#ALSO JAZZ JUST MET JAZZ LETS FUCKING GO

[hashipebbles]

What if,,,sentinel didnt....like what if he fucked off 🤔??? Go away sir 🤨- HDBDJSJS WHY IS HE SO- HE ANGERS ME HELP DJHDHDSH LIKE VIOLENTLY-

[writteninlunarlight-years]

The moment they realized they were in love (First Realization)

Adam

When Adam first met you, he was attacking the hotel full force and on his deathbed. However, he noted how well you fought and how forceful you were in combat.

This admiration only followed when he awoke in hell, and Charlie took him to the hotel to attempt redemption. Even though you were initially cold to him, he couldn't help but appreciate you.

The Vees became the hotel's primary foe once Adam had become a sinner. Battle after battle occurred on the front lawn. You were so protective and forward-thinking that no one had a chance to hurt him.

He started seeking you out not for any reason other than wanting to understand your motives better and why you acted the way you did. However, this was a horrible lie he told to save face.

During a recent battle, you got struck and hurt pretty severely with an angelic weapon Val shot off. All the pieces aligned with Adam as he watched you fall. He couldn't imagine life without you.

Adam fought the hardest he ever had and was the biggest factor in your victory against the Vees. He did not care for the praise or boasting the others gave; all he cared about was nursing you back to health.

Alastor

You had been a good worker at Mimzy's bar, always taking the flapper girl role very seriously, even though you died long after that.

Alastor met you a handful of times, always appreciating how well you fit the outfits and danced with the other girls and band. Jazz was always his all-time favorite, but the club played great swing tunes.

It was the day that you began wearing a specific red number gifted to you by your boss, and Alastor made his monthly visits weekly and eventually daily.

He enjoyed watching everyone cowered away from you when he sat center floor to witness your best performances. He was always right there smiling and cheering you on.

He never realized how these growing affections turned into love till he saw that stupid loan shark put his hands on you. As soon as he did, he was a dead man, and Alastor stood before everyone, threatening them.

You were thankful, and the simple touch of your arm so you didn't break his boundaries sent his heart soaring higher. He realized he was a dead man walking when it came to you in his life.

Husk

Being a slave to your soul bind was hard work for some and easy for others. You were one of the lucky few who got an easy life working under Rosie.

Husk admired how you always had a genuine smile and a go-getting problem-solving attitude. Even when it came to his sour pussy cat attitude.

Due to Rosie's favoritism over you, it was quick work for you to earn favoritism with Alastor, letting the grumpy bar cat have some more much-needed freedoms.

He wouldn't lie; having you around was his immediate enjoyment of your presence. However, things changed as you talked to him more and listened to him as well.

He realized how fucked he was when you sat there with a soft smile on your face letting him talk about anything and everything. When Al came downstairs and went to order him around, you sat there firm in your place, shooing the deer off.

He would do anything to thank you for the little bits of freedom you keep granting him and the kind warmth you emanate from that smile he adores.

Lucifer

When you stumbled upon the Hazbin Hotel, everyone was amazed how someone so cheerful and outgoing like Charlie could be a sinner and an alive one at that.

However, you were quickly acclimated and right by Charlie's side, helping Vaggie get her girlfriend's dreams up and running—something Lucifer noticed right away.

You never saw anything as too outlandish or even weird; you were just right there helping in any way you could, which is something he began to love about you.

You also extended this sunshine positivity to him, which only elated him more. No amount of darkness or fear was safe from you and your warm positivity.

He knew he fell the moment he eagerly expected your appearance in his daughter's study. No, he couldn't wait to see you enter his, which would only be five minutes later; he had to see you now.

Of course, as soon as you entered and a bright smile crossed your face, he knew he was safe and could conjure anything up, and you would be right there by him, making it all work out.

Vox

He first encountered you when you were looking for a job after you fell to hell. Your looks screamed sex work; however, your personality fit more of an office role.

He didn't know why he took pity on you, so instead of letting Val have you, he stepped in and gave you a job as a secretary in VoxTech.

You were a diligent and hard worker who ensured he never missed a meeting or production interview. He was honestly grateful for how meticulous and organized you were.

You even helped the other Vees, which took much off his plate. He was so thankful you learned how to calm Val and assist Vel.

He realized the fatal error in his plans, though, when he saw Val trying to make a pass at you. He was livid and quickly explained to Val that you were his and his alone.

Though he refused to admit to you or anyone else why he was so hostile about the interaction, he knew deep down that it was because you were growing on him. You were designed to be so helpful to him, no one else.

Prompt assistance: @literallurker

[evilminji]

I came across it in a fic and now it is DRIVING ME INSANE...

Marriage Hunts.

Mmmm, yes, Sexy™. Prove to me you are a Worthy Spouse! Fuckin FIGHT ME! Let's GO! You wanna put a ring on it? You better EARN that right! *weapons n explosion noises*

BUT!!!

Okay. We have successfully DONE it. We caught the sexy, sexy Spouse Of Our Dreams. Much Hotness. Tasteful, of screen, and fully consenting sexy times were had. #NICE.

......whaaaaaat happens NEXT?

What, in a word, is Step Two? ESPECIALLY if? This is "suprise! You've found yourself in a Sexy Hunt For Marriage For PLOT REASONS!" which means that ONE of these two cultures? Sure as SHIT does not practice this custom?

You are Alien Married.

They are fully expecting to either take YOU home with THEM or YOU to take THEM home with YOU, presumably. You have marital responsibilities as defined by TWO different cultures, only one of which you know. This person? Is ALSO a stranger to you!

Basically just met.

High intensity one night stand that's now Forever.

No one ever follows UP. They have fics trying to get OUT of it. Or the boning itself. But not the "....so, like, do I need to help you pack, oooor?" And the culture shock. The dumped in a new society that may not even RECOGNIZE the validity of your marriage. May consider both IT and YOU, barbaric.

And??? For ADDED spice?? Just to make the two cultures REALLY different?

I'ma say Ghosts do it. Not all of um. It's regional. An opt in sort thing. Since fighting is so ingrained into socializing. What BETTER way? To speed run the dating process? Then to Hunt Each Other For SPORT! VIOLENTLY!!! So romantic~♡

And Danny? Keeps failing in the romance department. Too many secrets, ya know?

Figures... Fuck It. Not like anyone can BEAT him. Maybe he'll find someone he wants to date? Or maybe he WILL find that special someone! Who knows? He's lonely, man.

And who should arrive?

FUCKIN NINJAS.

Pick a bachelor with a Summoning Contract. They tried to call their buddies while trapped in an old, long forgotten, HALF ROTTED Uzumaki Seal. It tore reality and yeet them sideways. Their Summons are frantic. THEY land just in time to hear the rules, the name of The Hunt, and see they are surrounded.

*opening horn blasts*

Begin!

Oh FUCK no! They are NOT staying trapped here! They fight! They WIN!

They...accidentally pin a really, REALLY strong and hot Spirit Warrior to the ground. Oh shit. They have a husband.

......but I mean... worse things have happened to them.

But? BRINGING SAID HUSBAND BACK? That. THAT I want to see. They left for a god damned MILK RUN of a boring ass punishment mission. Come back with a possibly half alive, spirit prince husband? The husband glows.

*jazz hands* s-suuuuprise?

@hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @hypewinter @babbling-babull @the-witchhunter @lolottes

[ruoshik0]

DP x DC: The al Ghul twins but with a twist! P2!!

Training, as it had always been, was tiring. Add on the fact that now, he was at least a meta-adjacent, his training regime was updated to accomadate that too. Which is annoying.

Actually, Danyal meant he hated his life in the League of Assassins. Relearning all he did back when he was a child, training like a madman and rekindling his ‘kill as fast as possible’ style of fighting, manipulating and experimenting with the Lazarus waters (It stunk. It stunk so much that Danny just couldn’t even be in the same room as it. Ugh, why was his life so fucking hard), and tinkering and engineering with gadgets whenever possible.

Danyal realizes just how much he had it easy back in Amity. The amount of free time he had, how much fun just letting lose and have nice kiddy brawl with ghosts, puns and snark, and… acting.

It had been a months since he returned. Only about few days till his seventeenth birthday. The day he plans on meeting his brother’s new family and Damian himself. In those months, he had stopped denying, letting himself acknowledge that yes, he did start caring. And he had started caring too much. It’s been a pain the unlearn all of it. And as much as he was Danyal, he was also Danny just as much.

He can be serious when he wants to be. But sometimes, an easygoing smile and mischievous glint in his eyes felt… better. It felt like he was normal again.

Normal felt more like home than whatever he had been before that.

Now, graduating from tutors and what was basically the league’s version of homeschool- he is very smart thank you, it’s just that Danny wasn’t supposed be as smart- his schedule had opened up significantly.

Which meant more training and now, lessons on business and how to deal with people and stuff related to leading the League and shit.

And perhaps this is also the best time to mention this. His coronation or something had been… delayed. Seeing as he was away doing a covert mission, meaning his education in the league was far behind. Which aslo meant, time is no longer a resource he has an abundance of.

Someone please kill him all the way. Paperwork as a monarch in the infinite realms is so much better than whatever the fuck he is going to learn in the aforementioned business shit and how to rule assassin cults. Scratch that- paperwork as a monarch so much better than the League itself. Why didn’t he kidnap Sam and Tuck with him when he returned?!

Danyal felt like crying… jokingly, though. Taking them here would just result in them getting killed or them getting forced to become assassins themselves.

Sighing, he resumed tinkering with the fun little gun he had been working on since last week.

He just hopes he would be able to say what he wanted to Damian… (and of course, terrorrize Batman and his army of children! It’s gonna be so fun!)

Invisibility and intangibility together was already a deadly match up to any living being. Which is the reason why literally no one at the dining table could notice him next to the big bat himself (Though Danny was pretty sure Signal- Duke Thomas- was sweating because of him. So… he could see his aura even if Danny was invisible).

Danyal had to say, he didn’t have any plan in his mind. Mostly because Danny didn’t plan and Danyal had grown used to not really having that in his head. He considered just leaving Damian an encrypted letter, but really, where’s the fun in that? (Danyal prioritized efficiency first and foremost. It seems everyone he met and befriended back in Amity had more influence on him than he thought)

So now, he was left debating whether or not he should just appear standing on the table doing jazz hands. He would most definately get killed by one of them if Danyal does that. But dying works in his situation.

It wouldn’t make him cool though… Then, an idea struck in his head. What if…

Damian, all things considered, was having a good time. His birthday was going great even. It’s just that at times, his mind would wander back to the sibling he had left behind. Sometimes, he would wonder if Danyal had returned from his mission. Or if he decided he wanted to live there- in Amity park- for the rest of his life.

Damian hopes he did.

He knows that nowadays, he couldn’t stand to see an indifferent expression and an emotionless stare on Danyal’s face. Because nowadays, his own semi-permanent scowl had melted into something else. Something less haunted. He couldn’t face that he went on to live his best life while leaving Danyal all the responsibilities Damian was supposed to shoulder.

So it was a pleasent surprise when he realized that the Danyal in front of him- the intruder who infiltrated the manor, who appeared out of nowhere next to father, who has a handful of father’s hair in his fist, who had, also, pulled father’s head back harshly (Damian almost wondered of Danyal was here to take him and the rest of the Bats to the other side)- was smiling. Smiling like he was here to torture them and have fun while doing that but… for once, Danyal was smiling. Openly.

The Bats didn’t even take a second to stand up and immediately engage in combat with the intruder. If it had been anyone else, facing almost all of the Bats at the same time would have been a death sentence.

Yet, in Damian’s eyes, Danyal almost looked like he was having fun. Easygoing smile, the mirth, the- the everything. It just screamed relaxed and having fun. Despite himself, Damian didn’t actually get up from his seat. He observed the person flinging his siblings into walls. He observed his actual brother.

Kick, dodge, punch, open palm strike, a tornado kick, flinging father to the wall this time, using Brown as a meat shield before tossing her towards Cain.

Unlike what he was so sure of, Danyal wasn’t here to assassinate the Waynes. He, at most, was here to have a good brawl. But that didn’t make sense. It really didn’t. Why was Danyal here? Why did he make himself known? No one came after Damian to take him back after the first few assassins because there was still an heir. A spare who blended in with the shadows better than even father. As far as he was concerned, Danyal had only gotten at hiding better at hiding. So why? It was all confusing and it made Damian angry and he just wanted answers and what else was he supposed to do? Damian did the only thing that came to mind.

He screamed for everything to stop. He slammed the table and sent a League worthy glare towards his family. All of them. Which included Danyal and father and Alfred and- everyone.

(Damian will not admit to being nervous. No never.)

They had listened. Everyone freezing in their spot as they all stared at Damian with shock. They would have died by now if Danyal decided to take advantage of that. The rest becoming aware of their mistake and sending weary glances toward their opponent. Not that Damian cares much about that currently.

“Danyal. Explain why you are here.” His voice was low and rough. It was a tone he only used in the early months of his arival here. A tone the League forced him to talk in.

Currently he needed answers and asking directly always worked. He was extra cautious in not letting anything known. While he hated to hide himself from Danyal, he didn’t know the Danyal in front of him well enough and any show of to a League assassin meant death. A gruesome one.

And really, he expected many things in response. A harsh laugh in his face or the ever present indifference that plagued Danyal when he was young. Maybe even immediately getting maimed by his beloved brother. A brother who was supposed to protect him from the shadows.

What he didn’t dare expect (yet still hoped for) was Danyal’s face and stance and the way he held himself- all visibly softening. A smile that seemed so geniune, something Damian never saw himself, something looked so foreign on the face he and Danyal shared.

“I’m here to congratulate you, akhi" And the tone he heard, it made his eyes burn. Danyals voice had lost its harshness. It had different tones- so unlike the emotionless monotoneous voice he always heard. It had all the gentleness of of the world. And Damian dared to hope. Hope that Danyal is free from the League like he was too. He really did. Because by now, he had thick and big tears tailong down his cheeks. His eyes burned.

And he was finally happy. Happy to have finally gotten his sibling back. The one before Danyal encased himself in harsh cold ice seemingly over night one day. Damian finally felt like he got his sibling back.

Danyal was now fretting over him, expressive in a way Damian hadn’t seen in more than a decade. Danyal was a phenomenal actor. And his cold hard demeanor was a facade Damian had witnessed getting built. Finally it had all melted away. Finally he can hug his brother tightly and say all the things he hesitated to say.

Finally, they can be regular brothers now.

In the back if mind, he noted that his father and family was sending confused glances to each other. He couldn’t care less about that.



[wcnderlnds]

false hope | peter maximoff

✧ fluff/angstober day four | false hope ✧

・❥・warnings: some swearing・❥・ authors note: this is bad bc my brain just did not want to work with me hence why its a short one. also shoutout to my best friend @xmidnight-rain for the idea because i was struggling.

It was the way he carried your books to class for you, the way he offered you his jacket on cold nights, the way he always shot you a smile when you walked into a room. Those were just a few of the reasons why you were hopelessly in love with Peter Maximoff. From the very second you’d met him when you arrived at the school you’d been drawn to him. His friendly nature had pulled you in but it was his sweet, quirky personality that had made you stay. Everyday he’d always seek you out to tell you his latest joke or show you the newest thing he’d bought stole. Any compliment he threw your way made you blush, the butterflies in your stomach going into overdrive. There hadn’t been any other man that had ever made you feel this way.

You were almost certain he felt the same way, too.

Except…. he didn’t.

It was a normal day – like any other. Peter had asked you yesterday if you wanted to go out for food. With how he was flirting with you aand the big smile on his face, you'd figured it was a date. That was your first mistake. It had all been going well until Peter had leaned in and – being the complete fool that you were – you leaned in too thinking he was going for a kiss but nope. The second your lips touched his, he had speeded across the room with wide eyes.

“Wh-what… are you doing?” He asked, flustered.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry… I thought…”

“No! No, I mean… no.”

“Well, geez, thanks Peter,” you bit out sarcastically. His instant dismissal hurt.. Peter must have seen the look in your eyes because instantly he was back in front of you, his hands gently resting on the tops of your arms.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” He sighed. Words were never his strong suit so he had to think of how to phrase this without hurting you. “I don’t see you in that way. You’re my friend. My pal.”

Ouch. If your heart wasn’t hurting before then it definitely was now. All the signs had been there. How could you have read it so wrong? Were you really one of those people that thought someone being nice to you meant they liked you? You brushed his hands off you, taking a step back from him. There was no way you could be so close to him now that you’d made a fool of yourself.

“But… I thought…” Tears stung at your eyes. Were they from being upset or the utter humiliation you’d just suffered? “I thought you liked me too. You… always flirt with me and give me your jacket and… wow, I’m a fucking idiot.”

“No, hey, no you’re not. Maybe I gave off the wrong impression. I’m the idiot and I’m so sorry if I’ve hurt you. That’s never been my intention. Your friendship means the world to me. I don’t have that many true friends, y’know? People who listen to me and actually want to be around me. I lead you on without realising it and I’m sorry,” he frowned, a hand running through his hair. “I should’ve been more clear.”

“Yeah.” Using the sleeve of your sweater, you wiped at your eyes. There was no way you were going to cry in front of him and make an even bigger fool of yourself. “I think I’m just gonna go now. I’ve humiliated myself enough.”

Peter made a move to grab your arm but thought better of it. He knew you needed time even if it hurt him to know that he’d hurt your feelings. So, he let you go to give you the space he knew you needed. 

tag list (ask to be added!): @juliamaximoff @lemoniiiiiii @jazz-berry @xmidnight-rain @honeymoon8

[anonymous-existences]

Chapter 3: New Faces, New Job, New Everything.

Continuation to the Prolouge, Chapter 1 and 2.

Danny stares at Dante in absolute shock, Red Hood? RED HOOD?? OF ALL PEOPLE. Dante had to meet the rumored and probably the most violent of the Vigilantes. And Red Hood being a literal Crime Lord makes this worse.

"He had a fat ass to be hone-" Dante Blurted with a smirk but Danny cuts him off, "No, No. Shut up. I don't wanna hear your- or my- wait no. YOU'RE gay shenanigans." Danny pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to process the whole story.

"Let me get this.. straight-... You ... Ugh.... Ancients save me. YOU. MET. RED HOOD. AFTER. Beating up... Someone in his HAUNT?? And what do you mean he's a revenant? I thought frostbite said those were the "rare cases" of semi-halfas" Danny tries to clear up all the information in his head through just yelling it out.

"Yep." Dante popping the "P" and does not elaborate on anything else but a simple 'yep'.

"Kill me fully- wait... No. Jazz wouldn't want that." Danny reminded himself and took a deep breathe.

"I am so telling Clockwork." Danny spoke out.

"Oh come on! I'm in physical probation! I defended someone from getting bad things happen to them—" Danny cut him off.

"You can say "Fucked up shit" you know stop physically censoring yourself." Danny just stared at Dante with a judgemental face. Dante gasped dramatically like he's offended by that statement.

"OH WOW. It's not like I'm trying to 'Censor' myself because you're a traumatized 13 year old kid and I'm an adult given the responsibility of YOU cuz I love you like my brother." Dante states emphasizing every word.

"You sound like a drag queen." Danny blurts out

"I look better in pink anyways." Dante smirked smugly and Danny just frowned and sighed as Dante Ruffled his hair Mischievously.

"Don't you have a job interview today?" Danny grabbed his hand and gently places it away from his poor hair.

"I already got hired. They said I fit the job." Dante sounded very proud of himself before Danny blurts out "I think they hired you on the spot because you're Eye Candy."

Dante was stunned and thought about it for a moment.

Hmm.

"Yeah I suppose but that doesn't matter now, I have a normal job and people doesn't seem to be bothered by me at all so it's very good." Danny imagined that if Dante had a tail he'd be wagging it and Danny didn't like that mental image of a fucking CATBOY DAN- "UUUUUGHH! I hate that." He drags his palm on his face dramatically.

"And you Danny. Is coming with me to work. I am not leaving you in the apartment because. I will list it.

1. Someone might break in and you're not safe.

2. You might kill that someone either through ghost or through your tendencies to grab that goddamn creep stick and hit without hesitation.

3. I am not letting you play DOOMED for 7 hours straight, But I will let you play Minecraft.

4. You or well, We. Tend to roam away from home when we are bored, in this case you do. And ding ding ding we're in Gotham.

5. If you ever got into any danger. I would not worry if you're okay. I would worry if you killed someone first.

That's your list."

Dante started Loud and Clear.

"Fine but I get to bring both my phone and headphones with my switch." Danny Complied with a deal making Dante smile triumphantly, "Fine with me Twerp, and you better behave at the cafe." He chuckles and Pats Danny's Head Gently but still mischievously.

Danny also giggled, Danny's chest felt warm. And his core buzzed in familiar happiness as Dante and Danny Pressed their foreheads into each other before Dante pats Danny's shoulder and stands back up with a groan.

"Let's go kid, get ready now." Dante stretched his body and cracks some of his "old bones" as Danny heads to his bedroom and takes his sling bag and puts his 'neccesities' inside with a smile.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Tim heard about a new Cafe opening nearby Gotham U, although at first he was suspicious of how so many people are already visiting it and even the lines reach outside. He soon found out why. One of their workers was rumored to be apparently "eye candy" or whatever they called people who are very attractive.

This worker was the main Barista and he apparently makes the drinks Infront of the people and he was good at it.

That got Tim even more curious, How attractive does someone have to be that people of all genders are lining up on a new store as if a celebrity is inside. And so he decided to wait in line like any other student as to not direct any attention to himself because that would be utterly humiliating for him.

He waited.....

And waited....

And kept Waiting and Waiting....

Until finally, what felt like an eternity he finally got to order His Coffee.

It seems the rumors are true, the bartender is indeed attractive. Tim got even more curious about how the big man seemed to have canine sharp teeth, oddly pale complexion that almost looks... Purple? And Lazarus Green Water with Red Rims.

"An Americano with two shots please.." He states to the Cashier, "And name please?" The Cashier asks again.

"Timothy." He calmly tells her as she writes it down to a receipt and hands it to the orders That the "Eye Candy" Man and Another Worker was Making.

Tim sat on a nearby table. It was the only table that happened to be empty. Except a 13 years old kid just sitting there playing... Minecraft? Okay-.

The kid stared at Tim, Tim stares back. 'He looks like adoption Bait.' Tim thinks to himself then suddenly he slowly feels weird, as if he's being judged intensely, Unfortunately and possibly even worse than how Damian judges him.

"You look like an overworked 9-5 office worker that has no paid vacations or time off for a student." the kid suddenly speaks out and it felt as though Tim had just been shot with a non-existent arrow of truth.

"Wha-" Tim tries to ask but the kid interrupts him before he could even start, "you should really get some sleep and maybe lessen your intake of Coffee... Ah right. Name's Danny by the way. Sorry. You just started staring at me so I couldn't help but state my opinion." The kid, or well... Danny said as he went back to playing Minecraft on his switch.

"I- it's... It's fine. I know I need sleep... All college students do- it's normal." Timothy just sighs and nods subtly, knowing full well this random kid is right.

Goddamit, the kid acts like Damian a bit too- and he has the typical black hair blue eyes appearance, possibly an orphan attitude. Tim continues to have a subtle Life Crisis in his head.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

'Such a weird person.' Danny thought to himself and chuckled softly.

He continues to play Minecraft with Tucker and Sam to Pass his time and so he doesn't go all deppreso mid-daylight. The amount of people entering the cafe was still... Concerning at the very least, now that the customers have heard Dante's voice... They started to call him the "Everything in one Package." Which was way worse than "Eye Candy" to be honest.

'Vlad would be confused and shocked.... I wonder how Ellie is doing.. hopefully not too bad....' Danny hums to himself as he made a gravesite ingame for Jazz to remember her by.

It has become tradition for these teens to make jazz a gravesite whenever they start a new world and they always made sure it's beautiful and colorful in a way Jazz would have liked it.

Danny smiled as he finished up the ingame Gravesite.

Although it hurts to see and do this every time, he still loves it because then he has something to remind him of her existence.

Her precious Existence as he likes to call it.

"I miss her so much..." He mutters to himself.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

"I'm so... Tired." Dante was plopped onto the couch lazily.

"I am scared to be an adult like you..." Danny just stared at Dante as he Begrudgingly sat back up from the couch to stretch his body and head to the kitchen to cook.

"I met a random older student today, we kinda talked. He called me adoption bait which was funny because technically I am considering V l a d." Danny laughed.

"Adoption Bait my ass, who would want to adopt a little messy homeless looking goblin." Dante just chuckled smugly and Danny Pouts. " I am not a homeless looking kid" he tries to defend himself "that's the thing you're most concerned about in my sentence?" Dante tucked his hair back into a tight Ponytail and let's it flow naturally like fire.

"I know I'm a goblin, it's just how I am." Danny proudly says and pats his chest and puffs it out with pride.

"Ofcourse you do... Ah right. Kiddo I have a surprise for you tomorrow. So make sure to get enough sleep today alright?" Dante kneels down to Danny's Height to speak to him properly.

Danny thinks for a second, "Sure! I like surprises!" Danny giggled nodded profusely in excitement.

"Good." Dante smiled softly, he loves it when Danny is happy. His core loves when Danny is also happy. A happy Danny is a happy Dante.

He wishes this could go on forever. Just Danny smiling and not screaming for his life in his nightmares.

My Arm is cold from writing this <33

Enjoy though.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

DRABBLE: HE & YOU ON WASH DAY 🫧 (18+) (JJK) (For Black!Fem!Readers)

Writer’s Note: I came up with this little Drabble after seeing a video of a Black girl teaching her white BF how to wash, moisturize, derange & do her hair. It was soooo CUTE & stuck in the back of my head, so I decided to let my inspiration flow. Thank God too cuz i realize i haven’t written a Drabble in literally FOREVER. I’ll make an effort to put out more before 2025 comes. I hope y’all enjoy!

I also tried to incorporate different types of Black hairstyles, textures & types for each character. All comments are welcome on front (but keep it respectful). Thank you & again, enjoy! -Jazz 🥰

*******

GOJO

This man swears he knows what he’s doing.

You’ll admit that Gojo is good at everything: singing, dancing, gaming, cooking, fighting, yapping…especially yapping. He’s also good at being a boyfriend. He is the most attentive, affectionate, loving man you’ve ever met and you’re so grateful to have him—the handsome, sexy, popular Gojo Satoru—as your partner.

He manages to help you with everything else you don’t have enough time to get to or are having trouble with, such as cooking and cleaning. What’s the difference between that and washing your hair, he wonders? When you tell him that your hair is much different and requires a traditional regime that could last HOURS, Gojo just waves you off.

“Baby, c’mon,” he scoffs, holding you in his lap and squeezing you to him as if you’ll disappear. “Don’t you know who I am? I’m good at everything. You think I can’t help you out with your pretty hair?” He gives you a big, confident, gigawatt smile that makes you melt.

“You sure?” You ask, your arms wrapped around his neck as he places his hands on your hips. He rocks you in his arms like you’re his baby…which you are. He always shows that any chance he gets. “‘Cause it’s a job, ‘Tarou. My hair isn’t like yours.”

Gojo scoffs, running a hand through the maze of dark kinky twists that is your hair. “Obviously,” he chuckles. “And I love that. I love your hair and I wanna help you take care of it! C’mon, what’s the rocket science in washin’ hair?”

But that self-assurance and cockiness quickly fades when you show him all the products you use for your hair, explaining each one in great detail. Then you show him the proper way to wash your hair which results in him getting water all over himself and the floor. Then, once you’re done, you try to show him how to detangle, moisturize, and cornrow your hair with a comb but to also rely on your fingers to do the work.

By the time you finish, you do most of the work while Gojo sits there looking like you just tried to explain to him why the Earth is flat. Poor baby’s blue eyes are so wide that you’re afraid they’ll roll out of his skull. He is down in the dumps afterward, snuggling into your chest. “I’m sorry, babe,” he mutters into your boobs. “I fucked up. I’m no good at this shit.”

You coo to him, running a hand through his white locks. “Satoru, baby, it’s not a big deal—“

“Yes the fuck it is!” He protests, sitting up to look at you. “You’re my girlfriend! I should know how to do your hair! But don’t worry; I’m gonna learn all about this if it fuckin’ kills me.”

And he makes you hold him to that. Not the type to give up or give in, Gojo spends the next week learning everything there is to know about Black hair: your type of hair; how to take care of it; if creams or oils work best to keep it moisturized; how to cornrow for beginners, etc. You let him drag you to the hair supply store to buy products and practice on you, giggling to yourself about how cute he is trying to do all of this for you.

After two weeks, you and Gojo go for round two. This time, you let him take the reins washing your hair. He is attentive and delicate with your hair, his long fingers scrubbing and massaging the shampoo in. You find yourself sighing at the feeling, melting at his touch. “You like that, baby?” He asks among the running water.

Chuckling when you hum in agreement, he presses a kiss to the back of your neck as you stand bend over the sink. “Y’know, I could always relax you more with somethin’ else,” he whispers.

That’s when you feel his very obvious hard dick pressing against your ass. You gasp, reaching back to swat him. “Gojo!” You whine. “You freak!”

“What?” He protests, grinning. “Ya can’t blame me for gettin’ hard by this! You look hot with your natural hair, babe, and runnin’ my hands through it is even better. It’s so soft and pretty, like you!” He grinds his hips into your ass, giving you a feel of the hot bulge pressing against his sweatpants. And you know he’s free-balling, the slut. No boxers at all!

“Y’know,” he says, his voice sultry and teasing, “all I have to do is pull these little shorts down and—“

“Uh-uh!” You shout, tossing some soapy water at him. He dodges it effortlessly. “Not while you’re supposed to be helpin’ me, asshole! Now maybe if you do a good job with my hair, we can do somethin’ about your very big problem.” You bend over the sink again, giggling when you brush your ass against Gojo’s hard dick and emit a groan from him.

And ‘do a good job’ he does, surprisingly. After you wash and condition your hair with his help, Gojo sits you down between his long legs and towel dries your hair before helping you successfully moisturize and plat it in small, wet cornrows going down your scalp.

This takes about an hour and during it all, Gojo is patient and loving with your hair. He detangles each knot with a comb, delicately threads each strand of hair, and doesn’t complain about how long it takes.

And you fall more in love with him during that hour.

Once done, he sits on the edge of the bed like a patient dog waiting for its treat while you admire his work in the mirror. After a few seconds, you slowly turn to him and smile. “Not bad,” you comment. “Not bad at all.” He breaks out into a gigantic grin. “I told you!” He laughs before yanking you over.

You giggle as you fall into him, straddling his lap. “Now, what’s about you doin’ somethin’ about my ‘very big’ problem?” He whispers, grinding his hips up into yours. Sure enough, he’s still hard. Pressing a slow kiss to his lips that steals your breath, you sneak your hands down to untie his sweats. “Let me show you,” you whisper. “After all, you did just a good job for me.”

Many hours later, after making him cum his brains out down your throat and putting you into the mattress, Gojo wants to be part of your wash days ALL THE TIME now.

CHOSO

This cutie patootie wants to know everything and anything about your beautiful hair. He loves it soooo much!

He loves staring at it and watching how it glows in the sunlight. He loves how bouncy your curls are when you walk. He loves running his hands through it when you kiss (though most of the time, he’s afraid to touch it in fear of ruining it).

Any time he catches you sitting in the bathroom doing your hot oil treatment, he asks so many questions:

“Why do you need to wear that big-ass helmet?”

“If you use hair grease and hair oil, won’t that oversaturate your hair?”

“How do you do this every single day? Doesn’t that get tiring?”

“Why don’t you let me help you one day?”

You love your hair too. It took you years to grow and maintain it, so you take your long, bouncy curls very seriously. So you have your own regime, especially when drying and setting your hair once it’s clean.

When you explain all of this to Choso at the hair supply store, the man looks like you’re trying to explain another language to him. “What does ‘set’ mean?” He asks as you drag him to the hair care aisles. “What does that have to do with washing your hair?”

“No, no, no,” you hurriedly say, searching the shelves for that one scalp grease that you always use. You ran out, so that’s why you dragged Choso out of the house to go get more plus a new bonnet and a comb because your favorite one broke.

“That comes AFTER I wash my hair. ‘Setting’ means sectioning and putting my hair in curlers so they come out the way you like.”

Choso stops with his hand still in yours, standing between some shelves of creams and some shelves of shampoo. You turn to him, confused. “What? Baby, you agreed to help me! We’re losin’ daylight here!”

You motion to the outside where the sun is shining and the sky is blue. “The way I like?” Choso parrots. You blink, perplexed. “You said you set your hair so it comes out how I like,” he clarifies. “Do you not like it when your hair comes out another way?”

He cocks his head to the side, his pierced brow quirked slightly. You feel yourself grow hot with embarrassment in his black hoodie that you “borrowed” (stole, but he gave it to you anyway, loving how it looks on you instead) from him.

“Uh…w-well, no girl likes it when her hair doesn’t come out right,” you mutter. “I just like it when my hair looks pretty…y’know…sexy.”

Choso’s expression softens, making him look so much like a soft-eyed teddy bear despite his tattoos and piercings. He is aware of your slight love-hate relationship with your hair when it’s not ‘hair-ing’ right.

You love it when your curls are the right length and bounce. It makes you feel so feminine and sexy. Sexy enough to let Choso pull on them during sex and run his fingers through it during a sloppy, slow make-out session.

Not when it’s frizzy. Not when you just get it wet and it shrinks back to its natural itty-bitty kinks. Not when it’s—

“Stop it.” As if he can hear your thoughts, Choso puts his hands on your shoulders and gently coaxes you to look up at him. Into his pretty, gray eyes. “You know damn well I love your hair no matter what it looks like,” he softly says. “You should too, babydoll. Don’t sweat that shit.”

He takes your hand and puts it on his head, right between his spiked ponytails. “You think I give a fuck about what my hair looks like all the time?” He asks, smirking.

You cluck your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “Yeah,” you mutter, “but you’re a guy! And Black hair is much different than yours. A-And there’s so many different types and—Mmph!”

You moan in surprise as Choso’s lips suddenly press against yours, silencing you. His lip ring pushes against your bottom lip, cool and enticing. It grounds you.

When you pull away, he brushes your nose with his in an Eskimo kiss—one thing he only does in private because of how “cutesy” it is. “You feel better now?” He asks. You nod, winded from his kiss.

“You gonna let me buy you your shit and not have a panic attack in the middle of the store?” He asks. Once again, you nod, a smile stretching onto your lips.

“And you’re gonna remember you’re my pretty little girlfriend no matter what, right?” He whispers, sliding a hand against your ass as you both start to walk again.

You nod, wrapping your arm around his waist. “Mmm-hmm,” you shyly hum. “And you’re my hot little boyfriend.” You slide your hand down to his ass, squeezing it.

Choso blushes hot red, tsking. “I’m not little,” he grunts, making you laugh.

GETO

Admittedly, Geto has never thought too much about hair….that is until he met you.

He couldn’t get enough of your beautiful, long braids that swayed in the breeze. How they accentuated all of the shapes, lines, and features of your pretty face. How you wore it up, down, twisted…even braided! He didn’t even know you could braid braids! But when you showed up on your first date with the black coils in one big French braid, he was sold as yours and yours alone.

He didn’t know you could wash braids too without taking them out, but now he does. When he comes home from running errands (gym and picking up some lunch), he hears the shower running and you humming to Giveon, which means you're still washing your hair.

He smiles, placing the paper bag of stir fry and your favorite drink on the counter. “Baby!” he calls. “Food’s here!” He takes off his shoes and puts them at the door, just about ready to get some water after his vigorous workout when he hears something fall and your pretty voice yelp in pain.

“Ow!” you shriek. Geto quickly springs into action, running up the steps in his polo socks and gym shorts. He nearly slips across the floor and breaks his neck when he gets to the bathroom. “Baby?” he calls. “Baby, what happened? Did you fall?”

You're standing in the shower in your soaked bra and panties, sudsy, foamy shampoo running down your braids. “No, worse!” you groan, holding your left eye. “I got shampoo in my eye! God fuckin’ dammit, that burns!”

You try to grab a towel, but Geto stops you. “Uh-uh, don’t move,” he orders. “Let me do it." He helps you out of the running shower and holds your wet braids back for you. "Lean your back head.” You do so and he wets a washrag before dabbing it on your eye.

After a minute, your eye stops stinging and you're able to open it. Geto dabs away water and soap dripping down the side of your face. “Bad hair wash day, I’m assuming?”

You nod, huffing in embarrassment and frustration. “One of my braids smacked me in the face and I almost went blind. This is usually a messy job, so I do ‘em in the shower.”

Geto stares at you in confusion, puzzled by what you mean. “So you...wash your braids?” he curiously asks. “How does that work?” He looks like a puppy being taught a new trick and you find it so endearing.

“Oh, you just massage the shampoo in the scalp and down the braids,” you explain, motioning to your scalp. “It gets the gunk from hair product and dirt out. Then I put my braids down to let the water wash everything out.” You sigh, rubbing your sore forearm. “My arms are so tired though,” you groan.

You've been at this for almost an hour now since Geto left to run errands and have barely gotten through it yet. Then you still have to blowdry your braids to make sure your entire scalp is dry which makes another whole hour. Noticing the stressful look on your face, Geo decides he doesn' like i and wans o help his baby a any cos. “Lemme help you then.”

You blink a him, watching as he takes off his socks and begins washing his hands under he showerhead. “What?!” you exclaim. “Sugu, baby, no, i-it’s fine! It’s not a two-person job and you’ll get your clothes all wet and—“

“Who said anythin’ about clothes?” he cuts in. He gives you a humored smile as he begins to peel off his white tank top. “That’s a silly thought, but a cute one.” Flashing his pearly whites at you, he strips off his shirt, revealing his perfectly-defined, toned upper and lower torsos. Your eyes roam over his squeezable pecs, both nipples pierced, big, inked arms, washboard abs, and cut V-line and sides littered in tattoos. He’s truly a beautiful specimen, your boyfriend.

As he tosses his shirt to the side, you suddenly don’t want to wash your hair anymore. Instead, you’d like to wash Geto’s delicious body, see it drip with water and soap, and then do it all over again because you end up fucking each other instead. “B-but…your hair,” you weakly protest. “It’ll get all wet.”

Geto smiles, pulling a hairband out of his pocket and tying his long hair up in a bun. That only arouses you more. “Hush, my love,” he coos, pressing a finger to your lips. You resist the urge to suck on it. “Don’t worry about me—worry about these gorgeous braids.” He takes your hand and guides you into the shower. While you stand near the running water, he stands behind you, making your entire body feel hot and tingly. “Just tell me what to do.”

The hair-washing process only happens for about ten minutes. As soon as you feel Geto’s thick fingers massaging your scalp and running through your braids, gentle and careful, your pussy flips into overdrive and gushes in your panties. Soon, your undies come off, Geto’s shorts come down, and hands are roaming over body parts and skin. Lips are on lips, tongues are swirling together, his hands are on your ass, and yours are all over him.

Soon, that somehow leads to him picking you up and fucking you against the shower wall, your moans swallowed up by the water and Giveon playing on your phone. His cock drives deliciously in and out of you as his hips grind against yours, your legs and arms tightly wrapped around him. “I didn’t know this was a part of your routine, baby,” he pants in your ear. “But if it is, count me the fuck in.” His hand is in your hair, your braids wrapped around his fist. “Want me to tug ‘em harder, mama?”

“Yes!” You desperately shout. “Yes, Sugu, please! I’m so close!” You can feel your cunt spasming around him, your hand slipped between you and him to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. Geto picks up the pace, his yummy moans and grunts filling the steamy shower as he pounds your pussy against the shower wall. “Pull my hair,” he pleadingly says. “Do it hard, baby. I’m ‘bout to cum too.”

You do as he says and dig your fingers into his hair, tugging on the wet, black locks. He groans at the feeling, his eyes fluttering shut and his handsome face screwed in ecstasy. Seeing him like that makes you cum instantly, a high-pitched moan of his name leaving your lips.

His own orgasm is triggered too and quickly pulls out before cumming in unison with you all over your thighs and the shower wall. His lips swoop yours up in a hot, slow tongue-kiss that makes your intense orgasm that much more explosive as your body loses tension and you feel like mush.

Finally, Geto pulls away, his eyes hooded and a lazy smile on his face. “Oh, look,” he chuckles. He points to your wet braids and his dripping hair. “All clean.”

NANAMI

He can’t get enough of your Afro.

Seriously. He stares at it any chance he gets. On his free time, when he isn’t working or telling Gojo to leave him alone, Nanami is calculating the circumference of your perfectly-round, full Afro and how long it takes you to get it in such a perfect, round shape. How does it defy gravity the way it does? Does it ever deflate? What do you do to make it so soft? He often wonders this when you allow him to touch it. He feels so blessed that you bestow such an honor to him.

He realizes later that maintaining such a beautiful hairstyle is a lot of work. One day, on a boring Sunday that is meant as your “self-care” day, he watches you as you sit near the kitchen sink in a chair, your thick hair sectioned into four parts with scrunchies. He’d laugh at such the cute yet silly look you’ve got going on if you didn’t look so sad and defeated doing it. You’ve only gotten through one part, washing it by hand with shampoo.

Wanting to make things easier for his love, Nanami moves behind you and wraps his arms around you from behind. “You look so tired, my love,” he sighs. “Why don’t you let me help you?” You look up at him, confused. Nanami has watched you wash your hair a couple of times to know what you do and what you use.

He first coaxes you to stand up and turns the chair around so you’re facing away from the sink. After filling the sink up with warm water, he rolls his sleeves up to his forearms, much to your liking, and lathers his hands up in your favorite lavender-mint-rosemary shampoo. He takes one part of hair out of your scrunchie and proceeds to scrub it, lathering it in the soap. He does the same to the others, massaging your scalp in the process.

Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling of his skillful and careful hands in your hair, your body relaxing in your chair. “Oh,” you moan. You haven’t had anyone wash your hair for you since your mother when you were young. And to have your partner, who isn’t Black, do such a good and careful job with your hair is such a sweet gesture of your kind of love language.

“That feels nice?” He asks, happy to hear the sound. You press your lips into a thin line, humiliated by the sound slipping out of your mouth. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he chuckles. “I want you to relax. Wash days should be relaxing, not…” He pauses, searching for the right word.

“Fuckin’ stressful?” You offer, sighing as the warm water cascades over your scalp. “Yeah, but you’re not the only carryin’ around a big ass ball of hair on your head.” Nanami laughs, pressing. Kiss to your forehead. “A beautiful ball of hair, actually.” He works the water through your hair from root to tip, taking gentle care of each strand of your hair. You melt into his touch, falling in love with him deeper and deeper.

Once he finishes washing your hair, he empties the sink of all of the water and tells you to lean back so your hair can drip into the sink. “This actually kinda feels like a spa,” you giggle. Maybe you can give me a massage after this.” Nanami chuckles, flinging the water and suds off of his hands before chastely kissing you on the lips. “Let me get the towel.”

You keep your eyes closed as he leaves and quickly returns with a towel. First, he lathers your hair up in conditioner, gently massaging your scalp with the thick, creamy, floral-scented substance. Then, suddenly, you feel something cold over your eyes and hear the sound of relaxing flute music playing from somewhere. “What are you doin’, sir?” You giggle.

You feel Nanami’s lips ghost over your ear, sending chills down your spine. “Shh, no talking at the spa” he whispers. His hands are firm yet gentle as they press into your temples while your hair drips into the sink. “Can I get you a drink, miss? Perhaps you’d want massage here?” He begins to trail his fingers down your neck, each place his fingers touch leaving a trail of fire. “Or maybe…here?”

He trails down to your shoulders, giving you a firm rub. As he does, your nipples harden beneath your sports bra and your sweats suddenly feel entirely too tight. “You’re getting warmer,” you purr. A soft, seductive hum comes from Nanami’s throat that drives you insane as his hands trail down to your chest.

“You mean…here?” He gently cascades his hands over your breasts, brushing against your hard nipples beneath the thin material of your sports bra.

His hands then go back up to your shoulders, teasing you. You whimper, desperate for attention. “That’s not fair,” you whine. “You’ve got me all warm now.” Your boyfriend chuckles, his fingers kneading your shoulder muscles. “I thought that was the point.” He suddenly pauses. “Or…do you mean…”

You take the cold compress (which you find is an eye mask) off of your eyes to look up at your man and slowly move your hand to cup his cock. To your joy, you find that he is semi-hard. Nanami tuts but keeps your hand on his dick. “Miss, this is very improper for a spy,” he says, mock-offended. He leans down toward you, his minty breath fanning across your face. “But I suppose I could make an exception for you.”

He leans in closer, closer, and you think he’s going to kiss you. You lean up, desperate for his lips on yours. “After I condition, dry, moisturize, and grease your hair,” he adds. He turns the water on again and puts the eye mask back on your eyes. “What?!” You squeak. “Kento, nooo, pleeeease!” Your pussy throbs in desperate, insisting that he touches you right here, right now.

Nanami presses a finger to your lips, silencing you. “No whining,” he says. “Besides, all good things come to those who wait, my love.” He presses a kiss to your forehead before you feel the warm water on your hair rinsing out the conditioner. “Now enjoy your spa session.”

You do. You enjoy all of the work Nanami does on your hair, including what you instruct him to do. But truth be told, you enjoy the work he does on your body two hours later in the comfort of your bedroom.

With your hair safely wrapped up in a towel and bonnet for extra protection, your leg is tossed over Nanami’s broad shoulder as his hips piston into yours, his cock stroking your insides and his fingers teasing your clit. “Told you good things come to those who wait,” he grunts. “Are you gonna cum for me now?”

You vigorously shake your head, staring up with heart eyes at the handsome blonde above you. “N-No!” You whimper. “Not until you say, Daddy! I promise!”

Nanami smiles and presses a kiss to your ankle that nearly has you combusting all over the sheets. “That’s my good, pretty girl.” Your boyfriend has now become a new and important addition to your wash days.

[basilf1res]

Tim Drake, looking at (read: stalking) a couple being cute and hugging and holding hands on a bench in the gloomy Gotham winter: *sighs* damn why can’t I have that.

Tucker Foley, glancing over at his two best friends being all cute in the park across the street from Starbucks (where he’s drinking coffee): *mumbles* damn, I want that too.

Tim and Tucker, now looking at each other: Coffee date?

Tim and Tucker, both nod: Coffee date.

——————————

Dick, in a car: You met this man… where exactly..?

Tim: Coffee.

Dick: *long pause* what?

Tim: Starbucks. Get out of the car I’m going on a coffee date. (Said with same energy as: “Get in loser we’re going shopping”)

——————————

Tucker, sipping a mocha latte with (what should be) an illegal amount of shots: So… ya like jazz..?

Tim, inhaling his third cup of black coffee: Hired.

Tucker, grinning far to wide and pumping his fist like the sleep deprived college students he is: Score.

——————————

Stephanie, spins around in the chair in front of the batcomputer (a photo of Tucker on it) supervillain style: Sooooo~ I heard from the grapevine that you’ve landed yourself a date.

Stephanie, pausing to look towards Cass: Was that too straightforward? Should I make it sound more dramatic?

Cass: *shrugging*

Stephanie, turns back around: Hmm, let’s see…

Tim, entering the cave with a cheap cup of coffee from Starbucks: Oh hey, came down to borrow the computer for a bi-

Stephanie, spins towards Tim while in the chair: *fake crying* You left me for this man??

Cass: *facepalms*

Tim: *chokes on coffee*

——————————

Danny, side hugging Sam while walking down the street towards a public ice rink: Wheeeere’s Tucker..?

Sam: He was going to get some breakfast? I think??

Danny: So that’s definitely not Tim Drake and that’s definitely not Tucker Foley all bundled up in winter gear holding hands while both fail at ice skating and holding up several cups of coffee.

Sam, deadpanning: Why am I even surprised.

——————————

Tucker, nearly falling on the ice again: We’re being watched.

Tim, holding him up: Ignore my siblings, they’re just jealous they don’t have a coffee buddy.

Tucker: Why did we make this coffee cup balancing bet-?

Tim, exasperated: We?? That was all you!

Tucker, glaring while tripping Tim, making him nearly face-plant: Nuh uh! Lies and slander!

Tim and Tucker landing in the most cliché way possible in those cringy Christmas romance movies:

Tim:

Tucker:

Tim: Your fault.

Tucker with a Cheshire Cat grin: Well duh, that was my intention.

Tim: Fuck you.

Tucker: You know you want to~~

Tim: Woah-! Take me on a coffee date first!

Tucker, trying not to laugh: Wanna go see a movie?

Tim, also trying not to laugh as he gets off of Tucker and helps him up: *embarrassed stammering* S-sure.

Tim and Tucker both snickering at the pure explosion of chaos they’ve caused while (probably) semi-high on caffeine: We are so dead in a few hours.

Oops. This was longer than I thought.

[ghostgoing]

Love You

Jason had been seeing Danny for a while now. They had met in the Batcave, Danny on the run from some ghost hunting maniacs. Apparently Jason was also a viable target; he and Danny had spent a lot of time together on patrol, Danny keeping Jason safe from these “Guys in white. ”

(“I don’t need protection, I’m a fucking crime lord. ” “Humor me, okay? They have weapons that work specifically on us. ” “I have plenty of experience not getting killed by people who want to kill me, I’ll be fine” “that’s not as reassuring as you think it is. Look, just let me come, I’ll be invisible the entire time. It will make me less anxious” “Fine”)

Danny’s snark had grown on him, and eventually Jason had asked the man out. This was the start of several months of wandering around Gotham for hours, talking about everything and nothing. When it rained they would go to the library, and curl up in adjacent armchairs.

Jason had fallen for Danny slowly but surely. He wanted Danny to know he loved him, but he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

The solution came to him when Jazz called Danny while the two of them had taken a break to sit on a bench.

“Hey Jazz”

“I’m in the middle of something right now, can I call you later?”

“Bye, love you”

Jason and Danny spoke on the phone often enough that it would be easy to slip in a Love You as a sign off.

Now he just had to work up the nerve.

[mobbu-min]

☆ bragging rights ☆

(ft the first years)

a/n I couldn't find the request where they wanted the first years, but here it is! Ortho is strictly platonic!

tw cursing

want more? eat up bestie! ☆,☆

Ace + Grim <3

⋆ Grim’s like, ‘No. Please, Great Sevens, no…’ He wants anyone but him. Grim wouldn’t mind if it was one of the Leech Brothers, or hell even, that weird ass bowl cut kid that tried to light everything on fire. Just anyone but Ace! He can’t! Just imagining Ace’s cocky ass grin sends Grim into a fit of rage. Really considers all his life decisions.

⋆ Ehm, can you please speak a little louder? Ace didn’t hear that. Ace squeals like a high school girl who just got asked to prom. Considers this his greatest accomplishment tbh. You’re the hottest thing since sliced bread and Ace is the super cool, incredibly good looking super mage. Like it’s a no brainer. A match made in heaven. Of course you’re going to be bragging about him. Who wouldn’t? (please, never stop. Ace literally cried tears of joy)

Deuce + Grim <3

⋆ Honestly, Grim’s okay with this one. Sure Deuce is a little airheaded, but Grim likes him a lot more than Ace! (that’s a lie, he loves both of them equally, just too stubborn to admit it) And he knows that Deuce will treat you right. Though, Grim doesn't know much more arguing he can take from the flustered idiot one and jealous idiot two. 

⋆ So so happy. He calls his mom immediately after, (i mean, he’s been calling his mom about you since the day you met) Deuce has really tried to be better, to be the type of guy that you wouldn’t hesitate to call yours and knowing that he made it makes him want to explode (in a good way ofc) He wants to cry, jump up and down, take you by your waist and give you a big ol’ smooch. There’s so many things he wants to do, so many things he wants to make you feel, because Deuce is so in love it’s embarrassing really. (Ace gags while also mourning the fact that it’s not him, jealous bastard)

Jack + Grim <3

⋆ Grim is a little on the fence about this one. Jacks a great guy, don’t get him wrong, but Grim doesn’t want to spend his mornings, afternoons and nights working out. Well, on second thought, the image of Grim sporting a rocking six pack kinda gets him to rethink….No, no…he does not want to give up his tuna! Jack will have to pry his box of tuna from his cold dead paws before he lets that happen. 

⋆ His tail does a little waggy once he hears you bragging. Like how can he not? He already talks about you a whole bunch. I mean if you count him always going ‘C’mon, even the prefect could do better!’ or ‘you might be even more airheaded then the Prefect…” then yeah, Jack’s doing a lot of bragging. He’s loyal by heart, but also emotionally constipated, so you’re going to have to look for the hidden meanings behind his brash words. Because it’s there! You just have to look hard and be patient!

⋆ Or you can just look behind your wolfy friend and stare at that ass- I mean, that tail! Yeah, tail! Because it’s betraying how he feels. So thank you tail! (and thank that ass, because it’s thiccc!)

Epel + Grim <3

⋆ Grim is honestly okay with this one. Epel and him are on good terms. So it doesn’t bother him all that much. Really there's nothing else to say other than, Grim is just happy that you’re happy.

⋆ YEEHAW BITCHES!!!!!HE WINS!!!!! Epel is alive and dying at the same time. He’s calling his meemaw, peepaw and all that jazz, because guess what? He’s not bitchless anymore! Yes! Take that Vil, you pompous jerk! And you too Rook, you frenchie! And most importantly, fuck you Ace! He beat you and now you look like a fool! HAHDHHAHA

⋆ Okay, but after Epel gets over his high, he’s face down on his apple plushies practically crying because he’s so happy. 

Ortho + Grim <3

⋆ Second son? SECOND SON? NAH! GRIM’S IS YOUR ONLY SON! He literally gets so offended that you're talking about Ortho more than him. Every little ounce of affection or praise directed towards you little robotic buddy is greeted with an irritated huff and eye roll from Grim. Like did you forget that Grim’s been with you since forever? Grim truly see’s Ortho as a rival/threat, because unlike the other boys who you continuously thrist over, you’re so sweet and kind to Ortho and treat him like he was your kid/brother. It really gets Grim’s gears going. He just wants you to know that he is not above fighting a child, robotic or not, he’s going down.

⋆ Oh, Ortho’s over the moon. The person he sees as a second sibling loves him so much! It makes him so happy. Literally, he thinks he’s dreaming (can he dream?). And omg, this just fuels Ortho to get Idia to confess to you, so you’re all like an actual family. You and Idia can be the parents and Ortho and Grim can be your kids! Ortho has already taken to treating Grim like a little brother, constantly patting his head and giving him treats (which does soothes Grim’s dislike to him by a lot, at this point you think Grim likes Ortho more than you) Ortho does ask if you four could all take a christmas photo together (or whatever the equivalent to christmas is in their world) and he sends it to every one of his friends with really fancy blue and pink glitter gel pen font that says ‘From the Shrouds!’. Sure he knows you aren’t actually a family yet, but he’s sure he can do a little convincing and bam! The wedding is bound to happen! 

Please just do as he says! Let this boy be happy T0T

Sebek + Grim <3

⋆ There’s dead silence from Grim. Like you do realize that you have no insurance right? How the heck are you supposed to pay for hearing aids for the both of you? He doesn’t get it. What’s the appeal? Did you hit your head that hard? Grim’s judging and he’s judging hard. But overall, Grim surprisingly feels bad. All he can think of is that one lyric you scream out every now then by that Rana le Del, um… What was it again? The Other Woman~ and that’s you. He just shakes his head because he knows you can do better. 

⋆ Sebek is a blushing mess. He’s on two ends of the spectrum, one being incredibly smug and two, wanting to scream the ears off anyone in the ten mile radius of him. There is no inbetween because he’s not a chill guy. When Sebek wants something he puts 110 percent into it. And that's what he does for you. You know what name becomes a frequent occurrence in his vocabulary? Yeah, it’s your name. There’s not a sentence that he says that does include you and Malleus in it. Yeah, he is making and joining every club that there is about you and yes, that is a shrine dedicated to you right next to his Malleus shrine. And no, you cannot stop him. 

[radiance1]

Prompt idea: inmortal teen looking Danny, jumping across different dimensions he lands in DC. He quickly become annoyed because the native heroes won't stop trying to adopt him.

Oh and it take some years to Danny to jump to another dimension

*Cracks knuckles*

Alright so this is extremely, very, late. But it shall be DONE!

So, let us start with some BACKGROUND.

Danny is an immortal teen, yes? So then, Danny has outlived every mortal he knows, as in Jack, Maddie, Sam, Tucker, Jazz, everyone.

So when the last person he loved and cared for died (your pick as to whom), he went into the ghost zone to explore to hopefully forget all the pain. He explored the zone, stopping by some of the ghosts he knows before finding a portal, to which he just says fuck it and dives in.

At first he didn't know where he was, but with some digging he came to the conclusion that it's a different dimension and is like neat. So he explores a lil, meets some people, drinks and eats some food.

Y'know, the usual tourist stuff.

So after a few years he had his fill of this new dimension, seeing everything there is to see and all. So he left, finding a conveniently open portal and then goes on to the next.

And the next.

And the next.

Until one portal, like any other. He pops into a new dimension and expects it to be like all the others, he already had things going on his mind about what it would be.

Perhaps old timey? Maybe Prehistoric even? Oooo, maybe it would be futuristic, those are always fun.

Except it was none of that, in this dimension people have powers and superheroes are actually real.

He was a bit surprised, but easily accepted it.

So there he was, just minding his own business outside of earth's atmosphere, eyeing up the planet to think about where he would visit first, he picked up a lot of languages in his travel, so he doesn't think he'll have a problem where he choses.

So he picks a certain spot to land, some city by the name of Metropolis, only to be met with two people.

A man with a red cape in blue and red spandex, and standing near him is a bat furry in black spandex.

Weird choice but alright, he doesn't judge.

It was when the former turned around- Superman if he remembered correctly, that he felt like he was punched in the gut.

He looked so much like him, so, so much that he thought he was standing- well, more so floating, right there in front of him.

"Dad?"

Danny noticed his mistake after he let it slip, there were some slight differences that his father didn't have, and well, his father is dead and all.

So what did he do to save himself from the embarrassment of mistaking some guy for his dead dad?

He's an adult- practically older than a lot of people actually, even if he looks like a kid. He is mature and will solve this and act accordingly.

He turned invisible and peaced out.

He's sure nothing won't come out of that frankly.

It was just a teeny, tiny slip up.

Something did come out of it, much to Danny's chagrin.

Now he's being followed by these superheroes everywhere for whatever reason and they won't leave him alone when he just wants to sight see.

In a dark and grim city because he was avoiding Metropolis?

Followed by some ninja furries in spandex. (Also what the fuck, why the hell are they so damn sneaky for he almost forgot they were following him-)

He went to New York.

Got found by this random lady who also wouldn't leave him alone.

He escaped to Central City and had a conversation with this guy in red spandex with a lightning bolt of his chest.

Honestly he had a pretty nice time but what is it with Superheroes and spandex?

He wanted to leave, but the portal isn't gonna open again for some undetermined amount of time.

...The universe really likes to fuck him over, don't it?

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

The hills turn crimson as I take your hand in mine (part 1)

Detective!Shanks x reader. Modern AU. As usual, NSFW!! This is part one of two.

Title inspired by a verse of Left on Mars by Marko Hietala & Tarja Turunen.

Discussion of child kidnapping and child abuse but nothing graphic is shown. Characters deaths (not Shanks or reader), two past and one in the course of the story. Luffy and Zoro are both nine, Shanks is in his late twenties. 

Animanga characters who have not (yet) appeared on the show are mentioned; Shanks is Roger’s and Rayleigh’s son. 

*****

Shanks realises he’s not in his bed even before he opens his eyes. 

First of all it’s the mattress. He chose a relatively hard one when he moved into his flat, not to the point that he might as well have been sleeping on the floor but almost, but the surface he is lying on now feels much softer, his body literally drowning in the foam; Shanks is not even sure of how he’s going to stand from it, given the fact he now has only one harm to heave himself up.

Then there’s the music. Not live music, courtesy of his neighbour Yorki, a talented musician who sometimes starts practising with his violin at dawn, but on the radio, the notes of a soft jazz piece gently wafting towards him; not at all unpleasant, but not something he’s used to hearing, especially in the morning.

And then there’s the smell in the air; not of coffee, but of tea - something Shanks hasn’t drunk in years and is pretty sure he has never bought to keep in the pantry. 

No, the one he has just awoken in is not his bed, and he is not in his home; even in his half-awake state, it takes Shanks a minute to realise whose bed he is currently occupying and how he got there, and a happy, excited smile opens on his lips. Ah, if only he had known deciding to go for a hamburger last night would have such delicious consequences… 

“Are you awake?”

Startled for a moment -he has never liked being snuck up on, especially after his accident- Shanks turns on his back and then sits up; as he had guessed, it requires a decent effort, but he manages. “Just woken up. Hi, (name).”

The woman that greeting is directed to smiles warmly at him. She’s walking into the room, a tray in her hands, that she places on the bedside table before walking to the closest window to open it, and let the cool morning air envelop the room.

“I was wondering if you’d remember my name.” (name) confesses as she sits on the edge of the bed; she’s wearing the same shirt she had last night when she and Shanks met at the hamburger kiosk, without a bra underneath, and a different pair of panties, her lovely legs, that felt so good intertwined around his hips as they fucked, left bare.

Shanks smiles; he’s completely naked and doesn’t bother covering up, both because he sees no use for it and because he has every reason to believe the woman in front of him appreciates the view. “I found your passport in the drawer.”

“Ah, that explains everything…”

They share a smile, natural and relaxed despite the potential embarrassment of the morning after, just like easy and friendly was the conversation they found themselves engaged in as they queued at the kiosk -the best among the many in the city, they agreed- both famished at the end of a long work-day but unwilling to cook. Both planned to go enjoy their food at home, but they somehow ended up sharing one of the few tables near the kiosk, eating and then drinking and talking about everything and nothing, the conversation flowing natural and pleasant even though they had just met.

Shanks told her about him, of how he had left the Police Department a year ago after the loss of his arm to work in the investigative agency of his best friend; (name) told him about her passion for photography, that was also her passion as both a professional photographer and a teacher. He thought she was vivacious, funny, with a nice smile and lovely legs; it was good talking to her, like he had seldom experienced with a person he had just met.

Shanks can’t say who kissed who first; what he remembers is that he offered to walk (name) to the bus stop, both because it had gotten very late and because he genuinely enjoyed her company, and suddenly he had his back pressed against a wall, the woman’s lips pressed against his, his arm wrapped around her waist. They had been kissing frantically for several minutes when “Do you wanna come to my place?” (name) whispered in his ear, and Shanks had never nodded faster, or more enthusiastically, in his life. He held her hand while on the bus, and clothes started flying off as soon as the flat’s door had closed behind them. It was the first time Shanks had sex since the loss of his arm, but he had no time to reflect on it, too busy kissing the warm skin he had just exposed and listening to the lovely moans (name)’s equally delicious lips were producing, half of them of his name.

And now this: the morning after. There are some decisions he has made Shanks regrets, or is not particularly proud of, but the one of letting (name) take him home is neither of those things; he only needs to look at her, at her smile, at the hopeful look in her eyes, to be sure. It’s far too soon to make plans, but who knows, this could be the beginning of something beautiful…

“I had a lovely time.” (name) murmurs after a while; she doesn’t seem shy exactly, rather… cautious, as if still not fully sure of how her confidence might be received “I mean, I do think you’re very handsome, but… I don’t know, it’s like I had known you forever; It’s been nice talking to you, as well as everything else.”

Shanks’ smile feels almost too large for his face. “It was indeed.” he says, and then he can’t help it, he kisses her again, and (name) kisses him, sweet and passionate and with her hand resting on the back of his neck, and God, Shanks is ready to beg her to let him spend the rest of the day in her bed - preferably not alone.

“I brought breakfast.” (name) points out after a while; she takes both mugs from the tray she had brought from the kitchen -because there must be a kitchen in the flat; Shanks can’t say, since last night she dragged him directly into the bedroom- and offers one to Shanks, who accepts it gratefully… before the already-perceived smell reaches his nostrils.

“This… is tea.” he realises, observing the crimson-coloured circle of liquid in his hands.

“Exactly; an old family recipe, I literally can’t live without it… what’s wrong?” (name) asks, suddenly crestfallen as she notices Shanks’ expression “You don’t like tea?”

“No, no; I do like it, but… I usually drink coffee in the morning; I can’t wake up otherwise.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I don’t drink coffee.”

“So… you don’t have any?”

“No.”

The idea of starting a day without coffee is almost unbearable, but Shanks knows it would be highly ungrateful to complain about something that is being offered to him, so he takes a sip of his tea, and is pleasantly surprised by the rich, strong aroma. “This is… very good.”

“Isn’t it? I’ve probably drunk more tea than water since I was twelve.” 

(name) has also prepared pancakes, two generous portions with maple syrup just like he likes them. They eat sitting on the bed and feeding each other, quietly enjoying each other’s company and the soft jazz music enveloping the room; it’s a lovely moment that, Shanks reflects, will end soon, like lovely moments are wont to do.

“Listen, I’d love to stay longer, if you’re not busy, but I need to be in the office in less than an hour.” he murmurs after a while, and (name) nods, clearly disappointed but not surprised: after all working on a wednesday is the norm. 

“Of course; I have a few things to do as well.”

“Right. And, err, I know we have agreed the kiosk’s hamburgers are the best in the city, but I was thinking that if you’re free you’d let me take you…”

(name) has lit up, clearly anticipating an invitation she’s sure to accept; Shanks is thrilled… at least until his phone’s ringtone fills the room, completely, if not definitely, ruining the mood.

“Are you late for work already?” (name) asks, clearly disappointed “It’s only seven-thirty…”

“I… don’t think so; just give me a second…”

Their clothes are scattered around the room; (name)’s panties are hanging from the foot board, while Shanks’ beloved straw hat has been placed neatly on a chair, the only item that wasn’t simply abandoned on the floor or thrown on top of the furniture in the heat of passion. “You look so good with it on.” she told him last night as they kissed, stark naked on the bed “I want you to fuck me wearing it…”

He did. Shanks allows himself a moment to savour the memory before retrieving his phone from his leather jacket’s pocket. He looks at the name on the screen, and for a moment he’s brought back to almost exactly a year ago, when he could still clap, and easily tie his shoes, and was still a promising police agent who would probably become a Bureau Chief by the time he’s thirty-five. “Commander.”

“Shanks. I’m sorry, I know it’s early.” the gruff voice of his old superior, Monkey D. Garp, admits. 

“It’s alright.” Shanks lies; they haven’t spoken since he left the force a year ago, and no matter how well they got along Garp would not call simply to inquire about his health, especially not this early in the morning “What happened?”

Garp hesitates for a moment before answering - unusual, for such a direct, no-nonsense man; Shanks can almost see him, already in his office despite the early hour, staring at the city’s skyline out of the wall window behind his large desk, phone pressed against his ear.

“A child has gone missing.” the commander explains in the end “I need you to take care of it.”

Shanks blinks. A child’s disappearance is a serious matter, but… “Sir… I resigned from the force.” he points out, feeling a bit foolish since Garp is well aware of the fact “And you know several qualified people for a case like that. Captain Belle-mère of the Missing People Department could…”

“I’m asking you, Shanks; as a favour, if you will, since I can’t put anyone here on the case. And I want you to keep this for yourself; no one else has to know.”

Shanks is quickly briefed on the case: the child’s name is Luffy, nine years old; twenty-four hours ago his parents went to wake him up for school, and found his bed empty. The child has virtually disappeared in thin air, leaving no trace; the family hasn’t received a ransom demand, but Garp himself is convinced that Luffy, an adventurous soul with the desire to travel the world, left of his own accord, unaware of the dangers he could meet. 

“I still don’t understand why you’re asking me.” Shanks insists as he returns to sit on the bed; the mental image of a nine-year-old vanished from his home, either at the hands of unscrupulous criminals or in any case alone in the world, does not leave him indifferent, but he has already decided there is something very fishy about this, a police commander asking a former agent to investigate a disappearance case in secret, and as much as he still respects and trusts Garp, Shanks wants no part in it.

“I thought you were a detective.”

“I am a detective.” he clarifies; and a pretty good one at that, he mentally adds, now that he and Benn had started making a name for themselves “And something I like is my clients being honest about the reasons they hire me. Tell me the truth and I… may do it.”

A sigh. “I’m sorry, Shanks; I can’t.” Garp explains, and he does sound sincerely regretful “But I need you to trust me, and do this. I know you’re no longer part of the force, but I thought you’d be willing to help, given the fact a child is missing. Of course, if you’re happy investigating cheating husbands and serving legal papers, I’ll let you go back to your work…”

(name) is now kneeling on the bed behind him; she starts kissing his neck, her hands moving up and down his sides, and Shanks sighs, dearly wishing he could just close the call and focus on her. “This is -hnnn- playing dirty, commander.”

“You’ll be paid for your trouble.”

“I don’t care about the money.” 

“Then I won’t.” the older man retorts, not missing a beat “There’s something else; since the child left no trace, I need you to contact someone who will find the child.”

“You’re not saying...”

“An Hound. Yes.”

Shanks has never been so close in his life to hanging up on someone; his whole body has tensed, not as a result of the tender ministrations of the woman behind him, but in the wake of an unpleasant, painful memory that has suddenly filled his mind. “No.” he states; he has to control himself in order not to shout “No Hounds. You know I don’t work with those people, with those… scammers. Garp, Hounds are con artists who prey on the fear and pain of others. I’m sorry for this child, I really am, but I don’t work with scum like that; find someone else.”

They discuss about it for a while more, and no matter how determined Shanks is to stand firm in his convictions, Garp is well-known for his tenacity and has clearly taken the case of little Luffy’s disappearance at heart, enough not to take no for an answer, even if it means resorting to emotional blackmail. In the end, Shanks hears himself capitulating; he’ll work with the Hound his former commander has tasked him to contact, and do his best to retrieve Luffy. I’m doing this for the child, he tells himself, already ashamed for having accepted, I’ll find him, make sure he’s safe, and then I’ll never have to talk to this guy again. I don’t have to make friends with him, I don’t have to like him: the only thing that matters is that he can actually find Luffy.

“I’ll send the child’s things to your place.” Garp says; though still tense, his former commander doesn’t even try to hide his satisfaction at having won their verbal skirmish, and for a single moment Shanks really, deeply hates him “And you already have Luffy’s picture and the Hound’s address; make sure not to mention me, and find a way to ensure she’s collaborating.”

It takes Shanks a moment to decipher the meaning of those words. “You mean this guy doesn’t know yet?!” he asks, and now he is screaming “And why shouldn’t I mention you?”

“Good-bye, Shanks.”

“Wait a moment! Garp, why shouldn’t the Hound…”

“I’m sure you’ll do your best as usual. Thank you.”

His former commander, it turns up, has no qualms about hanging up on people, unlike him. Shanks swears under his breath, and as he looks once more at the screen of his phone he notices he has a new text, received almost ten minutes ago: Garp sent him the address before even calling to ask for his help, already confident Shanks would accept the task. 

Ok, now I really hate him. It doesn’t change the fact that I gave him my word, but I really do…”  

He gently taps the screen to open the text, and find himself face to face with the sunny smile of a dark-haired child, sitting on the grass in his white shirt and jean shorts; a happy, apparently healthy normal child, who has disappeared from his bed leaving no trace behind, and whose family is now fearing the worst. Shanks has seen, or heard of, several cases like his during his years in the force, and not all of them had a happy ending - far from it.

Shanks knows Garp has been less than honest with him; why has the commander contacted a former agent to search for the child? Why doesn’t he want the Hound to know he is involved? He doesn’t know, like he has no idea of what happened to Luffy; but looking at the little face on his phone, Shanks decides he will - he will find the child, hopefully safe and sound, and return him to his parents. Police matters are no longer his concern, and Garp can’t force him to work on the case, especially if the older man wants his involvement to remain secret, but Shanks has to admit it, he can’t simply forget about it: a child is missing from his home, potentially because he has been kidnapped, and he has to do whatever he can to find him, not because he has promised or will be paid for it…

He has to; even if it means having to work with the sort of people he normally would cross the street in order not to meet. 

With a sigh, he touches the screen again to return to the text the picture is attached to - no message, just the address Shanks has to go meet the Hound and ensure his cooperation. An address Shanks quickly realises he knows already…

He blinks, for a moment too flabbergasted to believe his own eyes; but he’s seen the street sign as he -they- got off the bus, and while he was too focused on the soft, warm body pressed against his as they crossed the building’s door, he’s pretty sure he remembers the small number next to it.

And then the name - first and last. Not particularly unusual, but on top of all the rest, it turns what could have been a simple coincidence into… what? A sign of destiny?

Focused as he was on the conversation con Garp, Shanks has momentarily forgotten he is not alone in the room; he is still coming to terms with the revelation as he turns, facing the person who has just heard him heavily insult and disparage her kind. 

Shanks has already lost an arm, but right now he would happily sacrifice the other, and both of his legs, for the floor to open under his feet and swallow him whole. 

(name) is sitting cross-legged on the bed, her eyes fixed on him; she doesn’t seem angry -and she would have every right to be, given what she heard him say, Shanks realises- but she has stopped smiling. 

Your bedroom is empty when you return to it after your shower, a scene that fills your heart with sadness for a moment even though you can hear Shanks in the kitchen, walking around the cramped room as he finishes his tea.

“So.” she starts in the end, breaking what to Shanks has felt like the most awkward silence of all times “It seems like you have a proposition for me.”

It’s you who asked him to leave, because you needed a bit of privacy for your shower and, most of all, to reflect on what you had unwittingly learnt as you listened to his conversation on the phone, a request Shanks has acquiesced without arguing, no doubt because he still hoped to convince you to help him, and also, just maybe, because he was sorry.

You really wish you could know which reason was more prominent.

With a sigh, you leave your bath towel on the back of the chair before walking to your closet to unenthusiastically pick the clothes for the day; you feel melancholic and self-conscious, which is disappointing, because you had started today better than any day in the last few years, happy and satisfied side by side with an handsome man you had immediately felt a connection with, even though you had just met him. Talking to him had been pleasant and exciting, the sex just as much; he was even more attractive, his smile even more charming, in the morning light than he had been last night as you kissed passionately near the bus stop, and when you realised he was about to ask you out, you felt your heart burst with joy…

And then that damned phone call had to ruin everything you think resentfully as you choose a comfortable pair of jeans and an old shirt; you have better clothes, things Shanks would appreciate seeing you wear, but you’re not in the mood to doll yourself up. 

You can’t blame Shanks; not about that, at least. He did tell you he had been a police officer once, and Garp’s call had clearly taken him by surprise; also, since the case concerned a missing child, can you really blame him for wanting to do whatever it takes to find him, including asking for your help?

Whatever it takes. This is the most embarrassing, most humiliating side of the whole matter; that Shanks considers working with you a sacrifice to be made, an ordeal to bear for the sake of the child. It was so mortifying to hear him bad-mouth you over the phone, you felt the impulse to run away from your own home, even though you had done nothing wrong.

Well, clearly the problem is not you personally, you reflect as you get dressed and then quickly retrieve your shoes from under the bed, rather what you are; after all Shanks hadn’t known about your ability when he spoke to Garp, so there isn’t much you can accuse him of, given that lack of timing is not a crime. 

A Hound. This is what you are, a term you don’t necessarily like -after all you’re not a dog, it’s not your nose you rely on and what you find are people, not truffles or badgers- but that you must admit clearly describes what you can do, and this no one knows it better than commander Garp. You’re not surprised that he asked for your help, but after what happened years ago you did tell him you wanted to stop, that you could no longer take responsibility for what you did, and now a child is in danger, a child that for all you know might have been kidnapped and sold into slavery, or worse, but you can’t do it, Garp and Shanks can find someone else, there are other Hounds in the country, you just want to go on with your life and forget what you never stopped feeling guilty for…

In the end you stand in front of the full-length mirror, looking at your reflection as you vainly try to fix your clothes; you’ve looked better, but you can’t linger, not with Shanks in your kitchen who waits for, and deserves, an answer. Who knows if he’ll still want to see you after you’ve refused to help him, and after discovering what you are; probably not, and this saddens you enormously, even though you have barely known him for twelve hours, a few of which you spent sleeping.

“Come on; you can do it.” you whisper, and the woman framed in the metal blue rectangle nods in response, still afraid but determined to do what she needs to. 

When you reach him in the kitchen, Shanks is looking at the numerous pictures pinned to the plywood panels on the walls, portraits and landscapes and much more, that you took in the course of your career as a photographer, since you were barely a child. “Did you take these?” he asks excitedly, ponting at one of your favourites, a close-up of a fox drinking from a stream, that you happened upon during a walk in the woods six months ago “This especially is amazing, but they’re all very good!” 

“I’m glad you like it; that picture specifically won me a competition.” you admit; you were quite satisfied with your success, even though the prize money was barely enough to pay your rent for a month “To be a photographer is what I have always wanted; I will never be famous, but I can support myself with it, and share my passion with other people who appreciate it, and that is more than enough for me.” 

“Good for you…”

You share a smile, vaguely shy on both sides; Shanks is wearing his straw hat once more, and looks more handsome than ever, his boyish smile making your heart flutter. You thought you were too old and wise for crushes at first sight, but the man in front of you proved you wrong without even trying… and this makes the conversation you need to have even more potentially painful.

“Shanks, I…”

“I’m sorry.”

He has turned serious as he looks at you, the now empty cup of tea on the table. “I’ll listen and accept whatever you decide to do, but please, (name), let me just say this: I’m sorry for what you heard. I… I had no reason to think you were a Hound, I would have never said those things otherwise, but I did, and… and I hurt you, which I’ll never forgive me for. I met a person like you, years ago, and they did something so horrible and despicable that… well, I guess it led me to hate the whole category, which is obviously wrong. You have nothing to do with all of this, so… I’m sorry; truly and deeply. I’m not perfect, but I like to think I’m better than this.”

“I’m sure you are.” you murmur as you move towards the closest chair, pull it out and sit on it; a moment later Shanks has done the same, taking his place in front of you “Many people are suspicious about those like me, and… well, you’re a former policeman, I can’t blame you if you consider Hounds a necessary evil, people who get all the credit with little effort while normal agents do the work…”

“My problem with Hounds dates back to before I joined the force; but it’s very sweet of you.”

“I’m just being honest; I’m not particularly happy about this gift I’ve been given myself.” you admit with a sad smile. Once again you wonder if this, discovering what you are, has changed Shanks’ opinion about you, but once again, you lack the courage to ask; he’ll probably never want to see you again, no matter how passionate the sex between you was and especially after you refuse helping him with his case, and you can’t blame him for it, but it’s so unfair…

“You know Garp.”

“I do; I did.” you confirm “It was him who… recruited me. I discovered I was a Hound when I was fifteen, and at the end of my training I was assigned to help him with a case, a woman who had been kidnapped by her husband; we worked well together, and from then on he asked for my help for many other cases.”

Those were good years; at least, so they seemed back then. You didn’t do it for the money, even though what you earned was a lot for a teenager who still had to pay for photography classes, and you sincerely thought what you did was important, and useful: people kidnapped for ransom, elders who got lost, criminals who attempted to escape justice… you could find them and help the police bring them back, ensure they were safe or they paid for their crimes. Sometimes you got there too late, and by the time you were called the missing person was beyond help, but that was important as well, you told yourself, because their loved ones could mourn them and find closure, rather than hanging on to hope. 

You were good at what you did, and you did it often. You lived a normal life, attending school, spending your weekends wandering around with your camera looking for inspiration, and hanging with your friends, plus this, a sort of part-time job you were proud of; you were proud of yourself, of the help you, one of few among billions, could give, of the difference you could make. 

If only you had stopped to talk and listen to the people you tracked down… in that case, maybe you’d have realised that sometimes people have a good reason for disappearing, and escaped criminals are not the only ones who dread being brought back…

“You really don’t know why Garp asked you to take care of this case, rather than the police?  It’d be the most natural choice, especially for him.” you point out, and Shanks shrugs helplessly; he has no idea, he admits, and he does find suspicious that the commander himself wants to keep the force off the case, but he’ll find out… after he has found Luffy, hopefully safe and sound, and returned him to his parents.

“(name)...”

“I can’t, Shanks.”

“Please, if you only let me explain…”

“There’s nothing to explain; and you said you’d accept my decision, whatever it may be.” you remind him; your voice has taken a pleading, almost begging tone you don’t like but can’t avoid using “I know there’s a missing child, and I don’t even want to know what could have happened to him, but… I can’t help you. I’m very sorry, I know it’s egotistical and cruel, but I really can’t. There are other Hounds…”

“Not as good as you.” 

“... you can ask one of them; I’m sure Garp can contact them. There’s a woman in Cocoyashi City, a captain Belle-mère, who is exceptionally talented, she once found the remains of a man who had died half a century before simply touching his watch…”

Shanks listens patiently as you make excuses for what you once considered a sacred duty to pursue whatever the cost, no trace of blame or judgement in his brown eyes; he looks so kind, so handsome and understanding, you wish you could stop talking and just kiss him, take his hand and guide him back to your bed. You’d spend the rest of the morning making love, forgetting everything and everybody else, including a missing child who needs your help and could be killed -or worse- at any moment; it’d be easy, and like most easy choices, it would probably end up being the wrong one, and filling you with shame and regret. 

“First of all, captain Belle-mère is dead.” Shanks informs you gently “She was killed two years ago, in the line of duty; I went to her funeral.”

“Oh, no!” you exclaim; Belle-mère had been your trainer at the Hound Preparation Centre -most commonly known as The Pound- and in the four months you spent together a deep friendship was born between the two of you; you wish you could ask after her daughters, Nojiko and Nami, who you had met several times, but Shanks is still talking. 

“I looked you up online while you got changed; I hope you don’t mind, there are databases one in my profession has access to.” he admits as he lifts the phone in his hand, and the way he’s looking at you is… unexpected, somehow; most people react with curiosity, tinted with either admiration or suspicion, when they find out what you are and what you can do, but Shanks is different. He’s trying to secure your services, but he’s not only focused on that… he’s still thinking about what has happened between the two of you in the last twelve hours, the amazing sex and the deep and relaxed conversation that you shared. If you knew him better, if you had known him for years or at least months, you could even say he actually cares about you, for more than the help you can give him in his search for Luffy “And you… you are exceptional, (name); even among the Hounds, you are one in a thousand.”

To your shame, you feel yourself blushing. “That’s not true…”

“It is. You completed your training at the Pound -this is what you call it, righty?- in four months, the third shortest time in more than a hundred years since the Institute was founded; you received two special commendations for your role in the finding and recovery of dangerous criminals…”

“Shanks…”

“In the course of your collaboration with the Police you found almost a hundred missing people, in some cases after your fellow Hounds had been unable to help…”

“Shanks, please, stop it…”

“Not to mention that your tracking radius is incredibly broad, in some cases you chased people who were hundreds of miles away from you, and you found them nonetheless…

“I said STOP IT!”

You hadn’t meant to shout, but you did, loud enough for your voice to fill the room and probably be heard in the whole complex, and unlike what happens in the rare cases you end up losing control, letting it all out doesn’t make you feel better - quite the opposite.

“I’m sorry.” you murmur, fingertips pressed to your lips as if it were still possible to stop your outburst “I shouldn’t have shouted; you didn’t deserve it.”

“It’s alright, the fault is mine; I shouldn’t have insisted.”

“Maybe not, but I should have kept my cool. Shanks… I’m sorry, I really am; no matter how good a Hound I may have been in the past, I stopped doing that years ago, and I promised myself I would never do it again. I told Garp, which is probably why he suggested you keep his involvement secret; maybe he thought a person with no apparent links to the force would convince me to collaborate, but I won’t; it’s… it’s too dangerous.”

You see Shanks frown for a moment. “I know I may not look like it.” he begins, nodding towards the empty sleeve of his jacket “But if things go south I can protect you; I have a gun -and a licence- and I’m an excellent shot. The last thing I want is to put you in danger.”

“I believe you.” and you really do. “But it’s not me I’m worried for.”

Your sigh fills the room; Shanks’ brown eyes are still fixed on you, and you know, as surely as you know you own name, that if you asked him to stop insisting and to let the matter drop, he’ll respect your wishes and search for another way, and another Hound, to find Luffy. Maybe he’ll even also ask you out like he was about to do before Garp called, having perceived you haven’t refused to help him simply because you didn’t care a child had gone missing.

You could do it; you could close the matter there and then, and never speak of it again. But no matter how painful it is to discuss the darkest moment of your life, you know Shanks deserves an explanation for your refusal - and maybe, just maybe, you want to give it to him, you want him to know the truth.

You want him to know you.

“You need to understand that even at the end of my career as a Hound, I was little more than a kid; capable, and in full control of her ability, but probably more naive than she realised. Because of this, I… I think I never stopped thinking that sometimes, just sometimes, people have a good reason for wanting to disappear. Criminals had to be brought to justice, people kidnapped for ransom needed to be saved, the same with children and elders who got lost, but there were other cases, people who simply wanted to escape a life they were no longer happy, or safe, in. I worked with the Police, I told myself, so I was one of the good guys; I never thought what I did could put someone in danger. To be honest I never thought about it, and this was my mistake.

There was this lady here in the city; her name was Makino, she was the same age I am now. She lived with her husband, and one day, after -I was told- a fight with him, she packed a bag and left. Garp brought me a brush with a few of her hair still on it, and asked me to find her, and I… I did; Makino had acted quickly, and bought a plane ticket for a country far away, where both she and her husband knew no one, under a false name, but as you said, my tracking distance -that is, the furthest point from me I can locate someone without losing the trace- is particularly broad, and it took me a moment to feel where Makino was, even though she had put hundreds of miles between her and her hometown. We took a plane, Garp and I, and in less than a day we found her, in a shabby hotel on the outskirts of a large city; the commander convinced her to return home.

Now, I like to think I wasn’t completely stupid. I knew Makino had decided to run away after a fight with her husband, and that violence between spouses was something that existed; I  had also heard on TV about how for a woman is much more likely to be abused by someone close to her, like a partner, than being assaulted in the streets at night. I could have reflected that a woman of average intelligence and maturity wouldn’t choose to leave everything she knows and loves behind simply because her husband has said her cooking sucks or that new skirt makes her look fat, but there had to be a more serious reason; but I didn’t. The thought that Makino might be better off on her own than with her husband never even crossed my mind. I had seen the tears on his face as he begged me to find her, and the pictures of the two of them, happy and smiling, in their home; I never doubted what I was doing was the right thing, I never suspected something bad could come out of it, not even when I saw Makino’s face as she boarded the plane back home with Garp and me, the empty, hopeless expression of a woman who has seen her last hope disappear and is now resigned to whatever is going to happen to her.”

Shanks’ hand finds yours across the table; there is nothing in his eyes but understanding and pity, emotions you feel you don’t deserve and that therefore fill your heart with shame.

“Her husband hit her.” he easily guesses “Didn’t he?”

“He did; her diary was found in the end, and the extent of what that poor woman had to suffer… both mental and physical abuse, from being forbidden to leave the house without her husband and to have her own phone, to the slaps and the punches and… her life was hell; she didn’t run away because she had fallen for another man or to escape creditors. She wanted freedom, safety, her own life back; she deserved it, and maybe she would have succeeded, if I hadn’t got in her way.”

“(name)...”

“She killed herself a week later; her husband had locked her in the house to stop her from running away again, and she slit her wrist with a kitchen knife. The last entry in her diary said simply: I can’t take it anymore. She decided to kill herself rather than be with her husband, and if it wasn’t for me… if I hadn’t found her, if I had reflected that perhaps she had a reason to do what she had done, she would be still alive…”

Shanks sighs; he has to perceive he has no way of absolving you from your guilt, since it’s been years since Makino’s death and he barely knows you, but he tries, and you appreciate it nonetheless.

“They would have found her in any case. After all there are Hounds all over the world, and those who lived in the country where Makino had run to would have tracked her down sooner or later. It’s not your fault, (name).”

You shake your head silently; the fault is yours, no matter that someone else might have pushed Makino to the same, dramatic choice only a day after you did, yours and of your childish naivete and short-sightedness, and for this you’ll never forgive yourself.

“This is why I can’t do it anymore.” you murmur, eyes fixed on Shanks’ hand resting on yours; it’s warm, soothing, and you allow yourself to find some comfort in it, even though you’re pretty sure you don’t deserve it “I stopped that day. I swore I would never do it again, and I never did, even though Garp insisted for months; there are other Hounds in this country, and I know what we do can be important and useful, but I can’t take responsibility for another person like Makino. People deserve to decide how to live their lives, and sometimes disappearing is the best, safest choice; what right do I have to take it away from them?”

Silence falls on the room; when Shanks’s hand leaves yours you find yourself mourning the loss, but you force yourself to be strong as he stands, still looking at you with that emphatic, blameless look you don’t know how long you’ll be able to sustain.

“I’m sorry for what you went through; it must be a terrible guilt to bear, especially since you were still so young.”

“I deserve it; and even with it I’m more than satisfied with my life, so I don’t have much to complain about.” you admit “I really hope you’ll find that child, Shanks; but I can’t help you.”

“I understand; but, (name), what that poor woman went through… it doesn’t necessarily have to happen again.” 

“You can’t rule it out; I’d rather not risk it.”

“What if I promised you we’d both be careful? I’m not with the Police anymore, and this is technically a job I’ve been assigned in secret, nothing official; we’d have much more leeway than in the cases you worked on with Garp.” he points out gently “Luffy has disappeared from his bed, which in my experience suggests he’s been kidnapped, but if we were to find out he’s fine and better off where he is now… I’ll leave him be.”

You hate the hope that fills your heart at those words; you hate them, and you can’t help clinging to them. “But Garp…”

“I don’t think Garp will want a child to be in danger any more than we do. Also, while I still respect him, he’s no longer my commander; I don’t have to obey him If I choose not to.”

“How simple you make it…”

Shanks assures you he’s perfectly aware things are rarely easy when it comes to a missing child, but he’s determined to make the right choice, whatever the consequences and even if it means lying to a man he sincerely respects. 

“You don’t have to help me, but… I’d really like you to.” he admits then softly; you have stood as well, and now you’re face to face, almost as close as you were last night, and your heart is pounding in your chest, loud enough you’re pretty sure Shanks can hear it “We can do the right thing, (name); I know you barely know me, but… I’m a good guy, and I swear I’ll let you decide how to act. If at any point you’ll feel… uncomfortable for some reason, if you think Luffy needs not to be found and brought back… then we’ll stop, whatever the consequences. You have my word.”

A moment later, Shanks is offering you something he retrieves from his wallet; it’s a business card, with the name and the logo of his agency on top. “I need to go home to get changed, talk to my partner, and retrieve Luffy’s things. Why don’t you think about it in the meantime? Whatever you decide… or if you simply want to talk… call me.”

You accept the card with a mute nod, suddenly too shy to speak; Shanks smiles, and then he’s kissing you again, chaste and soft and brief. “I’m glad I met you; truly.” he whispers “Take care of yourself, alright?”

The shirt is small, as it was to be expected since his owner and wearer is also tiny, but Shanks can’t help feeling his heart break as he looks it over: a normal cotton shirt, bright red and with Luffy’s name written on the label in pen. It is clean, fresh out of the wash, without the child’s scent lingering on it, but Shanks knows that a Hound would be able to use it to track down its owner, faster and more accurately than the best search and rescue dog could. 

And a moment later he has left, his leather jacket and red hair and straw hat still imprinted in your memory as you stand still in the middle of the empty room, the deceptively harmless card in your hands. 

(name) would probably find Luffy in a matter of minutes. Shanks has read about her old cases while he was on the bus home, and he’s not surprised Garp chose her; even among Hounds, whose talent is something one is born with and that can be trained, but not learnt, she is one in a generation, an exceptionally talented tracker able to locate a person hundreds of miles away, with an error margin of ten feet. She’d be perfect for this, maybe she’s the only one who can do it, but even with the life of an innocent child at stake, Shanks does not regret not insisting she helps him - first of all because he’s not a brute, and also because he now knows she hasn’t refused out of disinterest, because she didn’t care about Luffy. That poor girl, Shanks thinks; she only wanted to help, to use her gift to make a difference, and destiny repaid her with a lifetime of guilt and shame…

“I don’t like this, Shanks.”

“I’m sorry, I had promised I’d take care of that surveillance job, but this is…”

“It’s not for that.” Beckman points out; his partner is sitting at his desk, the fifth cigarette of his barely-started day already on his lips, and he stares at him with that sort of concerned, protective gaze Shanks would expect to receive from an older brother, not that he ever had one “Something’s not right. Why did your old commander ask a person outside the force to search for this child? It is inappropriate in the best of cases, and in the worst… there might be something illegal behind it, and Garp wants you to take the fall for it.”

Shanks thinks about it for a minute and is disappointed to realise he can’t exclude it; Garp is an excellent officer and taught him much, but he did have a slightly sinister reputation within the force, mainly regarding his habit of disregarding rules and regulations to take matters into his own hands. Is he somehow involved in the child’s disappearance? Shanks can’t believe it, but his job -both of his jobs- have taught him to expect the worst from the world and the people who live in it.

“I’ll be careful.” he promises; he’s sitting on, rather than at, his own desk, facing his partner as they discuss the case, the morning light filtering through the open windows “I… don’t want to call another Hound, you know why, but I might go talk to Luffy’s parents, search his room.”

Beckman nods in approval; Shanks looks once more at the shirt in his hand, that a courier brought to the office before he had time to return. If Luffy’s been kidnapped for ransom, it is in his captors’ best interest to keep him safe and healthy, but the child is so small…

“Shanks.”

He must be terrified, and what if he tries escaping and gets hurt? Come to think of it, he isn't completely sure the child hasn’t left of his own accord; where could he have gone? Shanks has no experience with children, how can he guess…?

“Shanks, look.”

“What?” the younger man asks looking up at him, and he sees his partner smirk before nodding in the direction of the room’s largest window, opening on the street; the two offices across from the agency are still closed, but there’s a person standing in front of them, as if waiting for the opening, her back pressed against the wall, her gaze raised to contemplate the building in front of her. 

When their eyes meet, despite the distance, Shanks knows (name) is blushing. 

“That’s her, right?” Beckman asks, openly amused; they have been friends since Shanks was little more than a child, and he found no reason not to tell his partner about (name), how he met her, spent the night with her, and then found out she was both a Hound and the person Garp wanted him to contact “Your friend.”

Shanks simply grins in response; he quickly grabs the bag Luffy’s shirt has been delivered in and his jacket from the chair’s back. “I’ll keep in touch!” he promises happily, and Beckman shakes his head, smiling indulgently at the younger man as he sees him sprint out.

Shyness touches (name)’s smile as he and Shanks meet across the street from the agency. 

“Hi.” she murmurs; she’s wearing the same jeans she had put on an hour ago, but Shanks can’t help noticing she has switched her shirt with a better one, and she’s wearing make-up now, and a pair of earrings. Feeling flattered is the last thing he should do now, with the life of a child potentially at stake, but he’s just a man, and he can’t stop smiling “I know you said I could call, but I found the address on your card…”

“Of course not; it’s great to see you.” Shanks reassures her; maybe it’s a weird thing to say, since they were together just an hour ago, but he sees no reason to lie “So…”

“So, I’ll do it; I’ll try tracking down Luffy.” she says; there is determination in her eyes, proof of the effort she’s making to overcome her fears “But you promised; I know a nine-year-old can’t simply decide to leave and live on his own, but we won’t bring him back until we have ensured he’ll be better off at home.”

Shanks nods; he has asked Beckman to run a background check on Luffy’s family while he and (name) search for the child, so that they can decide what to do. “I really appreciate it, (name); I know what it means to you, and I promise you won’t regret it.”

“I just want to do the right thing; I always had.” 

She sighs, and then she smiles, brave and determined, and Shanks has to make an effort to keep himself in check and not push her against the wall to kiss her senseless. There’ll be time for that, he promises to himself; once they have closed the case, hopefully for the better, he’ll take her out to dinner, woo her like she deserves, and finally he’ll bring her back to his flat for a repetition of the pleasurable activities of last night. They still know each other too little to know whether they’re compatible, but Shanks is determined to give it his best shot; he already knows she’s worth it. 

“Can we go now?”

“Sure; I took a day off from the studio, said I had a family emergency.” (name) admits, looking almost guilty for it. She follows Shanks to his car, parked in the back, and smiles when he opens the door for her. 

A moment later they’re sitting side by side; Shanks places his hat on the back seat, and when he turns to look at (name) he sees her look at the brody knob on the steering wheel. “Curious?” he asks, and the woman next to him smiles, vaguely embarrassed.  

“Sorry; I didn’t mean to snoop, but… I guessed a detective would have to be able to drive, and I wondered if you could do it with only one hand. Is that a problem if I… talk about it?”

“Is that a problem for you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then it’s not a problem for me either.” Shanks decides; a year after the accident, he still hasn’t fully gotten used to live with his amputation, both with the pain and the countless little challenges of living in a world calibrated on the needs of people with two hands, but every day is a little better, especially when he meets someone like (name), who didn’t bat an eyelid when he took off the jacked he had draped on his shoulders, revealing the empty sleeve of his shirt, and who last night happily helped him support his weight as he moved above her “I can still drive normally, I just need to be a little more careful when turning the steering wheel; this little thing helps. And as you see all the signals, headlights et cetera, are on one side.”

“I see…”

They share a smile, and Shanks knows, just knows, she wants him to kiss her, and he’d happily oblige, but clearly (name) has better self-control than he does, because “Is that Luffy’s shirt?” she asks, looking at the plastic bag on his lap.

“Yeah, Garp sent it over. Do you… want to try?”

She nods, and Shanks finds himself holding his breath as he passes her the bag; he knows how Hounds’ powers work, but he’s never seen one in action, mainly because he always made sure to avoid them while he was in the force, and he has to admit it, he’s curious.

“You want me to take it out of the bag?”

“No, it’s fine; I can handle personal objects just fine, otherwise I’d have to wear gloves night and day. It’s just… I haven’t done this in years.” (name) murmurs; she’s delicately taking Lufly’s shirt out of the bag, but after she has unfolded it on her lap Shanks sees her wring her hands “This is a gift we are born and die with, we don’t just lose it because we don’t use it for a few years or a few decades, but I’ve never done it since… since her, so…”

She’s afraid, Shanks realises, not that her ability may malfunction but that her work may cause the pain, or the loss, of an innocent, once more; he’s working now, and Shanks knows he should focus on the case putting aside all personal matters, but he can’t help it: he feels more attracted to the woman by his side with every passing minute, because she is beautiful and they had some amazing sex last night, but also because he can see how kind she is, and how brave she’s forcing herself to be, for the sake of a child she doesn’t even know. All he wants is to reassure her she’s not alone and he’ll make sure she’ll have nothing more to feel guilty about. But (name) is not his daughter and he’s not responsible for her choices, so 

“Take your time.” he says simply “I know how good you are; just try and remember what Belle-mère taught you.”

The woman’s grateful smile makes his heart flutter. He finds himself holding his breath as she takes up the shirt once more, lifts it closer to her face, and takes a deep breathe in; Shanks is sure the most he, and any normal person, could perceive is perhaps the scent of the fabric softener Luffy’s mother used to wash it, but despite the common name those like her are known under, (name) is not simply capturing a smell, rather it’s a sort of a pull, a call of the child who wore that shirt, breathed and sweated and lived in it. A trace of a person remains on the objects they use, especially those that are handled and carried and kept close for a long time, like a digital print only few can perceive; and when Hounds have picked up a trail, they will follow it to the end, even if they have to travel to the other side of the world. 

Shanks privately hopes that won’t be necessary; he’s paying gas out of his own pocket after all. He dares not talk while (name) remains still, breathing deep with Luffy’s shirt held against his face; when in the end she lowers it to her lap and turns to look at him, Shanks sees she is smiling, but her eyes are full of sadness.

“It works.” she whispers “I have found him.”

“Where is he?”

“I… don’t know for certain; I don’t know the name of the town or anything. He’s in the country, but quite far. And he’s alive; I’m sure of it.”

Shanks breathes a sigh of relief; he fastens his seatbelt. “Well, that’s a start.” he admits as he starts the car; he winks at (name), who smiles “I hope you don’t get car sick.”

[harrystylescherry]

Part Four: Terms and Conditions

A/N: FINALLLYYYYY

what it is: a summer romance in the south of france that breeds nothing but hurt

word count: 4.6k

pls pls pls reblog if you liked it!

i’d love to hear your feedback :)

SERIES MASTERLIST

here we go:

June 9

Harry hadn’t seen Della in more than a few days. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. If she was as unknowable as she said she was, it was because she was unreachable. On more than one occasion, during the first three days of not seeing her, he had called her—though he only let it ring a few times before hanging up. Even after they had laid the ground rules—or conditions, as she called them—and made it clear that she was attracted to him and wanted him in a very particular way, he was still feeling insecure. 

“Anything I’d like?” Della asked. Harry nodded. “I don’t know if you could handle what I like.”

Harry felt something stir in the pit of his stomach. He cleared his throat and willed himself to not think of all the things that could mean. It wasn’t exactly the right moment for a hard on. “I could.”

Della came forward and leaned her forearms on the table. “Let’s say you could,” she challenged. “But are you willing to follow the conditions?”

He had never been very good with rules. It was why most of his relationships ended. But this wasn’t a relationship, he reminded himself. There was less at stake. It would be easier. He leaned forward and mimicked her position. “More than.”

It was when she sat back with a smirk that Harry thought he might be a little in over his head. 

The conditions (rules) were as follows:

No sleepovers (which he should’ve seen coming)

No telling anyone they’re involved (he may have already broken that one, but he wasn’t going to tell her that) (he also was trying very hard not to be offended that she hadn’t bragged about meeting him to anyone)

No meeting up before three o’clock in the afternoon (this made no sense to harry, but Della swore no one met up with their fuck buddies before happy hour—from his experience, that wasn’t exactly true but she spoke with too much authority for him to question it)

No dates (if they went out to dinner or grabbed drinks, they would split the bill fifty-fifty–Harry only agreed to this to avoid an argument but there was no way in hell he’d let her pay for anything)

No catching feelings. The second someone came close, they had to be over (Harry’s cheeks flamed on this one, and he really pretended not to know why)

After they finished their drinks, Harry walked her to her door and they parted ways without a kiss. He would’ve, but Della refused to kiss him after having kissed someone else. Harry was grateful that she at least respected him that much, but part of him wanted her so badly that it wouldn’t have minded. So it was probably best that she didn’t. 

He had just come back from a run when his phone buzzed with a text from the enigma herself. It was a link to a jazz bar with the question: Tonight?

Harry Googled the place and saw it was a fifteen minute drive from him and a twenty minute walk from her flat. 

He texted back. I’ll pick you up at 9?

I’ll walk

No you won’t. I’ll pick you up at 9. 

Fine, bossy

You know you like it

Maybe only a little. For now, at least. Try me again in a few hours

Harry rubbed his palm over his smile, trying to wipe it away. See you later, Del

He had sent the message before he could think through the nickname. For a second, he stared at the message with a stomach full of nerves–but they vanished when the little thumbs up appeared above the bubble. 

“You can’t do that,” Della’s voice was stern as she spoke into her phone. She was half-ready for the beach, in her blue bikini with her cover dress gripped in her fist. 

“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” Josh said, annoyed on the other end of the line. “You told me to find somewhere else to live, and I did.”

“You weren’t supposed to find somewhere in the same fucking building.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this to me.”

“What I’m doing to you? That’s real fucking rich, Della. You broke off our engagement. You made me think you loved me and then moved to another fucking country!”

“I’m sorry–I don’t know how many times I have to say that, and I don’t–I’m not arguing about that anymore. I didn’t end things the way I should’ve. I–”

“I fucking followed you across the ocean.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! Actually, I remember very specifically telling you that I had to go and do this for me.”

“There was nothing specific about the way you ended things and you know it.”

“Josh, you can’t live there.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”

Della scoffed. “As if I ever told you what to do.”

“You’re right, and you don’t get to start now. I don’t even know who you are anymore. You’ve changed, and not for the better. Honestly, you breaking things off was probably one of the best things you’ve ever done for me.”

She could feel the rage seep into her bones. It was a new sensation–one that she had felt for the first time when Josh had shown up to her flat in London with a suitcase and a two-year visa stamped in his passport. It had become a familiar feeling since then, one that she didn’t know how she’d ever really lived without before. Every time she felt it, she realized that this is what it was like to have convictions, to have boundaries, and to have them crossed and violated. This is what it felt like to want to fight back instead of being disappointed for a few days before letting it all go. 

“Go home, Josh. Go back to Vermont. Go away.”

“I have a job here, now.”

“So find a new one.”

“I paid for a visa.”

“I don’t care. Just get the fuck out of my life.”

“Della–”

She hung up and took a shaky breath. She looked at the hardwood floor and considered lying down. It’s what she usually did when the feelings were too much, when it felt as though they would consume her. She’d lay on the floor and wait for the sadness or grief or disappointment or melancholy to seep from her. Anger didn’t work like that, though. It simmered, wanting to boil over and explode. Her body buzzed with the energy. She wanted to throw something, punch something. Suddenly, she felt she could relate to teenage boys–and she grimaced with the thought. 

She grabbed her journal and shoved it in her bag. All she knew how to do was write. It’s all she could do. She’d bake in the sun and swim laps in the sea and carve her anger into the page. 

Harry’s thumb tapped anxiously on the steering wheel the entire drive to Della’s. They hadn’t spoken since they made their plans that morning and his on my way text had gone unanswered. 

The day had dragged as he counted down the hours until now. And he hated that. He hated how invested he already was, how badly he wanted to see her, to feel her body beneath his hands. 

He was chalking it all up to sheer lust. Della was beautiful–striking. And she was a riddle. He had already been exposed to so many different sides of her–versions of her–that he didn’t know which ones were real and which were an act. He also couldn’t decide which version was his favorite; Shy Della, who fumbled with her keys and blushed every time he looked at her, or Self-Assured Della, who sat down with him after kissing someone else, not a hint of embarrassment anywhere on her, and told him that she’d like to forge an arrangement. 

He was prepared to walk up to the door and buzz her flat (3E, he remembered) and was slightly disappointed that he wouldn’t get the chance. She stood in front of the Hermes storefront with her head buried in her phone. A breath caught in his chest at the sight of her in her periwinkle silk dress. The neckline dipped between her breasts in a way that made his mouth water, and the fall of the fabric made it seem as though it was cut precisely for her. He could see every line of her body–the curve of her waist, roundness of her hips, a tiny indent where her belly button was, the outline of her nipples. He had to collect himself before stepping out of the car. 

Her hair was thrown up in a casual ponytail, with wisps of red baby hairs floating around the base of her neck, over her ears and along her forehead. In her flat, gold sandals, she was so effortlessly beautiful, so chic, Harry suddenly felt a little unworthy and very insecure. 

“Hi, love,” he said once he stood in front of her. 

She jolted in surprise before looking up from her phone. “God, sorry, I didn’t even hear you pull up.” 

She had more freckles than the last time he saw her, and the tops of her shoulders were colored pink. His girl had gotten some sun. 

He physically cringed at himself. She wasn’t his anything. He’d do well to remember that. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said. 

Her eyes looked him over appraisingly. “So are you.” She tucked her phone into her bag. “Ready?”

Harry nodded and led her to the car with a hand on her lower back. He made sure to open the door before she could get to it and only closed it once she was tucked in and buckled up. 

He wanted to punch himself–or throw himself into oncoming traffic. Really, he was willing to do whatever he needed to stop being so nervous, so unlike himself. He was so aware of her, of her eyes on him, of every small movement she made in the passenger seat as he settled in and pulled away from the curb. 

“You’re quiet,” he commented when he realized they had made half the drive in silence. 

She tossed him a smirk. “So are you.” 

“Sorry, I’m just a little–” He stopped himself before he could say something that would scare her away. Because he knew it would. If he admitted to her he was nervous, then she’d remind him that this wasn’t a date, and so there would be nothing to be nervous about, and then she’d see that it didn’t matter and she’d call this off before it could even start. He’d come to know her enough to know exactly how that would go (and he only knew her so well thanks to the hours he’d spent picking apart every interaction they had). “Is everything okay?”

She sighed. “Yeah, just having to deal with something from home. A very annoying something,” she muttered. 

“Is it your ex?” 

Della’s head spun to look at him. “How’d you know?”

He shrugged. “Lucky guess. So what’s the deal?”

“What do you mean?”

“What happened that sent you running all the way to France for the summer?”

“I did not run to France to get away from him. That’s what London was supposed to be for, actually. It didn’t exactly work the way I hoped.”

With a quick look at her, he caught the grimace on her face. “And how did you hope that would go?”

“He was supposed to forget about me.”

Harry scoffed. 

“What?”

“There’s nothing remotely forgettable about you.”

At a stoplight, he looked over at her and smirked at the look of shock on her face. She recovered quickly. 

“I need to be drunk  to have this conversation with you.”

“That can be arranged.”

The jazz bar was underground, the entrance a few steps below street level. The stained glass door was held open by the man working the door, and the couple slipped inside. 

It was hazy, though Della wasn’t sure why, considering smoking wasn’t allowed indoors–proven by the crowd of people inhaling and chatting on the street outside. The small tables were crowded together, forcing Della to lift herself onto her tiptoes as to not knock over the glass of the table nextdoor as she moved to her seat. 

A hand wrapped around her hip. “ça va?”

Della looked to the man the broad hand was attached to. He was hot, the French kind of hot, and if she wasn’t here with Harry, she’d probably end up sitting in the chair between him and his friend. But she was with Harry, so she sent him a polite smile and said, “Bien, merci.”

She slid into her seat and out of his grasp. When she looked up at Harry, his jaw was tight. He hadn’t liked that. His reaction made her giddier than it should’ve. 

“Humid in here, no?” She leaned over the small table to ask, moving the tealight towards the center of the table. 

Harry looked around. “Yeah.” His jaw was still ticking. 

Honestly, she was surprised at his jealousy. She didn’t think he had it in him; he just seemed too sweet, too go-with-the-flow, and hands-off to care enough to get jealous. Clearly, she underestimated him. 

Josh never really got jealous, and Della was always just toxic enough that it sort-of bothered her. There were a few months her sophomore year where she had found herself going out of her way to spark it. It never worked. She understood being secure in a relationship, being comfortable and sure about where you stood with someone, but it wasn’t about that. It was about feeling wanted, desired. It was about knowing that someone wanted you so much that they got just a little unhinged about it. A little possessive, like they wanted every piece of you for themself. 

But Della was who she was, and so she had simply let it go and accepted that it just wasn’t part of who Josh was. 

Harry’s eyes were locked on the stage, his jaw still tight. Clearly, he wanted to say something, whether to Della or the Frenchman she wasn’t sure, but he felt he couldn’t. Probably like it wasn’t his place. And it wasn’t, really. They weren’t together. This wasn’t a date. They were just two people…hanging out. 

“Should we get a bottle of wine?” She asked, while lifting the worn black book off the edge of the table and flipping through it. 

“Yeah, whatever you want.”

She let the smooth notes of the piano fill the space between them. When he still didn’t look at her, and the furrow in his brow didn’t lessen, she reached under the table and dropped her hand on his linen clad thigh. 

His eyes snapped to her’s.

“Should we get a red?” She asked casually, as she squeezed the taut muscle beneath her palm. Why she was trying to reassure him, she didn’t know–couldn’t even begin to think about why she cared. Not when she was meant to be doing the exact opposite. 

He dropped his hand onto her’s and smiled. “Yeah, we could do that.”

“Cool.” She pulled her hand away and held the book out to him. “You pick.” When he went to grab it, she pulled it just out of his reach and narrowed her eyes. “But nothing crazy. Fifty-fifty, remember?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Drunk enough to have that conversation?” Harry asked as Della drank the last of what was in her glass. 

“What conversation?” 

“The ex-boyfriend one.”

She scrunched her nose and Harry melted at the cuteness of it. Della eyed the bottle in front of her. There was probably a glass and a half left, but Harry didn’t plan on drinking anymore (he had precious cargo to drive home) so he poured the rest into her glass. 

“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing.”

“What’s that?” 

“You think if you liquor me up, I’ll tell you all my secrets.”

“You’re drinking wine, not liquor.” She rolled her eyes. “And no, not your secrets.” He shrugged in earnest. “Just trying to get to know you.”

“I already told you–”

“Yeah, you’re unknowable. So you said.”

“Exactly.”

“But I don’t believe that.”

“Not believing something doesn’t make it any less true,” she said before taking a sip. 

“The same way that believing something doesn’t make it true.”She narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t want to share, I can accept that. As someone who has had to fight for every ounce of privacy they got–and even still sometimes lost–I understand. But c’mon, Del, it’s not that you’re inherently unknowable, it’s that you want to be.”

He couldn’t tell if he’d gone too far. Her expression was unreadable. Panic tightened his chest and he took a long drink of water. 

Her pretty mouth twisted in…he couldn’t tell if it was annoyance or amusement or sheer, unfortunate acceptance that he’d just dragged them into the kind of emotional place she clearly never wanted to go. 

“I don’t know who I am. That’s why I’m here,” she said. “I’m unknowable to me.” Harry leaned forward, hanging on to every word she spoke. “London was supposed to help me. It was going to be mine, only mine. I was going to have to make decisions. Real ones. There’d be no one to catch me, or lead me, or influence me. Following the wind wouldn’t be an option because I’d have to survive–I’d have to thrive in order to survive. And then that was taken away from me, and everything was all washed up and confusing all over again. Not easy–no, not easy at all. It could’ve been, if I let it, but by then I’d learned how to have some resolve. I had conviction of my own. And I couldn’t give it up.” She finally looked up at him, though her fingers were still toying with the stem of her glass. “So I came here. To hold onto it. I can’t lose it, Harry, not when I just found it. Not when I need it.”

He understood what she was saying. He heard her. She wasn’t in a place to let anyone in right now, not when what she had found for herself was still so fragile. Della seemed to know herself better than she thought. She knew enough to know what she needed. If she thought herself as easily influenced, well, Harry could argue with that, but he didn’t know her before she came here. He didn’t know the version of her that she was so clearly trying to shake, and he wouldn’t challenge that. He wouldn’t make this any harder for her than it already seemed to be. But he wasn’t going to give her up either, so he’d be whatever she needed–whatever she wanted. 

“Okay,” he said, allowing an easy smile to take over his face. 

“Okay?” He didn’t like the insecurity in her voice. 

He nodded once, sure. “Okay.”

She could keep her secrets and her heart as long as she gave him everything else. 

Della was tipsy. Definitely, so. 

Which was fine. She was having fun, and the music moved from smooth to boisterous without a single warning. Something her and jazz had in common. 

On her way back from the restroom, where she waited in line for ten minutes to take the longest pee of her life, the Frenchman caught her hand. He’d caught her eye with his a few times throughout the last hour or so, but Della had done well with ignoring him. The glances weren’t creepy. More interested, questioning. 

And she knew exactly what he was questioning. She was in France, for god’s sake. She raised a single eyebrow. 

“Est-ce que je peux t'offrir un verre?”

He wanted to buy her a drink? She shouldn’t have been surprised by his boldness, but still, she was clearly there with someone else. 

She looked at him, and then back at Harry, whose jaw was tight, eyes set in a glare. 

Her hand slipped from his grasp as she leaned against Harry’s side, her hips level with his chest. She dropped a casual hand into his hair and toyed with the waves. His hand slid up the backs of her legs and over the curve of her ass to hold onto her hip. She looked down at him and smiled. “Non.”

His eyes flicked to Harry. “ Peut-être après?”

Maybe after? She wanted to laugh in his face, and also flick his forehead. Clearly, he knew Harry didn’t speak French. If he thought there was any chance he could understand their conversation, there was no way he'd be so forward. Her anger flared at the lack of respect. 

Even though it shouldn’t. She’d think about that later. 

With way too much ease, she settled herself onto Harry’s lap. For a second, he stiffened, clearly caught off guard, but within seconds, his arms were around her waist. The guy wasn’t worth a response, so she didn’t give one. Only turned towards Harry and kissed his jaw. It was still tight. 

She lifted her hand and held it on either side, massaging her fingers into where she could feel him clenching. “Relax, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Not the point.”

“I know,” she whispered. Then giggled, the wine fueling her more than anything else. 

“What?”

“I think I like you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Jealous. Possessive.”

“Protective,” he corrected. 

She smiled. “That too.”

He shook his head, and lowered his lips to her’s. 

A knock on the edge of their table broke their bubble. 

A different man, older, stood behind Della’s chair, his hand holding the back of it. He pointed to his left, where a few feet away, his group stood around a table. In French, he asked if they were using the chair. 

Clearly, she wasn’t in her right mind, because she told him he could have it. 

“Wait, sir–” Harry started as the man took the chair away. 

“Let him have it,” Della said and she relaxed further into him. “I’m perfectly fine where I am. Prefer it, actually.”

She really was going to be the death of him. All her squirming and readjusting each time she reached for her wine or water had hardened him beyond the point of comfort. It was taking everything in him to get it to go down–barely. He just needed to relax enough to get out of there without poking anyone in the eye. 

“Ready?” Della asked after she drained the rest of her water. 

“Yeah,” he said, though he was not. As she stood from his lap, he tried, as inconspicuous as possible, to readjust himself, managing to tuck himself into his waistband. He only had to deal with the discomfort until they got to the car. He could do that. 

He led her out by her hips, strategically holding her in front of him as they moved through the tables and up the stairs. 

“That was cruel,” he whispered in her ear after pulling her against him once they got to the car.

“What was?” She looked up at him with mock innocence over her shoulder.

He bit the inside of his cheek, reaching around her to open the car door. With a squeeze to her ass, he nudged her towards the seat. “In. Now.”

She paused and looked at him, playfulness and heat in her eyes. 

He huffed in playful annoyance. “What now?”

“I think I do like you bossy.”

Before he could reply, she slid into the seat and Harry closed the door. 

He knew, undoubtedly, Della would be the death of him. 

They went back to her’s (logistically, according to Della, it was the only option considering she didn’t have a car and sleepovers were against the rules) and barely made it into the room before Harry had her dress bunched around her hips. 

She tasted like wine and everything good in the world–it made him dizzy. He teased her and licked her until she was a whimpering mess, her hands lost in his hair and her thighs left with handprints where he had to hold her down. 

He left careless marks on her neck, for anyone like the prick at the bar. 

Before he slipped his cock inside of her, he whispered, “Mine.”

And when he was all the way inside: “You’re mine.”

“For now,” she breathed, caught up in the trails of a moan. 

For more than that. 

He’d never say it. And with a hard thrust into her, he pretended he never even thought it. He’d be smart to call it off. Only a few days of knowing her and he was in too deep. He cared too much. Wanted too freely. And if she knew, she’d leave him without a second thought. Where she stood had been made crystal clear. Harry needed to pull back, return to the same page. He could. He swore to himself that after tonight, he would. 

After he came with his face tucked into her neck, they shared a plate of whatever bits Della had in her fridge, and she made them a snack of chocolate and butter on a baguette. She was so excited to share it with him that Harry couldn’t bear to tell her that his ex had introduced him to it when they first met. It didn’t matter, anyway, since it tasted so much better enjoyed tucked into the sheets with Della. 

Her ponytail had loosened, spilling red around her face and over her shoulders. He reached out to wipe a crumb from her mouth and she bit his finger. He fought off the swell in his chest with both fists. 

“Should we call it a night?” She asked through a yawn. 

No. 

“Sure, yeah. I’m pretty beat.” He cleared his throat as he got up and started pulling his clothes on. 

When he tried to pull away after kissing her goodbye, she wrapped her arms around his neck. He wrapped her in his arms, squeezed, and placed a soft kiss to her neck. 

He had just turned on the ignition when a text from Gemma came through.

This her????

Harry’s heart dropped into his stomach as he tapped the photo. 

It was a shot of him and Della getting into his car leaving the jazz club. 

Thankfully, since his body had blocked most of her from the camera’s view and it was taken at an awkward enough angle (most likely as whoever took it walked past them), all that could be seen of Della was her fire-hued hair. 

The relief was short-lived. What if there were more? What if they were clear? He thought of everyone around them and tried to remember if he noticed anyone trying to take photos. Usually, he could feel it. Being in the public eye for so long had given him a sixth sense–a learned survival instinct–but he was so focused on Della he wasn’t sure he would’ve noticed. 

“Fuck.” He dropped his head against the seat and ran a hand over his face. If anyone had seen them out the last few times, pictures would’ve already surfaced. They were safe on that front, but now? Now people knew where he was, and they knew there was someone. 

He wouldn’t let them take this from him, let them ruin it. If it went up in flames, it would be his own doing. 

He wanted to laugh at his luck. At his life. Harry was already going to feel the loss when the summer was over and that was enough to hurt. Now, he could lose it much sooner, and that wasn’t okay with him. 

He put the car in drive, and started home. 

[augenblicklich-lila]

cod incorrect quotes #3

Thank you for all the likes and reblogs so far <3 It's super sweet and motivating. So have some more!

the usual jazz, mainly Y/N stuff, platonic and romantic. Also has some Soapghost!

Once I get back on my writing jazz, I'll post some one-shots. Have yet to write one for the cod fandom though, so we'll see. Maybe I'll finally let my old stuff see the light of day.

- Lila

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛ ♛ （ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)つ━━✫・*。 ⊂　　 ノ 　　　・゜+. しーーＪ　　　°。+ *´¨)

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛

Ghost: What do you have? Soap: A KNIFE! Ghost: NO!

Soap: Hey, random question, what are your favorite flowers? Y/N: Carnations, why? Soap: Y/N: Were you going to get me flowers? Soap: Y/N: Soap: ᶦᵗ’ˢ ᵃ ᵖᵒˢˢᶦᵇᶦˡᶦᵗʸ

Ghost: Wait you like me? For my personality? Soap: I know, I was surprised too.

Y/N: You believe me? Ghost: Y/N, you’re one of the last good persons on this planet. I‘d believe cartoon birds braided your hair this morning.

Soap: Ghost has only knocked me out three times this week. Our friendship is really developing. (this is just canon tbh)

Y/N: If we lose, you’re out of the will. Soap: I was in the will?

Ghost is speaking on the phone Ghost: Yeah, I'm with Soap. Soap: Im fucking dying- Ghost: Yep, he's okay. Soap: I have a knife in my chest! Ghost: No, he can't talk right now. He's sleeping, sorry. Soap: IM BLEEDING OUT-

Ghost: I could kill you if I wanted. Y/N: Yeah? So could any other human being. So could a dog. So could a dedicated duck. You aren't special.

Price: I am in charge of these disasters! Y/N, Soap, Ghost and Gaz: We have names, you know.

Gaz: What is wrong with you? Y/N: Loaded question. Elaborate.

Y/N: When I get murdered, can you make sure I become an unsolved case? Soap: wHat? Y/N: I want to be on Buzzfeed Unsolved. Ghost: Can we go back to the part when you said "when I get murdered"?

Y/N: Met a dumbass today. Awful. Gaz: You looked in a mirror? Y/N: Someday you will have to answer for your actions and god may not be so merciful.

Soap: We can bake these cookies at 400 degrees for 10 minutes or 4,000 degrees for 1 minute. Ghost: No, that's not how you make cookies. Y/N: FLOOR IT!! Soap: How about 4,000,000 degrees for 1 second?!? Price: yOU'RE GONNA BURN THE HOUSE DOWN- Y/N: I'M GONNA HARNESS THE POWER OF THE F UCKING SUN TO MAKE COOKIES! Soap: DO IT! Price: NO-

Y/N: Time-sensitive question how flirt boy. Gaz: Throw rocks at he. Soap: Hot Dogs. Ghost: Kill him. Y/N: Thanks, guys.

Soap: I'm cold. Ghost: Here, take my hoodie. meanwhile Y/N: I'm cold. Gaz: I can't control the weather, Y/N.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛ 　∧＿∧ （｡･ω･｡)つ━☆・*。 ⊂　　 ノ 　　　・゜+. しーＪ　　　°。+ *´¨) “Hie thee home, little wanderer.”

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛

[jakkon-and-rose-topic]

MASTER POST - Chronological Order :]

Here's my new master post!

My main blog is @the-ellia-west

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Characters

Ronan Calderis - A young male elf who wants to reinstate the true king on the throne because he hates the current Tyrant's guts and wants to say fuck you to Mangrove (he wants to find the true king out of spite basically) 17 in human years

Mangrove - A lower god of Stories, legends, chance, and lies who is a huge fan of gambling, pulling pranks, and switching or subverting fate. (Has a huge rivalry with Ronan for some reason) 18 in human years

Phennim (Finn) - A Harpy messenger who doesn't have a lot to do and wants to help anywhere he can. The default leader of the group. 31 in human years

Morena - An elven witch who is kind and formal to everyone, trying to help wherever she can with her magic and potions. She has a major crush on Finn. 30 in human years

Wildrun (Wild, Wil) - A Phantom, A Noble's son, who really dislikes his adoptive abusive family. He just wants to be free and alone. 17 in human years

Phenik - A Chimera Prince who was cast from his home for some fate thing he was never told about, so he became a wandering traveller on search of a purpose in his life. 17 in human years

Jakkon (Jak, Horns) - A Satyr and certified Whumpee who's been through hell and back and isn't done suffering. Needs hugs but won't take them. Very self-destructive. 31 in human years (not the MC but I'm obsessed with him)

Rosenia (Rose, Petals) - A Female Rose-themed Fae and Jak's sister-in-law. She's tired and stressed and wants to help make the world a better place. 29 in Human years.

Eveny (Evie, Ev) - Jak's wife. Female Lilac-themed Fae Who was 2 years younger than Rose. She was very adorable and sweet before she died.

Rune (Runie) - Eveny and Jak's son. He was about 3 or 4 in human years when he died and was a very sweet, innocent little baby.

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PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS

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Scenes (More to be added) - They're in Chronological order here, but a few of them have large time skips due to me not writing the scenes between them

(No longer Canon to the up-coming comic at this point in time)

Love - Jak and Eveny Just after their Wedding

Grief - Jak after Eveny's death

Gone - Jak and Rose at Eveny's Funeral

Injuryyyy - Jak's Return after TRAUMA

Forget - Jak's intro to Alchoholism After TRAUMA

Empty - Is Life worth living anymore?

History - This one takes place on a mundane evening before the inciting incident

- (Flashbacks stop here)

Arena - Jak and Rose's intro from someone else's POV

Morena - Jak talks to Morena after Rose left to Help Finn with Something

Phenik - Phenik joins the crew

Rivalry - Jak and Wild's Rivalry

Prank - Jak's first Good night of sleep in a while

Eynalis - The party

-[The Loss]

A Night out #1 - Half the Crew go into town

A Night out #2 - >:]]

Defense - Jak kills a guy

Gift - Rose & Jak Wholesome Moment

-[The Scene I'm still putting off]

Letting go - Jak Tells Rose To forget him

Argument - Tension

Withdrawals - *Jazz hands* The Poll winner, here, ya sick degenerates.

Anniversary - Jak and Eveny's Anniversary was also Eveny's Birthday

Immortality - The Story only ends when they're forgotten

(Other Stuff)

A Memory

What Used to Be

Rune's Fate

Eveny's Fate

Jak's Fate (?)

Fae and Nonhuman Details

How everybody met

Jak's Psychology #1

Jak's Psychology #2

Jak being a Dick Compilation

Surprisingly accurate Picrew

Description of Jak from Eveny's eyes

Dialogue Test Sheets

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Go follow @corinneglass @i-hate-happy-endings @fantasy-things-and-such @cybercelestian @pastellbg

@nkikio @darkandstormydolls @aalinaaaaaa @thelazywitchphotographer @ash1223456

[keeponquinning]

Yes, Professor — Part One of Three.

Joseph Quinn x Erotica Novelist Fem!Reader. 18+

Word Count — 4.6k

Summary — slightly based on this, but mainly. You're Joseph's secret writer girlfriend who you met amidst the start of his convention tours, things are hot and heavy between you two, though strained for the inconvenience of not living in the same city and not being official. You're forced to spend a week apart but plan to meet up with him back in London on the last day of his Con appearance, and after teasing him for his Professor type choice of outfits, well, you just couldn't resist showing up dressed as your professor's favorite student, now could you? We thought not.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Part One — He's in London, you? Are not. In a party for you best friend's boyfriend, you manage to get him in a call, hearing his voice, laughing, conversations wishing to see his face, but you can take what you can get.

Preview —

Warnings — Not too many, nothing really smutty happens this part, maybe some dirty talk. Established relationship, it is a big ol' RPF and my first attempt. If not your thing, that's valid AF, just don't be mean / a dick about it. I am but a drop in this massive ocean called Tumblr, just swim on past and enjoy the waves without me if it bothers, I beg. There's also cursing. 18+ so minors, PLEASE, DNI!

Notes — Oh, this came out sooner than my last one, huh?? Mainly because I decided to split this into three parts instead of one big ol' one shot. I def learned my lesson lmao I had a lot of fun writing this, dialogue and banter are my fave things and there was a lot of that in this. Kinda fell in love with these two and planning on doing an actual multi-chaptered fic with them, how they met, all that jazz, let me know if it's something you'd want. Or not, if I get just one person like "yes, please" I'll do it bc people pleasing tendencies fuel me. I've left Reader pretty vague and ambiguous but we do have her mentioning Joseph's British-ness and obviously not living in the same continent because transatlantic romance is so rom com it hurts, but, feel free to ignore that and implant your own background on her, kinda the point, right?? Alright, hope you like this! Like, Reblog and Comment, they fuel me and make my heart go pitter patter!

Taglist — @lunaapis , @munsons-mayhem28 , @inourtownofhawkins , @hopperscock ( i fucking love this url you have no idea )

"What are you wearing?"

You hear an amused chuckle on the other end of the call, along with a distinct clicking of tongue. "...don't I get a hello first or are you missing me that much?"

A snort comes out your way, totally undignified, but he'd never call you out on it. "I mean, I am, but... Shut up." He's cackling now, that laugh that makes you smile stupidly and you're glad you're on an audio call rather than face time — though you wouldn't mind seeing his stupidly pretty face. "I'm serious, what are you wearing?"

"Why are you asking?" his voice strained, amused, but strained. He must be smiling, his laughter barely dying down.

Taking a deep breath, you explain, "Because I haven't seen you in a week and from the photos I've been seeing of you all day today... I need to prepare myself for when I see you tomorrow."

"I need you to repeat that, not the nonsense about my clothes but the...seeing me tomorrow bit."

Your eyes closed, lips stretching in a smile that, in the crowded room you were in the middle of, you tried to suppress. Teeth biting your lip, eyes cautiously looking around the party you were attending but your mind being on a man across the pond as it were, you let out a soft scoff. "....I need to prepare myself for when I see you tomorrow."

"Damn fucking right you will," his voice low, almost a growl that was...unfortunate, considering your surroundings. But more important, his tone was wistful. You heard the sound of gentle squeak, taking to mean that he sat on his bed, one that you missed very much at the moment. "I can't wait for that, and you will be needing to prepare yourself once we're alone... I fucking miss you."

"Mmm, your voice notes kinda gave that impression, yeah," you chuckled, hearing his as well. "Though I enjoyed hearing them when I wake up. It's lame, but, I do miss hearing your voice first thing in the morning." You hear him take a deep breath, exhaling with a soft hum. "Among other things. Hotel beds are just a bit too cold without you."

"Mhm, feeling the same way with my own bed, darling. Have to remind myself it's just been a week, but, feels a bit longer. Can't wait to have you back, though I know, temporarily."

"I know," this time it was you that sounded wistful. You knew you shouldn't, it was a good reason you'd be away from him. The latest in your book series was out there, digitally and in a week, in physical form. The gap between that and the previous book a bit too wide for your liking, or that of your publisher and readers. It was good that you finally finished it, but in that, included a tour of the book, which meant away from him, your sort of boyfriend. "At least you'll have me for a week, well, between your filming, anyway. Enough time for your friends to get sick of me and then wish I went away to have you to themselves again and for my friends to miss the me that isn't attached to your hip."

"Hah," he scoffed, a sound of a stretch that you could only assume was him laying down on his bed. "My friends are sick of me now, keep complaining about how I miss you. Even have Wes saying if I'm this needy without you, can't imagine how you handle me by your side, so, you've somehow got their sympathy and on your side, I'm the problem now, apparently." You couldn't hold in the laugh that barked its way out of you, and you could hear the offense even from the other line. "Oi. Don't laugh, you knew I was needy from the get go, I made no attempt to hide that."

Recovering from the laugh, you have a nod, though you knew he couldn't see, "Yeah, you are a bit of a clinger." Your smile still lingering, eyes soft, "But... It's...kinda one of your more endearing qualities, so... I'll take it."

"Oh, how gracious of you, accepting that I fucking adore you to the point of being miserable enough without you and getting on my friends fucking nerves"

He always made you laugh, you didn't even know if he intended to, but you could hear him laughing alongside you, so he must have, right? "God, hearing you curse is the best, y'know? You seem like a nice, proper boy, but then you curse and it..." You shake your head, "Makes me miss you more."

You heard him scoff, a wet sound, and you could almost see him licking his lips with a smile. "I know, dead sexy and all that... Hard to resist."

A shrug of your shoulders, more to yourself, of course, "...it kinda is. Makes me wanna do things to you to make you curse more..."

He groaned, which was also a lovely noise on its own. "Don't say things like that when you're not in grabbing distance, it's not fair."

You smiled, almost wickedly, eyes catching sight of your best friend, the only reason you were away from him at the moment. "Yeah, well, at least you're alone on your bed, I'm surrounded by people in my pretty dress, not getting grabbed and kissed by you and..." you trailed off as said best friend stopped in front of you, a pointed brow arched. You cleared your throat, smile still in place, "Which is totally fine, because I'm here to support my best friend and her crazy talented boyfriend on his birthday and album release and I'm totally fine with it."

"Mhm," she let out with a nod, "What I thought. Hi, Joe, can you two say goodbye because said boyfriend is gonna start up in a few minutes and I will not have you two have phone sex while he's performing, thank you."

"Excuse me!"

"You're not excused! You're so not excused — you're not allowed."

"That's just—" you were about to say rude when you very clearly hear the cackling on the other end of your call. "Stop laughing! You're not allowed to laugh right now, that's not fair."

"I'm sorry!" he let out, his voice thin, high, and you could hear an attempt to calm the laughter — but an attempt he did not win as more laughter came rolling out, making your lips twist and wanting to laugh despite yourself. Why did his laugh have to be so infectious sometimes? "I'll stop, I swear..." he continued, making you roll your eyes, looking at the smirking face of your best friend. "....oh, god... Tell Jen I said hello."

You couldn't help but let out a soft laugh, looking over at her, "The painfully British one says hello, because manners maketh the man I'm sure."

Jen cackled as well, shaking her head, "I'll give you two like, ten minutes, tops. You're introducing them, remember?"

"Of course. Ten minutes." A mock salute given, you watch as she turned toward the stage of the intimate venue, just a smaller group of closest friends. Taking a deep breath, directing your attention to your phone, "J o e."

"Oh, no, not Joe. I'm always in trouble when I get Joe instead of your usual Joseph."

"Damn right, that was not cool, I know we're not official, but, you have to have my back. It's the most chivalrous thing to do."

He snickered, "I'm... I'm sorry, I'm sorry! But, well," you heard him release a soft laugh, then heard, "...not to point fingers but you did start the conversation asking me what I was wearing... So was that...not where this was heading...?"

You clicked your tongue off the roof of your mouth very disappointingly, kind of. "No, you perv, I just wanted to know if my sort of boyfriend is going to continue dressing up as a slutty professor so I can figure out how to handle seeing that in person."

"I—" he started, but words cut off with a snicker, and then a proper laugh. "You—Okay. Several things. Don't fucking call me your sort of boyfriend. I am your boyfriend, just.... Well. Secret boyfriend. At least for now—"

"—until your publicist deems me worthy of being known to be dating you."

"No, just... Until we're more established, is all. And I am looking forward to that, taking you to events and such. I'd love to go to the book tour with you, show off how fucking proud I am of you and this book. But... I also don't want to overshadow your accomplishment, the way it's so mad right now. But I am your boyfriend, I know you say it in a joking manner with Jen and our friends, I get it, but... And it's fine to joke about it. Really. But I need you to know it's real for me and I hope it is for you, too. It... It is, isn't it?"

You smiled softly, his words warming your heart more than they should, once again blown away by his sense of sincerity. You never really dated anyone like that before and sometimes, it honestly takes you by surprise. "... Yeah, I know. And I don't mind it, honestly. I'd end things if I did... You're my boyfriend and I'm your girlfriend and...if my joking around hurt you in any way, then I'm sorry, you know I don't mean it. Not with something like this. You...mean a lot to me in a very short amount of time and...it's kind of overwhelming sometimes."

There was a soft sigh, a pleased one, from the other end of the call. "I know. I feel the same. Was never expecting you, or anyone, not like this. And no, you didn't hurt me, not one bit. There's no worry of that. I just needed you to know, I'm in this with you."

Though you certainly didn't need to hear it, there's a lightness from within your chest at his words, a light ease in your breathing and your soft smile grew wide. You didn't need him to confirm what you already knew, but, it was lovely to hear. "Me too. I'm in this, too. Especially if you're going to be sweet like that," you end with a light chuckle, joined by his own. "Not fair on your part. But, I'll let it pass."

"My girlfriend is very gracious like that, I'm so lucky to have her."

"Don't you forget it. Okay. I'm assuming you had more to say?"

"Yes, thank you for that. Was quickly getting side tracked... I just wanted it to be known that I am severely disappointed that phone sex is off the table, that broke my heart since we've been in an almost constant state of phone tag, its ridiculous," you giggled at that, actually giggled which was rare. And he knew it, you could hear his chuckle, and though you couldn't see him, you knew he was pleased with that smug little smirk on his lips. "But, I'll survive that. Also. Slutty professor? I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on. You dress like a romantic, slutty professor to these things and you know it."

"I think someone's too far into their own erotica stories and confusing some things, I... Dress as a professional. I have to. My stylist deems it so and I just...do as I'm told."

"...Joseph. What were you wearing today, and don't lie, I've seen the pictures. I just wanna hear you say it."

"You're being absolutely ridiculous, I... My loafers, my favorite ones, trousers, erm... Blue button shirt and... Well, a cardigan..." There was a pause, and you knew he was rethinking it all. "...beige cardigan and.....my dark grey...coat—okay. Maybe... Maybe it was a bit professor-ish. You...might be on to something there..."

"Uh-huh. Dressed like a professor who cares and has long office hours for any of his students to come by to unwind..."

"Stop that," he let out with a laugh. "That should be your next book."

"Oh, who says it won't be? I'll dedicate it to you, for inspiration. I'm assuming you'd be open for me to come to you for...brainstorming? Test out scenes, just, y'know, for the sake of art and authenticity?"

"Morning, noon and night, yes, I'm all yours and your....creativity." He chuckled, softly, there was a lingering silence between the two of you, and then a groan from his end. "Just out of curiosity... Would... I dunno, say...a sweater vest, erm... Like....Oof, a grey one with a dark jacket, that um... Is that slutty professor chic, you think?"

"I fucking knew it."

"Hold on! It was... It was a thought... Are you into the slutty professor look, though?"

"Why do you think I called you in the first place? Yes, of course I'm into it. Do you know what it's like, seeing your pics all over my social media, people sending me pics of you with that cardigan and long coat and just... Do you?"

You could almost hear his smug smile as he let out an even soft chuckle. "I do, actually... You're wearing that burgundy dress aren't you?" Your brows rose, though you didn't say anything, not yet. A soft little hum buzzing into your ear through your phone. "I've been stalking your instagram the past week, so I saw the picture you posted today. It's that burgundy dress I like. The one with the bow at the hip and the... The matching choker with the jewelry that you think is almost tacky but... I like it. Gave me something to look at the other time you wore it, remember that? Was it New Years? Took you to an empty room right before countdown, lifted your skirt and—"

"S t o p, we're not doing that, not now," though you smiled, remembering the moment quite clearly, feeling your skin flush especially as he laughed then. He had such a nice, deep, warm laugh sometimes. "...okay, so, yes, I'm wearing that dress... It's not the same, though, like, aside from that choker you love so much, it's pretty tame in comparison..."

"Mm, not for me. I love that color on you. I love anything on you if it means I can take it off of you. And—a cardigan's tame. A long coat is tame."

"The hell a long coat is tame, that's... Anyway, you wear the slutty professor really well and it's not fair. Especially if you're going to to do tomorrow. After being away from you a week... That's cruel, baby. I won't even be able to touch you until the con's over." You heard him hum, probably thinking the very same. A thought comes, making you chuckle suddenly, "I should retaliate."

"...oh god," he let out, clearly recognizing when a wicked thought comes to mind. "Pray tell, how?"

"Why... Professor..."

"....Oh, fuck."

"Yup. By dressing up as one of your favorite students, of course."

"....jesus fucking christ." You heard a small groan, "God, you would, wouldn't you? I don't know if I could take that. It's been a week, body going in withdrawal without you and the sight of you with knee high socks..."

"Hmm. Telling that the knee high is the first thing you go to. Noted."

He chuckled, "Yes, well... The thought of you in knee highs is rather... I wouldn't take them off. Not the entire time."

Your smile widened, biting your bottom lip. "Yeah? Mmm. Well, good, because I'd definitely wear your favorite colors, just for you, Professor."

"Fuck off," he said softly, though, and when you laughed, you heard him let out a breath. "Shit. I can't shake the image, now. My favorite student, dressed so pretty for me. Looking nice and soft...with uh..." He exhaled, "Burgundy knee highs, snug and soft..."

You kept a careful eye around you, trying so hard to suppress your smile. But the sound of his voice was so...alluring, finding yourself squeezing your thighs a little bit. "Keeping up with the color theme, I see..."

"It is my favorite color at the moment, especially on you."

You hummed, "Okay. Question, knee highs or thigh highs?"

"No," his voice instant, "Gotta be the knee highs. I'd want... I'd want your thighs absolutely bare. For my fingers to run and roam over the skin... And...then, y'know... I wouldn't be able to resist to kiss you there as well. Gentle ones of course, but, being away from you this time...wouldn't be long until I start biting..."

A breathless laugh escapes you, now not even caring if anyone looked or listened in on you. It had been a while since you talked to him in real time, without having to push play, it was too good to cut away from. "For someone that says they can't write for the life of them, you're not doing too bad, Professor. You might give a run for my money if you ever decide to go into the erotica business."

"Mmm, tempting, but no. I'll leave that to you. It'd just be a novel of me fucking you and I'd rather have the real thing. But... Was I good enough to get you wet for me, darling?"

It shouldn't make you blush, you built your whole career in literary dirty talk and seducing your readers with your words... But when Joseph did it, his words and voice always struck you deep. Much deeper than any other partner had, which was slightly scary and mainly thrilling. You felt the heat creeping up your neck, a soft giggle being awarded to him. "....you know you are." You heard a pleased sigh from him, taking in a deep breath as you try to calm yourself. That no, sneaking off wasn't an option, that the growing ache between your legs would have to wait, even if you wouldn't have him talk you through it, guide you toward climax in the only way he could. But. "You got me wet and feeling it now every time I walk around in my pretty burgundy dress in a room filled with people."

"Well... I'm alone in my lonely room with a very bothersome hard on and... Probably feel lonelier still when we say our goodbyes and I'll only have my hand and thoughts of you in your pretty burgundy dress, wet, wishing I can feel just how wet you are."

You let out a breath, closing your eyes a moment. "...and I'd wish it was my hand, my mouth, on that...bothersome hard cock," you heard him groan, making your heart flutter, as well as your cunt. "Like I've been fantasizing this past week."

He took a deep breath, you could hear the exhale produce static on your end, a soft hum. "Same here, love. Suppose we'll be doing the same thing tonight..."

With a dejected sigh, you have an affirming hum, "Our ten minutes are about done. Otherwise I'd sneak to a room somewhere and..." You chuckled, "Tell you in excruciating detail the things I'd do to you to make you curse." His laugh comes out at that, making your smile spread further on your face. "But. I am due on stage to introduce my best friend's boyfriend and his band, so... She'd kill me if I missed that, and then would go and kill you, and no one wants that."

"No, no, we do not. That's fine. More to release when I see you tomorrow. Probably keep you to myself for the rest of the week, fair warning, darling."

"Yes, Professor. I'm very okay with that."

The way he groaned at that made your heart flutter again, as well between your legs. You did miss him, terribly, your fingers and toys did little to satisfy you, not without his warmth, his kiss, the moans you'd swallow and hunger for more. "...keep that up and I won't want you to call me anything else."

"Is it bad I kinda like it? P r o f e s s o r?"

He gave a helpless laugh, "Shit, it is. It's very bad of you. Naughty, even. Wicked. My poor coc—"

"Tomorrow, only until tomorrow. And then I'll make it up to you, in any way you want me to. I'll call you professor if you want me to."

"I knew there was a reason you're my favorite student..." You smiled and you could feel he was smiling too. "Okay. I'm going to give you back to your best friend, again. Thank her for me, for letting me have you to myself for this long."

"I will, she'll expecting nothing less. Think of me?"

He chuckled, and you could picture him shaking his head. "When am I not? Especially right now, left to my own devices... Until I have you to myself again." You heard him take a sharp intake of breath, "Have fun, yeah? I love you."

You felt like a teenager again, at the sound of those three words, said recently, right before you left. A slip of the tongue, but meant with sincerity from you both. "I love you, too. I'll see you... Bye."

"Bye, darling. I can't wait."

There was a heaviness that weighed on you as you ended the call, knowing it had to be you, otherwise you wouldn't end it at all. The warmth of his voice lingered, the image of his face imprinted on your brain, curling your fingers around your phone. A thought hitting you like lightning, going to messages and tapping quickly.

Send me a voice note. I wanna hear you.

He liked it.

Your smile widening as you turned around, dumping your phone into your purse and with your heels, made it toward the small stage where the band were setting up. Hands went to Jen's shoulders, hugging her from behind. "I'm all yours, now. He said thank you for letting him have me for the call."

She scoffed with a roll of her eyes, "Gross, you guys are gross."

"Shut up, we're cute." Jen seeming unconvinced. "Whatever, I'm happy."

Your best friend gave a shrug, "Then that's okay." You pulled away and stood beside her, and she took a breath. "He does seem to make you happy and... I don't hate that. Just the whole...secret relationship thing gives me pause." Crossing her arms, she looked to you, raising her brow. "Be honest.... You really okay with it? Because if you are, I'll back off and be one hundred percent for you guys. Because he is nice and seems crazy about you and I haven't seen you this happy in a while... I just don't want you hurt, y'know? I'm not being a bitch—"

"You're never a bitch—" you interjected, pausing as you two looked at each other, and you smirked. "Okay, well, yeah, you are, but for good reasons. A boss bitch, through and through." You paused a bit, giving a shrug of your shoulders. "I dunno. We talked about it... I kinda get it, he kinda blew up overnight and doing...so many things and I... I can't even imagine. I got booktok and like... Well, this book tour, but, obviously nothing on his level. He seems more concerned about if it came out, he'd overshadow my book and the press for it." Which you did appreciate, you worked hard, but part of the reason you got the book done as fast as you did was his encouragement. Being the first to read your pages, his excitement over the story you crafted holding a huge part. "It would have been nice to dedicate the book to him, but, since we aren't....out, didn't really feel right."

"Mmhm..."

"But. I don't know, at first it was kind of fun, sneaking around, dodging photographers, you know. Secret affair type of thing except not being horrible with spouses to cheat on, that kind of thing? And we were casual at first, seeing other people, until... We weren't and...not casual anymore. I mean, it's kind of still fun but also...not."

Taking a deep breath, she sighed. "And how long until it's not kind of fun for you?"

Looking over at her, you frowned, hating that she had a point. "I don't know. I'm not there yet... And I'm hoping it doesn't come to that because... I'm really fucking happy with him." Raising your brow, you give her a reassuring smile. "I'll be careful. And if I'm not, you can kick my ass about it."

"Deal," she agreed to, seeming a little lighter about the situation. "So, is he still going to dress all Mr. Darcy as a Professor when you see him?"

"I swear, he's a walking Jane Austen leading man, like it's just straight up Professor without him even trying." She laughed, you joining in. "It's gotta be a British thing, it has to." Laughing a bit harder, "I teased him with an idea, though, dressing up like a student."

"Oh? Oh, that'd be perfect. Are you meeting him after that con or...?"

A sly smile comes across your face, then, looking at her with a slight chuckle. "Mmm... Don't laugh, but... I actually planned on surprising him at the con?" Your smile widened as she gasped, looking at you agape. "I bought a photo and autograph with him. I knew there'd be no chance on the day of and I thought it'd be cute, you know? He doesn't know."

"Oh, God, I hate to say it, but that's fucking adorable! And kinda genius." Her eyes widened, "You know, though... I mean... The set up's too perfect, you have to dress all slutty student."

"Hey, slutty is for Halloween, I'd be dressed as his favorite student, with knee highs, he seemed very into that."

If her eyes could widen even further, Jen's would, letting out a bark of a laugh. "Oh my god, knee—no, no," shaking her head. "You are doing this. You are gonna do this. Listen...we're gonna make this happen."

"We don't have time, I'm getting the red eye, remember? And by the time this is over—"

But she was determined, shaking her head, "Nope, look. You're gonna introduce the band, because you are my amazing writer friend and words are your thing. We'll stay for a few songs, and then I'm going to take you shopping, okay? I'm making this happen, I'm gonna make this happen for you."

"I thought he gave you pause and you're gonna work this hard to make a fantasy come true for him?"

She wagged her finger from side to side, "Oh, no, no. Not for him, for you. Look, he seems great and he probably is, and maybe there will be a time where he's like a brother to me, but right now? I believe you when you say he makes you happy and that you're happy with him, I see it, so, I'm doing this for you. Because you are my best friend and that's love, bitch."

"I love you. Like... You'll always be my first love, in a totally platonic kind of way. Only because of the fact that you're annoyingly straight."

Jen sighed, "I know, it's a pain, but, we'll always have each other's backs and our hearts, before anyone else." Her gaze going toward the stage, her musician boyfriend giving her a nod, releasing a soft smile. "We didn't do so bad, though. You're up. Make me proud of my boyfriend, okay?"

"Oh, yeah, how do you want me to go about it? Soft and emotional, very serious or...roast him but from the heart?" You both looked at each other for a moment, the answer quite clear.

"Roast him."

for your consideration....