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venus-haze · 11 months

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Got No Reason To Run (Homelander x Supervillain!Reader)

Summary: Homelander fantasizes about you, his supervillain arch-enemy, and getting the revenge he so desperately craves.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. This is based on some of the headcanons I wrote here. I’m definitely open to writing more of a supervillain!Reader with Homelander. This is short because it's PWP, honestly. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Sexually explicit content which includes masturbation. Non-con, violence, intentional scarring, mild bloodplay, and dacryphilia in the context of a fantasy. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Homelander’s eyes were glued to the television as soon as the story about you began to run. Rosethorn. More like a thorn in his fucking side. Ever since Vought decided to let you wreak havoc on the streets of New York because having an arch-enemy was good marketing, you were inescapable. Every interview inevitably derailed into questions about you, the Homelander Vs. Rosethorn comic series was almost out-selling his solo ones, and to make matters worse, half of the internet seemed to ship you, the marketing team bafflingly thrilled the first time #Roselander trended on Twitter.

All of those things he could reasonably deal with, but among the people who regarded you as an anti-hero rather than a supervillain, they’d developed a conspiracy theory of sorts that you were somehow as powerful as, if not more so than, him. He often seethed in rage over it. You were only alive because you were useful to Vought. At least, that’s what he told himself after the first time the two of you were face-to-face, and you spit your venom at him, burning through his costume and blistering his skin, to both of your shock. The faint scar on his arm became a point of sensitivity for him, few people had ever seen it. To him, it was a symbol of failure, but even worse, it fed into the paranoia that what your handful of supporters were saying was true.

He watched the news replay the security footage of you and your accomplices, a rotation of other, less powerful supes, robbing a bank. You could secrete incredibly potent, acidic poison through your saliva and breath at will, though most people were too scared to put up a fight and see what damage you could do to the human body. You practically skipped over to the vault, spitting on the metal door which quickly melted into twisted scrap. Your goons wasted no time in collecting the money and valuables that were then ripe for the taking.

Your gaze landed on the security camera that had caught the whole crime in action, and you grinned, staring directly at it—eyes crystal clear and haunting, as if you were looking into his soul as you stalked over like a tiger waiting to strike.

“Homelander, you can come and get me,” you said with a playful wink at the camera before disappearing in a toxic haze.

Something stirred in him at that. He grabbed the remote, playing the clip back over and over until his cock was half-hard. If he were there, that bank robbery would have gone a hell of a lot differently. He licked his lips as he thought about how he would have made his appearance, crash through the ceiling or laser through the wall—no, he would’ve walked through the doors like he owned the damn place.

He had a firm grip on his cock as he pumped the length, imagining the bank was empty and dark, after hours with no hostages in sight. You grinned at him from inside the bank vault you’d just half-obliterated. It was all a game, as usual, playing cat and mouse until you’d make your escape. Not this time.

Vought’s orders to avoid grievously harming you were endlessly frustrating, but in this instance, he was the one calling the shots. If he had his way, he’d make sure you faced the specific brand of justice a supervillain like you deserved after years of getting away with countless crimes with little more than bruises and scratches. You were too cocky, too smug. He’d be more than happy to knock you down a few notches and remind you who exactly your arch-enemy was and what he was capable of.

“Homelander, come and get me,” you repeated, voice light and airy, clueless as to what his true intentions were.

He strode across the threshold of the bank, his steps strong and purposeful as he closed the distance between you. The ensuing fight was laughably easy since he was actually trying to cause some damage, and from your place on the floor, disheveled with blood trickling from the corner of your mouth, you looked betrayed.

You attempted to push yourself off the ground, only to be met with his boot on your chest, his gaze nothing short of mean.

“Do you have any idea who the fuck I am?”

Your confused silence infuriated him.

“Answer me!” he shouted, his eyes glowing red.

“You’re—you’re The Homelander.”

“That’s right. So I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, Rosethorn, but injuring me? Scarring me? I don’t bleed. I don’t break. I sure as hell don’t scar,” he raged, droplets of spit flying in your face. “I can’t let that stand.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered pathetically.

He scoffed. “You can do better than that.”

“Homelander, please, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scar you. Forgive me.”

His silence was accented with the sound of your racing heart, the blood rushing through your veins. You were terrified. Good.

“We both know you’re not sorry. You loved every second of it, didn’t you?”

“No, Homelander I didn’t–”

“I think I should return the favor.”

Your eyes widened, and you began shaking your head frantically upon realizing what he intended to do. He grabbed your arm, and his teeth broke the skin with ease, just a bit of pressure from his razor blade smile to cut you open. Your blood on his lips almost tasted sweet, at least, he imagined it would.

"Scream all you want, there’s no one to hear you," he would snarl at your weeping figure. Now you had matching scars, now you couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror without being reminded of him too. In a disturbing display of dominance and possession, he licked your open wound. You wailed. He squeezed your arm tighter. You should have been grateful he didn’t try to cauterize it himself. Finally, he released you, but this temporary freedom wouldn’t last.

“You’re a monster,” you sobbed, clutching your injured arm.

“Me? No, I’m The Homelander. I might as well be god. You? You’re only around to make me look good.”

Then he heard it, the way only he can, the sound of your spit collecting in your mouth. He grabbed you by the throat, hauling you to your feet. “Try it, and I promise I’ll take all the time in the world to kill you.”

Teary-eyed, you nodded. When he released your throat, he heard you swallow.

“Now, how to properly serve you justice for being caught red-handed robbing a bank," he mused.

“Fuck you.”

“That’s not a bad idea at all.”

The fear that would glaze over those eyes that he couldn’t get out of his mind made him jerk his hips, and he slowed how quickly he was pumping his leaking cock. He didn’t want to cum, not yet. Digging his teeth into his bottom lip, he exhaled through his nostrils, trying to ground himself.

Where was he? Fear. You were afraid of him, of what he’d do to you, as you should be. You weren’t rivals, the implication that you were as powerful as him was outright offensive. His lip curled in disdain.

He pushed you against the wall, tearing off your clothing with little effort, reveling in the way your body shook against his as it was suddenly exposed to the cool air in the vault. He reached from behind, his gloved hands feeling how wet you’d gotten. The squelch of leather squeezing into your wet pussy made him moan out loud, but in his fantasy he was in control, mocking you for being turned on and how easily he was able to fit two–no, now it was three fingers inside you.

Tears streamed down your face as you begged him to be gentle, to slow down. Your legs were shaking as you tried to stay standing despite the overstimulation from his strong fingers curling inside you and pumping in and out. He wouldn’t get exhausted, not from brutally fingering you until you were little more than a blubbering mess. You begged him to stop, to at least have some mercy and give you a break.

“What’s the matter? You told me to come and get you, and here I am,” he taunted. “Don’t think I’m even close to being done with you.”

You cried out in response, or maybe you’d just cum. It didn’t matter, this was about his pleasure. In that moment, watching you sob and struggle got his proverbial rocks off, and he turned your head to capture your lips in a messy kiss. Your mouth stayed open as your desperate protests disappeared down his throat. His tongue curled. He wanted to swallow the noise, digest it, let it sit in his stomach. A wave of pleasure rocked through him. He was close, dangerously so.

He pulled his hand from your cunt, soaked and stretched out for him. Your juices glistened on his gloves, and he broke the kiss to suck each of his fingers as you utilized the time to catch your breath, or at least try to while he gave you this short break. You’d taste perfect, and he’d lick his fingers clean, his mind almost wandering to what it’d be like to eat you out.

Instead, he unbuckled his belt, observing the way you clenched your thighs at the sound of the metal hitting the floor as he rid himself of his spandex bottoms. His hands gripped your hips tightly, and you gasped as he pulled your ass to press against his hard cock. You tried wiggling out of his grasp, and he almost laughed. Stupid girl.

“Beg me not to break you in half right now,” he ordered, his voice low and husky.

You choked out your plea through sobs. “Homelander—don’t do this—don’t—please don’t break me in half.”

“No promises.”

With that, he slammed his cock into your wet cunt, grinning to himself as your eyes squeezed shut and you clawed at the wall, a near-animalistic howl tearing from your throat. He kept a steady, unforgiving pace that made your legs finally give out on you, relying on him wrapping a strong arm around your middle to keep you up. He dipped his head down to press a kiss to your temple.

“C’mon baby, you’ve made it this far,” he purred. “Why not see this thing out to the end?”

He kissed down the side of your face, his lips lingering along your cheek and jaw, covering them in open-mouthed kisses as he moaned into your skin. Your pussy clenched around his cock, and when he glanced at the wound he’d inflicted on your arm, he gave a forceful thrust that had you reaching back to grab some part of him to hold onto.

You were his. You wanted to be his. You wouldn’t have permanently marked his skin if you didn’t. You laid claim to him first. It was only a matter of time before he reciprocated, showing you what you were really in for. Part of him wanted so badly to just kill you, but the part of him that was winning out was buried deep inside your cunt with the intention of filling you with his cum.

Briefly, his mind wandered to keeping you in the tower, maybe in his own suite, tied up pretty like a present for him to come home to at the end of each day, or maybe isolated in one of the supe containment cells where through time and pressure you’d be begging for him to use you, just to get some physical contact.

As much as he could dream, the main event beckoned him back to that bank vault he’d conjured up, his thrusts into you still strong, but more erratic, and he felt your pussy milking his cock as you came, your voice strained as you cried out his name.

Homelander, you can come and get me.

He orgasmed, and you were gone. Back to reality, just him, his hand, and the remote control he’d accidentally crushed. Fuck. He ran his clean hand through his hair, taking another look at the paused frame of you smiling in the security footage.

Maybe he would come and get you.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #the boys x reader #the boys x you #the boys #the boys tv #the boys amazon #homelander

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frenchkisstheabyss · 8 months

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7 Psychopaths: Lee Know

x Summary: You are X, a seasoned assassin, and your boss has just assigned you an unusual task. You have two weeks to gather six men for a top-secret mission that requires their unique brand of psychopathy. The trick is, you've got romantic history with all of them.

A detail that might make this a walk in the park or the fight of your life. Time to find out...

x Pairing: assassin!lee know x assassin!chubby!fem!reader

x Genre: angst/crime au/smut

x Word Count: 1.8k-ish

x Warnings: blood, violence, fighting, knives, guns, disposable mob goon deaths, unprotected sex, fingering, mirror sex, hair pulling, lino is a lil obsessed with you, the strongest of language

x A/N: This is #2 in a series of 6 stories featuring two members from TXT, two from ATEEZ, and two from Stray Kids. They all follow the same theme and can be read chronologically or you can jump around. I support the chaos.

Previous Psychopath: Yeonjun | Next Psychopath: Wooyoung

Downstairs in the lobby of the Hotel Artemis the Innkeeper sits behind the check-in desk face down in a pool of his own blood. If someone were to lift his head up, the mangled flesh swimming around might resemble crushed raspberries. Their daily serving of fruit courtesy of you. But no one will lift his head up. They’ll all mind their business because that’s what you do here. You step around his body and grab your fucking key before you end up just like him or worse. He’ll wake up eventually. Probably.

Stepping into the surprisingly well-kept elevator, you press the button for the top floor, adjusting the garter belt beneath your dress as the doors close on the empty lobby. This is no time to admire architecture but you can’t help yourself. The Romanesque style interior is breathtaking, much nicer than the deathtraps you’ve found yourself in trying to track down the Black Cat. Some might call it lucky that Minho’s petty streak led him to the penthouse suite of the Artemis, right down the street from where your hotel is.

Watching the numbers light up one after the other as the elevator ascends, you’re shocked when it comes to a stop at the 6th floor, 14 floors short of your destination. You step back, wedging yourself in a corner, and fish your headphones out of your purse. Your music’s on before the bell dings, doors sliding open to let half a dozen goons file in. Italian mob. Dressed in all black. Cocky. Faces still healing from their last brawl. Half of them smile at you, nodding, politely admiring the way your dress hugs your curves, gawking at your flawlessly applied makeup.

You smile back and they turn away, eliminating you as a threat. Stealthy glances around the elevator reveal the guns tucked into their waistbands. The Big One, twice your size in every way, has a set of brass knuckles on his callused hands. Gold plated. Fancy. “Excuse me, gentlemen” you sing, maneuvering through them with the grace of a proper lady. They part the sea for you, unknowingly clearing a path to the control panel. “Getting off already, beautiful?” “Mmm'' you sigh, a manicured nail hovering near the bright red EMERGENCY STOP button, “Not yet.” Your fist slams down on the button, bringing 6,000 pounds of metal to a screeching halt.

Minho studies the 16th-century Turkish vase on display in the lavish, and utterly destroyed, penthouse of the Golden Child, a pretty boy whose mob boss daddy provides him with enough money to blow on all the cocaine, strippers, and obnoxiously expensive art he can get his hands on. “Don’t you touch it!” the Golden Child screams, spitting loose teeth and blood onto his bear skin rug. Minho pops open the glass display case that houses the vase and an assortment of other highly fragile artifacts. “Don’t touch what?” he asks, winding up the scarlet splattered golf club he used to lay ruin to the apartment and its inhabitant, “This?”

“I said no!” Minho chews at the inside of his lip, pretending to be unsure of his next move when he knows exactly what he’s about to do. The head of the club shatters the priceless vase into a thousand pieces, shards of ceramics and glass flying through the air as he dishes out swing after spiteful swing to those poor, innocent historical treasures. The Golden Child grabs onto the arm of his white leather couch, attempting to push himself up but broken ribs send him tumbling back down. “You’re out of your fucking mind!” he curses, “All because I spilled a drink on you? I said, ‘My bad!”

Winded, Minho tosses the golf club across the room, grinning to himself as he notices a leaking cut on his hand. “My bad?” he laughs, “My bad?” It disgusts him, the smugness of people who think they can run around doing anything they want to anyone they want. Poor manners, that is. His parents should’ve taught him better but that’s what Minho’s here for. Charging across the room, he grabs the Golden child by the collar of his soft cotton robe and hammers his head onto the floor. “My bad is not ‘Sorry!’”

Minho bashes his fist into the man’s jaw, the brute force of the blow knocking another molar loose, “Say sorry!” “Eat shit.” “What?” Minho snaps, positive his ears are deceiving him. The Golden Child smiles up at him, arrogant and entitled even in his battered state, “Eat shit. My dad keeps tabs on me 24/7. He’s probably sending some guys up here right now and when they get here? You're dead.” Grabbing the belt barely hanging onto the man’s robe, Minho twists it around his neck, depriving him of air.

“I guess I’ll see you on the other side then, huh?” Minho doesn’t blink, not even once, as the color drains from the Golden Child’s eyes, bone splintering, his windpipe crumbling just as easily as his precious vases. Saying sorry really couldn’t have been that hard.

“There’s nowhere to run, little one” taunts the Big One, trying and failing not to trip over the corpses of his friends. Your chest hurts like hell. The others were easy, so shit with their aim that only one bullet in 20 clips had even managed to skim your thigh. But this one? He won’t go down. Squared up against him, the knife from your torn garter clenched in your fist, you know you can’t let him hit you again. Another blow to the chest and you’re done for. “Who’s running, big boy? Let’s get it.” Tapping the EMERGENCY STOP button again, the elevator whirls back into action.

The Big One charges at you, swinging wildly. You duck, rolling through the bodies and slicing open the back of his left leg. The bell dings on every floor like the start of a boxing match. The Big One punches one of the walls, denting the metal. So much for pristine architecture. As he reels from the hit, you jump on his back, jabbing the knife into his chest from behind. The bell dings for a final time on the 20th floor. Biting down on your arm, he flips you over his shoulder, slamming you down onto the floor, knocking the air out of you.

The doors creak open as he raises his foot to stomp a steel toe boot down on your chest. Bang! A bullet barrels through his skull. The titan stumbles, his brain quite literally scrambled. Bang! Bang! Two more shots and he’s slumped on the ground with his friends where he belongs. Reunited at last. “Who’s your new boyfriend?” Minho teases from the hallway, tossing the gun to the ground. “You’re welcome!” you groan, flipping him off. He hops onto the elevator, pressing the button for the lobby. “Thank you,” he says, sweetly, grateful for your help and your presence.

Taking you into his arms, he props you up in the corner, checking you for injuries. “What is this?” You flinch when he brushes a tender spot on your head, “You tell me. You’re the one with the mob after you.” “No, I mean, what are you doing here?” “Oh, uh, boss sent me to get you” you stutter, the entire reason for your arrival in Rome having shifted to the back of your mind until now.

“We need you.”

“Where?”

“Berlin.”

“When?”

“Next week.”

“Okay, if…”

You whine when he caresses your thigh, checking the severity of the bullet wound. “If what?” “If you let me take care of you” he winks. “Take care of me? Why’d you say it like that?” Minho rips a long strip of material from the shirt of a nameless corpse and secures it around your thigh to stop the bleeding. He kisses your thigh, suckling softly at the tender flesh to distract you from the pain. Ding! First floor. The doors open to the lobby and he takes you by the hand, “Let me show you.”

Taking care of you. When you say that in this line of business, it’s never a good thing but Minho had no intentions of cutting your life short. The only thing on his mind was carrying you back to your hotel, running you a nice bath, and dressing your wounds. “All better?” he asks, his breath tickling your neck as he plays with your clit. This was a part of the plan too, getting you in his lap, his naked body reunited with yours after months apart. From this position on the edge of the bed, you can see your reflection clearly. Your plush breast bounces in one of his hands while the fingers of the other spread your lips wide enough to fully expose your clit.

With your legs dangling across his, follow your cream as it trickles down the base of his cock. There’s nothing fast or rough about the way he lifts his hips to fill you. The slight curve of his cock makes you stutter each time he disappears into your pulsing warmth. “All---ah---b-b-better.” “B-b-better?” he mocks, his fingers working faster against your clit. You reach back to cup his face, scratching him the slightest bit as punishment for being a smartass. The pain only makes him want you more. His cock is as hard and smooth as polished marble, leaking precum into your needy pussy.

Minho watches you in the mirror, admiring your reflection, entranced by how the beauty of your face and the plumpness of your figure could make him put a bullet through the skull of a man who even dared to look at you wrong. “Take over for me” he whispers, guiding your hand between your legs, his fingers moving on top of yours to splash in the audible wetness of your pussy. You pick up a rhythm together, one that has your breath growing ragged and your stomach in a frenzy. With his hand now free, he brushes your hair out of your face, tilting your head to the side to kiss you.

His tongue ventures as far down your throat as it can go, devouring your moans. Bouncing you in his lap at a quicker pace, still careful not to hurt you, he caresses your body, greedy to claim you as his like you were meant to be from the start. The argument that broke you up. That stupid fucking argument. He doesn’t even remember what it was about anymore and he doesn’t care. Because you’re in his lap, your back arching against his chest, sloppily playing with your own aching bud, biting on his lip while you whimper his name. Your pulse races, your hand reaching back to grip his hair for stability.

“Mmhmm, pull my fucking hair and cum for me” he urges, “Cum for me angel.” Your tongue lashes at his, his words making you burst. “Minho! Aah, baby!” you cry, pulling his hair harder as your orgasm deepens. Minho rests his head on your shoulder. Watching you cum is like performance art. “I don’t care about anyone else. Just promise you’ll never leave me again.” Your glossy eyes meet his in the mirror, “I promise.” “You mean it?” “I mean it.”

And you do mean it. You have to. Because, with the hell that awaits you in Germany, sweet reunions like this might end up being your last.

#lee know x you #lee know x reader #lee know x y/n #lee know angst #lee know smut #stray kids au #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x chubby reader #stray kids angst #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #chubby reader #plus size reader

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dreamofbecoming · 9 months

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here we are at last! there have been a bunch of posts lately about how neither eddie nor robin have any gaydar to speak of, but steve canonically does, and also vickie definitely left fast times paused on purpose as a flag, and frankly all of you are just so objectively True and Correct that i had no choice but to write about it. parts 1 and 2 not strictly necessary for context but definitely set in the same universe

part 1 part 2 ao3

platonic stobin, rockie, steddie

rating: t

wc: 8.4k (holy fuck it got away from me)

---

Robbie isn't drunk yet, but she's getting there.

Honestly, Steve should probably slow her down, but what the hell. They're celebrating, after all. He'll cut her off in a bit, but she deserves to have some fun. They all do.

It's been three weeks since Eddie got out of the hospital, one since he was finally let off bedrest. Or, not exactly bedrest, but enough restrictions that he was basically confined to the trailer (brand new, courtesy of Owens and his goons), and from the way he complained the whole time you'd think they had him chained to the bedposts.

Hm. Maybe thinking of Eddie chained to bedposts isn't the best use of Steve's time. Not here, anyway. That's a Later activity.

It's the first house party any of them have been invited to since Spring Break, thrown by one of Robin's band friends. None of them planned on going, except that two days ago a frantic call came over the All Hands channel on the walkie that El had finally broken through, Max was awake, and the doctors thought her arms and legs would eventually, almost, make a full recovery, granted with lots of physical therapy.

Apparently the only useful thing Vecna ever did was break her bones at right angles so they could set them cleanly. Her vision will probably never fully return, but she's alive. She's alive, and she's awake, and she's apparently being a complete menace to the nurses, which is more comforting to Steve than any of the rest of it, so how could they ask for anything else?

Steve still feels like he's taking his first real breath after drowning every time he inhales. He's not sure he'll ever stop feeling this relief. It's so sharp it's almost painful.

So they're at this party, and they're celebrating. There's a real celebration planned, of course, with the whole Party and assorted extras, Murray (ugh) and Jonathan's California friend (who seems nice), Joyce and Hopper (and isn't that a trip) and Eddie and Wayne (Eddie read him in immediately, to no one's surprise) and everyone else. They've got plans to descend on Steve's house as soon as Max is allowed out of the hospital, where they'll presumably trash his mother's nice white carpets and eat through his snacks like locusts and enrage his neighbors with their shrieking in the pool. Hopper and Wayne will fight over who gets to work the grill until Joyce gets fed up and takes over and Eddie will commandeer the sound system and Robin will laugh at Steve for frantically switching between Host Mode and Lifeguard Mode until she finds someone big enough to sit on him and make him eat something. He can't wait.

But for now, they're at this party, and they're celebrating. With someone else's alcohol, which is a nice treat for Steve.

He's leaning against the wall by the kitchen doorway, sipping something Robin made him that tastes like paint thinner and looks like undiluted red food dye. He's surprised it hasn't eaten through the bottom of the cup like that green gunk from the elevator. He doesn't quite feel like joining the crush of people in the living room. He's felt a little off since Spring Break, a little lost inside his head. He knows Robin can tell, but she hasn't pushed him, other than dragging him here tonight. He's so grateful for her he thinks he could cry.

He doesn't, though, he just watches her from the kitchen doorway, squished on a couch between Vickie and who he thinks might be one of Eddie's bandmates. He recognizes him from those nights he would pick the kids up from Hellfire at the school, and also from Eddie's hospital room. He's got fluffy hair and a flannel shirt around his waist. Gary, maybe? Garth? Steve's not sure. He'd introduce himself and find out for sure, but apparently, carrying Eddie's bleeding not-quite-corpse on his back into the hospital and throwing around his father's name until someone agreed to treat him before collapsing in the lobby from his own injuries wasn't quite enough to erase the contempt for King Steve, so Steve's been mostly avoiding those guys. Eddie swears he's working on it. Steve...should maybe care more than it feels like he does. He thinks maybe a lot of things should feel more...more, than they do. But that's a problem for Later Steve. It's fine. He's fine. He's handling it.

He watches Robin, and she's laughing, and she's not quite drunk yet, and he's glad for her. This is what he wanted. This is what he wished for, on that flipped over bucket, in that field. That they'd all get through it. That they'd all get to keep smiling and doing stupid teenager shit. He maybe wishes he felt a little more like someone who wanted to do stupid teenager shit and a little less like someone watching his friends have fun from behind a plate-glass window, but he'll take it. Whatever he can get, he'll take it.

He looks back at Robin, and, huh. She's still laughing, but now she's between Eddie and Maybe-Gary-Maybe-Garth. He follows Robin's less-than-subtle (crimeny, this girl, he's gotta teach her a goddamn poker face) longing gaze and sees a flash of red heading for the back door.

This feels like a chance to do something useful. Robin will be ok, Eddie will keep an eye on her.

He follows Vickie out the back door. He finds her leaned against the back of the house, her eyes closed, her head tilted back. She's smiling. She really is pretty, Steve can see why Robin likes her. God, he hopes he's right about her. Either way, he's determined to find out. It's what Robin deserves.

"Hey, Vickie. Come out for some fresh air?"

Her smile gets bigger when she turns to him. He really hopes he's right about her, she's a fucking sweetheart. He hopes he isn't about to do something hugely stupid. Knowing him, he probably is, but also knowing him, he's gonna do it anyway.

"Hey Steve! Yeah, I was just getting a little warm in there. How about you? Smoke break?"

"Nah, I'm trying to quit. Robin hates them, she keeps stealing them out of my mouth, so it's somehow more expensive and I don't even get to smoke them. Easier to just stop. Which is probably her goal," he laughs.

"You and Robin are pretty close, huh?"

"Oh yeah, platonic soulmates. With a capital P!" He makes an incredibly dorky gesture with his hands, and has to stop himself from facepalming. Great going, dingus.

Still, Vickie's smile gets a little wider, which he thinks is probably a win.

"That's why I came out here, actually. I wanted a chance to talk to you." Her eyebrows go up. Always with the goddamn eyebrows around here. "Not, like, in a creepy way! Or, well, I guess that's what a creep would say, but I swear I'm not! I just meant, because Robin really likes you," shit, too much, "I mean, she likes hanging out with you, and she's my best friend and all, so I wanted to. Um. Get to know you better. You know. For Robin."

"...For Robin."

He groans. "I swear I didn't used to be like this. I used to be able to talk like a normal person. I didn't know that was a skill you could lose! I would have worked harder at it!" She's laughing at him now, but at least she's polite enough to hide her giggles behind her hand. That's something.

He sighs, and throws his head back to take a deep breath and try and come back to his body, like Robin showed him. Having therapist parents sounds like a nightmare to Steve, but it has its uses, he guesses.

He looks back at Vickie, who is watching him with what seems like more amusement than concern, so he's taking that as a win. If she's laughing, she's not running away. He sticks his hand out.

"Hi, I'm Steve. You're really important to the most important person in my life, so I'd really like to be your friend." He tries to give her his most winning smile, but honestly he's a little worried his teeth are still red from that godawful drink.

She grins at him, still definitely laughing at him a little but more genuine than before, and shakes his hand. "I'm Vickie, and you're really important to someone I hope will become really important to me, so I'd love to be your friend."

He doesn't breathe a sigh of relief, but it's a close thing. King Steve decided to stay in tonight, apparently, so he's on his own, and boy oh boy is he worse than he remembered.

"So, new friend, what do you want to get to know about me?"

Thank fuck Vickie's carrying so much of the weight here, honestly.

"We could, uh, talk about movies?" Jesus Christ, where did all the goddamn Harrington Charm go, anyway? Did Vecna eat it?!

There go the eyebrows again. He's cursed, he really is. "Movies?"

"Yeah, you know, I work at a movie store. Or I did, anyway. With Robbie. Pretty sure it went under in the quake though. That or Keith just fired us and didn't bother calling to let us know." He laughs awkwardly. He's doing fucking everything awkwardly, honestly. He hasn't even asked the question yet and he's already sweating bullets. No wonder Bobbie was so scared to confront this head-on. "Anyway, it can tell you a lot about a person, you know. Their favorite movie."

Come on, take the bait. Take it.

She nods seriously at him. "Oh I get that for sure, you can learn a lot about someone by their favorite book. I used to volunteer at the library and there was always gossip about who checked out what romance novel and whether that meant their marriage was on the rocks, you know?" She giggles, hiding behind her hand for a second. "I guess it was kind of mean, but we never said anything to anyone outside the library, and never to their face, you know? It was just something to keep us entertained on slow days."

Fantastic, he can work with this.

"Oh totally, I completely get it. Robs and I did the same thing at Family Video, making up stories about what we imagined people's lives were like that they were renting Casablanca and Gremlins on the same night, you know? Like, what does that evening look like? Which one do they watch first?"

She laughs. Perfect. She took the bait, now he's just gotta reel her in. Or something. He's never been fishing.

"You know, I usually rent my movies from Family Video. Did you guys ever look up my rental history?"

Aaaand, got her!

"You know, I think we did, actually, not that I'm helping the creep allegations," he winks at her. She slaps him on the shoulder. There we go, there's the Harrington Charm. Jesus fuck, where has it been all night? Sleeping?

Moment of truth, here we go.

"Fast Times At Ridgemont High, right?" He keeps his eyes on her face while he says it. He needs to see how she reacts.

She's been watching a raccoon rummaging through the neighbor's trash, but as soon as he mentions the movie, she whips her head around and looks at him sharply.

She studies his face intently in the glow from the floodlights above the garage. Whatever she finds, the fear in her eyes fades just slightly to caution. All good signs.

Fuck, this is harder than he remembers. Talking in code and reading all the subtle little shifts in body language involved in this conversation is stretching muscles in his brain he's forgotten he had. His friends these days all just sort of...say whatever they mean, straight out. He thought it was weird and off-putting at first, but now that he's doing this dance again, he's realizing he hasn't missed it.

The things he does for Robin, honestly.

He can see the moment she decides to trust him, even though she's still tense. She takes a deep breath, like she's gearing up for something. "That's a good one, for sure. You know, I think I maybe forgot to rewind it the last time I returned it? I paused it at my favorite part, but I think I got distracted and never finished it. I hope that doesn't cause too much trouble for you guys at your job. I'd hate to be one of those customers."

Jesus, this chick is brave. She's basically just coming right out and saying it! Holy shit, he's about to get Robbie a girlfriend! Ok, ok be cool. Bring it home, nice and easy.

"Nah, not a problem at all. Besides, I think I remember that tape, and we have the same favorite part, I think. All three of us." Fuck he hopes this isn't a mistake. If he just fucked up and outed Robin for no reason he'll- fuck, he doesn't know what he'll do. Ask El to open the gate back up so he can throw himself into it, probably.

Vickie's eyes go wide. "Robin too?" There's something like hope in her voice. He thinks. He hopes, anyway. Maybe he's just projecting, but he really thinks he's been right on the money from the start. He just needs to prove it to Rob and give them both a push.

"Yeah, Robin too. Now me, I like Fast Times a lot, but I also really like The Outsiders, you know?" A truth for a truth. Nothing is free, he remembers this dance. Trust is always earned.

He didn't realize her eyes could get any bigger, but somehow they do. Slowly, a grin spreads across her face. "Really? Uh, me too! Those are...both...really good movies, you know?"

"Totally!" He's grinning now too, he can't help it. He's so excited for Robbie he might explode. This is the most alive he's felt in weeks!

"Not Rob, though, she loves Fast Times, but not so much The Outsiders. She can be, uh. Pretty nervous, you know? To talk about her taste in movies. I think she might be worried you don't like Fast Times as much as she does, but I know she really wants to, uh, watch it with you. So you might have to be the one to, you know, tell her how much you like it, and maybe ask her to watch it together?"

He's getting lost in the metaphor here. That's clear enough, right? Robbie isn't going to believe him about Vickie liking boobies unless she walks up to her and tells her "I like women, go out with me," in very small words, so he really hopes he got the message across. He needs Vickie to take the wheel on this.

Luckily Vickie is nodding enthusiastically. "For sure! I can do that!" She's halfway back to the house, almost tripping over her feet, before she looks back at him sheepishly.

"Oh no, I'm sorry, that was so rude of me, I just got so excited and I wanted to-"

"Hey, no worries, that was the goal, right? This is what I was hoping for when I came out here to talk to you. She, uh..." He shouldn't. He should stick to the code, just in case, he should be careful, it's Robbie's life on the line here.

But it's also her happiness.

"She didn't believe me. About the Fast Times thing. And then we ran into you at The War Zone, and she was totally convinced I was wrong, but I knew I had to ask. Just in case. I just really want her to be happy, you know?" There. He hasn't actually said the words. If it goes sideways, they still have plausible deniability.

And then, well. There's always Plan B. He doesn't exactly want to burn Vickie's house down, but he will. For Robin, he'll do anything.

Vickie is smiling softly at him. She really is sweet, she and Bobbie are gonna be so cute together. He can't wait to tease them into oblivion.

"I'm glad she has a friend like you, Steve."

He scrubs a hand across the back of his neck, feeling weirdly self-conscious. "Yeah, well, you know. You've got a friend like me, now, too, right?"

There's that bright smile again. "Right!"

"Alright, go on. Go get your girl."

Good lord, redheads sure can blush, huh?

He waits a couple of minutes before heading back in himself, enjoying the night air. It's not quite the height of summer yet, so the evenings aren't as muggy as they'll be in a month or so. For the first time since he crawled out of that gate with Eddie lashed to his back with the remains of the rope ladder he cut to protect Dustin, he's feeling the breeze on his skin without feeling like he's wrapped in plastic, like there's a wall around him, keeping from being part of the world. He wants to savor it, in case it goes away again.

When he does make his way back in, he almost trips over Robin, who's grabbing what should probably be her last drink. At least it's just a beer this time, if it was more of that awful concoction from earlier he'd probably take it away from her, pouting be damned. They could have flambéed Vecna with that shit, nobody should be putting it in their bodies.

Her face lights up when she notices him, and she flings herself into his arms.

"Oof, shit, Buckley, doing ok there? You having fun?"

"Sooooo much fun, Stevie!" She nuzzles her face into the crook of his shoulder. Yeah, if she's this cuddly in public, this should definitely be her last drink, especially if Vickie wants to make any kind of move tonight. She's not usually this touchy outside of the really bad nightmare nights. "Missed you though. Where'd you go? My bubba disappeared."

"Aw, Bobs, I was just outside getting some air, I promise. I didn't go anywhere."

She shakes her head stubbornly, her nose dragging along his collarbone. "Noooo, you left. Not now, before. After. In the hospital. We all came back but you left. You went inside your big stupid fluffy head and you don't come out anymore. I miss you."

It's a good thing Robin's face is still hidden in his shoulder, because he can't quite keep his expression from crumpling. He hasn't meant to hurt her, he hasn't meant to hurt anyone, he swears. He's trying, he wants to come back, wants to be normal again, he just...he feels like part of him is still stuck at the bottom of Lover's Lake, watching everyone above him on the surface moving on and living life, but not able to reach them.

He holds her tighter to his chest, petting her hair. It's a mess, like when she first wakes up in the morning. Maybe she fell off the couch or something while he was outside.

"I'm sorry, Bobbin-bird. I didn't mean to go away. I'm working on it, ok? I promise," he murmurs reassurances into her hair, trying to erase the sadness he can hear in her slurred words. He's shit at talking about feelings, especially his own, but not with Robin. Never with Robin. Saying true things to Robin isn't any harder than thinking them to himself, and honestly that's basically the same thing. They pretty much only have the one brain between them.

She pulls back, studying his face closely with bleary eyes, squeezing his cheeks between her hands. "Promise?"

"I promise, Bobbie." He tries to project as much sincerity as he can muster. She's edging past tipsy, but not actually drunk yet, so she should remember this moment just fine tomorrow, and he won't have to do it again.

Who he is kidding? They're definitely having this conversation again tomorrow. Maybe he can distract her with teasing about Vickie. Where did she go, anyway?

Robin grins, apparently satisfied for now. "Good!" She smacks a kiss to his forehead and finally lets go of his face. Thank god. He loves her, more than anything in the world, but she's a goddamned sweaty drunk.

Before she can say anything else, a redheaded streak comes stumbling into the kitchen.

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you!" Vickie leans on the kitchen counter, trying to catch her breath.

Steve looks to Robin to see how she'll respond, and, oh. Well, shit. Robin is...frozen, apparently. She's very obviously focused on Vickie, which is good, because otherwise Steve would be having trouble with flashing back to Nancy's thousand-yard stare in the Upside Down, or the whites of Max's eyes, but the part of her brain that lets her, you know, say and do things, appears to have shut down.

Looks like it's Steve's turn with the communal brain, lucky him. Time to step in and save this, if he can.

"Vickie! Hi, you know, I was just wondering where you ran off to? I was about to tell Robin to track you down, to talk about that movie we talked about earlier, but it looks like you found us instead!" He jams an elbow into Robin's side as subtly as he can, but she still doesn't move.

Vickie is looking between them, still breathing a little heavy. "Yeah, I went looking for you as soon as I came back in, but Gareth said-" Gareth! That was it! "-you went to the bathroom, and did you know there are six bathrooms in this house? Who needs that many bathrooms? I think Angela only has one sibling, why would anyone need six bathrooms for four people? That's so crazy! Anyway, I'm glad I found you, Robin. I'm, uh, getting a little overwhelmed with all the people out here, so I was hoping you might want to find a room that's maybe a little quieter, so we can talk a bit? Just the two of us?" Damn, this girl's got guts. Steve likes her.

Robin continues to stand in front of the fridge like the world's prettiest scarecrow. Come on, babygirl, you can do this! He elbows her again.

"Vickie! Hi! Steve, Vickie's here! Hi!" Steve and Vickie both startle a little because, wow, ok, volume, Buckley, damn. Still. Progress.

"Sure is, babe. Tell you what, why don't I take this-" he plucks the unopened beer out of her slack hand, "-and you and Vickie can go sit down somewhere quiet and talk about movies, huh?"

Robin blinks at him owlishly. "Movies?"

He's about to make another veiled reference to the boobies conversation when Vickie blows all of her air out of her nose and stomps one foot like that one girl in the Chocolate Factory movie who reminds him of his cousin Shauna.

"I'm sorry, I can't take it! I just spent ten minutes outside talking to Steve in ridiculous codes and another ten minutes running up and down the stairs in this insane house and I'm exhausted. I can't take the metaphors anymore. Sorry, Steve, no offense."

"Hey, none taken. It's pretty exhausting, you're not wrong. I just had to be safe."

She shakes her head. "No, totally, I completely understand. I appreciate it. I'm just secret coded-out tonight, you know? Robin, do you want to go upstairs with me and talk? I have something to ask you and I'd really rather do it in private, I don't really want any of these people listening, you know?" She waves her hand at the open doorway to the living room, which is still packed with people.

Robbie's head has been bouncing back and forth between them like she's watching a tennis match, eyes wide.

"Huh? Me? What?"

Oh geez. She's shorting out.

"Bobbie, look at me." She meets his eye, and he can see the nerves threatening to overwhelm her. "Trust me?"

She nods. "Uh huh. 'Course, bubba."

Well that warms him right up, but it's not about him right now. "Good. Go with Vickie, babe. It'll be good, I promise." He hopes he can promise that, at least. He's pretty sure he can. And if it goes bad, they always have Plan B.

Vickie holds out a hand, and Robin stares at her like it might bite her, before taking it gingerly. Both girls immediately burst into bright red blushes, and under any other circumstance he would laugh at them, but this is a delicate moment. They need him to be cool. He can be cool. He can be so goddamn cool.

Vickie leads Robin out of the room and towards the stairs, both of them still blushing like crazy and refusing to meet each other's eyes, and Steve can finally let out the breath he's been holding in a whoosh and slump back against the counter. He snags a bottle opener off the fridge- neat, it's got a magnet on it!- and pops the top on the beer he stole off Robbie.

“Well I hate to break this to you, King Steve, but she’s definitely about to steal your girl.”

Steve freezes with the bottle at his lips.

He sets the beer down on the counter and very carefully turns around. Munson is alone, thank fuck. This is fixable. He can deal with a single person. If it had been a crowd, or fuck, god forbid, someone like Gareth, who hates him, and might try and use this? Hurt Robbie to hurt him? Well, he's got his nailbat in the trunk, and he isn't afraid to use it, but he doesn't think Hopper would be thrilled to have to bail him out of jail.

"Whatever you think you heard, Munson, if Robbie gets hurt, it won't matter that you're one of us now. I'll finish what those bats started. I won't be happy about it, because you're a pretty cool dude and I like hanging out with you, but I'll do it for her if you make me." He makes sure his voice is low and even, and he meets Eddie's eyes head on. He wants to be very clear, this is not a joke. He will defend her if he has to.

He doesn't think he'll have to, not from Munson, but he isn't 100% sure, and he's taken enough risks with Robbie's safety tonight. He doesn't trust his luck enough to count on it working out a second time in less than an hour.

Munson's eyes go wide with shock- he clearly wasn't expecting Steve to meet him with quite that much aggression. He puts his hands up in surrender and leans back away from Steve.

Steve fights not to be distracted by the way his torso curves, graceful in a way he has no right to be with his wounds still scabbing over. Not the moment, Steve. Get it together, for fuck's sake.

"Hey, whoa, easy big guy. We're cool, man. Stand down."

There's a tense moment where they just...stand there, sizing each other up, unsure where to go from here.

Eddie tugs a lock of hair in front of his face, nibbling on it nervously. It's cuter than it has any right to be, honestly.

"I didn't- uh. Fuck, man. Please tell me I didn't just tip you off to flirting you didn't notice. It would suck so, so bad if I exposed Birdie without her knowing."

Steve takes a moment to consider this, frankly absurd, situation. He holds up a finger for Eddie to wait a minute, and checks both ways down the hallway outside before closing the kitchen door and leaning back against it to keep it shut. At least now it'll definitely just be the two of them, which is one more than should be having this conversation, but he doesn't see a way out of it, so this will have to do.

When he turns back to Eddie, he looks even more nervous than before.

"I'm perfectly aware of the flirting, considering I'm the one who went out of my way to set them up tonight. You didn't out anyone, and I should have been the one to make sure the door was closed before I got them in a room together, so it's not your fault for finding out. You understand you can't say anything to anyone, ever, though, right?"

Because he's apparently doomed to be accosted with eyebrow raises from everyone around him anytime he says anything at all until he dies, Eddie's are lost somewhere under his bangs. He looks...impressed. Huh, that's kind of nice. Steve resists the urge to preen.

"'Course, man, I'm well-versed in the code of silence." Something in his face softens, and Steve can feel the sincerity in his next words. "Birdie's a friend, and Finnegan seems like a real sweetie, I wouldn't ever want to hurt them like that. Cross my heart." He does, in fact, draw a cross on his chest with one long, ringed finger. What a dork, holy shit. Steve wants to put that finger in his mouth.

"I have to admit, I didn't expect you to be so cool with something like that. In general, but also especially since you and Buckley are, y'know." He waves his hand expansively around his head, the kitchen lights glinting off his rings, and Steve has to fight the urge to bat at it like a cat with a laser pointer. Jesus Christ, Harrington, focus. The man just called you a homophobe, get your shit together.

He decides, very magnanimously, he thinks, to ignore the homophobe bit, honing in on the rest. "Me and her are...what, exactly?"

"I mean, aren't you guys like, a thing?" Oh Jesus fuck. Not again.

"Ugh, no, where the hell do people keep getting that? Robin and I are just friends, ok? Platonic soulmates. Capital P!" He throws his hands in the air in frustration.

"-capital P," Eddie choruses with him, "I know, I know, I just, shit, man, I dunno, I figured you were..."

"Were what?"

"...Lying? Shit, that sounds worse out loud, sorry! I just mean, because, you know, Henderson keeps saying-"

"Oh, well if Henderson says it, it must be true," Steve rolls his eyes.

"Well fuck me for trusting the kid who calls you his best friend, I guess!"

They glare at each other across the room for a minute, before the ridiculousness of this moment catches up to Steve and he drops his chin to his chest, huffing a laugh.

Eddie looks confused, and still nervous, and a little incredulous. Also a lot adorable, but that doesn't feel relevant. "Ok, I'm so lost, man. I just came in here for a beer, and this has been an emotional rollercoaster I was unprepared for."

Yeah, that about sums it up.

He hasn't spent much time with Eddie since he woke up, spending those weeks juggling babysitting duties and his own injuries and helping with the relief effort and sitting vigil at Max's side. He popped in on Eddie when he was in the building for Max, but the Munson room always had someone in it- Wayne, or Dustin, or Mike, or one of the Corroded Coffin guys- and Steve always felt a bit like an intruder. So he hasn't had a chance to feel out the suspicions he formed during that surreal week when everything was still in the process of exploding, and honestly he's been feeling a little too distant to work up the energy to bother. Robin's bugged him about it once or twice since March, but he shrugged her off each time and she hasn't brought it up in a while.

Ah, what the hell. It's already been such a weird night, and Steve is honestly feeling better than he has in weeks, and he wants to ride this high wherever it'll take him.

Emotional rollercoaster, huh? Well, Steve can make that worse.

At least Eddie hasn't seemed homophobic, kind of the opposite, actually. That's a good sign if Steve's ever seen one.

He pushes off the door, stalking toward Eddie with intent and digging deep inside himself for whatever remains of the person he used to be, who could drop panties with a single look. Eddie's eyes go very round, and he stumbles back a little into the counter.

"You know, Munson, I've had a question I've been meaning to ask you for a while now. Haven't found a good moment."

"Oh yeah?" Eddie's voice comes out in what can only be called a squeak, and Steve feels powerful. That rush of confidence he hasn't felt since BN (Before Nancy) fills his chest, and he can feel his grin turn sharp. "Ho- uh." Eddie clears his throat. "How long's a while?"

Steve purses his lips, relishing the way Eddie's eyes drop down like he can't help it and his cheeks flush, and pretends to consider the question. "Oh, since Skull Rock, probably."

"O-oh? That's. Um. That is a long time." He's still staring at Steve's lips. Good. "Well, shoot, Stevie-boy. Ask away."

Steve lets his smile spread across his face slowly, keeping Eddie's eyes where he wants them. Yeah, he's still got it. Like riding a bike.

"Do you wear this bandana on purpose, or is it just a fashion statement?"

Eddie's eyes snap up to meet his own, shocked.

"Wh-what? Bandana? I. Um. What?"

"Are you flagging, Eddie?" Steve doesn't back up, toe to toe with Eddie as he reaches out and tugs lightly on the hanky trailing out of his back pocket, as always.

He may not have had the energy to talk to Eddie about it yet, but his curiosity did get the better of him after the "earthquakes," and he did dig out that zine where he originally learned about the code. He knows what a black hanky in the back left pocket means now. It's...a little daunting, but not a turn-off. Not at all. Kind of the other thing.

God he hopes Eddie knows what it means.

Eddie seems floored by this line of questioning. He's bright red and sputtering, his mouth opening and closing without saying anything. Steve lets himself stare. This'll go however it goes, but he's not ashamed. He's no more embarrassed to want Eddie than he would be to want a girl, which is to say, not at all.

"I- you- what? What? You- you know what flagging is?" He hisses the end of the sentence in a harsh whisper, so much like Robin did when he first told her about his crush that he can't stop himself from giggling.

Wrong move, since Eddie clearly takes this personally, and his expression shutters closed. Whoops.

"Hey, hey, no no no, none of that, hey. I'm sorry, I wasn't laughing at you, I swear."

"Right, sure, I believe that, considering there's nothing goddamn else to laugh at in this kitchen, Harrington." Eddie is glaring at the floor, arms crossed defensively across his chest.

Alright, maybe he gets what Vickie was saying earlier. Fuck the codes, fuck the metaphors. He can take Eddie in a fight if he has to. He's a simple guy, ok? He just wants to use his goddamn words.

Robin would be so proud.

He goes slowly, telegraphing every move so Eddie can stop him if he wants. He reaches for his hands where they're tucked into his elbows, gently easing them out until they're clasped between them.

He takes the opportunity to finally feel those rings he's fantasized about, seeing if they're as cool as they look. They aren't, they're warm from Eddie's skin. He spins one of them around Eddie's finger with his thumb, transfixed.

Eddie still looks tense, but now instead of hurt and distrust on his face, he looks like Steve hit in him in the head with something heavy. His pretty eyes are so big, blown completely black as he stares at their joined hands.

"I'm sorry I laughed. I was remembering the first time I told Robin I had a crush on you," Eddie's head snaps up again, "and she sounded exactly like you did just now, with that angry whisper voice. It made me laugh, that you guys are so alike. It makes sense, I guess. She's my favorite person, so of course I'd like you, when you're like. Not the same, I guess, but kinda a similar flavor of weird. She says I have a thing for nerds, y'know?"

Eddie blinks at him for a minute, apparently speechless. Some nerves start to creep back in, since the brief miscommunication scare burned out most of that white hot King Steve confidence in his chest. They must show on his face, because Eddie visibly shakes himself and finally opens his mouth.

"You have a crush on me?"

"Yeah, man, since the Upside Down, pretty much. The first time."

"Don't call me man when you're telling me you have a crush on me!"

Steve has to laugh at the comically offended look on Eddie's face. "Sorry. Do you prefer Eds? Baby? Big Boy?"

Eddie is so red Steve is surprised his face isn't steaming. He yanks one hand out of Steve's grip to smack him in the chest. Steve laughs and lets him, dropping their still-joined hands down between them and tangling their fingers.

"You're a fucking dick, Stevie. Can't believe I like you."

Steve grins at him, big and hopeful. "Yeah? You like me, Munson?"

Eddie shoves at him with a groan, but doesn't let go of his hand. "Pretty sure everyone in this town likes you, King Steve. It's like a rite of passage, or something."

Steve feels like he could walk on air, he isn't even going to get fussy about the King Steve thing. They can talk about that later. Eddie likes him! Eddie has a crush on him! He could fight a demogorgon with his bare hands right now, that's how powerful he feels.

Eddie gets quiet after a second, tugging a curl in front of his mouth again. Seems like a nervous tick, maybe. Steve notes that for later. He may not be much of a reader, but he's going to learn to read Eddie Munson like a book if it's the last thing he does.

"I thought, um. I kinda...hn. Ugh."

"Gonna need more than that, baby, I'm not fluent in Munson yet." That glow in his chest picks up a little again at the way Eddie flushes so pink and pretty at the petname.

"I thought you were straight." It comes out all in a rush, the words mumbled and slurred together through his hair.

Finally, it's Steve's turn to raise an eyebrow. Take that, universe! "You meet a lot of straight guys who know what the Hanky Code is?"

Eddie shakes his head in wonderment. "Still can't believe The Steve Harrington knows what flagging is."

He's about to reply when the kitchen door flies open with a bang that sends the boys leaping backwards away from each other. Steve finds himself braced between Eddie and the door, brandishing the bottle opener from the fridge in front of him like a knife. He doesn't even remember grabbing it.

Robin is standing in the doorway, eyes wild and hair frizzing out around her head in a way she would despise if she was sober and not obviously preoccupied with something else.

"Jesus, Robs, you about gave me a heart attack, what the hell?"

"Sorry bubba, not important right now!"

He rolls his eyes. Of course not. Just his trauma that could have made him stab her if he hadn't caught himself, nothing major. This girl, he swears.

"Dingus! Focus!"

"Focus on what, Bobs?"

"She wants to kiss me, Steve!"

His eyes go wide. Thank fuck the door bounced off the wall and swung back shut behind her. That's not something to shout to a party full of gossipy strangers.

Still. This is a big moment! "Bobbie! What'd I tell you, huh?" He picks her up around the middle, swinging her around while she cackles wildly and bats at his shoulders.

"Put me down, you lunatic! Steven Elizabeth, you put me down right now, or I swear I'll never speak to you again!" She's laughing too hard for him to take her seriously, though.

He does take pity on her and set her back on her feet, stealing one more tight hug. He's so happy for her he could scream. This night has turned out better than he could have imagined.

"Tell me everything! What happened! What did she say? What did you say? How was the kiss?"

"Well we didn't actually kiss yet, exactly."

"Wait, then how do you know she wants to kiss you?"

"She told me! She said she thinks I'm really pretty and funny and smart and she's like you! She likes both, and she says her and Dan are done, like for real for real all the way done, and she held my hand, Steve! And she wants to go on a date! And she said she wanted to kiss me!"

"That's awesome! I'm so happy for you, Bobs. What did you say when she said she wanted to kiss you?"

"I came down to tell you about it, obviously."

Oh, Bobbie, what the fuck. "Robin James Buckley. Do not tell me that a pretty girl tried to kiss you and you ran away and left her upstairs!"

The situation finally seems to register, and Robbie's hands go flailing around her face the way they do when she's overwhelmed.

"Oh no! Steve! Oh no!"

"Go, you insane person! Go back upstairs right now and kiss her this minute! Go!"

He physically herds her to the door, at which point she finally notices Eddie, who has been standing in the corner where Steve shoved him behind him when the door crashed open, watching them like he's wishing he had popcorn.

Fuck. Steve was so excited for Robbie he totally forgot he was here.

Robin's body goes rigid and all the color drains out of her face all at once.

Steve grabs her by the shoulders. "Hey, Bobbin, eyes on me, ok? Eyes on me." She finally drags her eyes away from where she's been staring at Eddie in horror, and Steve's heart breaks at the fear on her face. "It's ok, Bobbie, I swear to god it's ok. I was right, alright? I was right about him, we were talking before you came in. He's safe, I swear. We're safe, Bobbie, I promise I'll keep you safe."

"I promise I won't say a word, Birdie. Friends of Dorothy gotta stick together, right?" Eddie pipes up from the corner, stepping forward slowly and carefully, hands out front like he's approaching a skittish animal.

"You're- you're like u- me?" Oh, he loves her so much. Still protecting him, just in case.

"It's ok Bobs, I told him about me. I was about to get a kiss of my own before you came in, I think, actually."

Eddie jumps on the opportunity to cut the tension, ever the showman. Steve likes him so goddamn much. He grins impishly at Steve, that wide pretty mouth stretching out until those dimples Steve can't wait to kiss appear on his cheeks.

"Oh, you were, were you? Pretty presumptuous, Stevie-boy. Who says I kiss on the first date? Maybe I'm not that kind of boy."

"Oh, wow, ok, this is gonna be a lot to deal with, huh? Alright, I'm glad I'm not getting hate-crimed, and I'm glad you're finally doing something about your big gay crush, Dingus, but if you'll excuse me, I have a girl to kiss, and also I want to be far away from," she waves a hand between them, "whatever this is. Good luck boys, don't kiss in unlocked rooms! Vickie says she can give me a ride home, so I'll call you in the morning, bubba. Love you bye!"

She's out of the room like a shot, hopefully back up to Vickie, who he hopes is prepared to get used to this kind of thing. There are so many things to love about Robin Buckley, and honestly, this is one of them, but he can see why she might be an acquired taste. He thinks anyone who doesn't acquire that taste is a moron and not worth knowing, but he can see how those people might exist.

"Love you too, Robs!" he calls down the hallway, closing the door behind her and leaning back against it. It's not a lock, but as long as he doesn't move, it'll do. And given that Eddie appears to have found his confidence and is leaning over him, bracing his arms on either side of Steve's head, he doesn't think he'll have to move any time soon.

Unless someone needs the kitchen, but they've been doing just fine so far, so they can burn that bridge when they come to it, or whatever people say.

He reaches down to toy with Eddie's belt loops, tugging him close and grinning up at him through his eyelashes, privately thrilled at the novelty of being shorter than his partner for once. Granted, he's slumped down the door a little, but still. It's nice. He can see why girls like it.

Eddie comes closer easily, resting their foreheads together. He reaches down to fiddle with a lock of Steve's hair and Steve feels like leaning into it like a cat getting its ears rubbed.

Lot of cat feelings tonight. He's not sure what to do with that.

"So.”

“So.”

“Steven Elizabeth, huh?"

Steve can't help but laugh, the tension broken once more. "Yeah, Rob's idea. We switched. Steven Elizabeth and Robin James. So we always have a piece of each other."

"Jesus H Christ, you guys are fucking adorable. This shit is why everyone thinks you're dating, though, you know that, right?"

"Ugh, yeah, I know. I don't actually mind, I mean, I should be so lucky, you know? And she's like. My person. My most important person. And we're probably gonna get married someday just so we can be each other's next of kin, and because it's not like she could marry whoever she ends up with anyway, or me if I end up with a guy, so it's like, why not, you know? I'd be building my life around her anyway, might as well make it legal.

"It's mostly just annoying when our friends don't believe us, because like, we're honest with you guys. Maybe not all of it, like Robbie isn't ready to be out and that's fine and she shouldn't have to be, but it kinda sucks that, like, Dustin thinks I would lie to him, you know? Because I wouldn't. Not about something real. Not when it matters. But he doesn't believe me, and that just. I dunno, man."

"It hurts."

"Yeah."

"I get that. You've been through a lot for these kids, you've put yourself on the line for them, you've given up a lot for them, and when they don't believe you about something like this, it feels like they're saying they don't trust you. Of course that hurts."

Steve swallows down the tears that want to fall. Now isn't the time for vulnerability like that, not in a stranger's crowded house. Still.

"How'd you do that?"

"Do what, sweetheart?" Oh, sweetheart does something to him. If this is how Eddie felt when he called him baby earlier, the blush makes more sense.

"Figure out exactly what I'm trying to say, and make it make sense. Usually only Robbie can do that."

"I dunno, maybe Birdie and me share a brain. Or maybe you and I just make sense to each other."

Steve flattens a palm against Eddie's chest, feeling the soothing thump beneath his hand. He did that. He put his hands on Eddie's chest and his mouth on Eddie's mouth and broke Eddie's ribs and didn't stop until that rhythm started up again. And now Eddie's here, and Eddie's heart is still beating, and Eddie hears him when he talks, and Eddie is looking at his lips again, and Steve suddenly can't go another second without kissing him.

He trails his hand up Eddie's chest, over his neck, savoring the way his breath hitches and the pulse under his palm speeds up. He keeps going, pushing his fingers into that thick riot of curls, already making mental notes of the products he's going to buy for Eddie because Jesus Christ, they're dry.

He tugs, and again, Eddie comes easy. It's not an earth-shattering kiss. There's no tongue, and their noses are a little smushed, and the angle is a little off, and he's kissed enough people that he can tell Eddie probably hasn't, but none of that matters.

He told Robin, back in that field, that he was holding off feelings he knew he would have for Eddie when all was said and done. He knows now he was right, and he's done holding them off. Has been done for a while, maybe.

He doesn't know where this is going, or what Eddie wants, or how they'll manage being two guys in a town like Hawkins, or what their friends will think. If they'll even tell their friends. What he does know is that he wants to find out the answers to all of those, and he wants to find them out with Eddie, and he wants to keep kissing Eddie, and also that he can't keep kissing Eddie here.

He pulls back, pecking that dimple finally, partly to reassure Eddie that he isn't running away and partly because he's wanted to for weeks, and pulls the kitchen door open, checking that the coast is clear before grabbing Eddie's hand and dragging him towards the front door.

"Where we going, Stevie?"

"You drove here, right?"

"Sure did. You want a ride somewhere? I thought you drove Birdie."

"I did, but you've got your van, don't you? Your van with doors that lock and a big open back seat?"

Eddie's eyes go wide, and he flails a little, just like Robin. It makes Steve smile.

"Yep! Yes, yeah, hell yeah, I do have my van, my van with those things, let's go! Chop chop, time's a-wasting! Your chariot awaits!" And he's off, doing that dorky little run for the driveway.

Steve grins, and puts his hands in his pockets, and follows his boy out into the night.

#stranger things #platonic stobin #steve harrington & robin buckley #rockie #rovickie #robin x vickie #robin buckley x vickie #idk what their ship tag is sorry lol #steddie #steve harrington #robin buckley #vickie stranger things #eddie munson #bisexual steve harrington #(eddie is bi too fyi but it doesn’t come up)#my writing #i believe with all my heart that steve’s strategy for nicknaming robin is just a handful of b’s and whatever vowels he finds in his heart #gareth absolutely interrupts them in the van when he wants to go home #and he’s so goddamn annoyed that now he’s going to HAVE to learn to like king steve #because it was one thing when he saved eddie’s life and they were friends now #that could be a one off #but if he likes eddie enough to make out with him in the driveway of a crowded party #he’s in this for the long haul #and that means gareth has to get used to him and learn to get a long #godDAMMIT eddie!#did i make steve go through a depressive episode because i took a break between this part and the last one and lost his voice?#how dare you insinuate such a thing (yeah lol)

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your-regular-toast-enjoyer · 1 year

Note

Platonic!Yandere Batman!Damian with new young robin!reader headcannons (extra points if you include uncle Jon and the league somehow)

Platonic! Yandere! Batman! Damian Wayne x Robin! Reader

Damian Wayne x reader. Yandere!Damian Wayne x reader/ Yandere Damian Wayne x Reader

Word count: 5604 words

TW: GN reader, Yandere, manipulation, adult Damian Wayne (based on Batman in Bethlehem), toxic family relations, obsession & Platonic yandere.

Okay, so I imagine that this all occurs at a time when Bruce has resigned and most of the others have moved on in some way, not only leaving Damian as the only one available and willing to take over the Batman cowl, but also making him impossibly alone. Desperate, abandoned and lonely.

Dick is busy with his life in Blüdhaven, (either married to Barbara or Koriand’r, maybe even with a kid), working primarily as a detective for the Blüdhaven police force. He’s juggling a career, family and, obviously, his vigilante patrols at night, so the time left to visit Damian is minimal.

Jason still occasionally patrols the streets at night, but he’s mostly out with Starfire and Roy, either playing uncle with Lian/Kori’s possible kid or doing Outlaws missions whenever Chesire/Jade Nguyen pulls herself together enough to take care of her daughter for a while. Jason is too busy getting his own life on track to even start worrying about Damian’s loneliness.

Tim is probably still in Gotham, although he’s also busy. He’s building his own life as well, either with Bernard or some other girlfriend/boyfriend of his. He’s probably busy renovating an apartment close to the manor, on top of Wayne Enterprise work and vigilante obligations, giving him no free time to come visit for leisure time. Sure, Damian communicates with him over the comms on a daily basis, but it’s not really the same as speaking to someone face to face. Not to mention that shouting orders, descriptions and coordinates probably doesn’t count as a proper conversation.

Alfred is probably dead. I know everyone always jokes that he’s immortal, but even if he was, no one can deal with the Wayne family for more than a single lifetime. So, whether he clocked out naturally or simply, using his all-mighty Alfred powers, just decided to let his life seep out of him like air in a balloon. Alfred is gone.

In Alfed’s place, Bruce has stepped up as a type of off-brand Alfred. He’s retired his superhero alias, and now only has his CEO duties to focus on, which would’ve been a lot for most people, but this is Bruce and to him, it’s too little. So he has learned to cook, hires people to clean the house, make the beds etc. and has, (through observing the best dry cleaners he could possibly hire), learned to wash clothes, attempting to emulate Alfred as some type of coping mechanism for his absence. That doesn’t mean he has the same emotional intelligence as Alfred, it’s still Bruce we’re talking about, but he has the practicalities down. So yeah, Bruce has become an elderly man. But since he still is good old Bruce, that also means that his emotional availability is practically non-existent, made in no way better by the fact that he shut himself in even more after Alfred’s passing and most of his children flying away from the nest. Bruce longs for the old times, longs for the comforting presence of Alfred and the jolly sounds of younger people chit-chatting. Yet, no matter how much Damian might attempt to engage in longer conversations with Bruce, it’s not happening.

If you have a hard time imagining how Damian would look like Batman, think of Batman in Bethlehem. He has exchanged the unhandy cape for the much more practical coat, which not only gives him a more serious appearance but also proves to be a great weapon against the Gotham cold, as well as leaving much more room for gadgets, weapons and, just like his father, a secret compartment for treats. He is a much more menacing and unforgiving Batman compared to his father, never letting a goon get away. He is thorough to the point of near-perfection, which is damn impressive, but it’s also draining on Damian, both physically and emotionally. His father had a horde of Robins, Batgirls and the sporadic extra orphan to aid him in his pursuit for justice, all Damian has is Tim, and occasionally Jason, the latter of which is slowly coming to the realisation that sustaining the same muscle mass as a cow for decades takes a toll on your joints.

So, even before Damian encounters you, he’s been in the search of someone to make the nightly patrolling of Gotham easier. Damian’s original intention hadn’t been to get a Robin. Actually, he considered “rescuing” an assassin from his mother’s army at the League of Assassins and reprogramming their mind through the various means that had been proven useful in war situations of the past… He did briefly consider asking Dick to contact M’gann for some “healthy” use of mind control. Yeah… Damian is not nearly as morally self-righteous as Bruce, another factor which has driven a wedge between the two.

However, then Damian met you.

I can imagine that you had recently moved to Gotham, either with your family or alone. You’re probably no older than sixteen at the time of your and Damian's meeting, so if you’re moving to Gotham alone, you’re probably going to be at Gotham academy’s boarding school. But no matter what, you happen to be a huge Batman and, ostensibly, Robin fan. You have posters hung on your wall and photos of you dressing up as Robin when you were younger. It’s not quite Tim Drake-levels of fanboy/girl/person, but you are a bonafide fan.

So, as a fan, you enjoy looking out into the Gotham night, spotting either Red Robin or Batman pass in the air with the wires of their gliders shining in the moonlight. It gives you a sense of safety, knowing that the city has its protectors. Like any other fan, you can’t help but fantasise about how it’d feel to be one of them. How nice it must feel to have the wind hit your cheeks as you zoom through the night sky, and how cool you’d look in one of those fancy superhero suits.

You have made multiple drawings throughout your youth of yourself as Robin or sometimes even your own made-up hero. You’ll prance around your room alone, listening to music, jumping from your desk chair to your bed to anywhere else with a flat surface, pretending that you’re a vigilante. Heck! I wouldn’t be surprised if you had begged your parents to send you to some type of martial arts as a kid. Begging, praying and practically kissing their feet until they oblige. That is, of course, if you didn’t have parents who had already sent you to karate/Jujitsu/you name it, before you yourself ever came up with that idea.

I can imagine that the day you and Damian’s ways cross, it’s while he’s out as Batman. For some reason you’ve been left alone to go home/to the academy in the late evening hours, (a recipe for disaster in Gotham). Maybe you had to attend some school-arranged art show/science fair/literature competition and the teachers hadn’t coordinated a way for students to come home/your parents had forgotten that you were out for the night. Whatever it was, you were scared and alone, walking through the streets of Gotham at night.

As will always happen in Gotham under such circumstances, a large shadowy man emerges from within one of Gotham’s many alleys. He’s neither quiet nor light on his feet, but he is big and the stench of piss, alcohol and decay attacks you before he even has the chance to. You might try to run, but his legs are longer than yours and he reaches you before you get anywhere. Huge grubby hands encase around your collar, heaving you up against a nearby brick wall, the rough texture cutting into the back of your head and back. You might try to use your martial arts knowledge to attempt to fend him off, and you may be successful. However, once you manage to make the man drop you, a swarm of similar-looking men emerge from the nearby alleys, alerted by the noise. They practically lick their lips at the sight of a young and defenceless school student, dumb enough to emerge after dark, it’s practically a Christmas gift for these degenerates. They surround you and you realise that you can’t fight them all, not at once. Your screams for help alert everyone in the neighbourhood, but none will come to your rescue, that’s just how Gotham functions. None…Except for Batman.

Damian hears your scream and within minutes the goons who attempted to attack you are on the floor, heads busted and limbs broken, some scramble away in fear, but end up with Damian’s grappling hook ripping a hole through their legs. The green-eyed Batman is surprisingly efficient, and it takes him no time to get you to safety, scoping you into his arms, as if you weighed less than a feather, and with his grappling hook, he flies through the air to the nearest rooftop. If you hadn’t been so traumatised and shocked by the near-death experience you just had, you might’ve been able to appreciate the experience of literally being saved by your idol. But alas you were, and the shaking of your limbs and rattling of your brain made you wholly unable to connect with reality.

Damian is patient with you, his glowed hands trace your back as you slowly gather your breath, and once the worst shock is out of your body, he reaches into his breast pocket, where he pulls out a lolly, offering it to you. Now, one should never accept candy from a stranger, but when that stranger is Batman, you can be fairly certain it won’t be tampered with. As such, you accepted the candy with wide burning eyes. Your attempts at slowly peeling away the plastic were a hard-fought battle and Damian had to help you, slowly guiding your hand towards your mouth as you popped the candy into your mouth. The sweetness helped ground you a little, not to mention that it also helped you regain some of your lost powers.

When Damian reckons that you are mentally present again, he prompts you to tell him what happened. With trembling lips, you started to mutter out an answer, about how you had to walk alone because no one was there to get you home safely, how you’d fended one of the men off but then more just came, you almost let a sob slip, but manage to keep it in. Your emotional control and fighting spirit impress Damian, but more importantly, the utter imbecility of the adults in your life makes Damian feel a rage unlike any other.

Damian would take you home in his arms, barging through the front door of either your parents’ apartment or the front door of the academy. He ignores the protest of any adults attempting to stop him, even daring to roughly push them out of the way, as he carries you to your room, following your directions. Once he’s there, he’ll carefully put you on your bed and tug you in like a little kid, no matter your age at the time. He brushes your hair out of your face, (if you have any), and gently swipes your forehead with his thumb. This may seem like inappropriate behaviour for a stranger, but he’s Batman and you’re traumatised and still in shock. It’s his best attempt at calming you down.

Once you’re tugged in, he goes to your guardian, eyes burning with the fury of a thousand suns. He’ll scream his throat dry, reprimanding them for their carelessness, and if you’re living with your parents, he’ll threaten to call CPS on them. He’ll leave the building with a huff and a last warning of revenge should anything similar ever happen again.

It’s after this that Damian has a hard time letting go. He can’t help but constantly fear that you’re being mishandled in some way by your carers. He has nightmares of you in an alley, getting shot like his grandparents or worse… No! It’s so awful that he can’t even bear the thought. These tumultuous emotions will move him to the absolute edge, and to satiate his anxiety, even just a little, he’ll take to stalk look after you. He’ll follow your movements every free minute he has between working at Wayne Enterprises and patrolling the city as Batman, and if you have a bike or pair of shoes you often use, he’ll somehow manage to slip a tracker in there to follow your every move, even when he’s at work or out patrolling. “It’s just to keep them safe”, he’ll tell himself, justifying his actions. But really, whatever his intentions might’ve been in the beginning, they slowly morph into something darker, more possessive. Damian starts to wonder if he might not be a better parent and mentor to you than your real parents. They’re neglectful, he surmises. Either they were the ones who let you walk through Gotham at night, or they simply shipped you off to Gotham Academy, which clearly had no idea how to take care of its students.

Damian might force Bruce to attend his retelling of the night he met you, how he had to follow you around...to ensure your safety, of course! He twists the story and paints your parents as the most horrendous of people, totally disinterested in the well-being of their child, it makes Bruce pity you. Damian suggests that they take you, and make sure that you get a safer environment, with Damian adopting you, in a sense. Bruce isn’t entirely convinced of this, citing that they cannot just kidnap you from your home. However, when Damian mentions how you’re pretty much like Tim, except a better person in every regard, Bruce’s longing for nostalgia slowly creeps back through the cracks. His mind swirls with memories of little Dick, Jason, Tim and even Damian. When was the last time they had a kid, or at least a young person, in the house? It’s been so long that he barely remembers. The house is too big just for two adult men, they could really use someone to spice up the atmosphere. And as such, Bruce is on board… Not that Damian would’ve listened to him if he said otherwise.

With the decision made that you will become the newest in a long line of adopted Waynes, Damian sets out to get you. He will attempt to make it look natural… like the way Bruce adopted Dick after his parents died… Yeah, wouldn’t it be a shame if all your aunts and uncles suddenly started having issues in their life leaving them incapable of ever taking care of themselves, let alone you if something happened to your parents?

And wouldn’t it be even more of a shame if… let’s say, after pretty much all adults in your family either died, was run bankrupt or somehow ended up in jail… your parents finally die in a freak accident. Perhaps it’s a car crash due to someone having messed with its tailpipe? Or maybe they went to the cinema, only for the projector to hit them… and only them? It could even just be that while you’re out of the house/at the academy that they suddenly have a carbon monoxide slip in their home, making them silently sleep in the arms of the grim reaper.

Whatever it is, your parents will mysteriously die, and with no one else in your family able to take you in, the Gotham police department is left at a standstill. If you came from another country than the US, they might talk about sending you back to an orphanage there… anything is better than Gotham… but if you’re American they’ll have no other choice than to start preparations to move you into one of the rat-infested shiteholes calling themselves Gotham orphanages.

Wherever you’re from, you don’t have to wait more than a day before someone unexpectedly shows up at the police station, just as the pitying policemen are trying to help you pack your last stuff into boxes, ready to be sent wherever you need to go. Multi-billionaire, Damian Wayne. Everyone at the station is suspicious about how the green-eyed Wayne heard about the sudden availability of an orphan without any family to go to, but he’s a Wayne, so they’re not surprised… They have a thing for adopting orphans after all. And that’s exactly what Damian proposes!

The broad-shouldered man will bow down to your level, reach out a hand, a gentle smile on his otherwise hardened features, and offer you to join him as his ward. With the horror stories you’ve heard of orphanages combined with the possibility of being adopted by a literal billionaire, you don’t hesitate to accept, albeit reluctantly. Whatever reservations the police may have is waved off by the thought that the Waynes have experience with orphans and they’ll be able to give you a life so much more engaging than anyone else ever possibly could. To most of them, this seems like the perfect ending to your otherwise sad story… If only they knew.

Any legal troubles with adopting you, or if any relative attempts to better themselves to be able to take over your care, will be solved with a wat of cash in someone corruptible’s hands and a slight threat of homicide. To anyone except Damian, the adoption went entirely smoothly and without a hitch.

Once you’re settled in with Damian and Bruce, you’ll come to realise that this life really isn’t all that you expected it to be. The trauma of your parents’ deaths is still fresh, but Damian expects you to get over it within the first few weeks, he is after all, (in his mind at least), your new “dad/mentor”, you’re not alone…Not like he’s been for the past many years… So why can’t you just settle into your new life with vigour? Or at least not mope around most of the time!

Bruce is more patient than Damian, he’ll let you open up to him, even if he’s bad with emotions. I can imagine that after the death of your parents, you might develop heavy night terrors, to which Bruce will attempt to calm you by sitting at your bedside until you fall asleep. If you feel especially anxious one night, Bruce will swear that he and Damian will protect you, no matter what. After a while, Damian will take over nightguard duty, realising that he needs to let you open up slowly… or at least not instantly…

Damian might start reading you bedtime stories, even if you’re technically too old for them. His voice is just so calming, its eclectic accent combined with clear brass undertones, both of which remind you of a certain hero… It makes you momentarily forget the fear and despair that came with the death of your parents, so, even if it’s a little infantilising, you appreciate Damian’s presence as you fall asleep, it makes you feel safe.

If you’ll let him, Damian will trace calming circles on your back while reading, and if you ask him to, he’ll tell you stories from his childhood… the censored versions, he doesn’t want your delicate ears to get hurt by him explaining how he knew a million ways to kill a man before he even turned ten…

You will live a relatively comfortable life with Bruce and Damian for a while, getting introduced to the others whenever they find the time to drop by to meet the new member of the Wayne legacy, as well as getting acquainted with Jon Kent, who, (as Damian’s best friend), demands to be called uncle, despite you not even calling Damian dad… At least not yet. If all this attention on you makes you uncomfortable and feel like a zoo exhibition, Damian will immediately ban everyone except Jon and Tim from visiting for the next long while, even Dick. Tim kinda needs access to the manor for when he and Damian are doing patrol debriefings and Jon refused to not come around, besides he’s so disarming that you’ll probably get used to him quickly… whether or not you end up calling him uncle.

After a while, Damian might come to the conclusion that to truly bond with you he must give you an outlet for your frustrations… And he only knows one way that ever really worked for him… Becoming Robin.

One day, when you come home from school, Damian will command you to follow him in a tone which you had never heard him speak to you with before. It is hard, serious and foreboding, chills will spread up your back and through your fingers, a bad taste will invade the back of your throat and your breaths cut short… What did you do? Was Damian going to throw you back on the path of an orphanage kid? What had you done?

What you did not expect was for Damian to strut up to an old grandfather clock, turning the arrows on the white disk to exactly 10:47. Whether or not you’re the type of person to be easily surprised, there’s no way you wouldn’t be at least a little taken aback when the large clock swung back, revealing the entrance to what looked to be a cave.

You had no context to put it up against and as such your fear took over, making you slowly back away from the hole in the wall that had just been revealed. Damian’s weird behaviour doesn’t make the situation any better either. Really, for you, there’s no telling what’s going on.

Damian notices your hesitation and briefly takes offence until he senses your genuine fear. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. It’s just a family secret that I trust you enough to know.” He’ll try to reassure you, whether it works or not doesn’t matter, as he picks you up like you weighed nothing and carries you down the metal steps… He doesn’t trust you to not fall and hurt yourself.

Once down in the cave, he’ll reveal to you that he’s Batman, the second one to bear the monicker. He’ll reveal the hero identities of all your “new uncles”, even Jon. All the information that he believes you could possibly need will be loaded onto you in a “brief” thirty minutes monologue. By the end of it, you’re floored… who wouldn’t be? This is probably the last thing anyone would ever consider when moving in with a new family. A bit of your fan behaviour might poke through, as you go from shocked to concerned to almost a little ecstatic… your favourite hero is your adopted father… Wow! The powers above really shone down on you after you had lost everything, huh?

But the pleasant surprises don’t stop there as Damian starts to describe how most Robins lost their birth parents somehow, (with him being the exception), and how most of them worked through this, (not really), by becoming vigilantes. You start to wonder and maybe even hope that he’ll offer the position to you, but multiple times have to remind yourself to stop dreaming, it would be unlikely, right? I mean, you might be able to fight, but not vigilante-level, right? Well… Damian disagrees, and he offers you to become his Robin. In all your star-struck wonder, you fail to see the possessive and obsessive glint in his eyes. You accept on the spot, feeling as if it’s a dream come true.

From then on, your days will be filled with nothing except school, family and Robin training, there’ll simply be no time for friends and going out doing your own thing, and Damian loves it! He believes you’re the safest when you’re within the manor or in his direct line of sight. Anywhere else is dangerous.

Damian will eventually start to suspect the safety of your school…The teachers probably don’t know how to defend you from rogues. Heck! Hey probably don’t even care for your safety! His mind ruminates on the topic for a while, until he decides to let you be homeschooled. He asks around to see if there’re any good private teachers whom he can trust, but there aren’t. None of the people he interviews ever fit his standards: One is too lax, the other too strict, one isn’t clever enough and a fourth doesn’t seem loyal enough. It’s next to impossible to fill out all the demands that the green-eyed Wayne sets up, but there’s one man whom Damian would trust with your education and safety. Bruce… If we’re all being honest, he’s probably a better teacher in all subjects than those who actually studied for the position. It’s actually Bruce’s own idea that he’ll be the one tutoring you, he can work for Wayne enterprises at home, and teach you at the same time, it’s great bonding, and Bruce enjoys your youthful presence so much. It’s a win-win situation for both men… Of course, this will also mean that you’ll become entirely isolated from anyone that isn’t Damian approved. Your social circles are suddenly limited to a bunch of adults, most of whom are vigilantes, hell-bent on keeping others safe… This has the added side-effect of depriving you of anyone who might support your suspicions, should you sound the alarm as Damian puts up more and more safety protocols to keep you out of harm's way.

With no one else but the family, you become entirely submerged in the vigilante culture and social circles, as you train to become the new Robin. The only people you’ll see on a regular basis will be Damian, grandpa Bruce, uncle Jon and uncle Tim. Perhaps great uncle Clark will semi-regularly swing by with great aunt Lois, but that’s rare, Bruce usually goes to them. You may notice yourself becoming quite dependent on Damian and Bruce’s company and attempt to rebel, this doesn’t fly with Damian. He loves you, but he’s not the most patient of people. He will have no qualms about locking you in your room for hours or even days, only letting you out to do your Robin training.

It’ll take a long time for Damian to let you become a true Robin, he wants to be sure that you’ll be safe and have the skills to defend yourself fully. It wouldn’t even surprise me if you had already reached the age of 18 before you got to actually patrol the city, not that this would change anything, Damian would either pay someone to fake your birth certificate so that you were still his legal ward on paper or maybe just refuse to let you have any more freedom, even if you protest… at that point, he would have had years to manipulate you into being entirely loyal to the family and more specifically him, so I doubt that it’d be a real problem.

Regardless, when he does bestow upon you the right to become Robin, it’ll be the end of a long road. He’ll invite everyone in your immediate social circle to come and celebrate, even some of Bruce’s old colleagues like Hal Gordan and Barry Allen might show up, it’s a big party and it’s all about you. Any fancy dresses or suits you want? it’s yours! The entire house will be decorated in your favourite colours and all your favourite food will be served! At the end of the evening, everyone will be gathered in one of the manor’s large living rooms, and Damian will present you with your very own Robin suit. You’ll be surprised to find that it’s a real-life replica of the ones you had drawn as a child. If you wonder how he got them, Damian will simply say he had found them in the rubbish the day you moved in and he had thought it a shame to throw them out… really he had stolen the drawing from you back when he was still stalking you, having collected the perfect materials throughout your years of training, it had sometimes been a struggle to find fabric that both matched your idea of the costume as well as being practical in a field setting, but he had managed it, and now you had the perfect costume, just the way you’d always wanted it.

Damian is overprotective of you the first many times that you’re out as Robin, to the point where he barely lets you fight, out of fear that you might get hurt. But slowly and with the reassurances of both Tim, Jon and Bruce, he’ll let you fight on your own. His eyes will still always find your form the second he hears a grunt coming from your direction, but he’ll let you handle it unless he deems the situation too dangerous… which he does quite often…

Life will be fine as long as you’re by his side, he’s your Batman and you’re his Robin, and Gotham is delighted by the return of the traffic-cone-themed sidekick. Bruce will look upon you and Damian fondly, and be reminded of good-old times when that was him and Dick, or the beginning of him and Jason… Back before it all got so complicated… which is ironic because the emotions involved in you and Damian’s Batman/Robin partnership are way more complicated, dark and obsessive than any of Bruce’s ever were.

You might wonder why Bruce never opposes Damian’s obvious yandere tendencies, but, in truth, Bruce refuses to see them. After all his sons, (except Damian), moved out, he got too old to be Batman, Alfred died and his entire life practically had to be narrowed down to Wayne Enterprises and occasional visits from his boys, (most of whom he was estranged from), Bruce had lost his spark, his reason to wake up in the morning. However, when you arrived, an entirely new chapter of his life opened up. He no longer felt like he was riding through the last fourth of his life without any meaning. No, with you there, he now had the responsibilities of a grandfather! He had someone to live for and to tell his near-endless anecdotes to! Your sudden appearance in his life saved him, and as such, he couldn’t even begin to let himself see the cracks in the happy facade he depended on to keep his life going. To him, you were all a happy and healthy family, three generations: Father, son and grandchild. And no one could take that away from him, he refused.

As you grow up, still living with Damian and Bruce, switching between the two identities of Robin and y/n, the wealthy socialite, adopted by Damian Wayne, you might start to consider whether you should create something of your own, instead of just living a life that Damian created for you. You might look at photos of the old Teen Titans and Young Justice, all hung throughout the halls of Wayne manor, and think to yourself, “maybe I could do something like that too”.

If you verbalise this idea to Damian, he’ll stop whatever he’s doing, his eyes widening with fear and rage. “You want to leave us?! After everything we’ve done for you?!” You can try your best to explain that you just want to become your own person, but Damian will hear non of it. He becomes frantic and angry, making you sit and listen to him rant about how dangerous it can be for a bunch of sidekicks, not even fully-fledged heroes, to just team up and battle it out. He’ll list to you all the most horrific incidents that happened in both Teen Titans and Young Justice, the people that got permanently, the people that got seriously maimed and those who died horrifically. At the end of his hours-long rant, he’d have instilled sufficient anxiety within you to turn you off to that idea.

After your suggestion, though, Damian might realise that you could be in need of a friend around your age. He doesn’t like the idea, a mix of both jealousy and the fear that they won’t protect you makes him reluctant to seek out some of the other sidekicks, but for you and your mental well-being, he’ll do anything. So he finds a sidekick, it could be Jon’s… actually, it’s most likely Jon’s sidekick, I can’t really see him trusting anyone else. But he’ll go up to them and practically demand that they befriend you. If they’re anything like Jon, and I can imagine that they are, they’ll accept with a big smile.

You may have a hard time befriending Jon’s sidekick, especially if your personalities aren’t compatible, however, they’re the only other person around your age you have, so you’ll have to make do. Eventually becoming best friends, even if you can’t stand them.

Any other need you could possibly have, Damian will always find a way to satiate it without ever giving you your freedom. It’ll be the most infuriating game of pulling rope, he’ll always give in to your demands, but in a way that just further cements your inability to escape him.

Damian will never let you go, not as long as he lives. If you try to get married… hah! No. Not happening. If you wanna go to university, he’ll hire tutors to come to your home. You’re never escaping and Damian isn’t coy about showing his possessiveness and platonic obsession with you. You’re his kid, even if you refuse. Really, you should have just stayed home that fateful night when you met, because now you’re stuck as Damian’s Robin, forever.

A/N: Yes, you can just ignore this, it's mostly for the user who sent in the request.

Thank you for this idea! I hope you like what I did with it!

I'm really sorry that these take so long to come out lately, but I have my final exams in a little over a month, (they start on the 1st of May), so I'm in a pretty tight spot for time recently, I'll obviously become more productive when they're all done, and I do also have another full one shot of Damian in the works. For the anon who requested this, I would just like to say, you had a wonderful idea, and I hope I did it justice, it didn't really go where I had originally intended it to, but I hope that this is what you might've preferred either way.

#damian wayne x reader #yandere damian wayne #yandere damian wayne x reader #yandere x reader #batman #yandere batboys #yandere dc #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne x you

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hadesoftheladies · 4 days

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men are so annoying my god. they have some of the dumbest takes on women's sports its obvious how disingenuous they are. "wnba players are jealous of caitlyn clark" and all most of them were saying was that caitlyn has a lot to learn playing professional basketball because it's a genuinely tough game and they hope she succeeds. men just keep belittling how skilled a lot of wnba players are and have been until caitlyn clark. they make fun of the wnba without watching it and then act like they know everything and declare caitlyn the sole saviour of the wnba like we haven't had legends like Elena Delle Donne or A'ja Wilson dominating the game. EMBARASSING!

ALSO they are RIGHT to complain about the racism since most brand deals and sponsorships for wnba players are white women. im happy that female athletes are winning and getting money, but it's telling when 70% of the basketball league are black women and most of the sponsorships are held by white women.

the way these goons take out the nuance and the humanity when discussing women's sports and reduce it to infantile squabbles of jealousy just shows how underdeveloped their brains are. like i know you men like inventing drama out of nowhere, but can you just stick to discussing stats? you're so cringe fr.

anyways!

I can't wait to see Stewie for New York Liberty on the court! Las Vegas Aces, Chicago Sky, Indiana Fever and the Washington Mystics are about to give us one hell of a season coming this May 14th. I'M SO HYPED!

Here are the women to watch out for (IMO because I'm biased and not in order of skill)

#1. Breanna Stewart (Stewie) (New York Liberty)

I pledge allegiance. Sincerely. She's so fun on court and weaves between players like that scene in Korra when she had to learn air-bending by evading spinning doors. I can't wait to see her play! (Next to her wife I'm her no# 1 fan don't joke around with me). Check some of her playing out here.

Also, here's a video of her eating spicy wings and barely surviving (while telling her story):

youtube

#2. Angel Reese (Chicago Sky)

After an amazing career in college basketball, Reese finally got drafted to the Chicago Sky WNBA team early this year. She's gotten a lot of hate for being justifiably boastful about her skills but she's remained a strong leader for her teammates and had a positive impact on girls and women everywhere. This is her first season in the WNBA and you can expect a show from her! Check some of her highlights here!

Here's a video explaining why she's so freaking iconic:

youtube

#3. Aaliyah Edwards (Washington Mystics)

One of the top picks of this year's WNBA draft, Aaliyah has been a star player for UCONN for years. She is one of the highest rated draft picks of the season! This will be her first season on the WNBA playing for the Washington Mystics. Her rebounds and offences are amazing to witness. Watch her highlights here.

#4. A'ja Wilson (Las Vegas Aces)

One of WNBA's modern GOAT'S. A'ja IS INSANE. She intimidates everyone on court and then the court itself. I literally saw the basketball hoop shaking when she looked at it during one of her games! I swear. It peed itself. Her wingspan and strength make her so formidable like y'all just have to watch herrrr!! Oh yeah, and she won the championship and several MVP titles. Check her out here!

#5. Caitlyn Clark (Indiana Fever)

Does she really need an introduction? Her career in college basketball has been spectacular and special for women's sports everywhere! She was breaking records in HIGH SCHOOL! This is going to be her first season in the WNBA and more eyes than ever will be on the game because of her! Check some of her highlights playing for Iowa here.

#6. Rickea Jackson (Los Angeles Sparks)

While playing small-forward on her college team, Rickea made a name for herself as one of the most aggressive offensive players in women's college basketball today! She's strong and fast and alert and is genuine fun to watch. You won't want to miss out on her debut into the WNBA for the LA Sparks! Watch her game highlights here.

#7. Kelsey Plum (Las Vegas Aces)

Kesley Plum is just one of my favorite athletes of all time! She's so dedicated to her team and the people in her life and it shows. Her joy is so infectious! She is also an incredibly, impressively strong and SKILLED athlete! And she was a big reason why LVA won the season last year. (And hallelujah she's divorcing her dumbass husband rn! hopefully the dead weight makes her an even stronger player!). Watch some of her highlights here.

AND CHECK OUT THIS VIRAL VIDEO OF HER THROWING A T-SHIRT TO HER FATHER WHO IS FAR UP IN THE BLEACHERS!

youtube

#8. Sabrina Ionescu

Sabrina and Stewie are an unstoppable duo! Watching them play is electric for me! WHEW! Sabrina has made WNBA history with idek how many records! She is the top in the league in assists, triple-doubles, and steals. SHE'S INSANE!!! SHE'S FUCKING RABID!!!! See for yourself here!

Watch her break the all-time three point record like it's nothing here:

youtube

#9. Cameron Brink

Cameron Brink debuts in this season of the WNBA for the Sparks! Cameron has had an amazing college career, but is especially known for her strong defence (and being the god-sister of Stephen Curry). She's bound to have a promising season. Watch some of her highlights here.

The strongest teams (IMO) seem to the Aces, the Mystics, the Sparks and New York Liberty. But there are also strong players in teams like Indiana Fever, Dallas Wings and Minnesota Lynx.

If you don't know which team to support, you could just pick your favourite athlete and choose their team. Some people like underdog teams and some people like top dog teams. Based on last season, I'd consider Indiana Fever an underdog team and Las Vegas Aces the top dog team (they won last season). In terms of best teams? LVA players are SEAMLESS. They move like water and it's magical to watch. But so are the Liberties and the Mystics! I genuinely don't know who to pick between those three.

If any of you gyns watch WNBA, please tell me who you're supporting this season and why!

Anybody who wants to start the season with me in May 14th, comment or reblog and maybe we can organize a discord for it! I'd love to watch this with you guys! And I'm all up for team rivalries.

#radblr #wnba #women's sports #basketball #women's basketball #feminism #angel reese #racism #misogyny #misognynoir #radfem #radical feminism #support women's sports #caitlyn clark #kelsey plum #aja wilson #steph curry #stewie stewie stewie!#Youtube

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notgeetoe · 1 month

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SHES THE MAN- ft satoru gojo

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A/n: this a 2000’s ahh fanfic guys 🙏🙏 bear wit me

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As chaos erupted on the basketball court, with boys tumbling and tackling each other like a herd of wild animals, I found myself frozen in fear.

With a gulp, I slowly turned around, only to be greeted by the looming shadow of someone approaching.

The rhythmic sound of a bouncing basketball echoed ominously in the air, like a ticking time bomb ready to pounce.

I swallowed, holding my hand to my face as Satoru Gojo raised his index finger at me.

“You’re done, twig” he whispered venomously. I squeaked, my eyes shutting, clutching onto my wig. How did I get in this situation……….

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“Hey sweetie” mom fawned as i came in through the door. “Hey” i grumbled, kicking my training shoes off and throwing my basketball into the store room.

She paced around me, showing off a new white dress and a bright beam plastered on her face.

“Look what I have! A brand new pageant dress just for you!” She trilled in a sing song voice. I turned around, giving her an unimpressed look.

“Mom. I already told you. Im not going for this year’s pageant. Hell, I’ve tried before and I’ve never won. You’ve gotta stop pushing this on me” i sighed, rubbing my temple.

She snorted. “Guess you’re right. You’re as graceful as a bull in a china shop. But no can do sweetie. I need to show Miyako that her and her stupid son are nothing. We have dinner with them tonight, and i expect you to keep her son some company.”

I scrunched my face up. “Bleurgh. Just get (B/N) to do it. No one can tell the difference between us anyways. Besides I have better things to do.”

“Like playing basketball?” My mom deadpanned. I looked at the floorboards, scratching my head.

“No, like um… homework?” I said sheepishly. She rolled her eyes at me, pointing her index finger at me with a stern look.

“Dinner. 7 o’clock. Be ready. And wear a nice dress” she yelled as I ran up the stairs.

Flopping onto my bed, I took a call I got from my best friend, Dyanne.

“hey girl, whats up” i said concerned, my phone pressed to my ear. I could feel the depression emanating from the phone.

“You’re not gonna like this. Coach said our basketball team is getting scrapped.”

“WHAT.” I laughed in disbelief, looking into the distance. My mind was a rush of different thoughts flurrying in like a hurricane.

“No, no that cant happen” í frustratedly exclaimed. “This isnt over, lets talk to coach about it tomorrow”

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As me and my team approached the coach, i could hear the flurry of basketballs on the court whizzing around. “Coach” i said loudly, over the sound of impact.

He turned around gulping.

“I assume youve heard about the sorry news then?” He laughed awkwardly. I gave him an annoyed look.

“Coach thats not fair. Why is our team getting cut?” I argued. He whistled nervously.

“Wellllll…… we just dont have funding left for you guys. Besides…. The guys need new home jerseys.” He said. He shrugged and crossed his arms.

“Hey maybe you ladies can try out for badminton, or the fashion club?” He suggested, looking over at the boys who were practicing. One of them caught my eye, a guy with white hair, guffawing with his friends about something stupid.

He jogged on over to us, his ego radiating off his face.

“You ladies come to watch us practice?” He grinned, fum in his mouth. I looked at his cocky expression with annoyance. I sighed, fake smiling. “No actually. We’re here to get our basketball team back.”

I saw a flicker of amusement on his face, his voice oozing with self assurance, lips curling into an insufferable smirk. “You ladies have fun with that. Don’t break your fragile hearts over something that’s not meant for you though.”

His goons laughed in the background, as i my eye twitched. As he jogged away, my hand found itself grabbing a basketball and chucking it at his head. It bounced off, earning a grunt from him as he out his hand to his head.

“What the hell” he grumbled, turning around. I smiled sweetly, waving at him.

“Sorry, that wasn’t meant for you” I said wide eyed, as coach blew the whistle to signal end of practice.

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later that night i found myself bouncing the ball off the driveway in the dark, waiting for the guests to arrive. i saw a sleek black mercedes pull up, my eyebrows raising in appreciation. 3 dark figures pulled up and introduced themselves, but i couldnt make out their features that much. the tallest one extended a hand, and even though i couldnt tell from his face, his voice said it all.

“Pleasure to meet you, my names satoru gojo. Im assuming youre Y/N?” He asked smoothly. I blinked at his strong grip, making out a few veins showing in his arms. I gulped.

jeez get a grip.

“Yup. Thats me.”

“Saw you appreciating the car out there” he said, putting his hands into his pockets as we walked up to my porch.

I laughed nervously. “Yeah haha. Not into cars but that one looks pretty neat.”

“Well, if our mothers get along today, might be able to get to car ride level of friendship with you” he joked. I laughed as they walked inside, and he held the door open. The light shone on his face, revealing his white eyelashes and blue eyes. His lips parted at the sight of me.

my face immediately scrunched up as i realised who I’d been talking to the whole time.

“YOU?” I hissed. My mom looked at me with a deadpan expression.

“Honey please dont start swinging again” she sighed. Satoru looked repulsed, pulling his hand away, the door ending up smacking me in the face. I yelped, my face clutching my abused nose.

“Ew” he grimaced. I clutched my nose which was now bleeding. My twin brother came down the stairs, smiling, as he waved.

“Oh hey guys, i see youve already met- oh shit is her nose bleeding?”

Everyone turned to me and i glared at satoru, trying to contain my anger, as he stepped inside.

This was going to be a long night…..

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emcandon · 10 months

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i imagine that by now you will have seen a number of posts about why you should, uh, maybe think twice and cross to the other side of the street if you're thinking about engaging with Threads

i have unwisely already done this.

for reasons! i am empirical by nature and like to test things for myself. it is also best practice to account squat on your usual account name if you are some kind of Known Entity for say, writing a book or two. i am furthermore traveling and having a fuck of a time focusing on writing book three, so i have spoons to spend on social media upheaval.

to the point: i do not recommend Threads bc afaict, Threads is simply joyless.

perhaps it will change. perhaps the shitposts will emerge. perhaps there will be ways to make your timeline chronological, or to stop seeing all the inane, vapid brand posting of brands you do not actually follow, or all the inane, vapid influencer posting of influencers hoping to gain ground by being a new first in something. perhaps meta will cultivate a culture where people can be weird little goons but in a good way -- i.e., not a fascist way, which hoo boy, hoo boy, the landscape is so sterilized at present that i am pretty sure ppl are just gonna go rancid "just asking questions" proto-fash weird before they go anything.

perhaps in the meantime it would be best to maintain a healthy distance, or, if needs must or impulse prevails, go in armed with a hefty stick.

#threads #writer life

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gumballsilly · 10 months

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Compilation of all the pictures in the official Anais Watterson Flickr account (with the Original Image Resolution)

You can find the account here !! Just wanted to share all these neat images since I find them aesthetically and visually appealing. I'm sorry if this has been done before, this is mainly for my personal archive. More information under the Keep Reading !!!

All of these were downloaded in their original image quality from Flickr. Images going from chronological date (oldest to newest). First image: September 5th, 2011 Last image: December 19th, 2011 Anais apparently shot all these with a Diana mini with flash, according to a comment she answered on the First image

The only other time she responded to an image is the last one, where she announces the end of the photo series due to "a lack of film".

Anais also put titles to all the images, which I included in the image descriptions. [EDIT] She has 262 followers (as of August 6th, 2023, 8:35PM CET), isn't following anyone, and joined in March 2011. From the art style and dates we can guess this account was made at the time Season 1 was, the last image being posted a few days after "The Club" was aired. The first image was posted the exact day the episode "The Goons" was aired, according to the TAWoG wiki. Interestingly enough, she has two albums on Flickr. One titled "Elmore" (16 photos), the other titled "Family Life" (7 photos).

I remember when years ago you could access these photos/the account on the Cartoon Network games website too. It was a while ago and I'm not too sure of the date, but It could've been around 2014-2017 (?). If anyone else remembers it or can find a snapshot of it on the Wayback Machine, freely add onto this post whenever ! On her About page it reads "Take a look at some of the pictures I’ve taken around Elmore with my brand new camera! Enjoy!" and has a link to theamazingworldofgumball.com, which now redirects to the Cartoon Network games website, but at that time it could've looked like this:

Note: this snapshot was at September 25th, 2011

That's all the information I could find of the official Anais Watterson Flickr account. If anyone else has more info on it, feel free to add on to this post !! This was made for archival purposes, in case the account or website ever shuts down.

#tawog #the amazing world of gumball #anais watterson #gumball watterson #darwin watterson #carrie krueger #richard watterson #rocky robinson #tawog bobert #larry needlemeyer #gaylord robinson #mr small #okay why are there so many people featured here #cartoon network

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no-see-um-incorrect · 5 months

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Yv Acting AU PT 3

(this is pt 1)

(this is pt 2)

Slight NSFW warning⚠️⚠️

Interviewer: this first question was submitted by @everything-redacted-and-others

(I answered the second question in the first part)

Interviewer: who forgets their lines the most

Alphonse: Wow! What a tough question. I’m really going to have to think on this for a second….👀

Seth: Wh- don’t look at me like that!

Alphonse: Oh Kiss my candy ass! you know I’m right!

Seth: OK name one time! that I forgot my lines

Sugarboo: in the beginning of your birthday episode, when you and Alphonse were about to go beat the shit out of the goons and Charlie, almost All of the lines in the last episode of Campfire confessions WHICH YOU WROTE!

Alphonse: the conversation before I walked out of the bathroom in bittersweet, when you were in the recording booth for your werewolf special. Would you like me to continue?

Seth: all right, ya pricks I get it 🙄

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Interviewer: these next questions were submitted by @antipasto-the-theif

Interviewer: Seth, what’s your favorite memory on set so far?

Seth: my favorite memory onset so far…..let’s see… OK I got one. it starts out Kind of sad. so basically. our characters birthdays match our actual birthdays. and on my birthday Alphonse was out of town. You see He wasn’t supposed to be in my birthday video…so I was kind of upset…and all melancholy throughout most the day…until we’re filming and it’s the scene in the kitchen where sugar was supposed to be the only one there and singing me happy birthday, and Alphonse just pops in!

Alphonse: did you honestly think I was going to miss my favorite cowboy’s birthday~

Seth: so somewhere, there is an outtake of me, spontaneously bawling my eyes out and running off camera to go hug Al 😅

interviewer: OK next question. So, Casper and Charlie, how many times was the prop weed just prop weed?

Casper: we are constantly high on set

Charlie: like for real

Casper: we both focus more when we are um…in the clouds..so Yuuri lets us

Charlie: and it’s not like smoked for six hours before filming high..it’s more we split a special brownie at 5 AM and washed it down with a monster energy high. So we’re not like a danger.

Casper: but yeah, for the 420 video. yeah, that was real

Charlie: BUT For my birthday, the brownies we were eating were normal brownies, and not special brownies because I was given some special birthday brownies, and wanted to eat them later after dinner..so I guess you could say those were prop brownies,

Interviewer: next question. Auron, the world wants to know the workout routine!

Auron: oh boy well I’m a father running after a toddler with a need for speed which pretty much replaces any sort of missed day at the gym. But other than that and other activities that may or may not involve my spouse…..it’s kind of embarrassing… when I was younger I wanted to be in the MCU and my mother had told me “well those kinds of actors have really strict workout routines. If you want to be like them, you gotta get that down”…… so after much research that’s what I’ve been doing since about 16 years of age…captain America I’m coming for your Brand

Interviewer: onto the next one. What’s the worst blooper you know of, Sugar-Boo?

Sugarboo: 😈 there’s a scene in bittersweet and it’s when Seth finds Alphonse about to essentially kill Charlie, and alphonse grabs Charlie’s face and…..he’s like really aggressive about it so when he grabbed his face, Charlie let out the most….porn star like-moan I have heard come from an individual…And we had to take a five because nobody could stop laughing!

Interviewer: onto the next one. Which cast mate is the least like the character they play??

Seth: I want to say Auron

Alphonse: yeah, yeah I can get behind that

Charlie: I mean, Finn swears like a sailor but other than that….yeah, I’d say Auron

Seth: Yea Auron in real life is a very sweet man with a Darlin spouse, and a daughter he adores

Alphonse: yeah, nothing like the cold Dom boss that you see on the screen.

Charlie: he’s a real sweet guy and he takes time to listen to everybody and help everybody. He helps me with line delivery, helps Faust with costume designs, he helps Jackie with photography when it comes to these snazzy thumbnails we’ve been doing recently.

Alphonse: he’s a lot more like a really helpful and quirky art teacher versus a mysterious and dominant boss.

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Interviewer: the next three questions are from @oceanlue

Interviewer: what was rooks reaction during the shower part?

Rook: 🤭

Auron: you are a shameless Thot my dear~

Rook: A THOT is a Admirer without Action I AM A WHORE i act on my thoughts

Auron: here we go🙃

Rook: SO if you don’t know. I think this was mentioned before BUT…he’s my husband in real life

Auron: I am. I am your husband

Rook: So when I saw him come out of the Dressing room in nothing but a towel….I Started Catcalling him like a construction worker🤣

Auron: IN FRONT OF EVERYONE no less

Rook: And Then Yuuri gave us the script for the shower scene and I Said OUT LOUD-

Auron: “AWOOGA!” quite enthusiastically…which I found odd because you see me like that EVERY DAY

Rook: Never gets old *Sips coffee*

Interviewer: did auron or rook trip on set

Auron: Yes I did! I completely tripped and fell into Alphonse And I’m so sorry for that!

Alphonse: IT WAS FINE. But that an’t the first time you tripped You also fell into the wall because you stepped on ya own Boot laces

Interviewer: did auron actually cry in the car ride home?

Auron: yes that was the one time I cried in a scene that Didn’t end up in an outtake

Yuuri: I kinda felt bad too because I didn’t realize he was getting choked up until we finished and he asked for a tissue!

Auron: it’s not uncommon for me to get emotional during scenes like that. They’re lucky that I only got choked up. I would’ve full on sobbed if the scene went any longer.

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Hope you all enjoyed

Feel free to ask “interviewer” questions

I do prefer reblogs and replies, but you can send an ask too if you want

Make sure to check out pt 1&2 I love making these

I was not Abel to get to all the question I apologize for that🙏

#yuurivoice #yuurivoice au #Yuurivoice acting au #sorry if somethings are misspelled

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beansricejc · 11 months

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JOHN WICK x READER : The Courier

part 2 (part 1!)

summary: three years have passed since you ran into John, where you refused his offer for a drink. you have climbed the criminal underworld social ladder significantly in the past three years. John sees this as a challenge, and insists that you have that drink with him. sparks fly, slower burn. female reader, 4240 words.

author’s note: i really like going into detail about the reader’s job because girl boss things, lol! if you haven’t, I’d recommend reading part 1 if you’d like, you can certainly read this as a stand alone! pls lmk what you think if you want to! thx! 💕

warnings: nsfw fantasies, alcohol, cursing, implied violence, organized crime, slow burn, significant age gap.

Three years.

It had been three years since you saw the man at that party. The party full of criminal elites, hitmen, you name it. If they were a big deal in the criminal world, they were there that night. You were just starting out then, actually on the job, you had delivered some files to the Continental Manager, Winston, that night. Right before you left, you managed to catch the eye of the world’s most dangerous hitman.

Wick.

John Wick.

He had insisted that you join him for a drink, and you insisted harder that you were working, still on the job. You had other deliveries to run, you didn’t have time to just drop an hour to share conversation and possibly suck face with the man.

You had made yourself known back then, criminals used your services often, and your gig slowly grew. And grew. And grew some more.

Until three years later, you had accidentally created an entire enterprise dedicated for servicing several crime syndicates around New York City.

Before you knew it, you were technically a crime boss. Your business delicately walked the gray area of illegal and legal.

Okay, it was actually super illegal.

You had hired almost 70 women from the local NYC area, all of them that met your standards of talent and experience. Completing deliveries across the city for crime syndicates was tricky work, work that had to be meticulously done.

And with one of the largest servicer businesses in the area, people didn’t just know your name, they feared it.

But why? Why would they fear the CEO of a shady delivery company?

You were neutral territory. With all of the gangs across New York City using your service, they knew better than to decide to mess with you, or your business.

You were like the Switzerland of the criminal underground.

Everyone in the local industry knew this.

And tonight, you had actually been invited to join this party, formally by Winston himself. Your assistant had casually mentioned the event invitation that he emailed you, and despite your higher status on the current criminal food chain, you were still shocked about it.

Your past 48 hours were solely dedicated to being a self care queen. Haircut, mani pedi, facial, eyebrow waxing, you name it. If there was one thing, it was you were were going to be the center of attention tonight.

And you were.

With your form fitting black maxi dress, gold jewlery, perfectly applied makeup and styled hair, you could just sense all of the eyes on you tonight. You had walked in with your small entourage consisting of your personal assistant, and a few personal bodyguards. Of course with you and your non-chalant attitude, you acted like you didn’t know that you were the shit.

And there was John. An almost repeat scene from three years ago, mingling with the same group of OG hitmen in a corner of the hotel lounge. Once again nursing the same brand of bourbon on the rocks, talking about god knows what, probably the worst way they’ve ever killed a group of goons.

John’s eyes scanned the room for any pretty women to hit on tonight, the same old same old. Buy a few drinks, go upstairs with a cute little thing, cum on her back, buy her an uber and send her home. John lost all hope in trying to actually find a romantic interest a long time ago after the passing of his wife, there was just no time for it.

Although, the thought of being battered and bloody, shuffling through the door after a hard days work, and having a pretty girl to patch him up and then subsequently suck him off did sound appealing to him.

Anyways, there John was, scouring through the bar and lounge with his dark brown eyes for something to cum on later this evening, and before he knew it, his eyes darted, and landed on none other, but you.

Y/N.

John widened his eyes, his heartrate increasing a bit just from the mere sight of you. The way your feminine figure looked in that black dress that clung to your body, the way your manicured fingers applied another layer of lipgloss while your assistant spoke to you. The way you introduced yourself to some very dangerous looking Yakuza members but managed to make them laugh with the almost fluent Japanese you were speaking, he was almost in shock.

John keeps an eye on Y/N. He likes your style but he knows you could turn on him at any moment you wanted, even if you weren’t known to jump to violence like most.

You appeared like a typical crime boss, hiding the brutal side of your under layers of class, style, humor, and charm. It's an act. The best are able to hide their dark side behind their public face. John has seen these types in his many years in the business.

But he’d be lying if he said you weren’t the most beautiful woman in this room right now. And your laugh, it travels like wind to his ears, it’s almost ethereal. Was it the liquor? Probably. He didn’t care, it had been years since he’s seen you leave through those doors, and now he’s only heard mere stories of you and your enterprise.

“No way, Y/N? She decided to actually come? God, she’s a fucking dime.” one of John’s colleagues that was in his mingling circle commented. John inhaled sharply, snapping out of whatever trance he just had from looking at her.

“You hear she still does her own jobs? Could you imagine any other boss getting their hands dirty in this day in age? I’ll give it to her, she’s a bad bitch.” the same guy said, the rest of the men laugh and agree.

John remembers, it hits him. Y/N isn’t necessarily a hitman, nor does she run a hitman empire. That’s right, she’s an armed, fast, and efficient courier. Not to mention deadly. Her or her team wouldn’t just be regular hitmen for hire, they would only kill if it was necessary to complete their deliveries. And sometimes, it was definitely necessary.

John has only heard of the high speed chases that she or her crew took part in against the police, or even people that want to get their hands on whatever they were transporting. And what did this woman of great skill use to transport important items for crime bosses?

Simple.

A Kawasaki Ninja H2.

An absolute beast, somehow street legal that had a top speed of 209 miles per hour. With a two-speed centrifugal supercharger and the best suspension on the market. Anyone without the skillset of Y/N or even one of her employees didn’t stand a chance to utilize this creature to it’s full potential.

The thought of riding one of those magnificent bikes sent a chill down John’s spine.

Not only did she have one, but every woman under her employment was issued one for jobs as well. The fastest street legal bike there was.

“Remember when she totally cock blocked you three years ago?” one of his colleagues, Parker, reminded John, snickering after. John’s face gave a deadpan expression to the laughing group of men, as he downed the rest of his liquor and demanded a refill from the bartender. The worker obliged without hesitation, pouring the brown liquid into his crystal clear glass, and John took a large drag from the cup, finishing about half of it in one go.

One thing that John had always regretted in the past few years since meeting that woman, was not being persistent enough.

The status she had obtained over the years was something to behold. Not only was she young, but she had climbed the social ladder in his industry faster than he had ever seen. He could see how too, with what was displayed about 45 feet away from his eyes.

Y/N with her entourage of bodyguards, a personal assistant, with her confident demeanor demanding respect with a subtle tone in her voice as she spoke in a foreign language, to these Yakuza members no less.

She was this pretty little thing, with a beautiful smile and laugh. But John could see the beast of her personality and lethal skill behind that feminine figure.

And he was intimidated to say the least. Not petrified or scared for his life, the potential to be a worthy adversary was there, lingering in the air.

And John was slightly turned on by it.

You were laughing with these Japanese criminals as your gaze was distracted from the wolf that was stalking you from all the way at the oak carved bar. Your heartrate sped up a bit, images of your first and last encounter, at this very same location infiltrated your brain. It was short but you wouldn’t consider it sweet.

Tense? Yeah.

John was clearly interested in something besides for sharing small talk over a drink, and seemed to take offense that you had more work you had to take care of that night. You stuck out like a sore thumb that night, with a motorcycle helmet on your head, in a crowd of people in black tie dress wear at the party.

And look what we had here, three years later.

Except instead of a wolf stalking his prey, it was a fair duel. Carnivor versus carnivor, in a sense. Both with a reputation and a high standing in the underground, no matter how long it was. You only had a few years under your belt, whereas John, had decades. And that was the most intimidating thing about him to you. Experience.

John decided he would take you as his challenge of the night. He may have failed three years ago, when you were nothing but a simple service provider, and he didn’t expect anything more this time around. But fuck it, right?

Let’s be a bit more persistent this time around, Wick. John thought to himself as he sauntered towards your stunned form.

Round two huh? No shit. You think, stifling a laugh and replying to something that one of the Japanese men said to you. You take another sip of your dirty martini, leaving a lipgloss stain on your glass as your eyes traveled up to John’s staggering expression as he finally approached you fully. You don’t move or say a word, in fact, one of your very large bodyguards steps between the two of you and begins to pat John down for any weapons he could possibly have on him.

John knew better than to carry a gun to a party hosted by the Continental. Besides, he hardly needed it. He was the weapon of the century, as far as he was concerned.

The bodyguard saw he was clean but knew that John was still a threat, if he really wanted to be. However, the guard stepped to the side, back to his original position, slightly behind Y/N’s much smaller and less menacing form.

A coy smirk painted your face when you finally meet his gaze again, as you delicately hold out your hand out towards John. He gladly takes it in his much larger, calloused hands, bending over slightly and placed a small kiss on your knuckles. A normal greeting for a woman of your position in this industry.

“You’re quite the persistent man, John.” you chuckle, as his lips leave your hand and he looked back at you, smiling in an almost tauntful manner.

That familiar scent of John Wick hits your nostrils once again. Patchouli, tobacco, and, gunpowder? Someone’s been busy.

“You’re not the first to notice, Y/N.” John retorts, holding up his glass to you in agreement. His knuckles are covered in freshly changed bandages, with yellow bruising peeking out from underneath them. “I’ve heard business is booming.” he comments, you roll your eyes and sigh.

“You could say that. A lot has changed in 3 years, as you can tell.” you reply, noticing that his dark brown eyes are studying everything about you. Classic hitman behavior. Your expressions, emotional state, movements, even the way that your nose scrunched when you smiled or laughed. Almost as if he’s unintentionally sizing you up, and this makes you chuckle.

“Oh, trust me. I know.” was the only thing John could reply to that. He realized you have caught him soaking in all of your features, including those tempting glossy lips of yours.

Sinful thoughts enter his mind, and he has to try his hardest not to give into them at this very moment.

He’s wondering what else those lips could do, he’s been fantasizing about you since day one, of course he’d never admit it. John was a notorious playboy after the death of his wife, his pride was too big to say that he may have regretted not going for you a little harder.

The thought of shoving you against one of his hotel room walls, with a thud that echoed out to the hallway ensuing from it. He’d loom over your much shorter frame, and you would breathe heavily, anticipating the hitman to not hold anything back with you. Moments of silence passed before he slammed his lips onto those pretty pink ones he’s been dreaming of for so long. Biting down on the flesh of your bottom lip, hands searching frantically for your core, ripping whatever fabric you had guarding it and teasing your clit with expertise. Slow and precise circles, just to torture you. You’d gasp at the sensation, leaving the perfect time for him to take over the kiss by tossing his tongue into your mouth, his other hand going to your neck and squeezing to keep you in your current spot. You wouldn’t be going anywhere, anytime soon.

“Did you want something?” you asked John, forcing him out of the fabrication that tantalized his brain. John cleared his throat, and laughed nervously.

“Was wondering, if you’d have that drink with me now.” John requested, nodding to the barren martini glass in your hand. You sighed, knowing that you were attracted to this older man, no matter how many times you tried to deny it to yourself.

You were the head of a criminal powerhouse, a young woman, independent, deadly, and an expert in your craft. Of course you didn’t want to be at the whim of some man that happened to get your attention, romantically, sexually, it didn’t matter. Besides, there was hardly time for it with the position you held.

But here you were, obliging John fucking Wick in having a drink with him, after three years of denying him.

Damn your hormones. Damn this man and his long dark hair.

So a drink you had. Then another drink. And a couple of shots, John wanted to know what the kids were drinking these days, so of course you had to show him. In the past couple of hours of actually easy going conversation, he had realized you were damn near his exact type of woman. Clever, with a great sense of humor, and fairly kind, all things considered. He could tell you weren’t just some underworld nepo-baby, and that you came from a humble upbringing, which made him even more attracted to you. (If that was even possible).

He met a woman who could keep up, even lead, a conversation with him.

If he was the Boogeyman, you were the Devil herself. Quick witted and sharp tongued, he couldn’t help but be even more intrigued after every sentence you dropped from your mouth.

The guests at this party were astonished to say the least.

The pair were certainly, a unique match. A young crime boss managing to make the world’s deadliest man open up like a badly wrapped package after a few drinks and good banter. What a sight to behold.

The night however, was ending. To his surprise, you were finishing the night up with a canned Pabst Blue Ribbon, a true contradiction to your current high ranking and your black tie event dress. John couldn’t help but be pleasantly surprised, and noticed that the alcohol was certainly hitting the both of you.

You had told your personal protection entourage that they could go to their respective hotel rooms for the night, knowing that John wouldn’t be deemed a threat to you after he had showed you images of his Blue Stafford Terrier on his phone.

“You mind if I, uh, walk you to your room?” John hiccuped as he asked, you giggled at this mannerisms, giving your signature nose crinkle that your face did whenever you smiled. Your grabbed your leather purse and left some large bills on the counter to cover for your drinks. John slid your cash back to you, waving the gesture you gave off.

“I already took care of it. Don’t you dare.” John informed you, tossing you a wink and you rolled your eyes at his ever so flirtatious nature.

“Well, unnecessary, but thank you.” you drunkenly told him, sliding the large bills over to your bartender for his tip, shrugging at John. He raised his eyebrows, and took that generous action down in his head.

Treats waitstaff well. Noted. John thought to himself while the palm of his hand found it’s way to the small of your back, taking in the feel of the luxurious fabric. He led you out of the lounge and towards the elevators, managing to snag an empty one to help you into, not that you really needed the help, he was just being a gentleman.

He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to be a gentleman with you. Maybe it was your high status? Maybe it was because he felt different with you than with other women he casually hit on at the bar.

“Which floor?” John asked, and you looked up at his handsome face, drinking in his sharp and manly features. You didn’t know why (it was the liquor) but you giggled a bit at him.

“8.” you simply told him, and he pressed the button to that exact floor.

The doors shut, and John cleared his throat.

And here comes the tension. Was it like the movies? Would this ride up the hotel floors ensue in a steamy makeout session?

Of course not.

This was you we were talking about. You were ridiculous. So of course you checked your phone for anything important, and John couldn’t help but take a look to see if you were secretive. You weren’t. (It was the liquor, usually you were).

You had received a string of memes from one of your closest friends and assistant, Marissa. You two were very close, and she had been a part of your enterprise since day one.

John could tell, the age gap was evident. Shown explicitly by Y/N giggling and intoxicated at these random pictures she had been sent.

John took a closer look.

He was staring at a photoshopped image of a Hello Kitty head pasted onto a muscular matching body. John raised his eyebrows. He read the caption on the picture, which read: if the homies are sleeping on you, spoon them.

“Wh-what the fuck am I looking at?” John slipped up, as Y/N was giggling nonstop at the image on her phone.

“It’s a masterpiece, you just- you just don’t get it. And that's okay.” Y/N replied as the elevator doors opened to the floor that your room was on.

John shook his head and laughed at the absurdity of the joke.

The consequences of hanging out with the younger generation.

John escorted Y/N to her room, where you took out your room card and sighed. The butterflies in your stomach were going absolutely haywire at the moment, and you didn’t know if that was because of the alcohol, or the DILF of a man gazing down at her with a romantic look in his deep brown eyes.

There was the tension. Thick enough to cause a fog in the room, it tingled between them as they both bore into each other’s eyes.

Fuck it. John thought, his head dipping a bit, Y/N’s hand lifting to his chest to stop his movement. Her heartbeat was out of control, and the anxiety had finally caught up to you. Here was this absolute art piece of a man who she had been getting along with all night, all worked up and ready to go. You took a deep breath.

“J-John. I don’t really, do this sort of thing, I’m just too busy for any of it.” you admit to him. John’s soul plummets into the pit of his liquor filled stomach, he had been expecting to kiss this woman who had been keeping him good company all night.

Well, that killed the mood, didn’t it?

You weren’t good at this sort of thing, of course you’ve had several ex boyfriends in the past, but for a few years, you hadn’t indulged in any sort of relationship, mainly because of the hunk of responsibility that has now weighed down on your back.

“God dammit.” you curse at yourself as you cave in, wrapping your hands quickly around John’s neck and pull him in, crashing your lips onto his as he first intended to do. The passion between the both of you could have been caused by the alcohol, or by the banter you two had shared at the bar for the past few hours. John grunts in surprise but he isn’t mad at all, very satisfied actually. His hands find their way to your well shaped hips, which your dress was so delicately covering, and his fingers give you a taunting squeeze in response to your sudden change of heart.

John’s teeth do what he had imagined earlier when he first spoke to you, biting down on your bottom lip, earning a squeak of surprise from you. He can’t help but smile into the kiss, humming in affirmation to your cute noise.

The pair of you break away, both breathing heavily, you’re slightly dizzy from the alcohol, and he is dizzy on the thought of fucking you right here any now against the wall. The scratch of his beard still stung your mouth and cheeks but you didn’t mind. It was a reminder of him, even though he was right there in front of you. Your breath hitched as John watched your prominent chest rise and fall with each heavy breath that you took.

“Um, how about I give you my card, okay?” you ask, fishing out a black and metal business card and slipping it into John’s right hand. He’s taken aback by the coolness of the metal against his warm skin, and nodded into your forehead, that he was touching with his own.

John cleared his throat, that was still tingling from all of the alcohol he had with you tonight.

“Y-yeah. That’s perfect.” John answered. You press your lips together, a pink hue dashes upon your cheeks and nose after the kiss, you haven’t done anything like this in a few years.

Jesus Christ, what are you, a middle schooler? Pull yourself together, girly. You think to yourself.

“Alright,” you sigh, slipping your key card into the lock on the hotel door, opening it. You pause to look back up at John, still in your drunken and flustered phase from that kiss you two shared. “Just text me, ‘kay?” you ask, shooting him a nervous but still excited smile, before you swoop into the room, barricading yourself from John with the hotel door.

It closes, and clicks to let you know it’s locked.

You hurry to the bathroom and take a long deep breath, smacking yourself on the cheeks and splashing cold water on your face to knock yourself out of this state of anxiety you’re in.

John is still frozen in front of your hotel room door that you have just escaped behind, he shakes himself out of it and peeks down a the metal engraved business card.

It has your first and last name, phone number, email, and various social media accounts listed on the small card.

He still can’t believe what just happened.

Y/N, the ever so popular crime boss that was the next big thing, just melted like a schoolgirl in his arms.

No fucking way. John thinks, laughing a bit in disbelief.

He shuffles back to his hotel room, which happened to be on the same floor as yours, it’s down a few doors and to the right. He enters, goes inside and plops himself down on the bed, staring at the card that he still had in his hand.

“God, she’s hot.” He mumbled to himself, thoughts are racing through his mind, some innocent, most are filthy.

The image of you bent over his kitchen counter while pounding you into submission, spanking you hard on your nicely shaped ass while you scream his name is the consistent image in his head. Or him grabbing your hair, pulling your head back and whispering sweet nothings into your ear while he fucked, and fucked, and fucked you from behind.

John blinked a few times, realizing he now has a completely hard cock because of the fantasy that couldn’t seem to go away just now.

Well, looks like the playboy would have to take care of himself again. It wasn’t the first time he did it after meeting you, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

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