How I feel reading smut while being scared of intimacy in real life

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@hangmanscoming
How I feel reading smut while being scared of intimacy in real life
Ain't No Grave (Edward Rutledge x Reader)
â ââ ââ â đđđđđđđđđđ â ââ  đđđ ââ ââ â â
MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW FOR G20, YOU'VE BEEN WARNED
A/N: Vengeful blond Aussie Antony Starr re-wired my brain and I needed more of him. Specifically, I needed soft!Rutledge, so here is an indulgent fic born from the idea "Yes he's evil, but what if I was his favorite?" I know this man would do anything for the woman he loves, even if that means cheating death itself. Also they did not do his backstory / trauma as a veteran justice at all in the movie, so I'm here to fix that too.
Description: Edward Rutledge x Fem!Reader, established relationship. Hurt + comfort, fluff, spice, extreme angst: eat up, y'all | Rating: MATURE, just to be safe. Warnings: kissing/making out, sensuality, pet names (endearing), blood and injuries described in-depth, partial nudity, mild language, alcohol, PTSD + trauma alluded to, suggestive themes, Reader is distraught for bit, Eddie gets patched up and all the loving he needs. | Word count: 4.2 k | Tagging: @hangmanscoming @walkingnearfoxes
Omggg yesss â€ïž
The lack of edward rutledge fics is downright criminal!! đđđđđđ» writers, I urge you
WRITTEN IN THE SAND | CS55
summary : He was too old for this. For you. For the way you looked at him like he wasnât already years past the reckless abandon that seemed to define everyone else in this house. He shouldnât have noticed the way your laughter sounded like sunlight, or how your smile seemed to tug at something deep in his chest.
wc : 8.5k
an : im a slow writer chat mb đ also nearly a month on this site!! tysm
âWhatâs the game plan for the summer?â Kika didnât even glance up from her phone, one hand lazily stirring her drink with that tiny straw she always insisted on.
You were sprawled on a cushioned lounge chair in a swanky Monaco terrace bar, the Mediterranean sun heating your skin, but the breeze kept things just shy of unbearable.
You took a sip of your drink and smirked. âSeduce Carlos Sainz.â
Imagine hating on me but i spend my free time maladaptive daydreaming about getting raw dogged by fictional men
Me and my x reader fics against the world
YES.
Y'all it's literally so bad for them đ
are there any rudy pankow fics?? bc i can only find like one every blue moon đđđ
COMMENT ANY GOOD ONES PLSS
NOT A GAME â JESS MARIANO
based on a request
masterlist
pairing: jess mariano x reader
description: the playful banter was fun at first, but the line had blurred so long ago that you were starting to get sick of wondering how jess really felt. luckily for you, heâs been thinking the same thing.
warnings: angst into fluff, jess being annoying in a way that makes me love him more lol, swearing ofc,
authorâs note: thank you so much for this request, i hope it does jess justice for youâ i love writing him so much. i hope you enjoy â sorry itâs quite short i just wanted to keep it short n sweet
âââ
Awww
This is soo jess core ngl
no take backs
As the earth collapsed around you, your sworn enemy decides to confess his feelings for you with a kiss. So when the world doesnât end, what happens next?
Jess Mariano x f!Reader
Warning: 18+ only MDNI, fluff, slight angst, unprotected sex, piv, v!fingering, reader has anxiety (only plays a small part in the story), earthquake (no injuries)
Authorâs note: Based on this request then I expanded on the concept. This fic is set after he left Stars Hollow.
âż Masterlist | âż Jess Mariano Masterlist | 2.4k words
âJust because Iâm letting you drive me home, does not mean weâre friends,â you huffed as you climbed into the passenger seat of Jess Marianoâs beat up car. Vintage, he called it. Youâd never admit it, but you found it cute how he was proud of it. To him, it was his key to freedom, going anywhere he wanted whenever he wanted. Except for when nature had other plans.
âWell, a coworker could take his other coworker home, okay?â He said, closing the car door as he slid his keys into the ignition and started up the car. You relent and gave him your address.
It was just your luck that the Earthâs tectonic plates decided to shift in ways that damaged your car, but not your mortal enemyâs. Perhaps it was karma and you were being encouraged to make amends with him in the name of world peace. Try as you might however, the word âpeaceâ and Jess Mariano just did not fit.
bookstore meet cute | jess mariano | flufftober masterlist | 729 words
a/n: special tag for the lovely @thatdammchickennugget ⥠glad you're back in your gilmore girls phase!
Your eyes lit up when you found the book you were looking for at the store. This was the third bookshop you had visited and you were starting to lose hope you'd ever get a copy of it.
You had already read The Subsect from the library, but you liked it enough to have wanted your own copy. It was a coming of age story that was sarcastic but meaningful, raw and relatable. The character felt like a friend you had known for years.
Sooo cute
Normal People
Lukas Matsson x (fem)Reader, Roman Roy x (fem)Reader
word count: 3k -Â read on Ao3 here!
NFSW: 18+ ONLY
You first met him at Kendallâs birthday party.
Roman was being obnoxious. All he could talk about was finding Lukas Matsson. He and Shiv were relentless in their pursuit of the man. It was all business, no pleasure tonight. So while Roman and Shiv stood with their heads together, compulsively sipping vodka tonics, you slipped away unnoticed to try and have some fun before the night was over.
You found your way upstairs, where for some inexplicable reason Kendall had built a replica of his childhood treehouse. The inside was bustling with people yet the two buff men outside wouldnât let you enter without an armband. Dejected, you started to turn away, when you heard Kendallâs voice from above.
âHey! Let her through, sheâs cool!â
He was pointing right at you with a grin. The guards moved aside, letting you in.
Upstairs, Kendall greeted you with a hug.
âNice treehouse,â you said.
âThanks. Itâs pretty infantile, right? Sort of the vibe I was going for.â
âDefinitely. You nailed it.â
âHey, I need a favor while youâre here. See that guy over there?â
He nodded over his shoulder to a tall blonde Scandinavian-looking man slouching alone in a plush leather chair.
âWho is that?â
âThatâs Lukas Matsson. Heâs pretty disgruntled and I need someone to keep him from wandering. I canât do it anymore, I need to mingle. Also, Roman cannot know heâs here.â
Keep reading
1- lukas matsson x reader
word count â 6600
warning: smut and mid writing
____
âKen- you know this isnât my scene.â Your voice goes quiet, simply just peering at your brother, anxious for his reaction.
Heâs been a bit of a pain in the ass lately, the whole family was a pain in your ass lately, but perhaps it was always this way. The Roy family created chaos and unnecessary drama, that was a given. It was something you tried to detach yourself from; the business, the craze, the constant chatterâ it all drained you. From the moment you were born, it was as if your family was screaming from all sides whether it be Roman and Shiv fighting over shit all, or your dad blowing up in your faces.
You always knew that you didnât fit into the puzzle. You were born a little bit too late, grew up with faint glances of your older siblings, and dismissed like the baby you were. Maybe that was the reason you never considered joining Waystar, or perhaps why a place was never offered.Â
Your dad was your dad, perpetually disappointed in you â while at the same time maintaining that you were his favourite. You all knew it was Shiv, but the very fact he insisted that it was you made you villain number one to your siblings.Â
So there you were, their little sister who was a fucking writer, twiddling with your ungroomed thumbs, waiting for your family to forget who you were. That being said, it was a surprise when you opened your email to find a very flashy invite to Kendallâs 40th. You didnât think that your brother would want what he perceived as his Debbie Downer boring little sister at his grandiose douche fest.
âCome the fuck on, itâs my party, Bambi, cheer up, enjoy yourself for once,â Kendall says. âCome on, Iâll take you somewhere special.â As heâs about to leave, you stop him, placing a hand on his arm.
âWait, Ken. I have a gift for you.â You hand him an envelope, âI didnât want it getting lost in the mix.â Â
Kendall stops with his buzzing, which is probably coke-induced and takes the envelope from your hands. âThanks.â
âYouâre welcome,â you sigh as you watch your brother tuck the envelope into his coat.Â
He quickly puts a hand on your shoulder before he starts to navigate you around, waving and fistbumping his friends walking by. As quickly as you had gained Kendallâs attention, it faded away from you, as he yelled over at his assistant who seemed new, but you werenât around enough to know. âYo! Comfrey, ship up my little sis to the treehouse.â
His assistant â Comfrey, who you knew had definitely been speed walking away from her boss before he hollered out at her â whipped her head towards the both of you. You were the odd couple, Kendallâs glazed over eyes and dopey smile mixed with your grimacing under his touch. âComing!â
Kendall gives you a pat on the headâ a move he often did in childhood, his eyes dead as always as he gives you a good-enough smirk, âYou should avoid the other sibs, theyâre strictly business right now â serious work only.â
You smile at his unconscious insinuation. You weren't a serious person to them. You werenât anything you guessed, âHave fun, okay Ken? And try not to be a complete dick tonight,â you ask before Comfrey pulls me away and Kendall saunters off.Â
You watch your brother from the corner of your eyes, and quickly try to keep up with the bouncing ponytail of his young assistant. The hollowness in your chest that used to exist â that there would be ten years ago â had disappeared now, you were completely okay with the empty promises and empty phrases.Â
Itâs what you grew up on. Raised in the top two floors of the highest buildings in New York, the Scottish highlands with your fatherâs forgotten castles, or in sprawling ranches in the middle of nowhere for tax purposes. At least that was the childhood you had with the Logan Roy experience.
After Uncle Ewanâs wife passed away, when you went to her funeral with your whole family, Dad decided that heâd leave his youngest with his brother to build your character. Your siblings were already almost in college and you were, well, the youngest and still complaining about multiplication and school field trips. So, from then on, you distanced yourself. Not entirely by your own volition, but every decision after was. And you prayed that every decision following would be as well.
As you try to keep pace with the taller woman, âSo Comfrey, howâd you become Kendallâs assistant?âÂ
The woman turns around for a second to get a glance at the youngest Roy, she presses her lips together before curtly responding, âIâm his PR rep.â
All you do is hum in understanding, she was a PR rep that was running around like a low-level worker bee trying to satiate her older brother. It was like all people in their lives.Â
You pass by the flashing lights, tall glass windows, and strange art installations, not so much admiring them, more like begging to just dissolve into the floor. To melt like the witch in the Wizard of Oz would be your opus, your ooey-gooey pile of person simply having a hard time leaching onto the rich person floors.
When you spot the all-too-familiar treehouse you wince. It seemed that Kendallâs childhood trauma manifested in an exuberant part of his fortieth birthday party. âThis is Kendallâs little sister, sheâs cool.â Comfrey motions the guards behind her, as you stand awkwardly â it looked like they needed visible confirmation you were you? It took them a second for their heads to look at your orientation.Â
While they make way for you, opening up the roped fence, you thank Comfrey, then watch her scatter away, and hurry away probably to clean up Kendallâs inevitable fuck-ups.Â
She was nice enough, you guessed; could be worse.Â
You wandered through the treehouse with no purpose, staring at the tree trunk columns that looked borderline tacky and its leaf-casted shadows on the walls. You werenât alone in the room, no there was a boatload of Kendallâs rager hedge fund friends, or celebrities whose faces you remember enough to dart away from â but still, you were alone. You felt eyes on you, people knew that you were a Roy, but eyes donât give you company.Â
The space was large enough to walk around for a few minutes, but eventually, you assumed you just looked out-of-place. Pacing around like a failed dracula, circling his already knowing victims. So you resigned yourself to a couch near a wall, praying that nobody approaches you. At least you wouldnât be sneak-attacked from the back. That was your worst fucking nightmare â a hand on your back and a networking LinkedIn smiley techie.Â
Leaning into the couchâs thin leather you try to get comfortable. The lights were bright enough you hoped, to not âruin the vibeâ with your phoneâs obnoxiously bright screen. Staring at your home screen, you forget any work that you had to do â literally nothing of importance that would make you look like you were doing something. Yes, you were writing a screenplay right now, which would be a good thing to work on if you could concentrate in the noisy fucking room. So you just went on Candy Crush, your finger languidly swiping your high school iPhone wanting to shoot yourself.Â
You spent an adequate amount of time doing that, getting cozy enough to tuck your feet under your body and let your hair out from the bun it was in. It felt okay, you still wanted to go home, but you were waiting until at least ten percent of the crowd was gone so Kendall wouldnât get prissy.Â
But you couldnât keep the peace, of course, you couldnât. Because there Kendall comes into the room, not looking for you, but for a man sitting on one of the benches in the middle of the party.
âThere he is!â You internally shrink, like a deflated balloon as your brother approaches. You hide like you were habitually doing as a child, trying to dart off from where you were oh-so comfortable. You hear Kendall saying some other bullshit which you tune out in your panic, but as youâre set to leave he calls out your name.Â
âBambs!â He turns to the man next to him, âThis is my sisterâ she isnât a vulture like the other ones, don't worry about that.â He looks back at you, then at the man again, âSheâll take care of you, they avoid her like a fucking plague.â
âReally nice, Ken,â you say, walking towards them reluctantly, resigning to sit next to the blonde man. He was tired-looking with hardly-noticeable but still visible rings underneath his eyes, a small smirk of interest on his face as he doesnât shuffle to give you space, instead moving closer to you.
Kendall leaves, for a reason you are unsure of. You try to stare in his retreating direction as you feel the strangerâs hot eyes on you. You couldnât read this guy, he seemed like a regular dude at first glance and to your relief he didnât seem crazed in the eyes or serial-rapey.
âYouâre the youngest one, arenât you? The recluse?â he asks, his accent isnât American, it was something Nordic â you hadnât met many of them in your life.Â
You turn towards him, to be polite of course, although your body tries to twist awkwardly, making sure he isnât too close, âGood use of deduction.â Heâs attractive, vaguely familiar like everyone in the room, obviously important to your brother, but you still have no fucking clue who he is. âAnd youâre? One of my brotherâs friends?â
He smirks, laying back on a column behind him, âYeah, weâre best buddies, like peas and a pod.âÂ
âNo name?â He laughs, like he was in disbelief that you didnât know who he was, âI like this, Iâll be your mystery man, hmm?â He leans further towards you, raising his eyebrows â the lack of space making your face hot.Â
You try to escape any feelings of chagrin, crossing your legs, and staring into his eyes which felt like it was more of his soul. Who was this fucking dude? âA mystery man in my childhood treehouse, youâre sounding like a pedophile to meâŠâ
He nods as though he agrees, laughing, âYou have a history in this, I assume, with your family.â Oh yes, Uncle Mo. âWhat do you do? The tabloids say⊠writer?âÂ
A part of you feels insecure in your lack of knowledge about him. He knows your occupation, your name, and would probably be able to trace your life back to childhood through the internet, while you sat here like prey for his predator. All in his casual clothing and wolfish smile.Â
âYes, some screenwriting, some things more authorial, enough to get by.âÂ
It seemed like the idea of âgetting byâ was amusing to him as he smiled when you said that. Almost as if he was in disbelief that a Roy would ever need to make enough to get by. Maybe he was older money, maybe he grew up in a big castle like you, a prince or something⊠your mother had always had people like that over when you were young. It was funny, the old aristocrats with their wine and screaming kids. No he wasnât old money... his whole being read new. New money. New power.
âYou dress like you write childrenâs books, like a sexy-librarian-kindergarten teacher â itâs hot, if I dare-say,â he says. You can feel him looking her up and down and she doesnât know if you hate it or like it. You may be leaning to the latter with how lonely youâd been feeling for so long.Â
You almost roll your eyes, although your face heats up. How long has it been since someone somewhat complimented you? Sure they called your writing good, praised you in those magazinesâ no journals they called them, but nobody ever looked at you. Even if it was a half-insult.Â
You did dress conservatively, at least to control the narrative of yourself. Stemming mostly from when the paps took pictures up your skirt as a teenager. They werenât even decent enough to wait until you were eighteen, the moment the vultures saw that you wore a short-enough skirt they chased you around trying to get a glimpse of the most elusive Roy sibling; the paps were constantly chasing a story, and for the duration of your childhood you were the most interesting part of the billion-piece puzzle belonging to the Roy family.
Without any response, he moves even closer, if thatâs humanly possible â your arms pressing up against each other. He was warm, warmer than the stuffy room around the two of you, âTrying to insinuate something, mystery man?â
âJa, maybe I am,â he says, before leaning close to your face. âLetâs go somewhere more private.â He offers you a hand to get up, which your body wills you to take, but your brain knows logically any man your brother wants to woo is a douche, yet youâd always think with your feelings. He pulls you through the treehouse, walking into more of a secluded room.Â
You feel people watching you, more than before, more than they would the youngest Roy, but his hand feels so warm in yours, and he was even more attractive standing up. Taller than your smaller stature â you were the shortest of your siblings along with the youngest, the baby. It felt nice walking next to him, it felt safe. But still, it felt almost dangerous.
You breathe out a thank god as the two of you get off of the wooden bench and your butt touches a soft surface again. Itâs more secluded than your spot before but like every corner of the party, there were still people around you.Â
âNot a fan of crowds?â he asks, getting comfortable on the couch and leaning back as you feel his hand rise slowly on your thigh. Like heâs apprehensively confident.
âIs anyone really?â you ask him, he nods slowly, his eyes asking me to go on, âI donât know why Iâm here, maybe just feeling shitty about my family situation, you know? I don't spend much time with them⊠ever.â You eye the man as he intensely looks back at you â eyefucking you believe itâs called. Oh and his eyes are blue, youâd never noticed that before â remarkably theyâre not empty, the soul was still there, at least right now. You have to admit that heâs hot, in this light even more so. His features affirm my suspicions of where heâs fromâ and as you stare at him even longer you can't quite remember when youâd ever seen a hotter man. âDo you still have no name?â
He grins, looking away, âYouâll know soon enough, wonât you? This is fun for now.âÂ
âThe only name I know you by is pedophile, and I donât think you want people overhearing. Seems like we have eavesdroppers,â you glance over at the small groups of people around you. You assume that theyâre small investors, that they probably know Kendall and whatever business he has with the mystery man.Â
âYouâre right, my facial expressions plus my conversation are very relevant to the stock market and usually equals tanking.â
âYou talking to me will probably tank it, whatever stock youâre talking aboutââ you stop yourself from continuing, would Dad be mad that you were talking to him? âYouâre not part of Kendallâs crusade, right? Like my father wonât try and assassinate me for speaking to you?â
Itâs almost like he enjoys that notion as he laughs to himself, âDonât worry about Kendall, your dad hiring a guy maybe, but right now Iâm to be courted.â He gestures with his hands â which to you are strangely very animated, âYou care about what your dad says, do you?â
You respond nonchalantly, though your hands squirm and you look to the ground, âItâs a constant fuck him, and at the same time I love you, Daddy, I guess. He was shit, is shit, but sometimes heâs not too bad.â
âYou call him daddy?â
For the second time today, you feel yourself crawl into your skin, âOh yeah, when weâre in bed together definitely.â
Mystery man almost giggles at your comment, and thereâs something affable about that. He was constantly switching from this serious man to a very unserious one. There was some strange part of this that you liked, you liked the attention the way that he looked at you, the bubble he created around the two of you, the way his hand was increasingly inching.Â
You think back to the way this night started. You were quite desperate to leave, a bit dampened by the way Kendall accepted your gift, and guilty that you weren't at home taking care of your cat and working. Then you were delivered by this tall Viking man and you were uncomfortably comfortable with the way he made you feel.Â
âI kind of want to get drunk.â
âI have no qualms with that,â he responds, a grin on his face as you both get up and inch towards the bar, his hand slipping onto your back easily.Â
The time at the bar was spent in easy conversation, you stand against the wall, with him looming in front of you as you drink together. Him a beer and you a drink with a name youâre unsure of â hating yourself for so much enjoying the tang of the liquified poison.Â
âWhy arenât you part of your familyâs business?â
The way he looks at you⊠you feel like thereâs genuine interest, you look into his eyes and thereâs a gleam that scares me. Was he playing with you? Was this a play for your family? You still have no clue who this man is. You let him get too close to yourself, hand on your waist â eyes on yours, too close for a stranger. But you just want to be happy, to feel like you exist again. Not a fly on the wall, the main course.Â
âYou know,â you shrug your shoulders, taking another sip as he just looks at you with a weird facial thing that you donât quite understand. Like heâs teasing you, but ever so slightly, begging you to spill â which you do. âIâm the baby, yâknow â Bambi or whatever.â
He tilts his head back as he absorbs, âBambi⊠I like that, you look like a Bambi â the deer right?â
âYes the deer, theyââ I hurriedly take another sip of my drink as I recount the story of my ubiquitous nickname, âOnce Dad went hunting and brought me along, we spotted a deer and instead of uhâ killing it I kind of ran towards it, while his gun was still aimed. He said that he was about to shoot me like I was a Bambi, he said I was so fast that he almost pulled the trigger while watching me through the scope.â
Mystery man looks at me with wide eyes, âJesus fuck, thatâs a shit thing to say. How old were you?â
âUh maybe ten, by then my siblings were gone and he visited me where I lived with Uncle Ewan in Canada.â
âWhat a fucking prick.â
âYeah.â
You stare at each other for a minute, him in front of you and you below him, you really like his eyes. You break it though, your head was starting to spin from the one drink and he was making it almost worse. âCome on, letâs go sit down, Iâm gonna get stumbly.â
Pushing yourself away from the wall, you walk towards an empty space with a few chairs around a table and plop yourself down. Curling into yourself, you can just feel him situating himself next to you.
âYouâre a lightweight, arenât you? You look like one too,â he says, taking a swig of his still-almost-full beer.
You glare up at him as you start dozing off, âIâm gonna nap, you do you, pedophile.â
He guffaws, âOkay, no more pedophile jokes, the press hears and Iâm done.â
âI wouldnât know,â you mutter before tucking your head into your own shoulder.Â
âI have to ask you something before you nod off.â He seems almost genuine in his words as he furrows his eyebrows and leans towards your chair. You lift yourself ever so slightly showing that youâre listening. âWeâll fuck later right? Like guaranteed?â
You close your eyes again before you can roll them, although a tiny smile slips onto your face â you hope he wonât see it as you bury your face into the back of the lounge chair.Â
âI saw that grin, Iâm going to take that as a yes.â
âFuck off, asshole.â
âDonât contradict yourself now.â
You shake your head in mock embarrassment as you go to sleep. Your head was throbbing a bit, and your heart was beating faster â but you realize that youâd forgotten the loud music, and the crowds of people around. Youâd forgotten. Youâd found solace after so many years looking for it, in the middle of a mock replica of your childhood treehouse.
And this sleep was peaceful for a while, but then a fucking earthquake rumbled you awake.Â
âWhat the fuck,â you grunted as you felt hands on your shoulders, your eyes bulge open and you see Roman above you. âRome, leave me alone, you bitch.â
âWere you trying to seduce Matsson for dad?âÂ
You just roll your eyes, not understanding in your incoherent state what the fuck your brother was talking about â per usual. Looking around you saw that mystery man was gone, and the party was still raging around you. And his name was Matsson? Strange name, but a little bit fitting.Â
âI have no clue what youâre talking about⊠whyâd you even wake me up, miss me that bad?â you asked, clearly trying to antagonize him with your whiny voice.
Roman with all his pessimism and ass-holery deadpans at you, âWell Iâm fuckinâ sorry, you totally missed the six foot tall Viking who was camped out beside your unconscious body?â
âIs that not the point of being unconscious, dumbass?âÂ
âDid you fuck him, Bambi? Were you so fucking tired after fucking him that you had to take a big girl nap?â
âThereâs something psychologically wrong with you.â
Roman sits squatting on the top of the chair as he pseudo-interrogates you, âYâknow he didnât let me fucking wake you up, was that a power play or did you let him do you?â
âRome, I have no idea who that man was, he just said he was your friend and Ken told me to keep an eye on him.â Half-lying was your thing, you guessed. Your life was full of half-lies, momentary omissions of details, ignoring parts of sentences so you seemed more innocent. That was the life of a youngest child out of five you guessed.
âAnd since when were you Kendallâs bitch?â âSince he invited me to something, unlike you.âÂ
Roman completely skipped your comment before going off again, âDid he tell you anything, Matsson?â
âOh yeah, he told me he fucking hates your guts,â you say with a smile, watching your brother getting riled up.
âIâm going to tell Dad that you fucked him if you donât tell me the truth,â he threatens, it was fun being in this position. Youâd so regularly in your childhood been put down by your older siblings, so it was interesting being the one to give it back to them. You finally understood the appeal. Ah, leverage.Â
You smile as you pretend to recount, a finger to your chin as you mockingly itch it, âOh he told me that Dadâs an asshole and he has no interest in business with any of you creeps.â
âYouâve seriously been spending too much time with Uncle Looney? You know that right? You sound delusional, completely and utterly gone.â
As you sit up straighter trying to compose yourself, you eye Shiv coming over to where you and Roman sit (although heâs very much standing, pacing, like a lunatic), her hair a mess and her makeup smudged all over. Sheâd either just had mind blowing sex or something was seriously wrong with her.Â
You and your sister were strained to say the least. You wanted the idealized big sister who would braid your hair and make you up. The sister who would talk about boys with you and argue with you over stealing her clothes. You guessed Shiv more so wanted to prove herself to Dad â sheâd always been his favourite. You were more of an afterthought to her. The kind of afterthought that made you do a double take when you remember that youâd buried it so long ago.Â
There wasnât any sentimentality in the title of sister with the two of you. You were just another sibling, and probably her third favourite before Connor. But still, you love her, and you know in the deep recesses of her heart she loves you too. All the siblings love each other, although a strong belief for you was that there were certain dynamics that you were excluded from because of your age and difference in childhood.Â
âYou do you, Roman. Just know that Iâm hoping for your business with him to fail, just handing you my two cents.â Business was a strange concept to you, you were always pushed away from it as a child, leading you to know less than nothing about it. At one point you felt like you would go into it, but that too was ripped away from you. So right now, you just wanted to make Roman feel bad. Sure it was wrong to want to churn your brother into pieces, but it felt so good.
âI know youâre a fucking liar, so just like, sit with that, okay?âÂ
âWhatever, Roman.â
Roman ignores your words calling out for Shiv. Shiv runs a finger through straight but frizzy hair before coming to give you a half-hug.
The hug was weird and a little bit detached, but it was something, and it made you feel not instantly uncomfortable, but almost happy. Happy to see your sister again a little bit. âBambi, itâs been like two fucking years.âÂ
It hadnât been, but you agree. It felt like it.
âI didnât know you were keeping trackââ you try to say, but Roman quickly cuts you off. Biting off that Shiv was out dancing. Dancing was a human thing. You didnât know your only sister was a human.Â
âGuys, Iâm gonna go now, Iâll probably not be in touch, so yeah,â you try and gracefully leave as your siblings bicker about finessing or some shit.Â
They both nod non-committedly as you trot off observing Kendall and Connnor at the opposite poles of the room. You choose to not go off towards Kendall, who you knew probably already ruined his night with his overthinking or underthinking. Instead you go to Connor, probably your only kind brother, albeit the fact sometimes he was fucking lawful psychotic.
âCon, Con,â you call out, your small purse at your side as you push it around your body â youâd refused to give it to security earlier, citing personal reasons which they were too scared to deny. They probably assumed it was your period or something like that â youâd made that insinuation when they didnât relent for your last name.
You see Connorâs coated body turn around as he returns your call, âBambi! My favourite sister â you remember Willa?â Connor gestures to his arm candy, who didnât seem too excited to meet you â or meet you again, but obviously faked it. She was very pretty, nearly to the point where she made you feel insecure. But then again, no hate for your brother, but she was with your brother. You were sure Connor had mentioned her in a phone call, but you two never really talked about those kinds of things. He was always ranting on about politics (you think youâre the only one who would listen, so he took advantage of that) or you would talk about your life â never about the company, or really how he was doing besides his ranch.Â
âYes, at Shivâs wedding, I believe?â She just nods, and youâre both just pretending to know when you last met. There was no recognition in her eyes, and you donât think youâd ever interacted with her. It was a nice connection youâd had, a shared lie always brings people together.
âKen, told me you were here, but I thought youâd be gone by now.â Connor pulls you into a hug before saying, âHave you been taking care of yourself, sis?â
âIâve been doing okay, normally as always.â Noticing his cast, she asks, âWhatâs up with your arm, Conâ?â
âOh, I was doing an Irish jig as one does, and boom I slipped and it bent in all different directions,â he describes in a strangely vivid way. âIâm feeling better though, Willa helped me recover, right sweetheart?â
âYep,â she nodded, a smile on her face as she bore her eyes into mine â uncomfortable? Very.
Connor was probably the only one of your siblings you regularly spoke to, yes it was by phone, and no you didnât always enjoy it, but there was a beautiful normalcy to speaking on the phone with your brother. With Kendall or Roman it always turned into businessâ about Dad. With Shiv it was her ranting about some political thing, well maybe that was before she turned so Waystar-loco.Â
Connor was your normal brother.
âHave you heard of my recent presidential proclivities?â he asks, tilting his head as he looks at Willa for support â in which she enthusiastically nods her head.
Maybe he wasnât exactly the most normal of brothers, but he was more normal than the brother who spoke about you having sex weirdly too much or the one who canât stop fucking over your dad and snorting cocaine.Â
You nod, but before you hear a tumble and watch Roman bending over a kneeling Kendall. What a fucking dick. Kendallâs girlfriend, who you also didnât recognize was helping him up, and you stood there with no intention to help or rush in, frozen to your spot.
Connor shouts out, âEveryone take it easy, okay?â as Roman maniacally laughs and Kendall helps himself up.Â
As Kendall walks past you, Connor, and Willa he grumbles, âTake your fucking coat off,â repeating it to Connor as he walks like a man scorned. Willa blocks Connor from Kendall trying to calm the younger brother down. You avert Kendallâs gaze, standing next to Willa blocking Connor who looks to the ground much like you.
Shiv seemingly walks away from the scene as well, but in the opposite direction from Kendall, and immediately after Willa and Connor walk arm in arm out, saying a quiet goodbye to you.
With one glance to Roman, whoâs still muttering curses under his breath on the sofa chairs, you leave. Youâd quickly sobered up, and it was time to face the darkness of New York. Walking out of the luxurious Manhattan skyscraper you peer at the artificially brightened roads and the strange silence of the backroads. Instead of taking an Uber or Taxi, you opt for the Subway. You didnât take an allowance from your Dad like Connor did, you never inherited anything ever, and your last poetry anthology wasnât lucrative enough to have casual taxi money. You were sure nothing would happen on the Subway, from experience you know that there would just be a few people throwing up and tired workers coming home from the night shift.
Before walking down into the station, you check your phone, one hand on the railing and the other carefully gripping onto your phone. Attention split both ways.
Unknown
Know who I am yet?
1 Missed Call from Unknown
Your heart skips a beat, an adrenaline rich positive-ending to the night beat skip.
Instead of heading inside, you turn around, sitting down on the top step of the stairs, hoping a coked up crypto-bro doesnât push you down.Â
Pressing the call, a part of you hopes he doesnât pick up, so you can return to normalcy, but the heart wants what the heart wants.
âBambi?â
You groan, âI thought the story would stop you from calling me that.â
âNot because of the story, it suits youââ he pauses, the line going crackly as you hear him talk to someone, âYouâve left the party?â
âYeah, walking home now.â âWalking? This is America, ja? Youâre on a death mission.â
âItâs not too late, you know serial killers only come out after two in the morning.â
âI can send a car, hmm? You can come over here.â
âWhat does âover hereâ mean? To a strangerâs home?â
âYou promised me something, didnât you?â
âHmmmm, a promise? I donât remember.â
âSend me your location, Iâll get my guy to get you.â
âOkay, Iâll send my location to a stranger just because he was nice to me at my brotherâs party.â
âSee you soon then.â
____
The drive was awkward to Matssonâs (you preferred mystery man to what seemingly sounded like a last name, although it might be a first, Europeans were in themselves a mystery as well). The driver was quiet, and the car was a rich personâs. It was a car you were all too familiar with, the car you drove in during your childhood, the same tinted windows and leather seats.
Same thing of riding up to the penthouse of a hotel â he was only here temporarily you surmised. Youâd probably be a one-time thing.Â
When the elevator doors beep open and youâre in a hallway with one door, anxiety fills you up. What if this was a trap? If he was some sort of sexual pervert, or even worse an axe murderer with an even worse temper than anyone you could find on the New York streets?
But before you can even knock the door swings open and a hand pulls you in, âFucking asshole,â you whisper as you feel his lips trace over yours, your breath in his.Â
Heâs rough, and rushed, like heâs a man starved â of you.Â
As he starts tracing his fingers underneath your shirt you push his back, two hands on his chest as he kneels his head to meet yours. âWhatâs wrong?â âI donât know your name,â you say, almost embarrassed that you hadnât found it on your own, âMatsson? Thatâs your name.â
He doesnât respond, just pulls you close to him, before picking you up into his arms. You restrain a squeal as you struggle in his arms. He navigates through the hallways, looking as though he was confused on the layout of his own homebase, he finds the bed â splaying you down and standing above you like an animal.
âYou know, I refuse to orgasm without your name,â you insist. He moves closer and closer, uncharacteristically quiet as he pulls your shirt up laying a hand on your stomach, the other tracing over your soaked panties, slowly creeping towards your sensitive skin.Â
Heâs strangely gentle with it, until he pulls your panties to the side, spreading open your legs as he buries his face into your pussy. You move your two legs onto his shoulders, as plays with your nipples â languid twisting and faint touches that leave you just wanting more.
You let out a yelp as you feel his tongue move into you, like a fucking shark he dives into your clit as he watches you for your reaction. You know you look like a mess, breathless and desperate. âPlease, pleaseââ you moan, desperate for his tongue, for his touch, his everything.Â
âYour pussyâs so good, babyâ fucking heaven,â he whispers into where his head lay between your thighs. As he blows gently on it, you are wholly exposed and cold, you start squirming. Your thighs start pressing around his head, trying to push him further, which seemed to turn him on even more. Your legs start to shake as your orgasm builds up and builds up, you feel like screaming from the bliss of it, his attack on your pussy is like God reigning down on earth. âRefuse to orgasm, hmm? Want me to stop?â
You shake your head as he continues, âPlease, keep going, keep goingââ He listens to you, beginning to rub your clit as the feeling of everything continues to crash down on you
âCome baby, come.â He keeps on licking you up, every fucking crevasse.Â
Your orgasm came hard and quick, with a groan and a twitch your eyes rolled over as you released his head from in between your thighs, and as quickly as he got there, he climbed on top of you â his larger body engulfing yours as he hurriedly kisses you.Â
âI want to inside me,â you say into his ear, you could feel him from underneath his pants as he grabs your ass, groaning into you as you palm him.Â
âTake off your fucking clothes,â he orders, as you do it, you take off the loose t-shirt youâd been wearing to Kendallâs party off slowly, you can feel him staring at your tits, and a part of you loves it. Loves the attention you get from him. As you take off your pants from where they are bunched up from your ankles, and then the greenish-blue granny panties you wear, you watch him take his suede pants and then his boxers off. Oh god, you feel yourself thinking as you stare at him.Â
He picks you up as he brings his length into your entrance, rubbing it on your clit. He keeps going, relentless before he surprises you and slips it in, tilting your head towards him so he could watch you as he fucked you.Â
You hear him groan as he starts with slow thrusts, he would push in and then wait five seconds before slowly sliding outâ making sure you felt every inch of him. He was too big and you felt so full, with every time he pulled out you felt like five years were taken from your life span, that time had slowed down too much. You fucking needed him.
Of course he starts going fast, rough. There were no thoughts in your mind as you arched against him, and moaned in his mouth as he kissed you. Deeply and raw, like he had everything to lose and you would disappear in a heartbeat.
Pinning your hands above your head, he continues with his pace, passionately and without boreâ âYouâre so good for me, I just want to be inside you all the time,â he says a grin on his face as he watches your face before glancing down looking at his dick pound into you.Â
He presses kisses to your throat as he whispers, âMy nameâs Lukas, Lukas Matssonââ strangely enough hearing his name sends you off the edge as you moan out unintelligibly, overstimulated as he keeps on going, getting more and more erratic.Â
Not long after, he pumps into you a few more times before completely spilling inside of you, collapsing on top of you, not leaving your warmth as he buries himself deeper.
You donât say anything afterwards, you let him lay on top of you as he stays inside of you all the same. It feels like time doesnât pass as he wraps his arms around you, âStay the night?â he asks, all you do is nod.Â
You lay in silence for a few more seconds before you tell him, âIâm on birth control, by the way, pretty fucking risky to cum inside me without asking though.â
âI wouldnât be mad at a little me running around if I could fuck you again.â
Not saying anything, you press a kiss to his neck before tucking yourself closer into his bodyâ finding sleep comes to you when so often it fails you.
life imitates art : max verstappen, singapore gp 2024 / monica belucci, malena 2000
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"Honey, cross your legs."
"Honey, sit up straighter."
"Honey, we're at a gala, not a summer blowout in the Maldives."
These were just a few of the many phrases your mother chirped at you since you arrived at this stupid gala. You didn't even want to go, but your mother preached something about how, "we needed to be a united front since your father was going for reelection as a New York senator"Â or something like that.
It was stupid. Nobody gives a shit about familial ties; they care about your values, goals, and accolades. But there's no arguing with your mother; she's as stubborn as they come.
So, you'd sit pretty, legs crossed, with a pristine posture, biting your tongue when she says you could be sitting straighter or you could smile more. Granted, it was only a couple of hours, and if it kept your mother from turning the world around you into hell personified, you'd gladly plaster a rictus smile to appease her.
"Oh, there's Bruce!"Â Your mother quietly says between you and your father. "Let's go say hello,"Â she says, gripping your hand and pulling you out of your chair, gesturing for your father to follow along.
Somewhere along the way, your parents move in front of you, sequestering you behind them. So once you all reach Bruce, he only takes notice of them, issuing a polite welcome and thanks for their attendance. Your mother swivels her head to see you tucked away behind her, bringing her hand out, gesturing for you to come in front.
"Hello, Mr. Wayne,"Â you politely say, sticking your hand out, before introducing yourself. He grasps your hand with only a slight hesitation.
"Pardon my shock. I just haven't seen you since you were two,"Â he confesses. You smile, pulling your hand back before your mother steps next to you and places her hand on your shoulder.
"She's grown quite a lot since then, Bruce. Still a little air-heady, but I'm hopeful the more she ages, the more my personality will rub off on her,"Â she laughs, carefully wiping a piece of loose hair away from your face. You should feel offended, but the way her joke landed so poorly, making Bruce lightly cough the awkwardness away, made you feel pity.
"You know Selina,"Â he says, filling in the silence, gently placing his hand on her waist as she delicately sticks her hand out for your father to shake.
Who wouldn't know Selina Kyle? She was drop-dead gorgeous but as sharp as they came. She was dressed to the nines in a designer black floor-length dress. It must have been Celine or Givenchy, so it was definitely over five thousand dollars, which is just pocket change to a guy like Bruce Wayne.
"Pleasure,"Â she coos, pulling her hand away. Her gaze shifts to your mother, slightly narrowing her eyes. It seems your mother is oblivious to Selina's adversary towards her because she eagerly sticks her hand out, ready for Selina to shake.
"Selina. So good to see you."Â But, instead of shaking your mother's hand, she crossed her arms over her chest
"Mhm. I wish I could say the same,"Â Selina sharply replied before Bruce put his hand on her shoulder in warning. You gave Selina a small smile, smothering it with your hand. She covered her own with her champagne glass as she took a sip.
"She's joking,"Â Bruce amends, signaling for a waiter going around with glasses of alcohol. "Champagne?"Â He asks, reaching for two glasses from the waiter before handing them to your parents.
Before any more conversation can occur, a man calls for Bruce. "Bruce,"Â The man says, "When do you want to start?" The man questions. Bruce picks up his arm, turning his wrist to check his watch.
"He said he'd be here by now,"Â Bruce sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. His eyes were scanning around in search of somethingârather someone. He does, however, spot Alfred, who he calls over and asks if he'd seen a guy named Jason.
"It was humorous of you to assume Master Todd would abide by your schedule, Master Wayne," Alfred remarks, his face stone-cold. Bruce checks the time on his watch again, then scans the crowd again.
"Just start the silent auction. I suppose Jason will come when he comes,"Â Bruce suspires, clearly agitated. "See you at the auction,"Â he chimes to you and your parents as he sticks his arm out for Selina to take.
"See you,"Â your mother cheerfully says, though you know the cheeriness is just a facade because once Bruce and Selina walk away, your mother instantly drops the smile.
"Can you believe that woman? She was a criminal for God's-sake. She should be thankful that people like us even mingle with her." Your mother scoffs at your father. He hums along, paying relatively no mind to what she is saying.
While she goes on a tangent about how Selina is just using Bruce to get to his billions, you notice a dark figure heading toward the fire escape that you assume leads to the roof. You don't know why, but your brain is fluttering with the idea that you must follow it. So, you do just that.
"I have to use the bathroom,"Â you interrupt, gently touching your mother's hand. You turn your head away from her, not bothering to turn back when she calls your name.
You walk around a corner to see the fire escape latch slightly ajar. Reaching out, you grasp the lever and push it out, quickly feeling the chilly Gotham air touch your cheeks.
Once your foot touches the stone with a 'clack' from your heels, you see the dark figure lying down, smoke clouding around him. He glances at you, taking a drag of his cigarette and huffing out a string of smoke.
"Didn't think pretty girls would come up here."Â This mystery guy's voice is deep, and judging by his figure, you can tell he's lanky.
"You know the latch and all."
"Are you calling me incompetent?"Â You cock a brow, hand on your hip with your purse in hand.
"No, I'm callin' you pretty,"Â he says casually, taking another drag of his cigarette, not sparing you another glance. You hate to admit it, but this guy is pretty smooth, but you wouldn't tell him that.
"Who are you?"Â You ask, taking a few steps toward him and only turning your head to look at the night sky, which is aglow with billions of little stars. You see all the high-rise buildings, light illuminating the dark streets. It's a shame Gotham is so corrupt and unlawful.
"I should be askin' you that, seeing as youâre on my roof," he tentatively says. You can just feel the smugness in his tone, making you roll your eyes.
"You're a Wayne?"Â You question, arms crossed, slowly stepping closer to him.
"Somethin' like that I guess,"Â he shrugs, which makes you let out a light laugh.
"You guess? You don't know your own family lineage?" You joke, moving to sit not completely next to him but close enough that you could feel the smoke in your nose. You could also see the outline of his faceâstrong jaw, pretty eyes, fluttery lashes, and nice lips.
"Why are you so curious?"Â He glances at you with a sly smirk on his lips. You look at him, then at the cigarette in between his fingers.
"You know smoking kills,"Â you inform, pointing towards the cigarette. He lays his head back on the roof, his lips curving into a smirk before retaking another drag.
"You know what else kills? Poking your head around where you don't belong,"Â he puffs out the smoke as he speaks. You turn your head away from him, trying to conceal your smile. This guy is something else, you think.
"Jason,"Â he adds.
Your eyes widen, and your lips quirk. "Ah, you're Jason."Â You drag out the 'you're,'Â getting Jason to turn his head towards you. An inquisitive look is plastered on his face.
"So you've heard of me?"Â He cockily says.
"I know enough about you to know you're flakey,"Â you raise a brow. He lets out a soft laugh.
"Mr. Wayne was looking for you, and so was everyone else,"Â you clarify.
"Oh, please don't tell on me," he fake pleads, clearly being sarcastic. "Especially to Mr. Wayne."
You roll your eyes, though your lips threaten to smile. "I'm sensing some sarcasm."
"Well, aren't you just a modern-day Poirot.â
You widen your eyes, raising your hands. "Wait, wait. You read classic literature?" You gawk, hand coming to your chest.
"I dabble,"Â he shrugs nonchalantly. You eye him, lip quirking.
"Well, aren't you just full of surprises?"Â You say, holding your two fingers out, gesturing to his cigarette. "Let me take a puff,"Â you insist.
"Ah, ah," he tuts. "What happened to 'smoking kills?'" He raises a brow, taking a puff of the cigarette himself.
"Sue me, but I'm curious,"Â you shrug. He eyes you, wondering if you're joking. He gives you his cigarette anyway. You take a long drag, feeling the smoke cloud your lungs.
"Easy, easy,"Â Jason warns. "Don't take too much, or you'llâ"Â Before he can finish, you start violently coughing, feeling your eyes well up with tears. "Cough,"Â he finishes, taking the cigarette from your hand as you go to cover your mouth.
"You like this shit?"Â You say through harsh coughs.
"You get used to it,"Â he answers, not paying attention to the question. He's more concerned about you. "You okay?"Â His tone isn't condescendingâit carries empathy.
"Ya, ya. Took too much," you shyly smile, hiccuping a little, turning your head to look directly at him. He laughs lowly. His laugh is deep and gravelly but still sounds kind. You gulp. God, were you getting turned on by a laugh?
You were facing him head-on, and even in the shitty lighting, you could see the way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down and the way his jaw clenched. Your eyes slowly drift down his face, falling on his lips. He had stuck his tongue on his lips to wet them, giving them a glistening sheen.
"Are you thinkin' about me?"Â His voice is dry. You sharply move your eyes to bore into his, sticking your tongue out to wet the seam of your own lips.
"And what if I am?"Â You challenge. Suddenly, you can feel your own heartbeat, and your hands are clammy. You can see the gears in his brain working, trying to figure you out.
"Well, are you?"Â He asks roughly, putting his cigarette out on the roof. You search his eyes, gently biting your lip. His eyes follow you the whole time.
"Guess,"Â you quipped. You hadn't realized you had scooted closer to him, close enough to where he could if he wanted to touch you. This little banter you guys had was getting you wetter by the minute. It was odd. You'd never even met this guy, but you would let him kiss you, maybe even more.
His gaze drifts from your eyes to your lips. "If I were to put my hand under your dress, what would I find?"Â He gruffly says. Your eyes drift back to his lips, and you bite your own as your chest rises and falls rapidly.
"What would I find?"Â He urges a little more assertively this time. You rapidly avert your eyes back to him, taking note of the blue hue in his eyes, which has seemingly grown darker.
"Maybe you should find out, Jason," you encourage. Once you give him the go, he's quick to move closer, crushing his lips to yours roughly. It was unlike anything you've ever felt beforeâlike a ton of dynamite just erupted in you, leaving you feeling a buzz on your skin.
You reached up to grab the back of his neck, pushing him further on your lips. He groans as you sink one of your hands into his hair, gripping your waist in his hands and pulling you so you straddle his lap.
"Do you hook up with every girl you just meet?"Â You murmur into his lips, slipping your tongue between the seam of his moist lips.
"You hook up with every guy you just meet?"Â He imitates, in between breaths, gripping your waist tighter as you tug on the roots of his hair harder.
"Touché," you whisper, breathing labored as he presses deep kisses down your neck. He works his way down until he is kissing the top of your breast. Slowly, he brings his hands up to slip the strap of your dress down, exposing your breasts.
He kisses a straight line down the top of your breast to your sensitive nipple. His mouth is hot on your skin, especially in a place so sensitive. You moan as his mouth fully encompasses your nipple, lightly sucking, sending goosebumps down your skin.
You reach for his tie, grab it with your hand, hurriedly untie it, and throw it to the side before carefully undoing the few buttons on his jacket.
"It's a shame no one got to see your suit,"Â you murmur as Jason returns his lips to yours, pressing feverish kisses into them before slipping his tongue into your mouth.
"Ya? Why's that?"Â He mumbles against your lips, as his hands fumble with his zipper trying to pull it down. You slid the jacket off of Jason's shoulder.
"Because you look fucking hot,"Â you say, looking into his eyes, noticing the way his pupils dilate, hunger written all over his face. He quickly slips his slacks down, along with his boxers. Fumbling with the pocket of his jacket, he grabs a condom.
"Really?"Â You scowl, as he rips open the gold packaging with his teeth, slipping it on himself.
"What? Don't give me that look,"Â he urges, pooling your dress up around your waist, sliding your panties to the side, as he guides the head of his cock inside your glistening cunt.
"Don't act like it didn't come in handy,"Â he appeals as his cock slips inside you easily. You both groan at the contact, gripping each other tighter.
"Fuck, you were wet. Just slipped right in,"Â he grits as you rock yourself against him, desperate for more friction. His hand is in your hair, pushing your face towards his to share messy, hot kisses as his other hand helps you set a pleasurable pace.
You throw your head back as he thrusts into you, eliciting a moan from you. "Fuck, Jason,"Â you mewl as you feel his lips back on your breast, sucking and nipping with his teeth. Your hands grip tighter in his hair, hoping this will give you some kind of stability.
"Feels so good. So fuckin' good," Jason groans as he feels you clamp around him. You press your lips back to his, aching to feel the vibrations of his groans against your face. He grips the sides of your face to deepen the kiss, his teeth clashing with your own.
You continue going up and down on his cock, occasionally he thrusts himself into you to satisfy his urges and lets you grind against him to chase your own high. He takes your nipple into his mouth one last time before you moan so loud you're surprised the Gotham City Police isn't called, and Jason is spewing curses and groans as you both come.
Your bodies are both buzzing and twitching. Chests heaving so heavily you're suprised your hearts didn't just bust straight out of your chests. Jason pulls out once you aren't panting as hard, guiding you off his cock as you fix your dress. He slips the condom off, groaning at the touch, before tying it at the end. Then, he slips his jacket back on along with his slacks.
You haphazardly stand, holding onto Jason's shoulder to keep your balance. Once you gain stability, you awkwardly cough out a bye, unsure on how to make this any less weird and head back towards the fire escape. You only turn when you hear him say something. Turning on your heels, you look back at him, still in the same spot.
"I, uh, never caught your name?" He yells, his hand scratching the back of his neck.
"Didn't throw it, Jason,"Â you shout back, making a lopsided smile grow on his face. Then, turning to go back through the fire escape, you catch a smile spread across your face as well.
Maybe being forced to attend one of Bruce Wayne's galas wasn't so bad.
a/n: jason todd = thought daughter
reblogs & comments are encouraged!
go on and put on that dress that all the bad boys like, I know your daddy ainât home so ride with me tonight. you always wind up here in a puddle of tears.
or, sheâs a small-town smokeshow, heâs an asshole from back home.
I neeed someone to write this!! đ« đ©
WHY IS THERE NOT ENOUGH YELLOWSTONE FICS!??!đđđ i donât think yall understand how badly i need kayce dutton and rip wheelerâŠlike i think im going insane. im scratching my walls guys. đđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđ