away. They're in it even when things get messy between you both. They're there for all the small ups and downs, and even the bigger ones. They want to make things work between you two. A result of fear of abandonment or emotional stagnation, possibly. This might mean gently helping them release the past so they can fully step into being present with you.

Masterlist || GET YOUR PERSONAL READINGS HERE <33

[kuidore]

random ZoeYstery HCs 3 ✧ KPOP demon hunters ✧ Zoey x Mystery

✧ They’re the worst couple ever when it comes to PDA

✧ Once they’re together and he has her by his side almost all the time, Mystery is just. constantly touching her. mostly without even realizing it.

✧ His hand finds hers to link their hands or wrap his fingers around her wrist, he wraps his arm around her shoulders or her waist, he slouches and walks behind her with his chin resting on top of her head

✧ He doesn’t particularily care if it makes walking weird, as long as he’s holding her. She doesn’t seem to mind either.

✧ It feels natural, so he just does it. That was how he was accustomed to living beforehand. He’s still not used to having desires, let alone pushing them down

✧ Mystery would literally carry her everywhere if she would let him.

✧ If she ever mentions her feet hurt, or her legs are tired, or even asks how much longer they had to walk, he’s already crouched down on the ground and silently gesturing for her to get on his back before she even finishes her sentence

✧ He walks extra slow when he’s giving her a piggy back. Sometimes he even purposefully takes a wrong turn so they have to take a longer route

✧ On his back was like being in a car for Zoey. She barely paid attention to the surroundings, resting her chin on his shoulder and talking at him about whatever came to mind

✧ When she does realize it, she doesn’t particularily care. It just makes her squeeze him tighter and hide her face in his shoulder to try and keep her blush in check

✧ If Mystery isn’t carrying Zoey then he’s carrying her purse, her drink, her bag, whatever she has with her.

✧ He really wants to be helpful to her, the way she was always being with him

✧ She feels really guilty in the beginning for making him be her mule, carrying around her and her stuff. But every time she asked if he minded, he shook his head no without any hesitation

✧ She’s finally convinced that it’s fine when she looks over at Mystery’s face one day while on his back and caught him smiling with his teeth. It was the first time she was even seeing them.

✧ From then on she was more than happy to accept his offer or even purposefully complain about walking just so he’d do it even more

✧ If Zoey comes into a room when he’s doing something and has his back to her, she immediately thinks of ways to be a menace

✧ Among Zoey’s arsenal was; coming up and sticking a wet finger in his ear, tiptoe really close and try to scare him (which she keeps trying even though it never works), and breaking into a sprint to throw herself on his back

✧ Sure she could go up and hug him or give him a kiss, but she saved that for when he noticed her.

✧ Mystery could actually always hear her footsteps when she came into the room.

✧ Originally he always turned around, but as soon as he realized that she was attempting to sneak up on him, he started keeping his back to her and pretending he didn’t notice her presence

✧ Every single time she grins at him and smugly says that she ‘got him’

✧ Oh she’s got him alright. Got him wrapped around her finger, whipped, ready to kill or die for her. he was pretty sure she wouldn’t let him do that last one a second time, but he’s still willing and that’s what matters

✧ Yeah, she did in fact still date him even after telling him he was her type and then slitting his throat and sending him back to hell (briefly). Don’t worry about it. He thought it was hot.

✧ He physically cannot stop himself from glaring at anyone who looks at Zoey for too long or gets in her personal space. For the latter, if they weren’t in an excessively public place, he’d still bark

✧ Mystery’s jealousy is much more about being the direct object of Zoey’s attention at a given moment, rather than some sort of fear of her leaving him for someone else or being ‘taken’

✧ He wants her to always be looking at him, paying attention to him, noticing him. The way he always was doing the same with her.

✧ It takes a lot of time for him to understand the way she expresses herself and her emotions, but Zoey is patient and happy to explain it to someone so eager to actually listen

✧ One day it’s like it clicks, when she points in a store window bouncing with excitement at a dessert he knew full well she hated and he loved

✧ He passes the entire night just looking back through their memories together, picking out what had initially seemed like minor moments and finding traces of Zoey’s adoration around every corner

✧ She wakes up to him staring at her intently. She jumps a bit and almost falls out of bed, he manages to hold her tight enough to stop her

✧ He didn’t even wish her good morning, didn’t even give her the time to wake up properly. The first words out of his mouth once he was sure she was conscious enough to be aware of him were “I love you”

✧ She can’t stop herself from burying her face in a pillow and kicking her feet, muffled giggles making her shoulders shake

[menlove]

Hello! I saw your post about how you deeply believe that John and Paul had sex frequently, and honestly I'm on the fence on whether or not I believe that they did. I was wondering if there were any particular reasons as to why you believe this or if it was just a feeling lol.

there's fsdfasdadf a lot To Me that convinces me but i'm not sure how solid it is so i'd say it's Mostly a feeling/vibe but i'll work through my reasoning under the cut (separated into The Vibes and then actual shit they've said/done that makes me go uh. hm.)

disclaimer: obviously i can't know if they fucked. at the end of the day it truly does not have any impact on my life if they did or not. this is also solely getting into whether or not they fucked, not the rest of the crazy shit they had going on bc that would genuinely take a 1000 page novel. i'm also not getting into proof about either one of them having gay sex bc if we take them both at face value that answer is a resounding "no" and this isn't about proving their queerness

i will say first of all we know for a fact they jerked off together & had sex in the same bed so i'm gonna go ahead and count that as sex bc it's 2025 and queer people have made leaps and bounds away from considering penetrative sex the only kind of sex that exists. but i don't think they would've considered either of those things sex. but in my view? that was sex. does also mean they've had sex with the other quarrymen though #happypride

vibes

first of for me is their personalities/circumstances. i mean it's obviously all very nuanced and i never knew them so there's aspects to their personalities that we obviously aren't privy to. but they were both very sexual people with incredibly loose sexual boundaries, neither of whom really ever had (or at least expressed) religious hangups around sex, and who were Both at the like forefront of the whole changing culture of the 60s to become freer, looser, less repressed. obviously them being free with heterosexual sex doesn't automatically equate to them having the same feelings about homosexual sex, but it's a factor in the way i think about it anyway.

we already know they were loose with sex with Each Other as well. there's ofc the beat the meatles thing (group wanking with the quarrymen/early beatles) but there's also the fact that they'd all have sex in the same tiny ass room in hamburg & the fact that john and paul allegedly had a foursome with a couple of girls whose pictures they took back in liverpool (on the same bed). again, that doesn't Necessarily translate to "yeah they'd have gay sex" but it just sets up that they weren't really prudish about sex and they weren't shy about having sex around/near each other. there's ALSO a different version of the story john told to pete floating around somewhere (can't find it rn so don't quote me on this) where in addition to everything else he mentions it (as in letting brian jerk him off) not being different than what he does with his friends. which does also implicate everyone Else, not just paul, but it's interesting.

i just do Not think that john would've had the self restraint to not make a move on paul if he wanted to. and from Well Everything, we can tell that he wanted to. john wasn't someone who had a lot of self control & i don't think his relationship to paul being "too important" or anything like that would've stopped him either. and i think if he'd made a move & paul shot him down, we would have never heard the end of it and there would've never been the beatles in the first place bc i don't think john would've taken it well at all. on paul's end, i can't see him turning john down either. if they were already jerking off together, potentially jerking each other off, having sex in the same bed, etc, i don't think it's a stretch to say he wouldn't have shoved john off for going further. and again, if he had, there would've been a more dramatic reaction. which means either john Never made a move, or he did & paul went with it.

ofc there's the whole india theory but i do not buy into that even remotely and i'm not getting into why again but tl;dr i just don't think it would be in character for Either of them to have this big dramatic rejection of john's feelings and for john to wait and simmer in it for 2 years before breaking up the band. i think if anything like that happened he would've lost his goddamn mind immediately and the band wouldn't have made it beyond like two more months lmao

i can however see paul making a move and john shooting it down due to His Issues, but i don't really see any time period where that would've potentially happened yk like there's not enough there to speculate on that one. but i can see it more than the opposite

they were also on so, so many drugs. you take two people with loose sexual boundaries and you put them on uppers/alcohol/weed/lsd/coke and i truly think it's more unlikely that they didn't ever fuck. i think most anyone who regularly gets drunk/high has at least one story about making out with/fucking someone they shouldn't. oftentimes when you can't remember shit.

there's also the severe lack of personal space between them & just the way they watch each other. ofc there's a severe lack of space between All the beatles, but it's glaringly obvious and embarrassing when they're all 4 in the same space and the blowjob brothers are over there ass to dick while everyone else has a respectable friend distance.

i won't put a photo/gif dump here i'm sure we've all seen them but this is the single one i have to add bc genuinely what is their problem:

and the way paul stops and then looks over at john after noticing he's watching his ass? they're as subtle as a brick to the head lmfao

tl;dr on the vibes: it's a if you give a mouse a cookie situation to me. if john was attracted to paul (he was), he would've made a move -> if john made a move on paul, paul would've said yes -> if paul had said no, there would have been 0 way john would've just gone on like normal -> nothing ever blew up like that sooo -> i think they fucked (in our definition- idfk what they would count it as). throw in their drug use & lack of personal space................

actual shit w substance

i don't think unless john's diaries leak or paul slips in his old age that we're Ever going to get any kind of Actual confirmation about if they did or did not have a sexual relationship of any kind. BUT there are some things that make me go. well okay !

and a disclaimer i don't think this is the only way you can interpret these things and i'm well aware i look like this rn

i mean this so seriously when i say the thing that convinced me they did actually fuck was john's real love (real life) demo. we know he's talking about paul bc he says "was i just dreaming, or was it only yesterday? i used to hold you in my arms. and now a baby and another on the way la la la farm" and then the added fact from this post that the daily news from that same year around the time john would've made this demo has a page dedicated to linda & paul expecting a new baby and in the same paper it's talking about cruises. which in the demo he says "picked up the paper, read the daily news, nothing doing anyway, same old bs, doot doot doot doot cruise." so we've got him singing about someone he used to hold in his arms that now has another baby on the way on a farm, which he found out about reading the daily news that mentioned cruises. when there was a paper from that day from the daily news announcing that linda & paul were expecting and talking about cruises. so i can say with confidence that he's talking about paul there. unless he was just wildly in love with linda lmfao. and of course "i used to hold you in my arms" doesn't exactly translate to "i fucked you" but like......????? there's really not much else you can infer from that. the rest of it is true to reality, so why would he embellish that bit with something he wished happened? why would he wished to have held him and then lost him anyway? and like it'd just be a weird thing to say about a platonic friend. i can't exactly imagine them just platonically laying around cuddling. i mean sure, maybe, but come on.

speaking of john's demos, there's also his weird paris shit (ignore that title lmfao. it is definitely a real demo & i actually accidentally own it on vinyl- it was one that got leaked during the lost lennon tapes). in it, he's singing to "my pau pau" about his little prod (lmfao) at a cafe on the left bank (hysterically also the title of a wings song ABOUT john and paul's trip to paris). i mean does that mean they fucked? maybe not. but also fucking bizarre to refer to your friend as "my pau pau" and start talking about his little dick while calling him my cheri..... like. again. come on.

speaking of paris there's also the whole skywriting by word of mouth thing. this one's the loosest bc it's fictional, but john based a lot of the sexual stories in skywriting by word of mouth on his own sexual exploits. also realizing for some reason i didn't put this in the original post, but leading up to the paris bit, it describes the man as a journalist who's in the middle of writing a play. but tl;dr on that link: john wrote a short story full of references to gay sex/gay culture about a man leaving writing a play to meet up with his lover in paris where they stay at the george v and fuck to god only knows. in 1966, john left filming how i won the war to meet up with paul in paris and they stayed at the george v. that's the same year pet sounds came out & paul got obsessed with god only knows as well. now this one could Also be taking the details of a very platonic meetup (paul did have one of his girlfriends, maggie mcgivern, with him) and adding a sexual connotation to them retroactively, but....................

i'm also throwing this paul song into the mix bc .....????? sure man. i'll also throw let me roll it into that category bc of the "he gave me loving in the palm of my hand" thing like okay man. i'm sure he did. and best friend/call me back again are just self explanatory.

this one is EXTREMELY loose and i don't believe 99% of them but there Are a ton of rumors/blind items if you go digging around about them kind of openly fucking during the 60s (as well as paul & linda having threesomes with men lmao). not linking those bc i wouldn't count them as even a remotely reliable source but they exist and all say just about the same thing

am i 100% certain they fucked? i mean no. but it just seems way less likely to me that they didn't. and i've seen historical narratives built on less so i'm gonna go on w my interpretation that they did fuck nasty in whatever way

[junnieverse]

DADDY DAY CARE ➳ H. DONGMIN

➙ synopsis: with you at work due to an emergency and taesan having the weekend off from his own job, this was the perfect time for him to spend some quality time with his daughter.

pairing: han taesan x afab!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.0k

warning: not proofread, set in the future where taesan is much older (like late 20s), domestic husband taesan may melt your heart

a/n: this was originally in my drafts (for a very, and i mean VERY long time- like years) written for hanbin, but since I no longer write for zb1 and I found taesan’s interactions with babies so cute, this seemed like the perfect member to go with

a/n (2): taesan never beating the girl dad allegations <3 [ REBLOGS HIGHLY APPRECIATED! ]

“Okay, I have to get going now or I’m gonna be late. Remember she has to have her nap time at one or she’ll get grumpy. And do NOT let her eat a lot of sugar.”

Going through the last of your instructions, your husband only nods as your glare softens at the sight of your 11 month old daughter cradled in his arms.

“Bye my butterfly, mommy loves you so so much.” you litter kisses all over her chubby little cheeks as giggles erupt from her.

Turning back to your husband again, you also give him his own well deserved peck on the lips before he speaks up, “don’t worry honey, I got this. Butterfly and I are gonna be perfectly fine.”

Nodding, you let out one last silent prayer for your house and child to be in one piece by the time you come back and make your way out feeling your heart hurting having to leave your family even if it would be for just a few hours.

It was a weekend but your boss had called you in to work to finish up some last minute preparations for a presentation your team had been working on seeing as some issues had arose and your help was needed to fix it.

Luckily for you, your husband, found this as the perfect chance to bond with your daughter since he rarely got to spend much time with just her alone.

With the unexpected call into work, Taesan offered to stay home with your daughter, whom you referred to by her nickname “butterfly” which Taesan himself had started calling her ever since finding out you were both having a girl during your pregnancy.

You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t a bit hesitant at first. Despite how incredible of a husband and father Taesan was, this would be his first time being on "daddy duties", as he called them, on his own and you were just hoping he would be able to handle it.

“Okay butterfly. How about getting ready to go out for a walk with me huh, since mommy already gave you breakfast.” he asks the baby in his arms as she only smiles back, probably at the mention of her dearest mom.

Now Taesan had his own personal style he liked keeping to, but he could admit that getting his daughter dressed was simply not his forte.

Placing the little girl down on her playmat as she grabbed a nearby building block enamoured by the colours, Taesan turned his attention to her closet faced with his first challenge of the day.

Letting out a huff, his hands rest on his hips as his foot lightly taps on the floor with his eyes scanning the rack of various clothes.

"What do we think butterfly, are we feeling more colourful with glitter today or do you want sequins?" he asks turning to the preoccupied baby who only babbles back in response as her form of communication.

"Both it is!"

Pulling out a pastel-coloured and sequinned dress from the hanger, a pair of white frilly socks, and silver glittery ballet flats with little bows on the front to complete the entire look.

"Wow bun, I'd say I did a pretty good job don't you think~" he once again asks admiring his style of work cooing at the baby as he blows raspberries into her stomach making her laugh as he smiled.

Next, he grabbed her little ribbons as he sat down behind her preparing to tie her hair just as he had watched you do all the time.

For a good five minutes he seemed to struggle seeing as his very playful daughter couldn't sit still wanting to play with all the toys around her.

Like a cartoonish lightbulb moment hitting him, Taesan takes his silver Chrome Hearts necklace off dangling the chain in front of his daughter catching her attention.

"Look at the shiny necklace butterfly, play with this so daddy can do your hair please." he pleads as her tiny grasp reaches for the necklace quietly observing the new object with high interest.

Taesan exhales in relief as she was now sitting quietly playing with the necklace around her neck as he attempted to part her hair in two to give her little space buns.

"And... done." he huffs adding the last yellow bow to her head admiring her hair.

Evidently skew and still mildly unkept with a few curls falling out, he was proud of his first attempt at doing her hair having expected it to look a lot worse.

With butterfly in the carrier on his chest, tucked and secured, Taesan decided to use the late morning to get his daily steps in and let the both of them get some fresh air and sun for the day.

Making a stop by a nearby ice cream truck, he orders himself one before sitting by the bench watching the kids nearby play as he enjoyed his soft serve ice cream.

"Don't think I didn't notice you eyeing my ice cream missy. You want some? No, you can't have any~" he teases her inching the ice cream near her as she opens her mouth, only to pull it away and lick it as she watched.

Her small face suddenly changed as her eyes began to water and her pout full on display growing upset at her dad's teasing.

"Wait no no- don't cry butterfly. Here, have some. But don't tell mommy about this, let's keep it between us." he pinky promises as he joins his pinky with her tiny one making him internally scream from the cuteness aggression.

Carefully letting her lick some ice cream, her smile grows back and he leans down to kiss her forehead.

"You just have daddy wrapped around your tiny finger don't you." he rhetorically asks noticing some ice cream on her nose.

His camera on his phone open, Taesan captures the moment quickly, saving the picture as his new wallpaper as he chuckles to himself realising she still had his necklace around her neck this entire time.

Giving her some of her own puffs to snack on for the time being, your husband made sure to send you short clips and pictures throughout the day of him and butterfly to show you that they were both still doing well and missing you, her words, not his, according to him.

It was small moments like this Taesan enjoyed most.

Due to the nature and demand of his job, he didn't get to spend as much time as he would've liked to with both you and your daughter. But when he did get the chance, he made sure to cherish every little moment because you were both his favourite people.

Looking down at his daughter, he notices the small yawn escape past her lips and noticing the time on his phone, Taesan realised it was nearing her nap time and decided that was enough outside time for them both.

It was now 1:23pm and Taesan was now faced with his next challenge.

Butterfly was meant to be long asleep, but after changing into her onesie to get comfortable, she was seemingly putting up a fight wanting to stay up with her dad.

She had been fighting to stay awake that it started to frustrate her because her body also knew it was naptime, making her a very grumpy grouch.

This gave Taesan the bright to try and wear out her energy until she couldn't stay up from the exhaustion.

"Daddy brought you some paper, so how about we make some fun art for mommy instead?" he placed all the markers and glitter down knowing she would just scribble all over and make a mess, which he would have to clean up before you came back later.

Picking up whichever colour caught her attention first, Taesan opened the lid for her showing her what to do for her to mimic his actions and she was quick to follow along.

Unbeknownst to him, when Taesan had left the room to answer his ringing phone he had left in the living room, the glitter was left unattended and open for butterfly to have her own little fun.

Tipping the bottle over, the pink glitter spills onto the playmat and she reaches for some glitter as it sticks all over her hands. Her next mistake being she reached for her face leaving remnants of it all over her and her clothes in an attempt to get the weird substance off her hands.

Making his way back into the room, Taesan gasps in horror at the scene in front of him, rushing to his daughter he grabs the wet wipes trying to wipe off whatever he could, some of it still being stubborn on her.

Continuing their little arts and crafts, the man only surrenders to his daughter as she uses the washable markers to draw all over his arm, the paper long forget on the side which she should've been using.

Taesan was evidently whipped for you, without a doubt, but his daughter truly had his entire heart and he would give her anything and everything... even if it meant being used as her little art canvas for a few minutes to keep her entertained.

Yawning himself, he looks at the clock on the wall which read 1:45pm, which was well past butterfly's bed time and she too seemed to be growing tired.

"Time to pack these away butterfly and I'll read you a story to sleep." he gently says as he slowly packs everything back into it's place and grabbing Little Red Riding Hood to read to her.

He picks her up chuckling at how messing her hair had become over the course of her fussing and playing with some glitter still prominent on her cheeks.

Laying down on the playmat himself, he lays his daughter on his chest as he opens the storybook onto the first page.

Beginning to read to her as he interchanges her one hand to hold the book up as the other goes back and forth between stroking her back softly and flipping the pages of the book.

As he nears the end of the story, he hears soft snores and feels her light breathing notifying him she had successfully fell asleep.

Closing the book beside him, he notices the left mess of glitter from before sighing in exhaustion.

"I'll clean that up after a short nap with butterfly." he mumbles to himself as his own tiredness catches up with him closing his eyes letting the sleep take over.

You step into the house kicking your shoes off as a sigh of relief escapes past your lips letting your toes finally breathe after hours of working in those mildly shoes.

Having expected to walk into either the smell of something burning in the kitchen or at least be greeted by your loving husband and daughter, you’re instead met with complete silence.

“My babies~ I’m back home. Please tell me you’re both still alive.” you speak out into the open, cackling softly at your own joke, only to get no response in return.

Making your way around the house quietly, you go into your daughter’s room and find a scene you were least expecting to see.

On the floor, both your favourite people were fast asleep cuddling each other.

Taesan snores softly with butterfly on his chest sound asleep, light snores matching her father’s, her hair wild and unkept and glitter all over the two of them and the floor beside them.

Quietly tiptoeing towards the two, you kneel down placing a light blanket on top of them to keep them warm before adding soft pecks onto both of their foreheads.

Your hand gently brushes the loose strands of hair to the side covering your husband’s face, you look down and notice the scribble marks all over his arm and a small smile grows over your face only imagining what these two had gotten up to while you were away.

In most instances you wouldn’t be happy at the sight of the mess in front of you, but your heart couldn’t help but melt instead seemingly content at the turnout of your perfect little family.

You truly couldn’t ask for anything more.

[ethe-realfantasy]

„I don’t need time, I need you.“ (Part VI)

(ANGST, slow burn, Simon can’t believe his ears when you invite him into your apartment that night…with some fluffy nsfw in the end…mdni!!!!!

and no this wasn’t self-indulgent in the slightest, oopsie

aaaaand I’m 100% sure “Can’t Lose You” by Type O Negative would be playing in the background )

♥︎ also this is the last part in the series ♥︎

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡✩｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

Simon parks the car right in front of your firm. The glass building is catching the soft gold of morning. The street is already humming with early chatter and footsteps.

He doesn’t move right away, his hands are still on the wheel. You shift beside him, your eyes flicking to the clock, then outside to the tall entrance of the firm. Your stomach knots instantly when you recognise him.

Shawn's standing there, fidgeting with the strap of his bag. His head is ducked low in the collar of his coat. His expression is all shame, nerves and lingering guilt.

Simon reaches over and unclicks your seatbelt with a smooth click.

"That him?" he says as he gestures to Shawn with his head.

You nod quickly and exhale, your hand slowly moves to the doorhandle.

His voice cuts through, low and unshakeable. “I’ll get it."

Simon’s already out of the car. His boots hit the pavement with a slow, weighted step. He doesn’t look at Shawn. He looks... oddly calm.

He opens your door with quiet certainty. One of his arms rests on the top of the doorframe as he leans slightly in, offering his other hand to help you out.

You swallow and place your fingers in his. The second your hands touch, he steadies you. It's not just physically, but his energy shifts entirely.

You step out and feel the shift, that weight of him beside you. You feel the warmth of his body standing so close behind you, the way his hand lingers at your lower back, barely grazing, but unmistakable.

Shawn straightens when he sees you. His eyes widen slightly when he sees Simon.

Meanwhile, Simon looks completely unbothered. He doesn’t blink, doesn't say anything. His silence is louder than anything else.

Shawn's lips part, like he’s about to say something. He looks like he wants to apologise, to explain himself, but he doesn't.

Simon steps a little closer to you, his body half shielding yours. His arm curls around your waist, slowly, possessively and you don’t resist. If anything, you lean into him. Your hand lifts instinctively to rest against his chest.

Then, catching you completely off-guard, Simon pulls you in for a kiss. He kisses you like a man who hasn’t seen you in years. His mouth is warm and his certain hands are curling around your hips like they were meant to be there. There’s no room for confusion in the kiss, it says everything.

You're his.

Shawn looks away before the kiss even ends.

Simon pulls back slowly, his eyes not leaving yours. His eyes are searching, but there's heat in them, too.

“You good?” he asks lowly.

You nod a little breathless and he brushes a thumb across your jaw. It's just a small touch, almost reverent. Then he leans down again, just enough for you to hear him.

“Go in. I’ll wait till you’re inside," he murmurs.

You step back, your eyes never leaving his, but your fingers are lingering in his for a moment too long. Then you finally walk toward the firm.

Simon watches you go with his arms at his sides and his jaw clenched. His eyes are fixed on the entrance until the doors close behind you. Only then, does he move back to the car.

--------

The day drags on in an uneven rhythm. You keep your focus where it needs to be, but your mind is only halfway in it. You've had a few meetings and calls, but nothing important. The distant hum of the elevator and sound of the coffee machine bring your focus back to the workload in front of you.

Suddenly your phone buzzes on your desk. You stare at the screen for a long second, it's Simon.

I’ll pick you up from work.

It's simple and direct and so entirely him. Your heart skips beat and you exhale carefully, as you set the phone down beside the files on your desk. You're biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too hard.

All these weeks, the space, the careful distance, the unspoken pause... and still he never really left. He gave you room, he gave you time, but still, he stayed. He's still here.

And he’s been trying, really trying.

You've seen it in the way he shows up without asking for anything. In how he’s been talking slowly and cautiously about what’s going on inside him, about what Price says, about the things he’s working on. His hands shake less now and his eyes hold yours longer. Even his voice carries more weight.

He’s getting better every day. You see it, it's like sunlight cracking open something long shut inside him.

Maybe it’s time. Maybe the storm has passed and it’s safe to start building again. Not the way you were, but build something stronger, now that he knows how fragile it can get and he chooses to stay anyway.

You can already feel your body anticipating him, the heat of his hand against your lower back, the way he always hovers without caging you in. Even now, your skin prickles at the memory of his breath against your neck.

You want to melt into him and let the whole mess fall away. You catch yourself smiling just thinking about it. About Simon, his arms and his steady presence.

Quickly, you glance at the clock. You still have a few more hours, but it already feels like something inside you is moving toward him.

---------

The moment you step outside after work, your eyes sweep the parking lot almost instinctively. You see him parked just where the street curves.

Your heart skips a beat before you can stop it. He steps out as you approach, already moving to the passenger side to open your door.

You let out a breathy little laugh, light and giddy and and he blinks down at you like you're a puzzle piece he wasn’t expecting to click into place so easily.

“Y’re awfully happy to see me,” he mutters and there’s a glint of something almost smug behind the softness of his voice.

You shrug, slipping past him and into the seat with a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Maybe I am.”

He shuts the door gently and when he rounds the front of the car, he’s still smiling, barely, but it’s there, a soft huff of breath that might’ve been a laugh.

Inside the car, the silence settles comfortably between you. His hand rests on the gearshift, his body is angled slightly toward you and you can feel his eyes flick to you now and then, like he’s trying to understand what’s changed, what made you light up the moment you saw him.

“I’ll drop you home,” he says after a few blocks. “Got a quick check-in with Price at the pub after.”

“Alright," you say slowly and you try no to let the disappointment show. Of course he has things to do. You press your palms into your thighs and keep your eyes out the window, not trusting your mouth to say the right thing.

Initially you wanted to ask him if he‘d like to grab something to eat. Just a bite, just an hour more with him. But now you decide not to. You don’t want to pressure him, not when he’s obviously working so hard on getting better.

You pull up outside your apartment and the engine ticks softly in the quiet.

You don’t reach for the door right away. Instead, you turn slightly in your seat, fingers twisting at the hem of your blouse. You want to, you want to see him again tonight. This drive isn't enough... so you summon up all your courage.

“Do you want to come over... after your talk with Price?” you ask shyly.

Simon’s entire body visibly stills. It takes him a full moment to respond, like his mind’s trying to make sure he heard you right. His jaw ticks once, but there is only surprise in it and his hand flexes slightly against the wheel.

“You sure?” he asks, his voice is low.

You nod, sure and delicate. “If you want to.”

Something in him cracks. Simon only looks at you for a second longer, like he’s checking your face for any trace of hesitation. There is none.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I’ll come over.”

You nod, trying to suppress the smile threatening your lips and then you gently let yourself out of the car. He watches you walk to your door, as he always does, his eyes trained on you until the key turns and the light in your apartment flickers on. Then he drives away.

You start slowly. At first you tackle the mess in your apartment and quickly whip up something to eat. Then you go straight for a shower. It's hot, steam rising up in heavy swirls as you scrub away the day, all the tension, and the memory of Shawn's touch. The water pelts against your skin and your pulse hums louder with each minute.

By the time you step out with the towel wrapped tight around you, your phone buzzes from the counter.

1 new message:

omw

Your heart stumbles.

You race to finish drying your hair, flipping it forward to add volume, with your breath held like your seventeen again and about to sneak out to meet someone you shouldn’t. But it's Simon, your Simon. Still, you can’t help the rush, you can't help the stupid giddy thrill in your chest.

You toss on underwear and an oversized shirt that brushes mid-thigh, it's cozy, but flattering, even if you don’t mean for it to be. Your skin smells like vanilla and something sweet-berry-soft and it fills the room as you move. You're smoothing lotion over your legs, your arms and even under your jaw. You know it's indulgent, but it’s for him. Not because he asked, he never would, but because something in you wants to. You want to feel radiant, want to feel wanted again.

You stop in front of the mirror and hesitate. You quickly curl your lashes, add a touch of blush and gloss your lips a little. It's not too much, but just enough. Then you quickly fluff your hair one last time.

You don’t even know why you're trying this hard. Simon never cared about any of that. He’s seen you at your worst, crying, messy and still held you like you were the most beautiful thing on this earth. Because for him, you are.

But still, you care.

You check your phone again, your heart fluttering wildly now. He'll be here any minute now.

Then the knock comes a little quieter than you expect. You barely hear it over the hum of your own heartbeat, but you know it’s him. When you open the door, you're all smiles, unguarded, warm and lit up like you can’t help it. The sight of him in his jeans and hoodie, his broad frame leaning just slightly into the doorframe, nearly knocks the air out of you.

Simon’s expression shifts the moment he sees you, he's caught mid-thought, blinking like he wasn’t ready for the way you look. His mouth opens, the corners twitching like he might smile or might say something, but forgets how.

“Are you gonna stand there all night?” you tease softly.

“Didn’t think I’d walk into this,” he mutters, a little rough around the edges, eyes dragging over your face, down the length of you in that oversized shirt that’s not quite long enough, the scent of vanilla and something sweeter drifting out the door like it’s reaching for him.

You laugh, stepping aside. “Come in. I made some food.”

It feels too easy, the way you fall into rhythm again. You plate a few leftovers you whipped up and guide him to the couch. You sit, drawing your legs under you while you're eating and talking.

You catch him watching you a few times.

"What?", you say softly.

He only shrugs. “You’re just… smiling a lot tonight.”

You don't deny it, you just smile wider.

Once you've eaten, you pick up the plates and stand up, telling him you'll just rinse them off real quick. He mumbles something about helping but you wave him off, carrying them to the sink while the conversation continues. He follows you, drawn to you like something magnetic and walks up behind you. He stands close enough that you can feel the warmth of him at your back.

You keep talking, trying to sound unaffected, but your voice shifts a little.

“You look good,” you say lightly, still rinsing the dishes, your eyes focused downward. “It’s been driving me a little crazy.”

He stills visibly.

“And I missed this,” you whisper. “You. Close like this.” You try to sound nonchalant, but your hands tremble just slightly in the stream.

Simon still doesn’t move. He stands behind you, silent and barely breathing and you can feel the tension spool tight in the air. You know damn right he’s processing what you just said like it’s a live wire.

You finish with the dishes and shut off the tap. Then you turn slowly, drying your hands on the towel slung over the oven handle. Simon’s still right behind you and when you turn to face him, you catch your breath.

You're so close you could count the flecks in his eyes if you weren't already getting lost in them. Your gaze lifts, soft, vulnerable and open.

He looks so… completely thrown. His brow is creased, his jaw flexing, like he’s caught between reaching for you and reminding himself not to. Like he’s unsure what this even is.

“You’re looking at me like I’m a ghost,” you murmur suddenly shy.

“I just…”, he says, his voice is low, rough. “You’ve been so..”

You give him a little smile and tilt of your head. “So what?”

He huffs and it's the smallest sound, confused and amused all at once. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

He narrows his eyes. “Pretend you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Your lips curl and you can't help it anymore. You tug gently at his belt, it's not rough, but rather certain. The moment you pull him in, your bodies meet like puzzle pieces and you lift your face to his.

The kiss you give him is slow. Simon exhales through his nose, hands gripping the edge of the counter behind you as he kisses you back, like something inside him is breaking open, spilling all over you.

Your voice brushes his mouth mid-kiss, wrecked and wanting. “I missed you on me…” Then another kiss follows, this one is deeper. “I missed you.”

His control shatters completely. In one motion, he wraps his arms around your thighs and lifts you onto the counter. A spoon falls to the ground and the clatter of it fills the kitchen. He doesn’t break the kiss. He presses into you like he’s been waiting months to remember how this felt.

Your mouths part only long enough to breathe and then they're drawn back in, lips moving slow, like remembering. Your legs tighten around Simon’s waist where he stands between your knees, his hands grip tightly at your hips with restraint as though he’s not quite ready to let himself feel how badly he wants you.

He kisses down the edge of your jaw, then lower, tracing the delicate slope of your neck. Your head tilts back instinctively, offering him more and a soft sound escapes your lips.

He lingers there, mouth hovering near your ear, his breath warm. You feel the way his pulse quickens under your hands, the way his chest rises against you.

“I’ve been trying to be good,” he says, words curling heat through you. “Trying to take things slow. But you…” He stills for a second, his lips brushing just beneath your ear. “You wrap those legs around me like that and all I can think about is how good you’d feel again.”

Your breath catches and your fingers curl tighter around the fabric of his hoodie. You close your eyes, your pulse racing now. You can feel the gravity of his restraint and the truth humming inside you, just as alive.

“Mhm,” you breathe, voice trembling with want.

He draws back just enough to look at you, his gaze is dark and reverent, like you're something he’s barely allowed to touch. Then he leans in and deepens the kiss, hands sliding from your waist to the small of your back, holding you closer as if he's grounding himself. Your fingers find their way to his jaw, your touch is tender and wanting.

“This feels,” he murmurs, as he's breaking the kiss momentarily, “like I never really left you.”

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him closer gently, your lips brushing against his cheek. “You didn’t,” you whisper. “Not really.”

He lets out a breath, not quite a laugh and then his hands move to cradle your thighs, warm and firm, his thumbs brushing slow circles against your skin.

“You make it hard to leave,” he says quietly.

Your gaze softens and you brush your nose lightly against his. “Then don’t.”

He tenses for a second, like something in him short-circuits and then his fingers curl tighter around your legs.

“Tell me you mean that,” he whispers inside your neck.

“I mean it,“ you whisper back. “Stay.”

Simon finally lets himself believe that this time, there’s no need to hold back. That maybe this time, you can begin again.

His lips are on you again, slow at first, unhurried and deep, as if he’s savoring the feel of you, the weight of finally being here with you again.

Your hands slide up under his hoodie, your fingertips meeting his warm skin, the solid lines of his back beneath your palms. You touch him like you're relearning it, the way his muscles shift when he moves, the way his breath catches when your nails dig just slightly.

Then you scratch. Hard. You're dragging your nails down his back in a sudden wave of need and the sound he makes in return is low and guttural, caught somewhere between a grunt and a growl, his mouth still against yours.

The sound sends a jolt straight through you and your spine arches almost immediately, your thighs tightening around his waist, drawing him impossibly closer. His mouth opens against yours at the same time yours parts in a gasp, the air thick and heavy around you.

Then you lean in, your lips brushing over his ear with warm breath. Your tongue flicks against the curve of it, slowly and his grip on you tightens instinctively. You can feel it in the way his fingers dig into your hips, in the way his breath rushes uneven against your neck.

He pulls back just an inch, his eyes meeting yours, they're flushed, intense and wanting. “Y’re gonna kill me,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint.

"Oh, I'm not done yet," you grin.

He lets out a breathless laugh, his hands are still gripping you. He looks at you all flushed and smiling, your legs still wrapped around his waist and your chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. There’s something so unguarded about you in this moment, something he didn't see much of these past months.

Without a word, Simon slips his arms beneath you, steady and sure and lifts you effortlessly from the counter. You let out a surprised laugh, it's quiet and breathy and you clutch at his shoulders.

“God, you make me feel like I weigh nothing,” you say against his jaw, giggling into the warmth of his skin.

He smirks and presses a quiet huff of air through his nose. “Y'don’t,” he mutters, like it’s obvious, like carrying you is the easiest thing he’s done in months.

He walks you down the short hall, with unhurried steps and then gently lowers you onto the bed. You land against the sheets with a soft bounce and you're giggling up at him, your hair splayed. You're still cradling his arm with both hands as he leans over you.

His weight doesn’t touch you yet, but his presence is everywhere. His arms are braced on either side of you, his face hovering just above yours. The room is quiet, your breathing the only sound between you. The eye contact between you doesn’t break, it’s thick with history and longing.

You lift a hand, fingers tracing the inside of his elbow slowly and whisper with a smile, “You’re staring.”

His mouth lifts at the corner, but he doesn’t look away. “Can you blame me?”

That earns him a soft flush on your cheeks. Your eyes flick lower, soft and playful, just for a second and then they slide back up. You spot the visible bulge in his jeans and your grin deepens as you murmur, “You’re…uh...kind of hard not to notice.”

He stills, but a quiet laugh escapes him, low and warm in his throat. He dips closer, his nose brushing yours and murmurs in return, “You did this to me, you know.”

You start giggling again and Simon buries his face in the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he presses slow, open-mouthed kisses there. They make you sigh, your fingers threading through the back of his hair like instinct. You tilt your head, giving him more and he hums softly, lips trailing just beneath your ear.

Your hands move almost before you're aware, slipping down between the two of you, finding the hem of his jeans. You fumble eagerly with the belt. “Come on, Simon,” you laugh, as you just can't get his belt to unbuckle.

He chuckles low into your skin. He's not mocking, just surprised, pleased even. There’s absolutely no resistance in him, when he lifts his head up to yours.

Your smile softens under his gaze. It's not just the want anymore, there’s trust. There's a quiet invitation in your eyes.

Still, he stays right where he is, one hand brushing gently down your side. “y/n,” he says, voice rough again, “can I…?” His eyes don’t leave yours. “I need to hear it.”

You blink, not because you're unsure, but because of the way he asks. Like he’d stop in an instant if you needed him to.

You nod, your hands resting on his chest now. “Yes,” you whisper. “You can.”

But that isn’t enough for him. He leans down, kissing your neck again. “Say it,” he murmurs. He's not pressuring you, he just needs your voice, your words.

You smile, cheeks warm, fingers curling into his hoodie. “You can have me, Simon.” Your voice trembles just a little, from emotion, not fear. “I want you to have me.”

He breathes in sharply, as if you gave him permission to breathe again.

“Okay,” he murmurs and continues to splay kisses on your neck.

Your hands trace lightly over his chest as you pull your oversized shirt up, slipping it over your head with a shy glance. The soft fabric falls away, revealing your bare skin. You let the shirt fall somewhere forgotten on the floor, your breathing steady but quickening.

Simon’s fingers brush along your ribs, gentle as a promise, as he peels off his hoodie, letting it drop beside your shirt. He moves slowly, discarding his jeans and then climbs over you with care, like he’s crossing a fragile bridge. His body settles atop yours, your warmth mingling, the cool sheets beneath you become a quiet contrast to the heat you share.

You're still in just your underwear, his hands roaming with reverence, memorizing the curves that had been out of reach for too long. Your fingers find his hair, threading through the strands.

Simon leans down, brushing a soft kiss along your collarbone, then on your shoulder, each touch careful, as if he's afraid to break the delicate balance between you. You sigh into him, lips parting slightly, inviting but still gentle.

His eyes flick down, catching the glimpse of your underwear. It's soft pink, dotted with tiny fruit patterns. A slow, amused chuckle escapes him. “Lucky me,” he teases.

You laugh wholeheartedly and the sound is light and infectious. Without hesitation, you pull him closer, your legs tangling around his back. You press him down onto you with a confident ease that makes him gasp softly, caught off guard.

He’s not ready to feel you yet. Three months had stretched long and hard and if he isn't in control right now, he fears he might come too soon. His gasp isn't just surprise, but a silent warning he gives himself.

Your laughter bubbles again, brighter this time, cruelly delightful and he has to bite back his own smile, fighting the urge to laugh with you. You're merciless.

He swallows and exhales, readying himself for what's to come. Then, tender and deliberate, he pulls the delicate fabric down your legs and gives your calf a kiss, as he lets your underwear fall to the ground, his eyes locked on yours. He positions himself again and moves inside you raw in a slow and measured motion. Halfway in, he hisses shakily, before he pushes in completely.

“Ohhhhhh, I missed you,” you gasp at the delicate stretch.

The familiar warmth sends a jolting shock through him. For you, it’s a soft surrender, a moment where everything around you blurs except the steady rhythm of Simon’s presence inside you. He feels every inch of the connection between the two of you, it's a mix of reverence and desire, a raw vulnerability that he rarely allows himself to show. The weight of the months spent apart presses into him, but beneath it all is an overwhelming tenderness.

Simon moves with deliberate slowness, every fraction of an inch measured and careful. He knows how much time has passed and how fragile this moment is for him. His body tightens with the effort of restraint, afraid that if he forgets himself, he won’t be able to hold on for long.

Your breath hitches, a soft, almost helpless sound escaping your lips at the murderously slow pace he is going. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, your voice trembling with need and trust.

“Simon!” you moan loudly.

The way you say his name stirs something deep inside him, but he keeps his movements gentle, steady, not wanting to overwhelm you... or himself. He can feel your pulse racing beneath his skin, your body pressing closer, searching for more, yet knowing that this slow unfolding is what he needs.

“’m here… ’m right here,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice is low and thick with emotion. The outer world doesn’t exist anymore. You’re trapped between his massive frame and the mattress.

You whimper again, the sound small and raw and it breaks something open in him. Still, he doesn't rush, he can't. His next stroke is so unimaginably deep that you scream his name again. Loudly.

„You okay?“ he whispers just below your ear, suddenly unsure.

„Yes,“ you moan, out of breath.

Your fingers trace tentative patterns on his back, leaving red marks all over him. He senses the moment tipping, the delicate balance between desire and restraint. He feels you trembling beneath him, your breath hitching in soft, needy whimpers.

“Simon,” you wail vulnerably, “please, please!”

Your nails dig into his shoulders again and he immediately grunts in return, you're clutching him like you're afraid to let go. The pressure makes it harder for him to concentrate, a low chuckle rumbling against your skin.

“You’re going to make me finish early if you keep squeezing me like that,” he breathes into your ear. His voice is rough but gentle, he's mixing humor with tenderness.

You laugh breathlessly.

He quickens his pace, just momentarily, gifting you with what you need to finally reach your high. While your body is trembling with release, he feels you pulse around him. His breath hitches, a quiet sound of surrender escaping him.

Simon tries to hold on, to stretch this moment a little longer, as long as he can, even as his body trembles with the effort. His breath is ragged but steady, focused only on you.

"Say it,“ he whispers into your neck. "I need you to say it."

His words send a shiver through your entire being.

"I love you," you whisper back, as you begin to come down from your release. He grunts in approval and the sound ripples through you. Aroused by how vocal he is, your body instinctively arches upward, pressing into him with quiet delight. A loud, almost breathless sound escapes your lips, a simple, pure cry of how much you're enjoying having him inside you, right on top of you.

In that instant, something breaks in him.

“Fuck,” he swears softly, the words slipping out without thought, a raw, honest release of all the tension and feeling coursing through him. He immediately draws a shaky breath, his eyes locking on yours as he lets himself go with uncontrolled grunts. You can hear him moaning and wailing your name shakily, as he gets lost in his high.

Simon lowers himself over you with quiet care, his weight pressing into the mattress more than into you, but he doesn’t pull out. He can’t, not yet. Your warmth wrapped around him... it just feels right. Your legs curl instinctively around his hips, holding him there and your hands come up to his back. Your fingertips are grazing along the ridges of his spine, as you begin pressing soft kisses to his temple, then his forehead, gentle as rain. Each kiss feels like a silent I missed you.

He exhales, chest sinking into yours as he lets himself relax for the first time in a very long time. One of your hands drifts upward, threading through his hair, while the other stays on his back, as you murmur against his skin, “You make me feel so safe.”

He twitches and buries his face in your neck, not because he wants to hide, but because it’s the only place he knows he’ll survive this moment. Without a word, he slips his arms under your back, pulling you impossibly closer. The emotion in your voice, the feeling of being allowed to be here, to hold you like this, after everything you've been through these past months, it swells up in his chest like a tide.

Your breath catches softly at the way he presses you to him and your legs are tightening around his waist. He’s still inside you, still warm. You just lay there in the quiet, still pressed together. At some point he pulls out and for a while, you stay like that, tangled into each other. Then, without warning, he jolts his head up.

His eyes meet yours and playfulness flickers across his face.

“Round two?” he asks lowly, voice raspy, but laced with a grin that is all mischief.

You blink and surprised laughter is bubbling out of you. “You’re joking,” you say between giggles, squirming beneath him, but the look on his face tells you he absolutely isn't.

“’m not,” he says, mock serious. “You should’ve heard yourself earlier. Pretty sure the neighbors did.”

“Simon!“ you gasp, laughing harder now. Your hands are flying to his shoulders to lightly shove him, though you don't really mean it. You only pull him closer.

He leans down again, brushing his nose along your jaw and whispers, “I knew you’d say yes.” Then he presses his lips to your ear. “Your sounds were… a lot to recover from.”

Your face flushes deep red and you bury it into his neck, still giggling, still clinging. “You’re shameless,” you whisper against his skin.

“Mhm,” he mumbles, chuckling as he tucks you tighter beneath him, “didn't seem to bother you a few minutes ago."

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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