#and because they put me at the wrong place for 4 hours i have to learn a bunch new shit tomorrow what the FUCK

[writingsbytee]

SEXUAL HEALING

TERRY RICHMOND x BLACK FEM READER

WARNING / TRIGGERS: Reader is DEPRESSED, no thoughts of self harm or un-aliving herself. Babygirl is just having a depressive episode. Depressed themes, Sexual themes, explicit sexual content; dirty talk; soft Dom,

SUMMARY: Reader is depressed and Terry fucks her out of it

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

*Remember you are in charge of your own consumption. 18+ up audiences only; minora please don’t interact!*

 *Also, this is complete fiction. I'm writing about the reader’s depression simply based on my experiences and knowledge of depression. I’m in NO WAY saying that this is what depression is for every individual. This is a safe space. If you or someone you know is struggling with their mental health please reach out to your local crisis center so that they can provide resources. Read with care. Love you guys <3*

This hasn’t been proofread

You groaned as your phone rang yet again, reaching out from under your blankets, your hand blindly slapping your bedside table in search of the device. Checking to see who called, a pained sigh leaves your lips. Terry, your boyfriend called you 4 times in the past hour. Deciding to put him out of his misery you answer the call.

“Hello?”, you say, not even bothering to hide the quiver in your voice.

“Babygirl? What’s wrong?,” Terry asked, his voice sounding frantic. 

A watery sigh leaves your lips, “I’m having a moment Terry, I’ll be ok. It’s just taking a little bit longer for me to come out of it.” 

I hear Terry’s door shut on the other line, “I’m on my way sweet girl, Daddy’s coming”

A muffled sob leaves your mouth at Terry’s words. Always willing to stop whatever he’s doing to help you fight the demons constantly plaguing your mind. Religious therapy and an antidepressant regimen seemed to keep the dark thoughts at bay. Every now and then the debilitating thoughts would come back rendering you useless. Your apartment desperately needed a deep clean as well as your room. Your bed becoming a cesspool, you slept, ate, and cried in the same spot for a little over a week now. 

Rolling onto your back you let out a deep sigh, wanting to be normal and not a basket case full of emotions. 

45 MINUTES LATER

You could hear your front door open and close, signaling that Terry arrived. You heard him set bags down in your kitchen before his light footfalls made his way to your room. He knocked twice before peeking his head in. Terry’s small smile dropped when he saw the state of you and your room. It broke his heart to see you this way.

“Aww honey, I’m here,” Terry said walking toward you. Tear tracks making their way down your face and silent sobs wracked your body.

“I’m so sorry, Terry. I didn’t mean to make you come all the way down here,” You said, covering your face with your hands. Terry gently grabbed your hands, removing them from your face. 

“Sweet girl, never apologize because the air gets a little too heavy for you. That’s why I’m here to take some of the load off,” Terry said with a small smile. Your  gentle green-eyed giant, you  grabbed your glasses, putting them on.

You brought a hand up to his cheek, “You’re too good for this world Terry Richmond. Thank you, for being what I never knew I needed,” you say with all the sincerity you can muster. 

Terry’s eyes shine with unshed tears, “you’ll never have to go through these feelings alone again. Baby when I said I wasn’t going anywhere I meant that. You’re stuck with me sweetheart,” Terry finishes, with a watery smile of his own. He gently raises me into a sitting position.

“Here’s what I want you to do. I brought you your favorite body wash shampoo, conditioner and those wax things you like so much. Go take a shower, wash your hair,pamper yourself. I’m going to get started on your sheets. Okay babygirl?”, he asked. Your eyes practically turned into hearts looking at Terry. 

A small smile formed on your lips as you said a gentle, “Okay, Daddy.”

His smile widened, leaning forward to place a kiss on your forehead. “There’s my girl. Now go get cleaned up, I’ll take care of everything else.” You nodded, rising slowly, and made your way into the bathroom. You didn’t dare glance at yourself in the mirror. Not in the mood for the thoughts to take hold again. Turning on the shower as hot as it would get you stepped in, ready to wash the bad thoughts away. 

Meanwhile, Terry was in your room replacing your dirty sheets, putting them in the wash, and tidying up around your apartment. He hated that he couldn’t save you from your thoughts, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try. He understood that everyone’s trauma affected them differently. His put him in attack mode, while yours forced you to shut down. 

As you washed your hair, you could feel your sense of self slowly returning. You found peace in taking care of yourself. Detangling your curls felt as if you were brushing away all the bad thoughts. Exfoliating was like scrubbing away your impurities, leaving you shiny and new. You don’t know why you couldn’t muster up the strength to take the 15 foot walk to your bathroom. But that’s depression in a nutshell, making the most mundane tasks feel like climbing mount everest. You spent at least an hour in the bathroom, when you emerged you felt like a different person. Your heart warmed at the sight of your room, new sheets adorned your bed with a new hello kitty plushie and pajama set.

Exiting your room, you start searching for your boyfriend. Finding him in your living room playing your favorite vinyl and watering your plants. You will yourself not to cry at Terry’s selflessness, you just run up behind him wrapping his torso in a hug. 

“Hey, baby. Feeling better?”he asks, turning to face you. You place a kiss right above his heart, looking up at him you nod.

“Yeah honey, thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you” you say, staring up at him adoringly.  

Terry pet your head lovingly, “Let’s hope you never have to find out. Now go make yourself comfortable, I ordered your favorite vietnamese take-out and I’m going to rub your feet until it gets here.”

A warm gooey feeling spreads from your head to your toes. A slow grin taking over your face at your adonis of a boyfriend takes care of your body, mind, and soul. Settling into your sectional, you wiggle your toes playfully urging him closer. Terry chuckles through his nose, making his way toward you. Sliding down beside you , he grabbed both of your legs, placing them on his lap.

“Relax baby, Daddy’s here now and I’m going to take care of you,” Terry said, running his hands up your bare calves. His touch warms your skin instantly. A content sigh leaves your lips as you rest your head on the arm of your sofa.

“Good girl,” Terry said, grabbing your right foot. He began slowly, just caressing your feet adding a tickle here and there pulling small giggles from your lips. Terry started to work on your foot starting slowly on your instep, applying light pressure. Then he moved to your arch applying pressure that was almost painful, causing a gasp to leave your lips.

“You’ve got a knot here, be patient I’ll work it out,” Terry said, digging in deeper. An involuntary moan leaves your lips, the release of the tenson expelling through your lips. Terry smirked, his plan was working. This kept going for a while, Terry expertly massaging your feet, and you moaning like he was massaging somewhere else. You're getting wetter by the minute. 

The doorbell interrupts your massage as a groan leaves your lips, “I was just starting to relax,” you whined.  Terry lets out a chuckle before getting up. Leaning to kiss your forehead, “You’ll have plenty of time to relax later, trust me.” And with that, he heads toward the door to grab the food. Terry doesn’t let you lift a finger while he plates the food for you two. Just advising you to find something “good to watch.” With a smirk, you put on your favorite show at the moment, ‘True Blood.’ Terry liked the show surprisingly, being the first of your boyfriends to take an interest in YOUR interests. What he didn’t like was how googly-eyed you got over Alcide. As trivial as it was, he wasn't going to sit and watch you drool over another man. 

Plating your food,

Terry brought it to you. Plopping down next to you on the couch with a plan in mind, Terry just sat back and watched you enjoy your food. A small satisfied sigh leaves your lips at the first bite. 

“Mmm, it’s so good! Thank you baby” you say, leaning in to kiss Terry’s cheek. He could feel his cheeks warm at your gratitude, placing a hand on your thigh and squeezing. Your breath hitched when Terry’s hand refused to leave your thigh. Instead tracing small circles while you ate. 

After finishing your food you and Terry cuddled up on your sofa with a blanket. Rubbing his chest you say, “Thank you for everything Terry, I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Terry looks down at you grasping your chin forcing your brown eyes to meet his mossy green ones. “I’m just doing my job baby. What kind of man would I be if I let my woman suffer alone? I’m here for you, I love you, and I’ll always make sure you’re taken care of.” Terry’s hand migrated to the back of your neck, pulling you in excruciatingly slow. He watched your face change. Eyes become low, lips parting, and your breathing turns shallow. 

Terry inches impossibly closer, your lips a hair’s width apart, “What do you want, pretty girl?”

“Kiss me, please?” you ask, fingers coming up to grip his t-shirt. A small devious smirk makes its way onto Terry’s face as he leans down, lips brushing against yours. The anticipation is killing you. You two were practically sharing the same breath, yet Terry wouldn’t close the gap and lay one on you. 

“Please, Daddy? Let me thank you, I’ve been good haven't I?” you ask, looking up at Terry with the doe eyes that he loves so much. 

A groan leaves his lips as Terry places your bowl on the coffee table “You know what that look does to me, baby. C’mere,” and then his lips are on you. A surprised moan leaves your lips as you pull Terry closer, sucking his lips between yours. He grabs your hips positioning you on his lap, right atop his growing bulge. 

“How are you feeling honey, still sad? What can Daddy do?” Terry asks, his hand grasping and pulling at the fat of your ass. Grinding you against thick dick. 

“Touch me, please Daddy”, you whine. You could feel yourself soaking through the seat of your sleep shorts, having forgone underwear. Terry smiles against your lips, “I am touching you pretty girl”. Pulling back for air, you move your attention to his thick neck. Placing wet open mouthed kisses there migrating up to his ear, nipping and sucking at the lobe. You hear Terry’s breath stutter drawing a smile from your lips. Terry pulls back in time to see the bright dopey smile on your face and he places a kiss on your nose.

Pulling your shirt over your head, Terry's eyes lock on plump mahogany breasts and chocolate nipples. 

“Fuck, pretty girl. You’re not playing fair,” Terry says, head dropping onto the back of the sofa. A soft giggle leaves your lips. You slither up Terry’s body like a cat in heat, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“C’mon Daddy don’t you wanna feel how wet I am for you? Just for you,” you whisper into Terry’s ear, finishing with a lick. A small ‘fuck’ leaves Terry’s lips as his hand comes cracking down on your ass forcing a small yelp to leave your lips. 

“Keep that up baby and I’ll give you exactly what you’re asking for,” Terry said, playing with your shorts. Pulling them halfway down to jiggle your ass or tugging them high up your ass giving your clit the much needed friction you craved. You two were making out like porn stars, sloppily, lips glistening with spit. You pulled back to look at Terry, his eyes half mast filled with need and desire for you. You’re positive your face looks the same. Terry picks you up off his lap, setting you next to him on the sofa as he gets up. Turning on your sunset lamp and turning off the lights to create an ethereal glow around your living room. Then he moves pieces of your sectional together making it a day bed of some sort. 

“Strip babygirl, I want you naked by the time I get back,” Terry commands, then picks up your leftovers, and heads back to the kitchen. It was embarrassing how fast you threw the sticky shorts off. Your pussy was talking and Terry hadn’t even touched you yet. As you wait for Terry, you start massaging your tits. Nipples forming tight peaks, tugging and pulling creates a throb you feel straight down to your clit.  Small moans started leaving your lips. The ache between your thighs growing almost painful as you whined, waiting for your man to return and fuck you stupid. After five minutes you almost debate finding him.

“Terrrrryyyy,” you cry out. When you get no response you peek over your shoulder, when you don’t see him you decide to start on your own. Sliding your hands down your body, you’re about to reach your pussy when Terry’s hand grabs yours, pulling a gasp from you. 

“I said strip, when did I tell you to touch my pussy?”Terry's looking down his nose at you. 

“I’m sorry, Daddy I need you please!” You whine, sitting up. Terry makes his way around the sofa looking like a lion stalking his prey. He stands in front of you crossing his arms, a cup in one hand. 

“Spread those legs for me mama,let me see my pussy,” Terry said. Your legs fell open immediately the quiet ‘schlick’ heard between the two of you. Terry’s eyes darken, the color of a stormy sea and he takes a step toward you. 

“Hands behind your back sweetheart, you know the drill,” Terry purrs, crawling on the sofa. Taking a long sip from his cup before setting it down. Like an obedient little slut you put your hands behind your back with a small smile on your face, “Like this papa?” you asked. 

Terry dropped his head and groaned, “I’m trying to make you wait babygirl, I’m two seconds away from burying my face in that sweet pussy,” Terry said, his voice sounding like he was in pain. 

“C’mon papa look at how ready she is for you, she couldn’t wait for you to get your hands on her,” you scooched your ass further down the sofa, practically planting your pussy on his chin. With a growl, Terry was on top of you, hand clutching your cunt. 

Terry started massaging your clit with his fingers releasing a relieved moan from your lips. 

“Unh Terry, it feels good!” you said, head thrown back, and your back arched. 

A devilish smile formed on Terry’s lips. He loved the sounds you made when he played with you. 

“Make that sound again baby,” Terry said, tonguing your nipple. 

“Unh! Daddy!Take your pants off please. I want to feel you” you moan, gripping Terry’s neck. Pulling him down to lock your lips. Terry explored your pussy like it was his first time. Experimenting with how wet he could make you. Sliding his pants and boxers down he freed his monster of a dick. 

“I’m going to fuck you baby,but first tell me how bad you want it” Terry said, his finger picking up the pace on your clit.

“I want you so bad Terry,” you say leaning up to peck his lips over and over. 

A small chuckle leaves his lips, “Yeah? How bad? Let Daddy know sweetheart.” Terry’s working your clit between his fingers, the slick sounds permeating through your home. 

“Fuck Daddy I want you to take care of me like you always do . You’re such a good provider, always making sure I have what I need! Ouuu! Baby, right there! Yes! You’re going to make me cum, fuck!,” You moan out, your voice rising in pitch letting Terry know you were close. 

“Then come on my tongue sweet girl,” Terry leans down and takes your clit in his mouth. Your mouth falling open in a silent scream as your breath staccatos

“You look so pretty, baby. I love how wet this pussy gets for me. You ganna let Daddy fuck the bad thoughts away. Want me to make it feel better sweetie. Because I can, you know Daddy can help,” Terry slips two fingers into, causing your soul to leave your body. 

Combined with his suction on your clit, you stood no chance against the orgasm that rocked your body. “Oouuu Terry! Yesssss!”, you moaned as Terry worked your orgasm out of you.

“That’s right pretty girl, give me that orgasm,” Terry said, adding another finger. You were beyond seeing stars at this point. There was a full milky way galaxy dancing behind your eyes. Terry had a dark smirk on his face, loving the effect he had on you. He loved making you come, how you gave yourself over to him completely. He was surprised when you forced his fingers out of your pussy, a harsh stream of liquid following. A high pitched moan left your lips as your body shook.

“Yes Honey! That’s it!” Terry moaned, slapping your clit a few times. Your body shook and shuddered in the aftermath of your orgasm. Vision hazy as you tried to center yourself. Terry stripped off the rest of his clothes and hovered over you, his warmth seeping into your skin. 

“Hey, look at me baby,”Terry brought his finger to your face caressing you. Your eyes refocused on Terry’s soft ones, a small smile forming on your lips. Terry mirrored your expression, leaning down to press his lips against yours in a passionate sloppy kiss. Teeth and tongues clashing in a frantic meet of mouths. Both of you are trying to convey your love for one another. 

“Papa, I need you inside me” you wine against Terry’s lips. Terry doesn’t need to be told twice, he positions himself at your entrance and eases in. Both your lips part, needy moans releasing from your lips.

“Terry, Terry, Terry! Oh my god!” You moan as he sets a punishing rhythm. Punching your cervix with the fat mushroom head of his dick. You lose yourself in the feeling of being fucked by him. 

“How’s that feel baby, can you feel how much Daddy loves his sweet girl?” Terry asked. How he could ask you questions while digging your shit out like this is beyond you. You just moan and nod, his thrusts stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Words baby. I need to hear you say it. You’ll do that for daddy won’t you?” Terry asks, bringing his hand up to your throat applying slight pressure. The delicious feeling pulling a needy whine from your lips. Terry was hitting all your spots and you couldn’t think.

“Yes daddy, I feel it. I love it. I love you,” you moan your eyes slowly making their descent to the back of your skull. Terry loved when you started babbling on his dick, saying any and everything to please him. And please him it did. 

Terry felt like a man possessed, your pleasure the only thing on his mind determined to coax as many orgasms out of you as possible. He was going at you like a man on a mission. The push and pull, the slick sounds of him going in and out of your pussy driving him insane.  

“I love you more baby. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you with the dark thoughts, but I’m here now Daddy’s ganna fuck the depression out of you,” Terry said raising one of your knees so he could hit you even deeper.

You bring your hands up, grabbing Terry’s ass pulling him deeper inside you. “Baby you’re going to make me cummm!,” you moan out. Terry moans in your ear, pulling you in for another sloppy kiss. Terry releases your lips, leaning back to look at you. 

“Open your eyes pretty girl, I love the way you look when you come for me,” Terry was long past close. He wanted to cum so bad, but he wouldn’t, not until he felt your velvet walls pulse around his thick dick. 

“Cum with me Daddy! I need to feel you fill me up!,” You say reaching for Terry’s ears, rubbing them softly. Terry’s eyes start to roll in the back of his head. He loves it when you play with his ears.

“You’re so good to me Daddy, always taking care of me. You’re making me feel so good, thank you Daddy! Thank you for fucking the depression out of…” you never got to finnish your sentence. Orgasm hitting you like a bus. Terry was ejected from your pussy with the force, you squirted so hard your vision went white as a high pitched moan left your lips. Terry started in awe. He stood above you jerking his dick.

“Fuck that was so sexy baby I’m about to come,” Terry said. That all too familiar ache forming in his abdomen. Balls heavy and tight with the need to release. Your eyes regained their focus in just enough time to watch Terry erupt all over you. Painting you with his cum, a small smile formed on your face as his warm release landed on your breasts, tummy and legs. 

“Mm that was a big one daddy, thank you,” you moan, collecting his essence to taste. A moan leaves your lips as the salty, earthy musk hits your taste buds. Terry leans down, placing another kiss to your lips. 

“How do you feel now babygirl?” Terry asks, using the spare napkins to clean you up. 

You place a kiss on Terry’s cheek, “Much better Daddy, but I think I’m still a little sad” you said, smirking up at him. Terry shakes his head at you with a playful smile on his lips.

“Well you better go grab us some waters babygirl, I’m not done with you yet,” Terry said before lifting you over his shoulders to carry you to your room.

THE END <3

I think this might be the fastest I’ve ever written anything. I just really wanted to create a vulnerable piece, and I LOVE how this piece turned out. This is supposed to be a one shot but that’s TBD as of now. As always constructive criticism is encouraged but please take it easy on me, I’m sensitive.

TAGLIST: 

@blackgurlnhermoods @megamindsecretlair @dxddykenn @pinkkycherrish @pinkkycherrish @episodes-ff @kimuzostar @kianaleani @uzumaki-rebellion @urfavblackbimbo @shallipii @greatpandagladiator @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @theereina @pocketsizedpanther @mymindisneverhere @onherereading @nayaesworld @earthchica @skyesthebomb @gg-trini @blyffe @melalsworld @mogul93 @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @sweettea-and-honeybutter @diaries-of-me @simplyzeeka @kumkaniudaku

[cognitiveoverload]

Basic human decency – 1/4 (platonic Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader)

summary: You're the surgeon who operated Hotch, and you're annoyed that he immediately starts working after waking up.

masterlist

“I hoped you would be knocked out a little longer,” you say with a playful smile as you enter his room, stopping at the foot of his bed. He stops typing and raises an eyebrow in question, which makes you shake your head in disapprovement. “Dr. Young warned me that you’re a workaholic, but I didn’t think you would be working so soon after a surgery.”

Hotchner let out a sigh and put down the phone to focus on this conversation. “It’s important. I can’t just lie here and do nothing,” he replies.

Nodding, you put the chart on the bed next to his feet, then move a little closer to him. “Look, you need to rest. When you were brought in, things didn’t seem serious, so no one talked to you about this, but due to that complication, and after such a serious surgery, I’d rather see you taking it easy for now,” you explain with a kind smile.

All it takes is one look to know a lot about him. You heard that he’s working for the FBI, it’s clear that he’s a born leader, but that mixed with a stubborn attitude can be dangerous in hospitals. As a doctor, you give instructions to patients, expecting them to do as you say, but people like him often ignore these orders. If it was up to you, you would take away every device that can help him work, but you have no right to do that. 

The best you can do now is try to reason with him. Well, seeing the doubtful expression on his face, you’d probably have a better chance convincing a brick wall.

“I’m just making a few phone calls,” he tries with a smile.

“Work calls?” For a few moments, he watches you with a blank expression, but then it all changes and suddenly he looks like a kid who was caught doing something wrong. “You have a son, right?”

He nods in response. “Jack. He’s six,” he replies, sounding a little unsure. “Why?”

Your attention is drawn to the door where a nurse waves at you, so you quickly signal her that you’ll be there in a moment, then return your attention to the patient. “It’s the summer break, right? Why don’t you ask someone to bring him here? You would have the chance to spend more time with him, and you wouldn’t spend that time working. It’s a win-win to me,” you offer with a laugh.

There’s a strange gleam in his brown eyes as he considers your idea. While he thinks about this, you go to pick up his chart, then flash one last smile at him before telling him to rest and that you’ll be back soon. You even dare to jokingly threaten him that you would confiscate his phone, to which he replies with a silent nod of understanding. But there’s something under the surface, something that just doesn’t click into place, yet you can’t figure out what it could be. 

Shaking off this feeling, you leave the room and get lost in work again. After checking on a few patients, you have another small surgery, which manages to take your mind off this for now. In fact, the rest of your shift passes without thinking about the agent again, but then, about half an hour before you can finally leave, you find yourself at the nurses’ station across his room. You don’t notice it at first, only when Dr. Young stops next to you with a teasing grin on his face. 

When you ask him what it’s all about, he just shrugs and points at the room with his pen. “Well, well, well, young lady, you are officially a miracle worker. According to my sources he stopped working after you left,” he explains with a kind smile as he looks at you. 

You follow the pen and notice that Hotchner isn’t alone, there is a young boy sitting on the edge of his bed, while a few people are standing around it, deep in a conversation. Something tells you they’re his colleagues, partly because you can see one of them carrying a weapon, but they are all smiling and laughing, it’s surely not work-related. So he did listen to you. Good. That’s exactly what you wanted. 

“Let’s hope it stays this way until he’s discharged,” you note quietly, but while you want to say something else, the words don’t come out. Because through the window you can see him turn to you, as if he could sense you are standing there, watching him, and you could swear he flashes a thankful smile at you. And then you jump from the surprise, because Lisa, one of the nurses, holds up an envelope in front of your face. “What’s this?” 

She shrugs with a teasing smile, then bumps her shoulder into yours as she hands it to you. “Oh, just a message I was asked to give to you. And it came with that bouquet of flowers. No big deal,” she says happily. 

As you open it, you watch as she and Dr. Young leave your side, giving you space to read the card. It’s a gift from Hotchner, and he used this way to thank you for making him understand that he can allow himself to retreat and recover instead of jumping back into work, possibly stressing himself out because of it. That’s all. It’s just a short message, but it’s surely one of those small things that make your job a hundred times better. 

As you look back at him, you see him watching you again, so you raise the card and nod in his way, to which he responds with a smile. And this catches his colleagues' attention, because they all turn to you suddenly, which makes you flee the scene before they could find you to ask questions. Maybe it’s time to go home now. But first, you scribble a short thank you message on a piece of paper, and ask a nearby nurse to give it to him once he’s alone again. There are no questions, but you can see the knowing grin on his lips that make you roll your eyes. 

This isn’t flirting.

This is basic human decency.

[xiii-e]

//ooc posting: I NEED to find more fun/silly things to do with my two they are Not meant to be all agony all the time I swear- I just have a penchant for the dramatic and they're a little in the torment nexus o(-< but on god they will Have Fun too

[greenboyofjupter]

When you're first day of work was such a cluster fuck that you seriously contemplate not going back

[ms-demeanor]

I think the eight alarms thing is usually a maladaptation. You've trained your brain to ignore the eight alarms because you kept avoiding the training of willpower following the first alarm would require. I think some sleep therapy might help?

Hey so first of all fuck you, thanks.

Second: I love it when you read literature on sleep disorders, especially if it's on sleep disorders among folks with ADHD, and you see time and time again "when allowed to sleep on their preferred schedule subjects maintained healthy, normal, restorative sleep cycles" and "effects were not lasting without ongoing intervention; resetting the sleep schedule is a permanent effort."

Like, if I sleep *great* from 6am to 2pm and I wake up feeling rested and alert with no special help but I need to turn off the lights in my house and shut down all electronics at 8pm and beam a spotlight into my face starting at 5am to wake up at seven and feel exhausted all day, I think perhaps it is not actually my sleep cycle that is wrong it is perhaps society that is wrong.

BELIEVE ME, when I find the job that pays well and has decent insurance that lets me exist as a cheerful nighttime ghoul I am jumping on that with both feet. But until then I literally feel better getting six hours of sleep and occasionally sleeping so hard that i can't hear my alarms because of chronic sleep deprivation than I do turning off all the lights in my house and ceasing all activity two and a half hours after I get off of work.

Also: the eight alarms aren't all there to wake me up, it's just that sometimes I *also* sleep through the ones that are supposed to remind me to go sit at my desk and start work. One of the first three usually gets me up, but on a day when I sleep through all three of those I will be sleeping through all eight of them and usually a phone call and someone trying to shake me awake to.

ANYWAY after being treated with melatonin and light therapy and staring listlessly at the ceiling in the dark bored out of my skull with racing thoughts for sleep disorders that I didn't have for like twenty years the single most effective intervention that allowed me to get more sleep as someone with both ADHD and DSPD was to start hanging out and being active in places where it would be easy to fall asleep if the sleep caught me there instead of turning my bedroom into a dark, silent shrine of snoozing. Giving myself permission to fall asleep late instead of laying awake chewing myself up with guilt for not being asleep helped too.

Actually here's some tips for the sleepy bitches in the crowd:

1 - If you're laying down and not falling asleep in half an hour, you're not actually sleepy; read something or get up and do something because you're more likely to get sleepy faster that way than you are staring at the clock going "if I fall asleep now I'll have three hours and forty five minutes of rest when I have to go to work; If I fall asleep now I'll have three hours and twenty minutes of sleep when I have to get up, etc. etc."

2 - Allow yourself to be ambushed by sleep. Fall asleep on your cozy couch. Fall asleep in the comfy chair. Let yourself sleep where you fall asleep instead of dragging yourself to where you're 'supposed' to sleep if doing so will wake you up.

3 - The mythbusters thing. If you just lay down and close your eyes and pretend to rest you will feel more rested when you get up than when you laid down. Laying down to rest is better than nothing, it literally causes cognitive improvements similar to sleep in tests, and knowing that can help take off some of the pressure of not being able to fall asleep and can thus help you fall asleep.

4 - It's okay to "hang out" in the area where you're going to sleep. Read in bed. Play games on your cellphone in bed. If you want to go to sleep put on comfy clothes and bring a chill activity and hang out in your bed to do it so that all you have to do when you start getting sleepy is close your eyes.

5 - It's better to get some sleep than no sleep. Sometimes you look at the clock and it's six AM and whoops, fuck it. Okay, time for bed, don't stress that you're only going to get a few hours, a few hours is better than nothing. Lay down to pretend to rest at least and you'll probably feel okay.

6 - This one sounds silly and might not work for a bunch of people for a bunch of reasons but apparently there's some research suggesting that "well-rested" is a state of mind? I've had a reasonable amount of success with just telling myself "Yeah, I actually feel pretty good," and pushing through the day on a couple of hours of sleep. I don't *recommend* that and you should try to get as much sleep as possible, but yeah the next time you're low on sleep see what happens if you just try to decide to not be tired. It sounded like bullshit to me when I first heard it but I've found some success with it.

7 - This shit is cumulative. If you're doing a couple nights a week on low sleep that's not ideal but you're probably going to be pretty functional and you can work on it. If you overbook and overextend yourself for too long - I'm looking at you college students and new parents - it's going to add up. Try as much as possible to at least keep your sleep deficit nights spread out. (This message brought to you by writing 60k words of fiction in october and completely frying my brain because i wasn't getting enough sleep).

[lqfiles]

PAY THE PRICE — smau

after getting evicted out of your old place, you're left with no other choice but to look for a cheaper alternative. which is how you end up becoming neighbours with lee haechan, who has a passion for music and disturbing whatever peace and quiet there is.

or in which you found yourself a very nice apartment, the only issue? your neighbour is your friend's somewhat ex-situationship who won't stop playing his guitar at 2 am in the night.

neighbour!haechan x fem!reader

genre ; enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, probably slow burn, humour, neighbours au.

extras ; haechan is kinda an asshole | boy next door + likes everyone but you trope-ish | profanity and death jokes because they’re silly! | probably romantic tension | some mark x reader here and there | renjun and jaemin having their own e2bffs moment | probably inaccurate depiction of how someone would get evicted pls don’t shoot me 😅

notes ; i love haechan i love haechan i love haechan i love haechan i love haechan i love haechan i love haechan i love haechan <333 idk i got nothing better to do now so i’ll just start this because i know i won’t be posting any of the other long fic wips any time soon 😭

PLAYLIST ; She , Tyler The Creator — For The Night , Chloe Bailey — IDK WHAT TO TELL YOU , Bktherula — Surprise , Chloe Bailey — I Wanna Be down , Brandy — Suite Life , FLO — Is It A Crime? , No Guidnce — Round&Round , NCT U .

STATUS ; ongoing and hopefully regular updates.

profiles (1) profiles (2)

intro

1 ) jaehyun’s trophy wife

2 ) free cookies (not really)

3 ) midnight disturbance

4 ) attempted murder?

5 ) THIS IS FAMILY

6 ) haechan’s second identity

7 ) kiss buddies and useless complaints

8 ) critically acclaimed idgaf veteran

9 ) founders keepers..?

10 ) yangyang’s new interest (y/n)

11 ) a late welcome party

12 ) invest in a cage jaemin

13 ) cat fight (REAL)

14 ) the cure to a lack of sleep = cup pong

15 ) who said quiet guys can’t be freaky?

16 ) you got a girlfriend?

17 ) i DO have a girlfriend

18 ) this is life, i love life..

19 ) nah. they fucking.

20 ) let’s play apex?

21 ) whole house mad

22 ) drunken regrets

23 ) he’s got to be fucking with me..

24 ) a sincere apology letter (kinda)

25 ) are we cool or not?

26 ) we’re good (for real)

27 ) a personal guitar lesson

28 ) LIVE TWEETING YNHAE MOMENTS

29 ) a moment of vulnerability

30 ) friendly q&a between friends

31 ) that’s strange.. that’s weird..

32 ) solution to job loss = family guy (???)

33 ) what has jaehyun done for society?

34 ) ynhae bonding activity hours

35 ) an unwanted double date with yangyang

36 ) an overwhelming realisation

37 ) the universe can kill itself

38 ) a “what are we” conversation

39 ) i got that hair too, kinda

40 ) reviewing haechan’s tweet and new issues

41 ) diagnosed with the crush disease

42 ) putting your satisfaction first

43 ) some girl talk with mark.. this diva..

44 ) girls day gone WRONG

45 ) homies before hoemies

46 ) #BringBackGenderNorms2024

47 ) no one but us

48 ) the words of the DEVIL

49 ) remove the fake from life

50 ) y/n and jaemin would’ve loved this

51 ) you’re a queen and he’s just.. there

TBA . . .

BONUS:

TBA . . .

TAGLIST is closed

[butterppretzel]

me and my mum did some looking and it turns out google maps sent me to the entire wrong side of town no fucking wonder I had no idea where they were :')

[lostdreamr-blog1]

Pinky Promise

Pinky Promise 2

Part 3

Part 4

Summary: Jake gets a call in the middle of the night asking for a ride home. But it’s who is asking that makes him worried.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Another request knocked out! Currently working on part 2 of Beautiful Stranger and might have plans for continuing this one depending on if you all like it. Thank you so much for reading! -C

You were a little on the tipsy side as you squinted at your phone trying to make out the numbers on it. With them moving as much as they were, it was near impossible to type in a correct phone number. Instead, you opened your contacts and scrolled down to your brother’s name.

The smart thing to do would be to call him for a ride, but the more drunk side of you could only think about the nagging you would get on the way home and probably the month following. So, you scrolled up and down your contacts deciding on who would be the lucky winner to receive a call at 1 in the morning.

Jake groaned as he heard his phone going off. He blindly reached for it and squinted at the bright screen, trying to decipher who the hell would be calling at this hour. He had to be up in a few hours to get ready for another day of trying to get through the near impossible assignment, so unless it was an emergency, he was ignoring it.

The number that flashed on his screen wasn’t one he had seen before. He almost wrote it off as a wrong number or another spam call, but something told him to answer it. The area code was one he knew and a call this late on a Saturday might mean something is going on. So, instead of rolling over and enjoying the few hours of sleep he had left, he answered the mystery number.

“Seresin.”

“Oh shit! That’s the Jake that’s in this phone? Why would he put that number in here?” The voice was female and sounded somewhat familiar but was clearly drunk.

“Sorry to disappoint. Who is this?” Jake was kicking himself for answering it now, having the person insult him within two seconds of talking.

“Ah. Look, you have to promise not to tell my brother anything. Like pinkly swear and everything.” Jake was too tired to entertain childish requests, but the first part of the statement finally sunk in. The only one on the team who had a sister near base was Bradley. Fuck.

“Y/N? Is that you?” He needed the confirmation before freaking out. What did she do that warranted keeping her brother in the dark?

“I am not answering that question until you promise me.” He sat up in bed, turning on the lamp next to him. There was no way this wasn’t her.

“Alright. I promise I won’t tell him right now. Can you tell me what’s going on?” He was hoping she was too drunk to catch how he promised.

“Fine. I’m at this bar with my friend and I played wingman a little too well and she left with this guy. I mean good for her. She just got over this really bad breakup and needed to get laid.” Jake had gotten out of bed and put the phone on speaker as he got dressed. Something told him he was going to have to pick you up from somewhere. That’s if you managed to stop getting sidetracked.

“Anyway, I have this thing about not liking to get in Ubers by myself and it’s a long ass walk back to my apartment.” Jake had grabbed his keys at this point and was walking out the door.

“Where are you? I’m on my way.” He turned on his truck and waited for a response.

“Shoot. Well, we started at one place and now this is place three. No place four. You know what, let me ask because I have no idea.” Jake sighed and shook his head. He had heard stories from Bradley about his younger sister and how reckless you were. Or at least that’s the way he described you. He always kept you on a tight leash, trying his hardest to keep you out of trouble.

But Jake thought you just wanted to have some fun. One of his sisters went through a phase like this and it was best to keep a close eye on them but never push them. For reasons like this.

You told him the name of the bar and he was on his way. “I’ll be there in about 15 minutes. Are you okay to wait inside for me?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I need to finish this water anyway.” Jake told you to call if something came up but he shouldn’t be long.

It wasn’t but 5 minutes later his phone started ringing again. He saved your number as Baby Bradshaw, knowing that this probably wouldn’t be the last time you called him.

“Yes ma’am?”

“Are you close?” As casual as you tried to sound, Jake could hear a slight bit of urgency.

“Five minutes away. Everything alright?” The hesitation that followed his question told him everything he needed to know. But he waited for your response before he pushed the issue further.

“Umm, it’s probably nothing. Just this guy by the bar keeps giving me this look and it’s making me feel a bit uncomfortable. But I’m also drunk and a tiny bit paranoid.” Jake pushed the accelerator down a bit further, breaking a few laws in order to get to you faster. He wasn't going to be blamed for getting the youngest Bradshaw in trouble.

“I’ve always been told to listen to your gut.” He heard the hum on the other end of the line as he blew through a red light.

“My gut is telling me they want tacos.” Jake couldn’t stop the laugh that came out.

“We can get you tacos on the way home, sweetheart. Now do me a favor and stand where a lot of people can see you. People like security or a bouncer. Can you do that for me?” He heard you hum again.

“Slight problem. He is following me now.” Jake’s heart started to beat faster and knew he needed to get there now.

“Shit. What did Bradley say. Thumb out, use your knuckles.” He shook his head trying to figure out what the hell you were saying. But it clicked a second too late.

“No don’t-“ He heard commotion on the other line and parked his truck right outside the bar. Flying out the door, he nearly ran into you as you were standing by the entrance with a bouncer blocking a guy with blood running from his nose from getting close to you.

Jake grabbed you before you could get around the bouncer and pulled you outside. “I told you to stay the hell away from me, you creep!” You were yelling at the guy all the way outside, letting him know you weren’t to be messed with. He wanted to go back in there and show the guy what happens when you mess with innocent people, but he knew leaving your side wouldn’t be for the best.

When the two of you were next to his truck, Jake let go and looked you over. Your face had a red tint to it from what he assumed had just happened, but besides that you looked to be in one piece. That was until he saw your eyes start to water.

He put a hand under your chin and lifted your head up. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

You sniffed a few times and wiped the tear that managed to escape. “Bradley didn’t say how much it hurts to hit someone.”

Jake bit back a smile and looked down at your hand. While it was a bit red and would surely bruise tomorrow, it didn’t look too bad.

“He probably didn’t think you would ever have to do that. Why don’t we get you back home and you can tell me what happened.” He watched you nod your head and opened his passenger door for you, closing it when you were in.

He waited a few minutes after you were on the road before asking questions. “Want to tell me why you called me instead of your brother?”

You shook your head at the question. “Have you met my brother? It would be nonstop nagging for God knows how long. Anyone else seemed like the better option.” You paused as you remembered exactly who you were with.

“I will say I didn’t expect him to put your name in my phone. He seems to have a strong dislike for you.” Jake smirked at what you had said and shrugged his shoulders.

“He probably knew I had sisters and would do anything to make sure they were alright. Regardless on who they were related to.” You thought this over and nodded your head. It wasn’t long until the next question came.

“What happened at the bar?” You felt his eyes on you and knew he was more concerned than curious.

“The guy I told you was giving me weird looks ended up following me to the door. He stopped me and tried to grab my hand and even though I pulled it away, he kept coming at me. I don’t know, I guess I just felt like I needed to do something to stop him.” You missed the way Jake’s hands tightened on the steering wheel or the clench in his jaw.

“He was lucky I was 30 seconds behind, or he would’ve gotten more than a broken nose.” You looked over and saw how serious he was. A look your brother wore all too often.

“How long until you tell bird boy what happened?” Jakes eyes caught yours and you saw the conflict in them.

“If I was him, I would want to know something happened to my sister. But I will at least drop you off before I call him. Keep your phone on silent and say you fell asleep. That way you can push it off until he gets off tomorrow.” He heard your sigh but that was the end of that.

It was silent in the car until he heard you say, “I’m not as stupid as my brother makes me out to be.” Stupid was never a word he would have used to describe you. A little carefree maybe, but you knew what you were doing.

“I see someone who wants to have a little fun in their life while they can. Nothing wrong with that.” He glanced over to you to see you playing with your injured hand.

“You’re not as bad as they make you out to be either. Besides my brother, not many people would come and get me when they have to be up soon.” Jake held back a wince when he saw the time. A coffee run in the morning would be needed. Maybe he could talk Natasha into picking him up some from that place she always went to.

He pulled into your apartment complex and parked as close to your building as he could.

“Hey, sweetheart. You can call me anytime you need help, okay? I know your brother and I are not on great terms, but I know he would help me out when family is involved.” You gave him a small smile and thanked him for the ride.

He waited until you closed the door before he backed out of the parking lot, trying to figure out what he was going to say to Bradley. It was nearing 2am and calling him was oit of the question. So, he sent a simple text.

Hey man. Your sister called a random number in her contacts tonight and didn’t realize it was me. She needed a safe ride home and that exactly what I did. We can talk about it more at base, but wanted to let you know she is safe. -Hangman

He went to put his phone down when a text popped up. He prayed Bradley wasn’t awake, wanting to push the rest of that conversation off. But instead, it was baby Bradshaw with the text You never got me tacos.

Jake laughed out loud replying that he owes you some in the near future. With a spitfire attitude that you had, Jake saw the two of you becoming good friends. That’s if Bradley didn’t lock you up after tonight’s events.

A/N: Not too sure how I felt about this one but thinking about doing a Jake and Y/N friend series. Thoughts? Likes or dislikes? Thank you for reading!

Tag List: @rosiahills22 @sunlitsunflowers @dempy @mamaskillerqueen @luckyladycreator2 @atarmychick007 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @topguncultleader @alilstressyandlotdepressy @avengers-fixation @chaoticcassidy

[stark-ironman]

I need Hugh who is needy but the reader is a bit of a bully because maybe she’s jealous or something idk I need him under me pretty please

Needy (Hugh's turn)

18+ No Minors

Warnings: jealousy, oral (f recieving), face sitting

It's the annual Christmas party that Hugh throws every year, inviting all of his good friends over to share a meal and a nice little get together which you both look forward to every year. That is until one of Hugh's old co-stars was invited and she's taken it upon herself to follow Hugh around like she's a lost puppy.

You tried to bring it up to him in a quiet, nice way but all he wanted to do was reassure you that he wasn't going anywhere and that he would never leave you.

So here you are, standing with a group of friends, staring at your boyfriend laughing at a joke the girl just told. Jealousy pours through your veins and you're pretty sure everybody can tell from the look on your face but they don't dare to bring it up.

"Y/N, you know Hugh would never hurt you. He's a nice, loyal guy who's too oblivious when someone flirts with him." Ryan tries to simmer your anger but it doesn't work. "It's not him I'm mad at. It's the bitch standing next to him who knows he's taken." You grit through your teeth, watching as the girl places a hand on Hugh's stomach, leaning into him while laughing.

That's it. You start walking over there, hearing Ryan mumble an oh shit, slide in between Hugh and the girl, hugging him tightly as he leans down to kiss you. "There's my girl. I've missed you." Hugh smiles, looking down at you. "Ryan started a debate so I had to prove him wrong," You both laugh and you look over to the girl, "So, who's this?" "This is Cindy. She worked on the Greatest Showman in the make up department." He tells you.

"Nice to meet you. Even though Hugh and I was having a conversation before you interrupted." The girl says and you look at her with a scowl. "Oh, you mean the conversation where you was placing your hand on my man?" You innocently ask, feeling Hugh tense up.

"If he was your man then you shouldn't be off with other guys at a party he throws." She fakes a smile. "And if you wasn't such a slut then you would have done what every other woman who was invited tonight has done and that not flirt and put their hands all over him."

"I didn't hear him telling me to stop so that's on him." She shrugs and it makes your blood boil. Hugh grabs your hand, pulling you close to him and you sigh. "The fact that you prey on men who don't realize you're flirting with them is sad. No one should have to be that desperate for a piece of dick to sit here and go after someone who is in a happy relationship, especially when there's plenty of other single guys here. Now, either you leave or I call security and force you to leave." You state, pulling Hugh away from the girl as you walk away.

He follows you closely, desperately trying to get your attention but you don't give him any until you're outside. "Love, I'm sorry. I didn't know she was flirting with me." He tries to explain as you lean against the balcony. You ignore him, noticing he's starting to fidget with his fingers.

"You know I only want you. I've wanted you from the moment we met 4 years ago. Please forgive me." He whimpers, feeling his heart shatter at the look you give him. "I watched you two for two hours. Two! And you let her touch you. Touch what's mine." Your voice raises and you notice he starts picking at his fingers harder.

"I told her to stop but she wouldn't. I was only trying to be nice because nobody would talk to her." Hugh whispers at the end and you finally take a moment to look into his eyes, seeing him on the verge of breaking down.

You walk over, grabbing his hands and kiss them softly. "I'm sorry I got so jealous. I don't like it when people touch you, especially ones who know I'm there and do it just to see what will happen." He hugs you tightly, kissing the top of your head.

"I really didn't know she was flirting with me. I don't know what I thought it was but the only person I care about is you. The only person I love is you. You never have to worry about me leaving you for somebody else." His voice is full of sincerity, causing you to bury yourself in his chest.

You both stay there for a moment before you straighten up and grab his hand again. "I think I'm going to head to bed but you can go back to the party if you want to." You say, walking back inside. "I'm going to tell everyone to go home. It's late and I want to cuddle." Hugh states, causing you to laugh. "Alright, I'll go wait for you."

You both head your separate ways and on the way to the bedroom, you get an idea in your mind to remind Hugh just who he really belongs to. You strip down to your lace lingere, smiling softly as you wait for Hugh.

Once he walks in the door, you hear his breath catch when he sees you. "Fuck.." He moans, walking towards you and reaching out but you stop him, smirking. "I want you to undress and get on the bed." You tell him and he immediately begins to undress, keeping his eyes on you as he slides up to the pillows.

You crawl on top of him, his hand instinctively grabbing your hips while you lean down to kiss him. "I'm going to show that bitch and everybody else that your mine. Understood?" You ask, hearing a whimper in response so you ask again, this time with him answering you.

Your mouth ghosts over his neck, causing goosebumps to raise before you bite down on one spot, moving slightly down as you leave a trail of hickeys down his neck. He grinds against you softly, moaning your name out loudly. "There you go, my needy baby. Use your voice and tell me what you need."

"I need you.. always you." A groan falls from his lips as you move further down his body. "You sure you don't want the girl who was all over you tonight?" You ask, looking up at him. "No, love. I only want you."

You slide your panties off, climbing back up to kiss him softly. "I'm going to sit on your face and you're going to show me how bad you need me." You state as he takes a deep, stuttering breath, watching you move to hover over him and he wraps his arms around your legs, flattening his tongue against your heat, lapping up any trace of wetness before closing his mouth down on your clit, causing you to moan out.

He moans while he sucks and pulls on your sensitive area, pulling away at times to flick his tongue over it as well, causing you to grip his forearms tightly. You look down to see him staring up at you with need, feeling a burst of love shoot through your body.

The way he starts eating you out is messy, hungry, with a deep rumble coming from him. You fight the urge to grind against his tongue, trying to stay composed with authority but you can feel it slowly slipping away.

He moves down, sliding his tongue inside of you as he moves his hand up to your clit, letting his long fingers press against your heat, rubbing in a sweet, swift motion.

"Fuck, Hugh..." You moan, gripping his hair as a familiar feeling rushes their your stomach. Before you can warn him, your orgasm sweeps through you but he doesn't move, in fact, he tries to move deeper into your heat.

Letting you ride it out, you slide down to his stomach and see him staring up at you with those love-filled eyes, and his mouth covered in your juices.

"Don't ever question my love for you, darling. If you knew how much you consumed my thoughts, you would never worry about anything. I'm all yours." He rubs your thighs. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten so jealous." You say, running your hand through his hair.

"Don't be sorry. It was honestly sexy watching you get pissed at her." Hugh laughs, licking lips before continuing, "Now, lay on your back and let me have my turn."

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 4

[prompt: roleplay] male reader x kang hyewon 8k words

“I need you,” Hyewon says in the uneasy dark of a hotel room, with two urgent fistfuls of your shirt, “need you to do to me all the things my husband never will.” “Yeah, I know,” you tell her, “you said that,” and her eyebrows move in all the wrong directions, “I’m just wondering if, you know, maybe we should give him a little more credit.”

-

Here’s the truth:

Hyewon doesn’t believe in leaving evidence behind and you don't find it particularly productive to doubt her; you’ve been talking in code for years. Parts and pieces of yourselves reduced down and bottled into set phrases that, to anyone else, would be totally incomprehensible.

"i've been thinking," she texts you, which you've come to understand means she's already made up her mind, "maybe we should do that thing we were talking about. tonight."

(You're not always so fast on the uptake.)

You send two back two texts, both of which ask "which thing?" because the hallway from the breakroom to your desk has poor reception and it never lets you send just one.

Then, right after you cross the threshold between signal-drowning-concrete and the glitzy glass-walled arboretum they've built to make you feel like you're not a total cog in their corporate machine, your phone pings the receipt of Hyewon's reply: a picture - her laptop, propped up on your coffee table with its screen angled for perusal, of a booking site that's filtered to show results for their 'king bed & view' room at a midrange hotel a forty-five-minute ride from your apartment.

"not really doing much narrowing down here hyewon."

She replies to you - her text bubble appearing over another couple still images, of herself in the vanity mirror as she curls her hair around her finger and holds this little black slip of a dress over her shoulder, black lacy lingerie in tow, the whole nine - with:

"i'm feeling kinda adventurous."

-

Five o’clock rolls around but you never really do figure it out. You spend the last three hours at work deciding which kink of hers (oh, does she have a few) this is all in service to.

There's nothing overtly sexual about her pics in the first place - not more than usual anyway, more showing off her curves and cut jaw than showcasing anything for her 'adventurous' intent. So that can't be the tell - you'd seen her in a corset once (you can't unsee it) and the angle of her hips to the mirror makes you think that if she was planning on pulling on a  pair of crotchless panties then she probably would've found her thigh high stockings, too.

You try and think of what the two of you had even talked about when discussing these little scenes - how many times you'd ended up 'in the mood' during or after such a meeting of the minds, how it'd snowballed from there, a whole list of filthy what-ifs that she'd probably put more thought into than you ever have - but you draw a total blank. It could be any of a number of things.

Until,

"i left you instructions on the kitchen island," reads a text on your phone which you definitely don’t check while you’re driving -

And then it hits you.

"ah."

"yeah, 'ah'," she replies.

-

A quarter past seven at the hotel bar is way too early for any real promiscuous activity, but then again, you're here playing at pretend and half the fun of games like this is in the setup.

Meet me at the bar, your instructions read, introduce yourself, and play it by ear.

There's some couples at the other end, some friends downing shots by the round, people musing over their aperitifs, and a woman sipping alone at the bar - Hyewon, appearing to you from the back first:

The pointed edges of her shoulders narrow out over this tiny cocktail dress that somehow covers less of her than if it weren't there at all, skin tight, accentuating even her softest curves. She has her hair fixed a particular way - teased enough to flip at the ends but still a single sweep down her shoulders, pulled together softly by a ribbon in the back, tied like a fantasy, allowing a wispy strand to fall to her face - glossy and dark and glowing to this rich, deep mahogany where it's cast in the lamplight.

The line of her throat, of her chest. Where her hips meet her waist in a rounding flare. The effort and beauty she's gone to, for you - that she puts in every day just because she knows it gets your attention, can do more than turn a head or two; Hyewon's appearance is almost indifferent of you, only coincidental, but she puts on a damn good act.

(You look a lot more worn in comparison: jacket thrown over dress shirt and khakis, tie loose at the neck. Standard office attire with just a step-outside-regulation. Disheveled.)

A drink, you suppose - approaching the bar to try and catch the bartender's attention to order a single malt.

But if Hyewon's been waiting long, she doesn't complain when you pull into the stool beside her and sit for a long moment.

"Do you mind if I join you?" you say over a pair of politely folded hands - and that's generally where her 'instructions' end.

The look she fixes you with is just this unashamed smoldering, her body language this contradictory kind of lazy - cool, like her night was going exactly the way she planned but she still had places to be.

"It depends," she replies, one slender finger curled around the stem of her martini glass - which historically, is a drink she hates. "Who's asking?"

"Just me," you offer, letting the gesture and your tone leave it up to her. And then slowly, perhaps awkwardly: "ostensibly a complete and utter stranger who knows a gorgeous woman when he sees one - and who could never pass up a chance to see how the rest of her is."

"Smooth."

"I guess it is, considering you didn't immediately run for the exit."

Hyewon nearly snorts.

"Hard not to." She tilts her head back at you, assessing. Her cheeks are rosy pink. "A handsome thing like you doesn't usually buy themself a girl's time with flattery -"

"Buy your time or your drinks?" you tease, and you can tell she wants to roll her eyes - but she keeps them carefully lowered. Eyelashes dipping down like blackened fans.

Hyewon shifts slightly, resting her chin onto the heel of her wrist like she's leaning against an imaginary windowpane and tipping her face a little sideways. It makes you smile. "One gets the other, if you catch my meaning."

Maybe it takes you a little too long to lift your gaze off her lips to find her eyes, or off the sweeping curve of the hemline sitting high across her long legs, but she watches you for just a breath. It's a more telling moment that she pretends she doesn't know you.

"You can look at me if you like," and then without further preamble, she introduces herself with a slight tilt of the head and an expectant expression: "call me Hyewon."

You figure that if you've gotta say one word to get the ball rolling you want to say her name, and as a little revenge for forcing you to think on this scene and think on what to say, what your character would say, how exactly she wanted you to go about 'meeting' her in a hotel bar, how her fucking scenario's been building up in her head for god-knows-how-long (even though, in the scheme of the two of you and your relationship, it’s nowhere close to being the most demanding sex you've had), you reply simply with:

"Pretty."

It's satisfying, how she hesitates - pausing a little longer on your face to gauge exactly what you meant. Studying. But the next beat of your heart - or hers - is effortless, easy.

"I know. That's what my husband calls me."

"Husband?" You keep yourself from raising an eyebrow. "And I don't suppose I'm also... married?"

"Different day, different you."

"Meaning I have a wife or a mistress of my own," and you flick your wrist at the barkeep for a top-up of what's in front of Hyewon. "You're telling me I'm the kind of man who'd only settle for two."

It doesn't sound quite right, though Hyewon picks up on it. Doesn't let on. "Aren't men like you always? Charming to a fault, but always voracious - insatiable, especially with women like me."

"Women like you."

"Married women. Unavailable," she simpers, and in a practiced little motion, draws her hand out to where you can see it properly, this sparkle on her fourth finger that catches the lowlight of the bar. The diamond looks real - not that you'd actually know - and your stomach flexes up mid-somersault thinking about the financial impropriety for what amounts to a gag. A practical joke. Hyewon the comedian.

Still, you go with it and take her hand in yours, admiring. "What a pity." The glint off its faceted surface - Hyewon's watchful as she allows it.

"Isn't it," she agrees.

The more unnerving thing - besides how composed Hyewon can make herself be - is how the narrative quickly becomes a whole hell of a lot clearer with the context of marriage in play. She's mentioned it before: the infidelity thing, the way it leads to the raunchiest, filthiest bits she'll dare to explore. In some ways, her desire for the untouchable makes a lot more sense -

And maybe that's what had been nagging at your mind since she brought up the idea of playing the part: you always end up kissing in that stupid 'caught up' sort of way. With an intensity that's hard to beat. Even though you wouldn't ever cheat on her. Not in a million years. You'd watch her leave before doing anything like that.

But it's thrilling, almost, and even more thrilling that this isn't entirely improvisation: how well the two of you might actually play this off, as two total strangers to this illusory little roleplay that you'd normally say was your very last interest.

"But you know there's something I've come to appreciate about married men," Hyewon continues, her voice in this conspiratorial sort of hushed.

You blink, drawing her out.

"They know how to tie a knot."

There's the flirty wink, an upward flick of the chin that draws your eye to the span of her chest. To her body in that skin-hugging dress and your fingers entangled in hers - the gentle bump and shift of the bodies behind her, moving between the tables - Hyewon a queen of circumstance, playing to the moment as it bends; as her lips part in a pleased smile, red and smooth, almost innocent, and you can't help but imagine tasting her on your tongue, the force that'd take for her to yield when you finally got your hands in her hair.

(What a character, honestly.)

"Tell me something," you say, "why would a married woman, this pretty little thing like you, be all alone in a place like this - without her charming husband."

Hyewon's smile curls at the edges like smoke. "I never said he was charming."

You raise an eyebrow. "Good-looking, then."

"Never said as much either."

“Why are you with someone you find neither attractive nor charming?”

Hyewon makes a face, slightly pitied. “If that Isn’t what I’m asking myself everyday.”

"Hm." You narrow your eyes into something more quizzical than suggestive. It works on her anyway. "That doesn't feel too much like it's in character, Hyewon."

She shrugs, but it's that coy kind of shrug. She thinks you'll let her off easy - you usually do. All considered, she's the type who thrives off the chase and, as of today, so do you.

"But he is cute." Her expression is just this side of sweet, as she takes a dainty sip of her drink. Like the taste doesn’t bother her, like she isn't pretending she doesn't hate it with every fiber of her being. Like this is easy. "And maybe -" she quirks an eyebrow at you, withholding a smirk. "-you're right. Maybe, I was looking for someone cuter to fill the bill. And luck would have it, here he is."

So - apparently - her character doesn’t mind a little light infidelity.

Hyewon takes in the vague sense that the message wasn’t as clear as she might have liked, her forehead scrunching as she tries to convey - in a way that would communicate even to an airhead - some realization to play your part.

"Maybe it's the wrong question,” you start over, taking it from somewhere near the top, “what are you doing here, with me?"

That's when Hyewon graces you with one of the soft, slow kind of smiles: the kind that manages both an air of 'you dimwit' and 'good question'. Her fingertips barely graze yours but it's noticeably electric. Just enough to feel your pulse fluttering.

(You don't care that none of it’s real - Hyewon looks to you through thick eyelashes like a goddess of temptation and sin - and it makes something wicked coil up warm at the pit of your gut. A curious thrill and a recklessness that you have to admit feels a little nice - being the man trying to talk this woman into bed. The challenge and the buildup, the want to work for it. It's new. It's fresh. Lo-and-behold, it's kinda hot.)

When you catch her stare, she fidgets. So slightly, so briefly, your chest is on fire and you're barely into the pages of her plans, of this night ahead.

"Wish fulfillment, let's say," and that is no less true. "See it’s my husband."

"Mhmm."

"He respects me too much to do the things I'm going to ask you to do."

"Like?" you continue to prod.

Hyewon lets out the tiniest shiver of a sigh, like a trickle of cold water down the length of her spine. "Take a good guess."

You finish the rest of Hyewon's martini, slow. Savoring the warmth and bitterness sliding down the back of your throat. The night's young, sure - and if you're supposed to be spending it all wrapped around Hyewon's finger. This means you can take your time.

"Show me your room?" you propose, gesturing to the empty glass.

"I thought you'd never ask."

At your offering, she stands up and throws on her coat - long, double-breasted, chic - but only really just off her shoulders to have the hem hit her legs mid-thigh. One of her many personal quirks. Hyewon knows how to move like there aren't two eyes staring at her wherever she goes: not the awkward side-to-side of a girl who wasn't made to wear heels - a loping gait - nor the assured click, click of the taller kind that totter like it's all they've got going for them.

Something totally different: a little careless and a little haughty and an assurance of the highest confidence.

She winds an arm round yours like they do in movies, this parody of a leading lady - Hyewon not a seductress as much as she is someone who'll look the part just to convince you otherwise. There is a pretty big discrepancy, you find, between her bravado and her smile, her figure and her artistry - you couldn't act if you wanted to; meanwhile, she does whatever she damn well pleases. And somehow that doesn't even begin to cover the things that turn her on.

The two of you make for the stairs, winding up floor after floor until it's perfectly quiet, perfectly out of sight - hidden away from prying eyes and ears.

The silence of an empty hotel stairwell is thick - Hyewon's hand comes off the railing, as she takes to the wall and turns to face you. It's a gentle tug at the tie loose around your neck, barely any give before you're already there, holding her by the hips.

"Might've gotten us lost there," you whisper, as her finger plays at your chest and finds its way round the collar of your shirt. Your top button is already undone by the time you notice she's not fond of it. "The elevators would've gotten us where we're headed faster."

"Don't worry." She hums, leaning in close - like a magnet, like gravity. "You're getting the scenic route."

"Anything to stall the inevitable," you tease, but it isn't a thread she seems interested in developing.

"Something like that."

Hyewon shifts her weight back onto her right foot, her skirt riding up just barely. The dip between her inner thighs and the smooth curve of her leg is open and bare to your sight, her dark stockings like an unspoken challenge: the panties, lacy, loose, no crotch.

And it gets... indecent, the way your lips connect, how you realize half-way into that kiss, she's still smiling. It isn't any one way that does it; maybe it's the clever use of her tongue, or that particular position you've coaxed her up against the stairwell wall that makes it seem like Hyewon can't be any more in danger - it's too much to handle and your mouth goes slack on the reflex of an apology; her hand has a hold on you by the jaw and it won't budge.

"My husband," she murmurs into you, the trace of the words ghosting into the breath between the both of you. "Never lets me."

"What," you rasp, barely recognizing your own voice, your hand heavy on her side - the very real fear that you might tip over a banister because Hyewon's got her heel half-way into the back of your calf and any less bracing would bring you down. Your thoughts are a fog, with her cheek in one hand and your knee already up between her thighs.

"His wife," she almost swallows down, kisses turning chaste because maybe it's just easier to gently peck out her intentions, how she looks to you with dark eyes, heavy-lidded and wanting, a thumb trailing down the plane of your cheek. It'd feel like pity if you weren't thinking exactly the same.

You try to finish it for her:

"She likes it rough."

"No." Her nose traces yours before she connects you again - gentle and slow, and a shudder rolls all down the expanse of her shoulders; you think you have it about right. Until she makes the slightest adjustment and her grip in your hair turns agonizing, perfect and burning on the edge of too tight - too much. You are straining against the wall of a hotel hallway and she's saying, "not rough."

She kisses you. Hard. Until you gasp for the stolen air in her lungs.

"Filthy," she manages against the heat and sting at the side of her cheek.

(Damn.)

Your voice has gone and lodged itself firmly somewhere between her lungs - but there's something that says she knows. That you've got it in you, the brimming potential that might just say everything you ever wanted but couldn't figure the right way to put it.

It's the tone of her voice or the spark in her eyes, but one moment into the next - you're caught in this pull - like gravity's increasing tenfold at her will; her heartbeat's so strong you swear you feel it against your ribs as she's demanding:

"Messy. Dirty. A little uninhibited," and the obvious thrill of that must flare up like lightning under her skin - the way it makes her moan, soft and breathless: "fuck me like my husband doesn't."

She’s not even waiting for the comfort of the room yet, which in hindsight is probably checking more of Hyewon's many boxes - it's the sex in public thing, the fear of discovery thing, the desire to have you ravish her out where anyone can come upon you sort of thing - the thought of which has your jaw go a little slack too. Her leg up is coiled up around your hip, your fingers tangled in her hair and sliding up the length of her thigh, until you're fucking kneading up her ass and drawing out that desperate whine in her.

"Fuck," she exhales into your shoulder - a hand on the metal bannister to brace against those little circles you start to rub inside her, pushing - slowly - one, two, three knuckles deep, testing - before drawing back, and plunging forward again. This ache, slow and purposeful, pressing just enough into her until there's a wet sort of friction that has your hand slick all down your wrist.

It never takes long, with your fingers on her clit, fingers inside her, a palm covering the moans out of her mouth -

She cums just like that.

Whining and broken and bent under you, and with an elbow hard against her ribcage to make the breaths come shallow.

"Stay quiet for me, sweetheart," you find yourself murmuring, as your teeth graze the shell of her ear - the short burst of hair and silky strands across the back of her neck; you're undoing the neat ribbon tied round the length of her hair and letting her waves settle on her shoulder in time for you to swallow down the sound of her sighs, the tension in her lips, and the frantic jolt when your fingers push through the wet, heat of her pussy again, merciless and quick. You have to be careful; she nearly bites your fucking tongue out.

"Can't." Her jaw's tight on it, the slight staccato to her breathing, murmuring and slightly dazed: "if we get caught, someone will see. Someone will notice."

Her next exhale is more shaky. "Anyone could see us like this," with just her toes curling and her stomach tensing on every second beat. Your grip leaves a bruise. "Please-"

"We're not supposed to be doing this at all, are we? If you've got a husband waiting somewhere?"

You hear yourself, and it sounds sorta degenerate, though in all the right ways, you figure, like something straight out of one of Hyewon's romance novels, the dirty, smutty ones that she swears up and down she simply reads for the plot, but the dazed, hazy kind of mood they get her worked up into suggest otherwise.

You trace the rough pad of your thumb over her pussy, this delicate, ghost of a touch. One you'd have to strain to even tell if it was there or not until she whines - eyes screwed shut like she doesn't mean to, just does. The sound of it bouncing around the stairwell.

And then, all this wet: her skirt's ridden all the way up to her stomach, damp and near-transparent with slick, and you can just imagine the puffy pink between her legs - between her stockings in the afterglow of an orgasm, spent and sensitive and sore and wanting for more. Your eyes linger a little too long -

"I shouldn't let you," she manages, half a moan on it - one of her heels comes up the stair you're standing on and the way Hyewon clings onto you for balance says enough, but still, she demands, with all the strength her throat allows: "make it fast. You're lucky I let you see me like this at all -"

And she cuts off abruptly, looking at you.

(She'll play coy for a while longer. Which, Hyewon being Hyewon, will look like as much an effort as her sprawl out on the bed for you is.)

"The room," you say to her, harshly, "where is it."

"Four more floors."

-

Room 1014 as it turns out is like every other room you've ever been in, each one perhaps a little more identical than the last - except this one has Hyewon sitting in your lap while you get comfortable on the bed, and there's also the way she looks in the mirror above the headboard, the desperation in her stare, right back into the reflection.

"What all," she says, "do you want to do to me?"

This time - no explicit instructions - just an implication. You have to figure it out.

See, the image of her is like every fantasy rolled into one, wearing this thin black bra that has her breasts just about spilling over. They're amazing - the color and shape of her skin. Soft. Cradled between the cups like a godsend, and maybe that's why it drives her a little crazy how good you look biting down the ridge of her breast and flicking your eyes back up to catch her expression.

It has you feeling, if nothing else, a little ‘adventurous,’ too.

Her belly tenses on a heavy sigh and it's one hell of a thing to have Hyewon staring you down, like you're an animal or an idiot, with her eyes flashing and a thinly veiled anger in the purse of her lips. There's a thousand things she'd like to do to you - for you to do to her - but it's about the predicament: the silk necktie she'd pulled off you as you both stumbled through the door has ended up around her wrists, pinning her arms behind her back in a way that suggests a loss of control. Just the mere suggestion of a little playacting, but she's almost keening.

You feel the touch of her right calf keep rising - curving down your waist, hooked behind the small of your back - her thighs smooth, and a hot line along your sides.

"I should fuck that pretty mouth of yours," you say against the shell of her ear, because you know better than anyone, the very concept gets her wet. Uncomfortably so.

And she leans her head against your temple like she'd love it. You could be imagining the little whimper as she clenches up round nothing - until a growl escapes the back of her throat and she's saying -

"Is that how you're going to cum? With me on my knees and nothing else? Cover my pretty face? How you’ll completely ruin me?. You’re more creative than that."

“I don’t know that I am.”

Her hips move to find some friction where there isn't any until you give her some, pulling your cock out through your pants and feeling it brush, once, twice against the seam of her. Hot, and hard. Ready. And if she only tried a little, the angle was made perfectly to slot your head in, but neither of you move. She doesn't yield.

"Let me fuck myself on you," she suggests, strained, almost pleading. "Then perhaps I will."

You could take her like she is. Any which way. But this is about getting a particular reaction - one that'll leave her spent and trembling - and nothing like that will happen without a little bit of preparation and prelude. You want to watch her writhe for hours. Until she forgets she's playing a character at all, until she's panting your name and whimpering for release, her cheeks burning.

But at least it gets her writhing on you, the heat and press of her body as she leans in close, your eyes locking:

"Get your cock inside me-" the urgency in her voice. "-fuck me right now, this second-"

"Say it again."

"Fill me with your perfect cock." The words land right on your lips, frayed at the edges as the tether to her control slips another notch. "Push my thighs apart until you break me," Hyewon tells you - and then with her legs twisted up in the comforter, the creaking mattress and the sweat on the sheets: she rolls her hips like they're pleading for it.

"Pushy."

"Gentle's got no appeal for us."

"Apparently not," you reply - but then it's suddenly a lot easier, to slide one hand in Hyewon's hair, and grip at the knotted silk wrapped tight 'round her wrists to hold her. There's no hiding the subtle arching of her spine, how the pressure off her arms pulls her chest in or makes it all the more comfortable, she doesn't let on, she'll probably keep pretending she doesn't like this, that she hasn't always wanted -

You run your tongue over her collarbone and thrust up inside her, once - a warning that you're not giving in to her quite yet.

The smile that runs her lips is brittle. Like her patience isn't what it used to be - she makes a quiet little noise, pained. A flash of discomfort. But there's a moan and a curse out of her:

"Like that. Harder."

"What does harder mean?" you ask, with a deliberate repetition in motion, thrusting upward, forcing her hips to shift a few degrees further back - her knees clenching around the sheets as you're met with no give - Hyewon's resistance through a dark smile, and her grip slackened in her hands, despite you keeping a fist wound tight in the hair on the back of her head, tightening the other around her restraint.

Her throat flinches: this shudder.

She takes a couple heaving, open-mouthed breaths, before she has it in her to glare at you again.

"Harder-" The way her mouth shapes around the word gets the better of you - cute little cupid's bow in pink, full and swollen and pursed up as if in pain. Or desire. Or both, the way her head is tipped back, hair half undone - an idea is already coiling at the back of your mind. "-until I can't stand."

"Or talk?"

And when your hand loosens on her wrists, her posture slumps like it's relief, that you're finally going to move along in a direction she's getting some satisfaction from -

Hyewon shakes her head in a moment that's almost blissed.

"You," her voice breaks on the tail end, "fucking wish you could shut me up that easily -"

In a motion almost gentle, you twist the length of hair down around her, from her scalp to her jaw, and wrap it around a hand. "Let's see if you'll change your mind, shall we."

There's a sharp draw of air in past her lips, just one sound, not a word. No proper rebuttal. She bites down, teeth clicking.

So you pull.

And this isn't some revelation, that Hyewon's cunt is heaven. Slick and tight, the fit around your cock and the gasp escaping the base of her throat - that isn't new. You've been here countless times, fucked her past her breaking point, beyond what should reasonably satisfy her or satisfy you, but that still doesn't take away from this incredible, heady rush that pulses through your entire body. It never stops getting better, not inch-after-fucking-inch the way you're bottoming out inside Hyewon's body and feel how hard the rest of her muscles tense up in the contact, how her pussy tightens and quivers, and grips around the entirety of your cock, the briefest taste of pleasure and release before it's pulled back just out of her reach - overstimulated, until Hyewon cries out.

You expect, predict the fight, the whimpers that spill out of her mouth with every slap of your skin and the breathless way she begs, pleads, like she'd rather her pride take it from her than have your fingers tug her hair up, right out of her scalp, with your arm locked around her lower waist. With your cock pumping faster, faster and a pressure, hot and inescapable, right there - the friction building - the slippery-wet heat sliding along your shaft with every stroke until you bottom out and her next exhale is a sob.

A goddamn fucking sob and the warm gush of liquid down her thighs - all on you. You fingers are pressed into her ass, pulling onto you, steading her bounce - and Hyewon finds her breathing uneven, as you smear wet across the curve of her backside, rubbing circles into her lower back as you catch up on the rhythm she'd lost.

"This tight little cunt, huh," you tease, and she nods so desperately it seems like she might snap. Like she might cry again and this time for real, a drop of her eye color past the blush, streaking down her cheek. You have the wherewithal to remember your character, your blocking, your lines: "this is what your husband won't do? Won't fuck you on every piece of furniture until you're a ruined fucked-out mess? Doesn't have the decency to work over his little slutty-wife until she's passed out, dripping with cum?"

Hyewon's fingers curl up into two balls of white knuckles and she chokes on her reply. "He won't."

"Tell him. He has a hot and dirty little piece of ass right under his own roof-"

"You think," and the string of words trails off when you manage to grind in, at this angle that has her reeling, trembling at every shift and jerk in momentum. Your knuckles drag against her soft and giving curves, almost gripping at her in the attempt to hold her down on you. "-my husband isn't enough."

"Well you wanted me to fuck the domestic housewife out of you," you murmur, taking two greedy handfuls of the ass bouncing in your lap, rubbing your palms along her hips, up and around the shape of her abdomen and her ribcage like you'd map it, memorize it. She wants this, you know this: your palms come around and over and brush your thumbs against her rising gooseflesh - she's putty in your hands. "No strings attached, remember, a one night kind of thing-"

"My husband loves me."

"Then it seems-"

"He makes me cum with his hands alone."

Your jaw works tight - Hyewon's cunt feels as good wrapped around you as she says your cock feels making a mess of it.

"Tells me he'd die happy hearing me moan his name."

"Oh, because no matter where he goes," you say, fingers wrapping under and around the back of her neck, forcing her to look you in the eye, "no matter what, your sweet cunt's the only one his mouth is ever watering for, isn't that right-"

A blink, lashes thick and feathering down and over the pools of her pupils as you have a hold of her tight. 

You're having a hard time with this, and you want to give it to her, the toe-curling-crescendo that would see her cumming at your will, or worse, losing the plot completely and your entire setup falling away from the charade of characters you'd both conjured. But she looks at you like she's never loved anyone like she loves you, the naked, barefaced devotion, the tenderness - a quick breath, a second - and the game is suddenly something far more personal, a truth. It isn't exactly fair: how your heart stutters. How much her heartbeat makes your pulse flutter, the electrifying rush you get when you fuck roughly up into her tight, wet cunt and make her bite down on nothing in the throes another orgasm.

You barely have a second to think of something coherent, let alone an out before she kisses you. If that isn’t totally disarming. So you move her into the next, flipping her onto her stomach, and she does nothing to fight back: Hyewon just lies there - the side of her face plastered to the comforter - exhausted, and gives a willing, malleable moan at the contact where your hand digs into the shape of her upper thighs, spreading them out as her elbows struggle behind her back.

"Here, baby," you say, finally unwinding the silk knot between her wrists, "I'll have you like the little desperate fucktoy you really are."

There's the bite to her bottom lip, the whole five seconds it takes for her hands to spread out and twist her fingers tight in the bedspread, before she whines - full-throated - and rocks back onto her toes to arch her back.

(See, the thing: Hyewon likes being fucked within an inch of her life. On all fours and pleading for more.)

With your free hand, you reach around her to run over her inner thighs.

Hyewon brings her grip to the bottom of the bed frame, for purchase, or leverage, you don't know, and in one simple motion, you slip your cock back deep inside her pussy.

You curse under your breath.

Hyewon fucking collapses.

It's a dangerous combination, having her begging and you nearly fully clothed while she's wearing barely more than this thin strip of black silk around her waist and a stocking on one leg, but you can't help it - she looks good this way.

"Fuck," she spits out, voice lost when your hips find hers in this wet, sloppy crash of skin that gets louder, faster and more punishing on each beat. "Like that, oh my God-"

Her whimpering only gets worse - when you start only pulling out halfway, until she's gasping like she can't breathe. You think there isn't a more wonderful, more obscene, more gorgeous thing than Hyewon spread out in front of you - the curve of her spine defining each and every one of the lines, dips, and rises of her body - and you would thank God or some higher deity right about now.

It’s fuck and please and every other little pliant utterance of “fuck my brains out, use me, make me beg, I'm so turned on right now I'll let you fuck me anyway you want - harder, faster, I can do whatever, just show me how, make me, push and fuck me hard until I'm raw and aching - god - like this, let me cum, please, let me - keep fucking going, oh my god, please, like this, fuck, just like this-"

You do thank God, actually - there's mirrors everywhere in this room, and you can catch the circular swing of her tits every time you force a curse and a sigh out of her: the bared teeth and the effort to push herself back on her arms, bracing for every thrust, fighting and fumbling to keep her balance and to make sure you have to pound her into the mattress until her cries reach a pitch.

Then, the thing you'd learned she'd never ask for but oh-so-dearly-wanted - you open your palm and bring it down hard on her backside. The impact of your flesh to hers, a crack, a moan and her whole body flexes - and it's then you do it again: matching the hit to the visible red outline of your handprint. The third time, she hisses, biting into the bed sheets so as not to cry out.

"Right? This is what you want? To be fucked and used?"

She doesn't reply with words, because she may in fact be biting her teeth into the cotton threadcount at the end of the bed, but she lifts her ass higher, angles her hips like she's waiting for more. Her brow is creased in a smile, even though a frustrated groan escapes her lips - so you give her that again, and again, until the back of her thighs are turning red and she's clawing one hand back along the length of your legs - pushing and pulling.

"You want me to fuck you senseless, sweetheart?"

And then, so needy and desperate she's just saying the first word that come to mind:

"More-"

"-when I've been railing into you so hard and your husband probably knows already, has to have seen, maybe he's listening at the door- oh," and your whole train of thought comes to a sudden halt upon seeing Hyewon's hand land on the perfect round of her ass, fingers pulling her soft, reddening skin taut, up and away from where your cock is disappearing between her cheeks - to allow more of your shaft into her hot, wet cunt - allow you to fuck her and fuck her up - allow the length of your shaft to slide deeper and hit all the spots that will send her reeling into this orgasm and the next.

Your gaze is stuck however, not to her curves rippling in excess, the damage of your thrusts pounding her body to ruin, or the look of flawless pleasure twisting up the pretty features of Hyewon's reflection, but instead it's the fucking flash and catch of the diamond that adorns her fourth finger. Even when you have her completely helpless, bent on your mercy, she's still wearing that promise, that intention to have and to hold, and you think, for at least a second, this whole roleplay thing isn't the worst idea: being a surrogate to fulfill someone's wildest fantasies. It might even be enough to make you hard all over again - the thrill and the debasement of your girl, lines quickly blurring between the Hyewon you'll take home and put back together and the Hyewon you're fucking pouding into a mattress - the here and now.

"Fuck, Hyewon," you find yourself swearing - steadying the hips rolling back in your palms, bending down until the flat of your chest meets her back, until your nose is in her hair, the long strands sticking to her lips and the back of her ears. Until you feel her shaking as you suckle against her skin, at her neck, hot kisses between the shoulder blades, finding a grip in her hands. Her grip in yours - as she's muffling these exquisite, needy sounds; she is perfect. Hyewon is perfect.

The first time you cum, it's this hot splatter of white: smeared across her ass and the crease of her lower back. It feels almost dirty to think that's just how you feel about it; your heart is stuttering in its erratic pace, but your eyes are drawn and enraptured, the sight of it all.

Then second, maybe your favorite: when she slips her hand to your aching shaft and simply takes you back inside her. This soft, wet, inviting heat that pulls you back to her.

"God- please," her head tips back, you feel the arch of her back through her ribs and stomach, the way her breath catches as you slide your cock through her creamed-out-cunt so much harder and smoother. "It feels so fucking good, baby," and there are tears now, welling in the corner of her eyes, "don't stop, God don't ever stop-"

She can barely finish her sentence before she's cut off, a moan ripped from the bottom of her lungs and a gasp straight from the pain-pleasure that has your balls slapping against her pussy every other stroke. And suddenly she's sitting, or rather, squirming into your arms, her face buried in your shoulders as she starts riding you, and not-quite crying and saying again - again, the whole filthy lot of things: about her wanting you to fill her, to plug her up with your cock. Every thrust she whines in your ears, clutching onto the fabric of your shirt and making a mess of herself in you.

It's this wild and reckless thing that makes its way around the room, on every surface and bit of furniture. You fuck her over the counter, let her ride you on the sofa, the chair, the two of you managing to find some sort of assistance in the wall even, the door frame, her legs up your sides and the slippery-sticky-heat of your mouths connecting and everything that isn't exactly meant to support that kind of strain buckling and nearly giving way - once when the wooden joints in the door-frame shift, once when she begs for release in that frantic voice that doesn't sound a thing like her. And the way she comes apart under you after, on top of you - is even sweeter; you imagine there's this endless possibility for love, for pleasure, a whole world in bundled in the notion that you could do it for her again, that it was always a question of Hyewon letting you have her that way, and the rest was mere foreplay - a stretch.

Only, on the bed again, Hyewon shivers beneath you, this full-body response, and you've got her stretched as she opens up - that the slightest of movements has her already whimpering out "fuck," and "please," and "right there," and "fuck you're going to make me come like this. You're so good, just fucking," and "more, harder, please, you feel so fucking good-"

The desperation for release is so palpable in her that it's curling into your stomach as your press Hyewon's knees into the points and edges of her shoulders and fold in her half - this perfect angle of leverage. Fucking her like she's yours and no one else's - the absolute delight of her cunt, wet, hot, and desperate to milk you empty - her body quaking at the force of each thrust, and the hungry grind of your hips into hers. Her fingers digging and knotting in the sheets around you until her knuckles pale, and your own grasp on her skin threatens to bruise.

"Inside me," she gasps out, because she can feel that edge just as well as you, "I want you to fill me, just cum inside, God, you always feel so amazing, fuck, like that, cum inside me, cum in me-"

"How could I say no, especially when you ask so sweetly," you tell her, kissing into her smile, "can you take another? Baby, look at me, look into my eyes, yeah? Look right back at me."

Her eyes blink and roll back a bit, almost losing focus and her eyelashes flutter - the creases in her brow, the elegant lines of her face locking up in the overwhelming tension, then, a peak.

And a demand, meekly asking you to fill her up. Until there's nothing left. "Cum," Hyewon moans, "for the love of fuck-"

You push her past her climax until she's practically weeping, sobbing through a litany of nonsense and slurred, unfinished sentences and almost howls, struggling beneath your weight and coaxing her fingers over the surge at the base of your spine. Before a hot liquid mess bursts out of you, into the deepest reach of Hyewon's throbbing cunt - cumming inside her, while you hold her down, not allowing her to move as your hips lock and you're both left groaning in utter agony.

(This was the thing you'd told her once - cumming inside her was almost always worth the effort it took to clean it all back out. You like the possessive aspect of it, maybe the slight humiliation, and more than anything, she'll just melt: once she's gone past the immediate discomfort. If anyone could really learn to get off on feeling a little filthy, it's the two of you. And she knows that too, Hyewon's eager little pout intimates, as she blinks down to watch where the two of you connect.)

You don't say much for the next while. If there's a line where this particular escapade blends back into your normal life, where the Hyewon curled up in the sheets is your own girl and not some half-conceived entity that didn't fit the reality of the rest of the evening, or how you see Hyewon everyday, even then, it’s not clear.

She's utterly boneless - this fragile, dazed thing that runs her palms all the way around her breasts and pulls up her stockings a little further up the line of her hips, as if you weren't going to peel them back and slip them all the way off when you had the wherewithal to handle it. But the strength in her isn't entirely lost either, she looks ready to burst: this air of pride and smugness - victory, right in her grin, which isn't totally surprising. Hyewon usually gets an odd satisfaction out of your participation in whatever hedonistic or obscene thing it is she wants to try.

This was her fantasy - maybe not a deeply rooted or unattainable one, but she'd worked out some kinks of hers and has walked away a far better woman for it, knowing what a sight she is to you. Like this.

"That was... fun," Hyewon eventually says, collecting articles of clothing strewn about the room.

Her shoes are one of two sets in the shoe-rack, but she'll have to look around and under the bed to find her dress. It would probably be some strange level of easy to play dumb and wait until she comes to the conclusion on her own that she should bend down and check down there, but she looks a little too worn out to really be interested in her clothes, more like, ready for the next part.

"We should do it again," her gaze lands, intent, and serious, back to you.

"Which part?" you have to ask, because you're probably still, a little slow on the uptake.

A small laugh, the sly smirk to herself; she knows she has you wrapped so perfectly around her finger, ready to bend to whatever game she can come up with: "whichever part you like."

[brenwritesss]

Talent part 3

Paige Bueckers x reader

Summary: You continue texting Paige after she sends you flowers.

a/n: we are getting to them meeting, slowly but surely. Short chapter but I promise part 4 will be longer. Trust.

The flowers were sitting on your coffee table in front of your couch and every time you looked at them, your heart beat sped up and your face grew hot. It took you weeks of constant begging just to get your ex-girlfriend to give you a simple, small bouquet of tulips. Yet here you were, staring at your favorite flowers looking beautiful on your coffee table, given to you by someone you had just met a few hours ago. But there was a part of you that knew not to fall too deep too fast. Because this was exactly how it happened last time, and you didn’t know if you could recover from getting hurt by another girl again.

The smart thing to do would just be to give Paige a simple ‘thanks’. However, what you wanted to do was buy a plane ticket and pounce on her the second you see her. You chose the smart option. You pull your phone off your charger, finding Paige’s instagram account and sending her a quick message, “thanks for the flowers.”

About twenty minutes later, you heard a notification ping off your phone and you knew exactly who it was which caused the butterflies in your stomach to multiply instantly. 

“You like them?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Okay, so this is the part where you play smart and leave her on read. We’re leaving Paige on read. You place your phone on the coffee table by the flowers. And even though you knew that you shouldn’t continue the conversation, everything in you itched with hope that she would text you again.

And your prayers were answered.

“You can’t leave me on read after I just bought you flowers.”

You were fucked. Absolutely fucked.

“You’re right.”

“There we go, that's a start.”

“You can’t just get me flowers after only talking for a few hours.”

“Why?”

“How’d you get my address?” This question hadn’t popped into your brain until you realized that you had indeed just met her on a livestream not even twenty four hours ago.

“I got a confession to make.”

“Oh god what.” Was this gonna be the part where she confesses to secretly stalking you for years? You honestly didn’t know.

“Your best friend, Madison, we close.” Your jaw dropped a little. Madison, your best friend who you had met at an award show years ago, had never mentioned being close with a girl who was exactly your type. What a friend.

“You know Madison?”

“Yeah we met at some event a while back and I texted her asking for your address and she gave it to me.”

Very interesting.

“You were that committed? To sending me flowers?”

“Damn fucking right.”

This is so fucking dangerous. Y/n, you know better. What the hell are you doing? Put the damn phone down and go shower, eat, watch a movie. Or go back to sleep. But she’s so damn cute. And sweet. And flirty, And…no don’t even go there.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

You saw those three little dots appear and then disappear. Finally, they reappeared a few seconds later. “I told you I’d show you how beautiful you are and I’ll send you flowers everyday to prove it.”

“Please don’t do that.”

“Did I make you uncomfortable? I really hope I didn’t.”

“No, it doesn't make me uncomfortable at all. I just don’t understand why you’re so dedicated when we just met.”

“Honestly? I’m trying to figure it out bc it’s not a fucking secret that you’re my celebrity crush and I fucking like you.”

“Definitely not a secret.”

“And I can tell you’re like trying to push me away.”

“You make it really hard to do that.”

“Don’t push me away. You’re like the first girl I’ve been this invested in this quickly.”

Your body practically shuddered at her words and those familiar feelings of butterflies began to stir deep within you. Everything about Paige seemed to be too perfect, as if something was gonna go wrong or she was gonna say something wrong. Before you had the chance to respond, Paige texts you again.

“I wanna see you, princess.”

“See me?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Of course you were nervous about meeting her in person. Who wouldn’t be?

Paige’s text came back within two seconds. “Scared you’re gonna like me?”

“Never said that.”

“I’ll see you in Hartford, princess.”

[blvdymary]

Office Hours

pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary: Your annoying boss and his annoying behaviour.

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1.03K

Note: Yall...I'm out of ideas that's why ı havent written anything...IM SORRY.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Every girl in this city would sacrifice their lives to be in your place as Thomas Shelby's Personal Secretary, mostly because they think being his secretary means they get to have "fun" with him while in reality that's NOT the case AT ALL. He's always moody, mean, and rude to YOU. Not anyone else, YOU.

Always seeing him laugh -well, not really "laugh" but you know what I mean- with other women working alongside you. Was it something you did? Was it your attitude? well, you didn't really have an attitude. Always known as the shy and calm girl before he ruined it and made you like him. Moody, mean, and rude.

But right now you had a job, more like a chore. And It's to bring him his whiskey and documents as if he didn't have a whole ass collection of whiskey in his office.

You walked into your boss's office, holding a glass of whiskey as he requested for you to bring him. His feet crossed and thrown onto the desk, he looked at the simple document in his left hand while holding his cigarette with the other. Business was the priority and you were well aware of that.

He didn't even waste any energy acknowledging you came into his office. Typical Shelby. Thinking he is always seated on a pedistool, higher up from us "peasants".

You put his requested glass of whiskey on his desk, not yet noticing that he started looking at you with annoyance portrayed all over his face. "You're late," he spoke with his husky voice.

"I- I'm not-?" You muttered surprised as you looked down at him in the eyes you so adored from a distance. "You were supposed to be here with my whiskey AND documents at 4. It's 4:03." You rolled your eyes internally at his words, are you fucking kidding me? That's all you could think of. Is this guy messing with me?

You let out a soft sigh, putting on a fake frowny face as you widen your eyes at him. "Oh, please excuse me, sir. I didn't intend on being late." pulling out the documents out of the little bag you were carrying, just before you lowered them onto the desk in front of him he took them aggressively out of your grasp, leaving you in shock and making you think why he was aggressive today.

"Are you okay, sir?" Really? You knew it wasn't your place to comfort him but how could you control yourself when he was acting this way towards YOU?

"I need you to arrange a meeting with Mr. Solomons for me." He took a sip from his glass as he skimmed through the documents you brought for him.

He noticed you were still standing next to him, waiting for him to speak. "Go on. Go do your job." He dismissed you, shooing you away with a small motion of his hand as if you were a dog to him. Did that make you furious? yes. Could you do anything about it? No, not really, so you left rolling your eyes when you reached the door and shutting it behind you.

You were too furious to feel his eyes gaze at you as you walked away, smiling to himself as he muttered under his breath while shaking his head.

"What a darling thing, hm?"

You walked back into your chair and plopped onto it before sighing loud enough for Thomas to hear but you were glad he didn't. You were close to the line of getting fired from all your attitude towards your dear boss.

You looked up and saw your co-worker and best friend, Rosemary. The worry in her eyes was real, unlike other people who have been in your life before.

"Sweetie, are you okay? She asked with her unmistakable accent, she wasn't from around here so it was quite hard to get used to her accent but you managed.

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong, Rosie. Is there a proper reason for why he's acting this way towards me?" She fake-cleared her throat. "And you." You rolled your eyes, smiling. It was true, He didn't like both of you, but he despised you more. It was clear that he wanted you out of this company.

"Well darling, I think you should talk to him about it. How are we supposed to know why he acts this way towards you without talking?"

Oh if only it was that easy Rosie. Of course, It was easy for her to say, she lacked shyness. Probably because she didn't know how things worked around here but we won't be talking about that right now.

"Come on, go and talk to him." now she was dragging you to his office?! Oh, she was bold. You tried pulling away but her grip was strong, too strong almost.

It wasn't long before she opened his door without knocking and threw you inside, closing the door behind you. Shit. There was no going back now.

"Is there something you need?" He was, of course, annoyed at you. Not Rosie, you.

You walked closer to his desk with shaky hands and took a deep breath before speaking. "I uh…I just don't understand why you're acting…this way towards me. Was it something I did or…?"

"Sit down."

Shit. Did you say something you weren't supposed to or something? You sat down at one of the chairs in front of his desk, putting your hands on your knees. Was it that obvious that you were nervous? Why was he looking at you like that? oh god-

"I must say I find you fascinating. And I would like to ask if you'd like to have dinner with me. Business related, of course."

What? What kind of joke was this? You let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding before responding.

"I uh…sure, I guess."

"Well then, you may leave now." He gestured towards the door, still holding that cold expression on his face as if he didn't just ask you out.

You stood up, leaving as quickly as possible, running towards Rosemary's chair. She just HAD to know what happened.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

taglist: @hiraethberry @1-fuzzy-squirrels @justcallme1anangel @tejasvkris @rosierosem @meowsicles39

[sturniroll]

Matt helps you move into your dorm

collegestudent!matt x collegestudent!reader

(bc i just moved into my dorm lols.) no warnings

“matt can you build this for me please?”

this is like the 4th thing you’ve asked matt to put together but he takes the box & instruction manual from you no questions asked.

“ah damn babe this is in chinese!” he waves the manual in front of you for dramatic effect.

“turn it over genius..”

“oh…”

after 4 hours your dorm is put together to perfection, not a fairy light out of place. matt stands at the door with his hands on his hips, admiring all your (his) hard work. there’s a twinge in his heart because he knows it’s time to leave you now.

“um alright so.. i guess it’s time for me to go now?”

“yea that’s it thank you so much for all your help baby.”

you make your way over and throw your arms around his neck, slapping a fat kiss on his lips. when you pull away you can see the disappointment in his face.

“what’s wrong matt?”

“i’m gonna miss you… will you forget about me?”

“matt your dorm is only 2 floors up.. it only takes you about 50 seconds to get to me.”

“50 whole seconds!”

he grabs his chest dramatically. all you can do is laugh and give him one more kiss before having to push him out the door.

this was my first fic/blurb.. lmk what yall think 🥰 also sorry it’s been like 5 months since i’ve posted 💀

dividers from @cafekitsune

[skauni]

Why Did It Have To Be Us…?

!!WARNINGS!!: Miscarriage, BPD, Mentions of Depression, Mentions of Alcoholism, Arguing, False Accusations, No Happy Ending.

It’s been 3 weeks since you lost the baby.

You don’t understand what you did wrong, you listened to the doctors every word. Why did you have to lose the baby?

You and your husband, John, had been trying for 6 months to have kids. And when you finally got pregnant, it only lasted a month and a half before you lost the baby. That was 3 weeks ago, and John was on a mission where he had no contact with you. Since you lost the baby, you fell into depression and simple things started making you angrier than they would.

You started drowning your sorrows over the loss of yours and John’s baby that neither of you got to meet in alcohol and staring at walls, zoning out as you imagined what could have been. What you would have named the baby. Maybe Jasper if it was a boy, like John wanted to name him. Or Maya if it was a girl, like you’d wanted to name her. You didn’t know the gender of the baby, neither of you wanted to. Wanting to keep it a surprise for the baby shower/gender reveal party.

John had come home during you zoning out on the couch, it’d been 4 weeks after the miscarriage by then. You were snapped out of it when you felt him lay between your legs to place his ear on your abdomen. Listening for the heartbeat that he was unaware would no longer be there. You started crying as soon as he had, startling him and making him sit up. “Love, what’s wrong? Is it the pregnancy hormones-?” He asked in alarm, you put your face in your hands as you cried.

“I lost it… I lost the baby John, I’m sorry…-” you finally managed to hiccup out. His expression visibly tinged with sadness before he gently pulled you into his arms. “Don’t touch me!” You yelled before pushing him off and crying more as you stormed to the bathroom to weep in the tub since your favorite candle you often lit to calm down was in there.

It was a few hours before you came back out. When you did, John was on his computer searching up ways to make you feel better about losing the baby.

After a mental battle, you shuffled over to him and planted your face in his back with a soft whine. Afraid you’d react like you had earlier, he didn’t return the touch. “How are y’feelin’ love…?” He asked quietly. “What can I get f’ya?” He added. You just shook your head silently and he understood. You didn’t want anything. Not right now. Not after losing what had been your everything for only a few months. “Why did it have to be us…?” You finally managed to mumble out after a struggle to make your voice more easily heard. You felt like something was stuck in your throat. Or something was constricting it. Making it impossible to speak, breathe, or swallow.

John sighed quietly. “These things just happen love, we can always try again when you’re ready…” he tried to comfort. You simply nodded. Eventually, getting tired of standing, you sat in his lap. Cuddling him for comfort. Sniffling out quiet apologies for losing the baby. He just held you and gently rocked you, rubbing your back in hopes you’d calm down eventually.

As weeks passed on, the arguments started. John watched as you brought home yet another cheap wine bottle to drown your sorrows in. He clenched his jaw. “You should stop drinking like that. It’ll ruin our chances at trying for a baby again. Y’know what alcohol does to you love.” He said. And it made you snap. “I don’t want to try again!” You yelled. His face broke into a scowl as he got up. “Don’t want to? Why? Because you think it’s one of your stupid signs from the universe?” He retorted. You put the wine down before slapping him. The argument broke out from there.

It was about one in the morning when John had enough of it. “WELL MAYBE IT WAS YOUR FAULT! FOR ALL I KNOW, YOU COULD HAVE KILLED OUR BABY!” He yelled. You froze. Your anger turning to dread. “Y-You don’t mean th—” he cut you off. “I DO! You have always had a self destructive mindset towards the idea of trying for a baby! And the second I leave after we successfully have one growing, you miscarriage! How am I supposed to believe you didn’t kill our baby!?” John snapped. You staggered back. You couldn’t believe his words.

After a long silence he realized what he’d said and tried to take it back. “Love I—” he tried but you pushed past him sobbing. Slamming the door to your shared room and locking him out. Stuffing some belongings into a small-ish travel trunk after calling your mother if you can go stay with her for a while. When you came out he was about to knock on the door. “I want a divorce, Johnathan.” You sniffle out. John freezes. You only use his legal name when you mean what you say when you’re sad or angry. His shoulders sagged and he staggered back. Watching you in stunned silence as you walk out the front door. John knows you’re never coming back. He knows he’s messed up. He messed up big time… and now he couldn’t take it back…

[kingkat12]

seven minutes in heaven (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: foul language, alcohol, book-accurate Roman lol, (and he is such a brat???)

summary: you really, really hate Roman Godfrey. but what you hate most, is that he doesn't notice you at all.

word count: 4,502

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10

I didn't like Roman Godfrey— not one bit. 

Everything about that spoiled brat was infuriating. All from the way he walked around as though he owned the town, to the way that he'd get a kick out of throwing tater tots at people. Fucking child. The amount of times I'd sat at the bleachers and watched him throw it at the cheerleaders, specifically aiming right down their shirts, made my blood boil.

Roman Godfrey believed that the world was his, including the people living in it. That's exactly why he dared to take such liberties. 

I specifically hated the way he'd move his hair out of his green, green eyes, the look he'd give me after he tugged my hair in the hallway with a sneer, and his sadistic need to claim his conquests in the absolute weirdest ways known to man. If we are to believe Brooke Bluebell from the cheerleading team, he also had an affinity for poking girls with needles in public just for the sheer thrill of watching them squeal. Because who would tell him off, right? I wondered if he was familiar with the word 'no' at all.

After the needle-rumour spread, I made sure to keep a few meters between us at all times. There was no way in hell that he would get away with doing that to me, anyway. 

And I would've stayed as far away from Roman as possible, had it been up to me. Sadly, my best friend at school was his cousin— just my luck. Letha, like the rest of the girls at school, was quite fond of Roman; since she was the oldest of the two, she somehow couldn't see that he had grown past the age of five, treating him as though he could do no wrong.

And this was why Roman was always invited whenever we would have study sessions at Letha's place. He would splay himself out on the bed, stretching out his long limbs, watching us as we worked and he lazed away. 

God, how I hated him. I hated the way his hair was kissing his forehead when he laid like this in Letha's bed, the way he'd grin whenever he watched me erase a wrong answer, and the way his cologne would linger in my system several hours after he'd left.

Currently, we were supposed to be working on the half-year assignment everyone in our year had to do. Letha was sitting at her desk with her back turned to us as Roman and I sat on the bed, each with our own computer. My meter-rule to protect myself from any incoming needles was impossible to implement on Letha's tiny bed, and I let out a huff as Roman's knee touched mine. I prayed to every God in the universe that he didn't have a needle in his pockets somewhere— I was quite fond of my knees, and would very much like to keep them intact.

"Five hundred bucks," Roman tried, nudging me. "Do this assignment for me and it's yours."

I rolled my eyes, shifting further away from him on the bed. "Do your own shit," 

He proceeded to sneer, watching me with his big, green eyes. "Six hundred,"

"No,"

"Seven?"

"Suck it, Roman," I cracked my knuckles, doing my best to get back into the flow of writing the assignment. It was so damn hard to focus when Roman's incessant sighing continued, almost as though he was being forced to take his own life. 

"Help me, then," he mumbled, moving closer to me. His leg was almost on top of mine, now. "How did you answer question b?" Roman leaned over me, his head now obstructing my view of my screen. In a flash of pure instincts, I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of his hair that was tickling my nose. I couldn't quite put my finger on exactly what it was that smelled so good— him or the shampoo?

I got yanked out of my state when Roman pulled away, typing away on his own laptop, finally inspired. 

I couldn't help but sigh; I hated Roman. And I hated that he didn't notice me in the way I wanted him to. I hated the way he smiled, the way he'd so blatantly flirt with girls at any opportunity he'd get, and how my heart fluttered when he flirted with me once in a blue moon.

It only got worse when we were in chemistry class the next day, and Roman had caught me sitting all alone in the back. I wasn't sure what came over me and why I had allowed him to sit down next to me again— the last time had been an absolute catastrophe where he got the both of us kicked out for bickering too loudly, so I hoped it wouldn't be a repeat-situation. I really needed to make sure I was getting every drop of information out of class today, as we had a test coming up soon.

However, Roman was the absolute biggest distraction on earth. I knew this. He kept leaning over to draw crude drawings in my book, making me have to swat his hand away over and over; "Stop it!"

Roman huffed, leaning back against his chair with a bored expression on his face. "You're no fun," he whispered back. 

And this was when it hit me— maybe I wasn't fun? Did he really think that of me? 

... Maybe it was time to show him how fun I could be?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

When Letha mentioned a party happening this weekend and the fact that Roman would be joining, I couldn't help but feel a certain sense of dread— I knew what that would entail for him. He'd either disappear with a girl upstairs and/or get absolutely shitfaced, as always. And was I really going to put myself through seeing him disappear with someone else again just to prove I wasn't boring?

Yes— Yes, I was.

As I sipped my drink, I couldn't help but feel my hatred for Roman simmer and come to a boil— I hated how he had me doing the most ridiculous things known to man just to get a sliver of his attention. Why was a question I couldn't bring myself to answer. 

As I stood in the kitchen with Letha, I spotted Roman passing by the door, laughing with a friend of his. My heart thumped hard as I let out a shaky breath; "Letha, I have to tell you something,"

She turned to me, a beer in her hand. "Don't tell me you've killed someone again? I don't have the energy to drag another body out of my car today,"

"Ha-ha," I mumbled; had this been any other instance, I would've thought it was funny... but not right before I was about to tell her why I had come tonight. I dreaded it; I knew she'd disapprove. But just as I opened my mouth, ready to put my friendship on the line, I caught Roman backtracking and appearing in the door again.

"Girls!" He walked over, looking tipsy as ever. Up close like this, Roman towered over the both of us, and I had to look up an unusual amount to meet his eyes. "I've been looking for you all over! They're playing seven minutes in heaven downstairs, wanna join?"

Had this been any other night, I would've given him an immediate no— but tonight was different. Tonight, I was fun. Shrugging, I glanced over at Letha to check her reaction.

"That's so childish," Letha mumbled, sipping her beer. "I don't know, and I'm sure grumpy over here isn't too keen on that either—"

"No, I'm in!" My words came out like a panicked squeal which immediately made my cheeks burn. 

Roman seemed caught off guard by my reaction, but he eventually reached out to pat my shoulder, looking smug as ever. "There you go," he cooed, clearly teasing me. "Maybe you'll finally get laid or something!"

I was abruptly reminded of why I hated him so much in the first place. Swatting his hand off of me, I brushed my fingers over my shoulder where he had touched me, feeling a lingering burn. "If you think seven minutes is enough for everything that goes into sex, I think you need to lower that ego of yours,"

Letha bit back a smirk as Roman's lips parted in shock. Maybe the spoiled rich kid hadn't gotten a reality-check from his long list of women before? He eventually recovered from the diss, rolling his eyes; "Well, seven minutes with me can be more than enough. Need me to show you?"

Letha let out a loud snort, shuddering; "Ew, Roman! I've told you not to talk to my friends like that!"

As they turned to each other, bickering like siblings, I gripped the counter behind me with all my strength. I was almost compelled to agree, to say yes to letting him have a go, and I had to bite down on my tongue to stop myself. After a few drinks, I knew I could get a little loose-lipped.

It didn't take long before we all made it downstairs, everyone spreading out on the couches and chairs scattered in the basement. Letha and I sat down on a few pillows on the floor, far away from Roman and his rumoured needles. 

I felt my throat go dry every time the bottle spun around, landing on random people from school who later went into the empty closet nearby. But my attention was elsewhere; I watched as Roman put his arm around the girl next to him, whispering something into her ear which made her laugh. It made me want to slam my head into the wall behind me— I would rather pass out and bleed out than witness him picking up another girl again. 

I swallowed hard as the people in the closet came back out and the bottle got spun again. The first person was picked; a girl with long, brown hair whom I remembered from history class; huge bitch. Holding my breath, I watched as the bottle got spun again— it eventually slowed down and pointed to Roman, which made the girl's friend group cheer as though they had won a million dollars. It felt like my heart was getting ripped out of my chest as Roman got up from the couch, grinning from ear to ear. The girl he had just had his arm around wasn't as happy, to say the least.

This whole display was making me sick. I bit the inside of my cheek as Roman closed the door to the closet and the previous drinks in my system threatened to come up. Everything about this was making me sick. I got up, taking hurried steps to the nearest bathroom, planting myself on my knees in front of the toilet just in case.

I heard a few knocks on the door before Letha stepped in, looking worried. "I told you not to drink that vodka crap," she mumbled, locking the door before she sat down next to me on the floor.

I felt my tears press on as I grew further nauseous. "Don't mind me," I breathed. "I just need a minute." 

This only solidified my absolute and utter hate for Roman. Spoiled fucking brat— why did he have to make me feel this way? Why was my jealousy making me so sick and bitter?

Letha put her hand on my back in an attempt to soothe me; "Maybe I should drive you home?"

"No!" I said, fighting my gag reflex. "I need— I need to get out there again."

This only made Letha sigh, her hand now reaching for my hair to be ready. "You have a crush out there or something...? You know that you don't need this stupid game to get whichever guy you want, right?" 

I did my best to get up from the floor without immediately falling back down. Of course she didn't understand. 

"Seriously, hold on—" Letha grabbed my hand, holding me back from leaving the bathroom. Her eyes were just as green as Roman's, and up close like this, I could see all their similarities; the upward curve of their nose, the same full lips, and the exact same way of weaving their brows together in worry. "You don't need to do anything just because you want to prove Roman wrong," she said, squeezing my hand. "I know you came down here to make a point, but... do what's best for you, okay?"

"Okay," I mumbled, tugging at her hand. The seven minutes were almost up, and I wanted to see the look on that girl's face after she left the closet with Roman. I wanted to see the look of bliss in her eyes, the hint of red in her cheeks, and watch her inhale with soft, sharp breaths just like the rest of his girls always did. The best part of watching this, was imagining that the girl was me instead— that I was the one feeling euphoric, and not her. And on the other hand, the masochistic part of me wanted to feel my heart burn with jealousy and my chest tighten with the ache I had gotten so familiar with. "Let's go. Please."

My nausea dulled down as I sat back down on the floor, realizing Roman was back. Maybe it was good that I missed the moment they came out— maybe it was good for me to spare my psyche, just this once? As my eyes met Roman's across the room, I couldn't help but notice the dark satisfaction on display across his lips. It was almost as though he knew— or maybe it was the fact that I probably looked a little sick? Did he like the look of pain in my eyes? I was reminded of Brooke Bluebell and her needle story... how he liked imposing pain on girls he found to be vulnerable. The fucking needle thing would haunt me forever.

I barely noticed that the bottle had been spun again, and I was yanked out of my mind-storm when Letha nudged me. "You don't have to," she tried, nodding towards the bottle that was now pointing at me.

My eyes immediately moved from the bottle and straight to Roman, who seemed to grow further amused. There was no way in hell I would back down now— maybe this would change his outlook on me? I had to prove I was fun, after all. Shrugging, acting as though it was no big deal, I reached for the bottle, spinning it.

I couldn't help but ponder if someone up there in the sky was playing games with me when the bottle pointed at the one person I had hoped it would be.

The girl Roman had just been with protested; "What? That's against the rules! He can't go in two times in a row!—"

"Sure can," Roman shot in, watching my every movement like a hawk— something told me he was a little excited about this as well. He got up from the couch once more, walking up to me with confident strides, reaching out for my hand. 

As I looked up at him, breath short and choppy, I couldn't pry my eyes away from his. I had always imagined what it would be like to look up at Roman from this angle, to see the sheer look of satisfaction on his face as I— Oh no, my mind was wandering again, wasn't it? I did my best not to shiver as I accepted his hand, feeling our fingers intertwine as he smoothly got me up from the floor.

I didn't even dare to look at Letha in this moment, knowing how she probably felt about it, but I really didn't have time to dwell on it— and it didn't take long before Roman closed the closet door behind us, pulling me back into the moment.

We were quiet for a few seconds, the sounds of our breathing filling the closet— I didn't know what to say or do. The beating of my heart was so loud that I could barely hear my own thoughts, and the light in the small room was dim and warm, making it a rather disorienting experience. It didn't take long before I felt my back hit the wall, letting out a little wince; the alcohol was definitely doing wonders for my balance. 

Roman snorted at the sight, emitting a soft laugh; "Careful, there," 

I let out the breath I had been holding, happy that he had been the first one to say something. "It's the vodka," I mumbled, rubbing the part of my head that had hit the wall. 

Roman hummed; "Typical,"

"What is?"

"That you can't handle your drinks,"

I wanted to smack him— that was allowed in seven minutes of heaven, right? "So what if I can't? It's not a big deal,"

"Sure," Roman said, nodding to himself. "You just need to be broken in or something." 

I wasn't the biggest fan of his choice of words— I was also not a fan of the thought of Roman breaking me more than he had already done, all whilst being completely unaware of it. Choosing not to comment on it further, I switched the subject; "So when was the last time you didn't do anything with a girl in this game?"

He needed a few seconds to scour his brain; "Never, I think,"

Typical. "Even back in middle school?"

"... Definitely,"

I held back a rather large groan— I should've predicted this. 

Roman caught onto my eventual silence; "And I reckon this is your first time playing?"

"... Yeah,"

"Okay, I see," Roman ran his fingers through his hair, the usual smirk returning. "You know what usually happens in here, or...?"

I rolled my eyes; "I'm not an idiot,"

"I know," Roman's voice got lower, breathier, as he took a step closer. There wasn't much room for more steps, actually— it was getting rather cramped up at this point. "But if there's anything you've always wanted to try out and haven't dared to, now's the time."

My breath hitched as I hoped the thumping of my heart wasn't loud enough for him to hear. There were many things I wanted to try out, sure, but not here.

It was almost as though Roman could sense how nervous I was; he bent down a little, getting on my level before he whispered; "I won't tell Letha,"

... Oh? Feeling his hot breath against my skin, how dangerously close he was, was almost too much for me. The way he said it made me even more conscious of what was happening; I hadn't even told Letha how crazy I was about Roman yet, and I knew she'd be against it.

However, I was being served my biggest dream on a silver platter. Maybe if I got this bit over with, my feelings would subside and go back to being purely hateful again? 

"Okay..." I mustered up the courage, letting out a shaky breath before I opened my mouth to speak; "Could you maybe... kiss me, then?" My words came out barely louder than a whisper. "I've just had a really shitty night."

Roman's expression remained unchanged. "I'm sorry to hear that,"

"... No, you're not,"

"Okay, you might be right," He let out a soft laugh against my lips, and my eyes quickly darted down to his hands to check if he was holding a needle or not. One could never be sure... and this was how I knew my anxiety was through the roof.

"So... you want a kiss? That's all?" Roman asked, looking rather pleased with himself and the situation.

This was too nerve-wracking. I kept imagining that he would switch up and tell me no, that he would reject me somehow and make me the only girl at school he didn't want to do anything with— that would definitely make me hate him even more. In a flash moment of weakness (which I later blamed the alcohol for), I sighed; "Just... could you? Or am I asking for too much?"

Something about Roman's expression changed— he seemed to realize what I was actually asking for before I fully understood it myself. Not to make out, not to drown in one another, but the simplest of all things romance; affection. Something gentle, something sweet, just to check if he had a sliver of anything resembling that in his system. 

"You like me, don't you?" Roman whispered, nudging his nose against mine, eyes rounding out as he heard my breath hitch at the simple gesture. "This is what all of this has been about?"

Doing my best to still my breathing and not faint, I closed my eyes, revelling in the feeling. It was the smallest thing, yet it was a comfort in the midst of the conversation. "All of what?"

"Your anger," Roman let out a sigh, connecting our foreheads, closing his eyes as well. "You can't stand that you like me, can you?"

For some reason, I felt the urge to cry— I spent a few seconds pressing down the stream of tears that threatened to surface. Having someone say it out loud felt like a desperately needed release. "It's been a nightmare,"

Roman stilled, eventually letting out a hum which sent a shiver down my spine. "You know nothing about nightmares," he breathed against my lips. "If I tell Letha we fucked in here, you'll be living through your worst one."

For fuck's sake. I mumbled a curse as Roman laughed, clearly amused by the terrified look on my face. "No, I wouldn't do that," he teased, pulling away just a bit. "I'm not that bad, you know that, right?"

I huffed, not meeting his gaze anymore. Confessing to liking him had given him all the power over me in the world. "I don't know... You tend to be quite horrible,"

"And what horrible things do I do, may I ask?"

Oh, I was ready for this question— I had been ready for a while. "First of all, the fucking tater tots," I grumbled, meeting his amused eyes. "The fact that you pull my hair like you're five years old, you've drawn about a hundred dicks in my chemistry book, and the whole needle thing!"

"Needle thing?" Roman furrowed his brows— damn, he and Letha really had the same face, didn't they? 

"Yeah, the needle thing! Brooke told us!" Something about the confusion on his face felt rather satisfactory; your turn. "You pricked her and her friend Rachel and just... laughed, or something!"

Remembering the incident, Roman burst out laughing. "Oh, that!" he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Yeah, that was fun, I can't lie. So, okay, maybe I'm a bit bad, but... you still like me." His eyes were sparkling with mischief, and I knew it could lead to no good. "You still want to kiss me, so you can't be too scared? Or maybe..." Roman's hand travelled up to my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear as he smirked. "Maybe you're just a massive masochist?"

"What? No!" My protests were quick and loud— I wondered what the people outside this closet thought we were doing. "Roman, just... Ugh, fuck this, I'm leaving."

As I reached for the door, Roman grabbed my hand with force I hadn't expected of him, pinning it above my head against the wall. Like this, he was even closer to me than he had been just under a minute ago, and my eyes went wide with the realization that I could physically feel his bottom lip against mine, not yet coming together in the kiss I so desperately craved.

"I'm not going to make this easy for you," he whispered, words slow and low. Something about this whole situation was so intense, I nearly gave in to a shiver. "Whatever this will be, you and I... won't be easy."

"There is no you and I," I mumbled, feeling my heart beat up against his chest. "We do this once, and then we forget it." Please.

Roman hummed, a cocky grin spreading across his plush, pink lips. "You think you'll be able to? I have a feeling you've wanted me for a while,"

Fuck's sake. I hated him even more when he was right. My gaze hardened as it met his, and I wondered how much time we had left. No matter how mad I was at him, I still wanted to kiss him, just once. This might be the only chance I'd ever get, and I was going to take it. 

"Okay, then," Roman accepted my silence as an answer. Nudging my nose with his, he finally pressed his lips against mine with a softness I didn't know he had in him. 

This was not what I had expected. Something about this kiss was shaking up my whole view of the world, along with my view of Roman. The most obnoxious guy with an unmatched arrogance could... kiss like this? Like he actually had a soul? 

His lips moved against mine as though I was made of glass, and I felt his fingers intertwine with mine in the hand he was holding above my head. It sent shivers down my spine as my mind went haywire, wondering why he was being so careful with me. I brought my free hand up to cup his face, feeling how soft he was against my palm. I had expected him to be rough, aggressive... so what on earth was this?

Roman's arm snaked around my waist as he pulled me closer, and I let out a shaky breath against his lips— heat swirled in the pit of my stomach, feeling as though I was burning up from inside. 

But just as it started to get heated, two knocks were heard at the door; Roman pulled away, a victorious smirk in place as though he had successfully proved his point. "Thirty seconds left," he said. "Now, convince me why I shouldn't tell Letha."

What? Still trying to catch my breath, I felt myself freeze up. How was I supposed to think clearly when I was in this state? Roman's hand slid out of mine, waiting for my answer; "So?"

"Just don't," I breathed, putting a hand on my chest to feel my heart— did all of this just happen? "Don't tell her."

"That's not good enough," His green eyes were drilling into mine, and it was clear that he wished to corner me. Sadist.

"I'll do your stupid assignment,"

"Nope,"

"I'll... fuck, Roman, I don't know!" 

Roman snickered at my panic, fixing his hair, checking his clock; ten seconds left. "Fine, I'll be nice," he said, reaching out to swipe his thumb along the edge of my lip, wiping away some lipstick. "But you owe me."

Owe him? I wasn't the biggest fan of making a deal with the devil reincarnate in front of me. However, did I have any other choice? I let out a sigh of defeat; "... Fine,"

And this was when it truly hit me; I hated Roman Godfrey with all my heart— I hated the fact that he could make my heart flutter with the smallest gesture, that he could practically walk all over me with no remorse, and that he always looked so fucking good. 

However, at the end of the day, what I hated most... was how much I wanted him.

(a/n: click to read PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10 here!! thank you for reading!<333)

[phantomskeep]

Putting the "Fun" Back In "Funeral" Chapter 4

AO3 | Chapter Three --- Chapter Five

Chapter Four: Gotham's One-Stop Shop For Villainy The first thing Danny noticed about this dimension was it smelled. A polluted haze hung heavy over the sky, casting the urban jungle in a dark mist and assaulting the halfa’s nose with the sharp tang of gasoline. Loud big-city sounds filled his ears as he caught himself in the midst of his free-fall, leaving the man distorted. It was so much different compared to his Keep in the Zone. To be pulled from a place of near-constant quiet into a realm full of honking horns, shouts and sirens was enough to have Danny reel his aura back in. The ambient ectoplasm around him felt sticky, and wrong, like the very air around Danny had been contaminated by something dark and sinister. He pulled his atmospheric spirit back, tugging where he could feel all the tiny little souls around him closer to himself. Bit by bit, his range of feelings depleted until he almost couldn’t feel the filth that surrounded him. Small pants left his lungs by the time Danny could only feel a tiny circle around himself that pulsed with his aura as he tried to keep a lid on his powers that desperately wanted to run free.

Attempting to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of not sensing the people around him, as well as the general unclean feeling of touching such disgusting ectoplasm, Danny spun in a small circle to try and get his bearings. The portal created by the Skeleton Key left him hovering over an old clocktower bathed in the haze of the city. Looking around proved to be near-futile, because even with his superior sight, Danny could barely see the street from where he floated.

The young man shifted the bags thrown over his shoulder, nervously looking around while trying to catch his breath. Clockwork had said his friend would be waiting for him, so where…?

“Hello, my King.”

A feminine voice caused Danny to startle, turning quickly to face the ghost that snuck up on him. The being before him reminded Danny of Shadow, almost. Their form was pitch black against the backdrop of the Victorian clocktower, constantly moving and shifting like a wispy fire. Piercing red eyes bore into him, causing him to nervously rub the back of his neck.

“Hi,” Danny spoke slowly. “Are you the one Clockwork told me about? The Spirit of Gotham?”

The ghost chuckled softly, moving their wispy form closer to Danny. A belated wisp of cold air worked its way out of his throat, letting him know another of the Realms was close. “I am, young King. You may call me Lady Gotham, the protector of this city.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Lady Gotham. I’m Danny Phantom.” He said, remembering the many hours he spent with Pandora and Dorathea drilling the proper mannerisms into his thick skull. Danny bowed at the waist, ignoring how the two bags he carried knocked against his knees. “Thank you for allowing me into your domain and protections. I will treat your lair as my own– with the utmost kindness, respect, and haunting that should be given to any member of the Realms.”

“I accept your gratitudes and give my own, King Phantom.” Lady Gotham’s voice was steady when she spoke the traditional greetings of the Zone, unlike Danny’s own unsteady cadence. Danny rose from his bow to see the other’s form in her own imitation of a respectful stance. After a beat, she rose from it to meet his eyes again.

The young king grinned at the shifting shadow in front of him, allowing excitement-nice to meet you to leave the tight leash he had on his aura to tentatively brush against Lady Gotham. A little trill of happiness left his core at the tender hello-nice to meet you-calm that caressed the small bubble Danny had created.

“Come, Little One,” Gotham spoke gently. “Clockwork has left you in my care until your tasks are complete. The ones who are mine have prepared an area for you while you are under my protection. We will head there and I will teach you the cultures of this dimension. Is this acceptable, King Phantom?”

“More than, Lady Gotham.” Danny continued to smile at his new guardian. “But, please, call me Danny. Or Phantom. Just- just none of that king stuff, please.”

A quiet chuckle emitted from the shadow before him. “As you wish, Danny. If we are being informal, feel free to call me Gotham.” She paused, swiveling the area where her eyes rested around to face to her left. The movements reminded Danny of the character No-Face from Spirited Away, a heavy swing of herself in a dramatic full-body maneuver. “We must head north to reach the lair I have created for you, Little One.”

“Lead the way, Lady G!”

The flight over was a quick one, with Danny’s ghostly guide fading from the visible spectrum before taking off. Danny followed suit, taking care to keep Gotham in his tiny bubble. As they traveled, he strained himself to see through the muggy haze that encompassed Gotham’s city. They passed large, towering skyscrapers with flashy signs, massive highways filled to the brim with cars, and Danny could barely make out dark water when they passed over a bridge. There were no immediate outstanding differences between his home dimension and this one. So far everything seemed pretty normal, besides the slimy feeling tingling on the edges of his senses.

From the past couple experiences Danny had with time travel and multiverse hopping, the man was expecting to see something like flying cars or gravity-defying structures. But everything seemed almost normal. Maybe this world wasn’t one of those crazy superhuman filled ones like the one Kitty and Johnny told him stories of. Apparently, their home dimension was pretty wild.

Danny almost lost his ghostly companion when she led him across a wide-open area filled with plants, though he caught up with her when she began to head slightly to the left. They passed more towers, more open areas with the faint sounds of cresting waves against land, until Gotham finally began to slow down.

“This part of my city is called Cherry Hills,” she said as the two ghosts hovered over the city’s buildings. “Many of the areas to the northeastern side of this section are used as housing, the western as warehouses, and the southeastern as workspaces or labs.” The older being began to gently fly further north, slowly leading them closer to the buildings.

As the structures pulled into view, Danny took in the sights before him. A large highway cut through the housing district, and he could easily make out the far-off sight of warehouses leading to docks where a handful of large ships were tied up. A freight train’s blaring horn was accompanied by the flashes of light as it cut through the city’s haze. The raised railings of a metro train track ran alongside the highway. As they continued north, the housing buildings started to look more worn-down, less like their shiny brethren on the east side of the carpath.

“Is this the area I’m going to be living in?” Danny questioned after a while. He wasn’t too concerned about the state of the building he would be occupying - he (kind of) survived the Fenton household for eighteen years, after all -, but the shock of being in a large city was starting to grate on his nerves.

“Yes,” Lady Gotham said as she began to hover over one of the taller residential complexes. “This is the one.”

With that, Danny could only helplessly follow where he could feel her plummeting through the building’s roof. When he crossed the barrier, he let his invisibility go to match Gotham. Her shadowed form lazed within the large studio’s space, letting herself barely brush against the floor.

“Welcome to your new home, Little One.” Gotham swirled closer to him, the edges of her emotions pressing against him in a soothing tone of welcome-this is yours-take it. “I hope it is to your liking.”

An awed breath left Danny as he slowly turned to truly take in the studio apartment he was presented with. The ceilings were high, with one side tilted at an angle to run alongside the roof. Two large windows let the hazy day’s light peak through the panes, washing the area with a gentle glow. A nice-looking kitchen occupied the space’s far corner, and Danny was only a little disappointed to note it would probably not see much use. An open area was broken up with a sturdy kitchen table sitting innocently next to another large window. The corner along the same wall as the kitchen area ran into a cozy-looking living room area, an elevator space acting as a barrier to the adjacent corner.

Danny was a bit perplexed to note that scattered lab equipment filled that space. Did Clockwork tell Gotham that he was a mad scientist or something? But Danny moved on to take in the staircase leading up to an open L-shaped platform. Floating up, he found a cozy-looking king bed greeted him, along with a computer set-up that would have made Tucker drool. He excitedly noted a window with access to a balcony with stairs leading onto the top of the roof was attached to the same wall perpendicular to the one his bed was against.

The young king zoomed next to Gotham, a large smile on his face. “This is awesome! How the heck did you get this all set up?”

An easy chuckle left the other ghost’s form, gentle emotions swaying between the two as they continued to get used to the other. “The people of my city don’t often question when mysterious jobs line up for them. It is part of their culture to not ask too many questions, after all.”

“That’s…” Danny paused, trying in vain to find the morally correct words without offending his host. “Interesting?”

A rumbling purr filled the air, Gotham letting a gentle pulse of amusement ripple against her king. “Interesting is certainly a word for it. Do not fret, Little One, no harm comes to them.”

The young man awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed that his worries were so easily spotted by the older ghost. He wasn’t quite used to having anyone other than the Ancients or his friends read him with such ease - having another do so, even if she was a ghost and Clockwork’s friend, was unusual for Danny. It made him wonder what type of relationship she had with Clockwork, as he had never before seen or even heard of Gotham before now. Before he could question her, though, she swiftly spoke.

“Before we get too distracted, I must inform you of this dimension.” She shifted her way behind where Danny was hovering, seeming to herd him towards his new couch. “Sit, sit. There is no need to be uncomfortable for such a conversation.”

“Wait,” Danny protested. “Let me put my stuff down real quick.” Without waiting for a response, he zipped up to his new bed. Dropping his duffle and Clockwork’s satchel onto the plain blue bed sheet before rummaging around for the journal gifted to him. When he finally found it, the young man flew back to the simple pale couch where Gotham waited.

It was an odd sight to see. A giant, angry looking cloud of smog hovering like an exasperated parent in a picture-perfect looking home.

“Okay,” Danny started as he landed on the surprisingly comfortable couch. He leaned back, relaxing against soft cushions, as he let his transformation wash over himself. “So what do I need to know?”

Surprise rippled across the air at the sight of Danny’s flashy shift, but Gotham was composed when she spoke. “From what Clockwork has told me, you come from a dimension where you are one of three beings who are more than human?”

Giving a small nod, Danny felt like his chest would explode from the hope-excitement-trepidation at what Gotham was implying. “Are you saying there’s, like, people with powers here?!”

“Indeed,” Gotham agreed, her voice lifting at the other’s obvious excitement. “There are metahumans, those with the meta-gene, who are humans with various powers. Others include humans who have been experimented on, had accidents, know the magical arts, or even been subjected to ancient powers. Aliens have begun to call this Earth home, as well. This includes those from Mars, Krypton, Thanegar, Tamaran…” She trailed off, staring at Danny who was physically vibrating. “My king, are you okay?”

“There’s aliens?” He whispered. “You guys have aliens?!”

“Yes, many of them-”

“Holy fucking shit,” Danny jumped up, coming to eye level with a startled Gotham. “Can I meet them?! Can I visit their planets? How many are there, what do they look like, do they have powers?!” The young man was trying to grab onto something in order to steady himself, but his hands kept passing through Gotham’s smokey form. “Lady G, please tell me I can meet them. Please, I will literally die again if I can’t meet actual people who live in space.”

A happy laugh echoed across the apartment’s space, the City Spirit being the source of it. “You are certainly excited about this, Little One.”

“Of course!” He exclaimed, waving his noodle arms around. “Space is so cool, G. It’s the greatest thing ever, I love it! I’ve always wanted to explore it, ever since I was a kid.”

“Well, you will be glad to hear that meeting the aliens who call Earth home is something you will be able to do.”

“Do any of them live here? In your city?”

“No,” She said, moving her eyes to look out the large windows gracing the two with a hazy glow. “The Dark Knight, a man who helps protect my lair, does not allow ones with powers to operate within me.”

A curious expression overtook Danny. His excited movements slowed to a halt, and he regarded Gotham with a critical, glowing eye. “Do you want me to take care of him, Lady Gotham?”

Calm-do not worry-amusement gently brushed against Danny, causing him to relax. “As much as I appreciate your protection, Little One,” Gotham said as she faced her king. “The Batman has this rule for good reasons, ones that I agree with.”

Danny’s metaphorical hackles lowered at Gotham’s comment. The piercing neon green of his eyes bled back into their usual icy blue, though the curious look did not leave. “Why’s that? And who names their kid Batman?”

Part of the City Spirit’s dark cloud tried to nudge him back towards his couch. “The Batman,” she began, “is a hero who operates to protect my city. He was born here and donned his cape in order to help those in need from the many criminals who call my territory home.”

Danny gave an involuntary awed noise. “So you guys have heroes here, too?” A dark tendril of smog wrapped around the back of the couch, resting gently against Danny’s neck.

The idea of having other heroes around was something that greatly appealed to Danny. Being the lone super-powered protector of Amity Park for so long took its toll on the young man, even with his human companions. It just wasn’t the same, being the only one with advanced abilities. He had to take the bigger hits, he had to be the one to save his friends if they got into too great of a bind, he had to be the one to try and take on the burden of Amity Park alone when they all went off to find their place in the world. With great power comes great responsibility, after all. And being the Ghost King? Well, Danny had more than enough “great power” to spare.

The thought was just as sobering as it was exciting. Other heroes, super or not, meant that there was something to have caused those heroes to come into play. Some great villain, or a world-ending disaster, or even large crime rates. Lady Gotham only said criminals, though, so maybe there were no supervillains Danny needed to worry about.

“Yes. In fact, there is a large society of both heroes and villains.”

Well, it was a nice thought while it lasted.

“But many of the aliens you were so excited to hear about are among those heroes.” Gotham continued, not noticing Danny’s sudden mid-afterlife crisis. “There is the Batman, who is one of the founders of the Justice League. Superman, Wonder Woman, the Flash, Green Arrow, and many others are all part of this superhero society - the Justice League.”

“Okay,” Danny was desperately trying to keep up with this sudden information. “So, Batman is a super-powered dude who helped to start an entire squad of superheroes?”

“He has no powers. The Dark Knight is just a man, same with Green Arrow and many others. They simply are able to keep up with the aliens, gods, and metas.”

Danny paused, taking in a breath. He touched his fingers together, pressing his palms flat. Another breath was taken, this one deeper than the last. With every ounce of teenage angst he still had within him, Danny lifted his hands up together to rest against his forehead before bringing them down in an arch that would have made Sam proud. “What the fuck.”

A laugh rolled from Gotham’s form, his guardian sneakily tightening her protective hold on him. “What the fuck indeed, Little One.”

“Okay, okay-” Danny’s voice cracked with indignation, “So regular everyday humans fight supervillains and are able to keep up with gods? And super-powered aliens?”

“Yes.”

“And one of those humans - who named himself after a bat - is the sole protector of your lair? Besides yourself? And he doesn’t let any of his superhero friends help him?”

“I never said he worked alone. Though, for a long time he did not have any help.”

“Lady G,” Danny said again with exasperation. “I repeat: what the fuck.”

Her only response was to laugh at his expense as he continued to moan about how he couldn’t seem to escape crazy people, no matter what dimension he runs to. The space shared by two multi-dimensional beings filled with an easy warmth.

“So,” Danny started after a couple minutes of his grumbling. “Superpowered people aren’t allowed in your city because one of your protectors is just a man in a… What, fursuit? A crime-fighting fursuit?” He paused, considering, before rapidly moving on. “But there are super-powered people in this dimension who are also heroes.”

“Yes, that is all true.”

The young man took a second, silently thinking, before speaking again. “Okay, okay,” He started. “And the chances that I’m going to have to just… steal all of these ghostly artifacts is pretty high, right?”

“Again, you are correct.”

“So,” Danny said, stretching out the word. “Chances are they’re going to think I’m some sort of villain.”

Gotham made a noise akin to two cars scraping against each other as she hesitated to answer. “There is a chance of that, yes.”

“Great,” he bemoaned, bonelessly flopping around his couch. “Guess it’s time to pull out the ol’ acting shoes. Welcome to Danny’s One-Stop Shop for Villainy.”

Foreign emotions rubbed against the sulking man’s aura, the City Spirit’s feelings of do not fret-all is well-I will protect you soothing Danny’s temperament. “There is no need for all of that, Little King.” When their eyes met, Gotham’s form had smoothed into a rolling fog compared to her usual flaking fire. “If all else fails, you can learn to have some fun with it. Many of the heroes and villains of this world have… gimmicks, if you would, for their respective personas.”

A critical eye was shot to the other ghost. “What do you mean by that? My ghost form’s already pretty gimmicky.”

“But,” she said. “You can always take it to the next level. I would suggest you do some research on the various powers who live within my city as well as this world. You may find some inspiration.” She paused before speaking with a teasing tone. “I also believe that Clockwork told you to blend in? Maybe a name like Inviso-bill would fit right in with the likes of Condiment King and Kiteman.”

“Absolutely not!” He screeched, waving his hands wildly as he bared his teeth. “How do you even know about that?!”

A purr echoed from Gotham’s chest, so fierce Danny could feel it vibrating his own core. “I have my ways, Little One.”

“Fucking cryptic geezers,” Danny sullenly mumbled as he pouted. “I don’t even know where I could get an outfit for stealing stuff, anyways.”

“Were you not planning on doing it in your more ghostly form?”

He stopped, eyeballing Gotham’s face area with a critical eye. The other was facing him, though more of her wispy form had started to curl around his shoulders like a lazy cat soaking up the warmth of the sun. “I thought using powers in your city was a no-no?”

“That does not mean you cannot use your other form,” Gotham’s voice took on a lecturing tone. “You just will not be able to use your powers in an obvious way. It would help to protect your identity, and I know that you know the risks of not being in one of your forms for too long. Clockwork, at the very least, informed me to help you keep track of your health.”

Danny grumbled a bit, remembering the last lecture he endured from Frostbite about his general health. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Can’t I just use my ghost form as is, then?”

“I would not recommend it.”

“Why’s that?” Danny inquired.

Gotham huffed, “Because, quite frankly, there are magic users who know about your coronation. Any being with ties to death - through magic or dying or any other way - heard the Song of Ancients as you took the crown. It will not take long for your influence over the Realms to reach here, and when that occurs they will know.”

“And then the jig is up?”

“Yes, then the ‘jig is up’.”

A loud groan left him, frustration causing Danny to get up and pace. “So, what? I just go around and snatch everything while invisible? Or in the Kingly gear? ‘Cause I don’t think my HAZMAT is the kind of gimmick you’re thinking of. Besides, wouldn’t either form just give everything away from the get-go?”

When Gotham didn’t respond, the young man turned to face her. The City Spirit was staring at him, not saying anything.

“What?” He finally asked when he couldn’t stand it.

“You can change the outfit of your form.” She stated. “Did you not know this?”

Danny nodded his head, “I mean, yeah, I swapped from the robes to my HAZMAT earlier - but I don’t even know how to start on an entirely new outfit!”

The older ghost let out a quiet laugh, “Do not fret, Little One. I can teach you how to alter your form.”

“Can you change yours?” The young man asked, curious. He knew Amorpho could shapeshift and that often a ghost could generally alter their appearance, but he didn’t think he would be able to alter his own.

“I used to be able to,” grief rolled off Gotham in waves, the intensity of it staggering. A dark cloud seemed to roll over the city, the weak light bleeding through the loft’s windows almost completely disappearing. “It was a long, long time ago that I was last able to.”

Danny reached out, letting apologies-you’re okay-I’m okay-we’re safe tentatively brush against his companion’s anguish. “Well, maybe we can figure out how to get you to change forms again. I’ll do some nosying around and figure out the best way to blend in so I can snatch some fun stuff.”

A thankful emotion poked through Gotham’s grief as she agreed with the young man before her. “Until then,” she started. “It might be a good idea for you to settle some more. I need to rest before attempting to mentor you through something as draining as altering yourself.”

“Alright,” Danny easily agreed. “Should I stay in here while you do that, or is it a good idea for me to roam around a bit?”

Gotham paused, considering. “You should be fine to wander, though I would suggest spending time familiarizing yourself with my occupants beforehand.”

“Gotcha,” he gave his new friend a small smile. “Thank you, again, for helping me with this. I really do appreciate it, Lady Gotham.”

“But of course,” she said in a tone full of fondness. “Clockwork has spoken highly of you throughout the years. I am pleased to see his judgment was not misguided.”

“Well, I’m glad that you’re pretty chill.” Danny happily moved closer to the City Spirit.

If Gotham had a physical mouth, Danny would bet that she was smiling at him when she spoke. “I will leave you to it, then. If you are in need of anything simply flare your aura. I will feel it, no matter where you are.”

“You got it, Lady G.”

And with that, the Spirit of Gotham faded from the visible spectrum. Danny felt her slip out of his aura’s bubble and he was suddenly alone in a completely new dimension. Which was, apparently, full of superheroes, supervillains, and everything in between. When the young man began walking up the stairs to where his computer was set up, the only thing on his mind was figuring out where Clockwork’s list of artifacts were and which hero he was going to look up first. That Batman dude sure sounded like a good place to start.

╮(╯▽╰)╭

The sheer amount of non-earthly beings that occupied this dimension’s earth was crazy. That was the conclusion that Danny came to hours after Gotham had left him.

It took flipping through old news channels, trolling internet forums, random fan blogs, and even watching a few interviews of various heroes for Danny to get a vague grasp of this new reality. There were some heroes that he couldn’t get a full view of - the Batman being one of them. All he could find were grainy photos of the hero and hints that he wasn’t the only vigilante in the city.

Which would make Danny’s job a bit harder.

During his deep dive into this dimension’s cultures, Danny flipped through the little journal Clockwork had gifted him. His mentor’s steady handwriting listed out the various artifacts he was going to need to find as well as their general location. Many of those artifacts, after using his shiny new high-tech computer to look them up, were located in public places or stored in secret, secure facilities. Yoinking the public ones wouldn’t be too much of an issue for Danny - his abilities would make it rather easy to avoid detection, after all - but he had no idea what a “Fortress of Solitude” was. Or even something as vague as “The Watchtower”. Seriously, some of these places sounded weird.

But others had cities listed out. Star City was obviously a town, he knew where Gotham was (duh), and even places like Themyscira were easy enough to Google. It was with this brilliant deduction that led Danny to believe some of the weirder names weren’t attached to a city at all which was rather worrying.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on who asked) Clockwork wasn’t one to steer Danny in a direction the old ghost knew wouldn’t work out. So with a healthy dose of blind faith, Danny chose to focus on whatever artifacts he could easily access for now. This meant Danny spent a decent amount of time casually scrolling through museum articles, even more blogs, and whatever else he could get his grubby little hands on. Honestly, it made the Ghost King feel like he was back in highschool trying to desperately write an entire research essay the day it was due.

The first item on Danny’s newly named “List of Shit I Need to Steal” was an item called the Hand of Greed. According to the Gotham Museum of Natural History’s website, the Hand of Greed was a statuette found in an Ancient Greek city. There were some general facts about when it was found, who discovered it, and how it came into the Museum’s care. The Wikipedia page elaborated more on the lore behind the dark statuette, though.

According to random people on the internet, the Hand of Greed had been found by Ancient Greek farmers after a lightning storm in a graveyard. There was more than a few forums debating on what caused the storm, where the hand came from, and even some people arguing that everything about the Hand was made-up. The forums then led Danny to a dead end - nothing had ever been formally concluded about the relic’s origins. It frustrated Danny a little bit. He wanted to be at least slightly more prepared for his first ever consensual heist. The half-ghost broke away from his hunched position over his desk, popping his back and yawning. The motions of this move caused his stomach to gurgle angrily, reminding Danny that eating was still something he had to do.

The young man stretched himself out, wiggling around his comfy office chair. “Guess I better get some food or something,” Danny mumbled to himself. His eyes didn’t move from where they were focused on his setup’s main monitor, where a picture of the strong fist carved out of black marble rested.

With a dramatic groan meant for no one but himself, Danny spun his chair around. He easily hefted himself off of the space, casually walking to where his duffle bag still rested. He rummaged around, grabbing his wallet before moseying his way to the elevator.

It wasn’t like Danny didn’t want to steal something, per se. As he smacked the “down” button, he considered the morality of taking something that did, technically, belong to him. It wasn’t like the people who found the statue knew it originated in the Ghost Zone - to them it was just an old statue with a weird story behind it.

The elevator arrived with a happy-sounding “ding!” and Danny stepped into the space as he fiddled with the bracelets resting on his wrist. He would have to make a plan to break into the museum, something the halfa was not looking forward to, especially with how little his research brought up. Reaching out, he poked the lobby button before resting his back against the stainless steel walls.

Maybe he could just go in invisibly? This Batman hero wouldn’t even be able to catch him if he never even appeared on camera, after all. It wasn’t like Danny had an identity in this world, anyways. Any hero would be hard-pressed to catch a ghost in the machine. The elevator stopped, doors opening with the same cheery noise.

But, even though Danny hated to admit it, he kind of wanted to meet the heroes of this dimension.

The young man continued to think about it as he walked out of the building’s lobby, not even taking note of the inside of it or the people loitering. Breathing in city smog, Danny pulled his beat-to-hell phone out of where it was resting in his khaki pants. He focused just enough to figure out where the closest convenience store was, slap a pin on his new home, and make his way in the general direction of where he needed to go.

Danny was honestly pretty surprised to see his phone worked. The shock of finding out that yes, his shitty phone did in fact apparently carry a multi-dimensional data plan, brought his attention to money. Lady Gotham didn’t really explain what forms of currency this dimension used, nor did he even consider looking that up.

Which he could solve right now, by using his phone that did somehow work. But where was the fun in that? He had to spice up his obviously too-boring life somehow. All else failed, he would just act like he was from a different country or something. There’s no way that could backfire on him - no siree, no backfiring here. And technically he wouldn’t be lying, either. It’s a win-win either way.

It was with these thoughts that Danny serenely entered a beat-up looking store with various ads decorating its windows. He had about twenty dollars in his pockets when he hopped dimensions, which would hopefully be enough to grab a sandwich or something.

Danny really, really hoped that the currency of this dimension was the same.

After the halfa snagged a decent looking chicken salad sandwich out of the store’s stacked fridges, he found it was at least similar enough to get him the food and a fountain drink. Danny took his change, thanked the cashier, and went back outside. The man leaned his back against cool glass and took out his phone to see how close the museum was to him. If nothing else, Danny could make his way to the place and do a little reconnaissance.

It seemed like something Jazz would want him to do, after all.

The GPS app on Danny’s phone showed him that the Museum of Natural History was down in Gotham’s University District, closer to where he first came into this dimension than where he was now. A forty minute drive by car, apparently, but the halfa was sure he would be able to fly there in under ten. With a small smirk, Danny stuffed his lunch into his mouth as he hurriedly searched for a decent alleyway to shift forms in.

Finding a decent spot proved to be more difficult than he had expected. The city was teeming with life - people spilling in and out of the streets and bustling across warm concrete as they went about their lives. It was after the fourth time Danny wandered into an empty-looking alley, only to find a shady deal going on, that he felt frustrated beyond belief.

It had never been this hard in Amity to find an unoccupied spot to swap to his ghost form in. The spaces between buildings almost never had other people in them, and even when there were all Danny had to do was make it to the next one over to be alone. Here, though, it was proving to be a larger task. People were everywhere and it was starting to get on the halfa’s nerves.

Danny didn’t miss home already, nope. He hadn’t even been in this dimension for twelve hours - he couldn’t break this early.

Finally, after spending way too much time trying to find a discrete area to die, Danny let his transformation sweep over himself. He faded away from the visible spectrum as soon as familiar rings of light sputtered out. He quickly shot to the sky, gazing down on the city below him with delight.

Yeah, it wasn’t Amity Park. There were people everywhere, it smelled horrible, and Danny could still feel the sticky ectoplasm of the city brushing against his aura.

But it was beautiful in its own way.

Towering skyscrapers outline the heart of the city in the distance, windows reflecting back what bits of sky peaked through the slowly lifting haze. Flashing lights rose from between the cramped buildings, washing Gotham’s people in hues of red and blue. The noise was a pleasant backdrop as Danny flew between the streets, a smile gracing his face.

He could see himself getting used to this.

Minutes passed as the halfa twirled between man-made structures, occasionally dropping down to listen to the various people as they went about their day. It was when Danny flew up to the top of a skyscraper, his whole being bursting with joy as he played in the sky, that he felt an angry pulse brush against his aura.

Startled, Danny hovered over the top of the office space. Warily, the young man sent back a questioning feeling - doing his best to keep his little bubble of safety. He was left waiting, anxiety slowly building the longer no ghost appeared on his senses.

Who had sent that? Danny wasn’t quite sure, but the only other ghost he had met in this dimension was Gotham. It had to have been her, but why was she angry?

His guess was proven correct when a black cloud rose from the edge of the skyscraper, sides flared like an avenging angel's wings. Startled, Danny dropped to the roof, taking a few steps back as his hands rose into a defensive position and his invisibility fell. Belated, a wispy breath left his mouth when the older ghost drew closer.

“My King,” Gotham’s angry voice crashed against Danny’s senses. Long gone were the soothing tones from earlier. In their place were sounds that made the hairs on the back of Danny’s neck raise up, his senses screaming DANGER DANGER! “What did I tell you about using your abilities here?”

“I thought that was just for whenever I was stealing stuff!” Danny protested, trying to recall their conversation earlier. “I was just trying to scope out the museum - the Hand of Greed is something on Clockwork’s list.”

Gotham snarled, her form twisting angrily. “No, you shouldn’t be using any of your abilities. The risk is too great.”

Hesitating, Danny warred with himself. On one hand, he didn’t want to piss off his ghostly host on the first day he stayed with her. That was just bad manners, and he knew Pandora would be disappointed in him if he wasn’t polite. However, not being able to use his powers? Ever, as long as he was inside Gotham’s city? That was just too much to ask for, in his own opinion. Danny could understand not wanting him to use his powers to avoid Gotham’s protector’s wrath, but on a day-to-day basis?

Danny wasn’t too sure if he could do that. His powers were part of him and he thought he was finally going to a place where he wouldn’t have to hide who he was.

At the end of the day, though, Danny wasn’t one to try and piss off his allies. He had made too many enemies over the years to be okay with that.

“I’m sorry, Lady Gotham.” Danny spoke, trying to hide the frustration that had so quickly overtook his fear. “I won’t use my powers in your city - unless I am in my apartment.”

The spirit’s form shifted, considering. “Very well, I accept your apology.” She hesitated, for just a split-second, before continuing. “I think it is time we head back to your haunt, Little One. I still need to teach you how to shift forms and I want you to be prepared for when you meet my protectors in a few days.”

“A few days?” Danny asked, confused. That wasn’t his plan.

“Yes,” Gotham said. “Did you not want to get settled before attempting to lift the artifact?”

Danny shot a confident grin at the City Spirit, his eyes alight with mischief. “I know we just met and all, but did you really think I would do anything else?”

“No,” Gotham conceded. “I will do my best to aid you on your heist tonight, but please be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” Danny sassed as he let his playful nature wash back over him. “Show me how to change my outfit?”

“As you wish, Little One.”

ヽ(ಠ_ಠ)ノ

Gotham’s setting sun cast an eerie, dark red light across Jason’s apartment. The rays washed over him, making it look like the man was stained with spilled blood. Dick had just set off with a cheery promise to see the other on patrol before slipping out the door, leaving his younger brother alone for the small amount of time it took for the sun to set. Soon, Gotham City would be cast into the darkness of night, with the city’s criminal elements slowly spilling onto the streets.

It was during the night that Jason always felt the most alive.

Before, when he was still living in a shitty Crime Alley apartment, it was because that was when Willis would go out. The arguments that came from him and Catherine would scare Jason more than the gunshots on the street. At least those were outside the safe walls of his home, but inside? To him, that was where the real danger lurked in the form of two angry adults.

Then, it was the streets. They had never been safe - but now that Jason was truly a part of them, he had to learn the tricks to stay alive. Part of that meant finding a safe place to squat, to wait out the evils that lurked in Gotham’s shadowed nights. The Bat was known for hunting and hurting criminals - something Willis had raged about more than once - and Jason was just a street rat who stole to survive. He had to stay alert during the lonely nights. Streets clouded in darkness just weren’t safe for a kid.

After the streets, it was being Robin. Fighting alongside Batman, helping give others hope and protection, and doing what he could to make his home just a little safer was like magic. He felt alive, freer than he ever had before that. It wasn’t just the adrenaline pumping through his veins or the thrill of leaping between rooftops, it was being able to help his home.

Jason was Gotham, born and bred in the darkest parts of the city’s heart. More than Bruce, or Dick, or even Babs could ever be - so of course he felt more alive in the comfort of night.

Then, he died, and being alive was never the same.

He was learning how to live with it, slowly but surely. The waves of green rage had originally helped Jason feel more alive, a little bit more sane while he struggled to figure out who he was. But even his own mind had betrayed him, at the end of the day. Basking in the pit rage had become an addiction, a high that he could use to finally feel again.

Within the past few months, Jason’s mind had been slowly coming down from the almost three-year stint of using the Lazarus Pit’s “gift” as a metaphorical emotional shield. It had been rough, trying to notice when it was the artificial rage whispering in his ear or his own emotions coming to the forefront.

Now, though? Oddly enough, even when Jason reached for the space he had learned the Pit coiled in, the green never threatened to take over. Throughout Dick’s impromptu forceful brotherly-bonding day, Jason hadn’t felt a single peep from the corner of his mind occupied by the unwanted side-effects of a green, gooey hot tub from Hell.

It was nice to be alone in his own mind again.

These thoughts raced around Jason’s mind as he went about the motions of getting ready for a normal patrol. It was odd, thinking the last patrol he had been on led him to the Batcave. Jason had been expecting to feel at least slightly off-center with the Pit Rage gone from its sulking corner. If anything, though, he felt more normal than he had in years.

As heavy kevlar fell to rest comfortably against Jason’s body, he noticed a bullet hole in the shoulder of his uniform. Eyebrows scrunched in confusion, he examined the damaged spot. That hadn’t been there the last time he donned his metaphorical cape, but Jason was pretty sure he would have noticed if he had been shot.

… He would ask Dick about it during patrol. Maybe that was how he ended up as high as a kitten on catnip?

Slipping his guns into their correct holsters, the young man snatched his bright red helmet from its hidden compartment. An almost feral grin danced across his face - the Red Hood coming out to play was always the highlight of Jason’s day.

When the sun had finished slowly sinking below the smog-filled horizon, Jason meandered down a stealthily hidden passageway to the secret bunker that housed most of Hood’s equipment. He was surprised to find his beloved hotrod-red bike parked in its usual spot – Jason figured he would have used one of his less-used bikes until he was able to get it from the Cave.

He didn’t think too long about it, though, as he grabbed the rest of his gear and dropped down onto the piece of machinery. A loud rev of the engine reverberated between the enclosed walls of his bunker as he pressed a button on one of the bike’s handlebars. Across from him, a large garage door slowly groaned to life. Jason kicked off from the ground, jumping into Gotham’s old tunnel system with practice ease.

The tunnels had originally been part of the Court of Owl’s underground hideouts, but after the Bat-family took down their operations, Red Hood had quickly laid a bright-red claim to them - including the bunker under his building. The tunnel system was near-perfect as it was. Some of it needed a bit of repairs and cleanup, but hidden ways to travel around the major points of Gotham with discreet access points was a resource Jason just couldn’t say no to.

It was through one of these openings that the Red Hood burst into the darkened streets, engine loudly announcing the start of Jason’s patrol to any bystanders who may be in earshot.

He quickly sped through the dimly lit streets, expertly navigating to one of the many areas Jason leaves his bike during the night. Today, he had decided, was going to just be an easy patrol. A nice little stroll through Crime Alley, maybe a stop at one of his favorite twenty-four hour hole in the walls, and then finishing up his night with a well-deserved bath.

With that in mind, the Red Hood grappled up to Gotham’s darkened rooftops, letting the city’s shadows envelope him in a cool, familiar embrace. Street lights flickered noisily, enhancing the darkened figures thrown across well-worn buildings. The great expanse of Gotham’s ever-changing skyline greeted the helmeted vigilante as he began his daily patrol across his home territory.

A thick layer of smog blocked the moon and stars from being seen by the millions of Gothamites, the haze from the day still lingering at the very edges of the giant city. The early spring breeze brought a light chill to the night, making Jason glad he had a layered uniform, unlike when he was a child strutting around in Dick’s old scaly panties.

He tapped the side of his helmet three times, turning on the communication unit built into its protective metals. A quiet chatter of his family greeted him and against his will, Jason felt his shoulders drop just a bit.

“-I’m saying that it’s obvious that Ivy and Harley are going to get married soon.” Dick’s voice was broken up by the sounds of wind sweeping across his speaker, small grunts echoing in Jason’s ear as his older brother danced across rooftops in a well-loved routine.

Stephanie’s response came with the usual hyper rush Jason has learned to associate with his fellow street kid. “And I’m saying that I think they’re going to wait a little longer. We all know how Ivy is about commitments.”

“But she and Harley have been dating for years. If the two of them can survive that tantrum Kiteman had a few months ago, then I think they’re pretty much set for life.”

“Quiet on the line.” Bruce’s gravelly tone was a bit of an unwelcome entry in the friendly banter, making Jason fight to contain the natural tensing of his body. He forced himself to relax, jumping from the roof of a crumbling apartment building and onto an old office building in a much similar state.

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud, B.” Dick let out a larger grunt, a fleshy sound accompanying it. “Hey guys, mind if I drop in? Seems like you’re all having the party of a lifetime.”

“Fighting on an open line?” Jason drawled, never one to not poke at Dick. “Watch out, Boy Wonder. Daddy-bat’s gonna ground you at this rate.” A single grunt was the only response Jason’s quip earned, making him sneer a bit under his protective hood.

Figures.

Before the gun-slinging vigilante could even get another word in, he heard the “ping” associated with Oracle dragging his communication unit down onto another line. “Hood, I’ve gotten reports of a gang break-in a few blocks from your location. Double back, it’s the building across from where you stored your bike.”

“Of course,” he groaned, but still dutifully skidded to a stop. Jason threw himself into sprinting back across the different roofs he had just parkoured his way over. “Any more information on the situation?”

“Negative.”

“Wonderful.”

It took him a few minutes, but soon Jason was back in the general area where he had started his night. “Is it the jewelers or the pawn shop?” Jason asked the quiet line, staring down at the littered streets.

“The jewelers,” Babs said. “Footage is showing four guys, their getaway driver is waiting outside near the back. Dark blue van. Best to proceed with the burglars then the driver, from what I can see.”

“Got it, going in now.”

“Good luck.”

The large vigilante dropped down in front of the store, scanning through the broken glass. He could barely see the four figures shoving anything they could grab into worn duffle bags. From what Jason could tell, none of them were armed – meaning he was quick to slip sneakily through the opening they had made when one’s back was turned. It was his odd hybrid training that allowed him to move so quickly and silently when his body mass was constantly working against him.

Hood snuck up behind a robber who was rooting around a now-broken glass case. The vigilante’s quiet movements served him well as he suddenly struck his arms out, grabbing the masked civilian around the throat. The man made an aborted shout, alerting his friends to the vigilante among their ranks as the Red Hood turned them around. Now with the thug between himself and his buddies, Jason tightened his forearm against the warm neck he held hostage.

“I’m only going to say this once,” Jason’s modulated voice rippled over the thieves. “Surrender or you’ll end up like chucklefuck here.” With the end of his statement, he tightened his grip and swept the other man’s legs out from under him, Jason placing one of his own legs between to keep his prey unsteady.

The thief in his arms started babbling pleads as he desperately squirmed in Hood’s grasp. His friends cautiously lowered their bags, one even going as far as to show Jason his free hand.

“Easy now,” The one furthest from the door said. “We’re just tyin’ ta put food on t’ table.”

“That’s understandable,” The masked vigilante said in a tone laced with half-fake sympathy. “But there’s better ways to go around getting money than robbing stores. Surrender and I’m sure prison’ll teach ya’.”

“Yeah,” The far guy spoke up again. “Not gonna happen, cape.” With that, the dude kicked a heavy rock at Jason with surprising accuracy, forcing him to let go of the squirming criminal in his grasp. As much as Jason would be fine with the dude getting a concussion, he’s sure the other bats would not be so chill about it.

The thief that was caught in Jason’s grapple was busy running, trying to make an epic getaway. It gave Jason time to pull out his handgun and a warning shot was fired, putting a smoking hole into the floor in front of the fleeing robber. The man, to his credit, didn’t flinch at the loud noise and instead kept gunning for the exit where his friends were waiting for him.

With a curse, Jason realized a bit late that the three of them were almost at the door – which he noticed had been disarmed. He slipped his gun back into its rightful place before he raced after the three thieves. As they ran through the store, jumping over jewelry cases and feeling his boots slide across scattered glass shards dusting the floor like deadly fallen snow. The vigilante pulled out a bola set from where it was hanging on his utility belt, aimed as best he could while running, and threw it with terrifying accuracy towards the first criminal in the fleeing line.

The bolas caught on the robber’s legs, drawing them up short. With a panicked shout, the man went down like a live oak – with a heavy crash and shaking limbs. The two behind him stumbled to a frightened stop, obviously startled. Jason used those couple precious milliseconds to gain ground on the group, already planning his next move. A gloved hand reached back towards his belt, gripping onto his last bola set. By the time he was re-noticed by the criminals, he was mere feet away from the trio. One of them let out a surprised noise, fleeing the scene and leaving his friends behind. It was him that Jason aimed his bolas at, easily letting the capture weapon fly and snag the wayward robber.

The last one had been trying to help his friend out, on his knees with a knife frantically sawing through the rope binding his buddies’ legs. When Jason was close enough, he pulled the man up by the back of his jacket and punched him across the nose. The squirming criminals’s hands came up to clutch at the bruised cartilage and Jason slapped Bat-grade handcuffs across his wrists.

“Now,” Jason said as he dropped his prey. He turned to look at the other two, focusing on the man at his feet while the one in his hands squirmed around. “Maybe it’s nap-time for some naughty boys.”

“Let us go, Hood!” The man in his hands yelled, drawing Jason’s attention. “C’mon, man, we got families! Don’t throw us in jail!”

“You should have thought of that before you decided crime was your best option.” The helmeted man practically growled. “What would your family say if they found out this was the way you made your money? Huh?”

“Don’t be so naïve, Hood,” The man on the floor snarled.

“How about you shut up, huh?” Jason snapped, looming over the other. He dropped the handcuffed guy next to the one on the floor before manhandling the un-handcuffed guy around to turn him into a newly-minted handcuff guy. “Time to take care of your last pal, boys.” But when Jason lifted his head towards the exit of the darkened store, all he saw was his now-sawed bolas and a wide-open door. “Oh you have got to be shittin’ me.”

With a quick tap to his helmet, Hood rejoined the open line Gotham’s vigilantes used to alert when a crime was stopped as he ran through the open doorway. “Oracle, got two of the four. They’re locked up in cuffs, in pursuit of the others.”

“Noted,” Bab’s steady voice filled Jason’s ears. “I’ve got eyes on their get-away car and contacted GPD - so far they’re heading south through the Bowery.”

“Got it. Do I have time to grab my bike or am I using the Rooftop Express tonight?”

“Get the bike, they’re not slowing down.” Oracle paused for a split-second, no doubt cross-referencing the activities of all the vigilantes roaming the streets. “Red Robin will cut them off if they start heading east.”

Red Hood huffs as he spots his bike, having raced over from the now-destroyed shop. “Sounds good,” he started his bike with a deafening cry from the engine, adrenaline pumping through the ex-crime lord’s veins. It was odd, to be so excited for a chase and not feel r agerageragerage  in the far corners of his mind, threatening to cloud his thoughts with mindless violence. “Streets?”

As Oracle rattles off the street name Hood’s suspects are using to attempt to get away, the man uses his modified bike to its greatest potential. Weaving through traffic was something Jason was used to - it was as natural as grappling across rooftops for the young man. To slip between cars while traveling at high speeds was a rush he craved. Add in the hunt of criminals? Well, Jason was as happy as a Bat with a cold case.

When Jason spotted the criminal’s van, they were deep into the heart of Gotham. He had chased them through the Bowery, over the Robins Bridge. Gotham itself was a city made up of multiple islands - each broken up by different inlets bleeding into the Gotham Bay. Sprang River separated the northernmost parts of Gotham from the older parts of the city, like the Upper East Side, Diamond District, and University District. As soon as Barbara informed Jason that his suspects were heading through the Upper East Side, a plan started to formulate.

The Upper East side was broken into a grid pattern, much like how New York City was. If Jason could speed through the lesser-used streets parallel to 35th, then there was a chance he could cut them off. A quick one-handed pat down of his bike’s stylish saddlebags confirmed he had a set of tire spikes. Hidden under his hood, an excited smile grew.

“Hey, Oracle,” Jason cut off the red-headed wonder’s listing of streets. “I’m going to spike the van. What’s the traffic lookin’ like?”

There was a pause before a resigned sigh filtered through Red Hood’s helmet. “Traffic is mostly clear, they’re closing in on Robinson Park now. Best thing to do is try and get them in that area - it gives me time to stop traffic around there.”

“Perfect,” Hood purred as he pushed his bike faster, expertly weaving around the late-night commuters. In just a few minutes, Hood got the confirmation from Oracle that now was a good time to enact their plan. With a quick twist of his body, Jason’s bike dodged between skyscrapers as he burst onto the main road in the Upper East Side. The criminal’s van was just barely behind him and, having no time to maneuver, ended up driving over the spikes Red Hood threw into the road.

A pop and the eerie screeching of machinery enveloped Jason’s senses as his prey struggled to keep their getaway vehicle under control. When it finally crashed into a light pole, an odd quiet seemed to brush over the city. With an expert flick of his foot, Jason lowered his bike’s kickstand before stalking over to the smoking van. He brought a padded elbow up, smashing the window in a practiced move. As glass fell like a dangerous snow, he paused to take in the sight of the criminals before him.

The van’s airbags had deployed, leaving his two runaways unconscious in their seats. With a huff, the vigilante opened the driver’s door. He checked over the two thugs with practise ease, making sure there were no injuries he may need to know about before moving them out of their now-busted van.

“Got them, Oracle,” Hood said, pulling the two men out of the van. He set them a few feet away, zip-tying their hands and feet together. “Cops on their way?”

“They’ll be there in two minutes. Any chance you can pick up the spikes?”

“Sure,” Jason agreed easily, sauntering his way down the street. He could see the faraway headlights of cars heading his way as he rolled up the spikes. As the black-haired man secured them back into the saddlebags, he heard the distant sound of sirens.

“You best get a move on, Hood,” Oracle cautioned. Typing joined her speech, urgency picking up in her voice as she directed him. “Looks like there’s been a break-in at the History Museum. You’re the closest unoccupied.”

“Seriously?” Jason groused, hopping back onto his bike. He left the criminals in a trail of exhaust right as the Gotham Police Department showed up. The vague threats they made followed the Red Hood as he sped towards the University District. “You know I hate that place.”

“Well, sucks to suck. Batman and Robin are currently chasing down a lead on Penguin’s drug trade, otherwise I would send the two of them.”

Hood paused, his brain going to places he definitely did not want it going. “New lead or the one from yesterday?”

“New lead - Red Robin and Orphan picked it up while you were indisposed.” With a sigh, Hood parked his bike in a random alleyway, taking note of the streets near it. The large man grappled his way up to the roof of the building before starting to parkour his way towards the museum, grumbling the entire way.

It wasn’t that Jason didn’t want to stop a thief, or that he was embarrassed about being drugged the other day. No, it wasn’t that. A fight was something Jason pretty much welcomed every night he donned his guns and helmet. The museum was simply too full of times before. Before he had died, when things were just a bit easier. When it was just him, Dick, Bruce, and Alfred. Back when he wore the scaly panties and hid in Batman’s cape. When banter and quips thrown at villains came easier to him, when he thought Batman would always be there to catch him when Jason fell.

He couldn’t help but wonder what had changed about the museum since the last time he was there, six years ago, stopping Catwoman with Batman. From doing his best to ignore the flirting between his father mentor and the thief.

Now, instead of the hand-me-down Robin uniform, it was the Red Hood armor Jason wore to strike down a thief.

Jason’s musing cut off as he landed hard on the roof across from the museum. The vigilante rolled into a light jog, shaking off the pain racing through his knees. He could see the top of his targeted building, stopping at the edge of the rooftop he was occupying to try and get a better view.

He needed to figure out what caused the alarm to trip on the building in the first place. It didn’t seem like the type of area one of the usual Gotham Rogue Gallery would target for any occasion. Maybe Catwoman, but Jason didn’t know of any jewels in any exhibit that she would try to steal.

“Do you have any information on who might’ve broken in? I can’t think of anything Catwoman would try to get her hands on.” Jason asked as he kept a moving eye on the building across from him.

A thoughtful hum came from the other side of the transmission. “I’m looking at the CCTV footage now. The person who broke in is still inside, and appears to be wearing a dark, hooded outfit. White accents as well - whoever it is, they’re not one of our usuals.” 

Jason cocked his head, body lighting up with a curiosity he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Roger, going in now. Might as well figure out who it is.” Aiming his grapple gun towards a secure part of the museum’s building, he triggered the mechanism with a satisfying pop and whirr. With an ease born from being a Bat, he jumped off the rooftop - soaring above the late-night foot traffic with a small thrill.

Oracle’s voice crackled as she spoke. “Hood, wait for at least one other to arrive before engaging. All CCTV footage is corrupted - this guy must’ve used a localized EMP of some sort, and depending on how strong it is, we might lose contact.”

“I thought the others were occupied?” The man questioned as he landed on top of the museum’s roof. He dropped to a crouch, surveying the space around him.

The Gotham Museum of Natural History was a building made up of pale stone. It had large, rectangular columns racing up the sides to form a grand entrance. The museum was split into four sections: the main part, and then three add-on sections that all intersected at the circular part of the building. While the roof was relatively flat, a massive glass dome rose from the main section with various skylights scattered around the add-ons. It may look cool but, as all the Gotham vigilantes knew, it created many escape routes for various villains to use. Without counting the many, many windows the building boasted.

“Batman and Robin are. Red Robin just finished up with a mugging and Nightwing is heading north. ETA is roughly ten minutes for each.”

Jason shook his head, creeping along the roof. “When did the break-in happen?”

Oracle paused, her silence speaking a thousand words. “About thirteen minutes ago.”

“So they’re probably finishing up grabbing whatever it is, already.” Red Hood kept his eyes out for any sign of break in, eyes expertly scanning the terrain around him.

“Assuming they’re as fast as Catwoman? Yes.”

Jason’s mouth opened to respond when movement through one of the northern add-on’s skylight caught his attention. The Hood hurried his way over, making sure to keep out of sight. As he got closer, static filled his ears. The noise was loud and startled the black-haired vigilante enough for him to quietly curse as he quickly moved to turn off the horrendous noise blasting through the casing covering his skull. Definitely a localized EMP, he thought as he settled next to the skylight to watch the thief.

While Jason typically had decent sight, through the glass he could only describe the person as whispy, almost like the window prevented him from having a clear view. He could barely make out a pitch-black cloak covering the person’s back as they lifted an object from its display pedestal.

Knowing time was running out and not wanting to let this new thief get away, Hood unlatched the skylight with a trick Batman taught him years ago - back when he was still learning the ropes of being Robin. Hooking his grapple claw onto the skylight’s edge, the ex-crime lord silently lowered himself down the large drop as quietly as he could. Even though there was next to no sound of the grapple’s mechanics and his landing was as quiet as an assassin’s, the thief’s head whipped around. Startled, glowing neon eyes met Hood’s through his helmet. Fear gripped Jason’s heart as unblinking Lazarus pools bore into his very soul.

I should’ve waited, Jason thought hysterically as the vigilante and thief stared at each other.

(((ꏿwꏿ;)))